CHAPTER IX

thering,theshoes,andthefattedcalf,yethefeltcertain—heknewtherewerefathersatthatverymoment,thereinthattown,nay,inthatcathedral,readywithallandmorethanthat.Whowouldwishtopunishhisdearchild,thesoulgivenintohishandstobewhitenedforheaven?Oneknewfromone'sownexperience—allwhohadoncebeenchildrenmustknow—howsorryonewasforhavingdonewrong,howbleedingonefeltaboutitandjustthen,justatthatmomentofsorrow,ofheart'sblood,wasnotwhatoneneededsothatonemightgetonone'sfeetagainquicklyanddobetterthanever,notpunishmentbutforgiveness?Afrequentandfreeforgiveness,saidtheBishop,andhisvoicewasbeautifulashesaidit,wasoneofthechiefnecessitiesoflife.Whatpoorchildrenwant,poorfrailchildren,soinfinitelyapttofall,soinfinitelyclumsyatgettingup,isacontinualwipingoutandneverthinkingagainoftheyesterdays,adailypresentationbyauthoritytoyesterday'sstumblersofthatmostbracingobject,thecleanedandemptyslate.Why,itwasasnecessary,hedeclared,hisfinefaceaglow,ifonewastoworkwellandaddone'scheerfulcontributiontotheworld'shappiness,asanourishingandsufficientbreakfast—thecongregationthrilledatthishomelytouch—andtonumbahumanbeing'spowersofcheerfulcontributionbypunishmentwaswaste.Howcruel,then,toforceafatherbyone'sstubbornnesstopunishhowcruelandhowsinfultohinderhim,bynotseekingoutatoncewhathesofreelyoffered,tohinderhimfrombringingforthhisbestrobe,hisring,hisfattedcalf.Whataheavyresponsibilitytowardstheirfathersdidchildrenbear,saidtheBishop,whohadceasedhimselfbeinganybody'schildmanyyearsbefore.This,hesaid,isasermontochildrentoerringchildrentothosesadchildrenwhohavegoneastray.Weareallchildrenhere,heexplained,andiflifehasbeenwithussolongthatwecannolongerfindanyonewemaystillwithanycertaintycallfather,weareyettotheendChildrenoftheKingdom.But,hecontinued,thougheverysinglesoulinthiscathedralisnecessarilysomeone'schild,noteverysinglesoulinitisinevitablysomeone'sfather,andhewouldsayafewwordstothefathersandremindthemoftheinfiniteeffectoflove.Topunishyourchildistomakeitsrepentancegosourwithinit.Donotpunishit.Loveit.Loveitcontinuously,generously,ifneedsbeobstinatelysmiteitshardness,asoncearockwassmitten,withtherodofgenerosity.Giveitachanceofgushingforthintolivingrepentance.Generositybegetsgenerosity.Lovebegetslove.Showyourlove.Showyourgenerosity.Forgivefreely,magnificently.Oh,mybrothers,oh,mychildren,mylittlesorrychildren,whatcouldnotone,whatwouldnotonedoinreturnforlove? TheBishop'sfacewasliftedupashefinishedtothelightofthewestwindow.Hisvoicewaschargedwithfeeling.Hehadforgottentheravensandeaglesofthebeginning,forheneverallowedhisbeginningstodisturbhisendings,wellknowinghiscongregationforgotthem,too.Hewasanartistatreachingintotheheartsoftheuneducated.Everythinghelpedhim—hisbeauty,hisvoice,andthemanifestwayinwhichhisownwordsmovedhim. Andthetypist,ashewalkedbacktothePalacewiththechaplainacrossthedaisiesoftheClose,wasunabletoagreewiththechaplainthatacourseatOxfordevennowinclosereasoningmighthelptheBishop.ThetypistthoughtitwouldspoilhimandofferedtolaythechaplaintwentytoonethatRedchesterthatafternoonwouldbefulloferringchildrenupsettingtheirfathers'Sundaybywantingtobeforgiven. ItwasandIngeborgwasoneofthem.