The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 08, No. 45, July, 1861

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, Atlantic Monthly,
Volume 8, Issue 45, July, 1861, by Various
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at
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Title: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 8, Issue 45, July,
1861
Author: Various
Release Date: February 18, 2004 [eBook #11154]
Language: English
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG
EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 8,
ISSUE 45, JULY, 1861***
E-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Tonya
Allen, and Project Gutenberg Distributed
ProofreadersTHE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND
POLITICS.
VOL. VIII.—JULY, 1861.—NO. XLV.
OUR ORDERS.
Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
To deck our girls for gay delights!
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the nights.
Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
Drooped heavy o'er our early dead,
And homely garments, coarse and gray,
For orphans that must earn their bread!
Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
That pour delight from other lands! Rouse there the dancer's restless feet,—
The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
And ye that wage the war of words
With mystic fame and subtle power,
Go, chatter to the idle birds,
Or teach the lesson of the hour!
Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot
Be all your offices combined!
Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,
The destiny of humankind!
And if that destiny could fail,
The sun should darken in the sky,
The eternal bloom of Nature pale,
And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!AGNES OF SORRENTO.
CHAPTER VII.
THE DAY AT THE CONVENT.
The Mother Theresa sat in a sort of withdrawing-
room, the roof of which rose in arches, starred with
blue and gold like that of the cloister, and the sides
were frescoed with scenes from the life of the
Virgin. Over every door, and in convenient places
between the paintings, tests of Holy Writ were
illuminated in blue and scarlet and gold, with a
richness and fancifulness of outline, as if every
sacred letter had blossomed into a mystical flower.
The Abbess herself, with two of her nuns, was
busily embroidering a new altar-cloth, with a lavish
profusion of adornment; and, from time to time,
their voices rose in the musical tones of an ancient
Latin hymn. The words were full of that quaint and
mystical pietism with which the fashion of the times
clothed the expression of devotional feeling:—
"Jesu, corona virginum,
Quem mater illa concepit,
Quae sola virgo parturit,
Haec vota clemens accipe.
"Qui pascis inter lilia
Septus choreis virginum, Sponsus decoris gloria
Sponsisque reddens praemia.
"Quocunque pergis, virgines
Sequuntur atque laudibus
Post te canentes cursitant
Hymnosque dulces personant[A]."
[Footnote A:
"Jesus, crown of virgin spirits,
Whom a virgin mother bore,
Graciously accept our praises
While thy footsteps we adore.
"Thee among the lilies feeding
Choirs of virgins walk beside,
Bridegroom crowned with glorious beauty
Giving beauty to thy bride.
"Where thou goest still they follow
Singing, singing as they move,
All those souls forever virgin
Wedded only to thy love."]
This little canticle was, in truth, very different from
the hymns to Venus which used to resound in the
temple which the convent had displaced. The
voices which sang were of a deep, plaintive
contralto, much resembling the richness of a tenor,
and us they moved in modulated waves of chanting
sound the effect was soothing and dreamy. Agnes
stopped at the door to listen.
"Stop, dear Jocunda," she said to the old woman,who was about to push her way abruptly into the
room, "wait till it is over."
Jocunda, who was quite matter-of-fact in her ideas
of religion, made a little movement of impatience,
but was recalled to herself by observing the devout
absorption with which Agnes, with clasped hands
and downcast head, was mentally joining in the
hymn with a solemn brightness in her young face.
"If she hasn't got a vocation, nobody ever had
one," said Jocunda, mentally. "Deary me, I wish I
had more of one myself!"
When the strain died away, and was succeeded by
a conversation on the respective merits of two
kinds of gold embroidering-thread, Agnes and
Jocunda entered the apartment. Agnes went
forward and kissed the hand of the Mother
reverentially.
Sister Theresa we have before described as tall,
pale, and sad-eyed,—a moonlight style of person,
wanting in all those elements of warm color and
physical solidity which give the impression of a real
vital human existence. The strongest affection she
had ever known had been that which had been
excited by the childish beauty and graces of
Agnes, and she folded her in her arms and kissed
her forehead with a warmth that had in it the
semblance of maternity.
"Grandmamma has given me a day to spend with
you, dear mother," said
Agnes.Agnes.
"Welcome, dear little child!" said Mother Theresa.
"Your spiritual home always stands open to you."
"I have something to speak to you of in particular,
my mother," said
Agnes, blushing deeply.
"Indeed!" said the Mother Theresa, a slight
movement of curiosity arising in her mind as she
signed to the two nuns to leave the apartment.
"My mother," said Agnes, "yesterday evening, as
grandmamma and I were sitting at the gate, selling
oranges, a young cavalier came up and bought
oranges of me, and he kissed my forehead and
asked me to pray for him, and gave me this ring
for the shrine of Saint Agnes."
"Kissed your forehead!" said Jocunda, "here's a
pretty go! it isn't like you, Agnes, to let him."
"He did it before I knew," said Agnes.
"Grandmamma reproved him, and then he seemed
to repent, and gave this ring for the shrine of Saint
Agnes."
"And a pretty one it is, too," said Jocunda. "We
haven't a prettier in all our treasury. Not even the
great emerald the Queen gave is better in its way
than this."
"And he asked you to pray for him?" said Mother
Theresa."Yes, mother dear; he looked right into my eyes
and made me look into his, and made me promise;
—and I knew that holy virgins never refused their
prayers to any one that asked, and so I followed
their example."
"I'll warrant me he was only mocking at you for a
poor little fool," said Jocunda; "the gallants of our
day don't believe much in prayers."
"Perhaps so, Jocunda," said Agnes, gravely; "but if
that be the case, he needs prayers all the more."
"Yes," said Mother Theresa. "Remember the story
of the blessed Saint Dorothea,—how a wicked
young nobleman mocked at her, when she was
going to execution, and said, 'Dorothea, Dorothea,
I will believe, when you shall send me down some
of the fruits and flowers of Paradise'; and she, full
of faith, said, 'To-day I will send them'; and,
wonderful to tell, that very day, at evening, an
angel came to the young man with a basket of
citrons and roses, and said, 'Dorothea sends thee
these, wherefore believe.' See what grace a pure
maiden can bring to a thoughtless young man,—for
this young man was converted and became a
champion of the faith."
"That was in the old times," said Jocunda,
skeptically. "I don't believe setting the lamb to pray
for the wolf will do much in our day. Prithee, child,
what manner of man was this gallant?"
"He was beautiful as an angel," said Agnes, "only it
was not a good beauty. He looked proud and sad,was not a good beauty. He looked proud and sad,
both,—like one who is not at ease in his heart.
Indeed, I feel very sorry for him; his eyes made a
kind of trouble in my mind, that reminds me to pray
for him often."
"And I will join my prayers to yours, dear daughter,"
said the Mother Theresa; "I long to have you with
us, that we may pray together every day;—say, do
you think your grandmamma will spare you to us
wholly before long?"
"Grandmamma will not hear of it yet," said Agnes;
"and she loves me so, it would break her heart, if I
should leave her, and she could not be happy here;
—but, mother, you have told me we could carry an
altar always in our hearts, and adore in secret.
When it is God's will I should come to you, He will
incline her heart."
"Between you and me, little one," said Jocunda, "I
think there will soon be a third person who will have
something to say in the case."
"Whom do you mean?" said Agnes.
"A husband," said Jocunda; "I suppose your
grandmother has one picked out for you. You are
neither humpbacked nor cross-eyed, that you
shouldn'