Part 50 (2/2)
The meal was silent; the oblate was visibly distressed at the departure of the companion whom he loved, and Durtal looked with a swelling heart at the old man, who had so charitably come out of his solitude to give him aid.
”Will you not come some day to see me in Paris?” he said.
”No. I have quitted life without any mind to return to it. I am dead to the world. I do not wish to see Paris again. I have no wish to live again.
”But if G.o.d lend me still a few years of existence I hope to see you here again, for it is not in vain that one has crossed the threshold of mystic asceticism, to verify by one's own experience the reality of the requirements which our Lord brings about. Now, as G.o.d does not proceed by chance, He will certainly finish His work by sifting you as wheat. I venture to recommend you to try not to give way, and attempt to die in some measure to yourself, in order not to run counter to His plans.”
”I know well,” said Durtal, ”that all is displaced in me, that I am no longer the same, but what frightens me is that I am now sure that the works of the Teresan school are exact ... then, then ... if one must pa.s.s-through the cylinders of the rolling mill which Saint John of the Cross describes....”
The noise of a carriage in the court interrupted him. M. Bruno went to the window and looked out.
”Your luggage is down.”
”Yes.”
They looked at each other.
”Listen! I would wish indeed to say to you....”
”No, no, do not thank me,” cried the oblate. ”See, I have never so thoroughly understood the misery of my being. Ah! if I had been another man, I might, by praying better, have aided you more.”
The door opened and Father Etienne declared,
”You have not a minute to lose, if you do not wish to miss the train.”
Thus hurried, Durtal had only time to press the hand of his friend, who accompanied him to the court. He found waiting a sort of open wagon driven by a Trappist, who, below a bald head, and cheeks streaked with rose threads, had a great black beard.
Durtal pressed the hands of the guest-master and the oblate for the last time, when the Father abbot came in his turn to wish him a safe journey; and at the end of the court Durtal perceived two eyes fixed on him, those of Brother Anacletus, who, at a distance, said adieu by a slight bow, but without other gesture.
Even this poor man, whose eloquent look told of a truly touching affection, had a saint's pity for the stranger whom he had seen so tumultuous and so sad in the desolate solitude of the wood!
Certainly the stiffness of the rule forbade all show of feeling to these monks, but Durtal felt thoroughly that for him they had gone to the limit of concessions allowed, and his affliction was great as he cast them in parting a last expression of thanks.
And the door of the monastery closed; that door at which he had trembled in arriving, and at which he now looked with tears in his eyes.
”We must get on fast,” said the procurator, ”for we are late,” and the horse went at a great speed along the lanes.
Durtal recognized his companion, as having seen him in the chapel, singing in the choir during the Office.
He had an air at once good-natured and firm, and his little grey eye smiled as it glanced behind his branched spectacles.
”Well,” said he, ”how have you borne our regimen?”
”I have had every chance; I came herewith my stomach out of order, my body ill, and the simple Trappist meals have cured me.”
And when Durtal narrated briefly the stages of soul he had undergone, the monk murmured,
”That is nothing in regard to demoniacal attacks; we have had here true cases of possession.”
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