“The air goes through me; it is sweeping away that terrible fear. If I could be free of the horror that tears at me, the horror of—madness.”
The pastor spoke eagerly.
“Fight it, Martin, drive it out. It is an illusion, an evil thought that does not exist. Martin, your soul is in prison, beating its wings against the bars of your own obstinacy; let it soar.”
“I cannot. I am choked with wild impulses, driving me to distraction. I am mad! I tell you, mad!”
“Martin! there is a madness which destroys, and a madness that reveals; such madness has been the salvation of the world. Come, sit down with me, here in this forest, where once lived and suffered our great ancestor, our patron Saint, Mad Martin.”
“Mad Martin?”
Then he told in picturesque English, lapsing unconsciously into his own musical Romansch, the legend of Mad Martin.
“He was one of a lawless band, the youngest bandit of them all—a beautiful youth with the grace of a wild stag, without fear or sense of right, prowling about with his carbine, robbing, killing, consorting with lewd women. One night, a night like this in the woods where holiness dwelt, something stirred within him—a voice clear, beautiful, said wonderful things which gave his soul wings.”
“Yes! that happens sometimes, a voice from within,” said Martin.
“He left the band, made his way to the church and begged to be taken in. He was rarely gifted; the monks saw in him the white fervor of the saint. The Lord had changed the murderous rage of the robber into the divine madness of the fanatic. He went to Einsiedeln and there, it was said, heard the voice of God, who commanded him to become a monk. As the story goes, the Lord, to try his piety, put in his way a last temptation. He was walking in the woods, reading his prayers, when he suddenly came upon a beautiful vicious thing who had loved him in his bandit days; she put her arms around him, her mouth to his. He forgot Heaven. He tried to tear himself away. Her kisses held him. She lured him to her cabin and in the intoxication of passion, he took no count of time.”