The church ministers

There was a baptism in St. Peter's in the afternoon, so Obert Edouard was still wearing his priestly robes. He always put his new cassock on for funerals or weddings (those who are fashionable always choose St. Peter's for these ceremonies), so now he wears a slightly inferior one. He felt proud to wear this robe, because it was a sign of the dignity of his position. This son was not easy to come by. He always had to do the folding and ironing of the cassock himself. After sixteen years of service in this church, he has had many such robes, but he never throws away the old ones, all of which are neatly wrapped in vellum and stored in a drawer under his bedroom closet.

The priest was now waiting in the chapel for the priest to finish his service so he could tidy the place up and go home.

"What's he still dawdling about?" The superintendent said to himself. "Doesn't he know it's time for me to go back and have a cup of tea, too."

The priest was a recent appointee, in his forties, red-faced and a man of great energy. And Aubert Edwa still felt sorry for the previous chaplain, a cleric of the old school who never made a fuss, unlike this one now, who had to intervene in everything.

Soon he saw the priest approaching.

"Freeman, will you come into the chapel for a moment, I have something to talk to you about."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Together they walked along the chapel, and the priest led Aubert-Edwards into the chapel. Aubert Edwa was a little surprised to see that there were two other church deacons here; he had not seen them come in. They nodded kindly to him.

"Good afternoon, my lord. Good afternoon, Your Eminence." One by one, he greeted them.

Both were elders who had been deacons of the church almost as long as Aubert Edwa had been superintendent. They were now sitting at the exquisite table that the original pastor had gotten from Italy many years ago, and the pastor sat in the chair vacated between them. Aubert faced them, with the table between him and them, and wondered, somewhat uncomfortably, how this was going to happen. He remembered the trouble the organ-players had caused, and the effort it had taken to put things right later. Scandal was not allowed in a place like St. Peter's. The priest's face was a mass of peace, while the other two showed some slight panic.

"He was wanting them to do something, but they were less than willing." The priest said to himself. "Quite so, you can mark my words."

But Aubert did not show his thoughts on his face. He stood with a modest but dignified gesture. He had been a servant before he became a priest, but in very decent homes. He began as a follower in the house of a rich merchant, rose to the position of steward in the house of a widowed noble lady, and by the time the position of priest of St. Peter's became vacant he was already chief steward in the house of a retired ambassador, with two men under him. He was tall, lean, calm and self-respecting. He looked, not to say a duke, but at least an actor who specialized in playing dukes in the old-school theater. He was old, determined, and confident.

The priest spoke with great color.

"Ferman, there are some things we are really a little reluctant to open up to you. You have been here for so many years and have fulfilled your responsibilities satisfactorily."

The two deacons nodded their heads.

"But one day I learned of an extraordinary matter, and I felt it my duty to inform our deacons of it. I was not overly surprised to find that you could neither read nor write."

The deacon's face showed no look of embarrassment.

"The former priest knew about it, Your Excellency." He replied. "He said it did not matter, and he used to say that, for his taste, sometimes the world was too much educated."

"That is the most astonishing thing I ever heard in my life," cried the deacons. "Do you mean to say that you have been a steward of this church for sixteen years, and yet you never read or write?"

"Your Excellency, I have been an errand boy since I was twelve years old. The cook at the beginning tried to teach me once, but I really didn't seem to be enlightened in this area. I never had time after that, and I never really thought about learning."

"But don't you want to learn about the outside world?" Another deacon said. "You never wrote a letter?"

"No, Your Excellency, it seems like it would be nice to not have them. There are pictures in the newspapers now, so I know everything that is going on yea. If I want to write a letter, I can ask my wife to do it for me."

The two deacons looked at the pastor hopelessly, then looked down at the table.

"Well, Ferman, I discussed this with the two gentlemen, and they, like me, thought it was unbelievable. You can't have a priest in a church like St. Peter's who can neither read nor write."

Aubert Edouard's thin, pale face reddened, and he stamped his foot uncomfortably, but did not reply.

"But, Ferman, aren't you allowed to study?" One of the deacons asked.

"No, Your Excellency. I'm afraid I can't now that things have come to a head. You see I am no longer young, and since I could not cram these words into my mind as a child, I do not think that I will have the opportunity to do so even now."

"Ferman, it is not that we want to be hard on you," said the priest, "but I have made up my mind with the deacons. We'll give you three months, and if you can't read or write by then, I'm afraid we'll have to tell you to leave."

Aubert had never liked this priest, and from the beginning he said that it was a mistake for them to give him St. Peter. He knew what he was worth, and now he felt himself relaxing a little.

"I am very sorry, Your Excellency, and I am afraid to say that it does me no good. I am an old dog who can no longer learn new tricks. I can't read or write, and I've lived so well for years that even if I could still learn, I wouldn't say I wanted to."

"In that case, Freeman, I'd have to say you'd have to go."

"Yes, Your Excellency, I understand, and as soon as I find someone who can replace me, I'll be happy to hand in my resignation."

But after Aubert Edouard, with his usual courtesy, had closed the chapel door after the departure of the priest and the deacons, he could no longer keep up the solemnity, and his lips quivered. He returned to the chapel to hang the priest's cassock on the anvil. He sighed as he thought of all the funeral and wedding scenes he had seen here. He put everything back together, put on his jacket, hat in hand, and walked out of the church. He locked the door of the church behind him and strolled across the square. In deep sorrow, he did not walk towards the road that led home, where a strong and good tea awaited him, but he turned in the wrong direction. He walked very slowly. His heart was very heavy. He did not know exactly what he should do. The thought of going back to being someone's servant was not something he wanted to think about. Having been autonomous for so many years, he could no longer serve people. He had saved up a fortune, but not enough to sit on for the rest of his life, and the cost of living was increasing every year. He never expected to encounter such trouble. The priesthood of St. Peter's, like the Pope in Rome, is a lifetime of ah. Aubert does not smoke, nor drink, but a little accommodation, that is, in the main meal can also drink a glass of beer, when feeling tired also can smoke a cigarette. Just at the moment, he felt that if he had a cigarette, it might give him a little comfort. Since he never carried cigarettes, he looked around to see where he could buy a box. He didn't see a store that sold cigarettes, so he walked down the road. It was a long road with all kinds of stores, but there was no store where you could buy cigarettes.

"This is a bit odd," said Aubert Edelweiss.

To be sure, he retraced his steps down the street. There were none, indeed, without question. He stopped and observed, turning over and over in thought.

"I wouldn't be the only one walking down this street and thinking about smoking," he said. "If some guy opened a little store here, I mean, tobacco, candy, something like that, it would make money."

He shuddered at that.

"That's the idea," he said, "it's strange how things come to you when you least expect it."

He turned, walked home, and drank his tea.

"Obert, why are you so silent this afternoon?" His wife said.

"I was thinking." He said.

He thought the matter over left and right, and the next day he went to that street and was lucky enough to find a store for rent. Twenty-four hours later, he took the store and a month later, a valve store selling cigarettes and books and newspapers opened. His wife called this the worst loss he had ever had since he became a priest at St. Peter's, but he replied that one must change with the times, and besides, the church was not what it used to be.

Aubert did not do badly. He did do a good job, because after a year or so, he suddenly became enlightened and thought, why not open a second store and find someone to run it. So he went back to look for long, there is no cigarette store street, and indeed found such a street, there can be rented stores, he took down again. This time he succeeded again. So, since you can open two, you can open five or six. He began to travel all over London, and whenever he found a long street that did not yet have a cigarette store but had stores for rent, he took it. In this way, in ten years, he opened no less than ten stores in a row and made a lot of money. Every Monday, he himself went to each store, a week to collect the money received collectively to the bank.

One morning, just as he was handing a bundle of bills and a large pocket of silver coins into the bank, a bank cashier told him that their manager wanted to see him. He was introduced to an office, and the manager shook his hand.

"Mr. Ferman, I want to talk to you about the money you deposited in our bank. Do you know exactly how much they are?"

"Not exactly to the nearest pound or two, but roughly eight or nine, Your Excellency."

"Except for what you deposited in this morning, it is slightly over thirty thousand pounds. That's a lot of money to deposit, and it would be better to invest it with it."

"I don't want to take any chances, your Excellency. I know that it is safe to put it in the bank."

"You need not have the slightest fear, we will convert it into absolutely reliable securities for you. This will be much higher than the interest paid by the bank."

Doubt appeared on Mr. Freeman's rich face. "I have never touched stocks and dividends, I just want to deposit this money in your hands only."

The manager smiled. "We'll do all that for you. All you have to do is sign the summons later."

"That I can do," said Aubert, not without misgivings. "But how will I know exactly what I'm signing?"

"I suppose you can always read it," said the manager, in a jokingly vehement tone.

Mr. Freeman gave him a smile that disarmed his doubts.

"Oh, Your Excellency, that's exactly what happened. I know it sounds funny, but I really can't read or write; I can only sign my own name, and that's something I learned after I ran the business."

The manager was taken aback and jumped up from his chair.

"That's the most unusual thing I've ever heard of in my life." The manager stared at him dumbfounded, as if he were a prehistoric monster.

"You mean to tell me that you've built such an important business, made a fortune of thirty thousand pounds, and you can't read or write? My goodness, my good man, if you were to be able to read and write, what would you be now?"

"I can tell you, your Excellency," said Mr. Freeman, a smile rising to his still noble countenance. "Then I would still be the usher of St. Peter's in Neville Square."