I was not of a nature to meditate long, without putting my thoughts
into action. My spirit had been suddenly aroused, and was now all awake
within me. I watched my opportunity, fled from the convent, and made my
way on foot to Naples. As I entered its gay and crowded streets, and
beheld the variety and stir of life around me, the luxury of palaces,
the splendor of equipages, and the pantomimic animation of the motley
populace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of enchantment, and
solemnly vowed that nothing should force me back to the monotony of the
cloister.
I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I had been so young
on leaving it, that I knew not its situation. I found some difficulty
in getting admitted to my father's presence, for the domestics scarcely
knew that there was such a being as myself in existence, and my
monastic dress did not operate in my favor. Even my father entertained
no recollection of my person. I told him my name, threw myself at his
feet, implored his forgiveness, and entreated that I might not be sent
back to the convent.
He received me with the condescension of a patron rather than the
kindness of a parent. He listened patiently, but coldly, to my tale of
monastic grievances and disgusts, and promised to think what else could
be done for me. This coldness blighted and drove back all the frank
affection of my nature that was ready to spring forth at the least
warmth of parental kindness.
Pages:
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85