Chapter 12

"You told me, yes, but my trust was as great As yours was in the bishop, little the good To tell me of it."

"Well, I told you of it. And she said, 'If the Lord commands you so You must obey.' And so she knit the socks And made that trunk of things, as she has said, And in six weeks I sailed from Philadelphia."

"'Twas nearer two months," said the wife.

"Perhaps, Somewhere between six weeks and that. The bishop Left Springfield in a month from our first talk. I knew, for I went over when he left. And I remember how his poor wife cried, And how the children cried. He had a family Of some eight children."

"Only seven then, The son named David died the year before."

"Mother, you're right, 'twas seven children then. The oldest was not more than twelve, I think, And all the children cried, and at the train His congregation almost to a man Was there to see him off."

"Well, one was missing. You know, you know," the wife said pregnantly.

"I'll come to that in time, if you'll be still. Well, so the bishop left, and in six weeks, Or somewhere there, I started for Montreaux To meet the bishop. Shipped ahead my trunk To Jaffa as the bishop did. But now I must tell you my dream. The night before I reached Montreaux I had a wondrous dream: I saw the bishop on the station platform His face with brandy blossoms splotched and wearing His gold head cane. And sure enough next day As I stepped from the train I saw the bishop His face with brandy blossoms splotched and wearing His gold head cane. And I thought something wrong, And still I didn't act upon the thought."

"I should say not," the wife broke in again.

"Oh, well what could I do, if I had thought More clearly than I did that things were wrong. You can't uproot the confidence of years Because of dreams. And as to brandy blossoms I knew his face was red, but didn't know, Or think just then, that brandy made it red. And so I went up to the house he lived in-- A mansion beautiful, and we sat down. And he sat there bolt upright in a rocker, Hands spread upon his knees, his black eyes bigger Than I had ever seen them, eyeing me Silently for a moment, when he said: 'What money did you bring?' And so I told him. And he said quickly 'let me have it.' So I took my belt off, counted out the gold And gave it to him. And he took it, thrust it With this hand in this pocket, that in that, And sat there and said nothing more, just looked! And then before a word was spoke again I heard a step upon the stair, the stair Came down into this room where we were sitting. And I looked up, and there--I rubbed my eyes-- I looked again, rose from my chair to see, And saw descending the most lovely woman, Who was"--

"A lovely woman," sneered the wife "Well, she was just affinity to the bishop, That's what she was."

"Affinity is right-- You see she was the leader in the choir, And she had run away with him, or rather Had gone abroad upon another boat And met him in Montreaux. Now from this time For forty hours or so all is a blank. I just remember trying to speak and choking, And flying from the room, the bishop clutching At my coat sleeve to hold me. After that I can't recall a thing until I saw A little cottage way up in the Alps. I was knocking at the door, was faint and sick, The door was opened and they took me in, And warmed me with a glass of wine, and tucked me In a good bed where I slept half a week. It seems in my bewilderment I wandered, Ran, stumbled, climbed for forty hours or so By rocky chasms, up the piney slopes."

"He might have lost his life," the wife exclaimed.

"These were the kindest people in the world, A French family. They gave me splendid food, And when I left two francs to reach the place Where lived the English Consul, who arranged After some days for money for my passage Back to America, and in six weeks I preached a sermon here in Pleasant Plains."

"Beware of false prophets was the text!" she said.

And I who heard this story through spoke up: "The thing about this that I fail to get Concerns this woman, the affinity. If, as seems evident, she and the bishop Had planned this run-a-way and used the faith, And you, the congregation to get money To do it with, or used you in particular To get the money for themselves to live on After they had arrived there in Montreaux, If all this be" I said, "why did this woman Descend just at the moment when he asked you For the money that you had. You might have seen her Before you gave the money, if you had You might have held it back."

"I would indeed, You can be sure I should have held it back."

And then the old wife gasped and dropped her knitting.

"Now, James, you let me answer that, I know. She was done with the bishop, that's the reason. Be still and let me answer. Here's the story: We found out later that the bishop's trunk And kit of tools had been returned from Jaffa There to Montreaux, were there that very day, Which means the bishop never meant to go To Palestine at all, but meant to meet This woman in Montreaux and live with her. Well, that takes money. So he used my husband To get that money. Now you wonder I see Why she would chance the spoiling of the scheme, Descend into the room before my husband Had given up this money, and this money, You see, was treated as a common fund Belonging to the church and to be used To get back Palestine, and so the bishop As head of the church, superior to my husband, Could say 'give me the money'--that was natural, My husband could not be surprised at that, Or question it. Well, why did she descend And almost lose the money? Oh, the cat! I know what she did, as well as I had seen Her do it. Yes, she listened at the landing. And when she heard my husband tell the sum Which he had brought, it wasn't enough to please her, And Satan entered in her heart, and she Waited until she heard the bishop's pockets Clink with the double eagles, then descended To expose the bishop and disgrace him there And everywhere in all the world. Now listen: She got that money or the most of it In spite of what she did. For in six weeks After my husband had returned, she walked, The brazen thing, the public streets of Springfield As jaunty as you please, and pretty soon The bishop died and all the papers printed The story of his shame."

She had scarce finished When the man at solitaire threw down the deck And make a whacking noise and rose and came Around in front of us and stood and looked The old man and old woman over, me He studied too. Then in an organ voice: "Is there a single verse in the New Testament That hasn't sprouted one church anyway, Letting alone the verses that have sprouted Two, three or four or five? I know of one: Where is it that it says that "Jesus wept"? Let's found a church on that verse, "Jesus wept." With that he went out in the rain and slammed The door behind him.

The old clergyman Had fallen asleep. His wife looked up and said, "That man is crazy, ain't he? I'm afraid."

THE BISHOP'S DREAM OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE

A lassie sells the War Cry on the corner And the big drum booms, and the raucous brass horns Mingle with the cymbals and the silver triangle. I stand a moment listening, then my friend Who studies all religions, finds a wonder In orphic spectacles like this, lays hold Upon my arm and draws me to a door Through which we look and see a room of seats, A platform at the end, a table on it, And signs upon the wall, "Jesus is Waiting," And "God is Love."

We enter, take a seat. The band comes in and fills the room to bursting With horns and drums. They cease and feet are heard, The crowd has followed, half the seats are full. After a prayer, a song, the captain mounts The platform by the table and begins: "Praise God so many girls are here to-night, And Sister Trickey, by the grace of God Saved from the wrath to come, will speak to you." So Sister Trickey steps upon the platform, A woman nearing forty, one would say. Blue-eyed, fair skinned, and yellow haired, a figure Once trim enough, no doubt, grown stout at last. She was a pretty woman in her time, 'Twas plain to see. A shrewd intelligence From living in the world shines in her face. We settle down to hear from Sister Trickey And in a moment she begins:

"Young girls: I thank the Lord for Jesus, for he saved me, I thank the Lord for Jesus every hour. No woman ever stained with redder sins. Had greater grace than mine. Praise God for Jesus! Praise God for blood that washes sins away! I was a woman fallen till Lord Jesus Forgave me, helped me up and made me clean. My name is Lilah Trickey. Let me tell you How music was my tempter. Oh, you girls, If there be one before me who can sing Beware the devil and beware your voice That it be used for Jesus, not for Satan."

"I had a voice, was leader of the choir, But Satan entered in my voice to tempt The bishop of the church, and in my heart To tempt and use the bishop; in the bishop Old Satan slipped to lure me from the path. He fell from grace for listening. And I Whose voice had turned him over to the devil Fell as he fell. He dragged me down with him. No use to make it long, one word's enough: Old Satan is the first word and the last, And all between is nothing. It's enough To say the bishop and myself eloped Went to Montreaux. He left a wife and children. And I poor silly thing with promises Of culture of my voice in Paris, lost Good name and all. And he lost all as well. Good name, his soul I fear, because he took The church's money saying he would use it To win the Holy Sepulchre, in fact Intending all the while to use the money For travel and for keeping up a house With me as soul-mate. For he never meant To let me go to Paris for my voice, He never got enough to pay for that. On that point he betrayed me, now I see 'Twas God who used him to deceive me there, And leave me to return to Springfield broken, An out-cast, fallen woman, shamed and scorned."

"We took a house in Montreaux, plain enough As we looked at it passing, but within 'Twas sweet and fair as Satan could desire: Engravings on the wall and marble mantels, Gilt clocks upon the mantels, lovely rugs, Chests full of linen, silver, pewter, china, Soft beds with canopies of figured satin, The scent of apple blossoms through the rooms. A little garden, vines against the wall. There were the lake and mountains. Oh, but Satan Baited the hook with beauty. But the bishop Seemed self-absorbed, depressed and never smiled. And every time his face came close to mine I smelled the brandy on him. Conscience whipped Its venomed tail against his peace of mind. And so he took the brandy to benumb The sting of conscience and to dull the pain. He told me he had business in Montreaux Which would require some weeks, would there be met By people who had money for him. I Was twenty-three and green, besides I walked In dreamland thinking of the promised schooling In Paris--oh 'twas music, as I said.". ...

"At last one day he said a friend was coming, And he went to the station. Very soon I heard their steps, the bishop and his friend. They entered. I was curious and sat Upon the stair-way's landing just to hear. And this is what I heard. The bishop asked: 'You've brought some money, how much have you brought?'

The man replied 'four hundred dollars.' Then The bishop said: 'I'll take it.' In a moment I heard the clinking gold and heard the bishop Putting it in his pocket.'

"God forgive me, I never was so angry in my life. The bishop had been talking in big figures, We would have thousands for my voice and Paris, And here was just a paltry sum. Scarce knowing Just what I did, perhaps I wished to see The American who brought the money--well, No matter what it was, I walked in view Upon the landing, stood there for a moment And saw our visitor, a clergyman From all appearances. He stared, grew red, Large eyed and apoplectic, then he rose, Walked side-ways, backward, stumbled toward the door, Rattled with shaking hand the knob and jerked The door ajar, with open mouth backed out Upon the street and ran. I heard him run A square at least."

"The bishop looked at me, His face all brandy blossoms, left the room, Came back at once with brandy on his breath. And all that day was tippling, went to bed So drunk I had to take his clothing off And help him in."

"Young girls, beware of music, Save only hymns and sacred oratorios. Beware the theatre and dancing hall. Take lesson from my fate.

"The morning came. The bishop called me, he was very ill And pale with fear. He had a dream that night. Satan had used him and abandoned him. And Death, whom only Jesus can put down, Was standing by the bed. He called to me, And said to me:

"'That money's in that drawer. Use it to reach America, but use it To send my body back. Death's in the corner Behind that cabinet--there--see him look! I had a dream--go get a pen and paper, And write down what I tell you. God forgive me-- Oh what a blasphemer am I. O, woman, To lie here dying and to know that God Has left me--hell awaits me--horrible! Last night I dreamed this man who brought the money, This man and I were walking from Damascus, And in a trice came down to Olivet. Just then great troops of men sprang up around us And hailed us as expecting our approach. And there I saw the faces--hundreds maybe, Of congregations who had trusted me In all the long past years--Oh, sinful woman, Why did you cross my path,' he moaned at times, 'And wreck my ministry.'

"'And so these crowds Armed as it seemed, exulted, called me general, And shouted forward. So we ran like mad And came before a building with a dome-- You know--I've seen a picture of it somewhere. And so the crowds yelled: let the bishop enter And see the sepulchre, while we keep guard. They pushed me in. But when I was inside There was no dome, above us was the sky, And what seemed walls was nothing but a fence. Before us was a stable with a stall Where two cows munched the hay. There was a farmer Who with a pitchfork bedded down the stall. "Where is the holy sepulchre?" I asked-- "My army's at the door." He kept at work And never raised his eyes and only said: "Don't know; I haven't time for things like that. You're 'bout the hundredth man who's asked me that. We don't know where it is, nor do we care. We live here and we knew him, so we feel Less interest than you. But have you thought If you should find it it would only be A tomb like other tombs? Why look at this: Here is the very manger where he lay-- What is it? Just a manger filled with straw. These cows are not the very cows you know-- But cows are cows in every age and place. I think that board there has been nailed on since. Outside of that the place is just the same. Now what's the good of seeing it? His mother Lay in that corner there, what if she did? That lantern on the wall's the very one They came to see the child with from the inn-- What of it? Take your army and go on, And leave me with my barn and with my cows."

"'So all the glory vanished! Devil magic Stripped all the glory off. No angels singing, No star of Bethlehem, no magi kneeling, No Mary crowned, no Jesus King, no mystic Blood for sins' remission--just a barn, A stall, two cows, a lantern--all the glory-- Swept from the gospel. That's my punishment: My poor weak brain filled full of all this dream, Which seems as real as life--to lie here dying Too weak to shake the dream! To see Death there Behind that cabinet--there--see him look-- By God forsaken--all theology, All mystery, all wonder, all delight Of spiritual vision swept away as clean As winds sweep up the clouds, and thus to see While dying, just a manger, and two cows, A lantern on the wall.

"'And thus to see, For blasphemy that duped an honest heart, And took the pitiful dollars of the flock To win you with--oh, woman, woman, woman, A barn, a stall, a lantern limned so clear In such a daylight of clear seeing senses That all the splendor, the miraculous Wonder of the virgin, nimbused child, The star that followed till it rested over The manger (such a manger) all are wrecked, All blotted from belief, all snatched away From hands pushed off by God, no longer holding The robes of God.'

"And so the bishop raved While I stood terrified, since I could feel Death in the room, and almost see the monster Behind the cabinet.

"Then the bishop said: "'My dream went on. I crossed the stable yard And passed into a place of tombs. And look! Before I knew I stepped into a hole, A sunken grave with just a slab at head, And "Jesus" carven on it, nothing else, No date, no birth, no parentage.'"

"'I lie Tormented by the pictures of this dream. Woman, take to your death bed with clear mind Of gospel faith, clean conscience, sins forgiven. The thoughts that we must suffer with and die with Are worth the care of all the days of life. All life should be directed to this end, Lest when the mind lies fallen, vultures swoop, And with their wings blot out the sun of faith, And with their croakings drown the voice of God.'

"He ceased, became delirious. So he died, And I still unrepentant buried him There in Montreaux, and with what gold remained Went on to Paris.

"See how I was marked For God's salvation.

"There I went to see The celebrated teacher Jean Strakosch, Who looked at me with insolent, calm eyes, And face impassive, let me sing a scale, Then shook his head. A diva, as I thought, Came in just then. They talked in French, and I, Prickling from head to foot with shame, ignored, Left standing like a fool, passed from the room. So music turned on me, but God received me, And I came back to Springfield. But the Lord Made life too hard for me without the fold. I was so shunned and scorned, I had no place Save with the fallen, with the mockers, drinkers. Thus being in conviction, after struggles, And many prayers I found salvation, found My work in life: which is to talk to girls And stand upon this platform and relate My story for their good."

She ceased. Amens Went up about the room. The big drum boomed, And the raucous brass horns mingled with the cymbals, The silver triangle and the singing voices.

My friend and I arose and left the room.

NEANDERTHAL

"Then what is life?" I cried. And with that cry I woke from deeper slumber--was it sleep?-- And saw a hooded figure standing by The bed whereon I lay.

"Why do you keep, O spirit beautiful and swift, this guard About my slumber? Shelley, from the deep Why do you come with veiled face, mighty bard, As that unearthly shape was veiled to you At Casa Magni?"

Then the room was starred With light as I was speaking, and I knew The god, my brother, from whose face the veil Melted as mist.

"What mission fair and true, While I am sleeping, brings you? For I pale Amid this solemn stillness, for your face Unutterably majestic."

As when the dale At midnight echoes for a little space, The night-bird's cry, the god responded "Come," And nothing more. I left my bed apace, And followed him with wings above the gloom Of clouds like chariots driven on to war, Between whose wheels the swift moon raced and swum.

A mile beneath us lay the earth, afar Were mountains which as swift as thought drew near As we passed over pines, where many a star And heaven's light made every frond as clear As through a glass or in the lightning's flash. ... Yet I seemed flying from an olden fear, A bulk of black that sought to sting or gnash My breast or side--which was myself, it seemed, The flesh or thinking part of me grown rash And violent, a brain soul unredeemed, Which sometime earlier in the grip of Death Forgot its terror when my soul which streamed Like ribbons of silk fire, with quiet breath Said to the body, as it were a thing Separate and indifferent: "How uneath That fellow turns, while I am safe yet cling Close to him, both another and the same." Now was this mood reversed: That self must wing Its fastest flight to fly him, lest he maim With fleshly hands my better, stronger part, As dragon wings my flap and quench a flame. ... But as we passed o'er empires and athwart A bellowing strait, beholding bergs and floes And running tides which made the sinking heart Rise up again for breath, I felt how close The god, my brother, was, who would sustain My wings whatever dangers might oppose, And knowing him beside me, like a strain Of music were his thoughts, though nothing yet Was spoken by him.

When as out of rain Suddenly lights may break, the earth was set Beneath us, and we stood and paused to see The Düssel river from a parapet Of earth and rock. Then bending curiously, As reaching, in a moment with his hand He scraped the turf and stones, pried up a key Of harder granite, and at his command, When he had made an opening, I slid And sank, down, down through the Devonian land Until with him I reached a cavern hid From every eye but ours, and where no light But from our faces was, a pyramid Of hills that walled this crypt of soundless night. Then in a mood, it seemed more fanciful, He bent again and raked, and to my sight Upheaved and held the remnant of a skull-- Gorilla's or a man's, I could not guess. Yet brutal though it was, it was a hull Too fine and large to house the nakedness Of a beast's mind.