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Updated: June 30, 2025
His voice, when he first joined in a talk, was often low and even hesitating; but when he became interested and absorbed, it gathered volume and emphasis. Barthrop once said to me that Father Payne was the only person he knew who always talked in italics. But he very seldom harangued, though it is difficult to make that clear in recording his talks, because he often spoke continuously.
"That is so," said Barthrop, "that is perfectly true! and don't you remember too how he always said life must be a real fight a joining in the fight that was going forwards? It need not be wrangling or disputing, or finding fault with other people, or maintaining and confuting.
"No, I couldn't do that," said Lestrange to Barthrop, in one of those unhappy little silences which so often seemed to lie in wait for Lestrange's most platitudinal utterances. "It wouldn't be consistent with a sense of honour." Father Payne gave a chuckle, and Lestrange looked pained, "Oughtn't one to have a code of honour?" he said.
Barthrop was not very sociable or talkative, and he was occupied, I think, in some sort of historical research I believe he has since made his name as a judicious and interesting historian; but I knew little of what he was doing, and indeed was hardly intimate with him, though always at ease in his company.
But Barthrop had told him that it was a most delightful life; that Father Payne was a very interesting, good-natured, and amusing man; and that the whole thing was both pleasant and stimulating.
"But isn't it rather a pity?" said Barthrop. "After all, most emotions are useless, if you come to that! Why should you cut yourself off from a place you are so fond of, and which is quite the most beautiful place in England too? Isn't it rather well, weak?" "Yes," said Father Payne, "it's weak, no doubt!
"Quite right," said Father Payne. "You keep them for an acceptable time. Never tell strings of stories and, by the way, my young friends, that's the art of writing. Don't cram in good things space them out, Barthrop!" "I think I can spread the butter as thin as anyone," said Barthrop, smiling. "So you can, so you can!" said Father Payne enthusiastically, "and very thin slices too!
If I have thought anything at all, it simply is that he is getting older." "It may simply be that, of course," said Barthrop, looking relieved. "I suppose he is about fifty-eight or so? But I'll tell you something else. I went in to speak to him two or three days ago. Well you know how he always seems to be doing something?
I remember," he added, "once going to see a poor friend of mine in an asylum, and the old doctor at the head of it said, 'It isn't the stupid people who come here, Mr. Payne; it is the clever people!" "But does not your principle about the right to risk one's life hold good here too?" said Barthrop. "No, I think not," said Father Payne.
I could no more tell this wretch the truth than I could trample on a blind old man." "What will you really do?" said Barthrop. "I shall send him the money," said Father Payne firmly, "and I shall compliment him on his delicacy; and then, thank God, I shall forget, until it all begins again.
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