'It usually takes some months - often a lifetime.'
'Well, I'm a quick learner. Try me.'
So Rex was sent to Farm Street to Father Mowbray, a priest renowned for his triumphs with obdurate catechumens. After the third interview he came to tea with Lady Marchmain.
'Well, how do you find my future son-in-law?'
'He's the most difficult convert I have ever met.'
'Oh dear, I thought he was going to make it so easy.'
'That's exactly it. I can't get anywhere near him. He doesn't seem to have the least intellectual curiosity or natural piety.
'The first day I wanted to find out what sort of religious life he had till now, so I asked him what he meant by prayer. He said: "I don't mean anything. You tell me." I tried to, in a few words, and he said: "Right. So much for prayer; What's the next thing?" I gave him the catechism to take away. Yesterday I asked him whether Our Lord had more than one nature. He said: "Just as many as you say, Father."
'Then again I asked him: "Supposing the Pope looked up and saw a cloud and said 'It's going to rain', would that be bound to happen?" "Oh, yes, Father." "But supposing it didn't?" He thought a moment and said, "I suppose it would be sort of raining spiritually, only we were too sinful to see it."
'Lady Marchmain, he doesn't correspond to any degree of paganism known to the missionaries.'
'Julia,' said Lady Marchmain, when the priest had gone, 'are you sure that Rex isn't doing this thing purely with the idea of pleasing us?'
'I don't think it enters his head,' said Julia.
'He's really sincere in his conversion?'
'He's absolutely determined to become a Catholic, mummy,' and to herself she said: 'In her long history the Church must have had some pretty queer converts. I don't suppose all Clovis's army were exactly Catholic-minded. One more won't hurt.'
Next week the Jesuit came to tea again. It was the Easter holidays and Cordelia was there, too.
'Lady Marchmain,' he said. 'You should have chosen one of the younger fathers for this task. I shall be dead long before Rex is a Catholic.'
'Oh dear, I thought it was going so well.'
'It was, in a sense. He was exceptionally docile, and he accepted everything I told him, remembered bits of it, asked no questions. I wasn't happy about him. He seemed to have no sense of reality, but I knew he was coming under a steady Catholic influence, so I was willing to receive him. One has to take a chance sometimes with semi-imbeciles, for instance. You never know quite how much they have understood. As long as you know there's someone to keep an eye on them, you do take the chance.'
'How I wish Rex could hear this!' said Cordelia.
'But yesterday I got a regular eye-opener. The trouble with modern education is you never know how ignorant people are. With anyone over fifty you can be fairly confident what's been taught and what's been left out. But these young people have such an intelligent, knowledgeable surface, and then the crust suddenly breaks and you look down into the depths of confusion you didn't know existed. Take yesterday. He seemed to be doing very well. He learned large bits of the catechism by heart, and the Lord's Prayer, and the Hail Mary. Then I asked him as usual if there was anything troubling him, and he looked at me in a crafty way and said, "Look, Father, I don't think you're being straight with me. I want to join your Church and I'm going to join your Church, but you're holding too much back." I asked what he meant, and he said: "I've had a long talk with a Catholic - a very pious well-educated one and I've learned a thing or two. For instance, that you have to sleep with your feet pointing East because that's the direction of heaven, and if you die in the night you can walk there. Now I'll sleep with my feet pointing any way that suits Julia, but d'you expect a grown man to believe about walking to heaven? And what about the Pope who made one of his horses a Cardinal? And what about the box you keep in the church porch, and if you put in a pound note with someone's name on it, they get sent to hell. I don't say there mayn't be a good reason for all this," he said, "but you ought to tell me about it and not let me find out for myself."'
'What can the poor man have meant?' said Lady Marchmain.
'You see he's a long way from the Church yet,' said Father Mowbray.
'But who can he have been talking to? Did he dream it all? Cordelia, what's the matter?'
'What a chump! Oh, mummy, what a glorious chump!'
'Cordelia, it was you.'
'Oh, mummy, who could have dreamed he'd swallow it? I told him such a lot besides. About the sacred monkeys in the Vatican - all kinds of things.'
'Well, you've very considerably increased my work,' said Father Mowbray.
'Poor Rex,' said Lady Marchmain. 'You know, I think it makes him rather lovable. You must treat him like an idiot child, Father Mowbray.'
So the instruction was continued, and Father Mowbray at length consented to receive Rex a week before his wedding.
'You'd think they'd be all over themselves to have me in,' Rex complained. 'I can be a lot of help to them one way and another; instead they're like the chaps who issue, cards for a casino. What's more,' he added, 'Cordelia's got me so muddled I don't know what's in the catechism and what she's invented.' Thus things stood three weeks before the wedding; the cards had gone out, presents were coming in fast, the bridesmaids were delighted with their dresses. Then came what Julia called 'Bridey's bombshell'.
With characteristic ruthlessness he tossed his load of explosive without warning into what, till then, had been a happy family party. The library at Marchmain House was being devoted to wedding presents; Lady Marchmain, Julia, Cordelia, and Rex were busy unpacking and listing them. Brideshead came in and watched them for a moment.
'Chinky vases from Aunt Betty,' said Cordelia. 'Old stuff. I remember them on the stairs at Buckborne.'
'What's all this?' asked Brideshead.
'Mr, Mrs, and Miss Pendle-Garthwaite, one early morning tea set. Goode's, thirty shillings, jolly mean.'
'You'd better pack all that stuff up again.'
'Bridey, what do you mean?'
'Only that the wedding's off.'
'Bridey'
'I thought I'd better make some inquiries about my prospective brother-in-law, as no one else seemed interested,' said Brideshead. 'I got the final answer tonight. He was married in Montreal in 1915 to a Miss Sarah Evangeline Cutler, who is still living there.'
'Rex, is this true?'
Rex stood with a jade dragon in his hand looking at it critically; then he set it carefully on its ebony stand and smiled openly and innocently at them all.
'Sure it's true,' he said. 'What about it? What are you all looking so het up about? She isn't a thing to me. She never meant any good. I was only a kid, anyhow. The sort of mistake anyone might make. I got my divorce back in 1919. I didn't even know where she was living till Bridey here told me. What's all the rumpus?'
'You might have told me,' said Julia.
'You never asked. Honest, I've not given her a thought in years.
His sincerity was so plain that they had to sit down and talk about it calmly.
'Don't you realize, you poor sweet oaf,' said Julia, 'that you can't get married as a Catholic when you've another wife alive?'
'But I haven't. Didn't I just tell you we were divorced six years ago.'
'But you can't be divorced as a Catholic.'
'I wasn't a Catholic and I was divorced. I've got the papers somewhere.'
'But didn't Father Mowbray explain to you about marriage?'
'He said I wasn't to be divorced from you. Well, I don't want to be. I can't remember all he told me - sacred monkeys, plenary indulgences, four last things - if I remembered all he told me I shouldn't have time for anything else. Anyhow, what about your Italian cousin, Francesca? - she married twice.'
'She had an 'annulment.'
'All right then, I'll get an annulment. What does it cost? Who do I get it from? Has Father Mowbray got one? I only want to do what's right. Nobody told me.'
It was a long time before Rex could be convinced of the existence of a serious impediment to his marriage. The discussion took them to dinner, lay dormant in the presence of the servants, started again as soon as they were alone, and lasted long after midnight. Up, down, and round the argument circled and swooped like a gull, now out to sea, out of sight, cloud-bound, among irrelevances and repetitions, now right on the patch where the offal floated.
'What d'you want me to do? Who should I see?' Rex kept asking. 'Don't tell me there isn't someone who can fix this.'
'There's nothing to do, Rex,' said Brideshead. 'It simply means your marriage can't take place. I'm sorry from everyone's point of view that it's come so suddenly. You ought to have told us yourself'
'Look said Rex. 'Maybe what you say is right; maybe strictly by law I shouldn't get married in your cathedral. But the cathedral is booked; no one there is asking any questions; the Cardinal knows nothing about it; Father Mowbray knows nothing about it. Nobody except us knows a thing. So why make a lot of trouble? Just stay mum and let the thing go through, as if nothing had happened. Who loses anything by that? Maybe I risk going to hell. Well, I'll risk it. What's it got to do with anyone else?'
'Why not?' said Julia. 'I don't believe these priests know everything. I don't believe in hell for things like that. I don't know that I believe in it for anything. Anyway, that's our look out. We're not asking you to risk your souls. Just keep away.'
'Julia, I hate you,' said Cordelia, and left the room.
'We're all tired,' said Lady Marchmain. 'If there was anything to say, I'd suggest our discussing it in the morning.'
'But there's nothing to discuss,' said Brideshead, 'except what' is the least offensive way we can close the whole incident. Mother and I will decide that. We must put a notice in The Times and the Morning Post; the presents will have to go back. I don't know what is usual about the bridesmaids' dresses.'
'Just a moment,' said Rex. 'Just a moment. Maybe you can stop us marrying in your cathedral. All right, to hell, we'll be married in a Protestant church.'
'I can stop that, too,' said Lady Marchmain.
'But I don't think you will, mummy,' said Julia. 'You see, I've been Rex's mistress for some time now, and I shall go on being, married or not.'
'Rex, is this true?'
'No damn it, it's not, ' said Rex. 'I wish it were.'
'I see we shall have to discuss it all again in the morning,' said Lady Marchmain faintly. 'I can't go on any more now.'
And she needed her son's help up the stairs.
'What on earth made you tell your mother that?' I asked, when, years later, Julia described the scene to me.
'That's exactly what Rex wanted to know. I suppose because I thought it was true. Not literally - though you must remember I was only twenty, and no one really knows the "facts of life" by being told them - but, of course, I didn't mean it was true literally. I didn't know how else to express it. I meant I was much too deep with Rex just to be able to say "the marriage arranged will not now take place", and leave it at that. I wanted to be made an honest woman. I've been wanting it ever since come to think of it.'
'And then?'
'And then the talks went on and on. Poor mummy. And priests came into it and aunts came into it. There were all kinds of suggestions - that Rex should go to Canada, that Father Mowbray should go to Rome and see if there were any possible grounds for an annulment; that I should go abroad for a year. In the middle of it Rex just telegraphed to papa: "Julia and I prefer wedding ceremony take place by Protestant rites. Have you any objection?" He answered, "Delighted", and that settled the matter as far as mummy stopping us legally went. There was a lot of personal appeal after that. I was sent to talk to priests and nuns and aunts. Rex just went on quietly - or fairly quietly - with the plans.
'Oh, Charles, what a squalid wedding! The Savoy Chapel was the place where divorced couples got married in those days - a poky little place not at all what Rex had intended. I wanted just to slip into a registry office one morning and get the thing over with a couple of charwomen as witnesses, but nothing else would do but Rex had to have bridesmaids and orange blossom and the Wedding March. It was gruesome.
'Poor mummy behaved like a martyr and insisted on my having her lace in spite of everything. Well, she more or less had to - the dress had been planned round it. My own friends came, of course, and the curious accomplices Rex called his friends; the rest of the party were very oddly assorted. None of mummy's family came, of course, one or two of papa's. All the stuffy people stayed away - you know, the Anchorages and Chasms and Vanbrughs - and I thought, "Thank God for that, they always look down their noses at me, anyhow," but Rex was furious, because it was just them he wanted apparently.
'I hoped at one moment there'd be no party at all. Mummy said we couldn't use Marchers, and Rex wanted to telegraph papa and invade the place with an army of caterers headed by the family solicitor. In the end it was decided to have a party the evening before at home to see the presents - apparently that was all right according to Father Mowbray. Well, no one can ever resist going to see her own present, so that was quite a success, but the reception Rex gave next day at the Savoy for the wedding guests was very squalid.
