and directed the interests of
the order, were never so anxious to incorporate able and zealous sons
and send them forth to win back the world.

The zeal and accomplishments of Clement, especially his rare mastery of
language (for he spoke Latin, Italian, French, high and low Dutch),
soon transpired, and he was destined to travel and preach in England,
corresponding with the Roman centre.

But Jerome, who had the superior's ear, obstructed this design.

"Clement," said he, "has the milk of the world still in his veins, its
feelings, its weaknesses let not his new-born zeal and his humility
tempt us to forego our ancient wisdom. Try him first, and temper him,
lest one day we find ourselves leaning on a reed for a staff.

"It is well advised," said the prior. "Take him in hand thyself."

Then Jerome, following the ancient wisdom, took Clement and tried him.

One day he brought him to a field where the young men amused themselves
at the games of the day; he knew this to be a haunt of Clement's late
friends.

And sure enough ere long Pietro Vanucci and Andrea passed by them, and
cast a careless glance on the two friars. They did not recognize their
dead friend in a shaven monk.

Clement gave a very little start, and then lowered his eyes and said a
paternoster.

"Would ye not speak with them, brother?" said Jerome, trying him.

"No brother: yet was it good for me to see them. They remind me of the
sins I can never repent enough."

"It is well," said Jerome, and he made a cold report in Clement's
favour.

Then Jerome took Clement to many death-beds. And then into noisome
dungeons; places where the darkness was appalling, and the stench
loathsome, pestilential; and men looking like wild beasts lay coiled
in rags and filth and despair. It tried his body hard; but the soul
collected all its powers to comfort such poor wretches there as were
not past comfort. And Clement shone in that trial. Jerome reported that
Clement's spirit was willing, but his flesh was weak.

"Good!" said Anselm; "his flesh is weak, but his spirit is willing."

But there was a greater trial in store.

I will describe it as it was seen by others.

One morning a principal street in Rome was crowded, and even the avenues
blocked up with heads. It was an execution. No common crime had been
done, and on no vulgar victim.

The governor of Rome had been found in his bed at daybreak, slaughtered.
His hand, raised probably in self-defence, lay