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.'