About two years ago one of the most popular young society men in
Houston mysteriously disappeared. He had been the glass of fashion and
the mold of form of the Magnolia City for several years. Especially
was he noted for his exquisite and fashionable dress, and he was
regarded as the leader in bringing out the latest and correct styles
of clothing. No one in Houston ever saw a wrinkle in his elegantly
fitting clothes, or a spot upon his snowy linen. He possessed
sufficient means to enable him to devote his whole time to society and
the art of dress, and in his whole bearing and manners was well nigh
equal to the famous Beau Brummel.
About a year ago it was noticed that he was beginning to grow
preoccupied and reserved. His gay and gallant manner was as
Chesterfieldian as ever, but he was becoming more silent and moody,
and there seemed to be something weighing upon his mind. Suddenly,
without a word of farewell, he disappeared, and no traces of him could
be discovered. He left a good balance in the bank to his credit, and
society racked its brains to conjecture some reason for his mysterious
disappearance. He had no relatives in Houston, and with proverbial
fickleness his acquaintances and butterfly friends soon allowed him to
pass from their minds.
The mystery has at length been cleared up. A young Houston merchant
who was an intimate associate with the young society man took a trip
to Europe in September.
While in Italy he had a desire to visit one of the old monasteries
among the Alps; so one day he ascended the Passo di San Giacomo, a
road little wider than a bridle path that led up for 7000 feet among
the glaciers of the Leopontine Alps. Far up, perched upon a
snow-covered crag, he could see the monastery of the Franciscan
monks--the Minorite Friars of the Cismontana group of the Franciscans.
He picked his cautious way up the narrow way, pausing now and then to
admire the rainbow hues that flashed from frozen glaciers, or the vast
drifts of snow packed among the crevasses high above his head.
After six hours' arduous toil he stood before the massive iron gates
of the monastery. He rang the bell, and a grim warden bade him enter
and partake of the hospitality of the brothers. He was ushered into a
vast dim hall, with walls and floors of cold gray stone. The monk who
admitted him bade him wait, as the brothers were about to pass through
on their way to their cells from evening prayer. A deep-toned bell
clanged once; a great door softly opened, and a procession of shaved
monks filed slowly and noiselessly past. Theirs heads were bowed and,
as they told their beads, their lips moved in silent prayer.
As they came past the visitor he was astounded to see among the devout
monks the form of the man who had once been the curled darling and
pattern of elegance in Houston.
* * * * *
He called his name and the monk, startled by his voice, raised his
head and stepped from the ranks of his brother penitents. The others
continued their silent march until another great door had closed
behind them.
The Houston man gazed at the friar in wonder.
He wore a long black robe, slightly confined at the waist by a hempen
cord, that hung to his feet in classic, shapely folds. The crown of
his head was shaven and his face was as smooth as a maiden's. But the
most noticeable thing was the expression of absolute peace and serene
happiness that shone from his features. There was no trace of the
worried and absent look that his friends had noticed before he
disappeared.
A calm and holy beatitude beamed from his face like a benison.
"In heaven's name," said his friend, "what brought you here to bury
yourself forever from the world; why did you leave your friends and
pleasures to pass your days in this dreary place?"
"Listen," said the monk, "and I will tell you. I am now supremely and
ecstatically happy. I have attained the goal of my desires. Look at
this robe." He glanced proudly at the dark, severe robe that swept
downward from his waist in graceful folds.
"I am one man," he continued, "who has arrived at the fruition of his
dearest earthly hopes. I have got something on at least that will not
bag at the knees."
(_Houston Daily Post_, Sunday morning, November 24, 1895.)