Three More John Silence Stories | Page 8

with a sharp effort and entered into the
conversation that had begun again to buzz round him. Moreover, he
entered into it with keen pleasure, for the Brothers--there were perhaps
a dozen of them in the little room--treated him with a charm of manner
that speedily made him feel one of themselves. This, again, was a very
subtle delight to him. He felt that he had stepped out of the greedy,
vulgar, self-seeking world, the world of silk and markets and
profit-making--stepped into the cleaner atmosphere where spiritual
ideals were paramount and life was simple and devoted. It all charmed
him inexpressibly, so that he realised--yes, in a sense--the degradation
of his twenty years' absorption in business. This keen atmosphere under
the stars where men thought only of their souls, and of the souls of
others, was too rarefied for the world he was now associated with. He
found himself making comparisons to his own
disadvantage,--comparisons with the mystical little dreamer that had
stepped thirty years before from the stern peace of this devout
community, and the man of the world that he had since become,--and
the contrast made him shiver with a keen regret and something like
self-contempt.
He glanced round at the other faces floating towards him through

tobacco smoke--this acrid cigar smoke he remembered so well: how
keen they were, how strong, placid, touched with the nobility of great
aims and unselfish purposes. At one or two he looked particularly. He
hardly knew why. They rather fascinated him. There was something so
very stern and uncompromising about them, and something, too, oddly,
subtly, familiar, that yet just eluded him. But whenever their eyes met
his own they held undeniable welcome in them; and some held more--a
kind of perplexed admiration, he thought, something that was between
esteem and deference. This note of respect in all the faces was very
flattering to his vanity.
Coffee was served presently, made by a black-haired Brother who sat
in the corner by the piano and bore a marked resemblance to Bruder
Schliemann, the musical director of thirty years ago. Harris exchanged
bows with him when he took the cup from his white hands, which he
noticed were like the hands of a woman. He lit a cigar, offered to him
by his neighbour, with whom he was chatting delightfully, and who, in
the glare of the lighted match, reminded him sharply for a moment of
Bruder Pagel, his former room-master.
"Es ist wirklich merkwürdig," he said, "how many resemblances I see,
or imagine. It is really very curious!"
"Yes," replied the other, peering at him over his coffee cup, "the spell
of the place is wonderfully strong. I can well understand that the old
faces rise before your mind's eye--almost to the exclusion of ourselves
perhaps."
They both laughed presently. It was soothing to find his mood
understood and appreciated. And they passed on to talk of the mountain
village, its isolation, its remoteness from worldly life, its peculiar
fitness for meditation and worship, and for spiritual development--of a
certain kind.
"And your coming back in this way, Herr Harris, has pleased us all so
much," joined in the Bruder on his left. "We esteem you for it most
highly. We honour you for it."

Harris made a deprecating gesture. "I fear, for my part, it is only a very
selfish pleasure," he said a trifle unctuously.
"Not all would have had the courage," added the one who resembled
Bruder Pagel.
"You mean," said Harris, a little puzzled, "the disturbing memories--?"
Bruder Pagel looked at him steadily, with unmistakable admiration and
respect. "I mean that most men hold so strongly to life, and can give up
so little for their beliefs," he said gravely.
The Englishman felt slightly uncomfortable. These worthy men really
made too much of his sentimental journey. Besides, the talk was getting
a little out of his depth. He hardly followed it.
"The worldly life still has some charms for me," he replied smilingly,
as though to indicate that sainthood was not yet quite within his grasp.
"All the more, then, must we honour you for so freely coming," said the
Brother on his left; "so unconditionally!"
A pause followed, and the silk merchant felt relieved when the
conversation took a more general turn, although he noted that it never
travelled very far from the subject of his visit and the wonderful
situation of the lonely village for men who wished to develop their
spiritual powers and practise the rites of a high worship. Others joined
in, complimenting him on his knowledge of the language, making him
feel utterly at his ease, yet at the same time a little uncomfortable by
the excess of their admiration. After all, it was such a very small thing
to do, this sentimental journey.