And he ensconsed himself more snugly in his corner to carry out his intention. But what was there in that vibrating voice that would be heard?—that so often as Mr Goldmain turned his thoughts in other directions, drew them back again like a flock of rebellious sheep, constraining him to hearken? Then his mood changed: annoyed, he knew not why, he set himself to cavil and object.
“Arrant Socialism!” he called the sermon when describing it afterwards. “Shallow, superficial, unpractical nonsense, about drawing all classes together by sympathy and charity. It sounds plausible enough, I daresay; so did many of the theories and doctrines of the first movers in the great French Revolution, I have no doubt. No, no! Let each do his duty in that station of life where God has placed him; that is my interpretation of religion. Our great charitable institutions must be kept up, of course, so that the deserving poor may be helped when they really need it; though even among the respectable, in nine cases out of ten, my dear sir, you may believe me, it’s their own fault. But as for this dream of universal brotherhood, ‘of the rich mingling in the daily life of the poor, weeping with them in their sorrows, rejoicing in their joys,’ it is sentimental twaddle. It would revolutionise society, it would break down all the barriers which keep the masses in their places. And to have this nonsense preached to us by a chit of a boy, it makes me lose my temper, I confess. I have not seen our worthy Rector yet, but when I do, I must tell him plainly that if he is not more careful whom he puts in his pulpit when he is absent or ill—hypochondriacal fellow he is, I fancy—I shall look out for seats in some other church than Saint X’s.”
Such was Mr Goldmain’s impression of the sermon. For though he closed his eyes in order that those about him might think he was asleep, he did not succeed in achieving even the shortest of dozes. Nay, more, he felt as if mentally stung by nettles for the rest of the day, so irritated, and, though for worlds he would not have confessed it, ill at ease, had the strange preacher’s discourse left him. But the soil of his conscience was choked with thorns; there was room for naught beside. Mr Goldmain was of this world, worldly, and such he remained.
He might have spared himself the trouble of thinking of how he appeared to those around him. They were none of them paying any attention to him. In the next seat sat some richly-clad ladies of uncertain age. They had become members of the Saint X’s congregation because they had been told they would find its Rector’s views in no way “extreme.” For these worthy women had an exaggerated horror of everything “high,” or, as they expressed it, “verging on papistry.” That God could be worshipped “in spirit and in truth,” in any but their own pet “evangelical” fashion, was a possibility that had not yet suggested itself to their dull brains. And they too, this Sunday morning, felt a shock of disapproval when, looking up at the sound of the vibrating voice, the fair face of the strange preacher met their gaze.
“Like a young novice, or whatever it is they call those who are going to be priests; looks as if he fasted and half-starved himself,” whispered one to the other. “The Rector should be more careful. Who knows but what he is a Jesuit in disguise?” replied the third.
And at intervals during the sermon little groans or ejaculations of disapproval might have been heard from the seats of the wealthy spinsters.
“I did my best not to listen,” said the eldest candidly, as they were walking home, “for I knew in a moment what it was going to be. But no doubt he had a persuasive tone and manner. Poor deluded young man—he will be over to Rome in no time! Did you hear—all that about ‘the Church?’—”
“The ‘invisible’ Church, he spoke of also, I think,” suggested the younger sister timidly.
“Ah, I daresay, just to hide their real meaning; but I can see through it. There was all that in favour of images, too—symbols he called them. What was it he said, Janet? You have the best memory.”
”‘The childlike expressions of human yearnings after the Divine, which is not for you to condemn or despise,’” quoted Janet.