CHAPTER XVII
THE MONK'S DEPARTURE
The three inhabitants of the little dove-cot were sitting in theirgarden after supper, enjoying the cool freshness. The place wasperfumed with the smell of orange-blossoms, brought out by gentleshowers that had fallen during the latter part of the afternoon, andall three felt the tranquillizing effects of the sweet evening air. Themonk sat bending over his drawings, resting the frame on which they layon the mossy garden-wall, so as to get the latest advantage of the richgolden twilight which now twinkled through the sky. Agnes sat by himon the same wall,--now glancing over his shoulder at his work, and nowleaning thoughtfully on her elbow, gazing pensively down into the deepshadows of the gorge, or out where the golden light of evening streamedunder the arches of the old Roman bridge, to the wide, bright seabeyond.
Old Elsie bustled about with unusual content in the lines of herkeen, wrinkled face. Already her thoughts were running on householdfurnishing and bridal finery. She unlocked an old chest, which from itsheavy, quaint carvings of dark wood must have been some relic of thefortunes of her better days, and, taking out of a little till of thesame a string of fine, silvery pearls, held them up admiringly to theevening light. A splendid pair of pearl ear-rings also was producedfrom the same receptacle.
She sighed at first, as she looked at these things, and then smiledwith rather an air of triumph, and, coming to where Agnes reclined onthe wall, held them up playfully before her.
"See here, little one!" she said.
"Oh, what pretty things!--where did they come from?" said Agnes,innocently.
"Where did they? Sure enough! Little did you or any one else know oldElsie had things like these! But she meant her little Agnes should holdup her head with the best. No girl in Sorrento will have such weddingfinery as this!"
"Wedding finery, grandmamma," said Agnes, faintly, "what does thatmean?"
"What does that mean, sly-boots? Ah, you know well enough! What wereyou and Antonio talking about all the time this morning? Did he not askyou to marry him?"
"Yes, grandmamma; but I told him I was not going to marry. You promisedme, dear grandmother, right here, the other night, that I should notmarry till I was willing; and I told Antonio I was not willing."
"The girl says but true, sister," said the monk; "you remember you gaveher your word that she should not be married till she gave her consentwillingly."
"But, Agnes, my pretty one, what can be the objection?" said old Elsie,coaxingly. "Where will you find a better-made man, or more honest, ormore kind?--and he is handsome;--and you will have a home that all thegirls will envy."
"Grandmamma, remember, you promised me,--you _promised_ me," saidAgnes, looking distressed, and speaking earnestly.
"Well, well, child! but can't I ask a civil question, if I did? What isyour objection to Antonio?"
"Only that I don't want to be married."
"Now you know, child," said Elsie, "I never will consent to your goingto a convent. You might as well put a knife through my old heart astalk to me of that. And if you don't go, you must marry somebody; andwho could be better than Antonio?"
"Oh, grandmamma, am I not a good girl? What have I done, that you areso anxious to get me away from you?" said Agnes. "I like Antonio wellenough, but I like you ten thousand times better. Why cannot we livetogether just as we do now? I am strong. I can work a great deal harderthan I do. You ought to let me work more, so that you need not work sohard and tire yourself,--let me carry the heavy basket, and dig roundthe trees."
"Pooh! a pretty story!" said Elsie. "We are two lone women, and thetimes are unsettled; there are robbers and loose fellows about, and wewant a protector."
"And is not the good Lord our protector?--has He not always kept us,grandmother?" said Agnes.
"Oh, that's well enough to say, but folks can't always get along so;it's far better trusting the Lord with a good strong man about,--likeAntonio, for instance. I should like to see the man that would dare beuncivil to _his_ wife. But go your ways; it's no use toiling away one'slife for children, who, after all, won't turn their little finger foryou."
"Now, dear grandmother," said Agnes, "have I not said I would doeverything for you, and work hard for you? Ask me to do anything elsein the world, grandmamma; I will do anything to make you happy, exceptmarry this man,--that I cannot."
"And that is the only thing I want you to do. Well, I suppose I may aswell lock up these things; I see my gifts are not cared for."
And the old soul turned and went in quite testily, leaving Agnes with agrieved heart, sitting still by her uncle.
"Never weep, little one," said the kind old monk, when he saw thesilent tears falling one after another; "your grandmother loves you,after all, and will come out of this, if we are quiet."
"This is such a beautiful world," said Agnes, "who would think it wouldbe such a hard one to live in?--such battles and conflicts as peoplehave here!"
"You say well, little heart; but great is the glory to be revealed; solet us have courage."
"Dear uncle, have you heard any ill-tidings of late?" asked Agnes. "Inoticed this morning you were cast down, and to-night you look so tiredand sad."
"Yes, dear child,--heavy tidings have indeed come. My dear master atFlorence is hard beset by wicked men, and in great danger,--in danger,perhaps, of falling a martyr to his holy zeal for the blessed Jesus andhis Church."
"But cannot our holy father, the Pope, protect him? You should go toRome directly and lay the case before him."
"It is not always possible to be protected by the Pope," said FatherAntonio, evasively. "But I grieve much, dear child, that I can be withyou no longer. I must gird up my loins and set out for Florence, to seewith my own eyes how the battle is going for my holy master."
"Ah, must I lose you, too, my dear, best friend?" said Agnes. "Whatshall I do?"
"Thou hast the same Lord Jesus, and the same dear Mother, when I amgone. Have faith in God, and cease not to pray for His Church,--and forme, too."
"That I will, dear uncle! I will pray for you more than ever, forprayer now will be all my comfort. But," she added, with hesitation,"oh, uncle, you promised to visit _him_!"
"Never fear, little Agnes, I will do that. I go to him this verynight,--now even,--for the daylight waxes too scant for me to worklonger."
"But you will come back and stay with us to-night, uncle?"
"Yes, I will,--but to-morrow morning I must be up and away with thebirds; and I have labored hard all day to finish the drawings for thelad who shall carve the shrine, that he may busy himself thereon in myabsence."
"Then you will come back?"
"Certainly, dear heart, I will come back; of that be assured. Pray Godit be before long, too."
So saying, the good monk drew his cowl over his head, and, putting hisportfolio of drawings under his arm, began to wend his way towards theold town.
Agnes watched him departing, her heart in a strange flutter ofeagerness and solicitude. What were these dreadful troubles which werecoming upon her good uncle?--who those enemies of the Church that besetthat saintly teacher he so much looked up to? And why was lawlessviolence allowed to run such riot in Italy, as it had in the case ofthe unfortunate cavalier? As she thought things over, she was burningwith a repressed desire to _do_ something herself to abate thesetroubles.
"I am not a knight," she said to herself, "and I cannot fight for thegood cause. I am not a priest, and I cannot argue for it. I cannotpreach and convert sinners. What, then, can I do? I can pray. SupposeI should make a pilgrimage? Yes,--that would be a good work, and Iwill. I will walk to Rome, praying at every shrine and holy place; andthen, when I come to the Holy City, whose very dust is made preciouswith the blood of the martyrs and saints, I will seek the house of ourdear father, the Pope, and entreat his forgiveness for this poor soul.He will not scorn me, for he is in the place of the blessed Jesus, andthe richest princess and the poorest maiden are equal in his sight. Ah,that will be beautiful! Holy Mother," she said, fallin
g on her kneesbefore the shrine, "here I vow and promise that I will go praying tothe Holy City. Smile on me and help me!"
And by the twinkle of the flickering lamp which threw its light uponthe picture, Agnes thought surely the placid face brightened to atender maternal smile, and her enthusiastic imagination saw in this anomen of success.
Old Elsie was moody and silent this evening,--vexed at the thwartingof her schemes. It was the first time that the idea had ever gained afoothold in her mind, that her docile and tractable grandchild couldreally have for any serious length of time a will opposed to her own,and she found it even now difficult to believe it. Hitherto she hadshaped her life as easily as she could mould a biscuit, and it was allplain sailing before her. The force and decision of this young willrose as suddenly upon her as the one rock in the middle of the oceanwhich a voyager unexpectedly discovered by striking on it.
But Elsie by no means regarded the game as lost. She mentally went overthe field, considering here and there what was yet to be done.
The subject had fairly been broached. Agnes had listened to it, andparted in friendship from Antonio. Now his old mother must be soothedand pacified; and Antonio must be made to persevere.
"What is a girl worth that can be won at the first asking?" quothElsie. "Depend upon it, she will fall to thinking of him, and the nexttime she sees him she will give him a good look. The girl never knewwhat it was to have a lover. No wonder she doesn't take to it at first;there's where her bringing up comes in, so different from other girls'.Courage, Elsie! Nature will speak in its own time."
Thus soliloquizing, she prepared to go a few steps from their dwelling,to the cottage of Meta and Antonio, which was situated at no greatdistance.
"Nobody will think of coming here this time o' night," she said, "andthe girl is in for a good hour at least with her prayers, and so Ithink I may venture. I don't really like to leave her, but it's nota great way, and I shall be back in a few moments. I want just to puta word into old Meta's ear, that she may teach Antonio how to demeanhimself."
And so the old soul took her spinning and away she went, leaving Agnesabsorbed in her devotions.
The solemn starry night looked down steadfastly on the little garden.The evening wind creeping with gentle stir among the orange-leaves, andthe falling waters of the fountain dripping their distant, solitary waydown from rock to rock through the lonely gorge, were the only soundsthat broke the stillness.
The monk was the first of the two to return; for those accustomed tothe habits of elderly cronies on a gossiping expedition of any domesticimportance will not be surprised that Elsie's few moments of projectedtalk lengthened imperceptibly into hours.
Agnes came forward anxiously to meet her uncle. He seemed wan andhaggard, and trembling with some recent emotion.
"What is the matter with you, dear uncle?" she asked. "Has anythinghappened?"
"Nothing, child, nothing. I have only been talking on painful subjects,deep perplexities, out of which I can scarcely see my way. Would to Godthis night of life were past, and I could see morning on the mountains!"
"My uncle, have you not, then, succeeded in bringing this young man tothe bosom of the True Church?"
"Child, the way is hedged up, and made almost impassable bydifficulties you little wot of. They cannot be told to you; they areenough to destroy the faith of the very elect."
Agnes's heart sank within her; and the monk, sitting down on the wallof the garden, clasped his hands over one knee and gazed fixedly beforehim.
The sight of her uncle,--generally so cheerful, so elastic, so full ofbright thoughts and beautiful words,--so utterly cast down, was both amystery and a terror to Agnes.
"Oh, my uncle," she said, "it is hard that I must not know, and that Ican do nothing, when I feel ready to die for this cause! What is onelittle life? Ah, if I had a thousand to give, I could melt them allinto it, like little drops of rain in the sea! Be not utterly castdown, good uncle! Does not our dear Lord and Saviour reign in theheavens yet?"
"Sweet little nightingale!" said the monk, stretching his hand towardsher. "Well did my master say that he gained strength to his soul alwaysby talking with Christ's little children!"
"And all the dear saints and angels, they are not dead or idle either,"said Agnes, her face kindling: "they are busy all around us. I know notwhat this trouble is you speak of; but let us think what legions ofbright angels and holy men and women are caring for us."
"Well said, well said, dear child! There is, thank God, a ChurchTriumphant,--a crowned queen, a glorious bride; and the poor,struggling Church Militant shall rise to join her! What matter, then,though our way lie through dungeon and chains, through fire and sword,if we may attain to that glory at last?"
"Uncle, are there such dreadful things really before you?"
"There may be, child. I say of my master, as did the holy Apostles:'Let us also go, that we may die with him.' I feel a heavy presage. ButI must not trouble you, child. Early in the morning I will be up andaway. I go with this youth, whose pathway lies a certain distance alongmine, and whose company I seek for his good as well as my pleasure."
"You go with _him_?" said Agnes, with a start of surprise.
"Yes; his refuge in the mountains lies between here and Rome, and hehath kindly offered to bring me on my way faster than I can go onfoot; and I would fain see our beautiful Florence as soon as may be. OFlorence, Florence, Lily of Italy! wilt thou let thy prophet perish?"
"But, uncle, if he die for the faith, he will be a blessed martyr. Thatcrown is worth dying for," said Agnes.
"You say well, little one,--you say well! '_Ex oribus parvulorum._'But one shrinks from that in the person of a friend which one couldcheerfully welcome for one's self. Oh, the blessed cross! never is itwelcome to the flesh, and yet how joyfully the spirit may walk underit!"
"Dear uncle, I have made a solemn vow before our Holy Mother thisnight," said Agnes, "to go on a pilgrimage to Rome, and at every shrineand holy place to pray that these great afflictions which beset all ofyou may have a happy issue."
"My sweet heart, what have you done? Have you considered the unsettledroads, the wild, unruly men that are abroad, the robbers with which themountains are filled?"
"These are all Christ's children and my brothers," said Agnes; "forthem was the most holy blood shed, as well as for me. They cannot harmone who prays for them."
"But, dear heart of mine, these ungodly brawlers think little ofprayer; and this beautiful, innocent little face will but move thevilest and most brutal thoughts and deeds."
"Saint Agnes still lives, dear uncle,--and He who kept her in worsetrial. I shall walk through them all pure as snow,--I am assured Ishall. The star which led the wise men and stood over the young childand his mother will lead me, too."
"But your grandmother?"
"The Lord will incline her heart to go with me. Dear uncle, it doesnot beseem a child to reflect on its elders, yet I cannot but see thatgrandmamma loves this world and me too well for her soul's good. Thisjourney will be for her eternal repose."
"Well, well, dear one, I cannot now advise. Take advice of yourconfessor, and the blessed Lord and his holy Mother be with you! Butcome now, I would soothe myself to sleep; for I have need of good restto-night. Let us sing together our dear master's hymn of the Cross."
And the monk and the maiden sung together:--
"Iesu, sommo conforto, Tu sei tutto il mio amore E'l mio beato porto, E santo Redentore. O gran bonta, Dolce pieta, Felice quel che teco unito sta!
"Deh, quante volte offeso T' ha l' alma e 'l cor meschino, E tu sei in croce steso Per salvar me, tapino!
"Iesu, fuss' io confitto Sopra quel duro ligno, Dove ti vedo afflitto, Iesu, Signor benigno!
"O croce, fammi loco, E le mie membra prendi, Che del tuo dolce foco Il cor e l' alma accendi!
"Infiamma il mio co
r tanto Dell' amor tuo divino, Ch' io arda tutto quanto, Che paia un serafino!
"La croce e'l Crocifisso Sia nel mio cor scolpito, Ed io sia sempre affisso In gloria ov' egli e ito!"[10]
[10] Jesus, best comfort of my soul, Be Thou my only love, My sacred saviour from my sins, My door to heaven above! O lofty goodness, love divine, Blest is the soul made one with thine!
Alas, how oft this sordid heart Hath wounded thy pure eye! Yet for this heart upon the cross Thou gav'st thyself to die!
Ah, would I were extended there Upon that cold, hard tree, Where I have seen Thee, gracious Lord, Breathe out thy life for me!
Cross of my Lord, give room! give room! To Thee my flesh be given! Cleansed in thy fires of love and pain, My soul rise pure to heaven!
Burn in my heart, celestial flame, With memories of Him, Till, from earth's dross refined, I rise To join the seraphim!
Ah, vanish each unworthy trace Of earthly care or pride, Leave only, graven on my heart, The Cross, the Crucified!
As the monk sung, his soul seemed to fuse itself into the sentimentwith that natural grace peculiar to his nation. He walked up and downthe little garden, apparently forgetful of Agnes or of any earthlypresence, and in the last verses stretched his hands towards heavenwith streaming tears and a fervor of utterance indescribable.
The soft and passionate tenderness of the Italian words must exhalein an English translation, but enough may remain to show that thehymns with which Savonarola at this time sowed the mind of Italy oftenmingled the Moravian quaintness and energy with the Wesleyan purity andtenderness. One of the great means of popular reform which he proposedwas the supplanting of the obscene and licentious songs, which atthat time so generally defiled the minds of the young, by religiouswords and melodies. The children and young people brought up under hisinfluence were sedulously stored with treasures of sacred melody, asthe safest companions of leisure hours, and the surest guard againsttemptation.
"Come now, my little one," said the monk, after they had ceasedsinging, as he laid his hand on Agnes's head. "I am strong now; I knowwhere I stand. And you, my little one, you are one of my master's'Children of the Cross.' You must sing the hymns of our dear master,that I taught you, when I am far away. A hymn is a singing angel,and goes walking through the earth, scattering the devils beforeit. Therefore he who creates hymns imitates the most excellent andlovely works of our Lord God, who made the angels. These hymns watchour chamber-door, they sit upon our pillow, they sing to us when weawake; and therefore our master was resolved to sow the minds of hisyoung people with them, as our lovely Italy is sown with the seedsof all colored flowers. How lovely has it often been to me, as I satat my work in Florence, to hear the little children go by, chantingof Jesus and Mary,--and young men singing to young maidens, not vainflatteries of their beauty, but the praises of the One only Beautiful,whose smile sows heaven with stars like flowers! Ah, in my day I haveseen blessed times in Florence! Truly was she worthy to be called theLily City!--for all her care seemed to be to make white her garmentsto receive her Lord and Bridegroom. Yes, though she had sinned likethe Magdalen, yet she loved much, like her. She washed His feet withher tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head. Oh, my beautifulFlorence, be true to thy vows, be true to thy Lord and Governor, JesusChrist, and all shall be well!"
"Amen, dear uncle!" said Agnes. "I will not fail to pray day and night,that thus it may be. And now, if you must travel so far, you must goto rest. Grandmamma has gone long ago. I saw her steal by as we weresinging."
"And is there any message from my little Agnes to this young man?"asked the monk.
"Yes. Say to him that Agnes prays daily that he may be a worthy son andsoldier of the Lord Jesus."
"Amen, sweet heart! Jesus and His sweet Mother bless thee!"