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ORCERY and sanctity, ' said Ambrose, 'these are the only realities. Each is an ecstasy, a withdrawal from the common life.' Cotgrave listened, interested. He had been brought by a friend to this mouldering house in a northern suburb, through an old garden to the room where Ambrose the recluse dozed and dreamed over his books.
'Yes, ' he went on, 'magic is justified of her children. There are many, I think, who eat dry crusts and drink water, with a joy infinitely sharper than anything within the experience of the ""practical"" epicure.'
'You are speaking of the saints?'
'Yes, and of the sinners, too. I think you are falling into the very general error of confining the spiritual world to the supremely good; but the supremely wicked, necessarily, have their portion in it. The merely carnal, sensual man can no more be a great sinner than he can be a great saint. Most of us are just indifferent, mixed-up creatures; we muddle through the world without realizing the meaning and the inner sense of things, and, consequently, our wickedness and our goodness are alike second-rate, unimportant.'
'And you think the great sinner, then, will be an ascetic, as well as the great saint?'
'Great people of all kinds forsake the imperfect[114] copies and go to the perfect originals. I have no doubt but that many of the very highest among the saints have never done a ""good action"" (using the words in their ordinary sense).
