? 
 
 LIBRA FLY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 M8£3» 
 
 18X3 
 v.l 
 

THE 
 
 NOVICE 
 
 OF 
 
n* 
 
THE 
 
 NOVICE 
 
 OF 
 
 SAINT DOMINICK. 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS OWENSOJf, 
 
 NOW IADY MORGAN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ST. CLAIR, &C. 
 
 For Truth arid Good are one, 
 And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 
 With like participation. 
 
 Akenside. 
 
 Forsc se tu gustasse anco una volta, 
 La millissima parte delle Geoje, 
 Che gusto un core ainato riamando, 
 Aircste repentita Sospirando, 
 Perdutto e tutto il tempo, 
 Che, in amor aon se spenda. 
 
 Tasto. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES, 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 -^- 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR THOMAS HUGHES, LUDGATE STREET. 
 
 T. Hauihlin, Garlick Hill. 
 
 1823. 
 
. 
 
S3 
 
 v- I 
 
 THE 
 
 NOVICE OF ST. DOMINICK. 
 
 CHiLP, r. 
 
 Can you speak Greek ? 
 No, certainly. Get you gone then, 
 And talk of stars, and firmaments, and fired rakes. 
 Do you remember who was Adam's schoolmaster, 
 And who taught Eve to spin ? She knows all these> 
 And will run yon all over the world 
 As familiar as a fidler. — 
 
 Can you sit seven hours tog-ether and say nothing ? 
 Which she will do, and when she speaks 
 Speaks oracles ; speaks things that no man 
 Understands; no, nor herself either. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 THE sharp reproof of the pious and 
 learned lady Magdelame de Montmo- 
 rell still shone in her keen eye, though 
 it had ceased to murmur on her sullen lip. 
 The little amanuensis received it in si- 
 lence, hung her head, and sighed — she 
 dared not weep. One solitary intrusive 
 
 VOL. I. b 
 
2 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tear alone had escaped from her eye; and 
 glittered on the glowing surface of her 
 cheek, like the dew-drop which the 
 power of repulsion scarcely suffers to em- 
 balm the bosom of the rose it spangles. 
 The little amanuensis brushed it lightly 
 off with the feather of her pen., and wait' 
 ed in patient silence till the inspiration of 
 the lady Magdelaine should again com- 
 mand its efforts. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine had already spent 
 four years in composing a voluminous 
 History of the Crusades, whether foreign 
 or domestic, against infidel or apostate, 
 from the first institution of Peter the 
 Hermit, in 1104, to the massacre of St. 
 Bartholomew in 1572; of which last she 
 had herself been a witness. She had re- 
 tired from Paris to the chateau de Mont- 
 morell, which rose on the northern skirts 
 of the forest of Champagne, as a resi- 
 dence more appropriate to the pursuits 
 of one who expected to unite the heathen 
 reputation of an Anna de Commines with 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 3 
 
 the lioly fame of a Saint Genevieve: 
 and solitude and a total sequestration 
 from the world, together with the con- 
 vent-library of the Dominican sisters, 
 (then rich in legendary lore and pious 
 tradition,) gave boundless scope to the 
 profound meditations of philosophy, and 
 favoured the deep researches of his his- 
 torian ; and while, with kindling ardour, 
 fanaticism traced the recorded horrors of 
 religious frenzy in the gloomy ec deeds of 
 other times," France still groaned under 
 the struggling efforts of religious preju- 
 dice, or bled beneath the uplifted sword 
 of civil dissension. 
 
 It was on the eve of St. Theodora the 
 Martyr, and a few days after Henry the 
 Fourth had invested NeufchateL, that a 
 later hour than usual still found the lady 
 Magdclaine in her study, dictating to 
 her young secretary the most remarkable 
 circumstances of the siege of Beziers, 
 where six thousand obstinateheretics were 
 put to the sword in cold blood, and four 
 
* THE NOTICE OF 
 
 hundred committed to the flames, for the 
 love of God. It was a note panegyrical 
 and elucidatory on tins instance of reli- 
 gious ardor, which had drawn from the 
 horror-struck amanuensis (a young no- 
 vice of the ord< r of St. Dominick) such 
 animadversions as* seldom failed to elicit 
 the disapprobation of her patroness, and 
 to rouse every feeling of pious zeal into 
 action. It was some time ere the lady 
 Magdelaine could rally back that ab- 
 stracted attention which the unanswer- 
 able, but not u nrep roved, comments of 
 the little secretary had put to flight. A 
 glance into a page of the seraphic doctor, 
 St. Bonaventure, restored the train of her 
 dissipated ideas; and, determined to fl« 
 Dish her note with an animated apos- 
 trophe, she exultingly exclaimed, <( Oh ! 
 " fortunate though deluded creatures, 
 i! who, by the pious zeal of your holy 
 " per.- were forced to return to 
 
 "the fold from whence you strayed l" 
 • And did they return, madam/' inter- 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 
 
 rupted the novice, " to the faith they had 
 <c abjured ?" — "They were all put to 
 " death without distinction/" said 
 lady Magdelaine. " Kill away, cried 
 " the bishop of Citeaux, God will take 
 "care of his own !"— C( Then wl 
 
 .aue of thf ' > Ol 
 
 manded the secretary. 
 
 The lad) MagdekdQe, again ira 
 in a learned puzzle, made no but 
 
 cast up her eye, pinched the folds of her 
 vui]) and hit her nails, in the ineffectual 
 endeavour to lure back the truant and 
 felicitous thought which was to round the 
 period of her apostrophe : and while the 
 brain of learned dullness in vain gave 
 the torture to exhausted memorv, the 
 vivid thought of genius darted through 
 regions of imp ;y, and pursued 
 
 with ardor the glowing phantoms of 
 fancy's creation. And thine was a ge- 
 nius, young Novice of St. Dominick, that 
 soared far beyond the occupation allotted 
 thee ; and thine was an age when the 
 
O THE NOVICE OF 
 
 mastery of the attention is seldom obtain- 
 ed; when the mind will admit of an 
 image, or embrace an idea wholly foreign 
 from the pursuit in which it is engaged, 
 when either steal on its apprehension un- 
 der the glowing form of joys anticipated, 
 or wears the pensivie, grateful semblance 
 of joys elapsed : happy age ! 
 
 The brain of the lady Magdelaine still 
 pursued with unwearied diligence the 
 learned trifle that distracted it, while the 
 vagrant fancy of the little amanuensis 
 wandered through scenes of fairy reflec- 
 tion. And never did a strain breathe in 
 stronger unison to a soft and fanciful 
 idea than that which stole on the rapt at- 
 tention of the young secretary, as, tracing 
 viewless characters with the feather of 
 her pen, she 
 
 " Gave to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name." 
 
 The storm raged loud, yet in every in- 
 tervening pause the melodious tones of a 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 7 
 
 harp were more distinctly heard. Pant- 
 ing and breathless, the novice arose, 
 crept softly to the casement, raised her- 
 self on a small stool, and flung an enqui- 
 ring glance through its painted sash ; but 
 the stained and narrow panes, lit up by 
 the watery beams of tke declining moon, 
 gave no form to her eager eye, except 
 that of an ancient dame of the family De 
 Montmorell praying with sympathetic 
 piety beside the faded figure of her lord 
 in armour. 
 
 Yet if her eyes were ungratified by the 
 sight of the musician, her ear more dis- 
 tinctly caught the strain, which at first 
 faintly breathed at a distance, now linger- 
 ed on every passing breeze, now directly 
 ascended from the terrace beneath the 
 casement, and now, gradually fading 
 away, became lost amid the loud howl- 
 ing of the wind, 
 
 Rapt, entranced, the little amanuensis 
 still remained at the casement, even long 
 after the magic spell which had lured her 
 
S THE NOVICE OF 
 
 thither was dissolved; while fancy still 
 fed her ear with those tones which dis- 
 tance or the storm had lulled into silence, 
 and amazement was busied in assigning 
 a cause for an effect so singular, bo de- 
 lightful. But even fancy at la f -: 
 to delude, and Imogen, with a 
 disappointment, returned to 1. 
 the moment when the lady Magdelaine, 
 starting from her's, exclaimed, " I must 
 " consult the bishop of Beauvais." 
 
 " Did you not hear the sound of mu- 
 cc sic, madam 1" demanded Imogen. — 
 [usic !" said the lady Magdelaine, me- 
 chanically speaking the word with atone 
 and air of abstraction that denoted the 
 absence of her mind, and her inattention 
 to the demand. 
 
 " To me it breathed no human sound," 
 added the amanuensis, Cf but such as 
 " fancy gives to those aerial strains which 
 " waft the souls of dying saints to haa- 
 te ven. In good sooth, it thrilled upon 
 " my heart ; e'en now mcthinks I hear 
 
ST. DOMINICK. y 
 
 <r it." — " Jjfhat ?" demanded the lady 
 Magdelaine, awakening. cc Hush! I am 
 {C not deceived. Yet methinks 'tis in the 
 ce castle — it steals along the corridor; 
 <c do you not hear it, madam V 
 
 The lady Magdelaine (whose auricular 
 faculties were somewftm less acute than 
 those of her companion, now for the first 
 time heard those strains which had awa- 
 kened raptures beneath the steady tenor 
 of her philosophic mind : they had indeed 
 awakened emotions of a very different na- 
 ture; and, advancing to a distant part of 
 the chamber, she drew back a sliding 
 door, which opened on the corridor that 
 surrounded the servants' hall. Thegrand- 
 dame of the present lady De Montmorell 
 had constructed this door for the purpose 
 of obtaining secret information of all the 
 politics of her domestic system. The lady 
 ..tine, whose imagination was less 
 i n the qui vive than that of her young se- 
 cretary, readily believed that these n 
 Mis strains were not only of human 
 i I 
 
10 THE NO VICE OF 
 
 sound, but that they proceeded from some 
 unlicensed merriment in her domestics ; 
 and now appropriated the sliding-door 
 to a purpose it had served for two gene- 
 rations back to the ladies De Montmorell. 
 Instantly the tones of a harp, accom- 
 panied by a fine \fllce, interrupted by re- 
 peated and loud bursts of laughter, arose 
 from the great hall below. Imogen, fol- 
 lowed by the lady Magdelaine, sprung 
 forward ; and, hanging over the balus- 
 trade, with a heart beating in unison to 
 the lively air which had awakened its 
 palpitation, observed the musician sur- 
 rounded by a group, who paid the tribute 
 of boisterous applause to the talents he 
 exerted for their entertainment. Follow- 
 ed by the reluctant and delighted Imo- 
 gen, the lady Magdelaine, with noiseless 
 step, returned in silence to her study, 
 closed the slide, and rung with some vio- 
 lence the little silver bell which lay on 
 her table, but no ready page obeyed the 
 summons. " Theodore may be asleep/' 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 11 
 
 said Imogen timidly, contemplating the 
 storm that gloomed the countenance of 
 the lady Magdelaine, and threatened a 
 temporary overthrow to her philosophy ; 
 <e shall I go and awaken him, madam V 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, in sullen silence, 
 took a taper, and prdfeeeded to the anti- 
 chamber. Before the dying embers of a 
 wood fire, stretched at his full length, lay 
 the young page, who had read himself to 
 sleep over the Romance of the Rose. — 
 "Why, thou mortal Morpheus!" ex- 
 claimed the lady Magdelaine in a Stento- 
 rian voice. The youth, roused by the 
 well-known tone, started on his feet, 
 rubbed his eyes, scratched his head, bow- 
 ed, and stammered. " Say," continued 
 his lady, " wouldst thou emulate the 
 cc drowsy powers of Epimenides, and sleep 
 c( away thy useless life?" — (( So please, 
 cc my lady, I thought"— •" You thought ! 
 Ci But every vassal now arrogates the di- 
 (C vine faculty of thinking. Bethink thee 
 f then of delivering my commands to 
 
12 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 <( those rioters who by such rude wassai- 
 " lage disturb the nocturnal meditations 
 cc of their lady/' 
 
 The page^ scarce half awakened, stood 
 motionless and gaping. "Avaunt!*' said 
 the lady Magdelaine, Ci and summon to 
 cc my presence tha# hoary reveller, the 
 (c sieur Ambrose." The page, trembling, 
 bowing, and yawning, wen! to seek the 
 maitre d' hotel ; and the lady Magdelaine 
 returned to her study, \\ •■■•• I nogen was 
 still listening to those sou i , '•- vOi> i found 
 admittance through an aperture in the 
 slidinff-door. "Fortvven , " said 
 
 the lady Magdelaine, tin herself 
 
 into her chair, "for t\\. ears the 
 
 " sound of ill -managed mirth, or rude 
 " merriment, has not been beard till this 
 " night within the walls of Dl Montmo- 
 " reli !" — "I can well believe it/' sighed 
 Imogen. " I shall soon learn who this 
 
 modern Orpheus is," continued her 
 ladyship. 
 
 " So shall I, 1 hope," said Imogen 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 13 
 
 cc 1 should not wonder if it was a spy 
 
 (C of that arch heretic, the king of Na- 
 " varre," exclaimed lady Magdelaine. 
 
 " I should have no objection though it 
 c: were/' thought Imogen. 
 
 cc The province is full of his emissaries 
 " and his troops/' said the lady Magde- 
 laine. 
 
 cc Heaven prosper the hero in all his un- 
 dertakings!" silently ejaculated Imo- 
 
 cc 
 
 gen, 
 
 Ci The Leaguers/' added the lady Mag- 
 delaine, " are dilatory in their operations; 
 " while they should recollect, that during 
 " the Trojan wars, and those carried on 
 • by the Greeks against Darius and 
 " Xerxes — " Here the entrance of the 
 maitre-d'hotel, followed by the greater 
 part of the domestics of the chateau, in- 
 terrupted the learned harangue of the lady 
 Magdelaine. The young page, peevish 
 for having been awakened from a delici- 
 ous dream, (which placed him first page 
 'ie presence to qu de 
 
14 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Valois,) in a manner not likely to reward 
 him for the loss of so pleasing a delusion, 
 and disappointed at having missed the 
 entertainment he found his fellow-ser- 
 vants enjoying, delivered his lady's or- 
 ders with such exaggerating additions of 
 her displeasure, that old Ambrose, who 
 dared not singly encounter her wrath, 
 had prevailed on some of the domestics 
 to share the punishment as they had 
 shared the pleasure of the crime. 
 
 The appearance of the maitre-d'hotel 
 revived the sparks of anger which the di- 
 gression of the lady Magdelaine from the 
 king of Navarre to the Trojans, Greeks, 
 and Persians, had nearly extinguished ; 
 and, after a pause of a minute, she ex- 
 claimed, in a tone of reprehension and so- 
 lemnity, "When the peaceful influence 
 " of Morpheus, so finely described by 
 " Homer, should spread the pinions of 
 iC repose o'er the eyes of mortals, save 
 " those spirits of higher order, who by 
 f> the lamp's pale beam pore over the in- 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 15 
 
 u spiration of departed genius, or raise 
 (C amidst the silence of midnight gloomy 
 u monuments to perpetuate their own, 
 <c say, what means this nocturnal was- 
 cc sailage within the walls of the chateau 
 ff de Montmorell ? It is to thee, thou 
 u hoary president of midnight revelry, I 
 <c address myself." — "II good my lady/" 
 stammered Ambrose ; cc with my lady's 
 cc good pleasure, the saints are witness, I 
 (C never was a president : the Virgin for- 
 " bid I should ever be a president !" 
 
 " Say," continued the lady Magde- 
 laine, " do you celebrate the orgies of the 
 cc household gods, perforin ye Baccbana- 
 cc lian mysteries, or hold you the riotous 
 <c Saturnalia?" The servants, in silent 
 and ignorant amazement, stared in each 
 other's faces. cc Speak," continued the 
 lady Magdelaine, cc who is this insidious 
 * f promoter of midnight revelrv, this Am- 
 u phion, this Terpander, who, like the 
 " musicians of old, has charmed e'en 
 (( stocks and stones ?" 
 
16 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " So please, my lady/' said Ambrose, 
 bowing, " he is no trepanner, but a poor 
 tc minstrel, a troubadour of Provence,* 
 cc who crst-while begged shelter at the 
 cc postern gate from the storm, in the 
 {C name of our Lady of the Snow. — 
 " Marry, an it had been a dog, one's own 
 <c bowels would have yearned to turn 
 " him adrift o' such a night/' 
 
 "Troubadour!" repeated the lady 
 Magdelaine : "O thou second Cymon ! 
 " thou more stupid than Polyphemus ! 
 cc When heresy stalks abroad, and threa- 
 <c tens our holy faith with destruction ; 
 cc when anarchy and civil war tear the 
 cc very bosom of our country, arc we to 
 <c admit into the very sanctum sanctorum 
 cc of our chateau every Hugonot spy who 
 <c assumes the disguise of an itinerant vo- 
 e< tarist of Apollo ? This minstrel, this 
 (t troi be the very spirit of 
 
 * " Au seindecette barbarie uaquirent tn Provence 
 nos premiers poetes, connus sous ]e nora du Trouba- 
 dour.*' I j ■ ' t chap. 7. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 17 
 
 ' Luther, under the power of transmi- 
 ' gration ; it may be heterodoxy perso- 
 e nified ; it may be Satan himself roam- 
 f ing about, and seeking in these mreli- 
 e gicus times, so favourable to his reign, 
 c all those whom he may devour." The 
 rants crossed themselves devoutly, all 
 but the little Beatrice, who had the ho- 
 nour to preside over the tapestry-looms 
 of the lady Magdelaine. 
 
 "Satan I" repeated Beatrice; "in good 
 " sooth, my lady, he looks more like an 
 " angel than a devil, saints keep us I" 
 
 "Peace, shameless Bacchante!" ex- 
 claimed the lady Magdelaine. cc And 
 u thou, Monsieur Ambrose, stop this 
 ft minstrelsy, and instantly dismiss this 
 " modern Arion." — " Poor youth \" said 
 Ambrose: "St. Dennis be his speed! 
 " for it blows a piteous storm, and the 
 " night is as black as pitch." 
 
 " Youth !" reiterated Imogen, "youth ! 
 
 " is he young ? I thought all trouba- 
 
 ' dours and minstrels were old and blind, 
 
18 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 (C with long and flowing beards/ 1 — cc Ma- 
 u demoiselle, he has no more beard than 
 {C my hand, save indeed as handsome a 
 u pair of whiskers" — <( As any cavalier 
 <c in the province of Champagne might 
 " wish to wear/' added Beatrice. " Blinds 
 99 forsooth ! Marry, if there is such ano- 
 99 ther pair of black eyes in France, HI 
 99 give my silver reliquary for a copper 
 99 sous !" 
 
 (C Beatrice/' said the lady Magde- 
 laine, Si dost thou not fear the fate of Ca- 
 <c nente, who was changed into a voice 
 99 for talking too much?" 
 
 cc She ! good my lady," said Ambrose : 
 <c beshrew me if she fears any thing, not 
 " excepting the devil, father Anselm, or 
 " your ladyship. I told the damsels it 
 ec was not seemly to press round the youth 
 ff as they did." — cc Marry, didst thou so, 
 ec Monsieur Propriety," interrupted Bea- 
 trice; " but did you cousider then that 
 cc it was so long since we saw any thing 
 € J young and handsome in the chateau. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 19 
 
 Ci that we came to look at him, not as a 
 " man, but a wonder V 9 — " Beatrice/* 
 said the lady Magdelaine, in a softened 
 tone, " it is easy to perceive you are not 
 " of the Pythagorean school; but — " 
 " She at school !" interrupted Ambrose; 
 " Mass ! she would corrupt a nunnery !" 
 ' ' But the question is/' continued the lady 
 Magdelaine, " whether this musical Ado- 
 " nis should be dismissed, or retained a 
 " prisoner till the return of the father di- 
 " rector, who is gone to shrive the ladies 
 "of St. Dominick ?" — " Poor dear 
 u souls !" exclaimed Beatrice, " I won- 
 " der what they can have to confess, shut 
 fc up all their lives in a convent : for my 
 <c part, who only live in an old chateau, 
 cc a little sin goes a great way with me." 
 e( What if I were to see him myself?" 
 said the lady Magdelaine, addressing 
 Imogen. " He is evidently insidious, 
 <c and consequently dangerous : if he is, 
 tc as I suspect, a spy, — yes, I will see 
 f him ; and let him, if he can, elude the 
 
20 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 ff eye of Argus' penetration ; yes, I will 
 ff at least hear what he has to say." — 
 <r Say, my lady !" cried Beatrice ; " hear 
 " what he has to sing. • Do, good my 
 t( lady, get him to sing ' the Merry 
 cr Knight and the Maid in the Vestment 
 ,f of Blue.' Holy rosary I 1 thought I 
 if should have split my sides with laugh* 
 « ing!'— " Beatrice," said the lady Mag- 
 delaine mildly, u sacrifice, I prythee, to 
 (f the goddess Muta 5 and thou, Ambrose, 
 U conduct this minstrel to my presence/' 
 
 Ambrose retired with a bow of tri- 
 umph ; the domestics exchanged looks of 
 pleasurable amazement, and expectation 
 flushed its beams in the bright eyes of 
 Imogen. " Theodore/' cried the lady 
 Magdelaine, " bring in fresh tapers. — 
 f< Imogen, give me my veil. Beatrice, 
 :c Blanche, and Agnes, retire to the back- 
 i( ground." Then, having arranged her 
 fardingale, settled the folds of her rulf, 
 and adjusted her veil after the manner of 
 Paulina, the emperor Nero's mistress, she 
 
ST. DOM I NICK. 21 
 
 waited in an attitude of solemn dignity to 
 receive her eleemosynary guest, In a 
 few minutes be appeared, led in by Am- 
 brose. He bowed low, hut not servilely; 
 and, resting the end of his harp on his 
 right foot, stood in an attitude rather dig- 
 nified than humble, 
 
 His stature rose to that commanding 
 height which fancy attaches to the idea of 
 majesty, and possessed that graceful 
 slightness and flexibility which characte- 
 rize youth in its first dawn of manhood, 
 The contours of his face were conforma* 
 ble to the most perfect line of Roman 
 beauty ; and the grand, the noble expres- 
 sion of his countenance evinced a soul 
 where u no dark deed wandered in secret;'' 
 it flashed the vivid emanations of genius, 
 blended with the glowing affections of the 
 man and the ardent spirit of the hero,* 
 
 * See the curious account of the appearance of a 
 minstrel, who was introduced at Kenehvorth castle, 
 among many other devices and shows represented 
 
22 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 His garb was that usually worn in those 
 days by the professors of minstrelsy: a 
 robe of dark green, gathered at the neck 
 with a small gorget beneath the snowy 
 folds of his ruff, and encircled round the 
 waist with a crimson cadis girdle; the 
 sleeves, slashed off from the elbow, fell to 
 the ground, and discovered those of his 
 doublet of black velvet, fastened at his 
 wrist with silver clasps ; a scarlet ribbon 
 fell from his neck, from which was sus- 
 pended his harp, scarcely larger than a 
 lyre ; from his girdle hung a chain, to 
 which was fastened a splendid escut- 
 cheon ; and his curling glossy black hair 
 defined the form of a head which was 
 that of a youthful Alcibiades. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine started, gazed, 
 and remained for more than a minute lost 
 in silent admiration of the form that pre- 
 sented itself at the door of her study. — 
 
 before queen Elizabeth, at an entertainment given 
 her by Lord Leicester. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 23 
 
 Then, suddenly breaking into an abrupt 
 exclamation, and resuming her air of aw- 
 ful deportment, she said, " Speak, young 
 u stranger, whose garb and seeming tell 
 " thee of that order fast falling to decay, 
 " whence and what art thou, who darest 
 " thus boldly to intrude at this unseason- 
 " able hour upon the peaceful security of 
 " our castle, and insidiously to practise on 
 ic the simple ignorance of our domestics ?" 
 " Lady," said the stranger, with a bow 
 low and graceful, M I meant not to in- 
 " trude, but to solicit ; not to practise on 
 " ignorauce, but to interest humanity. " 
 
 <c Who and what art thou ?" repeated 
 the lady Magdelaine, t( By birth, lady, 
 " a Provencal, by profession a minstrel, 
 " by necessity a wanderer, and by senti- 
 u ment a citizen of the world. The ge- 
 " nius of my country found me, while 
 <f yet a boy, tuning my rustic reed on the 
 " delicious banks of the Durance, and 
 n taught me to raise my humble lay, and 
 " emulate the bards of my native pro- 
 
^± THE NOVICE 01 
 
 <' vince, who diffused the light of poetry 
 " and song* o'er the wide dominions of 
 " France, then involved in Gothic dark- 
 (C ne6s. I obe\ed. Thrice have I car- 
 C( ried off the golden violet* at Thou louse 
 f( from my competitors ; thrice have I 
 <f crossed the Rhone, and sung through 
 fC the wide domains of France the supe- 
 (( riority of my native province, its meads 
 " for ever verdant, its purple vineyards, 
 «« its fertilizing streams, and snowy flocks. 
 < c I have raised a nobler strain, and sung 
 < c the prowess of the warrior, the immor- 
 (< tality of the hero ; and erewhile, O 
 " dangerous theme! I have stolen inspi- 
 < c ration from the eye of beauty, and sung 
 
 * In 1323 the society of Troubadours at Thou- 
 Jouse seat circular letters to the Languedoeian poets 
 to come and read their woiks, with a promise of a 
 golden violet to him who should compose the best 
 romance. Clemence d'lsftvre left a sum by her will 
 to belaid out in three golden violets, which the aca- 
 demy of Thoulouse was to dispose of as the reward 
 of superior genius. 
 
ST. DOMINJCK. 4,L 
 
 " the charms of woman and the omnipo- 
 u tent power of love. This night the 
 <r wandering spirit of my profession con- 
 *' ducted me to the forest de Montmorell, 
 " my better destiny to the portals of the 
 (i castle, and (oh ! suffer me to hope it) my 
 t( guardian angel into the presence of its 
 t( fair and noble lady.'* 
 
 The minstrel again bowed as he finish- 
 ed his recital j and the lady Magdelaine, 
 with a contortion of the muscles that sof- 
 tened her harsh countenance into some 
 faint indication of a smile, replied: 
 
 " Young stranger, I doubt not the ve- 
 u racity of thy relation, although I do not 
 " pretend to possess the gift of that god* 
 il dess who could discover the most plau- 
 u sible falsehood by a look. Neither am 
 w 1 ignorant of the reverence in which 
 Ci thy sacred profession was held by the 
 " ancients : the king Alcinbus is described 
 4 ' by Homer as paying the highest ho- 
 11 nours to his inspired visitor; Ulysses, 
 " that wary chief, treated with profound 
 
 vol. i. c 
 
26 THE NO VICC OF 
 
 " respect the tuneful Dimodocus; the 
 " Athenians sent a minstrel to command 
 " the Spartans, who conquered under his 
 "inspiring- influence; Anacreon was ca- 
 Ci ressed at the court of Pol_y crates, the 
 " tyrant of Samos ; and so great was the 
 " reverence paid by the ancient Arabs to 
 " their bards, that their entrance into the 
 iC cities was hailed with public rejoicings, 
 " and the best poet was rewarded with a 
 " rich robe, a fine horse, and a beautiful 
 " damsel." 
 
 " Oh, that I were an Arabian bard !" 
 exclaimed the minstrel with naivete, and 
 glancing his eyes to the back of lady Mag- 
 delaine's chair, where hovered the airy 
 form of Imogen ; then, after a moment's 
 indulgence, he fixed his eloquent looks on 
 the earth, and sighed. 
 
 The lady Magdclaine, who had arrest- 
 ed the impassioned glance half-way ere it 
 had reached its point of destination, con- 
 strued its expression according to the sur- 
 mise of her vanity rather than her pride; 
 and after a moment's silence added : 
 
ST. DOM IMC K. 
 
 27 
 
 ? Bui, though I were not to acknovv- 
 " ledge the claim thy inspired profession 
 " should always have on all true lovers of 
 " the muses, yet the law of hospitality 
 " (never violated in the chateau de Mont- 
 " morel!) would secure thee an asylum for 
 M a night such as this (which might have 
 " served Virgil as a model for his cele- 
 u brated Storm;) else should I have read 
 u Eustatius to very little purpose, who 
 " treats so diffusely on the duties of hospi- 
 N tality. I consign thee, therefore, young 
 t( stranger, to the care of my maitre 
 " d'hotel, and to-morrow thou shalt re- 
 " ceive an audience of leave.'' The min- 
 strel pressed his right hand to his heart, 
 and, with a bow of profound and grateful 
 acknowledgment, was retiring, followed 
 by the domestics ; the door was fast closing, 
 when, in a tone of hesitation, the lady 
 Magdelaine exclaimed, fi Yet stay, young 
 " stranger ; 1" — She paused ; the min- 
 strel respectfully returned. " I would 
 Ci know thy name," said the lady Magde- 
 
28 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 laine. The minstrel hesitated, riveted 
 his eyes on the head of his harp, and, 
 after a moment's silence, eagerly replied, 
 " I am called Orlando, lady." 
 
 u Bearest thou no other name ?" 
 
 " None, lady. A deserted foundling, 
 " my infant years were supported by the 
 " pastor of the village of Beauvoisin ; 
 " and my latter life was devoted to the 
 " monks of the Petits Augustins, whose 
 " flocks I tended on the banks of the Du- 
 " ranee." 
 
 " By the arms suspended from thy gir- 
 " die, thou hast filled some higher station 
 " than that of tending the flock of a con- 
 " vent." 
 
 " True, lady ; I was for some time 
 " chief minstrel to the baron de Montar- 
 V gis, whose chateau is bathed with the 
 " blue waves of the Durance." 
 
 " Then thou served a heretic, and a 
 iC rebel to a just cause." 
 
 " 'Tis true, lady ; he denied the infalli- 
 iC bility of the pope, the omnipotence of 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 29 
 
 Cf the saints, and the justice of the claims 
 "- of the Lea°uers. 'Tis some time since I 
 " left him, in search of a better service. '' 
 
 te Which may fortune bless thee withal !" 
 said the lady Magdelaine. M Thou may Vt 
 w now retire." 
 
 The minstrel obeyed. 
 
 " And will you not, sweet my lady," 
 said Beatrice, who with Agnes still loi- 
 tered behind, ■• will you not hear him 
 " play one little madrigal ? Marry, he 
 " knows all the ballads of Rollo, not to 
 " mention the tragic adventures of (he 
 " baron de Coucy and the fair lady de 
 <f Yitry ; and roundelays, sequidills, «and 
 tc musettes, without end, eke he is a youth 
 Ci of no faith ; for all these did he promise 
 " me, in very truth ; besides the pleasant 
 es and curious tragedy, full of rare device, 
 (t of the amorous shoemaker, who put 
 " himself to death with his own cutting- 
 " knife, all for love of a beautiful damsel 
 " of high degree. Do, sweet my lady, 
 " permit the minstrel to return ; the 
 
SO THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " night is yet young." — n Beatrice/ 1 said 
 the lady Magdelaine, in a tone of hesita- 
 tion, u thou dost not consider it would be 
 te unseemly for thy lady to hold further 
 Ci converse with the young stranger. — 
 tc Times are now greatly changed since 
 " Charlotte of Savoy kissed the sleeping 
 •"•' poet Alain Ch artier, and was thought 
 " not (he worse for it. It is not the man 
 " (said she) whom I kiss, but the lip 
 iC from whence flowed so many charm- 
 " ing strains." — " But then, dear my 
 '• lady, kissing a man and listening to his 
 s< song, marry, there is a huge difference !*' 
 " Not to the eye of unimpassioned phi- 
 " losophy, Beatrice ; for though 1 were 
 " to honour this young bard with a 
 " chaste salute, or lend an ear to his 
 4f inspired strains, it would still be but 
 " the homage of genius to its kindred 
 "spirit." 
 
 " Then shall I call him back, lady ?" 
 " No, Beatrice, not to-night; the taste- 
 " ful propensities of the poetess must not 
 
ST. D0MIN1CK. 
 
 31 
 
 u be indulged at the expence of the dig- 
 " nity of the lady de Montmorell." . 
 
 " Then with your ladyship's good li- 
 " king, I'll just step down and finish a 
 " courante I had begun with Bernardine 
 " when Theodore interrupted us. No 
 <: one but a native of dear Provence can 
 " dance or play a courante after the right 
 " fashion. Marry, I could have thrown 
 u my arms around the neck of this same 
 4< minstrel when he told me he was from 
 (i Provence, had it not been for pure 
 • 4 shame ! ' 
 
 « Why, thou hast as little modesty as 
 " Lais or Corinna/' exclaimed the lady 
 Magdelaine angrily ; cc and were all my 
 <c women of thy bold deportment, this 
 " poor youth might have shared the fate 
 • c of Orpheus, who was torn to pieces by 
 " the Bacchantes." 
 
 <f But, under your ladyship's good fa- 
 w vor, if there be no difference between 
 *' a salute and a song" 
 
 " Peace!" said the lady Magdelaine 
 
32 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 sternly; fr retire instantly to your apart- 
 n ment, nor violate by unseemly comport- 
 <e ment the vestal propriety of thy lady's 
 " household." 
 
 Beatrice reluctantly obeyed, followed 
 by Agnes, who, with less temerity to ex- 
 press her wishes than the archly-simple 
 Beatrice, had not less propensity for cou- 
 rantes, madrigals, and roundelays. 
 
 Imogen in pensive silence still remained 
 leaning on the back of the lady Magde- 
 laine's chair, lost in profound reverie; 
 her arm supporting her fair head, the 
 minstrel's voice still murmuring on her 
 ear, the minstrel's glance still beaming on 
 her eye, while the sigh which trembled on 
 her lip expired unconscious ere she was 
 aware of its birth. 
 
 11 Imogen/' said the lady Magdelaine 
 mildly. Imogen started, suddenly re- 
 sumed her seat, and, catching up her pen, 
 demanded if she should go on with the 
 bishop of Citeaux and the siege of Be- 
 ziers ? 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 33 
 
 " No," said the lady Magdelaine, " it 
 " is late — I am not disposed for composi- 
 tion ; the muses are not always propi- 
 u tious to the midnight vigils of their vota- 
 u ries. I will read till I sooth my mind 
 f4 to rest, and thou may'st retire to thy 
 if apartment " 
 
 i{ What hook shall I leave you, ma- 
 (e dam ? Here are the Sufferings of the 
 " holy Martyr St. Lawrence, who was 
 " broiled on a gridiron/' 
 
 if No, child, my feelings are not equal 
 « to that." 
 
 " Here is the Martyrdom of St. Fran- 
 f< cis, who carried his head a considerable 
 " distance after he had suffered decapita- 
 " tion/' 
 
 " Nay, marry, that is still worse." 
 
 " Here are the Confessions of St. Au- 
 " gustine, and the Trials and Tempta- 
 4< tions of St. Theodora." 
 
 cc Poor St. Theodora ! Her's were trials 
 " indeed ! What a holy struggle between 
 '• her and St. Dydimus when condemned 
 c2 
 
I 
 
 34 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 M before the prefect of Alexandria ! And 
 ,c what is that that lies at the foot of the 
 ? picture of St. Mary of Egypt ?" 
 " 'Tis an odd volume of Ovid." 
 " Well, leave me that, and my rubric 
 cc for vespers." Imogen placed the books 
 on the table, and, wishing her lady patro- 
 ness a good night, retired to her solitary 
 apartment. 
 
 The clock in the great hall had tolled 
 out the first half-hour after midnight ; the 
 domestics had retired to rest; and Am- 
 brose, the ancient maitre-d'hotel, who 
 loved an old story and old wine as well as 
 any other maitre-d'hotel in the province 
 of Champagne, was still entertaining the 
 minstrel in the buttery with a flask of real 
 muscadel, and an anecdote of the family 
 de Montmorell, rather minute than inte- 
 resting; when the minstrel, after a long 1 
 pause, abruptly demanded, i( I prythee, 
 " good my friend, what fair vision was 
 " that which hovered near the chair of 
 < f thy lady?" — "What, my lady's pet 
 
ST. DOMINICR. 
 
 35 
 
 ff owl?" said Ambrose; « nay, marry, fill 
 « thy glass, and thou shalt hear the whole 
 « history of it. It was the very same 
 cc year that our late king Henry the Third, 
 « of blessed memory, was elected king of 
 u Poland, which I take it was about the 
 
 " eve of" 
 
 " Nay, thou mistakest : I would know 
 
 ec who was the lovely maid that"- 
 
 "Ha! ha! by the mass, thou hast a 
 <f hawk's eye, Monsieur Troubadour ! — 
 " What, the demoiselle with the cocked- 
 V up nose, scarlet fardmgale, slop sleeves, 
 " and short petticoats, with a certain 
 " roundish look, and a laughing eye ? It 
 " was the demoiselle Beatrice ; and were 
 <f my old dame Jacintha gone to heaven, 
 <r and the damsel would cast but an eye 
 " of favor on your humble servant" — 
 " Heavens!" exclaimed the minstrel im- 
 patiently, " you stiil mistake me : the 
 t€ creature I mean is delicate even to fra- 
 gility ; and there is a nymph-like sim- 
 " plicity in her form, an airy elegance in 
 
66 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 <l her figure, that might give a model to 
 " the Genius of Sculpture on whieh to 
 " rest his immortality. The very spirit 
 cf of youth sheds its most touching graces 
 " around her ; and the look of playful 
 " gaiety that animates her countenance is 
 fC softened by that air of ineffable modesty, 
 t( which, like a transparent veil, height- 
 u ens those beauties it would conceal. — 
 " Her dress is such as Fashion in her hap- 
 ie piest caprice might adopt to render Iove- 
 H liness more lovely ; and though her robe 
 tf of grey, her veil, and rosary, speak her 
 " a novice of some holy order, yet Love, 
 te lurking in the dimple her arch smile 
 " creates, seems to reclaim the sweet apos- 
 i( tate as his own !" 
 
 li Pardie, well done, Sir Minstrel!— 
 " Mass, an I would not as soon hear thee 
 " as my lady herself, when she talks about 
 " the gods and goddesses, and nobody un- 
 " derstands a word she says, save the fa- 
 " ther director and mademoiselle Imo- 
 « gep. J ' 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. S{ 
 
 cc Imogen ! is that her name r" 
 
 " In good sooth is it. So, nothing will 
 m serve your dainty taste but our young 
 " nun!" 
 
 u A nun !" 
 
 « That is to be." 
 
 i: And from choice, sayest thou ?" 
 
 u Nay, by the rosary, I doubt if her 
 <f vocation lies much that way. Poor 
 '•' soul ! somehow she does not take kindly 
 <c to vigils and fastings, for which she and 
 •' the father director have some disputes, 
 if and in which she always gets the upper 
 ri hand, and that with so laughing a face, 
 '•' that you would think she was in very 
 " sport. For when once she gets loose 
 ••' from my lady's study she is as blithe as 
 '•' May; and then for charity, I'll set her 
 u up against all the ladies of St. Domi- 
 "' nick, with my lady and the father di- 
 l( rector to boot." 
 
 u And are her means equal to her vir- 
 " tuous propensities ?" 
 
38 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 €i Marry, no, and more's the pity ! She 
 " has not a sous but as she earns it by her 
 tc embroidery, which I sell for her at the 
 u next market-town, when I go for pro- 
 cc visions; and then away with the money 
 " to the poor serfs who live on the skirts 
 u of the forest, and have been ruined by 
 (< the civil wars: and yet many a late 
 fe hour does she sit up to do this, after 
 " writing all day for my lady. ' My good 
 " Ambrose,' will she say, (with such a 
 cc sweet begging face !) ' shall I coax 
 f< thee for a taper to-night, and in good 
 (C sooth I will not speedily trouble thee 
 r< again?' The saints bless her for a 
 ff sweet one ! It were the pity of pities 
 <c to make a nun of her/' 
 
 " Is she related to thy lady ?" demand- 
 ed the minstrel. 
 
 " No truly, poor soul ! I wot she ne- 
 " ver had a relation : it is thought she 
 u was a present from St. Dominick to the 
 " ladies of our convent." 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 39 
 
 cf He must have been a saint of very 
 rf little taste, or very great generosity, to 
 <c part with such an object.'* 
 
 " Marry, I warrant, hadst thou been 
 " St. Dominick, thou wouldst have been 
 Cf less generous. Ah ! thou art a wag in 
 " grain, Sir Minstrel. Vet the saint did 
 cc not part with her altogether ; for when 
 •' she was found by the portress at the 
 (C wheel, though a coarse veil was what 
 " the saint had covered her withal, yet 
 c< round her little neck was hung an agate 
 ce cross, bearing the letters St. D. ; which 
 (( proved to the ladies of St. Dominick, 
 fi as plain as their own great spire, that 
 (C the saint meant to keep her all to him- 
 e< self. She had just entered her noviti- 
 i{ ate, when my lady begged her of the 
 " sisterhood to write for her ; for the de- 
 u moiselle Imogen is a rare clerk, and my 
 u lady is writing a history of how the 
 f| saints used to kill and burn the folk in 
 " former times, for the good of their 
 f souls, and to save them the expence of 
 
40 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " buying indulgences. Hark! there goes 
 " old Tell-truth ; pardie, another quar- 
 u ter, and we shall be on the second cock- 
 " crow. Come, Monsieur Minstrel, I 
 <c pledge you in our last glass of musca- 
 " del." Ambrose then arose, and con- 
 ducted the stranger to the apartment al- 
 lotted him. 
 
ST. D0MIN1CK. 41 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 " Mangled peace \ 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenty, and joyful births! 
 Alas ! she has from France too long been chas'd ; 
 And all her husbandry doth lie in heaps, 
 Corrupting in its own fertility." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 FOR thirty years Catherine de Medicis 
 governed France, under the nominal so- 
 vereignty of her three sons, Francis II. 
 Charles IX. and Henry III. 
 
 C( llfaut diviser "pour regner" was the 
 darling maxim by which the wily Cathe- 
 rine directed her political life ; and the 
 increasing influence of the Hugonots, in 
 the reign of her son Charles, animated her 
 to the most refined practice of her favo- 
 rite theory, and afforded to the artful and 
 ambitious queen-mother a pretext for fo- 
 menting those dissensions and perpctua- 
 
42 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ting those feuds, by which she hoped to 
 undermine or subdue a faction which daily 
 became more formidable and more dan- 
 gerous. 
 
 Astrologers had foretold that her sons 
 would die without issue, and that the dia- 
 dem of Prance would encircle the brow 
 of a prince of the line of Bourbon. Even 
 the strong mind of Catherine was not 
 proof against these impositions, which the 
 dark credulity of the age received with 
 implicit confidence, and sanctioned with 
 the profoundest reverence. It was there- 
 fore little to be wondered at that the 
 young Henry of Bourbon, king of Na- 
 varre, (of the blood royal of France, and 
 the idol chief of the Hugonots,) became 
 at once the object of her detestation and 
 her dread ; yet, by one of those profound 
 strokes of policy which distinguished her 
 reign, she offered him in marriage her 
 lovely and accomplished daughter, Mar- 
 garet de Valois ; and, by this extraordinary 
 proposal, dissipated the Hugonot reserve 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 43 
 
 and gave an animated flow to the genial 
 current of open-hearted confidence. 
 
 Although Henry embraced the proffer- 
 ed alliance, love had no share in this ac- 
 ceptance : his heart submitted to the ty- 
 ranny of prudence, and his inclinations 
 became a sacrifice to the wishes of his 
 party, which was flattered in the hope 
 that this union would disseminate peace 
 to France, and give to eternal oblivion the 
 religious and political factious of her chil- 
 dren. The Hugonots, in the ardor of 
 their hearts, dazzled by the splendid pro- 
 mises of Catherine and her son, crowded 
 to the capital, where magnificent prepa- 
 rations were already made for the nuptials 
 of (he king of Navarre ; and, bewildered 
 by the pleasures, and intoxicated by the 
 alluring enjoyments, of the most volup- 
 tuous court in Europe, the unsuspecting 
 victims of the cruel policy of the queen 
 slumbered over the dangers by which they 
 were secretly surrounded ; and, revelling 
 in the fair illusions of the present, che- 
 
44 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 rished no suspicion of the brooding evils 
 of the future. 
 
 On the 18th of August, 1572, all Paris 
 resounded to the lively acclamations of 
 joy, happiness, and festivity ; for it was 
 the wedding-day of the king of Navarre 
 and the princess de Valois. On the 24th 
 of August, 1 72, all France re-echoed 
 the groans of the slaughtered Hugonots, 
 for it was the ?nassacre of St, Bartholo- 
 lew ! History has enrolled in her annals 
 the sanguinary transactions of this day 
 •with dreadful exactitude; but the sye, 
 the heart, will eagerly pass over a recital 
 of those horrid deeds, which even in pe- 
 rusal blanch the glowing cheek of huma- 
 nity, and surpass in reality the fancied 
 atrocities which the most depraved and 
 sanguinary imaginations could devise. 
 
 Catherine, who possessed herself neither 
 the religion of prejudice nor of truth, ren- 
 dered the fanaticism of the times subser- 
 vient to her policy ; and instigated her 
 jealous and deluded adherents to a mas- 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 45 
 
 sacre, which was executed under all the 
 aggravating circumstances that religious 
 fury, private pique, or public animosity, 
 could devise. The young king of Navarre 
 found a comparative safety in flight ; 
 Charles and his mother triumphed in their 
 execrable machinations; and France/for 
 twenty-six successive years, groaned un- 
 der the complicated woes which the trans- 
 actions of one day engendered. 
 
 Charles survived the massacre of St. 
 Bartholomew but two years ; and his bro- 
 ther Henry III. became the successor to 
 that " barren sceptre" with which Cathe- 
 rine amused the puerile minds of her sons, 
 while she still retained the reins of go- 
 vernment in her own hand. 
 
 It was at this period that a dangerous 
 confederation arose in Prance, known by 
 the nan\e of the League. Its leaders were 
 of the house of Guise ; its pretence the 
 defence of the church ; and its secret mo- 
 tive the subversion of the state. But 
 
46 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 that profound system of dissimulation 
 which formed the soul of Italian politics, 
 and which Catherine had imbibed with 
 the principles of her idol Machiavel, serv- 
 ed her in the most critical period of her 
 life, and induced her to declare for the 
 League, which she dreaded, and to unite 
 herself to the Guises, whom she abhorred. 
 Opposed, therefore, to the associated pow- 
 ers of the court and the League, stood 
 the young king of Navarre : the hero of 
 a little army of heroes ; and, as he himself 
 pleasantly expressed it, "a king without 
 <( a kingdom,* a husband without a wife, 
 cc and a warrior without supplies." Such 
 was the situation of this magnanimous 
 prince, whose character scarcely " smelt 
 of mortality ;" who, having conquered 
 
 * Spain had usurped the kingdom of Navarre from 
 his father; and he continued to hold his miniature 
 court at Beam, the place of his nativity. 
 
 Vide Pcrijix, Histoive dc Henri h Grand. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 47 
 
 himself, was worthy of conquering others;* 
 who possessed the ambition to encounter 
 the greatest difficulties, with abilities to 
 vanquish them; who united the talents of 
 the statesman to the spirit of the hero ; and 
 who equally in the cabinet or the field be- 
 trayed a genius that bore all before it. 
 
 After the massacre of St. Bartholomew, 
 he joined a few faithful adherents the 
 cruel policy of his enemies had left him ; 
 but in the qualities of these superior few 
 was found an equivalent for the limita- 
 tion of their number. The baron de 
 Rosni, better known as the Duke de Sully, 
 whose life presents so beautiful a picture 
 of prudence, wisdom, and loyalty ; the 
 marshal de Biron, so justly celebrated for 
 his military talents and love of letters; the 
 
 * Henry said of himself, "Nature has formed me 
 passionate ; but since I have been sensible of this 
 fault, I have always endeavoured to vanquish so 
 dangerous a propensity." 
 
 Memtires du President du Thou. 
 
48 TH£ NOVICE OF 
 
 brave Crillon, whose valour bestowed on 
 him the epithet La Noiie, to whose gene- 
 rous virtues even his enemies paid the ho- 
 mage of esteem ; with many others scarcely 
 less deserving of notice, though less for- 
 tunate in obtaining it, composed a little 
 flying camp, of which Henry was himself 
 the soul. Alternately the vanquished and 
 the victor; consenting to interviews with 
 the queen-mother, productive of no de- 
 cisive effect y now openly meeting her 
 forces in the field ; and now signing 
 truces, no sooner formed than violated ; 
 this gallant prince still continued to sup- 
 port the vicissitudes of his destmy with 
 firmness and heroism. 
 
 Meanwhile the powers of the League, 
 and the influence of the Leaguers, in- 
 creased with hourly extent: it was be- 
 lieved by the royal party, that the designs 
 of the ambitious Duke de Guise were to 
 dethrone the king,* and already was the 
 
 • Iknry Hi. 
 
ST. DOAIINIC&. 49 
 
 (lake's destruction determined on by 
 Henry and his mother. 
 
 That popularity which the insinuating 
 virtues and dazzling talents of de Guise 
 had obtained, the amazing power he was 
 endowed with, and the circumstance of 
 the times, rendered a public process 
 equally dangerous and difficult. Assas- 
 sination was more consonant to the poli- 
 tical prudence and cherished vengeance 
 of Catherine; and the duke de Guise was 
 murdered in the royal apartments (whither 
 his unsuspecting confidence had led him) 
 by the king's guards. 
 
 His death produced universal commo* 
 tion. All Paris was animated by ungo-, 
 vernable fury ! The duke de Mayenne* 1 
 brother to the murdered de Guise, was 
 declared his successor as chief of the 
 League; and Catherine survived the vic- 
 tim of her barbarous policy but a short 
 time. 
 
 The king of France, naturally imbecile, 
 whose conversation was that of a capu- 
 
 D 
 
• ? H) THE NOVICE Of 
 
 chin, and whose life was that of a pro- 
 fessed debauchee, vainly endeavoured to 
 win the duke de Mayenne to his interest 
 by the most splendid offers; and shrink- 
 ing beneath fchogc fata] circumstances 
 which endangered his life and crown, he 
 sought alliance with the king of Navarre, 
 as a dernier resort. That careless and 
 unguarded confidence, which formed so 
 prominent a trait in the noble character 
 of the gallant Henry, and which expe* 
 rienced treacheries had not chilled, led him 
 to accede to the proposal ; and the two 
 kings met near Tours, embraced with 
 fraternal tenderness and vowed mutual 
 enmity to the League, 
 
 This transaction was shortly after fol* 
 lowed by the death of the king of France, 
 who was G£i&»#infti*d by ft young fanatic 
 monk of the wJe? of St Pomimcki and 
 Henry (fc ftunlxm (who united In hiaper« 
 ion the? three races pf the French kings.) 
 A0 lawful \it\t to Ihe dominion* of Franco, 
 ascended \U Ibrone, and wvumtd tho title 
 
fcT. DOMINXCK, bl 
 
 of Henry IV. King of France and Navarre; 
 and thus fulfilled the prediction of the as- 
 trological sybil, whose prophetic declara- 
 tions had first rendered him the object of 
 that hatred and persecution with which 
 Catherine de Medicis pursued him through 
 the most precious years of his existence. 
 
 France could not desire a master more 
 worthy of governing her; more capable or 
 more anxious to repair the losses she had 
 sustained, and to restore her to that peace 
 and unity, happiness and prosperity, which 
 her own anarchical and vague commotions 
 had forfeited. Yet still the greater parfc 
 of her volatile children, blinded by party 
 prejudices, or influenced by religious fana- 
 ticism, opposed his accession to the throne 
 of his ancestors 5 and considered, or at 
 least pleaded, his religion as an insur- 
 mountable barrier to his elevation : and 
 as the Leaguers possessed an army four 
 times more numerous than that which sur- 
 rounded the royal standard, the horrors 
 of civil war still continued to spread de- ^r 
 
 ^/ 
 
52 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Vastation through some of the finest pro- 
 vinces in the kingdom. 
 
 Still opposed, and still unsubdued; tem- 
 pering the most dauntless valour with mo- 
 deration, the most heroic courage with hu- 
 manity; the royal Henry appeared a being 
 of more than mortal power, of more than 
 human virtue: living- in the midst of his 
 troops ; sharing their toils while he re- 
 warded their efforts ; animating them by 
 the inspiring gaity of his air, while he 
 provided for their safety ; and flattering 
 them by cheerful presages of success, 
 which his example taught them to deserve, 
 and his genius seemed almost created to 
 command. The celebrated battles of Ar- 
 gues, Yvri, and Aumale, have enrolled 
 the name of the hero high on the records 
 of immortality ; and, after having perform- 
 ed deeds of almost supernatural heroism 
 before the walls of Rouen, he was necessi- 
 tated to raise the siege, and marched from 
 thence to the investment of Neufchatel. 
 It was in the interval between this period 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 53 
 
 and the siege of Epernai, that the young 
 minstrel of Provence appeared before the 
 portals of the chateau de Montmorell. 
 
 CHAP. Ill, 
 
 When ye dispel the train 
 That waits on beauty, then religion blows 
 Her tram pet, and invites another circle: 
 Which, tuli as false at the preceding crew, 
 Flatter h :i krohiematie mental charms, 
 While snuffing incense; and, devoutly wanton, 
 The pagan goddess grows a christian saint, 
 And keeps bei habit oi divinity. 
 
 V.'alpole. 
 
 How far beyond 
 The praise of mortals may lb 1 eternal growth 
 Of nature to perfection half divine 
 Expand the blooming soul 1 
 
 Ak. nside. 
 
 " THE age is barbarous," said the lady 
 Magdelaine, as she returned one morning 
 from the gay and splendid court at Cathe- 
 rine de Medicis, " and the courtiers are 
 u all Goths and Vandals." 
 
54 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 The lady Magdelaine was then at that 
 critical period of female existence,, when 
 the ebb and flow of youth and beauty are 
 under the influence of a retrograde mo- 
 tion. She had attained her thirty-second 
 year, and was unmarried; she had gone 
 to court that day, habited in Eastern splen- 
 dour, and was neglected ; which account- 
 ed for the barbarism of the age, and the 
 Vandalism of the courtiers. 
 
 Nature had been a mere step-mother to 
 the lady Magdelaine. She was consider- 
 ed as a moveable basso-relievo to the ani- 
 mated beauties of Catherine's court ; yet 
 unhappily the lady Magdelaine had an 
 exhaustless passion for notoriety, in n si- 
 tuation in which the enchantment of love- 
 liness, or the attraction of the Graces, 
 alone could secure it to woman. Time 
 continued to increase the vivacity of his 
 assaults till the last cowardly charm of 
 youth retreated, and obliged the lady 
 Magdelaine to change her plan of opera- 
 tion. u I will reform the age/' said lady 
 
ST. DOtflKICK, 55 
 
 Magdeiainc, u reform it altogether :" and 
 accordingly she patronized Baif, corres- 
 ponded with Montaigne, took Jane of 
 Bourbon, wife of Charles IX., as her mo- 
 del, and determined on making- a new 
 translation of Pliny, in opposition to the 
 learned duchess of Burgundy ; but pedan- 
 try without genius, and learning' without 
 taste, only rendered her the but of fashion- 
 able derision to ajj Paris. 
 
 4f The world/' said the lady Mngdc- 
 laine, rl is not only buried in the profound 
 cr ignorance of the middle ages, but im- 
 <f mersed in the atheistical darkness of 
 Cl antiquity V' And, accordingly, the lady 
 Magdelaine, by 4 a transmutation rare/ 
 descended from her philosophic stilts to 
 perform the bare-footed pilgrimage of 
 humble Christianity, 
 
 But religion was not just then the 
 fashion at Paris; and the lady Magde- 
 laine, under the persuasive influence of 
 her father director, a brother of the Cis- 
 tercian order, retired to her chateau in 
 
56 THB NOVtibB OF 
 
 Champagne, (of which the death of her 
 only brother had put her in possession,) 
 to work out her salvation, to found a mo- 
 nastery, and compose the History of the 
 Crusades; a work equally compatible with 
 her talents as an authoress, and her senti- 
 ments as a devotee. 
 
 To father Anselm was consigned the 
 superintendance of that holy pile which 
 was to immortalize her piety, as her work, 
 she believed, would her erudition ; while 
 every nerve of the father was stimulated 
 to exertion by the hope of becoming the 
 head of that structure he reared. Along 
 each half-finished aisle, and on every ri- 
 sing cloister, Interest hung the tempting 
 lure of an abbot's cowl. Never did a build- 
 ing proceed more rapidly — it seemed a 
 work of magic. For father Anselm * had 
 ' views on this side heaven/ which gave 
 the wing of expedition io every etfort. 
 
 Not so the learned labors of the lady 
 Magdelaine : they seemed to increase in 
 an inverse ratio with the exertions she 
 
ST. DOMINICK. £>7 
 
 made to complete them ; they were in- 
 deed of Egean magnitude. A total want 
 of connection, a strong* instinctive propen- 
 sity to anachronism, a multiplicity of crude 
 details, and a crowd of too obvious pla- 
 giarisms, reduced the bewildered brain of 
 lady Magdelaine to the ne plus ultra of 
 authorship ; but then the whole fault lay 
 in the want of an amanuensis ! 
 
 " I think, father," said she to the direc- 
 tor, " you could find me out some young 
 " brother of your own order, who could 
 u at once officiate as almoner and secre- 
 u tary ; who could write a fair hand, and 
 ** know enough of Latin to transcribe with 
 " accuracy from the fathers." 
 
 " A young brother of my order !" reit- 
 erated the astonished father. The request 
 struck on the very nerve where a thou- 
 sand little selfish interests lay in embryo. 
 " Why cannot I offer myself?'' thought 
 the priest: but then, independent of his 
 superintendance of the monastery, he was 
 watching the fall of a cloisteral priorship 
 d2 
 
58 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 in a neighbouring convent. He had been 
 lately installed in the dignities of the con- 
 fessional of the ladies of St. Dominick, 
 and held not only the spiritualities, but 
 the temporalities, of the lady Magdelaine 
 in sacred trust. *' My labors are indeed 
 <c great," said the fa I her. Ct So arc your 
 " profits," whispered Interest. " No/* 
 slid the father, if no competilorship with 
 c| me, even with a brother of my own or- 
 fr der! Yet, if ^\\tt must have an amanu- 
 iC ensis, why she shall ; — but, marry, I 
 c bar the young Cistercian; no, it shall be 
 ec the little Imogen of St. Dominick." 
 
 When St. Dominick had procured the 
 sanction of pope Honorius III. to found a 
 convent for nuns, he had, with benevo- 
 lent gallantry, inserted a clause in the 
 rules, that the sisters were to receive and 
 educate such young daughters of misery 
 as the guardian spirit of innocence in dis- 
 tress should lure to their sacred portals. 
 Among the little victims of misfortune 
 thus received and admitted into the lay 
 
ST. DOMINICA 
 
 59 
 
 sisterhood was one who had been taken 
 at the wheel when an infant. They call- 
 ed her Imogen, for such was the name 
 carved on the little cross suspended from 
 her neck ; and dedicated her to St. Domi- 
 nick, for on the reverse of the cross were 
 marked the initials St. D. ; on her left 
 cheek was a mark. 
 
 The lady abbess had heard that St. 
 Theresa had just such another. The nuns 
 looked wise, and saw a mystery in this 
 coincidence, all but the minor canoness; 
 she was perpetually tearing to pieces the 
 sybil leave* of holy enigma ; hut the nuns 
 knew it was not the fait fa of the canonesi 
 that obtained her elevation. 
 
 The little Imogen, while yet a child, 
 distinguished herself by a pi< tv surpassing 
 belief. Her canonization was already in 
 prospect added to the convent's holy re- 
 cords ; and the lady abbess was cried up 
 as a prophetess. An old friar (predeces- 
 sor in the confessional to father Anselm) 
 had taught her to write. He did more; 
 
60 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 he taught her as much Latin as enabled 
 her to read some of the fathers, who had 
 not written merely to show their philolo- 
 gical talents, or their knowledge of the re- 
 condite branches of language. 
 
 At thirteen she had not only read the 
 works of the angelic doctor St. Gregory 
 the Naziantine, but could repeat the va- 
 rious arguments advanced in those long 
 disputes which existed between the Capu- 
 chins and the Dominicans, on the reality 
 of the wounds of St. Francis, and the or- 
 thodox cut of a monastic cowl. c< It is a 
 "second St. Theresa," said the nuns; 
 and the blush of gratified ambition crim- 
 soned the cheek of the meek-eyed novice. 
 The St. Theresa was the standard of at- 
 tainment which youthful emulation had 
 erected in her bosom > and she affected to 
 imitate the life, as she resembled the per- 
 son and manner, of her idol saint. 
 
 The fragile delicacy of her form, the 
 native enthusiasm of her disposition, her 
 propensity to study, and the nature of 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 61 
 
 those studies, all assisted to render her a 
 fanatic, and disposed her to receive the in- 
 spirations of fancy as existing forms, and 
 the bright illusions of a glowing ima^ina- 
 tion as real substance. Already the little 
 saint had her extacies, her raptures, and 
 her visions. Yet was her mind strong 
 and comprehensive ; but, deprived of all 
 subjects of discussion or inquiry, save 
 what the dull repetition of convent bigo- 
 try afforded, she had not the power of rec- 
 tifying the aberrations of reason by the 
 observations of experience, or the benefit 
 of a liberal intercourse. 
 
 The nuns of St. Dominick were divided 
 with respect to this prodigy : the younger 
 sisters hated her for her superiority, the 
 elder cherished her as a saint in embryo. 
 Sister Pasiphae, the minor canonesy, stood 
 alone: she neither hated nor cherished; 
 she admired her talents, derided her fana- 
 ticism, and pitied her delusion. 
 
 " Artthou determined on being a saint?" 
 said she one morning, returning from ma- 
 tins with the novice. 
 
62 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Not if I can be more than saint Y* 
 said the novice with fire. 
 
 " Thou art ambitious/' said the nun, 
 ct and ambition is not the virtue of a saint. " 
 
 " Then it is a virtue?" said the novice 
 eagerly, 
 
 " What wouldest thou wish to be, wert 
 ,: thou in the world ?" said the minor ca- 
 noness, evading her question 
 
 " In the world !" quickly repeated the 
 novice, her whole face suffused with crim- 
 son. Ci In the world I would not be any 
 (C thing" 1 have ever heard of — I would be 
 " more : but," she added with a sigh, " I 
 " shall never leave this convent, and here 
 Cl I can only be an abbess and a saint." 
 
 The minor canoness had long been in 
 a consumption. She complained of weak- 
 ness, and for the first time passed her,arm 
 through that of the young novice : the 
 novice bent her fair head, and pressed her 
 lips to the hand that rested on her's, in 
 acknowledgment for the condescension. 
 
 ' l Goto," said the canoness, " thou art 
 
ST. D0MIN1CK. 6$ 
 
 u dangerous: I would not love thee if I 
 c - could, for thou art (she shuddered as 
 Ci she spoke) a fanatic!" 
 
 " I would be a saint," said the novice 
 with simplicity. 
 
 i: Thou hadst belief be a christian/' 
 said the canoness. 
 
 i% Teach me then to become one," said 
 the novice, with a glance of irresistible 
 insinuation. From that moment the mi- 
 r:->r canoness and the novice of St. Domi- 
 nick were inseparable. 
 
 Such was the person fixed on by the 
 father director as the amanuensis to lady 
 Magdelaine. 
 
 '"' The abbess is deceived in this child/* 
 said he. et She is pious, all-believing, and 
 " understands a little Latin, but she is no 
 "genius; for never did a confessional 
 et echo to such a ridiculous list of pecca- 
 " dilloes as those she avowed yesterday : 
 (< the simplicity of her questions would 
 " puzzle a conclave to answer. She has 
 " entered her noviciate, 'tis true ; but that 
 " can be put off for a time." 
 
64 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 The lady Magdelaine consented reluct- 
 antly to change the young brother of the 
 Cistercian order for the young novice of 
 St. Dominick; and the abbess, well aware 
 of the advantage of placing a member of 
 her society about the person of one of the 
 richest devotees in France, readily con- 
 sented to the putting off her profession till 
 the lady Magdelaine should have finished 
 her Crusades. 
 
 The novice learnt her intended transla- 
 tion from the convent to the chateau with 
 an obvious transport, rather inimical to 
 the demure sobriety of her vocation. On 
 her knees she received a little silver reli- 
 quary from the abbess, enclosing a few 
 grains of the sacred brick dust scraped 
 from the wall of the Santa Casa of Lo- 
 retto -, and promised to come every Sunday 
 to perform her devotions at the convent. 
 " I give thee this precious relic/' said the 
 abbess, "as a holy spell against the temp- 
 H tations of a wicked world." The no- 
 vice kissed it devoutly, and sprang on her 
 
ST. DOMINIC*. 65 
 
 feet with a playful levity not altogether 
 appropriate to the pious exordium ad- 
 dressed to in : Ye( as she seated her- 
 self in lady Magdelaine's litter, and waved 
 the end or her veil to the nuns who stood 
 in crowds at the chancel window, she 
 wiped away one tear with her girdle, and 
 received another on her lip. half closing 
 in a soft adieu ! Rut it was from an eye 
 as sparkling as Euphrosyne ever betrayed 
 in her archest moments; it was on a lip 
 as smiling as fancy ever gave to the che- 
 rub mouth of Hebe. 
 
 Imogen c#st one glance at the gloomy 
 and sequestered pile she had left; then 
 flung- another into the gay perspective that 
 burst on her view. She bounded from her 
 seat; her cheek flushed, her heart throb- 
 bed, every nerve was in a state of raptur- 
 ous irritation. The world was new to her, 
 and she was but sixteen ! 
 
 Imogen was really so ignorant of Latin, 
 or her change of situation had so much 
 increased the native vivacity of her dispo- 
 
66 THE KOYlCt Of 
 
 fcition, that, far from assisting the latty 
 Magdelaine, she confused and entangled 
 every thing. She made false transcripts, 
 and worse translations; the fathers were 
 made to utter nonsense, and the saints to 
 speak with the levity of mortals The 
 lady Magdelaine was enraged ; the direc- 
 tor trembled for the return of the young 
 Cistercian, and undertook not only to in- 
 utruet the young amanuenpiU in the duties 
 of her situation, but to aisUt her in her 
 classic studies. 
 
 Imogen's thirst for instruction was in- 
 satiate. She received with avidity the les- 
 ions of her holy preceptor j and in a few 
 months had not only conquered all the 
 difficulties of the Latin tongue, but, mis- 
 tress of its idiomatic delicacies, was able 
 to detect the inelegances of the fathers, 
 and did it with a freedom that in the eyes 
 of the pious bordered on profanation. 
 
 The literary pursuits of the lady Mag- 
 delaine were literally lucubrations; for 
 she rose late, and spent her mornings in 
 
ST. DOMlNJCK. 67 
 
 her oratory, chapel, or tapestry-room.-— 
 The greater part of the day was conse- 
 quently at Imogen's disposal, and she 
 passed it in the library of the chateau.*- • 
 The late lord de Montmofell was a man of 
 letters : he lived and died in the midst of 
 his books, and left to his [earned sister the 
 best private library in France. The stu- 
 dies of the young novice had hitherto been 
 confined to the Golden Legend, the Livei 
 of the Martyrs, and the works of §t, Gre- 
 gory the Naziautinej but now a new 
 world broke upon a mind replete with na- 
 tive intelligence ; endowed with that insa- 
 tiate desire of information which marki 
 the nobler faculties of the soul and en- 
 riched with that versatility of talent* 
 which is the distinguishing characteristic 
 of genius. 
 
 From this mental regeneration, she 
 cast a retrospective glance on the nature 
 of her past studies ; and felt like the being 
 who, born unblessed with the precious 
 sense of sight, in the first period of awa- 
 
06 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 kened vision, flings his rapt eye on the 
 glories of the creation, wonders, and 
 adores. 
 
 Poor saint Gregory was the first who 
 felt the effect of this intellectual revolu- 
 tion ; and departed, with his pious pha- 
 lanx, before the victorious arms of the two 
 Pliny 8: a few verses of the elegant Tibul- 
 lus were equal to the defeat of the sixty- 
 two decades of saint Ely the Angelic: 
 Plutarch's heroes overthrew the Golden 
 Legend ; and one book of Virgil completed 
 the conquest of the whole army of mar- 
 tyrs ! She had once thought there was no- 
 thing to be learnt out of her convent ; and 
 she now thought there was nothing to learn 
 in it that would not disgrace the credu- 
 lity of childhood: the influence of know- 
 ledge, operating on genius, gave wing to 
 thought; and reflection, bursting from 
 the thraldom of prejudice and error, point- 
 ed its soaring flight towards the bosom of 
 truth. Those mystical refinements which 
 disfigure the purity and beauty of true re- 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 69 
 
 ligion ; those logical subtleties which set 
 common forms at defiance ; those impro- 
 bable legends, the wild offspring of disor- 
 dered imagination or pious fraud; now 
 appeared to her as they were, equally fo- 
 reign to religion or" morality, and fre- 
 quently subversive to both. c< If I am to 
 be a saint," said Imogen, " I will be the 
 " foundress of my own sect. I will not 
 ic seek for my religion in books, and mo- 
 " dify it into systems, for I feel its essence 
 u in my t»oul ; nor shall it be to me as the 
 " avenging angel of dreadful retribution, 
 " but the spirit of peace, of love, of bliss 
 " eternal!" 
 
 It was for this sentiment, imprudently 
 uttered, that the father Anselm threatened 
 her with all the artillery of the church ; 
 and decreed as a penance, to say daily, for 
 a week, the seven penitential Psalms, the 
 Angclus Domini ten times, the Litany of 
 the Saints six, and the Rosary of the 
 Blessed Virgin twenty-four. Yet was the 
 little apostate pious, even to the definition 
 
of St, Paul ; for she v < laughed with thoso 
 <f that laughed, and wept with those that 
 "wept;" rior washer heart alive to an 
 emotion that had not borrowed its predct* 
 minant feelings from the joy or sorrows of 
 another, 
 
 Two years residence at the chateau had 
 l» tidered her habitually necessary to the 
 Judy Magdelaine, but had not produced 
 that intimate connection which sympathy 
 alone engenders- Alike involved in lite- 
 rary pursuits, and sequestered from the 
 world, the strong opposition of their cha- 
 racters evinced that similar circumstances, 
 when operating upon dissimilar minds, will 
 produce effects equally opposite, 
 
 The freedom which began to display 
 itself iu the opinions and conversation of 
 her amanuensis, and the scepticism of her 
 arguments even with the father director, 
 frequently elicited the reproof, and roused 
 the orthodoxies! fears of the lady Magdc* 
 Jajnej whilst Imogen, acting more under 
 
 iho influence of conscious §ujH?riQrity than 
 
M% npMjxiCK. 71 
 
 prudence, frequently brought the argu. 
 menls of her pgtfofless and the friar to tho 
 test of her liberal acumen, and detected 
 their alloy with au air so triumphantly 
 playful, that she was always sure to lose 
 by the victory ; and when additional §e« 
 verity pursued that triumph, used spor* 
 tively to exclaim, with the celebrated king 
 of Epirus, < ; Another such victory, and 1 
 f am lost." 
 
 The growing 5 apostacyof the young no, 
 vice soon became a subject of discussion at 
 the convent of St Domiqicl^ owing to the 
 complaints of lady Magdelaine* Tho 
 nuns trembled for their album sanctorum, 
 Sister Agnes requested she might be ye-, 
 called, ere the spirit of Luther had wholly 
 possessed her ; sister said an Ave Maria 
 extraordinary; and the minor canoness 
 sung out a heathen Iq tliumpht ! Tho 
 abbess, however, with a htronger view to 
 
 the ifturpb mHUmt Am m ftrrt than 
 the distant pmptft oJ adding twtel to 
 
 lb© mmwt ligt, treated the ftfrmisea $t 
 
72 THE NOVKE OF 
 
 lady Magdelaine as the too sensitive ap- 
 prehensions of extraordinary piety, and 
 only recommended to her not to spare 
 wholesome severities and admonition, and 
 urged the father director to wave his peni- 
 tential crook over the sceptic head of the 
 youthful apostate. 
 
 The abbess's advice was not lost, yet 
 apostacy seemed to feed on the antidote 
 administered for its destruction: 
 
 No stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, 
 Nor airless dungeon, nor strong; links of iron, 
 Can be attentive to the strength of spirit. 
 
 SUAKSPEARI. 
 
 Mean time the germ of proud ambition, 
 cherished into being by the old nuns of 
 St. Dominick in the heart of their young 
 novice, stole into maturity with daily and 
 insensible increase ; and if no longer emu- 
 lative of a place in the album sanctorum 
 of canonized spirits, the strong propensity 
 to super-eminence still throbbed with 
 vague but ardent palpitation at her heart. 
 
ST. DOMINIC K. t6 
 
 Attracted rather by the splendid than the 
 awful virtues, she embraced the brilliant 
 theories of her imagination for the solid 
 documents of reason; and enamoured by 
 the beautiful ideal, the level path of cold 
 " ilat reality" was neglected or contemned. 
 Careless and unguarded, her conduct fre- 
 quently evinced the little connection ex- 
 isting between genius and common sense; 
 sanguine and impatient, the extreme viva- 
 city of her disposition was only restrained 
 by a softness more than feminine, and a 
 meek gentleness that sprung from a sensi- 
 bility tremblingly alive to the remotest ap- 
 prehension of olTence. Her glowing and 
 susceptible heart was prodigal in its feel- 
 ings, ere reason could exert its intluence 
 to discriminate the justice of those claims 
 whiph had roused its profound emotions 
 into being; and, alive to those exquisite 
 and delicious sensations which bestow 
 rapturous moments rather than permanent 
 felicity, s'.ic readily granted her accedence 
 to the dangerous maxim, 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Qu'un moment de vrai plaisir 
 Yaut un siecle d' existence. 
 
 Le Moustier. 
 
 The naivete, the atticism of her man- 
 ners, evinced them to be solely influenced 
 by the predominant feeling' of the mo- 
 ment, unmodified by the varying precept 
 of fashion; unformed by the grotesque 
 model of doating custom, they were na- 
 tural, original, and pregnant with that in- 
 describable something, which, analogous 
 to the non sache of her person, awakened 
 an interest rather felt than understood. 
 Yet was not she perfectly beautiful : it 
 was the thousand glowing sensibilies of 
 her soul that gave her face its sweetest 
 charm, as colours mounting on the tulip's 
 brilliant surface enrich it by the variety of 
 their dyes. Her form, round and symme- 
 trical, though below the ordinary stature, 
 was perpetually animated by those grace- 
 ful gestures which ever characterized her 
 thoughts, even when silently conceived or 
 imperfectly expressed ; and there was a 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 75 
 
 certain something, an inexpressible fas- 
 cination, in her air and manner, which, 
 like the philosopher's fanciful definition of 
 the soul, iC was all in all, and all in every 
 <{ part." It was scarcely necessary that 
 nature should have endowed her with wo- 
 man's dangerous attribute, eloquence, to 
 have rendered her the most persuasive 
 speaker in the world. Her voice, rich, 
 varying, and mellifluous, was the organ of 
 her soul ; and, vibrating in the unison to 
 all its feelings, sometimes stole its mur- 
 mur of caressing fondness on the heart, 
 whose woes it soothed ; or, in the gayer 
 moments of sportive animation, thrilled 
 on the senses with syren influence, in pity 
 or in joy, still giving to her words and sen- 
 timents a superadded existence. 
 
 The mystery which hung over the birth 
 of the young novice had so many paral- 
 lels among the foundling members of the 
 convent, as to excite neither amazement 
 nor curiosity in any breast but her own. 
 There, however, it lived a subject of per- 
 
n 
 
 6 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 petual interest and reflection : that tender 
 heart, which, in the narrow sphere of her 
 existence, throbbed in vain to meet with a 
 kindred associate, delighted to lose itself 
 in those fanciful speculations which restor- 
 ed her in idea to the endearments of pa- 
 rental love and the blessiugs of social af- 
 fection. " What," she would exclaim to 
 some unsympathising sister, in a paroxysm 
 of romantic hope, " What if at this mo- 
 " ment my father, .my mother, lived ! if I 
 " had not been torn from their arms in my 
 " infancy, or a happy chance now led 
 "them to the asylum that received me! 
 " Oh ! I should know them among- a thou- 
 " sand; I feel I should; and then I would 
 " throw myself on their bosoms, and die 
 "the blessed death of joy in their env 
 ,f brace !" The nuns somewhat smiled at 
 her enthusiasm, but more frequently in- 
 veighed against the weakness of all hu. 
 man affections, and exhorted her to sub- 
 due their effects by prayer and mortifica- 
 tion. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 77 
 
 During a severe winter, a robin had 
 flown for shelter to her cell. The heart of 
 Imogen throbbed with a violence equal to 
 its own when she felt it fluttering in her 
 bosom. It soon learnt to feed from her 
 fostering hand ; and when their alliance 
 grew more intimate, it would sometimes 
 receive its nutriment from her lip. All 
 day it hovered round her, and at night it 
 reposed on her bosom ; it seemed to have 
 stolen the art of endearment from its ten- 
 der mistress, and almost returned her ca- 
 resses with the same ardour with which 
 they were lavished. At last it died beneath 
 the ruthless fangs of a cat of the order of 
 St. Dominick ! Imogen was inconsolable. 
 The abbess sternly reproved her for her 
 sinful weakness, 
 
 "One must love something," said the 
 weeping novice. 
 
 " Where is the necessity ?" said the 
 abbess coldly. 
 
 s f Here !" said the novice, pressing her 
 right hand to her heart, and raising her 
 
78 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 soul-illumined eyes to heaven, with an ex- 
 pression that seemed to say, e< And from 
 "thee, O my heavenly Father, have I re- 
 ceived it!" 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Or su — e tempo 
 Che tu t'en vada e troppo lungainenti, 
 Hai dimora ancora — 
 Partite. Guarini. 
 
 Like blooming Eve 
 
 In nature's young simplicity, and blushing 
 
 With wonder at creation's opening glow. 
 
 Walpole. 
 
 THE lady Magdelaine had not return- 
 ed from matins five minutes, when the 
 minstrel (the morning after his arrival) 
 was summoned to receive his audience of 
 leave. Amhrose conducted him to the 
 entrance of the great gallery. The lady 
 Magdelaine was standing at a distant win- 
 dow, in earnest conversation with her con- 
 
ST. DOMINIC*. 19 
 
 fessor. They both turned round, and 
 fixed their eyes on the stranger. The 
 friar's glance was keen, penetrating', and 
 inquisitive: it seemed to anticipate verbal 
 inquiry, and to threaten certain disappro- 
 bation ; for he saw in the minstrel the 
 young brother of the Cistercian order, or 
 perhaps something still more dangerous. 
 
 The minstrel soon found he was drawn 
 thither to gratify the friar's curiosity, ra- 
 ther than to obtain the necessary leave of 
 departure, which the attempered looks of 
 the lady seemed to deny ; for the friar's 
 questions were numerous, perplexing, and 
 shrewd; the minstrel's answers were sim- 
 ple, ingenuous, and plausive. He repeat- 
 ed, at lady Magdelaine's request, his little 
 story with undeviating accuracy. 
 
 "It is too simple not to be true," said 
 the lady Magdelaine softly. " And too 
 "inconsequent to need a comment/* sard 
 the friar pointedly. Then turning round, 
 he seemed in a sottu voce to expostulate 
 rather than converse with her. At that 
 
SO THE NOVICE OP 
 
 moment Imogen appeared, crossing the 
 gallery in a direct line to the spot where 
 they stood. Her step was light and de- 
 vious, her upcast eye beamed with the 
 light of genius, and the glow which flush- 
 ed her cheek seemed to ebb and (low to 
 the impulses of her agitated fancy. Her 
 veil had fallen on her shoulder, and disco- 
 vered the fine contour of her head and 
 neck. It was the head of a Sappho, de- 
 ficient only in that voluptuous langour 
 which should characterize the countenance 
 of the enamoured Lesbian, It was perhaps 
 rather the head of St. Cecilia under the 
 influence of a musical rapture. A pencil, 
 which she held In one hand, was suspend- 
 ed over the tablet which the other con- 
 tained ; and she appeared in the act of 
 luring back to her memory some happy 
 but truant thought which the "thick- 
 coming fancies" of poetical inspiration 
 had hurried half-realized into oblivion. 
 
 Nature had not wholly abandoned her 
 weaknesses in the breast of the friar; and 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 81 
 
 the point in debate between him and the 
 lady Magdelaine seemed little favourable 
 to those l leavings of mortally." It was 
 with difficulty he had restrained the over- 
 tlo\vin'»- of his sail, when the novice of 
 St. Dominick appeared to receive its bitter 
 ebullition on her innocent head. 
 
 " Why, h.ow now, daughter?" said the 
 friar sternly. Imogen started : the spell 
 was dissolved; the spirit of genius fled; 
 and, hastily consigning her tablet to her 
 girdle, she drew her veil forward, and paid 
 the salutations of the morning:. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine leaned in a musing 
 attitude against the frame of the casement, 
 and was silent The minstrel stood con- 
 cealed behind a projecting pillar. Imogen, 
 the emblem of health and cheerfulness, 
 advanced towards the friar. fi I had 
 lf hoped, daughter," said the father direc- 
 tor, Ci yes, hoped, that sickness had pre- 
 C( vented your assistance at matins to-day; 
 " for I hold not in competition the tempo- 
 e2 
 
82 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 "rary Bufferings of the perishable body 
 " will) the soul's eternal torture : but that 
 "'flashing cheek, elastic gait, this smile 
 " scarce concealed, speak, fatally speak, 
 "the body's health robust, the soul's 
 " deadly sickness!" 
 
 " Father, 1 knew not that health was a 
 " crime," said Imogen with simplicity. 
 
 " To devote ourselves to the vague and 
 " sinful wishes which redundant health in- 
 spires ; to pursue their gratification, to 
 ff the neglect of our religious duties ; that is 
 "criminal, daughter: but, Holy Mother ! 
 "in you, who are destined to become the 
 "spouse of God" — Imogen, shuddering, 
 seemed to recoil from an honour she 
 deemed profanation. 
 
 " Why wast thou not at matins ?" 
 sternly demanded the father. 
 
 u Dear father, the saints are witness it 
 " was my intention ; nay, already had I 
 ''reached the chapel, when I met" — 
 
 "Whom?" said the friar, in triumphant 
 expectation. 
 
STti DOMIMCK. 83 
 
 " Whom?" asked the lady Mag-delaine, 
 casting a glance towards the pillar. 
 . " Who," repealed the friar eagerly, 
 
 " seduces thee from thy devotions, and 
 •• steak between thy soul and heaven?" 
 
 "In very truth then, good father, it 
 " was — a butterfly," said Imogen gravely. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said the friar, in a tone of 
 peevish mortification. 
 
 "Nay, father," she sportively added, 
 "let me entreat thy attention and belief. 
 w Is it not in holy writ we find, that he 
 " who despiseth little things, 'himself shall 
 " perish little by little?" 
 
 " This triiier leads us from matter of 
 " more moment," said the friar, turning 
 to lady Magdelaine abruptly. 
 
 " You treat her errors with too much 
 "lenity," said the lady Magdelaine eva- 
 sively. 
 
 "I prithee, father," continued Imogen, 
 laying the tip of her rosy finger on his 
 arm, in the same tone of pla) fulness, \* is 
 " not the Greek term for the soul and for 
 
S4 THE NOVICE or 
 
 "a butterfly the same? and did not you tell 
 "me the sou! was fancifully supposed by 
 " the Greeks to exhale itself from the lips 
 " of the departed in the form of that 
 " lovely insect? Oh! it was a beautiful 
 "idea: and how often has the similitude 
 " struck me, when I have felt the spirit of 
 " my bosom, restless, fluttering-, agitated, 
 "still soaring beyond its destined point of 
 "elevation, still reposing its joys on the 
 "bosom of future bliss! Oh, but this 
 " butterfly ! It fled the cloister's gloom. 
 "Poor insect! how natural ! Unwittingly 
 " I pursued its devious flight. Its rich 
 " wings of purple and gold expanded to 
 "every gale, glittered to every sun-beam. 
 " It revelled in such variety of bliss, so free, 
 " so wild, so uncontroled, that 1 sighed, 
 " and wished to be a butterfly ; and, in 
 "good sooth, forgot my matins." 
 
 " Cease these ravings of thy distemper- 
 "ed fancy," impatiently interrupted the 
 father, "hitherto tolerated in a child, but 
 " grossly impious in the maturing mind of 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. ^J 
 
 " one who approaches the hour of holy 
 ri initiation into the sacred mysteries of the 
 fc church." 
 
 " Indeed, father ! and does that honour 
 " exclude me from adoring the Deity in 
 " his works?" 
 
 " Adore him, daughter, in thy cell, in 
 "holy seclusion, in his consecrated tem- 
 " pies, in monastic privacy : he asks no 
 "more." 
 
 " Then may the spontaneous offerings 
 "of my heart, though unasked, be not 
 "unaccepted! This morning, father, when 
 " my steps deviated from the chapel to that 
 "glowing valley where all nature hymned 
 "the praises of its God, thir.kest thou my 
 " orisons were less fervent because less 
 " systematic ? Oh, father ! when I inhaled 
 "new beim? with the morning's fragrant 
 "breath; when that glorious orb rose on 
 "my rapt gaze, ani every dewy blossom 
 " expanded its bosom to the genial in- 
 " iluence of its beams, and shed fresh per- 
 " fume on the air ; when every bird sung 
 
86 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 u its song- of rapture, and every trembling 
 "leaf seemed endued with a tongue to 
 "breathe its praise to the Most High; 
 " thinkest thou, amidst this soul-inspiring 
 " scene, my full heart was silent? that on 
 " me alone the light of heaven beamed in 
 rr vain ? Father, the tear of rapturous gra- 
 " titude is not yet dry upon my cheek : 
 "that tear was my morning sacrifice to 
 "heaven." 
 
 " Father," said the lady Magdelaine, 
 "your patience amazes me. This is 
 •'tantamount to the dangerous opinions 
 "of Spinosa: Manchees himself never 
 " breathed stronger materialism : the 
 " Gnostics are more christian in their 
 "ideas." 
 
 " Dearest madam," said Imogen softly, 
 fl sure I have breathed no heterodox opi- 
 u nion, no heretical tenet ; yet,' ; she added 
 playfully, "were I to become a heretic, 
 " in good sooth I believe it should be of 
 " the Gnostic order, such as you described 
 " them, father, in your sermon on the eve 
 
ST. D0M1NICK. 87 
 
 " of St. Agnes, (here is so much variety 
 " in their seven heavens /" 
 
 " Corruplio opiimi p ess ima /'' ej a ec- 
 lated the father to the lady Mag-delaine, 
 turning up his eyes. M But I commend 
 " her, daughter, to thy prayers and exhor- 
 " tations. Let us trust it is the weakness 
 f - of her brain, rather than the viciousness 
 " of her heart, that deludes her." Then 
 muttering a few low words to the lady 
 Magdelaine, he added aloud, " Thou 
 11 knowest, lady, sacred duty calls me to 
 " attend the consistorial meeting of St. 
 iC Menhoulm. There shall I some davs 
 " sojourn : in the mean time, to the saint's 
 " holy care and guidance I consign thee. ' 
 
 The lady Magdelaine bowed to receive 
 the benediction which followed. 
 
 " And thou, young stranger/' added the 
 friar, walking towards the minstrel, u who 
 " hast received so liberally the rites of 
 " hospitality, depart in peace; here thou 
 " mayest not longer tarry ; it is the will 
 
88 THE NOVICE 01 
 
 " of the lady de Montmorell. Go, and 
 " St. Dominick be thy speed !" 
 
 The minstrel, advancing- a few steps, 
 pressed his hands to his breast, bowed 
 grateful acknowledgment to the lady Mag- 
 delaine, and profound obedience to the 
 friar; who, waving his hand with a patri- 
 archal air, pronounced a Dominus vobis- 
 cum, and retired. 
 
 It was now for the first time Imogen 
 perceived the proximity of the minstrel; 
 it was now for the first time she raised her 
 timid looks, and met his eye. It was an 
 eye that spoke its intimate connection 
 with the soul, and the glance it emanated 
 left upon the imagination something that 
 dared the power of language to define; it 
 sunkat^once to the heart or* Imogen, and 
 became there a new sensation. 
 
 l.'naccustomed to the presence of a 
 stranger, the habitual bashfulness of a 
 young recluse veiled the vivacity of tem- 
 perament, the aberrations of genius, and 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 89 
 
 the playfulness of youth. Blushing, con- 
 fused, and overwhelmed, Imogen drew 
 down her veil, and played with the rosary 
 that hung at her girdle 
 
 With an air doubtful and hesitating, 
 with a look of vexatious disappointment, 
 the lady Magdelaine still remained lean- 
 ing against the window-frame, silent and 
 undecided ; when, casting a glance to the 
 court below, she observed the father as- 
 cending his litter for St. Menhoulm ; and 
 as his eye met her's, a faint benediction 
 reached her ear. Her wavering resolu- 
 tions steadied to the tone of his voice. — 
 She turned round to the minstrel, who, 
 half-retreating, half-loitering, seemed as 
 undecided as herself. 
 
 * Young stranger," said she, in a tone 
 of affected softness, "pursue thy way: 
 " may the muses be propitious to thy ef- 
 ■' forts! may Apollo smile upon thy votive 
 " lay ! may the saints protect thee in thy 
 " devious wanderings!" 
 
 With this half-heathenish, half-chris- 
 
90 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tian invocation, the lady Magdelaine slow- 
 ly retired ; nor, in the absence of her 
 mind perceived that she had left Imogen 
 behind her. 
 
 The tall spectral figure of lady Magde- 
 Jaine had disappeared more than a minute, 
 ere Imogen herself observed her situation. 
 She started, and glided swiftly after the 
 lady, slightly but courteously bowing her 
 head as she passed the minstrel. The 
 minstrel bowed reverentially. 
 
 Had the image of his tutelar saint pass- 
 ed him in solemn procession, Devotion 
 could not have stamped her trails of pious 
 reverence and profound homage more im- 
 pressively on his countenance. 
 
 Already had Imogen reached the head 
 of the great stairs, which descended to the 
 hall below, when the minstrel's voice ar- 
 rested her attention, and she heard his 
 footsteps echoing to her own. 
 
 " Stay, lady !" said he, in a voice of 
 supplicating earnestness : n one moment 
 " stay !" 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 91 
 
 Imogen turned round in surprise, in 
 confusion. The minstrel drew back, fasten- 
 ed his eyes on the earth, and remained 
 silent; but fa is silence was eloquence it- 
 self. A request seemed to hover on his lip, 
 but the ringer of modesty checked its ut- 
 terance : he raised his eye?, and Imogen 
 read it there. 
 
 " What wouldst thou, stranger.-" softly 
 demanded the novice, her own timidity 
 vanishing before the more obvious confu- 
 sionofthe minstrel. The minstrel sighed, 
 pressed his hand to his heart, yet was 
 silent. 
 
 " Wouldst thou that I exert my little 
 " influence with the lady Magdelaine in 
 "thy favour :"' said she, construing the 
 charactery of his brow into the most pro- 
 bable sense. 
 
 " Thou art all benevolent," said the 
 minstrel, eagerly seizing on the construe- 
 tion she had given his wi-hes, " and hast 
 <c anticipated my petition."' 
 
 " Speak then ; how can I serve thee?" 
 
92 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 modestly returned Imogen, with eyes fast- 
 ened on the earth, and a faint smile of en- 
 couragement playing round her lip. 
 
 " By procuring me leave from the lady 
 " Magdelaine to remain a few days longer 
 " beneath her hospitahle roof." 
 
 " Alas, that thy request should exceed 
 " my ability to obtain it ! The lady Mag- 
 " delaine is peremptory in her resolves: 
 " and though in this respect they were not 
 ei to militate against thy whhts, *till would 
 " she not oppose those of her director ; and 
 " they, 1 fear, are not in thy favor." 
 
 n Indeed \" exclaimed the minstrel. 
 
 " Indeed," said Imogen : (( he wills not 
 " that strangers find an asylnm in the 
 " chateau; and in the unhappy situation 
 " of the times, claims that sanction for his 
 " scruples which humanity would with- 
 " hold." 
 
 <c Alas! then thou refusest me?" 
 
 " Indeed I scarcely dare hazard a re- 
 " quest so hopeless of success ; yet change 
 u that request, and put my wish to serve 
 
ST. DOM I NICK. 93 
 
 ■ thee to the test. The lady Magdelaine 
 " is rich, a lover of the arts." — Imogen 
 paused, and blushed : the pride, the deli- 
 cacy, of a young mind, with respect to pe- 
 cuniary matters, withheld the offer she was 
 about to make in the name of lady Mag- 
 delaine. 
 
 " This harp is not the badge of beg- 
 " gary, lady," said the minstrel proudly ; 
 l i that which alone I would stoop to beg 
 " for, you have refused." 
 
 " In good sooth," said Imogen, blushing 
 still deeper, yet with a smile which she 
 meant should heal the wound she had in- 
 flicted, " thou wouldst too soon repent 
 f? thou hadst preferred thy singular peti- 
 <f tion, or that I had obtained its request ; 
 " for, trust me, thy professionally roving 
 •'•' disposition, thy gay and charming avo- 
 (l cation, would ill accord with the solemn 
 u gloom, the sequestered tranquillity, of 
 u this profound solitude." 
 
 ". Lady," said the minstrel, with energy, 
 " the nightingale, when first he soars be- 
 
94 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " yond the parent's fostering wing 1 , roves 
 " unrestrained, and (lings with careless 
 " prodigality his witching strain o'er all 
 (( the scenes of varying nature ; till, lured 
 " by instinct to the rose's bloom, he 
 " fastens on a neighbouring spray, nor 
 <f seeks to pour his strain beyond his idol 
 " flower's balmy sphere.** 
 
 w I perceive not thy allusion/' said Imo- 
 gen, casting down her eyes, and chang- 
 ing colour. 
 
 i( But I feel it/' said the minstrel, with 
 impassioned energy. 
 
 A faint blush, like a transient sun-beam, 
 suffused the face of Imogen ; and with a 
 faint farewell she was retiring, when the 
 minstrel, laying aside his harp, sprang 
 after her, caught the flowing drapery of 
 her robe, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Yet, oh fair being! one moment stay, 
 <( one little moment!" 
 
 ♦ In allusion to the beautiful Persian fable of the 
 nightingale being enamoured of the rose. 
 
ST. DOMINIC K. 95 
 
 <f What woulds't thou then !" said Imo- 
 gen, trembling' and confused. 
 
 " Thy forgiveness." 
 
 " But how forgive, where no offence 
 " was offered ?" 
 
 r< Thou sayest true ; no offence has been 
 11 offered , for heaven itself does not re- 
 u ject the homage of the heart, however 
 " inadequately expressed." 
 
 f< Hark! 'tis the lady Magdelaine's bell, 
 " Fare thee well. I will remember thee 
 " in my orisons." 
 
 " Wilt thou— wilt thou indeed ? Then 
 u henceforth be Imogen my tutelarsaint," 
 said the minstrel, dropping on one knee, 
 u and the sublime and holy sentiments 
 <( her lips so lately breathed my ortho- 
 "doxy!" 
 
 " Farewell ! farewell !" said Imogen, 
 with increased confusion ; (< longer I dare 
 i( not tarry." 
 
 " But if thou darest !" said the minstrel, 
 in a tone of soft but sly insinuation. 
 M Nay," said Imogen, with a smile, 
 
96 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " would'st thou turn inquisitor to thy 
 tc saint to prove her fallibility?" Then, 
 loosing her robe from his grasp, she grace- 
 fully waved her hand, and with the airy 
 step of a hamadryad vanished from his 
 view. 
 
 The minstrel remained for a considera- 
 ble time in the recumbent attitude in 
 which the novice had left him. It was 
 the sight of her tablet, which had fallen 
 from her girdle, that acted like a spell on 
 his senses, and restored him to himself. — 
 He hastily snatched it up, and, turning 
 over its leaves, read the following 
 
 ODE TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Child of a sun-beam, airy minion, 
 Whither points thy flutt'ring pinion ? 
 Pinion dipt in rain-bow hues, 
 Pinion gem'd with sparkling dews, 
 Shed from many a weeping- flow'r, 
 Batli'd in Matin's rosy shower : 
 Tell me why thy form so bland 
 Still eludes my eager hand ? 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 97 
 
 Tell me, wanton, would'st thou be 
 
 Madly wild and wildly free ? 
 
 If freedom is thy life's best treasure, 
 
 Then get thee hence, gay child of pleasure, 
 
 From feudal tow'r and cloist'ral cell, 
 
 For freedom there did never dwell ; 
 
 And I no more thy form will woo, 
 
 But pleas'd thy varied flight pursue. 
 
 And now upon a zephyr's sigh 
 
 Thou seem'st in languid trance to die ; 
 
 Now fluti'ring- wild, thy golden winglet 
 
 Sports in many a wanton ringlet, 
 
 Or soar'st to drink tho sun's first gleam, 
 
 And bask thee in each infant beam ; 
 
 Then panting in thy heav'n-snatch'd glow s 
 I feel thee fluttering round my brow, 
 
 Whence thy breezy plumage chases 
 
 Each tear the hand of sorrow traces ; 
 
 Or as athwart my lip you fly, 
 
 Fan away the woe-born sigh : 
 
 Tear of sorrow — sigh of woe, 
 
 Early taught by fate to flow, 
 
 From a heart a stranger still 
 
 To nature's dearest sweetest thrill : 
 
 Tear of sorrow, sigh of woe, 
 
 Ne'er giv'n thee, happy thing, to know; 
 
 Thee, whose life, a raptur'd minute, 
 
 Bears an age of blisses in it; 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Thee, whose life, a minute's measure, 
 
 Dawns, exists, and fades in pleasure. 
 
 Oh, insect «>| the painted wing ! 
 
 I've watch' d ih< e from the morning's spring ; 
 
 As idly la pi in solt repose, 
 
 'Midst the blushes of a rose, 
 
 The playful zephyr's balmy breath 
 
 Has wak'd thee from thy transient death ; 
 
 Or the bee, in tuneful numbers, 
 
 Put to Bight thy fragrant slumbers ; 
 
 And as thy wings of varied hue, 
 
 (Dipt in rose-embosom'd dew,) 
 
 You flutt'ring imp, and deftly try, 
 
 Still J follow, still you fly ; 
 
 Ever wav'ring, ever changing, 
 
 Never fix'd, and always ranging. 
 
 'Midst the lavish charms of nature, 
 
 Thou her freest gayest creature ; 
 
 Now the tulip's changeful die, 
 
 Now the vi'let's balmy sigh,— 
 
 Now the rose's orient glow, 
 
 Now the lily's tintless snow, 
 
 Woo and win thy brief caress, 
 
 Alternate pall, alternate bless ! 
 
 Till the summer's glow is o'er, 
 
 Till her beauties bloom no more: 
 
 Then the flow'r, whose fragrant sigh 
 
 Survives her warmly-blushing die, 
 
 Lures thee to a heav'n of rest, 
 
 On her pale but cdorous breast ; 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 99 
 
 And, amidst her balmy treasures, 
 Thou diest in sweet excess of pleasures ! 
 Oh happy careless thinjj ! could I 
 But live like thee, bnt like thee die, — 
 Like thee resign my fleeting breath, 
 My life of bliss in blissful death, 
 Td envy not th' extended span, 
 The patriarchal day of man. 
 For him let Time's protracting pow'rs 
 Still spare existence, drooping flow'rs, 
 And wreaths of joyless years entwine, 
 But, Oh ! one raptur'd hour be mine ! 
 
 The minstrel was a poet of Nature's 
 own making, and his judgment was drawn 
 from the same source as his inspiration ; 
 he was therefore no stranger to the justest 
 purest rules of criticism: but what had 
 the rules of criticism to do with the rhap- 
 sodic effusion of impulsive fancy,, or awak- 
 ened feeling? Or how was the judgment 
 to exercise its powers on the poem, while 
 the heart, in the utmost vehemence of 
 emotion, hung enraptured on the charms 
 of the poetess? There was, besides, in 
 the fragment a consonance of sentiment 
 
100 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 with that the minstrel himself cherished, 
 that awakened his sympathy and secured 
 his admiration. u Delightful enthusiasm !" 
 lie exclaimed, " fanciful but bewitching; 
 fe being! how extatic to share with thee 
 w thy 'raptur'd hour !' to participate in 
 " thy fairy visions, to live beneath the 
 " warm beam of thine eye, and hang- upon 
 u the melting murmur of thy voice! to 
 " spurn the cold dull forms of a world for 
 u which thou wert never created, and to 
 * range with thee through all the yet-un- 
 " conjectured bounds of feeling, sentiment, 
 *;' and passion !" 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Credi a me — 
 Non e pene magiore 
 
 Che in vecchie membra il pizzecor d'amore. 
 Pastor Fide, At to prima. 
 
 IMOGEN, en reveuse, wandered from 
 the gallery to the great hall, from the 
 great hall to the corridor, and from tl\ence 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 101 
 
 to the lady's Magdelaine's study. Fancy 
 and recollection were busy with the heart, 
 and the mind was turned adrift under the 
 influence of its own unconscious igare- 
 ments. She found (yet scarce perceived) 
 the lady Magdelaine seated at her writing- 
 table, her eyes fixed on vacancy, her right 
 hand supporting her head, the fingers of 
 her left playing with the leaves of a su- 
 perb missal, which lay open before her. 
 She took no notice of Imogen's entrance, 
 who, w itfa an air equally abstracted, seated 
 herself at her little desk, and, as if touched 
 by the magic wand of sympathy, fell into 
 the same reflective attitude. 
 
 It is one of the properties of fire, under 
 the influence of experimental philosophy, 
 to blaze with greatest ardor at the mo- 
 ment it possesses the least power to con- 
 sume : it was thus with the heart of the 
 lady Maffdelaine — it Bamed when most 
 incapable of communicating the tain lest 
 glow to the mo>t inflammable object, and 
 languished beneath the ( bcsoin de I'ame 
 
102 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ' tendre? without the power of exciting it 
 in another in the remotest degree ; — phi- 
 losophy was no proof against the elo- 
 quence of brilliant eyes, and the enthu- 
 siasm of devotion did not transmute its 
 object without abating its ardor. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine went from the 
 gallery to her study, whither the min- 
 strel's form pursued her. She fixed her 
 eyes on the picture of St. Peter, and 
 bowed her head ; but his sainiship disap- 
 peared, and the lady Magdelaine saw no- 
 thing but the symmetrical form of a young 
 man leaning on his harp. She opened 
 her missal, but her eye was incapable of 
 receiving on its retina ar.y object but 
 one; and the missal's holy leaves, like the 
 picture of St. Peter, presented nothing to 
 her view but the minstrel. A thousand 
 times she likened herself to Dido and the 
 minstrel to Eneas, whom the God of 
 Storms had thrown on her protection ; 
 nor could all the self-interested sophistry 
 of the father Anselm reconcile her to the 
 
ST. DOMINICK.. 103 
 
 step she had taken in banishing him from 
 the asylum he had sought. Imogen had 
 been some time seated opposite to her be- 
 fore the silence mutually preserved was 
 broken by her ladyship. 
 
 " Mathias Corvinus, king of Hungary, 
 " kept three hundred secretaries," said 
 the lady Magdelaine. "Poor souls!" 
 said Imogen, with a sigh of fellow-feeling, 
 and dipping her pen in the ink, prepara- 
 tory to her taking down what she sup- 
 posed the learned minutes of the lady 
 Magdelaine for a future chapter of the 
 Crusades. 
 
 u The father Anselm," continued lady 
 Magdelaine, st thinks one more than 
 " enough for me." Imogen answered 
 with a sigh, heavier than she had already 
 heaved. u Longinus was private secre- 
 cc tary to the famous queen Zenobia ; and 
 ct yet I have read he was young and 
 u handsome when she first received him 
 " into her service/' muttered the lady. 
 
104 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 te That could have been no objection," 
 said the novice innocently. 
 
 " The father Anselm thinks otherwise," 
 said the lady Magdelaine. " Holy Mo- 
 " ther ! why has he not the liberality of 
 " St. Jerome, who expressly tells us, 
 " ■ Fear God, and do what you will ?' " 
 
 " Egenhart was secretary to Charles 
 cr the Great/' continued the lady Magde- 
 laine, musing, "whenlmma, the empe- 
 " ror's daughter, became enamoured of 
 " him. Poets and musicians are certainly 
 u dangerous inmates, and, in a domestic 
 <f capacity not to be guarded against : 
 " witness the attachment of the empress 
 "Julia to Ovid;— " 
 
 " Was he her secretary ?" asked Imo- 
 gen simply. 
 
 £C The queen of Navarre's penchant 
 " for the poet Amayot, her amanuensis ; 
 u and, lastly, the unfortunate passion of 
 Cf Mary, queen of Scots, for Rizzio, who 
 " was only a poor Italian minstrel." 
 
ST. domixkk. lOo 
 
 u And was lie young, and handsome, 
 " and graceful ?" eagerly demanded Imo- 
 gen. 
 
 u He was ugly and deformed," replied 
 the lady Magdelaine. 
 
 " That men should be so different!'' 
 sighed Imogen. 
 
 " What an Herculean labour have I 
 " undertaken ?' said the lady Magdelaine, 
 looking round at the books, papers, and 
 manuscripts, that lay scattered in disorder 
 on every side. " Surely mine is the des- 
 " tiny of the Danaidcs ; what a treasure 
 '•'would a young man be to me, who 
 "could arrange, connect, and transcribe 
 u with fidelity ; who would be modest, 
 "unassuming, and respectful! For in- 
 "stance, if father Anselm had not the 
 "same objection to my employing this 
 "young stranger as an amanuensis, as he 
 " had to my retaining him in his musical 
 " capacity," — 
 
 " Which I dare say he has not," ex- 
 claimed Imogen with vivacity. 
 e2 
 
106 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 "And that this young Orlando could 
 " write a good hand ;" — 
 
 " Which I could swear he does, madam f 
 said Imogen eagerly. 
 
 "But what avails it now?" said the 
 Jady Magdelaine, sighing, " since he has 
 departed." 
 
 "Not ten minutes back I saw him in 
 "the gallery" said Imogen, blushing: 
 "and Theodore waits in the anti-chamber, 
 " if you have commands for him." 
 
 "Well then," said the lady Magde- 
 laine, in a tone of hesitation, "you may, 
 "if yo-j plt-a^e tell the page to command 
 "the strangers attendance; not that I 
 "positively mean to -" 
 
 Before she had finished the doubtful 
 sentence, Imogen had delivered her mes- 
 sage to Theodore. 
 
 In a few minutes the page returned 
 leading in the minstrel: Imogen hung her 
 head over her desk, and seemed deeply 
 engaged with her pen ; the lady Magde- 
 laine assumed an unusual air of dignity 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 107 
 
 and reserve, as if to hide the weakness of 
 her heart beneath the severity of her 
 manners and countenance. The minstrel, 
 with a look of mingled suspense, impa- 
 tience, and hope, stood in respectful si- 
 lence, to know the nature of those com- 
 mands which had again brought him to 
 her presence. 
 
 After an awful pause, the lady Magde- 
 laine exclaimed : " Ere 1 inform thee, 
 " young stranger, of the motives which 
 " have induced me to recal you, it is ne- 
 " cessary you should know, that I have long 
 " since devoted my life to the service of 
 "the church and the republic of letters. 
 "Thou wilt start at a determination so 
 "extraordinary in a female, for the days 
 "of piety and iearuing are no more; we 
 " must no longer hope to see a shelf, like 
 " that in the library of Euclid, filled with 
 " the works of learned ladies ; we must no 
 " longer hope to hear of a phiiosophess 
 " like Dama the daughter of Pythagoras, 
 " or Theano of Crete 3 such an historian 
 
108 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tf as Anna de Commines, or such a poetess 
 "as Sappho of Lesbia, or Corinna of 
 c< Thebes ; and female sanctity is, I am 
 "afraid, a treasure still rarer than female 
 "genius, to be found in this Gothic age ; 
 " a perfect union of both is, perhaps, in 
 "any age, a rara avis in terra /" 
 
 The lady Magdelaine paused, and raised 
 her eyes to observe the effect her learned 
 speech and modest inuendo had produced 
 on the minstrel - but unhappily, at that 
 moment, the minstrel was observing' the 
 effect produced by a sunbeam, as it fell like 
 a glory round the seraph head of Imogen, 
 and touched her form with something more 
 than human. The lady Magdelaine bit 
 her lips, hemmed away her mortification, 
 and desired Imogen to retire till she was 
 sent for. 
 
 Imogen, who blushed equally for the 
 pedautic folly and childish vanity of her 
 patroness, and blushed a still deeper dye 
 at the slily observed gaze of the minstrel, 
 was glad to be dismissed, though her little 
 
THE NOVICE OF 109 
 
 heart throbbed with impatient curiosity to 
 learn the result of that conversation from 
 which she was excluded. She arose and 
 retired from the study, with that downcast 
 look of una fleeted modesty which ever 
 gave to her air and countenance the chaste 
 attractions of vestal purity. 
 
 While lady Magdelaine remained in a 
 tete-a-tete conference with the young 
 stranger, Imogen flew to the garden. — 
 The brilliant beams of the meridian sun, 
 the tempered freshness of the noontide air, 
 the melody of the birds, the balmy fra- 
 grance of every fleeting zephyr, were all 
 in unison with the tone of her spirits, and 
 spoke a language her heart understood. 
 Plunged in that luxurious flow of thought 
 which a new and pleasing object awakens 
 in a mind long steeped in the sluggish in- 
 anity which solitude uninterrupted and a 
 perpetual sameness of objects and ideas 
 impress, a thousand new-born pleasures 
 fluttered at her bosom; every nerve was 
 in that state of refined susceptibility which 
 
110 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 thrills to the faintest touch ; every pulse 
 throbbed to the animating influence of 
 some sweet and novel emotion. " Why 
 " am I so happy?" asked Imogen, with a 
 light bound, while the fragile blossom 
 scarcely bent its head beneath the airy 
 pressure of her foot , then with a sudden 
 transition of thought, though not wholly 
 unconnected with the self-interrogation, 
 she began to reckon over all the men she 
 had ever seen. 
 
 It required no great extent of arithme- 
 tical powers to complete the calculation: 
 Cf Two friars of the order of St. Francis," 
 said Imogen, counting on her fingers, 
 u four of St. Dominick, and two lay bro- 
 (s thers of the Cordeliers, all old, ugly, 
 " and bigoted; the bishop of Champagne, 
 <c in his last visitation to our convent — 
 (t what an unwieldy bloated form, and 
 tf what a rigid air! — our three successive 
 "confessors at the convent; the first 
 " squinted most hideously, the second 
 " was turned of seventy, and the third/' — 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 11 J 
 
 all the inquisitorial horrors of father An- 
 selm's countenance stared her in the face : 
 — f| an interesting young monk, in the 
 " last stage of a consumption/' continued 
 the novice, torturing her memory, " who 
 <f came to our abbess for a small piece of 
 <f the rod with which St. Dominick used 
 " to flagellate himself, as a charm against 
 " his disorder ; the Clincaillen,* who 
 " sells us reliquaries, crucifixes, and sweet. 
 (l meats, at the convent gates ; four old 
 * f knights of Mount St. Michael, occa- 
 " sional visitors to lady Magdelaine, with 
 iC war and famine lurking in every linea^ 
 u ment of their harsh faces ; and two 
 " knights of St. John of Jerusalem — the 
 cc one with a wooden leg, the other want- 
 fe ingan eye. These are ail I can recol- 
 <f lect, except the ferocious-looking serfs 
 tc of the forest, the old domestics of the 
 " chateau, young Theodore the page, and 
 " this young minstrel." 
 
 * Cliiicaillen, a travellii-g pedlar. 
 
112 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Imogen blushed to her eyes as she con- 
 cluded her calculation. 
 
 " Perfection itself," said Imogen, with 
 the air of a little logician, " is only esti- 
 ft mated as such by comparison ; the form 
 <l and manners of this stranger may not 
 ce positively possess all that excellence I 
 " ascribe to them ; but, by comparing him 
 C( with all the men I have ever seen, his 
 (e superiority is so eminent, that I could 
 f( almost believe him a creature of another 
 " sphere, a being of some superior mould, 
 M and formed of finer clay. Good hea- 
 « f vens ! (coloring again, but not quite so 
 " deeply,) how the minor canoness would 
 <c laugh at this fanciful idea, and call it 
 " the wild flight of her romantic little 
 (f saint ! What is this minstrel to me? 
 " only one must think of something/' 
 said Imogen, tearing a (lower she had 
 just gathered to pieces, and entering the 
 door of the great hall, when she meant to 
 have turned towards the terrace. 
 
 " Here is rare news," said Beatrice, 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 1 13 
 
 running against her : " holy rosary ! who 
 " would ever have thought to see any 
 u thing young and handsome in the cha- 
 u teau again ! ,J 
 
 u Thou art in good spirits, Beatrice," 
 said Imogen, smiling. 
 
 u Certes, mademoiselle, and with good 
 t( reason; I thought we should never have 
 (< danced a courante again. But I must 
 " hie me to the tapestry-room, to tell them 
 " the news." 
 
 w What news, I prithee V demanded 
 Imogen, catching the flying Beatrice by 
 the gown. 
 
 " Why, mademoiselle, do you not know 
 " my lady has hired the minstrel ? I just 
 te stepped into my lady's study to know 
 u whether I was to give Mr. Jephtha a 
 " black eye, and how the poor dear young 
 " demoiselle's robe was to be shaded 
 H whom they are going to sacrifice, when 
 <e who should I find there but our old 
 u mailre-d' hotel and the young minstrel ! 
 <f * I have added this youth,' said my lady 
 
114 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 (i to Ambrose, 'to my household establish - 
 M merit; and he is to have an apartment 
 " to himself, and a table to himself, for I 
 " have conferred on him the honor of be- 
 u ing my private secretary.' — But, blessed 
 " Agnes ! the dinner-bell rings, and not 
 <r a still h done yet!" 
 
 Beatrice flew up the great stairs leading 
 to the tap. stry-room, and Imogen turned 
 into the I n.ng-hall. The lady Magde- 
 laine was already seated at table; the no- 
 vice started to find the day so much older 
 than she suspected, and seated herself in 
 silence opposite to her patroness. Had 
 Pythagoras presided at the feast, a more 
 unbroken taciturnity could not have been 
 preserved, or the law of temperance been 
 more strictly attended to. 
 
 Although pleasingly involved in the no- 
 vel variety of her own emotions, the at- 
 tention of Imogen was insensibly attracted 
 to the alteration visible in the air, man- 
 ner, and dress, of her associate. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, who had hitherto 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 115 
 
 considered a total disregard and neglect of 
 the proprieties of dress as the most irre- 
 fragable proof of internal acquirements 
 and literary pursuits, and often quoted 
 the purposely-inked nails of the emperor 
 Julian as authority for her contempt of all 
 the bienseance o£ the toilet, now appeared 
 to Imogen for the first time to have sacri- 
 ficed to the Graces ; but the Graces, as if 
 to show their pique for the former heresy 
 of their new convert, were most unpropi- 
 tious toher offering. 
 
 A coif or ruff, never worn since the ce- 
 lebrated tournament given at the corona- 
 tion of Francis II. and a fardingale of cut 
 velvet, made after the fashion of one of 
 the beautiful Diana of Poitiers, produced 
 no other effect than to render ugliness and 
 deformity more apparent. 
 
 Imogen had recourse to the bouquet in 
 her bosom to conceal the ever-ready smile 
 that hovered on her lips ; while Ambrose, 
 Bernardine, and Jaques, as they attended 
 at table, cast many a glance, pregnant 
 
116 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 with reverence and admiration, at the im- 
 mense gold etui which hung at their lady's 
 side, sufficiently ponderous to throw her 
 off her centre, had she not given equili- 
 brium to the balance in a fan of propor- 
 tionable magnitude, which now hung from 
 her girdle, and, on state days, was the rod 
 of office that denoted the official capacity 
 of her page. 
 
 Silent, musing, and reflective, as she 
 played with her spoon and plate, Imogen 
 imagined she was busy with the bishop of 
 Citeauxand St Bonaventure ; for Imogen 
 was ignorant of the complicated anatomy 
 of the human heart, and was only a logi- 
 cian when the cause or effect interested 
 her mind, or awakened her apprehension. 
 
 Ambrose, how ever, somewhat more pe- 
 netrating, observed to Bernardine, as he 
 replaced the silver cup and massy salver 
 in the buttery, ?« that, although his lady 
 " was silent, he knew she was in a (liable 
 t( de bon humeur, for he observed her 
 <f smile more than once ; not to mention/' 
 
ST. DO.MIN1CK. 117 
 
 said the maitre-d'hotel, " her calling me 
 (< Monsieur Ambrose, and ordering" me to 
 " treat this new secretary with a flask of 
 " light muscadel ; — niort de ma vie ! I 
 iC have more than half a mind to ask her 
 " good leave to ride the Spanish jennet as 
 u far as St. Menhoulm, for my new doub- 
 " let and hose." 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 If music be the food of love, play on. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 O si una vola 
 
 Voltail provassi ; 
 
 Se sapessi una volta 
 
 Qua' li e grazia e ventura 
 
 L'essere amato il posjidere amando, 
 
 Un reamante Core ; 
 
 So ben io che direste, 
 
 Dolce vita amorosa, 
 
 Perche si tardi nel mio Cor venesti. 
 
 GUARINI. 
 
 THE lady Magdelaine retired from the 
 dining-hall to her oratory, as was her 
 usual custom ; and Imogen, having turn- 
 
118 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 bled over a hundred books in the library 
 without reading a line in one, sauntered 
 to the tapestry-room. She found the de- 
 moiselles Beatrice, Blanche, and Agnes, 
 busy with the sacrifice of Jephtha's 
 daughter. 
 
 " Pardie!" said Beatrice, continuing a 
 conversation which the entrance of Imo- 
 gen had for a moment interrupted, u here 
 " is mademoiselle will end the dispute at 
 " once." 
 
 " I prithee let rae hear it," said Imogen, 
 seating herself at a vacant frame. 
 
 " Why, mademoiselle," said Blanche, 
 " 'tis all about the colour of the min- 
 " strel's eyes. Agnes will have it they are 
 ■• black as her jacket; Beatrice vows they 
 " are blue: holy mother! if I know whe- 
 " ther he has an eye in his head why then 
 " am I a saint! though certes, methought, 
 " he looked marvelously like the picture 
 " of Beelzebub in the shape of a comely 
 tf youth, in the legend of St. Maxima; 
 k ' and I warrant you I counted my beads 
 
ST. D0M1NICK. 119 
 
 :< under my fardingale all the time I was 
 in his presence." 
 
 " Thou art always countiag thy beads 
 " somewhere or other," said Beatrice ; 
 " but I would lay my watchel-coloured 
 <s taffety to a copper sous, that for every 
 " Ave Maria thou sayest for thy soul, thou 
 tc repeatest ten for a husband." 
 
 w Better pray for a husband for one's 
 " self," said Blanche sneeringly, u than 
 " take up with the cast-off affections of 
 " other folk's husband." 
 
 (t Blessed St. Dominick ! there's an im- 
 " putation!" said Beatrice colouring; ff but 
 c( I scorn your words, mademoiselle: and 
 € * though you are so devout, and such a 
 " mass-woman withal, I doubt if you were 
 " counting your beads under your fardin- 
 <f gale when the young minstrel was 
 ff squeezed into the oriel window with you 
 " this morning, and you were winding 
 " the silk off his hands, when all the rest 
 lf of the family were at matins." 
 
120 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Did you wind your silk off his hands, 
 Cl Blanche?" said Imogen, snapping her 
 needle in two. 
 
 " Pardie! and what of that, mademoi- 
 " seller" said Blanche: tc the saints are 
 " witness I was repeating my litanies, and 
 te thinking of no mortal man, when my 
 " reel snapped, and the minstrel, who was 
 cc walking- up and down in the hall, had 
 " the civility to offer to hold my silk." 
 
 " The minstrel/' said Beatrice sarcas- 
 tically, "knew — " 
 
 "What of the minstrel r" interrupted 
 the lady Magdelaine, at that moment en- 
 tering the apartment ; " what of the min- 
 " strel ? and what licence are you giving 
 " your tongues ? Beatrice, must I always 
 " command you to sacrifice to the goddess 
 " Muta, or warn you of the fate of Lara, 
 " who, though celebrated for her elocu- 
 Ci tion, lost her voice from speaking too 
 c( much ? M 
 
 " Well, lady, I am silent," said Beatrice; 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 121 
 
 " marry, if I speak another word to-day, 
 " I will give any one leave to cut my 
 " tongue out." 
 
 " You may finish, however, what you 
 (C were going to say when I entered the 
 cc room," said the lady Magdclaine, signi- 
 ficantly. 
 
 Beatrice plied her needle, and continued 
 obstinately silent. 
 
 cc Who is it was speaking of the min- 
 cl strel ?" said the lady Magdelaine pee- 
 vishly. 
 
 cc Dear, my lady/* said Blanche, cc we 
 C( were only saying, that, with your lady- 
 (< ship's good liking, it would be pure 
 cc pleasant pastime to have monsieur le 
 Ci troubadour singing and playing for us 
 C( while we are at our frames, especially as 
 iC we have wrought hard all day." 
 
 " Why, damsels," said the lady Magde- 
 laine, with a look of unusual compla- 
 cency, " I should have no objection toin- 
 " dulge you in a matronalia, which was 
 u tantamount to the Saturnalia of the men 
 
 v;:i, i. g 
 
122 THE NOVICE or 
 
 " among the Romans; but I have not en- 
 
 " S a o c( l * ms y ou *h in *- ne capacity of a 
 u musician, but a secretary. Yet, as this 
 " is the festival of St. Theodora, and you 
 " have worked hard all day — " 
 
 " Sweet, my lady," said Beatrice, for- 
 getting her vow, and oversetting her frame 
 as she leaped up ; -sweet my lady, you are 
 " all goodness, and I will have the minstrel 
 " here in the twinkling of a needle.'' And 
 before the lady Magdelaine had finally de* 
 cided on the propriety of suffering her 
 young secretary in his musical character 
 into her presence, Beatrice returned, ush- 
 ering him in. He had brought his harp, 
 and bowing low as he entered, cast a mo- 
 dest glance towards lady Magdelaine, ex- 
 pressive of his sensibility for the favor con- 
 ferred on him. That glance steadied the 
 wavering intention of his patroness. " He 
 " is timid, modest, and unobtrusive/' said 
 she mentally, "and needs encouragement." 
 Then, after a pause, she exclaimed, in her 
 usual tone of dignified solemnity : 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 122 
 
 " Although I have only engaged thee 
 " in the sober station of a secretary, nor 
 " with a view to encourage unlicensed 
 " merriment among my domestics, yet, as 
 " I may sometimes call on the witcheries 
 li of thy art to dispel the cloud which 
 u Study hangs on the brow of her vo» 
 u tarics, I have summoned thee this even- 
 " Ing to give me a specimen of thy tune- 
 " ful powers. Although no performer my- 
 " self, (though I once touched the lute 
 (C and recorder,) the progress of harmony 
 " is not unknown to me. 'Tis to Apollo 
 " we owe the invention of the lyre. He 
 Cl owed it to love, and fir^t tuned its 
 " chords to soften the cruelty of Daphne. 
 u Timotheus would have enriched it with- 
 " a few additional strings, had not the 
 " muses forbade the innovation. But it was 
 •' by the voice, which Zeno calls the flower 
 " of beauty that Apollo won the prize 
 " fromMarsyas and Pan. Plato has termed 
 11 poetry without music, a beautiful face 
 " which has Io*t its bloom; Epaminondas 
 
124 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " was reproached for his musical igno- 
 u ranee ; Socrates did not disdain to study 
 "its theory, and Pythagoras reduced it to 
 "mathematical rule; not to mention those 
 "great musicians, Olympus the Phrygian, 
 "Arisloxines, and Ptolemy. Alas! we 
 x 'have nothing now to compare to the 
 " tetherichnrd monochord, cithera, and 
 "right and left-handed flutes. But whi- 
 " ther am I wandering? I forget that 
 " Erudition has not led thee through her 
 " mazes of scientific lore ; that thou art 
 "but the pupil of Nature, and ignorant 
 *' perhaps of the rules of that art thou pro- 
 " fessest. And yet the inspired Sappho 
 " preferred the wild notes of her beautiful 
 " hut ignorant Phaon, to the homage of 
 " Alceus, the most elegant poet and mu- 
 " sician of his day.' 1 
 
 " And had I been that Phaon," said the 
 minstrel, tfHh naivete, "I should soon 
 ,k have become an Alceus too ; for Sappho 
 " would have been at once my inspiration 
 • and :;\ theme." 
 
ST. DOM I KICK. 125 
 
 " Indeed !" said the lady Magdelaine, 
 
 with pleasurable surprise; "but per- 
 ' haps," she added with a smile of con- 
 descension, "thou hast already tuned thy 
 " lays to the charms of some fair rural 
 " beauty." 
 
 The minstrel sighed, drooped his head, 
 and lightly thrilled on the chords of his 
 harp. 
 
 "Do, good my lady," said Beatrice im- 
 patiently, "let him sing the quaint, plea- 
 sant, and marvellous bailad, of the -Merry 
 " Knight and the Maid in the Vestment of 
 "Blue." 
 
 "No," said the lady Magdelaine lan- 
 guidly, "1 should prefer something in the 
 "Lydian measure, or h\po-Phrygian. I 
 "once witnessed the soothing powers of 
 " the latter. It was a short time before I 
 " left the court, and at the marriage of 
 " the duke de Joyeuse : *Claudin, the 
 
 * Vide Dictionnaire de Musique, par Rousseau, 
 article Musiqve. 
 
12(> THE NOVICE OF 
 
 <( modern Timolhcus, by playing in the 
 " Phrygian measure, animated one of the 
 r< courtiers to such phrenzy, that he Dew 
 f 'to arms in the presence of his sovereign, 
 M till the cunning minstrel stole him back 
 u to reason in the soothing strains of the 
 "hypo-Phrygian. Let me then have 
 mething that soothes the spirits, and 
 " moves the soul to tender thoughts." 
 
 The minstrel bowed, tuned his harp, 
 and, after a symphony of wonderful exe- 
 cution, struck a few low chords, and ac- 
 companied the instrument with his voice. 
 It was a voice of no very extensive com- 
 pass, but it was a voice that breathed the 
 sweetest intimation to the heart; its great 
 charm lurked in the skill with which it 
 was managed, and the exquisite expres- 
 sion of its tones ; every note sighed the 
 spirit of passion, and every word had the 
 energy of a sentiment. His accompani- 
 ment was rich, wild, and various; yet 
 the execution of the musician only second- 
 ed the ideas of the poet, without over- 
 
ST. DOMINIC R. 127 
 
 whelming the sense by the sound. The 
 measure of his verse was original, and his 
 
 song was love : he described the progress 
 of its sensations with the naif simplicity of 
 
 a novice, who delineated from the consci- 
 ousness of his newly-awakened feelings; 
 but it was in the language of a master, 
 who could adorn his subject with all the 
 seducing graces of poetic imagery and fan- 
 ciful epithet. His sentiments were such 
 as love impresses in the first asra of its em- 
 pire, but still they were such sentiments 
 as love only produces when acting on the 
 soul of genius and sensibility. 
 
 Rapt, agitated, sublimed, his feelings 
 became the sport of his art; and, lost in 
 the sweet delirium which his own vivid 
 imagination awakened, his fingers trem- 
 bled on the strings ; the harp's soft vibra- 
 tion faded into silence, his voice died away 
 to a sigh, and his eyes, beaming with ge- 
 nius and passion, fastened their eloquent 
 glances on Imogen; who, for attitude, ex- 
 pression, and beauty, might have that 
 
J 28 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 moment given a model to sculpture or 
 painting for the figure of attention anima- 
 ted by rapture. 
 
 One hand was folded on her throbbing 
 bosom, the other leaned on her frame, her 
 form bent gently forward, every feature 
 expressive of the rapt enthusiasm that 
 swelled her breast, every glance emana- 
 ting the visionary raptures that fluctuated 
 in her fancy. The hidden soul of harmony 
 had hitherto laid dormant in the bosom of 
 Imogen : for till now those magic powers 
 that could alone awaken its sympathies 
 were denied her. Oh ! you who have felt 
 a rapture even to agony from the influ- 
 ence of those strains that breathed the soul 
 of passion, of sentiment, of something 
 even more than either; who have in vain 
 attempted, with languishing curiosity, to 
 define the sweet, the overwhelming, and 
 visionary joys that float on the fancy, and 
 collect them into an object of comprehen- 
 sion ; conceive (for you only can conceive) 
 the emotion of the novice, as hanging on 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 129 
 
 the minstrel's witching lay, she felt her- 
 self endued with another sense, and her 
 heart throb with sensations to whose ex- 
 istence she was till then a stranger! 
 
 Imogen still seemed to listen, though 
 the minstrel had ceased to sing, till her 
 delirium fading away, like the dissolving 
 visions of a blissful dream, left* her in- 
 volved in a soft and tender melancholy, 
 scarcely less delicious than the raptures 
 which had preceded it. 
 
 Although the lady Magdelaihe had nei- 
 ther the taste nor judgment to appreciate 
 justly the exquisite musical talent of her 
 secretary, she had vanity enough to con- 
 strue the sense of his song as an effusion 
 inspired by the charms of his noble mis- 
 tress; and though the dignified pride of 
 nobility was insufficient to combat the frail 
 weakness of the woman, yet she disguised 
 the fallibility of her heart beneath the 
 coldness of her deportment. 
 
 After a slight corn me adation, she added: 
 g 2 
 
ISO THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " I thank thee for the entertainment thou 
 "hast afforded me ; but the hour devoted 
 "to erudite labour is arrived, and in a 
 "few minutes 1 shall require thy presence 
 "in my study to instal thee in thy new 
 "avocation." The minstre! with lowly 
 reverence retired ; and the lady Magde- 
 Jaine, having given some general orders 
 to her women, shortly after left the apart- 
 ment, telling Imogen she should not that 
 evening have any occasion for her service. 
 The lady Magdelaine had scarcely closed 
 the door, when the impatient Beatrice ea- 
 gerly demanded, " Well, mademoiselle, 
 " how like you the minstrel's singing?" 
 
 " Like it ! gracious heaven ! like it I" 
 repeated Imogen, throwing her arms on 
 her frame, and covering her face with her 
 veil. 
 
 * Why there!" returned Beatrice, much 
 mortified, " I thought mademoiselle would 
 "think nothing of it. The moment he 
 "began, I saw he was shame-faced before 
 "my lady. Blessed Rosary! one verse 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 131 
 
 " of the Amorous Shoemaker is worth a 
 "thousand such as he sung* now." 
 
 " For my part," said Agnes, " I would 
 "as soon have heard old Ambrose con- 
 u ning over his rubric as such a die-away 
 "ditty, not a word of which 1 under- 
 « stood." 
 
 "But his eyes!" added Blanche; "who 
 "observed his eyes? and then how the 
 "colour came and went in his cheek, and 
 " how his hands trembled! Poor modest 
 c: youth ! I swear I felt for him." 
 
 Thus in chit-chat commentary passed 
 away the rest of the evening*, till the sup- 
 per-bell summoned them to the hall. Imo- 
 gen remained alone silent and thoughtful ; 
 her arms still rested on her frame, but she 
 had raised her head, and her eyes were 
 fixed on the lust beam of the evening sun, 
 as it faded on the height of a distant moun- 
 tain. The tapestry-room opened on a little 
 covered alley, formed expressly to afford a 
 walk in despite of the weather's incle- 
 mency: thither Imogen bent her steps: 
 
132 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 and, seduced by the balsamic freshness of 
 the air and beauty of the evening, she de- 
 scended a flight of marble steps that led 
 to the terrace beneath. This terrace, 
 which encircled the chateau, was shaded 
 by luxuriant linden-trees, and surrounded 
 by palisadoes ; it commanded a view of the 
 beautiful valley of Nogent, reposing in the 
 shelter of those stupendous mountains 
 whose summits were involved in the mists 
 that rose in sun-tinged columns from their 
 rugged sides. The fantastic finger of eve 
 had thrown her vapoury wreaths on every 
 object, and hung every blossom with a 
 balmy tear. A thousand wayward forms 
 dappled the air, and the still beamy west 
 flushed a rich tint on the softened and in- 
 distinct landscape ; while the towers of the 
 chateau, and the distinct spirc^ of the con- 
 vent of St. Dominick, were already in- 
 vested with the gloom of an artificial night, 
 flung from the lengthened shades of the 
 forest of Champaigne. 
 
 Imogen hung over the palisado, fixed 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 133 
 
 her eyes on the blue waves of the Aisne 
 that glided beneath, and, pursuing their 
 furtive course, extended her gaze to the 
 rich vale through which they rolled. It 
 was a scene finely in unison with her feel- 
 ings : the air inspired a delicious languor ; 
 she was melancholy, but not unhappy ; 
 pensive, but not mournful ; and to a thou- 
 sand vague and varying ideas succeeded a 
 train of reflection, which had for its object 
 the past circumstances of her life, her pre- 
 sent situation, and future prospects. 
 
 "Alas!" sighed Imogen, "memory, 
 "hope, or conviction, are alike unfavour- 
 " able to the wishes of my heart! An 
 "exemption from every enjoyment the 
 " heart loves, the understanding ratifies; 
 "an alien in sentiment, in feeling, to 
 "those with whom I am doomed for ever 
 " to associate ; with a soul too much alive 
 "to those views even reason condemns, I 
 "am wretched, yet scarcely know where- 
 " fore - 9 1 am unhappy, but dare not com- 
 
134 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " plain." At that moment a nightingale 
 took possession of a tree that shaded the 
 spot where she stood, and poured forth a 
 strain, "most musical, most melancholy." 
 Silence seemed enamoured of the lay, nor 
 suffered a hreeze to sigh its hidden rapture. 
 Imogen listened tor a considerahle time, 
 silent and delighted; till, involuntarily 
 apostrophising the charming songstress, 
 she exclaimed: "Sweet bird! all nature 
 "hangs upon thy thrilling plaint; while 
 "the soft but melancholy privilege of even 
 " sighing away my sorrows is denied me !" 
 
 "And canst thou have a sorrow, thy- 
 "self the type of bliss ?" said a voice low 
 but distinct. 
 
 Imogen started, turned round with a 
 faint exclamation of surprise, and beheld 
 the minstrel. From the impulse of unde- 
 finable timidity and confusion. Imogen 
 would instantly have retired ; but the min- 
 strel's attitude of graceful supplication, his 
 voice of respectful entreaty, operated with 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 135 
 
 her secret wishes to detain her; yet it was 
 with a modest reluctance that left her de- 
 termination doubtful. 
 
 " If," said he, " I violate by my pre- 
 sence the sanctity of your secret medi- 
 '• tations I will instantly retire; but if 
 4 thou (who so sweetly canst deplore thy 
 'own hidden sorrows) art not insensible 
 '• to the woes of others, O turn, and suf- 
 ' fer me to enjoy the temporal bliss 
 "chance has invested me with ; for it is a 
 fr »weet stranger, and my heart welcomes 
 "it with all its liveliest transports." 
 
 " Art thou too then unhappy r" de- 
 manded Imogen with sympathising ear- 
 nestness. 
 
 (l How shall I answer thee?" said the 
 minstrel, " or make thee understand that 
 " solecism of the heart, by which I feel 
 " this moment as the happiest, yet per- 
 Ci haps the most miserable, of my exist- 
 f< ence ? Hitherto my life's happiness has 
 " consisted in fugitive minutes, exquisite, 
 " but few. I revelled in their transient 
 
136 THE NOVICE or 
 
 c< felicity, yetstill my pleasures multiplied 
 " in expectation, and memory extolled 
 " their worth beyond the value of their 
 " own identity ; while actual fruition 
 " played lightly o'er each sense, and left 
 " the heart's aching void unfilled.'' 
 
 u Alas !*' said Imogen with emotion,, 
 Cf I do remember me thou hast said thou 
 ce wert an orphan from thy infant state, 
 <c and haply hast never felt a father's warm 
 t( embrace, nor known a mother's rap- 
 11 turous caress. The tender kindness of 
 (C endeared relatives may not have lived 
 ct for thee^ nor the sweet recognition of a 
 " friend awakened thy bosom's transports. 
 " If so, I pity thee!" 
 
 Imogen turned aside her head, and 
 ^viped away a tear with her veil. A si- 
 lence for a moment ensued ; and the 
 minstrel, gazing on her, with a sigh ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Such is the pity which angels give to 
 " suffering man ! yet not for such depri- 
 " vations thy goodness has enumerated, 
 
ST. DOM I NICK.. 137 
 
 e( let thy pity only flow ; for, oh ! feels 
 " not the heart a void but what collateral 
 " claims can occupy ? — feels not the heart 
 iC a want but what the tie of consanguinity 
 <c can obviate ? Oh ! too sure it does ! — 
 cc Restless and unquiet, it throbs, it lan- 
 " guishes for some soft blessing, some 
 tC long-imagined bliss, rather desired than 
 {i understood ; and wildly palpitates with 
 cc fond impatience to lavish its glowing 
 <( sensibilities, its overflowing raptures, 
 cc on an object worthy to awaken and re- 
 " ceive them. Yet pardon me, lady, if, 
 i( all-sainted as thou art, I speak to thee 
 ff in language thy holy ignorance of mor- 
 " tal passions will scarcely comprehend. 
 <( Reared in the school of sacred self-de- 
 " nial, where Nature's self, awed into 
 " submission by stern Religion's voice, 
 Cl resigns her precious influence, and 
 t( leaves the vestal soul to heaven, thou 
 " canst never have known the pang which 
 " wrings the heart when it shrinks upon 
 " itself in conscious desolation ; when the 
 
138 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " glowing- feelings, gasping with raptu- 
 " rous emotion, suddenly chill and wither 
 " in the want of that sympathy which is 
 " denied them l M 
 
 "Canlnot?" exclaimed Imogen em- 
 phatically, clasping her handf, and raising 
 her eyes to heaven : M O God I how keenly 
 " have I felt all you have described! I 
 <e am not the happy but deluded being you 
 " suppose ; for, oh ! less rich in what I 
 " possess than poor in my conscious defi- 
 " ciency, I would gladly exchange my 
 cc feelings for the apathy I condemn in 
 <f others, the credulity I compassionate." 
 
 (C I understand thee," said the minstrel 
 with energy and delight: " thy mind has 
 cc soared beyond the narrow limits of error 
 "and prejudice; thy heart, unsophisti- 
 cc cated by the doctrines of bigotry and 
 cc superstition, is still rich in all those pre- 
 ff cious feelings which are at once the 
 f proudest boast of humanity, the swcet- 
 " est endowments of nature. And art 
 Cc thou then, thus formed to bless and to 
 
ST. DOMTNICK. 139 
 
 ff be blessed, doomed to wither out tliy 
 " life amidst a convent's solitary gloom ? 
 " Is thy spring of youth to lose its rosy 
 " bloom in fasts and vigils of mistaken, 
 " piety? And are thy brilliant talents, 
 fi thy touching graces, thy mind's intelli- 
 u gence, to live and to decay amidst the 
 "blight: Inesa of ignorant and un- 
 
 u conge ociates ?" 
 
 Confused, and blushing at the flattery 
 or pleasing truths so artfully conveyed, 
 Imogen replied : 
 
 " I am indeed destined to a monastic 
 u life — 1 have scarcely known any other: 
 * c yet my days, if exempt from rapture, 
 fe have flowed on in peace ; and that life 
 " which is virtuous can scarcely fail of 
 " being happy." 
 
 <f O deceive not thyself, sweet saint !" 
 said the minstrel, with a soft smile. %i Su- 
 u perior to thy associates, dissevered from 
 t( the world, thine will be such a life of 
 ct solitude as contradicts the purposes of 
 iC Heaven, and hurls defiance to the law of 
 
140 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tf Providence. Oh ! trust me that Na 
 ,e ture, ever enamoured of the happiness 
 " which mutual pleasure bestows on her 
 " children, chills the solitary fruition of 
 " undivided bliss. The heart, the tender 
 " heart, has no self-existing principle of 
 ,'* happiness, but reposes upon a thousand 
 •" sweet dependencies for all its raptures ! 
 " Say, shall 1 not construe thy silence into 
 ' a tacit coincidence with assertioos thy 
 " own feelings must have often made? — 
 " Or, if thou art still a sceptic, look on 
 " thyself with my eyes, and be a convert: 
 tf behold the bright intelligence of that 
 u countenance, those blushes which in- 
 <c vest the throne of genius; those eyes, 
 " so dangerous in their softness, so be- 
 |C witching in their vivacity; and those 
 fi fugitive graces, which leave the gaze of 
 " admiration in sweet suspense where to 
 Ci fix a charm which u every where discer- 
 ,f nible : then wouldst thou say with me, 
 " Nature never designed so fair a work 
 cc to grace a convent's gloomy cell !" 
 
MP. DOMINICK. 141 
 
 Overwhelmed, confused, secretly de- 
 lighted, but apparently displeased, the na- 
 tive delicacy rather than the prudence of 
 Imogen represented to her the impropriety 
 of listening" to such language, in such a 
 situation, and from such a person as now 
 addressed her, in a strain too grateful not 
 to be dangerous. Almost trembling with 
 emotion, she drew her veil over her face, 
 and said, " How our conversation has 
 (( wandered so widely from its first point 
 r< I know not ; but methinks thou didst 
 " begin it by invoking my sympathy to 
 M thy sufferings : judging of them by my 
 f< own, I have more than pitied thee. — 
 u But see ! the lights already glimmer in 
 u the casements of the cheateau ; and pro- 
 " bably the lady Magdelaine will speedily 
 " require thy attendance in the study." — 
 Then turning away, she was slowly re- 
 tiring, when the minstrel, springing after 
 her, caught her robe. 
 
 " Yet stay!" said be eagerly ; " for such 
 *' a moment may never again return." 
 
142 THE NOVICE or 
 
 (< And what then ?'' said Imogen coldly, 
 disengaging* her rol)e. 
 
 <( To //?e<°, lady, nothing-; but to me— 
 u for such a moment I would gladly for* 
 <f feit an age of common-nlace existence. 
 t( 01), withdraw not from me this fair 
 *•' hand, but suffer me to breathe on it 
 cc those effusions of gratitude thy conde^ 
 " scension has already excited." 
 
 '* Forbear, forbear!" exclaimed Imo- 
 gen, with difficulty releasing her hand : 
 (t already hast thou taught me the extent 
 %i of my imprudence, and to repent it."-— 
 She instantly glided away; and, flying 
 through the alley, entered the tapestry- 
 room, now only faintly lit up by the moon- 
 light, and almost breathless reached her 
 own little apartment. She threw herself 
 on her couch, and, pressing her hand to 
 her heart, as if to check its ardent palpi- 
 tation, gave a loose to that flow of sweet 
 and novel emotion, that train of interest- 
 ing and animated reflection, which in* 
 volved hei mind and flurried her spirits 
 almost to wiidness. 
 
feT. D0M1NICK, 143 
 
 She had for the first time conversed 
 with a being whose mind and sentiments, 
 sympathising with her own, could enter 
 into all the delicate minutiee of her feel- 
 ings, She had for the first time partici- 
 pated in that sweet commutation of idean 
 which forms life's best blessings by which 
 the sublimer powers of nature are called 
 into action, and attain the highest perfec- 
 tion the soul can reach. Her mind, hi- 
 therto like a fine instrument rich in pas- 
 sive powers, now for the first time vibrated 
 to the magic touch of sympathy ; and her 
 heart unfolded -viany latent principles of 
 delight, to whose possession she was hi* 
 therto a stranger ; while fancy and ima* 
 gination flung their glowing drapery 
 around those visions of bliss which stole 
 their existence from the consciousness of 
 her newly-awakened feelings. The san- 
 guine joys of youth and inexperience live 
 but in the present; the past and the fu- 
 ture are alike given to oblivion ; and sad 
 experience has not yet awakened into lift 
 
144 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 the suggestions of doubt, the precepts of 
 caution. 
 
 Imogen was happy, even to delirium; 
 and, lost in the pleasant illusion to which 
 her whole soul was resigned, the morning 
 dawn broke through her casement ere she 
 pressed a pillow which had hitherto never 
 been the witness of a sleepless night. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Conforme era Tetate 
 
 Ma il pensier piu conforme. 
 
 Tasso. 
 
 Non ; ce n'est ni par choix ni par raison d'aimer, 
 Qu'en voyant ce qui plait on se laisse enflammer. 
 D'uu aveugle penchant la charme imperceptible 
 Frappe, saisir, entraine, et rende un coeur sensible ; 
 Et par un inscrutable et necessaire loi, 
 On se livre a l'ainour sans qu'on sache pourquoi. 
 
 T. CORNEILLE. 
 
 FOUR days had been allotted for the 
 consistorial visit of the father director at 
 St. Menhoulm ; and three of the four had 
 already expired. The minstrel was not 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 145 
 
 only installed in his literary avocation, but 
 proved himself adequate to the task he 
 had undertaken, by a knowledge of the 
 learned languages beyond what might 
 have been expected in the eleemosynary 
 pupil of the brothers of les petits Augus- 
 tins. 
 
 This discovery of the intellectual per- 
 fections of her secretary, heightened by 
 the modesty which had concealed it, did 
 not lessen the prepossession his personal 
 graces had awakened in lady Magdelaine's 
 bosom. His influence increased with 
 hourly addition, and his attendance in the 
 study was required at an earlier and pro- 
 tracted to a later moment than had hitherto 
 been usual with the lady Magdelaine her- 
 self to devote to her lucubrations. 
 
 Imogen's attendance was less strictly re- 
 quired, and her little desk was removed to 
 a remote corner of the apartment, while 
 the minstrel wrote at the same table with 
 the lady Magdelaine. Imogen was em- 
 ployed in copying from the fathers, or in 
 
 VOL. I. h 
 
146 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 making extracts from the Lives of the Ten 
 Thousand Martyrs, and the Eleven Thou- 
 sand Virgins; while the minstrel transcri- 
 bed the sentiments of lady Magdelaine oh 
 the fervour of holy love, seraphic raptures, 
 and religious transports ; and the lady 
 Magdelaine, in those discussions which so 
 frequently interrupted the labours of her 
 secretary,, talked more of Ovid than saint 
 Bonaventure, and quoted Sappho almost 
 as often as saint Genevieve : accompany- 
 ing her commentary with a look so relevant 
 to the theme, that the minstrel must have 
 been very deficient in penetration or vani- 
 ty, not to have observed the abstract devo- 
 tion of his learned patroness ; who was not 
 a little animated by the presence of a sen- 
 sible object, as the shrine and statue fre- 
 quently stimulate that exertion of piety 
 otfered to the relic and the saints. 
 
 Meantime the novice and the minstrel 
 continued to each other little more than 
 c a shadow to a shade.' Confused and 
 overwhelmed by the consciousness of those 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 147 
 
 feelings which had insinuated themselves 
 into her bosom, timid and doubtful of 
 herself, the young- novice of saint Domir 
 nick exchanged the infatuating candour 
 and playful ingenuousness of her charac- 
 ter, for a reserve, a diffidence, a thousand 
 times more dangerous, and the minstrel, 
 apparently awed into distance by the re- 
 serve she assumed, and pursued by the 
 vigilance of lady Magdelaine, only return- 
 ed her coldness with that 
 
 " Silence that speaks, and eloquence of eyes :" 
 
 but, constantly associated in the same pur- 
 suits, their accordant feelings slumbered 
 not over those fine and impalpable indica- 
 tions of sympathy, which a glance indi- 
 cated, a blush betrayed. 
 
 The fibre of connection which exists 
 between the eye and the soul, served as a 
 conductor to their mutual emotion, and 
 gave the electric spark of passion a mutual 
 influence. This touching silence, this de- 
 
148 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 licate and enforced reserve, shed over their 
 sentiments that veil of mystery, id which 
 the dawn of passion loves to enshroud it- 
 self, and which the maturity of tenderness 
 ever looks back to with fond regret; yet 
 it was evident the ardent emotions of the 
 minstrel with difficulty brooked tiie re- 
 straint he laboured under ; nor could even 
 the awful presence of the lady Magdelaine 
 check those sallies of vivacity, that hyper- 
 bole of ironic compliment to her genius, 
 or that sarcastic equivoque, with which he 
 commented on some extraordinary passages 
 in her literary works. Imogen trembled 
 for his temerity : but the minstrel felt he 
 could err with impunity; and, pleased with 
 the privilege, took advantage of the only 
 immunity it could confer, as an indemni- 
 fication for those of which it deprived him. 
 Meantime the domestic subjects of 
 Montmorell commented on the enviable 
 situation of the new secretary, with ava* 
 riety of observation. The women were dis- 
 appointed, for the harp was laid aside, or 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 149 
 
 seldom heard till the family had retired to 
 rest; and then only from the open case- 
 ment of the minstrel's apartment. The 
 men complained of upstart airs and affect- 
 ed superiority; and Theodore, the young 
 page, with a sigh acknowledged, that he 
 hated, envied, and admired him above all 
 human beings ! Such was the political 
 state of the castle, when the father direc- 
 tor, on the moment of his return from 
 St. Menhoulm, proceeded to the lady 
 Magdelaine's apartment ; and in the large 
 green \e\wet arm-chair, of which he had 
 been the sole occupant for so many years, 
 and close by the easy chair of the lady 
 Magdelaine, beheld the minstrel seated, 
 or rather lolling in an easy attitude, while 
 the lady Magdelaine read aloud the last 
 chapter he had transcribed. 
 
 Had a spectre blasted the gaze of father 
 Anselm, his countenance could not have 
 exhibited stronger emotions of surprise, 
 anger, and disappointment: but, accus- 
 tomed to resist the influence of nature un- 
 
150 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 der all licr variations, the duplicity of his 
 character prevailed ; and with assumed 
 composure he advanced towards the lady 
 Magdelaine, who, receiving him with un- 
 disguised confusion, instantly dismissed the 
 minstrel. 
 
 Scarce was the friar seated, when the 
 Jady Mag-delaine entered on a vindication 
 of her conduct in respect to her new 
 secretary, with an eagerness that ever de- 
 feats the purpose it is meant to effect; and 
 availing herself of the equivoque, that she 
 had not received the stranger in his gay 
 profession of a minstrel, but in the sober 
 avocation of a secretary, hoped to make 
 her peace with the director for the vio- 
 lation of her promise, and her disregard of 
 those admonitions which he had so strongly 
 pointed against the minstrel's longer resi- 
 dence at the chateau. 
 
 The friar received her excuse in silence, 
 and immediately turned the conversation 
 on another topic, without a single com- 
 mentary on that which had been just dis- 
 
ST. DOMIKICR. 151 
 
 cussed ; while the lady Magdelaine, sur- 
 prised and delighted by a silence which 
 she construed into a perfect coincidence 
 with her wishes, put a purse into his hands, 
 when he arose to retire, to distribute,, she 
 said, as his judgment and charity should 
 direct, but in reality to reward an acqui- 
 escence so little expected. 
 
 The friar had no sooner disappeared, 
 than she sent for her new favorite with a 
 confidence she had not experienced since 
 his inauguration. Three successive days 
 flow ro r,i. , .! v HWHv' j!;r *»»«tl W4M «»»<»».« ™_ 
 
 illumined in the province, and political dis- 
 cussion seemed for an interval to usurp the 
 place of that strong partiality and aversion 
 the minstrel had awakened in the bosoms 
 of the lady Magdelaine and her confessor ; 
 while a thousand favourable and precious 
 chances secured to the minstrel the hap- 
 piness of beholding or conversing with the 
 novice of St. Dominick. One morning, 
 after a long and perhaps wearisome con- 
 ference with the father director, the lady 
 
152 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Masrdelaine sent for her amanuensis into 
 the study ; and, not disposed for composi- 
 tion, she put the Confessions of St. Augus- 
 tin into his hands, and reclined on a couch 
 while her young secretary ready aloud 
 those self-reprobations of the good bishop 
 of Hippo, which present such a struggle 
 between grace and passion, piety and na- 
 ture: and already had he made a consider- 
 able progress in the detail of human frailty, 
 which the sincerity rather than the pru- 
 dence of the saint betrayed, when the door 
 flew open, and the friar appeared pushing 
 in Imogen before him, and pointing to- 
 Yvards a paper he held in his hands. — " Be- 
 " hold, madam," said he, " the pious ef- 
 (C fusions of a novice of the holy order of 
 " St. Dominick, whose inspirations, though 
 " of a late date, and whose theme, — " 
 
 " Father!" interrupted Imogen wildly, 
 the shining moisture of her eye swelled to 
 the tear of passion, her face and neck 
 covered with blushes, and every feature 
 despoiled of its sweet and tranquil expres- 
 
ST. DOMINIC K. 153 
 
 sion; — n father, restore me that paper: it 
 " is mine; intended for no eye but mine; 
 <c and to expose those secret though in- 
 fC consequent thoughts vou have forcibly 
 (C possesed yourself of, is equally a breach 
 lc of principle and honour." 
 
 <c Principle and honour," said the friar 
 sarcastically, " well become the lips of 
 <e one who meditates the violation of every 
 " sacred vow, tramples on the modest de- 
 tc corums of her sex, and perverts those 
 " srifts with which Providence has endowed 
 « her, to—" 
 
 (< Father," again faintly interrupted 
 Imogen, " 'tis impossible to defend what 
 " is not even understood ; but " 
 
 " Such deficiency of comprehension is 
 €< convenient," said the friar, with a sneer; 
 " but to speak more unequivocally, I 
 " should have said that this new object of 
 M your poetic devotion, in engrossing- that 
 " time, those talents, and those medita- 
 " tions, which should only be used to the 
 
 " glory of God,- " 
 
 h2 
 
154 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 cc What new object ?" demanded the 
 lady Magdelaine, almost breathless. 
 
 " O father," exclaimed Imogen, eager- 
 ly interrupting his reply, " thou wouldst 
 u not have me believe any act of mine 
 <c can in aught add to or detract from the 
 " glory of supreme perfection ? there is 
 <c impiety in the thought/' 
 
 "Away!" said the friar: " no more 
 " will I listen to the caviling of thy pue- 
 <e rile though profane sophistry : go to 
 " thy chamber, and invoke the saints in 
 w thy behalf; for the spirit of heresy is 
 " fastened on thee, and drags thee towards 
 " eternal perdition \" 
 
 c< Merciful heaven !" exclaimed the min- 
 strel, starting forward with uncontrouled 
 emotion, and pointing towards Imogen ; 
 *' look on that countenance, father; behold 
 " in it the image of divinity itself, the 
 " inviolable sanctity of virtue ; listen to 
 " the sentiments which flow from those 
 " pure lips; compare them with the blame- 
 " less excellence of the life they illustrate ; 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 155 
 
 <c then threaten this guileless, this perfect 
 " being with eternal destruction, if you 
 " dare!'' 
 
 " If I dare !" retorted the friar, a livid 
 hue overspreading his countenance, his 
 whole frame convulsed with agitation ; 
 then, after a successful struggle of a mo- 
 ment, he added in a tone of resignation, 
 and smiting his breast,, "dare! but it is 
 " well. Suffer me, lady, to retire ; thy 
 " castle, I well foresee, can no longer afford 
 (i a safe and honourable asylum to thy 
 " poor beadsman ; insulted, bearded, even 
 " in thy presence, let not the meekness of 
 " the christian sully the dignity of my holy 
 fi vocation/' Then with a look of hum- 
 ble resignation he let his crosier fall within 
 his arms, raised his eyes to heaven, and 
 retired in silence. 
 
 The faculties of the lady Magdelaine 
 seemed bound, as by the spell of magic. 
 The oblique hints of the friar, so pregnant 
 with mortification, so capable of insinua- 
 ting the poison of jealousy, though only 
 
156 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 expressed oy self-interest, to awaken dis- 
 trust ; the temerity of the minstrel, in 
 boldly avowing- himself the champion of 
 the apostate novice, including; in his vin- 
 dication so many personal eulogiums and 
 enthusiastic praises; and the sudden de- 
 parture of her director ; left the lady Mag- 
 delaine for some time, not only immoveable 
 but speechless : at length, recovering in 
 some degree from the influence of her 
 overwhelming emotions, she cast an angry 
 glance at the minstrel, and exclaimed with 
 affected calmness, " Although vulgar in- 
 t( dignation loves to deal in elipsis and 
 ce aposiophesis, philosophy disdains the Ian- 
 " guage of passion, nor can even hypocrisy 
 " or ingratitude rouse it from its perpetual 
 u calm. Yet thy temerity, young stranger, 
 €i might well sanction such evident resent- 
 c( ment as was displayed by the philoso- 
 Ci pher Phyre, the Elean, who pursued 
 " his cook even to the market place, with 
 " a spit in his hand, for a trifling offence : 
 " yet I will only admonish thee, that thy 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 157 
 
 u further residence at Montmorell de- 
 " pends upon the prudent circumspcc- 
 {l tion of thy conduct, and the respect 
 " and deference thou payest to that holy 
 c< man, whose sacred character, hut now, 
 " thou daredst to insult : but as for thee, 
 " insidious serpent, whose mind has as 
 11 many cunning devices, as a chileagonum 
 " has angels " 
 
 Imogen, who till now stood overwhelm- 
 ed and silent, raised her timed "lances, 
 and attempted to interrupt the lady Magde- 
 laine : whose philosophy, however becom- 
 ingly observed towards the minstrel, seem- 
 ed now nearly reduced to the same ebb as 
 that of the sage of Elea ; while her stem 
 eye, turned towards the beautiful counte- 
 nance of the novice, stole from thence new 
 fuel for her rage. 
 
 " Peace!" cried the lady Magdelaine, 
 " I will not be imposed on by thy dupli- 
 u city : to-morrow restores thee to thy 
 " convent ; there thou wilt have time to 
 
158 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " reflect on thy ingratitude, and to repent 
 « it." 
 
 The tear which had fallen on the cheek 
 of Imogen dried on its glowing surface; 
 the fire of indignant pride flashed from 
 her languid eyp ; and she retired in si- 
 lence, and with an air of native dignity, 
 which, opposed to the affected hauteur of 
 the lady Magdelaine, marked the vast dif- 
 ference between the inborn greatness of 
 the soul, and the ostentatious pride of a 
 mean and self-sufficient mind. Almost at 
 the same moment the lady Magdelaine 
 quitted the apartment, in order to follow 
 the friar, and deprecate the wrath of a be- 
 ing who, raised from nothing by her ill- 
 bestowed bounty, had obtained an influ- 
 ence over her mind and actions she had 
 neither the penetralion to discover nor the 
 power to obviate ; leaving her new favo- 
 rite, as she believed, to " chew the food 
 " of sweet and bitter fancy," and to re- 
 pent the temerity which she wished him 
 to suppose had nearly forfeited her favor 
 
ST. DOMIXICK. 159 
 
 for ever. Nothing, however, was farther 
 from the favorite's thoughts : his eye had 
 for some time impatiently dwelt on the 
 paper he had seen fall from the friar's 
 trembling hands, and which he supposed 
 contained the subject of Imogen's accusa- 
 tion ; and no sooner had the lady Magde- 
 laine left the apartment, than he eagerly 
 gathered up the fragments, which had 
 been the efficient cause of the foregoing 
 scene. It was so torn and defaced, pro- 
 bably in the struggle between the friar 
 and the novice, that it would have been 
 illegible to any eye but that which now 
 endeavoured to devour its contents : it 
 contained a few unfinished stanzas, of 
 some poetical merit. That they were ad- 
 dressed to himself, although he believed 
 never intended for his inspection, the min- 
 strel soon discovered; and that they 
 flowed with the warmest sentiments of ad- 
 miration, he was not long in developing. 
 The poetess at once professed his genius 
 to be the theme of her song, and the mo- 
 
16*0 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 del of her imitation : she dwelt with en- 
 thusiasm on the charm that lurked in his 
 lyre, and the spell that breathed in his 
 voice. She personified him as the genius 
 of minstrelsy ; and, under the sanction of 
 her own fanciful image, worshipped him 
 she had immortalized ! — while her heart, 
 trembling for the ardor of her imagina- 
 tion, frequently appeared to check its 
 daring flights ; and her modesty, suspect- 
 ing the treachery of her heart, veiled with 
 a timid hand the warmth of its glowing 
 dictates. 
 
 The minstrel would have regretted that 
 this little effusion had been left unfinished, 
 could any regret have insinuated itself 
 into a heart overwhelmed by those rap- 
 turous emotions which the first conviction 
 of awakened reciprocal admiration, and 
 delighting those with whom we have long 
 been delighted, excites: rapt, intoxicated, 
 he read the unfinished address, not once, 
 but twenty times ; while the heart and va- 
 nity of the man were too highly gratified 
 
ST. DOMIKICK. 161 
 
 to suffer the judgment of the critic to exert 
 its powers unbiaed by partiality, uninflu- 
 enced by self-love. The poem, therefore, 
 was exquisite, and the poetess more than 
 ever divine ! 
 
 Imogen had fled from the lady Magde- 
 laine's apartment to her own, where she 
 passed the remainder of the day in tears. 
 Her proud heart swelled with indignation 
 at the unmerited severity she had been 
 treated with before the minstrel; and every 
 delicate and refined feeling recoiled on it- 
 self, and agonized to the recollection of 
 those oblique hints which the friar let fall 
 of her partiality to the young stranger; 
 trembling with apprehension lest the sub- 
 ject of her poetical inspiration should be- 
 hold a witness that might be construed 
 into the strongest confirmation of the 
 friar's surmises ; and recollecting that the 
 friar had dropped her little poem, although 
 her agitation on leaving the room had pre- 
 vented her executing the intention of se- 
 curing it, she hastily rose and fled to lady 
 
162 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Magdelaine's study, in the hope of still find- 
 ing it there ; but the most diligent search 
 was fruitless. 
 
 Disappointed and low-spirited, she was 
 returning to her apartment, when the re- 
 viving freshness of the evening air drew 
 her towards the open casement of the gal- 
 lery through which she passed. It was the 
 hour of vespers ; all the family, herself ex- 
 cepted, were still in the chapel, and the 
 castle was involved in a solemn silence that 
 corresponded with the scene which at once 
 attracted her sraze and sooke nearp tr» i^r 
 wounded spirits. 
 
 The sun was setting with uncommon 
 splendor; and the clouds, concentrating 
 on their surface a thousand vivid rays, 
 sometimes assumed the appearanceof float- 
 ing mountains, emitting from (heir lumi- 
 nous points flashes of living gold, and 
 sometimes streaming like meteors through 
 the deep blue of the glowuig atmosphere. 
 Scarce a breeze panted on the verdant fo- 
 liage; and the spirit of peace seemed to 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 163 
 
 expand its pennons o'er the soft solemnity 
 of the hour ; while the crescent moon, 
 already displaying her silver horn, bathed 
 her beams in the waters of the Aisne, 
 whose bosom was darkened by the length- 
 ening shadows of the castle's lofty turrets. 
 It was a scene finely in unison with the 
 feelings of Imogen : her eyes dwelling on 
 the glories of the creation, a religious rap- 
 ture diffused itself around tier; and with 
 all her glowing emotions " thick about 
 her," she bent one kee to the ground, and 
 offered up that incense of the heart 
 " whose fragrance smells to heaven," 
 
 Her spirits calmed, her feelings sub- 
 limed, by this pious indulgence of her soul's 
 grateful effusions, she arose to retire, when 
 turning round she perceived the minstrel 
 leaning against a pillar near the spot where 
 she stood. He darted forward to detain 
 her, as with a hurried pace she was re- 
 tiring 
 
 <c Not by a sigh," said he. catching the 
 drapery cf her robe, c( not even by a sigh. 
 
164 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " would I violate the sanctity of thy holy 
 "occupation; yet now thy orisons to 
 "heaven are finished, turn, fair saint, and 
 "grant that hearing to another which but 
 " now haply thou invokest for thyself." 
 
 Surprise and confusion for a moment 
 held Imogen in suspense whether to obey 
 the dictates of her prudence or her wishes ; 
 and the minstrel, taking advantage of her 
 dubious silence, led her gently back, and 
 continued : " May heaven grant thy pe- 
 u tition, as thou hast acceded to mine ; 
 " and may happiness be as liberally be- 
 " stowed on thee as thou hast power to 
 " bestow it on others ! M 
 
 <c Mine were not prayers of supplica- 
 u tion," said Imogen smiling, " but the 
 " effusions of the heart, grateful for bless- 
 w ings conferred, throbbing with rapture 
 " and delight." 
 
 "Such then be mine!" said the minstrel 
 with impassioned earnestness; "and here 
 "on this beauteous hand suffer me to offer 
 * up the effusions of a heart, grateful in- 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 165 
 
 "indeed for blessings conferred, yet still 
 " presumptuous!}' claiming." 
 
 Imogen in confusion snatched away lier 
 hand, and would have instantly with- 
 drawn ; but the minstrel, again catching 
 the drapery of her robe, exclaimed : " For- 
 " give, oh ! forgive the temerity of an im- 
 " prudent, who, borne away by the impe- 
 " tuosity of those feelings your presence 
 "is but too much calculated to inspire, 
 " finds even the respect he owes you in- 
 " adequate to resist their influence." 
 
 "\ entreat," said Imogen faintly, "you 
 "will suffer me to retire." 
 
 <c If," continued the minstrel, " I bear 
 " about me some secret cause of your too 
 "evident antipathy, suffer me to with- 
 " draw - 3 but oh ! ]et me not intrude upon 
 " those sweet meditations of a refined and 
 " superior mind, or banish thee from the 
 "contemplation of a scene so beautiful 
 "and sublime; so congenial to a taste 
 " alive to all that is most exquisite in 
 " either ; a scene where a moral interest 
 
166 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " attracts the heart, and pensive memory 
 " loves to identify that spot sacred to Eloisa 
 "and Abelard"* 
 
 "To Eloisa and Abelard!'* returned 
 Imogen starting. 
 
 f< Behold/' continued the minstrel, art- 
 fully fascinating her attention, and insen- 
 sibly drawing her back to the casement, 
 "behold that mountain, whose base the 
 "moon's fantastic light now silvers; be- 
 neath its sheltering height repose the 
 " mouldering ruins of the Paraclete." 
 
 "Alas!" said Imogen, with awakened 
 enthusiasm, "why has the knowledge of a 
 "circumstance so interesting been so long 
 " denied me ?" 
 
 " Because," said the minstrel, " thy 
 a unkind destiny has thrown thee among 
 " those, who, dead to the finer feelings 
 11 of the soul, reject the higher joys which 
 
 * The Paraclete monastery was founded, in the 
 diocese of Troyes, Champagne, by Abelard, who was 
 interred with Eloisa in an adjoining monumeBt. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 167 
 
 " taste and fancy give ; whose barren 
 <c hearts, wrapt in their own self-adoring 
 *' pride, ne'er stole a pleasure save what 
 " self-love inspired ; and whose eontract- 
 cf ed minds, deceived by pious fraud, seek 
 " heaven on motives as selfish as the 
 " means they pursue to attain their end 
 " are childish and puerile. But, O sweet 
 " enthusiast ! thou whom genius, fire, na- 
 " ture, warms; whom thought, feeling, 
 " and taste, raise in the scale of thinking 
 " beings even above thy species; 'tis for 
 f* thy rapt fancy to consecrate the scene 
 u sacred to departed genius ; His for thy 
 " warm sensible heart to pay the homage 
 " of a sigh o'er the spot sacred to the re- 
 cc membrance of unequalled but unfortu- 
 " nate love." 
 
 The gratified ambition, the gratified 
 heart of Imogen sent a glow to her cheek 
 as she replied : 
 
 " In the stillness of a fine evening, 
 "when the setting sun had flung his glow- 
 "ing beams on those picturesque ruins 
 
168 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " which skirt the mountain's base, it 
 '•'should seem that an intuitive something 
 "led me to their contemplation ; and my 
 " eager gaze has dwelt on them till fancy's 
 " mimic powers peopled the deserted 
 "shades with forms wild and fantastic, 
 " and gave to every mouldering dome, 
 u to every ruined cloister, an appropriate 
 "inhabitant/' 
 
 "And yet/' said the minstrel with a 
 sigh, "that scene of savage desolation was 
 "once the sad retreat of youth, beauty, 
 " and genius ; of love unsubdued, of pas- 
 " sion too potent for reason, or even re- 
 ligion, to conquer. It was beneath the 
 " shelter of that wild and gloomy valley 
 " the unfortunate and enamoured Abelard 
 " fixed the last residence of his heart's 
 "idol. He sought a scene congenial to 
 " the sombre temper of his own feelings, 
 " and the unerring sympathy of love 
 "taught him to believe in unison with 
 " those of his wretched mistress. Per- 
 " haps as he watched the progress of that 
 
ST. DOMISICK. 169 
 
 M gloomy ])ile, tomb of his joys ! as lie 
 " wandered in the restless agitation of 
 "despairing love amidst those savage 
 "scenes, lie has fixed his- eye upon that 
 "silver orb that now fascinates our gaze, 
 ■* and exclaimed, as 1 do now, ' Beautiful 
 " planet ! witness of my passion and my 
 " woes! here on this spot haply thou shalt 
 " fling thy beams upon my love, and i 1 1 n - 
 " mine her dreary path of midnight medi- 
 u tation, when far from this abode of peace 
 " the wretched Abelard, pursued by envy, 
 * ; persecuted by malice, shall consume a 
 " life of wretchedness, for ever lost to love 
 "and happiness !' " The minstrel, in agi- 
 tation, paused, and fixed his impassioned 
 gaze on the tearful eyes of Imogen, who 
 with a profound sigh ejaculated, " Alas ! 
 " unhappy Abelard !" 
 
 The minstrel took her unresisting hand, 
 and in a softened voice exclaimed : "You 
 "weep, you sigh ; for AbeJard's unhappy 
 "destiny you sigh. Give then, lovely 
 " maid, thy tears, thy sighs to me ; for 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 "his suffering's are mine, but not his 
 "joys. Misery raised not her bitter cup 
 " to his lip till he bad qua (fed the rosy 
 " draught of bliss to its last precious drop. 
 " He loved, and was beloved. Destiny 
 "divided him from the object of his ten- 
 derness, but her passion survived the 
 u power of absence : living he was adored, 
 u and in death united to her. But oh ! it 
 "is only for him to complain who has 
 " never felt the transport of reciprocal 
 " passion ; whose ardent glowing feelings 
 "prey on themselves ; and whose tender 
 " impassioned heart is consumed by a 
 "sacred, secret, unrequited love !" 
 
 " And is that possible }*' said Imogen in 
 a faultering accent; "can a heart, can a 
 "soul, capable of such profound emotion, 
 "such refined tenderness, such delicate 
 41 and proud reserve, throb with unrequited 
 " passion ?" 
 
 " "Tis for you to decide," said the min- 
 strel, dropping on one knee: "Imogen 
 " beloved as soon as seen ! Imogen, these 
 
r ST. DOMINIC*. IT I 
 
 " moments are furtive as they are precious ; 
 "they will admit of no studied detail of 
 " passion, nor can I tell thee aught the 
 "sweet intimations of the heart have not 
 u whispered thee. Perish the love that 
 " calls on cold formal declarations to bc- 
 u tray its existence ! Perish those af- 
 fections which every motion, every 
 " glance, every word, does not testify ! 
 "Oh, Imogen, remove that envious veil. 
 " I ask not for confirmation, but for 
 " hope ; I ask not to violate the reserve 
 " of thy sacred delicacy, but to suppli- 
 " cate thy compassion : turn then not 
 "from me those eyes; let me read in 
 " them the movements of thy soul, let 
 " them be the arbiters of my fate, let their 
 " beams give life to my hopes, or banish 
 " me from thee for ever ! ,J 
 
 The minstrel, with the timid hand of 
 love, drew aside the gauze which veiled the 
 face of Imogen. Then her full eye met 
 his, her frame trembled, she leaned on the 
 minstrel's shoulder for support; she wept 
 
172 THE NOVICE OK 
 
 but wept delicious tears ; and Joy might 
 have purchased with his best smile the sigh 
 that stole from her lip. 
 
 The minstrel gazed on her for a moment 
 in speechless extacy, and Silence seemed 
 enamoured of the pause which Rapture 
 had created. Imogen was the first to de- 
 stroy the sweet illusion : she started from 
 the supporting arm of the minstrel, cast 
 around a quick and fearful glance, then 
 uttered a 'faint scream, and would have 
 fled. The minstrel's circling arm detained 
 her. " Merciful heaven!" said he, "in a 
 " moment such as this, whence this strong 
 cc emotion of terror ? Does Imogen repent 
 " a condescension too dubious for even 
 " love's ardent w ishes to construe into 
 M more than pity ?" 
 
 t( Didst thou not see nor hear any thing?" 
 said Imogen trembling. — " What should 
 u I see or hear but Imogen ? Have I at 
 Ck this moment a sense, a thought, a feeling 
 <c that is not all Imogen ?" 
 €t As heaven is my witness, I beheld the 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 113 
 
 " lady Magdelaine and the father director 
 "glide from behind that pillar, and go 
 "out at that door." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the minstrel, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 A faint ejaculation from the novice 
 (who reeled towards a pillar) was all 
 the answer he received ; and at the same 
 moment he found himself violently seized 
 by the collar, and surrounded by some of 
 the domestics of the chateau, with the 
 friar and lady Magdelaine, who exclaimed, 
 " Seize the traitor ! bear him instantly to 
 "the western tower/' The scrvan(s 
 obeyed ; the minstrel struggled, and op- 
 posed their efforts with Herculean strength; 
 but overcome by numbers, as they tore 
 him away he fixed his eyes on Imogen, 
 (who, the living* image of terror, still clung 
 to the pillar for support,) and as he passed 
 her, wildly exclaimed, "Heaven guard 
 " and protect thee, thou suffering- excel- 
 lence, from the persecuting spirit of envy 
 " and oppression ! and oh!" — Ere he could 
 
174 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 finish the sentence he was dragged away, 
 and Imogen fell lifeless to the earth. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 And shall I here abide the shot 
 Of angry eyes, not comforted to live, 
 But that there is this jewel in the world 
 That I may see again ? 
 
 SlIAKSTEAEE. 
 
 Ah doles ie partita 
 
 Ah piu della mia vita 
 
 Da te parte, e non moro, e pur io ptoro 
 
 La pena della tnorte 
 
 E senlo nel pai tire 
 
 l-n vivace morire ; 
 
 Cji'ella vita al dolore 
 
 Per fa che moja immortalmente il euore. 
 
 INTEREST was in the breast of the 
 father Anselm the universal dissolvent, 
 before which every other passion and sen- 
 timent disappeared. Nothing had been 
 further from his mind than to quit the cha- 
 teau de Montmorell, and leave his young 
 competitor in undisturbed possession of all 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 175 
 
 those precious immunities lie had himself 
 so long been endowed with; yet still with 
 Avell-timed policy he secluded himself from 
 the presence of the lady Magdelaine, nor 
 could she obtain from the haughty and 
 self-sufficient priest the audience of a mo- 
 ment until, returning 1 from vespers, she 
 entreated a moment's conversation with 
 him relative to the circumstances of the 
 morning; and the father, feigning an in- 
 tention of going that night to a friary of 
 his own order on the skirts of the forest, 
 refused to enter the chateau until he re- 
 ceived her promise that the minstrel should 
 be dismissed from it the following mdrnins:. 
 But the friar had hitherto only to contend 
 with the head of lady Magdelaine ; he had 
 now for the first time to enter the lists with 
 her heart; and when a woman's heart is 
 reduced even to the last extremity,, her in- 
 genuity seldom fails to bring in a corps dc 
 reserve to its assistance. 
 
 " My dear father," said the lady Mag- 
 delaine, " your better judgment is for 
 
176 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 " once overshot by your unsuspecting 
 <{ simplicity ; far from turning- this young 
 ec stranger adrift, let us secure him a pri- 
 tJ soner, until we can make some disco- 
 tc very of what he is; for rny mind mis- 
 " gives me he is other than his seeming 
 "betokens: times such as these sanction 
 " every suspicion, and — " 
 
 The lady Magdelaine made a sudden 
 pause, caught the friar by the arm, and 
 stopped beneath a casement, from whence 
 the minstrel's voice distinctly issued.. Five 
 minutes breathless attention to the con- 
 versation of the minstrel, which in the 
 stillness of the evening reached her ears, 
 deprived the lady Magdelaine not only of 
 her philosophic coolness, but her christian 
 equanimity. Her sallow cheek glowed 
 with the rage of jealousy, her eyes Hashed 
 fire ; she hurried into'the chateau, follow- 
 ed by the triumphant friar, and as she 
 passed through the great hall, ordered 
 some of the domestics to accompany her 
 instantly to the gallery, to seize on the 
 
ST. DOMINIGK. 177 
 
 minstrel, and confine him in the western 
 tower till they received further orders. The 
 command was uttered with feudal stern- 
 ness^ and obeyed with feudal exactitude. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine retired to her 
 apartment in agitation too violent to escape 
 the observance of the friar, who no longer 
 insisted on going thatevening to the friary 
 of the Cistercian brothers. 
 
 Neither the discovery of the minstrel at 
 Imogen's feet, which she had herself wit- 
 nessed, the mortifying blow her vanity had 
 received, nor the arguments of the friar, 
 were sufficient to counteract the partiality 
 which the young secretary had awakened 
 in the heart of his patroness. Her passion, 
 like other propensities of dotage, increased 
 by opposition ; and, with a fondness almost 
 childish, grew wayward and testy as its 
 darling wishes were opposed. 
 
 The morning after the minstrel's con- 
 finement, the friar, attended by a number 
 of the domestics, was dispatched to lead 
 
178 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 the young culprit into the presence of the 
 offended lady, to be tried for the high 
 crime and misdemeanor of preferring 
 youth, beauty, and genius, to age, ugli- 
 ness, and pedantry > for, notwithstanding 
 the well-feigned suspicions by which she 
 meant to temporize with the aversion and 
 prejudice of the friar, the lady Magde- 
 laine had no fault to find with the min- 
 strel, no suspicion to satisfy, save what 
 envy and jealousy gave birth to. Neither 
 the rigid nerves or composed pulses of the 
 philosophess could withstand the agitation 
 the expected appearance of the minstrel 
 excited; and footsteps approaching her 
 study-door gave a new throb to her heart 
 when the friar entered, followed by her 
 other emissaries, who, with countenances 
 full of importance, all seemed eager to 
 speak. 
 
 iC I congratulate you, madam," said the 
 friar : <e your dangerous guest is fled. The 
 <c criminality of his intentions anticipated 
 
ST. D0M1MCK. 179 
 
 " your scrutiny, and he fled from that 
 <c retribution his hypocrisy and ingratitude 
 <c merited. " 
 
 " Pled !" repeated the lady Magdelaine, 
 pale with surprise and disappointment; 
 (C fled! impossible! the door locked and 
 <c the key in my possession!" 
 
 u But the window was but ill secured/ 
 said the friar : u we found one of the bars 
 w wrenched away, and a breach made in 
 tc the frame ; and though its height is con- 
 cc siderable. desperation is not to be intimi- 
 u dated by probable dangers, when certain 
 ff peril awaits it " u Besides, with humble 
 fC deference," said Ambrose, bowing, 
 " there is no coping with conjuration ; and 
 M if this same raoasieur troubadour had not 
 " been deep in tlie black art, he could 
 '• never have set our damsels' wits adrift 
 <( with his roundelays and romances; nor, 
 " with all humility be it spoken, would he 
 u . have got into such marvellous great fa- 
 u vour with my lady, who set her face 
 
180 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 '-a 
 
 against him, as one may say, from the 
 cc beginning'." 
 
 " Peace !" interrupted the lady Magde- 
 laine, glad to have an opportunity of vent- 
 ing her stifled rage on her servants, whom 
 she now accused as the efficient cause of 
 the minstrel's reception at the chateau, 
 and whose nejHi^ence had favored his es- 
 cape. Then suddenly recollecting her- 
 self, she eagerly demanded who had seen 
 the demoiselle Imogen that morning? and, 
 without waiting for an answer, dispatched 
 a messenger for her. 
 
 When Imogen had recovered from the 
 state of insensibility into which she had 
 fallen in the gallery, surrounded by dark- 
 ness, and a prey to the most dreadful im- 
 pressions, she with difficulty crept to her 
 own apartment, and, flinging herself on 
 her couch, passed the night in that variety 
 of emotion which the circumstances of the 
 evening were calculated to inspire : yet 
 amidst the train of fears, doubts, and ap- 
 
ST. DOMINICK. . 181 
 
 prehensions that floated on her mind, one 
 smiling sentiment was still buoyant; and 
 to its sweet solace her harassed thoughts 
 still turned for repose, and found felicity 
 supreme and unalloyed. Imogen, the 
 young-, the enthusiastic, the sensible and 
 tender Imogen, loved and was beloved ! 
 Could Imogen be otherwise than happy, 
 in spite of the gloomy visions her timid 
 fancy conjured to scare her hopes? Yet 
 the blush which this delicious consciousness 
 brought to her cheek faded to a death-like 
 paleness, when Beatrice, who brought 
 the lady Magdelaine's commanding mes- 
 sage, informed her the minstrel had (led. 
 " Holy mother! but it is a strange 
 cc world!" said Beatrice : " it is, as Am- 
 <f brose says, nothing but ups and downs. 
 e{ Here is the minstrel, that was every 
 " thing yesterday, is nothing to-day. But 
 €l they say it was not for nothing either 
 '• my lady confined him in the western 
 *' tower. Some say he was a Ilugonot 
 " and an unbeliever 3 others say he was 
 
182 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " a traitor ; but most folk seem to think 
 <f he was a Jew or conjurer; and Ber- 
 * nardine swears he heard a clap ofthun- 
 "* der, that shook th • whole chateau, just 
 *' as the great clock struck twelve ; which 
 cc brings to my mind the story of the old 
 fS astrologer who threw himself into the 
 w moat. Thus it was, mademoiselle : it 
 " was the eve of St. Maxima, just after I 
 cc came from Provence with my old uncle 
 w to the chateau. I remember I had on 
 Cf my tawny-orange fardingale, which had 
 " been only once scoured, and'' — With a 
 profound sigh Imogen interrupted her, to 
 enquire if lady Mag-delaine knew of the 
 minstrel's escape ? 
 
 " Christ! have I been chattering like a 
 Cl jay all this time, and quite forgot that 
 '* Theodore desired me to tell you my lady 
 iC commands you instantly to the study. — 
 " I fancy 'tis about something very ex- 
 traordinary; so if you will have the 
 iC goodness to leave the least bit of the 
 *' door open — " 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 183 
 
 " Dear Beatrice/' said Imogen in tears, 
 " cannot you make some excuse for me? 
 " Indeed [ cannot appear before the lady 
 ff Magdelaine." 
 
 " Dear mademoiselle, not I ; I could 
 tc not make an excuse if I was to die for 
 11 it; and yet you know I would go to the 
 " end of the world to oblige you " While 
 Beatrice was still speaking, Theodore 
 himself tapped at the door with a second 
 message ; and Imogen, pale and trembling, 
 was forced to obey. 
 
 She found the lady Magdelaine alone ; 
 who, with a brow contracted by unusual 
 severity, and a voice almost inarticulate 
 from rage, commanded her instantly to 
 relate all the conversation that had passed 
 between the minstrel and herthe preceding 
 evening in the gallery ; but tears and 
 blushes were all the answer she could ob- 
 tain. 
 
 " It is then as I suspected/' exclaimed 
 the lady Magdelaine; " and a novice of 
 n the holy order of St. Dominick was on 
 
1S4 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 cc the point of becoming the prey of her 
 " own weak and foolish vanity, and the 
 " artful seductions of a low-born villain !'•" 
 She then loudly expatiated on the impru- 
 dence, indecorum, and ingratitude, of Imo- 
 gen's conduct; and, hurried away by the 
 influence of jealousy and disappointment, 
 for once descended from the accustomed 
 trope, figure, and metaphor, of her high- 
 flown rhetoric, to speak in the more for- 
 cible and poignant language of <f awo- 
 " man scorned:" and, after a reproof and 
 an exordium of an hour long* the all-en- 
 during Imogen was sent back to her room, 
 with the terrific threat of being immedi- 
 ately removed to the convent, and repre- 
 sented in her true colours to the abbess 
 and the nuns. 
 
 Happily, however, for the lady Magde- 
 laine, her amatory, like her religious, pro- 
 pensities required a visible object to in- 
 spire and perpetuate their ardors. Nei- 
 ther her faith nor her love were founded 
 upon those spiritualised Bentimdbtfl which 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 185 
 
 could enable them to exist in mere con- 
 ception or belief; and if the picture of a 
 saint was necessary to stimulate her piety,, 
 the presence of the young stranger was 
 requisite to perpetuate the tenderness he 
 had awakened. It was not then to be 
 wondered at that in a few days her heart 
 resumed its wonted callosity, the friar his 
 boundless influence ; that the foundation 
 of the monastery was again an object of 
 interest, and the Crusades pursued with 
 accustomed vigor. Even Imogen was 
 again reinstated in the honors of the es- 
 crutoire, and her profession put off until 
 the Crusades should be finished, which 
 were now hastening to a conclusion; 
 while poor St. Bonaventure claimed his 
 old station to the discomfiture of Ovid, 
 and the Odes of Sappho were resigned in 
 honor of the Miracles of St. Theresa. 
 
 The castle again resumed its wonted 
 tranquil uniformity ; and the adventure of 
 the extraordinary stranger, whose pre- 
 sence, like a blazing meteor, spread tern- 
 
186 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 porary confusion, amazement, and admira- 
 tion, was now ranked among the establish- 
 ed tales and gossip stories " told by the 
 " winter fire/' and wondered at as often 
 as told. 
 
 Love knows no inequality ; it discovers 
 in, or bestows on, its object every thing that 
 excites interest or constitutes perfection. 
 The sympathies of the heart are deaf to the 
 arbitrary suggestions of pride ; and even 
 the disadvantages of birth or fortune serve 
 but as basso relievo, which raise their pos- 
 sessor superior to destiny, and mark him 
 the favorite of heaven, though reckless of 
 the world's perishable treasures. 
 
 Never for a moment had Imogen re- 
 flected that the minstrel held a rank in the 
 world which at that period was neither 
 respected nor eligible ; that he was a 
 foundling, a wanderer, and, lastly, the hired 
 servant of the lady Magdelaine ; still less 
 had she confounded him with the domes- 
 tics of the chateau. With whom indeed 
 could she assimilate him ? for with her he 
 
ST. DOMINICR. 187 
 
 held a distinct place in the creation, and 
 from the moment she first beheld him he 
 appeared more than human, and every one 
 else appeared less. 
 
 The new, the profound, the sweet emo- 
 tions, which had influenced the flow and 
 ebb of her reflections during- the minstrel's 
 residence at the chateau, now only at in- 
 tervals thrilled on her heart; while the 
 pensive sadness of disappointed hope, of 
 disappointed love, hung* its perpetual gloom 
 o'er the mind, the manners, the brow of 
 the novice: and though constitutional vi- 
 vacity sometimes lured a smile to her lip, 
 the heart's dejection ever pursued the 
 lovely stranger with a tear; and yet, ena- 
 moured even of her misery, since it was 
 remotely connected with all she had ever 
 known of bliss, she cherished the source 
 of her affliction, nor would have exchanged 
 her present sufferings for all the calm of 
 her former indifference. 
 
 There are rapturous sentiments,, rap- 
 turous recollections, that can only be too 
 
198 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 dearly purchased when virtue is the prite. 
 Imogen had known them, yet Imogen was 
 innocent : she therefore suffered acutely, 
 but patiently. <s And can one so easily 
 "part with what one so dearly loves?" 
 said she one morning 1 , as the *at thinking 
 on the minstrel's sudden (light; u if so, 
 "then it is not love I feel." No witness 
 is requisite to excite the blush of refined 
 sensibility. Imogen started at the thought, 
 which had not escaped her lips, but her 
 heart, and hid her face in her veil, to con- 
 ceal her blushes even from herself. Then, 
 hurrying from the reflection, she attempted 
 to account for that sudden departure of the 
 minstrel, which had awakened it. " What- 
 ever were the accusations," said she, 
 "the lady Magdelaine had to allege 
 " against the amiable young stranger, they 
 "were of a mysterious nature, for they 
 "still remained locked up within her own 
 "breast. Although they must have been 
 "the cause of his departure, yet would I 
 "stake all that is dearest to me on earth 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 1SL) 
 
 "he was innocent; for oh! surely guilt 
 "never hung- her gloom on a brow like 
 "his, nor vice polluted the soul of one 
 "whose sentiments breathe the spirit of 
 " virtue !" 
 
 This was indeed the conclusion of an 
 inexperienced and enamoured heart; for 
 the sentiments of the genius are not al- 
 ways illustrative of the principles of the 
 man. Rut Imogen, fertile in excuses to 
 calm those doubts appearances sanctioned 
 of the innocence of him whom it was 
 misery supreme to believe culpable, esta- 
 blished the confirmation of her wishes on 
 a stronger foundation : "1 have seen little 
 " of the world/' said she ; " yet, from the 
 "little I have seen, and from all I have 
 " read, I have learnt that happiness and 
 "virtue have no inseparab'e ' connection ; 
 " that extraordinary merit ever excites 
 "envy, and seldom escapes persecution; 
 "and that the sufferings, the dissensions 
 "of mankind arise less from their vices 
 "than from their errors and prejudices :■ 
 
190 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 "else why does the page of history teem 
 " with the virtuous and magnanimous acts 
 " of a few heroic individuals, who lived 
 "but for the good of mankind, and died 
 " the victims of its ingratitude and perse- 
 cution? Why has philosophy shrunk 
 "beneath the oppression of prejudiced 
 " ignorance, and genius, unnoticed and 
 "unknown, pined in want and lived in 
 " wretchedness ? Alas ! it is not requisite 
 (< to be criminal to suffer the punishment 
 "due to vice/' 
 
 The minstrel was therefore not only in- 
 nocent but injured; and this self-drawn 
 conclusion shed a new interest o'er that he 
 had already awakened, and twined another 
 ligament round the heart of Imogen. That 
 warm and tender heart now reposed all its 
 hopes of happiness on either hearing from 
 the object of its secret homage, or in 
 sketching such wild and fanciful plans of 
 future bliss as the young imagination loves 
 to colour with its warmest tints. Each 
 ilay as it (led left behind it a new shade of 
 
8T. DOMINIC*. 191 
 
 regret in the spirits of the novice, for every 
 day and every hour fancy promised some 
 tidings of the minstrel ; and the heart, 
 willingly receiving the grateful illusion, 
 expiated its credulity by the pangs of con- 
 sequent disappointment. 
 
 Sometimes, hurried avvav by the vivacity 
 of her wishes, she would ascend the ram- 
 parts of the castle, full of vague expecta- 
 tions that the first object that would salute 
 her eye from the plain below would be the 
 minstrel himself, returning with full power 
 to clear his character from every aspersion, 
 and reinstate himself in the favour of lady 
 Magdelaine; but after a long eager gaze, 
 the desolation of civil war gave no object 
 to her view but ruined villages, unculti- 
 vated fields, or fugitive peasants, tlyingfor 
 security to the impervious wilds of the 
 forest, and distant parties of the military, 
 which orerran the provinces in every di- 
 rection: and if their picturesque appear- 
 ance as they scoured those once-smiling 
 
l{)2 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 scenes they had desolated, their beamy 
 spears, shiningarmour, and waving plumes, 
 amused her imagination, her heart denied 
 its interest; and among the tears which 
 stained her cheek for her own private suf- 
 ferings, one drop ennobled their source for 
 her country's woes ! 
 
 One evening, returning from the ram- 
 parts, she passed near the door of the 
 apartment once occupied by the minstrel, 
 and heard, or fancied she heard, the tones 
 of his harp, as she was wont when in a still 
 evening he played at his open casement. 
 at first she deemed it but an illusion of her 
 senses ; but as she approached, the sound 
 more distinctly caught her ear. Panting 
 and breathless with indescribable emotion, 
 she ventured to open the door, and be- 
 held the page, seated at the foot of the 
 
 bed, and playing on the minstrel's harp. 
 At the sight of Imogen he started, blushed, 
 and rose to lay by the instrument. Imo- 
 gen disappointed she knew not why, and 
 
ST. DOMIXKK. 193 
 
 blushing she knew not wherefore, apolo- 
 gised for her intrusion, and said with a 
 smile: 
 
 " I did not know thou wert a musician, 
 u Theodore." 
 
 " Nor am I, mademoiselle ; but it is na- 
 " tural to imitate what we admire." 
 
 " Oh most natural," sighed Imogen. 
 
 u 1 envied the minstrel for many rea- 
 sons," said Theodore, casting down his 
 eyes, " and not a little for his charming 
 " musical talent. 1 have listened to him 
 < r of a fine night, when he played on the 
 (C terrace under your window, until I wept 
 <c like an infant. It is strange, made- 
 u moiselle, that one should weep as much 
 u from pleasure as from pain ; nay, some- 
 w times more." 
 
 ff Such tears are delicious!" said Imo- 
 gen, gazing on the harp, over which the 
 page leaned. 
 
 <( Yes," said Theodore, answering her 
 looks, M this was his harp ; and there," 
 pointing to the bed, " lies his minstrel's 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 TIIE NOVICE OF 
 
 " habit, which my lady made him lay aside 
 u when he exchanged his minstrelsy for a 
 ei clerkship." 
 
 I " And to whom do they now belong :" 
 said Imogen eagerly. 
 
 " His dress has remained here unno- 
 " ticed, just, I believe, as he flung it 
 Cl himself the morning of the night he 
 "was tmten a prisoner to the western 
 " tower." 
 
 "Himself!" said Imogen with emotion, 
 taking up the sleeve of the doublet. 
 
 <f Yes," said the page; "it has not 
 <c been removed since he slept here. This 
 " part of the castle is seldom frequented ; 
 " and the domestics, who fancied themin- 
 " strel a magician, believe there is some 
 lc dangerous spell over the room : so it is 
 ct never visited by any one save myself." 
 
 u And the harp ?" said Imogen. 
 
 " Oh, true, mademoiselle, the harp — is 
 " mine." 
 
 " Did he give it you, Theodore ?" 
 
 " Why, mademoiselle," said the page 
 
ST. D0MIX1CK. 19!) 
 
 hesitating, " I did him a service, and he, 
 " in return, presented me with this in- 
 " strument ; the only recompence I would 
 u receive, or I believe he had to offer." 
 
 4f And may I ask what that service 
 w was?" 
 
 u Nay, mademoiselle, you must pardon 
 " me," said the page, changing- colour ; 
 " it is of a nature not to be mentioned. 
 " Would he had his harp again, and I — " 
 The page stopped abruptly. 
 
 " Would you part with the harp :" said 
 Imogen, with affected indifference. 
 
 " Would you wish for it, mademoi- 
 " selle ?" said the page, with a penetrating 
 smile. 
 
 " If you would suffer me to become a 
 " purchaser/' said Imogen blushing. 
 
 "Perhaps," said the young page, cast- 
 ing down his eyes, " you would think me 
 " too exorbitant; and I should be apt to 
 " demand more than you would be willing 
 " to grant." 
 
 M Rather say, Theodore, more than I 
 " possess." 
 
196 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Not so, mademoiselle ; you are rich* 
 " Oh ! how rich you arc in all—" 
 
 " Your terms?" said Imogen with inv 
 patenee. 
 
 " One kiss of that fair hand/* 
 
 " A kiss of the hand!" said Imogen 
 with a smile, and blushing. u Nay, Theo- 
 <e dore, I must not take advantage of your 
 "gallantry." Then holding out her little 
 purse, which contained some valuable coins 
 presented to her by the minor canoness, 
 she added, " Will you for the present ac- 
 '•'ceptof this, till—?" 
 
 " Holy Mother !" interrupted the page ± 
 " not for the world ! Sell the harp ! and 
 " to you ! not for the world! Ah ! ma- 
 u demoiselle, how little do you know — !" 
 Then pausing abruptly, he added, after a 
 moment's confusion and silence, " Shall I 
 " convey it to your apartment ?' J 
 
 " Not/' said Imogen, " until you suffer 
 " me to fasten this round your neck," 
 drawing from her own a silver reliquary. 
 The young page, colouring with pleasure, 
 
ST. DOMtHlCK. 197 
 
 kneeled to receive it. f It was given me 
 " by the lady abbess," said Imogen, while 
 she fastened it round his neck, " when I 
 ,r left the convent, as a charm against 
 w every danger; and since," she added 
 with an arch smile, iC ycu seem so obsti- 
 * nately to adhere to your first terms, 
 n . why I believe I must give you the kiss 
 <( of the hand into the bargain." The 
 page suddenly dropt the reliquary, which 
 he was on the point of raising to his lip, 
 and substituted the extended hunt! of 
 Imogen, 
 
 « Ah ! M said the delighted boy, u I feci 
 " the charm your precious gift contains is 
 " not proof against. ever?j danger!" 
 
 At night she flew to her little apart- 
 ment, as if the sweet inducement of a 
 friend's welcome awaited her. Theodore, 
 as he had promised, had left the harp 
 there ; and Imogen pressed its chords, not 
 only with her fingers, but her lips, while 
 a refined regret insinuated itself into her 
 mind that the page had touched those 
 
198 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 •strings she would wish to believe had 
 confessed the minstrel's magic touch. 
 
 Some little skill on the lute, communi- 
 cated by the sister Pasiphac, and a know- 
 ledge of the science of music almost in- 
 tuitive, assisted her in the progress on an 
 instrument, whose soft and plaintive tones 
 were well adapted to the rich and various 
 melody of her fine voice. Music soon 
 became her only amusement, and the re- 
 moteness of her apartment favored its pur- 
 suit unknown to lady Magdelaine. Music 
 raised in her soul that delirium of extacy 
 she was so organized to feel ; and in re- 
 peating those passages which had most 
 charmed her in the minstrel's perform- 
 ance, the memory of past joys awakened 
 (o the sound. The associating principle 
 that existed between the feelings and the 
 sense exerted its influence, and the har- 
 mony that charmed the ear gave a thrill of 
 rapture to the heart. 
 
 The third month which followed the 
 minstrel's departure dissolved the last fond 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 199 
 
 waking dream which had hitherto flattered* 
 the hopes of Imogen ; and the belief that 
 she had been deceived equally by her own 
 credulity and the minstrel's professions, 
 took possession of a mind too proud, too 
 delicate, not to agonize to the conviction. 
 The flush of her lively sensations gradu- 
 ally subsided, and every degree of their 
 progressive extinction was marked by a 
 regret that she had been deluded into a 
 sense of bliss that almost expired in its 
 birth, and left behind it many a sweet and 
 poignant recollection, to add a deeper 
 shade of contrast on the sullen doom that 
 awaited her. To that keen vivacity of 
 emotion which lately agitated her bosom, 
 succeeded the pensive seitled gloom 
 which so frequently takes possession of 
 the delicate and refined mind in its transi- 
 tion from suspense animated by hope to 
 hopeless certainty. Yet not alone the 
 disappointment of a first-awakened p 
 sion produced the despondency wh 
 seized her heart, and clou e frolic 
 
200 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 spirit of her native disposition. Hitherto 
 the impossibility of their attainment stifled 
 in her bosom those vague and scarcely- 
 understood ideas which pointed to society 
 and the world. The narrow limits of that 
 sphere she had moved in, the chill auste- 
 rity of her associates, by suppressing; even 
 a hope of emancipation, reduced her to a 
 tranquil acquiescence to a destiny equally 
 uncongenial to her reason and her senti- 
 ments. But her intercourse with the min- 
 strel had not only awakened a new sense 
 of happiness in her breast; it called forth 
 those talents which, reflected back in his 
 praise, shone with a splendor too daz- 
 zling for the gloom of privacy and seques- 
 tration ; it had roused the dormant ambi- 
 tion of her soul to reach that point of ele- 
 vation she had been from her cradle anx- 
 ious to obtain, and it confirmed those long- 
 nourished and increasing suggestions of 
 reason, that the profession for which she 
 was destined was equally inimical to reli- 
 gion and morality, to the intentions of 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 201 
 
 Providence, and the welfare of society, 
 and which would for ever annihilate her 
 happiness, without repaying the sacrifice 
 by those illusions which satisfy the mind 
 of ignorance, credulity, and superstition, 
 for all the solid and beneficial realities it 
 has forfeited. Add to all this, the spirit of 
 romance ruled the mind of Imogen with 
 no trivial influence. She lived in an age 
 when the fantastic goddess shed her illu- 
 sions over the world, and established a 
 sovereign empire, which required the united 
 efforts of genius and reason to undermine. 
 The warm and lively imagination of the 
 young novice was well adapted to receive 
 the " bright enthusiast's" inspirations, and 
 to pursue her rapid flights and wildest fan- 
 cies beyond the sober boundaries of pro- 
 bability, beyond the guardian wing of 
 safety. 
 
 An elopement from the chateau had 
 therefore long been the object of her me- 
 ditation, ere her return to the convent of 
 St. Dominick prohibited every hope of 
 
202 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 escape. "Reason, happiness, even virtue 
 " itself/' said Imogen, "sanctions the in- 
 " tention, though a desperate one;" while 
 Love, in league with Fancy, Jay laughing 
 perdu in a corner of her heart at the sober 
 names given to his suggestions. 
 
 But in her plan of escape Imogen had 
 neither end nor object : but then she had 
 delightful adventures, novel situations, and 
 interesting circumstances in abundance. 
 Love too sketched out (by fond association) 
 the character she should assume to effect 
 her purpose ; it was that of a young wan- 
 dering musician. " What a sweet, sweet 
 "character!" said Imogen, with a sigh 
 and a smile ; and chance furnished her 
 with a disguise, for the minstrel's habit still 
 lay in the unfrequented chamber, and, like 
 precious relics, daily received a visit from a 
 votarist of no lukewarm devotion. 
 
 (C My motive," said Imogen, "is war- 
 " rantable in the eye of heaven and of na- 
 " ture. I will not violate the altar of the 
 " Deity by vows my heart disowns, my 
 
ST. DOMINION 203 
 
 tc reason condemns. That neart tells me 
 fc it can never renounce the ties, the af- 
 <f fections of humanity ; that reason dis- 
 41 approves it ever should ; and until I can 
 " believe a life useless to my fe!Io\v-crea- 
 " tures can be pleasing in the eye of my 
 u God, I will never embrace it: there re- 
 c< mains therefore no other alternative but 
 <c to fly from the fate that awaits me." 
 
 Unprotected, innocent, unfriended or- 
 phan ! whither wouldst thou fly? what 
 asylum opens to receive thee? what fond 
 arms unfold to embrace thee ? where wilt 
 thou find a tender bosom on which to re- 
 pose thy aching temples? where wilt thou 
 find an affectionate heart to sooth the suf- 
 ferings thine own has encountered ? The 
 world is indeed (C all before thee where to 
 {< choose," but who will confirm that 
 choice? who will realise the fairy visions 
 of thy sanguine expectations ? 
 
 It was thus Experience should have ad- 
 dressed the novice ; but the novice was but 
 just eighteen ; the fire of imagination, the 
 
204 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 illusions of fancy, the spirit of genius, all 
 bewildered her senses, animated her mind, 
 and, midst their seducing admonitions, 
 the " still small voice" of Experience was 
 unheard. O youth ! thou season of delight, 
 sweet a?ra of premature immortality! what 
 is there in the sober satisfaction, the cau- 
 tious comforts, and solid certainties of age, 
 to compensate for the loss of thy golden 
 dreams ! dreams which memory cherishes 
 with enthusiasm, and after-life glances 
 back on with a faint thrill of that rapture 
 ye once bestowed. Hope ! genius ! virtue ! 
 'tis in the genial bosom of youth your fair- 
 est loveliest blossoms blow and flourish ! 
 
ST. DOMI-NICK. 205 
 
 CHAP. IXi 
 
 Friendship makes the rights of its objects equally 
 matters of regard with it> own ; and marks a mind 
 that is innocent, candid, liberal, and susceptible of 
 the virtues which insure the happiness of human 
 nature. 
 
 Bruce's Elements of the Science of Ethics. 
 
 These are thinking heretics; 
 I should forgive them, did some upstart sect 
 "With sharper rigours charm this headlong zeal ; 
 But they in sooth must reason. 
 
 Walpole. 
 
 HOWEVER, romantically venturous 
 the mind of Imogen, it required some des- 
 perate circumstance to animate her to the 
 execution of those visionary plans her 
 fancy had so often sketched, and reason 
 still refused to ratify. 
 
 Contemptuous silence, or bigoted ex- 
 hortation on the part of the friar ; sharp 
 reproof, or oblique sarcasm on that of the 
 lady Magdelaine; with wearisome conver- 
 sations on the party and religious jargon 
 
£06 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 of the day ; the mystery of a vision, or the 
 miracle of a saint; the claims of the duke 
 de Maycnne, or the heresy of the king; 
 included the whole system of social inter- 
 course at the chateau de Montmorell; and 
 furnished daily aggravation to confirm the 
 young novice in the only scheme by which 
 she could escape the apathy of her pre- 
 sent life, or the gloomy destiny that await- 
 ed her future. But a circumstance now 
 occurred to steady those wavering resolu- 
 tions which had long vibrated between 
 the ardour of her wishes and the strength 
 of her apprehensions. The Crusades were 
 finished ; nothing prevented lady Magde- 
 laine's visiting Paris, but the unsettled 
 state of the times, in order to send her 
 work to the press; and the day of Imogen's 
 return to the convent of St. Dominick was 
 already fixed on. The lady ^lagdelaine, 
 as a proof of her munificence and piety, 
 was to pay down a large sum on the ad- 
 mission of her amanuensis among the sis- 
 terhood $ and on the day of her profession, 
 
ST. D0MINICK. 207 
 
 to present the convent with a rich set of 
 altar plate. Thus the lady Mag-delaine, 
 by a stroke of sanctimonious policy, in 
 rewarding the arduous services of her se- 
 cretary, remitted a douceur to heaven, in 
 part payment for the price of her own sal- 
 vation ! 
 
 There was nothing talked of at the con- 
 vent but the pious zeal and holy muni- 
 ficence of the lady de Moritmorell; and 
 the young novice was supposed to enter the 
 sacred pale under the most favourable aus- 
 pices. The young novice, however, was 
 of a different opinion : with a spirit of in- 
 dependence that electrified the narrow 
 minds of her patroness and the friar, she 
 absolutely refused the offered donation of 
 lady Magdelaine on her own account. 
 
 " If, madam, (i said she one day, as the 
 lady Magdelaine and the father director 
 were enumerating the benefits she would 
 derive from entering the convent on such 
 respectable terms, and furnishing many 
 arguments to stimulate her gratitude : C( if, 
 
208 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " madam, it is for my sake you are thus 
 <{ generous, oh, for my sake, direct your 
 cc generosity in a better channel. The or- 
 " der of St. Dominick is the most opulent 
 " in France, and the serfs on the skirts of 
 " the forest de Montmorell the most 
 <( wretched ; oppressed hy famine, by all 
 " the horrors of civil war, they languish in 
 <f misery and want, while safety and abun- 
 " dance reign in the convent of Saint 
 " Dominick. Let then, madam, those 
 * f wretches, who look up to you for assist- 
 ct ance, feel that bounty it were the mock- 
 cc ery of religion to bestow on those who, 
 " professing poverty, revel in opulence. 
 cc Save me from a life for which I feel no 
 cc vocation, for which I am unworthy ; 
 " and suffer me to continue the most faith- 
 <e ful of your servants, the most grateful 
 <e of your friends." 
 
 " I understand you," said the lady Mag- 
 delaine with a sarcastic sneer : C{ suffer 
 " you to accompany me to Paris, and 
 (( prove your pious fortitude, by exposing 
 
 *, 
 
ST. DOMtNlCK. 209 
 
 " you to trials of temptation. No," con- 
 tinued the lady Magdelainc, fi if by my 
 " precepts or example I cannot lure a 
 * wandering soul to heaven, St. Dominick 
 4f forbid I should assist in drawing a soul 
 " from it." 
 
 " Mother of God, avert that crime V* 
 said the friar, crossing himself; " and thou, 
 * c oh perverse of spirit, it now becomes us> 
 u who took thee from the church's guar- 
 " dian wing, in sacred trust, to give thee 
 l( back as we received thee. Thou wert 
 " then a very saint forsooth, nor could 
 " thy piety be coped withal ; miracles 
 u were expected to be performed at thy 
 11 shrine, and thy name to be enrolled in 
 (t the album sanctorum of perfection ! but 
 " now ! oh, sad frailty of poor human na- 
 "ture! thou art little better than one of 
 u the wicked. But thou art young, and 
 " hast time for amendment ; thou hast the 
 <f examples of thirty kings and queens, 
 " who resigned the crown and sceptre for 
 " the veil and crozier $ and, once wedded 
 
210 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " to a heavenly spouse, dedicated to the 
 " embraces of a superior being, thy gro- 
 <c veling soul shall rise above all human 
 " passions : and after a life of piety, self- 
 " denial., and mortification, thou wilt have 
 " a chance of dying- in a religious rapture, 
 " or haply of being added to the list of 
 cc holy saints !" 
 
 t( The list of martyrdom you mean, fa- 
 " thcr," said Imogen, with a Hash of her 
 wonted playful spirits, 
 
 cc -Martyrdom to thy sinful propensities," 
 said the lady Magdelaine, who, in con- 
 junction with the father, continued an ex- 
 ordium of more than an hour long on the 
 wickedness of all human affections, worldly 
 attachments, and mortal passions; substi- 
 tuting invective for argument, and severity 
 for admonition , till Imogen, wearied be- 
 yond all power of farther endurance, burst 
 into tears, and exclaimed, " Spare, spare 
 <c me now, madam, and do with me as 
 " you please." The lady Magdelaine, 
 who trembled lest the loss of a soul should 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 211 
 
 be laid to her account, and who was en- 
 raged at the spirited opposition of I mo 
 now willingly believed her eloquence 
 eifected a reformation, and that the tears 
 of the novice flowed 
 
 " From a heart contrite, in sign 
 
 ion n 
 
 Milton 
 
 Of sorrow unfeign'd and humiliation meek." 
 
 And a few incorrect chapters being yet to 
 transcribe, the lady Magdelaine informed 
 her she was > return to the convent 
 
 till that day week ; and dismissed her with 
 a gentleness to which she was little accus- 
 tomed. 
 
 The convent of St. Dominick lay some- 
 thing less than half a league from the cha- 
 teau ; the path which led to it was wild 
 and romantic ; it was in her leisure hour:; 
 a favourite walk with Imogen, and her vi- 
 sits to Saint Dominick were almost as fre- 
 quent as her walks ; for the only friend her 
 heart had ever acknowledged, the minor 
 canonessj was fast verging on eternity; 
 
212 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 and the friendship, (he tenderness, the 
 compassion of the novice, led her inces* 
 santly to the couch of the dying nun. 
 
 Lady Mag-delaine encouraged these vi- 
 sits, and the abbess and the nuns received 
 her with a cordiality that induced her to 
 repeat them ; while the minor canoness 
 seemed to receive pleasure only through 
 the medium of her cheering society : yet 
 in all these visits, when confidence wa3 
 most boundless, when the sanguine and in- 
 genuous character of the novice lay bar© 
 and exposed to the penetrating eye of the 
 canoness, and when their sentiments and 
 opinions were discussed with mutual free- 
 dom ; still, in the most concealed sanctu- 
 ary of her bosom, reposed the secret of 
 Imogens heart. The adventures of the 
 minstrel had reached the anxious enquiries 
 of the curious nuns, and the minor canon- 
 ess, who was ever prompt to ridicule and 
 condemn the tittle- tattle propensities of 
 the sisterhood, looked on it as one of their 
 tales of wonder nor even put Imogen's 
 
ST, DOMINICK. ^13 
 
 traitorous feelings to the te6t by an enquiry 
 on the subject, 
 
 Imogen, who trembled lest the tender- 
 ness of her heart was hut its weakness, and 
 who dreaded the sarcastic raillery, as 
 much as she venerated the virtue and ad^ 
 mired the brilliant talents of the canoness, 
 hugged herself on her fortunate reserve^ 
 and felt proportionable courage to reveal 
 to her, her long cherished intention of 
 avoiding a religious life by flight; since 
 she could not be supposed to be influenced 
 in her dangerous attempt by the weakness 
 of passion rather than by the conviction of 
 reason. 
 
 Three weeks had elapsed since a close 
 attendance in the study of lady Magdelaino 
 had allowed her to visit the convent ; on 
 the evening of the day the above conversa* 
 tion took place, she obtained permission to 
 visit the sister Pasiphae, and remain with 
 her that night. 
 
 Accompanied by one of lady Magdfr- 
 laine's women, she set out on her Jittlepe- 
 
214 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 destrian journey ; and during its perfofm* 
 ance determined on acquainting the ca- 
 noness with her resolution, to profit by 
 her advice, and be decided by her opinion ; 
 while she thought she knew enough of the 
 nun to believe she would applaud her de- 
 termination, and probably assist her to rea- 
 lize it. 
 
 When she reached the convent, she 
 found the nuns at vespers, all but the sister 
 Pasiphae, who was now wholly confined to 
 her cell; and when Imogen entered it she 
 beheld her reclined on her couch, and ap- 
 parently wrapped in a soft repose. Imogen 
 crept towards her, and started with emo- 
 tion as she observed the visible change 
 which had taken place in her friend since 
 she had last beheld her : her form seemed 
 almost transparent, and to the gaze of the 
 novice appeared little more than a beauti- 
 ful anatomy ; from her closed eye stole a 
 tear, which glittered on a cheek white and 
 polished as Parian marble ; on her pale lip 
 played a smile which, like that tear, seemed 
 
trr. dominick. 215 
 
 the extatic offspring- of her dream's bright 
 vision. The sun, as it set opposite to the 
 narrow casement of her cell,, flushed a 
 rosy tint on her snowy drapery, and tinged 
 her whole form with something more than 
 human. One skeleton hand was spread 
 on her bosom, the other rested on her lute, 
 which lay against the couch : suddenly her 
 seraph smile disappeared, her tear dried on 
 her burning cheek, her countenance be- 
 came convulsed, her frame shook almost to 
 dissolution ; she panted, struggled, and, 
 with a shriek that seemed to burst her 
 heart, threw herself out of the bed. The 
 arms of the trembling and scarcely less 
 agitated Imogen received her, on whose 
 face she fixed a wild and eager gaze; then 
 sighing, she, with a look of affectionate 
 recognition, pressed her hand and faintly 
 exclaimed, Cf Oh, how welcome is the sight 
 " of thee! thy eye alone beams peace and 
 " youthful joy j thy presence, only, cheers 
 " my drooping spirit!" 
 
 Imogen, weeping, raised her on her 
 
SiO THE NOVICE OF 
 
 couch, and, kneeling beside her, pressed 
 her hand with her lips. 
 
 " Iicnv warm/' said the nun, ff is the 
 <e pressure of thy lips, and how soothingly 
 V grateful thy tears ! may they never flow 
 f( but for the sorrows of another!" then 
 shuddering, and with a look of wildness, 
 she added, " oh, it was such a dream ! so 
 < f sweet, and yet so dreadful !" 
 
 <f Methought indeed it was/' said Imo- 
 gen ; i{ for while I watched thee as thou 
 ff slept, thy countenance exhibited such 
 < ( strong emotion," 
 
 u And oh, well it might," said the nun 
 emphatically, *' for that dream contained 
 i( the epitome of my life. Imogen, I fan- 
 r f cied myself in that sweet era of exist- 
 *f ence, when Jove and hope and every joy 
 « ran high ; when pleasure twined her 
 <f rosy wreaths round my polished brow, 
 r 1 and guileless rapture thrilled on every 
 <( sense. Seated amidst the embowering 
 rl shades of my sweet paternal home, I 
 <\ beheld at my feet the object of my 
 
ST. DGMIMCK. 2\1 
 
 " heart's idolatry ; I felt the pressure of 
 " his lip on my trembling hand, and my 
 u ears drank the welcome sound, that in 
 " one short week death only could divide 
 " us. Suddenly the scene was changed, 
 " and instead of the groves of Provence, I 
 ec found myself in the great court of the 
 " Louvre in Paris; all was darkness and 
 "desolation! save when the lightning's 
 Cf flash gave to my eye the mangled forms 
 " of dying men, or bands of murderers, 
 " plunging their reeking daggers into the 
 tf bosoms of unresisting victims. Prostrate 
 " to the earth, I invoked the protection of 
 e( St. Bartholomew, whose festival it was : 
 " methought I beheld him on every side 
 " succouring the oppressed and rescuing 
 " the wounded ; but when his eye beamed 
 " full on me, it was my love ; I sprang 
 " forward and found safety in his arms; 
 " I felt the soft pressure of his embrace, 
 " I felt his tender sigh on my cheek and 
 " his warm tears on my lip. At that mo- 
 ,f menta ghastly band rushed forward, they 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
218 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " plunged their daggers in the bosom of my 
 " love ; they dragged me from that bleed- 
 (i ing bosom, and threw me headlong into a 
 " dreary vault, where reposed the moulder- 
 " ing bones of St. Dominick ; then, as the 
 et monument closed o'er my head, me- 
 " thought I did perceive those murderers 
 " were my brothers !" 
 
 <c God of heaven!'" said Imogen, shud- 
 dering, " and is this the epitome of thy 
 <: life ?" The nun folded her hands on her 
 bosom, cast up her eyes to heaven, and 
 gently waved her head, while the tears fell 
 in large drops down her pale face. 
 
 At that moment a group of the nuns 
 entered the cell; although they came to 
 make enquires for the health of the sister 
 Pasiphae, they all circled round Imogen 
 as soon as they perceived her, and, in spite 
 of the weakness of the poor invalid, were 
 clamorous in those numerous and simple 
 questions iheir insatiate curiosity, and eter- 
 nal sameness of life, rendered interesting. 
 Imogen having satisfied them as far as lay 
 
ST. DOMINIC K. 219 
 
 in tier power, they turned the conversa- 
 tion to all that had occurred at vespers; 
 talked of father Philips ha\ ingmade a most 
 risible mistake, of the aw kwardncss of the 
 officiating nun, and the old sister Urselin's 
 having fallen asleep in the middle of a ju- 
 bilate, and awakening chaunted the ser- 
 vice of the dead ; then having exhausted 
 all their flippant nothings, they wished the 
 wearied canoness a good night, and took 
 Imogen with them to pay her respect to 
 the abbess. 
 
 Afl soon as the novice got liberated from 
 the tedious homilies and drowsy exordiums 
 of the holy mother, she flew back to the 
 canoness: she found her something more 
 composed, and seated at a small table on 
 which her lamp burnt, while one of the 
 lay sisterhood arranged her bed. She re- 
 ceived Imogen with a melancholy smile, 
 and welcomed her return. " I have ob- 
 " tained permission/' said the novice, e< to 
 ' take possession of sister Mary's mattress,, 
 " by your bedside, if she have no objec- 
 
no 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " tion." " None in the world/' said the 
 sister significantly, happy to be dismissed 
 from her nightly attendance, which the 
 weakness of the invalid required. 
 
 When they were alone, Imogen entered 
 on the subject which had brought her to 
 the convent : she unfolded to the canoness 
 the gradual progress of her ideas ; she 
 compared her present sense of religion 
 with that in which she had been brought 
 up; she candidly confessed her horror of 
 convent life, and her resolution to avoid 
 it: "yet," added Imogen, " as you alone 
 fk opposed the fanaticism of my infant pre- 
 judices, as you alone shed a beam upon 
 " my mind, which has never since been 
 " obscured, but spread its light with in- 
 lc creasing brightness, to you only do I 
 Cf confide the sentiments of that mind, and 
 " the resolution they have inspired." 
 
 The canoness listened to her in extreme 
 emotion, and fixing her large black eyes 
 on her face said, with a flash of her wonted 
 animation : " So, my young saint ! you 
 
ST. BOMINICK. 221 
 
 ft have at last discovered there are sorae 
 {( spots in our feasts of charity ?" Then 
 assuming a tone grave and impressive, she 
 affectionately took Imogen's hand and con- 
 tinued : " My dear child, there are certain 
 " principles which the very constitution 
 " of our natures lead us to receive ; im- 
 " mutable truths, which come home with 
 " resistless force to every bosom ; and 
 <( though obscured by those prejudices 
 " born amidst the profound ignorance of 
 {( early ages, confirmed by time, and that 
 " passive indolence by which men take up 
 u their opinions upon trust, and avoid the 
 " trouble of thinking for themselves, yet 
 " the human mind, in its progressive state, 
 " is still propelled towards perfection, and 
 cc gradually shakes off its errors. In the 
 ec words of an Italian poet: 
 
 * Come cTautunno le foglie 
 
 L'uno appresso delle altra infin che'l tamo 
 
 Prinde alia terra tutte le sue spoglie.'* 
 
 * Dante, Inferno. 
 
222 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 <( All therefore that you have now related 
 '•' to me of the change which has taken 
 <: place in your sentiments, pleases with- 
 te out amazing me ; since it confirms what 
 " 1 have always believed, that reason, 
 <e when suffered to take it course, will ever 
 c - confirm the universal principles of truth 
 " and nature, and distinguish, amidst the 
 "' various documents of human education, 
 C( the good from the bad ; adhering with 
 " iirmness to the former, and rejecting the 
 " latter with humility. " 
 
 " When in thy infant years I beheld 
 " thee, and all thy blooming virtues, sacri- 
 {i ficed at the sanguinary altar of fanati- 
 " cism, I pitied thee; when in the clois- 
 " ters of Saint Dominick I beheld the 
 <c proud ambition of genius soaring beyond 
 " the narrow limits of destiny, I admired 
 " thee; and now, that I find thy reason 
 " asserting its rights, thy nature recoiling 
 <c from the barbarous distinctions created 
 u by perverted religion, not by (he spirit 
 " of true holiness, from the horrors of fa- 
 
ST. DOMINIC K. l a.2> 
 
 " naticism, from the errors of superstition, 
 " I revere thee, 
 
 ,f But here my commendations end; for 
 " here the wonderons strength of thy 
 " mind ceases to operate, and the sugges- 
 " tions of a wild romantic imagination 
 " guide thy efforts : elope ! whither, where, 
 " to whom, by what means, and for what 
 " end?" 
 
 " Alas/' said Imogen sighing, "that I 
 " never thought of: but ef this I am cer- 
 "tain, a fate more dreadful than now 
 te awaits me I cannot encounter. J> 
 
 <f Thou sayest true/' said the nun em- 
 phatically; i( my heart can best aver how 
 <f fatally true ! But is there, my sweet 
 e( imprudent, no medium between certain 
 u and probable destruction ? is there no 
 " friend to save thee from immolation ? " 
 
 "On earth," said Imogen, embracing 
 the canoness's knees, " I own no friend 
 but thee. " 
 
 The nun, bending forward, folded her 
 arms around her, and let fall a tear on her 
 
224 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 cheek. " That tear, " said Imogen, as it 
 mingled with her own, " is my assurance 
 " thou wilt assist me to escape the doom 
 " that awaits me ; wilt thou not ? " 
 
 fi And is it to me, " said the nun, raising 
 and embracing her, " to me thou dost 
 " apply for relief; to me who have sworn 
 " on the altar of my God to violate every 
 €C law, human and divine, he has implanted 
 " in my breast, to obliterate the affec- 
 " tions he has braced on my soul, and to 
 '• render others as wretched, were that 
 "possible, as myself ? knowest thou not 
 <f that I am bound to destroy, to abhor, 
 " all who dare think differently from the 
 " way I have been taught myself to think, 
 " and that I should deliver thee over to 
 " inquisitorial horrors, rather than by com- 
 " miserating thy fate sanction thy apos- 
 "tacy?" 
 
 " Alas, " said Imogen trembling, as the 
 lamp's blue flame flashed in the wild and 
 convulsed countenance of the nun, " alas, 
 • f if you desert me, then am I wretched 
 " indeed ! " 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 225 
 
 " Desert thee ! w said the nun recover- 
 ing-, and vTith an air of tenderness, c< de- 
 " sert thee, thou sweet victim, never ! yet 
 Ci the world deserted me when at thy age : 
 " wilh all thy warm and social affections* 
 <( I was entombed within this convent ; 
 " here withered the bloom of my heart's 
 u first love, here died ray hopes, never to 
 " live again !" Then, taking a medallion 
 from her bosom, and touching a spring, it 
 flew open, and presented to the eye of 
 Imogen two beautiful portraits : ff Behold/' 
 continued the nun, " this fair representa- 
 tive of youth and vivacity; such once 
 M was Pasiphae, and this beautiful and 
 
 l( manly countenance was " The nun 
 
 paused, and for a moment concealed her 
 face in her veil : then with less emotion 
 continued ; " The chevalier de Sorville and 
 " Rosalie de Vilette, after an attachment 
 <( of some years, founded on a sympathy 
 ft of talent and pursuit, received the sanc- 
 " tion of their friends to their union. The 
 f brothers of Rosalie, high in favour with 
 l 2 
 
226 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Charles IX, were implicated in the hor- 
 cc rors of St. Bartholomew, and became 
 " the avenging ministers of their diaboli- 
 " cal monarch : at the moment that De 
 ee Sorville, like the Spirit of Mercy, flew 
 <c from side to side, protecting, rescuing, 
 c< and consoling the persecuted Hugonots, 
 " in snatching a victim from the uplifted 
 " arm of the fanatic De Vilette, De Sorville 
 <c received a wound in his own bosom, re- 
 " ceived it, O God ! in the sight of Ro- 
 " salie. That moment gave birth to mad- 
 " ness ; and when, after a long, long ob- 
 " livion to her woes, the wretched Rosalie 
 tf recovered her reason, she found herself 
 " tranformed into the sister Pasiphae of 
 " Saint Dominick ! — but I pain thy kind 
 " heart/' 
 
 " Nay, in sweet pity, continue," said 
 the weeping novice. 
 
 " Alas! I have only to add, that my 
 ec brother's death speedily followed my re- 
 " covery, and that De Sorville still lives, 
 ' but oh ! lives not for me !" The nun 
 
ST. D0MIN1CK. 221 
 
 then, after a long pause, added : w And 
 c< thinkest thou I will not make an effort 
 u to save thee from that fate that impends 
 " o'er thee? Indeed I will. After an 
 <e absence of twenty years from the world, 
 " it contains but one being whom I can 
 (( call friend. You once saw her at the 
 " parlour grate, when she came from Paris 
 " to visit me, at a time when. I was on the 
 " point of dissolution.'* 
 
 " I do remember well," said Imogen, 
 " the lady de Rosemont, to whom, at your 
 " desire,, I carried a rich casket, and who 
 " rewarded my trouble by such grateful 
 " commendation as pleased my childish 
 " vanity IV 
 
 " The same; the amiable sister of the 
 " lover of Rosalie de Vilette. To her I 
 " will commend thee; and she, for my 
 " sake, and when I shall be no more, will 
 " protect thee. But hark ! the bell tolls 
 <( twelve; retire thee now to rest, and by 
 " to-morrow I shall have fixed on some 
 " plan for thee to pursue." 
 
228 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Imogen, who wept tears of joy, loaded 
 the canoness with her affectionate and 
 grateful caresses, embraced her knees, and 
 kissed her hands a thousand times, while 
 she earnestly entreated to be allowed to 
 sit up with her till she should herself be 
 inclined to retire to rest; but the canoness 
 said she had some papers to arrange, and 
 that it was never her custom to go to rest 
 till some hours after midnight. Imogen, 
 fearing to be intrusive, threw herself on 
 the mattress ; and, wearied by her long 
 walk and her various emotions, soon fell 
 into a soft and sweet repose. 
 
 The dawn was just glancing through 
 the casement, and the bell tolling for ma- 
 tins, when Imogen from dreams of ideal 
 bliss awakened, and beheld the canoness 
 still seated at the table ; lier arm supported 
 her head, and her lamp burning dimly be- 
 fore her. The novice arose, and tenderly 
 hinted her suggestions that she had not 
 taken any repose ; when, looking beneath 
 the black veil that shaded her face, she 
 
ST. DOMIKICK. 229 
 
 wais shocked to behold the visible change 
 which had taken place in it since the pre- 
 ceding night. The hollow eyes of the 
 nun were inflamed and red with weeping. 
 The snowy whiteness of her complexion 
 was changed to a deadly sallow, and her 
 voice was hollow and inarticulate. After 
 swallowing a draught prescribed by the 
 physician of the convent, she appeared 
 more composed read over with great ear- 
 nestness a letter that lay on the table, 
 then folded and directed it to the Cheva- 
 lier de Sorville. As she wrote the name, 
 Imogen, who looked over her shoulder, 
 saw the tears efface the letters almost as 
 fast as they were written. The canoness 
 then took up another letter, and presented 
 it to Imogen to read : it was addressed to 
 Madame de Rosemont, and almost wholly 
 related to Imogen, who was mentioned in 
 a manner that called a blush into her 
 cheek as she perused the commendations 
 of one whose esteem she so dearly prized ; 
 but the concluding lines paled that blush, 
 
230 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 and the tears of mourning- friendship suc- 
 ceeded to the glow of self-satisfaction as 
 she read the following passage : — 
 
 (C Friend of my life, farewell ! That 
 " life which your friendship alone ren- 
 cc dered worthy of supporting, hastens 
 *f with rapid flight to its last sad hour ! — 
 c< My existence for these two last years 
 ff has been a miracle to all, to myself a 
 " burthen. A protracted being has been 
 " the expiation of my sins; and death, 
 " like a welcome long-expected friend, 
 " lures me to those joys life denied me. 
 fl When you will receive this, I shall pro- 
 " bably be no more. The dim eye, whose 
 " weak and imperfect vision scarce views 
 * these characters I trace ; the trembling 
 (< and skeleton hand that with difficulty 
 <( guides my pen ; and those confused and 
 ci incoherent thoughts that rather con- 
 " found than dictate the heart's still-glow- 
 " ing wishes — all sadly coincide with 
 c( those internal principles of decay which 
 " have long been stealing me to the grave. 
 
ST. DOM I NICK. 231 
 
 u The young novice will give thee a small 
 * packet, to be delivered to thy brother : 
 cc it contains his picture, and the letter he 
 " addressed some fifteen years ago to the 
 €C minor canoness of St. Dominick; it 
 C( contains also a few lines, not from the 
 f< fond Rosalie de Vilette, but the dying 
 " Pasiphae. Yet, if over these few lines 
 " some faint beam of love's decaying fire 
 " sheds its lingering glow, and the wo- 
 " man's treacherous heart betrays its 
 u weakness even in the hour of awful dis- 
 11 solution, oh ! let them not meet his eye, 
 Ci lest he, who towers above mortality, 
 *.* perceive how distant he has left me in 
 u virtue's steep ascent! Yet I had a mind 
 " that would have gone goal for goal with 
 " his, but that my heart lacked strength : 
 " but now all is over, and death will soon 
 " accomplish what reason and philosophy 
 " could not j for De Sorville will cease to 
 " be beloved when Rosalie shall cease to 
 rc live. Once more, farewell for ever!'* 
 u For ever !" faintly articulated Imo- 
 
232 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 gen, concealing her face in her veil ; then 
 throwing her arms round the nun, sobbed 
 aloud upon her bosom. 
 
 " My dear child," said the canoness, in 
 great emotion, but too weak to weep, 
 " this is too much ! Spare me. spare thy- 
 «' self, nor let us by vain regrets occupy 
 " the precious time which should be de- 
 " voted to saving thee from that fate 
 " which at thy age consigned me to mi- 
 " sery ! And trust me, sweet maid, that, 
 cc after a long, long exclusion from the 
 ff happiness of serving a fellow-creature, 
 " the idea of snatching you from — oh! 
 *f wretchedness supreme ! — a living death, 
 " will shed a cheering ray upon my life's 
 " sad close, and, like a smiling cherub, 
 " hover round my heart till its last vital 
 " pulse shall cease to play, then mingle 
 et with the joys of opening heaven ! 
 
 " Nay, hear me out, while I have 
 iS strength to speak. The mode of thy 
 11 escape alone perplexes me with obsta- 
 " clcs. To-day I shall see a person on 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 233 
 
 (i whom I think I may confide, and whose 
 u services I have a right to claim. Mean- 
 cc time return thou to the chateau de Mont- 
 " morell, and obtain permission to come 
 " to-morrow evening to the convent at 
 if the hour of vespers. , I know thou hast 
 " long been the instrument of our supe- 
 " rior's sanctimonious avarice, who thinks 
 ,f by thy means to secure some rich dona- 
 " tions to the convent from thy patroness, 
 " therefore is she impatient for thy re- 
 "turn; and the lady Magdelaine, who 
 cc has long trembled for her own salvation 
 " through thy apostacy, will be as anxious 
 <f to entomb thee here as the abbess. — 
 " You must escape their vigilance, and 
 (i not depend on their generosity for your 
 " emancipation : for these women, who 
 " possess zeal without truth, and faith 
 " without virtue, will make it a merit in 
 <f the eye of heaven to force thee into that 
 <f mode of thinking which, professing 
 " themselves from prejudice and fear, 
 <f not conviction, empowers them to shut 
 
234 s ice of 
 
 " or open the gates of heaven as their 
 V own bigoted wills decree. Oh ! they 
 k * know not, they feel not, that the bond 
 ■* of true religion, like heaven's own good- 
 H ness, should be unlimitable, and enclose 
 •' within its circle ail mankind. Religion 
 ct is to them a little code of local ceremo- 
 " nies, drawn up by human invention of 
 " the lowest order, of useless mysteries 
 " and childish bugbears, set to puzzle, 
 ,f not to convince — made to terrify, not 
 " to instruct. But thou, with whom reli- 
 " gion is but a better name for happiness 
 " and virtue, mayest thou escape that 
 Ci bondage with which the zeal of false 
 " devotion would fetter all thy blooming 
 ct virtues ! Yet think not that thou wilt 
 ■* leave all bigotry behind thee when thou 
 ct fliest from a convent: Oh no! it is a 
 Ci hardy plant, and thrives in every soil, 
 <c save in that where true religion only 
 " flourishes. 'Tis not beneath the cowl 
 " and scapular alone self-wrapt illiberal 
 " prejudice veils its deformity : it finds 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 235 
 
 " protection in every sect ; fo'r each be> 
 <( lieves itself alone the true, seizes with 
 " sacrilegious hand the apostolic key of 
 rt paradise, and flings beyond salvation all 
 " who can't believe the dogmas it holds 
 " out." 
 
 The nun then^ after a moment's pause, 
 continued: " Lest my fading recollection 
 <f should totally desert me, I will make 
 u what little arrangement I can at the 
 • present moment. *' Then, taking out 
 her own picture from the case Imogen had 
 seen the night before, she placed it in the 
 note directed to the Chevalier De Sorville, 
 and fixed her eyes on his portrait for a 
 considerable time, till her hand trembled 
 so she could scarcely hold ft. In a hur- 
 ried manner she attempted to close the 
 case, but finding the effort too much, she 
 exclaimed, tc It will not be!" .nd put it 
 into Imogen's hands, who fastened it. — 
 cf Conceal it carefully/' said- the nun, 
 turning away her head, «' and give it 
 (( with that letter to the lady de Rose- 
 ft mont." 
 
236 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 Imogen put them both in her bosom. 
 "This ring," said the nun, after a long 
 pause, in which she seemed to struggle for 
 composure, taking a rich diamond from a 
 casket, if was given me by a dying mo- 
 cf ther." Then kissing it, and bathing it 
 with her tears, she placed it on Imogen's 
 finger. " Wear it/' said she, " for the 
 « f sake of her unfortunate daughter: and 
 " here is a small purse of gold ; thou 
 " wilt need it, my poor little wanderer, 
 " nor wilt thou refuse it from one whose 
 <e wish to serve thee is indeed great, but 
 " that her will lacks means." Imogen 
 looked at the ring, then at the purse, then 
 in the face of the canoness ; and, falling 
 at her feet, folded her hands in her's, 
 pressed them to her lips, and dewed them 
 with her tears, in all that vivacity of mo- 
 tion and gesture the child of nature only 
 possesses. <c An honest heart has no feel- 
 Ci ing so strong as gratitude,, and a liberal 
 <f one none so strong as the delicacy with 
 Cf which it receives it." What a beautiful 
 
ST. DOHINICK. 23? 
 
 illustration of this just and elegant maxim 
 was the canoness and the novice at that 
 moment ! The countenance of Imogen, 
 as her face was raised towards the nun, 
 beamed with all the energy of her grate- 
 ful feelings ; in the tender but half-avert- 
 ed glance of Pasiph'ae was registered the 
 meek delicacy with which it was received, 
 not refusing, yet denying a claim to it. 
 
 " I have done nothing," said the ca- 
 noness, raising the novice, fl but what you 
 " can repay a thousand fold by conduct- 
 iC ing yourself with prudence, and by re- 
 Ci straining that romantic turn of mind 
 " which is so great an enemy to the cir- 
 " cumspection you should observe/' — 
 The canoness then requested her to re- 
 turn to the chateau, lest their conference 
 should awaken suspicion ; and Imogen 
 had only time to embrace her, when some 
 of the nuns entered ; and after (in the 
 usual common-place terms of regret) ex- 
 pressing their surprise at the alteration 
 so visible in the appearance of the sister 
 
238 the novice of 
 
 Pasiphiie, they took Imogen with them to 
 assist at matins, who immediately after 
 the service returned home. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 I am fresh of spirit, and resolved 
 To meet all peril very constantly. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 THE day which intervened between 
 that on which she had parted from the 
 canoness and that on which they were 
 finally to determine on the mode of her 
 escape, was passed by Imogen in all that 
 restless agitation of a mind laboring under 
 the ever-torturing feelings of suspense ; a 
 species of suffering of all others the least 
 supportable to such a mind as Imogen's, 
 which, sanguine and impatient, scarcely 
 conceived a project that fancy did not 
 overleap probability to realise. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, who possessed 
 nothing of genius but its variability., was 
 
ST. DOMINIC K. 239 
 
 constantly altering, or, as she termed it, 
 improving-, some passage of her work, 
 which caprice rather than judgment dis- 
 approved ; and Imogen was detained to a 
 later hour than usual on the evening when 
 tor the last time she was to visit the con- 
 vent of St. Dominick, and by that visit 
 save herself from becoming its inhabitant 
 for life. 
 
 Full of all those fears natural to her si- 
 tuation, she dared not ask permission to 
 attend the convent vespers, lest suspicion 
 should awaken at the request ; for the sun 
 had set some time before she had left the 
 study of lady Magdelaine. 
 
 While in doubtful anxiety she stood at 
 the casement of her apartment, and casta 
 longing look towards the convent's spires, 
 Theodore, the young page, led out a mule 
 from the postern gate beneath. " Theo- 
 " dore," said Imogen softly, " whither 
 " goest thou ?" The page started, turned 
 round, and replied, "• To our bishop's 
 " ca9tle, mademoiselle, with this packet 
 
240 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " from father Anselrn, which is to be deli- 
 iC vered before the morning's dawn." 
 
 u And if thy path lies near the convent 
 " of St. Dominick, wilt thou give me thy 
 " protection to its gates p" 
 
 " Will I ? Oh ! though it did not, how 
 " gladly would I go out of my way for the 
 u happiness of attending you!" 
 
 " Tarry then a moment/ said Imogen, 
 wrapping a large cloak round her, and 
 creeping down softly to the postern gate, 
 where Theodore received her. The sum- 
 mit of the loftiest mountain scarcely blush- 
 ed to the departing radiance of the sun ; 
 over the spires of the convent the evening 
 planet flung its steady light, while to the 
 upturned gaze of Imogen and her young- 
 companion, on the deep blue of the at- 
 mosphere, countless suns, surrounded by 
 their attendant worlds, gradually appeared. 
 
 " What a heavenly night !" said the 
 page, throwing the bridle over the mule's 
 neck, who followed him as he walked by 
 Imogen's side. 
 
ST. DQMIMCJt. 241 
 
 "Heavenly indeed!" said Imogen \ and 
 they continued to walk on in silence. 
 
 " When we consider." said Imogen, 
 after a pause, ff that each of those beauti- 
 rt ful lights, which now appear and disap- 
 " pear to the eye, is a sun, and the centre 
 u of a system of worlds, we become lost, 
 ff overwhelmed by the idea of His omni- 
 " potence who created them, and wonder 
 " with the royal Psalmiat, ' Lord, what is 
 {c man, or the son of man, that thou so 
 '•' regardest him !' " 
 
 ff When you speak to me," said the 
 page, u of the wonderous works of nature, 
 M you appear to me yourself at once the 
 11 most beautiful, the most interesting! 
 11 O mademoiselle, when \ hear you 
 " speak thus, and when I look at you, so 
 " young, so fair!" — 
 
 ff Is that the convent bell?" interrupted 
 Imogen, confused, and for the firs* time 
 sensible of the impropriety she had com- 
 mitted in stealing from the chateau, un- 
 known to its lady, at such an hour, and 
 
 VOL, I. m 
 
242 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 with such a guide. " The urgency of the 
 " circumstance only can excuse it," said 
 Imogen, determined to proceed in silence. 
 
 " There certainly is some charm in the 
 " instruction you convey," continued the 
 page; " for while the little astronomy and 
 a mathematics the father Philip had the 
 cc goodness to teach me is all forgotten as 
 " fast as learnt, not a word, not a sentence, 
 " you ever uttered, but I could repeat 
 ct better than my prayers ; and I have 
 ec often thought, mademoiselle, that if all 
 " teachers rrere like you, the world would 
 " benefit by it more than by all the col- 
 " leges of Jesuits in the world. What a 
 " difference between the hoarse accents 
 " of a toothless mumbling friar, and a 
 " voice like your's, flowing through teeth 
 " so white and lips so beautiful !" 
 
 " There is more gallantry than truth or 
 '•justice in your remark," said Imogen 
 coldly j " but I prithee let us quicken|our 
 " pace, or I shall miss vespers. " 
 
 "Is it true, mademoiselle, that you are 
 
ST. DOMJNICK. 243 
 
 * indeed to enter on your profession Sun- 
 "day next?'* 
 
 " It is so intended, I believe, " said 
 Imogen. 
 
 •■ Gracious God !" exclaimed the page 
 with a profound sigh, and continued to 
 walk on in silence. They had now come 
 within sight of the gates of St. Dominick> 
 when Imogen suddenly stopt. " Hark V 
 said she, " how sweet that strain breathes 
 <e on the stillness of the night 4" 
 
 " It must be the nuns chaunting the 
 " evening service," said the page. 
 
 iC Surely, " said Imogen, " this is some- 
 n thing more than ordinary." 
 
 They had now reached an eminence 
 which commanded a perfect view of the 
 convent grounds, and Imogen and her com- 
 panion paused to observe the effect produ- 
 ced by approaching torch-light, as it flushed 
 a red tint on the gloomy foliage of the pines 
 and cypress that shaded the cloistral walks, 
 while a long range of awful arches che- 
 quered with their extended shadows the 
 
244 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 broad mass of light the illumination within 
 the body of the church flung- from the 
 stained sashes of the lofty spiral windows. 
 The next moment a procession of friars 
 appeared, walking two by two,, and carry- 
 ing lighted tapers ; then followed the exor- 
 cist, the cross-bearer, and the officiating 
 priest, heading four brothers of the order 
 of St. Dominick, bearing on their should- 
 ders a bier covered with a pall, which, 
 flowing back from their shoulders, fell to 
 the ground. Supported by two of her 
 nuns appeared the abbess of St. Domi- 
 nick as chief mourner; and the whole 
 body of the sisterhood closed up the pro- 
 cession, which proceeded from the con- 
 vent gate along the cloisters. The friars 
 sang the Miserere till they approached the 
 church; when their deep tones fading 
 into a mournful cadence, the nuns began 
 the Rcquiern until they were all received 
 within the body of the church, where 
 their soft and sweet choral strain was lost 
 amidst the organ's loud and solemn swell ; 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 245 
 
 and the whole impressive scene was again 
 wrapt in the gloom of obscurity. 
 
 ft How awful I'' said the page; c< 'tis 
 (f one of the pious sisterhood going to her 
 " last home." 
 
 Imogen in silence and with rapidity de- 
 scended the eminence ; then, waving her 
 hand, and faintly uttering her thanks to 
 Theodore, she entered the gates of the 
 cemetery, which lay open, and glided into 
 the church. The solemn office for the 
 dead was just begun, and the body, placed 
 in the centre of the aisle, was surrounded 
 by tapers. 
 
 Imogen, though scarcely able to move, 
 crept behind the pillars, and, entering the 
 choir, mingled with the nuns. Not daring 
 to make an enquiry, and full of the pro- 
 phetic fears of anxious friendship, she 
 threw herself on her knees beside the lay 
 sister who had attended the canoness. — 
 r< So," said the sister, in a whispering 
 voice, ir you are come too late — it is all 
 <{ OYerwith your friend." 
 
246 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 "Merciful God!" exclaimed Imogen 
 faintly, "then it is as I suspected!" 
 
 Cl Yes," said the sister ; {c you are doubt- 
 " less disappointed, for I suppose you ex- 
 <c pected something by her death ; but 
 tc though I had a right to whatever she 
 " might have left, (for the saints are wit- 
 r< ness to the trouble I have had with her,) 
 " I came off no better than yourself. — 
 " With all the canoness's wondrous sense, 
 " which was perpetually taking others to 
 ie pieces, every trumped-up story of dis- 
 w tress could impose on her." 
 
 To this selfish and unfeeling harangue 
 Imogen listened in tears and in silence : 
 then, after a long pause, in a voice 
 scarcely articulate, she demanded when 
 the canoness died. " In something less 
 fC than three hours after you left her," 
 returned the sister. " When I went into 
 <c her cell after matins, I found her lying 
 " on the ground in a swoon; but she only 
 " recovered from one fainting fit to fall 
 u into another. We carried her into the 
 
ST. D0M1NICK. 247 
 
 " chapel to receive extreme unction, and 
 ' she died in our arms, almost without 
 " benefit of the clergy., Christ preserve 
 " us! for she took no notice of what was 
 " g om » forward — -she was indeed speech- 
 " less from the time you left her." 
 
 Here the office for the dead being finish- 
 ed, mass was celebrated; and the officia- 
 ting priest having (lung incense over the 
 body, and sprinkled it with holy water, 
 the procession proceeded to the chancel, 
 where a grave was opened to receive all 
 that remained of the mortality of the un- 
 fortunate Rosalie de Vilette. 
 
 As soon as the body was interred, the 
 pious crowu retired ; and Imogen, who 
 leaned behind a pillar for support, soon 
 found herself alone, and, seating herself 
 by the grave of the cano'aess, wept the 
 death of the only friend Providence had 
 raised to cheer her hapless destiny ! Yet 
 were her emotions, though mournful, not 
 ungracious: it was a melancholy indul- 
 gence of that luxury of woe so profoundly 
 
248 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 to be felt by the heart of sensibility, so 
 impossible to define. To the tender re- 
 gret of friendship succeeded a train of 
 considerations more immediately connect- 
 ed with self-interest. Imogen now found 
 herself without a friend on earth, and her 
 <f tender buds of hope" blasted in the very 
 moment she believed the genial influence 
 of friendship was about to rear them to 
 maturity. She had not the faintest suspi- 
 cion of the person to whose care she be- 
 lieved the canoness meant to consign her, 
 and who was to have conducted her in 
 safety to the lady de Rosemont ; and how, 
 helpless and unprotected as she was, she 
 should find a mode to escape the vigilance 
 of lady Magdelaine before three days 
 could elapse, or travel alone through that 
 part of the province where civil war raged 
 with the most boundless fury, was a ques- 
 tion unanswerable. 
 
 The deep toll of the midnight bell first 
 awoke her attention from the train of 
 thought that involved it to a sense of her 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 249 
 
 situation. Seated by the newly-made 
 grave of the departed nun, on a fragment 
 of a broken tomb-stone, with no other 
 light than what the dying lamps in the 
 distant ailes afforded Imogen shuddered 
 at the awful gloom that surrounded her. 
 She arose, and took a taper that burnt be- 
 fore the shrine of St. Dominick, and held 
 it up; but its faint blue flame served but 
 to make the darkness of the church more 
 visible. Imogen, though reared in a con- 
 vent, possessed not the shadow of super- 
 stition ; but u ebon Sight is no logician,'* 
 and the imagination of the novice, but too 
 much alive to the impression of existing 
 circumstances, opposed those arguments 
 her mind suggested to her fears, and for 
 a moment left her a prey to those vague 
 horrors which ignorance and error are 
 supposed only to cherish. But their in- 
 fluence was but momentary ; she smiled 
 away her apprehensions, and advanced 
 towards a door which opened into the 
 cloisters, determined to proceed to the 
 m2 
 
250 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 dormitory, and take up her night's lodg- 
 ing in the cell of the lay sister who at- 
 tended the canoness, and of whom she 
 had yet much to ask relative to her de- 
 ceased friend. 
 
 She had scarcely proceeded a few steps 
 when, stumbling over some loose flags, 
 she slightly hurt her foot. To prevent 
 the return of a similar accident, she took 
 down a lamp that hung from a pillar, and 
 holding it low, as its light flashed on the 
 tesselated pavement, she ohserved it che- 
 quered by the extended shadow of what 
 she supposed an image. Instinctively 
 raising her eyes, she beheld a tall figure 
 leaning on the pedestal of a monument. 
 Imogen started, believed it still to be a 
 statue, and raised her lamp ; the figure 
 glided away ! 
 
 Imogen clung to a pillar for support; 
 a chill faintness seized her; she would 
 have sunk to the earth, but that an encir- 
 cling arm withheld her. 
 
 f * Fear not, lady/' said a voice low and 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 251 
 
 mournful ; " the spirit of the departed 
 " saint thou mournest, like thy minister- 
 u ing angel, guards the sacred vigils of 
 " weeping friendship, and — " 
 
 Imogen heard no more : the exaggerated 
 fears of imagination were almost wound 
 up to frenzy ; and, after a temporary in- 
 sensibility to her situation, she found her- 
 self seated at the base of the monument 
 where the figure had leaned, and the fa- 
 ther Philip supporting her in his arms, 
 while his lantern burnt by her side. 
 
 " Merciful God ! was it you, father ?'* 
 said she ; " could fear so have deceived 
 " me, that I did not know your voice or 
 <c person ? And yet, methought, as you 
 u leaned against this pedestal, your figure 
 " appeared tall beyond ordinary height." 
 
 u I lean against a pedestal ! Holy Rfo- 
 " ther ! why thou hast had a vision, 
 iC daughter," said the friar, smiling, whose 
 round plump stature must have suffered a 
 strange metamorphose to have answered 
 Imogen's description. 
 
352 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Was it not you, father, who caught 
 " me as I sank to the earth ?" 
 
 <f Marry no ! I found thee seated here 
 cc pale and lifeless, as I was returning to 
 " my convent, after shriving the sister 
 u Agnes, who is fast following the ca- 
 u noness." 
 
 iS And saw you no one?'' demanded 
 Imogen. 
 
 " None but thee," said the father ; " and 
 " truly thou didst startle me, and not a 
 "little, daughter ." 
 
 Imogen then related the circumstance 
 of heir having loitered at the grave of her 
 departed friend, and of the figure that met 
 her eye and addressed her. 
 
 The father was too superstitious not to 
 express some emotion at the detail ; until 
 Ihe probability suggested itself, that either 
 the solemnity and gloom of the place, in 
 conjunction with Imogen's fears, had con- 
 jured up the phantom, or that some per- 
 son among the few of the neighbouring 
 peasantry who were presont at the funeral 
 
st. doxMinicr. 253 
 
 obsequies had loitered behind, quieted the 
 friar's suspicions of a supernatural intru- 
 der ; and holding up his lantern, and per- 
 ceiving the door still open by which the 
 peasantry usually entered, he exclaimed, 
 <c 'Tis as I suspected : some pious hind 
 " was keeping his vigil at the shrine of 
 " bis patron saint, and your spectral ap- 
 " pearance scared him from his devotion." 
 Imogen was in no temper of mind to 
 argue the point, however she might differ 
 in opinion from the friar ; who, drawing 
 her arm through his own, conducted her 
 to the convent, where she joined a few 
 of the nuns, who were sitting up with a 
 sick sister ; — and while the curious legend, 
 holy fable, or wondrous tale, went round 
 with ceaseless garrulity, the novice re- 
 mained silent and thoughtful, wholly oc- 
 cupied with those various interesting and 
 melancholy reflections which the death of 
 the canoness and her own situation had 
 awakened ; nor was the mysterious stran- 
 ger forgotten. The imagination of Imo- 
 
254 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 gen was too romantic not to give the oc- 
 currence all the high coloring of the mar- 
 vellous; and the voice and address of the 
 incognito was of too singular and superior 
 a nature to induce her to coincide with 
 father Philip. " It is all a mystery," 
 mentally exclaimed Imogen, "and cer- 
 f4 tainly a mystery connected with the 
 <c death of the canoness." 
 
 While she was thus occupied, the nuns 
 turned the conversation on the death of 
 the canoness ; and the novice learned that 
 a dispensation from the pope, enabling the 
 sister Pasiphiie to remove from the con- 
 vent for the recovery of her health, had 
 been brought by two strangers of noble 
 appearance, who seemed much atfiicted at 
 the tidings of her death, and who imme- 
 diately rode away, without stopping to 
 take the refreshments prepared for them 
 in the refectory. 
 
 Imogen was now certain that one of 
 those strangers was the person who ad- 
 dressed her; yet willing to avoid the tire- 
 
ST. DOMIXICK. 255 
 
 some questions and wondering curiosity 
 of the nuns, she forbore making any men- 
 tion of her adventure ; and the next morn- 
 ing reached the chateau before her ab- 
 sence during the night had been noticed, 
 while the nuns took leave of her as one 
 from whom, in a day or two, they should 
 part no more. 
 
 When a strong mind is thrown wholly 
 on itself, it becomes fertile in resources. 
 <e I must now/' said Imogen, " depend 
 M on myself alone." This reflection gave 
 her an extensibility id her own estimation 
 she could not feel while depending on the 
 exertions of the canoness. She had mo- 
 ney, more than she believed she should 
 ever have occasion for; and she had a let- 
 ter to secure her a reception with Ma- 
 dame de Rosemont. And now her first 
 and favorite plau of eloping in the dis- 
 guise of a minstrel again recurred to her 
 mind, as the only one she could adopt. 
 Yet even to effect this, it was requisite 
 to have some assistance; and there was 
 
256 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 but one person to whom she could apply 
 — that person was Theodore the page. 
 
 The modesty of her nature, and some 
 degree of pride incident to her character, 
 had prevented her hitherto from noticing 
 the page by the least familiarity; she 
 thought their situations assimilated too 
 closely to admit of the shadow of freedom 
 on her part; and the occasional modest 
 gallantries of the young page rendered her 
 still more diffident of admitting any on his. 
 Their only intercourse, for two years that 
 they had been beneath the same roof to- 
 gether, had been a repeated offer of little 
 services, or oblique encomiums on his side, 
 and of grateful refusals or modest rejec- 
 tions on her's. A sense of the discovery 
 she was about to demand, overwhelmed her 
 with confusion, as she entered the apart- 
 ment where Theodore, who had read all 
 the romances of the age, sat absorbed in a 
 book. On Imogen's entrance he flung it 
 down, and rose respectfully. " 1 fear," 
 said Imogen, " I have interrupted your 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 257 
 
 re studies ?" — u 'Tis true, mademoiselle, 
 " you have ; but how much more delight- 
 ce ful is such interruption than any pur- 
 <c suit it could interfere with !" 
 
 " Perhaps," said Imogen, " thou wert 
 cc quarreling with thy author, and glad of 
 " an opportunity to fling him aside." 
 
 4C Pardon me, I was much interested in 
 " the story : 'tis of a brave and noble 
 " knight, who rescued by his single arm 
 " a beautiful and amiable lady from the 
 " power of two guardians, who would 
 " have forced her into a convent, to pos- 
 " sess themselves of her fortune. Oh, 
 " how happy are such knights !" 
 
 t( Dost thou think so, Theodore? and 
 (( wouldst thou too volunteer in the service 
 <e of the suffering and oppressed, did an 
 (t opportunity occur?" 
 
 <' Would I ? would I? O God ! but you 
 " do not, will not, know my heart/' 
 
 n I think I do, Theodore ; for I believe 
 <f it noble, generous, and benevolent : else 
 
258 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 fk would I not repose that confidence in 
 ■* thee i am now on the point of doing." 
 
 <c A confidence, and in me, holy Mo- 
 c< ther! you cannot mean it?" 
 
 " Not if you refuse to receive it, Theo- 
 " dore." 
 
 " I refuse ! I swear by all 1 hold dear to 
 "consecrate my life to your service. " 
 
 " Nay, my kind friend, 1 demand no 
 " protestations " She then mentioned her 
 determination pf avoiding 1 a mode of life, 
 to which she had objections, which neither 
 her reason nor conscience could get over; 
 her expectation of an asylum with madame 
 de Rosemont; with every other circum- 
 stance relative to the intention she had 
 formed. 
 
 Theodore listened to her in amazement 
 too great for utterance. * c What, made- 
 " moiselle, you who have been always 
 u looked up to as a saint ; you who have 
 u been always intended for a nun ; 'tis 
 " most strange, and yet most natural: be- 
 {c sides, wherever you think best must be 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 259 
 
 (C so 3 and oh, were you to remain here, 
 " how delighted should I be at your de- 
 " termination ! and when you leave the 
 " chateau, who will care to remain in it? 
 " Oil, did you but know how your idea 
 " cheered its solitude, how often the sight 
 " of you passing through the auti-cham- 
 " ber has revived my spirits for a whole 
 " day! "When I looked on you as a sa- 
 " cred being consecrated to God, I be- 
 " lieved it almost a sin to think of you, but 
 " as one does of their patron saint ; and 
 "then, holy Mother! what pains did I 
 " take to stifle even — But your pardon, 
 " mademoiselle, I would not offend you 
 " for the world. — You were speaking of 
 " your escape from the chateau. I do be- 
 " lieve the lady Magdelaine has it much 
 ce at heart to make you a nun, whether 
 " your vocation lies that way or no; and 
 " it will not be easy to get clear of her 
 te vigilance : where does the lady Rose- 
 ff mont reside ?" 
 
 Imogen drew from ber bosom the letter 
 
260 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 addressed to madame de Rosemont. Theo- 
 dore reading in the superscription that her 
 chateau lay on the skirts of Picardy, and 
 within three leagues of the city of Soissons, 
 suddenly exclaimed : " Nothing can be 
 
 * more apropos. You must know, ma- 
 *' demoiselle, there lives about two leagues 
 " from the chateau a widow and two sons, 
 « f who deal largely in the frieze cloths for 
 11 which this province i9 so famous ; their 
 " chief market is at Soissons, and since 
 " this part of the country has been so 
 " disturbed, they carry their merchandize 
 " by water, and coast along the Aisne. — 
 " Of a fine evening you could almost see 
 " the smoke of their chimney across the 
 •' river from your window ; they are 
 (i plain, simple, and credulous, and differ 
 " in no respect from the peasantry, ex- 
 " cept in being somewhat more opulent. 
 <f You know, mademoiselle, I have some 
 <{ skill in pharmacy, having culled simples 
 
 * and attended the laboratory of the Cis- 
 " tercran brothers at St. Menhoulm, until 
 
$£. DOMINIC*, 261 
 
 ■ recommended to the lady Magdelaine 
 " by father Anselm. The poor people 
 u think me skilful ; and having had the 
 " good fortune to cure one of the widow's 
 " sons of a disorder in his leg, they fancy 
 " themselves beholden to serve me to the 
 " utmost extent of their power. Sunday 
 i( is the day appointed for you to enter 
 " your holy profession — Saturday is the 
 " market of Soissons ; these good people 
 " will set out with their merchandize early 
 u on Friday morning ; I will recommend 
 '.' you to their protection as a young rela- 
 " tion of my own, going into the service 
 u of a lady in Picardy. When you are 
 " once at Soissons, they will easily find a 
 '? mode of conveyance for you to the cha* 
 " teau at Rosemont." 
 
 The sanguine Imogen eagerly caught 
 at this project, and thanked Theodore 
 with tears and smiles of gratitude. " But 
 " art thou sure, my kind friend," said she, 
 " that these people will afford me the pro* 
 " tection you suppose? and how will you 
 
262 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ec . be able to see them between this and 
 " to-morrow morning, when you say tbey 
 " set out on their journey ?" 
 
 " Oh, easily, mademoiselle : I shall pad- 
 " die the little pleasure-boat across the 
 e{ Aisne, instead of going- the high road; 
 " by which means 1 shall reach their cot- 
 Ci tage in less than an hour and a half, 
 " and shall be back by the time my lady 
 w goes to supper. Meanwhile, pack up 
 " Whatever you ma}' think necessary to 
 e< take with you ; and three hours after 
 " midnight, when the moon will rise, the 
 " splashing of the oars beneath your win- 
 (i dow will be the signal of departure.'* 
 
 <c Suppose," said Imogen, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, and in some confusion, (i I 
 <f were to disguise myself as a minstrel — 
 " might not a man's garb be some protec- 
 < tion ?" 
 
 " Doubtless, mademoiselle : neither 
 st your sex, face, nor form, are much cal- 
 " culated to insure your safety in an ad- 
 y venture such as you are now on the point 
 
ST. DOMIMCR. 263 
 
 " of entering; and a minstrel's garb is a 
 " passport every where. Yet should you 
 " assume it, I see no necessity for your 
 " doing so until you arrive at Soissons. 
 u The most dangerous part of your jour- 
 <e ney will be the three leagues between 
 "Soissons and De Rosemont: the war 
 <f rages in Picardy ; the king has invested 
 ° Laon ; and the two armies are scattered 
 " in every direction. " 
 
 •'* Is the minstrel's robe still lying in his 
 u apartment?" asked Imogen, colouring. 
 
 " It is, mademoiselle : I will leave it in 
 u your room with a doublet and hose of 
 " my own ; we are, I think, much of a 
 "size; the minstrel was of a lofty sta- 
 '■ Uire." 
 
 " He was so," said Imogen, sighing. 
 
 n Do you think you will meet this min- 
 " strel, mademoiselle," said the page with 
 a penetrating smile, M when you enter the 
 " world?" 
 
 " Good heavens ! no; why should you 
 "think so?" 
 
264 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 " May I entreat your pardon ? In truth 
 " I know not why I think so ; but I am 
 " certain that were it so, the minstrel 
 " would not regret the circumstance; yet 
 " his never returning here, with such in- 
 " ducements, — except indeed he — " 
 
 "Theodore," interrupted Imogen, "it 
 ft were well we now parted, our long con- 
 t( ference may else excite suspicion. 3 ' 
 
 cc True, mademoiselle; it is selfish in me 
 u to wish to prolong my own happiness, 
 u at the expence of endangering your's ; 
 
 " but a conversation with you is so 
 
 " Well, I am gone, mademoiselle: if you 
 w loiter here about nine o'clock this even- 
 <c ing, I shall have returned from the cot- 
 " tage of dame Margueretta, and will 
 <c meet you here." 
 
 Theodore then set out on his little 
 friendly expedition ; and Imogen attended 
 lady Magdelaine, as she believed and 
 hoped, for the last time, in her study. 
 
 At the hour Theodore had appointed, 
 Imogen found him in the anti-chamber; 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 265 
 
 he had only time to tell her that he had ar- 
 ranged every thing with the dame Mag- 
 gueretta, when the lady Magdelaine'sbell 
 summoned him to the supper-room, where 
 Imogen also adjourned, and took her seat 
 as usual at the table. 
 
 What a heart throbbed in her bosom, 
 during the most tedious supper she had 
 ever sat down to ! The friar, who was 
 doing all possible justice to a very fine 
 capon, was silently busy till the cloth was 
 removed : when he amply made up for his 
 taciturnity, by expatiating on the art of 
 cookery, its rise, progress, and decline 
 ainong the ancients, and its revival in the 
 present day ; inveighing against the sin of 
 intemperance, and on the benefit resulting 
 from spare diet ; repeating some lines of 
 Horace, descriptive of 
 
 1 A. noble pair of brothers, who 
 
 On nightingales of monstrous purchase din'd;' 
 
 with an appropriate eulogium on the Spar - 
 tan brown bread and black broth; and 
 
 VOL. I. n 
 
266 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 with the abstemious vehemence of an In- 
 dian bramin, after having feasted with the 
 voluptuous delicacy of an Apicius. At 
 last, having finished a bottle of vin de 
 pays, he rose to retire. The lady Mag- 
 delaine arose at the same time. 
 
 The heart, when placed in a new situa- 
 tion, betrays emotions of which it believed 
 itself incapable, until called into existence 
 by the pressure of circumstances hitherto 
 inexperienced. Imogen received the fa- 
 ther's benediction with an emotion that 
 almost tempted her to press the hand that 
 waved over her bending head ; and when 
 she wished the lady Magdelaine good- 
 night, she did it in a tone so full of ten- 
 derness, that the lady Magdelaine seemed 
 to catch the infection of kindness, and, in- 
 stead of her usual formal salute, returned, 
 4 ' God bless you, child!" Never had her 
 sharpest severity gone so closely to the 
 heart of Imogen. " It is probable," said 
 Imogen, as she looked after them as they 
 proceeded by different ways to their re- 
 
ST. DOMIN1CK. 267 
 
 spective apartments, " I shall never see 
 " you more." In that reflection all their 
 former unkindness was forgotten. Imo- 
 gen could recollect nothing but the pains 
 the friar had taken with her in her studies, 
 and the condescension with which the lady 
 Magdelaine had lately asked her opinion 
 upon several occasions. Imogen returned 
 to her chamber, and found the minstrel's 
 robe, with part of the page's dress on her 
 bed: these she packed up with a small 
 parcel of linen ; then seating herself at 
 the casement, passed the remainder of 
 the night, so pregnant with event, in a 
 variety of conflicting and opposite reflec- 
 tions. The hepe of emancipation from 
 impending evils; the fears natural in an 
 attempt so hazardous to a mind equally 
 ignorant of enterprize and vicissitude; tine 
 sanguine expectation of success, and the 
 dread of failure; all contributed to agi- 
 tate the mind of Imogen, and at intervals 
 nearly overthrew every intention, and 
 staggered every resolve. At last the clock 
 
268 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 struck three, the moon arose from behind 
 the spires of St. Dominick, and Imogen 
 heard the splashing of the oar beneath her 
 casement : she arose, wrapt a large cloke 
 round her, took her little parcel in one 
 hand, a small lute in the other, as a sub- 
 stitute for a harp in her personification of 
 the minstrel ; and proceeded with a noise- 
 less step and beating heart to the gallery, 
 which opened by a glass door on the ter- 
 race, where Theodore met her. He took 
 her parcel and lute; and, drawing her arm 
 through his, they proceeded in silence till 
 they descended a flight of marble steps, 
 at the foot of which the boat was moored. 
 Theodore placed his trembling charge in 
 it ; and, seating himself opposite to her, 
 plied the oar, which sparkled with the bril- 
 liant drops of the moon-light wave. As 
 they glided from the shore, the dark sce- 
 nery of the chateau and the forest de Mont- 
 morell assumed an awful and impressive 
 aspect. The thoughts of Imogen were 
 wholly absorbed in their contemplation : 
 
ST. DO Ml NICK. 209 
 
 those local attachments which a warm and 
 affectionate heart will form even for ina- 
 nimate objects, to which it has been long 
 habituated, rushed on her mind ; and in the 
 moment of her parting with them for ever, 
 assumed an interest her heart before had 
 never confest. Every spot, as it receded 
 from her gaze, recollection consecrated to 
 some novel sensation, some new-born idea, 
 some developed thought ; and the soft re- 
 gret which attends a final separation from 
 things grateful from habit, but in them- 
 selves inconsequential, mingled with the 
 joyous emotion of liberty regained, and 
 hopes almost ratified, which thrilled with 
 ardent pulsation on every fibre of her heart. 
 Then apostrophizing the sombre pile on 
 which her gaze was fastened, she men- 
 tally exclaimed, ce Alas! how many weary 
 ff hours and restless days have I passed 
 " within the confines of thy gloomy walls ! 
 " There my heart has vainly throbbed to 
 " disclose the lively emotions it cherished ; 
 * f there have my eyes vainly cast round 
 
270 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 es their hopeless glance, nor met the look 
 " of sympathy they sought ; there reflec- 
 " tion shed her light on my mind only to 
 " make me conscious of the wretchedness 
 u of my destiny, and every new-born 
 "thought awakened but to slumber!" 
 Then casting her eyes towards a casement 
 brilliantly illuminated with the moon- 
 beams, she recollected that it was there 
 she last beheld the minstrel; that it was 
 there she had received those vows which 
 in her young heart awakened a bliss be- 
 yond all the joys she believed the scale 
 of human f?licity comprised ! Even the 
 recollection of that sweet though illu- 
 sive moment was 'a joy past joy ;' e< and, 
 <( though/' said Imogen, "experience has 
 " taught me it was but a rapturous dream, 
 " I would not part with the emotions the 
 ff remembrance of that dream excites, for 
 " all tire sober contentment and unalloyed 
 tc satisfaction that I may yet, that I have 
 <c hitherto enjoyed. PAlas ! that the hap- 
 " piest moment of life should have been 
 
ST. DOMIMCK 2?L 
 
 cc the most deceitful." Her half-articu- 
 lated exclamation was accompanied by 
 tears which coursed each other down her 
 cheek. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle!" said the page, 
 who had long and silently observed the 
 varying emotions of her expressive and 
 eloquent countenance, " it is for those 
 u only to weep whom you leave behind 
 " you. 'Tis certain I always knew you 
 " were to leave us some time or other ; 
 " but still you would have remained in the 
 ci neighbourhood ; and on a festival day, 
 " when I attended the church of St. Do- 
 (( minick, I should hear your sweet voice, 
 " and know I was under the same roof 
 " with you : but now, now you are free, 
 " and it is no sin to think of you. But 
 " pardon me, I would not for the world 
 " say any thing to offend you ; I always 
 " believed you were intended for soma- 
 " thing great ; I shall never forget the 
 ec horoscope cast for you by the old astro- 
 " loger the last day lie visited the chateau. 
 
272 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Yet I once read in a romance, of a 
 <s page who fell in love with the very lady 
 u he served : it was indeed audacious, but 
 " then there is no dictating to the heart; 
 (C do you think there is, mademoiselle ?" 
 
 u I should hope so, Theodore/' said 
 Imogen with a sigh ; " else wherefore was 
 w reason bestowed on us ? The best 
 " heart is liable to become the sport of its 
 iC own impulse ; and even though its pro- 
 " pensities individually considered may 
 <f be consonant to virtue, yet relatively 
 " they may be inimical to prudence, jus- 
 " tice, and the happiness of others, as well 
 te as our own." 
 
 u 'Tis very true, mademoiselle ; you al- 
 " ways speak, think, and look, like an an- 
 fi gel. We should not attach ourselves 
 " to an object we can never possess ; not 
 (i that it is wrong to love what is most 
 11 worthy of being loved. Oh no ! but to 
 tc encourage an inclination detrimental to 
 (c our peace, without even a hope of gra- 
 " tifying it, is at once sinful and childish. 
 11 Is it not so, mademoiselle?" 
 
ST. D0M1NICK. 273 
 
 " I fear so, Theodore/' sighed Imogen ; 
 and they both remained silent till the boat 
 put into a little harbour that almost bathed 
 the walls of dame Margueretta's cottage. 
 The dawn was already breaking in the 
 east, a faint tint of yellow gleamed on the 
 horizon, and the morning planet still sur- 
 vived the lesser lights of the firmament; 
 while, opposed to the glowing flush of 
 strengthening day, the moon appeared but 
 as a luminous vapour. Moored to the 
 bank lay a package-boat ; and Theodore, 
 steering clear of it, anchored his little 
 bark to the stump of a decaying willow, 
 whose drooping boughs flung their shade 
 across it ; he then jumped on the bank, and 
 rapped at the cottage-door. A light soon 
 appeared in the casement, and the next 
 moment he was admitted. When he re- 
 turned to Imogen he was accompanied by 
 a middle-aged woman, habited in the pea- 
 sant dress of the country, and who wel- 
 comed her in a patois dialect so broad and 
 unintelligible, that Imogen only under- 
 m 2 
 
274 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 stood her courteous reception by the air of 
 native kindness which accompanied it. — 
 She conducted her young and timid pro- 
 tegee to a small room, where two comely 
 youths were at breakfast. Imogen and 
 the page gratefully partook of the rural 
 fare, pressed on them by their hosts with 
 all the eagerness of unpolished hospita- 
 lity. The meal being finished, the two 
 young men and their mother went out to 
 the boat ; and as Imogen observed them 
 stowing in the last parcel of their frieze 
 merchandize, she turned to Theodore, 
 and having thanked him in a voice scarcely 
 articulate from emotion, she added, " And 
 " now, my kind friend, it would ease my 
 (t heart of its fears on your account, lest 
 cf your absence should be discovered, did 
 " I see you row back towards the chateau, 
 u whose turrets the morning light renders 
 (i discernible even at this distance." 
 
 %e Ah!" said the page, brushing a tear 
 from his cheek, " I shall be there too 
 •"soon!" 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 275 
 
 w How thy kindness affects me!" said 
 Imogen, applying her handkerchief to her 
 eyes; " yet how I envy thee thy feelings! 
 " for dear to a heart like thine must be 
 t( the consciousness of a benevolent ac- 
 iC tion performed for another at the risk of 
 " injuring ourselves. Pure disinterested 
 " humanity ! this is thy blessed attribute' 
 " and while the heart of Imogen shall 
 " throb with life, the generosity of Theo- 
 iC dore shall live among its most grateful 
 " recollections. " 
 
 "O heavens! how you overpower me! 
 <f To succour the oppressed is an impulse 
 " of the heart, not an effort of the mind — 
 " it is a gratification, not a duty. I re- 
 <f member it was thus you spoke when I 
 Ci would have thanked you for clearing my 
 u character to lady Magdelaine, after the 
 " envious Bernarditie had so grossly as- 
 u persed it. I remember too, when I was 
 (< on the point of being discharged, and 
 " you pleaded for me with tears, and of- 
 f( fered me all the money you had to send 
 
276 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " my mother, for that Bernarditie had de- 
 iC prived me of, and — " 
 
 " Nay, no more, I entreat no more," 
 interrupted Imogen; and at that moment 
 the woman entered to tell her all was 
 ready for their departure. 
 
 Imogen presented her hand to Theo- 
 dore ; he led her out in silence, placed 
 her in the boat, fixed her parcel and lute 
 beside her, and held the hand she pre- 
 sented him for more than a minute to his 
 lips ; and then, unable even to utter an 
 adieu, leapt on shore. The little bark 
 glided swiftly away. Theodore, with 
 folded arms and watery eyes, pursued it 
 with his gaze. 
 
 Imogen kissed the end of her veil, and 
 waved it in the air. Theodore returned 
 the salute with his hat ; and the next mo- 
 ment the serpentine course of the river 
 stole her from his view. The page then 
 entered his little boat with a weary and 
 desponding heart, and reached the cha- 
 teau de Montmorell ere its inhabitants 
 
ST. D0MIN1CK. 277 
 
 had awakened to the dull round of their 
 accustomed avocations. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 One out of sorts with fortune; 
 
 SlIAKSPEARE. 
 
 Io vado — 
 
 Fuggitiva Tuminga— e chi sa dore 
 
 Puo guidarmi il destin ? 
 
 Mltastasjo. 
 
 SWIFTER than the course of the ra- 
 pid stream over which she glided flowed 
 the thoughts of Imogen as she pursued her 
 voyage along the delicious shores of the 
 Aisne. •' Some natural tears she dropt, 
 " but dried them soon ;" and the timid 
 apprehensions, the sombre doubts, that 
 had agitated her mind, vanished before 
 the cheering beams of hope. As the mists 
 of twilight gradually disappeared to her 
 eye before the rising refulgence of the 
 sun, all »' the melodies of morn" burst on 
 
278 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 her ear, all the awakened beauties of na- 
 ture blushed on her view ; and while the 
 lowing of the herds, the wild tone of the 
 huntsman's horn, or the warlike blast of 
 the trumpet's shriller notes, died away 
 among the echoes of the hills, the boat 
 glided through a changeful scenery, over 
 which the enthusiast fancy of the young 
 Imogen roved with unsated delight. — 
 Meantime her femab companion seemed 
 lost in silent calculation of her expected 
 profits, which appeared bv her reckoning 
 on her fingers; while the two boys alter- 
 nately sung a hymn to the Virgin, or a 
 ballad of Roilo; and sometimes raised 
 their sparkling oars to pomt out a strag- 
 gling party of the military, who held their 
 outposts on the summit of a distant emi- 
 nence, and who had come down to the 
 skirts of an extensive orchard to regale 
 themselves with the delicious fruit it af- 
 forded. 
 
 Imogen's fellow-travellers having pro- 
 vided themselves with refreshments, about 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 279 
 
 noon they landed, and spread their simple 
 repast beneath the shelter of a rock, 
 whose high and overhanging points were 
 shaded with pine and elder, amidst whose 
 interwoven branches the vertical beams of 
 the meridian sun played without incom- 
 moding the travellers. Over the hours 
 of social enjoyment care holds no jurisdic- 
 tion. The old woman ceased to calculate, 
 and was loquaciously gay ; whilethe young 
 men, more alive to the beauties of a face a 
 large hat (now thrown on one side) no 
 longer concealed, collected the choicest 
 wild flowers the spot afforded, and pre- 
 sented them as a tribute of homage to the 
 charms of their lovely fellow traveller ; 
 while the young heart of Imogen, ever 
 ready to expand its affectionate powers to 
 the least influence of kindness, entered 
 with interest into the village politics and 
 domestic tales of the dame and her sons, 
 though with difficulty understood; and 
 catching up their dialect, with all the most 
 happy powers of imitation which she so 
 
280 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 pre-eminently possessed, repeated (as they 
 continued their voyage) several leg-ends, 
 and sung some provincial ballads, which 
 she accompanied on her lute. 
 
 That witchcraft which lurked in the 
 manners of their fair companion stole in- 
 sensibly on the hearts of the simple pea- 
 sants; the evening- unobserved fled on 
 with hasty strides, and the last gleam of 
 the setting sun illuminated the high tops 
 of the forest of Folambray, which ap- 
 peared, at the distance it was observed, 
 like a dark cloud tinged with living gold, 
 as the spires of Soissons rose on their 
 view. Within half a league of the city 
 they landed at a little cabaret, where they 
 were to put up for the night. 
 
 It was a matter of some debate with 
 Imogen and her new friends whether she 
 would set off that evening to the chateau 
 de Rosemont, with Robichon, the younger 
 of the boys, on horseback, or wait till the 
 following morning, and hire a guide at 
 the cabaret; for Robichon would be un- 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 2S1 
 
 der the necessity of attending the market 
 with his mother by dawn the next day. — 
 Extreme impatience to arrive at the end 
 of her journey, and her reluctance to trust 
 herself to a strange guide, or remain lon- 
 ger at the cabaret, now thronged with 
 rude and riotous people, who put up with 
 their merchandise for the night, induced 
 her to adopt the former plan, to which 
 Theodore had strongly advised her ; and 
 though her host of the cabaret assured her 
 the road to the chateau de Rosemont was 
 neither dangerous nor frequented, yet she 
 thought it advisable to adopt the disguise 
 with which she had furnished herself, as 
 more appropriate to her expedition than 
 the light and singular habit of a novice of 
 St. Dominick. 
 
 Having expressed her intention to her 
 female protectress, who highly approved 
 of it, while Robichon got the horse ready, 
 Imogen exchanged her dress for that of a 
 minstrel ; while modesty trembled at the 
 mandate necessity imposed, and blashcd 
 
28*2 THE M0TOCQ OF 
 
 " celestial rosy red" in contemplating a 
 transformation which was to secure the 
 sensitive reelings of delicacy from a still 
 greater violation. 
 
 As soon as she was dressed, she pre- 
 sented two pieces of gold to the dame 
 Marguerette, influenced rather by the 
 suggestion of her generosity than her pru- 
 dence in the donation : for amidst the 
 thanks with which the dame overwhelmed 
 her lurked surprise, curiosity, and suspi- 
 cion ; and she now, for the first time, be- 
 came importunate in her enquiries and 
 hints, which Imogen, to avoid, seemed not 
 to understand. Robichon now led a horse 
 to the door, for the hire of which Imogen, 
 had paid. Imogen flung the string of her 
 lute over her shoulder ; and, being placed 
 on horseback behind Robichon, she bid 
 adieu to dame Marguerette and her eldest 
 son, and struck off in a path which lay to 
 the west of Soissons. 
 
 Athough the sun had set some minutes 
 before they left the door of the cabaret. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 283 
 
 a flood of crimson light bathed the hori- 
 zon, reflected on every object a deep red 
 tint, and gave to scenes of changeful va- 
 riety, through which the travellers passed, 
 that warm glow of colouring which so 
 eminently characterizes the animated land- 
 scapes of Claude Lorraine, until the last 
 sweet solemn hour of 
 
 " Grey-hooded even, 
 ° Like a sad votaristin palmer's weeds, 
 " Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' car;" 
 
 and as the obscurity of twilight veiled in 
 gradual oblivion those picturesque and 
 varying objects which had interested her 
 taste or given play to her imagination, 
 Imogen's thoughts revolved wholly on her- 
 self, and the reception she would meet 
 with from the lady de Rosemont ; and a 
 thousand timid fears insinuated themselves 
 into a heart too anxious to please not to 
 be doubtful of success, and which had 
 sketched the reception of the new protec- 
 tress under a thousand aspects that alter- 
 
ii84 lt£ HOI ICB OF 
 
 natcly animated her hopes or strength- 
 ened her apprehensions. i( How much," 
 thought Imogen, " will the good madame 
 u de Rosemont be shocked, when at the 
 cc same moment she will receive her 
 cc friends letter and an account of her 
 " death ! Surely the sense of affliction in 
 * ourselves can be scarcely more dreadful 
 ie than that of awakening it in another. It 
 €< is entering a family under very gloomy 
 tc auspices, to be first known to it as the 
 " bearer of melancholy tidings/' 
 
 " I hope, mademoiselle," said Robichon., 
 as he jogged on with undeviating pace, 
 «' that you are not afraid." 
 
 " Afraid, good Robichon, of what?" 
 said Imogen, who now first observed the 
 loneliness of their path, which lay through 
 a wild and desolate heath. 
 
 n Of what! nay, I know not, made- 
 " moiselle ; but one would as soon not 
 ct travel at this dead hour of the night if 
 cc one could help it. Somehow, although 
 cf I defy the devil and all his works, I 
 
ST. D0MIX4CK. 285 
 
 " never care to go the length of myself 
 " when once the sun sets behind our moun- 
 " tains: albeit our father Francisco gave 
 "me a charm against evil spirits; see, 
 " mademoiselle, here it is, enclosed in this 
 <{ little reliquary, which was my great- 
 a grandfather's ; 'tis but a little of the 
 M sand scraped off the golden cockle-shell 
 <e of St. Michael, yet I warrant of marvel- 
 " ous great power." 
 
 *■ 1 fear no evil spirits/' said Imogen, 
 casting round a timid glance; " and hea- 
 " ven, I trust, will protect us from mortal 
 " enemies. " 
 
 <{ Now I'll be sworn, mademoiselle, 'an 
 ct I would rather meet a tcoop of arque- 
 " busiers, with their short fusees, long ra- 
 " piers, and murdering faces, than one sin- 
 (l gle spirit. Holy St. Michael, what is 
 <( that standing near the ruins of yonder 
 " watch-tower ? The whole army of 
 " blessed martyrs take us into their care!" 
 
 " In good sooth," said Imogen, reco- 
 vering from momentary horror, * thou 
 
286 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " frightenest me: I see nothing- near the 
 M watch-tower but a whithered tree. Come, 
 <f banish thy fears, and I will tell thee a 
 <f pleasant tale for thy amusement; 'tis 
 <( the wondrous tragedy of the Green Lady 
 •• and the Dwarf of the Hills." 
 
 " Do so, mademoiselle; it gladdens my 
 " very heart to hear a marvelous pleasant 
 " tale, and never did I hear a story of a 
 <€ dwarf that was not full of cunning de- 
 
 " vice." 
 
 <f Well then, first tell me how far may 
 <c we be from de Rosemont?" 
 
 <c A league from the watch-tower, 
 <l which in former times belonged to the 
 if seigneurie of de Rosemont. I know 
 " every step of the road as well as my 
 " beads. Before the troubles broke out 
 (i in Picardy we carried our merchandize 
 <f into the neighbourhood of the chateau. 
 " But I prithee, demoiselle, let us have 
 * tby pleasant story. 
 
 " Well then, Robichon, mend thy 
 <f pace, and thus we begin : It was about 
 " the reign of Louis the Twelfth—" 
 
ST. D0M1MCK. 287 
 
 tc He was a saint, mademoiselle, was he 
 "not?" said Robichon, crossing himself 
 devoutly. 
 
 " Not by the calendar," said Imogen 
 smiling, ce but he was the Pat ler of his 
 " people. It was in his reign that an an- 
 " cient castle stood at the foot of mount 
 " Cenis." 
 
 iC My grandam has a story that begins 
 'just so," said Robichon, "only that 
 <( instead of mount Cenis, 'tis the Vauge 
 "mountains. But I cry yonr mercy; 
 " proceed, mademoiselle." 
 
 " This castle was the residence of a 
 
 " lady, who Do you not hear the 
 
 "i distant sound of horses' feet ?" 
 
 " Mcthinksl do/' said Robichon, "yet 
 H I see nothing. We are not very far 
 #■ from the forest of Folambray, of which 
 (t there is a dreadful story of a white steed. 
 u The story runs thus : It was — " 
 
 " Merciful God !" said Imogen, f if 
 11 the forest should be a shelter for ban- 
 " ditti!" 
 
2S8 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Lord help thee, lady ! the whole king- 
 u dom is a shelter for them ; forgo which 
 Ci way you will, you are sure of being 
 " murdered and plundered into the bar- 
 " gain." 
 
 At that moment, by the light of the 
 coruscations which flashed in the atmo- 
 sphere, Imogen perceived a band of horse- 
 men descend from the opposite hill. She 
 could scarcely articulate, C( Fly, or we are 
 "lost!" while Robichon, equally intimi- 
 dated, turned off the high road, and gal- 
 loped with the utmost speed down a nar- 
 row alley, impenetrable from the gloom 
 of the trees which shaded it. They had 
 gone more than half a league before Ro- 
 bichon checked his horse ; then listening 
 for a moment, and hearing no sound but 
 the melancholy groans of the forest agi- 
 tated by the gusts of rising wind, he ex- 
 claimed, breathlessly and still trembling, 
 lc Well, mademoiselle, I believe we have 
 u distanced them for this time ; and by 
 " the length of way we have gone, I wot 
 
ST. DOUIMCK. 289 
 
 (< we cannot be far from the chateau." — 
 " But you seem to forget, Robichon/' 
 said the still-agitated Imogen, Ci that, 
 u though we have gone a considerable 
 " distance, we have taken a road direcfly 
 " opposite to that which led to de Rose- 
 " mont." 
 
 " Ventre Dieu! I never thought of 
 i{ that ; but there are so many little Big- 
 " zag ways about these forests, which the 
 " peasants cut for themselves, that I doubt 
 n not this same path will lead to the cha- 
 11 teau; and I am much mistaken if those 
 11 are not its turrets rising to the left." i 
 
 " We are certainly near a chateau/' 
 said Imogen, whose heart bounded at the 
 conviction; " but whether it be the cha- 
 kf teau de Rosemont — " 
 
 " It can be no other," said Robichon. 
 
 Less than a quarter of an hour's ride 
 brought them before the portals of tiie 
 chateau. It was a vast and frowning edi- 
 fice, flanked on all sides by lofty round 
 towers, and involved in an air of melan- 
 
 vol. i. o 
 
290 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 choly gloom, which the solemnity and 
 darkness of midnight heightened almost to 
 desolation. 
 
 te Are you certain that this is the cha- 
 (i teau deRosemont?" demanded Imogen, 
 while a ch illness crept through her veins 
 as she contemplated this great and sombre 
 structure of feudal power. 
 
 " Morally certain/' replied Robichon, 
 alighting, and heartily weary of his jour- 
 ney, which his wishes led him to believe 
 was now at an end. 
 
 (i The family are retired to rest, I fear/' 
 said Imogen. 
 
 " We shall soon awaken them," said 
 Robichon, taking hold of a horn that hung 
 by a brass chain from the outer gate, and 
 sounding a blast that seemed to shake the 
 whole building, and was repeatedly rever- 
 berated among the surrounding hills. In 
 a few minutes a light appeared in an upper 
 casement of one of the towers, which was 
 cautiously opened ; and a man, holding 
 
ST. DOMINIC*. 291 
 
 out a lantern, demanded, C( Who sounded 
 " at the horn r" 
 
 " A friend, who wants admittance," 
 said Robichon. 
 
 " That is more easily asked than grant- 
 " ed," returned the man. 
 
 " I pray you, good friend, inform us,'* 
 said Imogen, " if this is the chateau de 
 if Rosemont . : ' ,, 
 
 " Why, here are two friends instead of 
 C( one," said the man, " who want admit- 
 (t tance," holding down his lantern ; " but 
 <c what boots it to thee to know, young 
 K sir ? These are no times to admit nightly 
 rf wanderers. Thou hadst better not lose 
 " thy time parleying here, so good night." 
 
 " We are no wanderers/' said Imogen 
 eagerly. " This youth is my guide, who 
 " returns when he sees me safely lodged 
 " within the gates of the chateau de Ilose- 
 " mont." 
 
 u Marry, then it will be long ere he re- 
 " turns; but what is thy business here?" 
 
 " To deliver a letter and a packet of 
 
 
292 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 (t some consequence to the lady de Rose- 
 " mont." 
 
 " O ho ! a packet of consequence ! 
 c< Well, tarry there a moment, and I will 
 " be with thee presently." 
 
 The casement was then closed, and the 
 light retired. 
 
 It was near a quarter of an hour before 
 the window was again opened. " The 
 " lady de Rosemont is retired to rest," 
 said the same voice ; u but hie thee to the 
 iC postern gate to the left of this tower, and 
 c< thou shalt obtain admittance." 
 
 "Thank heaven then!" said Imogen, 
 " this is the chateau de Rosemont." 
 
 " Aye, aye, I could not be mistaken," 
 said Robichon, leading round the horse; 
 and by the time he had lifted her off the 
 gate was unbarred, and a man appeared 
 with a lantern. By his voice Imogen 
 knew it was the same she had already 
 spoken to. 
 
 Robichon gave her little parcel into the 
 hands of the mans who wrapped in a long 
 
ST. D0M1NICK. 293 
 
 dark cloke, scowled a penetrating glance 
 at the two young strangers, and exclaim- 
 ed in a surly tone to Robichon, tc I have 
 " received no orders to admit you. " 
 
 " Nay," said Robichon, " and though 
 " thou hadst it would matter nought, for 
 " I could not tarry if I would; so spare 
 " thy excuses, good master churl." 
 
 Imogen drew her purse from the pocket, 
 put a gold piece into Robichon's hand, 
 and thanked him for his protection. Ro- 
 bichon would have spoken, but the man 
 rudely pushed him out, and said, as he 
 barred the gate, " By the mass that fellow 
 C( has as much jabber as an old woman/' 
 
 He then proceeded, followed by Imogen, 
 through a spacious court surrounded by a 
 parapet wall, and entered a large folding 
 gate, which he barred after him, as he had 
 done the former. Imogen found herself 
 in a large Gohic hall, at the further end 
 of which an expiring fire sent forth a 
 transitory flame. Her conductor (whom 
 she supposed to be the porter) raked up 
 
2W 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 the dying; embers, and drew a stool for her 
 to be seated. While he was thus employed, 
 she stole a timid glance at his counte- 
 nance, whose natural expression of fero- 
 city was only tempered by the lines of cun- 
 ning- and duplicity which marked it! and 
 as the brightening embers cast a red tint 
 on his olive complexion, and his scowling 
 eye rolled on the young stranger in silent 
 but penetrating observation, awed even 
 into horror, she timidly withdrew her's; 
 then cast a trembling look round the vast 
 gloom that surrounded her, and sank al- 
 most lifeless on the stool. 
 
 " And is your business with the lady 
 tf de Rosemont so pressing that you must 
 u see her to-night?" asked her compan- 
 ion, looking keenly under her hat. 
 
 " I should indeed wish it/' said Imo- 
 gen, whose heart revived from its transi- 
 tory terrors at the sound of madame de 
 llosemonf s name ; c( yet I should be sorry 
 Si to disturb her if she has retired to rest." 
 
 fk Oh, for that she has been in bed 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 295 
 
 u these three hours; but give me your 
 " packets, and I will have them delivered 
 " to her." 
 
 " Pardon me." said Imogen,, Ci I was 
 " desired to deliver them into no hands 
 " but madame de Rosemont's." 
 
 " Is that the case ? well, madame shall 
 u be informed of your arrival." He then 
 took his lantern, and walked away. 
 
 Imogen, who followed with her eye his 
 tall lean figure as it glided along the pas- 
 sages, saw him ascend a Might of stairs.; 
 and, when he disappeared, heard two 
 doors, one more distant than the other, 
 clap after him. A thousand vague fears 
 and suspicions took possession of her ima- 
 gination ; which, alive to every impres- 
 sion, was but too liable to exaggerate 
 every evil, as it exalted every good. Yet 
 when after a few minutes' absence 
 the man returned, and informed her the 
 lady de Rosemont was ready to receive 
 her, her fears dissipated, and she arose to 
 follow him with all the sangumc ardour of 
 
296 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 lively expectation springing from the bo- 
 som of gloomy doubt. Having ascended 
 the stairs, passed along a corridor, and en- 
 tered a suite of rooms, which, vast, gloomy, 
 and cold, betrayed every vestige of decay 
 and desolation, they reached a door which 
 terminated the suite. Her guide then 
 looked round, and, with a smile of inde- 
 scribable expression, said, " Come, young 
 i( sir, prepare your credentials;" and 
 opening the door, desired her to walk in. 
 Imogen had scarcely entered the thres- 
 hold, when, observing the impenetrable 
 darkness of the apartment, she started 
 back; but the guide, pushing her forward, 
 with a savage laugh, closed the door, and 
 locked it on the outside. Imogen, actuated 
 only by the impulse of terror, shrieked, 
 and attempted to force the bolt; but, over- 
 come by her fruitless endeavours, sank to 
 the earth; while the footsteps of her con- 
 ductor echoed on her ear till they at last 
 died away into distance. 
 
 It was now the conviction fully flashed 
 
ST. DOMIMCK. 297 
 
 on her mind that she was not in the cha- 
 teau de Rosemont ; but that the simple llo- 
 bichon had been deceived by the darkness 
 of the night and his own impatience to re- 
 turn ; and that it was probable she was 
 now in the power of a band of outlaws or 
 midnight murderers, who had found an asy- 
 lum amidst the ruins of this vast and deso- 
 lated edifice. The emotions which this 
 belief awakened were indescribable. 
 
 As soon as her eye was familiarised in 
 some degree to the obscurity in which she 
 was involved, she observed the apartment, 
 like the rest through which she had passed, 
 -was lofty and spacious ; and though the 
 moon had not risen, the misty light of a 
 cloudless firmament was admitted by a 
 high spiral casement, and reflected on a 
 range of black marble pillars which ran 
 along one side of the apartment. Though 
 without even a hope of escaping, Imogen 
 arose, and,, as well as her trembling limbs 
 could support her, examined the walls of 
 her prison ; when her hand fell on a lock, 
 o2 
 
296 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 which without much exertion turned, a 
 door opened, and she found herself in what 
 she supposed was an armoury, by the war- 
 like accoutrements which hung round it, 
 and on which the rising moon now cast 
 her beams. From this observation her eye 
 was attracted by a glimmering light which 
 shone at a distance. Faint with terror, 
 yet emboldened by despair, she advanced, 
 and found it was a fracture in the floor, 
 which admitted a light from some apart- 
 ment beneath. She bent down her eye, 
 and plainly perceived through the aperture 
 the ruffian who had admitted her into the 
 chateau dozing over a blazing fire, with a 
 tankard and a pair of pistols on a tabic 
 beside him. At that moment a horn 
 sounded; he started, and, taking up a 
 light, hurried out. 
 
 In a few minutes he returned, followed 
 by a party of men armed with cutlasses 
 and pistols ; and, amidst the general con- 
 fusion of their voices, Imogen could only 
 at intervals hear enough of their conver- 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 299 
 
 sation to lead her to suppose they were the 
 party she and Robichon had escaped, and 
 that they had returned unsuccessful after 
 the expedition of the night. 
 
 <c What, no booty !" said her ferocious 
 acquaintance; " mass ! an' I would not 
 " do more sitting* over my tankard here 
 " than the whole of you put together on 
 " the king's high road in the darkest night, 
 u why let me never rob a rich priest or 
 " proud financier while rny name is Ber- 
 " trand." 
 
 Here the party all spoke together, and 
 Imogen could only distinguish the voice of 
 Bertrand, in reply, say: "Why, I caught 
 " the bird just at the door of my cage." 
 
 "Is he worth murdering?" asked the 
 gloomiest villain of the tribe. 
 
 " Nay, as he seems a right delicate 
 " dainty youth, we will do the matter gen- 
 " teely ; invite him to supper, and poison 
 " him," said Bertrand. ° He wears the 
 " disguise of a minstrel, and is charged 
 ff with a packet of importance to the lady 
 
300 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 u de Roscmont, who resides in the neigh- 
 " bourhood; which 1 would have forced 
 " from him, but I could not read them ; 
 ce and he has a purse of gold." 
 
 " Which thou wouldst have taken, but 
 c< that thou darest not oppose thyself singly 
 C( to a stripling," said the gloomy villain, 
 snatching up a pistol in one hand, and a 
 light in the other; adding, " hut you know 
 " me of old to be less tenacious. Where 
 <c is the stranger ? if he escape the cha- 
 r: teau we are lost : dead men tell no 
 tc tales." 
 
 l< Nay, start fair," cried the whole party 
 vociferously; and headed by Bertrand they 
 all rushed out. 
 
 Imogen heard no more : the pangs of 
 death were already on her, yet total insen- 
 sibility was denied her. The murmur of 
 voices again resounded through the vault- 
 ed apartments she had herself passed 
 through ; the faint echo of steps became 
 gradually louder; she heard the lock of 
 the outer apartment turn; and a sudden 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 301 
 
 uproar of voices assailed her ears. Terror 
 was wound up to its last strained pitch of 
 agony and distraction. Nature could not 
 sustain the conflict, and Imogen sajik life- 
 less to the earth. 
 
 From a state of temporary death she re- 
 covered, under all the horrors that had 
 produced it, shaken almost to dissolution. 
 She raised her eyes in the dreadful belief 
 of meeting those of the murderers, and 
 scarcely credited the testimony of her 
 senses when she found herself still alone ; 
 while the confused murmur of a distant 
 uproar poured like the noise of a raging 
 torrent on her ear, and the light which 
 flashed through the casements shed a bril- 
 liant illumination in the apartment. The 
 confusion of her senses rendered her doubt- 
 ful of their fidelity; and, after a successful 
 attempt to collect her scattered thoughts, 
 she arose and approached the casements, 
 from whence she beheld the court below 
 filled with armed men, some bearing 
 torches, others struggling with the ruffian 
 
302 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 inhabitants of the chateau, and others bind- 
 ing them in manacles, tying- them on horse- 
 back, or dragging them to light from the 
 secret coverts whither they had fled. Seve- 
 ral shots were fired, and the groans of the 
 wounded were not the least audible among 
 the various and terrifying sounds which 
 reached the ear of the trembling and 
 amazed spectatress. It was during the con- 
 templation of this scene of universal con- 
 fusion and horror that a thought of eman- 
 cipation insinuated itself into the, beating- 
 heart of the trembling captive. Hope flat- 
 tered her in the belief that the contest, 
 which continued with unabating fury in 
 the front of the chateau, would favour her 
 escape by the rear; and she recollected 
 that the windows of the apartment in which 
 she had been first confined had a different 
 aspect from those of the armoury. She re- 
 turned thither, and to her inexpressible 
 delight found that the door was open. 
 Without encumbering herself with her 
 lute, which lay on the ground from her 
 
ST. DOMItfK'K. 303 
 
 first entering the room, she was hurrying 
 away ; when the gigantic form of a fierce 
 arquebusier, folding a drawn sword in 
 one hand, a torch in the other, appeared 
 at the door. Imogen shrieked and reeled : 
 the stranger let fall his sword, and grasped 
 her by the shoulder. Imogen fell at his 
 feet, and could only faintly utter, 
 *' Mercy !" 
 
 " Mercy !" repeated the soldier; " yes, 
 " as much mercy as your companions will 
 " find, you shall have : as much mercy as 
 " they have lately shewn to some of our 
 Ci officers, you may expect." 
 
 " Alas !" said Imogen, " I am not their 
 "companion, but their prisoner. I have 
 "not been two hours within the walls of 
 " the chateau, and have reason to believe 
 " that I owe my life to the arrival of those 
 " strangers whom I beheld in the court 
 " below engaged in contest with those 
 " who meditated my death." 
 
 The soldier looked at her for sometime, 
 then at her lute, which lay beside her, and 
 
304 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 exclaimed : f< What then, you are one of 
 " those cunning musicians, who get into 
 c: our camps and cause desertion amongst 
 <c our men ? Mass ! it would be a good 
 " deed to — '* He paused, and looked fe- 
 rociously at her, as if more bent on re- 
 venge than tenacious of its object. Imo- 
 gen, almost wholly overcome, could only 
 faintly say, " Save me, enable me to es- 
 t( cape, and all I possess shall be yours." 
 
 " All you possess!" said the soldier with 
 a loud laugh. " What, you will give me 
 «' that instrument there I suppose? well, 
 " that is generous ! Why, what the plague, 
 <s did the villains throw away powder and 
 " shot upon such a poor little unfledged 
 " bird as thou ? Ventre Dleu ! thou art 
 " not worth the plucking!" 
 
 Imogen then drew her purse from her 
 pocket; and, taking out the diamond ring 
 given her by Pasiphae, she presented all 
 the purse contained to the soldier, who 
 looked for a moment in utter astonishment 
 at the purse, then at the ring, and then at 
 
ST. DOMINICK. S05 
 
 her. (1 What/' said he, " only this for 
 fC saving- your life ! Oh, \ou narrow-heart 
 tc ed unconscionable little villain! And 
 " what am I to have for procuring you 
 <f your liberty into the bargain r" 
 
 " I have nothing more/' said Imogen 
 despond ingly. 
 
 M By St. Catherine, then if you count 
 " that ring nothing, you may as well give 
 " it me." 
 
 iC Impossible !" said Imogen ; ft 'tis the 
 (i gift of a deceased friend." 
 
 si Yes, yes/' said the man, " a deceased 
 " one, I warrant ; you took care of that. 
 " But I have no time to spare ; my com- 
 <f rades will be up directly: this ring and 
 " purse will condemn you, notwithstanding 
 n your disguise and your fine story; and 
 "" you will have the pleasure of accompany- 
 " ing your confederates to the wheel to- 
 <f morrow. Aye, here they are, and 
 " now—" 
 
 Imogen, trembling and dismayed, gave 
 her ring; and the man, who feared lest his 
 
306 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 rich booty should be discovered and claim- 
 ed by hi9 associates, made her take her 
 lute, hurried along- the gallery, and, de- 
 scending- a flight of steps, opened a pos- 
 tern gate, and pushed her out. 
 
 Life preserved and liberty regained left 
 on the heart of Imogen but two predomi- 
 nant sentiments : joy for her unexpected 
 deliverance, and gratitude to Providence 
 for the protection it had afforded her. The 
 world was now all before her, but not 
 " where to choose;" for the darkness which 
 hovers on the atmosphere between the 
 flight of night and the dawn of morning 
 prevented her the power of election. 
 Guided rather by her ear than her eye, she 
 only avoided that direction where the still 
 existing- uproar marked the place of ac- 
 tion, and fled from positive danger without 
 any thought of finding even probable 
 safety. By degrees, as she walked on 
 with as much rapidity as the fatigue and 
 emotion she had endured would permit, 
 the murmur of savage contest and brutal 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 307 
 
 ferocity died away ; and ;i silence, profound 
 as the darkness which accompanied it, 
 reigned on every side. So favourable is 
 the heart to every species of social impres- 
 sion, that Imogen, as she proceeded alone 
 in silence and in darkness, scarcely able 
 to discern the path in which she wandered, 
 almost regretted those terrifying but hu- 
 man sounds which had broken on the 
 deathlike stillness of solitude even to deso- 
 lation ; for, after she had passed the wood- 
 land which skirted the chateau, no tree, no 
 shrub, flung its dark outline on the un- 
 varied gloom of the heath she traversed. 
 Weak, trembling, and cheerless, she glided 
 on for near half a league; till, weary be- 
 yond the power of proceeding, she seated 
 herself on a bank beneath the umbrage of 
 the first tree she met; and, laying her lute 
 by her side, determined to wait till the 
 morning dawn should discover some hu- 
 man habitation, whose inhabitants could 
 guide her to the chateau de Rosemont. 
 The veil of night seemed at last gra- 
 
SOS TflE NOVICE OF 
 
 dually withdrawn, and the landscape, 
 though imperfect to the view, slowly un- 
 folded its boldest features, and betrayed its 
 minuter charms. The sober impression of 
 dawn still diffused its chaste and reserved 
 tints on the horizon ; and the colouring of 
 the east, as yet doubtful, by degrees as- 
 sumed a richer and more determinate 
 glow : the last shadow of darkness faded 
 on the west; and dawn, awakening from 
 repose, shed her deep blushes on e\ery ob- 
 ject: nature reflected back the rosy influ- 
 ence, and, invigorated for action, poured 
 forth with genial liberality tears that nou- 
 rished, sighs that inspired, and beams that 
 gave anew existence to creation. 
 
 The renovated soul of the young wan- 
 derer sent up its effusions to heaven, with 
 the mists which arose from the bosom of 
 nature, like a fragrant incense from the 
 altar of grateful piety ; and appeared (as, 
 refreshed and inspirited, she gazed from 
 her solitary seat on the rising sun) like the 
 violet which sprung wild and forlorn at her 
 
ST. D0.U1NICK. 309 
 
 feet, scenting every gale with its odour, 
 and raising its drooping head bathed in 
 dew to the genial inllueuce of every sun 
 beam. Imogen could not help assimilating 
 herself to the flower; and, placing the mo- 
 dest blossom in her bosom, whose state of 
 solitary desolation so strongly resembled 
 her own, she arose, threw the string of 
 her lute over her shoulder, and ascended 
 an eminence which commanded an exten- 
 sive view. The breeze, as it lifted the 
 clouds from the valleys, discovered a scene 
 rich and beautiful beyond the powers of 
 delineation. On one side the turrets of 
 the chateau she had so recently left rose 
 on the hazy mists of distance; while on 
 the other the high road wound round the 
 base of a hill, on whose summit the purple 
 vapours of the morning dawn still hovered. 
 To the road Imogen descended, as the 
 safest and most direct she could take ; and 
 having refreshed herself at a clear stream 
 which murmured near the pathway, she 
 continued to wander on, till, observing a 
 
310 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 small column of smoke staining" the atmos- 
 phere, and something- rising through the 
 trees like a chimney, she quickened her 
 pace, and soon arrived before a cottage 
 which partly lay in ashes, while the smoke 
 still ascended from its ruins, and evident 
 traces of desolation (the grass burnt up and 
 the pasturage destroyed) were visible on 
 every side. Imogen paused in silent and 
 pitying contemplation of the scene before 
 her, when something like a human form 
 crept from among the ruins: it wore a fe- 
 male habit, and bent beneath the burthen 
 of a few dried sticks. Without appearing 
 much surprised at the fair stranger's ap- 
 pearance, who gazed on her with horror 
 and compassion, she said, with an air of 
 affliction, pointing to the ruins, " That is 
 (( a sorry sight !" 
 
 " Sorry indeed !" said Imogen. 
 
 <f This is all the benefit we derive from 
 civil war/' added the woman. 
 
 <c This was not then an accidental lire? u 
 demanded Imogen. 
 
ST. D0MIX1CK. 31 1 
 
 " No, no!" said the woman wildly; 
 u I had one son fighting for the King-, and 
 " the other for the League ; two fine 
 " youths! what business had they to 
 
 ({ meddle with party ? They were happy 
 (l and laborious^ and dear to each other ; 
 <c but their brotherly, love turned to deadly 
 (i hatred, and — see, stranger! that withered 
 ft spot is stained with the blood of my 
 " younger son, drawn by his elder bro- 
 €{ ther, because he refused to change his 
 if religion and his party V] 
 
 An expression of agony even beyond 
 distraction invested the haggard counte- 
 nance of the narrator ; and then she added, 
 " The fellow-soldiers of my deceased son 
 " murdered my first-born j in my arms 
 iC murdered him ; and consumed his corse 
 " with this dwelling. But hush ! be secret, 
 " and I will show you the spot where L 
 " have collected his precious ashes apart 
 et from those of the ruins : oh, trust the 
 " mother's heart for that ! Come, come !" 
 she cried in a deep tone, and offering her 
 
312 , THE NOVICE OF 
 
 hand lo Imogen with an impatient air; 
 then, with the wild heart-piercing 9hriek 
 of distraction, she exclaimed : iC See ! see • 
 <c 'tis my boy I" and plunged amidst the 
 ruins, pursuing the phantom of her own 
 disordered imagination and broken heart. 
 
 Imogen now first perceived that she had 
 been conversing with a maniac. Struck 
 with horror by the discovery, and filled 
 with tke tenderest compassions for the suf- 
 ferings of the unhappy and distracted mo- 
 ther, she fled the spot where the still sen- 
 sible heart of the lunatic bled over the 
 ashes of her murdered child ; and pursued 
 her way, lost in those reflections her me- 
 lancholy adventure had given rise to. 
 
 " In tracing"," said she, " the historic 
 " register of calamities which in every age 
 " warfare, whether foreign or domestic, 
 u has brought upon the human species, 
 <f the eye dwells only upon general and 
 " public facts ; for the historian is but the 
 " recorder of battles and sieges, of victory 
 " or defeat : but the tale of woe with 
 
ST. DOMINICk. 313 
 
 '• which the private sufferings of the indi- 
 " vidual could wring the heart, steals into 
 " eternal oblivion with the cruelties and 
 " oppression that caused them." 
 
 As Imogen proceeded, every step pre- 
 sented some vestige of recent desolation ; 
 and the road she had taken seemed totally 
 unfrequented, although she observed the 
 glittering of arms on the summit of a dis- 
 tant hill. While the timid traveller was 
 lost in doubt whether to proceed or turn 
 down a road that presented itself, a peasant 
 overtook her, though almost bending be- 
 neath a load he carried on his shoulder. He 
 addressed her with a smiling countenance 
 and a courteousair. Imogen's heartbound- 
 ed to the grateful accents of courtesy, and 
 she returned his salute with all the kind- 
 ness it was made. 
 
 " It is a charming morning/' said the 
 peasant, " and, mort tie ma vie, the sun 
 " looks so gay, and the air is so sweet, and 
 " every thing so smiling, that it must be 
 " a heart diablement lugubre that does not 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
314 THE NOVICE OE 
 
 " smile too. For my part, when the sun 
 <f shines, I cannot chose but be happy : 
 <e yet, marry, with no great reason either ; 
 " 'tis but one week since my little cottage 
 <c was first plundered by one party of the 
 " soldiery, and then burnt by the other. 
 6C But then our grand monarque won a 
 ce battle the same day, so my wife and I 
 <c made a feu dejoie with the ruins of our 
 " cottage. The next day we removed a 
 (( little lower down the country, built a 
 cs hut on the banks of the clearest stream 
 " in the world, and with some little mat- 
 " tcr we saved from the ruin of our farm, 
 <( have not as yet wanted the de quoi vivre. 
 " And you, monsieur, I suppose, are go- 
 (: ing to try your luck at the camp, which 
 " lies before Laon, some leagues off. I 
 '• once played a little on the viol and tabor 
 <{ myself, until the steward of our seigneur 
 " caught me one day playing, when I 
 (C should have been at work, and broke the 
 " viol over my head; and so 1 never had 
 " the heart to play again " 
 
ST. DOMJ.NICK. 315 
 
 Imogen, delighted with the naivete of 
 her companion, and pleased with the gay 
 philosophy of his character, so truly French, 
 felt that his voluntary detail of his domes- 
 tic circumstances called for reciprocity of 
 confidence, and entered, though with re- 
 servation, into the adventures of the late 
 eventful night; throwing as much of u the 
 " doublet and hose into her disposition" 
 as might enable her to fill up, without 
 awakening suspicion, the character she had 
 assumed, and from which she believed she 
 had already derived more protection than 
 the habit of the timid novice could have 
 insured. 
 
 " So," said the peasant, cc \ suppose you 
 u were going to look for a situation in the 
 u chateau de Rosemont, and had the good 
 iC fortune to get admittance into the cha- 
 iC teau Noir, the most noted nest for ban- 
 " ditti in the province ? It was but two 
 " days back they fell upon two officers of 
 u the royal army, and murdered them in 
 iC the forest of Folambray. A party of 
 u the soldiers have been lying in wait for 
 
316 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " them ever since, and surprised them 
 " last night just as they had returned from 
 " an expedition. This morning before 
 " dawn I met the whole party." 
 
 " Then the soldiers were victorious } n 
 said Imogen. 
 
 " They took the villains to a man," 
 said the peasant. 
 
 Imogen, who dared not mention the 
 money which she had been plundered of 
 by the soldier, lest it should excite the sus- 
 picion of her companion, was now deter- 
 mined to pursue her way to the chateau de 
 Uosemont, and enquired from the peasant 
 the nearest road. 
 
 " Lord help thee!" said he; " why 
 " thou art going from it as fast as thou 
 lc canst. But thou seemest weary, poor 
 (i soul! and, marry, thou dost not look as 
 '• if thou couldst bear much fatigue ; 
 " therefore thou had>t better tarry at our 
 <4 hut and refresh thyself awhile, and then 
 " thou wilt be better able to continue thy 
 " journey." 
 
 " J am indeed young at the profession," 
 
ST. DOMINICK. >IT 
 
 said Imogen, colouring, "and as yet little 
 " inured to fatigue; besides, I have suf- 
 cc fered much anxiety since yester even; I 
 
 will therefore accept thy hospitable offer 
 " with gratitude." 
 
 " Why, that is well said," exclaimed the 
 peasant : cf and look ! yonder rises the smoke 
 " of our hut, just above the little cop- 
 " pice to the left. You must know, 1 have 
 cf been on the skirts of the forest all night. 
 " cutting wood, which I sell at the next 
 i( market town; there is some hazard in 
 " doing it, but necessity has no law, and 
 " one cannot stand by and see one's bhil- 
 ft dren starve: aye, here they are, dear 
 M little souls! many a long look-out they 
 M have had since dawn for me, I warrant." 
 While he spoke, two lovely boys and a lit- 
 tle girl ran towards him; he laid down his 
 burthen to kiss and give them his blessing, 
 which he did with an air of patriarchal ten- 
 derness and piety. The two boys then 
 dragged the parcel of wood after them by 
 the leather thong which bound it; while 
 
318 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 the Utile girl, gazing timidly on the stran- 
 ger, fastened round her father's neck, who 
 carried her home in his arms. 
 
 At the door of the hut they were met by 
 a young woman, whose sun-burnt but ex- 
 pressive face was lit up with joy and af- 
 fection as she took her daughter from her 
 husband's arms to fill them with herself: 
 Ci Dearest Baptiste/' said she, wiping away 
 the tear with which she had bedewed his 
 cheek, as she pressed it to her own, u I 
 C( am so happy you are returned ! I have 
 €t not closed an eye all night, for how 
 f could I sleep and know you were ex- 
 " posed to danger ? The dame Jacinthe 
 " too was here just after you left me, and 
 <e told me such a tale of the robbers of 
 " Chateau Noir!" 
 
 «' Plajnie take the dame and her croak- 
 (i ing !" said Baptiste : " had I not your 
 ce prayers, and the prayers of my little 
 lc ones, my sweet Josephine? that is the 
 f ' husband's and the father's shield: but 
 <J see! I have brought thee a guest." 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 319 
 
 Josephine now first beheld the young 
 and timid stranger ; who, modestly re- 
 treating behind her kind host, contem- 
 plated in silent rapture the first scene of 
 social and domestic felicity she had ever 
 beheld. It was to Imogen a festival of 
 feelings ; and the tear that glittered in her 
 eye, the smile that dimpled her cheek, be- 
 trayed a heart formed to feel and to Vnjoy 
 that bliss it throbbed with delight only to 
 observe. 
 
 Josephine, with blushing courtesy, wel- 
 comed her interesting guest: while the 
 children, with playful surprise, touched 
 the strings of her lute, then retreated ; 
 then, lured back by the stranger's suppli- 
 cating smiles, hung on her dress, or sport- 
 ed in her arms. The grateful mother 
 checked their familiarity with a look of 
 tender reprehension ; while Imogen, de- 
 lighted with their little freedoms, loaded 
 them with caresses; and, gay and inno- 
 cent as themselves, displayed a playfulness 
 infantine as their own. 
 
320 the novice of 
 
 When Josephine had prepared their 
 noontide repast, the little groupe circled 
 round a table laid beneath the spreading 
 branches of an elder on the banks of the 
 stream Baptiste had boasted of, and spread 
 with such coarse and simple fare as the 
 un vitiated palate of nature, stimulated by 
 a long unsatisfied appetite, only could re- 
 lish. When it was concluded, grace was 
 pronounced by the master of the simple 
 feast with a devotional energy, which 
 shewed it not the result of habitual cere- 
 mony, but Jhe pious effusion of existing 
 and grateful feelings. The young min- 
 strel then tuned her lute, and repayed the 
 hospitable courtesies of her hosts with se- 
 veral popular ballads and tender vaude- 
 villes ;* many of them the impulsive eilu- 
 sion of genius, appropriate to the scene 
 
 * La vaudeville appartient exclusivement aux. 
 Francois; et ils en ont de ties piquantes, et de ties 
 plaisantes. — ( Dictionnaire de Musique, par J. J. 
 Rousseau.) 
 
ST. DOM I NICK. 321 
 
 of rural and domestic felicity the son^- 
 stress then witnessed, and all calculated 
 to harmonize with the simple taste of her 
 auditors, and the native gaiety of the 
 French heart. At last, at the request of 
 her delighted hosts, she struck up a villa- 
 nelle, the then prevailing rustic dance of 
 the French peasant ; and Baptiste, unable 
 to resist the magic influence of the sportive 
 strain, sprung on his feet, and, with a boy 
 in each hand, performed a spontaneous 
 ballet, with a dextrous and spirited hila- 
 rity, that might almost compensate for the 
 deficiency of grace and method with 
 which it was executed ; while Josephine 
 took her reel, gazed with pleased satisfac- 
 tion at the performance, and sung at in- 
 tervals a couplet adapted to the air. — ■ 
 Every pulse in the gay heart of Imogen 
 throbbed in sweet vibration to the viva- 
 cious strain her flying fingers produced ; 
 and when she cast round her eyes, and be- 
 held the frugal remnants of the coarse 
 meal industry had provided for the neces- 
 x> 9 
 
322 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 sities of nature, the clay-built hut, which 
 gcarcely excluded " the penalties of Adam, 
 iC the season's changes,'* and the ragged 
 drapery of wretchedness, which scarcely 
 veiled the weather- injured forms of labo- 
 rious poverty, yet beheld in every coun- 
 tenance that surrounded her those beams 
 of joy the heart only emanates, whose 
 bright irradiation dispelled the pensive 
 gloom adversity hangs upon the brow of 
 its victim ; the glowing tints of pleasure 
 flushing the cheek recent oppression had 
 stained with a tear, and gaiety unrestrain- 
 ed animating those limbs to frolic exer- 
 cise, which but a moment before bent be- 
 neath the hard-earned burthen labor had 
 procured for the suppliance of indigence 
 and distress. 
 
 " Such is thy power, oh sweet aflec- 
 C( tion of the heart!" sighed Imogen: 
 " oppressed by tyranny, despoiled by the 
 cc licentious rapine of warfare, driven to 
 " the last outline of misery, to herd with 
 " the beast of the field and bird of the 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 323 
 
 " air; still while the heart can turn and 
 <{ drown its sufferings in domestic joy — 
 •' while the endearments of social life lisp 
 u their soft comforts to the ear of thesuf- 
 " ferer, and every tie of tenderness and 
 " love, twined round the soul, administers 
 " an ameliorating' charm to soothe its sor- 
 11 rows — the arrow of adversity drops 
 " stingless, and despondency smiles away 
 " her woes on the bosom of domestic fe- 
 (i licity !" 
 
 The thoughts of Imogen then reverted 
 to the convent of St. Dominick ; she shud- 
 dered, and blessed the liberty she had re- 
 gained, though every step of its progrea 
 sive attainment had been marked by the 
 track of danger. 
 
 The children, now weary with their 
 sportive play, threw themselves into their 
 mother's arms; and Baptiste, taking up 
 his hatchet, advised his young guest to 
 take some repose, and wait till the sun de- 
 clined before he recommenced his jour- 
 ney, went to work himself ; while Jose- 
 
324 the novice of 
 
 phine, gratefully thanking him for the 
 amusement he had afforded her little fa- 
 mily, spread with her own hands some 
 dried leaves freshly gathered within their 
 hut, on which Imogen flung herself with 
 a sensation more grateful than she had 
 ever felt before; for she had taken no 
 rest for the two preceding nights, and 
 soon fell into a profound and tranquil 
 sleep. 
 
 On the pillow of innocence the spirit 
 of repose loves to prolong his balmy influ- 
 ence, and struggles with nature to pro- 
 tract his empire ; and the eye which anx- 
 iety has sullied with a tear gladly closes 
 the heavy lid, and shuts out the intrusive 
 beam that wakes it to new care. The 
 sun had a ] ready passed the meridional line, 
 and fain^y sketched the shadow of the 
 hills on the plain below, when the chil- 
 dren of Baptiste, thrumming on her lute, 
 roused her from her leafy bed. Sweet 
 had been the dream of her rest, for it was 
 a dream of love 3 and the busy agency of 
 
ST. DOMINIC*. 325 
 
 imagination had lured her to the banks of 
 the Durance, where fancy twined the 
 flowery band with which affection wreath- 
 ed the polished brow of the minstrel of 
 Provence; the dew which bathed its 
 leaves was a tear of the soul, and the gale 
 that perfumed them a sigh from the heart ; 
 the visioned minstrel touched a shadowy 
 lyre, and while the sound of passion float- 
 ed on every dying note, the blue dissolv- 
 ing eye-beam of Imogen mingled with the 
 minstrel's burning glance. 
 
 The strain of love still faded on her 
 ear, when she awoke and recognized the 
 tones of her own lute. Her dream's soft 
 trance had diffused a delicious emotion 
 through her whole frame; and while me- 
 mory dwelt on the fanciful rapture, a tear 
 hung upon the languishing smile which 
 played round her lip, that it was indeed 
 but fanciful, and haply never, never to 
 be realized! 
 
 At the door of the hut, while the chil- 
 dren fondled round her, she was met by 
 
326 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Josephine and Baptiste. They were both 
 anxious she should remain with them that 
 night ; but having learnt that the chateau 
 de Rosemont was but four hours' walk 
 from their hut, and hoping to reach it by 
 sun-set, she gratefully declined their offer; 
 and having thanked them in all the warm 
 effusions of a heart alive to every delicate 
 minutia of the most refined gratitude, she 
 promised they should hear shortly from 
 her ; and that as soon as she should have 
 obtained any interest with the lady of the 
 castle, it should be exerted in their favor, 
 while she blushed to confess she could 
 make them no other return for their kind- 
 ness. For Imogen, despoiled of her little 
 treasures by the arquebusier, possessed no- 
 thing but the picture of the chevalier en- 
 closed in the letter of Pasiphae, and the 
 small agate cross which had never left her 
 bosom since the day she had been received 
 at the convent of St. Dominick. Then, 
 having embraced the children, and kissed 
 the hand of Josephine with the well-af- 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 327 
 
 fected gallantry of a young cavalier, she 
 proceeded on her little journey, accompa- 
 nied for about half a league by Baptiste, 
 who, pointing to the forest of Folambray, 
 desired her to take the path which wound 
 round its skirts, and that from an emi- 
 nence to the left of the road she would 
 see the turrets of the chateau de Rose- 
 mont, which would guide her for the re6t 
 of her journey. He then shook her kindly 
 by the hand, and, wishing that they might 
 shortly meet again, left her to pursue her 
 solitary journey. 
 
 The mind of Imogen had been as much 
 cheered by the sweet visitant of her bliss- 
 ful dream, as her frame was refreshed and 
 invigorated by repose. The sun rode high 
 in the horizon, and spread the rich influ- 
 ence of his mellow tints on the landscape. 
 The mountain breeze cooled the sultry 
 glow of the hour, and gave spirit to health, 
 strength to motion, and fragrance to the 
 sense of the traveller ; who, supported by a 
 long white staff presented to her by Bap- 
 
328 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tiste, and with her lute flung* over her 
 shoulder, lightly bounded on. Locomotion 
 is ever favourable to the reflective powers ; 
 air, exercise, and diversity of objects, awa- 
 ken the pulse of thought to its liveliest 
 throb ; and many a weary step is sweetly 
 beguiled of its tedious length, by those 
 blossoms the finger of fancy strews over it. 
 Imogen wandered on in that sweet ine- 
 briety of the feelings and the senses, which 
 the freshness, the variety, and splendid 
 beauty of every thing around her, contri- 
 buted to awaken. Sometimes, as reflec- 
 tion led, she opposed the childless misery 
 of the maniac mother, from whose bosom 
 the horrors of fanaticism and party had 
 torn every human comfort, to the domestic 
 felicity of Baptiste's charming famil 1 ' ; 
 who, though suffering from the same bale- 
 ful cause, iiad still rescued from the rifling 
 hand of cruel and licentious rapacity, 
 those sweet blossoms of affection's growth 
 without which the heart is but a desert 
 and desolate void. " Alas!" thought Imo- 
 
ST. D0M1MCK 329 
 
 gen, " that the ingenuity of man, wan- 
 11 toning- in the variety and extent of its 
 " powers, should so frequently, and so 
 " successfully, exert its influence to per- 
 " vert the best blessings of Providence! 
 " Was it for this the God of goodness 
 ■' gave us hearts to love, minds to feel, and 
 iC sympathy to attract the tender affections 
 " of the soul to its kindred soul !" Then 
 the gay caprice of imagination stole on 
 the sober disquisition of the little moralist, 
 and the soft recollection of her dream 
 gave to her contemplation 
 
 " The vision'd picture 
 
 " Of fancy, 'tranc'd in bliss. 1 ' 
 
 From these gay luxuriant dreams of a 
 still enamoured heart, Imogen awoke to 
 the recollection of the object of her jour- 
 ney ; and now first discovered that, lost in 
 the indulgence of " the idle visions of her 
 " brain,'' she had wandered from the beaten 
 track pointed out to her by Baptiste, and 
 had left the eminence she should have as- 
 
330 THE NOTICE OF 
 
 cended a considerable distance to the left : 
 vexed at her inattention, and already some- 
 thing weary, she turned back, and, after a 
 walk of near half an hour, found herself 
 at the foot of the eminence, which, steep 
 and rugged, she with some difficulty 
 ascended. The sun was setting, and irra- 
 diated with its crimson beams the scene 
 which expanded in gay luxuriancy be- 
 neath ; the extensive forest of Folambray 
 spread to the north-west to a considerable 
 distance ; the summit of its lofty trees, 
 tinged with gold, and waving to the even- 
 ing breeze, appeared like the undulating 
 waves of the ocean, receiving on their 
 dark green heads the fading beams of the 
 west; while the casements of the chateau, 
 which arose on the left, were brilliantly 
 illuminated with the reflection of the set- 
 ting sun, that sunk in the horizon as Imo- 
 gen descended the eminence, and struck 
 into the path described by Baptiste as 
 winding round the skirts of the forest, and 
 leading to the chateau de Rosemont. 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 331 
 
 The impatience of the weary traveller 
 increased with every step, as the shadows 
 lengthened on her path, and the sober 
 drapery of evening hung 1 its misty wreaths 
 on every object: the dusky accompani- 
 ments of twilight already invested the 
 lately glowing scene ; the lustre of nature 
 was veiled, and the eye of the wanderer 
 dwelt on the repose of her charms which 
 breathed silence and solemnity. Although 
 this was the hour that ever spoke a soft 
 and impassioned language to her heart, 
 yet that heart no longer acknowledged the 
 sweet impression ; while her fears in- 
 creased with every deepening shadow of 
 darkness. Her step was no longer the 
 loitering pace of pausing rapture or delu- 
 sive thought, but rapid, almost to flight, 
 and interrupted only by breathless fatigue : 
 it was perhaps this singular rapidity which 
 attracted the notice of a body of horsemen, 
 who struck into the path she had taken, 
 and with loud imprecation called on her 
 to stop. Imogen, whose imaginary fears 
 
332 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 were wound up to real terror, that banished 
 all presence of mind, plunged into the fo- 
 rest, instead of obviating* suspicion by vo- 
 luntarily exposing* herself to the scrutiny 
 of observation. 
 
 But Imogen, who fled, not frum the 
 hope that flight could ensure safety, but 
 from the impulse of apprehension, soon 
 found herself overtaken by two of the 
 horsemen : on of them alighting seized 
 her roughly by the shoulder, and, looking 
 earnestly at her, exclaimed, " Ventre St. 
 " Gris ! a right dainty youth, a rare mu- 
 " sician too, I warrant: but you seem a 
 " little weary, monsieur; I will therefore 
 ct spare you the trouble of another race, 
 "and provide you with a more expedi- 
 " tious mode of travelling." Then, rais- 
 ing the faint and unresisting Imogen in his 
 arms, whom fear and amazement deprived 
 of the power of speech, he placed heron 
 horseback behind his companion, a Spanish 
 arquebusier; and strapping her on to the 
 waist of his surly associate, who cast round 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 333 
 
 a terrific glance, he mounted his horse, and 
 they joined the rest of the party. 
 
 u Well, Guy," exclaimed one of them, 
 " what have you shot flying ? ,J 
 
 " A dainty nightingale," said Guy, as 
 they rode on, " who would have found his 
 " way to our camp to delight our men 
 u with his minslrelsy ; like the other gen- 
 " tleman musician who slipt through our 
 lf fingers at the siege of Rouenne, a 
 tf trusty spy, or I am no soldier/' 
 
 " Nay, then," replied the other, " he 
 " stands acquitted ; for if he is no more 
 " a spy than thou art a soldier — — " 
 
 " Why, how now, Armande?" said 
 Guy : (i why dost thou ever come over 
 <( me thus with thy jests?" 
 
 IS Mort de ma vie ! if it were as easy 
 t€ to come over thee in jest, as to over* 
 " come thee in earnest, monsieur bluster, 
 '* thou wouldest not be worth the break* 
 
 w * n §' a g* De on j" sa ^ Armande. 
 
 " Come, come, Armande/' cried another, 
 M a truce with your grape-shot witj and 
 
334 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " let us have the story you told us, on the 
 " foraging-party last night, of the king 
 " who came, in the disguise of a minstrel, 
 " to the enemy's camp : marry, it pleased 
 " me hugely !" 
 
 * Perhaps," said Armande, " this young 
 " cavalier would rather hear the pleasant 
 " and tragical ditty of the young man 
 ** whom we hanged for a spy, during our 
 41 campaign in Normandy.'' 
 
 "Hush! hush!" exclaimed Guy, "I 
 <f hear the neighing of a steed, and sure I 
 " see a distant light; blessed rosary ! there 
 " goes a dreadful story of a ghost in ar- 
 " mour, mounted on a white steed, meet- 
 ci ing one of our kings in this same forest, 
 « and 
 
 u To think how a man's fears will run 
 ct away with his wits !" said Armande ; 
 n truly, monsieur Guy, thou art a rare 
 <f fellow, with thy ghost in armour, not to 
 " see that we are within a few paces of 
 * the vidette guard." 
 Here they came up with the vidette, 
 
ST. DOMINICK. 335 
 
 and having stopped for a few moments to 
 break some coarse jokes with their fellow- 
 soldiers, who were going to their outposts 
 for the night, they continued their route 
 until the lights of the camp broke on the 
 darkness of the night, and they arrived at 
 the piquet guard. 
 
 " Qui vive ?" demanded the sentinel. 
 " Vive la ligue !" replied the foremost; 
 Cf advance and give the parole." " Louise 
 " de Guise/' The soldier then advanced, 
 and whispered the counter-sign ; and the 
 whole party were suffered to pass on to 
 the camp, whose midnight stillness was 
 only interrupted by the clanking of the ar- 
 mourers, the neighing of steeds, the fre- 
 quent st Qui vive?" of the sentinels, and 
 the faint burst of conviviality which pro- 
 ceeded from the tents of the officers, near 
 which they passed. 
 
 Those scenes, so novel and so striking, 
 would have interested the mind and 
 pleased the picturesque fancy of Imogen, 
 had she been a spectatress under any 
 
336 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 other circumstances; but, wholly over- 
 come by the situation in which she found 
 herself, the danger to which, she was ex- 
 posed, and the fatigue she had under- 
 gone, every faculty was blunted, and her 
 mind acknowledged no sentiment, no emo- 
 tion, but what terror and amazement awa- 
 kened ; while, amidst the confusion of her 
 ideas, she with difficulty learnt, by the 
 conversation of her guards, that she was 
 brought a prisoner to the rebel camp. 
 
 The party stopped before the tent 
 where the first quarter-guard of the night 
 was stationed. i( What hast thou got 
 ''here?" said the sentinel, who paraded 
 before the tent. " A swan," said Ber- 
 trand, " whose dying notes you may hear 
 (t at the provot to-morrow, if you please. 
 Who is the captain of the guard for the 
 night ?" 
 
 " The count St. Dorval. s 
 
 " It strikes me," saidBertrand, in a low 
 voice, " we have picked up a prisoner of 
 " consequence j I will deliver him into 
 
ST. DOMINXCK. 33T 
 
 « the count's hands. My back still smarts 
 * for the escape of the young baron whom 
 tc we picked up in the same way. Where 
 " is the count ?" 
 
 " Within the tent, at supper with some 
 " few of his officers/' 
 
 Bertrand, who had the command of the 
 party, alighted, and entered the tent. In 
 a few minutes he returned, ordered two 
 of the soldiers to unbind the prisoner, and 
 assist him to dismount. Guarded on either 
 side, and preceded by Bertrand, the 
 trembling Imogen was led, or rather 
 dragged, into the guard-room; while 
 round a table, well furnished with lights 
 and wine, circled a group of officers, who 
 all turned round to gaze at the prisoner, 
 as, drooping disconsolately timid, she en- 
 deavoured to collect her thoughts, and 
 enable herself to clear up the mystery of 
 her appearance, without discovering more 
 of her story than might lead to her libera- 
 tion. 
 
 ' ' Where didst them pick up this young 
 
 VOL. I. q 
 
338 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 "musician, serjeantr" demanded (he 
 youngest of the groupe. 
 
 4t On the skirts of the forest of Folam- 
 " bray, so please you, where it is said the 
 " king regaled himself* but yesterday 
 rt with some of his officers. I thought 
 " this minstrel might have been of the 
 " party ; and as he seemed inclined to 
 " take the road towards our camp, I did 
 <c him the kindness to save him the trouble 
 " of walking, monsieur/' 
 
 " A little more matter of fact, and less 
 "jocularity;" said the commanding of- 
 ficer. 
 
 '* Nay> monseigneur," said Eertrand, 
 " I have nothing more to relate ; we have 
 '1 not laid a hand on the prisoner, except 
 " indeed to disencumber him of this in- 
 
 * Henry IV. during the siege of Laon, went to dine 
 
 in the forest of Folambray, where he had often been 
 
 regaled, when a boy, with fruit and milk and new 
 
 cheese, and in visiting which he promised himself 
 
 great pleasure. 
 
 Mem. du Due de Sully, ii. SSI . 
 
st. dominick, 33g 
 
 " strument, and under favour must refer 
 cc you to himself for further information." 
 
 Such a variety of interrogation from 
 every side followed this assertion, uttered 
 by some with all the rudeness of inebriety, 
 and by others with a spirit of savage rail- 
 lery that sported wantonly with the feel- 
 ings of ils object, that Imogen, unable to 
 articulate, and overwhelmed by the influ- 
 ence of her strong and various emotion?, 
 involuntarily clung to the shoulder of one 
 of her guards, and trembled with a vio- 
 lence that attracted the compassionate re- 
 gards of the count St. Dorval. Rising 
 from the head of (he table, he advanced 
 towards the prisoner ; and, having mildly 
 checked the unmeaning curiosity of the 
 young officers, he addressed her. 
 
 " Whoe'er thou art," said he, " or 
 •• whate'erthy intentions, young stranger, 
 <f the silence you seem obstinately to ob- 
 '■ serve, will avail thee nought; the laws 
 [\ of war are sacred, and you are doubtless 
 
340 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 l( no stranger to the penalty annexed to 
 " their violation. Our cause has already 
 " suffered from the successful artifice of 
 " the enemy's vigilant spies ; and though 
 " that delicate and trembling frame seems 
 " ill calculated for perilous adventure, it 
 " is evident that that disguise veils no 
 iC common wearer." 
 
 " Nor shall it avail thee ought," said a 
 young ensign, throwing off the hat which 
 concealed her face, and confined a profu- 
 sion of long tresses, that now fell luxu- 
 riantly round a neck whose dazzling 
 whiteness was no longer veiled; for ano- 
 ther, more inhumanly daring than the first, 
 rudely tore open the collar of her robe, in 
 attempting to drag her forward to the light, 
 and the ruff which shaded her neck fell 
 with it. It was at that moment the wo- 
 man's delicacy surmounted the woman's 
 weakness : Imogen cast round an eager 
 look; that seemed to demand a glance of 
 sympathy, of protection. The eye of the 
 
ST. DOMLNICK. 3H 
 
 count de St. Dorval only answered it 
 and the trembling prisoner, with a sudden 
 effort of strength, sprang from her guard's 
 rude grasp, and fell at the feet of one 
 in whose venerable countenance shone 
 the protecting benignity of heaven itself. 
 u Save me," exclaimed Imogen, " and — " 
 what she would have added died on her 
 trembling lip, but the uplifted and sup- 
 plicating eye of distress wept tears that 
 spoke. 
 
 A moment of general amazement and 
 consternation ensued ; all crowded round 
 the prostrate prisoner, and every eye 
 beamed admiration and surprise — admi- 
 ration at her charms, surprise that she wag 
 still prostrate: for, while, with hands 
 folded on her throbbing bosom, she knelt 
 faint and speechless at the feet of the 
 protector the intuition of sympathy had 
 elected, the count de St. Dorval hung 
 over her in silence: his arms, outstretched 
 to receive the suppliant, were stiffened in 
 Q 2 
 
34:2 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 the altitude of wonder, surpassing the 
 transitory emotions of common-place sur- 
 prise; the eye that shed a mild compas- 
 sion on the fugitive, suddenly changed 
 its expression to the ardent gaze, whose 
 thrilling glances beamed with soul, and 
 swam in tears; and a faint ejaculation 
 escaped the quivering lip that would have 
 uttered the accents of beneficence and 
 encouragement. Then, with a long- 
 drawn sigh, he seemed to shake off the 
 strong influence of emotion, and, bending 
 over Imogen, raised her tenderly in his 
 arms; and, placing her on a chair, held 
 with a trembling hand a glass of water to 
 her lips. 
 
 More revived by the affectionate 
 though silent benevolence of his manner 
 than the refreshing beverage he adminis- 
 tered, Imogen looked gratefully and ex- 
 pressively in his face ; and, replying to 
 the eloquence of that look, he said : 
 tf Cheer thee, cheer thee, sweet lady ! — 
 
ST. DOMCM-CK. 343 
 
 Cf Whatever may have been the motive 
 " which led thee to adopt this disguise, 
 " and to incur the perils of adventure, in 
 " times themselves so perilous, thou hast 
 " nothing now to fear from the indignant 
 €c insults of unfeeling ignorance, invested 
 " with temporary power to bear down 
 ■ upon the unfortunate : 'tis the count St. 
 tc Dorval, who pledges himself to be true 
 " to the voluntary confidence you have 
 " honored him with." 
 
 <c Well said, count !" exclaimed one of 
 the officers, unreproved at his comman- 
 der's oblique reproach. 
 
 te Ventre Dieu, monseigneur, you are 
 <c a fortunate man!" added another; fi and 
 cc I would rather be invested with such a 
 <e command, than be made generalissimo 
 " to the whole army." 
 
 ''Gentlemen/' said the count firmly, 
 " these are idle insinuations. To the 
 " commander-in-chief 1 stand accountable 
 ri for the prisoner — to God and my own 
 
341 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " conscience for her safety in the most 
 C( unlimited sense. What right we have 
 ct to detain her must be a matter of future 
 ct investigation ; but while that detention 
 " exists, the gallantry of knighthood for- 
 " bids we should not all consider ourselves 
 u as bound to render her every succour. 
 u Come, lady, suffer me to conduct you 
 " to my tent, where you can repose at 
 <f least in safety." 
 
 The count, with an air of paternal free- 
 dom, drew the arm of the still-bewildered 
 Imogen through his own ; and, while the 
 officers drew back abashed, led her to his 
 tent, which lay but a few paces from that 
 of the quarter-guard. It was a spacious 
 and elegant pavilion, and divided into 
 three apartments; in the first of which 
 the count's squire and page were playing 
 at chess ; to the last the count, followed 
 by a page with lights, conducted his 
 guest. 
 
 " This apartment," said the count, wiih 
 
m. DOMINICK. 345 
 
 a faint smile, <c is to be your prison for 
 " to-night. I myself will be at once 
 " your servant and your guard. Mean- 
 " while reckon on the exertions of a 
 M friend in your favor, who trusts he will 
 " not prove himself unworthy of your 
 <c election. With enemies who wear such 
 <s looks as thine we wage no war; and 
 " whatever motive may have lured thee 
 " to the dangerous precincts of a camp, 
 11 that protection thy youth and sex de- 
 " mands shall attend thee hence and 
 " guard thee here." The count then, 
 without waiting to receive the acknow- 
 ledgments which hovered on the lips of 
 Imogen, recommended to her to take 
 that repose her evident weariness de- 
 manded^, and retired. 
 
 The count bad left the apartment but a 
 few minutes, and Imogen was indulging 
 the copious flow of those sweet tears 
 which stream from the heart in the mo- 
 ment of safety received from the grasp of 
 
346 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 peril — of gratitude awakening to the touch 
 of unexpected benevolence, when a page 
 entered the apartment with those neces- 
 sary refreshments her exhausted nature 
 required. Having swallowed some bread 
 and wine, she dismissed the attendant, and 
 her full heart made its offering to heaven 
 for the comparative safety she enjoyed ; 
 and all its grateful emotions pointed to- 
 wards the friend it had raised for her in 
 the hour of danger and distress. If the 
 benevolent though melancholy expression 
 of St. Dorval's countenance, his venerable 
 and interesting aspect, had won her con- 
 fidence in the first moment that her eye 
 had met his, every word he uttered, every 
 glance he emanated, and even the soft 
 sadness that hung upon his faint smile, 
 confirmed the intuitive dictates of her sym- 
 pathy ; and she scarcely regretted the pe- 
 rilous adventure which had made her 
 known to one, in whose looks of benignity 
 and sweetness her hopes faintly traced fu- 
 ture acts of kindness and friendship. 
 
ST. DOMIXICK.. 847 
 
 From the character of a spy, a supposi- 
 tion which excited a smile to his cool and 
 unbiassed apprehension, she could easily 
 vindicate herself; and to his protecting 
 kindness she should at last owe her safe 
 arrival at the chateau de Rosemont. — 
 The sanguine expectations of unpractised 
 youth receive with eager susceptibility 
 the warm impression of its wishes; the 
 faintest beam of sympathy is adequate to 
 illume the fading lamp of hope; and 
 fancy darts athwart those probable obsta- 
 cles prudence shrinks from encounter- 
 ing. 
 
 At last, overcome by the bodily and 
 mental fatigue she had endured, Imogen 
 deposited on the table the packet she had 
 so successfully concealed in her bosom; 
 and without divesting herself of an article 
 of her dress, threw herself on a couch that 
 filled a corner of the apartment. A deep 
 sleep soon stole on the perturbation of her 
 senses; it was the profound repose of in- 
 nocence long torn from its " calm mood" 
 
348 THE NOVICE, &C. 
 
 by anxiety and fatigue; and the dream 
 of her rest still gave to her imagination 
 the image of him to whose benevolence 
 and compassion she owed its enjoyment. 
 
 END OF VOL, I. 
 
 T. HAMBLIN, PRINTER, CARLICK-HFLL. 
 
c 
 
 
 
 
 
 CO 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 CO 
 
 
 
 
 
 cy 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 
 
 
 
 > 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 
 In 
 
 
 
 Jp 
 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 4-> 
 
 
 
 
 
 fcjo 
 
 
 
 i- 
 
 
 
 
 j^ 
 
 (—1 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 • »— < 
 
 
 
 »— ■ 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 -tS o 
 
 
 
 .2 
 
 
 
 .2 
 
 V 
 
 •° +3 
 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 3 
 
 73 5 
 
 >> 
 
 4-> 
 
 V 
 
 
 o 
 
 '- 
 
 '5 
 
 a fi 
 
 -j-> 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 
 •M 
 
 — 
 
 to 
 
 'So £ 
 
 'a 
 
 . 
 
 u, 
 
 
 «-w 
 
 ^ 
 
 • £ <y 
 
 rt 
 
 •5 1 
 
 a. 
 
 
 6 
 
 HH 
 
 § 
 
 O Oh 
 
 CJ 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 [3 
 
 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
 *o 
 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 <U 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 a. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CO 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 C 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 to 
 
 
 > 
 
 fciO 
 
 £ 
 
 a. 
 
 o 
 
 • >— I 
 ■M 
 
 .2 
 
 
 G 
 
 • l-H 
 
 
 
 jo 
 
 h 
 
 .^ 
 
 
 C 
 
 j-h 
 
 -»-» 
 
 CO 
 
 1u 
 
 tuo 
 
 "3 
 
 — < 
 
 o 
 
 j3 
 
 a 
 
 -M 
 
 •Q 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 co 
 
 
 CO .Th 
 
 CD 
 
 B 
 
 o 
 
 -a 
 
 3 
 
 CO 
 
 o 
 
 o *a 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 — 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 U 
 
 u w 
 
 E 
 
 to 
 
 . w 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 •^* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 •a 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 p 
 
 .s