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Page 47
"Oh, I hope he will," said Julia: "it is delightful to see him bound
about here, where it is so strange and quiet."
They traversed one side of the gallery, another low, vaulted corridor,
and came to another cloister, with painted walls, more arches, more
columns, lighter and more graceful, above which, around the three sides,
were two rows this time of cell windows; a beautiful open vaulted
gallery filled the third side, and was carried up through the second
story. Here was another well, out of which ivy-branches had grown and
twined until the curb was one mass of dark-green, shining vines lying on
a bed of moss. Presently they came to a broad stone staircase, at the
head of which "_Silenzio_" was written over an archway that led into a
corridor so long and wide as to seem a world of empty space; on either
side was an unending row of doors, all of them closed.
On many of the doors were inscriptions in Latin: eight, one after the
other, were marked, "_Visitator primus, secundus_," etc.
"These are our quarters, then," said Julia. "But are only eight visitors
allowed at a time?"
The padre laughed at the question. "These rooms were intended for the
visitors appointed to attend our general convocations, at which eight
hundred of our order met here every three years to elect a new general
and discuss our welfare; but the necessity for such visitors has passed
away with our existence. I can remember when all these cells were
filled; and there are three hundred on this floor, and as many more
above. You are surprised, I see, at the number of doors: there are so
many because each cell has its anteroom, where we studied and meditated
and prayed."
They stopped at length before a door marked "_Rev. Pater Vicar.
Generalis_," which was at the end of the corridor. Unlocking the door,
the padre invited them in.
"One of you will be lodged here, and, if you are not too tired, we will
look at your other quarters before you sit down to rest."
So saying, he led the way through five rooms, unlocked a door at the
farther end, conducted them across another corridor of the same
dimensions as the firsthand unlocked another door; when, suddenly
recollecting himself, he said, "You will not be afraid to be separated?
There is nothing here to disturb you,--nothing but these cats; and I
will see that they do not annoy you."
Then the ladies noticed for the first time in the growing darkness four
cats, which turned out to be the padre's bodyguard, attending him
wherever he went. Of course they were not afraid: they were only sorry
to put their kind host to so much trouble. And so they proceeded to
inspect a small cell with a bed and praying-stool and tripod with a
basin for all the furniture. The anteroom had a table and chair, and an
engraving or two on the walls. Next to this cell was another just like
it, for which they agreed to draw lots, and then went to the padre's
anteroom for a book which he said would tell all about the history of
the abbey.
Such masses of keys as were everywhere in this room made it a perfect
curiosity,--keys for every one of the cells on this floor and above, for
the refectories, church, offices, etc., below, for rooms enough to
accommodate the emperor Charles V. and his suite of two thousand men
for a night, festooned in bunches around the walls,--so that in the dusk
the room seemed lined with curious bas-reliefs in steel. Piles of books
were heaped on the table with surgical instruments, medicine-bottles,
and bags of dried seeds.
After this inspection in the twilight, they went back to the padre
vicar's _salon_ to rest, when their host took leave of them to give
orders to Beppo about the rooms and to send a light. Then they sank into
what seats they could find, and tried to collect themselves.
Presently a low knock was heard, the door was pushed open, and a tall,
dark youth in sandals and white apron came in, with "_Buona sera,
signore_," and left a lucerna--the graceful brass Tuscan lamp, with
three branches for oil and wick--on the table. A large room with two
windows now became visible, with a sofa, chairs, a table, and
white-tiled stove, and many engravings on the white walls.
At nine o'clock the prospect of supper was almost too faint to be
entertained, and the signora was just opening her mouth to say, "Of
course the padre has forgotten all about us," when they heard in the
distance a faint footstep approaching, and the padre appeared with a
taper in one hand and a magnificent red silk coverlet in the other. "For
the signora's bed," he explained, and went to leave it in the bedroom.
Then he came and sat down, apologizing for having left them so long, and
commenced what would have been for his listeners a most interesting
conversation if it had been after supper. He told how he had been there
thirty years,--first as student, then as frate, and finally as abbot.
Since 1866 he had been alone with two monks. To-morrow he would show
them the cell just above their heads, which he had occupied seventeen
years in silence, except when he had permission to speak. Suddenly,
looking at his watch, he said, "It is half-past nine o'clock, and no
doubt you are now hungry." And, no one gainsaying the supposition, he
relighted his taper and led the way to the refectory. The shadows all
about were black and mysterious enough, but they were too tired to be
troubled about them, and were already half-way down a staircase, when
the signora looked back, and, if she had not seized the balustrade,
would have fallen; for standing at the head of the staircase was a white
figure, holding a taper above a cowled head, out of which a pair of dark
eyes was looking at her steadfastly. The padre's voice, calling out,
"Signora, you are left in the dark," reassured her and gave her courage
to turn and run down to join the others, who were disappearing through a
low door. This led into what seemed an immense hall, judging from the
echoes. They passed by heavy stone columns supporting a ceiling in round
Romanesque arches on their way toward the one spot of light which came
from a lucerna that stood on one end of a very long table spread for
supper. They were looking around bewildered for their places, when they
were not a little startled to hear the padre say, "Signore, this is Fra
Lorenzo, my son in the Lord." The signora was of course the least
surprised, for she recognized her apparition. They received a silent
salutation from a young spiritual-looking monk, with the handsomest
face, they afterward agreed, they had ever seen. The four cats, Piro,
and another shaggy monster of a dog completed the company and shared the
visitors' supper, preferring their soup and chicken to the
Saturday-evening fare of the monks of boiled beans and olive oil. The
strangely-mixed party found much to interest each other, and, as the
signora laughed once or twice merrily over the division of the
chicken-bones between the dogs and the cats, she found Fra Lorenzo's
eyes fixed upon her with a look of wonder; at other times he kept his
eyes on his plate and uttered not a word. The chicken was followed by
figs and peaches, cheese and Vino Santo, which the signora drank out of
a tall glass with the arms of the order engraved on it.
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