ORANGE BLOSSOMS

Taranaki Daily News, 6 December 1930, Page 1 (Supplement)

ORANGE BLOSSOMS

“TAO,” THE WAY

(By

“Scriblerus.”)

Only the soft rush of the bow wave and the far-off tumble of the turbines broke the quietness of the long room. It was after midnight but two men clad in white duck still remained. They were missionaries but 'an ill assorted pair. The older of the two, Bishop Diimoin, a gnarled man lean' and cadaverous, seemed restless in the presence of his companion. The young man was the Abbe le Fevre, and he sat alertly in his wicker chriir. Words flowed uneasily. The Abbe was doing the talking, but it was difficult to make conversation with one whose interests seemed so far away. The Bishop’s short replies lapsed into moody silences. It was a one-man combat and the young man was tiring. He looked at his watch.

“Then it will be Shanghai in the morning. Dp we stay there long? I’m anxious to go inland as soon as possible and I suppose you are, too?” •’Perhaps,”, replied the Bishop. He shuffled his feet and his eyes strayed to the open doorway. . A gentle breeze drifted in and shook the curtains. Then they stopped , swinging and the wind ■ passed across the China Sea. Outside there were just' the stars above a. smooth, black sea. The big. P. and O. boat was slipping along quickly. “You have told me little of the life I am to lead and the heathen I must teach. It is so hard to know what to expect. A missionary must be very 'broad-mindbd I suppose.” The Bishop looked Tip. “No. i That is the one thing you must not be. There is but one way. You must be narrow, narrow as possible. Perhaps you don’t believe me, eh? Well, I will tell you that if you don’t conform to the law of your church and your faith in every detail, you will fail.” There was a deep bitterness in the. old man's voice. His companion appeared to be bewildered. Another short silence followed. The Bishop seemed to be fighting back words that were rushing ai him. ; His countenance darkened and again he spoke. “Did they tell you to learn the customs of the people you go to ? Did they tell you to dip into their wisdom that you might turn and refiite' their 'beliefs? Did .they tell you to uproot the teach-' irig of ages and replace it with the universal tenets of our religion? They did. I know. Well, forget wliile there is yet time. I pity you, my son. It is just possible, you know, that you may have to fight a losing battle against—well, something. It' is better then that you should be in ignorance qf the powers opposing you—at least until the very last. Then the bitterness .will 'be only short.” ,■ •• ■■

“I don’t understand—a losing battle? I know missionaries quite frequently die or are persecuted in this country, but has it not always been the death of martyrs which has added new victories to the true faith? Die! If God so wills, but He would never permit His faith to lose.” ; '

“It is goad to be young,” , said the Bishop wearily. “I was once, before I went in there—fifteen' years ago;” He shrugged his shoulders. “I am no longer of your race. My soul is. in this land. Visions of a sunset on the-Larid/df :il?rirdons, our Brittany, will awake no more than an 'idle fluttering in my /heart. My village in Sze-Chuen has taken its place. There will be orange blossoms now., The rhod'"' l endron forests will be blooming. And yet—"perhaps I may .not see if all again.” No one spoke. At last the Abbe moved ,to leave. The Bishop raised a hand. “Do not go.” The old man. stood and. walked to the door where the stars, blinked coldly on the sea. He . spoke abruptly in clipped sentences with a Ijttle pause between each. “I do not think you will understand. Still you may some day, perhaps, and then ‘ you. may. judge.” He turned and leaned against the lintel his grey head framed against the night sky. ;. '■' '■ ’ ■ “Six months ago I was 'called back to Europe. It was fifteen years since I went to my mission in Sze-Chuen, and I did not realise how I had changed. They thought I had done well. ■ My- influence was wide in this land, and they, mride me Bishop and sent you with me to be my companion. That is: the story you know. -/ . . ' (

“You cannot realise what those fifteen years, alone, have done to me.. Even a priest must have friends, and I made many. They were not heathen, as you think. They were not ignorant. I studied their beliefs and their customs, and they studied mine. Many would come to listen to me when I preached. The years passed, and my mission prospered. I never proselytized in ignorance. The Taoist ■ teachers greeted me kindly, and we were friends. . “I see now what happened. We exchanged ideas, compared ideals. _ How was I to conteiid alone with the wisdom of ages l in the land of its birth? Theirs was a religion built up for them, Gradually I must have absorbed ■ their beliefs and their Taoist ideals. It was such a slow process I did not notice, and only when I went away did I realise what I had done.”- . , ■ , ’ '• . ; ’ ’ The ' stars flickered and a faint glow of orange at the meeting place of sea and sky gave promise of the rising moon. ... The Bishop was very calm.. His face was like Gautama’s, and he jlo°ksteadily at the young man. “In life there is no rest, and yet Christ’s church forbids that I should sleep.” The Abbe .stood up slowly and the two men faced each other. The young man spoke. 4 “We will go into Sze-Chuen together, you and I, and win back all, With two it will not be so hard.” “You do not understand. You want me to go back to my. missions.” The Bishop’s reply was almost a sneer. “Yes, as a hypocrite or a renegade,” he went on. “My church says ‘nay!’ when I would sleep.” He turned on the threshold and gazed into the night. “And yet there is a Way —” The Abbe was alone, facing the open doorway. There was no bitterness in his eyes, no resentment at the manner of his companion. His fingers toyed with a little, golden crucifix. The sound of slow steps along the deck dwindled into the noises of the night. The Abbe went on to the deck. The moon was not up yet, and out beyond the friendly lights little came out of the blackness but the starlight and the long-drawn sound of the ship in motion. Near the front of the ship he could see the form of the Bishop standing by the rail. Suddenly a hoarse shout rang on the stillness. “Ship on the starboard bow!” A tall, black shape loomed by the liner’s side. The Abbe was motionless. The Bishop was walking slowly towards the bow, close to the rail.