Where the Blue Begins

by Christopher Morley

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mr. Poodle's reply was disappointing. He said:--

  St. Bernard's Rectory, September 1st.

  MY DEAR MR. GISSING:

  I regret that I cannot conscientiously see my way to writing to theBishop in your behalf. Any testimonial I could compose would be doubtfulat best, for I cannot agree with you that the Church is your truevocation. I do not believe that one who has deserted his family, asyou have, and whose record (even on the most charitable interpretation)cannot be described as other than eccentric, would be useful in HolyOrders. You say that your life in the city has been a great purgation.If so, I suggest that you return and take up the burdens laid upon you.It has meant great mortification to me that one of my own parish hasbeen the cause of these painful rumours that have afflicted our quietcommunity. Notwithstanding, I wish you well, and hope that chasteningexperience may bring you peace.

  Very truly yours,

  J. ROVER POODLE.

  Gissing meditated this letter in the silence of along evening inhis room. He brought to the problem his favourite aid to clearthinking--strong coffee mixed with condensed milk. Mrs. Purp had madeconcession to his peculiarities when he had risen so high in the world:better to break any rules, she thought, than lose so notable a tenant.She had even installed a small gas-plate for him, so that he could brewhis morning and evening coffee.

  So he took counsel with his percolator, whose bubbling was a sound hefound both soothing and stimulating. He regarded it as a kind of privateoracle, with a calm voice of its own. He listened attentively ashe waited for the liquid to darken. Appeal--to--the--Bishop,Appeal--to-the--Bishop, seemed to be the speech of the jettinggurgitation under the glass lid.

  He determined to act upon this, and lay his case before Bishop Borzoieven without the introduction he had hoped for. Fortunately he still hadsome sheets of Beagle and Company notepaper, with the engraved letteringand Office of the General Manager embossed thereon. He was in some doubtas to the proper formality and style of address in communicating with aBishop: was it "Very Reverend," or "Right Reverend"? and which of theseindicated a superior grade of reverendability? But he decided that amasculine frankness would not be amiss. He wrote:--

  VERY RIGHT REVEREND BISHOP BORZOI,

  Dear Bishop:--

  May one of the least of your admirers solicit an interview with yourvery right reverence, to discuss matters pertaining to religion,theology, and a possible vacancy in the Church? If there are any seesoutstanding, it would be a favour. This is very urgent. I enclose astamped addressed envelope.

  Respectfully yours,

  MR. GISSING.

  A prompt reply from the Bishop's secretary granted him an appointment.

  Scrupulously attired in his tail-coat and silk hat, Gissing proceededtoward the rendezvous. To tell the truth, he was nervous: his mindflitted uneasily among possible embarrassments. Suppose Mr. Poodle hadwritten to the Bishop to prejudice his application? Another, but moreabsurd, idea troubled him. One of the problems in visiting the housesof the Great (he had learned in his brief career in Big Business) isto find the door-bell. It is usually mysteriously concealed. Suppose heshould have to peer hopelessly about the vestibule, in a shameful andsuspicious manner, until some flunky came out to chide? In the sunnypark below the Cathedral he saw nurses sitting by their puppy-carriages;for an instant he almost envied their gross tranquillity. THEY have notgot (he said to himself) to call on a Bishop!

  He was early, so he strolled for a few minutes in the park that liesunderneath that rocky scarp. On the summit, clear-surging against theblue, the great church rode like a ship on a long ridge of sea. Theangel with a trumpet on the jut of the roof was like a valiant seaman inthe crow's nest. His agitation was calmed by this noble sight. Yes, hesaid, the Church is a ship behind whose bulwarks I will find rest. Shesails an unworldly sea: her crew are exempt from earthly ambition andfallacy.

  He ran nimbly up the long steps that scale the cliff, and approachedthe episcopal residence. The bell was plainly visible. He rang, andpresently came a tidy little housemaid. He had meditated a form ofwords. It would be absurd to say "Is the Bishop in?" for he knew theBishop WAS in. So he said "This is Mr. Gissing. I think the Bishop isexpecting me."

  Bishop Borzoi was an impressive figure--immensely tall and slender,with long, narrow ascetic face and curly white hair. He was surprisinglycordial.

  "Ah, Mr. Gissing?" he said. "Sit down, sir. I know Beagle and Companyvery well. Too well, in fact-Mrs. Borzoi has an account there."

  Gissing, feeling rather aghast and tentative, had no comment ready. Hewas still worrying a little as to the proper mode of address.

  "It is very pleasant to find you Influential Merchants interested in theChurch," continued the Bishop. "I often thought of approaching the lateMr. Beagle on the subject of a small contribution to the cathedral.Indeed, I have spent so much in your store that it would be only a fairreturn. Mr. Collie, of Greyhound, Collie and Company, has been veryhandsome with us: he has just provided for repaving the choir."

  Gissing began to fear that the object of his visit had perhaps beenmisunderstood, but the prelate's eyes were bright with benignantenthusiasm and he dared not interrupt.

  "You inquired most kindly in your letter as to a possible vacancy in theChurch. Indeed there is a niche in the transept that I should be happyto see filled. It is intended for some kind of memorial statue, andperhaps, in honour of the late Mr. Beagle--"

  "I must explain, Sir Bishop," said Gissing, very much disturbed, "thatI have left Beagle and Company. The contribution I wish to make to theChurch is not a decorative one, I fear. It is myself."

  "Yourself?" queried the Bishop, politely puzzled.

  "Yes," stammered Gissing, "I--in fact, I am hoping to--to enter theministry."

  The Bishop was plainly amazed, and his long, aristocratic nose seemedlonger than ever as he gazed keenly at his caller.

  "But have you had any formal training in theology?"

  "None, right reverend Bishop," said Gissing, "But it's this way," and,incoherently at first, but with increasing energy and copious eloquence,he poured out the story of his mental struggles.

  "This is singularly interesting," said the Bishop at length. "I cansee that you are wholly lacking in the rudiments of divinity. Of modernexegesis and criticism you are quite innocent. But you evidently havesomething which is much rarer--what the Quakers call a CONCERN. Ofcourse you should really go to the theological seminary and establishthis naif intuitive mysticism upon a disciplined basis. You will realizethat we churchmen can only meet modern rationalism by a rationalism ofour own--by a philosophical scholarship which is unshakable. I do notsuppose that you can even harmonize the Gospels?"

  Gissing ruefully admitted his ignorance.

  "Well, at least I must make sure of a few fundamentals," said theBishop. "Of course a symbological latitude is permissible, but there aresome essentials of dogma and creed that may not be foregone."

  He subjected the candidate to a rapid catechism. Gissing, in a state ofmind curiously mingled of excitement and awe, found himself assenting tomuch that, in a calmer moment, he would hardly have admitted; buthaving plunged so deep into the affair he felt it would be the height ofdiscourtesy to give negative answers to any of the Bishop's queries.By dint of hasty mental adjustments and symbolic interpretations, hesatisfied his conscience.

  "It is very irregular," the Bishop admitted, "but I must confessthat your case interests me greatly. Of course I cannot admit youto ordination until you have passed through the regular theologicalcurriculum. Yet I find you singularly apt for one without propertraining."

  He brooded a while, fixing the candidate with a clear darkly burningeye.

  "It struck me that you were a trifle vague upon some of the Articles ofReligion, and the Table of Kindred and Affinity. You must remember thatthese articles are not to be subjected to your own sense or comment, butmust be taken in the literal and grammatical meaning. However, youshow outward
and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace. It sohappens that I know of a small chapel, in the country, that has beenclosed for lack of a minister. I can put you in charge there as layreader."

  Gissing's face showed his elation.

  "And wear a cassock?" he cried.

  "Certainly not," said the Bishop sternly. "Not even a surplice. You mustremember you have not been ordained. If you are serious in your zeal,you must work your way up gradually, beginning at the bottom."

  "I have seen some of your cloth with a little purple dickey which looksvery well in the aperture of the waistcoat," said Gissing humbly. "Howlong would it take me to work up to that?"

  Bishop Borzoi, who had a sense of humour, laughed genially.

  "Look here," he said. "It's a fine afternoon: I'll order my car andwe'll drive out to Dalmatian Heights. I'll show you your chapel, andtell you exactly what your duties will be."

  Gissing was startled. Dalmatian Heights was only a few miles from theCanine Estates. If the news should reach Mr. Poodle...

  "Sir Bishop," he said nervously, "I begin to fear that perhaps after allI am unworthy. Now about those Articles of Religion: I may perhaps havegiven some of them a conjectural and commentating assent. Possibly Ihave presumed too far--"

  The Bishop was already looking forward to a ride into the country withhis unusual novice.

  "Not at all, not at all," he said cheerily. "In a mere lay reader, aslight laxity is allowable. You understand, of course, that you areexpressly restricted from the pulpit. You will have to read the lessons,conduct the service, and may address the congregation upon matters nothomiletic nor doctrinal; preaching and actual entry into the pulpit aredefended. But I see excellent possibility in you. Perform the dutiespunctually in this very lowly office, and high ranks of service in thechurch militant will be open."

  He put on a very fine shovel-hat, and led the way to his large touringcar.

  It was a very uncomfortable ride for Gissing. A silk hat is the leaststable apparel for swift motoring, and the chauffeur drove at highspeed. The Bishop, leaning back in the open tonneau, crossed onedelicately slender shank over another, gazed in a kind of ecstasy at thecountryside, and talked gaily about his days as a young curate. Gissingsat holding his hat on. He saw only too well that, by the humiliatingoddity of chance, they were going to take the road that led exactlypast his own house. He could only hope that Mrs. Spaniel and thevarious children would not be visible, for explanations would be toocomplicated. Desperately he praised the view to be obtained on anotherroad, but Bishop Borzoi was too interested in his own topic to pay muchattention.

  "By the way," said the latter, as they drew near the familiar region, "Imust introduce you to Miss Airedale. She lives in the big place on thehill over there. Her family always used to attend what I will now callYOUR chapel; she is a very ardent churchgoer, and it was a sincere griefto her when the place had to be closed. You will find her a great aidand comfort; not only that, she is--what one does not always find in thedevouter members of her sex--young and beautiful. I think I understoodyou to say you are a bachelor?"

  They were approaching the last turning at which it was still possible toavoid the fatal road, and Gissing's attention was divided.

  "Yes, after a fashion," he replied. "Bishop, do you know that road downinto the valley? The view is really superb--Yes, that road--Oh, no, I ama bachelor--"

  It was too late. The chauffeur, unconscious of this private crisis, wasspinning along the homeward way. With a tender emotion Gissing sawthe spires of the poplar trees, the hemlocks down beyond the pond, thefringe of woods that concealed the house until you were quite upon it--

  The car swerved suddenly and the driver only saved it by a quick andcanny manoeuvre from going down the bank. He came to a stop, and almostfrom underneath the rear wheels appeared a scuffling dusty group ofyoungsters who had been playing in the road. There they were--Bunks,Groups, and Yelpers (inordinately grown!) and two of the Spaniels. Theirclothes were deplorable, their faces grimed, their legs covered withburrs, their whole demeanour was ragamuffin and wild: yet Gissing felta pang of pride to see his godchildren's keen, independent bearingcontrasted with the rowdier, disreputable look of the young Spaniels.Quickly he averted his head to escape recognition. But the urchins wereall gaping at the Bishop's shovel hat.

  "Hot dog!" cried Yelpers "Some hat!"

  To his horror, Gissing now saw Mrs. Spaniel, hastening in alarmdown from the house, spilling potatoes from her apron as she ran. Hehurriedly urged the driver to proceed.

  "What terrible looking children," observed the Bishop, who seemedfascinated by their stare. "Really, my good sister," he said to Mrs.Spaniel, who was now panting by the running board; "you must keep themoff the road or someone will get hurt."

  Gissing was looking for an imaginary object on the floor of the car. Tohis great relief he heard the roar of the motor as they started again.But he sat up a little too soon. A simultaneous roar of "Daddy!" burstfrom the trio.

  "What was that they were shouting at us?" inquired the Bishop, lookingback.

  Gissing shook his head. He was too overcome to speak.