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Soul of a Bishop-Part11_H. G. WELLS (1866-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Nevertheless," he spoke slowly and patted the arm of his chair,



"nevertheless the church insists that certain vitally important

truths have to be conveyed, certain mortal errors are best



guarded against, by these symbols."

"You admit they are symbols."



"So the church has always called them."

Hoppart showed by a little movement and grimace that he thought



the bishop quibbled.

"In every sense of the word," the bishop hastened to explain,



"the creeds are symbolical. It is clear they seek to express

ineffable things by at least an extended use of familiar words. I



suppose we are all agreed nowadays that when we speak of the

Father and of the Son we mean something only in a very remote and



exalted way parallel with--with biological fatherhood and

sonship."



Lady Sunderbund nodded eagerly. "Yes," she said, "oh, yes," and

held up an expectant face for more.



"Our utmost words, our most elaborately phrased creeds, can at

the best be no better than the shadow of something unseen thrown



upon the screen of experience."

He raised his rather weary eyes to Hoppart as if he would know



what else needed explanation. He was gratified by Lady

Sunderbund's approval, but he affected not to see or hear it. But



it was Bent who spoke.

He spoke in the most casual way. He made the thing seem the



most incidental of observations.

"What puzzles me," he said, "is why the early Christians



identified the Spermaticos Logos of the Stoics with the second

and not with the third person of the Trinity."



To which the bishop, rising artlessly to the bait, replied,

"Ah! that indeed is the unfortunateaspect of the whole affair."



And then the Irish Catholic came down on him....

(3)



How the bishop awakened in the night after this dispute has

been told already in the opening section of this story. To that



night of discomfort we now return after this comprehensive

digression. He awoke from nightmares of eyes and triangles to



bottomless remorse and perplexity. For the first time he fully

measured the vast distances he had travelled from the beliefs and



attitudes of his early training, since his coming to Princhester.

Travelled--or rather slipped and fallen down the long slopes of



doubt.

That clear inky dimness that comes before dawn found his white



face at the window looking out upon the great terrace and the

park.



(4)

After a bout of mentaldistress and sleeplessness the bishop



would sometimes wake in the morning not so much exhausted as in a

state of thin mental and bodily activity. This was more



particularly so if the night had produced anything in the nature

of a purpose. So it was on this occasion. The day was clear



before him; at least it could be cleared by sending three

telegrams; his man could go back to Princhester and so leave him



perfectly free to go to Brighton-Pomfrey in London and secure

that friendly dispensation to smoke again which seemed the only



alternative to a serious mentalbreakdown. He would take his bag,

stay the night in London, smoke, sleep well, and return the next



morning. Dunk, his valet-butler, found him already bathed and

ready for a cup of tea and a Bradshaw at half-past seven. He went



on dressing although the good train for London did not start

until 10.45.



Mrs. Garstein Fellows was by nature and principle a late riser;

the breakfast-room showed small promise yet of the repast, though



the table was set and bright with silver and fresh flowers, and a

wood fire popped and spurted to greet and encourage the March



sunshine. But standing in the doorway that led to the promise and

daffodils and crocuses of Mrs. Garstein Fellows' garden stood



Lady Sunderbund, almost with an effect of waiting, and she

greeted the bishop very cheerfully, doubted the immediate






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