Two days before, the monk, standing amid the stunted shrubs on the hill
of San Lucido, had looked out on the arid plain before him. It was all
brown and grey, the desolate ground strewn with huge granite boulders,
treeless; and for the wretched sheep who fed there, thin and scanty
grass; the shepherd, in his tattered cloak, sat on a rock, moodily,
paying no heed to his flock, dully looking at the desert round him.
Brother Jasper gazed at the scene as he had gazed for three years since
he had come to San Lucido, filled with faith and great love for God. In
those days he had thought nothing of the cold waste as his eyes rested
on it; the light of heaven shed a wonderful glow on the scene, and when
at sunset the heavy clouds were piled one above the other, like huge,
fantastic mountains turned into golden fire, when he looked beyond them
and saw the whole sky burning red and then a mass of yellow and gold, he
could imagine that God was sitting there on His throne of fire, with
Christ on His right hand in robes of light and glory, and Mary the Queen
on His left. And above them the Dove with its outstretched wings, the
white bird hovering in a sea of light! And it seemed so near! Brother
Jasper felt in him almost the power to go there, to climb up those massy
clouds of fire and attain the great joy--the joy of the presence of God.
The sun sank slowly, the red darkened into purple, and over the whole
sky came a colour of indescribable softness, while in the east, very far
away, shone out the star. And soon the soft faint blue sank before the
night, and the stars in the sky were countless; but still in the west
there was the shadow of the sun, a misty gleam. Over the rocky plain the
heavens seemed so great, so high, that Brother Jasper sank down in his
insignificance; yet he remembered the glories of the sunset, and felt
that he was almost at the feet of God.
But now, when he looked at the clouds and the sun behind them, he saw
no God; he saw the desert plain, the barrenness of the earth, the
overladen, wretched donkey staggering under his pannier, and the
broad-hatted peasant urging him on. He looked at the sunset and tried to
imagine the Trinity that sat there, but he saw nothing. And he asked
himself,--
'Why should there be a God?'
He started up with a cry of terror, with his hands clasped to his head.
'My God! what have I done?'
He sank to his knees, humiliating himself. What vengeance would fall on
him? He prayed passionately. But again the thought came; he shrieked
with terror, he invoked the Mother of God to help him.
'Why should there be a God?'
He could not help it. The thought would not leave him that all this
might exist without. How did he know? How could anyone be sure, quite
sure? But he drove the thoughts away, and in his cell imposed upon
himself a penance. It was Satan that stood whispering in his ear, Satan
lying in wait for his soul; let him deny God and he would be damned for
ever.
He prayed with all his strength, he argued with himself, he cried out,
'I believe! I believe!' but in his soul was the doubt. The terror made
him tremble like a leaf in the wind, and great drops of sweat stood on
his forehead and ran heavily down his cheek. He beat his head against
the wall, and in his agony swayed from side to side.... But he could not
believe.