II
For, first, he came as an agent of the Philomatheans, who were endeavouring to secure official recognition by the churches of America and England of a revised translation of, in any event, the New Testament.
He told me of a variety of buttressing reasons—which I suppose are well-founded, though I must confess I never investigated the matter. He told me how the Authorised Version was a paraphrase, abounding in confusions and in mistranslations from the Greek of Erasmus’s New Testament, which, as the author confessed, “was rather tumbled headlong into the world than edited.” And he told me how the edition of Erasmus itself was hastily prepared from careless copies of inaccurate transcriptions of yet further copies of divers manuscripts of which the oldest dates no further back than the fourth century, and is in turn, most probably, just a liberal paraphrase, as all the others are, of still another manuscript.
So that the English version, as I gathered, may be very fine English, but has scarcely a leg left, when you consider it as a safe foundation for superiority, or pillorying, or as a guide in conduct.
I suspect, however, that Jasper Hardress somewhat overstated the case, since on this subject he was a fanatic. To me it seemed rather quaint that Hardress or anybody else should be bothering about such things.
And as he feelingly declaimed concerning the great Uncials, and explained why in this particular verse the Ephraem manuscript was in the right, whereas to probe the meaning of the following verse we clearly must regard the Syriac version as of supreme authority, I could well understand how at one period or another his young wife must inevitably have considered him in the light of a rather tedious person.
And I told him that it hardly mattered, because the true test of a church-member was the ability to believe that when the Bible said anything inconvenient it really meant something else.
But actually I was not feeling over-cheerful, because Jasper’s second object in coming to America was to leave his wife in Sioux City, so that she could secure a divorce from him, on quite un-Scriptural grounds. Hardress told me of this at least without any excitement. He did not blame her. He was too old for her, too stolid, too dissimilar in every respect, he said. Their marriage had been a mistake, that was all—a mismating, as many marriages were. She wanted to marry someone else, he rather thought.
And “Oh, Lord! yes!” I inwardly groaned. “She probably does.”
Aloud I said: “But the Bible—Yes, I am provincial at bottom. It’s because I always think in nigger-English and translate it when I talk. It was my Mammy, you see, who taught me how to think—and in our nigger-English, what the Bible says is true. Why, Jasper, even this Revised Version of yours says flatly that a man—”
“Child, child!” said Jasper Hardress, and he patted my hair, and I really think it crinkled under his touch, “when you grow up—if indeed you ever do—you will find that a man’s feeling for his wife and the mother of his children, is not altogether limited by what he has read in a book. He wants—well, just her happiness.”
I looked up without thinking; and the aspect of that gross and unattractive man humiliated me. He had reached a height denied to such as I; and inwardly I cursed and envied this fat Jasper Hardress. … I would have told him everything, had not the waiter come just then.