"Yes, uncle; and I had a strange dream last night."
"A dream, my little heart? Come, then, and tell it to its uncle. Dreams
are the hushing of the bodily senses, that the eyes of the Spirit may
open."
"Well, then," said Agnes, "I dreamed that I sat pondering as I did last
evening in the moonlight, and that an angel came forth from the trees"--
"Indeed!" said the monk, looking up with interest; "what form had he?"
"He was a young man, in dazzling white raiment, and his eyes were deep
as eternity, and over his forehead was a silver flame, and he bore a
lily-stalk in his hand, which was like what you told of, with light in
itself."
"That must have been the holy Gabriel," said the monk, "the angel that
came to our blessed Mother. Did he say aught?"
"Yes, he touched my forehead with the lily, and a sort of cool rest and
peace went all through me, and he said, 'The Lord hath sealed thee for
his own!'"
"Even so," said the monk, looking up, and crossing himself devoutly, "by
this token I know that my prayers are answered."
"But, dear uncle," said Agnes, hesitating and blushing painfully, "there
was one singular thing about my dream,--this holy angel had yet a
strange likeness to the young man that came here last night, so that I
could not but marvel at it."
"It may be that the holy angel took on him in part this likeness to show
how glorious a redeemed soul might become, that you might be encouraged
to pray. The holy Saint Monica thus saw the blessed Augustine standing
clothed in white among the angels while he was yet a worldling and
unbeliever, and thereby received the grace to continue her prayers for
thirty years, till she saw him a holy bishop. This is a sure sign that
this young man, whoever he may be, shall attain Paradise through your
prayers. Tell me, dear little heart, is this the first angel thou hast
seen?"
"I never dreamed of them before. I have dreamed of our Lady, and Saint
Agnes, and Saint Catharine of Siena; and sometimes it seemed that they
sat a long time by my bed, and sometimes it seemed that they took me
with them away to some beautiful place where the air was full of music,
and sometimes they filled my hands with such lovely flowers that when I
waked I was ready to weep that they could no more be found. Why, dear
uncle, do _you_ see angels often?"
"Not often, dear child, but sometimes a little glimpse. But you should
see the pictures of our holy Father Angelico, to whom the angels
appeared constantly; for so blessed was the life he lived, that it was
more in heaven than on earth. He would never cumber his mind with the
things of this world, and would not paint for money, nor for prince's
favor; nor would he take places of power and trust in the Church, or
else, so great was his piety, they had made a bishop of him; but he kept
ever aloof and walked in the shade. He used to say, 'They that would do
Christ's work must walk with Christ.' His pictures of angels are indeed
wonderful, and their robes are of all dazzling colors, like the rainbow.
It is most surely believed among us that he painted to show forth what
he saw in heavenly visions."
"Ah!" said Agnes, "how I wish I could see some of these things!"
"You may well say so, dear child. There is one picture of Paradise
painted on gold, and there you may see our Lord in the midst of the
heavens crowning his blessed Mother, and all the saints and angels
surrounding; and the colors are so bright that they seem like the sunset
clouds,--golden, and rosy, and purple, and amethystine, and green like
the new, tender leaves of spring: for, you see, the angels are the
Lord's flowers and birds that shine and sing to gladden his Paradise,
and there is nothing bright on earth that is comparable to them,--so
said the blessed Angelico, who saw them. And what seems worthy of note
about them is their marvellous lightness, that they seem to float as
naturally as the clouds do, and their garments have a divine grace of
motion like vapor that curls and wavers in the sun. Their faces, too,
are most wonderful; for they seem so full of purity and majesty, and
withal humble, with an inexpressible sweetness; for, beyond all others,
it was given to the holy Angelico to paint the immortal beauty of the
soul."
"It must be a great blessing and favor for you, dear uncle, to see all
these things," said Agnes; "I am never tired of hearing you tell of
them."
"There is one little picture," said the monk, "wherein he hath painted
the death of our dear Lady; and surely no mortal could ever conceive
anything like her sweet dying face, so faint and weak and tender that
each man sees his own mother dying there, yet so holy that one feels
that it can be no other than the mother of our Lord; and around her
stand the disciples mourning; but above is our blessed Lord himself, who
receives the parting spirit, as a tender new-born babe, into his bosom:
for so the holy painters represented the death of saints, as of a birth
in which each soul became a little child of heaven."
"How great grace must come from such pictures!" said Agnes. "It seems
to me that the making of such holy things is one of the most blessed of
good works.--Dear uncle," she said, after a pause, "they say that this
deep gorge is haunted by evil spirits, who often waylay and bewilder the
unwary, especially in the hours of darkness."
"I should not wonder in the least," said the monk; "for you must know,
child, that our beautiful Italy was of old so completely given up and
gone over to idolatry that even her very soil casts up fragments of
temples and stones that have been polluted. Especially around these
shores there is scarcely a spot that hath not been violated in all times
by vilenesses and impurities such as the Apostle saith it is a shame
even to speak of. These very waters cast up marbles and fragments of
colored mosaics from the halls which were polluted with devil-worship
and abominable revellings; so that, as the Gospel saith that the evil
spirits cast out by Christ walk through waste places, so do they cling
to these fragments of their old estate."
"Well, uncle, I have longed to consecrate the gorge to Christ by having
a shrine there, where I might keep a lamp burning."
"It is a most pious thought, child."
"And so, dear uncle, I thought that you would undertake the work. There
is one Pietro hereabout who is a skilful worker in stone, and was a
playfellow of mine,--though of late grandmamma has forbidden me to talk
with him,--and I think he would execute it under your direction."
"Indeed, my little heart, it shall be done," said the monk, cheerfully;
"and I will engage to paint a fair picture of our Lady to be within; and
I think it would be a good thought to have a pinnacle on the outside,
where should stand a statue of Saint Michael with his sword. Saint
Michael is a brave and wonderful angel, and all the devils and vile
spirits are afraid of him. I will set about the devices to-day."