They departed before dawn. The sun rose and his light slipped above the surface of the water, laying on it the multicoloured image of the city which was placed on the slant. They were walking in hurry, in order to reach as soon as possible Corregado. Only after that city they could have left the main street that ran straight towards North till Coimbra and advance by the little paths that led to the mountain Aire. While saying good bye to them, the Prior warned them that they could have been pursued. According to him it was necessary to avoid the main roads.
The road, despite the early-morning hour, was not deserted. In order to escape the heat of the day, wagons with big wheels, painted with vivacious colours, drawn by mules traveled by the main road.. Whole caravans of donkeys proceeds in a row overloaded of baskets and knapsacks. The lowland beyond the river produced agricultural products. To the walking monks was often offered a passage on a cart:
"Sit down, dear fathers, sit down. You are still young, but even the young legs get tired when it is hot. And where is God taking you?"
"To Corregado" they answered, not wanting to disclose the last destination of their trip.
"It is not so far. But you could always get a lift for a little while. The young monk, indicating Fernando, is so pale. Is he ill?"
"No, no." he assured.
And so, a bit walking and a bit tossed on the farmers’ carts, they reached Corregado by midday.
It was a quite small village. Various roads came together. They walked between the houses trying not to attract attention on them. They stopped only to pray in a Church. Only outside the inhabitation they ran into a little forest in which they decided to stop to rest and have something to eat.
Sitting on the grass they thought on which road to take. Beyond Corregado the main road forked: on the right ran along the Tago till Santarem, on the left till Leiria and Coimbra. Between the two roads stretched a vast lowland covered of cultivated fields, separated the one another by rows of olive trees. They walked in the middle of the luxuriant vegetation; they needed to reach the mountains that could be glimpsed in the distance.
They rested. They drank the torrent water and started to walk towards that direction.
The sun kept on heating more and more. Very soon they felt tired. On the paths along which they were walking there was no shade. They didn’t meet anyone.
They met only a farmer riding his donkey and two women that were bringing some packets full of food for the workers in the fields. They greeted the travelers with a prayer. The travellers answered with amiability and with a smile, even though their features revealed to be Arabians.
Before they reached the mountains, the sun came down. Above the fields began to descend the first twilight, similar to a thin cobweb. They were too tired to continue. They decided to spend the night. Here and there they saw some little houses but they preferred not to ask hospitality to those people. They lay down on the ground on the banks of a small river that flowed bubbling. The infinite sky, quilted of stars, stretched above them like an immoderate curtain.
Fernando’s companion was a young simple novice whose name was Hilario. He distinguished himself for his devotion and his taciturnity. Fernando knew that he could count on his help, because even if he seemed little shrewd, he had country shrewdness and knew the mountains through which they had to cross.
Hilario crouched and fell asleep right away. But Fernando, even if he was quite tired, wasn’t able to sleep. Despite the effort required of the whole day of march under the rays of the scorching sun, continued to whirl in his head the thoughts aroused by the facts of the preceding days. Too many things had happened to him simultaneously: the death of his parents, and in particular of his mother, the meeting with Emily, the brothers’ decision, and the escape. Each one of these events was sufficiently big to take away his peace.
What pacific course would have had his life if he had decided to marry Emily! By getting married he would get autonomy and independence from his brothers. Even the Prior was not opposed to it. His mother, that he so much loved, wanted that bond.
All this was true. Yet he was running away from this. The Prior had said: "It was not you who have chosen, it was Him who has chosen you..." and these words acted as that seal of awareness that existed in him for years. His conviction of having to serve God for all his life and of having to shed his blood for him.
He had made his decision, but he was not happy. The sadness, like a heavy burden, was weighing in his heart; it didn’t allow him to fall asleep.
He silently got up, he stopped on he shore of the small river. He knelt, dipped his hands in the water, and then he drew them back, so that the little drops whirled at the light of the stars like a fist of beads thrown into the air. He thought that getting away from Emily was for him so difficult because in renouncing to the girl he was actually renouncing to the world full of beauty. Despite what he had assured to Berardo, that beauty attracted him. He loved nature even if he repeated to himself that in nature were hidden temptations and traps. Till the point that he was convinced that only the senses attracted him towards the girl. But now he knew that he loved the girl and he also knew that that love was not evil. His running away from that love meant that he was also running away from all earthly realities.
He returned to the place where he had laid before. He lay down with a deep sigh close to his companion. Finally the tiredness had the upper hand over his thoughts. He fell asleep.
They slept for a little while. They were awakened by the light of the day. They moved right away. As they walked, they recited loudly the prayers and sang sacred hymns.
Towards midday appeared before their eyes the ridge of the Sierra do Aire, back by the pines that covered its slants. These mountains not excessively tall, but wild, had bad fame. Nobody passed from there. Avoiding the village of Alcanena, rooted on the mountain, Fernando and Hilario immersed themselves in a bush. They found a path that crossed the bottom of the valley they went up. Under the trees by the leafy branches, similar to the legs of some monster, they felt safe. In the silence of the mountains they didn't meet anybody. It didn’t seem that anybody was in their pursuit along this way.
Along a stone canyon after a couple of hours of march they came out on a highland from which they saw a poor village with a house or two built with flat stones cemented with clay. On the high ground in front of the houses rose a Chapel. Beyond the inhabitation stretched small-cultivated fields whose surroundings had been marked by barriers of stones. Close to the houses there were the enclosures for the sheep.
After two days of walk, during which they had fed themselves entirely with flat loaves brought along, and had quenched their thirst from the water of the streams, they felt the bites of hunger. They were also tired. They saw a small group of women sitting in a circle on the ground, busy in their work. They approached them.
"Praise be the Lord Jesus Christ."
"For ever and ever."
They answered in chorus.
"And from where God has brought you here, reverend priests?"
"We are not yet Priests. We are still studying to become Priests. We come from Lisbon. We would like to have a rest."
"Please do." was their warm welcome.
"Have a rest, reverends” they didn’t know how to call them.
"You can have both a pallet on which you can have a rest and something to eat..."
They had angular faces, thin dark eyes, fleshy lips and black and shining hair.
Two of them brought a bench for the strangers to sit on; others brought an amphora of clay full of wine, dried flat loaves, cheese of goat and olives.
Men were returning from the small fields and they drew near the visitors. They were not tall, but muscular, and they walked with elastic footstep, as normally do the mountain people. Over the head, over their bristly hair, they had berets made at home. With their strong voices they started to question the two young monks about what was happening in the village. Even if they didn’t live so far away from Lisbon and from Coimbra, they didn’t know much of what was happening.
"Is the war still on?" they asked.
"The war has moved far in the South." said Hilario.
"The knights go towards south to fight against the infidels, and God favours their army. But here we have peace..." They nodded to show that they understood. Most of the men were old enough to remember the epoch of the Arabic dominion. Sitting on the stamps of the cut trees they said that after the liberation of the country by the brave king Alfonso, the Muslims had looked for shelter between the mountains nearby.
Some had even their castles, from which they carried out incursions against the Christians, in particular against the rich merchants. The villages` inhabitans suffered because of these fights.
"What is the name of your village?" asked Fernando.
"Fatima"
"Isn’t this an Arabic name?"
"You are right. It is Arabic." A hoary old man, from whose ears sprouted locks of grey hair, spoke slowly and with a little clear pronunciation.
"I see, sir, that you do not know the story of Fatima. If you want, I will tell it to you.
At that epoch I was a child and I saw with my own eyes Fatima. As I have told you, at that epoch around here there were still many castles of Muslims gentlemen.
From the castle of a rich knight whose name was Alcacer left horse back a group of young people to enjoy themselves on the banks of the river Sado.
Close by there was the castle of the Christian knight, Don Goncalo Hermigues. This knight was so relentless against the Moslems that he had been named black eater.
Hermingues laid a trap to those young people and assailed them while they were enjoying themselves. The men were killed and the girls were assigned to his knights. Hermingues kept for himself, Fatima, the daughter of Alcacer. The girl was proud. She menaced of piercing herself with a dagger if the knight would have tried to take her by force…
At that epoch Santarem was the king. Hermingues went to see him to boast of his victory. He told the king about Fatima. He told him and he was ready to marry Fatima. The king answere that he would consent at the condition that Fatima would freely accept him and would be baptised. Fatima consented but at the condition that Hermigues stop assailing her brothers and that peace would reing on the mountain.
And so it was. The beautiful Fatima was christened and took the name of Ureana. She was good and very devout. Thanks to her, ceased fights and we no longer bear the overbearances by the contenders. Ureana however died and Don Goncalo for the great pain entered the monastery of Alcobaca. Before he prepared for his wife a great funeral. The funeral procession went from village to village. When the funeral procession was passing from our village we built the Chapel that you see. A travelling artist carved the Madonna and at her feet Ureana knelt, while she asks the peace and the harmony between people. Hermingues to thank us for such a sign of respect granted that from that moment our village would be called Fatima…"
After having listened to the long story Fernando and Hilario went to see the Chapel. The sculpture represented a female figure, dressed like the women of country, knelt. She seemed a little girl. The Madonna was in front of her with her hands crossed on her breast. She had her head a bit bent, as if she was listening to the words of Ureana.
Even if the sculpture was rough, from the figure of Mary seemed to emanate great peace. Fernando, kneeling down, prayed briefly in the Chapel and he stood up again strangely tranquilized. His thoughts that had so much tormented him during the night had melted.
For the night was prepared for the wayfarers a pallet of straw in an empty room. Before they went to rest the two young men asked the inhabitants of the village if they could exchange their hospitality with a day of work the day after. Nobody wanted to hear of it; because, however, Fernando and Hilario insisted, it was suggested finally they could help in transporting the sacks with wheat from the old barn, that was collapsing and needed mending, to that which had been just built.
Fernando and Hilario slept well as they were very tired. As soon as they woke up they presented themselves immediately to the group of men that, gathering under the door of the barn, were preparing to work. Not to waste their clothes, they wore some old rags, which were offered to them.
The sacks were heavy and Fernando hardly found sufficient strength to walk under that heavy weight the few footsteps which was between the two barns. The sweat ran on his eyes and the legs were prone to bend. He was afraid of falling.
He was nearly at his fifth sack, when lifting for an instant his head he saw, that close to the path crossed by those who transported the sacks, a small group of women and around them some people on horse back. These people were asking something, the women were answering. Fernando’s heart nearly stopped. The voice that he had heard was known to him. He recognised it right away. One of the knights was Jose, the most elderly of the house of Buglione.
His first impulse was to throw the sack and run away, but those were on horseback and they would reach him right away. He won the fear. He bent his head and continued to walk. His heart beat madly. His legs were so weaken that it seemed that he was falling. If that would have happened, his pursuers would right away be called to the attention.
"O Madonna" he whispered "allow me to resist till the end..."
He had to pass very close to the newcomers. He remembered however that he was dressed with a rag from the farmers and to have his face covered with beard. He walked with his head down. He heard the voice of Jose ask:
“So you haven’t seen anyone?"
He heard a voice of an old man. It must have been that farmer who the day before told them the story of Fatima.
"I know nothing of that people that you are asking, sir. No gentlemen come over here. And of Priest we only know one. He come here to celebrate the Mass and to confess those who are not able to go down to the city..."
Fernando passed close to Jose who was upright on the saddle. A moment before he had had the sensation that the look of the servant had been placed over him. He loved Jose and he would have greeted him with joy. But he knew what Jose was doing here.
Nobody, however, called him. A moment later he was in the barn. He freed himself from the sack and completely tired, he sat on it. He panted heavily. His heart bit so much that seemed it would leap out of his chest. Nevertheless he stood up. From a crack on the door he saw that those men were turning their horses and moving away on the stony road. He heard the pawing of the clogs on the stones.
He rested for a long moment, before he resolved to go and get another sack. In front of the barn he met the old farmer.
"There were some people" he said "They questioned... They were looking for somebody... They were asking of a young gentleman of the court of knights... Were they talking about you? I said nothing… I do not know why they are looking for you, but yesterday you have prayed, that means that you are good Christians… The Madonna knows what it is all about. Continue peacefully your walk.
And you, do not bring any more sacks. It is not a job for you..."
He agreed and sat under a tree. The old farmer was right, he was not able to continue such a heavy job. He waited for Hilario to finish his job so that they could re-start their walk.
He was now certain that he would arrive in Coimbra and that the doors of the monastery would close behind him, assuring him a silent, tranquil service for Jesus. God helped him. That meant that He had accepted his service. The course of his life was drawn till the end. He escaped the world. He abandoned his temptations. In the cell of the Monastery would have fades the image of the black eyes of Emily.
Every thing seemed to point to a tranquil happiness, yet in his heart he continued to feel a heavy weight.
Chapter 6
They departed before dawn. The sun rose and his light slipped above the surface of the water, laying on it the multicoloured image of the city which was placed on the slant. They were walking in hurry, in order to reach as soon as possible Corregado. Only after that city they could have left the main street that ran straight towards North till Coimbra and advance by the little paths that led to the mountain Aire. While saying good bye to them, the Prior warned them that they could have been pursued. According to him it was necessary to avoid the main roads.
The road, despite the early-morning hour, was not deserted. In order to escape the heat of the day, wagons with big wheels, painted with vivacious colours, drawn by mules traveled by the main road.. Whole caravans of donkeys proceeds in a row overloaded of baskets and knapsacks. The lowland beyond the river produced agricultural products. To the walking monks was often offered a passage on a cart:
"Sit down, dear fathers, sit down. You are still young, but even the young legs get tired when it is hot. And where is God taking you?"
"To Corregado" they answered, not wanting to disclose the last destination of their trip.
"It is not so far. But you could always get a lift for a little while. The young monk, indicating Fernando, is so pale. Is he ill?"
"No, no." he assured.
And so, a bit walking and a bit tossed on the farmers’ carts, they reached Corregado by midday.
It was a quite small village. Various roads came together. They walked between the houses trying not to attract attention on them. They stopped only to pray in a Church. Only outside the inhabitation they ran into a little forest in which they decided to stop to rest and have something to eat.
Sitting on the grass they thought on which road to take. Beyond Corregado the main road forked: on the right ran along the Tago till Santarem, on the left till Leiria and Coimbra. Between the two roads stretched a vast lowland covered of cultivated fields, separated the one another by rows of olive trees. They walked in the middle of the luxuriant vegetation; they needed to reach the mountains that could be glimpsed in the distance.
They rested. They drank the torrent water and started to walk towards that direction.
The sun kept on heating more and more. Very soon they felt tired. On the paths along which they were walking there was no shade. They didn’t meet anyone.
They met only a farmer riding his donkey and two women that were bringing some packets full of food for the workers in the fields. They greeted the travelers with a prayer. The travellers answered with amiability and with a smile, even though their features revealed to be Arabians.
Before they reached the mountains, the sun came down. Above the fields began to descend the first twilight, similar to a thin cobweb. They were too tired to continue. They decided to spend the night. Here and there they saw some little houses but they preferred not to ask hospitality to those people. They lay down on the ground on the banks of a small river that flowed bubbling. The infinite sky, quilted of stars, stretched above them like an immoderate curtain.
Fernando’s companion was a young simple novice whose name was Hilario. He distinguished himself for his devotion and his taciturnity. Fernando knew that he could count on his help, because even if he seemed little shrewd, he had country shrewdness and knew the mountains through which they had to cross.
Hilario crouched and fell asleep right away. But Fernando, even if he was quite tired, wasn’t able to sleep. Despite the effort required of the whole day of march under the rays of the scorching sun, continued to whirl in his head the thoughts aroused by the facts of the preceding days. Too many things had happened to him simultaneously: the death of his parents, and in particular of his mother, the meeting with Emily, the brothers’ decision, and the escape. Each one of these events was sufficiently big to take away his peace.
What pacific course would have had his life if he had decided to marry Emily! By getting married he would get autonomy and independence from his brothers. Even the Prior was not opposed to it. His mother, that he so much loved, wanted that bond.
All this was true. Yet he was running away from this. The Prior had said: "It was not you who have chosen, it was Him who has chosen you..." and these words acted as that seal of awareness that existed in him for years. His conviction of having to serve God for all his life and of having to shed his blood for him.
He had made his decision, but he was not happy. The sadness, like a heavy burden, was weighing in his heart; it didn’t allow him to fall asleep.
He silently got up, he stopped on he shore of the small river. He knelt, dipped his hands in the water, and then he drew them back, so that the little drops whirled at the light of the stars like a fist of beads thrown into the air. He thought that getting away from Emily was for him so difficult because in renouncing to the girl he was actually renouncing to the world full of beauty. Despite what he had assured to Berardo, that beauty attracted him. He loved nature even if he repeated to himself that in nature were hidden temptations and traps. Till the point that he was convinced that only the senses attracted him towards the girl. But now he knew that he loved the girl and he also knew that that love was not evil. His running away from that love meant that he was also running away from all earthly realities.
He returned to the place where he had laid before. He lay down with a deep sigh close to his companion. Finally the tiredness had the upper hand over his thoughts. He fell asleep.
They slept for a little while. They were awakened by the light of the day. They moved right away. As they walked, they recited loudly the prayers and sang sacred hymns.
Towards midday appeared before their eyes the ridge of the Sierra do Aire, back by the pines that covered its slants. These mountains not excessively tall, but wild, had bad fame. Nobody passed from there. Avoiding the village of Alcanena, rooted on the mountain, Fernando and Hilario immersed themselves in a bush. They found a path that crossed the bottom of the valley they went up. Under the trees by the leafy branches, similar to the legs of some monster, they felt safe. In the silence of the mountains they didn't meet anybody. It didn’t seem that anybody was in their pursuit along this way.
Along a stone canyon after a couple of hours of march they came out on a highland from which they saw a poor village with a house or two built with flat stones cemented with clay. On the high ground in front of the houses rose a Chapel. Beyond the inhabitation stretched small-cultivated fields whose surroundings had been marked by barriers of stones. Close to the houses there were the enclosures for the sheep.
After two days of walk, during which they had fed themselves entirely with flat loaves brought along, and had quenched their thirst from the water of the streams, they felt the bites of hunger. They were also tired. They saw a small group of women sitting in a circle on the ground, busy in their work. They approached them.
"Praise be the Lord Jesus Christ."
"For ever and ever."
They answered in chorus.
"And from where God has brought you here, reverend priests?"
"We are not yet Priests. We are still studying to become Priests. We come from Lisbon. We would like to have a rest."
"Please do." was their warm welcome.
"Have a rest, reverends” they didn’t know how to call them.
"You can have both a pallet on which you can have a rest and something to eat..."
They had angular faces, thin dark eyes, fleshy lips and black and shining hair.
Two of them brought a bench for the strangers to sit on; others brought an amphora of clay full of wine, dried flat loaves, cheese of goat and olives.
Men were returning from the small fields and they drew near the visitors. They were not tall, but muscular, and they walked with elastic footstep, as normally do the mountain people. Over the head, over their bristly hair, they had berets made at home. With their strong voices they started to question the two young monks about what was happening in the village. Even if they didn’t live so far away from Lisbon and from Coimbra, they didn’t know much of what was happening.
"Is the war still on?" they asked.
"The war has moved far in the South." said Hilario.
"The knights go towards south to fight against the infidels, and God favours their army. But here we have peace..." They nodded to show that they understood. Most of the men were old enough to remember the epoch of the Arabic dominion. Sitting on the stamps of the cut trees they said that after the liberation of the country by the brave king Alfonso, the Muslims had looked for shelter between the mountains nearby.
Some had even their castles, from which they carried out incursions against the Christians, in particular against the rich merchants. The villages` inhabitans suffered because of these fights.
"What is the name of your village?" asked Fernando.
"Fatima"
"Isn’t this an Arabic name?"
"You are right. It is Arabic." A hoary old man, from whose ears sprouted locks of grey hair, spoke slowly and with a little clear pronunciation.
"I see, sir, that you do not know the story of Fatima. If you want, I will tell it to you.
At that epoch I was a child and I saw with my own eyes Fatima. As I have told you, at that epoch around here there were still many castles of Muslims gentlemen.
From the castle of a rich knight whose name was Alcacer left horse back a group of young people to enjoy themselves on the banks of the river Sado.
Close by there was the castle of the Christian knight, Don Goncalo Hermigues. This knight was so relentless against the Moslems that he had been named black eater.
Hermingues laid a trap to those young people and assailed them while they were enjoying themselves. The men were killed and the girls were assigned to his knights. Hermingues kept for himself, Fatima, the daughter of Alcacer. The girl was proud. She menaced of piercing herself with a dagger if the knight would have tried to take her by force…
At that epoch Santarem was the king. Hermingues went to see him to boast of his victory. He told the king about Fatima. He told him and he was ready to marry Fatima. The king answere that he would consent at the condition that Fatima would freely accept him and would be baptised. Fatima consented but at the condition that Hermigues stop assailing her brothers and that peace would reing on the mountain.
And so it was. The beautiful Fatima was christened and took the name of Ureana. She was good and very devout. Thanks to her, ceased fights and we no longer bear the overbearances by the contenders. Ureana however died and Don Goncalo for the great pain entered the monastery of Alcobaca. Before he prepared for his wife a great funeral. The funeral procession went from village to village. When the funeral procession was passing from our village we built the Chapel that you see. A travelling artist carved the Madonna and at her feet Ureana knelt, while she asks the peace and the harmony between people. Hermingues to thank us for such a sign of respect granted that from that moment our village would be called Fatima…"
After having listened to the long story Fernando and Hilario went to see the Chapel. The sculpture represented a female figure, dressed like the women of country, knelt. She seemed a little girl. The Madonna was in front of her with her hands crossed on her breast. She had her head a bit bent, as if she was listening to the words of Ureana.
Even if the sculpture was rough, from the figure of Mary seemed to emanate great peace. Fernando, kneeling down, prayed briefly in the Chapel and he stood up again strangely tranquilized. His thoughts that had so much tormented him during the night had melted.
For the night was prepared for the wayfarers a pallet of straw in an empty room. Before they went to rest the two young men asked the inhabitants of the village if they could exchange their hospitality with a day of work the day after. Nobody wanted to hear of it; because, however, Fernando and Hilario insisted, it was suggested finally they could help in transporting the sacks with wheat from the old barn, that was collapsing and needed mending, to that which had been just built.
Fernando and Hilario slept well as they were very tired. As soon as they woke up they presented themselves immediately to the group of men that, gathering under the door of the barn, were preparing to work. Not to waste their clothes, they wore some old rags, which were offered to them.
The sacks were heavy and Fernando hardly found sufficient strength to walk under that heavy weight the few footsteps which was between the two barns. The sweat ran on his eyes and the legs were prone to bend. He was afraid of falling.
He was nearly at his fifth sack, when lifting for an instant his head he saw, that close to the path crossed by those who transported the sacks, a small group of women and around them some people on horse back. These people were asking something, the women were answering. Fernando’s heart nearly stopped. The voice that he had heard was known to him. He recognised it right away. One of the knights was Jose, the most elderly of the house of Buglione.
His first impulse was to throw the sack and run away, but those were on horseback and they would reach him right away. He won the fear. He bent his head and continued to walk. His heart beat madly. His legs were so weaken that it seemed that he was falling. If that would have happened, his pursuers would right away be called to the attention.
"O Madonna" he whispered "allow me to resist till the end..."
He had to pass very close to the newcomers. He remembered however that he was dressed with a rag from the farmers and to have his face covered with beard. He walked with his head down. He heard the voice of Jose ask:
“So you haven’t seen anyone?"
He heard a voice of an old man. It must have been that farmer who the day before told them the story of Fatima.
"I know nothing of that people that you are asking, sir. No gentlemen come over here. And of Priest we only know one. He come here to celebrate the Mass and to confess those who are not able to go down to the city..."
Fernando passed close to Jose who was upright on the saddle. A moment before he had had the sensation that the look of the servant had been placed over him. He loved Jose and he would have greeted him with joy. But he knew what Jose was doing here.
Nobody, however, called him. A moment later he was in the barn. He freed himself from the sack and completely tired, he sat on it. He panted heavily. His heart bit so much that seemed it would leap out of his chest. Nevertheless he stood up. From a crack on the door he saw that those men were turning their horses and moving away on the stony road. He heard the pawing of the clogs on the stones.
He rested for a long moment, before he resolved to go and get another sack. In front of the barn he met the old farmer.
"There were some people" he said "They questioned... They were looking for somebody... They were asking of a young gentleman of the court of knights... Were they talking about you? I said nothing… I do not know why they are looking for you, but yesterday you have prayed, that means that you are good Christians… The Madonna knows what it is all about. Continue peacefully your walk.
And you, do not bring any more sacks. It is not a job for you..."
He agreed and sat under a tree. The old farmer was right, he was not able to continue such a heavy job. He waited for Hilario to finish his job so that they could re-start their walk.
He was now certain that he would arrive in Coimbra and that the doors of the monastery would close behind him, assuring him a silent, tranquil service for Jesus. God helped him. That meant that He had accepted his service. The course of his life was drawn till the end. He escaped the world. He abandoned his temptations. In the cell of the Monastery would have fades the image of the black eyes of Emily.
Every thing seemed to point to a tranquil happiness, yet in his heart he continued to feel a heavy weight.
