“The Superior is very fond of you.” “He seems so.” “The brethren are
attentive to your studies, and capable of directing them, and
appreciating your progress.” “They seem so.” “And the boarders--they are
sons of the first families in Spain, they appear all satisfied with
their situation, and eager to embrace its advantages.” “They seem so.”
“My dear son, why have you thrice answered me in the same monotonous,
unmeaning phrase?” “Because I thought it all _seeming_.” “How, then,
would you say that the devotion of those holy men, and the profound
attention of their pupils, whose studies are alike beneficial to man,
and redounding to the glory of the church to which they are dedicated--”
“My dearest father,--I say nothing of them,--but _I dare_ to speak of
myself,--I can never be a monk,--if that is your object--spurn
me,--order your lacqueys to drag me from this carriage,--leave me a
beggar in the streets to cry (13)“_fire and water_,”--but do not make me
a monk.” My father appeared stunned by this apostrophe. He did not utter
a word. He had not expected such a premature developement of the secret
which he imagined _he_ had to disclose, not to hear disclosed. At this
moment the carriage turned into the _Prado_; a thousand magnificent
equipages, with plumed horses, superb caparisons, and beautiful women
bowing to the cavaliers, who stood for a moment on the foot-board, and
then bowed their adieus to the “ladies of their love,” passed before our
eyes. I saw my father, at this moment, arrange his superb mantle, and
the silk net in which his long black hair was bound, and give the signal
to his lacqueys to stop, that he might mingle among the crowd. I caught
this moment,--I grasped his mantle.--“Father, you find this world
delightful then,--would you ask me to resign it,--me,--who am your
child.”--“But you are too young for it, my son.” “Oh, then, my father, I
am surely much _too young for another world_, to which you would force
me.” “Force you, my child, my first-born!” And these words he uttered
with such tenderness, that I involuntarily kissed his hands, while his
lips eagerly pressed my forehead. It was at this moment that I studied,
with all the eagerness of hope, my father’s physiognomy, or what artists
would call his _physique_. (13) “Fire for the cigars, and iced-water for drink.”--A cry often
  heard in Madrid. “He had been my parent before he was sixteen; his features were
beautiful, his figure the most graceful and lover-like I ever beheld,
and his early marriage had preserved him from all the evils of youthful
excess, and spared the glow of feature, and elasticity of muscle, and
grace of juvenility, so often withered by vice, almost before they have
bloomed. He was now but twenty-eight, and looked ten years younger. He
was evidently conscious of this, and as much alive to the enjoyments of
youth, as if he were still in its spring. He was at the same moment
rushing into all the luxuries of youthful enjoyment and voluptuous
splendour, and dooming one, who was at least young enough to be his son,
to the frozen and hopeless monotony of a cloister. I laid hold of this
with the grasp of a drowning man. But a drowning man never grasped a
straw so weak as he who depends on the worldly feeling of another for
the support of his own. “Pleasure is very selfish; and when selfishness pleads to selfishness
for relief, it is like a bankrupt asking his fellow-prisoner to go bail
for him. This was my conviction at the moment, yet still I reflected,
(for suffering supplies the place of experience in youth, and they are
most expert casuists who have graduated only in the school of
misfortune), I reflected, that a taste for pleasure, while it renders a
man selfish in one sense, renders him generous in another. The real
voluptuary, though he would not part with his slightest indulgence to
save the world from destruction, would yet wish all the world to be
enjoying itself, (provided it was not at his expence), because his own
would be increased by it. To this I clung, and intreated my father to
indulge me with another view of the brilliant scene before us. He
complied, and his feelings, softened by this compliance, and exhilarated
by the spectacle, (which interested _him_ more than me, who observed it
only for its effect on him), became more favourable than ever. I availed
myself of this, and, while returning to the convent, threw the whole
power of my nature and intellect into one (almost) shrieking appeal to
his heart. I compared myself to the unhappy Esau, deprived of his
birthright by a younger brother, and I exclaimed in his language, “Hast
thou no blessing for me! Bless me, even me also, Oh my father!” My
father was affected; he promised my intreaty every consideration; but he
hinted some difficulty to be encountered on my mother’s part, much on
that of her Director, who (I afterwards found) governed the whole
family, and still more remotely hinted at something insurmountable and
inexplicable. He suffered me, however, to kiss his hand at parting, and
vainly struggled with his emotions when he felt it damp with my tears. “It was not till two days after, that I was summoned to attend my
mother’s Director, who was waiting for me in the parlour. I deemed this
delay the result of a long family debate, or (as it seemed to me)
conspiracy; and I tried to prepare myself for the multifarious warfare
in which I had now to engage with parents, directors, superiors, and
monks, and boarders, all sworn to win the day, and not caring whether
they carried their point by storm, sap, mine, or blockade. I began to
measure the power of the assailants, and to try to furnish myself with
weapons suited to their various modes of attack. My father was gentle,
flexible, and vacillating. I had _softened_ him in my favour, and I felt
that was all that could be done with him. But the Director was to be
encountered with different arms. As I went down to the parlour, I
composed my looks, my gait, I modulated my voice, I adjusted my dress. I
was on my guard, body, mind, mien, clothes, every thing. He was a grave,
but mild-looking ecclesiastic; one must have had the treachery of Judas
to suspect him of treachery. I felt disarmed, I even experienced some
compunction. “Perhaps,” said I, “I have all this while armed myself
against a message of reconciliation.” The Director began with some
trifling inquiries about my health, and my progress in study, but he
asked them in a tone of interest. I said to myself, it would not be
decorous for him to enter on the subject of his visit too soon;--I
answered him calmly, but my heart palpitated with violence. A silence
ensued, and then suddenly turning towards me, he said, “My dear child, I
understand your objections to a monastic life are insurmountable.