The Saint

In my youth I once visited a saint in his silent grove beyond the hills;

and as we were conversing upon the nature of virtue a brigand came

limping wearily up the ridge. When he reached the grove he knelt down

before the saint and said, “O saint, I would be comforted! My sins are

heavy upon me.”

And the saint replied, “My sins, too, are heavy upon me.”

And the brigand said, “But I am a thief and a plunderer.”

And the saint replied, “I too am a thief and a plunderer.”

And the brigand said, “But I am a murderer, and the blood of many men

cries in my ears.”

And the saint replied, “I too am a murderer, and in my ears cries the

blood of many men.”

And the brigand said, “I have committed countless crimes.”

And the saint replied, “I too have committed crimes without number.”

Then the brigand stood up and gazed at the saint, and there was a

strange look in his eyes. And when he left us he went skipping down the

hill.

And I turned to the saint and said, “Wherefore did you accuse yourself

of uncommitted crimes? See you not that this man went away no longer

believing in you?”

And the saint answered, “It is true he no longer believes in me. But he

went away much comforted.”

At that moment we heard the brigand singing in the distance, and the

echo of his song filled the valley with gladness.