The Bishop's Comedy.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1629, 21 December 1912, Page 14

The Bishop's Comedy.

Y<m have road in storioil and you havo reon In plaro how Vlrtuo trl- ■ umphu over Vice; nut thore never wan a mora delcctablo triumph of that eort than is given us.ln taie little Rtory. II Is talton by an from the new "Whlmari About Women,' by the Mrltißh no»cli»t and playwright, _ J l '""' rloli {publlaho by Mlto £ill Keiuicrloy). I. Tho Bishop of Westborcugh had seldom found himtxdf in a uiore delicate position. Sinew Swotitbay objected so fiironuI oiialy to ite rector bojng a dramatist, ! tiv/wtbay waa cicarly flo placo for tho Hector; and it devolved upon his ship to intimate tho fact- But secretly his Lorshlp was also guilty of drumatic uuthortslnp, and instalments of his comedy were even now iu the hands of that accompliflhcd actress, Miss Kitty Uarges. i''or this reason, nnd another, tho Bishop had wakeful nights. . However, ho (Jid what was required. With all his customary blandness, and perhaps a shade more, ho pointed out to tho Itcv. Baker Barling that the parish of Sweetbay was-unsuitable for him, and offered him instead a living which commended itself to the Barlings not at all. Indeed, Sirs. Baker Barling was so highly incensed by the removal that the lvt-c----tor had on several occasions to say My dear!" to her reprovingly. , The Bishop was young for a bishop. His classical features and the dignity of his carriage would have compelled attention even/if ho had been a mere man. He never said anything noteworthy, but he voiced the sentiments of the unthinking in stately language. This made him generally admired. .It is not to be inferred that ho was insincere—he had been granted a popular mind; he shared with .the majority a strong aversion from disagree-, able truths. His widest reflections ; were bounded by the word "Unpleasant," and every truth that was unpleasant was to the Bishop of Westborough "one of those tilings that are better left undiscussed. Domestically he had been no less fortunato than in his mental limitations. He possessed a little wife, who listened to him with tho utmost patience, and ho had soon both his . girls, make brilliant matches in their first season. The history of the bridegroom had, in each case, been "one of those things that are better leit undiscussed." . Accordingly the Bishop boasted a grateful heart; in fact, when he reflected how abundantly Providence had blessed liim, he was more than normally horrified to think of the impious murruurings. of tho poor. _ ' That a personage of his environment and disposition had been tempted towards so unepi6copalinn a course as writing a comcdy, proves how true. it is that nothing happens but the unforeseen. It was one of tho speediest conquests of Miss Clar'"es's career—a career in which peers had been plentiful, but prelates had hitherto been lacking. He had made her acquaintance at a reception—she was clever off the stage as well as on' it and had always tempered her indiscretions with tact; duchesses called her "dear." He thought her the most fascinating woman he had ever met, and talked to her about the conditions of the English stage with considerable ■ satisfaction to himself. "What a'dramati6t your Lordship would hare made if you had not been a bishop!" she murmured, with rapt .eyes. . "Oh —er.—you are jesting," said the ''Bishop, asking for more. ■ "No/ indeed—l mean it,", returned the lady reverently. "You have what we calf the 'sense of the theatre.' And it is so rare! You startled me just now— you know by intuition things that the professional dramatist, needs years of experience to find out. I can't tell you how-extraordinary it is!" ..She., regarded .him fas .-.if; she were:.being. ..confronted by a miracle.

Partly becaiißohe waa very vain, and partly because Miss Clargea was verv eoodlooking, tho lie that she forgot almost as soon as it was spoken had lingerod caressingly with the Bishop. Sitting ill the Palace one afternoon with nothing to do, he found himself scribbling "Act I.—A Drawing Room." He had no definite intention of continuing, still less had he a definite ploti but like everyone who la deficient in self-criticism, he wrote with prodigious facility, and his first act was finished in a few days. Miss Clarges had been a good deal surprised to receive a semi-humorous note from the Bishop of Wostborough, reminding her of their conversation, and hinting that he would be glad to have her opinion of "a dramatic bantling." Tea and a tete-a-tete followed in the lady's boudoir. She found Act I all that she had dreaded, and told him it was most original. Beaming with importance, he perpetrated Act 11, and read her that. She was contemplating a season of management, and in sanguine moments reflected that a practiced hand might knock the Bishop's comedv into something liko shape, and that tho Bishop's name on the bills would be well worth having. So she offered various suggestions about the leading part, and was at home as often as he chose.to call —and for some weolcs he had chosen to call very often indeed. ■Remember thnt ho was only fifty. He had married when he was twenty-five, married a girl who was taken by his handsome face, and who brought him a very respectable dower. Though the dower had fascinated him more than tho girl, the

courtship had comprised his sentimental experience. As has been said, ho had had no reason to complain of his cnoico —ho had bean remarkably successful in all his relationships—ho felt that his wife worshipped Uim, and her worship and his , worldly progress had oontentod uim fully. But now, for the first tirno in his career, ; ho was thrown into intimate association '"with a woman who had captivated those who were seeing life, and those who had soon it-and tho Bishop of M'estborough fell in lovo with her as violently as many wiser men had done before him. As for iier, it was tho first time in tho woman's career that, she had been openly admired by a bishop. At tho beginning she was attracted by his reputation—much as her youngest adorers had been attracted by her own-but presently she was attracted by his homage. Ho appealed to her one weakness, her, vanity. Though she thought 'it a pity that ho wanted to write a comedy, she considered hiin'a great man; his profound belief in himself, supported by a tuition's esteem, imposed on her. To have made a conquest of a pillar of tho Church flattered her inordinately; the novelty of the situation had its effect on the actress, too— and, to her unspeakable amazement. Kitty Clarges fell in love' with the Bishop. Tt was at this juncture that circumstances had forced him to mortify tho Rector of Sweotbay. "Tho affair makes me doubt whether I ought to proceed with my own play," ho admitted to her ono-afternoon. "My dear friend." She meant "What rot!" but she no longer said "what-rot!" ovon to other actresses: and she woro dove-coloured gowns, and had been to hear jim nwumh. Tho higher lifo was a little

9 ... A STOBY...

trying but she liked to feel worthior of him. ".My action in the matter-may be mis-' oonstrued. Of course, I've simply deferred to the local prejudice, but it may bo thought that I disapprove of the man's tendencies, If I figured as a dramatist myself a little later, I might be placed- in an ambiguous position. . . Perhaps v/o might overoome the difiloultv by n pseudonym f" She looked blank. "Your- Lordship's name will he a draw; I'm afraid a pseudonym would mean waiving a . great deal." "Financially? The peounlary result Is not important to me." . Bat it was important to her. "If the' sreret were really kept, you'd be waiving all tho kudos, too." she. added,. "Well, wa must consider," said the Bishop, clinking the ice in his glass; "you, shall advise me—though I f«ir.:Pm-.'ex-ceeding an author's privilege. By the way, doe? the manageress alwnys offer the author a whisky and soda?" • , "She offered you an alternative,'': oald ■Miss Clarges, laughing; "the whisky nnd soda wan your choice. But you don't really mean to throw the comedy up, do you? Think of poor me!" The Bishop's eyes wero eloquent. "Thinking of you," he said, aftor a lingering gaze, "I have this to say; you; will be put to considerable expense in • bringout out my work. and,, novice at-I am, I'm aware thato theatre is b- heavy ■ speculation; if 1 withhold the advantage of my namn from the piece, I shall. claim to share your risk." "You are very generous, dear friend. I don't think I could say -'yes* to that," "It is no more, than fair." '

"I'd rattier not. I—l shouldn't' care for you find'.' monoy.';. for. "me!",„eaid Kitty Clarges—and.: v/aa 'conscious' that aho had soared into the higher life indeed. "You aro scarcely treating, me as. tha dear friend you allow hie to believe myself," urgod the Bishop, mining the great-, est compliment of his life. -' '•%; "Oh! she said under-her breath. "I should bo serving my own end* Aid besides " "Besides what?" i "It would make me very happy to think that I served you. Her eyelids fell. "You hayo wired me." "I rejoice to hear it. May I ask how r "You vo served mo by your - friendship. You've given me different thoughts, ;taken me outof myself, done me good—in-some ways!" She sighed.deeply. "I've.learnt that there are so much realer things than the shams that satisfied me before we m'et. I've been a very ■ • • worldly woman! you know, don't you?" _ 'Tew human beings are stronger, than, temptations, child," he sjiid melodiouslyi "and yours must have been many." "I used to want yon to think me better than I am. Now I—l do and I 'don't. Oh, I can't explain!" / "You are showing me your , heart—you need not spell it." ~ ' . "I suppose what I mean really'is that I want you to know me as I am, and yet to li'ico me just as much. I wonder if you would ?" : .' Ho laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "Why not put me to the test?" "I daren't," she said. "Am I so hard?" She shook her head, silently. . "What then?" "I'm so bad," she whispered. Sho

drooped a little nearer to him. "Why do you say such thills ?" cried the Bishop; "you hurt me!" "Haven't you met other sinners?" . "I would have had yoiir : post free from ' sin," "Oh, my past?" she sobbed, and bowed herself in his arms. "My past is past— I'm sinning now!" ■ ■' Much may bo done by earnest endeavour, and ho persuaded himself that his embrace was episcopal. "My child," lw murmured at last, soothing her tenderly. "I. will not'affect to misunderstand what you have said—it would bo a false kindness to you. Nor will I bo guilty of concealing the transgressions of my own - heart. Were I a younger man, I might doubt the: righteousness of owning that the attachment is mutual; but tho years bring.wisdom,and . at iny age wo see deeply, ijf.v duty is to help you, and I realise.that■ I can, help - you only by a perfect candour., I acknowledge, therefore, that you are indeed most dear to-me." , ■ ■■■ "Oh, yon are great l ." she. exclaimpcl. I . shall see you still? - Promis? you'll still comp here—don't let me Say it! Sav again von love me!'"Ton' arc ' indeed. . most , . dear to me," repeated the Bishop, whn thought this way of putting it rounded more innecent. . He got. up. and '. paced the room with airifaftsHt.., "Von ssk me if I will still come .here.' I -do not ~ disguise from myself that many might think that I should answer 'lw'; many .. might hold it may duty to. desert'yon in . the conflict that must 1» waged, .to leave' you to bear" the'brunt of it; a10ne.... I am not one of them. Flight is at..'.best tho . refugo of a coward. ''Doughtier than to ' flee temptation is to confront and conquer r

it." Ho swept tho hair from his brow with a. noble gesture. "I rocogniso that my highest duty is to share your struggles —to solace and sustain you. Yes, I will come! We have a mighty battlo before us. you and I—and we will fight side by side, my comrade, till we win!" In other words, he ventured to go to tea there all the same, and had whisky and eoda when it wasn't tea-time. 11. How much of what tho Stage Door Club laid about them was fact and how much Df it was. fiction, is a thing that could be lecidsd only by tho Bishop or Miss Clarges —neither of whom is to bo consulted on tho subject. But the liov. Baker-Bar-ling, who frequently dropped itno the club for the house dinner of a game of poker, hoard the gossip; and BakeT Barling confided it to Mrs. Baker! Barling; una Mrs. Baker Barling; wheso wrath against the Bishop had in no way abated, manoeuvred for the joy of condoling with the -Bishop's wife. Miss Clarges was paralysed ono morning by a note in which Mrs. Lullieton Meadows," 'mentioning that her husband ■was the Bishop of Westborough, requested the actress to receive her upon a matter of the utmost importance the same afternoon. The actress's first impulse was to bo "out" when the lady called; her second, to telegraph to the Bishop for advice. The fear of driving Mrs. Meadows to extremities, and the thought that a telegram might fall itn'o. the wrong hands, prevented her adopting either course. She could only'pTay for the ability to persuade the visitor that her suspicions were, unfounded,, and sho felt sick With misgiving as the day wore on. • . How extraofdinary of the womaa! Whether she meant to be offensive, or pathetic, what a folly of her to come! On the stage, of course, such scenes were usual, and Kitty Clarges know exactly how she would have to behave there—that she would be- first mocking, then attentive, and-finally moved to repentance. But the, theatre was one thing, and life was another. In real life it was preposterous of a poreon to Seek,an interview and plead for tho return of a husband's heart; in real life it was impossible. to return a heart, even-if one wished to do it. And ill this case,, the wish was lacking;-Miss ClaTges was so infatuated by the Bishop that she-had even, been jealous to . remember that' another woman had a legal claim to-him-. -

At the tinkle of the bell, she caught her breath; She had never seen "the other woman," and miwd with her apprehension was a strong curiosity to know what-his wife was life. "Mrs. Meadows!" . announced the maid. The actress turned to the doorway, trembling, arid saw with satisfaction that the ,lady . was a timid little woman, dowdily? dressed ; she looked as if she lived in Tunbridge Wells. . "Mrs. Meadows—how good of you to call!" . ■ - VMrs. Meadows-advanced awkwardly; it was evident that, she .. .was painfully embarrassed. • "Mis 9 ,'Clarges? I hope I haven't put yon to any inconvenience?" she murmured, '"It is an immense pleasure to me to meet you._ Won't you sit.down?" For an instant' the . Bishop's wife hesitated. Thon;she sat at the extreme edgo of .a chair, and moistened her lips. "My visit, must appear very strange to you?" . • • "Most kind!", said Kitty Clarges. "How is his Lordship,getting on with his play? If 11, soon be finished now, I suppose?" \"I: daresay—l really don't know; -I didn't come, to talk about the play," Mrs. Meadows -faltered; "I came because you might do more for me than anybody else alive! . Miss; Clarges, my husband is in love with-you." The start;' the bewilderment in the eyes was admirable; "My .. . dear Mrs. Meadows?" ■ y '- "Sou need not trouble to deny it," said the lady quietly, "because he has acknowledged it to me. . But that isn't all— you are in love with my husband." "Are you here to insult me?" cried Miss Clarges, rising. "I hav? the honour to be one of his Lordship's friends, he has been pleased to discuss his comedy with me. Not unnatural, I think? Especially as I hope to produce the piece! As for. what.you say, .there..has never been a' word,'., a. syllable : -our; conversation might have ;been 'phonographed' for all . London, to hear!" indignation of her voice quivered into pain. "I wouldn't have had' ,this happen for the world—l can't" understand it!" She Hruggled with a sob, and suppressed it proudly. "It's cruel!" ' "I don't wonder that he admires yon," said his wife thoughtfully; "you have great talent. But I have §een one of your letters to him. Here it is!" Aliss Clarges gasped and looked at it. She sat down again very slowly. "All right," she said, "I am fond of your husband! Well?" - ■ ! "It was finding your letter that made me write to you. I heard weeks ago that he was mad about you, but the letter showed me that you cared for him. Oh, I know that I oughtn't to have written! I considered a long time before I made up my mind. But there was so much at stake, I thought you might help me. If you will listen—"

"What for?" exclaimed Miss Clargcs. "What's the use of my listening? Even if I promised you not to see him again— I wouldn't, promise it, but if I did— would it make him any fonder of you? Do you think, if I lost , a man, I should beg the other woman to. give him back to me? ' I should know she couldn't do it; I should know' I'might as well beg her to give me back—my innocence. And I shouldn't reprosoh her, cither ! I'd reproach myself. 1 should call myself a lool.for not holding my own. Women like me don't lose the man they want— we know how easy it is for him to leavens, and we take the trouble to keep him. It's you good women who are always being left: after you've caught the man, you think you're nothing more to do. Marriage is the end of your little story, so you take it for granted it must be the end of his. The more you love him, the sooner you bore him. You go bankrupt in the honeymoon—you're a back number to him before you ve been married -a month—he knows,all your.' life, and all your mind, and ..'.oil. your, moods.. You haven't a surprise in reserve for him— and then you wonder he yawns. Great heavens! To hold a man's interest, show him your heart, as you pull out a tape, measure— an. >inch at , a time. I adore your husband; I venerate• him. My. ?iilty love has made me a purer woman. on can't realise that—l don't espect you to realise it; but surely you must know' that—if you wept, and went dbwn on your knees to me—l couldn't say, "Because the right's all on .'your side, - ho shall never think about me any more'?" . "Tou misunderstand the object of my visit," said Mrs. Meadows meekly. "I didn't come to weep,, to you; I didn't come to beg you to say that he should -never think about you any more. T came to beg you to tell me what you find in him to love." "Eh?" ejaculated Miss Clarges. "I came to'beg you to tell me what yeu find in him to love," repeated the elder woman in plaintive tones. "You see, to you he is only an episode; but unless I choose to make a scandal—and I have daughters to consider—l must expect to spend many'more years with him. If you will help me to discover somo attraction in him, it will make life far easier for me." Kitty Clarges sat staring at lier dumbly. 'Tou f-find no attraction in him?" 6he stamm«Ted at last. • , ' "It is unconventional of mo. to admit it to you; but, as I say, there is so much at stake—l feel justified in asking your assistance. To me he is tedious beyond words to tell. If you would explain why you adore him, if you would show me Borne merit, some spark of talent, or wit, or humour, something to make his pretensions less intolerable—you don't know how thankful to you I should be." "Yoii husband is a great man."' She spoke with a touch of uncertainty. "Oh, no! And I should be foolish to esk so much—a moderately intelligent man is all that a woman like me has the rigt to expect. The Bishop is unfortunately very, very dull. Believe me, I have tried most conscientiously to be deceived by him. I.used to read his press notices, and say 'Look_ what the newspapers sav about him —it must be true!' But I knew it wasn't. I used to listen to his sermons—there , aren't many of them; they've been tho same sermons for twenty years—and say, 'What lovely language. what nob!? thoughts! How proud his little Mildred should he! But, though I wa» a y»un» girl then. I knew that the lovolv lanßuage was all sound and no BMIM, and that the noble thoughts camo out of the Dictionary of Quotations. The' actress was breathing heavily, her fluttered : on her bloodless cheeks the dflicncv of "Mniden Bloom" stood, out in unbecoming blotches. To hear that sbo jdfilim-rt a man whom this little provincial - la last year's fashions disdained as a boro,

robbed her of speech. She had not bolieved there could be such depths of humiliation in the world. Some seconds passed, whilo the suppliant watched her wistfully. "If you, don't care for your husband, I'm afraid I couldn't teach you to love him."

"No no; I only thought you might help mo to put up with him; I'm not unreasonable—l'd be grateful for small mercies. If you'd mention a- ray of interest in hi in, I'd keep my eyes on that, and make the most of it. . . You're not vexed with me for coming?" • ' "Oh, not at all; I—l suppose you've been very . . . . amiable,'-, our interview has been Tather quaint—l'm sorry I can't oblige you." - , "Well," sighed Mrs. Meadows, "it can't be helped. But I must say I'm disappointed ! When I found out there was a woman in love with him, it simply amazed me! I felt it only right to consult you—it 6eemcd 6uch an opportunity to improve matters at home. Still, thero it is, if you can't tell me, you can't! She was very downcast. "Then 111 say Good afternoon.'" , , "May I offer you some —tea■ quavered Kitty, clinging to the mantelpiece. "Thank you so much, but I ni afraid 1 must be going now; I promised to sec our secretary at the office of the Mission Fund at four o'clock. Good-bye, Miss Clarges. • You needn't tell the Bishop that I called. It has been quite unless! She sighed herself out. I Now, though Kitty Clarges endeavoured to persuade herself by turns that i.-lrs. Meadows was a fool incapable of appreciating her husband, and that Mrs. Me_a-. dows was a diplomat scheming to .disenchant her with him, both endeavours . were unsuccessful. She could not think the woman an utter idiot, and still less was it possible to think her a genius. Kitty'Chrges was less entranced bythe Bishop in their next meeting. Between, them lurked a dowdy little figure, regarding her with astonished eyes. the astonishment shamed her as no homily could ever have dono. The figuro was present at all their meetings, and often she lest sight of the Bishop's classical features, and could see nothing but his info s eyes wondering at her. His eloquence was no longer thrilling—she was obsessed by the knowledge that it wasn't good enough for the woman in the modes of .Tunbridsce Wells. ■ ■ , Before , long the sight of her own dovecoloured gowns'began to get on her nerves, and gtaduallv she discarded them. Once, when the Bishop proposed to Visit her, she told him that she would be lunching out. A few days later she wrote that unforeseen, circumstances denied her the hope of producing his comedy. His urgent letter of inquiry remained unanswered. When ho. called for an explanation she was "not at home." .