The Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 8
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| Stand: | 2015-08-04 03:50:33 |
Produktbeschreibung
Excerpt from The Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 8: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics 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, texts 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, Quæ sola virgo parturit, Hæc vota clemens accipe. "Qui pascis inter lilia Septus choreis virginum, Sponsus decoris gloria Sponsisque reddens præmia. "Quocunque pergis, virgines Sequuntur atque laudibus Post te canentes cursitant Hymnosque dulces personant." This little canticle was, in truth, very different from the hymns to Venus which used to resound in the temple which the "Jesus, crown of virgin spirits, Whom a virgin mother bore, Graciously accept our praises While they 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." convent had displaced. The voices which sang were of a deep, plaintive contralto, much resembling the richness of a tenor, and as 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. "Welcome, dear little child!" said Mother Theresa. "Your spiritual home always stands open to you." About the Publisher &
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