received their tears in their bosom, and
returned, pierced to the heart, to weep with me.

What we must wish for the prisoner is, that her heart, and almost her
body, may die. If she be not shattered and crushed into a state of
self-oblivion, she will find in the convent the united sufferings of
solitude and of the world. Alone, without being able to be alone![3]
Forlorn, yet all her actions watched!

Forlorn! This nun still young, yet already old through abstinence and
grief, was yesterday a boarder, a novice whom they caressed. The
friendship of the young girls, the maternal flattery of the old, her
attachment for this nun, or that confessor, everything deceived her,
and enticed her onward to eternal confinement. We almost always fancy
ourselves called to God, when we follow an amiable, enchanting person,
one who, with that smiling, captivating devotion, delights in this sort
of spiritual conquest. As soon as one is gained, she goes to another;
but the poor girl who followed her, in the belief that she was loved,
is no longer cared for.

Alone, in a solitude without tranquillity of mind, and without repose.
How sweet, in comparison with this, would be the solitude of the woods!
The trees would still have compassion; they are not so insensible as
they seem: they hear and they listen.

A woman's heart, that unconquerable maternal instinct, the basis of a
woman's character, tries to deceive itself. She will soon find out
some young friend, some candid companion, a favourite pupil. Alas! she
will be taken from her. The jealous ones, to find favour with the
superiors, never fail to accuse the purest attachments. The devil is
jealous, in the interest of God--he makes his objections for the sake
of God alone.

What wonder, then, if this woman is sad, sadder every day, frequenting
the most melancholy-looking avenues, and no longer speaks? Then her
solitude becomes a crime. Now she is pointed out as suspected: they
all observe and watch her. In the day-time? It is not enough. The
spy system lasts all night: they watch her sleeping, listen to her when
she dreams, and take down her words.

The dreadful feeling of being thus watched night and day must strangely
trouble all the powers of the soul. The darkest hallucinations come
over her, and all those wicked dreams that her poor reason, when on the
point of leaving her, can make in broad daylight and wide awake. You
know the visions that Piranesi has engra