the days of my life-第26部分

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fore　taking　solemn　vows；　which　can　only　be　dissolved　by　the　Pope。　pare　this　caution　with　the　approved　facility　with　which　a　man　may　bind　himself　for　long　periods　as　a　soldier　or　for　life　in　marriage！　I　may　eventually　regret　it；　but　what　may　not　be　regretted；　and　how　many　things　have　most　men　done　which　they　do　regret！　Surely　you　should　not　omit　to　do　a　good　thing　because　you　may　regret　it。　I　might　say　a　good　deal　more；　but　have　no　time。　I　once　more　thank　you　for　writing　as　you　did；　with　your　old　warmth　and　not　without　your　old　eloquence。　Finally；　if　you　like　to　e　here；　if　you　have　the　time；　the　inclination；　and　the　opportunity；　I　am　sure　the　Abbot　would　be　very　glad　to　acmodate　you　for　any　time　under　three　months　（that　is　the　rule）　in　the　guest…house。　I　warn　you　however　that　the　fare　is　very　frugal；　and　twenty…four　hours　might　exhaust　your　patience。
Very　sincerely　yours；
J。　Sheil。
It　seems　to　me　that；　in　the　above　letter；　dear　Sheil　goes　far　towards　justifying　the　attack　that　I　had　evidently　made　upon　his　position。　“Permit　me　。　。　。　at　least　to　think　of　flight。”　He　admits　that　he　had　run　away　from　the　world　and　its　temptations　because　of　“the　hideous　consequences　of　defeat；”　i。e。　the　loss　of　his　soul。　His　idea　was　that　by　shutting　himself　up　in　an　iron　box　he　would　avoid　sin　and　its　“hideous　consequences。”　But　I　wonder　now；　as　I　wondered　then；　whether；　supposing　the　capitulation　to　the　natural　impulses　of　the　body　to　be　cardinal　sin；　such　sin　is　really　avoided　by　the　method　of　the　iron　box？　True；　they　cannot　be　gratified；　for；　if　you　wish　to　drink；　there　is　no　whisky；　if　you　wish　to　make　love；　there　is　no　woman；　and　so　forth。　Yet　in　that　case　does　not　the　wish　assume　the　proportions　of　the　acplished　deed？　A　noted　passage　in　the　New　Testament　seems　to　suggest　that　this　may　be　so；　also　incidents　in　the　lives　of　the　saints　occur　to　me；　though　we　are　told　only　of　those　in　which　they　triumphed。　Of　course　if；　by　the　aid　of　terrible　abstinence　or　of　prayer；　every　human　desire　and　frailty　can　be　banished　and　the　mind　can　bee；　so　to　speak；　sterilised　of　all　harmful　thoughts；　then　a　condition　of　absolute　though　negative　virtue　will　be　attained。　Whether　the　virtue　thus　gained　—　if　it　be　possible　to　gain　it　while　even　sleep　and　its　dreams　remain　—　is　of　a　truer　and　higher　quality　than　that　proportion　of　goodness　which　can　be　won；　that　more　soiled　garment　which　must　be　worn　by　him　who　remains　in　the　world　and　bears　the　heat　and　burden　of　its　day；　often　falling；　but　struggling　to　his　feet　again；　sinning；　and　lamenting　his　sins；　striving　to　do　better；　yet　frequently　in　vain；　living　the　full　life；　bringing　others　into　that　life　and；　to　the　best　of　his　ability；　bearing　their　burdens；　doing　here　a　good　and　there；　perhaps；　a　harm；　and　at　length；　filled　with　experience；　departing　penitent　and　mercy…seeking　to　whatever　future　career　may　await　him　—　is　not　for　me　to　say。　Probably　the　question　must　be　answered　in　accordance　with　the　temperament　and　gifts　of　the　questioner。　For　me　it　is　too　hard。　However；　it　is　more　or　less　dealt　with　on　one　side　of　some　of　Sheil’s　remaining　epistles。
The　next　of　these　is　dated　nearly　a　year　later　than　that　which　I　have　quoted：
Mount　St。　Bernard’s　Abbey；　August　3；　1880。
I　thank　you　for　thinking　of　writing　to　tell　me　of　your　marrying；　you　were　right　in　thinking　it　would　interest　me。　If　joy　and　prosperity　came　by　my　wishing　you　would　certainly　have　your　fill　in　all　your　life　to　e。　I　am　glad　you　are　marrying；　as　I　think　it　much　better　for　a　man　than　knocking　about　by　himself。　I　suppose　you　had　some　photos　struck　on　this　auspicious　occasion；　if　so；　may　I　suggest　that　the　one　I　have　of　you　was　youthful　when　you　gave　it；　I　think　six　years　ago；　and　that　I　should　very　much　like　to　have　another；　and；　if　it　is　not　asking　too　much；　one　of　Miss　Margitson　（I　hope　that　is　rightly　spelt；　but　your　writing　is　more　shocking　than　ever）？　I　am　not　surprised　at　your　anxiety　to　get　back　to　South　Africa　and　your　weariness　of　England；　I　suppose　our　brightest　sky　is　only　a　fog　to　you。
As　for　myself；　I　took　the　simple　vows　a　short　time　since；　of　course　I　cannot　consider　myself　absolutely　fixed　till　the　solemn　vows；　but　I　hope　I　am。　I　don’t　see　how　anyone　can　avoid　having　an　intellectual　if　not　a　practical　contempt　for　this　life　if　he　believes　in　eternity。　I　was　reading　the　other　day　that　if　a　man　had　been　born　at　the　beginning　of　the　world　and　shed　one　tear　every　thousand　years；　he　would　now　have　shed　six　tears；　yet　the　time　will　most　infallibly　e　when　any　and　every　one　will　be　able　to　say　that　at　that　rate　he　would　have　filled　the　ocean　with　tears。　This　seems　to　me　striking　and　true。　The　thing　is　that　the　happiness　or　misery　of　all　this　future　（there　is　only　one　alternative）　depends　on　what　you　love　in　this　life；　you　must　love　the　Invisible。　The　beauty　of　the　life　we　lead　here　is　that　it　makes　this　paratively　easy。
I　should　have　liked　to　give　you　a　small　token　of　my　feeling　for　you；　but；　as　I　suppose　you　know；　a　man　who　takes　the　vows　ceases　to　be　the　owner　of　any　moneys　or　of　anything　else；　（of　course　if　I　was　not　admitted　to　solemn　vows　I　should　recover　what　I　have　given）。　I　hope　you　will　accept　my　good　will。　Have　you　seen　Walsh　and　Fuller　and　de　Roebeck？　Remember　me　to　them；　and　also　particularly　to　Mr。　Norris。　Good…bye。　I　hope　you　will　not　forget　Auld　lang　syne　（nor　the　photograph）。　I　should　like　to　have　been　at　your　wedding　and　seen　your　bride。
Very　affectionately　yours；
Brother　Basil。
In　due　course　I　married；　but　before　alluding　to　that　matter　I　will　continue　and　finish　the　story　of　Brother　Basil。　At　the　end　of　our　honeymoon　my　wife　and　I　made　a　pilgrimage　to　Mount　St。　Bernard’s　Abbey。　This　I　did　both　because　I　wished　to　see　him　and　because　in　my　vanity　I　thought　that　if　we　could　e　face　to　face　I　might　be　able　by　my　personal　influence　to　induce　him　to　return　to　the　world。　I　confess　that　I　felt　afraid；　needlessly　afraid　as　it　proved；　of　facing　these　stern　and　silent　monks　on　an　errand　which　they　would　know　well　was　inimical　to　them。　Still　I　determined　on　the　attempt。
There　were　some　difficulties　about　the　journey　—　I　forget　their　exact　nature　—　but　at　length　we　arrived　without　being　expected。　I　stated　my　object　and；　somewhat　to　my　surprise；　was　admitted　with　my　wife。　I　was　almost　sure　that　a　young　woman　would　not　be　allowed　to　pass　those　portals。　On　the　contrary　we　were　most　courteously　received　by　an　extremely　charming　sub…prior；　a　thorough　man　of　the　world　and　a　gentleman　who　was　able　to　talk　to　us　of　many　lands　and　events。　He　said　that　Brother　Basil　should　be　sent　for；　and　after　a　while　I　heard　heavy　wooden　shoes　—　I　think　they　were　wooden　—　clumping　down　a　passage；　the　door　opened　and　there　appeared　the　Sheil　from　whom　I　had　parted　some　six　years　before。　He　was　clad　in　a　coarse　robe；　his　head　was　tonsured；　or　such　is　my　recollection；　his　face　was　pale；　and　it　seemed　to　me　as　though　the　work　in　that　scorching　weather　in　the　hot　harvest　field　from　which　he　had　been　summoned　had　exhausted　him。　At　first　he　could　hardly　speak；　which　was　not　wonderful　seeing　the　unexpected　nature　of　the　occasion　and　the　rule　of　silence　in　which　he　lived。　His　delight　at　our　visit　seemed　very　great。　After　some　talk；　greatly　daring；　I　asked　if　I　might　see　him　alone。　To　my　astonishment　the　request　was　granted　at　once。　We　went　out；　I　think　into　a　graveyard　—　or　it　may　have　been　the　garden；　though　certainly　I　saw　a　graveyard　with　its　nameless　little　wooden　crosses　—　leaving　my　wife　with　the　sub…prior。
Then　came　the　struggle。　I　argued　high　and　low；　I　implored；　and　was　utterly　worsted。　I　could　not　move　him　one　inch；　my　arguments　he　answered；　my　beseeching　he　put　aside　with　the　most　sweet　and　tender　gratitude。
“Many　have　scolded　and　lectured　me；”　he　said；　“you　are　the　first　who　ever　came　here　to　try　to　snatch　me　from　what　you　believe　to　be　an　intolerable　fate。”
That　was　the　substance　of　his　words；　mingled　with　thanks　and　blessings。
We　returned；　and　my　wife　and　I　were　shown　something　of　their　farm　and　of　the　school　where　the　monks　taught　children；　also　all　their　terrible　mode　of　life　was　exposed　to　us：　the　dormitories；　the　bare　board　on　which　they　took　their　scanty　vegetable　fare；　the　stern　rules　of　their　Order　—　nothing　was　kept　back。　I　remember　that　I　was　filled　with　admiration；　although　I　remained　in　moral　rebellion　against　this　terrific　system　which　turned　men　into　dumb　creatures　and　fed　their　bodies　with　the　bread　and　water　of　affliction　for　the　benefit　of　their　souls。　I　was　shown　a　prize　bull　they　had　which　was　in　the　charge　of　a　monk　who　had　been　a　Yorkshire　yeoman。　A　sign　was　made　to　him：　he　was　allowed　to　speak　to　me；　about　the　bull　but　nothing　else。　How　the　words　poured　from　those　silent　lips；　jumbled；　incoherent　at　first；　then　growing　clearer　as　the　habit　of　speech　returned　to　him。　The　broad　Yorkshire　accent　and　the　familiar　terms　of　farm　life　sounded　bizarre　in　those　surroundings　as　he　sang　the　praises　of　his　bull。
Another　sign　and　he　was　silent。　We　returned　and　were　served　with　a　bountiful　meal　and　most　hospitably　attended。　Then　came　the　farewell。　I　shook　Sheil’s　hand　and　looked　into　his　patient　eyes。　The　door　clanged　to　behind　us。　It　was　our　last　meeting　in　the　world。
A　letter　written　by　him　a　few　days　later　shows　something　of　the　state　of　mind　excited　in　him　by　our　visit。　It　is　dated　September　8；　1880；　over　thirty…one　years　ago。
I　had　intended　asking　you　about　the　photographs　you　promised；　but　duly　forgot　them；　I　hope　you　will　not　do　so。　There　were　other　things　too　which　I　had　intended　saying；　but　I　suppose　the　flurry　of　first　meeting　obfuscated　my　memory。　It　takes　time　to　get　into　one’s　old　swing；　and　I　generally　feel　awkward　at　first　meeting　with　people　I　have　known　well　after　a　long　absence；　there　are　so　many　things　to　say；　so　many　memories；　that　one　does　not　know　where　to　begin；　and　flies　from　one　thing　to　another　in　a　most　unsatisfactory　way。　What　made　it　worse　in　our　case　was　that　we　were　both　in　new　circumstances；　and　that　you　had　not　bee　reconciled　to　mine。　I　feel　ashamed　at　all　the　trouble　and　expense　you　have　been　at　to　e　and　see　me；　I　wish　I　could　show　my　gratitude　better　than　by　words；　but　it　is　hard　to　see　in　what　I　could　be　of　use　to　you；　if　however　there　is　ever　anything　I　could　do；　and　you　let　me　know；　I　will。　Perhaps　when　you　e　back　again；　if　you　have　not　had　enough　of　it；　if　you　will　e　and　see　me　we　will　arrange　things　much　better。
I　wish　you　and　your　wife　all　happiness；　I　think　I　said　it　was　a　poor　affection　which　only　wished　for　its　object　happiness　for　fifty　years　or　so　of　this　life；　and　what　I　wish　is　that　we　may　all　go　home　together　and　be　together　always。　Remember　me　to　Walsh　and　to　poor　Norris。
I　remain；　affectionately　yours；
Brother　Basil。
Where　would　a　letter　find　you　in　Africa？
Something　less　than　two　years　have　gone　by　and　I　find　another　letter　in　answer　to　one　of　mine　written　on　my　second　return　from　South　Africa　owing　to　events　which　I　hope　to　describe　in　due　course。　It　is　dated　Mount　St。　Bernard’s　Abbey；　June　4；　1882。
I　was　glad　to　get　a　letter　from　you　of　the　old　length　if　in　a　new　vein。　I　am　sorry　you　have　been　obliged　to　leave　Africa；　though　I　confess　I　think　your　new　profession　＇that　of　the　Bar。　—　H。　R。　H。＇　more　in　your　line　than　developing　ostrich　plumes。　I　suppose　at　the　Cape　there