“Abundance of selfishness to begin with,” said Mr. Fletcher, laughing.
“And then to feel such satisfaction with one’s own lot,” continued Rose, “to look down from such pure solitude upon the world, and pity those who are struggling and toiling there; and to remember that one’s safety is owing to one’s virtuous resolution.”
“Selfishness again, and more pride,” interrupted her father. “But, Selina, which is the greatest charm in your eyes? for you look as if the very thought of it inspired you.”
“I was thinking of the grandest day of a whole life—the day of taking the veil. What a tide of feelings must rush in upon the young creature’s mind when she sees her family for the last time, they grieving to part with her, but admiring her for her piety! And then the glow of resolution, the noble contempt of the world, and the delight of setting such an example, at such an age! The old priests admiring and blessing her, the music, sometimes wailing and sometimes triumphant, as if it would celebrate her funeral and her marriage at the same time; and the crowd pressing to catch a glimpse of such a holy heroine——”
Selina stopped short, struck with the expression of disgust in Mary’s countenance.
“Mary sees what you are blind to,” said Mr. Fletcher: “she sees that half of this is enthusiasm, and the other half vanity. Mary, I had rather hear what would be most tempting to you.”
“No part would be tempting,” said Mary, “unless I could have one dear friend with me; but if there was one to whom I might speak and listen about those human sympathies which feed the life of our minds, I could be happy, I think, in praying and meditating, and doing all the good my heart and hands could effect. But I must also be free from all spiritual domination: I would never give up my soul in slavery to abbess or confessor. Unless I might worship as my spirit prompted, unless I might do good as the gospel enjoins, and love as human hearts are made to love, my devotion would be worthless, and I should be fit neither for heaven nor earth.”
“You will make a poor devotee,” observed Mr. Fletcher, smiling.
“There is no convent on earth that would admit you,” said her father: “you would not be pure enough; you do not go far enough beyond the gospel: you must be content with trying to be above the world while you are in the world.”
The happy father silently observed how his last words called up, as such thoughts never failed to do, the flush of strong emotion into his daughter’s cheek. Mary was not unfrequently inspired with a resolution quite as holy, and much more rational and modest, than animates a devotee in taking the veil.