through night to light

Irish Jesuit Province

Through Night to LightAuthor(s): Mrs. Bartle TeelingSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 22, No. 248 (Feb., 1894), pp. 57-67Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20498622 .

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FEBRUARY, i894.

THROUGH NIGHT TO LIGHT.

BY MRS. BARTLE TEELING.

CHAPTER III.

S land in sight, over there? " said Mrs. Neville to her friend, bending over the bulwark with shaded brow and straining

eye to catch the first glimpse of the far distant shore. And both eager spirits watched and whispered, and counted the hours and the deepening shadows until in answer. to their questioning one of

the dark-skinned italian sailors pointed towards a speck on the dim

distance, with " Ecoo Genova." Genoa Ia Superba at last! And, as the slender barca in which

the passengers were conveyed to land touched the shore, amid a

crowd of dirty, half naked, picturesque men and boys, all scream

ing, vociferating, snatching, swearing, Louise sprang out among them, crying to her friend, "I Italy ! We are in Italy!"

They passed- into the narrow streets, where groups of girls and

women, in their long graceful white muslin veils, sttred curiously at them. No carriage was to be found, so a stalwart porter carried the child Laura, while Mrs. Neville leant on her friend's arm and

crept slowly through the streets of the "; city of palaces " till they

came to their destined hotel. Never had they seen such a one. " A magnificent hall," wrote Louise in her journal, " in whlcl

was a fountain springing in a jet over mimic rocks and mossy

stones, marble columns supporting a fresco-painted roof, andasweep ing staircase of fine marble, in prop ortions exceecding the palace

homes of England. Paintings on every side, and cool fragrant air breathing from flowers in the hall, pleasant indeed after the

oppressive heat without." Such was the description given by Louise, of their first resting-place under an Italian sky:

Vor. xxiI. No. 247 5



58 17e Iris/i Monthlty.

The light air of Italy proved so intoxicating to the invalid

that, to her friend's horror, she found her that same evening

stationed before a playbill in the courtyard of the hotel, announcing the performance of " Lucia di Lammermoor," and declaring that go she must to the opera that very night! In spite of fatigue. and of the contemplated journey on the morrow, in spite of Louise's strong conscientious objections to every kind of theatre-for she

was a disciple of Simeon and "low churchism " in all its primitive severity; no reasoning availed against the strong wilful im pulse of ill-health, the well-known obstinacy of the consumptive; so Louise found herself actually, for the first time in her life, sitting

before the footlights and hearing her first opera, with, as she afterwards described it, "1 a sense of its ridiculous and unnatulral representation of real life or feeling."

"Is it not enjoyable, after all, now confess ? " said Mrs.

Neville, turning a pair of shining eyes upon her friend after one of the most exciting scenes, as the curtain fell.

"c The music is very well rendered. Yes; " answered Louise,

indifferently. " cc And the acting? With Italian players, too, to whom

acting comes as a second nature. Do you not feel a bit carried away?',

c" To tell you the truth, I do. not."

"II am surprised, Louise. You, with your poetical, romantic nature

"It is just my 'romantic nature-' which objects to the artifi ciality of the whole thing. To see a womana in tears of agony

warbling out her sorrow amid shakes, turns and cadences, and a

man singing himself into a frightful rage, keeping time with the dagger which he finally plunges into his heart, still singing loudly in his death struggle, and with his finest note giving up his last breath; and then awkwardly pulled off the stage by five or six musical ruffians bewailing him in chorus! Well, I love music, but I must own this disoord of the senses, this jarring upon the sympathies of the soul, does not please me; and even did not my heart turn from- it as from one of those harmful and enervating pleasures of a world it would fain renounce entirely, even did I not

feel misplaced and degradbd by the contact, yet I should be struck

with the puerility and unsatisfactoriness of the scene."

"What an energetic denunciation of unreality!" murmured



Through Night to Light. 59

Mrs. Neville; and then the curtain rose again and no more was

,nd. cc I find more amusement in watching my fellow-creatures than

in listening to the opera itself," pursued Louise, when the babel of loosed tongues began again. "Look at that family party in the second tier of boxes . . there . . to the right: a young wife, I should think, and her mother and sisters."

"No, her husband's mother and sisters, more likely; remember that in Italy the married sons remain under their father's roof."

"And the young man sitting alone in the box next to them what an Italian face! So melancholy, so grave. I always think

the true Italian faces have something of that 'fey' look which Charles the First is said to have had."

"Meaning the presentiment of his violent death. Yes, I see the one you mean, but I can hardly look at him, for he is evidently

watching us. Don't look up that way, Louise, it does not do, especially as we are alone."

Louise gave a somewhat impatient twist, as if she did not ap

prove of her friend's caution, but presently the curtain rose for the final act, after which came the general exit, in which they found themselves whirled along in somewhat of a crowd.

"v My shawl! It is caught! " she heard Mrs. Neville exclaim,

as they swept through the narrow doorway; and almost at the same moment she was aware of a pair of slender nervous hands freeing

the wraps, and a dark handsome face glancing past Mrs. Neville to

herself. Their eyes almost met, as sbe hurriedly put up her hand to help her friend; and then with a hurried " merci, merci, monsieur,"

they passed on and out.

The next morning they set forth again, in one of the lumbering old diligences of those days, which droned sleepily along the straight white Tuscan roads, from sunrise to sunset, stopping here and there for refreshment or change of horses. 1t seemed almost inpossible to be tired in that light, clear air; even the invalid's frail strength held up wonderfully throughout the tedious days;

while little Laura chattered incessantly of everything she saw. "Oh! look, there are cows drawing a waggon !"

"Bullocks, dear." sg Yes, it's all the same. And a man driving it in such a queer

teat, with a red sash round his waist. How queer! Mamma, when

will the boys come?"



60 Thte Jr/Bkh IonthqlY

"Very soon, my dear. They and grandpapa are to meet us at

Como" ' " And uncle Charlie too?"

"He will come over and see us, from Cremona. where his

regiment is."

'I hope thev will come soon, and we will play at travelling on a diligence. It is such fun, isn't it, Louise? "

."I think your mother and I have had nearly enough of it," answered Louise. "Look how tired she is, poor darling."

" Indeed I am," sighed the invalid. " I ache all over."2 " Let me try to re-arrange these shawls so as to make you more

comfortable, dearest; and take courage, another day's journey will, I hope, land us at Como."

So the diligence jolted on.

CHAPTER IV.

IT was a lovely autumen evening on the Lake of Como. A boat

load of people, one among the many small and gaily cushioned

barks which skimmed across the tranquil waters lay still in mid

water, as its boatmen, at a word from the occupants, shipped their

oars and folded their brawny arms in willing idleness. Their pas sengers were Mrs. Neville, her white-haired, strong-featured, somewhat irascible-looking, but above all things distinquie father, a thorough gentleman of the old school if ever there was one, and

with all the home despotism of the last century abolut him; her three children, two boys and a girl, and Louise Lanesborough.

"We must not linger too long, dearest, lest you should be chilled by the evening air," said the latter as she wrapped a shawl

round her friend, with anxious solicitude, " Nay, but, my Louise, I am so much better, you know, " said

the invalid eagerly, "and it is early yet; hark, there rings the

Angelus!" And as she spoke, the silvery bells fromi the distant town rang out, the boatmen crossed themselves annd raised their

birete, and a group of women, chattering noisily in a passing market boat, bent their heads and clasped their hands in prayer.

Mary Neville watched them with a pensive, half yearning look in her large blue eyes, and turning to the friend whose hand



Through PlNght to Light. 61

she clasped in hers, " is it not a beautiful custom, Louise, this hour prayer to which all respond ? "It would he, dearest Mary, were those prayers addressed to

l11 lim to Whom alone all prayer should be addressed. But to me

rvery bending of those igornant heads in prayer is but a new act of idolatrv. Do you forget that the Angelus is a prayer to Mary

and not to Jesus?"

Mrs. Neville kept silence for a moment, passing her thin, blue ,emed hand softly to and fro through the cooi water, while the other clasped that of her friend; and presently lifting her eyes

which were lit up with one of her frequent flashes of thrilling en thusiasm, she began in a low musical voice to murmur the beauti ful lines of Shelley

"I Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human,

Veiling beneath that radiant form of woman,

All that is insupportable in thee

Of light and love, ancd immortality!"

"You would hardly quote Shelley as a theologian, would yot?" smiled Louise; " he speaks as a poet there, and doubtless from a

poet's view this worship of Mary is very fascinating, but I hold rather with a less known and truer writer that

"'Tis first the True and then the Beautiful,

Not first the Beautiful and then the True."

" And why should it not be true as well as beautiful ?9 " Because there is none other Name under heaven whereby we

may be saved," answered the girl, turning her grave earnest look in a half startled rebuke on her friend. And neither of them

tpoke again for a few minutes. Then " I think it is the one little tiny point on which you and I are

not quite one, my dearest. You never-do you ?--feel any sense of loss, any unexpressed yearning after a communion of spirit with those around us."

"No, my feeling is that of the loss being rather on the other

siae. These poor ignorant people, what do they know of the Word

Cf God, of the pardoning Blood of Jesus? Oh, my dear Mary, :-ow I long to go amongst them and tell them the glad tidings of

4lvation ! "Poor, vain, misguided, besotted creatures T! " broke in a deep

voice from the other end of the boat, as old Mr. Massinger roused



62 The lri4h .Mmtlly

himself from his reverie to catch and respond to the last words of

their conversation. "But why disturb their ignorance? We have the light, let us walk as children of the light. Could we convert

their priests, incdeed, some good might be done, for they, in their

turn, would instruct the people. It is intellectual light that is

lacking to them, and that must percolate downwards. I believe in

reforms from above, not from below." " Did not some of the saints of modern times endeavour to

initiate reforms, father ? " somewhat timidly h- zarded his

daughter. "The saints-or rather the so-called saints, my dear Mary,"

rejoined the old gentleman wvith a sniff, " may have attempted re

forms of morals and discipline, but never what was wanted, that

of doctrine. However, we may suppose that an ' infallible ' church

could not consistently reform itself." c; I think you are quite right about the priests, grandpapa,"

said Louise (for she, like her friend's children, called him by that

name), " they are the keystone of the whole iniquity. 1 remember

once asking a dear old Christian friend of mine, whether she

thought it possible that any Roman Catholic could be saved, and

she answered me that in all charity she hoped that some of the

people-the laity-who lived and died in invincible ignorance, might, by the mercy of God, be saved at the last; but that for a

priest, salvation was impossible." "She was quite right," agreed the old gentleman, emphatically;

"for we all know that they, at least the more intelligent among

them, do not believe what they teach." " That seems very terrible," said Mrs. Neville, as her eye then

rested upon *a black cassocked form pacing slowly to and fro

beneath the trees which grew beside the water's edge, intent upon

his breviary-" do you know, father, why they are always reading

in those black books? What is it for ?

"Some shibboleth or other," grunted the old gentleman, con

temptuously; " instead of the Bible which they ought to be reading

and expounding to their people. But, come now, it is time to

land, and eat our ices on the piazza." He signed to their boat

men who with a few strong swift touches brought them back to

the world of laughter and gay chatter, as they alighted and joined

the elite of Como society, who nightly sat out on the piazza before one or the other of the brightly lighted cafes with their groups of



7hrough Right to Light. 63

little tables. eating a supper of ices (sorbetti) and discussing the news and gossip of the day.

The scene was so foreign to English habits as still to have pre served for them something of the charm which had first drawn them to the spot. A row of cafes, under the sombre, moorish looking old Arcades, thronged with family and friendly parties,

within and without, each group clustered round a little marble table decked with coffee cups, or water ices in glasses, or tall tumblers filled with lemonades and syrups and other refreshing drinks. Here would be a group of Austrian officers, in their noble and picturesque white uniform-for our readers will not forget that these were the days of the Austrian occupation of northern Italy there a noble Italian conto and contessa, with their children, frater nising but coldly, if at all, with their white-coated neighbours; in the centre of the upper end of the square, an illuminated policinello was entertaining a crowd of people, while a more musical mob encircled a trio of wandering minstrels who sang to the accompaniment of guitar and mandolin. Opposite to them as they sat, rose the gloomv fayade of the cathedral, that quaint, round-arched, Moorish looking building, beside which paced an Austrian sentinel guarding the adjacent palazzo. Handsome camajes, too, were waiting out there in the moonlight,- in which graceful dark-eyed donne reclined and Eipped their ices and waved dainty fingers in salutation to passi-ng acquaintance.

Mrs. Neville and her party greeted several among the groups; here a fair-haired boyish-looking lieutenant with his big blonde; moustache and clanking sword, very much at ease with himself and all the world; there an Italian noble, large-eyed and effemin ate looking, who pressed his mobile lips more tightly together as he caught the flash of the sentinel's bayonet in the distance, and bent before the less obnoxious Inglesi with a courtly bow.

"You are late this evening, madame," spoke a young officer

who stalked solemnly up to the party with a tremendous and most

ceremonial bow, heels together, hands on sides, and hat sweeping the ground.

"Yes, we have prolonged our row, the evening was so lovely.

I have not yet grown accustomed to the wondrous delight of being

out at this hour. I, an invalid, shut up between four walls after

nightfall at home, and now here, free to roam night and day at

will ! "



64 The Iri.d Xonthly.

She spoke in German, which to herself and her brother was almost a second mother-tongue; but remembering that her friend who was not as good a German scholar as herself, was left out of

the conversation, she continued in French. "Is Madame Pasta here this evening ?

"No-but if madame will permit it, I am anxious to present

to her one of our comrades, who has newly arrived here on leave

from Cremona-a friend of Carl's." "Of Carl's? Oh yes, by all means, do bring him to us, Herr

Bdrtlin; we shall be so glad to hear the latest news of dear Carl."

Carl, as they all called him, or Charles Massinger, Mrs. Neville's brother, was an officer in the Austrian service, and most oppor

tunately happened to be quartered near Cremona, whence he hoped to get leave for an occasional visit to his family, while they, on the other hand, made plans for spending the winter in that

quaint old-fashioned town of " violin " celebrity, which a dashing

white regiment made gay with its presence, in spite of the sulen

plans of the dark-browed inhabitants. Presently Herr B6rtlin, who had gone off in search of his

friend, came up with another tall uniformed and sword-girt being.

"Madame permits me . . the high-born Count Grisoni. Madame la Contessa . ." went on a guttural German

murmur, bestowing upon the English lady the title he could not but feel she must surely bear; while Louise, bowing in her turn, strove to gather from the dark, mobile, eagerly responsive face before her, some clue to a vague feeling of recognition which took possession of her. The young man chatted for some minutes with

Mrs. Neville over messages and news from her brother, and they turned to walk down to the water's edge, where the little row

of barea's awaited their accustomed freight. Louise and Count Grisoni foiund themselves side by side, as the other two resumed a half laughing argument in German.

"I cannot help thinking that I have seen you before, Count Grisoni, and yet it is impossible, you have only now arrived in Como, and we have been nowhere else in Italy."

" Mademoiselle does not-remember-then ?" " Remember? We have fiot met before, have we ?"

c Our meeting, doubtless, did not impress Mademoiselle as it did . . her humble servant!" answered the young Count with a little bow.



Thzrough ffight to Light. 65

"Hfae we met before? Tell me." "Mademoiselle has forgotten-the opera-house at Genoa-it

wa.s but for an instant, that I was permitted to assist Madame with

her shawl, andc

"Oh! It was 4o01, then? But-I thought you were an

Italian !"

' I an Italiin ?" FWords could not express the scorn with

which he spoke. Then, quickly recovering himself: "Paidon, Mademoiselle; you, a stranger, cannot yet understand how we and the Italians hate one another!"

" I am sorry for it," answered the girl, gravely, "one always

hears that it is so, but one hopes, somehow, t-hat the feeling will

soften, when two nationalities must live side by side in constant, daily intercourse."

" Is not there some proverb that the lion cannot lie down with

the Jamb ? " smiled the young man. " Or the persecuted and the oppressor join hands," added

Louise, growing bolder, " and please observe, Monsieur, that it is

you who are the oppressors!" "I f I did not know you to belong to our party, by virtue of

Massinger's position, I should suspect you of Italian sympathies, Mademoiselle! "

"And may I not sympathise with them, Monsieur? " retorted

the young girl somewhat hotly. "My sympathies, let me tell you, are always on the side of the oppressed ! "

" "-Donb't sympathise with the Italians, they are not worth it!"

said the young man, as they came to a halt by the lake side.

"Shall you all be at the Franks to-morrow night ? It is their

evening,"' inquired Herr Bdrtlin to the assembled party.

cI think so, yes, answered Mrs. Neville, "you also ? Are

they great friends of yours ?

" Oh, no, but we all go everywhere, you know. One day to

this villa, another to that; on the whole there is a good deal of

society for such a small place, is there not ?"

"Yes, if only one could infuse into them a little of the intel

lectual life of London and Paris. I do not know what your

country is like in that respect, Herr IBdrtlin, but with us the

gentry of even a small country town would occasionally find

higher subjects of conversation than toilette and petty scandals."

"My dear child," chimed in old Mr. Massinger, "what would



66 The I*ish Monhly.

you have them talk about? Politics are out of the question; literature nil ; the world of art too far removed from this quiet nook."

"Added to which," chimed in the young lieutenant, anxious to turn a compliment, " there are not many ladies in Italy who.

like Madame and her friend," here he grandly bowed to each, " have such elevated minds as to appreciate and cope with these

questions." You wish I suppose to be severe, Herr Bdrtlin," answered

Louise, " but I confess that we have aspirations after something higher -than laces and jewels. Do you know Dr. Fiern, the Russian Emperor's late physician, who has an apartment in the Villa Concini? Well, I was sitting with his wife the other dayin her bedroom, and took up some books in hopes of getting some thing from her to read, having exhausted all the books we brought

with us, and I found to my disappointment that the five invii4ng looking volumes which adorned her table in various coloured bindings were, absolutely, no less than five cookery books, in different languages: French, Italian, German, Russian, and Polish! "

"And would they not be very suitable reading for her?" "Ah, Herr Bbrtlin, we know by this time that you are of the

opinion put into words by a new English poet, that a wife should be:

"Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse."

fow odd it sounds in French !

The young German looked puzzled, and said, in a half offended way,

11 Youl have great aspirations in EEngland. Our wives and

mothers are content to be 'hausfrauen' house-wives, house mothers, and to be the friends of the heart rather than the

companions of the head.,"

"That is just what I object to," retorted the girl, quickly. "I would rather have a suitable mental partner than one who

might give me unu sual affection. Would not you, Mary ? "

"No," said Mrs. Neville, quietly. "I would rather have a great love."

"Oh! " rejoined Louise, a little disconcerted, "but you know that we have so often heard about the want of intellectual com

panionship between husband ancd wife in-these countries-leading to estrangement and unhappiness in married life."



The Widotwed Huuse. 67

"Not in our country-in Austria," put in Count (Irisoni.

"Mademoiselle might see the happiest of marriages there." "Well, we must not prolong our discussion to-night," said

Mrs. Nerille, maing a sign to their boatmen who brought up the pretty barea. " Come, Louise." And the two young men handed the ladies to their places, and stood bowing, bare-headed, as they rowed awav.

To be continted.

THE WIDOWED HOUSE.

(F. W., DIED AUGUST 9rn.)

WITHIN your house that's widowed, love's nest is bitter cold, Love goes with drooping pinions, his pulses slow and old;

Your baby cries the night long for you he never knew, And dust is over all things: the grave dust over you.

Drear day and night go over; and yet you never come

For all love's lonely weeping, so obdurate and dumb. 'Twere liker you to hasten, putting the glory by,

To kiss your love's sad forehead, and stil your baby's cry.

'Twere liker you'd come stealing, a little ghost in white,

To rock a cradle softly, all in the hushed moonlight; To wbisper to a sleeper till he shouild dream and wake

And find the strange new comfort and lose the old heartbreak.

With you the years go over, fleeter than words can say,

And one sball lose her lover but the half-length of a day, And one shall lose her baby but 'twixt a sleep and sleep, The dead are glad in heaven: the living 'tis that weep.

K.H.



through night to light

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