Lady Rosamond's book

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

She held out the flowers to me, as she spoke; a most wonderful sweetness filled the air, and seemed to steal into my very soul, bringing I know not what of calm and quietness. Then I awoke, and behold, it was but a dream; yet was it wonderful clear and real to me, and I seem as if I had indeed seen my mother.

I had gone to sleep all tossed and undecided; but lying awake in the clear early dawn, all seemed to be made plain to me. How could I return to the convent, where half our duties consisted in prayers offered to the saints and our Lady—in dressing up images and the like? What should I do there? Either I must live a life wholly false and hypocritical, or I must expose myself to I know not what, of persecution, and perhaps a fearful death. And here came to my mind the niches I had seen, bricked up in the chapel vault, and the nameless neglected graves in that corner, I can't think it is our Lord's will that we should seek the crown of martyrdom, though many I know have done so; for He expressly bade his disciples, when they were persecuted in one city, to flee to another. No, I can never go back! My mind is made up, and I have told my father, who received my decision with joy. I am no more Rosamond the postulant, but plain Rosamond Corbet. My only trouble is for dear Mother Superior, who I know will grieve over me as a lost soul. Oh, that she also might come to see the light!

I have announced my decision to my father and mother, and I see they are both pleased. In recounting my motives, I was led to tell them what had happened in respect to Amice, and how that I had been secluded so long. I saw them exchange glances.

"So that was the beginning of your fever!" said my father, striking his hand on the table. "Had I known you were so mewed up, I would have had their crows' nest down about their ears."

I assured him earnestly, that I had not been ill-treated, but quite the contrary; adding that I did not think Mother Superior had any choice in the matter.

"There is the mischief!" said my father. "Nobody is personally responsible. Every one is a puppet whose strings are pulled by some other puppet, and his again by some one else. 'Tis an utter and miserable slavery from the beginning to the end, and the superiors are perhaps as much to be pitied as any one."

"I cannot but feel that our Rosamond hath had a great escape," said Madam.

"Do you think that there is any truth in what we have heard, of nuns that have been built up alive in their tombs?" I asked, remembering those grisly niches I had seen in the chapel vault.

"I cannot say for certain, but I have little doubt of it; and indeed 'tis only very lately that the thing has ever been denied," answered my father. "I know that in the Low Countries it has been a common punishment for heresy. Old Will Lee saw a woman buried alive, and said she sung joyfully till the earth stopped her breath; and I know that in Spain and Italy, far worse things have been done by the Inquisition. 'Tis not easy to get at the truth about what goes on in convent walls. A nun has no refuge and no help. She is away from her own family, who can only see her now and then. By-and-by they are told that she is dead, but who knows how and where she died? They might have told us when we came to see you, that you had died weeks before, of the sickness, and we should have taken their word for it, and all the time you might have been shut up in some prison."

"I can't think any such thing ever happened at our house," I said. "Dear Mother Superior is too kind and generous. Alas I fear her heart will be sorely wounded."