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Chapter X.Part II.
Part II.
On the morrow, Gertrude awoke with the image of the approaching
examination before her eyes; and, while she was considering if and how she
could seize this most decisive opportunity to draw back, she was summoned by
the Prince. `Courage, my child,` said he: `until now you have behaved
admirably, and it only remains to-day to crown the work. All that has been
done hitherto has been done with your consent. If, in this interval, any
doubts had arisen in your mind, any misgivings, or youthful regrets, you ought
to have expressed them; but at the point at which we have now arrived, it is
no longer the time to play the child. The worthy man who is coming to you this
morning, will ask you a hundred questions about your election, and whether you
go of your own good will, and why, and how, and what not besides. If you
tantalize him in your replies, he will keep you under examination I don`t know
how long. It would be an annoyance and a weariness to you; and it might
produce a still more serious effort. After all the public demonstrations that
have been made, every little hesitation you may display will risk my honour,
and, may make people think that I have taken a momentary fancy of yours for a
settled resolution - that I have rushed headlong into the business - that I
have . . . what not? In this case, I shall be reduced to the necessity of
choosing between two painful alternatives; either to let the world form a
derogatory judgment of my conduct - a course which I absolutely cannot take in
justice to myself - or to reveal the true motive of your resolution, and
. . .` But here, observing that Gertrude coloured crimson, that her eyes
became inflamed, and her face contracted like the petals of a flower in the
sultry heat that precedes a storm, he broke off this strain, and continued
with a serene face: `Come, come, all depends upon yourself - upon your
judgment. I know that you are not deficient in it, and that you are not a
child, to go spoil a good undertaking just at the conclusion; but I must
foresee and provide for all contingencies. Let us say no more about it; only
let me feel assured that you will reply with frankness so as not to excite
suspicion in the mind of this worthy man. Thus you, also, will be set at
liberty the sooner.` Then, after suggesting a few answers to the probable
interrogations that would be put, he entered upon the usual topic of the
pleasures and enjoyments prepared for Gertrude at the monastery, and contrived
to detain her on this subject till a servant announced the arrival of the
examiner. After a hasty repetition of the most important hints, he left his
daughter alone with him, according to the usual custom.
The good man came with a slight pre-conceived opinion that Gertrude had
a strong desire for a cloistral life, because the Prince had told him so, when
he went to request his attendance. It is true that the good priest, who knew
well enough that mistrust was one of the most necessary virtues of his office,
held as a maxim that he should be very slow in believing such protestations,
and should be on his guard against pre - conceptions; but it seldom happens
that the positive affirmations of a person of such authority, in whatever
matter, do not give a bias to the mind of those who hear them. After the usual
salutations: `Signorina,` said he, `I am coming to act the part of the
tempter; I have come to excite doubts where your request expresses certainty,
to place difficulties before your eyes, and to assure myself whether you have
well considered them. Will you allow me to ask you some questions?`
`Proceed,` replied Gertrude.
The worthy priest then began to question her in the usual prescribed
forms. `Do you feel in your heart a free, voluntary resolution to become a
nun? Have no threatenings, no flatteries been resorted to? Has no authority
been made use of to persuade you to this step? Speak without reserve and with
perfect sincerity to a man whose duty it is to ascertain your unbiased will,
that he may prevent your being compelled by any exercise of force to take such
a course.`
The true answer to such a demand rose up before Gertrude`s mind with
fearful distinctness. But to make that reply, she must come to an explanation;
she must disclose what she had been threatened with, and relate a story . . .
The unhappy girl shrank back in horror from such an idea, and tried to find
some other reply, which would more speedily release her from this unpleasant
interview. `I wish to take the veil,` said she, concealing her agitation - `I
wish to take the veil at my own desire, voluntarily.`
`How long have you had this desire?` again demanded the good priest.
`I have always felt it,` replied Gertrude, rendered after this first step
more unscrupulous about speaking the truth.
`But what is the principal motive that induces you to become a nun?`
The good priest little knew what a terrible chord he was touching; and
Gertrude had to make a great effort not to betray in her countenance the
effect which these words produced on her mind, as she replied: `My motive is
to serve God, and to fly the perils of the world.`
`May there not have been some disgust? Some . . . excuse me . . . some
caprice? There are times when a passing cause may make an impression that
seems at the moment sure to be lasting; but afterwards, when the cause is
removed, and the mind calmed, then . . .`
`No, no,` replied Gertrude, precipitately, `the reason is exactly what I
have told you.`
The vicar, rather to discharge his duty faithfully than because he
thought it necessary, persisted in his inquiries; but Gertrude was resolved to
deceive him. Besides the horror she felt at the thought of making him
acquainted with her weakness, when he seemed so far from suspecting her of
anything of the kind, the poor girl thought that though he could certainly
easily prevent her taking the veil, yet that there was the end of his
authority over her, or his power of protection. When once he had gone, she
would be left alone with the Prince, and of what she would then have to endure
in that house, the worthy priest could know nothing; or, even if he did, he
could only pity her. The examiner was tired of questioning, before the
unfortunate girl of deceiving him; and, finding her replies invariably
consistent, and having no reason to doubt their sincerity, he at last changed
his tone, and said all he could to confirm her in her good resolution; and,
after congratulating her, he took his leave. Passing through one of the
apartments, he met with the Prince, who appeared to fall in with him
accidentally, and congratulated him on the good dispositions his daughter had
displayed. The Prince had been waiting in a very wearisome state of suspense,
but, on receiving this account, he breathed more freely, and, forgetting his
usual gravity, he almost ran to Gertrude, and loaded her with commendations,
caresses, and promises, with cordial satisfaction, and a tenderness of manner
to a great degree sincere. Such a strange medley is the human heart!
We will not follow Gertrude in her continual round of sights and
amusements, nor will we describe, either generally or particularly, the
feelings of her mind during this period; it would be a history of sorrows and
fluctuations too monotonous, and too much resembling what we have already
related. The beauty of the surrounding seats, the continual variety of
objects, and the pleasant excursions in the open air, rendered the idea of the
place where she must shortly alight for the last time, more odious to her
than ever. Still more painful were the impressions made upon her by the
assemblies and amusements of the city. The sight of a bride, in the more
obvious and common sense of the word, aroused in her envy and anguish, to a
degree almost intolerable; and sometimes the sight of some other individual
made her feel as if to hear that title given to herself would be the height of
felicity. There were even times when the pomp of palaces, the splendour of
ornaments, and the excitement and clamorous festivity of the conversazione, so
infatuated her, and aroused in her such an ardent desire to lead a gay life,
that she resolved to recant, and to suffer anything rather than turn to the
cold and death - like shade of the cloister. But all these resolutions
vanished into air, on the calmer consideration of the difficulties of such a
course, or on merely raising her eyes to the Prince`s face. Sometimes, too,
the thought that she must for ever abandon these enjoyments, made even this
little taste of them bitter and wearisome to her; as the patient, suffering
with thirst, eyes with vexation, and almost refuses with contempt, the
spoonful of water the physician unwillingly allows him. In the meanwhile, the
vicar of the nuns had despatched the necessary attestation, and permission
arrived, to hold the conference for the election of Gertrude. The meeting was
called; two - thirds of the secret votes, which were required by the
regulations, were given, as was to be expected, and Gertrude was accepted. She
herself, wearied with this long struggle, begged for immediate admission into
the monastery, and no one came forward to oppose such a request. She was
therefore gratified in her wish; and, after being pompously conducted to the
monastery, she assumed the habit. After twelve months of novitiate, full of
alternate regret and repentings, the time of public confession arrived; that
is to say, the time when she must either utter a `no,` more strange, more
unexpected, and more disgraceful than ever; or pronounce a `yes,` already so
often repeated: she pronounced it, and became a nun for ever.
It is one of the peculiar and incommunicable properties of the Christian
religion, that she can afford guidance and repose to all who, under whatever
circumstances, or in whatever exigence, have recourse to her. If there is a
remedy for the past, she prescribes it, administers it, and lends light and
energy to put it in force, at whatever cost; if there is none, she teaches how
to do that effectually and in reality, which the world prescribes
proverbially, - make a virtue of necessity. She teaches how to continue with
discretion what is thoughtlessly undertaken; she inclines the mind to cleave
steadfastly to what was imposed upon it by authority; and imparts to a choice
which, though rash at the time, is now irrevocable, all the sanctity, all the
advisedness, and, let us say it boldly, all the cheerfulness of a lawful
calling. Here is a path so constructed that, let a man approach it by what
labyrinth or precipice he may, he sets himself, from that moment, to walk in
it with security and readiness, and at once begins to draw towards a joyful
end. By this means, Gertrude might have proved a holy and contented nun,
however she had become one. But, instead of this, the unhappy girl struggled
under the yoke, and thus felt it heavier and more galling. An incessant
recurrence to her lost liberty, abhorrence of her present condition, and a
wearisome clinging to desires which could never be satisfied: these were the
principal occupations of her mind. She recalled, over and over again, the
bitterness of the past, rearranged in her mind all the circumstances by which
she had reached her present situation, and undid in thought a thousand times
what she had done in act. She accused herself of want of spirit, and others of
tyranny and perfidy, and pined in secret: she idolized and, at the same time,
bewailed her beauty; deplored a youth destined to struggle in a prolonged
martyrdom; and envied, at times, any woman, in whatever rank, with whatever
acquirements, who could freely enjoy these gifts in the world.
The sight of those nuns who had co - operated in bringing her hither was
hateful to her: she remembered the arts and contrivances they had made use of,
and repaid them with incivilities, caprices, and even with open reproaches.
These they were obliged to bear in silence; for though the Prince was willing
enough to tyrannize over his daughter when he found it necessary to force her
into the cloister, yet having once obtained his purpose, he would not so
willingly allow others to assume authority over one of his family; and any
little rumour that might have reached his ears would have been an occasion of
their losing his protection, or perhaps, unfortunately, of changing a
protector into an enemy. It would seem that she might have felt some kind of
leaning towards those other sisters who had not lent a hand in this foul
system of intrigue, and who, without having desired her for a companion, loved
her as such; and, always good, busy, and cheerful, showed her, by their
example, that here too, it was possible not only to live, but to be happy: but
these, also, were hateful to her, for another reason: their consistent piety
and contentment seemed to cast a reproof upon her disquietude and waywardness;
so that she never suffered an opportunity to escape of deriding them behind
their backs as bigots, or reviling them as hypocrites. Perhaps she would have
been less averse to them, had she known, or guessed, that the few black balls
found in the urn which decided her acceptance, had been put there by these
very sisters.
She sometimes felt a little satisfaction in commanding, in being courted
by those within the monastery and visited most flatteringly by those without,
in accomplishing some undertaking, in extending her protection, in hearing
herself styled the Signora; but what consolations were these? The mind which
feels their insufficiency would gladly, at times, add to them, and enjoy with
them, the consolations of religion: yet the one cannot be obtained by
renouncing the other; as a shipwrecked sailor, who would cling to the plank
which is to bring him safely to shore, must relinquish his hold on the
unsubstantial sea - weed which natural instinct had taught him to grasp.
Shortly after finally taking the veil, Gertrude had been appointed
teacher of the young people who attended the convent for education, and it may
easily be imagined what would be their situation under such discipline. Her
early companions had all left, but the passions called into exercise by them
still remained; and, in one way or the other, the pupils were compelled to
feel their full weight. When she remembered that many of them were destined to
that course of life of which she had lost every hope, she indulged against the
poor children a feeling of rancour, which almost amounted to a desire of
vengeance. This feeling she manifested by keeping them under, irritating them,
and depreciating in anticipation the pleasures which they one day hoped to
enjoy. Any one who had heard with what arrogant displeasure she rebuked them
at such times for any little fault, would have imagined her a woman of
undisciplined and injudicious temper. On other occasions, the same hatred for
the rules and discipline of the cloister was displayed in fits of temper
entirely different: then, she not only supported the noisy diversions of her
pupils, but excited them; she would mingle in their games, and make them more
disorderly; and, joining in their conversations, would imperceptibly lead them
far beyond their intended limits. If one of them happened to allude to the
Lady Abbess` love of gossiping, their teacher would imitate it at length, and
act it like a scene in a comedy; would mimic the expression of one nun and the
manners of another; and on these occasions would laugh immoderately; but her
laughter came not from her heart. Thus she passed several years of her life,
with neither leisure nor opportunity to make any change, until, to her
misfortune, an occasion unhappily presented itself.
Among other privileges and distinctions accorded to her as a compensation
for her not being abbess, was the special grant of a bed - chamber in a
separate part of the monastery. This side of the building adjoined a house
inhabited by a young man of professedly abandoned character; one of the many
who, in those days, by the help of their retinues of bravoes, and by
combinations with other villains, were enabled, up to a certain point, to set
at defiance public force, and the authority of the laws. Our manuscript merely
gives him the name of Egidio. This man, having, from a little window which
overlooked the court - yard, seen Gertrude occasionally passing, or idly
loitering there, and allured, rather than intimidated, by the dangers and
impiety of the act, ventured one day to address her. The miserable girl
replied. At first she experienced a lively, but not unmixed satisfaction. Into
the painful void of her soul was infused a powerful and continual stimulus; a
fresh principle, as it were, of vitality; but this enjoyment was like the
restorative draught which the ingenious cruelty of the ancients presented to a
condemned criminal, to strengthen him to bear the agonies of martyrdom. A
great change, at the same time, was observable in her whole deportment; she
became all at once more regular and tranquil, less bitter and sarcastic, and
even showed herself friendly and affable; so that the sisters congratulated
each other on the happy change; so far were the from imagining the real cause,
and from understanding that this new virtue was nothing else than hypocrisy
added to her former failings. This improvement, however, this external
cleansing, so to speak, lasted but a short time, at least with any steadiness
or consistency. She soon returned to her accustomed scorn and caprice, and
renewed her imprecations and raillery against her cloistral prison, expressed
sometimes in language hitherto unheard in that place, and from those lips.
Nevertheless, a season of repentance succeeded each outbreak, and an endeavour
to atone for it and wipe out its remembrance by additional courtesies and
kindness. The sisters were obliged to bear all these vicissitudes as they best
could, and attributed them to the wayward and
ickle disposition of the
Signora.
For some time no one seemed to think any longer about these matters; but
one day the Signora, having had a dispute with a lay - sister for some
trifling irregularity, continued to insult her so long beyond her usual
bounds, that the sister, after having for some time gnawed the bit in silence,
could no longer keep her patience, and threw out a hint that she knew
something, and would reveal it when an opportunity occurred. From that moment
the Signora had no peace. It was not long after that, one morning, the sister
was in vain expected at her usual employment; she was sought in her cell, but
fruitlessly; she was called loudly by many voices, but there was no reply; she
was hunted and sought for diligently, here and there, above, below, from the
cellar to the roof; but she was nowhere to be found. And who knows what
conjectures might have been made, if, in searching for her, it had not
happened that a large hole was discovered in the garden wall, which induced
every one to think that she had made her escape thence. Messengers were
immediately despatched in various directions to overtake her and bring her
back; every inquiry was made in the surrounding country; but there was never
the slightest information about her. Perhaps they might have known more of her
fate, had they, instead of seeking at a distance, dug up the ground near at
hand. After many expressions of surprise, because they never thought her a
likely woman for such a deed; after many arguments, they concluded that she
must have fled to some very great distance; and because a sister happened once
to say, "She must certainly have taken refuge in Holland,` it was ever after
said and maintained in the monastery that she had fled to Holland. The
Signora, however, did not seem to be of this opinion. Not that she manifested
any disbelief, or opposed the prevailing idea with her particular reasons; if
she had any, certainly never were reasons better concealed; now was there
anything from which she more willingly abstained, than from alluding to this
event, nor any matter in which she was less desirous to come to the bottom of
the mystery. But the less she spoke of it, the more did it occupy her
thoughts. How often during the day did the image of the ill - fated nun rush
unbidden into her mind, and fix itself there, not easily to be removed! How
often did she long to see the real and living being before her, rather than
have her always in her thoughts, rather than be day and night in the company
of that empty, terrible, impassible form! How often would she gladly have
listened to her real voice, and borne her rebukes, whatever they might
threaten, rather than be for ever haunted in the depths of her mental ear by
the imaginary whisperings of that same voice, and hear words to which it was
useless to reply, repeated with a pertinacity and an indefatigable
perseverance of which no living being was ever capable!
It was about a year after this event, that Lucia was presented to the
Signora, and had the interview with her which we have described. The Signora
multiplied her inquiries about Don Rodrigo`s persecution, and entered into
particulars with a boldness which must have appeared worse than novel to
Lucia, who had never imagined that the curiosity of nuns could be exercised on
such subjects. The opinions also which were mingled with these inquiries, or
which she allowed to appear, were not less strange. She seemed almost to
ridicule Lucia`s great horror for the nobleman, and asked whether he were
deformed, that he excited so much fear; and would have esteemed her retiring
disposition almost irrational and absurd, if she had not beforehand given the
preference to Renzo. And on this choice, too, she multiplied questions which
astonished the poor girl, and put her to the blush. Perceiving, however,
afterwards, that she had given too free expression to her imagination, she
tried to correct and interpret her language differently; but she could not
divest Lucia`s mind of a disagreeable wonder, and confused dread. No sooner
did the poor girl find herself alone with her mother, than she opened her
whole mind to her; but Agnese, being more experienced, in a very few words
quieted her doubts, and solved the mystery. `Don`t be surprised,` said she;
`when you know the world as well as I, you`ll not think it anything very
wonderful. Great people - some more, some less, some one way, and some
another, - have all a little oddity. We must let them talk, particularly when
we have need of them; we must pretend to be listening to them seriously, as if
they were saying very bright things. Didn`t you hear how she silenced me,
almost as if I had uttered some great nonsense? I was not a bit surprised at
it. They are all so. However, Heaven be praised, that she seems to have taken
such a fancy to you, and will really protect us. As to the rest, if you live,
my child, and it falls to your lot to have anything more to do with gentlemen,
you`ll understand it, you`ll understand it.`
A desire to oblige the Father - guardian; the pleasure of extending
protection; the thought of the good opinions that would result from so
charitable an exercise of that protection; a certain inclination for Lucia,
added to a kind of relief she would feel in doing a kindness to an innocent
creature, and in assisting and comforting the oppressed, were the inducements
which had really inclined the Signora to take an interest in the fate of these
two poor fugitives. In obedience to the orders she gave, and from regard to
the anxiety she displayed, they were lodged in the apartments of the portress,
adjoining the cloister, and treated as if they were admitted into the service
of the monastery. Both mother and daughter congratulated themselves on having
so soon found a secure and honourable asylum, and would gladly have remained
unknown by every one; but this was not easy in a monastery, more especially
when there was a man determined to get information about one of them; in whose
mind vexation at having been foiled and deceived was added to his former
passions and desires. Leaving the two women, then, in their retreat, we will
return to this wretch`s palace, while he was waiting the result of his
iniquitous undertaking.
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