CHAPTER XII.
BASSANIO: So may the outward shows be least themselves; The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What dammed error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
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SALARINO: My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. ... Should I go to church, And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
_Merchant of Venice._
When approaching from the west among picturesque islands and past woodedpoints of land, our old city of Kingston affords the traveler a pleasantscene. Above the blue and green expanse of her spacious harbor, thepenitentiary with its high wall and surrounding turrets suggests theCanadian justice we are proud of; and, further up, rises the asylum,suggestive only of Canadian lunacy, for which we do not claimpre-eminence, while beyond, some little spires and domes, sparkling inthe sun, are seen over the tops of some English-looking stoneresidences, where the grassy lawns stretch down to the line of wavesbreaking on the rocky shore. Further off one sees the vessel-masts alongthe ship-yards and docks; here and there some small Martello forts tryto look formidable; large vessels cross and recross the harbor, whileothers lie at anchor drying their sails; and beyond all, on the hill atthe back, rises the garrison walls, where--
In spite of all temptation, Dynamite and annexation,
Canada is content, for the present at least, to see the English flaginstead of our own.
As our friends came on deck the next morning (Sunday) they were able toenjoy this pleasant approach to Kingston. Mrs. Dusenall and others hadwished to attend church if possible in the limestone city, and an earlystart had been made by the sailors long before the guests were awake.The wind came lightly from the southward, which allowed them to pick upthe anchors without difficulty, and it took but a short time to sweep inpast the city and "come to" off the barrack's wharf, where a gun wasceremoniously fired as the anchor was lowered from the catheads.
Mrs. Dusenall piped all hands for divine service. They came out of theark two by two and filed up the streets in that order until the churchwas reached. The boys came out in "heavy marching order"--Sunday coats,and all that sort of thing--which made a vast change from thepicturesque and rather buccaneer-like appearance they presented on theyacht.
If a traveling circus had proceeded up the center aisle of theattractively decorated edifice, no greater curiosity could have beenexhibited among the worshipers. Mrs. Dusenall had some of the imposingmien of a drum-major as she led her gallant band to seats at the head ofthe church, and Charley was justly proud of the fine appearance theymade. He had surveyed them all with pleasure while on the sidewalkoutside, and had paid the usher half a dollar to lead them all togetherto front seats. Walk as lightly as they could, it was impossible in thestillness of the church to prevent their entrance from sounding likethat of soldiery, and once the eyes of the worshipers rested on thenoble troop they became fixed there for some time. There was a ruddy,bronzed look about the yachting men's faces which, innocent of limestonedust tended to deny the almost aggressive respectability which goodtailoring and cruelty collars attempted to claim for them. In the heartsof the fair Kingstonians who glanced toward them there arose visions oflawn-tennis, boating, and buccaneer costumes suggested by thatremarkably able-bodied and healthy appearance which a fashionable walk,bank trousers, and a gauzy umbrella may do much to modify but can notobliterate. As for the male devotees, it was touching to mark theirinterest in Margaret as she went up the aisle keeping step with theshortened pace of the long-limbed Geoffrey. The clergyman was justsaying that the scriptures moved them in sundry places when all at oncehe became a mere cipher to them. After their first thrill at the beautyof her face, their eyes followed Margaret and that wonderful movement ofhers that made her, as with a well-ordered regiment, almost as dangerousin the retreat as in the advance. But Nina came along close behind her,and those who, though disabled, survived the first volley wereslaughtered to a man when the rich charms of her appearance won her atriumph all her own. Jack, walking by her side, full of gravity buthappy, took in the situation with pride at her silent success. Then allthe others followed, and when they were installed in a body in the threefront pews, and after they had all bowed their heads and the gentlemenhad carefully perused the legend printed in their hats--"Lincoln Bennett& Coy, Sackville Street, Piccadilly, London. Manufactured expressly forJas. H. Rogers, Toronto and Winnipeg"--they got their books open andadmitted that they had done things they ought not to have done and thatthere was no health in them.
The interior of the church was a luxury to the eye in its mellowcoloring from stained-glass windows and carefully-arranged lights, andin its banners, altar-cloths, embroidery, and church millinerygenerally, it left little to be desired. The clergyman was a youngunmarried offspring of a high-church college who, with a lofty disregardfor general knowledge, had acquired a great deal of theology. He it waswho arranged that dim religious light about the altar and walled up aneighboring window so that the burning of candles seemed to becomenecessary. Never having been out of America, it was difficult to imaginewhere he acquired the ultra-English pronunciation that had all thoseflowing "ah" sounds which after a while make all words so pleasantlyalike in the high-pitched reading of prayers when, it may be inferred,that word-meanings are perhaps of minor import. It seemed that he alonewas, from the holiness of his office, qualified to enter that mysteriousplace at the head of the chancel where, with his back to thecongregation, at stated times he went through certain genuflexions andother movements in which the general public did not participate furtherthan to admire the splendor of his back. The effect of the manymysteries on some of the Kingston men was to keep them away from thechurch. A few fathers of families and others came to please wives,sweethearts, or clients, and in the cool, agreeable edifice enjoyed somerespectable slumber or watched the proceedings with mild curiosity orhad their ears filled either with good music or the agreeable sound ofthe intoning.
The effect of the little mysteries on the well-to-do women of the church(for it was no place for a poor man's family) was varied. On thelarge-eyed, nervous, impressionable, and imaginative virgins--those whocould always be found ready in the days of human sacrifices--theclergyman's mysteries and the exercise of the power of the Church, asexhibited in the continual working of his strong will upon them, had ofcourse the usual results in enfeebling their judgment and in renderingthem very subservient. In the case of some unimaginative matrons andmore level-headed girls these attractions did not unfit them forevery-day life more than continual theatre-going, and they took a pridein and enjoyed a sense of quasi-ownership in the man whom it tickledtheir fancy to clothe in gorgeous raiment. To these solid,pleasure-loving, good-natured women, whose religion was inextricablymixed up with romance, the mysteries, sideshows, and formalities oftheir splendid _protege_ brought satisfaction; and in their socialgatherings they discussed the doings of their favorite much as asyndicate of owners might, in the pride of ownership, discuss theirhorse. It may be pleasing to be identified with the supernatural, butone's self-respect must need all such compensations to allow one tobecome a peg for admiring women to hang their embroidery on--to belargely dependent upon their gratuities, subject to some of theircontrol, to put in, say, two fair days' work in seven, and spend therest in fiddle-faddle.
"There is but one God. What directly concerns you, my friends, is thatMohammed _is his Prophet_--to interpret the supernatural for you." Itwould be interesting to find out if there ever existed a religion,savage or civilized, whose public proclamation did not contain aqualifying clause to ret
ain the power in the priests.
The sermon on this occasion was on the observance of the Sabbath. Itcontained much church law and theology, and in quotations from differentsaints who had lived at various periods during the dark ages, and whosesayings did not seem to be chosen so much on account of their force asfor the weight given by the names of the saints themselves, which weredelivered _ore rotundo_. But it is doubtful whether the most eruditequotation from obscure mediaeval saints is capable of carrying muchconviction to the hearts of a Canadian audience, and Jack and Charleyhad to be kicked into consciousness from an uneasy slumber.
From the saints the priest descended to Chicago, a transition whichawoke several. And he sought to illustrate the depravity of that city bycommenting upon the large facilities there provided forSabbath-breaking. He spoke of the street-cars he had seen there runningon that day, and of the suburban trains that carried thousands ofworking-women and girls out of the city. He did not say that the carswere chiefly drawn by steam-power, nor that these poor, jaded,hollow-eyed girls worked harder in one day than he did in three weeks;nor did he speak of the weak women's hard struggle for existence in thelife-consuming factories; nor of the freshness of the lake breezes inthe spots where the trains dropped thousands of their overworkedpassengers.
Margaret Mackintosh had seen these dragged, dust-choked, narrow-chested,smoke-dried girls, with all the bloom of youth gone from them, trying tomake their drawn faces smile as they go off together in their clean,Sunday print dresses, too jaded for anything save rest and fresh air.She knew that any man not devoid of the true essence of Christ mightalmost weep in the fullness of his sympathy with them. But the youngpriest convicted them of sacrilege, and did not say he was thankful forbeing privileged to witness such a sight, or that Chicago existed toshame the more priest-ridden cities of Canada.
When this story was concluded, Mrs. Dusenall, and many of her kind; andthe unimpressionable girls looked acquiescence, because the words werebacked by the Church, but their hearts went out to the poor sinners inChicago. Only with those who took their mental bias from the priest didhis words find solid resting-place. Geoffrey sat with an inmovable face,impossible to read. His subsequent remark to Margaret, when she haddelivered her opinions about the matter, was, however, characteristic.He said simply, as if deprecating her vehemence:
"The man must live, you know, and how is he to live if people go out oftown on Sunday." To Geoffrey a short time was sufficient to satisfy himthat the preacher ought to have lived in the days when mankind weresaturated with belief in miracle and looked for explanation of eventsby miracle without dreaming of other explanation.
During the next five minutes the sermon rather wandered from thesubject, but fastened upon it again in an anecdote of an occurrence saidto have taken place at an American seaport town, during the preacher'svisit there.
Several young mechanics, instead of going to church one Sunday morning,had engaged a yawl, and also the fishermen who owned it, to take them toa village on the coast and back again. It appeared from the account thatfor a day and a night the yawl had been blown away from the coast, andthen that the wind had changed, so as to drive it back again; and thestory of the voyage naturally found attentive listeners among ouryachting friends.
"All through that first terrible day, and all through the long, blacknight they were tossed about among the giant billows of a mosttempestuous ocean. And what, dear friends, must have been the agony andremorse of those misguided young men when they thus realized the resultsof their deliberate breaking of the holy day. As they clung to the frailvessel, which reeled to and fro beneath them like a drunken man, andwhich now alone remained to possibly save them from a watery grave--asthey perceived the billows breaking in upon that devoted ship, insomuchthat it was covered with waves, what must have been their sensations?And when the wind suddenly changed its direction and blew them withterrible force back again toward the rocky coast, we can imagine howearnestly they made their resolutions never again to transgress in thisway. Once more, after a while, they saw the land again, and as they camecloser they could discern the spires of those holy edifices which theyhad abandoned for the sake of forbidden pleasures and in which they weredoomed never to hear the teachings of the Church again. There lay theharbor before them, as if in mockery of all their attempts to reach it;and while raised on high in the air, on the summit of some white,mountainous billow, they could obtain a Pisgah-like view of those homesthey were destined never again to enter."
Jack was broad awake now and wondering why, with the wind dead afterthem, the fishermen in charge of the boat could not make the harbor.
"Suddenly there came a great noise, which no doubt sounded like a deathknell in the hearts of the terrified and exhausted young men. It wassoon discovered that the mainsail of the ship had been blown away by thefury of the tempest."
"Now what was their unhappy condition? How could they any longer striveto reach the longed-for haven when the mainsail of the yawl was blownaway?"
Jack shifted in his seat uncomfortably at this point. He was saying tohimself: "Why not sneak in under a jib? Or even under bare poles? Or, ifthe harbor was intricate, why not heave to under the mizzen and signalfor a tug?" Half a score of possibilities followed each other throughhis brain, which in sailing matters worked quickly. He always inclinedfrom his early training to accept without question all that issued fromthe pulpit; but this story bothered him. The instructor went on:
"Clearly there was now no hope for the devoted vessel. Even the anchorwas gone; the anchor of Hope, dear friends, was gone. The strongtrustworthy anchor (in which mariners place so great confidence that ithas become the type or symbol of Hope) was gone--washed overboard by thetemptuous waves."
Charley here received a kick under the seat from Jack whose face was nowfilled with a blank incredulity, which showed that the influence of hisearly training had departed from him.
In one way or another, the preacher succeeded in irritating some of theIdeal's crew. He went on to say that the yawl was dashed to pieces onthe rocks, and that only one man--a fisherman--survived; from which hedrew the usual moral.
With three or four exceptions, our friends went out of church not asgood-humored as when they came in. Geoffrey alone seemed to have enjoyedhimself. His heart-felt cynicism pulled him through. He said aloud toMrs. Dusenall, when they were all together again, that he thought thepreacher's description of the perils of the deep was very beautiful.(Dead silence from Jack and Charley). Mrs. Dusenall concurred with him,and said it was wonderful how clergymen acquired so much generalknowledge.
Presently Charley, thoughtfully: "Say, Jack, what was the matter withthat boat, any way?"
"Blessed if I could find out," said Jack.
"Why! did you not hear? Her mainsail was gone," said Geoffrey gravely,to draw Jack out.
"Well, who the deuce cares for a mains'l?" answered Jack, rising testilyto the bait. "The man does not know what he is--well, of course, he is aclergyman, but then, you know--my stars! not make a port in broaddaylight with the wind dead aft! Perfectly impossible to miss it! And,then the anchor--a fisherman's anchor!--washed overboard!"
Geoffrey persisted, more gravely, in a reproachful tone; "You don't meanto say, Jack, that you doubt that what a clergyman says is true?"
The Misses Dusenall also looked at him very seriously.
Jack was a candid young man, and had his religious views fixed, as itwere, hereditarily. He looked at his boots, as if he would like to evadethe question; but, seeing no escape, he came out with his answer likeparting with his teeth.
"When the parson," he said with stolid determination, "goes in formediaeval saints, I don't interfere. He can forge ahead and I won't tryto split his wind. But when he talks sailing he must talk sense. No,sir! I do _not_ believe that story--and no Angel Gabriel would make me."
There was a force behind his tones of conviction which amused some ofhis hearers.
"Jack Cresswell! You surprise me," said Geoffrey loftily.
After lunch the ladies went up into the city to visit some friends, andthe men were lying about under the awning, chatting, smoking, andsipping claret.
"Well, there was one thing about that boat that caused the entiredisturbance," said Charley, sagaciously. "I've thought the whole thingout; and I put down the trouble to the usual cause--and that is--whisky.When the fishermen found there was liquor on board they 'steered for theopen sea,' and when they were all stark, staring, blind drunk they wentashore."
"I fancy you have solved the difficulty," said Mr. Lemons. "The preacherdid not, somehow, seem to get hold of me. My notion is that he shouldcome down to your level and help you up--like those Arab chaps that lugand butt you up the Pyramids--not stand at the top and order you toclimb."
"Just so," said Geoffrey. "A speaker must in some way make his listenersfeel at home with him, just as a novel, to sell well, must contain someone touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. The sympathies mustbe excited. In books accepted by gentle folk the "one touch" ofattractive and primitive nature is refined, and in this shape it iscalled poetry--in this shape it creates vague and pleasant wonderings,especially in the minds of those whose fancies are capable of no higherintellectual flight. When we see that people so universally seekproductions in which nature is only more or less disguised, we seem tounderstand man better."
"What are you trying to get at now?" asked Jack, with a smiling show ofimpatience.
"Why," said Hampstead, "take the work of the sprightliest modern novelwriters--say, for instance, Besant and Rice. Deduct the fun from theirbooks and the shadowy plot, and what remains? A girl--a fresh, young,innocent girl--who, with her beautiful face and figure, charms theheart. She does not do much, and (with William Black) she says evenless; but the people in the book are all in love with her, and thereader becomes, in a second-hand and imaginative way, in love with heralso. She is quiet, lady-like, and delicious; her surroundings assist increating an interest in her; but in the dawn and development of lovewithin her lies the chief interest of most readers. The mindconcentrates itself without effort when lured by any of our earlierinstincts. What we want is a definition as to what degree of carefulmental exertion is worthy of being dignified by the name of "thought,"as distinguished from that sequence of ideas, without exertion, which issufficient in all animals for daily routine and the carrying out ofinstinct."
"There are some of your ideas, Hampstead, which do not seem to promiseimprovement to anybody," said Jack.
"And, for you, the worst thing about them is that they have a semblanceof truth," replied Hampstead.
"Sometimes--yes," admitted Jack. "But I would not excuse you becausethey happened to be true. The only way I excuse you is because, afteryour scientific mud-groveling, you sometimes point higher than others.Are we to understand, then, that you object to novel reading on moralgrounds?"
"Don't be absurd. A novel may be all that it should be. I am statingwhat I take to be facts, and I think it interesting to consider why weenjoy what ladies call 'a good love-story.' You will notice that peoplewho adopt an over-ascetic and unnatural life and do not seek nature,give up reading 'good love-stories.' Perhaps they vaguely realize thatthe difference in the interest created by Black's insipid Yolande andByron's Don Juan is merely one of degree."
"Now, will you be so good as to say candidly what gain you or any oneelse ever received from thinking in such channels as these?" inquiredJack, with impatience.
"Certainly. It keeps me from transcendentalism--from being led off intovanity--thoughts about my immortality--"
"Surely," interrupted Jack, "the aspirations of one's soul aresufficient to convince us that we will live again."
"Jack, a man's soul is simply his power of imagining and desiring whathe hasn't got. Once a day, more or less, his soul imagines immortality.The rest of the time it imagines his sweetheart. If a poet, his soulcombines the two. Or else it is the mighty dollar, or hunting, orsomething else. Shall all his aspirations toward nature go for nothing?His soul will conjure up his sweetheart nine thousand times for onethought of his future state. Because he has acquired neither. If he hadacquired either, he would soon be quite as certain that there wassomething still better in store for him. With our minds as active andrefined as they are, it would be quite impossible for men to dootherwise than have their imaginings about souls and immortality. Thesemake no proof; the savage has none of them; and if they were proof,whither do man's aspirations chiefly point? To earth or to heaven?"
"Well, I suppose your answer," said Jack, "is sufficient for yourself.You study science, then, to persuade yourself that when you die you willremain teetotally dead?"
"Rather to make myself content with a truth which is different from andnot so pleasant as that which we are taught in early life."
"For goodness' sake," cried Mr. Lemons, yawning, "pass the claret."