Irene shuddered at her own carelessness. Having made no enquiries whatever, she had painted for herself an imaginary romantic picture, and had been on the point of sacrificing in its favour the personal liberty she had always enjoyed. What, if on closer acquaintance, the happiness of that unknown, much-dreamt-of convent life proved to be an illusion? What if she should afterwards wish to escape from it, and it were too late, no return being possible? There came back to Irene’s recollection long-forgotten stories of unloved wives or unwanted daughters, who had been hidden away in Catholic convents, and whom no one had afterwards succeeded in saving or even tracing. For that matter, thought Irene, there was not even, in her case, anyone who would trouble about trying to trace her—so terribly alone was she in the world! For the first time in her life, she shuddered with sheer fright, and, together with this sudden fear, the thought of Gzhatski as her protector flashed through her mind.
“Yes, _there_ is a man who will not let any harm come to me!” she thought. “He is of the kind that would find and save his friends, if they were at the end of the earth, or at the bottom of the sea!”
Irene threw down the book that had so disturbed her peace of mind, but her restlessness, nevertheless, grew. Assisi lost its charm for her, and a sudden spell of bad weather offering itself as an excuse, she hurried her departure, and returned to Rome.
As soon as she arrived in Rome, Irene sent for Gzhatski.
“Are you not ashamed of yourself?” she asked him reproachfully, “for having given me such a horrible book? What was your object? Of what benefit could such a book be to anybody?”
“I only wanted to open your eyes to convent life,” he answered, “you seemed to know nothing but its outer, or decorative side, so I thought I would show you what is hidden under that charming exterior.”
“But Saint Amulfia lived in the seventeenth century! Surely everything has changed since then?” protested Irene weakly.
“Not in convents!” replied Gzhatski with emphasis. “Nothing can ever change where the very fundamental conditions are abnormal. Human beings were created to live in the world, to work together, to be happy together, and thankfully to accept and enjoy all that life can give. Only in complying with these conditions can they retain their moral and mental equilibrium. The moment they leave the world and become possessed by some monomania, such as the saving of their own souls, they are unbalanced, and there soon follow all the hallucinations, visions, temptations of the devil, and what not, so common in convents. Convents are now being closed in France, not, as is popularly supposed, through the influence of Freemasons, but by science and enlightenment, two forces that always hold high their torch in France, and always have the last word. No one doubts that in their time convents were of great use to humanity. With the exception of the comparatively rare cases in which inexperienced souls were forcibly or artificially lured into taking the veil and so ruining their healthy, normal natures, most of the people who became nuns were such as felt the renunciation of normal life to be their vocation, in other words, entirely unbalanced characters. Convents, therefore, rendered an enormous service to society by imprisoning within their walls erotic and hysterical women, and all sorts of maniacs, whose presence in the world might have been highly detrimental to their fellows. Whenever some sort of power fell accidentally into their hands, they managed to do harm even after having renounced life. One need only take the one great instance of the Spanish Inquisition, and of all the subtle refinement of torture in which, during its sway, the cruel voluptuousness of these diseased natures found its outlet.