University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER CLIII. [Chapter 161]

FATHER FRANCIS'S INTERVIEW WITH THE ABBESS OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN. —THE OBJECTS AND WISHES OF THE HOLY FATHER.

After passing through a few passages, they entered into a room which had the appearance of a waiting-room, in which were placed chairs and seats; but they did not stop here, for the sister approached a door, at which she knocked, and paused a moment; but a voice from within desired her to enter; and, beckoning the monk to follow her, which he did, they both entered a comfortable room in which the abbess was seated.

"Here is the holy father," said the sister, "who demands lodging and refreshment; but he will take nothing until he has done all that may be required of him."

"Holy brother," said the abbess, "the traveller needs rest, and he that is hungered requires food. Will you partake of our hospitality?"

"I was told you desired to converse with me, and I could not let my ministry wait while I, like a glutton, ate and drank."

"No, brother, it was not for such a purpose I sent for thee, but to hear what news thou hadst from Rome, whence I heard you have come."

"I have come thence."

"But will you not take some refreshment here—it shall be brought thee, if thou wilt have it, or in the buttery, which you please."

"Whichsoever you please, sister," said the member of St. Francis.

"Then let some of the best be brought, sister, for the good man; and stay, I ate none at the last meal, which I may amend now; let me have a small moiety of a pasty, and a samll trifle of cold venison."

The sister departed, and the abbess opened a small cupboard, from which she took a bottle and two glasses, of goodly dimensions, considering the fact that the place was inhabited only by females.

"Pronounce a blessing upon us, holy father," said the abbess. "This has been tasted by no unhallowed lips; it was a present from a holy lady to me, to take myself, and to offer to such as I deemed worthy of it—and you, holy father, I believe are worthy."

The worthy monk pronounced the required benediction, and drank as fine a glass of real Burgandy as ever went down consecrated lips.

"Thanks, worthy sister, thanks."

"Brother, I am glad to be able to give it thee; it gives me more pleasure to do so than thee to drink. I'll warrant me, that never has such wine passed through the merchants' hands, because he would never have parted with it at a price that would have made it procurable in a place like this, for we are, holy brother, poor, very poor."

"The people who live in these parts are, I fear, not so godly as they should be, to let a house like this want."

"There are many nobles."

"And they ought to pay handsomely."

"They do, I am thankful; but I should like to be able to offer the poor, diseased, and helpless men, better sort of diet than I do."

"It ought to be in your power when the rich and great are so close around you here. You ought to have rich penitents."

"But few of the rich are penitent, brother."

"Naples I was told was a sink of iniquity. I did not expect to find it in reality such as I have heard it described. But, sister, we must be thankful that we have what the times will afford; but, at the same time, whent he enemy is thus about, we must be up and doing, and preach salvation to them."

"But they only answer by sending invitations for Sabbath balls," said the unfortunate abbess, in great dolour.

"That must be looked to. They must be chidden."

"And then they withhold their hands from works of charity—from doing any good deed to us—and we have no gifts and offerings."

"But that ought not to be any motive. When they see you in earnest, they will not resist any longer; they will, as they must, give in."

"Ah, holy father! you don't know the Neapolitans; they are the most sinful set of men that you ever met with."

"The holy father must know of this; he must be informed of the character of these bad people—of these facts. It is a melancholy state of things, which is a disgrace to a Christian country, and must be amended."

At that moment the nun returned with the refection for the monk and the abbess, who cast a longing glance towards it.

When this was laid on the table, the abbess gave a signal that there was no need of the further attendance of the servitor, who quitted the room, leaving the abbess and the monk to enjoy each others society at leisure.

Some minutes elapsed before either spoke, which time was spent in mastication of no ordinary morsels, being some of the most delicious meats that could be obtained for a religious house of this character, and they were usually supplied with the best of everything that could be had.

"Holy father," said the abbess, "the fare is poor; but I hope it will relieve those calls which imperious nature demands you to satisfy."

"Yes," said the monk; "I am well satisfied."

"Permit me to press upon your notice those venison pasties; they are made by Sister Bridget, who never made an indifferent one in all her life."

"I decidedly approve of Sister Bridget's skill," said the monk. "She is no doubt a worthy woman, and a woman fit for her station."

"I would not have another to do her duties for a trifle, save as a penance," said the abbess. "I will, at all events, retain her while the convent will give her a place of shelter."

"Very right, sister—very right."

"But what news from Rome, brother?"

"Little, save the holy pontiff has been very ill."

"I heard as much; and by many it is presumed that his holiness will be translated, if he should not be better soon."

"No: his holiness is safe, as far as it is possible for any human being to be. God preserve him long!"

"Amen!" said the abbess, devoutly.

"But have you no penitents, holy sister?"

"I have several, but they are all in the way of performing their penances, save one, who is somewhat refractory, holy father, and I know not what to do with her. She has no respect for those in authority."

"Is she one of the order?"

"No, a neophite."

"How is it, then—what brings her here?"

"She is sent by relatives who are afraid of a disgrace, and will not give her any chance of committing their family to such a disgraceful marriage. She at one time pledged herself to take the vows, but now has some objection to do so."

"On what grounds does she refuse?"

"Because she thinks she shall not be happy."

"Absurd! Where is she?"

"We must have been compelled to secure her, for she has made more than one attempt to escape, and I have reasons to believe that these efforts have been aided from without."

"'Tis a serious offence—a very serious offence to those concerned, and would inevitably lead to a terrible example, if they were detected."

"No doubt; and we should feel it our duty to make every exertion to punish any one who makes an attempt to violate the sancity of our house."

"It must be so, sister."

"Yes, certainly; and I have secured the maiden, who, if she be brought to their mind, will largely endow the convent."

"That ought to be seen to."

"I am, as you may imagine, holy father, anxious that the young maiden should become a member of our house. Who can tell," muttered the abbess, half aloud, "but she may become a chosen vessel by which much good may be effected?"

"She may," said the monk. "I am from Rome; you may examine the these credentials which I have with me. I will take the charge of this refractory sister of yours, and will pursue such a course as will bring her round to your way of thinking."

"And the endowment?"

"Will still belong to your house, to which it will be given. I have no object, sister, save the welfare of the church; reward I seek not, save what may be given in the good words of the wise and good."

"You are deserving of all praise, holy father. I was not thinking about the endowment, holy father, because, you see, it will not belong to me, but to the church, and this house in particular, for the use of the poor lambs here, over whom I am appointed shepherdess; so I have no feeling in the matter beyond what I ought to have in the spiritual welfare of our fellow sinners."

"I have no authority to interfere in aught else."

"I see, holy father," said the abbess, "you are a wonderful man, and such a one as will do much good."

"I will make an attempt to do good, sister."

"And I will make bold, holy brother, to say you will be successful; though, I venture to say, with humility, that I have tried everything with the unfortunate young woman, which appears to aggravate the evil, rather than give any promise of the future."

"So I might expect."

"You will pursue a different course?"

"I may; but it must depend upon circumstances. If I find it necessary, I must have some place of security, where no one can have any communication with her, save when I shall order it, or deem it proper she should be so confined."

"Certainly; very right."

"Moreover, if I find she needs such severe measures, I shall not let any food be given, save what is given by me, or in my presence, which, of course, amounts to the same thing."

"Exactly, holy father."

"And," continued the monk, "I will not permit this holy house to be insulted by a recusant, for I am quite resolved that no heretick shall baffle the ministers of religion."

"Oh, very improper; it would be indeed, not only an aggravation, but a decided loss to the church, which would damnify it to that extent."

"Undoubtedly," replied the holy man, "undoubtedly; and with your aid I hope to be able to make one good effort, and I pray heaven it may be attended with grace."

"I trust so; and now, holy brother, what may I call you?"

"You will see by these presents I am called Father Francis, of the order of St. Francis; and unworthy brother, who has, perhaps, beyound his gifts, obtained the praise and good wishes of his holiness the Pope, who has been pleased specially to send me forth on a travelling commission, to report to him and to stay where I thought my services might be required."

"Holy father, we may have you stay here some time, I hope, and your favourable report of our poor endeavours; they are in the right direction, and carried on with the right spirit; but we are all weak and erring mortals, we cannot always be as successful as we would wish, and in this matter we have been unsuccessful."

"You have done all that could be expected; there are some matters that will not yield to the weaker vessel, but which would yield to the stronger; therefore you have nothing to blame yourself with; but you are to be commended for what you have done."

"Thanks, holy father; I would not be willingly found wanting."

"Nor are you, sister, according to my poor judgment."

"And when will you see this neophite?"

"I will see her on the morrow; and in the meantime I must be chargable to you for board and lodging, if you will so far grace me."

"Name it not, holy father; I have nothing here but what is yours; and when you choose to retire, there will be the best traveller's bed ready for you."

"Straw and sackcloth are good enough for me," said the monk, ostentatiously.

"But it concerns our housekeeping, holy father, and our hospitality too. We must not let you lodge thus. I pray you, for our sakes, permit us to do what the credit of the place will permit us to do in the way of entertainment."

"Be it even as you will, sister; it does not beseem me that I should contend for matters like these—be it so; I will retire."

"It grows late. I will summon Sister Agatha to show you your dormitory."

Accordingly, Sister Agatha was summoned, and the monk was, after another delicate libation of rich Burgandy, led to his room.

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