the garden of allah-第101节

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blessed　me。　He　has　given　me　you；　your　love；　your　truth。'　It　is　that
which　makes　me　speak。　You　have　had　my　love；　not　my　truth。　Now　take　my
truth。　I've　kept　it　from　you。　Now　I'll　give　it　you。　It's　black；　but
I'll　give　it　you。　Domini！　Domini！　Hate　me　to…night；　but　in　your　hatred
believe　that　I　never　loved　you　as　I　love　you　now。〃

〃Give　me　your　truth；〃　she　said。




BOOK　V。　THE　REVELATION



CHAPTER　XXVI

They　remained　standing　at　the　tent　door；　with　the　growing　moonlight
about　them。　The　camp　was　hushed　in　sleep；　but　sounds　of　music　still
came　to　them　from　the　city　below　them；　and　fainter　music　from　the
tents　of　the　Ouled　Nails　on　the　sandhill　to　the　south。　After　Domini
had　spoken　Androvsky　moved　a　step　towards　her；　looked　at　her；　then
moved　back　and　dropped　his　eyes。　If　he　had　gone　on　looking　at　her　he
knew　he　could　not　have　begun　to　speak。

〃Domini；〃　he　said；　〃I'm　not　going　to　try　and　excuse　myself　for　what　I
have　done。　I'm　not　going　to　say　to　you　what　I　daren't　say　to　God
'Forgive　me。'　How　can　such　a　thing　be　forgiven？　That's　part　of　the
torture　I've　been　enduring；　the　knowledge　of　the　unforgivable　nature
of　my　act。　It　can　never　be　wiped　out。　It's　black　on　my　judgment　book
for　ever。　But　I　wonder　if　you　can　understandoh；　I　want　you　to
understand；　Domini；　what　has　made　the　thing　I　am；　a　renegade；　a
breaker　of　oaths；　a　liar　to　God　and　you。　It　was　the　passion　of　life
that　burst　up　in　me　after　years　of　tranquillity。　It　was　the　waking　of
my　nature　after　years　of　sleep。　And　youyou　do　understand　the　passion
of　life　that's　in　some　of　us　like　a　monster　that　must　rule；　must　have
its　way。　Even　you　in　your　purity　and　goodnessyou　have　it；　that
desperate　wish　to　live　really　and　fully；　as　we　have　lived；　Domini；
together。　For　we　have　lived　out　in　the　desert。　We　lived　that　night　at
Arba　when　we　sat　and　watched　the　fire　and　I　held　your　hand　against　the
earth。　We　lived　then。　Even　now；　when　I　think　of　that　night；　I　can
hardly　be　sorry　for　what　I've　done；　for　what　I　am。〃

He　looked　up　at　her　now　and　saw　that　her　eyes　were　fixed　on　him。　She
stood　motionless；　with　her　hands　joined　in　front　of　her。　Her　attitude
was　calm　and　her　face　was　untortured。　He　could　not　read　any　thought　of
hers；　any　feeling　that　was　in　her　heart。

〃You　must　understand；〃　he　said　almost　violently。　〃You　must　understand
or　I。　My　father；　I　told　you；　was　a　Russian。　He　was　brought　up　in　the
Greek　Church；　but　became　a　Freethinker　when　he　was　still　a　young　man。
My　mother　was　an　Englishwoman　and　an　ardent　Catholic。　She　and　my
father　were　devoted　to　each　other　in　spite　of　the　difference　in　their
views。　Perhaps　the　chief　effect　my　father's　lack　of　belief　had　upon　my
mother　was　to　make　her　own　belief　more　steadfast；　more　ardent。　I　think
disbelief　acts　often　as　a　fan　to　the　faith　of　women；　makes　the　flame
burn　more　brightly　than　it　did　before。　My　mother　tried　to　believe　for
herself　and　for　my　father　too；　and　I　could　almost　think　that　she
succeeded。　He　died　long　before　she　did；　and　he　died　without　changing
his　views。　On　his　death…bed　he　told　my　mother　that　he　was　sure　there
was　no　other　life；　that　he　was　going　to　the　dust。　That　made　the　agony
of　his　farewell。　The　certainty　on　his　part　that　he　and　my　mother　were
parting　for　ever。　I　was　a　little　boy　at　the　time；　but　I　remember　that；
when　he　was　dead；　my　mother　said　to　me；　'Boris；　pray　for　your　father
every　day。　He　is　still　alive。'　She　said　nothing　more；　but　I　ran
upstairs　crying；　fell　upon　my　knees　and　prayedtrying　to　think　where
my　father　was　and　what　he　could　be　looking　like。　And　in　that　prayer
for　my　father；　which　was　also　an　act　of　obedience　to　my　mother；　I
think　I　took　the　first　step　towards　the　monastic　life。　For　I　remember
that　then；　for　the　first　time；　I　was　conscious　of　a　great　sense　of
responsibility。　My　mother's　command　made　me　say　to　myself；　'Then
perhaps　my　prayer　can　do　something　in　heaven。　Perhaps　a　prayer　from　me
can　make　God　wish　to　do　something　He　had　not　wished　to　do　before。'
That　was　a　tremendous　thought！　It　excited　me　terribly。　I　remember　my
cheeks　burned　as　I　prayed；　and　that　I　was　hot　all　over　as　if　I　had
been　running　in　the　sun。　From　that　day　my　mother　and　I　seemed　to　be
much　nearer　together　than　we　had　ever　been　before。　I　had　a　twin
brother　to　whom　I　was　devoted；　and　who　was　devoted　to　me。　But　he　took
after　my　father。　Religious　things；　ceremonies；　church　music；
processionseven　the　outside　attractions　of　the　Catholic　Church；
which　please　and　stimulate　emotional　people　who　have　little　faith
never　meant　much　to　him。　All　his　attention　was　firmly　fixed　upon　the
life　of　the　present。　He　was　good　to　my　mother　and　loved　her　devotedly；
as　he　loved　me；　but　he　never　pretended　to　be　what　he　was　not。　And　he
was　never　a　Catholic。　He　was　never　anything。

〃My　father　had　originally　come　to　Africa　for　his　health；　which　needed
a　warm　climate。　He　had　some　money　and　bought　large　tracts　of　land
suitable　for　vineyards。　Indeed；　he　sunk　nearly　his　whole　fortune　in
land。　I　told　you；　Domini；　that　the　vines　were　devoured　by　the
phylloxera。　Most　of　the　money　was　lost。　When　my　father　died　we　were
left　very　poor。　We　lived　quietly　in　a　little　villageI　told　you　its
name；　I　told　you　that　part　of　my　life；　all　I　dared　tell；　Dominibut
nowwhy　did　I　enter　the　monastery？　I　was　very　young　when　I　became　a
novice；　just　seventeen。　You　are　thinking；　Domini；　I　know；　that　I　was
too　young　to　know　what　I　was　doing；　that　I　had　no　vocation；　that　I　was
unfitted　for　the　monastic　life。　It　seems　so。　The　whole　world　would
think　so。　And　yethow　am　I　to　tell　you？　Even　now　I　feel　that　then　I
had　the　vocation；　that　I　was　fitted　to　enter　the　monastery；　that　I
ought　to　have　made　a　faithful　and　devoted　monk。　My　mother　wished　the
life　for　me；　but　it　was　not　only　that。　I　wished　it　for　myself　then。
With　my　whole　heart　I　wished　it。　I　knew　nothing　of　the　world。　My　youth
had　been　one　of　absolute　purity。　And　I　did　not　feel　longings　after　the
unknown。　My　mother's　influence　upon　me　was　strong；　but　she　did　not
force　me　into　anything。　Perhaps　my　love　for　her　led　me　more　than　I
knew；　brought　me　to　the　monastery　door。　The　passion　of　her　life；　the
human　passion；　had　been　my　father。　After　he　was　dead　the　passion　of
her　life　was　prayer　for　him。　My　love　for　her　made　me　share　that
passion；　and　the　sharing　of　that　passion　eventually　led　me　to　become　a
monk。　I　became　as　a　child；　a　devotee　of　prayer。　Oh！　DominithinkI
loved　prayerI　loved　it〃

His　voice　broke。　When　he　stopped　speaking　Domini　was　again　conscious
of　the　music　in　the　city。　She　remembered　that　earlier　in　the　night　she
had　thought　of　it　as　the　music　of　a　great　festival。

〃I　resolved　to　enter　the　life　of　prayer；　the　most　perfect　life　of
prayer。　I　resolved　to　become　a　'religious。'　It　seemed　to　me　that　by　so
doing　I　should　be　proving　in　the　finest　way　my　love　for　my　mother。　I
should　be；　in　the　strongest　way；　helping　her。　Her　life　was　prayer　for
my　dead　father　and　love　for　her　children。　By　devoting　myself　to　the
life　of　prayer　I　should　show　to　her　that　I　was　as　she　was；　as　she　had
made　me；　true　son　of　her　womb。　Can　you　understand？　I　had　a　passion　for
my　mother；　DominiI　had　a　passion。　My　brother　tried　to　dissuade　me
from　the　monastic　life。　He　himself　was　going　into　business　in　Tunis。
He　wanted　me　to　join　him。　But　I　was　firm。　I　felt　driven　towards　the
cloister　then　as　other　men　often　feel　driven　towards　the　vicious　life。
The　inclination　was　irresistible。　I　yielded　to　it。　I　had　to　bid　good…
bye　to　my　mother。　I　told　youshe　was　the　passion　of　my　life。　And　yet
I　hardly　felt　sad　at　parting　from　her。　Perhaps　that　will　show　you　how
I　was　then。　It　seemed　to　me　that　we　should　be　even　closer　together
when　I　wore　the　monk's　habit。　I　was　in　haste　to　put　it　on。　I　went　to
the　monastery　of　El…Largani　and　entered　it　as　a　novice　of　the
Trappistine　order。　I　thought　in　the　great　silence　of　the　Trappists
there　would　be　more　room　for　prayer。　When　I　left　my　home　and　went　to
El…Largani　I　took　with　me　one　treasure　only。　Domini；　it　was　the　little
wooden　crucifix　you　pinned　upon　the　tent　at　Arba。　My　mother　gave　it　to
me；　and　I　was　allowed　to　keep　it。　Everything　else　in　the　way　of
earthly　possessions　I；　of　course；　had　to　give　up。

〃You　have　never　seen　El…Largani；　my　home　for　nineteen　years；　my　prison
for　one。　It　is　lonely；　but　not　in　the　least　desolate。　It　stands　on　a
high　upland；　and；　from　a　distance；　looks　upon　the　sea。　Far　off　there
are　mountains。　The　land　was　a　desert。　The　monks　have　turned　it；　if　not
into　an　Eden；　at　least　into　a　rich　garden。　There　are　vineyards；
cornfields；　orchards；　almost　every　fruit…tree　flourishes　there。　The
springs　of　sweet　waters　are　abundant。　At　a　short　way　from　the
monastery　is　a　large　village　for　the　Spanish　workmen　whom　the　monks
supervise　in　the　labours　of　the　fields。　For　the　Trappist　life　is　not
only　a　life　of　prayer；　but　a　life　of　diligent　labour。　When　I　became　a
novice　I　had　not　realised　that。　I　had　imagined　myself　continually　upon
my　knees。　I　found　instead　that　I　was　perpetually　in　the　fields；　in
sun；　and　wind；　and　rainthat　was　in　the　winter　timeworking　like　the
labourers；　and　that　often　when　we　went　into　the　long；　plain　chapel　to
pray　I　was　so　tiredbeing　only　a　boythat　my　eyes　closed　as　I　stood
in