IN THE SUNBEAMS.
Our friends having reached Lyons, where they had business, and would
rest for the night, we shall leave them and meet them again on the
mountains. Suffice it to say they enjoyed the varied grandeur, beauty
and magnificence of the scenes through which they passed, as natures
alive to the beauties of natural scenery alone can; the weather was
charming, the coach not uncomfortable, and three happier in each
other, or handsomer faces, had never before looked out upon the many
charms of landscape. The snow-topped mountains, the small white fleecy
clouds chasing each other across the blue sky, and looking as though
gathered from the snow-flakes on their peaks. The varied tints of the
trees, looking from a distance like a huge bouquet in the hand of Dame
Nature; again, a mountain stream dashing headlong down, down,
gathering strength as it rolls until lost in some sudden curve or wild
projection. A gleaming crag with belts of pine now burst upon the
view, in its rich dark dress, while here we have the delicate tints of
the valley. Let us kneel here as we gaze on the giants of the forest,
as they spread their huge arms and rear their proud heads to the sky,
and thank heaven that in some favoured spots the timber is not the
prey of the ruthless destroyer, man. What new country in God's world
but has been shorn of its beauty to gratify man's unsatiable love of
clearing; and the ignorant clod is not the only despoiler, for peer
and peasant rival the great Liberal Leader in wielding the axe, the
one to pay his debts, the other because he is only a clod; and Mother
Earth is made barren, and her heart dry and hard, and she cannot give
nourishment to the seedlings committed to her care.
For a few days of pure mountain air and scenery, we again meet Lady
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: