“Nay, nay, my good friend, I see nothing so very abominable in the matter. No woman ought to marry a man whose religion will be his condemnation; and the religion which may be made effectual to the salvation of the husband is equally capable of saving the wife.”
“Sophistry, not worth refuting;” was the only answer which Signora Rivolta made to this last speech.
The cause of this ill-humor in the mother of Clara, and of this ebullition of bigotry, was the appearance in London of an Italian priest named Martini, whom Signora Rivolta had known in Italy, and from whose fanaticism her mind had received there a strong religious impulse. This Father Martini had, on the Sunday morning in question, officiated at the chapel where Signora Rivolta attended, and his discourse had been on the subject of religious indifference; and that part of religious indifference on which priests are most eloquent, and with which they are generally most angry, is an inattention to sectarian theories or peculiarities. By the eloquence of Father Martini the zeal of Signora Rivolta had been revived, and with that zeal there also arose a feeling of hostility and bitterness towards heretics.
This conversation took place just after the elopement of the Countess of Trimmerstone with Mr. Tippetson: and as after that event Horatio Markham, from circumstances already noticed, did not pay such constant attention as in former days he had paid to Clara, Signora Rivolta began to have hopes that the attachment on Markham’s part was dying away. With respect to Clara, it was evident that her mind was in a painfully unsettled state; and her mother thought that no better remedy could be applied, than removing her from those scenes and associations from whence her unhappiness arose; and as Father Martini was a man of some consideration in his own country, and a person in whom the Signora could confide, it entered into her mind that it might be desirable to send Clara back to her native land under his guardianship, till such time as in the revolution of events Colonel Rivolta and herself might be able to return to Italy.
It would indeed have been a gratification to her mother, could Clara have been easily induced to take the veil; but the Signora had more consideration for her daughter’s feelings than to use, or to suffer to be used, any urgent importunities on the subject. And here we are quite willing and most happy to render to Signora Rivolta the justice which acknowledges and commends the gentle and unimportunate mode in which her wishes on this subject were always expressed. Every body knows that there is a mode of importunity which wearies and worries into compliance, when the judgment and inclination are equally and strongly adverse to that compliance. And this importunity is so expressed, and with such jesuitical dexterity is it oftentimes managed, that when it has gained its object, its victim is thought and spoken of as acting from its own free will. Beautifully is this importunity pictured in that touching song called “Auld Robin Gray.”
“My mither didna speak,
But she looked in my face
Till my heart was nigh to break.”
Now there was no such species of tender worrying as this in Signora Rivolta’s conduct towards her daughter. The Signora was somewhat fanatical, but she was straightforward and honest.
The presence of Father Martini in London at this juncture certainly led the mother of Clara to thoughts concerning her daughter; and, knowing that Mr. Martindale was not very partial to the priests of her religion, she took occasion of his absence to hold frequent intercourse with this zealous supporter and advocate of that faith in which she had been educated. Father Martini had made frequent visits, and had held long consultations. In those consultations mention had been made of Markham and Tippetson; and when the priest made the last visit, he took it for granted that the person whom he met at the drawing-room door was Markham: for that reason he looked at him with such inquisitorial scrutiny.