f
something terrible or grand, then a passionate inspiration took
possession of him, tears came into his flashing eyes, his face
flushed, and his voice thundered, and as the monks listened to him
they felt that their souls were spell-bound by his inspiration; at
such marvellous, splendid moments his power over them was boundless,
and if he had bidden his elders fling themselves into the sea, they
would all, every one of them, have hastened to carry out his wishes.

His music, his voice, his poetry in which he glorified God, the
heavens and the earth, were a continual source of joy to the monks.
It sometimes happened that through the monotony of their lives they
grew weary of the trees, the flowers, the spring, the autumn, their
ears were tired of the sound of the sea, and the song of the birds
seemed tedious to them, but the talents of their Father Superior
were as necessary to them as their daily bread.

Dozens of years passed by, and every day was like every other day,
every night was like every other night. Except the birds and the
wild beasts, not one soul appeared near the monastery. The nearest
human habitation was far away, and to reach it from the monastery,
or to reach the monastery from it, meant a journey of over seventy
miles across the desert. Only men who despised life, who had renounced
it, and who came to the monastery as to the grave, ventured to cross
the desert.

What was the amazement of the monks, therefore, when one night there
knocked at their gate a man who turned out to be from the town, and
the most ordinary sinner who loved life. Before saying his prayers
and asking for the Father Superior's blessing, this man asked for
wine and food. To the question how he had come from the town into
the desert, he answered by a long story of hunting; he had gone out
hunting, had drunk too much, and lost his way. To the suggestion
that he should enter the monastery and save his soul, he replied
with a smile: "I am not a fit companion for you!"

When he had eaten and drunk he looked at the monks who were serving
him, shook his head reproachfully, and said:

"You don't do anything, you monks. You are good for nothing but
eating and drinking. Is that the way to save one's soul? Only think,
while you sit here in peace, eat and drink and dream of beatitude,
your neighbours are perishing and going to hell. You should see
what is going on in the town! Some are dying of hunger, others, not
knowing what to do w