Needless to say, the friar no longer makes his journeys on foot as his pious founder intended. There is a precept in the rule forbidding ‘riding’ under pain of mortal sin, and, in their honest endeavours to discover its application to more modern means of locomotion, commentators are much at a loss. The horse is still gravely prohibited—to ride, that is to say, for in Belgium we more than once had the pleasure of eating it; the ass and the camel are not to be patronised without necessity; a ship may be entered when the friar has not to pay for his sail; even the railway is a matter of serious doubt, but the majority are of opinion that it may be used when necessary—which is a very convenient solution. In point of fact the friar takes his cab, or bus, or train, without a thought of his rule. He has a holiday of two or three weeks’ duration, at least once in three years, and frequent runs to the Forest or Southend or Brighton. He cannot, however, leave the country without special permission from Rome.
The ‘obedience’ or formal order to travel is also a mark of identity for the friar on arriving at a strange convent. For he is always bound to seek hospitality from his own brethren if they have a convent in the town, and the superior’s first care is to demand his obedience, on which his destination is marked. This is enjoined as a precaution against apostates and especially against frauds. For even monastic hospitality has been taken advantage of by
