Part 16 (1/2)
”This one soul,” said he, ”that lives as if thinking only of a future life in which it does not believe, is indeed in error, but nevertheless, we are bound to admire it as the most n.o.ble, the greatest of all. It is something sublime!”
”But are you then sure that this soul is in error?”
”Oh, yes, yes!”
”And you yourself, to which category do you belong?”
The Professor really believed he was of the few who rule their actions entirely according to an aspiration towards a future life, but he would have been embarra.s.sed had he been called upon to demonstrate that his earnest study of Raspail, his zeal in the preparation of sedative water and camphor cigarettes, his horror of dampness and of draughts, were proofs of slight attachment to the present life. However, he would not answer, but said that though he did not belong to any church, he nevertheless, believed firmly in G.o.d and the future life, and that he could not judge of his own conduct.
Meanwhile, Franco, watering the little garden, had discovered that a new verbena had blossomed, and setting down his watering-pot, had come to the door of the loggia and was calling to Maria, to whom he wished to point it out. Maria let him call, and demanded ”Missipip” again, whereupon the uncle put her down, and himself led her to her father.
”But, Professor,” Luisa said, emerging by means of the living word from a course of occult ponderings, ”do you not think one may believe in G.o.d and still be in doubt concerning the future life?”
Speaking thus she had dropped the tangled maze of net, and was looking the Professor straight in the face, with an expression of lively interest, and a manifest desire that he might answer yes. As Gilardoni did not speak she added--
”It seems to me some one might say: What obligation is G.o.d under to give us immortality? The immortality of the soul is an invention of human selfishness, which, after all, simply wishes to make G.o.d serve its own convenience. We want a reward for the good we do to others, and a punishment for the evil others do to us. Let us rather resign ourselves to complete death, which comes to every living thing, being just with ourselves and with others as long as we live, without looking for future reward, but simply because G.o.d wishes it, as he wishes every star to give light, and every tree to give shade. What do you think about it?”
”What can I say?” Gilardoni answered. ”It seems to me a thought of great beauty! I cannot say: a great truth. Indeed I do not know. I have never thought about it, but it is very beautiful! I will say that Christianity has never had, has never even imagined a Saint so sublime as this _some one_! It is very beautiful, very beautiful!”
”And besides,” Luisa continued after a short silence, ”it might also be maintained that this future would not mean perfect happiness. Can there be happiness if we do not know the reasons of all things? If we may not explain all mysteries? And will this longing to know all things be satisfied in the future life? Will there not always remain one impenetrable mystery? Do they not teach us that we shall never understand G.o.d perfectly? Therefore, in our longing to know, shall we not end by suffering as at present, perhaps even more, because in a higher life that longing must become stronger? I can only see one way of arriving at a knowledge of everything, and that would be to become G.o.d----”
”Ah! You are a pantheist!” the Professor exclaimed, interrupting her.
”Hus.h.!.+” said Luisa. ”No, no, no, I am a Catholic Christian. I am only repeating what others might say.”
”Pardon me, but there is a pantheism----”
”Philosophy still?” exclaimed Franco, coming in with the little one in his arms.
”Oh, misery!” grumbled Uncle Piero behind him.
Maria held a beautiful white rose in her hand. ”Look at this rose, Luisa,” said Franco. ”Maria, give Mamma the flower. Look at the shape of this rose, its pose, its shading, the veins in its petals; look at that red stripe, and inhale its perfume. Now drop philosophy.”
”You are an enemy of philosophy?” the Professor said, smiling.
”I am a friend of that simple and sure philosophy which even roses can teach me,” Franco answered.
”Philosophy, my dear Professor,” Uncle Piero put in solemnly, ”is all contained in Aristotle. You can get all you want from that source.”
”You are jesting,” the Professor said, ”but you yourself are a philosopher.”
The engineer placed a hand on his shoulder.
”Listen, dear friend! My philosophy could all be put into eight or ten gla.s.ses.”
”Mercy on us! Eight or ten gla.s.ses!” grumbled the housekeeper, who had caught her most temperate master's words of boastful intemperance, as she came in. ”Eight or ten fiddlesticks!”
She had come to announce Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, whose hollow but jolly voice was just then heard in the hall, saying heartily, ”_Deo gratias_.” Then the red and wrinkled face, the lively eyes, and the grey hair of the gentle priest appeared.
”We are discussing philosophy, Don Giuseppe,” said Luisa when greetings had been exchanged. ”Come here and let us have your valuable opinion.”