St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1895-02-13
ike to hear these fragments of per-

profession. 1t was very sad'' And
she shook her head sorrowfully Mere
Angelo is easily touched by the woes
of others. She lives her placid kindly
NJ life amongst her pupils, and goes in
and out amongst her neighbors freely,
i for she has light hand and a skill
sfhl maner and can do many deed of
Kindness here and there, for the Ursu-
II lines have marched" with the time
4 and permit good deal of liberty to
the SiSterhood.
"You see how they live," said Mere
Angelo, waving her hand backwards in
the direction of the convent we have
just left
| a'Mere Celeste was a bright-eyed girl
before she joined these sisters. She
was the center of a circle distinguished
for birth, breeding and gayety. And
she was favored, too, for she not only
loved, but was beloved in return I
have seen her lover myself He was
| a very handsome man, with an air of
distinction about him which drew every
| ones attention, as a matter of course.
Then he was a soldier, an officer of the
kaiser's, and 1 suppose that has a
charm of it's own for some eyes. 1t
had for Mere Celeste, only she was
| not Mere Celeste in those days, you
know. Oh, she was very happy and
so full of joy that it did you good to
look at her. Then, my friend, the
war broke out, and the next news we
had was that he was ordered away to
the front. 1t was sad, of course; and
it gave her great sorrow. For my part,
| | do not know if men are worth the
| tears We shed over them, or the agony
| we feel on their behalf"
| knew Mere Angeles opinion of old,
so L smiled in reply and shook my
head.
'Ah, Mere Angelo; thoughts differ on
this subject
True they do. We do not all think
alike. For my part, 1 agree with St.
| Paul; others do not share my views.
| My friend in the past wept and
moaned; but her lover went with his
men, and she was left alone
She paused so long that wondered.
Did he ever return? Was he killed,
Mere ANGLER"
ooh, no. He neither came back, nor
was he killed. He was, wounded, how
ever, and taken to the hospital,
Poor fellowv'
81 don't know about that She
| looked grave. He is not to be pitied.
| There was a certain young lady who
i had volunteered to nurse the wounded.
And she tended him. Oh, my dear, men
| are curious -"
| What did this one do?''
He transferred his affections - it
! seemed an easy affair in his case, and
| he forgot my friend the girl who loved
| him, and who was waiting and pray
| ing. for him daily before the shrine of
| Our Lady of Sorrows. He forgot her,
| for when he was we'll enough he mar
ried this young lady who had nursed
him, and returned no more to the town
| where he had left his old love"
And She?' l asked breathlessly. l
was young-and to the young the sor-
row Of lovers are ever dear. They
| win tear for tear, and sigh for sigh.
Afterward the thoughtful ones
amongst us grow into cynics. We see
| so much life, we cease to be enamored
of human nature, pure and simple. We
seek, like Mere Angelo, to disparage the 1
race when it runs counter to our
wishes or our plans.
[ was young; therefore l was dis
Z posed to lament.
K a'And she?' l asked, my voice CULVER
z ing over the sad history of Mere
CeleSte's short-lived spell of happiness
2FShe nearly broke her heart" said
fsMere Angelo shortly. He was not
worth it, l know, but what will you?
These girls-these girls, they do not I'M
derstand. 1t is the way of some men.
Out of sight is out of mind Oh, the pity
and the shame of it, / saw her soon
afterward, and it was as if great
storm zof sorrow and anguish had
passed over her SOUL bending it-bow-
ing it-eyen as a reed by some inland
lake is bent by the passing of some
IFbitterstempest of wind andsrain. Il
when the pain had done it's work
she came to the White Sisters, and 1
have never seen her since. You would
observe that none of their faces were
visible We know and discern them by
their voices alone, and how they sing.
1t is because of the silence of their
lives.
"They never speak or chat about
trifles, as even we do sometimes, |
greatly fear. But they sing. And who
can forget their singing?"
Poor Mere Celeste"' Id"
"Ah, you say that now! Yes, agree. |
But she is doubtless happy. With the |
stigmata of a deep sorrow stamped |
upon both heart and life, there is only
possible happiness or contentment to
be found in the services of the church,
beneath the shadow of the cross; and
there Mere Celeste has found it. My
friend, it will be a glad day for her
when she exchanges this existence Tor |
the freedom and the perfect love Of |
heaven"
And then Mere Angelo and I turned |
in at the peaceful gate of the Ursuline |
convent and left the glare of the |
streets and the noise and dust of the |
city behind. !
81 shall say prayer for Mere Ce- |
leste,' she whispers ere we part.
And I, as l steal into the shades OF
ST. Ursules chapel, kneel also to ask |
for measure of peace for the troubled |
soul. The haunting echoes Of the song |
of praise are in my ears still. l seem
once more to hear the rise and fall OF |
that glorious voice; and the slender |
form, with white-hooded head up
raised, rises before me as [ pray. The
passion-history of a soul, who may
know it? Who may portray it?
Yet whenever l think of Antwerp,
with all it's artistic, it's musical, and
it's beautiful surroundings, l. think,
alas. of the white nuns in their eX-
| quisite chapel, with the subtle odor OF
lilies mingling with the perfume of in
| cense [ see again the frescoes, the
| flowers and the gorgeous altar.
And in the foreground amongst 9TH
| ers. I see one figure absorbed in her
| devotions; l hear one voice which Will
| go on singing forever in my heart, and
| I know the voice and the figure are
| those of Mere Celeste, who is only
| memory to me-a sort of idyll, around
whom is the ever-clinging shadow OF
| great sorrow and a greater-perhaps a
| nobler-devotion
But, Mere Angelo I add, as bid
| her good night later on in the even
| ing, mo power on earth will ever per-
| suade me to take the VOWS of silent
White Sister,
mi moi non plus she says with a
| little laugh I'VE are happier as we
! are; n'est-ce pas?'