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Fellowes, W.D.

"Illustrated with Numerous Coloured Engravings, from Drawings Made on the Spot"

To the
west, under the glow of the setting sun, the forests were still tinged
with the warmest yet softest colours that faded fast away; and as we
descended towards the Convent, quickening our pace to reach it before
the last gleams of evening departed, there was a silence around us,
which at such a moment, and in such a spot, sunk sorrowfully upon the
heart! Just as I reached the gate the bell tolled in so solemn and
melancholy a tone that it vibrated through my whole frame, and called
strongly to mind the beautiful lines in "Parisina":
The Convent bells are ringing,
But mournfully and slow;
In the gray square turret swinging,
With a deep sound, to and fro,
Heavily to the heart they go!
On entering the gate, a lay-brother received me on his knees; and in
a low and whispering voice informed me they were at vespers. The
stillness and gloom of the building--the last rays of the sun scarcely
penetrating through its windows--the deep tones of the monks chanting
the responses, which occasionally broke the silence, filled me with
reverential emotions which I felt unwilling to disturb: it was
necessary however to present my letter of introduction, and Frere
Charle, the secretaire, soon after came out, and received me with
great civility. He appeared a young man about five-and-twenty, with a
handsome and prepossessing countenance. He informed me that the Pere
Abbe was then absent, visiting a convent of Female Trappistes, a
few leagues distant, but that he should be happy to show me every
attention; and requested that in going over the Convent, I would
neither speak nor ask him any questions in those places where I saw
him kneel, or in the presence of any of the Monks.


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