_The Hermit and the Angel_
The simple-hearted monks of the Middle Ages understood, in their own
quaint way, that God's methods of governing this universe are not always
fit to be imitated by his finite creatures. In one of the old stories
that furnished entertainment and instruction for the cloister it is said
that a hermit and an angel once journeyed together. The angel was in
human form and garb, but had told his companion the secret of his
exalted rank and nature. Coming at nightfall to a humble house by the
wayside, the two travellers craved shelter for the love of God. A dainty
supper and a soft, warm bed were given them, and in the middle of the
night the angel arose and strangled the kind host's infant son, who was
quietly sleeping in his cradle. The good hermit was paralyzed with
amazement and horror, but dared not speak a word. The next night the two
comrades were entertained at a fine mansion in the city, where the angel
stole the superb golden cup from which his host had quaffed wine at
dinner. Next day, while crossing the bridge over a deep and rapid
stream, a pilgrim met the travellers. "Canst thou show us, good father,"
said the angel, "the way to the next town?" As the pilgrim turned to
point it out, this terrible being caught him by the shoulder and flung
him into the river to drown. "Verily," thought the poor hermit, "it is a
devil that I have here with me, and all his works are evil;" but fear
held his tongue, and the twain fared on their way till the sun had set
and snow began to fall, and the howling of wolves was heard in the
forest hard by. Presently the bright light coming from a cheerful window
gave hope of a welcome refuge; but the surly master of the house turned
the travellers away from his door with curses and foul gibes. "Yonder
is my pig-sty for dirty vagrants like you." So they passed that night
among the swine; and in the morning the angel went to the house and
thanked the master for his hospitality, and gave him for a keepsake
(thrifty angel!) the stolen goblet. Then did the hermit's wrath and
disgust overcome his fears, and he loudly upbraided his companion. "Get
thee gone, wretched spirit!" he cried. "I will have no more of thee.
Thou pretendest to be a messenger from heaven, yet thou requitest good
with evil, and evil with good!" Then did the angel look upon him with
infinite compassion in his eyes. "Listen," said he, "short-sighted
mortal. The birth of that infant son had made the father covetous,
breaking God's commandments in order to heap up treasures which the boy,
if he had lived, would have wasted in idle debauchery. By my act, which
seemed so cruel, I saved both parent and child. The owner of the goblet
had once been abstemious, but was fast becoming a sot; the loss of his
cup has set him to thinking, and he will mend his ways. The poor
pilgrim, unknown to himself, was about to commit a mortal sin, when I
interfered and sent his unsullied soul to heaven. As for the wretch who
drove God's children from his door, he is, indeed, pleased for the
moment with the bauble I left in his hands; but hereafter he will burn
in hell." So spoke the angel; and when he had heard these words the
hermit bowed his venerable head and murmured, "Forgive me, Lord, that in
my ignorance I misjudged thee."
I suspect that, with all our boasted science, there is still much wisdom
for us in the humble childlike piety of the Gesta Romanorum. To say that
the ways of Providence are inscrutable is still something more than an
idle platitude, and there still is room for the belief that, could we
raise the veil that enshrouds eternal truth, we should see that behind
nature's cruelest works there are secret springs of divinest tenderness
and love. In this trustful mood we may now return to the question as to
the genesis of the idea of moral evil, and its close connection with
man's rise from a state of primeval innocence.
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