the garden of allah-第63部分

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stood　in　the　centre　of　the　room；　bent　forward　and　stared　before　him　at
the　wall　opposite；　listening　to　the　howling　of　the　wind。

Father　Roubier　had　an　almost　passionate　affection　for　his　little
church　of　Beni…Mora。　So　long　and　ardently　had　he　prayed　and　taught　in
it；　so　often　had　he　passed　the　twilight　hours　in　it　alone　wrapped　in
religious　reveries；　or　searching　his　conscience　for　the　shadows　of
sinful　thoughts；　that　it　had　become　to　him　as　a　friend；　and　more　than
a　friend。　He　thought　of　it　sometimes　as　his　confessor　and　sometimes　as
his　child。　Its　stones　were　to　him　as　flesh　and　blood；　its　altars　as
lips　that　whispered　consolation　in　answer　to　his　prayers。　The　figures
of　its　saints　were　heavenly　companions。　In　its　ugliness　he　perceived
only　beauty；　in　its　tawdriness　only　the　graces　that　are　sweet
offerings　to　God。　The　love　that；　had　he　not　been　a　priest；　he　might
have　given　to　a　woman　he　poured　forth　upon　his　church；　and　with　it
that　other　love　which；　had　it　been　the　design　of　his　Heavenly　Father；
would　have　fitted　him　for　the　ascetic；　yet　impassioned；　life　of　an
ardent　and　devoted　monk。　To　defend　this　consecrated　building　against
outrage　he　would；　without　hesitation；　have　given　his　last　drop　of
blood。　And　now　he　was　to　perform　in　it　an　act　against　which　his　whole
nature　revolted；　he　was　to　join　indissolubly　the　lives　of　these　two
strangers　who　had　come　to　Beni…MoraDomini　Enfilden　and　Boris
Androvsky。　He　was　to　put　on　the　surplice　and　white　stole；　to　say　the
solemn　and　irreparable　〃Ego　Jungo；〃　to　sprinkle　the　ring　with　holy
water　and　bless　it。

As　he　sat　there　alone；　listening　to　the　howling　of　the　storm　outside；
he　went　mentally　through　the　coming　ceremony。　He　thought　of　the
wonderful　grace　and　beauty　of　the　prayers　of　benediction；　and　it
seemed　to　him　that　to　pronounce　them　with　his　lips；　while　his　nature
revolted　against　his　own　utterance；　was　to　perform　a　shameful　act；　was
to　offer　an　insult　to　this　little　church　he　loved。

Yet　how　could　he　help　performing　this　act？　He　knew　that　he　would　do
it。　Within　a　few　minutes　he　would　be　standing　before　the　altar；　he
would　be　looking　into　the　faces　of　this　man　and　woman　whose　love　he
was　called　upon　to　consecrate。　He　would　consecrate　it；　and　they　would
go　out　from　him　into　the　desert　man　and　wife。　They　would　be　lost　to
his　sight　in　the　town。

His　eye　fell　upon　a　silver　crucifix　that　was　hanging　upon　the　wall　in
front　of　him。　He　was　not　a　very　imaginative　man；　not　a　man　given　to
fancies；　a　dreamer　of　dreams　more　real　to　him　than　life；　or　a　seer　of
visions。　But　to…day　he　was　stirred；　and　perhaps　the　unwonted　turmoil
of　his　mind　acted　subtly　upon　his　nervous　system。　Afterward　he　felt
certain　that　it　must　have　been　so；　for　in　no　other　way　could　he
account　for　a　fantasy　that　beset　him　at　this　moment。

As　he　looked　at　the　crucifix　there　came　against　the　church　a　more
furious　beating　of　the　wind；　and　it　seemed　to　him　that　the　Christ　upon
the　crucifix　shuddered。

He　saw　it　shudder。　He　started；　leaned　across　the　table　and　stared　at
the　crucifix　with　eyes　that　were　full　of　an　amazement　that　was　mingled
with　horror。　Then　he　got　up；　crossed　the　room　and　touched　the　crucifix
with　his　finger。　As　he　did　so；　the　acolyte；　whose　duty　it　was　to　help
him　to　robe；　knocked　at　the　sacristy　door。　The　sharp　noise　recalled
him　to　himself。　He　knew　that　for　the　first　time　in　his　life　he　had
been　the　slave　of　an　optical　delusion。　He　knew　it；　and　yet　he　could
not　banish　the　feeling　that　God　himself　was　averse　from　the　act　that
he　was　on　the　point　of　committing　in　this　church　that　confronted
Islam；　that　God　himself　shuddered　as　surely　even　He；　the　Creator；　must
shudder　at　some　of　the　actions　of　his　creatures。　And　this　feeling
added　immensely　to　the　distress　of　the　priest's　mind。　In　performing
this　ceremony　he　now　had　the　dreadful　sensation　that　he　was　putting
himself　into　direct　antagonism　with　God。　His　instinctive　horror　of
Androvsky　had　never　been　so　great　as　it　was　to…day。　In　vain　he　had
striven　to　conquer　it；　to　draw　near　to　this　man　who　roused　all　the
repulsion　of　his　nature。　His　efforts　had　been　useless。　He　had　prayed
to　be　given　the　sympathy　for　this　man　that　the　true　Christian　ought　to
feel　towards　every　human　being；　even　the　most　degraded。　But　he　felt
that　his　prayers　had　not　been　answered。　With　every　day　his　antipathy
for　Androvsky　increased。　Yet　he　was　entirely　unable　to　ground　it　upon
any　definite　fact　in　Androvsky's　character。　He　did　not　know　that
character。　The　man　was　as　much　a　mystery　to　him　as　on　the　day　when
they　first　met。　And　to　this　living　mystery　from　which　his　soul
recoiled　he　was　about　to　consign；　with　all　the　beautiful　and　solemn
blessings　of　his　Church；　a　woman　whose　character　he　respected；　whose
innate　purity；　strength　and　nobility　he　had　quickly　divined；　and　no
less　quickly　learned　to　love。

It　was　a　bitter；　even　a　horrible；　moment　to　him。

The　little　acolyte；　a　French　boy；　son　of　the　postmaster　of　Beni…Mora；
was　startled　by　the　sight　of　the　Father's　face　when　he　opened　the
sacristy　door。　He　had　never　before　seen　such　an　expression　of　almost
harsh　pain　in　those　usually　kind　eyes；　and　he　drew　back　from　the
threshold　like　one　afraid。　His　movement　recalled　the　priest　to　a　sharp
consciousness　of　the　necessities　of　the　moment；　and　with　a　strong
effort　he　conquered　his　pain　sufficiently　to　conceal　all　outward
expression　of　it。　He　smiled　gently　at　the　little　boy　and　said：

〃Is　it　time？〃

The　child　looked　reassured。

〃Yes；　Father。〃

He　came　into　the　sacristy　and　went　towards　the　cupboard　where　the
vestments　were　kept；　passing　the　silver　crucifix。　As　he　did　so　he
glanced　at　it。　He　opened　the　cupboard；　then　stood　for　a　moment　and
again　turned　his　eyes　to　the　Christ。　The　Father　watched　him。

〃What　are　you　looking　at；　Paul？〃　he　asked。

〃Nothing；　Father；〃　the　boy　replied；　with　a　sudden　expression　of
reluctance　that　was　almost　obstinate。

And　he　began　to　take　the　priest's　robes　out　of　the　cupboard。

Just　then　the　wind　wailed　again　furiously　about　the　church；　and　the
crucifix　fell　down　upon　the　floor　of　the　sacristy。

The　priest　started　forward；　picked　it　up；　and　stood　with　it　in　his
hand。　He　glanced　at　the　wall；　and　saw　at　once　that　the　nail　to　which
the　crucifix　had　been　fastened　had　come　out　of　its　hole。　A　flake　of
plaster　had　been　detached；　perhaps　some　days　ago；　and　the　hole　had
become　too　large　to　retain　the　nail。　The　explanation　of　the　matter　was
perfect；　simple　and　comprehensible。　Yet　the　priest　felt　as　if　a
catastrophe　had　just　taken　place。　As　he　stared　at　the　cross　he　heard　a
little　noise　near　him。　The　acolyte　was　crying。

〃Why；　Paul；　what's　the　matter？〃　he　said。

〃Why　did　it　do　that？〃　exclaimed　the　boy；　as　if　alarmed。　〃Why　did　it　do
that？〃

〃Perhaps　it　was　the　wind。　Everything　is　shaking。　Come；　come；　my　child；
there　is　nothing　to　be　afraid　of。〃

He　laid　the　crucifix　on　the　table。　Paul　dried　his　eyes　with　his　fists。

〃I　don't　like　to…day；〃　he　said。　〃I　don't　like　to…day。〃

The　priest　patted　him　on　the　shoulder。

〃The　weather　has　upset　you；〃　he　said；　smiling。

But　the　nervous　behaviour　of　the　child　deepened　strangely　his　own
sense　of　apprehension。　When　he　had　robed　he　waited　for　the　arrival　of
the　bride　and　bridegroom。　There　was　to　be　no　mass；　and　no　music　except
the　Wedding　March；　which　the　harmonium　player；　a　Marseillais　employed
in　the　date…packing　trade；　insisted　on　performing　to　do　honour　to
Mademoiselle　Enfilden；　who　had　taken　such　an　interest　in　the　music　of
the　church。　Androvsky；　as　the　priest　had　ascertained；　had　been　brought
up　in　the　Catholic　religion；　but；　when　questioned；　he　had　said　quietly
that　he　was　no　longer　a　practising　Catholic　and　that　he　never　went　to
confession。　Under　these　circumstances　it　was　not　possible　to　have　a
nuptial　mass。　The　service　would　be　short　and　plain；　and　the　priest　was
glad　that　this　was　so。　Presently　the　harmonium　player　came　in。

〃I　may　play　my　loudest　to…day；　Father；〃　he　said；　〃but　no　one　will　hear
me。〃

He　laughed；　settled　the　pinJoan　of　Arc's　face　in　metalin　his　azure
blue　necktie；　and　added：

〃Nom　d'un　chien；　the　wind's　a　cruel　wedding　guest！〃

The　priest　nodded　without　speaking。

〃Would　you　believe；　Father；〃　the　man　continued；　〃that　Mademoiselle　and
her　husband　are　going　to　start　for　Arba　from　the　church　door　in　all
this　storm！　Batouch　is　getting　the　palanquin　on　to　the　camel。　How　they
will　ever〃

〃Hush！〃　said　the　priest；　holding　up　a　warning　finger。

This　idle　chatter　displeased　him　in　the　church；　but　he　had　another
reason　for　wishing　to　stop　the　conversation。　It　renewed　his　dread　to
hear　of　the　projected　journey；　and　made　him　see；　as　in　a　shadowy
vision；　Domini　Enfilden's　figure　disappearing　into　the　windy
desolation　of　the　desert　protected　by　the　living　mystery　he　hated。
Yes；　at　this　moment；　he　no　longer　denied　it　to　himself。　There　was
something　in　Androvsky　that　he　actually　hated　with　his　whole　soul；
hated　even　in　his　church；　at　the　very　threshold　of　the　altar　where
stood　the　tabernacle　containing　the　sacred　Host。　As　he　thoroughly
realised　this　for　a　moment　he　was　shocked　at　himself；　recoiled
mentally　from　his　own　feeling。　But　then　something　within　him　seemed　to
rise　up　and　say；　〃Perhaps　it　is　because　you　are　near　to　the　Host　that
you　hate　this　man。　Perhaps　you　are　right　to　hate　him　when　he　draws
nigh　to　the　body　of　Christ。〃

Nevertheless　when；　some　minutes　later；　he　stood　within　the　altar　rails
and　saw　the　face　of　Domini；　he　was　conscious　of　another　thought；　that
came　through　his　mind；　dark　with　doubt；　like　a　ray　of　gold：　〃Can　I　be
right　in　hating　what　this　good　womanthis　woman　whose　confession　I
have　received；　whose　heart　I　knowcan　I　be　right　in　hating　what　she
loves；　in　fearing　what　she　trusts；　in　secretly　condemning　what　she
openly　enthrones？〃　And　almost　in　despite　of　himself　he　felt　reassured
for　an　instant；　even　happy　in　the　thought　of　what　he　was　about　to　do。

Domini's　face　at　all　times　suggested　strength。　The　mental　and
emotional　power　of　her　were　forcibly　expressed；　too；　through　her　tall
and　athletic　body；　which　was　full　of　easy　grace；　but　full；　too；　of
well…knit　firmness。　To…day　she　looked　not　unlike　a　splendid　Amazon　who
could　have　been　a　splendid　nun　h