III
710 Words
IIIHow Sergius Kousmenski spent the remainder of that day he scarcely knew. He found his servants anxious about him, wondering where His Excellency could thus have spent a whole night.
His harsh severity against the inhabitants had rendered him an object of fear and almost hatred in the Polish city, and it was a very likely thing, if he chanced to be out alone at night, that some desperate patriot might succeed in ridding Poland of her dreaded governor.
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. The Trappist monastery lay two or three miles distant from the governor’s palace, and yet in Sergius’ ears, during that long day, there incessantly tolled the soft-toned bell of the Angelus.
When all was dark and quiet again within the city walls, Sergius Kousmenski went out—out through the gates, across the fields beyond which lay that convent chapel bathed in the moonlight.
The night was far advanced, and it was with a thrill of satisfaction that Sergius saw that the stained-glass windows were lighted up from within.
He pushed open the heavy panelled 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.
He was a middle-aged man, his face worn, thin, and pale from long fasts and vigils. Sergius looked at him long; at him who must know all. Would he speak?
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 i*********e with man-kind, and that silence may only be broken in order to give the prescribed greeting to each other as they pass: “Memento 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 kneeling monk on the shoulder he said:
“Father, I would speak with you.”
The monk looked toward him, and for an instant a look of wonder crossed his impassive features; but it was a mere flash; he turned his eyes again heavenward, and continued counting his beads.
“Father, a broken-hearted man seeks comfort at your hands; won’t you speak to him?”
“Memento mori,” muttered the monk half audibly.
“Aye! I remember!” said Sergius, drearily. “But before I die I will know the truth. Is it wrong to seek for truth?”
The monk seemed to have forgotten his presence; he was saying his beads devoutly, all absorbed.
“Father,” again said Sergius, “I wish to speak about Olga Kriwenko. What was she doing in this chapel last night?”
The monk once more turned toward Sergius. There was a wistful tenderness in his sunken eyes, but he was still fingering his beads, and his lips still murmured endless Ave Marias.
“Monk, whoever thou art,” said Sergius, “if 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 to Sergius’ head. He looked with eyes of hatred at the fanatic monk, and, drawing a short dagger from his belt, he let it glimmer in the low lamp-light.
“What did Olga do in this chapel last night?” he hissed in the monk’s ear. “Remember, man, thy life is in my hands.”
The monk looked at the knife with contempt, at Sergius with pity. “Memento mori,” was his 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 staunch the wound, so that he should not pollute the Virgin’s altar. But his lips remained sealed to the end. To the end the Trappist had kept his vow.
Sergius took him up in his arms, horror-struck at what he had done, and carried him out of the chapel to the little cemetery beyond. He laid the monk in one of the graves, and, being a devout Catholic, he knelt by its side and recited some prayers for the dead. Then he left him, and walked away across the fields.
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