The Storyteller REFORM AT BIENVILLE

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXV, Issue 12, 21 March 1907, Page 3

The Storyteller REFORM AT BIENVILLE

"■ : You take _some wine, "Monsieur ?' - ' ' No, irnadam, no, wine.' The tiny glasses tinkled .against each' other/ Madame LaCoste'set the J tray down with' alacrity. - " " 'Ah ! it ees a leetle brandy , you ,will like,- 1 ' she said after a moment's -hesitations ' Run, Ambrose, quick, 'bring dat brandy flask.' ~ - 1 Noi, madam ; no -brandy.' 'No? Ah, then it ees a little sangaree, yes. l<elicite, it ees she that knows, how to make a sari- .. garee of claret.' . - - ' I take no* liquor whatever, Madame, from principle.' ' " ■ There was- a moment of waiting, while Garth felt ■that the brown eyes regarding him were full of surprise. _ . " " \ ' '' „ '.It ees a pity,' she- said ;"' a pity, yes. And one so" pale ! ' ' When some one . in Bienville hod asked Father A-n-gell where a young divine, delicate in health, needing something more than ordinary comforts," could find a home in the heart' of his Catholic parish, he had persuaded Madame* LaCosle to open to him her friendly -shelter. - ' "^ . 'It ees I that will, know how to make' him strong, le pauvre !_ ' she had said, as. she and Father Angell were putting the last touches to the young man's chamber. : Father Angell was rolling his own library table and chair Untci place between the windows. ' \ ' It is you will know how to spoil Mm,' he" said I - ' And you,' she laughed. She ■held his two. silver candlesticks aloft in either hand. Garth sat stiffly regarding "the kindly troubled face before Mm, To refuse a little wine after a journey, -was it then an offence ? - - . -'-'-': - 'If _I may, I would like to go to" my room,' he said at length. " . . . 1 Oh, yes. Pardon f Stupid that I am ! You -will like that you may repose alone, yes,' she, said, swiftly - leading the way across the hall. l\ She went inside the room with him a moment. She made , a pretty gesture • with , her hands. , - ; llt ees not con'-conve-convenable ? No 1" But it.Monsieur will" call, I will attend.' •' Slue went out, softly closing. the door. . _-. - It was a .long), lofty, wide-wi'ndp}wed, white-cur- • tamed (room. Garth found his books unpacked « and placed on shelves. A ■ library table "and chair - stood near. In the " alcove was his white-valenoed bed. Through his southern windows, opening on the . wide \gallery, swept the. scent of honeysuckle " amid" rose. Beyond the honeysuckles and the roses was the primeval forest, a great green cone,, fretted with 'a thousand aisles. Garth stretched his arms upward' with a deep sigh of satisfaction-. Duty, as he conceived it, had .called him there ; but when Duty, unsmiling in those Vermont hills where he was born, had pointed her stern finger -to • these far, low-lying lands of Louisiana, she held no -hint of the welcome that awaited "him. This, dainty room, , with its touches here and there of-some-thing delicately -rich ; the friendly if mistaken cour-tesy-that had met him at the threshold, oh! this dimpled and joyous June that laughed outside his windows, it was all beautiful, beautiful. , Ascetic in . his creed, anchorite in his life, accustomed from, 'his birth only tci the cold, the chilling, the severe, the sudden kiss of this wanton wind went to nis head like the Wine he had refused. He. stretched Ms arms upward. He stood on tiptoe. He took .deep breaths, drinking and tasting as of an over-filled beaker.- Then his arms fell, "and his countenance 'darkened.' - - ' O fool ! O fool that I am to go a-trembling and a-taemibling, a helpless re<?d blown upon by Beauty's sensual breath !' • -= He fell upon his knees by his bed. When Ambrose came gently taping at his d o or. Garth was far within that mystic , atmosphere of prayer, and hardly heeded the child's words. ' Father Angell ees send you dose.' He uncovered, a bowl of strawberries with long stems set- about with their 'own dew-wet leaves. Garth was . very weary. He took the. -bowl in -his hands. He 'bent his. face close to the delicate and fragrant fruit. --- - Then he set the bowl down, putting back the fruit that had almost touched his lips.

1 This Father Angell ? Is he your Catholic priest ?' he . questioned the child. v 'He ees the Father,' the boy answered, smiling up to him with confident eyes. - ' He has beeg garden — so ! ' He "made his arms wide. - . ' Yes, yes. Well, ytm take the 'berries, son. I do not oare for them.' He pushed' the salver back into the child's hands. Ambrose's cheeks were- scarlet. He laughed in an embarrassed sort of a way. 'Pardon, Monsieur,' he said, making a \ little bow at the door. On that Sunday when John Garth had' made ready to begin his holy crusade, he sought out Madame La- - Coste. ' I .want to invite all of. you to come with me to my chapel where I am going to preach this Sabbath. I want to make some reforms ~that will do you good. I am going to preach about them to-day. I want all of you to oome and hear me.' ' Oh, dat ees kind,' Madame LaCoste made answer. She made her pretty gesture with her hands. ' Felicite it ees ■ she who will- go with Monsieur to-day. We have not -Mass dees Sunday. It ees at Bienville Father ' Angell will be. And Ambrose he will go. - Me, I gp to cariry wine to one sick, oh, very sicii and poor. Ah ! Monsieur, it gives me the bleeding heart.' Her soft eyes "were full of tears. ' But so kind to ask.' _ The little country road wound about along - the edge > of the Bayou where the tair grasses grew.- Ambrose ran whistling, ahead, kicking the dust with his bare feet. Garth wished he were a boy lfee" Ambrose and could think it no sin tio go whistling and frisking about like a young colt on the Sabbath morn. -He had been taught it was a sin and he still thought so. Some day he rrftsant to tell Ambrose,' but not to- ' day. To-day was tpo sweet, and the child' kept run- - ning back, slipping his hand into Ms . own, and looking up at him with such - confident eyes. He could not bear to bring back into them that look 'of pain that he remembered there when he pushed the Father's berries back into his hands." Felicite, the fawn-eyed, the shy-footed, was walking by his side. If One' should, reprimand the boy, . she would dart away like a bird. ' He had his sermon in his pocket. He had meant to read 'it aloud to Wimself on his solitary way t 0 church. Since that was impossible, he tried to go over it in his mind— all the rigid tenets of his creed,, all the stern laws that must discipline life, all the fearful denunciations he meant to hurl at this slack, lazy, thriftless people sunk in the easy ignorance of Catholicism. But somehow stern dogma and rigid' discipline seemed way back in Vermont. He could not make them) here. He could not make them tune with the dreamy, beating cf the wind, with the swaying of those Jofty banners of gray moss— aye, even with the swish of that indescribable peach-bloom garment that made Felicite seem like a flower in the landscape As the spire of the church rose before him he shook himself together. He hated this languor of the climate that stole like a thief into Ms brain, or rather he felt that he ought to hate it. He hated .the' indolence of the people, their slow speech, their intolerable shiftlessness. More than all he hated their Catholicism. He expected antagonism. He was ready to fight. Inside his chapel a little handful of people gathered about biro, smiling and friendly and humbly attentive Some children like Ambrose made the sign of the cross as they entered, then sat quietly staring at him through Ms long discourse. Garth went and lay in the hammock at the'shady end of the gallery when he got back to" the house He was much exhausted. 'The strain of his sermon had -been great. Madame LaCoste and Felicite sat in the parlor talking. He could hear the hum of -their voices through the window. He' did not heed the words. He was so weary. Then Felicite said— she had moved nearer the window and was * rocking as she talked— drawling her words," ' 1 Yas, he said he gwine re-fprm him.' 1 What you call dees re-form, Felicite ?' - {Oh ! re-form ? It ees, •if it's a wrong one does aft' you make him all right, dat ees re-form.' ' Ah J I spec somebody been tell him 'bout ndpwr' /Pete what stole dat shoat from yo' grandpa las' year. But dat ees kind, re-form him.' Garth groaned. Madame LaOoste hurried out to him. ILe pauvre ! ! she said, holding a tiny 'glass to his lips with a drop or two of cordial to refresh him. Then she sat by his side fanning him while, she ran he*- cool, soft fingers through his hair. How could he tell her what reform meant ? "

The day after Father Angell returned from Bienville, G-arth was 'busy at his destc. He heard the . cihiildafen. shouting and crowding about ljim. Ambrose climbed on. 'his Knee. Madame LaCoste and Feliciteran out and sat on either side of him. There was much laughter and talking. Then Madame LaCost© came to his door. _• " , - ■'It ees Father Angell,' she said. 'He comes .to make his devoirs to you.' - - . . Garth did not look up. ' Will you tell. Father Angell lam very busy this morning ?'- ' " - _ - - , ' The soft eyes looked at • him a moment with embarrassment. ' ' Pardon,. Monsieur, pardon A ' she said gently as she closed his "door. , - He heard, her give his message. Then all of them got up and moved carefully away to the j farther . end - of the gallery, talking softly, that he might not be disturbed. Felicite made ' her famous sangaree, -Ambrose and the Father bad a game of cards. Felicite and her mother" sat near, rocking, with their needlework in their hands. There was much joking and lauighiter, but all subdued- that no sound might annoy him. Garth sat with his face buried in -his hands. Garth took to fasting ,more and more often, and longer he remained' upon- his knees. He felirtihat he had maintained- an impregnable front towards Catholicism," but everywhere else he seemed to have away from lAs duty. His foes had been too- insidious. Thely had woven about bun a silken web whose meshes tangled and tripped him. -'There* sis no weapon made that ' can war against tenderness and kindness and that delicate tissue of politeness that everywhere enveloped him. He had never_ found that day - when he cauld chide the little Ambrose for bis whistling and his coldish antics- on the Sabbath. The whole •family with the priest at their, head had gone picnicking on the holy day, and yet he had' been dumb. They "tod stopped at a neighbor's, desperately poor, and taken, a siok and suffering child, with. them. -The priest had ■ carried the little fellow in his a rms to the r wagon. Felicite had held the child on her knees. ■ Garth had found it impossible to use his own chamber for undisturbed devotions. Madame LaCoste came to serve Mm a hot and delicate broth if he had tasted no breakfast. Ambrose "brought trim the heart of a melon, or a platter of fresh figs. A messenger fiom. Father Angell tapped at his door to leave _ a basket of early grapes -with the Father's compliments. So, following one of those dim vistas c£ the forests, he had come upon a retreat, mystical with soft,: green . shadows, that became to him a sort of temple for prayer and devotion. It was one of those Sabbaths when -Father Angell held his Catholic service, and Garth knew , it was.-, no use to preach, that he came out at daylight to iMs place of devotion. It was late September. The dawn was chill, for the dew was heavy. -Garth was wet to his knees walking through the tall grass. The blue light" of the morning lent its own ghastliness to fhis ■ pale^ pinched face. He fell forward upon - his knees with an audible cry for help, for foe felt himself sinking. He had not slept the night before. Self-accusa-tion and. remorse x and shame do not make good bedfellows. In this deep solitude he poiired cut' his. soul in bitter- tears and prayers, calling aloud upon God to forgive his faithlessness. By and .by when, his passion had spent itself he fell wearied out upon his face and lay still. Only now and then a sob snook, •his delicate • frame like Ahe throb of a spent wave. He stretched out his cold, cramped limbs ' into the grateful warmth of the sun. He thought he had never seen the sky so soft, or the water-.oai'.fs so darkly, green, or those lofty banners of moss~ so delicate a pearl. With' the warmth and the greater physical comfort it seemed' to him- a divine, spiritual blessing had 4 come also from the sMes and brooded alike over the world and , over "his soul. Then Nature sent her sudden balm -of sleep. , The sun grew hotter and a steam from the-damp-ness made a sickliness in the air around him. The : Bav.ou, .a long, green, slimy serpent crawling »in its own filth, sent its poisoned breath coiling and curling- ab- ' out him. Garthls sleep was .so 'heavy, the ' creeping things of the wood' went about their business. The squirrels 'held their ribald play. The birds flew heavily in the sleepy air. At, noon when the shadows changed, Garth sat~ v un suddenly. He thought his father had called him. -He could not account for his whereabouts. He thought to see high, " narrow windows of his Vermont home, and ' all this wide expanse 1 of shining light -blinded-'- him. He 'got vp 1 and groped his way to a • tree anri took hold of it, feeling about its trunk like a child. After

a wbfile he got his bearings- and began floundering along home like- a drunken man. The sun on his back felt good to him, though •he was hot and dry and consumed with "thirst. When at last he stepped. - •in the shade of the gallery, it was as though Death had struck him with his .icy wing. ran tend caught his clammy, hand .in hers. - ■ - ' Mamma ! ' she called, ' quick ! oh, mon Dieu ! - Father Angell came and lifted him in his arms. Garth never knew _what he did_ with him. A wave of icy heat rolled over him. He did not know how he came to be in Vermont where they had such icy cold. He wondered how he came to be so exposed. He thought his mother . would come and cover him from these icy blasts, but she -sat there smiling and- indifferent. "He had not remembered her as being so huge. ' What a great face she had ! What a* smile— oh ! „ ' Father Angell ?" . , 1 Yes, my son ! ' ' I thought it was my 'mother. I thought— Where am I?" he cried out, clutching the bedclothes with • 4cy fear. " "-,„,- • *1 ' Safe, safe, my son, here in my arms. The priest held him down, weeping over him and-praying, while that poison of the Bayou that he had sucked in with his breath galloped through „ his veins. It beat at the citadel of Ms heart. It caught him and shcok him as a dog shakes a rat. Then it ran its stealthy fingers through his brain and a deadly stupor closed dawn upon him like a leaden hood. ' When he again opened his eyes Madame LaUoste and Felicite stood at the foot of his bed.- To Ms weary eyes they were— at first but pale shadows, but when they slowly grew into shapes he knew, he smiled his faint greeting. Madame LaCoste smiled'and nodded back to him through her tears. 'He ees maVe better, Felicite;! Oh, the_ good God! He ees— what you call dees— Re-form. Yes, he ees reform, Felicite.' Then' as the leaden hood closed over him again, he saw them kneel, making the sign of the cross. When the long weeks of suffering were over, it was Father Angell's cool touch and Father Angeil's . commanding voice that seemed to Garth to have held him back from' that land of shadows into which for s 0 long he had been about to slip. He stole a hand up to the Father's cheek, a hand weak like a child's, and in that faint, far-away voice of his he whispered : 1 Forgive ! ' and again, ' forgive ! ' And as often as he turned oiT his pillow, it was ' Forgive me ! oh, forgive me !" . One late afternoon in October, when he could walk a little, he made his way out to that place in the woods where he had fallen into that strange ecstacy that had all but stolen his life away. Under the crimson fires of the black. jack and the , siweet gum 1 that were now painting his cathedral windows, he saw Father Angell walking slowly with bent head, He carried his missal in his clasped hands. His lips were moving 'In n r aypr. 'Garth bent his .head too and walked by his side. When ' the prayer - was finished, Garth caught the Father's hand in both of Ms. He could not still the tumult of his heart. Hehad gfven up. He was going home. He saw it all as in a vision. He and his little laws and rules were great jarring discords in a quaint and unworldly harmony. These simple homely lives, so peaceful, so loving, so far removed from unworldly ambition, were as" -the echo of a woodland rill. It had no part in that great workaday universe cf which he was - a part. Now that he was going, a sudden sweetness' in all that he must eive iip overwhelmed him. Tf only he had not wounded them— ah ! that was it. That was ' what .made it so bitter. And. most of all ' this friendly old man, whose hand had held him back from the very brink of- death. 1 Father Angell,' he said, ' I am going home. I'have Riven- it all up. I did not understand. I give it all back; my charge, my mission, into your keeping.' _ -Father- 'Angell- smiled. It had been in his keeping for~ more than forty years. Madame LaCoste wasjnot yet born when he came. - ' But your forgiveness, Father. I want you to forgive me.' He bent his head "before him: His voice shook. ' The .gentle old man put his arms around the boy's shoulders. IMy son, my dear son,' he softly ohided. Then" they moved forward and fell upon their knees together in. that spot made bare by many prayers. Garth ) caught Father Angell's hands and placed them above ' his' head. - ' ' Say a little prayer for me,' he said.

Afterwards they stood together a moment in silence, Garth's head fallen upon the neck of Father Angell. It was as of a son making 'an , eternal .* farewell. Garth looking back saw ; the faint crimson light shining still upon the tonsured head, and the face lifted heavenward, and the hand raised in lasting benediction. — San Francisco ' Monitor.'