“I scarcely understood the hermit. This charity appeared to me so much above man that I thought I was dreaming. By the light of the little lantern the monk was holding in his hand I saw that his beard and hair were saturated with water; his feet, his hands, and his face were bleeding: from their encounters with the brambles. ‘Old man!’ I at length cried, ‘what sort of heart have you, that you did not fear being struck by the lightning?’ ‘Fear!’ retorted the father, with a certain ardor, ‘fear when men are in danger and I can be useful to them! I should in that case be an unworthy servant of Jesus Christ!’ ‘But do you know,’ I interrupted, ‘that I am not a Christian?’ ‘Young man,’ replied the hermit, ‘did I ask you your religion? Jesus Christ did not say, “My blood shall wash this one or that one.” He died for the Jew and for the Gentile, and He only considered all the races of men as brothers in misfortune. What I am now doing for you is but little, and you would find elsewhere plenty of other help; but the glory of it should not fall upon the priests. What are we poor hermits, if not the coarse instruments of a celestial work? And what soldier would be cowardly enough to retreat when his Chief, with the cross in His hand and His forehead covered with thorns, marches before him to the assistance of suffering humanity?’
“These words went to my heart; tears of admiration and tenderness fell from my eyes. ‘My dear children,’ said the missionary, ‘I govern in these forests a little flock of your wild brethren. My grotto is not far from here, in the mountain. Come and warm yourselves under my roof. You will not find the conveniences of life there, but you shall have shelter, and you should thank the Divine goodness even for that, for there are many men who are without it.’
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