CHAPTER XV.
THE CONVENT OF THE BERNARDINES.
The history of colonies is the same everywhere, that is to say, that youfind the old belief, the forgotten manners and customs of the mothercountry intact, and almost exaggerated.
Mexico was to Spain what Canada still is to France. In Mexico we,therefore, find the Spain of the monks, with all the abuses of adegenerate monastic life; for we are compelled to state that withfew, very few exceptions, the monks of Mexico are far from leading anexemplary life. A few years ago a Papal legate arrived at Mexico, whohad been sent to try and introduce into the monasteries reforms whichhad become urgent; but he soon recognized the impossibility of success,and returned as he came. This is the history of yesterday and today, andin the way things are going on, it will be the history of tomorrow.
In spite of the innumerable revolutions the Mexican monks are stillvery rich. Among other uses to which they put their money, the best is,perhaps, lending it out at six per cent., which, let us hasten to add,is a great blessing in a country where the ordinary interest on borrowedmoney is sixteen to eighteen per cent. Still, it appears to us, and wetrust the remark will not be taken in bad part, but little in harmonywith the vocation of the monks and the pure doctrines of religion, whichis so opposed to lending money out at interest, for it has ever seen init disguised usury.
We will add, at the risk of incurring the blame of some persons, andof appearing to emit a paradox, that in this collection of Christianreligious buildings there seems to be kept up the tradition of thegreat Mexican Teocali, which contained within its walls seventy-eightbuildings devoted to the Aztec worship.
In the first place, what is the religion professed in Spanish America?It certainly is not the Catholic faith; and this we can affirm with asafe conscience, and supply proof if necessary. The Americans of thesouth, like all southern peoples, are instinctively Pagans, fond ofwar and holidays, making a god of each saint, adoring the Virgin undera hundred different forms, digging up the old Aztec idols, placingthem in all the Mexican churches, and offering them worship under thecharacteristic denomination of Santos antiguos, or ancient saints.
What can be said after this? Simply that the Hispano-Americans neverunderstood the religion they were compelled to profess; that they carebut very little for it, and in their hearts cling to their old worshipin the terrific proportion of the native to the European population,that is to say two-thirds to one. Hence the demoralization of themasses, which is justly complained of, but is the fault of those personswho, at the outset, believed they could establish the religion ofChrist in their countries by fire and sword--a system, we are bound toadd, scrupulously followed by the Spanish clergy, up to the Proclamationof the Independence of the colonies.
The Convent of the Bernardines is situated but a short distance fromthe Paseo de Bucareli. Not one of the religious communities for womenscattered over Mexico is so rich as this one, for the kings of Spainand nobles of the highest rank gave it large endowments, which, in thecourse of time, have grown into an immense fortune.
The vast site occupied by the Convent of the Bernardines, the thickwalls that surround it, and the numerous domes that crown it,sufficiently indicate the importance it enjoys at the present day.
Like all the Mexican convents, and especially that at San Francisco, towhich it bears a distant resemblance, the Convent of the Bernardines isdefended by thick walls, flanked by massive buttresses, which give itthe appearance of a fortress. Still the peaceful belfries, and theircupolas of enamelled porcelain covering so many chapels, allow the piousdestination of the edifice to be recognized. An immense paved courtleads to the principal chapel, which is adorned with a luxury that itwould be difficult to form an idea of in our sceptical Europe.
Behind this first court is the space reserved for the nuns, consistingof immense cloisters, adorned with pictures by old masters, and whitejasper basins from which limpid fountains rise. Next come immensehuertas with umbrageous walks, wide courtyards, a rich and valuablelibrary in which the scientific wealth of Mexico lies buried, eightspacious, comfortable, and airy dormitories, four hundred cells forthe nuns, and a refectory in which four hundred guests can sit withoutcrowding.
On the day when we introduce the reader into the Convent of theBernardines, at about five in the evening, three persons, collected ina leafy arbour, almost at the end of the garden, were talking togetherwith considerable animation.
Of these persons, one, the eldest, was a nun, while the other two, girlsof from sixteen to eighteen years of age, wore the garb of novices.
The first was the Mother Superior of the convent, a lady of about fiftyyears of age, with delicate and aristocratic features, gentle manners,and noble and majestic demeanour, whose face displayed kindness andintelligence.
The second was Dona Anita; we will not draw her portrait, for the readerhas long been acquainted with her.[1] The poor girl, however, was paleand white as a corpse, her fever-parched eyes were not easy, fixed onany object, and she looked about her hurriedly and desperately.
The third was Dona Helena Rallier, a light-haired, blue-eyed girl, witha saucy look, whose velvety cheeks, and noble and well-defined features,revealed the candour and innocence of youth, combined with the laughingexpressions of a boarder spoiled by an indulgent governess.
Dona Helena was standing a little outside the arbour, leaning againsta tree, and seemed like a vigilant sentry carefully watching lest theconversation between the Mother Superior and her companion should bedisturbed.
Dona Anita, seated on a stone bench by the side of the Abbess, with herhand in the elder lady's, and her head resting on her shoulder, wasspeaking to her in a faltering voice and broken sentences which founddifficulty in passing her parted lips, while the tears silently ran downher cheeks, which suffering had rendered pale.
"My kind mother," she said, and her voice, was harmonious as the sighof an AEolian harp, "I know not how to thank you for your inexhaustiblekindness towards me. Alas! you are at present my only friend; why mayI not be allowed to remain always by your side? I should be so glad totake my vows and pass my life in this convent under your benevolentprotection."
"My dear child," the Abbess said gently, "God is great, his power isinfinite; hence, why despair? Alas! doubt leads to denial; you are stillalmost a child. Who knows what joy and happiness the future may stillhave in store for you?"
The maiden gave a heavy sigh. "Alas!" she murmured, "the future nolonger exists for me, my kind mother; a poor orphan, abandoned withoutprotection to the power of an unnatural relation, I must endure fearfultortures, and, under his iron yoke, lead a life of suffering and grief."
"Child," the Abbess said, with gentle sternness, "do not blaspheme; youare still ignorant, I repeat, of what the future may have in store foryou. You are ungrateful at this moment--ungrateful and selfish."
"I ungrateful! holy mother!" the maiden objected.
"Yes, you are ungrateful, Anita, to us and to yourself. Do you considerit nothing, after the frightful misfortune that burst on you, to havereturned to this convent in which your childhood was spent, and to havefound among us that family which the world refused you? Is it nothing tohave near you hearts that pity you, and voices that incessantly urge youto have courage?"
"Courage, sister," Dona Helena's sweet voice said at this moment, like asoft echo.
The maiden hid her lovely tear-bedewed face in the bosom of the MotherSuperior.
"Pardon me, mother," she continued, "pardon me, but I am crushed by thisstruggle, which I have carried on so long without hope. The courageyou attempt to give me cannot, in spite of my efforts, penetrate to myheart, for I have the fatal conviction that, whatever you may do, youwill not succeed in preventing the frightful misfortune suspended overmy head."
"Let us reason a little, my child, like sensible persons; up to thepresent, at least, we have succeeded in concealing from everybody thehappy return of your senses."
"Happy!" she sighed.
"Yes, happy; for with the
intellect faith, that is to say, strength,returned to you. Well, while your guardian believes you still insane,and is compelled, in spite of himself, to suspend his schemes withreference to you, I have been employing all the influence my highposition gives me, and my family connections. I have had a petition onyour behalf presented to the President of the Republic by sure hands;this petition is supported by the greatest names in Mexico, and I ask init that the marriage with which you are menaced may not be contractedagainst your will; in a word, I ask that your guardian may be preventedtaking any steps till you are in a proper condition to say yes or no."
"Have you really done that, my good mother?" the maiden exclaimed, asshe threw her arms in real delight round the elder lady's neck.
"Yes, I have done so, my child, and I am expecting every moment a reply,which I hope will be favourable."
"Oh, mother, my real mother, if that succeeds I shall be saved."
"Do not go from one extreme to the other, my child; all is uncertainyet, and heaven alone knows whether we shall be successful."
"Oh, God will not abandon a poor orphan."
"God, my child, chastens those He loves; have confidence in Him, and hisright hand will be extended over you to sustain you in adversity."
"Sister Redemption is coming this way, holy mother," Dona Helena said atthis moment.
At a sign from the Mother Superior, Dona Anita withdrew to the other endof the bench on which she was seated, folded her arms on her chest, andlet her head droop.
"Are you looking for our mother, sister?" Dona Helena asked a ratherelderly lay sister, who was looking to the right and left as if reallyseeking somebody.
"Yes, sister," the lay sister answered, "I wish to deliver a messagewith which I am entrusted for our mother."
"Then enter this arbour, sister, and you will find her reposing there."
The lay sister entered the arbour, approached the Mother Superior,stopped modestly three paces from her, folded her arms on her breast,looked down respectfully, and waited till she was spoken to.
"What do you desire, daughter?" the Mother Superior asked her.
"Your blessing, in the first place, holy mother," the lay sisteranswered.
"I can give it you, daughter; and now what message have you for me?"
"Holy mother, a gentleman of lofty bearing, called Don Serapio de laRonda, wishes to speak with you privately; the sister porter took himinto the parlour, where he is waiting for you."
"I will be with him directly, daughter; tell the sister porter toapologize in my name to the gentleman, if I keep him waiting longer thanI like, owing to my advanced age. Go on, I follow you."
The lay sister bowed respectfully to the abbess, and went away todeliver the message with which she was entrusted. The abbess rose, andthe two girls sprang forward to support her; but she stopped them.
"Remain here till the Oracion, my children," she said to them, "conversetogether; but be prudent, and do not let yourselves be surprised; afterthe Oracion, you will come and converse in my cell."
Then after giving Dona Anita a parting kiss, the Mother Superior wentaway, sorely troubled in mind at this visit from a man she did not know,and whose name she now heard for the first time. When she entered theparlour, the abbess examined with a hasty glance the person who asked tosee her, and who, on perceiving her, rose from his chair, and bowed toher respectfully. This first glance was favourable to the stranger, inwhom the reader has doubtless already recognized Valentine Guillois.
"Pray resume your seat, caballero," the abbess said to him, "if yourconversation is to last any time, we shall talk more comfortably whensitting."
Valentine bowed, offered the lady a chair, and then returned to his own.
"Senor Don Serapio de la Ronda was announced to me," the lady continuedafter a short silence.
"I am that gentleman, madam," Valentine said courteously.
"I am at your orders, caballero, and ready to listen to anycommunication you may have to make."
"Madam, I have nothing personal to say to you; I am merely commissionedby the Minister of the Home Department to deliver you this letter, towhich I have a few words to add."
While uttering this sentence with exquisite politeness, Valentineoffered the abbess a letter bearing the ministerial arms.
"Pray open the letter, madam," he added, on seeing that, throughpoliteness, she held it in her hand unopened, "you must render yourselfacquainted with its contents in order to understand the meaning of thewords I have to add."
The abbess, who in her heart was impatient to know what the minister hadto say to her, offered no objection, and broke the seal of the letter,which she hurriedly perused. On reading it a lively expression of joylit up her face.
"Then," she exclaimed, "his excellency deigns to grant my request?"
"Yes, madam; you remain, until fresh orders, responsible for youryoung charge. You have only to deal with the minister in the matter;and," he added, with a purposed stress on the words, "in the event ofGeneral Guerrero, the guardian of Dona Anita, trying to force you intosurrendering her to him, you are authorized to conceal the young lady,who is for so many reasons an object of interest, in any house of theorder you please."
"Oh, senor," she answered, her eyes filling with tears of joy, "praythank his excellency in my name for the act of justice he has deigned toperform in favour of this unfortunate young lady."
"I will have that honour, madam," Valentine said, as he rose; "and nowthat I have delivered my message, permit me to take leave of you, whilecongratulating myself that I was selected by his Excellency the Ministerto be his intermediary with you."
At the moment when Valentine left the convent, Carnero entered it,accompanied by a monk, whose hood was pulled down over his face. Thehunter and the capataz exchanged a side glance, but did not speak.
[1] See "Tiger Slayer." Same publishers.