HENA'S DIARY.
After being separated from her mother, Hena Lebrenn was taken to
the Augustinian Convent and locked up. One day during her
confinement she narrated the incidents of her incarceration in a
letter destined for Bridget, but which never reached the
ill-starred mother, due to a series of distressful circumstances.
Hena wrote:
"December, 1534. At the Convent of the Augustinians.
"Joy of heaven! I am given the assurance, dear mother, that you
will receive this letter. My thoughts run wild in my head. I wish I
could tell you, all at once, all that has happened to me since our
separation until this moment. Alas! I have so many things to
communicate to you. You all--yourself and my good father, and my
uncle Josephin--will be so astonished, and perhaps so chagrined, to
know that this very day--
"But I must go back with my narrative, and begin with that unhappy
day when we were led away, you to the Chatelet prison, I to this
place. I am ignorant of what may have happened to you and to
father. All my questions on those topics have ever remained
unanswered. They assure me you are in good health--that is all. I
hope so; I believe it. What interest could they have in deceiving
me regarding your lives?
"Well, I was brought to this place in the dark of night, and locked
up in a little cell, without having seen a soul except the
turning-box attendant. What would it avail to tell you how I wept?
In the morning the attendant informed me that I would be visited at
noon by the Madam Superior. I asked leave to write to my family in
order to inform them of my whereabouts. I was answered that the
Mother Abbess would have to decide about that. She called upon me
at noon. At first, I thought I had before me a lady of the court,
so superbly ornamented she was. There was nothing in her dress to
recall the religious garb. She is young and handsome. Methought I
could read kindness on her face. I threw myself at her feet,
imploring her to have pity upon me, and to have me taken to my
parents. This was her answer:
"'My dear daughter, you have been brought up in impiety. You are
here in order to labor at your salvation. When you are sufficiently
instructed in our holy Roman Catholic and apostolic religion, you
shall take the eternal vows to enter our Order of the Augustinians.
You will then be allowed to see your parents again. You are not to
leave this cell before taking the veil. You will be allowed out
every day only to take a little walk under the archway of the
cloister, in the company of one of our sisters. It depends upon
yourself how promptly you will have gained the religious
instruction necessary to enter our Order, after which you will be
allowed to receive your family once a week in the convent parlor.'
"'But, madam,' I answered the Abbess, 'I have not the religious
vocation. Even if I had, I would not take vows without the sanction
of my father.'
"'Your father is in heaven; He is our Lord God. Your mother also is
in heaven; she is the holy Virgin Mary. Your obedience is due to
those divine parents, not to your carnal and heretical parents.
These have infected you with a pestilential heresy. The Lord, in
His mercy, has willed, for the salvation of your soul, that you be
removed from that school of perdition. The pale of our holy mother
the Church is open to you. Come back to it. Be docile and you shall
be happy. Otherwise, greatly to my regret, I shall employ rigor,
and constrain you to your own welfare. Beginning with to-morrow,
one of our brothers of the Order of St. Augustine will come to
impart religious instruction to you. You are to have no intercourse
with your parents before you have taken the vows. It depends, then,
upon yourself how soon you will see your parents again. Think it
over well.'
"Without wishing to hear me any further, the Mother Superior left
me alone.
"The choice left to me was to embrace the monastic life, or give up
the hope of ever seeing you again, dear father! dear mother! The
bare thought made me shudder. I thought of resisting the orders of
the Abbess. I thought that, if they were made to know my
determination, they would set me free. Great was my error!
"Towards evening one of the sisters came and proposed to take a
walk with me under the archway of the cloister. I declared to her
that no human power could compel me to take vows that would forever
separate me from my beloved parents. The nun, a woman with a sharp
and wicked face, recommended to me to think before speaking, adding
that, if I obstinately refused salvation, they would know how to
lead me to obedience by severe treatment. Our promenade ended, I
returned to my cell. My supper was brought to me. I went to bed
steeped in sadness.
"At midnight I was rudely waked up. The old turning-box attendant
came in, accompanied by four others, large and strong women. One of
them carried a lanthorn. I was afraid. I sat up on my couch, and
asked what they wanted of me.
"'Rise and follow us,' answered the old nun. I hesitated to obey.
She then added: 'No resistance, otherwise these sisters will take
you by force.'
"I resigned myself. I started to put on my dress, but the nun threw
upon my couch a sort of horsehair sack which she had brought with
her.
"'That is the only dress you are henceforth to use!' she said.
"I robed myself in the haircloth, and was about to put on my shoes
when the nun again put in:
"'You are to walk barefoot. Your rebellious flesh must be
mortified.'
"The expression on the faces of that woman and of her companions
looked to me pitiless. I realized the uselessness of resistance or
of prayer. Barefoot and clad in the haircloth I followed the nuns.
One of them lighted our way with her lanthorn. We crossed the
cloister and several long passages. A solitary low window, shaded
from within by a red curtain through which a bright light shone,
opened upon one of these passages. While passing the place I heard
a man's voice singing, accompanying himself on an arch-lute. The
song was received with peals of laughter that proceeded from
several men and women, gathered in the apartment. Their words
reached our ears distinctly. They seemed to me to be such as no
honorable woman should hear.
"The nun hastened her steps, and we entered a little court. One of
the turning-box attendants opened a door; by the light of the
lanthorn I noticed a staircase that descended under ground. Seized
with fear I drew back, but pushing me forward by the shoulders the
nun said:
"'Go on! Go on! We are taking you to a place where you will
meditate at leisure over your obstinacy.'
"I followed the turning-box attendant with the lanthorn. I
descended the steps of the stone staircase. The moisture froze my
naked feet. At the bottom of the staircase was a vaulted gallery
upon which several doors opened. One of them was opened, and I was
made to step into a vault where I saw a box shaped like a coffin
and filled with ashes, a wooden prie-dieu surmounted by a cross,
and near the bed of ashes an earthen pitcher and a piece of bread
on the floor.
"'This is to be your dwelling place until you shall have recovered
from your stubbornness,' said the nun to me. 'If solitude and
mortification do not subdue your rebellious spirit, recourse shall
be had to other chastisements.'
"I was left alone in the vault without a light. When the door was
closed and locked upon me, I threw myself upon my couch of ashes. I
was shivering with cold. The haircloth smarted me insupportably.
The darkness frightened me. I recalled, poor dear mother, my own
little chamber near yours, my bed that was so neat and white, and
the kiss that every evening you came into my room and gave me
before I fell asleep. I sobbed aloud. Little by little my tears
ceased to flow. Numb with cold I slumbered till morning, the light
of day reaching me through the airhole of my dungeon. I admit it,
dear mother, and you will forgive my weakness, dejected by the
sufferings of that first night, fearing I would be condemned to
remain a long time in that dungeon, I resigned myself to agree to
all that might be demanded of me. I wished above all to quit that
gloomy place. I awaited impatiently the return of the nun, in order
to make my submission to her. No one came, neither that day nor for
about a week. I thought I would lose my senses. Every minute I
shivered with fear. The very silence of that species of tomb
inspired me with wild terrors. I moaned and called out to you, dear
father and mother, as if you could hear me. I then fell down upon
my couch of ashes, worn out. How sad was my soul!
"By little and little, however, I became accustomed to my prison,
to my haircloth robe, to my bread, black and hard. Calmness
returned to me. I said to myself: 'I am the victim of a wicked
scheme. My parents have taught me it was our duty to sustain
courageously the trials of life, and never to bow down before
cowardice or slander. I shall perish in this convent, or leave it
to return to my family.' I now waited for the nun, no longer in
order to make my submission to her, but to announce to her my firm
determination to resist her wishes. Vain expectations! For about
another week no one came near. Instead of weakening, my
determination grew more exalted in my solitude. I spent my days
thinking of you. Often did the tension of my mind become so strong
that I imagined I saw, I heard you. I then was no longer in that
subterraneous dungeon; I was by your side, at our house. Every
morning at awakening, I invoked heaven's blessing upon you. Then I
would say to myself: 'Good morning, father, good morning, mother.'
I would tell you all about my affliction and my sufferings; you
encouraged me not to succumb in my cruel trial. Your wise and
tender words comforted me. Then also my thoughts would wander to--
"I have hesitated to tell you the truth. But you taught me to abhor
untruth and dissimulation. I shall continue. Only, dear mother, I
know not whether, when you receive this letter, you will still be a
prisoner and separated from father. If, on the contrary, you are
again together, perhaps you should not let him know the passage you
are about to read. Perhaps, and it is my ardent hope, father is
ignorant of the circumstance that he whom I called brother--did--in
a fit of insanity--
"My hand trembles at the bore recollection of that incident.
"During that horrible evening, before your unexpected return home,
before I could understand the meaning of Herve's words, he had
himself enlightened me concerning the nature of the feelings that I
entertained for Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. I have no doubt of it,
at this hour. It was love I entertained for him. In the depth of my
prison, during my nights of affliction, I could not prevent myself
from thinking of you, without my thoughts running to him.
"That is the admission that a minute ago I hesitated to make. If
that attachment is a guilty one, good mother, forgive me, it is
involuntary.
"My thoughts wandered in my prison, beloved parents, no less to
Brother St. Ernest-Martyr than to yourselves, resolved, as I was,
to die here or rejoin you. Suddenly a cruel thought, that had not
before occurred to me, flashed through my mind. To live by your
side would be to live under the same roof with Herve! I
attributed--I still attribute the occurrences of that fatal night
to a temporary derangement of his reason. You, no doubt, withheld
the incident from father's knowledge. Herve, once again returned to
sanity, must have cursed his temporary aberration. His repentence
must have moved you. One is indulgent towards crazy people!
Nevertheless the mere thought of seeing him again caused me to
shudder. The only hope that had hitherto sustained me, the hope of
spending my life near you, as of yore, drooped its wings. It
seemed to me impossible ever after to support the sight of Herve.
As I was a prey to these new and painful thoughts, one morning the
door of my cell was opened and the turning-box attendant entered,
followed by the other nuns.
"'Are you now more docile?' she asked. 'Do you now consent to
receive the religious instruction necessary to take the vows of the
Order of the Augustinians?'
"'No!' I screamed. 'You will gain nothing from me, either by
persuasion, or force. I shall remain faithful to my belief!'
"At a sign from the nun two of the turning-box attendants fell upon
me. Despite all my struggles, my tears, and my cries, they stripped
me of my haircloth robe, the only clothing I had on; they held me
fast; and their two other companions flagellated me mercilessly.
Shame and pain--my shoulders and bosom ran blood under the
lacerating lashing--wrung from me a cowardly entreaty. I promised
absolute submission. My obedience appeased my torturers. I was
taken back to my nun's cell. For a first proof of my submission I
was to consent that very day to confess to one of the Augustinian
monks under whose direction the convent stood, and one of whom was
to be charged with imparting religious instruction to me. Towards
noon I was conducted to the chapel. Oh, mother, what a surprise was
in store for me! At the very first words that the monk, who
occupied the confessional, addressed to me, I recognized the voice
of St. Ernest-Martyr. I took myself for saved. I gave him my name;
I informed him of our arrest; I conjured him to hunt up my father
and my dear uncle Josephin, who surely must have remained at large,
and notify them where you and I were held in confinement. Alas, my
hopes were but short-lived! Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, himself an
object of suspicion to the other monks and especially to the Abbot
of the convent, was not allowed to go out. For several days he had
been a prisoner in his own cell, which he left only to fulfil his
ministry in the Augustinian Convent, which he reached through an
underground passage that joined the two monasteries. I asked him
whether it would be possible for him to have a letter reach my
family. He doubted whether I would be allowed to write;
furthermore, he did not, on his part, see any means by which my
missive could reach its destination, such was the surveillance
under which he himself was held. I narrated to him the recent
ordeals and the trials that I underwent since my entrance in the
convent. I heard him cry in the dark. I then entreated him to
counsel me. He answered:
"'Sister, even if you experienced a decided religious vocation, and
your parents gave their consent, even then I would urge you to
reflect before pronouncing those eternal vows. But you have not
that vocation, you are kept here against your will and without your
parents' knowledge. What is to be done under such trying
circumstances? To refuse to receive the veil, as you have hitherto
done, is to expose yourself to fresh ill-treatment and severities,
under which you would perish; to enter a religious Order, even if
forced thereto, is to renounce forever all tender family joys.
Before deciding, sister, endeavor to gain time. I shall help you by
urging upon our Abbess the necessity of delay in order to complete
your religious education. Your father and uncle have undoubtedly
set on foot inquiries concerning your whereabouts. Keep up the hope
that their efforts will be successful. Your father will move Robert
Estienne, and he the Princess Marguerite to obtain your liberation.
Rely upon my ardent wish to be useful to you. It is my duty to
console you, and to sustain you in your cruel plight. I shall not
fall short in my duty.'
"This, dear mother, was the advice of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. I
followed it. In the meantime it remained impossible for him either
to leave the convent, or write to you. He dared not trust such a
secret to any of the other monks. They would in all likelihood have
betrayed him to the Abbot.
"Alas, dear mother, yet another misfortune was to befall me;
Brother St. Ernest-Martyr ceased to be my religious instructor. A
few days after our first conference he was replaced by another
Augustinian monk.
"So many afflictions threw me upon a sick bed. I became seriously
ill. By the grief that the absence of St. Ernest-Martyr caused me I
realized how much I loved him. Of this love he is ignorant; he does
not even suspect it; he shall never know it. My heart breaks at the
mere thought of what remains for me to tell you.
"The new Augustinian monk, who was charged to catechise me,
inspired me with such instinctive repulsion that I could not
conceal its manifestations. He complained to the Mother Superior
of my ill will towards him. The Abbess summoned me before her, and
notified me that, whether instructed or not, I was to take the vow
the day after the next, adding that I would then be allowed to see
my family.
"I entreated the Superior to grant me one more day to reflect upon
so grave a step. My entreaty was granted. I then reasoned as
follows: To refuse to become a nun is to expose myself to renewed
acts of violence and flagellations the very recollection of which
render me purple with shame; it is also to renounce the only hope
of seeing from time to time my beloved parents. On the other hand I
feel that my love for Brother St. Ernest-Martyr will end but with
my life; seeing I can not be his, to renounce him is to renounce
the world, and all family joys. Why, then, not take the veil?
"I was alone, without an adviser, weakened with suffering, beset by
nuns who alternately resorted to persuasion and threats. I
despaired of ever finding the means of informing you of my fate,
good mother. I resigned myself to take the vow--
"This morning the ceremony was celebrated. I was christened in
religion with a sad name. I am called St. Frances-in-the-Tomb.
To-night I am to spend in prayers in the chapel of the Virgin,
according to the custom for maids who have taken the veil.
"My vows being pronounced, the Abbess caused me to be supplied with
writing material--paper, pen and ink--promising me that this
letter would be forwarded to my family.
"I am wrong for having taken so grave a step without your consent,
good mother, and without the consent of father.
"I break off at this place. The convent clock strikes nine. I am to
be taken to the chapel, where I am to watch all night. May God have
mercy upon me.
"To-morrow, good mother, I shall finish this letter which I shall
carry concealed in my corsage. I shall tell you then what were my
thoughts.
"Until to-morrow, mother. I shall then close my confidences."
The sequel of this chronicle will instruct you, sons of Joel,
concerning the events that led to Christian's coming into
possession of the letter of the ill-starred Hena, as also of the
following fragments of the diary written by Ernest Rennepont, in
religion St. Ernest-Martyr, during the time that he also was held a
prisoner under surveillance in the Augustinian Convent.