Chapter XVIII (3)

‘Ah!’ rejoined the Rector quietly, ‘for a servant, as you say, or for a mere sower of our fields, or (why not?) for a carpenter’s son either? But allow me to name two points which strike me forcibly,—two very solemn points;’ and Dr. Goodman spoke with solemnity, and bowed his head. ‘First, that if our adorable Lord were now walking this world as once He walked it, and if He had gone into our parish church last Sunday, as long ago He used to frequent the synagogue of Nazareth, He would certainly not have waited long to be ushered into a pew, but would, at least as willingly, have sat down amongst His own “blessed” poor; and, secondly, that we should all have left Him to do so unmolested; for I cannot suppose that His were the gold ring and goodly apparel which would have challenged attention.’

There was a pause, broken by Mrs. Plume, who, turning to her hostess, observed: ‘Ah, dear Mrs. Goodman, we know and revere the zeal of our dear good apostle. But you and I are old housekeepers, old birds not to be caught with chaff;’ and she shook a fascinating finger at her pastor; ‘and we know that the poor are not nice neighbours; quite infectious, in fact. They do very well together all in a clump, but one really couldn’t risk sitting amongst them, on various grounds, you know.’

‘Well,’ resumed the Rector, ‘I plead guilty to being but a tough man, thick-skinned, and lacking certain subtler members, entitled nerves. But what will you? You must make allowances for me, and even put up with me as I am. With docility, and all the imagination of which I am master, I throw myself into your position, and shudder with you at these repulsively infectious poor. I even seek to deepen my first impression of horror by questioning myself in detail, and I dwell on the word “infectious.” This brings before me small-pox, typhus fever, and other dreadful ailments; and I hasten (in spirit) to slam to, if only I could to bolt and bar, my pew-door. Safely ensconced within, I peer over my necessary barrier, and relieved from the pressure of instant peril, gaze with pity on the crowd without, all alike typhus-stricken, all alike redolent of small-pox. A new terror thrills me. Are ‘all alike’ infectious? or have we grouped together sound and unsound, sick and healthy? Ah, you hint, that amount of risk cannot be helped if they are to come to church at all. I am corrected, and carrying out the lesson of my Teacher I echo: That amount of risk cannot be helped if we are to come to church at all.’

‘These men! these men!’ cried Mrs. Plume, gaily. And Miss Crabb observed, from behind her blue spectacles, ‘Well, I suppose a woman of my age may allude to anything she pleases; so I make bold to tell you, Dr. Goodman, that small-pox may be all nonsense; but that nobody would like to sit amongst smells, and cheek-by-jowl with more heads than one in a bonnet.’

‘Smells,’ rejoined the Rector, ‘I do strongly object to; including scents, my dear Mrs. Plume; but that is a matter of taste. The other detail, which I know not how to express more pointedly than in the striking words of Miss Crabb, is yet more to be deprecated: but let us consider whether pews fairly meet the difficulty. Fairly? I ask; and then the unhesitatingly answer, No. For all the poor, both clean and dirty, occupy our free seats together; and surely to sit next a dirty neighbour is, at the least, as great a hardship on the cleanly poor as it would be on the rich, who are so far better able to have their clothes cleansed, or even, in case of need, to discard them. If, indeed, all dirty individuals would have the good feeling to compact themselves into one body it might be reassuring to their fellows, but this it were invidious to propose; and besides, we are at present mooting pews or no pews, not any third possible—or shall we say impossible?—alternative. I confess to you,’ he resumed, very seriously, ‘when I remember the little stress laid by Christ on clean hands, and the paramount importance in His eyes of a clean heart; when I reflect on the dirt of all kinds which much have touched Him in the crowds He taught and healed; when I realise that every one of my parishioners, poor as well as rich, will confront me at His judgment-bar, I tremble lest any should be deterred from coming to Him because I am too fine a gentlemen to go out into the highways and hedges. And compel to come in those actual poor—foul of body, it may be, as well as of soul—whom yet He has numbered to me as my flock.’

Silence ensued—an uncomfortable silence; broken by Mrs. Goodman’s nervous proffer of tea to Mr. Sale, who declined it.

Mr. Home resumed the attack. ‘Doctor,’ observed he, ‘all other objections to open seats might perhaps be overruled; but consider the sacredness of family affection, and do not ask us to scatter ourselves forlornly through the church, here a husband, there a wife;’ and he interchanged a smile with Mrs. Home; ‘there, again, a practical orphan. I for one could not possibly say my prayers without my little woman at my elbow.’

‘Here,’ cried the Rector, ‘I joyfully meet you halfway. The division of the sexes in distinct aisles is a question by itself, and one which I am not now discussing. Only go betimes to church’—at this a glance of intelligence passed round the circle, whilst Mrs. Home coloured,—‘and I stake my credit that you will hardly ever fail to find six contiguous seats for your party.’

Then Mr. Stone spoke up—Mr. Stone, the warmest man in the parish. He spoke with his fat hands in his fat pockets.

‘Dr. Goodman, sir,’—the courteous Rector bowed,—‘my attachment to the Church and my respect for your cloth must not prevent my doing my duty by my fellow-parishioners, who mouthpiece on the present occasion I claim to be.’ A general movement of relief accepted him as the lay champion. ‘We acknowledge, sir, and appreciate your zeal amongst us, but we protest against your innovations. We have borne with chants, with a surpliced choir, with daily services, but we will not bear to see all our right trampled under foot, and all our time-hallowed usages set at nought. The tendency of the day is to level social distinctions and to elevate unduly the lower orders. In this parish at least let us combine to keep up wise barriers between class and class, and to maintain that fundamental principle practically bowed to all over our happy England, that what you can pay for you can purchase. This, sir, has been our first dissension’—a statement not quite correct,—‘let it be our last; and in token that we are at one against, here is my hand.’

Dr. Goodman grasped the proffered hand, looking rather pale as he did so.

‘Let this betoken,’ rejoined he, ‘that whatever is discarded amongst us, it shall not be Christian charity. And now it grows late. I must not selfishly prolong our discussion’ yet, as your pastor, with a sacred duty to discharge towards all my flock, suffer me to add one word. What Mr. Stone has alleged may e the system of worldly England; though many a man professing far less than we do would repudiate so monstrous a principle; but as Churchmen we can have nothing to do with it. God’s gifts are bought without money and without price: “Ho, every one,” cries His invitation. I, therefore, as His most unworthy ambassador, protest that in His house I will no longer buy and sell as in a market. I confess myself in fault that I have so long tolerated this monstrous abuse; and I avow that you, my brethren, have this evening furnished me with the only plausible argument in favour of pews which has ever been suggested to me, for it is hard upon our open-hearted poor that they should be compelled to sit by persons who, instead of viewing them as brethren beloved, despise the poor.’

THE WAVES OF THIS TROUBLESOME WORLD.

A TALE OF HASTINGS FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.