Father Payne | Page 8

comes from silence, and the
end of all my experiments is the word in the New Testament,
Ephphatha--Be opened! That is what I try for, to give men the power of
opening their hearts and minds to others, without fear and yet without
offence. I don't want men to attack things or to criticise things, but just
to speak plainly about what is beautiful and wholesome and true. So
you see this isn't a place for lazy and fanciful people--not a fortress of
quiet, and still less a place for asses to slake their thirst! We don't set
out to amuse ourselves, but to perceive things, and to say them if we
can. My men must be sound and serious, and they must be civil and
amusing too. They have got to learn how to get on with each other, and
with me, and with the village people--and with God! If you want just to
dangle about, this isn't the place for you; but if you want to work hard
and be knocked into shape, I'll consider it."
There was something tremendous about Father Payne! I looked at him
with a sense of terror. His face dissolved in a smile. "You needn't look
at me like that!" he said. "I only want you to know exactly what you are
in for!"
"I would like to try," I said.
"Well, we'll see!" he said. "And now you must be off!" he added. "We
shall dine in an hour--you needn't dress. Here, you don't know which
your room is, I suppose?"
He rang the bell, and I went off with the old butler, who was amiable
and communicative. "So, you think of becoming one of the gentlemen,
sir?" he said. "If you'll have me," I replied. "Oh, that will be all right,
sir," he said. "I could see that the Father took to you at first sight!"
He showed me my room--a big bare place. It had a small bed and
accessories, but it was also fitted as a sitting-room, with a writing-table,
an armchair, and a bookcase full of books. The house was warmed, I

saw, with hot water to a comfortable temperature. "Would you like a
fire?" he said. I declined, and he went on: "Now if you lived here, sir,
you would have to do that yourself!" He gave a little laugh. "Anyone
may have a fire, but they have to lay it, and fetch the coal, and clean the
grate. Very few of the gentlemen do it. Anything else, sir? I have put
out your things, and you will find hot water laid on."
He left me, and I flung myself into the chair. I had a good deal to think
about.

III
THE SOCIETY
A very quiet evening followed. A bell rang out above the roof at 8.15. I
went down to the hall, where the men assembled. Father Payne came in.
He had changed his clothes, and was wearing a dark, loose-fitting suit,
which became him well--he always looked at home in his clothes. The
others wore similar suits or smoking jackets. Father Payne appeared
abstracted, and only gave me a nod. A gong sounded, and he marched
straight out through a door by the fireplace into the dining-room.
The dining-room was a rather grand place, panelled in dark wood, and
with a few portraits. At each end of the room was a section cut off from
the central portion by an oak column on each side. Three windows on
one side looked into the garden. It was lighted by candles only. We
were seven in all, and I sate by Father Payne. Dinner was very plain.
There was soup, a joint with vegetables, and a great apple-tart. The
things were mostly passed about from hand to hand, but the old butler
kept a benignant eye upon the proceedings, and saw that I was well
supplied. There was a good and simple claret in large flat-bottomed
decanters, which most of the men drank. There was a good deal of talk
of a lively kind. Father Payne was rather silent, though he struck in
now and then, but his silence imposed no constraint on the party. He
was pressed to tell a story for my benefit, which he did with much
relish, but briefly. I was pleased at the simplicity of it all. There was
only one man who seemed a little out of tune--a clerical-looking,
handsome fellow of about thirty, called Lestrange, with an air of some
solemnity. He made remarks of rather an earnest type, and was
ironically assailed once or twice. Father Payne intervened once, and
said: "Lestrange is perfectly right, and you would think so too, if only

he could give what he said a more secular twist. 'Be soople in things
immaterial,' Lestrange,