Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years.
Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us!
Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church?
One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him.
"Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!"
"Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo.
"It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish—die—cease to be?—
"Deceit! away! away!"
He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling—before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend.
The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him—expunged him.