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diff --git a/38312.txt b/38312.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a5b0a73 --- /dev/null +++ b/38312.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1386 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke + +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 Mansion + +Author: Henry Van Dyke + +Illustrator: Elizabeth Shippen Green + +Release Date: December 15, 2011 [EBook #38312] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANSION *** + + + + +Produced by Jen Haines, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + + + + + The Mansion + + [Illustration: [See page 57 "BUT HOW HAVE I FAILED SO WRETCHEDLY?"] + + + + + THE MANSION + + BY + HENRY VAN DYKE + + WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY + ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN + + [Illustration] + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + NEW YORK AND LONDON . M . C . M . X . I + + + COPYRIGHT 1910, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS + + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1911 + + + + +[Illustration] + +The Mansion + + +There was an air of calm and reserved opulence about the Weightman +mansion that spoke not of money squandered, but of wealth prudently +applied. Standing on a corner of the Avenue no longer fashionable for +residence, it looked upon the swelling tide of business with an +expression of complacency and half-disdain. + +The house was not beautiful. There was nothing in its straight front +of chocolate-colored stone, its heavy cornices, its broad, staring +windows of plate glass, its carved and bronze-bedecked mahogany doors +at the top of the wide stoop, to charm the eye or fascinate the +imagination. But it was eminently respectable, and in its way +imposing. It seemed to say that the glittering shops of the jewelers, +the milliners, the confectioners, the florists, the picture-dealers, +the furriers, the makers of rare and costly antiquities, retail +traders in luxuries of life, were beneath the notice of a house that +had its foundations in the high finance, and was built literally and +figuratively in the shadow of St. Petronius' Church. + +At the same time there was something self-pleased and congratulatory +in the way in which the mansion held its own amid the changing +neighborhood. It almost seemed to be lifted up a little, among the +tall buildings near at hand, as if it felt the rising value of the +land on which it stood. + +John Weightman was like the house into which he had built himself +thirty years ago, and in which his ideals and ambitions were +incrusted. He was a self-made man. But in making himself he had chosen +a highly esteemed pattern and worked according to the approved rules. +There was nothing irregular, questionable, flamboyant about him. He +was solid, correct, and justly successful. + +His minor tastes, of course, had been carefully kept up to date. At +the proper time, pictures by the Barbizon masters, old English plate +and portraits, bronzes by Barye and marbles by Rodin, Persian carpets +and Chinese porcelains, had been introduced to the mansion. It +contained a Louis Quinze reception-room, an Empire drawing-room, a +Jacobean dining-room, and various apartments dimly reminiscent of the +styles of furniture affected by deceased monarchs. That the hallways +were too short for the historic perspective did not make much +difference. American decorative art is _capable de tout_, it absorbs +all periods. Of each period Mr. Weightman wished to have something of +the best. He understood its value, present as a certificate, and +prospective as an investment. + +It was only in the architecture of his town house that he remained +conservative, immovable, one might almost say Early-Victorian-Christian. +His country house at Dulwich-on-the-Sound was a palace of the Italian +Renaissance. But in town he adhered to an architecture which had moral +associations, the Nineteenth-Century-Brownstone epoch. It was a symbol +of his social position, his religious doctrine, and even, in a way, +of his business creed. + +"A man of fixed principles," he would say, "should express them in the +looks of his house. New York changes its domestic architecture too +rapidly. It is like divorce. It is not dignified. I don't like it. +Extravagance and fickleness are advertised in most of these new +houses. I wish to be known for different qualities. Dignity and +prudence are the things that people trust. Every one knows that I can +afford to live in the house that suits me. It is a guarantee to the +public. It inspires confidence. It helps my influence. There is a text +in the Bible about 'a house that hath foundations.' That is the proper +kind of a mansion for a solid man." + +Harold Weightman had often listened to his father discoursing in this +fashion on the fundamental principles of life, and always with a +divided mind. He admired immensely his father's talents and the +single-minded energy with which he improved them. But in the paternal +philosophy there was something that disquieted and oppressed the young +man, and made him gasp inwardly for fresh air and free action. + +At times, during his college course and his years at the law school, +he had yielded to this impulse and broken away--now toward +extravagance and dissipation, and then, when the reaction came, toward +a romantic devotion to work among the poor. He had felt his father's +disapproval for both of these forms of imprudence; but it was never +expressed in a harsh or violent way, always with a certain tolerant +patience, such as one might show for the mistakes and vagaries of the +very young. John Weightman was not hasty, impulsive, inconsiderate, +even toward his own children. With them, as with the rest of the +world, he felt that he had a reputation to maintain, a theory to +vindicate. He could afford to give them time to see that he was +absolutely right. + +One of his favorite Scripture quotations was, "Wait on the Lord." He +had applied it to real estate and to people, with profitable results. + +But to human persons the sensation of being waited for is not always +agreeable. Sometimes, especially with the young, it produces a vague +restlessness, a dumb resentment, which is increased by the fact that +one can hardly explain or justify it. Of this John Weightman was not +conscious. It lay beyond his horizon. He did not take it into account +in the plan of life which he made for himself and for his family as +the sharers and inheritors of his success. + +"Father plays us," said Harold, in a moment of irritation, to his +mother, "like pieces in a game of chess." + +"My dear," said that lady, whose faith in her husband was religious, +"you ought not to speak so impatiently. At least he wins the game. He +is one of the most respected men in New York. And he is very generous, +too." + +"I wish he would be more generous in letting us be ourselves," said +the young man. "He always has something in view for us and expects to +move us up to it." + +"But isn't it always for our benefit?" replied his mother. "Look what +a position we have. No one can say there is any taint on our money. +There are no rumors about your father. He has kept the laws of God and +of man. He has never made any mistakes." + +Harold got up from his chair and poked the fire. Then he came back to +the ample, well-gowned, firm-looking lady, and sat beside her on the +sofa. He took her hand gently and looked at the two rings--a thin +band of yellow gold, and a small solitaire diamond--which kept their +place on her third finger in modest dignity, as if not shamed, but +rather justified, by the splendor of the emerald which glittered +beside them. + +"Mother," he said, "you have a wonderful hand. And father made no +mistake when he won you. But are you sure he has always been so +inerrant?" + +"Harold," she exclaimed, a little stiffly, "what do you mean? His life +is an open book." + +"Oh," he answered, "I don't mean anything bad, mother dear. I know the +governor's life is an open book--a ledger, if you like, kept in the +best bookkeeping hand, and always ready for inspection--every page +correct, and showing a handsome balance. But isn't it a mistake not to +allow us to make our own mistakes, to learn for ourselves, to live +our own lives? Must we be always working for 'the balance,' in one +thing or another? I want to be myself--to get outside of this +everlasting, profitable 'plan'--to let myself go, and lose myself for +a while at least--to do the things that I want to do, just because I +want to do them." + +"My boy," said his mother, anxiously, "you are not going to do +anything wrong or foolish? You know the falsehood of that old proverb +about wild oats." + +He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, mother," he answered, "I +know it well enough. But in California, you know, the wild oats are +one of the most valuable crops. They grow all over the hillsides and +keep the cattle and the horses alive. But that wasn't what I meant--to +sow wild oats. Say to pick wild flowers, if you like, or even to chase +wild geese--to do something that seems good to me just for its own +sake, not for the sake of wages of one kind or another. I feel like a +hired man, in the service of this magnificent mansion--say in training +for father's place as majordomo. I'd like to get out some way, to feel +free--perhaps to do something for others." + +The young man's voice hesitated a little. "Yes, it sounds like cant, I +know, but sometimes I feel as if I'd like to do some good in the +world, if father only wouldn't insist upon God's putting it into the +ledger." + +His mother moved uneasily, and a slight look of bewilderment came into +her face. + +"Isn't that almost irreverent?" she asked. "Surely the righteous must +have their reward. And your father is good. See how much he gives to +all the established charities, how many things he has founded. He's +always thinking of others, and planning for them. And surely, for +us, he does everything. How well he has planned this trip to Europe +for me and the girls--the court-presentation at Berlin, the season +on the Riviera, the visits in England with the Plumptons and the +Halverstones. He says Lord Halverstone has the finest old house +in Sussex, pure Elizabethan, and all the old customs are kept up, +too--family prayers every morning for all the domestics. By-the-way, +you know his son Bertie, I believe." + +Harold smiled a little to himself as he answered: "Yes, I fished at +Catalina Island last June with the Honorable Ethelbert; he's rather a +decent chap, in spite of his ingrowing mind. But you?--mother, you are +simply magnificent! You are father's masterpiece." The young man +leaned over to kiss her, and went up to the Riding Club for his +afternoon canter in the Park. + +So it came to pass, early in December, that Mrs. Weightman and her two +daughters sailed for Europe, on their serious pleasure trip, even as +it had been written in the book of Providence; and John Weightman, who +had made the entry, was left to pass the rest of the winter with his +son and heir in the brownstone mansion. + +They were comfortable enough. The machinery of the massive establishment +ran as smoothly as a great electric dynamo. They were busy enough, too. +John Weightman's plans and enterprises were complicated, though his +principle of action was always simple--to get good value for every +expenditure and effort. The banking-house of which he was the chief, +the brain, the will, the absolutely controlling hand, was so admirably +organized that the details of its direction took but little time. But +the scores of other interests that radiated from it and were dependent +upon it--or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, that contributed +to its solidity and success--the many investments, industrial, +political, benevolent, reformatory, ecclesiastical, that had made +the name of Weightman well known and potent in city, church, and +state, demanded much attention and careful steering, in order that +each might produce the desired result. There were board meetings of +corporations and hospitals, conferences in Wall Street and at Albany, +consultations and committee meetings in the brownstone mansion. + +For a share in all this business and its adjuncts John Weightman had +his son in training in one of the famous law firms of the city; for he +held that banking itself is a simple affair, the only real difficulties +of finance are on its legal side. Meantime he wished the young man to +meet and know the men with whom he would have to deal when he became a +partner in the house. So a couple of dinners were given in the mansion +during December, after which the father called the son's attention to +the fact that over a hundred million dollars had sat around the board. + +But on Christmas Eve father and son were dining together without +guests, and their talk across the broad table, glittering with silver +and cut glass, and softly lit by shaded candles, was intimate, though +a little slow at times. The elder man was in rather a rare mood, more +expansive and confidential than usual; and, when the coffee was brought +in and they were left alone, he talked more freely of his personal +plans and hopes than he had ever done before. + +"I feel very grateful to-night," said he, at last; "it must be +something in the air of Christmas that gives me this feeling of +thankfulness for the many divine mercies that have been bestowed upon +me. All the principles by which I have tried to guide my life have +been justified. I have never made the value of this salted almond by +anything that the courts would not uphold, at least in the long run, +and yet--or wouldn't it be truer to say and therefore?--my affairs +have been wonderfully prospered. There's a great deal in that text +'Honesty is the best'--but no, that's not from the Bible, after all, +is it? Wait a moment; there is something of that kind, I know." + +"May I light a cigar, father," said Harold, turning away to hide a +smile, "while you are remembering the text?" + +"Yes, certainly," answered the elder man, rather shortly; "you know I +don't dislike the smell. But it is a wasteful, useless habit, and +therefore I have never practised it. Nothing useless is worth while, +that's my motto--nothing that does not bring the reward. Oh, now I +recall the text, 'Verily I say unto you they have their reward.' I +shall ask Doctor Snodgrass to preach a sermon on that verse some day." + +"Using you as an illustration?" + +"Well, not exactly that; but I could give him some good material from +my own experience to prove the truth of Scripture. I can honestly say +that there is not one of my charities that has not brought me in a +good return, either in the increase of influence, the building up of +credit, or the association with substantial people. Of course you have +to be careful how you give, in order to secure the best results--no +indiscriminate giving--no pennies in beggars' hats! It has been one of +my principles always to use the same kind of judgment in charities +that I use in my other affairs, and they have not disappointed me." + +"Even the check that you put in the plate when you take the offertory +up the aisle on Sunday morning?" + +"Certainly; though there the influence is less direct; and I must +confess that I have my doubts in regard to the collection for Foreign +Missions. That always seems to me romantic and wasteful. You never +hear from it in any definite way. They say the missionaries have done +a good deal to open the way for trade; perhaps--but they have also +gotten us into commercial and political difficulties. Yet I give to +them--a little--it is a matter of conscience with me to identify +myself with all the enterprises of the Church; it is the mainstay of +social order and a prosperous civilization. But the best forms of +benevolence are the well-established, organized ones here at home, +where people can see them and know what they are doing." + +"You mean the ones that have a local habitation and a name." + +"Yes; they offer by far the safest return, though of course there is +something gained by contributing to general funds. A public man can't +afford to be without public spirit. But on the whole I prefer a +building, or an endowment. There is a mutual advantage to a good name +and a good institution in their connection in the public mind. It +helps them both. Remember that, my boy. Of course at the beginning you +will have to practise it in a small way; later, you will have larger +opportunities. But try to put your gifts where they can be identified +and do good all around. You'll see the wisdom of it in the long run." + +"I can see it already, sir, and the way you describe it looks +amazingly wise and prudent. In other words, we must cast our bread on +the waters in large loaves, carried by sound ships marked with the +owner's name, so that the return freight will be sure to come back to +us." + +The father laughed, but his eyes were frowning a little as if he +suspected something irreverent under the respectful reply. + +"You put it humorously, but there's sense in what you say. Why not? +God rules the sea; but He expects us to follow the laws of navigation +and commerce. Why not take good care of your bread, even when you give +it away?" + +"It's not for me to say why not--and yet I can think of cases--" The +young man hesitated for a moment. His half-finished cigar had gone +out. He rose and tossed it into the fire, in front of which he +remained standing--a slender, eager, restless young figure, with a +touch of hunger in the fine face, strangely like and unlike the +father, at whom he looked with half-wistful curiosity. + +"The fact is, sir," he continued, "there is such a case in my mind +now, and it is a good deal on my heart, too. So I thought of speaking +to you about it to-night. You remember Tom Rollins, the Junior who was +so good to me when I entered college?" + +The father nodded. He remembered very well indeed the annoying +incidents of his son's first escapade, and how Rollins had stood by +him and helped to avoid a public disgrace, and how a close friendship +had grown between the two boys, so different in their fortunes. + +"Yes," he said, "I remember him. He was a promising young man. Has he +succeeded?" + +"Not exactly--that is, not yet. His business has been going rather +badly. He has a wife and little baby, you know. And now he has broken +down,--something wrong with his lungs. The doctor says his only chance +is a year or eighteen months in Colorado. I wish we could help him." + +"How much would it cost?" + +"Three or four thousand, perhaps, as a loan." + +"Does the doctor say he will get well?" + +"A fighting chance--the doctor says." + +The face of the older man changed subtly. Not a line was altered, but +it seemed to have a different substance, as if it were carved out of +some firm, imperishable stuff. + +"A fighting chance," he said, "may do for a speculation, but it is not +a good investment. You owe something to young Rollins. Your grateful +feeling does you credit. But don't overwork it. Send him three or four +hundred, if you like. You'll never hear from it again, except in the +letter of thanks. But for Heaven's sake don't be sentimental. +Religion is not a matter of sentiment; it's a matter of principle." + +[Illustration: "It is not a good investment"] + +The face of the younger man changed now. But instead of becoming fixed +and graven, it seemed to melt into life by the heat of an inward fire. +His nostrils quivered with quick breath, his lips were curled. + +"Principle!" he said. "You mean principal--and interest too. Well, +sir, you know best whether that is religion or not. But if it is, +count me out, please. Tom saved me from going to the devil, six years +ago; and I'll be damned if I don't help him to the best of my ability +now." + +John Weightman looked at his son steadily. "Harold," he said at last, +"you know I dislike violent language, and it never has any influence +with me. If I could honestly approve of this proposition of yours, I'd +let you have the money; but I can't; it's extravagant and useless. But +you have your Christmas check for a thousand dollars coming to you +to-morrow. You can use it as you please. I never interfere with your +private affairs." + +"Thank you," said Harold. "Thank you very much! But there's another +private affair. I want to get away from this life, this town, this +house. It stifles me. You refused last summer when I asked you to let +me go up to Grenfell's Mission on the Labrador. I could go now, at +least as far as the Newfoundland Station. Have you changed your mind?" + +"Not at all. I think it is an exceedingly foolish enterprise. It would +interrupt the career that I have marked out for you." + +"Well, then, here's a cheaper proposition. Algy Vanderhoof wants me to +join him on his yacht with--well, with a little party--to cruise in +the West Indies. Would you prefer that?" + +"Certainly not! The Vanderhoof set is wild and godless--I do not wish +to see you keeping company with fools who walk in the broad and easy +way that leads to perdition." + +"It is rather a hard choice," said the young man, with a short laugh, +turning toward the door. "According to you there's very little +difference--a fool's paradise or a fool's hell! Well, it's one or the +other for me, and I'll toss up for it to-night: heads, I lose; tails, +the devil wins. Anyway, I'm sick of this, and I'm out of it." + +"Harold," said the older man (and there was a slight tremor in his +voice), "don't let us quarrel on Christmas Eve. All I want is to +persuade you to think seriously of the duties and responsibilities +to which God has called you--don't speak lightly of heaven and +hell--remember, there is another life." + +The young man came back and laid his hand upon his father's shoulder. + +"Father," he said, "I want to remember it. I try to believe in it. But +somehow or other, in this house, it all seems unreal to me. No doubt +all you say is perfectly right and wise. I don't venture to argue +against it, but I can't feel it--that's all. If I'm to have a soul, +either to lose or to save, I must really live. Just now neither the +present nor the future means anything to me. But surely we won't +quarrel. I'm very grateful to you, and we'll part friends. Good-night, +sir." + +The father held out his hand in silence. The heavy portiere dropped +noiselessly behind the son, and he went up the wide, curving stairway +to his own room. + +Meantime John Weightman sat in his carved chair in the Jacobean +dining-room. He felt strangely old and dull. The portraits of +beautiful women by Lawrence and Reynolds and Raeburn, which had often +seemed like real company to him, looked remote and uninteresting. He +fancied something cold and almost unfriendly in their expression, as +if they were staring through him or beyond him. They cared nothing for +his principles, his hopes, his disappointments, his successes; they +belonged to another world, in which he had no place. At this he felt +a vague resentment, a sense of discomfort that he could not have +defined or explained. He was used to being considered, respected, +appreciated at his full value in every region, even in that of his own +dreams. + +Presently he rang for the butler, telling him to close the house and +not to sit up, and walked with lagging steps into the long library, +where the shaded lamps were burning. His eye fell upon the low shelves +full of costly books, but he had no desire to open them. Even the +carefully chosen pictures that hung above them seemed to have lost +their attraction. He paused for a moment before an idyll of Corot--a +dance of nymphs around some forgotten altar in a vaporous glade--and +looked at it curiously. There was something rapturous and serene about +the picture, a breath of spring-time in the misty trees, a harmony +of joy in the dancing figures, that wakened in him a feeling of +half-pleasure and half-envy. It represented something that he had +never known in his calculated, orderly life. He was dimly mistrustful +of it. + +"It is certainly very beautiful," he thought, "but it is distinctly +pagan; that altar is built to some heathen god. It does not fit into +the scheme of a Christian life. I doubt whether it is consistent with +the tone of my house. I will sell it this winter. It will bring three +or four times what I paid for it. That was a good purchase, a very +good bargain." + +He dropped into the revolving chair before his big library table. +It was covered with pamphlets and reports of the various enterprises +in which he was interested. There was a pile of newspaper clippings +in which his name was mentioned with praise for his sustaining power +as a pillar of finance, for his judicious benevolence, for his +support of wise and prudent reform movements, for his discretion +in making permanent public gifts--"the Weightman Charities," one very +complaisant editor called them, as if they deserved classification as +a distinct species. + +He turned the papers over listlessly. There was a description and a +picture of the "Weightman Wing of the Hospital for Cripples," of +which he was president; and an article on the new professor in the +"Weightman Chair of Political Jurisprudence" in Jackson University, +of which he was a trustee; and an illustrated account of the opening +of the "Weightman Grammar-School" at Dulwich-on-the-Sound, where he +had his legal residence for purposes of taxation. + +This last was perhaps the most carefully planned of all the Weightman +Charities. He desired to win the confidence and support of his rural +neighbors. It had pleased him much when the local newspaper had spoken +of him as an ideal citizen and the logical candidate for the +Governorship of the State; but upon the whole it seemed to him wiser +to keep out of active politics. It would be easier and better to put +Harold into the running, to have him sent to the Legislature from the +Dulwich district, then to the national House, then to the Senate. Why +not? The Weightman interests were large enough to need a direct +representative and guardian at Washington. + +But to-night all these plans came back to him with dust upon them. +They were dry and crumbling like forsaken habitations. The son upon +whom his complacent ambition had rested had turned his back upon the +mansion of his father's hopes. The break might not be final; and in +any event there would be much to live for; the fortunes of the family +would be secure. But the zest of it all would be gone if John +Weightman had to give up the assurance of perpetuating his name and +his principles in his son. It was a bitter disappointment, and he felt +that he had not deserved it. + +He rose from the chair and paced the room with leaden feet. For the +first time in his life his age was visibly upon him. His head was +heavy and hot, and the thoughts that rolled in it were confused and +depressing. Could it be that he had made a mistake in the principles +of his existence? There was no argument in what Harold had said--it +was almost childish--and yet it had shaken the elder man more deeply +than he cared to show. It held a silent attack which touched him more +than open criticism. + +Suppose the end of his life were nearer than he thought--the end +must come some time--what if it were now? Had he not founded his +house upon a rock? Had he not kept the Commandments? Was he not, +"touching the law, blameless"? And beyond this, even if there were +some faults in his character--and all men are sinners--yet he surely +believed in the saving doctrines of religion--the forgiveness of +sins, the resurrection of the body, the life everlasting. Yes, that +was the true source of comfort, after all. He would read a bit in the +Bible, as he did every night, and go to bed and to sleep. + +He went back to his chair at the library table. A strange weight of +weariness rested upon him, but he opened the book at a familiar place, +and his eyes fell upon the verse at the bottom of the page. + +"_Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth._" + +That had been the text of the sermon a few weeks before. Sleepily, +heavily, he tried to fix his mind upon it and recall it. What was it +that Doctor Snodgrass had said? Ah, yes--that it was a mistake to +pause here in reading the verse. We must read on without a pause--_Lay +not up treasures upon earth where moth and rust do corrupt and where +thieves break through and steal_--that was the true doctrine. We may +have treasures upon earth, but they must not be put into unsafe +places, but into safe places. A most comforting doctrine! He had +always followed it. Moths and rust and thieves had done no harm to his +investments. + +John Weightman's drooping eyes turned to the next verse, at the top of +the second column. + +"_But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven._" + +Now what had the Doctor said about that? How was it to be +understood--in what sense--treasures--in heaven? + +The book seemed to float away from him. The light vanished. He +wondered dimly if this could be Death, coming so suddenly, so quietly, +so irresistibly. He struggled for a moment to hold himself up, and +then sank slowly forward upon the table. His head rested upon his +folded hands. He slipped into the unknown. + + * * * * * + +How long afterward conscious life returned to him he did not know. The +blank might have been an hour or a century. He knew only that +something had happened in the interval. What it was he could not tell. +He found great difficulty in catching the thread of his identity +again. He felt that he was himself; but the trouble was to make his +connections, to verify and place himself, to know who and where he +was. + +At last it grew clear. John Weightman was sitting on a stone, not far +from a road in a strange land. + +The road was not a formal highway, fenced and graded. It was more like +a great travel-trace, worn by thousands of feet passing across the +open country in the same direction. Down in the valley, into which he +could look, the road seemed to form itself gradually out of many minor +paths; little footways coming across the meadows, winding tracks +following along beside the streams, faintly marked trails emerging +from the woodlands. But on the hillside the threads were more firmly +woven into one clear band of travel, though there were still a few dim +paths joining it here and there, as if persons had been climbing up +the hill by other ways and had turned at last to seek the road. + +From the edge of the hill, where John Weightman sat, he could see the +travelers, in little groups or larger companies, gathering from time +to time by the different paths, and making the ascent. They were all +clothed in white, and the form of their garments was strange to him; +it was like some old picture. They passed him, group after group, +talking quietly together or singing; not moving in haste, but with a +certain air of eagerness and joy as if they were glad to be on their +way to an appointed place. They did not stay to speak to him, but they +looked at him often and spoke to one another as they looked; and now +and then one of them would smile and beckon him a friendly greeting, +so that he felt they would like him to be with them. + +There was quite an interval between the groups; and he followed each +of them with his eyes after it had passed, blanching the long ribbon +of the road for a little transient space, rising and receding across +the wide, billowy upland, among the rounded hillocks of aerial green +and gold and lilac, until it came to the high horizon, and stood +outlined for a moment, a tiny cloud of whiteness against the tender +blue, before it vanished over the hill. + +For a long time he sat there watching and wondering. It was a very +different world from that in which his mansion on the Avenue was +built; and it looked strange to him, but most real--as real as +anything he had ever seen. Presently he felt a strong desire to know +what country it was and where the people were going. He had a faint +premonition of what it must be, but he wished to be sure. So he rose +from the stone where he was sitting, and came down through the short +grass and the lavender flowers, toward a passing group of people. One +of them turned to meet him, and held out his hand. It was an old man, +under whose white beard and brows John Weightman thought he saw a +suggestion of the face of the village doctor who had cared for him +years ago, when he was a boy in the country. + +[Illustration: "Welcome! Will you come with us?"] + +"Welcome," said the old man. "Will you come with us?" + +"Where are you going?" + +"To the heavenly city, to see our mansions there." + +"And who are these with you?" + +"Strangers to me, until a little while ago; I know them better now. +But you I have known for a long time, John Weightman. Don't you +remember your old doctor?" + +"Yes," he cried--"yes; your voice has not changed at all. I'm glad +indeed to see you, Doctor McLean, especially now. All this seems very +strange to me, almost oppressive. I wonder if--but may I go with you, +do you suppose?" + +"Surely," answered the doctor, with his familiar smile; "it will do +you good. And you also must have a mansion in the city waiting for +you--a fine one, too--are you not looking forward to it?" + +"Yes," replied the other, hesitating a moment; "yes--I believe it must +be so, although I had not expected to see it so soon. But I will go +with you, and we can talk by the way." + +The two men quickly caught up with the other people, and all went +forward together along the road. The doctor had little to tell of his +experience, for it had been a plain, hard life, uneventfully spent for +others, and the story of the village was very simple. John Weightman's +adventures and triumphs would have made a far richer, more imposing +history, full of contacts with the great events and personages of the +time. But somehow or other he did not care to speak much about it, +walking on that wide heavenly moorland, under that tranquil, sunless +arch of blue, in that free air of perfect peace, where the light was +diffused without a shadow, as if the spirit of life in all things were +luminous. + +There was only one person besides the doctor in that little company +whom John Weightman had known before--an old bookkeeper who had spent +his life over a desk, carefully keeping accounts--a rusty, dull little +man, patient and narrow, whose wife had been in the insane asylum for +twenty years and whose only child was a crippled daughter, for whose +comfort and happiness he had toiled and sacrificed himself without +stint. It was a surprise to find him here, as care-free and joyful as +the rest. + +[Illustration: That free air of Perfect Peace] + +The lives of others in the company were revealed in brief glimpses as +they talked together--a mother, early widowed, who had kept her little +flock of children together and labored through hard and heavy years to +bring them up in purity and knowledge--a Sister of Charity who had +devoted herself to the nursing of poor folk who were being eaten to +death by cancer--a schoolmaster whose heart and life had been poured +into his quiet work of training boys for a clean and thoughtful +manhood--a medical missionary who had given up a brilliant career in +science to take the charge of a hospital in darkest Africa--a +beautiful woman with silver hair who had resigned her dreams of love +and marriage to care for an invalid father, and after his death had +made her life a long, steady search for ways of doing kindnesses to +others--a poet who had walked among the crowded tenements of the great +city, bringing cheer and comfort not only by his songs, but by his +wise and patient works of practical aid--a paralyzed woman who had +lain for thirty years upon her bed, helpless but not hopeless, +succeeding by a miracle of courage in her single aim, never to +complain, but always to impart a bit of her joy and peace to every one +who came near her. All these, and other persons like them, people of +little consideration in the world, but now seemingly all full of great +contentment and an inward gladness that made their steps light, were +in the company that passed along the road, talking together of things +past and things to come, and singing now and then with clear voices +from which the veil of age and sorrow was lifted. + +John Weightman joined in some of the songs--which were familiar to him +from their use in the church--at first with a touch of hesitation, and +then more confidently. For as they went on his sense of strangeness +and fear at his new experience diminished, and his thoughts began to +take on their habitual assurance and complacency. Were not these +people going to the Celestial City? And was not he in his right place +among them? He had always looked forward to this journey. If they were +sure, each one, of finding a mansion there, could not he be far more +sure? His life had been more fruitful than theirs. He had been a +leader, a founder of new enterprises, a pillar of Church and State, a +prince of the House of Israel. Ten talents had been given him, and he +had made them twenty. His reward would be proportionate. He was glad +that his companions were going to find fit dwellings prepared for +them; but he thought also with a certain pleasure of the surprise that +some of them would feel when they saw his appointed mansion. + +So they came to the summit of the moorland and looked over into the +world beyond. It was a vast, green plain, softly rounded like a +shallow vase, and circled with hills of amethyst. A broad, shining +river flowed through it, and many silver threads of water were woven +across the green; and there were borders of tall trees on the banks of +the river, and orchards full of roses abloom along the little streams, +and in the midst of all stood the city, white and wonderful and +radiant. + +When the travelers saw it they were filled with awe and joy. They +passed over the little streams and among the orchards quickly and +silently, as if they feared to speak lest the city should vanish. + +The wall of the city was very low, a child could see over it, for it +was made only of precious stones, which are never large. The gate of +the city was not like a gate at all, for it was not barred with iron +or wood, but only a single pearl, softly gleaming, marked the place +where the wall ended and the entrance lay open. + +A person stood there whose face was bright and grave, and whose robe +was like the flower of the lily, not a woven fabric, but a living +texture. "Come in," he said to the company of travelers; "you are at +your journey's end, and your mansions are ready for you." + +John Weightman hesitated, for he was troubled by a doubt. Suppose that +he was not really, like his companions, at his journey's end, but only +transported for a little while out of the regular course of his life +into this mysterious experience? Suppose that, after all, he had not +really passed through the door of death, like these others, but only +through the door of dreams, and was walking in a vision, a living man +among the blessed dead. Would it be right for him to go with them +into the heavenly city? Would it not be a deception, a desecration, a +deep and unforgivable offense? The strange, confusing question had no +reason in it, as he very well knew; for if he was dreaming, then it +was all a dream; but if his companions were real, then he also was +with them in reality, and if they had died then he must have died too. +Yet he could not rid his mind of the sense that there was a difference +between them and him, and it made him afraid to go on. But, as he +paused and turned, the Keeper of the Gate looked straight and deep +into his eyes, and beckoned to him. Then he knew that it was not only +right but necessary that he should enter. + +They passed from street to street among fair and spacious dwellings, +set in amaranthine gardens, and adorned with an infinitely varied +beauty of divine simplicity. The mansions differed in size, in shape, +in charm: each one seemed to have its own personal look of loveliness; +yet all were alike in fitness to their place, in harmony with one +another, in the addition which each made to the singular and tranquil +splendor of the city. + +As the little company came, one by one, to the mansions which were +prepared for them, and their Guide beckoned to the happy inhabitant to +enter in and take possession, there was a soft murmur of joy, half +wonder and half recognition; as if the new and immortal dwelling were +crowned with the beauty of surprise, lovelier and nobler than all the +dreams of it had been; and yet also as if it were touched with the +beauty of the familiar, the remembered, the long-loved. One after +another the travelers were led to their own mansions, and went in +gladly; and from within, through the open doorways, came sweet voices +of welcome, and low laughter, and song. + +At last there was no one left with the Guide but the two old friends, +Doctor McLean and John Weightman. They were standing in front of one +of the largest and fairest of the houses, whose garden glowed softly +with radiant flowers. The Guide laid his hand upon the doctor's +shoulder. + +"This is for you," he said. "Go in; there is no more pain here, no +more death, nor sorrow, nor tears; for your old enemies are all +conquered. But all the good that you have done for others, all the +help that you have given, all the comfort that you have brought, all +the strength and love that you have bestowed upon the suffering, are +here; for we have built them all into this mansion for you." + +The good man's face was lighted with a still joy. He clasped his old +friend's hand closely, and whispered: "How wonderful it is! Go on, +you will come to your mansion next, it is not far away, and we shall +see each other again soon, very soon." + +So he went through the garden, and into the music within. The Keeper +of the Gate turned to John Weightman with level, quiet, searching +eyes. Then he asked, gravely: + +"Where do you wish me to lead you now?" + +"To see my own mansion," answered the man, with half-concealed +excitement. "Is there not one here for me? You may not let me enter it +yet, perhaps, for I must confess to you that I am only--" + +"I know," said the Keeper of the Gate--"I know it all. You are John +Weightman." + +"Yes," said the man, more firmly than he had spoken at first, for it +gratified him that his name was known. "Yes, I am John Weightman, +Senior Warden of St. Petronius' Church. I wish very much to see my +mansion here, if only for a moment. I believe that you have one for +me. Will you take me to it?" + +The Keeper of the Gate drew a little book from the breast of his robe +and turned over the pages. + +"Certainly," he said, with a curious look at the man, "your name is +here; and you shall see your mansion if you will follow me." + +It seemed as if they must have walked miles and miles, through the +vast city, passing street after street of houses larger and smaller, +of gardens richer and poorer, but all full of beauty and delight. They +came into a kind of suburb, where there were many small cottages, with +plots of flowers, very lowly, but bright and fragrant. Finally they +reached an open field, bare and lonely-looking. There were two or +three little bushes in it, without flowers, and the grass was sparse +and thin. In the center of the field was a tiny hut, hardly big enough +for a shepherd's shelter. It looked as if it had been built of +discarded things, scraps and fragments of other buildings, put +together with care and pains, by some one who had tried to make the +most of cast-off material. There was something pitiful and shamefaced +about the hut. It shrank and drooped and faded in its barren field, +and seemed to cling only by sufferance to the edge of the splendid +city. + +"This," said the Keeper of the Gate, standing still and speaking with +a low, distinct voice--"this is your mansion, John Weightman." + +An almost intolerable shock of grieved wonder and indignation choked +the man for a moment so that he could not say a word. Then he turned +his face away from the poor little hut and began to remonstrate +eagerly with his companion. + +"Surely, sir," he stammered, "you must be in error about this. There +is something wrong--some other John Weightman--a confusion of +names--the book must be mistaken." + +"There is no mistake," said the Keeper of the Gate, very calmly; "here +is your name, the record of your title and your possessions in this +place." + +"But how could such a house be prepared for me," cried the man, with a +resentful tremor in his voice--"for me, after my long and faithful +service? Is this a suitable mansion for one so well known and devoted? +Why is it so pitifully small and mean? Why have you not built it large +and fair, like the others?" + +"That is all the material you sent us." + +"What!" + +"We have used all the material that you sent us," repeated the Keeper +of the Gate. + +"Now I know that you are mistaken," cried the man, with growing +earnestness, "for all my life long I have been doing things that must +have supplied you with material. Have you not heard that I have built +a school-house; the wing of a hospital; two--yes, three--small +churches, and the greater part of a large one, the spire of St. +Petro--" + +The Keeper of the Gate lifted his hand. + +"Wait," he said; "we know all these things. They were not ill done. +But they were all marked and used as foundation for the name and +mansion of John Weightman in the world. Did you not plan them for +that?" + +"Yes," answered the man, confused and taken aback, "I confess that +I thought often of them in that way. Perhaps my heart was set upon +that too much. But there are other things--my endowment for the +college--my steady and liberal contributions to all the established +charities--my support of every respectable--" + +"Wait," said the Keeper of the Gate again. "Were not all these +carefully recorded on earth where they would add to your credit? They +were not foolishly done. Verily, you have had your reward for them. +Would you be paid twice?" + +"No," cried the man, with deepening dismay, "I dare not claim that. I +acknowledge that I considered my own interest too much. But surely not +altogether. You have said that these things were not foolishly done. +They accomplished some good in the world. Does not that count for +something?" + +"Yes," answered the Keeper of the Gate, "it counts in the world--where +you counted it. But it does not belong to you here. We have saved and +used everything that you sent us. This is the mansion prepared for +you." + +As he spoke, his look grew deeper and more searching, like a flame of +fire. John Weightman could not endure it. It seemed to strip him naked +and wither him. He sank to the ground under a crushing weight of +shame, covering his eyes with his hands and cowering face downward +upon the stones. Dimly through the trouble of his mind he felt their +hardness and coldness. + +"Tell me, then," he cried, brokenly, "since my life has been so little +worth, how came I here at all?" + +"Through the mercy of the King"--the answer was like the soft tolling +of a bell. + +"And how have I earned it?" he murmured. + +"It is never earned; it is only given," came the clear, low reply. + +"But how have I failed so wretchedly," he asked, "in all the purpose +of my life? What could I have done better? What is it that counts +here?" + +"Only that which is truly given," answered the bell-like voice. "Only +that good which is done for the love of doing it. Only those plans in +which the welfare of others is the master thought. Only those labors +in which the sacrifice is greater than the reward. Only those gifts in +which the giver forgets himself." + +The man lay silent. A great weakness, an unspeakable despondency and +humiliation were upon him. But the face of the Keeper of the Gate was +infinitely tender as he bent over him. + +"Think again, John Weightman. Has there been nothing like that in your +life?" + +"Nothing," he sighed. "If there ever were such things, it must have +been long ago--they were all crowded out--I have forgotten them." + +There was an ineffable smile on the face of the Keeper of the Gate, +and his hand made the sign of the cross over the bowed head as he +spoke gently: + +"These are the things that the King never forgets; and because there +were a few of them in your life, you have a little place here." + + * * * * * + +The sense of coldness and hardness under John Weightman's hands grew +sharper and more distinct. The feeling of bodily weariness and +lassitude weighed upon him, but there was a calm, almost a lightness, +in his heart as he listened to the fading vibrations of the silvery +bell-tones. The chimney clock on the mantel had just ended the last +stroke of seven as he lifted his head from the table. Thin, pale +strips of the city morning were falling into the room through the +narrow partings of the heavy curtains. + +What was it that had happened to him? Had he been ill? Had he died +and come to life again? Or had he only slept, and had his soul gone +visiting in dreams? He sat for some time, motionless, not lost, but +finding himself in thought. Then he took a narrow book from the table +drawer, wrote a check, and tore it out. + +He went slowly up the stairs, knocked very softly at his son's door, +and, hearing no answer, entered without noise. Harold was asleep, his +bare arm thrown above his head, and his eager face relaxed in peace. +His father looked at him a moment with strangely shining eyes, and +then tiptoed quietly to the writing-desk, found a pencil and a sheet +of paper, and wrote rapidly: + +"My dear boy, here is what you asked me for; do what you like with it, +and ask for more if you need it. If you are still thinking of that +work with Grenfell, we'll talk it over to-day after church. I want to +know your heart better; and if I have made mistakes--" + +[Illustration: "God give us a good Christmas together"] + +A slight noise made him turn his head. Harold was sitting up in bed +with wide-open eyes. + +"Father!" he cried, "is that you?" + +"Yes, my son," answered John Weightman; "I've come back--I mean I've +come up--no, I mean come in--well, here I am, and God give us a good +Christmas together." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANSION *** + +***** This file should be named 38312.txt or 38312.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/3/1/38312/ + +Produced by Jen Haines, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +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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