the days of my life

第27部分 (第6/7頁)

d　some　curious　affinity。　As　he　himself　remarks；　it　is　strange　that　a　man　of　his　pleasure…loving　nature　and　somewhat　sardonic　vein　of　humour　should　have　bee　a　Trappist　monk　and　been　well　pleased　with　his　choice。　To　use　his　own　words；　this　is　indeed　a　mystery；　one　of　those　mysteries　which　appear　to　suggest　that　the　human　heart　is　much　wider　than　it　seems。　We　see　the　point　of　an　iceberg　floating　on　the　ocean　and　are　apt　to　forget　that　hidden　in　its　depths　is　a　vast；　unsuspected　bulk。　So　it　may　be　with　the　nature　of　man。　We　perceive　its　visible　portion；　we　think　we　know　it；　we　sum　it　up　and　declare　that　its　character　is　this　or　that。　Nay；　more；　we　declare　it　of　our　own　natures　wherewith　we　should　be　well　acquainted。　And　yet　deep　in　the　ocean　of　being　floats　the　real　nature；　unmeasured；　unsuspected；　till　perhaps；　in　some　cataclysm　of　the　soul；　not　all　but　a　new　portion　of　it　is　revealed；　and　that　which　was　familiar　is　submerged。　Is　every　individuality　in　truth　multiple？　Are　reincarnationists　right　when　they　assert　that　only　a　part　of　it　bees　active　in　this　world　at　one　time　—　a　part　that　we　think　the　whole？　Who　can　tell？

It　was　a　hard　and　dreadful　life　that　he　led；　if　measured　by　our　standards；　how　hard　only　those　who　are　familiar　with　the　rules　of　the　Trappists　will　rightly　know。　Yet　even　in　these　iron　bonds　his　native　ability　asserted　itself；　for　just　as　he　died　he　rose　to　high　office　in　the　Order　while　still　a　young　man；　though　now；　after　eighteen　years　of　silence　more　plete　even　than　that　in　which　he　dwelt；　probably　he　is　forgotten。　Others　pray　where　he　prayed；　think　what　he　thought　and　fast　as　he　fasted；　till；　worn　out　by　privation　and　by　the　burning　fire　of　spiritual　ardour；　they　join　him　in　his　unrecorded　grave。　So　it　has　ever　been　with　spirits　like　his　own。　In