Could you without a pang say farewell to the
world?'
Deodatus answered timidly:
'Here is peace.'
Continuing to question, Basil learnt that for this man the life of
the world was a weariness and a dread. Hardships of many kinds had
oppressed him from childhood; his was a meek soul, which had no
place amid the rudeness and violence of the times; from the first
hour, the cloistered life had cast a spell upon him.
'Here is peace,' he repeated. 'Here one can forget everything but to
worship God. Could I remain here, I were the happiest of men.'
And Basil mused, understanding, approving, yet unable to utter the
same words for himself. His eyes strayed towards the far valley,
shimmering in earliest daylight. He, too, had he not suffered dread
things whilst living in the world? And could he expect that life in
the future would be more kindly to him? None the less did his heart
yearn for that valley of human tribulation. He struggled to subdue
it.
'Deodatus, pray for me, that I may have strength to do that which I
see to be the best.'
It was no forced humility.
Pages:
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505