Page:Poet Lore, volume 21, 1910.djvu/434

 and especially to those who during their lives have always had enough time to meditate about themselves—is given as a recompense for their inactive past, an insight as clear as of summer nights when the most distant things are in view. I was never a religious fanatic, although even if I had taken up a different calling I would have never ceased to be a believer. To your mother I do not dare to talk about these things at all. She considers priests as the incarnation of religious belief—because she never heard of anything else. To her we are the living embodiment of faith, the assurance of the nearness of her God. But, believe me, He exists even without us and our preaching. (Pause.) You are surprised, Petr, isn’t it so, that a priest should talk in this way? I, your former instructor, your guardian, the very priest whose hand led you into the service of the Church.

Petr.—Frankly, uncle, while I listen to you I feel the strangeness of your talk. But it seems to me that I understand you well—at least, it seems so to me. I comprehend your situation more through feeling than reason. Indeed, my reason has not been given the opportunity to pursue an independent path of its own liking—but had to follow the clerical path. I see now that in the Church it is very much as it is in the Army. Those who enter must leave reason and independence behind them. You are not to think—but to believe. Believe me, I would have perhaps rebelled against my mother’s commands had it not been for you and for the example you have set. Your loyalty in everything, in work, in the love of your kindred amidst this graveyard solitude of a country parsonage, gave me confidence that I also would be able to fulfil my mother’s wish—and that I will be strong enough to kill all bolder hopes and dreams of young ambition.

Matoush.—You are a good boy, Petr, and I would even say that you are a worthy man, were it not that I myself wish often that men would and should be stronger than we both are. May God strengthen and protect you. (Patting him lightly.) And don’t blame your old uncle, my dear fellow, if he talked to you as a priest ought not talk. (Gets up.) But let’s come, come—maminka has most likely just as much as we forgot about the meal. (Goes a few steps and calls out.) Well, Marianka, aren’t you going to invite us in?

Kocianova (on the threshold).—Please have patience. In a minute. The girl ran away on me somewhere and I had to chop a bit of wood myself. But come inside, it will soon be ready. (Goes into the