all roads lead to calvary-第1章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！




All　Roads　Lead　to　Calvary

by　Jerome　K。　Jerome






CHAPTER　I



She　had　not　meant　to　stay　for　the　service。　　The　door　had　stood　invitingly　open；　and　a　glimpse　of　the　interior　had　suggested　to　her　the　idea　that　it　would　make　good　copy。　　〃Old　London　Churches：　Their　Social　and　Historical　Associations。〃　　It　would　be　easy　to　collect　anecdotes　of　the　famous　people　who　had　attended　them。　　She　might　fix　up　a　series　for　one　of　the　religious　papers。　　It　promised　quite　exceptional　material；　this　particular　specimen；　rich　in　tombs　and　monuments。　　There　was　character　about　it；　a　scent　of　bygone　days。　　She　pictured　the　vanished　congregations　in　their　powdered　wigs　and　stiff　brocades。　　How　picturesque　must　have　been　the　marriages　that　had　taken　place　there；　say　in　the　reign　of　Queen　Anne　or　of　the　early　Georges。　　The　church　would　have　been　ancient　even　then。　　With　its　air　of　faded　grandeur；　its　sculptured　recesses　and　dark　niches；　the　tattered　banners　hanging　from　its　roof；　it　must　have　made　an　admirable　background。　　Perhaps　an　historical　novel　in　the　Thackeray　vein？　　She　could　see　her　heroine　walking　up　the　aisle　on　the　arm　of　her　proud　old　soldier　father。　　Later　on；　when　her　journalistic　position　was　more　established；　she　might　think　of　it。　　It　was　still　quite　early。　　There　would　be　nearly　half　an　hour　before　the　first　worshippers　would　be　likely　to　arrive：　just　time　enough　to　jot　down　a　few　notes。　　If　she　did　ever　take　to　literature　it　would　be　the　realistic　school；　she　felt；　that　would　appeal　to　her。　　The　rest；　too；　would　be　pleasant　after　her　long　walk　from　Westminster。　　She　would　find　a　secluded　seat　in　one　of　the　high；　stiff　pews；　and　let　the　atmosphere　of　the　place　sink　into　her。

And　then　the　pew…opener　had　stolen　up　unobserved；　and　had　taken　it　so　for　granted　that　she　would　like　to　be　shown　round；　and　had　seemed　so　pleased　and　eager；　that　she　had　not　the　heart　to　repel　her。　　A　curious　little　old　party　with　a　smooth；　peach…like　complexion　and　white　soft　hair　that　the　fading　twilight；　stealing　through　the　yellow　glass；　turned　to　gold。　　So　that　at　first　sight　Joan　took　her　for　a　child。　　The　voice；　too；　was　so　absurdly　childishappealing；　and　yet　confident。　　Not　until　they　were　crossing　the　aisle；　where　the　clearer　light　streamed　in　through　the　open　doors；　did　Joan　see　that　she　was　very　old　and　feeble；　with　about　her　figure　that　curious　patient　droop　that　comes　to　the　work…　worn。　　She　proved　to　be　most　interesting　and　full　of　helpful　information。　　Mary　Stopperton　was　her　name。　　She　had　lived　in　the　neighbourhood　all　her　life；　had　as　a　girl　worked　for　the　Leigh　Hunts　and　had　〃assisted〃　Mrs。　Carlyle。　　She　had　been　very　frightened　of　the　great　man　himself；　and　had　always　hidden　herself　behind　doors　or　squeezed　herself　into　corners　and　stopped　breathing　whenever　there　had　been　any　fear　of　meeting　him　upon　the　stairs。　Until　one　day　having　darted　into　a　cupboard　to　escape　from　him　and　drawn　the　door　to　after　her；　it　turned　out　to　be　the　cupboard　in　which　Carlyle　was　used　to　keep　his　boots。　　So　that　there　was　quite　a　struggle　between　them；　she　holding　grimly　on　to　the　door　inside　and　Carlyle　equally　determined　to　open　it　and　get　his　boots。　　It　had　ended　in　her　exposure；　with　trembling　knees　and　scarlet　face；　and　Carlyle　had　addressed　her　as　〃woman；〃　and　had　insisted　on　knowing　what　she　was　doing　there。　　And　after　that　she　had　lost　all　terror　of　him。　　And　he　had　even　allowed　her　with　a　grim　smile　to　enter　occasionally　the　sacred　study　with　her　broom　and　pan。　　It　had　evidently　made　a　lasting　impression　upon　her；　that　privilege。

〃They　didn't　get　on　very　well　together；　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Carlyle？〃　Joan　queried；　scenting　the　opportunity　of　obtaining　first…class　evidence。

〃There　wasn't　much　difference；　so　far　as　I　could　see；　between　them　and　most　of　us；〃　answered　the　little　old　lady。　　〃You're　not　married；　dear；〃　she　continued；　glancing　at　Joan's　ungloved　hand；　〃but　people　must　have　a　deal　of　patience　when　they　have　to　live　with　us　for　twenty…four　hours　a　day。　　You　see；　little　things　we　do　and　say　without　thinking；　and　little　ways　we　have　that　we　do　not　notice　ourselves；　may　all　the　time　be　irritating　to　other　people。〃

〃What　about　the　other　people　irritating　us？〃　suggested　Joan。

〃Yes；　dear；　and　of　course　that　can　happen　too；〃　agreed　the　little　old　lady。

〃Did　he；　Carlyle；　ever　come　to　this　church？〃　asked　Joan。

Mary　Stopperton　was　afraid　he　never　had；　in　spite　of　its　being　so　near。　　〃And　yet　he　was　a　dear　good　Christianin　his　way；〃　Mary　Stopperton　felt　sure。

〃How　do　you　mean　'in　his　way'？〃　demanded　Joan。　　It　certainly；　if　Froude　was　to　be　trusted；　could　not　have　been　the　orthodox　way。

〃Well；　you　see；　dear；〃　explained　the　little　old　lady；　〃he　gave　up　things。　　He　could　have　ridden　in　his　carriage〃she　was　quoting；　it　seemed；　the　words　of　the　Carlyles'　old　servant〃if　he'd　written　the　sort　of　lies　that　people　pay　for　being　told；　instead　of　throwing　the　truth　at　their　head。〃

〃But　even　that　would　not　make　him　a　Christian；〃　argued　Joan。

〃It　is　part　of　it；　dear；　isn't　it？〃　insisted　Mary　Stopperton。　　〃To　suffer　for　one's　faith。　　I　think　Jesus　must　have　liked　him　for　that。〃

They　had　commenced　with　the　narrow　strip　of　burial　ground　lying　between　the　south　side　of　the　church　and　Cheyne　Walk。　　And　there　the　little　pew…opener　had　showed　her　the　grave　of　Anna；　afterwards　Mrs。　Spragg。　　〃Who　long　declining　wedlock　and　aspiring　above　her　sex　fought　under　her　brother　with　arms　and　manly　attire　in　a　flagship　against　the　French。〃　　As　also　of　Mary　Astell；　her　contemporary；　who　had　written　a　spirited　〃Essay　in　Defence　of　the　Fair　Sex。〃　　So　there　had　been　a　Suffrage　Movement　as　far　back　as　in　the　days　of　Pope　and　Swift。

Returning　to　the　interior；　Joan　had　duly　admired　the　Cheyne　monument；　but　had　been　unable　to　disguise　her　amusement　before　the　tomb　of　Mrs。　Colvile；　whom　the　sculptor　had　represented　as　a　somewhat　impatient　lady；　refusing　to　await　the　day　of　resurrection；　but　pushing　through　her　coffin　and　starting　for　Heaven　in　her　grave…clothes。　　Pausing　in　front　of　the　Dacre　monument；　Joan　wondered　if　the　actor　of　that　name；　who　had　committed　suicide　in　Australia；　and　whose　London　address　she　remembered　had　been　Dacre　House　just　round　the　corner；　was　descended　from　the　family；　thinking　that；　if　so；　it　would　give　an　up…to…date　touch　to　the　article。　　She　had　fully　decided　now　to　write　it。　　But　Mary　Stopperton　could　not　inform　her。　　They　had　ended　up　in　the　chapel　of　Sir　Thomas　More。　　He；　too；　had　〃given　up　things；〃　including　his　head。　　Though　Mary　Stopperton；　siding　with　Father　Morris；　was　convinced　he　had　now　got　it　back；　and　that　with　the　remainder　of　his　bones　it　rested　in　the　tomb　before　them。

There；　the　little　pew…opener　had　left　her；　having　to　show　the　early…comers　to　their　seats；　and　Joan　had　found　an　out…of…the…way　pew　from　where　she　could　command　a　view　of　the　whole　church。　　They　were　chiefly　poor　folk；　the　congregation；　with　here　and　there　a　sprinkling　of　faded　gentility。　　They　seemed　in　keeping　with　the　place。　　The　twilight　faded　and　a　snuffy　old　man　shuffled　round　and　lit　the　gas。

It　was　all　so　sweet　and　restful。　　Religion　had　never　appealed　to　her　before。　　The　business…like　service　in　the　bare　cold　chapel　where　she　had　sat　swinging　her　feet　and　yawning　as　a　child　had　only　repelled　her。　　She　could　recall　her　father；　aloof　and　awe…inspiring　in　his　Sunday　black；　passing　round　the　bag。　　Her　mother；　always　veiled；　sitting　beside　her；　a　thin；　tall　woman　with　passionate　eyes　and　ever　restless　hands；　the　women　mostly　overdressed；　and　the　sleek；　prosperous　men　trying　to　look　meek。　　At　school　and　at　Girton；　chapel；　which　she　had　attended　no　oftener　than　she　was　obliged；　had　had　about　it　the　same　atmosphere　of　chill　compulsion。　But　here　was　poetry。　　She　wondered　if；　after　all；　religion　might　not　have　its　place　in　the　worldin　company　with　the　other　arts。　It　would　be　a　pity　for　it　to　die　out。　　There　seemed　nothing　to　take　its　place。　　All　these　lovely　cathedrals；　these　dear　little　old　churches；　that　for　centuries　had　been　the　focus　of　men's　thoughts　and　aspirations。　　The　harbour　lights；　illumining　the　troubled　waters　of　their　lives。　　What　could　be　done　with　them？　　They　could　hardly　be　maintained　out　of　the　public　funds　as　mere　mem