But I cannot say I was too surprised when, one morning, an old and most valued friend called on me, and revealed his anxiety and perturbation of spirit by some very deep remarks about the weather. We agreed wonderfully on that most harmonious7 topic, and then I said:—
"You have something on your mind?"
"To be candid8 with you, Father Dan," he replied, assuming a sudden warmth, "I have. But I don't like to be intrusive10."
"Oh, never mind," I replied. "I am always open to fraternal correction."
"You know," he continued nervously11, "we are old friends, and I have always had the greatest interest in you—"
"For goodness' sake, Father James," I said, "spare me all that. That is all subintellectum, as the theologians say when they take a good deal for granted."
"Well, then," said he,—for this interruption rather nettled12 him,—"to be very plain with you, your parish is going to the dogs. You are throwing up the sponge and letting this young man do what he likes. Now, I can tell you the people don't like it, the priests don't like it, and when he hears it, as he is sure to hear it, the Bishop13 won't like it either."
"Well, Father James," I said slowly, "passing by the mixed metaphors14 about the dogs and the sponge, what are exactly the specific charges made against this young man?"
"Everything," he replied vaguely15. "We don't want young English mashers coming around here to teach old priests their business. We kept the faith—"
"Spare me that," I said. "And don't say a word about the famine years. That episode, and the grandeur16 of the Irish priests, is written in Heaven. We want a Manzoni to tell it,—that is, if we would not prefer to leave it unrecorded, except in the great book,—which is God's memory."
"Now," said I, "you are a wise man. What do you want me to do?"
"Very good. But be particular. Tell me, what am I to say?"
"Say? Tell him you'll stand no innovations in your parish. Nil19 innovetur, nisi quod prius traditum est. Tell him that he must go along with all the other priests of the diocese and conform to the general regulations,—Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus. Tell him that young men must know their place; and then take up the Selva, or the Fathers, and prove it to him."
"God bless you!" said I, thankfully and humbly20. "You have taken a load off my heart. Now, let me see would this do."
I took down from the dusty shelves a favorite little volume,—a kind of Anthology of the early Fathers, and I opened it.
"We'll try the sortes Virgilianæ" I said, and read slowly and with emphasis:—
"At nunc, etiam sacerdotes Dei, omissis Evangeliis et Prophetis, vidimus comœdias legere, amatoria Bucolicorum versuum verba cantare, tenere Virgilium, et id quod in pueris necessitatis est, crimen in se facere voluptatis."
"That's not bad," said my hearer, critically, whilst I held the book open with horror and amazement21. "That applies to him, I'm sure. But what's the matter, Father Dan? You are not ill?"
"No," said I, "I'm not; but I'm slightly disconcerted. That anathema22 strikes me between the two eyes. What else have I been doing for fifty years but thumbing Horace and Virgil?"
"Oh, never mind," he said, airily. "Who wrote that? That's extreme, you know."
"An altogether wise and holy man, called St. Jerome," I said.
"Ah, well, he was a crank. I don't mean that. That sounds disrespectful. But he was a reformer, you know."
I turned to St. Bernard, and read:—
"Lingua magniloqua—manus otiosa!
Sermo multus—fructus nullus!
Vultus gravis—actus levis!
Ingens auctoritas—nutans stabilitas!"
"You are not going?" said I, reaching for the bell. "I am just sending for Father Letheby to let you see how I can cuff him—"
"I—I—must be going," he said; "I have a sick-call—that is—an engagement—I—er—expect a visitor—will call again. Good day."
"Stay and have a glass of wine!" I said.
"Au revoir!" I replied, as I took up my hat and gold-headed cane28 and set out to interview and reprimand my curate. Clearly, something should be done, and done quickly. There was a good deal of talk abroad, and I was supposed to be sinking into a condition of senile incompetence29. It is quite true that I could not challenge my curate's conduct in a single particular. He was in all things a perfect exemplar of a Christian30 priest, and everything he had done in the parish since his arrival contributed to the elevation31 of the people and the advancement32 of religion. But it wouldn't do. Every one said so; and, of course, every one in these cases is right. And yet there was some secret misgiving33 in my mind that I should do violence to my own conscience were I to check or forbid Father Letheby's splendid work; and there came a voice from my own dead past to warn me: "See that you are not opposing the work of the right hand of the Most High."
These were my doubts and apprehensions34 as I moved slowly along the road that led in a circuitous35 manner around the village and skirted the path up to the school-house. I woke from my unpleasant reverie to hear the gentle murmur36 of voices, moving rhythmically37 as in prayer; and in a short bend of the road I came face to face with the children leaving school. I had been accustomed to seeing these wild, bare-legged mountaineers breaking loose from school in a state of subdued38 frenzy39, leaping up and down the side ditches, screaming, yelling, panting, with their elf-locks blinding their eyes, and their bare feet flashing amid the green of grasses or the brown of the ditch-mould. They might condescend40 to drop me a courtesy, and then—anarchy, as before. Today they moved slowly, with eyes bent41 modestly on the ground, three by three, and all chanting in a sweet, low tone—the Rosary. The centre girl was the coryphæus with the "Our Fathers" and "Hail Marys"; the others, the chorus. I stood still in amazement and challenged them:—
"I am happy to see my little children so well employed. How long since you commenced to say the Rosary thus in common?"
In a twinkling the solemnity vanished and I was surrounded by a chattering42 group.
"Just a week, Fader; and Fader Letheby, Fader, he tould us of a place where they do be going to work in the morning, Fader, and dey all saying de Rosary togeder, Fader; and den9, Fader, we do be saying to ourselves, why shouldn't we, Fader, say de Rosary coming to school, de same as dese Germans, Fader?"
"I have, Fader," said one of the coryphæi, "and de oders do be saying it on their fingers."
"I must get beads for every one of you," I said; "and to commence, here, Anstie, is my own."
I gave a little brown-eyed child my own mother-of-pearl beads, mounted in silver, and was glad I had it to give. The children moved away, murmuring the Rosary as before.
Now, here clearly was an innovation. Wasn't this intolerable? Who ever heard the like? Where would all this stop? Why, the parish is already going to the dogs! He has played right into my hands. Yes? Stop the Rosary? Prevent the little children from singing the praises of their Mother and Queen? I thought I saw the face of the Queen Mother looking at me from the skies; and I heard a voice saying, prophetically: "Ex ore infantium et lactantium perfecisti laudem propter inimicos tuos, ut destruas inimicum et ultorem." Clearly, the fates are against me.
"Father Letheby was not at home, but would be back presently. Would I take a chair and wait for a few moments?"
I sat down in a comfortable arm-chair lined with the soft rug that first elicited44 my housekeeper's admiration45. I looked around. Books were strewn here and there, but there was no slovenliness46 or untidiness; and, ha! there were the first signs of work on the white sheets of manuscript paper. I wonder what is he writing about. It is not quite honorable, but as I am on the war path, perhaps I could get here a pretext47 for scalping him. Notes!
"November 1. Dipped into several numbers of Cornhill Magazine. Specially48 pleased with an article on 'Wordsworth's Ethics,' in the August number, 1876.
"November 2. Read over Sir J. Taylor's poems, principally 'Philip van Artevelde,' 'Isaac Comnenus,' 'Edwin the Fair,' the 'Eve of the Conquest.'
"Comnenus.—Not much the doubt
Comnenus would stand well with times to come,
Yet is he in sad truth a faulty man.
But be it said he had this honesty,
He ever wished to pass for what he was,
Deliberately52 bent upon the right,
Had kept it in the main; one that much loved
To be it all: yet felt from time to time
The littleness that clings to what is human,
And suffered from the shame of having felt it."
"Humph! This is advanced," I thought. "I wonder does he feel like Comnenus? It is a noble portrait, and well worthy imitation."
Just then he came in. After the usual greetings he exclaimed, in a tone of high delight:—
"Look here, Father, here's a delicious tit-bit. Confess you never read such a piece of sublime56 self-conceit before."
He took up a review that was lying open on the desk, and read this:—
"As for claims, these are my opinions. If Lord Liverpool takes simply the claims of the scholar, Copleston's are fully6 equal to mine. So, too, in general knowledge the world would give it in favor of him. If Lord Liverpool looks to professional merits, mine are to Copleston's as the Andes to a molehill. There is no comparison between us; Copleston is no theologue; I am. If, again, Lord Liverpool looks to weight and influence in the University, I will give Copleston a month's start and beat him easily in any question that comes before us. As to popularity in the appointment, mine will be popular through the whole profession; Copleston's the contrary.... I thought, as I tell you, honestly, I should be able to make myself a bishop in due time.... I will conclude by telling you my own real wishes about myself. My anxious desire is to make myself a great divine, and to be accounted the best in England. My second wish is to become the founder57 of a school of theology at Oxford58. Now, no bishopric will enable me to do this but the See of Oxford. I have now told you my most secret thoughts. What I desire is, after a few years, to be sure of a retirement59, with good provision in some easy bishopric, or Van Mildert deanery. I want neither London nor Canterbury: they will never suit me. But I want money, because I am poor and have children; and I desire character, because I cannot live without it."
"Isn't that simply delicious?" said Father Letheby, laying down the review, and challenging my admiration.
"Poor fellow," I could not help saying; "the last little bit of pathos60 about his children gilds61 the wretched picture. Who was he?"
"No less a person than Dr. Lloyd, Regius Professor of Divinity in Oxford, and the originator of the Tractarian Movement. But can you conceive a Catholic priest writing such a letter?"
"No," I replied slowly, "I cannot. But I can conceive a Catholic priest thinking it. I am not so much unlike the rest of mankind; and I remember when I came out on the mission, and had time to look around me, like a chicken just out of its shell, two things gave me a shock of intense surprise. First, I could not conceive how the Catholic Church had got on for eighteen hundred years without my cooperation and ability; and, secondly62, I could not understand what fatuity63 possessed64 the Bishop to appoint as his vicar-general a feeble old man of seventy, who preached with hesitation65, and, it was whispered, believed the world was flat, and that people were only joking when they spoke66 of it as a globe; and pass over such a paragon67 of perfection, an epitome68 of all the talents, like myself. It took me many years to recover from that surprise; and, alas69! a little trace of it lingers yet. Believe me, my dear young friend, a good many of us are as alien in spirit to the Imitation as Dr. Lloyd, but we must not say it."
"By Jove!" he said, "I thought there was but one other Dr. Lloyd in the world, and that was Father James——," mentioning the name of my morning visitor.
It was the first chink I had seen in the armor of my young Goliath, and I put in my rapier.
"You are not very busy?" I said.
"No, Father," he replied, surprised.
"Would you have time to listen to a little story?"
"Certainly," he said, settling back in his chair, his head on his hands.
"Well," I said slowly, "in the first years of my mission I had a fellow curate, a good many years younger than myself. I consequently looked down on him, especially as he was slightly pompous70 in his manner and too much addicted71 to Latin and French quotations72. In fact, he looked quite a hollow fellow, and apparently73 a selfish and self-contented one. I changed my opinion later on. He was particularly fond of horses, though he never rode. He was a kind of specialist in horseflesh. His opinion was regarded as infallible. He never kept any but the highest breed of animal. He had a particularly handsome little mare, which he called 'Winnie,' because he thought he saw in her some intelligence, like what he read of in the famous mare of a famous Robin74 Hood75. She knew him, and followed him like a dog. He allowed no one to feed her, or even to groom76 her, but himself. He never touched her with a whip. He simply spoke to her, or whistled, and she did all he desired. He had refused one hundred and fifty pounds for her at a southern fair a few days before the occurrence which I am about to relate. One day he had been at conference, or rather we were both there, for he drove me to the conference and back. It was thirteen miles going and the same returning. The little mare came back somewhat fagged. He was no light-weight, nor was I.
"Before he sat down to dinner he fed and groomed78 her, and threw her rug over her for the night. She whinnied with pleasure at reaching her own stable. Just as he sat down to dinner a sick-call was announced. It was declared 'urgent.' After a while you won't be too much alarmed at these 'urgent' calls, for they generally mean but little; but on this occasion a short note was put into the priest's hand. It was from the doctor. It ran: 'Come as quickly as possible. It is a most critical case.'
"There was no choice there.
"'Have you brought a horse?' the priest cried.
"'No, your reverence79,' said the messenger. 'I crossed down the mountain by the goat-path. There was no time.'
"The priest went straight to the stable and unlocked it. The mare whinnied, for she knew his footstep. He flashed the light upon her as she turned her big eyes towards him.
"'Come, little woman,' he said, 'we must be on the road again.'
"She understood him, and moaned.
"He led her out and put her to his trap. Then, without a word, he gave her the rein80, and they pushed on in the darkness. The road for five miles was as level as that table, and she went rapidly forward. Then a steep hill rose before them for about two miles, and he relaxed a little, not wishing to drive her against the hill. Just then, on the brow he saw lights flashing and waving to and fro in the night. He knew the significance of it, and shook out the reins81. The poor little animal was so tired she could not breast the hill. He urged her forward. She refused. Then, for the first time in his life, he took out his whip. He did not strike her, and to this day he thanks God for it. But he merely shook it over her head. Stung by the indignity82, she drew herself together and sprang against the hill. She went up and up, like a deer, whilst the trap jolted83 and swung from side to side. Just as they reached the crest84 of the hill and heard the shouts, 'Hurry, your reverence, you'll never overtake her,' the little mare plunged85 forward and fell heavily. The priest was flung against a boulder86 and struck insensible. When he came to, the first word he heard was, 'She's dead, I fear, your reverence.' 'Who?' said the priest; 'the woman?' 'No, your reverence, but the mare!' 'Thank God!' said the priest; and he meant it. Dazed, stupefied, bleeding, he stumbled across rocks of red sandstone, heather, gorse; he slipped over some rude stepping-stones that crossed a mountain torrent87; and, at last, made his way to the rude cabin in the rough gorges88 of the mountain. The doctor was washing his instruments as the priest entered.
"'It's all right, Father James,' he said cheerily. 'The neatest case I ever had. But it was touch and go. Hello! you're bleeding on the temple. What's up?'
"'Oh, nothing,' said the priest. 'The mare stumbled and threw me. I may go in?'
"'Certainly,' said the doctor; 'but just allow me to wash that ugly wound.'
"'Wound? 't is only a scratch.'
"The priest went in and went through his ordinary ministrations. Then he came out, and still dazed and not knowing what to think, he stumbled back to the crest of the mountain road. There were men grouped around the fallen animal and the broken trap. They made way for him. He knelt down by the poor beast and rubbed her ears, as he was in the habit of doing, and whispered, 'Winnie!' The poor animal opened her eyes full upon him, then trembled convulsively, and died.
"'You will bury her, boys,' said the priest, 'over there under that cairn of stones, and bring me down the trap and harness in the morning.'
"What his feelings were, as he walked home, I leave you to realize. We did not hear of it for some days; but that 'Thank God!' changed all my opinions of him. I looked up to him ever since, and see under all his pomposity89 and dignity a good deal of the grit90 that makes a man a hero or a saint."
"I retract91 my remark unreservedly," said my curate; "it was unjust and unfair. It is curious that I have never yet made an unkind remark but I met with prompt punishment."
"You may not be a great theologian nor a deep thinker," said I, "but no man ever uttered a more profound saying. God may ignore our petty rebellions against Himself; but when we, little mites92, sit in contemptuous judgment93 on one another, He cannot keep His hands from us! And so, festina lente! festina lente! It is wholesome94 advice, given in many languages."
I looked at him.
"Because," he said, "I have been doing things lately that sometimes seem inopportune,—that concert for example, and—"
"They are all right," I said, "but lente! lente!!"
"It is all right," I repeated, "but lente! lente!!"
"And I think we must stop those little children from saying the Rosary—"
"Good evening," I said. "Come up after dinner and let us have a chat about that line in the 'Odes' we were speaking about."
I went homewards slowly, and, as I went, the thought would obtrude99 itself, how far I had recovered my lost authority, and succeeded in satisfying that insatiable monster called Public Opinion. For my curate had been reading for me a story by some American author, in which the narrative100 ended in a problem whether a lady or a tiger would emerge from a cage under certain circumstances; and hence, a conundrum101 was puzzling the world,—the tiger or the lady, which? And my conundrum was, Had I lectured my curate, or had my curate lectured me? I am trying to solve the problem to this day.
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1
reclamation
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| n.开垦；改造；（废料等的）回收 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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exigencies
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| n.急切需要 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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metaphors
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| 隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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innovator
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| n.改革者；创新者 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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auguries
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| n.（古罗马）占卜术，占卜仪式( augury的名词复数 )；预兆 | |
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mare
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restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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cane
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incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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circuitous
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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rhythmically
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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slovenliness
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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threnody
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| n.挽歌，哀歌 | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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gilds
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| 把…镀金( gild的第三人称单数 )； 给…上金色； 作多余的修饰（反而破坏原已完美的东西）； 画蛇添足 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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85
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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pomposity
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| n.浮华；虚夸；炫耀；自负 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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mites
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| n.（尤指令人怜悯的）小孩( mite的名词复数 )；一点点；一文钱；螨 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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97
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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98
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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99
obtrude
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| v.闯入；侵入；打扰 | |
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100
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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101
conundrum
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| n.谜语；难题 | |
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