_Parentage of Beatrice.--She is arrested by
the Inquisition._
Thus dismissed, Castruccio returned, burning with curiosity and
admiration, to the bishop. He delivered the message with which he had
been intrusted, and then eagerly asked who this enchanting Beatrice
really was, and if it were true that she was an angel descended upon
earth for the benefit and salvation of man. The bishop smiled.
"My lord," he replied, "so much have you won my confidence and esteem,
that I am willing to satisfy your curiosity on this subject also. But
you must recollect, that neither my sister, nor even the lovely girl
herself, knows what I shall now reveal, and that I shall tell it you
under the most solemn vow of secrecy."
Castruccio readily promised discretion and silence, and the bishop then
related the following particulars.
"Have you never heard of a heretic and most dangerous impostor, of the
name of Wilhelmina of Bohemia[2]? This woman appeared first in Italy in
the year 1289: she took up her residence at Milan, with a female
companion, called Magfreda. Outwardly professing the Catholic religion,
and conforming in the strictest manner to its rules, she secretly formed
a sect, founded on the absurd and damnable belief, that she was the Holy
Ghost incarnate upon earth for the salvation of the female sex. She gave
out that she was the daughter of Constance, queen of Bohemia; that, as
the angel Gabriel had descended to announce the divine conception to the
blessed Virgin, so the angel Raphael announced to her mother the
incarnation of the Holy Spirit in favour of the female sex; and that she
was born twelve months after this heavenly annunciation. Her tenets were
intended entirely to supersede those of our beloved Lord Jesus, and her
friend Magfreda was to be papess, and to succeed to all the power and
privileges of the Roman pontiff. Wilhelmina died in the year 1302 in the
odour of sanctity, and was buried in the church of St. Peter at Milan:
she had led so holy a life, and kept her heresy so profound a secret,
except from her own sect, that she was followed as a saint, and even
priests and dignitaries wrote homilies in praise of her piety, her
abstinence, and modesty.
"I was at Milan two years after, when the Dominican inquisitors first
discovered this lurking pestilence; and the terror and abomination of
the discovery filled the town with horror. Magfreda, and her principal
follower, Andrea Saramita, were led to prison; the other disciples who
threw themselves on the mercy of the priests, being commanded to perform
several pilgrimages, and give large alms to the church, were absolved. I
had just then become a _Padre_, and filled the confessor's chair: I was
young, full of zeal, eloquent in the cause of truth, and tainted by an
enthusiastic bigotry against heretics and schismatics. I preached with
animation against this new heresy; it appeared to me so impious, so
absurd, so terrifically wicked, that I was touched by an holy impulse as
I declaimed against its followers. Having thus distinguished myself, the
father inquisitors intreated me to use my fervid arguments to persuade
the obstinate Magfreda to recant. They had exhausted every reason, and
had had recourse even to torture, to convert this woman from her
damnable impieties; but she with haughty insolence declared that she was
in readiness to perish in the flames, but that her last breath should be
spent in the praise of her divine mistress, and an exhortation to her
tormentors to repent and believe.
"I was filled with worldly vanity, and fancied that my learned
sentences, my anathemas, and eloquent exorcisms could not fail of their
desired effect, and that by the aid of God and truth I should be covered
with the glory of success in this holy warfare. Thus secure, I entered
the dungeon of the heretic: it was a low, damp vault, where she had been
confined for several weeks without even straw for her bed. She was
kneeling in one corner, praying fervently, and for a moment I stopped to
contemplate a heretic, a monster I had never before seen. She was an
aged, respectable woman, in the dress of a nun, and with an appearance
of sanctity and modesty that astounded me. When she perceived me, she
rose, and said with a faint smile: 'Is my condemnation passed? or is a
new scene of torture prepared?'
"'Daughter,' I replied, 'I come indeed to torture, not your body, but
your mind; to torture it with a knowledge of itself; to hold a mirror
before it, wherein you will contemplate its blots and deformities, of
which by the grace of the Virgin you may repent and be purified.'
"'Father, you are the master, I a slave, and I am willing to listen. But
your benevolent countenance, so different from those to which I have
been long accustomed, fills me with such confidence, that I dare hope
for your indulgence, when I intreat you to spare yourself a useless
labour, and to leave in peace the last hours of my life. I know that I
must die; and God and She know how willing I am to expire for Her
justification, even in pain and burning: but my spirit is worn, my
patience, which I have cherished with determined zeal, as the sacred
flame of my religion and the life of my heart, now begins to wane; do
not bring on my soul the sins of anger and intolerance;--leave me to
prayer, to repentance, and to my hopes of again seeing my beloved
mistress, there where there is no sorrow.'
"She spoke with dignity and mildness, so that I felt my spirit subdued;
and, although almost angry at the stubbornness of her impiety, I
followed her example in speaking with gentleness. Our conversation was
long; and the more it continued, the more my animation in the cause of
truth, and zeal for the conversion of the heretic, increased. For her
manner was so sweet and winning, her words so soft yet firm, that it lay
like a sin on my heart that I could not save her from eternal
condemnation.
"'You did not know Her,' she cried, 'you never saw my Wilhelmina. Ask
those who have seen her, even the vulgar, whose eyes are horn, and whose
hearts are stone, whether they were not moved to love and charity, when
she passed like an angel among them. She was more beautiful than aught
human could be; more gentle, modest and pious than any woman ever was,
though she were a saint. Then her words possessed a persuasion that
could not be resisted, and her eyes a fire, that betrayed even to the
unknowing that the Holy Spirit lived within her.
"'Father, you know not what you ask, when you desire me to leave my
faith in her Divinity. I have felt my soul prostrate itself before her;
the very blood that vivifies my heart has cried to me, so that, if I had
been deaf, I must have heard, that she was more than human. In my dreams
I have seen her arrayed in divine light; and even now the sacred
radiance that announces her presence fills my dungeon, and bids me for
her sake submit with patience to all that ye, her enemies, can inflict.'
"I repeat to you the mad words of Magfreda, that you may judge of the
excess of insanity that possessed this unfortunate woman. I combated
with the evil spirit within her for eight hours, but in vain; at length
I was retiring in despair, when she called me back. I returned with a
look of hope, and saw that she was weeping violently and bitterly. As I
approached, she seized my hand, and kissed it, and pressed it to her
heart, and continued pouring forth, as it were, a fountain of tears. I
believed that she was now touched by true repentance, and began to thank
divine mercy, when she waved her hand impatiently, beckoning me to be
silent. By degrees she calmed her tears; but she was still agitated by
passion, as she said: "'Kneel, father, kneel, I intreat you, and by the
cross you wear swear secrecy. Alas! if I die, another must perish with
me, one whom I have vowed to protect, one whom I love far,--far beyond
my own life.'
"She paused, endeavouring to overcome the tears, that, in spite of
herself, she shed: I comforted her, and pronounced the desired oath,
when she became calmer. 'Father, you are good, benign and charitable;
and I do believe that She has manifested Her will in sending you to me
in my distress; you, who are so unlike the wolves and harpies that have
of late beset me. There is a child--Her child:--but, father, before I
reveal further, promise me, swear to me, that she shall be educated in
my faith and not in yours.'
"I was indignant at this proposal, and said angrily: 'Woman, think you
that I will sacrifice the soul of an infant to your monstrous unbelief
and vicious obstinacy? I am a servant of the Lord Jesus, and, believe
me, I will never discredit my holy calling.'
"'Must it be so?' she cried; 'yet grant me a few moments to resolve.'
"She knelt down, and prayed fervently for a long time; and then arose
with a smiling aspect, saying: 'Father, you wish to convert me; methinks
at this moment I could convert you, if indeed faith did not come from
God, and not from the human will. She has revealed Her will to me, and
by Her command I now confide to you the treasure of my soul.
"'Two years before the death of Wilhelmina, she had a child. I cannot
tell you who was the father of this child; for, although I believed that
her conception partook of the divinity, she never confirmed my faith, or
said aught against it: but with her heavenly smile bade me wait until
the hour of knowledge should arrive. I alone knew of the birth of this
infant; and it has ever been under my care: it was brought up in a
cottage five miles hence by a good woman, who knew not to whom it
belonged; and I visited it daily, gazing with wonder on its beauty and
intelligence.
"'After its birth Wilhelmina never saw it. She always refused to visit
the cottage, or to have it brought to her, but would sit for hours, and
listen to my descriptions and praises. I have ever believed that this
separation, whatever was its cause, shortened the life of my divine
mistress; for she pined, and wept, and faded like a flower unwatered by
the dews of heaven. The last words she uttered, were to recommend her
infant to my care. I have fulfilled my task, and now, by her command,
deliver up my charge to you.
"'A year ago the nurse of the child died; and I took her secretly to my
own home, and tended her, and preserved her as her mother had commanded.
No love can equal mine for the divinity, her mother: it is a burning
affection, an adoration, which no words can express:--I shall never see
her more, until we meet in heaven, but I submit with patience to the
will of God.
"'When I heard that Andrea Saramita and our other disciples were taken,
I was transported with terror for the fate of this infant. I expected
every moment to hear the steps of the blood-hounds on the stairs, to
seize me, and discover this flower of paradise, which I cherished thus
secretly. When suddenly a thought, an inspiration, came over me, and I
cried aloud, Better are the wild beast of the forest, and the tempests
of heaven, even when they shake us most; better are plague and famine,
than man hunting after prey! So I took the infant in my arms, a small
purse of gold, and a bag of such provisions as I had in the house; and,
it being already dark, I hastened from Milan to the forest that skirts
the road to Como: I walked fast, and in two hours arrived at my goal. I
knew that one afflicted with leprosy[3] lived in the depth of the
forest, a miserable wretch, who with his wooden spoon and platter,
collected alms at the road side. Thither I went fearlessly;--mistake me
not; this man is not my disciple, he had never seen me before; but I
knew not whether the blood-hunters were acquainted with the existence of
the divine child, this I knew, that they would not dare seek her in a
leper's dwelling. I dreaded not the contagion; _for is not her mother
above all the saints in heaven?_
"'I wandered long among the tangled paths of the wood, ere I could
discover his hut; the babe slept, cherished near my heart, which bled
with anguish. To me in all the world there existed but this little
creature; the earth seemed to reel under me; yet still I felt her warm
breath upon my bosom, and heard the regular heaving of her gentle
breast. At length I found the cavern of the leper: it was half-built in
the earthy hill against which it rested, and half of the boughs of trees
plastered with mud, which was hardened in the sun; black, dilapidated,
and filthy, it was worse than a manger for the reception of my poor
innocent.
"'The wretched possessor of this sty slept on his miserable straw as I
entered. I roused him, put gold into his hand, and, placing food before
him, I said--Protect this child, and God will reward you. Feed it, wash
it, and above all keep it from the sight of man: deliver it not except
to one who may come to ask for it in the name of the Holy Wilhelmina. In
one month I hope to return for it, and will reward you as you have
obeyed my charge.--I then, with a heart bursting with agony, embraced
the daughter of my Wilhelmina for the last time: I blest her, and tore
myself away.
"'I have now been five weeks imprisoned, and I dread lest the leper
should have thrust her from his abode. Will you not, father, preserve
and love this child?'
"The discourse of Magfreda moved me strangely. I felt a wonder, a pity,
an excess of commiseration, I could not express: but kissing the cross I
wore, I said: 'Listen to me, unhappy woman, while I swear never to
desert this innocent; and may God so help me, as I keep my faith!'
"Magfreda poured forth warm and joyful thanks; then, with a heavy heart,
I recommended her to the mercy of God, and left her dungeon.
"As soon as I could tear myself from the questions and childish
curiosity of the inquisitors, I hastened to the place that Magfreda had
indicated. In the tumult of my soul, I only thought of the danger of the
lovely babe in the hands of this outcast of man and nature. I was
possessed with a passionate sense of pity, which I cannot now explain,
but for which I do not reproach myself; at length, about four miles from
the town, I heard the sound of the beggar as he struck his platter with
his spoon in token of his wants, and I turned aside from the road to
seek him. At that moment the spirit of God almost deserted me, and I was
overcome by fear--the fear of disease, and a nameless horror at the
expectation of meeting one whom all wholesome life had deserted: but I
made the sign of the cross, and approached. The wretch was seated under
a tree eating some crusts of bread; miserable, filthy, deformed, his
matted hair hung over his eyes and his ragged beard half concealed the
lower part of his visage; yet there was to be seen a savage eye, and an
appearance of brutal ferocity, that almost staggered me. I made a sign
that he should not approach, and he dropped on his knees, and began to
gabble _pater-nosters_, so that the word that God himself had spoken
seemed the jargon of the devil. I stopt at some distance from him:
'Bring me,' I cried, 'to the child who was confided to you in the name
of Wilhelmina of Bohemia.'
"The wretch, who had almost forgotten human speech, jumped up, and led
the way among the tangled underwood, along savage paths, overgrown with
rank herbage, and bestrewn with stones, till we came to his miserable
hut,--a low, dark, squalid den, which I dared not enter; 'Bring me the
child,'--I cried.
"Oh; it was a woful sight, and one which to death I shall remember, to
see this child, this morning star of beauty and exceeding brightness,
with eyes shining with joy, rosy lips melted into the softest smiles,
her glossy hair strewn upon her lovely neck, her whole form glowing with
the roseate hues of life, led by the leper from his hut; his body wrapt
in a ragged blanket, his grizzly hair stretched stiffly out, and his
person and face loathsome beyond words to describe. The lovely angel
took her hand from his, and coming up to me, said: 'Take me to mamma;
lead me from this ugly place to mother.'
"This was Beatrice; and need I say how much I have ever loved this
hapless girl, and cherished her, and tried to save her from the fate to
which her destiny has hurried her?
"I returned to Milan, and found that in the morning, while I had been
absent, Magfreda had been burnt, and her ashes scattered to the winds,
so that I had become this poor babe's only guardian. I placed her under
the care of a pensioner of the church in the neighbourhood of Milan; and
when I was promoted to the see of Ferrara, I brought her with me, and
intreated my sister to receive her, and cherish her as her own. The
lovely little being won all hearts, and Marchesana soon became attached
to her with maternal fondness. She was educated in the Holy Catholic
faith; and I hoped that, untainted by her mother's errors, she would
lead an unblamed and peaceful life, unmarked and unknown; God has
ordered it otherwise.
"Beatrice was always an extraordinary child. When only six and seven
years of age, she would sit alone for hours, silently contemplating;
and, when I asked her of what she thought, she would weep, and
passionately desire me not to ask her. As she grew older, her
imagination developed; she would sing extempore hymns with wild, sweet
melody, and she seemed to dwell with all her soul on the mysteries of
our religion; she then became communicative, and told me how for hours
she meditated upon the works of nature, and the goodness of God, till
she was filled with a sentiment that overwhelmed and oppressed her, so
that she could only weep and sigh. She intreated me to unfold to her all
I knew, and to teach her to read in the sacred book of our religion.
"I was fearful that her ignorance and enthusiasm might lead her astray,
since, in her accounts of her meditations, she often said things of God
and the angels that were heretical; and I hoped that a knowledge of the
truth would calm her mind, and lead her to a saner devotion. But my
labours had a contrary effect; the more she heard, and the more she
read, the more she gave herself up to contemplation and solitude, and to
what I cannot help considering the wild dreams of her imagination. It
seemed to me as if her mother's soul had descended into her; but that,
regulated by the true faith, she had escaped the damnable heresies of
that unhappy woman. She delighted to read, and pretended to explain the
prophecies of the sacred writings, and the modern ones of Merlin, the
abbot Joachim and Methodius: beside these studies, she grew wonderfully
familiar with all vulgar superstitions, holy trees and fountains, lucky
and unlucky days, and all the silly beliefs that jugglers and impostors
encourage for their own profit. At length she began to prophesy; some of
her prophecies were interpreted as true, and since that time her fame
has been spread through Ferrara. Her followers are numerous; and my poor
sister is the first of her disciples: Beatrice herself is wrapt up in
the belief of her own exalted nature, and really thinks herself the
_Ancilla Dei_, the chosen vessel into which God has poured a portion of
his spirit: she preaches, she prophesies, she sings extempore hymns, and
entirely fulfilling the part of _Donna Estatica_[4], she passes many
hours of each day in solitary meditation, or rather in dreams, to which
her active imagination gives a reality and life which confirm her in her
mistakes.
"Thus, my lord, I have revealed the birth of this extraordinary girl,
which is unknown to every one else. Why I have done this I can hardly
tell; for I have done it without premeditation or foresight. But I am
glad that you know the truth; for you seem humane and generous; and I
wish to secure another protector for my poor Beatrice, if I were to die,
and she fell into any misfortune or disgrace."
Castruccio and the good bishop passed almost the whole night in
conversation concerning this wonderful creature; and, when the consul
retired to rest, he could not sleep, while the beauty of Beatrice was
present to his eyes, and her strange birth and fortunes to his memory.
In the morning he went to the church of St. Anna: mass was performed,
but he looked in vain for the prophetess;--yet, when the service was
finished, and the people assembled in the porch of the church, she
appeared among them with her aged protectress at her side. She wore her
capuchin of light blue silk, but her cowl was thrown back, and her eyes,
black as the darkness which succeeds a midnight flash of lightning, full
and soft as the shy antelope's, gleamed with prophetic fire.
She spoke; her words flowed with rich and persuasive eloquence, and her
energetic but graceful action added force to her expressions. She
reproached the people for lukewarm faith, careless selfishness, and a
want of fervour in the just cause, that stamped them as the slaves of
foreigners and tyrants. Her discourse was long and continued, with the
same flow of words and unabated fervour: her musical voice filled the
air; and the deep silence and attention of her numerous auditors added
to the solemnity of the scene. Every eye was fixed on her,--every
countenance changed as hers changed; they wept, they smiled, and at last
became transported by her promises of the good that was suddenly to
arise, and of the joy that would then await the constant of
heart;--when, as this enthusiasm was at its height, some Dominican
inquisitors came forward, surrounded her, and declared her their
prisoner. Until that moment Castruccio had observed her only,--her
flashing eyes and animated manner; the smiles and then the tears, that,
as the sunshine and clouds of an April day, succeeded each other on the
heaven of her countenance. But, when the inquisitors surrounded her, her
voice was silent, and the mute deference of the multitude was no more.
All became clamour and confusion; screams, vociferation, ejaculations
and curses burst from every tongue;--they declared that the prophetess,
the _Ancilla Dei_ should not be torn from them,--she was no heretic,--of
what crime had she been guilty?--The inquisitors had with them a guard
of Gascon soldiers, and this inflamed the multitude still more; it was
plain that her adherence to the party of the marquess Obizzo, and the
prophecy of his restoration were her only crimes. The noise of her
arrest spread through the town, and all Ferrara flocked to the church of
St. Anna; the crowd, transported with rage, seemed prepared to rescue
the prisoner, who, silent and resigned, stood as one unconcerned in the
animated scene. The people armed themselves with stones, sticks, knives,
and axes; the inquisitors sent for a reinforcement of Gascon troops, and
every thing appeared to menace violence, and bloodshed, when one of the
priests attempted to take the hand of Beatrice as if to lead her away;
she looked at him with a steady glance, and he drew back, while she made
a sign as if about to speak, and the multitude hushed themselves to
silence, and were as still, as when a busy swarm of bees, buzzing and
flying about, all at once drop to silence, clinging round their queen,
who is the mistress of their motions.
She said, "I appeal to the bishop."
"Yes, to the bishop,--to the good bishop; he is just,--take her to
him,--he shall decide the cause."
The inquisitors were prepared to resist this appeal: but the will of the
people became a torrent not to be stemmed by them, and it hurried them
away. They led the prophetess to the episcopal palace, surrounded by the
Gascon soldiery, and followed by an immense multitude, which rent the
sky with the cries of their anger and despair.
The bishop received the appeal with deep sorrow. Beatrice stood before
him, her arms crossed on her breast, her eyes cast down; but on her
face, although the gentlest modesty was depicted, there was no trace of
fear; she looked intrepid, yet as if she relied not on her own strength,
but on that of another. The inquisitors accused her of being an
impostor, a misleader of the people, a dangerous and wicked enthusiast,
whom the penitence and solitude of a cloister must cure of her
extravagant dreams. They talked long and loud, uninterrupted either by
the judge or the prisoner, although the lady Marchesana who stood near
could not always restrain her indignation.
At length they were silent; and Beatrice spoke: "You call me an
impostor,--prove it! I shrink from no trial, I fear no danger or
torture,--I appeal to the _Judgement of God_,--on that I rest the truth
or falsehood of my mission."
She looked around her with her flashing eyes and glowing cheeks; she was
all loveliness, all softness; yet there was a spirit within her, which
elevated her above, although it mingled with the feminine delicacy of
her mind and manners, and which inspired all who saw her with reverence
and tenderness. But a small part of the multitude had found their way
into the hall of the bishop's palace; but these could no longer contain
themselves; the _Judgement of God_ was a thing suited to their vulgar
imaginations, as a strange and tremendous mystery, that excited their
awe, their pity, and their admiration: they cried, "God can alone judge
of this! let the trial be made!" and their screams overpowered every
other sound. The inquisitors joined in the clamour, whether to consent
or dissent it was impossible to distinguish; at length the scene became
calmer, and the bishop interposed his mild voice, but vainly,--the
inquisitors repeated the words, impostor! heretic! madwoman! and
Beatrice disdainfully refused all composition. It was finally agreed,
that she should be confined for that night in the convent of St. Anna,
and on the following morning, under the auspices of the monks of the
adjoining monastery, should undergo the _Judgement of God_, to be
pronounced guilty or innocent as that should declare.
Both the inquisitors and Beatrice retired in security and triumph,
followed by the multitude, who were careless of the dismay but too
plainly painted on the faces of the prophetess's friends. The lady
Marchesana was in dreadful agitation, fluctuating between her faith in
the supernatural powers of Beatrice, and her dread lest the trial should
bring ruin upon her: she wept, she laughed, she was in a state
approaching to madness; until her brother, bidding her confide in God,
soothed her to resignation and some degree of confidence. She then
retired to pray, leaving the bishop and Castruccio overwhelmed with
pity, horror, and indignation.
Then the old man for the first time gave vent to his sorrow:--"Ill-fated
victim! headstrong, foolish girl! what are thy prophecies now? thy
inspirations and divine aid? alas! alas! the hand of God is upon thee,
born in an evil day of a guilty and impious mother! His wrath wraps thee
as a cloud, and thou art consumed beneath it;--my love is as bitter
ashes,--my hopes are extinct;--oh, that I had died before this day!"
Castruccio was at first too much confounded to offer consolation; but,
when he spoke, and bade his friend not despair, the bishop replied: "My
lord, she has won my whole soul, and all my affections; why this is, I
know not;--is she not beautiful? and she is as good as she is beautiful.
She calls me father, and loves me with the tenderness of a child; day
and night I have offered up my prayers to God, not to visit on her the
sins of her mother;--for her sake I have fasted and prayed,--but all is
vain, and she must perish."
"Not so, father; say not that so lovely a being shall perish under the
fangs of these cruel hell-hounds. Do not, I earnestly intreat you,
despair: flight! flight is her only safety; father, you have authority,
and must save her. I will take charge of her, when she has quitted the
walls of the convent, and I will place her in safe and honourable
guardianship. Let her fly,--by the sun in heaven she shall escape!"
The bishop remained silent for some time; the same ardent blood did not
warm his veins, which boiled in those of Castruccio: he saw all the
difficulties; he feared for the success of their scheme; but he resolved
to make the attempt. "You are right," said he; "flight is her only
safety: yet it will be rather a rape, than a flight; for willingly she
will never consent to desert the high character she has chosen to
assume. Did you not mark her triumph, when the Judgement of God was
agreed upon Mad, wild girl!--Let me consider our plan, and weigh our
powers. The abbess is a Guelph; but the abbot of the visiting monastery
is a Ghibeline; besides the edicts of the church pronounce against these
temptations of God's justice. I will exert myself; and she may be
saved."
When night closed in, these two anxious friends, alone and wrapt up from
observation, hastened to the monastery. Castruccio remained in the
parlour; and the prelate entered the interior of the convent. He
remained two hours; while Castruccio, full of anxiety, continued alone
in the parlour, which looked on an interior court with no object to call
off his attention, in silent and anxious expectation. He thought of the
beauty of the prophetess, her animation and numberless graces, until he
almost believed in the divinity of her mission: but he shuddered with
horror, when he reflected upon her danger, that her ivory feet should
press the burning iron, that, if she fell, she would fall on the hot
metal, and expire in misery, while the priests, the accursed,
self-constituted distributors of God's justice, would sing hymns of
triumph over her untimely and miserable fate;--he felt tears gather in
his eyes, and he would have devoted himself for her safety. At length
the bishop reappeared, and they silently returned to the palace.
"Well! where is she?" were the first words of Castruccio.
"Safe I hope, I trust that I shall not be deceived. I endeavoured to
move the abbot to let her escape; I would have gone to the abbess, whose
consent I must have obtained, and have used all the influence my station
would have given me with her; but the abbot stopped me;--he assured me
that he would take care that no harm befel the devoted victim; he begged
me not to ask an explanation;--that he and his monks had the charge of
the preparation for the Judgement, and that much was in their power;
again and again he assured me that she should receive no injury.
"I do not like this:--she must be protected by falsehood and perjury, a
lying and blasphemous mockery of the name of God. The abbot, who was a
servant of the Popes at Avignon, laughs at my scruples; and I am obliged
to yield. She will be saved, and God, I hope, will pardon our human
weaknesses. Let the sin lie on the souls of those blood-hounds, who
would pursue to destruction the loveliest creature that breathes upon
earth."
[Footnote 2: See Muratori, _Antichristà Italiane_, No. 60.]
[Footnote 3: This disease was then common in Italy. The person affected
with it, was accustomed to retire and dwell in a cave in a forest, from
whence he resorted to the road-side, and with beating a wooden spoon
upon a platter, demanded alms of travellers, which, when they were
retired to a convenient distance, he came and took from a stone upon
which it was to be deposited.]
[Footnote 4: These inspired women first appeared in Italy after the
twelfth century, and have continued even until our own days. After
giving an account of their pretensions, Muratori gravely observes, "We
may piously believe that some were distinguished by supernatural gifts,
and admitted to the secrets of heaven; but we may justly suspect that
the source of many of their revelations, was their ardent imagination,
filled with ideas of religion and piety."]