The Cathedral Part 70

The Dean then showed quite unexpected qualities.

"Will you sit here on my right, Archdeacon?" he said in a firm and almost casual voice. "We are a little late, I fear, but no matter--no matter. We are all present, I think, save Archdeacon Witheram, who is at Drymouth, and from whom I have received a letter." They all found their places.

Ronder was as usual exactly opposite to Brandon. Foster slouched into his seat with his customary air of absentmindedness. Ryle tried not to look at Brandon, but his eyes were fascinated and seemed to swim in their watery fashion like fish fascinated by a bait.

"Shall we open with a prayer," said the Dean, "and ask G.o.d's blessing on this morning's work?"

They prayed with bent heads. Brandon's head was bent longer than the others.

When he looked up he stared about him as though completely bewildered.

"As you all know," the Dean said in his softly urgent voice, as though he were pressing them to give him flowers for his collection, "our meeting this morning is of the first urgency. I will, with your approval, postpone general business until the more ordinary meeting of next week. That is if no one has any objection to such a course?"

No one had any objections.

"Very well, then. As you know, our business this morning is to appoint a successor to poor Morrison at Pybus St. Anthony. Now in ordinary cases, such an appointment is not of the first importance, but in the matter of Pybus, as you all know, there is a difference. Whether rightly or wrongly, it has been a tradition in the Diocese that the Pybus living should be given only to exceptional men. It has been fortunate in having a succession of exceptional men in its service--men who, for the most part, have come to great position in the Church afterwards. I want you to remember that, gentlemen, when you are making your decision this morning.

At the same time you must remember that it has been largely tradition that has given this importance to Pybus, and that the living has been vacant already too long."

He paused. Then he picked up a piece of paper in front of him.

"There have been several meetings with regard to this living already," he said, "and certain names have been very thoroughly discussed among us. I think we were last week agreed that two names stood out from the others.

If to-day we cannot agree on one of those two names, we must then consider a third. That will not, I hope, be necessary. The two names most favourably considered by us are those of the Rev. Rex Forsyth, Chaplain to Bishop Clematis, and the Rev. Ambrose Wistons of St. Edward's Hawston. The first of these two gentlemen is known to all of us personally, the second we know chiefly through his writings. We will first, I think, consider Mr.

Wistons. You, Canon Foster, are, I know, a personal friend of his, and can tell us why, in your opinion, his would be a suitable appointment."

"It depends on what you want," said Foster, frowning around upon every one present; and then suddenly selecting little Bond as apparently his most dangerous enemy and scowling at him with great hostility, "if you want to let the religious life of this place, nearly dead already, pa.s.s right away, choose a man like Forsyth. But I don't wish to be contentious; there's been contention enough in this place during these last months, and I'm sick and ashamed of the share I've had in it. I won't say more than this--that if you want an honest, G.o.d-fearing man here, who lives only for G.o.d and is in his most secret chamber as he is before men, then Wistons is your man. I understand that some of you are afraid of his books. There'll be worse books than his you'll have to face before you're much older.

_That_ I can tell you! I said to myself before I came here that I wouldn't speak this morning. I should not have said even what I have, because I know that in this last year I have grievously sinned, fighting against G.o.d when I thought that I was fighting for Him. The weapons are taken out of my hands. I believe that Wistons is the man for this place and for the religious life here. I believe that you will none of you regret it if you bring him to this appointment. I can say nothing more."

What had happened to Foster? They had, one and all, expected a fighting speech. The discomfort and uneasiness that was already in the room was now greatly increased.

The Dean asked Ronder to say something. Ronder leaned forward, pushing his spectacles back with his fingers. He leaned forward that he might not see Brandon's face.

By chance he had not seen Brandon for more than a fortnight. He was horrified and frightened by the change. The grey-white face, the restless, beseeching, bewildered eyes belonging apparently to some one else, to whom they were searching to return, the long white fingers ceaselessly moving among the papers and tapping the table, were those of a stranger, and in the eyes of the men in that room it was he who had produced him. Yes, and in the eyes of how many others in that town? You might say that had Brandon been a man of real spiritual and moral strength, not Ronder, not even G.o.d Himself, could have brought Brandon to this. But was that so?

Which of us knows until he is tried? His wife, his son, his body, all had failed him. And now this too.... And if Ronder had not come to that town would it have been so? Had it not been a duel between them from the moment that Ronder first set his foot in that place? And had not Ronder deliberately willed it so? What had Ronder said to Brandon's son and to the woman who would ruin Brandon's wife?

All this pa.s.sed in the flash of a dream through Ronder's brain, perhaps never entirely to leave him again. In that long duel there had been perhaps more than one defeat. He knew that they were waiting for him to speak, but the thoughts would not come. Wistons? Forsyth?...Forsyth?

Wistons? Who were they? What had they to do with this personal relation of his with the man opposite?

He flushed. He must say something. He began to speak, and soon his brain, so beautifully ordered, began to reel out the words in soft and steady sequence. But his soul watched Brandon's soul.

"My friend, Canon Foster, knows Mr. Wistons so much better than I do," he said, "that it is absurd for me to try and tell you what he should tell you.

"I do regard him as the right man for this place, because I think our Cathedral, that we all so deeply love, is waiting for just such a man.

Against his character no one, I suppose, has anything to say. He is known before all the world as a G.o.d-fearing Christian. He is no youth; he has had much experience; he is, every one witnesses, lovable and of strong personal charm. It is not his character, but his ideas, that people have criticised. He is a modernist, of course, a man of an enquiring, penetrating mind, who must himself be satisfied of the truth for which he is searching. Can that do us here any harm? I believe not. I think that some of us, if I may say so, are too easily frightened of the modern spirit of enquiry. I believe that we Churchmen should step forward ready to face any challenge, whether of scientists, psychologists or any one else--I think that before long, whether we like it or no, we shall have to do so. Mr. Wistons is, I believe, just the man to help us in such a crisis. His opinions are not precisely the same as those of some of us in this diocese, and I've no doubt that if he came here there would be some disputes from time to time, but I believe those same disputes would do us a world of good. G.o.d did not mean us to sit down twiddling our thumbs and never using our brains. He gave us our intelligences, and therefore I presume that He meant us to make some use of them.

"In these matters Mr. Wistons is exactly what we want here. He is a much- travelled man, widely experienced in affairs, excellent at business. No one who has ever met him would deny his sweetness and personal charm. I think myself that we are very fortunate to have a chance of seeing him here--"

Ronder ceased. He felt as though he had been beating thin air with weak ineffective hands. They had, none of them, been listening to him or thinking of him; they had not even been thinking of Wistons. Their minds had been absorbed, held, dominated by the tall broad figure who sat in their midst, but was not one of them.

Brandon, in fact, began to speak almost before Ronder had finished. He did not look up, but stared at his long nervous fingers. He spoke at first almost in a whisper, so that they did not catch the first few words.

"...Horrified..." they heard him say. "Horrified.... So calmly.... These present....

"Cannot understand...." Then his words were clearer. He looked up, staring across at Ronder.

"Horrified at this eager acceptance of a man who is a declared atheist before G.o.d." Then suddenly he flung his head back in his old challenging way and, looking round upon them all, went on, his voice now clear, although weak and sometimes faltering:

"Gentlemen, this is perhaps my last appearance at these Chapter Meetings.

I have not been very well of late and, as you all know, I have had trouble. You will forgive me if I do not, this morning, express myself so clearly or carefully as I should like.

"But the first thing that I wish to say is that when you are deciding this question this morning you should do your best, before G.o.d, to put my own personality out of your minds. I have learnt many things, under G.o.d's hand, in the last six months. He has shown me some weaknesses and failings, and I know now that, because of those weaknesses, there are some in this town who would act against anything that I proposed, simply because they would wish me to be defeated. I do implore you this morning not to think of me, but to think only of what will be best--best--best---- " He looked around him for a moment bewildered, frowning in puzzled fashion at Ronder, then continued again, "best for G.o.d and the work of His Church.

"I'm not very well, gentlemen; my thoughts are not coming very clearly this morning, and that is sad, because I've looked forward to this morning for months past, wishing to fight my very best...." His voice changed.

"Yes, fight!" he cried. "There should be no fight necessary in such a matter. But what has happened to us all in the last year?

"A year ago there was not one of us who would have considered such an appointment as I am now disputing. Have you read this man's books? Have you read in the papers his acknowledged utterances? Do you know that he questions the Divinity of Christ Himself----"

"No, Archdeacon," Foster broke in, "that is not true. You can have no evidence of that."

Brandon seemed to be entirely bewildered by the interruption. He looked at Foster, opened his mouth as though he would speak, then suddenly put his hand to his head.

"If you will give me time," he said. "Give me time. I will prove everything, I will indeed. I beg you," he said, suddenly turning to the Dean, "that you will have this appointment postponed for a month. It is so serious a matter that to decide hastily----"

"Not hastily," said the Dean very gently. "Morrison died some months ago, and I'm afraid it is imperative that we should fill the vacancy this morning."

"Then consider what you do," Brandon cried, now half-rising from his chair. "This man is breaking in upon the cherished beliefs of our Church.

Give him a little and he will take everything. We must all stand firm upon the true and Christian ground that the Church has given us, or where shall we be? This man may be good and devout, but he does not believe what we believe. Our Church-that we love--that we love----" He broke off again.

"You are against me. Every man's hand now is against me. Nevertheless what-I say is right and true. What am I? What are you, any of you here in this room, beside G.o.d's truth? I have seen G.o.d, I have walked with G.o.d, I shall walk with Him again. He will lead me out of these sore distresses and take me into green pastures----"

He flushed. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I am taking your time. I must say something for Mr. Forsyth. He is young; he knows this place and loves it; he cares for and will preserve its most ancient traditions....

"He cares for the things for which we should care. I do commend him to your attention----"

There was a long silence. The rain that had begun a thick drizzle dripped on the panes. The room was so dark that the Dean asked Bond to light the gas. They all waited while this was being done. At last the Dean spoke:

"We are all very grateful to you, Archdeacon, for helping us as you have done. I think, gentlemen, that unless there is some other name definitely to be proposed we had better now vote on these two names.

"Is there any further name suggested?"

No one spoke.

"Very well, then. I think this morning, contrary to our usual custom, we will record our votes on paper. I have Archdeacon Witheram's letter here advising me of his wishes in this matter."

Paper and pens were before every one. The votes were recorded and sent up to the Dean. He opened the little pieces of paper slowly.

At last he said:

"One vote has been recorded in favour of Mr. Forsyth, the rest for Mr.

Wistons. Mr. Wistons is therefore appointed to the living of Pybus St.

Anthony."