The Master-Christian. Marie Corelli

      "Oh, the cattle idea is not exploded, by any means!" put in Vergniaud. "In Germany and Switzerland, for example, look at the women who are ground down to toil and hardship there! The cows are infinitely prettier and more preferable, and lead much pleasanter lives. And the men for whom these poor wretched women work, lounge about in cafes all day, smoking and playing dominoes. The barbaric arrangement that a woman should be a man's drudge and chattel is quite satisfactory, I think, to the majority of our sex. It is certainly an odd condition of things that the mothers of men should suffer most from man's cruelty. But it is the work of an all-wise Providence, no doubt; and you, Mr. Leigh, will swear that it is all right!"

      "It is all right," said Leigh quietly, "or rather I should say, it WILL be all right,—and it would have been all right long ago, if we had, as Emerson puts it, 'accepted the hint of each new experience.' But that is precisely what we will not do. Woman is the true helpmate of man, and takes a natural joy in being so whenever we will allow it,—whenever we will give her scope for her actions, freedom for her intelligence, and trust for her instincts. But for the present many of us still prefer to play savage,—the complete savage in low life,—the civilized savage in high. The complete savage is found in the dockyard labourer, who makes a woman bear his children and then kicks her to death,—the savage in high life is the man who equally kills the mother of his children, but in another way, namely, by neglect and infidelity, while he treats his numerous mistresses just as the Turk treats the creatures of his harem—merely as so many pretty soft animals, requiring to be fed with sweets and ornamented with jewels, and then to be cast aside when done with. All pure savagery! But we are slowly evolving from it into something better. A few of us there are, who honour womanhood,—a few of us believe in women as guiding stars in our troubled sky,—a few of us would work and climb to greatness for love of the one woman we adore,—would conquer all obstacles,—ay, would die for her if need be, of what is far more difficult, would live for her the life of a hero and martyr! Yes—such things are done,—and men can be found who will do such things—all for a woman's sake."

      There was a wonderful passion in his voice,—a deep thrill of earnestness which carried conviction with sweetness. Cardinal Bonpre looked at him with a smile.

      "You are perhaps one of those men, Mr. Leigh?" he said.

      "I do not know,—I may be," responded Leigh, a flush rising to his cheeks;—"but,—so far, no woman has ever truly loved me, save my mother. But apart from all personalities, I am a great believer in women. The love of a good woman is a most powerful lever to raise man to greatness,—I do not mean by 'good' the goody-goody creature,—no, for that is a sort of woman who does more mischief in her so-called 'blameless' life than a very Delilah. I mean by 'good', a strong, pure, great soul in woman,—sincere, faithful, patient, full of courage and calm,—and with this I maintain she must prove a truly God-given helpmate to man. For we are rough creatures at best,—irritable creatures too!—you see," and here a slight smile lighted up his delicate features, "we really do try more or less to reach heights that are beyond us—we are always fighting for a heaven of some sort, whether we make it of gold, or politics, or art;—it is a 'heaven' or a 'happiness' that we want;—we would be as gods,—we would scale Olympus,—and sometimes Olympus refuses to be scaled! And then we tumble down, very cross, very sore, very much ruffled;—and it is only a woman who can comfort us then, and by her love and tenderness mend our broken limbs and put salve on our wounded pride."

      "Well, then, surely the Church is in a very bad way," said Vergniaud smiling, "Think of the vow of perpetual celibacy!"

      "Celibacy cannot do away with woman's help or influence," said Leigh,

       "There are always mothers and sisters, instead of sweethearts and

       wives. I am in favour of celibacy for the clergy. I think a minister of

       Christ should be free to work for and serve Christ only."

      "You are quite right, Mr. Leigh;" said the Cardinal, "There is more than enough to do in every day of our lives if we desire to truly follow His commands. But in this present time, alas!—religion is becoming a question of form—not of heart."

      "Dearest uncle, if you think that, you will not judge me too severely for my pictures," said Angela quickly, throwing herself on her knees beside him. "Do you not see? It is just because the ministers of Christ are so lax that I have taken to studying them in my way,—which is, I know, not your way;—still, I think we both mean one and the same thing!"

      "You are a woman, Angela," said the Cardinal gently, "and as a woman you must be careful of offences—"

      "Oh, a woman!" exclaimed Angela, her beautiful eyes flashing with mingled tenderness and scorn, and her whole face lighting up with animation, "Only a woman! SHE must not give a grand lesson to the world! SHE must not, by means of brush or pen, point out to a corrupt generation the way it is going! Why? Because God has created her to be the helpmate of man! Excellent reason! Man is taking a direct straight road to destruction, and she must not stop him by so much as lifting a warning finger! Again, why? Only because she is a woman! But I—were I twenty times a woman, twenty times weaker than I am, and hampered by every sort of convention and usage,—I would express my thoughts somehow, or die in the attempt!"