“Our Lady was always a wise, brave, loving, submissive woman,” exclaimed Sir Charleroy.
“It is an old tradition,” replied Cornelius, “that this was the wedding of John, the beloved and confidant of Jesus. It is interesting to remember that that blessed disciple, in his Gospel, presents the one whom he loved as a mother but twice—once at this wedding, the other time at the crucifixion; the places of highest joy, and deepest sorrow; a way of saying from the altar to the cross, is woman’s course; a parable-like presentment of the doctrine that the wife and mother are to appear at these two points, so opposite, so common to all; the lowest dip, the highest heaven.”
The mad knight suddenly interrupted them.
“What did Joseph think of all this?”
Perhaps this odd query was fortunate, for it brought smiles to all. The knight laughed out until his eyes were flowing with tears.
Cornelius, self-possessed, quietly replied: “It is said that Joseph was dead long ere this wedding, and that Mary was exhaling the perfumes of her consecrated widowed life to gladdening in pious ministries the people about her. Widowhood has such purposes.”
“Ah, she was the Rose,” cried the knight. “If Joseph were not dead, he might well stand back, behind such a wife!”
The chaplain of the Palestineans closed with a well-worded climax, recalling the fact that this event made a lasting impression on the Son of God, as evinced by the wondrous tropes of the Apocalypse, where eternal goodness and eternal joy are pictured under the similitude of a wedding-feast.
The mad knight cried out: “Grand, grand! Oh, ruddy priest, I worship thee!”
The Grand Master signaled the conclusion. The worshipers and patients were slowly retiring, Sir Charleroy moving toward his lodge seemingly wrapped in contemplation of some engrossing problem.