Oh Bleeding Nun, Bleeding Nun, Wherefore Art Thou, Bleeding Nun?

The latest stop in my sort of chaotic, researchy wanderings has included some plays by that most eminent of the Sturm und Drang persuasion, Friedrich von Schiller. The focus of my inquiry has been thwarted, though. I read, or thought I read somewhere, that the famous Bleeding Nun episode from Lewis's The Monk was borrowed from The Robbers. After reading all of the plays in the collected volume I picked up from the library, though, I'm disappointed in this regard. Not a single bleeding nun to be found amid the thwarted, young heroic barons and mistakenly murdered and wrongly imputed maidens. Not one. However, I've discovered something that Schiller does do remarkably well. Have this for a sample:

"I have been told that the great never know what misery is; that they fly from the knowledge of it. But I will teach the duke what misery is; I will paint to him, in all the writhing agonies of death, what misery is; I will cry aloud, in wailings that shall creep through the very marrow of his bones, what misery is; and, while at my picture his hairs shall stand on end like quills upon the porcupine, will I shriek into his affrighted ear, that in the hour of death the sinews of these mighty gods of earth shall shrivel and shrink, and that at the day of judgment beggars and kings shall be weighed together in the same balance."

And this from sweet Louisa, daughter of the town fiddler and prized primarily--as is typical of the logic of this kind of romance--for her artlessness and innocence. I still want my bleeding nun, but I see what the big deal is.