"I never saw such a people; I'll never understand them," etc. His magnificent impetuosity again.
"Tell me," I said, for he had given me most cordially the privilege of speaking freely, "do you make your meditation regularly?"
"Well, I do," he replied, "in a kind of way."
"Because," I went on to say, "apart from the spiritual advantages it affords, that closing of our eyes daily and looking steadily into ourselves is a wonderfully soothing process. It is solitude—and solitude is the mother country of the strong. It is astonishing what an amount of irritation is poured from external objects through the windows of the soul,—on the retina, where they appear to be focused, and then turned like a burning-glass on the naked nerves of the soul. To shut one's eyes and turn the thoughts inward is like sleep, and, like sleep, gives strength and peace. Now, would you accept from me a subject of meditation?"
"Willingly, sir," he said, like a child.
"All that you want to be perfect is to curb your impetuosity. I notice it everywhere. Probably it is natural; probably it is accentuated by your residence in feverish cities. Now, I have a right to give an advice on this matter, for I got it and took it myself. When I was as young as you I said Mass in twenty minutes, and said the Office in forty minutes. How? Because I slurred over words, spoke to the Almighty as a ballad-singer, and for a few years went through these awful and sacred duties without ever resting or dwelling on their sublime signification. One day a holy old priest said to me:—
"'Father, would you kindly give me an easy translation of the first stanza of the hymn for Terce?'
"I was completely at sea. He saw it.
"'Ah, never mind. But what means factus sum, sicut uter in pruina? You say it every day nearly.'
"I couldn't tell him.