And shall it creep around my blossoming tree,
Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music
That spirits in heaven might hear?”—
there was a fond caressing sweetness in his tones that fell on the heart like a celestial dew. Into what a wholly different world of human nature we were taken in the absolute transformation of his demeanor with Joseph, the Capuchin monk, his confidant! Here there was a grim humor, an amusing yet sinister banter:
“In my closet
You’ll find a rosary, Joseph: ere you tell
Three hundred beads I’ll summon you. Stay, Joseph.
I did omit an Ave in my matins,—
A grievous fault. Atone it for me, Joseph.
There is a scourge within; I am weak, you strong.