Glittering Images (34 page)

There were other guests staying in my wing of the building but Darrow thought it would be too arduous for me to be sociable so to my relief I was told to avoid the common-room downstairs and see the other guests only at mealtimes when the rule of silence ensured I could eat in peace. As a special privilege, providing me with an alternative to the seclusion of my room, I was allowed into the enclosed section of the house in order to read in the library, but I read only as Darrow directed; by that time my new examination of mysticism had advanced from Evelyn Underhill, Dean Inge and Baron Friedrich Von Hügel, and as my reading progessed I was both amazed and ashamed by the shallowness of my knowledge. Having long since decided that I preferred to work in the less spiritually demanding sphere of historical facts I had tended to view mysticism merely as a recurring phenomenon which broke out, like a religious version of measles, whenever orthodox ecclesiastical life became sunk in abuse and inertia. Perhaps also I had felt that the morbid, aberrant aspects of mysticism made it suitable for study only by women, emotional adolescents and eccentrics, and this prejudice had blinded me to the value of a true mysticism stripped of oriental nihilism and Roman superstition.

However I was at present too enfeebled to have much insight into this blindness which had undoubtedly sprung from spiritual arrogance as well as intellectual pride, and it was as much as I could do to read obediently, garden conscientiously and attend the services regularly in the chapel. I was forbidden to attend the night office of Matins because Darrow thought it was more important for my health that I should have an unbroken night’s sleep, but I attended Prime at six in the morning, the combined service of Terce and Sext at noon, the combined service of None and Vespers at six in the evening, and Compline at eight. Mass was celebrated after Prime, and each morning I stayed to watch. I wanted above all to receive the sacrament, but I had accepted that I must abstain until my errors were fully understood and true repentance became possible. Darrow and I had discussed the situation once I had told him about Loretta.

‘Of course you want to rush into a formal confession and wipe the slate clean without delay,’ he had said to me. ‘That’s only natural. But I warn you, I’d ask some very searching questions before I gave you absolution and quite frankly I doubt if at present you could begin to answer them. For instance I’d want to know exactly why you made love to Loretta. Were you driven solely by what the melodramas call “unbridled lust” or was there in fact very much more going on than the mere gratification of a passing whim? And whether or not the incident was merely the result of lust I’d want to know what guarantee you could give me that such an incident wouldn’t happen again – and that, of course, would bring us to the vexed question of your celibacy. How far do you really understand your problem about remarriage? It seems to me we have a lot of detective work to do here before you can view your situation with the degree of clarity necessary for any effective confession.’

He paused as if he thought I might want to argue but when I remained silent he said, ‘The point I’m making is that your behaviour with Loretta can’t be confessed in isolation because such a confession would inevitably be inadequate. And can you in all conscience receive the sacrament after an inadequate confession of at least one very disabling sin?’

That question could only be answered in the negative, and I saw then how wrong I had been to hope that his absence of censure on the subject of Loretta meant that he intended to be lenient with me. I was used to benign elderly spiritual advisers who bathed me with sympathetic soft-heartedness; to encounter a director who was sympathetic but tough was unnerving. Yet it was also a relief. I knew a firm discipline was necessary as I struggled to regain my health, and because I could acknowledge this truth I felt no desire to rebel against him; on the contrary I found myself increasingly anxious to win his approval and had soon redoubled my efforts to complete the Starbridge narrative as truthfully as possible.

‘… so Loretta said she’d drive me to Cambridge,’ I found myself saying at last. ‘I don’t remember much about the journey but I do remember arriving here and seeing the stars and talking about the transcendence of God. I think I even mentioned Karl Barth.’

‘What an indestructible passion for theology!’ said Darrow amused, but as I smiled, relieved beyond measure that my narrative was finally completed, I was unable to resist saying, ‘You must be thinking I’ve behaved like a lunatic.’

‘That’s an emotional word and singularly unhelpful in this context. I think it would be more accurate to say that you’re a normal man and like many normal men you have a set of personal problems which you’re obliged to cart around with you wherever you go. However you’re also a strong man, strong enough to keep the hatches battened down on these problems, and you go on leading a normal life until one day you arrive in Starbridge. Then everything changes – and it changes because the Starbridge mystery somehow blasts aside those battened-down hatches and … Well, if I were still in the Navy I’d say the Starbridge mystery had kicked you right in the balls.’

I was so relieved by his stress on my normality that I was able to say at once, ‘The worst part of all is that I feel as if I’m still being kicked. I didn’t solve the puzzle. I still don’t know for certain what’s going on. I do believe Jardine – I know that rationally I ought to believe him – I know that if I don’t believe him I must be –’ I broke off. ‘Yet I don’t believe him,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe him, I
won’t
believe him –’

‘Exactly. You’re going round and round the mulberry bush in an emotional frenzy which is thoroughly exhausting for you and can serve no useful purpose.’ Darrow leant forward, resting his forearms on the table. ‘Charles, the first important truth to grasp is that neither you nor I, on the evidence so far available, can solve this mystery conclusively.’

‘But I’ve got to know – I’ve got to find out –’

‘There you go again, burning to rush around the Starbridge mulberry bush in a dance which can only prove unproductive! You’ve got to break out of that circle, Charles, so let’s approach the problem from another angle: why is it so important for you to solve this mystery?’

‘It’s because of Lyle, of course. I want to marry her so I’ve got to know what’s going on.’

‘Very well, let’s take a closer look at your feelings for this woman who’s at the heart of the mystery. I think this is the moment, Charles, when we finally begin to talk about Lyle.’

‘I cannot honestly say that I think the adoption of celibacy would meet our present difficulties.’

More Letters of Herbert Hensley Henson
Bishop of Durham 1920–1939
ed.
E. F. BRALEY
.

‘It’s easy to be sceptical about the idea that a lasting love can spring into being at first sight,’ said Darrow, ‘but one must always bear in mind that improbable things do happen and your feeling for Lyle might just be one of those improbabilities. In other words, Charles, I’ve resolved to keep an open mind on the subject. But can you make a similar resolution? Ideally I’d like you to prise your mind open an inch for the length of this discussion.’

I regarded him warily. ‘You’re asking me to admit I could be wrong about her.’

‘Don’t feel threatened. I’m not out to undermine your feelings, only to clarify them, because I believe important consequences could flow from the clarification.’

With reluctance I said, ‘Very well, I’ve got my mind prised open an inch. Go on.’

‘Let’s suppose for a moment,’ said Darrow, ‘that your feelings are, in fact, an illusion. I think you’d agree that once you’d found out you were deluded there’d be no question of marriage and therefore the mystery of whether or not she’s Jardine’s mistress would become irrelevant.’

With even deeper reluctance I said, ‘That’s true. But nonetheless I’m sure –’

‘Very well, let’s now assume you’re not deluded and that Lyle’s the long-awaited Miss Right. Then obviously you must know the truth, but how likely is it that you’ve been able to see Lyle with such clarity so early in your acquaintance with her? Or to put it another way, we know that love at first sight’s possible, but exactly how probable is it in this particular situation?’

‘I just feel so certain that I can’t be wholly mistaken –’

‘Then let’s consider a third theory. Supposing your feelings for Lyle are based neither wholly in illusion nor wholly in reality but in a mixture of the two. In other words, there may well be some illusion going on but nevertheless you’ve recognized some quality in Lyle which you correctly believe will make her a good wife for you.’

‘But this is exactly what I feel!’ I exclaimed. ‘I looked at her and knew she could cope with my problems!’

‘The most important comment I can make about that statement,’ said Darrow, ‘is that probably no woman could cope satisfactorily with your problems before you’ve learnt how to cope with them yourself. The next most important comment I can make is that you’ve no way of knowing how true that statement is until you can perceive where the borderline between truth and illusion lies. Contrary to what you suppose, the real difficulty here is not what’s going on between Lyle and Jardine but what’s going on between you and Lyle. You’ve actually been going round and round in circles chasing the wrong problem.’

‘But surely it’s vital to discover –’

‘It’s only vital to discover whether she’s his mistress if you first discover that your feelings for her are solidly rooted in reality.’

‘But I can’t be completely deluded! After all I’m a mature widower of thirty-seven –’

‘I agree that’s a powerful argument in your favour, but Charles, no matter how undeniable your maturity and experience you should allow for the fact that these troubles of yours might be warping your judgement.’

‘You’re leading me gently up the garden path,’ I said, ‘but I still can’t see the front door. Are you saying –’

‘I’m saying that this problem is all one and that we can’t consider your feelings for Lyle in isolation from the remainder of your troubles any more than we could consider the incident with Loretta in that way. I’m saying that the best approach to the entire crisis is not to waste time speculating about what might or might not be going on at Starbridge, but to solve your private troubles, because then and only then will you be able to look at the Starbridge mystery with eyes clear enough to separate truth from fantasy and reality from illusion.’

We met again that evening. He took me for the first time to the Parlour, not the Visitors’ Parlour with its plain table and chairs but the Abbot’s Parlour across the hall, and presently a monk brought us some tea and a plate of oatmeal biscuits.

‘Is this a reward for good behaviour?’ I enquired amused, after the monk had departed.

‘My intention was to give you a holiday before we embark on our voyage among your private problems.’

The room was large and furnished with surprising lavishness in the style of the 1890s. I presumed this decor had been inherited from the original owners of the house and preserved to impress any important visitors who might call on the Abbot. We were sitting on well-sprung armchairs which were upholstered in red velvet and placed on either side of a marble fireplace. Above the chimneypiece hung a passable painting, probably a Fordite investment, of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. A magnificent clock, its dial held aloft by two scantily-clad nymphs, ticked discreetly on the mantelshelf. The frieze below the shelf showed pagan hunting scenes containing more dubiously-clad females. I was surprised it had survived the Fordite invasion.

‘It’s an interesting room,’ I murmured politely as he passed me my cup of tea.

‘That depends entirely on one’s interests.’

We laughed, and suddenly I wondered if he had ordained the holiday for himself as well as for me. I sensed he was glad of my company to relieve the strain of being a stranger in unfamiliar surroundings, and I was just about to ask him to tell me more about himself when he said, ‘How are you feeling now about the Starbridge mystery? Is it still revolving unceasingly in your mind or have you finally managed to encase it in a straitjacket?’

‘I’ve got hold of the straitjacket; I do see that it’s useless at present to expend further energy on speculation. But I can’t quite get the straitjacket on the mystery. What I’d really like to know, Father, is what on earth you make of my story.’

‘My opinion isn’t important,’ said Darrow at once. ‘My business is to illuminate the problem so that you can form a rational opinion of your own.’

‘I understand that. But –’

‘It’s also arguable that any opinion I had would be worthless. I wasn’t a witness at Starbridge. All I have is your evidence, and your evidence must necessarily be influenced by many factors, some of which may distort the truth no matter how hard you’ve tried to be honest.’

‘Yes, I understand that too. But nevertheless –’

‘I can certainly shine a spotlight into the dark corners. But will that help you get the mystery into the straitjacket or will it merely encourage you to go round and round the mulberry bush?’

I tried to put into words my need to have a yardstick against which I could measure my sanity. ‘I feel I need a reaction from you,’ I said. ‘Otherwise I’m going to spend my time wondering if you secretly think –’ I could say no more but I had apparently said enough; at once Darrow made his decision.