He
was a marble statue of Episcopacy, chiselled out by the hand of
Catholicism,--a figure magnificent and motionless. His cold black eyes
did not seem to see you, when they were turned on you. His voice, when
it reached you, did not address _you_, but your _soul_. Such was his
exterior:--for the rest, his character was unimpeachable, his discipline
exemplary, his life that of an Anchorite hewed out in stone. But he was
partially suspected of what is called _liberality_ in opinions, (that
is, of an inclination to Protestantism), and the sanctity of his
character went bail in vain for this imputed heterodoxy, which the
Bishop could hardly redeem by his rigid cognizance of every conventual
abuse in his district, among which my convent happened to be. Such was
the man before whom I stood. At the command to unloose me, the Superior
shewed much agitation; but the command was positive, and I was released. I was then between the four monks, who held me, and I felt that my
appearance must have justified the impression he had received. I was
ragged, famished, livid, and on fire, with the horrible treatment I had
just received. I hoped, however, that my submission to whatever was to
be performed, might, in some degree, redeem the opinion of the Bishop. He went with evident reluctance through the forms of exorcism, which
were delivered in Latin, while all the time, the monks crossed
themselves, and the _Acolytes_ were not sparing of holy water and of
incense. Whenever the terms “diabole te adjuro” occurred, the monks who
held me twisted my arms, so that I appeared to make contortions, and
uttered cries of pain. This, at first, seemed to disturb the Bishop; but
when the form of exorcism was over, he commanded me to approach the
altar alone. I attempted to do so; but the four monks surrounding me,
made it appear an act of great difficulty. He said, “Stand apart--let
him alone.” They were compelled to obey. I advanced alone, trembling. I
knelt. The Bishop, placing his stole on my head, demanded, “Did I
believe in God, and the holy Catholic church?” Instead of answering, I
shrieked, flung off the stole, and trampled in agony on the steps of the
altar. The Bishop retreated, while the Superior and the rest advanced. I
collected courage as I saw them approach; and, without uttering a word,
pointed to the pieces of broken glass which had been thrown on the steps
where I stood, and which had pierced me through my torn sandals. The
Bishop instantly ordered a monk to sweep them away with the sleeve of
his tunic. The order was obeyed in a moment, and the next I stood before
him without fear or pain. He continued to ask, “Why do you not pray in
the church?”--“Because its doors are shut against me.”--“How? what is
this? A memorial is in my hands urging many complaints against you, and
this among the first, that you do not pray in the church.”--“I have told
you the doors of the church are shut against me.--Alas! I could no more
open them, than I could open the hearts of the community--every thing is
shut against me here.” He turned to the Superior, who answered, “The
doors of the church are always shut to the enemies of God.” The Bishop
said, with his usual stern calmness, “I am asking a plain
question--evasive and circuitous answers will not do. Have the doors of
the church been shut against this wretched being?--have you denied him
the privilege of addressing God?”--“I did so, because I thought and
believed--” “I ask not what you thought or believed; I ask a plain
answer to a matter-of-fact question. Did you, or did you not, deny him
access to the house of God?”--“I had reason to believe that--” “I warn
you, these answers may compel me to make you exchange situations in one
moment with the object you accuse. Did you, or did you not, shut the
doors of the church against him?--answer yes or no.” The Superior,
trembling with fear and rage, said, “I did; and I was justified in doing
so.”--“That is for another tribunal to judge. But it seems you plead
guilty to the fact of which you accuse him.” The Superior was dumb. The
Bishop then examining his paper, addressed me again, “How is it that the
monks cannot sleep in their cells from the disturbance you cause?”--“I
know not--you must ask them.”--“Does not the evil spirit visit you
nightly? Are not your blasphemies, your execrable impurities, disgorged
even in the ears of those who have the misfortune to be placed near you? Are you not the terror and the torment of the whole community?” I
answered, “I am what they have made me. I do not deny there are
extraordinary noises in my cell, but they can best account for them. I
am assailed by whispers close to my bed-side: It seems these whispers
reach the ears of the brethren, for they burst into my cell, and take
advantage of the terror with which I am overwhelmed, to put the most
incredible constructions on it.”--“Are there no cries, then, heard in
your cell at night?”--“Yes, cries of terror--cries uttered not by one
who is celebrating infernal orgies, but dreading them.”--“But the
blasphemies, the imprecations, the impurities, which proceed from your
lips?”--“Sometimes, in irrepressible terror, I have repeated the sounds
that were suggested to my ears; but it was always with an exclamation of
horror and aversion, that proved these sounds were not _uttered_ but
_echoed_ by me,--as a man may take up a reptile in his hand, and gaze on
its hideousness a moment, before he flings it from him. I take the whole
community to witness the truth of this. The cries I uttered, the
expressions I used, were evidently those of hostility to the infernal
suggestions which had been breathed into my ears. Ask the whole
community--they must testify, that when they broke into my cell, they
found me alone, trembling, convulsed. That I was the victim of those
disturbances, they affected to complain of; and though I never was able
to guess the means by which this persecution was effected, I am not rash
in ascribing it to the hands that covered the walls of my cell with
representations of demons, the traces of which still remain.”--“You are
also accused of having burst into the church at midnight, defaced the
images, trampled on the crucifix, and performed all the acts of a demon
violating the sanctuary.” At this accusation, so unjust and cruel, I was
agitated beyond controul. I exclaimed, “I flew to the church for
protection in a paroxysm of terror, which their machinations had filled
me with! I flew there at night, because it was shut against me during
the day, as you have discovered! I prostrated myself before the cross,
instead of trampling on it! I embraced the images of the blessed saints,
instead of violating them!