But, brother, this
Is overwhelming.
MARCOMIR.
Sin, can that be dropped?
CARLOMAN.
Never, there is no need. Life seizes all
Its own vile refuse, hurries it along
To something different; religion makes
The master-change, turning our black to white;
But so, as from earth’s foulness, the stem drains
Corruption upward, and the cleanly flower
Waves like a flame at last.
MARCOMIR.
O Carloman,
My brother, I am saved!
[The monks press round Carloman tumultuously.]
CARLOMAN.
But all of you
Be saved, and on the instant! Yes, the prior,
You all of you, do not believe me mad.
It is your misery, I think, that more,
More than the urgent torment of my soul
Has brought me to the truth, the healing truth
That we must give our natures to the air,
To light and liberty, suppressing nothing,
Freeing each passion: we have slaves within,
So many slaves, and I have learnt that saints
Have dungeons that they dare not look into,
The horror is so deadly. Force the locks,
Let the fierce captives ravage. Better far
Murder and rapine in the city-streets,
Than lust and hatred’s unfulfilled desires!
Be saved; strike free into the world—come out!
Oh, you can do it—I have spoken truth,
I see that by your faces.