Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1896-02-14
THE CONVENT UNDER ARMS.

During my first trip to Spain l made a
study of an old abandoned convent. l
used to work under the arches of the clois-
ter, while the hidalgo who ordinarily served
as nv guide and carried my outfit slumber-
ed in some corner, wrapped in his cloak,
proud even in sleep.
Outside, climbing plants twined about
the saints in stone; lining their crowns
and seeking support from their secular
hands, they shot their fower-laden branches
through the bays The sun shone, and the
shadow of the pillars on the white flag
stones marked the passing hour. Amid
the delicious silence of the ruins, whisper
ing to my soul memories of the past, l
was thinking of the subject l might paint
in this magnificent background. ] evoked
the personages that the empty cloister had
seen; first, the long file of monks carrying
to the vaults the body of venerable prior,
or else returning gaily from the refectory;
then the silhouettes of dark inquisitors, or
some rosy-cheeked young monks weaving
garlands of roses for the Virgin.
All. the happy landscape painter can en-
liven his pictures with certain accepted
formule: red touch here means a shep-
herdess in the distance a brown spot
there represents a COW and several herd.
But the poor figure-painter, alas does not
get off so easily.
Every day, at the same hour, an old
peasant woman of noble Gearing came and
sat on the same stone within a few steps OF
me, and knitted without stirring until
evening. She was nearly blind.
Although my hidalgo did not speak
French, and ! knew but little Spanish, he
nevertheless managed to make me under
stand that she was the guardian of the
convent. Her father when he was alive,
being barber by trade, and somewhat of
a gardener, used to shave the monks and
cultivate their kitchen garden. He lived
in little hut built in the outer arcades of
the monastery; and since his death his
daughter remained there, living on what
she received from passing travellers. She
was very old, and The oldest inhabitants
said that formerly she had been very pref
ty.
The day finished my work it happened
that she was not in her accustomed place /:
and wishing to leave her my offering re-
quested the proud hidalgo to accompany
me to her abode, where found her busy
putting away some rags in an old Golfer as
best she could.
AS soon as she learned that / was going
away her face assumed an expression of
profound sorrow, and she began to talk to
me with great volubility. l did not I'M
derstand her jargon. All | could make
out was the name OF Vibert, repeated sew
eral times, as well as that of Napoleon.
Being greatly puzzled to find out how this
woman could know me, l begged my guide
to act as interpreter.
"Well," said he, ''the old woman asks
whether you are light infantry soldier"
"a light infantry soldier?"
Eyes; one of Napoleons light infantry.
The fact is, your voice reminds her of a
French soldier-a sergeant-she knew,
whose life she saved, and his name was
Jean Pierre Vibert. He had your walk,
your figure, and your voice especially the
voice, she says. That is all she can recog-
nize with her weak eyes. He had prom
ised to return, with Napoleon! She is
still waiting for him."
jean Pierre Vibert, soldier under Ma
poleon, sergeant of light infantry? Why,
that is my grandfather
'She asks whether he is still alive"
Eyes; certainly"
Then she does not want your money,
and she says she will die happy if you will
only kiss her."
e.
and willingly acceded to the poor woman S
wish. kissed her on the cheek, and felt
a burning tear on my lips. She pressed
me for an instant in her thin arms: then.
with her trembling hands rummaging in
her Golfer, she brought out a rag which
she put into my hand, and in a voice
choked with sobs she said, "Por Pedro,
por Pedro"
took the deposit she confided to me.
1t was the half of silk handkerchief
with howers the colors of which were
faded. She arose, tottering, repeated once
more, "Por Pedro" and disappeared be-
hind door.
On my return, while showing my grand
father the study / had made of the old
cloister, | asked him whether it did not
bring back any recollections of his wars in
Spain.
'Wait littlen' said he. Eyes Is there
not BARRIERS shop under the arcades?"
"Just so.'
ut is there | remember. The internal
monks, pouring out like rats from all the
holes of their convent, which was thought
20 be deserted, fell upon our weak squad,
and we were done up in short order AT
night the barber and his daughter dragged
me from heap of corpses. had tainted,
and was covered with wounds. They hid
me, cared for me, and cured me. Brave
people, l owe them my life; and, young
ster, thou also. But being restored to
health was one thing, and escaping was
another. / should have attempted it, but
my hosts made me understand that if !
were caught they would both be shot with
me for trying to save a Frenchman. All
those Capuchins were no jokers; and be-
sides, those were not jocular times any.
where.
81 was therefore obliged to remain in my
obscure hole, and let events take theiI
course. After the ringing of the curfew
my kind jailer used to visit me with hi.
amiable daughter, who had undertaken tC
teach. me Spanish, so as TO facilitate my
fight later on, she said In order to avoid
the noise and the light, which might hav,
betrayed us, she would dictate TO me il
whispers, while l, sitting on the ground
wrote on my knees by the light of darl
lantern hidden under her mantilla"
"But tell me, grandfather" interrupt
ed; ''your captivity was not lonesome?'
''Well, at night, no. But what of tn,
long days when thoughts came of my com
rades and of France! No; you see, young
ster, love comes not in prisons; neither d,
birds nest in cages.
at was, however, a great diversion
when the monks were at drill. Through
little hole between two stones in the wa
of my cell could see the cloister almos
at the spot where you painted it. / as
sure you that the sight was worth looking
at.
sin rank, facing front, and forming