FullReads

The youth was silent.

“Is it about the food? There is a famine round us, and we must share with the poor.”

“Not only that, venerable father, but the whole way of living here does not accomplish what it is intended to do.”

“Say on.”

“The scanty food does not subdue the flesh, for as I go about hungry the whole day, I involuntarily think only about eating–in church, during prayer, in solitude. The small amount of sleep makes me sleepy the whole day, and I go to sleep in the chancel. Desires, which I had not known before, are aroused by suppression; when I see wine, I feel a real longing to get vital warmth into my body.”

“Then go and ask a brother to scourge you till you swim in your blood, then you will feel the vital warmth return.”

“I have done that, but the blows only waken new desires.”

“Read St. Augustine.”

“I have done that. But the worst of all is the dirt. If I could bathe.

“Are you dirty? That betokens inward defilement. I never bathe, but my body is always clean. But I have noticed, as soon as my thoughts become impure, the body becomes impure! What do you think, then, will do you good? You do not wish to marry. Tertullian says marriage and fornication are the same. And St. Jerome is of opinion that it is better to burn than to marry.”

“But St. Paul.”

“Let St. Paul alone! But what do you want to do?”

“I cannot remain here, for I think that desires can only be extinguished by being satisfied.”

“Servant of Satan! Do you not know that desires never can be satisfied? You were once with your parents. You ate as much as you liked in the morning. Well! Were you not hungry again by noon? Certainly. So you cannot really satisfy yourself by eating! Now I will tell you one thing. You are a child of the world; you don’t belong here; therefore go in peace! Eat of the swine’s husks which do not satisfy; but when you are sick of them, you will be welcome here again. The father’s house always stands open for the prodigal son.”

The youth did not go, but burst into tears.

“No,” he said, “I cannot return to the world, for I hate it and it hates me, but here I perish.”

The Abbot rose and embraced him. “Poor child! Such is the world, such is life; but if it is so, and if you see that it is so, the only thing left is to live it; and count it a point of honour to live till death comes and liberates us.”

“No! I want to die now,” sobbed the youth.

“We may not do that, my son”; the words escaped from the old man. “If you knew … if you knew….”

But he restrained himself: “What shall we do, then? Go to Father Martin and have some food, and a glass of wine, but only one; then go and have a good long sleep. Sleep for a day or two. Then come, that I may see you. Go now–but wait a minute–you must have a dispensation from me.”

He sat down and wrote something on a page which he had torn out of the book. Armed with this permission, the youth departed, looking, however, somewhat hesitatingly and abashed.

The Abbot remained sitting, but did not begin to write again. Instead of that, he commenced crumbling the bread and strewing the crumbs on the table. Immediately a little bird came and picked one up; then there followed several, who settled on the old man’s hand, arms, and shoulders. A spray of vine hung from the roof of the arbour and swayed gently in the wind. Its ring-like tendrils felt about in the air for a support. The Abbot was amused, and placed his finger jestingly into one of the rings: “Come, little thing! here is your support!”

The tendril seemed to hear him, immediately curled round his finger, and formed a ring.