Mrs. Warren's Daughter: A Story of the Woman's MovementJohnston, Harry
General
Mrs. Warren's Daughter: A Story of the Woman's Movement
Johnston, Harry
Feminism -- Fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction; Women's rights -- Fiction
If any other consideration than a deep affection for this dear old
man and repentance for his unwise ebullitions of Free Thought had
guided David in the matter it was an utter detestation of the
services and the influence of the Calvinist Chapel in the village,
the Little Bethel, presided over by Pastor Prytherch, a fanatical
blacksmith, who alternated spells of secret drunkenness and episodes
of animalism by orgies of self-abasement, during which he--in
half-confessing his own lapses--attributed freely and unrebukedly
the same vices to the male half of his overflowing congregation.
These out-pourings--"Pechadur truenus wyf i! Arglwydd madden i
mi!"--extempore prayers, psalms chanted with a swaying of the body,
hymns sung uproariously, scripture read with an accompaniment of
groans, hysteric laughter, and interjections of assent, and a
rambling discourse--lasting fully an hour, were in the Welsh
language; and David on his three or four visits--and it can be
imagined what a sensation _they_ caused! The Vicar's son--himself
perhaps about to confess his sins!--understood very little of the
subject matter, save from the extravagant gestures of the
participants. But he soon made up his mind that religion for
religion, that expressed by the English--"Well, father, you are
right--the 'British'"--Church in Wales was many hundred times
superior in reasonableness and stability to the negroid ebullitions
of the Calvinists. As a matter of fact they were scarcely more
followers of the reformer Calvin than they were of Ignatius Loyola;
it was just a symptomatic outbreak of some prehistoric Iberian,
Silurian form of worship, something deeply planted in the soil of
Wales, something far older than Druidism, something contemporary
with the beliefs of Neolithic days.
Eighteen years ago, much of Wales was as enslaved by whiskey as are
still Keltic Scotland, Keltiberian Ireland, Lancashire, London and
wicked little Kent. It was only saved from going under completely by
decennial religious revivals, which for three months or so were
followed by total abstinence and a fierce-eyed continence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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