LETTER XX.
For the reasons mentioned in my last, Augsburgh is a most agreeable place to live in. Touched with the sensations natural to a man who loved to see his fellow-creatures happy, my heart expanded to a system of peace and harmony, comprehending the whole globe: my mind expatiated involuntarily on the blessings and advantages derived from such a system; and, taking flight from the bounds of practicability, to which our feeble nature is pinned on this earth, into the regions of fancy, had reared a fabric of Utopian mold, which, I verily believe, exceeded in extravagance the works of all the Utopian architects that ever constructed castles in the air.
Hurried on by this delightful vision, my person paid an involuntary obedience to my mind; and the quickness of my pace increasing with the impetuosity of my thoughts, I found myself, before I was aware of it, within the Chapel-door of the Convent of the Carmelites. Observing my error, I suddenly turned about, in order to depart, when a Friar, a goodly person of a man, elderly, and of a benign aspect, called me, and, advancing towards me, asked, in terms of politeness, and in the French language, why I was retreating so abruptly——I was confused: but truth is the enemy before whom confusion ever flies; and I told him the whole of my mistake, and the thoughts from which they arose.
The good father, waving further discourse on the subject, but with a smile which I thought carried a mixture of benevolence for myself, and contempt for my ideas, brought me through the Church, and shewed me all the curiosities of the place, and particularly pointed out to me, as a great curiosity, a sun-dial made in the form of a Madonna, the head enriched with rays and stars, and in the hand a sceptre which marked the hours.
Quitting the Chapel, and going towards the Refectory, the Friar stood, and, looking at me with a smile of gaiety, said, “I have yet something to shew you, which, while Lady Madonna marks the time, will help us to pass it; and, as it will make its way with more force and subtlety to your senses than those I have yet shewn you, will be likely to be longer retained in remembrance.”
He spoke a few words in German, which of course I did not understand, to a vision bearing the shape of a human creature, who, I understood, was a lay-brother; and, turning down a long alley, brought me to his cell, where we were soon followed by the aforesaid lay-brother, with a large earthen jug of liquor, two glasses, and a plate with some delicately white biscuit.
“You must know,” said the Friar, “that the Convent of Carmelites at Augsburgh has for ages been famed for beer unequalled in any part of the world; and I have brought you here to have your opinion——for, being an Englishman, you must be a judge, the Britons being famed for luxury, and a perfect knowledge of the savoir[savoir] vivre.” He poured out, and drank to me: it looked liker the clearest Champaigne than beer——I never tasted any thing to equal it; and he seemed highly gratified by my expressions of praise, which I lavished upon it, as well from politeness, as regard to truth.
After we had drank a glass each, “I have been reflecting,” said the Friar, “on the singular flight of fancy that directed your steps into this Convent——Your mind was diseased, my son! and a propitious superintending Power has guided your steps to a physician, if you will but have the goodness to take the medicine he offers.”
I stared with visible marks of astonishment.
“You are surprised,” continued he; “but you shall hear! When first you disclosed to me those sickly flights of your mind, I could on the instant have answered them: but you are young——you are an Englishman——two characters impatient of reproof: the dogmas of a Priest, I thought therefore, would be sufficiently difficult to be digested of themselves, without any additional distaste caught from the chilling austerity of a Chapel.”
I looked unintentionally at the earthen jug, and smiled.
“It is very true,” said he, catching my very inmost thoughts from the expression of my countenance——“it is very true! good doctrine may, at certain times, and with certain persons, be more effectually enforced under the cheering influence of the social board, than by the authoritative declamation and formal sanctity of the pulpit; nor am I, though a Carmelite, one of those who pretend to think, that a thing in itself good, can be made bad by decent hilarity, and the animation produced by a moderate and wise use of the goods of this earth.”
I was astonished——
“You fell into a reverie,” continued he, “produced by a contemplation of the happiness of a society existing without any difference, and where no human breath should be wasted on a sigh, no ear tortured with a groan, no tears to trickle, no griefs or calamities to wring the heart.”
“Yes, father!” said I, catching the idea with my former enthusiasm; “that would be my wish——that my greatest, first desire.”
“Then seest thou,” interrupted he, “the extent of thy wish, suppose you could realize it, which, thank God! you cannot.”
“What! thank God that I cannot? are these your thoughts?”
“Yes, my son; and ere Madonna marks the progress of ten minutes with her sceptre, they will be your’s too.”
“Impossible!”
“Hear me, my son!——Is not death a horrible precipice to the view of human creatures?”
“Assuredly,” said I——“the most horrible: human laws declare that, by resorting to it for punishment, as the ultimatum of all terrible inflictions.”
“When, then,” said he, “covered as we are with misery, to leave this world is so insupportable to the human reflection, what must it be if we had nothing but joy and felicity to taste of in this life? Mark me, child!” said he, with an animated zeal that gave an expression to his countenance beyond any thing I had ever seen: “the miseries, the calamities, the heart-rendings, and the tears, which are so intimately interwoven by the great Artist in our natures as not to be separated in a single instance, are in the first place our security of a future state, and in the next place serve to slope the way before us, and, by gradual operation, fit our minds for viewing, with some sort of fortitude, that hideous chasm that lies between us and that state——death. View those miseries, then, as special acts of mercy and commiseration of a beneficient Creator, who, with every calamity, melts away a link of that earthly chain that fetters our wishes to this dismal world. Accept his blessings and his goods, when he sends them, with gratitude and enjoyment: receive his afflictions, too, with as joyous acceptance, and as hearty gratitude. Thus, and not otherwise, you will realize all your Utopian flights of desire, by turning every thing to matter of comfort, and living contented with dispensations which you cannot alter, and, if you could, would most certainly alter for the worse.”[worse.”]
I sat absorbed in reflection——The Friar, after some pause, proceeded——
“Errors arising from virtuous dispositions and the love of our fellow-creatures, take their complexion from their parent motives, and are virtuous. Your wishes, therefore, my son! though erroneous, merit reward, and, I trust, will receive it from that Being who sees the recesses of the heart; and if the truths I have told you have not failed to make their way to your understanding, let your adventure of to-day impress this undeniable maxim on your mind——so limited is Man, so imperfect in his nature, that the extent of his virtue borders on vice, and the extent of his wisdom on error.”
I thought he was inspired; and, just as he got to the last period, every organ of mine was opened to take in his words.
“’Tis well, my son!” said he——“I perceive you like my doctrine: then (changing his manner of speaking, his expressive countenance the whole time almost anticipating his whole words) take some more of it,” said he gaily, pouring out a fresh glass. I pleaded the fear of inebriety——“Fear not,” said he; “the beer of this Convent never hurts the intellect.”
Our conversation continued till near dinner-time; for I was so delighted, I scarcely knew how to snatch myself away: such a happy melange of piety and pleasantry, grave wisdom and humour, I had never met. At length, the Convent-bell tolling, I rose: he took me by the hand, and, in a tone of the most complacent admonition, said, “Remember, my child! as long as you live, remember the Convent of the Carmelites; and in the innumerable evils that certainly await you if you are to live long, the words you have heard from old Friar Augustine will afford you comfort.”
“Father!” returned I, “be assured I carry away from you a token that will never suffer me to forget the hospitality, the advice or the politeness of the good father Augustine. Poor as I am in natural means, I can make no other return than my good wishes, nor leave any impression behind me: but as my esteem for you, and perhaps my vanity, make me wish not to be forgotten, accept this, (a seal ring, with a device in hair, which I happened to have on my finger); and whenever you look at it, let it remind you of one of those, I dare say innumerable, instances, in which you have contributed to the happiness and improvement of your fellow-creatures.”
The good old man was affected, took the ring, and attended me to the Convent gate, pronouncing many blessings, and charging me to make Augsburgh my way back again to England if possible, and take one glass more of the Convent ale.