The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1910-06-23

/ 1t was almost DfOaQ daylight. ana
presently from the monastery chapel a
soft toned bell began to toll the An
| gelus.
Olga paused; like all Po'es. she was a
devout Catholic and she stood in the
middle of the field to say her morning
prayer to the Virgin Mary while from
within the chapel now distant, came
family the monOtonous chant of the
monks.
One moment he almost hoped she
would speak, and look OF entreaty-
an entreaty for faith and trust-for an
instant softened the set expression in
her eyes. She seemed to listen in the
distance to the monks still chanting and
praying to her who never sinned.
Il have nothing to say" she said; iii
would be best if you would leave me
now"
Then Sergius let go her hand and
walked away.
| But she. now left alone, for a while
watched his retreating figure. It al
most seemed as if she could not let him
60
How Sergius Kousmenski spent the
remainder of that day he scarcely knew.
But, even with an aching heart and a
throbbing brain, duty must be gone
through, and Sergius lived through that
weary day-and waited for the night.
When all was dark and quiet again
within the city walls, Sergius Kous
menski went out-Out. through the
gates, across the fields, beyond which
| lay that convent chapel bathed in the
moonlight.
He pushed open the heavy. paneled
door, which was never closed on those
who wished to enter for rest, meditation
or prayer The little chapel at first
seemed quite deserted, and Sergius
paused wondering, till presently. at the
foot of the altar to the Virgin, he spied
the Trappist kneeling.
The convent rules are rigid, Sergius
knew. From the day that the final
vows are taken, the Trappist monks
lips are sealed forever; complete silence
shuts them out from all intercourse with
mankind, and that silence may only be
broken in order to give the prescribed
greeting to each other as they pass.
"Momento mori'' All other words may
only be addressed to God or His saints,
in prayer.
Sergius knew this, and yet he crossed
the chapel aisle, and, touching the kneel-
ing monk on the shoulder he said:
Father, | would speak with you"
"Memento mori,'' muttered the monk
half audibly.
Monk, whoever thou art" said Ser
gius, eff thou art a man, answer me,
what dost thou know of Olga"
He might as well have been talking
to one of the stone images round the
chapel walls The monk remained silent
and prayed.
Then the untamed Tartar blood rushed
wildly in Sergius' head. He looked with
eyes of hatred at the fanatic monk. and,
drawing short dagger from his belt, he
let it gIimmer in the low lamplight.
what did Olga do in this chapel last
night?" he Missed in the monks ear.
Remember man, thy life is in my
hands,
The monk looked at the knife with
contempt, at Sergius with pity.
''Memento mori," was the sole answer.
He made no attempt to defend his life,
but, when he felt the stab and felt his
blood beginning to flow, with his hands
and his robe he tried to stanch the
wound, so that he should not pollute
the Virgins altar. But his lips remained
sealed to the end. To the end the Trap
pist had kept his VOW.
Sergius took him up in his arms, hor-
ror struck at what he had done, and
carried him out of the chapel to the lit
| tie cemetery beyond. He laid the monk
in one of the graves, and he knelt by
its side and recited some prayers for
the dead Then he left him, and walked
away across the fields.
1t was a cruel time that now followed.
A fresh Polish conspiracy had been dis
covered, and his excellency, Sergius
Kousmenski, the governor, was more
pitiless than ever toward those that fell
into the clutches of the police.
A woman, one Olga Kriwenko by
name, was implicated in the plot. Many
an influential person pleaded for her
life, but the governor refused to listen,
and ordered that she should be shot the
next morning, along with the others, and
he also ordered that the Angelus should
be rung from the Trappist convent
chapel at the hour of their death.
And when night came he wandered
once more toward the convent chapel.
Nothing seemed altered in the peaceful
little house OF God A monk-was it
the same ?-was kneeling before the al
tar Sergius sat in the chapel he knew
not how long.
The chapel seemed oppressive. He
wandered out and into the little GENE
terry toward the spot where that open
grave had been that night, which now
held the body of the Trappist who
would not speak.
Sergius had some difficulty in finding
the exact spot; it had beer leveled IN
this short while, and no crosses or stones
mark the graves of the Trappists Sud
denly, he paused; at his feet. over some
newly trodden earth, something white
was cleaning; it was piece of paper
pinned to the earth by a dagger
Sergius stopped to look. He could
read the words, stained by mud and rain
though they were:
"To his excellency, the governor of
Warsaw, if he should chance to pass this
way"
Feverishly Sergius pulled out the knife
and unfolded the paper. 1t contained a
few scrubbed lines written by a feeble
hand
'Sergius Kousmenski, I could not
speak to thee in life; let me see you in
death. My moments are numbered; thy
dagger did its work well, but not quite
so well as thou hadst thought. forgive
thee my death. Forgive Olga Kriwenko
her sins were not against thee Poland
needed money. She undertook to find it
She alone knows how she succeeded
The man she saw here was her brother
To him she gave the money. Go thou
and. on thy knees ask her pardon for
having suspected her purity"