Olla Podrida Part 18

_Inez._ And I am faint with grat.i.tude and love.

Come in with me. Then shall you learn The cruel cause that cast you out a foundling, And I, the bounteous, blessed providence, That led you to my arms. [_Exeunt._

_Act V. Scene I._

_A chamber in the Guzman Palace._

_Enter Donna Inez, meeting Superior._

_Sup._ Save thee, good lady! I have stolen an hour From holy prayer, for which may I be pardon'd, To weigh the merits of a mother's virtue Against the errors of an impious son; To put in counterpoise the deep disgrace, The insult offer'd to our brotherhood, With the atonement you would make to Heav'n.

_Inez._ And you are merciful!

_Sup._ Lady, there is nought Which Heav'n detests so much as sacrilege; 'Tis the most d.a.m.n'd of all the d.a.m.ning sins.

The fire of h.e.l.l can purge away all crimes, Howe'er atrocious, save this deed of death, To life eternal, if not here atoned for By a surrender of all earthly goods.

_Inez._ All, father!

_Sup._ All!

_Inez._ Father, this cannot be.

Surely there is In our extensive wealth enough for both-- To satisfy the holy church, yet leave Withal to grace his rank and dignity.

_Sup._ He that hath mock'd high Heav'n with sacrilege Should live for nought except to make his peace.

Your son must straight renew his broken vows, With tears and penance must wash out his sin-- His life, however long, too short to plead For mercy and forgiveness, and his wealth, However great, too small to make atonement.

_Inez._ Father, this cannot be.

_Sup._ It shall be so.

_Inez._ Then I'll appeal elsewhere. I'll to the king, And tell him this sad story. The Guzmans Have too well served him, not to gain his help In this their need. If we must pay a price, The bargain shall be made with Rome herself, Who will be less exacting.

_Sup._ (_aside_). I must not grasp too much, or I lose all.

(_Aloud_) Lady, I know your thoughts, and do not blame you.

You are divided, as frail mortals are In this imperfect state, 'twixt heaven and earth, Your holy wishes check'd by love maternal; Now would I know the course that you would steer Between the two. We can arrange this point.

The church is generous, and she oft resigns That she might claim in justice. Tell me, lady, What do you proffer?

_Inez._ There is a fair domain of great extent Water'd by the Guadalquiver's wave, Whose blushing harvests each returning autumn Yield the best vintage in our favour'd land.

Six hamlets tenanted by peaceful swains, And dark-eyed maidens, portion'd to the soil, Foster its increase. The fairest part of Spain Which Heav'n hath made, I render back to Heav'n.

_Sup._ I know the land, and will accept the gift:-- But to it must be added sums of gold To pay for holy rites to be perform'd For years, to purify our monastery Which has been desecrated.

_Inez._ That will I give, and freely. Now, good father, Remember, in exchange for these you promise To pardon all, and to obtain from Rome A dispensation to my truant child.

_Sup._ I do!

_Inez._ Father, I'll send him to you. You'll Rebuke him, but not harshly, for his soul Is with his new found prospects all on fire. [_Exit Inez._

_Sup._ Now will our convent be the best endow'd Of any in the land. This wild young hypocrite, Who fears nor Heaven nor man, hath well a.s.sisted My pious longing. More by the sins of men Than their free gifts, our holy church doth prosper.

[_Enter Anselmo in cavalier's dress._ What do I see? One, that's in sanct.i.ty, Who vow'd his service and his life to Heav'n, In this attire. Heaven is most patient!

_Ans._ It is, good father, or this world of guilt Had long been wither'd with the threaten'd fire.

My sins are monstrous, yet I am but one Of many millions, erring as myself.

'Tis not for us to judge. He, who reads all Our hearts, and knows how we've been tempted, Alone can poise the even scale of justice.

If I'm to blame, good father, are not you?

_Sup._ How?

_Ans._ I had it from my mother, she reveal'd To you her history, and did make known The mark by which I might be recognised-- That mark, so oft the theme of idle wonder In the convent. Before I took my vows You therefore must have known my station, The rank I held by birthright, and the name Which I inherited. Why did you press me then To take those vows? It was a rank injustice.

_Sup._ (_aside_). He argues boldly. (_Aloud_) 'Twere as well to say, It were unjust to help you unto Heav'n-- I put you in the right path.

_Ans._ One too slippery. Father, I've stumbled.

_Sup._ You have. But that your fond and virtuous mother Stretch'd forth her hand to save you, it had been To your perdition.

_Ans._ I am so full of grat.i.tude to Heaven, I cannot cavil at the deeds of men.

Yet are we blind alike. You did intend To serve me, and I thank you.

_Sup._ I'll serve you yet, my son. This very night A message shall be forwarded to Rome.

Before a month is past you'll be absolved.

Till then return unto the monastery, Resume your cowl, and bear yourself correctly.

A month will soon be o'er.

_Ans._ To one who is imprison'd, 'tis an age; Yet is your counsel wise, and I obey you With all humility.

_Sup._ 'Tis well, my son.

Your follies are unknown but to ourselves.

I shall expect you ere the night be past. [_Exit Superior._

_Ans._ "Stretch'd forth her hand to save me!" Well I trow, Had it been stretch'd forth empty I had perish'd.

I've bought my freedom at no trifling price.

Most potent gold! all that the earth can offer, Are at thy bidding. Nay, more powerful still-- Since it appears that holy men for thee Will barter Heav'n. Still his advice is good.

Yet must I first behold my Isidora: Whose startled innocence, like to a rose When charged with dew and rudely shaken, Relieves itself in sweet and sudden showers From its oppressive load. My heavy guilt Hath shock'd her purity--now, she rejects The love of one who has been false to Heav'n.

She refused to see me; but I have gain'd, By intercession of my doting mother, One meeting, to decide if my estate Shall be more wretched than it was before.

If she, unheard, condemns me, mine will be A wild career most perilous to the soul,-- That of a lion's whelp, breaking his chain And prowling through the world in search of prey. [_Exit._

_Scene II._

_Isidora's Room in the Guzman Palace._

_Isidora alone on her knees at a small oratory. Rises._

_Isid._ Yes, I would pray, but the o'erwhelming thought Of vows made light--nay, mock'd by him, the guide, Th' elected star of my too trusting soul, Stops in my breast the heavenly aspiration.

And nought I utter but th' unconscious wail Of broken-hearted love. Love--and for whom!-- How have I waken'd from a dream of bliss To utter misery. Fond, foolish maid, Thus to embark my heart, my happiness, So inconsiderate--now the barque sinks, And, with its freight, is left to widely toss In seas of doubt, of horror, and despair.

Oh! Isidora, is thy virgin heart Thus mated to a wild apostate monk?

The midnight reveller, and morning priest, At e'en the gay guitar, at noon the cowl; The holy mummer, tonsure and the missal, The world, our blessed Church, and Heav'n defied.