The kingdom of Christ is democratic. It might interfere with tithes and endowments and vested interests. I fancy Christ will establish His kingdom without calling in the Church to help Him. I could not picture Christ making use of a Bishop in knee-breeches, lawn sleeves, and with a seat in the House of Lords, when engaging disciples to evangelize the world. But I can picture Christ falling speechless when brought face to face with a Bishop geared in full canonical uniform; and if in His ignorance of ecclesiastical functionaries Jesus politely inquired, "Who is the aristocratic old gentleman wearing knee-breeches and a broad-brimmed hat, and to what institution does he belong?" on being told he was speaking to one of the leading representatives of His own spiritual institution, I can picture Christ melting away in anguish of heart from the venerable presence of the great divine to solace Himself in the company of fishermen and mechanics--men whose hearts are warm and manners natural, even if their creed is a bit unorthodox from the ecclesiastical standpoint.
And there is the good St. Francesco, the stainless and blameless saint, born of the little Tuscan hill city, the perpetual flowering rose of Assisi, whose godly fragrance gives off for ever to sweeten the life of mankind--St. Francis of Assisi, the humble child of God, the dear brother of men, dead these five hundred years gone by; but he is now lying warm upon the lap of Christendom, nursed for one of the noblest, gentlest spirits, aglow with the fervour of an endless life. He is a living, controlling force to-day in the world's long battle for righteousness, and ever pouring into our ears the sweetness of Christ.
Men are governed more wisely by the dead than by the living. Interned within the calmness of their shades, the mighty dead speak to us, and no cross-currents of envy, prejudice, or malice ruffle the serenity of their counsel. Influence is not always beneficent; it is malignant sometimes, and contaminates like the plague. Evil qualities can be as attractive as wholesome virtues. The poets brand the Devil with a commanding personality. John Wilkes, the notorious demagogue in the reign of George III., was the ugliest man in England, yet he impressed himself marvellously on his generation. He was a popular hero; he possessed natural gaiety of disposition and an irrepressible fund of impudence and wit. He was the most brilliant controversialist of his day. He was a charming rake with an insinuating smile, and he wore the manners of a fine English gentleman, which captivated his enemies and conciliated the King. He had exceptional powers of fascination, and he boasted that--ugly as he was--with the start of a quarter of an hour he could get the better of any man, however good-looking, in the graces of any lady.
X
THE LURE OF NICE PEOPLE
Our friend Mrs. Alinson took me sharply in hand one day, and tendered me good advice gratuitously over the tea-table. Mrs. Alinson is a lady magnificent in bulk, energetic in action, torrential in tongue, and warm-hearted in disposition, second to none amongst the daughters of men.
When as a young man I first came to town she adopted me, mothered me socially, and manoeuvred for my success. She did not approve of my associates, and rated me soundly in her loud, pushful, stridulant voice, which commands attention: "Mr. Drake is not a desirable acquaintance for you to pursue, my dear. He don't belong to our set, and his reputation is tainted; unpleasant rumours cloud round his name. Take my advice and cut him. You only want to know nice people."
Shrewd, disinterested, motherly advice for Mrs. Alinson to bestow on a tenderfoot unfamiliar with the pitfalls of society. Surely only a lady of sweet discerning disposition could give it; a lady whom everybody loves and whom nobody gainsays; a lady the final arbiter of taste in "nice people" who opens the door to a new-comer and no man shuts, who shuts the door on a new-comer and no man opens. I accepted her dictum as good current coin of the elect world we moved in, to be honoured without reserve. Its metal rang genuine on the social counter. Mr. Drake henceforth is a stranger to me; it would imperil my position in society to know him.
After tea we parted, and I went to the cinema. I often go to a cinema because it amuses me when I want amusement. It is light and inexpensive diversion. Superior people sneer at the cinema, and call it low-grade amusement: a common glanty-show that pleases common people. However, as I have no shares in music-halls or wasting investments in theatre-land, I am impartial in my pleasures, and can take a shilling seat in a picture palace with clean conscience and merry heart. In the cinema we met our dear friend Lady ----, who was enjoying the moving pictures. She invited us to her reception on the following Saturday afternoon; at the conclusion of the show, when parting from her, she said: "It's very kind of you to promise for next Saturday. Please don't tell Mrs. Alinson you are coming, or she will be sure to come too, and I don't want her. The friends I am inviting don't care to meet her."
This was a staggering blow struck at the serene goddess to whom we bent the obedient knee. Was there another social kingdom where she had no sovereignty, where her passing shadow, like a malign influence, was a thing to be shunned? Was she a false goddess, or no goddess at all? She pictured herself the controlling hand which steered the current of gay life in our midst. Was she at the helm, or was it a mild illusion that muddled her amiable brain? Here are people actually who will not open their doors to receive her, nor permit her feet to tread their dusty carpet--and she thought omnipotence was in her nod.