'
"You see," resumed the monk, "that the love of silence and
retirement is not common to all devout people; and that, as I was
saying, this is the effect rather of their complexion than their
piety. Those austere manners to which you refer are, in fact, properly
the character of a savage and barbarian, and, accordingly, you will
find them ranked by Father Le Moine among the ridiculous and brutal
manners of a moping idiot. The following is the description he has
drawn of one of these in the seventh book of his Moral Pictures. 'He
has no eyes for the beauties of art or nature. Were he to indulge in
anything that gave him pleasure, he would consider himself oppressed
with a grievous load. On festival days, he retires to hold
fellowship with the dead. He delights in a grotto rather than a
palace, and prefers the stump of a tree to a throne. As to injuries
and affronts, he is as insensible to them as if he had the eyes and
ears of a statue. Honour and glory are idols with whom he has no
acquaintance, and to whom he has no incense to offer. To him a
beautiful woman is no better than a spectre; and those imperial and
commanding looks- those charming tyrants who hold so many slaves in
willing and chainless servitude- have no more influence over his
optics than the sun over those of owls,' &c."
"Reverend sir," said I, "had you not told me that Father Le
Moine was the author of that description, I declare I would have
guessed it to be the production of some profane fellow who had drawn
it expressly with the view of turning the saints into ridicule.
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