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PARTISAN REVIEW
he prayed, I
thank
Thee that I did not wet the bed this night–
enough to get caught, he added carefully, remembering Thou God
seest me; for Jesus' sake Amen.
He said swiftly to himself the prayer Father Weiler had taught
them
las
enough when, for any good reason, you did not have time
enough for more: I praise my God this day I give myself to God
this day I
ask
God to help me this day Amen.
Gripping his hair and pressing the heels of his hands tightly
against his closed eyes he tried as hard as he could to realize what
was happening as he had in the moment of waking. But now he could
realize only what a special night this was, what grave and holy
hours these were. There seemed to be a strange stillness and power
in
the air as there always was on very special occasions and never at
ordinary times; it made him feel
dry,
light of weight, very watchful,
expectant and still, and it almost made his scalp tingle. It was some–
thing like the feeling of his birthday, and of Christmas, and of Easter,
and
it
was still more like the feeling he now seldom and faintly
recalled, during the morning just after he learned of
his
father's
death, and during the day he was buried, But it was not really like any
of these, or anything else, except itself. These were the hours of Our
Lord's deepest Passion. For almost forty days now this feeling had
grown and deepened, not without interruption, for he had not
managed perfectly to keep either
his
public or his secret Lenten
Rules; yet he had been sufficiently earnest and faithful, and suffi–
ciently grieved in his failures, that the growth had been deeper and
more cumulative and more rewarding than he had ever known
before; and now he was corning into the heart of it, the holiest and
most solemn of its shrines, with heart and soul prepared and eager.
Already it was no longer Maundy Thursday, the birthday of the
Eucharist; that sorrowfully jubilant magnificence was turned under
the world; already the world was brought a few hours forward into
the most gravely majestic of all days, Good Friday; already the wheel
was so turned that high upon darkened heaven white Easter dazzled,
suspended, the crown of the year, like the already trembling start
of an avalanche. Easter was very soon now, so soon, with his throat
brimming with its hymns and his soul ardent for release and cele–
bration, that it was difficult to be patient; yet his faith and absorption
were such that at the same time he came into this day as sorrowing
