Volume 19 / Part 4 — The Legend Of Vallambrosa.

An ancient myth like ivied vesture clings

About fair Vallambrosa's cloistered walls,

Telling that 'neath the roof sweet charity

Has spread her soft, warm draperies within

What time eight circling centuries have traced,

In memories gray and green, her blessedness.

Of the fair, nestling valley here to sing,

With sweet-strung choice of cadenced synonymes,

Could better music hold the ear, to note

Its silver-dropping streams and shadowy dells

Than that wherewith Italia christened it,

Calling it Aqua-Bella, or the Val-Ambrosa, liquid-toned and clear? No ripple,

Methinks, of happier tones or tenderer hues

Could voice its lapsing falls and verdant vales

Than lives within such naming!

Hither came

Long years agone—long years before the years

That gave the legend birth—a prayerful priest,

Bearing the cross where untamed beast and bird,

Alone frequenting, poured in wildest notes

The praise for life which lowest life uplifts!

And here, as ever, man's triumphant voice

Leaped up above the brute's, beseeching heaven

To consecrate with holy dews, and bless,

The heights which, cycles later, cradling held

The hermitage of one so famed; and grew,

As seed luxuriant in rich soil will grow,

Because all teeming life must needs expand,

These walls of generous hospice that outstretch

Their sheltering arms to weary travellers.

If it be true, as we have often heard,

That lukewarm sinners make but lukewarm saints,

Perhaps the converse proof we hold in hand;

For, mark! once lived in Florence, of the proud

Gualberto house, one heir to all its pride,

Giovanni named—he this same sinner-saint.

Quickened by summers of some eighteen years,

And flushed by southern suns to fervid warmth

[pg 711]

Of life impetuous, his youthful form

Bore stamp already of the venturous will

Of a gay, dashing cavalier outgiven

To heedless coursings in the round of sense.

And yet there dwelt adeep within his breast

A living well of tenderness that flowed

In gentle care for Hubert, his beloved

And only brother.

Hubert (a twelvemonth

Scarce younger) stood between his tempted soul

And much that might have swayed it past recall

Over the margin of sin's dread abyss.

'Twas not that Hubert was a chastened saint,

But love within the brother's ardent soul

Invested him with raiment pure and white—

Love holding from assoil the fabric fine

Itself had wove, and still will choose to weave

So long as life is life, or love is love.

Thus, when unto Giovanni came a dawn

That kindled to a conscious glow of health

His own quick pulse, yet, warming, failed to melt

The frozen current in pale Hubert's veins,

Because those veins had felt the frigid touch

Of steel in duelling combat, there arose

Within his anguished heart a stern demand

Against the murderer of life for life—

An unrelenting thirst of blood, to quell

The ghostly phantoms of his fevered brain,

And satisfy with feast of sweet revenge

His brother's manes.

On one Good-Friday morn,

Followed by armed retainers, and slow bent

Unto San Miniato to attend

High Mass, in faithfulness to Hubert's soul,

He met unwittingly within a pass

That leads to the Basilica this man,

Of all men hated most. Close, face to face,

Spell-bound they stood a moment's span; then flashed

From out Giovanni's sheath his gleaming sword,

And by its glittering sign with one will rose

From every trusty scabbard near at hand

Sharp kindred swords that gleamed defiant fire

Into the bright'ning day, and in his face

Who stood unarmed, alone.

The unsheathed sword

Of pitiless Giovanni had well-nigh

Its rueful deed of deadly wrath made sure

When he, the helpless foe confronted thus

By certain death, saw in death's pallid light

The spectre of his sin as it must seem

[pg 712]

To disembodied spirits, and he fell

Prone, horror-stricken, at the avenger's feet.

There, graving on the ground with level arms

The crucial sign, he prayed for pardoning grace,

And grace of lengthened days for penitence,

And all in name of Him whose agony

Upon the cross he thus in dust recalled!

The sword is stayed, and in the tremulous pause

Great waves of varying passions meet

And battle in Giovanni's breast. Through all

A voice, as of faint music o'er the din

Of tumult, whispers: “Who loveth brother more

Than me, or any loved one more than me,

Is all unworthy of me.” Quick, with ever

Conquering motions of the Spirit's power,

As winds of peace the passionate waters calm,

His sword is dropped, and, offering helpful hands,

He cries: “Thou who hast slain my brother be

As Christ doth will—a brother unto me.”

O'erwhelmed with gratitude, and filled with deep

Contrition for his sin, the uplifted foe

Lets fall his head upon Giovanni's neck,

And there with loosened torrent of remorse

He pours the unguent of his tears, as once

Another penitent poured costly balm

Upon the Holiest One, growing therefrom

Through mercy's twofold grace to peace and joy.

While yet the day was young, the legend tells

How both these humbled, contrite cavaliers

Offered their thanks for comfort at the shrine

Whither their steps together now were led;

And how, while kneeling at the crucifix,

Broke from the Saviour's parted lips a smile

Upon Giovanni, while the sacred head

In gracious token bowed.

O crowning joy!

Too much to halo one poor human brow,

And not the radiance divine extend

To others all unconscious, even as once

Himself had been of its illumining might!

Henceforth no other smile was aught to him

If for a passing moment it could hide

The memory of that glory from his eyes.

[pg 713]

Henceforth the impulse of his life was one

Deep, passionate desire to shadow forth,

In the best shadowy way a mortal can,

The glowing flame of beatific fire

That hallowed smile had kindled in his soul.

And thence so perfect was his Godward walk

That scarce five summers of devoted life

Were added to his eighteen worldly years

Before San Miniato's brotherhood

Decreed him to its abbacy. But, no!

Nor stole nor triple crown had charm for one

Too wholly Christ's to care for stole or crown,

Save for that lustrous crown of ransomed souls

His earnest life might win to shine as stars.

For this to Vallambrosa's lonely height

In rapt and silent vigil he withdrew;

But even as sweetness bursts the seedling's cell,

So holiness from him exhaled in light

That drew, to seek his counsel, devotees

Led faithfully by his unswerving faith

To live with him a life of prayer and praise.

Or, if they came not cowled as lowly monks,

Still hither fared the noble of the land,

Even kings whose purple paled beside his gray,

And royal ladies and most knightly knights,

To pour their wealth of treasure at the feet

Of one all saintly.

Thus the order grew

Of world-famed Vallambrosa, where to-day

The weary find repose and welcoming cheer,

And benison of heavenly graciousness.

And thus of one soul's overflow of light

The Saviour's smile is seen in saving love

To stream adown the ever-widening years

That close and closer bring us to the day

Of promised joy, when all our utmost need

Shall in that glorious smile be satisfied.

[pg 714]