It was Good Friday, and the rising tide of invasion swept up towards
the Ile de France. Even this day of sacred sorrow had not stopped the
massacre, for the lay war knows nothing of the Truce of God. Christ
had been bombarded in one of His churches, and the news of the
murderous explosion at St. Gervais that afternoon spread at nightfall
through the darkened city, wrapped in its grief, its rage, and its
fear.
The sad little group of friends had gathered at Froment's house; each
one had come hoping to meet the others, without previous appointment.
They could see nothing but violence all about them; in the present as
well as in the future, in the enemy's camp, in their own, on the side
of revolutionists, and reactionaries as well. Their agony and their
doubts met in one thought. The sculptor was saying:
"Our holiest convictions, our faith in peace and human brotherhood
rest in vain on reason and love; is there any hope then that they can
conquer men? We are too weak."
Clerambault, half-unconsciously, as the words of Isaiah came to his
mind, uttered them aloud:
"Darkness covers the earth,
And the cloud envelops the people...."
He stopped, but from the faintly-lighted bed came Froment's voice,
continuing:
"Rise, for on the tops of the mountains
The light shineth forth.
Pages:
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327