The Press. — London, England, 1857-01-10 00:00:00

42 The Sisters of Soleure. A Tale of the Six teenth Century. By C. S. W. London : Nisbet. THIS little work is desi g ned to illustrate the opposing principles of Romanism and the Reformed Faith in the age of their fiercest and deadliest struggle,—when to refuse out ward adoration of the Wafer was heresy, and when heresy was but a synonym for persecu tion, torture, and the stake. Some readers may think we [have already said enough to indicate the character of " The Sisters of Soleure,“ and conclude that it is one of those virulent stories with a purpose in which, under a clumsy disguise of fiction, the author's only purpose is the enunciation of his own parti cular views, utterly regardless of natural character, probable events, and all the rules of art. Plentiful as such works unhappily are, the tale before us does not add to their num ber, and possesses merits both of design and execution which place it far above the usual compositions of this class. The style. with a few trifling exceptions, is excellent ; the Eng lish pure and unaffected ; and the plot is both well conceived and skilfully wrought out, dis playing in the more stirring scenes consider able power of dramatic effect and picturesque colouring. An outline sketch of the story will better enable us to give an idea of its scope and character. The opening scene is laid in the Swiss can ton of Soleure, unno 1570, and introduces us to the two young daughters of Count Julien, hearing, for the first time, from the lips of their dying mother the dark story of her life. The daughter of a Swiss pastor of the " new religion," her happy home in the Valley of Interlaehen had been attacked and burnt, her aged father dragged from the altar and cruelly murdered, at tha instigation of a stern and bigoted Romanist whose passionate suit she had persisted in rejecting, and who, as was not unusual in those violent and fanatical times, had appeased his private thirst for ven geance under the pretence of zeal for the holy work of exterminating heretics. This person age, who plays an important part in the sequel as Cardinal Archbishop of Turin, is one of those embodiments of duplicity and wicked ness which we might perhaps condemn as overdrawn, (lid not authentic history furnish too minay like monsters among the Romish hierarchy ; and we are justified in believing that worthiness was not a necessary condition of the advancement of its members, on the authority of Pope Pius V., who is said to have exclaimed on his death-bed, " I had some " hopes of salvation when I was in a low con " dition ; after I had been advanced to be a " cardinal I greatly doubted it ; but since I '• have come to be Pope I have no hope ut all." The Swiss maiden left thus alone and un protected became the wife of Count Julien, a soldier in the service of the illustrious Emma nuel Philibert, and, though himself a Romanist, her husband had respected her creed, and she had brought up her daughters in the same faith At her death the old count had thank fully accepted the invitation of the Duchess of Savoy to place his motherless girls under her protection, while the duties of his profes sion called him to join the expedition under Don John of Austria which won its glorious laurels at Lepanto. Beatrice, the younger of the two sisters, becomes maid of honour to the duchess, and is finally won over to renounce her faith and be received into the Roman Catholic communion, under the belief that by so doing she will remove the only obstacle to her union with a cavalier who has sought and won her heart. We must refer our readers to the book itself for the details of the atrocious plot of which the poor girl is the victim : the interest is admirably sustained, and reaches its climax in a very striking scene when the young convert publicly makes her profession, and learns, ahnost at the same moment, that the lover for whose sake alone she has taken the final step is a monk, a tool of the wily archbishop While these events were passing at Turin, the old count was living in peaceful retire mcnt at Soleure with his elder daughter, Marion. But a message reaches him which excites alarm for his favorite child : he seta off \& THE PRESS. immediately fur Turin ; hind his interview with the duchess is thus described : The sight of a foreign army would have been less appalling to the duchess than that of the feeble old man, who vainly sought to hide his agitation beneath the respectful courtesy with which he ever strove to regard his sovereign. " Always welcome, my lord," were the duchess's first words, giving her hand to be kissed, in return for the deep obeisance of the aged soldier, who had so bravely fought her country's battles for nearly half a century. " My daughter, your grace ln this room I parted with her. I lent her—my fairest treasure—to your grace. You promised to be as a mother to my motherless one." _ . ....._.. " Sit down, my lord. We are alone. I have much to say." His tottering limbs refused to support him, and ho sunk into n chair. " Your daughter was greatly beloved amongst us, my lord. I ler beauty, her sweet and gentle temper, her wit and liveliness, made her a universal favorite." The o'd man bowed his head in acknowledgment of praise he felt fully deserved. " The duke often remarked her when he was with me, and my excellent friend the archbishop took the deepest interest in her." Neither of these last pieces of information were particu larly pleasant to the father. lie knew the duke's weak- ness for beauty ; and he was fur too 115 nest and straight forward himself to admire the archbishop, whose extra ordinary talents as well as craft and subtlety were well known to him. " His grace's deep interest induced him earnestly to desire to bring so fair and engaging a being as your daughter into the true Church," continued the duchess. The count started, and set bolt upright in his chair. . . " Knowing your attachment to our holy religion, he was convinced you would feel truly grateful to him should he succeed in securing her eternal safety, which, as you are well aware, was deeply perilled by her heretical views." " Madam," replied the count hastily, " I cannot even from my sovereign hear such words. Her mother, madam —her sainted mother "—his voice trembled. " I have never known a woman, Catholic or Protestant, worthy to hold a candle to her mother! That mother is in heaven —if there be a holy heaven, as I believe there ia. I wish the archbishop was as sure of going there himself," added he, in a low voice. Your views, my lord," said the duchess, gently, " are scarcely in accordance with Pope l'ius's creed, which is the orthodox creed of our holy Church. Believing, as his grace is bound to do, that salvation is only to be found in the true Church, he loved your daughter's soul well enough to seek to secure her safety." " And what effect had his grace's exhortations on the child ? " said the count, with difficulty restraining his anger. " His efforts are crowned with success." " And Beatrice is—" " Beatrice has joined the true Church." " Madam, madam," said the count, starting from his seat, "is my word to be counted as a thing of nought, a figment of no value? I promised that child's mother that I would never interfere with her daughter's religion, and of course that promise implied I would never allow it to be interfered with. I told you that promise when I left her in your care ; and when your grace condescended to say you would act as a mother to her, I considered that that promise would be acted upon. Pardon me, your grace ; I am a plain old soldier. I have learned honour and truth in fighting your husband's and your father's battles, my noble ►nasters, who scorned to break their word. I have been deceived where I trusted," and the old man's wrath grew hotter and hotter. " That cursed archbishop, what bIiSiIICAS had he to meddle with my wife's child"" and curses deep and low fell from his lips like rain. "My lord !" said the duchess; but the lather's anger was not to he restrained. "My lamb, my sweet lamb, in his hands. Better, far better, have sold her to the Turks. Where is the child? Your grace has not told me where she is. Has he mur- dered her body in his tender care for her soul. The old hypocrite ; the— " Count Julien," said the duchess, with dignity, " I can excuse a father's anxiety, but I will not hear such languai s e —such coarse abuse of so holy a man." The count, who was too glad of the absent archbishop to vent his anger on, instead of the present duchess, whom in his heart he condemned nearly as strongly, reined in his indignation for a moment. The image of his beautiful Beatrice rose before him, and his heart yearned to shelter her once more in his arms. He burst into tears, and threw himself at the duchess's feet. " Your grace is a mother. By all the love you bear your only child, tell me instantly, I conjure you, where my child is." The grief of a strong man is strangely infectious; and as the hoary head before her trembled with the violence of his emotion, the tears filled the duchess's eyes. She answered immediately, " In the Ursuline Convent, in the Val Montiere." " A convent!" and he started to his feet, rage again overmastering sorrow. "In a convent ! without a word of reference to me. Madam, madam ! is this the reward of my fifty years' service? A convent! a thousand times had 1 rather she was in a Turk's harem. A convent!—hut she cannot have taken the vows : there is time yet to save her." ' Snve her ? my lonl ! is this your thanks to me, and to the archbishop, fur winning your fair elnid into the only true Church ?" The count looked her full in the face. Her eye fell before that look of indignaut scrutiny. " Is this the care of her which your grace promised me?" replied he sternly. "Can you suppose I would ever SATURDAY, have trusted my treasure to ;our keeping, had i isaaginia you would have robbed me of her ?" " Consider her soul." " I had rather she shared her mother's lot both in this world and the next, than the lot in either world of that Judas the archbishop." And unable to restrain his fury, with a deep obeisance, the old soldier hurried from the room. _ _ ----- Beatrice is restored to her father ; but an idle story of her forcible detention is made the pretext for an attack on the convent by some mischievous vagabonds of the Protes tant community, who think frightening nuns good sport; but the matter becomes serious when the building is set on fire and the poor inmates escape with difficulty from the burn ing ruins. We should gladly quote the whole of this spirited description, but it is too long for insertion, and we must content ourselves with a shorter extract of a graver cast : Nothing that Beatrice saw amongst the sisterhood in• dated her to desire a convent life. With scarcely at: exception, their minds were contrazted—their views of life were bounded by the convent in which they lived. Nor did the heavenly Bridegroom to whom they had been devoted by their vows, seem to occupy more of their thoughts than if they had been living in the hurry of the daily pursuits of the world, which they conceived they had forsaken. The bell called them at stated hours to prayers, and they knelt in apparent devotion in the chapel ; bat Beatrice often detected the wandering eye and listless manner which she had felt herself and seen in others at the Protestant service she had attended. The daily busi. nem of the convent interested ,them as fully, and occa• sinned as much discussion and contrivance, as the affairs of their families cost the mothers of the valley. _ . Except with the abbess and two or three of the sister hood, Beatrice felt that the things of time were as all Un portant in the convent as they were in Turin—the things of eternity as uncongenial. Ah ! it is the heaven•set heart which it is so difficult to obtain. No place, no outward forms can give it—it is the work of God's spirit alone. It is not harder to preserve it in a court than it is in a convent. The crucifixion of self is the daily duty of every Christian—a duty as hard to fulfil in a convent as in a court. Every one is apt to think—" Were my circum stances different in this or that particular I could serve God better." No such thing. The difficulty is in the heart within, not in the outward circumstances: get the heart under the influence of grace, and where the body is will make little difference. This is a truth broadly stated. It is of course open to some modifications. The 'heart under the influence of grace, implies the will renewed by the power of God—the likeness of the Saviour again im pressed upon the heart. An individual so renewed will not wilfully place himself in circumstances contrary to the will of Him whom he takes as his guide. We have thus far spoken only of the story in its outward and visible aspect; this passage may give some idea of the inward and spiritual lessons it is meant to convey. We will not attempt to decide how far such lessons can be (otherwise than indirectly) conveyed through the channel of fiction ; how far important religious truths can be developed and illus trated, and made to yield an obvious moral, in a tale professing to deal with ordinary human nature, and therefore in a measure straight ened to the bounds of every-day human life. But, at least, the moral in the story before us, though strongly brought out, is never un naturally forced or violently jerked ►u our faces whether we can see it or not. Beatrice is tempted, and yields ; but in like cir cumstances such a character impetuous, unstable, and easily impressed, could hardly do otherwise. Francisco, the in strument of her seeming conversion, loses sight of all honour, and truth, and integrity while prosecuting a so-called religious duty ; but those who have yielded themselves soul and body to the rules of the Order of Jesus may, nay must, do so with a blunted con science, and a darkened mind ; and his miser able end does not startle us as unlikely in ono suddenly awakened to the reality of his own moral degradation and blighted affections. And so also with the subordinate characters. The powerlessness of mere hearsay religion to sustain, to guide, and to control, the inherent oppugnancy of the doctrines of Rotttanisn► to Scripture, to reason, and therefore to morality, are the central ideas round which the story turns ; and though novelty and originality can hardly be looked for in the application of such manifest truths, they are here transfused by a living spirit of piety so real, and charity so catholic, that they come before us in an aspect which if not new is at leant rare. We do not often meet with a book which in every page betrays the depth of the writer's convictions and the strength of his sympathies in a spirit of so much fairness and moderation, without one word of Protestant partisanship, one trace of sectarian bigotry. It is a spirit worthy of a