The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages by Charles Reade

  CHAPTER LXXVII

  CLEMENT sighed. He began to doubt whether he had taken the wisest coursewith a creature so passionate.

  But young as he was, he had already learned many lessons ofecclesiastical wisdom. For one thing he had been taught to pause: _i.e._, in certain difficulties, neither to do nor say anything, until thematter should clear itself a little.

  He therefore held his peace and prayed for wisdom.

  All he did was gently to withdraw his foot.

  But his penitent flung her arms round it with a piteous cry, and heldconvulsively, and wept over it.

  And now the agony of shame, as well as penitence, she was in, showeditself by the bright red that crept over her very throat, as she layquivering at his feet.

  "My daughter," said Clement gently, "take courage. Torment thyself nomore about this Gerard, who is not. As for me, I am brother Clement,whom Heaven hath sent to thee this day to comfort thee, and help theesave thy soul. Thou hast made me thy confessor. I claim, then, thineobedience."

  "Oh, yes," sobbed the penitent.

  "Leave this pilgrimage, and instant return to Rome. Penitence abroad islittle worth. There where we live lie the temptations we must defeat, orperish; not fly in search of others more showy, but less lethal. Easy towash the feet of strangers, masked ourselves. Hard to be merely meek andcharitable with those about us."

  "I'll never, never, lay finger on her again."

  "Nay, I speak not of servants only, but of dependents, kinsmen, friends.This be thy penance; the last thing at night, and the first thing aftermatins, call to mind thy sin, and God his goodness; and so be humble,and gentle to the faults of those around thee. The world it courts therich; but seek thou the poor: not beggars; these for the most areneither honest nor truly poor. But rather find out those who blush toseek thee, yet need thee sore. Giving to them shalt lend to Heaven.Marry a good son of the Church."

  "Me? I will never marry."

  "Thou wilt marry within the year. I do entreat and command thee tomarry one that feareth God. For thou art very clay. Mated ill thou shaltbe nought. But wedding a worthy husband thou mayest, Dei gratia, live apious princess; ay, and die a saint."

  "I?"

  "Thou."

  He then desired her to rise and go about the good work he had set her.

  She rose to her knees, and, removing her mask, cast an eloquent lookupon him, then lowered her eyes meekly.

  "I will obey you as I would an angel. How happy I am, yet unhappy; foroh my heart tells me I shall never look on you again. I will not go tillI have dried your feet."

  "It needs not. I have excused thee this bootless penance."

  "'Tis no penance to me. Ah! you do not forgive me, if you will not letme dry your poor feet."

  "So be it then," said Clement, resignedly; and thought to himself"Levius quid foemina."

  But these weak creatures, that gravitate towards the small, as heavenlybodies towards the great, have yet their own flashes of angelicintelligence.

  When the princess had dried the friar's feet, she looked at him withtears in her beautiful eyes, and murmured with singular tenderness andgoodness--

  "I will have masses said for her soul. May I?" she added timidly.

  This brought a faint blush into the monk's cheek, and moistened his coldblue eye. It came so suddenly from one he was just rating so low.

  "It is a gracious thought," he said. "Do as thou wilt: often such actsfall back on the doer like blessed dew. I am thy confessor; not hers;thine is the soul I must now do my all to save, or woe be to my own. Mydaughter, my dear daughter, I see good and ill angels fighting for thysoul this day, ay, this moment; oh, fight thou on thine own side. Doththou remember all I bade thee?"

  "Remember!" said the princess. "Sweet saint, each syllable of thine isgraved in my heart."

  "But one word more then. Pray much to Christ, and little to his saints."

  "I will."

  "And that is the best word I have light to say to thee. So part we onit. Thou to the place becomes thee best, thy father's house: I to myholy mother's work."

  "Adieu," faltered the princess. "Adieu thou that I have loved too well,hated too ill, known and revered too late; forgiving angel adieu--forever."

  The monk caught her words, though but faltered in a sigh.

  "FOR EVER?" he cried aloud with sudden ardour. "Christians live 'FOREVER,' and love 'FOR EVER,' but they never part 'FOR EVER.' They part,as part the earth and sun, to meet more brightly in a little while. Youand I part here for life. And what is our life? One line in the greatstory of the Church, whose son and daughter we are; one handful in thesand of time, one drop in the ocean of 'FOR EVER.' Adieu--for the littlemoment called 'a life!' We part in trouble, we shall meet in peace: wepart creatures of clay, we shall meet immortal spirits: we part in aworld of sin and sorrow, we shall meet where all is purity and lovedivine; where no ill passions are, but Christ is, and his saints aroundhim clad in white. There, in the turning of an hour-glass, in thebreaking of a bubble, in the passing of a cloud, she, and thou, and I,shall meet again; and sit at the feet of angels and archangels, apostlesand saints, and beam like them with joy unspeakable, in the light of theshadow of God upon his throne, FOR EVER--AND EVER--AND EVER."

  * * * * *

  And so they parted. The monk erect, his eyes turned heavenwards andglowing with the sacred fire of zeal; the princess slowly retiring andturning more than once to cast a lingering glance of awe and tenderregret on that inspired figure.

  She went home subdued, and purified. Clement, in due course, reachedBasle, and entered on his duties, teaching in the University, andpreaching in the town and neighbourhood. He led a life that can becomprised in two words; deep study, and mortification. My reader hasalready a peep into his soul. At Basle he advanced in holy zeal andknowledge.

  The brethren of his order began to see in him a descendant of the saintsand martyrs.