A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel
Esmondet and her companions, lingering at a small town east of Genoa;
on the last day of their stay, they have taken a conveyance and, Sims
as driver, in descending by another road they came suddenly upon one
of those mediaeval castles, or rather its ruins, the greater part
having fallen to decay.
"Eureka," exclaimed Lionel; "the quaint spot I have wished to see
again; and which you should sketch, Miss Vernon."
The Brothers of Saint Gregory had, with tool and hammer, made the most
of the ruins remaining; and here some twenty lived, sheltering the
weary traveller. Our friends were almost close to the ruin ere
observing it, it being hidden partly by a magnificent belt of pine,
partly by a freak of nature, in shape of huge upheavals of rock,
thrown up as it were from the earth's bowels, and in the clefts of
which rocks, beautiful moss, hardy trailing plants, and ferns grew
luxuriantly. Here the Brothers had built a tiny chapel, one side and
part of roof being formed of these rocks, the other side, remainder of
roof, and western entrance, were of stone and marble. The eastern end
of beautiful specimens of Italian marble, the altar of pure white, its
many coloured background throwing it out in all its purity; seats of
rude stone; the floor strewn with sweet scented leaves and twigs,
sending up when crushed by one's foot, a sweet odour as of incense. On
our travellers nearing, a magnificent voice full of melody, fell upon
the air.
"What a grand singer!" exclaimed Vaura, as they with one consent,
deserted the carriage.
It was a Christmas anthem, "_Regina coeli loetare, alleluia, quia quem
meruisti portare, alleluia, etc._"
"'Tis a beautiful spot, and a great and rich voice," said Lady
Esmondet; "I wonder if petticoats are admitted."
"Even if not," said Vaura, "we can sit on the rocks or grassy seats
and fill our ears with music, which, after we descend, will lift us to
the heights once more."
In following a narrow, irregular path, which led to the iron gate of
the garden, Lady Esmondet, becoming separated from her companions,
Vaura climbed to a rock; just a foot-hold, to endeavour to ascertain
her whereabouts; Lionel overtook her, as becoming dizzy, she would
have fallen.
"Spring into my arms; there, that is it; do not fear," he said
breathlessly.
"I was foolish to attempt it when you were not near," she said softly,
as he loosened his hold on the level path.
"How glad I was to be in time, and you cannot know how my heart leaped
when you had to come, to me and I held you in my arms, even for a
moment," he says brokenly.
They come now to a few yards of narrow path, a steep precipice at one
side. With a whispered "may I?" his arm is around her in guiding her
steps; no word is spoken and we all know the silent ecstasy of such
moments. A turn in the path and they come upon Lady Esmondet, seated
on a rocky seat (she having taken a safer way) and listening to the
sweet voice still singing.
"I wonder if they will admit us," said Lady Esmondet.
"I can try," answered Lionel, and moving down the few natural steps to
the iron gate of the garden, rang the bell.
The gate was opened by a priest, an elderly man, severe of aspect, but
courteous in manner, and a man of letters from his intellectual cast
of countenance. In very good English, he said:
"In the name of Saint Gregory, I welcome you; whether you come for
food for the soul or body, our prayers are yours, and our poor fare
awaits you."
"Thank you, sir priest," said Lady Esmondet; "we shall just admire
your chapel and garden and go on our way."
"We were attracted from the direct path by a magnificent voice within
your walls," said Vaura.
"Yes, Brother Thomas is greatly gifted; well for him that his great
powers are given to good, rather than to evil. The sacred festival of
the birth of the Christ is so near, and our brother sings at Paris the
joyful songs of his nativity. This being a Saint's day, some of the
younger brothers of our order have begged our sweet singer of the
churches to pour forth the notes of his melody, that they also, may
feel as the Parisiens, the wonderful power and charm of his song."
"Such melody stirs one's very soul!" said Vaura earnestly, her large
eyes full of moisture as the music thrills her.
"What a lull there seems!" said Lady Esmondet, "now that his voice is
still."
"Yes!" said Vaura, "as if nature herself had been listening."
Lady Esmondet now introduced to Father Ignatius herself and
companions, and as they followed the winding path from the chapel to
the ruins, whither to the habitable wing they are bending their steps
to partake of some slight refreshment, they come suddenly upon the
owner of the throat, full of song, who is now kneeling beside a large
urn, in which are some live coals, upon which he has just laid some
elegantly bound volumes; he is pale and emaciated, but with the
remains of wonderful beauty; with folded hands and eyes closed turned
heavenward, on hearing footsteps he looks and would have started to
his feet and flown, but by a visible effort restrained himself. On
observing his agitation, Trevalyon suggested the turning into another
path, but the stern priest objected.
"Yes! pray do," said Lady Esmondet, "there is a lovely shrub I should
like a nearer view of."
"Be it so; I perceive, Monsieur, I mean," checking herself, "Brother
Thomas is not yet free from the pride that lacks humility, that you
being of the world he has left forever, have still power to stir his
feelings, he was ashamed of his garb, but must steel his heart against
such emotion."
"Poor fellow," said Vaura, in pitying tones, "he looks ill, and is
perhaps weak and nervous, his habiliments look stiff and new, not
seeming a part of him as yours, he has perhaps but lately joined your
brotherhood, and all is strange as yet."
"You are right, Mlle. Vernon, his garb is as new as it is new for him
to lift up his voice in the church, and while you partake of our poor
fare, I shall pass away the time in telling you something of him."
They now enter the noble vaulted stone entrance with its ancient
workmanship and massive proportions, seeming in its substantial build
to defy the destroying hand of time. The spacious hall has been
converted by the brothers into a refectory; the priest bidding them to
the table on which were dried fruits from the northern, with fresh
from the southern climes, English walnuts and biscuits, with a bottle
of old French wine. Before his guests partook of the food, the priest
kneeling, made the sign of the cross, asked a blessing, then seating
himself a little apart, spoke as follows:
CHAPTER XXVI.
A MOUNTAIN IDYL, OR AN ALPINE ROMANCE.
"About eight months ago at last Easter-tide, and while the ladies of
Sainte Marie were attending mass in their little chapel, situated
about a quarter of a mile east from the road by which you descend to
Italia, a traveller was carried into their midst more dead than alive,
in a faint, having been struck down by the fell hand of disease
suddenly, and while making his way over the mountains; the hireling
who drove the conveyance had carried him in, well knowing the convent
and hospital to be a harbour of rest for the sick and weary, having
deposited his living freight upon one of the rude benches of the
chapel, bringing also his luggage, left him in God and our Lady's
hands. The mother superior at the close of mass, hastily summoned the
strong-armed portress, who with the assistance of the officiating
priest, carried him to the adjoining hospital. You all doubtless
observed traces of unusual beauty in Brother Thomas, but in the
emaciated form you have seen, can form no conception of his
comeliness, ere wasted by slow lingering fever; yes! he was handsome,
wondrously so. In critical cases of illness, the mother is wont to
call me to aid, I having studied the science of healing in the great
schools of Europe and England, ere taking the vows of our order; in
the character of physician I saw much of Monsieur--I mean Brother
Thomas. As a penance for evil, wrought by him upon mankind, he has
permitted me to tell his story, but as he is dead to his own former
world, and as a punishment, to no more speak his name. Suffice it to
say he is a man of culture, a man of letters. You have heard his
voice, and he was born among the great. Alas! when one sees to what
base ends education is applied plied, one is inclined to regret the
early days. At one time in the strangers illness, he was so nearly
passing through the valley of the Shadow of Death, as to make it
incumbent upon me to open his luggage in order to ascertain his name
and address, whereby to communicate with his friends; in an iron box I
was horror-struck to find volume after volume, his own work, which
rivalled Voltaire in its teachings. I trembled to think of such
godless productions within the walls of a holy convent and of the
awful responsibility resting upon myself; should I allow such
instruments of evil to exist? did it not seem providential, my being
placed in such a position as to be able in a few minutes, by the aid
of fire, to destroy the labour of years, and so give to the church
another victory over Satan?
"I saw him from time to time, and as it proved to be a low wasting
fever, he was with the sisters four long months. Among the nuns who
attend the sick, is a beautiful young English girl, of patrician face
and mien. And now a word of her; eighteen years ago, it was a _fete_
day at Rome, and among the seductions offered to the senses of man,
was that of the stage; one of your most gifted of English stars held
men chained in fetters wrought by her beauty and talent, night after
night, in their boxes at the theatre, while the priests of the Lord
wept at the altar, because of the deserted sanctuary; but it was
carnival time, and men, at that season, forget the God who gave them
power to enjoy. In one of the churches, at midnight, a lady closely
veiled, entered, carrying a bundle, and going up to the altar, without
reverence and in haste, deposited her burden at the foot of the cross.
The officiating priest directed one of the sextons to follow her in
haste, but the lady was too quick for him. A carriage was in waiting,
which a gentleman with hat over brow, and muffled about throat,
speedily drove off, almost before the lady was seated; they were soon
lost in the maddening crowd, for humanity held high revel; the jester
was abroad, and theatre, with amusement and music hall, poured forth
their devotees, though the ball, both in palace and street, would be
kept rolling all night. The emissaries of the church learned that your
star of the London stage left Rome closely veiled, and attended by a
stranger, a gentleman, at midnight. Enough said; only this, that her
business manager and waiting woman had been sent on to Venice, the
next scene of triumph, the morning of the same day. The child, a
lovely girl infant, wore robes of wealth, rich muslin and lace, and
was lolled in a carriage rug of the skin of the seal, five hundred
pounds, in English gold, was pushed loosely into the bosom of her
dress, and three lines of writing were found there also, which read as
follows: 'Communicate, in case of infant's death, with ----' giving
name of banking house at London; 'until that time we have instructions
to pay L200 yearly, for her benefit, _if not_ annoyed by efforts to
ascertain her parentage.' That child is the young Saxon nun, now at
the convent of Ste. Marie; a convent has been ever her home, and she
loves its life, early showing a strong inclination for the study of
medicine, for the past five years she has been an apt pupil of mine;
with great beauty, cleverness, and persuasive manner, she, at the