THE BISHOP'S DREAM OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE

A lassie sells the War Cry on the corner

And the big drum booms, and the raucous brass horns

Mingle with the cymbals and the silver triangle.

I stand a moment listening, then my friend

Who studies all religions, finds a wonder

In orphic spectacles like this, lays hold

Upon my arm and draws me to a door

Through which we look and see a room of seats,

A platform at the end, a table on it,

And signs upon the wall, “Jesus is Waiting,”

And “God is Love.”

We enter, take a seat.

The band comes in and fills the room to bursting

With horns and drums. They cease and feet are heard,

The crowd has followed, half the seats are full.

After a prayer, a song, the captain mounts

The platform by the table and begins:

“Praise God so many girls are here to-night,

And Sister Trickey, by the grace of God

Saved from the wrath to come, will speak to you.”

So Sister Trickey steps upon the platform,

A woman nearing forty, one would say.

Blue-eyed, fair skinned, and yellow haired, a figure

Once trim enough, no doubt, grown stout at last.

She was a pretty woman in her time,

‘ Twas plain to see. A shrewd intelligence

From living in the world shines in her face.

We settle down to hear from Sister Trickey

And in a moment she begins:

“Young girls:

I thank the Lord for Jesus, for he saved me,

I thank the Lord for Jesus every hour.

No woman ever stained with redder sins.

Had greater grace than mine. Praise God for Jesus!

Praise God for blood that washes sins away!

I was a woman fallen till Lord Jesus

Forgave me, helped me up and made me clean.

My name is Lilah Trickey. Let me tell you

How music was my tempter. Oh, you girls,

If there be one before me who can sing

Beware the devil and beware your voice

That it be used for Jesus, not for Satan.”

“I had a voice, was leader of the choir,

But Satan entered in my voice to tempt

The bishop of the church, and in my heart

To tempt and use the bishop; in the bishop

Old Satan slipped to lure me from the path.

He fell from grace for listening. And I

Whose voice had turned him over to the devil

Fell as he fell. He dragged me down with him.

No use to make it long, one word's enough:

Old Satan is the first word and the last,

And all between is nothing. It's enough

To say the bishop and myself eloped

Went to Montreaux. He left a wife and children.

And I poor silly thing with promises

Of culture of my voice in Paris, lost

Good name and all. And he lost all as well.

Good name, his soul I fear, because he took

The church's money saying he would use it

To win the Holy Sepulchre, in fact

Intending all the while to use the money

For travel and for keeping up a house

With me as soul-mate. For he never meant

To let me go to Paris for my voice,

He never got enough to pay for that.

On that point he betrayed me, now I see

‘ Twas God who used him to deceive me there,

And leave me to return to Springfield broken,

An out-cast, fallen woman, shamed and scorned.”

“We took a house in Montreaux, plain enough

As we looked at it passing, but within

‘ Twas sweet and fair as Satan could desire:

Engravings on the wall and marble mantels,

Gilt clocks upon the mantels, lovely rugs,

Chests full of linen, silver, pewter, china,

Soft beds with canopies of figured satin,

The scent of apple blossoms through the rooms.

A little garden, vines against the wall.

There were the lake and mountains. Oh, but Satan

Baited the hook with beauty. But the bishop

Seemed self-absorbed, depressed and never smiled.

And every time his face came close to mine

I smelled the brandy on him. Conscience whipped

Its venomed tail against his peace of mind.

And so he took the brandy to benumb

The sting of conscience and to dull the pain.

He told me he had business in Montreaux

Which would require some weeks, would there be met

By people who had money for him. I

Was twenty-three and green, besides I walked

In dreamland thinking of the promised schooling

In Paris — oh‘ twas music, as I said.”....

“At last one day he said a friend was coming,

And he went to the station. Very soon

I heard their steps, the bishop and his friend.

They entered. I was curious and sat

Upon the stair-way's landing just to hear.

And this is what I heard. The bishop asked:

‘ You've brought some money, how much have you brought?’

The man replied‘ four hundred dollars.’ Then

The bishop said:‘ I'll take it.’ In a moment

I heard the clinking gold and heard the bishop

Putting it in his pocket.’

“God forgive me,

I never was so angry in my life.

The bishop had been talking in big figures,

We would have thousands for my voice and Paris,

And here was just a paltry sum. Scarce knowing

Just what I did, perhaps I wished to see

The American who brought the money — well,

No matter what it was, I walked in view

Upon the landing, stood there for a moment

And saw our visitor, a clergyman

From all appearances. He stared, grew red,

Large eyed and apoplectic, then he rose,

Walked side-ways, backward, stumbled toward the door,

Rattled with shaking hand the knob and jerked

The door ajar, with open mouth backed out

Upon the street and ran. I heard him run

A square at least.”

“The bishop looked at me,

His face all brandy blossoms, left the room,

Came back at once with brandy on his breath.

And all that day was tippling, went to bed

So drunk I had to take his clothing off

And help him in.”

“Young girls, beware of music,

Save only hymns and sacred oratorios.

Beware the theatre and dancing hall.

Take lesson from my fate.

“The morning came.

The bishop called me, he was very ill

And pale with fear. He had a dream that night.

Satan had used him and abandoned him.

And Death, whom only Jesus can put down,

Was standing by the bed. He called to me,

And said to me:

“‘ That money's in that drawer.

Use it to reach America, but use it

To send my body back. Death's in the corner

Behind that cabinet — there — see him look!

I had a dream — go get a pen and paper,

And write down what I tell you. God forgive me —

Oh what a blasphemer am I. O, woman,

To lie here dying and to know that God

Has left me — hell awaits me — horrible!

Last night I dreamed this man who brought the money,

This man and I were walking from Damascus,

And in a trice came down to Olivet.

Just then great troops of men sprang up around us

And hailed us as expecting our approach.

And there I saw the faces — hundreds maybe,

Of congregations who had trusted me

In all the long past years — Oh, sinful woman,

Why did you cross my path,’ he moaned at times,

‘ And wreck my ministry.’

“‘ And so these crowds

Armed as it seemed, exulted, called me general,

And shouted forward. So we ran like mad

And came before a building with a dome —

You know — I've seen a picture of it somewhere.

And so the crowds yelled: let the bishop enter

And see the sepulchre, while we keep guard.

They pushed me in. But when I was inside

There was no dome, above us was the sky,

And what seemed walls was nothing but a fence.

Before us was a stable with a stall

Where two cows munched the hay. There was a farmer

Who with a pitchfork bedded down the stall.

“Where is the holy sepulchre?” I asked —

“My army's at the door.” He kept at work

And never raised his eyes and only said:

“Do n't know; I have n't time for things like that.

You're‘ bout the hundredth man who's asked me that.

We do n't know where it is, nor do we care.

We live here and we knew him, so we feel

Less interest than you. But have you thought

If you should find it it would only be

A tomb like other tombs? Why look at this:

Here is the very manger where he lay —

What is it? Just a manger filled with straw.

These cows are not the very cows you know —

But cows are cows in every age and place.

I think that board there has been nailed on since.

Outside of that the place is just the same.

Now what's the good of seeing it? His mother

Lay in that corner there, what if she did?

That lantern on the wall's the very one

They came to see the child with from the inn —

What of it? Take your army and go on,

And leave me with my barn and with my cows.”

“‘ So all the glory vanished! Devil magic

Stripped all the glory off. No angels singing,

No star of Bethlehem, no magi kneeling,

No Mary crowned, no Jesus King, no mystic

Blood for sins’ remission — just a barn,

A stall, two cows, a lantern — all the glory —

Swept from the gospel. That's my punishment:

My poor weak brain filled full of all this dream,

Which seems as real as life — to lie here dying

Too weak to shake the dream! To see Death there

Behind that cabinet — there — see him look —

By God forsaken — all theology,

All mystery, all wonder, all delight

Of spiritual vision swept away as clean

As winds sweep up the clouds, and thus to see

While dying, just a manger, and two cows,

A lantern on the wall.

“‘ And thus to see,

For blasphemy that duped an honest heart,

And took the pitiful dollars of the flock

To win you with — oh, woman, woman, woman,

A barn, a stall, a lantern limned so clear

In such a daylight of clear seeing senses

That all the splendor, the miraculous

Wonder of the virgin, nimbused child,

The star that followed till it rested over

The manger ( such a manger ) all are wrecked,

All blotted from belief, all snatched away

From hands pushed off by God, no longer holding

The robes of God.’

“And so the bishop raved

While I stood terrified, since I could feel

Death in the room, and almost see the monster

Behind the cabinet.

“Then the bishop said:

“‘ My dream went on. I crossed the stable yard

And passed into a place of tombs. And look!

Before I knew I stepped into a hole,

A sunken grave with just a slab at head,

And “Jesus” carven on it, nothing else,

No date, no birth, no parentage.’”

“‘ I lie

Tormented by the pictures of this dream.

Woman, take to your death bed with clear mind

Of gospel faith, clean conscience, sins forgiven.

The thoughts that we must suffer with and die with

Are worth the care of all the days of life.

All life should be directed to this end,

Lest when the mind lies fallen, vultures swoop,

And with their wings blot out the sun of faith,

And with their croakings drown the voice of God.’

“He ceased, became delirious. So he died,

And I still unrepentant buried him

There in Montreaux, and with what gold remained

Went on to Paris.

“See how I was marked

For God's salvation.

“There I went to see

The celebrated teacher Jean Strakosch,

Who looked at me with insolent, calm eyes,

And face impassive, let me sing a scale,

Then shook his head. A diva, as I thought,

Came in just then. They talked in French, and I,

Prickling from head to foot with shame, ignored,

Left standing like a fool, passed from the room.

So music turned on me, but God received me,

And I came back to Springfield. But the Lord

Made life too hard for me without the fold.

I was so shunned and scorned, I had no place

Save with the fallen, with the mockers, drinkers.

Thus being in conviction, after struggles,

And many prayers I found salvation, found

My work in life: which is to talk to girls

And stand upon this platform and relate

My story for their good.”

She ceased. Amens

Went up about the room. The big drum boomed,

And the raucous brass horns mingled with the cymbals,

The silver triangle and the singing voices.

My friend and I arose and left the room.