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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3269-0.txt b/3269-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f91a83 --- /dev/null +++ b/3269-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4441 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford, by Mark +Rutherford + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford + + +Author: Mark Rutherford + + + +Release Date: July 1, 2014 [eBook #3269] +[This file was first posted on March 6, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARK +RUTHERFORD*** + + +Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + THE + AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF + MARK RUTHERFORD + + + * * * * * + + EDITED BY HIS FRIEND + REUBEN SHAPCOTT + + * * * * * + + HODDER AND STOUGHTON + LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO + + * * * * * + + [_All rights reserved_] + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + CHAPTER I +CHILDHOOD 13 + CHAPTER II +PREPARATION 33 + CHAPTER III +WATER LANE 57 + CHAPTER IV +EDWARD GIBBON MARDON 84 + CHAPTER V +MISS ARBOUR 107 + CHAPTER VI +ELLEN AND MARY 138 + CHAPTER VII +EMANCIPATION 173 + CHAPTER VIII +PROGRESS IN EMANCIPATION 194 + CHAPTER IX +OXFORD STREET 215 + + + + +PREFACE +TO THE SECOND EDITION + + +THE present edition is a reprint of the first, with corrections of +several mistakes which had been overlooked. + +There is one observation which I may perhaps be permitted to make on +re-reading after some years this autobiography. Rutherford, at any rate +in his earlier life, was an example of the danger and the folly of +cultivating thoughts and reading books to which he was not equal, and +which tend to make a man lonely. + +It is all very well that remarkable persons should occupy themselves with +exalted subjects, which are out of the ordinary road which ordinary +humanity treads; but we who are not remarkable make a very great mistake +if we have anything to do with them. If we wish to be happy, and have to +live with average men and women, as most of us have to live, we must +learn to take an interest in the topics which concern average men and +women. We think too much of ourselves. We ought not to sacrifice a +single moment’s pleasure in our attempt to do something which is too big +for us, and as a rule, men and women are always attempting what is too +big for them. To ninety-nine young men out of a hundred, or perhaps +ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a hundred +thousand, the wholesome healthy doctrine is, “Don’t bother yourselves +with what is beyond you; try to lead a sweet, clean, wholesome life, keep +yourselves in health above everything, stick to your work, and when your +day is done amuse and refresh yourselves.” + +It is not only a duty to ourselves, but it is a duty to others to take +this course. Great men do the world much good, but not without some +harm, and we have no business to be troubling ourselves with their dreams +if we have duties which lie nearer home amongst persons to whom these +dreams are incomprehensible. Many a man goes into his study, shuts +himself up with his poetry or his psychology, comes out, half +understanding what he has read, is miserable because he cannot find +anybody with whom he can talk about it, and misses altogether the far +more genuine joy which he could have obtained from a game with his +children or listening to what his wife had to tell him about her +neighbours. + +“Lor, miss, you haven’t looked at your new bonnet to-day,” said a servant +girl to her young mistress. + +“No, why should I? I did not want to go out.” + +“Oh, how can you? why, I get mine out and look at it every night.” + +She was happy for a whole fortnight with a happiness cheap at a very high +price. + +That same young mistress was very caustic upon the women who block the +pavement outside drapers’ shops, but surely she was unjust. They always +seem unconscious, to be enjoying themselves intensely and most +innocently, more so probably than an audience at a Wagner concert. Many +persons with refined minds are apt to depreciate happiness, especially if +it is of “a low type.” Broadly speaking, it is the one thing worth +having, and low or high, if it does no mischief, is better than the most +spiritual misery. + +Metaphysics and theology, including all speculations on the why and the +wherefore, optimism, pessimism, freedom, necessity, causality, and so +forth, are not only for the most part loss of time, but frequently +ruinous. It is no answer to say that these things force themselves upon +us, and that to every question we are bound to give or try to give an +answer. It is true, although strange, that there are multitudes of +burning questions which we must do our best to ignore, to forget their +existence; and it is not more strange, after all, than many other facts +in this wonderfully mysterious and defective existence of ours. One +fourth of life is intelligible, the other three-fourths is unintelligible +darkness; and our earliest duty is to cultivate the habit of not looking +round the corner. + +“Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry +heart; for God hath already accepted thy works. Let thy garments be +always white, and let not thy head lack ointment. Live joyfully with the +wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which He +hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is +thy portion in life.” + + R. S. + + * * * * * + + _This is the night when I must die_, + _And great Orion walketh high_ + _In silent glory overhead_: + _He’ll set just after I am dead_. + + _A week this night_, _I’m in my grave_: + _Orion walketh o’er the wave_: + _Down in the dark damp earth I lie_, + _While he doth march in majesty_. + + _A few weeks hence and spring will come_; + _The earth will bright array put on_ + _Of daisy and of primrose bright_, + _And everything which loves the light_. + + _And some one to my child will say_, + “_You’ll soon forget that you could play_ + _Beethoven_; _let us hear a strain_ + _From that slow movement once again_.” + + _And so she’ll play that melody_, + _While I among the worms do lie_; + _Dead to them all_, _for ever dead_; + _The churchyard clay dense overhead_. + + _I once did think there might be mine_ + _One friendship perfect and divine_; + _Alas_! _that dream dissolved in tears_ + _Before I’d counted twenty years_. + + _For I was ever commonplace_; + _Of genius never had a trace_; + _My thoughts the world have never fed_, + _Mere echoes of the book last read_. + + _Those whom I knew I cannot blame_: + _If they are cold_, _I am the same_: + _How could they ever show to me_ + _More than a common courtesy_? + + _There is no deed which I have done_; + _There is no love which I have won_, + _To make them for a moment grieve_ + _That I this night their earth must leave_. + + Thus, moaning at the break of day, + A man upon his deathbed lay; + A moment more and all was still; + The Morning Star came o’er the hill. + + But when the dawn lay on his face, + It kindled an immortal grace; + As if in death that Life were shown + Which lives not in the great alone. + + Orion sank down in the west + Just as he sank into his rest; + I closed in solitude his eyes, + And watched him till the sun’s uprise. + + + + +CHAPTER I +CHILDHOOD + + +NOW that I have completed my autobiography up to the present year, I +sometimes doubt whether it is right to publish it. Of what use is it, +many persons will say, to present to the world what is mainly a record of +weaknesses and failures? If I had any triumphs to tell; if I could show +how I had risen superior to poverty and suffering; if, in short, I were a +hero of any kind whatever, I might perhaps be justified in communicating +my success to mankind, and stimulating them to do as I have done. But +mine is the tale of a commonplace life, perplexed by many problems I have +never solved; disturbed by many difficulties I have never surmounted; and +blotted by ignoble concessions which are a constant regret. + +I have decided, however, to let the manuscript remain. I will not +destroy it, although I will not take the responsibility of printing it. +Somebody may think it worth preserving; and there are two reasons why +they may think so, if there are no others. In the first place it has +some little historic value, for I feel increasingly that the race to +which I belonged is fast passing away, and that the Dissenting minister +of the present day is a different being altogether from the Dissenting +minister of forty years ago. + +In the next place, I have observed that the mere knowing that other +people have been tried as we have been tried is a consolation to us, and +that we are relieved by the assurance that our sufferings are not special +and peculiar, but common to us with many others. Death has always been a +terror to me, and at times, nay generally, religion and philosophy have +been altogether unavailing to mitigate the terror in any way. But it has +been a comfort to me to reflect that whatever death may be, it is the +inheritance of the whole human race; that I am not singled out, but shall +merely have to pass through what the weakest have had to pass through +before me. In the worst of maladies, worst at least to me, those which +are hypochondriacal, the healing effect which is produced by the visit of +a friend who can simply say, “I have endured all that,” is most marked. +So it is not impossible that some few whose experience has been like mine +may, by my example, be freed from that sense of solitude which they find +so depressing. + +I was born, just before the Liverpool and Manchester Railway was opened, +in a small country town in one of the Midland shires. It is now +semi-manufacturing, at the junction of three or four lines of railway, +with hardly a trace left of what it was fifty years ago. It then +consisted of one long main street, with a few other streets branching +from it at right-angles. Through this street the mail-coach rattled at +night, and the huge waggon rolled through it, drawn by four horses, which +twice a week travelled to and from London and brought us what we wanted +from the great and unknown city. + +My father and mother belonged to the ordinary English middle class of +well-to-do shop-keepers. My mother’s family came from a little distance, +but my father’s had lived in those parts for centuries. I remember +perfectly well how business used to be carried on in those days. There +was absolutely no competition, and although nobody in the town who was in +trade got rich, except the banker and the brewer, nearly everybody was +tolerably well off, and certainly not pressed with care as their +successors are now. The draper, who lived a little way above us, was a +deacon in our chapel, and every morning, soon after breakfast, he would +start off for his walk of about four miles, stopping by the way to talk +to his neighbours about the events of the day. At eleven o’clock or +thereabouts he would return and would begin work. Everybody took an hour +for dinner—between one and two—and at that time, especially on a hot July +afternoon, the High Street was empty from end to end, and the profoundest +peace reigned. + +My life as a child falls into two portions, sharply divided—week-day and +Sunday. During the week-day I went to the public school, where I learned +little or nothing that did me much good. The discipline of the school +was admirable, and the headmaster was penetrated with a most lofty sense +of duty, but the methods of teaching were very imperfect. In Latin we +had to learn the Eton Latin Grammar till we knew every word of it by +heart, but we did scarcely any retranslation from English into Latin. +Much of our time was wasted on the merest trifles, such as learning to +write, for example, like copperplate, and, still more extraordinary, in +copying the letters of the alphabet as they are used in printing. + +But we had two half-holidays in the week, which seem to me now to have +been the happiest part of my life. A river ran through the town, and on +summer Wednesdays and Saturdays we wandered along its banks for miles, +alternately fishing and bathing. I remember whole afternoons in June, +July, and August, passed half-naked or altogether naked in the solitary +meadows and in the water; I remember the tumbling weir with the deep pool +at the bottom in which we dived; I remember, too, the place where we used +to swim across the river with our clothes on our heads, because there was +no bridge near, and the frequent disaster of a slip of the braces in the +middle of the water, so that shirt, jacket, and trousers were soaked, and +we had to lie on the grass in the broiling sun without a rag on us till +everything was dry again. + +In winter our joys were of a different kind but none the less delightful. +If it was a frost, we had skating; not like skating on a London pond, but +over long reaches, and if the locks had not intervened, we might have +gone a day’s journey on the ice without a stoppage. If there was no ice, +we had football, and what was still better, we could get up a +steeplechase—on foot straight across hedge and ditch. + +In after-years, when I lived in London, I came to know children who went +to school in Gower Street, and travelled backwards and forwards by +omnibus—children who had no other recreation than an occasional visit to +the Zoological Gardens, or a somewhat sombre walk up to Hampstead to see +their aunt; and I have often regretted that they never had any experience +of those perfect poetic pleasures which the boy enjoys whose childhood is +spent in the country, and whose home is there. A country boarding-school +is something altogether different. + +On the Sundays, however, the compensation came. It was a season of +unmixed gloom. My father and mother were rigid Calvinistic Independents, +and on that day no newspaper nor any book more secular than the +Evangelical Magazine was tolerated. Every preparation for the Sabbath +had been made on the Saturday, to avoid as much as possible any work. +The meat was cooked beforehand, so that we never had a hot dinner even in +the coldest weather; the only thing hot which was permitted was a boiled +suet pudding, which cooked itself while we were at chapel, and some +potatoes which were prepared after we came home. Not a letter was opened +unless it was clearly evident that it was not on business, and for +opening these an apology was always offered that it was possible they +might contain some announcement of sickness. If on cursory inspection +they appeared to be ordinary letters, although they might be from +relations or friends, they were put away. + +After family prayer and breakfast the business of the day began with the +Sunday-school at nine o’clock. We were taught our Catechism and Bible +there till a quarter past ten. We were then marched across the road into +the chapel, a large old-fashioned building dating from the time of +Charles II. The floor was covered with high pews. The roof was +supported by three or four tall wooden pillars which ran from the ground +to the ceiling, and the galleries by shorter pillars. There was a large +oak pulpit on one side against the wall, and down below, immediately +under the minister, was the “singing pew,” where the singers and +musicians sat, the musicians being performers on the clarionet, flute, +violin, and violoncello. Right in front was a long enclosure, called the +communion pew, which was usually occupied by a number of the poorer +members of the congregation. + +There were three services every Sunday, besides intermitting +prayer-meetings, but these I did not as yet attend. Each service +consisted of a hymn, reading the Bible, another hymn, a prayer, the +sermon, a third hymn, and a short final prayer. The reading of the Bible +was unaccompanied with any observations or explanations, and I do not +remember that I ever once heard a mistranslation corrected. + +The first, or long prayer, as it was called, was a horrible hypocrisy, +and it was a sore tax on the preacher to get through it. Anything more +totally unlike the model recommended to us in the New Testament cannot +well be imagined. It generally began with a confession that we were all +sinners, but no individual sins were ever confessed, and then ensued a +kind of dialogue with God, very much resembling the speeches which in +later years I have heard in the House of Commons from the movers and +seconders of addresses to the Crown at the opening of Parliament. + +In all the religion of that day nothing was falser than the long prayer. +Direct appeal to God can only be justified when it is passionate. To +come maundering into His presence when we have nothing particular to say +is an insult, upon which we should never presume if we had a petition to +offer to any earthly personage. We should not venture to take up His +time with commonplaces or platitudes; but our minister seemed to consider +that the Almighty, who had the universe to govern, had more leisure at +His command that the idlest lounger at a club. Nobody ever listened to +this performance. I was a good child on the whole, but I am sure I did +not; and if the chapel were now in existence, there might be traced on +the flap of the pew in which we sat many curious designs due to these +dreary performances. + +The sermon was not much better. It generally consisted of a text, which +was a mere peg for a discourse, that was pretty much the same from +January to December. The minister invariably began with the fall of man; +propounded the scheme of redemption, and ended by depicting in the +morning the blessedness of the saints, and in the evening the doom of the +lost. There was a tradition that in the morning there should be +“experience”—that is to say, comfort for the elect, and that the evening +should be appropriated to their less fortunate brethren. + +The evening service was the most trying to me of all these. I never +could keep awake, and knew that to sleep under the Gospel was a sin. The +chapel was lighted in winter by immense chandeliers with tiers of candles +all round. These required perpetual snuffing, and I can see the old man +going round the chandeliers in the middle of the service with a mighty +pair of snuffers which opened and shut with a loud click. How I envied +him because he had semi-secular occupation which prevented that terrible +drowsiness! How I envied the pew-opener, who was allowed to stand at the +vestry door, and could slip into the vestry every now and then, or even +into the burial-ground if he heard irreverent boys playing there! The +atmosphere of the chapel on hot nights was most foul, and this added to +my discomfort. Oftentimes in winter, when no doors or windows were open, +I have seen the glass panes streaming with wet inside, and women carried +out fainting. + +On rare occasions I was allowed to go with my father when he went into +the villages to preach. As a deacon he was also a lay-preacher, and I +had the ride in the gig out and home, and tea at a farm-house. + +Perhaps I shall not have a better opportunity to say that, with all these +drawbacks, my religious education did confer upon me some positive +advantages. The first was a rigid regard for truthfulness. My parents +never would endure a lie or the least equivocation. The second was +purity of life, and I look upon this as a simply incalculable gain. +Impurity was not an excusable weakness in the society in which I lived; +it was a sin for which dreadful punishment was reserved. The reason for +my virtue may have been a wrong reason, but, anyhow, I was saved, and +being saved, much more was saved than health and peace of mind. + +To this day I do not know where to find a weapon strong enough to subdue +the tendency to impurity in young men; and although I cannot tell them +what I do not believe, I hanker sometimes after the old prohibitions and +penalties. Physiological penalties are too remote, and the subtler +penalties—the degradation, the growth of callousness to finer pleasures, +the loss of sensitiveness to all that is most nobly attractive in +woman—are too feeble to withstand temptation when it lies in ambush like +a garrotter, and has the reason stunned in a moment. + +The only thing that can be done is to make the conscience of a boy +generally tender, so that he shrinks instinctively from the monstrous +injustice of contributing for the sake of his own pleasure to the ruin of +another. As soon as manhood dawns, he must also have his attention +absorbed on some object which will divert his thoughts intellectually or +ideally; and by slight yet constant pressure, exercised not by fits and +starts, but day after day, directly and indirectly, his father must form +an antipathy in him to brutish, selfish sensuality. Above all, there +must be no toying with passion, and no books permitted, without +condemnation and warning, which are not of a heroic turn. When the boy +becomes a man he may read Byron without danger. To a youth he is fatal. + +Before leaving this subject I may observe, that parents greatly err by +not telling their children a good many things which they ought to know. +Had I been taught when I was young a few facts about myself, which I only +learned accidentally long afterwards, a good deal of misery might have +been spared me. + +Nothing particular happened to me till I was about fourteen, when I was +told it was time I became converted. Conversion, amongst the +Independents and other Puritan sects, is supposed to be a kind of miracle +wrought in the heart by the influence of the Holy Spirit, by which the +man becomes something altogether different to what he was previously. It +affects, or should affect, his character; that is to say, he ought after +conversion to be better in every way than he was before; but this is not +considered as its main consequence. In its essence it is a change in the +emotions and increased vividness of belief. It is now altogether untrue. +Yet it is an undoubted fact that in earlier days, and, indeed, in rare +cases, as late as the time of my childhood, it was occasionally a +reality. + +It is possible to imagine that under the preaching of Paul sudden +conviction of a life misspent may have been produced with sudden personal +attachment to the Galilean who, until then, had been despised. There may +have been prompt release of unsuspected powers, and as prompt an +imprisonment for ever of meaner weaknesses and tendencies; the result +being literally a putting off of the old, and a putting on of the new +man. Love has always been potent to produce such a transformation, and +the exact counterpart of conversion, as it was understood by the +apostles, may be seen whenever a man is redeemed from vice by attachment +to some woman whom he worships, or when a girl is reclaimed from idleness +and vanity by becoming a mother. + +But conversion, as it was understood by me and as it is now understood, +is altogether unmeaning. I knew that I had to be “a child of God,” and +after a time professed myself to be one, but I cannot call to mind that I +was anything else than I always had been, save that I was perhaps a +little more hypocritical; not in the sense that I professed to others +what I knew I did not believe, but in the sense that I professed it to +myself. I was obliged to declare myself convinced of sin; convinced of +the efficacy of the atonement; convinced that I was forgiven; convinced +that the Holy Ghost was shed abroad in my heart; and convinced of a great +many other things which were the merest phrases. + +However, the end of it was, that I was proposed for acceptance, and two +deacons were deputed, in accordance with the usual custom, to wait upon +me and ascertain my fitness for membership. What they said and what I +said has now altogether vanished; but I remember with perfect +distinctness the day on which I was admitted. It was the custom to +demand of each candidate a statement of his or her experience. I had no +experience to give; and I was excused on the grounds that I had been the +child of pious parents, and consequently had not undergone that +convulsion which those, not favoured like myself, necessarily underwent +when they were called. + +I was now expected to attend all those extra services which were +specially for the church. I stayed to the late prayer-meeting on Sunday; +I went to the prayer-meeting on week-days, and also to private +prayer-meetings. These services were not interesting to me for their own +sake. I thought they were, but what I really liked was clanship and the +satisfaction of belonging to a society marked off from the great world. + +It must also be added that the evening meetings afforded us many +opportunities for walking home with certain young women, who, I am sorry +to say, were a more powerful attraction, not to me only, but to others, +than the prospect of hearing brother Holderness, the travelling draper, +confess crimes which, to say the truth, although they were many according +to his own account, were never given in that detail which would have made +his confession of some value. He never prayed without telling all of us +that there was no health in him, and that his soul was a mass of +putrefying sores; but everybody thought the better of him for his +self-humiliation. One actual indiscretion, however, brought home to him +would have been visited by suspension or expulsion. + + + + +CHAPTER II +PREPARATION + + +IT was necessary that an occupation should be found for me, and after +much deliberation it was settled that I should “go into the ministry.” I +had joined the church, I had “engaged in prayer” publicly, and although I +had not set up for being extraordinarily pious, I was thought to be as +good as most of the young men who professed to have a mission to +regenerate mankind. + +Accordingly, after some months of preparation, I was taken to a +Dissenting College not very far from where we lived. It was a large +old-fashioned house with a newer building annexed, and was surrounded +with a garden and with meadows. Each student had a separate room, and +all had their meals together in a common hall. Altogether there were +about forty of us. The establishment consisted of a President, an +elderly gentleman who had an American degree of doctor of divinity, and +who taught the various branches of theology. He was assisted by three +professors, who imparted to us as much Greek, Latin, and mathematics as +it was considered that we ought to know. Behold me, then, beginning a +course of training which was to prepare me to meet the doubts of the +nineteenth century; to be the guide of men; to advise them in their +perplexities; to suppress their tempestuous lusts; to lift them above +their petty cares, and to lead them heavenward! + +About the Greek and Latin and the secular part of the college discipline +I will say nothing, except that it was generally inefficient. The +theological and Biblical teaching was a sham. We had come to the college +in the first place to learn the Bible. Our whole existence was in future +to be based upon that book; our lives were to be passed in preaching it. +I will venture to say that there was no book less understood either by +students or professors. The President had a course of lectures, +delivered year after year to successive generations of his pupils, upon +its authenticity and inspiration. They were altogether remote from the +subject; and afterwards, when I came to know what the difficulties of +belief really were, I found that these essays, which were supposed to be +a triumphant confutation of the sceptic, were a mere sword of lath. They +never touched the question, and if any doubts suggested themselves to the +audience, nobody dared to give them tongue, lest the expression of them +should beget a suspicion of heresy. + +I remember also some lectures on the proof of the existence of God and on +the argument from design; all of which, when my mind was once awakened, +were as irrelevant as the chattering of sparrows. When I did not even +know who or what this God was, and could not bring my lips to use the +word with any mental honesty, of what service was the “watch argument” to +me? Very lightly did the President pass over all these initial +difficulties of his religion. I see him now, a gentleman with lightish +hair, with a most mellifluous voice and a most pastoral manner, reading +his prim little tracts to us directed against the “shallow infidel” who +seemed to deny conclusions so obvious that we were certain he could not +be sincere, and those of us who had never seen an infidel might well be +pardoned for supposing that he must always be wickedly blind. + +About a dozen of these tracts settled the infidel and the whole mass of +unbelief from the time of Celsus downwards. The President’s task was all +the easier because he knew nothing of German literature; and, indeed, the +word “German” was a term of reproach signifying something very awful, +although nobody knew exactly what it was. + +Systematic theology was the next science to which the President directed +us. We used a sort of Calvinistic manual which began by setting forth +that mankind was absolutely in God’s power. He was our maker, and we had +no legal claim whatever to any consideration from Him. The author then +mechanically built up the Calvinistic creed, step by step, like a house +of cards. Systematic theology was the great business of our academical +life. We had to read sermons to the President in class, and no sermon +was considered complete and proper unless it unfolded what was called the +scheme of redemption from beginning to end. + +So it came to pass that about the Bible, as I have already said, we were +in darkness. It was a magazine of texts, and those portions of it which +contributed nothing in the shape of texts, or formed no part of the +scheme, were neglected. Worse still, not a word was ever spoken to us +telling us in what manner to strengthen the reason, to subdue the senses, +or in what way to deal with all the varied diseases of that soul of man +which we were to set ourselves to save. All its failings, infinitely +more complicated than those of the body, were grouped as “sin,” and for +these there was one quack remedy. If the patient did not like the +remedy, or got no good from it, the fault was his. + +It is remarkable that the scheme was never of the slightest service to me +in repressing one solitary evil inclination; at no point did it come into +contact with me. At the time it seemed right and proper that I should +learn it, and I had no doubt of its efficacy; but when the stress of +temptation was upon me, it never occurred to me, nor when I became a +minister did I find it sufficiently powerful to mend the most trifling +fault. In after years, but not till I had strayed far away from the +President and his creed, the Bible was really opened to me, and became to +me, what it now is, the most precious of books. + +There were several small chapels scattered in the villages near the +college, and these chapels were “supplied,” as the phrase is, by the +students. Those who were near the end of their course were also employed +as substitutes for regular ministers when they were temporarily absent. +Sometimes a senior was even sent up to London to take the place, on a +sudden emergency, of a great London minister, and when he came back he +was an object almost of adoration. The congregation, on the other hand, +consisting in some part of country people spending a Sunday in town and +anxious to hear a celebrated preacher, were not at all disposed to adore, +when, instead of the great man, they saw “only a student.” + +By the time I was nineteen I took my turn in “supplying” the villages, +and set forth with the utmost confidence what appeared to me to be the +indubitable gospel. No shadow of a suspicion of its truth ever crossed +my mind, and yet I had not spent an hour in comprehending, much less in +answering, one objection to it. The objections, in fact, had never met +me; they were over my horizon altogether. It is wonderful to think how I +could take so much for granted; and not merely take it to myself and for +myself, but proclaim it as a message to other people. It would be a +mistake, however, to suppose that theological youths are the only class +who are guilty of such presumption. Our gregarious instinct is so strong +that it is the most difficult thing for us to be satisfied with suspended +judgment. Men must join a party, and have a cry, and they generally take +up their party and their cry from the most indifferent motives. + +For my own part I cannot be enthusiastic about politics, except on rare +occasions when the issue is a very narrow one. There is so much that +requires profound examination, and it disgusts me to get upon a platform +and dispute with ardent Radicals or Conservatives who know nothing about +even the rudiments of history, political economy, or political +philosophy, without which it is as absurd to have an opinion upon what +are called politics as it would be to have an opinion upon an +astronomical problem without having learned Euclid. + +The more incapable we are of thorough investigations, the wider and +deeper are the subjects upon which we busy ourselves, and still more +strange, the more bigoted do we become in our conclusions about them; and +yet it is not strange, for he who by painful processes has found yes and +no alternate for so long that he is not sure which is final, is the last +man in the world, if he for the present is resting in yes, to crucify +another who can get no further than no. The bigot is he to whom no such +painful processes have ever been permitted. + +The society amongst the students was very poor. Not a single friendship +formed then has remained with me. They were mostly young men of no +education, who had been taken from the counter, and their spiritual life +was not very deep. In many of them it did not even exist, and their +whole attention was absorbed upon their chances of getting wealthy +congregations or of making desirable matches. It was a time in which the +world outside was seething with the ferment which had been cast into it +by Germany and by those in England whom Germany had influenced, but not a +fragment of it had dropped within our walls. I cannot call to mind a +single conversation upon any but the most trivial topics, nor did our +talk ever turn even upon our religion, so far as it was a thing affecting +the soul, but upon it as something subsidiary to chapels, “causes,” +deacons, and the like. + +The emptiness of some of my colleagues, and their worldliness, too, were +almost incredible. There was one who was particularly silly. He was a +blond youth with greyish eyes, a mouth not quite shut, and an eternal +simper upon his face. He never had an idea in his head, and never read +anything except the denominational newspapers and a few well-known aids +to sermonising. He was a great man at all tea-meetings, anniversaries, +and parties. He was facile in public speaking, and he dwelt much upon +the joys of heaven and upon such topics as the possibility of our +recognising one another there. I have known him describe for twenty +minutes, in a kind of watery rhetoric, the passage of the soul to bliss +through death, and its meeting in the next world with those who had gone +before. + +With all his weakness he was close and mean in money matters, and when he +left college, the first thing he did was to marry a widow with a fortune. +Before long he became one of the most popular of ministers in a town much +visited by sick persons, with whom he was an especial favourite. I +disliked him—and specially disliked his unpleasant behaviour to women. +If I had been a woman, I should have spurned him for his perpetual insult +of inane compliments. He was always dawdling after “the sex,” which was +one of his sweet phrases, and yet he was not passionate. Passion does +not dawdle and compliment, nor is it nasty, as this fellow was. Passion +may burn like a devouring flame; and in a few moments, like flame, may +bring down a temple to dust and ashes, but it is earnest as flame, and +essentially pure. + +During the first two years at college my life was entirely external. My +heart was altogether untouched by anything I heard, read, or did, +although I myself supposed that I took an interest in them. But one day +in my third year, a day I remember as well as Paul must have remembered +afterwards the day on which he went to Damascus, I happened to find +amongst a parcel of books a volume of poems in paper boards. It was +called _Lyrical Ballads_, and I read first one and then the whole book. +It conveyed to me no new doctrine, and yet the change it wrought in me +could only be compared with that which is said to have been wrought on +Paul himself by the Divine apparition. + +Looking over the _Lyrical Ballads_ again, as I have looked over it a +dozen times since then, I can hardly see what it was which stirred me so +powerfully, nor do I believe that it communicated much to me which could +be put in words. But it excited a movement and a growth which went on +till, by degrees, all the systems which enveloped me like a body +gradually decayed from me and fell away into nothing. Of more +importance, too, than the decay of systems was the birth of a habit of +inner reference and a dislike to occupy myself with anything which did +not in some way or other touch the soul, or was not the illustration or +embodiment of some spiritual law. + +There is, of course, a definite explanation to be given of one effect +produced by the _Lyrical Ballads_. God is nowhere formally deposed, and +Wordsworth would have been the last man to say that he had lost his faith +in the God of his fathers. But his real God is not the God of the +Church, but the God of the hills, the abstraction Nature, and to this my +reverence was transferred. Instead of an object of worship which was +altogether artificial, remote, never coming into genuine contact with me, +I had now one which I thought to be real, one in which literally I could +live and move and have my being, an actual fact present before my eyes. +God was brought from that heaven of the books, and dwelt on the downs in +the far-away distances, and in every cloud-shadow which wandered across +the valley. Wordsworth unconsciously did for me what every religious +reformer has done—he re-created my Supreme Divinity; substituting a new +and living spirit for the old deity, once alive, but gradually hardened +into an idol. + +What days were those of the next few years before increasing age had +presented preciser problems and demanded preciser answers; before all joy +was darkened by the shadow of on-coming death, and when life seemed +infinite! Those were the days when through the whole long summer’s +morning I wanted no companion but myself, provided only I was in the +country, and when books were read with tears in the eyes. Those were the +days when mere life, apart from anything which it brings, was exquisite. + +In my own college I found no sympathy, but we were in the habit of +meeting occasionally the students from other colleges, and amongst them I +met with one or two, especially one who had undergone experiences similar +to my own. The friendships formed with these young men have lasted till +now, and have been the most permanent of all the relationships of my +existence. I wish not to judge others, but the persons who to me have +proved themselves most attractive, have been those who have passed +through such a process as that through which I myself passed; those who +have had in some form or other an enthusiastic stage in their history, +when the story of Genesis and of the Gospels has been rewritten, when God +has visibly walked in the garden, and the Son of God has drawn men away +from their daily occupations into the divinest of dreams. + +I have known men—most interesting men with far greater powers than any +which I have possessed, men who have never been trammelled by a false +creed, who have devoted themselves to science and acquired a great +reputation, who have somehow never laid hold upon me like the man I have +just mentioned. He failed altogether as a minister, and went back to his +shop, but the old glow of his youth burns, and will burn, for ever. When +I am with him our conversation naturally turns on matters which are of +profoundest importance: with others it may be instructive, but I leave +them unmoved, and I trace the difference distinctly to that visitation, +for it was nothing else, which came to him in his youth. + +The effect which was produced upon my preaching and daily conversation by +this change was immediate. It became gradually impossible for me to talk +about subjects which had not some genuine connection with me, or to +desire to hear others talk about them. The artificial, the merely +miraculous, the event which had no inner meaning, no matter how large +externally it might be, I did not care for. A little Greek mythological +story was of more importance to me than a war which filled the +newspapers. What, then, could I do with my theological treatises? + +It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that I immediately became +formally heretical. Nearly every doctrine in the college creed had once +had a natural origin in the necessities of human nature, and might +therefore be so interpreted as to become a necessity again. To reach +through to that original necessity; to explain the atonement as I +believed it appeared to Paul, and the sinfulness of man as it appeared to +the prophets, was my object. But it was precisely this reaching after a +meaning which constituted heresy. The distinctive essence of our +orthodoxy was not this or that dogma, but the acceptance of dogmas as +communications from without, and not as born from within. + +Heresy began, and in fact was altogether present, when I said to myself +that a mere statement of the atonement as taught in class was impossible +for me, and that I must go back to Paul and his century, place myself in +his position, and connect the atonement through him with something which +I felt. I thus continued to use all the terms which I had hitherto used; +but an uneasy feeling began to develop itself about me in the minds of +the professors, because I did not rest in the “simplicity” of the gospel. +To me this meant its unintelligibility. + +I remember, for example, discoursing about the death of Christ. There +was not a single word which was ordinarily used in the pulpit which I did +not use—satisfaction for sin, penalty, redeeming blood, they were all +there—but I began by saying that in this world there was no redemption +for man but by blood; furthermore, the innocent had everywhere and in all +time to suffer for the guilty. It had been objected that it was contrary +to our notion of an all-loving Being that He should demand such a +sacrifice; but, contrary or not, in this world it was true, quite apart +from Jesus, that virtue was martyred every day, unknown and unconsoled, +in order that the wicked might somehow be saved. This was part of the +scheme of the world, and we might dislike it or not, we could not get rid +of it. The consequences of my sin, moreover, are rendered less terrible +by virtues not my own. I am literally saved from penalties because +another pays the penalty for me. The atonement, and what it accomplished +for man, were therefore a sublime summing up as it were of what sublime +men have to do for their race; an exemplification, rather than a +contradiction, of Nature herself, as we know her in our own experience. + +Now, all this was really intended as a defence of the atonement; but the +President heard me that Sunday, and on the Monday he called me into his +room. He said that my sermon was marked by considerable ability, but he +should have been better satisfied if I had confined myself to setting +forth as plainly as I could the “way of salvation” as revealed in Christ +Jesus. What I had urged might perhaps have possessed some interest for +cultivated people; in fact, he had himself urged pretty much the same +thing many years ago, when he was a young man, in a sermon he had +preached at the Union meeting; but I must recollect that in all +probability my sphere of usefulness would lie amongst humble hearers, +perhaps in an agricultural village or a small town, and that he did not +think people of this sort would understand me if I talked over their +heads as I had done the day before. What they wanted on a Sunday, after +all the cares of the week, was not anything to perplex and disturb them; +not anything which demanded any exercise of thought; but a repetition of +the “old story of which, Mr. Rutherford, you know, we never ought to get +weary; an exhibition of our exceeding sinfulness; of our safety in the +Rock of Ages, and there only; of the joys of the saints and the +sufferings of those who do not believe.” + +His words fell on me like the hand of a corpse, and I went away much +depressed. My sermon had excited me, and the man who of all men ought to +have welcomed me, had not a word of warmth or encouragement for me, +nothing but the coldest indifference, and even repulse. + +It occurs to me here to offer an explanation of a failing of which I have +been accused in later years, and that is secrecy and reserve. The real +truth is, that nobody more than myself could desire self-revelation; but +owing to peculiar tendencies in me, and peculiarity of education, I was +always prone to say things in conversation which I found produced blank +silence in the majority of those who listened to me, and immediate +opportunity was taken by my hearers to turn to something trivial. Hence +it came to pass that only when tempted by unmistakable sympathy could I +be induced to express my real self on any topic of importance. + +It is a curious instance of the difficulty of diagnosing (to use a +doctor’s word) any spiritual disease, if disease this shyness may be +called. People would ordinarily set it down to self-reliance, with no +healthy need of intercourse. It was nothing of the kind. It was an +excess of communicativeness, an eagerness to show what was most at my +heart, and to ascertain what was at the heart of those to whom I talked, +which made me incapable of mere fencing and trifling, and so often caused +me to retreat into myself when I found absolute absense of response. + +I am also reminded here of a dream which I had in these years of a +perfect friendship. I always felt that, talk with whom I would, I left +something unsaid which was precisely what I most wished to say. I wanted +a friend who would sacrifice himself to me utterly, and to whom I might +offer a similar sacrifice. I found companions for whom I cared, and who +professed to care for me; but I was thirsting for deeper draughts of love +than any which they had to offer; and I said to myself that if I were to +die, not one of them would remember me for more than a week. This was +not selfishness, for I longed to prove my devotion as well as to receive +that of another. How this ideal haunted me! It made me restless and +anxious at the sight of every new face, wondering whether at last I had +found that for which I searched as if for the kingdom of heaven. + +It is superfluous to say that a friend of the kind I wanted never +appeared, and disappointment after disappointment at last produced in me +a cynicism which repelled people from me, and brought upon me a good deal +of suffering. I tried men by my standard, and if they did not come up to +it I rejected them; thus I prodigally wasted a good deal of the affection +which the world would have given me. Only when I got much older did I +discern the duty of accepting life as God has made it, and thankfully +receiving any scrap of love offered to me, however imperfect it might be. + +I don’t know any mistake which I have made which has cost me more than +this; but at the same time I must record that it was a mistake for which, +considering everything, I cannot much blame myself. I hope it is amended +now. Now when it is getting late I recognise a higher obligation, +brought home to me by a closer study of the New Testament. Sympathy or +no sympathy, a man’s love should no more fail towards his fellows than +that love which spent itself on disciples who altogether misunderstood +it, like the rain which falls on just and unjust alike. + + + + +CHAPTER III +WATER LANE + + +I HAD now reached the end of my fourth year at college, and it was time +for me to leave. I was sent down into the eastern counties to a +congregation which had lost its minister, and was there “on probation” +for a month. I was naturally a good speaker, and as the “cause” had got +very low, the attendance at the chapel increased during the month I was +there. The deacons thought they had a prospect of returning prosperity, +and in the end I received a nearly unanimous invitation, which, after +some hesitation, I accepted. One of the deacons, a Mr. Snale, was +against me; he thought I was not “quite sound”; but he was overruled. We +shall hear more of him presently. After a short holiday I entered on my +new duties. + +The town was one of those which are not uncommon in that part of the +world. It had a population of about seven or eight thousand, and was a +sort of condensation of the agricultural country round. There was one +main street, consisting principally of very decent, respectable shops. +Generally speaking, there were two shops of each trade; one which was +patronised by the Church and Tories, and another by the Dissenters and +Whigs. The inhabitants were divided into two distinct camps—of the +Church and Tory camp the other camp knew nothing. On the other hand, the +knowledge which each member of the Dissenting camp had of every other +member was most intimate. + +The Dissenters were further split up into two or three different sects, +but the main sect was that of the Independents. They, in fact, dominated +every other. There was a small Baptist community, and the Wesleyans had +a new red-brick chapel in the outskirts; but for some reason or other the +Independents were really the Dissenters, and until the “cause” had +dwindled, as before observed, all the Dissenters of any note were to be +found on Sunday in their meeting-house in Water Lane. + +My predecessor had died in harness at the age of seventy-five. I never +knew him, but from all I could hear he must have been a man of some +power. As he got older, however, he became feeble; and after a course of +three sermons on a Sunday for fifty years, what he had to say was so +entirely anticipated by his congregation, that although they all +maintained that the gospel, or, in other words, the doctrine of the fall, +the atonement, and so forth, should continually be presented, and their +minister also believed and acted implicitly upon the same theory, they +fell away—some to the Baptists, some to the neighbouring Independents +about two miles off, and some to the Church, while a few “went nowhere.” + +When I came I found that the deacons still remained true. They were the +skeleton; but the flesh was so woefully emaciated, that on my first +Sunday there were not above fifty persons in a building which would hold +seven hundred. These deacons were four in number. One was an old farmer +who lived in a village three miles distant. Ever since he was a boy he +had driven over to Water Lane on Sunday. He and his family brought their +dinner with them, and ate it in the vestry; but they never stopped till +the evening, because of the difficulty of getting home on dark nights, +and because they all went to bed in winter-time at eight o’clock. + +Morning and afternoon Mr. Catfield—for that was his name—gave out the +hymns. He was a plain, honest man, very kind, very ignorant, never +reading any book except the Bible, and barely a newspaper save _Bell’s +Weekly Messenger_. Even about the Bible he knew little or nothing beyond +a few favourite chapters; and I am bound to say that, so far as my +experience goes, the character so frequently drawn in romances of intense +Bible students in Dissenting congregations is very rare. At the same +time Mr. Catfield believed himself to be very orthodox, and in his way +was very pious. I could never call him a hypocrite. He was as sincere +as he could be, and yet no religious expression of his was ever so +sincere as the most ordinary expression of the most trifling pleasure or +pain. + +The second deacon, Mr. Weeley, was, as he described himself, a builder +and undertaker; more properly an undertaker and carpenter. He was a +thin, tall man, with a tenor voice, and he set the tunes. He was +entirely without energy of any kind, and always seemed oppressed by a +world which was too much for him. He had depended a good deal for custom +upon his chapel connection; and when the attendance at the chapel fell +off, his trade fell off likewise, so that he had to compound with his +creditors. He was a mere shadow, a man of whom nothing could be said +either good or evil. + +The third deacon was Mr. Snale, the draper. When I first knew him he was +about thirty-five. He was slim, small, and small-faced, closely shaven, +excepting a pair of little curly whiskers, and he was extremely neat. He +had a little voice too, rather squeaky, and the marked peculiarity that +he hardly ever said anything, no matter how disagreeable it might be, +without stretching as if in a smile his thin little lips. He kept the +principal draper’s shop in the town, and even Church people spent their +money with him, because he was so very genteel compared with the other +draper, who was a great red man, and hung things outside his window. Mr. +Snale was married, had children, and was strictly proper. But his way of +talking to women and about them was more odious than the way of a +debauchee. He invariably called them “the ladies,” or more exactly, “the +leedies”; and he hardly ever spoke to a “leedy” without a smirk and some +faint attempt at a joke. + +One of the customs of the chapel was what were called Dorcas meetings. +Once a month the wives and daughters drank tea with each other; the +evening being ostensibly devoted to making clothes for the poor. The +husband of the lady who gave the entertainment for the month had to wait +upon the company, and the minister was expected to read to them while +they worked. + +It was my lot to be Mr. Snale’s guest two or three times when Mrs. Snale +was the Dorcas hostess. We met in the drawing-room, which was over the +shop, and looked out into the town market-place. There was a round table +in the middle of the room, at which Mrs. Snale sat and made the tea. +Abundance of hot buttered toast and muffins were provided, which Mr. +Snale and a maid handed round to the party. + +Four pictures decorated the walls. One hung over the mantelpiece. It +was a portrait in oils of Mr. Snale, and opposite to it, on the other +side, was a portrait of Mrs. Snale. Both were daubs, but curiously +faithful in depicting what was most offensive in the character of both +the originals, Mr. Snale’s simper being preserved; together with the +peculiarly hard, heavy sensuality of the eye in Mrs. Snale, who was large +and full-faced, correct like Mr. Snale, a member of the church, a woman +whom I never saw moved to any generosity, and cruel not with the ferocity +of the tiger, but with the dull insensibility of a cartwheel, which will +roll over a man’s neck as easily as over a flint. The third picture +represented the descent of the Holy Ghost; a number of persons sitting in +a chamber, and each one with the flame of a candle on his head. The +fourth represented the last day. The Son of God was in a chair +surrounded by clouds, and beside Him was a flying figure blowing a long +mail-coach horn. The dead were coming up out of their graves; some were +half out of the earth, others three-parts out—the whole of the bottom +part of the picture being filled with bodies emerging from the ground, a +few looking happy, but most of them very wretched; all of them being +naked. + +The first time I went to Mrs. Snale’s Dorcas gathering Mr. Snale was +reader, on the ground that I was a novice; and I was very glad to resign +the task to him. As the business in hand was week-day and secular, it +was not considered necessary that the selected subjects should be +religious; but as it was distinctly connected with the chapel, it was +also considered that they should have a religious flavour. Consequently +the Bible was excluded, and so were books on topics altogether worldly. +Dorcas meetings were generally, therefore, shut up to the denominational +journal and to magazines. Towards the end of the evening Mr. Snale read +the births, deaths, and marriages in this journal. It would not have +been thought right to read them from any other newspaper, but it was +agreed, with a fineness of tact which was very remarkable, that it was +quite right to read them in one which was “serious.” During the whole +time that the reading was going on conversation was not arrested, but was +conducted in a kind of half whisper; and this was another reason why I +exceedingly disliked to read, for I could never endure to speak if people +did not listen. + +At half-past eight the work was put away, and Mrs. Snale went to the +piano and played a hymn tune, the minister having first of all selected +the hymn. Singing over, he offered a short prayer, and the company +separated. Supper was not served, as it was found to be too great an +expense. The husbands of the ladies generally came to escort them home, +but did not come upstairs. Some of the gentlemen waited below in the +dining-room, but most of them preferred the shop, for, although it was +shut, the gas was burning to enable the assistants to put away the goods +which had been got out during the day. + +When it first became my turn to read I proposed the _Vicar of Wakefield_; +but although no objection was raised at the time, Mr. Snale took an +opportunity of telling me, after I had got through a chapter or two, that +he thought it would be better if it were discontinued. “Because, you +know, Mr. Rutherford,” he said, with his smirk, “the company is mixed; +there are young leedies present, and perhaps, Mr. Rutherford, a book with +a more requisite tone might be more suitable on such an occasion.” What +he meant I did not know, and how to find a book with a more requisite +tone I did not know. + +However, the next time, in my folly, I tried a selection from George +Fox’s Journal. Mr. Snale objected to this too. It was “hardly of a +character adapted for social intercourse,” he thought; and furthermore, +“although Mr. Fox might be a very good man, and was a converted +character, yet he did not, you know, Mr. Rutherford, belong to us.” So I +was reduced to that class of literature which of all others I most +abominated, and which always seemed to me the most profane—religious and +sectarian gossip, religious novels designed to make religion attractive, +and other slip-slop of this kind. I could not endure it, and was +frequently unwell on Dorcas evenings. + +The rest of the small congregation was of no particular note. As I have +said before, it had greatly fallen away, and all who remained clung to +the chapel rather by force of habit than from any other reason. The only +exception was an old maiden lady and her sister, who lived in a little +cottage about a mile out of the town. They were pious in the purest +sense of the word, suffering much from ill-health, but perfectly +resigned, and with a kind of tempered cheerfulness always apparent on +their faces, like the cheerfulness of a white sky with a sun veiled by +light and lofty clouds. They were the daughters of a carriage-builder, +who had left them a small annuity. + +Their house was one of the sweetest which I ever entered. The moment I +found myself inside it, I became conscious of perfect repose. Everything +was at rest; books, pictures, furniture, all breathed the same peace. +Nothing in the house was new, but everything had been preserved with such +care that nothing looked old. Yet the owners were not what is called +old-maidish; that is to say, they were not superstitious worshippers of +order and neatness. + +I remember Mrs. Snale’s children coming in one afternoon when I was +there. They were rough and ill-mannered, and left traces of dirty +footmarks all over the carpet, which the two ladies noticed at once. But +it made no difference to the treatment of the children, who had some cake +and currant wine given to them, and were sent away rejoicing. Directly +they had gone, the elder of my friends asked me if I would excuse her; +she would gather up the dirt before it was trodden about. So she brought +a dust-pan and brush (the little servant was out) and patiently swept the +floor. That was the way with them. Did any mischief befall them or +those whom they knew, without blaming anybody, they immediately and +noiselessly set about repairing it with that silent promptitude of nature +which rebels not against a wound, but the very next instant begins her +work of protection and recovery. + +The Misses Arbour (for that was their name) mixed but little in the +society of the town. They explained to me that their health would not +permit it. They read books—a few—but they were not books about which I +knew very much, and they belonged altogether to an age preceding mine. +Of the names which had moved me, and of all the thoughts stirring in the +time, they had heard nothing. They greatly admired Cowper, a poet who +then did not much attract me. + +The country near me was rather level, but towards the west it rose into +soft swelling hills, between which were pleasant lanes. At about ten +miles distant eastward was the sea. A small river ran across the High +Street under a stone bridge; for about two miles below us it was locked +up for the sake of the mills, but at the end of the two miles it became +tidal and flowed between deep and muddy banks through marshes to the +ocean. Almost all my walks were by the river-bank down to these marshes, +and as far on as possible till the open water was visible. Not that I +did not like inland scenery: nobody could like it more, but the sea was a +corrective to the littleness all round me. With the ships on it sailing +to the other end of the earth it seemed to connect me with the great +world outside the parochialism of the society in which I lived. + +Such was the town of C-, and such the company amidst which I found +myself. After my probation it was arranged that I should begin my new +duties at once, and accordingly I took lodgings—two rooms over the shop +of a tailor who acted as chapel-keeper, pew-opener, and sexton. There +was a small endowment on the chapel of fifty pounds a year, and the rest +of my income was derived from the pew-rents, which at the time I took +charge did not exceed another seventy. + +The first Sunday on which I preached after being accepted was a dull day +in November, but there was no dullness in me. The congregation had +increased a good deal during the past four weeks, and I was stimulated by +the prospect of the new life before me. It seemed to be a fit +opportunity to say something generally about Christianity and its special +peculiarities. I began by pointing out that each philosophy and religion +which had arisen in the world was the answer to a question earnestly +asked at the time; it was a remedy proposed to meet some extreme +pressure. Religions and philosophies were not created by idle people who +sat down and said, “Let us build up a system of beliefs upon the +universe; what shall we say about immortality, about sin?” and so on. +Unless there had been antecedent necessity there could have been no +religion; and no problem of life or death could be solved except under +the weight of that necessity. The stoical morality arose out of the +condition of Rome when the scholar and the pious man could do nothing but +simply strengthen his knees and back to bear an inevitable burden. He +was forced to find some counterpoise for the misery of poverty and +persecution, and he found it in the denial of their power to touch him. +So with Christianity. + +Jesus was a poor solitary thinker, confronted by two enormous and +overpowering organisations—the Jewish hierarchy and the Roman State. He +taught the doctrine of the kingdom of heaven; He trained Himself to have +faith in the absolute monarchy of the soul, the absolute monarchy of His +own; He tells us that each man should learn to find peace in his own +thoughts, his own visions. It is a most difficult thing to do; most +difficult to believe that my highest happiness consists in my perception +of whatever is beautiful. If I by myself watch the sun rise, or the +stars come out in the evening, or feel the love of man or woman,—I ought +to say to myself, “There is nothing beyond this.” But people will not +rest there; they are not content, and they are for ever chasing a shadow +which flies before them, a something external which never brings what it +promises. + +I said that Christianity was essentially the religion of the unknown and +of the lonely; of those who are not a success. It was the religion of +the man who goes through life thinking much, but who makes few friends +and sees nothing come of his thoughts. I said a good deal more upon the +same theme which I have forgotten. + +After the service was over I went down into the vestry. Nobody came near +me but my landlord, the chapel-keeper, who said it was raining, and +immediately went away to put out the lights and shut up the building. I +had no umbrella, and there was nothing to be done but to walk out in the +wet. When I got home I found that my supper, consisting of bread and +cheese with a pint of beer, was on the table, but apparently it had been +thought unnecessary to light the fire again at that time of night. I was +overwrought, and paced about for hours in hysterics. All that I had been +preaching seemed the merest vanity when I was brought face to face with +the fact itself; and I reproached myself bitterly that my own creed would +not stand the stress of an hour’s actual trial. + +Towards morning I got into bed, but not to sleep; and when the dull +daylight of Monday came, all support had vanished, and I seemed to be +sinking into a bottomless abyss. I became gradually worse week by week, +and my melancholy took a fixed form. I got a notion into my head that my +brain was failing, and this was my first acquaintance with that most +awful malady hypochondria. I did not know then what I know now, although +I only half believe it practically, that this fixity of form is a +frequent symptom of the disease, and that the general weakness manifests +itself in a determinate horror, which gradually fades with returning +health. + +For months—many months—this dreadful conviction of coming idiocy or +insanity lay upon me like some poisonous reptile with its fangs driven +into my very marrow, so that I could not shake it off. It went with me +wherever I went, it got up with me in the morning, walked about with me +all day, and lay down with me at night. I managed, somehow or other, to +do my work, but I prayed incessantly for death; and to such a state was I +reduced that I could not even make the commonest appointment for a day +beforehand. The mere knowledge that something had to be done agitated me +and prevented my doing it. + +In June next year my holiday came, and I went away home to my father’s +house. Father and mother were going, for the first time in their lives, +to spend a few days by the seaside together, and I went with them to +Ilfracombe. I had been there about a week, when on one memorable +morning, on the top of one of those Devonshire hills, I became aware of a +kind of flush in the brain and a momentary relief such as I had not known +since that November night. I seemed, far away on the horizon, to see +just a rim of olive light low down under the edge of the leaden cloud +that hung over my head, a prophecy of the restoration of the sun, or at +least a witness that somewhere it shone. It was not permanent, and +perhaps the gloom was never more profound, nor the agony more intense, +than it was for long after my Ilfracombe visit. But the light broadened, +and gradually the darkness was mitigated. I have never been thoroughly +restored. Often, with no warning, I am plunged in the Valley of the +Shadow, and no outlet seems possible; but I contrive to traverse it, or +to wait in calmness for access of strength. + +When I was at my worst I went to see a doctor. He recommended me +stimulants. I had always been rather abstemious, and he thought I was +suffering from physical weakness. At first wine gave me relief, and such +marked relief that whenever I felt my misery insupportable I turned to +the bottle. At no time in my life was I ever the worse for liquor, but I +soon found the craving for it was getting the better of me. I resolved +never to touch it except at night, and kept my vow; but the consequence +was, that I looked forward to the night, and waited for it with such +eagerness that the day seemed to exist only for the sake of the evening, +when I might hope at least for rest. For the wine as wine I cared +nothing; anything that would have dulled my senses would have done just +as well. + +But now a new terror developed itself. I began to be afraid that I was +becoming a slave to alcohol; that the passion for it would grow upon me, +and that I should disgrace myself, and die the most contemptible of all +deaths. To a certain extent my fears were just. The dose which was +necessary to procure temporary forgetfulness of my trouble had to be +increased, and might have increased dangerously. + +But one day, feeling more than usual the tyranny of my master, I received +strength to make a sudden resolution to cast him off utterly. Whatever +be the consequence, I said, I will not be the victim of this shame. If I +am to go down to the grave, it shall be as a man, and I will bear what I +have to bear honestly and without resort to the base evasion of +stupefaction. So that night I went to bed having drunk nothing but +water. The struggle was not felt just then. It came later, when the +first enthusiasm of a new purpose had faded away, and I had to fall back +on mere force of will. I don’t think anybody but those who have gone +through such a crisis can comprehend what it is. I never understood the +maniacal craving which is begotten by ardent spirits, but I understood +enough to be convinced that the man who has once rescued himself from the +domination even of half a bottle, or three-parts of a bottle of claret +daily, may assure himself that there is nothing more in life to be done +which he need dread. + +Two or three remarks begotten of experience in this matter deserve +record. One is, that the most powerful inducement to abstinence, in my +case, was the interference of wine with liberty, and above all things its +interference with what I really loved best, and the transference of +desire from what was most desirable to what was sensual and base. The +morning, instead of being spent in quiet contemplation and quiet +pleasures, was spent in degrading anticipations. What enabled me to +conquer, was not so much heroism as a susceptibility to nobler joys, and +the difficulty which a man must encounter who is not susceptible to them +must be enormous and almost insuperable. Pity, profound pity, is his +due, and especially if he happen to possess a nervous, emotional +organisation. If we want to make men water-drinkers, we must first of +all awaken in them a capacity for being tempted by delights which +water-drinking intensifies. The mere preaching of self-denial will do +little or no good. + +Another observation is, that there is no danger in stopping at once, and +suddenly, the habit of drinking. The prisons and asylums furnish ample +evidence upon that point, but there will be many an hour of exhaustion in +which this danger will be simulated and wine will appear the proper +remedy. No man, or at least very few men, would ever feel any desire for +it soon after sleep. This shows the power of repose, and I would advise +anybody who may be in earnest in this matter to be specially on guard +during moments of physical fatigue, and to try the effect of eating and +rest. Do not persist in a blind, obstinate wrestle. Simply take food, +drink water, go to bed, and so conquer not by brute strength, but by +strategy. + +Going back to hypochondria and its countless forms of agony, let it be +borne in mind that the first thing to be aimed at is patience—not to get +excited with fears, not to dread the evil which most probably will never +arrive, but to sit down quietly and _wait_. The simpler and less +stimulating the diet, the more likely it is that the sufferer will be +able to watch through the wakeful hours without delirium, and the less +likely is it that the general health will be impaired. Upon this point +of health too much stress cannot be laid. It is difficult for the victim +to believe that his digestion has anything to do with a disease which +seems so purely spiritual, but frequently the misery will break up and +yield, if it do not altogether disappear, by a little attention to +physiology and by a change of air. As time wears on, too, mere duration +will be a relief; for it familiarises with what at first was strange and +insupportable, it shows the groundlessness of fears, and it enables us to +say with each new paroxysm, that we have surmounted one like it before, +and probably a worse. + + + + +CHAPTER IV +EDWARD GIBBON MARDON + + +I HAD now been “settled,” to use a Dissenting phrase, for nearly eighteen +months. While I was ill I had no heart in my work, and the sermons I +preached were very poor and excited no particular suspicion. But with +gradually returning energy my love of reading revived, and questions +which had slumbered again presented themselves. I continued for some +time to deal with them as I had dealt with the atonement at college. I +said that Jesus was the true Paschal Lamb, for that by His death men were +saved from their sins, and from the consequences of them; I said that +belief in Christ, that is to say, a love for Him, was more powerful to +redeem men than the works of the law. All this may have been true, but +truth lies in relation. It was not true when I, understanding what I +understood by it, taught it to men who professed to believe in the +Westminster Confession. The preacher who preaches it uses a vocabulary +which has a certain definite meaning, and has had this meaning for +centuries. He cannot stay to put his own interpretation upon it whenever +it is upon his lips, and so his hearers are in a false position, and +imagine him to be much more orthodox than he really is. + +For some time I fell into this snare, until one day I happened to be +reading the story of Balaam. Balaam, though most desirous to prophesy +smooth things for Balak, had nevertheless a word put into his mouth by +God. When he came to Balak he was unable to curse, and could do nothing +but bless. Balak, much dissatisfied, thought that a change of position +might alter Balaam’s temper, and he brought him away from the high places +of Baal to the field of Zophim, to the top of Pisgah. But Balaam could +do nothing better even on Pisgah. Not even a compromise was possible, +and the second blessing was more emphatic than the first. “God,” cried +the prophet, pressed sorely by his message, “is not a man, that He should +lie; neither the son of man, that He should repent: hath He said, and +shall He not do it? or hath He spoken, and shall He not make it good? +Behold, I have received commandment to bless: and He hath blessed; and I +cannot reverse it.” + +This was very unsatisfactory, and Balaam was asked, if he could not +curse, at least to refrain from benediction. The answer was still the +same. “Told not I thee, saying, All that the Lord speaketh, that I must +do?” A third shift was tried, and Balaam went to the top of Peor. This +was worse than ever. The Spirit of the Lord came upon him, and he broke +out into triumphal anticipation of the future glories of Israel. Balak +remonstrated in wrath, but Balaam was altogether inaccessible. “If Balak +would give me his house full of silver and gold, I cannot go beyond the +commandment of the Lord, to do either good or bad of mine own mind; but +what the Lord saith, that will I speak.” + +This story greatly impressed me, and I date from it a distinct +disinclination to tamper with myself, or to deliver what I had to deliver +in phrases which, though they might be conciliatory, were misleading. + +About this time there was a movement in the town to obtain a better +supply of water. The soil was gravelly and full of cesspools, side by +side with which were sunk the wells. A public meeting was held, and I +attended and spoke on behalf of the scheme. There was much opposition, +mainly on the score that the rates would be increased, and on the +Saturday after the meeting the following letter appeared in the +_Sentinel_, the local paper: + + “SIR,—It is not my desire to enter into the controversy now raging + about the water-supply of this town, but I must say I was much + surprised that a minister of religion should interfere in politics. + Sir, I cannot help thinking that if the said minister would devote + himself to the Water of Life— + + ‘that gentle fount + Progressing from Immanuel’s mount,’— + + it would be much more harmonious with his function as a follower of + him who knew nothing save Christ crucified. Sir, I have no wish to + introduce controversial topics upon a subject like religion into your + columns, which are allotted to a different line, but I must be + permitted to observe that I fail to see how a minister’s usefulness + can be stimulated if he sets class against class. Like the widows in + affliction of old, he should keep himself pure and unspotted from the + world. How can many of us accept the glorious gospel on the Sabbath + from a man who will incur spots during the week by arguing about + cesspools like any other man? Sir, I will say nothing, moreover, + about a minister of the gospel assisting to bind burdens—that is to + say, rates and taxation—upon the shoulders of men grievous to be + borne. Surely, sir, a minister of the Lamb of God, who was shed for + the remission of sins, should be _against_ burdens.—I am sir, your + obedient servant, + + “A CHRISTIAN TRADESMAN.” + +I had not the least doubt as to the authorship of this precious epistle. +Mr. Snale’s hand was apparent in every word. He was fond of making +religious verses, and once we were compelled to hear the Sunday-school +children sing a hymn which he had composed. The two lines of poetry were +undoubtedly his. Furthermore, although he had been a chapel-goer all his +life, he muddled, invariably, passages from the Bible. They had no +definite meaning for him, and there was nothing, consequently, to prevent +his tacking the end of one verse to the beginning of another. Mr. Snale, +too, continually “failed to see.” Where he got the phrase I do not know, +but he liked it, and was always repeating it. However, I had no external +evidence that it was he who was my enemy, and I held my peace. I was +supported at the public meeting by a speaker from the body of the hall +whom I had never seen before. He spoke remarkably well, was evidently +educated, and I was rather curious about him. + +It was my custom on Saturdays to go out for the whole of the day by the +river, seawards, to prepare for the Sunday. I was coming home rather +tired, when I met this same man against a stile. He bade me +good-evening, and then proceeded to thank me for my speech, saying many +complimentary things about it. I asked who it was to whom I had the +honour of talking, and he told me he was Edward Gibbon Mardon. “It was +Edward Gibson Mardon once, sir,” he said, smilingly. “Gibson was the +name of a rich old aunt who was expected to do something for me, but I +disliked her, and never went near her. I did not see why I should be +ticketed with her label, and as Edward Gibson was very much like Edward +Gibbon, the immortal author of the _Decline and Fall_, I dropped the ‘s’ +and stuck in a ‘b.’ I am nothing but a compositor on the _Sentinel_, and +Saturday afternoon, after the paper is out, is a holiday for me, unless +there is any reporting to do, for I have to turn my attention to that +occasionally.” + +Mr. Edward Gibbon Mardon, I observed, was slightly built, rather short, +and had scanty whiskers which developed into a little thicker tuft on his +chin. His eyes were pure blue, like the blue of the speedwell. They +were not piercing, but perfectly transparent, indicative of a character +which, if it possessed no particular creative power, would not permit +self-deception. They were not the eyes of a prophet, but of a man who +would not be satisfied with letting a half-known thing alone and saying +he believed it. His lips were thin, but not compressed into bitterness; +and above everything there was in his face a perfectly legible frankness, +contrasting pleasantly with the doubtfulness of most of the faces I knew. +I expressed my gratitude to him for his kind opinion, and as we loitered +he said: + +“Sorry to see that attack upon you in the _Sentinel_. I suppose you are +aware it was Snale’s. Everybody could tell that who knows the man.” + +“If it is Mr. Snale’s, I am very sorry.” + +“It is Snale’s. He is a contemptible cur and yet it is not his fault. +He has heard sermons about all sorts of supernatural subjects for thirty +years, and he has never once been warned against meanness, so of course +he supposes that supernatural subjects are everything and meanness is +nothing. But I will not detain you any longer now, for you are busy. +Good-night, sir.” + +This was rather abrupt and disappointing. However, I was much absorbed +in the morrow, and passed on. + +Although I despised Snale, his letter was the beginning of a great +trouble to me. I had now been preaching for many months, and had met +with no response whatever. Occasionally a stranger or two visited the +chapel, and with what eager eyes did I not watch for them on the next +Sunday, but none of them came twice. It was amazing to me that I could +pour out myself as I did—poor although I knew that self to be—and yet +make so little impression. Not one man or woman seemed any different +because of anything I had said or done, and not a soul kindled at any +word of mine, no matter with what earnestness it might be charged. How I +groaned over my incapacity to stir in my people any participation in my +thoughts or care for them! + +Looking at the history of those days now from a distance of years, +everything assumes its proper proportion. I was at work, it is true, +amongst those who were exceptionally hard and worldly, but I was seeking +amongst men (to put it in orthodox language) what I ought to have sought +with God alone. In other, and perhaps plainer phrase, I was expecting +from men a sympathy which proceeds from the Invisible only. Sometimes, +indeed, it manifests itself in the long-postponed justice of time, but +more frequently it is nothing more and nothing less than a consciousness +of approval by the Unseen, a peace unspeakable, which is bestowed on us +when self is suppressed. + +I did not know then how little one man can change another, and what +immense and persistent efforts are necessary—efforts which seldom succeed +except in childhood—to accomplish anything but the most superficial +alteration of character. Stories are told of sudden conversions, and of +course if a poor simple creature can be brought to believe that hell-fire +awaits him as the certain penalty of his misdeeds, he will cease to do +them; but this is no real conversion, for essentially he remains pretty +much the same kind of being that he was before. + +I remember while this mood was on me, that I was much struck with the +absolute loneliness of Jesus, and with His horror of that death upon the +cross. He was young and full of enthusiastic hope, but when He died He +had found hardly anything but misunderstanding. He had written nothing, +so that He could not expect that His life would live after Him. +Nevertheless His confidence in His own errand had risen so high, that He +had not hesitated to proclaim Himself the Messiah: not the Messiah the +Jews were expecting, but still the Messiah. I dreamed over His walks by +the lake, over the deeper solitude of His last visit to Jerusalem, and +over the gloom of that awful Friday afternoon. + +The hold which He has upon us is easily explained, apart from the dignity +of His recorded sayings and the purity of His life. There is no Saviour +for us like the hero who has passed triumphantly through the distress +which troubles _us_. Salvation is the spectacle of a victory by another +over foes like our own. The story of Jesus is the story of the poor and +forgotten. He is not the Saviour for the rich and prosperous, for they +want no Saviour. The healthy, active, and well-to-do need Him not, and +require nothing more than is given by their own health and prosperity. +But every one who has walked in sadness because his destiny has not +fitted his aspirations; every one who, having no opportunity to lift +himself out of his little narrow town or village circle of acquaintances, +has thirsted for something beyond what they could give him; everybody +who, with nothing but a dull, daily round of mechanical routine before +him, would welcome death, if it were martyrdom for a cause; every +humblest creature, in the obscurity of great cities or remote hamlets, +who silently does his or her duty without recognition—all these turn to +Jesus, and find themselves in Him. He died, faithful to the end, with +infinitely higher hopes, purposes, and capacity than mine, and with +almost no promise of anything to come of them. + +Something of this kind I preached one Sunday, more as a relief to myself +than for any other reason. Mardon was there, and with him a girl whom I +had not seen before. My sight is rather short, and I could not very well +tell what she was like. After the service was over he waited for me, and +said he had done so to ask me if I would pay him a visit on Monday +evening. I promised to do so, and accordingly went. + +I found him living in a small brick-built cottage near the outskirts of +the town, the rental of which I should suppose would be about seven or +eight pounds a year. There was a patch of ground in front and a little +garden behind—a kind of narrow strip about fifty feet long, separated +from the other little strips by iron hurdles. Mardon had tried to keep +his garden in order, and had succeeded, but his neighbour was disorderly, +and had allowed weeds to grow, blacking bottles and old tin cans to +accumulate, so that whatever pleasure Mardon’s labours might have +afforded was somewhat spoiled. + +He himself came to the door when I knocked, and I was shown into a kind +of sitting-room with a round table in the middle and furnished with +Windsor chairs, two arm-chairs of the same kind standing on either side +the fireplace. Against the window was a smaller table with a green baize +tablecloth, and about half-a-dozen plants stood on the window-sill, +serving as a screen. In the recess on one side of the fireplace was a +cupboard, upon the top of which stood a tea-caddy, a workbox, some +tumblers, and a decanter full of water; the other side being filled with +a bookcase and books. There were two or three pictures on the walls; one +was a portrait of Voltaire, another of Lord Bacon, and a third was Albert +Dürer’s St. Jerome. This latter was an heirloom, and greatly prized I +could perceive, as it was hung in the place of honour over the +mantelpiece. + +After some little introductory talk, the same girl whom I had noticed +with Mardon at the chapel came in, and I was introduced to her as his +only daughter Mary. She began to busy herself at once in getting the +tea. She was under the average height for a woman, and delicately built. +Her head was small, but the neck was long. Her hair was brown, of a +peculiarly lustrous tint, partly due to nature, but also to a looseness +of arrangement and a most diligent use of the brush, so that the light +fell not upon a dead compact mass, but upon myriads of individual hairs, +each of which reflected the light. Her eyes, so far as I could make out, +were a kind of greenish grey, but the eyelashes were long, so that it was +difficult exactly to discover what was underneath them. The hands were +small, and the whole figure exquisitely graceful; the plain black dress, +which she wore fastened right up to the throat, suiting her to +perfection. Her face, as I first thought, did not seem indicative of +strength. The lips were thin, but not straight, the upper lip showing a +remarkable curve in it. Nor was it a handsome face. The complexion was +not sufficiently transparent, nor were the features regular. + +During tea she spoke very little, but I noticed one peculiarity about her +manner of talking, and that was its perfect simplicity. There was no +sort of effort or strain in anything she said, no attempt by emphasis of +words to make up for the weakness of thought, and no compliance with that +vulgar and most disagreeable habit of using intense language to describe +what is not intense in itself. Her yea was yea, and her no, no. I +observed also that she spoke without disguise, although she was not rude. +The manners of the cultivated classes are sometimes very charming, and +more particularly their courtesy, which puts the guest so much at his +ease, and constrains him to believe that an almost personal interest is +taken in his affairs, but after a time it becomes wearisome. It is felt +to be nothing but courtesy, the result of a rule of conduct uniform for +all, and verging very closely upon hypocrisy. We long rather for +plainness of speech, for some intimation of the person with whom we are +talking, and that the mask and gloves may be laid aside. + +Tea being over, Miss Mardon cleared away the tea-things, and presently +came back again. She took one of the arm-chairs by the side of the +fireplace, which her father had reserved for her, and while he and I were +talking, she sat with her head leaning a little sideways on the back of +the chair. I could just discern that her feet, which rested on the +stool, were very diminutive, like her hands. + +The talk with Mardon turned upon the chapel. I had begun it by saying +that I had noticed him there on the Sunday just mentioned. He then +explained why he never went to any place of worship. A purely orthodox +preacher it was, of course, impossible for him to hear, but he doubted +also the efficacy of preaching. What could be the use of it, supposing +the preacher no longer to be a believer in the common creeds? If he +turns himself into a mere lecturer on all sorts of topics, he does +nothing more than books do, and they do it much better. He must base +himself upon the Bible, and above all upon Christ, and how can he base +himself upon a myth? We do not know that Christ ever lived, or that if +He lived His life was anything like what is attributed to Him. A mere +juxtaposition of the Gospels shows how the accounts of His words and +deeds differ according to the tradition followed by each of His +biographers. + +I interrupted Mardon at this point by saying that it did not matter +whether Christ actually existed or not. What the four evangelists +recorded was eternally true, and the Christ-idea was true whether it was +ever incarnated or not in a being bearing His name. + +“Pardon me,” said Mardon, “but it does very much matter. It is all the +matter whether we are dealing with a dream or with reality. I can dream +about a man’s dying on the cross in homage to what he believed, but I +would not perhaps die there myself; and when I suffer from hesitation +whether I ought to sacrifice myself for the truth, it is of immense +assistance to me to know that a greater sacrifice has been made before +me—that a greater sacrifice is possible. To know that somebody has +poetically imagined that it is possible, and has very likely been +altogether incapable of its achievement, is no help. Moreover, the +commonplaces which even the most freethinking of Unitarians seem to +consider as axiomatic, are to me far from certain, and even unthinkable. +For example, they are always talking about the omnipotence of God. But +power even of the supremest kind necessarily implies an object—that is to +say, resistance. Without an object which resists it, it would be a +blank, and what, then, is the meaning of omnipotence? It is not that it +is merely inconceivable; it is nonsense, and so are all these abstract, +illimitable, self-annihilative attributes of which God is made up.” + +This negative criticism, in which Mardon greatly excelled, was all new to +me, and I had no reply to make. He had a sledge-hammer way of expressing +himself, while I, on the contrary, always required time to bring into +shape what I saw. Just then I saw nothing; I was stunned, bewildered, +out of the sphere of my own thoughts, and pained at the roughness with +which he treated what I had cherished. + +I was presently relieved, however, of further reflection by Mardon’s +asking his daughter whether her face was better. It turned out that all +the afternoon and evening she had suffered greatly from neuralgia. She +had said nothing about it while I was there, but had behaved with +cheerfulness and freedom. Mentally I had accused her of slightness, and +inability to talk upon the subjects which interested Mardon and myself; +but when I knew she had been in torture all the time, my opinion was +altered. I thought how rash I had been in judging her as I continually +judged other people, without being aware of everything they had to pass +through; and I thought, too, that if I had a fit of neuralgia, everybody +near me would know it, and be almost as much annoyed by me as I myself +should be by the pain. + +It is curious, also, that when thus proclaiming my troubles I often +considered. my eloquence meritorious, or, at least, a kind of talent for +which I ought to praise God, contemning rather my silent friends as +something nearer than myself to the expressionless animals. To parade my +toothache, describing it with unusual adjectives, making it felt by all +the company in which I might happen to be, was to me an assertion of my +superior nature. But, looking at Mary, and thinking about her as I +walked home, I perceived that her ability to be quiet, to subdue herself, +to resist the temptation for a whole evening of drawing attention to +herself by telling us what she was enduring, was heroism, and that my +contrary tendency was pitiful vanity. I perceived that such virtues as +patience and self-denial—which, clad in russet dress, I had often passed +by unnoticed when I had found them amongst the poor or the humble—were +more precious and more ennobling to their possessor than poetic +yearnings, or the power to propound rhetorically to the world my +grievances or agonies. + +Miss Mardon’s face was getting worse, and as by this time it was late, I +stayed but a little while longer. + + + + +CHAPTER V +MISS ARBOUR + + +FOR some months I continued without much change in my monotonous +existence. I did not see Mardon often, for I rather dreaded him. I +could not resist him, and I shrank from what I saw to be inevitably true +when I talked to him. I can hardly say it was cowardice. Those may call +it cowardice to whom all associations are nothing, and to whom beliefs +are no more than matters of indifferent research; but as for me, Mardon’s +talk darkened my days and nights. I never could understand the light +manner in which people will discuss the gravest questions, such as God +and the immortality of the soul. They gossip about them over their tea, +write and read review articles about them, and seem to consider +affirmation or negation of no more practical importance than the +conformation of a beetle. With me the struggle to retain as much as I +could of my creed was tremendous. The dissolution of Jesus into +mythologic vapour was nothing less than the death of a friend dearer to +me then than any other friend whom I knew. + +But the worst stroke of all was that which fell upon the doctrine of a +life beyond the grave. In theory I had long despised the notion that we +should govern our conduct here by hope of reward or fear of punishment +hereafter. But under Mardon’s remorseless criticism, when he insisted on +asking for the where and how, and pointed out that all attempts to say +where and how ended in nonsense, my hope began to fail, and I was +surprised to find myself incapable of living with proper serenity if +there was nothing but blank darkness before me at the end of a few years. + +As I got older I became aware of the folly of this perpetual reaching +after the future, and of drawing from to-morrow, and from to-morrow only, +a reason for the joyfulness of to-day. I learned, when, alas! it was +almost too late, to live in each moment as it passed over my head, +believing that the sun as it is now rising is as good as it will ever be, +and blinding myself as much as possible to what may follow. But when I +was young I was the victim of that illusion, implanted for some purpose +or other in us by Nature, which causes us, on the brightest morning in +June, to think immediately of a brighter morning which is to come in +July. I say nothing, now, for or against the doctrine of immortality. +All I say is, that men have been happy without it, even under the +pressure of disaster, and that to make immortality a sole spring of +action here is an exaggeration of the folly which deludes us all through +life with endless expectation, and leaves us at death without the +thorough enjoyment of a single hour. + +So I shrank from Mardon, but none the less did the process of excavation +go on. It often happens that a man loses faith without knowing it. +Silently the foundation is sapped while the building stands fronting the +sun, as solid to all appearance as when it was first turned out of the +builder’s hands, but at last it falls suddenly with a crash. It was so +at this time with a personal relationship of mine, about which I have +hitherto said nothing. + +Years ago, before I went to college, and when I was a teacher in the +Sunday-school, I had fallen in love with one of my fellow-teachers, and +we became engaged. She was the daughter of one of the deacons. She had +a smiling, pretty, vivacious face; was always somehow foremost in school +treats, picnics, and chapel-work, and she had a kind of piquant manner, +which to many men is more ensnaring than beauty. She never read +anything; she was too restless and fond of outward activity for that, and +no questions about orthodoxy or heresy ever troubled her head. We +continued our correspondence regularly after my appointment as minister, +and her friends, I knew, were looking to me to fix a day for marriage. +But although we had been writing to one another as affectionately as +usual, a revolution had taken place. I was quite unconscious of it, for +we had been betrothed for so long that I never once considered the +possibility of any rupture. + +One Monday morning, however, I had a letter from her. It was not often +that she wrote on Sunday, as she had a religious prejudice against +writing letters on that day. However, this was urgent, for it was to +tell me that an aunt of hers who was staying at her father’s was just +dead, and that her uncle wanted her to go and live with him for some +time, to look after the little children who were left behind. She said +that her dear aunt died a beautiful death, trusting in the merits of the +Redeemer. She also added, in a very delicate way, that she would have +agreed to go to her uncle’s at once, but she had understood that we were +to be married soon, and she did not like to leave home for long. She was +evidently anxious for me to tell her what to do. + +This letter, as I have said, came to me on Monday, when I was exhausted +by a more than usually desolate Sunday. I became at once aware that my +affection for her, if it ever really existed, had departed. I saw before +me the long days of wedded life with no sympathy, and I shuddered when I +thought what I should do with such a wife. How could I take her to +Mardon? How could I ask him to come to me? Strange to say, my pride +suffered most. I could have endured, I believe, even discord at home, if +only I could have had a woman whom I could present to my friends, and +whom they would admire. I was never unselfish in the way in which women +are, and yet I have always been more anxious that people should respect +my wife than respect me, and at any time would withdraw myself into the +shade if only she might be brought into the light. This is nothing +noble. It is an obscure form of egotism probably, but anyhow, such +always was my case. + +It took but a very few hours to excite me to distraction. I had gone on +for years without realising what I saw now, and although in the situation +itself the change had been only gradual, it instantaneously became +intolerable. Yet I never was more incapable of acting. What could I do? +After such a long betrothal, to break loose from her would be cruel and +shameful. I could never hold up my head again, and in the narrow circle +of Independency, the whole affair would be known and my prospects ruined. + +Then other and subtler reasons presented themselves. No men can expect +ideal attachments. We must be satisfied with ordinary humanity. +Doubtless my friend with a lofty imagination would be better matched with +some Antigone who exists somewhere and whom he does not know. But he +wisely does not spend his life in vain search after her, but settles down +with the first decently sensible woman he finds in his own street, and +makes the best of his bargain. Besides, there was the power of use and +wont to be considered. Ellen had no vice of temper, no meanness, and it +was not improbable that she would be just as good a helpmeet for me in +time as I had a right to ask. Living together, we should mould one +another, and at last like one another. Marrying her, I should be +relieved from the insufferable solitude which was depressing me to death, +and should have a home. + +So it has always been with me. When there has been the sternest need of +promptitude, I have seen such multitudes of arguments for and against +every course that I have despaired. I have at my command any number of +maxims, all of them good, but I am powerless to select the one which +ought to be applied. + +A general principle, a fine saying, is nothing but a tool, and the wit of +man is shown not in possession of a well-furnished tool-chest, but in the +ability to pick out the proper instrument and use it. + +I remained in this miserable condition for days, not venturing to answer +Ellen’s letter, until at last I turned out for a walk. I have often +found that motion and change will bring light and resolution when +thinking will not. I started off in the morning down by the river, and +towards the sea, my favourite stroll. I went on and on under a leaden +sky, through the level, solitary, marshy meadows, where the river began +to lose itself in the ocean, and I wandered about there, struggling for +guidance. In my distress I actually knelt down and prayed, but the +heavens remained impassive as before, and I was half ashamed of what I +had done, as if it were a piece of hypocrisy. + +At last, wearied out, I turned homeward, and diverging from the direct +road, I was led past the house where the Misses Arbour lived. I was +faint, and some beneficent inspiration prompted me to call. I went in, +and found that the younger of the two sisters was out. A sudden tendency +to hysterics overcame me, and I asked for a glass of water. Miss Arbour, +having given it to me, sat down by the side of the fireplace opposite to +the one at which I was sitting, and for a few moments there was silence. +I made some commonplace observation, but instead of answering me she said +quietly, “Mr. Rutherford, you have been upset; I hope you have met with +no accident.” + +How it came about I do not know, but my whole story rushed to my lips, +and I told her all of it with quivering voice. I cannot imagine what +possessed me to make her my confidante. Shy, reserved, and proud, I +would have died rather than have breathed a syllable of my secret if I +had been in my ordinary humour, but her soft, sweet face altogether +overpowered me. + +As I proceeded with my tale, the change that came over her was most +remarkable. When I began she was leaning back placidly in her large +chair, with her handkerchief upon her lap; but gradually her face +kindled, she sat upright, and she was transformed with a completeness and +suddenness which I could not have conceived possible. At last, when I +had finished, she put both her hands to her forehead, and almost shrieked +out, “Shall I tell him?—O my God, shall I tell him?—may God have mercy on +him!” I was amazed beyond measure at the altogether unsuspected depth of +passion which was revealed in her whom I had never before seen disturbed +by more than a ripple of emotion. She drew her chair nearer to mine, put +both her hands on my knees, looked right into my eyes, and said, +“Listen.” She then moved back a little, and spoke as follows: + +“It is forty-five years ago this month since I was married. You are +surprised; you have always known me under my maiden name, and you thought +I had always been single. It is forty-six years ago this month since the +man who afterwards became my husband first saw me. He was a partner in a +cloth firm. At that time it was the duty of one member of a firm to +travel, and he came to our town, where my father was a well-to-do +carriage-builder. My father was an old customer of his house, and the +relationship between the customer and the wholesale merchant was then +very different from what it is now. Consequently, Mr. Hexton—for that +was my husband’s name—was continually asked to stay with us so long as he +remained in the town. He was what might be called a singularly handsome +man—that is to say, he was upright, well-made, with a straight nose, +black hair, dark eyes, and a good complexion. He dressed with perfect +neatness and good taste, and had the reputation of being a most temperate +and most moral man, much respected—amongst the sect to which both of us +belonged. + +“When he first came our way I was about nineteen and he about +three-and-twenty. My father and his had long been acquainted, and he was +of course received even with cordiality. I was excitable, a lover of +poetry, a reader of all sorts of books, and much given to enthusiasm. +Ah! you do not think so, you do not see how that can have been, but you +do not know how unaccountable is the development of the soul, and what is +the meaning of any given form of character which presents itself to you. +You see nothing but the peaceful, long since settled result, but how it +came there, what its history has been, you cannot tell. It may always +have been there, or have gradually grown so, in gradual progress from +seed to flower, or it may be the final repose of tremendous forces. + +“I will show you what I was like at nineteen,” and she got up and turned +to a desk, from which she took a little ivory miniature. “That,” she +said, “was given to Mr. Hexton when we were engaged. I thought he would +have locked it up, but he used to leave it about, and one day I found it +in the dressing-table drawer, with some brushes and combs, and two or +three letters of mine. I withdrew it, and burnt the letters. He never +asked for it, and here it is.” + +The head was small and set upon the neck like a flower, but not bending +pensively. It was rather thrown back with a kind of firmness, and with a +peculiarly open air, as if it had nothing to conceal and wished the world +to conceal nothing. The body was shown down to the waist, and was slim +and graceful. But what was most noteworthy about the picture was its +solemn seriousness, a seriousness capable of infinite affection, and of +infinite abandonment, not sensuous abandonment—everything was too severe, +too much controlled by the arch of the top of the head for that—but of an +abandonment to spiritual aims. + +Miss Arbour continued: “Mr. Hexton after a while gave me to understand +that he was my admirer, and before six months of acquaintanceship had +passed my mother told me that he had requested formally that he might be +considered as my suitor. She put no pressure upon me, nor did my father, +excepting that they said that if I would accept Mr. Hexton they would be +content, as they knew him to be a very well-conducted young man, a member +of the church, and prosperous in his business. My first, and for a time +my sovereign, impulse was to reject him, because I thought him mean, and +because I felt he lacked sympathy with me. + +“Unhappily I did not trust that impulse. I looked for something more +authoritative, but I was mistaken, for the voice of God, to me at least, +hardly ever comes in thunder, but I have to listen with perfect stillness +to make it out. It spoke to me, told me what to do, but I argued with it +and was lost. I was guiltless of any base motive, but I found the wrong +name for what displeased me in Mr. Hexton, and so I deluded myself. I +reasoned that his meanness was justifiable economy, and that his +dissimilarity from me was perhaps the very thing which ought to induce me +to marry him, because he would correct my failings. I knew I was too +inconsiderate, too rash, too flighty, and I said to myself that his +soberness would be a good thing for me. + +“Oh, if I had but the power to write a book which should go to the ends +of the world, and warn young men and women not to be led away by any +sophistry when choosing their partners for life! It may be asked, How +are we to distinguish heavenly instigation from hellish temptation? I +say, that neither you nor I, sitting here, can tell how to do it. We can +lay down no law by which infallibly to recognise the messenger from God. +But what I do say is, that when the moment comes, it is perfectly easy +for us to recognise him. Whether we listen to his message or not is +another matter. If we do not—if we stop to dispute with him, we are +undone, for we shall very soon learn to discredit him. + +“So I was married, and I went to live in a dark manufacturing town, away +from all my friends. I awoke to my misery by degrees, but still rapidly. +I had my books sent down to me. I unpacked them in Mr. Hexton’s +presence, and I kindled at the thought of ranging my old favourites in my +sitting-room. He saw my delight as I put them on some empty shelves, but +the next day he said that he wanted a stuffed dog there, and that he +thought my books, especially as they were shabby, had better go upstairs. + +“We had to give some entertainments soon afterwards. The minister and +his wife, with some other friends, came to tea, and the conversation +turned on parties and the dullness of winter evenings if no amusements +were provided. I maintained that rational human beings ought not to be +dependent upon childish games, but ought to be able to occupy themselves +and interest themselves with talk. Talk, I said—not gossip, but +talk—pleases me better than chess or forfeits; and the lines of Cowper +occurred to me— + + ‘When one, that holds communion with the skies, + Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise, + And once more mingles with us meaner things, + ’Tis even as if an angel shook his wings; + Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, + That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.’ + +I ventured to repeat this verse, and when I had finished, there was a +pause for a moment, which was broken by my husband’s saying to the +minister’s wife who sat next to him, ‘Oh, Mrs. Cook, I quite forgot to +express my sympathy with you; I heard that you had lost your cat.’ The +blow was deliberately administered, and I felt it as an insult. I was +wrong, I know. I was ignorant of the ways of the world, and I ought to +have been aware of the folly of placing myself above the level of my +guests, and of the extreme unwisdom of revealing myself in that unguarded +way to strangers. Two or three more experiences of that kind taught me +to close myself carefully to all the world, and to beware how I uttered +anything more than commonplace. But I was young, and ought to have been +pardoned. I felt the sting of self-humiliation far into the night, as I +lay and silently cried, while Mr. Hexton slept beside me. + +“I soon found that he was entirely insensible to everything for which I +most cared. Before our marriage he had affected a sort of interest in my +pursuits, but in reality he was indifferent to them. He was cold, hard, +and impenetrable. His habits were precise and methodical, beyond what is +natural for a man of his years. I remember one evening—strange that +these small events should so burn themselves into me—that some friends +were at our house at tea. A tradesman in the town was mentioned, a +member of our congregation, who had become bankrupt, and everybody began +to abuse him. It was said that he had been extravagant; that he had +chosen to send his children to the grammar-school, where the children of +gentlefolk went; and finally, that only last year he had let his wife go +to the seaside. + +“I knew what the real state of affairs was. He had perhaps been living a +little beyond his means, but as to the school, he had rather refined +tastes, and he longed to teach his children something more than the +ciphering, as it was called, and bookkeeping which they would have +learned at the academy at which men in his position usually educated +their boys; and as to the seaside, his wife was ill, and he could not +bear to see her suffering in the smoky street, when he knew that a little +fresh air and change of scene would restore her. + +“So I said that I was sorry to hear the poor man attacked; that he had +done wrong, no doubt, but so had the woman who was brought before Jesus; +and that with me, charity or a large heart covered a multitude of sins. +I added that there was something dreadful in the way in which everybody +always seemed to agree in deserting the unfortunate. I was a little +moved, and unluckily upset a teacup. No harm was done; and if my +husband, who sat next to me, had chosen to take no notice, there need +have been no disturbance whatever. But he made a great fuss, crying, +‘Oh, my dear, pray mind! Ring the bell instantly, or it will all be +through the tablecloth.’ In getting up hastily to obey him, I happened +to drag the cloth, as it lay on my lap; a plate fell down and was broken; +everything was in confusion; I was ashamed and degraded. + +“I do not believe there was a single point in Mr. Hexton’s character in +which he touched the universal; not a single chink, however narrow, +through which his soul looked out of itself upon the great world around. +If he had kept bees, or collected butterflies or beetles, I could have +found some avenue of approach.—But he had no taste for anything of the +kind. He had his breakfast at eight regularly every morning, and read +his letters at breakfast. He came home to dinner at two, looked at the +newspaper for a little while after dinner, and then went to sleep. At +six he had his tea, and in half-an-hour went back to his counting-house, +which he did not leave till eight. Supper at nine, and bed at ten, +closed the day. + +“It was a habit of mine to read a little after supper, and occasionally I +read aloud to him passages which struck me, but I soon gave it up, for +once or twice he said to me, ‘Now you’ve got to the bottom of that page, +I think you had better go to bed,’ although perhaps the page did not end +a sentence. But why weary you with all this? I pass over all the rest +of the hateful details which made life insupportable to me. Suffice to +say, that one wet Sunday evening, when we could not go to chapel and were +in the dining-room alone, the climax was reached. My husband had a +religious magazine before him, and I sat still, doing nothing. At last, +after an hour had passed without a word, I could bear it no longer, and I +broke out— + +“‘James, I am wretched beyond description!” + +“He slowly shut the magazine, tearing a piece of paper from a letter and +putting it in as a mark, and then said— + +“‘What is the matter?’ + +“‘You must know. You must know that ever since we have been married you +have never cared for one single thing I have done or said; that is to +say, you have never cared for me. It is _not_ being married.’ + +“It was an explosive outburst, sudden and almost incoherent, and I cried +as if my heart would break. + +“‘What is the meaning of all this? You must be unwell. Will you not +have a glass of wine?’ + +“I could not regain myself for some minutes, during which he sat +perfectly still, without speaking, and without touching me. His coldness +nerved me again, congealing all my emotion into a set resolve, and I +said— + +“‘I want no wine. I am not unwell. I do not wish to have a scene. I +will not, by useless words, embitter myself against you, or you against +me. You know you do not love me. I know I do not love you. It is all a +bitter, cursed mistake, and the sooner we say so and rectify it the +better.’ + +“The colour left his face; his lips quivered, and he looked as if he +would have killed me. + +“‘What monstrous thing is this? What do you mean by your tomfooleries?’ + +“I did not speak. + +“‘Speak!’ he roared. ‘What am I to understand by rectifying your +mistake? By the living God, you shall not make me the laughing-stock and +gossip of the town! I’ll crush you first.’ + +“I was astonished to see such rage develop itself so suddenly in him, and +yet afterwards, when I came to reflect, I saw there was no reason for +surprise. Self, self was his god, and the thought of the damage which +would be done to him and his reputation was what roused him. I was still +silent, and he went on— + +“‘I suppose you intend to leave me, and you think you’ll disgrace me. +You’ll disgrace yourself. Everybody knows me here, and knows you’ve had +every comfort and everything to make you happy. Everybody will say what +everybody will have the right to say about you. Out with it and confess +the truth, that one of your snivelling poets has fallen in love with you +and you with him.’ + +“I still held my peace, but I rose and went into the best bedchamber, and +sat there in the dark till bedtime. I heard James come upstairs at ten +o’clock as usual, go to his own room, and lock himself in. I never +hesitated a moment. I could not go home to become the centre of all the +chatter of the little provincial town in which I was born. My old nurse, +who took care of me as a child, had got a place in London as housekeeper +in a large shop in the Strand. She was always very fond of me, and to +her instantly I determined to go. I came down, wrote a brief note to +James, stating that after his base and lying sneer he could not expect to +find me in the morning still with him, and telling him I had left him for +ever. I put on my cloak, took some money which was my own out of my +cashbox, and at half-past twelve heard the mail-coach approaching. I +opened the front door softly—it shut with an oiled spring bolt; I went +out, stopped the coach, and was presently rolling over the road to the +great city. + +“Oh, that night! I was the sole passenger inside, and for some hours I +remained stunned, hardly knowing what had become of me. Soon the morning +began to break, with such calm and such slow-changing splendour that it +drew me out of myself to look at it, and it seemed to me a prophecy of +the future. No words can tell the bound of my heart at emancipation. I +did not know what was before me, but I knew from what I had escaped; I +did not believe I should be pursued, and no sailor returning from +shipwreck and years of absence ever entered the port where wife and +children were with more rapture than I felt journeying through the rain +into which the clouds of the sunrise dissolved, as we rode over the dim +flats of Huntingdonshire southwards. + +“There is no need for me to weary you any longer, nor to tell you what +happened after I got to London, or how I came here. I had a little +property of my own and no child. To avoid questions I resumed my maiden +name. But one thing you must know, because it will directly tend to +enforce what I am going to beseech of you. Years afterwards, I might +have married a man who was devoted to me. But I told him I was married +already, and not a word of love must he speak to me. He went abroad in +despair, and I have never seen anything more of him. + +“You can guess now what I am going to pray of you to do. Without +hesitation, write to this girl and tell her the exact truth. Anything, +any obloquy, anything friends or enemies may say of you must be faced +even joyfully rather than what I had to endure. Better die the death of +the Saviour on the cross than live such a life as mine.” + +I said: “Miss Arbour, you are doubtless right, but think what it means. +It means nothing less than infamy. It will be said, I broke the poor +thing’s heart, and marred her prospects for ever. What will become of +me, as a minister, when all this is known?” + +She caught my hand in hers, and cried with indescribable feeling— + +“My good sir, you are parleying with the great Enemy of Souls. Oh! if +you did but know, if you _could_ but know, you would be as decisive in +your recoil from him, as you would from hell suddenly opened at your +feet. Never mind the future. The one thing you have to do is the thing +that lies next to you, divinely ordained for you. What does the 119th +Psalm say?—‘Thy word is a lamp unto my feet.’ We have no light promised +us to show us our road a hundred miles away, but we have a light for the +next footstep, and if we take that, we shall have a light for the one +which is to follow. The inspiration of the Almighty could not make +clearer to me the message I deliver to you. Forgive me—you are a +minister, I know, and perhaps I ought not to speak so to you, but I am an +old woman. Never would you have heard my history from me, if I had not +thought it would help to save you from something worse than death.” + +At this moment there came a knock at the door, and Miss Arbour’s sister +came in. After a few words of greeting I took my leave and walked home. +I was confounded. Who could have dreamed that such tragic depths lay +behind that serene face, and that her orderly precision was like the +grass and flowers upon volcanic soil with Vesuvian fires slumbering +below? I had been altogether at fault, and I was taught, what I have +since been taught, over and over again, that unknown abysses, into which +the sun never shines, lie covered with commonplace in men and women, and +are revealed only by the rarest opportunity. + +But my thoughts turned almost immediately to myself, and I could bring +myself to no resolve. I was weak and tired, and the more I thought the +less capable was I of coming to any decision. In the morning, after a +restless night, I was in still greater straits, and being perfectly +unable to do anything, I fled to my usual refuge, the sea. The whole day +I swayed to and fro, without the smallest power to arbitrate between the +contradictory impulses which drew me in opposite directions. + +I knew what I ought to do, but Ellen’s image was ever before me, mutely +appealing against her wrongs, and I pictured her deserted and with her +life spoiled. I said to myself that instinct is all very well, but for +what purpose is reason given to us if not to reason with it; and +reasoning in the main is a correction of what is called instinct, and of +hasty first impressions. I knew many cases in which men and women loved +one another without similarity of opinions, and, after all, similarity of +opinions upon theological criticism is a poor bond of union. But then, +no sooner was this pleaded than the other side of the question was +propounded with all its distinctness, as Miss Arbour had presented it. + +I came home thoroughly beaten with fatigue, and went to bed. Fortunately +I sank at once to rest, and with the morning was born the clear +discernment that whatever I ought to do, it was more manly of me to go +than to write to Ellen. Accordingly, I made arrangements for getting +somebody to supply my place in the pulpit for a couple of Sundays, and +went home. + + + + +CHAPTER VI +ELLEN AND MARY + + +I NOW found myself in the strangest position. What was I to do? Was I +to go to Ellen at once and say plainly, “I have ceased to care for you”? +I did what all weak people do. + +I wished that destiny would take the matter out of my hands. I would +have given the world if I could have heard that Ellen was fonder of +somebody else than me, although the moment the thought came to me I saw +its baseness. But destiny was determined to try me to the uttermost, and +make the task as difficult for me as it could be made. + +It was Thursday when I arrived, and somehow or other—how I do not know—I +found myself on Thursday afternoon at her house. She was very pleased to +see me, for many reasons. My last letters had been doubtful and the time +for our marriage, as she at least thought, was at hand. I, on my part, +could not but return the usual embrace, but after the first few words +were over there was a silence, and she noticed that I did not look well. +Anxiously she asked me what was the matter. I said that something had +been upon my mind for a long time, which I thought it my duty to tell +her. I then went on to say that I felt she ought to know what had +happened. When we were first engaged we both professed the same faith. +From that faith I had gradually departed, and it seemed to me that it +would be wicked if she were not made acquainted before she took a step +which was irrevocable. This was true, but it was not quite all the +truth, and with a woman’s keenness she saw at once everything that was in +me. She broke out instantly with a sob— + +“Oh, Rough!”—a nickname she had given me—“I know what it all means—you +want to get rid of me.” + +God help me, if I ever endure greater anguish than I did then. I could +not speak, much less could I weep, and I sat and watched her for some +minutes in silence. My first impulse was to retract, to put my arms +round her neck, and swear that whatever I might be, Deist or Atheist, +nothing should separate me from her. Old associations, the thought of +the cruel injustice put upon her, the display of an emotion which I had +never seen in her before, almost overmastered me, and why I did not yield +I do not know. Again and again have I failed to make out what it is +which, in moments of extreme peril, has restrained me from making some +deadly mistake, when I have not been aware of the conscious exercise of +any authority of my own. At last I said— + +“Ellen, what else was I to do? I cannot help my conversion to another +creed. Supposing you had found out that you had married a Unitarian and +I had never told you!” + +“Oh, Rough! you are not a Unitarian, you don’t love me,” and she sobbed +afresh. + +I could not plead against hysterics. I was afraid she would get ill. I +thought nobody was in the house, and I rushed across the passage to get +her some stimulants. When I came back her father was in the room. He +was my aversion—a fussy, conceited man, who always prated about “my +daughter” to me in a tone which was very repulsive—just as if she were +his property, and he were her natural protector against me. + +“Mr. Rutherford,” he cried, “what is the matter with my daughter? What +have you said to her?” + +“I don’t think, sir, I am bound to tell you. It is a matter between +Ellen and myself.” + +“Mr. Rutherford, I demand an explanation. Ellen is mine. I am her +father.” + +“Excuse me, sir, if I desire not to have a scene here just now. Ellen is +unwell. When she recovers she will tell you. I had better leave,” and I +walked straight out of the house. + +Next morning I had a letter from her father to say, that whether I was a +Unitarian or not, my behaviour to Ellen showed I was bad enough to be +one. Anyhow, he had forbidden her all further intercourse with me. When +I had once more settled down in my solitude, and came to think over what +had happened, I felt the self-condemnation of a criminal without being +able to accuse myself of a crime. I believe with Miss Arbour that it is +madness for a young man who finds out he has made a blunder, not to set +it right; no matter what the wrench may be. But that Ellen was a victim +I do not deny. If any sin, however, was committed against her, it was +committed long before our separation. It was nine-tenths mistake and +one-tenth something more heinous; and the worst of it is, that while +there is nothing which a man does which is of greater consequence than +the choice of a woman with whom he is to live, there is nothing he does +in which he is more liable to self-deception. + +On my return I heard that Mardon was ill, and that probably he would die. +During my absence a contested election for the county had taken place, +and our town was one of the polling-places. The lower classes were +violently Tory. During the excitement of the contest the mob had set +upon Mardon as he was going to his work, and had reviled him as a +Republican and an Atheist. By way of proving their theism they had +cursed him with many oaths, and had so sorely beaten him that the shock +was almost fatal. I went to see him instantly, and found him in much +pain, believing that he would not get better, but perfectly peaceful. + +I knew that he had no faith in immortality, and I was curious beyond +measure to see how he would encounter death without such a faith; for the +problem of death, and of life after death, was still absorbing me even to +the point of monomania. I had been struggling as best I could to protect +myself against it, but with little success. I had long since seen the +absurdity and impossibility of the ordinary theories of hell and heaven. +I could not give up my hope in a continuance of life beyond the grave, +but the moment I came to ask myself how, I was involved in +contradictions. Immortality is not really immortality of the person +unless the memory abides and there be a connection of the self of the +next world with the self here, and it was incredible to me that there +should be any memories or any such connection after the dissolution of +the body; moreover, the soul, whatever it may be, is so intimately one +with the body, and is affected so seriously by the weaknesses, passions, +and prejudices of the body, that without it my soul would not be myself, +and the fable of the resurrection of the body, of this same brain and +heart, was more than I could ever swallow in my most orthodox days. + +But the greatest difficulty was the inability to believe that the +Almighty intended to preserve all the mass of human beings, all the +countless millions of barbaric, half-bestial forms which, since the +appearance of man, had wandered upon the earth, savage or civilised. Is +it like Nature’s way to be so careful about individuals, and is it to be +supposed that, having produced, millions of years ago, a creature +scarcely nobler than the animals he tore with his fingers, she should +take pains to maintain him in existence for evermore? The law of the +universe everywhere is rather the perpetual rise from the lower to the +higher; an immortality of aspiration after more perfect types; a +suppression and happy forgetfulness of its comparative failures. + +There was nevertheless an obstacle to the acceptance of this negation in +a faintness of heart which I could not overcome. Why this ceaseless +struggle, if in a few short years I was to be asleep for ever? The +position of mortal man seemed to me infinitely tragic. He is born into +the world, beholds its grandeur and beauty, is filled with unquenchable +longings, and knows that in a few inevitable revolutions of the earth he +will cease. More painful still; he loves somebody, man or woman, with a +surpassing devotion; he is so lost in his love that he cannot endure a +moment without it; and when he sees it pass away in death, he is told +that it is extinguished—that that heart and mind absolutely are _not_. + +It was always a weakness with me that certain thoughts preyed on me. I +was always singularly feeble in laying hold of an idea, and in the +ability to compel myself to dwell upon a thing for any lengthened period +in continuous exhaustive reflection. But, nevertheless, ideas would +frequently lay hold of me with such relentless tenacity that I was +passive in their grasp. So it was about this time with death and +immortality, and I watched eagerly Mardon’s behaviour when the end had to +be faced. As I have said, he was altogether calm. I did not like to +question him while he was so unwell, because I knew that a discussion +would arise which I could not control, and it might disturb him, but I +would have given anything to understand what was passing in his mind. + +During his sickness I was much impressed by Mary’s manner of nursing him. +She was always entirely wrapped up in her father, so much so, that I had +often doubted if she could survive him; but she never revealed any trace +of agitation. Under the pressure of the calamity which had befallen her, +she showed rather increased steadiness, and even a cheerfulness which +surprised me. Nothing went wrong in the house. Everything was perfectly +ordered, perfectly quiet, and she rose to a height of which I had never +suspected her capable, while her father’s stronger nature was allowed to +predominate. She was absolutely dependent on him. If he did not get +well she would be penniless, and I could not help thinking that with the +like chance before me, to say nothing of my love for him and anxiety lest +he should die, I should be distracted, and lose my head; more especially +if I had to sit by his bed, and spend sleepless nights such as fell to +her lot. But she belonged to that class of natures which, although +delicate and fragile, rejoice in difficulty. Her grief for her father +was exquisite, but it was controlled by a sense of her responsibility. +The greater the peril, the more complete was her self-command. + +To the surprise of everybody Mardon got better. His temperate habits +befriended him in a manner which amazed his more indulgent neighbours, +who were accustomed to hot suppers, and whisky-and-water after them. +Meanwhile I fell into greater difficulties than ever in my ministry. I +wonder now that I was not stopped earlier. I was entirely unorthodox, +through mere powerlessness to believe, and the catalogue of the articles +of faith to which I might be said really to subscribe was very brief. I +could no longer preach any of the dogmas which had always been preached +in the chapel, and I strove to avoid a direct conflict by taking +Scripture characters, amplifying them from the hints in the Bible, and +neglecting what was supernatural. That I was allowed to go on for so +long was mainly due to the isolation of the town and the ignorance of my +hearers. Mardon and his daughter came frequently to hear me, and this, I +believe, finally roused suspicion more than any doctrine expounded from +the pulpit. One Saturday morning there appeared the following letter in +the _Sentinel_: + + “SIR,—Last Sunday evening I happened to stray into a chapel not a + hundred miles from Water Lane. Sir, it was a lovely evening, and + + ‘The glorious stars on high, + Set like jewels in the sky,’ + + were circling their courses, and, with the moon, irresistibly + reminded me of that blood which was shed for the remission of sins. + Sir, with my mind attuned in that direction I entered the chapel. I + hoped to hear something of that Rock of Ages in which, as the poet + sings, we shall wish to hide ourselves in years to come. But, sir, a + young man, evidently a young man, occupied the pulpit, and great was + my grief to find that the tainted flood of human philosophy had + rolled through the town and was withering the truth as it is in + Christ Jesus. Years ago that pulpit sent forth no uncertain sound, + and the glorious gospel was proclaimed there—not a _German gospel_, + sir—of our depravity and our salvation through Christ Jesus. Sir, I + should like to know what the dear departed who endowed that chapel, + and are asleep in the Lord in that burying-ground, would say if they + were to rise from their graves and sit in those pews again and hear + what I heard—a sermon which might have been a week-day lecture. Sir, + as I was passing through the town, I could not feel that I had done + my duty without announcing to you the fact as above stated, and had + not raised a humble warning from— + + Sir, Yours truly, + “A CHRISTIAN TRAVELLER.” + +Notwithstanding the transparent artifice of the last paragraph, there was +no doubt that the author of this precious production was Mr. Snale, and I +at once determined to tax him with it. On the Monday morning I called on +him, and found him in his shop. + +“Mr. Snale,” I said, “I have a word or two to say to you.” + +“Certainly, sir. What a lovely day it is! I hope you are very well, +sir. Will you come upstairs?” + +But I declined to go upstairs, as it was probable I might meet Mrs. Snale +there. So I said that we had better go into the counting-house, a little +place boxed off at the end of the shop, but with no door to it. As soon +as we got in I began. + +“Mr. Snale, I have been much troubled by a letter which has appeared in +last week’s _Sentinel_. Although disguised, it evidently refers to me, +and to be perfectly candid with you, I cannot help thinking you wrote +it.” + +“Dear me, sir, may I ask _why_ you think so?” + +“The internal evidence, Mr. Snale, is overwhelming; but if you did not +write it, perhaps you will be good enough to say so.” + +Now Mr. Snale was a coward, but with a peculiarity which I have marked in +animals of the rat tribe. He would double and evade as long as possible, +but if he found there was no escape, he would turn and tear and fight to +the last extremity. + +“Mr. Rutherford, that is rather—ground of an, of an—what shall I say?—of +an assumptive nature on which to make such an accusation, and I am not +obliged to deny every charge which you may be pleased to make against +me.” + +“Pardon me, Mr. Snale, do you then consider what I have said is an +accusation and charge? Do you think that it was wrong to write such a +letter?” + +“Well, sir, I cannot exactly say that it was; but I must say, sir, that I +do think it peculiar of you, peculiar of you, sir, to come here and +attack one of your friends, who, I am sure, has always showed you so much +kindness—to attack him, sir, with no proof.” + +Now Mr. Snale had not openly denied his authorship. But the use of the +word “friend” was essentially a lie—just one of those lies which, by +avoiding the form of a lie, have such a charm for a mind like his. I was +roused to indignation. + +“Mr. Snale, I will give you the proof which you want, and then you shall +judge for yourself. The letter contains two lines of a hymn which you +have misquoted. You made precisely that blunder in talking to the +Sunday-school children on the Sunday before the letter appeared. You +will remember that in accordance with my custom to visit the +Sunday-school occasionally, I was there on that Sunday afternoon.” + +“Well, sir, I’ve not denied I did write it.” + +“Denied you did write it!” I exclaimed, with gathering passion; “what do +you mean by the subterfuge about your passing through the town and by +your calling me your friend a minute ago? What would you have thought if +anybody had written anonymously to the _Sentinel_, and had accused you of +selling short measure? You would have said it was a libel, and you would +also have said that a charge of that kind ought to be made publicly and +not anonymously. You seem to think, nevertheless, that it is no sin to +ruin me anonymously.” + +“Mr. Rutherford, I _am_ sure I am your friend. I wish you well, sir, +both here”—and Mr. Snale tried to be very solemn—“and in the world to +come. With regard to the letter, I don’t see it as you do, sir. But, +sir, if you are going to talk in this tone, I would advise you to be +careful. We have heard, sir”—and here Mr. Snale began to simper and grin +with an indescribably loathsome grimace—“that some of your acquaintances +in your native town are of opinion that you have not behaved quite so +well as you should have done to a certain young lady of your +acquaintance; and what is more, we have marked with pain here, sir, your +familiarity with an atheist and his daughter, and we have noticed their +coming to chapel, and we have also noticed a change in your doctrine +since these parties attended there.” + +At the word “daughter” Mr. Snale grinned again, apparently to somebody +behind me, and I found that one of his shopwomen had entered the +counting-house, unobserved by me, while this conversation was going on, +and that she was smirking in reply to Mr. Snale’s signals. In a moment +the blood rushed to my brain. I was as little able to control myself as +if I had been shot suddenly down a precipice. + +“Mr. Snale, you are a contemptible scoundrel and a liar.” + +The effort on him was comical. He cried: + +“What, sir!—what do you mean, sir?—a minister of the gospel—if you were +not, I would—a liar”—and he swung round hastily on the stool on which he +was sitting, to get off and grasp a yard-measure which stood against the +fireplace. But the stool slipped, and he came down ignominiously. I +waited till he got up, but as he rose a carriage stopped at the door, and +he recognised one of his best customers. Brushing the dust off his +trousers, and smoothing his hair, he rushed out without his hat, and in a +moment was standing obsequiously on the pavement, bowing to his patron. +I passed him in going out, but the oily film of subserviency on his face +was not broken for an instant. + +When I got home I bitterly regretted what had happened. I never regret +anything more than the loss of self-mastery. I had been betrayed, and +yet I could not for the life of me see how the betrayal could have been +prevented. It was upon me so suddenly, that before a moment had been +given me for reflection, the words were out of my mouth. I was +distinctly conscious that the _I_ had not said those words. They had +been spoken by some other power working in me which was beyond my reach. +Nor could I foresee how to prevent such a fall for the future. The only +advice, even now, which I can give to those who comprehend the bitter +pangs of such self-degradation as passion brings, is to watch the first +risings of the storm, and to say “Beware; be watchful,” at the least +indication of a tempest. Yet, after every precaution, we are at the +mercy of the elements, and in an instant the sudden doubling of a cape +may expose us, under a serene sky, to a blast which, taking us with all +sails spread, may overset us and wreck us irretrievably. + +My connection with the chapel was now obviously at an end. I had no mind +to be dragged before a church meeting, and I determined to resign. After +a little delay I wrote a letter to the deacons, explaining that I had +felt a growing divergence from the theology taught heretofore in Water +Lane, and I wished consequently to give up my connection with them. I +received an answer stating that my resignation had been accepted; I +preached a farewell sermon; and I found myself one Monday morning with a +quarter’s salary in my pocket, a few bills to pay, and a blank outlook. + +What was to be done? My first thought was towards Unitarianism, but when +I came to cast up the sum-total of what I was assured, it seemed so +ridiculously small that I was afraid. The occupation of a merely +miscellaneous lecturer had always seemed to me very poor. I could not +get up Sunday after Sunday and retail to people little scraps suggested +by what I might have been studying during the week; and with regard to +the great subjects—for the exposition of which the Christian minister +specially exists—how much did I know about them? The position of a +minister who has a gospel to proclaim; who can go out and tell men what +they are to do to be saved, was intelligible; but not so the position of +a man who had no such gospel. + +What reason for continuance as a preacher could I claim? Why should +people hear me rather than read books? I was alarmed to find, on making +my reckoning, that the older I got the less I appeared to believe. +Nakeder and nakeder had I become with the passage of every year, and I +trembled to anticipate the complete emptiness to which before long I +should be reduced. + +What the dogma of immortality was to me I have already described, and +with regard to God I was no better. God was obviously not a person in +the clouds, and what more was really firm under my feet than this—that +the universe is governed by immutable laws? These laws were not what is +commonly understood as God. Nor could I discern any ultimate tendency in +them. Everything was full of contradiction. On the one hand was +infinite misery; on the other there were exquisite adaptations producing +the highest pleasure; on the one hand the mystery of life-long disease, +and on the other the equal mystery of the unspeakable glory of the +sunrise on a summer’s morning over a quiet summer sea. + +I happened to hear once an atheist discoursing on the follies of theism. +If he had made the world, he would have made it much better. He would +not have racked innocent souls with years of torture, that tyrants might +live in splendour. He would not have permitted the earthquake to swallow +up thousands of harmless mortals, and so forth. But, putting aside all +dependence upon the theory of a coming rectification of such wrongs as +these, the atheist’s argument was shallow enough. + +It would have been easy to show that a world such as he imagines is +unthinkable directly we are serious with our conception of it. On +whatever lines the world may be framed, there must be distinction, +difference, a higher and a lower; and the lower, relatively to the +higher, must always be an evil. The scale upon which the higher and +lower both are makes no difference. The supremest bliss would not be +bliss if it were not definable bliss—that is to say, in the sense that it +has limits, marking it out from something else not so supreme. Perfectly +uninterrupted, infinite light, without shadow, is a physical absurdity. +I see a thing because it is lighted, but also because of the differences +of light, or, in other words, because of shade, and without shade the +universe would be objectless, and in fact invisible. The atheist was +dreaming of shadowless light, a contradiction in terms. Mankind may be +improved, and the improvement may be infinite, and yet good and evil must +exist. So with death and life. Life without death is not life, and +death without life is equally impossible. + +But though all this came to me, and was not only a great comfort to me, +but prevented any shallow prating like that to which I listened from this +lecturer, it could not be said that it was a gospel from which to derive +apostolic authority. There remained morals. I could become an +instructor of morality. I could warn tradesmen not to cheat, children to +honour their parents, and people generally not to lie. The mission was +noble, but I could not feel much enthusiasm for it, and more than this, +it was a fact that reformations in morals have never been achieved by +mere directions to be good, but have always been the result of an +enthusiasm for some City of God, or some supereminent person. Besides, +the people whom it was most necessary to reach would not be the people +who would, unsolicited, visit a Unitarian meeting-house. As for a +message of negations, emancipating a number of persons from the dogma of +the Trinity or future punishment, and spending my strength in merely +demonstrating the nonsense of orthodoxy, my soul sickened at the very +thought of it. Wherein would men be helped, and wherein should I be +helped? + +There were only two persons in the town who had ever been of any service +to me. One was Miss Arbour, and the other was Mardon. But I shrank from +Miss Arbour, because I knew that my troubles had never been hers. She +belonged to a past generation, and as to Mardon, I never saw him without +being aware of the difficulty of accepting any advice from him. He was +perfectly clear, perfectly secular, and was so definitely shaped and +settled, that his line of conduct might always be predicted beforehand +with certainty. I knew very well what he thought about preaching, and +what he would tell me to do, or rather, what he would tell me not to do. + +Nevertheless, after all, I was a victim to that weakness which impels us +to seek the assistance of others when we know that what they offer will +be of no avail. Accordingly, I called on him. Both he and Mary were at +home, and I was received with more than usual cordiality. He knew +already that I had resigned, for the news was all over the town. I said +I was in great perplexity. + +“The perplexities of most persons arise,” said Mardon, “as yours probably +arise, from not understanding exactly what you want to do. For one +person who stumbles and falls with a perfectly distinct object to be +attained, I have known a score whose disasters are to be attributed to +their not having made themselves certain what their aim is. You do not +know what you believe; consequently you do not know how to act.” + +“What would you do if you were in my case?” + +“Leave the whole business and prefer the meanest handicraft. You have no +right to be preaching anything doubtful. You are aware what my creed is. +I profess no belief in God, and no belief in what hangs upon it. Try and +name now, any earnest conviction you possess, and see whether you have a +single one which I have not got.” + +“I _do_ believe in God.” + +“There is nothing in that statement. What do you believe about Him?—that +is the point. You will find that you believe nothing, in truth, which I +do not also believe of the laws which govern the universe and man.” + +“I believe in an intellect of which these laws are the expression.” + +“Now what kind of an intellect can that be? You can assign to it no +character in accordance with its acts. It is an intellect, if it be an +intellect at all, which will swallow up a city, and will create the music +of Mozart for me when I am weary; an intellect which brings to birth His +Majesty King George IV., and the love of an affectionate mother for her +child; an intellect which, in the person of a tender girl, shows an +exquisite conscience, and in the person of one or two religious creatures +whom I have known, shows a conscience almost inverted. I have always +striven to prove to my theological friends that their mere affirmation of +God is of no consequence. They may be affirming anything or nothing. +The question, the all-important question is, _What_ can be affirmed about +Him?” + +“Your side of the argument naturally admits of a more precise statement +than mine. I cannot encompass God with a well-marked definition, but for +all that, I believe in Him. I know all that may be urged against the +belief, but I cannot help thinking that the man who looks upon the stars, +or the articulation of a leaf, is irresistibly impelled, unless he has +been corrupted by philosophy, to say, There is intellect there. It is +the instinct of the child and of the man.” + +“I don’t think so; but grant it, and again I ask, _What_ intellect is +it?” + +“Again I say, I do not know.” + +“Then why dispute? Why make such a fuss about it?” + +“It really seems to me of immense importance whether you see this +intellect or not, although you say it is of no importance. It appears to +be of less importance than it really is, because I do not think that even +you ever empty the universe of intellect. I believe that mind never +worships anything but mind, and that you worship it when you admire the +level bars of cloud over the setting sun. You think you eject mind, but +you do not. I can only half imagine a belief which looks upon the world +as a mindless blank, and if I could imagine it, it would be depressing in +the last degree to me. I know that I have mind, and to live in a +universe in which my mind is answered by no other would be unbearable. +Better any sort of intelligence than none at all. But, as I have just +said, your case admits of plainer statement than mine. You and I have +talked this matter over before, and I have never gained a logical victory +over you. Often I have felt thoroughly prostrated by you, and yet, when +I have left you, the old superstition has arisen unsubdued. I do not +know how it is, but I always feel that upon this, as upon many other +subjects, I never can really speak myself. An unshapen thought presents +itself to me, I look at it, and I do all in my power to give it body and +expression, but I cannot. I am certain that there is something truer and +deeper to be said about the existence of God than anything I have said, +and what is more, I am certain of the presence of this something in me, +but I cannot lift it to the light.” + +“Ah, you are now getting into the region of sentiment, and I am unable to +accompany you. When my friends go into the clouds, I never try to follow +them.” + +All this time Mary had been sitting in the arm-chair against the +fireplace in her usual attitude, resting her head on her hand and with +her feet crossed one over the other on the fender. She had been +listening silently and motionless. She now closed her eyes and said— + +“Father, father, it is not true.” + +“What is not true?” + +“I do not mean that what you have said about theology is not true, but +you make Mr. Rutherford believe you are what you are not. Mr. +Rutherford, father sometimes tells us he has no sentiment, but you must +take no notice of him when he talks in that way. I always think of our +visit to the seaside two years ago. The railway-station was in a +disagreeable part of the town, and when we came out we walked along a +dismal row of very plain-looking houses. There were cards in the window +with ‘Lodgings’ written on them, and father wanted to go in to ask the +terms. I said that I did not wish to stay in such a dull street, but +father could not afford to pay for a sea view, and so we went in to +inquire. We then found that what we thought were the fronts of the +houses were the backs, and that the fronts faced the bay. They had +pretty gardens on the other side, and a glorious sunny prospect over the +ocean.” + +Mardon laughed and said— + +“Ah, Mary, there is no sea front here, and no garden.” + +I took up my hat and said I must go. Both pressed me to stop, but I +declined. Mardon urged me again, and at last said— + +“I believe you’ve never once heard Mary sing.” + +Mary protested, and pleaded that as they had no piano, Mr. Rutherford +would not care for her poor voice without any accompaniment. But I, too, +protested that I should, and she got out the “Messiah.” Her father took +a tuning-fork out of his pocket, and having struck it, Mary rose and +began, “He was despised.” Her voice was not powerful, but it was pure +and clear, and she sang with that perfect taste which is begotten solely +of a desire to honour the Master. The song always had a profound charm +for me. Partly this was due to association. The words and tones, which +have been used to embody their emotions by those whom we have loved, are +doubly expressive when we use them to embody our own. The song is potent +too, because with utmost musical tenderness and strength it reveals the +secret of the influence of the story of Jesus. Nobody would be bold +enough to cry, _That too is my case_, and yet the poorest and the +humblest soul has a right to the consolation that Jesus was a man of +sorrows and acquainted with grief. + +For some reason or the other, or for many reasons, Mary’s voice wound +itself into the very centre of my existence. I seemed to be listening to +the tragedy of all human worth and genius. The ball rose in my throat, +the tears mounted to my eyes, and I had to suppress myself rigidly. + +Presently she ceased. There was silence for a moment. I looked round, +and saw that Mardon’s face was on the table, buried in his hands. I felt +that I had better go, for the presence of a stranger, when the heart is +deeply stirred, is an intrusion. I noiselessly left the room, and Mary +followed. When we got to the door she said: “I forgot that mother used +to sing that song. I ought to have known better.” Her own eyes were +full; I thought the pressure of her hand as she bade me good-bye was a +little firmer than usual, and as we parted an over-mastering impulse +seized me. I lifted her hand to my lips; without giving her time to +withdraw it, I gave it one burning kiss, and passed out into the street. +It was pouring with rain, and I had neither overcoat nor umbrella, but I +heeded not the heavens, and not till I got home to my own fireless, dark, +solitary lodgings, did I become aware of any contrast between the sphere +into which I had been exalted and the earthly commonplace world by which +I was surrounded. + + + + +CHAPTER VII +EMANCIPATION + + +THE old Presbyterian chapels throughout the country have many of them +become Unitarian, and occasionally, even in an agricultural village, a +respectable red-brick building may be seen, dating from the time of Queen +Anne, in which a few descendants of the eighteenth century heretics still +testify against three Gods in one and the deity of Jesus Christ. +Generally speaking, the attendance in these chapels is very meagre, but +they are often endowed, and so they are kept open. + +There was one in the large, straggling half-village, half-town of D-, +within about ten miles of me, and the pulpit was then vacant. The income +was about £100 a year. The principal man there was a small general +dealer, who kept a shop in the middle of the village street, and I had +come to know him slightly, because I had undertaken to give his boy a few +lessons to prepare him for admission to a boarding-school. The money in +my pocket was coming to an end, and as I did not suppose that any +dishonesty would be imposed on me, and although the prospect were not +cheering, I expressed my willingness to be considered as a candidate. + +In the course of a week or two I was therefore invited to preach. I was +so reduced that I was obliged to walk the whole distance on the Sunday +morning, and as I was asked to no house, I went straight to the chapel, +and loitered about in the graveyard till a woman came and opened a door +at the back. I explained who I was, and sat down in a Windsor chair +against a small kitchen table in the vestry. It was cold, but there was +no fire, nor were any preparations made for one. On the mantel-shelf +were a bottle of water and a glass, but as the water had evidently been +there for some time, it was not very tempting. + +I waited in silence for about twenty minutes, and my friend the dealer +then came in, and having shaken hands, and remarked that it was chilly, +asked me for the hymns. These I gave him, and went into the pulpit. I +found myself in a plain-looking building designed to hold about two +hundred people. There was a gallery opposite me, and the floor was +occupied with high, dark, brown pews, one or two immediately on my right +and left being surrounded with faded green curtains. I counted my +hearers, and discovered that there were exactly seventeen, including two +very old labourers, who sat on a form near the door. The gallery was +quite empty, except a little organ, or seraphine, I think it was called, +which was played by a young woman. The dealer gave out the hymns, and +accompanied the seraphine in a bass voice, singing the air. A weak +whisper might be perceived from the rest of the congregation, but nothing +more. + +I was somewhat taken aback at finding in the Bible a discourse which had +been left by one of my predecessors. It was a funeral-sermon, neatly +written, and had evidently done duty on several occasions, although the +allusions in it might be considered personal. The piety and good works +of the departed were praised with emphasis, but the masculine pronouns +originally used were altered above the lines all throughout to feminine +pronouns, and the word “brother” to “sister,” so that no difficulty might +arise in reading it for either sex. I was faint, benumbed, and with no +heart for anything. I talked for about half-an-hour about what I +considered to be the real meaning of the death of Christ, thinking that +this was a subject which might prove as attractive as any other. + +After the service the assembly of seventeen departed, save one thin +elderly gentleman, who came into the vestry, and having made a slight +bow, said: “Mr. Rutherford, will you come with me, if you please?” I +accordingly followed him, almost in silence, through the village till we +reached his house, where his wife, who had gone on before, received us. +They had formerly kept the shop which the dealer now had, but had +retired. They might both be about sixty-five, and were of about the same +temperament, pale, thin, and ineffectual, as if they had been fed on +gruel. + +We had dinner in a large room with an old-fashioned grate in it, in which +was stuck a basket stove. I remember perfectly well what we had for +dinner. There was a neck of mutton (cold), potatoes, cabbage, a suet +pudding, and some of the strangest-looking ale I ever saw—about the +colour of lemon juice, but what it was really like I do not know, as I +did not drink beer. I was somewhat surprised at being asked whether I +would take potatoes _or_ cabbage, but thinking it was the custom of the +country not to indulge in both at once, and remembering that I was on +probation, I said “cabbage.” + +Very little was spoken during dinner-time by anybody, and scarcely a word +by my hostess. After dinner she cleared the things away, and did not +again appear. My host drew near the basket stove, and having remarked +that it was beginning to rain, fell into a slumber. At twenty minutes to +two we sallied out for the afternoon service, and found the seventeen +again in their places, excepting the two labourers, who were probably +prevented by the wet from attending. + +The service was a repetition of that in the morning, and when I came down +my host again came forward and presented me with nineteen shillings. The +fee was a guinea, but from that two shillings were abated for my +entertainment. He informed me at the same time that a farmer, who had +been hearing me and who lived five miles on my road, would give me a +lift. He was a very large, stout man, with a rosy countenance, which was +somewhat of a relief after the gruel face of my former friend. We went +round to a stable-yard, and I got into a four-wheeled chaise. His wife +sat with him in front, and a biggish boy sat with me behind. + +When we came to a guide-post which pointed down his lane, I got out, and +was dismissed in the dark with the observation—uttered good-naturedly and +jovially, but not very helpfully—that he was “afraid I should have a +wettish walk.” The walk certainly was wettish, and as I had had nothing +to eat or drink since my midday meal, I was miserable and desponding. +But just before I reached home the clouds rolled off with the south-west +wind into detached, fleecy masses, separated by liquid blue gulfs, in +which were sowed the stars, and the effect upon me was what that sight, +thank God, always has been—a sense of the infinite, extinguishing all +mean cares. + +I expected to hear no more from my Unitarian acquaintances, and was +therefore greatly surprised when, a week after my visit, I received an +invitation to “settle” amongst them. The usual month’s trial was thought +unnecessary, as I was not altogether a stranger to some of them. I +hardly knew what to do, I could not feel any enthusiasm at the prospect +of the engagement, but, on the other hand, there was nothing else before +me. There is no more helpless person in this world than a minister who +is thrown out of work. At any rate, I should be doing no harm if I went. + +I pondered over the matter a good deal, and then reflected that in a case +where every opening is barred save one, it is our duty not to plunge at +an impassable barrier, but to take that one opening, however unpromising +it may be. Accordingly I accepted. My income was to be a hundred a +year, and it was proposed that I should lodge with my friend the retired +dealer, who had the only two rooms in the village which were available. + +I went to bid Mardon and Mary good-bye. I had not seen either of them +since the night of the song. To my surprise I found them both away. The +blinds were down and the door locked. A neighbour, who heard me +knocking, came out and told me the news. Mardon had had a dispute with +his employer, and had gone to London to look for work. Mary had gone to +see a relative at some distance, and would remain there until her father +had determined what was to be done. + +I obtained the addresses of both of them, and wrote to Mardon, telling +him what my destiny for the present was to be. To Mary I wrote also, and +to her I offered my heart. Looking backward, I have sometimes wondered +that I felt so little hesitation; not that I have ever doubted since, +that what I did then was the one perfectly right thing which I have done +in my life, but because it was my habit so to confuse myself with +meditative indecision. I had doubted before. I remember once being so +near engaging myself to a girl that the desk was open and the paper under +my hand. But I held back, could not make up my mind, and happily was +stayed. Had I not been restrained, I should for ever have been +miserable. The remembrance of this escape, and the certain knowledge +that of all beings whom I knew I was most likely to be mistaken in an +emergency, always produced in me a torturing tendency to inaction. There +was no such tendency now. I thought I chose Mary, but there was no +choice. The feeblest steel filing which is drawn to a magnet, would +think, if it had consciousness, that it went to the magnet of its own +free will. My soul rushed to hers as if dragged by the force of a +loadstone. + +But she was not to be mine. I had a note from her, a sweet note, +thanking me with much tenderness for my affectionate regard for her, but +saying that her mind had long since been made up. She was an only child +of a mother whom her father had loved above everything in life, and she +could never leave him nor suffer any affection to interfere with that +which she felt for him and which he felt for her. I might well +misinterpret him, and think it strange that he should be so much bound up +in her. Few people knew him as she did. + +The shock to me at first was overpowering, and I fell under the influence +of that horrible monomania from which I had been free for so long. For +weeks I was prostrate, with no power of resistance; the evil being +intensified by my solitude. Of all the dreadful trials which human +nature has the capacity to bear unshattered, the worst—as, indeed, I have +already said—is the fang of some monomaniacal idea which cannot be +wrenched out. A main part of the misery, as I have also said, lies in +the belief that suffering of this kind is peculiar to ourselves. We are +afraid to speak of it, and not knowing, therefore, how common it is, we +are distracted with the fear that it is our own special disease. + +I managed to get through my duties, but how I cannot tell. Fortunately +our calamities are not what they appear to be when they lie in +perspective behind us or before us, for they actually consist of distinct +moments, each of which is overcome by itself. I was helped by +remembering my recovery before, and I was able now, as a reward of +long-continued abstinence from wine, to lie much stiller, and wait with +more patience till the cloud should lift. + +Mardon having gone to London, I was more alone than ever, but my love for +Mary increased in intensity, and had a good deal to do with my +restoration to health. It was a hopeless love, but to be in love +hopelessly is more akin to sanity than careless, melancholy indifference +to the world. I was relieved from myself by the anchorage of all my +thoughts elsewhere. The pain of loss was great, but the main curse of my +existence has not been pain or loss, but gloom; blind wandering in a +world of black fog, haunted by apparitions. I am not going to expand +upon the history of my silent relationship to Mary during that time. How +can I? All that I felt has been described better by others; and if it +had not been, I have no mind to attempt a description myself, which would +answer no purpose. + +I continued to correspond with Mardon, but with Mary I interchanged no +word. After her denial of me I should have dreaded the charge of +selfishness if I had opened my lips again. I could not place myself in +her affection before her father. + +My work at the chapel was of the most lifeless kind. My people really +consisted of five families—those of the retired dealer, the farmer who +took me home the first day I preached, and a man who kept a shop in the +village for the sale of all descriptions of goods, including ready-made +clothing and provisions. He had a wife and one child. + +Then there was a super-annuated brass-founder, who had a large house +near, and who nominally was a Unitarian, having professed himself a +Unitarian in the town in which he was formerly in business, where +Unitarianism was flourishing. He had come down here to cultivate, for +amusement, a few acres of ground, and play the squire at a cheap rate. +Released from active employment, he had given himself over to eating and +drinking, particularly the drinking of port wine. His wife was dead, his +sons were in business for themselves, and his daughters all went to +church. His connection with the chapel was merely nominal, and I was +very glad it was so. I was hardly ever brought into contact with him, +except as trustee, and once I was asked to his house to dinner; but the +attempt to make me feel my inferiority was so painful, and the rudeness +of his children was so marked, that I never went again. + +There was also a schoolmaster, who kept a low-priced boarding-school with +a Unitarian connection. He lived, however, at such a distance that his +visits were very unfrequent. Sometimes on a fine summer’s Sunday morning +the boys would walk over—about twenty of them altogether, but this only +happened perhaps half-a-dozen times in a year. + +Although my congregation had a freethought lineage, I do not think that I +ever had anything to do with a more petrified set. With one exception, +they were meagre in the extreme. They were perfectly orthodox, except +that they denied a few orthodox doctrines. Their method was as strict as +that of the most rigid Calvinist. They plumed themselves, however, +greatly on their intellectual superiority over the Wesleyans and Baptists +round them; and so far as I could make out, the only topics they +delighted in were demonstrations of the unity of God from texts in the +Bible, and polemics against tri-theism. Sympathy with the great problems +then beginning to agitate men they had none. Socially they were cold, +and the entertainment at their houses was pale and penurious. They never +considered themselves bound to contribute a shilling to my support. +There was an endowment of a hundred a year, and they were relieved from +all further anxiety. They had no enthusiasm for their chapel, and came +or stayed away on the Sunday just as it suited them, and without caring +to assign any reason. + +The one exception was the wife of the shopkeeper. She was a contrast to +her husband and all the rest. I do not think she was a Unitarian born +and bred. She talked but little about theology, but she was devoted to +her Bible, and had a fine sense for all the passages in it which had an +experience in them. She was generous, spiritual, and possessed of an +unswerving instinct for what was right. Oftentimes her prompt decisions +were a scandal to her more sedate friends, who did not believe in any way +of arriving at the truth except by rationalising, but she hardly ever +failed to hit the mark. It was in questions of relationship between +persons, of behaviour, and of morals, that her guidance was the surest. +In such cases her force seemed to keep her straight, while the weakness +of those around made it impossible for them not to wander, first on one +side and then on the other. She was unflinching in her expressions, and +at any sacrifice did her duty. It was her severity in obeying her +conscience which not only gave authority to her admonitions, but was the +source of her inspirations. + +She was not much of a reader, but she read strange things. She had some +old volumes of a magazine—a “Repository” of some kind; I have forgotten +what—and she picked out from them some translations of German verses +which she greatly admired. She was not a well educated woman in the +school sense of the word, and of several of our greatest names in +literature had heard nothing. I do not think she knew anything about +Shakespeare, and she never entered into the meaning of dramatic poetry. +At all points her path was her own, intersecting at every conceivable +angle the paths of her acquaintances, and never straying along them +except just so far as they might happen to be hers. + +While I was in the village an event happened which caused much commotion. +Her son was serving in the shop, and there was in the house at the time a +nice-looking, clean servant-girl. Mrs. Lane, for that was my friend’s +name, had meditated discharging her, for, with her usual quickness, she +thought she saw something in the behaviour of her son to the girl which +was peculiar. One morning, however, both her son and the girl were +absent, and there was a letter upon the table announcing that they were +in a town about twenty miles off and were married. + +The shock was great, and a tumult of voices arose, confusing counsel. +Mrs. Lane said but little, but never wavered an instant. Leaving her +husband to “consider what was best to be done,” she got out the gig, +drove herself over to her son’s lodging, and presented herself to her +amazed daughter-in-law, who fell upon her knees and prayed for pity. “My +dear,” said Mrs. Lane, “get up this instant; you are my daughter. Not +another word. I’ve come to see what you want.” And she kissed her +tenderly. The girl was at heart a good girl. She was so bound to her +late mistress and her new mother by this behaviour, that the very depth +in her opened, and she loved Mrs. Lane ever afterwards with almost +religious fervour. She was taught a little up to her son’s level, and a +happier marriage I never knew. Mrs. Lane told me what she had done, but +she had no theory about it. She merely said she knew it to be the right +thing to do. + +She was very fond of getting up early in the morning and going out, and +in such a village this was an eccentricity bordering almost on lunacy. +At five o’clock she was often wandering about her garden. She was a +great lover of order in the house, and kept it well under control, but I +do not think I ever surprised her when she was so busy that she would not +easily, and without any apparent sacrifice, leave what she was doing to +come and talk with me. + +As I have said, the world of books in which I lived was almost altogether +shut to her, but yet she was the only person in the village whose +conversation was lifted out of the petty and personal into the region of +the universal. I have been thus particular in describing her—I fear +without raising any image of her—because she was of incalculable service +to me. I languished from lack of life, and her mere presence, so +exuberant in its full vivacity, was like mountain air. Furthermore, she +was not troubled much with my philosophical difficulties. They had not +come in her path. Her world was the world of men and women—more +particularly of those she knew—and it was a world in which it did me good +to dwell. She was all the more important to me, because outside our own +little circle there was no society whatever. The Church and the other +Dissenting bodies considered us non-Christian. + +I often wondered that Mr. Lane retained his business, and, indeed, he +would have lost it if he had not established a reputation for honesty, +which drew customers to him, who, notwithstanding the denunciations of +the parson, preferred tea with some taste in it from a Unitarian to the +insipid wood-flavoured stuff which was sold by the grocer who believed in +the Trinity. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +PROGRESS IN EMANCIPATION + + +I WAS with my Unitarian congregation for about a twelvemonth. My life +during that time, save so far as my intercourse with Mrs. Lane, and one +other friend presently to be mentioned, was concerned, was as sunless and +joyless as it had ever been. Imagine me living by myself, roaming about +the fields, and absorbed mostly upon insoluble problems with which I +never made any progress, and which tended to draw me away from what +enjoyment of life there was which I might have had. + +One day I was walking along under the south side of a hill, which was a +great place for butterflies, and I saw a man, apparently about fifty +years old, coming along with a butterfly-net. He did not see me, for he +looked about for a convenient piece of turf, and presently sat down, +taking out a sandwich-box, from which he produced his lunch. His +occupation did not particularly attract me, but in those days, if I +encountered a new person who was not repulsive, I was always as eager to +make his acquaintance as if he perchance might solve a secret for me, the +answer to which I burned to know. I have been disappointed so many +times, and have found that nobody has much more to tell me, that my +curiosity has somewhat abated, but even now, the news that anybody who +has the reputation for intelligence has come near me, makes me restless +to see him. I accordingly saluted the butterfly-catcher, who returned +the salutation kindly, and we began to talk. + +He told me that he had come seven miles that morning to that spot because +he knew that it was haunted by one particular species of butterfly which +he wished to get; and as it was a still, bright day, he hoped to find a +specimen. He had been unsuccessful for some years. Presupposing that I +knew all about his science, he began to discourse upon it with great +freedom, and he ended by saying that he would be happy to show me his +collection, which was one of the finest in the country. + +“But I forget,” said he, “as I always forget in such cases, perhaps you +don’t care for butterflies.” + +“I take much interest in them. I admire exceedingly the beauty of their +colours.” + +“Ah, yes, but you don’t care for them scientifically, or for collecting +them.” + +“No, not particularly. I cannot say I ever saw much pleasure in the mere +classification of insects.” + +“Perhaps you are devoted to some other science?” + +“No, I am not.” + +“Well, I daresay it looks absurd for a man at my years to be running +after a moth. I used to think it was absurd, but I am wiser now. +However, I cannot stop to talk; I shall lose the sunshine. The first +time you are anywhere near me, come and have a look. You will alter your +opinion.” + +Some weeks afterwards I happened to be in the neighbourhood of the +butterfly-catcher’s house, and I called. He was at home, and welcomed me +cordially. The first thing he did was to show me his little museum. It +was really a wonderful exhibition, and as I saw the creatures in lines, +and noted the amazing variations of the single type, I was filled with +astonishment. Seeing the butterflies systematically arranged was a +totally different thing from seeing a butterfly here and there, and gave +rise to altogether new thoughts. My friend knew his subject from end to +end, and I envied him his mastery of it. I had often craved the mastery +of some one particular province, be it ever so minute. I half or a +quarter knew a multitude of things, but no one thing thoroughly, and was +never sure, just when I most wanted to be sure. We got into +conversation, and I was urged to stay to dinner. I consented, and found +that my friend’s household consisted of himself alone. After dinner, as +we became a little more communicative, I asked him when and how he took +to this pursuit. + +“It will be twenty-six years ago next Christmas,” said he, “since I +suffered a great calamity. You will forgive my saying anything about it, +as I have no assurance that the wound which looks healed may not break +out again. Suffice to say, that for some ten years or more my thoughts +were almost entirely occupied with death and our future state. There is +a strange fascination about these topics to many people, because they are +topics which permit a great deal of dreaming, but very little thinking: +in fact, true thinking, in the proper sense of the word, is impossible in +dealing with them. There is no rigorous advance from one position to +another, which is really all that makes thinking worth the name. Every +man can imagine or say cloudy things about death and the future, and feel +himself here, at least, on a level with the ablest brain which he knows. + +“I went on gazing gloomily into dark emptiness, till all life became +nothing for me. I did not care to live, because there was no assurance +of existence beyond. By the strangest of processes, I neglected the +world, because I had so short a time to be in it. It is with absolute +horror now that I look back upon those days, when I lay as if alive in a +coffin of lead. All passions and pursuits were nullified by the +ever-abiding sense of mortality. For years this mood endured, and I was +near being brought down to the very dust. + +“At last, by the greatest piece of good fortune, I was obliged to go +abroad. The change, and the obligation to occupy myself about many +affairs, was an incalculable blessing to me. While travelling I was +struck with the remarkable and tropical beauty of the insects, and +especially of the butterflies. I captured a few, and brought them home. +On showing them to a friend, learned in such matters, I discovered that +they were rare, and I had a little cabinet made for them. I looked into +the books, found what it was which I had got, and what I had not got. + +“Next year it was my duty to go abroad again, and I went with some +feeling akin to pleasure, for I wished to add to my store. I increased +it considerably, and by the time I returned I had as fine a show as any +private person might wish to possess. A good deal of my satisfaction, +perhaps, was unaccountable, and no rational explanation can be given of +it. But men should not be too curious in analysing and condemning any +means which Nature devises to save them from themselves, whether it be +coins, old books, curiosities, butterflies, or fossils. And yet my +newly-acquired passion was not altogether inexplicable. I was the owner +of something which other persons did not own, and in a little while, in +my own limited domain, I was supreme. No man either can study any +particular science thoroughly without transcending it; and it is an utter +mistake to suppose that, because a student sticks to any one branch, he +necessarily becomes contracted. + +“However, I am not going to philosophise; I do not like it. All I can +say is, that I shun all those metaphysical speculations of former years +as I would a path which leads to madness. Other people may be able to +occupy themselves with them and be happy; I cannot. I find quite enough +in my butterflies to exercise my wonder, and yet, on the other hand, my +study is not a mere vacant, profitless stare. When you saw me that +morning, I was trying to obtain an example which I have long wanted to +fill up a gap. I have looked for it for years, but have missed it. But +I know it has been seen lately where we met, and I shall triumph at +last.” + +A good deal of all this was to me incomprehensible. It seemed mere +solemn trifling compared with the investigation of those great questions +with which I had been occupied, but I could not resist the contagion of +my friend’s enthusiasm when he took me to his little library and +identified his treasures with pride, pointing out at the same time those +in which he was deficient. He was specially exultant over one minute +creature which he had caught himself, which he had not as yet seen +figured, and he proposed going to the British Museum almost on purpose to +see if he could find it there. + +When I got home I made inquiries into the history of my entomologist. I +found that years ago he had married a delicate girl, of whom he was +devotedly fond. She died in childbirth, leaving him completely broken. +Her offspring, a boy, survived, but he was a cripple, and grew up +deformed. As he neared manhood he developed a satyr-like lustfulness, +which was almost uncontrollable, and made it difficult to keep him at +home without constraint. He seemed to have no natural affection for his +father, nor for anybody else, but was cunning with the base, beastly +cunning of the ape. The father’s horror was infinite. This thing was +his only child, and the child of the woman whom he worshipped. He was +excluded from all intercourse with friends; for, as the boy could not be +said to be mad, he could not be shut up. After years of inconceivable +misery, however, lust did deepen into absolute lunacy, and the crooked, +misshapen monster was carried off to an asylum, where he died, and the +father well-nigh went there too. + +Before I had been six months amongst the Unitarians, I found life even +more intolerable with them than it had been with the Independents. The +difference of a little less belief was nothing. The question of +Unitarianism was altogether dead to me; and although there was a phase of +the doctrine of God’s unity which would now and then give me an +opportunity for a few words which I felt, it was not a phase for which my +hearers in the least cared or which they understood. + +Here, as amongst the Independents, there was the same lack of personal +affection, or even of a capability of it—excepting always Mrs. Lane—and, +in fact, it was more distressing amongst the Unitarians than amongst the +orthodox. The desire for something like sympathy and love absolutely +devoured me. I dwelt on all the instances in poetry and history in which +one human being had been bound to another human being, and I reflected +that my existence was of no earthly importance to anybody. I could not +altogether lay the blame on myself. God knows that I would have stood +against a wall and have been shot for any man or woman whom I loved, as +cheerfully as I would have gone to bed, but nobody seemed to wish for +such a love, or to know what to do with it. + +Oh, the humiliations under which this weakness has bent me! Often and +often I have thought that I have discovered somebody who could really +comprehend the value of a passion which could tell everything and venture +everything. I have overstepped all bounds of etiquette in obtruding +myself on him, and have opened my heart even to shame. I have then found +that it was all on my side. For every dozen times I went to his house, +he came to mine once, and only when pressed: I have languished in +sickness for a month without his finding it out; and if I were to drop +into the grave, he would perhaps never give me another thought. If I had +been born a hundred years earlier, I should have transferred this burning +longing to the unseen God and have become a devotee. But I was a hundred +years too late, and I felt that it was mere cheating of myself and a +mockery to think about love for the only God whom I knew—the forces which +maintained the universe. + +I am now getting old, and have altered in many things. The hunger and +thirst of those years have abated, or rather, the fire has had ashes +heaped on it, so that it is well-nigh extinguished. I have been repulsed +into self-reliance and reserve, having learned wisdom by experience; but +still I know that the desire has not died, as so many other desires have +died, by the natural evolution of age. It has been forcibly suppressed, +and that is all. If anybody who reads these words of mine should be +offered by any young dreamer such a devotion as I once had to offer, and +had to take back again refused so often, let him in the name of all that +is sacred accept it. It is simply the most precious thing in existence. +Had I found anybody who would have thought so, my life would have been +redeemed into something which I have often imagined, but now shall never +know. + +I determined to leave, but what to do I could not tell. I was fit for +nothing, and yet I could not make up my mind to accept a life which was +simply living. It must be a life, through which some benefit was +conferred upon my fellow-creatures. This was mainly delusion. I had not +then learned to correct this natural instinct to be of some service to +mankind by the thought of the boundlessness of infinity and of Nature’s +profuseness. I had not come to reflect that, taking into account her +eternities, and absolute exhaustlessness, it was folly in me to fret and +fume, and I therefore clung to the hope that I might employ myself in +some way which, however feebly, would help mankind a little to the +realisation of an ideal. But I was not the man for such a mission. I +lacked altogether that concentration which binds up the scattered powers +into one resistless energy, and I lacked faith. All I could do was to +play the vagrant in literature, picking up here and there an idea which +attracted me, and presenting it to my flock on the Sunday; the net result +being next to nothing. + +However, existence like that which I had been leading was intolerable, +and change it I must. I accordingly resigned, and with ten pounds in my +pocket, which was all that remained after paying my bills, I came to +London, thinking that until I could settle what to do, I would try and +teach in a school. I called on an agent somewhere near the Strand, and +after a little negotiation, was engaged by a gentleman who kept a private +establishment at Stoke Newington. + +Thither I accordingly went one Monday afternoon in January, about two +days before the term commenced. When I got there, I was shown into a +long schoolroom, which had been built out from the main building. It was +dark, save for one candle, and was warmed by a stove. The walls were +partly covered with maps, and at one end of the room hung a diagram +representing a globe, on which an immense amount of wasted ingenuity had +been spent to produce the illusion of solidity. The master, I was told, +was out, and in this room with one candle I remained till nine o’clock. +At that time a servant brought me some bread and cheese on a small tray, +with half-a-pint of beer. I asked for water, which was given me, and she +then retired. The tray was set down on the master’s raised desk, and +sitting there I ate my supper in silence, looking down upon the +dimly-lighted forms, and forward into the almost absolute gloom. + +At ten o’clock a man, who seemed as if he were the knife and +boot-cleaner, came and said he would show me where I was to sleep. We +passed through the schoolroom into a kind of court, where there was a +ladder standing against a trap-door. He told me that my bedroom was up +there, and that when I got up I could leave the ladder down, or pull it +up after me, just as I pleased. + +I ascended and found a little chamber, duly furnished with a chest of +drawers, bed, and washhand-stand. It was tolerably clean and decent; but +who shall describe what I felt! I went to the window and looked out. +There were scattered lights here and there, marking roads, but as they +crossed one another, and now and then stopped where building had ceased, +the effect they produced was that of bewilderment with no clue to it. +Further off was the great light of London, like some unnatural dawn, or +the illumination from a fire which could not itself be seen. I was +overcome with the most dreadful sense of loneliness. I suppose it is the +very essence of passion, using the word in its literal sense, that no +account can be given of it by the reason. + +Reflecting on what I suffered, then, I cannot find any solid ground for +it, and yet there are not half-a-dozen days or nights of my life which +remain with me like that one. I was beside myself with a kind of terror, +which I cannot further explain. It is possible for another person to +understand grief for the death of a friend, bodily suffering, or any +emotion which has a distinct cause, but how shall he understand the worst +of all calamities, the nameless dread, the efflux of all vitality, the +ghostly, haunting horror which is so nearly akin to madness? + +It is many years ago since that evening, but while I write I am at the +window still, and the yellow flare of the city is still in my eyes. I +remember the thought of all the happy homes which lay around me, in which +dwelt men who had found a position, an occupation, and, above all things, +affection. I know the causelessness of a good deal of all those panic +fears and all that suffering, but I tremble to think how thin is the +floor on which we stand which separates us from the bottomless abyss. + +The next morning I went down into the schoolroom, and after I had been +there for some little time, the proprietor of the school made his +appearance. He was not a bad man, nor even unkind in his way, but he was +utterly uninteresting, and as commonplace as might be expected after +having for many years done nothing but fight a very uphill battle in +boarding the sons of tradesfolk, and teaching them, at very moderate +rates, the elements of Latin, and the various branches of learning which +constitute what is called a commercial education. He said that he +expected some of the boys back that day; that when they came, he should +wish me to take my meals with them, but that meanwhile he would be glad +if I would breakfast with him and his wife. This accordingly I did. +What his wife was like I have almost entirely forgotten, and I only saw +her once again. After breakfast he said I could go for a walk, and for a +walk I went; wandering about the dreary, intermingled chaos of fields +with damaged hedges, and new roads divided into building plots. + +Meanwhile one or two of the boys had made their appearance, and I +therefore had my dinner with them. After dinner, as there was nothing +particular to do, I was again dismissed with them for a walk just as the +light of the winter afternoon was fading. My companions were dejected, +and so was I! The wind was south-easterly, cold, and raw, and the smoke +came up from the region about the river and shrouded all the building +plots in fog. I was now something more than depressed. It was +absolutely impossible to endure such a state of things any longer, and I +determined that, come what might, I would not stop. I considered whether +I should leave without saying a word—that is to say, whether I should +escape, but I feared pursuit and some unknown legal proceedings. + +When I got home, therefore, I sought the principal, and informed him that +I felt so unwell that I was afraid I must throw up my engagement at once. +He naturally observed that this was a serious business for him; that my +decision was very hasty—what was the matter with me? I might get better; +but he concluded, after my reiterated asseverations that I must go, with +a permission to resign, only on one condition, that I should obtain an +equally efficient substitute at the same salary. I was more agitated +than ever. With my natural tendency to believe the worst, I had not the +least expectation of finding anybody who would release me. + +The next morning I departed on my errand. I knew a poor student who had +been at college with me, and who had nothing to do, and to him I betook +myself. I strove—as even now I firmly believe—not to make the situation +seem any better than it was, and he consented to take it. I have no +clear recollection of anything that happened till the following day, +excepting that I remember with all the vividness of actual and present +sensuous perception lugging my box down the ladder and sending for a cab. +I was in a fever lest anything should arrest me, but the cab came, and I +departed. When I had got fairly clear of the gates, I literally cried +tears of joy—the first and the last of my life. I am constrained now, +however, to admit that my trouble was but a bubble blown of air, and I +doubt whether I have done any good by dwelling upon it. + + + + +CHAPTER IX +OXFORD STREET + + +UNTIL I had actually left, I hardly knew where I was going, but at last I +made up my mind I would go to Reuben Shapcott, another fellow-student, +whom I knew to be living in lodgings in one of the streets just then +beginning to creep over the unoccupied ground between Camden Town and +Haverstock Hill, near the Chalk Farm turnpike gate. To his address I +betook myself, and found him not at home. He, like me, had been +unsuccessful as a minister, and wrote a London letter for two country +papers, making up about £100 or £120 a year by preaching occasionally in +small Unitarian chapels in the country. I waited till his return, and +told him my story. He advised me to take a bed in the house where he was +staying, and to consider what could be done. + +At first I thought I would consult Mardon, but I could not bring myself +to go near him. How was I to behave in Mary’s presence? During the last +few months she had been so continually before me, that it would have been +absolutely impossible for me to treat her with assumed indifference. I +could not have trusted myself to attempt it. When I had been lying alone +and awake at night, I had thought of all the endless miles of hill and +valley that lay outside my window, separating me from the one house in +which I could be at peace; and at times I scarcely prevented myself from +getting up and taking the mail train and presenting myself at Mardon’s +door, braving all consequences. With the morning light, however, would +come cooler thoughts and a dull sense of impossibility. + +This, I know, was not pure love for her; it was a selfish passion for +relief. But then I have never known what is meant by a perfectly pure +love. When Christian was in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and, +being brought to the mouth of hell, was forced to put up his sword, and +could do no other than cry, O Lord, I beseech Thee, deliver my soul, he +heard a voice going before him and saying, Though I walk through the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear none ill, for Thou art with +me. And by and by the day broke. “Then,” said Christian, “He hath +turned the Shadow of Death into morning. Whereupon Christian sang— + + “Oh, world of wonders! (I can say no less) + That I should be preserved in that distress + That I have met with here! Oh, blessed be + That hand that from it hath delivered me!” + +This was Christian’s love for God, and for God as his helper. Was that +perfectly pure? However, this is a digression. I determined to help +myself in my own way, and thought I would try the publishers. One +morning I walked from Camden Town to Paternoster Row. I went straightway +into two or three shops and asked whether they wanted anybody. I was +ready to do the ordinary work it of a publisher’s assistant, and aspired +no higher. I met with several refusals, some of them not over-polite, +and the degradation—for so I felt it—of wandering through the streets and +suing for employment cut me keenly. I remember one man in particular, +who spoke to me with the mechanical brutality with which probably he +replied to a score of similar applications every week. He sat in a +little glass box at the end of a long dark room lighted with gas. It was +a bitterly cold room, with no contrivances for warming it, but in his box +there was a fire burning for his own special benefit. He surveyed all +his clerks unceasingly, and woe betide the unhappy wretch who was caught +idling. He and his slaves reminded me of a thrashing-machine which is +worked by horses walking round in a ring, the driver being perched on a +high stool in the middle and armed with a long whip. + +While I was waiting his pleasure he came out and spoke to one or two of +his miserable subordinates words of directest and sharpest rebuke, +without anger or the least loss of self-possession, and yet without the +least attempt to mitigate their severity. I meditated much upon him. If +ever I had occasion to rebuke anybody, I always did it apologetically, +unless I happened to be in a flaming passion—and this was my habit, not +from any respectable motive of consideration for the person rebuked, but +partly because I am timid, and partly because I shrink from giving pain. +This man said with perfect ease what I could not have said unless I had +been wrought up to white heat. With all my dislike to him, I envied him: +I envied his complete certainty; for although his language was harsh in +the extreme, he was always sure of his ground, and the victim upon whom +his lash descended could never say that he had given absolutely no reason +for the chastisement, and that it was altogether a mistake. I envied +also his ability to make himself disagreeable and care nothing about it; +his power to walk in his own path, and his resolve to succeed, no matter +what the cost might be. + +As I left him, it occurred to me that I might be more successful perhaps +with a publisher of whom I had heard, who published and sold books of a +sceptical turn. To him I accordingly went, and although I had no +introductions or recommendatory letters, I was received, if not with a +cordiality, at least with an interest which surprised me. He took me +into a little back shop, and after hearing patiently what I wanted, he +asked me somewhat abruptly what I thought of the miracles in the Bible. +This was a curious question if he wished to understand my character; but +his mind so constantly revolved in one circle, and existed so completely +by hostility to the prevailing orthodoxy, that belief or disbelief in it +was the standard by which he judged men. It was a very absurd standard +doubtless, but no more absurd than many others, and not so absurd then as +it would be now, when heresy is becoming more fashionable. + +I explained to him as well as I could what my position was; that I did +not suppose that the miracles actually happened as they are recorded, but +that, generally speaking, the miracle was a very intense statement of a +divine truth; in fact, a truth which was felt with a more than common +intensity seemed to take naturally a miraculous expression. Hence, so +far from neglecting the miraculous stories of the Bible as simply outside +me, I rejoiced in them more, perhaps, than in the plain historical or +didactic prose. + +He seemed content, although hardly to comprehend, and the result was that +he asked me if I would help him in his business. In order to do this, it +would be more economical if I would live in his house, which was too big +for him. He promised to give me £40 a year, in addition to board and +lodging. I joyously assented, and the bargain was struck. + +The next day I came to my new quarters. I found that he was a bachelor, +with a niece, apparently about four or five and twenty years old, acting +as a housekeeper, who assisted him in literary work. My own room was at +the top of the house, warm, quiet, and comfortable, although the view was +nothing but a wide reaching assemblage of chimney-pots. My hours were +long—from nine in the morning till seven in the evening; but this I did +not mind. I felt that if I was not happy, I was at least protected, and +that I was with a man who cared for me, and for whom I cared. The first +day I went there, he said that I could have a fire in my bedroom whenever +I chose, so that I could always retreat to it when I wished to be by +myself. As for my duties, I was to sell his books, keep his accounts, +read proofs, run errands, and in short do just what he did himself. + +After my first morning’s work we went upstairs to dinner, and I was +introduced to “my niece Theresa.” I was rather surprised that I should +have been admitted to a house in which there lived a young woman with no +mother nor aunt, but this surprise ceased when I came to know more of +Theresa and her uncle. She had yellowish hair which was naturally waved, +a big arched head, greyish-blue eyes, so far as I could make out, and a +mouth which, although it had curves in it, was compressed and indicative +of great force of character. She was rather short, with square +shoulders, and she had a singularly vigorous, firm walk. She had a way, +when she was not eating or drinking, of sitting back in her chair at +table and looking straight at the person with whom she was talking. + +Her uncle, whom, by the way, I had forgotten to name—his name was +Wollaston—happened to know some popular preacher whom I knew, and I said +that I wondered so many people went to hear him, for I believed him to be +a hypocrite, and hypocrisy was one of the easiest of crimes to discover. +Theresa, who had hitherto been silent, and was reclining in her usual +attitude, instantly broke out with an emphasis and directness which quite +startled me. + +“The easiest to discover, do you think, Mr. Rutherford? I think it is +the most difficult, at least for ordinary persons; and when they do +discover it, I believe they like it, especially if it is successful. +They like the sanction it gives to their own hypocrisy. They like a man +to come to them who will say to them, ‘We are all hypocrites together,’ +and who will put his finger to his nose and comfort them. Don’t you +think so yourself?” + +In conversation I was always a bad hand at assuming a position contrary +to the one assumed by the person to whom I might be talking—nor could I +persistently maintain my own position if it happened to be opposed. I +always rather tried to see as my opponent saw, and to discover how much +there was in him with which I could sympathise. I therefore assented +weakly to Theresa, and she seemed disappointed. Dinner was just over; +she got up and rang the bell and went out of the room. + +I found my work very hard, and some of it even loathsome. Particularly +loathsome was that part of it which brought me into contact with the +trade. I had to sell books to the booksellers’ assistants, and I had to +collect books myself. These duties are usually undertaken in large +establishments by men specially trained, who receive a low rate of wages +and who are rather a rough set. It was totally different work to +anything I had ever had to do before, and I suffered as a man with soft +hands would suffer who was suddenly called to be a blacksmith or a +dock-labourer. + +Specially, too, did I miss the country. London lay round me like a +mausoleum. I got into the habit of rising very early in the morning and +walking out to Kensington Gardens and back before breakfast, varying my +route occasionally so as even to reach Battersea Bridge, which was always +a favourite spot with me. Kensington Gardens and Battersea Bridge were +poor substitutes for the downs, and for the level stretch by the river +towards the sea where I first saw Mardon, but we make too much of +circumstances, and the very pressure of London produced a sensibility to +whatever loveliness could be apprehended there, which was absent when +loveliness was always around me. The stars seen in Oxford Street late +one night; a sunset one summer evening from Lambeth pier; and, above +everything, Piccadilly very early one summer morning, abide with me +still, when much that was more romantic has been forgotten. On the +whole, I was not unhappy. The constant outward occupation prevented any +eating of the heart or undue brooding over problems which were insoluble, +at least for my intellect, and on that very account fascinated me the +more. + +I do not think that Wollaston cared much for me personally. He was a +curious compound, materialistic yet impulsive, and for ever drawn to some +new thing; without any love for anybody particularly, as far as I could +see, and yet with much more general kindness and philanthropy than many a +man possessing much stronger sympathies and antipathies. There was no +holy of holies in him, into which one or two of the elect could +occasionally be admitted and feel God to be there. He was no temple, but +rather a comfortable, hospitable house open to all friends, well +furnished with books and pictures, and free to every guest from garret to +cellar. He had “liberal” notions about the relationship between the +sexes. Not that he was a libertine, but he disbelieved in marriage, +excepting for so long as husband and wife are a necessity to one another. +If one should find the other uninteresting, or somebody else more +interesting, he thought there ought to be a separation. + +All this I soon learned from him, for he was communicative without any +reserve. His treatment of his niece was peculiar. He would talk on all +kinds of subjects before her, for he had a theory that she ought to +receive precisely the same social training as men, and should know just +what men knew. He was never coarse, but on the other hand he would say +things to her in my presence which brought a flame into my face. What +the evil consequences of this might be, I could not at once foresee, but +one good result obviously was, that in his house there was nothing of +that execrable practice of talking down to women; there was no change of +level when women were present. + +One day he began to speak about a novel which everybody was reading then, +and I happened to say that I wished people who wrote novels would not +write as if love were the very centre and sum of human existence. A +man’s life was made up of so much besides love, and yet novelists were +never weary of repeating the same story, telling it over and over again +in a hundred different forms. + +“I do not agree with you,” said Theresa. “I disagree with you utterly. +I dislike foolish, inane sentiment—it makes me sick; but I do believe, in +the first place, that no man was ever good for anything who has not been +devoured, I was going to say, by a great devotion to a woman. The lives +of your great men are as much the history of women whom they adored as of +themselves. Dante, Byron, Shelley, it is the same with all of them, and +there is no mistake about it; it is the great fact of life. What would +Shakespeare be without it? and Shakespeare is life. A man, worthy to be +named a man, will find the fact of love perpetually confronting him till +he reaches old age, and if he be not ruined by worldliness or +dissipation, will be troubled by it when he is fifty as much as when he +was twenty-five. It is the subject of all subjects. People abuse love, +and think it the cause of half the mischief in the world. It is the one +thing that keeps the world straight, and if it were not for that +overpowering instinct, human nature would fall asunder; would be the prey +of inconceivable selfishness and vices, and finally, there would be +universal suicide. I did not intend to be eloquent: I hate being +eloquent. But you did not mean what you said; you spoke from the head or +teeth merely.” + +Theresa’s little speech was delivered not with any heat of the blood. +There was no excitement in her grey eyes, nor did her cheek burn. Her +brain seemed to rule everything. This was an idea she had, and she +kindled over it because it was an idea. It was impossible, of course, +that she should say what she did without some movement of the organ in +her breast, but how much share this organ had in her utterances I never +could make out. How much was due to the interest which she as a +looker-on felt in men and women, and how much was due to herself as a +woman, was always a mystery to me. + +She was fond of music, and occasionally I asked her to play to me. She +had a great contempt for bungling, and not being a professional player, +she never would try a piece in my presence of which she was not perfectly +master. She particularly liked to play Mozart, and on my asking her once +to play a piece of Beethoven, she turned round upon me and said: “You +like Beethoven best. I knew you would. He encourages a luxurious +revelling in the incomprehensible and indefinably sublime. He is not +good for you.” + +My work was so hard, and the hours were so long, that I had little or no +time for reading, nor for thinking either, except so far as Wollaston and +Theresa made me think. Wollaston himself took rather to science, +although he was not scientific, and made a good deal of what he called +psychology. He was not very profound, but he had picked up a few +phrases, or if this word is too harsh, a few ideas about metaphysical +matters from authors who contemned metaphysics, and with these he was +perfectly satisfied. A stranger listening to him would at first consider +him well read, but would soon be undeceived, and would find that these +ideas were acquired long ago; that he had never gone behind or below +them, and that they had never fructified in him, but were like hard +stones, which he rattled in his pocket. He was totally unlike Mardon. +Mardon, although he would have agreed with many of Wollaston’s results, +differed entirely from him in the processes by which they had been +brought about; and a mental comparison of the two often told me what I +had been told over and over again, that what we believe is not of so much +importance as the path by which we travel to it. + +Theresa too, like her uncle, eschewed metaphysics, but she was a woman, +and a woman’s impulses supplied in her the lack of those deeper +questionings, and at times prompted them. She was far more original than +he was, and was impatient of the narrowness of the circle in which he +moved. Her love of music, for example, was a thing incomprehensible to +him, and I do not remember that he ever sat for a quarter of an hour +really listening to it. He would read the newspaper or do anything while +she was playing. She never resented his inattention, except when he made +a noise, and then, without any rebuke, she would break off and go away. +This mode of treatment was the outcome of one of her theories. She +disbelieved altogether in punishment, except when it was likely to do +good, either to the person punished or to others. “A good deal of +punishment,” she used to say, “is mere useless pain.” + +Both Theresa and her uncle were kind and human, and I endeavoured to my +utmost to repay them by working my hardest. My few hours of leisure were +sweet, and when I spent them with Wollaston and Theresa, were +interesting. I often asked myself why I found this mode of existence +more tolerable than any other I had hitherto enjoyed. I had, it is true, +an hour or two’s unspeakable peace in the early morning, but, as I have +said, at nine my toil commenced, and, with a very brief interval for +meals, lasted till seven. After seven I was too tired to do anything by +myself, and could only keep awake if I happened to be in company. + +One reason certainly why I was content, was Theresa herself. She was a +constant study to me, and I could not for a long time obtain any +consistent idea of her. She was not a this or a that or the other. She +could not be summarily dismissed into any ordinary classification. At +first I was sure she was hard, but I found by the merest accident that +nearly all her earnings were given with utmost secrecy to support a +couple of poor relatives. Then I thought her self-conscious, but this, +when I came to think upon it, seemed a mere word. She was one of those +women, and very rare they are, who deal in ideas, and reflectiveness must +be self-conscious. At times she appeared passionless, so completely did +her intellect dominate, and so superior was she to all the little arts +and weaknesses of women; but this was a criticism she contradicted +continually. + +There was very little society at the Wollastons’, but occasionally a few +friends called. One evening there was a little party, and the +conversation flagged. Theresa said that it was a great mistake to bring +people together with nothing special to do but talk. Nothing is more +tedious than to be in a company assembled for no particular reason, and +every host, if he asks more than two persons at the outside, ought to +provide some entertainment. Talking is worth nothing unless it is +perfectly spontaneous, and it cannot be spontaneous if there are sudden +and blank silences, and nobody can think of a fresh departure. The +master of the house is bound to do something. He ought to hire a Punch +and Judy show, or get up a dance. + +This spice of bitterness and flavour of rudeness was altogether +characteristic of Theresa, and somebody resented it by reminding her that +_she_ was the hostess. “Of course,” she replied, “that is why I said it: +what shall I do?” One of her gifts was memory, and her friends cried out +at once that she should recite something. She hesitated a little, and +then throwing herself back in her chair, began _The Lass of Lochroyan_. +At first she was rather diffident, but she gathered strength as she went +on. There is a passage in the middle of the poem in which Lord Gregory’s +cruel mother pretends she is Lord Gregory, and refuses to recognise his +former love, Annie of Lochroyan, as she stands outside his tower. The +mother calls to Annie from the inside— + + “Gin thou be Annie of Lochroyan + (As I trow thou binna she), + Now tell me some of the love tokèns + That passed between thee and me.” + + “Oh, dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory, + As we sat at the wine, + We changed the rings frae our fingers, + And I can show thee thine? + + “Oh, yours was gude, and gude enough, + But aye the best was mine; + For yours was o’ the gude red gowd, + _But mine o’ the diamond fine_.” + +The last verse is as noble as anything in any ballad in the English +language, and I thought that when Theresa was half way through it her +voice shook a good deal. There was a glass of flowers standing near her, +and just as she came to an end her arm moved and the glass was in a +moment on the floor, shivered into twenty pieces. I happened to be +watching her, and felt perfectly sure that the movement of her arm was +not accidental, and that her intention was to conceal, by the apparent +mishap, an emotion which was increasing and becoming inconvenient. At +any rate, if that was her object it was perfectly accomplished, for the +recitation was abruptly terminated, there was general commiseration over +the shattered vase, and when the pieces were picked up and order was +restored, it was nearly time to separate. + +Two of my chief failings were forgetfulness and a want of thoroughness in +investigation. What misery have I not suffered from insufficient +presentation of a case to myself, and from prompt conviction of +insufficiency and inaccuracy by the person to whom I in turn presented +it! What misery have I not suffered from the discovery that explicit +directions to me had been overlooked or only half understood! + +One day in particular, I had to take round a book to be “subscribed” +which Wollaston had just published—that is to say, I had to take a copy +to each of the leading booksellers to see how many they would purchase. +Some books are sold “thirteen as twelve,” the thirteenth book being given +to the purchaser of twelve, and some are sold “twenty-five as +twenty-four.” This book was to be sold “twenty-five as twenty-four,” +according to Wollaston’s orders. I subscribed it thirteen as twelve. +Wollaston was annoyed, as I could see, for I had to go over all my work +again, but in accordance with his fixed principles, he was not out of +temper. + +It so happened that that same day he gave me some business correspondence +which I was to look through; and having looked through it, I was to +answer the last letter in the sense which he indicated. I read the +correspondence and wrote the letter for his signature. As soon as he saw +it, he pointed out to me that I had only half mastered the facts, and +that my letter was all wrong. This greatly disturbed me, not only +because I had vexed him and disappointed him, but because it was renewed +evidence of my weakness. I thought that if I was incapable of getting to +the bottom of such a very shallow complication as this, of what value +were any of my thinkings on more difficult subjects, and I fell a prey to +self-contempt and scepticism. Contempt from those about us is hard to +bear, but God help the poor wretch who contemns himself. + +How well I recollect the early walk on the following morning in +Kensington Gardens, the feeling of my own utter worthlessness, and the +longing for death as the cancellation of the blunder of my existence! I +went home, and after breakfast some proofs came from the printer of a +pamphlet which Wollaston had in hand. Without unfastening them, he gave +them to me, and said that as he had no time to read them himself, I must +go upstairs to Theresa’s study and read them off with her. Accordingly I +went and began to read. She took the manuscript and I took the proof. +She read about a page, and then she suddenly stopped. “Oh, Mr. +Rutherford,” she said, it, “what have you done? I heard my uncle +distinctly tell you to mark on the manuscript when it went to the +printer, that it was to be printed in demy octavo, and you have marked it +twelvemo.” + +I had had little sleep that night, I was exhausted with my early walk, +and suddenly the room seemed to fade from me and I fainted. When I came +to myself, I found that Theresa had not sought for any help; she had done +all that ought to be done. She had unfastened my collar and had sponged +my face with cold water. The first thing I saw as I gradually recovered +myself, was her eyes looking steadily at me as she stood over me, and I +felt her hand upon my head. When she was sure I was coming to myself, +she held off and sat down in her chair. + +I was a little hysterical, and after the fit was over I broke loose. +With a storm of tears, I laid open all my heart. I told her how nothing +I had ever attempted had succeeded; that I had never even been able to +attain that degree of satisfaction with myself and my own conclusions, +without which a man cannot live; and that now I found I was useless, even +to the best friends I had ever known, and that the meanest clerk in the +city would serve them better than I did. I was beside myself, and I +threw myself on my knees, burying my face in Theresa’s lap and sobbing +convulsively. She did not repel me, but she gently passed her fingers +through my hair. Oh, the transport of that touch! It was as if water +had been poured on a burnt hand, or some miraculous Messiah had soothed +the delirium of a fever-stricken sufferer, and replaced his visions of +torment with dreams of Paradise. + +She gently lifted me up, and as I rose I saw her eyes too were wet. “My +poor friend,” she said, “I cannot talk to you now. You are not strong +enough, and for that matter, nor am I, but let me say this to you, that +you are altogether mistaken about yourself. The meanest clerk in the +city could not take your place here.” There was just a slight emphasis I +thought upon the word “here.” “Now” she said, “you had better go. I +will see about the pamphlet.” + +I went out mechanically, and I anticipate my story so far as to say that, +two days after, another proof came in the proper form. I went to the +printer to offer to pay for setting it up afresh, and was told that Miss +Wollaston had been there and had paid herself for the rectification of +the mistake, giving special injunctions that no notice of it was to be +given to her uncle. I should like to add one more beatitude to those of +the gospels and to say, Blessed are they who heal us of self-despisings. +Of all services which can be done to man, I know of none more precious. + +When I went back to my work I worshipped Theresa, and was entirely +overcome with unhesitating, absorbing love for her. I saw no thing more +of her that day nor the next day. Her uncle told me that she had gone +into the country, and that probably she would not return for some time, +as she had purposed paying a lengthened visit to a friend at a distance. +I had a mind to write to her; but I felt as I have often felt before in +great crises, a restraint which was gentle and incomprehensible, but +nevertheless unmistakable. I suppose it is not what would be called +conscience, as conscience is supposed to decide solely between right and +wrong, but it was none the less peremptory, although its voice was so +soft and low that it might easily have been overlooked. Over and over +again, when I have purposed doing a thing, have I been impeded or +arrested by this same silent monitor, and never have I known its warnings +to be the mere false alarms of fancy. + +After a time, the thought of Mary recurred to me. I was distressed to +find that, in the very height of my love for Theresa, my love for Mary +continued unabated. Had it been otherwise, had my affection for Mary +grown dim, I should not have been so much perplexed, but it did not. It +may be ignominious to confess it, but so it was; I simply record the +fact. + +I had not seen Mardon since that last memorable evening at his house, but +one day as I was sitting in the shop, who should walk it in but Mary +herself. The meeting, although strange, was easily explained. Her +father was ill, and could do nothing but read. Wollaston published +free-thinking books, and Mardon had noticed in an advertisement the name +of a book which he particularly wished to see. Accordingly he sent Mary +for it. She pressed me very much to call on him. He had talked about me +a good deal, and had written to me at the last address he knew, but the +letter had been returned through the dead-letter office. + +It was a week before I could go, and when did go, I found him much worse +than I had imagined him to be. There was no virulent disease of any +particular organ, but he was slowly wasting away from atrophy, and he +knew, or thought he knew, he should not recover. But he was perfectly +self-possessed. + +“With regard to immortality,” he said, “I never know what men mean by it. +_What_ self is it which is to be immortal? Is it really desired by +anybody that he should continue to exist for ever with his present +limitations and failings? Yet if these are not continued, the man does +not continue, but something else, a totally different person. I believe +in the survival of life and thought. People think is not enough. They +say they want the survival of their personality. It is very difficult to +express any conjecture upon the matter, especially now when I am weak, +and I have no system—nothing but surmises. One thing I am sure of—that a +man ought to rid himself as much as possible of the miserable egotism +which is so anxious about self, and should be more and more anxious about +the Universal.” + +Mardon grew slowly worse. The winter was coming on, and as the +temperature fell and the days grew darker, he declined. With all his +heroism and hardness he had a weakness or two, and one was, that he did +not want to die in London or be buried there. So we got him down to +Sandgate near Hythe, and procured lodging for him close to the sea, so +that he could lie in bed and watch the sun and moon rise over the water. +Mary, of course, remained with him, and I returned to London. + +Towards the end of November I got a letter, to tell me that if I wished +to see him alive again, I must go down at once. I went that day, and I +found that the doctor had been and had said that before the morning the +end must come. Mardon was perfectly conscious, in no pain, and quite +calm. He was just able to speak. When I went into his bedroom, he +smiled, and without any preface or introduction he said: “Learn not to be +over-anxious about meeting troubles and solving difficulties which time +will meet and solve for you.” Excepting to ask for water, I don’t think +he spoke again. + +All that night Mary and I watched in that topmost garret looking out over +the ocean. It was a night entirely unclouded, and the moon was at the +full. Towards daybreak her father moaned a little, then became quite +quiet, and just as the dawn was changing to sunrise, he passed away. +What a sunrise it was! For about half-an-hour before the sun actually +appeared, the perfectly smooth water was one mass of gently heaving +opaline lustre. Not a sound was to be heard, and over in the south-east +hung the planet Venus. Death was in the chamber, but the surpassing +splendour of the pageant outside arrested us, and we sat awed and silent. +Not till the first burning-point of the great orb itself emerged above +the horizon, not till the day awoke with its brightness and brought with +it the sounds of the day and its cares, did we give way to our grief. + +It was impossible for me to stay. It was not that I was obliged to get +back to my work in London, but I felt that Mary would far rather be +alone, and that it would not be proper for me to remain. The woman of +the house in which the lodgings were was very kind, and promised to do +all that was necessary. It was arranged that I should come down again to +the funeral. + +So I went back to London. Before I had got twenty miles on my journey +the glory of a few hours had turned into autumn storm. The rain came +down in torrents, and the wind rushed across the country in great blasts, +stripping the trees, and driving over the sky with hurricane speed great +masses of continuous cloud, which mingled earth and heaven. I thought of +all the ships which were on the sea in the night, sailing under the +serene stars which I had seen rise and set; I thought of Mardon lying +dead, and I thought of Mary. The simultaneous passage through great +emotions welds souls, and begets the strongest of all forms of love. +Those who have sobbed together over a dead friend, who have held one +another’s hands in that dread hour, feel a bond of sympathy, pure and +sacred, which nothing can dissolve. + +I went to the funeral as appointed. There was some little difficulty +about it, for Mary, who knew her father so well, was unconquerably +reluctant that an inconsistency should crown the career of one who, all +through life, had been so completely self-accordant. She could not bear +that he should be buried with a ceremony which he despised, and she was +altogether free from that weakness which induces a compliance with the +rites of the Church from persons who avow themselves sceptics. + +At last a burying-ground was found, belonging to a little half-forsaken +Unitarian chapel; and there Mardon was laid. A few friends came from +London, one of whom had been a Unitarian minister, and he “conducted the +service,” such as it was. It was of the simplest kind. The body was +taken to the side of the grave, and before it was lowered a few words +were said, calling to mind all the virtues of him whom we had lost. +These the speaker presented to us with much power and sympathy. He did +not merely catalogue a disconnected string of excellences, but he seemed +to plant himself in the central point of Mardon’s nature, and to see from +what it radiated. + +He then passed on to say that about immortality, as usually understood, +he knew nothing; but that Mardon would live as every force in nature +lives—for ever; transmuted into a thousand different forms; the original +form utterly forgotten, but never perishing. The cloud breaks up and +comes down upon the earth in showers which cease, but the clouds and the +showers are really undying. This may be true,—but, after all, I can only +accept the fact of death in silence, as we accept the loss of youth and +all other calamities. We are able to see that the arrangements which we +should make, if we had the control of the universe, would be more absurd +than those which prevail now. We are able to see that an eternity of +life in one particular form, with one particular set of relationships, +would be misery to many and mischievous to everybody, however sweet those +relationships may be to some of us. At times we are reconciled to death +as the great regenerator, and we pine for escape from the surroundings of +which we have grown weary; but we can say no more, and the hour of +illumination has not yet come. Whether it ever will come to a more nobly +developed race we cannot tell. + + * * * * * + +Thus far goes the manuscript which I have in my possession. I know that +there is more of it, but all my search for it has been in vain. Possibly +some day I may be able to recover it. My friend discontinued his notes +for some years, and consequently the concluding portion of them was +entirely separate from the earlier portion, and this is the reason, I +suppose, why it is missing. + +Miss Mardon soon followed her father. She caught cold at his funeral; +the seeds of consumption developed themselves with remarkable rapidity, +and in less than a month she had gone. Her father’s peculiar habits had +greatly isolated him, and Miss Mardon had scarcely any friends. +Rutherford went to see her continually, and during the last few nights +sat up with her, incurring not a little scandal and gossip, to which he +was entirely insensible. + +For a time he was utterly broken-hearted; and not only broken-hearted, +but broken-spirited, and incapable of attacking the least difficulty. +All the springs of his nature were softened, so that if anything was cast +upon him, there it remained without hope, and without any effort being +made to remove it. He only began to recover when he was forced to give +up work altogether and take a long holiday. To do this he was obliged to +leave Mr. Wollaston, and the means of obtaining his much-needed rest were +afforded him, partly by what he had saved, and partly by the kindness of +one or two whom he had known. + +I thought that Miss Mardon’s death would permanently increase my friend’s +intellectual despondency, but it did not. On the contrary, he gradually +grew out of it. A crisis seemed to take a turn just then, and he became +less involved in his old speculations, and more devoted to other +pursuits. I fancy that something happened; there was some word revealed +to him, or there was some recoil, some healthy horror of eclipse in this +self-created gloom which drove him out of it. + +He accidentally renewed his acquaintance with the butterfly-catcher, who +was obliged to leave the country and come up to London. He, however, did +not give up his old hobby, and the two friends used every Sunday in +summer time to sally forth some distance from town and spend the whole +live-long day upon the downs and in the green lanes of Surrey. Both of +them had to work hard during the week. Rutherford, who had learned +shorthand when he was young, got employment upon a newspaper, and +ultimately a seat in the gallery of the House of Commons. He never took +to collecting insects like his companion, nor indeed to any scientific +pursuits, but he certainly changed. + +I find it very difficult to describe exactly what the change was, because +it was into nothing positive; into no sect, party, nor special mode. He +did not, for example, go off into absolute denial. I remember his +telling me, that to suppress speculation would be a violence done to our +nature as unnatural as if we were to prohibit ourselves from looking up +to the blue depths between the stars at night; as if we were to determine +that nature required correcting in this respect, and that we ought to be +so constructed as not to be able to see anything but the earth and what +lies on it. Still, these things in a measure ceased to worry him, and +the long conflict died away gradually into a peace not formally +concluded, and with no specific stipulations, but nevertheless definite. +He was content to rest and wait. Better health and time, which does so +much for us, brought this about. The passage of years gradually relaxed +his anxiety about death by loosening his anxiety for life without +loosening his love of life. + +But I would rather not go into any further details, because I still +cherish the hope that some day or the other I may recover the contents of +the diary. I am afraid that up to this point he has misrepresented +himself, and that those who read his story will think him nothing but a +mere egoist, selfish and self-absorbed. Morbid he may have been, but +selfish he was not. A more perfect friend I never knew, nor one more +capable of complete abandonment to a person for whom he had any real +regard, and I can only hope that it may be my good fortune to find the +materials which will enable me to represent him autobiographically in a +somewhat different light to that in which he appears now. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARK +RUTHERFORD*** + + +******* This file should be named 3269-0.txt or 3269-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/6/3269 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford + + +Author: Mark Rutherford + + + +Release Date: July 1, 2014 [eBook #3269] +[This file was first posted on March 6, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARK +RUTHERFORD*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1><span class="GutSmall">THE</span><br /> +AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF<br /> +MARK RUTHERFORD</h1> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">EDITED BY +HIS FRIEND</span><br /> +REUBEN SHAPCOTT</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">HODDER AND STOUGHTON<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LONDON NEW YORK +TORONTO</span></p> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. ii</span>[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER I</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Childhood</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER II</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Preparation</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER III</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Water Lane</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IV</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Edward Gibbon Mardon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>CHAPTER V</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Miss Arbour</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VI</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ellen and Mary</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Emancipation</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VIII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Progress in Emancipation</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page194">194</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IX</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Oxford Street</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>PREFACE<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">TO THE SECOND EDITION</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> present edition is a reprint of +the first, with corrections of several mistakes which had been +overlooked.</p> +<p>There is one observation which I may perhaps be permitted to +make on re-reading after some years this autobiography. +Rutherford, at any rate in his earlier life, was an example of +the danger and the folly of cultivating thoughts and reading +books to which he was not equal, and which tend to make a man +lonely.</p> +<p>It is all very well that remarkable persons should occupy +themselves with exalted subjects, which are out of the ordinary +road which ordinary humanity treads; but we who are not +remarkable make a very great mistake if <a name="page4"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 4</span>we have anything to do with +them. If we wish to be happy, and have to live with average +men and women, as most of us have to live, we must learn to take +an interest in the topics which concern average men and +women. We think too much of ourselves. We ought not +to sacrifice a single moment’s pleasure in our attempt to +do something which is too big for us, and as a rule, men and +women are always attempting what is too big for them. To +ninety-nine young men out of a hundred, or perhaps ninety-nine +thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a hundred thousand, +the wholesome healthy doctrine is, “Don’t bother +yourselves with what is beyond you; try to lead a sweet, clean, +wholesome life, keep yourselves in health above everything, stick +to your work, and when your day is done amuse and refresh +yourselves.”</p> +<p>It is not only a duty to ourselves, but it is a duty to others +to take this course. Great men do the world much good, but +not without <a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>some harm, and we have no business to be troubling +ourselves with their dreams if we have duties which lie nearer +home amongst persons to whom these dreams are +incomprehensible. Many a man goes into his study, shuts +himself up with his poetry or his psychology, comes out, half +understanding what he has read, is miserable because he cannot +find anybody with whom he can talk about it, and misses +altogether the far more genuine joy which he could have obtained +from a game with his children or listening to what his wife had +to tell him about her neighbours.</p> +<p>“Lor, miss, you haven’t looked at your new bonnet +to-day,” said a servant girl to her young mistress.</p> +<p>“No, why should I? I did not want to go +out.”</p> +<p>“Oh, how can you? why, I get mine out and look at it +every night.”</p> +<p>She was happy for a whole fortnight with a happiness cheap at +a very high price.</p> +<p><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>That same +young mistress was very caustic upon the women who block the +pavement outside drapers’ shops, but surely she was +unjust. They always seem unconscious, to be enjoying +themselves intensely and most innocently, more so probably than +an audience at a Wagner concert. Many persons with refined +minds are apt to depreciate happiness, especially if it is of +“a low type.” Broadly speaking, it is the one +thing worth having, and low or high, if it does no mischief, is +better than the most spiritual misery.</p> +<p>Metaphysics and theology, including all speculations on the +why and the wherefore, optimism, pessimism, freedom, necessity, +causality, and so forth, are not only for the most part loss of +time, but frequently ruinous. It is no answer to say that +these things force themselves upon us, and that to every question +we are bound to give or try to give an answer. It is true, +although strange, that there are multitudes of burning questions +which we must <a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>do our best to ignore, to forget their existence; and it +is not more strange, after all, than many other facts in this +wonderfully mysterious and defective existence of ours. One +fourth of life is intelligible, the other three-fourths is +unintelligible darkness; and our earliest duty is to cultivate +the habit of not looking round the corner.</p> +<p>“Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine +with a merry heart; for God hath already accepted thy +works. Let thy garments be always white, and let not thy +head lack ointment. Live joyfully with the wife whom thou +lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which He hath +given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is +thy portion in life.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. S.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span><i>This is the night when I must die</i>,<br /> +<i>And great Orion walketh high</i><br /> +<i>In silent glory overhead</i>:<br /> +<i>He’ll set just after I am dead</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>A week this night</i>, <i>I’m in my +grave</i>:<br /> +<i>Orion walketh o’er the wave</i>:<br /> +<i>Down in the dark damp earth I lie</i>,<br /> +<i>While he doth march in majesty</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>A few weeks hence and spring will +come</i>;<br /> +<i>The earth will bright array put on</i><br /> +<i>Of daisy and of primrose bright</i>,<br /> +<i>And everything which loves the light</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>And some one to my child will say</i>,<br /> +“<i>You’ll soon forget that you could play</i><br /> +<i>Beethoven</i>; <i>let us hear a strain</i><br /> +<i>From that slow movement once again</i>.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span><i>And so she’ll play that melody</i>,<br /> +<i>While I among the worms do lie</i>;<br /> +<i>Dead to them all</i>, <i>for ever dead</i>;<br /> +<i>The churchyard clay dense overhead</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>I once did think there might be mine</i><br +/> +<i>One friendship perfect and divine</i>;<br /> +<i>Alas</i>! <i>that dream dissolved in tears</i><br /> +<i>Before I’d counted twenty years</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>For I was ever commonplace</i>;<br /> +<i>Of genius never had a trace</i>;<br /> +<i>My thoughts the world have never fed</i>,<br /> +<i>Mere echoes of the book last read</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Those whom I knew I cannot blame</i>:<br /> +<i>If they are cold</i>, <i>I am the same</i>:<br /> +<i>How could they ever show to me</i><br /> +<i>More than a common courtesy</i>?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span><i>There is no deed which I have done</i>;<br /> +<i>There is no love which I have won</i>,<br /> +<i>To make them for a moment grieve</i><br /> +<i>That I this night their earth must leave</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus, moaning at the break of day,<br /> +A man upon his deathbed lay;<br /> +A moment more and all was still;<br /> +The Morning Star came o’er the hill.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when the dawn lay on his face,<br /> +It kindled an immortal grace;<br /> +As if in death that Life were shown<br /> +Which lives not in the great alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Orion sank down in the west<br /> +Just as he sank into his rest;<br /> +I closed in solitude his eyes,<br /> +And watched him till the sun’s uprise.</p> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>CHAPTER I<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">CHILDHOOD</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Now</span> that I have completed my +autobiography up to the present year, I sometimes doubt whether +it is right to publish it. Of what use is it, many persons +will say, to present to the world what is mainly a record of +weaknesses and failures? If I had any triumphs to tell; if +I could show how I had risen superior to poverty and suffering; +if, in short, I were a hero of any kind whatever, I might perhaps +be justified in communicating my success to mankind, and +stimulating them to do as I have done. But mine is the tale +of a commonplace life, perplexed by many problems I have never +solved; disturbed by many difficulties I have never surmounted; +and blotted by ignoble concessions which are a constant +regret.</p> +<p>I have decided, however, to let the manuscript remain. I +will not destroy it, although I will not take the responsibility +of printing it. Somebody may think it worth preserving; and +there are two reasons why they may think so, if there are no +others. In the first place it has some little historic +value, for I feel increasingly that the race to which I belonged +is fast passing away, and that the Dissenting minister of the +present day is a different being altogether from the Dissenting +minister of forty years ago.</p> +<p>In the next place, I have observed that the mere knowing that +other people have been tried as we have been tried is a +consolation to us, and that we are relieved by the assurance that +our sufferings are not special and peculiar, but common to us +with many others. Death has always been a terror to me, and +at times, nay generally, religion and philosophy have been +altogether unavailing to mitigate the terror in any way. +But it has been a comfort to me to reflect that whatever death +may be, it is the inheritance of the whole human race; that I am +not singled out, but shall merely have to pass through what the +weakest have had to pass through before me. In the worst of +maladies, worst at least to me, those which are hypochondriacal, +the healing effect which is produced by the visit of a friend who +can simply say, “I have endured all that,” is most +marked. So it is not impossible that some few whose +experience has been like mine may, by my example, be freed from +that sense of solitude which they find so depressing.</p> +<p>I was born, just before the Liverpool and Manchester Railway +was opened, in a small country town in one of the Midland +shires. It is now semi-manufacturing, at the junction of +three or four lines of railway, with hardly a trace left of what +it was fifty years ago. It then consisted of one long main +street, with a few other streets branching from it at +right-angles. Through this street the mail-coach rattled at +night, and the huge waggon rolled through it, drawn by four +horses, which twice a week travelled to and from London and +brought us what we wanted from the great and unknown city.</p> +<p>My father and mother belonged to the ordinary English middle +class of well-to-do shop-keepers. My mother’s family +came from a little distance, but my father’s had lived in +those parts for centuries. I remember perfectly well how +business used to be carried on in those days. There was +absolutely no competition, and although nobody in the town who +was in trade got rich, except the banker and the brewer, nearly +everybody was tolerably well off, and certainly not pressed with +care as their successors are now. The draper, who lived a +little way above us, was a deacon in our chapel, and every +morning, soon after breakfast, he would start off for his walk of +about four miles, stopping by the way to talk to his neighbours +about the events of the day. At eleven o’clock or +thereabouts he would return and would begin work. Everybody +took an hour for dinner—between one and two—and at +that time, especially on a hot July afternoon, the High Street +was empty from end to end, and the profoundest peace reigned.</p> +<p>My life as a child falls into two portions, sharply +divided—week-day and Sunday. During the week-day I +went to the public school, where I learned little or nothing that +did me much good. The discipline of the school was +admirable, and the headmaster was penetrated with a most lofty +sense of duty, but the methods of teaching were very +imperfect. In Latin we had to learn the Eton Latin Grammar +till we knew every word of it by heart, but we did scarcely any +retranslation from English into Latin. Much of our time was +wasted on the merest trifles, such as learning to write, for +example, like copperplate, and, still more extraordinary, in +copying the letters of the alphabet as they are used in +printing.</p> +<p>But we had two half-holidays in the week, which seem to me now +to have been the happiest part of my life. A river ran +through the town, and on summer Wednesdays and Saturdays we +wandered along its banks for miles, alternately fishing and +bathing. I remember whole afternoons in June, July, and +August, passed half-naked or altogether naked in the solitary +meadows and in the water; I remember the tumbling weir with the +deep pool at the bottom in which we dived; I remember, too, the +place where we used to swim across the river with our clothes on +our heads, because there was no bridge near, and the frequent +disaster of a slip of the braces in the middle of the water, so +that shirt, jacket, and trousers were soaked, and we had to lie +on the grass in the broiling sun without a rag on us till +everything was dry again.</p> +<p>In winter our joys were of a different kind but none the less +delightful. If it was a frost, we had skating; not like +skating on a London pond, but over long reaches, and if the locks +had not intervened, we might have gone a day’s journey on +the ice without a stoppage. If there was no ice, we had +football, and what was still better, we could get up a +steeplechase—on foot straight across hedge and ditch.</p> +<p>In after-years, when I lived in London, I came to know +children who went to school in Gower Street, and travelled +backwards and forwards by omnibus—children who had no other +recreation than an occasional visit to the Zoological Gardens, or +a somewhat sombre walk up to Hampstead to see their aunt; and I +have often regretted that they never had any experience of those +perfect poetic pleasures which the boy enjoys whose childhood is +spent in the country, and whose home is there. A country +boarding-school is something altogether different.</p> +<p>On the Sundays, however, the compensation came. It was a +season of unmixed gloom. My father and mother were rigid +Calvinistic Independents, and on that day no newspaper nor any +book more secular than the Evangelical Magazine was +tolerated. Every preparation for the Sabbath had been made +on the Saturday, to avoid as much as possible any work. The +meat was cooked beforehand, so that we never had a hot dinner +even in the coldest weather; the only thing hot which was +permitted was a boiled suet pudding, which cooked itself while we +were at chapel, and some potatoes which were prepared after we +came home. Not a letter was opened unless it was clearly +evident that it was not on business, and for opening these an +apology was always offered that it was possible they might +contain some announcement of sickness. If on cursory +inspection they appeared to be ordinary letters, although they +might be from relations or friends, they were put away.</p> +<p>After family prayer and breakfast the business of the day +began with the Sunday-school at nine o’clock. We were +taught our Catechism and Bible there till a quarter past +ten. We were then marched across the road into the chapel, +a large old-fashioned building dating from the time of Charles +II. The floor was covered with high pews. The roof +was supported by three or four tall wooden pillars which ran from +the ground to the ceiling, and the galleries by shorter +pillars. There was a large oak pulpit on one side against +the wall, and down below, immediately under the minister, was the +“singing pew,” where the singers and musicians sat, +the musicians being performers on the clarionet, flute, violin, +and violoncello. Right in front was a long enclosure, +called the communion pew, which was usually occupied by a number +of the poorer members of the congregation.</p> +<p>There were three services every Sunday, besides intermitting +prayer-meetings, but these I did not as yet attend. Each +service consisted of a hymn, reading the Bible, another hymn, a +prayer, the sermon, a third hymn, and a short final prayer. +The reading of the Bible was unaccompanied with any observations +or explanations, and I do not remember that I ever once heard a +mistranslation corrected.</p> +<p>The first, or long prayer, as it was called, was a horrible +hypocrisy, and it was a sore tax on the preacher to get through +it. Anything more totally unlike the model recommended to +us in the New Testament cannot well be imagined. It +generally began with a confession that we were all sinners, but +no individual sins were ever confessed, and then ensued a kind of +dialogue with God, very much resembling the speeches which in +later years I have heard in the House of Commons from the movers +and seconders of addresses to the Crown at the opening of +Parliament.</p> +<p>In all the religion of that day nothing was falser than the +long prayer. Direct appeal to God can only be justified +when it is passionate. To come maundering into His presence +when we have nothing particular to say is an insult, upon which +we should never presume if we had a petition to offer to any +earthly personage. We should not venture to take up His +time with commonplaces or platitudes; but our minister seemed to +consider that the Almighty, who had the universe to govern, had +more leisure at His command that the idlest lounger at a +club. Nobody ever listened to this performance. I was +a good child on the whole, but I am sure I did not; and if the +chapel were now in existence, there might be traced on the flap +of the pew in which we sat many curious designs due to these +dreary performances.</p> +<p>The sermon was not much better. It generally consisted +of a text, which was a mere peg for a discourse, that was pretty +much the same from January to December. The minister +invariably began with the fall of man; propounded the scheme of +redemption, and ended by depicting in the morning the blessedness +of the saints, and in the evening the doom of the lost. +There was a tradition that in the morning there should be +“experience”—that is to say, comfort for the +elect, and that the evening should be appropriated to their less +fortunate brethren.</p> +<p>The evening service was the most trying to me of all +these. I never could keep awake, and knew that to sleep +under the Gospel was a sin. The chapel was lighted in +winter by immense chandeliers with tiers of candles all +round. These required perpetual snuffing, and I can see the +old man going round the chandeliers in the middle of the service +with a mighty pair of snuffers which opened and shut with a loud +click. How I envied him because he had semi-secular +occupation which prevented that terrible drowsiness! How I +envied the pew-opener, who was allowed to stand at the vestry +door, and could slip into the vestry every now and then, or even +into the burial-ground if he heard irreverent boys playing +there! The atmosphere of the chapel on hot nights was most +foul, and this added to my discomfort. Oftentimes in +winter, when no doors or windows were open, I have seen the glass +panes streaming with wet inside, and women carried out +fainting.</p> +<p>On rare occasions I was allowed to go with my father when he +went into the villages to preach. As a deacon he was also a +lay-preacher, and I had the ride in the gig out and home, and tea +at a farm-house.</p> +<p>Perhaps I shall not have a better opportunity to say that, +with all these drawbacks, my religious education did confer upon +me some positive advantages. The first was a rigid regard +for truthfulness. My parents never would endure a lie or +the least equivocation. The second was purity of life, and +I look upon this as a simply incalculable gain. Impurity +was not an excusable weakness in the society in which I lived; it +was a sin for which dreadful punishment was reserved. The +reason for my virtue may have been a wrong reason, but, anyhow, I +was saved, and being saved, much more was saved than health and +peace of mind.</p> +<p>To this day I do not know where to find a weapon strong enough +to subdue the tendency to impurity in young men; and although I +cannot tell them what I do not believe, I hanker sometimes after +the old prohibitions and penalties. Physiological penalties +are too remote, and the subtler penalties—the degradation, +the growth of callousness to finer pleasures, the loss of +sensitiveness to all that is most nobly attractive in +woman—are too feeble to withstand temptation when it lies +in ambush like a garrotter, and has the reason stunned in a +moment.</p> +<p>The only thing that can be done is to make the conscience of a +boy generally tender, so that he shrinks instinctively from the +monstrous injustice of contributing for the sake of his own +pleasure to the ruin of another. As soon as manhood dawns, +he must also have his attention absorbed on some object which +will divert his thoughts intellectually or ideally; and by slight +yet constant pressure, exercised not by fits and starts, but day +after day, directly and indirectly, his father must form an +antipathy in him to brutish, selfish sensuality. Above all, +there must be no toying with passion, and no books permitted, +without condemnation and warning, which are not of a heroic +turn. When the boy becomes a man he may read Byron without +danger. To a youth he is fatal.</p> +<p>Before leaving this subject I may observe, that parents +greatly err by not telling their children a good many things +which they ought to know. Had I been taught when I was +young a few facts about myself, which I only learned accidentally +long afterwards, a good deal of misery might have been spared +me.</p> +<p>Nothing particular happened to me till I was about fourteen, +when I was told it was time I became converted. Conversion, +amongst the Independents and other Puritan sects, is supposed to +be a kind of miracle wrought in the heart by the influence of the +Holy Spirit, by which the man becomes something altogether +different to what he was previously. It affects, or should +affect, his character; that is to say, he ought after conversion +to be better in every way than he was before; but this is not +considered as its main consequence. In its essence it is a +change in the emotions and increased vividness of belief. +It is now altogether untrue. Yet it is an undoubted fact +that in earlier days, and, indeed, in rare cases, as late as the +time of my childhood, it was occasionally a reality.</p> +<p>It is possible to imagine that under the preaching of Paul +sudden conviction of a life misspent may have been produced with +sudden personal attachment to the Galilean who, until then, had +been despised. There may have been prompt release of +unsuspected powers, and as prompt an imprisonment for ever of +meaner weaknesses and tendencies; the result being literally a +putting off of the old, and a putting on of the new man. +Love has always been potent to produce such a transformation, and +the exact counterpart of conversion, as it was understood by the +apostles, may be seen whenever a man is redeemed from vice by +attachment to some woman whom he worships, or when a girl is +reclaimed from idleness and vanity by becoming a mother.</p> +<p>But conversion, as it was understood by me and as it is now +understood, is altogether unmeaning. I knew that I had to +be “a child of God,” and after a time professed +myself to be one, but I cannot call to mind that I was anything +else than I always had been, save that I was perhaps a little +more hypocritical; not in the sense that I professed to others +what I knew I did not believe, but in the sense that I professed +it to myself. I was obliged to declare myself convinced of +sin; convinced of the efficacy of the atonement; convinced that I +was forgiven; convinced that the Holy Ghost was shed abroad in my +heart; and convinced of a great many other things which were the +merest phrases.</p> +<p>However, the end of it was, that I was proposed for +acceptance, and two deacons were deputed, in accordance with the +usual custom, to wait upon me and ascertain my fitness for +membership. What they said and what I said has now +altogether vanished; but I remember with perfect distinctness the +day on which I was admitted. It was the custom to demand of +each candidate a statement of his or her experience. I had +no experience to give; and I was excused on the grounds that I +had been the child of pious parents, and consequently had not +undergone that convulsion which those, not favoured like myself, +necessarily underwent when they were called.</p> +<p>I was now expected to attend all those extra services which +were specially for the church. I stayed to the late +prayer-meeting on Sunday; I went to the prayer-meeting on +week-days, and also to private prayer-meetings. These +services were not interesting to me for their own sake. I +thought they were, but what I really liked was clanship and the +satisfaction of belonging to a society marked off from the great +world.</p> +<p>It must also be added that the evening meetings afforded us +many opportunities for walking home with certain young women, +who, I am sorry to say, were a more powerful attraction, not to +me only, but to others, than the prospect of hearing brother +Holderness, the travelling draper, confess crimes which, to say +the truth, although they were many according to his own account, +were never given in that detail which would have made his +confession of some value. He never prayed without telling +all of us that there was no health in him, and that his soul was +a mass of putrefying sores; but everybody thought the better of +him for his self-humiliation. One actual indiscretion, +however, brought home to him would have been visited by +suspension or expulsion.</p> +<h2><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>CHAPTER II<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">PREPARATION</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was necessary that an occupation +should be found for me, and after much deliberation it was +settled that I should “go into the ministry.” I +had joined the church, I had “engaged in prayer” +publicly, and although I had not set up for being extraordinarily +pious, I was thought to be as good as most of the young men who +professed to have a mission to regenerate mankind.</p> +<p>Accordingly, after some months of preparation, I was taken to +a Dissenting College not very far from where we lived. It +was a large old-fashioned house with a newer building annexed, +and was surrounded with a garden and with meadows. Each +student had a separate room, and all had their meals together in +a common hall. Altogether there were about forty of +us. The establishment consisted of a President, an elderly +gentleman who had an American degree of doctor of divinity, and +who taught the various branches of theology. He was +assisted by three professors, who imparted to us as much Greek, +Latin, and mathematics as it was considered that we ought to +know. Behold me, then, beginning a course of training which +was to prepare me to meet the doubts of the nineteenth century; +to be the guide of men; to advise them in their perplexities; to +suppress their tempestuous lusts; to lift them above their petty +cares, and to lead them heavenward!</p> +<p>About the Greek and Latin and the secular part of the college +discipline I will say nothing, except that it was generally +inefficient. The theological and Biblical teaching was a +sham. We had come to the college in the first place to +learn the Bible. Our whole existence was in future to be +based upon that book; our lives were to be passed in preaching +it. I will venture to say that there was no book less +understood either by students or professors. The President +had a course of lectures, delivered year after year to successive +generations of his pupils, upon its authenticity and +inspiration. They were altogether remote from the subject; +and afterwards, when I came to know what the difficulties of +belief really were, I found that these essays, which were +supposed to be a triumphant confutation of the sceptic, were a +mere sword of lath. They never touched the question, and if +any doubts suggested themselves to the audience, nobody dared to +give them tongue, lest the expression of them should beget a +suspicion of heresy.</p> +<p>I remember also some lectures on the proof of the existence of +God and on the argument from design; all of which, when my mind +was once awakened, were as irrelevant as the chattering of +sparrows. When I did not even know who or what this God +was, and could not bring my lips to use the word with any mental +honesty, of what service was the “watch argument” to +me? Very lightly did the President pass over all these +initial difficulties of his religion. I see him now, a +gentleman with lightish hair, with a most mellifluous voice and a +most pastoral manner, reading his prim little tracts to us +directed against the “shallow infidel” who seemed to +deny conclusions so obvious that we were certain he could not be +sincere, and those of us who had never seen an infidel might well +be pardoned for supposing that he must always be wickedly +blind.</p> +<p>About a dozen of these tracts settled the infidel and the +whole mass of unbelief from the time of Celsus downwards. +The President’s task was all the easier because he knew +nothing of German literature; and, indeed, the word +“German” was a term of reproach signifying something +very awful, although nobody knew exactly what it was.</p> +<p>Systematic theology was the next science to which the +President directed us. We used a sort of Calvinistic manual +which began by setting forth that mankind was absolutely in +God’s power. He was our maker, and we had no legal +claim whatever to any consideration from Him. The author +then mechanically built up the Calvinistic creed, step by step, +like a house of cards. Systematic theology was the great +business of our academical life. We had to read sermons to +the President in class, and no sermon was considered complete and +proper unless it unfolded what was called the scheme of +redemption from beginning to end.</p> +<p>So it came to pass that about the Bible, as I have already +said, we were in darkness. It was a magazine of texts, and +those portions of it which contributed nothing in the shape of +texts, or formed no part of the scheme, were neglected. +Worse still, not a word was ever spoken to us telling us in what +manner to strengthen the reason, to subdue the senses, or in what +way to deal with all the varied diseases of that soul of man +which we were to set ourselves to save. All its failings, +infinitely more complicated than those of the body, were grouped +as “sin,” and for these there was one quack +remedy. If the patient did not like the remedy, or got no +good from it, the fault was his.</p> +<p>It is remarkable that the scheme was never of the slightest +service to me in repressing one solitary evil inclination; at no +point did it come into contact with me. At the time it +seemed right and proper that I should learn it, and I had no +doubt of its efficacy; but when the stress of temptation was upon +me, it never occurred to me, nor when I became a minister did I +find it sufficiently powerful to mend the most trifling +fault. In after years, but not till I had strayed far away +from the President and his creed, the Bible was really opened to +me, and became to me, what it now is, the most precious of +books.</p> +<p>There were several small chapels scattered in the villages +near the college, and these chapels were “supplied,” +as the phrase is, by the students. Those who were near the +end of their course were also employed as substitutes for regular +ministers when they were temporarily absent. Sometimes a +senior was even sent up to London to take the place, on a sudden +emergency, of a great London minister, and when he came back he +was an object almost of adoration. The congregation, on the +other hand, consisting in some part of country people spending a +Sunday in town and anxious to hear a celebrated preacher, were +not at all disposed to adore, when, instead of the great man, +they saw “only a student.”</p> +<p>By the time I was nineteen I took my turn in +“supplying” the villages, and set forth with the +utmost confidence what appeared to me to be the indubitable +gospel. No shadow of a suspicion of its truth ever crossed +my mind, and yet I had not spent an hour in comprehending, much +less in answering, one objection to it. The objections, in +fact, had never met me; they were over my horizon +altogether. It is wonderful to think how I could take so +much for granted; and not merely take it to myself and for +myself, but proclaim it as a message to other people. It +would be a mistake, however, to suppose that theological youths +are the only class who are guilty of such presumption. Our +gregarious instinct is so strong that it is the most difficult +thing for us to be satisfied with suspended judgment. Men +must join a party, and have a cry, and they generally take up +their party and their cry from the most indifferent motives.</p> +<p>For my own part I cannot be enthusiastic about politics, +except on rare occasions when the issue is a very narrow +one. There is so much that requires profound examination, +and it disgusts me to get upon a platform and dispute with ardent +Radicals or Conservatives who know nothing about even the +rudiments of history, political economy, or political philosophy, +without which it is as absurd to have an opinion upon what are +called politics as it would be to have an opinion upon an +astronomical problem without having learned Euclid.</p> +<p>The more incapable we are of thorough investigations, the +wider and deeper are the subjects upon which we busy ourselves, +and still more strange, the more bigoted do we become in our +conclusions about them; and yet it is not strange, for he who by +painful processes has found yes and no alternate for so long that +he is not sure which is final, is the last man in the world, if +he for the present is resting in yes, to crucify another who can +get no further than no. The bigot is he to whom no such +painful processes have ever been permitted.</p> +<p>The society amongst the students was very poor. Not a +single friendship formed then has remained with me. They +were mostly young men of no education, who had been taken from +the counter, and their spiritual life was not very deep. In +many of them it did not even exist, and their whole attention was +absorbed upon their chances of getting wealthy congregations or +of making desirable matches. It was a time in which the +world outside was seething with the ferment which had been cast +into it by Germany and by those in England whom Germany had +influenced, but not a fragment of it had dropped within our +walls. I cannot call to mind a single conversation upon any +but the most trivial topics, nor did our talk ever turn even upon +our religion, so far as it was a thing affecting the soul, but +upon it as something subsidiary to chapels, “causes,” +deacons, and the like.</p> +<p>The emptiness of some of my colleagues, and their worldliness, +too, were almost incredible. There was one who was +particularly silly. He was a blond youth with greyish eyes, +a mouth not quite shut, and an eternal simper upon his +face. He never had an idea in his head, and never read +anything except the denominational newspapers and a few +well-known aids to sermonising. He was a great man at all +tea-meetings, anniversaries, and parties. He was facile in +public speaking, and he dwelt much upon the joys of heaven and +upon such topics as the possibility of our recognising one +another there. I have known him describe for twenty +minutes, in a kind of watery rhetoric, the passage of the soul to +bliss through death, and its meeting in the next world with those +who had gone before.</p> +<p>With all his weakness he was close and mean in money matters, +and when he left college, the first thing he did was to marry a +widow with a fortune. Before long he became one of the most +popular of ministers in a town much visited by sick persons, with +whom he was an especial favourite. I disliked him—and +specially disliked his unpleasant behaviour to women. If I +had been a woman, I should have spurned him for his perpetual +insult of inane compliments. He was always dawdling after +“the sex,” which was one of his sweet phrases, and +yet he was not passionate. Passion does not dawdle and +compliment, nor is it nasty, as this fellow was. Passion +may burn like a devouring flame; and in a few moments, like +flame, may bring down a temple to dust and ashes, but it is +earnest as flame, and essentially pure.</p> +<p>During the first two years at college my life was entirely +external. My heart was altogether untouched by anything I +heard, read, or did, although I myself supposed that I took an +interest in them. But one day in my third year, a day I +remember as well as Paul must have remembered afterwards the day +on which he went to Damascus, I happened to find amongst a parcel +of books a volume of poems in paper boards. It was called +<i>Lyrical Ballads</i>, and I read first one and then the whole +book. It conveyed to me no new doctrine, and yet the change +it wrought in me could only be compared with that which is said +to have been wrought on Paul himself by the Divine +apparition.</p> +<p>Looking over the <i>Lyrical Ballads</i> again, as I have +looked over it a dozen times since then, I can hardly see what it +was which stirred me so powerfully, nor do I believe that it +communicated much to me which could be put in words. But it +excited a movement and a growth which went on till, by degrees, +all the systems which enveloped me like a body gradually decayed +from me and fell away into nothing. Of more importance, +too, than the decay of systems was the birth of a habit of inner +reference and a dislike to occupy myself with anything which did +not in some way or other touch the soul, or was not the +illustration or embodiment of some spiritual law.</p> +<p>There is, of course, a definite explanation to be given of one +effect produced by the <i>Lyrical Ballads</i>. God is +nowhere formally deposed, and Wordsworth would have been the last +man to say that he had lost his faith in the God of his +fathers. But his real God is not the God of the Church, but +the God of the hills, the abstraction Nature, and to this my +reverence was transferred. Instead of an object of worship +which was altogether artificial, remote, never coming into +genuine contact with me, I had now one which I thought to be +real, one in which literally I could live and move and have my +being, an actual fact present before my eyes. God was +brought from that heaven of the books, and dwelt on the downs in +the far-away distances, and in every cloud-shadow which wandered +across the valley. Wordsworth unconsciously did for me what +every religious reformer has done—he re-created my Supreme +Divinity; substituting a new and living spirit for the old deity, +once alive, but gradually hardened into an idol.</p> +<p>What days were those of the next few years before increasing +age had presented preciser problems and demanded preciser +answers; before all joy was darkened by the shadow of on-coming +death, and when life seemed infinite! Those were the days +when through the whole long summer’s morning I wanted no +companion but myself, provided only I was in the country, and +when books were read with tears in the eyes. Those were the +days when mere life, apart from anything which it brings, was +exquisite.</p> +<p>In my own college I found no sympathy, but we were in the +habit of meeting occasionally the students from other colleges, +and amongst them I met with one or two, especially one who had +undergone experiences similar to my own. The friendships +formed with these young men have lasted till now, and have been +the most permanent of all the relationships of my +existence. I wish not to judge others, but the persons who +to me have proved themselves most attractive, have been those who +have passed through such a process as that through which I myself +passed; those who have had in some form or other an enthusiastic +stage in their history, when the story of Genesis and of the +Gospels has been rewritten, when God has visibly walked in the +garden, and the Son of God has drawn men away from their daily +occupations into the divinest of dreams.</p> +<p>I have known men—most interesting men with far greater +powers than any which I have possessed, men who have never been +trammelled by a false creed, who have devoted themselves to +science and acquired a great reputation, who have somehow never +laid hold upon me like the man I have just mentioned. He +failed altogether as a minister, and went back to his shop, but +the old glow of his youth burns, and will burn, for ever. +When I am with him our conversation naturally turns on matters +which are of profoundest importance: with others it may be +instructive, but I leave them unmoved, and I trace the difference +distinctly to that visitation, for it was nothing else, which +came to him in his youth.</p> +<p>The effect which was produced upon my preaching and daily +conversation by this change was immediate. It became +gradually impossible for me to talk about subjects which had not +some genuine connection with me, or to desire to hear others talk +about them. The artificial, the merely miraculous, the +event which had no inner meaning, no matter how large externally +it might be, I did not care for. A little Greek +mythological story was of more importance to me than a war which +filled the newspapers. What, then, could I do with my +theological treatises?</p> +<p>It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that I immediately +became formally heretical. Nearly every doctrine in the +college creed had once had a natural origin in the necessities of +human nature, and might therefore be so interpreted as to become +a necessity again. To reach through to that original +necessity; to explain the atonement as I believed it appeared to +Paul, and the sinfulness of man as it appeared to the prophets, +was my object. But it was precisely this reaching after a +meaning which constituted heresy. The distinctive essence +of our orthodoxy was not this or that dogma, but the acceptance +of dogmas as communications from without, and not as born from +within.</p> +<p>Heresy began, and in fact was altogether present, when I said +to myself that a mere statement of the atonement as taught in +class was impossible for me, and that I must go back to Paul and +his century, place myself in his position, and connect the +atonement through him with something which I felt. I thus +continued to use all the terms which I had hitherto used; but an +uneasy feeling began to develop itself about me in the minds of +the professors, because I did not rest in the +“simplicity” of the gospel. To me this meant +its unintelligibility.</p> +<p>I remember, for example, discoursing about the death of +Christ. There was not a single word which was ordinarily +used in the pulpit which I did not use—satisfaction for +sin, penalty, redeeming blood, they were all there—but I +began by saying that in this world there was no redemption for +man but by blood; furthermore, the innocent had everywhere and in +all time to suffer for the guilty. It had been objected +that it was contrary to our notion of an all-loving Being that He +should demand such a sacrifice; but, contrary or not, in this +world it was true, quite apart from Jesus, that virtue was +martyred every day, unknown and unconsoled, in order that the +wicked might somehow be saved. This was part of the scheme +of the world, and we might dislike it or not, we could not get +rid of it. The consequences of my sin, moreover, are +rendered less terrible by virtues not my own. I am +literally saved from penalties because another pays the penalty +for me. The atonement, and what it accomplished for man, +were therefore a sublime summing up as it were of what sublime +men have to do for their race; an exemplification, rather than a +contradiction, of Nature herself, as we know her in our own +experience.</p> +<p>Now, all this was really intended as a defence of the +atonement; but the President heard me that Sunday, and on the +Monday he called me into his room. He said that my sermon +was marked by considerable ability, but he should have been +better satisfied if I had confined myself to setting forth as +plainly as I could the “way of salvation” as revealed +in Christ Jesus. What I had urged might perhaps have +possessed some interest for cultivated people; in fact, he had +himself urged pretty much the same thing many years ago, when he +was a young man, in a sermon he had preached at the Union +meeting; but I must recollect that in all probability my sphere +of usefulness would lie amongst humble hearers, perhaps in an +agricultural village or a small town, and that he did not think +people of this sort would understand me if I talked over their +heads as I had done the day before. What they wanted on a +Sunday, after all the cares of the week, was not anything to +perplex and disturb them; not anything which demanded any +exercise of thought; but a repetition of the “old story of +which, Mr. Rutherford, you know, we never ought to get weary; an +exhibition of our exceeding sinfulness; of our safety in the Rock +of Ages, and there only; of the joys of the saints and the +sufferings of those who do not believe.”</p> +<p>His words fell on me like the hand of a corpse, and I went +away much depressed. My sermon had excited me, and the man +who of all men ought to have welcomed me, had not a word of +warmth or encouragement for me, nothing but the coldest +indifference, and even repulse.</p> +<p>It occurs to me here to offer an explanation of a failing of +which I have been accused in later years, and that is secrecy and +reserve. The real truth is, that nobody more than myself +could desire self-revelation; but owing to peculiar tendencies in +me, and peculiarity of education, I was always prone to say +things in conversation which I found produced blank silence in +the majority of those who listened to me, and immediate +opportunity was taken by my hearers to turn to something +trivial. Hence it came to pass that only when tempted by +unmistakable sympathy could I be induced to express my real self +on any topic of importance.</p> +<p>It is a curious instance of the difficulty of diagnosing (to +use a doctor’s word) any spiritual disease, if disease this +shyness may be called. People would ordinarily set it down +to self-reliance, with no healthy need of intercourse. It +was nothing of the kind. It was an excess of +communicativeness, an eagerness to show what was most at my +heart, and to ascertain what was at the heart of those to whom I +talked, which made me incapable of mere fencing and trifling, and +so often caused me to retreat into myself when I found absolute +absense of response.</p> +<p>I am also reminded here of a dream which I had in these years +of a perfect friendship. I always felt that, talk with whom +I would, I left something unsaid which was precisely what I most +wished to say. I wanted a friend who would sacrifice +himself to me utterly, and to whom I might offer a similar +sacrifice. I found companions for whom I cared, and who +professed to care for me; but I was thirsting for deeper draughts +of love than any which they had to offer; and I said to myself +that if I were to die, not one of them would remember me for more +than a week. This was not selfishness, for I longed to +prove my devotion as well as to receive that of another. +How this ideal haunted me! It made me restless and anxious +at the sight of every new face, wondering whether at last I had +found that for which I searched as if for the kingdom of +heaven.</p> +<p>It is superfluous to say that a friend of the kind I wanted +never appeared, and disappointment after disappointment at last +produced in me a cynicism which repelled people from me, and +brought upon me a good deal of suffering. I tried men by my +standard, and if they did not come up to it I rejected them; thus +I prodigally wasted a good deal of the affection which the world +would have given me. Only when I got much older did I +discern the duty of accepting life as God has made it, and +thankfully receiving any scrap of love offered to me, however +imperfect it might be.</p> +<p>I don’t know any mistake which I have made which has +cost me more than this; but at the same time I must record that +it was a mistake for which, considering everything, I cannot much +blame myself. I hope it is amended now. Now when it +is getting late I recognise a higher obligation, brought home to +me by a closer study of the New Testament. Sympathy or no +sympathy, a man’s love should no more fail towards his +fellows than that love which spent itself on disciples who +altogether misunderstood it, like the rain which falls on just +and unjust alike.</p> +<h2><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>CHAPTER III<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WATER LANE</span></h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">had</span> now reached the end of my +fourth year at college, and it was time for me to leave. I +was sent down into the eastern counties to a congregation which +had lost its minister, and was there “on probation” +for a month. I was naturally a good speaker, and as the +“cause” had got very low, the attendance at the +chapel increased during the month I was there. The deacons +thought they had a prospect of returning prosperity, and in the +end I received a nearly unanimous invitation, which, after some +hesitation, I accepted. One of the deacons, a Mr. Snale, +was against me; he thought I was not “quite sound”; +but he was overruled. We shall hear more of him +presently. After a short holiday I entered on my new +duties.</p> +<p>The town was one of those which are not uncommon in that part +of the world. It had a population of about seven or eight +thousand, and was a sort of condensation of the agricultural +country round. There was one main street, consisting +principally of very decent, respectable shops. Generally +speaking, there were two shops of each trade; one which was +patronised by the Church and Tories, and another by the +Dissenters and Whigs. The inhabitants were divided into two +distinct camps—of the Church and Tory camp the other camp +knew nothing. On the other hand, the knowledge which each +member of the Dissenting camp had of every other member was most +intimate.</p> +<p>The Dissenters were further split up into two or three +different sects, but the main sect was that of the +Independents. They, in fact, dominated every other. +There was a small Baptist community, and the Wesleyans had a new +red-brick chapel in the outskirts; but for some reason or other +the Independents were really the Dissenters, and until the +“cause” had dwindled, as before observed, all the +Dissenters of any note were to be found on Sunday in their +meeting-house in Water Lane.</p> +<p>My predecessor had died in harness at the age of +seventy-five. I never knew him, but from all I could hear +he must have been a man of some power. As he got older, +however, he became feeble; and after a course of three sermons on +a Sunday for fifty years, what he had to say was so entirely +anticipated by his congregation, that although they all +maintained that the gospel, or, in other words, the doctrine of +the fall, the atonement, and so forth, should continually be +presented, and their minister also believed and acted implicitly +upon the same theory, they fell away—some to the Baptists, +some to the neighbouring Independents about two miles off, and +some to the Church, while a few “went nowhere.”</p> +<p>When I came I found that the deacons still remained +true. They were the skeleton; but the flesh was so woefully +emaciated, that on my first Sunday there were not above fifty +persons in a building which would hold seven hundred. These +deacons were four in number. One was an old farmer who +lived in a village three miles distant. Ever since he was a +boy he had driven over to Water Lane on Sunday. He and his +family brought their dinner with them, and ate it in the vestry; +but they never stopped till the evening, because of the +difficulty of getting home on dark nights, and because they all +went to bed in winter-time at eight o’clock.</p> +<p>Morning and afternoon Mr. Catfield—for that was his +name—gave out the hymns. He was a plain, honest man, +very kind, very ignorant, never reading any book except the +Bible, and barely a newspaper save <i>Bell’s Weekly +Messenger</i>. Even about the Bible he knew little or +nothing beyond a few favourite chapters; and I am bound to say +that, so far as my experience goes, the character so frequently +drawn in romances of intense Bible students in Dissenting +congregations is very rare. At the same time Mr. Catfield +believed himself to be very orthodox, and in his way was very +pious. I could never call him a hypocrite. He was as +sincere as he could be, and yet no religious expression of his +was ever so sincere as the most ordinary expression of the most +trifling pleasure or pain.</p> +<p>The second deacon, Mr. Weeley, was, as he described himself, a +builder and undertaker; more properly an undertaker and +carpenter. He was a thin, tall man, with a tenor voice, and +he set the tunes. He was entirely without energy of any +kind, and always seemed oppressed by a world which was too much +for him. He had depended a good deal for custom upon his +chapel connection; and when the attendance at the chapel fell +off, his trade fell off likewise, so that he had to compound with +his creditors. He was a mere shadow, a man of whom nothing +could be said either good or evil.</p> +<p>The third deacon was Mr. Snale, the draper. When I first +knew him he was about thirty-five. He was slim, small, and +small-faced, closely shaven, excepting a pair of little curly +whiskers, and he was extremely neat. He had a little voice +too, rather squeaky, and the marked peculiarity that he hardly +ever said anything, no matter how disagreeable it might be, +without stretching as if in a smile his thin little lips. +He kept the principal draper’s shop in the town, and even +Church people spent their money with him, because he was so very +genteel compared with the other draper, who was a great red man, +and hung things outside his window. Mr. Snale was married, +had children, and was strictly proper. But his way of +talking to women and about them was more odious than the way of a +debauchee. He invariably called them “the +ladies,” or more exactly, “the leedies”; and he +hardly ever spoke to a “leedy” without a smirk and +some faint attempt at a joke.</p> +<p>One of the customs of the chapel was what were called Dorcas +meetings. Once a month the wives and daughters drank tea +with each other; the evening being ostensibly devoted to making +clothes for the poor. The husband of the lady who gave the +entertainment for the month had to wait upon the company, and the +minister was expected to read to them while they worked.</p> +<p>It was my lot to be Mr. Snale’s guest two or three times +when Mrs. Snale was the Dorcas hostess. We met in the +drawing-room, which was over the shop, and looked out into the +town market-place. There was a round table in the middle of +the room, at which Mrs. Snale sat and made the tea. +Abundance of hot buttered toast and muffins were provided, which +Mr. Snale and a maid handed round to the party.</p> +<p>Four pictures decorated the walls. One hung over the +mantelpiece. It was a portrait in oils of Mr. Snale, and +opposite to it, on the other side, was a portrait of Mrs. +Snale. Both were daubs, but curiously faithful in depicting +what was most offensive in the character of both the originals, +Mr. Snale’s simper being preserved; together with the +peculiarly hard, heavy sensuality of the eye in Mrs. Snale, who +was large and full-faced, correct like Mr. Snale, a member of the +church, a woman whom I never saw moved to any generosity, and +cruel not with the ferocity of the tiger, but with the dull +insensibility of a cartwheel, which will roll over a man’s +neck as easily as over a flint. The third picture +represented the descent of the Holy Ghost; a number of persons +sitting in a chamber, and each one with the flame of a candle on +his head. The fourth represented the last day. The +Son of God was in a chair surrounded by clouds, and beside Him +was a flying figure blowing a long mail-coach horn. The +dead were coming up out of their graves; some were half out of +the earth, others three-parts out—the whole of the bottom +part of the picture being filled with bodies emerging from the +ground, a few looking happy, but most of them very wretched; all +of them being naked.</p> +<p>The first time I went to Mrs. Snale’s Dorcas gathering +Mr. Snale was reader, on the ground that I was a novice; and I +was very glad to resign the task to him. As the business in +hand was week-day and secular, it was not considered necessary +that the selected subjects should be religious; but as it was +distinctly connected with the chapel, it was also considered that +they should have a religious flavour. Consequently the +Bible was excluded, and so were books on topics altogether +worldly. Dorcas meetings were generally, therefore, shut up +to the denominational journal and to magazines. Towards the +end of the evening Mr. Snale read the births, deaths, and +marriages in this journal. It would not have been thought +right to read them from any other newspaper, but it was agreed, +with a fineness of tact which was very remarkable, that it was +quite right to read them in one which was +“serious.” During the whole time that the +reading was going on conversation was not arrested, but was +conducted in a kind of half whisper; and this was another reason +why I exceedingly disliked to read, for I could never endure to +speak if people did not listen.</p> +<p>At half-past eight the work was put away, and Mrs. Snale went +to the piano and played a hymn tune, the minister having first of +all selected the hymn. Singing over, he offered a short +prayer, and the company separated. Supper was not served, +as it was found to be too great an expense. The husbands of +the ladies generally came to escort them home, but did not come +upstairs. Some of the gentlemen waited below in the +dining-room, but most of them preferred the shop, for, although +it was shut, the gas was burning to enable the assistants to put +away the goods which had been got out during the day.</p> +<p>When it first became my turn to read I proposed the <i>Vicar +of Wakefield</i>; but although no objection was raised at the +time, Mr. Snale took an opportunity of telling me, after I had +got through a chapter or two, that he thought it would be better +if it were discontinued. “Because, you know, Mr. +Rutherford,” he said, with his smirk, “the company is +mixed; there are young leedies present, and perhaps, Mr. +Rutherford, a book with a more requisite tone might be more +suitable on such an occasion.” What he meant I did +not know, and how to find a book with a more requisite tone I did +not know.</p> +<p>However, the next time, in my folly, I tried a selection from +George Fox’s Journal. Mr. Snale objected to this +too. It was “hardly of a character adapted for social +intercourse,” he thought; and furthermore, “although +Mr. Fox might be a very good man, and was a converted character, +yet he did not, you know, Mr. Rutherford, belong to +us.” So I was reduced to that class of literature +which of all others I most abominated, and which always seemed to +me the most profane—religious and sectarian gossip, +religious novels designed to make religion attractive, and other +slip-slop of this kind. I could not endure it, and was +frequently unwell on Dorcas evenings.</p> +<p>The rest of the small congregation was of no particular +note. As I have said before, it had greatly fallen away, +and all who remained clung to the chapel rather by force of habit +than from any other reason. The only exception was an old +maiden lady and her sister, who lived in a little cottage about a +mile out of the town. They were pious in the purest sense +of the word, suffering much from ill-health, but perfectly +resigned, and with a kind of tempered cheerfulness always +apparent on their faces, like the cheerfulness of a white sky +with a sun veiled by light and lofty clouds. They were the +daughters of a carriage-builder, who had left them a small +annuity.</p> +<p>Their house was one of the sweetest which I ever +entered. The moment I found myself inside it, I became +conscious of perfect repose. Everything was at rest; books, +pictures, furniture, all breathed the same peace. Nothing +in the house was new, but everything had been preserved with such +care that nothing looked old. Yet the owners were not what +is called old-maidish; that is to say, they were not +superstitious worshippers of order and neatness.</p> +<p>I remember Mrs. Snale’s children coming in one afternoon +when I was there. They were rough and ill-mannered, and +left traces of dirty footmarks all over the carpet, which the two +ladies noticed at once. But it made no difference to the +treatment of the children, who had some cake and currant wine +given to them, and were sent away rejoicing. Directly they +had gone, the elder of my friends asked me if I would excuse her; +she would gather up the dirt before it was trodden about. +So she brought a dust-pan and brush (the little servant was out) +and patiently swept the floor. That was the way with +them. Did any mischief befall them or those whom they knew, +without blaming anybody, they immediately and noiselessly set +about repairing it with that silent promptitude of nature which +rebels not against a wound, but the very next instant begins her +work of protection and recovery.</p> +<p>The Misses Arbour (for that was their name) mixed but little +in the society of the town. They explained to me that their +health would not permit it. They read books—a +few—but they were not books about which I knew very much, +and they belonged altogether to an age preceding mine. Of +the names which had moved me, and of all the thoughts stirring in +the time, they had heard nothing. They greatly admired +Cowper, a poet who then did not much attract me.</p> +<p>The country near me was rather level, but towards the west it +rose into soft swelling hills, between which were pleasant +lanes. At about ten miles distant eastward was the +sea. A small river ran across the High Street under a stone +bridge; for about two miles below us it was locked up for the +sake of the mills, but at the end of the two miles it became +tidal and flowed between deep and muddy banks through marshes to +the ocean. Almost all my walks were by the river-bank down +to these marshes, and as far on as possible till the open water +was visible. Not that I did not like inland scenery: nobody +could like it more, but the sea was a corrective to the +littleness all round me. With the ships on it sailing to +the other end of the earth it seemed to connect me with the great +world outside the parochialism of the society in which I +lived.</p> +<p>Such was the town of C-, and such the company amidst which I +found myself. After my probation it was arranged that I +should begin my new duties at once, and accordingly I took +lodgings—two rooms over the shop of a tailor who acted as +chapel-keeper, pew-opener, and sexton. There was a small +endowment on the chapel of fifty pounds a year, and the rest of +my income was derived from the pew-rents, which at the time I +took charge did not exceed another seventy.</p> +<p>The first Sunday on which I preached after being accepted was +a dull day in November, but there was no dullness in me. +The congregation had increased a good deal during the past four +weeks, and I was stimulated by the prospect of the new life +before me. It seemed to be a fit opportunity to say +something generally about Christianity and its special +peculiarities. I began by pointing out that each philosophy +and religion which had arisen in the world was the answer to a +question earnestly asked at the time; it was a remedy proposed to +meet some extreme pressure. Religions and philosophies were +not created by idle people who sat down and said, “Let us +build up a system of beliefs upon the universe; what shall we say +about immortality, about sin?” and so on. Unless +there had been antecedent necessity there could have been no +religion; and no problem of life or death could be solved except +under the weight of that necessity. The stoical morality +arose out of the condition of Rome when the scholar and the pious +man could do nothing but simply strengthen his knees and back to +bear an inevitable burden. He was forced to find some +counterpoise for the misery of poverty and persecution, and he +found it in the denial of their power to touch him. So with +Christianity.</p> +<p>Jesus was a poor solitary thinker, confronted by two enormous +and overpowering organisations—the Jewish hierarchy and the +Roman State. He taught the doctrine of the kingdom of +heaven; He trained Himself to have faith in the absolute monarchy +of the soul, the absolute monarchy of His own; He tells us that +each man should learn to find peace in his own thoughts, his own +visions. It is a most difficult thing to do; most difficult +to believe that my highest happiness consists in my perception of +whatever is beautiful. If I by myself watch the sun rise, +or the stars come out in the evening, or feel the love of man or +woman,—I ought to say to myself, “There is nothing +beyond this.” But people will not rest there; they +are not content, and they are for ever chasing a shadow which +flies before them, a something external which never brings what +it promises.</p> +<p>I said that Christianity was essentially the religion of the +unknown and of the lonely; of those who are not a success. +It was the religion of the man who goes through life thinking +much, but who makes few friends and sees nothing come of his +thoughts. I said a good deal more upon the same theme which +I have forgotten.</p> +<p>After the service was over I went down into the vestry. +Nobody came near me but my landlord, the chapel-keeper, who said +it was raining, and immediately went away to put out the lights +and shut up the building. I had no umbrella, and there was +nothing to be done but to walk out in the wet. When I got +home I found that my supper, consisting of bread and cheese with +a pint of beer, was on the table, but apparently it had been +thought unnecessary to light the fire again at that time of +night. I was overwrought, and paced about for hours in +hysterics. All that I had been preaching seemed the merest +vanity when I was brought face to face with the fact itself; and +I reproached myself bitterly that my own creed would not stand +the stress of an hour’s actual trial.</p> +<p>Towards morning I got into bed, but not to sleep; and when the +dull daylight of Monday came, all support had vanished, and I +seemed to be sinking into a bottomless abyss. I became +gradually worse week by week, and my melancholy took a fixed +form. I got a notion into my head that my brain was +failing, and this was my first acquaintance with that most awful +malady hypochondria. I did not know then what I know now, +although I only half believe it practically, that this fixity of +form is a frequent symptom of the disease, and that the general +weakness manifests itself in a determinate horror, which +gradually fades with returning health.</p> +<p>For months—many months—this dreadful conviction of +coming idiocy or insanity lay upon me like some poisonous reptile +with its fangs driven into my very marrow, so that I could not +shake it off. It went with me wherever I went, it got up +with me in the morning, walked about with me all day, and lay +down with me at night. I managed, somehow or other, to do +my work, but I prayed incessantly for death; and to such a state +was I reduced that I could not even make the commonest +appointment for a day beforehand. The mere knowledge that +something had to be done agitated me and prevented my doing +it.</p> +<p>In June next year my holiday came, and I went away home to my +father’s house. Father and mother were going, for the +first time in their lives, to spend a few days by the seaside +together, and I went with them to Ilfracombe. I had been +there about a week, when on one memorable morning, on the top of +one of those Devonshire hills, I became aware of a kind of flush +in the brain and a momentary relief such as I had not known since +that November night. I seemed, far away on the horizon, to +see just a rim of olive light low down under the edge of the +leaden cloud that hung over my head, a prophecy of the +restoration of the sun, or at least a witness that somewhere it +shone. It was not permanent, and perhaps the gloom was +never more profound, nor the agony more intense, than it was for +long after my Ilfracombe visit. But the light broadened, +and gradually the darkness was mitigated. I have never been +thoroughly restored. Often, with no warning, I am plunged +in the Valley of the Shadow, and no outlet seems possible; but I +contrive to traverse it, or to wait in calmness for access of +strength.</p> +<p>When I was at my worst I went to see a doctor. He +recommended me stimulants. I had always been rather +abstemious, and he thought I was suffering from physical +weakness. At first wine gave me relief, and such marked +relief that whenever I felt my misery insupportable I turned to +the bottle. At no time in my life was I ever the worse for +liquor, but I soon found the craving for it was getting the +better of me. I resolved never to touch it except at night, +and kept my vow; but the consequence was, that I looked forward +to the night, and waited for it with such eagerness that the day +seemed to exist only for the sake of the evening, when I might +hope at least for rest. For the wine as wine I cared +nothing; anything that would have dulled my senses would have +done just as well.</p> +<p>But now a new terror developed itself. I began to be +afraid that I was becoming a slave to alcohol; that the passion +for it would grow upon me, and that I should disgrace myself, and +die the most contemptible of all deaths. To a certain +extent my fears were just. The dose which was necessary to +procure temporary forgetfulness of my trouble had to be +increased, and might have increased dangerously.</p> +<p>But one day, feeling more than usual the tyranny of my master, +I received strength to make a sudden resolution to cast him off +utterly. Whatever be the consequence, I said, I will not be +the victim of this shame. If I am to go down to the grave, +it shall be as a man, and I will bear what I have to bear +honestly and without resort to the base evasion of +stupefaction. So that night I went to bed having drunk +nothing but water. The struggle was not felt just +then. It came later, when the first enthusiasm of a new +purpose had faded away, and I had to fall back on mere force of +will. I don’t think anybody but those who have gone +through such a crisis can comprehend what it is. I never +understood the maniacal craving which is begotten by ardent +spirits, but I understood enough to be convinced that the man who +has once rescued himself from the domination even of half a +bottle, or three-parts of a bottle of claret daily, may assure +himself that there is nothing more in life to be done which he +need dread.</p> +<p>Two or three remarks begotten of experience in this matter +deserve record. One is, that the most powerful inducement +to abstinence, in my case, was the interference of wine with +liberty, and above all things its interference with what I really +loved best, and the transference of desire from what was most +desirable to what was sensual and base. The morning, +instead of being spent in quiet contemplation and quiet +pleasures, was spent in degrading anticipations. What +enabled me to conquer, was not so much heroism as a +susceptibility to nobler joys, and the difficulty which a man +must encounter who is not susceptible to them must be enormous +and almost insuperable. Pity, profound pity, is his due, +and especially if he happen to possess a nervous, emotional +organisation. If we want to make men water-drinkers, we +must first of all awaken in them a capacity for being tempted by +delights which water-drinking intensifies. The mere +preaching of self-denial will do little or no good.</p> +<p>Another observation is, that there is no danger in stopping at +once, and suddenly, the habit of drinking. The prisons and +asylums furnish ample evidence upon that point, but there will be +many an hour of exhaustion in which this danger will be simulated +and wine will appear the proper remedy. No man, or at least +very few men, would ever feel any desire for it soon after +sleep. This shows the power of repose, and I would advise +anybody who may be in earnest in this matter to be specially on +guard during moments of physical fatigue, and to try the effect +of eating and rest. Do not persist in a blind, obstinate +wrestle. Simply take food, drink water, go to bed, and so +conquer not by brute strength, but by strategy.</p> +<p>Going back to hypochondria and its countless forms of agony, +let it be borne in mind that the first thing to be aimed at is +patience—not to get excited with fears, not to dread the +evil which most probably will never arrive, but to sit down +quietly and <i>wait</i>. The simpler and less stimulating +the diet, the more likely it is that the sufferer will be able to +watch through the wakeful hours without delirium, and the less +likely is it that the general health will be impaired. Upon +this point of health too much stress cannot be laid. It is +difficult for the victim to believe that his digestion has +anything to do with a disease which seems so purely spiritual, +but frequently the misery will break up and yield, if it do not +altogether disappear, by a little attention to physiology and by +a change of air. As time wears on, too, mere duration will +be a relief; for it familiarises with what at first was strange +and insupportable, it shows the groundlessness of fears, and it +enables us to say with each new paroxysm, that we have surmounted +one like it before, and probably a worse.</p> +<h2><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>CHAPTER IV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EDWARD GIBBON MARDON</span></h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">had</span> now been +“settled,” to use a Dissenting phrase, for nearly +eighteen months. While I was ill I had no heart in my work, +and the sermons I preached were very poor and excited no +particular suspicion. But with gradually returning energy +my love of reading revived, and questions which had slumbered +again presented themselves. I continued for some time to +deal with them as I had dealt with the atonement at +college. I said that Jesus was the true Paschal Lamb, for +that by His death men were saved from their sins, and from the +consequences of them; I said that belief in Christ, that is to +say, a love for Him, was more powerful to redeem men than the +works of the law. All this may have been true, but truth +lies in relation. It was not true when I, understanding +what I understood by it, taught it to men who professed to +believe in the Westminster Confession. The preacher who +preaches it uses a vocabulary which has a certain definite +meaning, and has had this meaning for centuries. He cannot +stay to put his own interpretation upon it whenever it is upon +his lips, and so his hearers are in a false position, and imagine +him to be much more orthodox than he really is.</p> +<p>For some time I fell into this snare, until one day I happened +to be reading the story of Balaam. Balaam, though most +desirous to prophesy smooth things for Balak, had nevertheless a +word put into his mouth by God. When he came to Balak he +was unable to curse, and could do nothing but bless. Balak, +much dissatisfied, thought that a change of position might alter +Balaam’s temper, and he brought him away from the high +places of Baal to the field of Zophim, to the top of +Pisgah. But Balaam could do nothing better even on +Pisgah. Not even a compromise was possible, and the second +blessing was more emphatic than the first. +“God,” cried the prophet, pressed sorely by his +message, “is not a man, that He should lie; neither the son +of man, that He should repent: hath He said, and shall He not do +it? or hath He spoken, and shall He not make it good? +Behold, I have received commandment to bless: and He hath +blessed; and I cannot reverse it.”</p> +<p>This was very unsatisfactory, and Balaam was asked, if he +could not curse, at least to refrain from benediction. The +answer was still the same. “Told not I thee, saying, +All that the Lord speaketh, that I must do?” A third +shift was tried, and Balaam went to the top of Peor. This +was worse than ever. The Spirit of the Lord came upon him, +and he broke out into triumphal anticipation of the future +glories of Israel. Balak remonstrated in wrath, but Balaam +was altogether inaccessible. “If Balak would give me +his house full of silver and gold, I cannot go beyond the +commandment of the Lord, to do either good or bad of mine own +mind; but what the Lord saith, that will I speak.”</p> +<p>This story greatly impressed me, and I date from it a distinct +disinclination to tamper with myself, or to deliver what I had to +deliver in phrases which, though they might be conciliatory, were +misleading.</p> +<p>About this time there was a movement in the town to obtain a +better supply of water. The soil was gravelly and full of +cesspools, side by side with which were sunk the wells. A +public meeting was held, and I attended and spoke on behalf of +the scheme. There was much opposition, mainly on the score +that the rates would be increased, and on the Saturday after the +meeting the following letter appeared in the <i>Sentinel</i>, the +local paper:</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—It is +not my desire to enter into the controversy now raging about the +water-supply of this town, but I must say I was much surprised +that a minister of religion should interfere in politics. +Sir, I cannot help thinking that if the said minister would +devote himself to the Water of Life—</p> + +<p> ‘that +gentle fount<br /> +Progressing from Immanuel’s mount,’—</p> +<p>it would be much more harmonious with his function as a +follower of him who knew nothing save Christ crucified. +Sir, I have no wish to introduce controversial topics upon a +subject like religion into your columns, which are allotted to a +different line, but I must be permitted to observe that I fail to +see how a minister’s usefulness can be stimulated if he +sets class against class. Like the widows in affliction of +old, he should keep himself pure and unspotted from the +world. How can many of us accept the glorious gospel on the +Sabbath from a man who will incur spots during the week by +arguing about cesspools like any other man? Sir, I will say +nothing, moreover, about a minister of the gospel assisting to +bind burdens—that is to say, rates and taxation—upon +the shoulders of men grievous to be borne. Surely, sir, a +minister of the Lamb of God, who was shed for the remission of +sins, should be <i>against</i> burdens.—I am sir, your +obedient servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“A <span +class="smcap">Christian Tradesman</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I had not the least doubt as to the authorship of this +precious epistle. Mr. Snale’s hand was apparent in +every word. He was fond of making religious verses, and +once we were compelled to hear the Sunday-school children sing a +hymn which he had composed. The two lines of poetry were +undoubtedly his. Furthermore, although he had been a +chapel-goer all his life, he muddled, invariably, passages from +the Bible. They had no definite meaning for him, and there +was nothing, consequently, to prevent his tacking the end of one +verse to the beginning of another. Mr. Snale, too, +continually “failed to see.” Where he got the +phrase I do not know, but he liked it, and was always repeating +it. However, I had no external evidence that it was he who +was my enemy, and I held my peace. I was supported at the +public meeting by a speaker from the body of the hall whom I had +never seen before. He spoke remarkably well, was evidently +educated, and I was rather curious about him.</p> +<p>It was my custom on Saturdays to go out for the whole of the +day by the river, seawards, to prepare for the Sunday. I +was coming home rather tired, when I met this same man against a +stile. He bade me good-evening, and then proceeded to thank +me for my speech, saying many complimentary things about +it. I asked who it was to whom I had the honour of talking, +and he told me he was Edward Gibbon Mardon. “It was +Edward Gibson Mardon once, sir,” he said, smilingly. +“Gibson was the name of a rich old aunt who was expected to +do something for me, but I disliked her, and never went near +her. I did not see why I should be ticketed with her label, +and as Edward Gibson was very much like Edward Gibbon, the +immortal author of the <i>Decline and Fall</i>, I dropped the +‘s’ and stuck in a ‘b.’ I am +nothing but a compositor on the <i>Sentinel</i>, and Saturday +afternoon, after the paper is out, is a holiday for me, unless +there is any reporting to do, for I have to turn my attention to +that occasionally.”</p> +<p>Mr. Edward Gibbon Mardon, I observed, was slightly built, +rather short, and had scanty whiskers which developed into a +little thicker tuft on his chin. His eyes were pure blue, +like the blue of the speedwell. They were not piercing, but +perfectly transparent, indicative of a character which, if it +possessed no particular creative power, would not permit +self-deception. They were not the eyes of a prophet, but of +a man who would not be satisfied with letting a half-known thing +alone and saying he believed it. His lips were thin, but +not compressed into bitterness; and above everything there was in +his face a perfectly legible frankness, contrasting pleasantly +with the doubtfulness of most of the faces I knew. I +expressed my gratitude to him for his kind opinion, and as we +loitered he said:</p> +<p>“Sorry to see that attack upon you in the +<i>Sentinel</i>. I suppose you are aware it was +Snale’s. Everybody could tell that who knows the +man.”</p> +<p>“If it is Mr. Snale’s, I am very sorry.”</p> +<p>“It is Snale’s. He is a contemptible cur and +yet it is not his fault. He has heard sermons about all +sorts of supernatural subjects for thirty years, and he has never +once been warned against meanness, so of course he supposes that +supernatural subjects are everything and meanness is +nothing. But I will not detain you any longer now, for you +are busy. Good-night, sir.”</p> +<p>This was rather abrupt and disappointing. However, I was +much absorbed in the morrow, and passed on.</p> +<p>Although I despised Snale, his letter was the beginning of a +great trouble to me. I had now been preaching for many +months, and had met with no response whatever. Occasionally +a stranger or two visited the chapel, and with what eager eyes +did I not watch for them on the next Sunday, but none of them +came twice. It was amazing to me that I could pour out +myself as I did—poor although I knew that self to +be—and yet make so little impression. Not one man or +woman seemed any different because of anything I had said or +done, and not a soul kindled at any word of mine, no matter with +what earnestness it might be charged. How I groaned over my +incapacity to stir in my people any participation in my thoughts +or care for them!</p> +<p>Looking at the history of those days now from a distance of +years, everything assumes its proper proportion. I was at +work, it is true, amongst those who were exceptionally hard and +worldly, but I was seeking amongst men (to put it in orthodox +language) what I ought to have sought with God alone. In +other, and perhaps plainer phrase, I was expecting from men a +sympathy which proceeds from the Invisible only. Sometimes, +indeed, it manifests itself in the long-postponed justice of +time, but more frequently it is nothing more and nothing less +than a consciousness of approval by the Unseen, a peace +unspeakable, which is bestowed on us when self is suppressed.</p> +<p>I did not know then how little one man can change another, and +what immense and persistent efforts are necessary—efforts +which seldom succeed except in childhood—to accomplish +anything but the most superficial alteration of character. +Stories are told of sudden conversions, and of course if a poor +simple creature can be brought to believe that hell-fire awaits +him as the certain penalty of his misdeeds, he will cease to do +them; but this is no real conversion, for essentially he remains +pretty much the same kind of being that he was before.</p> +<p>I remember while this mood was on me, that I was much struck +with the absolute loneliness of Jesus, and with His horror of +that death upon the cross. He was young and full of +enthusiastic hope, but when He died He had found hardly anything +but misunderstanding. He had written nothing, so that He +could not expect that His life would live after Him. +Nevertheless His confidence in His own errand had risen so high, +that He had not hesitated to proclaim Himself the Messiah: not +the Messiah the Jews were expecting, but still the Messiah. +I dreamed over His walks by the lake, over the deeper solitude of +His last visit to Jerusalem, and over the gloom of that awful +Friday afternoon.</p> +<p>The hold which He has upon us is easily explained, apart from +the dignity of His recorded sayings and the purity of His +life. There is no Saviour for us like the hero who has +passed triumphantly through the distress which troubles +<i>us</i>. Salvation is the spectacle of a victory by +another over foes like our own. The story of Jesus is the +story of the poor and forgotten. He is not the Saviour for +the rich and prosperous, for they want no Saviour. The +healthy, active, and well-to-do need Him not, and require nothing +more than is given by their own health and prosperity. But +every one who has walked in sadness because his destiny has not +fitted his aspirations; every one who, having no opportunity to +lift himself out of his little narrow town or village circle of +acquaintances, has thirsted for something beyond what they could +give him; everybody who, with nothing but a dull, daily round of +mechanical routine before him, would welcome death, if it were +martyrdom for a cause; every humblest creature, in the obscurity +of great cities or remote hamlets, who silently does his or her +duty without recognition—all these turn to Jesus, and find +themselves in Him. He died, faithful to the end, with +infinitely higher hopes, purposes, and capacity than mine, and +with almost no promise of anything to come of them.</p> +<p>Something of this kind I preached one Sunday, more as a relief +to myself than for any other reason. Mardon was there, and +with him a girl whom I had not seen before. My sight is +rather short, and I could not very well tell what she was +like. After the service was over he waited for me, and said +he had done so to ask me if I would pay him a visit on Monday +evening. I promised to do so, and accordingly went.</p> +<p>I found him living in a small brick-built cottage near the +outskirts of the town, the rental of which I should suppose would +be about seven or eight pounds a year. There was a patch of +ground in front and a little garden behind—a kind of narrow +strip about fifty feet long, separated from the other little +strips by iron hurdles. Mardon had tried to keep his garden +in order, and had succeeded, but his neighbour was disorderly, +and had allowed weeds to grow, blacking bottles and old tin cans +to accumulate, so that whatever pleasure Mardon’s labours +might have afforded was somewhat spoiled.</p> +<p>He himself came to the door when I knocked, and I was shown +into a kind of sitting-room with a round table in the middle and +furnished with Windsor chairs, two arm-chairs of the same kind +standing on either side the fireplace. Against the window +was a smaller table with a green baize tablecloth, and about +half-a-dozen plants stood on the window-sill, serving as a +screen. In the recess on one side of the fireplace was a +cupboard, upon the top of which stood a tea-caddy, a workbox, +some tumblers, and a decanter full of water; the other side being +filled with a bookcase and books. There were two or three +pictures on the walls; one was a portrait of Voltaire, another of +Lord Bacon, and a third was Albert Dürer’s St. +Jerome. This latter was an heirloom, and greatly prized I +could perceive, as it was hung in the place of honour over the +mantelpiece.</p> +<p>After some little introductory talk, the same girl whom I had +noticed with Mardon at the chapel came in, and I was introduced +to her as his only daughter Mary. She began to busy herself +at once in getting the tea. She was under the average +height for a woman, and delicately built. Her head was +small, but the neck was long. Her hair was brown, of a +peculiarly lustrous tint, partly due to nature, but also to a +looseness of arrangement and a most diligent use of the brush, so +that the light fell not upon a dead compact mass, but upon +myriads of individual hairs, each of which reflected the +light. Her eyes, so far as I could make out, were a kind of +greenish grey, but the eyelashes were long, so that it was +difficult exactly to discover what was underneath them. The +hands were small, and the whole figure exquisitely graceful; the +plain black dress, which she wore fastened right up to the +throat, suiting her to perfection. Her face, as I first +thought, did not seem indicative of strength. The lips were +thin, but not straight, the upper lip showing a remarkable curve +in it. Nor was it a handsome face. The complexion was +not sufficiently transparent, nor were the features regular.</p> +<p>During tea she spoke very little, but I noticed one +peculiarity about her manner of talking, and that was its perfect +simplicity. There was no sort of effort or strain in +anything she said, no attempt by emphasis of words to make up for +the weakness of thought, and no compliance with that vulgar and +most disagreeable habit of using intense language to describe +what is not intense in itself. Her yea was yea, and her no, +no. I observed also that she spoke without disguise, +although she was not rude. The manners of the cultivated +classes are sometimes very charming, and more particularly their +courtesy, which puts the guest so much at his ease, and +constrains him to believe that an almost personal interest is +taken in his affairs, but after a time it becomes +wearisome. It is felt to be nothing but courtesy, the +result of a rule of conduct uniform for all, and verging very +closely upon hypocrisy. We long rather for plainness of +speech, for some intimation of the person with whom we are +talking, and that the mask and gloves may be laid aside.</p> +<p>Tea being over, Miss Mardon cleared away the tea-things, and +presently came back again. She took one of the arm-chairs +by the side of the fireplace, which her father had reserved for +her, and while he and I were talking, she sat with her head +leaning a little sideways on the back of the chair. I could +just discern that her feet, which rested on the stool, were very +diminutive, like her hands.</p> +<p>The talk with Mardon turned upon the chapel. I had begun +it by saying that I had noticed him there on the Sunday just +mentioned. He then explained why he never went to any place +of worship. A purely orthodox preacher it was, of course, +impossible for him to hear, but he doubted also the efficacy of +preaching. What could be the use of it, supposing the +preacher no longer to be a believer in the common creeds? +If he turns himself into a mere lecturer on all sorts of topics, +he does nothing more than books do, and they do it much +better. He must base himself upon the Bible, and above all +upon Christ, and how can he base himself upon a myth? We do +not know that Christ ever lived, or that if He lived His life was +anything like what is attributed to Him. A mere +juxtaposition of the Gospels shows how the accounts of His words +and deeds differ according to the tradition followed by each of +His biographers.</p> +<p>I interrupted Mardon at this point by saying that it did not +matter whether Christ actually existed or not. What the +four evangelists recorded was eternally true, and the Christ-idea +was true whether it was ever incarnated or not in a being bearing +His name.</p> +<p>“Pardon me,” said Mardon, “but it does very +much matter. It is all the matter whether we are dealing +with a dream or with reality. I can dream about a +man’s dying on the cross in homage to what he believed, but +I would not perhaps die there myself; and when I suffer from +hesitation whether I ought to sacrifice myself for the truth, it +is of immense assistance to me to know that a greater sacrifice +has been made before me—that a greater sacrifice is +possible. To know that somebody has poetically imagined +that it is possible, and has very likely been altogether +incapable of its achievement, is no help. Moreover, the +commonplaces which even the most freethinking of Unitarians seem +to consider as axiomatic, are to me far from certain, and even +unthinkable. For example, they are always talking about the +omnipotence of God. But power even of the supremest kind +necessarily implies an object—that is to say, +resistance. Without an object which resists it, it would be +a blank, and what, then, is the meaning of omnipotence? It +is not that it is merely inconceivable; it is nonsense, and so +are all these abstract, illimitable, self-annihilative attributes +of which God is made up.”</p> +<p>This negative criticism, in which Mardon greatly excelled, was +all new to me, and I had no reply to make. He had a +sledge-hammer way of expressing himself, while I, on the +contrary, always required time to bring into shape what I +saw. Just then I saw nothing; I was stunned, bewildered, +out of the sphere of my own thoughts, and pained at the roughness +with which he treated what I had cherished.</p> +<p>I was presently relieved, however, of further reflection by +Mardon’s asking his daughter whether her face was +better. It turned out that all the afternoon and evening +she had suffered greatly from neuralgia. She had said +nothing about it while I was there, but had behaved with +cheerfulness and freedom. Mentally I had accused her of +slightness, and inability to talk upon the subjects which +interested Mardon and myself; but when I knew she had been in +torture all the time, my opinion was altered. I thought how +rash I had been in judging her as I continually judged other +people, without being aware of everything they had to pass +through; and I thought, too, that if I had a fit of neuralgia, +everybody near me would know it, and be almost as much annoyed by +me as I myself should be by the pain.</p> +<p>It is curious, also, that when thus proclaiming my troubles I +often considered. my eloquence meritorious, or, at least, a kind +of talent for which I ought to praise God, contemning rather my +silent friends as something nearer than myself to the +expressionless animals. To parade my toothache, describing +it with unusual adjectives, making it felt by all the company in +which I might happen to be, was to me an assertion of my superior +nature. But, looking at Mary, and thinking about her as I +walked home, I perceived that her ability to be quiet, to subdue +herself, to resist the temptation for a whole evening of drawing +attention to herself by telling us what she was enduring, was +heroism, and that my contrary tendency was pitiful vanity. +I perceived that such virtues as patience and +self-denial—which, clad in russet dress, I had often passed +by unnoticed when I had found them amongst the poor or the +humble—were more precious and more ennobling to their +possessor than poetic yearnings, or the power to propound +rhetorically to the world my grievances or agonies.</p> +<p>Miss Mardon’s face was getting worse, and as by this +time it was late, I stayed but a little while longer.</p> +<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>CHAPTER V<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">MISS ARBOUR</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> some months I continued without +much change in my monotonous existence. I did not see +Mardon often, for I rather dreaded him. I could not resist +him, and I shrank from what I saw to be inevitably true when I +talked to him. I can hardly say it was cowardice. +Those may call it cowardice to whom all associations are nothing, +and to whom beliefs are no more than matters of indifferent +research; but as for me, Mardon’s talk darkened my days and +nights. I never could understand the light manner in which +people will discuss the gravest questions, such as God and the +immortality of the soul. They gossip about them over their +tea, write and read review articles about them, and seem to +consider affirmation or negation of no more practical importance +than the conformation of a beetle. With me the struggle to +retain as much as I could of my creed was tremendous. The +dissolution of Jesus into mythologic vapour was nothing less than +the death of a friend dearer to me then than any other friend +whom I knew.</p> +<p>But the worst stroke of all was that which fell upon the +doctrine of a life beyond the grave. In theory I had long +despised the notion that we should govern our conduct here by +hope of reward or fear of punishment hereafter. But under +Mardon’s remorseless criticism, when he insisted on asking +for the where and how, and pointed out that all attempts to say +where and how ended in nonsense, my hope began to fail, and I was +surprised to find myself incapable of living with proper serenity +if there was nothing but blank darkness before me at the end of a +few years.</p> +<p>As I got older I became aware of the folly of this perpetual +reaching after the future, and of drawing from to-morrow, and +from to-morrow only, a reason for the joyfulness of to-day. +I learned, when, alas! it was almost too late, to live in each +moment as it passed over my head, believing that the sun as it is +now rising is as good as it will ever be, and blinding myself as +much as possible to what may follow. But when I was young I +was the victim of that illusion, implanted for some purpose or +other in us by Nature, which causes us, on the brightest morning +in June, to think immediately of a brighter morning which is to +come in July. I say nothing, now, for or against the +doctrine of immortality. All I say is, that men have been +happy without it, even under the pressure of disaster, and that +to make immortality a sole spring of action here is an +exaggeration of the folly which deludes us all through life with +endless expectation, and leaves us at death without the thorough +enjoyment of a single hour.</p> +<p>So I shrank from Mardon, but none the less did the process of +excavation go on. It often happens that a man loses faith +without knowing it. Silently the foundation is sapped while +the building stands fronting the sun, as solid to all appearance +as when it was first turned out of the builder’s hands, but +at last it falls suddenly with a crash. It was so at this +time with a personal relationship of mine, about which I have +hitherto said nothing.</p> +<p>Years ago, before I went to college, and when I was a teacher +in the Sunday-school, I had fallen in love with one of my +fellow-teachers, and we became engaged. She was the +daughter of one of the deacons. She had a smiling, pretty, +vivacious face; was always somehow foremost in school treats, +picnics, and chapel-work, and she had a kind of piquant manner, +which to many men is more ensnaring than beauty. She never +read anything; she was too restless and fond of outward activity +for that, and no questions about orthodoxy or heresy ever +troubled her head. We continued our correspondence +regularly after my appointment as minister, and her friends, I +knew, were looking to me to fix a day for marriage. But +although we had been writing to one another as affectionately as +usual, a revolution had taken place. I was quite +unconscious of it, for we had been betrothed for so long that I +never once considered the possibility of any rupture.</p> +<p>One Monday morning, however, I had a letter from her. It +was not often that she wrote on Sunday, as she had a religious +prejudice against writing letters on that day. However, +this was urgent, for it was to tell me that an aunt of hers who +was staying at her father’s was just dead, and that her +uncle wanted her to go and live with him for some time, to look +after the little children who were left behind. She said +that her dear aunt died a beautiful death, trusting in the merits +of the Redeemer. She also added, in a very delicate way, +that she would have agreed to go to her uncle’s at once, +but she had understood that we were to be married soon, and she +did not like to leave home for long. She was evidently +anxious for me to tell her what to do.</p> +<p>This letter, as I have said, came to me on Monday, when I was +exhausted by a more than usually desolate Sunday. I became +at once aware that my affection for her, if it ever really +existed, had departed. I saw before me the long days of +wedded life with no sympathy, and I shuddered when I thought what +I should do with such a wife. How could I take her to +Mardon? How could I ask him to come to me? Strange to +say, my pride suffered most. I could have endured, I +believe, even discord at home, if only I could have had a woman +whom I could present to my friends, and whom they would +admire. I was never unselfish in the way in which women +are, and yet I have always been more anxious that people should +respect my wife than respect me, and at any time would withdraw +myself into the shade if only she might be brought into the +light. This is nothing noble. It is an obscure form +of egotism probably, but anyhow, such always was my case.</p> +<p>It took but a very few hours to excite me to +distraction. I had gone on for years without realising what +I saw now, and although in the situation itself the change had +been only gradual, it instantaneously became intolerable. +Yet I never was more incapable of acting. What could I +do? After such a long betrothal, to break loose from her +would be cruel and shameful. I could never hold up my head +again, and in the narrow circle of Independency, the whole affair +would be known and my prospects ruined.</p> +<p>Then other and subtler reasons presented themselves. No +men can expect ideal attachments. We must be satisfied with +ordinary humanity. Doubtless my friend with a lofty +imagination would be better matched with some Antigone who exists +somewhere and whom he does not know. But he wisely does not +spend his life in vain search after her, but settles down with +the first decently sensible woman he finds in his own street, and +makes the best of his bargain. Besides, there was the power +of use and wont to be considered. Ellen had no vice of +temper, no meanness, and it was not improbable that she would be +just as good a helpmeet for me in time as I had a right to +ask. Living together, we should mould one another, and at +last like one another. Marrying her, I should be relieved +from the insufferable solitude which was depressing me to death, +and should have a home.</p> +<p>So it has always been with me. When there has been the +sternest need of promptitude, I have seen such multitudes of +arguments for and against every course that I have +despaired. I have at my command any number of maxims, all +of them good, but I am powerless to select the one which ought to +be applied.</p> +<p>A general principle, a fine saying, is nothing but a tool, and +the wit of man is shown not in possession of a well-furnished +tool-chest, but in the ability to pick out the proper instrument +and use it.</p> +<p>I remained in this miserable condition for days, not venturing +to answer Ellen’s letter, until at last I turned out for a +walk. I have often found that motion and change will bring +light and resolution when thinking will not. I started off +in the morning down by the river, and towards the sea, my +favourite stroll. I went on and on under a leaden sky, +through the level, solitary, marshy meadows, where the river +began to lose itself in the ocean, and I wandered about there, +struggling for guidance. In my distress I actually knelt +down and prayed, but the heavens remained impassive as before, +and I was half ashamed of what I had done, as if it were a piece +of hypocrisy.</p> +<p>At last, wearied out, I turned homeward, and diverging from +the direct road, I was led past the house where the Misses Arbour +lived. I was faint, and some beneficent inspiration +prompted me to call. I went in, and found that the younger +of the two sisters was out. A sudden tendency to hysterics +overcame me, and I asked for a glass of water. Miss Arbour, +having given it to me, sat down by the side of the fireplace +opposite to the one at which I was sitting, and for a few moments +there was silence. I made some commonplace observation, but +instead of answering me she said quietly, “Mr. Rutherford, +you have been upset; I hope you have met with no +accident.”</p> +<p>How it came about I do not know, but my whole story rushed to +my lips, and I told her all of it with quivering voice. I +cannot imagine what possessed me to make her my confidante. +Shy, reserved, and proud, I would have died rather than have +breathed a syllable of my secret if I had been in my ordinary +humour, but her soft, sweet face altogether overpowered me.</p> +<p>As I proceeded with my tale, the change that came over her was +most remarkable. When I began she was leaning back placidly +in her large chair, with her handkerchief upon her lap; but +gradually her face kindled, she sat upright, and she was +transformed with a completeness and suddenness which I could not +have conceived possible. At last, when I had finished, she +put both her hands to her forehead, and almost shrieked out, +“Shall I tell him?—O my God, shall I tell +him?—may God have mercy on him!” I was amazed +beyond measure at the altogether unsuspected depth of passion +which was revealed in her whom I had never before seen disturbed +by more than a ripple of emotion. She drew her chair nearer +to mine, put both her hands on my knees, looked right into my +eyes, and said, “Listen.” She then moved back a +little, and spoke as follows:</p> +<p>“It is forty-five years ago this month since I was +married. You are surprised; you have always known me under +my maiden name, and you thought I had always been single. +It is forty-six years ago this month since the man who afterwards +became my husband first saw me. He was a partner in a cloth +firm. At that time it was the duty of one member of a firm +to travel, and he came to our town, where my father was a +well-to-do carriage-builder. My father was an old customer +of his house, and the relationship between the customer and the +wholesale merchant was then very different from what it is +now. Consequently, Mr. Hexton—for that was my +husband’s name—was continually asked to stay with us +so long as he remained in the town. He was what might be +called a singularly handsome man—that is to say, he was +upright, well-made, with a straight nose, black hair, dark eyes, +and a good complexion. He dressed with perfect neatness and +good taste, and had the reputation of being a most temperate and +most moral man, much respected—amongst the sect to which +both of us belonged.</p> +<p>“When he first came our way I was about nineteen and he +about three-and-twenty. My father and his had long been +acquainted, and he was of course received even with +cordiality. I was excitable, a lover of poetry, a reader of +all sorts of books, and much given to enthusiasm. Ah! you +do not think so, you do not see how that can have been, but you +do not know how unaccountable is the development of the soul, and +what is the meaning of any given form of character which presents +itself to you. You see nothing but the peaceful, long since +settled result, but how it came there, what its history has been, +you cannot tell. It may always have been there, or have +gradually grown so, in gradual progress from seed to flower, or +it may be the final repose of tremendous forces.</p> +<p>“I will show you what I was like at nineteen,” and +she got up and turned to a desk, from which she took a little +ivory miniature. “That,” she said, “was +given to Mr. Hexton when we were engaged. I thought he +would have locked it up, but he used to leave it about, and one +day I found it in the dressing-table drawer, with some brushes +and combs, and two or three letters of mine. I withdrew it, +and burnt the letters. He never asked for it, and here it +is.”</p> +<p>The head was small and set upon the neck like a flower, but +not bending pensively. It was rather thrown back with a +kind of firmness, and with a peculiarly open air, as if it had +nothing to conceal and wished the world to conceal nothing. +The body was shown down to the waist, and was slim and +graceful. But what was most noteworthy about the picture +was its solemn seriousness, a seriousness capable of infinite +affection, and of infinite abandonment, not sensuous +abandonment—everything was too severe, too much controlled +by the arch of the top of the head for that—but of an +abandonment to spiritual aims.</p> +<p>Miss Arbour continued: “Mr. Hexton after a while gave me +to understand that he was my admirer, and before six months of +acquaintanceship had passed my mother told me that he had +requested formally that he might be considered as my +suitor. She put no pressure upon me, nor did my father, +excepting that they said that if I would accept Mr. Hexton they +would be content, as they knew him to be a very well-conducted +young man, a member of the church, and prosperous in his +business. My first, and for a time my sovereign, impulse +was to reject him, because I thought him mean, and because I felt +he lacked sympathy with me.</p> +<p>“Unhappily I did not trust that impulse. I looked +for something more authoritative, but I was mistaken, for the +voice of God, to me at least, hardly ever comes in thunder, but I +have to listen with perfect stillness to make it out. It +spoke to me, told me what to do, but I argued with it and was +lost. I was guiltless of any base motive, but I found the +wrong name for what displeased me in Mr. Hexton, and so I deluded +myself. I reasoned that his meanness was justifiable +economy, and that his dissimilarity from me was perhaps the very +thing which ought to induce me to marry him, because he would +correct my failings. I knew I was too inconsiderate, too +rash, too flighty, and I said to myself that his soberness would +be a good thing for me.</p> +<p>“Oh, if I had but the power to write a book which should +go to the ends of the world, and warn young men and women not to +be led away by any sophistry when choosing their partners for +life! It may be asked, How are we to distinguish heavenly +instigation from hellish temptation? I say, that neither +you nor I, sitting here, can tell how to do it. We can lay +down no law by which infallibly to recognise the messenger from +God. But what I do say is, that when the moment comes, it +is perfectly easy for us to recognise him. Whether we +listen to his message or not is another matter. If we do +not—if we stop to dispute with him, we are undone, for we +shall very soon learn to discredit him.</p> +<p>“So I was married, and I went to live in a dark +manufacturing town, away from all my friends. I awoke to my +misery by degrees, but still rapidly. I had my books sent +down to me. I unpacked them in Mr. Hexton’s presence, +and I kindled at the thought of ranging my old favourites in my +sitting-room. He saw my delight as I put them on some empty +shelves, but the next day he said that he wanted a stuffed dog +there, and that he thought my books, especially as they were +shabby, had better go upstairs.</p> +<p>“We had to give some entertainments soon +afterwards. The minister and his wife, with some other +friends, came to tea, and the conversation turned on parties and +the dullness of winter evenings if no amusements were +provided. I maintained that rational human beings ought not +to be dependent upon childish games, but ought to be able to +occupy themselves and interest themselves with talk. Talk, +I said—not gossip, but talk—pleases me better than +chess or forfeits; and the lines of Cowper occurred to +me—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘When one, that holds communion with the +skies,<br /> +Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise,<br /> +And once more mingles with us meaner things,<br /> +’Tis even as if an angel shook his wings;<br /> +Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,<br /> +That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I ventured to repeat this verse, and when I had finished, +there was a pause for a moment, which was broken by my +husband’s saying to the minister’s wife who sat next +to him, ‘Oh, Mrs. Cook, I quite forgot to express my +sympathy with you; I heard that you had lost your +cat.’ The blow was deliberately administered, and I +felt it as an insult. I was wrong, I know. I was +ignorant of the ways of the world, and I ought to have been aware +of the folly of placing myself above the level of my guests, and +of the extreme unwisdom of revealing myself in that unguarded way +to strangers. Two or three more experiences of that kind +taught me to close myself carefully to all the world, and to +beware how I uttered anything more than commonplace. But I +was young, and ought to have been pardoned. I felt the +sting of self-humiliation far into the night, as I lay and +silently cried, while Mr. Hexton slept beside me.</p> +<p>“I soon found that he was entirely insensible to +everything for which I most cared. Before our marriage he +had affected a sort of interest in my pursuits, but in reality he +was indifferent to them. He was cold, hard, and +impenetrable. His habits were precise and methodical, +beyond what is natural for a man of his years. I remember +one evening—strange that these small events should so burn +themselves into me—that some friends were at our house at +tea. A tradesman in the town was mentioned, a member of our +congregation, who had become bankrupt, and everybody began to +abuse him. It was said that he had been extravagant; that +he had chosen to send his children to the grammar-school, where +the children of gentlefolk went; and finally, that only last year +he had let his wife go to the seaside.</p> +<p>“I knew what the real state of affairs was. He had +perhaps been living a little beyond his means, but as to the +school, he had rather refined tastes, and he longed to teach his +children something more than the ciphering, as it was called, and +bookkeeping which they would have learned at the academy at which +men in his position usually educated their boys; and as to the +seaside, his wife was ill, and he could not bear to see her +suffering in the smoky street, when he knew that a little fresh +air and change of scene would restore her.</p> +<p>“So I said that I was sorry to hear the poor man +attacked; that he had done wrong, no doubt, but so had the woman +who was brought before Jesus; and that with me, charity or a +large heart covered a multitude of sins. I added that there +was something dreadful in the way in which everybody always +seemed to agree in deserting the unfortunate. I was a +little moved, and unluckily upset a teacup. No harm was +done; and if my husband, who sat next to me, had chosen to take +no notice, there need have been no disturbance whatever. +But he made a great fuss, crying, ‘Oh, my dear, pray +mind! Ring the bell instantly, or it will all be through +the tablecloth.’ In getting up hastily to obey him, I +happened to drag the cloth, as it lay on my lap; a plate fell +down and was broken; everything was in confusion; I was ashamed +and degraded.</p> +<p>“I do not believe there was a single point in Mr. +Hexton’s character in which he touched the universal; not a +single chink, however narrow, through which his soul looked out +of itself upon the great world around. If he had kept bees, +or collected butterflies or beetles, I could have found some +avenue of approach.—But he had no taste for anything of the +kind. He had his breakfast at eight regularly every +morning, and read his letters at breakfast. He came home to +dinner at two, looked at the newspaper for a little while after +dinner, and then went to sleep. At six he had his tea, and +in half-an-hour went back to his counting-house, which he did not +leave till eight. Supper at nine, and bed at ten, closed +the day.</p> +<p>“It was a habit of mine to read a little after supper, +and occasionally I read aloud to him passages which struck me, +but I soon gave it up, for once or twice he said to me, +‘Now you’ve got to the bottom of that page, I think +you had better go to bed,’ although perhaps the page did +not end a sentence. But why weary you with all this? +I pass over all the rest of the hateful details which made life +insupportable to me. Suffice to say, that one wet Sunday +evening, when we could not go to chapel and were in the +dining-room alone, the climax was reached. My husband had a +religious magazine before him, and I sat still, doing +nothing. At last, after an hour had passed without a word, +I could bear it no longer, and I broke out—</p> +<p>“‘James, I am wretched beyond +description!”</p> +<p>“He slowly shut the magazine, tearing a piece of paper +from a letter and putting it in as a mark, and then +said—</p> +<p>“‘What is the matter?’</p> +<p>“‘You must know. You must know that ever +since we have been married you have never cared for one single +thing I have done or said; that is to say, you have never cared +for me. It is <i>not</i> being married.’</p> +<p>“It was an explosive outburst, sudden and almost +incoherent, and I cried as if my heart would break.</p> +<p>“‘What is the meaning of all this? You must +be unwell. Will you not have a glass of wine?’</p> +<p>“I could not regain myself for some minutes, during +which he sat perfectly still, without speaking, and without +touching me. His coldness nerved me again, congealing all +my emotion into a set resolve, and I said—</p> +<p>“‘I want no wine. I am not unwell. I +do not wish to have a scene. I will not, by useless words, +embitter myself against you, or you against me. You know +you do not love me. I know I do not love you. It is +all a bitter, cursed mistake, and the sooner we say so and +rectify it the better.’</p> +<p>“The colour left his face; his lips quivered, and he +looked as if he would have killed me.</p> +<p>“‘What monstrous thing is this? What do you +mean by your tomfooleries?’</p> +<p>“I did not speak.</p> +<p>“‘Speak!’ he roared. ‘What am I +to understand by rectifying your mistake? By the living +God, you shall not make me the laughing-stock and gossip of the +town! I’ll crush you first.’</p> +<p>“I was astonished to see such rage develop itself so +suddenly in him, and yet afterwards, when I came to reflect, I +saw there was no reason for surprise. Self, self was his +god, and the thought of the damage which would be done to him and +his reputation was what roused him. I was still silent, and +he went on—</p> +<p>“‘I suppose you intend to leave me, and you think +you’ll disgrace me. You’ll disgrace +yourself. Everybody knows me here, and knows you’ve +had every comfort and everything to make you happy. +Everybody will say what everybody will have the right to say +about you. Out with it and confess the truth, that one of +your snivelling poets has fallen in love with you and you with +him.’</p> +<p>“I still held my peace, but I rose and went into the +best bedchamber, and sat there in the dark till bedtime. I +heard James come upstairs at ten o’clock as usual, go to +his own room, and lock himself in. I never hesitated a +moment. I could not go home to become the centre of all the +chatter of the little provincial town in which I was born. +My old nurse, who took care of me as a child, had got a place in +London as housekeeper in a large shop in the Strand. She +was always very fond of me, and to her instantly I determined to +go. I came down, wrote a brief note to James, stating that +after his base and lying sneer he could not expect to find me in +the morning still with him, and telling him I had left him for +ever. I put on my cloak, took some money which was my own +out of my cashbox, and at half-past twelve heard the mail-coach +approaching. I opened the front door softly—it shut +with an oiled spring bolt; I went out, stopped the coach, and was +presently rolling over the road to the great city.</p> +<p>“Oh, that night! I was the sole passenger inside, +and for some hours I remained stunned, hardly knowing what had +become of me. Soon the morning began to break, with such +calm and such slow-changing splendour that it drew me out of +myself to look at it, and it seemed to me a prophecy of the +future. No words can tell the bound of my heart at +emancipation. I did not know what was before me, but I knew +from what I had escaped; I did not believe I should be pursued, +and no sailor returning from shipwreck and years of absence ever +entered the port where wife and children were with more rapture +than I felt journeying through the rain into which the clouds of +the sunrise dissolved, as we rode over the dim flats of +Huntingdonshire southwards.</p> +<p>“There is no need for me to weary you any longer, nor to +tell you what happened after I got to London, or how I came +here. I had a little property of my own and no child. +To avoid questions I resumed my maiden name. But one thing +you must know, because it will directly tend to enforce what I am +going to beseech of you. Years afterwards, I might have +married a man who was devoted to me. But I told him I was +married already, and not a word of love must he speak to +me. He went abroad in despair, and I have never seen +anything more of him.</p> +<p>“You can guess now what I am going to pray of you to +do. Without hesitation, write to this girl and tell her the +exact truth. Anything, any obloquy, anything friends or +enemies may say of you must be faced even joyfully rather than +what I had to endure. Better die the death of the Saviour +on the cross than live such a life as mine.”</p> +<p>I said: “Miss Arbour, you are doubtless right, but think +what it means. It means nothing less than infamy. It +will be said, I broke the poor thing’s heart, and marred +her prospects for ever. What will become of me, as a +minister, when all this is known?”</p> +<p>She caught my hand in hers, and cried with indescribable +feeling—</p> +<p>“My good sir, you are parleying with the great Enemy of +Souls. Oh! if you did but know, if you <i>could</i> but +know, you would be as decisive in your recoil from him, as you +would from hell suddenly opened at your feet. Never mind +the future. The one thing you have to do is the thing that +lies next to you, divinely ordained for you. What does the +119th Psalm say?—‘Thy word is a lamp unto my +feet.’ We have no light promised us to show us our +road a hundred miles away, but we have a light for the next +footstep, and if we take that, we shall have a light for the one +which is to follow. The inspiration of the Almighty could +not make clearer to me the message I deliver to you. +Forgive me—you are a minister, I know, and perhaps I ought +not to speak so to you, but I am an old woman. Never would +you have heard my history from me, if I had not thought it would +help to save you from something worse than death.”</p> +<p>At this moment there came a knock at the door, and Miss +Arbour’s sister came in. After a few words of +greeting I took my leave and walked home. I was +confounded. Who could have dreamed that such tragic depths +lay behind that serene face, and that her orderly precision was +like the grass and flowers upon volcanic soil with Vesuvian fires +slumbering below? I had been altogether at fault, and I was +taught, what I have since been taught, over and over again, that +unknown abysses, into which the sun never shines, lie covered +with commonplace in men and women, and are revealed only by the +rarest opportunity.</p> +<p>But my thoughts turned almost immediately to myself, and I +could bring myself to no resolve. I was weak and tired, and +the more I thought the less capable was I of coming to any +decision. In the morning, after a restless night, I was in +still greater straits, and being perfectly unable to do anything, +I fled to my usual refuge, the sea. The whole day I swayed +to and fro, without the smallest power to arbitrate between the +contradictory impulses which drew me in opposite directions.</p> +<p>I knew what I ought to do, but Ellen’s image was ever +before me, mutely appealing against her wrongs, and I pictured +her deserted and with her life spoiled. I said to myself +that instinct is all very well, but for what purpose is reason +given to us if not to reason with it; and reasoning in the main +is a correction of what is called instinct, and of hasty first +impressions. I knew many cases in which men and women loved +one another without similarity of opinions, and, after all, +similarity of opinions upon theological criticism is a poor bond +of union. But then, no sooner was this pleaded than the +other side of the question was propounded with all its +distinctness, as Miss Arbour had presented it.</p> +<p>I came home thoroughly beaten with fatigue, and went to +bed. Fortunately I sank at once to rest, and with the +morning was born the clear discernment that whatever I ought to +do, it was more manly of me to go than to write to Ellen. +Accordingly, I made arrangements for getting somebody to supply +my place in the pulpit for a couple of Sundays, and went +home.</p> +<h2><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>CHAPTER VI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ELLEN AND MARY</span></h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">now</span> found myself in the strangest +position. What was I to do? Was I to go to Ellen at +once and say plainly, “I have ceased to care for +you”? I did what all weak people do.</p> +<p>I wished that destiny would take the matter out of my +hands. I would have given the world if I could have heard +that Ellen was fonder of somebody else than me, although the +moment the thought came to me I saw its baseness. But +destiny was determined to try me to the uttermost, and make the +task as difficult for me as it could be made.</p> +<p>It was Thursday when I arrived, and somehow or other—how +I do not know—I found myself on Thursday afternoon at her +house. She was very pleased to see me, for many +reasons. My last letters had been doubtful and the time for +our marriage, as she at least thought, was at hand. I, on +my part, could not but return the usual embrace, but after the +first few words were over there was a silence, and she noticed +that I did not look well. Anxiously she asked me what was +the matter. I said that something had been upon my mind for +a long time, which I thought it my duty to tell her. I then +went on to say that I felt she ought to know what had +happened. When we were first engaged we both professed the +same faith. From that faith I had gradually departed, and +it seemed to me that it would be wicked if she were not made +acquainted before she took a step which was irrevocable. +This was true, but it was not quite all the truth, and with a +woman’s keenness she saw at once everything that was in +me. She broke out instantly with a sob—</p> +<p>“Oh, Rough!”—a nickname she had given +me—“I know what it all means—you want to get +rid of me.”</p> +<p>God help me, if I ever endure greater anguish than I did +then. I could not speak, much less could I weep, and I sat +and watched her for some minutes in silence. My first +impulse was to retract, to put my arms round her neck, and swear +that whatever I might be, Deist or Atheist, nothing should +separate me from her. Old associations, the thought of the +cruel injustice put upon her, the display of an emotion which I +had never seen in her before, almost overmastered me, and why I +did not yield I do not know. Again and again have I failed +to make out what it is which, in moments of extreme peril, has +restrained me from making some deadly mistake, when I have not +been aware of the conscious exercise of any authority of my +own. At last I said—</p> +<p>“Ellen, what else was I to do? I cannot help my +conversion to another creed. Supposing you had found out +that you had married a Unitarian and I had never told +you!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Rough! you are not a Unitarian, you don’t +love me,” and she sobbed afresh.</p> +<p>I could not plead against hysterics. I was afraid she +would get ill. I thought nobody was in the house, and I +rushed across the passage to get her some stimulants. When +I came back her father was in the room. He was my +aversion—a fussy, conceited man, who always prated about +“my daughter” to me in a tone which was very +repulsive—just as if she were his property, and he were her +natural protector against me.</p> +<p>“Mr. Rutherford,” he cried, “what is the +matter with my daughter? What have you said to +her?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think, sir, I am bound to tell you. +It is a matter between Ellen and myself.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Rutherford, I demand an explanation. Ellen is +mine. I am her father.”</p> +<p>“Excuse me, sir, if I desire not to have a scene here +just now. Ellen is unwell. When she recovers she will +tell you. I had better leave,” and I walked straight +out of the house.</p> +<p>Next morning I had a letter from her father to say, that +whether I was a Unitarian or not, my behaviour to Ellen showed I +was bad enough to be one. Anyhow, he had forbidden her all +further intercourse with me. When I had once more settled +down in my solitude, and came to think over what had happened, I +felt the self-condemnation of a criminal without being able to +accuse myself of a crime. I believe with Miss Arbour that +it is madness for a young man who finds out he has made a +blunder, not to set it right; no matter what the wrench may +be. But that Ellen was a victim I do not deny. If any +sin, however, was committed against her, it was committed long +before our separation. It was nine-tenths mistake and +one-tenth something more heinous; and the worst of it is, that +while there is nothing which a man does which is of greater +consequence than the choice of a woman with whom he is to live, +there is nothing he does in which he is more liable to +self-deception.</p> +<p>On my return I heard that Mardon was ill, and that probably he +would die. During my absence a contested election for the +county had taken place, and our town was one of the +polling-places. The lower classes were violently +Tory. During the excitement of the contest the mob had set +upon Mardon as he was going to his work, and had reviled him as a +Republican and an Atheist. By way of proving their theism +they had cursed him with many oaths, and had so sorely beaten him +that the shock was almost fatal. I went to see him +instantly, and found him in much pain, believing that he would +not get better, but perfectly peaceful.</p> +<p>I knew that he had no faith in immortality, and I was curious +beyond measure to see how he would encounter death without such a +faith; for the problem of death, and of life after death, was +still absorbing me even to the point of monomania. I had +been struggling as best I could to protect myself against it, but +with little success. I had long since seen the absurdity +and impossibility of the ordinary theories of hell and +heaven. I could not give up my hope in a continuance of +life beyond the grave, but the moment I came to ask myself how, I +was involved in contradictions. Immortality is not really +immortality of the person unless the memory abides and there be a +connection of the self of the next world with the self here, and +it was incredible to me that there should be any memories or any +such connection after the dissolution of the body; moreover, the +soul, whatever it may be, is so intimately one with the body, and +is affected so seriously by the weaknesses, passions, and +prejudices of the body, that without it my soul would not be +myself, and the fable of the resurrection of the body, of this +same brain and heart, was more than I could ever swallow in my +most orthodox days.</p> +<p>But the greatest difficulty was the inability to believe that +the Almighty intended to preserve all the mass of human beings, +all the countless millions of barbaric, half-bestial forms which, +since the appearance of man, had wandered upon the earth, savage +or civilised. Is it like Nature’s way to be so +careful about individuals, and is it to be supposed that, having +produced, millions of years ago, a creature scarcely nobler than +the animals he tore with his fingers, she should take pains to +maintain him in existence for evermore? The law of the +universe everywhere is rather the perpetual rise from the lower +to the higher; an immortality of aspiration after more perfect +types; a suppression and happy forgetfulness of its comparative +failures.</p> +<p>There was nevertheless an obstacle to the acceptance of this +negation in a faintness of heart which I could not +overcome. Why this ceaseless struggle, if in a few short +years I was to be asleep for ever? The position of mortal +man seemed to me infinitely tragic. He is born into the +world, beholds its grandeur and beauty, is filled with +unquenchable longings, and knows that in a few inevitable +revolutions of the earth he will cease. More painful still; +he loves somebody, man or woman, with a surpassing devotion; he +is so lost in his love that he cannot endure a moment without it; +and when he sees it pass away in death, he is told that it is +extinguished—that that heart and mind absolutely are +<i>not</i>.</p> +<p>It was always a weakness with me that certain thoughts preyed +on me. I was always singularly feeble in laying hold of an +idea, and in the ability to compel myself to dwell upon a thing +for any lengthened period in continuous exhaustive +reflection. But, nevertheless, ideas would frequently lay +hold of me with such relentless tenacity that I was passive in +their grasp. So it was about this time with death and +immortality, and I watched eagerly Mardon’s behaviour when +the end had to be faced. As I have said, he was altogether +calm. I did not like to question him while he was so +unwell, because I knew that a discussion would arise which I +could not control, and it might disturb him, but I would have +given anything to understand what was passing in his mind.</p> +<p>During his sickness I was much impressed by Mary’s +manner of nursing him. She was always entirely wrapped up +in her father, so much so, that I had often doubted if she could +survive him; but she never revealed any trace of agitation. +Under the pressure of the calamity which had befallen her, she +showed rather increased steadiness, and even a cheerfulness which +surprised me. Nothing went wrong in the house. +Everything was perfectly ordered, perfectly quiet, and she rose +to a height of which I had never suspected her capable, while her +father’s stronger nature was allowed to predominate. +She was absolutely dependent on him. If he did not get well +she would be penniless, and I could not help thinking that with +the like chance before me, to say nothing of my love for him and +anxiety lest he should die, I should be distracted, and lose my +head; more especially if I had to sit by his bed, and spend +sleepless nights such as fell to her lot. But she belonged +to that class of natures which, although delicate and fragile, +rejoice in difficulty. Her grief for her father was +exquisite, but it was controlled by a sense of her +responsibility. The greater the peril, the more complete +was her self-command.</p> +<p>To the surprise of everybody Mardon got better. His +temperate habits befriended him in a manner which amazed his more +indulgent neighbours, who were accustomed to hot suppers, and +whisky-and-water after them. Meanwhile I fell into greater +difficulties than ever in my ministry. I wonder now that I +was not stopped earlier. I was entirely unorthodox, through +mere powerlessness to believe, and the catalogue of the articles +of faith to which I might be said really to subscribe was very +brief. I could no longer preach any of the dogmas which had +always been preached in the chapel, and I strove to avoid a +direct conflict by taking Scripture characters, amplifying them +from the hints in the Bible, and neglecting what was +supernatural. That I was allowed to go on for so long was +mainly due to the isolation of the town and the ignorance of my +hearers. Mardon and his daughter came frequently to hear +me, and this, I believe, finally roused suspicion more than any +doctrine expounded from the pulpit. One Saturday morning +there appeared the following letter in the <i>Sentinel</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Last +Sunday evening I happened to stray into a chapel not a hundred +miles from Water Lane. Sir, it was a lovely evening, +and</p> +<p>‘The glorious stars on high,<br /> +Set like jewels in the sky,’</p> +<p>were circling their courses, and, with the moon, irresistibly +reminded me of that blood which was shed for the remission of +sins. Sir, with my mind attuned in that direction I entered +the chapel. I hoped to hear something of that Rock of Ages +in which, as the poet sings, we shall wish to hide ourselves in +years to come. But, sir, a young man, evidently a young +man, occupied the pulpit, and great was my grief to find that the +tainted flood of human philosophy had rolled through the town and +was withering the truth as it is in Christ Jesus. Years ago +that pulpit sent forth no uncertain sound, and the glorious +gospel was proclaimed there—not a <i>German gospel</i>, +sir—of our depravity and our salvation through Christ +Jesus. Sir, I should like to know what the dear departed +who endowed that chapel, and are asleep in the Lord in that +burying-ground, would say if they were to rise from their graves +and sit in those pews again and hear what I heard—a sermon +which might have been a week-day lecture. Sir, as I was +passing through the town, I could not feel that I had done my +duty without announcing to you the fact as above stated, and had +not raised a humble warning from—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Sir, Yours truly,<br /> +“A <span class="smcap">Christian +Traveller</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Notwithstanding the transparent artifice of the last +paragraph, there was no doubt that the author of this precious +production was Mr. Snale, and I at once determined to tax him +with it. On the Monday morning I called on him, and found +him in his shop.</p> +<p>“Mr. Snale,” I said, “I have a word or two +to say to you.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, sir. What a lovely day it is! I +hope you are very well, sir. Will you come +upstairs?”</p> +<p>But I declined to go upstairs, as it was probable I might meet +Mrs. Snale there. So I said that we had better go into the +counting-house, a little place boxed off at the end of the shop, +but with no door to it. As soon as we got in I began.</p> +<p>“Mr. Snale, I have been much troubled by a letter which +has appeared in last week’s <i>Sentinel</i>. Although +disguised, it evidently refers to me, and to be perfectly candid +with you, I cannot help thinking you wrote it.”</p> +<p>“Dear me, sir, may I ask <i>why</i> you think +so?”</p> +<p>“The internal evidence, Mr. Snale, is overwhelming; but +if you did not write it, perhaps you will be good enough to say +so.”</p> +<p>Now Mr. Snale was a coward, but with a peculiarity which I +have marked in animals of the rat tribe. He would double +and evade as long as possible, but if he found there was no +escape, he would turn and tear and fight to the last +extremity.</p> +<p>“Mr. Rutherford, that is rather—ground of an, of +an—what shall I say?—of an assumptive nature on which +to make such an accusation, and I am not obliged to deny every +charge which you may be pleased to make against me.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me, Mr. Snale, do you then consider what I have +said is an accusation and charge? Do you think that it was +wrong to write such a letter?”</p> +<p>“Well, sir, I cannot exactly say that it was; but I must +say, sir, that I do think it peculiar of you, peculiar of you, +sir, to come here and attack one of your friends, who, I am sure, +has always showed you so much kindness—to attack him, sir, +with no proof.”</p> +<p>Now Mr. Snale had not openly denied his authorship. But +the use of the word “friend” was essentially a +lie—just one of those lies which, by avoiding the form of a +lie, have such a charm for a mind like his. I was roused to +indignation.</p> +<p>“Mr. Snale, I will give you the proof which you want, +and then you shall judge for yourself. The letter contains +two lines of a hymn which you have misquoted. You made +precisely that blunder in talking to the Sunday-school children +on the Sunday before the letter appeared. You will remember +that in accordance with my custom to visit the Sunday-school +occasionally, I was there on that Sunday afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Well, sir, I’ve not denied I did write +it.”</p> +<p>“Denied you did write it!” I exclaimed, with +gathering passion; “what do you mean by the subterfuge +about your passing through the town and by your calling me your +friend a minute ago? What would you have thought if anybody +had written anonymously to the <i>Sentinel</i>, and had accused +you of selling short measure? You would have said it was a +libel, and you would also have said that a charge of that kind +ought to be made publicly and not anonymously. You seem to +think, nevertheless, that it is no sin to ruin me +anonymously.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Rutherford, I <i>am</i> sure I am your +friend. I wish you well, sir, both here”—and +Mr. Snale tried to be very solemn—“and in the world +to come. With regard to the letter, I don’t see it as +you do, sir. But, sir, if you are going to talk in this +tone, I would advise you to be careful. We have heard, +sir”—and here Mr. Snale began to simper and grin with +an indescribably loathsome grimace—“that some of your +acquaintances in your native town are of opinion that you have +not behaved quite so well as you should have done to a certain +young lady of your acquaintance; and what is more, we have marked +with pain here, sir, your familiarity with an atheist and his +daughter, and we have noticed their coming to chapel, and we have +also noticed a change in your doctrine since these parties +attended there.”</p> +<p>At the word “daughter” Mr. Snale grinned again, +apparently to somebody behind me, and I found that one of his +shopwomen had entered the counting-house, unobserved by me, while +this conversation was going on, and that she was smirking in +reply to Mr. Snale’s signals. In a moment the blood +rushed to my brain. I was as little able to control myself +as if I had been shot suddenly down a precipice.</p> +<p>“Mr. Snale, you are a contemptible scoundrel and a +liar.”</p> +<p>The effort on him was comical. He cried:</p> +<p>“What, sir!—what do you mean, sir?—a +minister of the gospel—if you were not, I would—a +liar”—and he swung round hastily on the stool on +which he was sitting, to get off and grasp a yard-measure which +stood against the fireplace. But the stool slipped, and he +came down ignominiously. I waited till he got up, but as he +rose a carriage stopped at the door, and he recognised one of his +best customers. Brushing the dust off his trousers, and +smoothing his hair, he rushed out without his hat, and in a +moment was standing obsequiously on the pavement, bowing to his +patron. I passed him in going out, but the oily film of +subserviency on his face was not broken for an instant.</p> +<p>When I got home I bitterly regretted what had happened. +I never regret anything more than the loss of self-mastery. +I had been betrayed, and yet I could not for the life of me see +how the betrayal could have been prevented. It was upon me +so suddenly, that before a moment had been given me for +reflection, the words were out of my mouth. I was +distinctly conscious that the <i>I</i> had not said those +words. They had been spoken by some other power working in +me which was beyond my reach. Nor could I foresee how to +prevent such a fall for the future. The only advice, even +now, which I can give to those who comprehend the bitter pangs of +such self-degradation as passion brings, is to watch the first +risings of the storm, and to say “Beware; be +watchful,” at the least indication of a tempest. Yet, +after every precaution, we are at the mercy of the elements, and +in an instant the sudden doubling of a cape may expose us, under +a serene sky, to a blast which, taking us with all sails spread, +may overset us and wreck us irretrievably.</p> +<p>My connection with the chapel was now obviously at an +end. I had no mind to be dragged before a church meeting, +and I determined to resign. After a little delay I wrote a +letter to the deacons, explaining that I had felt a growing +divergence from the theology taught heretofore in Water Lane, and +I wished consequently to give up my connection with them. I +received an answer stating that my resignation had been accepted; +I preached a farewell sermon; and I found myself one Monday +morning with a quarter’s salary in my pocket, a few bills +to pay, and a blank outlook.</p> +<p>What was to be done? My first thought was towards +Unitarianism, but when I came to cast up the sum-total of what I +was assured, it seemed so ridiculously small that I was +afraid. The occupation of a merely miscellaneous lecturer +had always seemed to me very poor. I could not get up +Sunday after Sunday and retail to people little scraps suggested +by what I might have been studying during the week; and with +regard to the great subjects—for the exposition of which +the Christian minister specially exists—how much did I know +about them? The position of a minister who has a gospel to +proclaim; who can go out and tell men what they are to do to be +saved, was intelligible; but not so the position of a man who had +no such gospel.</p> +<p>What reason for continuance as a preacher could I claim? +Why should people hear me rather than read books? I was +alarmed to find, on making my reckoning, that the older I got the +less I appeared to believe. Nakeder and nakeder had I +become with the passage of every year, and I trembled to +anticipate the complete emptiness to which before long I should +be reduced.</p> +<p>What the dogma of immortality was to me I have already +described, and with regard to God I was no better. God was +obviously not a person in the clouds, and what more was really +firm under my feet than this—that the universe is governed +by immutable laws? These laws were not what is commonly +understood as God. Nor could I discern any ultimate +tendency in them. Everything was full of +contradiction. On the one hand was infinite misery; on the +other there were exquisite adaptations producing the highest +pleasure; on the one hand the mystery of life-long disease, and +on the other the equal mystery of the unspeakable glory of the +sunrise on a summer’s morning over a quiet summer sea.</p> +<p>I happened to hear once an atheist discoursing on the follies +of theism. If he had made the world, he would have made it +much better. He would not have racked innocent souls with +years of torture, that tyrants might live in splendour. He +would not have permitted the earthquake to swallow up thousands +of harmless mortals, and so forth. But, putting aside all +dependence upon the theory of a coming rectification of such +wrongs as these, the atheist’s argument was shallow +enough.</p> +<p>It would have been easy to show that a world such as he +imagines is unthinkable directly we are serious with our +conception of it. On whatever lines the world may be +framed, there must be distinction, difference, a higher and a +lower; and the lower, relatively to the higher, must always be an +evil. The scale upon which the higher and lower both are +makes no difference. The supremest bliss would not be bliss +if it were not definable bliss—that is to say, in the sense +that it has limits, marking it out from something else not so +supreme. Perfectly uninterrupted, infinite light, without +shadow, is a physical absurdity. I see a thing because it +is lighted, but also because of the differences of light, or, in +other words, because of shade, and without shade the universe +would be objectless, and in fact invisible. The atheist was +dreaming of shadowless light, a contradiction in terms. +Mankind may be improved, and the improvement may be infinite, and +yet good and evil must exist. So with death and life. +Life without death is not life, and death without life is equally +impossible.</p> +<p>But though all this came to me, and was not only a great +comfort to me, but prevented any shallow prating like that to +which I listened from this lecturer, it could not be said that it +was a gospel from which to derive apostolic authority. +There remained morals. I could become an instructor of +morality. I could warn tradesmen not to cheat, children to +honour their parents, and people generally not to lie. The +mission was noble, but I could not feel much enthusiasm for it, +and more than this, it was a fact that reformations in morals +have never been achieved by mere directions to be good, but have +always been the result of an enthusiasm for some City of God, or +some supereminent person. Besides, the people whom it was +most necessary to reach would not be the people who would, +unsolicited, visit a Unitarian meeting-house. As for a +message of negations, emancipating a number of persons from the +dogma of the Trinity or future punishment, and spending my +strength in merely demonstrating the nonsense of orthodoxy, my +soul sickened at the very thought of it. Wherein would men +be helped, and wherein should I be helped?</p> +<p>There were only two persons in the town who had ever been of +any service to me. One was Miss Arbour, and the other was +Mardon. But I shrank from Miss Arbour, because I knew that +my troubles had never been hers. She belonged to a past +generation, and as to Mardon, I never saw him without being aware +of the difficulty of accepting any advice from him. He was +perfectly clear, perfectly secular, and was so definitely shaped +and settled, that his line of conduct might always be predicted +beforehand with certainty. I knew very well what he thought +about preaching, and what he would tell me to do, or rather, what +he would tell me not to do.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, after all, I was a victim to that weakness which +impels us to seek the assistance of others when we know that what +they offer will be of no avail. Accordingly, I called on +him. Both he and Mary were at home, and I was received with +more than usual cordiality. He knew already that I had +resigned, for the news was all over the town. I said I was +in great perplexity.</p> +<p>“The perplexities of most persons arise,” said +Mardon, “as yours probably arise, from not understanding +exactly what you want to do. For one person who stumbles +and falls with a perfectly distinct object to be attained, I have +known a score whose disasters are to be attributed to their not +having made themselves certain what their aim is. You do +not know what you believe; consequently you do not know how to +act.”</p> +<p>“What would you do if you were in my case?”</p> +<p>“Leave the whole business and prefer the meanest +handicraft. You have no right to be preaching anything +doubtful. You are aware what my creed is. I profess +no belief in God, and no belief in what hangs upon it. Try +and name now, any earnest conviction you possess, and see whether +you have a single one which I have not got.”</p> +<p>“I <i>do</i> believe in God.”</p> +<p>“There is nothing in that statement. What do you +believe about Him?—that is the point. You will find +that you believe nothing, in truth, which I do not also believe +of the laws which govern the universe and man.”</p> +<p>“I believe in an intellect of which these laws are the +expression.”</p> +<p>“Now what kind of an intellect can that be? You +can assign to it no character in accordance with its acts. +It is an intellect, if it be an intellect at all, which will +swallow up a city, and will create the music of Mozart for me +when I am weary; an intellect which brings to birth His Majesty +King George IV., and the love of an affectionate mother for her +child; an intellect which, in the person of a tender girl, shows +an exquisite conscience, and in the person of one or two +religious creatures whom I have known, shows a conscience almost +inverted. I have always striven to prove to my theological +friends that their mere affirmation of God is of no +consequence. They may be affirming anything or +nothing. The question, the all-important question is, +<i>What</i> can be affirmed about Him?”</p> +<p>“Your side of the argument naturally admits of a more +precise statement than mine. I cannot encompass God with a +well-marked definition, but for all that, I believe in Him. +I know all that may be urged against the belief, but I cannot +help thinking that the man who looks upon the stars, or the +articulation of a leaf, is irresistibly impelled, unless he has +been corrupted by philosophy, to say, There is intellect +there. It is the instinct of the child and of the +man.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so; but grant it, and again I ask, +<i>What</i> intellect is it?”</p> +<p>“Again I say, I do not know.”</p> +<p>“Then why dispute? Why make such a fuss about +it?”</p> +<p>“It really seems to me of immense importance whether you +see this intellect or not, although you say it is of no +importance. It appears to be of less importance than it +really is, because I do not think that even you ever empty the +universe of intellect. I believe that mind never worships +anything but mind, and that you worship it when you admire the +level bars of cloud over the setting sun. You think you +eject mind, but you do not. I can only half imagine a +belief which looks upon the world as a mindless blank, and if I +could imagine it, it would be depressing in the last degree to +me. I know that I have mind, and to live in a universe in +which my mind is answered by no other would be unbearable. +Better any sort of intelligence than none at all. But, as I +have just said, your case admits of plainer statement than +mine. You and I have talked this matter over before, and I +have never gained a logical victory over you. Often I have +felt thoroughly prostrated by you, and yet, when I have left you, +the old superstition has arisen unsubdued. I do not know +how it is, but I always feel that upon this, as upon many other +subjects, I never can really speak myself. An unshapen +thought presents itself to me, I look at it, and I do all in my +power to give it body and expression, but I cannot. I am +certain that there is something truer and deeper to be said about +the existence of God than anything I have said, and what is more, +I am certain of the presence of this something in me, but I +cannot lift it to the light.”</p> +<p>“Ah, you are now getting into the region of sentiment, +and I am unable to accompany you. When my friends go into +the clouds, I never try to follow them.”</p> +<p>All this time Mary had been sitting in the arm-chair against +the fireplace in her usual attitude, resting her head on her hand +and with her feet crossed one over the other on the fender. +She had been listening silently and motionless. She now +closed her eyes and said—</p> +<p>“Father, father, it is not true.”</p> +<p>“What is not true?”</p> +<p>“I do not mean that what you have said about theology is +not true, but you make Mr. Rutherford believe you are what you +are not. Mr. Rutherford, father sometimes tells us he has +no sentiment, but you must take no notice of him when he talks in +that way. I always think of our visit to the seaside two +years ago. The railway-station was in a disagreeable part +of the town, and when we came out we walked along a dismal row of +very plain-looking houses. There were cards in the window +with ‘Lodgings’ written on them, and father wanted to +go in to ask the terms. I said that I did not wish to stay +in such a dull street, but father could not afford to pay for a +sea view, and so we went in to inquire. We then found that +what we thought were the fronts of the houses were the backs, and +that the fronts faced the bay. They had pretty gardens on +the other side, and a glorious sunny prospect over the +ocean.”</p> +<p>Mardon laughed and said—</p> +<p>“Ah, Mary, there is no sea front here, and no +garden.”</p> +<p>I took up my hat and said I must go. Both pressed me to +stop, but I declined. Mardon urged me again, and at last +said—</p> +<p>“I believe you’ve never once heard Mary +sing.”</p> +<p>Mary protested, and pleaded that as they had no piano, Mr. +Rutherford would not care for her poor voice without any +accompaniment. But I, too, protested that I should, and she +got out the “Messiah.” Her father took a +tuning-fork out of his pocket, and having struck it, Mary rose +and began, “He was despised.” Her voice was not +powerful, but it was pure and clear, and she sang with that +perfect taste which is begotten solely of a desire to honour the +Master. The song always had a profound charm for me. +Partly this was due to association. The words and tones, +which have been used to embody their emotions by those whom we +have loved, are doubly expressive when we use them to embody our +own. The song is potent too, because with utmost musical +tenderness and strength it reveals the secret of the influence of +the story of Jesus. Nobody would be bold enough to cry, +<i>That too is my case</i>, and yet the poorest and the humblest +soul has a right to the consolation that Jesus was a man of +sorrows and acquainted with grief.</p> +<p>For some reason or the other, or for many reasons, +Mary’s voice wound itself into the very centre of my +existence. I seemed to be listening to the tragedy of all +human worth and genius. The ball rose in my throat, the +tears mounted to my eyes, and I had to suppress myself +rigidly.</p> +<p>Presently she ceased. There was silence for a +moment. I looked round, and saw that Mardon’s face +was on the table, buried in his hands. I felt that I had +better go, for the presence of a stranger, when the heart is +deeply stirred, is an intrusion. I noiselessly left the +room, and Mary followed. When we got to the door she said: +“I forgot that mother used to sing that song. I ought +to have known better.” Her own eyes were full; I +thought the pressure of her hand as she bade me good-bye was a +little firmer than usual, and as we parted an over-mastering +impulse seized me. I lifted her hand to my lips; without +giving her time to withdraw it, I gave it one burning kiss, and +passed out into the street. It was pouring with rain, and I +had neither overcoat nor umbrella, but I heeded not the heavens, +and not till I got home to my own fireless, dark, solitary +lodgings, did I become aware of any contrast between the sphere +into which I had been exalted and the earthly commonplace world +by which I was surrounded.</p> +<h2><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>CHAPTER VII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EMANCIPATION</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> old Presbyterian chapels +throughout the country have many of them become Unitarian, and +occasionally, even in an agricultural village, a respectable +red-brick building may be seen, dating from the time of Queen +Anne, in which a few descendants of the eighteenth century +heretics still testify against three Gods in one and the deity of +Jesus Christ. Generally speaking, the attendance in these +chapels is very meagre, but they are often endowed, and so they +are kept open.</p> +<p>There was one in the large, straggling half-village, half-town +of D-, within about ten miles of me, and the pulpit was then +vacant. The income was about £100 a year. The +principal man there was a small general dealer, who kept a shop +in the middle of the village street, and I had come to know him +slightly, because I had undertaken to give his boy a few lessons +to prepare him for admission to a boarding-school. The +money in my pocket was coming to an end, and as I did not suppose +that any dishonesty would be imposed on me, and although the +prospect were not cheering, I expressed my willingness to be +considered as a candidate.</p> +<p>In the course of a week or two I was therefore invited to +preach. I was so reduced that I was obliged to walk the +whole distance on the Sunday morning, and as I was asked to no +house, I went straight to the chapel, and loitered about in the +graveyard till a woman came and opened a door at the back. +I explained who I was, and sat down in a Windsor chair against a +small kitchen table in the vestry. It was cold, but there +was no fire, nor were any preparations made for one. On the +mantel-shelf were a bottle of water and a glass, but as the water +had evidently been there for some time, it was not very +tempting.</p> +<p>I waited in silence for about twenty minutes, and my friend +the dealer then came in, and having shaken hands, and remarked +that it was chilly, asked me for the hymns. These I gave +him, and went into the pulpit. I found myself in a +plain-looking building designed to hold about two hundred +people. There was a gallery opposite me, and the floor was +occupied with high, dark, brown pews, one or two immediately on +my right and left being surrounded with faded green +curtains. I counted my hearers, and discovered that there +were exactly seventeen, including two very old labourers, who sat +on a form near the door. The gallery was quite empty, +except a little organ, or seraphine, I think it was called, which +was played by a young woman. The dealer gave out the hymns, +and accompanied the seraphine in a bass voice, singing the +air. A weak whisper might be perceived from the rest of the +congregation, but nothing more.</p> +<p>I was somewhat taken aback at finding in the Bible a discourse +which had been left by one of my predecessors. It was a +funeral-sermon, neatly written, and had evidently done duty on +several occasions, although the allusions in it might be +considered personal. The piety and good works of the +departed were praised with emphasis, but the masculine pronouns +originally used were altered above the lines all throughout to +feminine pronouns, and the word “brother” to +“sister,” so that no difficulty might arise in +reading it for either sex. I was faint, benumbed, and with +no heart for anything. I talked for about half-an-hour +about what I considered to be the real meaning of the death of +Christ, thinking that this was a subject which might prove as +attractive as any other.</p> +<p>After the service the assembly of seventeen departed, save one +thin elderly gentleman, who came into the vestry, and having made +a slight bow, said: “Mr. Rutherford, will you come with me, +if you please?” I accordingly followed him, almost in +silence, through the village till we reached his house, where his +wife, who had gone on before, received us. They had +formerly kept the shop which the dealer now had, but had +retired. They might both be about sixty-five, and were of +about the same temperament, pale, thin, and ineffectual, as if +they had been fed on gruel.</p> +<p>We had dinner in a large room with an old-fashioned grate in +it, in which was stuck a basket stove. I remember perfectly +well what we had for dinner. There was a neck of mutton +(cold), potatoes, cabbage, a suet pudding, and some of the +strangest-looking ale I ever saw—about the colour of lemon +juice, but what it was really like I do not know, as I did not +drink beer. I was somewhat surprised at being asked whether +I would take potatoes <i>or</i> cabbage, but thinking it was the +custom of the country not to indulge in both at once, and +remembering that I was on probation, I said +“cabbage.”</p> +<p>Very little was spoken during dinner-time by anybody, and +scarcely a word by my hostess. After dinner she cleared the +things away, and did not again appear. My host drew near +the basket stove, and having remarked that it was beginning to +rain, fell into a slumber. At twenty minutes to two we +sallied out for the afternoon service, and found the seventeen +again in their places, excepting the two labourers, who were +probably prevented by the wet from attending.</p> +<p>The service was a repetition of that in the morning, and when +I came down my host again came forward and presented me with +nineteen shillings. The fee was a guinea, but from that two +shillings were abated for my entertainment. He informed me +at the same time that a farmer, who had been hearing me and who +lived five miles on my road, would give me a lift. He was a +very large, stout man, with a rosy countenance, which was +somewhat of a relief after the gruel face of my former +friend. We went round to a stable-yard, and I got into a +four-wheeled chaise. His wife sat with him in front, and a +biggish boy sat with me behind.</p> +<p>When we came to a guide-post which pointed down his lane, I +got out, and was dismissed in the dark with the +observation—uttered good-naturedly and jovially, but not +very helpfully—that he was “afraid I should have a +wettish walk.” The walk certainly was wettish, and as +I had had nothing to eat or drink since my midday meal, I was +miserable and desponding. But just before I reached home +the clouds rolled off with the south-west wind into detached, +fleecy masses, separated by liquid blue gulfs, in which were +sowed the stars, and the effect upon me was what that sight, +thank God, always has been—a sense of the infinite, +extinguishing all mean cares.</p> +<p>I expected to hear no more from my Unitarian acquaintances, +and was therefore greatly surprised when, a week after my visit, +I received an invitation to “settle” amongst +them. The usual month’s trial was thought +unnecessary, as I was not altogether a stranger to some of +them. I hardly knew what to do, I could not feel any +enthusiasm at the prospect of the engagement, but, on the other +hand, there was nothing else before me. There is no more +helpless person in this world than a minister who is thrown out +of work. At any rate, I should be doing no harm if I +went.</p> +<p>I pondered over the matter a good deal, and then reflected +that in a case where every opening is barred save one, it is our +duty not to plunge at an impassable barrier, but to take that one +opening, however unpromising it may be. Accordingly I +accepted. My income was to be a hundred a year, and it was +proposed that I should lodge with my friend the retired dealer, +who had the only two rooms in the village which were +available.</p> +<p>I went to bid Mardon and Mary good-bye. I had not seen +either of them since the night of the song. To my surprise +I found them both away. The blinds were down and the door +locked. A neighbour, who heard me knocking, came out and +told me the news. Mardon had had a dispute with his +employer, and had gone to London to look for work. Mary had +gone to see a relative at some distance, and would remain there +until her father had determined what was to be done.</p> +<p>I obtained the addresses of both of them, and wrote to Mardon, +telling him what my destiny for the present was to be. To +Mary I wrote also, and to her I offered my heart. Looking +backward, I have sometimes wondered that I felt so little +hesitation; not that I have ever doubted since, that what I did +then was the one perfectly right thing which I have done in my +life, but because it was my habit so to confuse myself with +meditative indecision. I had doubted before. I +remember once being so near engaging myself to a girl that the +desk was open and the paper under my hand. But I held back, +could not make up my mind, and happily was stayed. Had I +not been restrained, I should for ever have been miserable. +The remembrance of this escape, and the certain knowledge that of +all beings whom I knew I was most likely to be mistaken in an +emergency, always produced in me a torturing tendency to +inaction. There was no such tendency now. I thought I +chose Mary, but there was no choice. The feeblest steel +filing which is drawn to a magnet, would think, if it had +consciousness, that it went to the magnet of its own free +will. My soul rushed to hers as if dragged by the force of +a loadstone.</p> +<p>But she was not to be mine. I had a note from her, a +sweet note, thanking me with much tenderness for my affectionate +regard for her, but saying that her mind had long since been made +up. She was an only child of a mother whom her father had +loved above everything in life, and she could never leave him nor +suffer any affection to interfere with that which she felt for +him and which he felt for her. I might well misinterpret +him, and think it strange that he should be so much bound up in +her. Few people knew him as she did.</p> +<p>The shock to me at first was overpowering, and I fell under +the influence of that horrible monomania from which I had been +free for so long. For weeks I was prostrate, with no power +of resistance; the evil being intensified by my solitude. +Of all the dreadful trials which human nature has the capacity to +bear unshattered, the worst—as, indeed, I have already +said—is the fang of some monomaniacal idea which cannot be +wrenched out. A main part of the misery, as I have also +said, lies in the belief that suffering of this kind is peculiar +to ourselves. We are afraid to speak of it, and not +knowing, therefore, how common it is, we are distracted with the +fear that it is our own special disease.</p> +<p>I managed to get through my duties, but how I cannot +tell. Fortunately our calamities are not what they appear +to be when they lie in perspective behind us or before us, for +they actually consist of distinct moments, each of which is +overcome by itself. I was helped by remembering my recovery +before, and I was able now, as a reward of long-continued +abstinence from wine, to lie much stiller, and wait with more +patience till the cloud should lift.</p> +<p>Mardon having gone to London, I was more alone than ever, but +my love for Mary increased in intensity, and had a good deal to +do with my restoration to health. It was a hopeless love, +but to be in love hopelessly is more akin to sanity than +careless, melancholy indifference to the world. I was +relieved from myself by the anchorage of all my thoughts +elsewhere. The pain of loss was great, but the main curse +of my existence has not been pain or loss, but gloom; blind +wandering in a world of black fog, haunted by apparitions. +I am not going to expand upon the history of my silent +relationship to Mary during that time. How can I? All +that I felt has been described better by others; and if it had +not been, I have no mind to attempt a description myself, which +would answer no purpose.</p> +<p>I continued to correspond with Mardon, but with Mary I +interchanged no word. After her denial of me I should have +dreaded the charge of selfishness if I had opened my lips +again. I could not place myself in her affection before her +father.</p> +<p>My work at the chapel was of the most lifeless kind. My +people really consisted of five families—those of the +retired dealer, the farmer who took me home the first day I +preached, and a man who kept a shop in the village for the sale +of all descriptions of goods, including ready-made clothing and +provisions. He had a wife and one child.</p> +<p>Then there was a super-annuated brass-founder, who had a large +house near, and who nominally was a Unitarian, having professed +himself a Unitarian in the town in which he was formerly in +business, where Unitarianism was flourishing. He had come +down here to cultivate, for amusement, a few acres of ground, and +play the squire at a cheap rate. Released from active +employment, he had given himself over to eating and drinking, +particularly the drinking of port wine. His wife was dead, +his sons were in business for themselves, and his daughters all +went to church. His connection with the chapel was merely +nominal, and I was very glad it was so. I was hardly ever +brought into contact with him, except as trustee, and once I was +asked to his house to dinner; but the attempt to make me feel my +inferiority was so painful, and the rudeness of his children was +so marked, that I never went again.</p> +<p>There was also a schoolmaster, who kept a low-priced +boarding-school with a Unitarian connection. He lived, +however, at such a distance that his visits were very +unfrequent. Sometimes on a fine summer’s Sunday +morning the boys would walk over—about twenty of them +altogether, but this only happened perhaps half-a-dozen times in +a year.</p> +<p>Although my congregation had a freethought lineage, I do not +think that I ever had anything to do with a more petrified +set. With one exception, they were meagre in the +extreme. They were perfectly orthodox, except that they +denied a few orthodox doctrines. Their method was as strict +as that of the most rigid Calvinist. They plumed +themselves, however, greatly on their intellectual superiority +over the Wesleyans and Baptists round them; and so far as I could +make out, the only topics they delighted in were demonstrations +of the unity of God from texts in the Bible, and polemics against +tri-theism. Sympathy with the great problems then beginning +to agitate men they had none. Socially they were cold, and +the entertainment at their houses was pale and penurious. +They never considered themselves bound to contribute a shilling +to my support. There was an endowment of a hundred a year, +and they were relieved from all further anxiety. They had +no enthusiasm for their chapel, and came or stayed away on the +Sunday just as it suited them, and without caring to assign any +reason.</p> +<p>The one exception was the wife of the shopkeeper. She +was a contrast to her husband and all the rest. I do not +think she was a Unitarian born and bred. She talked but +little about theology, but she was devoted to her Bible, and had +a fine sense for all the passages in it which had an experience +in them. She was generous, spiritual, and possessed of an +unswerving instinct for what was right. Oftentimes her +prompt decisions were a scandal to her more sedate friends, who +did not believe in any way of arriving at the truth except by +rationalising, but she hardly ever failed to hit the mark. +It was in questions of relationship between persons, of +behaviour, and of morals, that her guidance was the surest. +In such cases her force seemed to keep her straight, while the +weakness of those around made it impossible for them not to +wander, first on one side and then on the other. She was +unflinching in her expressions, and at any sacrifice did her +duty. It was her severity in obeying her conscience which +not only gave authority to her admonitions, but was the source of +her inspirations.</p> +<p>She was not much of a reader, but she read strange +things. She had some old volumes of a magazine—a +“Repository” of some kind; I have forgotten +what—and she picked out from them some translations of +German verses which she greatly admired. She was not a well +educated woman in the school sense of the word, and of several of +our greatest names in literature had heard nothing. I do +not think she knew anything about Shakespeare, and she never +entered into the meaning of dramatic poetry. At all points +her path was her own, intersecting at every conceivable angle the +paths of her acquaintances, and never straying along them except +just so far as they might happen to be hers.</p> +<p>While I was in the village an event happened which caused much +commotion. Her son was serving in the shop, and there was +in the house at the time a nice-looking, clean +servant-girl. Mrs. Lane, for that was my friend’s +name, had meditated discharging her, for, with her usual +quickness, she thought she saw something in the behaviour of her +son to the girl which was peculiar. One morning, however, +both her son and the girl were absent, and there was a letter +upon the table announcing that they were in a town about twenty +miles off and were married.</p> +<p>The shock was great, and a tumult of voices arose, confusing +counsel. Mrs. Lane said but little, but never wavered an +instant. Leaving her husband to “consider what was +best to be done,” she got out the gig, drove herself over +to her son’s lodging, and presented herself to her amazed +daughter-in-law, who fell upon her knees and prayed for +pity. “My dear,” said Mrs. Lane, “get up +this instant; you are my daughter. Not another word. +I’ve come to see what you want.” And she kissed +her tenderly. The girl was at heart a good girl. She +was so bound to her late mistress and her new mother by this +behaviour, that the very depth in her opened, and she loved Mrs. +Lane ever afterwards with almost religious fervour. She was +taught a little up to her son’s level, and a happier +marriage I never knew. Mrs. Lane told me what she had done, +but she had no theory about it. She merely said she knew it +to be the right thing to do.</p> +<p>She was very fond of getting up early in the morning and going +out, and in such a village this was an eccentricity bordering +almost on lunacy. At five o’clock she was often +wandering about her garden. She was a great lover of order +in the house, and kept it well under control, but I do not think +I ever surprised her when she was so busy that she would not +easily, and without any apparent sacrifice, leave what she was +doing to come and talk with me.</p> +<p>As I have said, the world of books in which I lived was almost +altogether shut to her, but yet she was the only person in the +village whose conversation was lifted out of the petty and +personal into the region of the universal. I have been thus +particular in describing her—I fear without raising any +image of her—because she was of incalculable service to +me. I languished from lack of life, and her mere presence, +so exuberant in its full vivacity, was like mountain air. +Furthermore, she was not troubled much with my philosophical +difficulties. They had not come in her path. Her +world was the world of men and women—more particularly of +those she knew—and it was a world in which it did me good +to dwell. She was all the more important to me, because +outside our own little circle there was no society +whatever. The Church and the other Dissenting bodies +considered us non-Christian.</p> +<p>I often wondered that Mr. Lane retained his business, and, +indeed, he would have lost it if he had not established a +reputation for honesty, which drew customers to him, who, +notwithstanding the denunciations of the parson, preferred tea +with some taste in it from a Unitarian to the insipid +wood-flavoured stuff which was sold by the grocer who believed in +the Trinity.</p> +<h2><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">PROGRESS IN EMANCIPATION</span></h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">was</span> with my Unitarian +congregation for about a twelvemonth. My life during that +time, save so far as my intercourse with Mrs. Lane, and one other +friend presently to be mentioned, was concerned, was as sunless +and joyless as it had ever been. Imagine me living by +myself, roaming about the fields, and absorbed mostly upon +insoluble problems with which I never made any progress, and +which tended to draw me away from what enjoyment of life there +was which I might have had.</p> +<p>One day I was walking along under the south side of a hill, +which was a great place for butterflies, and I saw a man, +apparently about fifty years old, coming along with a +butterfly-net. He did not see me, for he looked about for a +convenient piece of turf, and presently sat down, taking out a +sandwich-box, from which he produced his lunch. His +occupation did not particularly attract me, but in those days, if +I encountered a new person who was not repulsive, I was always as +eager to make his acquaintance as if he perchance might solve a +secret for me, the answer to which I burned to know. I have +been disappointed so many times, and have found that nobody has +much more to tell me, that my curiosity has somewhat abated, but +even now, the news that anybody who has the reputation for +intelligence has come near me, makes me restless to see +him. I accordingly saluted the butterfly-catcher, who +returned the salutation kindly, and we began to talk.</p> +<p>He told me that he had come seven miles that morning to that +spot because he knew that it was haunted by one particular +species of butterfly which he wished to get; and as it was a +still, bright day, he hoped to find a specimen. He had been +unsuccessful for some years. Presupposing that I knew all +about his science, he began to discourse upon it with great +freedom, and he ended by saying that he would be happy to show me +his collection, which was one of the finest in the country.</p> +<p>“But I forget,” said he, “as I always forget +in such cases, perhaps you don’t care for +butterflies.”</p> +<p>“I take much interest in them. I admire +exceedingly the beauty of their colours.”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, but you don’t care for them +scientifically, or for collecting them.”</p> +<p>“No, not particularly. I cannot say I ever saw +much pleasure in the mere classification of insects.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you are devoted to some other +science?”</p> +<p>“No, I am not.”</p> +<p>“Well, I daresay it looks absurd for a man at my years +to be running after a moth. I used to think it was absurd, +but I am wiser now. However, I cannot stop to talk; I shall +lose the sunshine. The first time you are anywhere near me, +come and have a look. You will alter your +opinion.”</p> +<p>Some weeks afterwards I happened to be in the neighbourhood of +the butterfly-catcher’s house, and I called. He was +at home, and welcomed me cordially. The first thing he did +was to show me his little museum. It was really a wonderful +exhibition, and as I saw the creatures in lines, and noted the +amazing variations of the single type, I was filled with +astonishment. Seeing the butterflies systematically +arranged was a totally different thing from seeing a butterfly +here and there, and gave rise to altogether new thoughts. +My friend knew his subject from end to end, and I envied him his +mastery of it. I had often craved the mastery of some one +particular province, be it ever so minute. I half or a +quarter knew a multitude of things, but no one thing thoroughly, +and was never sure, just when I most wanted to be sure. We +got into conversation, and I was urged to stay to dinner. I +consented, and found that my friend’s household consisted +of himself alone. After dinner, as we became a little more +communicative, I asked him when and how he took to this +pursuit.</p> +<p>“It will be twenty-six years ago next Christmas,” +said he, “since I suffered a great calamity. You will +forgive my saying anything about it, as I have no assurance that +the wound which looks healed may not break out again. +Suffice to say, that for some ten years or more my thoughts were +almost entirely occupied with death and our future state. +There is a strange fascination about these topics to many people, +because they are topics which permit a great deal of dreaming, +but very little thinking: in fact, true thinking, in the proper +sense of the word, is impossible in dealing with them. +There is no rigorous advance from one position to another, which +is really all that makes thinking worth the name. Every man +can imagine or say cloudy things about death and the future, and +feel himself here, at least, on a level with the ablest brain +which he knows.</p> +<p>“I went on gazing gloomily into dark emptiness, till all +life became nothing for me. I did not care to live, because +there was no assurance of existence beyond. By the +strangest of processes, I neglected the world, because I had so +short a time to be in it. It is with absolute horror now +that I look back upon those days, when I lay as if alive in a +coffin of lead. All passions and pursuits were nullified by +the ever-abiding sense of mortality. For years this mood +endured, and I was near being brought down to the very dust.</p> +<p>“At last, by the greatest piece of good fortune, I was +obliged to go abroad. The change, and the obligation to +occupy myself about many affairs, was an incalculable blessing to +me. While travelling I was struck with the remarkable and +tropical beauty of the insects, and especially of the +butterflies. I captured a few, and brought them home. +On showing them to a friend, learned in such matters, I +discovered that they were rare, and I had a little cabinet made +for them. I looked into the books, found what it was which +I had got, and what I had not got.</p> +<p>“Next year it was my duty to go abroad again, and I went +with some feeling akin to pleasure, for I wished to add to my +store. I increased it considerably, and by the time I +returned I had as fine a show as any private person might wish to +possess. A good deal of my satisfaction, perhaps, was +unaccountable, and no rational explanation can be given of +it. But men should not be too curious in analysing and +condemning any means which Nature devises to save them from +themselves, whether it be coins, old books, curiosities, +butterflies, or fossils. And yet my newly-acquired passion +was not altogether inexplicable. I was the owner of +something which other persons did not own, and in a little while, +in my own limited domain, I was supreme. No man either can +study any particular science thoroughly without transcending it; +and it is an utter mistake to suppose that, because a student +sticks to any one branch, he necessarily becomes contracted.</p> +<p>“However, I am not going to philosophise; I do not like +it. All I can say is, that I shun all those metaphysical +speculations of former years as I would a path which leads to +madness. Other people may be able to occupy themselves with +them and be happy; I cannot. I find quite enough in my +butterflies to exercise my wonder, and yet, on the other hand, my +study is not a mere vacant, profitless stare. When you saw +me that morning, I was trying to obtain an example which I have +long wanted to fill up a gap. I have looked for it for +years, but have missed it. But I know it has been seen +lately where we met, and I shall triumph at last.”</p> +<p>A good deal of all this was to me incomprehensible. It +seemed mere solemn trifling compared with the investigation of +those great questions with which I had been occupied, but I could +not resist the contagion of my friend’s enthusiasm when he +took me to his little library and identified his treasures with +pride, pointing out at the same time those in which he was +deficient. He was specially exultant over one minute +creature which he had caught himself, which he had not as yet +seen figured, and he proposed going to the British Museum almost +on purpose to see if he could find it there.</p> +<p>When I got home I made inquiries into the history of my +entomologist. I found that years ago he had married a +delicate girl, of whom he was devotedly fond. She died in +childbirth, leaving him completely broken. Her offspring, a +boy, survived, but he was a cripple, and grew up deformed. +As he neared manhood he developed a satyr-like lustfulness, which +was almost uncontrollable, and made it difficult to keep him at +home without constraint. He seemed to have no natural +affection for his father, nor for anybody else, but was cunning +with the base, beastly cunning of the ape. The +father’s horror was infinite. This thing was his only +child, and the child of the woman whom he worshipped. He +was excluded from all intercourse with friends; for, as the boy +could not be said to be mad, he could not be shut up. After +years of inconceivable misery, however, lust did deepen into +absolute lunacy, and the crooked, misshapen monster was carried +off to an asylum, where he died, and the father well-nigh went +there too.</p> +<p>Before I had been six months amongst the Unitarians, I found +life even more intolerable with them than it had been with the +Independents. The difference of a little less belief was +nothing. The question of Unitarianism was altogether dead +to me; and although there was a phase of the doctrine of +God’s unity which would now and then give me an opportunity +for a few words which I felt, it was not a phase for which my +hearers in the least cared or which they understood.</p> +<p>Here, as amongst the Independents, there was the same lack of +personal affection, or even of a capability of it—excepting +always Mrs. Lane—and, in fact, it was more distressing +amongst the Unitarians than amongst the orthodox. The +desire for something like sympathy and love absolutely devoured +me. I dwelt on all the instances in poetry and history in +which one human being had been bound to another human being, and +I reflected that my existence was of no earthly importance to +anybody. I could not altogether lay the blame on +myself. God knows that I would have stood against a wall +and have been shot for any man or woman whom I loved, as +cheerfully as I would have gone to bed, but nobody seemed to wish +for such a love, or to know what to do with it.</p> +<p>Oh, the humiliations under which this weakness has bent +me! Often and often I have thought that I have discovered +somebody who could really comprehend the value of a passion which +could tell everything and venture everything. I have +overstepped all bounds of etiquette in obtruding myself on him, +and have opened my heart even to shame. I have then found +that it was all on my side. For every dozen times I went to +his house, he came to mine once, and only when pressed: I have +languished in sickness for a month without his finding it out; +and if I were to drop into the grave, he would perhaps never give +me another thought. If I had been born a hundred years +earlier, I should have transferred this burning longing to the +unseen God and have become a devotee. But I was a hundred +years too late, and I felt that it was mere cheating of myself +and a mockery to think about love for the only God whom I +knew—the forces which maintained the universe.</p> +<p>I am now getting old, and have altered in many things. +The hunger and thirst of those years have abated, or rather, the +fire has had ashes heaped on it, so that it is well-nigh +extinguished. I have been repulsed into self-reliance and +reserve, having learned wisdom by experience; but still I know +that the desire has not died, as so many other desires have died, +by the natural evolution of age. It has been forcibly +suppressed, and that is all. If anybody who reads these +words of mine should be offered by any young dreamer such a +devotion as I once had to offer, and had to take back again +refused so often, let him in the name of all that is sacred +accept it. It is simply the most precious thing in +existence. Had I found anybody who would have thought so, +my life would have been redeemed into something which I have +often imagined, but now shall never know.</p> +<p>I determined to leave, but what to do I could not tell. +I was fit for nothing, and yet I could not make up my mind to +accept a life which was simply living. It must be a life, +through which some benefit was conferred upon my +fellow-creatures. This was mainly delusion. I had not +then learned to correct this natural instinct to be of some +service to mankind by the thought of the boundlessness of +infinity and of Nature’s profuseness. I had not come +to reflect that, taking into account her eternities, and absolute +exhaustlessness, it was folly in me to fret and fume, and I +therefore clung to the hope that I might employ myself in some +way which, however feebly, would help mankind a little to the +realisation of an ideal. But I was not the man for such a +mission. I lacked altogether that concentration which binds +up the scattered powers into one resistless energy, and I lacked +faith. All I could do was to play the vagrant in +literature, picking up here and there an idea which attracted me, +and presenting it to my flock on the Sunday; the net result being +next to nothing.</p> +<p>However, existence like that which I had been leading was +intolerable, and change it I must. I accordingly resigned, +and with ten pounds in my pocket, which was all that remained +after paying my bills, I came to London, thinking that until I +could settle what to do, I would try and teach in a school. +I called on an agent somewhere near the Strand, and after a +little negotiation, was engaged by a gentleman who kept a private +establishment at Stoke Newington.</p> +<p>Thither I accordingly went one Monday afternoon in January, +about two days before the term commenced. When I got there, +I was shown into a long schoolroom, which had been built out from +the main building. It was dark, save for one candle, and +was warmed by a stove. The walls were partly covered with +maps, and at one end of the room hung a diagram representing a +globe, on which an immense amount of wasted ingenuity had been +spent to produce the illusion of solidity. The master, I +was told, was out, and in this room with one candle I remained +till nine o’clock. At that time a servant brought me +some bread and cheese on a small tray, with half-a-pint of +beer. I asked for water, which was given me, and she then +retired. The tray was set down on the master’s raised +desk, and sitting there I ate my supper in silence, looking down +upon the dimly-lighted forms, and forward into the almost +absolute gloom.</p> +<p>At ten o’clock a man, who seemed as if he were the knife +and boot-cleaner, came and said he would show me where I was to +sleep. We passed through the schoolroom into a kind of +court, where there was a ladder standing against a +trap-door. He told me that my bedroom was up there, and +that when I got up I could leave the ladder down, or pull it up +after me, just as I pleased.</p> +<p>I ascended and found a little chamber, duly furnished with a +chest of drawers, bed, and washhand-stand. It was tolerably +clean and decent; but who shall describe what I felt! I +went to the window and looked out. There were scattered +lights here and there, marking roads, but as they crossed one +another, and now and then stopped where building had ceased, the +effect they produced was that of bewilderment with no clue to +it. Further off was the great light of London, like some +unnatural dawn, or the illumination from a fire which could not +itself be seen. I was overcome with the most dreadful sense +of loneliness. I suppose it is the very essence of passion, +using the word in its literal sense, that no account can be given +of it by the reason.</p> +<p>Reflecting on what I suffered, then, I cannot find any solid +ground for it, and yet there are not half-a-dozen days or nights +of my life which remain with me like that one. I was beside +myself with a kind of terror, which I cannot further +explain. It is possible for another person to understand +grief for the death of a friend, bodily suffering, or any emotion +which has a distinct cause, but how shall he understand the worst +of all calamities, the nameless dread, the efflux of all +vitality, the ghostly, haunting horror which is so nearly akin to +madness?</p> +<p>It is many years ago since that evening, but while I write I +am at the window still, and the yellow flare of the city is still +in my eyes. I remember the thought of all the happy homes +which lay around me, in which dwelt men who had found a position, +an occupation, and, above all things, affection. I know the +causelessness of a good deal of all those panic fears and all +that suffering, but I tremble to think how thin is the floor on +which we stand which separates us from the bottomless abyss.</p> +<p>The next morning I went down into the schoolroom, and after I +had been there for some little time, the proprietor of the school +made his appearance. He was not a bad man, nor even unkind +in his way, but he was utterly uninteresting, and as commonplace +as might be expected after having for many years done nothing but +fight a very uphill battle in boarding the sons of tradesfolk, +and teaching them, at very moderate rates, the elements of Latin, +and the various branches of learning which constitute what is +called a commercial education. He said that he expected +some of the boys back that day; that when they came, he should +wish me to take my meals with them, but that meanwhile he would +be glad if I would breakfast with him and his wife. This +accordingly I did. What his wife was like I have almost +entirely forgotten, and I only saw her once again. After +breakfast he said I could go for a walk, and for a walk I went; +wandering about the dreary, intermingled chaos of fields with +damaged hedges, and new roads divided into building plots.</p> +<p>Meanwhile one or two of the boys had made their appearance, +and I therefore had my dinner with them. After dinner, as +there was nothing particular to do, I was again dismissed with +them for a walk just as the light of the winter afternoon was +fading. My companions were dejected, and so was I! +The wind was south-easterly, cold, and raw, and the smoke came up +from the region about the river and shrouded all the building +plots in fog. I was now something more than +depressed. It was absolutely impossible to endure such a +state of things any longer, and I determined that, come what +might, I would not stop. I considered whether I should +leave without saying a word—that is to say, whether I +should escape, but I feared pursuit and some unknown legal +proceedings.</p> +<p>When I got home, therefore, I sought the principal, and +informed him that I felt so unwell that I was afraid I must throw +up my engagement at once. He naturally observed that this +was a serious business for him; that my decision was very +hasty—what was the matter with me? I might get +better; but he concluded, after my reiterated asseverations that +I must go, with a permission to resign, only on one condition, +that I should obtain an equally efficient substitute at the same +salary. I was more agitated than ever. With my +natural tendency to believe the worst, I had not the least +expectation of finding anybody who would release me.</p> +<p>The next morning I departed on my errand. I knew a poor +student who had been at college with me, and who had nothing to +do, and to him I betook myself. I strove—as even now +I firmly believe—not to make the situation seem any better +than it was, and he consented to take it. I have no clear +recollection of anything that happened till the following day, +excepting that I remember with all the vividness of actual and +present sensuous perception lugging my box down the ladder and +sending for a cab. I was in a fever lest anything should +arrest me, but the cab came, and I departed. When I had got +fairly clear of the gates, I literally cried tears of +joy—the first and the last of my life. I am +constrained now, however, to admit that my trouble was but a +bubble blown of air, and I doubt whether I have done any good by +dwelling upon it.</p> +<h2><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>CHAPTER IX<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OXFORD STREET</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Until</span> I had actually left, I hardly +knew where I was going, but at last I made up my mind I would go +to Reuben Shapcott, another fellow-student, whom I knew to be +living in lodgings in one of the streets just then beginning to +creep over the unoccupied ground between Camden Town and +Haverstock Hill, near the Chalk Farm turnpike gate. To his +address I betook myself, and found him not at home. He, +like me, had been unsuccessful as a minister, and wrote a London +letter for two country papers, making up about £100 or +£120 a year by preaching occasionally in small Unitarian +chapels in the country. I waited till his return, and told +him my story. He advised me to take a bed in the house +where he was staying, and to consider what could be done.</p> +<p>At first I thought I would consult Mardon, but I could not +bring myself to go near him. How was I to behave in +Mary’s presence? During the last few months she had +been so continually before me, that it would have been absolutely +impossible for me to treat her with assumed indifference. I +could not have trusted myself to attempt it. When I had +been lying alone and awake at night, I had thought of all the +endless miles of hill and valley that lay outside my window, +separating me from the one house in which I could be at peace; +and at times I scarcely prevented myself from getting up and +taking the mail train and presenting myself at Mardon’s +door, braving all consequences. With the morning light, +however, would come cooler thoughts and a dull sense of +impossibility.</p> +<p>This, I know, was not pure love for her; it was a selfish +passion for relief. But then I have never known what is +meant by a perfectly pure love. When Christian was in the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, and, being brought to the mouth of +hell, was forced to put up his sword, and could do no other than +cry, O Lord, I beseech Thee, deliver my soul, he heard a voice +going before him and saying, Though I walk through the Valley of +the Shadow of Death, I will fear none ill, for Thou art with +me. And by and by the day broke. “Then,” +said Christian, “He hath turned the Shadow of Death into +morning. Whereupon Christian sang—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Oh, world of wonders! (I can say no +less)<br /> +That I should be preserved in that distress<br /> +That I have met with here! Oh, blessed be<br /> +That hand that from it hath delivered me!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This was Christian’s love for God, and for God as his +helper. Was that perfectly pure? However, this is a +digression. I determined to help myself in my own way, and +thought I would try the publishers. One morning I walked +from Camden Town to Paternoster Row. I went straightway +into two or three shops and asked whether they wanted +anybody. I was ready to do the ordinary work it of a +publisher’s assistant, and aspired no higher. I met +with several refusals, some of them not over-polite, and the +degradation—for so I felt it—of wandering through the +streets and suing for employment cut me keenly. I remember +one man in particular, who spoke to me with the mechanical +brutality with which probably he replied to a score of similar +applications every week. He sat in a little glass box at +the end of a long dark room lighted with gas. It was a +bitterly cold room, with no contrivances for warming it, but in +his box there was a fire burning for his own special +benefit. He surveyed all his clerks unceasingly, and woe +betide the unhappy wretch who was caught idling. He and his +slaves reminded me of a thrashing-machine which is worked by +horses walking round in a ring, the driver being perched on a +high stool in the middle and armed with a long whip.</p> +<p>While I was waiting his pleasure he came out and spoke to one +or two of his miserable subordinates words of directest and +sharpest rebuke, without anger or the least loss of +self-possession, and yet without the least attempt to mitigate +their severity. I meditated much upon him. If ever I +had occasion to rebuke anybody, I always did it apologetically, +unless I happened to be in a flaming passion—and this was +my habit, not from any respectable motive of consideration for +the person rebuked, but partly because I am timid, and partly +because I shrink from giving pain. This man said with +perfect ease what I could not have said unless I had been wrought +up to white heat. With all my dislike to him, I envied him: +I envied his complete certainty; for although his language was +harsh in the extreme, he was always sure of his ground, and the +victim upon whom his lash descended could never say that he had +given absolutely no reason for the chastisement, and that it was +altogether a mistake. I envied also his ability to make +himself disagreeable and care nothing about it; his power to walk +in his own path, and his resolve to succeed, no matter what the +cost might be.</p> +<p>As I left him, it occurred to me that I might be more +successful perhaps with a publisher of whom I had heard, who +published and sold books of a sceptical turn. To him I +accordingly went, and although I had no introductions or +recommendatory letters, I was received, if not with a cordiality, +at least with an interest which surprised me. He took me +into a little back shop, and after hearing patiently what I +wanted, he asked me somewhat abruptly what I thought of the +miracles in the Bible. This was a curious question if he +wished to understand my character; but his mind so constantly +revolved in one circle, and existed so completely by hostility to +the prevailing orthodoxy, that belief or disbelief in it was the +standard by which he judged men. It was a very absurd +standard doubtless, but no more absurd than many others, and not +so absurd then as it would be now, when heresy is becoming more +fashionable.</p> +<p>I explained to him as well as I could what my position was; +that I did not suppose that the miracles actually happened as +they are recorded, but that, generally speaking, the miracle was +a very intense statement of a divine truth; in fact, a truth +which was felt with a more than common intensity seemed to take +naturally a miraculous expression. Hence, so far from +neglecting the miraculous stories of the Bible as simply outside +me, I rejoiced in them more, perhaps, than in the plain +historical or didactic prose.</p> +<p>He seemed content, although hardly to comprehend, and the +result was that he asked me if I would help him in his +business. In order to do this, it would be more economical +if I would live in his house, which was too big for him. He +promised to give me £40 a year, in addition to board and +lodging. I joyously assented, and the bargain was +struck.</p> +<p>The next day I came to my new quarters. I found that he +was a bachelor, with a niece, apparently about four or five and +twenty years old, acting as a housekeeper, who assisted him in +literary work. My own room was at the top of the house, +warm, quiet, and comfortable, although the view was nothing but a +wide reaching assemblage of chimney-pots. My hours were +long—from nine in the morning till seven in the evening; +but this I did not mind. I felt that if I was not happy, I +was at least protected, and that I was with a man who cared for +me, and for whom I cared. The first day I went there, he +said that I could have a fire in my bedroom whenever I chose, so +that I could always retreat to it when I wished to be by +myself. As for my duties, I was to sell his books, keep his +accounts, read proofs, run errands, and in short do just what he +did himself.</p> +<p>After my first morning’s work we went upstairs to +dinner, and I was introduced to “my niece +Theresa.” I was rather surprised that I should have +been admitted to a house in which there lived a young woman with +no mother nor aunt, but this surprise ceased when I came to know +more of Theresa and her uncle. She had yellowish hair which +was naturally waved, a big arched head, greyish-blue eyes, so far +as I could make out, and a mouth which, although it had curves in +it, was compressed and indicative of great force of +character. She was rather short, with square shoulders, and +she had a singularly vigorous, firm walk. She had a way, +when she was not eating or drinking, of sitting back in her chair +at table and looking straight at the person with whom she was +talking.</p> +<p>Her uncle, whom, by the way, I had forgotten to name—his +name was Wollaston—happened to know some popular preacher +whom I knew, and I said that I wondered so many people went to +hear him, for I believed him to be a hypocrite, and hypocrisy was +one of the easiest of crimes to discover. Theresa, who had +hitherto been silent, and was reclining in her usual attitude, +instantly broke out with an emphasis and directness which quite +startled me.</p> +<p>“The easiest to discover, do you think, Mr. +Rutherford? I think it is the most difficult, at least for +ordinary persons; and when they do discover it, I believe they +like it, especially if it is successful. They like the +sanction it gives to their own hypocrisy. They like a man +to come to them who will say to them, ‘We are all +hypocrites together,’ and who will put his finger to his +nose and comfort them. Don’t you think so +yourself?”</p> +<p>In conversation I was always a bad hand at assuming a position +contrary to the one assumed by the person to whom I might be +talking—nor could I persistently maintain my own position +if it happened to be opposed. I always rather tried to see +as my opponent saw, and to discover how much there was in him +with which I could sympathise. I therefore assented weakly +to Theresa, and she seemed disappointed. Dinner was just +over; she got up and rang the bell and went out of the room.</p> +<p>I found my work very hard, and some of it even +loathsome. Particularly loathsome was that part of it which +brought me into contact with the trade. I had to sell books +to the booksellers’ assistants, and I had to collect books +myself. These duties are usually undertaken in large +establishments by men specially trained, who receive a low rate +of wages and who are rather a rough set. It was totally +different work to anything I had ever had to do before, and I +suffered as a man with soft hands would suffer who was suddenly +called to be a blacksmith or a dock-labourer.</p> +<p>Specially, too, did I miss the country. London lay round +me like a mausoleum. I got into the habit of rising very +early in the morning and walking out to Kensington Gardens and +back before breakfast, varying my route occasionally so as even +to reach Battersea Bridge, which was always a favourite spot with +me. Kensington Gardens and Battersea Bridge were poor +substitutes for the downs, and for the level stretch by the river +towards the sea where I first saw Mardon, but we make too much of +circumstances, and the very pressure of London produced a +sensibility to whatever loveliness could be apprehended there, +which was absent when loveliness was always around me. The +stars seen in Oxford Street late one night; a sunset one summer +evening from Lambeth pier; and, above everything, Piccadilly very +early one summer morning, abide with me still, when much that was +more romantic has been forgotten. On the whole, I was not +unhappy. The constant outward occupation prevented any +eating of the heart or undue brooding over problems which were +insoluble, at least for my intellect, and on that very account +fascinated me the more.</p> +<p>I do not think that Wollaston cared much for me +personally. He was a curious compound, materialistic yet +impulsive, and for ever drawn to some new thing; without any love +for anybody particularly, as far as I could see, and yet with +much more general kindness and philanthropy than many a man +possessing much stronger sympathies and antipathies. There +was no holy of holies in him, into which one or two of the elect +could occasionally be admitted and feel God to be there. He +was no temple, but rather a comfortable, hospitable house open to +all friends, well furnished with books and pictures, and free to +every guest from garret to cellar. He had +“liberal” notions about the relationship between the +sexes. Not that he was a libertine, but he disbelieved in +marriage, excepting for so long as husband and wife are a +necessity to one another. If one should find the other +uninteresting, or somebody else more interesting, he thought +there ought to be a separation.</p> +<p>All this I soon learned from him, for he was communicative +without any reserve. His treatment of his niece was +peculiar. He would talk on all kinds of subjects before +her, for he had a theory that she ought to receive precisely the +same social training as men, and should know just what men +knew. He was never coarse, but on the other hand he would +say things to her in my presence which brought a flame into my +face. What the evil consequences of this might be, I could +not at once foresee, but one good result obviously was, that in +his house there was nothing of that execrable practice of talking +down to women; there was no change of level when women were +present.</p> +<p>One day he began to speak about a novel which everybody was +reading then, and I happened to say that I wished people who +wrote novels would not write as if love were the very centre and +sum of human existence. A man’s life was made up of +so much besides love, and yet novelists were never weary of +repeating the same story, telling it over and over again in a +hundred different forms.</p> +<p>“I do not agree with you,” said Theresa. +“I disagree with you utterly. I dislike foolish, +inane sentiment—it makes me sick; but I do believe, in the +first place, that no man was ever good for anything who has not +been devoured, I was going to say, by a great devotion to a +woman. The lives of your great men are as much the history +of women whom they adored as of themselves. Dante, Byron, +Shelley, it is the same with all of them, and there is no mistake +about it; it is the great fact of life. What would +Shakespeare be without it? and Shakespeare is life. A man, +worthy to be named a man, will find the fact of love perpetually +confronting him till he reaches old age, and if he be not ruined +by worldliness or dissipation, will be troubled by it when he is +fifty as much as when he was twenty-five. It is the subject +of all subjects. People abuse love, and think it the cause +of half the mischief in the world. It is the one thing that +keeps the world straight, and if it were not for that +overpowering instinct, human nature would fall asunder; would be +the prey of inconceivable selfishness and vices, and finally, +there would be universal suicide. I did not intend to be +eloquent: I hate being eloquent. But you did not mean what +you said; you spoke from the head or teeth merely.”</p> +<p>Theresa’s little speech was delivered not with any heat +of the blood. There was no excitement in her grey eyes, nor +did her cheek burn. Her brain seemed to rule +everything. This was an idea she had, and she kindled over +it because it was an idea. It was impossible, of course, +that she should say what she did without some movement of the +organ in her breast, but how much share this organ had in her +utterances I never could make out. How much was due to the +interest which she as a looker-on felt in men and women, and how +much was due to herself as a woman, was always a mystery to +me.</p> +<p>She was fond of music, and occasionally I asked her to play to +me. She had a great contempt for bungling, and not being a +professional player, she never would try a piece in my presence +of which she was not perfectly master. She particularly +liked to play Mozart, and on my asking her once to play a piece +of Beethoven, she turned round upon me and said: “You like +Beethoven best. I knew you would. He encourages a +luxurious revelling in the incomprehensible and indefinably +sublime. He is not good for you.”</p> +<p>My work was so hard, and the hours were so long, that I had +little or no time for reading, nor for thinking either, except so +far as Wollaston and Theresa made me think. Wollaston +himself took rather to science, although he was not scientific, +and made a good deal of what he called psychology. He was +not very profound, but he had picked up a few phrases, or if this +word is too harsh, a few ideas about metaphysical matters from +authors who contemned metaphysics, and with these he was +perfectly satisfied. A stranger listening to him would at +first consider him well read, but would soon be undeceived, and +would find that these ideas were acquired long ago; that he had +never gone behind or below them, and that they had never +fructified in him, but were like hard stones, which he rattled in +his pocket. He was totally unlike Mardon. Mardon, +although he would have agreed with many of Wollaston’s +results, differed entirely from him in the processes by which +they had been brought about; and a mental comparison of the two +often told me what I had been told over and over again, that what +we believe is not of so much importance as the path by which we +travel to it.</p> +<p>Theresa too, like her uncle, eschewed metaphysics, but she was +a woman, and a woman’s impulses supplied in her the lack of +those deeper questionings, and at times prompted them. She +was far more original than he was, and was impatient of the +narrowness of the circle in which he moved. Her love of +music, for example, was a thing incomprehensible to him, and I do +not remember that he ever sat for a quarter of an hour really +listening to it. He would read the newspaper or do anything +while she was playing. She never resented his inattention, +except when he made a noise, and then, without any rebuke, she +would break off and go away. This mode of treatment was the +outcome of one of her theories. She disbelieved altogether +in punishment, except when it was likely to do good, either to +the person punished or to others. “A good deal of +punishment,” she used to say, “is mere useless +pain.”</p> +<p>Both Theresa and her uncle were kind and human, and I +endeavoured to my utmost to repay them by working my +hardest. My few hours of leisure were sweet, and when I +spent them with Wollaston and Theresa, were interesting. I +often asked myself why I found this mode of existence more +tolerable than any other I had hitherto enjoyed. I had, it +is true, an hour or two’s unspeakable peace in the early +morning, but, as I have said, at nine my toil commenced, and, +with a very brief interval for meals, lasted till seven. +After seven I was too tired to do anything by myself, and could +only keep awake if I happened to be in company.</p> +<p>One reason certainly why I was content, was Theresa +herself. She was a constant study to me, and I could not +for a long time obtain any consistent idea of her. She was +not a this or a that or the other. She could not be +summarily dismissed into any ordinary classification. At +first I was sure she was hard, but I found by the merest accident +that nearly all her earnings were given with utmost secrecy to +support a couple of poor relatives. Then I thought her +self-conscious, but this, when I came to think upon it, seemed a +mere word. She was one of those women, and very rare they +are, who deal in ideas, and reflectiveness must be +self-conscious. At times she appeared passionless, so +completely did her intellect dominate, and so superior was she to +all the little arts and weaknesses of women; but this was a +criticism she contradicted continually.</p> +<p>There was very little society at the Wollastons’, but +occasionally a few friends called. One evening there was a +little party, and the conversation flagged. Theresa said +that it was a great mistake to bring people together with nothing +special to do but talk. Nothing is more tedious than to be +in a company assembled for no particular reason, and every host, +if he asks more than two persons at the outside, ought to provide +some entertainment. Talking is worth nothing unless it is +perfectly spontaneous, and it cannot be spontaneous if there are +sudden and blank silences, and nobody can think of a fresh +departure. The master of the house is bound to do +something. He ought to hire a Punch and Judy show, or get +up a dance.</p> +<p>This spice of bitterness and flavour of rudeness was +altogether characteristic of Theresa, and somebody resented it by +reminding her that <i>she</i> was the hostess. “Of +course,” she replied, “that is why I said it: what +shall I do?” One of her gifts was memory, and her +friends cried out at once that she should recite something. +She hesitated a little, and then throwing herself back in her +chair, began <i>The Lass of Lochroyan</i>. At first she was +rather diffident, but she gathered strength as she went on. +There is a passage in the middle of the poem in which Lord +Gregory’s cruel mother pretends she is Lord Gregory, and +refuses to recognise his former love, Annie of Lochroyan, as she +stands outside his tower. The mother calls to Annie from +the inside—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Gin thou be Annie of Lochroyan<br /> + (As I trow thou binna she),<br /> +Now tell me some of the love tokèns<br /> + That passed between thee and me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory,<br /> + As we sat at the wine,<br /> +We changed the rings frae our fingers,<br /> + And I can show thee thine?</p> +<p>“Oh, yours was gude, and gude enough,<br /> + But aye the best was mine;<br /> +For yours was o’ the gude red gowd,<br /> + <i>But mine o’ the diamond +fine</i>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The last verse is as noble as anything in any ballad in the +English language, and I thought that when Theresa was half way +through it her voice shook a good deal. There was a glass +of flowers standing near her, and just as she came to an end her +arm moved and the glass was in a moment on the floor, shivered +into twenty pieces. I happened to be watching her, and felt +perfectly sure that the movement of her arm was not accidental, +and that her intention was to conceal, by the apparent mishap, an +emotion which was increasing and becoming inconvenient. At +any rate, if that was her object it was perfectly accomplished, +for the recitation was abruptly terminated, there was general +commiseration over the shattered vase, and when the pieces were +picked up and order was restored, it was nearly time to +separate.</p> +<p>Two of my chief failings were forgetfulness and a want of +thoroughness in investigation. What misery have I not +suffered from insufficient presentation of a case to myself, and +from prompt conviction of insufficiency and inaccuracy by the +person to whom I in turn presented it! What misery have I +not suffered from the discovery that explicit directions to me +had been overlooked or only half understood!</p> +<p>One day in particular, I had to take round a book to be +“subscribed” which Wollaston had just +published—that is to say, I had to take a copy to each of +the leading booksellers to see how many they would +purchase. Some books are sold “thirteen as +twelve,” the thirteenth book being given to the purchaser +of twelve, and some are sold “twenty-five as +twenty-four.” This book was to be sold +“twenty-five as twenty-four,” according to +Wollaston’s orders. I subscribed it thirteen as +twelve. Wollaston was annoyed, as I could see, for I had to +go over all my work again, but in accordance with his fixed +principles, he was not out of temper.</p> +<p>It so happened that that same day he gave me some business +correspondence which I was to look through; and having looked +through it, I was to answer the last letter in the sense which he +indicated. I read the correspondence and wrote the letter +for his signature. As soon as he saw it, he pointed out to +me that I had only half mastered the facts, and that my letter +was all wrong. This greatly disturbed me, not only because +I had vexed him and disappointed him, but because it was renewed +evidence of my weakness. I thought that if I was incapable +of getting to the bottom of such a very shallow complication as +this, of what value were any of my thinkings on more difficult +subjects, and I fell a prey to self-contempt and +scepticism. Contempt from those about us is hard to bear, +but God help the poor wretch who contemns himself.</p> +<p>How well I recollect the early walk on the following morning +in Kensington Gardens, the feeling of my own utter worthlessness, +and the longing for death as the cancellation of the blunder of +my existence! I went home, and after breakfast some proofs +came from the printer of a pamphlet which Wollaston had in +hand. Without unfastening them, he gave them to me, and +said that as he had no time to read them himself, I must go +upstairs to Theresa’s study and read them off with +her. Accordingly I went and began to read. She took +the manuscript and I took the proof. She read about a page, +and then she suddenly stopped. “Oh, Mr. +Rutherford,” she said, it, “what have you done? +I heard my uncle distinctly tell you to mark on the manuscript +when it went to the printer, that it was to be printed in demy +octavo, and you have marked it twelvemo.”</p> +<p>I had had little sleep that night, I was exhausted with my +early walk, and suddenly the room seemed to fade from me and I +fainted. When I came to myself, I found that Theresa had +not sought for any help; she had done all that ought to be +done. She had unfastened my collar and had sponged my face +with cold water. The first thing I saw as I gradually +recovered myself, was her eyes looking steadily at me as she +stood over me, and I felt her hand upon my head. When she +was sure I was coming to myself, she held off and sat down in her +chair.</p> +<p>I was a little hysterical, and after the fit was over I broke +loose. With a storm of tears, I laid open all my +heart. I told her how nothing I had ever attempted had +succeeded; that I had never even been able to attain that degree +of satisfaction with myself and my own conclusions, without which +a man cannot live; and that now I found I was useless, even to +the best friends I had ever known, and that the meanest clerk in +the city would serve them better than I did. I was beside +myself, and I threw myself on my knees, burying my face in +Theresa’s lap and sobbing convulsively. She did not +repel me, but she gently passed her fingers through my +hair. Oh, the transport of that touch! It was as if +water had been poured on a burnt hand, or some miraculous Messiah +had soothed the delirium of a fever-stricken sufferer, and +replaced his visions of torment with dreams of Paradise.</p> +<p>She gently lifted me up, and as I rose I saw her eyes too were +wet. “My poor friend,” she said, “I +cannot talk to you now. You are not strong enough, and for +that matter, nor am I, but let me say this to you, that you are +altogether mistaken about yourself. The meanest clerk in +the city could not take your place here.” There was +just a slight emphasis I thought upon the word +“here.” “Now” she said, “you +had better go. I will see about the pamphlet.”</p> +<p>I went out mechanically, and I anticipate my story so far as +to say that, two days after, another proof came in the proper +form. I went to the printer to offer to pay for setting it +up afresh, and was told that Miss Wollaston had been there and +had paid herself for the rectification of the mistake, giving +special injunctions that no notice of it was to be given to her +uncle. I should like to add one more beatitude to those of +the gospels and to say, Blessed are they who heal us of +self-despisings. Of all services which can be done to man, +I know of none more precious.</p> +<p>When I went back to my work I worshipped Theresa, and was +entirely overcome with unhesitating, absorbing love for +her. I saw no thing more of her that day nor the next +day. Her uncle told me that she had gone into the country, +and that probably she would not return for some time, as she had +purposed paying a lengthened visit to a friend at a +distance. I had a mind to write to her; but I felt as I +have often felt before in great crises, a restraint which was +gentle and incomprehensible, but nevertheless unmistakable. +I suppose it is not what would be called conscience, as +conscience is supposed to decide solely between right and wrong, +but it was none the less peremptory, although its voice was so +soft and low that it might easily have been overlooked. +Over and over again, when I have purposed doing a thing, have I +been impeded or arrested by this same silent monitor, and never +have I known its warnings to be the mere false alarms of +fancy.</p> +<p>After a time, the thought of Mary recurred to me. I was +distressed to find that, in the very height of my love for +Theresa, my love for Mary continued unabated. Had it been +otherwise, had my affection for Mary grown dim, I should not have +been so much perplexed, but it did not. It may be +ignominious to confess it, but so it was; I simply record the +fact.</p> +<p>I had not seen Mardon since that last memorable evening at his +house, but one day as I was sitting in the shop, who should walk +it in but Mary herself. The meeting, although strange, was +easily explained. Her father was ill, and could do nothing +but read. Wollaston published free-thinking books, and +Mardon had noticed in an advertisement the name of a book which +he particularly wished to see. Accordingly he sent Mary for +it. She pressed me very much to call on him. He had +talked about me a good deal, and had written to me at the last +address he knew, but the letter had been returned through the +dead-letter office.</p> +<p>It was a week before I could go, and when did go, I found him +much worse than I had imagined him to be. There was no +virulent disease of any particular organ, but he was slowly +wasting away from atrophy, and he knew, or thought he knew, he +should not recover. But he was perfectly +self-possessed.</p> +<p>“With regard to immortality,” he said, “I +never know what men mean by it. <i>What</i> self is it +which is to be immortal? Is it really desired by anybody +that he should continue to exist for ever with his present +limitations and failings? Yet if these are not continued, +the man does not continue, but something else, a totally +different person. I believe in the survival of life and +thought. People think is not enough. They say they +want the survival of their personality. It is very +difficult to express any conjecture upon the matter, especially +now when I am weak, and I have no system—nothing but +surmises. One thing I am sure of—that a man ought to +rid himself as much as possible of the miserable egotism which is +so anxious about self, and should be more and more anxious about +the Universal.”</p> +<p>Mardon grew slowly worse. The winter was coming on, and +as the temperature fell and the days grew darker, he +declined. With all his heroism and hardness he had a +weakness or two, and one was, that he did not want to die in +London or be buried there. So we got him down to Sandgate +near Hythe, and procured lodging for him close to the sea, so +that he could lie in bed and watch the sun and moon rise over the +water. Mary, of course, remained with him, and I returned +to London.</p> +<p>Towards the end of November I got a letter, to tell me that if +I wished to see him alive again, I must go down at once. I +went that day, and I found that the doctor had been and had said +that before the morning the end must come. Mardon was +perfectly conscious, in no pain, and quite calm. He was +just able to speak. When I went into his bedroom, he +smiled, and without any preface or introduction he said: +“Learn not to be over-anxious about meeting troubles and +solving difficulties which time will meet and solve for +you.” Excepting to ask for water, I don’t think +he spoke again.</p> +<p>All that night Mary and I watched in that topmost garret +looking out over the ocean. It was a night entirely +unclouded, and the moon was at the full. Towards daybreak +her father moaned a little, then became quite quiet, and just as +the dawn was changing to sunrise, he passed away. What a +sunrise it was! For about half-an-hour before the sun +actually appeared, the perfectly smooth water was one mass of +gently heaving opaline lustre. Not a sound was to be heard, +and over in the south-east hung the planet Venus. Death was +in the chamber, but the surpassing splendour of the pageant +outside arrested us, and we sat awed and silent. Not till +the first burning-point of the great orb itself emerged above the +horizon, not till the day awoke with its brightness and brought +with it the sounds of the day and its cares, did we give way to +our grief.</p> +<p>It was impossible for me to stay. It was not that I was +obliged to get back to my work in London, but I felt that Mary +would far rather be alone, and that it would not be proper for me +to remain. The woman of the house in which the lodgings +were was very kind, and promised to do all that was +necessary. It was arranged that I should come down again to +the funeral.</p> +<p>So I went back to London. Before I had got twenty miles +on my journey the glory of a few hours had turned into autumn +storm. The rain came down in torrents, and the wind rushed +across the country in great blasts, stripping the trees, and +driving over the sky with hurricane speed great masses of +continuous cloud, which mingled earth and heaven. I thought +of all the ships which were on the sea in the night, sailing +under the serene stars which I had seen rise and set; I thought +of Mardon lying dead, and I thought of Mary. The +simultaneous passage through great emotions welds souls, and +begets the strongest of all forms of love. Those who have +sobbed together over a dead friend, who have held one +another’s hands in that dread hour, feel a bond of +sympathy, pure and sacred, which nothing can dissolve.</p> +<p>I went to the funeral as appointed. There was some +little difficulty about it, for Mary, who knew her father so +well, was unconquerably reluctant that an inconsistency should +crown the career of one who, all through life, had been so +completely self-accordant. She could not bear that he +should be buried with a ceremony which he despised, and she was +altogether free from that weakness which induces a compliance +with the rites of the Church from persons who avow themselves +sceptics.</p> +<p>At last a burying-ground was found, belonging to a little +half-forsaken Unitarian chapel; and there Mardon was laid. +A few friends came from London, one of whom had been a Unitarian +minister, and he “conducted the service,” such as it +was. It was of the simplest kind. The body was taken +to the side of the grave, and before it was lowered a few words +were said, calling to mind all the virtues of him whom we had +lost. These the speaker presented to us with much power and +sympathy. He did not merely catalogue a disconnected string +of excellences, but he seemed to plant himself in the central +point of Mardon’s nature, and to see from what it +radiated.</p> +<p>He then passed on to say that about immortality, as usually +understood, he knew nothing; but that Mardon would live as every +force in nature lives—for ever; transmuted into a thousand +different forms; the original form utterly forgotten, but never +perishing. The cloud breaks up and comes down upon the +earth in showers which cease, but the clouds and the showers are +really undying. This may be true,—but, after all, I +can only accept the fact of death in silence, as we accept the +loss of youth and all other calamities. We are able to see +that the arrangements which we should make, if we had the control +of the universe, would be more absurd than those which prevail +now. We are able to see that an eternity of life in one +particular form, with one particular set of relationships, would +be misery to many and mischievous to everybody, however sweet +those relationships may be to some of us. At times we are +reconciled to death as the great regenerator, and we pine for +escape from the surroundings of which we have grown weary; but we +can say no more, and the hour of illumination has not yet +come. Whether it ever will come to a more nobly developed +race we cannot tell.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Thus far goes the manuscript which I have in my +possession. I know that there is more of it, but all my +search for it has been in vain. Possibly some day I may be +able to recover it. My friend discontinued his notes for +some years, and consequently the concluding portion of them was +entirely separate from the earlier portion, and this is the +reason, I suppose, why it is missing.</p> +<p>Miss Mardon soon followed her father. She caught cold at +his funeral; the seeds of consumption developed themselves with +remarkable rapidity, and in less than a month she had gone. +Her father’s peculiar habits had greatly isolated him, and +Miss Mardon had scarcely any friends. Rutherford went to +see her continually, and during the last few nights sat up with +her, incurring not a little scandal and gossip, to which he was +entirely insensible.</p> +<p>For a time he was utterly broken-hearted; and not only +broken-hearted, but broken-spirited, and incapable of attacking +the least difficulty. All the springs of his nature were +softened, so that if anything was cast upon him, there it +remained without hope, and without any effort being made to +remove it. He only began to recover when he was forced to +give up work altogether and take a long holiday. To do this +he was obliged to leave Mr. Wollaston, and the means of obtaining +his much-needed rest were afforded him, partly by what he had +saved, and partly by the kindness of one or two whom he had +known.</p> +<p>I thought that Miss Mardon’s death would permanently +increase my friend’s intellectual despondency, but it did +not. On the contrary, he gradually grew out of it. A +crisis seemed to take a turn just then, and he became less +involved in his old speculations, and more devoted to other +pursuits. I fancy that something happened; there was some +word revealed to him, or there was some recoil, some healthy +horror of eclipse in this self-created gloom which drove him out +of it.</p> +<p>He accidentally renewed his acquaintance with the +butterfly-catcher, who was obliged to leave the country and come +up to London. He, however, did not give up his old hobby, +and the two friends used every Sunday in summer time to sally +forth some distance from town and spend the whole live-long day +upon the downs and in the green lanes of Surrey. Both of +them had to work hard during the week. Rutherford, who had +learned shorthand when he was young, got employment upon a +newspaper, and ultimately a seat in the gallery of the House of +Commons. He never took to collecting insects like his +companion, nor indeed to any scientific pursuits, but he +certainly changed.</p> +<p>I find it very difficult to describe exactly what the change +was, because it was into nothing positive; into no sect, party, +nor special mode. He did not, for example, go off into +absolute denial. I remember his telling me, that to +suppress speculation would be a violence done to our nature as +unnatural as if we were to prohibit ourselves from looking up to +the blue depths between the stars at night; as if we were to +determine that nature required correcting in this respect, and +that we ought to be so constructed as not to be able to see +anything but the earth and what lies on it. Still, these +things in a measure ceased to worry him, and the long conflict +died away gradually into a peace not formally concluded, and with +no specific stipulations, but nevertheless definite. He was +content to rest and wait. Better health and time, which +does so much for us, brought this about. The passage of +years gradually relaxed his anxiety about death by loosening his +anxiety for life without loosening his love of life.</p> +<p>But I would rather not go into any further details, because I +still cherish the hope that some day or the other I may recover +the contents of the diary. I am afraid that up to this +point he has misrepresented himself, and that those who read his +story will think him nothing but a mere egoist, selfish and +self-absorbed. Morbid he may have been, but selfish he was +not. A more perfect friend I never knew, nor one more +capable of complete abandonment to a person for whom he had any +real regard, and I can only hope that it may be my good fortune +to find the materials which will enable me to represent him +autobiographically in a somewhat different light to that in which +he appears now.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARK +RUTHERFORD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3269-h.htm or 3269-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/6/3269 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by +David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARK RUTHERFORD +EDITED BY HIS FRIEND REUBEN SHAPCOTT + + + + +PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION + + + +The present edition is a reprint of the first, with corrections of +several mistakes which had been overlooked. + +There is one observation which I may perhaps be permitted to make on +re-reading after some years this autobiography. Rutherford, at any +rate in his earlier life, was an example of the danger and the folly of +cultivating thoughts and reading books to which he was not equal, and +which tend to make a man lonely. + +It is all very well that remarkable persons should occupy themselves +with exalted subjects, which are out of the ordinary road which +ordinary humanity treads; but we who are not remarkable make a very +great mistake if we have anything to do with them. If we wish to be +happy, and have to live with average men and women, as most of us have +to live, we must learn to take an interest in the topics which concern +average men and women. We think too much of ourselves. We ought not +to sacrifice a single moment's pleasure in our attempt to do something +which is too big for us, and as a rule, men and women are always +attempting what is too big for them. To ninety-nine young men out of a +hundred, or perhaps ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine +out of a hundred thousand, the wholesome healthy doctrine is, "Don't +bother yourselves with what is beyond you; try to lead a sweet, clean, +wholesome life, keep yourselves in health above everything, stick to +your work, and when your day is done amuse and refresh yourselves." + +It is not only a duty to ourselves, but it is a duty to others to take +this course. Great men do the world much good, but not without some +harm, and we have no business to be troubling ourselves with their +dreams if we have duties which lie nearer home amongst persons to whom +these dreams are incomprehensible. Many a man goes into his study, +shuts himself up with his poetry or his psychology, comes out, half +understanding what he has read, is miserable because he cannot find +anybody with whom he can talk about it, and misses altogether the far +more genuine joy which he could have obtained from a game with his +children or listening to what his wife had to tell him about her +neighbours. + +"Lor, miss, you haven't looked at your new bonnet to-day," said a +servant girl to her young mistress. + +"No, why should I? I did not want to go out." + +"Oh, how can you? why, I get mine out and look at it every night." + +She was happy for a whole fortnight with a happiness cheap at a very +high price. + +That same young mistress was very caustic upon the women who block the +pavement outside drapers' shops, but surely she was unjust. They +always seem unconscious, to be enjoying themselves intensely and most +innocently, more so probably than an audience at a Wagner concert. +Many persons with refined minds are apt to depreciate happiness, +especially if it is of "a low type." Broadly speaking, it is the one +thing worth having, and low or high, if it does no mischief, is better +than the most spiritual misery. + +Metaphysics and theology, including all speculations on the why and the +wherefore, optimism, pessimism, freedom, necessity, causality, and so +forth, are not only for the most part loss of time, but frequently +ruinous. It is no answer to say that these things force themselves +upon us, and that to every question we are bound to give or try to give +an answer. It is true, although strange, that there are multitudes of +burning questions which we must do our best to ignore, to forget their +existence; and it is not more strange, after all, than many other facts +in this wonderfully mysterious and defective existence of ours. One +fourth of life is intelligible, the other three-fourths is +unintelligible darkness; and our earliest duty is to cultivate the +habit of not looking round the corner. + +"Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry +heart; for God hath already accepted thy works. Let thy garments be +always white, and let not thy head lack ointment. Live joyfully with +the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which +He hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that +is thy portion in life." + +R. S. + + +This is the night when I must die, +And great Orion walketh high +In silent glory overhead: +He'll set just after I am dead. + +A week this night, I'm in my grave: +Orion walketh o'er the wave: +Down in the dark damp earth I lie, +While he doth march in majesty. + +A few weeks hence and spring will come; +The earth will bright array put on +Of daisy and of primrose bright, +And everything which loves the light. + +And some one to my child will say, +"You'll soon forget that you could play +Beethoven; let us hear a strain +From that slow movement once again." + +And so she'll play that melody, +While I among the worms do lie; +Dead to them all, for ever dead; +The churchyard clay dense overhead. + +I once did think there might be mine +One friendship perfect and divine; +Alas! that dream dissolved in tears +Before I'd counted twenty years. + +For I was ever commonplace; +Of genius never had a trace; +My thoughts the world have never fed, +Mere echoes of the book last read. + +Those whom I knew I cannot blame: +If they are cold, I am the same: +How could they ever show to me +More than a common courtesy? + +There is no deed which I have done; +There is no love which I have won, +To make them for a moment grieve +That I this night their earth must leave. + +Thus, moaning at the break of day, +A man upon his deathbed lay; +A moment more and all was still; +The Morning Star came o'er the hill. + +But when the dawn lay on his face, +It kindled an immortal grace; +As if in death that Life were shown +Which lives not in the great alone. + +Orion sank down in the west +Just as he sank into his rest; +I closed in solitude his eyes, +And watched him till the sun's uprise. + + + +CHAPTER I--CHILDHOOD + + + +Now that I have completed my autobiography up to the present year, I +sometimes doubt whether it is right to publish it. Of what use is it, +many persons will say, to present to the world what is mainly a record +of weaknesses and failures? If I had any triumphs to tell; if I could +show how I had risen superior to poverty and suffering; if, in short, I +were a hero of any kind whatever, I might perhaps be justified in +communicating my success to mankind, and stimulating them to do as I +have done. But mine is the tale of a commonplace life, perplexed by +many problems I have never solved; disturbed by many difficulties I +have never surmounted; and blotted by ignoble concessions which are a +constant regret. + +I have decided, however, to let the manuscript remain. I will not +destroy it, although I will not take the responsibility of printing it. +Somebody may think it worth preserving; and there are two reasons why +they may think so, if there are no others. In the first place it has +some little historic value, for I feel increasingly that the race to +which I belonged is fast passing away, and that the Dissenting minister +of the present day is a different being altogether from the Dissenting +minister of forty years ago. + +In the next place, I have observed that the mere knowing that other +people have been tried as we have been tried is a consolation to us, +and that we are relieved by the assurance that our sufferings are not +special and peculiar, but common to us with many others. Death has +always been a terror to me, and at times, nay generally, religion and +philosophy have been altogether unavailing to mitigate the terror in +any way. But it has been a comfort to me to reflect that whatever +death may be, it is the inheritance of the whole human race; that I am +not singled out, but shall merely have to pass through what the weakest +have had to pass through before me. In the worst of maladies, worst at +least to me, those which are hypochondriacal, the healing effect which +is produced by the visit of a friend who can simply say, "I have +endured all that," is most marked. So it is not impossible that some +few whose experience has been like mine may, by my example, be freed +from that sense of solitude which they find so depressing. + +I was born, just before the Liverpool and Manchester Railway was +opened, in a small country town in one of the Midland shires. It is +now semi-manufacturing, at the junction of three or four lines of +railway, with hardly a trace left of what it was fifty years ago. It +then consisted of one long main street, with a few other streets +branching from it at right-angles. Through this street the mail-coach +rattled at night, and the huge waggon rolled through it, drawn by four +horses, which twice a week travelled to and from London and brought us +what we wanted from the great and unknown city. + +My father and mother belonged to the ordinary English middle class of +well-to-do shop-keepers. My mother's family came from a little +distance, but my father's had lived in those parts for centuries. I +remember perfectly well how business used to be carried on in those +days. There was absolutely no competition, and although nobody in the +town who was in trade got rich, except the banker and the brewer, +nearly everybody was tolerably well off, and certainly not pressed with +care as their successors are now. The draper, who lived a little way +above us, was a deacon in our chapel, and every morning, soon after +breakfast, he would start off for his walk of about four miles, +stopping by the way to talk to his neighbours about the events of the +day. At eleven o'clock or thereabouts he would return and would begin +work. Everybody took an hour for dinner--between one and two--and at +that time, especially on a hot July afternoon, the High Street was +empty from end to end, and the profoundest peace reigned. + +My life as a child falls into two portions, sharply divided--week-day +and Sunday. During the week-day I went to the public school, where I +learned little or nothing that did me much good. The discipline of the +school was admirable, and the headmaster was penetrated with a most +lofty sense of duty, but the methods of teaching were very imperfect. +In Latin we had to learn the Eton Latin Grammar till we knew every word +of it by heart, but we did scarcely any retranslation from English into +Latin. Much of our time was wasted on the merest trifles, such as +learning to write, for example, like copperplate, and, still more +extraordinary, in copying the letters of the alphabet as they are used +in printing. + +But we had two half-holidays in the week, which seem to me now to have +been the happiest part of my life. A river ran through the town, and +on summer Wednesdays and Saturdays we wandered along its banks for +miles, alternately fishing and bathing. I remember whole afternoons in +June, July, and August, passed half-naked or altogether naked in the +solitary meadows and in the water; I remember the tumbling weir with +the deep pool at the bottom in which we dived; I remember, too, the +place where we used to swim across the river with our clothes on our +heads, because there was no bridge near, and the frequent disaster of a +slip of the braces in the middle of the water, so that shirt, jacket, +and trousers were soaked, and we had to lie on the grass in the +broiling sun without a rag on us till everything was dry again. + +In winter our joys were of a different kind but none the less +delightful. If it was a frost, we had skating; not like skating on a +London pond, but over long reaches, and if the locks had not +intervened, we might have gone a day's journey on the ice without a +stoppage. If there was no ice, we had football, and what was still +better, we could get up a steeplechase--on foot straight across hedge +and ditch. + +In after-years, when I lived in London, I came to know children who +went to school in Gower Street, and travelled backwards and forwards by +omnibus--children who had no other recreation than an occasional visit +to the Zoological Gardens, or a somewhat sombre walk up to Hampstead to +see their aunt; and I have often regretted that they never had any +experience of those perfect poetic pleasures which the boy enjoys whose +childhood is spent in the country, and whose home is there. A country +boarding-school is something altogether different. + +On the Sundays, however, the compensation came. It was a season of +unmixed gloom. My father and mother were rigid Calvinistic +Independents, and on that day no newspaper nor any book more secular +than the Evangelical Magazine was tolerated. Every preparation for the +Sabbath had been made on the Saturday, to avoid as much as possible any +work. The meat was cooked beforehand, so that we never had a hot +dinner even in the coldest weather; the only thing hot which was +permitted was a boiled suet pudding, which cooked itself while we were +at chapel, and some potatoes which were prepared after we came home. +Not a letter was opened unless it was clearly evident that it was not +on business, and for opening these an apology was always offered that +it was possible they might contain some announcement of sickness. If +on cursory inspection they appeared to be ordinary letters, although +they might be from relations or friends, they were put away. + +After family prayer and breakfast the business of the day began with +the Sunday-school at nine o'clock. We were taught our Catechism and +Bible there till a quarter past ten. We were then marched across the +road into the chapel, a large old-fashioned building dating from the +time of Charles II. The floor was covered with high pews. The roof +was supported by three or four tall wooden pillars which ran from the +ground to the ceiling, and the galleries by shorter pillars. There was +a large oak pulpit on one side against the wall, and down below, +immediately under the minister, was the "singing pew," where the +singers and musicians sat, the musicians being performers on the +clarionet, flute, violin, and violoncello. Right in front was a long +enclosure, called the communion pew, which was usually occupied by a +number of the poorer members of the congregation. + +There were three services every Sunday, besides intermitting prayer- +meetings, but these I did not as yet attend. Each service consisted of +a hymn, reading the Bible, another hymn, a prayer, the sermon, a third +hymn, and a short final prayer. The reading of the Bible was +unaccompanied with any observations or explanations, and I do not +remember that I ever once heard a mistranslation corrected. + +The first, or long prayer, as it was called, was a horrible hypocrisy, +and it was a sore tax on the preacher to get through it. Anything more +totally unlike the model recommended to us in the New Testament cannot +well be imagined. It generally began with a confession that we were +all sinners, but no individual sins were ever confessed, and then +ensued a kind of dialogue with God, very much resembling the speeches +which in later years I have heard in the House of Commons from the +movers and seconders of addresses to the Crown at the opening of +Parliament. + +In all the religion of that day nothing was falser than the long +prayer. Direct appeal to God can only be justified when it is +passionate. To come maundering into His presence when we have nothing +particular to say is an insult, upon which we should never presume if +we had a petition to offer to any earthly personage. We should not +venture to take up His time with commonplaces or platitudes; but our +minister seemed to consider that the Almighty, who had the universe to +govern, had more leisure at His command that the idlest lounger at a +club. Nobody ever listened to this performance. I was a good child on +the whole, but I am sure I did not; and if the chapel were now in +existence, there might be traced on the flap of the pew in which we sat +many curious designs due to these dreary performances. + +The sermon was not much better. It generally consisted of a text, +which was a mere peg for a discourse, that was pretty much the same +from January to December. The minister invariably began with the fall +of man; propounded the scheme of redemption, and ended by depicting in +the morning the blessedness of the saints, and in the evening the doom +of the lost. There was a tradition that in the morning there should be +"experience"--that is to say, comfort for the elect, and that the +evening should be appropriated to their less fortunate brethren. + +The evening service was the most trying to me of all these. I never +could keep awake, and knew that to sleep under the Gospel was a sin. +The chapel was lighted in winter by immense chandeliers with tiers of +candles all round. These required perpetual snuffing, and I can see +the old man going round the chandeliers in the middle of the service +with a mighty pair of snuffers which opened and shut with a loud click. +How I envied him because he had semi-secular occupation which prevented +that terrible drowsiness! How I envied the pew-opener, who was allowed +to stand at the vestry door, and could slip into the vestry every now +and then, or even into the burial-ground if he heard irreverent boys +playing there! The atmosphere of the chapel on hot nights was most +foul, and this added to my discomfort. Oftentimes in winter, when no +doors or windows were open, I have seen the glass panes streaming with +wet inside, and women carried out fainting. + +On rare occasions I was allowed to go with my father when he went into +the villages to preach. As a deacon he was also a lay-preacher, and I +had the ride in the gig out and home, and tea at a farm-house. + +Perhaps I shall not have a better opportunity to say that, with all +these drawbacks, my religious education did confer upon me some +positive advantages. The first was a rigid regard for truthfulness. +My parents never would endure a lie or the least equivocation. The +second was purity of life, and I look upon this as a simply +incalculable gain. Impurity was not an excusable weakness in the +society in which I lived; it was a sin for which dreadful punishment +was reserved. The reason for my virtue may have been a wrong reason, +but, anyhow, I was saved, and being saved, much more was saved than +health and peace of mind. + +To this day I do not know where to find a weapon strong enough to +subdue the tendency to impurity in young men; and although I cannot +tell them what I do not believe, I hanker sometimes after the old +prohibitions and penalties. Physiological penalties are too remote, +and the subtler penalties--the degradation, the growth of callousness +to finer pleasures, the loss of sensitiveness to all that is most nobly +attractive in woman--are too feeble to withstand temptation when it +lies in ambush like a garrotter, and has the reason stunned in a +moment. + +The only thing that can be done is to make the conscience of a boy +generally tender, so that he shrinks instinctively from the monstrous +injustice of contributing for the sake of his own pleasure to the ruin +of another. As soon as manhood dawns, he must also have his attention +absorbed on some object which will divert his thoughts intellectually +or ideally; and by slight yet constant pressure, exercised not by fits +and starts, but day after day, directly and indirectly, his father must +form an antipathy in him to brutish, selfish sensuality. Above all, +there must be no toying with passion, and no books permitted, without +condemnation and warning, which are not of a heroic turn. When the boy +becomes a man he may read Byron without danger. To a youth he is +fatal. + +Before leaving this subject I may observe, that parents greatly err by +not telling their children a good many things which they ought to know. +Had I been taught when I was young a few facts about myself, which I +only learned accidentally long afterwards, a good deal of misery might +have been spared me. + +Nothing particular happened to me till I was about fourteen, when I was +told it was time I became converted. Conversion, amongst the +Independents and other Puritan sects, is supposed to be a kind of +miracle wrought in the heart by the influence of the Holy Spirit, by +which the man becomes something altogether different to what he was +previously. It affects, or should affect, his character; that is to +say, he ought after conversion to be better in every way than he was +before; but this is not considered as its main consequence. In its +essence it is a change in the emotions and increased vividness of +belief. It is now altogether untrue. Yet it is an undoubted fact that +in earlier days, and, indeed, in rare cases, as late as the time of my +childhood, it was occasionally a reality. + +It is possible to imagine that under the preaching of Paul sudden +conviction of a life misspent may have been produced with sudden +personal attachment to the Galilean who, until then, had been despised. +There may have been prompt release of unsuspected powers, and as prompt +an imprisonment for ever of meaner weaknesses and tendencies; the +result being literally a putting off of the old, and a putting on of +the new man. Love has always been potent to produce such a +transformation, and the exact counterpart of conversion, as it was +understood by the apostles, may be seen whenever a man is redeemed from +vice by attachment to some woman whom he worships, or when a girl is +reclaimed from idleness and vanity by becoming a mother. + +But conversion, as it was understood by me and as it is now understood, +is altogether unmeaning. I knew that I had to be "a child of God," and +after a time professed myself to be one, but I cannot call to mind that +I was anything else than I always had been, save that I was perhaps a +little more hypocritical; not in the sense that I professed to others +what I knew I did not believe, but in the sense that I professed it to +myself. I was obliged to declare myself convinced of sin; convinced of +the efficacy of the atonement; convinced that I was forgiven; convinced +that the Holy Ghost was shed abroad in my heart; and convinced of a +great many other things which were the merest phrases. + +However, the end of it was, that I was proposed for acceptance, and two +deacons were deputed, in accordance with the usual custom, to wait upon +me and ascertain my fitness for membership. What they said and what I +said has now altogether vanished; but I remember with perfect +distinctness the day on which I was admitted. It was the custom to +demand of each candidate a statement of his or her experience. I had +no experience to give; and I was excused on the grounds that I had been +the child of pious parents, and consequently had not undergone that +convulsion which those, not favoured like myself, necessarily underwent +when they were called. + +I was now expected to attend all those extra services which were +specially for the church. I stayed to the late prayer-meeting on +Sunday; I went to the prayer-meeting on week-days, and also to private +prayer-meetings. These services were not interesting to me for their +own sake. I thought they were, but what I really liked was clanship +and the satisfaction of belonging to a society marked off from the +great world. + +It must also be added that the evening meetings afforded us many +opportunities for walking home with certain young women, who, I am +sorry to say, were a more powerful attraction, not to me only, but to +others, than the prospect of hearing brother Holderness, the travelling +draper, confess crimes which, to say the truth, although they were many +according to his own account, were never given in that detail which +would have made his confession of some value. He never prayed without +telling all of us that there was no health in him, and that his soul +was a mass of putrefying sores; but everybody thought the better of him +for his self-humiliation. One actual indiscretion, however, brought +home to him would have been visited by suspension or expulsion. + + + +CHAPTER II--PREPARATION + + + +It was necessary that an occupation should be found for me, and after +much deliberation it was settled that I should "go into the ministry." +I had joined the church, I had "engaged in prayer" publicly, and +although I had not set up for being extraordinarily pious, I was +thought to be as good as most of the young men who professed to have a +mission to regenerate mankind. + +Accordingly, after some months of preparation, I was taken to a +Dissenting College not very far from where we lived. It was a large +old-fashioned house with a newer building annexed, and was surrounded +with a garden and with meadows. Each student had a separate room, and +all had their meals together in a common hall. Altogether there were +about forty of us. The establishment consisted of a President, an +elderly gentleman who had an American degree of doctor of divinity, and +who taught the various branches of theology. He was assisted by three +professors, who imparted to us as much Greek, Latin, and mathematics as +it was considered that we ought to know. Behold me, then, beginning a +course of training which was to prepare me to meet the doubts of the +nineteenth century; to be the guide of men; to advise them in their +perplexities; to suppress their tempestuous lusts; to lift them above +their petty cares, and to lead them heavenward! + +About the Greek and Latin and the secular part of the college +discipline I will say nothing, except that it was generally +inefficient. The theological and Biblical teaching was a sham. We had +come to the college in the first place to learn the Bible. Our whole +existence was in future to be based upon that book; our lives were to +be passed in preaching it. I will venture to say that there was no +book less understood either by students or professors. The President +had a course of lectures, delivered year after year to successive +generations of his pupils, upon its authenticity and inspiration. They +were altogether remote from the subject; and afterwards, when I came to +know what the difficulties of belief really were, I found that these +essays, which were supposed to be a triumphant confutation of the +sceptic, were a mere sword of lath. They never touched the question, +and if any doubts suggested themselves to the audience, nobody dared to +give them tongue, lest the expression of them should beget a suspicion +of heresy. + +I remember also some lectures on the proof of the existence of God and +on the argument from design; all of which, when my mind was once +awakened, were as irrelevant as the chattering of sparrows. When I did +not even know who or what this God was, and could not bring my lips to +use the word with any mental honesty, of what service was the "watch +argument" to me? Very lightly did the President pass over all these +initial difficulties of his religion. I see him now, a gentleman with +lightish hair, with a most mellifluous voice and a most pastoral +manner, reading his prim little tracts to us directed against the +"shallow infidel" who seemed to deny conclusions so obvious that we +were certain he could not be sincere, and those of us who had never +seen an infidel might well be pardoned for supposing that he must +always be wickedly blind. + +About a dozen of these tracts settled the infidel and the whole mass of +unbelief from the time of Celsus downwards. The President's task was +all the easier because he knew nothing of German literature; and, +indeed, the word "German" was a term of reproach signifying something +very awful, although nobody knew exactly what it was. + +Systematic theology was the next science to which the President +directed us. We used a sort of Calvinistic manual which began by +setting forth that mankind was absolutely in God's power. He was our +maker, and we had no legal claim whatever to any consideration from +Him. The author then mechanically built up the Calvinistic creed, step +by step, like a house of cards. Systematic theology was the great +business of our academical life. We had to read sermons to the +President in class, and no sermon was considered complete and proper +unless it unfolded what was called the scheme of redemption from +beginning to end. + +So it came to pass that about the Bible, as I have already said, we +were in darkness. It was a magazine of texts, and those portions of it +which contributed nothing in the shape of texts, or formed no part of +the scheme, were neglected. Worse still, not a word was ever spoken to +us telling us in what manner to strengthen the reason, to subdue the +senses, or in what way to deal with all the varied diseases of that +soul of man which we were to set ourselves to save. All its failings, +infinitely more complicated than those of the body, were grouped as +"sin," and for these there was one quack remedy. If the patient did +not like the remedy, or got no good from it, the fault was his. + +It is remarkable that the scheme was never of the slightest service to +me in repressing one solitary evil inclination; at no point did it come +into contact with me. At the time it seemed right and proper that I +should learn it, and I had no doubt of its efficacy; but when the +stress of temptation was upon me, it never occurred to me, nor when I +became a minister did I find it sufficiently powerful to mend the most +trifling fault. In after years, but not till I had strayed far away +from the President and his creed, the Bible was really opened to me, +and became to me, what it now is, the most precious of books. + +There were several small chapels scattered in the villages near the +college, and these chapels were "supplied," as the phrase is, by the +students. Those who were near the end of their course were also +employed as substitutes for regular ministers when they were +temporarily absent. Sometimes a senior was even sent up to London to +take the place, on a sudden emergency, of a great London minister, and +when he came back he was an object almost of adoration. The +congregation, on the other hand, consisting in some part of country +people spending a Sunday in town and anxious to hear a celebrated +preacher, were not at all disposed to adore, when, instead of the great +man, they saw "only a student." + +By the time I was nineteen I took my turn in "supplying" the villages, +and set forth with the utmost confidence what appeared to me to be the +indubitable gospel. No shadow of a suspicion of its truth ever crossed +my mind, and yet I had not spent an hour in comprehending, much less in +answering, one objection to it. The objections, in fact, had never met +me; they were over my horizon altogether. It is wonderful to think how +I could take so much for granted; and not merely take it to myself and +for myself, but proclaim it as a message to other people. It would be +a mistake, however, to suppose that theological youths are the only +class who are guilty of such presumption. Our gregarious instinct is +so strong that it is the most difficult thing for us to be satisfied +with suspended judgment. Men must join a party, and have a cry, and +they generally take up their party and their cry from the most +indifferent motives. + +For my own part I cannot be enthusiastic about politics, except on rare +occasions when the issue is a very narrow one. There is so much that +requires profound examination, and it disgusts me to get upon a +platform and dispute with ardent Radicals or Conservatives who know +nothing about even the rudiments of history, political economy, or +political philosophy, without which it is as absurd to have an opinion +upon what are called politics as it would be to have an opinion upon an +astronomical problem without having learned Euclid. + +The more incapable we are of thorough investigations, the wider and +deeper are the subjects upon which we busy ourselves, and still more +strange, the more bigoted do we become in our conclusions about them; +and yet it is not strange, for he who by painful processes has found +yes and no alternate for so long that he is not sure which is final, is +the last man in the world, if he for the present is resting in yes, to +crucify another who can get no further than no. The bigot is he to +whom no such painful processes have ever been permitted. + +The society amongst the students was very poor. Not a single +friendship formed then has remained with me. They were mostly young +men of no education, who had been taken from the counter, and their +spiritual life was not very deep. In many of them it did not even +exist, and their whole attention was absorbed upon their chances of +getting wealthy congregations or of making desirable matches. It was a +time in which the world outside was seething with the ferment which had +been cast into it by Germany and by those in England whom Germany had +influenced, but not a fragment of it had dropped within our walls. I +cannot call to mind a single conversation upon any but the most trivial +topics, nor did our talk ever turn even upon our religion, so far as it +was a thing affecting the soul, but upon it as something subsidiary to +chapels, "causes," deacons, and the like. + +The emptiness of some of my colleagues, and their worldliness, too, +were almost incredible. There was one who was particularly silly. He +was a blond youth with greyish eyes, a mouth not quite shut, and an +eternal simper upon his face. He never had an idea in his head, and +never read anything except the denominational newspapers and a few +well-known aids to sermonising. He was a great man at all tea- +meetings, anniversaries, and parties. He was facile in public +speaking, and he dwelt much upon the joys of heaven and upon such +topics as the possibility of our recognising one another there. I have +known him describe for twenty minutes, in a kind of watery rhetoric, +the passage of the soul to bliss through death, and its meeting in the +next world with those who had gone before. + +With all his weakness he was close and mean in money matters, and when +he left college, the first thing he did was to marry a widow with a +fortune. Before long he became one of the most popular of ministers in +a town much visited by sick persons, with whom he was an especial +favourite. I disliked him--and specially disliked his unpleasant +behaviour to women. If I had been a woman, I should have spurned him +for his perpetual insult of inane compliments. He was always dawdling +after "the sex," which was one of his sweet phrases, and yet he was not +passionate. Passion does not dawdle and compliment, nor is it nasty, +as this fellow was. Passion may burn like a devouring flame; and in a +few moments, like flame, may bring down a temple to dust and ashes, but +it is earnest as flame, and essentially pure. + +During the first two years at college my life was entirely external. +My heart was altogether untouched by anything I heard, read, or did, +although I myself supposed that I took an interest in them. But one +day in my third year, a day I remember as well as Paul must have +remembered afterwards the day on which he went to Damascus, I happened +to find amongst a parcel of books a volume of poems in paper boards. +It was called Lyrical Ballads, and I read first one and then the whole +book. It conveyed to me no new doctrine, and yet the change it wrought +in me could only be compared with that which is said to have been +wrought on Paul himself by the Divine apparition. + +Looking over the Lyrical Ballads again, as I have looked over it a +dozen times since then, I can hardly see what it was which stirred me +so powerfully, nor do I believe that it communicated much to me which +could be put in words. But it excited a movement and a growth which +went on till, by degrees, all the systems which enveloped me like a +body gradually decayed from me and fell away into nothing. Of more +importance, too, than the decay of systems was the birth of a habit of +inner reference and a dislike to occupy myself with anything which did +not in some way or other touch the soul, or was not the illustration or +embodiment of some spiritual law. + +There is, of course, a definite explanation to be given of one effect +produced by the Lyrical Ballads. God is nowhere formally deposed, and +Wordsworth would have been the last man to say that he had lost his +faith in the God of his fathers. But his real God is not the God of +the Church, but the God of the hills, the abstraction Nature, and to +this my reverence was transferred. Instead of an object of worship +which was altogether artificial, remote, never coming into genuine +contact with me, I had now one which I thought to be real, one in which +literally I could live and move and have my being, an actual fact +present before my eyes. God was brought from that heaven of the books, +and dwelt on the downs in the far-away distances, and in every cloud- +shadow which wandered across the valley. Wordsworth unconsciously did +for me what every religious reformer has done--he re-created my Supreme +Divinity; substituting a new and living spirit for the old deity, once +alive, but gradually hardened into an idol. + +What days were those of the next few years before increasing age had +presented preciser problems and demanded preciser answers; before all +joy was darkened by the shadow of on-coming death, and when life seemed +infinite! Those were the days when through the whole long summer's +morning I wanted no companion but myself, provided only I was in the +country, and when books were read with tears in the eyes. Those were +the days when mere life, apart from anything which it brings, was +exquisite. + +In my own college I found no sympathy, but we were in the habit of +meeting occasionally the students from other colleges, and amongst them +I met with one or two, especially one who had undergone experiences +similar to my own. The friendships formed with these young men have +lasted till now, and have been the most permanent of all the +relationships of my existence. I wish not to judge others, but the +persons who to me have proved themselves most attractive, have been +those who have passed through such a process as that through which I +myself passed; those who have had in some form or other an enthusiastic +stage in their history, when the story of Genesis and of the Gospels +has been rewritten, when God has visibly walked in the garden, and the +Son of God has drawn men away from their daily occupations into the +divinest of dreams. + +I have known men--most interesting men with far greater powers than any +which I have possessed, men who have never been trammelled by a false +creed, who have devoted themselves to science and acquired a great +reputation, who have somehow never laid hold upon me like the man I +have just mentioned. He failed altogether as a minister, and went back +to his shop, but the old glow of his youth burns, and will burn, for +ever. When I am with him our conversation naturally turns on matters +which are of profoundest importance: with others it may be +instructive, but I leave them unmoved, and I trace the difference +distinctly to that visitation, for it was nothing else, which came to +him in his youth. + +The effect which was produced upon my preaching and daily conversation +by this change was immediate. It became gradually impossible for me to +talk about subjects which had not some genuine connection with me, or +to desire to hear others talk about them. The artificial, the merely +miraculous, the event which had no inner meaning, no matter how large +externally it might be, I did not care for. A little Greek +mythological story was of more importance to me than a war which filled +the newspapers. What, then, could I do with my theological treatises? + +It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that I immediately became +formally heretical. Nearly every doctrine in the college creed had +once had a natural origin in the necessities of human nature, and might +therefore be so interpreted as to become a necessity again. To reach +through to that original necessity; to explain the atonement as I +believed it appeared to Paul, and the sinfulness of man as it appeared +to the prophets, was my object. But it was precisely this reaching +after a meaning which constituted heresy. The distinctive essence of +our orthodoxy was not this or that dogma, but the acceptance of dogmas +as communications from without, and not as born from within. + +Heresy began, and in fact was altogether present, when I said to myself +that a mere statement of the atonement as taught in class was +impossible for me, and that I must go back to Paul and his century, +place myself in his position, and connect the atonement through him +with something which I felt. I thus continued to use all the terms +which I had hitherto used; but an uneasy feeling began to develop +itself about me in the minds of the professors, because I did not rest +in the "simplicity" of the gospel. To me this meant its +unintelligibility. + +I remember, for example, discoursing about the death of Christ. There +was not a single word which was ordinarily used in the pulpit which I +did not use--satisfaction for sin, penalty, redeeming blood, they were +all there--but I began by saying that in this world there was no +redemption for man but by blood; furthermore, the innocent had +everywhere and in all time to suffer for the guilty. It had been +objected that it was contrary to our notion of an all-loving Being that +He should demand such a sacrifice; but, contrary or not, in this world +it was true, quite apart from Jesus, that virtue was martyred every +day, unknown and unconsoled, in order that the wicked might somehow be +saved. This was part of the scheme of the world, and we might dislike +it or not, we could not get rid of it. The consequences of my sin, +moreover, are rendered less terrible by virtues not my own. I am +literally saved from penalties because another pays the penalty for me. +The atonement, and what it accomplished for man, were therefore a +sublime summing up as it were of what sublime men have to do for their +race; an exemplification, rather than a contradiction, of Nature +herself, as we know her in our own experience. + +Now, all this was really intended as a defence of the atonement; but +the President heard me that Sunday, and on the Monday he called me into +his room. He said that my sermon was marked by considerable ability, +but he should have been better satisfied if I had confined myself to +setting forth as plainly as I could the "way of salvation" as revealed +in Christ Jesus. What I had urged might perhaps have possessed some +interest for cultivated people; in fact, he had himself urged pretty +much the same thing many years ago, when he was a young man, in a +sermon he had preached at the Union meeting; but I must recollect that +in all probability my sphere of usefulness would lie amongst humble +hearers, perhaps in an agricultural village or a small town, and that +he did not think people of this sort would understand me if I talked +over their heads as I had done the day before. What they wanted on a +Sunday, after all the cares of the week, was not anything to perplex +and disturb them; not anything which demanded any exercise of thought; +but a repetition of the "old story of which, Mr. Rutherford, you know, +we never ought to get weary; an exhibition of our exceeding sinfulness; +of our safety in the Rock of Ages, and there only; of the joys of the +saints and the sufferings of those who do not believe." + +His words fell on me like the hand of a corpse, and I went away much +depressed. My sermon had excited me, and the man who of all men ought +to have welcomed me, had not a word of warmth or encouragement for me, +nothing but the coldest indifference, and even repulse. + +It occurs to me here to offer an explanation of a failing of which I +have been accused in later years, and that is secrecy and reserve. The +real truth is, that nobody more than myself could desire self- +revelation; but owing to peculiar tendencies in me, and peculiarity of +education, I was always prone to say things in conversation which I +found produced blank silence in the majority of those who listened to +me, and immediate opportunity was taken by my hearers to turn to +something trivial. Hence it came to pass that only when tempted by +unmistakable sympathy could I be induced to express my real self on any +topic of importance. + +It is a curious instance of the difficulty of diagnosing (to use a +doctor's word) any spiritual disease, if disease this shyness may be +called. People would ordinarily set it down to self-reliance, with no +healthy need of intercourse. It was nothing of the kind. It was an +excess of communicativeness, an eagerness to show what was most at my +heart, and to ascertain what was at the heart of those to whom I +talked, which made me incapable of mere fencing and trifling, and so +often caused me to retreat into myself when I found absolute absense of +response. + +I am also reminded here of a dream which I had in these years of a +perfect friendship. I always felt that, talk with whom I would, I left +something unsaid which was precisely what I most wished to say. I +wanted a friend who would sacrifice himself to me utterly, and to whom +I might offer a similar sacrifice. I found companions for whom I +cared, and who professed to care for me; but I was thirsting for deeper +draughts of love than any which they had to offer; and I said to myself +that if I were to die, not one of them would remember me for more than +a week. This was not selfishness, for I longed to prove my devotion as +well as to receive that of another. How this ideal haunted me! It +made me restless and anxious at the sight of every new face, wondering +whether at last I had found that for which I searched as if for the +kingdom of heaven. + +It is superfluous to say that a friend of the kind I wanted never +appeared, and disappointment after disappointment at last produced in +me a cynicism which repelled people from me, and brought upon me a good +deal of suffering. I tried men by my standard, and if they did not +come up to it I rejected them; thus I prodigally wasted a good deal of +the affection which the world would have given me. Only when I got +much older did I discern the duty of accepting life as God has made it, +and thankfully receiving any scrap of love offered to me, however +imperfect it might be. + +I don't know any mistake which I have made which has cost me more than +this; but at the same time I must record that it was a mistake for +which, considering everything, I cannot much blame myself. I hope it +is amended now. Now when it is getting late I recognise a higher +obligation, brought home to me by a closer study of the New Testament. +Sympathy or no sympathy, a man's love should no more fail towards his +fellows than that love which spent itself on disciples who altogether +misunderstood it, like the rain which falls on just and unjust alike. + + + +CHAPTER III--WATER LANE + + + +I had now reached the end of my fourth year at college, and it was time +for me to leave. I was sent down into the eastern counties to a +congregation which had lost its minister, and was there "on probation" +for a month. I was naturally a good speaker, and as the "cause" had +got very low, the attendance at the chapel increased during the month I +was there. The deacons thought they had a prospect of returning +prosperity, and in the end I received a nearly unanimous invitation, +which, after some hesitation, I accepted. One of the deacons, a Mr. +Snale, was against me; he thought I was not "quite sound"; but he was +overruled. We shall hear more of him presently. After a short holiday +I entered on my new duties. + +The town was one of those which are not uncommon in that part of the +world. It had a population of about seven or eight thousand, and was a +sort of condensation of the agricultural country round. There was one +main street, consisting principally of very decent, respectable shops. +Generally speaking, there were two shops of each trade; one which was +patronised by the Church and Tories, and another by the Dissenters and +Whigs. The inhabitants were divided into two distinct camps--of the +Church and Tory camp the other camp knew nothing. On the other hand, +the knowledge which each member of the Dissenting camp had of every +other member was most intimate. + +The Dissenters were further split up into two or three different sects, +but the main sect was that of the Independents. They, in fact, +dominated every other. There was a small Baptist community, and the +Wesleyans had a new red-brick chapel in the outskirts; but for some +reason or other the Independents were really the Dissenters, and until +the "cause" had dwindled, as before observed, all the Dissenters of any +note were to be found on Sunday in their meeting-house in Water Lane. + +My predecessor had died in harness at the age of seventy-five. I never +knew him, but from all I could hear he must have been a man of some +power. As he got older, however, he became feeble; and after a course +of three sermons on a Sunday for fifty years, what he had to say was so +entirely anticipated by his congregation, that although they all +maintained that the gospel, or, in other words, the doctrine of the +fall, the atonement, and so forth, should continually be presented, and +their minister also believed and acted implicitly upon the same theory, +they fell away--some to the Baptists, some to the neighbouring +Independents about two miles off, and some to the Church, while a few +"went nowhere." + +When I came I found that the deacons still remained true. They were +the skeleton; but the flesh was so woefully emaciated, that on my first +Sunday there were not above fifty persons in a building which would +hold seven hundred. These deacons were four in number. One was an old +farmer who lived in a village three miles distant. Ever since he was a +boy he had driven over to Water Lane on Sunday. He and his family +brought their dinner with them, and ate it in the vestry; but they +never stopped till the evening, because of the difficulty of getting +home on dark nights, and because they all went to bed in winter-time at +eight o'clock. + +Morning and afternoon Mr. Catfield--for that was his name--gave out the +hymns. He was a plain, honest man, very kind, very ignorant, never +reading any book except the Bible, and barely a newspaper save Bell's +Weekly Messenger. Even about the Bible he knew little or nothing +beyond a few favourite chapters; and I am bound to say that, so far as +my experience goes, the character so frequently drawn in romances of +intense Bible students in Dissenting congregations is very rare. At +the same time Mr. Catfield believed himself to be very orthodox, and in +his way was very pious. I could never call him a hypocrite. He was as +sincere as he could be, and yet no religious expression of his was ever +so sincere as the most ordinary expression of the most trifling +pleasure or pain. + +The second deacon, Mr. Weeley, was, as he described himself, a builder +and undertaker; more properly an undertaker and carpenter. He was a +thin, tall man, with a tenor voice, and he set the tunes. He was +entirely without energy of any kind, and always seemed oppressed by a +world which was too much for him. He had depended a good deal for +custom upon his chapel connection; and when the attendance at the +chapel fell off, his trade fell off likewise, so that he had to +compound with his creditors. He was a mere shadow, a man of whom +nothing could be said either good or evil. + +The third deacon was Mr. Snale, the draper. When I first knew him he +was about thirty-five. He was slim, small, and small-faced, closely +shaven, excepting a pair of little curly whiskers, and he was extremely +neat. He had a little voice too, rather squeaky, and the marked +peculiarity that he hardly ever said anything, no matter how +disagreeable it might be, without stretching as if in a smile his thin +little lips. He kept the principal draper's shop in the town, and even +Church people spent their money with him, because he was so very +genteel compared with the other draper, who was a great red man, and +hung things outside his window. Mr. Snale was married, had children, +and was strictly proper. But his way of talking to women and about +them was more odious than the way of a debauchee. He invariably called +them "the ladies," or more exactly, "the leedies"; and he hardly ever +spoke to a "leedy" without a smirk and some faint attempt at a joke. + +One of the customs of the chapel was what were called Dorcas meetings. +Once a month the wives and daughters drank tea with each other; the +evening being ostensibly devoted to making clothes for the poor. The +husband of the lady who gave the entertainment for the month had to +wait upon the company, and the minister was expected to read to them +while they worked. + +It was my lot to be Mr. Snale's guest two or three times when Mrs. +Snale was the Dorcas hostess. We met in the drawing-room, which was +over the shop, and looked out into the town market-place. There was a +round table in the middle of the room, at which Mrs. Snale sat and made +the tea. Abundance of hot buttered toast and muffins were provided, +which Mr. Snale and a maid handed round to the party. + +Four pictures decorated the walls. One hung over the mantelpiece. It +was a portrait in oils of Mr. Snale, and opposite to it, on the other +side, was a portrait of Mrs. Snale. Both were daubs, but curiously +faithful in depicting what was most offensive in the character of both +the originals, Mr. Snale's simper being preserved; together with the +peculiarly hard, heavy sensuality of the eye in Mrs. Snale, who was +large and full-faced, correct like Mr. Snale, a member of the church, a +woman whom I never saw moved to any generosity, and cruel not with the +ferocity of the tiger, but with the dull insensibility of a cartwheel, +which will roll over a man's neck as easily as over a flint. The third +picture represented the descent of the Holy Ghost; a number of persons +sitting in a chamber, and each one with the flame of a candle on his +head. The fourth represented the last day. The Son of God was in a +chair surrounded by clouds, and beside Him was a flying figure blowing +a long mail-coach horn. The dead were coming up out of their graves; +some were half out of the earth, others three-parts out--the whole of +the bottom part of the picture being filled with bodies emerging from +the ground, a few looking happy, but most of them very wretched; all of +them being naked. + +The first time I went to Mrs. Snale's Dorcas gathering Mr. Snale was +reader, on the ground that I was a novice; and I was very glad to +resign the task to him. As the business in hand was week-day and +secular, it was not considered necessary that the selected subjects +should be religious; but as it was distinctly connected with the +chapel, it was also considered that they should have a religious +flavour. Consequently the Bible was excluded, and so were books on +topics altogether worldly. Dorcas meetings were generally, therefore, +shut up to the denominational journal and to magazines. Towards the +end of the evening Mr. Snale read the births, deaths, and marriages in +this journal. It would not have been thought right to read them from +any other newspaper, but it was agreed, with a fineness of tact which +was very remarkable, that it was quite right to read them in one which +was "serious." During the whole time that the reading was going on +conversation was not arrested, but was conducted in a kind of half +whisper; and this was another reason why I exceedingly disliked to +read, for I could never endure to speak if people did not listen. + +At half-past eight the work was put away, and Mrs. Snale went to the +piano and played a hymn tune, the minister having first of all selected +the hymn. Singing over, he offered a short prayer, and the company +separated. Supper was not served, as it was found to be too great an +expense. The husbands of the ladies generally came to escort them +home, but did not come upstairs. Some of the gentlemen waited below in +the dining-room, but most of them preferred the shop, for, although it +was shut, the gas was burning to enable the assistants to put away the +goods which had been got out during the day. + +When it first became my turn to read I proposed the Vicar of Wakefield; +but although no objection was raised at the time, Mr. Snale took an +opportunity of telling me, after I had got through a chapter or two, +that he thought it would be better if it were discontinued. "Because, +you know, Mr. Rutherford," he said, with his smirk, "the company is +mixed; there are young leedies present, and perhaps, Mr. Rutherford, a +book with a more requisite tone might be more suitable on such an +occasion." What he meant I did not know, and how to find a book with a +more requisite tone I did not know. + +However, the next time, in my folly, I tried a selection from George +Fox's Journal. Mr. Snale objected to this too. It was "hardly of a +character adapted for social intercourse," he thought; and furthermore, +"although Mr. Fox might be a very good man, and was a converted +character, yet he did not, you know, Mr. Rutherford, belong to us." So +I was reduced to that class of literature which of all others I most +abominated, and which always seemed to me the most profane--religious +and sectarian gossip, religious novels designed to make religion +attractive, and other slip-slop of this kind. I could not endure it, +and was frequently unwell on Dorcas evenings. + +The rest of the small congregation was of no particular note. As I +have said before, it had greatly fallen away, and all who remained +clung to the chapel rather by force of habit than from any other +reason. The only exception was an old maiden lady and her sister, who +lived in a little cottage about a mile out of the town. They were +pious in the purest sense of the word, suffering much from ill-health, +but perfectly resigned, and with a kind of tempered cheerfulness always +apparent on their faces, like the cheerfulness of a white sky with a +sun veiled by light and lofty clouds. They were the daughters of a +carriage-builder, who had left them a small annuity. + +Their house was one of the sweetest which I ever entered. The moment I +found myself inside it, I became conscious of perfect repose. +Everything was at rest; books, pictures, furniture, all breathed the +same peace. Nothing in the house was new, but everything had been +preserved with such care that nothing looked old. Yet the owners were +not what is called old-maidish; that is to say, they were not +superstitious worshippers of order and neatness. + +I remember Mrs. Snale's children coming in one afternoon when I was +there. They were rough and ill-mannered, and left traces of dirty +footmarks all over the carpet, which the two ladies noticed at once. +But it made no difference to the treatment of the children, who had +some cake and currant wine given to them, and were sent away rejoicing. +Directly they had gone, the elder of my friends asked me if I would +excuse her; she would gather up the dirt before it was trodden about. +So she brought a dust-pan and brush (the little servant was out) and +patiently swept the floor. That was the way with them. Did any +mischief befall them or those whom they knew, without blaming anybody, +they immediately and noiselessly set about repairing it with that +silent promptitude of nature which rebels not against a wound, but the +very next instant begins her work of protection and recovery. + +The Misses Arbour (for that was their name) mixed but little in the +society of the town. They explained to me that their health would not +permit it. They read books--a few--but they were not books about which +I knew very much, and they belonged altogether to an age preceding +mine. Of the names which had moved me, and of all the thoughts +stirring in the time, they had heard nothing. They greatly admired +Cowper, a poet who then did not much attract me. + +The country near me was rather level, but towards the west it rose into +soft swelling hills, between which were pleasant lanes. At about ten +miles distant eastward was the sea. A small river ran across the High +Street under a stone bridge; for about two miles below us it was locked +up for the sake of the mills, but at the end of the two miles it became +tidal and flowed between deep and muddy banks through marshes to the +ocean. Almost all my walks were by the river-bank down to these +marshes, and as far on as possible till the open water was visible. +Not that I did not like inland scenery: nobody could like it more, but +the sea was a corrective to the littleness all round me. With the +ships on it sailing to the other end of the earth it seemed to connect +me with the great world outside the parochialism of the society in +which I lived. + +Such was the town of C-, and such the company amidst which I found +myself. After my probation it was arranged that I should begin my new +duties at once, and accordingly I took lodgings--two rooms over the +shop of a tailor who acted as chapel-keeper, pew-opener, and sexton. +There was a small endowment on the chapel of fifty pounds a year, and +the rest of my income was derived from the pew-rents, which at the time +I took charge did not exceed another seventy. + +The first Sunday on which I preached after being accepted was a dull +day in November, but there was no dullness in me. The congregation had +increased a good deal during the past four weeks, and I was stimulated +by the prospect of the new life before me. It seemed to be a fit +opportunity to say something generally about Christianity and its +special peculiarities. I began by pointing out that each philosophy +and religion which had arisen in the world was the answer to a question +earnestly asked at the time; it was a remedy proposed to meet some +extreme pressure. Religions and philosophies were not created by idle +people who sat down and said, "Let us build up a system of beliefs upon +the universe; what shall we say about immortality, about sin?" and so +on. Unless there had been antecedent necessity there could have been +no religion; and no problem of life or death could be solved except +under the weight of that necessity. The stoical morality arose out of +the condition of Rome when the scholar and the pious man could do +nothing but simply strengthen his knees and back to bear an inevitable +burden. He was forced to find some counterpoise for the misery of +poverty and persecution, and he found it in the denial of their power +to touch him. So with Christianity. + +Jesus was a poor solitary thinker, confronted by two enormous and +overpowering organisations--the Jewish hierarchy and the Roman State. +He taught the doctrine of the kingdom of heaven; He trained Himself to +have faith in the absolute monarchy of the soul, the absolute monarchy +of His own; He tells us that each man should learn to find peace in his +own thoughts, his own visions. It is a most difficult thing to do; +most difficult to believe that my highest happiness consists in my +perception of whatever is beautiful. If I by myself watch the sun +rise, or the stars come out in the evening, or feel the love of man or +woman,--I ought to say to myself, "There is nothing beyond this." But +people will not rest there; they are not content, and they are for ever +chasing a shadow which flies before them, a something external which +never brings what it promises. + +I said that Christianity was essentially the religion of the unknown +and of the lonely; of those who are not a success. It was the religion +of the man who goes through life thinking much, but who makes few +friends and sees nothing come of his thoughts. I said a good deal more +upon the same theme which I have forgotten. + +After the service was over I went down into the vestry. Nobody came +near me but my landlord, the chapel-keeper, who said it was raining, +and immediately went away to put out the lights and shut up the +building. I had no umbrella, and there was nothing to be done but to +walk out in the wet. When I got home I found that my supper, +consisting of bread and cheese with a pint of beer, was on the table, +but apparently it had been thought unnecessary to light the fire again +at that time of night. I was overwrought, and paced about for hours in +hysterics. All that I had been preaching seemed the merest vanity when +I was brought face to face with the fact itself; and I reproached +myself bitterly that my own creed would not stand the stress of an +hour's actual trial. + +Towards morning I got into bed, but not to sleep; and when the dull +daylight of Monday came, all support had vanished, and I seemed to be +sinking into a bottomless abyss. I became gradually worse week by +week, and my melancholy took a fixed form. I got a notion into my head +that my brain was failing, and this was my first acquaintance with that +most awful malady hypochondria. I did not know then what I know now, +although I only half believe it practically, that this fixity of form +is a frequent symptom of the disease, and that the general weakness +manifests itself in a determinate horror, which gradually fades with +returning health. + +For months--many months--this dreadful conviction of coming idiocy or +insanity lay upon me like some poisonous reptile with its fangs driven +into my very marrow, so that I could not shake it off. It went with me +wherever I went, it got up with me in the morning, walked about with me +all day, and lay down with me at night. I managed, somehow or other, +to do my work, but I prayed incessantly for death; and to such a state +was I reduced that I could not even make the commonest appointment for +a day beforehand. The mere knowledge that something had to be done +agitated me and prevented my doing it. + +In June next year my holiday came, and I went away home to my father's +house. Father and mother were going, for the first time in their +lives, to spend a few days by the seaside together, and I went with +them to Ilfracombe. I had been there about a week, when on one +memorable morning, on the top of one of those Devonshire hills, I +became aware of a kind of flush in the brain and a momentary relief +such as I had not known since that November night. I seemed, far away +on the horizon, to see just a rim of olive light low down under the +edge of the leaden cloud that hung over my head, a prophecy of the +restoration of the sun, or at least a witness that somewhere it shone. +It was not permanent, and perhaps the gloom was never more profound, +nor the agony more intense, than it was for long after my Ilfracombe +visit. But the light broadened, and gradually the darkness was +mitigated. I have never been thoroughly restored. Often, with no +warning, I am plunged in the Valley of the Shadow, and no outlet seems +possible; but I contrive to traverse it, or to wait in calmness for +access of strength. + +When I was at my worst I went to see a doctor. He recommended me +stimulants. I had always been rather abstemious, and he thought I was +suffering from physical weakness. At first wine gave me relief, and +such marked relief that whenever I felt my misery insupportable I +turned to the bottle. At no time in my life was I ever the worse for +liquor, but I soon found the craving for it was getting the better of +me. I resolved never to touch it except at night, and kept my vow; but +the consequence was, that I looked forward to the night, and waited for +it with such eagerness that the day seemed to exist only for the sake +of the evening, when I might hope at least for rest. For the wine as +wine I cared nothing; anything that would have dulled my senses would +have done just as well. + +But now a new terror developed itself. I began to be afraid that I was +becoming a slave to alcohol; that the passion for it would grow upon +me, and that I should disgrace myself, and die the most contemptible of +all deaths. To a certain extent my fears were just. The dose which +was necessary to procure temporary forgetfulness of my trouble had to +be increased, and might have increased dangerously. + +But one day, feeling more than usual the tyranny of my master, I +received strength to make a sudden resolution to cast him off utterly. +Whatever be the consequence, I said, I will not be the victim of this +shame. If I am to go down to the grave, it shall be as a man, and I +will bear what I have to bear honestly and without resort to the base +evasion of stupefaction. So that night I went to bed having drunk +nothing but water. The struggle was not felt just then. It came +later, when the first enthusiasm of a new purpose had faded away, and I +had to fall back on mere force of will. I don't think anybody but +those who have gone through such a crisis can comprehend what it is. I +never understood the maniacal craving which is begotten by ardent +spirits, but I understood enough to be convinced that the man who has +once rescued himself from the domination even of half a bottle, or +three-parts of a bottle of claret daily, may assure himself that there +is nothing more in life to be done which he need dread. + +Two or three remarks begotten of experience in this matter deserve +record. One is, that the most powerful inducement to abstinence, in my +case, was the interference of wine with liberty, and above all things +its interference with what I really loved best, and the transference of +desire from what was most desirable to what was sensual and base. The +morning, instead of being spent in quiet contemplation and quiet +pleasures, was spent in degrading anticipations. What enabled me to +conquer, was not so much heroism as a susceptibility to nobler joys, +and the difficulty which a man must encounter who is not susceptible to +them must be enormous and almost insuperable. Pity, profound pity, is +his due, and especially if he happen to possess a nervous, emotional +organisation. If we want to make men water-drinkers, we must first of +all awaken in them a capacity for being tempted by delights which +water-drinking intensifies. The mere preaching of self-denial will do +little or no good. + +Another observation is, that there is no danger in stopping at once, +and suddenly, the habit of drinking. The prisons and asylums furnish +ample evidence upon that point, but there will be many an hour of +exhaustion in which this danger will be simulated and wine will appear +the proper remedy. No man, or at least very few men, would ever feel +any desire for it soon after sleep. This shows the power of repose, +and I would advise anybody who may be in earnest in this matter to be +specially on guard during moments of physical fatigue, and to try the +effect of eating and rest. Do not persist in a blind, obstinate +wrestle. Simply take food, drink water, go to bed, and so conquer not +by brute strength, but by strategy. + +Going back to hypochondria and its countless forms of agony, let it be +borne in mind that the first thing to be aimed at is patience--not to +get excited with fears, not to dread the evil which most probably will +never arrive, but to sit down quietly and WAIT. The simpler and less +stimulating the diet, the more likely it is that the sufferer will be +able to watch through the wakeful hours without delirium, and the less +likely is it that the general health will be impaired. Upon this point +of health too much stress cannot be laid. It is difficult for the +victim to believe that his digestion has anything to do with a disease +which seems so purely spiritual, but frequently the misery will break +up and yield, if it do not altogether disappear, by a little attention +to physiology and by a change of air. As time wears on, too, mere +duration will be a relief; for it familiarises with what at first was +strange and insupportable, it shows the groundlessness of fears, and it +enables us to say with each new paroxysm, that we have surmounted one +like it before, and probably a worse. + + + +CHAPTER IV--EDWARD GIBBON MARDON + + + +I had now been "settled," to use a Dissenting phrase, for nearly +eighteen months. While I was ill I had no heart in my work, and the +sermons I preached were very poor and excited no particular suspicion. +But with gradually returning energy my love of reading revived, and +questions which had slumbered again presented themselves. I continued +for some time to deal with them as I had dealt with the atonement at +college. I said that Jesus was the true Paschal Lamb, for that by His +death men were saved from their sins, and from the consequences of +them; I said that belief in Christ, that is to say, a love for Him, was +more powerful to redeem men than the works of the law. All this may +have been true, but truth lies in relation. It was not true when I, +understanding what I understood by it, taught it to men who professed +to believe in the Westminster Confession. The preacher who preaches it +uses a vocabulary which has a certain definite meaning, and has had +this meaning for centuries. He cannot stay to put his own +interpretation upon it whenever it is upon his lips, and so his hearers +are in a false position, and imagine him to be much more orthodox than +he really is. + +For some time I fell into this snare, until one day I happened to be +reading the story of Balaam. Balaam, though most desirous to prophesy +smooth things for Balak, had nevertheless a word put into his mouth by +God. When he came to Balak he was unable to curse, and could do +nothing but bless. Balak, much dissatisfied, thought that a change of +position might alter Balaam's temper, and he brought him away from the +high places of Baal to the field of Zophim, to the top of Pisgah. But +Balaam could do nothing better even on Pisgah. Not even a compromise +was possible, and the second blessing was more emphatic than the first. +"God," cried the prophet, pressed sorely by his message, "is not a man, +that He should lie; neither the son of man, that He should repent: +hath He said, and shall He not do it? or hath He spoken, and shall He +not make it good? Behold, I have received commandment to bless: and +He hath blessed; and I cannot reverse it." + +This was very unsatisfactory, and Balaam was asked, if he could not +curse, at least to refrain from benediction. The answer was still the +same. "Told not I thee, saying, All that the Lord speaketh, that I +must do?" A third shift was tried, and Balaam went to the top of Peor. +This was worse than ever. The Spirit of the Lord came upon him, and he +broke out into triumphal anticipation of the future glories of Israel. +Balak remonstrated in wrath, but Balaam was altogether inaccessible. +"If Balak would give me his house full of silver and gold, I cannot go +beyond the commandment of the Lord, to do either good or bad of mine +own mind; but what the Lord saith, that will I speak." + +This story greatly impressed me, and I date from it a distinct +disinclination to tamper with myself, or to deliver what I had to +deliver in phrases which, though they might be conciliatory, were +misleading. + +About this time there was a movement in the town to obtain a better +supply of water. The soil was gravelly and full of cesspools, side by +side with which were sunk the wells. A public meeting was held, and I +attended and spoke on behalf of the scheme. There was much opposition, +mainly on the score that the rates would be increased, and on the +Saturday after the meeting the following letter appeared in the +Sentinel, the local paper: + +"Sir,--It is not my desire to enter into the controversy now raging +about the water-supply of this town, but I must say I was much +surprised that a minister of religion should interfere in politics. +Sir, I cannot help thinking that if the said minister would devote +himself to the Water of Life - + + +'that gentle fount +Progressing from Immanuel's mount,' - + + +it would be much more harmonious with his function as a follower of him +who knew nothing save Christ crucified. Sir, I have no wish to +introduce controversial topics upon a subject like religion into your +columns, which are allotted to a different line, but I must be +permitted to observe that I fail to see how a minister's usefulness can +be stimulated if he sets class against class. Like the widows in +affliction of old, he should keep himself pure and unspotted from the +world. How can many of us accept the glorious gospel on the Sabbath +from a man who will incur spots during the week by arguing about +cesspools like any other man? Sir, I will say nothing, moreover, about +a minister of the gospel assisting to bind burdens--that is to say, +rates and taxation--upon the shoulders of men grievous to be borne. +Surely, sir, a minister of the Lamb of God, who was shed for the +remission of sins, should be AGAINST burdens.--I am sir, your obedient +servant, + +"A CHRISTIAN TRADESMAN." + + +I had not the least doubt as to the authorship of this precious +epistle. Mr. Snale's hand was apparent in every word. He was fond of +making religious verses, and once we were compelled to hear the Sunday- +school children sing a hymn which he had composed. The two lines of +poetry were undoubtedly his. Furthermore, although he had been a +chapel-goer all his life, he muddled, invariably, passages from the +Bible. They had no definite meaning for him, and there was nothing, +consequently, to prevent his tacking the end of one verse to the +beginning of another. Mr. Snale, too, continually "failed to see." +Where he got the phrase I do not know, but he liked it, and was always +repeating it. However, I had no external evidence that it was he who +was my enemy, and I held my peace. I was supported at the public +meeting by a speaker from the body of the hall whom I had never seen +before. He spoke remarkably well, was evidently educated, and I was +rather curious about him. + +It was my custom on Saturdays to go out for the whole of the day by the +river, seawards, to prepare for the Sunday. I was coming home rather +tired, when I met this same man against a stile. He bade me good- +evening, and then proceeded to thank me for my speech, saying many +complimentary things about it. I asked who it was to whom I had the +honour of talking, and he told me he was Edward Gibbon Mardon. "It was +Edward Gibson Mardon once, sir," he said, smilingly. "Gibson was the +name of a rich old aunt who was expected to do something for me, but I +disliked her, and never went near her. I did not see why I should be +ticketed with her label, and as Edward Gibson was very much like Edward +Gibbon, the immortal author of the Decline and Fall, I dropped the 's' +and stuck in a 'b.' I am nothing but a compositor on the Sentinel, and +Saturday afternoon, after the paper is out, is a holiday for me, unless +there is any reporting to do, for I have to turn my attention to that +occasionally." + +Mr. Edward Gibbon Mardon, I observed, was slightly built, rather short, +and had scanty whiskers which developed into a little thicker tuft on +his chin. His eyes were pure blue, like the blue of the speedwell. +They were not piercing, but perfectly transparent, indicative of a +character which, if it possessed no particular creative power, would +not permit self-deception. They were not the eyes of a prophet, but of +a man who would not be satisfied with letting a half-known thing alone +and saying he believed it. His lips were thin, but not compressed into +bitterness; and above everything there was in his face a perfectly +legible frankness, contrasting pleasantly with the doubtfulness of most +of the faces I knew. I expressed my gratitude to him for his kind +opinion, and as we loitered he said: + +"Sorry to see that attack upon you in the Sentinel. I suppose you are +aware it was Snale's. Everybody could tell that who knows the man." + +"If it is Mr. Snale's, I am very sorry." + +"It is Snale's. He is a contemptible cur and yet it is not his fault. +He has heard sermons about all sorts of supernatural subjects for +thirty years, and he has never once been warned against meanness, so of +course he supposes that supernatural subjects are everything and +meanness is nothing. But I will not detain you any longer now, for you +are busy. Good-night, sir." + +This was rather abrupt and disappointing. However, I was much absorbed +in the morrow, and passed on. + +Although I despised Snale, his letter was the beginning of a great +trouble to me. I had now been preaching for many months, and had met +with no response whatever. Occasionally a stranger or two visited the +chapel, and with what eager eyes did I not watch for them on the next +Sunday, but none of them came twice. It was amazing to me that I could +pour out myself as I did--poor although I knew that self to be--and yet +make so little impression. Not one man or woman seemed any different +because of anything I had said or done, and not a soul kindled at any +word of mine, no matter with what earnestness it might be charged. How +I groaned over my incapacity to stir in my people any participation in +my thoughts or care for them! + +Looking at the history of those days now from a distance of years, +everything assumes its proper proportion. I was at work, it is true, +amongst those who were exceptionally hard and worldly, but I was +seeking amongst men (to put it in orthodox language) what I ought to +have sought with God alone. In other, and perhaps plainer phrase, I +was expecting from men a sympathy which proceeds from the Invisible +only. Sometimes, indeed, it manifests itself in the long-postponed +justice of time, but more frequently it is nothing more and nothing +less than a consciousness of approval by the Unseen, a peace +unspeakable, which is bestowed on us when self is suppressed. + +I did not know then how little one man can change another, and what +immense and persistent efforts are necessary--efforts which seldom +succeed except in childhood--to accomplish anything but the most +superficial alteration of character. Stories are told of sudden +conversions, and of course if a poor simple creature can be brought to +believe that hell-fire awaits him as the certain penalty of his +misdeeds, he will cease to do them; but this is no real conversion, for +essentially he remains pretty much the same kind of being that he was +before. + +I remember while this mood was on me, that I was much struck with the +absolute loneliness of Jesus, and with His horror of that death upon +the cross. He was young and full of enthusiastic hope, but when He +died He had found hardly anything but misunderstanding. He had written +nothing, so that He could not expect that His life would live after +Him. Nevertheless His confidence in His own errand had risen so high, +that He had not hesitated to proclaim Himself the Messiah: not the +Messiah the Jews were expecting, but still the Messiah. I dreamed over +His walks by the lake, over the deeper solitude of His last visit to +Jerusalem, and over the gloom of that awful Friday afternoon. + +The hold which He has upon us is easily explained, apart from the +dignity of His recorded sayings and the purity of His life. There is +no Saviour for us like the hero who has passed triumphantly through the +distress which troubles US. Salvation is the spectacle of a victory by +another over foes like our own. The story of Jesus is the story of the +poor and forgotten. He is not the Saviour for the rich and prosperous, +for they want no Saviour. The healthy, active, and well-to-do need Him +not, and require nothing more than is given by their own health and +prosperity. But every one who has walked in sadness because his +destiny has not fitted his aspirations; every one who, having no +opportunity to lift himself out of his little narrow town or village +circle of acquaintances, has thirsted for something beyond what they +could give him; everybody who, with nothing but a dull, daily round of +mechanical routine before him, would welcome death, if it were +martyrdom for a cause; every humblest creature, in the obscurity of +great cities or remote hamlets, who silently does his or her duty +without recognition--all these turn to Jesus, and find themselves in +Him. He died, faithful to the end, with infinitely higher hopes, +purposes, and capacity than mine, and with almost no promise of +anything to come of them. + +Something of this kind I preached one Sunday, more as a relief to +myself than for any other reason. Mardon was there, and with him a +girl whom I had not seen before. My sight is rather short, and I could +not very well tell what she was like. After the service was over he +waited for me, and said he had done so to ask me if I would pay him a +visit on Monday evening. I promised to do so, and accordingly went. + +I found him living in a small brick-built cottage near the outskirts of +the town, the rental of which I should suppose would be about seven or +eight pounds a year. There was a patch of ground in front and a little +garden behind--a kind of narrow strip about fifty feet long, separated +from the other little strips by iron hurdles. Mardon had tried to keep +his garden in order, and had succeeded, but his neighbour was +disorderly, and had allowed weeds to grow, blacking bottles and old tin +cans to accumulate, so that whatever pleasure Mardon's labours might +have afforded was somewhat spoiled. + +He himself came to the door when I knocked, and I was shown into a kind +of sitting-room with a round table in the middle and furnished with +Windsor chairs, two arm-chairs of the same kind standing on either side +the fireplace. Against the window was a smaller table with a green +baize tablecloth, and about half-a-dozen plants stood on the window- +sill, serving as a screen. In the recess on one side of the fireplace +was a cupboard, upon the top of which stood a tea-caddy, a workbox, +some tumblers, and a decanter full of water; the other side being +filled with a bookcase and books. There were two or three pictures on +the walls; one was a portrait of Voltaire, another of Lord Bacon, and a +third was Albert Durer's St. Jerome. This latter was an heirloom, and +greatly prized I could perceive, as it was hung in the place of honour +over the mantelpiece. + +After some little introductory talk, the same girl whom I had noticed +with Mardon at the chapel came in, and I was introduced to her as his +only daughter Mary. She began to busy herself at once in getting the +tea. She was under the average height for a woman, and delicately +built. Her head was small, but the neck was long. Her hair was brown, +of a peculiarly lustrous tint, partly due to nature, but also to a +looseness of arrangement and a most diligent use of the brush, so that +the light fell not upon a dead compact mass, but upon myriads of +individual hairs, each of which reflected the light. Her eyes, so far +as I could make out, were a kind of greenish grey, but the eyelashes +were long, so that it was difficult exactly to discover what was +underneath them. The hands were small, and the whole figure +exquisitely graceful; the plain black dress, which she wore fastened +right up to the throat, suiting her to perfection. Her face, as I +first thought, did not seem indicative of strength. The lips were +thin, but not straight, the upper lip showing a remarkable curve in it. +Nor was it a handsome face. The complexion was not sufficiently +transparent, nor were the features regular. + +During tea she spoke very little, but I noticed one peculiarity about +her manner of talking, and that was its perfect simplicity. There was +no sort of effort or strain in anything she said, no attempt by +emphasis of words to make up for the weakness of thought, and no +compliance with that vulgar and most disagreeable habit of using +intense language to describe what is not intense in itself. Her yea +was yea, and her no, no. I observed also that she spoke without +disguise, although she was not rude. The manners of the cultivated +classes are sometimes very charming, and more particularly their +courtesy, which puts the guest so much at his ease, and constrains him +to believe that an almost personal interest is taken in his affairs, +but after a time it becomes wearisome. It is felt to be nothing but +courtesy, the result of a rule of conduct uniform for all, and verging +very closely upon hypocrisy. We long rather for plainness of speech, +for some intimation of the person with whom we are talking, and that +the mask and gloves may be laid aside. + +Tea being over, Miss Mardon cleared away the tea-things, and presently +came back again. She took one of the arm-chairs by the side of the +fireplace, which her father had reserved for her, and while he and I +were talking, she sat with her head leaning a little sideways on the +back of the chair. I could just discern that her feet, which rested on +the stool, were very diminutive, like her hands. + +The talk with Mardon turned upon the chapel. I had begun it by saying +that I had noticed him there on the Sunday just mentioned. He then +explained why he never went to any place of worship. A purely orthodox +preacher it was, of course, impossible for him to hear, but he doubted +also the efficacy of preaching. What could be the use of it, supposing +the preacher no longer to be a believer in the common creeds? If he +turns himself into a mere lecturer on all sorts of topics, he does +nothing more than books do, and they do it much better. He must base +himself upon the Bible, and above all upon Christ, and how can he base +himself upon a myth? We do not know that Christ ever lived, or that if +He lived His life was anything like what is attributed to Him. A mere +juxtaposition of the Gospels shows how the accounts of His words and +deeds differ according to the tradition followed by each of His +biographers. + +I interrupted Mardon at this point by saying that it did not matter +whether Christ actually existed or not. What the four evangelists +recorded was eternally true, and the Christ-idea was true whether it +was ever incarnated or not in a being bearing His name. + +"Pardon me," said Mardon, "but it does very much matter. It is all the +matter whether we are dealing with a dream or with reality. I can +dream about a man's dying on the cross in homage to what he believed, +but I would not perhaps die there myself; and when I suffer from +hesitation whether I ought to sacrifice myself for the truth, it is of +immense assistance to me to know that a greater sacrifice has been made +before me--that a greater sacrifice is possible. To know that somebody +has poetically imagined that it is possible, and has very likely been +altogether incapable of its achievement, is no help. Moreover, the +commonplaces which even the most freethinking of Unitarians seem to +consider as axiomatic, are to me far from certain, and even +unthinkable. For example, they are always talking about the +omnipotence of God. But power even of the supremest kind necessarily +implies an object--that is to say, resistance. Without an object which +resists it, it would be a blank, and what, then, is the meaning of +omnipotence? It is not that it is merely inconceivable; it is +nonsense, and so are all these abstract, illimitable, self-annihilative +attributes of which God is made up." + +This negative criticism, in which Mardon greatly excelled, was all new +to me, and I had no reply to make. He had a sledge-hammer way of +expressing himself, while I, on the contrary, always required time to +bring into shape what I saw. Just then I saw nothing; I was stunned, +bewildered, out of the sphere of my own thoughts, and pained at the +roughness with which he treated what I had cherished. + +I was presently relieved, however, of further reflection by Mardon's +asking his daughter whether her face was better. It turned out that +all the afternoon and evening she had suffered greatly from neuralgia. +She had said nothing about it while I was there, but had behaved with +cheerfulness and freedom. Mentally I had accused her of slightness, +and inability to talk upon the subjects which interested Mardon and +myself; but when I knew she had been in torture all the time, my +opinion was altered. I thought how rash I had been in judging her as I +continually judged other people, without being aware of everything they +had to pass through; and I thought, too, that if I had a fit of +neuralgia, everybody near me would know it, and be almost as much +annoyed by me as I myself should be by the pain. + +It is curious, also, that when thus proclaiming my troubles I often +considered. my eloquence meritorious, or, at least, a kind of talent +for which I ought to praise God, contemning rather my silent friends as +something nearer than myself to the expressionless animals. To parade +my toothache, describing it with unusual adjectives, making it felt by +all the company in which I might happen to be, was to me an assertion +of my superior nature. But, looking at Mary, and thinking about her as +I walked home, I perceived that her ability to be quiet, to subdue +herself, to resist the temptation for a whole evening of drawing +attention to herself by telling us what she was enduring, was heroism, +and that my contrary tendency was pitiful vanity. I perceived that +such virtues as patience and self-denial--which, clad in russet dress, +I had often passed by unnoticed when I had found them amongst the poor +or the humble--were more precious and more ennobling to their possessor +than poetic yearnings, or the power to propound rhetorically to the +world my grievances or agonies. + +Miss Mardon's face was getting worse, and as by this time it was late, +I stayed but a little while longer. + + + +CHAPTER V--MISS ARBOUR + + + +For some months I continued without much change in my monotonous +existence. I did not see Mardon often, for I rather dreaded him. I +could not resist him, and I shrank from what I saw to be inevitably +true when I talked to him. I can hardly say it was cowardice. Those +may call it cowardice to whom all associations are nothing, and to whom +beliefs are no more than matters of indifferent research; but as for +me, Mardon's talk darkened my days and nights. I never could +understand the light manner in which people will discuss the gravest +questions, such as God and the immortality of the soul. They gossip +about them over their tea, write and read review articles about them, +and seem to consider affirmation or negation of no more practical +importance than the conformation of a beetle. With me the struggle to +retain as much as I could of my creed was tremendous. The dissolution +of Jesus into mythologic vapour was nothing less than the death of a +friend dearer to me then than any other friend whom I knew. + +But the worst stroke of all was that which fell upon the doctrine of a +life beyond the grave. In theory I had long despised the notion that +we should govern our conduct here by hope of reward or fear of +punishment hereafter. But under Mardon's remorseless criticism, when +he insisted on asking for the where and how, and pointed out that all +attempts to say where and how ended in nonsense, my hope began to fail, +and I was surprised to find myself incapable of living with proper +serenity if there was nothing but blank darkness before me at the end +of a few years. + +As I got older I became aware of the folly of this perpetual reaching +after the future, and of drawing from to-morrow, and from to-morrow +only, a reason for the joyfulness of to-day. I learned, when, alas! it +was almost too late, to live in each moment as it passed over my head, +believing that the sun as it is now rising is as good as it will ever +be, and blinding myself as much as possible to what may follow. But +when I was young I was the victim of that illusion, implanted for some +purpose or other in us by Nature, which causes us, on the brightest +morning in June, to think immediately of a brighter morning which is to +come in July. I say nothing, now, for or against the doctrine of +immortality. All I say is, that men have been happy without it, even +under the pressure of disaster, and that to make immortality a sole +spring of action here is an exaggeration of the folly which deludes us +all through life with endless expectation, and leaves us at death +without the thorough enjoyment of a single hour. + +So I shrank from Mardon, but none the less did the process of +excavation go on. It often happens that a man loses faith without +knowing it. Silently the foundation is sapped while the building +stands fronting the sun, as solid to all appearance as when it was +first turned out of the builder's hands, but at last it falls suddenly +with a crash. It was so at this time with a personal relationship of +mine, about which I have hitherto said nothing. + +Years ago, before I went to college, and when I was a teacher in the +Sunday-school, I had fallen in love with one of my fellow-teachers, and +we became engaged. She was the daughter of one of the deacons. She +had a smiling, pretty, vivacious face; was always somehow foremost in +school treats, picnics, and chapel-work, and she had a kind of piquant +manner, which to many men is more ensnaring than beauty. She never +read anything; she was too restless and fond of outward activity for +that, and no questions about orthodoxy or heresy ever troubled her +head. We continued our correspondence regularly after my appointment +as minister, and her friends, I knew, were looking to me to fix a day +for marriage. But although we had been writing to one another as +affectionately as usual, a revolution had taken place. I was quite +unconscious of it, for we had been betrothed for so long that I never +once considered the possibility of any rupture. + +One Monday morning, however, I had a letter from her. It was not often +that she wrote on Sunday, as she had a religious prejudice against +writing letters on that day. However, this was urgent, for it was to +tell me that an aunt of hers who was staying at her father's was just +dead, and that her uncle wanted her to go and live with him for some +time, to look after the little children who were left behind. She said +that her dear aunt died a beautiful death, trusting in the merits of +the Redeemer. She also added, in a very delicate way, that she would +have agreed to go to her uncle's at once, but she had understood that +we were to be married soon, and she did not like to leave home for +long. She was evidently anxious for me to tell her what to do. + +This letter, as I have said, came to me on Monday, when I was exhausted +by a more than usually desolate Sunday. I became at once aware that my +affection for her, if it ever really existed, had departed. I saw +before me the long days of wedded life with no sympathy, and I +shuddered when I thought what I should do with such a wife. How could +I take her to Mardon? How could I ask him to come to me? Strange to +say, my pride suffered most. I could have endured, I believe, even +discord at home, if only I could have had a woman whom I could present +to my friends, and whom they would admire. I was never unselfish in +the way in which women are, and yet I have always been more anxious +that people should respect my wife than respect me, and at any time +would withdraw myself into the shade if only she might be brought into +the light. This is nothing noble. It is an obscure form of egotism +probably, but anyhow, such always was my case. + +It took but a very few hours to excite me to distraction. I had gone +on for years without realising what I saw now, and although in the +situation itself the change had been only gradual, it instantaneously +became intolerable. Yet I never was more incapable of acting. What +could I do? After such a long betrothal, to break loose from her would +be cruel and shameful. I could never hold up my head again, and in the +narrow circle of Independency, the whole affair would be known and my +prospects ruined. + +Then other and subtler reasons presented themselves. No men can expect +ideal attachments. We must be satisfied with ordinary humanity. +Doubtless my friend with a lofty imagination would be better matched +with some Antigone who exists somewhere and whom he does not know. But +he wisely does not spend his life in vain search after her, but settles +down with the first decently sensible woman he finds in his own street, +and makes the best of his bargain. Besides, there was the power of use +and wont to be considered. Ellen had no vice of temper, no meanness, +and it was not improbable that she would be just as good a helpmeet for +me in time as I had a right to ask. Living together, we should mould +one another, and at last like one another. Marrying her, I should be +relieved from the insufferable solitude which was depressing me to +death, and should have a home. + +So it has always been with me. When there has been the sternest need +of promptitude, I have seen such multitudes of arguments for and +against every course that I have despaired. I have at my command any +number of maxims, all of them good, but I am powerless to select the +one which ought to be applied. + +A general principle, a fine saying, is nothing but a tool, and the wit +of man is shown not in possession of a well-furnished tool-chest, but +in the ability to pick out the proper instrument and use it. + +I remained in this miserable condition for days, not venturing to +answer Ellen's letter, until at last I turned out for a walk. I have +often found that motion and change will bring light and resolution when +thinking will not. I started off in the morning down by the river, and +towards the sea, my favourite stroll. I went on and on under a leaden +sky, through the level, solitary, marshy meadows, where the river began +to lose itself in the ocean, and I wandered about there, struggling for +guidance. In my distress I actually knelt down and prayed, but the +heavens remained impassive as before, and I was half ashamed of what I +had done, as if it were a piece of hypocrisy. + +At last, wearied out, I turned homeward, and diverging from the direct +road, I was led past the house where the Misses Arbour lived. I was +faint, and some beneficent inspiration prompted me to call. I went in, +and found that the younger of the two sisters was out. A sudden +tendency to hysterics overcame me, and I asked for a glass of water. +Miss Arbour, having given it to me, sat down by the side of the +fireplace opposite to the one at which I was sitting, and for a few +moments there was silence. I made some commonplace observation, but +instead of answering me she said quietly, "Mr. Rutherford, you have +been upset; I hope you have met with no accident." + +How it came about I do not know, but my whole story rushed to my lips, +and I told her all of it with quivering voice. I cannot imagine what +possessed me to make her my confidante. Shy, reserved, and proud, I +would have died rather than have breathed a syllable of my secret if I +had been in my ordinary humour, but her soft, sweet face altogether +overpowered me. + +As I proceeded with my tale, the change that came over her was most +remarkable. When I began she was leaning back placidly in her large +chair, with her handkerchief upon her lap; but gradually her face +kindled, she sat upright, and she was transformed with a completeness +and suddenness which I could not have conceived possible. At last, +when I had finished, she put both her hands to her forehead, and almost +shrieked out, "Shall I tell him?--O my God, shall I tell him?--may God +have mercy on him!" I was amazed beyond measure at the altogether +unsuspected depth of passion which was revealed in her whom I had never +before seen disturbed by more than a ripple of emotion. She drew her +chair nearer to mine, put both her hands on my knees, looked right into +my eyes, and said, "Listen." She then moved back a little, and spoke +as follows: + +"It is forty-five years ago this month since I was married. You are +surprised; you have always known me under my maiden name, and you +thought I had always been single. It is forty-six years ago this month +since the man who afterwards became my husband first saw me. He was a +partner in a cloth firm. At that time it was the duty of one member of +a firm to travel, and he came to our town, where my father was a well- +to-do carriage-builder. My father was an old customer of his house, +and the relationship between the customer and the wholesale merchant +was then very different from what it is now. Consequently, Mr. Hexton- +-for that was my husband's name--was continually asked to stay with us +so long as he remained in the town. He was what might be called a +singularly handsome man--that is to say, he was upright, well-made, +with a straight nose, black hair, dark eyes, and a good complexion. He +dressed with perfect neatness and good taste, and had the reputation of +being a most temperate and most moral man, much respected--amongst the +sect to which both of us belonged. + +"When he first came our way I was about nineteen and he about three- +and-twenty. My father and his had long been acquainted, and he was of +course received even with cordiality. I was excitable, a lover of +poetry, a reader of all sorts of books, and much given to enthusiasm. +Ah! you do not think so, you do not see how that can have been, but you +do not know how unaccountable is the development of the soul, and what +is the meaning of any given form of character which presents itself to +you. You see nothing but the peaceful, long since settled result, but +how it came there, what its history has been, you cannot tell. It may +always have been there, or have gradually grown so, in gradual progress +from seed to flower, or it may be the final repose of tremendous +forces. + +"I will show you what I was like at nineteen," and she got up and +turned to a desk, from which she took a little ivory miniature. +"That," she said, "was given to Mr. Hexton when we were engaged. I +thought he would have locked it up, but he used to leave it about, and +one day I found it in the dressing-table drawer, with some brushes and +combs, and two or three letters of mine. I withdrew it, and burnt the +letters. He never asked for it, and here it is." + +The head was small and set upon the neck like a flower, but not bending +pensively. It was rather thrown back with a kind of firmness, and with +a peculiarly open air, as if it had nothing to conceal and wished the +world to conceal nothing. The body was shown down to the waist, and +was slim and graceful. But what was most noteworthy about the picture +was its solemn seriousness, a seriousness capable of infinite +affection, and of infinite abandonment, not sensuous abandonment-- +everything was too severe, too much controlled by the arch of the top +of the head for that--but of an abandonment to spiritual aims." + +Miss Arbour continued: "Mr. Hexton after a while gave me to understand +that he was my admirer, and before six months of acquaintanceship had +passed my mother told me that he had requested formally that he might +be considered as my suitor. She put no pressure upon me, nor did my +father, excepting that they said that if I would accept Mr. Hexton they +would be content, as they knew him to be a very well-conducted young +man, a member of the church, and prosperous in his business. My first, +and for a time my sovereign, impulse was to reject him, because I +thought him mean, and because I felt he lacked sympathy with me. + +"Unhappily I did not trust that impulse. I looked for something more +authoritative, but I was mistaken, for the voice of God, to me at +least, hardly ever comes in thunder, but I have to listen with perfect +stillness to make it out. It spoke to me, told me what to do, but I +argued with it and was lost. I was guiltless of any base motive, but I +found the wrong name for what displeased me in Mr. Hexton, and so I +deluded myself. I reasoned that his meanness was justifiable economy, +and that his dissimilarity from me was perhaps the very thing which +ought to induce me to marry him, because he would correct my failings. +I knew I was too inconsiderate, too rash, too flighty, and I said to +myself that his soberness would be a good thing for me. + +"Oh, if I had but the power to write a book which should go to the ends +of the world, and warn young men and women not to be led away by any +sophistry when choosing their partners for life! It may be asked, How +are we to distinguish heavenly instigation from hellish temptation? I +say, that neither you nor I, sitting here, can tell how to do it. We +can lay down no law by which infallibly to recognise the messenger from +God. But what I do say is, that when the moment comes, it is perfectly +easy for us to recognise him. Whether we listen to his message or not +is another matter. If we do not--if we stop to dispute with him, we +are undone, for we shall very soon learn to discredit him. + +"So I was married, and I went to live in a dark manufacturing town, +away from all my friends. I awoke to my misery by degrees, but still +rapidly. I had my books sent down to me. I unpacked them in Mr. +Hexton's presence, and I kindled at the thought of ranging my old +favourites in my sitting-room. He saw my delight as I put them on some +empty shelves, but the next day he said that he wanted a stuffed dog +there, and that he thought my books, especially as they were shabby, +had better go upstairs. + +"We had to give some entertainments soon afterwards. The minister and +his wife, with some other friends, came to tea, and the conversation +turned on parties and the dullness of winter evenings if no amusements +were provided. I maintained that rational human beings ought not to be +dependent upon childish games, but ought to be able to occupy +themselves and interest themselves with talk. Talk, I said--not +gossip, but talk--pleases me better than chess or forfeits; and the +lines of Cowper occurred to me - + + +'When one, that holds communion with the skies, +Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise, +And once more mingles with us meaner things, +'Tis even as if an angel shook his wings; +Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, +That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.' + + +I ventured to repeat this verse, and when I had finished, there was a +pause for a moment, which was broken by my husband's saying to the +minister's wife who sat next to him, 'Oh, Mrs. Cook, I quite forgot to +express my sympathy with you; I heard that you had lost your cat.' The +blow was deliberately administered, and I felt it as an insult. I was +wrong, I know. I was ignorant of the ways of the world, and I ought to +have been aware of the folly of placing myself above the level of my +guests, and of the extreme unwisdom of revealing myself in that +unguarded way to strangers. Two or three more experiences of that kind +taught me to close myself carefully to all the world, and to beware how +I uttered anything more than commonplace. But I was young, and ought +to have been pardoned. I felt the sting of self-humiliation far into +the night, as I lay and silently cried, while Mr. Hexton slept beside +me. + +"I soon found that he was entirely insensible to everything for which I +most cared. Before our marriage he had affected a sort of interest in +my pursuits, but in reality he was indifferent to them. He was cold, +hard, and impenetrable. His habits were precise and methodical, beyond +what is natural for a man of his years. I remember one evening-- +strange that these small events should so burn themselves into me--that +some friends were at our house at tea. A tradesman in the town was +mentioned, a member of our congregation, who had become bankrupt, and +everybody began to abuse him. It was said that he had been +extravagant; that he had chosen to send his children to the grammar- +school, where the children of gentlefolk went; and finally, that only +last year he had let his wife go to the seaside. + +"I knew what the real state of affairs was. He had perhaps been living +a little beyond his means, but as to the school, he had rather refined +tastes, and he longed to teach his children something more than the +ciphering, as it was called, and bookkeeping which they would have +learned at the academy at which men in his position usually educated +their boys; and as to the seaside, his wife was ill, and he could not +bear to see her suffering in the smoky street, when he knew that a +little fresh air and change of scene would restore her. + +"So I said that I was sorry to hear the poor man attacked; that he had +done wrong, no doubt, but so had the woman who was brought before +Jesus; and that with me, charity or a large heart covered a multitude +of sins. I added that there was something dreadful in the way in which +everybody always seemed to agree in deserting the unfortunate. I was a +little moved, and unluckily upset a teacup. No harm was done; and if +my husband, who sat next to me, had chosen to take no notice, there +need have been no disturbance whatever. But he made a great fuss, +crying, 'Oh, my dear, pray mind! Ring the bell instantly, or it will +all be through the tablecloth.' In getting up hastily to obey him, I +happened to drag the cloth, as it lay on my lap; a plate fell down and +was broken; everything was in confusion; I was ashamed and degraded. + +"I do not believe there was a single point in Mr. Hexton's character in +which he touched the universal; not a single chink, however narrow, +through which his soul looked out of itself upon the great world +around. If he had kept bees, or collected butterflies or beetles, I +could have found some avenue of approach.--But he had no taste for +anything of the kind. He had his breakfast at eight regularly every +morning, and read his letters at breakfast. He came home to dinner at +two, looked at the newspaper for a little while after dinner, and then +went to sleep. At six he had his tea, and in half-an-hour went back to +his counting-house, which he did not leave till eight. Supper at nine, +and bed at ten, closed the day. + +"It was a habit of mine to read a little after supper, and occasionally +I read aloud to him passages which struck me, but I soon gave it up, +for once or twice he said to me, 'Now you've got to the bottom of that +page, I think you had better go to bed,' although perhaps the page did +not end a sentence. But why weary you with all this? I pass over all +the rest of the hateful details which made life insupportable to me. +Suffice to say, that one wet Sunday evening, when we could not go to +chapel and were in the dining-room alone, the climax was reached. My +husband had a religious magazine before him, and I sat still, doing +nothing. At last, after an hour had passed without a word, I could +bear it no longer, and I broke out - + +"'James, I am wretched beyond description!" + +"He slowly shut the magazine, tearing a piece of paper from a letter +and putting it in as a mark, and then said - + +"'What is the matter?' + +"'You must know. You must know that ever since we have been married +you have never cared for one single thing I have done or said; that is +to say, you have never cared for me. It is NOT being married.' + +"It was an explosive outburst, sudden and almost incoherent, and I +cried as if my heart would break. + +"'What is the meaning of all this? You must be unwell. Will you not +have a glass of wine?' + +"I could not regain myself for some minutes, during which he sat +perfectly still, without speaking, and without touching me. His +coldness nerved me again, congealing all my emotion into a set resolve, +and I said - + +"'I want no wine. I am not unwell. I do not wish to have a scene. I +will not, by useless words, embitter myself against you, or you against +me. You know you do not love me. I know I do not love you. It is all +a bitter, cursed mistake, and the sooner we say so and rectify it the +better.' + +"The colour left his face; his lips quivered, and he looked as if he +would have killed me. + +"'What monstrous thing is this? What do you mean by your +tomfooleries?' + +"I did not speak. + +"'Speak!' he roared. 'What am I to understand by rectifying your +mistake? By the living God, you shall not make me the laughing-stock +and gossip of the town! I'll crush you first.' + +"I was astonished to see such rage develop itself so suddenly in him, +and yet afterwards, when I came to reflect, I saw there was no reason +for surprise. Self, self was his god, and the thought of the damage +which would be done to him and his reputation was what roused him. I +was still silent, and he went on - + +"'I suppose you intend to leave me, and you think you'll disgrace me. +You'll disgrace yourself. Everybody knows me here, and knows you've +had every comfort and everything to make you happy. Everybody will say +what everybody will have the right to say about you. Out with it and +confess the truth, that one of your snivelling poets has fallen in love +with you and you with him.' + +"I still held my peace, but I rose and went into the best bedchamber, +and sat there in the dark till bedtime. I heard James come upstairs at +ten o'clock as usual, go to his own room, and lock himself in. I never +hesitated a moment. I could not go home to become the centre of all +the chatter of the little provincial town in which I was born. My old +nurse, who took care of me as a child, had got a place in London as +housekeeper in a large shop in the Strand. She was always very fond of +me, and to her instantly I determined to go. I came down, wrote a +brief note to James, stating that after his base and lying sneer he +could not expect to find me in the morning still with him, and telling +him I had left him for ever. I put on my cloak, took some money which +was my own out of my cashbox, and at half-past twelve heard the mail- +coach approaching. I opened the front door softly--it shut with an +oiled spring bolt; I went out, stopped the coach, and was presently +rolling over the road to the great city. + +"Oh, that night! I was the sole passenger inside, and for some hours I +remained stunned, hardly knowing what had become of me. Soon the +morning began to break, with such calm and such slow-changing splendour +that it drew me out of myself to look at it, and it seemed to me a +prophecy of the future. No words can tell the bound of my heart at +emancipation. I did not know what was before me, but I knew from what +I had escaped; I did not believe I should be pursued, and no sailor +returning from shipwreck and years of absence ever entered the port +where wife and children were with more rapture than I felt journeying +through the rain into which the clouds of the sunrise dissolved, as we +rode over the dim flats of Huntingdonshire southwards. + +"There is no need for me to weary you any longer, nor to tell you what +happened after I got to London, or how I came here. I had a little +property of my own and no child. To avoid questions I resumed my +maiden name. But one thing you must know, because it will directly +tend to enforce what I am going to beseech of you. Years afterwards, I +might have married a man who was devoted to me. But I told him I was +married already, and not a word of love must he speak to me. He went +abroad in despair, and I have never seen anything more of him. + +"You can guess now what I am going to pray of you to do. Without +hesitation, write to this girl and tell her the exact truth. Anything, +any obloquy, anything friends or enemies may say of you must be faced +even joyfully rather than what I had to endure. Better die the death +of the Saviour on the cross than live such a life as mine." + +I said: "Miss Arbour, you are doubtless right, but think what it +means. It means nothing less than infamy. It will be said, I broke +the poor thing's heart, and marred her prospects for ever. What will +become of me, as a minister, when all this is known?" + +She caught my hand in hers, and cried with indescribable feeling - + +"My good sir, you are parleying with the great Enemy of Souls. Oh! if +you did but know, if you COULD but know, you would be as decisive in +your recoil from him, as you would from hell suddenly opened at your +feet. Never mind the future. The one thing you have to do is the +thing that lies next to you, divinely ordained for you. What does the +119th Psalm say?--'Thy word is a lamp unto my feet.' We have no light +promised us to show us our road a hundred miles away, but we have a +light for the next footstep, and if we take that, we shall have a light +for the one which is to follow. The inspiration of the Almighty could +not make clearer to me the message I deliver to you. Forgive me--you +are a minister, I know, and perhaps I ought not to speak so to you, but +I am an old woman. Never would you have heard my history from me, if I +had not thought it would help to save you from something worse than +death." + +At this moment there came a knock at the door, and Miss Arbour's sister +came in. After a few words of greeting I took my leave and walked +home. I was confounded. Who could have dreamed that such tragic +depths lay behind that serene face, and that her orderly precision was +like the grass and flowers upon volcanic soil with Vesuvian fires +slumbering below? I had been altogether at fault, and I was taught, +what I have since been taught, over and over again, that unknown +abysses, into which the sun never shines, lie covered with commonplace +in men and women, and are revealed only by the rarest opportunity. + +But my thoughts turned almost immediately to myself, and I could bring +myself to no resolve. I was weak and tired, and the more I thought the +less capable was I of coming to any decision. In the morning, after a +restless night, I was in still greater straits, and being perfectly +unable to do anything, I fled to my usual refuge, the sea. The whole +day I swayed to and fro, without the smallest power to arbitrate +between the contradictory impulses which drew me in opposite +directions. + +I knew what I ought to do, but Ellen's image was ever before me, mutely +appealing against her wrongs, and I pictured her deserted and with her +life spoiled. I said to myself that instinct is all very well, but for +what purpose is reason given to us if not to reason with it; and +reasoning in the main is a correction of what is called instinct, and +of hasty first impressions. I knew many cases in which men and women +loved one another without similarity of opinions, and, after all, +similarity of opinions upon theological criticism is a poor bond of +union. But then, no sooner was this pleaded than the other side of the +question was propounded with all its distinctness, as Miss Arbour had +presented it. + +I came home thoroughly beaten with fatigue, and went to bed. +Fortunately I sank at once to rest, and with the morning was born the +clear discernment that whatever I ought to do, it was more manly of me +to go than to write to Ellen. Accordingly, I made arrangements for +getting somebody to supply my place in the pulpit for a couple of +Sundays, and went home. + + + +CHAPTER VI--ELLEN AND MARY + + + +I now found myself in the strangest position. What was I to do? Was I +to go to Ellen at once and say plainly, "I have ceased to care for +you"? I did what all weak people do. + +I wished that destiny would take the matter out of my hands. I would +have given the world if I could have heard that Ellen was fonder of +somebody else than me, although the moment the thought came to me I saw +its baseness. But destiny was determined to try me to the uttermost, +and make the task as difficult for me as it could be made. + +It was Thursday when I arrived, and somehow or other--how I do not +know--I found myself on Thursday afternoon at her house. She was very +pleased to see me, for many reasons. My last letters had been doubtful +and the time for our marriage, as she at least thought, was at hand. +I, on my part, could not but return the usual embrace, but after the +first few words were over there was a silence, and she noticed that I +did not look well. Anxiously she asked me what was the matter. I said +that something had been upon my mind for a long time, which I thought +it my duty to tell her. I then went on to say that I felt she ought to +know what had happened. When we were first engaged we both professed +the same faith. From that faith I had gradually departed, and it +seemed to me that it would be wicked if she were not made acquainted +before she took a step which was irrevocable. This was true, but it +was not quite all the truth, and with a woman's keenness she saw at +once everything that was in me. She broke out instantly with a sob - + +"Oh, Rough!"--a nickname she had given me--"I know what it all means-- +you want to get rid of me." + +God help me, if I ever endure greater anguish than I did then. I could +not speak, much less could I weep, and I sat and watched her for some +minutes in silence. My first impulse was to retract, to put my arms +round her neck, and swear that whatever I might be, Deist or Atheist, +nothing should separate me from her. Old associations, the thought of +the cruel injustice put upon her, the display of an emotion which I had +never seen in her before, almost overmastered me, and why I did not +yield I do not know. Again and again have I failed to make out what it +is which, in moments of extreme peril, has restrained me from making +some deadly mistake, when I have not been aware of the conscious +exercise of any authority of my own. At last I said - + +"Ellen, what else was I to do? I cannot help my conversion to another +creed. Supposing you had found out that you had married a Unitarian +and I had never told you!" + +"Oh, Rough! you are not a Unitarian, you don't love me," and she sobbed +afresh. + +I could not plead against hysterics. I was afraid she would get ill. +I thought nobody was in the house, and I rushed across the passage to +get her some stimulants. When I came back her father was in the room. +He was my aversion--a fussy, conceited man, who always prated about "my +daughter" to me in a tone which was very repulsive--just as if she were +his property, and he were her natural protector against me. + +"Mr. Rutherford," he cried, "what is the matter with my daughter? What +have you said to her?" + +"I don't think, sir, I am bound to tell you. It is a matter between +Ellen and myself." + +"Mr. Rutherford, I demand an explanation. Ellen is mine. I am her +father." + +"Excuse me, sir, if I desire not to have a scene here just now. Ellen +is unwell. When she recovers she will tell you. I had better leave," +and I walked straight out of the house. + +Next morning I had a letter from her father to say, that whether I was +a Unitarian or not, my behaviour to Ellen showed I was bad enough to be +one. Anyhow, he had forbidden her all further intercourse with me. +When I had once more settled down in my solitude, and came to think +over what had happened, I felt the self-condemnation of a criminal +without being able to accuse myself of a crime. I believe with Miss +Arbour that it is madness for a young man who finds out he has made a +blunder, not to set it right; no matter what the wrench may be. But +that Ellen was a victim I do not deny. If any sin, however, was +committed against her, it was committed long before our separation. It +was nine-tenths mistake and one-tenth something more heinous; and the +worst of it is, that while there is nothing which a man does which is +of greater consequence than the choice of a woman with whom he is to +live, there is nothing he does in which he is more liable to self- +deception. + +On my return I heard that Mardon was ill, and that probably he would +die. During my absence a contested election for the county had taken +place, and our town was one of the polling-places. The lower classes +were violently Tory. During the excitement of the contest the mob had +set upon Mardon as he was going to his work, and had reviled him as a +Republican and an Atheist. By way of proving their theism they had +cursed him with many oaths, and had so sorely beaten him that the shock +was almost fatal. I went to see him instantly, and found him in much +pain, believing that he would not get better, but perfectly peaceful. + +I knew that he had no faith in immortality, and I was curious beyond +measure to see how he would encounter death without such a faith; for +the problem of death, and of life after death, was still absorbing me +even to the point of monomania. I had been struggling as best I could +to protect myself against it, but with little success. I had long +since seen the absurdity and impossibility of the ordinary theories of +hell and heaven. I could not give up my hope in a continuance of life +beyond the grave, but the moment I came to ask myself how, I was +involved in contradictions. Immortality is not really immortality of +the person unless the memory abides and there be a connection of the +self of the next world with the self here, and it was incredible to me +that there should be any memories or any such connection after the +dissolution of the body; moreover, the soul, whatever it may be, is so +intimately one with the body, and is affected so seriously by the +weaknesses, passions, and prejudices of the body, that without it my +soul would not be myself, and the fable of the resurrection of the +body, of this same brain and heart, was more than I could ever swallow +in my most orthodox days. + +But the greatest difficulty was the inability to believe that the +Almighty intended to preserve all the mass of human beings, all the +countless millions of barbaric, half-bestial forms which, since the +appearance of man, had wandered upon the earth, savage or civilised. +Is it like Nature's way to be so careful about individuals, and is it +to be supposed that, having produced, millions of years ago, a creature +scarcely nobler than the animals he tore with his fingers, she should +take pains to maintain him in existence for evermore? The law of the +universe everywhere is rather the perpetual rise from the lower to the +higher; an immortality of aspiration after more perfect types; a +suppression and happy forgetfulness of its comparative failures. + +There was nevertheless an obstacle to the acceptance of this negation +in a faintness of heart which I could not overcome. Why this ceaseless +struggle, if in a few short years I was to be asleep for ever? The +position of mortal man seemed to me infinitely tragic. He is born into +the world, beholds its grandeur and beauty, is filled with unquenchable +longings, and knows that in a few inevitable revolutions of the earth +he will cease. More painful still; he loves somebody, man or woman, +with a surpassing devotion; he is so lost in his love that he cannot +endure a moment without it; and when he sees it pass away in death, he +is told that it is extinguished--that that heart and mind absolutely +are NOT. + +It was always a weakness with me that certain thoughts preyed on me. I +was always singularly feeble in laying hold of an idea, and in the +ability to compel myself to dwell upon a thing for any lengthened +period in continuous exhaustive reflection. But, nevertheless, ideas +would frequently lay hold of me with such relentless tenacity that I +was passive in their grasp. So it was about this time with death and +immortality, and I watched eagerly Mardon's behaviour when the end had +to be faced. As I have said, he was altogether calm. I did not like +to question him while he was so unwell, because I knew that a +discussion would arise which I could not control, and it might disturb +him, but I would have given anything to understand what was passing in +his mind. + +During his sickness I was much impressed by Mary's manner of nursing +him. She was always entirely wrapped up in her father, so much so, +that I had often doubted if she could survive him; but she never +revealed any trace of agitation. Under the pressure of the calamity +which had befallen her, she showed rather increased steadiness, and +even a cheerfulness which surprised me. Nothing went wrong in the +house. Everything was perfectly ordered, perfectly quiet, and she rose +to a height of which I had never suspected her capable, while her +father's stronger nature was allowed to predominate. She was +absolutely dependent on him. If he did not get well she would be +penniless, and I could not help thinking that with the like chance +before me, to say nothing of my love for him and anxiety lest he should +die, I should be distracted, and lose my head; more especially if I had +to sit by his bed, and spend sleepless nights such as fell to her lot. +But she belonged to that class of natures which, although delicate and +fragile, rejoice in difficulty. Her grief for her father was +exquisite, but it was controlled by a sense of her responsibility. The +greater the peril, the more complete was her self-command. + +To the surprise of everybody Mardon got better. His temperate habits +befriended him in a manner which amazed his more indulgent neighbours, +who were accustomed to hot suppers, and whisky-and-water after them. +Meanwhile I fell into greater difficulties than ever in my ministry. I +wonder now that I was not stopped earlier. I was entirely unorthodox, +through mere powerlessness to believe, and the catalogue of the +articles of faith to which I might be said really to subscribe was very +brief. I could no longer preach any of the dogmas which had always +been preached in the chapel, and I strove to avoid a direct conflict by +taking Scripture characters, amplifying them from the hints in the +Bible, and neglecting what was supernatural. That I was allowed to go +on for so long was mainly due to the isolation of the town and the +ignorance of my hearers. Mardon and his daughter came frequently to +hear me, and this, I believe, finally roused suspicion more than any +doctrine expounded from the pulpit. One Saturday morning there +appeared the following letter in the Sentinel: + +"Sin,--Last Sunday evening I happened to stray into a chapel not a +hundred miles from Water Lane. Sir, it was a lovely evening, and + + +'The glorious stars on high, +Set like jewels in the sky,' + + +were circling their courses, and, with the moon, irresistibly reminded +me of that blood which was shed for the remission of sins. Sir, with +my mind attuned in that direction I entered the chapel. I hoped to +hear something of that Rock of Ages in which, as the poet sings, we +shall wish to hide ourselves in years to come. But, sir, a young man, +evidently a young man, occupied the pulpit, and great was my grief to +find that the tainted flood of human philosophy had rolled through the +town and was withering the truth as it is in Christ Jesus. Years ago +that pulpit sent forth no uncertain sound, and the glorious gospel was +proclaimed there--not a GERMAN GOSPEL, sir--of our depravity and our +salvation through Christ Jesus. Sir, I should like to know what the +dear departed who endowed that chapel, and are asleep in the Lord in +that burying-ground, would say if they were to rise from their graves +and sit in those pews again and hear what I heard--a sermon which might +have been a week-day lecture. Sir, as I was passing through the town, +I could not feel that I had done my duty without announcing to you the +fact as above stated, and had not raised a humble warning from - + +Sir, Yours truly, + +"A CHRISTIAN TRAVELLER." + + +Notwithstanding the transparent artifice of the last paragraph, there +was no doubt that the author of this precious production was Mr. Snale, +and I at once determined to tax him with it. On the Monday morning I +called on him, and found him in his shop. + +"Mr. Snale," I said, "I have a word or two to say to you." + +"Certainly, sir. What a lovely day it is! I hope you are very well, +sir. Will you come upstairs?" + +But I declined to go upstairs, as it was probable I might meet Mrs. +Snale there. So I said that we had better go into the counting-house, +a little place boxed off at the end of the shop, but with no door to +it. As soon as we got in I began. + +"Mr. Snale, I have been much troubled by a letter which has appeared in +last week's Sentinel. Although disguised, it evidently refers to me, +and to be perfectly candid with you, I cannot help thinking you wrote +it." + +"Dear me, sir, may I ask WHY you think so?" + +"The internal evidence, Mr. Snale, is overwhelming; but if you did not +write it, perhaps you will be good enough to say so." + +Now Mr. Snale was a coward, but with a peculiarity which I have marked +in animals of the rat tribe. He would double and evade as long as +possible, but if he found there was no escape, he would turn and tear +and fight to the last extremity. + +"Mr. Rutherford, that is rather--ground of an, of an--what shall I +say?--of an assumptive nature on which to make such an accusation, and +I am not obliged to deny every charge which you may be pleased to make +against me." + +"Pardon me, Mr. Snale, do you then consider what I have said is an +accusation and charge? Do you think that it was wrong to write such a +letter?" + +"Well, sir, I cannot exactly say that it was; but I must say, sir, that +I do think it peculiar of you, peculiar of you, sir, to come here and +attack one of your friends, who, I am sure, has always showed you so +much kindness--to attack him, sir, with no proof." + +Now Mr. Snale had not openly denied his authorship. But the use of the +word "friend" was essentially a lie--just one of those lies which, by +avoiding the form of a lie, have such a charm for a mind like his. I +was roused to indignation. + +"Mr. Snale, I will give you the proof which you want, and then you +shall judge for yourself. The letter contains two lines of a hymn +which you have misquoted. You made precisely that blunder in talking +to the Sunday-school children on the Sunday before the letter appeared. +You will remember that in accordance with my custom to visit the +Sunday-school occasionally, I was there on that Sunday afternoon." + +"Well, sir, I've not denied I did write it." + +"Denied you did write it!" I exclaimed, with gathering passion; "what +do you mean by the subterfuge about your passing through the town and +by your calling me your friend a minute ago? What would you have +thought if anybody had written anonymously to the Sentinel, and had +accused you of selling short measure? You would have said it was a +libel, and you would also have said that a charge of that kind ought to +be made publicly and not anonymously. You seem to think, nevertheless, +that it is no sin to ruin me anonymously." + +"Mr. Rutherford, I AM sure I am your friend. I wish you well, sir, +both here"--and Mr. Snale tried to be very solemn--"and in the world to +come. With regard to the letter, I don't see it as you do, sir. But, +sir, if you are going to talk in this tone, I would advise you to be +careful. We have heard, sir"--and here Mr. Snale began to simper and +grin with an indescribably loathsome grimace--"that some of your +acquaintances in your native town are of opinion that you have not +behaved quite so well as you should have done to a certain young lady +of your acquaintance; and what is more, we have marked with pain here, +sir, your familiarity with an atheist and his daughter, and we have +noticed their coming to chapel, and we have also noticed a change in +your doctrine since these parties attended there." + +At the word "daughter" Mr. Snale grinned again, apparently to somebody +behind me, and I found that one of his shopwomen had entered the +counting-house, unobserved by me, while this conversation was going on, +and that she was smirking in reply to Mr. Snale's signals. In a moment +the blood rushed to my brain. I was as little able to control myself +as if I had been shot suddenly down a precipice. + +"Mr. Snale, you are a contemptible scoundrel and a liar." + +The effort on him was comical. He cried: + +"What, sir!--what do you mean, sir?--a minister of the gospel--if you +were not, I would--a liar"--and he swung round hastily on the stool on +which he was sitting, to get off and grasp a yard-measure which stood +against the fireplace. But the stool slipped, and he came down +ignominiously. I waited till he got up, but as he rose a carriage +stopped at the door, and he recognised one of his best customers. +Brushing the dust off his trousers, and smoothing his hair, he rushed +out without his hat, and in a moment was standing obsequiously on the +pavement, bowing to his patron. I passed him in going out, but the +oily film of subserviency on his face was not broken for an instant. + +When I got home I bitterly regretted what had happened. I never regret +anything more than the loss of self-mastery. I had been betrayed, and +yet I could not for the life of me see how the betrayal could have been +prevented. It was upon me so suddenly, that before a moment had been +given me for reflection, the words were out of my mouth. I was +distinctly conscious that the _I_ had not said those words. They had +been spoken by some other power working in me which was beyond my +reach. Nor could I foresee how to prevent such a fall for the future. +The only advice, even now, which I can give to those who comprehend the +bitter pangs of such self-degradation as passion brings, is to watch +the first risings of the storm, and to say "Beware; be watchful," at +the least indication of a tempest. Yet, after every precaution, we are +at the mercy of the elements, and in an instant the sudden doubling of +a cape may expose us, under a serene sky, to a blast which, taking us +with all sails spread, may overset us and wreck us irretrievably. + +My connection with the chapel was now obviously at an end. I had no +mind to be dragged before a church meeting, and I determined to resign. +After a little delay I wrote a letter to the deacons, explaining that I +had felt a growing divergence from the theology taught heretofore in +Water Lane, and I wished consequently to give up my connection with +them. I received an answer stating that my resignation had been +accepted; I preached a farewell sermon; and I found myself one Monday +morning with a quarter's salary in my pocket, a few bills to pay, and a +blank outlook. + +What was to be done? My first thought was towards Unitarianism, but +when I came to cast up the sum-total of what I was assured, it seemed +so ridiculously small that I was afraid. The occupation of a merely +miscellaneous lecturer had always seemed to me very poor. I could not +get up Sunday after Sunday and retail to people little scraps suggested +by what I might have been studying during the week; and with regard to +the great subjects--for the exposition of which the Christian minister +specially exists--how much did I know about them? The position of a +minister who has a gospel to proclaim; who can go out and tell men what +they are to do to be saved, was intelligible; but not so the position +of a man who had no such gospel. + +What reason for continuance as a preacher could I claim? Why should +people hear me rather than read books? I was alarmed to find, on +making my reckoning, that the older I got the less I appeared to +believe. Nakeder and nakeder had I become with the passage of every +year, and I trembled to anticipate the complete emptiness to which +before long I should be reduced. + +What the dogma of immortality was to me I have already described, and +with regard to God I was no better. God was obviously not a person in +the clouds, and what more was really firm under my feet than this--that +the universe is governed by immutable laws? These laws were not what +is commonly understood as God. Nor could I discern any ultimate +tendency in them. Everything was full of contradiction. On the one +hand was infinite misery; on the other there were exquisite adaptations +producing the highest pleasure; on the one hand the mystery of life- +long disease, and on the other the equal mystery of the unspeakable +glory of the sunrise on a summer's morning over a quiet summer sea. + +I happened to hear once an atheist discoursing on the follies of +theism. If he had made the world, he would have made it much better. +He would not have racked innocent souls with years of torture, that +tyrants might live in splendour. He would not have permitted the +earthquake to swallow up thousands of harmless mortals, and so forth. +But, putting aside all dependence upon the theory of a coming +rectification of such wrongs as these, the atheist's argument was +shallow enough. + +It would have been easy to show that a world such as he imagines is +unthinkable directly we are serious with our conception of it. On +whatever lines the world may be framed, there must be distinction, +difference, a higher and a lower; and the lower, relatively to the +higher, must always be an evil. The scale upon which the higher and +lower both are makes no difference. The supremest bliss would not be +bliss if it were not definable bliss--that is to say, in the sense that +it has limits, marking it out from something else not so supreme. +Perfectly uninterrupted, infinite light, without shadow, is a physical +absurdity. I see a thing because it is lighted, but also because of +the differences of light, or, in other words, because of shade, and +without shade the universe would be objectless, and in fact invisible. +The atheist was dreaming of shadowless light, a contradiction in terms. +Mankind may be improved, and the improvement may be infinite, and yet +good and evil must exist. So with death and life. Life without death +is not life, and death without life is equally impossible. + +But though all this came to me, and was not only a great comfort to me, +but prevented any shallow prating like that to which I listened from +this lecturer, it could not be said that it was a gospel from which to +derive apostolic authority. There remained morals. I could become an +instructor of morality. I could warn tradesmen not to cheat, children +to honour their parents, and people generally not to lie. The mission +was noble, but I could not feel much enthusiasm for it, and more than +this, it was a fact that reformations in morals have never been +achieved by mere directions to be good, but have always been the result +of an enthusiasm for some City of God, or some supereminent person. +Besides, the people whom it was most necessary to reach would not be +the people who would, unsolicited, visit a Unitarian meeting-house. As +for a message of negations, emancipating a number of persons from the +dogma of the Trinity or future punishment, and spending my strength in +merely demonstrating the nonsense of orthodoxy, my soul sickened at the +very thought of it. Wherein would men be helped, and wherein should I +be helped? + +There were only two persons in the town who had ever been of any +service to me. One was Miss Arbour, and the other was Mardon. But I +shrank from Miss Arbour, because I knew that my troubles had never been +hers. She belonged to a past generation, and as to Mardon, I never saw +him without being aware of the difficulty of accepting any advice from +him. He was perfectly clear, perfectly secular, and was so definitely +shaped and settled, that his line of conduct might always be predicted +beforehand with certainty. I knew very well what he thought about +preaching, and what he would tell me to do, or rather, what he would +tell me not to do. + +Nevertheless, after all, I was a victim to that weakness which impels +us to seek the assistance of others when we know that what they offer +will be of no avail. Accordingly, I called on him. Both he and Mary +were at home, and I was received with more than usual cordiality. He +knew already that I had resigned, for the news was all over the town. +I said I was in great perplexity. + +"The perplexities of most persons arise," said Mardon, "as yours +probably arise, from not understanding exactly what you want to do. +For one person who stumbles and falls with a perfectly distinct object +to be attained, I have known a score whose disasters are to be +attributed to their not having made themselves certain what their aim +is. You do not know what you believe; consequently you do not know how +to act." + +"What would you do if you were in my case?" + +"Leave the whole business and prefer the meanest handicraft. You have +no right to be preaching anything doubtful. You are aware what my +creed is. I profess no belief in God, and no belief in what hangs upon +it. Try and name now, any earnest conviction you possess, and see +whether you have a single one which I have not got." + +"I DO believe in God." + +"There is nothing in that statement. What do you believe about Him?-- +that is the point. You will find that you believe nothing, in truth, +which I do not also believe of the laws which govern the universe and +man." + +"I believe in an intellect of which these laws are the expression." + +"Now what kind of an intellect can that be? You can assign to it no +character in accordance with its acts. It is an intellect, if it be an +intellect at all, which will swallow up a city, and will create the +music of Mozart for me when I am weary; an intellect which brings to +birth His Majesty King George IV., and the love of an affectionate +mother for her child; an intellect which, in the person of a tender +girl, shows an exquisite conscience, and in the person of one or two +religious creatures whom I have known, shows a conscience almost +inverted. I have always striven to prove to my theological friends +that their mere affirmation of God is of no consequence. They may be +affirming anything or nothing. The question, the all-important +question is, WHAT can be affirmed about Him?" + +"Your side of the argument naturally admits of a more precise statement +than mine. I cannot encompass God with a well-marked definition, but +for all that, I believe in Him. I know all that may be urged against +the belief, but I cannot help thinking that the man who looks upon the +stars, or the articulation of a leaf, is irresistibly impelled, unless +he has been corrupted by philosophy, to say, There is intellect there. +It is the instinct of the child and of the man." + +"I don't think so; but grant it, and again I ask, WHAT intellect is +it?" + +"Again I say, I do not know." + +"Then why dispute? Why make such a fuss about it?" + +"It really seems to me of immense importance whether you see this +intellect or not, although you say it is of no importance. It appears +to be of less importance than it really is, because I do not think that +even you ever empty the universe of intellect. I believe that mind +never worships anything but mind, and that you worship it when you +admire the level bars of cloud over the setting sun. You think you +eject mind, but you do not. I can only half imagine a belief which +looks upon the world as a mindless blank, and if I could imagine it, it +would be depressing in the last degree to me. I know that I have mind, +and to live in a universe in which my mind is answered by no other +would be unbearable. Better any sort of intelligence than none at all. +But, as I have just said, your case admits of plainer statement than +mine. You and I have talked this matter over before, and I have never +gained a logical victory over you. Often I have felt thoroughly +prostrated by you, and yet, when I have left you, the old superstition +has arisen unsubdued. I do not know how it is, but I always feel that +upon this, as upon many other subjects, I never can really speak +myself. An unshapen thought presents itself to me, I look at it, and I +do all in my power to give it body and expression, but I cannot. I am +certain that there is something truer and deeper to be said about the +existence of God than anything I have said, and what is more, I am +certain of the presence of this something in me, but I cannot lift it +to the light." + +"Ah, you are now getting into the region of sentiment, and I am unable +to accompany you. When my friends go into the clouds, I never try to +follow them." + +All this time Mary had been sitting in the arm-chair against the +fireplace in her usual attitude, resting her head on her hand and with +her feet crossed one over the other on the fender. She had been +listening silently and motionless. She now closed her eyes and said - + +"Father, father, it is not true." + +"What is not true?" + +"I do not mean that what you have said about theology is not true, but +you make Mr. Rutherford believe you are what you are not. Mr. +Rutherford, father sometimes tells us he has no sentiment, but you must +take no notice of him when he talks in that way. I always think of our +visit to the seaside two years ago. The railway-station was in a +disagreeable part of the town, and when we came out we walked along a +dismal row of very plain-looking houses. There were cards in the +window with 'Lodgings' written on them, and father wanted to go in to +ask the terms. I said that I did not wish to stay in such a dull +street, but father could not afford to pay for a sea view, and so we +went in to inquire. We then found that what we thought were the fronts +of the houses were the backs, and that the fronts faced the bay. They +had pretty gardens on the other side, and a glorious sunny prospect +over the ocean." + +Mardon laughed and said - + +"Ah, Mary, there is no sea front here, and no garden." + +I took up my hat and said I must go. Both pressed me to stop, but I +declined. Mardon urged me again, and at last said - + +"I believe you've never once heard Mary sing." + +Mary protested, and pleaded that as they had no piano, Mr. Rutherford +would not care for her poor voice without any accompaniment. But I, +too, protested that I should, and she got out the "Messiah." Her +father took a tuning-fork out of his pocket, and having struck it, Mary +rose and began, "He was despised." Her voice was not powerful, but it +was pure and clear, and she sang with that perfect taste which is +begotten solely of a desire to honour the Master. The song always had +a profound charm for me. Partly this was due to association. The +words and tones, which have been used to embody their emotions by those +whom we have loved, are doubly expressive when we use them to embody +our own. The song is potent too, because with utmost musical +tenderness and strength it reveals the secret of the influence of the +story of Jesus. Nobody would be bold enough to cry, THAT TOO IS MY +CASE, and yet the poorest and the humblest soul has a right to the +consolation that Jesus was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. + +For some reason or the other, or for many reasons, Mary's voice wound +itself into the very centre of my existence. I seemed to be listening +to the tragedy of all human worth and genius. The ball rose in my +throat, the tears mounted to my eyes, and I had to suppress myself +rigidly. + +Presently she ceased. There was silence for a moment. I looked round, +and saw that Mardon's face was on the table, buried in his hands. I +felt that I had better go, for the presence of a stranger, when the +heart is deeply stirred, is an intrusion. I noiselessly left the room, +and Mary followed. When we got to the door she said: "I forgot that +mother used to sing that song. I ought to have known better." Her own +eyes were full; I thought the pressure of her hand as she bade me good- +bye was a little firmer than usual, and as we parted an over-mastering +impulse seized me. I lifted her hand to my lips; without giving her +time to withdraw it, I gave it one burning kiss, and passed out into +the street. It was pouring with rain, and I had neither overcoat nor +umbrella, but I heeded not the heavens, and not till I got home to my +own fireless, dark, solitary lodgings, did I become aware of any +contrast between the sphere into which I had been exalted and the +earthly commonplace world by which I was surrounded. + + + +CHAPTER VII--EMANCIPATION + + + +The old Presbyterian chapels throughout the country have many of them +become Unitarian, and occasionally, even in an agricultural village, a +respectable red-brick building may be seen, dating from the time of +Queen Anne, in which a few descendants of the eighteenth century +heretics still testify against three Gods in one and the deity of Jesus +Christ. Generally speaking, the attendance in these chapels is very +meagre, but they are often endowed, and so they are kept open. + +There was one in the large, straggling half-village, half-town of D-, +within about ten miles of me, and the pulpit was then vacant. The +income was about 100 pounds a year. The principal man there was a +small general dealer, who kept a shop in the middle of the village +street, and I had come to know him slightly, because I had undertaken +to give his boy a few lessons to prepare him for admission to a +boarding-school. The money in my pocket was coming to an end, and as I +did not suppose that any dishonesty would be imposed on me, and +although the prospect were not cheering, I expressed my willingness to +be considered as a candidate. + +In the course of a week or two I was therefore invited to preach. I +was so reduced that I was obliged to walk the whole distance on the +Sunday morning, and as I was asked to no house, I went straight to the +chapel, and loitered about in the graveyard till a woman came and +opened a door at the back. I explained who I was, and sat down in a +Windsor chair against a small kitchen table in the vestry. It was +cold, but there was no fire, nor were any preparations made for one. +On the mantel-shelf were a bottle of water and a glass, but as the +water had evidently been there for some time, it was not very tempting. + +I waited in silence for about twenty minutes, and my friend the dealer +then came in, and having shaken hands, and remarked that it was chilly, +asked me for the hymns. These I gave him, and went into the pulpit. I +found myself in a plain-looking building designed to hold about two +hundred people. There was a gallery opposite me, and the floor was +occupied with high, dark, brown pews, one or two immediately on my +right and left being surrounded with faded green curtains. I counted +my hearers, and discovered that there were exactly seventeen, including +two very old labourers, who sat on a form near the door. The gallery +was quite empty, except a little organ, or seraphine, I think it was +called, which was played by a young woman. The dealer gave out the +hymns, and accompanied the seraphine in a bass voice, singing the air. +A weak whisper might be perceived from the rest of the congregation, +but nothing more. + +I was somewhat taken aback at finding in the Bible a discourse which +had been left by one of my predecessors. It was a funeral-sermon, +neatly written, and had evidently done duty on several occasions, +although the allusions in it might be considered personal. The piety +and good works of the departed were praised with emphasis, but the +masculine pronouns originally used were altered above the lines all +throughout to feminine pronouns, and the word "brother" to "sister," so +that no difficulty might arise in reading it for either sex. I was +faint, benumbed, and with no heart for anything. I talked for about +half-an-hour about what I considered to be the real meaning of the +death of Christ, thinking that this was a subject which might prove as +attractive as any other. + +After the service the assembly of seventeen departed, save one thin +elderly gentleman, who came into the vestry, and having made a slight +bow, said: "Mr. Rutherford, will you come with me, if you please?" I +accordingly followed him, almost in silence, through the village till +we reached his house, where his wife, who had gone on before, received +us. They had formerly kept the shop which the dealer now had, but had +retired. They might both be about sixty-five, and were of about the +same temperament, pale, thin, and ineffectual, as if they had been fed +on gruel. + +We had dinner in a large room with an old-fashioned grate in it, in +which was stuck a basket stove. I remember perfectly well what we had +for dinner. There was a neck of mutton (cold), potatoes, cabbage, a +suet pudding, and some of the strangest-looking ale I ever saw--about +the colour of lemon juice, but what it was really like I do not know, +as I did not drink beer. I was somewhat surprised at being asked +whether I would take potatoes OR cabbage, but thinking it was the +custom of the country not to indulge in both at once, and remembering +that I was on probation, I said "cabbage." + +Very little was spoken during dinner-time by anybody, and scarcely a +word by my hostess. After dinner she cleared the things away, and did +not again appear. My host drew near the basket stove, and having +remarked that it was beginning to rain, fell into a slumber. At twenty +minutes to two we sallied out for the afternoon service, and found the +seventeen again in their places, excepting the two labourers, who were +probably prevented by the wet from attending. + +The service was a repetition of that in the morning, and when I came +down my host again came forward and presented me with nineteen +shillings. The fee was a guinea, but from that two shillings were +abated for my entertainment. He informed me at the same time that a +farmer, who had been hearing me and who lived five miles on my road, +would give me a lift. He was a very large, stout man, with a rosy +countenance, which was somewhat of a relief after the gruel face of my +former friend. We went round to a stable-yard, and I got into a four- +wheeled chaise. His wife sat with him in front, and a biggish boy sat +with me behind. + +When we came to a guide-post which pointed down his lane, I got out, +and was dismissed in the dark with the observation--uttered good- +naturedly and jovially, but not very helpfully--that he was "afraid I +should have a wettish walk." The walk certainly was wettish, and as I +had had nothing to eat or drink since my midday meal, I was miserable +and desponding. But just before I reached home the clouds rolled off +with the south-west wind into detached, fleecy masses, separated by +liquid blue gulfs, in which were sowed the stars, and the effect upon +me was what that sight, thank God, always has been--a sense of the +infinite, extinguishing all mean cares. + +I expected to hear no more from my Unitarian acquaintances, and was +therefore greatly surprised when, a week after my visit, I received an +invitation to "settle" amongst them. The usual month's trial was +thought unnecessary, as I was not altogether a stranger to some of +them. I hardly knew what to do, I could not feel any enthusiasm at the +prospect of the engagement, but, on the other hand, there was nothing +else before me. There is no more helpless person in this world than a +minister who is thrown out of work. At any rate, I should be doing no +harm if I went. + +I pondered over the matter a good deal, and then reflected that in a +case where every opening is barred save one, it is our duty not to +plunge at an impassable barrier, but to take that one opening, however +unpromising it may be. Accordingly I accepted. My income was to be a +hundred a year, and it was proposed that I should lodge with my friend +the retired dealer, who had the only two rooms in the village which +were available. + +I went to bid Mardon and Mary good-bye. I had not seen either of them +since the night of the song. To my surprise I found them both away. +The blinds were down and the door locked. A neighbour, who heard me +knocking, came out and told me the news. Mardon had had a dispute with +his employer, and had gone to London to look for work. Mary had gone +to see a relative at some distance, and would remain there until her +father had determined what was to be done. + +I obtained the addresses of both of them, and wrote to Mardon, telling +him what my destiny for the present was to be. To Mary I wrote also, +and to her I offered my heart. Looking backward, I have sometimes +wondered that I felt so little hesitation; not that I have ever doubted +since, that what I did then was the one perfectly right thing which I +have done in my life, but because it was my habit so to confuse myself +with meditative indecision. I had doubted before. I remember once +being so near engaging myself to a girl that the desk was open and the +paper under my hand. But I held back, could not make up my mind, and +happily was stayed. Had I not been restrained, I should for ever have +been miserable. The remembrance of this escape, and the certain +knowledge that of all beings whom I knew I was most likely to be +mistaken in an emergency, always produced in me a torturing tendency to +inaction. There was no such tendency now. I thought I chose Mary, but +there was no choice. The feeblest steel filing which is drawn to a +magnet, would think, if it had consciousness, that it went to the +magnet of its own free will. My soul rushed to hers as if dragged by +the force of a loadstone. + +But she was not to be mine. I had a note from her, a sweet note, +thanking me with much tenderness for my affectionate regard for her, +but saying that her mind had long since been made up. She was an only +child of a mother whom her father had loved above everything in life, +and she could never leave him nor suffer any affection to interfere +with that which she felt for him and which he felt for her. I might +well misinterpret him, and think it strange that he should be so much +bound up in her. Few people knew him as she did. + +The shock to me at first was overpowering, and I fell under the +influence of that horrible monomania from which I had been free for so +long. For weeks I was prostrate, with no power of resistance; the evil +being intensified by my solitude. Of all the dreadful trials which +human nature has the capacity to bear unshattered, the worst--as, +indeed, I have already said--is the fang of some monomaniacal idea +which cannot be wrenched out. A main part of the misery, as I have +also said, lies in the belief that suffering of this kind is peculiar +to ourselves. We are afraid to speak of it, and not knowing, +therefore, how common it is, we are distracted with the fear that it is +our own special disease. + +I managed to get through my duties, but how I cannot tell. Fortunately +our calamities are not what they appear to be when they lie in +perspective behind us or before us, for they actually consist of +distinct moments, each of which is overcome by itself. I was helped by +remembering my recovery before, and I was able now, as a reward of +long-continued abstinence from wine, to lie much stiller, and wait with +more patience till the cloud should lift. + +Mardon having gone to London, I was more alone than ever, but my love +for Mary increased in intensity, and had a good deal to do with my +restoration to health. It was a hopeless love, but to be in love +hopelessly is more akin to sanity than careless, melancholy +indifference to the world. I was relieved from myself by the anchorage +of all my thoughts elsewhere. The pain of loss was great, but the main +curse of my existence has not been pain or loss, but gloom; blind +wandering in a world of black fog, haunted by apparitions. I am not +going to expand upon the history of my silent relationship to Mary +during that time. How can I? All that I felt has been described +better by others; and if it had not been, I have no mind to attempt a +description myself, which would answer no purpose. + +I continued to correspond with Mardon, but with Mary I interchanged no +word. After her denial of me I should have dreaded the charge of +selfishness if I had opened my lips again. I could not place myself in +her affection before her father. + +My work at the chapel was of the most lifeless kind. My people really +consisted of five families--those of the retired dealer, the farmer who +took me home the first day I preached, and a man who kept a shop in the +village for the sale of all descriptions of goods, including ready-made +clothing and provisions. He had a wife and one child. + +Then there was a super-annuated brass-founder, who had a large house +near, and who nominally was a Unitarian, having professed himself a +Unitarian in the town in which he was formerly in business, where +Unitarianism was flourishing. He had come down here to cultivate, for +amusement, a few acres of ground, and play the squire at a cheap rate. +Released from active employment, he had given himself over to eating +and drinking, particularly the drinking of port wine. His wife was +dead, his sons were in business for themselves, and his daughters all +went to church. His connection with the chapel was merely nominal, and +I was very glad it was so. I was hardly ever brought into contact with +him, except as trustee, and once I was asked to his house to dinner; +but the attempt to make me feel my inferiority was so painful, and the +rudeness of his children was so marked, that I never went again. + +There was also a schoolmaster, who kept a low-priced boarding-school +with a Unitarian connection. He lived, however, at such a distance +that his visits were very unfrequent. Sometimes on a fine summer's +Sunday morning the boys would walk over--about twenty of them +altogether, but this only happened perhaps half-a-dozen times in a +year. + +Although my congregation had a freethought lineage, I do not think that +I ever had anything to do with a more petrified set. With one +exception, they were meagre in the extreme. They were perfectly +orthodox, except that they denied a few orthodox doctrines. Their +method was as strict as that of the most rigid Calvinist. They plumed +themselves, however, greatly on their intellectual superiority over the +Wesleyans and Baptists round them; and so far as I could make out, the +only topics they delighted in were demonstrations of the unity of God +from texts in the Bible, and polemics against tri-theism. Sympathy +with the great problems then beginning to agitate men they had none. +Socially they were cold, and the entertainment at their houses was pale +and penurious. They never considered themselves bound to contribute a +shilling to my support. There was an endowment of a hundred a year, +and they were relieved from all further anxiety. They had no +enthusiasm for their chapel, and came or stayed away on the Sunday just +as it suited them, and without caring to assign any reason. + +The one exception was the wife of the shopkeeper. She was a contrast +to her husband and all the rest. I do not think she was a Unitarian +born and bred. She talked but little about theology, but she was +devoted to her Bible, and had a fine sense for all the passages in it +which had an experience in them. She was generous, spiritual, and +possessed of an unswerving instinct for what was right. Oftentimes her +prompt decisions were a scandal to her more sedate friends, who did not +believe in any way of arriving at the truth except by rationalising, +but she hardly ever failed to hit the mark. It was in questions of +relationship between persons, of behaviour, and of morals, that her +guidance was the surest. In such cases her force seemed to keep her +straight, while the weakness of those around made it impossible for +them not to wander, first on one side and then on the other. She was +unflinching in her expressions, and at any sacrifice did her duty. It +was her severity in obeying her conscience which not only gave +authority to her admonitions, but was the source of her inspirations. + +She was not much of a reader, but she read strange things. She had +some old volumes of a magazine--a "Repository" of some kind; I have +forgotten what--and she picked out from them some translations of +German verses which she greatly admired. She was not a well educated +woman in the school sense of the word, and of several of our greatest +names in literature had heard nothing. I do not think she knew +anything about Shakespeare, and she never entered into the meaning of +dramatic poetry. At all points her path was her own, intersecting at +every conceivable angle the paths of her acquaintances, and never +straying along them except just so far as they might happen to be hers. + +While I was in the village an event happened which caused much +commotion. Her son was serving in the shop, and there was in the house +at the time a nice-looking, clean servant-girl. Mrs. Lane, for that +was my friend's name, had meditated discharging her, for, with her +usual quickness, she thought she saw something in the behaviour of her +son to the girl which was peculiar. One morning, however, both her son +and the girl were absent, and there was a letter upon the table +announcing that they were in a town about twenty miles off and were +married. + +The shock was great, and a tumult of voices arose, confusing counsel. +Mrs. Lane said but little, but never wavered an instant. Leaving her +husband to "consider what was best to be done," she got out the gig, +drove herself over to her son's lodging, and presented herself to her +amazed daughter-in-law, who fell upon her knees and prayed for pity. +"My dear," said Mrs. Lane, "get up this instant; you are my daughter. +Not another word. I've come to see what you want." And she kissed her +tenderly. The girl was at heart a good girl. She was so bound to her +late mistress and her new mother by this behaviour, that the very depth +in her opened, and she loved Mrs. Lane ever afterwards with almost +religious fervour. She was taught a little up to her son's level, and +a happier marriage I never knew. Mrs. Lane told me what she had done, +but she had no theory about it. She merely said she knew it to be the +right thing to do. + +She was very fond of getting up early in the morning and going out, and +in such a village this was an eccentricity bordering almost on lunacy. +At five o'clock she was often wandering about her garden. She was a +great lover of order in the house, and kept it well under control, but +I do not think I ever surprised her when she was so busy that she would +not easily, and without any apparent sacrifice, leave what she was +doing to come and talk with me. + +As I have said, the world of books in which I lived was almost +altogether shut to her, but yet she was the only person in the village +whose conversation was lifted out of the petty and personal into the +region of the universal. I have been thus particular in describing +her--I fear without raising any image of her--because she was of +incalculable service to me. I languished from lack of life, and her +mere presence, so exuberant in its full vivacity, was like mountain +air. Furthermore, she was not troubled much with my philosophical +difficulties. They had not come in her path. Her world was the world +of men and women--more particularly of those she knew--and it was a +world in which it did me good to dwell. She was all the more important +to me, because outside our own little circle there was no society +whatever. The Church and the other Dissenting bodies considered us +non-Christian. + +I often wondered that Mr. Lane retained his business, and, indeed, he +would have lost it if he had not established a reputation for honesty, +which drew customers to him, who, notwithstanding the denunciations of +the parson, preferred tea with some taste in it from a Unitarian to the +insipid wood-flavoured stuff which was sold by the grocer who believed +in the Trinity. + + + +CHAPTER VIII--PROGRESS IN EMANCIPATION + + + +I was with my Unitarian congregation for about a twelvemonth. My life +during that time, save so far as my intercourse with Mrs. Lane, and one +other friend presently to be mentioned, was concerned, was as sunless +and joyless as it had ever been. Imagine me living by myself, roaming +about the fields, and absorbed mostly upon insoluble problems with +which I never made any progress, and which tended to draw me away from +what enjoyment of life there was which I might have had. + +One day I was walking along under the south side of a hill, which was a +great place for butterflies, and I saw a man, apparently about fifty +years old, coming along with a butterfly-net. He did not see me, for +he looked about for a convenient piece of turf, and presently sat down, +taking out a sandwich-box, from which he produced his lunch. His +occupation did not particularly attract me, but in those days, if I +encountered a new person who was not repulsive, I was always as eager +to make his acquaintance as if he perchance might solve a secret for +me, the answer to which I burned to know. I have been disappointed so +many times, and have found that nobody has much more to tell me, that +my curiosity has somewhat abated, but even now, the news that anybody +who has the reputation for intelligence has come near me, makes me +restless to see him. I accordingly saluted the butterfly-catcher, who +returned the salutation kindly, and we began to talk. + +He told me that he had come seven miles that morning to that spot +because he knew that it was haunted by one particular species of +butterfly which he wished to get; and as it was a still, bright day, he +hoped to find a specimen. He had been unsuccessful for some years. +Presupposing that I knew all about his science, he began to discourse +upon it with great freedom, and he ended by saying that he would be +happy to show me his collection, which was one of the finest in the +country. + +"But I forget," said he, "as I always forget in such cases, perhaps you +don't care for butterflies." + +"I take much interest in them. I admire exceedingly the beauty of +their colours." + +"Ah, yes, but you don't care for them scientifically, or for collecting +them." + +"No, not particularly. I cannot say I ever saw much pleasure in the +mere classification of insects." + +"Perhaps you are devoted to some other science?" + +"No, I am not." + +"Well, I daresay it looks absurd for a man at my years to be running +after a moth. I used to think it was absurd, but I am wiser now. +However, I cannot stop to talk; I shall lose the sunshine. The first +time you are anywhere near me, come and have a look. You will alter +your opinion." + +Some weeks afterwards I happened to be in the neighbourhood of the +butterfly-catcher's house, and I called. He was at home, and welcomed +me cordially. The first thing he did was to show me his little museum. +It was really a wonderful exhibition, and as I saw the creatures in +lines, and noted the amazing variations of the single type, I was +filled with astonishment. Seeing the butterflies systematically +arranged was a totally different thing from seeing a butterfly here and +there, and gave rise to altogether new thoughts. My friend knew his +subject from end to end, and I envied him his mastery of it. I had +often craved the mastery of some one particular province, be it ever so +minute. I half or a quarter knew a multitude of things, but no one +thing thoroughly, and was never sure, just when I most wanted to be +sure. We got into conversation, and I was urged to stay to dinner. I +consented, and found that my friend's household consisted of himself +alone. After dinner, as we became a little more communicative, I asked +him when and how he took to this pursuit. + +"It will be twenty-six years ago next Christmas," said he, "since I +suffered a great calamity. You will forgive my saying anything about +it, as I have no assurance that the wound which looks healed may not +break out again. Suffice to say, that for some ten years or more my +thoughts were almost entirely occupied with death and our future state. +There is a strange fascination about these topics to many people, +because they are topics which permit a great deal of dreaming, but very +little thinking: in fact, true thinking, in the proper sense of the +word, is impossible in dealing with them. There is no rigorous advance +from one position to another, which is really all that makes thinking +worth the name. Every man can imagine or say cloudy things about death +and the future, and feel himself here, at least, on a level with the +ablest brain which he knows. + +"I went on gazing gloomily into dark emptiness, till all life became +nothing for me. I did not care to live, because there was no assurance +of existence beyond. By the strangest of processes, I neglected the +world, because I had so short a time to be in it. It is with absolute +horror now that I look back upon those days, when I lay as if alive in +a coffin of lead. All passions and pursuits were nullified by the +ever-abiding sense of mortality. For years this mood endured, and I +was near being brought down to the very dust. + +"At last, by the greatest piece of good fortune, I was obliged to go +abroad. The change, and the obligation to occupy myself about many +affairs, was an incalculable blessing to me. While travelling I was +struck with the remarkable and tropical beauty of the insects, and +especially of the butterflies. I captured a few, and brought them +home. On showing them to a friend, learned in such matters, I +discovered that they were rare, and I had a little cabinet made for +them. I looked into the books, found what it was which I had got, and +what I had not got. + +"Next year it was my duty to go abroad again, and I went with some +feeling akin to pleasure, for I wished to add to my store. I increased +it considerably, and by the time I returned I had as fine a show as any +private person might wish to possess. A good deal of my satisfaction, +perhaps, was unaccountable, and no rational explanation can be given of +it. But men should not be too curious in analysing and condemning any +means which Nature devises to save them from themselves, whether it be +coins, old books, curiosities, butterflies, or fossils. And yet my +newly-acquired passion was not altogether inexplicable. I was the +owner of something which other persons did not own, and in a little +while, in my own limited domain, I was supreme. No man either can +study any particular science thoroughly without transcending it; and it +is an utter mistake to suppose that, because a student sticks to any +one branch, he necessarily becomes contracted. + +"However, I am not going to philosophise; I do not like it. All I can +say is, that I shun all those metaphysical speculations of former years +as I would a path which leads to madness. Other people may be able to +occupy themselves with them and be happy; I cannot. I find quite +enough in my butterflies to exercise my wonder, and yet, on the other +hand, my study is not a mere vacant, profitless stare. When you saw me +that morning, I was trying to obtain an example which I have long +wanted to fill up a gap. I have looked for it for years, but have +missed it. But I know it has been seen lately where we met, and I +shall triumph at last." + +A good deal of all this was to me incomprehensible. It seemed mere +solemn trifling compared with the investigation of those great +questions with which I had been occupied, but I could not resist the +contagion of my friend's enthusiasm when he took me to his little +library and identified his treasures with pride, pointing out at the +same time those in which he was deficient. He was specially exultant +over one minute creature which he had caught himself, which he had not +as yet seen figured, and he proposed going to the British Museum almost +on purpose to see if he could find it there. + +When I got home I made inquiries into the history of my entomologist. +I found that years ago he had married a delicate girl, of whom he was +devotedly fond. She died in childbirth, leaving him completely broken. +Her offspring, a boy, survived, but he was a cripple, and grew up +deformed. As he neared manhood he developed a satyr-like lustfulness, +which was almost uncontrollable, and made it difficult to keep him at +home without constraint. He seemed to have no natural affection for +his father, nor for anybody else, but was cunning with the base, +beastly cunning of the ape. The father's horror was infinite. This +thing was his only child, and the child of the woman whom he +worshipped. He was excluded from all intercourse with friends; for, as +the boy could not be said to be mad, he could not be shut up. After +years of inconceivable misery, however, lust did deepen into absolute +lunacy, and the crooked, misshapen monster was carried off to an +asylum, where he died, and the father well-nigh went there too. + +Before I had been six months amongst the Unitarians, I found life even +more intolerable with them than it had been with the Independents. The +difference of a little less belief was nothing. The question of +Unitarianism was altogether dead to me; and although there was a phase +of the doctrine of God's unity which would now and then give me an +opportunity for a few words which I felt, it was not a phase for which +my hearers in the least cared or which they understood. + +Here, as amongst the Independents, there was the same lack of personal +affection, or even of a capability of it--excepting always Mrs. Lane-- +and, in fact, it was more distressing amongst the Unitarians than +amongst the orthodox. The desire for something like sympathy and love +absolutely devoured me. I dwelt on all the instances in poetry and +history in which one human being had been bound to another human being, +and I reflected that my existence was of no earthly importance to +anybody. I could not altogether lay the blame on myself. God knows +that I would have stood against a wall and have been shot for any man +or woman whom I loved, as cheerfully as I would have gone to bed, but +nobody seemed to wish for such a love, or to know what to do with it. + +Oh, the humiliations under which this weakness has bent me! Often and +often I have thought that I have discovered somebody who could really +comprehend the value of a passion which could tell everything and +venture everything. I have overstepped all bounds of etiquette in +obtruding myself on him, and have opened my heart even to shame. I +have then found that it was all on my side. For every dozen times I +went to his house, he came to mine once, and only when pressed: I have +languished in sickness for a month without his finding it out; and if I +were to drop into the grave, he would perhaps never give me another +thought. If I had been born a hundred years earlier, I should have +transferred this burning longing to the unseen God and have become a +devotee. But I was a hundred years too late, and I felt that it was +mere cheating of myself and a mockery to think about love for the only +God whom I knew--the forces which maintained the universe. + +I am now getting old, and have altered in many things. The hunger and +thirst of those years have abated, or rather, the fire has had ashes +heaped on it, so that it is well-nigh extinguished. I have been +repulsed into self-reliance and reserve, having learned wisdom by +experience; but still I know that the desire has not died, as so many +other desires have died, by the natural evolution of age. It has been +forcibly suppressed, and that is all. If anybody who reads these words +of mine should be offered by any young dreamer such a devotion as I +once had to offer, and had to take back again refused so often, let him +in the name of all that is sacred accept it. It is simply the most +precious thing in existence. Had I found anybody who would have +thought so, my life would have been redeemed into something which I +have often imagined, but now shall never know. + +I determined to leave, but what to do I could not tell. I was fit for +nothing, and yet I could not make up my mind to accept a life which was +simply living. It must be a life, through which some benefit was +conferred upon my fellow-creatures. This was mainly delusion. I had +not then learned to correct this natural instinct to be of some service +to mankind by the thought of the boundlessness of infinity and of +Nature's profuseness. I had not come to reflect that, taking into +account her eternities, and absolute exhaustlessness, it was folly in +me to fret and fume, and I therefore clung to the hope that I might +employ myself in some way which, however feebly, would help mankind a +little to the realisation of an ideal. But I was not the man for such +a mission. I lacked altogether that concentration which binds up the +scattered powers into one resistless energy, and I lacked faith. All I +could do was to play the vagrant in literature, picking up here and +there an idea which attracted me, and presenting it to my flock on the +Sunday; the net result being next to nothing. + +However, existence like that which I had been leading was intolerable, +and change it I must. I accordingly resigned, and with ten pounds in +my pocket, which was all that remained after paying my bills, I came to +London, thinking that until I could settle what to do, I would try and +teach in a school. I called on an agent somewhere near the Strand, and +after a little negotiation, was engaged by a gentleman who kept a +private establishment at Stoke Newington. + +Thither I accordingly went one Monday afternoon in January, about two +days before the term commenced. When I got there, I was shown into a +long schoolroom, which had been built out from the main building. It +was dark, save for one candle, and was warmed by a stove. The walls +were partly covered with maps, and at one end of the room hung a +diagram representing a globe, on which an immense amount of wasted +ingenuity had been spent to produce the illusion of solidity. The +master, I was told, was out, and in this room with one candle I +remained till nine o'clock. At that time a servant brought me some +bread and cheese on a small tray, with half-a-pint of beer. I asked +for water, which was given me, and she then retired. The tray was set +down on the master's raised desk, and sitting there I ate my supper in +silence, looking down upon the dimly-lighted forms, and forward into +the almost absolute gloom. + +At ten o'clock a man, who seemed as if he were the knife and boot- +cleaner, came and said he would show me where I was to sleep. We +passed through the schoolroom into a kind of court, where there was a +ladder standing against a trap-door. He told me that my bedroom was up +there, and that when I got up I could leave the ladder down, or pull it +up after me, just as I pleased. + +I ascended and found a little chamber, duly furnished with a chest of +drawers, bed, and washhand-stand. It was tolerably clean and decent; +but who shall describe what I felt! I went to the window and looked +out. There were scattered lights here and there, marking roads, but as +they crossed one another, and now and then stopped where building had +ceased, the effect they produced was that of bewilderment with no clue +to it. Further off was the great light of London, like some unnatural +dawn, or the illumination from a fire which could not itself be seen. +I was overcome with the most dreadful sense of loneliness. I suppose +it is the very essence of passion, using the word in its literal sense, +that no account can be given of it by the reason. + +Reflecting on what I suffered, then, I cannot find any solid ground for +it, and yet there are not half-a-dozen days or nights of my life which +remain with me like that one. I was beside myself with a kind of +terror, which I cannot further explain. It is possible for another +person to understand grief for the death of a friend, bodily suffering, +or any emotion which has a distinct cause, but how shall he understand +the worst of all calamities, the nameless dread, the efflux of all +vitality, the ghostly, haunting horror which is so nearly akin to +madness? + +It is many years ago since that evening, but while I write I am at the +window still, and the yellow flare of the city is still in my eyes. I +remember the thought of all the happy homes which lay around me, in +which dwelt men who had found a position, an occupation, and, above all +things, affection. I know the causelessness of a good deal of all +those panic fears and all that suffering, but I tremble to think how +thin is the floor on which we stand which separates us from the +bottomless abyss. + +The next morning I went down into the schoolroom, and after I had been +there for some little time, the proprietor of the school made his +appearance. He was not a bad man, nor even unkind in his way, but he +was utterly uninteresting, and as commonplace as might be expected +after having for many years done nothing but fight a very uphill battle +in boarding the sons of tradesfolk, and teaching them, at very moderate +rates, the elements of Latin, and the various branches of learning +which constitute what is called a commercial education. He said that +he expected some of the boys back that day; that when they came, he +should wish me to take my meals with them, but that meanwhile he would +be glad if I would breakfast with him and his wife. This accordingly I +did. What his wife was like I have almost entirely forgotten, and I +only saw her once again. After breakfast he said I could go for a +walk, and for a walk I went; wandering about the dreary, intermingled +chaos of fields with damaged hedges, and new roads divided into +building plots. + +Meanwhile one or two of the boys had made their appearance, and I +therefore had my dinner with them. After dinner, as there was nothing +particular to do, I was again dismissed with them for a walk just as +the light of the winter afternoon was fading. My companions were +dejected, and so was I! The wind was south-easterly, cold, and raw, +and the smoke came up from the region about the river and shrouded all +the building plots in fog. I was now something more than depressed. +It was absolutely impossible to endure such a state of things any +longer, and I determined that, come what might, I would not stop. I +considered whether I should leave without saying a word--that is to +say, whether I should escape, but I feared pursuit and some unknown +legal proceedings. + +When I got home, therefore, I sought the principal, and informed him +that I felt so unwell that I was afraid I must throw up my engagement +at once. He naturally observed that this was a serious business for +him; that my decision was very hasty--what was the matter with me? I +might get better; but he concluded, after my reiterated asseverations +that I must go, with a permission to resign, only on one condition, +that I should obtain an equally efficient substitute at the same +salary. I was more agitated than ever. With my natural tendency to +believe the worst, I had not the least expectation of finding anybody +who would release me. + +The next morning I departed on my errand. I knew a poor student who +had been at college with me, and who had nothing to do, and to him I +betook myself. I strove--as even now I firmly believe--not to make the +situation seem any better than it was, and he consented to take it. I +have no clear recollection of anything that happened till the following +day, excepting that I remember with all the vividness of actual and +present sensuous perception lugging my box down the ladder and sending +for a cab. I was in a fever lest anything should arrest me, but the +cab came, and I departed. When I had got fairly clear of the gates, I +literally cried tears of joy--the first and the last of my life. I am +constrained now, however, to admit that my trouble was but a bubble +blown of air, and I doubt whether I have done any good by dwelling upon +it. + + + +CHAPTER IX--OXFORD STREET + + + +Until I had actually left, I hardly knew where I was going, but at last +I made up my mind I would go to Reuben Shapcott, another fellow- +student, whom I knew to be living in lodgings in one of the streets +just then beginning to creep over the unoccupied ground between Camden +Town and Haverstock Hill, near the Chalk Farm turnpike gate. To his +address I betook myself, and found him not at home. He, like me, had +been unsuccessful as a minister, and wrote a London letter for two +country papers, making up about 100 or 120 pounds a year by preaching +occasionally in small Unitarian chapels in the country. I waited till +his return, and told him my story. He advised me to take a bed in the +house where he was staying, and to consider what could be done. + +At first I thought I would consult Mardon, but I could not bring myself +to go near him. How was I to behave in Mary's presence? During the +last few months she had been so continually before me, that it would +have been absolutely impossible for me to treat her with assumed +indifference. I could not have trusted myself to attempt it. When I +had been lying alone and awake at night, I had thought of all the +endless miles of hill and valley that lay outside my window, separating +me from the one house in which I could be at peace; and at times I +scarcely prevented myself from getting up and taking the mail train and +presenting myself at Mardon's door, braving all consequences. With the +morning light, however, would come cooler thoughts and a dull sense of +impossibility. + +This, I know, was not pure love for her; it was a selfish passion for +relief. But then I have never known what is meant by a perfectly pure +love. When Christian was in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and, +being brought to the mouth of hell, was forced to put up his sword, and +could do no other than cry, O Lord, I beseech Thee, deliver my soul, he +heard a voice going before him and saying, Though I walk through the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear none ill, for Thou art with +me. And by and by the day broke. "Then," said Christian, "He hath +turned the Shadow of Death into morning. Whereupon Christian sang - + + +"Oh, world of wonders! (I can say no less) +That I should be preserved in that distress +That I have met with here! Oh, blessed be +That hand that from it hath delivered me!" + + +This was Christian's love for God, and for God as his helper. Was that +perfectly pure? However, this is a digression. I determined to help +myself in my own way, and thought I would try the publishers. One +morning I walked from Camden Town to Paternoster Row. I went +straightway into two or three shops and asked whether they wanted +anybody. I was ready to do the ordinary work it of a publisher's +assistant, and aspired no higher. I met with several refusals, some of +them not over-polite, and the degradation--for so I felt it--of +wandering through the streets and suing for employment cut me keenly. +I remember one man in particular, who spoke to me with the mechanical +brutality with which probably he replied to a score of similar +applications every week. He sat in a little glass box at the end of a +long dark room lighted with gas. It was a bitterly cold room, with no +contrivances for warming it, but in his box there was a fire burning +for his own special benefit. He surveyed all his clerks unceasingly, +and woe betide the unhappy wretch who was caught idling. He and his +slaves reminded me of a thrashing-machine which is worked by horses +walking round in a ring, the driver being perched on a high stool in +the middle and armed with a long whip. + +While I was waiting his pleasure he came out and spoke to one or two of +his miserable subordinates words of directest and sharpest rebuke, +without anger or the least loss of self-possession, and yet without the +least attempt to mitigate their severity. I meditated much upon him. +If ever I had occasion to rebuke anybody, I always did it +apologetically, unless I happened to be in a flaming passion--and this +was my habit, not from any respectable motive of consideration for the +person rebuked, but partly because I am timid, and partly because I +shrink from giving pain. This man said with perfect ease what I could +not have said unless I had been wrought up to white heat. With all my +dislike to him, I envied him: I envied his complete certainty; for +although his language was harsh in the extreme, he was always sure of +his ground, and the victim upon whom his lash descended could never say +that he had given absolutely no reason for the chastisement, and that +it was altogether a mistake. I envied also his ability to make himself +disagreeable and care nothing about it; his power to walk in his own +path, and his resolve to succeed, no matter what the cost might be. + +As I left him, it occurred to me that I might be more successful +perhaps with a publisher of whom I had heard, who published and sold +books of a sceptical turn. To him I accordingly went, and although I +had no introductions or recommendatory letters, I was received, if not +with a cordiality, at least with an interest which surprised me. He +took me into a little back shop, and after hearing patiently what I +wanted, he asked me somewhat abruptly what I thought of the miracles in +the Bible. This was a curious question if he wished to understand my +character; but his mind so constantly revolved in one circle, and +existed so completely by hostility to the prevailing orthodoxy, that +belief or disbelief in it was the standard by which he judged men. It +was a very absurd standard doubtless, but no more absurd than many +others, and not so absurd then as it would be now, when heresy is +becoming more fashionable. + +I explained to him as well as I could what my position was; that I did +not suppose that the miracles actually happened as they are recorded, +but that, generally speaking, the miracle was a very intense statement +of a divine truth; in fact, a truth which was felt with a more than +common intensity seemed to take naturally a miraculous expression. +Hence, so far from neglecting the miraculous stories of the Bible as +simply outside me, I rejoiced in them more, perhaps, than in the plain +historical or didactic prose. + +He seemed content, although hardly to comprehend, and the result was +that he asked me if I would help him in his business. In order to do +this, it would be more economical if I would live in his house, which +was too big for him. He promised to give me 40 pounds a year, in +addition to board and lodging. I joyously assented, and the bargain +was struck. + +The next day I came to my new quarters. I found that he was a +bachelor, with a niece, apparently about four or five and twenty years +old, acting as a housekeeper, who assisted him in literary work. My +own room was at the top of the house, warm, quiet, and comfortable, +although the view was nothing but a wide reaching assemblage of +chimney-pots. My hours were long--from nine in the morning till seven +in the evening; but this I did not mind. I felt that if I was not +happy, I was at least protected, and that I was with a man who cared +for me, and for whom I cared. The first day I went there, he said that +I could have a fire in my bedroom whenever I chose, so that I could +always retreat to it when I wished to be by myself. As for my duties, +I was to sell his books, keep his accounts, read proofs, run errands, +and in short do just what he did himself. + +After my first morning's work we went upstairs to dinner, and I was +introduced to "my niece Theresa." I was rather surprised that I should +have been admitted to a house in which there lived a young woman with +no mother nor aunt, but this surprise ceased when I came to know more +of Theresa and her uncle. She had yellowish hair which was naturally +waved, a big arched head, greyish-blue eyes, so far as I could make +out, and a mouth which, although it had curves in it, was compressed +and indicative of great force of character. She was rather short, with +square shoulders, and she had a singularly vigorous, firm walk. She +had a way, when she was not eating or drinking, of sitting back in her +chair at table and looking straight at the person with whom she was +talking. + +Her uncle, whom, by the way, I had forgotten to name--his name was +Wollaston--happened to know some popular preacher whom I knew, and I +said that I wondered so many people went to hear him, for I believed +him to be a hypocrite, and hypocrisy was one of the easiest of crimes +to discover. Theresa, who had hitherto been silent, and was reclining +in her usual attitude, instantly broke out with an emphasis and +directness which quite startled me. + +"The easiest to discover, do you think, Mr. Rutherford? I think it is +the most difficult, at least for ordinary persons; and when they do +discover it, I believe they like it, especially if it is successful. +They like the sanction it gives to their own hypocrisy. They like a +man to come to them who will say to them, 'We are all hypocrites +together,' and who will put his finger to his nose and comfort them. +Don't you think so yourself?" + +In conversation I was always a bad hand at assuming a position contrary +to the one assumed by the person to whom I might be talking--nor could +I persistently maintain my own position if it happened to be opposed. +I always rather tried to see as my opponent saw, and to discover how +much there was in him with which I could sympathise. I therefore +assented weakly to Theresa, and she seemed disappointed. Dinner was +just over; she got up and rang the bell and went out of the room. + +I found my work very hard, and some of it even loathsome. Particularly +loathsome was that part of it which brought me into contact with the +trade. I had to sell books to the booksellers' assistants, and I had +to collect books myself. These duties are usually undertaken in large +establishments by men specially trained, who receive a low rate of +wages and who are rather a rough set. It was totally different work to +anything I had ever had to do before, and I suffered as a man with soft +hands would suffer who was suddenly called to be a blacksmith or a +dock-labourer. + +Specially, too, did I miss the country. London lay round me like a +mausoleum. I got into the habit of rising very early in the morning +and walking out to Kensington Gardens and back before breakfast, +varying my route occasionally so as even to reach Battersea Bridge, +which was always a favourite spot with me. Kensington Gardens and +Battersea Bridge were poor substitutes for the downs, and for the level +stretch by the river towards the sea where I first saw Mardon, but we +make too much of circumstances, and the very pressure of London +produced a sensibility to whatever loveliness could be apprehended +there, which was absent when loveliness was always around me. The +stars seen in Oxford Street late one night; a sunset one summer evening +from Lambeth pier; and, above everything, Piccadilly very early one +summer morning, abide with me still, when much that was more romantic +has been forgotten. On the whole, I was not unhappy. The constant +outward occupation prevented any eating of the heart or undue brooding +over problems which were insoluble, at least for my intellect, and on +that very account fascinated me the more. + +I do not think that Wollaston cared much for me personally. He was a +curious compound, materialistic yet impulsive, and for ever drawn to +some new thing; without any love for anybody particularly, as far as I +could see, and yet with much more general kindness and philanthropy +than many a man possessing much stronger sympathies and antipathies. +There was no holy of holies in him, into which one or two of the elect +could occasionally be admitted and feel God to be there. He was no +temple, but rather a comfortable, hospitable house open to all friends, +well furnished with books and pictures, and free to every guest from +garret to cellar. He had "liberal" notions about the relationship +between the sexes. Not that he was a libertine, but he disbelieved in +marriage, excepting for so long as husband and wife are a necessity to +one another. If one should find the other uninteresting, or somebody +else more interesting, he thought there ought to be a separation. + +All this I soon learned from him, for he was communicative without any +reserve. His treatment of his niece was peculiar. He would talk on +all kinds of subjects before her, for he had a theory that she ought to +receive precisely the same social training as men, and should know just +what men knew. He was never coarse, but on the other hand he would say +things to her in my presence which brought a flame into my face. What +the evil consequences of this might be, I could not at once foresee, +but one good result obviously was, that in his house there was nothing +of that execrable practice of talking down to women; there was no +change of level when women were present. + +One day he began to speak about a novel which everybody was reading +then, and I happened to say that I wished people who wrote novels would +not write as if love were the very centre and sum of human existence. +A man's life was made up of so much besides love, and yet novelists +were never weary of repeating the same story, telling it over and over +again in a hundred different forms. + +"I do not agree with you," said Theresa. "I disagree with you utterly. +I dislike foolish, inane sentiment--it makes me sick; but I do believe, +in the first place, that no man was ever good for anything who has not +been devoured, I was going to say, by a great devotion to a woman. The +lives of your great men are as much the history of women whom they +adored as of themselves. Dante, Byron, Shelley, it is the same with +all of them, and there is no mistake about it; it is the great fact of +life. What would Shakespeare be without it? and Shakespeare is life. +A man, worthy to be named a man, will find the fact of love perpetually +confronting him till he reaches old age, and if he be not ruined by +worldliness or dissipation, will be troubled by it when he is fifty as +much as when he was twenty-five. It is the subject of all subjects. +People abuse love, and think it the cause of half the mischief in the +world. It is the one thing that keeps the world straight, and if it +were not for that overpowering instinct, human nature would fall +asunder; would be the prey of inconceivable selfishness and vices, and +finally, there would be universal suicide. I did not intend to be +eloquent: I hate being eloquent. But you did not mean what you said; +you spoke from the head or teeth merely." + +Theresa's little speech was delivered not with any heat of the blood. +There was no excitement in her grey eyes, nor did her cheek burn. Her +brain seemed to rule everything. This was an idea she had, and she +kindled over it because it was an idea. It was impossible, of course, +that she should say what she did without some movement of the organ in +her breast, but how much share this organ had in her utterances I never +could make out. How much was due to the interest which she as a +looker-on felt in men and women, and how much was due to herself as a +woman, was always a mystery to me. + +She was fond of music, and occasionally I asked her to play to me. She +had a great contempt for bungling, and not being a professional player, +she never would try a piece in my presence of which she was not +perfectly master. She particularly liked to play Mozart, and on my +asking her once to play a piece of Beethoven, she turned round upon me +and said: "You like Beethoven best. I knew you would. He encourages +a luxurious revelling in the incomprehensible and indefinably sublime. +He is not good for you." + +My work was so hard, and the hours were so long, that I had little or +no time for reading, nor for thinking either, except so far as +Wollaston and Theresa made me think. Wollaston himself took rather to +science, although he was not scientific, and made a good deal of what +he called psychology. He was not very profound, but he had picked up a +few phrases, or if this word is too harsh, a few ideas about +metaphysical matters from authors who contemned metaphysics, and with +these he was perfectly satisfied. A stranger listening to him would at +first consider him well read, but would soon be undeceived, and would +find that these ideas were acquired long ago; that he had never gone +behind or below them, and that they had never fructified in him, but +were like hard stones, which he rattled in his pocket. He was totally +unlike Mardon. Mardon, although he would have agreed with many of +Wollaston's results, differed entirely from him in the processes by +which they had been brought about; and a mental comparison of the two +often told me what I had been told over and over again, that what we +believe is not of so much importance as the path by which we travel to +it. + +Theresa too, like her uncle, eschewed metaphysics, but she was a woman, +and a woman's impulses supplied in her the lack of those deeper +questionings, and at times prompted them. She was far more original +than he was, and was impatient of the narrowness of the circle in which +he moved. Her love of music, for example, was a thing incomprehensible +to him, and I do not remember that he ever sat for a quarter of an hour +really listening to it. He would read the newspaper or do anything +while she was playing. She never resented his inattention, except when +he made a noise, and then, without any rebuke, she would break off and +go away. This mode of treatment was the outcome of one of her +theories. She disbelieved altogether in punishment, except when it was +likely to do good, either to the person punished or to others. "A good +deal of punishment," she used to say, "is mere useless pain." + +Both Theresa and her uncle were kind and human, and I endeavoured to my +utmost to repay them by working my hardest. My few hours of leisure +were sweet, and when I spent them with Wollaston and Theresa, were +interesting. I often asked myself why I found this mode of existence +more tolerable than any other I had hitherto enjoyed. I had, it is +true, an hour or two's unspeakable peace in the early morning, but, as +I have said, at nine my toil commenced, and, with a very brief interval +for meals, lasted till seven. After seven I was too tired to do +anything by myself, and could only keep awake if I happened to be in +company. + +One reason certainly why I was content, was Theresa herself. She was a +constant study to me, and I could not for a long time obtain any +consistent idea of her. She was not a this or a that or the other. +She could not be summarily dismissed into any ordinary classification. +At first I was sure she was hard, but I found by the merest accident +that nearly all her earnings were given with utmost secrecy to support +a couple of poor relatives. Then I thought her self-conscious, but +this, when I came to think upon it, seemed a mere word. She was one of +those women, and very rare they are, who deal in ideas, and +reflectiveness must be self-conscious. At times she appeared +passionless, so completely did her intellect dominate, and so superior +was she to all the little arts and weaknesses of women; but this was a +criticism she contradicted continually. + +There was very little society at the Wollastons', but occasionally a +few friends called. One evening there was a little party, and the +conversation flagged. Theresa said that it was a great mistake to +bring people together with nothing special to do but talk. Nothing is +more tedious than to be in a company assembled for no particular +reason, and every host, if he asks more than two persons at the +outside, ought to provide some entertainment. Talking is worth nothing +unless it is perfectly spontaneous, and it cannot be spontaneous if +there are sudden and blank silences, and nobody can think of a fresh +departure. The master of the house is bound to do something. He ought +to hire a Punch and Judy show, or get up a dance. + +This spice of bitterness and flavour of rudeness was altogether +characteristic of Theresa, and somebody resented it by reminding her +that SHE was the hostess. "Of course," she replied, "that is why I +said it: what shall I do?" One of her gifts was memory, and her +friends cried out at once that she should recite something. She +hesitated a little, and then throwing herself back in her chair, began +The Lass of Lochroyan. At first she was rather diffident, but she +gathered strength as she went on. There is a passage in the middle of +the poem in which Lord Gregory's cruel mother pretends she is Lord +Gregory, and refuses to recognise his former love, Annie of Lochroyan, +as she stands outside his tower. The mother calls to Annie from the +inside - + + +"Gin thou be Annie of Lochroyan + (As I trow thou binna she), +Now tell me some of the love tokens + That passed between thee and me." + +"Oh, dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory, + As we sat at the wine, +We changed the rings frae our fingers, + And I can show thee thine? + +"Oh, yours was gude, and gude enough, + But aye the best was mine; +For yours was o' the gude red gowd, + BUT MINE O' THE DIAMOND FINE." + + +The last verse is as noble as anything in any ballad in the English +language, and I thought that when Theresa was half way through it her +voice shook a good deal. There was a glass of flowers standing near +her, and just as she came to an end her arm moved and the glass was in +a moment on the floor, shivered into twenty pieces. I happened to be +watching her, and felt perfectly sure that the movement of her arm was +not accidental, and that her intention was to conceal, by the apparent +mishap, an emotion which was increasing and becoming inconvenient. At +any rate, if that was her object it was perfectly accomplished, for the +recitation was abruptly terminated, there was general commiseration +over the shattered vase, and when the pieces were picked up. and order +was restored, it was nearly time to separate. + +Two of my chief failings were forgetfulness and a want of thoroughness +in investigation. What misery have I not suffered from insufficient +presentation of a case to myself, and from prompt conviction of +insufficiency and inaccuracy by the person to whom I in turn presented +it! What misery have I not suffered from the discovery that explicit +directions to me had been overlooked or only half understood! + +One day in particular, I had to take round a book to be "subscribed" +which Wollaston had just published--that is to say, I had to take a +copy to each of the leading booksellers to see how many they would +purchase. Some books are sold "thirteen as twelve," the thirteenth +book being given to the purchaser of twelve, and some are sold "twenty- +five as twenty-four." This book was to be sold "twenty-five as twenty- +four," according to Wollaston's orders. I subscribed it thirteen as +twelve. Wollaston was annoyed, as I could see, for I had to go over +all my work again, but in accordance with his fixed principles, he was +not out of temper. + +It so happened that that same day he gave me some business +correspondence which I was to look through; and having looked through +it, I was to answer the last letter in the sense which he indicated. I +read the correspondence and wrote the letter for his signature. As +soon as he saw it, he pointed out to me that I had only half mastered +the facts, and that my letter was all wrong. This greatly disturbed +me, not only because I had vexed him and disappointed him, but because +it was renewed evidence of my weakness. I thought that if I was +incapable of getting to the bottom of such a very shallow complication +as this, of what value were any of my thinkings on more difficult +subjects, and I fell a prey to self-contempt and scepticism. Contempt +from those about us is hard to bear, but God help the poor wretch who +contemns himself. + +How well I recollect the early walk on the following morning in +Kensington Gardens, the feeling of my own utter worthlessness, and the +longing for death as the cancellation of the blunder of my existence! +I went home, and after breakfast some proofs came from the printer of a +pamphlet which Wollaston had in hand. Without unfastening them, he +gave them to me, and said that as he had no time to read them himself, +I must go upstairs to Theresa's study and read them off with her. +Accordingly I went and began to read. She took the manuscript and I +took the proof. She read about a page, and then she suddenly stopped. +"Oh, Mr. Rutherford," she said, it, "what have you done? I heard my +uncle distinctly tell you to mark on the manuscript when it went to the +printer, that it was to be printed in demy octavo, and you have marked +it twelvemo." + +I had had little sleep that night, I was exhausted with my early walk, +and suddenly the room seemed to fade from me and I fainted. When I +came to myself, I found that Theresa had not sought for any help; she +had done all that ought to be done. She had unfastened my collar and +had sponged my face with cold water. The first thing I saw as I +gradually recovered myself, was her eyes looking steadily at me as she +stood over me, and I felt her hand upon my head. When she was sure I +was coming to myself, she held off and sat down in her chair. + +I was a little hysterical, and after the fit was over I broke loose. +With a storm of tears, I laid open all my heart. I told her how +nothing I had ever attempted had succeeded; that I had never even been +able to attain that degree of satisfaction with myself and my own +conclusions, without which a man cannot live; and that now I found I +was useless, even to the best friends I had ever known, and that the +meanest clerk in the city would serve them better than I did. I was +beside myself, and I threw myself on my knees, burying my face in +Theresa's lap and sobbing convulsively. She did not repel me, but she +gently passed her fingers through my hair. Oh, the transport of that +touch! It was as if water had been poured on a burnt hand, or some +miraculous Messiah had soothed the delirium of a fever-stricken +sufferer, and replaced his visions of torment with dreams of Paradise. + +She gently lifted me up, and as I rose I saw her eyes too were wet. +"My poor friend," she said, "I cannot talk to you now. You are not +strong enough, and for that matter, nor am I, but let me say this to +you, that you are altogether mistaken about yourself. The meanest +clerk in the city could not take your place here." There was just a +slight emphasis I thought upon the word "here." "Now" she said, "you +had better go. I will see about the pamphlet." + +I went out mechanically, and I anticipate my story so far as to say +that, two days after, another proof came in the proper form. I went to +the printer to offer to pay for setting it up afresh, and was told that +Miss Wollaston had been there and had paid herself for the +rectification of the mistake, giving special injunctions that no notice +of it was to be given to her uncle. I should like to add one more +beatitude to those of the gospels and to say, Blessed are they who heal +us of self-despisings. Of all services which can be done to man, I +know of none more precious. + +When I went back to my work I worshipped Theresa, and was entirely +overcome with unhesitating, absorbing love for her. I saw no thing +more of her that day nor the next day. Her uncle told me that she had +gone into the country, and that probably she would not return for some +time, as she had purposed paying a lengthened visit to a friend at a +distance. I had a mind to write to her; but I felt as I have often +felt before in great crises, a restraint which was gentle and +incomprehensible, but nevertheless unmistakable. I suppose it is not +what would be called conscience, as conscience is supposed to decide +solely between right and wrong, but it was none the less peremptory, +although its voice was so soft and low that it might easily have been +overlooked. Over and over again, when I have purposed doing a thing, +have I been impeded or arrested by this same silent monitor, and never +have I known its warnings to be the mere false alarms of fancy. + +After a time, the thought of Mary recurred to me. I was distressed to +find that, in the very height of my love for Theresa, my love for Mary +continued unabated. Had it been otherwise, had my affection for Mary +grown dim, I should not have been so much perplexed, but it did not. +It may be ignominious to confess it, but so it was; I simply record the +fact. + +I had not seen Mardon since that last memorable evening at his house, +but one day as I was sitting in the shop, who should walk it in but +Mary herself. The meeting, although strange, was easily explained. +Her father was ill, and could do nothing but read. Wollaston published +free-thinking books, and Mardon had noticed in an advertisement the +name of a book which he particularly wished to see. Accordingly he +sent Mary for it. She pressed me very much to call on him. He had +talked about me a good deal, and had written to me at the last address +he knew, but the letter had been returned through the dead-letter +office. + +It was a week before I could go, and when did go, I found him much +worse than I had imagined him to be. There was no virulent disease of +any particular organ, but he was slowly wasting away from atrophy, and +he knew, or thought he knew, he should not recover. But he was +perfectly self-possessed. + +"With regard to immortality," he said, "I never know what men mean by +it. WHAT self is it which is to be immortal? Is it really desired by +anybody that he should continue to exist for ever with his present +limitations and failings? Yet if these are not continued, the man does +not continue, but something else, a totally different person. I +believe in the survival of life and thought. People think is not +enough. They say they want the survival of their personality. It is +very difficult to express any conjecture upon the matter, especially +now when I am weak, and I have no system--nothing but surmises. One +thing I am sure of--that a man ought to rid himself as much as possible +of the miserable egotism which is so anxious about self, and should be +more and more anxious about the Universal." + +Mardon grew slowly worse. The winter was coming on, and as the +temperature fell and the days grew darker, he declined. With all his +heroism and hardness he had a weakness or two, and one was, that he did +not want to die in London or be buried there. So we got him down to +Sandgate near Hythe, and procured lodging for him close to the sea, so +that he could lie in bed and watch the sun and moon rise over the +water. Mary, of course, remained with him, and I returned to London. + +Towards the end of November I got a letter, to tell me that if I wished +to see him alive again, I must go down at once. I went that day, and I +found that the doctor had been and had said that before the morning the +end must come. Mardon was perfectly conscious, in no pain, and quite +calm. He was just able to speak. When I went into his bedroom, he +smiled, and without any preface or introduction he said: "Learn not to +be over-anxious about meeting troubles and solving difficulties which +time will meet and solve for you." Excepting to ask for water, I don't +think he spoke again. + +All that night Mary and I watched in that topmost garret looking out +over the ocean. It was a night entirely unclouded, and the moon was at +the full. Towards daybreak her father moaned a little, then became +quite quiet, and just as the dawn was changing to sunrise, he passed +away. What a sunrise it was! For about half-an-hour before the sun +actually appeared, the perfectly smooth water was one mass of gently +heaving opaline lustre. Not a sound was to be heard, and over in the +south-east hung the planet Venus. Death was in the chamber, but the +surpassing splendour of the pageant outside arrested us, and we sat +awed and silent. Not till the first burning-point of the great orb +itself emerged above the horizon, not till the day awoke with its +brightness and brought with it the sounds of the day and its cares, did +we give way to our grief. + +It was impossible for me to stay. It was not that I was obliged to get +back to my work in London, but I felt that Mary would far rather be +alone, and that it would not be proper for me to remain. The woman of +the house in which the lodgings were was very kind, and promised to do +all that was necessary. It was arranged that I should come down again +to the funeral. + +So I went back to London. Before I had got twenty miles on my journey +the glory of a few hours had turned into autumn storm. The rain came +down in torrents, and the wind rushed across the country in great +blasts, stripping the trees, and driving over the sky with hurricane +speed great masses of continuous cloud, which mingled earth and heaven. +I thought of all the ships which were on the sea in the night, sailing +under the serene stars which I had seen rise and set; I thought of +Mardon lying dead, and I thought of Mary. The simultaneous passage +through great emotions welds souls, and begets the strongest of all +forms of love. Those who have sobbed together over a dead friend, who +have held one another's hands in that dread hour, feel a bond of +sympathy, pure and sacred, which nothing can dissolve. + +I went to the funeral as appointed. There was some little difficulty +about it, for Mary, who knew her father so well, was unconquerably +reluctant that an inconsistency should crown the career of one who, all +through life, had been so completely self-accordant. She could not +bear that he should be buried with a ceremony which he despised, and +she was altogether free from that weakness which induces a compliance +with the rites of the Church from persons who avow themselves sceptics. + +At last a burying-ground was found, belonging to a little half-forsaken +Unitarian chapel; and there Mardon was laid. A few friends came from +London, one of whom had been a Unitarian minister, and he "conducted +the service," such as it was. It was of the simplest kind. The body +was taken to the side of the grave, and before it was lowered a few +words were said, calling to mind all the virtues of him whom we had +lost. These the speaker presented to us with much power and sympathy. +He did not merely catalogue a disconnected string of excellences, but +he seemed to plant himself in the central point of Mardon's nature, and +to see from what it radiated. + +He then passed on to say that about immortality, as usually understood, +he knew nothing; but that Mardon would live as every force in nature +lives--for ever; transmuted into a thousand different forms; the +original form utterly forgotten, but never perishing. The cloud breaks +up and comes down upon the earth in showers which cease, but the clouds +and the showers are really undying. This may be true,--but, after all, +I can only accept the fact of death in silence, as we accept the loss +of youth and all other calamities. We are able to see that the +arrangements which we should make, if we had the control of the +universe, would be more absurd than those which prevail now. We are +able to see that an eternity of life in one particular form, with one +particular set of relationships, would be misery to many and +mischievous to everybody, however sweet those relationships may be to +some of us. At times we are reconciled to death as the great +regenerator, and we pine for escape from the surroundings of which we +have grown weary; but we can say no more, and the hour of illumination +has not yet come. Whether it ever will come to a more nobly developed +race we cannot tell. + + +Thus far goes the manuscript which I have in my possession. I know +that there is more of it, but all my search for it has been in vain. +Possibly some day I may be able to recover it. My friend discontinued +his notes for some years, and consequently the concluding portion of +them was entirely separate from the earlier portion, and this is the +reason, I suppose, why it is missing. + +Miss Mardon soon followed her father. She caught cold at his funeral; +the seeds of consumption developed themselves with remarkable rapidity, +and in less than a month she had gone. Her father's peculiar habits +had greatly isolated him, and Miss Mardon had scarcely any friends. +Rutherford went to see her continually, and during the last few nights +sat up with her, incurring not a little scandal and gossip, to which he +was entirely insensible. + +For a time he was utterly broken-hearted; and not only broken-hearted, +but broken-spirited, and incapable of attacking the least difficulty. +All the springs of his nature were softened, so that if anything was +cast upon him, there it remained without hope, and without any effort +being made to remove it. He only began to recover when he was forced +to give up work altogether and take a long holiday. To do this he was +obliged to leave Mr. Wollaston, and the means of obtaining his much- +needed rest were afforded him, partly by what he had saved, and partly +by the kindness of one or two whom he had known. + +I thought that Miss Mardon's death would permanently increase my +friend's intellectual despondency, but it did not. On the contrary, he +gradually grew out of it. A crisis seemed to take a turn just then, +and he became less involved in his old speculations, and more devoted +to other pursuits. I fancy that something happened; there was some +word revealed to him, or there was some recoil, some healthy horror of +eclipse in this self-created gloom which drove him out of it. + +He accidentally renewed his acquaintance with the butterfly-catcher, +who was obliged to leave the country and come up to London. He, +however, did not give up his old hobby, and the two friends used every +Sunday in summer time to sally forth some distance from town and spend +the whole live-long day upon the downs and in the green lanes of +Surrey. Both of them had to work hard during the week. Rutherford, +who had learned shorthand when he was young, got employment upon a +newspaper, and ultimately a seat in the gallery of the House of +Commons. He never took to collecting insects like his companion, nor +indeed to any scientific pursuits, but he certainly changed. + +I find it very difficult to describe exactly what the change was, +because it was into nothing positive; into no sect, party, nor special +mode. He did not, for example, go off into absolute denial. I +remember his telling me, that to suppress speculation would be a +violence done to our nature as unnatural as if we were to prohibit +ourselves from looking up to the blue depths between the stars at +night; as if we were to determine that nature required correcting in +this respect, and that we ought to be so constructed as not to be able +to see anything but the earth and what lies on it. Still, these things +in a measure ceased to worry him, and the long conflict died away +gradually into a peace not formally concluded, and with no specific +stipulations, but nevertheless definite. He was content to rest and +wait. Better health and time, which does so much for us, brought this +about. The passage of years gradually relaxed his anxiety about death +by loosening his anxiety for life without loosening his love of life. + +But I would rather not go into any further details, because I still +cherish the hope that some day or the other I may recover the contents +of the diary. I am afraid that up to this point he has misrepresented +himself, and that those who read his story will think him nothing but a +mere egoist, selfish and self-absorbed. Morbid he may have been, but +selfish he was not. A more perfect friend I never knew, nor one more +capable of complete abandonment to a person for whom he had any real +regard, and I can only hope that it may be my good fortune to find the +materials which will enable me to represent him autobiographically in a +somewhat different light to that in which he appears now. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford + diff --git a/old/mrkrt10.zip b/old/mrkrt10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7556d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mrkrt10.zip |