by Stendhal
“It’s not going to be easy getting out of here,” the Spaniard exclaimed, “and even harder with the lady! Your Excellency should have listened when I told you we needed at least one more man.”
At the sound of their voices, the soldiers rushed up to them; the Spaniard dispatched the first with the tip of his sword while the second lowered his rifle to take aim, but the branch of a bush got in his way, giving the Spaniard time to kill him, too. But this last soldier cried out for help before dying. Genarino made his way forward, supporting Scolastica, escorted by the Spaniard. Genarino began to run, and the Spaniard made a number of sword thrusts at the soldiers whenever they came too near. Fortunately, at this point the rain began to pour again in torrents, a favorable situation, but it happened that a soldier who had been wounded by the Spaniard got off a pistol shot, grazing Genarino in the left arm. Hearing the shot, eight or ten soldiers now charged them from across the garden.
We assert that Genarino showed great bravery in this battle, but it was the Spanish deserter who showed himself to have great military talents.
“We have more than twenty soldiers against us; the slightest error and we are done for. As our accomplice, the lady will be sentenced to death by poison; she will never be able to prove she was not in on the plot with Your Excellency. I’m familiar with situations like this. We have to hide her in the undergrowth, get her down on the ground, and cover her with the mantle. Then, you and I can try to draw the soldiers to the other end of the garden, and once we’re there, we can pretend that we’ve got away over the wall; after that, we can come back here and try to save the lady.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” Scolastica said to Genarino; “I’m not afraid, and I would be truly happy to die with you.”
These were the first words she had spoken.
“I can walk,” she added.
But she was interrupted by a pistol shot just two feet away from her, though it harmed no one. Genarino took her in his arms; she was thin and light, and it was easy to pick her up and carry her. Lightning illuminated twelve or fifteen soldiers off on the left. He began to run rapidly to the right, and it was a good thing that he acted quickly, because suddenly a dozen rifle shots rang out, shattering a small olive tree.
Second Manuscript:March 19, 1842
PLAN
The Duke de Vargas continued to think about the disappearance of the unfortunate Rosalinde.9 He had made some inquiries but without success, because he did not know that she had taken the name Sister Scolastica. The day of his birthday fete arrived. On that day, his palazzo was opened and he received all the officers of his acquaintance. All those military men in full uniform were startled to see arriving in the first antechamber a woman who appeared to be a lay sister but who evidently did not wish to be recognized, wearing her long black veil, which gave her the appearance of a widow in the process of accomplishing some act of penance. When the duke’s lackeys attempted to shoo her away, she fell to her knees, drew a long rosary out of her pocket, and began murmuring her prayers. She stayed like that until the first valet de chambre came and took her by the arm; then she showed him a large, beautiful diamond, and she spoke:
“I swear by the Virgin that I am not here to ask for any sort of alms from His Excellency. The duke will know by this diamond the name of the person on whose part I am here today.”
All this excited the greatest possible curiosity on the duke’s part, and he hurried to finish with the three or four persons of the greatest rank with whom he was speaking, and then, with the noblest and most truly Spanish graciousness, he asked the lower-ranking officers if they would permit him to see the poor and entirely unknown nun ahead of them.
Almost as soon as the duke and the sister were alone in his office, she went down on her knees.
“Poor Sister Scolastica has fallen into the deepest state of misery; the whole world seems to have turned against her. She charged me with placing this fine ring in Your Excellency’s hands. She says that you will know the person who gave it to her, in happier days. You may, with the help of this person, obtain permission to come and see Sister Scolastica, but, because she finds herself in the in pace della morte, you will need to get permission from monsignor the archbishop.”
The duke did recognize the ring, and despite his advanced age, he was so beside himself that he had trouble speaking at all.
“Tell me the name, the name of the convent where Rosalinde is being held.”
“San Petito.”
“I shall respect and obey the orders of the one who has sent you.”
“I would be ruined,” the lay sister added, “if my message were so much as suspected by the superiors.”
The duke cast his eye quickly on his desk and picked up a miniature portrait of the king, encircled with diamonds:
“Never let yourself be separated from this sacred portrait, which gives you the right to an audience with His Majesty. Here is a purse for you to bring to the person you call Sister Scolastica. And here is a little sum for yourself; and you may always count on my protection.”
The good sister paused to count out on the table the pieces of gold in the purse.
“Hurry back as quickly as you can to the poor Rosalinde. Don’t take the time to count—and now that I think of it, we must keep you hidden. My valet will have you leave by a door in my garden, and one of my carriages will then take you to the opposite side of the town; be sure to remain out of sight. Do everything you possibly can to return to my garden at Arenella tomorrow at two o’clock. There, I am sure of my men; there, they are all Spanish.”
The mortal pallor on the duke’s visage when he returned to the officers was a sufficient excuse for his behavior.
“Something has come up, gentlemen, that requires me to leave for a time; I will not have the honor of thanking and receiving you until tomorrow morning at seven.”
The Duke de Vargas hurried to the royal palazzo; the queen shed tears when she recognized the ring she had once given to the young Rosalinde. The queen took the duke into the king’s quarters. The duke’s overwhelmed air moved the king, who, like the great prince that he was, was the first to suggest some reasonable advice:
“We must be careful not to arouse the suspicions of the cardinal, in case the poor sister, despite the talisman of my portrait, has managed to escape his spies. I understand now why the cardinal has gone to stay at his country home of ******.”
“If Your Majesty will permit me, I will go to the port and put an embargo on all ships leaving for ******. Everyone who is on board those ships will be escorted to the Castel dell’Ovo.”
“Go, and then come back here,” the king said to him. “These extraordinary measures will raise talk that is not suited to the taste of Tanucci (the first minister of Don Carlos),10 but I will say nothing to him about this affair; he already is only too angry with the cardinal.”
The Duke de Vargas gave orders to his aide-de-camp, and when he returned, the queen had fainted and the king was trying to revive her. This princess, who had so good a heart, had thought that if the lay sister had been seen coming into the duke’s residence, Rosalinde would already be poisoned and dead. The duke calmed the queen’s anxieties.
“Fortunately, the cardinal is not in Naples, and, given the sirocco outside, now it would take at least two hours to get to ******. The canon Cybo, who is the cardinal’s alter ego when he is out of Naples, is a man severe to the point of cruelty, but even he would scruple to order an execution without his superior’s express command.”
“I am going to sow some confusion in the archbishop’s government,” said the king, “by calling Canon Cybo here to the palace and keeping him until evening; during his Sunday audience, he was asking me to grant a pardon to his nephew, who has recently killed a peasant.”
The king went into the next room to give his orders.
The queen asked Vargas, “Duke, are you sure you can save Rosalinde?”
“With a man like the archbishop, I am not sure of anything.”<
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“So, Tanucci was right in trying to rid us of the man by getting him named a cardinal.”
“Yes,” said the duke, “but it was necessary to make him ambassador to Rome, and in that capacity he can do us even more harm than in the past.”
The king having returned after this exchange, the three of them entered into a long deliberation, which ended in the duke’s obtaining permission to go immediately to the Convent of San Petito to learn news, in the name of the queen, concerning the young Rosalinde, Princess d’Atella, who was said to be held in the dungeon. Before going to the convent, the duke made a point of stopping to see Princess Dona Ferdinanda, to tell her of the danger facing her stepdaughter. The anxiety of the Duke de Vargas would not permit him to prolong his visit to the d’Atella palazzo as long as he would have liked.
The duke sensed that there was some strange preoccupation in the air at the Convent of San Petito, evident even with the lay sister who opened the first exterior door. Coming in the name of the queen, the duke had the right to be admitted without delay to the abbess, Angela de Castropignano. But now he was made to wait, for twenty long minutes. The duke feared he would never again see the beautiful Rosalinde.
When the abbess appeared at last, she seemed to be extremely agitated. The duke now changed his message to her:
“Prince d’Atella had an apoplectic attack last night.11 He is not doing well, and he insists upon seeing his daughter Rosalinde before he dies, and he has solicited Her Majesty for the necessary order to take Signora Rosalinde away from the convent. Out of respect for the privileges of this noble house, the king wanted to send no less a person than myself, his first chamberlain, to deliver the order.”
At this, the abbess fell to her knees before the Duke de Vargas.
“I will answer personally for my disobedience to the apparent royal command. The position in which you see me, Signor Duke, is a striking witness of my respect for you and for the dignity of your role.”
“She is dead!” cried the duke. “But by San Genaro, I will see her!”
The duke was so beside himself that he drew his sword, opened the door, and called his aide-de-camp, who had stayed in the outer parlor of the abbess.
“Draw your sword, Duke d’Atri; and call in my two dragoons; this is a matter of life and death. The king has charged me with arresting the young Princess Rosalinde.”
The abbess Angela got up and began to flee.
“No, madame,” cried the duke; “the only way you will leave my side is when I deliver you to the prison of San Elmo. There is a conspiracy here.”
In his immense anxiety, the duke sought to formulate excuses for violating the sacred cloister. He said to himself, “If the abbess refuses to take me to her, and if these drawn swords and my two dragoons don’t frighten her, I’m lost; this convent is so vast that it’s like a world of its own.”
Fortunately, the duke was holding the wrist of the abbess tightly and now saw that she was trying to lead him; she took him down a huge staircase leading to an enormous room that was half underground. The duke, believing this was partial success and seeing that there was no one else around, and hearing the footsteps of the Duke d’Atri and his two dragoons as their heavy boots resounded on the stairs, thought it best to burst out now with angry threats. Soon, they arrived at the dark room of which we have already spoken, illuminated by four candles upon an altar. Two sisters, still young, were lying on the floor, apparently dying as they convulsed from the effects of poison; three others, about twenty paces away, were on their knees to their confessors. The canon Cybo, seated in a large chair placed against the altar, seemed impassive though he was very pale; two tall young men placed behind him were lowering their heads in an attempt not to look at the two nuns lying at the foot of the altar; their long, dark green silk robes twitched as the women convulsed.
After quickly scanning the scene and all the people present, the duke was thrilled to see Rosalinde sitting on a straw-backed chair some six paces behind the three confessors. Out of an extraordinary impudence, he approached her and asked, using the familiar tu:
“Have you taken poison?”
“No, and I will not take it,” she replied in a firm tone; “I do not wish to imitate those two reckless women.”
“Signora, you are saved; I will take you to the queen.”
At this, the abbé Cybo spoke from his armchair, saying, “I dare to trust, Signor Duke, that you will not forget the presidial rights enjoyed by monsignor the archbishop.”
The duke, understanding what it was that he had to deal with now, went over and knelt at the altar, saying to the abbé Cybo:
“Signor Canon and grand vicar, according to the recent concordat, sentences such as these can be passed only with the king’s signature.”
The abbé Cybo replied rapidly and bitterly:
“Signor the duke is acting quite rashly here: the sinners you see before you have been legally condemned, convicted of sacrilege, but the church has inflicted no punishment upon them. I suppose, after what you have just said to me and based on appearances, that you think these wretches have been poisoned.”
The Duke de Vargas heard only about half of what the abbé Cybo was saying, for he was drowned out by the voice of the Duke d’Atri, kneeling beside the two sisters convulsing on the paving stones, their severe pain making them unaware of their own movements. One of them seemed to have become delirious, a very fine-looking woman of around thirty; she was tearing at the robe over her chest, crying out:
“To me! Me! A woman of my birth!”
The duke got up, and with that same perfect grace he had shown in the apartments of the queen, he returned to Rosalinde:
“Signora, are you absolutely sure that your health is intact?”
“I have taken no poison, Signor Duke, and I am able to understand that I owe you my life.”
“I can claim no merit in this,” the duke replied. “The king had heard something from his faithful subjects, and he called me and told me that some kind of conspiracy was afoot in the convent. It was necessary to arrest the conspirators. And now,” he added, looking directly at Rosalinde, “all that remains is to follow your orders. Will you go and thank the queen, signora?”
Rosalinde arose and took the duke’s arm as they walked toward the staircase. When they came to the door, the duke said to Duke d’Atri:
“I charge you with locking up Cybo and the two men with him. You will also put signora the abbess Angela under lock and key. You will then go down into the dungeons and bring out all the prisoners. Lock them up somewhere separate from these people who have attempted to go against the orders of His Majesty. His Majesty wishes for all who desire an audience with him to be taken to the palace. Lock up the people here in separate rooms quickly. I will then send doctors and a battalion of the guard to you.”
He then signed to the Duke d’Atri that he wished to speak privately to him. Standing by the staircase, he said:
“You understand, my dear duke, that Cybo and the abbess must not be allowed to prepare their answers together. Within five minutes, you will have a battalion of the guard here under your command, and you should place a sentinel at every one of the doors that lead to the street or to the garden. Anyone wishing to leave may do so, but do not let anyone enter. Search the gardens; all the conspirators, including the gardeners, should be jailed in separate rooms. And tend to the poor women who have been poisoned.”
Suora Scolastica
PREFACE
In Naples, where I found myself in 1824, I heard people alluding to the story of Suora Scolastica and Canon Cybo.12 Being the curious type, I asked questions, but nobody would give me a clear answer: they were all afraid of being compromised.
In Naples, no one ever speaks directly about politics. And there is a good reason: a Neapolitan family, composed, for example, of three sons, a daughter, a father, and a mother, would belong to three different parties—or what in Naples are called conspiracies. Thus, the daughter is attached to the
party of her beloved; each of the sons belongs to a different conspiracy; and the father and mother sigh and speak only of the court as it was when they were twenty years old. Given all this isolation of each from each, the result is that there is little serious political discussion. When a remark with even the slightest boldness about it is heard, you can look around and see two or three faces going pale. My questions regarding this story with the baroque name having encountered no success, I assumed that the story of Suora Scolastica must be some terrible set of events that happened in, perhaps, 1820. A widow, forty years of age but still a beauty, and a good sort of woman as well, rented me one-half of her small house, situated on a little street a hundred steps from the charming Chiaja Public Gardens, at the foot of the hill crowned by the villa of Princess Florida, wife of the old king. It is perhaps the only really quiet neighborhood in Naples.
My widow had an old admirer, and I paid court to him all week long. One day, when we were walking about the town together, and as I was being shown the places where the Lazzaroni were battered by General Championnet and the crossroads where the Duke of *** was burned alive,131 turned and abruptly asked him simply and directly why people made such a mystery out of the story of Suora Scolastica and Canon Cybo.
He calmly replied, “The titles of duke and prince, titles attached to the individuals involved in that story, are today attached to their descendants, and it could be that they would be annoyed to see their names mentioned for the whole world to read in a story as tragic and sad as this one.”
“So this story did not take place in 1820?”
“What? The year 1820?” my Neapolitan asked, laughing out loud at the idea of such a recent date. “What are you saying—1820?” He repeated it with that rather impolite vivacity that is common in Italy but would be shocking to a Frenchman in Paris.
“If you want to be sensible,” he went on, “you should say 1745, the year following the battle of Velletri, when our great Don Carlos was put in possession of Naples. In this country, he is called Charles VII, and a little later, in Spain, where he accomplished great things, they called him Charles III. He is the one who introduced the big nose of the Farnese into our royal family.14