The Poetical Works of George MacDonald, vol 1 | Page 5

me! But, so, this his will Has no existence till that I
believe; And there is nothing for my faith to rest on, No object for
belief. How can I trust In that which is not? Send the salad, Cosmo.
Besides, 'twould be a plenary indulgence; To all intents save one, most
plenary-- And that the Church's coffer. 'Tis absurd.
Monk. 'Tis most absurd, as you have clearly shown. And yet I fear
some of us have been nibbling At this same heresy. 'Twere well that
one Should find it poison. I have no pique at him-- But there's that
Julian!--
Stephen. Hush! speak lower, friend.
Two Monks _farther down the table--in a low tone_.

_1st Monk_. Where did you find her?
_2nd Monk_. She was taken ill At the Star-in-the-East. I chanced to
pass that way, And so they called me in. I found her dying. But ere she
would confess and make her peace, She begged to know if I had ever
seen, About this neighbourhood, a tall dark man, Moody and silent,
with a little stoop As if his eyes were heavy for his shoulders, And a
strange look of mingled youth and age,--
_1st Monk_. Julian, by--
_2nd Monk_. 'St--no names! I had not seen him. I saw the death-mist
gathering in her eyes, And urged her to proceed; and she began; But
went not far before delirium came, With endless repetitions, hurryings
forward, Recoverings like a hound at fault. The past Was running riot
in her conquered brain; And there, with doors thrown wide, a motley
group Held carnival; went freely out and in, Meeting and jostling. But
withal it seemed As some confused tragedy went on; Till suddenly the
light sank, and the pageant Was lost in darkness; the chambers of her
brain Lay desolate and silent. I can gather So much, and little
more:--This Julian Is one of some distinction; probably rich, And titled
Count. He had a love-affair, In good-boy, layman fashion, seemingly.--
Give me the woman; love is troublesome!-- She loved him too, but
falsehood came between, And used this woman for her minister; Who
never would have peached, but for a witness Hidden behind some
curtain in her heart-- An unsuspected witness called Sir Conscience,
Who has appeared and blabbed--but must conclude His story to some
double-ghostly father, For she is ghostly penitent by this. Our
consciences will play us no such tricks; They are the Church's, not our
own. We must Keep this small matter secret. If it should Come to his
ears, he'll soon bid us good-bye-- A lady's love before ten heavenly
crowns! And so the world will have the benefit Of the said wealth of
his, if such there be. I have told you, old Godfrey; I tell none else Until
our Abbot comes.
_1st Monk_. That is to-morrow.
_Another group near the bottom of the table, in which is_ ROBERT.

_1st Monk_. 'Tis very clear there's something wrong with him. Have
you not marked that look, half scorn, half pity, Which passes like a
thought across his face, When he has listened, seeming scarce to listen,
A while to our discourse?--he never joins.
_2nd Monk_. I know quite well. I stood beside him once, Some of the
brethren near; Stephen was talking: He chanced to say the words, Our
Holy Faith. "Their faith indeed, poor fools!" fell from his lips,
Half-muttered, and half-whispered, as the words Had wandered forth
unbidden. I am sure He is an atheist at the least.
_3rd Monk (pale-faced and large-eyed_). And I Fear he is something
worse. I had a trance In which the devil tempted me: the shape Was
Julian's to the very finger-nails. _Non nobis, Domine_! I overcame. I
am sure of one thing--music tortures him: I saw him once, amid the
_Gloria Patri_, When the whole chapel trembled in the sound, Rise
slowly as in ecstasy of pain, And stretch his arms abroad, and clasp his
hands, Then slowly, faintingly, sink on his knees.
_2nd Monk_. He does not know his rubric; stands when others Are
kneeling round him. I have seen him twice With his missal upside
down.
_4th Monk (plethoric and husky_). He blew his nose Quite loud on last
Annunciation-day, And choked our Lady's name in the Abbot's throat.
Robert. When he returns, we must complain; and beg He'll take such
measures as the case requires.
SCENE III.--_Julian's cell. An open chest. The lantern on a stool, its
candle nearly burnt out_. JULIAN _lying on his bed, looking at the
light_.
Julian. And so all growth that is not toward God Is growing to decay.
All increase gained Is but an ugly, earthy, fungous growth. 'Tis
aspiration as that wick aspires, Towering above the light it overcomes,
But ever sinking with the dying flame. O let