Читать книгу The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 - George MacDonald - Страница 5

  Stephen

  (speaking across the table).

  You see, my friend, it will not stand to logic;

  Or, if you like it better, stand to reason;

  For in this doctrine is involved a cause

  Which for its very being doth depend

  Upon its own effect. For, don't you see,

  He tells me to have faith and I shall live!

  Have faith for what? Why, plainly, that I shall

  Be saved from hell by him, and ta'en to heaven;

  What is salvation else? If I believe,

  Then he will save me! But, so, this his will

  Has no existence till that I believe;

  And there is nothing for my faith to rest on,

  No object for belief. How can I trust

  In that which is not? Send the salad, Cosmo.

  Besides, 'twould be a plenary indulgence;

  To all intents save one, most plenary—

  And that the Church's coffer. 'Tis absurd.

  Monk.

  'Tis most absurd, as you have clearly shown.

  And yet I fear some of us have been nibbling

  At this same heresy. 'Twere well that one

  Should find it poison. I have no pique at him—

  But there's that Julian!—

  Stephen.

                            Hush! speak lower, friend.

  1st Monk.

  Where did you find her?

  2nd Monk.

                           She was taken ill

  At the Star-in-the-East. I chanced to pass that way,

  And so they called me in. I found her dying.

  But ere she would confess and make her peace,

  She begged to know if I had ever seen,

  About this neighbourhood, a tall dark man,

  Moody and silent, with a little stoop

  As if his eyes were heavy for his shoulders,

  And a strange look of mingled youth and age,—

  1st Monk.

  Julian, by—

  2nd Monk.

                'St—no names! I had not seen him.

  I saw the death-mist gathering in her eyes,

  And urged her to proceed; and she began;

  But went not far before delirium came,

  With endless repetitions, hurryings forward,

  Recoverings like a hound at fault. The past

  Was running riot in her conquered brain;

  And there, with doors thrown wide, a motley group

  Held carnival; went freely out and in,

  Meeting and jostling. But withal it seemed

  As some confused tragedy went on;

  Till suddenly the light sank, and the pageant

  Was lost in darkness; the chambers of her brain

  Lay desolate and silent. I can gather

  So much, and little more:—This Julian

  Is one of some distinction; probably rich,

  And titled Count. He had a love-affair,

  In good-boy, layman fashion, seemingly.—

  Give me the woman; love is troublesome!—

  She loved him too, but falsehood came between,

  And used this woman for her minister;

  Who never would have peached, but for a witness

  Hidden behind some curtain in her heart—

  An unsuspected witness called Sir Conscience,

  Who has appeared and blabbed—but must conclude

  His story to some double-ghostly father,

  For she is ghostly penitent by this.

  Our consciences will play us no such tricks;

  They are the Church's, not our own. We must

  Keep this small matter secret. If it should

  Come to his ears, he'll soon bid us good-bye—

  A lady's love before ten heavenly crowns!

  And so the world will have the benefit

  Of the said wealth of his, if such there be.

  I have told you, old Godfrey; I tell none else

  Until our Abbot comes.

  1st Monk.

                        That is to-morrow.

  1st Monk.

  'Tis very clear there's something wrong with him.

  Have you not marked that look, half scorn, half pity,

  Which passes like a thought across his face,

  When he has listened, seeming scarce to listen,

  A while to our discourse?—he never joins.

  2nd Monk.

  I know quite well. I stood beside him once,

  Some of the brethren near; Stephen was talking:

  He chanced to say the words, Our Holy Faith.

  "Their faith indeed, poor fools!" fell from his lips,

  Half-muttered, and half-whispered, as the words

  Had wandered forth unbidden. I am sure

  He is an atheist at the least.

  3rd Monk (pale-faced and large-eyed).

                                 And I

  Fear he is something worse. I had a trance

  In which the devil tempted me: the shape

  Was Julian's to the very finger-nails.

  Non nobis, Domine! I overcame.

  I am sure of one thing—music tortures him:

  I saw him once, amid the Gloria Patri,

  When the whole chapel trembled in the sound,

  Rise slowly as in ecstasy of pain,

  And stretch his arms abroad, and clasp his hands,

  Then slowly, faintingly, sink on his knees.

  2nd Monk.

  He does not know his rubric; stands when others

  Are kneeling round him. I have seen him twice

  With his missal upside down.

  4th Monk (plethoric and husky).

                              He blew his nose

  Quite loud on last Annunciation-day,

  And choked our Lady's name in the Abbot's throat.

  Robert.

  When he returns, we must complain; and beg

  He'll take such measures as the case requires.