Italian Yesterdays, vol. 1

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

Then he found himself alone with Urban; the holy apparition had vanished. Urban led him to the baptismal Font, washed his soul from every stain of sin, gave him the Food of Angels, called down the Holy Ghost upon him to clothe him in strength and virtue, put over his rich robes the white garment of the Neophyte, and bade him return to his bride.

The night had passed, and the sun had risen upon the city as he made his way back through the streets where so many were dressed in white in those days that his mystical garment attracted no unusual attention. All was quiet in the great palace across the river. The slaves were moving silently about their work so as not to disturb the slumbers of their master and mistress in the remote chamber whence no sound had yet issued, and if some looked up in surprise as Valerianus passed in, none would dare to question him as to his early walk. Swiftly he went on, and parted the hangings of the entrance to the chamber where Cecilia had knelt motionless in prayer through the long night. There he paused in awe and joy, for, standing close to her was the Angel of the Lord, his wings effulgent plumes, his countenance a flame of radiance, while in his hands he held two crowns, flashing with roses and snowy with lilies.

These he gently placed on the bowed young heads, saying, in tones of such music as Valerianus had never heard before: “Guard these crowns by purity of heart and sanctity of body, for I have brought them to you from the Paradise of God; and this shall be a sign to you—never shall their beauty fade nor their sweet fragrance diminish, nor shall they be visible to others save such as have pleased God by their purity as you have pleased Him. And since thou, Valerianus, didst consent to the course of chastity, Christ the Son of God hath sent me to thee, that thou shouldst ask for whatever thou most desirest.”

Valerianus threw himself at the Angel’s feet, and thus besought him: “Nothing in this life is sweeter to me than the love of my only brother, and it is terrible to me that I, being liberated, must see my brother still in danger of perdition. This one prayer will I set before every other petition, and beseech God that He will deign to deliver my brother Tiburtius as He has delivered me, and that He will make us both perfect in the confession of His Name.”

At Valerianus’ request, the Angel’s face was transfigured with rapture. “Since thou hast asked this,” he replied, “which Christ desires to grant more than thou to receive, even as by His servant Cecilia thou wast won to Him, so by thee shall thy brother be won, and both shall obtain the Martyr’s palm.”

Then the Angel left them and returned to Heaven, and Cecilia and Valerianus remained together, their hearts almost breaking with joy. For long hours they talked of heavenly things, and then, towards the afternoon, their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Tiburtius, the gay, loving younger brother, who declared that he had stayed away long enough and must see his dear Valerianus! Advancing towards his new sister, he bent down and lightly kissed her hair, and then exclaimed, in delight at the exquisite fragrance emanating from it: “Cecilia, I am full of wonder to know whence, at this season of the year, comes this perfume of roses and lilies? For, even if I held real roses and real lilies in my hands, they could not diffuse such sweet odours on my senses. I declare to you that I feel as refreshed as if I had just received new being!”

It was Valerianus who answered: “The enjoyment of this fragrance, which has been granted to thee at my prayer, Tiburtius, shall, if thou wilt now believe, be surpassed by the joy of seeing these heavenly flowers and of knowing Him Whose Blood flows red as the rose, Whose Flesh is white as lilies. We two wear crowns, invisible to thee now, woven of flowers dazzling as purple, purer than snow.”

At these words the first faint dawn of things spiritual broke on the mind of Tiburtius, but there was a struggle before it could pierce the veil of contented materialism that had enveloped him all his life. “Art thou dreaming, Valerianus?” he cried, “or is it possible that these things are truth?”

“We have dreamed all our lives, brother,” was the reply. “Now we have awaked, to see the truth.”

The colloquy goes on; Valerianus, with all the ardour of his recent illumination upon him, trying to impart to his brother that which he learned but a few hours earlier. Cecilia has kept silence before the quick flow of question and answer, but at a given moment she intervenes, and, with the calm majesty that so singularly invests all her words and actions, says: “It is to me, dear Tiburtius, that you should put these questions. Valerianus is new in the Faith—I have known all its doctrines from my childhood.” And then comes that magnificent unfolding of the truths of Christianity which sounds more like the authoritative teaching of one of the Fathers of the Church than the profession of faith of a young girl. No point seems left in doubt; it is a luminous paraphrase of the Creed, adapted, with sublime tact and wisdom, to the requirements of the youth nurtured in merely pagan piety, surrounded with everything that could make this life attractive, and utterly unconscious of the immortality that was in him.