AT DIEUPORTE
E’ER we follow Peregrine in his further wanderings, it were well,
methinks, to remain a brief space at Dieuporte. To leave on the instant
the child committed by him to Abbot Hilary’s care, were to my mind to
leave him somewhat summarily. An’ you are of my way of thinking, have
found interest in the boy, you would know something of his further
welfare. Having brought him to harbourage, it is restful to dwell a
short time with him.
You may be sure the child found the Abbey restful. In the first place,
it held a rare atmosphere of sanity and homeliness. Herein it differed
from the dwelling he had left as greatly as good wheaten bread differs
from tainted dishes. In the second place, he experienced safety in the
presence of the big Abbot and his colleagues. This he felt without fully
realizing that he did so. His mind, hitherto tensioned to an unwholesome
strain by the very evil will of Menippus, now found entire relaxation.
He slept, ate, and slept again, his strength vastly recuperating
thereby.
He spent long hours in the sunny garden, mainly in company with young
Brother Francis, to whose charge the Abbot had specially allotted him.
Here, in spite of his blindness, he became aware of the beauty around
him. He felt the soft wind, heard its rustling in the trees; heard also
the low notes of the wood pigeons; smelt the sweet scent of the flowers.
In the quiet orderliness of the place, its stateliness, yet its
simplicity and its homely happiness, his rightful heritage of childhood,
long denied him, came to birth. He lost his furtive look, ceased to
start at sudden sounds; his peaked face grew to plumpness, a delicate
colour tinged his cheeks. Anon, he was heard to laugh. This sound
pleased Brother Francis vastly, and the Abbot no less.
Having good care for his body, they forgot not his soul. There was no
proof he was a Christian. Having been in the charge of Menippus from
babyhood the Abbot saw the matter more than doubtful. Gentle questioning
of the child led him to pretty full knowledge of the manner of place
from which Peregrine had rescued him, and the corruption in it. Of the
truths of Christianity he was entirely ignorant. Here the Abbot took
instruction upon himself. This required careful handling, since to bring
knowledge of truth home to him was at the same time to show him more
fully the evil by which he had been surrounded. What Menippus had taught
most foully must now be taught in its full beauty. Briefly, to bring him
to the sunlight were at the same time to make him aware of the darkness
of the pit he had left.
Figuratively speaking we see the Abbot holding him in strong arms while
he looked backward on the horror. The tears that came at the knowledge
of it Abbot Hilary dried; the shuddering he stilled. He told him an
ancient history. This was the story of the Three Holy Children cast into
a fiery furnace. He told him they had walked the flames unscathed, since
One was with them; their garments,—even the hair upon their
heads,—escaping the smallest scent of fire. From it he drew a moral
bearing on the boy’s own case. The child listened wondering, and greatly
comforted. The horror of uncleanness fell somewhat from him at the tale.
Also, for his further comfort, the Abbot told him of Baptism, and
Forgiveness for past wrong.
The boy drank in his teaching eagerly. The very sensitiveness of his
mind, which Menippus had used for his own ends, made him the more open
to present influence. Body and soul, he expanded, like a bud in the
sunlight; it needed but the seal of pardon, like the kiss of the sun at
noontide, to bring his soul to full flower.
He knew himself by no name. Menippus had given him none. “Boy” was
sufficient for his needs. It had been, “Boy, come hither; Boy, do this.”
Now known more tenderly as “Child” it were yet well that the presently
Christian should have a Christian name.
Here Brother Francis arraigned the saints before him for his selection,
gave him their history in brief. This was pleasant enough occupation. To
sit on an old stone seat in the garden, to hear the humming of the bees
among the flowers mingling with the musical voice of Brother Francis,
was a joy to the small selector. He lent grave ear to the telling.
Coming to St. Michael he embraced him readily. Here was warrior enough
to delight his heart. He saw himself well protected in the future. An’
the Saint himself had other matters on hand, what simpler than that he
should order a deputy to take charge? This thought he made naïvely
known, thereby causing Brother Francis to smile. The choice found as
great favour with him as with the child. Very scrupulous, the boy
avoided the smallest claim to the name till it should be his by right.
“Child” he still remained.
It was on the Feast of St. Luke, a glorious day of the Saint’s own
summer, that Abbot Hilary gave it to him. He had no mind to keep him
waiting over long. Conversant with the main truths of Christianity,
their elaboration could come later.
Early in the morning, the day yet barely awake, Brother Francis roused
the child, clad him in the white robe of the catechumen. To the east the
sky was shot with pearly light. Birds twittered from the bushes in the
garden below. The soft air came through the window.
“’Tis your true birthday morning,” said Brother Francis smiling, as he
led him from the room.
The child was very quiet. You see him humble, trustful; his spirit
wrapped in implicit faith. The Unseen World with which he would
presently be in communion already enfolded him in its vastness. He felt
unconsciously that to which he could assuredly have given no word. Where
formerly his soul in bondage to another, possessed by another’s will,
had striven to storm unlawful heights, and thereby in a measure,—through
no actual fault of his own,—had become co-operator with Satanic cunning,
now trustful, with full and quiet Act of Faith, it awaited the Divine
Gift.
A soft grey light was in the chapel, though night shadows lingered yet
in the corners. A faint breath of incense pervaded the place. Man and
boy bent the knee in honour of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament, then
knelt near the font.
To them came Abbot Hilary. Throughout the ceremony the child held
himself very simply. When the holy water touched his forehead, and he
heard the words, “_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti_,” he
fetched a little sigh. Here the assurance of safe harbourage had come to
his soul. From thence he could look forward nothing doubting.
Methinks his child’s heart sang a Te Deum as presently Brother Francis
led him to a pew near the altar that he might hear the Abbot’s Mass.
Gravely happy he knelt there, seeing the future in a glow of soft light.
With supplication and praise the Mass went forward. At the Elevation of
the Sacred Host, Michael raised his head a moment. He could not see the
White Disc held high in the Abbot’s hands. But, with the inner sight of
faith, he saw a Figure standing before the altar, saw the gleaming Robe,
the Grave Eyes, and the Wound upon the Generous Hand stretched out to
him....
Truly, as Brother Hilary had said, it was his birthday.
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