Storyteller.

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume XXXIV, Issue 11128, 21 January 1899, Page 5

Storyteller.

HOW BREAD GAti/iE TO THE COMVENT.

[BY EDWATLD IT. COOPER.] The sister Buperior of the Convent and Orphanage of Santa Maria Annunziata sat in her private room with some account-books open on a table before her, find rapidly changed expressions of bewilderment, auger, helplessness, and anxiety passing; over her face. Though it was December, the windows stood wide open, and the scent of some early roses and hyacinths was carriel by fitful gusts of the south wind which was blowing. The wind, too, was driving pearly - gray clouds slowly across the sky, rustling the long grasses in the Orphanage garden, and swaying to and fro some young palm branches, under whose arched . fronds there lay like a framed pie- j ture, the towers and spires of Home. The assistant manager of the Roman Bank sat opposite Sister Felicite. He had just replaced the account book in front of ncr, and a look of polite commiseration remained on his face after the inspection ; ho had shrugged his shoulders for about the fiftieth time, and was resetting his coat-collar and tie after doing so. The Orphanage bank account had been overdrawn for the last six months, at first only by 100 francs or so, later by 200, 300, 400 francs; today, not only was it overdrawn by more than 1000 francs, but Sister Pelicite had asked leave to draw another 1000 francs for a few days until their Christmas subscriptions came in, and their request had brought the assistant manager in person, first to refuse the request, then to ask for payment of the overdraft. ' We should be so much obliged if you could let it wait for about three weeks longer,' said the woman nervously. Her companion shrugged his shoulders for the fifty -first time. 'We must,' he said rudely ; ' that is evident.' Sister IMieite smiled and expressed her deep gratitude. ' Then you will let us continue to draw just enough for current expenses up to that time?' she asked, not doubting but that one concession included the other. ' Certainly not, signora,' was the emphatic reply. 'It is. quite impossible. Tour own books show that you have not received a single subscription for four months, and you cannot tell me the name of a single person who is certain to give you one even at this season. How cm you expect us to advance you any more money ? ' The superior rose and stood before her visitor with hands clasped and frightened face. 'You must hear everything, signor, and have pity on us. We' have not a single penny left; we owe money to tradesmen, who will give us nothing more, and we have only food left iv the house for one more meal. Lot us have this money, I pray of you. The little children ■' ' Impossible, signora,' the assistant manager had got up and was retreating rapidly to the door. 'Twas a story, it must be admitted, which he had heard every day for the past month. 'If any small donation of my own can be of use I will give it ' he put down five francs on a table and continued his retreat ; ' but spea/king for the bank, I must assure you distinctly and finally that you can nofc have any more money. Also, if subscriptions are sent in to us for your account we really must pay the overdraft first before allowing you to draw on them.' • Oh, no ! I pray you not to do that!' Sister Pelicite'a face had turned quite white at the last words. ' Yes, yes,' said the man peevishly. ' We mußt conduct our business properjy.-' And he fairly ran out of the room. Far away across the blue distance of the Campagna, where the fillas and churches of Frascati lay along the slope of a hill, was a bjt of purple hillside where on certain mornings, by an odd effect of light shining on tome white buildings, a large white cross seemed to be stretched out. It was visible this morning, and at her sitting room window the sister superior Btood looking at it. She had fought so hard for the maintenance of this orphanage with its forty children ; for eight years now, amidst the evergrowing poverty and helplessness of Eoman charities, she had kept it afloat, .often reduced to a last ten francs, often with money owing right and left tp tradesmen and her poor farce of a bank account overdrawn, but never very seriously threatened $rith distinction. Npy she saw no hope. Very few of the ■JSuglipH and American visitors,' who are the oaly S H PPflrtPF 3 °f B" 1 " 1111 charities, had arrived yet, and wany of those who were in liome were getting furious at the perpetual demand for help wliiclt came to them from all sides. The struggle wav at an end, she supposed. The children must be cent adrift to beg, steal, suffer, starve, to share the lot of the othp-' thousands of helpless young moriajjs X.'bo*o lijea filled her soul wi ; th helpless"' angar. J^therJ^ the biserp,ess had be,en taken put of her . ango»' toy £Jjp jfchpught that she was at least doing soiuebhiuß t'° F, era . c( Jy this disease of reckless sloth, to sepair this waste of material, but for the future she would have no couaolatioa. Hiding over her charge of her mining clasps t,o psf? p£ fhe otiw women, th,e pister superior put on he? Jong btyck cloak 'and went down to the Vatican. A. fall stately, woman, with pijuai-e chin, clear., steady eyes, and wide white forehead on which the years had not yet p.fcrs.d f)jeir weary line^, she neomecl a'll'utipetsviintion of success, and the look of hunted" and scared depression on her face seemed ' curiously out of place there. A pasßer-by vrould hayo Baid that she was trying to Wk buwfcl.e t,o 8!) it her dress. She wjenfcito tb.e,o"lßee oi $f.a»agej.Nimier, a French official at fhe Vatican who had always been a gqpd friend to her orphanage. Having no money wherewith to foe the attendants in the ante-rooms, she was, of coutbc, kept waiting for a long : ime, and at last could o-ily get in as Imi 1 as signor's secretary. She laid j-iir ,c«o before him with a dull misery i» her </oipp yhich. raoyed .the young priest, who could gjve hj}V no hope that monsignor would see her himself, but pvomigpd to hy thepase before him after Clu^t-mag. ' After Christmas ! ' repeated the woman blankly. ' You do not underIstana, ftither : we have no money, no food, no ch&fiw o'i. getting anything to eat ±c* to-morrow,' The secretary A\C V^ to hi « ohflil? with a "light frown of vexatiorf. ' Woll, if yoj> can wait for some time I wilj try and spoak to monaignor thin morning,' lie sajd ; ' but really he is very busy. You may have to wait for two hours or more' 1 I iim quite ready/ said tho sister, and got up and went back to tj;o ant-room. Jt was tln-eo lioiitm afterward wliou the secretary eamo out, and she nearly began to cry with delight as she saw what nlio supposed to be a reassuring smile on his face. ' Mousignor is very sorry to hear of your difficulties,' said ths young raau, ' but ho cau not do much for you. He is overwhelmed with such i

applications, lie Las agreed, howevor, to give you this year's subscription now instead of at Easter, and ho will see that 200 francs are paid to your account to - morrow morning. Why — do you mean that 200 francs won't be enough ? ' The woman's face lighted up with a grateful smile at first, had gone suddenly scarlet, and then white. She sat down 'on the bench, and tears of weary misery were in her eyes. 'It would be of no use,' she said, and explained what the bank manager had told her in the morning. ' Go in father, and entreat monsignor to let me have the money myself. I pray you get it for me.' The priest shook his head decisively. ' l[e is gone. He is in the garden with the holy father. Very probably I shall not see him till tomorrow, and in any case I am sure that lie would not do as you ask. Indeed, if he quite realised your condition, I am not sure that tie would give anything at all. He would say that it was useless. No, no, I can really do no more.' Sister Felicite got up and went out with a bow and a dazed look around the room. It was 2 o'clock ; she had had no food, except a morsel of bread, since the previous evening ; she had come here with some hope left, which had been increased by the secretary's first words, and now she was leaving without any hope, and hardly knew what she was doing. In the piazza outside she bought some bread and ate it, after trying in several places to beg some food. ' You are the ninth Sister of Charity who has come begging here this morning,' said one of the small restaurant keepers irritably. 'It is hard to keep one's temper. I can scarcely live myself. You ask me ' only for a little bread,' the others ' only for a a little meat.' Between you all you would have a 10-lire meal ! ' The Sister walked to the English Library to scan the visitors' register and see if any new people had arrived who were likely to help her. There were no new names at all since her last inspection, and ihe librarian could offer no suggestions. 'We are having a very bad season at present,' he ' said. 'Let us hope we shall make up for it at Easter.' For two hours after thiß she stood on the steps in the Piazza di Spagna, begging of the passers-by, while the little beggar children, who regarded the Bteps as their private property, jeered at her and tried to pull her down. ' "Who would give anything to an ugly old woman like you? ' they screamed and then ran up" to some 'English tourist with their sunny little faces alight with laughter. 'Give me a halfpenny,' said one small boy in excellent English, and then went on, anticipating the tourist's ordinary reply with enchanting mimicry : 'Go away little boy ! Go to the devil ! Naughty little boy ! Give me a halfpenny.' The Englishman went up the steps laughing, and scattering pennies, and the little lad who had received most of them ran down again, taking of£ his cap to Sister Felicite with a derisive smile as he passed her. It hurt her that one of the small beings for whom sheh ad sacrificed so much should look at her like that, and with an impulsive movement she caught the littte wretch by the back of his green velvet trousers and asked him if he had ever heard of the Convent of Santa Maria Annunziat. After a brief struggle and a howl or two in anticipation of a well-deservedsmack-ing on that portion of hiß anatomy near which this firm and evidently practiced hand was holding Mm, the young gentleman surrendered, and looking up into Sister Felicite's face, shook his head sulkily in answer to her question. She told him briefly why she was there ; her face, which fop so many years had been a loadstone to draw children to her side, held even this unruly little imp spellbound while she spoke, and in a moment or two of silence which followed he stood still looking at her. ' That stranger would give you anything,' he said at last, following out some train of repentant thought. ' Wouldn't he, piccolo ? Maybe not.'. There was another pause, and then — in wfiat lighf; the b,oy regarded his tribute pne cannot guess, as con-science-money perhaps, or the price of his release, or as a purely charitable offering — the little urchin unfastened hjs siijal]. brown band, and, after a long look at the three pennies which lay in it, presented one of them to Sister Felicite. She bent down and kissed the donor, whose restless eyes had discovered some more strangers to whom he must go and offer his pansies ; and this was the only money gained by the Sister Superior o v a s* Tsfsw\b oi hy.r afternoon's work. In the evening after their slight dinner, she summoned the three pther sisters into her room and told thprn the gtafe qf qfiuirij. 'KFo doubt,' slip quid, '. arrangements wou,ld be made at the central establishment of their order at Turin to rpeeJYp th,e sjstoptj nnirji sqma more work could b,e found for. them ; she had written about it that evening. The Mother Supeyiqr would h.e annoyed at fcheiv failure and angry about their debts : but of course she would take them in at Turin. For the children nothing could be done. They must simply be sent away. Such things, as every one knew, were happening every day among the Italian pharitablo institutions, and could not be. helped 1 * '* *' The dull misery in the woman's voice seemed to fill the whole atmosphere with despair. N^ pr\e could speak or suggest anything, to discuss their work in the past, or talk of any plans for the future. Absolute silence reigned jn \\,e pqqra. wh,pre> only one small jet of gas burned dimly', ai^d the co}d of an Italian winter night wast UT)re|ißyed l)y stoye, or (ire, 'Wo have failed,' went on the woman quietly. ' -For his own good reason God has allowed our work to fail. We do not ask to know the reason of this, much less question its justice. Wo go back to our own lives humble and rbsignod q,nd always his servants, asking 'for nothing bat to (mow an 4 do his will. *'•'* ' *' Her ' Voice (Jied away in a sob of tired misery, and tffevo anoj.hfjr l°Hg sjlesnca till some i'no7em6,nj; in a domjtoyy overhead broke jnto th,e qister's thoughts. < To -morrow morning, 1 she said, ' we have bread for one more meal, and we must 101 l the children that, as it is Christmas Eve, they must fast for the re3t of the day. We must go out and beg a dinner for them next day, if we can.' 'flip morning meal bein^nver r,e v t day, and t'hjj ' ajiuouncemeuj; of 'a twenty-four hours' fast having been mude tQ thg cnildpen a,i)4 rg'fleivnd, \yi(;h the jiFesjenf jndjfjleren^e begotten rf bnaad-flHed stomachs, the j sisters scattered to t^eir- wort or begging. Sister Felicite went the ( well-known round of hotels, pensions, vegturnnts ; sh.e bad neyop beforo met with such angipy liefiiaats, The \Y[»Hte food had been promised ten times 6V?r to»g "go ; Mcl guests were already complaining oi me poi'oQiial anpcab wliic.li they received for help, and no'inore beggars, would bo allowed into privato rooms, or even to' stand ill tho liajls of tho hotels. During tho end of tho day the proprietor of such places, wliq evidently had scqtos oj: Hjniilnr visits, gro>v furious, and from tl f o last hotel on her list .Sister ('Y'lieito was ordered away by <ho concierge with a volley oi oaths in (Jorijjai?, French and Italian. A young Englishman comiug in at the doorlqokod puswlod and sympathetic, and she

began an appeal oE him ; when, lie understood, her object, lio muttered, 'Oh, Lord another of them!" and ran past the concierge with a grin of sympathy for the hatd-worked servant. ■ The woman set out homeward, i with white, frightened face, and dragging footsteps. Simple starvation stared them in the face ; she had never before considered that possible. Unless one of the other sisters had been luckier, they would have absolutely nothing to eat, and no prospect of getting anything until a letter with the money for winding up their affairs came from Turin. That would be at least tlireo days more. She saw herself telling the children to-morrow that there waa nothing for them to eat, and heard their angry, incredulous claour, their cries of pain and want. She grew hall: mad with the thought, and pressing her hands togother, ran into a church she was passing and flung herself on her knees before an altar with inarticulate cries for pity. In the passion of despair which was on her she was shaking like a terrified child, and some people kneeling round the confessionals noar by looked at her in vague wonder. The church was cold and damp and dark ; a few scattered lights threw their yellow glow here and there on the bare desolate walls, where in the daytime bored tourists came with their guide books to look at the crumpled monuments and rotting frescoes. Some repairs were being carried on, so that great holes gaped in unexpected parts of the ifloor, and a big Ladder — the. only who^ and solid object in the building — was reared up at the west end. Tawdry crosses, candlesticks, and images stood about on the altars, replacing the famous pictures and gold and jewelled ornaments which, as in most Roman churches, had long ago disappeared. Suddenly, in the gloom, children s voices rose in an unsteady, unmusical chant. Vespers was apparently in progress, and the choir was singing the ' Salva Eegina, Mater Misercordiae.' Then as the chant went on, a young voice, fresh and light as a bird's in Bpringtime, happy as youth itself, rose above the others, leaving their feeble qaaveriug behind, as a sea storm rises above the creaking | of a ship which is laboring . through it. Through the hymn it [ sang on steadily, and as the prayer ended with ' Oh, Clemens ! Oh, pia ; Oh, duleis "Virgo Maria ! ' and its musical echoes died slowly away, a great wave of warmth and life seemed to fill them, a flash of new faith and Lope to grow through their darkness. The figure of the Virgin under which the sister waa kneeling seemed to lie looking down at her with pity and promise, bidding her to believe, even now, that help would come. She got up, and turning to leave with a bewildered feeling that something had happened. ' I think that this is Sister Felicite herself.' Two flgures, looming vague and tall in the gloom, confronted tho sister on her way out. One was a priest who had been a good friend to the orphanage for many years past, and tho other •? A look of angry scorn dawned slowly on Sister Felicite's face and froze there. Peering forward, the man who was with the priest studied her face, and then drew back a little with a goodhumored smile. The priest, after the first words, went away and left them alone. ' I want to see you, Leonore.' « Why ? ' At the cold anger of her tone the man looked very penitent ; he moved nearer to her and put a hand on her J arm, which she shook off with violent j and rather dramatic disgust. i ' I came back yesterday,' he said. ' I have been in South America ever sinee — for the past ten years. The first thing I did when I got back was to try and find you. I had heard of you and your work once or twice out there, and came . here to ask Maceli if he knew where you were now. Come, Leonore, it is ten years a g°-' ' You deceived, dishonored, ruined me,' said the woinan, w^th clenched hands and fury blaming in h,er eyes, ' and tfyen Trent away Jaughing at me. The Jast pimp I saw you you told me you were making arrangements to marry me in a few days. Then you went away and went straight fca Buenos Ayres. She was waiting for ' you-^-that other woman — on ar) j while you were with me- ]^ ? brother told me about afterwards. And you, sup-pose that in ten years I have rorgotten ! ' ' Veil, well,' he said, moving about uneasily; flftd Rooking round to see i? any one else had heard this outburst; 'I thought you would have got over it a bit by now. You have done some good work since then, and I have hee.n lucky;, to.o. I'm sorry you, feel like this about it stilU Isn't there, anything I can do to make it up ? Do you want anything — money, or nny thing of that sort ? ' * Money ? l*Vom you ? ' The man winced ft little under the freezing conlompt of the last word and glancod doubtfully at the tall figure before him, drawn up at its full height and looking down at him like a marble statue of scorn. But while he looked a strange thing happened. As if some power were breathing breaths of lifo into the statue— breaths of that mortal life where pride is humble and men must, bow their heads to. accept insult $nd be silent nude? pain— he saw the scorn go from the sister's face; doubt came there instead ; repugnance, humility, hope, hesitation and resolvo flashes aorous it like cloud shadows over a field, and at last tho woman spoke, * You have money ? ' she asked, speaking aa if the words burnt belli ps as they oatne out. ( Plenty,' he said, and on his face there camo a faint smile, for which she could have killed him. ' Give me money, here, now,' she said, moving her head restlessly to and fro, as if the humiliation of tho scene were almost more than she could bear. ' GHve me money. It is > for the orphanage not for myself.' '' IJow much do, yo.u w,ant ? Will 50,0 francs do ? ' ' Yes, far to-day '—ghe took tho f(ve IQQ notes which he held out and j put them in horpookot — ' but I want ; more,' He laughed right out now, ' This is becoming businesslike. How much more ? Another 1000 ? ' 'More,' said the woman, her facfi growing scarlet with sham.a. \ Qjivo me 10,0JQ, I inusj; ii' ' '^en thousand :, That's ra,tho.r a large demand, Leonora I dqn.'v j think I can manage thM.. 1 | ' ' \ iv,uss have it. _4n4 don't call ' \i\e b,y that nama again,.' 1 ' Ideally ' my dea.r matey, 1 don't [ quite see how yon mean to make me , pay it. Nor do I quite understand why I should/ 1 You owe me that at lensfc, surely ; you admit it. I pray you give the monov.' ■ It was amusing to see tho sudden change which had taken place in 1 their faces and attitudes during tho | ini4 two minutes, Even the shame ! ii} Uot new vm'.u was disjiupetiring I from' tho Sister Superior's face ; < ] her whole heart and soul wore now ■ absqrbed in gotting this from her j r'lijbt and fuilnro. j\ li^tlo of hut I ! pVn cqutoui|(t had even passed into j lipr companion's face as she stood ; there obviously thinking : 'They aro j all qlike I.lieso charitable woman, j ready Jo tislf tho devil hiinselj 1 fora I subscription,' bnt B ]i 6 reftC i hi 8 thoughts almost with, indifference,

j Tier orphan children and her new hope for thoir future filled her mind just now to the exclusion of all other feeling. ' See here,' said the man ; I can't give you that, we will say five. I will give you 5000 francs for a full and free pardon,' lie added jocularily. ' T want ten,' she pleaded. ' Well, you can't have it. I can giye you five — perhaps sis — yes, I think T can manage sis. That is all, on my honor. Now, my dear sister, I mimt <;o away. T. am glad to have aeon you, and made it all up; my conscience has been dealing hardly with me for a long lime paat, and now I shall feel free from its reproaches. Wo will say good - bye here ' — they had reached the porch of the church ; ' 1 have your address and will send you the money to-mor-row. Good-bye.' ! He looked at the sister with some little surprise at her silence, and ', then with a nod and a smile, went out into the half-lit street and was lost in its darkness. Sister Felicito stood there talking to herself in a | rapid whisper about the price of meat, i vegetables and fruit. She refused to think of anything else. ' I will buy the beef here, I think,' Bho said aloud, 'or would it be better to go j back and see if the others have any- j thing ? They might have got — j might have got — Ah, Holy Mother j and he was laughing at me ! He dared laugh !' [The End.]