The normal man, when the pangs of hunger assail him, eats his meal and straightway forgets all about the existence of his stomach. For a brief space—at least until the next meal is due—he may concern himself with ideals. The normal man sleeps his eight hours or so, and therefore the need for sleep does not overshadow the hours that he chooses to devote to the work of the Lord. The ascetic who spends his day with back bent and knees pressing the hard ground of a cell, who tries to limit his sleep to four hours and that upon a bare board, and whose diet consists of dry bread and muddy water, is on the fair road to be conquered by that which he fondly thinks he is conquering.
On the seventh night, while his staring, burning eyes looked into the darkness, Annys suddenly became aware of a light of peculiar softness and purity, which appearing particularly bright at a certain spot opposite, filled the entire cell with its beautiful radiance.
He raised himself partially from the board on which he lay, and watched curiously the spot where the light shone brightest. It was not long before he made out the lines of a man robed in the impressive vestments of a Pope, the superb jewelled tiara upon his head.
There was something in the dark, glittering eyes, the haughty mien, the compelling magnetism of the figure that in some mysterious manner made him certain that Gregory the Seventh, the great, indomitable Hildebrand, stood before him.
"Art thou one Robert Annys, poor priest, who departed from Holy Church and went about among the poor stirring up sedition and insurrection?" he asked.
"Nay, Most Holy Father, I am that one Robert Annys who went about from village to village teaching of 'Christ and him crucified.' If I sinned, I sinned only in following too closely the example of Christ, which is the one unpardonable sin of the Church Hierarchical."
The Pope's face darkened, and then a slight smile crept into it. "Hot-headed, and fearless e'en as they told me," he exclaimed. Then he regarded him severely. "Blaspheme not! Art thou he who would boldly proclaim that the marriage of the clergy is not an unholy thing?"
Annys groaned for answer, "Ay, I am he."
"Look, Robert Annys, then, I cannot find it in my heart to cast thee wholly from Grace, and I may yet intercede for thee, because thou art such as err through too great enthusiasm. Tell me concerning these ideas of marriage. Let me hear all from thee, that I misjudge thee not."
"Most Holy Father, I thought that religion should lie in every act of man and not alone in breviaries and masses. I sought to create a priesthood that would understand the people and enter into their lives and needs. And we shall never have that, O Holy Father, until the priests share the people's joys and sorrows. The heart of the priest must beat at the same sight that thrills the heart of the peasant; the smiles of the priest must spring from the same source that gladdens the humblest breast; the tears of the priest must flow from the same anguish that wrings the heart of the lowliest one."