however great, whether king or emperor, would be disgusted at our vestments if they were only cut and fitted to his requirements.  But, say you, religion is in the heart, not in the garments?  True; but you, when you are about to buy a cowl, rush over the towns, visit the markets, examine the fairs, dive into the houses of the merchants, turn over all their goods, undo their bundles of cloth, feel it with your fingers, hold it to your eyes or to the rays of the sun, and if anything coarse or faded appears, you reject it.  But if you are pleased with any object of unusual beauty or brightness, you at once buy it, whatever the price.  I ask you, Does this come from the heart, or your simplicity?

I wonder that our abbots allow these things, unless it arises from the fact that no one is apt to blame any error with confidence if he cannot trust in his own freedom from the same; and it is a right human quality to forgive without much anger those self-indulgences in others for which we ourselves have the strongest inclination.  How is the light of the world overshadowed!  Those whose lives should have been the way of life to us, by the example they give of pride, become blind leaders of the blind.  What a specimen of humility is that, to march with such pomp and retinue, to be surrounded with such an escort of hairy men, so that one abbot has about him people enough for two bishops.  I lie not when I say, I have seen an abbot with sixty horses after him, and even more.  Would you not think, as you see them pass, that they were not fathers of monasteries, but lords of castles—­not shepherds of souls, but princes of provinces?  Then there is the baggage, containing table-cloths, and cups and basins, and candlesticks, and well-filled wallets—­not with the coverlets, but the ornaments of the beds.  My lord abbot can never go more than four leagues from his home without taking all his furniture with him, as if he were going to the wars, or about to cross a desert where necessaries cannot be had.  Is it quite impossible to wash one’s hands in, and drink from, the same vessel?  Will not your candle burn anywhere but in that gold or silver candlestick of yours, which you carry with you?  Is sleep impossible except upon a variegated mattress, or under a foreign coverlet?  Could not one servant harness the mule, wait at dinner, and make the bed?  If such a multitude of men and horses is indispensable, why not at least carry with us our necessaries, and thus avoid the severe burden we are to our hosts?...

[Illustration:  MONASTIC LUXURY. Photogravure from a Painting by Edward Gruetzner.]