Clara Hopgood

Baruch went neither to Barnes's shop nor to the Marshalls for nearly

a month. One Sunday morning he was poring over the Moreh Nevochim,

for it had proved too powerful a temptation for him, and he fell upon

the theorem that without God the Universe could not continue to

exist, for God is its Form. It was one of those sayings which may be

nothing or much to the reader. Whether it be nothing or much depends

upon the quality of his mind.

There was certainly nothing in it particularly adapted to Baruch's

condition at that moment, but an antidote may be none the less

efficacious because it is not direct. It removed him to another

region. It was like the sight and sound of the sea to the man who

has been in trouble in an inland city. His self-confidence was

restored, for he to whom an idea is revealed becomes the idea, and is

no longer personal and consequently poor.

His room seemed too small for him; he shut his book and went to Great

Ormond Street. He found there Marshall, Mrs Caffyn, Clara and a

friend of Marshall's named Dennis.

'Where is your wife?' said Baruch to Marshall.

'Gone with Miss Madge to the Catholic chapel to hear a mass of

Mozart's.' 'Yes,' said Mrs Caffyn. 'I tell them they'll turn Papists if they do

not mind. They are always going to that place, and there's no

knowing, so I've hear'd, what them priests can do. They aren't like

our parsons. Catch that man at Great Oakhurst a-turnin' anybody.'

'I suppose,' said Baruch to Clara, 'it is the music takes your sister

there?'

'Mainly, I believe, but perhaps not entirely.'

'What other attraction can there be?'

'I am not in the least disposed to become a convert. Once for all,

Catholicism is incredible and that is sufficient, but there is much

in its ritual which suits me. There is no such intrusion of the

person of the minister as there is in the Church of England, and

still worse amongst dissenters. In the Catholic service the priest

is nothing; it is his office which is everything; he is a mere means

of communication. The mass, in so far as it proclaims that miracle

is not dead, is also very impressive to me.'

'I do not quite understand you,' said Marshall, 'but if you once

chuck your reason overboard, you may just as well be Catholic as

Protestant. Nothing can be more ridiculous than the Protestant

objection, on the ground of absurdity, to the story of the saint

walking about with his head under his arm.'