The heretic!
OLD MONK.
Tush! ’Tis the kind of frenzy
That seizes every novice. Carloman,
Will you not hear my voice?
CARLOMAN.
No, good old monk,
God’s servants must not listen but to Him.
You have grown comfortable as the years
Rolled on,—no matter. What the novice suffers,
What every novice suffers, speak of that.
OLD MONK.
I have forgotten it.
CARLOMAN.
You can forget
What you have suffered; then ’tis waste of time
To listen to you. What we suffer once
In youth—in childhood and our secret youth,
We suffer to our grave.
[turning to another monk] Have you forgotten?