DOI article:
Risley, Richard Voorhees: Rideo
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26392#0128
Ri deo
124
himself? The universe is but the reflection of what is behind
his eyes. If this thing is the work of Thy hands, oh, God,
how can it be evil ? And if Thou doest unkindness, or evil,
knowing all things, then our worship of Thee is devil-worship, not
the worship of God ! ’
“ Thus I stood in my agony and argued with God.
“‘But,’ said I again, my hands thrust in my robe, ‘if I were a
man and not priest, what have I to do with her ? What do
I know of laughter—I the studious priest ! I am a bowed
old, book-killed man, twice her age. I have nothing to do
with laughter ! Circumstance, digger of graves to humanity.’
“ I fell on my knees, and lifted my hands in the glare of the
lamp-light, I spoke to God.
I am a priest, Thy priest. I am a man, Thy man. Yes, I
am an old man. Take me away. What have I left in life.'1
Why should I remain ? What is Thy will ? ’
“My arms sank to my sides ; I waited. Then as I waited my
eyes rested on the paper-strewn table, and out of the disorder a
word in her hand-writing took shape, the word ‘rideo,’ written
on an old exercise sheet. I got up from my knees, and leaving
the lamp burning went out of the room, shutting the door
behind me.
“The next morning when I came down, a little late, to the
lesson, for I had over-slept, Jean was sitting on a small stool,
where his big bulk looked extremely ridiculous, gazing devotedly
at his sweet-heart in her usual place, knitting her brows over a
difficult piece of Latin.
“ ‘ Good-morning,’ I said grimly, ‘ has he also come to study
Latin ? ’
“She jumped out of her chair. ‘ No, of course not ! I brought
him here to receive your blessing, father. And then afterwards I
thought.
124
himself? The universe is but the reflection of what is behind
his eyes. If this thing is the work of Thy hands, oh, God,
how can it be evil ? And if Thou doest unkindness, or evil,
knowing all things, then our worship of Thee is devil-worship, not
the worship of God ! ’
“ Thus I stood in my agony and argued with God.
“‘But,’ said I again, my hands thrust in my robe, ‘if I were a
man and not priest, what have I to do with her ? What do
I know of laughter—I the studious priest ! I am a bowed
old, book-killed man, twice her age. I have nothing to do
with laughter ! Circumstance, digger of graves to humanity.’
“ I fell on my knees, and lifted my hands in the glare of the
lamp-light, I spoke to God.
I am a priest, Thy priest. I am a man, Thy man. Yes, I
am an old man. Take me away. What have I left in life.'1
Why should I remain ? What is Thy will ? ’
“My arms sank to my sides ; I waited. Then as I waited my
eyes rested on the paper-strewn table, and out of the disorder a
word in her hand-writing took shape, the word ‘rideo,’ written
on an old exercise sheet. I got up from my knees, and leaving
the lamp burning went out of the room, shutting the door
behind me.
“The next morning when I came down, a little late, to the
lesson, for I had over-slept, Jean was sitting on a small stool,
where his big bulk looked extremely ridiculous, gazing devotedly
at his sweet-heart in her usual place, knitting her brows over a
difficult piece of Latin.
“ ‘ Good-morning,’ I said grimly, ‘ has he also come to study
Latin ? ’
“She jumped out of her chair. ‘ No, of course not ! I brought
him here to receive your blessing, father. And then afterwards I
thought.