A miracle occurred then and there, for no sooner did he sit in worldly pomp by the side of this sweet woman than his immediate past seemed wafted away out of his brain, and he quite forgot his purpose. Instead of saying a single word he listened eagerly to Jole’s prattle, who had seized his hand and was now telling him her true story—viz., who she was and where she lived, and how it was her most ardent wish to make him abandon his eccentric mode of life and ask her father for her hand, and become a good and God-fearing husband. She said many other marvellous things in well-set words about a happy and virtuous love, adding with a sigh that she well knew how vain was her longing, and how she hoped he would convince her of the folly of it all as soon as he had refreshed himself at her table.
Thereupon Jole mingled some wine in a bowl for the silent monk, and lovingly fed him with sweets, so that his mind wandered back to his childhood to the time when his mother tenderly cared for the little lad. He ate and drank, and then it seemed to him that he must needs rest as after a time of sore distress, and thereupon his head fell toward the side where Jole sat, and he fell asleep.
“THEY DROVE HIM OUT OF THE MONASTERY.”
When he awoke he was alone. He jumped up hastily, terrified at the sight of his gorgeous attire. He sped through the house from top to floor to find his cowl, but there was no vestige of it to be seen, until he noticed a small courtyard, with a heap of coal and ashes, upon which lay a half-burned sleeve of his priestly garment.
He put his head out into the street once or twice, and drew it back as soon as he saw any one approaching. At last he threw himself down upon the silken couch with as negligent an air as if he had never lain upon the hard bed of a monastery; then he jumped up, suddenly tore open the outside door, and with dignity stepped out into the open air.
He did not look to the right nor to the left, but went straightway to his monastery, where it so happened that all the monks together with their prior had just decided to expel him out of their midst, because the measure of his sins was full, and he was a disgrace to the church. When they saw him approach in his pompous worldly attire that seemed the last straw to break the back of their Christian charity; they poured water on him and hooted him, and with crucifixes, brooms, forks, and soup ladles they drove him out of the monastery.
Such infamous treatment would at another time have been the greatest triumph of his martyrdom. Now too he laughed silently, but it was in a different sense. Once more he walked about the wall of the town, his red coat fluttering in the wind; a glorious breeze blew across the glittering sea from Holy Land, but the monk’s heart was growing more and more worldly, and involuntarily he turned his steps back to the noisy streets of the town, sought out the house where Jole lived, and did her will.
He now grew to be as excellent and complete a man of the world and husband as he had been a martyr. The church, hearing the true facts of the case, was inconsolable to have lost such a saint, and did all within her power to win the truant back to her bosom. But Jole held him fast, and said she thought he was well enough where he was.
Gottfried Keller.