“I had stood facing the sanctuary, and absently gazing upon it, when the door of the vestry opened, and the train of priests and boys entered; at the same moment the music began. In looking at the splendid robes which the priest wore, as the representative of Christ, I could not help recalling to mind the manner of His life, who, when he was upon earth, had not where to lay his head. His holiness, his self-denial, his purely spiritual life, so poorly exemplified by the modern Italian priesthood; the most miserable among whom fares sumptuously every day, compared to the life his Master led.
“The mournful chant of the officiating priest re-echoed from vaulted-ceiling to paved aisles, filling the empty space with the sad sound; and alternately the thrilling tones of the voices in the choir, sang the hymns of the service. Madame Bonni, in an attitude of wrapt devotion, her head bowed down, still knelt at the sanctuary, and I at the base of the pillar. A magnificent painting of the crucifixion, hung over the altar; and upon the inanimate image of the Divine sufferer, I fixed my eyes. During the service, the incense had been offered before the altar; the priest and boys had disappeared, bearing with them the consecrated host; and the last sweet cadences of the voices in the gallery were hushed, ere I aroused myself from my reverie. There was something beautifully solemn about that mass, celebrated at dawn; the classic interior of the church, built in the grecian style; its silence, the dim twilight which reigned, the sweet voices, concealed from view by the crimson silk curtains of the gallery, the elegant robes of the officiating priests and their attendants, and the grateful odor of frankincense and myrrh, with which the altar was perfumed, together formed a scene of impressive solemnity.
“One by one, the people stole away; we also departed. It was now bright day: two hours had elapsed during mass. Madame Bonni proposed, before returning home, to pay a visit to the convent of Sacre Cœur, to which the church belonged. I willingly assented, and accompanied her.
“It was an antique mass of brick, of almost shapeless form; so many different additions had at various times been made to the original edifice. The little iron-grated window, set in the middle of the strong, iron-barred gate, was opened by a small, thin-faced nun. She looked at us with a quick sharp glance; after Madame had spoken to her a moment, she turned away within the portal, leaving the window open, through which I was enabled to see the interior. It was a small anti-chamber, furnished with nothing, save the floor, the four walls, and three heavy oaken chairs, chained to the wall. After several questions had been asked by another nun, and responded to by the first, two or three bells rung, and other mysterious preliminaries gone through with, our nun devoutly crossed herself, and admitted us. Madame asked for the Lady Superior; we were conducted through several long narrow passages, to the convent parlor, where the nun left us, and went to summon her Superior. The room was small and dark, very plainly furnished with a waxed floor of dark wood, pictures of the saints on the walls, and an enormous crucifix in one corner. The chairs were chained to the walls, as in the anti-chamber; everything wore an air of monastic serenity. I heard the rustling of silk, and looking round, saw a tall, slender woman, thin, almost to attenuation. She wore the sombre dress of the order; the expression of her features was at once benevolent and austere; her eyes were blue, quiet, and grave; her face was of an oval form, and full; there was at once, shrewdness, benevolence, and sternness, all expressed and impressed upon that face.
“She greeted Madame Bonni with cordiality; me, with politeness; in her right hand she carried a rosary of ivory beads, which, from time to time, she passed mechanically through her small white hands. Having seated herself upon a chair, she quietly regarded us.
“‘We have called thus early, Mother Cecilia,’ began Madame, in extenuation of our unseasonable visit, ‘that we might obtain of you a permit to go through the convent on Wednesday next, my young friend being desirous of seeing it.’
“‘Ah!’ said she, fixing her eyes upon me, ‘is she a stranger in Naples?’
“‘She has been here but a short time.’
“The holy mother would probably have been horrified, had she known I was an actress. Ah, blind bigotry of party faith, of sectarianism; ye, who look at the occupation, the condition in life, without regarding the honesty, the character, the heart; the mind’s the standard of the man or woman, and not the accidental contingencies of fortuitous or disadvantageous circumstances.
“I will with pleasure give you a permit, and you need not apologise for the earliness of the hour, as we have long since begun the duties of the day; the sisters attend mass at three o’clock, in the chapel of the convent,’ she continued, still looking at me. ‘This young girl so forcibly reminds me of one of my beloved ones, who is now, I hope, in a state of beatitude, among the blessed around the throne of God. So great a resemblance do you bear to her, I almost thought when I entered, that it was herself revisiting earth; may I ask your name, Mademoiselle?’