Constantia was a woman of extraordinary wit and beauty, but very unhappy
in a father who, having arrived at great riches by his own industry, took
delight in nothing but his money. Theodosius was the younger son of a
decayed family, of great parts and learning, improved by a genteel and
virtuous education. When he was in the twentieth year of his age he
became acquainted with Constantia, who had not then passed her fifteenth.
As he lived but a few miles distant from her father's house, he had
frequent opportunities of seeing her; and, by the advantages of a good
person and a pleasing conversation, made such an impression in her heart
as it was impossible for time to efface. He was himself no less smitten
with Constantia. A long acquaintance made them still discover new
beauties in each other, and by degrees raised in them that mutual passion
which had an influence on their following lives. It unfortunately
happened that, in the midst of this intercourse of love and friendship
between Theodosius and Constantia, there broke out an irreparable quarrel
between their parents; the one valuing himself too much upon his birth,
and the other upon his possessions. The father of Constantia was so
incensed at the father of Theodosius, that he contracted an unreasonable
aversion towards his son, insomuch that he forbade him his house, and
charged his daughter upon her duty never to see him more. In the
meantime, to break off all communication between the two lovers, who he
knew entertained secret hopes of some favourable opportunity that should
bring them together, he found out a young gentleman of a good fortune and
an agreeable person, whom he pitched upon as a husband for his daughter.
He soon concerted this affair so well, that he told Constantia it was his
design to marry her to such a gentleman, and that her wedding should be
celebrated on such a day. Constantia, who was overawed with the
authority of her father, and unable to object anything against so
advantageous a match, received the proposal with a profound silence,
which her father commended in her, as the most decent manner of a
virgin's giving her consent to an overture of that kind. The noise of
this intended marriage soon reached Theodosius, who, after a long tumult
of passions which naturally rise in a lover's heart on such an occasion,
wrote the following letter to Constantia:--
"The thought of my Constantia, which for some years has been my only
happiness, is now become a greater torment to me than I am able to
bear. Must I then live to see you another's? The streams, the
fields, and meadows, where we have so often talked together, grow
painful to me; life itself is become a burden. May you long be happy
in the world, but forget that there was ever such a man in it as
"THEODOSIUS."
This letter was conveyed to Constantia that very evening, who fainted at
the reading of it; and the next morning she was much more alarmed by two
or three messengers that came to her father's house, one after another,
to inquire if they had heard anything of Theodosius, who, it seems, had
left his chamber about midnight, and could nowhere be found. The deep
melancholy which had hung upon his mind some time before made them
apprehend the worst that could befall him. Constantia, who knew that
nothing but the report of her marriage could have driven him to such
extremities, was not to be comforted. She now accused herself for having
so tamely given an ear to the proposal of a husband, and looked upon the
new lover as the murderer of Theodosius. In short, she resolved to
suffer the utmost effects of her father's displeasure rather than comply
with a marriage which appeared to her so full of guilt and horror. The
father, seeing himself entirely rid of Theodosius, and likely to keep a
considerable portion in his family, was not very much concerned at the
obstinate refusal of his daughter, and did not find it very difficult to
excuse himself upon that account to his intended son-in-law, who had all
along regarded this alliance rather as a marriage of convenience than of
love. Constantia had now no relief but in her devotions and exercises of
religion, to which her affections had so entirely subjected her mind,
that after some years had abated the violence of her sorrows, and settled
her thoughts in a kind of tranquillity, she resolved to pass the
remainder of her days in a convent. Her father was not displeased with a
resolution which would save money in his family, and readily complied
with his daughter's intentions. Accordingly, in the twenty-fifth year of
her age, while her beauty was yet in all its height and bloom, he carried
her to a neighbouring city, in order to look out a sisterhood of nuns
among whom to place his daughter. There was in this place a father of a
convent who was very much renowned for his piety and exemplary life: and
as it is usual in the Romish Church for those who are under any great
affliction, or trouble of mind, to apply themselves to the most eminent
confessors for pardon and consolation, our beautiful votary took the
opportunity of confessing herself to this celebrated father.
We must now return to Theodosius, who, the very morning that the above-
mentioned inquiries had been made after him, arrived at a religious house
in the city where now Constantia resided; and desiring that secrecy and
concealment of the fathers of the convent, which is very usual upon any
extraordinary occasion, he made himself one of the order, with a private
vow never to inquire after Constantia; whom he looked upon as given away
to his rival upon the day on which, according to common fame, their
marriage was to have been solemnised. Having in his youth made a good
progress in learning, that he might dedicate himself more entirely to
religion, he entered into holy orders, and in a few years became renowned
for his sanctity of life, and those pious sentiments which he inspired
into all who conversed with him. It was this holy man to whom Constantia
had determined to apply herself in confession, though neither she nor any
other, besides the prior of the convent, knew anything of his name or
family. The gay, the amiable Theodosius had now taken upon him the name
of Father Francis, and was so far concealed in a long beard, a shaven
head, and a religious habit, that it was impossible to discover the man
of the world in the venerable conventual.
As he was one morning shut up in his confessional, Constantia kneeling by
him opened the state of her soul to him; and after having given him the
history of a life full of innocence, she burst out into tears, and
entered upon that part of her story in which he himself had so great a
share. "My behaviour," says she, "has, I fear, been the death of a man
who had no other fault but that of loving me too much. Heaven only knows
how dear he was to me whilst he lived, and how bitter the remembrance of
him has been to me since his death." She here paused, and lifted up her
eyes that streamed with tears towards the father, who was so moved with
the sense of her sorrows that he could only command his voice, which was
broken with sighs and sobbings, so far as to bid her proceed. She
followed his directions, and in a flood of tears poured out her heart
before him. The father could not forbear weeping aloud, insomuch that,
in the agonies of his grief, the seat shook under him. Constantia, who
thought the good man was thus moved by his compassion towards her, and by
the horror of her guilt, proceeded with the utmost contrition to acquaint
him with that vow of virginity in which she was going to engage herself,
as the proper atonement for her sins, and the only sacrifice she could
make to the memory of Theodosius. The father, who by this time had
pretty well composed himself, burst out again in tears upon hearing that
name to which he had been so long disused, and upon receiving this
instance of an unparalleled fidelity from one who he thought had several
years since given herself up to the possession of another. Amidst the
interruptions of his sorrow, seeing his penitent overwhelmed with grief,
he was only able to bid her from time to time be comforted--to tell her
that her sins were forgiven her--that her guilt was not so great as she
apprehended--that she should not suffer herself to be afflicted above
measure. After which he recovered himself enough to give her the
absolution in form: directing her at the same time to repair to him again
the next day, that he might encourage her in the pious resolution she had
taken, and give her suitable exhortations for her behaviour in it.
Constantia retired, and the next morning renewed her applications.
Theodosius, having manned his soul with proper thoughts and reflections,
exerted himself on this occasion in the best manner he could to animate
his penitent in the course of life she was entering upon, and wear out of
her mind those groundless fears and apprehensions which had taken
possession of it; concluding with a promise to her, that he would from
time to time continue his admonitions when she should have taken upon her
the holy veil. "The rules of our respective orders," says he, "will not
permit that I should see you; but you may assure yourself not only of
having a place in my prayers, but of receiving such frequent instructions
as I can convey to you by letters. Go on cheerfully in the glorious
course you have undertaken, and you will quickly find such a peace and
satisfaction in your mind which it is not in the power of the world to
give."
Constantia's heart was so elevated within the discourse of Father
Francis, that the very next day she entered upon her vow. As soon as the
solemnities of her reception were over, she retired, as it is usual, with
the abbess into her own apartment.
The abbess had been informed the night before of all that had passed
between her novitiate and father Francis: from whom she now delivered to
her the following letter:--
"As the first-fruits of those joys and consolations which you may
expect from the life you are now engaged in, I must acquaint you that
Theodosius, whose death sits so heavy upon your thoughts, is still
alive; and that the father to whom you have confessed yourself was
once that Theodosius whom you so much lament. The love which we have
had for one another will make us more happy in its disappointment than
it could have done in its success. Providence has disposed of us for
our advantage, though not according to our wishes. Consider your
Theodosius still as dead, but assure yourself of one who will not
cease to pray for you in father
"FRANCIS."
Constantia saw that the handwriting agreed with the contents of the
letter; and, upon reflecting on the voice of the person, the behaviour,
and above all the extreme sorrow of the father during her confession, she
discovered Theodosius in every particular. After having wept with tears
of joy, "It is enough," says she; "Theodosius is still in being: I shall
live with comfort and die in peace."
The letters which the father sent her afterwards are yet extant in the
nunnery where she resided; and are often read to the young religious, in
order to inspire them with good resolutions and sentiments of virtue. It
so happened that after Constantia had lived about ten years in the
cloister, a violent fever broke out in the place, which swept away great
multitudes, and among others Theodosius. Upon his death-bed he sent his
benediction in a very moving manner to Constantia, who at that time was
herself so far gone in the same fatal distemper that she lay delirious.
Upon the interval which generally precedes death in sickness of this
nature, the abbess, finding that the physicians had given her over, told
her that Theodosius had just gone before her, and that he had sent her
his benediction in his last moments. Constantia received it with
pleasure. "And now," says she, "if I do not ask anything improper, let
me be buried by Theodosius. My vow reaches no further than the grave;
what I ask is, I hope, no violation of it." She died soon after, and was
interred according to her request.
The tombs are still to be seen, with a short Latin inscription over them
to the following purpose:--
"Here lie the bodies of Father Francis and Sister Constance. They
were lovely in their lives, and in their death they were not divided."