Duke William had well served Charlemagne and often routed the infidels, but at last in 801 he resolved to retire from the world and be a monk in a desert in the Cevennes. But he must first obtain the consent of his King, and in seeking an interview he began: "My lord, you know how I have loved you more than my life and the light of day. I have followed you in the field and been always ready to lay down my life for you. Now I ask leave to become a soldier of the Eternal King. I have long vowed to retire to a monastery and renounce the world." At these words Charlemagne's eyes overflowed with tears, and he said, "My Lord William, these are hard and bitter words, which have wounded my heart; nevertheless, since it is devout and reasonable, I will not oppose. If you had preferred the service of any other mortal king, I might have felt it an injustice; but as you wish to be a soldier of the King of angels, I consent. Only you must take with you some gift as a token and memorial of our friendship." With these words the King fell on his neck and wept bitter tears. William thereafter returned to Aquitaine; and visiting the monastery of St. Julian, at Brives, he deposited his arms as an offering to God. His buckler was long shown there as a priceless possession, and its gigantic form and strength long attracted all eyes. William then took the humble habit, and entered the monastery of Gelon, comporting himself as the lowliest of the brethren. He might be seen at harvest among the reapers, mounted on an ass, carrying a vessel of wine, from which he refreshed each reaper. Thus he who had so often given battle to the Saracens, and won renown among the warriors of his age, gave himself up entirely to humble occupations and works of charity. A MONK GOING TO LIVE AT COURT (A.D. 801). When Alcuin, a monk, who died in 804, was called to the Court of Charlemagne, he gave vent to his feelings thus: "O my cell, sweet and well-beloved home, adieu for ever! I shall see no more the woods that surround thee with their interlacing branches and flowery verdure, nor thy fields full of wholesome and aromatic herbs, nor thy streams of fish, nor thy orchards, nor thy gardens where the lily mingles with the rose. I shall hear no more those birds, who, like ourselves, sing matins and celebrate their Creator in their own fashion; nor those instructions of sweet and holy wisdom, which sound in the same breath as the praises of the Most High, from lips and hearts always serene. Dear cell! I shall weep and mourn for thee always. But thus it is: everything changes and passes away; night succeeds to day, winter to summer, storm to sunshine, weary age to ardent youth. And we--unhappy that we are!--we cling to this fugitive world. It is Thou, O Christ, that puttest all away, that we may love Thee only, and Thou canst satisfy every heart." THE REASONS FOR SO MANY MONASTERIES (A.D. 1150).