Adapted, with quotations, from the poem in The Hidden Servants, by Francesca Alexander (Little, Brown & Co.).
This is a legend about a hermit who lived long ago.He lived high up on the mountain- side in a tiny cave; his food was roots and acorns, a bit of bread given by a peasant, or a cheese brought by a woman who wanted his prayers; his work was praying, and thinking about God.For forty years he lived so, preaching to the people, praying for them, comforting them in trouble, and, most of all, worshiping in his heart.There was just one thing he cared about: it was to make his soul so pure and perfect that it could be one of the stones in God's great Temple of Heaven.
One day, after the forty years, he had a great longing to know how far along he had got with his work,--how it looked to the Heavenly Father.And he prayed that he might be shown a man--"Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown To the selfsame measure as his own; Whose treasure on the celestial shore Could neither be less than his nor more."As he looked up from his prayer, a white-robed angel stood in the path before him.The hermit bowed before the messenger with great gladness, for he knew that his wish was answered."Go to the nearest town," the angel said, "and there, in the public square, you will find a mountebank (a clown) making the people laugh for money.He is the man you seek, his soul has grown to the selfsame stature as your own; his treasure on the celestial shore is neither less than yours nor more."When the angel had faded from sight, the hermit bowed his head again, but this time with great sorrow and fear.Had his forty years of prayer been a terrible mistake, and was his soul indeed like a clown, fooling in the market-place? He knew not what to think.Almost he hoped he should not find the man, and could believe that he had dreamed the angel vision.But when he came, after a long, toilful walk, to the village, and the square, alas! there was the clown, doing his silly tricks for the crowd.
The hermit stood and looked at him with terror and sadness, for he felt that he was looking at his own soul.The face he saw was thin and tired, and though it kept a smile or a grin for the people, it seemed very sad to the hermit.Soon the man felt the hermit's eyes; he could not go on with his tricks.And when he had stopped and the crowd had left, the hermit went and drew the man aside to a place where they could rest; for he wanted more than anything else on earth to know what the man's soul was like, because what it was, his was.
So, after a little, he asked the clown, very gently, what his life was, what it had been.And the clown answered, very sadly, that it was just as it looked,--a life of foolish tricks, for that was the only way of earning his bread that he knew.
"But have you never been anything different?" asked the hermit, painfully.
The clown's head sank in his hands."Yes, holy father," he said, "I have been something else.I was a thief! I once belonged to the wickedest band of mountain robbers that ever tormented the land, and I was as wicked asthe worst."
Alas! The hermit felt that his heart was breaking.Was this how he looked to the Heavenly Father,--like a thief, a cruel mountain robber? He could hardly speak, and the tears streamed from his old eyes, but he gathered strength to ask one more question."I beg you," he said, "if you have ever done a single good deed in your life, remember it now, and tell it to me;" for he thought that even one good deed would save him from utter despair.
"Yes, one," the clown said, "but it was so small, it is not worth telling; my life has been worthless.""Tell me that one!" pleaded the hermit.
"Once," said the man, "our band broke into a convent garden and stole away one of the nuns, to sell as a slave or to keep for a ransom.We dragged her with us over the rough, long way to our mountain camp, and set a guard over her for the night.The poor thing prayed to us so piteously to let her go! And as she begged, she looked from one hard face to another with trusting, imploring eyes, as if she could not believe men could be really bad.Father, when her eyes met mine something pierced my heart! Pity and shame leaped up, for the first time, within me.But I made my face as hard and cruel as the rest, and she turned away, hopeless.
