As the dreaded day of separation drew near, the dejection which appeared
on the countenance of the lovers was too visible to escape the
observation of their friends.--The Baron felt himself particularly hurt:
his son had already endured so much misery by his neglect and
unpardonable compliance with the wishes of an artful and designing
mother-in-law, that, to inflict any farther mortifications or sufferings
on him, was in reality to inflict them more severely upon himself: he
therefore promised to return within six weeks, or two months, to unite
the young people.
This period of time, reckoned in the usual way, was not long; but the
lovers are not guided by the same rules, nor can bring themselves to
calculate hours and days, weeks, and months, like other people. To
repeat the tender adieus, the fears, tears, cautions, and promises, of
everlasting truth, would perhaps be tiresome to some of our readers, as
it would be merely a repetition of the same fine and tender things which
have been said by ten thousand fond lovers, upon ten thousand
interesting occasions; suffice it then to say, the Baron and his son
departed from the castle at the appointed time, and left the
disconsolate Roseline in a state none could envy, and all were inclined
to pity; and so much was the heart of her lover afflicted at being the
cause of distressing her, he could not be prevailed upon to join in any
conversation, and scarcely looked up till he entered the great and busy
city of London, the noise and bustle of which drew him in some measure
from his reverie, which had been nearly as painful to his friends as to
himself, and the Baron, eager to disperse the gloom from the countenance
of his son, pointed out some of the most striking objects to engage his
attention, as they were whirled along to a very noble house in
---- square, where we must leave him for the present, in order to
return to the castle.
From the moment of Walter's departure the disconsolate Roseline sunk
into so absolute a state of dejection, as not only distressed but
alarmed her friends. She shunned society, seldom joined in conversation,
and, if left a few moments by herself, fled to the apartments once
inhabited by her lover;--there, and there only, did she assume the
appearance of cheerfulness; every place in which she had seen him was
endeared to her remembrance. The chairs on which he had rested, the
table on which he had written, the window at which he had stood to
listen for her coming,--all were interesting objects, and loved by her
for his sake; and, in being deprived of seeing him, of hearing no longer
the sound of a voice so long endeared to her fond imagination, she felt
so total a deprivation of all that served to render life or fortune of
real value, that the determined in her own mind, if this regretted lover
should prove forgetful or inconstant, if he should return no more to the
castle, to end her days in his forsaken apartments; for what would be
the world to Roseline de Morney, if she should see Walter Fitzosbourne
no more?
Pompey, the little dog, which she had seen the second time of going to
the dungeons, and which had been the favourite and faithful companion of
her lover during some years of his confinement, she would scarcely
permit to be out of her sight: to him she talked of his master, and in
caressing the grateful little animal felt pleasure and consolation.
Sir Philip and Lady de Morney were distressed beyond measure at seeing
the despondency of their daughter, which they feared would put and end
to all their flattering hopes. They endeavoured by every soothing and
tender attention to reconcile her to this temporary separation, and in a
short time succeeded so far as to prevail upon her to resume her usual
employments. They advised her to dissipate her fears, and try to regain
her spirits for the sake of the lover whose absence she lamented,
reminding her how much it would harass and distress him, if, at his
return to the castle, he found she had brought upon herself an
indisposition which might still preclude him from enjoying her society.
But their cares and anxieties were soon increased, and their minds
occupied and thrown into the utmost consternation, from a circumstance
more unaccountable, inexplicable, and alarming, than anything they had
ever encountered.
Madeline had escaped from the nunnery, and Edwin had left the castle. No
one could tell what was become of them, but all supposed they were gone
off together.--A general confusion took place; messengers were sent in
pursuit of the fugitives, and a very considerable reward was offered to
any who would bring tidings of Madeline. Sir Philip de Morney joined in
the search, and sent out large parties of his men, in hopes they would
be able to discover the place of their concealment.
Roseline, though less surprised, was extremely shocked at the dangerous
step her brother and his friend had ventured to take.--The abbess was
angry, the fathers enraged, and the youthful offenders threatened with
the utmost severity the laws could inflict, should they be found out.
Lady de Morney was wretched beyond description, and Roseline, who almost
lost the remembrance of her own sorrows at seeing the agonies of her
mother, and in fears for her brother, was alarmed at the return of every
messenger.--These affectionate relatives trembled lest they should bring
tidings of the unfortunate lovers. A week however elapsed, and no
discovery being made, Roseline secretly cherished hopes that they would
be able to escape their pursuers.
She accompanied Sir Philip and Lady de Morney to the nunnery; they soon
removed the displeasure of the abbess, and dispersed the gloom, which
had long hung upon her brow, at their first entrance: they likewise
softened the asperity of father Anselm, and the rest of his brethren,
who had written to inform the father of Madeline of the occurrence which
had taken place, and had received an answer dictated by the spirit of
malice and revenge, vowing to renounce her for ever, unless she returned
to the nunnery, and instantly took the veil; at the same time adding
every thing that passion could suggest to rouse the vengeance of the
fathers for the indignity offered to their sacred order by the flight of
a wretch he never again would acknowledge as a daughter.
This cruel and unfeeling letter operated directly contrary to what it
was intended, and awakened feelings in the bosoms of men who had long
been strangers to the world, and unpracticed in the habits of social
life,--too unpleasant to be encouraged. They felt a kind of trembling
horror at the denunciations of a parent against a daughter, whose
interesting features, sweetness of disposition, and gentleness of
temper, had endeared her to every one in the nunnery.
Nearly a fortnight had now elapsed, and no tidings being heard of the
fugitives, Lady de Morney began to revive, and she cherished the
soul-reviving hope that her beloved Edwin would escape, and remain
undiscovered till a pardon could be procured for him and his fair
companion, for the crime they had committed in robbing their holy church
of a votary designed for its service; and she lingered with impatient
fondness to clasp her son and the lovely Madeline to her maternal bosom.
Sir Philip was much hurt by this affair; and, though he said very little
on the subject, it was very visible to every one that his mind was very
deeply wounded.
It may now be necessary that we should give some account of the means
made use of to escape, and the cause which drove the young people to
take so desperate a step.
The abbess, who felt an almost maternal regard for Madeline, had
observed with affectionate regret that there was something which preyed
deeply upon her spirits, but had not the least suspicion of the
affection which she cherished for her nephew; and, being too much
bigotted to her religion, too much attached to the habits of a monastic
life, to suppose any one could long remain unhappy after having given up
a world which she had voluntarily quitted and never regretted, she
confined her observations to her own bosom, and, in drawing her
conclusions, forgot the melancholy and distressing cause which had
determined her seclusion from the world. Time had likewise in some
degree blunted those tender feelings which would otherwise have taught
her to make more indulgent allowances for the feelings and conflicts of
nineteen, when sentenced by an arbitrary parent to the unsocial and
rigid rules of an order that precluded the soul-enlivening, the
enchanting influence of love.
The abbess, on receiving a letter from the father of Madeline, with a
peremptory command for her instantly taking the veil, summoned her into
the presence of father Anselm and herself, and the letter was put into
her hand, without any kind of preface that could discover or soften its
contents.--The effect this horrid mandate had on the mind of their
youthful charge could not be concealed: she was instantly obliged to be
conveyed to her cell, and remained for some hours in a state that
threatened destraction.
The alarming situation of Madeline distressed both the good father and
the sympathizing abbess; but, circumstanced as they were, they could
only pity; for they would have considered it as a crime of the most
sacrilegious nature to have assisted in depriving their holy institution
of a votary so likely to be an ornament and acquisition to is; and, as
the father of Madeline was determined she should embrace a monastic
life, they had neither any right nor inclination to contend against a
decision which operated so much in their favour, and would add so lovely
a sister to their society: they agreed therefore that it would be better
to take no notice, unless she herself should voluntarily impart the
cause of her distress.
It is now become absolutely necessary to inform our readers that Edwin
had for some weeks conquered the fears of Madeline, and prevailed on her
to grant him frequent interviews in the chapel. He had also extorted a
promise from her, when matters came to the last extremity, to fly with
him, if her escape from the nunnery could be effected, in order to avoid
a fate which her love had taught her to think of all others the most
miserable, and to accept his vows instead of taking those which would
separate them for ever.
On the one hand, happiness stood pourtrayed in its most captivating
colours;--on the other, wretchedness, solitary wretchedness grinned with
ghastly horror and meagre aspect. At her age, I am inclined to think,
few young ladies would have hesitated how to choose, particularly if,
like the artless and gentle Madeline, they had given away their heart to
an amiable and impassioned lover.
Edwin, in his stolen visits to the chapel, had usually been accompanied
by his trusty friend Albert, and once or twice Walter had been of the
party. On the promises and intrepid firmness of Albert they rested their
security of not being discovered. Madeline's situation was likewise
become so alarming and distressing, she no longer yielded to those timid
fears which had formerly deterred her from meeting her lover. She found
herself so encompassed with dangers, that it required both resolution
and spirit to disengage herself from the fate which threatened her; and,
as no father time could be given either to deliberation of doubt, and no
alternative remained but to escape from the nunnery or take the veil,
she hesitated no longer, but met, fearlessly met her lover, in order to
settle a proper plan to secure the success of their design, which, as it
drew near being put in practice, appeared both hazardous and dangerous.
Their meetings in the chapel were frequently interrupted by the friars
or nuns, who had generally some sacred duty to perform either for the
living or the dead, in the execution of which some of the fathers had
been extremely alarmed, and it was whispered throughout the sacred
walls, and by some means the report crept into the world, that the
chapel of the nunnery was disturbed by an invisible agent, which was
considered as a miracle in favour of its holy institution.
It was an age of bigotry and superstition, when every plan was adopted
to impress on the minds of the people that reverence and awe which would
prevent their finding out the various arts made use of to impose on
their belief. Hence that reverence and enthusiasm for relics shewn in
almost every church and chapel, and applied to for aid on all important
occasions.
Yet it sometimes happened that impositions were discovered, but the
power and influence of the priests prevented, as much as possible,
reports so dangerous gaining any credit, and the minds of the common
people were kept so much in awe by fear, and so hoodwinked by the
superstition, that thousands resorted daily to one repository or
another, in order to feast their eyes with its sacred treasures.
"At Reading they shewed an angel's wing, that brought over the spear's
point which pierced our Saviour's side, and as many pieces of the cross
were found as joined together would have made a big cross. The rood of
grace, at Boxley, in Kent, had been much esteemed, and drawn many
pilgrims to it. It was observed to bow and roll its eyes, and look at
times well pleased or angry, which the credulous multitude, and even
some of the inferior priests, imputed to a divine power; but all this
was afterwards discovered to be a cheat, and it was brought up to St.
Paul's cross, and all the springs were openly shewed which governed its
several motions.
"At Hales, in Gloucestershire, the blood of Christ was shewn in a phial,
and it was believed that none could see it who were in mortal sin; and
so, after good presents were made, the deluded pilgrims went away well
satisfied if they had seen it. This was the blood of a duck, renewed
every week, put in a phial, very thick on one side, as thin on the
other; and either side turned towards the pilgrims as the priests were
satisfied with their oblations.--Other relics were shewn as
follows:--God's coat, our Lady's smock, part of God's supper, our Lady's
girdle of Bruton; red silke, a solemne relic sent to women in travail;
the parings of St. Edmund's nails, relics for rain, for avoiding the
weeds growing in corn, &c. &c."--*
[Footnote: *Vide Grofe's Antiquities, copies from an original letter
written by R. Layton.]
It happened one night, when our young lovers were deeply engaged in a
most important and interesting conversation, in which they did not
recollect there were any other beings but themselves in the world, they
were terribly alarmed, and very near being discovered by the abrupt and
sudden entrance of father Anselm, and one of the monks, into the chapel.
They hastily approached the altar, being summoned to attend a dying
monk, and to perform the ceremonies which the necessity of the case
required. They were however informed by a voice, which appeared to rise
from the earth on which they stood, that they might return to the peace
of their cells, for the soul of their dying brother was in no danger of
being lost, their prayers and pious oraisons having already had a
salutary effect.
It so happened, that the monk, having conquered the crisis of his
distemper, was sunk into a profound sleep at their return, which
promised a happy change in his favour. The whole society were summoned
into the chapel the next morning, and informed of this miraculous
communication. All the proper ceremonies were ostentatiously performed
which such an honourable attestation of their sincere piety required,
and the sick monk considered as worthy of canonization.
A few nights after, a monk, who had forgotten to place one of the
consecrated vessels on the high altar, which father Anselm had
particularly requested should be left there against the following day,
on which the sacrament was to be administered with the utmost solemnity,
on recollecting the omission, rose from his bed, and stole softly into
the chapel to obey the orders he had received. This unfortunately was a
night on which the lovers had agreed to meet. Before he had reached the
altar, he was somewhat startled at seeing one of the oldest and most
austere of the nuns kneeling by the grave of a father lately deceased,
and with uplifted hands praying that pardon and peace might be extended
to his soul.
The monk, when he came to the altar, instantly dropped on his knees
before it, unwilling the old nun should suppose he came upon a less
pious errand than herself; but he was soon frightened from his devotions
by a soft voice, which seemed to descend from behind a very fine
painting of the crucifixion.--He was desired to return to his cell, no
longer to act the hypocrite, and in future to perform more punctually
the duties of his office.
The monk no sooner heard this alarming address, than he hurried out of
the chapel as fast as his gouty legs and the numerous infirmities of age
would permit him; but the nun, who was at too great a distance from the
monk to hear the cause of his terror, went on with those devotional
rights which a particular regard for the departed father rendered so
gratifying to the feelings of her pious and affectionate heart, that she
was in no hurry to conclude them; when the same mysterious agent, whose
voice appeared to rise from the grave of her deceased favourite, near
which she was so devoutly kneeling, shivering with age and cold, roughly
warned her to have done, advising her to go to rest and sleep in peace,
as he did, who no longer could be disturbed by her tongue of benefited
by her prayers.
The poor frightened nun scampered off as fast as she could, muttering
something against the ingratitude of man, who, dead or alive, was
unworthy the attentions of her pious sex. Yet, as she crossed herself,
she secretly rejoiced at having, as she thought, obtained leave of
heaven and father John to abstain from such great and unreasonable
demands upon her oraisons in future.--She took care, however, the next
morning to inform the monk, with seeming exultation, of her being so
highly favoured as to hear a voice from heaven, which excused her from
praying at those hours appointed for mortals to be at rest.
This was a night calculated to alarm the lovers; for no sooner had the
nun left the chapel, than another entered to fetch a solemn relic, to
send to a woman who was in travail, from the chest near which they were
seated. As she was looking for the precious treasure, they were
trembling at the danger they were in of being discovered; for there was
but just time to step into the tomb which led to the subterraneous
passage, when they were thus the third time disturbed.--The nun, as she
closed the chest, was addressed in the following words.
"Wear Mary Magdalene's girdle twice a week:--place the scull of St.
Lawrence at the East corner of your cell, and live on bread and water
every fifth day; or neither you, nor your father-confessor will escape
purgatory."
Down dropped the relic, and away ran the nun to repeat to her cher ami
the warning which had been given her; but, whether he was as much
terrified as herself we do not know, as the lovers very soon effected
their escape, and the voice was heard no more.
No longer to puzzle our readers, excite their fears, or keep them in
suspense, respecting this miraculous voice, which had alarmed the Baron
in his visit to the cells, and had likewise been the occasion of much
surprise, and some exultation, to the pious inhabitants of the nunnery,
it is necessary to inform them that it proceeded from Albert, who was
himself a ventriloquist, or person possessed of the power of using a
kind of artificial hollow voice, in such a manner, as to make the sound
appear to come from any part of the room, where-ever he happened to be,
or from any animal that was present in it.
This uncommon power, rarely known in that age, Albert had frequently
exercised to amuse and entertain the solitary hours of his master, in
his long and painful seclusion from the world, and afterwards to serve
him and his friend.
It may not perhaps, in this place, be improper to mention, that, a few
years since, a person came to St. Edmund's Bury, in Suffolk, whose
uncommon and wonderful powers of throwing his voice to any distance, and
into whatever place he chose, alarmed some, and surprised all who
witnessed this strange and almost unaccountable phenomenon of nature;
therefore, in an age so much more prone to indulge the idle chimaeras of
superstition, so much under the dictatorial bigotry of priestcraft, it
is not to be wondered that a circumstance so uncommon should be
considered as miraculous, particularly among a set of men who had
recourse to such various arts, and took such wonderful pains to instill
into the minds of the people a firm and unshaken belief that miracles
were shewn on some important occasions, in order to confirm the truth of
the religion they professed.