"Judith Tarr - The Isle of Glass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tarr Judith)

old did Bishop Aylmer think I was, he who read my Gloria Dei thirty years ago
and looked in vain for me all the while he guested here, only last year? How
old did he think me, Morwin? And what was it he said to you? That lad has a
great future, Dom Morwin. Send him along to me when he grows a little older,
and I promise you'll not regret it.' He thought I was not eighteen!"
Still Morwin was silent, although the pain in his friend's face and voice had
turned his scowl to an expression of old and bitter sorrow.
Alf dropped back into his seat and covered his face with his
Judith Tarr
hands. "And you would make me swear to accept the election if it came to me
again. Morwin, will you never understand that I cannot let myself take any
title?"
The other's voice was rough. "There's a limit to humility, Alf. Even in a
monk."
"It's not humility. Dear God, no! I have more pride than Lucifer. When I was
as young as my body, I exulted in what I thought I was. There were Bishop
Aylmers then, too, all too eager to flatter a young monk with a talent for
both politics and theology. They told me I was brilliant, and I believed them.
I knew I was an enchanter; I thought I might have been the son of an elven
prince, or a lord at least, and I told myself tales of his love for my mortal
mother and of her determination that I should be a Christian. And of three
white owls." His head lifted. "I was even vain, God help me; the more so when
I knew the world, and saw myself reflected in women's eyes. Not a one but
sighed to see me a monk."
"And not a one managed to move you."
"Is that to my credit? I was proud that I never fell, nor ever even slipped.
No, Morwin. What I have is not humility. It's fear. It was in me even when I
was young, beneath the pride, fear that I was truly inhuman. It grew as the
years passed. When I was thirty and was still mistaken for a boy, I turned my
mind from it. At forty I began to recognize the fear. At fifty I knew it
fully. At sixty it was open terror. And now, I can hardly bear it.
Morwin-Morwin-what if I shall never die?"
Very gently Morwin said, "All things die, Alf."
Then why do I not grow old? Why am I still exactly as I was the day I took my
vows? And-what is immortal-what is elvish-is soulless. To be what I am and to
lack a soul ... it torments me even to think of it."
Morwin laid a light hand on his shoulder. "Alf. Whatever you are, whatever you
become, I cannot believe that God would be so cruel, so unjust, so utterly
vindictive, as to let you live without a soul and die with your body. Not
after you've loved Him so long and so well."
THE ISLE OF GLASS
"Have I? Or is all my worship a mockery? I've even dared to serve at His
altar, to say His Mass-1, a shadow, a thing of air and darkness. And you would
make me Abbot. Oh, sweet Jesu!"
"Stop it, AhT Morwin rapped. That's the trouble with you. You bottle yourself
up so well you get a name for serenity. And when you shatter, the whole world
shakes. Spare us for once, will you?"
But Alf was beyond even that strong medicine. With a wordless cry he whirled
and fled.
Morwin stared after him, paused, shook his head. Slowly, painfully, he lowered