to giveup the world, and her feeling of unfitness for a life devoted wholly tothe services of the Church.
"Alas! my daughter, it is hard for an old man, broken by infirmities,with one foot in the grave, to advise a young and joyous being toabandon all her hopes of domestic felicity, and the pleasures which theworld affords, for a life of ascetic seclusion," he answered; and Clarafelt her heart lighter at his words. "But," he continued, "as aminister of religion, it behoves me to advise you to obey your father'swishes, and to fulfil your mother's vow. There is but one course, mydaughter, marked out for you to follow--the stern one of duty; and yourduty demands the sacrifice of yourself; yet weep not, my child, a fewyears will quickly pass away, and you will no longer regret the worldyou have left, with all its vanities, while an immortal crown of glorywill assuredly await you, the blessed reward of your virtue andresignation. Think of this world as it truly is, a vale of tears, andplace your hopes of happiness in a heavenly future.--My fair daughter,you must become a nun."
Pale and trembling, Clara listened, and bent her head in meekresignation, while the tears stole down her fair cheeks. The advice,though good and pious, doubtless, was not such as to afford consolationto a lovely girl of nineteen, who might naturally and innocently hope tofind some enjoyment in the world her aged confessor likened to a vale oftears; yet she had determined to abide by his counsel, and her fate wassealed.
She made no further resistance to the fidalgo's commands, consenting torecommence her noviciate whenever he should think fit. A day at a shortdistance was fixed, and Father Alfonzo saw with malignant satisfactionthe commencement of his long sought for triumph.
The Convent of Santa Clara, at Oporto, is situated on the brow of asteep hill to the east of the city, overlooking the rapid Douro. It isa lofty and handsome building of carved stone, the windows lookingtowards the outer side being strongly barred; the church stands on oneside of the entrance, which is through a court-yard with wide oakengates. A long and steep flight of steps leads up to it from the river,but on the other side it is approachable by a broad though winding road,with the backs chiefly of some large houses and dead walls on each side,making it altogether a most secluded situation. The garden issurrounded by a high dark wall, with pointed battlements, exactlysimilar to the walls of the city; indeed, one side of it is enclosed bythem, and at the end furthest removed from the convent is asummer-house, likewise, alas! securely grated, from whence a beautifulview is obtained both up and down the river. On the opposite side, onthe summit of a precipitous cliff, at whose foot the river rushes withimpetuous force, stands the Serra Convent, with its high cupola-roofedchurch, then surrounded by groves of fine trees and lovely gardens, andinhabited by the most wealthy and high-born monks of Oporto, that ofSanta Clara receiving none but the daughters of fidalgos. On the rightis a view of the city, and the town of Villa Nova, with the heightsbeyond, between which the river winds its way towards the sea; while onthe left, a soft and smiling scene, with rich green banks rising fromthe water, is beheld, beyond a narrow gorge of dark rocks.
To this convent Clara was now conveyed, and, torn from the embrace ofthe good Senhora Gertrudes, notwithstanding all the old nurse'sentreaties that her darling might be allowed to remain at home with her.
It must be confessed that Clara had but little to complain of during hernoviciate in this lovely spot, and she had much to make her contented.She had many companions of her own age; merry, light-hearted girls, wholaughed and talked all day long, hurrying over the daily ceremonials oftheir religion to laugh and talk again. Then their confessors wouldcome, who never troubled them with too severe penances, entertainingthem instead with many laughable stories. They would no more havethought of imposing any disagreeable task on the fair young fidalgas,than would a fashionable preacher in London of annoying the consciencesof his hearers. Then the doctor would come and feel their pulses, whilehe detailed all the anecdotes he had collected during his professionalvisits, and indeed everything that was going forward in the world.
All, however, were not thus happy; the young love of some had beenblighted in the bud, and they had retired thither in the expectation offinding peace and a solace for their woe in the duties of religion;others had been compelled by cajolery or threats to embrace a life theydetested and despised, these invariably recompensing themselves byindulging in every license within their power, for they soon discovered"that where there's a will there's a way." We well recollect theConvent of Santa Clara, the most fashionable of our day, so we must notbe scandalous.
The fair flower of his garden, as her father used to delight to callClara, found naught congenial to her feelings and thoughts in this newlife, and with fear and sad forebodings she looked forward to the timewhen it must irrevocably become hers for ever. She pined for freedom,and she thought of the love and devotion of her poor, though high-born,lover, Don Luis. In vain she tried, for she thought it her duty tobanish his image from her mind, but she had engraven it too deeply toeradicate it. Each time it returned with greater beauty than before,till at last she gave up the attempt as hopeless; so she cherished itwith greater fondness than ever.
About two months of her noviciate had passed, when one evening, as shewas seated in the summer-house, inhaling the fresh breeze, and gazing onthe lovely view, her companions having all quitted her, she heard a lowstrain of music, sounding as if it came from far down the cliff belowher. She listened attentively for some minutes--it ceased--when itagain sounded as if from directly beneath the wall. At one of thewindows a bar had been loosened, so that it could be easily removed, asthe fair birds were, it must be confessed, rather frequently in thehabit of doing. She soon discovered the necessary way to do it, and,looking out, she beheld a graceful figure, with a cloak over his arm anda guitar in his hand. As he gazed up towards the window of the hightower, he struck a few low notes on his guitar, as if to draw theattention of any fair captive within. The eye of love was not slow inpiercing the thickening shades of evening, and her heart beat withtender emotion as she distinguished Don Luis d'Almeida. He stoodevidently uncertain whether he was known, or whether it was Donna Claraherself towards whom he was looking; he feared, she thought, topronounce her name, lest it might in any way betray her, and she equallytrembled to speak his. She held in her hand a handkerchief marked withher name, "Would it be wrong?" she let it drop, and had just time to seehim spring forward, seize it, and press it rapturously to his lips, whenthe bell for vespers rang, and she was obliged to hasten into theconvent.
The following evening she anxiously watched, from the window of thetower, the return of Luis. He at length appeared, having climbed, withgreat difficulty and danger, the steep heights from the river; but thistime he had not encumbered himself with a guitar. Clara looked hastilyinto the garden below her--no one was within hearing.
"Oh, Luis," she cried, "your presence gives me both joy and pain; joy toknow that you are near me, and pain that I feel it will soon be sin evento think of you."
"Say not so, my beloved Clara; I come to tell you to hope," answeredLuis. "Resist to the utmost taking the fatal vows. Defer it in everypossible way, and something may yet occur to favour our wishes."
"Heaven grant there may!" exclaimed Clara; "but, much as I delight inseeing you, for my sake, do not venture here. Ten months must elapsebefore the dreaded time arrives; ere that time, return again here, andbelieve me, I will trust in your constancy. I have seen and heard suchthings within these walls as make me almost doubt whether I am bound toobey my father's commands by remaining in them till released by death.It is treason to speak this; but thus much I must tell you, Luis. Hark!some one approaches. Farewell!"
"I will rescue you or die," whispered Luis, yet loud enough to reach herears; and while she watched him, as he disappeared over the brow of thecliff, a young novice entered the tower.
"What! sister Clara, ever meditating in our bower?" exclaimed the girl,laughing, "I shall begin to suspect you have some lover among thegallant friars opposite, or perhaps some o
ne has managed to fly to thefoot of the tower; for Love, we are told, has wings, though he generallyuses them rather to fly away; but in no other way could a human beingcontrive to get there, I am sure. I quite forgot--I came to bring you amessage from the Lady Abbess, to say that your father and a certainPadre Alfonzo are waiting to see you."
"I will accompany you," answered Clara, taking the arm of Sister Amalia;and the two young ladies entered the convent together.
More trials awaited Clara. Her father received her with an angry brow,unusual to him, and chiding her, gravely informed her that he hadreceived intimation that Don Luis had been seen at Oporto, whither hehad doubtless been attracted for her sake, insisting on her promisingnever, without his leave, to see him. He little suspected that she had,within the last few minutes, both seen and heard