“My son, tell me what would give you pleasure.”
“Nothing. Father, I’m tired. Really nothing—except to flee away and be at rest.”
“My son, that is actually the longing of your soul for God whatever. Cultivate that longing, oh cultivate it with all your powers. It will lead you to love Him; and then your longing will be satisfied, for God is love, as St. John tells us. Thank Him with all your heart for this great gift of longing: besiege Him day and night for an increase of it. At the same time, remember the words of Christ our Saviour, how He said, ‘If ye love Me, keep My Commandments.’ Remember that He definitely commands you to love your neighbour, ‘This is My Commandment, that ye love one another as I have loved you.’ Mortify those keen senses of that vile body, which by God’s grace you are already moved to despise. In the words of St. Paul, keep it under and bring it into subjection. And do try to love your neighbour. Lay yourself out to be his servant: for Love is Service. Serve the servants of God; and you will learn to love God; and His servants for His sake. You have tasted the pleasures of the world, and they are as ashes in your mouth. You say that there is nothing to give you pleasure. That is a good sign. Cultivate that detachment from the world which is but for a moment and then passeth away. In the tremendous dignity to which you are about to be called—the dignity of the priesthood—be ever mindful of the vanity of worldly things. As a priest, you will be subject to fiercer temptations than those which assault you now. Brace up the great natural strength of your will to resist them. Continue to despise yourself. Begin to love your neighbour. Continue—yes, continue—unconsciously, but soon consciously, to love God. My son, the key to all your difficulties, present and to come, is Love. … For your penance you will say—well, the penance for minor orders is rather long—for your penance you will say the Divine Praises with the celebrant after mass. Now renew your sorrow for all your past sins, and say after me, ‘O my God—because by my sins I have deserved hell—and have lost my claim to heaven—I am truly sorry that I have offended Thee—and I firmly resolve—by Thy Grace—to avoid sin for the time to come.—O my God—because Thou art infinitely Good—and Most Worthy of all love—I grieve from my heart for having sinned against Thee—and I purpose—by Thy Grace—never more to offend Thee for the time to come’ … ego te absolvo ✠ in Nomine Patris et Filj et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. Go in peace and pray for me.”
When, a couple of hours later, George actually found himself doorkeeper, reader, exorcist, and acolyth, he noted also with some exasperation that he was in his usual nasty morning temper. He sat down to breakfast with the cardinal and the bishop in anything but a cheerful frame of mind. They had said a few civil kind-like words to him after the ceremonies: ad multos annos and a sixpenny rosary emanated from his new ordinary: but, in the refectory, they left him to himself while they ate their eggs-and-bacon discussing the news of the day. He chose a cup of coffee, and soaked some fingers of toast in it. His idea was to bring himself into harmony with his novel environment. Environment meant so much to him. Now, he no longer was an irresponsible vagrant atom, floating in the void at his own will, or driven into the wilderness by some irresistible human cyclone: but an officer of a potent corporation, subject to rule, a man under authority. His pose was to be as simple and innocuous as possible, alertly to wait for orders; and, at the present moment, to win a merit from a contemplation of the honour which was his in being received as a guest at the cardinalitial table. He turned his head to the left, wondering whether mere accident had placed him at His Eminency’s right hand where the light from the window fell full upon him. He studied the singularly distinct features of his diocesan, who was reading from the Times of the outbreak of revolution in France, where General Andrè’s army-reforms of 1902, the blatant scandalous venality of Combes and Pelletan, and the influence of that frightful society of schoolboys called Les Frères de la Côte, had thrown the military power into the hands of Jaurès and his anarchists, revived the Commune, and broken off diplomatic relations with the Powers. Dreadful! His Eminency feared that he would be obliged to return to Rome by the sea-route, unless, perhaps, he could go comfortably through Germany. Oh, very dreadful!
George listened, regretting that he had not the paper and a cigarette all to himself: but the coffee was not bad; and the ponderous irritation of his matutinal headache was disappearing. He took another cup. He remembered how he had laughed at an Occ. Note in the Pall Mall Gazette some few months before, to the effect that the old
