November 26, 2025 • 16 mins
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Ghost Monk by rosa prayed aunt. Felicia used often
to tell the story of her friend, Father Cannalise and
the Ghost Monk of Gontrand, and it is given here
as she related it. I never knew a more delightful
person than Father Cannalise, Doctor Cannalise, I always called him, because,
(00:25):
not being myself of the Catholic communion, I prefer when
it is permissible to use the more secular mode of address. Besides,
there was a certain savor of the world about Doctor Cannalise.
He was, in some respects the typical priest of society,
well bred, highly cultivated, dignified, courteous, and with much knowledge
(00:48):
of men and women. He was indeed a frequent and
ever welcome guest in the houses of many of the
great Catholic nobility. Though of foreign extraction. He was, too
all intense an Englishman, and was, for a long time
till his health broke, the head of an important Catholic
seminary in London. This position gave him a greater freedom
(01:12):
than is usual with the clergy of the Church of Rome.
He was a Jesuit, which fact had perhaps something to
say to his extreme charm of manner, his exquisite tact,
and his varied social gifts. There was nothing of the
ascetic about doctor Cannalise, but he in no sense realized
the conventional notion of the Jesuit priest. If there ever
(01:36):
lived an earnest, pure minded, and truly religious man, it
was my friend, Father Canalise. I call him my friend.
Though I am not, as a rule fond of priests,
and as my husband belongs to the Roman persuasion, I
have had some opportunities of observing the class. Fortunately, Gaston
(01:57):
is liberal in his views, bust as well as scholarly
in his tastes, and has a keen sense of humor. Thus,
the priests who are his intimate friends are generally men
of culture and are interesting apart from their calling. Doctor
Cannalise had the reputation of being a proselytist, and it
(02:18):
was said that he had made many a convert among
a particular order of women, that which is essentially of
London society, the kind of woman who gravitates by temperament
towards the Mother Church. I am not that kind of woman,
and doctor Cannalise, after one or two conversations in which
(02:39):
I frankly stated my objections to his creed, gave up
any proselytizing notions he might have entertained, and accepted my
friendship on another basis. It was these candid talks which
made me know and appreciate the man his real sincerity,
his almost feminine power of sympathy, his toleration of other
(03:01):
opinions than his own, and his practical common sense. I
met him more than once as a guest during his
vacation at the house of a Catholic relatives of Gaston's,
and so charmed was I with the first sermon I
heard him preach in our relative's chapel, that afterwards I
often went to hear him at the pro Cathedral when
(03:22):
in London, where his extraordinary eloquence and the poetic grace
of his diction caused him to be frequently chosen for
the courses of sermons delivered there by popular Catholic divines.
It was therefore with the greatest satisfaction that I found
he was staying at Cannes one winter when my husband
(03:43):
and I went out for six weeks sunshine, a six
weeks made memorable ever afterwards by the companionship of doctor Cannalise.
He had been granted leave of absence on account of
lung delicacy. He looked worn and transparent, but no serious
symptoms had shown themselves, and it was not supposed that
(04:06):
he was in real danger. He told us that his
doctor's prescription was to live out of doors, to drive
as much as possible, to nourish himself with food, and
to give up work and study for a time. Doctor
Canalis was not rich. What good Catholic priest has ever
more than suffices for the necessaries of existence. We saw
(04:29):
that he denied himself the drives, which were his greatest pleasure,
and we therefore always made a point of asking him
to accompany us on the different expeditions we made in
the neighborhood of Cannes. One day we begged him to
go with us on a rather long excursion to a queer,
little old world place in the hills behind Grass, a
(04:53):
place which is almost unknown to the ordinary tourist on
the Riviera, and which yet has a history that goes
back to the Sarah, for it was once the stronghold
of the most ancient and almost the greatest, of the
provensal families. This place is called San Xavier de Gntre.
(05:13):
I noticed that an excited look came over the priest's face,
and he smiled with almost a boyish eagerness. You are
doing me a greater kindness than you could have imagined,
he said, I accept joyfully. I know, Sanzevier Degntre. He
went on, I have the most strange and solemn association
(05:36):
with the place, which I have not visited for many years.
I had an immense longing to go there again, but
it is a long expedition, and I cannot now walk
over the hills as I used. And in short, there
are difficulties in the way. We knew what the difficulties were.
(05:57):
Father Canalis would have considered it so in full selfishness
to waste thirty francs on carriage higher for the gratification
of a sentimental desire of his own. I jumped to
the conclusion that his association with the place was a
sentimental one. He had spoken of it with a hushed
(06:17):
drop of his voice, and now I ventured to ask
him what the story was. The hesitation of his manner
made me feel convicted of an impertinent curiosity. I have
hardly ever spoken of it, he answered, I don't think
I could do so here, and he glanced round the
(06:37):
crowded drawing room of the hotel. Perhaps when we are there,
I shall be able to tell it you. That experience
made a great impression on me. It has, to a
certain extent, influenced my life. He did tell us the
story when we were sitting on a little stone terrace,
an abutment of the fortified wall of the old Chateau
(07:00):
of Gontre. After we had gone over the church, had
talked to the Curee, had inspected the ancient portraits, and
had taken photographs Gaston and I of the principal features
of interest in this strange human eerie perched on the
grass hills. Father Canalis had left us to this occupation.
(07:22):
He had seemed curiously subdued, the hectic in his cheeks glowed.
He and the Curee had gone off together afterwards, as
I left Gaston to develop his negatives, and strolled through
the narrow streets of the village, gleaning such information as
I might from the patois of a picturesque crone who
(07:44):
sat spinning at the doorway of a ruined house. By
and by I found the church and went in. There,
I beheld Father Canalis prostrate before the high altar, absorbed
in an ecstasy of spiritual devotion. I softly closed the door,
for I did not want to disturb him. Gaston was
(08:06):
waiting for me in front of the chateau. We went
down some crumbling steps and came upon a tiny terrace garden,
closed in by a gray, lichen grown parapet. Below us
stretched the beautiful valley of the Scion, and beyond the
Mediterranean misty on the horizon, a zigzag path led down
(08:29):
the precipitous face of the rock on which the chateau
was built. To our right was the church, a rather
imposing structure with a tower and a Gothic doorway, and
two finely carved images let into niches on each side
of the great oak door. The church and the ruins
(08:49):
of the chateau and the houses near it showed that
Gontra had once been a place of some importance. Gaston
and I were speculating on its previous history. When the
priest joined us. There was upon his face a curious,
far away look. He seated himself on a bench in
(09:11):
the angle of the parapet and began abruptly, I said,
I would tell you the thing which happened to me here,
and which made so great an impression upon me. It
was in this very church. We begged him to let
us hear his story. I warn you, he said, with
a strange smile, that it is a ghost story, and
(09:35):
you are now hearing it at first hand. As nearly
as I can remember, Doctor Cannlise told his story in
these words. It was about twelve years ago, he said,
before I was appointed to a seminary. I was doing
an article on the ecclesiastical history of some of these
(09:55):
old provencal towns, and had come up here to study
the inscriptions in church. I had arranged to stay the
night in the chateau if my investigation should keep me
too late for the walk to gross and the curee,
being as I knew, absent, he had as well the
care of that village yonder. Doctor Cannie pointed across the
(10:17):
valley of the Sion. I had gone into the church unnoticed.
I had remained there, interested in my work till the
light failed, and then was suddenly roused from a meditation
by the sound of the key turning in the door,
and knew that I was locked in I could make
no one hear me, and, after a while, reflecting that
(10:39):
I might as well sleep in the church as in
one of the bare rooms of the chateau, I wrapped
my cloak round me, and, being very tired, was soon
fast asleep. It must have been after midnight when I
awoke with a curious feeling of uneasiness. The moon was
shining brightly through the windows, and as I lay it
(11:01):
seemed to me that the wall on the opposite side opened,
and that the figure of a monk stepped forth and
walked along the side aisle in the direction of the altar.
The monk wrung his hands as he moved, and ejaculated
in a tone of deep despair. Is there no one
who will say a mass for my wretched soul? Then,
(11:24):
before reaching the altar, he turned, walked slowly back to
the wall, and disappeared. I told myself that the apparition
was but the illusion of a dream, and once more
slept again. I was awakened by the same feeling of uneasiness,
and again the monk stepped forth from the wall, and
(11:45):
again wrung his hands and repeated his mournful plaint. This
time I knew that it was no dream. I got
up and kneeled before the altar in prayer and adoration,
and then once more laid down and wait till the
specter should, for the third time come forth. As the
(12:05):
clock struck the third hour, the stone melted as it
were behind the ghost, and it seemed as if the
unhappy being were directly addressing his petition to me. As
he wailed, Oh, who will say a mass for my
wretched soul? I got up and went towards him. Had
(12:26):
you no fear, asked Gaston. None, replied Doctor Cannalise. And
I am telling you an absolutely true story. I do
not believe that one has any fear of the supernatural,
provided that he is conscious of pure motive at any rate,
I felt none. Then I will pray for your soul,
(12:50):
if it be any comfort to you, I said, And
then I went into the sacristy, of which the door
was open, and robed myself while the ghost monk waited
at the steps of the high altar. And the ghost
served me as I performed this strange and solemn requiem mass.
(13:11):
Doctor Cannalise paused, then exclaimed Gaston, the point of the
story has yet to come, answered the priest dreamily. As
the monk stood by that part of the wall from
which he had appeared, he paused for a moment, and
before he disappeared, said, in solemn tones, I thank you
(13:34):
for having given me peace. There is only one way
in which I can show my gratitude. Three days before
your death, you will see me again. Don't think me
morbidly superstitious, Father Cannalise added, But as I prayed just
now at that same spot, the presentiment was borne in
(13:57):
upon me that I shall soon receive promised visit. He
got up as he spoke. Did you notice, he said,
that space in the wall of the church, where the
masonry appears to have been lately disturbed. I have been
inquiring of the attendant here, and he tells me that
(14:17):
a portion of the wall fell away a year or
two ago, and that in repairing the place it was
discovered to be hollow, a skeleton was found in the recess,
and also a cup and a platter. It is certain
that the ghost monk who served me at the mass
was the specter of one walled up alive, perhaps centuries ago.
(14:41):
There was a delay in our getting away from San
Xavier de Genttre. The drive was long, and the way stony,
and one of the horses went lame. A mistrall had risen,
and we reached the hotel long after sunset, Chilled to
the bone. No one was surprised to lear next day
that Doctor Cannalise was laid up with an attack of
(15:04):
congestion of the lungs. I went to see him a
few days later, and I was struck by the change
in his appearance and the wonderfully spiritualized expression of his
always refined and thoughtful face. I am glad that you
have come, he said, quite cheerfully, for I shall not
(15:25):
see you again. I am glad too that I told
you the story of the ghost monk at Gontra the
other day. You know, I told you also of the
presentiment which came over me that I should soon meet
my spectral visitant again. He came last night. I shall
die the day after tomorrow. No reasoning could persuade Father
(15:48):
Cannalise out of this fixed idea, though the doctors assured
him there was nothing in his condition to give rise
to any serious apprehension. Indeed, after an interview with the doctor,
I felt sure that my friend was laboring under a
morbid impression. Nothing could, however, have been less morbid than
(16:09):
the way in which he set about arranging his worldly affairs,
if indeed that term could be applied to the interests
of one who was, as regards sordid matters, so unworldly.
His presentiment, however, was verified on the third night after
(16:30):
the ghost monk had appeared to him. He died as
quietly as if he had been going to sleep. The
doctors could not understand the case, nor can I. I
only know that the ghost story must be true, For
doctor Cannalise was incapable of even self deception and of
(16:54):
the ghost monk. By Rosa prayed
The Ghost Monk by rosa prayed aunt. Felicia used often
to tell the story of her friend, Father Cannalise and
the Ghost Monk of Gontrand, and it is given here
as she related it. I never knew a more delightful
person than Father Cannalise, Doctor Cannalise, I always called him, because,
(00:25):
not being myself of the Catholic communion, I prefer when
it is permissible to use the more secular mode of address. Besides,
there was a certain savor of the world about Doctor Cannalise.
He was, in some respects the typical priest of society,
well bred, highly cultivated, dignified, courteous, and with much knowledge
(00:48):
of men and women. He was indeed a frequent and
ever welcome guest in the houses of many of the
great Catholic nobility. Though of foreign extraction. He was, too
all intense an Englishman, and was, for a long time
till his health broke, the head of an important Catholic
seminary in London. This position gave him a greater freedom
(01:12):
than is usual with the clergy of the Church of Rome.
He was a Jesuit, which fact had perhaps something to
say to his extreme charm of manner, his exquisite tact,
and his varied social gifts. There was nothing of the
ascetic about doctor Cannalise, but he in no sense realized
the conventional notion of the Jesuit priest. If there ever
(01:36):
lived an earnest, pure minded, and truly religious man, it
was my friend, Father Canalise. I call him my friend.
Though I am not, as a rule fond of priests,
and as my husband belongs to the Roman persuasion, I
have had some opportunities of observing the class. Fortunately, Gaston
(01:57):
is liberal in his views, bust as well as scholarly
in his tastes, and has a keen sense of humor. Thus,
the priests who are his intimate friends are generally men
of culture and are interesting apart from their calling. Doctor
Cannalise had the reputation of being a proselytist, and it
(02:18):
was said that he had made many a convert among
a particular order of women, that which is essentially of
London society, the kind of woman who gravitates by temperament
towards the Mother Church. I am not that kind of woman,
and doctor Cannalise, after one or two conversations in which
(02:39):
I frankly stated my objections to his creed, gave up
any proselytizing notions he might have entertained, and accepted my
friendship on another basis. It was these candid talks which
made me know and appreciate the man his real sincerity,
his almost feminine power of sympathy, his toleration of other
(03:01):
opinions than his own, and his practical common sense. I
met him more than once as a guest during his
vacation at the house of a Catholic relatives of Gaston's,
and so charmed was I with the first sermon I
heard him preach in our relative's chapel, that afterwards I
often went to hear him at the pro Cathedral when
(03:22):
in London, where his extraordinary eloquence and the poetic grace
of his diction caused him to be frequently chosen for
the courses of sermons delivered there by popular Catholic divines.
It was therefore with the greatest satisfaction that I found
he was staying at Cannes one winter when my husband
(03:43):
and I went out for six weeks sunshine, a six
weeks made memorable ever afterwards by the companionship of doctor Cannalise.
He had been granted leave of absence on account of
lung delicacy. He looked worn and transparent, but no serious
symptoms had shown themselves, and it was not supposed that
(04:06):
he was in real danger. He told us that his
doctor's prescription was to live out of doors, to drive
as much as possible, to nourish himself with food, and
to give up work and study for a time. Doctor
Canalis was not rich. What good Catholic priest has ever
more than suffices for the necessaries of existence. We saw
(04:29):
that he denied himself the drives, which were his greatest pleasure,
and we therefore always made a point of asking him
to accompany us on the different expeditions we made in
the neighborhood of Cannes. One day we begged him to
go with us on a rather long excursion to a queer,
little old world place in the hills behind Grass, a
(04:53):
place which is almost unknown to the ordinary tourist on
the Riviera, and which yet has a history that goes
back to the Sarah, for it was once the stronghold
of the most ancient and almost the greatest, of the
provensal families. This place is called San Xavier de Gntre.
(05:13):
I noticed that an excited look came over the priest's face,
and he smiled with almost a boyish eagerness. You are
doing me a greater kindness than you could have imagined,
he said, I accept joyfully. I know, Sanzevier Degntre. He
went on, I have the most strange and solemn association
(05:36):
with the place, which I have not visited for many years.
I had an immense longing to go there again, but
it is a long expedition, and I cannot now walk
over the hills as I used. And in short, there
are difficulties in the way. We knew what the difficulties were.
(05:57):
Father Canalis would have considered it so in full selfishness
to waste thirty francs on carriage higher for the gratification
of a sentimental desire of his own. I jumped to
the conclusion that his association with the place was a
sentimental one. He had spoken of it with a hushed
(06:17):
drop of his voice, and now I ventured to ask
him what the story was. The hesitation of his manner
made me feel convicted of an impertinent curiosity. I have
hardly ever spoken of it, he answered, I don't think
I could do so here, and he glanced round the
(06:37):
crowded drawing room of the hotel. Perhaps when we are there,
I shall be able to tell it you. That experience
made a great impression on me. It has, to a
certain extent, influenced my life. He did tell us the
story when we were sitting on a little stone terrace,
an abutment of the fortified wall of the old Chateau
(07:00):
of Gontre. After we had gone over the church, had
talked to the Curee, had inspected the ancient portraits, and
had taken photographs Gaston and I of the principal features
of interest in this strange human eerie perched on the
grass hills. Father Canalis had left us to this occupation.
(07:22):
He had seemed curiously subdued, the hectic in his cheeks glowed.
He and the Curee had gone off together afterwards, as
I left Gaston to develop his negatives, and strolled through
the narrow streets of the village, gleaning such information as
I might from the patois of a picturesque crone who
(07:44):
sat spinning at the doorway of a ruined house. By
and by I found the church and went in. There,
I beheld Father Canalis prostrate before the high altar, absorbed
in an ecstasy of spiritual devotion. I softly closed the door,
for I did not want to disturb him. Gaston was
(08:06):
waiting for me in front of the chateau. We went
down some crumbling steps and came upon a tiny terrace garden,
closed in by a gray, lichen grown parapet. Below us
stretched the beautiful valley of the Scion, and beyond the
Mediterranean misty on the horizon, a zigzag path led down
(08:29):
the precipitous face of the rock on which the chateau
was built. To our right was the church, a rather
imposing structure with a tower and a Gothic doorway, and
two finely carved images let into niches on each side
of the great oak door. The church and the ruins
(08:49):
of the chateau and the houses near it showed that
Gontra had once been a place of some importance. Gaston
and I were speculating on its previous history. When the
priest joined us. There was upon his face a curious,
far away look. He seated himself on a bench in
(09:11):
the angle of the parapet and began abruptly, I said,
I would tell you the thing which happened to me here,
and which made so great an impression upon me. It
was in this very church. We begged him to let
us hear his story. I warn you, he said, with
a strange smile, that it is a ghost story, and
(09:35):
you are now hearing it at first hand. As nearly
as I can remember, Doctor Cannlise told his story in
these words. It was about twelve years ago, he said,
before I was appointed to a seminary. I was doing
an article on the ecclesiastical history of some of these
(09:55):
old provencal towns, and had come up here to study
the inscriptions in church. I had arranged to stay the
night in the chateau if my investigation should keep me
too late for the walk to gross and the curee,
being as I knew, absent, he had as well the
care of that village yonder. Doctor Cannie pointed across the
(10:17):
valley of the Sion. I had gone into the church unnoticed.
I had remained there, interested in my work till the
light failed, and then was suddenly roused from a meditation
by the sound of the key turning in the door,
and knew that I was locked in I could make
no one hear me, and, after a while, reflecting that
(10:39):
I might as well sleep in the church as in
one of the bare rooms of the chateau, I wrapped
my cloak round me, and, being very tired, was soon
fast asleep. It must have been after midnight when I
awoke with a curious feeling of uneasiness. The moon was
shining brightly through the windows, and as I lay it
(11:01):
seemed to me that the wall on the opposite side opened,
and that the figure of a monk stepped forth and
walked along the side aisle in the direction of the altar.
The monk wrung his hands as he moved, and ejaculated
in a tone of deep despair. Is there no one
who will say a mass for my wretched soul? Then,
(11:24):
before reaching the altar, he turned, walked slowly back to
the wall, and disappeared. I told myself that the apparition
was but the illusion of a dream, and once more
slept again. I was awakened by the same feeling of uneasiness,
and again the monk stepped forth from the wall, and
(11:45):
again wrung his hands and repeated his mournful plaint. This
time I knew that it was no dream. I got
up and kneeled before the altar in prayer and adoration,
and then once more laid down and wait till the
specter should, for the third time come forth. As the
(12:05):
clock struck the third hour, the stone melted as it
were behind the ghost, and it seemed as if the
unhappy being were directly addressing his petition to me. As
he wailed, Oh, who will say a mass for my
wretched soul? I got up and went towards him. Had
(12:26):
you no fear, asked Gaston. None, replied Doctor Cannalise. And
I am telling you an absolutely true story. I do
not believe that one has any fear of the supernatural,
provided that he is conscious of pure motive at any rate,
I felt none. Then I will pray for your soul,
(12:50):
if it be any comfort to you, I said, And
then I went into the sacristy, of which the door
was open, and robed myself while the ghost monk waited
at the steps of the high altar. And the ghost
served me as I performed this strange and solemn requiem mass.
(13:11):
Doctor Cannalise paused, then exclaimed Gaston, the point of the
story has yet to come, answered the priest dreamily. As
the monk stood by that part of the wall from
which he had appeared, he paused for a moment, and
before he disappeared, said, in solemn tones, I thank you
(13:34):
for having given me peace. There is only one way
in which I can show my gratitude. Three days before
your death, you will see me again. Don't think me
morbidly superstitious, Father Cannalise added, But as I prayed just
now at that same spot, the presentiment was borne in
(13:57):
upon me that I shall soon receive promised visit. He
got up as he spoke. Did you notice, he said,
that space in the wall of the church, where the
masonry appears to have been lately disturbed. I have been
inquiring of the attendant here, and he tells me that
(14:17):
a portion of the wall fell away a year or
two ago, and that in repairing the place it was
discovered to be hollow, a skeleton was found in the recess,
and also a cup and a platter. It is certain
that the ghost monk who served me at the mass
was the specter of one walled up alive, perhaps centuries ago.
(14:41):
There was a delay in our getting away from San
Xavier de Genttre. The drive was long, and the way stony,
and one of the horses went lame. A mistrall had risen,
and we reached the hotel long after sunset, Chilled to
the bone. No one was surprised to lear next day
that Doctor Cannalise was laid up with an attack of
(15:04):
congestion of the lungs. I went to see him a
few days later, and I was struck by the change
in his appearance and the wonderfully spiritualized expression of his
always refined and thoughtful face. I am glad that you
have come, he said, quite cheerfully, for I shall not
(15:25):
see you again. I am glad too that I told
you the story of the ghost monk at Gontra the
other day. You know, I told you also of the
presentiment which came over me that I should soon meet
my spectral visitant again. He came last night. I shall
die the day after tomorrow. No reasoning could persuade Father
(15:48):
Cannalise out of this fixed idea, though the doctors assured
him there was nothing in his condition to give rise
to any serious apprehension. Indeed, after an interview with the doctor,
I felt sure that my friend was laboring under a
morbid impression. Nothing could, however, have been less morbid than
(16:09):
the way in which he set about arranging his worldly affairs,
if indeed that term could be applied to the interests
of one who was, as regards sordid matters, so unworldly.
His presentiment, however, was verified on the third night after
(16:30):
the ghost monk had appeared to him. He died as
quietly as if he had been going to sleep. The
doctors could not understand the case, nor can I. I
only know that the ghost story must be true, For
doctor Cannalise was incapable of even self deception and of
(16:54):
the ghost monk. By Rosa prayed
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