In a few moments he was fast asleep, comforted by pleasure into
repose; his dreams were of gentle self-consoling griefs; and when he
awoke in the morning--'My peace I give unto you,' was the first
thought of which he was conscious. It may be that the sound of the
sheep-bells made him think of the shepherds that watched their
flocks by night, and they of the multitude of the heavenly host, and
they of the song--'On earth peace': I do not know. The important
point is not how the words came, but that the words
remained--remained until he understood them, and they became to him
spirit and life.
He soon recovered strength sufficiently to set out again upon his
travels, great part of which he performed on foot. In this way he
reached Avignon. Passing from one of its narrow streets into an
open place in the midst, all at once he beheld, towering above him,
on a height that overlooked the whole city and surrounding country,
a great crucifix. The form of the Lord of Life still hung in the
face of heaven and earth. He bowed his head involuntarily. No
matter that when he drew nearer the power of it vanished. The
memory of it remained with its first impression, and it had a share
in what followed.
He made his way eastward towards the Alps. As he walked one day
about noon over a desolate heath-covered height, reminding him not a
little of the country of his childhood, the silence seized upon him.
In the midst of the silence arose the crucifix, and once more the
words which had often returned upon him sounded in the ears of the
inner hearing, 'My peace I give unto you.
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