In repeating these
prayers, which were very long, and somewhat verbose, I at last fell
asleep. That sleep was not to continue long. I was again addressed by
the voice that whispered close to my bed. The moment I heard it, I rose
without fear. I crept around my cell with my hands extended, and my feet
bare. I could feel nothing but the empty walls,--not a single object,
tangible or visible, could I encounter. I lay down again, and had hardly
begun the prayer with which I tried to fortify myself, when the same
sounds were repeated close to my ear, without the possibility either of
my discovering from whence they proceeded, or preventing their reaching
me. Thus I was completely deprived of sleep; and if I dozed for a
moment, the same terrible sounds were re-echoed in my dreams. I became
feverish from want of rest. The night was passed in watching for these
sounds, or listening to them, and the day in wild conjectures or fearful
anticipations. I felt a mixture of terror and impatience inconceivable
at the approach of night. I had a consciousness of imposture the whole
time, but this gave me no consolation, for there is a point to which
human malice and mischief may be carried, that would baffle those of a
demon. Every night the persecution was renewed, and every night it
became more terrible. At times the voice would suggest to me the most
unutterable impurities,--at another, blasphemies that would make a demon
shudder. Then it would applaud me in a tone of derision, and assure me
of the final success of my appeal, then change to the most appalling
menaces. The wretched sleep I obtained, during the intervals of this
visitation, was any thing but refreshing. I would awake in a cold
perspiration, catching at the bed-furniture, and repeating in an
inarticulate voice, the last sounds that had rung in my closing ears. I
would start up and see the bed surrounded by monks, who assured me they
had been disturbed by my cries,--that they had hurried in terror to my
cell. Then they would cast looks of fear and consternation on each other
and on me; say, “Something extraordinary is the matter,--something
presses on your mind that you will not disburden it of.” They implored
me, in the most awful names, and for the interests of my salvation, to
disclose the cause of these extraordinary visitations. At these words,
however agitated before, I always became calm. I said, “Nothing is the
matter,--why do you intrude into my cell?” They shook their heads, and
affected to retire slowly and reluctantly, as if from pity of my
dreadful situation, while I repeated, “Ah, Brother Justin, ah Brother
Clement, I see you, I understand you,--remember there is a God in
heaven.”

“One night I lay for a considerable time without hearing any sound. I
fell asleep, but was soon awoke by an extraordinary light. I sat up in
my bed, and beheld displayed before me the mother of God, in all the
glorious and irradiated incarnation of beatitude. She hovered, rather
than stood, in an atmosphere of light at the foot of my bed, and held a
crucifix in her hand, while she appeared to invite me, with a benign
action, to kiss the five mysterious wounds(1). For a moment I almost
believed in the actual presence of this glorious visitor, but just then
_the voice_ was heard louder than ever, “Spurn them,--spit on them,--you
are mine, and I claim this homage from my vassal.” At these words the
figure disappeared instantly, and the voice was renewing its whispers,
but they were repeated to an insensible ear, for I fell into a swoon. I
could easily distinguish between this state and sleep, by the deadly
sickness, the cold sweats, and the horrid sense of _evanition_, that
preceded it, and by the gasping, sobbing, choaking efforts that attended
my recovery. In the mean time the whole community carried on and even
aggravated the terrible delusion, which, while it was my torment to
detect, it was my greater to be the victim of. When art assumes the
omnipotence of reality, when we feel we suffer as much from an illusion
as from truth, our sufferings lose all dignity and all consolation. We
turn demons against ourselves, and laugh at what we are writhing under. All day long I was exposed to the stare of horror, the shudder of
suspicion, and, worst of all, the hastily-averted glance of hypocritical
commiseration, that dropt its pitying ray on me for a moment, and was
then instantly raised to heaven, as if to implore forgiveness for the
involuntary crime of compassionating one whom God had renounced. When I
encountered any of them in the garden, they would strike into another
walk, and cross themselves in my sight. If I met them in the passages of
the convent, they drew their garments close, turned their faces to the
wall, and told their beads as I went by. If I ventured to dip my hands
in the holy water that stood at the door of the church, it was thrown
out before my face. Certain extraordinary precautions were adopted by
the whole community against the power of the evil one. Forms of exorcism
were distributed, and additional prayers were used in the service of
matins and vespers. A report was industriously diffused, that Satan was
permitted to visit a favoured and devoted servant of his in the convent,
and that all the brethren might expect the redoubled malice of his
assaults. The effect of this on the young boarders was indescribable. They flew with the speed of lightning from me, whenever they saw me. If
accident forced us to be near each other for a moment, they were armed
with holy water, which they flung at me in pailfuls; and when that
failed, what cries,--what convulsions of terror! They knelt,--they
screamed,--they shut their eyes,--they cried, “Satan have mercy on
me,--do not fix your infernal talons on me,--take your victim,” and they
mentioned my name. The terror that I inspired I at last began to feel. I
began to believe myself--I know not what, whatever they thought me. This
is a dreadful state of mind, but one impossible to avoid. In some
circumstances, where the whole world is against us, we begin to take its
part against ourselves, to avoid the withering sensation of being alone
on our own side. Such was my appearance, too, my flushed and haggard
look, my torn dress, my unequal gait, my constant internal muttering,
and my complete isolation from the habits of the house, that it was no
wonder I should justify, by my exterior, all of horrible and awful that
might be supposed passing in my mind. Such an impression I must have
made on the minds of the younger members. They had been taught to hate
me, but their hatred was now combined with fear, and such a union is the
most terrible amid all the complications of human passion. Desolate as
my cell was, I retired to it early, as I was excluded from the exercises
of the community.