The Henson Journals

[86]

Saturday, September 2nd, 1922.

[^written in Greek^]

The pathetic protest of conscience which is on the point of surrendering to fear! The action of Judas when he flung his cursed bribe into the sanctuary before going off to his suicide stands in the Passion story beside this piteous performance by Pilate as he stands o the threshold of his immense crime. Hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue, and the Governor's action was really a wreath laid on the corpse of his xxx self–respect. Much superstition may, perhaps be explained in this way. Religion is incorrigibly moral, and has to be subtly manipulated before it can become the "servant of sin", and the recalcitrant conscience, the advocate & plenipotentiary of Religion, has to be humoured by all manner of sophistries and ceremonials before it can be conjured into accepting the paradoxes which affront & contradict it. Pilate would feel a delusive sense of uprightness as he washed his hands. He had made his protest, he had spoken his mind: he had declined responsibility henceforward the priests might have it their own way. The Blood of Innocence was as the people confessed, was on them, and on their children. Yet all that he had done was to observe the formality of surrender. He has "hanging out the white flag", and giving up the Citadel of his Duty.

[89]

September 2nd, 1922.

My dear Mrs Watkins

Yesterday I was thunderstruck at reading in the "Scotsman" that the Archdeacon had passed away. He had come to be so completely part of Durham that I cd hardly imagine the place without him, but, of course, in view of his advanced years, one had no right to exempt him from the common lot. There is no man whose death will leave a larger void in the diocese. His kindnesses were so many that his beneficiaries are without number. His personality was so vivid and energetic that its impression cd not but be deep and lasting. A few days ago I was writing to condole with George Talbot on the untoward and unexpected death of his eldest son, poisoned on holidays now I am offering you my sympathy on the sudden death of your husband. There youth with its promise: here age with its record. And both in the course of that Supreme & All–wise Providence which orders the Universe, & yet directs the Life of every one of us. Shall not the Judge of all the Earth do right?

My wife & I return to Auckland on Monday in order to be present in the Cathedral on Tuesday, & to associate ourselves with the general homage. With all sympathy.

I am, my dear Mrs Watkins,

Most sincerely yours

Herbert Dunelm:

[90] [symbol]

After lunch our host went with us to visit Melrose and Dryburgh. I had suggested William's coming with our motor in order that he also might pay his homage to Sir Walter's Grave. The weather which had been most depressing all the morning cleared up, & became fine. Melrose is the subject of considerable operations, & Dryburgh, now the property of the nation by the late Lord Glenconner's gift, is being scraped & pointed by the Board of Works. The sun shone charmingly as we approached the ruins, & we cd not but realize the singular fitness of such a burying–place for such a man. We stopped on the road where Sir Walter himself was accustomed to stop, & for the same reason – to enjoy the magnificent view. We had tea at Ashestiel, and were shown the house. A wing has been added since it was the home of Scott, but the appearance of the house as he knew it is easily recalled. The chair in which he was wont to sit, and which was sent to Abbotsford for his use during his last illness, is preserved at Ashestiel. Some affirm that he actually died in this chair. Mrs Wanchope's two sons – General and Colonel Wanchope – were there, & pleased me much by their conversation. We walked in the gardens for nearly an hour. William took some photographs, at the Abbeys, & I did my best to make him appreciate the interest of Ashestiel. How far does he, or can he, realize the measure of his privilege?

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