"It now remains for her to free herself from mortal guilt, and to set others free from the consequences thereof.No prayers, no masses, will ever do it, although they may strengthen her with that strength by which alone acts of deepest love and purest self-devotion may be performed.Her words of passion, and cries for revenge--her unholy prayers could never reach the ears of the holy saints! Other powers intercepted them, and wrought so that the curses thrown up to heaven have fallen on her own flesh and blood; and so, through her very strength of love, have brused and crushed her heart.Henceforward her former self must be buried,--yea, buried quick, if need be,--but never more to make sign, or utter cry on earth! She has become a Poor Clare, in order that, by perpetual penance and constant service of others, she may at length so act as to obtain final absolution and rest for her soul.Until then, the innocent must suffer.It is to plead for the innocent that I come to you; not in the name of the witch, Bridget Fitzgerald, but of the penitent and servant of all men, the Poor Clare, Sister Magdalen.""Sir," said I, "I listen to your request with respect; only I may tell you it is not needed to urge me to do all that I can on behalf of one, love for whom is part of my very life.If for a time I have absented myself from her, it is to think and work for her redemption.
I, a member of the English Church--my uncle, a Puritan--pray morning and night for her by name: the congregations of London, on the next Sabbath, will pray for one unknown, that she may be set free from the Powers of Darkness.Moreover, I must tell you, sir, that those evil ones touch not the great calm of her soul.She lives her own pure and loving life, unharmed and untainted, though all men fall off from her.I would I could have her faith!"My uncle now spoke.
"Nephew," said he, "it seems to me that this gentleman, although professing what I consider an erroneous creed, has touched upon the right point in exhorting Bridget to acts of love and mercy, whereby to wipe out her sin of hate and vengeance.Let us strive after our fashion, by almsgiving and visiting of the needy and fatherless, to make our prayers acceptable.Meanwhile, I myself will go down into the north, and take charge of the maiden.I am too old to be daunted by man or demon.I will bring her to this house as to a home; and let the Double come if it will! A company of godly divines shall give it the meeting, and we will try issue."The kindly, brave old man! But Father Bernard sat on musing.
"All hate," said he, "cannot be quenched in her heart; all Christian forgiveness cannot have entered into her soul, or the demon would have lost its power.You said, I think, that her grandchild was still tormented?""Still tormented!" I replied, sadly, thinking of Mistress Clarke's last letter--He rose to go.We afterwards heard that the occasion of his coming to London was a secret political mission on behalf of the Jacobites.Nevertheless, he was a good and a wise man.
Months and months passed away without any change.Lucy entreated my uncle to leave her where she was,--dreading, as I learnt, lest if she came, with her fearful companion, to dwell in the same house with me, that my love could not stand the repeated shocks to which I should be doomed.And this she thought from no distrust of the strength of my affection, but from a kind of pitying sympathy for the terror to the nerves which she clearly observed that the demoniac visitation caused in all.
I was restless and miserable.I devoted myself to good works; but Iperformed them from no spirit of love, but solely from the hope of reward and payment, and so the reward was never granted.At length, I asked my uncle's leave to travel; and I went forth, a wanderer, with no distincter end than that of many another wanderer--to get away from myself.A strange impulse led me to Antwerp, in spite of the wars and commotions then raging in the Low Countries--or rather, perhaps, the very craving to become interested in something external, led me into the thick of the struggle then going on with the Austrians.The cities of Flanders were all full at that time of civil disturbances and rebellions, only kept down by force, and the presence of an Austrian garrison in every place.
I arrived in Antwerp, and made inquiry for Father Bernard.He was away in the country for a day or two.Then I asked my way to the Convent of Poor Clares; but, being healthy and prosperous, I could only see the dim, pent-up, gray walls, shut closely in by narrow streets, in the lowest part of the town.My landlord told me, that had I been stricken by some loathsome disease, or in desperate case of any kind, the Poor Clares would have taken me, and tended me.He spoke of them as an order of mercy of the strictest kind, dressing scantily in the coarsest materials, going barefoot, living on what the inhabitants of Antwerp chose to bestow, and sharing even those fragments and crumbs with the poor and helpless that swarmed all around; receiving no letters or communication with the outer world;utterly dead to everything but the alleviation of suffering.He smiled at my inquiring whether I could get speech of one of them; and told me that they were even forbidden to speak for the purposes of begging their daily food; while yet they lived, and fed others upon what was given in charity.