Then the prior began to suffer the agonies of the disease, terrible pains shot through his head and neck; he could not swallow. It was a slow starvation; the torment kept him awake through night after night, and only occasionally his very exhaustion gave him a little relief so that he slept. Thinner and thinner he became, and his whole mouth was turned into a putrid, horrible sore. But yet he never murmured. Brother Jasper knelt by his bed, looking at him pitifully.
'How can you suffer it all? What have you done that God should give you this? Was it not enough that you were blind?'
'Ah, I saw such beautiful things after I became blind--all heaven appeared before me.'
'It is unjust--unjust!'
'My son, all is just.'
'You drive me mad!... Do you still believe in the merciful goodness of God?'
A beautiful smile broke through the pain on the old man's face.
'I still believe in the merciful goodness of God!'
There was a silence. Brother Jasper buried his face in his hands and thought brokenheartedly of his own affliction. How happy he could be if he had that faith.... But the silence in the room was more than the silence of people who did not speak. Jasper looked up suddenly.
The prior was dead.
Then the monk bent over the body and looked at the face into the opaque white eyes; there was no difference, the flesh was warm--everything was just the same, and yet ... and yet he was dead. What did they mean by saying the soul had fled? What had happened? Jasper understood nothing of it. And afterwards, before the funeral, when he looked at the corpse again, and it was cold and a horrible blackness stained the lips, he felt sure.
Brother Jasper could not believe in the resurrection of the dead. And the soul--what did they mean by the soul?
IV
Then a great loneliness came over him; the hours of his life seemed endless, and there was no one in whom he could find comfort. The prior had given him a ray of hope, but he was gone, and now Jasper was alone in the world.... And beyond? Oh! how could one be certain? It was awful this perpetual doubt, recurring more strongly than ever. Men had believed so long. Think of all the beautiful churches that had been made in the honour of God, and the pictures. Think of the works that had been done for his love, the martyrs who had cheerfully given up their lives. It seemed impossible that it should be all for nothing. But--but Jasper could not believe. And he cried out to the soul of the prior, resting in heaven, to come to him and help him. Surely, if he really were alive again, he would not let the poor monk whom he had loved linger in this terrible uncertainty. Jasper redoubled his prayers; for hours he remained on his knees, imploring God to send him light.... But no light came, and exhausted Brother Jasper sank into despair.
The new prior was a tall, gaunt man, with a great hooked nose and heavy lips; his keen, dark eyes shone fiercely from beneath his shaggy brows. He was still young, full of passionate energy. And with large gesture and loud, metallic voice he loved to speak of hell-fire and the pains of the damned, hating the Jews and heretics with a bitter personal hatred.
'To the stake!' he used to say. 'The earth must be purged of this vermin, and it must be purged by fire.'
He exacted the most absolute obedience from the monks, and pitiless was the punishment for any infringement of his rules.... Brother Jasper feared the man with an almost unearthly terror; when he felt resting upon him the piercing black eyes, he trembled in his seat, and a cold sweat broke out over him. If the prior knew--the thought almost made him faint. And yet the fear of it seemed to drag him on; like a bird before a serpent, he was fascinated. Sometimes he felt sudden impulses to tell him--but the vengeful eyes terrified him.
One day he was in the cloister, looking out at the little green plot in the middle where the monks were buried, wondering confusedly whether all that prayer and effort had been offered up to empty images of what--of the fear of Man? Turning round, he started back and his heart beat, for the prior was standing close by, looking at him with those horrible eyes. Brother Jasper trembled so that he could scarcely stand; he looked down.
'Brother Jasper!' The prior's voice seemed sterner than it had ever been before. 'Brother Jasper!'
'Father!'
'What have you to tell me?'
Jasper looked up at him; the blood fled from his lips.
'Nothing, my father!' The prior looked at him firmly, and Jasper thought he read the inmost secrets of his heart.
'Speak, Brother Jasper!' said the prior, and his voice was loud and menacing.
Then hurriedly, stuttering in his anxiety, the monk confessed his misery.... A horror came over the prior's face as he listened, and Jasper became so terrified that he could hardly speak; but the prior seemed to recover himself, and interrupted him with a furious burst of anger.
'You look over the plain and do not see God, and for that you doubt Him? Miserable fool!'
'Oh, father, have mercy on me! I have tried so hard. I want to believe. But I cannot.'
'I cannot! I cannot! What is that? Have men believed for a thousand years--has God performed miracle after miracle--and a miserable monk dares to deny Him?'
'I cannot believe!'
'You must!' His voice was so loud that it rang through the cloisters. He seized Jasper's clasped hands, raised in supplication before him, and forced him to his knees. 'I tell you, you shall believe!'
Quivering with wrath, he looked at the prostrate form at his feet, moved by convulsive weeping. He raised his hand as if to strike the monk, but with difficulty contained himself.
