The Witness by Grace Livingston Hill Lutz (mobi reader android TXT) 📕

Czar's Government Announced New Fundamental Laws Which Limited The Powers

Of The Duma And Practically Reduced It To A Farce. In The First Place,  The

Imperial Council Was To Be Reconstituted And Set Over The Duma As An Upper

Chamber,  Or Senate,  Having Equal Rights With The Duma. Half Of The Members

Of The Imperial Council Were To Be Appointed By The Czar And The Other Half

Elected From Universities,  Zemstvos,  Bourses,  And By The Clergy And The

Nobility. In Other Words,  Over The Duma Was To Be Set A Body Which Could

Always Be So Manipulated As To Insure The Defeat Of Any Measure Displeasing

To The Old Régime. And The Czar Reserved To Himself The Power To Summon Or

Dissolve The Duma At Will,  As Well As The Power To Declare War And To Make

Peace And To Enter Into Treaties With Other Nations. What A Farce Was This

Considered As A Fulfilment Of The Solemn Assurances Given In October,  1905!

But The Reactionary Madness Went Even Farther; Believing The Revolutionary

Movement To Have Been Crushed To Such A Degree That It Might Act With

Impunity,  Autocracy Took Other Measures. Three Days Before The Assembling

Of The Duma The Czar Replaced His Old Ministry By One Still More

Reactionary. At The Head Of The Cabinet,  As Prime Minister,  He Appointed

The Notorious Reactionary Bureaucrat,  Goremykin. With Full Regard For The

Bloody Traditions Of The Office,  The Infamous Stolypin,  Former Governor Of

Saratov,  Was Made Minister Of The Interior. At The Head Of The Department

Of Agriculture,  Which Was Charged With Responsibility For Dealing With

Agrarian Problems,  Was Placed Stishinsky,  A Large Landowner,  Bitterly

Hostile To,  And Hated By,  The Peasants. The Composition Of The New Ministry

Was A Defiance Of The Popular Will And Sentiment,  And Was So Interpreted.

The Duma Opened On April 27th,  At The Taurida Palace. St. Petersburg Was A

Vast Armed Camp That Day. Tens Of Thousands Of Soldiers,  Fully Armed,  Were

Massed At Different Points In Readiness To Suppress Any Demonstrations By

The Populace. It Was Said That Provocateurs Moved Among The People,  Trying

To Stir An Uprising Which Would Afford A Pretext For Action By The

Soldiers. The Members Of The Duma Were First Received By The Czar At The

Winter Palace And Addressed By Him In A Pompous Speech Which Carefully

Avoided All The Vital Questions In Which The Russian People Were So Keenly

Interested. It Was A Speech Which Might As Well Have Been Made By The First

Czar Nicholas. But There Was No Need Of Words To Tell What Was In The Mind

Of Nicholas Ii; That Had Been Made Quite Evident By The New Laws And The

New Ministry. Before The Duma Lay The Heavy Task Of Continuing The

Revolution,  Despite The Fact That The Revolutionary Army Had Been Scattered

As Chaff Is Scattered Before The Winds.

The First Formal Act Of The Duma,  After The Opening Ceremonies Were

Finished,  Was To Demand Amnesty For All The Political Prisoners. The

Members Of The Duma Had Come To The Taurida Palace That Day Through Streets

Crowded With People Who Chanted In Monotonous Chorus The Word "Amnesty."

The Oldest Man In The Assembly,  I.I. Petrunkevitch,  Was Cheered Again And

Again As He Voiced The Popular Demand On Behalf Of "Those Who Have

Sacrificed Their Freedom To Free Our Dear Fatherland." There Were Some

Seventy-Five Thousand Political Prisoners In Russia At That Time,  The

Flower Of Russian Manhood And Womanhood,  Treated As Common Criminals And,

In Many Instances,  Subject To Terrible Torture. Well Might Petrunkevitch

Proclaim: "All The Prisons Of Our Country Are Full. Thousands Of Hands Are

Being Stretched Out To Us In Hope And Supplication,  And I Think That The

Duty Of Our Conscience Compels Us To Use All The Influence Our Position

Gives Us To See That The Freedom That Russia Has Won Costs No More

Sacrifices ... I Think,  Gentlemen ... We Cannot Refrain Just Now From

Expressing Our Deepest Feelings,  The Cry Of Our Heart--That Free Russia

Demands The Liberation Of All Prisoners." At The End Of The Eloquchrist. He Let Me Live In Him. I Am The

Christ You Sneered At And Disbelieved!"

He Looked And His Heart Was Stricken With Shame.

"I Did Not Understand. It Was Against Reason. But Had Not Seen You

Then."

"And Now?"

"Now? What Do You Want Of Me?"

"You Shall Be Shown."

The Smoke Ebbed Low And Swung Away His Consciousness,  And Even The Place

Grew Dim About Him,  But The Presence Was There. Always Through Suspended

Space As He Was Borne Along,  And After,  When The Smoke Gave Way,  And

Air,  Blessed Air,  Was Wafted In,  There Was The Presence. If It Had Not

Been For That He Could Not Have Borne The Awfulness Of Nothing That

Surrounded Him. Always There Was The Presence!

There Was A Bandage Over His Eyes For Days; People Speaking In Whispers;

And When The Bandage Was Taken Away There Were The White Hospital Walls,

So Like The Walls Of Smoke At First In The Dim Light,  High Above Him.

When He Had Grown To Understand It Was But Hospital Walls,  He Looked

Around For The Presence In Alarm,  Crying Out,  "Where Is He?"

Bill Ward And Tennelly And Pat Were There,  Huddled In A Group By The

Door,  Hoping He Might Recognize Them.

"He's Calling For Steve!" Whispered Pat,  And Turned With A Gulp While

The Tears Rolled Down His Cheeks. "He Must Have Seen Him Go!"

The Nurse Laid Him Down On The Pillow Again,  Replacing The Bandage. When

He Closed His Eyes The Presence Came Back,  Blessed,  Sweet--And He Was At

Peace.

The Days Passed; Strength Crept Back Into His Body,  Consciousness To His

Brain. The Bandage Was Taken Off Once More,  And He Saw The Nurse And

Other Faces. He Did Not Look Again For The Presence. He Had Come To

Understand He Could Not See It With His Eyes; But Always It Was There,

Waiting,  Something Sweet And Wonderful. Waiting To Show Him What To Do

When He Was Well.

The Memorial Services Had Been Held For Stephen Marshall Many Days,  The

University Had Been Draped In Black,  With Its Flag At Half-Mast,  The

Proper Time,  And Its Mourning Folded Away,  Ere Paul Courtland Was Able

To Return To His Room And His Classes.

They Welcomed Him Back With Touching Eagerness. They Tried To Hush Their

Voices And Temper Their Noisiness To Suit An Invalid. They Told Him All

Their News,  What Games Had Been Won,  Who Had Made Phi Beta Kappa,  And

What Had Happened At The Frat. Meetings. But They Spoke Not At All Of

Stephen!

Down The Hall Stephen's Door Stood Always Open,  And Courtland,  Walking

That Way One Day,  Found Fresh Flowers Upon His Desk And Wreathed Around

His Mother's Picture. A Quaint Little Photograph Of Stephen Taken

Several Years Back Hung On One Wall. It Had Been Sent At The Class's

Request By Stephen's Mother To Honor Her Son's Chosen College.

The Room Was Set In Order,  Stephen's Books Were On The Shelves,  His Few

College Treasures Tacked Up About The Walls; And Conspicuous Between The

Windows Hung Framed The Resolutions Concerning Stephen The Hero-Martyr

Of The Class,  Telling Briefly How He Had Died,  And Giving Him This

Tribute,  "He Was A Man!"

Below The Resolutions,  On The Little Table Covered With An Old-Fashioned

Crocheted Cotton Table-Cover,  Lay Stephen's Bible,  Worn,  Marked,  Soft

With Use. His Mother Had Wished It To Remain. Only His Clothes Had Been

Sent Back To Her Who Had Sent Him Forth To Prepare For His Life-Work,

And Received Word In Her Distant Home That His Life-Work Had Been

Already Swiftly Accomplished.

Courtland Entered The Room And Looked Around.

There Were No Traces Of The Fray That Had Marred The Place When Last He

Saw It. Everything Was Clean And Fine And Orderly. The Simple Saint-Like

Face Of The Plain Farmer's-Wife-Mother Looked Down Upon It All With

Peace And Resignation. This Life Was Not All. There Was Another. Her

Eyes Said That. Paul Courtland Stood A Long Time Gazing Into Them.

Then He Closed The Door And Knelt By The Little Table,  Laying His

Forehead Reverently Upon The Bible.

Since He Had Returned To College And Things Of Life Had Become More

Real,  Reason Had Returned To Her Throne And Was Crying Out Against His

"Fancies." What Was That Experience In The Hospital But The Phantasy Of

A Sick Brain? What Was The Presence But A Fevered Imagination? He Had

Been Growing Ashamed Of Dwelling Upon The Thought,  Ashamed Of Liking To

Feel That The Presence Was Near When He Was Falling Asleep At Night.

Most Of All He Had Felt A Shame And A Land Of Perplexity In The

Biblical-Literature Class Where He Faced "Facts" As The Professor Called

Them,  Spoken In Capitals. Science Was Another Force Which

Mocked His Fancies. Philosophy Cooled His Mind And Wakened Him

From His Dreams. In This Atmosphere He Was Beginning To Think That He

Had Been Delirious,  And Was Gradually Returning To His Normal State,

Albeit With A Restless Dissatisfaction He Had Never Known Before.

But Now In This Calm,  Rose-Decked Room,  With The Quiet Eyes Of The

Simple Mother Looking Down Upon Him,  The Resolutions In Their

Chaplet-Of-Palm Framing,  The Age-Old Bible Thumbed And Beloved,  He Knew

He Had Been Wrong. He Knew He Would Never Be The Same. That Presence,

Whoever,  Whatever It Was,  Had Entered Into His Life. He Could Never

Forget It; Never Be Convinced That It Was Not; Never Be Entirely

Satisfied Without It! He Believed It Was The Christ! Stephen Marshall's

Christ!

By And By He Lifted Up His Head And Opened The Little Worn Bible,

Reverently,  Curiously,  Just To Touch It And Think How The Other Boy Had

Done. The Soft,  Much-Turned Leaves Fell Open Of Themselves To A Heavily

Marked Verse. There Were Many Marked Verses All Through The Book.

Courtland's Eyes Followed The Words:

     He That Believeth On The Son Of God Hath The Witness In

     Himself.

Could It Be That This Strange New Sense Of The Presence Was "The

Witness" Here Mentioned? He Knew It Like His Sense Of Rhythm,  Or The

Look Of His Mother's Face,  Or The Joy Of A Summer Morning. It Was Not