SWITZERLAND - Chapter XIII
I Resolve to Become a Monk--I go to Confession--Delay of a Fortnight--
Giustiniani, the Apostle Capuchin--I Alter my Mind; My Reasons--
My Pranks at the Inn--I Dine With the Abbot
The cool way in which the abbot told these cock-and-bull stories gave
me an inclination to laughter, which the holiness of the place and
the laws of politeness had much difficulty in restraining. All the
same I listened with such an attentive air that his reverence was
delighted with me and asked where I was staying.
"Nowhere," said I; "I came from Zurich on foot, and my first visit
was to your church."
I do not know whether I pronounced these words with an air of
compunction, but the abbot joined his hands and lifted them to
heaven, as if to thank God for touching my heart and bringing me
there to lay down the burden of my sins. I have no doubt that these
were his thoughts, as I have always had the look of a great sinner.
The abbot said it was near noon and that he hoped I would do him the
honour of dining with him, and I accepted with pleasure, for I had
had nothing to eat and I knew that there is usually good cheer in
such places. I did not know where I was and I did not care to ask,
being willing to leave him under the impression that I was a pilgrim
come to expiate my sins.
On our way from the church the abbot told me that his monks were
fasting, but that we should eat meat in virtue of a dispensation he
had received from Benedict XIV., which allowed him to eat meat all
the year round with his guests. I replied that I would join him all
the more willingly as the Holy Father had given me a similar
dispensation. This seemed to excite his curiosity about myself, and
when we got to his room, which did not look the cell of a penitent,
he hastened to shew me the brief, which he had framed and glazed and
hung up opposite the table so that the curious and scrupulous might
have it in full view.
As the table was only laid for two, a servant in full livery came in
and brought another cover; and the humble abbot then told me that he
usually had his chancellor with him at dinner, "for," said he, "I
have a chancery, since as abbot of Our Lady of Einsiedel I am a
prince of the Holy Roman Empire."
This was a relief to me, as I now knew where I was, and I no longer
ran the risk of shewing my ignorance in the course of conversation.
This monastery (of which I had heard before) was the Loretto of the
Mountains, and was famous for the number of pilgrims who resorted to
it.
In the course of dinner the prince--abbot asked me where I came from,
if I were married, if I intended to make a tour of Switzerland,
adding that he should be glad to give me letters of introduction.
I replied that I was a Venetian, a bachelor, and that I should be
glad to accept the letters of introduction he had kindly offered me,
after I had had a private conference with him, in which I desired to
take his advice on my conscience.
Thus, without premeditation, and scarcely knowing what I was saying,
I engaged to confess to the abbot.
This was my way. Whenever I obeyed a spontaneous impulse, whenever I
did anything of a sudden, I thought I was following the laws of my
destiny, and yielding to a supreme will. When I had thus plainly
intimated to him that he was to be my confessor, he felt obliged to
speak with religious fervour, and his discourses seemed tolerable
enough during a delicate and appetising repast, for we had snipe and
woodcock; which made me exclaim,--
"What! game like that at this time of year?"
"It's a secret," said he, with a pleased smile, "which I shall be
glad to communicate to you."
The abbot was a man of taste, for though he affected sobriety he had
the choicest wines and the most delicious dishes on the table. A
splendid salmon-trout was brought, which made him smile with
pleasure, and seasoning the good fare with a jest, he said in Latin
that we must taste it as it was fish, and that it was right to fast a
little.
While he was talking the abbot kept a keen eye on me, and as my fine
dress made him feel certain that I had nothing to ask of him he spoke
at ease.
When dinner was over the chancellor bowed respectfully and went out.
Soon after the abbot took me over the monastery, including the
library, which contained a portrait of the Elector of Cologne in
semi-ecclesiastical costume. I told him that the portrait was a good
though ugly likeness, and drew out of my pocket the gold snuffbox the
prince had given me, telling him that it was a speaking likeness. He
looked at it with interest, and thought his highness had done well to
be taken in the dress of a grand-master. But I perceived that the
elegance of the snuff-box did no harm to the opinion the abbot had
conceived of me. As for the library, if I had been alone it would
have made me weep. It contained nothing under the size of folio, the
newest books were a hundred years old, and the subject-matter of all
these huge books was solely theology and controversy. There were
Bibles, commentators, the Fathers, works on canon law in German,
volumes of annals, and Hoffman's dictionary.
"I suppose your monks have private libraries of their own," I said,
"which contain accounts of travels, with historical and scientific
works."
"Not at all," he replied; "my monks are honest folk, who are content
to do their duty, and to live in peace and sweet ignorance."
I do not know what happened to me at that moment, but a strange whim
came into my head--I would be a monk, too. I said nothing about it
at the moment, but I begged the abbot to take me to his private
chamber.
"I wish to make a general confession of all my sins," said I, "that I
may obtain the benefit of absolution, and receive the Holy Eucharist
on the morrow."
He made no answer, but led the way to a pretty little room, and
without requiring me to kneel down said he was ready to hear me.
I sat down before him and for three consecutive hours I narrated
scandalous histories unnumerable, which, however, I told simply and
not spicily, since I felt ascetically disposed and obliged myself to
speak with a contrition I did not feel, for when I recounted my
follies I was very far from finding the remembrance of them
disagreeable.
In spite of that, the serene or reverend abbot believed, at all
events, in my attrition, for he told me that since by the appointed
means I had once more placed myself in a state of grace, contrition
would be perfected in me.
According to the good abbot, and still more according to me, without
grace contrition is impossible.
After he had pronounced the sacramental words which take away the
sins of men, he advised me to retire to the chamber he had appointed
for me, to pass the rest of the day in prayer, and to go to bed at an
early hour, but he added that I could have supper if I was accustomed
to that meal. He told me that I might communicate at the first mass
next morning, and with that we parted.
I obeyed with a docility which has puzzled me ever since, but at the
time I thought nothing of it. I was left alone in a room which I did
not even examine, and there I pondered over the idea which had come
into my head before making my confession; and I quite made up my mind
that chance, or rather my good genius, had led me to that spot, where
happiness awaited me, and where I might shelter all my days from the
tempests of the world.
"Whether I stay here," said I, "depends on myself alone, as I am sure
the abbot will not refuse me the cowl if I give him ten thousand
crowns for my support."
All that was needed to secure my happiness seemed a library of my own
choosing, and I did not doubt but that the abbot would let me have
what books I pleased if I promised to leave them to the monastery
after my death.
As to the society of the monks, the discord, envy, and all the
bickerings inseparable from such a mode of life, I thought I had
nothing to pass in that way, since I had no ambitions which could
rouse the jealousy of the other monks. Nevertheless, despite my
fascination, I foresaw the possibility of repentance, and I shuddered
at the thought, but I had a cure for that also.
"When I ask for the habit," I said, "I will also ask that my
novitiate be extended for ten years, and if repentance do not come in
ten years it will not come at all. I shall declare that I do not
wish for any cure or any ecclesiastical dignity. All I want is peace
and leave to follow my own tastes, without scandalising anyone."
I thought: I could easily remove any objections which might be made
to the long term of my novitiate, by agreeing, in case I changed my
mind, to forfeit the ten thousand crowns which I would pay in
advance.
I put down this fine idea in writing before I went to bed; and in the
morning, finding myself unshaken in my resolve, after I had
communicated I gave my plan to the abbot, who was taking chocolate in
his room.
He immediately read my plan, and without saying anything put it on
the table, and after breakfast he walked up and down the room and
read it again, and finally told me that he would give me an answer
after dinner.
I waited till night with the impatience of a child who has been
promised toys on its birthday--so completely and suddenly can an
infatuation change one's nature. We had as good a dinner as on the
day before, and when we had risen from the table the good abbot said,
"My carriage is at the door to take you to Zurich. Go, and let me
have a fortnight to think it over. I will bring my answer in person.
In the meanwhile here are two sealed letters, which please deliver
yourself."
I replied that I would obey his instructions and that I would wait
for him at the "Sword," in the hope that be would deign to grant my
wishes. I took his hand, which he allowed me to kiss, and I then set
out for Zurich.
As soon as my Spaniard saw me the rascal began to laugh. I guessed
what he was thinking, and asked him what he was laughing at.
"I am amazed to see that no sooner do you arrive in Switzerland than
you contrive to find some amusement which keeps you away for two
whole days."
"Ah, I see; go and tell the landlord that I shall want the use of a
good carriage for the next fortnight, and also a guide on whom I can
rely."
My landlord, whose name was Ote, had been a captain, and was thought
a great deal of at Zurich. He told me that all the carriages in the
neighbourhood were uncovered. I said they would do, as there was
nothing better to be had, and he informed me I could trust the
servant he would provide me with.
Next morning I took the abbot's letters. One was for M. Orelli and
the other for a M. Pestalozzi, neither of whom I found at home; but
in the afternoon they both called on me, asked me to dinner, and made
me promise to come with them the same evening to a concert. This is
the only species of entertainment allowed at Zurich, and only members
of the musical society can be present, with the exception of
strangers, who have to be introduced by a member, and are then
admitted on the payment of a crown. The two gentlemen both spoke in
very high terms of the Abbot of Einsiedel.
I thought the concert a bad one, and got bored at it. The men sat on
the right hand and the women on the left. I was vexed with this
arrangement, for in spite of my recent conversation I saw three or
four ladies who pleased me, and whose eyes wandered a good deal in my
direction. I should have liked to make love to them, to make the
best of my time before I became a monk.
When the concert was over, men and women went out together, and the
two citizens presented me to their wives and daughters, who looked
pleasant, and were amongst those I had noticed.
Courtesy is necessarily cut short in the street, and, after I had
thanked the two gentlemen, I went home to the "Sword."
Next day I dined with M. Orelli, and I had an opportunity for doing
justice to his daughter's amiability without being able to let her
perceive how she had impressed me. The day after, I played the same
part with M. Pestalozzi, although his charming daughter was pretty
enough to excite my gallantry. But to my own great astonishment I
was a mirror of discretion, and in four days that was my character
all over the town. I was quite astonished to find myself accosted in
quite a respectful manner, to which I was not accustomed; but in the
pious state of mind I was in, this confirmed me in the belief that my
idea of taking the cowl had been a Divine inspiration. Nevertheless,
I felt listless and weary, but I looked upon that as the inevitable
consequence of so complete a change of life, and thought it would
disappear when I grew more accustomed to goodness.
In order to put myself, as soon as possible, on an equality with my
future brethren, I passed three hours every morning in learning
German. My master was an extraordinary man, a native of Genoa, and
an apostate Capuchin. His name was Giustiniani. The poor man, to
whom I gave six francs every morning, looked upon me as an angel from
heaven, although I, with the enthusiasm of a devotee, took him for a
devil of hell, for he lost no opportunity of throwing a stone at the
religious orders. Those orders which had the highest reputation,
were, according to him, the worst of all, since they led more people
astray. He styled monks in general as a vile rabble, the curse of
the human race.
"But," said I to him one day, "you will confess that Our Lady of
Einsiedel . . ."
"What!" replied the Genoese, without letting me finish my remark, "do
you think I should make an exception in favour of a set of forty
ignorant, lazy, vicious, idle, hypocritical scoundrels who live bad
lives under the cloak of humility, and eat up the houses of the poor
simpletons who provide for them, when they ought to be earning their
own bread?"
"But how about his reverend highness the abbot?"
"A stuck-up peasant who plays the part of a prince, and is fool
enough to think himself one."
"But he is a prince."
"As much a prince as I am. I look upon him as a mere buffoon."
"What has he done to you?"
"Nothing; but he is a monk."
"He is a friend of mine."
"I cannot retract what I have said, but I beg your pardon."
This Giustiniani had a great influence upon me, although I did not
know it, for I thought my vocation was sure. But my idea of becoming
a monk at Einsiedel came to an end as follows:
The day before the abbot was coming to see me, at about six o'clock
in the evening, I was sitting at my window, which looked out on the
bridge, and gazing at the passers-by, when all at once a carriage and
four came up at a good pace and stopped at the inn. There was no
footman on it, and consequently the waiter came out and opened the
door, and I saw four well-dressed women leave the carriage. In the
first three I saw nothing noticeable, but the fourth, who was dressed
in a riding-habit, struck me at once with her elegance and beauty.
She was a brunette with fine and well-set eyes, arched eyebrows, and
a complexion in which the hues of the lily and the rose were mingled.
Her bonnet was of blue satin with a silver fillet, which gave her an
air I could not resist. I stretched out from the window as far as I
could, and she lifted her eyes and looked at me as if I had bade her
do so. My position obliged me to look at her for half a minute; too
much for a modest woman, and more than was required to set me all
ablaze.
I ran and took up my position at the window of my ante-chamber, which
commanded a view of the staircase, and before long I saw her running
by to rejoin her three companions. When she got opposite to my
window she chanced to turn in that direction, and on seeing me cried
out as if she had seen a ghost; but she soon recollected herself and
ran away, laughing like a madcap, and rejoined the other ladies who
were already in their room.
Reader, put yourself in my place, and tell me how I could have
avoided this meeting. And you who would bury yourselves in monastic
shades, persevere, if you can, after you have seen what I saw at
Zurich on April 23rd.
I was in such a state of excitement that I had to lie down on my bed.
After resting a few minutes, I got up and almost unconsciously went
towards the passage window and saw the waiter coming out of the
ladies' room.
"Waiter," said I, "I will take supper in the dining-room with
everybody else."
"If you want to see those ladies, that won't do, as they have ordered
their supper to be brought up to them. They want to go to bed in
good time as they are to leave at day-break."
"Where are they going?"
"To Our Lady of Einsiedel to pay their vows."
"Where do they come from?"
"From Soleure."
"What are their names?"
"I don't know."
I went to lie down again, and thought how I could approach the fair
one of my thoughts. Should I go to Einsiedel, too? But what could I
do when I got there? These ladies are going to make their
confessions; I could not get into the confessional. What kind of a
figure should I cut among the monks? And if I were to meet the
abbot on the way, how could I help returning with him? If I had had
a trusty friend I would have arranged an ambuscade and carried off my
charmer. It would have been an easy task, as she had nobody to
defend her. What if I were to pluck up my heart and beg them to let
me sup in their company? I was afraid of the three devotees; I
should meet with a refusal. I judged that my charmer's devotion was
more a matter of form than any thing else, as her physiognomy
declared her to be a lover of pleasure, and I had long been
accustomed to read womens' characters by the play of their features.
I did not know which way to turn, when a happy idea came into my
head. I went to the passage window and stayed there till the waiter
went by. I had him into the room, and began my discourse by sliding
a piece of gold into his hand. I then asked him to lend me his green
apron, as I wished to wait upon the ladies at supper.
"What are you laughing at?"
"At your taking such a fancy, sir, though I think I know why."
"You are a sharp fellow."
"Yes, sir, as sharp as most of them; I will get you a new apron. The
pretty one asked me who you were."
"What did you tell her?"
"I said you were an Italian; that's all."
"If you will hold your tongue I will double that piece of gold."
"I have asked your Spaniard to help me, sir, as I am single-handed,
and supper has to be served at the same time both upstairs and
downstairs."
"Very good; but the rascal mustn't come into the room or he would be
sure to laugh. Let him go to the kitchen, bring up the dishes, and
leave them outside the door."
The waiter went out, and returned soon after with the apron and Le
Duc, to whom I explained in all seriousness what he had to do. He
laughed like a madman, but assured me he would follow my directions.
I procured a carving-knife, tied my hair in a queue, took off my
coat, and put on the apron over my scarlet waistcoat ornamented with
gold lace. I then looked at myself in the glass, and thought my
appearance mean enough for the modest part I was about to play. I
was delighted at the prospect, and thought to myself that as the
ladies came from Soleure they would speak French.
Le Duc came to tell me that the waiter was going upstairs. I went
into the ladies' room and said, "Supper is about to be served,
ladies."
"Make haste about it, then," said the ugliest of them, "as we have
got to rise before day-break."
I placed the chairs round the table and glanced at my fair one, who
looked petrified. The waiter came in, and I helped him to put the
dishes on the table, and he then said to me, "Do you stay here, as I
have to go downstairs."
I took a plate and stood behind a chair facing the lady, and without
appearing to look at her I saw her perfectly, or rather I saw nothing
else. She was astonished the others did not give me a glance, and
they could not have pleased me better. After the soup I hurried to
change her plate, and then did the same office for the rest: they
helped themselves to the boiled beef.
While they were eating, I took a boiled capon and cut it up in a
masterly manner.
"We have a waiter who knows his work," said the lady of my thoughts.
"Have you been long at this inn?"
"Only a few weeks, madam."
"You wait very well."
"Madam is very good."
I had tucked in my superb ruffles of English point lace, but my
frilled shirt front of the same material protruded slightly through
my vest, which I had not buttoned carefully. She saw it, and said,
"Come here a moment."
"What does madam require?"
"Let me see it. What beautiful lace!"
"So I have been told, madam, but it is very old. An Italian
gentleman who was staying here made me a present of it."
"You have ruffles of the same kind, I suppose?"
"Yes, madam;" and so saying I stretched out my hand, unbuttoning my
waistcoat. She gently drew out the ruffle, and seemed to place
herself in a position to intoxicate me with the sight of her charms,
although she was tightly laced. What an ecstatic moment! I knew she
had recognized me, and the thought that I could not carry the
masquerade beyond a certain point was a veritable torment to me.
When she had looked a long time, one of the others said,
"You are certainly very curious, my dear, one would think you had
never seen lace before."
At this she blushed.
When the supper was done, the three ugly ladies each went apart to
undress, while I took away the dishes, and my heroine began to write.
I confess that I was almost infatuated enough to think that she was
writing to me; however, I had too high an opinion of her to entertain
the idea.
As soon as I had taken away the dishes, I stood by the door in the
respectful manner becoming the occasion.
"What are you waiting for?" she said.
"For your orders, madam."
"Thank you, I don't want anything."
"Your boots, madam, you will like them removed before you retire."
"True, but still I don't like to give you so much trouble."
"I am here to attend on you, madam."
So saying, I knelt on one knee before her, and slowly unplaced her
boots while she continued writing. I went farther; I unbuckled her
garters, delighting in the contemplation and still more in the touch
of her delicately-shaped legs, but too soon for me she turned her
head, and said,
"That will do, thank you. I did not notice that you were giving
yourself so much trouble. We shall see you to-morrow evening."
"Then you will sup here, ladies?"
"Certainly."
I took her boots away, and asked if I should lock the door.
"No, my good fellow," said she, in the voice of a syren, "leave the
key inside."
Le Duc took the charmer's boots from me, and said, laughing,--
"She has caught you."
"What?"
"I saw it all, sir, you played your part as well as any actor in
Paris; and I am certain that she will give you a louis to-morrow, but
if you don't hand it over to me I will blow on the whole thing."
"That's enough, you rascal; get me my supper as quickly as possible."
Such are the pleasures which old age no longer allows me to enjoy,
except in my memory. There are monsters who preach repentance, and
philosophers who treat all pleasures as vanity. Let them talk on.
Repentance only befits crimes, and pleasures are realities, though
all too fleeting.
A happy dream made me pass the night with the fair lady; doubtless it
was a delusion, but a delusion full of bliss. What would I not give
now for such dreams, which made my nights so sweet!
Next morning at day-break I was at her door with her boots in my hand
just as their coachman came to call them. I asked them, as a matter
of form, if they would have breakfast, and they replied merrily that
they had made too good a supper to have any appetite at such an early
hour. I went out of the room to give them time to dress, but the
door was half open, and I saw reflected in the glass the snow-white
bosom of my fair one; it was an intoxicating sight. When she had
laced herself and put on her dress she called for her boots. I asked
if I should put them on, to which she consented with a good grace,
and as she had green velvet breeches, she seemed to consider herself
as almost a man. And, after all, a waiter is not worth putting one's
self out about. All the worst for him if he dare conceive any hopes
from the trifling concessions he receives. His punishment will be
severe, for who would have thought he could have presumed so far?
As for me, I am now, sad to say, grown old, and enjoy some few
privileges of this description, which I relish, though despising
myself, and still more those who thus indulge me.
After she had gone I went to sleep again, hoping to see her in the
evening. When I awoke I heard that the abbot of Einsiedel was at
Zurich, and my landlord told me that his reverend highness would dine
with me in my room. I told him that I wished to treat the abbot
well, and that he must set the best dinner he could for us.
At noon the worthy prelate was shewn up to my room, and began by
complimenting me on the good reputation I had at Zurich, saying that
this made him believe that my vocation was a real one.
"The following distich," he added, "should now become your motto:
"Inveni portum. Spes et fortuna valete;
Nil mihi vobiscum est: ludite nuns alios."
"That is a translation of two verses from Euripides," I answered;
"but, my lord, they will not serve me, as I have changed my mind
since yesterday."
"I congratulate you," said he, "and I hope you will accomplish all
your desires. I may tell you confidentially that it is much easier
to save one's soul in the world where one can do good to one's
neighbours, than in the convent, where a man does no good to himself
nor to anyone else."
This was not speaking like the hypocrite Guistiniani had described to
me; on the contrary, it was the language of a good and sensible man.
We had a princely dinner, as my landlord had made each of the three
courses a work of art. The repast was enlivened by an interesting
conversation, to which wit and humour were not lacking. After coffee
I thanked the abbot with the greatest respect, and accompanied him to
his carriage, where the reverend father reiterated his offers of
serving me, and thus, well pleased with one another, we parted.
The presence and the conversation of this worthy priest had not for a
moment distracted my thoughts from the pleasing object with which
they were occupied. So soon as the abbot had gone, I went to the
bridge to await the blessed angel, who seemed to have been sent from
Soleure with the express purpose of delivering me from the temptation
to become a monk, which the devil had put into my heart. Standing on
the bridge I built many a fine castle in Spain, and about six in the
evening I had the pleasure of seeing my fair traveller once more. I
hid myself so as to see without being seen. I was greatly surprised
to see them all four looking towards my window. Their curiosity
shewed me that the lady had told them of the secret, and with my
astonishment there was some admixture of anger. This was only
natural, as I not only saw myself deprived of the hope of making any
further advances, but I felt that I could no longer play my part of
waiter with any confidence. In spite of my love for the lady I would
not for the world become the laughing-stock of her three plain
companions. If I had interested her in my favour, she would
certainly not have divulged my secret, and I saw in her doing so
proof positive that she did not want the jest to go any further, or
rather of her want of that spirit so necessary to ensure the success
of an intrigue. If the three companions of my charmer had had
anything attractive about them, I might possibly have persevered and
defied misfortune; but in the same measure as beauty cheers my heart,
ugliness depresses it. Anticipating the melancholy which I foresaw
would result from this disappointment, I went out with the idea of
amusing myself, and happening to meet Giustiniani I told him of my
misfortune, saying that I should not be sorry to make up for it by a
couple of hours of the society of some mercenary beauty.
"I will take you to a house," said he, "where you will find what you
want. Go up to the second floor and you will be well received by an
old woman, if you whisper my name to her. I dare not accompany you,
as I am well known in the town and it might get me into trouble with
the police, who are ridiculously strict in these matters. Indeed I
advise you to take care that nobody sees you going in."
I followed the ex-Capuchin's advice and waited for the dusk of the
evening. I had a good reception, but the supper was poor, and the
hours that I spent with two young girls of the working class were
tedious. They were pretty enough, but my head was full of my
perfidious charmer, and besides, despite their neatness and
prettiness, they were wanting in that grace which adds so many charms
to pleasure. The liberality of my payment, to which they were not
accustomed, captivated the old woman, who said she would get me all
the best stuff in the town; but she warned me to take care that
nobody saw me going into her house.
When I got back Le Duc told me that I had been wise to slip away, as
my masquerade had become generally known, and the whole house,
including the landlord, had been eagerly waiting to see me play the
part of waiter. "I took your place," he added. "The lady who has
taken your fancy is Madame----, and I must confess she is vastly
fine."
"Did she ask where the other waiter was?"
"No, but the other ladies asked what had become of you several
times."
"And Madame said nothing?"
"She didn't open her mouth, but looked sad and seemed to care for
nothing, till I said you were away because you were ill."
"That was stupid of you. Why did you say that?"
"I had to say something."
"True. Did you untie her shoe?"
"No; she did not want me to do so."
"Good. Who told you her name?"
"Her coachman. She is just married to a man older than herself."
I went to bed, but could only think of the indiscretion and sadness
of my fair lady. I could not reconcile the two traits in her
character. Next day, knowing that she would be starting early, I
posted myself at the window to see her get into the carriage, but I
took care to arrange the curtain in such a way that I could not be
seen. Madame was the last to get in, and pretending that she wanted
to see if it rained, she took off her bonnet and lifted her head.
Drawing the curtain with one hand, and taking off my cap with the
other, I wafted her a kiss with the tips of my fingers. In her turn
she bowed graciously, returning my kiss with a good-natured smile.
