Nevertheless, feeling it to be of no slight importance to me to know, whether what I had read was authentic or a mere fabrication, I spared no pains to ascertain the fact. You are aware, that I became possest of these writings by little better than a piece of theft; and in truth there may be good reasons for not communicating to one of the laity these papers, which contain such frightful memorials of ecclesiastical guilt.—I could not therefore attack the Abbess on the subject directly; but as in hopes of pacifying me for my disappointment she had proposed to relate such particulars respecting the Ladies of Sargans, as were most worthy of my attention, (an offer, which I at first rejected out of obstinacy, and through vexation at the denial of my request) I now summoned her to perform her promise, for the purpose of comparing what I should hear from her with the particulars contained in the stolen parchments.
The Abbess bestowed upon me a few hours every day in that closet, where the portraits of the Ladies of Sargans had first attracted my attention to those models of virtue and patient suffering: her account of them did not greatly vary from that, which I had already obtained. I confess, that where-ever a clerical person would have appeared in rather an odious light, whether it was a Monk or a Nun, a Bishop or an Abbess, the good lady never failed to soften matters and wrap the transgressors up carefully in the veil of mystery; but those examples of misfortune and heroic self-command, which appeared so peculiarly applicable to myself, she confirmed most fully, and exactly as I had read them: nor can I decide, whether they made most impression on me while reading them alone and for the first time by the glimmerings of a midnight lamp, or when they were pronounced by the lips of this holy woman, this earthly saint, whose head within a few short years (too soon alas! for those who like me know her worth) will be crowned with wreaths of celestial glory.
Though scarcely in the autumn of her life, the excellent Abbess already stands upon the brink of her grave. A slow consumption insensibly destroys her noble powers, and the repetition of these adventures was a real sacrifice which she made to friendship. Her present state adds weight to her testimony. Think you, Oswald, that so near the transit from time to eternity, she would waste away her hours in relating tales, which she knew to be mere fabrications?—Impossible!
No! oh, no! What I have read, is true! The venerable Urania, on whose image my eye rests with such soft melancholy, and thou too, poor Adelaide, whose bitter fate beguiled me so often of my tears! you both once lived and suffered, you both once thought and acted, exactly as I have read and believed; and these examples of heroic patience, under afflictions far heavier than mine, shall serve me as guides in the conduct, which it now becomes me to pursue.
But for thee, generous Helen! for thee whose fortune so thoroughly resembles my own, from this moment thou shalt be the model, after which I will form my whole heart and character; and when my resolution staggers under the weight of human weakness, to thy portrait will I turn my eyes for comfort and support.
My brother, I am convinced beyond the power of doubting, that Helen herself, and no other, was the authoress of the concluding manuscript. Every page of it betrays marks of an interest, which none but an actor in the tale could be capable of feeling; and oh! how much has this persuasion increased in my eyes the value of the writing!
At my request the Abbess pointed out to me Helen’s picture; and such was my enthusiastic partiality, that I was weak enough to fancy a striking likeness between her features, and those which my mirror shows me. I made the observation to my venerable friend; she assented to it with a smile, and added, “that it was not in person alone, that I resembled Helen of Homburg.”—I started, and requested an explanation as to the parts of Helen’s history, which were so like my own. Again the idea of an imposition flitted across my mind; I believed, what had passed between myself and Ida to be a total secret in the Convent; and if the Abbess was acquainted with my story, it was still possible, that all which I had heard from her had been dictated by Abbot Conrad. Her answer, however, soon removed this suspicion.
—“Helen,” said she, “was not only fair, illustrious, benevolent, and pious, like Elizabeth, but she was also learned like Her. I understand, that the exercise of your pen is your favourite amusement; and there still exist writings of Helen, which are well-deserving your attention, and which I would willingly communicate to you, my dear Lady, had I not been positively enjoined to the contrary by superior orders.”—
The recollection of my treachery forced the colour into my cheeks. To prevent my confusion being remarked, I hastened to enquire—“why I was prohibited this pleasure, and who was my secret enemy?”—The Abbess shook her head, and confest, that the writings of ecclesiastical persons frequently contained circumstances improper to be made known to the laity, for fear of giving a shock to their orthodox opinions.
—“But only resolve,” she added smiling, “to become one of our Sisterhood, and when I die, I will bequeath you my station, and full permission to peruse all the manuscripts deposited in the spacious archives of this Convent.”—