Part 4
This means that wherever influence can be brought to bear on the return of Roman Catholic members to the House, that influence will not be lacking.
2. “The next Session of Parliament may settle for ever the position of Christianity in this country.”
Not CHRISTIANITY, my lord Cardinal!--for that is above all “settling,”--save with its Founder--but that the next Session may open the way to a more complete Roman Catholic domination is what you venture to hope and to work for.
3. “The adoption of a _single clause_ or principle will have far-reaching and most vital results.”
Precisely;--so far-reaching and vital that England must be on her guard against even a “single clause or principle” which endangers the liberty of the subject.
4. “Struggles will be inevitable until the Christian cause, which is becoming more and more openly the cause of the majority, has permanently triumphed.”
For Cardinal Vaughan there is only one “Christian” cause--viz., the Roman Catholic, and he who runs may read the meaning of the above phrase without much difficulty.
Concerning the King’s Declaration Oath, said the Cardinal:--
“It is not the King who is responsible for the drafting or the retention of this detestable Declaration. It is the Ministry, the Legislature, the Constitution that are responsible for its retention, and for forcing its acceptance upon the Sovereign. The gravamen, therefore, lies against the State, not against the person of the King.”
Quite true; and it is therefore against the State that the Vatican powers must and possibly will be directed.
“And,” went on the Cardinal, “do not devout clergymen swear every day in good faith to teach the Thirty-nine Articles, and find every day that conscience and good faith compel them to break their engagement by submitting to the Catholic Church? When a man fully realizes that by a promise or an oath he has pledged himself to something that is unjust, immoral, untrue, the engagement ceases to bind.”
_Ergo_, the English Church, the particular “Faith” which our King undertakes to DEFEND, is “unjust, immoral, and untrue.”
And, “Could Englishmen see themselves as others see them, they would be more chary than they are of provoking hatred by such wanton contempt for the feelings of other nations.”
Well, Englishmen have every chance of seeing themselves as others see them, when they hear a “Christian” Cardinal accusing them of “wanton contempt for the feelings of other nations.” To whom do other nations turn in want or distress but England? From whom do the famine and fever-stricken in all corners of the world obtain relief? England! Where is there any Roman Catholic country that has poured out such limitless charity and pity to all in sorrow as England? And why should the “conversion of England” be so valuable to the Roman Church? Merely because of England’s incalculable wealth and incalculable power! Again, concerning the Declaration Oath, the Cardinal continued:--“Now, should it ever happen that the King became convinced, by God’s grace, of the truth of the doctrines that he abjured, of what value would be the Declaration? Absolutely none!”
Of course not,--he would simply cease to be King, and would enjoy the complete liberty of the subject.
“By all means,” went on his Eminence, warming with his theme, “let the majority, if it please, stand by the law, which exists apart from the Declaration, declaring that to reign over England the Sovereign must be a Protestant. Retain this law and enforce it; but respect our creed, at least just so far as to ignore it, and to leave us alone. This, surely, is not a heavy demand to make upon the spirit of modern toleration.”
Then will _you_ not, my lord Cardinal, “respect the creed” established in this country,--the religion of the State,--“just so far as to ignore it,” and to leave those who honour it “alone.” “This, surely, is not a heavy demand to make upon the spirit of modern toleration.” It is not the Church of England which has started any discussion on the Coronation Oath,--the quarrel has emanated entirely from the Roman Catholic side. And the Cardinal’s speech tends to be more aggressive than pacifying.
“But if,” he continues, “after all, there must be a Declaration _as a sop to certain fears and passions_, let there be one to the effect that the King is a Protestant--and stop there. Should, however, a denunciation of the Catholic religion be added to a profession of Protestantism, the whole world will understand it; it will understand it as a pitiable _confession of English fear and weakness_. And as to ourselves; well, we shall take it as a complimentary acknowledgment by our fellow-countrymen of the importance and power of faith--that it can not only remove mountains, but is capable of _moving even the fabric of the British Empire itself_. But I should like to conclude in another strain, and add to these observations a resolution to this effect:--That the Sovereign of this Empire ought to be raised high above the strife of all political and religious controversies, the more easily to draw to himself and to retain the unabated loyalty of all creeds and races within his Empire.”
With the latter part of the Cardinal’s harangue every one of every creed and class will agree, but “a pitiable confession of English fear and weakness” is a phrase that should never have been uttered by an Englishman, whether “broad” or narrow, cardinal or layman. “English fear and weakness” has never yet been known in the world’s history. And as for “moving the fabric of the British Empire,” that is only to be done through the possible incompetence or demoralization of its own statesmen,--by shiftiness, treachery, and corruption in State affairs--and even at this utmost worst, though England might be bent, she would never be broken.
But all this has nothing to do with the Christian faith as Christ Himself expounded it in His own commands. Quarrels and dissensions are as far from the teaching of the Divine Master as an earth’s dusthole is far from the centre of the sun. Differences of dogma are not approved in His eyes. Whether candles shall or shall not be set on the altar, whether incense shall or shall not be burnt, may be said to relegate to the “cleansing of the outside of the cup and platter,” and are not a vital part of His intention--for He has nothing but condemnation for “forms” and “ceremonies.” And, on this very point, I venture to say that if the rumour be correct that incense is to be used at the Coronation of our King and Queen, it will be a most unwise and unpopular procedure on the part of any bishop or archbishop who sanctions it. Incense in itself is harmless enough, though it has a somewhat sickening odour,--it has been burnt and swung in censers from time immemorial at all the pagan altars of the world,--in Babylon and Nineveh, in Tyre and Sidon, in Pompeii and Herculaneum,--it has smoked itself up to the gods Bel and Osiris, it has been used at the “services of Venus” and the shrines of Apollo and Jupiter, Buddha, Siva, and countless deities, as well as on the sacrificial stones consecrated to the worship of the Israelitish Jehovah,--but it is not a part of Christian worship. And when it is taken into due consideration that the use of it at the Coronation will indubitably offend and irritate thousands of the King’s most loyal subjects, it should most assuredly be entirely avoided. There is something very strange and unnatural in the provocative spirit which is at present being exercised by professing rulers of the Church of England against one another; and there is matter too for regret in the attitude of favour maintained by Lord Salisbury towards the practices of an almost theatrical Ritualism in the form of English Christian services. Can it be possible that the Premier meditates “going over” to Rome? His appointments of High Churchmen to important bishoprics would seem to imply that his mind is trending that way; certainly the simple and unaffected man of pure taste and dignity in Church ritual does not appeal to him, and that he is preparing the way for a second Cromwell is only too evident. It is lamentable indeed that any discussions should arise between the different sects as to “forms and ceremonies,” and those men who excite fanatical hatreds by their petty quarrels over unimportant “shows” and observances are criminally to blame for any evils that are likely to ensue. What Christ commands is “Love one another;”--what He desires is that all mankind should be friends and brothers in His Name. And it is from this point of view that I again ask the question of those who may have glanced through this paper--DO YOU BELIEVE, OR DO YOU NOT BELIEVE? Are you a CHRISTIAN? Or a SECTARIAN? The one is not the other.
For my own part I would desire to see all the Sects cease their long quarrel,--all “dogmas” dropped--and all creeds amalgamated into one great loving family under the name of Christ. I should like to see an end to all bigotry, whether of Protestantism against Romanism, or Romanism against Protestantism,--a conclusion to all differences--and a Universal Church of simple Love and Thanksgiving, and obedience to Christ’s own commands. “Temporal power” should be held as the poor thing which it is, compared to Spiritual power,--for Spiritual power, according to the Founder of the Christian Faith, is the transcendent force of Love--love to God and love to man,--that “perfect love which casteth out fear,” and which, being “born of God, cannot rest but in God above all created things.”
Thus it follows--That if we hate or envy or slander any person, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.
If we prefer outward forms of religious ceremonial to the every-day practice of a life lived as closely as possible in accordance with the commands laid down for us in the Gospel, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.
If we love ourselves more than our neighbours, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.
If we care for money, position, and the ostentation attending these things, more than truth, simplicity, and plain dealing, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.
These ordinary tests of our daily conduct are quite enough to enable us to decide whether we are or are not of the faith. If we are _not_, we should cease to “sham” that we _are_. It will be far better for all those with whom we are brought in contact. For, thank God, there exist thousands of very real “Christians”--(“by their fruits ye shall know them”)--doing unostentatious good everywhere, rescuing the lost, aiding the poor, comforting the sick, and helping the world to grow happier and better. They may be _called_ Jews or Baptists, Papists or Buddhists,--but I hold them all as “Christians” if they perform those good deeds and live those good lives which are acceptable to Christ; while many church-going hypocrites called “Christians,” whose social existence is a scandal, whose dissipations, gross immoralities and pernicious example of living are open dangers to the whole community, do not deserve even such a complimentary term as “pagan” applied to them. For the pagans--aye, the earliest savages--believed in Something higher than themselves; but these sort of people believe in nothing but the necessity of getting what they want at all costs, and are mere human warts of evil, breeding infection and pestilence. And it is particularly incumbent on the clergy of all denominations at the present juncture to sift Themselves as to their calling and election while sifting others,--to ask themselves whether they may not be in a great measure to blame for much of the infamy which reeks from our great cities,--for much of the apathy and indifference to that bitter poverty, that neglected suffering which often gives birth to Anarchy,--for much of the open atheism which shames the upper classes of society. Let them live such lives as may liberate them from all fear or hesitation in speaking out boldly to the souls they have in charge--let them “preach the Gospel” as they were commanded, rather than expound human dogmas. Sympathy, tenderness, patience, love for all living creatures, rejection of everything that is mean and cruel, false and cowardly,--a broad mind open to all the beautiful and gracious influences of Nature--a spirit uplifted in thanksgiving to the loving God of all worlds who is brought close to us and made the friend of man in the Divine Personality of Christ--this surely is CHRISTIANITY--a Faith which leaves no corner anywhere for the admission of hate, dissension or despair. Such is the Faith the Master taught, saying:--
[2]“I have not spoken of myself, but of the Father which sent me; He gave me a commandment what I should say, and what I should speak.
“And I know that His commandment is life everlasting--whatsoever I speak, therefore, even as the Father taught me, so I speak.”
So He speaks--but do we listen? And if we listen,--and believe,--why do we not obey?
THE VOICE IN THE CATHEDRAL
WITHIN the old cathedral, At the hour of evening prayer, When the golden tubes of the organ Poured music on the air, I knelt alone in the shadow Of the twilight grey and dim, Dreamily, drowsily hearing The sound of the choristers’ hymn-- I heard it, but scarcely listened, For I was in misery, Not even the glorious music Had power to comfort me.
The mighty chorus deepened And rolled through arches wide, Till softer, softer growing, With one faint chord it died; Then, solemnly and grandly, Clear on the sudden calm, Came floating a Voice--one only, Like an Angel’s singing a psalm-- A Voice so pure and tender, So rich and loving and low, That it touched my heart like an echo From the land of long ago.
My slumb’ring soul was wakened As that voice fell on my ears; My stubborn pride was conquered And quenched in grateful tears; My sorrows fled as Winter Flies from the smile of May, And my feeble heart was strengthened For the dangers of my way. O Voice divine, though human! O matchless power of Song! I shall hear you in my spirit And love you my whole life long!
THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR
IT is a very old Sedan-Chair,--“genuine old”--not the manufactured antiquity of the second-hand dealer. I bought it for very little money at a sale of the furniture and effects of an historical manor-house, and though much was told me about the manor-house itself, nobody could tell me anything about the chair. It might have always belonged to the manor,--and again it might not. It was cumbrous, and in these days, said the brisk auctioneer who was entrusted with the sale, quite useless. True. Yet somehow I took a singular fancy to it. I did not actually want it,--and yet I felt I must have it. My wish was very easily gratified, for no one competed in the bidding for such an out-of-date piece of property. It was knocked down to me at a small figure, and in the course of a few days took up a corner in my drawing-room, where, owing to the sixteenth-century style of that apartment, it looked, and still looks, quite at home. It has taken kindly to its surroundings, and in Spring-time, when we set the first blossoms of the almond-tree in a tall vase within it, so that the sprays push out their pink flowers through the window-holes, it presents an almost smiling appearance. It is made of polished wood and leather, and has at one time been somewhat ornately gilded, but the gold is all tarnished save in one or two small corners at the carved summit of the door, and the leather is badly rubbed and worn. Inside it is in somewhat better condition. It is lined with crimson silk stuff, patterned with gold fleur-de-lys; and the padded cushions are still comfortable. The door has a wonderfully contrived brass catch and handle, really worth the attention of a connoisseur in such things, and when it is shut some skill is required to open it again. In fact you must “know the trick of it” as they say. There were great ructions one afternoon when a “smart” man, down for the day from London, entered the chair, sat down, and banged that door to on himself. He smiled happily for a few minutes, and waved his hand condescendingly through the window-holes to a group of admiring friends,--but when he tried to get out and could not, his smile promptly vanished. His friends laughed,--and that irritated him; he was being made ridiculous, and no man can endure a joke which affects his _amour-propre_. I was hastily called for to set him at liberty, and as I did the old chair creaked, as much as to say “I told you so! Can’t abide your modern young man!”
I was thinking of this incident the other evening, when sitting by a sparkling fire of pine logs, and watching the flames reflected in the shining copper projections of the open Tudor grate; I presently raised my eyes and looked towards the chair.
“We must fill it with bright holly for Christmas,” I said to myself half aloud; “and hang just one little bunch of mistletoe tied with white ribbon over the door, for the sake of all the pretty women who may have been carried in it long ago!”
The pine logs spluttered and crackled,--one fell apart and leaped into a flame, and the gleam and flicker of it caught at the remaining bits of gold on the carving of the Chair, and lit up its faded crimson lining, and as I sat quietly looking at it in a sort of idle abstraction and reverie, it seemed to me as though the sparkling reflection of the fire on its cushions looked like the bright waves of a woman’s hair. All at once I jumped up quite startled--some one laughed!--yes, laughed,--quite close to me,--and a very pretty rippling laugh it was. My heart beat quickly,--yet scarcely with alarm so much as surprise. I listened attentively--and again the sweet laughter echoed on the silence. Surely--surely it came from--yes!--from the Sedan-Chair! I looked--and rubbed my eyes violently to make sure I was not dreaming--looked again, and there--there, as distinctly as the Chair itself, I saw Some-One sitting inside--a very fascinating Some-One with a fair face, a bewildering tangle of golden curls, blue eyes, rosy cheeks and dancing dimples, dressed in the most becoming little low-necked muslin frock imaginable!
“Why!” I stammered. “Who--what--how did you get in there?”
The Some-One smiled, and looked more bewitching than ever.
“I am very often in here,” replied a soft voice, “only I am not always in the humour to make myself visible. I am the Ghost of an Old-Fashioned Girl!”
I stared at the lovely spectre, stricken dumb, not by fear, but by admiration. “If all ghosts are like this one,” I thought, “we really cannot have too many of them about, especially at Christmas-time!” It was such a charming ghost! so unlike the usual sort of creeping-shivery thing which is supposed to haunt old houses and frighten harmless children! It had such beautiful clear eyes,--such a radiant smile!--and such a pretty pout came on the rosy lips when, receiving no answer, it suddenly said with an air of graceful petulance,--
“Dear me! Now I have told you who I am, you don’t seem a bit glad to see me? You ought to be, you know!--for I am quite a harmless Ghost--really I am! I wouldn’t frighten you for the world! But you _would_ buy my Chair!--and of course I like to come and sit in it now and then, and think about old times!”
I began to recover myself from the shock of surprise the fascinating appearance had given me, and I said in a faint voice,--
“Oh, is that it! The Sedan-Chair--”
“Is mine!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl; “or rather it used to be mine when I lived in the world and went about in it to balls and parties, you know! I can’t help having a little tenderness for it, because it is so very closely associated with my happy life on earth. Now please don’t stand looking at me so strangely! Sit down, and let us have a little chat in the firelight, won’t you?”
What a sweet voice this Ghost had to be sure! What a delightfully coaxing way of looking and speaking! I could not resist the appealing, half playful glances of her eyes, so I obeyed her suggestion and went back to my seat by the fire, whereupon the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl straightway opened the door of the Sedan-Chair and showed me her entire self, dressed apparently for a Christmas-party. Her white muslin frock was simply hemmed at the bottom, and had three little tucks in it--she wore small low shoes with elastic crossed over fine openwork white stockings--her pretty rounded arms were veiled, but not disguised, by black lace mittens, and her waist was quite carelessly tied in with a narrow strip of blue ribbon. But all this extreme simplicity only served to show the exquisite beauty of her lovely neck and shoulders, which rose out of the little muslin bodice like sculptured snow, and one little wicked knot of violets fastened with a quaint pearl brooch against the beautiful bosom, was enough to make the coldest anchorite forget his prayers and compose a love-sonnet immediately.
“Well!” said the Ghost after a pause, “how do you like me?”
“Very much!” I answered promptly; “I have never seen anyone so pretty as you are in my life!”
The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl smiled, and drawing out a small fan with delicate mother-of-pearl sticks, unfurled it and put it coquettishly before her face.
“That is what all the gentlemen used to say to me when I went about in this Chair,” she observed, “and then they would put their declarations in the lining.”
“In the lining?” I echoed. “You mean--”
“The lining of the Chair,” she explained. “There are some little secret pockets in it--haven’t you found them yet? Oh, you must look for them when I am gone--there is one very deep pocket just behind my head under a big golden fleur-de-lys. My first real proposal was put in that!”
“And did you accept it?”
“Yes,” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl, smiling, “and he and I were married, and lived sixty years together!”
“Dear me!” I ejaculated. “And he--”
“He is very well, thank you!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl. “Quite as young as when I first met him,--and so am I!”
I had no words ready with which to reply to this astonishing statement. The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl folded up her little fan and pressed its tip meditatively against her lips.
“You see we _really_ loved each other,” she said with emphasis, “and so of course we _have_ always loved each other! And as a natural result we _shall_ always love each other!”
“Yes,--I understand--” I murmured vaguely.
“No, you don’t!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl quickly; “though perhaps I shouldn’t say that, because it sounds rude,--but I am afraid, you know, that you _don’t_ quite see the point! The world has lost a number of good things since I was a girl in it,--and one of these good things is real, true love!”
“I don’t think you should say that!” I replied warmly; “I am sure people love each other quite as much as they ever did.”
The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl shook her fan at me.
“Not a bit of it!” she declared. “You know they don’t,--so don’t pretend they do!”
I was silent. I felt that it was perhaps not advisable to enter into argument with a visitor who knew the secrets of the next world.
“They _can’t_ love each other as they used to,” went on the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl; “the modern ways of the world won’t give them either the time or the opportunity. It is all rush, rush, hurry, and scramble;--and I’m sorry to see that the men love themselves better than their sweethearts. In my day it was quite different; men loved their sweethearts better than themselves!”
“But you had not much liberty in your day, had you?” I asked timidly.