He did not know that even the most enlightened men
often draw wrong conclusions, or no conclusions at all, from the course
of progress. Patience would have been spared great distress of mind if
he could have seen for certain that his master was frequently mistaken
and that it was the man, not the truth, that was at fault. Not knowing
this, and finding the experience of the ages at variance with his innate
sense of justice, he was continually a prey to agonizing reveries; and,
living by himself, and wandering through the country at all hours of the
day and night, wrapped in thoughts undreamed of by his fellows, he gave
more and more credit to the tales of sorcery reported against him.
The convent did not like the pastor. A few monks whom Patience had
unmasked hated Patience. Hence, both pastor and pupil were persecuted.
The ignorant monks did not scruple to accuse the cure to his bishop of
devoting himself to the occult sciences in concert with the magician
Patience. A sort of religious war broke out in the village and
neighbourhood. All who were not for the convent were for the cure,
and _vice versa_. Patience scorned to take part in this struggle. One
morning he went to see his friend, with tears in his eyes, and said to
him:
"You are the one man in all the world that I love, and I will not have
you persecuted on my account. Since, after you, I neither know nor
care for a soul, I am going off to live in the woods, like the men
of primitive times.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60