Chapter XIV

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Then a wave of religiosity passed through the school. Bad language was nolonger heard, and the little nastinesses of small boys were looked uponwith hostility; the bigger boys, like the lords temporal of the MiddleAges, used the strength of their arms to persuade those weaker thanthemselves to virtuous courses.Philip, his restless mind avid for new things, became very devout. Heheard soon that it was possible to join a Bible League, and wrote toLondon for particulars. These consisted in a form to be filled up with theapplicant's name, age, and school; a solemn declaration to be signed thathe would read a set portion of Holy Scripture every night for a year; anda request for half a crown; this, it was explained, was demanded partly toprove the earnestness of the applicant's desire to become a member of theLeague, and partly to cover clerical expenses. Philip duly sent the papersand the money, and in return received a calendar worth about a penny, onwhich was set down the appointed passage to be read each day, and a sheetof paper on one side of which was a picture of the Good Shepherd and alamb, and on the other, decoratively framed in red lines, a short prayerwhich had to be said before beginning to read.Every evening he undressed as quickly as possible in order to have timefor his task before the gas was put out. He read industriously, as he readalways, without criticism, stories of cruelty, deceit, ingratitude,dishonesty, and low cunning. Actions which would have excited his horrorin the life about him, in the reading passed through his mind withoutcomment, because they were committed under the direct inspiration of God.The method of the League was to alternate a book of the Old Testament witha book of the New, and one night Philip came across these words of JesusChrist:If ye have faith, and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is doneto the fig-tree, but also if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thouremoved, and be thou cast into the sea; it shall be done.And all this, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shallreceive.They made no particular impression on him, but it happened that two orthree days later, being Sunday, the Canon in residence chose them for thetext of his sermon. Even if Philip had wanted to hear this it would havebeen impossible, for the boys of King's School sit in the choir, and thepulpit stands at the corner of the transept so that the preacher's back isalmost turned to them. The distance also is so great that it needs a manwith a fine voice and a knowledge of elocution to make himself heard inthe choir; and according to long usage the Canons of Tercanbury are chosenfor their learning rather than for any qualities which might be of use ina cathedral church. But the words of the text, perhaps because he had readthem so short a while before, came clearly enough to Philip's ears, andthey seemed on a sudden to have a personal application. He thought aboutthem through most of the sermon, and that night, on getting into bed, heturned over the pages of the Gospel and found once more the passage.Though he believed implicitly everything he saw in print, he had learnedalready that in the Bible things that said one thing quite clearly oftenmysteriously meant another. There was no one he liked to ask at school, sohe kept the question he had in mind till the Christmas holidays, and thenone day he made an opportunity. It was after supper and prayers were justfinished. Mrs. Carey was counting the eggs that Mary Ann had brought in asusual and writing on each one the date. Philip stood at the table andpretended to turn listlessly the pages of the Bible."I say, Uncle William, this passage here, does it really mean that?"He put his finger against it as though he had come across it accidentally.Mr. Carey looked up over his spectacles. He was holding The BlackstableTimes in front of the fire. It had come in that evening damp from thepress, and the Vicar always aired it for ten minutes before he began toread."What passage is that?" he asked."Why, this about if you have faith you can remove mountains.""If it says so in the Bible it is so, Philip," said Mrs. Carey gently,taking up the plate-basket.Philip looked at his uncle for an answer."It's a matter of faith.""D'you mean to say that if you really believed you could move mountainsyou could?""By the grace of God," said the Vicar."Now, say good-night to your uncle, Philip," said Aunt Louisa. "You're notwanting to move a mountain tonight, are you?"Philip allowed himself to be kissed on the forehead by his uncle andpreceded Mrs. Carey upstairs. He had got the information he wanted. Hislittle room was icy, and he shivered when he put on his nightshirt. But healways felt that his prayers were more pleasing to God when he said themunder conditions of discomfort. The coldness of his hands and feet were anoffering to the Almighty. And tonight he sank on his knees; buried hisface in his hands, and prayed to God with all his might that He would makehis club-foot whole. It was a very small thing beside the moving ofmountains. He knew that God could do it if He wished, and his own faithwas complete. Next morning, finishing his prayers with the same request,he fixed a date for the miracle."Oh, God, in Thy loving mercy and goodness, if it be Thy will, please makemy foot all right on the night before I go back to school."He was glad to get his petition into a formula, and he repeated it laterin the dining-room during the short pause which the Vicar always madeafter prayers, before he rose from his knees. He said it again in theevening and again, shivering in his nightshirt, before he got into bed.And he believed. For once he looked forward with eagerness to the end ofthe holidays. He laughed to himself as he thought of his uncle'sastonishment when he ran down the stairs three at a time; and afterbreakfast he and Aunt Louisa would have to hurry out and buy a new pair ofboots. At school they would be astounded."Hulloa, Carey, what have you done with your foot?""Oh, it's all right now," he would answer casually, as though it were themost natural thing in the world.He would be able to play football. His heart leaped as he saw himselfrunning, running, faster than any of the other boys. At the end of theEaster term there were the sports, and he would be able to go in for theraces; he rather fancied himself over the hurdles. It would be splendid tobe like everyone else, not to be stared at curiously by new boys who didnot know about his deformity, nor at the baths in summer to needincredible precautions, while he was undressing, before he could hide hisfoot in the water.He prayed with all the power of his soul. No doubts assailed him. He wasconfident in the word of God. And the night before he was to go back toschool he went up to bed tremulous with excitement. There was snow on theground, and Aunt Louisa had allowed herself the unaccustomed luxury of afire in her bed-room; but in Philip's little room it was so cold that hisfingers were numb, and he had great difficulty in undoing his collar. Histeeth chattered. The idea came to him that he must do something more thanusual to attract the attention of God, and he turned back the rug whichwas in front of his bed so that he could kneel on the bare boards; andthen it struck him that his nightshirt was a softness that might displeasehis Maker, so he took it off and said his prayers naked. When he got intobed he was so cold that for some time he could not sleep, but when he did,it was so soundly that Mary Ann had to shake him when she brought in hishot water next morning. She talked to him while she drew the curtains, buthe did not answer; he had remembered at once that this was the morning forthe miracle. His heart was filled with joy and gratitude. His firstinstinct was to put down his hand and feel the foot which was whole now,but to do this seemed to doubt the goodness of God. He knew that his footwas well. But at last he made up his mind, and with the toes of his rightfoot he just touched his left. Then he passed his hand over it.He limped downstairs just as Mary Ann was going into the dining-room forprayers, and then he sat down to breakfast."You're very quiet this morning, Philip," said Aunt Louisa presently."He's thinking of the good breakfast he'll have at school to-morrow," saidthe Vicar.When Philip answered, it was in a way that always irritated his uncle,with something that had nothing to do with the matter in hand. He calledit a bad habit of wool-gathering."Supposing you'd asked God to do something," said Philip, "and reallybelieved it was going to happen, like moving a mountain, I mean, and youhad faith, and it didn't happen, what would it mean?""What a funny boy you are!" said Aunt Louisa. "You asked about movingmountains two or three weeks ago.""It would just mean that you hadn't got faith," answered Uncle William.Philip accepted the explanation. If God had not cured him, it was becausehe did not really believe. And yet he did not see how he could believemore than he did. But perhaps he had not given God enough time. He hadonly asked Him for nineteen days. In a day or two he began his prayeragain, and this time he fixed upon Easter. That was the day of His Son'sglorious resurrection, and God in His happiness might be mercifullyinclined. But now Philip added other means of attaining his desire: hebegan to wish, when he saw a new moon or a dappled horse, and he lookedout for shooting stars; during exeat they had a chicken at the vicarage,and he broke the lucky bone with Aunt Louisa and wished again, each timethat his foot might be made whole. He was appealing unconsciously to godsolder to his race than the God of Israel. And he bombarded the Almightywith his prayer, at odd times of the day, whenever it occurred to him, inidentical words always, for it seemed to him important to make his requestin the same terms. But presently the feeling came to him that this timealso his faith would not be great enough. He could not resist the doubtthat assailed him. He made his own experience into a general rule."I suppose no one ever has faith enough," he said.It was like the salt which his nurse used to tell him about: you couldcatch any bird by putting salt on his tail; and once he had taken a littlebag of it into Kensington Gardens. But he could never get near enough toput the salt on a bird's tail. Before Easter he had given up the struggle.He felt a dull resentment against his uncle for taking him in. The textwhich spoke of the moving of mountains was just one of those that said onething and meant another. He thought his uncle had been playing a practicaljoke on him.