They then began to laugh at such inhuman thoughts as occurred to some
of them, rallying each other in the most unfeeling manner, and
ridiculing me for the feelings which I in vain endeavoured to conceal.
They alluded to the resignation of our murdered companion, and one of
them tauntingly said, "She would have made a good Catholic martyr."
After spending some moments in such conversation, one of them asked if
the corpse should be removed. The Superior said it had better remain a
little while. After waiting a short time longer, the feather-bed was
taken off, the cords unloosed, and the body taken by the nuns and
dragged down stairs. I was informed that it was taken into the cellar,
and thrown unceremoniously into the hole which I have already
described, covered with a great quantity of lime, and afterwards
sprinkled with a liquid, of the properties and name of which I am
ignorant. This liquid I have seen poured into the hole from large
bottles, after the necks were broken off, and have heard that it is
used in France to prevent the effluvia rising from cemeteries.
I did not soon recover from the shock caused by this scene; indeed it
still recurs to me, with most gloomy impressions. The next day there
was a melancholy aspect over everything, and recreation time passed in
the dullest manner; scarcely anything was said above a whisper.
I never heard much said afterward about Saint Francis.
I spoke with one of the nuns, a few words, one day, but we were all
cautioned not to expose ourselves very far, and could not place much
reliance in each other. The murdered nun had been brought to her
shocking end through the treachery of one of our number, in whom she
confided.
I never knew with certainty who had reported her remarks to the
Superior, but suspicion fastened on one, and I never could regard her
but with detestation.
I was more inclined to blame her than some of those employed in the
execution; for there could have been no necessity for the betrayal of
her feelings. We all knew how to avoid exposing each other.
I was often sent by the Superior to overhear what was said by novices
and nuns: when they seemed to shun her, she would say, "Go and listen,
they are speaking English;" and though I obeyed her, I never informed
her against them. If I wished to clear my conscience, I would go to a
priest, and confess, knowing that he dared not communicate what I said
to any person, and that he would not impose as heavy penances as the
Superior.
We were always at liberty to choose another confessor when we had any
sin to confess, which we were unwilling to tell one to whom we should
otherwise have gone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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