|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 44
Chapter XII.
Robert Sumner Fights a Battle.
_So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When duty whispers low, Thou must,
The youth replies, I can._
--EMERSON.
[Illustration: SAN FRANCESCO, ASSISI.]
Barbara and Bettina had not realized how near they were to Assisi until
talk of driving thither began. In their study of art St. Francis had
figured quite largely, because the scenes in his life were such favorite
ones for representation by the old masters. They had read all about him,
and so were thoroughly prepared for the proposed trip to the home of
this most important old saint.
Bettina was in a fever of excitement. Drive to Assisi! Drive to the home
of St. Francis! Go through the streets in which he played when a little
boy; walked and rode when a prodigal young man, clad in the richest,
most extravagant attire he could procure; from which he went out in his
martial array; out of which he was taken prisoner when Perugia conquered
Assisi! Drive, perhaps, along that very street in which, after his
conversion, he met the beggar with whom he changed clothes, giving him
the rich garments, and himself putting on the tatters! Or along which
his disappointed father followed him in the fury of persecution, after
he had given his life to poverty and deeds of love! Look upon Mount
Subasio, whither he so loved to retire for prayer! See those very scenes
in the midst of which he and his brethren lived six or seven hundred
years ago! Could it be possible that she and Barbara were about to do
this? It was almost as exciting as when the first thought of coming to
Italy had entered their minds.
Finally the morning came; and through the winding valley they drove
fifteen miles, until they arrived at the church Santa Maria degli
Angeli, situated on a plain at the foot of the hill on which sits
Assisi. This immense church contains the Portiuncula,--that little
chapel so dear to St. Francis, in which he founded the Franciscan order
of monks, and in which he died,--and is a veritable Mecca, to which
pilgrimages are made from all parts of the Roman Catholic world.
They spent some time here in visiting the different spots of interest
within the church; in going out to see the tiny garden, where grow the
thornless rose-bushes with blood-stained leaves, according to the old
tradition, at which they were permitted to look through glass; and in
listening to the rambling talk of a transparent-faced old monk in brown,
Franciscan garb, who waxed more and more daring as he watched the
interested faces of the party, until his tales of the patron saint grew
so impossible that even poor Bettina's faith was sorely tried, and
Malcom stole furtive glances at her to see how she bore it all.
At length they were free, and went on up the hill to the city. They
stopped at a little hotel whose balcony commanded a magnificent view of
the country, lingered a while, lunched, and then went out to visit the
great double church of San Francesco, beneath which the saint is buried,
and where are notable frescoes by Cimabue and Giotto.
When all was over, and they were taking their carriages for Perugia, Mr.
Sumner said to his sister: "If you do not mind, I will drive in the
other carriage," and so took his seat with Barbara, Bettina, and Malcom.
All felt a little tired and were silent for a time, each busy with his
own thoughts. Finally Barbara asked, in a thoughtful tone:--
"Did you notice the names on the leaves of the travellers' book at the
hotel? I glanced over the opposite page as I wrote mine, and among the
addresses were Australia, Germany, Norway, England, and America."
"I noticed it," answered Mr. Sumner, "and of course, like you, could not
help asking myself the question, 'Why do travellers from all parts of
the Christian world come to this small city, which is so utterly
unimportant as the world reckons importance?' Simply because a good man
was once born, lived, and died here. Surely one renews one's faith in
God and humanity as one thinks of this fact."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|