And
then, during all my earlier years at the monastery, we had an Abbe who
was quick to understand the characters and dispositions of men--Dom
Andre Herceline. He knew me far better than I knew myself. He knew,
what I did not suspect, that I was full of sleeping violence, that in my
purity and devotion--or beneath it rather--there was a strong strain of
barbarism. The Russian was sleeping in the monk, but sleeping soundly.
That can be. Half a man's nature, if all that would call to it is
carefully kept from it, may sleep, I believe, through all his life. He
might die and never have known, or been, what all the time he was.
For years it was so with me. I knew only part of myself, a real vivid
part--but only a part. I thought it was the whole. And while I thought
it was the whole I was happy. If Dom Andre Herceline had not died, today
I should be a monk at El-Largani, ignorant of what I know, contented.
"He never allowed me to come into any sort of contact with the many
strangers who visited the monastery. Different monks have different
duties. Certain duties bring monks into connection with the travellers
whom curiosity sends to El-Largani.
Pages:
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783