Louis de Wohl - The Quiet Light: A Novel of St. Thomas Aquinas

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Text originally published in 1950 under the same title.

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Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.

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THE QUIET LIGHT

A NOVEL OF ST. THOMAS AQUINAS

BY

LOUIS DE WOHL

Contents

BROTHER VINCENT WAS READING his office when it happened; it was in the early afternoon, when his mind was at its best and therefore less inclined to wander, and he was alone in the garden. The garden, too, was at its best, growing and glowing and censing the praise of God in robes that put King Solomon in all his glory to shame.

That was when it happened, and the first thing Brother Vincent became aware of was that something was wrong with the shadow of the wall in front of him. It ought to have been a smooth shadow, one long, unbroken line, and it wasnt. There was something there like an excrescence; it disturbed the even flow of the shadow, and it disturbed Brother Vincents thoughts sufficiently to make him give it a closer look. On a closer look the excrescence appeared to have an absurd shape, almost like the head of a goathorns, ears, and all. A goat, then. But...but since when could a goat climb up a wall, nine feet high?

Brother Vincent knew that he should concentrate on his breviary; somewhere in the deeper recesses of his mind he could hear the thin voice of an alarm bell: stick to your office and dont bother about shadows, excrescences, and goats. He actually went so far as to read the next line; then the temptation to give that shadow just one more look proved overwhelming.

It did look like the head of a goat, and yet it didnt.

And...it was moving...

Brother Vincent wheeled round.

It was there. It was real. But it wasnt a goat. What...what was it? It had a long, melancholic face, yellowish and thin; it had pointed ears and, yes, it did have horns, short, straight horns ending in little knobs; its eyes were half closed. But the most terrible thing about it was that it was growing, growing all the time. Already the head was a foot high over the wall...no, it was not the...the thing itself that was growing, only its neck, an endless, yellowish neck with strange, brown designs on it.

Brother Vincent stood and stared; with a queer and terrified fascination he saw that horrible neck stretching and stretching beyond the measure of the permissible for man or animal. What he saw seemed to be an evil, goat-like head on the body of an enormous serpent, towering higher and higher above him.

Suddenly a pair of black hands appeared above the wall, and in the next instant a little black man stood there, upright and grinning, his teeth matching his turban and dress in whiteness.

He pointed to the...the thing, whose neck was still growing, and said in a squeaky voice:

Giraffe. Giraffe.

The thing itself had not uttered a sound.

With a deep, tremulous breath Brother Vincent regained control over his mind. Apage, he uttered, apage, Satanas . And he made the sign of the Cross. It did not seem to have much effect on either the thing or its black familiar, but it helped Brother Vincent to regain control of his limbs. He made a jump backward, turned, and fled, as quickly as his seventy-year-old legs would carry him, back to the entrance of the monastery.

*****

Francesco Tecchini, Abbot of Santa Justina, was studying a beautifully made copy of Aristotles Organon. It was, of course, the translation of Boethius, not that Moorish edition with the footnotes of Averroes that of late had become so popular in certain clerical circlesthat mixture of Aristotelian truth and Averroist heresy that one fine day would ruin the good name of the Stagirite. If only someone would come to clean that stable of Augeassomeone who would prove to those glib, self-assured Moslem philosophers that Aristotle, if he were alive today, would laugh at their fatalistic interpretations...

Father Abbot! Father Abbot!

You cant see Father Abbot now; he is working on

I must see him!

Let Brother Vincent come in, Brother Leo, said the Abbot aloud, and the old man tumbled into the room.

Father Abbot...the devil...I...I...have seen the devil.

The devil you have, said the Abbot, annoyed to the point of inconsistency as well as flippancy. It was only a year ago that he had had to relegate one of the brothers to the infirmary and have him watched day and night because he believed himself to be attacked continuously by the devil. In the end he had had to call in the exorcist of another monastery, who examined the man and prescribed that he should leave off fasting and vigils for a while and do a few hours of gardening instead. And that is all? That is all, my Lord Abbot. Hell be well again in three weeks time. He was, too. But it was annoying to have solemnly asked for another monasterys exorcist just for that. StillBrother Vincent was different: a sensible man, not given to nervous outbursts and the like. In any case there would be no necessity to prescribe gardening for him. For he was the gardener.

It must have been the devil, said Brother Vincent firmly. He had his familiar with himor whatever it was, a little black man and he said it was a seraph. But that was a lie, of course. That and a seraph! The ugliest, the most horrible thing I ever sawa seraph.

He fairly snorted.

And where, asked the Abbot, did you see...umph...all this?

At the roses, said Brother Vincent at once. That is: behind the wall behind the roses.

The natural topography of the gardener, thought the Abbot. Where on earth do we have roses? But at least it shows that he has not lost his reason. Then only he became aware of the whole significance of the sentence.

Behind the wall, you say? Then how could you see...him, or them or it?

The little black man climbed up the wall, said Brother Vincent. And the...the other just looked over it with his head and neck.

Rather a big devil, murmured the Abbot. Only now he got up, a little heavily. I suppose wed better have a look.

Yes, Father Abbot.

Outside about a dozen monks had assembled.

You seem to be right after all, Brother Vincent, said the Abbot ironically. It must be the devil. Lookhow much holy work he has stopped. As they scattered: Show the way to the roses, Brother Vincent.

They reached the place a few minutes later. But the wall behind the red and white glory was empty.

Are you sure it was here, Brother Vincent?

Quite sure, Father Abbot.

A pity, said the Abbot. Wellcome and see me in my study after Compline. Now I must go back to my work. And if in the meantime