This man Hard at the age of fifty-four retired from business, and
determined to treat himself to a visit to Europe.
He had not been in
Europe five weeks before he ran bang up against the Catholic Church.
He was never more surprised in his life. I do not mean that I have
exactly weighed all his surprises all his life through. I mean that he
was very much surprised indeed - and that is all that these words
connote.
He studied the Catholic Church with extreme interest. He watched High
Mass at several places (hoping it might be different). He thought it
was what it was not, and then, contrariwise, he thought it was not
what it was. He talked to poor Catholics, rich Catholics, middle-class
Catholics, and elusive, wellborn, penniless, neatly dressed,
successful Catholics; also to pompous, vain Catholics; humble,
uncertain Catholics; sneaking, pad-footed Catholics; healthy, howling,
combative Catholics; doubtful, shoulder-shrugging, but devout
Catholics; fixed, crabbed, and dangerous Catholics; easy, jovial, and
shone-upon-by-the-heavenly-light Catholics; subtle Catholics; strange
Catholics, and _(quod tibi manifeste absurdum videtur)_ intellectual,
_pince-nez,_ jejune, twisted, analytical, yellow, cranky, and
introspective Catholics: in fine, he talked to all Catholics. And
when I say 'all Catholics' I do not mean that he talked to every
individual Catholic, but that he got a good, integrative grip of the
Church militant, which is all that the words connote.
Well, this man Hard got to know, among others, a certain good priest
that loved a good bottle of wine, a fine deep dish of_ poulet a la
casserole, _and a kind of egg done with cream in a little platter; and
eating such things, this priest said to him one day:
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