Black Books

I see wide meadows with tall grass–a a carpet of flowers- soft hills-a wood in the distance. I come across two strange journeymen-probably two completely accidental companions; an old monk and a tall gangly thin man with a strikingly childish gait and remarkably discolored red clothes.

They seem to be talking animatedly.

As they draw near, I recognize the tall one as the red rider-how he has changed!-he has grown old, his red hair has become gray, his fiery red clothes are worn out, shabby-he makes a poor impression.

And the other?

He has a paunch and appears not to have fallen on hard times.

But his face seems familiar. It is the anchorite!. What changes!

And where are these utterly different people coming from?

I approach them and bid them good day.

Both look at me frightened and make the sign of the cross.

I look down at myself in consternation. I am fully covered in green leaves,

which spring from my garment or body. I greet them a second time, laughing.

The monk exclaims: “Apage, Satanas!”-the Red One: “Damned pagan riffraff!”. ~The Black Books, Vol. III, Page116