THE LAST APOSTASY

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Sep 23, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 37.

THE LAST APOSTASY.

THE WEDDING OF CHURCH AND STATE.—AN ALLEGORY.

(Continued.)

SHE saw Lord Cæsar in his courtly robes, and thought with secret shame of her attire, vowing she’d change it for some richer dress before her introduction.

Then in her chamber she sat down to think. She remembered when she first had met her Prince, to whom she now had turned disloyal, that she had seen Lord Cæsar, and had then admired him. Then he had taken from her Prince’s hand his ordained power, and bowed in loyal grace and fine humility. She still remembered how the chamber rang with his avowals of fealty to the rights and liberties of men. A fair scroll from his hand was written with the words of civil law, according unto men the right to live, to think, to worship, and to be aught they would, so they were loyal citizens, true men. She seemed to hear again his rich voice ring as he made eloquence on themes of law. How all men were endowed with certain rights inalienable, that delegated power of men or nations could not take away; that government, though ’twas ordained of God, had certain limits which did not so proscribe, but made its liberty. It was to protect men’s rights, but not invade. To take what man might honorably give to man, but leave his duty to his God to be so rendered as God willed, and he desired. Under such power, that sealed men round within legitimate bounds, law was but liberty; and keeping it brought rich reward to each, and to society.

“This land,” he had said, “is one where men may worship God according to their conscience, rendering up their heart’s best love; where man need fear no incivility, since law doth make men civil. Here’s place for progress, scope for love and home, for all the inventive arts, for widening measures of prosperity and peace. Here’s place for thought to unfurl its wings, for men to be, while citizens of earth, the heirs of heaven.”

Then she remembered how with pallid face he turned toward the cheering audience, and trembling said: “I bear a power whose least perversion makes of liberty the worst of bondage. Men and citizens, as God has bidden, pray for those in power, for kings and rulers in authority. Before me pass the ages known as Dark. Aye, they are dark. Bloodshed and horror mark their centuries. I see the rack, the stake, the prison cell, the torture-chamber, and the fiends of hell. I see the king’s throne made a despot’s seat; I see the law, guarder of liberty, turned to an iron rule of slavery, dictating what men may or may not think, forcing the conscience. I see the officers of law a set of bigots, task-men and fanatics, ruling o’er men who bear the image of God, degrading them to creatures worse than brutes; or if they resist this power, as men, not cowards, they are put to prison, to rack, and flame, and death. Oh, what has made such havoc? Listen, men; The State perverted its authority, and took unlawful power, with covetous grasp, to pierce the realm that God’s reserved as his. It compelled men’s worship in a legal form, that all might wear a pious semblance, albeit the spirit lacked. It bound men’s mind to creed proscribed, and limited the pastures of their thought from infinite fields to finite boundaries. Progress was gone. Men dwindled into dust. Arts failed; invention flagged; development ceased. The selfish principle, given scope for growth, struck out great branches of disastrous shade, and nations withered. The State exalted itself to judge in matters of men’s personal rights, their faith, and thought of heart, yea, exalted itself above Omnipotence in compelling men to act a thing they were not.

“Save me from this. Now as I take my seat, be it to humbly rule as God has given, within the province he has chosen as best. Let no law pass my house that touches faith. Religion and the State must be apart in their legitimate and God-marked paths.”

All this passed through her mind as she sat there. Then she remembered, too, from whence she had fallen. Oh, was not hers sweet duty, when she had passed in humble places where the angels tread, shedding her Prince’s bounty to the poor, weeping with those that wept, rejoicing, too, with those who did rejoice? Why was she here? Her Prince had given no word. Were there no hearts that ached? no souls that sighed for light and love? no evils to be checked, no good attained? Could she indeed do better for the world by marrying this great man, who once had vowed no intercourse with her or hers? Had not her Prince said, too, “My kingdom’s not of earth; fit men for heaven, for subjects of a higher, holier court”? There stood beside her angels whispering, warning, entreating; they would not force, but let her take her will. She rose, and stepped upon the portico, and walked it slowly, filled with troubled thoughts.

Lord Cæsar stood near by. He, too, was all absorbed with thought. She saw how his frank countenance had clouded o’er since she

had heard him speak his noble vows. Soon as she caught his eye, she approached him, smiling, holding out her hand.

“By all your noble mien, I know you, sir, the great Lord Cæsar. I bow to you, as queens to kings.”

Lord Cæsar, unused to flattering words, bowed o’er her hand with awkward grace, and stammering, made response:—

“Lady, be welcome here to make your visit. I know not how to speak, for ladies’ presence is unusual in our State’s hall, and hath been thought unfitting in the past. The dark prince prophesies a rarer day for men and nations, dating from this time, since other feminine feet shall follow yours, and women give grave counsel in our courts. We’ll wait and see.”

This stunned the lady, and seemed a chilly welcome, that sent the hot blood coursing to her cheeks. The dark prince had praised her beauty, admired her, and would this prince do less? It stirred her pride; she set her teeth, and vowed she’d make him bow, aye, make him sue for her, as she should will.

The dark prince joined them, and with ready tact directed all their words, and set at ease. Lord Cæsar, though a bold, brave warrior, unused to cultured phrase and women’s arts, and suspecting that some motive dark beneath fair words was hid, was still much charmed, and came from day to day to talk with her, neglecting his State duties for her eyes.

And yet he said, “I must not ask for her. Is she not given to the Prince of Love, from whom I hold my power?”

His sense of honor was not wholly gone, but now the lady was no longer gay. It seemed she drew a subtle melancholy about her like a robe, yet seemed more charming than she’d been before. And as he heard her sighs from day to day, he entreated her to tell him of her trouble, as friend to friend.

“Ah! I am lonely, dear lord,” she said. “Since I have met you in your charming home, and felt delight in your companionship, I dread my empty halls, and silent rooms. I was betrothed when but a child, you know, to our fair Prince; but he is far away, and hath forgotten me. I love him not, although I wear his pledge. ’Tis but a sign, as empty as a title that means not much. Would I had one to love as great as thou, as noble, and as worthy!”

Lord Cæsar then told her how her presence had given him joy, how she must promise, if she thought of him, to be his queen and rule with him his realm.

And now she seemed indifferent, even cold, and dallied and delayed, wisely questioning him to his distraction.

With modest look she said, “Forbear, my lord. Give time to me. Let me think o’er your words. Is this the best for me and thee, and all?”

“Time?” said Lord Cæsar. “I have waited long, and still can wait in painful patience if thou givest me hope. Best? Yes, for me and thee and all. I spoke rash words in my first vows, I think; for we have tried, both thou and I, to work our work apart, and we have failed. Society runs on to ruin dire. Let us unite our fortunes, and go forth with power combined to remedy the ill that has been wrought.”

“Ah! but the past. I cannot yet forget the horrid pictures of your first rash vows. Would it be so again? Would State religion make such vast dismay in men and nations?”

“No, no;” said Lord Cæsar, “have thou no fear.”

“But government exists but with consent of those who are governed, and the people’s voice will have some word as to our nuptials, friend.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Lord Cæsar then. “You shall be mine. Come to the people’s workshop even now. A great assembly gathers there to-night, and all the realm talks of our nuptials as a thing assured.”

Leaning upon his arm, the maiden passed; and ever came desire to be so set, admired as the first lady of the land. In the fair capitol city, as they passed, he told her this and that of noted men, of kings and dukes and personages whose names had made great rumor, until they reached the place.

Then said Lord Cæsar, “The Nation itself has sent its jewelers here to weld our wedding ring. By public vote they will stud it gloriously with gems of thought, and unite your hand and mine.” *