I had but just finished my gruel when the Superior came back and desired me to go up stairs and help tie a mad nun. I think she did this simply for the purpose of giving me a quiet lesson in convent life, and showing me the consequences of resistance or disobedience. She must have known that I was altogether incapable of giving the assistance she pretended to ask. But I followed her as fast as possible, and when she saw how difficult it was for me to get up stairs, she walked slowly and gave me all the time I wished for. She led me into a small room and closed the door. There I beheld a scene that called forth my warmest sympathy, and at the same time excited feelings of indignation that will never be subdued while reason retains her throne. In the center of the room sat a young girl, who could not have been more than sixteen years old; and a face and form of such perfect symmetry, such surpassing beauty, I never saw. She was divested of all her clothing except one under-garment, and her hands and feet securely tied to the chair on which she sat. A priest stood beside her, and as we entered he bade us assist him in removing the beds from the bedstead. They then took the nun from her chair and laid her on the bedcord. They desired me to assist them, but my heart failed me. I could not do it, for I was sure they were about to kill her; and as I gazed upon those calm, expressive features, so pale and sad, yet so perfectly beautiful, I felt that it would be sacrilege for me to raise my hand against nature's holiest and most exquisite work. I therefore assured them that I was too weak to render the assistance they required. At first they attempted to compel me to do it; but, finding that I was really very weak, and unwilling to use what strength I had, they at length permitted me to stand aside. When they extended the poor girl on the cord, she said, very quietly, "I am not mad, and you know that I am not." To this no answer was given, but they calmly proceeded with their fiendish work. One of them tied her feet, while the other fastened a rope across her neck in such a way that if she attempted to raise her head it would strangle her. The rope was then fastened under the bedcord, and two or three times over her person. Her arms were extended, and fastened in the same way. As she lay thus, like a lamb bound for the sacrifice, she looked up at her tormentors and said, "Will the Lord permit me to die in this cruel way?" The priest immediately exclaimed, in an angry tone, "Stop your talk, you mad woman!" and turning to me, he bade me go back to the kitchen. It is probable he saw the impression on my mind was not just what they desired, therefore he hurried me away.
All this time the poor doomed nun submitted quietly to her fate. I suppose she thought it useless, yea, worse than useless, to resist; for any effort she might make to escape would only provoke them, and they would torment her the more. I presume she thought her last hour had come, and the sooner she was out of her misery the better. As for me, my heart was so filled with terror, anguish, and pity for her, I could hardly obey the command to leave the room.
I attempted to descend the stairs, but was obliged to go very slowly on account of the stiffness of my limbs, and before I reached the bottom of the first flight the priest and the Superior came out into the hall. I heard them whispering together, and I paused to listen. This, I know, was wrong; but I could not help it, and I was so excited I did not realize what I was doing. My anxiety for that girl overpowered every other feeling. At first I could only hear the sound of their voices; but soon they spoke more distinctly, and I heard the words. "What shall we do with her? she will never confess." In an audible tone of voice, the other replied, "We had better finish her." How those words thrilled my soul! I knew well enough that they designed "to finish her," but to hear the purpose announced so coolly, it was horrible. Was there no way that I could save her? Must I stand there, and know that a fellow-creature was being murdered, that a young girl like myself, in all the freshness of youth and the fullness of health, was to be cut off in the very prime of life and numbered with the dead; hurried out of existence and plunged, unwept, unlamented, into darkness and silence? She had friends, undoubtedly, but they would never be allowed to know her sad fate, never shed a tear upon her grave! I could not endure the thought. I felt that if I lingered there another moment I should be in danger of madness myself; for I could not help her. I could not prevent the consummation of their cruel purpose; I therefore hastened away, and this was the last I ever heard of that poor nun. I had never seen her before, and as I did not see her clothes, I could not even tell whether she belonged to our nunnery or not.
CHAPTER X. — THE SICK NUN.
On my return to the kitchen I found the sick nun sitting as we left her. She asked me, by signs, if we were alone. I told her she need not fear to speak, for the Superior was two flights of stairs above, and no one else was near. "Are they all away?" she whispered. I assured her that we were quite alone, that she had nothing to fear. She then informed me that she had been nine days under punishment, that when taken from the cell she could not stand or speak, and she was still too weak to walk without assistance. "O!" said she, and the big tears rolled over her cheeks as she said it, "I have not a friend in the world. You do not know how my heart longs for love, for sympathy and kindness." I asked if she had not parents, or friends, in the world. She replied, "I was born in this convent, and know no world but this. You see," she continued, with a sad smile, "what kind of friends I have here. O, if I HAD A FRIEND, if I could feel that one human being cares for me, I should get better. But it is so long since I heard a kind word—" a sob choked her utterance. I told her I would be a friend to her as far as I could. She thanked me; said she was well aware of the difficulties that lay in my way, for every expression of sympathy or kind feeling between the nuns was strictly forbidden, and if caught in anything of the kind a severe correction would follow. "But," said she "if you will give me a kind look sometimes, whenever you can do so with safety, it will be worth a great deal to me. You do not know the value of a kind look to a breaking heart."
She wept so bitterly, I feared it would injure her health, and to divert her mind, I told her where I was born; spoke of my childhood, and of my life at the White Nunnery. She wiped away her tears, and replied, "I know all about it. I have heard the priests talk about you, and they say that your father is yet living, that your mother was a firm protestant, and that it will be hard for them to beat Catholicism into you. But I do not know how you came in that nunnery. Who put you there?" I told her that I was placed there by my father, when only six years old. "Is it possible?" she exclaimed, and then added passionately, "Curse your father for it." After a moments silence, she continued, "Yes, child; you have indeed cause to curse your father, and the day when you first entered the convent; but you do not suffer as much as you would if you had been born here, and were entirely dependent on them. They fear that your friends may sometime look after you; and, in case they are compelled to grant them an interview, they would wish them to find you in good health and contented; but if you had no influential friends outside the convent, you would find yourself much worse off than you are now."
She then said she wished she could get some of the brandy from the cellar. Her stomach was so weak from long fasting, it would retain neither food or drink, and she thought the brandy would give it strength. She asked if I could get it for her. The idea frightened me at first, for I knew that if caught in doing it, I should be most cruelly punished, yet my sympathy for her at length overcame my fears, and I resolved to try, whatever might be the result. I accordingly went up stairs, ostensibly, to see if the Superior wanted me, but really, to find out where she was, and whether she would be likely to come down, before I could have time to carry out my plan. I trembled a little, for I knew that I was guilty of a great misdemeanor in thus boldly presenting myself to ask if I was wanted; but I thought it no very great sin to pretend that I thought she called me, for I was sure my motives were good, whatever they might think of them. I had been taught that "the end sanctifies the means," and I thought I should not be too hardly judged by the great searcher of hearts, if, for once, I applied it in my own way.
I knocked gently at the door I had left but a few moments before. It was opened by the Superior, but she immediately stepped out, and closed it again, so that I had no opportunity to see what was passing within. She sternly bade me return to the kitchen, and stay there till she came down; a command I was quite ready to obey. In the kitchen there was a small cupboard, called the key cupboard, in which they kept keys of all sizes belonging to the establishment. They were hung on hooks, each one being marked with the name of the place to which it belonged. It was easy for me to find the key to the cellar, and having obtained it, I opened another cupboard filled with bottles and vials, where I selected one that held half a pint, placed it in a large pitcher, and hastened down stairs. I soon found a cask marked "brandy," turned the faucet, and filled the bottle. But my heart beat violently, and my hand trembled so that I could not hold it steady, and some of it ran over into the pitcher. It was well for me that I took this precaution, for if I had spilt it on the stone floor of the cellar, I should have been detected at once. I ran up stairs as quickly as possible, and made her drink what I had in the pitcher, though there was more of it than I should have given her under other circumstances; but I did not know what to do with it. If I put it in the fire, or in the sink, I thought they would certainly smell it, and, there was no other place, for I was not allowed to go out of doors. I then replaced the key, washed up my pitcher, and secreted the bottle of brandy in the waist of the nun's dress. This I could easily do, their dresses being made with a loose waist, and a large cape worn over them. I then began to devise some way to destroy the scent in the room. I could smell it very distinctly, and I knew that the Superior would notice it at once. After trying various expedients to no purpose, I at length remembered that I had once seen a dry rag set on fire for a similar purpose. I therefore took one of the cloths from the sink, and set it on fire, let it burn a moment, and threw it under the caldron.