Phyllis of Philistia

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The chapter on the patriarchs was followed by one that dealt with the
incidents of the Exodus. The writer said that he feared that even the
most indulgent critic must allow that the whole scheme of Moses was a
shocking one; but he was probably the greatest man that ever lived on
the face of the earth, if he was the leader and organizer of a band of
depredators who for bloodthirst and rapacity had no parallel in history.
How could it be expected that a kingdom founded upon the massacre of men
and cemented by the blood of women and children should survive? It
had survived only as example to the world of the impossibility of a
permanent success being founded upon the atrocious methods pursued by
the worst of the robber states of the East. While civilization had been
spreading on all sides of them, the people of Israel had remained the
worst of barbarians, murdering the men who had from time to time arisen
to try and rescue them from the abysses of criminality into which they
had fallen,--abysses of criminality and superstition,--until they
had filled their cup of crime by the murder of the One whom the world
worships to-day.

Incidentally, of course, the character of Samson was dealt with. Delilah
was shown to be one of the most heroic of womankind, making greater
sacrifices through her splendid patriotism than Joan of Arc. But
Samson----

Ruth was also dealt with incidentally. She was the woman who expresses
her willingness to give up her God at the bidding of another woman, and
who had entered into a plot with that same woman to entrap a man whom
they looked to support them.

Then there was David. It was not the Bath-sheba episode, but the
Abishag, that the author treated at length--one of the most revolting
transactions in history, especially as there is some reason to believe
that the unfortunate girl was, when it was perpetrated, already attached
to one of the sons of the loathsome, senile sensualist.

Perhaps, on the whole, it was not surprising that after the publication
of this book the Rev. George Holland became the best-known clergyman
in England, or that the breath of bishops should be taken from them. So
soon as some of them recovered from the first brunt of the shock, they
met together and held up their hands, saying that they awaited the
taking of immediate action by the prelate within whose see St. Chad's
was situated. But that particular prelate was a man who had never been
known to err on the side of rapidity of action. Nearly a week had passed
before he made any move in the matter, and then the move he made was
in the direction of the Engadine. He crossed the Channel with the
book under his arm. He determined to read it at his leisure. Being a
clergyman, he could not, of course, be expected to have examined, from
any standpoint but that of the clergyman, the characters of the persons
dealt with in the book, and he was naturally shocked at the freedom
shown by the rector of St. Chad's in criticising men whose names have
been held in the highest esteem for some thousands of years. He at once
perceived that the rector of St. Chad's had been very narrow-minded
in his views regarding the conduct of the men whom he had attacked. It
occurred to him, as it had to Mr. Ayrton, that the writer had drawn his
picture without any regard for perspective. That was very foolish on the
part of a man who was a Fellow of his college, the bishop thought; and
besides, there was no need for the book--its tendency was not to
help the weaker brethren. But to assume that the book would, as some
newspaper articles said it would, furnish the most powerful argument
that had yet been brought forward in favor of the Disestablishment of
Church, was, he thought, to assume a great deal too much. The Church
that had survived Wesley, Whitefield, Colenso, Darwin, and Renan would
not succumb to George Holland. The bishop recollected how the Church had
bitterly opposed all the teaching of the men of wisdom whose names came
back to him; and how it had ended by making their teaching its own.
Would anyone venture to assert that the progress of Christianity was
dependent upon what people thought of the acceptance by David of the
therapeutic course prescribed for him? Was the morality which the Church
preached likely to be jeopardized because Ruth was a tricky young woman?

The bishop knew something of man, and he knew something of the Church,
he even knew something of the Bible; and when he came to the chapter
in "Revised Versions" that dealt with the episode of Ruth and Boaz, he
flung the book into a corner of his bedroom, exclaiming, "Puppy!"

And then there came before his eyes a vision of a field of yellow corn,
ripe for the harvest. The golden sunlight gleamed upon the golden
grain through which the half-naked brown-skinned men walked with their
sickles. The half-naked brown-skinned women followed the binders,
gleaning the ears, and among the women was the one who had said,
"Entreat me not to leave thee." He had read that old pastoral when
he was a child at the knee of his mother. It was surely the loveliest
pastoral of the East, and its charm would be in no wise impaired because
a man who failed to appreciate the beauty of its simplicity, had almost
called Ruth by the worst name that can be applied to a woman.

The bishop did not mind what George Holland called Abraham, or Isaac, or
Jacob, or Samson, but Ruth--to say that Ruth----

The bishop said "Puppy!" once again. (He had trained himself only to
think the adjectives which laymen find appropriate to use in such a case
as was under his consideration.)

But he made up his mind to take no action whatever against the Rev.
George Holland on account of the book. If the Rev. George Holland
fancied that he was to be persecuted into popularity, the Rev. George
Holland was greatly mistaken, and the bishop had a shrewd idea that the
rector of St. Chad's was greatly mistaken.

(It may be mentioned that he came to this determination when he had read
the book through, and found it was so cleverly written that it included
no heretical phrase in all its pages.)

But so soon as Phyllis Ayrton had read the first review of the book that
fell into her hands, she felt inexpressibly shocked. Great Heavens! Was
it possible that she was actually at that moment engaged to marry
the man who had written such a book--a book that held up Delilah to
admiration, and that abased Ruth? (It was singular how everyone settled
upon Ruth in this connection.)

She did not pause to analyze her feelings--to try and find out if she
was really so fond of Ruth as to make Ruth's insult her own; but without
a moment's delay, without a word of consultation with her father, she
sat down at her desk and wrote a letter to George Holland, asking him to
release her from her promise to marry him; and adding that if he should
decline to do so it would make no difference to her; she would consider
the engagement between them at an end all the same.

She felt, when that letter was posted, as if a great weight were lifted
from her mind--from her heart. Then a copy of "Revised Versions" arrived
for her from the author, and with the ink still wet upon the pen with
which she had written that letter to him, she caught up the book and
covered it with kisses.

Had he seen that action her lover would have been thoroughly satisfied.
A young woman must be very deeply in love with a man when she kisses the
cover of a book which he has just published. That is what George Holland
would have thought, having but a superficial acquaintance with the
motives that sway young women.

Later in the day he had replied to her letter, and had appointed four
o'clock on the following afternoon as the hour when he trusted she would
find it convenient to see him, in order to give him an opportunity of
making an explanation which he trusted would enable her to see that
"Revised Versions," so far from being the dreadful book she seemed to
imagine it to be, was in reality written with a high purpose.

She had not shrunk from an interview with him. She had sent him a line
to let him know that she would be at home at four o'clock; and now she
sat in her drawing room and observed, without emotion, that in five
minutes that hour would strike.

The clock struck, and before the last tone had died away, the footman
announced the Rev. George Holland.



CHAPTER IV.

SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO ACCUSE HIM OF READING THE BIBLE DAILY.

Phyllis shook hands with her visitor. He sought to retain her hand, as
he had been in the habit of doing, as he stood beside her with something
of a proprietary air. He relinquished her hand with a little look of
surprise--a sort of pained surprise. She was inexorable. She would not
even allow him to maintain his proprietary air.

"Do sit down, Mr. Holland," she said.

"What! 'Mr. Holland' already? Oh, Phyllis!"

He had a good voice, full of expression--something beyond mere musical
expression. People (they were mostly women) said that his voice had soul
in it, whatever they meant by that.

She made no reply. What reply could she make? She only waited for him to
sit down.

"Your letter came as a great shock to me, Phyllis," said he, when he had
seated himself, not too close to her. He did not wish her to fancy that
he was desirous of having a subtle influence of propinquity as an ally.
"A great shock to me."

"A shock?" said she. "A shock, after you had written that book?"

"I fancied you would understand it, Phyllis--you, at least. Of course
I expected to be misrepresented by the world--the critics--the
clerics--what you will--but you----You had not read it when you wrote
that letter to me--that terrible letter. You could not have read it."

"I had only read one notice of it--that was enough."

"And you could write that letter to me solely as the evidence of one
wretched print? Oh, Phyllis!"

Pain was in his voice. It may have been in his face as well, but she did
not see it; his face was averted from her.

"Yes," she said quietly; "I wrote that letter, Mr. Holland. You see, the
paper gave large extracts from the book. I did not come to my conclusion
from what the newspaper article said, but from what you had said in your
book--from the quoted passages."

"They did not do me justice. I did not look for justice at their hands.
But you, Phyllis----"

"I have read your book now, Mr. Holland----"

"Ah, let me plead with you, Phyllis--not 'Mr. Holland,' I entreat of
you."

"And my first thought on reading it was that I had not written to you so
strongly as I should have done."

"My dear Phyllis, do not say that, I beg of you. You cannot know how you
pain me."

"To be misunderstood by you--_you_."

She got upon her feet so quickly that it might almost be said she sprang
up.

"_You_ must have misunderstood _me_ greatly, Mr. Holland, if you fancied
that you could write such a book as you wrote and not get such a letter
from me. The Bible--Ruth--and you a clergyman--reading it daily in the
church----Oh! I cannot tell you all that I thought--all that I still
think."

He did not correct the mistake she had made. She had no right to accuse
him of reading the Bible daily in his church. He was not in the habit of
doing that--it was his curates who did it. He watched her as she stood
at a window with her back turned to him. Her hands were behind her. Her
breath came audibly, for she had spoken excitedly.

Then he also rose and came beside her.

"I wrote that book, as I believed you would perceive when you had read
it, in order to remove from the minds of the people--those people
who have not given the matter a thought--the impression--I know it
prevails--that our faith--the truth of our religion--is dependent upon
the acceptance as good of such persons as our very religion itself
enables us to pronounce evil. My aim was to show that our faith is not
built upon such a foundation of impurity--of imperfection. The spirit
which prevails nowadays--the modern spirit--it is the result of
the development of science. This scientific spirit necessitates the
consideration of all the elements of our faith from the standpoint of
reason."

"Faith--reason?"

"If the Church is to appeal to all men, its method must be scientific.
It is sad to think of all that the Church has lost in the past through
the want of wisdom of those who had its best interests at heart,
and believed they were doing it good service by opposing scientific
research. They fancied that the faith would not survive the light of
truth. They professed to believe that the faith was strong enough to
work miracles--to change the heart of man, and yet that it would be
jeopardized by the calculations of astronomers. The astronomers were
prohibited from calculating; the geologists were forbidden to unearth
the mysteries of their science, lest the discovery of the truth should
be detrimental to the faith. They believed that the truth was opposed to
the faith. Warning after warning the Church received that the two were
one; that man would only accept the truth, whether it came from the lips
of the churchman or from the investigations of science. Grudgingly the
Church became tolerant of the seekers after truth--men who were not
greatly concerned in the preservation of the mummy dust of dogma. But
how many thousand persons are there not, to-day, who think that the
Church is on one side, and the truth on the other? The intolerant
attitude of the Church, still maintained in these days, when the spirit
of science pervades every form of thought, has been productive of
probably the largest body that ever existed in the country, of sensible
men and women, who never enter a church door. They want to know
whatsoever things are true; they do not want to be dredged with the
mummy dust of dogma."

"But the Bible--the Bible!"

"It is necessary for me to tell you all that I feel on this subject; all
that I have felt for several years past--ever since I left the divinity
school behind me, and went into the world of thinking men and women. It
is necessary to tell these men and women in unmistakable language that
our faith aims at a perfect type of manhood--at the perfection of
truth. It is necessary to tell them that we do not regard, except with
abhorrence, such types of men as have for centuries been held up to
admiration simply because they have for centuries been the objects of
admiration, of imitation, of veneration, on the part of the debased
people who gave us the earlier books of the Bible. The memory of
Jacob became the dominant influence among the Hebrew nation; hence the
continuous curse that rested upon them, the curse that rests upon the
cheat, the defrauder of his own household, his brother, his father,
his uncle. It is necessary to say that the world should know that our
religion is founded upon truth, purity, self-sacrifice--that it abhors
the cheat and the sensualist. It is necessary to proclaim to the world
our abhorrence of the cult whose highest development was the Pharisee.
The aim of the religion of Christ is to produce the perfect man, and to
root out the Pharisee. When the Church ceases to connive at falsehood
and sensualism; when it openly professes its abhorrence of the religion
of the Hebrews; then, and then only, will it become the power in the
earth which the exponent of Christianity should become. Humanity had
been crying out for the religion of humanity, that is, Christianity, for
centuries, but the Church tells it that true religion is an amalgamation
of the loveliness of Christianity and the barbarity of Judaism--an
impossible amalgamation, and one which millions of poor souls have
perished in a vain attempt to accomplish. Humanity wants Christ, and
Christ only, and that the Church has hitherto refused to give; hence the
millions of thinking men and women, believers in the religion of Christ,
who remain forever outside the walls of the Church; hence, also, that
terrible record of murder and massacre, perpetrated through long ages
with the sanction of the Church. Where, in the religion of Christ, can
one find the sanction for massacre? It is nowhere to be found except
in the Psalms of the senile sensualist--in the commands of Moses, the
leader of the marauders of the desert. Christ swept away the barbarities
of the teaching of Moses. He perceived how miserably it had failed; how
it had retarded all that was good in man, and sanctioned all that
was evil. He perceived how it had kept the nation in a condition of
barbarity; how it had made it the prey of the civilized nations around
it; how it had made the Hebrew nations the contempt of civilization; and
yet the Church that calls itself the Church of Christ has not yet had
the courage to offer humanity anything but that impossible task--the
amalgamation of the law that came by Moses and the grace and truth that
came by Jesus Christ."

He spoke with all the fervor of the preacher, with pale face, brilliant
eyes, and clenched hands; but in a voice adapted to a drawing room.
Phyllis of Philistia could not but admit that, in the phrase of
Philistia he had spoken in perfect taste. He had not alluded definitely
to the boldness of Ruth or to the calorific course accepted by the aged
David. He had spoken in those general terms which are adopted by the
clergymen who never err against good taste as defined by the matrons of
Philistia.

She did not know whether she admired him or detested him. But she was
certain that she did not love him. He might be right in all that he had
said, but she had freed herself from him. He might be destined to become
one of the most prominent men of the last ten years of the century, but
she would never marry him.

She stood face to face with him when he had spoken.

There was a long silence.

A gleam, a very faint gleam of triumph came to his eyes.

"Good-bye," said she, flashing out her hand to him, and with her eyes
still fixed upon his face.



CHAPTER V.

IN LOVE THERE ARE NO GOOD-BYES.

He was so startled that he took a step backward. She remained with her
hand outstretched.

Was that only the result of the eloquent expression of his views--that
outstretched hand which was offered to him for an instant only as a
symbol of its withdrawal from him forever?

"You cannot mean----"

"Good-by," said she.

"Have I not explained all that seemed to you to stand in need of
explanation?" he asked.

"The book--the book remains. I asked for no explanation," said she.

"But you are too good, too reasonable, to dismiss me in this fashion,
Phyllis. Why, even the bishop--_would sit upon a fence to see how the
book would be received by the public before taking action against the
author_," was what was in his mind, but he stopped short, and then added
a phrase that had no reference to the bishop. "Can you ever have loved
me?" was the phrase which he thought should appeal to her more forcibly
than any reference to the bishop's sense of what was opportune.

She took back her hand, and her eyes fell at the same moment that her
face flushed.

He felt that he had not been astray in his estimate of the controversial
value--in the eyes of a girl, of course--of the appeal which he made
to her. A girl understands nothing of the soundness of an argument on
a Biblical question (or any other), he thought; but she understands an
appeal made to her by a man whom she had loved, and whom she therefore
loves still, though something may have occurred to make her think
otherwise.

"Can you ever have loved me?" he said again, and his voice was now more
reproachful.

There was a pause before she said:

"That is the question which I have been asking myself for some
time--ever since I read about that book. Oh, please, Mr. Holland, do
not stay any longer! Cannot you see that if, after you have made an
explanation that should satisfy any reasonable person, I still remain
in my original way of thinking, I am not the woman who should be your
wife?"

"You would see with my eyes if you were my wife," he said, and he
believed that she would, so large an amount of confidence had he in his
own power to dominate a woman.

"Ah!" she said, "you have provided me with the strongest reason why I
should never become your wife, Mr. Holland."

"Do not say that, Phyllis!" he cried, in a low voice, almost a piteous
voice. "I must have you with me in this great work which I feel has
been given me to accomplish. I am prepared to make any sacrifice for
the cause which I have at heart--the cause to which I mean to devote the
rest of my life; but you--you--I must have you with me, Phyllis. Don't
give me an answer now. All I ask of you is to think over the whole
matter from the standpoint of one who loves the truth, and who does
not fear the result of those who are investigators. A few years ago
the geologists were regarded as the enemies of the faith. Later the
evolutionists were looked on with abhorrence. Had any clergyman ventured
to assent to that doctrine which we now know to be the everlasting truth
of the scheme of earthly life propounded by the Creator, he would have
been compelled to leave the Church. I do not know what will happen to
me, my Phyllis. No, no! do not say anything to me now. All that I ask of
you is to think--think--think."

"That is it--that is your modern scientific spirit!" she cried. "You,
and such as you, say 'think--think--think' to us--to poor women and
men who are asking for comfort, for protection against the evil of
the world. You say 'think--think--think,' when you should say
pray--pray--pray.' Where are you going to end? you have begun by taking
from us our Bible. What do you propose to give us in exchange for it?
No--no, don't answer me. I did not mean to enter into the question with
you--to enter into any question with you. I have no right to do so."

"You have every right, Phyllis. If I should cause offence to the least
of the little ones of the flock with which I have been intrusted, it
would be better that a millstone were hanged round my neck and that I
were cast into the sea. You have a right to ask and it is laid on me to
answer."

"Then I decline to avail myself of the privilege; I will ask you
nothing, except to say good-by."

"I will not say it, Phyllis, and I will not hear you say it. Three
months ago you told me that you loved me."

"And I fancied that I did, but now----"

"Ah! you think that you have the power to cease loving at a moment's
notice? You will find out your mistake, my child. In love there are no
good-bys. I take your hand now, but not to say good-by; I feel that
you are still mine--that you will be mine more than ever when you
think--think--and pray."

"Ah! You ask me to pray?"

"Pray--pray for me, child. I need the prayers of such as you, for I feel
that my hour of deepest trial is drawing nigh. Do you fancy that I am
the man to take back anything that I have written? Look at me, Phyllis;
I tell you here that I will stand by everything that I have written.
Whatever comes of it, the book remains. Even if I lose all that I have
worked for,--even if I lose you,--I will still say 'the book remains.' I
am ready to suffer for it. I say in all humility that I believe God will
give me grace to die for it."

She had given him her hand. He was still holding it when he spoke his
final sentence, looking, not into her face, but into a space beyond it.
His eyes more than suggested the eyes of a martyr waiting undaunted for
the lighting of the fagots. Suddenly he dropped her hand. He looked for
a moment into her face. He saw that the tears were upon it. He turned
and walked out of the room without a word.

No word came from her.

He knew that he had left her at exactly the right moment. She was
undoubtedly annoyed by the publication of the book; but that was
because she had read some reviews of it, and was, girl-like, under the
impression that the murmur of the reviewers was the mighty voice that
echoes round the world. He felt that she would think differently when
his real persecution began. He looked forward with great hope to the
result of his real persecution. She would never hold out against that.
If the bishop would only take action at once and attempt to deprive him
of his pastorate, there was nothing that he might not look for.

And then he reflected that on the following Sunday the church would be
crowded to the doors. She would see that. She would see the thousands
of the fashionable women--he hoped even for men--who would fill every
available seat, every available standing place in the church, and who
would all be anxious to hear his defense. That would show her that
the publication of this book had raised him far above the heads of the
ordinary clergyman who droned away, Sunday after Sunday, in half empty
churches to congregations that never became interested. Yes, for many
Sundays St. Chad's would be crowded to the doors. And then he trusted
that the bishop would take action against him, and in proportion to the
severity of his persecution on the one hand would be his popularity on
the other hand.

All this would, he felt, advance the cause which he had at heart; for he
was thoroughly sincere in his belief that the views which he advocated
in "Revised Versions" were calculated to place the Church on a firmer
basis, and to cause it to appeal to those persons who, having been
inculcated with the spirit of modern scientific inquiry, never entered a
church porch.