Americans -- Italy -- Fiction; Rome (Italy) -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction
Have you Protestants ideas on these things?
Oh, yes, Mlle de Morfontaine.
Were his ideas new? Is that what everyone is thinking?
No.
Oh, Samuele, what has happened to me! I have sinned. I have sinned the
sin of doubt. Shall I ever have peace again. Can the Lord take me back
after I have had such thoughts? Of course, of course, I believe that my
prayers are answered, but I have lost ... the ... the reason why I
believe it. Surely, there is a key here. Perhaps it's just one word. All
you have to do is find the one little argument that makes the whole
thing natural. Isn't it strange! I've been looking here (and she pointed
at the table which was covered with open books, the Bible, Pascal, the
Imitation) but I don't seem to be able to put my finger on the right
place. Sit down and try and tell me, my dear friend, what arguments
there are that God hears us speak and will answer us.
I talked to her for quite a long while, but achieved nothing. Perhaps I
even made it worse. I told her that I was sure that she still believed.
I showed her that the very fact that she was distressed about it proved
that she was furiously believing. After an hour of this wrestling she
seemed a little comforted, however, and picking up a fur coat went back
to her cold chapel and prayed diligently for faith until the morning.
At about ten she appeared in the garden and asked me to read a note that
she was sending to the Cardinal. I was to pass on it. Dear Cardinal
Vaini, I will always honor you above all my friends. I think you love me
and wish me well. But in your great learning and multiple interests you
have forgotten that we who are not brilliant must cling to our childhood
beliefs as best we may. I have been inexpressibly troubled since
yesterday evening. I want to ask a favor of you: that you indulge my
weakness to the extent of not touching upon matters of belief when I am
with you. It gives me great pain to have to ask you this. I beg of you
to understand it as apart from any personal feelings of unfriendliness.
I hope that I may grow strong enough to talk of these matters with you
again.
It was a very bad letter, but that was perhaps due to the content. I
suggested shyly that she omit the last sentence. So she copied it and
sent it off by a special messenger.
Soon the day came for the end of my stay in the Villa. She came up to my
room for a last talk.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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