“I felt drawn to the rule of Saint Bruno, and made the journey to the Grande Chartreuse on foot, absorbed in solemn thoughts.  That was a memorable day.  I was not prepared for the grandeur of the scenery; the workings of an unknown Power greater than that of man were visible at every step; the overhanging crags, the precipices on either hand, the stillness only broken by the voices of the mountain streams, the sternness and wildness of the landscape, relieved here and there by Nature’s fairest creations, pine trees that have stood for centuries and delicate rock plants at their feet, all combine to produce sober musings.  There seemed to be no end to this waste solitude, shut in by its lofty mountain barriers.  The idle curiosity of man could scarcely penetrate there.  It would be difficult to cross this melancholy desert of Saint Bruno’s with a light heart.

“I saw the Grand Chartreuse.  I walked beneath the vaulted roofs of the ancient cloisters, and heard in the silence the sound of the water from the spring, falling drop by drop.  I entered a cell that I might the better realize my own utter nothingness, something of the peace that my predecessor had found there seemed to pass into my soul.  An inscription, which in accordance with the custom of the monastery he had written above his door, impressed and touched me; all the precepts of the life that I had meant to lead were there, summed up in three Latin words—­Fuge, late, tace.”

Genestas bent his head as if he understood.

“My decision was made,” Benassis resumed.  “The cell with its deal wainscot, the hard bed, the solitude, all appealed to my soul.  The Carthusians were in the chapel, I went thither to join in their prayers, and there my resolutions vanished.  I do not wish to criticise the Catholic Church, I am perfectly orthodox, I believe in its laws and in the works it prescribes.  But when I heard the chanting and the prayers of those old men, dead to the world and forgotten by the world, I discerned an undercurrent of sublime egoism in the life of the cloister.  This withdrawal from the world could only benefit the individual soul, and after all what was it but a protracted suicide?  I do not condemn it.  The Church has opened these tombs in which life is buried; no doubt they are needful for those few Christians who are absolutely useless to the world; but for me, it would be better, I thought, to live among my fellows, to devote my life of expiation to their service.

“As I returned I thought long and carefully over the various ways in which I could carry out my vow of renunciation.  Already I began, in fancy, to lead the life of a common sailor, condemning myself to serve our country in the lowest ranks, and giving up all my intellectual ambitions; but though it was a life of toil and of self-abnegation, it seemed to me that I ought to do more than this.  Should I not thwart the designs of God by leading such a life?  If He had given me intellectual ability, was it not my duty to employ it for the good of my fellow-men?  Then, besides, if I am to speak frankly, I felt within me a need of my fellow-men, an indescribable wish to help them.  The round of mechanical duties and the routine tasks of the sailor afforded no scope for this desire, which is as much an outcome of my nature as the characteristic scent that a flower breathes forth.