“Wretch!” I cried, grasping his habit, “you are a hypocrite, a deceiver!” and I know not of what violence I might have been guilty, but my father interposed.
My mother shrieked with terror, and a scene of confusion followed, in which I recollect nothing but the hypocritical exclamations of the Director, appearing to struggle between my father and me, while he mediated with God for both. He repeated incessantly, “Señor, do not interpose, every indignity I suffer I make a sacrifice to Heaven; it will qualify me to be an intercessor for my traducer with God;” and, crossing himself, he called on the most sacred names, and exclaimed, “Let insults, calumnies, and blows, be added to that preponderance of merit which is already weighed in the scales of heaven against my offences,” and he dared to mix the claims of the intercession of the saints, the purity of the immaculate Virgin, and even the blood and agony of Jesus Christ, with the vile submissions of his own hypocrisy.
The room was by this time filled with attendants. My mother was conveyed away, still shrieking with terror. My father, who loved her, was driven by this spectacle, and by my outrageous conduct, to a pitch of fury—he drew his sword. I burst into a laugh, that froze his blood as he approached me. I expanded my arms, and presented my breast, exclaiming, “Strike!—this is the consummation of monastic power—it begun by violating nature, and ends in filicide. Strike! give a glorious triumph to the influence of the church, and add to the merits of the holy Director. You have sacrificed your Esau, your firstborn, already, let Jacob be your next victim.”
My father retreated from me, and, revolted by the disfigurement which the violence of my agitation had caused, almost to convulsion, he exclaimed, “Demon!” and stood at a distance viewing, and shuddering at me.
“And who has made me so? He who fostered my evil passions for his own purposes; and, because one generous impulse breaks out on the side of nature, would represent or drive me mad, to effectuate his purposes. My father, I see the whole power and system of nature reversed, by the arts of a corrupt ecclesiastic. By his means my brother has been imprisoned for life;—by his means our birth has been made a curse to my mother and to you. What have we had in the family since his influence was fatally established in it, but dissension and misery? Your sword was pointed against my heart this moment; was it nature or a monk that armed a parent against his child, whose crime was—interceding for his brother? Dismiss this man, whose presence eclipses our hearts, and let us confer together for a moment as father and son, and if I do not humiliate myself before you, spurn me forever. My father, for God’s sake examine the difference between this man and me, as we stand before you. We are together at the bar of your heart, judge between us. A dry and featureless image of selfish power, consecrated by the name of the church, occupies his whole soul—I plead to you by the interests of nature, that must be sincere, because they are contrary to my own. He only wishes to wither your soul—I seek to touch it. Is his heart in what he says? does he shed a tear? does he employ one impassioned expression? he calls on God—while I call only on you. The very violence which you justly condemn, is not only my vindication but my eulogy. They who prefer their cause to themselves, need no proof of their advocacy being sincere.”
“You aggravate your crime, by laying it on another; you have always been violent, obstinate, and rebellious.”
“But who has made me so? Ask himself—ask this shameful scene, in which his duplicity has driven me to act such a part.”
“If you wish to show submission, give me the first proof of it, by promising never to torture me by renewing the mention of this subject. Your brother’s fate is decided—promise not to utter his name again, and—”
“Never—never,” I exclaimed, “never will I violate my conscience by such a vow; and his who could propose it must be seared beyond the power of Heaven to touch it.” Yet, in uttering these words, I knelt to my father, but he turned from me. I turned in despair to the Director. I said, “If you are the minister of Heaven, prove the truth of your commission—make peace in a distracted family, reconcile my father to both his children. You can effect this by a word, you know you can, yet you will not utter it. My unfortunate brother was not so inflexible to your appeals, and yet were they inspired by a feeling as justifiable as mine.” I had offended the Director beyond all forgiveness. I knew this, and spoke indeed rather to expose than to persuade him. I did not expect an answer from him, and I was not disappointed—he did not utter a word. I knelt in the middle of the floor between them. I cried, “Deserted by my father and by you, I yet appeal to Heaven. I call on it to witness my vow never to abandon my persecuted brother, whom I have been made a tool to betray. I know you have power—I defy it. I know every art of circumvention, of imposture, of malignant industry—every resource of earth and hell, will be set at work against me. I take Heaven to witness against you, and demand only its aid to insure my victory.”
My father had lost all patience; he desired the attendants to raise and remove me by force. This mention of force, so repugnant to my habits of imperious indulgence, operated fatally
