A Mediterranean mystery

by Fred E. Wynne

All was well in my pigeon-loft, and the young birds were promising. It was a peaceful little world. I sighed as I thought what a pity it was that Christians could not make more allowance for each other’s fads. Most of us are so terribly anxious to close all avenues to the Kingdom of Heaven except our own crooked little path.

Among my parishioners in the afternoon I found that I had to protect poor Snape from a widespread suspicion of his being a secret emissary of the Vatican. The other mistake he had made was to start only three of his “organisations.” There was thus much jealousy about the filling of official positions in connection with them. I saw at once that in a community as small as ours the only sane method would be to start sufficient “organisations” simultaneously to provide secretaryships and treasurerships for the whole of the adult Church population. I decided to do this, unless the existing ones first died a natural death. I hoped they would for so far they did not seem to have made people behave better, but had been the source of a good deal of envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness.

However, all this turmoil saved me from enquiries about my own recent movements. They were much too preoccupied to take any interest in these, though they were, I believe, unfeignedly thankful to see me back among them. I decided to preach to them about Charity. I would tell them that though nobody knew exactly what St. Paul meant by “Charity,” for all his list of attributes, yet we all knew exactly what was meant by “uncharitableness,” and that the main thing was to avoid the latter.

On getting home I wrote to the bishop. I apologised, unnecessarily I knew, for my prolonged absence. I told him frankly it was impossible to explain this in a letter, but that I had many surprising and painful things to tell him, and was in great need of his counsel. I besought him to give me an opportunity of talking to him as soon as he could spare an hour or two, and added as in duty bound, that it was not in connection with the affairs of the parish that I wished to trouble him, but that my distresses were entirely personal.

His reply was delayed a day owing to his departure for London, but I will quote a part of it here. “I could give you a brief interview immediately on my return, but I feel sure from the tone of your letter that you have matters to discuss that demand more than this. If you could have me for a night next week we could talk things over as of old. It would be a great pleasure and rest to me too. For the time is a terribly harassing one. I think it is not at all generally known how fearfully anxious the European situation is becoming. There are many forces at work that appear to be intent on war, and I feel that Satan may be unchained among us almost any day. Do not, however, speak of this at present, and if you wish to see me earlier do not hesitate to come over to the Palace any day after to-morrow.

“Poor Snape was over the day you wrote, and told me of his troubles with your flock. I am arranging other, and I hope more suitable, duty for him. Dare I ask you to keep him with you for a few days? I know he has to consider expense, as he has got into debt, among other troubles, purely through financing some of his own attempts at ‘organisation.’ To paraphrase the Book of Common Prayer: ‘He has left unpaid those bills he ought to have paid, and paid those bills he ought not to have paid, and there is no sense in him.’

“You will no doubt have perceived that he is one of those excellent, earnest idiots that are so hard to keep out of mischief. But he is a lovable soul too, and capable of great good if I could only find the right sphere for him. I know you will not mind helping me to help him.”

The bishop’s letter made me feel that, after all, I did know what St. Paul had meant by “Charity.” It was the spirit that could see the worst in a man and believe the best of him, the love that could recognise folly and succour it without contempt.

After having mingled so much with what was base, and paltry, and mean, the thought of seeing the bishop again was to me like mountain air to one who had dwelt in a dungeon.

Snape returned in time for dinner, and after a few perfunctory enquiries about my “trip,” as he called it, he told me of his interview with the bishop.