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 NOVIfiE 
 
 SAINT DOMINICK. 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS OWEN SON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ST. CLAIR, 
 
 For Truth and Good are one j 
 And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 
 With like participation. 
 
 Forse se tu gustasse anco una Tolta, 
 
 La milissima parte delle Geoje, 
 
 Che gusto un core amato riamando, 
 
 Aireste repentita Sospirando, 
 
 Perdutto e tutto il tempo, 
 
 Che, in amor non se spenda. Tmumi 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Hxmbon : 
 
 PRINTED FOR RICHARD PHILLIPS, 
 
 No. 6, Bridge-Street, Black-friar^, 
 
 By T. Gillet, Salisbury-square. 
 
 1806. 
 
 (Price Eighteen Shillings, inboardi.).-
 
 S- ■ C*
 
 $Z3 
 
 THE 
 
 NOVICE OF ST. DOMINICK. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Can you speak Greek ? 
 *Co certainly! Get you gone then, 
 And talk of stars, and firmaments, and firedrakes. 
 Do you remember who was Adam's schoolmaster, 
 ~c And who taught Eve to spin ? She knows all these, 
 And will run you all over the world 
 As familiar as afidler. — 
 - Can you sit seven hours together 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. 
 
 HTHE sharp reproof of the pious and 
 
 learned lady Magdelaine de Montmo- 
 
 rell still shone on her keen eye, though it 
 
 had ceased to murmur on her lip. The 
 
 j little amanuensis received it in silence, 
 
 hung her head, and sighed — she dared not 
 
 weep. One solitary intrusive tear alone 
 
 vol. I. B
 
 2 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 embalm the bosom of 
 the rose it spangles. The little amanuen- 
 sis brushed it lightly off with the feather 
 of her pen, and waited in patient silence 
 till the inspirations of the lady Magdelaine 
 should again command its efforts. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine had already spent 
 four years in composing a voluminous His- 
 tory of the Crusades, whether foreign or 
 domestic, against infidel or apostate, from 
 the first instigation of Peter the Hermit 
 in 1104 to the massacre, of St. Bartholo- 
 mew in 1572; of the latter she had herself 
 been a witness. She had retired from 
 Paris to the chateau de Montmorell, which 
 rose on the northern skirts of the forest of 
 Champagne, as a residence more appro- 
 priate to the pursuits of one' who expected 
 to unite the heathen reputation of an Anna 
 de Commmes with the holy fame of a Saint 
 Genevieve : and solitude and a total seques-
 
 ST. DOMIN'ICK. 3 
 
 tratlon from the world, together with the 
 convent-library of the Dominican sisters 
 (then rich in legendary lore and pious tra- 
 dition), gave boundless scope to the pro- 
 found meditations of philosophy, and fa- 
 voured the deep researches of history; 
 and while, with kindling ardour, fanaticism 
 traced the recorded horrors of religious 
 frenzy in the gloomy " deeds of other 
 times," France still groaned under the 
 struggling efforts of religious prejudice, 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 NeufcbateJ, that a 
 later hour than usual still found the lady 
 Magdelaine in her study, dictating to her 
 young secretary the most remarkable cir- 
 cumstances of the siege of Bezicrs, where 
 six thousand obstinate heretics were put to 
 the sword in cold blood, and four hundred 
 committed to the flames, for the love of 
 God. It was a note panegyrical and clu- 
 S 2
 
 4 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 cidatoryonthis instance of religious ardour, 
 which had drawn from the horror-struck 
 amanuensis (a young novice of the order of 
 St. Dominick) such animadversions as sel- 
 dom failed to elicit the disapprobation of 
 her patroness, and rouse every feeling of 
 pious zeal into action. It was some time 
 ere the lady Magdelaine could rally back 
 that abstracted attention which the unan- 
 swerable, but not unreproved, 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 finish 
 her note with an animated apostrophe, 
 she exultingly exclaimed : " Oh ! fortunate 
 " though deluded creatures, who by the 
 66 pious zeal of your holy persecutors 
 " were forced to return to the fold from 
 u whence you strayed !" — " And did they 
 " return, madam?" interrupted the novice, 
 " to the faith they had abjured ?" — " They 
 " were all put to death without distinc- 
 " tion," said the lady Magdelaine. " Kill
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 
 
 ° away, cried the bishop of Citeaux, 
 11 God will take care of his own !" — 
 tc Then what became of the bishop of 
 " Citeaux?" demanded the secretary. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, again immersed 
 in a learned puzzle ; made no reply, but 
 cast up her eye, pinched the folds of her 
 ruff, and bit her nails, in vain endeavours 
 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 memory, the vivid thought of 
 genius darted through regions of impos- 
 sibility, and pursued with ardour the glow- 
 ing phantoms of fancy's creation. And 
 thine was a genius, young Novice of St, 
 Dominick, that soared far beyond the oc- 
 cupation allotted thee : and thine was an 
 age when the mastery of the attention is 
 seldom obtained ; when the mind will ad- 
 mit an image or embrace an idea wholly 
 foreign from the pursuit in which it is en- 
 gaged, because it steals on its apprehen-
 
 t) THE NOVICE OP 
 
 sion under the glowing form of joys anti- 
 cipated, or wears the pensive, grateful 
 semblance of joys elapsed : happy age! 
 
 The brain of the lady Magdelaine still 
 pursued with unwearied diligence tfhe 
 learned trifle that distracted it, while the 
 vagrant fancy of the little amanuensis 
 wandered through scenes of fairy reflection. 
 And never did a strain breathe in stronger 
 unison to a soft and fanciful idea than 
 that which stole on the rapt attention of 
 the young secretary, as, tracing viewless 
 characters with the feather of her pen, she 
 
 A local habitation and a name." 
 
 The storm raged loud, yet in every in- 
 tervening pause the melodious tones of a 
 harp were more distinctly heard. Panting 
 and breathless, the Novice arose, crept 
 softly to the casement, raised herself on a 
 small stool, and fl'^ng an inquiring glance 
 through, its 'painted sash; but the stained 
 and narrow panes, lit up by the watery
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 7 
 
 beams of a declining moon, gave no form 
 to her eager eye, except that of an ancient 
 dame of the family de Montmorell praying 
 v, ith sympathetic piety before the faded 
 figure of her lord in armour. 
 
 Yet if her eye was ungratified by the 
 t of the musician, her ear more dis- 
 tinctly caught the strain, which at first 
 faintly breathed at a distance, now lingered 
 on every passing breeze, now directly 
 ascended from the terrace beneath the 
 casement, and now, gradually fading away, 
 became lost amid the loud howling of ths 
 wind. 
 
 Rapt, entranced, the little amanuensis 
 still remained at the casement, even long 
 after the magic "spell which had lured her 
 thither was dissolved ; while fancy still fed 
 her ear with those tones which distance or 
 the storm had lulled into silence, and amaze- 
 ment was busied in assigning a cause for 
 an effect so singular, so delightful. But 
 even fancy at last ceased to delude; and 
 Imogen, with a sigh of disappointment, re-
 
 9 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 turned to her scat at the moment when the 
 lady Magdelaine, starting from hers, ex- 
 claimed, " I must consult the bishop of 
 " Beauvais." 
 
 " Did you not hear the sound ©f 
 " music, madam ?" demanded Imogen. — 
 " Music!" said the lady Magdelaine, me- 
 chanically speaking the word with a tone 
 and air of abstraction that denoted her 
 absence of her mind and her inattention 
 to the demand. 
 
 " To me it breathed no human sound," 
 sa'd the amanuensis, " but such as fancy 
 " gives to those aerial strains which waft 
 " the souls of dying saints to heaven. 
 " In good sooth, it thrilled upon my. heart: 
 " e'en now methinks I hearit." — " What?" 
 demanded the lady Magdelaine, awaken- 
 ing, — " Hush! I am not deceived. Yet 
 " methinks 'tis in the castle : it steals 
 " along the corridor ; do you not hear it; 
 " madam P" 
 
 The lady Magdelaine (whose auricular 
 faculties were somewhat less acute than
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 9 
 
 those of her companion) now for the first 
 time heard those strains which had awaken- 
 ed raptures beneath the steady tenor of her 
 philosophic mind : they had indeed awaken- 
 ed emotions of a very different nature ; 
 and, advancing to a distant part of the 
 chamber, she drew back a sliding door, 
 which opened on thecorridor that surround- 
 ed the servants' hall. The grand-dame of 
 the present lady de Montmorell had con- 
 structed this door for the purpose of obtain- 
 ingsecret information of all the politicsof her 
 domestic system. The lady Magdelaine, 
 whose imagination was less on the quiinve P 
 than that of her young secretary, readily 
 believed that these mysterious strains were 
 not only of human sound, but that they 
 proceeded from some unlicensed merriment 
 in her domestics; and now appropriated 
 thesliding-door to a purpose it had served, 
 for two generations back, to the ladies de 
 Montmorell. Instantly the tones of a harp, 
 accompanied by a fine voice, interrupted 
 by repeated and loud bursts of laughter, 
 B 5
 
 10 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 arose from the great hall below. Imogen, 
 followed by the lady Magdelaine, sprung 
 forward ; and, hanging over the balustrade, 
 with a heart beating in unison to the 
 lively air which had awakened its palpita- 
 tion, observed the musician surrounded by 
 a group who paid the tribute of boisterous 
 applause to the talents he exerted for their 
 entertainment. Followed by the reluctant 
 and delighted Imogen, the lady Magdc- 
 laine, with noiseless step, returned in silence 
 to her study, closed the slide, and rung with 
 some violence the little silver bell which 
 lay on her table; but no ready page obeyed 
 the summons. " Theodore may be asleep," 
 said Imogen timidly ; contemplating the 
 storm that gloomed the countenance of the 
 lady Magdelaine, and threatened a tempo- 
 rary overthrow to her philosophy ; " shall 
 " I go and awaken him, madam ?" 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, in sullen silence, 1 
 took a taper, and proceeded to the anti- 
 chamber. Before the dying embers of a 
 wood fire, stretched at his full length, lay
 
 ST. D0M1XICK. 11 
 
 the young page, who had read himself to 
 sleep over the Romance of the Rose. 
 " Why, thou mortal Morpheus!" exclaimed 
 the lady Magdelaine in a Stentorian voice. 
 The youth, roused by the well-known 
 tone, started on his feet, rubbed his eyes^ 
 scratched his head, bowed, and stammered. 
 " Say," continued his lady, " wouldst thou 
 " emulate the drowsy powers of Epime- 
 " nides, and sleep away thy useless lifer ' 
 — " So please my lady, I thought" — 
 " You thought ! But every vassal now 
 " arrogates the divine faculty of thinking. 
 " Bethink thee then of delivering my 
 " commands to those rioters who by siiclx 
 '•' rude wassailage disturb the nocturnal 
 cf meditations of their lady." 
 
 The page, scarce half awakened, stood 
 motionless and gaping. " A vaunt!" said 
 the lady Magdelaine, (i and summon to 
 " my presence that hoary reveller, the sieur 
 " Ambrose." The page trembling, bow- 
 ing, and yawning, went to seek the mallre 
 d? hotel ; and the lady Magdeiaine returned
 
 J2 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 to her study, where Imogen was still listen- 
 ing to those sounds which found admittance 
 through an aperture in the sliding door. 
 " For twenty years," said the lady Mag- 
 delaine, throwing herself into her chair, 
 H for twenty years the sound of ill-managed 
 " mirth, or rude merriment, has not been 
 " heard till this night within the walls of 
 u de Montmorell!" — " I can well believe 
 H it," sighed Imogen. — " I shall soon 
 " learn who this modern Orpheus is," con- 
 tinued her ladyship. 
 
 " So shall I, I hope," said Imogen. 
 " I should not wonder if it was a spy of 
 * that arch heretic the king of Navarre," 
 exclaimed lady Magdelaine. 
 
 " I should have no objection though it 
 ** were," thought Imogen. 
 
 w The province is full of his emissaries 
 (< and his troops," said the lady Magdelaine. 
 u Heaven prosper the hero in all his un- 
 " dertakings?" silently ejaculated Imogen. 
 " The Leaguers," added the lady Mag- 
 delaine, " are dilatory in their operations ?
 
 ST. DOMIKICK. 13 
 
 " 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 deli- 
 cious dream (which placed him first page of 
 the presence to queen Margaret de Valois) 
 in a manner not likely to reward him for the 
 loss of so pleasing a delusion, and disap- 
 pointed at having missed the entertain- 
 ment he found his fellow- servants enjoy- 
 ing, delivered his lady's orders with such 
 exaggerating additions of her displeasure, 
 that ol-d Ambrose, who dared not singly - 
 encounter her wrath, had prevailed on 
 some of the domestics to share the punish- 
 ment as they had shared the pleasure of 
 the crime. 
 
 The appearance of the maitre-d'hotel 
 revived the sparks of anger which the di-
 
 11 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 gression of the ladj Magdelaine from the 
 king of Navarre to the Trojans, Greeks, 
 and Persians, had nearly extinguished ; 
 and after a pause of a minute she exclaimed, 
 in a tone of reprehension and solemni^ ; 
 " When the peaceful influence of Mor- 
 " pheus, so finely described by Homer, 
 " should spread the pinions of repose o'er 
 *f- the eyes of mortals, save those spirits of 
 <c higher order, who by the lamp's pale 
 ** beam pore over the inspirations of de- 
 *J parted genius, or raise amidst the silence 
 " of midnight gloom monuments to per- 
 " petuate their own, say, what means this 
 4< nocturnal wassailage within the walls of 
 " the chateau de Montmorell ? It is to 
 " thee, ihou hoary president of midnight 
 " revelry, I address myself." — " I! good 
 " my lady/' stammered Ambrose : " with 
 " my lady's good pleasure, the saints are 
 " witness, I never was a president : the 
 " Virgin forbid I should ever be a prcsi- 
 " dent \" 
 
 f Say," continued the lady Magdelaine,-
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 15 
 
 " do you celebrate the orgies of the 
 M houshold gods, perform ye Bacchanalian 
 (i mysteries, or hold you the riotous 
 " Saturnalia?" The servants, in silent 
 and ignorant amazement, stared in each 
 others' faces. " Speak," continued the 
 lady Magdelaine, u who is this insidious 
 " promoter of midnight revelry, this Am- 
 " phion, this Terparider, who, like the 
 " musicians of old, has charmed e'ea 
 " stocks and stones ?" 
 
 " So please myXiAf^* said Ambrose, bow- 
 ing, <( he is no trepanner, but a poor min- 
 ft strcl, a troubadour of Provence *, who 
 " erst-while begged shelter at the poster n- 
 " gate from the storm, in the name of our 
 " Lady of theSnow. Marry, an it had been 
 11 a dog one's bowels would have yearned 
 " to turn him adrift o' such a night. ,, 
 
 w Troubadour J" repeated the lady Mag- 
 
 * (( Au sein de cette barbarie naquirent en Provence 
 nos premiers poetes, connus sous le nom du Trouba- 
 dour." His'oir: de France, Louis Jcune, chap. 7.
 
 1-6 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 delaine : " O thou second Cymon, thou 
 " more stupid than Polyphemus! When 
 " heresy stalks abroad, and threatens our 
 " holy faith with destruction; when anarchy 
 " and civil war tear the very bosom of our 
 " country ; are we to admit into the very 
 " sanctum sanctorum of our chateau e\ery 
 " Hugunot spy who assumes the disguise 
 x( of an itinerant votarist of Apollo? This 
 " minstrel, this troubadour, may be the 
 " very spirit of Luther, under the power 
 <f of transmigration ; it may be heterodoxy 
 " personified; it may be Satan himself 
 " roaming about, and seeking, in these 
 " irreligious times so favourable to his 
 " reign, all those whom he may devour.'* 
 The servants crossed themselves devoutly ; 
 all but the little Beatrice, who had the 
 honour to preside over the tapestry- looms 
 of the lady Magdelaine. 
 
 " Satan!" repeated Beatrice: " in good 
 " sooth, my lady, he looks more like an 
 " angel than a devil, saints keep us!" 
 
 " Peace, shameless Bacchante t" ex-
 
 ST. D0MINICK. 17 
 
 claimed the lady Magdelaine : <c and thou, 
 u monsieur Ambrose, stop this min- 
 " strelsy, and instantly dismiss this modern 
 iC Arion." — " Poor youth!" said Ambrose : 
 (i St. Denis 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 troubadours 
 " and minstrels were old and blind, with 
 " long and flowing beards." — " Made- 
 <s moiselle, he has no more beard than my 
 u hand, save indeed as handsome a pair of 
 " whiskers" — " As any cavalier in the 
 * province of Champagne might wish to 
 " wear," added Beatrice. " Blind, for- 
 <i sooth ! Marry, if there is such another 
 " pair of black eyes in France I'll give m^ 
 " silver reliquary for a copper sous!" 
 
 " Beatrice, 1 ' said the lady Magdelaine, 
 " dost thou not fear the fate of Canente, 
 " who was changed into a voice for talk- 
 " ing too much ?" 
 
 " She! good my lady, M said Ambrose:
 
 J 8 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " beshrew mc if she fears any thing, not 
 " excepting the devil, father Auselm, or 
 ft your ladyship. I told the damsels it was 
 " not seemly to press round the youth as 
 c: they did." — " Marry, didst thou so, mori- 
 6i sieur Propriety," interrupted Beatrice; 
 " but did you consider then, that it was so 
 " long since we saw any thing young and 
 " handsome in the chateau* that we came 
 " to look at him, not as a man, but a 
 " wonder!" — " Beatrice," said the lady 
 Magdelaine, in a softened tone, " it is 
 ff easy to perceive you are not of the 
 " Pythagorean school; but" — " She at 
 " school i" said Ambrose: " Mass! she 
 " would corrupt a nunnery!" — " But the 
 " question is," continued the lady Mag- 
 delaine, " whether this musical Adonis 
 " should be dismissed, or retained a pri- 
 " soner till the return of the father direc- 
 " tor, who is gone to shrive the ladies of 
 " St. Dominick?" — " Poor dear souls!" 
 said Beatrice : " I wonder what they can 
 " have to confess, shut up all their lives iu
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 19 
 
 Ci a convent; for my part, who only live 
 " IH an old chateau, a little sin goes a 
 " great way with me." 
 
 " What if I were to see him myself?" 
 said the lady Magdelaine, addressing Imo- 
 gen. " He is evidently insidious, and con- 
 " sequently dangerous: if he is, as I sus- 
 " pect, a spy, — Yes, I will see him; and 
 " let him, if he can, elude the eye of 
 **' Argus' penetration ; yes, I will at least 
 " hear what he has to say." — " Say, my 
 " lady!" cried Beatrice; " hear what he 
 " has to sing. Do, good my lady, get 
 " him to sing ( the Merry Knight and the 
 u Maid in the Vestment of Blue.' Holy 
 " rosary, I thought I should have split my 
 " sides with laughing 1" — <; Beatrice/' said 
 the lady Magdelaine, mildly, " sacrifice, 
 " I pr'ythee, to the goddess Muta : and 
 " thou, Ambrose, conduct this minstrel to 
 " my presence/* 
 
 Ambrose retired with a bow of triumph: 
 the domestics exchanged looks of pleasur- 
 able amazement, and expectation flushed
 
 20 THE NOVICE F 
 
 its beams in the bright eyes of Imogen. 
 " Theodore," cried the lady Magdclaine, 
 " bring in fresh tapers. Imogen, give me 
 " my veil. Beatrice, Blanche, and Agnes, 
 cc retire to the back-ground." Then, hav- 
 ing arranged her fardingalc, settled the 
 folds of her ruff, and adjusted her veil after 
 the manner of Paulina, the emperor Nero's 
 mistress, she waited in an attitude of so- 
 lemn dignity to receive her eleemosynary 
 guest. In a few minutes he appeared, led 
 in by Ambrose. He bowed low, but not 
 servilely; and, resting the end of his harp 
 on his right foot, stood in an attitude ra- 
 ther dignified than humble. 
 
 His stature rose to that commanding 
 height which fancy attaches to the idea of 
 majesty, and possessed that graceful slight- 
 ucss and flexibility which characterize youth 
 in itsfirstdawn of manhood : the contoursof 
 his face were conformable to the most per- 
 fect line of Roman beauty ; and the grand, 
 the noble expression of his countenance, 
 evinced a soul where " no dark deed wan-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. $1 
 
 * dercd in secret ;" it flashed the vivid 
 emanations of genius, blended with the 
 glowing affections of the man and the ar- 
 dent spirit of the hero.* His garb was 
 that usually worn in those days by the pro- 
 fessors of minstrelsy : a robe of dark-green, 
 gathered at the neck with a small gorget 
 beneath the snowy folds of his ruff, and 
 incircled round the waist with a crimson 
 cadis girdle ; the sleeves, slashed off from 
 the elbow, fell to the ground, and discover- 
 ed those of his doublet of black velvet, 
 fastened at his wrist with silver clasps ; a 
 scarlet ribbon fell from his neck, from 
 which was suspended his harp, scarcely 
 larger than a lyre; from his girdle 
 hung a chain, to which was fastened a 
 splendid escutcheon ; and his curling 
 
 * See the curious account of the appearance of a 
 minstrel, who was introduced at Kenelworth castle, 
 among many other devices and skoxes represented be- 
 fore queen Elizabeth, at an entertainment given her by 
 lord Leicester.
 
 99 THE NOVICE 0* 
 
 glossy black hair defined the form of 
 a head which was that of a youthful Alci- 
 biades. 
 
 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. 
 Then, suddenly breaking into an abrupt 
 exclamation, and resuming her air of 
 awful deportment, she said : " Speak, 
 " young stranger, whose garb and seeming 
 " tell thee of that order fast falling to de- 
 " cay ; whence and what art thou, who 
 *i darest thus boldly to intrude at this un- 
 " seasonable hour upon the peaceful se- 
 " curity of our castle, and insidiously to 
 " practise on the simple ignorance of our 
 " domestics?" 
 
 <c Lady," said the stranger, with a bow 
 low and graceful, " I meant not to intrude, 
 but to solicit ; not to practise on igno- 
 rance, but to interest humanity." 
 
 " Who and what art thou ?" repeated 
 the lady Magdelaine. — " By birth, lady,
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 23 
 
 u a Proven qa), by profession a minstrel, 
 m by necessity a wanderer, and by scnti- 
 H ment a citizen of the world. The ge- 
 " nius of my country found me, while yet 
 <c a boy, tuning my rustic reed on the deli- 
 " cious banks of the Durance; and taught 
 " me to raise my humble lay, and emulate 
 " the bards of my native province, who dif- 
 " fused the light of poetry and song o'er the 
 " wide dominions of France, then involved 
 " in Gothic darkness. I obeyed. Thrice 
 <( have I carried off the golden violet * at 
 '• Thoulouse from my competitors; thrice 
 " have I crossed the Rhone, and sung 
 " through the wkle domains of France the 
 " superiority of my native province, its 
 
 * In 1323 the society of Troubadours at Thou- 
 louse sent circular letters to the Languedocian poets, 
 to come and read their works, with the promise of a 
 golden <vio!ct to him who should compose the best 
 romance. Clemence dTsaure left a sum by her will 
 to be laid out in three golden violets, which the aca- 
 demy of Thoulou?e was. to dispose of as the reward 
 of superior genius.
 
 24 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 u meads for ever verdant, its purple vine-' 
 " yards, its fertilizing streams, and snowy 
 " flocks. I have raised a nobler strain, and 
 " sung the prowess of the warrior, the im- 
 " mortality of the hero: and erewhile, O 
 " dangerous theme! I have stolen inspira- 
 " tion from the eye of beauty, and sung the 
 <c charms of woman, and the omnipotent 
 " power of love. This night, thewandering 
 " spirit of my profession conducted me to 
 " the forest de Montmorell, my better des- 
 " tiny to the portals of the castle, and (oh ! 
 " suffer me to hope it) my guardian angel 
 " intothepresence of itsfairandnoblelady." 
 
 The minstrel again bowed, as he finished 
 his recital ; and the lady Magdelaine, with 
 a contortion of the muscles that softened 
 her harsh countenance into some faint in* 
 dication of a smile, replied : 
 
 " Young stranger, I doubt not the ve- 
 " racity of thy relation, although I do not 
 " pretend to possess the gift of that god- 
 " dess who could discover the most plau- 
 " sible falsehood by a look. Neither am I
 
 ST. D0MINICK. 25 
 
 " ignorant of the reverence in which thy 
 " sacred profession was held by the an- 
 " cients: the king Alcinous is described 
 " by Homer as paying the highest honors 
 " to his inspired visitor; Ulysses, that wary 
 •' chief, treated with profound respect the 
 " tuneful Dimodocus ; the Athenians sent 
 " a minstrel to command the Spartans, 
 u who conquered under his inspiring in- 
 " fluence ; Anacreon was caressed at the 
 " court of Polycrates, the tyrant of Samos; 
 " and so great was the reverence paid by 
 " the ancient Arabs to their bards, that 
 " their entrance into the cities was hailed 
 " with public rejoicings, and the best 
 " poet was rewarded with a rich robe, a 
 " fine horse, and a beautiful damsel.' 1 
 
 " Oh, that I were an Arabian bard!'* 
 exclaimed the minstrel with naivete, and 
 glancing his eye to the back of lady Mag- 
 delaine's chair, where hovered the airy 
 form of Imogen ; then, after a mome: 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 26 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 indulgence, fixed his eyes on the earth, 
 and sighed. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, who had arrested 
 the impassioned glance half-way ere it had 
 reached its point of destination, construed 
 its expression according to the surmise of 
 her vanity rather than her pride, and after 
 a moment's silence added : 
 
 " But though I were not, to acknowledge 
 the claim thy inspired profession should 
 always haveon all true loversof the muses, 
 yet the law of hospitality (never violated 
 in the chateau de Montmorell) would 
 secure thee an asylum for a night such 
 as this (which might have served Virgil 
 as a model for his celebrated Storm) ; else 
 should I have read Eustatius to very little 
 purpose, who treats so diffusely on the 
 duties of hospitality. I consign thee 
 therefore, young stranger, to the care of 
 my maitre-d'hotel, and to morrow thou 
 shalt receive an audience of leave/' The
 
 ST. D0M1N1CK. 2? 
 
 minstrel 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 : " Yet stay, young 
 " stranger; I" She paused: the min- 
 strel respectfully returned. " I would 
 " know thy name," said the lady Magde- 
 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." 
 
 " Bearest thou no other name r" 
 M None, lady. A deserted foundling, 
 " my infant years were supported by the 
 <; pastor of the village cf Beauvoisin ; 
 " and my latter life was devoted to the 
 '*' monks of the Petits Augustins, whose 
 " flocks I tended on the banks of the 
 " Durance." 
 
 " By the arms suspended from thy girdle, 
 " thou hast filled some higher station than 
 C 2
 
 28 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " that of tending the flocks of a con- 
 " vent." 
 
 cc True, lady; I was for some time chief 
 " minstrel to the baron de Montargis, 
 " whose chateau is bathed with the blue 
 " waves of the Durance." 
 
 " Then thou served a heretic, and a 
 " rebel to a just cause." 
 
 " 'Tis true, lady; he denied the infalli- 
 " bility of the pope, the omnipotence of 
 " the saints, and the justice of the claims 
 " of the Leaguers. 'Tis some time since I 
 u left him, in search of a better service." 
 
 " Which may fortune bless thee withal !" 
 said the lady Magdelaine ; €S thou may'st 
 " now retire." 
 
 The minstrel obeyed. 
 
 " And will you not, sweet my lady," 
 said Beatrice, who with Agnes still loitered 
 behind, " will not you hear him play one 
 " little madrigal? Marry, he knows all 
 " the ballads of Rollo, not to mention the 
 " tragic adventures of the baron de Coucy
 
 ST. D0M1NICK. 29 
 
 " and the fair lady de Vitry ; and rounde- 
 " lays, sequidills, and musettes, without 
 ff end : else is he a youth of no faith ; for 
 <f all these did he promise me, in very 
 " truth ; besides the pleasant and curious 
 " tragedy, full of rare device, of the amo- 
 " rous shoemaker, who put himself to 
 <c death with his own cutting-knife, ail for 
 " love of a beautiful damsel of high de- 
 " gree. Do, sweet my lady, permit the 
 " minstrel to return ; the night is yet 
 " young." — "Beatrice," said thelady Mag- 
 delaine, in a tone of hesitation, " thou 
 <f dost not consider it would be unseemly 
 " for thy lady to hold further converse with 
 " this young stranger. Times are now 
 " greatly changed since Charlotte of Savoy 
 " kissed the sleeping poet Alain Chartier, 
 " and was thought not the worse for it. 
 " It is not the man (said she) whom I kiss, 
 " but the lip from whence flowed so many 
 " charming strains." — " But then, dear my 
 (l lady : kissing a man, and listening to his
 
 30 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " song; marry, there is a huge difference!" 
 " — Not to the eye of unimpassioned philo- 
 " sophy, Beatrice; for though I were to ho- 
 C( nour this young bard with a chaste salute, 
 " or lend an ear to his inspired strains, it 
 fC 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 
 rt be indulged at the expence of the dig- 
 " nity of the lady de Montmorell." 
 
 S( Then, with your ladyship's good liking, 
 " I'll just step down and finish a courante 
 " I had begun with Bernardine when 
 cc Theodore interrupted us. No one but 
 •? a native of clear Provence can dance or 
 Gt play a courante after the right fashion. 
 lt Marry, I could have thrown my arms 
 f( around the neck of this same minstrel 
 cc when he told me he was from Provence, 
 v< had it not been for pure shame!" 
 
 " Why, thou hast as little modesty as
 
 ST. 
 
 DOMIXICK. 31 
 
 ?■ Lais or Corinna," exclaimed the lady 
 Magdelaine angrily ; " and were all my 
 M women of thy bold deportment, this 
 t{ poor youth might have shared the fate 
 " of Orpheus, who was torn to pieces by 
 " the Bacchantes." 
 
 t: Bat, under your ladyship's good favour, 
 u if there be no difference between a salute 
 
 " and a sone.*'- 
 
 " Peace 1" said the lady Magdelaine 
 sternly ; u retire instantly to your apart- 
 
 " ment, nor violate by unseemly com- 
 " portment the vestal propriety of thy 
 " lady's household." 
 
 Beatrice reluctantly obeyed, followed by 
 Agnes, who, with less temerity to express 
 her wishes than the archly simple Beatrice, 
 had not less propensity for courantes, ma- 
 drigals, 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
 
 **'2 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 voice still murmuring on her ear, the mill* 
 strel's glance still beaming on her eye, 
 while the sigh which trembled on her lip 
 expired unconscious ere she was aware of 
 its birth. 
 
 " Imogen!" said the lady Magdelaine 
 mildly. Imogen started, suddenly resumed 
 her seat, and, catching up her pen, demand- 
 ed if she should goon with the bishop of 
 Citeaux and the siege of Bcziers ? 
 
 " No," said the lady Magdelaine, " it 
 ii is late : I am not disposed for compo- 
 H sition ; the muses are not always pro- 
 " pitious to the midnight vigils of their 
 '< votaries. I will read till I sooth my 
 if mind to rest, and thou may'st retire to 
 f* thy apartment.*' 
 
 " What book shall I leave you, madam ? 
 " Here are the Sufferings of the holy Mar- 
 " tyr St. Lawrence, who was broiled on a 
 <c gridiron." 
 
 " No, child, my feelings are not equal 
 ■* to that."
 
 ST. D0MINICK. aS. 
 
 " Here is the Martyrdom of St. Francis, 
 " who carried his head a considerable 
 " distance after he had suffered decapita- 
 " tion." 
 
 M Nay, marry, that is still worse." 
 
 " Here are the Confession of St. Augus- 
 " tine, and the Trials and Temptations of 
 «! St. Theodora." 
 
 M Poor St. Theodora! Her's were trials 
 " indeed! What a holy struggle between 
 " her and St. Dydimus when condemned 
 " before the prefect of Alexandria! And 
 " what is that that lies at the foot of the 
 " picture of St. Mary of Egypt ?" 
 
 •' 'Tisan odd volume of Ovid." 
 
 " Well, leave me that, and my rubric 
 " for vespers." Imogen placed the books 
 on the table ; and, wishing her lady pa- 
 troness 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 Ambrose, 
 C 5
 
 fM THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 Cham- 
 pagne, was still entertaining the minstrel in 
 the buttery with a flask of real muscadel, 
 and an anecdote of the family de Mont mo- 
 rel!, rather minute than interesting ; when 
 the minstrel, after a long pause, abruptly 
 demanded, " I prythee, good my friend, 
 " what fair vision was that which hovered 
 " near the chair of thy lady?"— -" What, 
 " my lady's pet owl ?" said Ambrose ; 
 " nay, marry, fill thy glass, and thou shalt 
 " hear the whole history of it. It was the 
 " very same year that our late king Henry 
 " the Third, of blessed memory, was elect- 
 " ed king of Poland, which I take it was 
 u about the eve of" 
 
 " Nay, thou mistakest ; I would know 
 " who was the lovely maid that" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! by the mass,thou hast a hawk's 
 " eye, monsieur troubadour 1 What, the 
 " demoiselle with the cock'd-up nose., scar-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 35 
 
 * let fardingale, slop sleeves, and short 
 " petticoats ; with a certain roundish look, 
 " and a laughing eye? It was the de- 
 " moiselle Beatrice ; and were my old 
 " dame Jacintha gone to heaven, and the 
 M damsel would cast but an eye of favour 
 " on your humble servant," — "Heavens!" 
 exclaimed the minstrel impatiently, " you 
 " still mistake me : the creature I mean is 
 " delicate even to fragility ; and there is a 
 " nymph-like simplicity in her form, an 
 u airy elegance in her figure, that might 
 u give a model to the Genius of Sculpture 
 " on which to rest his immortality. The 
 " very spirit of Youth sheds its most touch- 
 " ing graces round her; and the look of 
 " playful gaiety that animates her counte- 
 " nance is softened by that air of ineffable 
 " modesty, which, like a transparent veil. 
 " heightens those beauties it would con- 
 " ceal. Her dress is such as Fashion in her 
 " happiest caprice might adopt to render 
 " loveliness more lovely; and though her
 
 36 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " robe of grey, her veil, and rosary, speak 
 <c her a novice of some holy order, yet 
 *** Love, lurking in the dimple her arch 
 " smile creates, seems to reclaim the sweet 
 " apostate as his own !" 
 
 " Pardie, well done, sir minstrel! Mass, 
 iC 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 father 
 *' director and mademoiselle Imogen." 
 
 " Imogen ! is that her name?" 
 
 In good sooth, is it. So, nothing will 
 
 serve your dainty taste but our young 
 " nun ?" 
 
 " A nun!" 
 
 * That is to be." 
 
 " And from choice, sayest thou ?" 
 
 " Nay, by the rosary, I doubt if her 
 * ( vocation lies much that way. Poor 
 " soul! somehow she does not take kindly 
 " to vigils and fastings; for which she and 
 * the father director have some disputes, 

 
 ST. DOMINICK. 37 
 
 " and in which she always gets the upper 
 u hand, and that with so laughing a face 
 " that you would think she was in very sport. 
 u For when once she gets loose from my 
 <£ lady's study, she is as blithe as May ; and 
 u then for charity, I'll set her up against 
 " all the ladies of St. Dominick, with my 
 " lady and the father director to boot/' 
 
 M And are her means equal to her vir- 
 " tuous propensities ?" 
 
 " Marry, no; and more's the pity! She 
 u has not a sous but as she earns it by her 
 " embroidery: which I sell for her at the 
 u next market-town, when I go for pro- 
 M visions; and then away with the money 
 *' to the poor serfs who live on the skirts 
 " of the forest, and have been ruined by 
 " the civil wars : and, yet many a late hour 
 (t does she sit up to do this, after writing 
 " all day for my lady. ' My good Am- 
 ** brose,' will she say (with such a sweet 
 " begging face !), * shall I coax thee for a 
 " taper to-night, and in good sooth I .will
 
 38 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " not speedily trouble thee again?' The 
 " saints bless her for a sweet one ! It were 
 " the pity of pities to make a nun of her." 
 
 " Is she related to thy lady?" de- 
 manded the minstrel. 
 
 " No truly, poor soul ! I wot, she never 
 " had a relation : it is thought she was a 
 " present from St. Dominick to the ladies 
 " of our convent." 
 
 " He must have been a saint of very 
 ct little taste, or very great generosity, to 
 u part with such an object." 
 
 c< Marry, I warrant, hadst thou been 
 <c St. Dominick, thou wouldst have been 
 " less generous. Ah ! thou art a wag in 
 " grain, sir minstrel. Yet the saint did 
 C( not part with her altogether ; for when 
 " she was found by the portress at the 
 " wheel, though a coarse veil was what 
 " the saint had covered her withal, yet 
 lC round her little neck was hung an agate 
 " cross, bearing the letters St. Z).; which 
 " proved to the ladies of St. Dominick^
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 3§ 
 
 * c as plain as their own great spire, that the 
 11 saint meant to keep her all to himself. She 
 " had just entered her noviciate, when my 
 " lady begged her of the sisterhood to write 
 " for her ; for the demoiselle Imogen is a 
 u rare clerk, and my lady is writing a His- 
 " tory of how the saints used to kill and 
 " burn the folk in former times, for the 
 u good of their souls, and to save them the 
 " expence of buying indulgences. Hark ! 
 " there goes old Tell-truth : pardie, another 
 " quarter and we shall be on the second 
 " cock-crow ; come, monsieur minstrel, I 
 " pledge you in our last glass of muscadel." 
 Ambrose then arose, and conducted the 
 stranger to the apartment allotted him.
 
 40 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 " Mangled peace ! 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenty, and joyful births ! 
 Alas ! she has from France too long been chased j 
 And all her husbandry doth lie in heaps, 
 Corrupting in its own fertility." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 FOR thirty years Catherine de Medicis go- 
 verned France, under the nominal sove- 
 reignty of her three sons, Francis II., 
 Charles IX., and Henry III. 
 
 " 11 faut diviser pour reg?ier" was the 
 darling maxim by which the wily Cathe- 
 rine directed her political life : and the in- 
 creasing influence of the Hugonots, in the 
 reign of her son Charles, animated her to 
 the most refined practice of her favourite 
 theory ; and afforded to the artful and am- 
 bitious queen-mother a pretext for foment-
 
 ST. DOM] NICK. 41 
 
 ing those dissensions, and perpetuating 
 those feuds, by which she hoped to under- 
 mine or subdue a faction which daily be- 
 came -more formidable and more dangerous. 
 Astrologers had foretold, that her sons 
 would die without issue, and that the 
 diadem of France 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 therefore 
 little to be wondered at, that the young 
 Henry of Bourbon, king of Navarre, (of 
 the blood roval of France, and the idol 
 chief of the Flugonots,) 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, Margaret de Va- 
 lois; and by this extraordinary proposal
 
 47, THE NOVICE OP 
 
 dissipated the Hugonot reserve, and gave 
 an animated flow to the genial current of 
 open-hearted confidence. 
 
 Although Henry embraced the proffered 
 alliance, love had no share in this accept- 
 ance ; his heart submitted to the tyranny 
 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 factions of her children. The 
 Hugonots, in the ardour of their hearts, 
 dazzled by the splendid promises of Ca- 
 therine and her son, crowded to the 
 capital, where magnificent preparations 
 were already made for the nuptials of the 
 king of Navarre : and, bewildered by the 
 pleasures, and intoxicated by the alluring 
 enjoyments, of the most voluptuous court 
 in Europe, the unsuspecting victims of 
 the cruel policy of the queen slumbered 
 over the dangers by which they were se-
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 43 
 
 cretly surrounded ; and, revelling in the 
 fair illusions of the present, cherished 
 no suspicion of the brooding evils of the 
 future. 
 
 On the 16th of August, 15/2, 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, 15/2, all France re-echoed the 
 groans of the slaughtered Hugonots, for it 
 was the ??iassacre of St. Bartholomew ! His- 
 tory has enrolled in her annals the sangui- 
 nary transactions of this day with dreadful 
 exactitude; but the eye, the heart, will eager- 
 ly pass over a recital of those horrid deeds, 
 which even in perusal blanch the glowing 
 cheek of warm humanity, and surpass in 
 reality the fancied atrocities which the 
 most depraved and sanguinary imagina- 
 tions could devise. 
 
 Catherine, who possessed herself neither the 
 religion of prejudice nor of truth, rendered
 
 44 THE NCXVICE OP 
 
 the fanaticism of the times subservient to 
 her policy ; and instigated her jealous and 
 deluded adherents, to a massacre 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 com- 
 parative safety in flight ; Charles and his 
 mother triumphed in their execrable ma- 
 , chinations ; and France, for twenty-six suc- 
 cessive years, groaned under the compli- 
 cated woes which the transactions of one 
 day engendered. 
 
 Charles survived the massacre of St, 
 Bartholomew but two years ; and his brother 
 Henry III. became the successor to that 
 " barren sceptre" with which Catherine 
 amused the puerile minds of her sons, 
 while she still retained the reins of govern- 
 ment in her own hand. 
 
 It was at this period that a dangerous 
 confederation arose in France, known by 
 the name of the League. Its leaders were of
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 4 3 
 
 the bouse of Guise ; its pretence, the de- 
 fence of the church ; and its secret motive, 
 the subversion of the state. But that pro- 
 found system of dissimulation which form- 
 ed the soul of Italian politics, and which 
 Catherine had imbibed with the principles 
 of her idol Machiavel, served 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 powers 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, u a king without a kingdom,* 
 " a husband without a wife, and a warrior 
 *■ without supplies." Such was the situa- 
 
 * 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 Ptrifijc, Histoirc de fJenri It Grand,
 
 46 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tion of this magnanimous prince, whose 
 character scarcely " smelt of mortality ;V 
 who, having conquered himself, was wor- 
 thy of conquering others ;* who possessed 
 the ambition to encounter the greatest dif- 
 ficulties, 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 betrayed a ge- 
 nius that bore all before it. 
 
 After the massacre of St. Bartholomew, 
 he joined the few faithful adherents the 
 cruel policy of his enemies had left bim^ 
 but in the qualities of these superior few, 
 was found an equivalent for the limitation 
 of their number. The baron de Rosni, 
 better known as the Duke de Sully, whose 
 life presents so beautiful a picture of pru- 
 
 * 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." 
 
 Memoira du President du Thiu.
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 47 
 
 dence, wisdom, and loyalty ; the marshal 
 de Biron, so justly celebrated for his mili- 
 tary talents and love of letters ; the brave 
 Crillon, whose valour bestowed on him the 
 epithet La Nolle, to whose generous vir- 
 tues even his enemies paid the homage of 
 esteem ; with many others scarcely less de- 
 serving of notice, though less fortunate 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 decisive effect ; 
 now openly meeting her forces in the field ; 
 and now signing truces, no sooner formed 
 than violated ; this gallant prince still con- 
 tinued to support the vicissitudes of bis 
 destiny with firmness and heroism. 
 
 Meanwhile the powers of the League, 
 and the influenceof the Leaguers, increased 
 with hourly extent : it was believed by the 
 royal party, that the designs of the ambi- 
 tious duke de Guise were to dethrone the
 
 48 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 king,* and already was the duke's destruc- 
 tion determined on by Henry and his mo- 
 ther. 
 
 That popularity which the insinuating 
 virtues and dazzling talents of de Guise had 
 obtained, the amazing power he was en- 
 dowed with, and the circumstances of the 
 times, rendered a public process equally 
 dangerous and difficult. Assassination was 
 more consonant to the political prudence 
 and cherished vengeance of Catherine ; 
 and the duke de Guise was murdered in 
 the royal apartments (whither his unsus- 
 pecting 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, 
 brother to the murdered de Guise, was 
 declared his successor as chief of the 
 League ; and Catherine survived the vic- 
 
 • Henry III.
 
 ST. DOMiNICK. 40, 
 
 tiro of her barbarous policy but a short 
 time. 
 
 The king of France, naturally imbecile, 
 whose conversation was that of a capuchin,, 
 and whose life was that of a professed de- 
 bauchee, vainly endeavoured to win the 
 duke de Mayenne to his interest by the 
 most splendid offers; and shrinking be- 
 neath those fatal circumstances which en- 
 dangered his life and crown, he sought al- 
 liance with the king of Navarre, as a der- 
 nier resort. That careless and unguarded 
 confidence, which formed so prominent a 
 trait in the noble character of the gallant 
 Henry, and which experienced 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 assassinated by a young fanatic 
 monk of the order of St. Dominick : and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 Henry de Bourbon (who united in his per- 
 son the three races of the French kings), 
 as lawful heir to the dominions of France, 
 ascended its throne, and assumed the title 
 of Henry IV. King of France and Navarre; 
 and thus fulfilled the prediction of the 
 astrological sybil, whose prophetic declara- 
 tions had first rendered him the object of 
 that hatred and persecution with which 
 Catherine deMedicis 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 part of 
 her volatile children, blinded by party pre- 
 judices, or influenced by religious fanati- 
 cism, opposed his accession to the throne 
 of his ancestors ; and considered, or at 
 least pleaded, his religion as an insurmount-
 
 ST. DOMIN7CK. 51 
 
 able barrier to his elevation : and as the 
 Leaguers possessed an army four times 
 more numerous than that which surround- 
 ed the royal standard, the horrors of civil 
 war still continued to spread devastation 
 through some of the finest provinces 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 toilswhile he rewarded 
 their efforts ; animating them by the in- 
 spiring gaiety of his air, while he provided 
 for their safety ; and flattering them by 
 cheerful presages of success, which his ex- 
 ample taught them to deserve, and his 
 genius seemed almost created to command. 
 The celebrated battles of Argues, Yvri, 
 and Aumale, have enrolled the name of 
 the hero high on the records of immorta- 
 d 2 
 U, OF ILL
 
 52 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 lity ; and, after having performed deeds of 
 almost supernatural heroism before the 
 walls of Rouenne, he was necessitated to 
 raise the siege, and marched from thence 
 to the investment of Ncufchatel. It was 
 in the interval between this period and the 
 siege of Epernai, that the young minstrel 
 of Provence appeared before the portals of 
 the chateau de Montmorell.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 33 
 
 CHAR III. 
 
 W hen ye dispel the train 
 That waiu on beauty, then religion blows 
 Mer trumpet, and invites another circle : 
 Which, full a_» false a^ the preceding crew, 
 Pl&uei tor problematic mental charms, 
 While snuffing incense ; aiul, devoutly wanton, 
 The pagan goddess grows a christian saint, 
 And keeps her habit of divinity. 
 
 Walpole. 
 
 How far beyond 
 The praise of mortals, may the eternal growth 
 Of nature to perfection half divine 
 Expand the blooming soul ! 
 
 Aken-si.de 
 
 THE age is barbarous," said the lady 
 
 Magdelaine, as she returned one morning 
 from the gay and splendid court of Cathe- 
 rine de Medicis, " and the courtiers are 
 " all Goths and Vandals."
 
 54 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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 motion. 
 She had attained her thirty-second year, 
 and was unmarried ; she had gone to court 
 that day, habited in eastern splendour, and 
 was neglected ; which accounted 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 considered 
 as a moveable basso-relievo to the animated 
 beauties of Catherine's court; yet unhap- 
 pily the lady Magdelaine had an exhaust- 
 less passion for notoriety, in a situation in 
 which the enchantment of loveliness, 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 operation. " I will reform the
 
 ST. DOMINICK. DO 
 
 
 age/' said lady Magdeiaine, " reform it 
 " altogether :" and aecordingly she pa- 
 tronized Baif, corresponded with Mon- 
 taigne, took. Jane of Bourbon, wife of 
 Charles IX., as her model, and determined 
 on making a new translation of Pliny, in 
 opposition to the learned duchess of Bur- 
 gundy ; hut pedantry without genius, and 
 learning without taste, only rendered her 
 the but of fashionable derision to all 
 Paris. 
 
 " The world," said the lady Magde- 
 laine, " is not only buried in the profound 
 " ignorance of the middle ages, but im- 
 " mersed in the atheistical darkness of an- 
 " tiquity I" and accordingly the lady Mag- 
 delaine, by f a transmutation rare,' de- 
 scended from her philosophic stilts, to per- 
 form the bare-footed pilgrimage of humble 
 Christianity. , 
 
 But religion was not just then the 
 fashion at Paris ; and the lady Magdelaine, 
 under the persuasive influence of her father
 
 56 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 director, a brother of the Cistercian order, 
 retired to her chateau in Champagne (of 
 which the death of her only brother had 
 put her in possession), to work out her sal- 
 vation, to found a monastery, and compose 
 the History of the Crusades; a work equal- 
 ly compatible with her talents as an au- 
 thoress, and her sentiments as a devotee. 
 
 To father Anselm was consigned the 
 superintendence 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 rising 
 cloister, Interest hung the tempting lure of 
 an abbot's cowl. Never did a building pro- 
 ceed more rapidly ; it seemed a work of 
 magic. For father Anselm ' had views on 
 ' this side heaven,' which gave the wing of 
 expedition to every effort. 
 
 Not so the learned labours of the lady
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 57 
 
 Magdelaine : they seemed to increase in an 
 inverse ratio with the exertions she made 
 to complete them ; they were indeed of 
 Egean magnitude. A total want of con- 
 nection, a strong instinctive propensity to 
 anachronism, a multiplicity of crude de- 
 tails, and a crowd of too obvious plagiar- 
 isms, reduced the bewildered brain of lady 
 Magdelaine to the ne plus ultra of author- 
 ship : but then the whole fault lay in the 
 want of an amanuensis ! 
 
 u I think, father," said she to the direc- 
 tor, " you could find me out some young 
 " brother cf your own order, who could 
 " at once officiate as almoner an-d se- 
 " cretary ; who could write a fair hand, 
 *' and knew 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 thousand 
 little selfish interests lay in embryo. " Why 
 " cannot I offer myself?" thought the 
 
 D 5
 
 58 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 priest: but then, independant of his superin- 
 tendance of the monastery, he was watching 
 the fall of a cloisterai priorship in a neigh- 
 bouring convent; he had been lately instal- 
 led in the dignities of the confessional of the 
 ladies of St. Dominick ; and held not only 
 the spiritualities, but the temporalities, of the 
 lady Magdelaine in sacred trust. " My la- 
 " bours are indeed great," said the father. 
 4< So are your profits," whispered Interest. 
 " No," said the father ; " no competitor- 
 " ship for me, even with a brother of my 
 tc own order ! Yet, if she must have an 
 " amanuensis, why she shall r but marry, 
 " I bar the young Cistercian ; no, it shall 
 " be the little Imogen of St. Dominick." 
 When saint 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-
 
 ST. DOMINI CK. 59 
 
 tress should lure, to their sacred portals. 
 Among the little victims of misfortune, 
 thus received and admitted into the lay 
 sisterhood, was one who had been taken at 
 the wheel when an infant. They called 
 her Imogen, for such was the name carved 
 on the little cross suspended from her neck ; 
 and dedicated her to saint Dominick, 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. The- 
 resa had just such another. The nuns looked 
 wise, and saw a mystery in this coinci- 
 dence, all but the minor canoness r she 
 was perpetually tearing to pieces the sybil 
 leaves of the holy enigma ; but the nuns 
 knew it was not the faith of the canoness 
 that obtained her elevation. 
 
 The little Imogen, whileyetachild,distin- 
 guished herself by a piety surpassing belief. 
 Her canonization was already in prospect 
 added to the convent's holy records ; and
 
 60 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 the lady abbess was cried up as a prophetess. 
 An old friar (predecessor in the confessional 
 to father Anselm) had taught her to write : 
 he did more; he taught her as much Latin 
 as enabled her to read some of the fathers, 
 who had not written merely to shew their 
 philological talents, or their knowledge of 
 the recondite branches of language. 
 
 At thirteen, she had not only read the 
 works of the angelic doctor St. Gregory 
 the Naziantine, but could repeat the various 
 arguments advanced in those long disputes 
 which existed between the capuchins and 
 the Dominicans, on the reality of the 
 wounds of St. Francis, and the orthodox 
 cut of a monastic cowl. " It is a second 
 ** saint Theresa/* said the nuns; and the 
 blush of gratified ambition crimsoned the 
 cheek of the meek-eyed novice. The saint 
 Theresa was the standard of attainment 
 which youthful emulation had erected in her 
 bosom; and she affected to imitate the life,
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 6l 
 
 as she resembled the person and manner, 
 of her idol saint. 
 
 The fragile delicacy of her form, the na- 
 tive enthusiasm of her disposition, her pro- 
 pensity to study, and the nature of those 
 studies, all assisted to render her a fanatic, 
 and disposed her to receive the inspirations 
 of fancy as existing forms, and the bright 
 illusions of a glowing imagination as real 
 substance. Already the little saint had 
 her extacies, her raptures, and her visions. 
 Yet was her mind strong and comprehen- 
 sive ; but, deprived of all subjects of dis- 
 cussion or inquiry save what the dull re- 
 petition of convent bigotry afforded, she 
 had not the power of rectifying the aber- 
 rations of reason by the observations of ex- 
 perience, or the benefit of a libera), inter- 
 course. 
 
 The nuns of Saint Dominick were di- 
 vided with respect to this prodigy : the 
 younger sisters hated her for her superior!-
 
 62 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ty ; the elder cherished her as a saint in 
 embryo. Sister Pasiphae, the minor ca* 
 noness, stood alone ; she neither hated nor 
 cherished ; she admired her talents, de^ 
 rided her fanaticism, and pitied her delu- 
 sion. 
 
 " Art thou determined on being a 
 " saint ?" said she one morning, returning 
 from matins with the young novice. 
 
 f Not if I can be more than saint !" 
 said the novice with fire. 
 
 " Thou art ambitious," said the nun, 
 " 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 
 u thou in the world ?" said the minor ca- 
 noness, evading her question. 
 
 *' In the world I" quickly repeated the 
 novice, her whole face suffused with crim- 
 son. " In the world I would not be any 
 " thing I have ever heard of I would be
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 63 
 
 * more : but," she added with a sigh, " I 
 " shall never leave this convent, and here 
 " 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 hers, in ac- 
 knowledgement for the condescension. 
 
 " Go to/' said the canoness, u thou 
 * c art dangerous ; I would not love thee if 
 " I could, for thou art" (she shuddered as 
 she spoke) " a fanatic." 
 
 " I would be a saint," said the novice 
 with simplicity. 
 
 " Thou hadst better be a christian," 
 said the canoness. 
 
 " Teach me, then, to become one," said 
 the novice, with a glance of irresistible in- 
 sinuation. From that moment the minor 
 canoness and the nevice of St. Dominick 
 were inseparable.
 
 64 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Such was the person fixed on by the 
 father director as the amanuensis to lady 
 Magdelaine. 
 
 ff The abbess is deceived in this child/' 
 said he. " She is pious, all-believing, and 
 " understands a little Latin, but she is no 
 !? genius ; for never did a confessional 
 " 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." 
 
 The lady Magdelaine consented reluct- 
 antly to exchange 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 mem- 
 ber of her society about the person of one 
 of the richest devotees in France, readily 
 consented to the putting off her profession 
 till the lady Magdelaine should have finish- 
 ed her Crusades.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 60 
 
 The novice learnt her intended transla- 
 tion from the convent to the chateau, with 
 an obvious transport, rather inimical to the 
 demure sobriery of her vocation. On her 
 knees she received a little silver reliquary 
 from the abbess, enclosing a few grains of 
 the sacred brickdust scraped from the wall 
 of the Santa Casa of Loretto, and pro- 
 mised 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 temptations of 
 u a wicked world." The novice kissed it 
 devoutly, and sprung on her feet with a play- 
 ful levity not altogether appropriate to the 
 pious exordium addressed to her. Yet as 
 she seated herself in lady Magdelaine's 
 litter, and waved the end of 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 ! but it was 
 from an eye as sparkling as Euphrosyne
 
 66 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ever betrayed in her archest moments ; it 
 was on a lip as smiling as fancy ever gave 
 to the cherub mouth of Hebe. 
 
 Imogen cast 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 j her cheek flushed, her heart throbbed, 
 every nerve was in a state of rapturous ir- 
 ritation. 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 in- 
 creased the native vivacity of her disposi- 
 tion, that, far from assisting ;he lady Mag- 
 delaine, she confused and entangled every 
 thing. She made false transcripts* and worse 
 translations ; the fathers were made to ut- 
 ter nonsense, and the saints to speak with 
 the levity of mortals. The lady Magdelaine 
 was enraged : the director trembled for the 
 return of the young Cistercian; and under- 
 took not only to instruct the young ama-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 67 
 
 nuensis in the duties of her situation, but 
 to assist her in her classic studies. 
 
 Imogen's thirst for instruction was insa- 
 tiate. She received with avidity the lessons 
 of her holy preceptor ; and in a few months 
 had not only conquered all the difficulties 
 of the Latin tongue, but, mistress 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 her 
 oratory, chapel, or tapestry-room. The 
 greater part of the day was consequently 
 at Imogen's disposal, and she passed it in 
 the library of the chateau. The late lord 
 de Montmorell was a man of letters ; he 
 lived and died in the midst of his hooks, 
 and left to his learned sister the best pri- 
 vate library in France. The studies of 
 the young novice had hitherto been con-
 
 68 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 fined to the Golden Legend, the Lives of 
 the Martyrs, and the works of Saint 
 Gregory the Naziantine ; but now a new 
 world broke upon a mind replete with na- 
 tive intelligence, endowed with that insa- 
 tiate desire of information which marks 
 the nobler faculties of the soul, and en- 
 riched with that versatility of talent which 
 is the distinguishing characteristic of ge- 
 nius. 
 
 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 awakened 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 revolution ; 
 and departed, with his pious phalanx, be- 
 fore the victorious arms of the two Plinys : 
 a few verses of the elegant Tibullus were 
 equal to the defeat of the sixty-two de-
 
 ST. DOxMINlCK. 6g 
 
 cades 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 martyrs ! She had 
 once thought there was nothing to be 
 learnt out of her convent ; and she now 
 thought there was nothing to be learnt 
 in it that would not disgrace the credulity 
 of childhood : the influence of knowledge 
 operating on genius, gave wing to thought; 
 and reflection, bursting from the thraldom 
 of prejudice and error, pointed its soar- 
 ing flight towards the bosom of truth. 
 Those mystical refinements which disfigure 
 the purity and beauty of true religion ; those 
 logical subtleties which set common forms 
 at defiance ; those improbable legends, the 
 wild offspring of disordered imagination 
 or pious fraud; now appeared to her as 
 they were, equally foreign to religion or 
 morality, and frequently subversive of both. 
 " If I am to be a saint," said Imogen, " I 
 " will be the foundress of my own sect.
 
 70 THE ttOVJCE OP 
 
 " I will not seek for my religion in books, 
 " and modify it into systems, for I feel its 
 " essence in my soul ; nor shall it be to 
 ff 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 Ansel m 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 
 Angekis 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 " laughed with those 
 " that laughed, and wept with those that 
 " wept;" nor was her heart alive to. an 
 emotion that bad not borrowed its predo- 
 minant feelings from the joy or sorrows of 
 another. 
 
 Two years residence at the chateau had 
 rendered her habitually necessary to the. lady
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 71 
 
 Magelaine, but had not produced that 
 intimate connection which sympathy alone 
 engenders. Alike involved in literary pur- 
 suits, and sequestered from the world, the 
 strong opposition of their characters evinced 
 that similar circumstances, when operating 
 on dissimilar minds, will produce effects 
 equally opposite. 
 
 The freedom which began to display 
 itself in 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 orthodoxical fears, of the lady Magde- 
 laine : whilst Imogen, acting more under 
 the influence of proud and conscious supe- 
 riority than prudence, frequently brought 
 the arguments of her patroness and the 
 friar to the test of her liberal acumen, and 
 detected their alloy with an air so tri- 
 umphantly playful, that she was always 
 sure to lose by the victory; and when ad- 
 ditional severity pursued that triumph,
 
 72 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 used sportively to exclaim, with the cele- 
 brated king of Epirus, " Another such 
 " victory, and I am lost." 
 
 The growing apostacy of the young no- 
 vice soon became a subject of discussion at 
 the convent of St. Dominick, owing to the 
 complaints of lady Magdelaine. The nuns 
 trembled for their album sanctorum. Sister 
 Agnes requested she might be recalled, ere 
 the spirit of Luther had wholly possessed 
 her; sister Mary said an Ave Maria extra- 
 ordinary; and the minor canoness sung out 
 a heathen Io triumphe ! The abbess, how- 
 ever, with a stronger view to the church 
 militant here on earth than the distant 
 prospect of adding a saint to the convent 
 list, treated the surmises of lady Magde- 
 laine as the too sensitive apprehensions of 
 extraordinary piety, and only recommended 
 to her not to spare wholesome severities 
 and admonition, and urged the father di- 
 rector to wave his penitential crook over 
 the sceptic head of the youthful apostate.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 73 
 
 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 retentive to the strength of spirit. 
 
 Shaks?ear£. 
 
 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. At- 
 tracted 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 " flat 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " reality" was neglected or contemned. 
 Careless and unguarded, her conduct fre- 
 quently evinced the little connection exist- 
 ing 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 offence. Her glowing and 
 susceptible heart was prodigal in its feel- 
 ings, ere reason could exert its influence 
 to discriminate the justice of those claims 
 which had roused its profound emotions 
 into being ; and, alive to those exqui- 
 site and delicious sensations which be- 
 stow rapturous moments rather than per- 
 manent felicity, she readily granted her 
 accedence to the dangerous maxim, 
 
 Qu'un moment de vrai plaisir 
 Vaut un siecle d' existence. 
 
 Le Moustier.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 75 
 
 The nsrvetiy the atticism of her man- 
 ners, evinced them to be solely influenced 
 by the predominant feeling of the moment, 
 unmodified by the varying precept of 
 fashion ; unformed by the grotesque mode! 
 of doating custom, they were natural, ori- 
 ginal, and pregnant with that indescribable 
 something, which, analogous to the nnn sa 
 die of her person, awakened an interest 
 rather felt than understood. Yet was not 
 she perfectly beautiful : it was the thou- 
 sand glowing sensibilities 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 symmetrical, though 
 below the ordinary stature, was per- 
 petually animated by those graceful ges- 
 tures which ever characterized her thoughts, 
 even when silently conceived or imperfectly 
 expressed ; and there was a certain some- 
 thing, an inexpressible fascination, inherair 
 e 2
 
 76 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 and manner, which, like the philosopher's 
 fanciful definition of the soul, " was all in 
 " all, and all in every part." It was scarcely 
 necessary that nature should have endowed 
 her with woman's dangerous attrihute, elo- 
 quence, 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 
 unison to all its feelings, sometimes stole 
 its murmur of caressing fondness on the 
 heart, whose woes it soothed; or, in the 
 gayer rnoments of sportive animation, 
 tlirilled on the senses with syren influence, 
 in pity or in joy, still giving to her words 
 and sentiments a superadded existence. 
 
 The mystery which hung over the birth 
 of the young novice, had so many parallels 
 among the foundling members of the con- 
 vent, as to excite neither amazement nor 
 curiosity in any breast but her own. There, 
 however, it lived a subject of perpetual in- 

 
 ST. DOMINICK. 77 
 
 terest and reflection : that tender heart, 
 which, in the narrow sphere of her exist- 
 ence, throbbed in vain to meet with a kindred 
 associate, delighted to lose itself in those 
 fanciful speculations which restored her in 
 idea to the endearments of parental love and 
 the blessings of social affection. " What,'* 
 she would exclaim to some unsympathising 
 sister, in a paroxysm of romantic hope, 
 11 what if at this moment my father, 
 V my mother, lived ! if I had not been 
 " torn from their arms in my infancy, 
 " or a happy chance now led them to 
 u the asylum that received me! Oh! I 
 " should know them among a thousand; 
 " I feel I should: and then I would throw 
 " myself on their bosoms, and die the 
 u blessed death of joy in their embrace!" 
 The nuns sometimes smiled at her en- 
 thusiasm, but more frequently inveighed 
 against the weakness of all human affec- 
 tions, and exhorted her to subdue their 
 effects by prayer and mortification.
 
 78 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 During a severe winter, a robin bad flown 
 for shelter to ber cell. The heart of Imo- 
 gen throbbed with a violence equal to its 
 own when she felt it fluttering in ber 
 bosom. It soon learnt to feed from her 
 fostering hand ; and when their alliance 
 grew more intimate, it would sometimes re- 
 ceive its nutriment from her lip. All day 
 it hovered round her, and at night it re- 
 posed 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 sin- 
 ful weakness. 
 
 " One must love something," said the 
 weeping novice. 
 
 " Where is the necessity ?" said the 
 abbess coldly. 
 
 " Here!" said the novice, pressing her
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 7() 
 
 right hand to her heart, and raising her 
 soul-illumined eyes to heaven, with an ex- 
 pression that seemed to say, " And from 
 " thee, O my heavenly Father, have I re- 
 " ceived it ! M
 
 80 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Or su — e tempo 
 Che tu t'en vada e troppo lungamenti, 
 Hai dimora ancora — 
 Partite'. Guarini. 
 
 Like blooming Eve 
 
 In nature's young simplicity, and blushing 
 With wonder at creation's opening glow. 
 
 Walpolb. 
 
 THE lady Magdelaine had not returned 
 from matins five minutes, when the min- 
 strel (the morning after his arrival) was 
 summoned to receive his audience of leave, 
 Ambrose conducted him to the entrance 
 of the great gallery. The lady Magdelaine 
 was standing at a distant window, in ear- 
 nest conversation with her confessor. They 
 both turned round, and fixed their eyes on 
 the stranger. The friar's glance was keen, 
 penetrating, and inquisitive : it seemed to
 
 ST. D0MINICK. 81 
 
 anticipate verbal inquiry, and to threaten 
 certain disapprobation ; for he saw in the 
 minstrel the young brother of the Cister- 
 cian order, or perhaps something still more 
 dangerous. 
 
 The minstrel soon found he was drawn 
 thither to gratify the friar's curiosity, rather 
 than to obtain the necessary leave of de- 
 parture, which the attempered looks of the 
 lady seemed to deny; for the friar's ques- 
 tions 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. 
 
 <c It is too simple not to be true/' said 
 the lady Magdelaine softly. M And too in? 
 " consequent to need a comment/' said 
 the friar pointedly. Then turning round, 
 he seemed in a sotto voce to expostulate 
 rather than converse with her. At that 
 moment Imogen appeared, crossing the 
 gallery in a direct line to the spot where 
 £ 5
 
 83 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 check seemed to ebb and flow 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 languor 
 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 suspended 
 over the tablet which the other contained; 
 and she appeared in the act of luring back to 
 her memory some happy but truant thought 
 which the " thick-coming fancies" of poeti- 
 cal inspiration had hurried half-realized 
 into oblivion. 
 
 Nature had not wholly abandoned her 
 weaknesses in the breast of the friar ; and 
 the point in debate between him and the
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 83 
 
 lady Magdelaine seemed little favourable 
 to those U leavings of mortality.'* It was 
 with difficulty he had restrained the over- 
 flowing of his gall, when the novice of St. 
 Dominick appeared to receive its bitter 
 ebullition on her innocent head. 
 
 u Why, how 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 conceal- 
 ed behind a projecting pillar. Imogen, the 
 emblem of health and cheerfulness, ad- 
 vanced towards the friar. " I had hoped, 
 11 daughter," said the father director, 
 i( yes, hoped, that sickness had prevented 
 " your assistance at matins to-day; for I 
 u hold not in competition the temporary 
 " sufferings of the perishable body, with the
 
 84 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " soul's eternal torture: but that flushing 
 " cheek, elastic gait, this smile scarce re- 
 " pressed, this levity scarce concealed, 
 " speak, fatally speak, the body's health 
 •' robust, the soul's deadly sickness!" 
 
 " Father, I knew not that health was a 
 " crime," said Imogen with simplicity. 
 
 «' To devote ourselves to the vague and 
 " sinful wishes which redundant health in- 
 " spites; to pursue their gratification, to 
 " 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. 
 
 <c Dear father, the saints are witness it 
 €< was my intention ; nay, already had I 
 u reached the chapel, when I met" — 
 
 " Whom ?" said the friar, in triumphant 
 expectation.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 85 
 
 " Whom ?" arsked the lady Magdelaine, 
 casting a glance towards the pillar. 
 
 " Who," repeated the friar eagerly, 
 u seduces thee from thy devotions, and 
 <c steals between thy soul and heaven?" 
 
 " In very truth then, good father, it 
 u was — a butterfly," said Imogen gravely. 
 • " Pshaw!" said the friar, in a tone of 
 peevish mortification. 
 
 t€ Nay, father," she sportively added, 
 " let me entreat thy attention and belief. 
 " Is it not in holy writ we find, that he 
 " who despiseth little things, himself shall 
 " perish little by little ?" 
 
 Cf This trifler 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 playfuLness, " is
 
 \Q6 the novice of 
 
 " not the Greek term for the soul and for a 
 " butterfly the same? and did not you tell 
 €( me the soul was fancifully supposed by 
 cc the Greeks to exhale itself from the lips 
 " of the departed in the form of that 
 ce 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 I Oh, but this 
 " butterfly! It fled the cloister's gloom. 
 " Poor insect ! how natural ! Unwit- 
 " tingly I pursued its devious flight. Its 
 " rich wings of purple and gold, expanded 
 " to every gale, glittered to every sun- 
 * f beam. It revelled in such variety of bliss, 
 
 * so free, so wild, so uncontroled, that I 
 " sighed, and wished to be a butterfly ; 
 41 and, in good sooth, forgot my matins. " 
 
 " Cease these ravings of thy distemper- 
 ** ed fancy," impatiently interrupted the
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 87 
 
 father, " hitherto tolerated in a child, but 
 €C grossly impious in the maturing mind of 
 " one who approaches the hour of holy 
 " initiation into the sacred mysteries of 
 " the church." 
 
 <c Indeed, father ! and does that honour 
 Cf exclude me from adoring the Deity in 
 " his works ?" 
 
 M 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 
 M unaccepted ! Tbis morning, father, when 
 " my steps deviated from the chapel to that 
 " glowing valley where all nature hymned 
 
 * the praises of its God, thinkest thou my 
 " orisons were less fervent because less 
 u systematic? Oh, father! when I inhaled 
 " new being with the morning's fragrant 
 " breath ; when that glorious orb rose on 
 
 * my rapt gaze, and every dewy blossom
 
 88 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tc expanded its bosom to the genial ra- 
 <c flnence of its beams, and shed fresh per- 
 " fume on the air ; when every bird sung 
 " 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 
 f* me alone the light of heaven beamed in 
 " 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 
 u of Spinosa : Manchees himself never 
 u breathed stronger materialism : the 
 <r Gnostics are more christian in their 
 M ideas.'' 
 
 " Dearest madam," said Imogen softly, 
 " sure I have breathed no heterodox opi- 
 " nion, no heretical tenet : yet," she added
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 89 
 
 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 
 " of St. Agnes, there is so much variety 
 " in their seven heavens /" 
 
 " Corrnptio oftinn fesslma /" ejaculated 
 the father to the lady Magdelaine, turning 
 up his eyes. " But I commend her, daugh- 
 11 ter, to thy prayers and exhortations. 
 " Let us trust it is the weakness of her 
 " brain, rather than the viciousness of her 
 * c heart, that deludes her." Then mutter- 
 ing a few low words to the lady Magde- 
 laine, he added aloud : u Thou knowest, 
 " lady, sacred duty calls me to attend the 
 " consistorial meeting of St. Menhoulm. 
 " There shall I some few days 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
 
 §0 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 friar, walking towards the minstrel, " who 
 <f bast received so liberally the rites of 
 " hospitality, depart in peace; here thou 
 M mayest not longer tarry : it is the will 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 acknowledgement to the lady 
 Magdelaine, and profound obedience to 
 the friar; who, waving his hand with a pa- 
 triarchal air, pronounced a Dominus voMs* 
 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 sunk at 
 once to the heart of Imogen, and became 
 there a new sensation.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. Qi 
 
 Unaccustomed to the presence of a 
 stranger, the habitual bashfulness of a 
 young recluse veiled the vivacity of tem- 
 perament, the aberrations of genius, and 
 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 leaning 
 against the window-frame, silent and un- 
 decided : when, casting a glance to the 
 court below, she observed the father ascend- 
 ing his litter for St. Menhoulm ; and as his 
 eye met her's, a faint benediction reached 
 her ear. Her wavering resolutions 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 : 
 H may the muses be propitious to thy efc
 
 §2 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " forts ! may Apollo smile upon thy votive 
 " lay ! may the saints protect thee in thy 
 " devious wanderings !" 
 
 With this half-heathenish, half-christian 
 invocation, the lady Magdelaine slowly re- 
 tired ; nor, in the absence of her mind, 
 perceived that she had left Imogen behind 
 her. 
 
 The tall spectral figure of lady Magde- 
 laine 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 min- 
 strel bowed reverentially. 
 
 Had the image of his tutelar saint passed 
 him in solemn procession, Devotion could 
 not have stamped her traits of pious reve- 
 rence and profound homage more impres- 
 sively on his countenance. 
 
 Already had Imogen reached the head of 
 the great stairs, which descended to the 
 hall below, whom the minstrel's voice ar-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. Q3 
 
 rested her attention, and she heard his 
 footsteps echoing to her own. 
 
 i: Stay, lady!" said he, in a voice of 
 supplicating earnestness: " one moment 
 " stay !" 
 
 Imogen turned round in surprize, in 
 confusion. The minstrel drew back, fasten- 
 ed his eyes on the earth, and remained 
 silent ; but his silence was eloquence it- 
 self. A request seemed to hover on his lip, 
 but the finger of modesty checked its ut- 
 terance : he raised his eyes, and Imogen 
 read it there. 
 
 " What wouldst thou, stranger?" softly 
 demanded the novice, her own timidity 
 vanishing before the more obvious confu- 
 sion of the 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
 
 Q4 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 charactery of his brow into the most pro- 
 bable sense. 
 
 u Thou art all benevolent/' said the 
 minstrel, eagerly seizing on the construc- 
 tion she had given his wishes, " and hast 
 <c anticipated my petition." 
 
 " Speak then ; how can I serve thee ?" 
 modestly returned Imogen, with eyes fast- 
 ened on the earth, and a faint smile of 
 encouragement playing round her lip. 
 
 " By procuring me leave from the lady 
 w Magdelaine to remain a few days longer 
 " beneath her hospitable 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 
 " to militate against thy wishes, still would 
 " she not oppose those of her director; and 
 " they, I fear, are not in thy favour." 
 
 " Indeed!" exclaimed the minstrel. 
 
 " Indeed," said Imogen : " he wills not *
 
 ST. D0MINIC&. Q5 
 
 <( that strangers find an asylum in the 
 <{ chateau; and in the unhappy situation 
 <c of the times, claims that sanction for his 
 " scruples which humanity would with- 
 « hold." 
 
 F Alas! then thou refusest me 1" 
 
 " Indeed I scarcely dare hazard a re- 
 <c quest so hopeless of success; yet change 
 " that request, and put my wish to serve 
 " 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- 
 " g ar y> lady," said the minstrel proudly ; 
 iC 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 inflicted,
 
 9@ THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " thou wouldst too soon repent thou hadst 
 t$ preferred thy singular petition, or that I 
 " had obtained its request; for, trust me, 
 " thy professionally roving disposition, thy 
 " gay and charming avocation, would ill 
 u accord with the solemn gloom, the se- 
 " questered tranquillity, of this profound 
 " solitude." 
 
 " Lady/' said the minstrel, with energy, 
 u the nightingale, when first he soars be- 
 " yond the parentis fostering wing, roves 
 " unrestrained, and flings with careless 
 " prodigality his witching strain o'er all 
 " the scenes of varying nature j till, 
 " lured by instinct to the rose's bloom, he 
 " fastens on a neighbouring spray, nor 
 *' seeks to pour his strain beyond his idol 
 " flower's balmy sphere." * 
 
 " I perceive not thy allusion," said Imo- 
 gen, casting down her eyes, and changing 
 colour. 
 
 * In allusion to the beautiful Persian fable of the 
 nightingale being enamoured of the rose.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 97 
 
 ci 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 farevvel she was retiring, when the 
 minstrel^ laying aside his harp, sprung after 
 her, caught the flowing drapery of her 
 robe, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Yet, oh fair being! one moment stay, 
 " one little moment !" 
 
 " What would'st thou then IT said Imo- 
 gen, trembling and confused. 
 
 " Thy forgiveness.'' 
 
 " But how forgive, where no offence 
 " was offered ?" 
 
 " Thou sayest true; no offence has been 
 " offered; for heaven itself does not re- 
 i( ject the homage of the heart, howcveV 
 " inadequately expressed." 
 
 M Hark! 'tis the lady Magdelaine's bell. 
 " Fare thee well. I will remember thee 
 " in my orisons." 
 
 " Wilt thou? wilt thou indeed ? Then 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 t)8 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " henceforth be Imogen my tutelar saint," 
 said the minstrel, dropping on one knee, 
 " and the sublime and holy sentiments 
 " her lips so lately breathed, my ortho- 
 " doxy." 
 
 u Farewell! farewell!" said Imogen, 
 with increased confusion, " longer I dare 
 " not tarry." 
 
 " But if thou darest!" said the min- 
 strel, in a tone of soft but sly insinuation. 
 
 " Nay," said Imogen, with a smile, 
 " would'st thou turn inquisitor to thy 
 " 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 consider- 
 able 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 him-
 
 DOMINIC.-.. 99 
 
 self. He hastily snatched it up, and turn- 
 ing 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 flower, 
 Bathed in Matin's rosy shower; 
 Tell me why thy form so bland 
 Still eludes my eager hand ; 
 Tell me, wanton, wouldst 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 fluttering wild thy golden winglet, 
 Sports in many a wanton ringlet ; 
 F 2
 
 100 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Which the rose-lip'd morn exhales, 
 
 Thou soar'st to drink the sun's first gleam, 
 
 Or bask thee in each infant beam : 
 
 Then panting in thy heaven-snatch'd glow, 
 
 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 given thee, happy thing, to know; 
 
 Thee, whose life, a raptur'd minute, 
 
 Bears an age of blisses in it : 
 
 Thee, whose life, a minute's measure, 
 
 Dawns, exists, and fades in pleasure. 
 
 Oh, insect of the painted wing ! 
 
 I've watch'd thee from the morning's spring ; 
 
 As idly lapt in soft repose, 
 
 Midst the blushes of a rose ; 
 
 The playful zephyr's balmy breath, 
 
 lias wak'd thee from thy transient death ; 
 
 Or the bee, in tuneful numbers, 
 
 Put to flight thy fragrant slumbers :
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 101 
 
 And as thy wing3 of varied hue, 
 (Dipt in rose-embosom'd dew) 
 You flutt'ring imp, and deftly try, 
 Still / follow, stilljou fly ; 
 Iv-er ... .'ring, ever changing, 
 Never fix'd, and always ranging : 
 Ivlidst the lavish charms of nature, 
 Thou her fVeest, 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 cares?, 
 Alternate pall, alternate bless! 
 Till the Summer's glow is o'er, 
 Till her beauties bloom no more : 
 Then the flower whose fragrant sigh 
 Survives her warmly blushing die, 
 Lures thee to a heaven of rest, 
 On her pale but odorous breast; 
 And amidst her b:tlmy treasures, 
 Thou dfesc in sweet excess of pleasures ! 
 Oh happy, careless thing, could I 
 But live like thee, but like thee die! 
 Luce thee resign my fleeting breath, 
 My life of bliss in blissful death ; 
 I'd envy not th' extended span, 
 The patriarchal day of man :
 
 102 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 For him let Time's protracting pow'rs 
 Still spare existence, drooping flow'rs, 
 And wreaths of joyless years entwine, 
 But oh, oke rapttu-'d hour he 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 rhapso- 
 dic effusion of impulsive fancy, or awak- 
 ened feeling? Or how was the judge- 
 ment 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, be- 
 sides, in the fragment, a consonance of 
 sentiment with that the minstrel himself 
 cherished, that awakened his sympathy, 
 and secured his admiration. " Delightful 
 " enthusiast !" (he exclaimed,) " fanciful, 
 6i but bewitching being, how cxtatic to 
 " share with thee thy ( raftur'd hour T
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 103 
 
 " to participate in thy fairy visions, to live 
 
 " beneath the warm beam of thine eye, 
 
 " and hang upon' the melting murmur of 
 
 11 thy voice, to spurn the cold dull forms 
 
 fl of a world for which thou wert never 
 
 u created, and to range with thee through 
 
 " all the yet unconjectured bounds of feel- 
 
 " ing, sentiment, and passion!"
 
 104 THE NOVICE Or 
 
 CHAR V. 
 
 Creel i a me— 
 
 Non e peftg mqjgioFO 
 
 Che hi vaccine membra il pfaseeor cfrwwre. 
 
 Pastor Fido, At;o prima. 
 
 IMOGEN, en reveuse, wandered from the 
 gallery to the great hall, from the great 
 hall to the corridor, and from thence to 
 the lady Magdelaine's study. Fancy and 
 recollection were busy with the heart, and 
 the mind was turned adrift under the influ- 
 ence of its own unconscious egaremenls. 
 She found (yet scarce perceived) the lady 
 Magdelainc seated at her writing-table, her 
 eyes fixed on vacancy, her right hand sup- 
 porting her head, the fingers of her left 
 playing with the leaves of a superb missal 
 which lay open before her. She took no 
 notice of Imogen's entrance ; who, with
 
 ST. DOMINICK. iOy 
 
 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 ardour, at the mo- 
 ment it possesses the least power to con- 
 sume : it was thus with the heart of the 
 lady Magdelaine it flamed when most in- 
 capable of communicating the faintest glow 
 to the most inflammable object, and lan- 
 guished beneath the ■ besoin etc Vame ten- 
 ' dre,' without the power of exciting it in 
 another in the remotest degree : philoso- 
 phy was no proof against the eloquence 
 of briliant eves; and the enthusiasm of 
 devotion did but transmute its object with- 
 out abating its ardour. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine went from the 
 gallery to her study, whither the minstrel's 
 form pursued her. She fixed her eyes on ■ 
 the picture of saint Peter, and bowed her 
 
 F 5
 
 106 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 head ; but his saintship disappeared, and 
 the lady Magdelaine saw nothing 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 any 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 liken- 
 ed 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 step she had 
 taken, in banishing him from the asylum 
 he had sought. Imogen had been some 
 time seated opposite to her, before the 
 silence mutually preserved was broken by 
 her ladyship. 
 
 " Mathias Corvinus, king of Hungary, 
 " kept three hundred secretaries," said the 
 lad) Magciel tine. " Poor souls !" said Imo- 
 gen, with a sigh of fellow-feeling, and dip-
 
 ST. DOMINI CK. 107 
 
 ping her pen in the ink, preparatory to her 
 taking down what she supposed the learned 
 minutes of the lady Magdelaine for a future 
 chapter of the Crusades. 
 
 " The father Anselm," continued lady 
 Magdelaine, " thinks one more than enough 
 " for me." Imogen answered with a sigh, 
 heavier than she had already heaved. — 
 " Longinus was private secretary to the fa- 
 " mous queen Zenobia; and yet I have read 
 " he was young and handsome when she 
 " first received him into her service," 
 muttered the Lady. 
 
 '•' That could have been no objection," 
 said the novice innocently, 
 
 " The father Anselrn thinks otherwise," 
 said the lady Magdeiaine. " Holy Mother ! 
 " why has he not the liberality of St. Je^ 
 " rome ? who expressly tells us, * fear God 
 " and do what you will.' 
 
 " Egenhart was secretary to Charlesthe 
 <c Great," continued the lady Magdelaine, 
 musing, " when Imma, the emuerur>'s
 
 108 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 ** daughter, became enamoured of him. 
 <( Poets and musicians are certainly dan- 
 " gerous inmates, and in a domestic capa- 
 " city not to be guarded against ; witness 
 " the attachment of the empress Julia to 
 " Ovid;— V 
 
 <c Was he her secretary ?" asked Imogen 
 simply. 
 
 " The queen of Navarre's penchant for 
 " the poet Amayot, her amanuensis ; and 
 " lastly the unfortunate passion of Mary, 
 *' queen of Scots, for Rizzio, who was 
 u only a poor Italian minstreL*' 
 
 " And was he young, and handsome, 
 M and graceful ?" eagerly demanded Imo- 
 gen. 
 
 " He was ugly and deformed," replied 
 the lady Magdelaine. 
 
 M That men should be so different !*' 
 sighed Imogen. 
 
 " What an Herculean labour have I 
 u undertaken ?'* said the lady Magdelame, 
 looking round at the books, papers, and
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 109 
 
 manuscripts, that lay scattered in disorder 
 on every side. " Surely mine is the des- 
 " tiny of the Danaides ; what a treasure 
 H would a young man be to me, who 
 " could arrange, connect, and transcribe 
 " 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. 
 
 M And that this young Orlando could 
 u write a good hand ;V — 
 
 <c Which I could swear he does, ma- 
 " dam," said Imogen eagerly. 
 
 " But what avails it now ?" said the 
 lady Magdelaine, sighing, M since he has 
 " departed." 
 
 M Not ten minutes back I saw him in 
 " the gallery," said Imogen, blushing ; 
 
 u
 
 110 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " and Theodore waits in the antichamber, 
 " if you have commands for him." 
 
 " Well then," said the lady Magdelaine, 
 in a tone of hesitation, "you may, if you 
 " please, tell the page to command the 
 <: stranger's attendance ; not that I posi- 
 " tively mean to — " 
 
 Before she had finished the doubtful sen- 
 tence, Imogen had delivered her message 
 to Theodore. 
 
 In a few minutes the page returned lead- 
 ing in the minstrel : Imogen hung her 
 head over her desk, and seemed deeply en- 
 gaged with her pen ; the lady Magde- 
 laine assumed an unusual air of dignity 
 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.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 1 1 ] 
 
 After an awful pause, the lady Magde- 
 laine exclaimed : " Ere I inform thee, young 
 " stranger, of the motives which have in- 
 M duced me to recall you, it is necessary 
 " you should know, that I have long since 
 " devoted my life to the service of the 
 u church, and the republic of letters. Thou 
 " wilt start at a determination so extraor- 
 " dinary in a female, for the days of piety 
 " and learning 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 philosophess 
 " like Dama the daughter of Pythagoras, 
 M or Theano of Crete-, such an historian 
 " as Anna de Commines, or such a poetess 
 " as Sappho of Lesbia, or Corinna of 
 " Thebes : and female sanctity is, I am 
 " afraid, a treasure still rarer than female 
 < c genius, to be found in this Gothic age; 
 " a perfect union of both is, perhaps, in 
 " any age, a rara avis in terra F 
 
 The lady Magdelaine paused, and raised
 
 112 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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, hemm'd away her mortification, 
 and desired Imogen to retire till she was 
 sent for. 
 
 Imogen, who blushed equally for the 
 pedantic folly and chddish 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 
 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 unaffected modesty, which ever 
 gave to her air and countenance the chaste 
 attractions oi \e>tal purity. 
 
 While lady Magdelaine remained in a
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 113 
 
 tctc-a-tete conference with the young 
 stranger, [mogen 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 fragrance 
 of every fleeting zephyr, were all in uni- 
 son 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 inanity 
 which solitude uninterrupted and a per- 
 petual sameness of objects and ideas im- 
 press, a thousand new-born pleasures flut- 
 tered at her bosom ; every nerve was in 
 that state of refined susceptibility, which 
 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
 
 •U4 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 arithmeti- 
 cal powers to complete the calculation : 
 " Two friars of the order of saint Francis, 
 said Imogen, counting on her fingers, "four 
 " of saint Dominick, and two lay brothers 
 " of the Cordeliers, all old, ugly, and bi- 
 " goted ; the bishop of Champagne in his 
 ( f last visitation to our convent : what an 
 " unwieldy, bloated form, and what a 
 " rigid air ! our three successive confess- 
 " ors at the convent ; the first squinted 
 " most hideously, the second was turned 
 u of seventy, and the third !" — all the in- 
 quisitorial horrors of father Anselm's 
 countenance stared her in the face : " an 
 " interesting young monk, in the last 
 " stage of a consumption," continued 
 the novice, torturing her memory, " who 
 " came to our abbess for a small piece of
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 1 15 
 
 " the rod with which saint Dominick used 
 " to flagellate himself, as a charm against 
 " his disorder: the Ciincaillen,* who sells 
 " us reliquaries, crucifixes, and sweetmeat*, 
 11 at the convent gates ; four old knights of 
 " mount Saint Michael, occasional visi- 
 " tors to lady Magdelaine, with war and 
 " famine lurking in every lineament of 
 " their harsh faces ; and two knights of 
 " St. John of Jerusalem ; the one with a 
 " wooden leg, the other wanting an eye : 
 i( these are all I can recollect, except the 
 Xi ferocious- locking serfs of the fo;e«t, the 
 " old do .ie chateau, young 
 
 " Theodore the p : 6 c, and thia young min- 
 f 1 strJ." 
 
 Imogen blushed to her eyes as she con- 
 cluded her calculation. 
 
 " Perfection itself," said Imogen, with 
 the air of a little logician, " is onl) esti- 
 " mated as such by comparison ; the form 
 
 * Ciincaillen, a travelling pedlar.
 
 1\6 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " and manners of this stranger may not 
 " positively possess all that excellence I 
 " ascribe to them ; bat. by comparing him 
 " with nil the men I have ever seen, his 
 " superiority is so eminent, that I could 
 i( almost believe him a creature of another 
 u sphere, a being of some superior mould, 
 " and formed of finer clay. Good hea- 
 " vens !" (colouring again, but not quite 
 so deeply, " how the minor canoness would 
 " laugh at this fanciful idea, and call it 
 4C the wild flight of her romantic little 
 " saint! What is this minstrel to me? 
 " only one must think of something,'* 
 said Imogen, tearing a flower, 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, 
 running against her: " holy rosary ! who 
 " would ever have thought to see any 
 " thing young and handsome in the cha- 
 " teau again ?"
 
 ST. DOMI^ICK. 117 
 
 " Thou art in good spirits, Beatrice," 
 said Imogen smiling 
 
 M Ceries, matiemohelh % and with good 
 " reason, I thought we should never have 
 " danced a cooratfte again : but I must hie 
 " me to the tapestry- room, to tell them 
 " the news." 
 
 fiC What news, I prithee ?" demanded 
 Imogen, catching the flying Beatrice by 
 the gown. 
 
 "Why, mademoiselle, do you not know 
 " my lady has hired the minstrel ? I just 
 " stepped into my lady's study, to know 
 " whether I was to give Mr. Jephtha a black 
 " eye, and how the poor dear young de- 
 " moiselle's robe was to be shaded, whom 
 " they are going to sacrifice ; when who 
 " should I find there but our old maitre- 
 " d'hotel and the young minstrel ! ( I 
 " have added this youth,' said my lady to 
 " Ambrose, ' to my household establish- 
 " ment, and he is to have an apartment to 
 <c himself, and a table to himself, for I
 
 1 18 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " have conferred on him the honour of be- 
 " ing my private secretary/ — But, blessed 
 " Agnes ! the dinner-bell rings, and not a 
 *> stitch done yet !" 
 
 Beatrice flew up the great stairs leading 
 to the tapestry-room, and Imogen turned 
 into the dining-hall. The lady Magdelaine 
 was already seated at table ; the novice 
 started to find the day so much older than 
 she suspected, and seated herself in silence 
 opposite to her patroness. Had Pythago- 
 ras presided at the feast, a more unbroken 
 taciturnity could not have been preserved, 
 or the law of temperance been more strict- 
 ly 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, manner, 
 and dress, of her associate. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, who had hitherto 
 considered a total disregard and neglect of 
 the proprieties of dress as the most irre-
 
 ST. D0MIXICK. 119 
 
 fcagable 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 hlenseance of the toilet ; now ap- 
 peared to Imogen for the first time to have 
 sacrificed to the Graces : but the Graces, 
 as if to shew their pique for the former 
 heresy of their new convert, were most un- 
 propitious to her offering. 
 
 A coif, or ruff, never worn since the ce- 
 lebrated tournament given at the corona- 
 tion of Francis II., and a fardingal 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 with 
 reverence and admiration, at the immense
 
 120 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 gold etui which hung at their lady's side, 
 sufficiently ponderous to throw her off her 
 centre, had she not given equilibrium to 
 the balance in a fan of proportionable mag- 
 nitude, 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 
 Citeau and saint Bonavcnture; 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, however, 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 diable de 
 " bon humeur, for he observed her smile 
 u more than once j not to mention," said
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 1*21 
 
 the maitre-d'hotel, " her calling me mon- 
 " sieur Ambrose, and ordering me to treat 
 " this new secretary with a flask of light 
 " muscadel : mort de ??ia vie ! I have more 
 " than half a mind to ask her good leave 
 " to ride the Spanish jenner, as far as Saint 
 " Menhoulm, for my new doublet and 
 " hose." 
 
 VOL. I,
 
 122 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 If music be the food of love, play on. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 O si una vola 
 
 Volta il provassi ;' 
 
 Se sapessi una volta 
 
 Qua'li e grazia e ventura 
 
 L'essere amato il possidere 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-ball to her oratory, as was her usual 
 custom ; and Imogen, having tumbled over 
 a hundred books in the library without 
 reading a line in one, sauntered to the 
 tapestry-room. She found the demoiselles 
 Beatrice, Blanche, and Agnes, busy with 
 the sacrifice of Jephtha's daughter.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 123 
 
 " Pardie !" said Beatrice, continuing a 
 conversation which the entrance of Imo- 
 gen had for a moment interrupted, " here 
 u is mademoiselle will end the dispute at 
 « once." 
 
 " I prithee let me hear it," said Imogen, 
 seating herself at a vacant frame. 
 
 " Why, mademoiselle," said Blanche, 
 ci 'tis all about the colour of the min- 
 " strel's eyes. Agnes will have it they 
 " are black as her jacket ; Beatrice vows 
 M they are blue : holy mother ! if I know 
 " whether he has an eye in his head why 
 " then am I a saint ! though certes me- 
 " thought he looked marvelously like the 
 " picture of Beelzebub in the shape of a 
 " comely youth, in the legend of St. 
 " Maxima; and I warrant you I counted 
 " my beads under my fardingal 'all the 
 " time I was in his presence." 
 
 " Thou art always counting thy beads 
 M somewhere or other," said Beatrice ; 
 u but I would lay my watchel-coloured 
 o 2
 
 124 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " tafFety to a. copper sous, that for every 
 " Ave Maria thou say est for thy soul, thou 
 " repeatest ten for a husband." 
 
 " Better pray for a husband for one's 
 " self," said Blanche sneeringly, " than 
 " take up with the cast-off affections of 
 " other folks' husbands/' 
 
 4t Blessed St. Dominick ! there's an im- 
 " putation!" said Beatrice colouring; " but 
 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 
 •' fardingale when the young minstrel was 
 •f squeezed into the oriel window with you 
 " this morning, and you were winding 
 " the silk off his hands, when all the rest 
 " of the family were at matins." 
 
 " Did you wind your silk off his hands, 
 " Blanche?" said Imogen, snapping her 
 needle in two. , 
 
 " Pardie ! and what of that, made- 
 " moiselle?" said Blanche: ** the saints are
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 125 
 
 u witness I was repeating my litanies, and 
 " thinking of no mortal man, when my 
 " reel snapped, and the minstrel, who was 
 u walking up and down in the hall, had 
 " the civility to offer to hold my silk." 
 
 " The minstrel," said Beatrice sarcasti- 
 cally, " knew"— 
 
 " What of the minstrel ?" interrupted 
 the lady Magdelaine, at that moment en- 
 tering the apartment: <c what of the min- 
 ii 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- 
 " tion, lost her voice from speaking too 
 " much ?" 
 
 " Well, lady, I am silent," said Beatrice ; 
 " marry, if I speak another word to-day 
 M I will give any one leave to cut my 
 " tongue out." 
 
 " You may finish, however, what you
 
 i'20 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " were going to say when I entered the 
 " room/' said the lady Magdelainc. signi- 
 ficantly. 
 
 Beatrice plied her needle, and continued 
 obstinately silent. 
 
 " Who is it was speaking of the 
 " minstrel ?" said the lady Magdelain© 
 pcrvishly. 
 
 '* Dear my h&ff 9 said Blanche, " we 
 u were only saying, that, with your lady- 
 N ship's good liking, it would be pure 
 " pleasant pastime to have monsieur le 
 " troubadour singing and playing for us 
 " while we are at our frames, especially as 
 " we have wrought hard all day." 
 
 " Why, damsels," said the lady Mag- 
 delaine, with a look of unusual compla- 
 cency, " I should have no objection 
 " to indulge you in a matronalia, which 
 " was tantamount to the Saturnalia of the 
 " men among the Romans; but I have not 
 " engaged this youth in the capacity of a
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 127 
 
 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 leapt up; K* sweet my lady, you are 
 " al! goodness, and I will have the minstrel 
 " here in the twinkling of a needle." And 
 before the lady Magdelame had finally de- 
 cided on the propriety of suffering her 
 young secretary in his musical character 
 into her presence, Beatrice returned, usher- 
 ing him in. He had brought his harp, and 
 bowing low as he entered, cast a modest 
 glance towards lady Magdelaine, expres- 
 sive of his sensibility for the favour 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: 
 
 " Although I have only engaged thee
 
 128 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " 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 
 
 " of thy art, to dispel the cloud which 
 
 " Study hangs on the brow of her vo- 
 
 " tarists, I have summoned thee this even- 
 
 " m g to £P ve me a specimen of thy tune- 
 
 " ful powers. Although no performer my- 
 
 " self (though I once touched the lute 
 
 " and recorder), the progress of harmony 
 
 " is not unknown to me. 'Tis to Apollo 
 
 " we owe the invention of the lyre. JHe 
 
 " owed it to love, and first tuned its 
 
 " chords to soften the cruelty of Daphne. 
 
 " Timotheus would have enriched it with 
 
 " a few additional strings, had not the 
 
 " muses forbad the innovation. But it was 
 
 " by the voice, which Zeno calls the flower 
 
 " of beauty, that Apollo won the prize 
 
 " from Marsyas and Pan. Plato has termed 
 
 " poetry without music, a beautiful face 
 
 " which has lost its bloom ; Epaminondas
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 129 
 
 was reproached for his musical igno- 
 4 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, 
 
 * Aristoxines, and Ptolemy. Alas ! we 
 c have nothing now to compare to the 
 1 tetherichord, monochord, cithera, and 
 6 right and left handed flutes. But whi- 
 1 ther am I wandering ? I forget that 
 1 Erudition has not led thee through her 
 ' mazes of scientific lore ; that thou art 
 
 * but the pupil of Nature, and ignorant 
 1 perhaps of the rules of that art thou 
 f professest. And yet the inspired Sappho 
 ' preferred the wild notes of her beautiful 
 
 * but ignorant Phaon to the homage of 
 1 Alceus, the most elegant poet and ma- 
 1 sician of his day." 
 
 " And had I been that Phaon," said the 
 minstrel, with naivete, " I should soon 
 " have become an Alceus too; for Sappho 
 G 5
 
 130 TH£ NOVICE OP 
 
 " would have been at once my inspiration 
 " and my theme." 
 
 " Indeed !" said the lady Magdelaine, 
 with pleasurable surprise; " but per- 
 u haps/* she added with a smile of con- 
 descension, cc 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- 
 11 sant, and marvelous ballad, of the Merry 
 " Knight and the Maid in the Vestment 
 " of Blue." 
 
 " No," said the lady Magdelaine lan- 
 guidly, *jjff should prefer something in the 
 " Lydiifn measure, or hypo-Phrygian. I 
 " once witnessed the soothing powers of 
 " the latter. It, was a short time before I 
 u left the court, and at the marriage of
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 131 
 
 Cf the duke de Joyeuse : * Claudin, the 
 f< modern Timotheus, by playing in the 
 Phrygian measure, animated one of the 
 courtiers to such phrensy that he flew 
 to arms in the presence of his sovereign, 
 till the cunning minstrel stole him back 
 U to reason in the soothing strains of the 
 " hypo-Phrygian. Let me then have 
 M something that sooths the spirits, and 
 M moves the soul to tender thoughts." 
 
 The minstrel bowed, tuned his harp, 
 and, after a symphony of wonderful execu- 
 tion, struck a few low chords, and accom- 
 panied the instrument with his voice. It 
 was a voice of no very extensive compass, 
 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 expression of 
 its tones ; every note sighed the spirit of 
 
 * Vide Dictioruiaire de Musigue, par Rousseau, ar- 
 ticle ATwique*
 
 132 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 passion, and every word had the energy of 
 a sentiment. His accompaniment was rich, 
 wild, and various; yet the execution of the 
 musician only seconded the ideas of the 
 poet, without overwhelming the sense by 
 the sound. The measure of his verse was 
 original, and his song was love: he de- 
 scribed the progress of its sensations with 
 the tiaif simplicity of a novice, who deli- 
 neated from the consciousness of his newly 
 awakened feelings; but it was in the lan- 
 guage of a master, who could adorn his 
 subject with all the seducing graces of 
 poetic imagery and fanciful epithet. His 
 sentiments were such as love impresses in 
 the. first sera of its empire, but still they 
 were such sentiments as love only produces 
 when acting on the soul of genius and sen- 
 sibility. 
 
 Rapt, agitated, sublimed, his feelings be- 
 came the sport of his art; and, lost in the 
 sweet delirium which his own vivid imagi- 
 nation awakened, his fingers trembled on
 
 ST. DOMINICK. m 133 
 
 the strings; the harp's soft vibration faded 
 into silence, his voice died away to a sigh, 
 and his eyes, beaming with genius and 
 passion, fastened their eloquent glances on 
 Imogen ; who, for attitude, expression, 
 and beauty, might have that moment given 
 a model to sculpture or painting for the 
 figure of attention animated 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 emanating 
 the visionary raptures that fluctuated in her 
 fancy. The hidden soul of harmony had 
 hitherto lain 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 influence 
 of those strains that breathed the soul of 
 passion, of sentiment, of something even 
 more than either; who have in vain at-
 
 134 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 tempted, with languishing curiosity, to de- 
 fine the sweet, the overwhelming, and vi- 
 sionary joys that float on the fancy, and col- 
 lect them into an object of comprehension ; 
 conceive (for you only can conceive) the 
 emotion of the novice, as, hanging on the 
 minstrel's witching lay, she felt herself 
 endued with another sense, and her heart 
 throb with sensations, to whose existence 
 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 Magdelaine had 
 neither the taste or 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-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 135 
 
 tress; and though the dignified pride of 
 nobility was insufficient to combat the 
 frail weakness of the woman, yet she dis- 
 guised the fallibility of her heart beneath 
 the coldness of her deportment. 
 
 After a slight commendation, she added : 
 " I thank thee for the entertainment thou 
 " hast afforded me; but the hour devoted 
 " to erudite labour is arrived, and in a 
 * few minutes I shall require thy presence 
 <c in my study, to instal thee in thy new 
 " avocation." The minstrel with lowly 
 reverence retired; and the lady Magde- 
 laine, having given some general orders to 
 her women, shortly after left the apartment, 
 telling Imogen she should not that even- 
 ing have any occasion for her service. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine had scarcely closed 
 the door, when the impatient Beatrice 
 eagerly demanded, " Well, mademoiselle, 
 " how like you the minstrel's singing?" 
 
 u Like it! gracious heaven! like it!" 
 repeated Imogen, throwing her arms on
 
 130 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 of 
 " the Amorous Shoemaker is worth a thou- 
 " sand such as he sung now." 
 
 " For my part," said Agnes, " I would 
 " as soon have heard old Ambrose con- 
 " ning over his rubric as such a die-away 
 <J ditty, not a word of which I under- 
 " stood." 
 
 " But his eyes!'' added Blanche ; " who 
 u observed his eyes? and then how the 
 " colour came and went in his cheek, and 
 " how his hands trembled! Poor modest 
 ". 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 .;
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 137 
 
 her arms still rested on her frame, but she 
 had raised her head, and her eyes were 
 fixed on the last 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; 
 and, seduced by the balsamic freshness of 
 the air and beauty of the evening, *he de- 
 scended a flight of marble steps ihat 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 weje 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
 
 138 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 distant spires 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 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 feelings : the air 
 inspired a delicious languor; she was me- 
 lancholy, but not unhappy; pensive, but 
 not mournful; and to a thousand vague 
 and varying ideas succeeded a train of re- 
 flection, which had for irs object the past 
 circumstances of her life, her present situa- 
 tion, and future prospects. 
 
 u Alas!" sighed Imogen, " memory, 
 " hope, or conviction, are alike unfavour-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 139 
 
 H 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 
 f? to associate; with a soul too much alive 
 " to those views even reason condemns, I 
 " am wretched, yet scarcely know where- 
 " fore; I am unhappy, but dare not com- 
 " 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 breeze to sigh its hidden rapture. 
 Imogen listened for a considerable time, 
 silentand delighted; till, involuntarilyapos- 
 trophising the charming songstress, she ex- 
 claimed: " Sweet bird! all nature hangs 
 " upon thy thrilling plaint; while the soft 
 " but melancholy privilege of even sigh- 
 " ing away my sorrows is denied me!" 
 " And canst thou have a sorrow, thy-
 
 140 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " 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 un- 
 definablc timidity and confusion, Imogen 
 would instantly have retired; but the min- 
 strel's attitude of graceful supplication, his 
 voice of respectful entreaty, operated with 
 ber secret wishes to detain her; yet it was 
 with a modest reluctance that left her de- 
 termination doubtful. 
 
 u If," said he, " I violate by my pre* 
 " sence the sanctity of your secret medi- 
 ?* tations I will instantly retire \. but if 
 ct 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 temporary bliss 
 ?! chance has invested me with ; for it is a 
 u sweet stranger, and my heart welcomes 
 " it with all its liveliest transports." 
 
 " Art thou too then unhappy ?." de-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 141 
 
 manded Imogen with sympathising earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 " 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- 
 " haps the most miserable, of my exist- 
 €C ence ? Hitherto my life's happiness has 
 " consisted in fugitive minutes, exquisite 
 " but few: I revelled in their transient 
 " felicity, yet still my pleasures multiplied 
 " in expectation, and memory extolled 
 " their worth beyond the value of their 
 " own identity; while actual fruition play- 
 " ed lightly o'er each sense, and left the 
 u heart's aching void unfilled." 
 
 " Alas !" said Imogen with emotion, 
 " I do remember me thou hast said thou 
 " wert an orphan from thy infant state, and 
 " haply hast never felt a father's warm 
 " embrace, nor known a mother's rap- 
 " turous caress. The tender kindness of 
 4< endeared relatives may not have lived
 
 142 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 u for thee, nor the sweet recognition of a 
 " friend awaked thy bosom's transports : if 
 * so, I pity thee !" 
 
 Imogen turned aside her head, and 
 wiped away a tear with her veil. A silence 
 for a moment ensued; and the minstrel, 
 gazing on her, with a sigh exclaimed : 
 
 u Such is the pity which angels give to 
 •* suffering man: yet not for such depri- 
 " vations thy goodness has enumerated, let 
 ** thy pity only flow; for, oh! feels not the 
 " heart a void but what collateral claims 
 <c can occupy ? feels not the heart a want 
 ** but what the tie of consanguinity can 
 " -obviate? oh, too sure it does! Rest- 
 " less and unquiet, it throbs, it languishes 
 " for some soft blessing, some long-ima- 
 " gined bliss, rather desired than under- 
 " stood ; and wildly palpitates with fond 
 *' impatience to lavish its glowing sensi- 
 £< bilities, itsoverflowingraptures, on anob- 
 " ject worthy to awaken and receive them. 
 " Yet pardon me, lady, if, all-sainted as
 
 it 
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 143 
 
 thou art, I speak to thee in language 
 thy holy ignorance of mortal passions 
 " will scarcely comprehend. Reared in 
 u the school of sacred self-denial, where 
 " Nature's self, awed into submission by 
 " stern Religion's voice, resigns her pre- 
 " cious influence, and leaves the vestal 
 " soul to heaven, thou canst never have 
 n known the pang which wrings the heart 
 " when it shrinks upon itself in conscious 
 " desolation ; when the glowing feelings, 
 " gasping with rapturous emotion, sud- 
 " denly chill and wither in the want of 
 " that sympathy which is denied them !" 
 
 " Can I not ?" exclaimed Imogen em- 
 phatically, clasping her hands, and raising 
 her eyes to heaven: " Oh God! how 
 " keenly have I felt all you have de- 
 " scribed. I am not the happy but de- 
 " luded being you suppose; for oh! less 
 " rich in what I possess than poor in my 
 u conscious deficiency, I would gladly
 
 144 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 <f exchange my feelings for the apathy I 
 " condemn in others, the credulity I com- 
 * c passionate." 
 
 " I understand thee," said the minstrel 
 with energy and delight; " thy mind has 
 " soared beyond the narrow limits of error 
 u and prejudice; thy heart, unsophfsti- 
 «' cated by the doctrines of bigotry and 
 " superstition, is still rich in all those pre- 
 " cious feelings which are at once the 
 " proudest boast of humanity, the sweetest 
 iC endowments of nature. And art thou 
 " then, thus formed to bless and to be 
 ci blessed, doomed to wither out thy 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, thy 
 <c touching graces, thy mind's intelligence, 
 i€ to live and to decay amidst the blight* 
 " ing coldness of ignorant and unconge- 
 14 nial associates ?"
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 145 
 
 Confused, and blushing at the flattery or 
 pleasing truths so artfully conveyed, Imo- 
 gen replied: 
 
 6C I am indeed destined to a monastic 
 " life; I have scarcely known any other: 
 " yet my days, if exempt from rapture, 
 " have flowed on in peace, and that life 
 " which is virtuous can scarcely fail of 
 c< being happy." 
 
 " O deceive not thyself, sweet saint !" 
 said the minstrel with a soft smile: " su- 
 " perior to thy associates, dissevered from 
 <c the world, thine will be such a life of 
 " solitude as contradicts the purposes of 
 M Heaven, and hurls defiance to the law 
 " of Providence. Oh ! trust me that 
 tc Nature, ever enamoured of the happi- 
 " ness which mutual pleasure bestows on 
 " her children, chills the solitary fruition 
 '* of undivided bliss. The heart, the ten- 
 " der heart, has no self-existing principle 
 " of happiness, but reposes upon a thou- 
 " sand sweet dependencies for all its rap- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 3 46 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 €C tares! Say, shall I not construe thy 
 " silence into a tacit coincidence with 
 (C assertions thy own feelings must have 
 " often made? Or, if thou art still a scep- 
 " tic, look on thyself with my eyes, and 
 <c be a convert: behold 4he bright intelli- 
 •* gence of that countenance, those blushes 
 " which invest the throne of genius; those 
 " eyes, so dangerous in their softness, so 
 " bewitching in their vivacity; and those 
 " fugitive graces, which leave the gaze of 
 <f admiration in sweet suspense where to 
 " fix a charm which is every where dis- 
 " cernihle ; then wouldst thou say with 
 " me, Nature never designed so fair a 
 * ( work to grace a convent's gloomy cell." 
 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
 
 ST. DOMINICX. 14/ 
 
 to be dangerous. Almost trembling with 
 emotion, she drew her veil over her face, 
 and said: 6< How our conversation has 
 1* wandered so widely from its first point 
 " I know not ; but methinks thou didst 
 " begin it by invoking my sympathy to 
 ce thy sufferings: judging of them by my 
 " own, I have more than pitied thee. 
 " But see! the lights already glimmer in 
 " the casements of the chateau; and pro- 
 " bably the lady Magdelaine will speedily 
 «f 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 he eagerly; w for such 
 " a moment may never again return/' 
 
 " And what then }" said Imogen, coldly 
 disengaging her robe. 
 
 " To tnee, lady, nothing ; but to me — 
 " for such a moment I would gladly for- 
 o feit an age of common-place existence. 
 " Oh, withdraw not from me this fair 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " hand, but suffer me to breathe on it 
 " those effusions of gratitude thy conde- 
 " scension has already excited." 
 
 " Forbear, forbear!" exclaimed Imo- 
 gen, with difficulty releasing her hand : 
 " already hast thou taught me the extent 
 " 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 palpita- 
 tion, gave a loose to that flow of sweet and 
 novel emotion, that train of interesting and 
 animated reflection, which involved her 
 mind and flurried her spirits almost to 
 wildness. 
 
 She had for the first time conversed with 
 a being, whose mind and sentiments, sym- 
 pathising with her own, could enter into 
 all the delicate minutiae of her feelings.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 149 
 
 She had for the first time participated in 
 that sweet commutation of ideas which forms 
 life's best blessing, by which the sublimer 
 powers of nature are called into action, 
 and attain the highest perfection the soul 
 can reach. Her mind, hitherto like a fine 
 instrument rich in passive powers, now for 
 the first time vibrated to the magic touch 
 of sympathy ; and her heart unfolded many 
 latent principles of delight, to whose pos- 
 session she was hitherto a stranger; while 
 fancy and imagination flung their glowing 
 drapery around those visions of bliss which 
 stole their existence from the conscious- 
 ness of her newly-awakened feelings. The 
 sanguine joys of youth and inexperience 
 live but in the present; the past and the 
 future are alike given to oblivion; and sad 
 experience has not yet awakened into 
 life the suggestions of doubt, the precepts 
 of caution. 
 
 Imogen was happy, even to delirium;
 
 3 50 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 and, lost in the pleasant illusion to which 
 her whole sou! 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.
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 151 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Conforme era Tetate 
 
 Ma il pensier piu conforme. 
 
 Tasso, 
 
 Non ; ce n'est ni par choix ni par raison d'aime-, 
 Qu'en voyant ce qui plait on se laisse enrhmmer. 
 D'un aveui'e penchant le cfcartat imperceptible 
 Frappe, saisit, entraine, et rende un coeur sensible j 
 Et par un inscrutable et necessaire loi, 
 On se livre a l'amour sans qu'on sache pourquoi. 
 
 T. Corneille. 
 
 FOUIl days bad been allotted for tbe con- 
 sistorial visit of the father director at St. 
 Menhoulm ; and three of the four had 
 already expired. The minstrel was not 
 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
 
 152 THF NOVICE OF 
 
 have been expected in the eleemosynary 
 pupil of the brothers of Us perils Angus* 
 tins . 
 
 This discovery of the intellectual per- 
 fection 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 employed 
 in copying from the fathers, or in making 
 extracts from the Lives of the Ten Thou- 
 sand Martyrs, and the Eleven Thousand 
 Virgins; while the minstrel transcribed
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 153 
 
 the sentiments of lady Magdelaine on the 
 fervour of holy love, seraphic raptures, and 
 religious transports; and the lady Magde- 
 laine, in those discussions which so fre- 
 quently interrupted the labours of her se- 
 cretary, talked more of Ovid than saint 
 Bonaventure, and quoted Sappho almost 
 as often as saint Genevieve: accompanying 
 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 
 offered to the relics and the saints. 
 
 Meantime the novice and the minstrel 
 continued to each other little more than 
 1 a shadow to a shade.* Confused and 
 overwhelmed by the consciousness of those 
 feelings which had insinuated themselves 
 into her bosom, timid and doubtful of 
 H 5
 
 154 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 herself, the young novice of saint Domi- 
 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 Mngdelaine, only return- 
 ed her coldness with that 
 
 '* Silence t'hat 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- 
 licate and enforced reserve, shed over their 
 sentiments that veil of mystery, in which
 
 ST. DOMINICK. J 5 5 
 
 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 the 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 a va- 
 riety of observation. The women were dis- 
 appointed, for the harp was laid aside, or
 
 156 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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 velvet arm-chair, of which he had 
 been the sole occupant for near five 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-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 157 
 
 tomed to resist the influence of nature un- 
 der all her variations, the duplicity of his 
 character prevailed ; and with assumed com- 
 posure he advanced towards the lady Mag- 
 delaine, who, receiving him with undis- 
 guised confusion, instantly dismissed the 
 minstrel. 
 
 Scarce was the friar seated, when the 
 lady Magdelaine 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
 
 158 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 on another topic, without a single com- 
 mentary on that which had been just dis- 
 cussed ; while the Jady 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 favourite with a 
 confidence she had not experienced since 
 his inauguration. Three successive days 
 flew rapidly away ; the civil wars were re- 
 allumined 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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 159 
 
 novice of saint Dominick. One morning 1 , 
 after a long, and perhaps wearisome, con- 
 ference with the father director, the lady 
 Magdelaine 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 read aloud those 
 self-reprobations of the good bishop of 
 Hippo, which present such a struggle be- 
 tween grace and passion, piety and nature: 
 and already had he made a considerable 
 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 towards a 
 paper he held in his hand. — " Behold, ma- 
 " dam," said he, " the pious effusions of 
 " a novice of the holy order of St. Domi- 
 " nick, whose inspirations, though of a late 
 
 " date, and whose theme,-*: " 
 
 " Father \" interrupted Imogen wildly,
 
 160 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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- 
 sion ; — " father, restore me that paper : it 
 " is mine ; intended for no eye but mine ; 
 6t and to expose those secret, though in- 
 " consequent thoughts, you have forcibly 
 " possessed yourself of, is equally a breach 
 " of principle and honour/' 
 
 c< Principle and honour," said the friar 
 sarcastically, " well become the lips of 
 " one who meditates the violation of every 
 " sacred vow, tramples on the modest de- 
 " corums of her sex, and perverts those 
 " gifts with which Providence has endowed 
 " her, to " 
 
 " Father," again faintly interrupted 
 Imogen, (i '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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. l6l 
 
 " should have said that this new object of 
 " your poetic devotion, in engrossing that 
 IC time, those talents, and those medita- 
 u tions, which should only be used to the 
 " glory of God,— " 
 
 u What new object ?V demanded the 
 lady Magdelaine, almost breathless. 
 
 u Oh, father," exclaimed Imogen, eager- 
 ly interrupting his reply, " thou wfeukist 
 " not have me believe any act of mine can 
 " in aught add to or detract from the glory 
 " of supreme perfection ? there is impiety 
 " in the thought." 
 
 " Away 1" said the friar: " no more 
 " will I listen to the caviling of thy pue- 
 u rile, though profane sophistry : go to 
 " thy chamber, and invoke the saiiv.s in 
 " thy behalf; for the spirit of heresy is 
 " fastened on thee, and drags thee towards 
 " eternal perdition !'' 
 
 u Merciful heaven !" exclaimed the min- 
 strel, starting forward with uncontrouled 
 emotion, and pointing towards Imogen:
 
 l62 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " look on that countenance, father, behold 
 ff in it the image of divinity itself, the 
 iC inviolable sanctity of virtue ; listen to 
 " the sentiments which flow from those 
 V pure lips ; compare them with the blame- 
 " less excellence of the life they illustrate; 
 " then threaten this guileless, this perfect 
 " being with eternal destruction, if you 
 f dare !" 
 
 9 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 
 €C well. Suffer me, lady, to retire ; thy cas- 
 " tie, I well foresee, can no longer afford 
 * c 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 
 T vocation, " Then with a look of hum- 
 ble resignation, he let his crosier fall within
 
 ST. DOMINICK. l63 
 
 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 insinuat- 
 ing the poison of jealousy, though only 
 expressed by 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- 
 " dignation loves to deal in elipsis and 
 " aposiophesis, philosophy disdains the lan- 
 " guage of passion, nor can even hypocrisy
 
 l64 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " or ingratitude rouse it from its perpetual 
 " calm. 'Yet thy temerity, young stranger, 
 " might well sanction such evident resent- 
 " merit as was displayed by the pbiloso- 
 " 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 
 ff further residence at MonlmoreU def 
 " pends upon the prudent circumspec- 
 " tion of thy conduct, and the re- 
 f f spect and deference thou payest to that 
 " holy man, whose saered character, but 
 St now, thou daredst to insult : but as for 
 " thee, insidious serpent, whose mind has 
 " as many cunning devices, as a chileago- 
 
 " nura has angles,'* 
 
 Imogen, who till now stood overwhelmed 
 and silent, raised her timid glances, 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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 165 
 
 that of the sage of Elea ; while her stern 
 eye, turned towards the beautiful counte« 
 nance of the novice, stole from thence new 
 fuel for her rage. 
 
 " Peace V 9 cried the lady Magdelaine, 
 " I will not be imposed on by thy dupli- 
 " city : to-morrow restores thee to thy 
 " convent ; there thou wilt have time to 
 " 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 eye ; and she retired in silence, and 
 with an air of native dignity, which, op- 
 posed to the affected hauteur of the lady 
 Magdelaine, marked the vast difference 
 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 being who, raised
 
 \66 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 from nothing by her ill-bestowed bounty, 
 bad obtained an influence over her mind 
 and actions she had neither the penetration 
 to discover or the power to obviate; leav- 
 ing her new favourite, as she believed, to 
 " chew the food ot sweet and bitter fancy," 
 and to repent the temerity which she wished 
 him to suppose had nearly forfeited her 
 favour for ever. Nothing, however, was 
 farther from the favourite'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 sup- 
 posed contained the subject of Imogen's 
 accusation ; and no sooner had the lady 
 Magdelaine left the apartment than he 
 eagerly gathered up the fragments, which 
 had been the efficient causeof the foregoing 
 scene. It was so torn and defaced, probably in 
 the struggle between the friar and the no- 
 vice, that it would have been illegible to any 
 eye but that which now endeavoured to de- 
 vour its contents : it contained a few un-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. \6f 
 
 finished stanzas, of some poetical merit. 
 That they were addressed to himself, al- 
 though he believed never intended for his 
 inspection, the minstrel soon discovered ; 
 and that they flowed with the warmest sen- 
 timents of admiration, he was not long in 
 developing. The poetess at once profess- 
 ed his genius to be the theme of her song, 
 and the model of her imitation : she dwelt 
 with enthusiasm on the charm that lurked 
 in his lyre, and the spell that breathed in 
 his voice. She personified him as the ge- 
 nius of minstrelsy; and, under the sanc- 
 tion of her own fanciful image, worshipped 
 him she had immortalized ! while her heart, 
 trembling for the ardour of her imagina- 
 tion, frequently appeared to check its dar- 
 ing flights ; and her modesty, suspecting 
 the treachery of her heart, veiled with a 
 timid hand the warmth of its glowing dic- 
 tates. 
 
 The minstrel would have regretted that 
 this little effusion had been left unfinished,
 
 \6s 
 
 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 could any regret have insinuated itself into 
 an heart overwhelmed by those rapturous 
 emotions which the first conviction of 
 awakening reciprocal admiration, and de- 
 lighting 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 
 vanity of the man were too highly gra- 
 tified, to suffer the judegement of the critic 
 to exert its powers unbiassed by partiality, 
 uninfluenced by self-love : the poem there- 
 fore 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
 
 ST. DOMINTICK. 1 6Q 
 
 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 
 Magdelaine's study, in the hope of still find- 
 ing it there; but the most diligent search 
 was fruitless. 
 
 Disappoinnted 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 
 
 VOL. I. i
 
 I/O THE NOVICE OF 
 
 attracted her gaze and spoke peace to her 
 wounded spirits. 
 
 The sun was setting with uncommon 
 splendour; and the clouds, concentrating 
 on their surface a thousand vivid rays, 
 sometimes assumed the appearance of float- 
 ing mountains, emitting from their lumi- 
 nous points flashes of living gold, and 
 sometimes streaming like meteors through 
 the deep blue of the glowing atmosphere. 
 Scarce a breeze panted on the verdant fo- 
 liage, and the spirit of peace seemed. to 
 expand its fennons 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 feel- 
 ings of Imogen : her eyes dwelling on the 
 glories of the creation, a religious rapture 
 diffused itself around her; and with all
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 171 
 
 her glowing emotions " thick about her," 
 she bent one knee 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. 
 
 " Not by a sigh/' said he, catching the 
 drapery of her robe, " not even by a sigh, 
 " would I violate the sanctity of thy holy 
 Ci 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 
 
 1 2
 
 172 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 dubious silence, led her gently back, and 
 continued : " May heaven grant thy pe- 
 '•* 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 !" 
 
 " Mine were not prayers of supplica- 
 " tion," said Imogen smiling, " but the 
 " effusions of the heart, grateful for bless- 
 c< ings conferred, throbbing with rapture 
 " and delight." 
 
 " Such then be mine!" said the min- 
 strel with impassioned earnestness ; ct and 
 
 V here on this beauteous hand suffer me 
 
 ■ 
 
 " to offer up the effusions of a heart, 
 " grateful indeed for blessings conferred, 
 " yet still presumptuously claiming." 
 
 Imogen in confusion snatched away her 
 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 im-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 173 
 
 * petuosity 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. " 
 
 " I entreat," said Imogen faintly, " you 
 " will suffer me to retire." 
 
 " If," continued the minstrel, " I bear 
 " about me some secret cause of your too 
 u evident antipathy, suffer me to with- 
 " draw ; but oh 1 let 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 
 " attracts the heart, and pensive memory 
 " loves to identify that spot sacred to Eloisa 
 « and Abelardr * 
 
 * The Paraclete monastery was founded, in the 
 diocese of Troves, Champagne, by Abelard, who was 
 interred with Eloisa in an adjoining monument.
 
 *74 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " To EJoisa and Abehrd I" returned 
 Imogen starting. 
 
 " Behold," continued the minstrel, art* 
 fully fascinating her attention, and insen- 
 sibly drawing her back to the casement, 
 * behold that mountain, whose base the 
 <c 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 
 " unkind destiny has thrown thee among 
 " those 5 who, dead to the finer feelings 
 " of the soul, reject the higher joys which 
 " taste and fancy give ; whose barren 
 " hearts, wrapt in their own self-adoring 
 " pride, ne'er stole a pleasure, save what 
 " self-love inspired ; and whose con- 
 " tracted minds, deceived by pious fraud, 
 cc seek heaven on motives as selfish as the
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 1/5 
 
 u means they pursue to attain their end 
 " are childish and puerile. But, oh sweet 
 " enthusiast! thou whom genius, fire, na- 
 " ture, warms; v. horn thought, feeling, 
 " and taste, raise in the scale of thinking 
 " beings even above thy species; 'tis for 
 " thy rapt fancy to consecrate the scene 
 " sacred to departed genius; 'tis for thy 
 " warm sensible heart to pay the homage 
 u . of a sigh o'er the spot sacred to the re- 
 " membrance of unequalled but unfonu- 
 " 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 
 " 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
 
 J/6 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 <l shades with forms wild and fantastic, 
 " and gave to every mouldering dome, 
 " 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 feel- 
 " ings, and the unerring sympathy of love 
 " taught him to believe in unison with 
 " those of his wretched mistress. Per- 
 iC haps as he watched the progress of that 
 " gloomy pile, tomb of his joys ! as he 
 " wandered it; the restless agitation of 
 " despairing love amidst those savage 
 " scenes, he has fixed his eye upon that
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 177 
 
 " silver orb that now fascinates our gaze, 
 " and exclaimed, as /^now, ' Beautiful 
 " planet! witness of my passion and my 
 " woes ! here on this spot haply thou shalt 
 " fling thy beams upon my love, and ill u— 
 u mine her dreary path of midnight medi- 
 " tation, when far from this abode of peace 
 " the wretched Abelard, pursued by envv, 
 " persecuted by malice, shall consume a 
 (i 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. \* Ahs! 
 " unhappy Abelard !" 
 
 The minstrel took her unresisting hand, 
 and in a softened voice exclaimed: " You 
 " weep, you sigh; for Abelard's unhappy 
 " destiny you sigh. Give then, lovely 
 " maid, thy tears, thy sighs, to me; ' for 
 " his sufferings are mine, but not his- 
 " joys. Misery raised not her bitter cup 
 1 5
 
 17S THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " to Ms lip till he had quaffed the rosy 
 " draught of bliss to its last precious drop. 
 " He loved, and was beloved. Destiny 
 u divided him from the object of his ten- 
 46 derness, but her passion survived the 
 " power of absence : living he was adored, 
 <c 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 
 4i prey on themselves ; and whose tender, 
 " impassioned heart is consumed by a 
 " sacred, secret, unrequited love!" 
 
 ** And is that possible ?" said Imogen in v 
 a faultering accent ; " can a heart, can a 
 " soul, capable of such profound emotion, 
 f< such refined tenderness, such d< licate 
 " and proud reserve, throb with unrequited 
 " passion r" 
 
 " 'Tis for you to decide," said the min- 
 strel, dropping on one knee: " Imogen, 
 " beloved as boon as seen! Imogen, these
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 179 
 
 " moments are furtive as they are pre- 
 " cious ; they will admit of no studied 
 " detail of passion, nor can I tell thee 
 " aught the sweet intimations of the heart 
 <c have not whispered thee. Perish the 
 M love that calls on cold formal declara- 
 " tions to betray its existence! Perish 
 u those affections which every emotion, 
 te every glance, every word, does not tes- 
 " tify! Oh, Imogen, remove that envious 
 " veil. I ask not for confirmation, but 
 lc for hope; I ask not to violate the reserve 
 tc of thy sacred delicacy, but to suppli. 
 " cate thy compassion : turn then not 
 M from me those eyes ; let me read in 
 u them the movements of thy soul, let 
 " them be the arbiters of my fate, let their* 
 *' beams give lite to my hopes, or banish 
 M me from thee for ever!'' 
 
 The minstrel, with the timid hand of 
 love, drew aside the gauze which veiled the 
 face of Imogen. Then htr full e}e met
 
 180 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 his, her frame trembled, she leaned on the 
 minstrel's shoulder for support; she wept, 
 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 extaey, 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 
 fied. The minstrel's circling arm detained 
 her. " Merciful heaven 1" said he; " in a 
 *' moment such as this, whence this strong 
 *' emotion of terror ? Does Imogen re- 
 " pent a condescension too dubious for 
 " even love's ardent wishes to construe 
 M into more than pity?" 
 
 " Didst thoumot sec or hear any thing Iff 
 said Imogen trembling. — " What should
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 181 
 
 ts I see or bear but Imogen ? Have I at 
 " this moment a sense, a thought, a feel- 
 " ing, that is not all Imogen ?" 
 
 K As heaven is my witness, I beheld the 
 " 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 servants 
 obeyed : the minstrel struggled, and op- 
 posed their efforts with Herculean strength ; 
 but overcome by numbers, as they tore 
 him away he fixed his eves on Imogen, 
 (who, the living image of terror, still clung
 
 182 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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 
 4C and oppression! and oh!" — Ere he could 
 finish the sentence he was dragged away, 
 and Imogen fell lifeless to the earth..
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 183 
 
 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 1 may see again? 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 Ah dolente partita 
 
 Ah piu deli mia vita 
 
 Da te parte, e non moro, e pur io provo 
 
 La pena della morte * 
 
 E sento nel parti re 
 
 Un vivace morire ; 
 
 Crfella vita al dolore 
 
 Per fa che moja immortalemente il cuore. 
 
 INTEREST was in the breast of the 
 father Anselm the universal dissolvent, be- 
 fore which every other passion and senti- 
 ment disappeared. Nothing had been fur- 
 ther from his mind than to quit the chateau 
 de Montmorell, and leave his young com- 
 petitor in undisturbed possession of all
 
 184 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 those precious immunities he had himself 
 so long been endowed with ; yet still with 
 well-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 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 morn- 
 ing. 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' 
 heart is reduced even to' the last extremity, 
 her ingenuity seldom fails to bring in a 
 corps de reserve to its assistance. 
 
 " My dear father/' said the lady Mag-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 185 
 
 <lelame, (< your better judgment is for 
 Si once overshoe by your unsuspecting 
 *' simplicity j far from turning this young 
 " stranger adrift, let us secure him a pri- 
 i( soner, until he can make some disco- 
 " very of what he is ; for my 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 saliovv check glowed 
 with the rage of jealousy, her eyes flashed 
 fire; she hurried into the chateau, follow- 
 ed by the triumphant friar, and as she 
 passed through the great hall, ordered
 
 186 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 some of the domestics to accompany her 
 instantly to the gallery, to seize on the 
 minstrel, and confine hira 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 evident to escape 
 the observance of the friar, who no longer 
 insisted on going that evening 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 p: ssion, 
 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-
 
 5T. DOMINICK. 3 87 
 
 finement the friar, attended by a number 
 of the domestics, was dispatched to lead 
 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. 
 
 " I congratulate you, madam," said the
 
 J88 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 friar: " your dangerous guest is fled. The 
 " criminality of his intentions anticipated 
 " your scrutiny, end he fled from that 
 " retribution his hypocrisy and ingratitude 
 " merited.'' 
 
 ff Fled!" repeated the lady Magdelaine, 
 pale with surprise and disappointment ; 
 " fled! impossible! the door locked, and 
 " the key in my possession !" 
 
 " But the window was but ill-secured,'' 
 said the friar;. " we found one of the bars 
 " wrenched away,and a breach made in the 
 " frame; and though its height is consi- 
 " derablc, desperation is not be intimidated 
 •? by probable dangers when certain peril 
 " awaits it." — Li Besides, with humble de^ 
 " ference," said Ambrose, bowing, " there 
 cc is no coping with conjuration ; and if 
 i( this same monsieur iroubadour had not 
 " been deep in the 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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 189 
 
 " have got into such marvelous great favour 
 " with my lady, who set her face against 
 " him, as one may say, from the beginning." 
 
 " Peace !" interrupted the lady Mag- 
 delaine, glad to have an opportunity of 
 venting her stifled ra^e on her servants, 
 whom she now accused as the efficient 
 cause of the minstrers reception at the 
 chateau, and whose negligence had favour- 
 ed his escape. Then suddenly recollect- 
 ing herself, she eagerly demanded who had 
 seen the demoiselle Irriog it morning? 
 
 and, without waiting for an answer, dis- 
 patched a messenger I - r. 
 
 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,
 
 \Q0 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 amidst the train of fears, doubts, and ap- 
 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 message, 
 informed her the minstrel had fled. 
 
 c « Holy Mother! but it is a strange 
 " world!" said Beatrice ; " it is, as Am- 
 " brose says, nothing but ups and downs. 
 " Here is the minstrel, that was every 
 " thing yesterday, is nothing to-day. But 
 " they say it was not for nothing either 
 " my lady confined him in the western
 
 ST. D0MINICK. 191 
 
 tower. Some say be was a Hugonot 
 and an unbeliever, others say he was a 
 traitor; but most folk seem to think he 
 was a Jew or conjuror; and Bernardine 
 swears he heard a clap of thunder, that 
 shook the whole chateau, just as the 
 great clock struck twelve ; which brings 
 to my mind the story of the old astro- 
 loger, who threw himself into the moat. 
 Thus it was, mademoiselle : It was the 
 eve of St Maxima, just after I came 
 from Provence with my old uncle to the 
 chateau. I remember I had on my 
 tawny-orange fardingale, which had been 
 only once scoured, and 5 ' — With a pro- 
 found sigh Imogen interrupted her, to en- 
 quire if lady Magdelaine knew of the 
 minstrel's escape? 
 
 " Christ! have I been chattering like a 
 " jay all this time, and quite forgot that 
 ct Theodore desired me to tell you, my 
 " lady commands you instantly to the 
 ',* study. I fancy 'tis about something
 
 LQ1 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 (i very extraordinary ; so if you will have 
 " the goodness to leave the least bit of the 
 " door open," — 
 
 " Dear Beatrice," said Imogen, in tears, 
 " cannot you make some excuse for me ? 
 " Indeed I cannot appear before the lady 
 " Magdelaine." 
 
 " Dear mademoiselle, not I ; I could 
 <c not make an excuse if I was to die for 
 " it ; and yet you know I would go to the 
 " end of" the world to oblige you." — While 
 Beatrice was still speaking, Theodore him- 
 self tapped at the door with a second mes- 
 sage; 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 her the preceding 
 evening in the gallery ; but tears and 
 blushes were all the answer she could obtain.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 193 
 
 * c It is then as I suspected," exclaimed 
 the lady Magdelaine ; " and a novice of 
 u the holy order of St. Dominick was on 
 " the point of becoming the prey of her 
 " own weak and foolish vanity, and the 
 Ci artful seductions of a low-born vil- 
 U lain!" She then loudly expatiated on 
 the imprudence, indecorum, and ingrati- 
 tude of Imogen's conduct; and, hurried 
 away by the influence of jealousy and dis- 
 appointment, for once descended from the 
 accustomed trope, figure ; and metaphor, of 
 her high-flown rhetoric, to speak in the 
 more forcible and poignant language of 
 " a woman scorned;" and, after a reproof 
 and an exordium of an hour long, the all- 
 enduring Imogen was sent back to her 
 room, with the terrific threat of being im- 
 mediately removed to the convent, and re- 
 presented in her true colours to the abbess 
 and the nuns. 
 
 Happily, however, for the lady Magde- 
 
 vol. 1. K
 
 IC)4 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 lime, her amatory, like her religious pro- 
 pensities, required a visible object to in- 
 spire and perpetuate their ardours. Neither 
 her faith nor her love was founded upon 
 those spiritualised sentiments which could 
 enable them to exist in mere conception 
 or belief; and if the picture of a saint was 
 necessary to stimulate her piety, the pre- 
 sence of the young stranger was requi- 
 site to perpetuate the tenderness he had 
 awakened. It was not then to be won- 
 dered at that in a few days her heart re- 
 sumed 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 vigour. Even Imogen was 
 again reinstated in the honours of the 
 escrutoire, 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 sta-
 
 ST. DOMIKICK. ig5 
 
 tion, to the discomfiture of Ovid, and the 
 Odes of Sappho were resigned in honour 
 of the Miracles of St. Theresa. 
 
 The castle again resumed its wonted 
 tranquil uniformity; and the adventure of 
 the extraordinary stranger, whose presence, 
 like a blazing meteor, spread temporary 
 confusion, amazement, and admiration, 
 was now ranked among the established 
 tales and gossip stories " told by the win- 
 M ter 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 perfec- 
 tion. The sympathies of the heart are 
 deaf to the arbitrary suggestions of pride; 
 and even the disadvantages of birth or for- 
 tune serve but as basso relievo, which raise 
 their possessor superior to destiny, and 
 mark him the favourite of heaven, though, 
 reckless of the world's perishable treasures. 
 
 Never for a moment had Imogen re- 
 k 2
 
 1C)6 the novice op 
 
 fleeted 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 
 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 Up, 
 the heart's dejection ever pursued the
 
 ST. DOMINICK. \Q7 
 
 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 
 dearly purchased when virtue is the price*. 
 Imogen had known them, yet Imogen was 
 innocent: she therefore suffered acutely, 
 but patiently. " And can one so easily 
 u part with what one so dearly loves?" 
 said she one morning, as she sat thinking 
 on the minstrel's sudden flight : " if so, 
 •' then it is not love I feci." 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
 
 1Q8 TtfE NOVICE OF 
 
 to account for that sudden departure of the 
 minstrel, which had awakened it. " What- 
 '* ever were the accusations," said she, 
 4< the lady Magdelaine had to allege 
 " against the amiable young stranger, they 
 " were of a mysterious nature, for they 
 ** still remain locked up within her own 
 * c breast. Although they must have been 
 " the cause of his departure, yet would I 
 *' stake all that is dearest to me on earth 
 " 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. But Imogen, fertile in excuses to 
 calm those doubts appearances sanctioned 
 of the innocence of him whom it was 
 misery supreme to believe culpable, estab-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 199 
 
 lished the confirmation of her wishes on a 
 stronger foundation : " I 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 
 u virtue have no inseparable connection; 
 " that extraordinary merit ever excites 
 " envy, and seldom escapes persecution; 
 P and that the sufferings, the dissensions 
 " of mankind arise less from their vices 
 " than from their errors and prejudices: 
 " 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."
 
 200 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 The minstrel was therefore not only in- 
 nocent but injured ; and this self-drawii 
 conclusion shed a new interest o'er that he 
 had already awakened, and turned 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 
 day as it fled left behind it a new shade of 
 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 away 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
 
 ST. D0MIN1CK. 20i 
 
 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 fidds, or fugitive peasants, flying for 
 security to the impervious wilds of the 
 forest, and distant parties of the military, 
 which overran the provinces in every di- 
 rection; and if their picturesque appear- 
 ance as they scoured those once smiling 
 scenes they had desolated, their beamy 
 spears, shining armour, 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 
 k 5
 
 202 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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 / 
 blushing she knew not wherefore, apolo- 
 gised for her intrusion, and said with a 
 smile: 
 
 " I did not know thou wert a musician, 
 * Theodore." 
 
 " Nor am I, mademoiselle ; but it is na- 
 « tural to imitate what we admire." 
 
 " Oh most natural,' 7 sighed Imogen. 
 
 " I envied the minstrel for many rca- 
 M sons," said Theodore, casting down his 
 eyes, " and not a little for his charming
 
 ST. D0MINICK. 203 
 
 (: musical talent. I have listened to him 
 " of a fine night, when he played on the 
 " terrace under your window, until I wept 
 " like an infant. It is strange, made- 
 <( moiselle, that one should weep as much 
 " from pleasure as from pain ; nay, some- 
 " times more." 
 
 " Such tears are del iciousi" said Imo- 
 gen, gazing on the harp, over which the 
 page leaned. 
 
 " Yes," said Theodore, answering her 
 looks, li this was his harp; and there,* 
 pointing to the bed, a lies his minstrel's 
 M habit, which my lady made him lay aside 
 " when he exchanged his minstrelsy for 
 " a clerkship." 
 
 " And to whom do they now belong ?" 
 said Imogen eagerly. 
 
 " His dress has remained here unno- 
 '*' ticed, just, I believe, as he flung it 
 " himself the morning of the night he 
 *' was taken a prisoner to the western 
 " tower."
 
 204 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " Himself!" said Imogen with emotion, 
 taking up the sleeve of the doublet. 
 
 " Yes," said the page; " it has not 
 " been removed since he slept here. This 
 " part of the castle is seldom frequented; 
 " and the domestics, who fancied the min- 
 " strel a magician, believe there is some 
 " dangerous spell over the room : so it is 
 " never visited by any one save myself." 
 
 M And the harp ?" said Imogen. 
 
 " Oh, true, mademoiselle, the harp — is 
 " mine." 
 
 " Did he give it to you, Theodore?" 
 
 " Why, mademoiselle," said the page 
 hesitating, " I did him a service, and he, 
 " in return, presented me with this in- 
 '* strument; the only recom pence I would 
 " receive, or I believe he had to offer." 
 
 " And may I ask. what that service 
 " was?" 
 
 " Nay, it mademoiselle, you must pardou 
 " me," said the page, changing colour; 
 " it is of a nature not to be mentioned.
 
 ST. D0MINICK. 205 
 
 * Would he had his harp again, and I — !" 
 The page stopped abruptly. 
 
 " Would you part with the harpr" 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 
 u too exorbitant ; and I should be apt to 
 " demand more than you would be willing 
 " to grant." 
 
 " Rather say, Theodore, more than I 
 " possess." 
 
 " Not so, mademoiselle ; you are rich. 
 " Oh! how rich in all"— 
 
 M Your terms ?" said Imogen with im- 
 patience. 
 
 " One kiss of that fair hand." 
 
 " A kiss of the hand !" said Imogen 
 with a smile, and blushing. " Nay, Theo-
 
 206 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " dore, I must nor take advantage of your 
 * c gallantry.'' Then holding out her little 
 purse, v\hich contained some valuable coins 
 presented to her by the minor canoness, 
 she added, " Will you for the present ac- 
 " cept of this, till— ?" 
 
 " Holy Mother!" interrupted the page ; 
 " not for the world! Sell the harp! and 
 " to you ! not for the world ! Ah ! made- 
 " moiselle, how little do you know — !" 
 Then pausing, abruptly he added, after a 
 moment's confusion and silence, " Shall I 
 " convey it to your apartment?" 
 
 " Not," said Imogen, " until you suffer 
 *f me to fasten this round your neck," 
 drawing from her own a silver reliquary. 
 The young page, colouring with pleasure, 
 kneeled to receive it. " It was given me 
 " by the lady abbess," said Imogen, while 
 she fastened it round his neck, " when I 
 " left the convent, as a charm against 
 " every danger; and since," she added 
 with an arch stiule, " you seem so obsti-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 207 
 
 " nately to adhere to your first terms, 
 " why I believe I must give you the kiss 
 " of the hand into the bargain. " The 
 page suddenly dropped the reliquary, which 
 be was on the point of raising to his lip, 
 and substituted the extended hand of 
 Imogen. 
 
 " Ah!" said the delighted boy, " I feel 
 " the charm your precious gift contains is 
 " not proof against every danger 1" 
 
 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 re- 
 fined regret insinuated itself into her mind 
 that the page had touched those strings 
 she would wish to believe had last con- 
 fessed the minstrePs magic touch. 
 
 Some little skill on the lute, communi- 
 cated by the sister Pasiphae, and a know- 
 ledge of the science of music almost in-
 
 208 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 tuitive, assisted her in her 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 favoured its 
 pursuit unknown to lady Magdelaine. 
 Music raised in her soul that delirium of 
 extacy she was so organized to feel ; and 
 in repeating those passages which had 
 most charmed her in the minstrel's per- 
 formance, the memory of past joys awaken- 
 ed to the sound. The associating prin- 
 ciple that existed between the feelings and 
 the sense exerted its influence, and the 
 harmony 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 
 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^
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 209 
 
 took possession of a mind too proud, too 
 delicate, not to agonize to the conviction, 
 The flush of her lively sensations gradually 
 subsided, and every degree of their pro* 
 gressive 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 con- 
 trast on the sullen doom that awaited her. 
 To that keen vivacity of emotion which 
 lately agitated her bosom, succeeded the 
 pensive, settled gloom, which so frequently 
 takes possession of the delicate and refined 
 mind in its transition from suspense ani- 
 mated by hope to hopeless certainty. Yet 
 not alone the disappointment of a first- 
 awakened passion produced the despon- 
 dency which seized her heart, and clouded 
 the frolic spirit of her native disposition. 
 Hitherto the impossibility of their attain- 
 ment stifled in her bosom those vague and 
 scarcely understood ideas which pointed to
 
 210 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 society and the world. The narrow limits 
 of that sphere she had moved in, the chill 
 austerity of her associates, by suppressing 
 oven a hope of emancipation, reduced her 
 to a tranquil acquiescence to a destiny 
 equally uncongenial to her reason and her 
 sentiments. But her intercourse with the 
 minstrel 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 splendour too 
 dazzling for the gloom of privacy and se- 
 questration ; it had roused the dormant 
 ambition of her soul to reach that point 
 of elevation she had been from her cradle 
 anxious 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 
 Providence, anc) the welfare of society, 
 and which would for ever annihilate her 
 happiness, without repaying the sacrifice
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 211 
 
 by those illusions which satisfy the mind 
 of ignorance, credulity, and superstition-, 
 for ail 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 fantastie 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 lung been the object of her me- 
 ditation, ere her return to the convent of 
 St. Dominick prohibited every hope of 
 escape. 4C Reason, happiness, even virtue 
 " itself," said Imogen, " sanctions the in-
 
 212 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 u tention, though a desperate one ;*' while 
 Love, in league with Fancy, lay laughing 
 ferdu 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. 
 
 u My motive," said Imogen^ " is war- 
 cc 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 
 " reason condemns. That heart tells me
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 2i3 
 
 u it can never renounce the ties, the af- 
 " fections of humanity ; that reason dis- 
 " approves it ever should ; and until I can 
 " believe a life useless to my fellow-crea- 
 <f tures can be pleasing in the eye of my 
 " God I will never embrace it: there re- 
 " mains therefore no other alternative but 
 " 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 Ck all before thee whereto 
 " chase," but who will confirm that 
 choice? who will realize 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
 
 214 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 illusions of fancy, the spirit of genius, all 
 bewildered her senses, animated her mind, 
 and, amidst their seducing admonitions, 
 the " still small voice" of Experience was 
 unheard. Oh youth ! season of delight, 
 sweet era 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! vir- 
 tue ! 'tis in the genial bosom of youth 
 your fairest, loveliest blossoms blow and 
 flourish!
 
 ST. DOMI.N'ICK. 215 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Friendship makes the rights of its objects equally mat- 
 ters of regard with its own; and marks a mind that is 
 innocent, candid, liberal, and susceptible of the virtues 
 which insure the happiness of human nature. 
 
 Bruces Elements of the Science of Ethics. 
 
 These are thinking heretics ; 
 I should forgue ihem, did some upstart sect 
 With . larm this headlong zeal; 
 
 But lh< . must reason 
 
 Walpole. 
 
 HOWEVER romantically venturous the 
 mind of Imogen, it required some despe- 
 rate circumstance to animate her to the 
 execution of those visionary plans her 
 fancy had so often sketched, her 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
 
 2l6 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 lady Magdelaine ; with wearisome conver- 
 sations on the party and religious. jargon of 
 the day ; the mystery of a vision, or the mi- 
 racle of a saint ; the claims of the duke de 
 Mayenne, or the heresy of the king; includ- 
 ed the whole system of social intercourse 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 present 
 life, or the gloomy destiny that awaited her 
 future. But a circumstance now occurred 
 to steady those wavering resolutions which 
 had long vibrated between the ardour of 
 her wishes and the strength of her appre- 
 hensions. The Crusades were finished : 
 nothing prevented lady Magdelaine's visit- 
 ing 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 o£ St. Dominick was already 
 fixed on. The lady Magdelaine, as a proof 
 of her munificence and piety, was to pay
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 217 
 
 down a large sum on the admission of her 
 amanuensis among the holy sisterhood ; 
 and on. the day of her profession, to present 
 the convent with a rich set of altar plate. 
 Thus the lady Magdelaine, by a stroke 
 of sanctimonious policy, in rewarding the 
 arduous services of her secretary, remitted 
 a douceur to heaven, in part payment for 
 the price of her own salvation ! 
 
 There was nothing talked of at the con- 
 vent but the pious zeal, and holy muni- 
 ficence of the lady de Montmorell ; 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 pauoness and the friar, she 
 absolutely refused the offered donation of 
 lady Magdelaine on her own account. 
 
 " If, madam," said she one day, as the 
 lady Magdelaine and the father director 
 were enumerating the benefits she would 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 derive from entering the convent on such 
 respectable terms, and furnishing many 
 arguments to stimulate her gratitude: " if, 
 " madam, it is for my sake you are thus 
 " generous, oh, for my sake, direct your 
 " generosity in a better channel. The or- 
 lf 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 by famine, by all 
 " the horrors of civil war, they languish in 
 " misery and want, while safety and abund- 
 " ance reign in the convent of Saint 
 " Dominick. Let then, madam, those 
 " wretches, who look up to you for assist- 
 " ance, feel that bounty it were the mock- 
 " ery of religion to bestow on those who, 
 " professing poverty, revel in opulence. 
 " Save me from a life for which I feel no 
 41 vocation, for which I am unworthy ;- 
 " and suffer me to continue the most faith- 
 " ful of your servants, the most grateful 
 " of your friends."
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 219 
 
 " I understand you," said the lady Mag- 
 " delaine with a sarcastic sneer : " suffer 
 " you to accompany me to Paris, and 
 " prove your pious fortitude, by exposing 
 u you to the trials of temptation. No," 
 said the lady Magdelaine, " if by my 
 <( precepts or example I cannot lure a 
 " wandering soul to heaven, St. Dominick 
 " forbid I should assist in drawing a. soul 
 " from it." 
 
 " Mother of God, avert that crime!" 
 said the friar, crossing himself; " and thou, „ 
 " oh perverse of spirit, it now becomes us, 
 " who took thee from thechurch'sguardian 
 " wing, in sacred trust, to give thee back 
 " as we received thee. Thou wert then a 
 u very saint forsooth, nor could thy piety 
 " be coped withal; miracles were expected 
 " to be performed at thy shrine, and thy 
 " name to be enrolled in the album sane- 
 u torum of perfection ! but now ! oh, sad 
 " frailty of poor human nature! thou art 
 " little better than one of the wicked. Buf 
 l 2
 
 220 THE NOVICE OL 
 
 " thou art young, and bast time for amend- 
 " ment ; thou hast the examples of thirty 
 <c kings and queens, who resigned the 
 " crown and sceptre for the veil and cro- 
 " zier ; and, once wedded to an heavenly 
 " spouse, dedicated to the embraces of a 
 " superior being, thy groveling soul shall 
 " rise above all human passions ; and after 
 " a life of piety, self-denial, and mortifica- 
 " tion, you will have a chance of dying in 
 " a religious rapture, or haply of being 
 u added to the list of holy saints !" 
 
 " The list of martyrdom you mean, fa- 
 " ther, 5 ' said Imogen, with a flash of her 
 wonted playful spirits. 
 
 " 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, weaned be-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 221 
 
 yond all power of farther endurance, burst 
 into tears, and exclaimed ; " Spare, spare 
 " me now, madam, and do with me 
 " as you please." The lady Magdelaine, 
 who trembled lest the loss of a soul should 
 belaid to her account, and who was en- 
 raged at the spirited opposition of Imogen, 
 now willingly believed her eloquence had 
 effected a reformation, and that the tears 
 of the novice flowed 
 
 " From a heart contrite, in sign 
 
 Of sorrow unfeign'd and humiliation meek." 
 
 Milton. 
 
 And a few incorrect chapters being yet to 
 transcribe, the lady Magdelaine informed 
 her she was not to return to the convent 
 till tha.t 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
 
 222 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 and romantic ; it was in her leisure hours 
 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 
 canoness, was fast verging on eternity ; and 
 the friendship, the tenderness, the compas- 
 sion of the novice, led her incessantly to 
 the couch of the dying nun. 
 
 Lady Magdelaine 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 was 
 most boundless, when the sanguine and in- 
 genuous character of the novice lay bare 
 and exposed to the penetrating eye of the 
 oenoness, and when their sentiments and 
 opinions were discussed with mutual free- 
 dom ; still, in the most concealed sanctua- 
 ry of her bosom, reposed the secret of
 
 ST. LOMIN-ICK. 'Ho 
 
 Imogen's 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 thcjf 
 tales of wonder, nor even put Imogen's 
 traiterous feelings to the test by an enquiry 
 on the subject. 
 
 Imogen, who trembled lest the tender- 
 ness of her heart was but its weakness, and 
 who dreaded the sarcastic raillery, as much 
 as she venerated the virtue, and admired 
 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 dan- 
 gerous attempt by the weakness of passion 
 rather than the conviction of reason. 
 
 Three weeks had elapsed since a close 
 attendance in the study of lady Magdelaine
 
 224 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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. 
 
 I Accompanied by one of lady Magde- 
 laine's women, she set out on her little pe- 
 destrian journey ; and during its perform- 
 ance determined on acquainting the c'a- 
 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 
 Pasiphea, 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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 225 
 
 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 
 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 
 
 L 5
 
 126 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 agitated Imogen, received her, on whose 
 face she fixed a wild and eager gaze ; then 
 sighing, and with a look of affectionate 
 recognition, pressed her hand and faintly 
 exclaimed; " Oh, how welcome is the 
 " sight of thee! thy eye alone beams 
 " peace and youthful joy ; thy presence, 
 " only, cheers my drooping spirit !" 
 
 Imogen, weeping, raised her on her 
 couch, and kneeling beside her, pressed 
 her hand with her lips. 
 
 " How warm," said the nun, " is the 
 " pressure of thy lips, and how soothingly 
 " grateful thy tears : may they never flow 
 " but for the sorrows of another !" then 
 shuddering, and with a look of wildness, 
 she added, " oh, it was such a dream ! so 
 u sweet, and yet so dreadful I** 
 
 " Methought indeed it was," said Imo- 
 gen ; " for while I watched thee as thou 
 " slept, thy countenance exhibited such 
 <c strong emotion." 
 
 " And oh, well it might," said the nun
 
 ST. DOMINIK. 227 
 
 emphatically, " for that dream contained 
 the epitome of my life : Imogen, I fan- 
 cied mvself in that sweet era of exist- 
 ence, when love and hope and every joy 
 runs high ; when pleasure turned her 
 rosy wreathes round my polished brow, 
 and guileless rapture thrilled on every 
 sense. Seated amidst the embowering 
 shades of my sweet paternal home, I 
 beheld at my feet the object of my 
 heart's idolatry ; I felt the p-essure of 
 his lip on my trembling hand, and my 
 ears drank the welcome sound, that in 
 one short week death only could divide 
 us. Suddenly the scene was changed, and 
 
 M instead of the groves of Provence, I 
 found myself in the great court of the 
 Louvre in Paris ; all was darkness and 
 desolation ! save when the lightning's 
 flash gave to my eye the mangled forms 
 of dying men, or bands of murderers, 
 plunging their reeking daggers into the 
 bosoms of unresisting victims. Prostrate
 
 228 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " to the earthy I invoked the protection of 
 " 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 
 <c full on me, it was my love ; I sprung 
 u 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- 
 " ment a ghastly band rushed forward, they 
 " plunged their daggers in the bosom of my 
 " love; they dragged me from that bleed- 
 <; ing bosom, and threw me headlong into a 
 u dreary vault, where reposed the moulder- 
 ? ing bones of St. Dominick ; then, as the 
 " monument closed o'er my head, me- 
 " thought I did perceive those murderers 
 " were my brothers ! J ' 
 
 " 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
 
 ST. D0MIN1CK. 12Q 
 
 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 enquiries for the health of the sister 
 Pasiphea, 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, their insatiate curiosity, and eter- 
 nal sameness of life, rendered interesting. 
 Imogen having satisfied them as far as lay 
 in her power, they turned the conversa- 
 tion to all that had occurred at vespers ; 
 talked of father Phillips having made a most 
 risible mistake, of the awkwardness of the 
 officiating nun, and the old sister Uriclin's 
 having fallen asleep in the middle of a ju- 
 bilitate, and awakening chaunted the ser- 
 vice of the dead ; then having exhausted 
 all their flippant nothings, they wished 
 wearied canoness a good night, and took
 
 230 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Imogen with them to pay her respects to 
 the abbess. 
 
 As 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, " to 
 M take possession of sister Mary's mattress, 
 u by your bed-side, if she has no objec- 
 " tion." <f 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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 231 
 
 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 
 <c 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- 
 ie creasing brightness, to you only do I 
 " 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 ; u So, my young saint ! you 
 " have at last discovered there are some 
 M spots in our feasts of charity ?" Then 
 assuming a tone grave and impressive, she 
 affectionately took Imogen's hand and con- 
 tinued : a My dear child, there are certain 
 " principles, which the very constitution 
 " of our natures lead us to receive ; immut- 
 " able truths, which come home with re-
 
 131 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 * sistless force to every bosom ; and though 
 " obscured by those prejudices born amidst 
 " the profound ignorance of early ages, 
 " confirmed by time, and that passive in- 
 " dolence by which men take up their 
 <c opinions upon trust, and avoid the frou- 
 " ble of thinking for themselves, yet the 
 u human mind, in its progressive state, is 
 " still propelled towards perfection, and 
 " gradually shakes off its errors. In the 
 *' words of an Italian poet : 
 
 ' Come d'autunno le foglle' 
 L'uno apresso delle ultra infin che'l tamo 
 Princle alia terra tutte le sue spoglie.'* 
 
 " All therefore that you have now related 
 " to me of the change which has taken 
 " place in your sentiments, pleases without 
 tc amazing me ; since it confirms what I 
 " have always believed, that reason, when 
 u suffered to take its course, will ever con- 
 
 * Dante, Inferno,
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 233 
 
 firm the universal principles of truth and 
 nature, and distinguish, amidst the va- 
 rious documents of human education, 
 the good from the bad ; adhering with 
 firmness to the former, and rejecting the 
 latter with humility. 
 " When in thy infant years I beheld 
 thee, and all thy blooming virtues, sacri*. 
 ficed at the sanguinary altar of fanati- 
 cism, I pitied thee ; when in the clois- 
 ters of Saint Dominick I beheld the 
 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 
 from the barbarous distinctions created 
 by perverted religion, not by the spirit 
 of true holiness, from the horrors of fa- 
 naticism, from the errors of superstition, 
 I revere thee. 
 
 " But here my commendations end ; for 
 here the wondrous strength of thy 
 mind ceases to operate, and the sugges-
 
 234 THE NOTICE OP 
 
 " tions of a wild romantic imagination 
 * c guide thy efforts: elope! whither, where, 
 " to whom, by what means, and for what 
 " end ?" 
 
 " Alas," said Imogen sighing, il that I 
 " never thought of: but of this I am ccr- 
 " tain, a fate more dreadful than now 
 " awaits me I cannot encounter." 
 
 " Thou sayest true," said the nun em- 
 phatically ; " my heart can best aver 
 " how fatally true ! But is there, my sweet 
 " imprudent, no medium between certain 
 " and probable destruction ; is there no 
 *' friend to save thee from immolation ?" 
 
 " On earth" said Imogen, embracing 
 the canoness's knees, u I own no friend 
 " but thee." 
 
 The nun, bending forward, folded her 
 arms around her, and let fall a tear on her 
 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 ?''
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 235 
 
 " And it is to me," said the nun, raising 
 and embracing her, " to me thou dost 
 u apply for relief; to me who have sworn 
 " on the altar of my God, to violate every 
 " law, human and divine, he has implant- 
 " ed in my breast, to obliterate the affeo 
 " tions he has braced on my soul, and to 
 " render others as wretched, were that 
 " possible, as myself: knowcst 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 
 M inquisitorial horrors, rather than by com- 
 " miserating thy fate sanction thy apos- 
 " tacy I" 
 
 ^ Alas," "said Imogen trembling, as the 
 lamp's blue flame flashed in the wild and 
 convulsed countenance of the nun, " alas, 
 " if you desert me, then am I a wretch 
 " indeed !" 
 
 " Desert thee !" said the nun recover- 
 ing, and with an air of tenderness, " de-
 
 236 * THE NOVICE* OP 
 
 u sert thee, thou sweet victim, never ! yet 
 " the world deserted me when at thy age ; 
 u with all thy warm and social affections, 
 " I was entomheq 1 within this convent ; 
 " here withered the bloom of my heart's 
 " first love ; here died my hopes, never to 
 " live again I? Then taking a medallion 
 from her bosom, and touching a spring, it 
 flew open, and presented to the eye of 
 Imogen two beautiful portraits: " Behold," 
 continued the nun, " this fair representa- 
 ff tive of youth and vivacity ; such once 
 " was Pasiphea, and this beautiful and 
 
 if manly countenance was " The nun 
 
 paused, and for a moment concealed her 
 face in her veil ; then with less emotion 
 continued ; " The chevalier de Sorvell and 
 " Rosalie de Vilette, after an attachment 
 " of some years, founded on a sympathy 
 P of talent and pursuit, received the sanc- 
 " tion of their .friends to their union. The 
 '< brothers of Rosalie, high in favour with 
 " Charles IX., were implicated in the hor-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 237 
 
 " rors of St. Bartholomew, and became 
 " the avenging ministers of their diaboli- 
 " cai monarch : at the moment that De 
 " Sorvell, like the Spirit of Mercy, flew 
 " from side to side, protecting, rescuing, 
 ci and consoling the persecuted hugonots, 
 " in snatching a victim from the uplifted 
 " arm of the fanatic De Vilette, De Sorvell 
 " received a wound in his own bosom, re- 
 " ceived it, oh God ! in the sight of Ro- 
 n salie. That moment gave birth to mad- 
 " ness; and when, after a long, long ob- 
 *• livion to her woes, the wretched Rosalie 
 * recovered her reason, she found herself 
 " transformed into the sister Pasiphea of 
 iC St. Dominick 1 but I pain thy kind 
 " heart.'' 
 
 " Nay, in sweet pity, continue," said 
 the'weeping novice. 
 
 94 Alas ! I have only to add, that my 
 (i brother's death speedily followed mv re- 
 " covery, and that De Sorvell still lives,
 
 238 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " but oh ! lives not forme!" The nun 
 then, after a long pause, added: " And 
 " thinkest thou I will not make an effort 
 " to save thee from that fate that impends 
 " o'er thee ? Indeed I will. After an 
 " absence of twenty years from the world, 
 " it contains but one being whom I can 
 <c 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." 
 
 ■f 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." 
 
 " 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
 
 ST. D0M1NICK. 239 
 
 " twelve ; retire thee now to rest, and by 
 " to-morrow I shall have fixed on some 
 " plan for thee to pursue." 
 
 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 in- 
 clined 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 aad sweet repose. 
 
 The dawn was just glancing through the 
 casement, and the bell tolling for matins, 
 when Imogen from dreams of ideal bliss 
 awakened, and beheld the canoness still 
 seated at the table : her arm supported her 
 head, and her lamp burning dimly before
 
 240 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 was shocked 
 to behold the visible change which had 
 taken place in it since the preceding night. 
 The hollow eyes of the nun were inflamed 
 and red with weeping, the snowy white- 
 ness 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 earnestness a letter that lay on 
 the table, then folded and directed it to 
 the chevalier de Sorvell. As she wrote the 
 name, Imogen, who looked over her shoul- 
 der, saw the tears efface the letters almost 
 as fast as they were written. The canon- 
 ess then took up another letter, and pre- 
 sented it to Irnogen to read : it was ad- 
 dressed to madame de Rosemo?it, and almost 
 wholly related to Imogen, who was men-
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. -241 
 
 ticned in a manner that called a blush into 
 her cheek as she perused the commenda- 
 tions of one whose esteem she so dearly 
 prized ; but the concluding lines paled 
 that blush, and the tears of mourning 
 friendship succeeded to the glow of self-sa- 
 tisfaction as she read the following passage : 
 " Friend of my life, farewell ! That 
 " life, which your friendship alone ren- 
 " dered worthy of supporting, hastens 
 f* with rapid flight to its last sad hour. 
 <{ My existence for these last two years 
 " has been a miracle to -all, to myself a 
 f? burthen. A protracted being has been 
 <e the expiation of my sins; and death, 
 " like a welcome, long-expected friend, 
 *' lures me to those joys life denied me. 
 " When you will receive this, I shall pro- 
 " bably be no more. The dim eye, whose 
 " weak and imperfect vision scarce views 
 " these characters- 1 trace; the trembling 
 ff and skeleton hand that with difficulty 
 f guides my pen ; and those confused 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " and incoherent thoughts that rather 
 " confound than dictate the heart's still 
 " glowing wishes; all sadly coincide with 
 u those internal principles of decay which 
 M have long been stealing me to the grave. 
 " The young novice will give thee a small 
 ** packet, to be delivered to thy brother : 
 te it contains his picture, and the letter he 
 " addressed some fifteen years ago to the 
 " minor canoness of St. Dominick : it 
 " contains also a few lines, not from the 
 " fond Rosalie de Villette, 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- 
 u man's treacherous heart betrays its weak- 
 w ness even in the hour of awful dissolu- 
 w lution, oh! let them not meet his eye, 
 " lest he, who towers above mortality, 
 u perceive how distant he has left me in 
 <c virtue's steep ascent! Yet I had a mind 
 " that would have gone goal for goal with 
 " his, but that my heart lacked strength :
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 243 
 
 '•' but now all is over, and death will soon 
 M accomplish what reason and philosophy 
 c< could not; for De Sorveli will cease to 
 " be beloved when Rosalie shall cease to 
 f* live. Once more, farewell for ever!" 
 
 " Forever!" faintly articulated Imogen, 
 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 mc, spare thy- 
 " self, nor let us by vain regrets occupy 
 " the precious time which should be de- 
 Ci voted to saving thee from that fate which 
 " at thy age consigned me to misery! 
 " And trust me, sweet maid, that after a 
 f* long, long exclusion from the happiness 
 f* of serving a fei low-creature, the idea of 
 " snatching you from — oh wretchedness 
 " supreme! — a living death, will shed a 
 " cheering ray upon my life's sad close ; 
 " and like a smiling cherub, hover round 
 m 2
 
 244 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ? ' my heart till its last vital pulse shall cease 
 " to play, then mingle with the joys of 
 <c opening heaven ! 
 
 " Nay, hear me out, while I have 
 " strength to speak. The mode of thy 
 ci escape alone perplexes me with obstacles. 
 " To-day I shall see a person, on whom I 
 " think I may confide, and whose services 
 " I have a right to claim : mean time re- 
 (i turn thou to the chateau Dc Montmo- 
 " rell, and obtain permission to come to- 
 " morrow evening to the convent at the 
 " hour of vespers. I know thou hast long 
 " been the instrument of our superior's 
 " sanctimonious avarice, who thinks by 
 " thy means to secure some rich donations 
 " to the convent from thy patroness, there- 
 " fore is she impatient for thy return; 
 " and the lady Magdelaine, who has long 
 <f trembled for her own salvation through 
 " thy apostacy, will be as anxious to en- 
 " tomb thee here as the abbess. You 
 * must escape their vigilance, and not de-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 245" 
 
 " pcnd on their generosity for your eman- 
 
 " cipation ; for these women, who possess 
 
 " zeal without truth, and faith without 
 
 (t virtue, will make it a merit in the eye of 
 
 " heaven to force thee into that mode of 
 
 " thinking which, professing themselves 
 
 " from prejudice and fear, not conviction, 
 
 <: empowers them to shut or open the 
 
 " gates of heaven as their own bigoted 
 
 " wills decree. Oh ! they know not, they 
 
 " feel not, that the bond of true religion, 
 
 " like heaven's own goodness, should be 
 
 " unlimitable, and enclose within its circle 
 
 cC all mankind. Religion is to them a 
 
 " little code of local ceremonies, drawn up 
 
 " by human invention of the lowest order, 
 
 " of useless mysteries and childish bug- 
 
 '• bears, set to puzzle, not to convince; 
 
 " made to terrify, not to instruct. But 
 
 " thou, with whom religion is but a better 
 
 <; name for happiness and virtue, mayesj; 
 
 " thou escape that bondage with which the 
 
 " zeal of false devotion would fetter
 
 <c 
 
 246 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 * thy blooming virtues! Yet think not 
 " that thou wilt leave all bigotry behind 
 " thee when thou fiiest from a convent. 
 
 Oh no! it is an hardy plant, and thrives 
 " in every soil, save in that where true re- 
 " ligion only flourishes. 'Tis not beneath 
 " the cowl and scapular alone self-wrapt, 
 " illiberal prejudice veils its deformity : it 
 " finds protection in every sect ; for each 
 " believes itself alone the true, seizes with 
 *,' sacrilegious hand the apostolic key of 
 " paradise, and flings beyond salvation all 
 " who can't beJieve the dogmas it holds 
 " out." 
 
 The nun then, after a moment's pause, 
 continued : " Lest my fading recollection 
 " should totally desert me, I will make 
 " what little arrangement I can at the pre- 
 " sent moment." Then taking out her 
 own picture from the case Imogen had seen 
 the night before, she placed in it the note 
 directed to the chevalier De Sorvell, and 
 fixed her eyes on his portrait for a consi*
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 247 
 
 derable time, till her hand trembled so she 
 could scarcely bold it. In a hurried man- 
 ner she attempted to close the case, but 
 finding the effort too much she exclaimed: 
 " It will not be !v and put it into Imogen's 
 hands, who fastened it. " Conceal it 
 u carefully/' said the nun, turning away 
 her head, " and give it with that letter to 
 " the lady De Rosemont. ,, 
 
 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, " was given me by a dying mo- 
 " ther." Then kissing it and bathing it 
 with her tears, she placed it on Imogen's fin- 
 ger. " Wear it," said she, u for the 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 wish to 
 " serve thee is indeed great, but that her 
 " will lacks means." Imogen looked at
 
 248 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 motion and 
 gesture the child of nature only possesses. 
 ' An honest heart has no feeling so strong 
 ' as gratitude, and a liberal one none so 
 c strong as the delicacy with which it re- 
 ' ceives it.' What a beautiful 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 grateful feelings; in 
 the tender but half-averted glance of Pa- 
 si phae was registered the meek delicacy 
 with which it was received, not refusing, 
 yet denying a claim to it. 
 
 " I have done nothing," said the canon- 
 ess, raising the ;novice, " but what you 
 " can repay a thousand fold by conducting 
 " yourself with prudence, and by restrain-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 249 
 
 " ing that romantic turn of mind which 
 " is so great an enemy to the circumspec- 
 " tion you should observe." The canon- 
 ess then requested her to return to the 
 chateau, lesttheir conferenceshould awaken 
 suspicion ; and Imogen had only time to 
 embrace her when some of the nuns enter- 
 ed, and after (in the usual common-place 
 terms of regret) expressing their surprise 
 at the alteration so visible in the appear- 
 ance of the sister Pasiphae, they took Imo- 
 gen with them to assist at matins, who- 
 immediately after the service returned- 
 home. 
 
 M 5
 
 250 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 I am fresh of spirit, and resolved 
 To meet all peril very constantly. 
 
 Shaksi-eare 
 
 lHE day which intervened between that 
 on which she had parted from the canoness 
 and that on which they were finally to de- 
 termine on the mode of her escape, was 
 passed by Imogen in all that restless agita* 
 tion of a mind labouring under the ever- 
 torturing feelings of suspense; a species 
 of suffering of all others the least support- 
 able to such a mind as Imogen's, which, 
 sanguine and impatient, scarcely conceived 
 a project that fancy did not overleap pro- 
 bability to realize. 
 
 The lady Magdelaine, who possessed 
 nothing of genius but its variability, was
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 251 
 
 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 
 for 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. 
 
 Fuii of all those fears natural to her 
 situation, 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 cast a 
 longing look towards the convent's spires, 
 Theodore, the young page, led out a mule 
 from the postern gate beneath. " Theo- 
 il dore," said Imogen softly, " whither 
 " goest thou ?" The page started, turned 
 round, and replied: " To our bishop V
 
 252 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " castle, mademoiselle, with this packet 
 " from father Anselm, which is to be deli- 
 " vered before the morning's dawn." 
 
 " And if thy path lies near the convent 
 " of St. Dominick, wilt thou give me thy 
 <c protection to its gates?" 
 
 " Will 1 ! Oh! though it did not, how 
 " gladly would I .go out of my way for 
 " the happiness of attending you!" 
 
 <c Tarry then a moment," said Imogen, 
 wrapping a large cloak round her, and 
 creeping down softly to the postern gate, 
 s\vhere 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 
 atmosphere countless suns, surrounded 
 by their attendant worlds, gradually ap- 
 peared. 
 
 «-* What a heavenly night !" said the
 
 st. dominick:. 253 
 
 page, throwing the bridle over the mule's 
 neck, who followed him as he walked by 
 Imogen's side. 
 
 " Heavenly indeed!" said Imogen; and 
 they continued to walk on in silence. 
 
 " When we consider," said Imogen, 
 after a pause, " that each of those beauti- 
 " ful lights, which now appear and disap- 
 " pear to the eye, is a sun, and the centre 
 " of a system of worlds, we become lost, 
 " overwhelmed by the idea of His omni- 
 " potence who created them, and wonder 
 " with the royal Psalmist, ' Lord, what is 
 " man, or the son of man, that thou so 
 " regardest him !' " 
 
 " When you speak to me," said the 
 page, u of the wondrous works of na- 
 " tore, you appear to me yourself at 
 " once the most beautiful, the most inter- 
 " esting! Oh mademoiselle! when I hear 
 " you speak thus, and when I look at you, 
 " so young, so fair — !" 
 
 " Is that the convent bell?" inter-
 
 254 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 rupted Imogen* confused, and for the first 
 time sensible of the impropriety she had 
 committed in stealing from the chateau, 
 unknown to its lady, at such an hour, and 
 with such a guide. " The urgency of the 
 " circumstance only can excuse it," said 
 Imogen, determined to proceed in silence. 
 " There is certainly some charm in the 
 " instruction you convey," continued the 
 page; " for while the little astronomy and 
 " mathematics the father Philip had the 
 ic goodness to teach me is all forgotten as 
 f fast as learnt, not a word, not a sentence, 
 " you ever uttered, but I could repeat 
 " better than my prayers; and I have 
 " often thought, mademoiselle, that if all 
 " teachers were like you, the world would 
 " benefit by it more than by all the col- 
 <c leges of Jesuits in the world. What a 
 " difference between the hoarse accents" 
 " of a toothless mumbling friar, and a 
 u voice like yours, flowing through teeth 
 " so white and lips so beautiful V*
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 255" 
 
 ** There is more gallantry than truth or 
 <f justice in your remark/' said Imogen 
 coldly; " but I prithee let us quicken our 
 " pace, or I shall miss vespers." 
 
 " Is it true, mademoiselle, that you are 
 " 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 !" 
 said she, " how sweet that strain breathes 
 " on the stillness of the night !" 
 
 <c It must be the nuns chaunting the 
 " evening service," said the page. 
 
 " Surely," said Imogen, " this issome- 
 " thing more than ordinary." 
 
 They had now reached an eminence 
 which commanded a perfect view of the 
 convent grounds, and Imogen and her com-
 
 25(3 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 panion paused to observe the effect produced 
 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 
 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 shoul- 
 ders a bier covered with a pall, which, flow- 
 ing back from their shoulders, fell to the 
 ground. Supported by two of her nuns 
 appeared the abbess of St. Dominick as 
 chief mourner; and the whole body of the 
 sisterhood closed up the procession, which 
 proceeded from the convent gate along the 
 cloisters. The friars sung the Miserere till
 
 ST. DOMINI CK. '157 
 
 they approached the church; when their 
 deep tones fading into a mournful cadence, 
 the nuns began the requiem 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 so- 
 lemn swell ; and the whole impressive 
 scene was again wrapt in the gloom of 
 obscurity. 
 
 " How awful!" said the page; " 'tis one 
 (t 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 aile, was surrounded 
 by tapers. 
 
 Imogen, though scarcely able to move, 
 crept behind the pillars, and, entering the
 
 258 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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. 
 " So," said the sister in a whispering 
 voice, " you are come too late; it is all 
 fi over with your friend." 
 
 " Merciful God!" exclaimed Imogen 
 faintly, * then it is as I suspected." 
 
 " Yes," said the sister ; " you are doubt- 
 <c less disappointed, for I suppose you ex- 
 " pected something by her death ; but 
 " though 1 had a right to whatever she 
 " might have left (for the saints are wit- 
 " 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 pieces, 
 "every trumped-up story of distress could 
 " impose on her." 
 
 To this selfish and unfeeling harangue 
 Imogen listened in tears and in silence:
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 25Q 
 
 then, after a long pause, in a voice scarcely 
 articulate, she demanded when the canoness 
 died? " In something less thin three 
 <f hours after you kft her," returned the 
 sister: " when I went into her cell after 
 " matins, I found her lying on the ground 
 •? in a swoon ; hut she only recovered from 
 " one fainting fit to fall into another. We 
 * carried her into the chapel to receive 
 " extreme unction, and she died in our 
 u arms, almost without benefit of the 
 " clergy, Christ preserve us! for she took 
 " no notice of what was going forward: 
 " she was indeed speechless from the time 
 " you left her." 
 
 Here the office for the dead being finish- 
 ed, mass was celebrated ; and the officiating 
 priest having flung incense over the body, 
 and sprinkled it with holy water, the pro- 
 cession proceeded to the chancel, where a 
 grave was opened to receive all that re- 
 mained of the mortality of the unfortunate 
 Rosalie de Villette.
 
 2()0 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 As soon as the body was interred, the 
 pious crowd retired ; and Imogen, who 
 leaned behind a pillar for support, soon 
 found herself alone, and seating herself by 
 the grave of the canoness, 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 indulgence of that 
 luxury of woe so profoundly to be felt by 
 the heart of sensibility, so impossible to 
 define. To the tender regret of friend- 
 ship succeeded a train of considerations 
 more immediately connected with self-iiN 
 terest. Imogen now found herself without 
 a friend on earth, and her " tender buds 
 " of hope" blasted in the very moment 
 she believed the genial influence of friend- 
 ship was about to rear them to maturity. 
 She had not the faintest suspicion of the 
 person to whose care she believed the 
 canoness meant to consign her, and who 
 was to have conducted her in safety to the
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 26l 
 
 lady de Rosemont ; and how, helpless and 
 unprotected as she was, she should find a 
 mode to escape the vigilance of lady Mag* 
 delaine before three days could elapse, or 
 travel alone through that part of the pro- 
 vince where civil war raged with the most 
 boundless fury, was a question unanswer- 
 able. 
 
 The deep toll of the midnight bell first 
 awoke her attention from the train of 
 thought that involved it, to a sense of 
 her 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-
 
 262 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 stition ; but ebon Night is no .'- 'an?* 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 hor- 
 rors which ignorance and error are sup- 
 posed only to cherish. But their influence 
 was but momentary ; she smiled away her 
 apprehensions, and advanced towards a 
 door which opened into the cloisters, deter- 
 mined to proceed to the dormitory, and 
 take up her night's lodging in the cell of 
 the lay sister who attended the canoness, 
 and of whom she had yet much to ask re- 
 lative to her deceased 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 tessalatcd pave- 
 ment she qbserved it chequered by the ex-
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 263 
 
 tended shadow of what she supposed an 
 image. Istinctively 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 encircling 
 arm withheld her. 
 
 " Fear not, lady," said a voice low and 
 mournful ; " the spirit of the departed 
 " saint thou mournest, like thy minister- 
 " ing angel, guards the sacred vigils of 
 * c weeping friendship, and — " 
 
 Imogen heard no more ; the exaggerated 
 fears of imagination were almost wound up 
 to frenzy ; and, after a temporary insensi- 
 bility to her situation, she found herself 
 seated at the base of the monument where 
 the figure had leaned, and the father Philip 
 supporting her in his arms, while his lant- 
 horn burnt by her side.
 
 2t)4 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " Merciful God ! was it you, father V 
 said she: " could fear so have deceived 
 " me, that I did not know your voice or 
 " person ? and yet, methought, as you 
 P. leaned against this pedestal, your figure 
 " appeared tall beyond ordinary height." 
 
 " I lean against a pedestal? holy mother! 
 " why thou hast had a vision, daughter," 
 said the friar smiling ; whose round, plump 
 stature must have suffered a strange meta- 
 morphose, to have answered Imogen's de- 
 scription. 
 
 " Was it not you, father, who caughfc 
 " me as I sunk to the earth ?" 
 
 " Marry no ; I found thee seated here 
 " pale and lifeless, as I was returning to 
 " my convenr, after shriving the sister 
 " Agnes, who is fast following the ca- 
 " noness." 
 
 " And saw you no one :" demanded 
 Imogen. 
 
 " None but thee," said the father; "and 
 " truly thou didst startle me, and not a 
 « little, daughter."
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 1f)5 
 
 Imogen then related the circumstance 
 of her 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 
 the 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 present at the funeral 
 obsequies, had loitered behind ; quieted the 
 friar's suspicions of a supernatural in- 
 truder: and holding up his lanthorn, and 
 perceiving the door still open by which the 
 peasantry usually entered, he exclaimed : 
 " 'Tis as I suspected ; some pious hind 
 " was keeping his vigil at the shrine of his 
 " patron saint, and your spectral appear- 
 " ance scared him from his devotion." 
 
 Imogen was in no temper of mind to 
 argue the point, however she might differ 
 
 VOL. i. K
 
 266 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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 sis- 
 ter ; and while the curious legend, holy 
 ; fable,- or wondrous tale, went round with 
 ceaseless garrulity, the novice remained si- 
 lent and thoughtful, wholly occupied with 
 those various interesting and melancholy 
 reflections which the death of the ca- 
 noness and her own situation had awak- 
 ened : nor was the mysterious Stranger for- 
 gotten ; the imagination of Imogen was 
 too romantic, not to give tfte occurrence 
 all the high colouring of the marvelous ; 
 and the voice and address of the incognito 
 •was of too singular and superiora nature, 
 to induce her to coincide with father Philip. 
 <c It is all a mystery," mentally exclaimed 
 Imogen, " and certainly a mystery con- 
 " nected with the death of the canoness." 
 While she was thus occupied, the nuns 
 turned the conversation on the death of
 
 ST. D0M1NICK. 26/ 
 
 the canoness : and the novice learned that 
 a dispensation from the pope, enabling the 
 sister Pasiphae to remove from the convent 
 for the recovery of her health, had been 
 brought by two strangers of noble appear- 
 ance, who seemed much afflicted at the 
 tidings of her death, and who immediately 
 rode away, without stopping to take the 
 refreshments prepared for them in the re- 
 fectory. 
 
 Imogen was now certain that one of 
 those strangers was the person who ad- 
 dressed her; yet willing to avoid the tire- 
 some questions and wondering curiosity 
 of the nuns, she forbore making any men- 
 tion pf her adventure; and the next morn- 
 ing reached the chateau before her absence 
 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. 
 n 2
 
 268 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " I must now," said Imogen, " depend 
 ,c on myself alone." This reflection gave 
 her an ostensibility in her own estimation, 
 she could not feel while depending on the 
 exertions of the canoness. She had money, 
 more than she believed she should ever 
 have occasion for ; and she had a letter to 
 secure her a reception with madame de 
 Kosemont ; and now her first and favour- 
 ite plan of eloping in the disguise 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 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
 
 ST. DOMINI CK. 269 
 
 gallantries of the young page rendered her 
 still more diffi lent of admitting any on his. 
 Their only intercourse, for two years that 
 they had been beneath the same roof toge- 
 ther, 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 make, and the services 
 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. M I fear,'* 
 said Imogen, " I have interrupted your 
 " studies ?" — " 'Tis true, mademoiselle, 
 " you have ; but how much more delight- 
 " ful is such interruption, than any pur- 
 " suit it could interfere with !" 
 
 " Perhaps," said Imogen, " thou wert 
 " quarrelling with thy author, and g]n(\ of 
 " an opportunity to fling him aside "
 
 %70 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " 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!" 
 
 iS Dost thou think so, Theodore ? and 
 •' wouldst thou too volunteer in the ser- 
 *' vice of the suffering and oppressed, did 
 M an opportunity occur ?" 
 
 " Would J? would I? oh God! but 
 ". you do not, will not, know my heart." 
 
 " I think I do, Theodore ; for I believe 
 * it noble, generous, and benevolent ; else 
 a would \ not repose that confidence in 
 M thee I am now on the point of doing.'* 
 
 ** A confidence, and in me, holy Mo- 
 ** ther ! you cannot mean it ?" 
 
 " Not if you refuse to receive it, Theo- 
 " dore,"
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 271 
 
 •S I refuse! I swear by all I hold dear to 
 " consecrate my life to your service/' 
 
 " Nay, my kind friend, I demand no 
 " protestations." She then mentioned her 
 determination of avoiding a mode of life, 
 to which she had objections, which neither 
 her reason or 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. " What, made- 
 u moiselle, you who have been always 
 " looked up to as a saint ; you who have 
 " been always intended for a nunl * Lis 
 " most strange, and yet most natural : 
 " besides, whatever you think best must be 
 " so ; and oh, were you to remain here r 
 " how delighted should 1 be at your deter- 
 " mination ! and when you leave the 
 '■ chateau, who will care to remain in it? 
 " Oh, did you but know how your idea
 
 171 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 u cheered its solitude, how often the sight 
 •■J of you passing through the antichamber 
 " has revived my spirits for a whole clay ! 
 " When I looked on you as a sacred being 
 " consecrated to God, I believed it almost 
 u 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, 
 •f I would not offend you for the world.— 
 " You were speaking of your escape from 
 *' the chateau. I do believe the lady Mag- 
 ** delaine has* it much 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 vigilance : where 
 " does the lady Rosemont reside I 
 
 Imogen drew from her bosom the letter 
 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 : A' Nothing can be
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 273 
 
 ** more Apropos. You must know, made- 
 " moiselle, there lives about two leagues 
 " from the chateau, a widow and two sons,. 
 " who deal largely in the frieze cloths for 
 " which this province is so famous ; their 
 " chief market is at Sois3ons, and since 
 " this part of the country has been so dis- 
 " turbed, 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 
 u from your window : they are plain, sim- 
 " pie, and credulous, and differ in no re- 
 M spect from the peasantry,, except in be- 
 " ing somewhat more opulent. You know, 
 " mademoiselle, I have some skill in phar-. 
 " macy, having culled simples and . attend. - 
 M ed the laboratory of the Cistercian bro- 
 " thers at St. Menhoulm^ until recom- 
 " mended to the lady Magdelaine by-fa- 
 " ther Anselm. The poor people think. 
 " me skilful ; and having had the good. 
 " fortune to cure one of the widow's sons 
 K 5
 
 274 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " of a disorder in his leg, they fancy 
 " themselves beholden to serve me to the 
 <c utmost extent of their power. Sunday 
 <c is the day appointed for you to enter 
 <c your holy profession ; Saturday is the 
 u market of Soissons ; these good people 
 " will set out with their merchandize early 
 cc on Friday morning : I will recommend 
 *• you to their protection as a young rcla- 
 iC tion of my own, going into the service of 
 <c a lady in Picardy ; when you are once at 
 " Soissons, they will easily find a mode of 
 " conveyance for you to the chateau at 
 M 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 
 " be able to see them between this and to- 
 * c morrow morning, when you say they set 
 * out on their journey ?"
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 275 
 
 l< Oh! easily, mademoiselle : I shall pad- 
 " die the little pleasure-boat across the 
 " Aisne, instead of going the high road ; 
 " by which means I shall reach their cot* 
 " tage in less thnn an hour and a half, and: 
 " shall be back by the time my lady goes 
 u to supper : meanwhile pack up what- 
 " ever you may think necessary to take 
 c< with you ; and three hours after mid- 
 " night, when the moon will rise, the 
 " splashing of the oars beneath your win- 
 u dow will be the signal of departure." 
 
 " Suppose/' said Imogen, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, and in some confusion, " I 
 u were to disguise myself as a minstrel ; 
 " might not a man's garb be some protec- 
 " tion ?" 
 
 " Doubtless, mademoiselle : neither your 
 " sex, face, or form, are much calculated 
 " to insure your safety in an adventure 
 u such as you are now on the point of en- 
 " tering ; and a minstrel's garb is a pass- 
 " port every where : yet should you. as-
 
 276 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " sume it, I see no necessity for your do- 
 <c ing so until you arrive at Soissons. The 
 " most dangerous part of your journey 
 " will be the three leagues between Sois- 
 " sons and De Rosement : the war 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 
 " apartment ?" asked Imogen, colouring. 
 
 " It is, mademoiselle : I will leave it in 
 " 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- 
 « ture." 
 
 " He was so," said Imogen, sighing. 
 
 " Do you think you will meet this min- 
 •? strel, mademoiselle,'* said the page with 
 a penetrating smile, " when you enter the 
 " world ?" 
 
 " Good heavens ! no, why should you 
 H think so ?" 
 
 4< May I entreat your pardon ? In truth
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 277 
 
 " 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- 
 M ducements, — except indeed he — y ' 
 
 " Theodore*" interrupted Imogen. " it 
 " were well we now parted, our long con- 
 " ference may else excite suspicion." 
 
 * True, mademoiselle: it is selfish in me 
 " to wish to prolong my own happiness, 
 " at the expece of endangering yours; but 
 
 " a conversation with you is so WelJ, 
 
 u I am gone, mademoiselle ; if you loiter 
 " here about nine o'clock this evening, I 
 " shall have returned from the cottage of 
 " dame Margueretta, and will 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 antichambcr; he
 
 278 THE NOVICE. OP 
 
 had only time to tell her that he had ar- 
 ranged every thing with the dame Mar- 
 gueretta, when the lady Magdelaine's bell 
 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 r 
 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 
 among 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 
 
 * A noble pair of brothers, who 
 
 On nightingales of monstrous purchase din'd ;' 
 
 with aa appropriate eulogium on the Spar*
 
 ST. DOMINI CK. 279 
 
 tan brown bread and black broth ; and 
 exclaiming against the luxuries of the table 
 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 arose to retire ; the lady Magdelaine 
 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 cf 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 tenderness, 
 that the lady Magdelaine seemed to catch 
 the infection of kindness, and, instead of 
 her usual formal salute, returned, " God 
 11 bless you, child!" Never had her sharp- 
 est severity gone so closely to the heart o£
 
 280 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 Imogen. u It is probable," said Imogen, 
 as she looked after them as they proceeded 
 by different ways to their respective apart- 
 ments, " I shall never see you more." In 
 that reflection all their former unkindness 
 was forgotten ; Imogen could recollect 
 nothing but the pains the friar had taken- 
 with her in her studies, and the conde- 
 scension with which lady Magdelaine had 
 lately asked her opinion upon several occa- 
 sions. 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 reflections. The hope of emanci- 
 pation from impending evils; the fears na- 
 tural in an attempt so hazardous to a. mind 
 equally ignorant of enterprize and vicissi- 
 tude ; the sanguine expectation of success, 
 and the dread of failure ; all contributed
 
 ST. DOMINJCIfc. Z&\ 
 
 to agitate the mind of Imogen, and at in- 
 tervals nearly overthrew every intention, 
 and staggered every resolve. At last the 
 clock struck three, the moon arose from be- 
 hind the spires of Saint Dominick, and 
 Imogen heard the splashing of the oar 
 beneath her casement : she arose, wrapt a 
 large cloak round her, took her little par- 
 cel in one hand, a small lute in the other, 
 as a substitute for a harp in her personifi- 
 cation of the minstrel; and proceeded with 
 a noiseless step and beating heart to the 
 gallery, which opened by a glass door* on 
 the terrace, 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 scene-
 
 282 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ry 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 : 
 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 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 
 mentally exclaimed, 4 f Alas ! how many
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 283 
 
 * weary 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 ; there have my eyes vainly 
 " cast round their hopeless glance, nor 
 •f met the look of sympathy they sought ; 
 " there reflection shed her light on my 
 " mind only to make me conscious of the 
 " wretchedness of my destiny, and every 
 " new-born thought awakened but to 
 " slumber !" Then casting her eyes to- 
 wards 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 beyond all the joys she believed the 
 scale of human felicity comprised 1 Even 
 the recollection of that sweet, though illu- 
 sive moment, was ( a joy past joy ;' " and 
 " though/' said Imogen, " experience has 
 " taught me it was but a rapturous dream,
 
 234 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " I would not part with the emotions the 
 " remembrance of that dream excites, for 
 " all the sober contentment and unalloyed 
 " satisfaction that I may yet, that I have 
 " hitherto enjoyed. Alas ! that the hap- 
 Cf piest moment of life should have been 
 " the most deceitful." Her half-articu- 
 lated exclamation was accompanied by tears 
 which coursed each other down her cheek, 
 4< Ah, mademoiselle !" said the page, 
 who had long and silently observed the 
 varying emotions of her expressive and 
 eloquent countenance, " it is for those only 
 " to weep whom you have left behind you. 
 " 'Tis certain I always knew you were to 
 " leave us some time or other: but still 
 " you would have remained in the neigh- 
 ** bourhood; and on a festival day, when I 
 " attended the church of St. Dominick, 
 " 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
 
 St. dominick. 285 
 
 u trie, I would not for the world say any 
 " thing to offend you : I always believed 
 " you were intended for something great ; 
 " I shall never forget the horoscope cast 
 " for you by the old astrologer, the last 
 " day he visited the chateau. Yet I once 
 " read in a romance, of a page who fell in 
 " love with the very lady he served : it was 
 " indeed audacious, but then, there is no 
 ** dictating to the heart ; do you think 
 " there is, mademoiselle ?'' 
 
 " I should hope so, Theodore," said 
 Imogen with a sigh ; " else wherefore 
 " was reason bestowed on us ? The best 
 cc heart is liable to become the sport of its 
 " own impulse : and even though its pro- 
 " pensities individually considered may be 
 " consonant to virtue ; yet relatively they 
 u may be inimical to prudence, justice, 
 u and the happiness of others, as well as 
 " our own." 
 
 " 'Tis very true, mademoiselle ; you al- 
 ways speak, think, and look, like an 
 
 a
 
 286 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " angel ! We should not attach ourselves 
 " to an object we can never possess : not 
 " that it is wrong to love what is most 
 <c worthy of being loved ; oh no ! but to 
 " encourage an inclination detrimental to 
 n our peace, without even a hope of grati- 
 *' fying ft, is at once sinful and childish : 
 " is it not so, mademoiselle ?" 
 
 • 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 Marguerette's cottage. 
 The dawn was already breaking in the 
 east, a faint tinge 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
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 287 
 
 across it ; 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- 
 stood her courteous reception by the air of 
 native kindness which accompanied it. She 
 conducted her young and timid protegee 
 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 eager- 
 ness of unpolished hospitality. 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 turn- 
 ed to Theodore, and having thanked him 
 in a voice scarcely articulate from emotion,
 
 288 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 she added : " And now, my kind friend, it 
 " would ease my heart of its fears on your 
 " account, lest your absence should be 
 Jf discovered, did I see you row back to- 
 ff wards the chateau, whose turrets the 
 " morning light render discernible even at 
 u this distance." 
 
 " Ah Y* said the page, brushing a tear 
 from his check, " I shall be there too 
 " soon." 
 
 «« How thy kindness affects me !" said 
 Imogen, applying her handkerchief to her 
 eyes ; u yet how I envy thee thy feelings ! 
 " for dear to a heart like thine must be 
 *< the consciousness of a benevolent ac- 
 " tion performed for another at the risk of 
 <c injuring ourselves. Pure disinterested 
 iC humanity ! this is thy blessed attribute; 
 " and while the heart of Imogen shall 
 u throb with life, the generosity of Theo- 
 " dore shall live among its most grateful 
 ft recollections." 
 
 " Oh heavens, how you overpower me !
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 289 
 
 " To succour the oppressed is an impulse 
 " of the heart, not an effort of the mind ; 
 u it is a gratification, not a duty. I re- 
 " member it was thus you spoke, when I 
 " would have thanked you for clearing my 
 " character to lady Magde!aine,aftertheen- 
 u vious Bernardine had so grossly aspersed 
 u it. I remember too, when I was on the 
 " point of being discharged, and you 
 H pleaded for me with tears, and offered 
 " me all the money you had to send my 
 " mother, for that Bernardine had de- 
 " prived me of, and — " 
 
 " Nay, no more, I entreat no more ;" in- 
 terrupted Imogen, and at that moment the 
 woman entered to tell her all was ready for 
 their departure. 
 
 Imogen presented her hand toTheodore: 
 he led her out in silence, placed her in 
 the boat, fixed her parcel and lute beside 
 her, and held the hand she presented him 
 for more than a minute to his lips, and 
 then, unable even to utter an adieu, leapt 
 vol. i. ©
 
 2Q0 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 moment 
 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 chateau de Mont- 
 morell ere its inhabitants had awakened 
 to the dull round of their accustomed avo- 
 cations.
 
 ST. DOMIXlCfc. 29t 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 One out of sorts with fortune. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 Io vado — 
 
 Fuggitiva Taminga — e chi sa dove 
 Puo guidai mi il destin ? 
 
 Metastasio. 
 
 SWIFTER than the course of the rapid 
 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 her ear, 
 o 2
 
 2Q2 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 all the awakened beauties of nature 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 enthu- 
 siast fancy of the young Imogen roved 
 with unsated delight. Mean time her fe- 
 male companion seemed lost in silent cal- 
 culation of her expected profits, which ap- 
 peared by her reckoning on her fingers: 
 while the two boys alternately sung a hymn 
 to the Virgin, or a ballad of Rollo ; and 
 sometimes raised their sparkling oars to 
 point out a straggling party of the military, 
 who held their outposts on the summit of 
 a distant eminence, and who had come 
 down to the skirts of an extensive orchard 
 to regale themselves with the delicious fruit 
 it afforded. 
 
 Imogen's fellow-travellers having pro- 
 vided themselves with refreshments, about
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 2Q3 
 
 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 inter- 
 woven branches the vertical beams of the 
 meridian sun played without incommoding 
 the travellers. Over the hours of social 
 enjoyment care holds no jurisdiction. The 
 old woman ceased to calculate, and was 
 loquaciously gay ; while the 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 presented 
 them as a tribute of homage to the charms 
 of their lovely fellow-traveller: while the 
 young heart of Imogen, ever ready to ex~ 
 pand its affectionate powers to the least in- 
 fluence 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.
 
 2Q4 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 powers of imitation which she so pre-emi- 
 nently possessed, repeated (as they con- 
 tinued their voyage) several legends, 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 appeared, 
 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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 'ZQb 
 
 following morning, and hire a guide at the 
 cabaret; for Robichon would be under the 
 necessity of attending the market with his 
 mother by dawn the next day. Extreme 
 impatience to arrive at the end of her jour- 
 ney, and her reluctance to trust herself to 
 a strange guide, or remain longer at the 
 cabaret, now thronged with rude and riot- 
 ous people, who put up with their mer- 
 chandise 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 hor$e ready,
 
 2g6 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 Imogen exchanged her dress for that of a 
 minstrel ; while modesty trembled at the 
 mandate necessity imposed, and blushed 
 " celestial rosy red" in contemplating a 
 transformation which was to secure the 
 sensitive feelings of delicacy from a still 
 greater violation. 
 
 As soon as she was dressed, she present- 
 ed two pieces of gold to the dame Margue- 
 rette, influenced rather by the suggestion of 
 her generosity than her prudence in the do- 
 nation: for amidst the thanks with which 
 the dame overwhelmed her lurked surprise, 
 curiosity, and suspicion; and she now for 
 the first time became 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 Mar- 
 puerette and her eldest son, and struck
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 107 
 
 off in a path which lay to the west of 
 Soissons. 
 
 Although the sun had set some minutes 
 before they left the door of the cabaret, 
 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 Loraine, until the last- 
 sweet solemn hour of 
 
 " Grey-hooded even, 
 '* Like a sad votarist in 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 
 O 5
 
 2T)8 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 from the lady de Rosemont ; and a thou- 
 sand timid fears insinuated themselves into 
 a heart too anxious to please not to be 
 doubtful of success,and which had sketched 
 the reception of her new protectress under 
 a thousand aspects that alternately animated 
 her hopes or strengthened her apprehen- 
 sions. u How much/' thought Imogen, 
 " will the good madame de Rosemont be 
 u shocked, when at the same moment she 
 M will receive her friend's Tetter and an 
 " account of her death ! Surely the sense 
 " of affliction in ourselves can be scarcely 
 " more dreadful than that of awakening 
 €t it in another. It is entering a family 
 " under very gloomy auspices, to be first 
 " known to it as the bearer of melan- 
 u choly tidings." 
 
 " I hope, mademoiselle," said Robichon, 
 as he jogged on with undeviating pace, 
 • c that you are not afraid." 
 
 " Afraid, good Robichon ! of what ?"
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 1GQ 
 
 said Imogen ; who now first observed the 
 loneliness of their path, which lay through 
 a wild and desolate heath. 
 
 " Of what ! nay, I know not, made- 
 " moiselle ; but one would as soon not 
 " travel at this dead hour of the night if 
 " one could help it. Somehow, although 
 " I defy the devil and all his works, I never 
 " care to go the length of myself when 
 " once the sun sets behind our mountains : 
 M albeit our father Francisco gave me a 
 " charm against evil spirits; see, made- 
 u moiselle, here it is, enclosed in this little 
 " reliquary, which was my great-grand- 
 " father's ; 'tis but a little of the sand ■ 
 " scraped off the golden cockle-shell of 
 " St. Michael, yet I warrant of marvelous > 
 " great power." 
 
 11 I fear no evil spirits," said Imogen, 
 casting round a timid glance ; " and 
 * heaven, I trust, will protect us from 
 " mortal enemies." 
 
 " Now I'll be sworn, mademoiselle, an'
 
 300 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " I would rather meet a troop of arque- 
 " busiers, with their short fusees, long 
 " rapiers, and murdering faces, than one 
 Ci single spirit. Holy St. Michael ! what 
 " is that standing near the ruins of yon- 
 " der watch-tower? The whole army of 
 " blessed martyrs take us inio their care!" 
 
 " In good sooth," said Imogen, reco- 
 vering from momentary horror, " thou 
 " frightenest me : I see nothing near the 
 " watch-tower but a withered tree. Come, 
 " banish thy fears, and I will tell thee a 
 " 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 [ hear a story of a dwarf 
 " that was not full of cunning device." 
 
 \\ Well then, first tell me how far may 
 " we be from de Rosemont ?" 
 
 " A league from the watch-tower, 
 " which in former times belonged to the
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 301 
 
 cc seigneurie of de Rosemont. I know 
 " every step of the road as well as my 
 " beads. Before the troubles broke out 
 " in Picardy we carried our merchandize 
 " into the neighbourhood of the chateau. 
 M But I prithee, demoiselle, let us have 
 (i thy pleasant story." 
 
 " Well then, Robichon, mend thy pace, 
 <c and thus we begin : It was about the 
 " reign of Louis the Twelfth, — " 
 
 " He was a saint, mademoiselle, was he 
 " not ?" said Robichon, crossing himself 
 devoutly. 
 
 " Not by the calendar," said Imogen 
 smiling ; " but he was the father of his 
 " people. It was in his reign that an an- 
 " cient castle stood at the foot of mount 
 " Cenis." 
 
 " My grand-dam has a story that begins 
 <•' just so," said Robichon; " only that in- 
 <c stead of mount Cenis 'tis the Vauge 
 M mountains. But I cry you mercy; pro- 
 * ceed, mademoiselle."
 
 302 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 c f This castle was the residence of a 
 u lady, who — Do you not hear the distant 
 ** sound of horses' feet ?" 
 
 " Methinks I do," said Robichon ; 
 " yet I see nothing. We are not very far 
 " from the forest of Folambray, of which 
 ** there is a dreadful story of a white steed, 
 " The story runs thus : It was — " 
 
 " Merciful God!" said Imogen; " if 
 " the forest should be a shelter for ban- 
 " dittir 
 
 u Lord help the lady! the whole king- 
 " dom is a shelter for them ; for go which 
 " 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, " Fly, or we are 
 " lost!" while Robichon, equally intimi- 
 dated, turned off the high road,, and gal-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 303 
 
 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 Robichon 
 checked his horse ; then listening for a 
 moment, and hearing no sound but the 
 melancholy groans of the forest agitated 
 by the gusts of rising wind, he exclaimed, 
 breathlessly and still trembling, " Well, 
 " mademoiselle, I believe we have dis- 
 u tanccd them for this time ; and by the 
 " length of way we have gone, I wot we 
 " cannot be far from the chateau. " — 
 H But you seem to forget, Robichon," 
 said the still agitated Imogen, " that, 
 u though we have gone a considerable 
 " distance, we have taken a road directly 
 u opposite to that which led to de Rose- 
 " mont." 
 
 " Ventre Dieu! I never thought of that; 
 
 " but there are so many little zig-zag ways 
 
 " about these forests, which the peasants 
 
 "* cut for themselves, that I doubt not this
 
 304 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " same path will lead to the chateau ; and' 
 " I am much mistaken if those are not its 
 " turrets rising to the left." 
 
 M We are certainly near a chateau," 
 said Imogen, whose heart bounded at the 
 conviction ; " but whether it be the cha- 
 " 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 the 
 chateau. It was a vast and frowning edi- 
 fice, flanked on all sides by lofty round 
 towers, and involved in an airof melancholy 
 gloom, which the solemnity and darkness 
 of midnight heightened almost to deso- 
 lation. 
 
 " Are you certain that this is the chateau 
 " de Rosemont?" demanded Imogen, while 
 a chillness crept through her veins as she' 
 contemplated this great and sombre struc- 
 ture of feudal power. 
 
 " Morally certain," replied Robichon, 
 alighting, and heartily weary of his jour-*
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 305 
 
 ney, which his wishes led him to believe 
 was now at an end. 
 
 " The family are retired to rest, I fear/' 
 said Imogen. 
 
 " We shall soon awaken them/' said 
 Robichbn, 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 out 
 a lanthorn, demanded, " Who sounded at 
 " the horn ?" 
 
 <c 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 
 " Rosemont ?" 
 
 " Why, here are two friends instead of
 
 306 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 " one," said the man, •* who want admit- 
 u tance," holding down his lanthorn ; 
 " bift what boots it to thee to know, young 
 " sir? These are no times to admit nightly 
 " wanderers. Thou hadst better not lose 
 u thy time parleying here, so good night !" 
 
 f*> We are no wanderers," said Imogen 
 eagerly. " This youth is my guide, who 
 * c returns when he sees me safely lodged 
 a within the gates of the chateau de Rose- 
 " mont." 
 
 u Marry, then it will be long ere he re- 
 € * turns; but what is thy business here ?" 
 
 u To deliver a letter and a packet of 
 " some consequence to the lady de Rose- 
 's mont." 
 
 " O ho! a packet of consequence! 
 " 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, f The
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 307 
 
 4i lady de Roscmont is retired to rest/' 
 said the same voice ; " but hie thee to the 
 " postern-gate to the left of this tower, and 
 " 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 lanthorn. By his voice Imogen 
 knew it was the same she had already 
 spoken to. 
 
 Robichon gave her little parcel into the 
 hands of the man ; who, wrapped in a long 
 dark cloak, scowled a penetrating glance 
 at the two young strangers, and exclaimed 
 in a surly tone to Robichon, " I have re- 
 " ceived 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."
 
 308 TttE NOVICE OF 
 
 Imogen drew her purse from her 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 hirn out, and said, as he 
 barred the gate," By the mass, that fellow 
 " 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 Gothic 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 
 the dying embers, and drew a stool for her 
 to be seated. While he was thus employed 
 she stole a timid glance at his countenance, 
 whose natural expression of ferocity was 
 only tempered by thelines of cunning and 
 duplicity which marked it; and as the 
 brightening embers cast a red tint on his
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 309 
 
 olive complexion^ and bis scowling eye 
 rolled on the young stranger in silent but 
 penetrating observation, awed even into 
 horror, she timidly withdrew hers ; then 
 cast a trembling look round the vast gloom 
 that surrounded her, and sunk almost life- 
 less on the stool. 
 
 " And is your business with the lady 
 te de Rosemont so pressing that you must 
 " see her to-night:'' asked her companion, 
 looking keenly under her hat, 
 
 " I should indeed wish it," said Imo- 
 gen, whose heart revived from its transitory 
 terrors at the sound of madame de Rose- 
 mont's name*; " yet I should be sorry to 
 " disturb, her if sjio has retired to rest." 
 
 "Oh, for that, she has been in bed 
 " these three hours; but give me your 
 " packets, and I will have them delivered 
 " to her." 
 
 kt Pardon me, ! ' said Imogen; " I was 
 c< desired to deliver them into no hands 
 " but madame de Rosemont's."
 
 310 THE NOVICfE OF 
 
 " Is that the case? well, madame shall 
 " be informed of your arrival." He then 
 took his lanthorn and walked away. 
 
 Imogen, who followed with her eye his 
 tall le;m figure as it glided along the pas- 
 sages, saw him ascend a flight of stairs; 
 and, when he disappeared, heard two doors, 
 one mo v distant than the other, clap after 
 him. A thousand vague ferrrs and suspi- 
 cions took possession of her imagination ; 
 which, a.ive to every impression, 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 
 sanguine ardour of lively expectation 
 springing from the bosom of gloomy doubt. 
 Having ascended the stairs, passed along a 
 condor, and entered a suite of rooms, 
 which, vast, gloomy, and cold, betrayed 
 every vestige of decay and desolation, they
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 311 
 
 reached a door which terminated the suite. 
 Her guide then looked round, and, with 
 a smile of indescribable expression, said, 
 " Come, young sir, prepare your creden- 
 " tials;" and opening the door, desired 
 her to walk in. Imogen hid scarcely en- 
 tered the threshold, 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, overcome by her fruitless en- 
 deavours, sunk to the earth ; while the 
 footsteps of her conductor echoed on 
 her ear till they at last died away into 
 distance. 
 
 It was now the conviction fully flashed 
 on her mind that she was not in the chateau 
 de Rosemont; but that the simple Robi- 
 chon had been deceived by the darkness of 
 the night and his own impatience to re-
 
 312 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 de- 
 solated edifice. The emotions which this 
 belief awakened were indescribable. 
 
 As soon as her eye was familiarized 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, 
 which without much , exertion turned, a 
 door opened, and she found herself in what 
 she supposed was an armoury, by the war-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 313 
 
 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 benenth. 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 table 
 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- 
 sation to lead her to suppose they were the 
 party she and Robichon had escaped, and 
 
 vol. i. p 

 
 314 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 that they had returned unsuccessful after 
 the expedition of ihe night. 
 
 " What j 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 
 <c the king's high road in the darkest 
 " night, why let me never rob a rich priest 
 <c or proud financier while my name is 
 " Bertrand." 
 
 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 
 " genteeiy ; invite him to supper, and 
 " poison him," said Bertiaixl. " He wears 
 " the disguise of a minstrel, and ischargt d 
 " with a packet of importance to the lady 
 u de Rosemout, who resides in the neigh-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 31 5 
 
 u bourhood ; which I would have forced 
 " from him, bat I could not read them; 
 '* and he has a purse of gold." 
 
 " Which thou woulclst have taken, but 
 " that thou darest not oppose thyself singly 
 " to a stripling," said the gloomy villain, 
 snatching up a pistol in one hand, and a 
 light in the other: adding, " but you know 
 " me of old to be less tenacious. Where 
 c < is the stranger ? if he escape the cha- 
 cc teau we are lost : dead men tell no 
 " tales." 
 
 " 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 vann- 
 ed apartments she had herself passed 
 through ; the faint echo of steps became 
 gradually louder; she heard the-4ock of 
 the outer apartment turn ; and a sudden 
 p 2
 
 3i6 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 uproar of voices assailed her ears. Terror was 
 wound up to its List strained pitch of agony 
 and distraction. Nature could not sustain 
 the conflict, and Imogen sunk lifeless 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 
 ot 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 brilliant il- 
 lumination in the apartment. The con- 
 fusion of her senses rendered her doubtful 
 of their fidelity; and, after a successful 
 attempt to collect her scattered thoughts, 
 she arose and approached the casements, 
 from wbeuce she beheld the court below 
 filled with armed meny some bearing
 
 ST. DOMrXICX. 3 \7 
 
 torches, others struggling with the ruffian 
 inhabitants of the chateau, and others 
 binding them in manacles, tying them on 
 horseback, or dragging them to light from 
 the secret coverts whither they had fled. 
 Several 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 contemplation cS this scene of univer- 
 sal confusion and horror that a thought of 
 emancipation insinuated itself into the beat- 
 ing heart of the trembling captive. Hope 
 flattered 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 
 returned thither, and to her inexpressible 
 deiight found that the door was open.
 
 318 THE KOVICE OP 
 
 \V thout encumbering herself with her 
 lute, which lay on the ground from her 
 first entering the room, she was hurrying 
 away ; when the gigantic form of a fierce 
 arquebusier, holding 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 ; u yes, 
 " as much mercy a^ your companions will 
 " find, you shall have: as much mercy as 
 M they have lately shewn to some of our 
 " officers, you may expect." 
 
 " Alas !" said Imogen, " I am not their 
 ci companion, but their prisoner. I have 
 " not been two hours within the walls of 
 " the chateau, and have reason to believe 
 <l 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/'
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 31Q 
 
 The soldier looked at her for some time, 
 then at her lute, which lay beside her, and 
 exclaimed: Ci What then, yon are one of 
 " those cunning musicians, who get into 
 " our camps and cause desertion amongst 
 M our men ? Mass! it would be a good 
 " deed to — " Ke paused, and looked fe- 
 rociously at her, as if more bent on revenge 
 than tenacious of its object. Imogen, al- 
 most wholly overcome, could only faintly 
 say, " Save me, enable me to escape, 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, 
 Ct that is generous! Why, what the plague, 
 " did the villains throw away powder and 
 " shot upon such a poor little unfledged 
 " bird as thou r Ventre Dieu! ihou art 
 V 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
 
 320 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 the purse contained to the soldier, who 
 looked for a moment in utter astonishment 
 at the purse, then at the ring, and then at 
 her. " Whit," said he, " only this for 
 " saving your life! Oh, you narrow-heart- 
 <c ed unconscionable little villain! And 
 4< what am I to have for procuring you 
 " your liberty into the bargain ?" 
 
 "I have nothing more," said Imogen 
 despondiugly. 
 
 " By St. Catherine, then if you count 
 " that ring ?ioth'mg, you may as well give 
 *♦ it me." 
 
 " Impossible!" said Imogen ; " 'tis the 
 4i gift of a deceased friend." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the man, " a deceased 
 " one, I warrant ; you took care of that. 
 f? But I have no time to spare ; my com- 
 ff rades will be up directly : this ring and 
 *' pursewill condemn you, notwithstanding 
 V your disguise andyour fine story ; and you 
 *' will have the pleasure of accompany- 
 * ( ing your confederates to the wheel to-
 
 ST. DOM I NICK. 321 
 
 " morrow. Ave, here they are, and 
 " now— " 
 
 Imogen, trembling and dismayed, gave 
 her ring; and the man, who feared lest his 
 rich booty should be discovered and claimed 
 by his associates, made her take her lute,, 
 hurried along the gallery, and, descending 
 a flight of steps, opened a postern 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 pre- 
 vented her the power of election. Guided 
 rather by her ear than her eye, she only 
 avoided that direction where the still exist- 
 ing uproar marked the place of action, and 
 fled from positive danger without anv 
 P 5
 
 8'22 THE NOVrCE OP 
 
 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 sa- 
 vage contest and brutal ferocity died away; 
 and a silence, profound as the darkness 
 which accompanied it, reigned on every 
 side. So favourable is the heart to every 
 species of social impression, 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 human sounds which 
 had broken on the deathlike stillness of 
 solitude even to desolation; for after she 
 had passed the woodland which skirted the 
 chateau, no tree, no shrub, flung its dark 
 outline on the unvaried gloom of the heath 
 she traversed. Weak, trembling, and cheer- 
 less, she glided on for near half a league : 
 till, weary beyond the power of proceeding, 
 she seated herself on a bank beneath the 
 umbrage of the first tree she met ; and,
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 323 
 
 laying her lute by her side, determined td 
 wait till the morning dawn should discover 
 some human habitation, whose inhabitants 
 could guide her to the chateau de Rose- 
 mont. 
 
 The veil of night seemed at last gra- 
 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 ev'cry 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 a new existence to creation. 
 
 The renovated soul of the young wan-'
 
 324 - TJfE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 
 feet, scenting every gale with its odour, 
 and raising its drooping head bathed in 
 dew to the genial influence 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 extensive 
 view. The breezy, as it lifted the clouds 
 from the valleys, discovered a scene rich, 
 and beautiful beyond the powers of deli- 
 neation. On one side, the turrets of the 
 chateau she had so recently left rose on the 
 hazy mists of distance; while on the other
 
 st. dominick. 
 
 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 
 small column of smoke staining the atmo- 
 sphere, 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-
 
 32(3 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 pearance, who gazed on her with horror 
 and compassion, she said, with an air of 
 affliction, pointing to the ruin?, " That is 
 t( a sorry sight !" 
 
 i% Sorry indeed!" said Imogen. 
 
 " This is all the benefit we derive from 
 " civil war/' added the woman. 
 
 " This was not then an accidental fire?" 
 demanded Imogen. 
 
 " No, no!" said the woman wildly; 
 e< 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 
 " and laborious, and dear to each other ; 
 " but their brotherly love turned to deadly 
 " hatred^and — see, stranger! that wither- 
 t( ed spot is stained with the blood of my 
 • younger son, drawn by his elder brother, 
 " because he refused to change his reli- 
 " gion and his party !" 
 
 An expression of agony even beyond 
 distraction invested the haggard counte-
 
 ST. DOMIXICK. 327 
 
 nance of the narrator; and then she add- 
 ed, " The fellow-soldiers of my deceased 
 " son murdered my first-born ; in my arms 
 " murdered him; and consumed his corse 
 " with this dwelling. But hush! be secret, 
 " v and I will shew you the spot where I 
 " have collected his precious ashes apart 
 (i from those of the ruins: oh, trust the 
 " mother's heart for that ! Come, come!" 
 she cried in a deep tone, and offering her 
 hand to Imogen with an impatient air; 
 then with the wild, heart-piercing shriek 
 of distraction, she exclaimed: " See! see ! 
 <c 'tis my boy !" and plunged amidst the 
 ruins, pursuing the phantom of her own- 
 disordered imagination and broken heart. 
 
 Imogen now first perceived th%t she had 
 been conversing with a maniac. Struck 
 with horror by the discovery, and filled 
 with the tenderest compassion for the suf- 
 ferings of the unhappy and distracted mo- 
 ther, she fled the snot where the still sen- 
 sible heart of the lunatic bled over the
 
 328 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 ashes of her murdered child ; and pursued 
 her wa\ , 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, 
 " has brought upon the human species, 
 " the eye dwells only upon general and 
 " pubhc facts; for the historian is but the 
 " recorder of battles and sieges, of victory 
 u or defeat: but the tale of woe with which 
 " the private sufferings of the individual 
 " could wring the heart, steals into eternal 
 " oblivion with the cruellies and oppression 
 * f 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 
 ost in doubt whether to proceed or turn 
 down, a road that presented itself, a peasant
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 32Q 
 
 overtook her. Though almost bending be- 
 neath a load he carried on his shoulder, he 
 addressed her with a smiling countenance 
 and a courteous air. Imogen's heart bound- 
 ed to the grateful accents of courtesy, and 
 she returned his salute with all the kind- 
 ness it was made. 
 
 u It is a charming morning," said the 
 peasant, " and wort de via 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 
 6 smile too. For my part, when the sun 
 c shines, I cannot choose but be happy: 
 c yet, marry, with no great reason either; 
 ' 'tis but a week since my little cottage 
 { was first plundered by one party of the 
 •* soldiery and then burnt by the other. 
 1 But then our grand monarque won a 
 6 battle the same day, so my wife and I 
 c made a feu de joie with the ruins of our 
 ' cottage. The next day we removed a 
 little lower down the country, built a
 
 330 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " hut on the banks of the clearest stream 
 " in the world, and with some little mat- 
 44 ter we saved from the ruin of our farm > 
 9 have not as yet wanted the dc qnoi vhre. 
 " And you, monsieur, I suppose, are going 
 " to try your luck at the camp, which lies 
 " before Laon, some leagues off. I once 
 " played a little on the viol and tabor my- 
 " self until the steward of our seigneur 
 " caught me one day playing when I 
 " should have been at work, and broke 
 " the viol over my head ; and so I never 
 " had the heart to play again." 
 
 Imogen, delighted with the naivetS- 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 " the 
 " doublet and hose into her disposition" 
 as might enable her to fill up, without
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 331 
 
 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, " I suppose you 
 " were going to look for a situation in the 
 " chateau de Rosemont, aud had the good 
 ff fortune to get admittance into the cha- 
 " teau Noify the most noted nest for ban- 
 " ditti in the province? It was but two 
 " days back they fell upon two officers of 
 " the royal army, and murdered them in 
 " the forest of Tolambray. A party of 
 •'' the soldiers have been lying in wait for 
 " them ever since, and surprised them 
 n last night just as they had returned from 
 " an expedition. This morning before 
 " dawn I met the whole party." 
 
 " Then the soldiers were victorious?" 
 said Imogen. 
 
 " They took, the villains, to a man," 
 said the peasant.
 
 332 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 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 
 Rosemont, and enquired from the peasant 
 the nearest road. 
 
 " Lord help thee !" said he; " why 
 ' thou art going from it as fast as thou 
 
 * canst. But thou seemest weary, poor 
 
 * soul ! and, marry, thou dost not look as 
 ' if thou couldst bear much fatigue; 
 c therefore thou hadst better tarry at our 
 ' hut and refresh thyself awhile, and then 
 ' thou wilt be better able to continue thy 
 1 journey/* 
 
 " I am indeed young at the profession,** 
 said Imogen colouring, " and as yet little 
 " inured to fatigue; besides, I have suf- 
 " fered much anxiety since yestereven: I 
 M will therefore accept thy hospitable offer 
 " with gratitude." 
 
 " Why, that is well said," exclaimed the
 
 ST. DOMIXJCK. 333 
 
 peasant: <c and look I yonder rises the smoke 
 " of our hut, just above the little cop- 
 " pice to the left. You must know, I have 
 <c been on the skirts of the forestall night, 
 u cutting wood, which I sell at the next 
 " market town ; there is some hazard in 
 " doing it, but necessity has no Iaw,andone 
 " cannot stand by and see their children 
 " starve : aye, here they are, dear little 
 " souls ! many a long look-out they have 
 " had bincedawnfor me, I warrant." While 
 he spoke, two lovely boys and a little girl ran 
 towards him ; he laid down his burthen to 
 kiss and give them his blessing, which he 
 did with an air of patriarchal tenderness 
 and piety. The two boys then dragged 
 the parcel of wood after them by the lea- 
 ther thong which bound it ; while the little 
 girl, gazing timidly on the stranger, fast- 
 ened 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
 
 S34 the novice or 
 
 expressive face was lit up with joy and af- 
 fection, as she took her daughter from her 
 husband's arms to fill them with herself: 
 iC Dearest Baptiste," said she, wiping away 
 the tear with which she had bedewed his 
 cheek, as she pressed it to her own ; " I 
 6i am so happy you are returned ! I have 
 c f not closed an eye all night, for how 
 " could I sleep and know you were ex- 
 i( posed to danger ? The dame Jacinthe 
 " too was here just after you left me, and 
 Ci told me such a tale of the robbers of 
 il Chateau Noir !" 
 
 " Plague take the dame and her croak- 
 u ing !" said Baptiste : " had I not your 
 *' prayers, and the prayers of my little 
 li ones, my sweet Josephine ? that is the 
 " husband's and the father's shield : but 
 " see ! I have brought thee a guest." 
 
 Josephine now first beheld the young 
 and timid stranger; who-, modestly retreat- 
 ing behind her kind host, contemplated in 
 silent rapture the first scene of social and
 
 sr. DOMIXICK. 335 
 
 domestic felicity she had ever beheld. It- 
 was to Imogen a festival of the feelings; 
 and the tear that glittered in her eye, the 
 smiic that dimpled her cheek, betrayed a 
 heart formed to feel and to enjoy that bliss 
 it throbbed with delight only to ohen 
 
 Josephine, with blushing courtesv, wel- 
 comed her interesting guest : while the 
 children, with playful surprize, 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 innocent 
 as themselves, displayed a pla) fulness in- 
 fantine as their own. 
 
 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
 
 336 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 stream Baptiste had boasted of, and spread 
 with such coarse and simple fare as the 
 unviciated 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 the pious effusion of existing 
 and grateful feelings. The young minstrel 
 then tuned her lute, and repay ed the hos- 
 pitable courtesies of her hosts with several 
 popular ballads and tender, vaudevilles :* 
 many of them the impulsive effusion of 
 genius, appropriate to the scene of rural 
 and domestic felicity the songstress then 
 witnessed ; and all calculated to harmonize, 
 with the simple taste of her auditors, and 
 the native gaiety of the French heart. At 
 
 * La vaudeville appartient exclusivemcnt aux Fran- 
 
 ccois; et ils en ontdetres piquantes.et de tres plaisantes. 
 
 Dictionnaire de Musique, par J. J. Rousseau.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 337 
 
 last, at the request of her delighted hosts, 
 she struck. up a villanelle, the then prevail- 
 ing rustic dance of the French peasant; 
 and Baptiste, unable to resist the magic in- 
 fluence of the sportive strain, sprung on his 
 feet, and, with a boy in each hand, performed 
 a spontaneous ballet, with a dexterous and 
 spirited hilarity, that might almost com- 
 pensate for the deficiency of grace and me- 
 thod with which it was executed ; while 
 Josephine took her reel, gazed with pleased 
 satisfaction at the performance, and sung 
 at intervals a couplet adapted to the air. 
 Every pulse in the gay heart of Imogen 
 throbbed in sweet vibration to the vivacious 
 strain her flying fingers produced; and when 
 she cast round her eyes, and beheld the fru- r 
 gal remnants of the coarse meal industry had 
 provided for the necessaries of nature ; the 
 clay-built h ut, wh ich scarcely excluded " the 
 " penaltiesof Adam, the season's changes;" 
 and the ragged drapery of wretchedness, 
 which scarcely veiled the weather-in- 
 
 VOL. I. Ql
 
 338 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 jurcd forms of laborious poverty ; yet be- 
 held in every countenance 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 op- 
 pression had stained with a tear, and gaiety 
 unrestrained animating those limbs to fro- 
 lic exercise, which but a moment before 
 bent beneath the hard-earned burthen la- 
 bour had procured for the suppliance of 
 indigence and distress. 
 
 " Such is thy power, oh sweet affection 
 " of the heart I" sighed Imogen : " op- 
 " pressed by tyranny, despoiled by the li- 
 <c centious rapine of warfare, driven to the 
 " last outline of misery, to herd with the 
 " beast of the field and bird of the air ; 
 c f still while the heart can turn and drown 
 <c its sufferings in domestic joy ; while the 
 " endearments of social life lisp their soft 
 " comforts to the ear of the suffererer, and
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 339 
 
 " every tie of tenderness and love twined 
 u round the soul, administers an ameliorat- 
 " ing charm to sooth it sorrows ; the ar- 
 " row of adversity drops stingless, and des- 
 iC pondency smiles away her woes on the 
 " bosom of domestic felicity. " 
 
 The thoughts of Imogen then reverted 
 to the convent of St. Dominick ; she shud- 
 dered, and blessed the liberty she had 
 regained, though every step of its progres- 
 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 declined 
 before he recommenced his journey, went 
 to work himself; while Josephine, grate- 
 fully thanking him for the amusement he 
 had afforded her little family, spread with 
 her own hands some dried leaves freshly 
 gathered within their hut, on which Imogen 
 
 Q 2
 
 310 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 flung herself with a sensation more grate- 
 ful 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 influence, 
 and struggles with nature to protract his 
 empire ; and the eye which anxiety 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 al- 
 ready passed the meridional line, and faintly 
 sketched the shadow of the hills on the 
 plain below; when the children 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 ; and 
 the busy agency of imagination had lured 
 her to the banks of the Durance, where 
 fancy twined the flowery band with which 
 affection wreathed the polished brow of 
 the minstrel of Provence; the dew which
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 3 1* 
 
 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 soul of pas- 
 sion floated on every dying note, the blue 
 dissolving 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 memory 
 dwelt on the fanciful rapture, a tear hung 
 upon the languishing smile which played 
 round her lip, that it was indeed but fan- 
 ciful, and haply never, never to be rea- 
 lized ! 
 
 At the door of the hut, while the chil- 
 dren fondled round her, she was met by- 
 Josephine and Baptiste ; they were both 
 anxious she should remain with them that 
 night, but having learnt that the chateau 
 de Rosernont was but four hours walk from
 
 342 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 their hut, and hoping to reach it by sun- 
 set, she gratefully declined their offer: and 
 having thanked them in all the warm effu- * 
 sions of a heart alive to every delicate 
 minutiaof 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 favour, 
 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 arqucbusier, 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 or" St. Dominick : then- 
 having embraced the children, and kissed 
 the hand of Josephine with the well-af- 
 fected gallantry. of a young cavalier, she 
 proceeded on her little journey, accompa- 
 nied for about half a league by Baptiste,
 
 ST. D0M1NICK. 343 
 
 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- 
 inont, .which would guide her for the rest 
 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 lon°- 
 white staff presented to her byBaptiste, and 
 with her lute flung over her shoulder, lightly 
 bounded on. Locomotion is ever favour-
 
 344 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 able to the reflective powers ; air, exercise, 
 and diversity of objects, awaken the pulse 
 of thought to its liveliest throb ; and many 
 a weary step is sweetly beguiled of its te- 
 dious 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 beau- 
 ty of every thing around her contributed 
 to awaken. Sometimes, as reflection led, 
 she opposed the childless misery of the ma- 
 niac mother, from whose bosom the hor- 
 rors of fanaticism and party had torn every 
 human comfort, to the domestic felicity of 
 Baptiste's charming family ; who, though 
 suffering' from the same baleful cause, had 
 still rescued from the rifling hand of cruel 
 and licentious rapacity, those sweet blos- 
 soms of affection's growth, without which 
 the heart is but a desert and desolate void. 
 ** Alas!" thought Imogen, u that the in- 
 "■ genuity of man, wantoning in the va-
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 34b 
 
 " riety and extent of its powers, should 
 " so frequently, and so successfully, exert 
 " its influence to pervert the best blessings 
 " of Providence ! Was it for this the God 
 " of goodness gave us hearts to love, 
 " minds to feel, and sympathy to attract 
 " the tender affections of the soul to its 
 " kindred soul ?" Then the gay caprice 
 of imagination stole on the sober disquisi- 
 tion of the little moralist, and the soft re- 
 collection of her dream gave to her con- 
 templation 
 
 '* The visionM picture 
 
 •« Of Fancy 'trancM in bliss.'* 
 
 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- 
 ft 5
 
 340 THE NOVICE 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 beneath; 
 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 evening breeze, 
 appeared like the undulating waves of the 
 ocean, receiving on their dark green heads 
 the fading beams of the west; while the 
 casementsofthechateau, which arose on the 
 left, were brilliantly illuminated with the re- 
 flection of the setting sun, that sunk in the 
 horizon as Imogen 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. DOMIXICK. 34/ 
 
 The impatience of the weary traveller 
 increased with every step, as the shadows 
 lengthened on her path, and the sober 
 drapery of evening hung 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 
 dwelled 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 increased 
 with every deepening shadow of darkness. 
 Her step was no longer toe loitering pace 
 of pausing rapture or delusive thought, but 
 rapid, almost to flight, and interrupted 
 only by breathless fatigue: it was perhaps 
 this singular rapidity which attracted th« 
 notice of a body of horsemen, who struck 
 into the path she had taken, and with loud 
 imprecation called to her to stop. Imogen,
 
 348 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 whose imaginary fears were wound up to* 
 real terror that banished all presence of 
 mind, plunged into the forest, instead of 
 obviating suspicion by voluntarily exposing 
 herself to the scrutiny of observation. 
 
 But Imogen, who fled, not from the 
 hope that flight could ensure safety, but 
 from the impulse of apprehension, soon 
 found herself overtaken by two of the 
 horsemen : one of them alighting seized 
 her roughly by the shoulder, and looking 
 earnestly at her, exclaimed, " Ventre St. 
 " Grls ! a right dainty youth, araremu- 
 " sician too, I warrant : but you seem a 
 " little weary, monsieur ; I will therefore 
 " 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 her on 
 horseback behind-his companion, a Spanish 
 arquebusier ; and strapping her on to the
 
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 349 
 
 waist of his surly associate, who cast round 
 a terrific glance, he mounted his horse and 
 they joined the rest of the party. 
 
 Well, Guy," exclaimed one of them, 
 
 what have you shot flying ?" 
 
 " A dainty nightingale," said Guy, as 
 they rode on, " who would have found his 
 " way to our camp to delight our men 
 " with his minstrelsy ; like the other gen- 
 " tleman musician who sllpt through our 
 " fingers at the siege of Rouenne, a trusty 
 " spy, or I am no soldier." 
 
 " Nay, then," replied the other, M he 
 *' stands acquitted ; for if he is no more 
 " a spy, than thou art a soldier, " 
 
 " Why, how now,Armande?" saidGuy : 
 ,c why dost thou ever come over me thus 
 " with thy jests ?" 
 
 " Mort de ma vie! if it were as easy to 
 " come over thee in jest, as to overcome 
 " thee in earnest, monsieur bluster, thou 
 " wouldest not be worth the breaking a 
 " gibe on," said Armande.
 
 350 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " Come, come, Armande," cried an- 
 other, <f a truce with your grape-shot wit ; 
 " and 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 : many, it pleased 
 " me hugely !" 
 
 " Perhaps," said Armande, " ibis young 
 " cavalier would rather hear the pleasant 
 " and tragical ditty of the young man 
 " whom we hanged for a spy, during our 
 " campaign in Normandy." 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" exclaimed Guy, '• I 
 
 ?! hear the neighing of a steed, and sure I 
 
 " see a distant light ; blessed ro?ary ! there 
 
 " goes a dreadful story of a ghost in ar- 
 
 " mour, mounted on a white steed, meet- 
 
 " ing one of our kings in this, same forest, 
 u and » 
 
 M To think how a man's fears will run 
 " away with his wits 1" said Armande ; 
 " truly, monsieur Guy, thou art a rare 
 " fellow, with thy ghost in armour, not to
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 351 
 
 u see that we are within a few paces of 
 " the vidette guard." 
 
 Here they came up with the vidette, and 
 having stopped for a few moments to break 
 some coarse jokes with their fellow-soldiers, 
 who were going to their out-posts 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 viy&F* demanded the sentinel. 
 " Five la llgtte /" replied the foremost; 
 " 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 armour- 
 ers, the neighing of steeds, the frequent 
 * Quivive f 9 of the sentinels, and the faint 
 burst of conviviality which proceeded from 
 the tents of the officers, near which they 
 passed.
 
 352 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 other circum- 
 stances; but wholly overcome by the situa- 
 tion in which she found herself, the danger 
 to which she was exposed, and the fatigue 
 she had undergone ; every faculty was 
 blunted, and her mind acknowledged no 
 sentiment, no emotion, but what terror 
 and amazement awakened ; while amidst 
 the confusion of her ideas she with diffi- 
 culty 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. " What hast thou got here ?" 
 said the sentinel, who paraded before the 
 tent. " A swan," said Bertrand, t6 whose 
 " dying notes you may hear at the provot 
 " to-morrow, if you please.. Who is the 
 " captain of the guard for the night ?"
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 353 
 
 «■ The count St. DorvaU' 
 
 M Tt strikes me," said Bertrand in a low 
 voice, " we have picked up a prisoner of 
 " consequence : I will deliver him into the 
 u count's hands ; my back still smarts for 
 " the escupe of the young baron whom 
 11 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 as- 
 sist him to dismount. Guarded on either 
 side, and preceded by Bertrand, the tremb- 
 ling Imogen was led, or rather dragged, 
 into the guard-room ; while round a table, 
 well furnished with lights and wine, cir- 
 cled a groupe of officers, who all turned 
 round to gaze at the prisoner, as, drooping 
 disconsolately timid, she endeavoured to 
 collect her thoughts, and enable herself to
 
 354 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 clear up the mystery of her appearance, 
 without discovering more of her story than 
 might lead to her liberation. 
 
 " Where didst thou pick up this young 
 " musician, Serjeant ?" demanded the 
 youngest of the groupc. 
 
 " On the skirts of the forest of Folam- 
 " bray, so please you, where it is said the 
 " king regaled himself * but yesterday 
 " 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 
 " him the kindness to save him the trou- 
 * ble of walking, monsieur." 
 
 M A little more matter of fact, and less 
 
 * 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 him- 
 self great pleasure. 
 
 Idim. du Due de Sully, ii. 381.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 355 
 
 <( jocularity ;" said the commanding of- 
 ficer. 
 
 " Nay, monseigneur," said Bertrand, 
 " I have nothing more to relate ; we have 
 * c not laid a hand on the prisoner, except 
 " indeed to disencumber him of this in- 
 " strument, and under favour must refer 
 4f 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 its object, that Imogen, unable to 
 articulate, and overwhelmed by the influ- 
 ence of her strong and various emotions, 
 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 the table, he advanced 
 towards the prisoner ; and having mildly
 
 350 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 checked the unmeaning curiosity of the 
 young officers, he addressed her. 
 
 ' c Whoe'er thou art/' said he, " or 
 f whate'er thy intentions, young stranger, 
 6 the silence you seem obstinately to ob- 
 ' serve, will avail thee nought ; the laws 
 % of war are sacred, and you are doubtless 
 c no stranger to the penalty annexed to 
 * their violation. Our cause has already 
 ' suffered from the successful artifice of 
 6 the enemy's vigilant spies ; and though 
 c that delicate and trembling frame seems 
 c ill calculated for perilous adventure, it 
 e is evident that that disguise veils no 
 
 6 common wearer." 
 
 w 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 white- 
 ness was no longer veiled ; for another, 
 more inhumanly daring than the first, rude- 
 ly tore open the collar of her robe* in at-
 
 ST. D0MIN1CK. 357 
 
 tempting 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 
 count de St. Dorval only answered ir ; 
 and the trembling prisoner, with a sudden 
 effort of strength, sprung 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, supplicat- 
 ing 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 surprize ; admira- 
 tion at her charms, surprize that she was 
 still prostrate : for while with hands folded
 
 358 THE NOVICE OF 
 
 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 the attitude 
 of wonder, surpassing the transitory emo- 
 tion of common-place surprize ; the eye 
 that shed a mild compassion on the fugi- 
 tive, 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 ]\jp that 
 would have uttered the accents of benefi- 
 cence and encouragement. Then, with a 
 long-drawn sigh, he seemed to shake off 
 the strong influence of emotion, and bend- 
 ing 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-
 
 ST. DOMINJCK. 359 
 
 tered, Imogen looked gratefully and ex- 
 pressively in his face ; and, replying to the 
 eloquence of that look, he said : " Cheer 
 " thee, cheer thee, sweet lady ; whatever 
 u may have been the motive which led 
 u thee to adopt this disguise, and to incur 
 " the perils of adventure, in times them- 
 u selves so perilous, thou hast nothing 
 " now to fear from the indignant insults 
 " of unfeeling ignorance, invested with 
 " temporary power to bear down upon the 
 " unfortunate : 'tis the count St. Dorval, 
 " who pledges himself to be true to the 
 " voluntary confidence you have honour- 
 " ed him with." 
 
 " Well said, count !" exclaimed one of 
 the officers, un reproved at his commander's 
 oblique reproach. 
 
 u Ventre Dieu, momeigneur, you are a 
 " fortunate man !" added another: " and 
 " I would rather be invested with such a 
 " command, than be made generalissimo 
 " to the whole army."
 
 360 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the count firmly, 
 " these are idle insinuations. To the 
 " commander in chief I stand account- 
 " able for the prisoner ; to God and my 
 " own conscience for her safety in the 
 " most unlimited sense : what right we 
 " have to detain her must be a matter of 
 "■ future investigation ; but while that de- 
 " tention exists, the gallantry of knight- 
 t€ hood forbid we should not all consider 
 tC ourselves as bound to render her every 
 " succour ! Come, lady, suffer me to con- 
 " duct you to my tent, where you can re- 
 " pose at 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
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 36l 
 
 chess ; to the last the count, followed by 
 a page with lights, conducted his guest. 
 
 " This apartment," said the count, with 
 a faint smile, " is to be your prison for 
 " to-night : I myself will be at once your 
 " servant and your guard. Meanwhile 
 u reckon on the exertions of a friend in 
 u your favour, who trusts he will not prove 
 " himself unworthy of your election : 
 " with enemies, who wear such looks as 
 " thine, we wage no war ; and whatever 
 " motive may have lured thee to the dan- 
 " gerous precincts of a camp, that protec- 
 " tion thy youth and sex demands, shall 
 * c attend thee hence and guard thee there." 
 The count then, without waiting to receive 
 the acknowledgments which hovered on 
 the lips of Imogen, recommended to her to 
 take that repose her evident weariness de- 
 manded, and retired. 
 
 The count had left the apartment but a 
 few minutes, and Imogen was indulging 
 the copious flow of those sweet tears which 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 362 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 stream from the heart in the moment of 
 safety received from the grasp of peril ; of 
 gratitude awakening to the touch of un- 
 expected benevolence ; when a page en- 
 tered the apartment with those necessary 
 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 towards the 
 friend it had raised for her in the hour of 
 danger and distress. If the benevolent, 
 though melancholy expression of St. Dor- 
 val's countenance, his venerable and in- 
 teresting aspect, had won her confidence 
 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 sympathy ; and 
 she scarcely regretted the perilous adven- ' 
 ture which had made her known to one.
 
 ST. DOMINICK. 363 
 
 in whose looks of benignity and sweetness 
 her hopes faintly traced future acts of 
 kindness and friendship. 
 
 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 fad- 
 ing lamp of hope; and fancy darts athwart 
 those probable obstacles, prudence shrinks 
 from encountering. 
 
 At last, overcome by the bodily and 
 mental fatigue she had endured, Imo- 
 gendeposited on the table the packet she 
 had so successfully concealed in her bo- 
 som ; and, without divesting herself of 
 an article of her dress, threw herself on a 
 couch that filled a corner of the apartment,
 
 364 THE NOVICE OP 
 
 A deep sleep soon stole on the perturbation 
 of her senses ; it was the profound repose 
 of innocence long torn from its " calm 
 " mood" by anxiety and fatigue ; and the 
 dream of her rest still gave to her imagina- 
 tion the image of him, to whose benevo- 
 lence and compassion she owed its enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 END OP VOL. I. 
 
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