“Well, I must tell you, to warn you against these gay men of the world, who are in fact not unfrequently like birds of prey; he has for many years been considered a profligate man of fashion; he has run through with a large fortune of his own, and draws largely upon an aunt of his, for means to support his expensive way of living. He is said to have squandered his money in gambling; among women of improper character; in horse racing, and divers other fashionable vices. Knowing your virtuous character, I take the liberty of cautioning you, Mademoiselle. You will not be offended at me, I trust, for thus speaking?’
“‘On the contrary, I feel grateful for your kind admonitions; but it seems strange to me that so interesting and graceful a gentleman can be so depraved.’
“‘You may depend upon my veracity, I assure you; I know this to be a fact; he is a man of seductive manners, and has always had the reputation of being eminently successful among women; and I should suppose from his gentle ways that he would be a favorite. I would not have mentioned this, but your beauty, your isolated position in life; having no protector but your innate sense of virtue, and Monsieur Belmont, who looks upon these things in a philosophical point of view, and would care little what you did; your great musical abilities, and the celebrity you are rapidly acquiring, all these conspire to render you a conspicuous object of pursuit to these gay men of fashion. Had I a daughter, as young, and as beautiful as yourself, I should wish that some matron, experienced in the world’s ways, might advise her of the snares of life; and, since you have been here, I feel toward you almost the same affection a mother feels for a child; you possess the sentiments and character of a lady; you should have been born the daughter of some noble house, in which position you might have passed your life in luxurious elegance, without being subjected to this laborious and disagreeable profession.’
“I felt the truth of the good woman’s remarks, and thought upon them long after she had left me; still I could not consent to believe all that she had said concerning Monsieur de Serval; perhaps he had been wild, most young men are, and he was yet under thirty, perhaps extravagant; but that he was a systematic, practised roué, I really could not think of believing. The expression of his features was so sweet, so sincere; his manner was so amiable; Madame might have been misinformed, or personal prejudice had blinded her. Thus ever do we cheat ourselves where our affections, or predilections are interested, we use every possible sophism to convince ourselves, that those whom we fancy, are everything our fond imaginations picture them as being; determinately closing our eyes and ears against facts which speak to the contrary.
“I had not been to church since my arrival in Naples, so entirely had my new profession engrossed my attention; my conscience almost reproached me for this neglect of what I had been taught to consider so important a duty. In Naples, I perceived that religion was regarded by the higher classes as a matter of custom and form; few, save among the humble peasantry, went to church from sincere faith, or love of prayer; the poor, humble worms of earth, believe with blind confidence, whatever their priests tell them; they are generally contented and happy, amid the humble pursuits, the lowly joys, of their restricted sphere in life; and sometimes, when contemplating these unsophisticated children of nature, I have wondered whether they are not after all, wiser than those great philosophers, who propel their minds into the regions of science, and yet ultimately discover that we can learn nothing positive of that futurity, which no mortal has the ability to comprehend; no one can doubt but that they are happier, if not wiser than those learned skeptics, however humble the former, or great the latter may be; and surely that belief, be it Protestant or Catholic, which teaches us to bear patiently the misfortunes and ills of life; to confide and trust in that beneficent Spirit, the creator, from the beginning of time to eternity, of all things; that abstract and immaterial principle which we, without understanding, can only venerate and adore. Surely that wrapt devotion, that blind reliance, is better than skepticism, in which we have nothing to console us in regard to futurity, and yet are satisfied with our own conclusions.
“Pardon me, my kind friend, these many digressions and reflections; yet I cannot forbear making them, when I recall those old days.
“Madame Bonni had repeatedly invited me to attend mass with her: until now I had declined; but on the Sunday following the conclusion of my two weeks’ engagement, which had ended with much eclat for me and profit to my teacher, I promised to go with her to early mass, at the French church of Sacre Cœur.
“We rose with the dawn, and together bent our steps to the house of prayer, which was situated perhaps half a mile from home. She attired in her usual dress of gray silk, wearing a mantilla, thrown over her head, without a bonnet. I in spotless white, a scarf of blue crape around my shoulders, and a white chip pamela bonnet, then in vogue. Even at that early hour, the streets were alive with pedestrians, summoned by the bells to their devotions. Splendid equipages and humble calesso’s jostled each other as they rattled along. Ladies, attended by their footmen, carrying their prayer books, passed the poor sempstress; the lady’s maid; the Neapolitan peasant, with her madonna-like coiffure, and classic face; the pretty attendants of shops, hurrying to their devotions before they began the business of the day; the gay, happy-looking peasant beaux, dressed in their holiday clothes, sauntered along; and, in contrast to them, the dignified, grave Italian noble, glided past with quick and quiet pace.
“The enormous leaves of the bronze-gilt doors of the church were opened wide, and a crowd of devotees were entering the edifice, as we also went in. We walked up the great middle aisle, where, kneeling upon its polished marble surface, were numerous worshippers, devoutly telling their beads, and murmuring their prayers in whispered tones. Madame Bonni walked to the foot of the sanctuary, and kneeling before it, repeated her rosary. The bright sunlight began to cast a thousand different rays through the stained glass of the gothic windows. Leaning against one of the corinthian pillars of the centre aisle, I looked around; all was still as the chamber of death; the sun had not yet fully illumined the beautiful church; the distant corners, and niches, wherein statues were placed, remained in dim twilight; even the sanctuary would not have been clearly distinguishable, had it not been lighted by an alabaster lamp, suspended over the altar. The priests had not yet made their appearance, nor had the choir began to sing.
“Near me, inlaid upon the wall, was an oblong marble tablet; and engraved upon it, I read the epitaph of one of the deceased cardinals of the church. I do not know why, but the sight of that tablet, the associations of time and place, the early hour of day, the solitude and silence of the church, brought home more vividly to my mind than I had ever felt before—the thought of death. I had seen grave stones and epitaphs a hundred times before, but had always glanced at them carelessly, without fully realizing that they were actually the abodes of the dead; of beings who, when living, had been animated with the same hopes, fears, and passions as myself; but who now slumbered on unheeded and unheeding. Yet why should we mourn for the dead, even for those we most love and cherish? to die in this life, is only to begin a new existence in some other state of being; and since we cannot penetrate beyond that dark abyss, the boundary of life, we must look forward with hope, and confidently trust in our Creator.