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ceased, his temptations were less frequent, and he could the contemplative Orders, who are practically buried alive bear them with impunity. This idea of convents in their in their monasteries and convents, is in any real sense compassion dragging him out of the mud in which he efficacious for the reduction of the temptations of mortals had stuck, and by their charity bringing him to the who are not cloistered from the world. Upon this subject bank, excited him. “The contemplative Orders,” said I have only to make one passing remark, viz., that the the abbé,“ are the lightning conductors of society" : recent investigations into the transference of pain by “They draw on themselves the demoniacal fluid, they

suggestion in the case of hypnotic subjects, and the absorb temptations to vice, preserve by their prayers thoso

evidence which is accumulating as to the potency of the who live, like ourselves, in sin; they appeas', in fact, the human will exercised consciously or unconsciously by wrath of the Most High that He may not place the earth means of telepathy, renders it no longer possible for any under an interdict. Ah! while the sisters who devote them one who has any familiarity with the phenomena of selves to nursing the sick and infirm are indeed admirable, Borderland to summarily disiniss this theory of convents their task is easy in comparison with that undertaken by the cloistered Orders, the Orders where penance never ceases,

as if it were pure moonshine. The power of intercessory and the very nights spent in bed are broken by sobs.”

prayers is recognised by all the Churches, but the possi

bility that unknown nuns in a remote province could Durtal is filled with admiration, and compares the be turned on, so to speak, to bear the burden of convents and monastic establishments in which theso

temptations which would otherwise overcome the cloistered victims live to the forts which defend a city resistance of an individual in Paris or elsewhere, is against the attack of the foe; they are as a cordon of doctrine which would be very interesting if it were spiritual forces which keep the Evil One at bay, and this

scientifically verified. But at present it may be noted, not only by the fervour of their prayers, but by tho whether true or untrue, it is that which occupies the severity of the regimen to which they subject them most prominent place in Huysmans”“ Pilgrim's Progress.” 8.lves :

Huysmans evidently attaches considerable importance to Their existence is so hard, that they too can atone by their the self-inflicted sufferings of the cloister. For instance, prayers and good works for the crimes of the city they protect. in speaking of the Benedictine nuns of the Blessed

The abbé lays great stress upon the doctrine of Sacrament of the Rue Mossier, he says: “It is said that substitution, although he hardly goes as far as Mr. they lead the most austere existence of any nuns; they Kegan Paul, who roundly declares in language that will scarcely taste flesh, they rise at two in the morning to sing cause every good Protestant to blaspheme, and mako matins, and lauds night and day, summer and winter many good Catholics deplore the indiscretion of the they take turns before the tapers of reparation and befor pbrase, that “the cloister is the divinely appointed the altar. Like all the other Orders, they are vowed to expiation for the sins of the world." The blessed obedience, absolute and without reserve, they are in the Lidwine, whose life Durtal aspired to write, was, hands of a superior like a block or the stalk of a Teo according to the Abbé Gévresin, the verification of that which has neither life, nor movement, nor action, or plan of substitution which was and is the glorious will, nor judgment." But," asks Durtal, "are there 106 reason for the existence of convents. The abbé said : some moments in which the nuns despair, in which they

lament that death in life which they have made for them"In all ages, nuns have offered themselves to heaven as

selves : are there not days in which their senses wake and expiatory victims. The lives of saints, both men and women, who desired these sacrifices abound, of those who atoned for

cry aloud ?” The abbé replied :— the sins of others by sufferings eagerly demanded and “ No doubt; in the cloistered life the age of twenty-nine is patiently borne. But there is a task still more arduous and terrible to pass, then a passionate crisis arises; if a woman more painful than was desired by these admirable souls. It is

doubles that cape, and she almost always does so, she not now that of purging the faults of others, but of preventing is safe. them, hindering their commission, by taking the place of “ But carnal emotions are not, to speak correctly, the most those who are too weak to bear the shock.

troublesome assault they have to undergo. The real punish“Read Saint Teresa on this subject; you will see that she ment they endure in those hours of sorrow is the ardent, wild gained permission to take on herself, and without flinching, regret for that maternity of which they are ignorant; the tho temptations of a priest who could not endure them.

desolate womb of woman revolts, and full of God though she This substitution of a strong soul freeing one who is not

be, her heart is breaking. The child Jesus whom they have strong from perils and fears is onc of the great rules of

loved so well then appears so far off and so inaccessible, and mysticism.

His very sight would hardly satisfy them, for they have "Sometimes this exchange is purely spiritual, sometimes dreamed of holding Him in their arms, of swathing and on the contrary it has to do only with the ills of the body. rocking Him, of giving Him suck, in one word, of being Saint Teresa was the surrogate of souls in torment, Sister mothers. Catherine Emmerich took the place of the sick, relieved, at

“Other nuns undergo no precise attack, no assault to which least, those who were most suffering; thus, for instance, she

a name can be given, but without any definite reason they was able to undergo the agony of a woman suffering from

languish and die suddenly, like a ta per, blown out. The consumption and dropsy, in order to permit her to prepare for

torpor of the cloister kills them.” death in peace. “Well, Lidwine took on herself all bodily ills, she lusted

Huysmans again makes the enemy to blaspheme by for physical suffering, and was greedy for wounds; she was, quoting with approval the uncompromising declaration as it were, the reaper of punishments, and she was also the of St. Teresa to the effect that any nun who is guilty piteous vessel in which every one discharged the overflowings of insubordination should be imprisoned for life in her of his malady. If you would speak of her in other fashion coll:than the poor hagiographies of our day, study first that law

Saint Teresa was goodness itself, but when she speaks in of substitution, that miracle of perfect charity, that super

her Way of Perfection” of nuns who band themselves human triumph of Mysticism; that will be the stem of your

together to discuss the will of their mother, she shows herself book, and naturally, without effort, all Lidwine's acts graft

inexorable, for she declares that perpetual imprisonment should themselves on it."

be inflicted on them as soon as possible and without flinching, The reader will naturally ask himself whether there and in fact she is right, for every disorderly sister infects the is anything in this theory, or whether the influence of flock, and gives the rot to souls.

This passage will not be forgotten in this country After some little time the abbé announced that it was to or in America when the next agitation is got up in favour a small Trappist monastery of Notre Dame de l'Atre, a of the inspection of convents.

few leagues from Paris, that he must go for his conver

sion. Durtal was at first astonished, but after a little V.-PROGRESS TO THE WICKET-GATE. hesitation was eager to take the plunge. Aided by the intercessory prayers or substitutional sacrifice of the nuns, Durtal began to make progress.

VI.-IN THE MONASTERY, He had long before begun to pray. It was in a little To the Trappist monastery, therefore, Durtal was sent. church in the Rue de la Glacière on Christmas Day, He shuddered at the thought even of the modified where the singing of the chants filled him with quivering austerity to which he was to be subjected. He was told emotion :

he need not get up at two o'clock every morning, but at He had a real impulse, a dim need of praying to the three or even four, according to the day; as for food, he Unknowable; penetrated to the very marrow by this environ was allowed an egg for dinner in addition to vegetables, inent of aspiration, it seemed to him that he thawed a little, which were cooked in milk or water or in oil. The and took a far-off part in the united tenderness of these bright arguments which the priest uses to Durtal to make spirits. He sought for a prayer, and recalled what St.

his way to La Trappe are on the same lines as those which Paphnutius taught Thais, when he cried, “Thou art not

led the Methodist to insist upon the penitent making his worthy to name the name of God, thou wilt pray only thus : * Qui plasmasti me miserere mei'; Thou who hast formed me

way to the penitent form. For instance, the abbé said

to Durtal:have mercy on me.” He stammered out the humble phrase, prayed not out of love or of contrition, but out of disgust with

“ You declare that you are sustained by the crowds of himself, unable to let himself go, regretting that he could

Notre Dame des Victoires and the emanations of St. Severin. not love.

What will it be then, in the humble chapel, when you will be Before he had left the church he was filled with a

on the ground huddled together with the saints? I guarantee

you in the name of the Lord an assistance such as you bave never desire to appeal to some one, he knew not whom, to had; you will be free, you can if you choose leave the monascomplain of he knew not what. So he fell on his knees, tery just as you entered it, without having confessed or crying out to the Virgin :

approached the Sacraments, your will will be respected there, " Have pity on me, and hear me; I would rather anything and no monk will attempt to sound it without your authority. than continue this shaken existence, these idlo stages without To you only it will appertain to decide whether you will be an aim. Pardon me, Holy Virgin, unclean as I am, for I have

converted or no." ao courage for the battle. Ah, wouldest thou grant my

The final appeal of the abbé is practically identical prayer! I know well that I am over bold daring to ask, since I am not even resolved to turn out my soul, to empty it

with that which every revivalist makes to his peni

tents : like a bucket of filth, to strike it on the bottom, that the lees may trickle out and the scales fall off, but . . . but.

“My son, believe me that the day you go yourself to the thou knowest I am so weak, so little sure of myself, that in

house of God, the day you knock at its door, it will open wide, truth I shrink."

and the angels will draw aside to let you pass. The Gospel

cannot lie, and it declares that there is more joy over one The abbé urged him to read the books of the mystics, sinner that repents than over ninety and nine just persons for in mysticism is the art, the science, and the very soul who need no repentance.” of the Church. Then he turned his attention to the

Before Durtal could rouse himself to decide to go to monastic orders and interested him in the converts, took him to see a nun take the veil; but although his tempta

La Trappe he weighed the pros and cons, arguing it

within himself. He shuddered at the thought of having tions were appeased, Durtal felt rising in him ever more

to face confession and Holy Communion; he thought that and more an increasing desire to have done with these strises and fears; but he grew pale when he thought of

he might stand the food, especially if he could find reversing his life once for all :

means of smoking a cigarette by stealth in the woods.

Even if he could stand confession, he shrunk from taking Indeed, every time he tried to examine his soul, a curtain of mist arose, and hid from him the unseen and silent approach

the Sacrament, expressing himself in terms which are of he knew not what. The only impression which he carried

almost a paraphrase of a familiar Protestant hymn, “If with him as he rose, was that it was less that he advanced

you tarry 'till you're better, you will never go at all”:towards the unknown, than that this unknown invaded him,

Communicate! But let us consider, it is certain that I penetrated him, and little by little took possession of him. shall be base in proposing to Christ that He should descend

When he spoke to the abbé of this state, at once cowardly Jike a scavenger into my ditch; but if I wait till it is empty, and resigned, imploring and fearful, the priest only smiled. I shall never be in a state to receive Him, for my bulkheads

Busy yourself in prayer, and bow down your back," he are not closed, and sins would filter through the fissures. said one day,

He went to the abbé and explained to him his diffi" But I am tired of bending my back, and of trampling culties. The description of the dealing of the abbé always on the same spot,” cried Durtal. “I have had enough of feeling myself taken by the shoulders and led I know not

- with his penitent is done extremely well, and will remind where. It is really time that in one way or another this

even the most bitter Protestant of the practical identity situation came to an end."

of the doctrines of the Roman and Protestant Churches. * Plainly.” And standing up, and looking him in the face,

The following passage, for instance, embodies a statement the abbé said, impressively

the substance of which is made in every inquiry meeting “ This advance towards God which you find so obscure and held in England or America. Durtal had been objecting so slow is, on the contrary, so luminous and so rapid that it that he was in a wretched state to go to the monastery, astonishes me; only as you yourself do not move, you do that he did not love God, and that he was sure he would not take account of the swiftness with which you are borne fall a prey to the temptations of the flesh if he were to along.'

meet his old mistress. The abbé replied :The only question the abbé added was as to the recep “ Yon declare that if you meet a certain person whose facle in which this ripe fruit was to be placed. The abbé attraction is a trouble to you, you will suocumb. How do you was not long in making up his mind as to the receptacle. know that? Why should you take care about seductions which

God does not yet inflict upon you, and which He will perhaps spare you? Why doubt His mercy? Why not believe, on the contrary, that if He judge the temptation useful, He will aid you enough to prevent your sinking wder it?

"Finally, you say you do not love God; again I answer, what do you know about it? You have this love by the very token that you desire to have it, and that you regret you have it not: you love our Lord by the very fact that you desire to love Him."

The influence of the abbé was too strong for hin. The touch of the master was soft and caressing, but it would not be gainsaid; the other self even insisted, and he gave way. He took down with him several books, none of which he ever read, for at the monastery he found ample occupation without the perusal of the printed page.

There is no necessity to enter into the details of his life at La Trappe; suffice it to say that his day was ordered for him from four o'clo:k in the morning, when he had to rise, until a quarter to eight o'clock at night, when he retired rest. After attending service in the evening on his arrival, being overwhelmed with the music, which convinced him that no one but the Holy Ghost itself had ever cast into the brain of man the seed of plain chant, be entered his cell full of discouragement and weighed down with a sense of his own sinfulness. He prayed long and passionately before he went to bed; but alas! there was no immediate answer to his prayeron the contrary, he passed a most miserable night. His experience was so special, so awful, that ho did not remember in the whole of his existence to have endured such anguish. It was an uninterrupted succession of sudden wakings, of nightmares overpassing the limits of abomination that the most dangerous madness dreams of. Twice it happened, and twice he woke up, to experience again the impression of a shadow evaporating before he could seize it. He sprang out of bed, dressed, and went out to sinoke a cigarette, and then made his way to the chapel. The following scene is one of the most notable descriptions in the book.. On entering the chapel from the darkened vestibule at four o'clock in tho morning, Durtal came upon the monks at prayer :

He made a step, crossed himself, and fell back, for he had stumbled over a body; and he looked down at his feet.

He had come upon a battle-field.

On the ground human forms were lying, in the attitudes of combatants mowed down by grape-shot, some flat on their faces, others on their knees, some leaning their hands on the ground as if stricken from behind, others extended with their tingers clenched on their breast, others again holding their heads or stretching out their arms.

And from this group in their agony rose no groan, no complaint.

Durtal was stupefied as he looked at this massacre of monks, and suddenly stopped with open mouth. A shaft of light fell from a lamp which the Father Sacristan had just placed in the apse, and crossing the porch, it showed a monk on his knees before the altar dedicated to the Virgin.

He was an old man of more than four-score years; motionless as a statue, his eyes fixed, leaning forward in such an access of adoration, that the faces in ecstasy in the early masters seemed, compared with his, forced and cold.

Yet his features were vulgar, his shaven skull, without a crown, tanned by many suns and rains, was brick-coloured, his eye was dim, covered with a film by age, his face was wrinkled, shrivelled, stained like an old log, hidden in a thicket of white hair, while his somewhat snub nose made the general effect of the face singularly common.

But there went out, not from his eyes, nor his mouth, but from everywhere and nowhere, a kind of angelic look which was diffused over his head, and enveloped all his poor body, bowed in its heap of rays.

In this old man the soul did not even give herself the trouble to reform and ennoble his features-she contented herself in annihilating them with her rays; it was, as it were, the nimbus of the old saints, not now remaining round the head, but extending over all the features, pale and almost invisiblc, bathing his whole being.

He saw nothing and heard nothing; monks dragged themselves on their knees, came to warm themselves and to take shelter near him, and he never moved, dumb and deaf, si rigid that you might have believed him dead, had not his lower lip stirred now and then, lifting in this movement liis lony beard.

The dawn whitened the windows, and as the darkness tas gradually dissipated, the other brethren were visible in turn to Durtal; all these men, wounded by divine love, praved ardently, flashed out beyond themselves noiselessly before the altar. Some were quite young, on their knees, with their bodies upright; others, their eyeballs in ecstasy, were leaning back, and seated on their heels; others again were making the way of the cross, and were often

placed each opposite another face to face, and they looked without seeing, as with the eyes of the blind.

And among these lay brethren, some fathers buried in their great white cowls lay prostrate, and kissed the ground.

“Oh to pray, pray like these monks!” cried Dartal within himself.

He felt his unhappy soul grow slack within him; in this atmosphere of sanctity he unbent himself, and sank down on the pavement, humbly asking pardon from Christ, for having soiled by his presence the purity of this place.

He prayed long, unsealing himself for the first time, recog. nising his unworthiness and vileness so that he could not imagine how, in spite of His mercy, the Lord conld tolerate him the little circle of His elect.

VII.-AT CONFESSION. As he prayed a great joy entered into his heart, but at breakfast he was suddenly confrontel by the awful approach of the hour of confession. He had never confessed for years, and he shuddered at the thought of telling the confessor of all his hateful past. Without any need of probing it, his life sprang out round him in jets of filth; he had traversed all the district of sin which the Prayer Book patiently enumerated; he grew pale at the thought of detailing to another man those secret sios which he had not dared even to repeat to himself; and when the hour for confession came he could only sob out,

I have not confessed since my childhood; since then I have led a shameful life; I have committed every kind of debauch; I have done everything-everything." Then he choked, and the tears he had repressed flowed, his body was shaken, his face hidden in his hands. The confessor bending over him did not move. “I cannot !! he cried, “I cannot!” Then the confessor dismissed him, bidding him say for his penance the penitential psalms and the Litany of the Saints, and to come again on the morrow. The confessor, wh was the prior of the monastery, was kind and sympathetic." Come,” he said.

do not be disturbed, you are about to speak to our Saviour alone; He knows all your faults.” Durtal began, and the confessor mercifully excused him from entering into detail of his sins, merely asking, “ Am I to understand that in your relations with women you have committed every possible excess ?” Durtal made an affirmative sign, and then, as the monk remained silent, he told him about Madame Chanteluve and the black mass at which he had assisted :

The confessor was silent for some minutes, and then in a pensive voice he murmured

“I am struck, even more than yesterday, by the astonishing miracle which Heaven has worked in you.

“ You were sick, so sick that what Martha said of the body of Lazarus might truly have been said of your soul, 'Iam foetet!' And Christ has, in some manner, raised you. Only do not deceive yourself, the conversion of a sinner is not his cure, but only his convalescence; and this convalescence sometimes lasts for several years and is often long.

“It is expedient that you should determine from this moment to fortify yourself against any falling back, and to do all in your power for recovery. The preventive treatment consists of prayer, the sacrament of penance, and holy coinmunion.

“ Prayer ?-you know it, for without much prayer you could not have decided to come here after the troubled life you had led." * Ah! but I prayed so badly!”

"It does not matter, as your wish was to pray well! Confession ?-It was painful to you; it will be less so now that you no longer have to avow the accumulated sins of years. The communion troubles me more; for it is to be feared that when you have triumphed over the flesh the Demon should await you there, and endeavour to draw you away, for he knows well that, without this divine government, no healing is possible. You will therefore have to give this matter all your attention.”

The monk reflected a minute, and then went on

"The holy Eucharist ... you will have more need of it than others, for you will be more unhappy than less cultured and simpler beings. You will be tortured by the imagination. It has made you sin much; and, by a just recompense, it will make you suffer much; it will be the badly closed door of your soul by which the Demon will enter and spread himself in you. Watch over this, and pray ferrently that the Saviour may help you.”

The monk then bade him recite for a penance ten rosaries every day for a month; then rising, the monk said," I will say nothing of your past, as your repentance and your firm resolve to sin no more efface it; to-morrow you will receive the pledge of reconciliation--you will communicate. After so many years the Lord will set out on the way to your soul and will rest here":

• Prepare yourself from this moment, by prayer, for this mysterious meeting of hearts which His goodness desires. Now say your act of contrition, and I will give you holy absolution.”

The monk raised his arms, and the sleeves of his white cowl rose above him like two wings. With uplifted eyes he uttered the imperious formula which breaks the bonds, and the three Words “ Ego te absolvo,” spoken more distinctly and slowly, fell upon Durtal, who trembled from head to foot. He almost sank to the ground, incapable of collecting himself or understanding himself, only feeling, in the clearest manner, that Christ Himself was present, near him in that place, and finding no word of thanks, he wept, ravished and bowed down under the great sign of the cross with which the monk enveloped him

He seemed to be waking from a dream as the prior said to him

“Rejoice, your life is dead; it is buried in a cloister, and in a cloister it will be born again; it is a good omen; have confidence in our Lord and go in peace.”

VIII.-AT THE COMMUNION. When Durtal left the room, his eyes shone with ecstasy, which, however, was soon dashed by the news that the Sacrament next day would be administered by a jovial curate who was at the monastery on a visit. So Durtal complained to God,“ telling Him all the joy he might have felt in being purified and clean at last, was now gone by this disappointment.” Then sick and sore at heart, he went out and began to say his rosary. He had been told to recite ten every day, and he had forgotten whether it was ten beads or ten rosaries. He came to the conclusion it was ten rosaries, which amounted to

something like five hundred prayers a day on end ; therefore, thinking it a penance, he set to work to grind off the prayers until he very nearly went to sleep or went off his head with attempting to achieve the impossible. M. Bruno, who was staying in the monastery, assured him it was the invention of the devil, who wished to make the rosaries odious by suggesting the performance of an impossible task. The prior therefore consoled him, and ordered him to take the Sacrament next day, assuring him that he would take all the responsibility himself.

In reply to a question as to the nights he had had, the prior replied, “We have long known these manifestations; they are without inminent danger, do not, therefore, let them trouble you." Durtal, however, still determined to have his first communion from the hands of a monk and not from a priest, and implored God to give him a sign of his acceptance. "Let the impossible take place, so that to-morrow it might be a monk and not this priest.” Such was the presumptuous prayer of Durtal, and to his own amazement, and that of every one else, the abbot himself came forward and administered the Sacrament. He was naturally immensely impressed:

And the abbot of La Trappe gave them the communion.

They returned to their places. Durtal was in a state of absolute torpor; the sacrament had, in a manner, anesthetised his mind; he fell on his knees at his bench, incapable even of unravelling what might be moving within him, unable to rally and pull himself together.

All around him seemed to disappear, and he cried, stammering, to Christ: “Lord, go not far from me. Let Thy pity curb Thy justice; be unjust, forgive me; receive Thy poor bedesman for communion, the poor in spirit !”

M. Bruno touched his arm, and with a glance invited him to accompany him.

After the Communion he felt he was suffocating, and when his soul regained consciousness, he felt only an infinite melancholy, a vast sadness :

He was astonished that he had not felt an unknown transport of joy; then he dwelt on a troublesomo recollection, on the all too human side of the deglutition of a God; the Host had stuck against his plate, and he had had to seek it with his tongue and roll it about like a pancake in order to swallow it.

Ah! it was still too material! he only wanted a fluid, a perfume, a fire, a breath!

It was not as he had dreamed it would be, and he marvelled much at the strange way in which he was being led by the Lord.

IX.-IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOW. Passing over rapidly one or two chapters, wherein are described the virtues of a certain saintly swineherd, he then passes through the valley of the dark shadow in which he was tormented by endless abominations, He longed to insult the Virgin and to overwhelm her statue with the abuse of a bargee. So strong was the impulse that to keep silence he was obliged to bite his lips till they bled. Doubts as to transubstantiation poured in upon him; he seemed to hear a voice suggesting all manner of doubts, questioning the very foundations of faith, confronting him with a spectacle of the misery of the world, recalling that terrible phrase of Schopenhauer's, “If God made the world, I would not be that God, for the misery of the world would break my heart.” From the church he fled to the field; then to the woods, and back to his chamber, and when he fell on his knees at the bedside, memories of Florence recurred to him. He thought of the possibility of being confronted with her again, and it overwhelmed him: he

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became angry at the thought of having communicated while one was no more certain of the future than this; but even when he dragged himself to the church and held himself down, assailed by fearful temptations, disgusted with himself, feeling his will yielding, wounded in every part, he cried out in agony. There was complete darkness within him. When he sought his soul by groping for it, he found it inert, without consciousness, almost icy; hé felt himself incapable of all good works, and at the same time had the conviction that God had rejected him, that God would aid him no more. Then fiercer temptations beset him and ignoble visions assailed him, burning gasps excited him, stifled him, and seemed to parch his mouth. His body was still and remained calm, but he had the impression of a real demoniac presence, His whole soul trembled, and desired to fly like a terrified bird that clings to the window panes. This horror of great darkness lasted for nine hours, nor did it pass until the choir began to sing “Salve Regina,” when the elevated cordial of the chant restored him. When he told his sufferings to the father, he was congratulated. “ Be happy," he told him, “for it is a great grace which Jesus does to you, and proves that your conversion is good.” “But,” said Durtal, “ I thought there was peace in the cloister.” But the Trappist replied :

“No, we are here on this earth to strive, and it is just in the cloister that the Lowest works; there, souls escape him, and he will at all price conquer them. No place on earth is more haunted by him than a cell-no one is more harassed than a monk.”

But there is only one remedy for all those things, which is the Sacrament. He communicated his trials to the prior, who told him that the weapon of contempt was the best for conquering the assault of scruples, and if that failed, to have immediate recourse to a confessor. " Steep yourself,” said the monk, “ in this truth, that besides prayer there exists but one efficacious remedy against this evil--to despise it. Satan is pride; despise him, and at once his audacity gives way. He speaks. Shrug your shoulders, and he is silent. You must not discuss with him. Do not reply. Refuse the strife. But the only arm which can save you is prayer.” Receiving absolution the second time, the good prior said :

“Have confidence, do not attempt to present yourself before God all neat and trim ; go to Him simply, naturally, in undress even, just as you are; do not forget that if you are a servant you are also a son; have good courage, our Lord will dispel all these nightmares.

The second time when he communicated he experienced a sensation of stifling, as it his heart were too large when he returned to his place. When that ended he escaped to the park :

Then gently, without sensible effects, the Sacrament worked ; Christ opened, little by little, his closed house and gave it air. light entered into Durtal in a flood. From the windows of his senses which had looked till then into he knew not what cesspool, into what inclosure, dank, and steeped in shadow, he now looked suddenly, through a burst of light, on a vista which lost itself in Heaven.

His vision of nature was modified; the surroundings were transformed; the fog of sadness which visited them vanished; the sudden clearness of his soul was repeated in its surroundings.

He walked about, lifted from earth by a confused joy. He grew vaporised in a sort of intoxication, in a vague etherisation, in which arose, without his even thinking of formulating words, acts of thanksgiving; it was an effort of thanks of his soul, of his body, of his whole being, to that God whonı he felt living in him, and diffused in that kneeling landscape which also seemed to expand in mute hymns of gratitude.

And there we may leave him, although the story continues for some little space until he completes his retreat and returns to Paris. Durtal does not reach any point beyond this. Indeed, the rest of the book is, to a certain extent, an anti-climax, for after having led Durtal up to this point of ecstasy, he sends him back to Paris in a state of mind that does not augur very much for his usefulness when he returns to daily life. For we are told

He groaned, knowing that he should never more succeed in interesting himself in all that makes the joy of men. The uselessness of caring about any other thing than Mysticism and the liturgy, of thinking about aught else save God, implanted itself in him so firmly that he asked himself what would become of him at Paris with such ideas.

That is exactly the question which most of us who read the book will ask. Possibly Huysmans may give us a sequel to the volume in which we shall see Durtal carrying into practical effect in his daily life the lessons which he has learnt at La Trappe; but as it is, the reader closes the book with misgivings, forebodings, and doubts as to whether the convert who has made such remarkable progress from the Black Mass to the Communion at La Trappe will on his return to the world find in his new faith a stay in every time of need.

That, indeed, is the weakest part of the book. For Durtal is by no means soundly saved. He is not saved enough in his own sense to go into the cloister, and he is not saved enough in one sense to care to do his duty in the place where he naturally belonged. Indeed, it may be said that Durtal, instead of finding salvation at La Trappe, had only added another element to those which made up the distraction of his lost life.

Of course, there may be a sequel. But if there is not, Huysmans has not succeeded in bringing his pilgrim out into the light and gladness of perfect day.

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