The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 10 July 1919, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE WILD BIRDS OF KILLEEVY .-.I- r--f. w Rosa Mulholland. (By arrangement with Messrs. Burns & Oates, London.) (Concluded.) t - -j CHAPTER XXXII.—AT LAST. Kevin had thrown himself into the train going to Pavia, without having made up his mind at what intermediate station he would get out. A “What is there worth seeing between this and Pavia?” he had asked of a fellow-traveller, and received for answer;

"Why, the Certosa, of course. "Unless you are in a very great hurry, do not pass it by." > " ' "The Certosa," said Kevin; "how could I have forgotten it?" And thither he resolved to go. Leaving the train at a station within a few miles bf Pavia, he took his way along an avenue which led him out into an open, flat country, covered with ricefields and mulberry-trees. A little streamlet tinkled alongside of him as he went, but there was scarcely a habitation to be seen. . A blue dragon-fly, flitting from spear to spear of the long, lush grass, beguiled his attention for awhile, and then his eye, suddenly raised, caught sight in the distance of the light pinnacle on the summit of the magnificent cupola of the monastery. Like the enchanted palace of fairy tale, suddenly rising before the traveller, a solitary wonder in the wilderness, so this ancient Certosa surprises the eye that is seeking for it, springing up in the midst of the flat and featureless country which was a forsaken swamp before the labor of the monks converted its marshes into fertile fields.

Pausing before its royal and forlorn entrance, Kevin's heart stood still with amazement. The echo of his solitary footsteps rang through the arched gateway, with vaulting all painted in fresco by Luini, pictures still fresh and bright and full of sweetness; and thence he passed into . the great quadrangle, coming face to face with the exquisite facade of the church, on the lonely splendor of which the sunlight fell, deepening the colors of the rich marbles, bringing into striking relief the encrustations of delicate sculpture, and kindling strange fires in the jewelled windows. On either side of the quadrangle were the bakehouses and brewhouses of the monks, the apartments where were lodged the poor travellers who knocked at their gate, and the doors whence they distributed the food which the hungry came to claim. Such busy scenes are in the past. Silence now reigns in these deserted buildings; the sound of labor no longer disturbs the air ; the hum of voices, the melody of bells are. hushed; and this magnificent centre of prayer, charity, and toil stands mute like a great heart that has ceased to beat. The men who risked their lives and toiled without counting cost to put wholesome meadows where the poisonous swamps had been, are driven from the home that sheltered them and their poor. The Certosa, in all the dream-like beauty and splendor of its spires, towers, galleries, and cupola, stands there for no purpose but to astonish the traveller, like a pile of jewels forsaken and forgotten in a desert. • :i '■< ■•' o}* •■"■-" : At Kevin's summons an old monk appeared, and : unlocking the great doors of the church, led him into a region of solemn splendor, of magnificent tranquillity, where beauty and peace sit for ever wedded and enthroned smiling in God's face, witnesses of the fidelity of the soul of man to its Maker, of the faith of time in eternity. . Step softly, Kevin, and hold . your breath in wonder and deep vI by, for' your wandering feet have how' reached the - holy and beautiful : spot that ; is to witness ;■ your; attainment -of ; the 'desire <of your -heart.' -; You do I not yet know why this ; glorious -sanctuary seems to smile upon you like a home known in some other exist-

©nee, and welcoming you back to its shelter. How can you guess that only a few minutes ago Fanchea's little footsteps were falling on the very pavement where your own feet are treading now, her eyes turned-where your eyes are resting, her whispered questions rustling through the echoes of the place,? After kneeling in prayer, giving thanks for he knew not what benediction that he felt to have descended upon him, he passed on through the church. On either side brazen screens of exquisite and fantastic workmanship separated him from innumerable chapels, each a jewelled shrine, the wonders of which it would take a day to explore. The poet's lines on "Maidenhood" floated through his mind as he peered through the mysterious gleaming tracery so light, so beautiful, so strong.

"Bear a lily in thy hand. Gates of brass cannot withstand

One touch of that magic wand

And again Fanchea rose before his eyes. The gates of brass unlocked, all the treasures of the chapels were laid open to him, and from the deep-blue roof, sown with stars, that hung like a twilight, heaven over all, to the altars encrusted with precious stones, and the precious pictures unveiled for his gaze, all was a vision of wealth inexhaustible, and beauty not to be told. Earth and sea had given their richest colors and gems to create bird, butterfly, flower, spray, set in undying brilliance and freshness among the creamy marbles of the altars. Faces of angels with gem-encircled throats looked from the corners, visions of bliss and loveliness unspeakable were revealed to him as the curtain was silently withdrawn from canvas after canvas. Standing in the great choir, before the high altar, he heard the story of crime and repentance that told how the fou% dafions of this palace of religion had been laid in blood and tears, and his heart ached and marvelled at the thought of all the sorrow and evil that go to make and mar the sweetness and the splendors cf human life. The forlorn majesty of that great altar, shorn of its sacrifice, the lofty shrine robbed of its Jewel, touched him to the soul, and he knelt at its foot, struggling suddenly and terribly to resign himself to the will of that great Creator who holds the threads of all destinies in His hands, and so often chooses to fill the pure heart full with woe, that the wicked heart may revel in delight. > “Come joy, or come sorrow,” was the cry of his will, “let my feet still keep the upward path !” And then a deep and tranquil joy took possession of him. It seemed to him that before this lonely altar his soul had been wedded to some high ideal purity, and he arose and turned away with a paler lip, but with a more steadfast reliance on the law of the Supreme Director of his fate. Glancing upwards, he was startled to catch the eye of a monk in white garments, who was peering down on him from a small window in a gallery above "his head, as if silently and secretly witnessing the compact that the stranger had made with his God. A second and more attentive look discovered to him that it was only the picture of a Carthusian, a cunning fresco, the whim of a painter, who had placed this monk on guard, never to be released from his watch till the walls of the Certosa shall have crumbled into dust, j Having visited the refectory, sacristies, lavatory, chapter room, and other' parts of the monastery, all rich beyond -description in marbles, painting, sculpture, Kevin found himself at last treading the great cloister, round which stood-. the. monks’ dwellings. Each Carthusian had a little house to himself, four chambers' in each, two above and two below, and a sweet little garden, now a wilderness of weeds and. flowers, with grapes hanging unplucked from the walls. Here he worked at'the particular trade or industry cultivated by him, tended his vine, his bees, his flowers, taught the birds to feed from his- hand, and;, meditated -on death and eternity. All was now empty; silent, deserted. As Kevin stood with folded arms at the window, looking down into the neglected garden, the secret U,UW,

of the lives of such men as those who had dwelt here seemed made known to him. Overpowered with affliction, crushed by the loss of - someone' too dearly loved, he imagined the; sick heart turning ‘ away from a world that could not comfort it, and finding here peace, toiling for the good : of others , in - silent _ self-effacement, praying, dreaming,: with eyes fixed beyond the grave, caring only for the poor, and taking no [natural pleasure except from the flower ho coaxed out of the earth at his feet, or the bird he-Had lured to his-window. “Poor soul!” he thought, 1 “that hid its struggles here. What was. the sorrow that drove it into such, shelter ? Where ,is it now reaping the reward of its patient toil How long the time must have seemed! As for me, I would rather take my burden out into the world, and falter and limp with the disabled and the halt ; I should want to hear the world’s great voice* in my ear, even its groans and cries, and coin my. own woe into language that might bring assuagement to its pain. Neither the needle nor the loom would content me. I should want to speak, to sing ” Here a sound like the echo of a soft, rich not© of music, just broke the stillness to his ear, as a star will gleam and vanish; and Kevin caught his breath with an impatient sigh, thinking his imagination had deceived him. “It is the old story,” he said, as he'listened in vain for a repetition of the sound. “Every note in Nature disturbs me with the echo of her voice. So easily beguiled as I am, how slender is the hope I am clinging to now. Let me take warning, and nerve myself for the perpetual disappointment that awaits me!” - Fan and the Signora had arrived earlier than Kevin, and having explored all the wonders of the monastery, were now lingering about those spots which interested them most. Mamzelle was deeply engaged in studying the meanings of strange paintings in an arched gateway leading from one part, of the building to another, while Fan, having left her to her reflections upon the same, was flitting up and down and round the Cloister of the Fountain, breathless with excitement and joy. Standing under the shadow of one part of that arched gateway, she had seen Kevin pass with his guide. He had passed without looking up, but she had easily recognised him. He was on the spot, in the very building. She had only to run after him, call out his name, stretch forth her hands, and end the long separation of years. And yet she hesitated and lingered, possessed by some feeling which she could not understand; which made her hands tremble and her feet refuse to run. She shrank from flying in search of him, from seeing him start in surprise, perhaps perceiving a look of disappointment flash into his eyes at the first sight of her. How did she know that he would not be dissatisfied with the girl, the' woman who had now taken the place of his little Fan? She would rather see him coming to meet her, prepared to behold her, getting a, glimpse of her in the distance, and - then seeking her of his own accord. Without having shaped such a feeling into thought, she acted upon it, and flinging herself upon the low wall of the cloister, : looking - into the garden, and supporting herself by an arm twined round one of those exquisite pillars that support the arches of, lovely terracotta work, she opened her lips, uttering a few rich, sweet notes, like the beginning of a blackbird’s song. | “He said he. should know me by my voice,lk.she thought. “Now, if his memory bo so good, he will come.” . „ v [ Then she paused to gather courage and .•breath; for 'a louder, longer song, a fuller, clearer message to the friend she was going to summon to her side, and in a few minutes the “Hymn of the Virgin Triumphant” broke the solemn stillness, rang through the; ancient cloister, and floated with all its tender supplication, its quaint, wild grandeur, away through the old,-; • startled passages, and across echoing-walls, till it fell mysteriously, pathetically, urgently, like a call from Heaven, upon the ear for which its message was in--4- /-»-»•* a] A J !. L'Vill’.lC-U < *• .is;

At the first notes of tho hymn Kevin gazed at the old monk who had,just reappeared beside him, and the monk gazed back at his companion with a slight pallor on his withered cheek. : „., ...;.,

"What is that music?" asked Kevin, scarcely daring to credit the evidence of his own senses. "I cannot say," said the monk, with a happy smile flitting over his .grave countenance; "but I have often at night heard heavenly music resounding through these ancient walls. Many saints have lived and died here, signor, and it would not be wonderful if sometimes the angelic choirs should descend to praise God in this now silent and deserted shrine. But I have never before heard them in the daytime."

"That is no angel's voice," replied Kevin, "unless, indeed, a woman may be an angel." ■ ■•••-:• .: ■■■-- And with these words, which rather shocked the good old monk, he dashed away and left him. As he hurried along the quadrangle, and threaded the passages that led to the Cloister of the Fountain, the psalm of Killeevy, the hymn of his native mountains, swelled fuller and clearer on his ear, and . beatmore urgently on his heart. He followed the;sound, and, guided by-it, drew nearer every moment to the

singer. "Ah," he thought, "what bewitchment is this!"

remembering the night when the same voice, the same strain, waking him out of his sleep, had hurried him out into the midnight streets of London, only to fade away as he pursued it, and to lose itself in the noises of the thoroughfare. "Am I waking or sleeping? Has an angel, indeed, descended out of the heavens to mock me ?"

But the voice did not grow fainter as he proceeded; on the contrary, it swelled richer, fuller, more soft and sweet, and following it he entered the Cloister of the Fountain —a delicious, dreamy spot, a tangled garden where tall plants and flowers grew .in wild luxuriance, in the centre the wide, white marble basin of a fountain, its carven urn crowned with the blossoms of the cactus. Here and there a straight, reed-like plant, covered with bloom, shot high above the rest, and caught the broad sunlight that fell full upon this wilderness of beauty and the same sunshine dyed to a richer coral-color the sculptured arches of terracotta upon their light pilasters, which, springing from a low wall around the garden, formed the shady red-roofed alleys of the cloister.

With ..one hasty glance Kevin took in the entire scene: the wild, green garden, the light, fairy cloisters, with their coral glow, and high above, soaring in the clouds, the wonderful cupola, circling upwards with its airy galleries and spires and its delicate varieties of tint. But the voice he pursued did not come : up out of the fountain- nor did it descend from the heavens. It was coming 'from a slight dark figure leaning over the wall in a nook by one of the pillars, the head and shoulders in the light, the dark draperies flowing back into the shade, a young, upturned face, with wide, arch blue eyes, and a cloud of soft curls over the forehead, a fair and rosy face, as sweet, as saucy, almost as childlike as the face that had vanished from his homo one night, and which he had been longing for and dreaming of ever since. It was not Elsa, it was not Francesca, but it was the very little Fan lost from Killeevy Mountain long ago. *§• With a slight spring she came to meet him, flying with outstretched hands, and was caught in his arms.

|| "Oh, Fan!" f| ; m "Oh, Kevin ! is it you? Is it really true?" Weeping, laughing, stammering, clasping and unclasping hands, they knew not how the first" minutes passed over their heads. '•'£* f:

"My darling, .;■ my Fanchea, you are exactly the same; but with what a difference! Half a yard more height, and all these black gauzes ; but that is not it all. What the half-blown rose is to the bud, that is what you are .to the little one of my memory. Arid, oh, my darling, how beautiful, how lovely you have- grown!" "Have I?" said Fanchea, delighted; "I was;afraid; I niighu. v not bo.ruco.euougu. tu^piease^yo^.^«^i.na,=.qn. v I nugxiu iiOi, Ou iiiCO viiOuyu lu picasts ,yuu. £*****£ uxl > Kevin,..do you know how changed you are? If I had

not caught a glimpse of you and r been able to piece you together, , and make you' out to be really Kevin, I should have been afraid to introduce .myself to so elegant a gentleman." '"'"-' "'-"'■ © ';•"'■• ' ; "You saw ? me, ■ then, before to-day—lately?" .-"I saw your-in the cathedral; and you . passed me in the cloisters a little 'time ago." v "You let me go past; you did not speak to me!" '"I had to get ' f up my courage. I think I never could have spoken to you, except by singing. I thought, 'he will remember my voice,' and I sang our hymn. I knew if you were within hearing it would bring you to me." k -'' '"-■ v, ' ? r r "

„ "Had I been dead, it would have called me out of the grave," said Kevin, and then broke into further extravagances which it is unnecessary to record. ; "*"' - ; v And ; then, walking up and down the old cloister,.; hand in hand, like a pair of strayed children, who had lost each other in a wood, been frightened at the loneliness, and found each other before the night came on. they told each other their separate stories, of all that had befallen them during the, passing of those eight eventful years. After that they - were on the island again together, with the sea rolling in their ears and the white birds circling above their heads. Fan forgot that she had sung upon a stage, and Kevin that he had given poems to the world. They were boy and girl again, on the rocks, amid the sea-foam, with Nature's inimitable music ringing in their ears and in their souls; till the sun began to burn redder on the cloister roof,-and Mamzelle came from, out of , the . shadows

somewhere, in search of her charge.

CHAPTER XXXIII.—CONCLUSION. ; r=:4 ; “So this is you, sir!” said Lord Wilderspin, glaring at Kevin. “You are the Kevin who has been keeping us all in fear, holding a sword over our heads for the last seven years, obliging us to resort to. dark plots and heartless advertisements lest our little primer- donna should be snatched out of our fingers. And here you come, confound you, just in time to destroy all our prospects.” " ; h. : i..# f“I am delighted to hear I gave you so much trouble;” said Kevin, smiling. “It would hardly have been fair if the pain had been all on my side.” “Impertinent rascal. You are as saucy as the minx herself. - Hallo, Fan, this fellow will beat you.” “My lord,” said Fan, gravely, “I have promised Heric-Harfenspieler and Mamzelle. Kevin and I have resolved that I must not disappoint you. I will keep the engagement that you made for me.” “You shall do no such thing, you monkey. Those 'two old people will have to be put in prison ! I tell you you are as free as air, and shall do only what ,you please. , As for me, I am not the least disappointed. I have known for a long time that you were only \a, wild bird fit for a hedge, that you would never do to sing in a cage. Now, I have already bought a hedge for you in your own country, and you can fly off and sing in -it as soon as you like!” ; || coloring. ... - ■ |

"I mean that I have looked on you as my own. child, that is all. Every bird needs a bit of green, sod to sing on, and I have bought you a little bit of territory of your own, in the neighborhood of your beloved Killeevy. Mind you have a room always ready for me, for I mean to pay you visits." ; || "Lord Wilderspin," said Kevin, "we cannot accept so much. You have already been only too generous to Fanchea. We can never forget " t- 1 .' '■:> "Hold your tongue, sir, and go on writing your poetry, which by the way is extraordinarily good. I tell you this girl has been my daughter for seven years) and you not only come and dare to come and take from me, but you presume to dictate to me as to what I am to do for her. ? If yon, do not like her with! the fortune I choose to give her, you can go and seek a wife somewhere else." "7~~~?"' If

->„^ r .,S(>;vthaW night when "Lu-iieiigrm" was performed at Milan; saw Fanchea' s first and lastappearance \ upon '■■" '-■■; :.: : -;4>" :.'■*':'.. ■■ . '■*■%&.*& ■"£s

a public stage. The two- wild birds, after their long flight round the -worlds winged their way \ home to Killeevy at last, and took 'possession ? bf the little kingdom Lord "Wilderspin's thoughtful generosity had bestowed upon them. Kevin works hard with his pen, and his name is every day becoming more ..and more honored by the nobler and purer-minded section of the reading public. Fanchea, in his home, singing over her womanly tasks by his side, is the inspiration of his genius, even as she was in the old childish days when she sang to him on the island and he saw pictures in her songs. Connor Mor did not long survive his delight at seeing his son return, and at finding him a "clerk and a book-learned man" after all; but the good old mother lives with the young people in their pretty house, and tells her beads, and spins and knits as she used to do in her humbler home. Her joy in the success of her children is unutterable, and she often bids them pray that after all the toils of her life "pride may not keep her out of heaven at the last."

Shawn Rua was at first very shy of the handsome young lady and gentleman who claimed his old acquaintance, but he is now a frequent visitor at their fireside, and Kevin takes greater pleasure than ever in drawing forth the poetic and legendary treasures that are stored up in the memory of his childhood's friend. Lord Wilderspin keep's his promise of paying frequent visits to Killeevy, and is fond of appearing there suddenly, scolding everyone within reach vehemently for an hour or two, enjoying himself thoroughly, and in the end going away perfectly happy. His present craze is enthusiasm for Kevin's poetry, though all his life he had prided himself on being a hater of poets. Herr Harfenspieler still, walks his chosen way, with a heart modestly and ardently worshipful of music, cheering himself on with meek and heroic maxims. He has so far forgiven Fanchea as sometimes to come and see her in her home; on which occasions delightful concerts may be heard by the birds that flit about Killeevy Mountain. He loves to wander away alone among the great rocks, and sitting on some airy perch, with his violin upon his shoulder, to pour out delicious wailings that mingle fitly with the piping of the winds and the booming of the ocean waves at his feet.

Mamzelle has been the slowest to forgive, and is still beating about the world, still subject to fits of the old madness, when she dreams that she may yet paint wonderful pictures which shall be as the works of another Raphael or Fra Angelico. But Fan hopes that when she grows very old and weary she will come to her for shelter, and die in her arms.

We will now take "leave of our hero and heroine on a summer evening after sunset as they sit in their own little territory—a garden of roses extending down to the cliffs, with the crimsoned ocean at their feet and all the hundred isles they know so well burning on it like so many jewels, set with amethyst and amber and S old . . > Kevin has just finished reading his new poem to Fanchea. Her hand is in his; her eyes are full of tears. She is not thinking of the applause of the world which may follow this work, but. of the higher audience that have been present at the reading, the choirs of angels that have witnessed this new utterance of a strong- man's soul. "Let them, be the judges," is the thought of her heart ; and she "smiles, feeling conscious of their approval. ' A cloud of sea-birds rises from their favorite island, they circle and wheel, and fly oft' in a trail towards the glory of the sun. So wing all white souls to a happy eternity.

The End.