XVII
A BOND OF AIR
Troilus and Cressida, i. 3.
"You have made a new man of me," Maurice Wynne had said to Mrs. Morison in bidding her good-by; and the words repeated themselves in his mind as he came back to Boston, and as he once more took up for a few days his home with Mrs. Staggchase.
There is nothing more inflammable than the punk left by the decay of a religion, and any theology may be said to be doomed from the moment when men begin to ask themselves whether they believe it. Maurice had been so strenuously questioning his belief that it is small wonder that he found his heart full of fire. In the days of his stay at Brookfield, moreover, he had been rapidly journeying on the road toward a new view of life; and the idea of returning to the Clergy House became to him well-nigh intolerable. It seemed like taking upon himself once more the swaddling-clothes of infancy.
On the afternoon of his return, he hurried to see Ashe, and found himself obliged to wait some time for his friend's return from a committee meeting. Mr. Herman chanced to be at home alone, and Maurice sat with him in the library. Wynne had come to know the sculptor fairly well, and had been warmly drawn toward him. He was to-day struck more than ever by the strength and self-poise which Herman showed. The young man was seized with a desire to appeal to the sanity and the kindliness of one who seemed to possess both so aboundingly.
"Have you ever found yourself all at sea, Mr. Herman?" he asked abruptly.
"Of course. I fancy every man has had that experience."
"But," Maurice hurried on, more impulsively yet, "you can never have felt that you were a renegade and a hypocrite. That's where I am now."
The sculptor regarded him with evident surprise, yet with a look so keen that Maurice felt his cheeks grow warm.
"Does that mean," Herman asked with kindly deliberation, "that you are tired and out of sorts, or is it something deeper?"
Wynne was silent a moment. Now that he had broken the ice, he feared to go on. It was something of a shock to find himself on the brink of a confidence when he had not intended to make one.
"I'm afraid it goes deep," he answered. "The truth is, Mr. Herman, that
I've come back with my whole mind in a turmoil."
Herman seemed to hesitate in his turn.
"I'm afraid I'm a poor one to help you, Mr. Wynne. Mrs. Herman does the mental straightening-out for this family. Besides, we look at things so differently, you and I, that I shouldn't know how to put things to you if I tried."
"I've no right to bother anybody with my troubles," Maurice said.
"That anybody could help you would give you a claim upon him," Herman responded cheerily. "I noticed, Mr. Wynne, that things were not going right with you before you went away. May I give you a piece of advice?"
"I shall be glad if you will."
"Then if I were you, I'd go and talk with Mr. Strathmore."
"With Mr. Strathmore!" Maurice echoed in surprise.
"Oh, I know he isn't exactly of your way of thinking in church matters," Herman proceeded. "He's still farther from my position, but he's the man I should go to. He is so human, and so sympathetic, that there isn't such another man in Boston for comfort and advice."
"But I've always been opposed," Maurice protested, "to all"—
"That's no matter. He's too big a man for that to make any difference. Go to him as a fellow that's in a hobble, and the only thing he'll consider is how to help you. He's had experience, and he has the gift of understanding."
No more was said on the subject, but the words stuck in Wynne's mind. Since all things seemed to him to be turning round, why should he not take this one more departure from the old ways? Yet it was in some sort almost like treason to Father Frontford to seek aid and comfort from Strathmore. Although the thing had never been so stated in words, it was understood at the Clergy House that Strathmore was to be looked upon in the light of an enemy to the faith, and Wynne felt as if he had been enrolled to fight the popular preacher under the banner of Father Frontford. It seemed the more treasonable to desert the Father Superior now that he was in the midst of a desperate struggle. Maurice knew, however, that it was useless to carry to his old confessor doubts which for the heart of the stern priest could not exist. He would simply be told that doubt was of the devil and was to be crushed; and the young man felt that this would leave him where he was now. If he were to seek aid, it must at least be from one who would understand his state of mind.
Wynne resumed his clerical garb on the morning after his return to Boston. His conscience reproached him for the strong distaste which he felt for the dress, and his spirits were of the lowest. About the middle of the forenoon, he started out to try the effects of a walk. It was a clear, brisk morning, with a white frost still on the pavements where the sun had not fallen. The air was invigorating, and Maurice began to feel its exhilaration. He walked more briskly, holding his head more erect, even forgetting to be irritated by the swish of his cassock about his legs. Without consciously determining whither he would go, he followed the streets toward the house of Mr. Strathmore, in that strange yet not uncommon state of mind in which a man knows fully what he is doing, yet assures himself that he has no purpose. When at last he found himself ringing the bell, Wynne carried his private histrionics so far that he told himself that he was surprised to be there.
The visitor was shown at once to the study of Mr. Strathmore, whose readiness to receive those who sought him was one of the traits which endeared him to the general public. Maurice felt the keen and inquiring look which the clergyman bestowed upon him, and found himself somewhat at a loss how to begin.
"I am from the Clergy House of St. Mark," he said, rather awkwardly.
"So I judged from your dress," Strathmore responded cordially. "Sit down, please. That is a comfortable chair by the fire."
The professed ascetic smiled, but he took the chair indicated.
"It is a beautiful, brisk morning," the host went on. "The tingle in the air makes a man feel that he can do impossible things."
Wynne looked up at him with a smile. He was won by the heartiness of the tone, by the bright glance of the eye, by some intangible personal charm which put him at once at his ease and made him feel that understanding and sympathy were here.
"And I have done the impossible," he said. "I have ventured to come to talk with you about the celibacy of the clergy."
He saw the face of the other change with a curious expression, and then melt into a smile.
"And what am I, a married clergyman, expected to say on such a topic?"
Maurice smiled at the absurdity of his own words, and then with sudden gravity broke out earnestly:—
"I am completely at sea. All things I have believed seem to be failing me. I don't even know what I believe."
"Will you pardon me," Strathmore asked, "if I ask why you consult me rather than your Superior?"
Maurice flushed and hesitated: yet he felt that nothing would do but absolute frankness.
"I will tell you!" he returned. "I was to be a priest. I went into the Clergy House supposing that that was settled. I see now that I really followed a friend. If he went, I couldn't be shut out. Now I have been among men, and"—
He hesitated, but the friendly smile of the other reassured him.
"And among women," he went on bravely; "and—and"—
"And you have discovered the meaning of a certain text in Genesis which declares that 'male and female created He them,'" concluded Strathmore.
Wynne felt the tone like a caress. He seemed to be understood without need of more speech. His condition, which had seemed to him so intricate and so unique, began to appear possible and human. He was not so completely cut off from human sympathy as he had felt.
"Yes," he assented; "I will be frank about it. I did not think that Father Frontford would understand what it meant to feel that life is given to us to be glorified by the love of a woman."
"If this is all that is troubling you," Strathmore remarked, "it seems to me that your position, though it may not be pleasant, is not very tragical. Our bishops are generally willing to absolve from vows of celibacy."
"I doubt if Father Frontford would be," Maurice commented involuntarily.
"That is perhaps one of his virtues in the eyes of his supporters,"
Strathmore suggested with a twinkle.
"I have not taken the vows, however," Maurice responded hastily, flushing, and ignoring the thrust.
"Then what is your trouble?"
"When I meant to take them, it was the same thing."
"Do I understand you that to intend to do a thing and then to change the mind is the same as to do it?"
"Oh, no; not that; but I am not clear that it isn't my duty to take them. I'm not sure that it is right for a priest to marry—if you will pardon my saying so."
"And you come to me to convince you? It seems to me that Providence has already done that through the agency of some young woman. If you really know what it is to love a good woman there is no real doubt in your mind as to the sacredness of marriage,—for the clergy or for anybody else. Isn't your trouble perhaps an obstinate dislike to seem to abandon a position once taken?"
The words might have sounded severe but for the tone in which they were spoken.
"But that is not the whole of the matter," Maurice continued, feeling as if he were being carried forward by an irresistible current. "If I have been mistaken on this point about which I have felt so sure and so strongly, what confidence can I have in my other beliefs?"
"Ah, it goes deep," Strathmore said with emphasis. "It is of no use to put old wine into new bottles. The effect of trying to make you young men accept mediævalism, like clerical celibacy, is in the end to make you doubt everything. Haven't you any respect for the authority of the church?"
"Oh, implicit!" Maurice responded.
"But," his host remarked with a smile, "because you begin to have doubts about a thing which the church doesn't inculcate, you show an inclination to throw overboard all that she does teach."
Maurice was silent a moment, playing with a rosary which he wore at his belt. He was surprised that he had never thought of this; and he was startled by the doubt which had arisen in his mind as soon as he had declared his implicit faith in the church. He realized in a flash that while he had spoken honestly, he had not told the truth.
"I am afraid that I'm not quite honest," he said, "though I meant to be. I'm afraid that after all I don't feel sure of all the church teaches."
"My dear young man," the other replied kindly, "you are fighting against the age. You have been taught to believe,—if you will pardon me,—that the thing for a true man to do is to resist the light of reason. There are, for instance, a great many things which used to be received literally which we now find it necessary to interpret figuratively. It would be refusing to use the reason heaven gives us if we refused to recognize this. The teachings of the church are true and infallible, but every man must interpret them according to the light of his own conscience and reason."
"But if this is once allowed I don't see where you are to draw the line. The heathen are very likely honest enough."
"I said the teaching of the church, Mr. Wynne. If a man earnestly searches his heart and follows this guide as he understands it, there can be no danger."
"Mr. Strathmore," Maurice said, "perhaps it seems like forcing myself upon you, and then taking the liberty of fighting your views; but this is too vital to me to allow of my stopping for conventionalities. You seem to me to be inconsistent. You refer to the church as the supreme authority, but you give into the hand of every man a power over that authority."
The other smiled with that warm, sympathetic glance which was so winning.
"Does it seem possible to you," asked he, "that two human beings ever mean quite the same thing by the same words? Isn't there always some little variation, at least, in the impression that a given phrase conveys to you and to me?"
"Theoretically I suppose that this is true," assented Maurice; "but practically it doesn't amount to much, does it?"
"It at least amounts to this," was the reply, "that what one man means by a set form of words cannot be exactly the same that another would mean by it. The creed is one thing to the simple-minded, ignorant man, and something infinitely higher and richer to a Father in the church. You would allow that, of course."
"Yes," Maurice hesitatingly assented, "but I shouldn't have thought of it as an excuse for laxity of doctrine."
"I am not recommending laxity of doctrine. I am only saying that since absolute unity of conception is impossible, it is idle to insist upon it. I am not excusing anything. A fact cannot need an excuse in the search for truth."
The young deacon felt himself sliding into deeper and deeper waters, though the mien of Strathmore seemed to inspire confidence. He was more and more uncertain what he believed or ought to believe.
"But is this the belief of the church?" he persisted.
"What is the belief of the church if not the belief of its members?"
"I do not know," Maurice answered. "I came to you to be told."
He tried to grasp definitely the belief which was being presented to him, but it appeared as elusive as a shadow in the mist. Mr. Strathmore's look was as frank and clear as ever. There was in his eyes no sign of wavering or of evasion; his smile was full of warmth and sympathy.
"My dear young friend," the elder said, "I don't pretend to speak with the authority of the church; but to me it seems like this. We live in an age when we must recognize the use of reason. We are only doing frankly what men have in all ages been doing in their hearts. Men always have their private interpretations whether they recognize it or not. Nothing more is ever needed to create a schism than for some clear thinker to define clearly what he believes. There are always those who are ready to follow him because this seems so near to what many are thinking."
"But that is because so few persons are ever able to define for themselves what they do believe," Maurice threw in.
"Then do they ever really appreciate what the doctrines of the church are?" Strathmore asked significantly.
Maurice shook his head. He seemed to himself to be entangled in a net of words. He could not tell whether the man before him was entirely sincere or not. There seemed something hopelessly incongruous between the position of Mr. Strathmore as a religious leader and these opinions which seemed to strike at the very foundations of all creeds; yet the manner and look with which all was said were evidently honest and unaffected.
"Don't suppose that I think it would be wise to proclaim such a doctrine from the housetops," continued Strathmore, answering, Maurice felt, the doubt in the face of the latter. "I speak to you as one who is face to face with these facts, and must have the whole of it."
Maurice rose with a feeling that he must get away by himself and think.
"Mr. Strathmore," he said, "I am more grateful than I can say for your kindness. I'm afraid that I've seemed stupid and ungracious, but I haven't meant to be either. I see that every man must work out his own salvation."
"But with fear and trembling, Mr. Wynne."
The smile of the rector was so warm and so winning that it cheered Maurice more than any words could have cheered him; Mr. Strathmore grasped the young man warmly by the hand and added:—
"Don't think me a heretic because I have spoken with great frankness. Remember that the good of the church is to me more dear than anything else on earth except the good of men for whom the church exists. God help you in your search for light."