The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 41, March, 1861 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 314 pages of information about The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 41, March, 1861.

The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 41, March, 1861 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 314 pages of information about The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 41, March, 1861.
the apartment.  During my walk half an hour afterwards, I encountered the same party, still more excited and hilarious, in company with some women, whose character it was not easy to mistake.  As I passed, the Unknown brushed close by me, and again his glance met my own.  He seemed half-maddened by my curious look, which he could not but perceive, and, as I thought, made use of some insulting expression.  I took no notice of it, but passed on my way, and saw him no more during my stay in the place.

From Baden I made an excursion into Switzerland.  I was stopping at a pleasant village in the romantic neighborhood of the Bernese Alps.  One afternoon I took a walk of several miles in a new direction.  I left the road and pursued a path used only by pedestrians, which shortened the distance to another village not far off.  A little way from this path was erected a small chapel, and in a niche stood an image of Christ, well executed in fine white marble.  The work was so superior to the rude designs we find throughout the country that I stopped to examine it.  I was amply repaid.  In place of the painful-looking Christ on the Cross,—­too often a mere caricature,—­the image was that of the Youthful Saviour,—­mild, benignant, forgiving.  In his left palm, which was not extended, but held near his person, rested a globe, which he seemed to regard with a heavenly love and compassion, and the effect on me was so impressive that the words came impulsively to my lips,—­“I am the light of the world.”

For several minutes I stood regarding with intense admiration this beautiful exhibition of the Saviour of Sinners.  Presently, I saw the door of the chapel was open.  Should I look in?  I did so.  What did I behold?  The individual I had seen at Baden,—­the gamester, the bacchanal, the debauchee!  Now, how changed!  He was kneeling at a tomb,—­the only one in the chapel.  The setting sun fell directly on his features.  His fine brow seemed fairer and more intellectual than before.  His eyes were soft and subdued, and destitute of anything which could partake of an earthly element.  Even the mouth, which had so disgusted me, was no longer disagreeable.  Contrition, humility, an earnest, sincere repentance, were tokens clearly to be read in every line of his face.  I took very quietly some steps backward, so as to quit the spot unobserved, if possible.  In doing so, I stumbled and fell over some loose stones.  The noise startled the stranger, who was, I think, about to leave the chapel.  He came forward just as I was recovering myself.  We stood close together, facing each other.  A flush passed over the man’s face.  He seized my arm and exclaimed fiercely,—­

“What are you doing here?”

Without appearing to recognize him, I hastened to explain that my presence there was quite accidental, and it was in attempting to retreat quietly, after discovering I was likely to prove an intruder, that my falling over some stones had attracted his notice.  Thus saying, and bowing, I was about to proceed homeward, when the stranger suddenly exclaimed,—­

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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 41, March, 1861 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.