IV

I WAS born (said she) in the north country, where the winters are long

and cold, where snow sometimes falls in the valleys, and the high

mountains for months are white with it. My father's castle is in a tall

green wood, where the winds always rustle, and a cold river runs down

from the ice-gorges. South of us was the wide plain, glowing with heat,

but above us were stony passes where the eagle nests and the storms

howl; in winter great fires roared in our chimneys, and even in summer

there was always a cool air off the gorges. But when I was a child my

mother went southward in the great Empress's train and I went with her.

We travelled many days, across plains and mountains, and saw Rome,

where the Pope lives in a golden palace, and many other cities, till we

came to the great Emperor's court. There for two years or more we lived

in pomp and merriment, for it was a wonderful court, full of mimes,

magicians, philosophers and poets; and the Empress's ladies spent their

days in mirth and music, dressed in light silken garments, walking in

gardens of roses, and bathing in a great cool marble tank, while the

Emperor's eunuchs guarded the approach to the gardens. Oh, those baths

in the marble tank, my Father! I used to lie awake through the whole

hot southern night, and think of that plunge at sunrise under the last

stars. For we were in a burning country, and I pined for the tall green

woods and the cold stream of my father's valley; and when I had cooled

my limbs in the tank I lay all day in the scant cypress shade and

dreamed of my next bath.

My mother pined for the coolness till she died; then the Empress put me

in a convent and I was forgotten. The convent was on the side of a bare

yellow hill, where bees made a hot buzzing in the thyme. Below was the

sea, blazing with a million shafts of light; and overhead a blinding

sky, which reflected the sun's glitter like a huge baldric of steel.

Now the convent was built on the site of an old pleasure-house which a

holy Princess had given to our Order; and a part of the house was left

standing with its court and garden. The nuns had built all about the

garden; but they left the cypresses in the middle, and the long marble

tank where the Princess and her ladies had bathed. The tank, however,

as you may conceive, was no longer used as a bath; for the washing of

the body is an indulgence forbidden to cloistered virgins; and our

Abbess, who was famed for her austerities, boasted that, like holy

Sylvia the nun, she never touched water save to bathe her finger-tips

before receiving the Sacrament. With such an example before them, the

nuns were obliged to conform to the same pious rule, and many, having

been bred in the convent from infancy, regarded all ablutions with

horror, and felt no temptation to cleanse the filth from their flesh;

but I, who had bathed daily, had the freshness of clear water in my

veins, and perished slowly for want of it, like your garden herbs in a

drought.

My cell did not look on the garden, but on the steep mule-path leading

up the cliff, where all day long the sun beat as if with flails of

fire, and I saw the sweating peasants toil up and down behind their

thirsty asses, and the beggars whining and scraping their sores in the

heat. Oh, how I hated to look out through the bars on that burning

world! I used to turn away from it, sick with disgust, and lying on my

hard bed, stare up by the hour at the ceiling of my cell. But flies

crawled in hundreds on the ceiling, and the hot noise they made was

worse than the glare. Sometimes, at an hour when I knew myself

unobserved, I tore off my stifling gown, and hung it over the grated

window, that I might no longer see the shaft of hot sunlight lying

across my cell, and the dust dancing in it like fat in the fire. But

the darkness choked me, and I struggled for breath as though I lay at

the bottom of a pit; so that at last I would spring up, and dragging

down the dress, fling myself on my knees before the Cross, and entreat

our Lord to give me the gift of holiness, that I might escape the

everlasting fires of hell, of which this heat was like an awful

foretaste. For if I could not endure the scorching of a summer's day,

with what constancy could I meet the thought of the flame that dieth

not?

This longing to escape the heat of hell made me apply myself to a

devouter way of living, and I reflected that if my bodily distress were

somewhat eased I should be able to throw myself with greater zeal into

the practice of vigils and austerities. And at length, having set forth

to the Abbess that the sultry air of my cell induced in me a grievous

heaviness of sleep, I prevailed on her to lodge me in that part of the

building which overlooked the garden.

For a few days I was quite happy, for instead of the dusty

mountainside, and the sight of the sweating peasants and their asses, I

looked out on dark cypresses and rows of budding vegetables. But

presently I found I had not bettered myself. For with the approach of

midsummer the garden, being all enclosed with buildings, grew as

stifling as my cell. All the green things in it withered and dried off,

leaving trenches of bare red earth, across which the cypresses cast

strips of shade too narrow to cool the aching heads of the nuns who

sought shelter there; and I began to think sorrowfully of my former

cell, where now and then there came a sea-breeze, hot and languid, yet

alive, and where at least I could look out upon the sea. But this was

not the worst; for when the dog-days came I found that the sun, at a

certain hour, cast on the ceiling of my cell the reflection of the

ripples on the garden-tank; and to say how I suffered from this sight

is not within the power of speech. It was indeed agony to watch the

clear water rippling and washing above my head, yet feel no solace of

it on my limbs: as though I had been a senseless brazen image lying at

the bottom of a well. But the image, if it felt no refreshment, would

have suffered no torture; whereas every inch of my skin throbbed with

thirst, and every vein was a mouth of Dives praying for a drop of

water. Oh, Father, how shall I tell you the grievous pains that I

endured? Sometimes I so feared the sight of the mocking ripples

overhead that I hid my eyes from their approach, lying face down on my

burning bed till I knew that they were gone; yet on cloudy days, when

they did not come, the heat was even worse to bear.

By day I hardly dared trust myself in the garden, for the nuns walked

there, and one fiery noon they found me hanging so close above the tank

that they snatched me away, crying out that I had tried to destroy

myself. The scandal of this reaching the Abbess, she sent for me to

know what demon had beset me; and when I wept and said, the longing to

bathe my burning body, she broke into great anger and cried out: "Do

you not know that this is a sin well-nigh as great as the other, and

condemned by all the greatest saints? For a nun may be tempted to take

her life through excess of self-scrutiny and despair of her own

worthiness; but this desire to indulge the despicable body is one of

the lusts of the flesh, to be classed with concupiscence and adultery."

And she ordered me to sleep every night for a month in my heavy gown,

with a veil upon my face.

Now, Father, I believe it was this penance that drove me to sin. For we

were in the dog-days, and it was more than flesh could bear. And on the

third night, after the portress had passed, and the lights were out, I

rose and flung off my veil and gown, and knelt in my window fainting.

There was no moon, but the sky was full of stars. At first the garden

was all blackness; but as I looked I saw a faint twinkle between the

cypress-trunks, and I knew it was the starlight on the tank. The water!

The water! It was there close to me--only a few bolts and bars were

between us.

The portress was a heavy sleeper, and I knew where her keys hung, on a

nail just within the door of her cell. I stole thither, unlatched the

door, seized the keys and crept barefoot down the corridor. The bolts

of the cloister-door were stiff and heavy, and I dragged at them till

the veins in my wrists were bursting. Then I turned the key and it

cried out in the ward. I stood still, my whole body beating with fear

lest the hinges too should have a voice--but no one stirred, and I

pushed open the door and slipped out. The garden was as airless as a

pit, but at least I could stretch my arms in it; and, oh, my Father,

the sweetness of the stars! The stones in the path cut my feet as I

ran, but I thought of the joy of bathing them in the tank, and that

made the wounds sweet to me.... My Father, I have heard of the

temptations which in times past assailed the holy Solitaries of the

desert, flattering the reluctant flesh beyond resistance; but none, I

think, could have surpassed in ecstasy that first touch of the water on

my limbs. To prolong the joy I let myself slip in slowly, resting my

hands on the edge of the tank, and smiling to see my body, as I lowered

it, break up the shining black surface and shatter the starbeams into

splinters. And the water, my Father, seemed to crave me as I craved it.

Its ripples rose about me, first in furtive touches, then in a long

embrace that clung and drew me down; till at length they lay like

kisses on my lips. It was no frank comrade like the mountain pools of

my childhood, but a secret playmate compassionating my pains and

soothing them with noiseless hands. From the first I thought of it as

an accomplice--its whisper seemed to promise me secrecy if I would

promise it love. And I went back and back to it, my Father; all day I

lived in the thought of it; each night I stole to it with fresh

thirst....

But at length the old portress died, and a young lay-sister took her

place. She was a light sleeper, and keen-eared; and I knew the danger

of venturing to her cell. I knew the danger, but when darkness came I

felt the water drawing me. The first night I fought on my bed and held

out; but the second I crept to her door. She made no motion when I

entered, but rose up secretly and stole after me; and the second night

she warned the Abbess, and the two came on me as I stood by the tank.

I was punished with terrible penances: fasting, scourging,

imprisonment, and the privation of drinking water; for the Abbess stood

amazed at the obduracy of my sin, and was resolved to make me an

example to my fellows. For a month I endured the pains of hell; then

one night the Saracen pirates fell on our convent. On a sudden the

darkness was full of flames and blood; but while the other nuns ran

hither and thither, clinging to the Abbess's feet or shrieking on the

steps of the altar, I slipped through an unwatched postern and made my

way to the hills. The next day the Emperor's soldiery descended on the

carousing heathen, slew them and burned their vessels on the beach; the

Abbess and nuns were rescued, the convent walls rebuilt, and peace

restored to the holy precincts. All this I heard from a shepherdess of

the hills, who found me in my hiding, and brought me honeycomb and

water. In her simplicity she offered to lead me home to the convent;

but while she slept I laid off my wimple and scapular, and stealing her

cloak fled away lest she should betray me. And since then I have

wandered alone over the face of the world, living in woods and desert

places, often hungry, often cold and sometimes fearful; yet resigned to

any hardship, and with a front for any peril, if only I may sleep under

the free heaven and wash the dust from my body in cool water.

V

THE Hermit, as may be supposed, was much perturbed by this story, and

dismayed that such sinfulness should cross his path. His first motion

was to drive the woman forth, for he knew the heinousness of the

craving for water, and how Saint Jerome, Saint Augustine and other holy

doctors have taught that they who would purify the soul must not be

distraught by the vain cares of bodily cleanliness; yet, remembering

the lust that drew him to his lauds, he dared not judge his sister's

fault too harshly.

Moreover he was moved by the Wild Woman's story of the hardships she

had suffered, and the godless company she had been driven to

keep--Egyptians, jugglers, outlaws and even sorcerers, who are masters

of the pagan lore of the East, and still practice their dark rites

among the simple folk of the hills. Yet she would not have him think

wholly ill of this vagrant people, from whom she had often received

food and comfort; and her worst danger, as he learned with shame, had

come from the _girovaghi_ or wandering monks, who are the scourge and

dishonour of Christendom; carrying their ribald idleness from one

monastery to another, and leaving on their way a trail of thieving,

revelry and worse. Once or twice the Wild Woman had nearly fallen into

their hands; but had been saved by her own quick wit and skill in

woodcraft. Once, so she assured the Hermit, she had found refuge with a

faun and his female, who fed and sheltered her in their cave, where she

slept on a bed of leaves with their shaggy nurslings; and in this cave

she had seen a stock or idol of wood, extremely seamed and ancient,

before which the wood-creatures, when they thought she slept, laid

garlands and the wild bees' honey-comb.

She told him also of a hill-village of weavers, where she lived many

weeks, and learned to ply their trade in return for her lodging; and

where wayfaring men in the guise of cobblers, charcoal-burners or

goatherds came and taught strange doctrines at midnight in the poor

hovels. What they taught she could not clearly tell, save that they

believed each soul could commune directly with its Maker, without need

of priest or intercessor; also she had heard from some of their

disciples that there are two Gods, one of good and one of evil, and

that the God of evil has his throne in the Pope's palace in Rome. But

in spite of these dark teachings they were a mild and merciful folk,

full of loving-kindness toward poor persons and wayfarers; so that her

heart grieved for them when one day a Dominican monk appeared in the

village with a company of soldiers, and some of the weavers were seized

and dragged to prison, while others, with their wives and babes, fled

to the winter woods. She fled with them, fearing to be charged with

their heresy, and for months they lay hid in desert places, the older

and weaker, who fell sick from want and exposure, being devoutly

ministered to by their brethren, and dying in the sure faith of heaven.

All this she related modestly and simply, not as one who joys in a

godless life, but as having been drawn into it through misadventure;

and she told the Hermit that when she heard the sound of church bells

she never failed to say an Ave or a Pater; and that often, as she lay

in the midnight darkness of the forest, she had hushed her fears by

reciting the versicles from the Evening Hour:

Keep us, O Lord, as the apple of the eye,

Protect us under the shadow of Thy wings.

The wound in her foot healed slowly; and the Hermit, while it was

mending, repaired daily to her cave, reasoning with her in love and

charity, and exhorting her to return to the cloister. But this she

persistently refused to do; and fearing lest she attempt to fly before

her foot was healed, and so expose herself to hunger and ill-usage, he

promised not to betray her presence, or to take any measures toward

restoring her to her Order.

He began indeed to doubt whether she had any calling to the life

enclosed; yet her gentleness and innocency of mind made him feel that

she might be won back to holy living, if only her freedom were assured.

So after many inward struggles (since his promise forbade his taking

counsel with any concerning her) he resolved to let her remain in the

cave till some light should come to him. And one day, visiting her

about the hour of Nones (for it became his pious habit to say the

evening office with her), he found her engaged with a little goatherd,

who in a sudden seizure had fallen from a rock above her cave, and lay

senseless and full of blood at her feet. And the Hermit saw with wonder

how skilfully she bound up his cuts and restored his senses, giving him

to drink of a liquor she had distilled from the wild simples of the

mountain; whereat the boy opened his eyes and praised God, as one

restored by heaven. Now it was known that this lad was subject to

possessions, and had more than once dropped lifeless while he heeded

his flock; and the Hermit, knowing that only great saints or unclean

necromancers can loosen devils, feared that the Wild Woman had

exorcised the spirits by means of unholy spells. But she told him that

the goatherd's sickness was caused only by the heat of the sun, and

that, such seizures being common in the hot countries whence she came,

she had learned from a wise woman how to stay them by a decoction of

the _carduus benedictus_, made in the third night of the waxing moon,

but without the aid of magic.

"But," she continued, "you need not fear my bringing scandal on your

holy retreat, for by the arts of the same wise woman my own wound is

well-nigh healed, and tonight at sunset I set forth on my travels."

The Hermit's heart grew heavy as she spoke, and it seemed to him that

her own look was sorrowful. And suddenly his perplexities were lifted

from him, and he saw what was God's purpose with the Wild Woman.

"Why," said he, "do you fly from this place, where you are safe from

molestation, and can look to the saving of your soul? Is it that your

feet weary for the road, and your spirits are heavy for lack of worldly

discourse?"

She replied that she had no wish to travel, and felt no repugnance to

solitude. "But," said she, "I must go forth to beg my bread, since in

this wilderness there is none but yourself to feed me; and moreover,

when it is known that I have healed the goatherd, curious folk and

scandal-mongers may seek me out, and, learning whence I come, drag me

back to the cloister."

Then the Hermit answered her and said: "In the early days, when the

faith of Christ was first preached, there were holy women who fled to

the desert and lived there in solitude, to the glory of God and the

edification of their sex. If you are minded to embrace so austere a

life, contenting you with such sustenance as the wilderness yields, and

wearing out your days in prayer and vigil, it may be that you shall

make amends for the great sin you have committed, and live and die in

the peace of the Lord Jesus."

He spoke thus, knowing that if she left him and returned to her

roaming, hunger and fear might drive her to fresh sin; whereas in a

life of penance and reclusion her eyes might be opened to her iniquity,

and her soul snatched back from ruin.

He saw that his words moved her, and she seemed about to consent, and

embrace a life of holiness; but suddenly she fell silent, and looked

down on the valley at their feet.

"A stream flows in the glen below us," she said. "Do you forbid me to

bathe in it in the heat of summer?"

"It is not I that forbid you, my daughter, but the laws of God," said

the Hermit; "yet see how miraculously heaven protects you--for in the

hot season, when your lust is upon you, our stream runs dry, and

temptation will be removed from you. Moreover on these heights there is

no excess of heat to madden the body, but always, before dawn and at

the angelus, a cool breeze which refreshes it like water."

And after thinking long on this, and again receiving his promise not to

betray her, the Wild Woman agreed to embrace a life of reclusion; and

the Hermit fell on his knees, worshipping God and rejoicing to think

that, if he saved his sister from sin, his own term of probation would

be shortened.