The very thought of a convent was hateful to me; even had it been the Convent of Zurich, to have entered it would still have been misery; since my heart yet cherished worldly hopes, which even under the most gloomy circumstances never fail to accompany that love which is mutual. But now came the moment, when the Sanctuary of St. Roswitha (to whose service I was destined) appeared to me of all others the most odious; and I was firmly resolved to endure every possible misery, rather than suffer myself to be immured in the dwelling-house of hypocrisy and corruption.
My acquaintance with Abbot Luprian and with others the most distinguished among the Monks of Cloister-Curwald, had long ago eradicated from my mind that respect, which is generally entertained for the members of religious communities. Still, female prejudices made me restrict my censure to the one sex; and I fondly flattered myself, that vice could never have insinuated itself into the habitations of the brides of Heaven. Methought, it was to the chaste and pious daughters of the church, that Virtue had fled for refuge; and I ever united with the name of a Nun, the highest idea of human purity, of intense devotion, and of unsullied truth.
Conceive then my disappointment, when I was convinced beyond the power of doubting, that the Convent of St. Roswitha was the most licentious temple, that ever was yet raised to unhallowed pleasure!
You are well aware, what sort of reputation the Monks, who in latter times have been Abbots of Cloister-Curwald, have left behind them. They were the founders of this Convent; knowing this, you may well guess at the nature of the institution. The endowments of this house are immense: the indulgences, with which they have been gratified by the Holy Father of Rome, are as numerous, as its inhabitants could themselves desire. Nothing can be more beautiful and picturesque than the Convent’s situation, nothing more convenient than the regulation of its interior. As to the garments of the Nuns.... Yet that is a subject, upon which I will not trust myself to dwell. That excellent friend (whose name for fear of consequences I will not confide to paper, but which you will easily guess) whose letter warned me of the abyss into which I was so near falling, inclosed a sketch of the dress usually worn by the sisters of St. Roswitha. To convince you of the impropriety of their customs, I need only mention, that these wretched women refuse to make to Heaven the trifling sacrifice of their ringlets, which hitherto every Nun was expected to cut away on the day of her reception. It is true, when they are in the choir, or engaged in a solemn procession, or, when at any time the publicity of their appearance makes it necessary to play the hypocrites, the holy veil conceals their hair curled with care and decked with worldly ornaments; but the veil is but seldom worn except on such public occasions. Besides, would you believe it, Emmeline? they wear shoes with high heels and long-pointed toes fastened up by silver chains; things which to wear, would be reckoned both a sin and a disgrace even for us worldly damsels! judge from their dress what must be their morals, and spare me the pain of a description more circumstantial.
The uneasiness, which my knowledge of these particulars (contained in that letter which you privately conveyed to my hands) excited in my bosom, was raised to the highest pitch by the discovery, that Abbot Luprian was induced to influence my father to fix his choice on this Convent for my future abode, because he had views respecting me the most improper; views, which he thought could not fail of success, were I once inclosed within the walls of St. Roswitha, where (let him dissemble as he pleases) to my certain knowledge he is omnipotent.
Here was a discovery! oh! my Emmeline, how anxiously did I long to communicate to you this information so important to us both! I wished, that you should be made aware of everything, which could ever be in the least detrimental to you; though from your having always been my father’s favourite, I concluded, that he would not insist on your taking the veil so peremptorily, as was the case with his rejected Amalberga!
You must have remarked, that whenever we were suffered to pass a few moments together, a secret trembled upon my lips, which I was only prevented from revealing by the vigilance of our jailors. I frequently resolved to disclose everything to my father: I thought, that he could not have been so unnatural, so inhuman, as consciously to drive his daughter into the jaws of perdition; the Abbot and his accomplices would have been unmasked, and myself rescued from the dreadful Convent. But alas! whenever I attempted to address him, that dread of him, which we both of us imbibed with our mother’s milk, overpowered me, and I sank at his feet unable to pronounce a syllable.—Besides, I had no proof of the guilt of the Nuns of St. Roswitha except the letter of my friend, who had always been the object of his peculiar aversion, and whose interference would have drawn down upon her his anger and revenge.
You know her well, that excellent courageous woman; yet while she ever exprest before us the utmost abhorrence of the Convent of St. Roswitha, never could she prevail on herself to sully her lips and our ears by declaring the true grounds of her aversion. At length my extreme danger made her resolve to sacrifice her delicacy, and she sent me that intelligence in writing, which she had never dared to reveal in speech. It was not the anger of my father, which she had alone to apprehend on this occasion; it was also the Abbot’s power, who (if publicly accused) she knew well, would be supported by the Pope and the whole monastic community of Helvetia. You are not now to learn, how closely all Monks unite, when one of their order is attacked by laymen.
I knew not what to do; the day drew near, which was to decide my fate; the most painful distress preyed upon my mind, and slumber seldom visited my pillow. It was in one of these uneasy sleepless nights, that I heard a low murmuring sound at the wainscot of my chamber. I listened; at intervals the sound was repeated; I thought, that it was but the gnawing of vermin, and I again reposed my head on my pillow, when on a sudden I heard a loud crash. The flames of the night-torches streamed towards me, as if impelled by a strong current of air; I was struck by a piercing chillness, which seemed to breathe from the habitations of the dead, and before I had time to collect my thoughts, I felt myself encircled by two arms.
In this situation, not to be in some degree alarmed was impossible; yet I had of late been so much accustomed to terror, that this fresh trial did not overpower my senses. I was aware, that the arms, which had seized me, were those of a female; and I soon recovered resolution sufficient to examine the person, by whom I was thus unexpectedly visited. I beheld with rapture the dear friend, who had already warned me; and with her was an old Monk in the habit of Cloister-Curwald, whose appearance had something in it so extraordinary, that I doubt much if he had approached me alone, whether I should have received him with as much fortitude, as I now did, when I saw him accompanied by my excellent protectress. It was indeed the consideration, what terror might have been excited by his visiting me by himself, which had induced my friend to become his companion.