—“Heaven grant, that it may prove so,” answered the Abbess, while she hastily wiped away her tears. “But as yet you have allowed me so little insight into her history, that I scarcely dare give credit to my hopes. Oh! furnish me with more light; tell me every thing that you know about her; and prevent my nourishing the sweet but deceitful dreams, which now occupy my fancy. Alas! alas! it is impossible that they should be verified; in pity then destroy them at once, before these fond hopes have time to take such root in my heart, that to tear them out again would almost break it.”—
—“All that I know respecting this stranger,” answered Herman, “is, that she was immured by her friends in the Convent of St. Roswitha several months before the fatal conflagration. It was not long, before she became acquainted with the manners, which prevailed in this polluted Sanctuary. Luprian, the unworthy Abbot of Curwald, who even under the protecting roof of her father had insulted her by a declaration of his passion, renewed his persecution with increased ardour in a place, which was completely under his dominion. Much time was not suffered to elapse, before her resistance was punished by confinement in the cell, whence I released her: yet she was occasionally compelled to return to the Convent, in order that her virtue might be assailed by art, flattery, and every power of the most refined seduction, as well as by severity and persecution.
“The day preceding the dreadful night, in which these dwellings of sin were purified by fire, had witnessed such a scene of temptation, as Luprian thought could not possibly fail of success. But it was defeated in a manner so disgraceful for the enemies of innocence, that spite and fury took the place of seduction and love. The heroine was compelled to endure a variety of the most cruel insults and injuries, and then was dragged back to her dungeon so exhausted with her sufferings, that she could scarcely be called alive.
“To her return to this prison was she indebted for existence. It was sunk so deep within the earth and so remote from the inhabited parts of the Convent, that she only had a slight suspicion from different circumstances, that something unusual was passing above her head. She was confirmed in this idea by several days elapsing without any nourishment being brought to her. She was reduced to the greatest extremity; and hunger would soon have put a period to her sufferings, when the prison-door was unlocked, and the Abbot entered. A cordial of great power, which he gave her, restored her strength sufficiently to enable her at length to comprehend the object of his visit. He first informed her of the events which had lately taken place, and then proceeded to propose to her the terms, on which she might obtain her liberty.
—“It is universally believed,” said he, “that I, as well as the rest of my Order, have fallen a prey to the flames; I encourage this opinion, since it enables me with security to quit a profession, for which I am ill calculated, and which I have always held in detestation. I acknowledge it, my passion for you has hitherto been such, as you ought not to have complied with; but I now come to declare sentiments so pure, that you may safely listen to them without doing the least injury to your honour. I have rescued the Abbey-treasure from the ruins; I have also secured such considerable funds in other countries, as will enable me to support the establishment of a temporal prince in any place which you may prefer, provided it be one where my person is not known. Nothing is wanting to complete my happiness, except the possession of your hand, and I trust, you will not be so blind to your own advantage, as to reject my honourable suit. But one choice is allowed you; either you must perish in this dungeon, whose existence is now a secret to every human being except myself; or else you must take a solemn oath upon the cross to share my flight from Germany, and become my wife, as soon as we are safe in some foreign climate. There is no time for deliberation; the success of my plans depends upon their speedy execution, and you must instantly and at once pronounce the sentence, which decides both your fate and my own.—I wait your answer.”—
“That answer was such, as might have been expected from one, by whom the licentious Luprian was held in as much abhorrence, as virtue was held dear and idolized. She asserted the indissoluble nature of his vows to religion, and repaid his tender speeches with such scorn, that he left her with a threat never to repeat his offer, but to suffer her to perish of hunger without compassion or remorse. But the captive was too dear to him to permit his keeping that resolution. He tormented her with frequent visits, and desisted not from his fruitless endeavours to reconcile her to his plans; though to her great satisfaction he was latterly compelled to abstain from entering her dungeon. A suspicion existed, that considerable treasures were buried among the ruins of the Monastery; it was therefore judged prudent to place sentinels about them, and thus was the execrable Monk debarred all intercourse with his prisoner, except such as could be carried on by favour of the iron grating.
“Luprian now found it absolutely necessary for him to visit Italy, where he had deposited the chief part of his wealth. He entrusted the care of the lady to his sole Confident. As his absence was protracted longer than he had himself expected, she enjoyed some respite from his infamous addresses, and was not without hopes, that her entreaties and sufferings would at last induce his representative to take some steps towards effecting her deliverance. Those hopes however were continually disappointed. His heart was not more flexible than his associate’s; he remained immutably faithful to the trust reposed in him; and in answer to her enquiries respecting the transactions of the regions above her, he gave her such accounts of the successes of her enemies and of the destruction of all those who were dear to her, as almost extinguished her anxiety to escape from her dungeon. She saw, that nothing but sorrow would welcome her return to liberty, and the natural love of life struggled but faintly against the certainty of present sufferings, and the apprehension of those, which were still to come.
“Day after day crept away, during which the dreadful uniformity of her unhappy situation was uninterrupted, except by moments of utter despair, whose power frequently was on the point of subduing the poor prisoner; or else by those gleams of ungrounded hope, with which Providence strengthens and comforts those whom he means finally to preserve, in order that they may not quite sink beneath the burthen of their calamities. Luprian still returned not: the lady’s complaints seemed gradually to make their impression on the mind of his deputy. He occasionally suffered hints to escape him, that it would not be impossible to obtain his consent to her liberty: and at length at her earnest request he was induced to declare, that he was ready that instant to put an end to her sufferings, provided she would consent to share with him as his wife the enjoyment of that wealth, which the Abbot had placed in his custody.
“Here then her hopes again were disappointed. Vexation added bitterness to the manner, in which she indignantly rejected his infamous proposal: and the wretch, exasperated by her cutting expressions, swore, that he would put his plan in execution without her that very day, and would leave her to her fate. He kept his oath; and the captive must have perished, had not the Abbot fortunately returned at this identical moment. His expedition had been attended with nothing but disappointment. The wealth, which he had vested in foreign hands, had disappeared from a variety of causes, some through mischance, more through treachery; and he now only returned to find his associate fled, his treasure plundered, and his mistress as inflexible as ever. Vexation, poverty, and fatigue threw him on the bed of sickness. Many days frequently past, during which the captive was totally neglected; when at length her gaoler appeared, it was only to throw to her a loaf of that bread, of which he now could with difficulty procure a sufficiency for his own sustenance, and with every time to assure her, that this nourishment was the last, which she would ever receive from his hands. He spoke no longer of flight, or indeed of his passion for her; in truth, the former now seemed to be almost impracticable, for the rebuilding of the Monastery was begun; people were constantly employed in the neighbourhood of the dungeon’s entrance; and the outlets from the ruins were watched with more vigilance than ever. The sufferer frequently entreated him to promise, that he would at least reveal to some one the place of her confinement before his death; since in order to increase her terrors he never mist an opportunity of assuring her, that he had not many days to exist. But in vain did she represent to him, that when he should be in another world, her sufferings in this could by no means be to him of any advantage: he was deaf to her supplications. Bitter and contemptuous irony was his only answer; and it seemed as if he solely enabled her to support life, in order that he might still have a human being in his power to torment.
“It was about this time, that the vaults above her prison became an object of examination: they were completely clogged up with rubbish, except one narrow passage conducting to the grate. She had often determined on ending her sufferings by a voluntary death, and for several days persisted in refusing sustenance; but now that she frequently heard a noise above her head, and even once or twice caught the gleam of distant torches through the iron opening, her fearful resolutions were laid aside, and their place occupied by the hope, that accident perhaps might effect her deliverance.