A Tale of the Kloster Part 10

--New Testament.

Well hath he of great afflictions said, "Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward." Thus I said unto myself the night following the fright of my Sister Bernice as I sought in vain for sleep, for I felt the shadow of some heavy sorrow hanging over us. Not even the prattle of Sonnlein, or my unremitting daily toil, G.o.d's antidote for corroding care, could efface from my mind the wan features of Sister Bernice, the extreme delicacy of her fragile form, and the shock she had received from the witch.

And yet, for so He hath ordained, as time dragged its slow length away, my forebodings almost vanished, and the days were beginning to pa.s.s "swifter than a weaver's shuttle," so I was not without hope that, after all, my fears had been the result of a too tender solicitude for my dear sister.

Thus almost a year pa.s.sed away in which I saw her in fleeting glimpses, but not to hold sweet converse with her or once again to feel the touch of that hand I longed to harbor in mine and shelter from all the storms of life. How my poor human nature struggled with me those days, so that at times I thought I must take her in mine arms and with Sonnlein flee to some retreat where we could pa.s.s the rest of our days in perfect love and peace!

But "happy is the man whom G.o.d correcteth," for after all we are not fit for heaven until all the dross hath been tormented out of us, leaving the pure gold for his kingdom.

Whether my sister was enduring all these pangs of unspoken, forbidden love I knew not; I only knew that if by chance our eyes met, which was all too seldom, I thought I could see in their pure depths a tender, beseeching longing for me.

And now the glory of autumn had pa.s.sed away. The fields about the Kloster lay cold and bare. The naked branches of the trees shivered in the chilling airs. How bleak and cheerless the world seemed in these early days of winter before the touch of ice and snow had transformed the fields and the forests into fairyland!

The last day of November was drawing to its close. The Brethren had partaken, in solemn thankfulness, of our simple evening meal and I had gone to my _Kammer_, first putting Sonnlein to rest, after having recounted to me all the marvelous happenings of the day, and was about myself to lie down to sleep, when hearing a step near, I looked up and saw Brother Beissel, even graver and sadder than usual. "Brother Jabez, Mother Maria hath come saying she would see thee and me." At once a great fear gripped my heart--something about Bernice.

"I am ready to see her, brother," said I quietly, rising to my feet.

Just outside the door of Zion, for she would not come in, stood our prioress, a deep sadness in her usually hard and inscrutable features.

When she saw us, she waited first for Brother Beissel to bid her speak, and then she said quietly, with tears in her voice, for which I ever felt grateful to her: "Sister Bernice is leaving us; she is dying." And then duty overcame grief and pity, and looking up steadfastly into our faces, Mother Maria said, almost sternly, I thought: "Our Sister Bernice doth entreat us that before she die Brother Jabez may see her. I told her gently 'twas 'gainst the rules of our order for Sister to be in Zion or Brother in Kedar."

We stood silent for a few moments, and then, looking at me as though he would read my very soul, Brother Beissel said to me softly: "Art thou and our Sister Bernice aught to each other?"

"But for our vows the world would know we loved each other," I said humbly, but looking not unsteadily into those eyes that seemed to read men's hearts like open books.

"Now I know for a surety that which thy troubled face hinted to me of late, my Brother Jabez. I know thou hast fought a hard fight. I command thee go see our sister, thy Bernice; no fear of idle tongue or hard letter of the law shall keep us from the true promptings of the spirit."

And then, pushing me gently along, he said: "Go, haste. Mother Maria, it is my wish that thou take our brother to our sister; be thou the only one present."

And thus this wonderful man, who had in him all the fiery, unyielding hatred of sin of a Jeremiah, and yet a woman's tender sympathy, bound me to him, though oft we differed in opinion, for life.

When Mother Maria and I entered the narrow doorway leading from the corridor into the cell where Bernice lay, the Sisters gathered there were sent obediently to their cells, though the hearts of each of the gentle nuns longed to be present to soften the last moments of their young sister who for so many years had been a dear companion. Only Mother Maria and I remained with Bernice. At first, in the dim light of the little paper lantern, she did not seem to notice me as I knelt down beside her, Mother Maria standing in the doorway and so thoughtfully filling it that no one could see into this little chamber already hallowed by the presence of the angel of death.

As I knelt there I took one of my sister's dear, white, wasted hands into mine, and lifting into my arm her head, from which flowed the golden ma.s.ses of hair that gilded the hard, wooden pillow, I murmured to her, "Bernice"; and as she opened those eyes that had ever the look of heaven in them, I breathed softly to her, "Tis thy Brother Jabez; dost not know me?"

And then she looked at me with understanding in her gaze and whispered so weakly I thought my heart would burst with love and grief: "I know thee; I am so happy." And as she said this, she smiled so sweetly I held her closer in my arms, our souls meeting in our first kiss.

For many moments I knelt sheltering her dear head in mine arms, each of us unspeakably happy that now even, though in the hour of death, we could say freely with our lips that which our hearts had told each other long ago. Outside was stillness, and so inside the hall. Mother Maria still kept her watch in the doorway, grim and sad, as though she neither saw nor heard my sister and me.

"I could not leave thee without telling how I loved thee," she whispered, lifting up the hand I had not imprisoned in mine, and resting it on my shoulder, where it lay like a lily. "I tried so hard to forget thee, but since that love feast--thou knowest which one--thou wast ever with me."

"That love feast was paradise, my beloved sister; but thou must not talk so much, I fear."

"Nay, I know my end is near; I am not afraid now."

In a few moments she whispered shyly, "Dost remember the witch?"

"Yea, I could have slain her for frightening thee so."

"But when thou didst take me into thy great arms and soothe and pity me like some little child, I was almost glad I had seen the witch."

"Thou foolish girl, how canst care so for such a great, clumsy, stupid brother like me?"

She lay a few minutes as if she could not whisper more, and then, after I thought she had forgotten what I had just said, she whispered, but more feebly than before, "Thou'rt not clumsy or stupid; thou art so strong but so tender--I love thee better than life." And then she seemed so exhausted I was obliged to lay her head off my breast to her pillow thinking she could breathe more easily, but the gentle pressure of her hand on my shoulder and the nestling touch of the one on my own told me she preferred it thus.

I know not how long I held her in mine embrace, but she again opened her eyes and whispered, pausing between each word, "Thou wilt be with me in heaven?"

"Yea, _mein Liebchen_, forever and forever," I murmured holding her to me still more closely, whereat she smiled and whispered, but so low and broken I could hardly hear it, "I am so happy," and then I felt a shudder pa.s.s through the dear frame in mine arms; her head fell limp and lifeless from my shoulder, and I knew that from within the narrow walls of the bare, cold cell, and out through the dark night, there was winging its way to heaven the soul of my sister, my Bernice.

For a long while I knelt holding her in mine arms, the tears raining down my face as never since childhood. Then I laid her down on the bench which could no longer crucify the earthly habitation of my Bernice; I kissed the dear face for the last time, and then rising, I said as calmly as I could to Mother Maria, "Our sister hath gone to her home,"

and then I left the "House of Sorrow" with the light of a great peace in mine heart, for though I knew that earth had lost much of its sweetness, yet the bitterness of my short sojourn here was as naught compared with the added bliss heaven now held for me.

Thus Sister Bernice was the first flower to die of the Roses of Saron and the first of the Solitary to be laid away in the little G.o.d's Acre down in the meadow by the roadside. Mine own wish, had it been expressed, would have been that our sister be buried in the simplicity which marked her gentle life, but those in authority thought it best to make her burial an occasion for all the imposing honors and ceremonies of our Order.

At midnight, while earth and sky were held in intense darkness--the chill, wintry winds sighing a mournful requiem more sad and mournful even than the chanting by the heavy-hearted Sisters and Brothers, of the dirge composed in loving memory by Sister Foeben--six of the Brothers clad in their long cowls tenderly and reverently carried the body of our dear Bernice from Mount Sinai down to the narrow little _Kammer_ where all that was of earth of her could rest in peace until the call of the last day.

My heart was too full to note all this but dimly and to hear but faintly our footfalls upon the hard ground and the solemn tolling of the convent bells, the flickering rushlights shedding a weird, ghostly light over the sad, thin line of mourners.

Tenderly as a fond mother lays her child to sleep at evenfall we laid our sister to rest with all the symbolic beauty of the ritual of the Brotherhood of Zion and then having performed our last sacred offices for our departed one, we filed slowly back to our cells. The room Sister Bernice had occupied in Kedar was now closed to remain so for some time, and upon the walls of her _Kammer_ was hung a legend, or _Segenspruch_, composed by our Brother Beissel, and lovingly executed by the Sisters in their beautiful Gothic penwork:

"_Bernice, Freue dich in ihrem gang unter der Schafweide, und sey freundlich u. huldreich unter den Liebhabern._"

Which meaneth: "Bernice, enjoy yourself in your sojourn among the sheep pastures and be affable and gracious among the suitors."

Ah me, ah me!

CHAPTER XV

THE GREAT COMET

The Lord his signs makes to appear, To call us to repentance: A monstrous comet standeth there That we our sins shall flee from, But we, alas! scarce give it a thought For each one thinks it cometh not, The punishment and danger.

The winter winds had swept o'er the grave of our dear sister not a month, and hardly had our little camp on the Cocalico been restored to its usual evenness of temper after the wordy warfare Brother Hildebrand and I, under the leadership of Brother Beissel, had waged against our ancient foes, the Moravians at Bethlehem--for they believed not in celibacy--when we were again roused to a high pitch of excitement by that which was no less than a second comet which, following closely upon the one that flashed so suddenly upon us the preceding February, left no longer any doubts even in the minds of the most skeptical and unbelieving, that we were within the portent of some great crisis.

It was on the evening of Christmas a number of the Brotherhood, among them the Eckerlings and Brother Weiser--for though he had gone back to the world he oft revisited us--our superintendent and Sonnlein and I, were gathered on the highest point of Mount Sinai, nigh to the Brother woods. The sun had hardly sunk from view and the twilight begun to deepen over the unbroken expanse of forest and upon the slopes of the distant hills to the west, when suddenly Brother Jephune, our astronomer, clutched Brother Weiser by the arm, and exclaimed in awe-struck tones, "See, look, the comet!" as he pointed all in a tremble to where the sun had just disappeared.

Startled by his voice and his intense gaze, we turned sharply. I could see naught but a single small star, shining dimly, but I held my peace.

Brother Weiser was the first to break the strain in a cold, calm, judge-like tone, "I see naught but a small star; Brother Jephune, thou seest ever visions."

"It were better for thee, our Brother Enoch, didst thou see more visions instead of having thine eyes stubbornly sealed against the mysteries of G.o.d," quietly interrupted Brother Onesimus.

"Brother Jephune, mine eyes are yet strong. I see naught but a star, nor do our brethren see thy comet," said our leader.

Brother Jephune apparently heard not his critics, for he still stood motionless and gazed most intensely upon what appeared to us an innocent star.