All Roads Lead to Calvary

thward, choosing a broad, ill-lighted road. It did not matter

urnalistic pose of omniscience, of infallibility-this non-existent garment of supreme wisdom that, like the King's clothes in the fairy story, was donned to hide his nakedness by every strutting nonentity of Fleet Street! She would have no use for it. It should be a friend, a comrade, a fellow-servant of the great Master, taking counsel with them, asking their help. Government by the people for the people! It must be made real. These silent, thoughtful-looking workers, hurrying homewards through the darkening streets; these patient, shrewd-planning housewives casting their shadows on the

ed "leaders," "representatives," who immediately they had climbed into prominence took their place among the rulers, and then from press and platform shouted to them what they were to think and feel. It was as if the Drill-Sergeant were to claim to be the "le

en to "come in," to take a hand. That she might get in touch with them, understand their small problems, she had urge

got red hair all over yo

his sleeve, revealing the fact that his arms above the wrists had evidently not too recently been washed; and the episode

erstanding, a recognition of the wonderful likeness of us all to one another underneath our outward coverings was all that was needed to break down the barrier, establish comrade

the patient ox-like eyes: he, too, should be invited to the Council board. Middle-class domestic problems should be solved not solely by fine gentlemen from Oxford; the wife of the little clerk should be allowed her say. War or peace, it should no longer be regarded as a

spondence in the papers, a singularly unsatisfactory body. They toiled not, lived in luxury and demanded grand pianos. Someone had proposed doing something for them. They themselves-it seemed that even they had a sort of conscienc

poor little helpless sluts. There were thousands such in every city, over-worked and under-fed, living lonely, pleasureless lives. They must be taught to speak i

, surrounding a great park. Lovers, furtive

mere sentimental embroideries. The daily struggle for bare existence, the ever-shadowing menace of unemployment, of illness, leaving them helpless amid the grinding forces crushing them

daily bread that in comfortable homes had come to be regarded as a thing like water; not to be considered, to be used without stint, wasted, thrown about. Borne

acious hostess, gathering around her brilliant men and women, statesmen, writers, artists, captains of industry: counselling them, even learning from them: encouraging shy genius. Perhaps, in a perfectly harmless way, allowing it t

lean over the back of his chair and caress for a moment his dark, soft hair tinged here and there with grey. He would always adore her, in that distant, undemonstrative way of his that would never be tiresome or exacting. They would have children. But not too many. That would make

a crowd of birds to whom she had thrown a handful of crumbs in winter time. As if they had not enemies enough: cats, weasels, rats, hawks, owls, the hunger and the cold. And added to all, they must needs make the struggle yet harder for one another: pecking at each other's eyes, joining with one another to attack the fallen. These tired men, these weary women, pale-fa

rompted the workers to discard their characteristic costumes that had been both beautiful and serviceable for these hateful slop-shop clothes that made them look like walking scarecrows. Why had the coming of Democracy coincided seemingly with the spread of ugliness: dull towns, mean streets, paper-strewn parks, corrugated iron roofs, Christian chapels that would be an insult to a heathen idol; h

its silent mountains; its cobwebs glittering with a thousand jewels; the pageantry of starry nights. Form, colour, music! The feathered choristers of bush and brake raising their matin and their evensong, the whispering of the leaves, the singing of the waters, the voices of the winds. Beauty and grace in every living thi

his own life, learning freedom, individuality; a city of noble schools; of workshops that should be worthy of labour, filled with light and air; smoke and filth driven from the land: science, no longer bound to commercialism, having discovered cleaner forces; a city of gay playgrounds where children should learn laughter; of leafy walks where the creatures of the wood and field should be as we

of which stood open, revealing white tablecloths and a pleasant air of cheerfulness, she entered. It was late and the tables were crowded. Only at one, in a far corner, could she detect a vacant place, opposite to a slight, pretty-looking girl very quietly dressed. She made her way across and the girl, anticipating her request, w

said. "One of the few places where y

erstand. "In wha

te to you, and won't leave you alone. At most of the places, you've go

rward to occasional restaurant dinners, wher

they force themselves upon yo

n't want them, the more sport they think

elect a table where there is some good-natured gir

red the girl. "It's hateful, dining

ed Joan. "I'm

ered the girl. "I'm an artist. Or, r

give it up?

sovereigns for a sketch, if I want it, from one or another of the frame-makers. And they c

Joan. "I'm a La

. My father's a mill manager near

n I was ten years old, and so escaped it. Nor were you

nny how we seem to have always been near to one another. Dad

spiritual, vivacious face with frank eyes and

ciously she was leaning forward, her chin supported by

wer for a moment. There came a hard

without one. Maternity, woman's kingdom. All that sort of thing. As if the storks brought them. Don't suppose it made any real difference; but it just helped me to preten

ieur Gustav and his ample-bosomed wife were sea

you have marri

ng any of that lot. And the men I might have fancied were all of them too poor. There was one student. He's got on since. Easy enough for him to talk about

he man's tone and manner jarred upon Joan. She had not noticed it before. Joan

hat was sticking in her mind. "I should have thought that, if o

Did for nearly two years. Till I got sick of living like a nun: never getting a bit o

of it?" asked J

I'm supposed to be dead, and my husband gone abroad." She gave a short, dry lau

ng now?" asked Jo

" Her voice had changed. It had a note of shrillness. In some indescribable way s

nging the business needlessly. She wished him "Good evening" in a tone of distant hauteur,

he said with a forced laugh.

"Not sure that it would suit me now. They're not so

y in the opposite direction, and after a few minutes found herself i

ils. Speshul," repeating it over and over

r change. She wondered, with a little lump in her throat, how many would have stopped to

lewdness leered at her, side by side with announcements that the house was full. From every roaring corner, scintillating lights flared forth the merits of this public benefactor's whisky, of this other celebrity's beer: it see

lked with the tears streaming down her face because, in spite of her scoldings and her pleadings, it woul

Missie," the man had explained. "It's th

soft brown, troubled eyes for forgiveness. But

ven back, dragged down again into the dirt by his own instincts: ever be

ngled voices of the crowd shap

e laughing at, pointing her out to one another

to escape them. She felt so small, so help

she found herself in her own street. And as sh

ened the door; and then, facing round, stood aside for her to enter. He was a sturdy, thick-set man with a stron

eighbours," he said.

ly touched. Joan wished him good-night and went up the stairs. There was

e. And his voice that had sent her tears

t seen them. What a

laugh esc