Flute and Violin, and Other Kentucky Tales and RomancesAllen, James Lane
General
Flute and Violin, and Other Kentucky Tales and Romances
Allen, James Lane
Kentucky -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, American
"It was far inland, dear Mother, that at last we found her. She lay
out-stretched on a bare, black rock of lava, which sloped upward from
the sea. Her naked white feet rested on the green moss that fringed
its lower edge, and her head was sheltered from the burning sun by
branches of ferns. Almost over her eyes--the lids of which were stiff
with the salt of the ocean--there hung a spray of white poppies. It
was as though nature would be kind to her in death.
"At the sight of her face, so young, and having in it the purity and
the peace of Heaven, we knelt down around her without a word, and for
a while we could do nothing but weep. Surely nothing so spotless was
ever washed ashore on this polluted island! If I sinned, I pray to be
forgiven; but I found a strange joy in thinking that the corruption
of this terrible disease had never been laid upon her. Heaven had
accepted in advance her faithful spirit, and had spared her the long
years of bodily suffering.
"At Father Damien's direction Brother Joseph returned to the village
for a bier and for four lepers who should be strong enough to bear it.
When they came we laid her on it, and bore her back to the village,
where Mother Marianne took the body in charge and prepared it for
burial.
"How shall I describe her funeral? The lepers were her pall-bearers.
The news of the shipwreck had quickly spread throughout the
settlement, and these simple, generous people yield themselves so
readily to the emotion of the hour. When the time arrived, it seemed
that all who could walk had come to follow her to the church-yard. It
was a moving sight--the long, wavering train of that death-stricken
throng, whose sufferings had so touched the pity of our Lord when he
was on earth, and the desolation of whose fate she had come to lessen.
There were the young and the old alike, Protestants and Catholics
without distinction, children with their faces so strangely aged
with ravages of the leprosy, those advanced in years with theirs so
mutilated and marred. Others, upon whom the leprosy had made such
advances that they were too weak to walk, sat in their cottage doors
and lifted their husky voices in singing that wailing native hymn in
which they bemoan their hopeless fate. Some of the women, after a
fashion of their own, wore large wreaths of blue blossoms and green
leaves about their withered faces.
"And it was thus that we lepers--I say we lepers because I am one of
them, since I cannot expect long to escape the disease--it was thus
that we lepers followed her to the graveyard in the rock by the blue
sea, where Father Damien with his own hands had helped to dig her
grave. And there, dear Mother, all that is mortal of her now rests.
But we know that ere this she has heard the words: 'I was sick and ye
visited me.'
"Mother Marianne would herself have written, but she was called away
to the Leproserie.
"SISTER AGATHA."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account