_A Tragi-Comedy of Creeds._
Not much before midnight in a midland town--a thriving commercialtown, whose dingy back streets swarmed with poverty and piety--a manin a soft felt hat and a white tie was hurrying home over a bridgethat spanned a dark crowded river. He had missed the tram, and did notcare to be seen out late, but he could not afford a cab. Suddenly hefelt a tug at his long black coat-tail. Vaguely alarmed and definitelyannoyed, he turned round quickly. A breathless, roughly-clad,rugged-featured man loosed his hold of the skirt.
"'Scuse me, sir--I've been running," gasped the stranger, placing hishorny hand on his breast and panting.
"What is it? What do you want?" said the gentleman impatiently.
"My wife's dying," jerked the man.
"I'm very sorry," murmured the gentleman incredulously, expecting someconventional street-plea.
"Awful sudden attack--this last of hers--only came on an hour ago."
"I'm not a doctor."
"No, sir, I know. I don't want a doctor. He's there and only gives herten minutes to live. Come with me at once, please."
"Come with you? Why, what good can I do?"
"You're a clergyman!"
"A clergyman!" repeated the other.
"Yes--aren't you?"
The wearer of the white tie looked embarrassed.
"Ye-es," he stammered. "In a--in a way. But I'm not the sort ofclergyman your wife will be wanting."
"No?" said the man, puzzled and pained. Then with a sudden dread inhis voice: "You're not a Catholic clergyman?"
"No," was the unhesitating reply.
"Oh, then it's all right!" cried the man, relieved. "Come with me,sir, for God's sake. Don't let us waste time." His face was lit upwith anxious appeal.
But still the clergyman hesitated.
"You're making a mistake," he murmured. "I am not a Christianclergyman." He turned to resume his walk.
"Not a Christian clergyman!" exclaimed the man, as who should say "nota black negro!"
"No--I am a Jewish minister."
"That don't matter," broke in the man, almost before he could finishthe sentence. "As long as you're not a Catholic. Oh, don't go awaynow, sir!" His voice broke piteously. "Don't go away after I've beenchasing you for five minutes--I saw your rig-out--I beg pardon, yourcoat and hat--in the distance just as I came out of the house. Walkback with me, anyhow," he pleaded, seeing the Jew's hesitation, "Oh!for pity's sake, walk back with me at once and we can discuss it as wego along. I know I should never get hold of another parson in time atthis hour of the night."
The man's accents were so poignant, his anxiety was so apparentlysincere, that the minister's humanity could scarcely resist thesolicitation to walk back at least. He would still have time to decidewhether to enter the house or not--whether the case were genuine or amere trap concealing robbery or worse. The man took a short cutthrough evil-looking slums that did not increase the minister'sconfidence. He wondered what his flock would think if they saw theirpastor in such company. He was a young unmarried minister, and thereputation of such in provincial Jewish congregations, overflowingwith religion and tittle-tattle, is as a pretty unprotected orphangirl's.
"Why don't you go to your own clergyman?" he asked.
"I've got none," said the man half-apologetically. "I don't believe innothing myself. But you know what women are!"
The minister sniffed, but did not deny the weakness of the sex.
"Betsy goes to some place or other every Sunday almost; sometimesshe's there and back from a service before I'm up, and so long as thebreakfast's ready I don't mind. I don't ask her no questions, and inreturn she don't bother about my soul--leastways, not for these tenyears, ever since she's had kids to convert. We get along all right,the missus and me and the kids. Oh, but it's all come to an end now,"he concluded, with a sob.
"Yes, but my good fellow," protested the minister, "I told you youwere making a mistake. You know nothing about religion; but what yourwife wants is some one to talk to her of Jesus, or to give her theSacrament, or the Confession, or something, for I confess I'm not veryclear about the forms of Christianity; and I haven't got any wafers orthings of that sort. No, I couldn't do it, even if I had a mind to. Itwould ruin my position if it were known. But apart from that, I reallycan't do it. I wouldn't know what to say, and I couldn't bring mytongue to say it if I did."
"Oh, but you believe in _something_?" persisted the man piteously.
"H'm! Yes, I can't deny that," said the minister; "but it's not thesame something that your wife believes in."
"You believe in a God, don't you?"
The minister felt a bit chagrined at being catechised in the elementsof his religion.
"Of course!" he said fretfully.
"There! I knew it," cried the man in triumph. "None of us do in ourshop; but, of course, clergymen are different. But if you believe in aGod, that's enough, ain't it? You're both religious folk."
"No, it isn't enough--at least, not for your wife."
"Oh, well, you needn't let out, sir, need you? So long as you talk ofGod and keep clear of the Pope. I've heard her going on about aScarlet Woman to the kids. (God bless their little hearts! I wonderwhat they'll do without her!) She'll never know, sir, and she'll diehappy. I've done my duty. She whispered I wasn't to bring a RomanCatholic, poor thing. I fancy I heard her say once they're even worsethan Jews. Oh, I don't mean that, sir. You're sure you're not a RomanCatholic?" he concluded anxiously.
"Quite sure."
"Well, sir, you'll keep the rest dark, won't you? There's no call tolet out you don't believe the same other things as her."
"I shall tell no lie," said the minister firmly. "You have called mein to give consolation to your dying wife, and I shall do my duty asbest I can. Is this the house?"
"Yes, sir--right at the top."
The minister conquered a last impulse of mistrust, and looked roundcautiously to be sure he was unobserved. Charity was not a strongpoint with his flock, and certainly his proceedings were suspicious.Even if they learnt the truth, he was not at all sure they would notconsider his praying with a dying Christian akin to blasphemy. On thewhole he must be credited with some courage in mounting that black,ill-smelling, interminable staircase. He found himself in a gloomygarret at last, lighted by an oil-lamp. A haggard woman lay with shuteyes on an iron bed, her chilling hands clasping the hands of the"converted" kids, a boy of ten and a girl of seven, who stoodblubbering in their night-attire. The doctor leaned against the headof the bed, the ungainly shadows of the group sprawling across theblank wall. He had done all he could--without hope of payment--to easethe poor woman's last moments. He was a big-brained, large-heartedIrishman, a Roman Catholic, who thought science and religion might bethe best of friends. The husband looked at him in franticinterrogation.
"You are not too late," replied the doctor.
"Thank God!" said the atheist. "Betsy, old girl, here is theclergyman."
The cloud seemed to pass off the blind face, and a wave of wansunlight to traverse it; slowly the eyes opened, the hands withdrewthemselves from the children's grasp, and the palms met for prayer.
"Christ Jesus--" began the lips mechanically.
The minister was hot with confusion and a-quiver with emotion. He knewnot what to say, as automatically he drew out a Hebrew prayer-bookfrom his pocket and began reading the Deathbed Confession in theEnglish version that appeared on the alternate pages.
"I acknowledge unto Thee, O Lord, my God, and the God of my fathers,that both my cure and my death are in Thy hands...." As he read, thedying lips moved, mumbling the words after him. How often had thosewhite lips prayed that the stiff-necked Jews might find grace and besaved from damnation; how often had those poor, rough hands putpennies into conversionist collecting-boxes after toiling hard toscrape them together; so that only she might suffer by their diversionfrom the household treasury.
The prayer went on, the mournful monotone thrilling through the hot,dim, oil-reeking attic, and awing the w
eeping children into silence.The atheist stood by reverently, torn by conflicting emotions; gladthe poor foolish creature had her wish, and on thorns lest she shouldlive long enough to discover the deception. There was no room in hisovercharged heart for personal grief just then. "Make known to me thepath of life; in Thy presence is fulness of joy; at Thy right hand arepleasures for evermore." An ecstatic look overspread the plain,careworn face, she stretched out her arms as if to embrace some unseenvision.
"Yes, I am coming ... Jesus," she murmured. Then her hands droppedheavily upon her breast; the face grew rigid, the eyes closed.Involuntarily the minister seized the hand nearest him. He felt itrespond faintly to his clasp in unconsciousness of the pagan pollutionof his touch. He read on, "Thou who art the Father of the fatherlessand the Judge of the widow, protect my beloved kindred with whose soulmy own is knit."
The lips still echoed him almost imperceptibly, the departing spiritlulled into peace by the prayer of the unbeliever. "Into Thy hand Icommend my spirit. Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth. Amenand Amen."
And in that last Amen, with a final gleam of blessedness flittingacross her sightless face, the poor Christian toiler breathed out herlife of pain, holding the Jew's hand. There was a moment of solemnsilence, the three men becoming as the little children in the presenceof the eternal mystery.
* * * * *
It leaked out, as everything did in that gossipy town, and among thatgossipy Jewish congregation. To the minister's relief, his flock tookit better than he expected.
"What a blessed privilege for that heathen female!" was all theircomment.
The King of Schnorrers: Grotesques and Fantasies Page 4
