sentries ourselves.
About a hundred yards away from the camp stood ahaystack. We intended to spend the night there and make it our point of vantage. The sergeant was to watch from nine till one, and I from one till six.
We slipped off after supper, escaping the notice of any of the boys. I made myself quite comfortable in the hay.
At one o’clock or thereabouts, the sergeant woke me.
“All in order so far,” he whispered.
I clambered out of the hay and posted myself at the side of the rick.
The full moon cast deep shadows.
A wonderful night.
I could see the tents and distinguish the sentries. They were just changing.
To and fro, to and fro, they went; they covered the four points of the compass. Guarding their cameras!
As I sat there, I saw before me the picture in the priest’s study—and in my own home.
The hours went by …
My school subjects are history and geography. The form of the earth, and the story of the earth—these are my province. The earth is round, but history—it struck me then—history has become a four-cornered affair …
I daren’t smoke, for I was keeping a secret watch over the sentries …
My profession doesn’t interest me any longer, I thought.
Why was that picture still before my mind? Was I haunted by the Crucified One? No. Or by the face of His mother? No. It was the warrior, the armed and helmeted warrior, the Roman Captain, whose face haunted me.
Why?
He conducted the execution of a Jew. And as the Jew died, he must have murmured: “There dies no man.”
He had come to know God. What followed his discovery? What was his next act? He stood quiet beneath the cross. Lightning pierced the night, the curtain in the Temple was rent, the earth shuddered—the Roman Captain stood on, acknowledging the new God as the man died upon the cross—knowing that the world—his world—was condemned to death.
And then—perhaps he fell in some war. Did he know that he perished for nothing? Or perhaps he lived on into old age. Pensioned off, maybe. Was his home in Rome, or away on the frontier where living was cheaper?
A villa he might have had. A villa with a garden, and a stone dwarf. Perhaps one morning his cook told him that a new horde of barbarians was moving, beyond the frontier. Lucca, from over the way, had seen them with her own eyes.
New hordes, new peoples. Arming, arming, waiting.
That Roman Captain knew they would destroy everything. But he went on undisturbed. For him, everything had been destroyed.
And he lived on with his pension.
The mighty Roman Empire!
He had seen its frailty.
15. FILTH
THE MOON HAD RISEN HIGH OVER THE CAMP.
It must have been about two o’clock. In the city, the cafés would be crowded now. The thought of Julius Caesar passed through my mind—Julius Caesar, who’ll go on flashing his death’s head till the devil gets him. Funny, that—I believe in the Devil, but not in a loving God! Though I’m not sure. I think, rather, that I refuse Him my belief. With my free will.
For that’s all that’s left to me now, where freedom is concerned. Within myself, I can believe or refuse to believe. Before others, I must keep my views to myself. What was it the priest told me?
“It is a priest’s task to prepare man for death: if a man has no fear of death, life is a less anxious thing for him.”
Again:
“From this life of misery and strife, we are rescued only by the divine mercy of God, and by our belief in the Revelation.”
An evasive way of putting things!
“We are punished and we do not know the reasons for our punishment.”
Ask those in authority—those who rule!
But what were those last words that the priest spoke to me?
“God is the most terrible thing in the world.”
Yes!
Charming were the thoughts that pierced my heart. My mind had bred them. Apparelled so becomingly, they danced along and scarcely touched the ground. A ball, a fashionable ball. In pairs they went gliding through the moonlight. Cowardice with
About a hundred yards away from the camp stood ahaystack. We intended to spend the night there and make it our point of vantage. The sergeant was to watch from nine till one, and I from one till six.
We slipped off after supper, escaping the notice of any of the boys. I made myself quite comfortable in the hay.
At one o’clock or thereabouts, the sergeant woke me.
“All in order so far,” he whispered.
I clambered out of the hay and posted myself at the side of the rick.
The full moon cast deep shadows.
A wonderful night.
I could see the tents and distinguish the sentries. They were just changing.
To and fro, to and fro, they went; they covered the four points of the compass. Guarding their cameras!
As I sat there, I saw before me the picture in the priest’s study—and in my own home.
The hours went by …
My school subjects are history and geography. The form of the earth, and the story of the earth—these are my province. The earth is round, but history—it struck me then—history has become a four-cornered affair …
I daren’t smoke, for I was keeping a secret watch over the sentries …
My profession doesn’t interest me any longer, I thought.
Why was that picture still before my mind? Was I haunted by the Crucified One? No. Or by the face of His mother? No. It was the warrior, the armed and helmeted warrior, the Roman Captain, whose face haunted me.
Why?
He conducted the execution of a Jew. And as the Jew died, he must have murmured: “There dies no man.”
He had come to know God. What followed his discovery? What was his next act? He stood quiet beneath the cross. Lightning pierced the night, the curtain in the Temple was rent, the earth shuddered—the Roman Captain stood on, acknowledging the new God as the man died upon the cross—knowing that the world—his world—was condemned to death.
And then—perhaps he fell in some war. Did he know that he perished for nothing? Or perhaps he lived on into old age. Pensioned off, maybe. Was his home in Rome, or away on the frontier where living was cheaper?
A villa he might have had. A villa with a garden, and a stone dwarf. Perhaps one morning his cook told him that a new horde of barbarians was moving, beyond the frontier. Lucca, from over the way, had seen them with her own eyes.
New hordes, new peoples. Arming, arming, waiting.
That Roman Captain knew they would destroy everything. But he went on undisturbed. For him, everything had been destroyed.
And he lived on with his pension.
The mighty Roman Empire!
He had seen its frailty.
15. FILTH
THE MOON HAD RISEN HIGH OVER THE CAMP.
It must have been about two o’clock. In the city, the cafés would be crowded now. The thought of Julius Caesar passed through my mind—Julius Caesar, who’ll go on flashing his death’s head till the devil gets him. Funny, that—I believe in the Devil, but not in a loving God! Though I’m not sure. I think, rather, that I refuse Him my belief. With my free will.
For that’s all that’s left to me now, where freedom is concerned. Within myself, I can believe or refuse to believe. Before others, I must keep my views to myself. What was it the priest told me?
“It is a priest’s task to prepare man for death: if a man has no fear of death, life is a less anxious thing for him.”
Again:
“From this life of misery and strife, we are rescued only by the divine mercy of God, and by our belief in the Revelation.”
An evasive way of putting things!
“We are punished and we do not know the reasons for our punishment.”
Ask those in authority—those who rule!
But what were those last words that the priest spoke to me?
“God is the most terrible thing in the world.”
Yes!
Charming were the thoughts that pierced my heart. My mind had bred them. Apparelled so becomingly, they danced along and scarcely touched the ground. A ball, a fashionable ball. In pairs they went gliding through the moonlight. Cowardice with
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