The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 2

SCENE II.--_The refectory. The monks at table. A buzz of conversation_.

ROBERT _enters, wiping his forehead, as if he had just come in_.

_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 h.e.l.l 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_.

Hus.h.!.+ speak lower, friend.

_Two_ Monks _farther down the table--in a low tone_.

_1st Monk_.

Where did you find her?

_2nd Monk_.

She was taken ill At the Star-in-the-East. I chanced to pa.s.s 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 repet.i.tions, 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 t.i.tled Count. He had a love-affair, In good-boy, layman fas.h.i.+on, 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 G.o.dfrey; I tell none else Until our Abbot comes.

_1st Monk_.

That is to-morrow.

_Another group near the bottom of the table, in which is_ ROBERT.

_1st Monk_.

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

Have you not marked that look, half scorn, half pity, Which pa.s.ses 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 n.o.bis, 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.

SCENE III.--_Julian's cell. An open chest. The lantern on a stool, its candle nearly burnt out_. JULIAN _lying on his bed, looking at the light_.

_Julian_.

And so all growth that is not toward G.o.d Is growing to decay. All increase gained Is but an ugly, earthy, fungous growth.

'Tis aspiration as that wick aspires, Towering above the light it overcomes, But ever sinking with the dying flame.

O let me _live_, if but a daisy's life!

No toadstool life-in-death, no efflorescence!

Wherefore wilt thou not hear me, Lord of me?

Have I no claim on thee? True, I have none That springs from me, but much that springs from thee.

Hast thou not made me? Liv'st thou not in me?

I have done naught for thee, am but a want; But thou who art rich in giving, canst give claims; And this same need of thee which thou hast given, Is a strong claim on thee to give thyself, And makes me bold to rise and come to thee.

Through all my sinning thou hast not recalled This witness of thy fatherhood, to plead For thee with me, and for thy child with thee.

Last night, as now, I seemed to speak with him; Or was it but my heart that spoke for him?

"Thou mak'st me long," I said, "therefore wilt give; My longing is thy promise, O my G.o.d!

If, having sinned, I thus have lost the claim, Why doth the longing yet remain with me, And make me bold thus to besiege thy doors?"

Methought I heard for answer: "Question on.

Hold fast thy need; it is the bond that holds Thy being yet to mine. I give it thee, A hungering and a fainting and a pain, Yet a G.o.d-blessing. Thou art not quite dead While this pain lives in thee. I bless thee with it.

Better to live in pain than die that death."

So I will live, and nourish this my pain; For oft it giveth birth unto a hope That makes me strong in prayer. He knows it too.

Softly I'll walk the earth; for it is his, Not mine to revel in. Content I wait.

A still small voice I cannot but believe, Says on within: G.o.d _will_ reveal himself.

I must go from this place. I cannot rest.

It boots not staying. A desire like thirst Awakes within me, or a new child-heart, To be abroad on the mysterious earth, Out with the moon in all the blowing winds.

'Tis strange that dreams of her should come again.

For many months I had not seen her form, Save phantom-like on dim hills of the past, Until I laid me down an hour ago; When twice through the dark chamber full of eyes, The memory pa.s.sed, reclothed in verity: Once more I now behold it; the inward blaze Of the glad windows half quenched in the moon; The trees that, drooping, murmured to the wind, "Ah! wake me not," which left them to their sleep, All save the poplar: it was full of joy, So that it could not sleep, but trembled on.

Sudden as Aphrodite from the sea, She issued radiant from the pearly night.

It took me half with fear--the glimmer and gleam Of her white festal garments, haloed round With denser moonbeams. On she came--and there I am bewildered. Something I remember Of thoughts that choked the pa.s.sages of sound, Hurrying forth without their pilot-words; Of agony, as when a spirit seeks In vain to hold communion with a man; A hand that would and would not stay in mine; A gleaming of white garments far away; And then I know not what. The moon was low, When from the earth I rose; my hair was wet, Dripping with dew--

_Enter_ ROBERT _cautiously_.

Why, how now, Robert?

[_Rising on his elbow_.]