What befel Louisa in the monastery: the stratagem she put in practice to get out of it: her travels thro' Italy, and arrival in Paris.

But while Horatio was thus experiencing the vicissitudes of fortune, his beautiful sister suffered little less from the caprice of that fickle goddess. Placed as she was, one would have thought she had been secure from all the temptations, hurries, and dangers of the world, and that nothing but the death or inconstancy of monsieur du Plessis could have again involved her in them. These, indeed, were the sole evils she trembled at, and which she chiefly prayed might not befal her. Yet as it often happens that those disasters which seem most remote are nearest to us, so did the disappointments she was ordained to suffer, rise from a quarter she had the least reason to apprehend.

The abbess and nuns, with whom she was, being all Italians, she set herself to attain to the knowledge of their language, in which she soon became a very great proficient, and capable of entertaining them, and being entertained by them in the most agreeable manner.--The sweetness of her temper, as well as her good sense, rendering her always ambitious of acquiring the affection of those she converted with, she had the secret to ingratiate herself not only to the youngest nuns, but also to the elder and most austere, that the one were never pleased but when in her company, and the others propose her as an example of piety and sweetness to the rest.

She had a very pretty genius to poetry, and great skill in music, both which talents she now exercised in such works as suited the place and company she was in.--The hymns and anthems she composed were not only the admiration of that convent, but also of several others to whom they were shown, and she was spoke of as a prodigy of wit and devotion.

In fine, her behavior rendered her extremely dear to the superior; and that affection joined to a spiritual pride, which those sanctified devotees are seldom wholly free from, made her very desirous of retaining her always in the convent:--she was therefore continually preaching up to her the uncertainty of those felicities which are to be found in the world, and magnifying that happy serenity which a total renunciation from it afforded;--nay, sometimes went so far, as to insinuate there was scarce a possibility for any one encumbered with the cares, and surrounded with the temptations of a public life, to have those dispositions which are requisite to enjoy the blessings of futurity.--Ah my dear daughter, would she say frequently to her, how much should I rejoice to find in you a desire to forgo all the transitory fleeting pleasures of the world, and devote yourself entirely to heaven!--what raptures would not your innocent soul partake, when wholly devoid of all thought of sensual objects! you would be, even while on earth, a companion for angels and blessed spirits, and borne on the wings of heavenly contemplation, have your dwelling above, and be worshipped as a saint below.

All the old nuns, and some of the young ones, assisted their abbess in endeavouring to prevail on Louisa to take the veil; but all that they said made no impression on her mind, not but she had more real piety than perhaps some of those who made so great a shew of it, but she was of a different way of thinking; and tho' she knew the world had its temptation, having experienced them in a very great degree, yet she was-convinced within herself, that a person of virtuous principles might be no less innocent out of a cloyster than in one.--She saw also among this sisterhood a great deal of envy to each other, and perceived early that the flaming zeal professed among them was in some hypocrisy, and enthusiasm in others; so that had she had no prepossession in favour of du Plessis, or any engagement with him, the life of a nun was what she never should have made choice of.

She kept her sentiments on this occasion entirely to herself however, and made no shew of any repugnance to do as they would have her; but whenever they became strenuous in their pressures, told them, she doubted not but such a life as they described must be very angelic, but having already disposed of her vows, it was not in her power to withdraw them, nor would heaven accept so violated an offering. This, they told her, was only a suggestion of some evil spirit, and that all engagements to an earthly object, both might and ought to be dispensed with for a divine vocation. The arguments they made use of for this purpose were artful enough to have imposed on some minds, but Louisa had too much penetration not to see thro' them; and being unwilling to disoblige them by shewing that she did so, made use, in her turn, of evasions which the circumstances of the case rendered very excusable. But fully persuaded in their minds that it was solely her engagements with du Plessis that rendered her so refractory to their desires, they resolved to break it off, if possible, and to that end now intercepted his letters; two of which giving an account that he was very much wounded and unable to travel, they renewed their pressures, in order to prevail on her to take the habit before he should be in a condition to come to Bolognia.

These sollicitations, however, had no other effect than to embitter the satisfaction she would otherwise have enjoyed during her stay among them;--the time of which began now to seem tedious, and she impatiently longed for the end of the campaign, which she expected would return her dear du Plessis to her, and she should be removed from a place where dissimulation, a vice she detested, was in a manner necessary. She had received several letters from him before the abbess took it in her head to stop them, each more endearing than the former; and last had flattered her with the hope of seeing him in a very short time.

Days, weeks, and months passed over, after an assurance so pleasing to her wishes, without any confirmation of the repeated vows he had made; and receiving from him no account of the reasons that delayed him, she began to reproach herself for having placed too much confidence in him;--the more time elapsed, the more cause she had to doubt his sincerity, and believe her misfortune real:--in fine, it was near half a year that she languished under a vain expectation of seeing, or at least hearing from him.--Sometimes she imagined a new object had deprived her of his heart; but when she called to mind the many proofs he had given her of the most unparallell'd generosity that ever was she could not think that if he even ceased to love her, he could be capable of leaving her in so cruel a suspence:--no, said she to herself, he would have let me know I had no more to depend on from him:--paper cannot blush, and as he is out of the reach of my upbraidings, he would certainly have acquainted me with my fate, confessed the inconstancy of his sex, and exerted that wit, of which he has sufficient, to have excused his change:--I will not therefore injure a man whom I have found so truly noble:--death, perhaps, his deprived me of him; the unrelenting sword makes no distinction between the worthy and unworthy;--and the brave, the virtuous du Plessis, may have fallen a victim in common with the most vulgar.

These apprehensions had no sooner gained ground in her imagination, than she became the most disconsolate creature in the world. The abbess took advantage of her melancholy, as knowing the occasion of it, and began to represent, in the strongest terms, the instability of all human expectations:--you may easily see, my dear child, said she, that monsieur either no longer lives, or ceases to live for you:--young men are wavering, every new object attracts their wishes;--they are impatient for a time, but soon grow cool;--absence renders them forgetful of their vows and promises;--there is no real dependance on them;--fly therefore to that divine love which never can deceive you;--give yourself up to heaven, and you will soon be enabled to despise the fickle hopes of earth.

Instead of saying any thing to comfort her, in this manner was she continually persecuted; and tho' it is impossible for any one to have less inclination to a monastic life than she had, yet the depression of her spirits, the firm belief she now should never see du Plessis more, the misfortune of her circumstances, joined to the artifices they made use of, and the repeated offers of accepting her without the usual sum paid on such occasions, might possibly at last have prevailed on her.--She was half convinced in her mind that it was the only asylum left to shield her from the wants and insults of the world; and the more she reflected on the changes, the perplexities, and vexation, of different kinds, the few years she yet had lived had presented her with, the more reason she found to acquiesce with the persuasions of the abbess. But heaven would not suffer the deceit practised on her to be crowned with success, and discovered it to her timely enough to prevent her from giving too much way to that despair, which alone could have prevailed with her to yield to their importunities.

There was among the sisterhood a young lady called donna Leonora, who being one of many daughters of a family, more eminent for birth than riches, was compelled, as too many are, to become a nun, in order to prevent her marrying beneath her father's dignity. She had taken a great liking to Louisa from the moment she came into the convent, and a farther acquaintance ripened it into a sincere friendship. Tho' secluded from the world, the austere air of a monastery had no effect upon her, she still retained her former vivacity; and it was only in the conversations these two had toge whenever they could separate from the others, that Louisa found any cordial to revive her now almost sinking spirits.

One day as she was ruminating on her melancholy affairs, this young nun came hastily into her chamber, and with a countenance that, before she spoke, denoted she had something very extraordinary to acquaint her with,--dear sister, cried she, I bring you the most surprising news, but such as will be my ruin if you take the least notice of receiving it from me; and perhaps your own, if you seem to be acquainted with it at all.

It is not to be doubted but Louisa gave her all the assurances she could desire of an inviolable secrecy; after which, know then, resumed this sweet-condition'd lady, that your lover, monsieur du Plessis, is not only living, but as faithful as your soul can wish, or as you once believed:--the cruelty of the abbess, and some of the sisterhood in the plot with her, have concealed the letters he has sent to you, in order to persuade you to become a nun:--I tremble to think of their hypocrisy and deceit:--but what, continued she, is not to be expected from bigotry and enthusiasm!--To increase the number of devotees they scruple nothing, and vainly imagine the means is sanctified by the end.

Little is it in the power of words to express the astonishment Louisa was in to hear her speak in this manner; but as she had no room to doubt her sincerity, only asked by what means she had attained the knowledge of what the persons concerned, no doubt, intended to keep as much a secret as possible; on which the other satisfied her curiosity in these terms:

To confess the truth to you, said she, I stole this afternoon into the chapel, in order to read a little book brought me the other day by one of my friends; as it treated on a subject not allowable in a convent, I thought that the most proper place to entertain myself with it; and was sitting down in one of the confessionals, when hearing the little door open from the gallery, I saw the abbess and sister Clara, who, you know, is her favourite and confidant, come in together, and as soon as they were entered, shut the door after them. I cannot say I had any curiosity to hear their discourse; but fearing to be suspected by them in my amusement, and not knowing what excuse to make for being there, if I were seen, I slid down, and lay close at the bottom of the confessional. They happened to place themselves very near me; and the abbess taking a letter out of her pocket, bad Clara read it, and tell her the substance of it as well as she could. I found it was in French, by some words which she was obliged to repeat over and over, before, not perfectly understanding the language, she could be able to find a proper interpretation of. The abbess, who has a little smattering of it herself, sometimes helped her out, and between them both I soon found it came from monsieur du Plessis, and contained the most tender and compassionate complaint of your unkindness in not answering his letter;--that the symptoms he had of approaching death were not half so severe to him as your refusing him a consolation he stood for much in need of;--that if you found him unworthy of your love, he was certainly so of your compassion; and concluded with the most earnest entreaty, you would suffer him to continue no longer in a suspence more cruel than a thousand deaths could be.

Oh heaven! cried Louisa, bursting into tears, how ungrateful must he think me, and how can I return, as it deserves, so unexampled a constancy, after such seeming proofs of my infidelity!--. Cruel, cruel, treacherous abbess! pursued she; Is this the fruits of all your boasted sanctity!--This the return to the confidence the generous du Plessis reposed in you!--This your love and friendship to me!--Does heaven, to increase the number of its votaries, require you to be false, perfidious, and injurious to the world!

She was proceeding in giving vent to the anguish of her soul in exclamations such as these; but Leonora begged she would moderate her grief, and for her sake, as much as possible, conceal the reasons she had for resentment. Louisa again promised she would do her utmost to keep them from thinking she even suspected they had played her false;--then cried, But tell me, my dear Leonora, were they not a little moved at the tender melancholy which, I perceive, ran thro' this epistle? Alas! my dear, replied the other, they have long since forgot those soft emotions which make us simpathize in the woes of love:--inflexible by the rigid rules of this place, and more by their own age, they rather looked with horror than pity on a tender inclination:--they had a long conversation together, the result of which was to spare nothing that might either persuade, or if that failed, compel you to take the order.

It is not in their power to do the latter, interrupted Louisa; and this discovery of their baseness, more than ever, confirms me in the resolution never to consent.

You know not what is in their power, said Leonora; they may make pretences for confining you here, which, as they are under no jurisdiction but the church, the church will allow justifiable:--indeed, Louisa, continued she, I should be loth to see you have recourse to force to get out of their hands which would only occasion you ill treatment:--to whom, alas, can you complain!--you are a stranger in this country, without any one friend to espouse your cause:--were even Du Plessis here in person, I know not, as they have taken it into their heads to keep you here, if all he could urge, either to the pope or confessory, would have any weight to oblige them to relinquish you. A convent is the securest prison in the world; and whenever any one comes into it, who by any particular endowment promises to be an ornament to the order, cannot, without great difficulty, disentangle themselves from the snares laid for them.--It is for this reason I have feared for you ever since your entrance; for tho' I should rejoice in so agreeable a companion, I know too well the miseries of an enforced attachment to wish you to be partaker of it.

Louisa found too much reason in what she said, to doubt the misery of her condition;--she knew the great power of the church in all these countries where the roman-catholic religion is established, more especially in those places under the papal jurisdiction, and saw no way to avoid what was now more terrible to her than ever. Those reflections threw her into such agonies, that Leonora had much ado to keep her from falling into fits:--she conjured her again and again, never to betray what she had entrusted her with; assuring her, that if it were so much as guessed at, she should be exposed to the worst treatment, and punished as an enemy to the order of which she was a member. Louisa as often assured her that nothing should either tempt or provoke her to abuse that generous friendship she had testified for her; but as she was not able to command her countenance, tho' she could her words, she resolved to pretend herself indisposed and keep her bed, that she might be the less observed, or the change in her should seem rather the effects of ill health than any secret discontent.

It was no sooner mentioned in the convent that she was out of order, than the abbess herself, as well as the whole sisterhood, came to her chamber, and shewed the greatest concern: the tender care they took of her would have made her think herself infinitely obliged to them, and perhaps gone a great way in engaging her continuance among them, had she not been apprized of their falshood in a point so little to be forgiven.

So great an enemy was she to all deceit herself, that it was difficult for her to return the civilities they treated her with, as they might seem to deserve; but whatever omissions she was guilty of in this particular, were imputed to her disposition; and the whole convent continued to be extremely assiduous to recover her.

During the time of her feigned illness, her thoughts were always employed on the means of getting away. Whenever Leonora and she were together, a hundred contrivances were formed, which seemed equally alike impracticable; but at length they hit upon one which had a promising aspect and Louisa, after some scruples, resolved to make trial of. It was this:

As hypocrisy was made use of to detain her, hypocrisy was the only method by which she could hope to get her liberty:--pretending, therefore, to be all at once restored to her former health, she sent to entreat the abbess, and some other of the most zealous of the sisterhood to come into her chamber, where, as soon as they entered, they found her on her knees before the picture of the virgin, and seeming in an extacy of devotion: Yes, holy virgin, cried she, as if too much taken up to see who entered, I will obey your commands;--I will devote myself entirely to thee;--I will follow where thou callest me: thou, who hast restored me, shalt have the first fruits of my strength:--and oh that Lorretto were at a greater distance,--to the utmost extent of land and sea would I go to seek thee!--In uttering these ejaculations she prostrated herself on the floor;--then rising again, as transported in a manner out of herself,--I come,--I come, cried she;--still do I hear thy heavenly voice!

In this fit of enthusiasm did she remain for above half an hour, and so well acted her part, that the abbess, who would not offer to interrupt her, believed it real, and was in little less agitation of spirit than Louisa pretended to be.

At length seeming; to come to herself, she turned towards the company, as tho' she but just then discovered they were in the room; Oh, madam, said she to the abbess, how highly favoured have I been this blessed night!--The virgin has herself appeared to me, whether in a vision, or to my waking eyes, I cannot well determine; but sure I have been in such extacies, have felt such divine raptures, as no words can express!

Oh my dear daughter! cried the abbess, how my soul kindles to behold this change in thee!--but tell me what said the holy virgin!

She bad me wait on her at Lorretto, answered she, and gave me hopes of doing something wonderful in my favour:--I will therefore, with your permission, undertake a pilgrimage and at her shrine expiate the offences of my past life in tears of true contrition, and then return a pure and fearless partaker of the happiness you enjoy in an uninterrupted course of devotion:--oh! exclaimed she, exalting her voice, how do I detest and despise the vanities and follies of the world!--how hate myself for having been too much attached to them, and so long been cold and negligent of my only happiness!

The abbess, and, after her, all the nuns that were present, embraced Louisa,--praised to the skies this miraculous conversion, as they termed it, and spared nothing to confirm the pious resolution she had taken.

In fine, they consented to her pilgrimage with a satisfaction equal to what she felt in undertaking it,--they not in the least doubting but she would return to them as soon as she had fulfilled her devotions, and flattering themselves that the report of this miracle would do the greatest honour to their convent that it could possibly receive; and she, delighted with the thoughts of being at liberty to enquire after her dear du Plessis, and being freed from a dissimulation so irksome to her nature.

Her pilgrim's habit, and a great crucifix to carry between her hands, with another at her girdle, and all the formalities of that garb being prepared, she set forward with the prayers and benedictions of the whole sisterhood, who told her, that they should be impatient till they saw her again, and expected great things from her at her return, which, in reality, they all did, except Leonora, who laughed heartily at the deception she had put upon them, and whispered in her ear as she gave her the last embrace, that she wished her a happy meeting with that saint she went in search of.

To prevent all suspicion of her intention she left her cloaths, and every thing she had brought into the convent, under the care of the abbess, saying, that, at her return, she would have them disposed of, and the money given to the poor: but, unknown to any one except Leonora, she quilted some pieces of gold and valuable trinkets into her undergarment, as not doubting but she should have occasion for much more than, in effect, she was mistress of.

When on her journey, the pleasure she felt at seeing herself out of the walls of the monastery, was very much abated by the uncertainty how she should proceed, or where direct her way: and indeed, let any one figure to themselves the condition she was in, and they will rather wonder she had courage to go on, than that she was sometimes daunted even to despair.--A young creature of little more than eighteen years old,--wholly unacquainted with fatigue,--delicate in her frame,--wandering alone on foot in the midst of a strange country,--ignorant of the road, or had she been acquainted with it, at a loss where to go to get any intelligence of what she sought, and even doubtful if the person she ran such risques to hear of, yet were in the world or not. The letter Leonora had informed her of, gave no account, at least that she could learn, either where he was, or whether there were any hopes of his recovery from that illness it mentioned; she had therefore every thing to dread, and little, very little to hope: yet did she not repent her having quitted the convent; and the desire of getting still farther from it, made her prosecute her journey with greater strength and vigour than could have been expected: her pilgrim's habit was not only a defence against any insults from persons she met on the road, but also attracted the respect, and engaged the civilities of every one.--As that country abounds with religious houses, she was not only lodged and fed without any expence, but received a piece of money at each of them she went to, so that her little stock, instead of being diminished, was considerably increased when she came to Lorretto, for thither, not to be false in every thing, she went; and being truly sorry for the hypocrisy which a sad necessity alone could have made her guilty of, paid her devotion with a sincere heart, tho' free from that enthusiasm and bigotry which is too much practised in convents.

From Lorretto she crossed the country to Florence, every one being ready to direct a holy pilgrim on her way, and assist her with all things necessary. As she went very easy journeys, never exceeding four or five miles a day, she easily supported the fatigue; and had she been certain at last of seeing du Plessis, it would have been rather a pleasure to her; but her mind suffered much more than her body during this pilgrimage, which she continued in the same manner she had begun till she reached Leghorn, where a ship lying at anchor, and expecting to sail in a few days for Marseilles, she agreed to give a small matter for her passage, the sea-faring-men not paying altogether so much regard to her habit, as the land ones had done.

No ill accident intervening, the vessel came safely into her desired port, and Louisa now found herself in the native country of the only person who engrossed her thoughts: as she had heard him say he was of Paris, she supposed that the most likely place to hear news of him, but was in some debate within herself whether she should continue to wear her pilgrim's habit, or provide herself with other cloaths at Marseilles. She was weary of this mendicant way of travelling, and could have been glad to have exchanged it for one more agreeable to the manner in which she had been accustomed; but then, when she considered how great a protection the appearance she made, had been from all those insults, to which a person of her sex and age must otherwise infallibly have been exposed in travelling alone, she resolved not to throw it off till she came to the place where she intended to take up her abode, at least for some time. Young as she was, she had well weighed what course to take in case du Plessis should either be dead, or, by some accident, removed where she could hear nothing more of him; and all countries and parts being now equal to her, as she must then be reduced once more to get her bread by her labour, she doubted not but to find encouragement for her industry as well in Paris as elsewhere.

With this resolution, therefore, after laying one night at Marseilles, she proceeded on her way in the same fashion as she had done ever since she left Bolognia, and in about six weeks got safely to that great and opulent city, where she took up her lodging at a hotel, extremely fatigued, as it is easy to believe, having never even for one day ceased walking, but while she was on board the ship which brought her to Marseilles, for the space of eight months; a thing almost incredible, and what perhaps no woman, but herself, would have had courage to undertake, or resolution to perform, but was, in her circumstances, infinitely the most safe and expedient that prudence could suggest.