father and son-第51章
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gazed up into the tenderly…coloured sky； and I broke irresistibly into speech。 'Come now； Lord Jesus；' I cried； 'come now and take me to be for ever with Thee in Thy Paradise。 I am ready to come。 My heart is purged from sin； there is nothing that keeps me rooted to this wicked world。 Oh； come now； now； and take me before I have known the temptations of life； before I have to go to London and all the dreadful things that happen there！' And I raised myself on the sofa； and leaned upon the window…sill； and waited for the glorious apparition。
This was the highest moment of my religious life； the apex of my striving after holiness。 I waited awhile； watching； and then I felt a faint shame at the theatrical attitude I had adopted； although I was alone。 Still I gazed and still I hoped。 Then a little breeze sprang up and the branches danced。 Sounds began to rise from the road beneath me。 Presently the colour deepened； the evening came on。 From far below there rose to me the chatter of the boys returning home。 The teabell rang；last word of prose to shatter my mystical poetry。 'The Lord has not come； the Lord will never come；' I muttered； and in my heart the artificial edifice of extravagant faith began to totter and crumble。 From that moment forth my Father and I； though the fact was long successfully concealed from him and even from myself； walked in opposite hemispheres of the soul； with 'the thick o' the world between us'。
EPILOGUE
THIS narrative； however； must not be allowed to close with the Son in the foreground of the piece。 If it has a value； that value consists in what light it may contrive to throw upon the unique and noble figure of the Father。 With the advance of years； the characteristics of this figure became more severely outlined； more rigorously confined within settled limits。 In relation to the Sonwho presently departed； at a very immature age； for the new life in Londonthe attitude of the Father continued to be one of extreme solicitude； deepening by degrees into disappointment and disenchantment。 He abated no jot or tittle of his demands upon human frailty。 He kept the spiritual cord drawn tight； the Biblical bearingrein was incessantly busy； jerking into position the head of the dejected neophyte。 That young soul； removed from the Father's personal inspection； began to blossom forth crudely and irregularly enough； into new provinces of thought； through fresh layers of experience。 To the painful mentor at home in the West； the centre of anxiety was still the meek and docile heart； dedicated to the Lord's service； which must； at all hazards and with all defiance of the rules of life； be kept unspotted from the world。
The torment of a postal inquisition began directly I was settled in my London lodgings。 To my Fatherwith his ample leisure； his palpitating apprehension； his ready penthe flow of correspondence offered no trouble at all； it was a grave but gratifying occupation。 To me the almost daily letter of exhortation； with its string of questions about conduct； its series of warnings； grew to be a burden which could hardly be borne； particularly because it involved a reply as punctual and if possible as full as itself。 At the age of seventeen； the metaphysics of the soul are shadowy； and it is a dreadful thing to be forced to define the exact outline of what is so undulating and so shapeless。 To my Father there seemed no reason why I should hesitate to give answers of full metallic ring to his hard and oft…repeated questions； but to me this correspondence was torture。 When I feebly expostulated； when I begged to be left a little to myself； these appeals of mine automatically stimulated； and indeed blew up into fierce flames； the ardour of my Father's alarm。
The letter； the only too…confidently expected letter； would lie on the table as I descended to breakfast。 It would commonly be； of course； my only letter； unless tempered by a cosy and chatty note from my dear and comfortable stepmother； dealing with such perfectly tranquillizing subjects as the harvest of roses in the garden or the state of health of various neighbours。 But the other； the solitary letter； in its threatening whiteness； with its exquisitely penned addressthere it would lie awaiting me； destroying the taste of the bacon； reducing the flavour of the tea to insipidity。 I might fatuously dally with it； I might pretend not to observe it； but there it lay。 Before the morning's exercise began； I knew that it had to be read； and what was worse； that it had to be answered。 Useless the effort to conceal from myself what it contained。 Like all its precursors； like all its followers； it would insist； with every variety of appeal； on a reiterated declaration that I still fully intended； as in the days of my earliest childhood； 'to be on the Lord's side' in everything。
In my replies； I would sometimes answer precisely as I was desired to answer； sometimes I would evade the queries； and write about other things； sometimes I would turn upon the tormentor； and urge that my tender youth might be let alone。 It little mattered what form of weakness I put forth by way of baffling my Father's direct； firm； unflinching strength。 To an appeal against the bondage of a correspondence of such unbroken solemnity I would receivewith what a paralysing promptitude！such a reply as this：
Let me say that the 'solemnity' you complain of has only been the expression of tender anxiousness of a father's heart； that his only child； just turned out upon the world； and very far out of his sight and hearing； should be walking in God's way。 Recollect that it is not now as it was when you were at school； when we had personal communication with you at intervals of five days we now know absolutely nothing of you； save from your letters； and if they do not indicate your spiritual prosperity； the deepest solicitudes of our hearts have nothing to feed on。 But I will try henceforth to trust you； and lay aside my fears； for you are worthy of my confidence； and your own God and your father's God will hold you with His right hand。
Over such letters as these I am not ashamed to say that I sometimes wept； the old paper I have just been copying shows traces of tears shed upon it more than forty years ago； tears commingled of despair at my own feebleness； distraction； at my want of will； pity for my Father's manifest and pathetic distress。 He would 'try henceforth to trust' me； he said。 Alas！ the effort would be in vain； after a day or two； after a hollow attempt to write of other things； the importunate subject would recur； there would intrude again the inevitable questions about the Atonement and the Means of Grace； the old anxious fears lest I was 'yielding' my intimacy to agreeable companions who were not 'one with me in Christ'； fresh passionate entreaties to be assured； in every letter； that I was walking in the clear light of God's presence。
It seems to me now profoundly strange； although I knew too little of the world to remark it at the time； that these incessant exhortations dealt； not with conduct； but with faith。 Earlier in this narrative I have noted how disdainfully； with what an austere pride； my Father refused to entertain the subject of personal shortcomings in my behaviour。 There were enough of them to blame； Heaven knows； but he was too lofty…minded a gentleman to dwell upon them； and； though by nature deeply suspicious of the possibility of frequent moral lapses； even in the very elect； he refused to stoop to anything like espionage。
I owe him a deep debt of gratitude for his beautiful faith in me in this respect； and now that I was alone in London； at this tender time of life； 'exposed'； as they say； to all sorts of dangers； as defenceless as a fledgling that has been turned out of its nest； yet my Father did not； in his uplifted Quixotism； allow himself to fancy me guilty of any moral misbehaviour； but concentrated his fears entirely upon my faith。
'Let me know more of your inner light。 Does the candle of the Lord shine on your soul？' This would be the ceaseless inquiry。 Or； again； 'Do you get any spiritual companionship with young men？ You passed over last Sunday without even a word； yet this day is the most interesting to me in your whole week。 Do you fi
