such abnormalities are morbid--without rival in fiction. We follow
Benedetto's spiritual fortunes with as much eagerness as if they were a
love story.

And then there is the love story. Where shall one turn to find another
like it? Jeanne seldom appears in the foreground, but we feel from first
to last the magnetism of her presence. There is always the possibility
that at sight or thought of her Benedetto may be swept back from
his ascetic vows to the life of passion. Their first meeting in the
monastery chapel is a masterpiece of dramatic climax, and Benedetto's
temptation in her carriage, after the feverish interview with the
cabinet officer, is a marvel of psychological subtlety. Both scenes
illustrate Signor Fogazzaro's power to achieve the highest artistic
results without exaggeration. This naturalness is the more remarkable
because the character of a saint is unnatural according to our modern
point of view. We have a healthy distrust of ascetics, whose anxiety
over their soul's condition we properly regard as a form of egotism;
and we know how easily the unco' guid become prigs. Fogazzaro's hero is
neither an egotist of the ordinary cloister variety, nor a prig.
That our sympathy goes out to Jeanne and not to him shows that we
instinctively resent the sacrifice of the deepest human cravings to
sacerdotal prescriptions. The highest ideal of holiness which medievals
could conceive does not satisfy us.

Why did Signer Fogazzaro in choosing his hero revert to that outworn
type? He sees very clearly how many of the Catholic practices are what
he calls "ossified organisms." Why did he set up a lay monk as a model
for 20th century Christians who long to devote their lives to uplifting
their fellow-men? Did he not note the artificiality of asceticism--the
waste of energy that comes with fasts and mortification of the flesh and