sat。
〃'That is the sky that roofs what you would have me believe a world of
shadows。 It is like the blood； the hot blood that flows and surges in
the veins of menin our veins。 Ah； but you are a monk！'
〃The way he said the last words made me feel suddenly a sense of
shame； Domini。 It was as if a man said to another man； 'You are not a
man。' Can youcan you understand the feeling I had just then？
Something hot and bitter was in me。 A sort of desperate sense of
nothingness came over me； as if I were a skeleton sitting there with
flesh and blood and trying to believe； and to make it believe； that I；
too； was and had been flesh and blood。
〃'Yes； thank God； I am a monk；' I answered quietly。
〃Something in my tone； I think； made him feel that he had been brutal。
〃'I am a brute and a fool；' he said vehemently。 'But it is always so
with me。 I always feel as if what I want others must want。 I always
feel universal。 It's folly。 You have your vocation； I mine。 Yours is
to pray； mine is to live。'
〃Again I was conscious of the bitterness。 I tried to put it from me。
〃'Prayer is life；' I answered； 'to me； to us who are here。'
〃'Prayer！ Can it be？ Can it be vivid as the life of experience； as the
life that teaches one the truth of men and women； the truth of
creationjoy； sorrow； aspiration； lust； ambition of the intellect and
the limbs？ Prayer'
〃'It is time for me to go；' I said。 'Are you coming to the chapel？'
〃'Yes；' he answered almost eagerly。 'I shall look down on you from my
lonely gallery。 Perhaps I shall be able to feel the life of prayer。'
〃'May it be so；' I said。
〃But I think I spoke without confidence； and I know that that evening
I prayed without impulse； coldly； mechanically。 The long； dim chapel；
with its lines of monks facing each other in their stalls； seemed to
me a sad place； like a valley of dry bonesfor the first time； for
the first time。
〃I ought to have gone on the morrow to the Reverend Pere。 I ought to
have asked him； begged him to remove me from the /hotellerie/。 I ought
to have foreseen what was comingthat this man had a strength to live
greater than my strength to pray； that his strength might overcome
mine。 I began to sin that night。 Curiosity was alive in me； curiosity
about the life that I had never known； wasso I believed； so I
thought I knewnever to know。
〃When I came out of the chapel into the /hotellerie/ I met our guest
I do not say his name。 What would be the use？in the corridor。 It was
almost dark。 There were ten minutes before the time for locking up the
door and going to bed。 Francois； the servant； was asleep under the
arcade。
〃'Shall we go on to the path and have a last breath of air？' the
stranger said。
〃We stepped out and walked slowly up and down。
〃'Do you not feel the beauty of peace？' I asked。
〃I wanted him to say yes。 I wanted him to tell me that peace；
tranquillity； were beautiful。 He did not reply for a moment。 I heard
him sigh heavily。
〃'If there is peace in the world at all；' he said at length； 'it is
only to be found with the human being one loves。 With the human being
one loves one might find peace in hell。'
〃We did not speak again before we parted for the night。
〃Domini； I did not sleep at all that night。 It was the first of many
sleepless nights； nights in which my thoughts travelled like winged
Furieshorrible； horrible nights。 In them I strove to imagine all the
stranger knew by experience。 It was like a ghastly； physical effort。 I
strove to conceive of all that he had donewith the view； I told
myself at first； of bringing myself to a greater contentment； of
realising how worthless was all that I had rejected and that he had
grasped at。 In the dark I； as it were； spread out his map of life and
mine and examined them。 When； still in the dark； I rose to go to the
chapel I was exhausted。 I felt unutterably melancholy。 That was at
first。 Presently I felt an active； gnawing hunger。 ButbutI have
not come to that yet。 This strange； new melancholy was the forerunner。
It was a melancholy that seemed to be caused by a sense of frightful
loneliness such as I had never previously experienced。 Till now I had
almost always felt God with me； and that He was enough。 Now； suddenly；
I began to feel that I was alone。 I kept thinking of the stranger's
words： 'If there is peace in the world at all it is only to be found
with the human being one loves。'
〃'That is false；' I said to myself again and again。 'Peace is only to
be found by close union with God。 In that I have found peace for many；
many years。'
〃I knew that I had been at peace。 I knew that I had been happy。 And
yet； when I looked back upon my life as a novice and a monk； I now
felt as if I had been happy vaguely； foolishly； bloodlessly； happy
only because I had been ignorant of what real happiness wasnot
really happy。 I thought of a bird born in a cage and singing there。 I
had been as that bird。 And then； when I was in the garden； I looked at
the swallows winging their way high in the sunshine； between the
garden trees and the radiant blue； winging their way towards sea and
mountains and plains； and that bitterness； like an acid that burns and
eats away fine metal； was once more at my heart。
〃But the sensation of loneliness was the most terrible of all。 I
compared union with God； such as I thought I had known； with that
other union spoken of by my guestunion with the human being one
loves。 I set the two unions as it were in comparison。 Night after
night I did this。 Night after night I told over the joys of union with
Godjoys which I dared to think I had knownand the joys of union
with a loved human being。 On the one side I thought of the drawing
near to God in prayer； of the sensation of approach that comes with
earnest prayer； of the feeling that ears are listening to you； that
the great heart is loving you； the great heart that loves all living
things； that you are being absolutely understood； that all you cannot
say is comprehended； and all you say is received as something
precious。 I recalled the joy； the exaltation； that I had known when I
prayed。 That was union with God。 In such union I had sometimes felt
that the world； with all that it contained of wickedness； suffering
and death； was utterly devoid of power to sadden or alarm the humblest
human being who was able to draw near to God。
〃I had had a conquering feelingnot proudas of one upborne；
protected for ever； lifted to a region in which no enemy could ever
be； no sadness； no faint anxiety even。
〃Then I strove to imagineand this； Domini； was surely a deliberate
sinexactly what it must be to be united with a beloved human being。
I strove and I was able。 For not only did instinct help me； instinct
that had been long asleep； butI have told you that the stranger was
suffering under an obsession； a terrible dominion。 This dominion he
described to me with an openness that perhapsthat indeed I believe
he would not have shown had I not been a monk。 He looked upon me as a
being apart； neither man nor woman； a being without sex。 I am sure he
did。 And yet he was immensely intelligent。 But he knew that I had
entered the monastery as a novice； that I had been there through all
my adult life。 And then my manner probably assisted him in his
illusion。 For I gaveI believeno sign of the change that was taking
place within me under his influence。 I seemed to be calm； detached；
even in my sympathy for his suffering。 For he suffered frightfully。
This woman he loved was a Parisian； he told me。 He described her
beauty to me； as if in order to excuse himself for having become the
slave to her he was。 I suppose she was very beautiful。 He said that
she had a physical charm so intense that few men could resist it； that
she was famous throughout Europe for it。 He told me that she was not a
good woman。 I gathered that she lived for pleasure； admiration； that
she had allowed many men to love her before he knew her。 But she had
loved him genuinely。 She was not a very young woman； and she was not a
married woman。 He said that she was a woman men loved but did not
marry； a woman who was loved by the husbands of married women； a woman
to marry whom would exclude a man from the society of good women。 She
had never lived； or thought of living； for one man till he came into
her life。 Nor had he ever dreamed of living for one woman。 He had
lived to gain experience； she too。 But when he met herknowing
thoroughly all she wasall other women ceased to exist for him。 He
became her slave。 Then jealousy awoke in him； jealousy of all the men
who had been in her life； who might be in her life again。 He was
tortured by loving such a womana woman who had belonged to many； who
would no doubt in the future belong to others。 For despite the fact
that she loved him he told me that at first he had no illusions about
her。 He knew the world too well for that； and he cursed the fate that
had bound him body and soul to what he called a courtesan。 Even the
fact that she loved him at first did not blind him to the effect upon
character that her life must inevitably have had。 She had dwelt in an
atmosphere of lies； he said； and to lie was nothing to her。 Any
original refin