Part 21 (1/2)
”No,” replied Manuel, ”he is writing many letters to Rome. Will you come and play to me?”
”Willingly!” and Angela went lightly up the winding steps of the gallery, ”But you have been out all day,--are you not tired?”
”No, not now. I WAS weary,--very weary of seeing and hearing so many false things . . .”
”False things?” echoed Angela thoughtfully, as she seated herself at the organ, ”What were they?”
”Churches princ.i.p.ally,” said Manuel quietly; ”How sad it is that people should come into those grand buildings looking for Christ and never finding Him!”
”But they are all built for the wors.h.i.+p of Christ,” said Angela, pressing her small white fingers on the organ keys, and drawing out one or two deep and solemn sounds by way of prelude, ”Why should you think He is not in them?”
”He cannot be,” answered Manuel, ”They are all unlike Him! Remember how poor he was!--He told His followers to despise all riches and worldly praise!--and now see how the very preachers try to obtain notice and reward for declaring His simple word! The churches seem quite empty of Him,--and how empty too must be the hearts and souls of all the poor people who go to such places to be comforted!”
Angela did not reply,--her hands had unconsciously wandered into the mazes of a rich Beethoven voluntary, and the notes, firm, grand, and harmonious, rolled out in the silence with a warm deep tenderness that thrilled the air as with a rhythmic beat of angels' wings. Lost in thought, she scarcely knew what she played, nor how she was playing,--but she was conscious of a sudden and singular exaltation of spirit,--a rush of inward energy that was almost protest,--a force which refused to be checked, and which seemed to fill her to the very finger tips with ardours not her own,--martyrs going to the destroying flames might have felt as she felt then. There was a grave sense of impending sorrow hanging over her, mingled with a strong and prayerful resolve to overcome whatever threatened her soul's peace,--and she played on and on, listening to the rus.h.i.+ng waves of sound which she herself evoked, and almost losing herself in a trance of thought and vision. And in this dreamy, supersensitive condition, she imagined that even Manuel's face fair and innocent as it was, grew still more beautiful,--a light, not of the sun's making, seemed to dwell like an aureole in his cl.u.s.tering hair and in his earnest eyes,--and a smile sweeter than any she had ever seen, seemed to tremble on his lips as she looked at him.
”You are thinking beautiful things,” he said gently, ”And they are all in the music. Shall I tell you about them?”
She nodded a.s.sent, while her fingers, softly pressing out the last chord of Beethoven's music, wandered of their own will into the melancholy pathos of a Schubert ”Reverie.”
”You are thinking of the wonderful plan of the world,” he said,--”Of all the fair and glorious things G.o.d has made for those who love Him!
Of the splendour of Faith and Hope and Courage,--of the soul's divine origin and responsibility,--and all the joy of being able to say to the Creator of the whole universe, 'Our Father!' You are thinking--because you know--that not a note of the music you are playing now fails to reach the eternal spheres,--echoing away from your touch, it goes straight to its mark,--sent with the soul's expression of love and grat.i.tude, it flies to the centre of the soul's wors.h.i.+p. Not a pulsation of true harmony is lost! You are thinking how grand it is to live a sweet and unsullied life, full of prayer and endeavour, keeping a spirit white and clean as the light itself, a spirit dwelling on the verge of earth but always ready to fly heavenward!--You are thinking that no earthly reward, no earthly love, no earthly happiness, though good in itself, can ever give you such perfect peace and joy as is found in loving, serving, and obeying G.o.d, and suffering His will to be entirely worked in you!”
Angela listened, deeply moved--her heart throbbed quickly,--how wonderfully the boy expressed himself!--with what sweetness, gentleness, and persuasion! She would have ceased playing, but that something imperative urged her to go on,--and Manuel's soft voice thrilled her strangely when he spoke again, saying--
”You know now--because your wise men are beginning to prove it--that you can in very truth send a message to heaven.”
”To heaven!” murmured Angela, ”That is a long way! We know we can send messages in a flash of lightfrom one part of the world to another--but then there must be people to receive them--”
”And heaven is composed of millions of worlds,” said Manuel, ”'In my Father's house are many mansions!” And from all worlds to all worlds--from mansion to mansion, the messages flas.h.!.+ And there are those who receive them, with such directness as can admit of no error!
And your wise men might have known this long ago if they had believed their Master's word, 'Whatsoever is whispered in secret shall be proclaimed on the housetops.' But you will all find out soon that it is true, and that everything you say, and that every prayer you utter G.o.d hears.”
”My mother is in heaven,” said Angela wistfully, ”I wish I could send her a message!”
”Your very wish has reached her now!” said Manuel, ”How is it possible that you in the spirit could ardently wish to communicate with one so beloved and she not know it! Love would be no use then, and there would be a grave flaw in G.o.d's perfect creation.”
Angela ceased playing, and turned round to face the young speaker.
”Then you think we never lose those we love? And that they see us and hear us always?”
”They must do so,” said Manuel, ”otherwise there would be cruelty in creating the grace of love at all. But G.o.d Himself is Love. Those who love truly can never be parted,--death has no power over their souls.
If one is on earth and one in heaven, what does it matter? If they were in separate countries of the world they could hear news of each other from time to time,--and so they can when apparent death has divided them.”
”How?” asked Angela with quick interest.
”Your wise men must tell you,” said Manuel, with a grave little smile, ”I know no more than what Christ has said,--and He told us plainly that not even a sparrow shall fall to the ground without our Father. 'Fear not,' He said, 'Ye are more than many sparrows.' So, as there is nothing which is useless, and nothing which is wasted, it is very certain that love, which is the greatest of all things, cannot lose what it loves.”
Angela's eyes filled with tears, she knew not why, ”Love which is the greatest of all things cannot lose what it loves!”--How wonderfully tender was Manuel's voice as he spoke these words!
”You have very sweet thoughts, Manuel,” she said, ”You would be a great comfort to anyone in sorrow.”
”That is what I have always wished to be,” he answered, ”But you are not in sorrow yet,--that is to come!”