The Confessional - Page 2

loosely-hung
lips were always ajar for conversation. The remarks issuing from them
were richly tinged by the gutturals of the Bergamasque dialect, and it
needed but a slight acquaintance with Italian types to detect the Lombard
peasant under the priest's rusty cassock. This inference was confirmed
by Don Egidio's telling me that he came from a village of Val Camonica,
the radiant valley which extends northward from the lake of Iseo to
the Adamello glaciers. His step-father had been a laborer on one of
the fruit-farms of a Milanese count who owned large estates in the Val
Camonica; and that gentleman, taking a fancy to the lad, whom he had seen
at work in his orchards, had removed him to his villa on the lake of Iseo
and had subsequently educated him for the Church.

It was doubtless to this picturesque accident that Don Egidio owed the
mingling of ease and simplicity that gave an inimitable charm to his
stout shabby presence. It was as though some wild mountain-fruit had been
transplanted to the Count's orchards and had mellowed under cultivation
without losing its sylvan flavor. I have never seen the social art carried
farther without suggestion of artifice. The fact that Don Egidio's
amenities were mainly exercised on the mill-hands composing his parish
proved the genuineness of his gift. It is easier to simulate gentility
among gentlemen than among navvies; and the plain man is a touchstone who
draws out all the alloy in the gold.

Among his parishioners Don Egidio ruled with the cheerful despotism of the
good priest. On cardinal points he was inflexible, but in minor matters he
had that elasticity of judgment which enables the Catholic discipline to
fit itself to every inequality of the human conscience. There was no appeal
from his verdict; but his judgment-seat was a revolving chair from which he
could view the same act at various angles. His influence was acknowledged
not only by his flock, but by the policeman at the corner, the "bar-keep'"
in the dive, the ward politician in the corner grocery. The general verdict
of Dunstable was that the Point would have been hell without the priest.
It was perhaps not precisely heaven with him; but such light of the upper
sky as pierced its murky atmosphere was reflected from Don Egidio's
countenance. It is hardly possible for any one to exercise such influence
without taking pleasure in it; and on the whole the priest was probably
a contented man; though it does not follow that he was a happy one. On
this point the first stages of our acquaintance yielded much food for
conjecture. At first sight Don Egidio was the image of cheerfulness. He had
all the physical indications of a mind at ease: the leisurely rolling gait,
the ready laugh, the hospitable eye of