A Second Coming

At Hyde Park Corner the Stranger stopped, and it could then be seen to what huge proportions the throng had grown. The whole open space was filled with people, and when, with the Stranger's, their advance was stayed, pedestrians and vehicles seemed mixed in inextricable confusion. Probably the large majority of those present had but the faintest notion of what had brought them there. In obedience to a sudden impulse of the gregarious instinct they had joined the crowd because the crowd was there to join.

As He stopped the Stranger raised His head, and looked about Him. He saw how large was the number of the people, and He said, in a voice which was only clearly audible to those who stood near:

'It is already late. Is it not time that you should go to your homes and rest?'

A man replied; he was a young fellow in evening dress; he had had more than enough to drink:

'It's early yet. You don't call this late! The evening's only just beginning! We're game to make a night of it if you are. Where you lead us we will follow.'

The young man's words were followed by a burst of laughter from some of those who heard. The Stranger sighed. Turning towards Hyde Park, He moved towards the open gates. The crowd opened to let Him pass, then closing in, it followed after. The Stranger entered the silent park. Crossing Rotten Row, He led the way to the grassy expanse which lay beyond. Not the whole crowd went with Him. The vehicles went their several ways, many also of the people. Some stayed, loitering and talking over what had happened; so far, that is, as they understood. These the police dispersed. Still, those who continued with the Stranger were not few.

When He reached the grass the Stranger stopped again. The people, gathering closer, surrounded Him, as if expecting Him to speak. But He was still. They looked at Him with an eager curiosity. At first He did not look at them at all. So that, while with their intrusive glances they searched Him, as it were, from head to foot, He stood in their midst with bent head and downcast eyes. They talked together, some in whispers, and some in louder tones; and there were some who laughed, until, at last, a man called out:

'Well, what have you brought us here for? To stand on the grass and catch cold?'

The Stranger answered, without raising His eyes from the ground:

'Is it I that have brought you here? Then it is well.'

There was a titter-a woman's giggle rising above the rest. The Stranger, raising His head, looked towards where the speaker stood.

'It were well if most of you should die to-night. O people of no understanding, that discern the little things and cannot see the greater, that have made gods of your bellies, and but minister unto your bodies, what profiteth it whether you live or whether you die? Neither in heaven nor on earth is there a place for you. What, then, is it that you do here?'

A man replied:

'It seems that you are someone in particular. We want to know who you are, according to your own statement.'

'I am He on whose name, throughout the whole of this great city, men call morning, noon, and night. And yet you do not know Me. No! neither do those know Me that call upon Me most.'

'Ever heard of Hanwell?' asked one. 'Perhaps there's some that have known you there.'

The questioner was called to order.

'Stow that! Let's know what he's got to say! Let's hear him out!'

The original inquirer continued.

'For what have you come here?'

'For what?' The Stranger looked up towards the skies. 'It is well that you should ask. I am as one who has lost his way in a strange land, among a strange people; yet it was to Mine own I came, in Mine own country.'

There was an interval of silence. When the inquirer spoke again, it was in less aggressive tones.

'Sir, there is a music in your voice which seems to go to my heart.'

'Friend!' The Stranger stretched out His hand towards the speaker. 'Friend! Would that it would go to all your hearts, the music that is in Mine-that the sound of it would go forth to all the world! It was for that I came.'

This time there was none that answered. It was as though there was that in the Stranger's words which troubled His listeners- which made them uneasy. Here and there one began to steal away. Presently, as the silence continued, the number of these increased. Among them was the inquirer; the Stranger spoke to him as he turned to go.

'It was but seeming-the music which seemed to speak to your heart?'

Although the words were quietly uttered, they conveyed a sting; the man to whom they were addressed was plainly disconcerted.

'Sir, I cannot stay here all night. I am a married man; I must go home.'

'Go home.'

'Besides, the gates will soon be shut, and late hours don't agree with me; I have to go early to business.'

'Go home.'

'But, at the same time, if you wish me to stop with you-'

'Go home.'

The man slunk away, as if ashamed; the Stranger followed him with His eyes. When he had gone a few yards he hesitated, stopped, turned, and, when he saw that the Stranger's eyes were fixed on him, he made as if to retrace his steps. But the Stranger said:

'Go home.'

Taking the gently spoken words as a positive command, the man, as if actuated by an uncontrollable impulse, or by sudden fear, wheeling round again upon his heels, ran out of the park as fast as he was able. When the man had vanished, the Stranger, looking about Him, found that the number of His attendants had dwindled to a scanty few. To them He said:

'Why do you stay? Why do you, also, not go home?'

A fellow replied-his coat was buttoned to his chin; his hands were in his pockets; a handkerchief was round his neck:

'Well, gov'nor, I reckon it's because some of us ain't got much of a 'ome to go to. I know I ain't. A seat in 'ere'll be about my mark- that is, if the coppers'll let me be.'

Again the Stranger's glance passed round the remnant which remained. As the fellow's speech suggested, it was a motley gathering. All told, it numbered, perhaps, a dozen-all that was left of the great crowd which had been there a moment ago. Three or four were women, the rest were men. They stood a little distance off, singly-one here and there. As far as could be seen in the uncertain light, all were poorly clad, most were in rags-a tatterdemalion crew, the sweepings of the streets.

'Are you all homeless, as I am?'

A man replied who was standing among those who were farthest off; he spoke as if the question had offended him.

'I ain't 'omeless-no fear! I've got as food a 'ome as anyone need want to 'ave; 'm none o' yer outcasts.'

'Then why do you not go to it?'

'Why? I am a-goin', ain't I? I suppose I can go 'ome when I like, without none o' your interference!'

The man slouched off, grumbling as he went, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets, his head sunk between his shoulders. And with him the rest of those who were left went too, some of them sneaking off across the grass, further into the heart of the park, bent nearly double, so as to get as much as possible into the shadow.

The cause of this sudden and general flight was made plain by the approach of a policeman, shouting:

'Now, then! Gates going to be closed! Out you go!'

The Stranger asked of him: 'May I not stay here and sleep upon the grass?

The policeman laughed, as if he thought the question was a joke.