Probably Donati would not even have alluded to religion had not his companion himself introduced the subject. It was not his way to say much on such topics, but when he did speak his words came with most wonderful directness and force. It was not so much that he said anything noteworthy or novel, but that his manner had about it such an intensity of conviction, such rare unconsciousness, and such absolute freedom from all conventionality. “Pardon me, if I venture to show you a flaw in your argument,” he said quietly. “You say we are told to be resigned. Very well. But what is resignation? It was well defined once by a noble Russian writer who said that it is ‘placing God between ourselves and our trouble.’ There is nothing illogical in that. It is the merest common-sense. When finite things worry and perplex you, turn to the Infinite from which they may be safely and peacefully viewed.”
Frithiof thought of those words which had involuntarily escaped his companion after the remark of the passer-by in Piccadilly—“No matter!—I do not sing for a gossiping world.” He began to understand Donati better—he longed with an intensity of longing to be able to look at life with such eyes as his.
“These things are so real to you,” he said quickly. “But to me they are only a hope—or, if for an hour or two real, they fade away again. It may be all very well for you in your successful happy life, but it is impossible for me with everything against me.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Donati, his eyes flashing, and with something in his tone which conveyed volumes to the Norwegian.
“If not impossible at any rate very difficult,” he replied.
“Yes, yes,” said Donati, his eyes full of sympathy. “It is that to all of us. Don’t think I make light of your difficulties. It is hard to seek God in uncongenial surroundings, in a life harassed and misunderstood, and in apparent failure. But—don’t let the hardness daunt you—just go on.”
The words were commonplace enough, but they were full of a wonderful power because there lurked beneath them the assurance—
“I have been through where ye must go;
I have seen past the agony.”
“Do you know,” said Frithiof, smiling, “that is almost what you said to me the first time I saw you. You have forgotten it, but a year ago you said a few words to me which kept me from making an end of myself in a fit of despair. Do you remember coming to the shop about a song of Knight’s?”