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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes index 6833f05..d7b82bc 100644 --- a/.gitattributes +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -1,3 +1,4 @@ -* text=auto -*.txt text -*.md text +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf @@ -1,28 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monk: a romance, by M. G. Lewis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Monk: - A Romance - -Author: M. G. Lewis - -Release Date: July, 1996 [eBook #601] -[Most recently updated: January 8, 2023] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK *** +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 601 *** @@ -14853,3 +14829,4 @@ Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 601 *** diff --git a/601-0.zip b/601-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9903cc2..0000000 --- a/601-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/601-h.zip b/601-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b0ed885..0000000 --- a/601-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/601-h/601-h.htm b/601-h/601-h.htm index 9dbd917..9d6523d 100644 --- a/601-h/601-h.htm +++ b/601-h/601-h.htm @@ -1,18 +1,15 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> <head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> -<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monk, by M. G. Lewis</title> - -<style type="text/css"> - -body { margin-left: 20%; - margin-right: 20%; +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>The Monk | Project Gutenberg</title> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> +body { margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify; } -h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, .h2, .h3, .h4 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} h1 {font-size: 300%; @@ -21,9 +18,9 @@ h1 {font-size: 300%; letter-spacing: 0.12em; word-spacing: 0.2em; text-indent: 0em;} -h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} -h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h2, .h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3, .h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4, .h4 {font-size: 120%;} h5 {font-size: 110%;} .no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ @@ -83,35 +80,16 @@ a:hover {color:red} </head> <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 601 ***</div> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monk: a romance, by M. G. Lewis</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Monk:<br /> - A Romance</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: M. G. Lewis</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July, 1996 [eBook #601]<br /> -[Most recently updated: January 8, 2023]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK ***</div> - -<h1>The Monk:<br /> +<h1>The Monk:<br> <small>A Romance</small></h1> -<h2 class="no-break">by M. G. Lewis, Esq. M.P.</h2> +<div class="h2">by M. G. Lewis, Esq. M.P.</div> <p class="letter"> -Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,<br /> +Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,<br> Nocturnos lemures, portentaque. </p> @@ -120,15 +98,15 @@ H<small>ORAT</small>. </p> <p class="letter"> -Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power,<br /> +Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power,<br> Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour. </p> -<hr /> +<hr> <h2>Contents</h2> -<table summary="" style=""> +<table> <tr> <td> <a href="#chap00">PREFACE</a></td> @@ -186,77 +164,77 @@ Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap00"></a>PREFACE</h2> +<h2><a id="chap00"></a>PREFACE</h2> <p class="center"> -IMITATION OF HORACE<br /> +IMITATION OF HORACE<br> Ep. 20.—B. 1. </p> <p class="poem"> -Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book,<br /> -I see thee cast a wishful look,<br /> -Where reputations won and lost are<br /> -In famous row called Paternoster.<br /> -Incensed to find your precious olio<br /> -Buried in unexplored port-folio,<br /> -You scorn the prudent lock and key,<br /> -And pant well bound and gilt to see<br /> -Your Volume in the window set<br /> -Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett.<br /> -<br /> -Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn<br /> -Whence never Book can back return:<br /> -And when you find, condemned, despised,<br /> -Neglected, blamed, and criticised,<br /> -Abuse from All who read you fall,<br /> -(If haply you be read at all<br /> -Sorely will you your folly sigh at,<br /> -And wish for me, and home, and quiet.<br /> -<br /> -Assuming now a conjuror’s office, I<br /> -Thus on your future Fortune prophesy:—<br /> -Soon as your novelty is o’er,<br /> -And you are young and new no more,<br /> -In some dark dirty corner thrown,<br /> -Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown,<br /> -Your leaves shall be the Book-worm’s prey;<br /> -Or sent to Chandler-Shop away,<br /> -And doomed to suffer public scandal,<br /> -Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle!<br /> -<br /> -But should you meet with approbation,<br /> -And some one find an inclination<br /> -To ask, by natural transition<br /> -Respecting me and my condition;<br /> -That I am one, the enquirer teach,<br /> -Nor very poor, nor very rich;<br /> -Of passions strong, of hasty nature,<br /> -Of graceless form and dwarfish stature;<br /> -By few approved, and few approving;<br /> -Extreme in hating and in loving;<br /> -<br /> -Abhorring all whom I dislike,<br /> -Adoring who my fancy strike;<br /> -In forming judgements never long,<br /> -And for the most part judging wrong;<br /> -In friendship firm, but still believing<br /> -Others are treacherous and deceiving,<br /> -And thinking in the present aera<br /> -That Friendship is a pure chimaera:<br /> -More passionate no creature living,<br /> -Proud, obstinate, and unforgiving,<br /> -But yet for those who kindness show,<br /> -Ready through fire and smoke to go.<br /> -<br /> -Again, should it be asked your page,<br /> -“Pray, what may be the author’s age?”<br /> -Your faults, no doubt, will make it clear,<br /> -I scarce have seen my twentieth year,<br /> -Which passed, kind Reader, on my word,<br /> -While England’s Throne held George the Third.<br /> -<br /> -Now then your venturous course pursue:<br /> +Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book,<br> +I see thee cast a wishful look,<br> +Where reputations won and lost are<br> +In famous row called Paternoster.<br> +Incensed to find your precious olio<br> +Buried in unexplored port-folio,<br> +You scorn the prudent lock and key,<br> +And pant well bound and gilt to see<br> +Your Volume in the window set<br> +Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett.<br> +<br> +Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn<br> +Whence never Book can back return:<br> +And when you find, condemned, despised,<br> +Neglected, blamed, and criticised,<br> +Abuse from All who read you fall,<br> +(If haply you be read at all<br> +Sorely will you your folly sigh at,<br> +And wish for me, and home, and quiet.<br> +<br> +Assuming now a conjuror’s office, I<br> +Thus on your future Fortune prophesy:—<br> +Soon as your novelty is o’er,<br> +And you are young and new no more,<br> +In some dark dirty corner thrown,<br> +Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown,<br> +Your leaves shall be the Book-worm’s prey;<br> +Or sent to Chandler-Shop away,<br> +And doomed to suffer public scandal,<br> +Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle!<br> +<br> +But should you meet with approbation,<br> +And some one find an inclination<br> +To ask, by natural transition<br> +Respecting me and my condition;<br> +That I am one, the enquirer teach,<br> +Nor very poor, nor very rich;<br> +Of passions strong, of hasty nature,<br> +Of graceless form and dwarfish stature;<br> +By few approved, and few approving;<br> +Extreme in hating and in loving;<br> +<br> +Abhorring all whom I dislike,<br> +Adoring who my fancy strike;<br> +In forming judgements never long,<br> +And for the most part judging wrong;<br> +In friendship firm, but still believing<br> +Others are treacherous and deceiving,<br> +And thinking in the present aera<br> +That Friendship is a pure chimaera:<br> +More passionate no creature living,<br> +Proud, obstinate, and unforgiving,<br> +But yet for those who kindness show,<br> +Ready through fire and smoke to go.<br> +<br> +Again, should it be asked your page,<br> +“Pray, what may be the author’s age?”<br> +Your faults, no doubt, will make it clear,<br> +I scarce have seen my twentieth year,<br> +Which passed, kind Reader, on my word,<br> +While England’s Throne held George the Third.<br> +<br> +Now then your venturous course pursue:<br> Go, my delight! Dear Book, adieu! </p> @@ -265,7 +243,7 @@ M. G. L. </p> <p class="letter"> -Hague,<br /> +Hague,<br> Oct. 28, 1794. </p> @@ -290,12 +268,12 @@ present totally unconscious. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> <p class="poem"> -——Lord Angelo is precise;<br /> -Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses<br /> -That his blood flows, or that his appetite<br /> +——Lord Angelo is precise;<br> +Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses<br> +That his blood flows, or that his appetite<br> Is more to bread than stone. </p> @@ -1502,7 +1480,7 @@ doors for the night. The two Noblemen instantly withdrew, and hastened with all speed to the Palace de las Cisternas. </p> -<hr /> +<hr> <p> “Well, Antonia!” said the Aunt, as soon as She had quitted the @@ -1552,39 +1530,39 @@ THE GYPSY’S SONG </p> <p class="poem"> -Come, cross my hand! My art surpasses<br /> - All that did ever Mortal know;<br /> -Come, Maidens, come! My magic glasses<br /> - Your future Husband’s form can show:<br /> -<br /> -For ’tis to me the power is given<br /> - Unclosed the book of Fate to see;<br /> -To read the fixed resolves of heaven,<br /> - And dive into futurity.<br /> -<br /> -I guide the pale Moon’s silver waggon;<br /> - The winds in magic bonds I hold;<br /> -I charm to sleep the crimson Dragon,<br /> - Who loves to watch o’er buried gold:<br /> -<br /> -Fenced round with spells, unhurt I venture<br /> - Their sabbath strange where Witches keep;<br /> -Fearless the Sorcerer’s circle enter,<br /> - And woundless tread on snakes asleep.<br /> -<br /> -Lo! Here are charms of mighty power!<br /> - This makes secure an Husband’s truth<br /> -And this composed at midnight hour<br /> - Will force to love the coldest Youth:<br /> -<br /> -If any Maid too much has granted,<br /> - Her loss this Philtre will repair;<br /> -This blooms a cheek where red is wanted,<br /> - And this will make a brown girl fair!<br /> -<br /> -Then silent hear, while I discover<br /> - What I in Fortune’s mirror view;<br /> -And each, when many a year is over,<br /> +Come, cross my hand! My art surpasses<br> + All that did ever Mortal know;<br> +Come, Maidens, come! My magic glasses<br> + Your future Husband’s form can show:<br> +<br> +For ’tis to me the power is given<br> + Unclosed the book of Fate to see;<br> +To read the fixed resolves of heaven,<br> + And dive into futurity.<br> +<br> +I guide the pale Moon’s silver waggon;<br> + The winds in magic bonds I hold;<br> +I charm to sleep the crimson Dragon,<br> + Who loves to watch o’er buried gold:<br> +<br> +Fenced round with spells, unhurt I venture<br> + Their sabbath strange where Witches keep;<br> +Fearless the Sorcerer’s circle enter,<br> + And woundless tread on snakes asleep.<br> +<br> +Lo! Here are charms of mighty power!<br> + This makes secure an Husband’s truth<br> +And this composed at midnight hour<br> + Will force to love the coldest Youth:<br> +<br> +If any Maid too much has granted,<br> + Her loss this Philtre will repair;<br> +This blooms a cheek where red is wanted,<br> + And this will make a brown girl fair!<br> +<br> +Then silent hear, while I discover<br> + What I in Fortune’s mirror view;<br> +And each, when many a year is over,<br> Shall own the Gypsy’s sayings true. </p> @@ -1613,9 +1591,9 @@ THE GYPSY </p> <p class="poem"> -“Lady! gentle Lady! Know,<br /> -I your future fate can show;<br /> -Give your hand, and do not fear;<br /> +“Lady! gentle Lady! Know,<br> +I your future fate can show;<br> +Give your hand, and do not fear;<br> Lady! gentle Lady! hear!” </p> @@ -1649,25 +1627,25 @@ THE GYPSY </p> <p class="poem"> -“Your fortune? You are now so old,<br /> -Good Dame, that ’tis already told:<br /> -Yet for your money, in a trice<br /> -I will repay you in advice.<br /> -Astonished at your childish vanity,<br /> -Your Friends all tax you with insanity,<br /> -And grieve to see you use your art<br /> -To catch some youthful Lover’s heart.<br /> -Believe me, Dame, when all is done,<br /> -Your age will still be fifty one;<br /> -And Men will rarely take an hint<br /> -Of love, from two grey eyes that squint.<br /> -Take then my counsels; Lay aside<br /> -Your paint and patches, lust and pride,<br /> -And on the Poor those sums bestow,<br /> -Which now are spent on useless show.<br /> -Think on your Maker, not a Suitor;<br /> -Think on your past faults, not on future;<br /> -And think Time’s Scythe will quickly mow<br /> +“Your fortune? You are now so old,<br> +Good Dame, that ’tis already told:<br> +Yet for your money, in a trice<br> +I will repay you in advice.<br> +Astonished at your childish vanity,<br> +Your Friends all tax you with insanity,<br> +And grieve to see you use your art<br> +To catch some youthful Lover’s heart.<br> +Believe me, Dame, when all is done,<br> +Your age will still be fifty one;<br> +And Men will rarely take an hint<br> +Of love, from two grey eyes that squint.<br> +Take then my counsels; Lay aside<br> +Your paint and patches, lust and pride,<br> +And on the Poor those sums bestow,<br> +Which now are spent on useless show.<br> +Think on your Maker, not a Suitor;<br> +Think on your past faults, not on future;<br> +And think Time’s Scythe will quickly mow<br> The few red hairs, which deck your brow. </p> @@ -1686,9 +1664,9 @@ THE GYPSY </p> <p class="poem"> -“Peace, Lady! What I said was true;<br /> -And now, my lovely Maid, to you;<br /> -Give me your hand, and let me see<br /> +“Peace, Lady! What I said was true;<br> +And now, my lovely Maid, to you;<br> +Give me your hand, and let me see<br> Your future doom, and heaven’s decree.” </p> @@ -1704,31 +1682,31 @@ THE GYPSY </p> <p class="poem"> -“Jesus! what a palm is there!<br /> -Chaste, and gentle, young and fair,<br /> -Perfect mind and form possessing,<br /> -You would be some good Man’s blessing:<br /> -But Alas! This line discovers,<br /> -That destruction o’er you hovers;<br /> -Lustful Man and crafty Devil<br /> -Will combine to work your evil;<br /> -And from earth by sorrows driven,<br /> -Soon your Soul must speed to heaven.<br /> -Yet your sufferings to delay,<br /> -Well remember what I say.<br /> -When you One more virtuous see<br /> -Than belongs to Man to be,<br /> -One, whose self no crimes assailing,<br /> -Pities not his Neighbour’s Failing,<br /> -Call the Gypsy’s words to mind:<br /> -Though He seem so good and kind,<br /> -Fair Exteriors oft will hide<br /> -Hearts, that swell with lust and pride!<br /> -Lovely Maid, with tears I leave you!<br /> -Let not my prediction grieve you;<br /> -Rather with submission bending<br /> -Calmly wait distress impending,<br /> -And expect eternal bliss<br /> +“Jesus! what a palm is there!<br> +Chaste, and gentle, young and fair,<br> +Perfect mind and form possessing,<br> +You would be some good Man’s blessing:<br> +But Alas! This line discovers,<br> +That destruction o’er you hovers;<br> +Lustful Man and crafty Devil<br> +Will combine to work your evil;<br> +And from earth by sorrows driven,<br> +Soon your Soul must speed to heaven.<br> +Yet your sufferings to delay,<br> +Well remember what I say.<br> +When you One more virtuous see<br> +Than belongs to Man to be,<br> +One, whose self no crimes assailing,<br> +Pities not his Neighbour’s Failing,<br> +Call the Gypsy’s words to mind:<br> +Though He seem so good and kind,<br> +Fair Exteriors oft will hide<br> +Hearts, that swell with lust and pride!<br> +Lovely Maid, with tears I leave you!<br> +Let not my prediction grieve you;<br> +Rather with submission bending<br> +Calmly wait distress impending,<br> +And expect eternal bliss<br> In a better world than this. </p> @@ -1747,14 +1725,14 @@ place. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> <p class="poem"> -Fòrse sé tu gustassi una sòl volta<br /> -La millésima parte délle giòje,<br /> -Ché gusta un còr amato riamando,<br /> -Diresti ripentita sospirando,<br /> -Perduto è tutto il tempo<br /> +Fòrse sé tu gustassi una sòl volta<br> +La millésima parte délle giòje,<br> +Ché gusta un còr amato riamando,<br> +Diresti ripentita sospirando,<br> +Perduto è tutto il tempo<br> Ché in amar non si spènde. </p> @@ -1763,9 +1741,9 @@ T<small>ASSO</small>. </p> <p class="poem"> -Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part<br /> -Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart,<br /> -Your words repentant and your sighs would prove,<br /> +Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part<br> +Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart,<br> +Your words repentant and your sighs would prove,<br> Lost is the time which is not past in love. </p> @@ -2343,61 +2321,61 @@ INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE </p> <p class="poem"> -Whoe’er Thou art these lines now reading,<br /> -Think not, though from the world receding<br /> -I joy my lonely days to lead in<br /> - This Desart drear,<br /> -That with remorse a conscience bleeding<br /> - Hath led me here.<br /> -<br /> -No thought of guilt my bosom sowrs:<br /> -Free-willed I fled from courtly bowers;<br /> -For well I saw in Halls and Towers<br /> - That Lust and Pride,<br /> -The Arch-Fiend’s dearest darkest Powers,<br /> - In state preside.<br /> -<br /> -I saw Mankind with vice incrusted;<br /> -I saw that Honour’s sword was rusted;<br /> -That few for aught but folly lusted;<br /> -That He was still deceiv’d, who trusted<br /> - In Love or Friend;<br /> -And hither came with Men disgusted<br /> - My life to end.<br /> -<br /> -In this lone Cave, in garments lowly,<br /> -Alike a Foe to noisy folly,<br /> -And brow-bent gloomy melancholy<br /> - I wear away<br /> -My life, and in my office holy<br /> - Consume the day.<br /> -<br /> -Content and comfort bless me more in<br /> -This Grot, than e’er I felt before in<br /> -A Palace, and with thoughts still soaring<br /> - To God on high,<br /> -Each night and morn with voice imploring<br /> - This wish I sigh.<br /> -<br /> -“Let me, Oh! Lord! from life retire,<br /> -Unknown each guilty worldly fire,<br /> -Remorseful throb, or loose desire;<br /> - And when I die,<br /> -Let me in this belief expire,<br /> - ‘To God I fly’!”<br /> -<br /> -Stranger, if full of youth and riot<br /> -As yet no grief has marred thy quiet,<br /> -Thou haply throw’st a scornful eye at<br /> - The Hermit’s prayer:<br /> -But if Thou hast a cause to sigh at<br /> - Thy fault, or care;<br /> -<br /> -If Thou hast known false Love’s vexation,<br /> -Or hast been exil’d from thy Nation,<br /> -Or guilt affrights thy contemplation,<br /> - And makes thee pine,<br /> -Oh! how must Thou lament thy station,<br /> +Whoe’er Thou art these lines now reading,<br> +Think not, though from the world receding<br> +I joy my lonely days to lead in<br> + This Desart drear,<br> +That with remorse a conscience bleeding<br> + Hath led me here.<br> +<br> +No thought of guilt my bosom sowrs:<br> +Free-willed I fled from courtly bowers;<br> +For well I saw in Halls and Towers<br> + That Lust and Pride,<br> +The Arch-Fiend’s dearest darkest Powers,<br> + In state preside.<br> +<br> +I saw Mankind with vice incrusted;<br> +I saw that Honour’s sword was rusted;<br> +That few for aught but folly lusted;<br> +That He was still deceiv’d, who trusted<br> + In Love or Friend;<br> +And hither came with Men disgusted<br> + My life to end.<br> +<br> +In this lone Cave, in garments lowly,<br> +Alike a Foe to noisy folly,<br> +And brow-bent gloomy melancholy<br> + I wear away<br> +My life, and in my office holy<br> + Consume the day.<br> +<br> +Content and comfort bless me more in<br> +This Grot, than e’er I felt before in<br> +A Palace, and with thoughts still soaring<br> + To God on high,<br> +Each night and morn with voice imploring<br> + This wish I sigh.<br> +<br> +“Let me, Oh! Lord! from life retire,<br> +Unknown each guilty worldly fire,<br> +Remorseful throb, or loose desire;<br> + And when I die,<br> +Let me in this belief expire,<br> + ‘To God I fly’!”<br> +<br> +Stranger, if full of youth and riot<br> +As yet no grief has marred thy quiet,<br> +Thou haply throw’st a scornful eye at<br> + The Hermit’s prayer:<br> +But if Thou hast a cause to sigh at<br> + Thy fault, or care;<br> +<br> +If Thou hast known false Love’s vexation,<br> +Or hast been exil’d from thy Nation,<br> +Or guilt affrights thy contemplation,<br> + And makes thee pine,<br> +Oh! how must Thou lament thy station,<br> And envy mine! </p> @@ -3198,12 +3176,12 @@ hope?” <p> “From the sudden effects, I suspected that the Abbot was stung by a -cientipedoro:<a href="#fn1" name="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> The venom which +cientipedoro:<a href="#fn1" id="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> The venom which you see upon my Lancet confirms my idea: He cannot live three days.” </p> <p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a> +<a id="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a> The cientipedoro is supposed to be a native of Cuba, and to have been brought into Spain from that island in the vessel of Columbus. </p> @@ -3361,99 +3339,99 @@ DURANDARTE AND BELERMA </p> <p class="poem"> -Sad and fearful is the story<br /> -Of the Roncevalles fight;<br /> -On those fatal plains of glory<br /> -Perished many a gallant Knight.<br /> -<br /> -There fell Durandarte; Never<br /> -Verse a nobler Chieftain named:<br /> -He, before his lips for ever<br /> -Closed in silence thus exclaimed.<br /> -<br /> -“Oh! Belerma! Oh! my dear-one!<br /> -For my pain and pleasure born!<br /> -Seven long years I served thee, fair-one,<br /> -Seven long years my fee was scorn:<br /> -<br /> -“And when now thy heart replying<br /> -To my wishes, burns like mine,<br /> -Cruel Fate my bliss denying<br /> -Bids me every hope resign.<br /> -<br /> -“Ah! Though young I fall, believe me,<br /> -Death would never claim a sigh;<br /> -’Tis to lose thee, ’tis to leave thee,<br /> -Makes me think it hard to die!<br /> -<br /> -“Oh! my Cousin Montesinos,<br /> -By that friendship firm and dear<br /> -Which from Youth has lived between us,<br /> -Now my last petition hear!<br /> -<br /> -“When my Soul these limbs forsaking<br /> -Eager seeks a purer air,<br /> -From my breast the cold heart taking,<br /> -Give it to Belerma’s care.<br /> -<br /> -Say, I of my lands Possessor<br /> -Named her with my dying breath:<br /> -Say, my lips I op’d to bless her,<br /> -Ere they closed for aye in death:<br /> -<br /> -“Twice a week too how sincerely<br /> -I adored her, Cousin, say;<br /> -Twice a week for one who dearly<br /> -Loved her, Cousin, bid her pray.<br /> -<br /> -“Montesinos, now the hour<br /> -Marked by fate is near at hand:<br /> -Lo! my arm has lost its power!<br /> -Lo! I drop my trusty brand!<br /> -<br /> -“Eyes, which forth beheld me going,<br /> -Homewards ne’er shall see me hie!<br /> -Cousin, stop those tears o’er-flowing,<br /> -Let me on thy bosom die!<br /> -<br /> -“Thy kind hand my eyelids closing,<br /> -Yet one favour I implore:<br /> -Pray Thou for my Soul’s reposing,<br /> -When my heart shall throb no more;<br /> -<br /> -“So shall Jesus, still attending<br /> -Gracious to a Christian’s vow,<br /> -Pleased accept my Ghost ascending,<br /> -And a seat in heaven allow.”<br /> -<br /> -Thus spoke gallant Durandarte;<br /> -Soon his brave heart broke in twain.<br /> -Greatly joyed the Moorish party,<br /> -That the gallant Knight was slain.<br /> -<br /> -Bitter weeping Montesinos<br /> -Took from him his helm and glaive;<br /> -Bitter weeping Montesinos<br /> -Dug his gallant Cousin’s grave.<br /> -<br /> -To perform his promise made, He<br /> -Cut the heart from out the breast,<br /> -That Belerma, wretched Lady!<br /> -Might receive the last bequest.<br /> -<br /> -Sad was Montesinos’ heart, He<br /> -Felt distress his bosom rend.<br /> -“Oh! my Cousin Durandarte,<br /> -Woe is me to view thy end!<br /> -<br /> -“Sweet in manners, fair in favour,<br /> -Mild in temper, fierce in fight,<br /> -Warrior, nobler, gentler, braver,<br /> -Never shall behold the light!<br /> -<br /> -“Cousin, Lo! my tears bedew thee!<br /> -How shall I thy loss survive!<br /> -Durandarte, He who slew thee,<br /> +Sad and fearful is the story<br> +Of the Roncevalles fight;<br> +On those fatal plains of glory<br> +Perished many a gallant Knight.<br> +<br> +There fell Durandarte; Never<br> +Verse a nobler Chieftain named:<br> +He, before his lips for ever<br> +Closed in silence thus exclaimed.<br> +<br> +“Oh! Belerma! Oh! my dear-one!<br> +For my pain and pleasure born!<br> +Seven long years I served thee, fair-one,<br> +Seven long years my fee was scorn:<br> +<br> +“And when now thy heart replying<br> +To my wishes, burns like mine,<br> +Cruel Fate my bliss denying<br> +Bids me every hope resign.<br> +<br> +“Ah! Though young I fall, believe me,<br> +Death would never claim a sigh;<br> +’Tis to lose thee, ’tis to leave thee,<br> +Makes me think it hard to die!<br> +<br> +“Oh! my Cousin Montesinos,<br> +By that friendship firm and dear<br> +Which from Youth has lived between us,<br> +Now my last petition hear!<br> +<br> +“When my Soul these limbs forsaking<br> +Eager seeks a purer air,<br> +From my breast the cold heart taking,<br> +Give it to Belerma’s care.<br> +<br> +Say, I of my lands Possessor<br> +Named her with my dying breath:<br> +Say, my lips I op’d to bless her,<br> +Ere they closed for aye in death:<br> +<br> +“Twice a week too how sincerely<br> +I adored her, Cousin, say;<br> +Twice a week for one who dearly<br> +Loved her, Cousin, bid her pray.<br> +<br> +“Montesinos, now the hour<br> +Marked by fate is near at hand:<br> +Lo! my arm has lost its power!<br> +Lo! I drop my trusty brand!<br> +<br> +“Eyes, which forth beheld me going,<br> +Homewards ne’er shall see me hie!<br> +Cousin, stop those tears o’er-flowing,<br> +Let me on thy bosom die!<br> +<br> +“Thy kind hand my eyelids closing,<br> +Yet one favour I implore:<br> +Pray Thou for my Soul’s reposing,<br> +When my heart shall throb no more;<br> +<br> +“So shall Jesus, still attending<br> +Gracious to a Christian’s vow,<br> +Pleased accept my Ghost ascending,<br> +And a seat in heaven allow.”<br> +<br> +Thus spoke gallant Durandarte;<br> +Soon his brave heart broke in twain.<br> +Greatly joyed the Moorish party,<br> +That the gallant Knight was slain.<br> +<br> +Bitter weeping Montesinos<br> +Took from him his helm and glaive;<br> +Bitter weeping Montesinos<br> +Dug his gallant Cousin’s grave.<br> +<br> +To perform his promise made, He<br> +Cut the heart from out the breast,<br> +That Belerma, wretched Lady!<br> +Might receive the last bequest.<br> +<br> +Sad was Montesinos’ heart, He<br> +Felt distress his bosom rend.<br> +“Oh! my Cousin Durandarte,<br> +Woe is me to view thy end!<br> +<br> +“Sweet in manners, fair in favour,<br> +Mild in temper, fierce in fight,<br> +Warrior, nobler, gentler, braver,<br> +Never shall behold the light!<br> +<br> +“Cousin, Lo! my tears bedew thee!<br> +How shall I thy loss survive!<br> +Durandarte, He who slew thee,<br> Wherefore left He me alive!” </p> @@ -4023,13 +4001,13 @@ his fame: He remembered nothing but the pleasure and opportunity. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h2><a id="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> <p class="poem"> -——These are the Villains<br /> -Whom all the Travellers do fear so much.<br /> -————Some of them are Gentlemen<br /> -Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth<br /> +——These are the Villains<br> +Whom all the Travellers do fear so much.<br> +————Some of them are Gentlemen<br> +Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth<br> Thrust from the company of awful Men. </p> @@ -4171,8 +4149,8 @@ will be convinced that my expressions have not been too severe.” He then began his narrative in the following manner:— </p> -<h4>HISTORY OF DON RAYMOND,<br /> -MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS</h4> +<h3>HISTORY OF DON RAYMOND,<br> +MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS</h3> <p> Long experience, my dear Lorenzo, has convinced me how generous is your nature: @@ -5585,13 +5563,13 @@ should be given to your Aunt’s assertions! <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> <p class="poem"> -Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the Earth hide thee!<br /> -Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold!<br /> -Thou hast no speculation in those eyes<br /> -Which Thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow!<br /> +Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the Earth hide thee!<br> +Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold!<br> +Thou hast no speculation in those eyes<br> +Which Thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow!<br> Unreal mockery hence! </p> @@ -6608,11 +6586,11 @@ her in my arms. </p> <p class="poem"> -Agnes! Agnes! Thou art mine!<br /> -Agnes! Agnes! I am thine!<br /> -In my veins while blood shall roll,<br /> -Thou art mine!<br /> -I am thine!<br /> +Agnes! Agnes! Thou art mine!<br> +Agnes! Agnes! I am thine!<br> +In my veins while blood shall roll,<br> +Thou art mine!<br> +I am thine!<br> Thine my body! Thine my soul! </p> @@ -6765,11 +6743,11 @@ pronounced the following words: </p> <p class="poem"> -‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br /> -Raymond! Raymond! I am thine!<br /> -In thy veins while blood shall roll,<br /> -I am thine!<br /> -Thou art mine!<br /> +‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br> +Raymond! Raymond! I am thine!<br> +In thy veins while blood shall roll,<br> +I am thine!<br> +Thou art mine!<br> Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!——’ </p> @@ -6791,7 +6769,7 @@ cold lips to mine, again repeated, </p> <p class="poem"> -‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br /> +‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br> Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.—’ </p> @@ -6851,7 +6829,7 @@ were chained in second infancy. Once more I heard those fatal words repeated, </p> <p class="poem"> -‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br /> +‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br> Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.——’ </p> @@ -7900,14 +7878,14 @@ title to her person and her heart. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> <p class="poem"> -O You! whom Vanity’s light bark conveys<br /> -On Fame’s mad voyage by the wind of praise,<br /> -With what a shifting gale your course you ply,<br /> -For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!<br /> -Who pants for glory finds but short repose,<br /> +O You! whom Vanity’s light bark conveys<br> +On Fame’s mad voyage by the wind of praise,<br> +With what a shifting gale your course you ply,<br> +For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!<br> +Who pants for glory finds but short repose,<br> A breath revives him, and a breath o’er-throws. </p> @@ -8039,144 +8017,144 @@ LOVE AND AGE </p> <p class="poem"> - The night was dark; The wind blew cold;<br /> - Anacreon, grown morose and old,<br /> -Sat by his fire, and fed the chearful flame:<br /> - Suddenly the Cottage-door expands,<br /> - And lo! before him Cupid stands,<br /> -Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name.<br /> -<br /> - “What is it Thou?” the startled Sire<br /> - In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire<br /> -With crimson flushed his pale and wrinkled cheek:<br /> - “Wouldst Thou again with amorous rage<br /> - Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age,<br /> -Vain Boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak.<br /> -<br /> - “What seek You in this desart drear?<br /> - No smiles or sports inhabit here;<br /> -Ne’er did these vallies witness dalliance sweet:<br /> - Eternal winter binds the plains;<br /> - Age in my house despotic reigns,<br /> -My Garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat.<br /> -<br /> - “Begone, and seek the blooming bower,<br /> - Where some ripe Virgin courts thy power,<br /> -Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed;<br /> - On Damon’s amorous breast repose;<br /> - Wanton—on Chloe’s lip of rose,<br /> -Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head.<br /> -<br /> - “Be such thy haunts; These regions cold<br /> - Avoid! Nor think grown wise and old<br /> -This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear:<br /> - Remembering that my fairest years<br /> - By Thee were marked with sighs and tears,<br /> -I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare.<br /> -<br /> - “I have not yet forgot the pains<br /> - I felt, while bound in Julia’s chains;<br /> -The ardent flames with which my bosom burned;<br /> - The nights I passed deprived of rest;<br /> - The jealous pangs which racked my breast;<br /> -My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned.<br /> -<br /> - “Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more!<br /> - Fly from my peaceful Cottage-door!<br /> -No day, no hour, no moment shalt Thou stay.<br /> - I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts,<br /> - Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts;<br /> -Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!”<br /> -<br /> - “Does Age, old Man, your wits confound?”<br /> - Replied the offended God, and frowned;<br /> -(His frown was sweet as is the Virgin’s smile!)<br /> - “Do You to Me these words address?<br /> - To Me, who do not love you less,<br /> -Though You my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile!<br /> -<br /> - “If one proud Fair you chanced to find,<br /> - An hundred other Nymphs were kind,<br /> -Whose smiles might well for Julia’s frowns atone:<br /> - But such is Man! His partial hand<br /> - Unnumbered favours writes on sand,<br /> -But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.<br /> -<br /> - “Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave,<br /> - At noon where Lesbia loved to lave?<br /> -Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay?<br /> - And who, when Caelia shrieked for aid,<br /> - Bad you with kisses hush the Maid?<br /> -What other was’t than Love, Oh! false Anacreon, say!<br /> -<br /> - “Then You could call me—‘Gentle Boy!<br /> - ‘My only bliss! my source of joy!’—<br /> -Then You could prize me dearer than your soul!<br /> - Could kiss, and dance me on your knees;<br /> - And swear, not wine itself would please,<br /> -Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl!<br /> -<br /> - “Must those sweet days return no more?<br /> - Must I for aye your loss deplore,<br /> -Banished your heart, and from your favour driven?<br /> - Ah! no; My fears that smile denies;<br /> - That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes<br /> -Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven.<br /> -<br /> - “Again beloved, esteemed, carest,<br /> - Cupid shall in thine arms be prest,<br /> -Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep:<br /> - My Torch thine age-struck heart shall warm;<br /> - My Hand pale Winter’s rage disarm,<br /> -And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.”—<br /> -<br /> - A feather now of golden hue<br /> - He smiling from his pinion drew;<br /> -This to the Poet’s hand the Boy commits;<br /> - And straight before Anacreon’s eyes<br /> - The fairest dreams of fancy rise,<br /> -And round his favoured head wild inspiration flits.<br /> -<br /> - His bosom glows with amorous fire<br /> - Eager He grasps the magic lyre;<br /> -Swift o’er the tuneful chords his fingers move:<br /> - The Feather plucked from Cupid’s wing<br /> - Sweeps the too-long-neglected string,<br /> -While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of Love.<br /> -<br /> - Soon as that name was heard, the Woods<br /> - Shook off their snows; The melting floods<br /> -Broke their cold chains, and Winter fled away.<br /> - Once more the earth was deckt with flowers;<br /> - Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers;<br /> -High towered the glorious Sun, and poured the blaze of day.<br /> -<br /> - Attracted by the harmonious sound,<br /> - Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround,<br /> -And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold:<br /> - The Wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove;<br /> - Eager They run; They list, they love,<br /> -And while They hear the strain, forget the Man is old.<br /> -<br /> - Cupid, to nothing constant long,<br /> - Perched on the Harp attends the song,<br /> -Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes:<br /> - Now on the Poet’s breast reposes,<br /> - Now twines his hoary locks with roses,<br /> -Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.<br /> -<br /> - Then thus Anacreon—“I no more<br /> - At other shrine my vows will pour,<br /> -Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire:<br /> - From Phœbus or the blue-eyed Maid<br /> - Now shall my verse request no aid,<br /> -For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre.<br /> -<br /> - “In lofty strain, of earlier days,<br /> - I spread the King’s or Hero’s praise,<br /> -And struck the martial Chords with epic fire:<br /> - But farewell, Hero! farewell, King!<br /> - Your deeds my lips no more shall sing,<br /> + The night was dark; The wind blew cold;<br> + Anacreon, grown morose and old,<br> +Sat by his fire, and fed the chearful flame:<br> + Suddenly the Cottage-door expands,<br> + And lo! before him Cupid stands,<br> +Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name.<br> +<br> + “What is it Thou?” the startled Sire<br> + In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire<br> +With crimson flushed his pale and wrinkled cheek:<br> + “Wouldst Thou again with amorous rage<br> + Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age,<br> +Vain Boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak.<br> +<br> + “What seek You in this desart drear?<br> + No smiles or sports inhabit here;<br> +Ne’er did these vallies witness dalliance sweet:<br> + Eternal winter binds the plains;<br> + Age in my house despotic reigns,<br> +My Garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat.<br> +<br> + “Begone, and seek the blooming bower,<br> + Where some ripe Virgin courts thy power,<br> +Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed;<br> + On Damon’s amorous breast repose;<br> + Wanton—on Chloe’s lip of rose,<br> +Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head.<br> +<br> + “Be such thy haunts; These regions cold<br> + Avoid! Nor think grown wise and old<br> +This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear:<br> + Remembering that my fairest years<br> + By Thee were marked with sighs and tears,<br> +I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare.<br> +<br> + “I have not yet forgot the pains<br> + I felt, while bound in Julia’s chains;<br> +The ardent flames with which my bosom burned;<br> + The nights I passed deprived of rest;<br> + The jealous pangs which racked my breast;<br> +My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned.<br> +<br> + “Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more!<br> + Fly from my peaceful Cottage-door!<br> +No day, no hour, no moment shalt Thou stay.<br> + I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts,<br> + Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts;<br> +Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!”<br> +<br> + “Does Age, old Man, your wits confound?”<br> + Replied the offended God, and frowned;<br> +(His frown was sweet as is the Virgin’s smile!)<br> + “Do You to Me these words address?<br> + To Me, who do not love you less,<br> +Though You my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile!<br> +<br> + “If one proud Fair you chanced to find,<br> + An hundred other Nymphs were kind,<br> +Whose smiles might well for Julia’s frowns atone:<br> + But such is Man! His partial hand<br> + Unnumbered favours writes on sand,<br> +But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.<br> +<br> + “Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave,<br> + At noon where Lesbia loved to lave?<br> +Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay?<br> + And who, when Caelia shrieked for aid,<br> + Bad you with kisses hush the Maid?<br> +What other was’t than Love, Oh! false Anacreon, say!<br> +<br> + “Then You could call me—‘Gentle Boy!<br> + ‘My only bliss! my source of joy!’—<br> +Then You could prize me dearer than your soul!<br> + Could kiss, and dance me on your knees;<br> + And swear, not wine itself would please,<br> +Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl!<br> +<br> + “Must those sweet days return no more?<br> + Must I for aye your loss deplore,<br> +Banished your heart, and from your favour driven?<br> + Ah! no; My fears that smile denies;<br> + That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes<br> +Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven.<br> +<br> + “Again beloved, esteemed, carest,<br> + Cupid shall in thine arms be prest,<br> +Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep:<br> + My Torch thine age-struck heart shall warm;<br> + My Hand pale Winter’s rage disarm,<br> +And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.”—<br> +<br> + A feather now of golden hue<br> + He smiling from his pinion drew;<br> +This to the Poet’s hand the Boy commits;<br> + And straight before Anacreon’s eyes<br> + The fairest dreams of fancy rise,<br> +And round his favoured head wild inspiration flits.<br> +<br> + His bosom glows with amorous fire<br> + Eager He grasps the magic lyre;<br> +Swift o’er the tuneful chords his fingers move:<br> + The Feather plucked from Cupid’s wing<br> + Sweeps the too-long-neglected string,<br> +While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of Love.<br> +<br> + Soon as that name was heard, the Woods<br> + Shook off their snows; The melting floods<br> +Broke their cold chains, and Winter fled away.<br> + Once more the earth was deckt with flowers;<br> + Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers;<br> +High towered the glorious Sun, and poured the blaze of day.<br> +<br> + Attracted by the harmonious sound,<br> + Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround,<br> +And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold:<br> + The Wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove;<br> + Eager They run; They list, they love,<br> +And while They hear the strain, forget the Man is old.<br> +<br> + Cupid, to nothing constant long,<br> + Perched on the Harp attends the song,<br> +Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes:<br> + Now on the Poet’s breast reposes,<br> + Now twines his hoary locks with roses,<br> +Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.<br> +<br> + Then thus Anacreon—“I no more<br> + At other shrine my vows will pour,<br> +Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire:<br> + From Phœbus or the blue-eyed Maid<br> + Now shall my verse request no aid,<br> +For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre.<br> +<br> + “In lofty strain, of earlier days,<br> + I spread the King’s or Hero’s praise,<br> +And struck the martial Chords with epic fire:<br> + But farewell, Hero! farewell, King!<br> + Your deeds my lips no more shall sing,<br> For Love alone shall be the subject of my Lyre. </p> @@ -8798,94 +8776,94 @@ THE EXILE </p> <p class="poem"> -Farewell, Oh! native Spain! Farewell for ever!<br /> - These banished eyes shall view thy coasts no more;<br /> -A mournful presage tells my heart, that never<br /> - Gonzalvo’s steps again shall press thy shore.<br /> -<br /> -Hushed are the winds; While soft the Vessel sailing<br /> - With gentle motion plows the unruffled Main,<br /> -I feel my bosom’s boasted courage failing,<br /> - And curse the waves which bear me far from Spain.<br /> -<br /> -I see it yet! Beneath yon blue clear Heaven<br /> - Still do the Spires, so well beloved, appear;<br /> -From yonder craggy point the gale of Even<br /> - Still wafts my native accents to mine ear:<br /> -<br /> -Propped on some moss-crowned Rock, and gaily singing,<br /> - There in the Sun his nets the Fisher dries;<br /> -Oft have I heard the plaintive Ballad, bringing<br /> - Scenes of past joys before my sorrowing eyes.<br /> -<br /> -Ah! Happy Swain! He waits the accustomed hour,<br /> - When twilight-gloom obscures the closing sky;<br /> -Then gladly seeks his loved paternal bower,<br /> - And shares the feast his native fields supply:<br /> -<br /> -Friendship and Love, his Cottage Guests, receive him<br /> - With honest welcome and with smile sincere;<br /> -No threatening woes of present joys bereave him,<br /> - No sigh his bosom owns, his cheek no tear.<br /> -<br /> -Ah! Happy Swain! Such bliss to me denying,<br /> - Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view;<br /> -Me, who from home and Spain an Exile flying,<br /> - Bid all I value, all I love, adieu.<br /> -<br /> -No more mine ear shall list the well-known ditty<br /> - Sung by some Mountain-Girl, who tends her Goats,<br /> -Some Village-Swain imploring amorous pity,<br /> - Or Shepherd chaunting wild his rustic notes:<br /> -<br /> -No more my arms a Parent’s fond embraces,<br /> - No more my heart domestic calm, must know;<br /> -Far from these joys, with sighs which Memory traces,<br /> - To sultry skies, and distant climes I go.<br /> -<br /> -Where Indian Suns engender new diseases,<br /> - Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way<br /> -To brave the feverish thirst no art appeases,<br /> - The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day:<br /> -<br /> -But not to feel slow pangs consume my liver,<br /> - To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age,<br /> -My boiling blood drank by insatiate fever,<br /> - And brain delirious with the day-star’s rage,<br /> -<br /> -Can make me know such grief, as thus to sever<br /> - With many a bitter sigh, Dear Land, from Thee;<br /> -To feel this heart must doat on thee for ever,<br /> - And feel, that all thy joys are torn from me!<br /> -<br /> -Ah me! How oft will Fancy’s spells in slumber<br /> - Recall my native Country to my mind!<br /> -How oft regret will bid me sadly number<br /> - Each lost delight and dear Friend left behind!<br /> -<br /> -Wild Murcia’s Vales, and loved romantic bowers,<br /> - The River on whose banks a Child I played,<br /> -My Castle’s antient Halls, its frowning Towers,<br /> - Each much-regretted wood, and well-known Glade,<br /> -<br /> -Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre,<br /> - Thy scenes, which I am doomed no more to know,<br /> -Full oft shall Memory trace, my soul’s Tormentor,<br /> - And turn each pleasure past to present woe.<br /> -<br /> -But Lo! The Sun beneath the waves retires;<br /> - Night speeds apace her empire to restore:<br /> -Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires,<br /> - Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more.<br /> -<br /> -Oh! breathe not, Winds! Still be the Water’s motion!<br /> - Sleep, sleep, my Bark, in silence on the Main!<br /> -So when to-morrow’s light shall gild the Ocean,<br /> - Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain.<br /> -<br /> -Vain is the wish! My last petition scorning,<br /> - Fresh blows the Gale, and high the Billows swell:<br /> -Far shall we be before the break of Morning;<br /> +Farewell, Oh! native Spain! Farewell for ever!<br> + These banished eyes shall view thy coasts no more;<br> +A mournful presage tells my heart, that never<br> + Gonzalvo’s steps again shall press thy shore.<br> +<br> +Hushed are the winds; While soft the Vessel sailing<br> + With gentle motion plows the unruffled Main,<br> +I feel my bosom’s boasted courage failing,<br> + And curse the waves which bear me far from Spain.<br> +<br> +I see it yet! Beneath yon blue clear Heaven<br> + Still do the Spires, so well beloved, appear;<br> +From yonder craggy point the gale of Even<br> + Still wafts my native accents to mine ear:<br> +<br> +Propped on some moss-crowned Rock, and gaily singing,<br> + There in the Sun his nets the Fisher dries;<br> +Oft have I heard the plaintive Ballad, bringing<br> + Scenes of past joys before my sorrowing eyes.<br> +<br> +Ah! Happy Swain! He waits the accustomed hour,<br> + When twilight-gloom obscures the closing sky;<br> +Then gladly seeks his loved paternal bower,<br> + And shares the feast his native fields supply:<br> +<br> +Friendship and Love, his Cottage Guests, receive him<br> + With honest welcome and with smile sincere;<br> +No threatening woes of present joys bereave him,<br> + No sigh his bosom owns, his cheek no tear.<br> +<br> +Ah! Happy Swain! Such bliss to me denying,<br> + Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view;<br> +Me, who from home and Spain an Exile flying,<br> + Bid all I value, all I love, adieu.<br> +<br> +No more mine ear shall list the well-known ditty<br> + Sung by some Mountain-Girl, who tends her Goats,<br> +Some Village-Swain imploring amorous pity,<br> + Or Shepherd chaunting wild his rustic notes:<br> +<br> +No more my arms a Parent’s fond embraces,<br> + No more my heart domestic calm, must know;<br> +Far from these joys, with sighs which Memory traces,<br> + To sultry skies, and distant climes I go.<br> +<br> +Where Indian Suns engender new diseases,<br> + Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way<br> +To brave the feverish thirst no art appeases,<br> + The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day:<br> +<br> +But not to feel slow pangs consume my liver,<br> + To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age,<br> +My boiling blood drank by insatiate fever,<br> + And brain delirious with the day-star’s rage,<br> +<br> +Can make me know such grief, as thus to sever<br> + With many a bitter sigh, Dear Land, from Thee;<br> +To feel this heart must doat on thee for ever,<br> + And feel, that all thy joys are torn from me!<br> +<br> +Ah me! How oft will Fancy’s spells in slumber<br> + Recall my native Country to my mind!<br> +How oft regret will bid me sadly number<br> + Each lost delight and dear Friend left behind!<br> +<br> +Wild Murcia’s Vales, and loved romantic bowers,<br> + The River on whose banks a Child I played,<br> +My Castle’s antient Halls, its frowning Towers,<br> + Each much-regretted wood, and well-known Glade,<br> +<br> +Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre,<br> + Thy scenes, which I am doomed no more to know,<br> +Full oft shall Memory trace, my soul’s Tormentor,<br> + And turn each pleasure past to present woe.<br> +<br> +But Lo! The Sun beneath the waves retires;<br> + Night speeds apace her empire to restore:<br> +Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires,<br> + Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more.<br> +<br> +Oh! breathe not, Winds! Still be the Water’s motion!<br> + Sleep, sleep, my Bark, in silence on the Main!<br> +So when to-morrow’s light shall gild the Ocean,<br> + Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain.<br> +<br> +Vain is the wish! My last petition scorning,<br> + Fresh blows the Gale, and high the Billows swell:<br> +Far shall we be before the break of Morning;<br> Oh! then for ever, native Spain, farewell! </p> @@ -9098,10 +9076,10 @@ harboured no doubt of the success of his application. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> <p class="poem"> -While in each other’s arms entranced They lay,<br /> +While in each other’s arms entranced They lay,<br> They blessed the night, and curst the coming day. </p> @@ -9942,7 +9920,7 @@ herself a violent Admirer of murmuring Streams and Nightingales; </p> <p class="poem"> -“Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves,<br /> +“Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves,<br> “Places which pale Passion loves!” </p> @@ -10230,79 +10208,79 @@ MIDNIGHT HYMN </p> <p class="poem"> -Now all is hushed; The solemn chime<br /> -No longer swells the nightly gale:<br /> -Thy awful presence, Hour sublime,<br /> -With spotless heart once more I hail.<br /> -<br /> -’Tis now the moment still and dread,<br /> -When Sorcerers use their baleful power;<br /> -When Graves give up their buried dead<br /> -To profit by the sanctioned hour:<br /> -<br /> -From guilt and guilty thoughts secure,<br /> -To duty and devotion true,<br /> -With bosom light and conscience pure,<br /> -Repose, thy gentle aid I woo.<br /> -<br /> -Good Angels, take my thanks, that still<br /> -The snares of vice I view with scorn;<br /> -Thanks, that to-night as free from ill<br /> -I sleep, as when I woke at morn.<br /> -<br /> -Yet may not my unconscious breast<br /> -Harbour some guilt to me unknown?<br /> -Some wish impure, which unreprest<br /> -You blush to see, and I to own?<br /> -<br /> -If such there be, in gentle dream<br /> -Instruct my feet to shun the snare;<br /> -Bid truth upon my errors beam,<br /> -And deign to make me still your care.<br /> -<br /> -Chase from my peaceful bed away<br /> -The witching Spell, a foe to rest,<br /> -The nightly Goblin, wanton Fay,<br /> -The Ghost in pain, and Fiend unblest:<br /> -<br /> -Let not the Tempter in mine ear<br /> -Pour lessons of unhallowed joy;<br /> -Let not the Night-mare, wandering near<br /> -My Couch, the calm of sleep destroy;<br /> -<br /> -Let not some horrid dream affright<br /> -With strange fantastic forms mine eyes;<br /> -But rather bid some vision bright<br /> -Display the bliss of yonder skies.<br /> -<br /> -Show me the crystal Domes of Heaven,<br /> -The worlds of light where Angels lie;<br /> -Shew me the lot to Mortals given,<br /> -Who guiltless live, who guiltless die.<br /> -<br /> -Then show me how a seat to gain<br /> -Amidst those blissful realms of<br /> -Air; Teach me to shun each guilty stain,<br /> -And guide me to the good and fair.<br /> -<br /> -So every morn and night, my Voice<br /> -To heaven the grateful strain shall raise;<br /> -In You as Guardian Powers rejoice,<br /> -Good Angels, and exalt your praise:<br /> -<br /> -So will I strive with zealous fire<br /> -Each vice to shun, each fault correct;<br /> -Will love the lessons you inspire,<br /> -And Prize the virtues you protect.<br /> -<br /> -Then when at length by high command<br /> -My body seeks the Grave’s repose,<br /> -When Death draws nigh with friendly hand<br /> -My failing Pilgrim eyes to close;<br /> -<br /> -Pleased that my soul has ’scaped the wreck,<br /> -Sighless will I my life resign,<br /> -And yield to God my Spirit back,<br /> +Now all is hushed; The solemn chime<br> +No longer swells the nightly gale:<br> +Thy awful presence, Hour sublime,<br> +With spotless heart once more I hail.<br> +<br> +’Tis now the moment still and dread,<br> +When Sorcerers use their baleful power;<br> +When Graves give up their buried dead<br> +To profit by the sanctioned hour:<br> +<br> +From guilt and guilty thoughts secure,<br> +To duty and devotion true,<br> +With bosom light and conscience pure,<br> +Repose, thy gentle aid I woo.<br> +<br> +Good Angels, take my thanks, that still<br> +The snares of vice I view with scorn;<br> +Thanks, that to-night as free from ill<br> +I sleep, as when I woke at morn.<br> +<br> +Yet may not my unconscious breast<br> +Harbour some guilt to me unknown?<br> +Some wish impure, which unreprest<br> +You blush to see, and I to own?<br> +<br> +If such there be, in gentle dream<br> +Instruct my feet to shun the snare;<br> +Bid truth upon my errors beam,<br> +And deign to make me still your care.<br> +<br> +Chase from my peaceful bed away<br> +The witching Spell, a foe to rest,<br> +The nightly Goblin, wanton Fay,<br> +The Ghost in pain, and Fiend unblest:<br> +<br> +Let not the Tempter in mine ear<br> +Pour lessons of unhallowed joy;<br> +Let not the Night-mare, wandering near<br> +My Couch, the calm of sleep destroy;<br> +<br> +Let not some horrid dream affright<br> +With strange fantastic forms mine eyes;<br> +But rather bid some vision bright<br> +Display the bliss of yonder skies.<br> +<br> +Show me the crystal Domes of Heaven,<br> +The worlds of light where Angels lie;<br> +Shew me the lot to Mortals given,<br> +Who guiltless live, who guiltless die.<br> +<br> +Then show me how a seat to gain<br> +Amidst those blissful realms of<br> +Air; Teach me to shun each guilty stain,<br> +And guide me to the good and fair.<br> +<br> +So every morn and night, my Voice<br> +To heaven the grateful strain shall raise;<br> +In You as Guardian Powers rejoice,<br> +Good Angels, and exalt your praise:<br> +<br> +So will I strive with zealous fire<br> +Each vice to shun, each fault correct;<br> +Will love the lessons you inspire,<br> +And Prize the virtues you protect.<br> +<br> +Then when at length by high command<br> +My body seeks the Grave’s repose,<br> +When Death draws nigh with friendly hand<br> +My failing Pilgrim eyes to close;<br> +<br> +Pleased that my soul has ’scaped the wreck,<br> +Sighless will I my life resign,<br> +And yield to God my Spirit back,<br> As pure as when it first was mine. </p> @@ -10317,20 +10295,20 @@ exchange his Crown. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> <p class="poem"> -——Ah! how dark<br /> -These long-extended realms and rueful wastes;<br /> -Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night,<br /> -Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun<br /> -Was rolled together, or had tried its beams<br /> -Athwart the gloom profound!<br /> -The sickly Taper<br /> -By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults,<br /> -Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,<br /> -Lets fall a supernumerary horror,<br /> -And only serves to make<br /> +——Ah! how dark<br> +These long-extended realms and rueful wastes;<br> +Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night,<br> +Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun<br> +Was rolled together, or had tried its beams<br> +Athwart the gloom profound!<br> +The sickly Taper<br> +By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults,<br> +Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,<br> +Lets fall a supernumerary horror,<br> +And only serves to make<br> Thy night more irksome! </p> @@ -11216,14 +11194,14 @@ with impatience for the approach of midnight. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> <p class="poem"> -The crickets sing, and Man’s o’er-laboured sense<br /> -Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus<br /> -Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened<br /> -The chastity He wounded—Cytherea,<br /> -How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! Fresh Lily!<br /> +The crickets sing, and Man’s o’er-laboured sense<br> +Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus<br> +Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened<br> +The chastity He wounded—Cytherea,<br> +How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! Fresh Lily!<br> And whiter than the sheets! </p> @@ -11389,7 +11367,7 @@ talked of Giants, Savages, Ship-wrecks, and Islands inhabited </p> <p class="poem"> -“By anthropophagi, and men whose heads<br /> +“By anthropophagi, and men whose heads<br> Do grow beneath their shoulders,” </p> @@ -11514,109 +11492,109 @@ following Stanzas. </p> <p class="center"> -THE WATER-KING<br /> +THE WATER-KING<br> A DANISH BALLAD </p> <p class="poem"> -With gentle murmur flowed the tide,<br /> -While by the fragrant flowery side<br /> -The lovely Maid with carols gay<br /> -To Mary’s church pursued her way.<br /> -<br /> -The Water-Fiend’s malignant eye<br /> -Along the Banks beheld her hie;<br /> -Straight to his Mother-witch he sped,<br /> -And thus in suppliant accents said:<br /> -<br /> -“Oh! Mother! Mother! now advise,<br /> -How I may yonder Maid surprize:<br /> -Oh! Mother! Mother! Now explain,<br /> -How I may yonder Maid obtain.”<br /> -<br /> -The Witch She gave him armour white;<br /> -She formed him like a gallant Knight;<br /> -Of water clear next made her hand<br /> -A Steed, whose housings were of sand.<br /> -<br /> -The Water-King then swift He went;<br /> -To Mary’s Church his steps He bent:<br /> -He bound his Courser to the Door,<br /> -And paced the Church-yard three times four.<br /> -<br /> -His Courser to the door bound He,<br /> -And paced the Church-yard four time three:<br /> -Then hastened up the Aisle, where all<br /> -The People flocked, both great and small.<br /> -<br /> -The Priest said, as the Knight drew near,<br /> -“And wherefore comes the white Chief here?”<br /> -The lovely Maid She smiled aside;<br /> -“Oh! would I were the white Chief’s Bride!”<br /> -<br /> -He stept o’er Benches one and two;<br /> -“Oh! lovely Maid, I die for You!”<br /> -He stept o’er Benches two and three;<br /> -“Oh! lovely Maiden, go with me!”<br /> -<br /> -Then sweet She smiled, the lovely Maid,<br /> -And while She gave her hand, She said,<br /> -“Betide me joy, betide me woe,<br /> -O’er Hill, o’er dale, with thee I go.”<br /> -<br /> -The Priest their hands together joins:<br /> -They dance, while clear the moon-beam shines;<br /> -And little thinks the Maiden bright,<br /> -Her Partner is the Water-spright.<br /> -<br /> -Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing,<br /> -“Your Partner is the Water-King!”<br /> -The Maid had fear and hate confest,<br /> -And cursed the hand which then She prest.<br /> -<br /> -But nothing giving cause to think,<br /> -How near She strayed to danger’s brink,<br /> -Still on She went, and hand in hand<br /> -The Lovers reached the yellow sand.<br /> -<br /> -“Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear;<br /> -We needs must cross the streamlet here;<br /> -Ride boldly in; It is not deep;<br /> -The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.”<br /> -<br /> -Thus spoke the Water-King. The Maid<br /> -Her Traitor-Bride-groom’s wish obeyed:<br /> -And soon She saw the Courser lave<br /> -Delighted in his parent wave.<br /> -<br /> -“Stop! Stop! my Love! The waters blue<br /> -E’en now my shrinking foot bedew!”<br /> -“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!<br /> -We now have reached the deepest part.”<br /> -<br /> -“Stop! Stop! my Love! For now I see<br /> -The waters rise above my knee.”<br /> -“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!<br /> -We now have reached the deepest part.”<br /> -<br /> -“Stop! Stop! for God’s sake, stop! For Oh!<br /> -The waters o’er my bosom flow!”—<br /> -Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight<br /> -And Courser vanished from her sight.<br /> -<br /> -She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high<br /> -The wild winds rising dull the cry;<br /> -The Fiend exults; The Billows dash,<br /> -And o’er their hapless Victim wash.<br /> -<br /> -Three times while struggling with the stream,<br /> -The lovely Maid was heard to scream;<br /> -But when the Tempest’s rage was o’er,<br /> -The lovely Maid was seen no more.<br /> -<br /> -Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair,<br /> -To whom you give your love beware!<br /> -Believe not every handsome Knight,<br /> +With gentle murmur flowed the tide,<br> +While by the fragrant flowery side<br> +The lovely Maid with carols gay<br> +To Mary’s church pursued her way.<br> +<br> +The Water-Fiend’s malignant eye<br> +Along the Banks beheld her hie;<br> +Straight to his Mother-witch he sped,<br> +And thus in suppliant accents said:<br> +<br> +“Oh! Mother! Mother! now advise,<br> +How I may yonder Maid surprize:<br> +Oh! Mother! Mother! Now explain,<br> +How I may yonder Maid obtain.”<br> +<br> +The Witch She gave him armour white;<br> +She formed him like a gallant Knight;<br> +Of water clear next made her hand<br> +A Steed, whose housings were of sand.<br> +<br> +The Water-King then swift He went;<br> +To Mary’s Church his steps He bent:<br> +He bound his Courser to the Door,<br> +And paced the Church-yard three times four.<br> +<br> +His Courser to the door bound He,<br> +And paced the Church-yard four time three:<br> +Then hastened up the Aisle, where all<br> +The People flocked, both great and small.<br> +<br> +The Priest said, as the Knight drew near,<br> +“And wherefore comes the white Chief here?”<br> +The lovely Maid She smiled aside;<br> +“Oh! would I were the white Chief’s Bride!”<br> +<br> +He stept o’er Benches one and two;<br> +“Oh! lovely Maid, I die for You!”<br> +He stept o’er Benches two and three;<br> +“Oh! lovely Maiden, go with me!”<br> +<br> +Then sweet She smiled, the lovely Maid,<br> +And while She gave her hand, She said,<br> +“Betide me joy, betide me woe,<br> +O’er Hill, o’er dale, with thee I go.”<br> +<br> +The Priest their hands together joins:<br> +They dance, while clear the moon-beam shines;<br> +And little thinks the Maiden bright,<br> +Her Partner is the Water-spright.<br> +<br> +Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing,<br> +“Your Partner is the Water-King!”<br> +The Maid had fear and hate confest,<br> +And cursed the hand which then She prest.<br> +<br> +But nothing giving cause to think,<br> +How near She strayed to danger’s brink,<br> +Still on She went, and hand in hand<br> +The Lovers reached the yellow sand.<br> +<br> +“Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear;<br> +We needs must cross the streamlet here;<br> +Ride boldly in; It is not deep;<br> +The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.”<br> +<br> +Thus spoke the Water-King. The Maid<br> +Her Traitor-Bride-groom’s wish obeyed:<br> +And soon She saw the Courser lave<br> +Delighted in his parent wave.<br> +<br> +“Stop! Stop! my Love! The waters blue<br> +E’en now my shrinking foot bedew!”<br> +“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!<br> +We now have reached the deepest part.”<br> +<br> +“Stop! Stop! my Love! For now I see<br> +The waters rise above my knee.”<br> +“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!<br> +We now have reached the deepest part.”<br> +<br> +“Stop! Stop! for God’s sake, stop! For Oh!<br> +The waters o’er my bosom flow!”—<br> +Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight<br> +And Courser vanished from her sight.<br> +<br> +She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high<br> +The wild winds rising dull the cry;<br> +The Fiend exults; The Billows dash,<br> +And o’er their hapless Victim wash.<br> +<br> +Three times while struggling with the stream,<br> +The lovely Maid was heard to scream;<br> +But when the Tempest’s rage was o’er,<br> +The lovely Maid was seen no more.<br> +<br> +Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair,<br> +To whom you give your love beware!<br> +Believe not every handsome Knight,<br> And dance not with the Water-Spright! </p> @@ -11849,9 +11827,9 @@ Chorus </p> <p class="poem"> -Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre!<br /> -’Tis here that Beauty loves to rest:<br /> -Describe the pangs of fond desire,<br /> +Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre!<br> +’Tis here that Beauty loves to rest:<br> +Describe the pangs of fond desire,<br> Which rend a faithful Lover’s breast. </p> @@ -11860,25 +11838,25 @@ Song </p> <p class="poem"> -In every heart to find a Slave,<br /> -In every Soul to fix his reign,<br /> -In bonds to lead the wise and brave,<br /> -And make the Captives kiss his chain,<br /> -Such is the power of Love, and Oh!<br /> -I grieve so well Love’s power to know.<br /> -<br /> -In sighs to pass the live-long day,<br /> -To taste a short and broken sleep,<br /> -For one dear Object far away,<br /> -All others scorned, to watch and weep,<br /> -Such are the pains of Love, and Oh!<br /> -I grieve so well Love’s pains to know!<br /> -<br /> -To read consent in virgin eyes,<br /> -To press the lip ne’er prest till then<br /> -To hear the sigh of transport rise,<br /> -And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again,<br /> -Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh!<br /> +In every heart to find a Slave,<br> +In every Soul to fix his reign,<br> +In bonds to lead the wise and brave,<br> +And make the Captives kiss his chain,<br> +Such is the power of Love, and Oh!<br> +I grieve so well Love’s power to know.<br> +<br> +In sighs to pass the live-long day,<br> +To taste a short and broken sleep,<br> +For one dear Object far away,<br> +All others scorned, to watch and weep,<br> +Such are the pains of Love, and Oh!<br> +I grieve so well Love’s pains to know!<br> +<br> +To read consent in virgin eyes,<br> +To press the lip ne’er prest till then<br> +To hear the sigh of transport rise,<br> +And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again,<br> +Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh!<br> When shall my heart thy pleasures know? </p> @@ -11887,9 +11865,9 @@ Chorus </p> <p class="poem"> -Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still!<br /> -Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire<br /> -With amorous thoughts thy visions fill,<br /> +Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still!<br> +Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire<br> +With amorous thoughts thy visions fill,<br> Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre. </p> @@ -12142,16 +12120,16 @@ soul to the tortures of unavailing remorse, and terrors of impending detection. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> <p class="poem"> -Tell us, ye Dead, will none of you in pity<br /> -To those you left behind disclose the secret?<br /> -O! That some courteous Ghost would blab it out,<br /> -What ’tis you are, and we must shortly be.<br /> -I’ve heard that Souls departed have sometimes<br /> -Fore-warned Men of their deaths:<br /> -’Twas kindly done<br /> +Tell us, ye Dead, will none of you in pity<br> +To those you left behind disclose the secret?<br> +O! That some courteous Ghost would blab it out,<br> +What ’tis you are, and we must shortly be.<br> +I’ve heard that Souls departed have sometimes<br> +Fore-warned Men of their deaths:<br> +’Twas kindly done<br> To knock, and give the alarum. </p> @@ -12403,108 +12381,108 @@ ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE </p> <p class="poem"> -A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright<br /> - Conversed, as They sat on the green:<br /> -They gazed on each other with tender delight;<br /> -Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight,<br /> - The Maid’s was the Fair Imogine.<br /> -<br /> -“And Oh!” said the Youth, “since to-morrow I go<br /> - To fight in a far distant land,<br /> -Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow,<br /> -Some Other will court you, and you will bestow<br /> - On a wealthier Suitor your hand.”<br /> -<br /> -“Oh! hush these suspicions,” Fair Imogine said,<br /> - “Offensive to Love and to me!<br /> -For if ye be living, or if ye be dead,<br /> -I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead<br /> - Shall Husband of Imogine be.<br /> -<br /> -“If e’er I by lust or by wealth led aside<br /> - Forget my Alonzo the Brave,<br /> -God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride<br /> -Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side,<br /> -May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride,<br /> - And bear me away to the Grave!”<br /> -<br /> -To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold;<br /> - His Love, She lamented him sore:<br /> -But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold,<br /> -A Baron all covered with jewels and gold<br /> - Arrived at Fair Imogine’s door.<br /> -<br /> -His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain<br /> - Soon made her untrue to her vows:<br /> -He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain;<br /> -He caught her affections so light and so vain,<br /> - And carried her home as his Spouse.<br /> -<br /> -And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest;<br /> - The revelry now was begun:<br /> -The Tables, they groaned with the weight of the Feast;<br /> -Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,<br /> - When the Bell of the Castle told,—“One!”<br /> -<br /> -Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found<br /> - That a Stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific;<br /> -He uttered no sound; He spoke not, He moved not,<br /> -He looked not around,<br /> - But earnestly gazed on the Bride.<br /> -<br /> -His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height;<br /> - His armour was sable to view:<br /> -All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;<br /> -The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright,<br /> - The Lights in the chamber burned blue!<br /> -<br /> -His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay;<br /> - The Guests sat in silence and fear.<br /> -At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled;<br /> -“I pray, Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay,<br /> - And deign to partake of our chear.”<br /> -<br /> -The Lady is silent: The Stranger complies.<br /> - His vizor lie slowly unclosed:<br /> -Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine’s eyes!<br /> -What words can express her dismay and surprize,<br /> - When a Skeleton’s head was exposed.<br /> -<br /> -All present then uttered a terrified shout;<br /> - All turned with disgust from the scene.<br /> -The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out,<br /> -And sported his eyes and his temples about,<br /> - While the Spectre addressed Imogine.<br /> -<br /> -“Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!” He cried;<br /> - “Remember Alonzo the Brave!<br /> -God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride<br /> -My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,<br /> -Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride<br /> - And bear thee away to the Grave!”<br /> -<br /> -Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound,<br /> - While loudly She shrieked in dismay;<br /> -Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground:<br /> -Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,<br /> - Or the Spectre who bore her away.<br /> -<br /> -Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time<br /> - To inhabit the Castle presume:<br /> -For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime<br /> -There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,<br /> - And mourns her deplorable doom.<br /> -<br /> -At midnight four times in each year does her Spright<br /> - When Mortals in slumber are bound,<br /> -Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,<br /> -Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight,<br /> - And shriek, as He whirls her around.<br /> -<br /> -While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,<br /> - Dancing round them the Spectres are seen:<br /> -Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave<br /> -They howl.—“To the health of Alonzo the Brave,<br /> +A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright<br> + Conversed, as They sat on the green:<br> +They gazed on each other with tender delight;<br> +Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight,<br> + The Maid’s was the Fair Imogine.<br> +<br> +“And Oh!” said the Youth, “since to-morrow I go<br> + To fight in a far distant land,<br> +Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow,<br> +Some Other will court you, and you will bestow<br> + On a wealthier Suitor your hand.”<br> +<br> +“Oh! hush these suspicions,” Fair Imogine said,<br> + “Offensive to Love and to me!<br> +For if ye be living, or if ye be dead,<br> +I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead<br> + Shall Husband of Imogine be.<br> +<br> +“If e’er I by lust or by wealth led aside<br> + Forget my Alonzo the Brave,<br> +God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride<br> +Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side,<br> +May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride,<br> + And bear me away to the Grave!”<br> +<br> +To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold;<br> + His Love, She lamented him sore:<br> +But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold,<br> +A Baron all covered with jewels and gold<br> + Arrived at Fair Imogine’s door.<br> +<br> +His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain<br> + Soon made her untrue to her vows:<br> +He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain;<br> +He caught her affections so light and so vain,<br> + And carried her home as his Spouse.<br> +<br> +And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest;<br> + The revelry now was begun:<br> +The Tables, they groaned with the weight of the Feast;<br> +Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,<br> + When the Bell of the Castle told,—“One!”<br> +<br> +Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found<br> + That a Stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific;<br> +He uttered no sound; He spoke not, He moved not,<br> +He looked not around,<br> + But earnestly gazed on the Bride.<br> +<br> +His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height;<br> + His armour was sable to view:<br> +All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;<br> +The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright,<br> + The Lights in the chamber burned blue!<br> +<br> +His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay;<br> + The Guests sat in silence and fear.<br> +At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled;<br> +“I pray, Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay,<br> + And deign to partake of our chear.”<br> +<br> +The Lady is silent: The Stranger complies.<br> + His vizor lie slowly unclosed:<br> +Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine’s eyes!<br> +What words can express her dismay and surprize,<br> + When a Skeleton’s head was exposed.<br> +<br> +All present then uttered a terrified shout;<br> + All turned with disgust from the scene.<br> +The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out,<br> +And sported his eyes and his temples about,<br> + While the Spectre addressed Imogine.<br> +<br> +“Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!” He cried;<br> + “Remember Alonzo the Brave!<br> +God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride<br> +My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,<br> +Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride<br> + And bear thee away to the Grave!”<br> +<br> +Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound,<br> + While loudly She shrieked in dismay;<br> +Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground:<br> +Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,<br> + Or the Spectre who bore her away.<br> +<br> +Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time<br> + To inhabit the Castle presume:<br> +For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime<br> +There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,<br> + And mourns her deplorable doom.<br> +<br> +At midnight four times in each year does her Spright<br> + When Mortals in slumber are bound,<br> +Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,<br> +Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight,<br> + And shriek, as He whirls her around.<br> +<br> +While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,<br> + Dancing round them the Spectres are seen:<br> +Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave<br> +They howl.—“To the health of Alonzo the Brave,<br> And his Consort, the False Imogine!” </p> @@ -13527,14 +13505,14 @@ diligence. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> <p class="poem"> -Oh! could I worship aught beneath the skies<br /> -That earth hath seen or fancy could devise,<br /> -Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,<br /> -Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,<br /> -With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair,<br /> +Oh! could I worship aught beneath the skies<br> +That earth hath seen or fancy could devise,<br> +Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,<br> +Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,<br> +With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair,<br> As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air. </p> @@ -14748,20 +14726,20 @@ Ramirez with equal swiftness. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> <p class="poem"> -Great Heaven! How frail thy creature Man is made!<br /> -How by himself insensibly betrayed!<br /> -In our own strength unhappily secure,<br /> -Too little cautious of the adverse power,<br /> -On pleasure’s flowery brink we idly stray,<br /> -Masters as yet of our returning way:<br /> -Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,<br /> -Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies,<br /> -And swift into the boundless Ocean borne,<br /> -Our foolish confidence too late we mourn:<br /> -Round our devoted heads the billows beat,<br /> +Great Heaven! How frail thy creature Man is made!<br> +How by himself insensibly betrayed!<br> +In our own strength unhappily secure,<br> +Too little cautious of the adverse power,<br> +On pleasure’s flowery brink we idly stray,<br> +Masters as yet of our returning way:<br> +Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,<br> +Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies,<br> +And swift into the boundless Ocean borne,<br> +Our foolish confidence too late we mourn:<br> +Round our devoted heads the billows beat,<br> And from our troubled view the lessening lands retreat. </p> @@ -15633,7 +15611,7 @@ related it more circumstantially and at large: After which She proceeded in her narrative as follows. </p> -<h4>Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina</h4> +<h3>Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina</h3> <p> My supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies. Those moments which I @@ -16143,7 +16121,7 @@ been the errors of your Mistress, the more exemplary shall be the conduct of your Wife. </p> -<hr /> +<hr> <p> Here Agnes ceased, and the Marquis replied to her address in terms equally @@ -16230,12 +16208,12 @@ them gentle as Zephyrs which breathe over summer-seas. <div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<h2><a id="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> <p class="poem"> -——He was a fell despightful Fiend:<br /> -Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below:<br /> -By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened;<br /> +——He was a fell despightful Fiend:<br> +Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below:<br> +By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened;<br> Of Man alike, if good or bad the Foe. </p> @@ -17128,7 +17106,7 @@ lay, and when they abated carried with them into the river the corse of the despairing monk. </p> -<hr /> +<hr> <p> Haughty Lady, why shrunk you back when yon poor frail-one drew near? Was the @@ -17150,451 +17128,11 @@ FINIS. </div><!--end chapter--> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize -this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright status under the laws that apply to them. @@ -1,2 +1,2 @@ Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for -eBook #601 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/601) +book #601 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/601) diff --git a/old/601.txt b/old/601.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9de1239..0000000 --- a/old/601.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14847 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Monk; a romance, by M. G. Lewis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Monk; a romance - -Author: M. G. Lewis - -Posting Date: October 10, 2008 [EBook #601] -Release Date: July, 1996 -Last Updated: March 19, 2015 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK; A ROMANCE *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. - - - - - - - - - -THE MONK - -A ROMANCE - - -by - -MATTHEW LEWIS - - - - - Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, - Nocturnos lemures, portentaque. - Horat. - - Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power, - Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour. - - - - -PREFACE - -IMITATION OF HORACE Ep. 20.--B. 1. - - Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book, - I see thee cast a wishful look, - Where reputations won and lost are - In famous row called Paternoster. - Incensed to find your precious olio - Buried in unexplored port-folio, - You scorn the prudent lock and key, - And pant well bound and gilt to see - Your Volume in the window set - Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett. - - Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn - Whence never Book can back return: - And when you find, condemned, despised, - Neglected, blamed, and criticised, - Abuse from All who read you fall, - (If haply you be read at all - Sorely will you your folly sigh at, - And wish for me, and home, and quiet. - - Assuming now a conjuror's office, I - Thus on your future Fortune prophesy:-- - Soon as your novelty is o'er, - And you are young and new no more, - In some dark dirty corner thrown, - Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown, - Your leaves shall be the Book-worm's prey; - Or sent to Chandler-Shop away, - And doomed to suffer public scandal, - Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle! - - But should you meet with approbation, - And some one find an inclination - To ask, by natural transition - Respecting me and my condition; - That I am one, the enquirer teach, - Nor very poor, nor very rich; - Of passions strong, of hasty nature, - Of graceless form and dwarfish stature; - By few approved, and few approving; - Extreme in hating and in loving; - - Abhorring all whom I dislike, - Adoring who my fancy strike; - In forming judgements never long, - And for the most part judging wrong; - In friendship firm, but still believing - Others are treacherous and deceiving, - And thinking in the present aera - That Friendship is a pure chimaera: - More passionate no creature living, - Proud, obstinate, and unforgiving, - But yet for those who kindness show, - Ready through fire and smoke to go. - - Again, should it be asked your page, - 'Pray, what may be the author's age?' - Your faults, no doubt, will make it clear, - I scarce have seen my twentieth year, - Which passed, kind Reader, on my word, - While England's Throne held George the Third. - - Now then your venturous course pursue: - Go, my delight! Dear Book, adieu! - - Hague, - Oct. 28, 1794. M. G. L. - - - - -ADVERTISEMENT - -The first idea of this Romance was suggested by the story of the Santon -Barsisa, related in The Guardian.--The Bleeding Nun is a tradition -still credited in many parts of Germany; and I have been told that the -ruins of the Castle of Lauenstein, which She is supposed to haunt, may -yet be seen upon the borders of Thuringia.--The Water-King, from the -third to the twelfth stanza, is the fragment of an original Danish -Ballad--And Belerma and Durandarte is translated from some stanzas to -be found in a collection of old Spanish poetry, which contains also the -popular song of Gayferos and Melesindra, mentioned in Don Quixote.--I -have now made a full avowal of all the plagiarisms of which I am aware -myself; but I doubt not, many more may be found, of which I am at -present totally unconscious. - - - - -VOLUME I - -CHAPTER I - - ----Lord Angelo is precise; - Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses - That his blood flows, or that his appetite - Is more to bread than stone. - Measure for Measure. - - -Scarcely had the Abbey Bell tolled for five minutes, and already was -the Church of the Capuchins thronged with Auditors. Do not encourage -the idea that the Crowd was assembled either from motives of piety or -thirst of information. But very few were influenced by those reasons; -and in a city where superstition reigns with such despotic sway as in -Madrid, to seek for true devotion would be a fruitless attempt. The -Audience now assembled in the Capuchin Church was collected by various -causes, but all of them were foreign to the ostensible motive. The -Women came to show themselves, the Men to see the Women: Some were -attracted by curiosity to hear an Orator so celebrated; Some came -because they had no better means of employing their time till the play -began; Some, from being assured that it would be impossible to find -places in the Church; and one half of Madrid was brought thither by -expecting to meet the other half. The only persons truly anxious to -hear the Preacher were a few antiquated devotees, and half a dozen -rival Orators, determined to find fault with and ridicule the -discourse. As to the remainder of the Audience, the Sermon might have -been omitted altogether, certainly without their being disappointed, -and very probably without their perceiving the omission. - -Whatever was the occasion, it is at least certain that the Capuchin -Church had never witnessed a more numerous assembly. Every corner was -filled, every seat was occupied. The very Statues which ornamented the -long aisles were pressed into the service. Boys suspended themselves -upon the wings of Cherubims; St. Francis and St. Mark bore each a -spectator on his shoulders; and St. Agatha found herself under the -necessity of carrying double. The consequence was, that in spite of -all their hurry and expedition, our two newcomers, on entering the -Church, looked round in vain for places. - -However, the old Woman continued to move forwards. In vain were -exclamations of displeasure vented against her from all sides: In vain -was She addressed with--'I assure you, Segnora, there are no places -here.'--'I beg, Segnora, that you will not crowd me so -intolerably!'--'Segnora, you cannot pass this way. Bless me! How can -people be so troublesome!'--The old Woman was obstinate, and on She -went. By dint of perseverance and two brawny arms She made a passage -through the Crowd, and managed to bustle herself into the very body of -the Church, at no great distance from the Pulpit. Her companion had -followed her with timidity and in silence, profiting by the exertions -of her conductress. - -'Holy Virgin!' exclaimed the old Woman in a tone of disappointment, -while She threw a glance of enquiry round her; 'Holy Virgin! What -heat! What a Crowd! I wonder what can be the meaning of all this. I -believe we must return: There is no such thing as a seat to be had, -and nobody seems kind enough to accommodate us with theirs.' - -This broad hint attracted the notice of two Cavaliers, who occupied -stools on the right hand, and were leaning their backs against the -seventh column from the Pulpit. Both were young, and richly habited. -Hearing this appeal to their politeness pronounced in a female voice, -they interrupted their conversation to look at the speaker. She had -thrown up her veil in order to take a clearer look round the Cathedral. -Her hair was red, and She squinted. The Cavaliers turned round, and -renewed their conversation. - -'By all means,' replied the old Woman's companion; 'By all means, -Leonella, let us return home immediately; The heat is excessive, and I -am terrified at such a crowd.' - -These words were pronounced in a tone of unexampled sweetness. The -Cavaliers again broke off their discourse, but for this time they were -not contented with looking up: Both started involuntarily from their -seats, and turned themselves towards the Speaker. - -The voice came from a female, the delicacy and elegance of whose figure -inspired the Youths with the most lively curiosity to view the face to -which it belonged. This satisfaction was denied them. Her features -were hidden by a thick veil; But struggling through the crowd had -deranged it sufficiently to discover a neck which for symmetry and -beauty might have vied with the Medicean Venus. It was of the most -dazzling whiteness, and received additional charms from being shaded by -the tresses of her long fair hair, which descended in ringlets to her -waist. Her figure was rather below than above the middle size: It was -light and airy as that of an Hamadryad. Her bosom was carefully -veiled. Her dress was white; it was fastened by a blue sash, and just -permitted to peep out from under it a little foot of the most delicate -proportions. A chaplet of large grains hung upon her arm, and her face -was covered with a veil of thick black gauze. Such was the female, to -whom the youngest of the Cavaliers now offered his seat, while the -other thought it necessary to pay the same attention to her companion. - -The old Lady with many expressions of gratitude, but without much -difficulty, accepted the offer, and seated herself: The young one -followed her example, but made no other compliment than a simple and -graceful reverence. Don Lorenzo (such was the Cavalier's name, whose -seat She had accepted) placed himself near her; But first He whispered -a few words in his Friend's ear, who immediately took the hint, and -endeavoured to draw off the old Woman's attention from her lovely -charge. - -'You are doubtless lately arrived at Madrid,' said Lorenzo to his fair -Neighbour; 'It is impossible that such charms should have long remained -unobserved; and had not this been your first public appearance, the -envy of the Women and adoration of the Men would have rendered you -already sufficiently remarkable.' - -He paused, in expectation of an answer. As his speech did not -absolutely require one, the Lady did not open her lips: After a few -moments He resumed his discourse: - -'Am I wrong in supposing you to be a Stranger to Madrid?' - -The Lady hesitated; and at last, in so low a voice as to be scarcely -intelligible, She made shift to answer,--'No, Segnor.' - -'Do you intend making a stay of any length?' - -'Yes, Segnor.' - -'I should esteem myself fortunate, were it in my power to contribute to -making your abode agreeable. I am well known at Madrid, and my Family -has some interest at Court. If I can be of any service, you cannot -honour or oblige me more than by permitting me to be of use to -you.'--'Surely,' said He to himself, 'She cannot answer that by a -monosyllable; now She must say something to me.' - -Lorenzo was deceived, for the Lady answered only by a bow. - -By this time He had discovered that his Neighbour was not very -conversible; But whether her silence proceeded from pride, discretion, -timidity, or idiotism, He was still unable to decide. - -After a pause of some minutes--'It is certainly from your being a -Stranger,' said He, 'and as yet unacquainted with our customs, that you -continue to wear your veil. Permit me to remove it.' - -At the same time He advanced his hand towards the Gauze: The Lady -raised hers to prevent him. - -'I never unveil in public, Segnor.' - -'And where is the harm, I pray you?' interrupted her Companion somewhat -sharply; 'Do not you see that the other Ladies have all laid their -veils aside, to do honour no doubt to the holy place in which we are? -I have taken off mine already; and surely if I expose my features to -general observation, you have no cause to put yourself in such a -wonderful alarm! Blessed Maria! Here is a fuss and a bustle about a -chit's face! Come, come, Child! Uncover it; I warrant you that nobody -will run away with it from you--' - -'Dear aunt, it is not the custom in Murcia.' - -'Murcia, indeed! Holy St. Barbara, what does that signify? You are -always putting me in mind of that villainous Province. If it is the -custom in Madrid, that is all that we ought to mind, and therefore I -desire you to take off your veil immediately. Obey me this moment -Antonia, for you know that I cannot bear contradiction--' - -Her niece was silent, but made no further opposition to Don Lorenzo's -efforts, who, armed with the Aunt's sanction hastened to remove the -Gauze. What a Seraph's head presented itself to his admiration! Yet -it was rather bewitching than beautiful; It was not so lovely from -regularity of features as from sweetness and sensibility of -Countenance. The several parts of her face considered separately, many -of them were far from handsome; but when examined together, the whole -was adorable. Her skin though fair was not entirely without freckles; -Her eyes were not very large, nor their lashes particularly long. But -then her lips were of the most rosy freshness; Her fair and undulating -hair, confined by a simple ribband, poured itself below her waist in a -profusion of ringlets; Her throat was full and beautiful in the -extreme; Her hand and arm were formed with the most perfect symmetry; -Her mild blue eyes seemed an heaven of sweetness, and the crystal in -which they moved sparkled with all the brilliance of Diamonds: She -appeared to be scarcely fifteen; An arch smile, playing round her -mouth, declared her to be possessed of liveliness, which excess of -timidity at present represt; She looked round her with a bashful -glance; and whenever her eyes accidentally met Lorenzo's, She dropt -them hastily upon her Rosary; Her cheek was immediately suffused with -blushes, and She began to tell her beads; though her manner evidently -showed that She knew not what She was about. - -Lorenzo gazed upon her with mingled surprise and admiration; but the -Aunt thought it necessary to apologize for Antonia's mauvaise honte. - -''Tis a young Creature,' said She, 'who is totally ignorant of the -world. She has been brought up in an old Castle in Murcia; with no -other Society than her Mother's, who, God help her! has no more sense, -good Soul, than is necessary to carry her Soup to her mouth. Yet She is -my own Sister, both by Father and Mother.' - -'And has so little sense?' said Don Christoval with feigned -astonishment; 'How very Extraordinary!' - -'Very true, Segnor; Is it not strange? However, such is the fact; and -yet only to see the luck of some people! A young Nobleman, of the very -first quality, took it into his head that Elvira had some pretensions -to Beauty--As to pretensions, in truth, She had always enough of THEM; -But as to Beauty....! If I had only taken half the pains to set -myself off which She did....! But this is neither here nor there. -As I was saying, Segnor, a young Nobleman fell in love with her, and -married her unknown to his Father. Their union remained a secret near -three years, But at last it came to the ears of the old Marquis, who, -as you may well suppose, was not much pleased with the intelligence. -Away He posted in all haste to Cordova, determined to seize Elvira, and -send her away to some place or other, where she would never be heard of -more. Holy St. Paul! How He stormed on finding that She had escaped -him, had joined her Husband, and that they had embarked together for -the Indies. He swore at us all, as if the Evil Spirit had possessed -him; He threw my Father into prison, as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker -as any in Cordova; and when He went away, He had the cruelty to take -from us my Sister's little Boy, then scarcely two years old, and whom -in the abruptness of her flight, She had been obliged to leave behind -her. I suppose, that the poor little Wretch met with bitter bad -treatment from him, for in a few months after, we received intelligence -of his death.' - -'Why, this was a most terrible old Fellow, Segnora!' - -'Oh! shocking! and a Man so totally devoid of taste! Why, would you -believe it, Segnor? When I attempted to pacify him, He cursed me for a -Witch, and wished that to punish the Count, my Sister might become as -ugly as myself! Ugly indeed! I like him for that.' - -'Ridiculous', cried Don Christoval; 'Doubtless the Count would have -thought himself fortunate, had he been permitted to exchange the one -Sister for the other.' - -'Oh! Christ! Segnor, you are really too polite. However, I am -heartily glad that the Conde was of a different way of thinking. A -mighty pretty piece of business, to be sure, Elvira has made of it! -After broiling and stewing in the Indies for thirteen long years, her -Husband dies, and She returns to Spain, without an House to hide her -head, or money to procure her one! This Antonia was then but an -Infant, and her only remaining Child. She found that her Father-in-Law -had married again, that he was irreconcileable to the Conde, and that -his second Wife had produced him a Son, who is reported to be a very -fine young Man. The old Marquis refused to see my Sister or her Child; -But sent her word that on condition of never hearing any more of her, -He would assign her a small pension, and She might live in an old -Castle which He possessed in Murcia; This had been the favourite -habitation of his eldest Son; But since his flight from Spain, the old -Marquis could not bear the place, but let it fall to ruin and -confusion--My Sister accepted the proposal; She retired to Murcia, and -has remained there till within the last Month.' - -'And what brings her now to Madrid?' enquired Don Lorenzo, whom -admiration of the young Antonia compelled to take a lively interest in -the talkative old Woman's narration. - -'Alas! Segnor, her Father-in-Law being lately dead, the Steward of his -Murcian Estates has refused to pay her pension any longer. - -With the design of supplicating his Son to renew it, She is now come to -Madrid; But I doubt, that She might have saved herself the trouble! You -young Noblemen have always enough to do with your money, and are not -very often disposed to throw it away upon old Women. I advised my -Sister to send Antonia with her petition; But She would not hear of -such a thing. She is so obstinate! Well! She will find herself the -worse for not following my counsels: the Girl has a good pretty face, -and possibly might have done much.' - -'Ah! Segnora,' interrupted Don Christoval, counterfeiting a passionate -air; 'If a pretty face will do the business, why has not your Sister -recourse to you?' - -'Oh! Jesus! my Lord, I swear you quite overpower me with your -gallantry! But I promise you that I am too well aware of the danger of -such Expeditions to trust myself in a young Nobleman's power! No, no; -I have as yet preserved my reputation without blemish or reproach, and -I always knew how to keep the Men at a proper distance.' - -'Of that, Segnora, I have not the least doubt. But permit me to ask -you; Have you then any aversion to Matrimony?' - -'That is an home question. I cannot but confess, that if an amiable -Cavalier was to present himself....' - -Here She intended to throw a tender and significant look upon Don -Christoval; But, as She unluckily happened to squint most abominably, -the glance fell directly upon his Companion: Lorenzo took the -compliment to himself, and answered it by a profound bow. - -'May I enquire,' said He, 'the name of the Marquis?' - -'The Marquis de las Cisternas.' - -'I know him intimately well. He is not at present in Madrid, but is -expected here daily. He is one of the best of Men; and if the lovely -Antonia will permit me to be her Advocate with him, I doubt not my -being able to make a favourable report of her cause.' - -Antonia raised her blue eyes, and silently thanked him for the offer by -a smile of inexpressible sweetness. Leonella's satisfaction was much -more loud and audible: Indeed, as her Niece was generally silent in her -company, She thought it incumbent upon her to talk enough for both: -This She managed without difficulty, for She very seldom found herself -deficient in words. - -'Oh! Segnor!' She cried; 'You will lay our whole family under the most -signal obligations! I accept your offer with all possible gratitude, -and return you a thousand thanks for the generosity of your proposal. -Antonia, why do not you speak, Child? While the Cavalier says all -sorts of civil things to you, you sit like a Statue, and never utter a -syllable of thanks, either bad, good, or indifferent!' - -'My dear Aunt, I am very sensible that....' - -'Fye, Niece! How often have I told you, that you never should -interrupt a Person who is speaking!? When did you ever know me do such -a thing? Are these your Murcian manners? Mercy on me! I shall never -be able to make this Girl any thing like a Person of good breeding. -But pray, Segnor,' She continued, addressing herself to Don Christoval, -'inform me, why such a Crowd is assembled today in this Cathedral?' - -'Can you possibly be ignorant, that Ambrosio, Abbot of this Monastery, -pronounces a Sermon in this Church every Thursday? All Madrid rings -with his praises. As yet He has preached but thrice; But all who have -heard him are so delighted with his eloquence, that it is as difficult -to obtain a place at Church, as at the first representation of a new -Comedy. His fame certainly must have reached your ears--' - -'Alas! Segnor, till yesterday I never had the good fortune to see -Madrid; and at Cordova we are so little informed of what is passing in -the rest of the world, that the name of Ambrosio has never been -mentioned in its precincts.' - -'You will find it in every one's mouth at Madrid. He seems to have -fascinated the Inhabitants; and not having attended his Sermons myself, -I am astonished at the Enthusiasm which He has excited. The adoration -paid him both by Young and Old, by Man and Woman is unexampled. The -Grandees load him with presents; Their Wives refuse to have any other -Confessor, and he is known through all the city by the name of the -"Man of Holiness".' - -'Undoubtedly, Segnor, He is of noble origin--' - -'That point still remains undecided. The late Superior of the -Capuchins found him while yet an Infant at the Abbey door. All -attempts to discover who had left him there were vain, and the Child -himself could give no account of his Parents. He was educated in the -Monastery, where He has remained ever since. He early showed a strong -inclination for study and retirement, and as soon as He was of a proper -age, He pronounced his vows. No one has ever appeared to claim him, or -clear up the mystery which conceals his birth; and the Monks, who find -their account in the favour which is shewn to their establishment from -respect to him, have not hesitated to publish that He is a present to -them from the Virgin. In truth the singular austerity of his life -gives some countenance to the report. He is now thirty years old, -every hour of which period has been passed in study, total seclusion -from the world, and mortification of the flesh. Till these last three -weeks, when He was chosen superior of the Society to which He belongs, -He had never been on the outside of the Abbey walls: Even now He never -quits them except on Thursdays, when He delivers a discourse in this -Cathedral which all Madrid assembles to hear. His knowledge is said to -be the most profound, his eloquence the most persuasive. In the whole -course of his life He has never been known to transgress a single rule -of his order; The smallest stain is not to be discovered upon his -character; and He is reported to be so strict an observer of Chastity, -that He knows not in what consists the difference of Man and Woman. -The common People therefore esteem him to be a Saint.' - -'Does that make a Saint?' enquired Antonia; 'Bless me! Then am I one?' - -'Holy St. Barbara!' exclaimed Leonella; 'What a question! Fye, Child, -Fye! These are not fit subjects for young Women to handle. You should -not seem to remember that there is such a thing as a Man in the world, -and you ought to imagine every body to be of the same sex with -yourself. I should like to see you give people to understand, that you -know that a Man has no breasts, and no hips, and no ...'. - -Luckily for Antonia's ignorance which her Aunt's lecture would soon -have dispelled, an universal murmur through the Church announced the -Preacher's arrival. Donna Leonella rose from her seat to take a better -view of him, and Antonia followed her example. - -He was a Man of noble port and commanding presence. His stature was -lofty, and his features uncommonly handsome. His Nose was aquiline, -his eyes large black and sparkling, and his dark brows almost joined -together. His complexion was of a deep but clear Brown; Study and -watching had entirely deprived his cheek of colour. Tranquillity -reigned upon his smooth unwrinkled forehead; and Content, expressed -upon every feature, seemed to announce the Man equally unacquainted -with cares and crimes. He bowed himself with humility to the audience: -Still there was a certain severity in his look and manner that inspired -universal awe, and few could sustain the glance of his eye at once -fiery and penetrating. Such was Ambrosio, Abbot of the Capuchins, and -surnamed, 'The Man of Holiness'. - -Antonia, while She gazed upon him eagerly, felt a pleasure fluttering -in her bosom which till then had been unknown to her, and for which She -in vain endeavoured to account. She waited with impatience till the -Sermon should begin; and when at length the Friar spoke, the sound of -his voice seemed to penetrate into her very soul. Though no other of -the Spectators felt such violent sensations as did the young Antonia, -yet every one listened with interest and emotion. They who were -insensible to Religion's merits, were still enchanted with Ambrosio's -oratory. All found their attention irresistibly attracted while He -spoke, and the most profound silence reigned through the crowded Aisles. - -Even Lorenzo could not resist the charm: He forgot that Antonia was -seated near him, and listened to the Preacher with undivided attention. - -In language nervous, clear, and simple, the Monk expatiated on the -beauties of Religion. He explained some abstruse parts of the sacred -writings in a style that carried with it universal conviction. His -voice at once distinct and deep was fraught with all the terrors of the -Tempest, while He inveighed against the vices of humanity, and -described the punishments reserved for them in a future state. Every -Hearer looked back upon his past offences, and trembled: The Thunder -seemed to roll, whose bolt was destined to crush him, and the abyss of -eternal destruction to open before his feet. But when Ambrosio, -changing his theme, spoke of the excellence of an unsullied conscience, -of the glorious prospect which Eternity presented to the Soul untainted -with reproach, and of the recompense which awaited it in the regions of -everlasting glory, His Auditors felt their scattered spirits insensibly -return. They threw themselves with confidence upon the mercy of their -Judge; They hung with delight upon the consoling words of the Preacher; -and while his full voice swelled into melody, They were transported to -those happy regions which He painted to their imaginations in colours -so brilliant and glowing. - -The discourse was of considerable length; Yet when it concluded, the -Audience grieved that it had not lasted longer. Though the Monk had -ceased to speak, enthusiastic silence still prevailed through the -Church: At length the charm gradually dissolving, the general -admiration was expressed in audible terms. As Ambrosio descended from -the Pulpit, His Auditors crowded round him, loaded him with blessings, -threw themselves at his feet, and kissed the hem of his Garment. He -passed on slowly with his hands crossed devoutly upon his bosom, to the -door opening into the Abbey Chapel, at which his Monks waited to -receive him. He ascended the Steps, and then turning towards his -Followers, addressed to them a few words of gratitude, and exhortation. -While He spoke, his Rosary, composed of large grains of amber, fell -from his hand, and dropped among the surrounding multitude. It was -seized eagerly, and immediately divided amidst the Spectators. Whoever -became possessor of a Bead, preserved it as a sacred relique; and had -it been the Chaplet of thrice-blessed St. Francis himself, it could not -have been disputed with greater vivacity. The Abbot, smiling at their -eagerness, pronounced his benediction, and quitted the Church, while -humility dwelt upon every feature. Dwelt She also in his heart? - -Antonia's eyes followed him with anxiety. As the Door closed after -him, it seemed to her as had she lost some one essential to her -happiness. A tear stole in silence down her cheek. - -'He is separated from the world!' said She to herself; 'Perhaps, I -shall never see him more!' - -As she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo observed her action. - -'Are you satisfied with our Orator?' said He; 'Or do you think that -Madrid overrates his talents?' - -Antonia's heart was so filled with admiration for the Monk, that She -eagerly seized the opportunity of speaking of him: Besides, as She now -no longer considered Lorenzo as an absolute Stranger, She was less -embarrassed by her excessive timidity. - -'Oh! He far exceeds all my expectations,' answered She; 'Till this -moment I had no idea of the powers of eloquence. But when He spoke, -his voice inspired me with such interest, such esteem, I might almost -say such affection for him, that I am myself astonished at the -acuteness of my feelings.' - -Lorenzo smiled at the strength of her expressions. - -'You are young and just entering into life,' said He; 'Your heart, new -to the world and full of warmth and sensibility, receives its first -impressions with eagerness. Artless yourself, you suspect not others -of deceit; and viewing the world through the medium of your own truth -and innocence, you fancy all who surround you to deserve your -confidence and esteem. What pity, that these gay visions must soon be -dissipated! What pity, that you must soon discover the baseness of -mankind, and guard against your fellow-creatures as against your Foes!' - -'Alas! Segnor,' replied Antonia; 'The misfortunes of my Parents have -already placed before me but too many sad examples of the perfidy of -the world! Yet surely in the present instance the warmth of sympathy -cannot have deceived me.' - -'In the present instance, I allow that it has not. Ambrosio's -character is perfectly without reproach; and a Man who has passed the -whole of his life within the walls of a Convent cannot have found the -opportunity to be guilty, even were He possessed of the inclination. -But now, when, obliged by the duties of his situation, He must enter -occasionally into the world, and be thrown into the way of temptation, -it is now that it behoves him to show the brilliance of his virtue. -The trial is dangerous; He is just at that period of life when the -passions are most vigorous, unbridled, and despotic; His established -reputation will mark him out to Seduction as an illustrious Victim; -Novelty will give additional charms to the allurements of pleasure; and -even the Talents with which Nature has endowed him will contribute to -his ruin, by facilitating the means of obtaining his object. Very few -would return victorious from a contest so severe.' - -'Ah! surely Ambrosio will be one of those few.' - -'Of that I have myself no doubt: By all accounts He is an exception to -mankind in general, and Envy would seek in vain for a blot upon his -character.' - -'Segnor, you delight me by this assurance! It encourages me to indulge -my prepossession in his favour; and you know not with what pain I -should have repressed the sentiment! Ah! dearest Aunt, entreat my -Mother to choose him for our Confessor.' - -'I entreat her?' replied Leonella; 'I promise you that I shall do no -such thing. I do not like this same Ambrosio in the least; He has a -look of severity about him that made me tremble from head to foot: -Were He my Confessor, I should never have the courage to avow one half -of my peccadilloes, and then I should be in a rare condition! I never -saw such a stern-looking Mortal, and hope that I never shall see such -another. His description of the Devil, God bless us! almost terrified -me out of my wits, and when He spoke about Sinners He seemed as if He -was ready to eat them.' - -'You are right, Segnora,' answered Don Christoval; 'Too great severity -is said to be Ambrosio's only fault. Exempted himself from human -failings, He is not sufficiently indulgent to those of others; and -though strictly just and disinterested in his decisions, his government -of the Monks has already shown some proofs of his inflexibility. But -the crowd is nearly dissipated: Will you permit us to attend you home?' - -'Oh! Christ! Segnor,' exclaimed Leonella affecting to blush; 'I would -not suffer such a thing for the Universe! If I came home attended by -so gallant a Cavalier, My Sister is so scrupulous that She would read -me an hour's lecture, and I should never hear the last of it. Besides, -I rather wish you not to make your proposals just at present.' - -'My proposals? I assure you, Segnora....' - -'Oh! Segnor, I believe that your assurances of impatience are all very -true; But really I must desire a little respite. It would not be quite -so delicate in me to accept your hand at first sight.' - -'Accept my hand? As I hope to live and breathe....' - -'Oh! dear Segnor, press me no further, if you love me! I shall consider -your obedience as a proof of your affection; You shall hear from me -tomorrow, and so farewell. But pray, Cavaliers, may I not enquire your -names?' - -'My Friend's,' replied Lorenzo, 'is the Conde d'Ossorio, and mine -Lorenzo de Medina.' - -''Tis sufficient. Well, Don Lorenzo, I shall acquaint my Sister with -your obliging offer, and let you know the result with all expedition. -Where may I send to you?' - -'I am always to be found at the Medina Palace.' - -'You may depend upon hearing from me. Farewell, Cavaliers. Segnor -Conde, let me entreat you to moderate the excessive ardour of your -passion: However, to prove to you that I am not displeased with you, -and prevent your abandoning yourself to despair, receive this mark of -my affection, and sometimes bestow a thought upon the absent Leonella.' - -As She said this, She extended a lean and wrinkled hand; which her -supposed Admirer kissed with such sorry grace and constraint so -evident, that Lorenzo with difficulty repressed his inclination to -laugh. Leonella then hastened to quit the Church; The lovely Antonia -followed her in silence; but when She reached the Porch, She turned -involuntarily, and cast back her eyes towards Lorenzo. He bowed to -her, as bidding her farewell; She returned the compliment, and hastily -withdrew. - -'So, Lorenzo!' said Don Christoval as soon as they were alone, 'You -have procured me an agreeable Intrigue! To favour your designs upon -Antonia, I obligingly make a few civil speeches which mean nothing to -the Aunt, and at the end of an hour I find myself upon the brink of -Matrimony! How will you reward me for having suffered so grievously -for your sake? What can repay me for having kissed the leathern paw of -that confounded old Witch? Diavolo! She has left such a scent upon my -lips that I shall smell of garlick for this month to come! As I pass -along the Prado, I shall be taken for a walking Omelet, or some large -Onion running to seed!' - -'I confess, my poor Count,' replied Lorenzo, 'that your service has -been attended with danger; Yet am I so far from supposing it be past -all endurance that I shall probably solicit you to carry on your amours -still further.' - -'From that petition I conclude that the little Antonia has made some -impression upon you.' - -'I cannot express to you how much I am charmed with her. Since my -Father's death, My Uncle the Duke de Medina, has signified to me his -wishes to see me married; I have till now eluded his hints, and refused -to understand them; But what I have seen this Evening....' - -'Well? What have you seen this Evening? Why surely, Don Lorenzo, You -cannot be mad enough to think of making a Wife out of this -Grand-daughter of "as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker as any in -Cordova"?' - -'You forget, that She is also the Grand-daughter of the late Marquis de -las Cisternas; But without disputing about birth and titles, I must -assure you, that I never beheld a Woman so interesting as Antonia.' - -'Very possibly; But you cannot mean to marry her?' - -'Why not, my dear Conde? I shall have wealth enough for both of us, -and you know that my Uncle thinks liberally upon the subject. - -From what I have seen of Raymond de las Cisternas, I am certain that he -will readily acknowledge Antonia for his Niece. Her birth therefore -will be no objection to my offering her my hand. I should be a Villain -could I think of her on any other terms than marriage; and in truth She -seems possessed of every quality requisite to make me happy in a Wife. -Young, lovely, gentle, sensible....' - -'Sensible? Why, She said nothing but "Yes," and "No".' - -'She did not say much more, I must confess--But then She always said -"Yes," or "No," in the right place.' - -'Did She so? Oh! your most obedient! That is using a right Lover's -argument, and I dare dispute no longer with so profound a Casuist. -Suppose we adjourn to the Comedy?' - -'It is out of my power. I only arrived last night at Madrid, and have -not yet had an opportunity of seeing my Sister; You know that her -Convent is in this Street, and I was going thither when the Crowd which -I saw thronging into this Church excited my curiosity to know what was -the matter. I shall now pursue my first intention, and probably pass -the Evening with my Sister at the Parlour grate.' - -'Your Sister in a Convent, say you? Oh! very true, I had forgotten. -And how does Donna Agnes? I am amazed, Don Lorenzo, how you could -possibly think of immuring so charming a Girl within the walls of a -Cloister!' - -'I think of it, Don Christoval? How can you suspect me of such -barbarity? You are conscious that She took the veil by her own desire, -and that particular circumstances made her wish for a seclusion from -the World. I used every means in my power to induce her to change her -resolution; The endeavour was fruitless, and I lost a Sister!' - -'The luckier fellow you; I think, Lorenzo, you were a considerable -gainer by that loss: If I remember right, Donna Agnes had a portion of -ten thousand pistoles, half of which reverted to your Lordship. By St. -Jago! I wish that I had fifty Sisters in the same predicament. I should -consent to losing them every soul without much heart-burning--' - -'How, Conde?' said Lorenzo in an angry voice; 'Do you suppose me base -enough to have influenced my Sister's retirement? Do you suppose that -the despicable wish to make myself Master of her fortune could....' - -'Admirable! Courage, Don Lorenzo! Now the Man is all in a blaze. God -grant that Antonia may soften that fiery temper, or we shall certainly -cut each other's throat before the Month is over! However, to prevent -such a tragical Catastrophe for the present, I shall make a retreat, -and leave you Master of the field. Farewell, my Knight of Mount Aetna! -Moderate that inflammable disposition, and remember that whenever it is -necessary to make love to yonder Harridan, you may reckon upon my -services.' - -He said, and darted out of the Cathedral. - -'How wild-brained!' said Lorenzo; 'With so excellent an heart, what -pity that He possesses so little solidity of judgment!' - -The night was now fast advancing. The Lamps were not yet lighted. The -faint beams of the rising Moon scarcely could pierce through the gothic -obscurity of the Church. Lorenzo found himself unable to quit the -Spot. The void left in his bosom by Antonia's absence, and his -Sister's sacrifice which Don Christoval had just recalled to his -imagination, created that melancholy of mind which accorded but too -well with the religious gloom surrounding him. He was still leaning -against the seventh column from the Pulpit. A soft and cooling air -breathed along the solitary Aisles: The Moonbeams darting into the -Church through painted windows tinged the fretted roofs and massy -pillars with a thousand various tints of light and colours: - -Universal silence prevailed around, only interrupted by the occasional -closing of Doors in the adjoining Abbey. - -The calm of the hour and solitude of the place contributed to nourish -Lorenzo's disposition to melancholy. He threw himself upon a seat which -stood near him, and abandoned himself to the delusions of his fancy. -He thought of his union with Antonia; He thought of the obstacles which -might oppose his wishes; and a thousand changing visions floated before -his fancy, sad 'tis true, but not unpleasing. Sleep insensibly stole -over him, and the tranquil solemnity of his mind when awake for a while -continued to influence his slumbers. - -He still fancied himself to be in the Church of the Capuchins; but it -was no longer dark and solitary. Multitudes of silver Lamps shed -splendour from the vaulted Roof; Accompanied by the captivating chaunt -of distant choristers, the Organ's melody swelled through the Church; -The Altar seemed decorated as for some distinguished feast; It was -surrounded by a brilliant Company; and near it stood Antonia arrayed in -bridal white, and blushing with all the charms of Virgin Modesty. - -Half hoping, half fearing, Lorenzo gazed upon the scene before him. -Sudden the door leading to the Abbey unclosed, and He saw, attended by -a long train of Monks, the Preacher advance to whom He had just -listened with so much admiration. He drew near Antonia. - -'And where is the Bridegroom?' said the imaginary Friar. - -Antonia seemed to look round the Church with anxiety. Involuntarily the -Youth advanced a few steps from his concealment. She saw him; The -blush of pleasure glowed upon her cheek; With a graceful motion of her -hand She beckoned to him to advance. He disobeyed not the command; He -flew towards her, and threw himself at her feet. - -She retreated for a moment; Then gazing upon him with unutterable -delight;--'Yes!' She exclaimed, 'My Bridegroom! My destined -Bridegroom!' She said, and hastened to throw herself into his arms; But -before He had time to receive her, an Unknown rushed between them. His -form was gigantic; His complexion was swarthy, His eyes fierce and -terrible; his Mouth breathed out volumes of fire; and on his forehead -was written in legible characters--'Pride! Lust! Inhumanity!' - -Antonia shrieked. The Monster clasped her in his arms, and springing -with her upon the Altar, tortured her with his odious caresses. She -endeavoured in vain to escape from his embrace. Lorenzo flew to her -succour, but ere He had time to reach her, a loud burst of thunder was -heard. Instantly the Cathedral seemed crumbling into pieces; The Monks -betook themselves to flight, shrieking fearfully; The Lamps were -extinguished, the Altar sank down, and in its place appeared an abyss -vomiting forth clouds of flame. Uttering a loud and terrible cry the -Monster plunged into the Gulph, and in his fall attempted to drag -Antonia with him. He strove in vain. Animated by supernatural powers -She disengaged herself from his embrace; But her white Robe was left in -his possession. Instantly a wing of brilliant splendour spread itself -from either of Antonia's arms. She darted upwards, and while ascending -cried to Lorenzo, - -'Friend! we shall meet above!' - -At the same moment the Roof of the Cathedral opened; Harmonious voices -pealed along the Vaults; and the glory into which Antonia was received -was composed of rays of such dazzling brightness, that Lorenzo was -unable to sustain the gaze. His sight failed, and He sank upon the -ground. - -When He woke, He found himself extended upon the pavement of the -Church: It was Illuminated, and the chaunt of Hymns sounded from a -distance. For a while Lorenzo could not persuade himself that what He -had just witnessed had been a dream, so strong an impression had it -made upon his fancy. A little recollection convinced him of its -fallacy: The Lamps had been lighted during his sleep, and the music -which he heard was occasioned by the Monks, who were celebrating their -Vespers in the Abbey Chapel. - -Lorenzo rose, and prepared to bend his steps towards his Sister's -Convent. His mind fully occupied by the singularity of his dream, He -already drew near the Porch, when his attention was attracted by -perceiving a Shadow moving upon the opposite wall. He looked curiously -round, and soon descried a Man wrapped up in his Cloak, who seemed -carefully examining whether his actions were observed. Very few people -are exempt from the influence of curiosity. The Unknown seemed anxious -to conceal his business in the Cathedral, and it was this very -circumstance, which made Lorenzo wish to discover what He was about. - -Our Hero was conscious that He had no right to pry into the secrets of -this unknown Cavalier. - -'I will go,' said Lorenzo. And Lorenzo stayed, where He was. - -The shadow thrown by the Column, effectually concealed him from the -Stranger, who continued to advance with caution. At length He drew a -letter from beneath his cloak, and hastily placed it beneath a Colossal -Statue of St. Francis. Then retiring with precipitation, He concealed -himself in a part of the Church at a considerable distance from that in -which the Image stood. - -'So!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'This is only some foolish love affair. -I believe, I may as well be gone, for I can do no good in it.' - -In truth till that moment it never came into his head that He could do -any good in it; But He thought it necessary to make some little excuse -to himself for having indulged his curiosity. He now made a second -attempt to retire from the Church: For this time He gained the Porch -without meeting with any impediment; But it was destined that He should -pay it another visit that night. As He descended the steps leading into -the Street, a Cavalier rushed against him with such violence, that Both -were nearly overturned by the concussion. Lorenzo put his hand to his -sword. - -'How now, Segnor?' said He; 'What mean you by this rudeness?' - -'Ha! Is it you, Medina?' replied the Newcomer, whom Lorenzo by his -voice now recognized for Don Christoval; 'You are the luckiest Fellow -in the Universe, not to have left the Church before my return. In, in! -my dear Lad! They will be here immediately!' - -'Who will be here?' - -'The old Hen and all her pretty little Chickens! In, I say, and then -you shall know the whole History.' - -Lorenzo followed him into the Cathedral, and they concealed themselves -behind the Statue of St. Francis. - -'And now,' said our Hero, 'may I take the liberty of asking, what is -the meaning of all this haste and rapture?' - -'Oh! Lorenzo, we shall see such a glorious sight! The Prioress of St. -Clare and her whole train of Nuns are coming hither. You are to know, -that the pious Father Ambrosio (The Lord reward him for it!) will upon -no account move out of his own precincts: It being absolutely -necessary for every fashionable Convent to have him for its Confessor, -the Nuns are in consequence obliged to visit him at the Abbey; since -when the Mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must needs go to -the Mountain. Now the Prioress of St. Clare, the better to escape the -gaze of such impure eyes as belong to yourself and your humble Servant, -thinks proper to bring her holy flock to confession in the Dusk: She is -to be admitted into the Abbey Chapel by yon private door. The -Porteress of St. Clare, who is a worthy old Soul and a particular -Friend of mine, has just assured me of their being here in a few -moments. There is news for you, you Rogue! We shall see some of the -prettiest faces in Madrid!' - -'In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing. The Nuns are always -veiled.' - -'No! No! I know better. On entering a place of worship, they ever -take off their veils from respect to the Saint to whom 'tis dedicated. -But Hark! They are coming! Silence, silence! Observe, and be -convinced.' - -'Good!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'I may possibly discover to whom the -vows are addressed of this mysterious Stranger.' - -Scarcely had Don Christoval ceased to speak, when the Domina of St. -Clare appeared, followed by a long procession of Nuns. Each upon -entering the Church took off her veil. The Prioress crossed her hands -upon her bosom, and made a profound reverence as She passed the Statue -of St. Francis, the Patron of this Cathedral. The Nuns followed her -example, and several moved onwards without having satisfied Lorenzo's -curiosity. He almost began to despair of seeing the mystery cleared -up, when in paying her respects to St. Francis, one of the Nuns -happened to drop her Rosary. As She stooped to pick it up, the light -flashed full upon her face. At the same moment She dexterously removed -the letter from beneath the Image, placed it in her bosom, and hastened -to resume her rank in the procession. - -'Ha!' said Christoval in a low voice; 'Here we have some little -Intrigue, no doubt.' - -'Agnes, by heaven!' cried Lorenzo. - -'What, your Sister? Diavolo! Then somebody, I suppose, will have to -pay for our peeping.' - -'And shall pay for it without delay,' replied the incensed Brother. - -The pious procession had now entered the Abbey; The Door was already -closed upon it. The Unknown immediately quitted his concealment and -hastened to leave the Church: Ere He could effect his intention, He -descried Medina stationed in his passage. The Stranger hastily -retreated, and drew his Hat over his eyes. - -'Attempt not to fly me!' exclaimed Lorenzo; 'I will know who you are, -and what were the contents of that Letter.' - -'Of that Letter?' repeated the Unknown. 'And by what title do you ask -the question?' - -'By a title of which I am now ashamed; But it becomes not you to -question me. Either reply circumstantially to my demands, or answer me -with your Sword.' - -'The latter method will be the shortest,' rejoined the Other, drawing -his Rapier; 'Come on, Segnor Bravo! I am ready!' - -Burning with rage, Lorenzo hastened to the attack: The Antagonists had -already exchanged several passes before Christoval, who at that moment -had more sense than either of them, could throw himself between their -weapons. - -'Hold! Hold! Medina!' He exclaimed; 'Remember the consequences of -shedding blood on consecrated ground!' - -The Stranger immediately dropped his Sword. - -'Medina?' He cried; 'Great God, is it possible! Lorenzo, have you quite -forgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?' - -Lorenzo's astonishment increased with every succeeding moment. Raymond -advanced towards him, but with a look of suspicion He drew back his -hand, which the Other was preparing to take. - -'You here, Marquis? What is the meaning of all this? You engaged in a -clandestine correspondence with my Sister, whose affections....' - -'Have ever been, and still are mine. But this is no fit place for an -explanation. Accompany me to my Hotel, and you shall know every thing. -Who is that with you?' - -'One whom I believe you to have seen before,' replied Don Christoval, -'though probably not at Church.' - -'The Conde d'Ossorio?' - -'Exactly so, Marquis.' - -'I have no objection to entrusting you with my secret, for I am sure -that I may depend upon your silence.' - -'Then your opinion of me is better than my own, and therefore I must -beg leave to decline your confidence. Do you go your own way, and I -shall go mine. Marquis, where are you to be found?' - -'As usual, at the Hotel de las Cisternas; But remember, that I am -incognito, and that if you wish to see me, you must ask for Alphonso -d'Alvarada.' - -'Good! Good! Farewell, Cavaliers!' said Don Christoval, and instantly -departed. - -'You, Marquis,' said Lorenzo in the accent of surprise; 'You, Alphonso -d'Alvarada?' - -'Even so, Lorenzo: But unless you have already heard my story from -your Sister, I have much to relate that will astonish you. Follow me, -therefore, to my Hotel without delay.' - -At this moment the Porter of the Capuchins entered the Cathedral to -lock up the doors for the night. The two Noblemen instantly withdrew, -and hastened with all speed to the Palace de las Cisternas. - -'Well, Antonia!' said the Aunt, as soon as She had quitted the Church; -'What think you of our Gallants? Don Lorenzo really seems a very -obliging good sort of young Man: He paid you some attention, and -nobody knows what may come of it. But as to Don Christoval, I protest -to you, He is the very Phoenix of politeness. So gallant! so -well-bred! So sensible, and so pathetic! Well! If ever Man can -prevail upon me to break my vow never to marry, it will be that Don -Christoval. You see, Niece, that every thing turns out exactly as I -told you: The very moment that I produced myself in Madrid, I knew -that I should be surrounded by Admirers. When I took off my veil, did -you see, Antonia, what an effect the action had upon the Conde? And -when I presented him my hand, did you observe the air of passion with -which He kissed it? If ever I witnessed real love, I then saw it -impressed upon Don Christoval's countenance!' - -Now Antonia had observed the air, with which Don Christoval had kissed -this same hand; But as She drew conclusions from it somewhat different -from her Aunt's, She was wise enough to hold her tongue. As this is -the only instance known of a Woman's ever having done so, it was judged -worthy to be recorded here. - -The old Lady continued her discourse to Antonia in the same strain, -till they gained the Street in which was their Lodging. Here a Crowd -collected before their door permitted them not to approach it; and -placing themselves on the opposite side of the Street, they endeavoured -to make out what had drawn all these people together. After some -minutes the Crowd formed itself into a Circle; And now Antonia -perceived in the midst of it a Woman of extraordinary height, who -whirled herself repeatedly round and round, using all sorts of -extravagant gestures. Her dress was composed of shreds of -various-coloured silks and Linens fantastically arranged, yet not -entirely without taste. Her head was covered with a kind of Turban, -ornamented with vine leaves and wild flowers. She seemed much -sun-burnt, and her complexion was of a deep olive: Her eyes looked -fiery and strange; and in her hand She bore a long black Rod, with -which She at intervals traced a variety of singular figures upon the -ground, round about which She danced in all the eccentric attitudes of -folly and delirium. Suddenly She broke off her dance, whirled herself -round thrice with rapidity, and after a moment's pause She sang the -following Ballad. - - THE GYPSY'S SONG - - Come, cross my hand! My art surpasses - All that did ever Mortal know; - Come, Maidens, come! My magic glasses - Your future Husband's form can show: - - For 'tis to me the power is given - Unclosed the book of Fate to see; - To read the fixed resolves of heaven, - And dive into futurity. - - I guide the pale Moon's silver waggon; - The winds in magic bonds I hold; - I charm to sleep the crimson Dragon, - Who loves to watch o'er buried gold: - - Fenced round with spells, unhurt I venture - Their sabbath strange where Witches keep; - Fearless the Sorcerer's circle enter, - And woundless tread on snakes asleep. - - Lo! Here are charms of mighty power! - This makes secure an Husband's truth - And this composed at midnight hour - Will force to love the coldest Youth: - - If any Maid too much has granted, - Her loss this Philtre will repair; - This blooms a cheek where red is wanted, - And this will make a brown girl fair! - - Then silent hear, while I discover - What I in Fortune's mirror view; - And each, when many a year is over, - Shall own the Gypsy's sayings true. - - -'Dear Aunt!' said Antonia when the Stranger had finished, 'Is She not -mad?' - -'Mad? Not She, Child; She is only wicked. She is a Gypsy, a sort of -Vagabond, whose sole occupation is to run about the country telling -lyes, and pilfering from those who come by their money honestly. Out -upon such Vermin! If I were King of Spain, every one of them should be -burnt alive who was found in my dominions after the next three weeks.' - -These words were pronounced so audibly that they reached the Gypsy's -ears. She immediately pierced through the Crowd and made towards the -Ladies. She saluted them thrice in the Eastern fashion, and then -addressed herself to Antonia. - -THE GYPSY - - 'Lady! gentle Lady! Know, - I your future fate can show; - Give your hand, and do not fear; - Lady! gentle Lady! hear!' - -'Dearest Aunt!' said Antonia, 'Indulge me this once! Let me have my -fortune told me!' - -'Nonsense, Child! She will tell you nothing but falsehoods.' - -'No matter; Let me at least hear what She has to say. Do, my dear Aunt! -Oblige me, I beseech you!' - -'Well, well! Antonia, since you are so bent upon the thing, ... Here, -good Woman, you shall see the hands of both of us. There is money for -you, and now let me hear my fortune.' - -As She said this, She drew off her glove, and presented her hand; The -Gypsy looked at it for a moment, and then made this reply. - - -THE GYPSY - - 'Your fortune? You are now so old, - Good Dame, that 'tis already told: - Yet for your money, in a trice - I will repay you in advice. - Astonished at your childish vanity, - Your Friends all tax you with insanity, - And grieve to see you use your art - To catch some youthful Lover's heart. - Believe me, Dame, when all is done, - Your age will still be fifty one; - And Men will rarely take an hint - Of love, from two grey eyes that squint. - Take then my counsels; Lay aside - Your paint and patches, lust and pride, - And on the Poor those sums bestow, - Which now are spent on useless show. - Think on your Maker, not a Suitor; - Think on your past faults, not on future; - And think Time's Scythe will quickly mow - The few red hairs, which deck your brow. - -The audience rang with laughter during the Gypsy's address; and--'fifty -one,'--'squinting eyes,' 'red hair,'--'paint and patches,' &c. were -bandied from mouth to mouth. Leonella was almost choaked with passion, -and loaded her malicious Adviser with the bitterest reproaches. The -swarthy Prophetess for some time listened to her with a contemptuous -smile: at length She made her a short answer, and then turned to -Antonia. - -THE GYPSY - - 'Peace, Lady! What I said was true; - And now, my lovely Maid, to you; - Give me your hand, and let me see - Your future doom, and heaven's decree.' - -In imitation of Leonella, Antonia drew off her glove, and presented her -white hand to the Gypsy, who having gazed upon it for some time with a -mingled expression of pity and astonishment, pronounced her Oracle in -the following words. - -THE GYPSY - - 'Jesus! what a palm is there! - Chaste, and gentle, young and fair, - Perfect mind and form possessing, - You would be some good Man's blessing: - But Alas! This line discovers, - That destruction o'er you hovers; - Lustful Man and crafty Devil - Will combine to work your evil; - And from earth by sorrows driven, - Soon your Soul must speed to heaven. - Yet your sufferings to delay, - Well remember what I say. - When you One more virtuous see - Than belongs to Man to be, - One, whose self no crimes assailing, - Pities not his Neighbour's Failing, - Call the Gypsy's words to mind: - Though He seem so good and kind, - Fair Exteriors oft will hide - Hearts, that swell with lust and pride! - Lovely Maid, with tears I leave you! - Let not my prediction grieve you; - Rather with submission bending - Calmly wait distress impending, - And expect eternal bliss - In a better world than this. - -Having said this, the Gypsy again whirled herself round thrice, and -then hastened out of the Street with frantic gesture. The Crowd -followed her; and Elvira's door being now unembarrassed Leonella -entered the House out of honour with the Gypsy, with her Niece, and -with the People; In short with every body, but herself and her charming -Cavalier. The Gypsy's predictions had also considerably affected -Antonia; But the impression soon wore off, and in a few hours She had -forgotten the adventure as totally as had it never taken place. - - - -CHAPTER II - - Forse se tu gustassi una sol volta - La millesima parte delle gioje, - Che gusta un cor amato riamando, - Diresti ripentita sospirando, - Perduto e tutto il tempo - Che in amar non si sponde. - Tasso. - - Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part - Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart, - Your words repentant and your sighs would prove, - Lost is the time which is not past in love. - -The monks having attended their Abbot to the door of his Cell, He -dismissed them with an air of conscious superiority in which Humility's -semblance combated with the reality of pride. - -He was no sooner alone, than He gave free loose to the indulgence of -his vanity. When He remembered the Enthusiasm which his discourse had -excited, his heart swelled with rapture, and his imagination presented -him with splendid visions of aggrandizement. He looked round him with -exultation, and Pride told him loudly that He was superior to the rest -of his fellow-Creatures. - -'Who,' thought He; 'Who but myself has passed the ordeal of Youth, yet -sees no single stain upon his conscience? Who else has subdued the -violence of strong passions and an impetuous temperament, and submitted -even from the dawn of life to voluntary retirement? I seek for such a -Man in vain. I see no one but myself possessed of such resolution. -Religion cannot boast Ambrosio's equal! How powerful an effect did my -discourse produce upon its Auditors! How they crowded round me! How -they loaded me with benedictions, and pronounced me the sole -uncorrupted Pillar of the Church! What then now is left for me to do? -Nothing, but to watch as carefully over the conduct of my Brothers as I -have hitherto watched over my own. Yet hold! May I not be tempted -from those paths which till now I have pursued without one moment's -wandering? Am I not a Man, whose nature is frail, and prone to error? -I must now abandon the solitude of my retreat; The fairest and noblest -Dames of Madrid continually present themselves at the Abbey, and will -use no other Confessor. - -I must accustom my eyes to Objects of temptation, and expose myself to -the seduction of luxury and desire. Should I meet in that world which -I am constrained to enter some lovely Female, lovely ... as you, -Madona....!' - -As He said this, He fixed his eyes upon a picture of the Virgin, which -was suspended opposite to him: This for two years had been the Object -of his increasing wonder and adoration. He paused, and gazed upon it -with delight. - -'What Beauty in that countenance!' He continued after a silence of -some minutes; 'How graceful is the turn of that head! What sweetness, -yet what majesty in her divine eyes! How softly her cheek reclines -upon her hand! Can the Rose vie with the blush of that cheek? Can the -Lily rival the whiteness of that hand? Oh! if such a Creature existed, -and existed but for me! Were I permitted to twine round my fingers -those golden ringlets, and press with my lips the treasures of that -snowy bosom! Gracious God, should I then resist the temptation? -Should I not barter for a single embrace the reward of my sufferings -for thirty years? Should I not abandon.... Fool that I am! -Whither do I suffer my admiration of this picture to hurry me? Away, -impure ideas! Let me remember that Woman is for ever lost to me. Never -was Mortal formed so perfect as this picture. But even did such exist, -the trial might be too mighty for a common virtue, but Ambrosio's is -proof against temptation. Temptation, did I say? To me it would be -none. What charms me, when ideal and considered as a superior Being, -would disgust me, become Woman and tainted with all the failings of -Mortality. It is not the Woman's beauty that fills me with such -enthusiasm; It is the Painter's skill that I admire, it is the Divinity -that I adore! Are not the passions dead in my bosom? Have I not freed -myself from the frailty of Mankind? Fear not, Ambrosio! Take -confidence in the strength of your virtue. Enter boldly into a world -to whose failings you are superior; Reflect that you are now exempted -from Humanity's defects, and defy all the arts of the Spirits of -Darkness. They shall know you for what you are!' - -Here his Reverie was interrupted by three soft knocks at the door of -his Cell. With difficulty did the Abbot awake from his delirium. The -knocking was repeated. - -'Who is there?' said Ambrosio at length. - -'It is only Rosario,' replied a gentle voice. - -'Enter! Enter, my Son!' - -The Door was immediately opened, and Rosario appeared with a small -basket in his hand. - -Rosario was a young Novice belonging to the Monastery, who in three -Months intended to make his profession. A sort of mystery enveloped -this Youth which rendered him at once an object of interest and -curiosity. His hatred of society, his profound melancholy, his rigid -observation of the duties of his order, and his voluntary seclusion -from the world at his age so unusual, attracted the notice of the whole -fraternity. He seemed fearful of being recognised, and no one had ever -seen his face. His head was continually muffled up in his Cowl; Yet -such of his features as accident discovered, appeared the most -beautiful and noble. Rosario was the only name by which He was known in -the Monastery. - -No one knew from whence He came, and when questioned in the subject He -preserved a profound silence. A Stranger, whose rich habit and -magnificent equipage declared him to be of distinguished rank, had -engaged the Monks to receive a Novice, and had deposited the necessary -sums. The next day He returned with Rosario, and from that time no -more had been heard of him. - -The Youth had carefully avoided the company of the Monks: He answered -their civilities with sweetness, but reserve, and evidently showed that -his inclination led him to solitude. To this general rule the Superior -was the only exception. To him He looked up with a respect approaching -idolatry: He sought his company with the most attentive assiduity, and -eagerly seized every means to ingratiate himself in his favour. In the -Abbot's society his Heart seemed to be at ease, and an air of gaiety -pervaded his whole manners and discourse. Ambrosio on his side did not -feel less attracted towards the Youth; With him alone did He lay aside -his habitual severity. When He spoke to him, He insensibly assumed a -tone milder than was usual to him; and no voice sounded so sweet to him -as did Rosario's. He repayed the Youth's attentions by instructing him -in various sciences; The Novice received his lessons with docility; -Ambrosio was every day more charmed with the vivacity of his Genius, -the simplicity of his manners, and the rectitude of his heart: In -short He loved him with all the affection of a Father. He could not -help sometimes indulging a desire secretly to see the face of his -Pupil; But his rule of self-denial extended even to curiosity, and -prevented him from communicating his wishes to the Youth. - -'Pardon my intrusion, Father,' said Rosario, while He placed his basket -upon the Table; 'I come to you a Suppliant. Hearing that a dear Friend -is dangerously ill, I entreat your prayers for his recovery. If -supplications can prevail upon heaven to spare him, surely yours must -be efficacious.' - -'Whatever depends upon me, my Son, you know that you may command. - -What is your Friend's name?' - -'Vincentio della Ronda.' - -''Tis sufficient. I will not forget him in my prayers, and may our -thrice-blessed St. Francis deign to listen to my intercession!--What -have you in your basket, Rosario?' - -'A few of those flowers, reverend Father, which I have observed to be -most acceptable to you. Will you permit my arranging them in your -chamber?' - -'Your attentions charm me, my Son.' - -While Rosario dispersed the contents of his Basket in small Vases -placed for that purpose in various parts of the room, the Abbot thus -continued the conversation. - -'I saw you not in the Church this evening, Rosario.' - -'Yet I was present, Father. I am too grateful for your protection to -lose an opportunity of witnessing your Triumph.' - -'Alas! Rosario, I have but little cause to triumph: The Saint spoke by -my mouth; To him belongs all the merit. It seems then you were -contented with my discourse?' - -'Contented, say you? Oh! you surpassed yourself! Never did I hear -such eloquence ... save once!' - -Here the Novice heaved an involuntary sigh. - -'When was that once?' demanded the Abbot. - -'When you preached upon the sudden indisposition of our late Superior.' - -'I remember it: That is more than two years ago. And were you -present? I knew you not at that time, Rosario.' - -''Tis true, Father; and would to God! I had expired, ere I beheld that -day! What sufferings, what sorrows should I have escaped!' - -'Sufferings at your age, Rosario?' - -'Aye, Father; Sufferings, which if known to you, would equally raise -your anger and compassion! Sufferings, which form at once the torment -and pleasure of my existence! Yet in this retreat my bosom would feel -tranquil, were it not for the tortures of apprehension. Oh God! Oh -God! how cruel is a life of fear!--Father! I have given up all; I have -abandoned the world and its delights for ever: Nothing now remains, -Nothing now has charms for me, but your friendship, but your affection. -If I lose that, Father! Oh! if I lose that, tremble at the effects of -my despair!' - -'You apprehend the loss of my friendship? How has my conduct justified -this fear? Know me better, Rosario, and think me worthy of your -confidence. What are your sufferings? Reveal them to me, and believe -that if 'tis in my power to relieve them....' - -'Ah! 'tis in no one's power but yours. Yet I must not let you know -them. You would hate me for my avowal! You would drive me from your -presence with scorn and ignominy!' - -'My Son, I conjure you! I entreat you!' - -'For pity's sake, enquire no further! I must not ... I dare not... -Hark! The Bell rings for Vespers! Father, your benediction, and I -leave you!' - -As He said this, He threw himself upon his knees and received the -blessing which He demanded. Then pressing the Abbot's hand to his -lips, He started from the ground and hastily quitted the apartment. -Soon after Ambrosio descended to Vespers (which were celebrated in a -small chapel belonging to the Abbey), filled with surprise at the -singularity of the Youth's behaviour. - -Vespers being over, the Monks retired to their respective Cells. The -Abbot alone remained in the Chapel to receive the Nuns of St. Clare. -He had not been long seated in the confessional chair before the -Prioress made her appearance. Each of the Nuns was heard in her turn, -while the Others waited with the Domina in the adjoining Vestry. -Ambrosio listened to the confessions with attention, made many -exhortations, enjoined penance proportioned to each offence, and for -some time every thing went on as usual: till at last one of the Nuns, -conspicuous from the nobleness of her air and elegance of her figure, -carelessly permitted a letter to fall from her bosom. She was -retiring, unconscious of her loss. Ambrosio supposed it to have been -written by some one of her Relations, and picked it up intending to -restore it to her. - -'Stay, Daughter,' said He; 'You have let fall....' - -At this moment, the paper being already open, his eye involuntarily -read the first words. He started back with surprise! The Nun had -turned round on hearing his voice: She perceived her letter in his -hand, and uttering a shriek of terror, flew hastily to regain it. - -'Hold!' said the Friar in a tone of severity; 'Daughter, I must read -this letter.' - -'Then I am lost!' She exclaimed clasping her hands together wildly. - -All colour instantly faded from her face; she trembled with agitation, -and was obliged to fold her arms round a Pillar of the Chapel to save -herself from sinking upon the floor. In the meanwhile the Abbot read -the following lines. - -'All is ready for your escape, my dearest Agnes. At twelve tomorrow -night I shall expect to find you at the Garden door: I have obtained -the Key, and a few hours will suffice to place you in a secure asylum. -Let no mistaken scruples induce you to reject the certain means of -preserving yourself and the innocent Creature whom you nourish in your -bosom. Remember that you had promised to be mine, long ere you engaged -yourself to the church; that your situation will soon be evident to the -prying eyes of your Companions; and that flight is the only means of -avoiding the effects of their malevolent resentment. Farewell, my -Agnes! my dear and destined Wife! Fail not to be at the Garden door at -twelve!' - -As soon as He had finished, Ambrosio bent an eye stern and angry upon -the imprudent Nun. - -'This letter must to the Prioress!' said He, and passed her. - -His words sounded like thunder to her ears: She awoke from her -torpidity only to be sensible of the dangers of her situation. She -followed him hastily, and detained him by his garment. - -'Stay! Oh! stay!' She cried in the accents of despair, while She threw -herself at the Friar's feet, and bathed them with her tears. 'Father, -compassionate my youth! Look with indulgence on a Woman's weakness, -and deign to conceal my frailty! The remainder of my life shall be -employed in expiating this single fault, and your lenity will bring -back a soul to heaven!' - -'Amazing confidence! What! Shall St. Clare's Convent become the -retreat of Prostitutes? Shall I suffer the Church of Christ to cherish -in its bosom debauchery and shame? Unworthy Wretch! such lenity would -make me your accomplice. Mercy would here be criminal. You have -abandoned yourself to a Seducer's lust; You have defiled the sacred -habit by your impurity; and still dare you think yourself deserving my -compassion? Hence, nor detain me longer! Where is the Lady Prioress?' -He added, raising his voice. - -'Hold! Father, Hold! Hear me but for one moment! Tax me not with -impurity, nor think that I have erred from the warmth of temperament. -Long before I took the veil, Raymond was Master of my heart: He -inspired me with the purest, the most irreproachable passion, and was -on the point of becoming my lawful husband. An horrible adventure, and -the treachery of a Relation, separated us from each other: I believed -him for ever lost to me, and threw myself into a Convent from motives -of despair. Accident again united us; I could not refuse myself the -melancholy pleasure of mingling my tears with his: We met nightly in -the Gardens of St. Clare, and in an unguarded moment I violated my vows -of Chastity. I shall soon become a Mother: Reverend Ambrosio, take -compassion on me; take compassion on the innocent Being whose existence -is attached to mine. If you discover my imprudence to the Domina, both -of us are lost: The punishment which the laws of St. Clare assign to -Unfortunates like myself is most severe and cruel. Worthy, worthy -Father! Let not your own untainted conscience render you unfeeling -towards those less able to withstand temptation! Let not mercy be the -only virtue of which your heart is unsusceptible! Pity me, most -reverend! Restore my letter, nor doom me to inevitable destruction!' - -'Your boldness confounds me! Shall I conceal your crime, I whom you -have deceived by your feigned confession? No, Daughter, no! I will -render you a more essential service. I will rescue you from perdition -in spite of yourself; Penance and mortification shall expiate your -offence, and Severity force you back to the paths of holiness. What; -Ho! Mother St. Agatha!' - -'Father! By all that is sacred, by all that is most dear to you, I -supplicate, I entreat....' - -'Release me! I will not hear you. Where is the Domina? Mother St. -Agatha, where are you?' - -The door of the Vestry opened, and the Prioress entered the Chapel, -followed by her Nuns. - -'Cruel! Cruel!' exclaimed Agnes, relinquishing her hold. - -Wild and desperate, She threw herself upon the ground, beating her -bosom and rending her veil in all the delirium of despair. The Nuns -gazed with astonishment upon the scene before them. The Friar now -presented the fatal paper to the Prioress, informed her of the manner -in which he had found it, and added, that it was her business to -decide, what penance the delinquent merited. - -While She perused the letter, the Domina's countenance grew inflamed -with passion. What! Such a crime committed in her Convent, and made -known to Ambrosio, to the Idol of Madrid, to the Man whom She was most -anxious to impress with the opinion of the strictness and regularity of -her House! Words were inadequate to express her fury. She was silent, -and darted upon the prostrate Nun looks of menace and malignity. - -'Away with her to the Convent!' said She at length to some of her -Attendants. - -Two of the oldest Nuns now approaching Agnes, raised her forcibly from -the ground, and prepared to conduct her from the Chapel. - -'What!' She exclaimed suddenly shaking off their hold with distracted -gestures; 'Is all hope then lost? Already do you drag me to -punishment? Where are you, Raymond? Oh! save me! save me!' - -Then casting upon the Abbot a frantic look, 'Hear me!' She continued; -'Man of an hard heart! Hear me, Proud, Stern, and Cruel! You could -have saved me; you could have restored me to happiness and virtue, but -would not! You are the destroyer of my Soul; You are my Murderer, and -on you fall the curse of my death and my unborn Infant's! Insolent in -your yet-unshaken virtue, you disdained the prayers of a Penitent; But -God will show mercy, though you show none. And where is the merit of -your boasted virtue? What temptations have you vanquished? Coward! -you have fled from it, not opposed seduction. But the day of Trial -will arrive! Oh! then when you yield to impetuous passions! when you -feel that Man is weak, and born to err; When shuddering you look back -upon your crimes, and solicit with terror the mercy of your God, Oh! in -that fearful moment think upon me! Think upon your Cruelty! Think -upon Agnes, and despair of pardon!' - -As She uttered these last words, her strength was exhausted, and She -sank inanimate upon the bosom of a Nun who stood near her. She was -immediately conveyed from the Chapel, and her Companions followed her. - -Ambrosio had not listened to her reproaches without emotion. A secret -pang at his heart made him feel, that He had treated this Unfortunate -with too great severity. He therefore detained the Prioress and -ventured to pronounce some words in favour of the Delinquent. - -'The violence of her despair,' said He, 'proves, that at least Vice is -not become familiar to her. Perhaps by treating her with somewhat less -rigour than is generally practised, and mitigating in some degree the -accustomed penance....' - -'Mitigate it, Father?' interrupted the Lady Prioress; 'Not I, believe -me. The laws of our order are strict and severe; they have fallen into -disuse of late, But the crime of Agnes shows me the necessity of their -revival. I go to signify my intention to the Convent, and Agnes shall -be the first to feel the rigour of those laws, which shall be obeyed to -the very letter. Father, Farewell.' - -Thus saying, She hastened out of the Chapel. - -'I have done my duty,' said Ambrosio to himself. - -Still did He not feel perfectly satisfied by this reflection. To -dissipate the unpleasant ideas which this scene had excited in him, -upon quitting the Chapel He descended into the Abbey Garden. - -In all Madrid there was no spot more beautiful or better regulated. It -was laid out with the most exquisite taste. The choicest flowers -adorned it in the height of luxuriance, and though artfully arranged, -seemed only planted by the hand of Nature: Fountains, springing from -basons of white Marble, cooled the air with perpetual showers; and the -Walls were entirely covered by Jessamine, vines, and Honeysuckles. The -hour now added to the beauty of the scene. The full Moon, ranging -through a blue and cloudless sky, shed upon the trees a trembling -lustre, and the waters of the fountains sparkled in the silver beam: A -gentle breeze breathed the fragrance of Orange-blossoms along the -Alleys; and the Nightingale poured forth her melodious murmur from the -shelter of an artificial wilderness. Thither the Abbot bent his steps. - -In the bosom of this little Grove stood a rustic Grotto, formed in -imitation of an Hermitage. The walls were constructed of roots of -trees, and the interstices filled up with Moss and Ivy. Seats of Turf -were placed on either side, and a natural Cascade fell from the Rock -above. Buried in himself the Monk approached the spot. The universal -calm had communicated itself to his bosom, and a voluptuous -tranquillity spread languor through his soul. - -He reached the Hermitage, and was entering to repose himself, when He -stopped on perceiving it to be already occupied. Extended upon one of -the Banks lay a man in a melancholy posture. - -His head was supported upon his arm, and He seemed lost in mediation. -The Monk drew nearer, and recognised Rosario: He watched him in -silence, and entered not the Hermitage. After some minutes the Youth -raised his eyes, and fixed them mournfully upon the opposite Wall. - -'Yes!' said He with a deep and plaintive sigh; 'I feel all the -happiness of thy situation, all the misery of my own! Happy were I, -could I think like Thee! Could I look like Thee with disgust upon -Mankind, could bury myself for ever in some impenetrable solitude, and -forget that the world holds Beings deserving to be loved! Oh God! -What a blessing would Misanthropy be to me!' - -'That is a singular thought, Rosario,' said the Abbot, entering the -Grotto. - -'You here, reverend Father?' cried the Novice. - -At the same time starting from his place in confusion, He drew his Cowl -hastily over his face. Ambrosio seated himself upon the Bank, and -obliged the Youth to place himself by him. - -'You must not indulge this disposition to melancholy,' said He; 'What -can possibly have made you view in so desirable a light, Misanthropy, -of all sentiments the most hateful?' - -'The perusal of these Verses, Father, which till now had escaped my -observation. The Brightness of the Moonbeams permitted my reading -them; and Oh! how I envy the feelings of the Writer!' - -As He said this, He pointed to a marble Tablet fixed against the -opposite Wall: On it were engraved the following lines. - - INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE - - Who-e'er Thou art these lines now reading, - Think not, though from the world receding - I joy my lonely days to lead in - This Desart drear, - That with remorse a conscience bleeding - Hath led me here. - - No thought of guilt my bosom sowrs: - Free-willed I fled from courtly bowers; - For well I saw in Halls and Towers - That Lust and Pride, - The Arch-Fiend's dearest darkest Powers, - In state preside. - - I saw Mankind with vice incrusted; - I saw that Honour's sword was rusted; - That few for aught but folly lusted; - That He was still deceiv'd, who trusted - In Love or Friend; - And hither came with Men disgusted - My life to end. - - In this lone Cave, in garments lowly, - Alike a Foe to noisy folly, - And brow-bent gloomy melancholy - I wear away - My life, and in my office holy - Consume the day. - - Content and comfort bless me more in - This Grot, than e'er I felt before in - A Palace, and with thoughts still soaring - To God on high, - Each night and morn with voice imploring - This wish I sigh. - - 'Let me, Oh! Lord! from life retire, - Unknown each guilty worldly fire, - Remorseful throb, or loose desire; - And when I die, - Let me in this belief expire, - "To God I fly"!' - - Stranger, if full of youth and riot - As yet no grief has marred thy quiet, - Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at - The Hermit's prayer: - But if Thou hast a cause to sigh at - Thy fault, or care; - - If Thou hast known false Love's vexation, - Or hast been exil'd from thy Nation, - Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, - And makes thee pine, - Oh! how must Thou lament thy station, - And envy mine! - -'Were it possible' said the Friar, 'for Man to be so totally wrapped up -in himself as to live in absolute seclusion from human nature, and -could yet feel the contented tranquillity which these lines express, I -allow that the situation would be more desirable, than to live in a -world so pregnant with every vice and every folly. But this never can -be the case. This inscription was merely placed here for the ornament -of the Grotto, and the sentiments and the Hermit are equally imaginary. -Man was born for society. However little He may be attached to the -World, He never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly forgotten by -it. Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity of Mankind, the Misanthrope -flies from it: He resolves to become an Hermit, and buries himself in -the Cavern of some gloomy Rock. While Hate inflames his bosom, -possibly He may feel contented with his situation: But when his -passions begin to cool; when Time has mellowed his sorrows, and healed -those wounds which He bore with him to his solitude, think you that -Content becomes his Companion? Ah! no, Rosario. No longer sustained -by the violence of his passions, He feels all the monotony of his way -of living, and his heart becomes the prey of Ennui and weariness. He -looks round, and finds himself alone in the Universe: The love of -society revives in his bosom, and He pants to return to that world -which He has abandoned. Nature loses all her charms in his eyes: No -one is near him to point out her beauties, or share in his admiration -of her excellence and variety. Propped upon the fragment of some Rock, -He gazes upon the tumbling waterfall with a vacant eye, He views -without emotion the glory of the setting Sun. Slowly He returns to his -Cell at Evening, for no one there is anxious for his arrival; He has no -comfort in his solitary unsavoury meal: He throws himself upon his -couch of Moss despondent and dissatisfied, and wakes only to pass a day -as joyless, as monotonous as the former.' - -'You amaze me, Father! Suppose that circumstances condemned you to -solitude; Would not the duties of Religion and the consciousness of a -life well spent communicate to your heart that calm which....' - -'I should deceive myself, did I fancy that they could. I am convinced -of the contrary, and that all my fortitude would not prevent me from -yielding to melancholy and disgust. After consuming the day in study, -if you knew my pleasure at meeting my Brethren in the Evening! After -passing many a long hour in solitude, if I could express to you the joy -which I feel at once more beholding a fellow-Creature! 'Tis in this -particular that I place the principal merit of a Monastic Institution. -It secludes Man from the temptations of Vice; It procures that leisure -necessary for the proper service of the Supreme; It spares him the -mortification of witnessing the crimes of the worldly, and yet permits -him to enjoy the blessings of society. And do you, Rosario, do YOU -envy an Hermit's life? Can you be thus blind to the happiness of your -situation? Reflect upon it for a moment. This Abbey is become your -Asylum: Your regularity, your gentleness, your talents have rendered -you the object of universal esteem: You are secluded from the world -which you profess to hate; yet you remain in possession of the benefits -of society, and that a society composed of the most estimable of -Mankind.' - -'Father! Father! 'tis that which causes my Torment! Happy had it been -for me, had my life been passed among the vicious and abandoned! Had I -never heard pronounced the name of Virtue! 'Tis my unbounded adoration -of religion; 'Tis my soul's exquisite sensibility of the beauty of fair -and good, that loads me with shame! that hurries me to perdition! Oh! -that I had never seen these Abbey walls!' - -'How, Rosario? When we last conversed, you spoke in a different tone. -Is my friendship then become of such little consequence? Had you never -seen these Abbey walls, you never had seen me: Can that really be your -wish?' - -'Had never seen you?' repeated the Novice, starting from the Bank, and -grasping the Friar's hand with a frantic air; 'You? You? Would to God, -that lightning had blasted them, before you ever met my eyes! Would to -God! that I were never to see you more, and could forget that I had -ever seen you!' - -With these words He flew hastily from the Grotto. Ambrosio remained in -his former attitude, reflecting on the Youth's unaccountable behaviour. -He was inclined to suspect the derangement of his senses: yet the -general tenor of his conduct, the connexion of his ideas, and calmness -of his demeanour till the moment of his quitting the Grotto, seemed to -discountenance this conjecture. After a few minutes Rosario returned. -He again seated himself upon the Bank: He reclined his cheek upon one -hand, and with the other wiped away the tears which trickled from his -eyes at intervals. - -The Monk looked upon him with compassion, and forbore to interrupt his -meditations. Both observed for some time a profound silence. The -Nightingale had now taken her station upon an Orange Tree fronting the -Hermitage, and poured forth a strain the most melancholy and melodious. -Rosario raised his head, and listened to her with attention. - -'It was thus,' said He, with a deep-drawn sigh; 'It was thus, that -during the last month of her unhappy life, my Sister used to sit -listening to the Nightingale. Poor Matilda! She sleeps in the Grave, -and her broken heart throbs no more with passion.' - -'You had a Sister?' - -'You say right, that I HAD; Alas! I have one no longer. She sunk -beneath the weight of her sorrows in the very spring of life.' - -'What were those sorrows?' - -'They will not excite YOUR pity: YOU know not the power of those -irresistible, those fatal sentiments, to which her Heart was a prey. -Father, She loved unfortunately. A passion for One endowed with every -virtue, for a Man, Oh! rather let me say, for a divinity, proved the -bane of her existence. His noble form, his spotless character, his -various talents, his wisdom solid, wonderful, and glorious, might have -warmed the bosom of the most insensible. My Sister saw him, and dared -to love though She never dared to hope.' - -'If her love was so well bestowed, what forbad her to hope the -obtaining of its object?' - -'Father, before He knew her, Julian had already plighted his vows to a -Bride most fair, most heavenly! Yet still my Sister loved, and for the -Husband's sake She doted upon the Wife. One morning She found means to -escape from our Father's House: Arrayed in humble weeds She offered -herself as a Domestic to the Consort of her Beloved, and was accepted. -She was now continually in his presence: She strove to ingratiate -herself into his favour: She succeeded. Her attentions attracted -Julian's notice; The virtuous are ever grateful, and He distinguished -Matilda above the rest of her Companions.' - -'And did not your Parents seek for her? Did they submit tamely to -their loss, nor attempt to recover their wandering Daughter?' - -'Ere they could find her, She discovered herself. Her love grew too -violent for concealment; Yet She wished not for Julian's person, She -ambitioned but a share of his heart. In an unguarded moment She -confessed her affection. What was the return? Doating upon his Wife, -and believing that a look of pity bestowed upon another was a theft -from what He owed to her, He drove Matilda from his presence. He -forbad her ever again appearing before him. His severity broke her -heart: She returned to her Father's, and in a few Months after was -carried to her Grave.' - -'Unhappy Girl! Surely her fate was too severe, and Julian was too -cruel.' - -'Do you think so, Father?' cried the Novice with vivacity; 'Do you -think that He was cruel?' - -'Doubtless I do, and pity her most sincerely.' - -'You pity her? You pity her? Oh! Father! Father! Then pity me!' - -The Friar started; when after a moment's pause Rosario added with a -faltering voice,--'for my sufferings are still greater. My Sister had -a Friend, a real Friend, who pitied the acuteness of her feelings, nor -reproached her with her inability to repress them. I ...! I have no -Friend! The whole wide world cannot furnish an heart that is willing -to participate in the sorrows of mine!' - -As He uttered these words, He sobbed audibly. The Friar was affected. -He took Rosario's hand, and pressed it with tenderness. - -'You have no Friend, say you? What then am I? Why will you not -confide in me, and what can you fear? My severity? Have I ever used -it with you? The dignity of my habit? Rosario, I lay aside the Monk, -and bid you consider me as no other than your Friend, your Father. -Well may I assume that title, for never did Parent watch over a Child -more fondly than I have watched over you. From the moment in which I -first beheld you, I perceived sensations in my bosom till then unknown -to me; I found a delight in your society which no one's else could -afford; and when I witnessed the extent of your genius and information, -I rejoiced as does a Father in the perfections of his Son. Then lay -aside your fears; Speak to me with openness: Speak to me, Rosario, and -say that you will confide in me. If my aid or my pity can alleviate -your distress....' - -'Yours can! Yours only can! Ah! Father, how willingly would I unveil -to you my heart! How willingly would I declare the secret which bows -me down with its weight! But Oh! I fear! I fear!' - -'What, my Son?' - -'That you should abhor me for my weakness; That the reward of my -confidence should be the loss of your esteem.' - -'How shall I reassure you? Reflect upon the whole of my past conduct, -upon the paternal tenderness which I have ever shown you. Abhor you, -Rosario? It is no longer in my power. To give up your society would -be to deprive myself of the greatest pleasure of my life. Then reveal -to me what afflicts you, and believe me while I solemnly swear....' - -'Hold!' interrupted the Novice; 'Swear, that whatever be my secret, you -will not oblige me to quit the Monastery till my Noviciate shall -expire.' - -'I promise it faithfully, and as I keep my vows to you, may Christ keep -his to Mankind. Now then explain this mystery, and rely upon my -indulgence.' - -'I obey you. Know then.... Oh! how I tremble to name the word! -Listen to me with pity, revered Ambrosio! Call up every latent spark -of human weakness that may teach you compassion for mine! Father!' -continued He throwing himself at the Friar's feet, and pressing his -hand to his lips with eagerness, while agitation for a moment choaked -his voice; 'Father!' continued He in faltering accents, 'I am a Woman!' - -The Abbot started at this unexpected avowal. Prostrate on the ground -lay the feigned Rosario, as if waiting in silence the decision of his -Judge. Astonishment on the one part, apprehension on the other, for -some minutes chained them in the same attitudes, as had they been -touched by the Rod of some Magician. At length recovering from his -confusion, the Monk quitted the Grotto, and sped with precipitation -towards the Abbey. His action did not escape the Suppliant. She -sprang from the ground; She hastened to follow him, overtook him, threw -herself in his passage, and embraced his knees. Ambrosio strove in -vain to disengage himself from her grasp. - -'Do not fly me!' She cried; 'Leave me not abandoned to the impulse of -despair! Listen, while I excuse my imprudence; while I acknowledge my -Sister's story to be my own! I am Matilda; You are her Beloved.' - -If Ambrosio's surprise was great at her first avowal, upon hearing her -second it exceeded all bounds. Amazed, embarrassed, and irresolute He -found himself incapable of pronouncing a syllable, and remained in -silence gazing upon Matilda: This gave her opportunity to continue her -explanation as follows. - -'Think not, Ambrosio, that I come to rob your Bride of your affections. -No, believe me: Religion alone deserves you; and far is it from -Matilda's wish to draw you from the paths of virtue. What I feel for -you is love, not licentiousness; I sigh to be possessor of your heart, -not lust for the enjoyment of your person. Deign to listen to my -vindication: A few moments will convince you that this holy retreat is -not polluted by my presence, and that you may grant me your compassion -without trespassing against your vows.'--She seated herself: Ambrosio, -scarcely conscious of what He did, followed her example, and She -proceeded in her discourse. - -'I spring from a distinguished family: My Father was Chief of the -noble House of Villanegas. He died while I was still an Infant, and -left me sole Heiress of his immense possessions. Young and wealthy, I -was sought in marriage by the noblest Youths of Madrid; But no one -succeeded in gaining my affections. I had been brought up under the -care of an Uncle possessed of the most solid judgment and extensive -erudition. He took pleasure in communicating to me some portion of his -knowledge. Under his instructions my understanding acquired more -strength and justness than generally falls to the lot of my sex: The -ability of my Preceptor being aided by natural curiosity, I not only -made a considerable progress in sciences universally studied, but in -others, revealed but to few, and lying under censure from the blindness -of superstition. But while my Guardian laboured to enlarge the sphere -of my knowledge, He carefully inculcated every moral precept: He -relieved me from the shackles of vulgar prejudice; He pointed out the -beauty of Religion; He taught me to look with adoration upon the pure -and virtuous, and, woe is me! I have obeyed him but too well! - -'With such dispositions, Judge whether I could observe with any other -sentiment than disgust the vice, dissipation, and ignorance, which -disgrace our Spanish Youth. I rejected every offer with disdain. My -heart remained without a Master till chance conducted me to the -Cathedral of the Capuchins. Oh! surely on that day my Guardian Angel -slumbered neglectful of his charge! Then was it that I first beheld -you: You supplied the Superior's place, absent from illness. You -cannot but remember the lively enthusiasm which your discourse created. -Oh! how I drank your words! How your eloquence seemed to steal me from -myself! I scarcely dared to breathe, fearing to lose a syllable; and -while you spoke, Methought a radiant glory beamed round your head, and -your countenance shone with the majesty of a God. I retired from the -Church, glowing with admiration. From that moment you became the idol -of my heart, the never-changing object of my Meditations. I enquired -respecting you. The reports which were made me of your mode of life, -of your knowledge, piety, and self-denial riveted the chains imposed on -me by your eloquence. I was conscious that there was no longer a void -in my heart; That I had found the Man whom I had sought till then in -vain. In expectation of hearing you again, every day I visited your -Cathedral: You remained secluded within the Abbey walls, and I always -withdrew, wretched and disappointed. The Night was more propitious to -me, for then you stood before me in my dreams; You vowed to me eternal -friendship; You led me through the paths of virtue, and assisted me to -support the vexations of life. The Morning dispelled these pleasing -visions; I woke, and found myself separated from you by Barriers which -appeared insurmountable. Time seemed only to increase the strength of -my passion: I grew melancholy and despondent; I fled from society, and -my health declined daily. At length no longer able to exist in this -state of torture, I resolved to assume the disguise in which you see -me. My artifice was fortunate: I was received into the Monastery, and -succeeded in gaining your esteem. - -'Now then I should have felt compleatly happy, had not my quiet been -disturbed by the fear of detection. The pleasure which I received from -your society, was embittered by the idea that perhaps I should soon be -deprived of it: and my heart throbbed so rapturously at obtaining the -marks of your friendship, as to convince me that I never should survive -its loss. I resolved, therefore, not to leave the discovery of my sex -to chance, to confess the whole to you, and throw myself entirely on -your mercy and indulgence. Ah! Ambrosio, can I have been deceived? -Can you be less generous than I thought you? I will not suspect it. -You will not drive a Wretch to despair; I shall still be permitted to -see you, to converse with you, to adore you! Your virtues shall be my -example through life; and when we expire, our bodies shall rest in the -same Grave.' - -She ceased. While She spoke, a thousand opposing sentiments combated -in Ambrosio's bosom. Surprise at the singularity of this adventure, -Confusion at her abrupt declaration, Resentment at her boldness in -entering the Monastery, and Consciousness of the austerity with which -it behoved him to reply, such were the sentiments of which He was -aware; But there were others also which did not obtain his notice. He -perceived not, that his vanity was flattered by the praises bestowed -upon his eloquence and virtue; that He felt a secret pleasure in -reflecting that a young and seemingly lovely Woman had for his sake -abandoned the world, and sacrificed every other passion to that which -He had inspired: Still less did He perceive that his heart throbbed -with desire, while his hand was pressed gently by Matilda's ivory -fingers. - -By degrees He recovered from his confusion. His ideas became less -bewildered: He was immediately sensible of the extreme impropriety, -should Matilda be permitted to remain in the Abbey after this avowal of -her sex. He assumed an air of severity, and drew away his hand. - -'How, Lady!' said He; 'Can you really hope for my permission to remain -amongst us? Even were I to grant your request, what good could you -derive from it? Think you that I ever can reply to an affection, -which...' - -'No, Father, No! I expect not to inspire you with a love like mine. I -only wish for the liberty to be near you, to pass some hours of the day -in your society; to obtain your compassion, your friendship and esteem. -Surely my request is not unreasonable.' - -'But reflect, Lady! Reflect only for a moment on the impropriety of my -harbouring a Woman in the Abbey; and that too a Woman, who confesses -that She loves me. It must not be. The risque of your being -discovered is too great, and I will not expose myself to so dangerous a -temptation.' - -'Temptation, say you? Forget that I am a Woman, and it no longer -exists: Consider me only as a Friend, as an Unfortunate, whose -happiness, whose life depends upon your protection. Fear not lest I -should ever call to your remembrance that love the most impetuous, the -most unbounded, has induced me to disguise my sex; or that instigated -by desires, offensive to YOUR vows and my own honour, I should -endeavour to seduce you from the path of rectitude. No, Ambrosio, -learn to know me better. I love you for your virtues: Lose them, and -with them you lose my affections. I look upon you as a Saint; Prove to -me that you are no more than Man, and I quit you with disgust. Is it -then from me that you fear temptation? From me, in whom the world's -dazzling pleasures created no other sentiment than contempt? From me, -whose attachment is grounded on your exemption from human frailty? Oh! -dismiss such injurious apprehensions! Think nobler of me, think nobler -of yourself. I am incapable of seducing you to error; and surely your -Virtue is established on a basis too firm to be shaken by unwarranted -desires. Ambrosio, dearest Ambrosio! drive me not from your presence; -Remember your promise, and authorize my stay!' - -'Impossible, Matilda; YOUR interest commands me to refuse your prayer, -since I tremble for you, not for myself. After vanquishing the -impetuous ebullitions of Youth; After passing thirty years in -mortification and penance, I might safely permit your stay, nor fear -your inspiring me with warmer sentiments than pity. But to yourself, -remaining in the Abbey can produce none but fatal consequences. You -will misconstrue my every word and action; You will seize every -circumstance with avidity, which encourages you to hope the return of -your affection; Insensibly your passions will gain a superiority over -your reason; and far from these being repressed by my presence, every -moment which we pass together, will only serve to irritate and excite -them. Believe me, unhappy Woman! you possess my sincere compassion. I -am convinced that you have hitherto acted upon the purest motives; But -though you are blind to the imprudence of your conduct, in me it would -be culpable not to open your eyes. I feel that Duty obliges my -treating you with harshness: I must reject your prayer, and remove -every shadow of hope which may aid to nourish sentiments so pernicious -to your repose. Matilda, you must from hence tomorrow.' - -'Tomorrow, Ambrosio? Tomorrow? Oh! surely you cannot mean it! - -You cannot resolve on driving me to despair! You cannot have the -cruelty....' - -'You have heard my decision, and it must be obeyed. The Laws of our -Order forbid your stay: It would be perjury to conceal that a Woman is -within these Walls, and my vows will oblige me to declare your story to -the Community. You must from hence!--I pity you, but can do no more!' - -He pronounced these words in a faint and trembling voice: Then rising -from his seat, He would have hastened towards the Monastery. Uttering -a loud shriek, Matilda followed, and detained him. - -'Stay yet one moment, Ambrosio! Hear me yet speak one word!' - -'I dare not listen! Release me! You know my resolution!' - -'But one word! But one last word, and I have done!' - -'Leave me! Your entreaties are in vain! You must from hence tomorrow!' - -'Go then, Barbarian! But this resource is still left me.' - -As She said this, She suddenly drew a poignard: She rent open her -garment, and placed the weapon's point against her bosom. - -'Father, I will never quit these Walls alive!' - -'Hold! Hold, Matilda! What would you do?' - -'You are determined, so am I: The Moment that you leave me, I plunge -this Steel in my heart.' - -'Holy St. Francis! Matilda, have you your senses? Do you know the -consequences of your action? That Suicide is the greatest of crimes? -That you destroy your Soul? That you lose your claim to salvation? -That you prepare for yourself everlasting torments?' - -'I care not! I care not!' She replied passionately; 'Either your hand -guides me to Paradise, or my own dooms me to perdition! Speak to me, -Ambrosio! Tell me that you will conceal my story, that I shall remain -your Friend and your Companion, or this poignard drinks my blood!' - -As She uttered these last words, She lifted her arm, and made a motion -as if to stab herself. The Friar's eyes followed with dread the course -of the dagger. She had torn open her habit, and her bosom was half -exposed. The weapon's point rested upon her left breast: And Oh! that -was such a breast! The Moonbeams darting full upon it enabled the Monk -to observe its dazzling whiteness. His eye dwelt with insatiable -avidity upon the beauteous Orb. A sensation till then unknown filled -his heart with a mixture of anxiety and delight: A raging fire shot -through every limb; The blood boiled in his veins, and a thousand wild -wishes bewildered his imagination. - -'Hold!' He cried in an hurried faultering voice; 'I can resist no -longer! Stay, then, Enchantress; Stay for my destruction!' - -He said, and rushing from the place, hastened towards the Monastery: -He regained his Cell and threw himself upon his Couch, distracted -irresolute and confused. - -He found it impossible for some time to arrange his ideas. The scene -in which He had been engaged had excited such a variety of sentiments -in his bosom, that He was incapable of deciding which was predominant. -He was irresolute what conduct He ought to hold with the disturber of -his repose. He was conscious that prudence, religion, and propriety -necessitated his obliging her to quit the Abbey: But on the other hand -such powerful reasons authorized her stay that He was but too much -inclined to consent to her remaining. He could not avoid being -flattered by Matilda's declaration, and at reflecting that He had -unconsciously vanquished an heart which had resisted the attacks of -Spain's noblest Cavaliers: The manner in which He had gained her -affections was also the most satisfactory to his vanity: He remembered -the many happy hours which He had passed in Rosario's society, and -dreaded that void in his heart which parting with him would occasion. -Besides all this, He considered, that as Matilda was wealthy, her -favour might be of essential benefit to the Abbey. - -'And what do I risque,' said He to himself, 'by authorizing her stay? -May I not safely credit her assertions? Will it not be easy for me to -forget her sex, and still consider her as my Friend and my disciple? -Surely her love is as pure as She describes. Had it been the offspring -of mere licentiousness, would She so long have concealed it in her own -bosom? Would She not have employed some means to procure its -gratification? She has done quite the contrary: She strove to keep me -in ignorance of her sex; and nothing but the fear of detection, and my -instances, would have compelled her to reveal the secret. She has -observed the duties of religion not less strictly than myself. She has -made no attempts to rouze my slumbering passions, nor has She ever -conversed with me till this night on the subject of Love. Had She been -desirous to gain my affections, not my esteem, She would not have -concealed from me her charms so carefully: At this very moment I have -never seen her face: Yet certainly that face must be lovely, and her -person beautiful, to judge by her ... by what I have seen.' - -As this last idea passed through his imagination, a blush spread itself -over his cheek. Alarmed at the sentiments which He was indulging, He -betook himself to prayer; He started from his Couch, knelt before the -beautiful Madona, and entreated her assistance in stifling such -culpable emotions. He then returned to his Bed, and resigned himself -to slumber. - -He awoke, heated and unrefreshed. During his sleep his inflamed -imagination had presented him with none but the most voluptuous -objects. Matilda stood before him in his dreams, and his eyes again -dwelt upon her naked breast. She repeated her protestations of eternal -love, threw her arms round his neck, and loaded him with kisses: He -returned them; He clasped her passionately to his bosom, and ... the -vision was dissolved. Sometimes his dreams presented the image of his -favourite Madona, and He fancied that He was kneeling before her: As -He offered up his vows to her, the eyes of the Figure seemed to beam on -him with inexpressible sweetness. He pressed his lips to hers, and -found them warm: The animated form started from the Canvas, embraced -him affectionately, and his senses were unable to support delight so -exquisite. Such were the scenes, on which his thoughts were employed -while sleeping: His unsatisfied Desires placed before him the most -lustful and provoking Images, and he rioted in joys till then unknown -to him. - -He started from his Couch, filled with confusion at the remembrance of -his dreams. Scarcely was He less ashamed, when He reflected on his -reasons of the former night which induced him to authorize Matilda's -stay. The cloud was now dissipated which had obscured his judgment: He -shuddered when He beheld his arguments blazoned in their proper -colours, and found that He had been a slave to flattery, to avarice, -and self-love. If in one hour's conversation Matilda had produced a -change so remarkable in his sentiments, what had He not to dread from -her remaining in the Abbey? Become sensible of his danger, awakened -from his dream of confidence, He resolved to insist on her departing -without delay. He began to feel that He was not proof against -temptation; and that however Matilda might restrain herself within the -bounds of modesty, He was unable to contend with those passions, from -which He falsely thought himself exempted. - -'Agnes! Agnes!' He exclaimed, while reflecting on his embarrassments, -'I already feel thy curse!' - -He quitted his Cell, determined upon dismissing the feigned Rosario. -He appeared at Matins; But his thoughts were absent, and He paid them -but little attention. His heart and brain were both of them filled -with worldly objects, and He prayed without devotion. The service over, -He descended into the Garden. He bent his steps towards the same spot -where, on the preceding night, He had made this embarrassing discovery. -He doubted not but that Matilda would seek him there: He was not -deceived. She soon entered the Hermitage, and approached the Monk with -a timid air. After a few minutes during which both were silent, She -appeared as if on the point of speaking; But the Abbot, who during this -time had been summoning up all his resolution, hastily interrupted her. -Though still unconscious how extensive was its influence, He dreaded -the melodious seduction of her voice. - -'Seat yourself by my side, Matilda,' said He, assuming a look of -firmness, though carefully avoiding the least mixture of severity; -'Listen to me patiently, and believe, that in what I shall say, I am -not more influenced by my own interest than by yours: Believe, that I -feel for you the warmest friendship, the truest compassion, and that -you cannot feel more grieved than I do, when I declare to you that we -must never meet again.' - -'Ambrosio!' She cried, in a voice at once expressive of surprise and -sorrow. - -'Be calm, my Friend! My Rosario! Still let me call you by that name -so dear to me! Our separation is unavoidable; I blush to own, how -sensibly it affects me.-- But yet it must be so. I feel myself -incapable of treating you with indifference, and that very conviction -obliges me to insist upon your departure. Matilda, you must stay here -no longer.' - -'Oh! where shall I now seek for probity? Disgusted with a perfidious -world, in what happy region does Truth conceal herself? Father, I -hoped that She resided here; I thought that your bosom had been her -favourite shrine. And you too prove false? Oh God! And you too can -betray me?' - -'Matilda!' - -'Yes, Father, Yes! 'Tis with justice that I reproach you. Oh! where -are your promises? My Noviciate is not expired, and yet will you -compell me to quit the Monastery? Can you have the heart to drive me -from you? And have I not received your solemn oath to the contrary?' - -'I will not compell you to quit the Monastery: You have received my -solemn oath to the contrary. But yet when I throw myself upon your -generosity, when I declare to you the embarrassments in which your -presence involves me, will you not release me from that oath? Reflect -upon the danger of a discovery, upon the opprobrium in which such an -event would plunge me: Reflect that my honour and reputation are at -stake, and that my peace of mind depends on your compliance. As yet my -heart is free; I shall separate from you with regret, but not with -despair. Stay here, and a few weeks will sacrifice my happiness on the -altar of your charms. You are but too interesting, too amiable! I -should love you, I should doat on you! My bosom would become the prey -of desires which Honour and my profession forbid me to gratify. If I -resisted them, the impetuosity of my wishes unsatisfied would drive me -to madness: If I yielded to the temptation, I should sacrifice to one -moment of guilty pleasure my reputation in this world, my salvation in -the next. To you then I fly for defence against myself. Preserve me -from losing the reward of thirty years of sufferings! Preserve me from -becoming the Victim of Remorse! YOUR heart has already felt the -anguish of hopeless love; Oh! then if you really value me, spare mine -that anguish! Give me back my promise; Fly from these walls. Go, and -you bear with you my warmest prayers for your happiness, my friendship, -my esteem and admiration: Stay, and you become to me the source of -danger, of sufferings, of despair! Answer me, Matilda; What is your -resolve?'--She was silent--'Will you not speak, Matilda? Will you not -name your choice?' - -'Cruel! Cruel!' She exclaimed, wringing her hands in agony; 'You know -too well that you offer me no choice! You know too well that I can have -no will but yours!' - -'I was not then deceived! Matilda's generosity equals my expectations.' - -'Yes; I will prove the truth of my affection by submitting to a decree -which cuts me to the very heart. Take back your promise. I will quit -the Monastery this very day. I have a Relation, Abbess of a Covent in -Estramadura: To her will I bend my steps, and shut myself from the -world for ever. Yet tell me, Father, shall I bear your good wishes -with me to my solitude? Will you sometimes abstract your attention -from heavenly objects to bestow a thought upon me?' - -'Ah! Matilda, I fear that I shall think on you but too often for my -repose!' - -'Then I have nothing more to wish for, save that we may meet in heaven. -Farewell, my Friend! my Ambrosio!-- And yet methinks, I would fain bear -with me some token of your regard!' - -'What shall I give you?' - -'Something.--Any thing.--One of those flowers will be sufficient.' -(Here She pointed to a bush of Roses, planted at the door of the -Grotto.) 'I will hide it in my bosom, and when I am dead, the Nuns -shall find it withered upon my heart.' - -The Friar was unable to reply: With slow steps, and a soul heavy with -affliction, He quitted the Hermitage. He approached the Bush, and -stooped to pluck one of the Roses. Suddenly He uttered a piercing cry, -started back hastily, and let the flower, which He already held, fall -from his hand. Matilda heard the shriek, and flew anxiously towards -him. - -'What is the matter?' She cried; 'Answer me, for God's sake! What has -happened?' - -'I have received my death!' He replied in a faint voice; 'Concealed -among the Roses ... A Serpent....' - -Here the pain of his wound became so exquisite, that Nature was unable -to bear it: His senses abandoned him, and He sank inanimate into -Matilda's arms. - -Her distress was beyond the power of description. She rent her hair, -beat her bosom, and not daring to quit Ambrosio, endeavoured by loud -cries to summon the Monks to her assistance. She at length succeeded. -Alarmed by her shrieks, Several of the Brothers hastened to the spot, -and the Superior was conveyed back to the Abbey. He was immediately -put to bed, and the Monk who officiated as Surgeon to the Fraternity -prepared to examine the wound. By this time Ambrosio's hand had -swelled to an extraordinary size; The remedies which had been -administered to him, 'tis true, restored him to life, but not to his -senses; He raved in all the horrors of delirium, foamed at the mouth, -and four of the strongest Monks were scarcely able to hold him in his -bed. - -Father Pablos, such was the Surgeon's name, hastened to examine the -wounded hand. The Monks surrounded the Bed, anxiously waiting for the -decision: Among these the feigned Rosario appeared not the most -insensible to the Friar's calamity. He gazed upon the Sufferer with -inexpressible anguish; and the groans which every moment escaped from -his bosom sufficiently betrayed the violence of his affliction. - -Father Pablos probed the wound. As He drew out his Lancet, its point -was tinged with a greenish hue. He shook his head mournfully, and -quitted the bedside. - -''Tis as I feared!' said He; 'There is no hope.' - -'No hope?' exclaimed the Monks with one voice; 'Say you, no hope?' - -'From the sudden effects, I suspected that the Abbot was stung by a -Cientipedoro: The venom which you see upon my Lancet confirms my idea: -He cannot live three days.' - -'And can no possible remedy be found?' enquired Rosario. - -'Without extracting the poison, He cannot recover; and how to extract -it is to me still a secret. All that I can do is to apply such herbs -to the wound as will relieve the anguish: The Patient will be restored -to his senses; But the venom will corrupt the whole mass of his blood, -and in three days He will exist no longer.' - -Excessive was the universal grief at hearing this decision. Pablos, as -He had promised, dressed the wound, and then retired, followed by his -Companions: Rosario alone remained in the Cell, the Abbot at his -urgent entreaty having been committed to his care. Ambrosio's strength -worn out by the violence of his exertions, He had by this time fallen -into a profound sleep. So totally was He overcome by weariness, that -He scarcely gave any signs of life; He was still in this situation, -when the Monks returned to enquire whether any change had taken place. -Pablos loosened the bandage which concealed the wound, more from a -principle of curiosity than from indulging the hope of discovering any -favourable symptoms. What was his astonishment at finding, that the -inflammation had totally subsided! He probed the hand; His Lancet came -out pure and unsullied; No traces of the venom were perceptible; and -had not the orifice still been visible, Pablos might have doubted that -there had ever been a wound. - -He communicated this intelligence to his Brethren; their delight was -only equalled by their surprize. From the latter sentiment, however, -they were soon released by explaining the circumstance according to -their own ideas: They were perfectly convinced that their Superior was -a Saint, and thought, that nothing could be more natural than for St. -Francis to have operated a miracle in his favour. This opinion was -adopted unanimously: They declared it so loudly, and vociferated,--'A -miracle! a miracle!'--with such fervour, that they soon interrupted -Ambrosio's slumbers. - -The Monks immediately crowded round his Bed, and expressed their -satisfaction at his wonderful recovery. He was perfectly in his -senses, and free from every complaint except feeling weak and languid. -Pablos gave him a strengthening medicine, and advised his keeping his -bed for the two succeeding days: He then retired, having desired his -Patient not to exhaust himself by conversation, but rather to endeavour -at taking some repose. The other Monks followed his example, and the -Abbot and Rosario were left without Observers. - -For some minutes Ambrosio regarded his Attendant with a look of mingled -pleasure and apprehension. She was seated upon the side of the Bed, -her head bending down, and as usual enveloped in the Cowl of her Habit. - -'And you are still here, Matilda?' said the Friar at length. 'Are you -not satisfied with having so nearly effected my destruction, that -nothing but a miracle could have saved me from the Grave? Ah! surely -Heaven sent that Serpent to punish....' - -Matilda interrupted him by putting her hand before his lips with an air -of gaiety. - -'Hush! Father, Hush! You must not talk!' - -'He who imposed that order, knew not how interesting are the subjects -on which I wish to speak.' - -'But I know it, and yet issue the same positive command. I am -appointed your Nurse, and you must not disobey my orders.' - -'You are in spirits, Matilda!' - -'Well may I be so: I have just received a pleasure unexampled through -my whole life.' - -'What was that pleasure?' - -'What I must conceal from all, but most from you.' - -'But most from me? Nay then, I entreat you, Matilda....' - -'Hush, Father! Hush! You must not talk. But as you do not seem -inclined to sleep, shall I endeavour to amuse you with my Harp?' - -'How? I knew not that you understood Music.' - -'Oh! I am a sorry Performer! Yet as silence is prescribed you for -eight and forty hours, I may possibly entertain you, when wearied of -your own reflections. I go to fetch my Harp.' - -She soon returned with it. - -'Now, Father; What shall I sing? Will you hear the Ballad which treats -of the gallant Durandarte, who died in the famous battle of -Roncevalles?' - -'What you please, Matilda.' - -'Oh! call me not Matilda! Call me Rosario, call me your Friend! Those -are the names, which I love to hear from your lips. Now listen!' - -She then tuned her harp, and afterwards preluded for some moments with -such exquisite taste as to prove her a perfect Mistress of the -Instrument. The air which She played was soft and plaintive: - -Ambrosio, while He listened, felt his uneasiness subside, and a -pleasing melancholy spread itself into his bosom. Suddenly Matilda -changed the strain: With an hand bold and rapid She struck a few loud -martial chords, and then chaunted the following Ballad to an air at -once simple and melodious. - - DURANDARTE AND BELERMA - - Sad and fearful is the story - Of the Roncevalles fight; - On those fatal plains of glory - Perished many a gallant Knight. - - There fell Durandarte; Never - Verse a nobler Chieftain named: - He, before his lips for ever - Closed in silence thus exclaimed. - - 'Oh! Belerma! Oh! my dear-one! - For my pain and pleasure born! - Seven long years I served thee, fair-one, - Seven long years my fee was scorn: - - 'And when now thy heart replying - To my wishes, burns like mine, - Cruel Fate my bliss denying - Bids me every hope resign. - - 'Ah! Though young I fall, believe me, - Death would never claim a sigh; - 'Tis to lose thee, 'tis to leave thee, - Makes me think it hard to die! - - 'Oh! my Cousin Montesinos, - By that friendship firm and dear - Which from Youth has lived between us, - Now my last petition hear! - - 'When my Soul these limbs forsaking - Eager seeks a purer air, - From my breast the cold heart taking, - Give it to Belerma's care. - - Say, I of my lands Possessor - Named her with my dying breath: - Say, my lips I op'd to bless her, - Ere they closed for aye in death: - - 'Twice a week too how sincerely - I adored her, Cousin, say; - Twice a week for one who dearly - Loved her, Cousin, bid her pray. - - 'Montesinos, now the hour - Marked by fate is near at hand: - Lo! my arm has lost its power! - Lo! I drop my trusty brand! - - 'Eyes, which forth beheld me going, - Homewards ne'er shall see me hie! - Cousin, stop those tears o'er-flowing, - Let me on thy bosom die! - - 'Thy kind hand my eyelids closing, - Yet one favour I implore: - Pray Thou for my Soul's reposing, - When my heart shall throb no more; - - 'So shall Jesus, still attending - Gracious to a Christian's vow, - Pleased accept my Ghost ascending, - And a seat in heaven allow.' - - Thus spoke gallant Durandarte; - Soon his brave heart broke in twain. - Greatly joyed the Moorish party, - That the gallant Knight was slain. - - Bitter weeping Montesinos - Took from him his helm and glaive; - Bitter weeping Montesinos - Dug his gallant Cousin's grave. - - To perform his promise made, He - Cut the heart from out the breast, - That Belerma, wretched Lady! - Might receive the last bequest. - - Sad was Montesinos' heart, He - Felt distress his bosom rend. - 'Oh! my Cousin Durandarte, - Woe is me to view thy end! - - 'Sweet in manners, fair in favour, - Mild in temper, fierce in fight, - Warrior, nobler, gentler, braver, - Never shall behold the light! - - 'Cousin, Lo! my tears bedew thee! - How shall I thy loss survive! - Durandarte, He who slew thee, - Wherefore left He me alive!' - - -While She sung, Ambrosio listened with delight: Never had He heard a -voice more harmonious; and He wondered how such heavenly sounds could -be produced by any but Angels. But though He indulged the sense of -hearing, a single look convinced him that He must not trust to that of -sight. The Songstress sat at a little distance from his Bed. The -attitude in which She bent over her harp, was easy and graceful: Her -Cowl had fallen backwarder than usual: Two coral lips were visible, -ripe, fresh, and melting, and a Chin in whose dimples seemed to lurk a -thousand Cupids. Her Habit's long sleeve would have swept along the -Chords of the Instrument: To prevent this inconvenience She had drawn -it above her elbow, and by this means an arm was discovered formed in -the most perfect symmetry, the delicacy of whose skin might have -contended with snow in whiteness. Ambrosio dared to look on her but -once: That glance sufficed to convince him, how dangerous was the -presence of this seducing Object. He closed his eyes, but strove in -vain to banish her from his thoughts. There She still moved before him, -adorned with all those charms which his heated imagination could -supply: Every beauty which He had seen, appeared embellished, and -those still concealed Fancy represented to him in glowing colours. -Still, however, his vows and the necessity of keeping to them were -present to his memory. He struggled with desire, and shuddered when He -beheld how deep was the precipice before him. - -Matilda ceased to sing. Dreading the influence of her charms, Ambrosio -remained with his eyes closed, and offered up his prayers to St. -Francis to assist him in this dangerous trial! Matilda believed that He -was sleeping. She rose from her seat, approached the Bed softly, and -for some minutes gazed upon him attentively. - -'He sleeps!' said She at length in a low voice, but whose accents the -Abbot distinguished perfectly; 'Now then I may gaze upon him without -offence! I may mix my breath with his; I may doat upon his features, -and He cannot suspect me of impurity and deceit!--He fears my seducing -him to the violation of his vows! Oh! the Unjust! Were it my wish to -excite desire, should I conceal my features from him so carefully? -Those features, of which I daily hear him....' - -She stopped, and was lost in her reflections. - -'It was but yesterday!' She continued; 'But a few short hours have -past, since I was dear to him! He esteemed me, and my heart was -satisfied! Now!... Oh! now how cruelly is my situation changed! He -looks on me with suspicion! He bids me leave him, leave him for ever! -Oh! You, my Saint! my Idol! You, holding the next place to God in my -breast! Yet two days, and my heart will be unveiled to you.--Could you -know my feelings, when I beheld your agony! Could you know, how much -your sufferings have endeared you to me! But the time will come, when -you will be convinced that my passion is pure and disinterested. Then -you will pity me, and feel the whole weight of these sorrows!' - -As She said this, her voice was choaked by weeping. While She bent over -Ambrosio, a tear fell upon his cheek. - -'Ah! I have disturbed him!' cried Matilda, and retreated hastily. - -Her alarm was ungrounded. None sleep so profoundly, as those who are -determined not to wake. The Friar was in this predicament: He still -seemed buried in a repose, which every succeeding minute rendered him -less capable of enjoying. The burning tear had communicated its warmth -to his heart. - -'What affection! What purity!' said He internally; 'Ah! since my -bosom is thus sensible of pity, what would it be if agitated by love?' - -Matilda again quitted her seat, and retired to some distance from the -Bed. Ambrosio ventured to open his eyes, and to cast them upon her -fearfully. Her face was turned from him. She rested her head in a -melancholy posture upon her Harp, and gazed on the picture which hung -opposite to the Bed. - -'Happy, happy Image!' Thus did She address the beautiful Madona; ''Tis -to you that He offers his prayers! 'Tis on you that He gazes with -admiration! I thought you would have lightened my sorrows; You have -only served to increase their weight: You have made me feel that had I -known him ere his vows were pronounced, Ambrosio and happiness might -have been mine. With what pleasure He views this picture! With what -fervour He addresses his prayers to the insensible Image! Ah! may not -his sentiments be inspired by some kind and secret Genius, Friend to my -affection? May it not be Man's natural instinct which informs him... -Be silent, idle hopes! Let me not encourage an idea which takes from -the brilliance of Ambrosio's virtue. 'Tis Religion, not Beauty which -attracts his admiration; 'Tis not to the Woman, but the Divinity that -He kneels. Would He but address to me the least tender expression -which He pours forth to this Madona! Would He but say that were He not -already affianced to the Church, He would not have despised Matilda! -Oh! let me nourish that fond idea! Perhaps He may yet acknowledge -that He feels for me more than pity, and that affection like mine might -well have deserved a return; Perhaps, He may own thus much when I lye -on my deathbed! He then need not fear to infringe his vows, and the -confession of his regard will soften the pangs of dying. Would I were -sure of this! Oh! how earnestly should I sigh for the moment of -dissolution!' - -Of this discourse the Abbot lost not a syllable; and the tone in which -She pronounced these last words pierced to his heart. Involuntarily He -raised himself from his pillow. - -'Matilda!' He said in a troubled voice; 'Oh! my Matilda!' - -She started at the sound, and turned towards him hastily. The -suddenness of her movement made her Cowl fall back from her head; Her -features became visible to the Monk's enquiring eye. What was his -amazement at beholding the exact resemblance of his admired Madona? -The same exquisite proportion of features, the same profusion of golden -hair, the same rosy lips, heavenly eyes, and majesty of countenance -adorned Matilda! Uttering an exclamation of surprize, Ambrosio sank -back upon his pillow, and doubted whether the Object before him was -mortal or divine. - -Matilda seemed penetrated with confusion. She remained motionless in -her place, and supported herself upon her Instrument. Her eyes were -bent upon the earth, and her fair cheeks overspread with blushes. On -recovering herself, her first action was to conceal her features. She -then in an unsteady and troubled voice ventured to address these words -to the Friar. - -'Accident has made you Master of a secret, which I never would have -revealed but on the Bed of death. Yes, Ambrosio; In Matilda de -Villanegas you see the original of your beloved Madona. Soon after I -conceived my unfortunate passion, I formed the project of conveying to -you my Picture: Crowds of Admirers had persuaded me that I possessed -some beauty, and I was anxious to know what effect it would produce -upon you. I caused my Portrait to be drawn by Martin Galuppi, a -celebrated Venetian at that time resident in Madrid. The resemblance -was striking: I sent it to the Capuchin Abbey as if for sale, and the -Jew from whom you bought it was one of my Emissaries. You purchased -it. Judge of my rapture, when informed that you had gazed upon it with -delight, or rather with adoration; that you had suspended it in your -Cell, and that you addressed your supplications to no other Saint. -Will this discovery make me still more regarded as an object of -suspicion? Rather should it convince you how pure is my affection, and -engage you to suffer me in your society and esteem. I heard you daily -extol the praises of my Portrait: I was an eyewitness of the -transports, which its beauty excited in you: Yet I forbore to use -against your virtue those arms, with which yourself had furnished me. -I concealed those features from your sight, which you loved -unconsciously. I strove not to excite desire by displaying my charms, -or to make myself Mistress of your heart through the medium of your -senses. To attract your notice by studiously attending to religious -duties, to endear myself to you by convincing you that my mind was -virtuous and my attachment sincere, such was my only aim. I succeeded; -I became your companion and your Friend. I concealed my sex from your -knowledge; and had you not pressed me to reveal my secret, had I not -been tormented by the fear of a discovery, never had you known me for -any other than Rosario. And still are you resolved to drive me from -you? The few hours of life which yet remain for me, may I not pass -them in your presence? Oh! speak, Ambrosio, and tell me that I may -stay!' - -This speech gave the Abbot an opportunity of recollecting himself. He -was conscious that in the present disposition of his mind, avoiding her -society was his only refuge from the power of this enchanting Woman. - -'You declaration has so much astonished me,' said He, 'that I am at -present incapable of answering you. Do not insist upon a reply, -Matilda; Leave me to myself; I have need to be alone.' - -'I obey you--But before I go, promise not to insist upon my quitting -the Abbey immediately.' - -'Matilda, reflect upon your situation; Reflect upon the consequences of -your stay. Our separation is indispensable, and we must part.' - -'But not to-day, Father! Oh! in pity not today!' - -'You press me too hard, but I cannot resist that tone of supplication. -Since you insist upon it, I yield to your prayer: I consent to your -remaining here a sufficient time to prepare in some measure the -Brethren for your departure. Stay yet two days; But on the third,' ... -(He sighed involuntarily)--'Remember, that on the third we must part -for ever!' - -She caught his hand eagerly, and pressed it to her lips. - -'On the third?' She exclaimed with an air of wild solemnity; 'You are -right, Father! You are right! On the third we must part for ever!' - -There was a dreadful expression in her eye as She uttered these words, -which penetrated the Friar's soul with horror: Again She kissed his -hand, and then fled with rapidity from the chamber. - -Anxious to authorise the presence of his dangerous Guest, yet conscious -that her stay was infringing the laws of his order, Ambrosio's bosom -became the Theatre of a thousand contending passions. At length his -attachment to the feigned Rosario, aided by the natural warmth of his -temperament, seemed likely to obtain the victory: The success was -assured, when that presumption which formed the groundwork of his -character came to Matilda's assistance. The Monk reflected that to -vanquish temptation was an infinitely greater merit than to avoid it: -He thought that He ought rather to rejoice in the opportunity given him -of proving the firmness of his virtue. St. Anthony had withstood all -seductions to lust; Then why should not He? Besides, St. Anthony was -tempted by the Devil, who put every art into practice to excite his -passions: Whereas, Ambrosio's danger proceeded from a mere mortal -Woman, fearful and modest, whose apprehensions of his yielding were not -less violent than his own. - -'Yes,' said He; 'The Unfortunate shall stay; I have nothing to fear -from her presence. Even should my own prove too weak to resist the -temptation, I am secured from danger by the innocence of Matilda.' - -Ambrosio was yet to learn, that to an heart unacquainted with her, Vice -is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue. - -He found himself so perfectly recovered, that when Father Pablos -visited him again at night, He entreated permission to quit his chamber -on the day following. His request was granted. Matilda appeared no -more that evening, except in company with the Monks when they came in a -body to enquire after the Abbot's health. She seemed fearful of -conversing with him in private, and stayed but a few minutes in his -room. The Friar slept well; But the dreams of the former night were -repeated, and his sensations of voluptuousness were yet more keen and -exquisite. The same lust-exciting visions floated before his eyes: -Matilda, in all the pomp of beauty, warm, tender, and luxurious, -clasped him to her bosom, and lavished upon him the most ardent -caresses. He returned them as eagerly, and already was on the point of -satisfying his desires, when the faithless form disappeared, and left -him to all the horrors of shame and disappointment. - -The Morning dawned. Fatigued, harassed, and exhausted by his provoking -dreams, He was not disposed to quit his Bed. He excused himself from -appearing at Matins: It was the first morning in his life that He had -ever missed them. He rose late. During the whole of the day He had no -opportunity of speaking to Matilda without witnesses. His Cell was -thronged by the Monks, anxious to express their concern at his illness; -And He was still occupied in receiving their compliments on his -recovery, when the Bell summoned them to the Refectory. - -After dinner the Monks separated, and dispersed themselves in various -parts of the Garden, where the shade of trees or retirement of some -Grotto presented the most agreeable means of enjoying the Siesta. The -Abbot bent his steps towards the Hermitage: A glance of his eye -invited Matilda to accompany him. - -She obeyed, and followed him thither in silence. They entered the -Grotto, and seated themselves. Both seemed unwilling to begin the -conversation, and to labour under the influence of mutual -embarrassment. At length the Abbot spoke: He conversed only on -indifferent topics, and Matilda answered him in the same tone. She -seemed anxious to make him forget that the Person who sat by him was -any other than Rosario. Neither of them dared, or indeed wished to -make an allusion, to the subject which was most at the hearts of both. - -Matilda's efforts to appear gay were evidently forced: Her spirits were -oppressed by the weight of anxiety, and when She spoke her voice was -low and feeble. She seemed desirous of finishing a conversation which -embarrassed her; and complaining that She was unwell, She requested -Ambrosio's permission to return to the Abbey. He accompanied her to -the door of her cell; and when arrived there, He stopped her to declare -his consent to her continuing the Partner of his solitude so long as -should be agreeable to herself. - -She discovered no marks of pleasure at receiving this intelligence, -though on the preceding day She had been so anxious to obtain the -permission. - -'Alas! Father,' She said, waving her head mournfully; 'Your kindness -comes too late! My doom is fixed. We must separate for ever. Yet -believe, that I am grateful for your generosity, for your compassion of -an Unfortunate who is but too little deserving of it!' - -She put her handkerchief to her eyes. Her Cowl was only half drawn -over her face. Ambrosio observed that She was pale, and her eyes sunk -and heavy. - -'Good God!' He cried; 'You are very ill, Matilda! I shall send Father -Pablos to you instantly.' - -'No; Do not. I am ill, 'tis true; But He cannot cure my malady. -Farewell, Father! Remember me in your prayers tomorrow, while I shall -remember you in heaven!' - -She entered her cell, and closed the door. - -The Abbot dispatched to her the Physician without losing a moment, and -waited his report impatiently. But Father Pablos soon returned, and -declared that his errand had been fruitless. Rosario refused to admit -him, and had positively rejected his offers of assistance. The -uneasiness which this account gave Ambrosio was not trifling: Yet He -determined that Matilda should have her own way for that night: But -that if her situation did not mend by the morning, he would insist upon -her taking the advice of Father Pablos. - -He did not find himself inclined to sleep. He opened his casement, and -gazed upon the moonbeams as they played upon the small stream whose -waters bathed the walls of the Monastery. The coolness of the night -breeze and tranquillity of the hour inspired the Friar's mind with -sadness. He thought upon Matilda's beauty and affection; Upon the -pleasures which He might have shared with her, had He not been -restrained by monastic fetters. He reflected, that unsustained by hope -her love for him could not long exist; That doubtless She would succeed -in extinguishing her passion, and seek for happiness in the arms of One -more fortunate. He shuddered at the void which her absence would leave -in his bosom. He looked with disgust on the monotony of a Convent, and -breathed a sigh towards that world from which He was for ever -separated. Such were the reflections which a loud knocking at his door -interrupted. The Bell of the Church had already struck Two. The Abbot -hastened to enquire the cause of this disturbance. He opened the door -of his Cell, and a Lay-Brother entered, whose looks declared his hurry -and confusion. - -'Hasten, reverend Father!' said He; 'Hasten to the young Rosario. - -He earnestly requests to see you; He lies at the point of death.' - -'Gracious God! Where is Father Pablos? Why is He not with him? Oh! I -fear! I fear!' - -'Father Pablos has seen him, but his art can do nothing. He says that -He suspects the Youth to be poisoned.' - -'Poisoned? Oh! The Unfortunate! It is then as I suspected! But let -me not lose a moment; Perhaps it may yet be time to save her!' - -He said, and flew towards the Cell of the Novice. Several Monks were -already in the chamber. Father Pablos was one of them, and held a -medicine in his hand which He was endeavouring to persuade Rosario to -swallow. The Others were employed in admiring the Patient's divine -countenance, which They now saw for the first time. She looked -lovelier than ever. She was no longer pale or languid; A bright glow -had spread itself over her cheeks; her eyes sparkled with a serene -delight, and her countenance was expressive of confidence and -resignation. - -'Oh! torment me no more!' was She saying to Pablos, when the terrified -Abbot rushed hastily into the Cell; 'My disease is far beyond the reach -of your skill, and I wish not to be cured of it'--Then perceiving -Ambrosio,-- 'Ah! 'tis He!' She cried; 'I see him once again, before we -part for ever! Leave me, my Brethren; Much have I to tell this holy -Man in private.' - -The Monks retired immediately, and Matilda and the Abbot remained -together. - -'What have you done, imprudent Woman!' exclaimed the Latter, as soon as -they were left alone; 'Tell me; Are my suspicions just? Am I indeed to -lose you? Has your own hand been the instrument of your destruction?' - -She smiled, and grasped his hand. - -'In what have I been imprudent, Father? I have sacrificed a pebble, -and saved a diamond: My death preserves a life valuable to the world, -and more dear to me than my own. Yes, Father; I am poisoned; But know -that the poison once circulated in your veins.' - -'Matilda!' - -'What I tell you I resolved never to discover to you but on the bed of -death: That moment is now arrived. You cannot have forgotten the day -already, when your life was endangered by the bite of a Cientipedoro. -The Physician gave you over, declaring himself ignorant how to extract -the venom: I knew but of one means, and hesitated not a moment to -employ it. I was left alone with you: You slept; I loosened the -bandage from your hand; I kissed the wound, and drew out the poison -with my lips. The effect has been more sudden than I expected. I feel -death at my heart; Yet an hour, and I shall be in a better world.' - -'Almighty God!' exclaimed the Abbot, and sank almost lifeless upon the -Bed. - -After a few minutes He again raised himself up suddenly, and gazed upon -Matilda with all the wildness of despair. - -'And you have sacrificed yourself for me! You die, and die to preserve -Ambrosio! And is there indeed no remedy, Matilda? And is there indeed -no hope? Speak to me, Oh! speak to me! Tell me, that you have still -the means of life!' - -'Be comforted, my only Friend! Yes, I have still the means of life in -my power: But 'tis a means which I dare not employ. It is dangerous! -It is dreadful! Life would be purchased at too dear a rate, ... -unless it were permitted me to live for you.' - -'Then live for me, Matilda, for me and gratitude!'-- (He caught her -hand, and pressed it rapturously to his lips.)--'Remember our late -conversations; I now consent to every thing: Remember in what lively -colours you described the union of souls; Be it ours to realize those -ideas. Let us forget the distinctions of sex, despise the world's -prejudices, and only consider each other as Brother and Friend. Live -then, Matilda! Oh! live for me!' - -'Ambrosio, it must not be. When I thought thus, I deceived both you -and myself. Either I must die at present, or expire by the lingering -torments of unsatisfied desire. Oh! since we last conversed together, -a dreadful veil has been rent from before my eyes. I love you no -longer with the devotion which is paid to a Saint: I prize you no more -for the virtues of your soul; I lust for the enjoyment of your person. -The Woman reigns in my bosom, and I am become a prey to the wildest of -passions. Away with friendship! 'tis a cold unfeeling word. My bosom -burns with love, with unutterable love, and love must be its return. -Tremble then, Ambrosio, tremble to succeed in your prayers. If I live, -your truth, your reputation, your reward of a life past in sufferings, -all that you value is irretrievably lost. I shall no longer be able to -combat my passions, shall seize every opportunity to excite your -desires, and labour to effect your dishonour and my own. No, no, -Ambrosio; I must not live! I am convinced with every moment, that I -have but one alternative; I feel with every heart-throb, that I must -enjoy you, or die.' - -'Amazement!--Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?' - -He made a movement as if to quit his seat. She uttered a loud shriek, -and raising herself half out of the Bed, threw her arms round the Friar -to detain him. - -'Oh! do not leave me! Listen to my errors with compassion! In a few -hours I shall be no more; Yet a little, and I am free from this -disgraceful passion.' - -'Wretched Woman, what can I say to you! I cannot ... I must not ... -But live, Matilda! Oh! live!' - -'You do not reflect on what you ask. What? Live to plunge myself in -infamy? To become the Agent of Hell? To work the destruction both of -you and of Myself? Feel this heart, Father!' - -She took his hand: Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He withdrew -it not, and felt her heart throb under it. - -'Feel this heart, Father! It is yet the seat of honour, truth, and -chastity: If it beats tomorrow, it must fall a prey to the blackest -crimes. Oh! let me then die today! Let me die, while I yet deserve -the tears of the virtuous! Thus will expire!'--(She reclined her head -upon his shoulder; Her golden Hair poured itself over his Chest.)-- -'Folded in your arms, I shall sink to sleep; Your hand shall close my -eyes for ever, and your lips receive my dying breath. And will you not -sometimes think of me? Will you not sometimes shed a tear upon my -Tomb? Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! That kiss is my assurance!' - -The hour was night. All was silence around. The faint beams of a -solitary Lamp darted upon Matilda's figure, and shed through the -chamber a dim mysterious light. No prying eye, or curious ear was near -the Lovers: Nothing was heard but Matilda's melodious accents. -Ambrosio was in the full vigour of Manhood. He saw before him a young -and beautiful Woman, the preserver of his life, the Adorer of his -person, and whom affection for him had reduced to the brink of the -Grave. He sat upon her Bed; His hand rested upon her bosom; Her head -reclined voluptuously upon his breast. Who then can wonder, if He -yielded to the temptation? Drunk with desire, He pressed his lips to -those which sought them: His kisses vied with Matilda's in warmth and -passion. He clasped her rapturously in his arms; He forgot his vows, -his sanctity, and his fame: He remembered nothing but the pleasure and -opportunity. - -'Ambrosio! Oh! my Ambrosio!' sighed Matilda. - -'Thine, ever thine!' murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom. - - - -CHAPTER III - - ----These are the Villains - Whom all the Travellers do fear so much. - --------Some of them are Gentlemen - Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth - Thrust from the company of awful Men. - Two Gentlemen of Verona. - -The Marquis and Lorenzo proceeded to the Hotel in silence. The Former -employed himself in calling every circumstance to his mind, which -related might give Lorenzo's the most favourable idea of his connexion -with Agnes. The Latter, justly alarmed for the honour of his family, -felt embarrassed by the presence of the Marquis: The adventure which He -had just witnessed forbad his treating him as a Friend; and Antonia's -interests being entrusted to his mediation, He saw the impolicy of -treating him as a Foe. He concluded from these reflections, that -profound silence would be the wisest plan, and waited with impatience -for Don Raymond's explanation. - -They arrived at the Hotel de las Cisternas. The Marquis immediately -conducted him to his apartment, and began to express his satisfaction -at finding him at Madrid. Lorenzo interrupted him. - -'Excuse me, my Lord,' said He with a distant air, 'if I reply somewhat -coldly to your expressions of regard. A Sister's honour is involved in -this affair: Till that is established, and the purport of your -correspondence with Agnes cleared up, I cannot consider you as my -Friend. I am anxious to hear the meaning of your conduct, and hope -that you will not delay the promised explanation.' - -'First give me your word, that you will listen with patience and -indulgence.' - -'I love my Sister too well to judge her harshly; and till this moment I -possessed no Friend so dear to me as yourself. I will also confess, -that your having it in your power to oblige me in a business which I -have much at heart, makes me very anxious to find you still deserving -my esteem.' - -'Lorenzo, you transport me! No greater pleasure can be given me, than -an opportunity of serving the Brother of Agnes.' - -'Convince me that I can accept your favours without dishonour, and -there is no Man in the world to whom I am more willing to be obliged.' - -'Probably, you have already heard your Sister mention the name of -Alphonso d'Alvarada?' - -'Never. Though I feel for Agnes an affection truly fraternal, -circumstances have prevented us from being much together. While yet a -Child She was consigned to the care of her Aunt, who had married a -German Nobleman. At his Castle She remained till two years since, when -She returned to Spain, determined upon secluding herself from the -world.' - -'Good God! Lorenzo, you knew of her intention, and yet strove not to -make her change it?' - -'Marquis, you wrong me. The intelligence, which I received at Naples, -shocked me extremely, and I hastened my return to Madrid for the -express purpose of preventing the sacrifice. The moment that I -arrived, I flew to the Convent of St. Clare, in which Agnes had chosen -to perform her Noviciate. I requested to see my Sister. Conceive my -surprise when She sent me a refusal; She declared positively, that -apprehending my influence over her mind, She would not trust herself in -my society till the day before that on which She was to receive the -Veil. I supplicated the Nuns; I insisted upon seeing Agnes, and -hesitated not to avow my suspicions that her being kept from me was -against her own inclinations. To free herself from the imputation of -violence, the Prioress brought me a few lines written in my Sister's -well-known hand, repeating the message already delivered. All future -attempts to obtain a moment's conversation with her were as fruitless -as the first. She was inflexible, and I was not permitted to see her -till the day preceding that on which She entered the Cloister never to -quit it more. This interview took place in the presence of our -principal Relations. It was for the first time since her childhood -that I saw her, and the scene was most affecting. She threw herself -upon my bosom, kissed me, and wept bitterly. By every possible -argument, by tears, by prayers, by kneeling, I strove to make her -abandon her intention. I represented to her all the hardships of a -religious life; I painted to her imagination all the pleasures which -She was going to quit, and besought her to disclose to me, what -occasioned her disgust to the world. At this last question She turned -pale, and her tears flowed yet faster. She entreated me not to press -her on that subject; That it sufficed me to know that her resolution -was taken, and that a Convent was the only place where She could now -hope for tranquillity. She persevered in her design, and made her -profession. I visited her frequently at the Grate, and every moment -that I passed with her, made me feel more affliction at her loss. I -was shortly after obliged to quit Madrid; I returned but yesterday -evening, and since then have not had time to call at St. Clare's -Convent.' - -'Then till I mentioned it, you never heard the name of Alphonso -d'Alvarada?' - -'Pardon me: my Aunt wrote me word that an Adventurer so called had -found means to get introduced into the Castle of Lindenberg; That He -had insinuated himself into my Sister's good graces, and that She had -even consented to elope with him. However, before the plan could be -executed, the Cavalier discovered that the estates which He believed -Agnes to possess in Hispaniola, in reality belonged to me. This -intelligence made him change his intention; He disappeared on the day -that the elopement was to have taken place, and Agnes, in despair at -his perfidy and meanness, had resolved upon seclusion in a Convent. -She added, that as this adventurer had given himself out to be a Friend -of mine, She wished to know whether I had any knowledge of him. I -replied in the negative. I had then very little idea, that Alphonso -d'Alvarada and the Marquis de las Cisternas were one and the same -person: The description given me of the first by no means tallied with -what I knew of the latter.' - -'In this I easily recognize Donna Rodolpha's perfidious character. -Every word of this account is stamped with marks of her malice, of her -falsehood, of her talents for misrepresenting those whom She wishes to -injure. Forgive me, Medina, for speaking so freely of your Relation. -The mischief which She has done me authorises my resentment, and when -you have heard my story, you will be convinced that my expressions have -not been too severe.' - -He then began his narrative in the following manner. - -HISTORY OF DON RAYMOND, MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS - -Long experience, my dear Lorenzo, has convinced me how generous is your -nature: I waited not for your declaration of ignorance respecting your -Sister's adventures to suppose that they had been purposely concealed -from you. Had they reached your knowledge, from what misfortunes -should both Agnes and myself have escaped! Fate had ordained it -otherwise! You were on your Travels when I first became acquainted -with your Sister; and as our Enemies took care to conceal from her your -direction, it was impossible for her to implore by letter your -protection and advice. - -On leaving Salamanca, at which University as I have since heard, you -remained a year after I quitted it, I immediately set out upon my -Travels. My Father supplied me liberally with money; But He insisted -upon my concealing my rank, and presenting myself as no more than a -private Gentleman. This command was issued by the counsels of his -Friend, the Duke of Villa Hermosa, a Nobleman for whose abilities and -knowledge of the world I have ever entertained the most profound -veneration. - -'Believe me,' said He, 'my dear Raymond, you will hereafter feel the -benefits of this temporary degradation. 'Tis true, that as the Conde -de las Cisternas you would have been received with open arms; and your -youthful vanity might have felt gratified by the attentions showered -upon you from all sides. At present, much will depend upon yourself: -You have excellent recommendations, but it must be your own business to -make them of use to you. You must lay yourself out to please; You must -labour to gain the approbation of those, to whom you are presented: -They who would have courted the friendship of the Conde de las -Cisternas will have no interest in finding out the merits, or bearing -patiently with the faults, of Alphonso d'Alvarada. Consequently, when -you find yourself really liked, you may safely ascribe it to your good -qualities, not your rank, and the distinction shown you will be -infinitely more flattering. Besides, your exalted birth would not -permit your mixing with the lower classes of society, which will now be -in your power, and from which, in my opinion, you will derive -considerable benefit. Do not confine yourself to the Illustrious of -those Countries through which you pass. Examine the manners and -customs of the multitude: Enter into the Cottages; and by observing how -the Vassals of Foreigners are treated, learn to diminish the burthens -and augment the comforts of your own. According to my ideas, of those -advantages which a Youth destined to the possession of power and wealth -may reap from travel, He should not consider as the least essential, -the opportunity of mixing with the classes below him, and becoming an -eyewitness of the sufferings of the People.' - -Forgive me, Lorenzo, if I seem tedious in my narration. The close -connexion which now exists between us, makes me anxious that you should -know every particular respecting me; and in my fear of omitting the -least circumstance which may induce you to think favourably of your -Sister and myself, I may possibly relate many which you may think -uninteresting. - -I followed the Duke's advice; I was soon convinced of its wisdom. - -I quitted Spain, calling myself by the assumed title of Don Alphonso -d'Alvarada, and attended by a single Domestic of approved fidelity. -Paris was my first station. For some time I was enchanted with it, as -indeed must be every Man who is young, rich, and fond of pleasure. Yet -among all its gaieties, I felt that something was wanting to my heart. -I grew sick of dissipation: I discovered, that the People among whom I -lived, and whose exterior was so polished and seducing, were at bottom -frivolous, unfeeling and insincere. I turned from the Inhabitants of -Paris with disgust, and quitted that Theatre of Luxury without heaving -one sigh of regret. - -I now bent my course towards Germany, intending to visit most of the -principal courts: Prior to this expedition, I meant to make some -little stay at Strasbourg. On quitting my Chaise at Luneville to take -some refreshment, I observed a splendid Equipage, attended by four -Domestics in rich liveries, waiting at the door of the Silver Lion. -Soon after as I looked out of the window, I saw a Lady of noble -presence, followed by two female Attendants, step into the Carriage, -which drove off immediately. - -I enquired of the Host, who the Lady was, that had just departed. - -'A German Baroness, Monsieur, of great rank and fortune. She has been -upon a visit to the Duchess of Longueville, as her Servants informed -me; She is going to Strasbourg, where She will find her Husband, and -then both return to their Castle in Germany.' - -I resumed my journey, intending to reach Strasbourg that night. My -hopes, however were frustrated by the breaking down of my Chaise. The -accident happened in the middle of a thick Forest, and I was not a -little embarrassed as to the means of proceeding. - -It was the depth of winter: The night was already closing round us; -and Strasbourg, which was the nearest Town, was still distant from us -several leagues. It seemed to me that my only alternative to passing -the night in the Forest, was to take my Servant's Horse and ride on to -Strasbourg, an undertaking at that season very far from agreeable. -However, seeing no other resource, I was obliged to make up my mind to -it. Accordingly I communicated my design to the Postillion, telling -him that I would send People to assist him as soon as I reached -Strasbourg. I had not much confidence in his honesty; But Stephano -being well-armed, and the Driver to all appearance considerably -advanced in years, I believed I ran no danger of losing my Baggage. - -Luckily, as I then thought, an opportunity presented itself of passing -the night more agreeably than I expected. On mentioning my design of -proceeding by myself to Strasbourg, the Postillion shook his head in -disapprobation. - -'It is a long way,' said He; 'You will find it a difficult matter to -arrive there without a Guide. Besides, Monsieur seems unaccustomed to -the season's severity, and 'tis possible that unable to sustain the -excessive cold....' - -'What use is there to present me with all these objections?' said I, -impatiently interrupting him; 'I have no other resource: I run still -greater risque of perishing with cold by passing the night in the -Forest.' - -'Passing the night in the Forest?' He replied; 'Oh! by St. Denis! We -are not in quite so bad a plight as that comes to yet. If I am not -mistaken, we are scarcely five minutes walk from the Cottage of my old -Friend, Baptiste. He is a Wood-cutter, and a very honest Fellow. I -doubt not but He will shelter you for the night with pleasure. In the -meantime I can take the saddle-Horse, ride to Strasbourg, and be back -with proper people to mend your Carriage by break of day.' - -'And in the name of God,' said I, 'How could you leave me so long in -suspense? Why did you not tell me of this Cottage sooner? What -excessive stupidity!' - -'I thought that perhaps Monsieur would not deign to accept....' - -'Absurd! Come, come! Say no more, but conduct us without delay to the -Wood-man's Cottage.' - -He obeyed, and we moved onwards: The Horses contrived with some -difficulty to drag the shattered vehicle after us. My Servant was -become almost speechless, and I began to feel the effects of the cold -myself, before we reached the wished-for Cottage. It was a small but -neat Building: As we drew near it, I rejoiced at observing through the -window the blaze of a comfortable fire. Our Conductor knocked at the -door: It was some time before any one answered; The People within -seemed in doubt whether we should be admitted. - -'Come! Come, Friend Baptiste!' cried the Driver with impatience; 'What -are you about? Are you asleep? Or will you refuse a night's lodging -to a Gentleman, whose Chaise has just broken down in the Forest?' - -'Ah! is it you, honest Claude?' replied a Man's voice from within; -'Wait a moment, and the door shall be opened.' - -Soon after the bolts were drawn back. The door was unclosed, and a Man -presented himself to us with a Lamp in his hand. He gave the Guide an -hearty reception, and then addressed himself to me. - -'Walk in, Monsieur; Walk in, and welcome! Excuse me for not admitting -you at first: But there are so many Rogues about this place, that -saving your presence, I suspected you to be one.' - -Thus saying, He ushered me into the room, where I had observed the -fire: I was immediately placed in an Easy Chair, which stood close to -the Hearth. A Female, whom I supposed to be the Wife of my Host, rose -from her seat upon my entrance, and received me with a slight and -distant reverence. She made no answer to my compliment, but -immediately re-seating herself, continued the work on which She had -been employed. Her Husband's manners were as friendly as hers were -harsh and repulsive. - -'I wish, I could lodge you more conveniently, Monsieur,' said He; 'But -we cannot boast of much spare room in this hovel. However, a chamber -for yourself, and another for your Servant, I think, we can make shift -to supply. You must content yourself with sorry fare; But to what we -have, believe me, you are heartily welcome.' ----Then turning to his -wife--'Why, how you sit there, Marguerite, with as much tranquillity as -if you had nothing better to do! Stir about, Dame! Stir about! Get -some supper; Look out some sheets; Here, here; throw some logs upon the -fire, for the Gentleman seems perished with cold.' - -The Wife threw her work hastily upon the Table, and proceeded to -execute his commands with every mark of unwillingness. Her countenance -had displeased me on the first moment of my examining it. Yet upon the -whole her features were handsome unquestionably; But her skin was -sallow, and her person thin and meagre; A louring gloom over-spread her -countenance; and it bore such visible marks of rancour and ill-will, as -could not escape being noticed by the most inattentive Observer. Her -every look and action expressed discontent and impatience, and the -answers which She gave Baptiste, when He reproached her good-humouredly -for her dissatisfied air, were tart, short, and cutting. In tine, I -conceived at first sight equal disgust for her, and prepossession in -favour of her Husband, whose appearance was calculated to inspire -esteem and confidence. His countenance was open, sincere, and -friendly; his manners had all the Peasant's honesty unaccompanied by -his rudeness; His cheeks were broad, full, and ruddy; and in the -solidity of his person He seemed to offer an ample apology for the -leanness of his Wife's. From the wrinkles on his brow I judged him to -be turned of sixty; But He bore his years well, and seemed still hearty -and strong: The Wife could not be more than thirty, but in spirits and -vivacity She was infinitely older than the Husband. - -However, in spite of her unwillingness, Marguerite began to prepare the -supper, while the Wood-man conversed gaily on different subjects. The -Postillion, who had been furnished with a bottle of spirits, was now -ready to set out for Strasbourg, and enquired, whether I had any -further commands. - -'For Strasbourg?' interrupted Baptiste; 'You are not going thither -tonight?' - -'I beg your pardon: If I do not fetch Workmen to mend the Chaise, How -is Monsieur to proceed tomorrow?' - -'That is true, as you say; I had forgotten the Chaise. Well, but -Claude; You may at least eat your supper here? That can make you lose -very little time, and Monsieur looks too kind-hearted to send you out -with an empty stomach on such a bitter cold night as this is.' - -To this I readily assented, telling the Postillion that my reaching -Strasbourg the next day an hour or two later would be perfectly -immaterial. He thanked me, and then leaving the Cottage with Stephano, -put up his Horses in the Wood-man's Stable. Baptiste followed them to -the door, and looked out with anxiety. - -''Tis a sharp biting wind!' said He; 'I wonder, what detains my Boys so -long! Monsieur, I shall show you two of the finest Lads, that ever -stept in shoe of leather. The eldest is three and twenty, the second a -year younger: Their Equals for sense, courage, and activity, are not -to be found within fifty miles of Strasbourg. Would They were back -again! I begin to feel uneasy about them.' - -Marguerite was at this time employed in laying the cloth. - -'And are you equally anxious for the return of your Sons?' said I to -her. - -'Not I!' She replied peevishly; 'They are no children of mine.' - -'Come! Come, Marguerite!' said the Husband; 'Do not be out of humour -with the Gentleman for asking a simple question. Had you not looked so -cross, He would never have thought you old enough to have a Son of -three and twenty: But you see how many years ill-temper adds to -you!--Excuse my Wife's rudeness, Monsieur. A little thing puts her -out, and She is somewhat displeased at your not thinking her to be -under thirty. That is the truth, is it not, Marguerite? You know, -Monsieur, that Age is always a ticklish subject with a Woman. Come! -come! Marguerite, clear up a little. If you have not Sons as old, you -will some twenty years hence, and I hope, that we shall live to see -them just such Lads as Jacques and Robert.' - -Marguerite clasped her hands together passionately. - -'God forbid!' said She; 'God forbid! If I thought it, I would strangle -them with my own hands!' - -She quitted the room hastily, and went up stairs. - -I could not help expressing to the Wood-man how much I pitied him for -being chained for life to a Partner of such ill-humour. - -'Ah! Lord! Monsieur, Every one has his share of grievances, and -Marguerite has fallen to mine. Besides, after all She is only cross, -and not malicious. The worst is, that her affection for two children -by a former Husband makes her play the Step-mother with my two Sons. -She cannot bear the sight of them, and by her good-will they would -never set a foot within my door. But on this point I always stand -firm, and never will consent to abandon the poor Lads to the world's -mercy, as She has often solicited me to do. In every thing else I let -her have her own way; and truly She manages a family rarely, that I -must say for her.' - -We were conversing in this manner, when our discourse was interrupted -by a loud halloo, which rang through the Forest. - -'My Sons, I hope!' exclaimed the Wood-man, and ran to open the door. - -The halloo was repeated: We now distinguished the trampling of Horses, -and soon after a Carriage, attended by several Cavaliers stopped at the -Cottage door. One of the Horsemen enquired how far they were still -from Strasbourg. As He addressed himself to me, I answered in the -number of miles which Claude had told me; Upon which a volley of curses -was vented against the Drivers for having lost their way. The Persons -in the Coach were now informed of the distance of Strasbourg, and also -that the Horses were so fatigued as to be incapable of proceeding -further. A Lady, who appeared to be the principal, expressed much -chagrin at this intelligence; But as there was no remedy, one of the -Attendants asked the Wood-man, whether He could furnish them with -lodging for the night. - -He seemed much embarrassed, and replied in the negative; Adding that a -Spanish Gentleman and his Servant were already in possession of the -only spare apartments in his House. On hearing this, the gallantry of -my nation would not permit me to retain those accommodations, of which -a Female was in want. I instantly signified to the Wood-man, that I -transferred my right to the Lady; He made some objections; But I -overruled them, and hastening to the Carriage, opened the door, and -assisted the Lady to descend. I immediately recognized her for the -same person whom I had seen at the Inn at Luneville. I took an -opportunity of asking one of her Attendants, what was her name? - -'The Baroness Lindenberg,' was the answer. - -I could not but remark how different a reception our Host had given -these newcomers and myself. His reluctance to admit them was visibly -expressed on his countenance, and He prevailed on himself with -difficulty to tell the Lady that She was welcome. I conducted her into -the House, and placed her in the armed-chair, which I had just quitted. -She thanked me very graciously; and made a thousand apologies for -putting me to an inconvenience. Suddenly the Wood-man's countenance -cleared up. - -'At last I have arranged it!' said He, interrupting her excuses; 'I can -lodge you and your suite, Madam, and you will not be under the -necessity of making this Gentleman suffer for his politeness. - -We have two spare chambers, one for the Lady, the other, Monsieur, for -you: My Wife shall give up hers to the two Waiting-women; As for the -Men-servants, they must content themselves with passing the night in a -large Barn, which stands at a few yards distance from the House. There -they shall have a blazing fire, and as good a supper as we can make -shift to give them.' - -After several expressions of gratitude on the Lady's part, and -opposition on mine to Marguerite's giving up her bed, this arrangement -was agreed to. As the Room was small, the Baroness immediately -dismissed her Male Domestics: Baptiste was on the point of conducting -them to the Barn which He had mentioned when two young Men appeared at -the door of the Cottage. - -'Hell and Furies!' exclaimed the first starting back; 'Robert, the -House is filled with Strangers!' - -'Ha! There are my Sons!' cried our Host. 'Why, Jacques! Robert! -whither are you running, Boys? There is room enough still for you.' - -Upon this assurance the Youths returned. The Father presented them to -the Baroness and myself: After which He withdrew with our Domestics, -while at the request of the two Waiting-women, Marguerite conducted -them to the room designed for their Mistress. - -The two new-comers were tall, stout, well-made young Men, -hard-featured, and very much sun-burnt. They paid their compliments to -us in few words, and acknowledged Claude, who now entered the room, as -an old acquaintance. They then threw aside their cloaks in which they -were wrapped up, took off a leathern belt to which a large Cutlass was -suspended, and each drawing a brace of pistols from his girdle laid -them upon a shelf. - -'You travel well-armed,' said I. - -'True, Monsieur;' replied Robert. 'We left Strasbourg late this -Evening, and 'tis necessary to take precautions at passing through this -Forest after dark. It does not bear a good repute, I promise you.' - -'How?' said the Baroness; 'Are there Robbers hereabout?' - -'So it is said, Madame; For my own part, I have travelled through the -wood at all hours, and never met with one of them.' - -Here Marguerite returned. Her Stepsons drew her to the other end of -the room, and whispered her for some minutes. By the looks which they -cast towards us at intervals, I conjectured them to be enquiring our -business in the Cottage. - -In the meanwhile the Baroness expressed her apprehensions, that her -Husband would be suffering much anxiety upon her account. She had -intended to send on one of her Servants to inform the Baron of her -delay; But the account which the young Men gave of the Forest rendered -this plan impracticable. Claude relieved her from her embarrassment. -He informed her that He was under the necessity of reaching Strasbourg -that night, and that would She trust him with a letter, She might -depend upon its being safely delivered. - -'And how comes it,' said I, 'that you are under no apprehension of -meeting these Robbers?' - -'Alas! Monsieur, a poor Man with a large family must not lose certain -profit because 'tis attended with a little danger, and perhaps my Lord -the Baron may give me a trifle for my pains. Besides, I have nothing to -lose except my life, and that will not be worth the Robbers taking.' - -I thought his arguments bad, and advised his waiting till the Morning; -But as the Baroness did not second me, I was obliged to give up the -point. The Baroness Lindenberg, as I found afterwards, had long been -accustomed to sacrifice the interests of others to her own, and her -wish to send Claude to Strasbourg blinded her to the danger of the -undertaking. Accordingly, it was resolved that He should set out -without delay. The Baroness wrote her letter to her Husband, and I -sent a few lines to my Banker, apprising him that I should not be at -Strasbourg till the next day. Claude took our letters, and left the -Cottage. - -The Lady declared herself much fatigued by her journey: Besides having -come from some distance, the Drivers had contrived to lose their way in -the Forest. She now addressed herself to Marguerite, desiring to be -shown to her chamber, and permitted to take half an hour's repose. One -of the Waiting-women was immediately summoned; She appeared with a -light, and the Baroness followed her up stairs. The cloth was -spreading in the chamber where I was, and Marguerite soon gave me to -understand that I was in her way. Her hints were too broad to be -easily mistaken; I therefore desired one of the young Men to conduct me -to the chamber where I was to sleep, and where I could remain till -supper was ready. - -'Which chamber is it, Mother?' said Robert. - -'The One with green hangings,' She replied; 'I have just been at the -trouble of getting it ready, and have put fresh sheets upon the Bed; If -the Gentleman chooses to lollop and lounge upon it, He may make it -again himself for me.' - -'You are out of humour, Mother, but that is no novelty. Have the -goodness to follow me, Monsieur.' - -He opened the door, and advanced towards a narrow staircase. - -'You have got no light!' said Marguerite; 'Is it your own neck or the -Gentleman's that you have a mind to break?' - -She crossed by me, and put a candle into Robert's hand, having received -which, He began to ascend the staircase. Jacques was employed in -laying the cloth, and his back was turned towards me. - -Marguerite seized the moment, when we were unobserved. She caught my -hand, and pressed it strongly. - -'Look at the Sheets!' said She as She passed me, and immediately -resumed her former occupation. - -Startled by the abruptness of her action, I remained as if petrified. -Robert's voice, desiring me to follow him, recalled me to myself. I -ascended the staircase. My conductor ushered me into a chamber, where -an excellent wood-fire was blazing upon the hearth. He placed the -light upon the Table, enquired whether I had any further commands, and -on my replying in the negative, He left me to myself. You may be -certain that the moment when I found myself alone was that on which I -complied with Marguerite's injunction. I took the candle, hastily -approached the Bed, and turned down the Coverture. What was my -astonishment, my horror, at finding the sheets crimsoned with blood! - -At that moment a thousand confused ideas passed before my imagination. -The Robbers who infested the Wood, Marguerite's exclamation respecting -her Children, the arms and appearance of the two young Men, and the -various Anecdotes which I had heard related, respecting the secret -correspondence which frequently exists between Banditti and -Postillions, all these circumstances flashed upon my mind, and inspired -me with doubt and apprehension. I ruminated on the most probable means -of ascertaining the truth of my conjectures. Suddenly I was aware of -Someone below pacing hastily backwards and forwards. Every thing now -appeared to me an object of suspicion. With precaution I drew near the -window, which, as the room had been long shut up, was left open in -spite of the cold. I ventured to look out. The beams of the Moon -permitted me to distinguish a Man, whom I had no difficulty to -recognize for my Host. I watched his movements. - -He walked swiftly, then stopped, and seemed to listen: He stamped upon -the ground, and beat his stomach with his arms as if to guard himself -from the inclemency of the season. At the least noise, if a voice was -heard in the lower part of the House, if a Bat flitted past him, or the -wind rattled amidst the leafless boughs, He started, and looked round -with anxiety. - -'Plague take him!' said He at length with impatience; 'What can He be -about!' - -He spoke in a low voice; but as He was just below my window, I had no -difficulty to distinguish his words. - -I now heard the steps of one approaching. Baptiste went towards the -sound; He joined a man, whom his low stature and the Horn suspended -from his neck, declared to be no other than my faithful Claude, whom I -had supposed to be already on his way to Strasbourg. Expecting their -discourse to throw some light upon my situation, I hastened to put -myself in a condition to hear it with safety. For this purpose I -extinguished the candle, which stood upon a table near the Bed: The -flame of the fire was not strong enough to betray me, and I immediately -resumed my place at the window. - -The objects of my curiosity had stationed themselves directly under it. -I suppose that during my momentary absence the Wood-man had been -blaming Claude for tardiness, since when I returned to the window, the -latter was endeavouring to excuse his fault. - -'However,' added He, 'my diligence at present shall make up for my past -delay.' - -'On that condition,' answered Baptiste, 'I shall readily forgive you. -But in truth as you share equally with us in our prizes, your own -interest will make you use all possible diligence. 'Twould be a shame -to let such a noble booty escape us! You say, that this Spaniard is -rich?' - -'His Servant boasted at the Inn, that the effects in his Chaise were -worth above two thousand Pistoles.' - -Oh! how I cursed Stephano's imprudent vanity! - -'And I have been told,' continued the Postillion, 'that this Baroness -carries about her a casket of jewels of immense value.' - -'May be so, but I had rather She had stayed away. The Spaniard was a -secure prey. The Boys and myself could easily have mastered him and -his Servant, and then the two thousand Pistoles would have been shared -between us four. Now we must let in the Band for a share, and perhaps -the whole Covey may escape us. Should our Friends have betaken -themselves to their different posts before you reach the Cavern, all -will be lost. The Lady's Attendants are too numerous for us to -overpower them: Unless our Associates arrive in time, we must needs -let these Travellers set out tomorrow without damage or hurt.' - -''Tis plaguy unlucky that my Comrades who drove the Coach should be -those unacquainted with our Confederacy! But never fear, Friend -Baptiste. An hour will bring me to the Cavern; It is now but ten -o'clock, and by twelve you may expect the arrival of the Band. By the -bye, take care of your Wife: You know how strong is her repugnance to -our mode of life, and She may find means to give information to the -Lady's Servants of our design.' - -'Oh! I am secure of her silence; She is too much afraid of me, and fond -of her children, to dare to betray my secret. Besides, Jacques and -Robert keep a strict eye over her, and She is not permitted to set a -foot out of the Cottage. The Servants are safely lodged in the Barn; I -shall endeavour to keep all quiet till the arrival of our Friends. -Were I assured of your finding them, the Strangers should be dispatched -this instant; But as it is possible for you to miss the Banditti, I am -fearful of being summoned to produce them by their Domestics in the -Morning.' - -'And suppose either of the Travellers should discover your design?' - -'Then we must poignard those in our power, and take our chance about -mastering the rest. However, to avoid running such a risque, hasten to -the Cavern: The Banditti never leave it before eleven, and if you use -diligence, you may reach it in time to stop them.' - -'Tell Robert that I have taken his Horse: My own has broken his -bridle, and escaped into the Wood. What is the watch-word?' - -'The reward of Courage.' - -''Tis sufficient. I hasten to the Cavern.' - -'And I to rejoin my Guests, lest my absence should create suspicion. -Farewell, and be diligent.' - -These worthy Associates now separated: The One bent his course towards -the Stable, while the Other returned to the House. - -You may judge, what must have been my feelings during this -conversation, of which I lost not a single syllable. I dared not trust -myself to my reflections, nor did any means present itself to escape -the dangers which threatened me. Resistance, I knew to be vain; I was -unarmed, and a single Man against Three: However, I resolved at least -to sell my life as dearly as I could. Dreading lest Baptiste should -perceive my absence, and suspect me to have overheard the message with -which Claude was dispatched, I hastily relighted my candle and quitted -the chamber. On descending, I found the Table spread for six Persons. -The Baroness sat by the fireside: Marguerite was employed in dressing a -sallad, and her Step-sons were whispering together at the further end -of the room. Baptiste having the round of the Garden to make, ere He -could reach the Cottage door, was not yet arrived. I seated myself -quietly opposite to the Baroness. - -A glance upon Marguerite told her that her hint had not been thrown -away upon me. How different did She now appear to me! What before -seemed gloom and sullenness, I now found to be disgust at her -Associates, and compassion for my danger. I looked up to her as to my -only resource; Yet knowing her to be watched by her Husband with a -suspicious eye, I could place but little reliance on the exertions of -her good-will. - -In spite of all my endeavours to conceal it, my agitation was but too -visibly expressed upon my countenance. I was pale, and both my words -and actions were disordered and embarrassed. The young Men observed -this, and enquired the cause. I attributed it to excess of fatigue, -and the violent effect produced on me by the severity of the season. -Whether they believed me or not, I will not pretend to say: They at -least ceased to embarrass me with their questions. I strove to divert -my attention from the perils which surrounded me, by conversing on -different subjects with the Baroness. I talked of Germany, declaring -my intention of visiting it immediately: God knows, that I little -thought at that moment of ever seeing it! She replied to me with great -ease and politeness, professed that the pleasure of making my -acquaintance amply compensated for the delay in her journey, and gave -me a pressing invitation to make some stay at the Castle of Lindenberg. -As She spoke thus, the Youths exchanged a malicious smile, which -declared that She would be fortunate if She ever reached that Castle -herself. This action did not escape me; But I concealed the emotion -which it excited in my breast. I continued to converse with the Lady; -But my discourse was so frequently incoherent, that as She has since -informed me, She began to doubt whether I was in my right senses. The -fact was, that while my conversation turned upon one subject, my -thoughts were entirely occupied by another. I meditated upon the means -of quitting the Cottage, finding my way to the Barn, and giving the -Domestics information of our Host's designs. I was soon convinced, how -impracticable was the attempt. Jacques and Robert watched my every -movement with an attentive eye, and I was obliged to abandon the idea. -All my hopes now rested upon Claude's not finding the Banditti: In -that case, according to what I had overheard, we should be permitted to -depart unhurt. - -I shuddered involuntarily as Baptiste entered the room. He made many -apologies for his long absence, but 'He had been detained by affairs -impossible to be delayed.' He then entreated permission for his family -to sup at the same table with us, without which, respect would not -authorize his taking such a liberty. Oh! how in my heart I cursed the -Hypocrite! How I loathed his presence, who was on the point of -depriving me of an existence, at that time infinitely dear! I had -every reason to be satisfied with life; I had youth, wealth, rank, and -education; and the fairest prospects presented themselves before me. I -saw those prospects on the point of closing in the most horrible -manner: Yet was I obliged to dissimulate, and to receive with a -semblance of gratitude the false civilities of him who held the dagger -to my bosom. - -The permission which our Host demanded, was easily obtained. We seated -ourselves at the Table. The Baroness and myself occupied one side: -The Sons were opposite to us with their backs to the door. Baptiste -took his seat by the Baroness at the upper end, and the place next to -him was left for his Wife. She soon entered the room, and placed -before us a plain but comfortable Peasant's repast. Our Host thought -it necessary to apologize for the poorness of the supper: 'He had not -been apprized of our coming; He could only offer us such fare as had -been intended for his own family:' - -'But,' added He, 'should any accident detain my noble Guests longer -than they at present intend, I hope to give them a better treatment.' - -The Villain! I well knew the accident to which He alluded; I shuddered -at the treatment which He taught us to expect! - -My Companion in danger seemed entirely to have got rid of her chagrin -at being delayed. She laughed, and conversed with the family with -infinite gaiety. I strove but in vain to follow her example. My -spirits were evidently forced, and the constraint which I put upon -myself escaped not Baptiste's observation. - -'Come, come, Monsieur, cheer up!' said He; 'You seem not quite -recovered from your fatigue. To raise your spirits, what say you to a -glass of excellent old wine which was left me by my Father? God rest -his soul, He is in a better world! I seldom produce this wine; But as -I am not honoured with such Guests every day, this is an occasion which -deserves a Bottle.' - -He then gave his Wife a Key, and instructed her where to find the wine -of which He spoke. She seemed by no means pleased with the commission; -She took the Key with an embarrassed air, and hesitated to quit the -Table. - -'Did you hear me?' said Baptiste in an angry tone. - -Marguerite darted upon him a look of mingled anger and fear, and left -the chamber. His eyes followed her suspiciously, till She had closed -the door. - -She soon returned with a bottle sealed with yellow wax. She placed it -upon the table, and gave the Key back to her Husband. I suspected that -this liquor was not presented to us without design, and I watched -Marguerite's movements with inquietude. She was employed in rinsing -some small horn Goblets. As She placed them before Baptiste, She saw -that my eye was fixed upon her; and at the moment when She thought -herself unobserved by the Banditti, She motioned to me with her head -not to taste the liquor, She then resumed her place. - -In the mean while our Host had drawn the Cork, and filling two of the -Goblets, offered them to the Lady and myself. She at first made some -objections, but the instances of Baptiste were so urgent, that She was -obliged to comply. Fearing to excite suspicion, I hesitated not to -take the Goblet presented to me. By its smell and colour I guessed it -to be Champagne; But some grains of powder floating upon the top -convinced me that it was not unadulterated. However, I dared not to -express my repugnance to drinking it; I lifted it to my lips, and -seemed to be swallowing it: Suddenly starting from my chair, I made -the best of my way towards a Vase of water at some distance, in which -Marguerite had been rinsing the Goblets. I pretended to spit out the -wine with disgust, and took an opportunity unperceived of emptying the -liquor into the Vase. - -The Banditti seemed alarmed at my action. Jacques half rose from his -chair, put his hand into his bosom, and I discovered the haft of a -dagger. I returned to my seat with tranquillity, and affected not to -have observed their confusion. - -'You have not suited my taste, honest Friend,' said I, addressing -myself to Baptiste. 'I never can drink Champagne without its producing -a violent illness. I swallowed a few mouthfuls ere I was aware of its -quality, and fear that I shall suffer for my imprudence.' - -Baptiste and Jacques exchanged looks of distrust. - -'Perhaps,' said Robert, 'the smell may be disagreeable to you.' - -He quitted his chair, and removed the Goblet. I observed, that He -examined, whether it was nearly empty. - -'He must have drank sufficient,' said He to his Brother in a low voice, -while He reseated himself. - -Marguerite looked apprehensive, that I had tasted the liquor: A glance -from my eye reassured her. - -I waited with anxiety for the effects which the Beverage would produce -upon the Lady. I doubted not but the grains which I had observed were -poisonous, and lamented that it had been impossible for me to warn her -of the danger. But a few minutes had elapsed before I perceived her -eyes grow heavy; Her head sank upon her shoulder, and She fell into a -deep sleep. I affected not to attend to this circumstance, and -continued my conversation with Baptiste, with all the outward gaiety in -my power to assume. But He no longer answered me without constraint. -He eyed me with distrust and astonishment, and I saw that the Banditti -were frequently whispering among themselves. My situation became every -moment more painful; I sustained the character of confidence with a -worse grace than ever. Equally afraid of the arrival of their -Accomplices and of their suspecting my knowledge of their designs, I -knew not how to dissipate the distrust which the Banditti evidently -entertained for me. In this new dilemma the friendly Marguerite again -assisted me. She passed behind the Chairs of her Stepsons, stopped for -a moment opposite to me, closed her eyes, and reclined her head upon -her shoulder. This hint immediately dispelled my incertitude. It told -me, that I ought to imitate the Baroness, and pretend that the liquor -had taken its full effect upon me. I did so, and in a few minutes -seemed perfectly overcome with slumber. - -'So!' cried Baptiste, as I fell back in my chair; 'At last He sleeps! -I began to think that He had scented our design, and that we should -have been forced to dispatch him at all events.' - -'And why not dispatch him at all events?' enquired the ferocious -Jacques. 'Why leave him the possibility of betraying our secret? -Marguerite, give me one of my Pistols: A single touch of the trigger -will finish him at once.' - -'And supposing,' rejoined the Father, 'Supposing that our Friends -should not arrive tonight, a pretty figure we should make when the -Servants enquire for him in the Morning! No, no, Jacques; We must wait -for our Associates. If they join us, we are strong enough to dispatch -the Domestics as well as their Masters, and the booty is our own; If -Claude does not find the Troop, we must take patience, and suffer the -prey to slip through our fingers. Ah! Boys, Boys, had you arrived but -five minutes sooner, the Spaniard would have been done for, and two -thousand Pistoles our own. But you are always out of the way when you -are most wanted. - -You are the most unlucky Rogues!' - -'Well, well, Father!' answered Jacques; 'Had you been of my mind, all -would have been over by this time. You, Robert, Claude, and myself, why -the Strangers were but double the number, and I warrant you we might -have mastered them. However, Claude is gone; 'Tis too late to think of -it now. We must wait patiently for the arrival of the Gang; and if the -Travellers escape us tonight, we must take care to waylay them -tomorrow.' - -'True! True!' said Baptiste; 'Marguerite, have you given the -sleeping-draught to the Waiting-women?' - -She replied in the affirmative. - -'All then is safe. Come, come, Boys; Whatever falls out, we have no -reason to complain of this adventure. We run no danger, may gain much, -and can lose nothing.' - -At this moment I heard a trampling of Horses. Oh! how dreadful was the -sound to my ears. A cold sweat flowed down my forehead, and I felt all -the terrors of impending death. I was by no means reassured by hearing -the compassionate Marguerite exclaim in the accents of despair, - -'Almighty God! They are lost!' - -Luckily the Wood-man and his Sons were too much occupied by the arrival -of their Associates to attend to me, or the violence of my agitation -would have convinced them that my sleep was feigned. - -'Open! Open!' exclaimed several voices on the outside of the Cottage. - -'Yes! Yes!' cried Baptiste joyfully; 'They are our Friends sure -enough! Now then our booty is certain. Away! Lads, Away! Lead them -to the Barn; You know what is to be done there.' - -Robert hastened to open the door of the Cottage. - -'But first,' said Jacques, taking up his arms; 'first let me dispatch -these Sleepers.' - -'No, no, no!' replied his Father; 'Go you to the Barn, where your -presence is wanted. Leave me to take care of these and the Women -above.' - -Jacques obeyed, and followed his Brother. They seemed to converse with -the New-Comers for a few minutes: After which I heard the Robbers -dismount, and as I conjectured, bend their course towards the Barn. - -'So! That is wisely done!' muttered Baptiste; 'They have quitted their -Horses, that They may fall upon the Strangers by surprise. Good! Good! -and now to business.' - -I heard him approach a small Cupboard which was fixed up in a distant -part of the room, and unlock it. At this moment I felt myself shaken -gently. - -'Now! Now!' whispered Marguerite. - -I opened my eyes. Baptiste stood with his back towards me. No one -else was in the room save Marguerite and the sleeping Lady. The Villain -had taken a dagger from the Cupboard and seemed examining whether it -was sufficiently sharp. I had neglected to furnish myself with arms; -But I perceived this to be my only chance of escaping, and resolved not -to lose the opportunity. I sprang from my seat, darted suddenly upon -Baptiste, and clasping my hands round his throat, pressed it so -forcibly as to prevent his uttering a single cry. You may remember -that I was remarkable at Salamanca for the power of my arm: It now -rendered me an essential service. Surprised, terrified, and -breathless, the Villain was by no means an equal Antagonist. I threw -him upon the ground; I grasped him still tighter; and while I fixed him -without motion upon the floor, Marguerite, wresting the dagger from his -hand, plunged it repeatedly in his heart till He expired. - -No sooner was this horrible but necessary act perpetrated than -Marguerite called on me to follow her. - -'Flight is our only refuge!' said She; 'Quick! Quick! Away!' - -I hesitated not to obey her: but unwilling to leave the Baroness a -victim to the vengeance of the Robbers, I raised her in my arms still -sleeping, and hastened after Marguerite. The Horses of the Banditti -were fastened near the door: My Conductress sprang upon one of them. -I followed her example, placed the Baroness before me, and spurred on -my Horse. Our only hope was to reach Strasbourg, which was much nearer -than the perfidious Claude had assured me. Marguerite was well -acquainted with the road, and galloped on before me. We were obliged -to pass by the Barn, where the Robbers were slaughtering our Domestics. -The door was open: We distinguished the shrieks of the dying and -imprecations of the Murderers! What I felt at that moment language is -unable to describe! - -Jacques heard the trampling of our Horses as we rushed by the Barn. He -flew to the Door with a burning Torch in his hand, and easily -recognised the Fugitives. - -'Betrayed! Betrayed!' He shouted to his Companions. - -Instantly they left their bloody work, and hastened to regain their -Horses. We heard no more. I buried my spurs in the sides of my -Courser, and Marguerite goaded on hers with the poignard, which had -already rendered us such good service. We flew like lightning, and -gained the open plains. Already was Strasbourg's Steeple in sight, -when we heard the Robbers pursuing us. Marguerite looked back, and -distinguished our followers descending a small Hill at no great -distance. It was in vain that we urged on our Horses; The noise -approached nearer with every moment. - -'We are lost!' She exclaimed; 'The Villains gain upon us!' - -'On! On!' replied I; 'I hear the trampling of Horses coming from the -Town.' - -We redoubled our exertions, and were soon aware of a numerous band of -Cavaliers, who came towards us at full speed. They were on the point -of passing us. - -'Stay! Stay!' shrieked Marguerite; 'Save us! For God's sake, save us!' - -The Foremost, who seemed to act as Guide, immediately reined in his -Steed. - -''Tis She! 'Tis She!' exclaimed He, springing upon the ground; 'Stop, -my Lord, stop! They are safe! 'Tis my Mother!' - -At the same moment Marguerite threw herself from her Horse, clasped him -in her arms, and covered him with Kisses. The other Cavaliers stopped -at the exclamation. - -'The Baroness Lindenberg?' cried another of the Strangers eagerly; -'Where is She? Is She not with you?' - -He stopped on beholding her lying senseless in my arms. Hastily He -caught her from me. The profound sleep in which She was plunged made -him at first tremble for her life; but the beating of her heart soon -reassured him. - -'God be thanked!' said He; 'She has escaped unhurt.' - -I interrupted his joy by pointing out the Brigands, who continued to -approach. No sooner had I mentioned them than the greatest part of the -Company, which appeared to be chiefly composed of soldiers, hastened -forward to meet them. The Villains stayed not to receive their attack: -Perceiving their danger they turned the heads of their Horses, and fled -into the wood, whither they were followed by our Preservers. In the -mean while the Stranger, whom I guessed to be the Baron Lindenberg, -after thanking me for my care of his Lady, proposed our returning with -all speed to the Town. The Baroness, on whom the effects of the opiate -had not ceased to operate, was placed before him; Marguerite and her -Son remounted their Horses; the Baron's Domestics followed, and we soon -arrived at the Inn, where He had taken his apartments. - -This was at the Austrian Eagle, where my Banker, whom before my -quitting Paris I had apprised of my intention to visit Strasbourg, had -prepared Lodgings for me. I rejoiced at this circumstance. It gave me -an opportunity of cultivating the Baron's acquaintance, which I foresaw -would be of use to me in Germany. Immediately upon our arrival the -Lady was conveyed to bed; A Physician was sent for, who prescribed a -medicine likely to counteract the effects of the sleepy potion, and -after it had been poured down her throat, She was committed to the care -of the Hostess. The Baron then addressed himself to me, and entreated -me to recount the particulars of this adventure. I complied with his -request instantaneously; for in pain respecting Stephano's fate, whom I -had been compelled to abandon to the cruelty of the Banditti, I found -it impossible for me to repose, till I had some news of him. I -received but too soon the intelligence, that my trusty Servant had -perished. The Soldiers who had pursued the Brigands returned while I -was employed in relating my adventure to the Baron. By their account I -found that the Robbers had been overtaken: Guilt and true courage are -incompatible; They had thrown themselves at the feet of their Pursuers, -had surrendered themselves without striking a blow, had discovered -their secret retreat, made known their signals by which the rest of the -Gang might be seized, and in short had betrayed ever mark of cowardice -and baseness. By this means the whole of the Band, consisting of near -sixty persons, had been made Prisoners, bound, and conducted to -Strasbourg. Some of the Soldiers hastened to the Cottage, One of the -Banditti serving them as Guide. Their first visit was to the fatal -Barn, where they were fortunate enough to find two of the Baron's -Servants still alive, though desperately wounded. The rest had expired -beneath the swords of the Robbers, and of these my unhappy Stephano was -one. - -Alarmed at our escape, the Robbers in their haste to overtake us, had -neglected to visit the Cottage. In consequence, the Soldiers found the -two Waiting-women unhurt, and buried in the same death-like slumber -which had overpowered their Mistress. There was nobody else found in -the Cottage, except a child not above four years old, which the -Soldiers brought away with them. We were busying ourselves with -conjectures respecting the birth of this little unfortunate, when -Marguerite rushed into the room with the Baby in her arms. She fell at -the feet of the Officer who was making us this report, and blessed him -a thousand times for the preservation of her Child. - -When the first burst of maternal tenderness was over, I besought her to -declare, by what means She had been united to a Man whose principles -seemed so totally discordant with her own. She bent her eyes -downwards, and wiped a few tears from her cheek. - -'Gentlemen,' said She after a silence of some minutes, 'I would request -a favour of you: You have a right to know on whom you confer an -obligation. I will not therefore stifle a confession which covers me -with shame; But permit me to comprise it in as few words as possible. - -'I was born in Strasbourg of respectable Parents; Their names I must at -present conceal: My Father still lives, and deserves not to be -involved in my infamy; If you grant my request, you shall be informed -of my family name. A Villain made himself Master of my affections, and -to follow him I quitted my Father's House. Yet though my passions -overpowered my virtue, I sank not into that degeneracy of vice, but too -commonly the lot of Women who make the first false step. I loved my -Seducer; dearly loved him! I was true to his Bed; this Baby, and the -Youth who warned you, my Lord Baron, of your Lady's danger, are the -pledges of our affection. Even at this moment I lament his loss, -though 'tis to him that I owe all the miseries of my existence. - -'He was of noble birth, but He had squandered away his paternal -inheritance. His Relations considered him as a disgrace to their name, -and utterly discarded him. His excesses drew upon him the indignation -of the Police. He was obliged to fly from Strasbourg, and saw no other -resource from beggary than an union with the Banditti who infested the -neighbouring Forest, and whose Troop was chiefly composed of Young Men -of family in the same predicament with himself. I was determined not -to forsake him. I followed him to the Cavern of the Brigands, and -shared with him the misery inseparable from a life of pillage. But -though I was aware that our existence was supported by plunder, I knew -not all the horrible circumstances attached to my Lover's profession. -These He concealed from me with the utmost care; He was conscious that -my sentiments were not sufficiently depraved to look without horror -upon assassination: He supposed, and with justice, that I should fly -with detestation from the embraces of a Murderer. Eight years of -possession had not abated his love for me; and He cautiously removed -from my knowledge every circumstance, which might lead me to suspect -the crimes in which He but too often participated. He succeeded -perfectly: It was not till after my Seducer's death, that I discovered -his hands to have been stained with the blood of innocence. - -'One fatal night He was brought back to the Cavern covered with wounds: -He received them in attacking an English Traveller, whom his Companions -immediately sacrificed to their resentment. He had only time to -entreat my pardon for all the sorrows which He had caused me: He -pressed my hand to his lips, and expired. My grief was inexpressible. -As soon as its violence abated, I resolved to return to Strasbourg, to -throw myself with my two Children at my Father's feet, and implore his -forgiveness, though I little hoped to obtain it. What was my -consternation when informed that no one entrusted with the secret of -their retreat was ever permitted to quit the troop of the Banditti; -That I must give up all hopes of ever rejoining society, and consent -instantly to accepting one of their Band for my Husband! My prayers -and remonstrances were vain. They cast lots to decide to whose -possession I should fall; I became the property of the infamous -Baptiste. A Robber, who had once been a Monk, pronounced over us a -burlesque rather than a religious Ceremony: I and my Children were -delivered into the hands of my new Husband, and He conveyed us -immediately to his home. - -'He assured me that He had long entertained for me the most ardent -regard; But that Friendship for my deceased Lover had obliged him to -stifle his desires. He endeavoured to reconcile me to my fate, and for -some time treated me with respect and gentleness: At length finding -that my aversion rather increased than diminished, He obtained those -favours by violence, which I persisted to refuse him. No resource -remained for me but to bear my sorrows with patience; I was conscious -that I deserved them but too well. Flight was forbidden: My Children -were in the power of Baptiste, and He had sworn that if I attempted to -escape, their lives should pay for it. I had had too many -opportunities of witnessing the barbarity of his nature to doubt his -fulfilling his oath to the very letter. Sad experience had convinced -me of the horrors of my situation: My first Lover had carefully -concealed them from me; Baptiste rather rejoiced in opening my eyes to -the cruelties of his profession, and strove to familiarise me with -blood and slaughter. - -'My nature was licentious and warm, but not cruel: My conduct had been -imprudent, but my heart was not unprincipled. Judge then what I must -have felt at being a continual witness of crimes the most horrible and -revolting! Judge how I must have grieved at being united to a Man who -received the unsuspecting Guest with an air of openness and -hospitality, at the very moment that He meditated his destruction. -Chagrin and discontent preyed upon my constitution: The few charms -bestowed on me by nature withered away, and the dejection of my -countenance denoted the sufferings of my heart. I was tempted a -thousand times to put an end to my existence; But the remembrance of my -Children held my hand. I trembled to leave my dear Boys in my Tyrant's -power, and trembled yet more for their virtue than their lives. The -Second was still too young to benefit by my instructions; But in the -heart of my Eldest I laboured unceasingly to plant those principles, -which might enable him to avoid the crimes of his Parents. He listened -to me with docility, or rather with eagerness. Even at his early age, -He showed that He was not calculated for the society of Villains; and -the only comfort which I enjoyed among my sorrows, was to witness the -dawning virtues of my Theodore. - -'Such was my situation, when the perfidy of Don Alphonso's postillion -conducted him to the Cottage. His youth, air, and manners interested -me most forcibly in his behalf. The absence of my Husband's Sons gave -me an opportunity which I had long wished to find, and I resolved to -risque every thing to preserve the Stranger. The vigilance of Baptiste -prevented me from warning Don Alphonso of his danger: I knew that my -betraying the secret would be immediately punished with death; and -however embittered was my life by calamities, I wanted courage to -sacrifice it for the sake of preserving that of another Person. My only -hope rested upon procuring succour from Strasbourg: At this I resolved -to try; and should an opportunity offer of warning Don Alphonso of his -danger unobserved, I was determined to seize it with avidity. By -Baptiste's orders I went upstairs to make the Stranger's Bed: I spread -upon it Sheets in which a Traveller had been murdered but a few nights -before, and which still were stained with blood. I hoped that these -marks would not escape the vigilance of our Guest, and that He would -collect from them the designs of my perfidious Husband. Neither was -this the only step which I took to preserve the Stranger. Theodore was -confined to his bed by illness. I stole into his room unobserved by my -Tyrant, communicated to him my project, and He entered into it with -eagerness. He rose in spite of his malady, and dressed himself with -all speed. I fastened one of the Sheets round his arms, and lowered -him from the Window. He flew to the Stable, took Claude's Horse, and -hastened to Strasbourg. Had He been accosted by the Banditti, He was -to have declared himself sent upon a message by Baptiste, but -fortunately He reached the Town without meeting any obstacle. -Immediately upon his arrival at Strasbourg, He entreated assistance -from the Magistrature: His Story passed from mouth to mouth, and at -length came to the knowledge of my Lord the Baron. Anxious for the -safety of his Lady, whom He knew would be upon the road that Evening, -it struck him that She might have fallen into the power of the Robbers. -He accompanied Theodore who guided the Soldiers towards the Cottage, -and arrived just in time to save us from falling once more into the -hands of our Enemies.' - -Here I interrupted Marguerite to enquire why the sleepy potion had been -presented to me. She said that Baptiste supposed me to have arms about -me, and wished to incapacitate me from making resistance: It was a -precaution which He always took, since as the Travellers had no hopes -of escaping, Despair would have incited them to sell their lives dearly. - -The Baron then desired Marguerite to inform him, what were her present -plans. I joined him in declaring my readiness to show my gratitude to -her for the preservation of my life. - -'Disgusted with a world,' She replied, 'in which I have met with -nothing but misfortunes, my only wish is to retire into a Convent. But -first I must provide for my Children. I find that my Mother is no -more, probably driven to an untimely grave by my desertion! My Father -is still living; He is not an hard Man; Perhaps, Gentlemen, in spite of -my ingratitude and imprudence, your intercessions may induce him to -forgive me, and to take charge of his unfortunate Grand-sons. If you -obtain this boon for me, you will repay my services a thousand-fold!' - -Both the Baron and myself assured Marguerite, that we would spare no -pains to obtain her pardon: and that even should her Father be -inflexible, She need be under no apprehensions respecting the fate of -her Children. I engaged myself to provide for Theodore, and the Baron -promised to take the youngest under his protection. - -The grateful Mother thanked us with tears for what She called -generosity, but which in fact was no more than a proper sense of our -obligations to her. She then left the room to put her little Boy to -bed, whom fatigue and sleep had compleatly overpowered. - -The Baroness, on recovering and being informed from what dangers I had -rescued her, set no bounds to the expressions of her gratitude. She -was joined so warmly by her Husband in pressing me to accompany them to -their Castle in Bavaria, that I found it impossible to resist their -entreaties. During a week which we passed at Strasbourg, the interests -of Marguerite were not forgotten: In our application to her Father we -succeeded as amply as we could wish. The good old Man had lost his -Wife: He had no Children but this unfortunate Daughter, of whom He had -received no news for almost fourteen years. He was surrounded by -distant Relations, who waited with impatience for his decease in order -to get possession of his money. When therefore Marguerite appeared -again so unexpectedly, He considered her as a gift from heaven: He -received her and her Children with open arms, and insisted upon their -establishing themselves in his House without delay. The disappointed -Cousins were obliged to give place. The old Man would not hear of his -Daughter's retiring into a Convent: He said that She was too necessary -to his happiness, and She was easily persuaded to relinquish her -design. But no persuasions could induce Theodore to give up the plan -which I had at first marked out for him. He had attached himself to me -most sincerely during my stay at Strasbourg; and when I was on the -point of leaving it, He besought me with tears to take him into my -service: He set forth all his little talents in the most favourable -colours, and tried to convince me that I should find him of infinite -use to me upon the road. I was unwilling to charge myself with a Lad -but scarcely turned of thirteen, whom I knew could only be a burthen to -me: However, I could not resist the entreaties of this affectionate -Youth, who in fact possessed a thousand estimable qualities. With some -difficulty He persuaded his relations to let him follow me, and that -permission once obtained, He was dubbed with the title of my Page. -Having passed a week at Strasbourg, Theodore and myself set out for -Bavaria in company with the Baron and his Lady. These Latter as well -as myself had forced Marguerite to accept several presents of value, -both for herself, and her youngest Son: On leaving her, I promised his -Mother faithfully that I would restore Theodore to her within the year. - -I have related this adventure at length, Lorenzo, that you might -understand the means by which 'The Adventurer, Alphonso d'Alvarada got -introduced into the Castle of Lindenberg.' Judge from this specimen -how much faith should be given to your Aunt's assertions! - - - -VOLUME II - - - -CHAPTER I - - Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the Earth hide thee! - Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold! - Thou hast no speculation in those eyes - Which Thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow! - Unreal mockery hence! - Macbeth. - -Continuation of the History of Don Raymond. - -My journey was uncommonly agreeable: I found the Baron a Man of some -sense, but little knowledge of the world. He had past a great part of -his life without stirring beyond the precincts of his own domains, and -consequently his manners were far from being the most polished: But He -was hearty, good-humoured, and friendly. His attention to me was all -that I could wish, and I had every reason to be satisfied with his -behaviour. His ruling passion was Hunting, which He had brought himself -to consider as a serious occupation; and when talking over some -remarkable chace, He treated the subject with as much gravity as it had -been a Battle on which the fate of two kingdoms was depending. I -happened to be a tolerable Sportsman: Soon after my arrival at -Lindenberg I gave some proofs of my dexterity. The Baron immediately -marked me down for a Man of Genius, and vowed to me an eternal -friendship. - -That friendship was become to me by no means indifferent. At the -Castle of Lindenberg I beheld for the first time your Sister, the -lovely Agnes. For me whose heart was unoccupied, and who grieved at -the void, to see her and to love her were the same. I found in Agnes -all that was requisite to secure my affection. She was then scarcely -sixteen; Her person light and elegant was already formed; She possessed -several talents in perfection, particularly those of Music and drawing: -Her character was gay, open, and good-humoured; and the graceful -simplicity of her dress and manners formed an advantageous contrast to -the art and studied Coquetry of the Parisian Dames, whom I had just -quitted. From the moment that I beheld her, I felt the most lively -interest in her fate. I made many enquiries respecting her of the -Baroness. - -'She is my Niece,' replied that Lady; 'You are still ignorant, Don -Alphonso, that I am your Countrywoman. I am Sister to the Duke of -Medina Celi: Agnes is the Daughter of my second Brother, Don Gaston: -She has been destined to the Convent from her cradle, and will soon -make her profession at Madrid.' - -(Here Lorenzo interrupted the Marquis by an exclamation of surprise. - -'Intended for the Convent from her cradle?' said He; 'By heaven, this -is the first word that I ever heard of such a design!' - -'I believe it, my dear Lorenzo,' answered Don Raymond; 'But you must -listen to me with patience. You will not be less surprised, when I -relate some particulars of your family still unknown to you, and which -I have learnt from the mouth of Agnes herself.' - -He then resumed his narrative as follows.) - -You cannot but be aware that your Parents were unfortunately Slaves to -the grossest superstition: When this foible was called into play, -their every other sentiment, their every other passion yielded to its -irresistible strength. While She was big with Agnes, your Mother was -seized by a dangerous illness, and given over by her Physicians. In -this situation, Donna Inesilla vowed, that if She recovered from her -malady, the Child then living in her bosom if a Girl should be -dedicated to St. Clare, if a Boy to St. Benedict. Her prayers were -heard; She got rid of her complaint; Agnes entered the world alive, and -was immediately destined to the service of St. Clare. - -Don Gaston readily chimed in with his Lady's wishes: But knowing the -sentiments of the Duke, his Brother, respecting a Monastic life, it was -determined that your Sister's destination should be carefully concealed -from him. The better to guard the secret, it was resolved that Agnes -should accompany her Aunt, Donna Rodolpha into Germany, whither that -Lady was on the point of following her new-married Husband, Baron -Lindenberg. On her arrival at that Estate, the young Agnes was put -into a Convent, situated but a few miles from the Castle. The Nuns to -whom her education was confided performed their charge with exactitude: -They made her a perfect Mistress of many talents, and strove to infuse -into her mind a taste for the retirement and tranquil pleasures of a -Convent. But a secret instinct made the young Recluse sensible that -She was not born for solitude: In all the freedom of youth and gaiety, -She scrupled not to treat as ridiculous many ceremonies which the Nuns -regarded with awe; and She was never more happy than when her lively -imagination inspired her with some scheme to plague the stiff Lady -Abbess, or the ugly ill-tempered old Porteress. She looked with -disgust upon the prospect before her: However no alternative was -offered to her, and She submitted to the decree of her Parents, though -not without secret repining. - -That repugnance She had not art enough to conceal long: Don Gaston was -informed of it. Alarmed, Lorenzo, lest your affection for her should -oppose itself to his projects, and lest you should positively object to -your Sister's misery, He resolved to keep the whole affair from YOUR -knowledge as well as the Duke's, till the sacrifice should be -consummated. The season of her taking the veil was fixed for the time -when you should be upon your travels: In the meanwhile no hint was -dropped of Donna Inesilla's fatal vow. Your Sister was never permitted -to know your direction. All your letters were read before She received -them, and those parts effaced, which were likely to nourish her -inclination for the world: Her answers were dictated either by her -Aunt, or by Dame Cunegonda, her Governess. These particulars I learnt -partly from Agnes, partly from the Baroness herself. - -I immediately determined upon rescuing this lovely Girl from a fate so -contrary to her inclinations, and ill-suited to her merit. I -endeavoured to ingratiate myself into her favour: I boasted of my -friendship and intimacy with you. She listened to me with avidity; She -seemed to devour my words while I spoke in your praise, and her eyes -thanked me for my affection to her Brother. My constant and unremitted -attention at length gained me her heart, and with difficulty I obliged -her to confess that She loved me. When however, I proposed her -quitting the Castle of Lindenberg, She rejected the idea in positive -terms. - -'Be generous, Alphonso,' She said; 'You possess my heart, but use not -the gift ignobly. Employ not your ascendancy over me in persuading me -to take a step, at which I should hereafter have to blush. I am young -and deserted: My Brother, my only Friend, is separated from me, and my -other Relations act with me as my Enemies. Take pity on my unprotected -situation. Instead of seducing me to an action which would cover me -with shame, strive rather to gain the affections of those who govern -me. The Baron esteems you. My Aunt, to others ever harsh proud and -contemptuous, remembers that you rescued her from the hands of -Murderers, and wears with you alone the appearance of kindness and -benignity. Try then your influence over my Guardians. If they consent -to our union my hand is yours: From your account of my Brother, I -cannot doubt your obtaining his approbation: And when they find the -impossibility of executing their design, I trust that my Parents will -excuse my disobedience, and expiate by some other sacrifice my Mother's -fatal vow.' - -From the first moment that I beheld Agnes, I had endeavoured to -conciliate the favour of her Relations. Authorised by the confession -of her regard, I redoubled my exertions. My principal Battery was -directed against the Baroness; It was easy to discover that her word -was law in the Castle: Her Husband paid her the most absolute -submission, and considered her as a superior Being. She was about -forty: In her youth She had been a Beauty; But her charms had been -upon that large scale which can but ill sustain the shock of years: -However She still possessed some remains of them. Her understanding -was strong and excellent when not obscured by prejudice, which -unluckily was but seldom the case. Her passions were violent: She -spared no pains to gratify them, and pursued with unremitting vengeance -those who opposed themselves to her wishes. The warmest of Friends, -the most inveterate of Enemies, such was the Baroness Lindenberg. - -I laboured incessantly to please her: Unluckily I succeeded but too -well. She seemed gratified by my attention, and treated me with a -distinction accorded by her to no one else. One of my daily -occupations was reading to her for several hours: Those hours I should -much rather have past with Agnes; But as I was conscious that -complaisance for her Aunt would advance our union, I submitted with a -good grace to the penance imposed upon me. Donna Rodolpha's Library -was principally composed of old Spanish Romances: These were her -favourite studies, and once a day one of these unmerciful Volumes was -put regularly into my hands. I read the wearisome adventures of -'Perceforest,' 'Tirante the White,' 'Palmerin of England,' and 'the -Knight of the Sun,' till the Book was on the point of falling from my -hands through Ennui. However, the increasing pleasure which the -Baroness seemed to take in my society, encouraged me to persevere; and -latterly She showed for me a partiality so marked, that Agnes advised -me to seize the first opportunity of declaring our mutual passion to -her Aunt. - -One Evening, I was alone with Donna Rodolpha in her own apartment. As -our readings generally treated of love, Agnes was never permitted to -assist at them. I was just congratulating myself on having finished -'The Loves of Tristan and the Queen Iseult----' - -'Ah! The Unfortunates!' cried the Baroness; 'How say you, Segnor? Do -you think it possible for Man to feel an attachment so disinterested -and sincere?' - -'I cannot doubt it,' replied I; 'My own heart furnishes me with the -certainty. Ah! Donna Rodolpha, might I but hope for your approbation -of my love! Might I but confess the name of my Mistress without -incurring your resentment!' - -She interrupted me. - -'Suppose, I were to spare you that confession? Suppose I were to -acknowledge that the object of your desires is not unknown to me? -Suppose I were to say that She returns your affection, and laments not -less sincerely than yourself the unhappy vows which separate her from -you?' - -'Ah! Donna Rodolpha!' I exclaimed, throwing myself upon my knees before -her, and pressing her hand to my lips, 'You have discovered my secret! -What is your decision? Must I despair, or may I reckon upon your -favour?' - -She withdrew not the hand which I held; But She turned from me, and -covered her face with the other. - -'How can I refuse it you?' She replied; 'Ah! Don Alphonso, I have long -perceived to whom your attentions were directed, but till now I -perceived not the impression which they made upon my heart. - -At length I can no longer hide my weakness either from myself or from -you. I yield to the violence of my passion, and own that I adore you! -For three long months I stifled my desires; But grown stronger by -resistance, I submit to their impetuosity. Pride, fear, and honour, -respect for myself, and my engagements to the Baron, all are -vanquished. I sacrifice them to my love for you, and it still seems to -me that I pay too mean a price for your possession.' - -She paused for an answer.--Judge, my Lorenzo, what must have been my -confusion at this discovery. I at once saw all the magnitude of this -obstacle, which I had raised myself to my happiness. The Baroness had -placed those attentions to her own account, which I had merely paid her -for the sake of Agnes: And the strength of her expressions, the looks -which accompanied them, and my knowledge of her revengeful disposition -made me tremble for myself and my Beloved. I was silent for some -minutes. I knew not how to reply to her declaration: I could only -resolve to clear up the mistake without delay, and for the present to -conceal from her knowledge the name of my Mistress. No sooner had She -avowed her passion than the transports which before were evident in my -features gave place to consternation and constraint. I dropped her -hand, and rose from my knees. The change in my countenance did not -escape her observation. - -'What means this silence?' said She in a trembling voice; 'Where is -that joy which you led me to expect?' - -'Forgive me, Segnora,' I answered, 'if what necessity forces from me -should seem harsh and ungrateful: To encourage you in an error, which, -however it may flatter myself, must prove to you the source of -disappointment, would make me appear criminal in every eye. Honour -obliges me to inform you that you have mistaken for the solicitude of -Love what was only the attention of Friendship. The latter sentiment -is that which I wished to excite in your bosom: To entertain a warmer, -respect for you forbids me, and gratitude for the Baron's generous -treatment. Perhaps these reasons would not be sufficient to shield me -from your attractions, were it not that my affections are already -bestowed upon another. You have charms, Segnora, which might captivate -the most insensible; No heart unoccupied could resist them. Happy is -it for me that mine is no longer in my possession; or I should have to -reproach myself for ever with having violated the Laws of Hospitality. -Recollect yourself, noble Lady; Recollect what is owed by you to -honour, by me to the Baron, and replace by esteem and friendship those -sentiments which I never can return.' - -The Baroness turned pale at this unexpected and positive declaration: -She doubted whether She slept or woke. At length recovering from her -surprise, consternation gave place to rage, and the blood rushed back -into her cheeks with violence. - -'Villain!' She cried; 'Monster of deceit! Thus is the avowal of my -love received? Is it thus that.... But no, no! It cannot, it -shall not be! Alphonso, behold me at your feet! Be witness of my -despair! Look with pity on a Woman who loves you with sincere -affection! She who possesses your heart, how has She merited such a -treasure? What sacrifice has She made to you? - -What raises her above Rodolpha?' - -I endeavoured to lift her from her Knees. - -'For God's sake, Segnora, restrain these transports: They disgrace -yourself and me. Your exclamations may be heard, and your secret -divulged to your Attendants. I see that my presence only irritates -you: permit me to retire.' - -I prepared to quit the apartment: The Baroness caught me suddenly by -the arm. - -'And who is this happy Rival?' said She in a menacing tone; 'I will -know her name, and WHEN I know it.... ! She is someone in my power; -You entreated my favour, my protection! Let me but find her, let me -but know who dares to rob me of your heart, and She shall suffer every -torment which jealousy and disappointment can inflict! Who is She? -Answer me this moment. Hope not to conceal her from my vengeance! -Spies shall be set over you; every step, every look shall be watched; -Your eyes will discover my Rival; I shall know her, and when She is -found, tremble, Alphonso for her and for yourself!' - -As She uttered these last words her fury mounted to such a pitch as to -stop her powers of respiration. She panted, groaned, and at length -fainted away. As She was falling I caught her in my arms, and placed -her upon a Sopha. Then hastening to the door, I summoned her Women to -her assistance; I committed her to their care, and seized the -opportunity of escaping. - -Agitated and confused beyond expression I bent my steps towards the -Garden. The benignity with which the Baroness had listened to me at -first raised my hopes to the highest pitch: I imagined her to have -perceived my attachment for her Niece, and to approve of it. Extreme -was my disappointment at understanding the true purport of her -discourse. I knew not what course to take: The superstition of the -Parents of Agnes, aided by her Aunt's unfortunate passion, seemed to -oppose such obstacles to our union as were almost insurmountable. - -As I past by a low parlour, whose windows looked into the Garden, -through the door which stood half open I observed Agnes seated at a -Table. She was occupied in drawing, and several unfinished sketches -were scattered round her. I entered, still undetermined whether I -should acquaint her with the declaration of the Baroness. - -'Oh! is it only you?' said She, raising her head; 'You are no Stranger, -and I shall continue my occupation without ceremony. Take a Chair, and -seat yourself by me.' - -I obeyed, and placed myself near the Table. Unconscious what I was -doing, and totally occupied by the scene which had just passed, I took -up some of the drawings, and cast my eye over them. One of the -subjects struck me from its singularity. It represented the great Hall -of the Castle of Lindenberg. A door conducting to a narrow staircase -stood half open. In the foreground appeared a Groupe of figures, -placed in the most grotesque attitudes; Terror was expressed upon every -countenance. - -Here was One upon his knees with his eyes cast up to heaven, and -praying most devoutly; There Another was creeping away upon all fours. -Some hid their faces in their cloaks or the laps of their Companions; -Some had concealed themselves beneath a Table, on which the remnants of -a feast were visible; While Others with gaping mouths and eyes -wide-stretched pointed to a Figure, supposed to have created this -disturbance. It represented a Female of more than human stature, -clothed in the habit of some religious order. Her face was veiled; On -her arm hung a chaplet of beads; Her dress was in several places -stained with the blood which trickled from a wound upon her bosom. In -one hand She held a Lamp, in the other a large Knife, and She seemed -advancing towards the iron gates of the Hall. - -'What does this mean, Agnes?' said I; 'Is this some invention of your -own?' - -She cast her eye upon the drawing. - -'Oh! no,' She replied; ''Tis the invention of much wiser heads than -mine. But can you possibly have lived at Lindenberg for three whole -Months without hearing of the Bleeding Nun?' - -'You are the first, who ever mentioned the name to me. Pray, who may -the Lady be?' - -'That is more than I can pretend to tell you. All my knowledge of her -History comes from an old tradition in this family, which has been -handed down from Father to Son, and is firmly credited throughout the -Baron's domains. Nay, the Baron believes it himself; and as for my -Aunt who has a natural turn for the marvellous, She would sooner doubt -the veracity of the Bible, than of the Bleeding Nun. Shall I tell you -this History?' - -I answered that She would oblige me much by relating it: She resumed -her drawing, and then proceeded as follows in a tone of burlesqued -gravity. - -'It is surprising that in all the Chronicles of past times, this -remarkable Personage is never once mentioned. Fain would I recount to -you her life; But unluckily till after her death She was never known to -have existed. Then first did She think it necessary to make some noise -in the world, and with that intention She made bold to seize upon the -Castle of Lindenberg. Having a good taste, She took up her abode in the -best room of the House: and once established there, She began to amuse -herself by knocking about the tables and chairs in the middle of the -night. Perhaps She was a bad Sleeper, but this I have never been able -to ascertain. According to the tradition, this entertainment commenced -about a Century ago. It was accompanied with shrieking, howling, -groaning, swearing, and many other agreeable noises of the same kind. -But though one particular room was more especially honoured with her -visits, She did not entirely confine herself to it. She occasionally -ventured into the old Galleries, paced up and down the spacious Halls, -or sometimes stopping at the doors of the Chambers, She wept and wailed -there to the universal terror of the Inhabitants. In these nocturnal -excursions She was seen by different People, who all describe her -appearance as you behold it here, traced by the hand of her unworthy -Historian.' - -The singularity of this account insensibly engaged my attention. - -'Did She never speak to those who met her?' said I. - -'Not She. The specimens indeed, which She gave nightly of her talents -for conversation, were by no means inviting. Sometimes the Castle rung -with oaths and execrations: A Moment after She repeated her -Paternoster: Now She howled out the most horrible blasphemies, and then -chaunted De Profundis, as orderly as if still in the Choir. In short -She seemed a mighty capricious Being: But whether She prayed or -cursed, whether She was impious or devout, She always contrived to -terrify her Auditors out of their senses. The Castle became scarcely -habitable; and its Lord was so frightened by these midnight Revels, -that one fine morning He was found dead in his bed. This success -seemed to please the Nun mightily, for now She made more noise than -ever. But the next Baron proved too cunning for her. He made his -appearance with a celebrated Exorciser in his hand, who feared not to -shut himself up for a night in the haunted Chamber. There it seems -that He had an hard battle with the Ghost, before She would promise to -be quiet. She was obstinate, but He was more so, and at length She -consented to let the Inhabitants of the Castle take a good night's -rest. For some time after no news was heard of her. But at the end of -five years the Exorciser died, and then the Nun ventured to peep abroad -again. However, She was now grown much more tractable and -well-behaved. She walked about in silence, and never made her -appearance above once in five years. This custom, if you will believe -the Baron, She still continues. He is fully persuaded, that on the -fifth of May of every fifth year, as soon as the Clock strikes One, the -Door of the haunted Chamber opens. (Observe, that this room has been -shut up for near a Century.) Then out walks the Ghostly Nun with her -Lamp and dagger: She descends the staircase of the Eastern Tower; and -crosses the great Hall! On that night the Porter always leaves the -Gates of the Castle open, out of respect to the Apparition: Not that -this is thought by any means necessary, since She could easily whip -through the Keyhole if She chose it; But merely out of politeness, and -to prevent her from making her exit in a way so derogatory to the -dignity of her Ghost-ship.' - -'And whither does She go on quitting the Castle?' - -'To Heaven, I hope; But if She does, the place certainly is not to her -taste, for She always returns after an hour's absence. The Lady then -retires to her chamber, and is quiet for another five years.' - -'And you believe this, Agnes?' - -'How can you ask such a question? No, no, Alphonso! I have too much -reason to lament superstition's influence to be its Victim myself. -However I must not avow my incredulity to the Baroness: She entertains -not a doubt of the truth of this History. As to Dame Cunegonda, my -Governess, She protests that fifteen years ago She saw the Spectre with -her own eyes. She related to me one evening how She and several other -Domestics had been terrified while at Supper by the appearance of the -Bleeding Nun, as the Ghost is called in the Castle: 'Tis from her -account that I drew this sketch, and you may be certain that Cunegonda -was not omitted. There She is! I shall never forget what a passion -She was in, and how ugly She looked while She scolded me for having -made her picture so like herself!' - -Here She pointed to a burlesque figure of an old Woman in an attitude -of terror. - -In spite of the melancholy which oppressed me, I could not help smiling -at the playful imagination of Agnes: She had perfectly preserved Dame -Cunegonda's resemblance, but had so much exaggerated every fault, and -rendered every feature so irresistibly laughable, that I could easily -conceive the Duenna's anger. - -'The figure is admirable, my dear Agnes! I knew not that you possessed -such talents for the ridiculous.' - -'Stay a moment,' She replied; 'I will show you a figure still more -ridiculous than Dame Cunegonda's. If it pleases you, you may dispose -of it as seems best to yourself.' - -She rose, and went to a Cabinet at some little distance. Unlocking a -drawer, She took out a small case, which She opened, and presented to -me. - -'Do you know the resemblance?' said She smiling. - -It was her own. - -Transported at the gift, I pressed the portrait to my lips with -passion: I threw myself at her feet, and declared my gratitude in the -warmest and most affectionate terms. She listened to me with -complaisance, and assured me that She shared my sentiments: When -suddenly She uttered a loud shriek, disengaged the hand which I held, -and flew from the room by a door which opened to the Garden. Amazed at -this abrupt departure, I rose hastily from my knees. I beheld with -confusion the Baroness standing near me glowing with jealousy, and -almost choaked with rage. On recovering from her swoon, She had -tortured her imagination to discover her concealed Rival. No one -appeared to deserve her suspicions more than Agnes. She immediately -hastened to find her Niece, tax her with encouraging my addresses, and -assure herself whether her conjectures were well-grounded. -Unfortunately She had already seen enough to need no other -confirmation. She arrived at the door of the room at the precise -moment, when Agnes gave me her Portrait. She heard me profess an -everlasting attachment to her Rival, and saw me kneeling at her feet. -She advanced to separate us; We were too much occupied by each other to -perceive her approach, and were not aware of it, till Agnes beheld her -standing by my side. - -Rage on the part of Donna Rodolpha, embarrassment on mine, for some -time kept us both silent. The Lady recovered herself first. - -'My suspicions then were just,' said She; 'The Coquetry of my Niece has -triumphed, and 'tis to her that I am sacrificed. In one respect -however I am fortunate: I shall not be the only one who laments a -disappointed passion. You too shall know, what it is to love without -hope! I daily expect orders for restoring Agnes to her Parents. -Immediately upon her arrival in Spain, She will take the veil, and -place an insuperable barrier to your union. You may spare your -supplications.' She continued, perceiving me on the point of speaking; -'My resolution is fixed and immoveable. Your Mistress shall remain a -close Prisoner in her chamber till She exchanges this Castle for the -Cloister. Solitude will perhaps recall her to a sense of her duty: But -to prevent your opposing that wished event, I must inform you, Don -Alphonso, that your presence here is no longer agreeable either to the -Baron or Myself. It was not to talk nonsense to my Niece that your -Relations sent you to Germany: Your business was to travel, and I -should be sorry to impede any longer so excellent a design. Farewell, -Segnor; Remember, that tomorrow morning we meet for the last time.' - -Having said this, She darted upon me a look of pride, contempt, and -malice, and quitted the apartment. I also retired to mine, and -consumed the night in planning the means of rescuing Agnes from the -power of her tyrannical Aunt. - -After the positive declaration of its Mistress, it was impossible for -me to make a longer stay at the Castle of Lindenberg. Accordingly I the -next day announced my immediate departure. The Baron declared that it -gave him sincere pain; and He expressed himself in my favour so warmly, -that I endeavoured to win him over to my interest. Scarcely had I -mentioned the name of Agnes when He stopped me short, and said, that it -was totally out of his power to interfere in the business. I saw that -it was in vain to argue; The Baroness governed her Husband with -despotic sway, and I easily perceived that She had prejudiced him -against the match. Agnes did not appear: I entreated permission to -take leave of her, but my prayer was rejected. I was obliged to depart -without seeing her. - -At quitting him the Baron shook my hand affectionately, and assured me -that as soon as his Niece was gone, I might consider his House as my -own. - -'Farewell, Don Alphonso!' said the Baroness, and stretched out her hand -to me. - -I took it, and offered to carry it to my lips. She prevented me. - -Her Husband was at the other end of the room, and out of hearing. - -'Take care of yourself,' She continued; 'My love is become hatred, and -my wounded pride shall not be unatoned. Go where you will, my -vengeance shall follow you!' - -She accompanied these words with a look sufficient to make me tremble. -I answered not, but hastened to quit the Castle. - -As my Chaise drove out of the Court, I looked up to the windows of your -Sister's chamber. Nobody was to be seen there: I threw myself back -despondent in my Carriage. I was attended by no other servants than a -Frenchman whom I had hired at Strasbourg in Stephano's room, and my -little Page whom I before mentioned to you. The fidelity, -intelligence, and good temper of Theodore had already made him dear to -me; But He now prepared to lay an obligation on me, which made me look -upon him as a Guardian Genius. Scarcely had we proceeded half a mile -from the Castle, when He rode up to the Chaise-door. - -'Take courage, Segnor!' said He in Spanish, which He had already learnt -to speak with fluency and correctness. 'While you were with the Baron, -I watched the moment when Dame Cunegonda was below stairs, and mounted -into the chamber over that of Donna Agnes. I sang as loud as I could a -little German air well-known to her, hoping that She would recollect my -voice. I was not disappointed, for I soon heard her window open. I -hastened to let down a string with which I had provided myself: Upon -hearing the casement closed again, I drew up the string, and fastened -to it I found this scrap of paper.' - -He then presented me with a small note addressed to me. I opened it -with impatience: It contained the following words written in pencil: - -Conceal yourself for the next fortnight in some neighbouring Village. -My Aunt will believe you to have quitted Lindenberg, and I shall be -restored to liberty. I will be in the West Pavilion at twelve on the -night of the thirtieth. Fail not to be there, and we shall have an -opportunity of concerting our future plans. Adieu. -Agnes. - -At perusing these lines my transports exceeded all bounds; Neither did -I set any to the expressions of gratitude which I heaped upon Theodore. -In fact his address and attention merited my warmest praise. You will -readily believe that I had not entrusted him with my passion for Agnes; -But the arch Youth had too much discernment not to discover my secret, -and too much discretion not to conceal his knowledge of it. He -observed in silence what was going on, nor strove to make himself an -Agent in the business till my interests required his interference. I -equally admired his judgment, his penetration, his address, and his -fidelity. This was not the first occasion in which I had found him of -infinite use, and I was every day more convinced of his quickness and -capacity. During my short stay at Strasbourg, He had applied himself -diligently to learning the rudiments of Spanish: He continued to study -it, and with so much success that He spoke it with the same facility as -his native language. He past the greatest part of his time in reading; -He had acquired much information for his Age; and united the advantages -of a lively countenance and prepossessing figure to an excellent -understanding and the very best of hearts. He is now fifteen; He is -still in my service, and when you see him, I am sure that He will -please you. But excuse this digression: I return to the subject which -I quitted. - -I obeyed the instructions of Agnes. I proceeded to Munich. There I -left my Chaise under the care of Lucas, my French Servant, and then -returned on Horseback to a small Village about four miles distant from -the Castle of Lindenberg. Upon arriving there a story was related to -the Host at whose Inn I descended, which prevented his wondering at my -making so long a stay in his House. The old Man fortunately was -credulous and incurious: He believed all I said, and sought to know no -more than what I thought proper to tell him. Nobody was with me but -Theodore; Both were disguised, and as we kept ourselves close, we were -not suspected to be other than what we seemed. In this manner the -fortnight passed away. During that time I had the pleasing conviction -that Agnes was once more at liberty. She past through the Village with -Dame Cunegonda: She seemed in health and spirits, and talked to her -Companion without any appearance of constraint. - -'Who are those Ladies?' said I to my Host, as the Carriage past. - -'Baron Lindenberg's Niece with her Governess,' He replied; 'She goes -regularly every Friday to the Convent of St. Catharine, in which She -was brought up, and which is situated about a mile from hence.' - -You may be certain that I waited with impatience for the ensuing -Friday. I again beheld my lovely Mistress. She cast her eyes upon me, -as She passed the Inn-door. A blush which overspread her cheek told me -that in spite of my disguise I had been recognised. I bowed -profoundly. She returned the compliment by a slight inclination of the -head as if made to one inferior, and looked another way till the -Carriage was out of sight. - -The long-expected, long-wished for night arrived. It was calm, and the -Moon was at the full. As soon as the Clock struck eleven I hastened to -my appointment, determined not to be too late. Theodore had provided a -Ladder; I ascended the Garden wall without difficulty; The Page -followed me, and drew the Ladder after us. I posted myself in the West -Pavilion, and waited impatiently for the approach of Agnes. Every -breeze that whispered, every leaf that fell, I believed to be her -footstep, and hastened to meet her. Thus was I obliged to pass a full -hour, every minute of which appeared to me an age. The Castle Bell at -length tolled twelve, and scarcely could I believe the night to be no -further advanced. Another quarter of an hour elapsed, and I heard the -light foot of my Mistress approaching the Pavilion with precaution. I -flew to receive her, and conducted her to a seat. I threw myself at -her feet, and was expressing my joy at seeing her, when She thus -interrupted me. - -'We have no time to lose, Alphonso: The moments are precious, for -though no more a Prisoner, Cunegonda watches my every step. An express -is arrived from my Father; I must depart immediately for Madrid, and -'tis with difficulty that I have obtained a week's delay. The -superstition of my Parents, supported by the representations of my -cruel Aunt, leaves me no hope of softening them to compassion. In this -dilemma I have resolved to commit myself to your honour: God grant -that you may never give me cause to repent my resolution! Flight is my -only resource from the horrors of a Convent, and my imprudence must be -excused by the urgency of the danger. Now listen to the plan by which -I hope to effect my escape. - -'We are now at the thirtieth of April. On the fifth day from this the -Visionary Nun is expected to appear. In my last visit to the Convent I -provided myself with a dress proper for the character: A Friend, whom -I have left there and to whom I made no scruple to confide my secret, -readily consented to supply me with a religious habit. Provide a -carriage, and be with it at a little distance from the great Gate of -the Castle. As soon as the Clock strikes 'one,' I shall quit my -chamber, drest in the same apparel as the Ghost is supposed to wear. -Whoever meets me will be too much terrified to oppose my escape. I -shall easily reach the door, and throw myself under your protection. -Thus far success is certain: But Oh! Alphonso, should you deceive me! -Should you despise my imprudence and reward it with ingratitude, the -World will not hold a Being more wretched than myself! I feel all the -dangers to which I shall be exposed. I feel that I am giving you a -right to treat me with levity: But I rely upon your love, upon your -honour! The step which I am on the point of taking, will incense my -Relations against me: Should you desert me, should you betray the -trust reposed in you, I shall have no friend to punish your insult, or -support my cause. On yourself alone rests all my hope, and if your own -heart does not plead in my behalf, I am undone for ever!' - -The tone in which She pronounced these words was so touching, that in -spite of my joy at receiving her promise to follow me, I could not help -being affected. I also repined in secret at not having taken the -precaution to provide a Carriage at the Village, in which case I might -have carried off Agnes that very night. Such an attempt was now -impracticable: Neither Carriage or Horses were to be procured nearer -than Munich, which was distant from Lindenberg two good days journey. -I was therefore obliged to chime in with her plan, which in truth -seemed well arranged: Her disguise would secure her from being stopped -in quitting the Castle, and would enable her to step into the Carriage -at the very Gate without difficulty or losing time. - -Agnes reclined her head mournfully upon my shoulder, and by the light -of the Moon I saw tears flowing down her cheek. I strove to dissipate -her melancholy, and encouraged her to look forward to the prospect of -happiness. I protested in the most solemn terms that her virtue and -innocence would be safe in my keeping, and that till the church had -made her my lawful Wife, her honour should be held by me as sacred as a -Sister's. I told her that my first care should be to find you out, -Lorenzo, and reconcile you to our union; and I was continuing to speak -in the same strain, when a noise without alarmed me. Suddenly the door -of the Pavilion was thrown open, and Cunegonda stood before us. She -had heard Agnes steal out of her chamber, followed her into the Garden, -and perceived her entering the Pavilion. Favoured by the Trees which -shaded it, and unperceived by Theodore who waited at a little distance, -She had approached in silence, and overheard our whole conversation. - -'Admirable!' cried Cunegonda in a voice shrill with passion, while -Agnes uttered a loud shriek; 'By St. Barbara, young Lady, you have an -excellent invention! You must personate the Bleeding Nun, truly? What -impiety! What incredulity! Marry, I have a good mind to let you -pursue your plan: When the real Ghost met you, I warrant, you would be -in a pretty condition! Don Alphonso, you ought to be ashamed of -yourself for seducing a young ignorant Creature to leave her family and -Friends: However, for this time at least I shall mar your wicked -designs. The noble Lady shall be informed of the whole affair, and -Agnes must defer playing the Spectre till a better opportunity. -Farewell, Segnor-- Donna Agnes, let me have the honour of conducting -your Ghost-ship back to your apartment.' - -She approached the Sopha on which her trembling Pupil was seated, took -her by the hand, and prepared to lead her from the Pavilion. - -I detained her, and strove by entreaties, soothing, promises, and -flattery to win her to my party: But finding all that I could say of -no avail, I abandoned the vain attempt. - -'Your obstinacy must be its own punishment,' said I; 'But one resource -remains to save Agnes and myself, and I shall not hesitate to employ -it.' - -Terrified at this menace, She again endeavoured to quit the Pavilion; -But I seized her by the wrist, and detained her forcibly. At the same -moment Theodore, who had followed her into the room, closed the door, -and prevented her escape. I took the veil of Agnes: I threw it round -the Duenna's head, who uttered such piercing shrieks that in spite of -our distance from the Castle, I dreaded their being heard. At length I -succeeded in gagging her so compleatly that She could not produce a -single sound. Theodore and myself with some difficulty next contrived -to bind her hands and feet with our handkerchiefs; And I advised Agnes -to regain her chamber with all diligence. I promised that no harm -should happen to Cunegonda, bad her remember that on the fifth of May I -should be in waiting at the Great Gate of the Castle, and took of her -an affectionate farewell. Trembling and uneasy She had scarce power -enough to signify her consent to my plans, and fled back to her -apartment in disorder and confusion. - -In the meanwhile Theodore assisted me in carrying off my antiquated -Prize. She was hoisted over the wall, placed before me upon my Horse -like a Portmanteau, and I galloped away with her from the Castle of -Lindenberg. The unlucky Duenna never had made a more disagreeable -journey in her life: She was jolted and shaken till She was become -little more than an animated Mummy; not to mention her fright when we -waded through a small River through which it was necessary to pass in -order to regain the Village. Before we reached the Inn, I had already -determined how to dispose of the troublesome Cunegonda. We entered the -Street in which the Inn stood, and while the page knocked, I waited at -a little distance. The Landlord opened the door with a Lamp in his -hand. - -'Give me the light!' said Theodore; 'My Master is coming.' - -He snatched the Lamp hastily, and purposely let it fall upon the -ground: The Landlord returned to the Kitchen to re-light the Lamp, -leaving the door open. I profited by the obscurity, sprang from my -Horse with Cunegonda in my arms, darted up stairs, reached my chamber -unperceived, and unlocking the door of a spacious Closet, stowed her -within it, and then turned the Key. The Landlord and Theodore soon -after appeared with lights: The Former expressed himself a little -surprised at my returning so late, but asked no impertinent questions. -He soon quitted the room, and left me to exult in the success of my -undertaking. - -I immediately paid a visit to my Prisoner. I strove to persuade her -submitting with patience to her temporary confinement. My attempt was -unsuccessful. Unable to speak or move, She expressed her fury by her -looks, and except at meals I never dared to unbind her, or release her -from the Gag. At such times I stood over her with a drawn sword, and -protested, that if She uttered a single cry, I would plunge it in her -bosom. As soon as She had done eating, the Gag was replaced. I was -conscious that this proceeding was cruel, and could only be justified -by the urgency of circumstances: As to Theodore, He had no scruples -upon the subject. Cunegonda's captivity entertained him beyond -measure. During his abode in the Castle, a continual warfare had been -carried on between him and the Duenna; and now that He found his Enemy -so absolutely in his power, He triumphed without mercy. He seemed to -think of nothing but how to find out new means of plaguing her: -Sometimes He affected to pity her misfortune, then laughed at, abused, -and mimicked her; He played her a thousand tricks, each more provoking -than the other, and amused himself by telling her that her elopement -must have occasioned much surprise at the Baron's. This was in fact -the case. No one except Agnes could imagine what was become of Dame -Cunegonda: Every hole and corner was searched for her; The Ponds were -dragged, and the Woods underwent a thorough examination. Still no Dame -Cunegonda made her appearance. Agnes kept the secret, and I kept the -Duenna: The Baroness, therefore, remained in total ignorance -respecting the old Woman's fate, but suspected her to have perished by -suicide. Thus past away five days, during which I had prepared every -thing necessary for my enterprise. On quitting Agnes, I had made it my -first business to dispatch a Peasant with a letter to Lucas at Munich, -ordering him to take care that a Coach and four should arrive about ten -o'clock on the fifth of May at the Village of Rosenwald. He obeyed my -instructions punctually: The Equipage arrived at the time appointed. -As the period of her Lady's elopement drew nearer, Cunegonda's rage -increased. I verily believe that spight and passion would have killed -her, had I not luckily discovered her prepossession in favour of Cherry -Brandy. With this favourite liquor She was plentifully supplied, and -Theodore always remaining to guard her, the Gag was occasionally -removed. The liquor seemed to have a wonderful effect in softening the -acrimony of her nature; and her confinement not admitting of any other -amusement, She got drunk regularly once a day just by way of passing -the time. - -The fifth of May arrived, a period by me never to be forgotten! Before -the Clock struck twelve, I betook myself to the scene of action. -Theodore followed me on horseback. I concealed the Carriage in a -spacious Cavern of the Hill, on whose brow the Castle was situated: -This Cavern was of considerable depth, and among the peasants was known -by the name of Lindenberg Hole. The night was calm and beautiful: The -Moonbeams fell upon the antient Towers of the Castle, and shed upon -their summits a silver light. All was still around me: Nothing was to -be heard except the night breeze sighing among the leaves, the distant -barking of Village Dogs, or the Owl who had established herself in a -nook of the deserted Eastern Turret. I heard her melancholy shriek, -and looked upwards. She sat upon the ride of a window, which I -recognized to be that of the haunted Room. This brought to my -remembrance the story of the Bleeding Nun, and I sighed while I -reflected on the influence of superstition and weakness of human -reason. Suddenly I heard a faint chorus steal upon the silence of the -night. - -'What can occasion that noise, Theodore?' - -'A Stranger of distinction,' replied He, 'passed through the Village -today in his way to the Castle: He is reported to be the Father of -Donna Agnes. Doubtless, the Baron has given an entertainment to -celebrate his arrival.' - -The Castle Bell announced the hour of midnight: This was the usual -signal for the family to retire to Bed. Soon after I perceived lights -in the Castle moving backwards and forwards in different directions. I -conjectured the company to be separating. I could hear the heavy doors -grate as they opened with difficulty, and as they closed again the -rotten Casements rattled in their frames. The chamber of Agnes was on -the other side of the Castle. I trembled lest She should have failed -in obtaining the Key of the haunted Room: Through this it was -necessary for her to pass in order to reach the narrow Staircase by -which the Ghost was supposed to descend into the great Hall. Agitated -by this apprehension, I kept my eyes constantly fixed upon the window, -where I hoped to perceive the friendly glare of a Lamp borne by Agnes. -I now heard the massy Gates unbarred. By the candle in his hand I -distinguished old Conrad, the Porter. He set the Portal doors wide -open, and retired. The lights in the Castle gradually disappeared, and -at length the whole Building was wrapt in darkness. - -While I sat upon a broken ridge of the Hill, the stillness of the scene -inspired me with melancholy ideas not altogether unpleasing. The -Castle which stood full in my sight, formed an object equally awful and -picturesque. Its ponderous Walls tinged by the moon with solemn -brightness, its old and partly-ruined Towers lifting themselves into -the clouds and seeming to frown on the plains around them, its lofty -battlements oergrown with ivy, and folding Gates expanding in honour of -the Visionary Inhabitant, made me sensible of a sad and reverential -horror. Yet did not these sensations occupy me so fully, as to prevent -me from witnessing with impatience the slow progress of time. I -approached the Castle, and ventured to walk round it. A few rays of -light still glimmered in the chamber of Agnes. I observed them with -joy. I was still gazing upon them, when I perceived a figure draw near -the window, and the Curtain was carefully closed to conceal the Lamp -which burned there. Convinced by this observation that Agnes had not -abandoned our plan, I returned with a light heart to my former station. - -The half-hour struck! The three-quarters struck! My bosom beat high -with hope and expectation. At length the wished-for sound was heard. -The Bell tolled 'One,' and the Mansion echoed with the noise loud and -solemn. I looked up to the Casement of the haunted Chamber. Scarcely -had five minutes elapsed, when the expected light appeared. I was now -close to the Tower. The window was not so far from the Ground but that -I fancied I perceived a female figure with a Lamp in her hand moving -slowly along the Apartment. The light soon faded away, and all was -again dark and gloomy. - -Occasional gleams of brightness darted from the Staircase windows as -the lovely Ghost past by them. I traced the light through the Hall: -It reached the Portal, and at length I beheld Agnes pass through the -folding gates. She was habited exactly as She had described the -Spectre. A chaplet of Beads hung upon her arm; her head was enveloped -in a long white veil; Her Nun's dress was stained with blood, and She -had taken care to provide herself with a Lamp and dagger. She advanced -towards the spot where I stood. I flew to meet her, and clasped her in -my arms. - - 'Agnes!' said I while I pressed her to my bosom, - Agnes! Agnes! Thou art mine! - Agnes! Agnes! I am thine! - In my veins while blood shall roll, - Thou art mine! - I am thine! - Thine my body! Thine my soul! - -Terrified and breathless She was unable to speak: She dropt her Lamp -and dagger, and sank upon my bosom in silence. I raised her in my -arms, and conveyed her to the Carriage. Theodore remained behind in -order to release Dame Cunegonda. I also charged him with a letter to -the Baroness explaining the whole affair, and entreating her good -offices in reconciling Don Gaston to my union with his Daughter. I -discovered to her my real name: I proved to her that my birth and -expectations justified my pretending to her Niece, and assured her, -though it was out of my power to return her love, that I would strive -unceasingly to obtain her esteem and friendship. - -I stepped into the Carriage, where Agnes was already seated. Theodore -closed the door, and the Postillions drove away. At first I was -delighted with the rapidity of our progress; But as soon as we were in -no danger of pursuit, I called to the Drivers, and bad them moderate -their pace. They strove in vain to obey me. The Horses refused to -answer the rein, and continued to rush on with astonishing swiftness. -The Postillions redoubled their efforts to stop them, but by kicking -and plunging the Beasts soon released themselves from this restraint. -Uttering a loud shriek, the Drivers were hurled upon the ground. -Immediately thick clouds obscured the sky: The winds howled around us, -the lightning flashed, and the Thunder roared tremendously. Never did -I behold so frightful a Tempest! Terrified by the jar of contending -elements, the Horses seemed every moment to increase their speed. -Nothing could interrupt their career; They dragged the Carriage through -Hedges and Ditches, dashed down the most dangerous precipices, and -seemed to vye in swiftness with the rapidity of the winds. - -All this while my Companion lay motionless in my arms. Truly alarmed -by the magnitude of the danger, I was in vain attempting to recall her -to her senses; when a loud crash announced, that a stop was put to our -progress in the most disagreeable manner. The Carriage was shattered to -pieces. In falling I struck my temple against a flint. The pain of -the wound, the violence of the shock, and apprehension for the safety -of Agnes combined to overpower me so compleatly, that my senses forsook -me, and I lay without animation on the ground. - -I probably remained for some time in this situation, since when I -opened my eyes, it was broad daylight. Several Peasants were standing -round me, and seemed disputing whether my recovery was possible. I -spoke German tolerably well. As soon as I could utter an articulate -sound, I enquired after Agnes. What was my surprise and distress, when -assured by the Peasants, that nobody had been seen answering the -description which I gave of her! They told me that in going to their -daily labour they had been alarmed by observing the fragments of my -Carriage, and by hearing the groans of an Horse, the only one of the -four which remained alive: The other Three lay dead by my side. Nobody -was near me when they came up, and much time had been lost, before they -succeeded in recovering me. Uneasy beyond expression respecting the -fate of my Companion, I besought the Peasants to disperse themselves in -search of her: I described her dress, and promised immense rewards to -whoever brought me any intelligence. As for myself, it was impossible -for me to join in the pursuit: I had broken two of my ribs in the fall: -My arm being dislocated hung useless by my side; and my left leg was -shattered so terribly, that I never expected to recover its use. - -The Peasants complied with my request: All left me except Four, who -made a litter of boughs and prepared to convey me to the neighbouring -Town. I enquired its name. It proved to be Ratisbon, and I could -scarcely persuade myself that I had travelled to such a distance in a -single night. I told the Countrymen that at one o'clock that morning I -had past through the Village of Rosenwald. They shook their heads -wistfully, and made signs to each other that I must certainly be -delirious. I was conveyed to a decent Inn and immediately put to bed. -A Physician was sent for, who set my arm with success. He then -examined my other hurts, and told me that I need be under no -apprehension of the consequences of any of them; But ordered me to keep -myself quiet, and be prepared for a tedious and painful cure. I -answered him that if He hoped to keep me quiet, He must first endeavour -to procure me some news of a Lady who had quitted Rosenwald in my -company the night before, and had been with me at the moment when the -Coach broke down. He smiled, and only replied by advising me to make -myself easy, for that all proper care should be taken of me. As He -quitted me, the Hostess met him at the door of the room. - -'The Gentleman is not quite in his right senses;' I heard him say to -her in a low voice; ''Tis the natural consequence of his fall, but that -will soon be over.' - -One after another the Peasants returned to the Inn, and informed me -that no traces had been discovered of my unfortunate Mistress. - -Uneasiness now became despair. I entreated them to renew their search -in the most urgent terms, doubling the promises which I had already -made them. My wild and frantic manner confirmed the bye-standers in -the idea of my being delirious. No signs of the Lady having appeared, -they believed her to be a creature fabricated by my over-heated brain, -and paid no attention to my entreaties. However, the Hostess assured -me that a fresh enquiry should be made, but I found afterwards that her -promise was only given to quiet me. No further steps were taken in the -business. - -Though my Baggage was left at Munich under the care of my French -Servant, having prepared myself for a long journey, my purse was amply -furnished: Besides my equipage proved me to be of distinction, and in -consequence all possible attention was paid me at the Inn. The day -passed away: Still no news arrived of Agnes. The anxiety of fear now -gave place to despondency. I ceased to rave about her and was plunged -in the depth of melancholy reflections. Perceiving me to be silent and -tranquil, my Attendants believed my delirium to have abated, and that -my malady had taken a favourable turn. According to the Physician's -order I swallowed a composing medicine; and as soon as the night shut -in, my attendants withdrew and left me to repose. - -That repose I wooed in vain. The agitation of my bosom chased away -sleep. Restless in my mind, in spite of the fatigue of my body, I -continued to toss about from side to side, till the Clock in a -neighbouring Steeple struck 'One.' As I listened to the mournful -hollow sound, and heard it die away in the wind, I felt a sudden -chillness spread itself over my body. I shuddered without knowing -wherefore; Cold dews poured down my forehead, and my hair stood -bristling with alarm. Suddenly I heard slow and heavy steps ascending -the staircase. By an involuntary movement I started up in my bed, and -drew back the curtain. A single rush-light which glimmered upon the -hearth shed a faint gleam through the apartment, which was hung with -tapestry. The door was thrown open with violence. A figure entered, -and drew near my Bed with solemn measured steps. With trembling -apprehension I examined this midnight Visitor. God Almighty! It was -the Bleeding Nun! It was my lost Companion! Her face was still -veiled, but She no longer held her Lamp and dagger. She lifted up her -veil slowly. What a sight presented itself to my startled eyes! I -beheld before me an animated Corse. Her countenance was long and -haggard; Her cheeks and lips were bloodless; The paleness of death was -spread over her features, and her eyeballs fixed stedfastly upon me -were lustreless and hollow. - -I gazed upon the Spectre with horror too great to be described. My -blood was frozen in my veins. I would have called for aid, but the -sound expired ere it could pass my lips. My nerves were bound up in -impotence, and I remained in the same attitude inanimate as a Statue. - -The visionary Nun looked upon me for some minutes in silence: There was -something petrifying in her regard. At length in a low sepulchral voice -She pronounced the following words. - - "Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine! - Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! - In thy veins while blood shall roll, - I am thine! - Thou art mine! - Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!----" - -Breathless with fear, I listened while She repeated my own expressions. -The Apparition seated herself opposite to me at the foot of the Bed, -and was silent. Her eyes were fixed earnestly upon mine: They seemed -endowed with the property of the Rattlesnake's, for I strove in vain to -look off her. My eyes were fascinated, and I had not the power of -withdrawing them from the Spectre's. - -In this attitude She remained for a whole long hour without speaking or -moving; nor was I able to do either. At length the Clock struck two. -The Apparition rose from her seat, and approached the side of the bed. -She grasped with her icy fingers my hand which hung lifeless upon the -Coverture, and pressing her cold lips to mine, again repeated, - - "Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine! - Raymond! Raymond! - I am thine! &c.----" - -She then dropped my hand, quitted the chamber with slow steps, and the -Door closed after her. Till that moment the faculties of my body had -been all suspended; Those of my mind had alone been waking. The charm -now ceased to operate: The blood which had been frozen in my veins -rushed back to my heart with violence: I uttered a deep groan, and sank -lifeless upon my pillow. - -The adjoining room was only separated from mine by a thin partition: -It was occupied by the Host and his Wife: The Former was rouzed by my -groan, and immediately hastened to my chamber: The Hostess soon -followed him. With some difficulty they succeeded in restoring me to -my senses, and immediately sent for the Physician, who arrived in all -diligence. He declared my fever to be very much increased, and that if -I continued to suffer such violent agitation, He would not take upon -him to ensure my life. Some medicines which He gave me in some degree -tranquillized my spirits. I fell into a sort of slumber towards -daybreak; But fearful dreams prevented me from deriving any benefit -from my repose. Agnes and the Bleeding Nun presented themselves by -turns to my fancy, and combined to harass and torment me. I awoke -fatigued and unrefreshed. My fever seemed rather augmented than -diminished; The agitation of my mind impeded my fractured bones from -knitting: I had frequent fainting fits, and during the whole day the -Physician judged it expedient not to quit me for two hours together. - -The singularity of my adventure made me determine to conceal it from -every one, since I could not expect that a circumstance so strange -should gain credit. I was very uneasy about Agnes. I knew not what -She would think at not finding me at the rendezvous, and dreaded her -entertaining suspicions of my fidelity. However, I depended upon -Theodore's discretion, and trusted that my letter to the Baroness would -convince her of the rectitude of my intentions. These considerations -somewhat lightened my inquietude upon her account: But the impression -left upon my mind by my nocturnal Visitor grew stronger with every -succeeding moment. The night drew near; I dreaded its arrival. Yet I -strove to persuade myself that the Ghost would appear no more, and at -all events I desired that a Servant might sit up in my chamber. - -The fatigue of my body from not having slept on the former night, -co-operating with the strong opiates administered to me in profusion, -at length procured me that repose of which I was so much in need. I -sank into a profound and tranquil slumber, and had already slept for -some hours, when the neighbouring Clock rouzed me by striking 'One'. -Its sound brought with it to my memory all the horrors of the night -before. The same cold shivering seized me. I started up in my bed, -and perceived the Servant fast asleep in an armed-Chair near me. I -called him by his name: He made no answer. I shook him forcibly by -the arm, and strove in vain to wake him. He was perfectly insensible -to my efforts. I now heard the heavy steps ascending the staircase; -The Door was thrown open, and again the Bleeding Nun stood before me. -Once more my limbs were chained in second infancy. Once more I heard -those fatal words repeated, - - "Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine! - Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.----" - -The scene which had shocked me so sensibly on the former night, was -again presented. The Spectre again pressed her lips to mine, again -touched me with her rotting fingers, and as on her first appearance, -quitted the chamber as soon as the Clock told 'Two.' - -Even night was this repeated. Far from growing accustomed to the -Ghost, every succeeding visit inspired me with greater horror. Her idea -pursued me continually, and I became the prey of habitual melancholy. -The constant agitation of my mind naturally retarded the -re-establishment of my health. Several months elapsed before I was -able to quit my bed; and when at length I was moved to a Sopha, I was -so faint, spiritless, and emaciated, that I could not cross the room -without assistance. The looks of my Attendants sufficiently denoted -the little hope, which they entertained of my recovery. The profound -sadness, which oppressed me without remission made the Physician -consider me to be an Hypochondriac. The cause of my distress I -carefully concealed in my own bosom, for I knew that no one could give -me relief: The Ghost was not even visible to any eye but mine. I had -frequently caused Attendants to sit up in my room: But the moment that -the Clock struck 'One,' irresistible slumber seized them, nor left them -till the departure of the Ghost. - -You may be surprized that during this time I made no enquiries after -your Sister. Theodore, who with difficulty had discovered my abode, -had quieted my apprehensions for her safety: At the same time He -convinced me that all attempts to release her from captivity must be -fruitless till I should be in a condition to return to Spain. The -particulars of her adventure which I shall now relate to you, were -partly communicated to me by Theodore, and partly by Agnes herself. - -On the fatal night when her elopement was to have taken place, accident -had not permitted her to quit her chamber at the appointed time. At -length She ventured into the haunted room, descended the staircase -leading into the Hall, found the Gates open as She expected, and left -the Castle unobserved. What was her surprize at not finding me ready -to receive her! She examined the Cavern, ranged through every Alley of -the neighbouring wood, and passed two full hours in this fruitless -enquiry. She could discover no traces either of me or of the Carriage. -Alarmed and disappointed, her only resource was to return to the Castle -before the Baroness missed her: But here She found herself in a fresh -embarrassment. The Bell had already tolled 'Two:' The Ghostly hour was -past, and the careful Porter had locked the folding gates. After much -irresolution She ventured to knock softly. Luckily for her, Conrad was -still awake: He heard the noise and rose, murmuring at being called up -a second time. No sooner had He opened one of the Doors, and beheld -the supposed Apparition waiting there for admittance, than He uttered a -loud cry, and sank upon his knees. Agnes profited by his terror. She -glided by him, flew to her own apartment, and having thrown off her -Spectre's trappings, retired to bed endeavouring in vain to account for -my disappearing. - -In the mean while Theodore having seen my Carriage drive off with the -false Agnes, returned joyfully to the Village. The next morning He -released Cunegonda from her confinement, and accompanied her to the -Castle. There He found the Baron, his Lady, and Don Gaston, disputing -together upon the Porter's relation. All of them agreed in believing -the existence of Spectres: But the Latter contended, that for a Ghost -to knock for admittance was a proceeding till then unwitnessed, and -totally incompatible with the immaterial nature of a Spirit. They were -still discussing this subject when the Page appeared with Cunegonda and -cleared up the mystery. On hearing his deposition, it was agreed -unanimously that the Agnes whom Theodore had seen step into my Carriage -must have been the Bleeding Nun, and that the Ghost who had terrified -Conrad was no other than Don Gaston's Daughter. - -The first surprize which this discovery occasioned being over, the -Baroness resolved to make it of use in persuading her Niece to take the -veil. Fearing lest so advantageous an establishment for his Daughter -should induce Don Gaston to renounce his resolution, She suppressed my -letter, and continued to represent me as a needy unknown Adventurer. A -childish vanity had led me to conceal my real name even from my -Mistress; I wished to be loved for myself, not for being the Son and -Heir of the Marquis de las Cisternas. The consequence was that my rank -was known to no one in the Castle except the Baroness, and She took -good care to confine the knowledge to her own breast. Don Gaston -having approved his Sister's design, Agnes was summoned to appear -before them. She was taxed with having meditated an elopement, obliged -to make a full confession, and was amazed at the gentleness with which -it was received: But what was her affliction, when informed that the -failure of her project must be attributed to me! Cunegonda, tutored by -the Baroness, told her that when I released her, I had desired her to -inform her Lady that our connexion was at an end, that the whole affair -was occasioned by a false report, and that it by no means suited my -circumstances to marry a Woman without fortune or expectations. - -To this account my sudden disappearing gave but too great an air of -probability. Theodore, who could have contradicted the story, by Donna -Rodolpha's order was kept out of her sight: What proved a still -greater confirmation of my being an Impostor, was the arrival of a -letter from yourself declaring that you had no sort of acquaintance -with Alphonso d'Alvarada. These seeming proofs of my perfidy, aided by -the artful insinuations of her Aunt, by Cunegonda's flattery, and her -Father's threats and anger, entirely conquered your Sister's repugnance -to a Convent. Incensed at my behaviour, and disgusted with the world in -general, She consented to receive the veil. She past another Month at -the Castle of Lindenberg, during which my non-appearance confirmed her -in her resolution, and then accompanied Don Gaston into Spain. -Theodore was now set at liberty. He hastened to Munich, where I had -promised to let him hear from me; But finding from Lucas that I had -never arrived there, He pursued his search with indefatigable -perseverance, and at length succeeded in rejoining me at Ratisbon. - -So much was I altered, that scarcely could He recollect my features: -The distress visible upon his sufficiently testified how lively was the -interest which He felt for me. The society of this amiable Boy, whom I -had always considered rather as a Companion than a Servant, was now my -only comfort. His conversation was gay yet sensible, and his -observations shrewd and entertaining: He had picked up much more -knowledge than is usual at his Age: But what rendered him most -agreeable to me, was his having a delightful voice, and some skill in -Music. He had also acquired some taste in poetry, and even ventured -sometimes to write verses himself. He occasionally composed little -Ballads in Spanish, his compositions were but indifferent, I must -confess; yet they were pleasing to me from their novelty, and hearing -him sing them to his guitar was the only amusement, which I was capable -of receiving. Theodore perceived well enough that something preyed -upon my mind; But as I concealed the cause of my grief even from him, -Respect would not permit him to pry into my secrets. - -One Evening I was lying upon my Sopha, plunged in reflections very far -from agreeable: Theodore amused himself by observing from the window a -Battle between two Postillions, who were quarrelling in the Inn-yard. - -'Ha! Ha!' cried He suddenly; 'Yonder is the Great Mogul.' - -'Who?' said I. - -'Only a Man who made me a strange speech at Munich.' - -'What was the purport of it?' - -'Now you put me in mind of it, Segnor, it was a kind of message to you; -but truly it was not worth delivering. I believe the Fellow to be mad, -for my part. When I came to Munich in search of you, I found him -living at 'The King of the Romans,' and the Host gave me an odd account -of him. By his accent He is supposed to be a Foreigner, but of what -Country nobody can tell. He seemed to have no acquaintance in the -Town, spoke very seldom, and never was seen to smile. He had neither -Servants or Baggage; But his Purse seemed well-furnished, and He did -much good in the Town. Some supposed him to be an Arabian Astrologer, -Others to be a Travelling Mountebank, and many declared that He was -Doctor Faustus, whom the Devil had sent back to Germany. The Landlord, -however told me, that He had the best reasons to believe him to be the -Great Mogul incognito.' - -'But the strange speech, Theodore.' - -'True, I had almost forgotten the speech: Indeed for that matter, it -would not have been a great loss if I had forgotten it altogether. You -are to know, Segnor, that while I was enquiring about you of the -Landlord, this Stranger passed by. He stopped, and looked at me -earnestly. 'Youth!' said He in a solemn voice, 'He whom you seek, has -found that which He would fain lose. My hand alone can dry up the -blood: Bid your Master wish for me when the Clock strikes, 'One.' - -'How?' cried I, starting from my Sopha. (The words which Theodore had -repeated, seemed to imply the Stranger's knowledge of my secret) 'Fly -to him, my Boy! Entreat him to grant me one moment's conversation!' - -Theodore was surprised at the vivacity of my manner: However, He asked -no questions, but hastened to obey me. I waited his return -impatiently. But a short space of time had elapsed when He again -appeared and ushered the expected Guest into my chamber. He was a Man -of majestic presence: His countenance was strongly marked, and his -eyes were large, black, and sparkling: Yet there was a something in -his look which, the moment that I saw him, inspired me with a secret -awe, not to say horror. He was drest plainly, his hair was unpowdered, -and a band of black velvet which encircled his forehead spread over his -features an additional gloom. His countenance wore the marks of -profound melancholy; his step was slow, and his manner grave, stately, -and solemn. - -He saluted me with politeness; and having replied to the usual -compliments of introduction, He motioned to Theodore to quit the -chamber. The Page instantly withdrew. - -'I know your business,' said He, without giving me time to speak. - -'I have the power of releasing you from your nightly Visitor; But this -cannot be done before Sunday. On the hour when the Sabbath Morning -breaks, Spirits of darkness have least influence over Mortals. After -Saturday the Nun shall visit you no more.' - -'May I not enquire,' said I, 'by what means you are in possession of a -secret which I have carefully concealed from the knowledge of everyone?' - -'How can I be ignorant of your distress, when their cause at this -moment stands beside you?' - -I started. The Stranger continued. - -'Though to you only visible for one hour in the twenty-four, neither -day or night does She ever quit you; Nor will She ever quit you till -you have granted her request.' - -'And what is that request?' - -'That She must herself explain: It lies not in my knowledge. Wait with -patience for the night of Saturday: All shall be then cleared up.' - -I dared not press him further. He soon after changed the conversation -and talked of various matters. He named People who had ceased to exist -for many Centuries, and yet with whom He appeared to have been -personally acquainted. I could not mention a Country however distant -which He had not visited, nor could I sufficiently admire the extent -and variety of his information. I remarked to him that having -travelled, seen, and known so much, must have given him infinite -pleasure. He shook his head mournfully. - -'No one,' He replied, 'is adequate to comprehending the misery of my -lot! Fate obliges me to be constantly in movement: I am not permitted -to pass more than a fortnight in the same place. I have no Friend in -the world, and from the restlessness of my destiny I never can acquire -one. Fain would I lay down my miserable life, for I envy those who -enjoy the quiet of the Grave: But Death eludes me, and flies from my -embrace. In vain do I throw myself in the way of danger. I plunge -into the Ocean; The Waves throw me back with abhorrence upon the shore: -I rush into fire; The flames recoil at my approach: I oppose myself to -the fury of Banditti; Their swords become blunted, and break against my -breast: The hungry Tiger shudders at my approach, and the Alligator -flies from a Monster more horrible than itself. God has set his seal -upon me, and all his Creatures respect this fatal mark!' - -He put his hand to the velvet, which was bound round his forehead. -There was in his eyes an expression of fury, despair, and malevolence, -that struck horror to my very soul. An involuntary convulsion made me -shudder. The Stranger perceived it. - -'Such is the curse imposed on me,' he continued: 'I am doomed to -inspire all who look on me with terror and detestation. You already -feel the influence of the charm, and with every succeeding moment will -feel it more. I will not add to your sufferings by my presence. -Farewell till Saturday. As soon as the Clock strikes twelve, expect me -at your chamber door.' - -Having said this He departed, leaving me in astonishment at the -mysterious turn of his manner and conversation. - -His assurances that I should soon be relieved from the Apparition's -visits produced a good effect upon my constitution. Theodore, whom I -rather treated as an adopted Child than a Domestic, was surprized at -his return to observe the amendment in my looks. He congratulated me -on this symptom of returning health, and declared himself delighted at -my having received so much benefit from my conference with the Great -Mogul. Upon enquiry I found that the Stranger had already past eight -days in Ratisbon: According to his own account, therefore, He was only -to remain there six days longer. Saturday was still at the distance of -Three. Oh! with what impatience did I expect its arrival! In the -interim, the Bleeding Nun continued her nocturnal visits; But hoping -soon to be released from them altogether, the effects which they -produced on me became less violent than before. - -The wished-for night arrived. To avoid creating suspicion I retired to -bed at my usual hour: But as soon as my Attendants had left me, I -dressed myself again, and prepared for the Stranger's reception. He -entered my room upon the turn of midnight. A small Chest was in his -hand, which He placed near the Stove. He saluted me without speaking; -I returned the compliment, observing an equal silence. He then opened -his Chest. The first thing which He produced was a small wooden -Crucifix: He sank upon his knees, gazed upon it mournfully, and cast -his eyes towards heaven. He seemed to be praying devoutly. At length -He bowed his head respectfully, kissed the Crucifix thrice, and quitted -his kneeling posture. He next drew from the Chest a covered Goblet: -With the liquor which it contained, and which appeared to be blood, He -sprinkled the floor, and then dipping in it one end of the Crucifix, He -described a circle in the middle of the room. Round about this He -placed various reliques, sculls, thigh-bones &c; I observed, that He -disposed them all in the forms of Crosses. Lastly He took out a large -Bible, and beckoned me to follow him into the Circle. I obeyed. - -'Be cautious not to utter a syllable!' whispered the Stranger; 'Step -not out of the circle, and as you love yourself, dare not to look upon -my face!' - -Holding the Crucifix in one hand, the Bible in the other, He seemed to -read with profound attention. The Clock struck 'One'! As usual I heard -the Spectre's steps upon the Staircase: But I was not seized with the -accustomed shivering. I waited her approach with confidence. She -entered the room, drew near the Circle, and stopped. The Stranger -muttered some words, to me unintelligible. Then raising his head from -the Book, and extending the Crucifix towards the Ghost, He pronounced -in a voice distinct and solemn, - -'Beatrice! Beatrice! Beatrice!' - -'What wouldst Thou?' replied the Apparition in a hollow faltering tone. - -'What disturbs thy sleep? Why dost thou afflict and torture this -Youth? How can rest be restored to thy unquiet Spirit?' - -'I dare not tell!--I must not tell!--Fain would I repose in my Grave, -but stern commands force me to prolong my punishment!' - -'Knowest Thou this blood? Knowest Thou in whose veins it flowed? - -Beatrice! Beatrice! In his name I charge thee to answer me!' - -'I dare not disobey my taskers.' - -'Darest Thou disobey Me?' - -He spoke in a commanding tone, and drew the sable band from his -forehead. In spite of his injunctions to the contrary, Curiosity would -not suffer me to keep my eyes off his face: I raised them, and beheld -a burning Cross impressed upon his brow. For the horror with which this -object inspired me I cannot account, but I never felt its equal! My -senses left me for some moments; A mysterious dread overcame my -courage, and had not the Exorciser caught my hand, I should have fallen -out of the Circle. - -When I recovered myself, I perceived that the burning Cross had -produced an effect no less violent upon the Spectre. Her countenance -expressed reverence, and horror, and her visionary limbs were shaken by -fear. - -'Yes!' She said at length; 'I tremble at that mark!--respect it!--I -obey you! Know then, that my bones lie still unburied: They rot in the -obscurity of Lindenberg Hole. None but this Youth has the right of -consigning them to the Grave. His own lips have made over to me his -body and his soul: Never will I give back his promise, never shall He -know a night devoid of terror, unless He engages to collect my -mouldering bones, and deposit them in the family vault of his -Andalusian Castle. Then let thirty Masses be said for the repose of my -Spirit, and I trouble this world no more. Now let me depart! Those -flames are scorching!' - -He let the hand drop slowly which held the Crucifix, and which till -then He had pointed towards her. The apparition bowed her head, and -her form melted into air. The Exorciser led me out of the Circle. He -replaced the Bible &c. in the Chest, and then addressed himself to me, -who stood near him speechless from astonishment. - -'Don Raymond, you have heard the conditions on which repose is promised -you. Be it your business to fulfil them to the letter. For me nothing -more remains than to clear up the darkness still spread over the -Spectre's History, and inform you that when living, Beatrice bore the -name of las Cisternas. She was the great Aunt of your Grandfather: In -quality of your relation, her ashes demand respect from you, though the -enormity of her crimes must excite your abhorrence. The nature of -those crimes no one is more capable of explaining to you than myself: -I was personally acquainted with the holy Man who proscribed her -nocturnal riots in the Castle of Lindenberg, and I hold this narrative -from his own lips. - -'Beatrice de las Cisternas took the veil at an early age, not by her -own choice, but at the express command of her Parents. She was then -too young to regret the pleasures of which her profession deprived her: -But no sooner did her warm and voluptuous character begin to be -developed than She abandoned herself freely to the impulse of her -passions, and seized the first opportunity to procure their -gratification. This opportunity was at length presented, after many -obstacles which only added new force to her desires. She contrived to -elope from the Convent, and fled to Germany with the Baron Lindenberg. -She lived at his Castle several months as his avowed Concubine: All -Bavaria was scandalized by her impudent and abandoned conduct. Her -feasts vied in luxury with Cleopatra's, and Lindenberg became the -Theatre of the most unbridled debauchery. Not satisfied with -displaying the incontinence of a Prostitute, She professed herself an -Atheist: She took every opportunity to scoff at her monastic vows, -and loaded with ridicule the most sacred ceremonies of Religion. - -'Possessed of a character so depraved, She did not long confine her -affections to one object. Soon after her arrival at the Castle, the -Baron's younger Brother attracted her notice by his strong-marked -features, gigantic Stature, and Herculean limbs. She was not of an -humour to keep her inclinations long unknown; But She found in Otto von -Lindenberg her equal in depravity. He returned her passion just -sufficiently to increase it; and when He had worked it up to the -desired pitch, He fixed the price of his love at his Brother's murder. -The Wretch consented to this horrible agreement. A night was pitched -upon for perpetrating the deed. Otto, who resided on a small Estate a -few miles distant from the Castle, promised that at One in the morning -He would be waiting for her at Lindenberg Hole; that He would bring -with him a party of chosen Friends, by whose aid He doubted not being -able to make himself Master of the Castle; and that his next step -should be the uniting her hand to his. It was this last promise, which -overruled every scruple of Beatrice, since in spite of his affection -for her, the Baron had declared positively that He never would make her -his Wife. - -'The fatal night arrived. The Baron slept in the arms of his -perfidious Mistress, when the Castle-Bell struck 'One.' Immediately -Beatrice drew a dagger from underneath the pillow, and plunged it in -her Paramour's heart. The Baron uttered a single dreadful groan, and -expired. The Murderess quitted her bed hastily, took a Lamp in one -hand, in the other the bloody dagger, and bent her course towards the -cavern. The Porter dared not to refuse opening the Gates to one more -dreaded in the Castle than its Master. Beatrice reached Lindenberg -Hole unopposed, where according to promise She found Otto waiting for -her. He received and listened to her narrative with transport: But ere -She had time to ask why He came unaccompanied, He convinced her that He -wished for no witnesses to their interview. Anxious to conceal his -share in the murder, and to free himself from a Woman, whose violent -and atrocious character made him tremble with reason for his own -safety, He had resolved on the destruction of his wretched Agent. -Rushing upon her suddenly, He wrested the dagger from her hand: He -plunged it still reeking with his Brother's blood in her bosom, and put -an end to her existence by repeated blows. - -'Otto now succeeded to the Barony of Lindenberg. The murder was -attributed solely to the fugitive Nun, and no one suspected him to have -persuaded her to the action. But though his crime was unpunished by -Man, God's justice permitted him not to enjoy in peace his -blood-stained honours. Her bones lying still unburied in the Cave, the -restless soul of Beatrice continued to inhabit the Castle. Drest in -her religious habit in memory of her vows broken to heaven, furnished -with the dagger which had drank the blood of her Paramour, and holding -the Lamp which had guided her flying steps, every night did She stand -before the Bed of Otto. The most dreadful confusion reigned through the -Castle; The vaulted chambers resounded with shrieks and groans; And the -Spectre, as She ranged along the antique Galleries, uttered an -incoherent mixture of prayers and blasphemies. Otto was unable to -withstand the shock which He felt at this fearful Vision: Its horror -increased with every succeeding appearance: His alarm at length became -so insupportable that his heart burst, and one morning He was found in -his bed totally deprived of warmth and animation. His death did not -put an end to the nocturnal riots. The bones of Beatrice continued to -lie unburied, and her Ghost continued to haunt the Castle. - -'The domains of Lindenberg now fell to a distant Relation. But -terrified by the accounts given him of the Bleeding Nun (So was the -Spectre called by the multitude), the new Baron called to his -assistance a celebrated Exorciser. This holy Man succeeded in obliging -her to temporary repose; But though She discovered to him her history, -He was not permitted to reveal it to others, or cause her skeleton to -be removed to hallowed ground. That Office was reserved for you, and -till your coming, her Ghost was doomed to wander about the Castle and -lament the crime which She had there committed. However, the Exorciser -obliged her to silence during his lifetime. So long as He existed, the -haunted chamber was shut up, and the Spectre was invisible. At his -death which happened in five years after, She again appeared, but only -once on every fifth year, on the same day and at the same hour when She -plunged her Knife in the heart of her sleeping Lover: She then visited -the Cavern which held her mouldering skeleton, returned to the Castle -as soon as the Clock struck 'Two,' and was seen no more till the next -five years had elapsed. - -'She was doomed to suffer during the space of a Century. That period -is past. Nothing now remains but to consign to the Grave the ashes of -Beatrice. I have been the means of releasing you from your visionary -Tormentor; and amidst all the sorrows which oppress me, to think that I -have been of use to you, is some consolation. Youth, farewell! May -the Ghost of your Relation enjoy that rest in the Tomb, which the -Almighty's vengeance has denied to me for ever!' - -Here the Stranger prepared to quit the apartment. - -'Stay yet one moment!' said I; 'You have satisfied my curiosity with -regard to the Spectre, but you leave me in prey to yet greater -respecting yourself. Deign to inform me, to whom I am under such real -obligations. You mention circumstances long past, and persons long -dead: You were personally acquainted with the Exorciser, who by your -own account has been deceased near a Century. How am I to account for -this? What means that burning Cross upon your forehead, and why did -the sight of it strike such horror to my soul?' - -On these points He for some time refused to satisfy me. At length -overcome by my entreaties, He consented to clear up the whole, on -condition that I would defer his explanation till the next day. With -this request I was obliged to comply, and He left me. In the Morning -my first care was to enquire after the mysterious Stranger. Conceive -my disappointment when informed that He had already quitted Ratisbon. -I dispatched messengers in pursuit of him but in vain. No traces of -the Fugitive were discovered. Since that moment I never have heard any -more of him, and 'tis most probable that I never shall.' - -(Lorenzo here interrupted his Friend's narrative. - -'How?' said He; 'You have never discovered who He was, or even formed a -guess?' - -'Pardon me,' replied the Marquis; 'When I related this adventure to my -Uncle, the Cardinal-Duke, He told me that He had no doubt of this -singular Man's being the celebrated Character known universally by the -name of 'the wandering Jew.' His not being permitted to pass more than -fourteen days on the same spot, the burning Cross impressed upon his -forehead, the effect which it produced upon the Beholders, and many -other circumstances give this supposition the colour of truth. The -Cardinal is fully persuaded of it; and for my own part I am inclined to -adopt the only solution which offers itself to this riddle. I return -to the narrative from which I have digressed.') - -From this period I recovered my health so rapidly as to astonish my -Physicians. The Bleeding Nun appeared no more, and I was soon able to -set out for Lindenberg. The Baron received me with open arms. I -confided to him the sequel of my adventure; and He was not a little -pleased to find that his Mansion would be no longer troubled with the -Phantom's quiennial visits. I was sorry to perceive that absence had -not weakened Donna Rodolpha's imprudent passion. In a private -conversation which I had with her during my short stay at the Castle, -She renewed her attempts to persuade me to return her affection. -Regarding her as the primary cause of all my sufferings, I entertained -for her no other sentiment than disgust. The Skeleton of Beatrice was -found in the place which She had mentioned. This being all that I -sought at Lindenberg, I hastened to quit the Baron's domains, equally -anxious to perform the obsequies of the murdered Nun, and escape the -importunity of a Woman whom I detested. I departed, followed by Donna -Rodolpha's menaces that my contempt should not be long unpunished. - -I now bent my course towards Spain with all diligence. Lucas with my -Baggage had joined me during my abode at Lindenberg. I arrived in my -native Country without any accident, and immediately proceeded to my -Father's Castle in Andalusia. The remains of Beatrice were deposited -in the family vault, all due ceremonies performed, and the number of -Masses said which She had required. Nothing now hindered me from -employing all my endeavours to discover the retreat of Agnes. The -Baroness had assured me that her Niece had already taken the veil: -This intelligence I suspected to have been forged by jealousy, and -hoped to find my Mistress still at liberty to accept my hand. I -enquired after her family; I found that before her Daughter could reach -Madrid, Donna Inesilla was no more: You, my dear Lorenzo, were said to -be abroad, but where I could not discover: Your Father was in a -distant Province on a visit to the Duke de Medina, and as to Agnes, no -one could or would inform me what was become of her. Theodore, -according to promise, had returned to Strasbourg, where He found his -Grandfather dead, and Marguerite in possession of his fortune. All her -persuasions to remain with her were fruitless: He quitted her a second -time, and followed me to Madrid. He exerted himself to the utmost in -forwarding my search: But our united endeavours were unattended by -success. The retreat which concealed Agnes remained an impenetrable -mystery, and I began to abandon all hopes of recovering her. - -About eight months ago I was returning to my Hotel in a melancholy -humour, having past the evening at the Play-House. The Night was dark, -and I was unaccompanied. Plunged in reflections which were far from -being agreeable, I perceived not that three Men had followed me from -the Theatre; till, on turning into an unfrequented Street, they all -attacked me at the same time with the utmost fury. I sprang back a few -paces, drew my sword, and threw my cloak over my left arm. The -obscurity of the night was in my favour. For the most part the blows -of the Assassins, being aimed at random, failed to touch me. I at -length was fortunate enough to lay one of my Adversaries at my feet; -But before this I had already received so many wounds, and was so -warmly pressed, that my destruction would have been inevitable, had not -the clashing of swords called a Cavalier to my assistance. He ran -towards me with his sword drawn: Several Domestics followed him with -torches. His arrival made the combat equal: Yet would not the Bravoes -abandon their design till the Servants were on the point of joining us. -They then fled away, and we lost them in the obscurity. - -The Stranger now addressed himself to me with politeness, and enquired -whether I was wounded. Faint with the loss of blood, I could scarcely -thank him for his seasonable aid, and entreat him to let some of his -Servants convey me to the Hotel de las Cisternas. I no sooner -mentioned the name than He profest himself an acquaintance of my -Father's, and declared that He would not permit my being transported to -such a distance before my wounds had been examined. He added that his -House was hard by, and begged me to accompany him thither. His manner -was so earnest, that I could not reject his offer, and leaning upon his -arm, a few minutes brought me to the Porch of a magnificent Hotel. - -On entering the House, an old grey-headed Domestic came to welcome my -Conductor: He enquired when the Duke, his Master, meant to quit the -Country, and was answered that He would remain there yet some months. -My Deliverer then desired the family Surgeon to be summoned without -delay. His orders were obeyed. I was seated upon a Sopha in a noble -apartment; and my wounds being examined, they were declared to be very -slight. The Surgeon, however, advised me not to expose myself to the -night air; and the Stranger pressed me so earnestly to take a bed in -his House, that I consented to remain where I was for the present. - -Being now left alone with my Deliverer, I took the opportunity of -thanking him in more express terms, than I had done hitherto: But He -begged me to be silent upon the subject. - -'I esteem myself happy,' said He, 'in having had it in my power to -render you this little service; and I shall think myself eternally -obliged to my Daughter for detaining me so late at the Convent of St. -Clare. The high esteem in which I have ever held the Marquis de las -Cisternas, though accident has not permitted our being so intimate as I -could wish, makes me rejoice in the opportunity of making his Son's -acquaintance. I am certain that my Brother in whose House you now are, -will lament his not being at Madrid to receive you himself: But in the -Duke's absence I am Master of the family, and may assure you in his -name, that every thing in the Hotel de Medina is perfectly at your -disposal.' - -Conceive my surprize, Lorenzo, at discovering in the person of my -Preserver Don Gaston de Medina: It was only to be equalled by my -secret satisfaction at the assurance that Agnes inhabited the Convent -of St. Clare. This latter sensation was not a little weakened, when in -answer to my seemingly indifferent questions He told me that his -Daughter had really taken the veil. I suffered not my grief at this -circumstance to take root in my mind: I flattered myself with the idea -that my Uncle's credit at the Court of Rome would remove this obstacle, -and that without difficulty I should obtain for my Mistress a -dispensation from her vows. Buoyed up with this hope I calmed the -uneasiness of my bosom; and I redoubled my endeavours to appear -grateful for the attention and pleased with the society of Don Gaston. - -A Domestic now entered the room, and informed me that the Bravo whom I -had wounded discovered some signs of life. I desired that He might be -carried to my Father's Hotel, and that as soon as He recovered his -voice, I would examine him respecting his reasons for attempting my -life. I was answered that He was already able to speak, though with -difficulty: Don Gaston's curiosity made him press me to interrogate -the Assassin in his presence, but this curiosity I was by no means -inclined to gratify. One reason was, that doubting from whence the -blow came, I was unwilling to place before Don Gaston's eyes the guilt -of a Sister: Another was, that I feared to be recognized for Alphonso -d'Alvarada, and precautions taken in consequence to keep me from the -sight of Agnes. To avow my passion for his Daughter, and endeavour to -make him enter into my schemes, what I knew of Don Gaston's character -convinced me would be an imprudent step: and considering it to be -essential that He should know me for no other than the Conde de las -Cisternas, I was determined not to let him hear the Bravo's confession. -I insinuated to him, that as I suspected a Lady to be concerned in the -Business, whose name might accidentally escape from the Assassin, it -was necessary for me to examine the Man in private. Don Gaston's -delicacy would not permit his urging the point any longer, and in -consequence the Bravo was conveyed to my Hotel. - -The next Morning I took leave of my Host, who was to return to the Duke -on the same day. My wounds had been so trifling that, except being -obliged to wear my arm in a sling for a short time, I felt no -inconvenience from the night's adventure. The Surgeon who examined the -Bravo's wound declared it to be mortal: He had just time to confess -that He had been instigated to murder me by the revengeful Donna -Rodolpha, and expired in a few minutes after. - -All my thoughts were now bent upon getting to the speech of my lovely -Nun. Theodore set himself to work, and for this time with better -success. He attacked the Gardener of St. Clare so forcibly with bribes -and promises that the Old Man was entirely gained over to my interests; -and it was settled that I should be introduced into the Convent in the -character of his Assistant. The plan was put into execution without -delay. Disguised in a common habit, and a black patch covering one of -my eyes, I was presented to the Lady Prioress, who condescended to -approve of the Gardener's choice. I immediately entered upon my -employment. Botany having been a favourite study with me, I was by no -means at a loss in my new station. For some days I continued to work -in the Convent Garden without meeting the Object of my disguise: On the -fourth Morning I was more successful. I heard the voice of Agnes, and -was speeding towards the sound, when the sight of the Domina stopped -me. I drew back with caution, and concealed myself behind a thick -clump of Trees. - -The Prioress advanced and seated herself with Agnes on a Bench at no -great distance. I heard her in an angry tone blame her Companion's -continual melancholy: She told her that to weep the loss of any Lover -in her situation was a crime; But that to weep the loss of a faithless -one was folly and absurdity in the extreme. Agnes replied in so low a -voice that I could not distinguish her words, but I perceived that She -used terms of gentleness and submission. The conversation was -interrupted by the arrival of a young Pensioner who informed the Domina -that She was waited for in the Parlour. The old Lady rose, kissed the -cheek of Agnes, and retired. The newcomer remained. Agnes spoke much -to her in praise of somebody whom I could not make out, but her Auditor -seemed highly delighted, and interested by the conversation. The Nun -showed her several letters; the Other perused them with evident -pleasure, obtained permission to copy them, and withdrew for that -purpose to my great satisfaction. - -No sooner was She out of sight, than I quitted my concealment. Fearing -to alarm my lovely Mistress, I drew near her gently, intending to -discover myself by degrees. But who for a moment can deceive the eyes -of love? She raised her head at my approach, and recognised me in -spite of my disguise at a single glance. She rose hastily from her -seat with an exclamation of surprize, and attempted to retire; But I -followed her, detained her, and entreated to be heard. Persuaded of my -falsehood She refused to listen to me, and ordered me positively to -quit the Garden. It was now my turn to refuse. I protested that -however dangerous might be the consequences, I would not leave her till -She had heard my justification. I assured her that She had been -deceived by the artifices of her Relations; that I could convince her -beyond the power of doubt that my passion had been pure and -disinterested; and I asked her what should induce me to seek her in the -Convent, were I influenced by the selfish motives which my Enemies had -ascribed to me. - -My prayers, my arguments, and vows not to quit her, till She had -promised to listen to me, united to her fears lest the Nuns should see -me with her, to her natural curiosity, and to the affection which She -still felt for me in spite of my supposed desertion, at length -prevailed. She told me that to grant my request at that moment was -impossible; But She engaged to be in the same spot at eleven that -night, and to converse with me for the last time. Having obtained this -promise I released her hand, and She fled back with rapidity towards -the Convent. - -I communicated my success to my Ally, the old Gardener: He pointed out -an hiding place where I might shelter myself till night without fear of -a discovery. Thither I betook myself at the hour when I ought to have -retired with my supposed Master, and waited impatiently for the -appointed time. The chillness of the night was in my favour, since it -kept the other Nuns confined to their Cells. Agnes alone was -insensible of the inclemency of the Air, and before eleven joined me at -the spot which had witnessed our former interview. Secure from -interruption, I related to her the true cause of my disappearing on the -fatal fifth of May. She was evidently much affected by my narrative: -When it was concluded, She confessed the injustice of her suspicions, -and blamed herself for having taken the veil through despair at my -ingratitude. - -'But now it is too late to repine!' She added; 'The die is thrown: I -have pronounced my vows, and dedicated myself to the service of heaven. -I am sensible, how ill I am calculated for a Convent. My disgust at a -monastic life increases daily: Ennui and discontent are my constant -Companions; and I will not conceal from you that the passion which I -formerly felt for one so near being my Husband is not yet extinguished -in my bosom. But we must part! Insuperable Barriers divide us from -each other, and on this side the Grave we must never meet again!' - -I now exerted myself to prove that our union was not so impossible as -She seemed to think it. I vaunted to her the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma's -influence at the Court of Rome: I assured her that I should easily -obtain a dispensation from her vows; and I doubted not but Don Gaston -would coincide with my views, when informed of my real name and long -attachment. Agnes replied that since I encouraged such an hope, I -could know but little of her Father. Liberal and kind in every other -respect, Superstition formed the only stain upon his character. Upon -this head He was inflexible; He sacrificed his dearest interests to his -scruples, and would consider it an insult to suppose him capable of -authorising his daughter to break her vows to heaven. - -'But suppose,' said I interrupting her; 'Suppose that He should -disapprove of our union; Let him remain ignorant of my proceedings, -till I have rescued you from the prison in which you are now confined. -Once my Wife, you are free from his authority: I need from him no -pecuniary assistance; and when He sees his resentment to be unavailing, -He will doubtless restore you to his favour. But let the worst happen; -Should Don Gaston be irreconcileable, my Relations will vie with each -other in making you forget his loss: and you will find in my Father a -substitute for the Parent of whom I shall deprive you.' - -'Don Raymond,' replied Agnes in a firm and resolute voice, 'I love my -Father: He has treated me harshly in this one instance; but I have -received from him in every other so many proofs of love that his -affection is become necessary to my existence. Were I to quit the -Convent, He never would forgive me; nor can I think that on his -deathbed He would leave me his curse, without shuddering at the very -idea. Besides, I am conscious myself, that my vows are binding: -Wilfully did I contract my engagement with heaven; I cannot break it -without a crime. Then banish from your mind the idea of our being ever -united. I am devoted to religion; and however I may grieve at our -separation, I would oppose obstacles myself, to what I feel would -render me guilty.' - -I strove to overrule these ill-grounded scruples: We were still -disputing upon the subject, when the Convent Bell summoned the Nuns to -Matins. Agnes was obliged to attend them; But She left me not till I -had compelled her to promise that on the following night She would be -at the same place at the same hour. These meetings continued for -several Weeks uninterrupted; and 'tis now, Lorenzo, that I must implore -your indulgence. Reflect upon our situation, our youth, our long -attachment: Weigh all the circumstances which attended our -assignations, and you will confess the temptation to have been -irresistible; you will even pardon me when I acknowledge, that in an -unguarded moment, the honour of Agnes was sacrificed to my passion.' - -(Lorenzo's eyes sparkled with fury: A deep crimson spread itself over -his face. He started from his seat, and attempted to draw his sword. -The Marquis was aware of his movement, and caught his hand: He pressed -it affectionately. - -'My Friend! My Brother! Hear me to the conclusion! Till then restrain -your passion, and be at least convinced, that if what I have related is -criminal, the blame must fall upon me, and not upon your Sister.' - -Lorenzo suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Don Raymond's -entreaties. He resumed his place, and listened to the rest of the -narrative with a gloomy and impatient countenance. The Marquis thus -continued.) - -'Scarcely was the first burst of passion past when Agnes, recovering -herself, started from my arms with horror. She called me infamous -Seducer, loaded me with the bitterest reproaches, and beat her bosom in -all the wildness of delirium. Ashamed of my imprudence, I with -difficulty found words to excuse myself. I endeavoured to console her; -I threw myself at her feet, and entreated her forgiveness. She forced -her hand from me, which I had taken, and would have prest to my lips. - -'Touch me not!' She cried with a violence which terrified me; 'Monster -of perfidy and ingratitude, how have I been deceived in you! I looked -upon you as my Friend, my Protector: I trusted myself in your hands -with confidence, and relying upon your honour, thought that mine ran no -risque. And 'tis by you, whom I adored, that I am covered with infamy! -'Tis by you that I have been seduced into breaking my vows to God, that -I am reduced to a level with the basest of my sex! Shame upon you, -Villain, you shall never see me more!' - -She started from the Bank on which She was seated. I endeavoured to -detain her; But She disengaged herself from me with violence, and took -refuge in the Convent. - -I retired, filled with confusion and inquietude. The next morning I -failed not as usual to appear in the Garden; but Agnes was no where to -be seen. At night I waited for her at the place where we generally -met; I found no better success. Several days and nights passed away in -the same manner. At length I saw my offended Mistress cross the walk -on whose borders I was working: She was accompanied by the same young -Pensioner, on whose arm She seemed from weakness obliged to support -herself. She looked upon me for a moment, but instantly turned her -head away. I waited her return; But She passed on to the Convent -without paying any attention to me, or the penitent looks with which I -implored her forgiveness. - -As soon as the Nuns were retired, the old Gardener joined me with a -sorrowful air. - -'Segnor,' said He, 'it grieves me to say, that I can be no longer of -use to you. The Lady whom you used to meet has just assured me that if -I admitted you again into the Garden, She would discover the whole -business to the Lady Prioress. She bade me tell you also, that your -presence was an insult, and that if you still possess the least respect -for her, you will never attempt to see her more. Excuse me then for -informing you that I can favour your disguise no longer. Should the -Prioress be acquainted with my conduct, She might not be contented with -dismissing me her service: Out of revenge She might accuse me of -having profaned the Convent, and cause me to be thrown into the Prisons -of the Inquisition.' - -Fruitless were my attempts to conquer his resolution. He denied me all -future entrance into the Garden, and Agnes persevered in neither -letting me see or hear from her. In about a fortnight after, a violent -illness which had seized my Father obliged me to set out for Andalusia. -I hastened thither, and as I imagined, found the Marquis at the point -of death. Though on its first appearance his complaint was declared -mortal, He lingered out several Months; during which my attendance upon -him during his malady, and the occupation of settling his affairs after -his decease, permitted not my quitting Andalusia. Within these four -days I returned to Madrid, and on arriving at my Hotel, I there found -this letter waiting for me. - -(Here the Marquis unlocked the drawer of a Cabinet: He took out a -folded paper, which He presented to his Auditor. Lorenzo opened it, -and recognised his Sister's hand. The Contents were as follows. - -Into what an abyss of misery have you plunged me! Raymond, you force -me to become as criminal as yourself. I had resolved never to see you -more; if possible, to forget you; If not, only to remember you with -hate. A Being for whom I already feel a Mother's tenderness, solicits -me to pardon my Seducer, and apply to his love for the means of -preservation. Raymond, your child lives in my bosom. I tremble at the -vengeance of the Prioress; I tremble much for myself, yet more for the -innocent Creature whose existence depends upon mine. Both of us are -lost, should my situation be discovered. Advise me then what steps to -take, but seek not to see me. The Gardener, who undertakes to deliver -this, is dismissed, and we have nothing to hope from that quarter: The -Man engaged in his place is of incorruptible fidelity. The best means -of conveying to me your answer, is by concealing it under the great -Statue of St. Francis, which stands in the Capuchin Cathedral. Thither -I go every Thursday to confession, and shall easily have an opportunity -of securing your letter. I hear that you are now absent from Madrid; -Need I entreat you to write the very moment of your return? I will not -think it. Ah! Raymond! Mine is a cruel situation! Deceived by my -nearest Relations, compelled to embrace a profession the duties of -which I am ill-calculated to perform, conscious of the sanctity of -those duties, and seduced into violating them by One whom I least -suspected of perfidy, I am now obliged by circumstances to chuse -between death and perjury. Woman's timidity, and maternal affection, -permit me not to balance in the choice. I feel all the guilt into -which I plunge myself, when I yield to the plan which you before -proposed to me. My poor Father's death which has taken place since we -met, has removed one obstacle. He sleeps in his grave, and I no longer -dread his anger. But from the anger of God, Oh! Raymond! who shall -shield me? Who can protect me against my conscience, against myself? -I dare not dwell upon these thoughts; They will drive me mad. I have -taken my resolution: Procure a dispensation from my vows; I am ready -to fly with you. Write to me, my Husband! Tell me, that absence has -not abated your love, tell me that you will rescue from death your -unborn Child, and its unhappy Mother. I live in all the agonies of -terror: Every eye which is fixed upon me seems to read my secret and -my shame. And you are the cause of those agonies! Oh! When my heart -first loved you, how little did it suspect you of making it feel such -pangs! - - Agnes. - -Having perused the letter, Lorenzo restored it in silence. The Marquis -replaced it in the Cabinet, and then proceeded.) - -'Excessive was my joy at reading this intelligence so -earnestly-desired, so little expected. My plan was soon arranged. -When Don Gaston discovered to me his Daughter's retreat, I entertained -no doubt of her readiness to quit the Convent: I had, therefore, -entrusted the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma with the whole affair, who -immediately busied himself in obtaining the necessary Bull. -Fortunately I had afterwards neglected to stop his proceedings. Not -long since I received a letter from him, stating that He expected daily -to receive the order from the Court of Rome. Upon this I would -willingly have relyed: But the Cardinal wrote me word, that I must -find some means of conveying Agnes out of the Convent, unknown to the -Prioress. He doubted not but this Latter would be much incensed by -losing a Person of such high rank from her society, and consider the -renunciation of Agnes as an insult to her House. He represented her as -a Woman of a violent and revengeful character, capable of proceeding to -the greatest extremities. It was therefore to be feared, lest by -confining Agnes in the Convent She should frustrate my hopes, and -render the Pope's mandate unavailing. Influenced by this -consideration, I resolved to carry off my Mistress, and conceal her -till the arrival of the expected Bull in the Cardinal-Duke's Estate. -He approved of my design, and profest himself ready to give a shelter -to the Fugitive. I next caused the new Gardener of St. Clare to be -seized privately, and confined in my Hotel. By this means I became -Master of the Key to the Garden door, and I had now nothing more to do -than prepare Agnes for the elopement. This was done by the letter, -which you saw me deliver this Evening. I told her in it, that I should -be ready to receive her at twelve tomorrow night, that I had secured -the Key of the Garden, and that She might depend upon a speedy release. - -You have now, Lorenzo, heard the whole of my long narrative. I have -nothing to say in my excuse, save that my intentions towards your -Sister have been ever the most honourable: That it has always been, -and still is my design to make her my Wife: And that I trust, when you -consider these circumstances, our youth, and our attachment, you will -not only forgive our momentary lapse from virtue, but will aid me in -repairing my faults to Agnes, and securing a lawful title to her person -and her heart. - - - -CHAPTER II - - O You! whom Vanity's light bark conveys - On Fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise, - With what a shifting gale your course you ply, - For ever sunk too low, or borne too high! - Who pants for glory finds but short repose, - A breath revives him, and a breath o'er-throws. - Pope. - -Here the Marquis concluded his adventures. Lorenzo, before He could -determine on his reply, past some moments in reflection. At length He -broke silence. - -'Raymond,' said He taking his hand, 'strict honour would oblige me to -wash off in your blood the stain thrown upon my family; But the -circumstances of your case forbid me to consider you as an Enemy. The -temptation was too great to be resisted. 'Tis the superstition of my -Relations which has occasioned these misfortunes, and they are more the -Offenders than yourself and Agnes. What has past between you cannot be -recalled, but may yet be repaired by uniting you to my Sister. You -have ever been, you still continue to be, my dearest and indeed my only -Friend. I feel for Agnes the truest affection, and there is no one on -whom I would bestow her more willingly than on yourself. Pursue then -your design. I will accompany you tomorrow night, and conduct her -myself to the House of the Cardinal. My presence will be a sanction -for her conduct, and prevent her incurring blame by her flight from the -Convent.' - -The Marquis thanked him in terms by no means deficient in gratitude. -Lorenzo then informed him that He had nothing more to apprehend from -Donna Rodolpha's enmity. Five Months had already elapsed since, in an -excess of passion, She broke a blood-vessel and expired in the course -of a few hours. He then proceeded to mention the interests of Antonia. -The Marquis was much surprized at hearing of this new Relation: His -Father had carried his hatred of Elvira to the Grave, and had never -given the least hint that He knew what was become of his eldest Son's -Widow. Don Raymond assured his friend that He was not mistaken in -supposing him ready to acknowledge his Sister-in-law and her amiable -Daughter. The preparations for the elopement would not permit his -visiting them the next day; But in the meanwhile He desired Lorenzo to -assure them of his friendship, and to supply Elvira upon his account -with any sums which She might want. This the Youth promised to do, as -soon as her abode should be known to him: He then took leave of his -future Brother, and returned to the Palace de Medina. - -The day was already on the point of breaking when the Marquis retired -to his chamber. Conscious that his narrative would take up some hours, -and wishing to secure himself from interruption on returning to the -Hotel, He ordered his Attendants not to sit up for him. Consequently, -He was somewhat surprised on entering his Antiroom, to find Theodore -established there. The Page sat near a Table with a pen in his hand, -and was so totally occupied by his employment that He perceived not his -Lord's approach. The Marquis stopped to observe him. Theodore wrote a -few lines, then paused, and scratched out a part of the writing: Then -wrote again, smiled, and seemed highly pleased with what He had been -about. At last He threw down his pen, sprang from his chair, and -clapped his hands together joyfully. - -'There it is!' cried He aloud: 'Now they are charming!' - -His transports were interrupted by a laugh from the Marquis, who -suspected the nature of his employment. - -'What is so charming, Theodore?' - -The Youth started, and looked round. He blushed, ran to the Table, -seized the paper on which He had been writing, and concealed it in -confusion. - -'Oh! my Lord, I knew not that you were so near me. Can I be of use to -you? Lucas is already gone to bed.' - -'I shall follow his example when I have given my opinion of your -verses.' - -'My verses, my Lord?' - -'Nay, I am sure that you have been writing some, for nothing else could -have kept you awake till this time of the morning. Where are they, -Theodore? I shall like to see your composition.' - -Theodore's cheeks glowed with still deeper crimson: He longed to show -his poetry, but first chose to be pressed for it. - -'Indeed, my Lord, they are not worthy your attention.' - -'Not these verses, which you just now declared to be so charming? - -Come, come, let me see whether our opinions are the same. I promise -that you shall find in me an indulgent Critic.' - -The Boy produced his paper with seeming reluctance; but the -satisfaction which sparkled in his dark expressive eyes betrayed the -vanity of his little bosom. The Marquis smiled while He observed the -emotions of an heart as yet but little skilled in veiling its -sentiments. He seated himself upon a Sopha: Theodore, while Hope and -fear contended on his anxious countenance, waited with inquietude for -his Master's decision, while the Marquis read the following lines. - - LOVE AND AGE - - The night was dark; The wind blew cold; - Anacreon, grown morose and old, - Sat by his fire, and fed the chearful flame: - Sudden the Cottage-door expands, - And lo! before him Cupid stands, - Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name. - - 'What is it Thou?' the startled Sire - In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire - With crimson flushed his pale and wrinkled cheek: - 'Wouldst Thou again with amorous rage - Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age, - Vain Boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak. - - 'What seek You in this desart drear? - No smiles or sports inhabit here; - Ne'er did these vallies witness dalliance sweet: - Eternal winter binds the plains; - Age in my house despotic reigns, - My Garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat. - - 'Begone, and seek the blooming bower, - Where some ripe Virgin courts thy power, - Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed; - On Damon's amorous breast repose; - Wanton--on Chloe's lip of rose, - Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head. - - 'Be such thy haunts; These regions cold - Avoid! Nor think grown wise and old - This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear: - Remembering that my fairest years - By Thee were marked with sighs and tears, - I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare. - - 'I have not yet forgot the pains - I felt, while bound in Julia's chains; - The ardent flames with which my bosom burned; - The nights I passed deprived of rest; - The jealous pangs which racked my breast; - My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned. - - 'Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more! - Fly from my peaceful Cottage-door! - No day, no hour, no moment shalt Thou stay. - I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts, - Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts; - Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!' - - 'Does Age, old Man, your wits confound?' - Replied the offended God, and frowned; - (His frown was sweet as is the Virgin's smile!) - 'Do You to Me these words address? - To Me, who do not love you less, - Though You my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile! - - 'If one proud Fair you chanced to find, - An hundred other Nymphs were kind, - Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone: - But such is Man! His partial hand - Unnumbered favours writes on sand, - But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone. - - 'Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave, - At noon where Lesbia loved to lave? - Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay? - And who, when Caelia shrieked for aid, - Bad you with kisses hush the Maid? - What other was't than Love, Oh! false Anacreon, say! - - 'Then You could call me--"Gentle Boy! - "My only bliss! my source of joy!"-- - Then You could prize me dearer than your soul! - Could kiss, and dance me on your knees; - And swear, not wine itself would please, - Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl! - - 'Must those sweet days return no more? - Must I for aye your loss deplore, - Banished your heart, and from your favour driven? - Ah! no; My fears that smile denies; - That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes - Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven. - - 'Again beloved, esteemed, carest, - Cupid shall in thine arms be prest, - Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep: - My Torch thine age-struck heart shall warm; - My Hand pale Winter's rage disarm, - And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.'-- - - A feather now of golden hue - He smiling from his pinion drew; - This to the Poet's hand the Boy commits; - And straight before Anacreon's eyes - The fairest dreams of fancy rise, - And round his favoured head wild inspiration flits. - - His bosom glows with amorous fire - Eager He grasps the magic lyre; - Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move: - The Feather plucked from Cupid's wing - Sweeps the too-long-neglected string, - While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of Love. - - Soon as that name was heard, the Woods - Shook off their snows; The melting floods - Broke their cold chains, and Winter fled away. - Once more the earth was deckt with flowers; - Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers; - High towered the glorious Sun, and poured the blaze of day. - - Attracted by the harmonious sound, - Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround, - And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold: - The Wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove; - Eager They run; They list, they love, - And while They hear the strain, forget the Man is old. - - Cupid, to nothing constant long, - Perched on the Harp attends the song, - Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes: - Now on the Poet's breast reposes, - Now twines his hoary locks with roses, - Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats. - - Then thus Anacreon--'I no more - At other shrine my vows will pour, - Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire: - From Phoebus or the blue-eyed Maid - Now shall my verse request no aid, - For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre. - - 'In lofty strain, of earlier days, - I spread the King's or Hero's praise, - And struck the martial Chords with epic fire: - But farewell, Hero! farewell, King! - Your deeds my lips no more shall sing, - For Love alone shall be the subject of my Lyre. - - -The Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement. - -'Your little poem pleases me much,' said He; 'However, you must not -count my opinion for anything. I am no judge of verses, and for my own -part, never composed more than six lines in my life: Those six produced -so unlucky an effect that I am fully resolved never to compose another. -But I wander from my subject. I was going to say that you cannot -employ your time worse than in making verses. An Author, whether good -or bad, or between both, is an Animal whom everybody is privileged to -attack; For though All are not able to write books, all conceive -themselves able to judge them. A bad composition carries with it its -own punishment, contempt and ridicule. A good one excites envy, and -entails upon its Author a thousand mortifications. He finds himself -assailed by partial and ill-humoured Criticism: One Man finds fault -with the plan, Another with the style, a Third with the precept, which -it strives to inculcate; and they who cannot succeed in finding fault -with the Book, employ themselves in stigmatizing its Author. They -maliciously rake out from obscurity every little circumstance which may -throw ridicule upon his private character or conduct, and aim at -wounding the Man, since They cannot hurt the Writer. In short, to -enter the lists of literature is wilfully to expose yourself to the -arrows of neglect, ridicule, envy, and disappointment. Whether you -write well or ill, be assured that you will not escape from blame; -Indeed this circumstance contains a young Author's chief consolation: -He remembers that Lope de Vega and Calderona had unjust and envious -Critics, and He modestly conceives himself to be exactly in their -predicament. But I am conscious that all these sage observations are -thrown away upon you. Authorship is a mania to conquer which no -reasons are sufficiently strong; and you might as easily persuade me -not to love, as I persuade you not to write. However, if you cannot -help being occasionally seized with a poetical paroxysm, take at least -the precaution of communicating your verses to none but those whose -partiality for you secures their approbation.' - -'Then, my Lord, you do not think these lines tolerable?' said Theodore -with an humble and dejected air. - -'You mistake my meaning. As I said before, they have pleased me much; -But my regard for you makes me partial, and Others might judge them -less favourably. I must still remark that even my prejudice in your -favour does not blind me so much as to prevent my observing several -faults. For instance, you make a terrible confusion of metaphors; You -are too apt to make the strength of your lines consist more in the -words than sense; Some of the verses only seem introduced in order to -rhyme with others; and most of the best ideas are borrowed from other -Poets, though possibly you are unconscious of the theft yourself. -These faults may occasionally be excused in a work of length; But a -short Poem must be correct and perfect.' - -'All this is true, Segnor; But you should consider that I only write -for pleasure.' - -'Your defects are the less excusable. Their incorrectness may be -forgiven in those who work for money, who are obliged to compleat a -given task in a given time, and are paid according to the bulk, not -value of their productions. But in those whom no necessity forces to -turn Author, who merely write for fame, and have full leisure to polish -their compositions, faults are impardonable, and merit the sharpest -arrows of criticism.' - -The Marquis rose from the Sopha; the Page looked discouraged and -melancholy, and this did not escape his Master's observation. - -'However' added He smiling, 'I think that these lines do you no -discredit. Your versification is tolerably easy, and your ear seems to -be just. The perusal of your little poem upon the whole gave me much -pleasure; and if it is not asking too great a favour, I shall be highly -obliged to you for a Copy.' - -The Youth's countenance immediately cleared up. He perceived not the -smile, half approving, half ironical, which accompanied the request, -and He promised the Copy with great readiness. The Marquis withdrew to -his chamber, much amused by the instantaneous effect produced upon -Theodore's vanity by the conclusion of his Criticism. He threw himself -upon his Couch; Sleep soon stole over him, and his dreams presented him -with the most flattering pictures of happiness with Agnes. - -On reaching the Hotel de Medina, Lorenzo's first care was to enquire -for Letters. He found several waiting for him; but that which He -sought was not amongst them. Leonella had found it impossible to write -that evening. However, her impatience to secure Don Christoval's -heart, on which She flattered herself with having made no slight -impression, permitted her not to pass another day without informing him -where She was to be found. On her return from the Capuchin Church, She -had related to her Sister with exultation how attentive an handsome -Cavalier had been to her; as also how his Companion had undertaken to -plead Antonia's cause with the Marquis de las Cisternas. Elvira -received this intelligence with sensations very different from those -with which it was communicated. She blamed her Sister's imprudence in -confiding her history to an absolute Stranger, and expressed her fears -lest this inconsiderate step should prejudice the Marquis against her. -The greatest of her apprehensions She concealed in her own breast. She -had observed with inquietude that at the mention of Lorenzo, a deep -blush spread itself over her Daughter's cheek. The timid Antonia dared -not to pronounce his name: Without knowing wherefore, She felt -embarrassed when He was made the subject of discourse, and endeavoured -to change the conversation to Ambrosio. Elvira perceived the emotions -of this young bosom: In consequence, She insisted upon Leonella's -breaking her promise to the Cavaliers. A sigh, which on hearing this -order escaped from Antonia, confirmed the wary Mother in her resolution. - -Through this resolution Leonella was determined to break: She -conceived it to be inspired by envy, and that her Sister dreaded her -being elevated above her. Without imparting her design to anyone, She -took an opportunity of dispatching the following note to Lorenzo; It -was delivered to him as soon as He woke. - -'Doubtless, Segnor Don Lorenzo, you have frequently accused me of -ingratitude and forgetfulness: But on the word of a Virgin, it was out -of my power to perform my promise yesterday. I know not in what words -to inform you how strange a reception my Sister gave your kind wish to -visit her. She is an odd Woman, with many good points about her; But -her jealousy of me frequently makes her conceive notions quite -unaccountable. On hearing that your Friend had paid some little -attention to me, She immediately took the alarm: She blamed my -conduct, and has absolutely forbidden me to let you know our abode. My -strong sense of gratitude for your kind offers of service, and ... -Shall I confess it? my desire to behold once more the too amiable Don -Christoval, will not permit my obeying her injunctions. I have -therefore stolen a moment to inform you, that we lodge in the Strada di -San Iago, four doors from the Palace d'Albornos, and nearly opposite to -the Barber's Miguel Coello. Enquire for Donna Elvira Dalfa, since in -compliance with her Father-in-law's order, my Sister continues to be -called by her maiden name. At eight this evening you will be sure of -finding us: But let not a word drop which may raise a suspicion of my -having written this letter. Should you see the Conde d'Ossorio, tell -him ... I blush while I declare it ... - -Tell him that his presence will be but too acceptable to the -sympathetic Leonella. - -The latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the blushes of -her cheek, while She committed an outrage upon her virgin modesty. - -Lorenzo had no sooner perused this note than He set out in search of -Don Christoval. Not being able to find him in the course of the day, -He proceeded to Donna Elvira's alone, to Leonella's infinite -disappointment. The Domestic by whom He sent up his name, having -already declared his Lady to be at home, She had no excuse for refusing -his visit: Yet She consented to receive it with much reluctance. That -reluctance was increased by the changes which his approach produced in -Antonia's countenance; nor was it by any means abated when the Youth -himself appeared. The symmetry of his person, animation of his -features, and natural elegance of his manners and address, convinced -Elvira that such a Guest must be dangerous for her Daughter. She -resolved to treat him with distant politeness, to decline his services -with gratitude for the tender of them, and to make him feel, without -offence, that his future visits would be far from acceptable. - -On his entrance He found Elvira, who was indisposed, reclining upon a -Sopha: Antonia sat by her embroidery frame, and Leonella, in a -pastoral dress, held 'Montemayor's Diana.' In spite of her being the -Mother of Antonia, Lorenzo could not help expecting to find in Elvira -Leonella's true Sister, and the Daughter of 'as honest a painstaking -Shoe-maker, as any in Cordova.' A single glance was sufficient to -undeceive him. He beheld a Woman whose features, though impaired by -time and sorrow, still bore the marks of distinguished beauty: A -serious dignity reigned upon her countenance, but was tempered by a -grace and sweetness which rendered her truly enchanting. Lorenzo -fancied that She must have resembled her Daughter in her youth, and -readily excused the imprudence of the late Conde de las Cisternas. She -desired him to be seated, and immediately resumed her place upon the -Sopha. - -Antonia received him with a simple reverence, and continued her work: -Her cheeks were suffused with crimson, and She strove to conceal her -emotion by leaning over her embroidery frame. Her Aunt also chose to -play off her airs of modesty; She affected to blush and tremble, and -waited with her eyes cast down to receive, as She expected, the -compliments of Don Christoval. Finding after some time that no sign of -his approach was given, She ventured to look round the room, and -perceived with vexation that Medina was unaccompanied. Impatience -would not permit her waiting for an explanation: Interrupting Lorenzo, -who was delivering Raymond's message, She desired to know what was -become of his Friend. - -He, who thought it necessary to maintain himself in her good graces, -strove to console her under her disappointment by committing a little -violence upon truth. - -'Ah! Segnora,' He replied in a melancholy voice 'How grieved will He be -at losing this opportunity of paying you his respects! A Relation's -illness has obliged him to quit Madrid in haste: But on his return, He -will doubtless seize the first moment with transport to throw himself -at your feet!' - -As He said this, his eyes met those of Elvira: She punished his -falsehood sufficiently by darting at him a look expressive of -displeasure and reproach. Neither did the deceit answer his intention. -Vexed and disappointed Leonella rose from her seat, and retired in -dudgeon to her own apartment. - -Lorenzo hastened to repair the fault, which had injured him in Elvira's -opinion. He related his conversation with the Marquis respecting her: -He assured her that Raymond was prepared to acknowledge her for his -Brother's Widow; and that till it was in his power to pay his -compliments to her in person, Lorenzo was commissioned to supply his -place. This intelligence relieved Elvira from an heavy weight of -uneasiness: She had now found a Protector for the fatherless Antonia, -for whose future fortunes She had suffered the greatest apprehensions. -She was not sparing of her thanks to him who had interfered so -generously in her behalf; But still She gave him no invitation to -repeat his visit. - -However, when upon rising to depart He requested permission to enquire -after her health occasionally, the polite earnestness of his manner, -gratitude for his services, and respect for his Friend the Marquis, -would not admit of a refusal. She consented reluctantly to receive -him: He promised not to abuse her goodness, and quitted the House. - -Antonia was now left alone with her Mother: A temporary silence -ensued. Both wished to speak upon the same subject, but Neither knew -how to introduce it. The one felt a bashfulness which sealed up her -lips, and for which She could not account: The other feared to find -her apprehensions true, or to inspire her Daughter with notions to -which She might be still a Stranger. At length Elvira began the -conversation. - -'That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with him. -Was He long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?' - -'He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church: He gave -me his seat, and was very obliging and attentive.' - -'Indeed? Why then have you never mentioned his name to me? Your Aunt -lanched out in praise of his Friend, and you vaunted Ambrosio's -eloquence: But Neither said a word of Don Lorenzo's person and -accomplishments. Had not Leonella spoken of his readiness to undertake -our cause, I should not have known him to be in existence.' - -She paused. Antonia coloured, but was silent. - -'Perhaps you judge him less favourably than I do. In my opinion his -figure is pleasing, his conversation sensible, and manners engaging. -Still He may have struck you differently: You may think him -disagreeable, and ...'. - -'Disagreeable? Oh! dear Mother, how should I possibly think him so? I -should be very ungrateful were I not sensible of his kindness -yesterday, and very blind if his merits had escaped me. His figure is -so graceful, so noble! His manners so gentle, yet so manly! I never -yet saw so many accomplishments united in one person, and I doubt -whether Madrid can produce his equal.' - -'Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid? - -Why was it concealed from me that his society had afforded you -pleasure?' - -'In truth, I know not: You ask me a question which I cannot resolve -myself. I was on the point of mentioning him a thousand times: His -name was constantly upon my lips, but when I would have pronounced it, -I wanted courage to execute my design. However, if I did not speak of -him, it was not that I thought of him the less.' - -'That I believe; But shall I tell you why you wanted courage? It was -because, accustomed to confide to me your most secret thoughts, you -knew not how to conceal, yet feared to acknowledge, that your heart -nourished a sentiment which you were conscious I should disapprove. -Come hither to me, my Child.' - -Antonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her knees by -the Sopha, and hid her face in her Mother's lap. - -'Fear not, my sweet Girl! Consider me equally as your Friend and -Parent, and apprehend no reproof from me. I have read the emotions of -your bosom; you are yet ill-skilled in concealing them, and they could -not escape my attentive eye. This Lorenzo is dangerous to your repose; -He has already made an impression upon your heart. 'Tis true that I -perceive easily that your affection is returned; But what can be the -consequences of this attachment? You are poor and friendless, my -Antonia; Lorenzo is the Heir of the Duke of Medina Celi. Even should -Himself mean honourably, his Uncle never will consent to your union; -Nor without that Uncle's consent, will I. By sad experience I know -what sorrows She must endure, who marries into a family unwilling to -receive her. Then struggle with your affection: Whatever pains it may -cost you, strive to conquer it. Your heart is tender and susceptible: -It has already received a strong impression; But when once convinced -that you should not encourage such sentiments, I trust, that you have -sufficient fortitude to drive them from your bosom.' - -Antonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience. Elvira then -continued. - -'To prevent your passion from growing stronger, it will be needful to -prohibit Lorenzo's visits. The service which He has rendered me -permits not my forbidding them positively; But unless I judge too -favourably of his character, He will discontinue them without taking -offence, if I confess to him my reasons, and throw myself entirely on -his generosity. The next time that I see him, I will honestly avow to -him the embarrassment which his presence occasions. How say you, my -Child? Is not this measure necessary?' - -Antonia subscribed to every thing without hesitation, though not -without regret. Her Mother kissed her affectionately, and retired to -bed. Antonia followed her example, and vowed so frequently never more -to think of Lorenzo, that till Sleep closed her eyes She thought of -nothing else. - -While this was passing at Elvira's, Lorenzo hastened to rejoin the -Marquis. Every thing was ready for the second elopement of Agnes; and -at twelve the two Friends with a Coach and four were at the Garden wall -of the Convent. Don Raymond drew out his Key, and unlocked the door. -They entered, and waited for some time in expectation of being joined -by Agnes. At length the Marquis grew impatient: Beginning to fear -that his second attempt would succeed no better than the first, He -proposed to reconnoitre the Convent. The Friends advanced towards it. -Every thing was still and dark. The Prioress was anxious to keep the -story a secret, fearing lest the crime of one of its members should -bring disgrace upon the whole community, or that the interposition of -powerful Relations should deprive her vengeance of its intended victim. -She took care therefore to give the Lover of Agnes no cause to suppose -that his design was discovered, and his Mistress on the point of -suffering the punishment of her fault. The same reason made her reject -the idea of arresting the unknown Seducer in the Garden; Such a -proceeding would have created much disturbance, and the disgrace of her -Convent would have been noised about Madrid. She contented herself -with confining Agnes closely; As to the Lover, She left him at liberty -to pursue his designs. What She had expected was the result. The -Marquis and Lorenzo waited in vain till the break of day: They then -retired without noise, alarmed at the failure of their plan, and -ignorant of the cause of its ill-success. - -The next morning Lorenzo went to the Convent, and requested to see his -Sister. The Prioress appeared at the Grate with a melancholy -countenance: She informed him that for several days Agnes had appeared -much agitated; That She had been prest by the Nuns in vain to reveal -the cause, and apply to their tenderness for advice and consolation; -That She had obstinately persisted in concealing the cause of her -distress; But that on Thursday Evening it had produced so violent an -effect upon her constitution, that She had fallen ill, and was actually -confined to her bed. Lorenzo did not credit a syllable of this -account: He insisted upon seeing his Sister; If She was unable to come -to the Grate, He desired to be admitted to her Cell. The Prioress -crossed herself! She was shocked at the very idea of a Man's profane -eye pervading the interior of her holy Mansion, and professed herself -astonished that Lorenzo could think of such a thing. She told him that -his request could not be granted; But that if He returned the next day, -She hoped that her beloved Daughter would then be sufficiently -recovered to join him at the Parlour grate. - -With this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied and -trembling for his Sister's safety. - -He returned the next morning at an early hour. 'Agnes was worse; The -Physician had pronounced her to be in imminent danger; She was ordered -to remain quiet, and it was utterly impossible for her to receive her -Brother's visit.' Lorenzo stormed at this answer, but there was no -resource. He raved, He entreated, He threatened: No means were left -untried to obtain a sight of Agnes. His endeavours were as fruitless -as those of the day before, and He returned in despair to the Marquis. -On his side, the Latter had spared no pains to discover what had -occasioned his plot to fail: Don Christoval, to whom the affair was -now entrusted, endeavoured to worm out the secret from the Old -Porteress of St. Clare, with whom He had formed an acquaintance; But -She was too much upon her guard, and He gained from her no -intelligence. The Marquis was almost distracted, and Lorenzo felt -scarcely less inquietude. Both were convinced that the purposed -elopement must have been discovered: They doubted not but the malady -of Agnes was a pretence, But they knew not by what means to rescue her -from the hands of the Prioress. - -Regularly every day did Lorenzo visit the Convent: As regularly was He -informed that his Sister rather grew worse than better. Certain that -her indisposition was feigned, these accounts did not alarm him: But -his ignorance of her fate, and of the motives which induced the -Prioress to keep her from him, excited the most serious uneasiness. He -was still uncertain what steps He ought to take, when the Marquis -received a letter from the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma. It inclosed the -Pope's expected Bull, ordering that Agnes should be released from her -vows, and restored to her Relations. This essential paper decided at -once the proceedings of her Friends: They resolved that Lorenzo should -carry it to the Domina without delay, and demand that his Sister should -be instantly given up to him. Against this mandate illness could not -be pleaded: It gave her Brother the power of removing her instantly to -the Palace de Medina, and He determined to use that power on the -following day. - -His mind relieved from inquietude respecting his Sister, and his -Spirits raised by the hope of soon restoring her to freedom, He now had -time to give a few moments to love and to Antonia. At the same hour as -on his former visit He repaired to Donna Elvira's: She had given -orders for his admission. As soon as He was announced, her Daughter -retired with Leonella, and when He entered the chamber, He found the -Lady of the House alone. She received him with less distance than -before, and desired him to place himself near her upon the Sopha. She -then without losing time opened her business, as had been agreed -between herself and Antonia. - -'You must not think me ungrateful, Don Lorenzo, or forgetful how -essential are the services which you have rendered me with the Marquis. -I feel the weight of my obligations; Nothing under the Sun should -induce my taking the step to which I am now compelled but the interest -of my Child, of my beloved Antonia. My health is declining; God only -knows how soon I may be summoned before his Throne. My Daughter will -be left without Parents, and should She lose the protection of the -Cisternas family, without Friends. - -She is young and artless, uninstructed in the world's perfidy, and with -charms sufficient to render her an object of seduction. Judge then, how -I must tremble at the prospect before her! Judge how anxious I must be -to keep her from their society who may excite the yet dormant passions -of her bosom. You are amiable, Don Lorenzo: Antonia has a -susceptible, a loving heart, and is grateful for the favours conferred -upon us by your interference with the Marquis. Your presence makes me -tremble: I fear lest it should inspire her with sentiments which may -embitter the remainder of her life, or encourage her to cherish hopes -in her situation unjustifiable and futile. Pardon me when I avow my -terrors, and let my frankness plead in my excuse. I cannot forbid you -my House, for gratitude restrains me; I can only throw myself upon your -generosity, and entreat you to spare the feelings of an anxious, of a -doting Mother. Believe me when I assure you that I lament the -necessity of rejecting your acquaintance; But there is no remedy, and -Antonia's interest obliges me to beg you to forbear your visits. By -complying with my request, you will increase the esteem which I already -feel for you, and of which everything convinces me that you are truly -deserving.' - -'Your frankness charms me,' replied Lorenzo; 'You shall find that in -your favourable opinion of me you were not deceived. Yet I hope that -the reasons, now in my power to allege, will persuade you to withdraw a -request which I cannot obey without infinite reluctance. I love your -Daughter, love her most sincerely: I wish for no greater happiness -than to inspire her with the same sentiments, and receive her hand at -the Altar as her Husband. 'Tis true, I am not rich myself; My Father's -death has left me but little in my own possession; But my expectations -justify my pretending to the Conde de las Cisternas' Daughter.' - -He was proceeding, but Elvira interrupted him. - -'Ah! Don Lorenzo, you forget in that pompous title the meanness of my -origin. You forget that I have now past fourteen years in Spain, -disavowed by my Husband's family, and existing upon a stipend barely -sufficient for the support and education of my Daughter. Nay, I have -even been neglected by most of my own Relations, who out of envy affect -to doubt the reality of my marriage. My allowance being discontinued -at my Father-in-law's death, I was reduced to the very brink of want. -In this situation I was found by my Sister, who amongst all her foibles -possesses a warm, generous, and affectionate heart. She aided me with -the little fortune which my Father left her, persuaded me to visit -Madrid, and has supported my Child and myself since our quitting -Murcia. Then consider not Antonia as descended from the Conde de la -Cisternas: Consider her as a poor and unprotected Orphan, as the -Grand-child of the Tradesman Torribio Dalfa, as the needy Pensioner of -that Tradesman's Daughter. Reflect upon the difference between such a -situation, and that of the Nephew and Heir of the potent Duke of -Medina. I believe your intentions to be honourable; But as there are -no hopes that your Uncle will approve of the union, I foresee that the -consequences of your attachment must be fatal to my Child's repose.' - -'Pardon me, Segnora; You are misinformed if you suppose the Duke of -Medina to resemble the generality of Men. His sentiments are liberal -and disinterested: He loves me well; and I have no reason to dread his -forbidding the marriage when He perceives that my happiness depends -upon Antonia. But supposing him to refuse his sanction, what have I -still to fear? My Parents are no more; My little fortune is in my own -possession: It will be sufficient to support Antonia, and I shall -exchange for her hand Medina's Dukedom without one sigh of regret.' - -'You are young and eager; It is natural for you to entertain such -ideas. But Experience has taught me to my cost that curses accompany -an unequal alliance. I married the Conde de las Cisternas in -opposition to the will of his Relations; Many an heart-pang has -punished me for the imprudent step. Whereever we bent our course, a -Father's execration pursued Gonzalvo. Poverty overtook us, and no -Friend was near to relieve our wants. Still our mutual affection -existed, but alas! not without interruption. - -Accustomed to wealth and ease, ill could my Husband support the -transition to distress and indigence. He looked back with repining to -the comforts which He once enjoyed. He regretted the situation which -for my sake He had quitted; and in moments when Despair possessed his -mind, has reproached me with having made him the Companion of want and -wretchedness! He has called me his bane! The source of his sorrows, -the cause of his destruction! Ah God! He little knew how much keener -were my own heart's reproaches! He was ignorant that I suffered -trebly, for myself, for my Children, and for him! 'Tis true that his -anger seldom lasted long: His sincere affection for me soon revived in -his heart; and then his repentance for the tears which He had made me -shed tortured me even more than his reproaches. He would throw himself -on the ground, implore my forgiveness in the most frantic terms, and -load himself with curses for being the Murderer of my repose. Taught -by experience that an union contracted against the inclinations of -families on either side must be unfortunate, I will save my Daughter -from those miseries which I have suffered. Without your Uncle's -consent, while I live, She never shall be yours. Undoubtedly He will -disapprove of the union; His power is immense, and Antonia shall not be -exposed to his anger and persecution.' - -'His persecution? How easily may that be avoided! Let the worst -happen, it is but quitting Spain. My wealth may easily be realised; -The Indian Islands will offer us a secure retreat; I have an estate, -though not of value, in Hispaniola: Thither will we fly, and I shall -consider it to be my native Country, if it gives me Antonia's -undisturbed possession.' - -'Ah! Youth, this is a fond romantic vision. Gonzalvo thought the same. -He fancied that He could leave Spain without regret; But the moment of -parting undeceived him. You know not yet what it is to quit your -native land; to quit it, never to behold it more! - -You know not, what it is to exchange the scenes where you have passed -your infancy, for unknown realms and barbarous climates! To be -forgotten, utterly eternally forgotten, by the Companions of your -Youth! To see your dearest Friends, the fondest objects of your -affection, perishing with diseases incidental to Indian atmospheres, -and find yourself unable to procure for them necessary assistance! I -have felt all this! My Husband and two sweet Babes found their Graves -in Cuba: Nothing would have saved my young Antonia but my sudden -return to Spain. Ah! Don Lorenzo, could you conceive what I suffered -during my absence! Could you know how sorely I regretted all that I -left behind, and how dear to me was the very name of Spain! I envied -the winds which blew towards it: And when the Spanish Sailor chaunted -some well-known air as He past my window, tears filled my eyes while I -thought upon my native land. Gonzalvo too ... My Husband ...'. - -Elvira paused. Her voice faltered, and She concealed her face with her -handkerchief. After a short silence She rose from the Sopha, and -proceeded. - -'Excuse my quitting you for a few moments: The remembrance of what I -have suffered has much agitated me, and I need to be alone. Till I -return peruse these lines. After my Husband's death I found them among -his papers; Had I known sooner that He entertained such sentiments, -Grief would have killed me. He wrote these verses on his voyage to -Cuba, when his mind was clouded by sorrow, and He forgot that He had a -Wife and Children. - -What we are losing, ever seems to us the most precious: Gonzalvo was -quitting Spain for ever, and therefore was Spain dearer to his eyes -than all else which the World contained. Read them, Don Lorenzo; They -will give you some idea of the feelings of a banished Man!' - -Elvira put a paper into Lorenzo's hand, and retired from the chamber. -The Youth examined the contents, and found them to be as follows. - - THE EXILE - - Farewell, Oh! native Spain! Farewell for ever! - These banished eyes shall view thy coasts no more; - A mournful presage tells my heart, that never - Gonzalvo's steps again shall press thy shore. - - Hushed are the winds; While soft the Vessel sailing - With gentle motion plows the unruffled Main, - I feel my bosom's boasted courage failing, - And curse the waves which bear me far from Spain. - - I see it yet! Beneath yon blue clear Heaven - Still do the Spires, so well beloved, appear; - From yonder craggy point the gale of Even - Still wafts my native accents to mine ear: - - Propped on some moss-crowned Rock, and gaily singing, - There in the Sun his nets the Fisher dries; - Oft have I heard the plaintive Ballad, bringing - Scenes of past joys before my sorrowing eyes. - - Ah! Happy Swain! He waits the accustomed hour, - When twilight-gloom obscures the closing sky; - Then gladly seeks his loved paternal bower, - And shares the feast his native fields supply: - - Friendship and Love, his Cottage Guests, receive him - With honest welcome and with smile sincere; - No threatening woes of present joys bereave him, - No sigh his bosom owns, his cheek no tear. - - Ah! Happy Swain! Such bliss to me denying, - Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view; - Me, who from home and Spain an Exile flying, - Bid all I value, all I love, adieu. - - No more mine ear shall list the well-known ditty - Sung by some Mountain-Girl, who tends her Goats, - Some Village-Swain imploring amorous pity, - Or Shepherd chaunting wild his rustic notes: - - No more my arms a Parent's fond embraces, - No more my heart domestic calm, must know; - Far from these joys, with sighs which Memory traces, - To sultry skies, and distant climes I go. - - Where Indian Suns engender new diseases, - Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way - To brave the feverish thirst no art appeases, - The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day: - - But not to feel slow pangs consume my liver, - To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age, - My boiling blood drank by insatiate fever, - And brain delirious with the day-star's rage, - - Can make me know such grief, as thus to sever - With many a bitter sigh, Dear Land, from Thee; - To feel this heart must doat on thee for ever, - And feel, that all thy joys are torn from me! - - Ah me! How oft will Fancy's spells in slumber - Recall my native Country to my mind! - How oft regret will bid me sadly number - Each lost delight and dear Friend left behind! - - Wild Murcia's Vales, and loved romantic bowers, - The River on whose banks a Child I played, - My Castle's antient Halls, its frowning Towers, - Each much-regretted wood, and well-known Glade, - - Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre, - Thy scenes, which I am doomed no more to know, - Full oft shall Memory trace, my soul's Tormentor, - And turn each pleasure past to present woe. - - But Lo! The Sun beneath the waves retires; - Night speeds apace her empire to restore: - Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires, - Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more. - - Oh! breathe not, Winds! Still be the Water's motion! - Sleep, sleep, my Bark, in silence on the Main! - So when to-morrow's light shall gild the Ocean, - Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain. - - Vain is the wish! My last petition scorning, - Fresh blows the Gale, and high the Billows swell: - Far shall we be before the break of Morning; - Oh! then for ever, native Spain, farewell! - - -Lorenzo had scarcely time to read these lines, when Elvira returned to -him: The giving a free course to her tears had relieved her, and her -spirits had regained their usual composure. - -'I have nothing more to say, my Lord,' said She; 'You have heard my -apprehensions, and my reasons for begging you not to repeat your -visits. I have thrown myself in full confidence upon your honour: I -am certain that you will not prove my opinion of you to have been too -favourable.' - -'But one question more, Segnora, and I leave you. Should the Duke of -Medina approve my love, would my addresses be unacceptable to yourself -and the fair Antonia?' - -'I will be open with you, Don Lorenzo: There being little probability -of such an union taking place, I fear that it is desired but too -ardently by my Daughter. You have made an impression upon her young -heart, which gives me the most serious alarm: To prevent that -impression from growing stronger, I am obliged to decline your -acquaintance. For me, you may be sure that I should rejoice at -establishing my Child so advantageously. Conscious that my -constitution, impaired by grief and illness, forbids me to expect a -long continuance in this world, I tremble at the thought of leaving her -under the protection of a perfect Stranger. The Marquis de las -Cisternas is totally unknown to me: - -He will marry; His Lady may look upon Antonia with an eye of -displeasure, and deprive her of her only Friend. Should the Duke, your -Uncle, give his consent, you need not doubt obtaining mine, and my -Daughter's: But without his, hope not for ours. At all events, what -ever steps you may take, what ever may be the Duke's decision, till you -know it let me beg your forbearing to strengthen by your presence -Antonia's prepossession. If the sanction of your Relations authorises -your addressing her as your Wife, my Doors fly open to you: If that -sanction is refused, be satisfied to possess my esteem and gratitude, -but remember, that we must meet no more.' - -Lorenzo promised reluctantly to conform to this decree: But He added -that He hoped soon to obtain that consent which would give him a claim -to the renewal of their acquaintance. He then explained to her why the -Marquis had not called in person, and made no scruple of confiding to -her his Sister's History. He concluded by saying that He hoped to set -Agnes at liberty the next day; and that as soon as Don Raymond's fears -were quieted upon this subject, He would lose no time in assuring Donna -Elvira of his friendship and protection. - -The Lady shook her head. - -'I tremble for your Sister,' said She; 'I have heard many traits of the -Domina of St. Clare's character, from a Friend who was educated in the -same Convent with her. She reported her to be haughty, inflexible, -superstitious, and revengeful. I have since heard that She is -infatuated with the idea of rendering her Convent the most regular in -Madrid, and never forgave those whose imprudence threw upon it the -slightest stain. Though naturally violent and severe, when her -interests require it, She well knows how to assume an appearance of -benignity. She leaves no means untried to persuade young Women of rank -to become Members of her Community: She is implacable when once -incensed, and has too much intrepidity to shrink at taking the most -rigorous measures for punishing the Offender. Doubtless, She will -consider your Sister's quitting the Convent as a disgrace thrown upon -it: She will use every artifice to avoid obeying the mandate of his -Holiness, and I shudder to think that Donna Agnes is in the hands of -this dangerous Woman.' - -Lorenzo now rose to take leave. Elvira gave him her hand at parting, -which He kissed respectfully; and telling her that He soon hoped for -the permission to salute that of Antonia, He returned to his Hotel. -The Lady was perfectly satisfied with the conversation which had past -between them. She looked forward with satisfaction to the prospect of -his becoming her Son-in-law; But Prudence bad her conceal from her -Daughter's knowledge the flattering hopes which Herself now ventured to -entertain. - -Scarcely was it day, and already Lorenzo was at the Convent of St. -Clare, furnished with the necessary mandate. The Nuns were at Matins. -He waited impatiently for the conclusion of the service, and at length -the Prioress appeared at the Parlour Grate. Agnes was demanded. The -old Lady replied, with a melancholy air, that the dear Child's -situation grew hourly more dangerous; That the Physicians despaired of -her life; But that they had declared the only chance for her recovery -to consist in keeping her quiet, and not to permit those to approach -her whose presence was likely to agitate her. Not a word of all this -was believed by Lorenzo, any more than He credited the expressions of -grief and affection for Agnes, with which this account was interlarded. -To end the business, He put the Pope's Bull into the hands of the -Domina, and insisted that, ill or in health, his Sister should be -delivered to him without delay. - -The Prioress received the paper with an air of humility: But no sooner -had her eye glanced over the contents, than her resentment baffled all -the efforts of Hypocrisy. A deep crimson spread itself over her face, -and She darted upon Lorenzo looks of rage and menace. - -'This order is positive,' said She in a voice of anger, which She in -vain strove to disguise; 'Willingly would I obey it; But unfortunately -it is out of my power.' - -Lorenzo interrupted her by an exclamation of surprize. - -'I repeat it, Segnor; to obey this order is totally out of my power. -From tenderness to a Brother's feelings, I would have communicated the -sad event to you by degrees, and have prepared you to hear it with -fortitude. My measures are broken through: This order commands me to -deliver up to you the Sister Agnes without delay; I am therefore -obliged to inform you without circumlocution, that on Friday last, She -expired.' - -Lorenzo started back with horror, and turned pale. A moment's -recollection convinced him that this assertion must be false, and it -restored him to himself. - -'You deceive me!' said He passionately; 'But five minutes past since -you assured me that though ill She was still alive. Produce her this -instant! See her I must and will, and every attempt to keep her from -me will be unavailing.' - -'You forget yourself, Segnor; You owe respect to my age as well as my -profession. Your Sister is no more. If I at first concealed her -death, it was from dreading lest an event so unexpected should produce -on you too violent an effect. In truth, I am but ill repaid for my -attention. And what interest, I pray you, should I have in detaining -her? To know her wish of quitting our society is a sufficient reason -for me to wish her absence, and think her a disgrace to the Sisterhood -of St. Clare: But She has forfeited my affection in a manner yet more -culpable. Her crimes were great, and when you know the cause of her -death, you will doubtless rejoice, Don Lorenzo, that such a Wretch is -no longer in existence. She was taken ill on Thursday last on -returning from confession in the Capuchin Chapel. Her malady seemed -attended with strange circumstances; But She persisted in concealing -its cause: Thanks to the Virgin, we were too ignorant to suspect it! -Judge then what must have been our consternation, our horror, when She -was delivered the next day of a stillborn Child, whom She immediately -followed to the Grave. How, Segnor? Is it possible that your -countenance expresses no surprize, no indignation? Is it possible that -your Sister's infamy was known to you, and that still She possessed -your affection? In that case, you have no need of my compassion. I -can say nothing more, except repeat my inability of obeying the orders -of his Holiness. Agnes is no more, and to convince you that what I say -is true, I swear by our blessed Saviour, that three days have past -since She was buried.' - -Here She kissed a small crucifix which hung at her girdle. She then -rose from her chair, and quitted the Parlour. As She withdrew, She -cast upon Lorenzo a scornful smile. - -'Farewell, Segnor,' said She; 'I know no remedy for this accident: I -fear that even a second Bull from the Pope will not procure your -Sister's resurrection.' - -Lorenzo also retired, penetrated with affliction: But Don Raymond's at -the news of this event amounted to Madness. He would not be convinced -that Agnes was really dead, and continued to insist that the Walls of -St. Clare still confined her. No arguments could make him abandon his -hopes of regaining her: Every day some fresh scheme was invented for -procuring intelligence of her, and all of them were attended with the -same success. - -On his part, Medina gave up the idea of ever seeing his Sister more: -Yet He believed that She had been taken off by unfair means. Under -this persuasion, He encouraged Don Raymond's researches, determined, -should He discover the least warrant for his suspicions, to take a -severe vengeance upon the unfeeling Prioress. The loss of his Sister -affected him sincerely; Nor was it the least cause of his distress that -propriety obliged him for some time to defer mentioning Antonia to the -Duke. In the meanwhile his emissaries constantly surrounded Elvira's -Door. He had intelligence of all the movements of his Mistress: As She -never failed every Thursday to attend the Sermon in the Capuchin -Cathedral, He was secure of seeing her once a week, though in -compliance with his promise, He carefully shunned her observation. -Thus two long Months passed away. Still no information was procured of -Agnes: All but the Marquis credited her death; and now Lorenzo -determined to disclose his sentiments to his Uncle. He had already -dropt some hints of his intention to marry; They had been as favourably -received as He could expect, and He harboured no doubt of the success -of his application. - - - -CHAPTER III - - While in each other's arms entranced They lay, - They blessed the night, and curst the coming day. - Lee. - -The burst of transport was past: Ambrosio's lust was satisfied; -Pleasure fled, and Shame usurped her seat in his bosom. Confused and -terrified at his weakness, He drew himself from Matilda's arms. His -perjury presented itself before him: He reflected on the scene which -had just been acted, and trembled at the consequences of a discovery. -He looked forward with horror; His heart was despondent, and became the -abode of satiety and disgust. He avoided the eyes of his Partner in -frailty; A melancholy silence prevailed, during which Both seemed -busied with disagreeable reflections. - -Matilda was the first to break it. She took his hand gently, and -pressed it to her burning lips. - -'Ambrosio!' She murmured in a soft and trembling voice. - -The Abbot started at the sound. He turned his eyes upon Matilda's: -They were filled with tears; Her cheeks were covered with blushes, and -her supplicating looks seemed to solicit his compassion. - -'Dangerous Woman!' said He; 'Into what an abyss of misery have you -plunged me! Should your sex be discovered, my honour, nay my life, -must pay for the pleasure of a few moments. Fool that I was, to trust -myself to your seductions! What can now be done? How can my offence be -expiated? What atonement can purchase the pardon of my crime? -Wretched Matilda, you have destroyed my quiet for ever!' - -'To me these reproaches, Ambrosio? To me, who have sacrificed for you -the world's pleasures, the luxury of wealth, the delicacy of sex, my -Friends, my fortune, and my fame? What have you lost, which I -preserved? Have _I_ not shared in YOUR guilt? Have YOU not shared in -MY pleasure? Guilt, did I say? In what consists ours, unless in the -opinion of an ill-judging World? Let that World be ignorant of them, -and our joys become divine and blameless! Unnatural were your vows of -Celibacy; Man was not created for such a state; And were Love a crime, -God never would have made it so sweet, so irresistible! Then banish -those clouds from your brow, my Ambrosio! Indulge in those pleasures -freely, without which life is a worthless gift: Cease to reproach me -with having taught you what is bliss, and feel equal transports with -the Woman who adores you!' - -As She spoke, her eyes were filled with a delicious languor. Her bosom -panted: She twined her arms voluptuously round him, drew him towards -her, and glewed her lips to his. Ambrosio again raged with desire: -The die was thrown: His vows were already broken; He had already -committed the crime, and why should He refrain from enjoying its -reward? He clasped her to his breast with redoubled ardour. No longer -repressed by the sense of shame, He gave a loose to his intemperate -appetites. While the fair Wanton put every invention of lust in -practice, every refinement in the art of pleasure which might heighten -the bliss of her possession, and render her Lover's transports still -more exquisite, Ambrosio rioted in delights till then unknown to him: -Swift fled the night, and the Morning blushed to behold him still -clasped in the embraces of Matilda. - -Intoxicated with pleasure, the Monk rose from the Syren's luxurious -Couch. He no longer reflected with shame upon his incontinence, or -dreaded the vengeance of offended heaven. His only fear was lest Death -should rob him of enjoyments, for which his long Fast had only given a -keener edge to his appetite. Matilda was still under the influence of -poison, and the voluptuous Monk trembled less for his Preserver's life -than his Concubine's. Deprived of her, He would not easily find -another Mistress with whom He could indulge his passions so fully, and -so safely. He therefore pressed her with earnestness to use the means -of preservation which She had declared to be in her possession. - -'Yes!' replied Matilda; 'Since you have made me feel that Life is -valuable, I will rescue mine at any rate. No dangers shall appall me: -I will look upon the consequences of my action boldly, nor shudder at -the horrors which they present. I will think my sacrifice scarcely -worthy to purchase your possession, and remember that a moment past in -your arms in this world o'er-pays an age of punishment in the next. -But before I take this step, Ambrosio, give me your solemn oath never -to enquire by what means I shall preserve myself.' - -He did so in a manner the most binding. - -'I thank you, my Beloved. This precaution is necessary, for though you -know it not, you are under the command of vulgar prejudices: The -Business on which I must be employed this night, might startle you from -its singularity, and lower me in your opinion. Tell me; Are you -possessed of the Key of the low door on the western side of the Garden?' - -'The Door which opens into the burying-ground common to us and the -Sisterhood of St. Clare? I have not the Key, but can easily procure -it.' - -'You have only this to do. Admit me into the burying-ground at -midnight; Watch while I descend into the vaults of St. Clare, lest some -prying eye should observe my actions; Leave me there alone for an hour, -and that life is safe which I dedicate to your pleasures. To prevent -creating suspicion, do not visit me during the day. Remember the Key, -and that I expect you before twelve. Hark! I hear steps approaching! -Leave me; I will pretend to sleep.' - -The Friar obeyed, and left the Cell. As He opened the door, Father -Pablos made his appearance. - -'I come,' said the Latter, 'to enquire after the health of my young -Patient.' - -'Hush!' replied Ambrosio, laying his finger upon his lip; 'Speak -softly; I am just come from him. He has fallen into a profound -slumber, which doubtless will be of service to him. Do not disturb him -at present, for He wishes to repose.' - -Father Pablos obeyed, and hearing the Bell ring, accompanied the Abbot -to Matins. Ambrosio felt embarrassed as He entered the Chapel. Guilt -was new to him, and He fancied that every eye could read the -transactions of the night upon his countenance. He strove to pray; His -bosom no longer glowed with devotion; His thoughts insensibly wandered -to Matilda's secret charms. But what He wanted in purity of heart, He -supplied by exterior sanctity. The better to cloak his transgression, -He redoubled his pretensions to the semblance of virtue, and never -appeared more devoted to Heaven as since He had broken through his -engagements. Thus did He unconsciously add Hypocrisy to perjury and -incontinence; He had fallen into the latter errors from yielding to -seduction almost irresistible; But he was now guilty of a voluntary -fault by endeavouring to conceal those into which Another had betrayed -him. - -The Matins concluded, Ambrosio retired to his Cell. The pleasures -which He had just tasted for the first time were still impressed upon -his mind. His brain was bewildered, and presented a confused Chaos of -remorse, voluptuousness, inquietude, and fear. He looked back with -regret to that peace of soul, that security of virtue, which till then -had been his portion. He had indulged in excesses whose very idea but -four and twenty hours before He had recoiled at with horror. He -shuddered at reflecting that a trifling indiscretion on his part, or on -Matilda's, would overturn that fabric of reputation which it had cost -him thirty years to erect, and render him the abhorrence of that People -of whom He was then the Idol. Conscience painted to him in glaring -colours his perjury and weakness; Apprehension magnified to him the -horrors of punishment, and He already fancied himself in the prisons of -the Inquisition. To these tormenting ideas succeeded Matilda's beauty, -and those delicious lessons which, once learnt, can never be forgotten. -A single glance thrown upon these reconciled him with himself. He -considered the pleasures of the former night to have been purchased at -an easy price by the sacrifice of innocence and honour. Their very -remembrance filled his soul with ecstacy; He cursed his foolish vanity, -which had induced him to waste in obscurity the bloom of life, ignorant -of the blessings of Love and Woman. He determined at all events to -continue his commerce with Matilda, and called every argument to his -aid which might confirm his resolution. He asked himself, provided his -irregularity was unknown, in what would his fault consist, and what -consequences He had to apprehend? By adhering strictly to every rule -of his order save Chastity, He doubted not to retain the esteem of Men, -and even the protection of heaven. He trusted easily to be forgiven so -slight and natural a deviation from his vows: But He forgot that -having pronounced those vows, Incontinence, in Laymen the most venial -of errors, became in his person the most heinous of crimes. - -Once decided upon his future conduct, his mind became more easy. He -threw himself upon his bed, and strove by sleeping to recruit his -strength exhausted by his nocturnal excesses. He awoke refreshed, and -eager for a repetition of his pleasures. Obedient to Matilda's order, -He visited not her Cell during the day. Father Pablos mentioned in the -Refectory that Rosario had at length been prevailed upon to follow his -prescription; But that the medicine had not produced the slightest -effect, and that He believed no mortal skill could rescue him from the -Grave. With this opinion the Abbot agreed, and affected to lament the -untimely fate of a Youth, whose talents had appeared so promising. - -The night arrived. Ambrosio had taken care to procure from the Porter -the Key of the low door opening into the Cemetery. Furnished with this, -when all was silent in the Monastery, He quitted his Cell, and hastened -to Matilda's. She had left her bed, and was drest before his arrival. - -'I have been expecting you with impatience,' said She; 'My life depends -upon these moments. Have you the Key?' - -'I have.' - -'Away then to the garden. We have no time to lose. Follow me!' - -She took a small covered Basket from the Table. Bearing this in one -hand, and the Lamp, which was flaming upon the Hearth, in the other, -She hastened from the Cell. Ambrosio followed her. Both maintained a -profound silence. She moved on with quick but cautious steps, passed -through the Cloisters, and reached the Western side of the Garden. Her -eyes flashed with a fire and wildness which impressed the Monk at once -with awe and horror. A determined desperate courage reigned upon her -brow. She gave the Lamp to Ambrosio; Then taking from him the Key, She -unlocked the low Door, and entered the Cemetery. It was a vast and -spacious Square planted with yew trees: Half of it belonged to the -Abbey; The other half was the property of the Sisterhood of St. Clare, -and was protected by a roof of Stone. The Division was marked by an -iron railing, the wicket of which was generally left unlocked. - -Thither Matilda bent her course. She opened the wicket and sought for -the door leading to the subterraneous Vaults, where reposed the -mouldering Bodies of the Votaries of St. Clare. The night was -perfectly dark; Neither Moon or Stars were visible. Luckily there was -not a breath of Wind, and the Friar bore his Lamp in full security: By -the assistance of its beams, the door of the Sepulchre was soon -discovered. It was sunk within the hollow of a wall, and almost -concealed by thick festoons of ivy hanging over it. Three steps of -rough-hewn Stone conducted to it, and Matilda was on the point of -descending them when She suddenly started back. - -'There are People in the Vaults!' She whispered to the Monk; 'Conceal -yourself till they are past. - -She took refuge behind a lofty and magnificent Tomb, erected in honour -of the Convent's Foundress. Ambrosio followed her example, carefully -hiding his Lamp lest its beams should betray them. But a few moments -had elapsed when the Door was pushed open leading to the subterraneous -Caverns. Rays of light proceeded up the Staircase: They enabled the -concealed Spectators to observe two Females drest in religious habits, -who seemed engaged in earnest conversation. The Abbot had no -difficulty to recognize the Prioress of St. Clare in the first, and one -of the elder Nuns in her Companion. - -'Every thing is prepared,' said the Prioress; 'Her fate shall be -decided tomorrow. All her tears and sighs will be unavailing. No! In -five and twenty years that I have been Superior of this Convent, never -did I witness a transaction more infamous!' - -'You must expect much opposition to your will;' the Other replied in a -milder voice; 'Agnes has many Friends in the Convent, and in particular -the Mother St. Ursula will espouse her cause most warmly. In truth, -She merits to have Friends; and I wish I could prevail upon you to -consider her youth, and her peculiar situation. She seems sensible of -her fault; The excess of her grief proves her penitence, and I am -convinced that her tears flow more from contrition than fear of -punishment. Reverend Mother, would you be persuaded to mitigate the -severity of your sentence, would you but deign to overlook this first -transgression, I offer myself as the pledge of her future conduct.' - -'Overlook it, say you? Mother Camilla, you amaze me! What? After -disgracing me in the presence of Madrid's Idol, of the very Man on whom -I most wished to impress an idea of the strictness of my discipline? -How despicable must I have appeared to the reverend Abbot! No, Mother, -No! I never can forgive the insult. I cannot better convince Ambrosio -that I abhor such crimes, than by punishing that of Agnes with all the -rigour of which our severe laws admit. Cease then your supplications; -They will all be unavailing. My resolution is taken: Tomorrow Agnes -shall be made a terrible example of my justice and resentment.' - -The Mother Camilla seemed not to give up the point, but by this time -the Nuns were out of hearing. The Prioress unlocked the door which -communicated with St. Clare's Chapel, and having entered with her -Companion, closed it again after them. - -Matilda now asked, who was this Agnes with whom the Prioress was thus -incensed, and what connexion She could have with Ambrosio. He related -her adventure; and He added, that since that time his ideas having -undergone a thorough revolution, He now felt much compassion for the -unfortunate Nun. - -'I design,' said He, 'to request an audience of the Domina tomorrow, -and use every means of obtaining a mitigation of her sentence.' - -'Beware of what you do!' interrupted Matilda; 'Your sudden change of -sentiment may naturally create surprize, and may give birth to -suspicions which it is most our interest to avoid. Rather, redouble -your outward austerity, and thunder out menaces against the errors of -others, the better to conceal your own. Abandon the Nun to her fate. -Your interfering might be dangerous, and her imprudence merits to be -punished: She is unworthy to enjoy Love's pleasures, who has not wit -enough to conceal them. But in discussing this trifling subject I -waste moments which are precious. The night flies apace, and much must -be done before morning. The Nuns are retired; All is safe. Give me -the Lamp, Ambrosio. I must descend alone into these Caverns: Wait -here, and if any one approaches, warn me by your voice; But as you -value your existence, presume not to follow me. Your life would fall a -victim to your imprudent curiosity.' - -Thus saying She advanced towards the Sepulchre, still holding her Lamp -in one hand, and her little Basket in the other. She touched the door: -It turned slowly upon its grating hinges, and a narrow winding -staircase of black marble presented itself to her eyes. She descended -it. Ambrosio remained above, watching the faint beams of the Lamp as -they still proceeded up the stairs. They disappeared, and He found -himself in total darkness. - -Left to himself He could not reflect without surprize on the sudden -change in Matilda's character and sentiments. But a few days had past -since She appeared the mildest and softest of her sex, devoted to his -will, and looking up to him as to a superior Being. Now She assumed a -sort of courage and manliness in her manners and discourse but -ill-calculated to please him. She spoke no longer to insinuate, but -command: He found himself unable to cope with her in argument, and was -unwillingly obliged to confess the superiority of her judgment. Every -moment convinced him of the astonishing powers of her mind: But what -She gained in the opinion of the Man, She lost with interest in the -affection of the Lover. He regretted Rosario, the fond, the gentle, -and submissive: He grieved that Matilda preferred the virtues of his -sex to those of her own; and when He thought of her expressions -respecting the devoted Nun, He could not help blaming them as cruel and -unfeminine. Pity is a sentiment so natural, so appropriate to the -female character, that it is scarcely a merit for a Woman to possess -it, but to be without it is a grievous crime. Ambrosio could not -easily forgive his Mistress for being deficient in this amiable -quality. However, though he blamed her insensibility, He felt the -truth of her observations; and though He pitied sincerely the -unfortunate Agnes, He resolved to drop the idea of interposing in her -behalf. - -Near an hour had elapsed, since Matilda descended into the Caverns; -Still She returned not. Ambrosio's curiosity was excited. He drew -near the Staircase. He listened. All was silent, except that at -intervals He caught the sound of Matilda's voice, as it wound along the -subterraneous passages, and was re-echoed by the Sepulchre's vaulted -roofs. She was at too great a distance for him to distinguish her -words, and ere they reached him they were deadened into a low murmur. -He longed to penetrate into this mystery. He resolved to disobey her -injunctions and follow her into the Cavern. He advanced to the -Staircase; He had already descended some steps when his courage failed -him. He remembered Matilda's menaces if He infringed her orders, and -his bosom was filled with a secret unaccountable awe. He returned up -the stairs, resumed his former station, and waited impatiently for the -conclusion of this adventure. - -Suddenly He was sensible of a violent shock: An earthquake rocked the -ground. The Columns which supported the roof under which He stood were -so strongly shaken, that every moment menaced him with its fall, and at -the same moment He heard a loud and tremendous burst of thunder. It -ceased, and his eyes being fixed upon the Staircase, He saw a bright -column of light flash along the Caverns beneath. It was seen but for -an instant. No sooner did it disappear, than all was once more quiet -and obscure. Profound Darkness again surrounded him, and the silence -of night was only broken by the whirring Bat, as She flitted slowly by -him. - -With every instant Ambrosio's amazement increased. Another hour -elapsed, after which the same light again appeared and was lost again -as suddenly. It was accompanied by a strain of sweet but solemn Music, -which as it stole through the Vaults below, inspired the Monk with -mingled delight and terror. It had not long been hushed, when He heard -Matilda's steps upon the Staircase. She ascended from the Cavern; The -most lively joy animated her beautiful features. - -'Did you see any thing?' She asked. - -'Twice I saw a column of light flash up the Staircase.' - -'Nothing else?' - -'Nothing.' - -'The Morning is on the point of breaking. Let us retire to the Abbey, -lest daylight should betray us.' - -With a light step She hastened from the burying-ground. She regained -her Cell, and the curious Abbot still accompanied her. She closed the -door, and disembarrassed herself of her Lamp and Basket. - -'I have succeeded!' She cried, throwing herself upon his bosom: -'Succeeded beyond my fondest hopes! I shall live, Ambrosio, shall live -for you! The step which I shuddered at taking proves to me a source of -joys inexpressible! Oh! that I dared communicate those joys to you! -Oh! that I were permitted to share with you my power, and raise you as -high above the level of your sex, as one bold deed has exalted me above -mine!' - -'And what prevents you, Matilda?' interrupted the Friar; 'Why is your -business in the Cavern made a secret? Do you think me undeserving of -your confidence? Matilda, I must doubt the truth of your affection, -while you have joys in which I am forbidden to share.' - -'You reproach me with injustice. I grieve sincerely that I am obliged -to conceal from you my happiness. But I am not to blame: The fault -lies not in me, but in yourself, my Ambrosio! You are still too much -the Monk. Your mind is enslaved by the prejudices of Education; And -Superstition might make you shudder at the idea of that which -experience has taught me to prize and value. At present you are unfit -to be trusted with a secret of such importance: But the strength of -your judgment; and the curiosity which I rejoice to see sparkling in -your eyes, makes me hope that you will one day deserve my confidence. -Till that period arrives, restrain your impatience. Remember that you -have given me your solemn oath never to enquire into this night's -adventures. I insist upon your keeping this oath: For though' She -added smiling, while She sealed his lips with a wanton kiss; 'Though I -forgive your breaking your vows to heaven, I expect you to keep your -vows to me.' - -The Friar returned the embrace which had set his blood on fire. The -luxurious and unbounded excesses of the former night were renewed, and -they separated not till the Bell rang for Matins. - -The same pleasures were frequently repeated. The Monks rejoiced in the -feigned Rosario's unexpected recovery, and none of them suspected his -real sex. The Abbot possessed his Mistress in tranquillity, and -perceiving his frailty unsuspected, abandoned himself to his passions -in full security. Shame and remorse no longer tormented him. Frequent -repetitions made him familiar with sin, and his bosom became proof -against the stings of Conscience. In these sentiments He was -encouraged by Matilda; But She soon was aware that She had satiated her -Lover by the unbounded freedom of her caresses. Her charms becoming -accustomed to him, they ceased to excite the same desires which at -first they had inspired. The delirium of passion being past, He had -leisure to observe every trifling defect: Where none were to be found, -Satiety made him fancy them. The Monk was glutted with the fullness of -pleasure: A Week had scarcely elapsed before He was wearied of his -Paramour: His warm constitution still made him seek in her arms the -gratification of his lust: But when the moment of passion was over, He -quitted her with disgust, and his humour, naturally inconstant, made -him sigh impatiently for variety. - -Possession, which cloys Man, only increases the affection of Woman. -Matilda with every succeeding day grew more attached to the Friar. -Since He had obtained her favours, He was become dearer to her than -ever, and She felt grateful to him for the pleasures in which they had -equally been Sharers. Unfortunately as her passion grew ardent, -Ambrosio's grew cold; The very marks of her fondness excited his -disgust, and its excess served to extinguish the flame which already -burned but feebly in his bosom. Matilda could not but remark that her -society seemed to him daily less agreeable: He was inattentive while -She spoke: her musical talents, which She possessed in perfection, had -lost the power of amusing him; Or if He deigned to praise them, his -compliments were evidently forced and cold. He no longer gazed upon -her with affection, or applauded her sentiments with a Lover's -partiality. This Matilda well perceived, and redoubled her efforts to -revive those sentiments which He once had felt. She could not but fail, -since He considered as importunities the pains which She took to please -him, and was disgusted by the very means which She used to recall the -Wanderer. Still, however, their illicit Commerce continued: But it -was clear that He was led to her arms, not by love, but the cravings of -brutal appetite. His constitution made a Woman necessary to him, and -Matilda was the only one with whom He could indulge his passions -safely: In spite of her beauty, He gazed upon every other Female with -more desire; But fearing that his Hypocrisy should be made public, He -confined his inclinations to his own breast. - -It was by no means his nature to be timid: But his education had -impressed his mind with fear so strongly, that apprehension was now -become part of his character. Had his Youth been passed in the world, -He would have shown himself possessed of many brilliant and manly -qualities. He was naturally enterprizing, firm, and fearless: He had -a Warrior's heart, and He might have shone with splendour at the head -of an Army. There was no want of generosity in his nature: The -Wretched never failed to find in him a compassionate Auditor: His -abilities were quick and shining, and his judgment, vast, solid, and -decisive. With such qualifications He would have been an ornament to -his Country: That He possessed them, He had given proofs in his -earliest infancy, and his Parents had beheld his dawning virtues with -the fondest delight and admiration. Unfortunately, while yet a Child -He was deprived of those Parents. He fell into the power of a Relation -whose only wish about him was never to hear of him more; For that -purpose He gave him in charge to his Friend, the former Superior of the -Capuchins. The Abbot, a very Monk, used all his endeavours to persuade -the Boy that happiness existed not without the walls of a Convent. He -succeeded fully. To deserve admittance into the order of St. Francis -was Ambrosio's highest ambition. His Instructors carefully repressed -those virtues whose grandeur and disinterestedness were ill-suited to -the Cloister. Instead of universal benevolence, He adopted a selfish -partiality for his own particular establishment: He was taught to -consider compassion for the errors of Others as a crime of the blackest -dye: The noble frankness of his temper was exchanged for servile -humility; and in order to break his natural spirit, the Monks terrified -his young mind by placing before him all the horrors with which -Superstition could furnish them: They painted to him the torments of -the Damned in colours the most dark, terrible, and fantastic, and -threatened him at the slightest fault with eternal perdition. No -wonder that his imagination constantly dwelling upon these fearful -objects should have rendered his character timid and apprehensive. Add -to this, that his long absence from the great world, and total -unacquaintance with the common dangers of life, made him form of them -an idea far more dismal than the reality. While the Monks were busied -in rooting out his virtues and narrowing his sentiments, they allowed -every vice which had fallen to his share to arrive at full perfection. -He was suffered to be proud, vain, ambitious, and disdainful: He was -jealous of his Equals, and despised all merit but his own: He was -implacable when offended, and cruel in his revenge. Still in spite of -the pains taken to pervert them, his natural good qualities would -occasionally break through the gloom cast over them so carefully: - -At such times the contest for superiority between his real and acquired -character was striking and unaccountable to those unacquainted with his -original disposition. He pronounced the most severe sentences upon -Offenders, which, the moment after, Compassion induced him to mitigate: -He undertook the most daring enterprizes, which the fear of their -consequences soon obliged him to abandon: His inborn genius darted a -brilliant light upon subjects the most obscure; and almost -instantaneously his Superstition replunged them in darkness more -profound than that from which they had just been rescued. His Brother -Monks, regarding him as a Superior Being, remarked not this -contradiction in their Idol's conduct. They were persuaded that what -He did must be right, and supposed him to have good reasons for -changing his resolutions. The fact was, that the different sentiments -with which Education and Nature had inspired him were combating in his -bosom: It remained for his passions, which as yet no opportunity had -called into play, to decide the victory. Unfortunately his passions -were the very worst Judges, to whom He could possibly have applied. -His monastic seclusion had till now been in his favour, since it gave -him no room for discovering his bad qualities. The superiority of his -talents raised him too far above his Companions to permit his being -jealous of them: His exemplary piety, persuasive eloquence, and -pleasing manners had secured him universal Esteem, and consequently He -had no injuries to revenge: His Ambition was justified by his -acknowledged merit, and his pride considered as no more than proper -confidence. He never saw, much less conversed with, the other sex: He -was ignorant of the pleasures in Woman's power to bestow, and if He -read in the course of his studies - - 'That Men were fond, He smiled, and wondered how!' - -For a time, spare diet, frequent watching, and severe penance cooled -and represt the natural warmth of his constitution: But no sooner did -opportunity present itself, no sooner did He catch a glimpse of joys to -which He was still a Stranger, than Religion's barriers were too feeble -to resist the overwhelming torrent of his desires. All impediments -yielded before the force of his temperament, warm, sanguine, and -voluptuous in the excess. - -As yet his other passions lay dormant; But they only needed to be once -awakened, to display themselves with violence as great and irresistible. - -He continued to be the admiration of Madrid. The Enthusiasm created by -his eloquence seemed rather to increase than diminish. - -Every Thursday, which was the only day when He appeared in public, the -Capuchin Cathedral was crowded with Auditors, and his discourse was -always received with the same approbation. He was named Confessor to -all the chief families in Madrid; and no one was counted fashionable -who was injoined penance by any other than Ambrosio. In his resolution -of never stirring out of his Convent, He still persisted. This -circumstance created a still greater opinion of his sanctity and -self-denial. Above all, the Women sang forth his praises loudly, less -influenced by devotion than by his noble countenance, majestic air, and -well-turned, graceful figure. The Abbey door was thronged with -Carriages from morning to night; and the noblest and fairest Dames of -Madrid confessed to the Abbot their secret peccadilloes. - -The eyes of the luxurious Friar devoured their charms: Had his -Penitents consulted those Interpreters, He would have needed no other -means of expressing his desires. For his misfortune, they were so -strongly persuaded of his continence, that the possibility of his -harbouring indecent thoughts never once entered their imaginations. -The climate's heat, 'tis well known, operates with no small influence -upon the constitutions of the Spanish Ladies: But the most abandoned -would have thought it an easier task to inspire with passion the marble -Statue of St. Francis than the cold and rigid heart of the immaculate -Ambrosio. - -On his part, the Friar was little acquainted with the depravity of the -world; He suspected not that but few of his Penitents would have -rejected his addresses. Yet had He been better instructed on this -head, the danger attending such an attempt would have sealed up his -lips in silence. He knew that it would be difficult for a Woman to -keep a secret so strange and so important as his frailty; and He even -trembled lest Matilda should betray him. Anxious to preserve a -reputation which was infinitely dear to him, He saw all the risque of -committing it to the power of some vain giddy Female; and as the -Beauties of Madrid affected only his senses without touching his heart, -He forgot them as soon as they were out of his sight. The danger of -discovery, the fear of being repulsed, the loss of reputation, all -these considerations counselled him to stifle his desires: And though -He now felt for it the most perfect indifference, He was necessitated -to confine himself to Matilda's person. - -One morning, the confluence of Penitents was greater than usual. He was -detained in the Confessional Chair till a late hour. At length the -crowd was dispatched, and He prepared to quit the Chapel, when two -Females entered and drew near him with humility. They threw up their -veils, and the youngest entreated him to listen to her for a few -moments. The melody of her voice, of that voice to which no Man ever -listened without interest, immediately caught Ambrosio's attention. He -stopped. The Petitioner seemed bowed down with affliction: Her cheeks -were pale, her eyes dimmed with tears, and her hair fell in disorder -over her face and bosom. Still her countenance was so sweet, so -innocent, so heavenly, as might have charmed an heart less susceptible, -than that which panted in the Abbot's breast. With more than usual -softness of manner He desired her to proceed, and heard her speak as -follows with an emotion which increased every moment. - -'Reverend Father, you see an Unfortunate, threatened with the loss of -her dearest, of almost her only Friend! My Mother, my excellent Mother -lies upon the bed of sickness. A sudden and dreadful malady seized her -last night; and so rapid has been its progress, that the Physicians -despair of her life. Human aid fails me; Nothing remains for me but to -implore the mercy of Heaven. Father, all Madrid rings with the report -of your piety and virtue. Deign to remember my Mother in your prayers: -Perhaps they may prevail on the Almighty to spare her; and should that -be the case, I engage myself every Thursday in the next three Months to -illuminate the Shrine of St. Francis in his honour.' - -'So!' thought the Monk; 'Here we have a second Vincentio della Ronda. -Rosario's adventure began thus,' and He wished secretly that this might -have the same conclusion. - -He acceded to the request. The Petitioner returned him thanks with -every mark of gratitude, and then continued. - -'I have yet another favour to ask. We are Strangers in Madrid; My -Mother needs a Confessor, and knows not to whom She should apply. We -understand that you never quit the Abbey, and Alas! my poor Mother is -unable to come hither! If you would have the goodness, reverend -Father, to name a proper person, whose wise and pious consolations may -soften the agonies of my Parent's deathbed, you will confer an -everlasting favour upon hearts not ungrateful.' - -With this petition also the Monk complied. Indeed, what petition would -He have refused, if urged in such enchanting accents? The suppliant -was so interesting! Her voice was so sweet, so harmonious! Her very -tears became her, and her affliction seemed to add new lustre to her -charms. He promised to send to her a Confessor that same Evening, and -begged her to leave her address. The Companion presented him with a -Card on which it was written, and then withdrew with the fair -Petitioner, who pronounced before her departure a thousand benedictions -on the Abbot's goodness. His eyes followed her out of the Chapel. It -was not till She was out of sight that He examined the Card, on which -He read the following words. - -'Donna Elvira Dalfa, Strada di San Iago, four doors from the Palace -d'Albornos.' - -The Suppliant was no other than Antonia, and Leonella was her -Companion. The Latter had not consented without difficulty to -accompany her Niece to the Abbey: Ambrosio had inspired her with such -awe that She trembled at the very sight of him. Her fears had -conquered even her natural loquacity, and while in his presence She -uttered not a single syllable. - -The Monk retired to his Cell, whither He was pursued by Antonia's -image. He felt a thousand new emotions springing in his bosom, and He -trembled to examine into the cause which gave them birth. They were -totally different from those inspired by Matilda, when She first -declared her sex and her affection. He felt not the provocation of -lust; No voluptuous desires rioted in his bosom; Nor did a burning -imagination picture to him the charms which Modesty had veiled from his -eyes. On the contrary, what He now felt was a mingled sentiment of -tenderness, admiration, and respect. A soft and delicious melancholy -infused itself into his soul, and He would not have exchanged it for -the most lively transports of joy. Society now disgusted him: He -delighted in solitude, which permitted his indulging the visions of -Fancy: His thoughts were all gentle, sad, and soothing, and the whole -wide world presented him with no other object than Antonia. - -'Happy Man!' He exclaimed in his romantic enthusiasm; 'Happy Man, who -is destined to possess the heart of that lovely Girl! What delicacy in -her features! What elegance in her form! How enchanting was the timid -innocence of her eyes, and how different from the wanton expression, -the wild luxurious fire which sparkles in Matilda's! Oh! sweeter must -one kiss be snatched from the rosy lips of the First, than all the full -and lustful favours bestowed so freely by the Second. Matilda gluts me -with enjoyment even to loathing, forces me to her arms, apes the -Harlot, and glories in her prostitution. Disgusting! Did She know the -inexpressible charm of Modesty, how irresistibly it enthralls the heart -of Man, how firmly it chains him to the Throne of Beauty, She never -would have thrown it off. What would be too dear a price for this -lovely Girl's affections? What would I refuse to sacrifice, could I be -released from my vows, and permitted to declare my love in the sight of -earth and heaven? While I strove to inspire her with tenderness, with -friendship and esteem, how tranquil and undisturbed would the hours -roll away! Gracious God! To see her blue downcast eyes beam upon mine -with timid fondness! To sit for days, for years listening to that -gentle voice! To acquire the right of obliging her, and hear the -artless expressions of her gratitude! To watch the emotions of her -spotless heart! To encourage each dawning virtue! To share in her joy -when happy, to kiss away her tears when distrest, and to see her fly to -my arms for comfort and support! Yes; If there is perfect bliss on -earth, 'tis his lot alone, who becomes that Angel's Husband.' - -While his fancy coined these ideas, He paced his Cell with a disordered -air. His eyes were fixed upon vacancy: His head reclined upon his -shoulder; A tear rolled down his cheek, while He reflected that the -vision of happiness for him could never be realized. - -'She is lost to me!' He continued; 'By marriage She cannot be mine: -And to seduce such innocence, to use the confidence reposed in me to -work her ruin.... Oh! it would be a crime, blacker than yet the -world ever witnessed! Fear not, lovely Girl! Your virtue runs no -risque from me. Not for Indies would I make that gentle bosom know the -tortures of remorse.' - -Again He paced his chamber hastily. Then stopping, his eye fell upon -the picture of his once-admired Madona. He tore it with indignation -from the wall: He threw it on the ground, and spurned it from him with -his foot. - -'The Prostitute!' - -Unfortunate Matilda! Her Paramour forgot that for his sake alone She -had forfeited her claim to virtue; and his only reason for despising -her was that She had loved him much too well. - -He threw himself into a Chair which stood near the Table. He saw the -card with Elvira's address. He took it up, and it brought to his -recollection his promise respecting a Confessor. He passed a few -minutes in doubt: But Antonia's Empire over him was already too much -decided to permit his making a long resistance to the idea which struck -him. He resolved to be the Confessor himself. He could leave the -Abbey unobserved without difficulty: By wrapping up his head in his -Cowl He hoped to pass through the Streets without being recognised: By -taking these precautions, and by recommending secrecy to Elvira's -family, He doubted not to keep Madrid in ignorance that He had broken -his vow never to see the outside of the Abbey walls. Matilda was the -only person whose vigilance He dreaded: But by informing her at the -Refectory that during the whole of that day, Business would confine him -to his Cell, He thought himself secure from her wakeful jealousy. -Accordingly, at the hours when the Spaniards are generally taking their -Siesta, He ventured to quit the Abbey by a private door, the Key of -which was in his possession. The Cowl of his habit was thrown over his -face: From the heat of the weather the Streets were almost totally -deserted: The Monk met with few people, found the Strada di San Iago, -and arrived without accident at Donna Elvira's door. He rang, was -admitted, and immediately ushered into an upper apartment. - -It was here that He ran the greatest risque of a discovery. Had -Leonella been at home, She would have recognized him directly: Her -communicative disposition would never have permitted her to rest till -all Madrid was informed that Ambrosio had ventured out of the Abbey, -and visited her Sister. Fortune here stood the Monk's Friend. On -Leonella's return home, She found a letter instructing her that a -Cousin was just dead, who had left what little He possessed between -Herself and Elvira. To secure this bequest She was obliged to set out -for Cordova without losing a moment. Amidst all her foibles her heart -was truly warm and affectionate, and She was unwilling to quit her -Sister in so dangerous a state. But Elvira insisted upon her taking -the journey, conscious that in her Daughter's forlorn situation no -increase of fortune, however trifling, ought to be neglected. -Accordingly, Leonella left Madrid, sincerely grieved at her Sister's -illness, and giving some few sighs to the memory of the amiable but -inconstant Don Christoval. She was fully persuaded that at first She -had made a terrible breach in his heart: But hearing nothing more of -him, She supposed that He had quitted the pursuit, disgusted by the -lowness of her origin, and knowing upon other terms than marriage He -had nothing to hope from such a Dragon of Virtue as She professed -herself; Or else, that being naturally capricious and changeable, the -remembrance of her charms had been effaced from the Conde's heart by -those of some newer Beauty. Whatever was the cause of her losing him, -She lamented it sorely. She strove in vain, as She assured every body -who was kind enough to listen to her, to tear his image from her too -susceptible heart. She affected the airs of a lovesick Virgin, and -carried them all to the most ridiculous excess. She heaved lamentable -sighs, walked with her arms folded, uttered long soliloquies, and her -discourse generally turned upon some forsaken Maid who expired of a -broken heart! Her fiery locks were always ornamented with a garland of -willow; Every evening She was seen straying upon the Banks of a rivulet -by Moonlight; and She declared herself a violent Admirer of murmuring -Streams and Nightingales; - - 'Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves, - 'Places which pale Passion loves!' - -Such was the state of Leonella's mind, when obliged to quit Madrid. -Elvira was out of patience at all these follies, and endeavoured at -persuading her to act like a reasonable Woman. Her advice was thrown -away: Leonella assured her at parting that nothing could make her -forget the perfidious Don Christoval. In this point She was -fortunately mistaken. An honest Youth of Cordova, Journeyman to an -Apothecary, found that her fortune would be sufficient to set him up in -a genteel Shop of his own: In consequence of this reflection He avowed -himself her Admirer. Leonella was not inflexible. The ardour of his -sighs melted her heart, and She soon consented to make him the happiest -of Mankind. She wrote to inform her Sister of her marriage; But, for -reasons which will be explained hereafter, Elvira never answered her -letter. - -Ambrosio was conducted into the Antichamber to that where Elvira was -reposing. The Female Domestic who had admitted him left him alone -while She announced his arrival to her Mistress. Antonia, who had been -by her Mother's Bedside, immediately came to him. - -'Pardon me, Father,' said She, advancing towards him; when recognizing -his features, She stopped suddenly, and uttered a cry of joy. 'Is it -possible!' She continued; - -'Do not my eyes deceive me? Has the worthy Ambrosio broken through his -resolution, that He may soften the agonies of the best of Women? What -pleasure will this visit give my Mother! Let me not delay for a moment -the comfort which your piety and wisdom will afford her.' - -Thus saying, She opened the chamber door, presented to her Mother her -distinguished Visitor, and having placed an armed-chair by the side of -the Bed, withdrew into another department. - -Elvira was highly gratified by this visit: Her expectations had been -raised high by general report, but She found them far exceeded. -Ambrosio, endowed by nature with powers of pleasing, exerted them to -the utmost while conversing with Antonia's Mother. With persuasive -eloquence He calmed every fear, and dissipated every scruple: He bad -her reflect on the infinite mercy of her Judge, despoiled Death of his -darts and terrors, and taught her to view without shrinking the abyss -of eternity, on whose brink She then stood. Elvira was absorbed in -attention and delight: While She listened to his exhortations, -confidence and comfort stole insensibly into her mind. She unbosomed -to him without hesitation her cares and apprehensions. The latter -respecting a future life He had already quieted: And He now removed -the former, which She felt for the concerns of this. She trembled for -Antonia. She had none to whose care She could recommend her, save to -the Marquis de las Cisternas and her Sister Leonella. The protection -of the One was very uncertain; and as to the Other, though fond of her -Niece, Leonella was so thoughtless and vain as to make her an improper -person to have the sole direction of a Girl so young and ignorant of -the World. The Friar no sooner learnt the cause of her alarms than He -begged her to make herself easy upon that head. He doubted not being -able to secure for Antonia a safe refuge in the House of one of his -Penitents, the Marchioness of Villa-Franca: This was a Lady of -acknowledged virtue, remarkable for strict principles and extensive -charity. Should accident deprive her of this resource, He engaged to -procure Antonia a reception in some respectable Convent: That is to -say, in quality of boarder; for Elvira had declared herself no Friend -to a monastic life, and the Monk was either candid or complaisant -enough to allow that her disapprobation was not unfounded. - -These proofs of the interest which He felt for her completely won -Elvira's heart. In thanking him She exhausted every expression which -Gratitude could furnish, and protested that now She should resign -herself with tranquillity to the Grave. Ambrosio rose to take leave: -He promised to return the next day at the same hour, but requested that -his visits might be kept secret. - -'I am unwilling' said He, 'that my breaking through a rule imposed by -necessity should be generally known. Had I not resolved never to quit -my Convent, except upon circumstances as urgent as that which has -conducted me to your door, I should be frequently summoned upon -insignificant occasions: That time would be engrossed by the Curious, -the Unoccupied, and the fanciful, which I now pass at the Bedside of -the Sick, in comforting the expiring Penitent, and clearing the passage -to Eternity from Thorns.' - -Elvira commended equally his prudence and compassion, promising to -conceal carefully the honour of his visits. The Monk then gave her his -benediction, and retired from the chamber. - -In the Antiroom He found Antonia: He could not refuse himself the -pleasure of passing a few moments in her society. He bad her take -comfort, for that her Mother seemed composed and tranquil, and He hoped -that She might yet do well. He enquired who attended her, and engaged -to send the Physician of his Convent to see her, one of the most -skilful in Madrid. He then launched out in Elvira's commendation, -praised her purity and fortitude of mind, and declared that She had -inspired him with the highest esteem and reverence. Antonia's innocent -heart swelled with gratitude: Joy danced in her eyes, where a tear -still sparkled. The hopes which He gave her of her Mother's recovery, -the lively interest which He seemed to feel for her, and the flattering -way in which She was mentioned by him, added to the report of his -judgment and virtue, and to the impression made upon her by his -eloquence, confirmed the favourable opinion with which his first -appearance had inspired Antonia. She replied with diffidence, but -without restraint: She feared not to relate to him all her little -sorrows, all her little fears and anxieties; and She thanked him for -his goodness with all the genuine warmth which favours kindle in a -young and innocent heart. Such alone know how to estimate benefits at -their full value. They who are conscious of Mankind's perfidy and -selfishness, ever receive an obligation with apprehension and distrust: -They suspect that some secret motive must lurk behind it: They express -their thanks with restraint and caution, and fear to praise a kind -action to its full extent, aware that some future day a return may be -required. Not so Antonia; She thought the world was composed only of -those who resembled her, and that vice existed, was to her still a -secret. The Monk had been of service to her; He said that He wished -her well; She was grateful for his kindness, and thought that no terms -were strong enough to be the vehicle of her thanks. With what delight -did Ambrosio listen to the declaration of her artless gratitude! The -natural grace of her manners, the unequalled sweetness of her voice, -her modest vivacity, her unstudied elegance, her expressive -countenance, and intelligent eyes united to inspire him with pleasure -and admiration, While the solidity and correctness of her remarks -received additional beauty from the unaffected simplicity of the -language in which they were conveyed. - -Ambrosio was at length obliged to tear himself from this conversation -which possessed for him but too many charms. He repeated to Antonia -his wishes that his visits should not be made known, which desire She -promised to observe. He then quitted the House, while his Enchantress -hastened to her Mother, ignorant of the mischief which her Beauty had -caused. She was eager to know Elvira's opinion of the Man whom She had -praised in such enthusiastic terms, and was delighted to find it -equally favourable, if not even more so, than her own. - -'Even before He spoke,' said Elvira, 'I was prejudiced in his favour: -The fervour of his exhortations, dignity of his manner, and closeness -of his reasoning, were very far from inducing me to alter my opinion. -His fine and full-toned voice struck me particularly; But surely, -Antonia, I have heard it before. It seemed perfectly familiar to my -ear. Either I must have known the Abbot in former times, or his voice -bears a wonderful resemblance to that of some other, to whom I have -often listened. - -There were certain tones which touched my very heart, and made me feel -sensations so singular, that I strive in vain to account for them.' - -'My dearest Mother, it produced the same effect upon me: Yet certainly -neither of us ever heard his voice till we came to Madrid. I suspect -that what we attribute to his voice, really proceeds from his pleasant -manners, which forbid our considering him as a Stranger. I know not -why, but I feel more at my ease while conversing with him than I -usually do with people who are unknown to me. I feared not to repeat -to him all my childish thoughts; and somehow I felt confident that He -would hear my folly with indulgence. Oh! I was not deceived in him! -He listened to me with such an air of kindness and attention! He -answered me with such gentleness, such condescension! He did not call -me an Infant, and treat me with contempt, as our cross old Confessor at -the Castle used to do. I verily believe that if I had lived in Murcia -a thousand years, I never should have liked that fat old Father -Dominic!' - -'I confess that Father Dominic had not the most pleasing manners in the -world; But He was honest, friendly, and well-meaning.' - -'Ah! my dear Mother, those qualities are so common!' - -'God grant, my Child, that Experience may not teach you to think them -rare and precious: I have found them but too much so! But tell me, -Antonia; Why is it impossible for me to have seen the Abbot before?' - -'Because since the moment when He entered the Abbey, He has never been -on the outside of its walls. He told me just now, that from his -ignorance of the Streets, He had some difficulty to find the Strada di -San Iago, though so near the Abbey.' - -'All this is possible, and still I may have seen him BEFORE He entered -the Abbey: In order to come out, it was rather necessary that He -should first go in.' - -'Holy Virgin! As you say, that is very true.--Oh! But might He not -have been born in the Abbey?' - -Elvira smiled. - -'Why, not very easily.' - -'Stay, Stay! Now I recollect how it was. He was put into the Abbey -quite a Child; The common People say that He fell from heaven, and was -sent as a present to the Capuchins by the Virgin.' - -'That was very kind of her. And so He fell from heaven, Antonia? - -He must have had a terrible tumble.' - -'Many do not credit this, and I fancy, my dear Mother, that I must -number you among the Unbelievers. Indeed, as our Landlady told my -Aunt, the general idea is that his Parents, being poor and unable to -maintain him, left him just born at the Abbey door. The late Superior -from pure charity had him educated in the Convent, and He proved to be -a model of virtue, and piety, and learning, and I know not what else -besides: In consequence, He was first received as a Brother of the -order, and not long ago was chosen Abbot. However, whether this -account or the other is the true one, at least all agree that when the -Monks took him under their care, He could not speak: Therefore, you -could not have heard his voice before He entered the Monastery, because -at that time He had no voice at all.' - -'Upon my word, Antonia, you argue very closely! Your conclusions are -infallible! I did not suspect you of being so able a Logician.' - -'Ah! You are mocking me! But so much the better. It delights me to see -you in spirits: Besides you seem tranquil and easy, and I hope that -you will have no more convulsions. Oh! I was sure the Abbot's visit -would do you good!' - -'It has indeed done me good, my Child. He has quieted my mind upon -some points which agitated me, and I already feel the effects of his -attention. My eyes grow heavy, and I think I can sleep a little. Draw -the curtains, my Antonia: But if I should not wake before midnight, do -not sit up with me, I charge you.' - -Antonia promised to obey her, and having received her blessing drew the -curtains of the Bed. She then seated herself in silence at her -embroidery frame, and beguiled the hours with building Castles in the -air. Her spirits were enlivened by the evident change for the better -in Elvira, and her fancy presented her with visions bright and -pleasing. In these dreams Ambrosio made no despicable figure. She -thought of him with joy and gratitude; But for every idea which fell to -the Friar's share, at least two were unconsciously bestowed upon -Lorenzo. Thus passed the time, till the Bell in the neighbouring -Steeple of the Capuchin Cathedral announced the hour of midnight: -Antonia remembered her Mother's injunctions, and obeyed them, though -with reluctance. She undrew the curtains with caution. Elvira was -enjoying a profound and quiet slumber; Her cheek glowed with health's -returning colours: A smile declared that her dreams were pleasant, and -as Antonia bent over her, She fancied that She heard her name -pronounced. She kissed her Mother's forehead softly, and retired to -her chamber. There She knelt before a Statue of St. Rosolia, her -Patroness; She recommended herself to the protection of heaven, and as -had been her custom from infancy, concluded her devotions by chaunting -the following Stanzas. - - MIDNIGHT HYMN - - Now all is hushed; The solemn chime - No longer swells the nightly gale: - Thy awful presence, Hour sublime, - With spotless heart once more I hail. - - 'Tis now the moment still and dread, - When Sorcerers use their baleful power; - When Graves give up their buried dead - To profit by the sanctioned hour: - - From guilt and guilty thoughts secure, - To duty and devotion true, - With bosom light and conscience pure, - Repose, thy gentle aid I woo. - - Good Angels, take my thanks, that still - The snares of vice I view with scorn; - Thanks, that to-night as free from ill - I sleep, as when I woke at morn. - - Yet may not my unconscious breast - Harbour some guilt to me unknown? - Some wish impure, which unreprest - You blush to see, and I to own? - - If such there be, in gentle dream - Instruct my feet to shun the snare; - Bid truth upon my errors beam, - And deign to make me still your care. - - Chase from my peaceful bed away - The witching Spell, a foe to rest, - The nightly Goblin, wanton Fay, - The Ghost in pain, and Fiend unblest: - - Let not the Tempter in mine ear - Pour lessons of unhallowed joy; - Let not the Night-mare, wandering near - My Couch, the calm of sleep destroy; - - Let not some horrid dream affright - With strange fantastic forms mine eyes; - But rather bid some vision bright - Display the bliss of yonder skies. - - Show me the crystal Domes of Heaven, - The worlds of light where Angels lie; - Shew me the lot to Mortals given, - Who guiltless live, who guiltless die. - - Then show me how a seat to gain - Amidst those blissful realms of - Air; Teach me to shun each guilty stain, - And guide me to the good and fair. - - So every morn and night, my Voice - To heaven the grateful strain shall raise; - In You as Guardian Powers rejoice, - Good Angels, and exalt your praise: - - So will I strive with zealous fire - Each vice to shun, each fault correct; - Will love the lessons you inspire, - And Prize the virtues you protect. - - Then when at length by high command - My body seeks the Grave's repose, - When Death draws nigh with friendly hand - My failing Pilgrim eyes to close; - - Pleased that my soul has 'scaped the wreck, - Sighless will I my life resign, - And yield to God my Spirit back, - As pure as when it first was mine. - - -Having finished her usual devotions, Antonia retired to bed. Sleep soon -stole over her senses; and for several hours She enjoyed that calm -repose which innocence alone can know, and for which many a Monarch -with pleasure would exchange his Crown. - - - -CHAPTER IV - - ----Ah! how dark - These long-extended realms and rueful wastes; - Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night, - Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun - Was rolled together, or had tried its beams - Athwart the gloom profound! - The sickly Taper - By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults, - Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime, - Lets fall a supernumerary horror, - And only serves to make - Thy night more irksome! - Blair. - -Returned undiscovered to the Abbey, Ambrosio's mind was filled with the -most pleasing images. He was wilfully blind to the danger of exposing -himself to Antonia's charms: He only remembered the pleasure which her -society had afforded him, and rejoiced in the prospect of that pleasure -being repeated. He failed not to profit by Elvira's indisposition to -obtain a sight of her Daughter every day. At first He bounded his -wishes to inspire Antonia with friendship: But no sooner was He -convinced that She felt that sentiment in its fullest extent, than his -aim became more decided, and his attentions assumed a warmer colour. -The innocent familiarity with which She treated him, encouraged his -desires: Grown used to her modesty, it no longer commanded the same -respect and awe: He still admired it, but it only made him more -anxious to deprive her of that quality which formed her principal -charm. Warmth of passion, and natural penetration, of which latter -unfortunately both for himself and Antonia He possessed an ample share, -supplied a knowledge of the arts of seduction. He easily distinguished -the emotions which were favourable to his designs, and seized every -means with avidity of infusing corruption into Antonia's bosom. This -He found no easy matter. Extreme simplicity prevented her from -perceiving the aim to which the Monk's insinuations tended; But the -excellent morals which She owed to Elvira's care, the solidity and -correctness of her understanding, and a strong sense of what was right -implanted in her heart by Nature, made her feel that his precepts must -be faulty. By a few simple words She frequently overthrew the whole -bulk of his sophistical arguments, and made him conscious how weak they -were when opposed to Virtue and Truth. On such occasion He took refuge -in his eloquence; He overpowered her with a torrent of Philosophical -paradoxes, to which, not understanding them, it was impossible for her -to reply; And thus though He did not convince her that his reasoning -was just, He at least prevented her from discovering it to be false. -He perceived that her respect for his judgment augmented daily, and -doubted not with time to bring her to the point desired. - -He was not unconscious that his attempts were highly criminal: He saw -clearly the baseness of seducing the innocent Girl: But his passion -was too violent to permit his abandoning his design. He resolved to -pursue it, let the consequences be what they might. He depended upon -finding Antonia in some unguarded moment; And seeing no other Man -admitted into her society, nor hearing any mentioned either by her or -by Elvira, He imagined that her young heart was still unoccupied. While -He waited for the opportunity of satisfying his unwarrantable lust, -every day increased his coldness for Matilda. Not a little was this -occasioned by the consciousness of his faults to her. To hide them -from her He was not sufficiently master of himself: Yet He dreaded -lest, in a transport of jealous rage, She should betray the secret on -which his character and even his life depended. Matilda could not but -remark his indifference: He was conscious that She remarked it, and -fearing her reproaches, shunned her studiously. Yet when He could not -avoid her, her mildness might have convinced him that He had nothing to -dread from her resentment. She had resumed the character of the gentle -interesting Rosario: She taxed him not with ingratitude; But her eyes -filled with involuntary tears, and the soft melancholy of her -countenance and voice uttered complaints far more touching than words -could have conveyed. Ambrosio was not unmoved by her sorrow; But -unable to remove its cause, He forbore to show that it affected him. -As her conduct convinced him that He needed not fear her vengeance, He -continued to neglect her, and avoided her company with care. Matilda -saw that She in vain attempted to regain his affections: Yet She -stifled the impulse of resentment, and continued to treat her -inconstant Lover with her former fondness and attention. - -By degrees Elvira's constitution recovered itself. She was no longer -troubled with convulsions, and Antonia ceased to tremble for her -Mother. Ambrosio beheld this reestablishment with displeasure. He saw -that Elvira's knowledge of the world would not be the Dupe of his -sanctified demeanour, and that She would easily perceive his views upon -her Daughter. He resolved therefore, before She quitted her chamber, -to try the extent of his influence over the innocent Antonia. - -One evening, when He had found Elvira almost perfectly restored to -health, He quitted her earlier than was his usual custom. Not finding -Antonia in the Antichamber, He ventured to follow her to her own. It -was only separated from her Mother's by a Closet, in which Flora, the -Waiting-Woman, generally slept. Antonia sat upon a Sopha with her back -towards the door, and read attentively. She heard not his approach, -till He had seated himself by her. She started, and welcomed him with -a look of pleasure: Then rising, She would have conducted him to the -sitting-room; But Ambrosio taking her hand, obliged her by gentle -violence to resume her place. She complied without difficulty: She -knew not that there was more impropriety in conversing with him in one -room than another. She thought herself equally secure of his -principles and her own, and having replaced herself upon the Sopha, She -began to prattle to him with her usual ease and vivacity. - -He examined the Book which She had been reading, and had now placed -upon the Table. It was the Bible. - -'How!' said the Friar to himself; 'Antonia reads the Bible, and is -still so ignorant?' - -But, upon a further inspection, He found that Elvira had made exactly -the same remark. That prudent Mother, while She admired the beauties -of the sacred writings, was convinced that, unrestricted, no reading -more improper could be permitted a young Woman. Many of the narratives -can only tend to excite ideas the worst calculated for a female breast: -Every thing is called plainly and roundly by its name; and the annals -of a Brothel would scarcely furnish a greater choice of indecent -expressions. Yet this is the Book which young Women are recommended to -study; which is put into the hands of Children, able to comprehend -little more than those passages of which they had better remain -ignorant; and which but too frequently inculcates the first rudiments -of vice, and gives the first alarm to the still sleeping passions. Of -this was Elvira so fully convinced, that She would have preferred -putting into her Daughter's hands 'Amadis de Gaul,' or 'The Valiant -Champion, Tirante the White;' and would sooner have authorised her -studying the lewd exploits of 'Don Galaor,' or the lascivious jokes of -the 'Damsel Plazer di mi vida.' She had in consequence made two -resolutions respecting the Bible. The first was that Antonia should -not read it till She was of an age to feel its beauties, and profit by -its morality: The second, that it should be copied out with her own -hand, and all improper passages either altered or omitted. She had -adhered to this determination, and such was the Bible which Antonia was -reading: It had been lately delivered to her, and She perused it with -an avidity, with a delight that was inexpressible. Ambrosio perceived -his mistake, and replaced the Book upon the Table. - -Antonia spoke of her Mother's health with all the enthusiastic joy of a -youthful heart. - -'I admire your filial affection,' said the Abbot; 'It proves the -excellence and sensibility of your character; It promises a treasure to -him whom Heaven has destined to possess your affections. The Breast, -so capable of fondness for a Parent, what will it feel for a Lover? -Nay, perhaps, what feels it for one even now? Tell me, my lovely -Daughter; Have you known what it is to love? Answer me with sincerity: -Forget my habit, and consider me only as a Friend.' - -'What it is to love?' said She, repeating his question; 'Oh! yes, -undoubtedly; I have loved many, many People.' - -'That is not what I mean. The love of which I speak can be felt only -for one. Have you never seen the Man whom you wished to be your -Husband?' - -'Oh! No, indeed!' - -This was an untruth, but She was unconscious of its falsehood: She knew -not the nature of her sentiments for Lorenzo; and never having seen him -since his first visit to Elvira, with every day his Image grew less -feebly impressed upon her bosom. Besides, She thought of an Husband -with all a Virgin's terror, and negatived the Friar's demand without a -moment's hesitation. - -'And do you not long to see that Man, Antonia? Do you feel no void in -your heart which you fain would have filled up? Do you heave no sighs -for the absence of some one dear to you, but who that some one is, you -know not? Perceive you not that what formerly could please, has charms -for you no longer? That a thousand new wishes, new ideas, new -sensations, have sprang in your bosom, only to be felt, never to be -described? Or while you fill every other heart with passion, is it -possible that your own remains insensible and cold? It cannot be! -That melting eye, that blushing cheek, that enchanting voluptuous -melancholy which at times overspreads your features, all these marks -belye your words. You love, Antonia, and in vain would hide it from -me.' - -'Father, you amaze me! What is this love of which you speak? I -neither know its nature, nor if I felt it, why I should conceal the -sentiment.' - -'Have you seen no Man, Antonia, whom though never seen before, you -seemed long to have sought? Whose form, though a Stranger's, was -familiar to your eyes? The sound of whose voice soothed you, pleased -you, penetrated to your very soul? In whose presence you rejoiced, for -whose absence you lamented? With whom your heart seemed to expand, and -in whose bosom with confidence unbounded you reposed the cares of your -own? Have you not felt all this, Antonia?' - -'Certainly I have: The first time that I saw you, I felt it.' - -Ambrosio started. Scarcely dared He credit his hearing. - -'Me, Antonia?' He cried, his eyes sparkling with delight and -impatience, while He seized her hand, and pressed it rapturously to his -lips. 'Me, Antonia? You felt these sentiments for me?' - -'Even with more strength than you have described. The very moment that -I beheld you, I felt so pleased, so interested! I waited so eagerly to -catch the sound of your voice, and when I heard it, it seemed so sweet! -It spoke to me a language till then so unknown! Methought, it told me -a thousand things which I wished to hear! It seemed as if I had long -known you; as if I had a right to your friendship, your advice, and -your protection. - -I wept when you departed, and longed for the time which should restore -you to my sight.' - -'Antonia! my charming Antonia!' exclaimed the Monk, and caught her to -his bosom; 'Can I believe my senses? Repeat it to me, my sweet Girl! -Tell me again that you love me, that you love me truly and tenderly!' - -'Indeed, I do: Let my Mother be excepted, and the world holds no one -more dear to me!' - -At this frank avowal Ambrosio no longer possessed himself; Wild with -desire, He clasped the blushing Trembler in his arms. He fastened his -lips greedily upon hers, sucked in her pure delicious breath, violated -with his bold hand the treasures of her bosom, and wound around him her -soft and yielding limbs. Startled, alarmed, and confused at his action, -surprize at first deprived her of the power of resistance. At length -recovering herself, She strove to escape from his embrace. - -'Father! .... Ambrosio!' She cried; 'Release me, for God's sake!' - -But the licentious Monk heeded not her prayers: He persisted in his -design, and proceeded to take still greater liberties. Antonia prayed, -wept, and struggled: Terrified to the extreme, though at what She knew -not, She exerted all her strength to repulse the Friar, and was on the -point of shrieking for assistance when the chamber door was suddenly -thrown open. Ambrosio had just sufficient presence of mind to be -sensible of his danger. Reluctantly He quitted his prey, and started -hastily from the Couch. Antonia uttered an exclamation of joy, flew -towards the door, and found herself clasped in the arms of her Mother. - -Alarmed at some of the Abbot's speeches, which Antonia had innocently -repeated, Elvira resolved to ascertain the truth of her suspicions. -She had known enough of Mankind not to be imposed upon by the Monk's -reputed virtue. She reflected on several circumstances, which though -trifling, on being put together seemed to authorize her fears. His -frequent visits, which as far as She could see, were confined to her -family; His evident emotion, whenever She spoke of Antonia; His being -in the full prime and heat of Manhood; and above all, his pernicious -philosophy communicated to her by Antonia, and which accorded but ill -with his conversation in her presence, all these circumstances inspired -her with doubts respecting the purity of Ambrosio's friendship. In -consequence, She resolved, when He should next be alone with Antonia, -to endeavour at surprizing him. Her plan had succeeded. 'Tis true, -that when She entered the room, He had already abandoned his prey; But -the disorder of her Daughter's dress, and the shame and confusion -stamped upon the Friar's countenance, sufficed to prove that her -suspicions were but too well-founded. However, She was too prudent to -make those suspicions known. She judged that to unmask the Imposter -would be no easy matter, the public being so much prejudiced in his -favour: and having but few Friends, She thought it dangerous to make -herself so powerful an Enemy. She affected therefore not to remark his -agitation, seated herself tranquilly upon the Sopha, assigned some -trifling reason for having quitted her room unexpectedly, and conversed -on various subjects with seeming confidence and ease. - -Reassured by her behaviour, the Monk began to recover himself. He -strove to answer Elvira without appearing embarrassed: But He was -still too great a novice in dissimulation, and He felt that He must -look confused and awkward. He soon broke off the conversation, and -rose to depart. What was his vexation, when on taking leave, Elvira -told him in polite terms, that being now perfectly reestablished, She -thought it an injustice to deprive Others of his company, who might be -more in need of it! She assured him of her eternal gratitude, for the -benefit which during her illness She had derived from his society and -exhortations: And She lamented that her domestic affairs, as well as -the multitude of business which his situation must of necessity impose -upon him, would in future deprive her of the pleasure of his visits. -Though delivered in the mildest language this hint was too plain to be -mistaken. Still, He was preparing to put in a remonstrance when an -expressive look from Elvira stopped him short. He dared not press her -to receive him, for her manner convinced him that He was discovered: -He submitted without reply, took an hasty leave, and retired to the -Abbey, his heart filled with rage and shame, with bitterness and -disappointment. - -Antonia's mind felt relieved by his departure; Yet She could not help -lamenting that She was never to see him more. Elvira also felt a -secret sorrow; She had received too much pleasure from thinking him her -Friend, not to regret the necessity of changing her opinion: But her -mind was too much accustomed to the fallacy of worldly friendships to -permit her present disappointment to weigh upon it long. She now -endeavoured to make her Daughter aware of the risque which She had ran: -But She was obliged to treat the subject with caution, lest in removing -the bandage of ignorance, the veil of innocence should be rent away. -She therefore contented herself with warning Antonia to be upon her -guard, and ordering her, should the Abbot persist in his visits, never -to receive them but in company. With this injunction Antonia promised -to comply. - -Ambrosio hastened to his Cell. He closed the door after him, and threw -himself upon the bed in despair. The impulse of desire, the stings of -disappointment, the shame of detection, and the fear of being publicly -unmasked, rendered his bosom a scene of the most horrible confusion. -He knew not what course to pursue. Debarred the presence of Antonia, -He had no hopes of satisfying that passion which was now become a part -of his existence. He reflected that his secret was in a Woman's power: -He trembled with apprehension when He beheld the precipice before him, -and with rage, when He thought that had it not been for Elvira, He -should now have possessed the object of his desires. With the direct -imprecations He vowed vengeance against her; He swore that, cost what -it would, He still would possess Antonia. Starting from the Bed, He -paced the chamber with disordered steps, howled with impotent fury, -dashed himself violently against the walls, and indulged all the -transports of rage and madness. - -He was still under the influence of this storm of passions when He -heard a gentle knock at the door of his Cell. Conscious that his voice -must have been heard, He dared not refuse admittance to the Importuner: -He strove to compose himself, and to hide his agitation. Having in -some degree succeeded, He drew back the bolt: The door opened, and -Matilda appeared. - -At this precise moment there was no one with whose presence He could -better have dispensed. He had not sufficient command over himself to -conceal his vexation. He started back, and frowned. - -'I am busy,' said He in a stern and hasty tone; 'Leave me!' - -Matilda heeded him not: She again fastened the door, and then advanced -towards him with an air gentle and supplicating. - -'Forgive me, Ambrosio,' said She; 'For your own sake I must not obey -you. Fear no complaints from me; I come not to reproach you with your -ingratitude. I pardon you from my heart, and since your love can no -longer be mine, I request the next best gift, your confidence and -friendship. We cannot force our inclinations; The little beauty which -you once saw in me has perished with its novelty, and if it can no -longer excite desire, mine is the fault, not yours. But why persist in -shunning me? Why such anxiety to fly my presence? You have sorrows, -but will not permit me to share them; You have disappointments, but -will not accept my comfort; You have wishes, but forbid my aiding your -pursuits. 'Tis of this which I complain, not of your indifference to -my person. I have given up the claims of the Mistress, but nothing -shall prevail on me to give up those of the Friend.' - -Her mildness had an instantaneous effect upon Ambrosio's feelings. - -'Generous Matilda!' He replied, taking her hand, 'How far do you rise -superior to the foibles of your sex! Yes, I accept your offer. I have -need of an adviser, and a Confident: In you I find every needful -quality united. But to aid my pursuits .... Ah! Matilda, it lies -not in your power!' - -'It lies in no one's power but mine. Ambrosio, your secret is none to -me; Your every step, your every action has been observed by my -attentive eye. You love.' - -'Matilda!' - -'Why conceal it from me? Fear not the little jealousy which taints the -generality of Women: My soul disdains so despicable a passion. You -love, Ambrosio; Antonia Dalfa is the object of your flame. I know -every circumstance respecting your passion: Every conversation has -been repeated to me. I have been informed of your attempt to enjoy -Antonia's person, your disappointment, and dismission from Elvira's -House. You now despair of possessing your Mistress; But I come to -revive your hopes, and point out the road to success.' - -'To success? Oh! impossible!' - -'To them who dare nothing is impossible. Rely upon me, and you may yet -be happy. The time is come, Ambrosio, when regard for your comfort and -tranquillity compels me to reveal a part of my History, with which you -are still unacquainted. Listen, and do not interrupt me: Should my -confession disgust you, remember that in making it my sole aim is to -satisfy your wishes, and restore that peace to your heart which at -present has abandoned it. I formerly mentioned that my Guardian was a -Man of uncommon knowledge: He took pains to instil that knowledge into -my infant mind. Among the various sciences which curiosity had induced -him to explore, He neglected not that which by most is esteemed -impious, and by many chimerical. I speak of those arts which relate to -the world of Spirits. His deep researches into causes and effects, his -unwearied application to the study of natural philosophy, his profound -and unlimited knowledge of the properties and virtues of every gem -which enriches the deep, of every herb which the earth produces, at -length procured him the distinction which He had sought so long, so -earnestly. His curiosity was fully slaked, his ambition amply -gratified. He gave laws to the elements; He could reverse the order of -nature; His eye read the mandates of futurity, and the infernal Spirits -were submissive to his commands. Why shrink you from me? I understand -that enquiring look. Your suspicions are right, though your terrors -are unfounded. My Guardian concealed not from me his most precious -acquisition. Yet had I never seen YOU, I should never have exerted my -power. Like you I shuddered at the thoughts of Magic: Like you I had -formed a terrible idea of the consequences of raising a daemon. To -preserve that life which your love had taught me to prize, I had -recourse to means which I trembled at employing. You remember that -night which I past in St. Clare's Sepulchre? Then was it that, -surrounded by mouldering bodies, I dared to perform those mystic rites -which summoned to my aid a fallen Angel. Judge what must have been my -joy at discovering that my terrors were imaginary: I saw the Daemon -obedient to my orders, I saw him trembling at my frown, and found that, -instead of selling my soul to a Master, my courage had purchased for -myself a Slave.' - -'Rash Matilda! What have you done? You have doomed yourself to -endless perdition; You have bartered for momentary power eternal -happiness! If on witchcraft depends the fruition of my desires, I -renounce your aid most absolutely. The consequences are too horrible: -I doat upon Antonia, but am not so blinded by lust as to sacrifice for -her enjoyment my existence both in this world and the next.' - -'Ridiculous prejudices! Oh! blush, Ambrosio, blush at being subjected -to their dominion. Where is the risque of accepting my offers? What -should induce my persuading you to this step, except the wish of -restoring you to happiness and quiet. If there is danger, it must fall -upon me: It is I who invoke the ministry of the Spirits; Mine -therefore will be the crime, and yours the profit. But danger there is -none: The Enemy of Mankind is my Slave, not my Sovereign. Is there no -difference between giving and receiving laws, between serving and -commanding? Awake from your idle dreams, Ambrosio! Throw from you -these terrors so ill-suited to a soul like yours; Leave them for common -Men, and dare to be happy! Accompany me this night to St. Clare's -Sepulchre, witness my incantations, and Antonia is your own.' - -'To obtain her by such means I neither can, or will. Cease then to -persuade me, for I dare not employ Hell's agency. - -'You DARE not? How have you deceived me! That mind which I esteemed -so great and valiant, proves to be feeble, puerile, and grovelling, a -slave to vulgar errors, and weaker than a Woman's.' - -'What? Though conscious of the danger, wilfully shall I expose myself -to the Seducer's arts? Shall I renounce for ever my title to -salvation? Shall my eyes seek a sight which I know will blast them? -No, no, Matilda; I will not ally myself with God's Enemy.' - -'Are you then God's Friend at present? Have you not broken your -engagements with him, renounced his service, and abandoned yourself to -the impulse of your passions? Are you not planning the destruction of -innocence, the ruin of a Creature whom He formed in the mould of -Angels? If not of Daemons, whose aid would you invoke to forward this -laudable design? Will the Seraphims protect it, conduct Antonia to -your arms, and sanction with their ministry your illicit pleasures? -Absurd! But I am not deceived, Ambrosio! It is not virtue which makes -you reject my offer: You WOULD accept it, but you dare not. 'Tis not -the crime which holds your hand, but the punishment; 'Tis not respect -for God which restrains you, but the terror of his vengeance! Fain -would you offend him in secret, but you tremble to profess yourself his -Foe. Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the courage either to -be a firm Friend or open Enemy!' - -'To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit: In this -respect I glory to confess myself a Coward. Though my passions have -made me deviate from her laws, I still feel in my heart an innate love -of virtue. But it ill becomes you to tax me with my perjury: You, who -first seduced me to violate my vows; You, who first rouzed my sleeping -vices, made me feel the weight of Religion's chains, and bad me be -convinced that guilt had pleasures. Yet though my principles have -yielded to the force of temperament, I still have sufficient grace to -shudder at Sorcery, and avoid a crime so monstrous, so unpardonable!' - -'Unpardonable, say you? Where then is your constant boast of the -Almighty's infinite mercy? Has He of late set bounds to it? Receives -He no longer a Sinner with joy? You injure him, Ambrosio; You will -always have time to repent, and He have goodness to forgive. Afford -him a glorious opportunity to exert that goodness: The greater your -crime, the greater his merit in pardoning. Away then with these -childish scruples: Be persuaded to your good, and follow me to the -Sepulchre.' - -'Oh! cease, Matilda! That scoffing tone, that bold and impious -language, is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman's. Let us -drop a conversation which excites no other sentiments than horror and -disgust. I will not follow you to the Sepulchre, or accept the -services of your infernal Agents. Antonia shall be mine, but mine by -human means.' - -'Then yours She will never be! You are banished her presence; Her -Mother has opened her eyes to your designs, and She is now upon her -guard against them. Nay more, She loves another. A Youth of -distinguished merit possesses her heart, and unless you interfere, a -few days will make her his Bride. This intelligence was brought me by -my invisible Servants, to whom I had recourse on first perceiving your -indifference. They watched your every action, related to me all that -past at Elvira's, and inspired me with the idea of favouring your -designs. Their reports have been my only comfort. Though you shunned -my presence, all your proceedings were known to me: Nay, I was -constantly with you in some degree, thanks to this precious gift!' - -With these words She drew from beneath her habit a mirror of polished -steel, the borders of which were marked with various strange and -unknown characters. - -'Amidst all my sorrows, amidst all my regrets for your coldness, I was -sustained from despair by the virtues of this Talisman. On pronouncing -certain words, the Person appears in it on whom the Observer's thoughts -are bent: thus though _I_ was exiled from YOUR sight, you, Ambrosio, -were ever present to mine.' - -The Friar's curiosity was excited strongly. - -'What you relate is incredible! Matilda, are you not amusing yourself -with my credulity?' - -'Be your own eyes the Judge.' - -She put the Mirror into his hand. Curiosity induced him to take it, -and Love, to wish that Antonia might appear. Matilda pronounced the -magic words. Immediately, a thick smoke rose from the characters -traced upon the borders, and spread itself over the surface. It -dispersed again gradually; A confused mixture of colours and images -presented themselves to the Friar's eyes, which at length arranging -themselves in their proper places, He beheld in miniature Antonia's -lovely form. - -The scene was a small closet belonging to her apartment. She was -undressing to bathe herself. The long tresses of her hair were already -bound up. The amorous Monk had full opportunity to observe the -voluptuous contours and admirable symmetry of her person. She threw -off her last garment, and advancing to the Bath prepared for her, She -put her foot into the water. It struck cold, and She drew it back -again. Though unconscious of being observed, an inbred sense of -modesty induced her to veil her charms; and She stood hesitating upon -the brink, in the attitude of the Venus de Medicis. At this moment a -tame Linnet flew towards her, nestled its head between her breasts, and -nibbled them in wanton play. The smiling Antonia strove in vain to -shake off the Bird, and at length raised her hands to drive it from its -delightful harbour. Ambrosio could bear no more: His desires were -worked up to phrenzy. - -'I yield!' He cried, dashing the mirror upon the ground: 'Matilda, I -follow you! Do with me what you will!' - -She waited not to hear his consent repeated. It was already midnight. -She flew to her Cell, and soon returned with her little basket and the -Key of the Cemetery, which had remained in her possession since her -first visit to the Vaults. She gave the Monk no time for reflection. - -'Come!' She said, and took his hand; 'Follow me, and witness the -effects of your resolve!' - -This said, She drew him hastily along. They passed into the -Burying-ground unobserved, opened the door of the Sepulchre, and found -themselves at the head of the subterraneous Staircase. As yet the -beams of the full Moon had guided their steps, but that resource now -failed them. Matilda had neglected to provide herself with a Lamp. -Still holding Ambrosio's hand She descended the marble steps; But the -profound obscurity with which they were overspread obliged them to walk -slow and cautiously. - -'You tremble!' said Matilda to her Companion; 'Fear not; The destined -spot is near.' - -They reached the foot of the Staircase, and continued to proceed, -feeling their way along the Walls. On turning a corner suddenly, they -descried faint gleams of light which seemed burning at a distance. -Thither they bent their steps: The rays proceeded from a small -sepulchral Lamp which flamed unceasingly before the Statue of St. -Clare. It tinged with dim and cheerless beams the massy Columns which -supported the Roof, but was too feeble to dissipate the thick gloom in -which the Vaults above were buried. - -Matilda took the Lamp. - -'Wait for me!' said She to the Friar; 'In a few moments I am here -again.' - -With these words She hastened into one of the passages which branched -in various directions from this spot, and formed a sort of Labyrinth. -Ambrosio was now left alone: Darkness the most profound surrounded him, -and encouraged the doubts which began to revive in his bosom. He had -been hurried away by the delirium of the moment: The shame of -betraying his terrors, while in Matilda's presence, had induced him to -repress them; But now that he was abandoned to himself, they resumed -their former ascendancy. He trembled at the scene which He was soon to -witness. He knew not how far the delusions of Magic might operate upon -his mind, and possibly might force him to some deed whose commission -would make the breach between himself and Heaven irreparable. In this -fearful dilemma, He would have implored God's assistance, but was -conscious that He had forfeited all claim to such protection. Gladly -would He have returned to the Abbey; But as He had past through -innumerable Caverns and winding passages, the attempt of regaining the -Stairs was hopeless. His fate was determined: No possibility of -escape presented itself: He therefore combated his apprehensions, and -called every argument to his succour, which might enable him to support -the trying scene with fortitude. He reflected that Antonia would be the -reward of his daring: He inflamed his imagination by enumerating her -charms. He persuaded himself that (as Matilda had observed), He always -should have time sufficient for repentance, and that as He employed HER -assistance, not that of the Daemons, the crime of Sorcery could not be -laid to his charge. He had read much respecting witchcraft: He -understood that unless a formal Act was signed renouncing his claim to -salvation, Satan would have no power over him. He was fully determined -not to execute any such act, whatever threats might be used, or -advantages held out to him. - -Such were his meditations while waiting for Matilda. They were -interrupted by a low murmur which seemed at no great distance from him. -He was startled. He listened. Some minutes past in silence, after -which the murmur was repeated. It appeared to be the groaning of one -in pain. In any other situation, this circumstance would only have -excited his attention and curiosity: - -In the present, his predominant sensation was that of terror. His -imagination totally engrossed by the ideas of sorcery and Spirits, He -fancied that some unquiet Ghost was wandering near him; or else that -Matilda had fallen a Victim to her presumption, and was perishing under -the cruel fangs of the Daemons. The noise seemed not to approach, but -continued to be heard at intervals. Sometimes it became more audible, -doubtless as the sufferings of the person who uttered the groans became -more acute and insupportable. Ambrosio now and then thought that He -could distinguish accents; and once in particular He was almost -convinced that He heard a faint voice exclaim, - -'God! Oh! God! No hope! No succour!' - -Yet deeper groans followed these words. They died away gradually, and -universal silence again prevailed. - -'What can this mean?' thought the bewildered Monk. - -At that moment an idea which flashed into his mind, almost petrified -him with horror. He started, and shuddered at himself. - -'Should it be possible!' He groaned involuntarily; 'Should it but be -possible, Oh! what a Monster am I!' - -He wished to resolve his doubts, and to repair his fault, if it were -not too late already: But these generous and compassionate sentiments -were soon put to flight by the return of Matilda. He forgot the -groaning Sufferer, and remembered nothing but the danger and -embarrassment of his own situation. The light of the returning Lamp -gilded the walls, and in a few moments after Matilda stood beside him. -She had quitted her religious habit: She was now cloathed in a long -sable Robe, on which was traced in gold embroidery a variety of unknown -characters: It was fastened by a girdle of precious stones, in which -was fixed a poignard. Her neck and arms were uncovered. In her hand -She bore a golden wand. Her hair was loose and flowed wildly upon her -shoulders; Her eyes sparkled with terrific expression; and her whole -Demeanour was calculated to inspire the beholder with awe and -admiration. - -'Follow me!' She said to the Monk in a low and solemn voice; 'All is -ready!' - -His limbs trembled, while He obeyed her. She led him through various -narrow passages; and on every side as they past along, the beams of the -Lamp displayed none but the most revolting objects; Skulls, Bones, -Graves, and Images whose eyes seemed to glare on them with horror and -surprize. At length they reached a spacious Cavern, whose lofty roof -the eye sought in vain to discover. A profound obscurity hovered -through the void. Damp vapours struck cold to the Friar's heart; and -He listened sadly to the blast while it howled along the lonely Vaults. -Here Matilda stopped. She turned to Ambrosio. His cheeks and lips -were pale with apprehension. By a glance of mingled scorn and anger -She reproved his pusillanimity, but She spoke not. She placed the Lamp -upon the ground, near the Basket. She motioned that Ambrosio should be -silent, and began the mysterious rites. She drew a circle round him, -another round herself, and then taking a small Phial from the Basket, -poured a few drops upon the ground before her. She bent over the -place, muttered some indistinct sentences, and immediately a pale -sulphurous flame arose from the ground. It increased by degrees, and -at length spread its waves over the whole surface, the circles alone -excepted in which stood Matilda and the Monk. It then ascended the -huge Columns of unhewn stone, glided along the roof, and formed the -Cavern into an immense chamber totally covered with blue trembling -fire. It emitted no heat: On the contrary, the extreme chillness of -the place seemed to augment with every moment. Matilda continued her -incantations: At intervals She took various articles from the Basket, -the nature and name of most of which were unknown to the Friar: But -among the few which He distinguished, He particularly observed three -human fingers, and an Agnus Dei which She broke in pieces. She threw -them all into the flames which burned before her, and they were -instantly consumed. - -The Monk beheld her with anxious curiosity. Suddenly She uttered a -loud and piercing shriek. She appeared to be seized with an access of -delirium; She tore her hair, beat her bosom, used the most frantic -gestures, and drawing the poignard from her girdle plunged it into her -left arm. The blood gushed out plentifully, and as She stood on the -brink of the circle, She took care that it should fall on the outside. -The flames retired from the spot on which the blood was pouring. A -volume of dark clouds rose slowly from the ensanguined earth, and -ascended gradually, till it reached the vault of the Cavern. At the -same time a clap of thunder was heard: The echo pealed fearfully along -the subterraneous passages, and the ground shook beneath the feet of -the Enchantress. - -It was now that Ambrosio repented of his rashness. The solemn -singularity of the charm had prepared him for something strange and -horrible. He waited with fear for the Spirit's appearance, whose -coming was announced by thunder and earthquakes. He looked wildly -round him, expecting that some dreadful Apparition would meet his eyes, -the sight of which would drive him mad. A cold shivering seized his -body, and He sank upon one knee, unable to support himself. - -'He comes!' exclaimed Matilda in a joyful accent. - -Ambrosio started, and expected the Daemon with terror. What was his -surprize, when the Thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of melodious -Music sounded in the air. At the same time the cloud dispersed, and He -beheld a Figure more beautiful than Fancy's pencil ever drew. It was a -Youth seemingly scarce eighteen, the perfection of whose form and face -was unrivalled. He was perfectly naked: A bright Star sparkled upon -his forehead; Two crimson wings extended themselves from his shoulders; -and his silken locks were confined by a band of many-coloured fires, -which played round his head, formed themselves into a variety of -figures, and shone with a brilliance far surpassing that of precious -Stones. Circlets of Diamonds were fastened round his arms and ankles, -and in his right hand He bore a silver branch, imitating Myrtle. His -form shone with dazzling glory: He was surrounded by clouds of -rose-coloured light, and at the moment that He appeared, a refreshing -air breathed perfumes through the Cavern. Enchanted at a vision so -contrary to his expectations, Ambrosio gazed upon the Spirit with -delight and wonder: Yet however beautiful the Figure, He could not but -remark a wildness in the Daemon's eyes, and a mysterious melancholy -impressed upon his features, betraying the Fallen Angel, and inspiring -the Spectators with secret awe. - -The Music ceased. Matilda addressed herself to the Spirit: She spoke -in a language unintelligible to the Monk, and was answered in the same. -She seemed to insist upon something which the Daemon was unwilling to -grant. He frequently darted upon Ambrosio angry glances, and at such -times the Friar's heart sank within him. Matilda appeared to grow -incensed. She spoke in a loud and commanding tone, and her gestures -declared that She was threatening him with her vengeance. Her menaces -had the desired effect: The Spirit sank upon his knee, and with a -submissive air presented to her the branch of Myrtle. No sooner had -She received it, than the Music was again heard; A thick cloud spread -itself over the Apparition; The blue flames disappeared, and total -obscurity reigned through the Cave. The Abbot moved not from his -place: His faculties were all bound up in pleasure, anxiety, and -surprize. At length the darkness dispersing, He perceived Matilda -standing near him in her religious habit, with the Myrtle in her hand. -No traces of the incantation, and the Vaults were only illuminated by -the faint rays of the sepulchral Lamp. - -'I have succeeded,' said Matilda, 'though with more difficulty than I -expected. Lucifer, whom I summoned to my assistance, was at first -unwilling to obey my commands: To enforce his compliance I was -constrained to have recourse to my strongest charms. They have -produced the desired effect, but I have engaged never more to invoke -his agency in your favour. Beware then, how you employ an opportunity -which never will return. My magic arts will now be of no use to you: -In future you can only hope for supernatural aid by invoking the -Daemons yourself, and accepting the conditions of their service. This -you will never do: You want strength of mind to force them to -obedience, and unless you pay their established price, they will not be -your voluntary Servants. In this one instance they consent to obey -you: I offer you the means of enjoying your Mistress, and be careful -not to lose the opportunity. Receive this constellated Myrtle: While -you bear this in your hand, every door will fly open to you. It will -procure you access tomorrow night to Antonia's chamber: Then breathe -upon it thrice, pronounce her name, and place it upon her pillow. A -death-like slumber will immediately seize upon her, and deprive her of -the power of resisting your attempts. Sleep will hold her till break -of Morning. In this state you may satisfy your desires without danger -of being discovered; since when daylight shall dispel the effects of -the enchantment, Antonia will perceive her dishonour, but be ignorant -of the Ravisher. Be happy then, my Ambrosio, and let this service -convince you that my friendship is disinterested and pure. The night -must be near expiring: Let us return to the Abbey, lest our absence -should create surprize.' - -The Abbot received the talisman with silent gratitude. His ideas were -too much bewildered by the adventures of the night to permit his -expressing his thanks audibly, or indeed as yet to feel the whole value -of her present. Matilda took up her Lamp and Basket, and guided her -Companion from the mysterious Cavern. She restored the Lamp to its -former place, and continued her route in darkness, till She reached the -foot of the Staircase. The first beams of the rising Sun darting down -it facilitated the ascent. Matilda and the Abbot hastened out of the -Sepulchre, closed the door after them, and soon regained the Abbey's -western Cloister. No one met them, and they retired unobserved to -their respective Cells. - -The confusion of Ambrosio's mind now began to appease. He rejoiced in -the fortunate issue of his adventure, and reflecting upon the virtues -of the Myrtle, looked upon Antonia as already in his power. -Imagination retraced to him those secret charms betrayed to him by the -Enchanted Mirror, and He waited with impatience for the approach of -midnight. - - - - -VOLUME III - - - -CHAPTER I - - The crickets sing, and Man's o'er-laboured sense - Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus - Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened - The chastity He wounded--Cytherea, - How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! Fresh Lily! - And whiter than the sheets! - Cymbeline. - -All the researches of the Marquis de las Cisternas proved vain: Agnes -was lost to him for ever. Despair produced so violent an effect upon -his constitution, that the consequence was a long and severe illness. -This prevented him from visiting Elvira as He had intended; and She -being ignorant of the cause of his neglect, it gave her no trifling -uneasiness. His Sister's death had prevented Lorenzo from -communicating to his Uncle his designs respecting Antonia: The -injunctions of her Mother forbad his presenting himself to her without -the Duke's consent; and as She heard no more of him or his proposals, -Elvira conjectured that He had either met with a better match, or had -been commanded to give up all thoughts of her Daughter. Every day made -her more uneasy respecting Antonia's fate: While She retained the -Abbot's protection, She bore with fortitude the disappointment of her -hopes with regard to Lorenzo and the Marquis. That resource now failed -her. She was convinced that Ambrosio had meditated her Daughter's -ruin: And when She reflected that her death would leave Antonia -friendless and unprotected in a world so base, so perfidious and -depraved, her heart swelled with the bitterness of apprehension. At -such times She would sit for hours gazing upon the lovely Girl; and -seeming to listen to her innocent prattle, while in reality her -thoughts dwelt upon the sorrows into which a moment would suffice to -plunge her. Then She would clasp her in her arms suddenly, lean her -head upon her Daughter's bosom, and bedew it with her tears. - -An event was in preparation which, had She known it, would have -relieved her from her inquietude. Lorenzo now waited only for a -favourable opportunity to inform the Duke of his intended marriage: -However, a circumstance which occurred at this period, obliged him to -delay his explanation for a few days longer. - -Don Raymond's malady seemed to gain ground. Lorenzo was constantly at -his bedside, and treated him with a tenderness truly fraternal. Both -the cause and effects of the disorder were highly afflicting to the -Brother of Agnes: yet Theodore's grief was scarcely less sincere. That -amiable Boy quitted not his Master for a moment, and put every means in -practice to console and alleviate his sufferings. The Marquis had -conceived so rooted an affection for his deceased Mistress, that it was -evident to all that He never could survive her loss: Nothing could -have prevented him from sinking under his grief but the persuasion of -her being still alive, and in need of his assistance. Though convinced -of its falsehood, his Attendants encouraged him in a belief which -formed his only comfort. He was assured daily that fresh perquisitions -were making respecting the fate of Agnes: Stories were invented -recounting the various attempts made to get admittance into the -Convent; and circumstances were related which, though they did not -promise her absolute recovery, at least were sufficient to keep his -hopes alive. The Marquis constantly fell into the most terrible excess -of passion when informed of the failure of these supposed attempts. -Still He would not credit that the succeeding ones would have the same -fate, but flattered himself that the next would prove more fortunate. - -Theodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his Master's -Chimoeras. He was eternally busied in planning schemes for entering -the Convent, or at least of obtaining from the Nuns some intelligence -of Agnes. To execute these schemes was the only inducement which could -prevail on him to quit Don Raymond. He became a very Proteus, changing -his shape every day; but all his metamorphoses were to very little -purpose: He regularly returned to the Palace de las Cisternas without -any intelligence to confirm his Master's hopes. One day He took it -into his head to disguise himself as a Beggar. He put a patch over his -left eye, took his Guitar in hand, and posted himself at the Gate of -the Convent. - -'If Agnes is really confined in the Convent,' thought He, 'and hears my -voice, She will recollect it, and possibly may find means to let me -know that She is here.' - -With this idea He mingled with a crowd of Beggars who assembled daily -at the Gate of St. Clare to receive Soup, which the Nuns were -accustomed to distribute at twelve o'clock. All were provided with -jugs or bowls to carry it away; But as Theodore had no utensil of this -kind, He begged leave to eat his portion at the Convent door. This was -granted without difficulty: His sweet voice, and in spite of his -patched eye, his engaging countenance, won the heart of the good old -Porteress, who, aided by a Lay-Sister, was busied in serving to each -his Mess. Theodore was bad to stay till the Others should depart, and -promised that his request should then be granted. The Youth desired no -better, since it was not to eat Soup that He presented himself at the -Convent. He thanked the Porteress for her permission, retired from the -Door, and seating himself upon a large stone, amused himself in tuning -his Guitar while the Beggars were served. - -As soon as the Crowd was gone, Theodore was beckoned to the Gate, and -desired to come in. He obeyed with infinite readiness, but affected -great respect at passing the hallowed Threshold, and to be much daunted -by the presence of the Reverend Ladies. His feigned timidity flattered -the vanity of the Nuns, who endeavoured to reassure him. The Porteress -took him into her awn little Parlour: In the meanwhile, the Lay-Sister -went to the Kitchen, and soon returned with a double portion of Soup, -of better quality than what was given to the Beggars. His Hostess -added some fruits and confections from her own private store, and Both -encouraged the Youth to dine heartily. To all these attentions He -replied with much seeming gratitude, and abundance of blessings upon -his benefactresses. While He ate, the Nuns admired the delicacy of his -features, the beauty of his hair, and the sweetness and grace which -accompanied all his actions. They lamented to each other in whispers, -that so charming a Youth should be exposed to the seductions of the -World, and agreed, that He would be a worthy Pillar of the Catholic -Church. They concluded their conference by resolving that Heaven would -be rendered a real service if they entreated the Prioress to intercede -with Ambrosio for the Beggar's admission into the order of Capuchins. - -This being determined, the Porteress, who was a person of great -influence in the Convent, posted away in all haste to the Domina's -Cell. Here She made so flaming a narrative of Theodore's merits that -the old Lady grew curious to see him. Accordingly, the Porteress was -commissioned to convey him to the Parlour grate. In the interim, the -supposed Beggar was sifting the Lay-Sister with respect to the fate of -Agnes: Her evidence only corroborated the Domina's assertions. She -said that Agnes had been taken ill on returning from confession, had -never quitted her bed from that moment, and that She had herself been -present at the Funeral. She even attested having seen her dead body, -and assisted with her own hands in adjusting it upon the Bier. This -account discouraged Theodore: Yet as He had pushed the adventure so -far, He resolved to witness its conclusion. - -The Porteress now returned, and ordered him to follow her. He obeyed, -and was conducted into the Parlour, where the Lady Prioress was already -posted at the Grate. The Nuns surrounded her, who all flocked with -eagerness to a scene which promised some diversion. Theodore saluted -them with profound respect, and his presence had the power to smooth -for a moment even the stern brow of the Superior. She asked several -questions respecting his Parents, his religion, and what had reduced -him to a state of Beggary. To these demands his answers were perfectly -satisfactory and perfectly false. He was then asked his opinion of a -monastic life: He replied in terms of high estimation and respect for -it. Upon this, the Prioress told him that his obtaining an entrance -into a religious order was not impossible; that her recommendation -would not permit his poverty to be an obstacle, and that if She found -him deserving it, He might depend in future upon her protection. -Theodore assured her that to merit her favour would be his highest -ambition; and having ordered him to return next day, when She would -talk with him further, the Domina quitted the Parlour. - -The Nuns, whom respect for the Superior had till then kept silent, now -crowded all together to the Grate, and assailed the Youth with a -multitude of questions. He had already examined each with attention: -Alas! Agnes was not amongst them. The Nuns heaped question upon -question so thickly that it was scarcely possible for him to reply. -One asked where He was born, since his accent declared him to be a -Foreigner: Another wanted to know, why He wore a patch upon his left -eye: Sister Helena enquired whether He had not a Sister like him, -because She should like such a Companion; and Sister Rachael was fully -persuaded that the Brother would be the pleasanter Companion of the -Two. Theodore amused himself with retailing to the credulous Nuns for -truths all the strange stories which his imagination could invent. He -related to them his supposed adventures, and penetrated every Auditor -with astonishment, while He talked of Giants, Savages, Ship-wrecks, and -Islands inhabited - - 'By Anthropophagi, and Men whose heads - Do grow beneath their shoulders,' - -With many other circumstances to the full as remarkable. He said, that -He was born in Terra Incognita, was educated at an Hottentot -University, and had past two years among the Americans of Silesia. - -'For what regards the loss of my eye' said He, 'it was a just -punishment upon me for disrespect to the Virgin, when I made my second -pilgrimage to Loretto. I stood near the Altar in the miraculous -Chapel: The Monks were proceeding to array the Statue in her best -apparel. The Pilgrims were ordered to close their eyes during this -ceremony: But though by nature extremely religious, curiosity was too -powerful. At the moment ..... I shall penetrate you with horror, -reverend Ladies, when I reveal my crime! .... At the moment that -the Monks were changing her shift, I ventured to open my left eye, and -gave a little peep towards the Statue. That look was my last! The -Glory which surrounded the Virgin was too great to be supported. I -hastily shut my sacrilegious eye, and never have been able to unclose -it since!' - -At the relation of this miracle the Nuns all crossed themselves, and -promised to intercede with the blessed Virgin for the recovery of his -sight. They expressed their wonder at the extent of his travels, and -at the strange adventures which He had met with at so early an age. -They now remarked his Guitar, and enquired whether he was an adept in -Music. He replied with modesty that it was not for him to decide upon -his talents, but requested permission to appeal to them as Judges. -This was granted without difficulty. - -'But at least,' said the old Porteress, 'take care not to sing any -thing profane.' - -'You may depend upon my discretion,' replied Theodore: 'You shall hear -how dangerous it is for young Women to abandon themselves to their -passions, illustrated by the adventure of a Damsel who fell suddenly in -love with an unknown Knight.' - -'But is the adventure true?' enquired the Porteress. - -'Every word of it. It happened in Denmark, and the Heroine was thought -so beautiful that She was known by no other name but that of "the -lovely Maid".' - -'In Denmark, say you?' mumbled an old Nun; 'Are not the People all -Blacks in Denmark?' - -'By no means, reverend Lady; They are of a delicate pea-green with -flame-coloured hair and whiskers.' - -'Mother of God! Pea-green?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'Oh! 'tis -impossible!' - -'Impossible?' said the Porteress with a look of contempt and -exultation: 'Not at all: When I was a young Woman, I remember seeing -several of them myself.' - -Theodore now put his instrument in proper order. He had read the story -of a King of England whose prison was discovered by a Minstrel; and He -hoped that the same scheme would enable him to discover Agnes, should -She be in the Convent. He chose a Ballad which She had taught him -herself in the Castle of Lindenberg: She might possibly catch the -sound, and He hoped to hear her replying to some of the Stanzas. His -Guitar was now in tune, and He prepared to strike it. - -'But before I begin,' said He 'it is necessary to inform you, Ladies, -that this same Denmark is terribly infested by Sorcerers, Witches, and -Evil Spirits. Every element possesses its appropriate Daemons. The -Woods are haunted by a malignant power, called "the Erl- or -Oak-King:" He it is who blights the Trees, spoils the Harvest, and -commands the Imps and Goblins: He appears in the form of an old Man of -majestic figure, with a golden Crown and long white beard: His -principal amusement is to entice young Children from their Parents, and -as soon as He gets them into his Cave, He tears them into a thousand -pieces--The Rivers are governed by another Fiend, called "the -Water-King:" His province is to agitate the deep, occasion -ship-wrecks, and drag the drowning Sailors beneath the waves: He wears -the appearance of a Warrior, and employs himself in luring young -Virgins into his snare: What He does with them, when He catches them -in the water, Reverend Ladies, I leave for you to imagine--"The -Fire-King" seems to be a Man all formed of flames: He raises the -Meteors and wandering lights which beguile Travellers into ponds and -marshes, and He directs the lightning where it may do most -mischief--The last of these elementary Daemons is called "the -Cloud-King;" His figure is that of a beautiful Youth, and He is -distinguished by two large sable Wings: Though his outside is so -enchanting, He is not a bit better disposed than the Others: He is -continually employed in raising Storms, tearing up Forests by the -roots, and blowing Castles and Convents about the ears of their -Inhabitants. The First has a Daughter, who is Queen of the Elves and -Fairies; The Second has a Mother, who is a powerful Enchantress: -Neither of these Ladies are worth more than the Gentlemen: I do not -remember to have heard any family assigned to the two other Daemons, -but at present I have no business with any of them except the Fiend of -the Waters. He is the Hero of my Ballad; but I thought it necessary -before I began, to give you some account of his proceedings--' - -Theodore then played a short symphony; After which, stretching his -voice to its utmost extent to facilitate its reaching the ear of Agnes, -He sang the following Stanzas. - - THE WATER-KING - - A DANISH BALLAD - - With gentle murmur flowed the Tide, - While by the fragrant flowery side - The lovely Maid with carols gay - To Mary's Church pursued her way. - - The Water-Fiend's malignant eye - Along the Banks beheld her hie; - Straight to his Mother-witch He sped, - And thus in suppliant accents said: - - 'Oh! Mother! Mother! now advise, - How I may yonder Maid surprize: - Oh! Mother! Mother! Now explain, - How I may yonder Maid obtain.' - - The Witch She gave him armour white; - She formed him like a gallant Knight; - Of water clear next made her hand - A Steed, whose housings were of sand. - - The Water-King then swift He went; - To Mary's Church his steps He bent: - He bound his Courser to the Door, - And paced the Church-yard three times four. - - His Courser to the door bound He, - And paced the Church-yard four time three: - Then hastened up the Aisle, where all - The People flocked, both great and small. - - The Priest said, as the Knight drew near, - 'And wherefore comes the white Chief here?' - The lovely Maid She smiled aside; - 'Oh! would I were the white Chief's Bride!' - - He stept o'er Benches one and two; - 'Oh! lovely Maid, I die for You!' - He stept o'er Benches two and three; - 'Oh! lovely Maiden, go with me!' - - Then sweet She smiled, the lovely Maid, - And while She gave her hand, She said, - 'Betide me joy, betide me woe, - O'er Hill, o'er dale, with thee I go.' - - The Priest their hands together joins: - They dance, while clear the moon-beam shines; - And little thinks the Maiden bright, - Her Partner is the Water-spright. - - Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing, - 'Your Partner is the Water-King!' - The Maid had fear and hate confest, - And cursed the hand which then She prest. - - But nothing giving cause to think, - How near She strayed to danger's brink, - Still on She went, and hand in hand - The Lovers reached the yellow sand. - - 'Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear; - We needs must cross the streamlet here; - Ride boldly in; It is not deep; - The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.' - - Thus spoke the Water-King. The Maid - Her Traitor-Bride-groom's wish obeyed: - And soon She saw the Courser lave - Delighted in his parent wave. - - 'Stop! Stop! my Love! The waters blue - E'en now my shrinking foot bedew!' - 'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart! - We now have reached the deepest part.' - - 'Stop! Stop! my Love! For now I see - The waters rise above my knee.' - 'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart! - We now have reached the deepest part.' - - 'Stop! Stop! for God's sake, stop! For Oh! - The waters o'er my bosom flow!'-- - Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight - And Courser vanished from her sight. - - She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high - The wild winds rising dull the cry; - The Fiend exults; The Billows dash, - And o'er their hapless Victim wash. - - Three times while struggling with the stream, - The lovely Maid was heard to scream; - But when the Tempest's rage was o'er, - The lovely Maid was seen no more. - - Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair, - To whom you give your love beware! - Believe not every handsome Knight, - And dance not with the Water-Spright! - - -The Youth ceased to sing. The Nuns were delighted with the sweetness -of his voice and masterly manner of touching the Instrument: But -however acceptable this applause would have been at any other time, at -present it was insipid to Theodore. His artifice had not succeeded. He -paused in vain between the Stanzas: No voice replied to his, and He -abandoned the hope of equalling Blondel. - -The Convent Bell now warned the Nuns that it was time to assemble in -the Refectory. They were obliged to quit the Grate; They thanked the -Youth for the entertainment which his Music had afforded them, and -charged him to return the next day. This He promised: The Nuns, to -give him the greater inclination to keep his word, told him that He -might always depend upon the Convent for his meals, and each of them -made him some little present. One gave him a box of sweetmeats; -Another, an Agnus Dei; Some brought reliques of Saints, waxen Images, -and consecrated Crosses; and Others presented him with pieces of those -works in which the Religious excel, such as embroidery, artificial -flowers, lace, and needlework. All these He was advised to sell, in -order to put himself into better case; and He was assured that it would -be easy to dispose of them, since the Spaniards hold the performances -of the Nuns in high estimation. Having received these gifts with -seeming respect and gratitude, He remarked that, having no Basket, He -knew not how to convey them away. Several of the Nuns were hastening -in search of one, when they were stopped by the return of an elderly -Woman, whom Theodore had not till then observed: Her mild countenance, -and respectable air prejudiced him immediately in her favour. - -'Hah!' said the Porteress; 'Here comes the Mother St. Ursula with a -Basket.' - -The Nun approached the Grate, and presented the Basket to Theodore: It -was of willow, lined with blue satin, and upon the four sides were -painted scenes from the legend of St. Genevieve. - -'Here is my gift,' said She, as She gave it into his hand; 'Good Youth, -despise it not; Though its value seems insignificant, it has many -hidden virtues.' - -She accompanied these words with an expressive look. It was not lost -upon Theodore; In receiving the present, He drew as near the Grate as -possible. - -'Agnes!' She whispered in a voice scarcely intelligible. Theodore, -however, caught the sound: He concluded that some mystery was -concealed in the Basket, and his heart beat with impatience and joy. -At this moment the Domina returned. Her air was gloomy and frowning, -and She looked if possible more stern than ever. - -'Mother St. Ursula, I would speak with you in private.' - -The Nun changed colour, and was evidently disconcerted. - -'With me?' She replied in a faltering voice. - -The Domina motioned that She must follow her, and retired. The Mother -St. Ursula obeyed her; Soon after, the Refectory Bell ringing a second -time, the Nuns quitted the Grate, and Theodore was left at liberty to -carry off his prize. Delighted that at length He had obtained some -intelligence for the Marquis, He flew rather than ran, till He reached -the Hotel de las Cisternas. In a few minutes He stood by his Master's -Bed with the Basket in his hand. Lorenzo was in the chamber, -endeavouring to reconcile his Friend to a misfortune which He felt -himself but too severely. Theodore related his adventure, and the hopes -which had been created by the Mother St. Ursula's gift. The Marquis -started from his pillow: That fire which since the death of Agnes had -been extinguished, now revived in his bosom, and his eyes sparkled with -the eagerness of expectation. The emotions which Lorenzo's countenance -betrayed, were scarcely weaker, and He waited with inexpressible -impatience for the solution of this mystery. Raymond caught the basket -from the hands of his Page: He emptied the contents upon the bed, and -examined them with minute attention. He hoped that a letter would be -found at the bottom; Nothing of the kind appeared. The search was -resumed, and still with no better success. At length Don Raymond -observed that one corner of the blue satin lining was unripped; He tore -it open hastily, and drew forth a small scrap of paper neither folded -or sealed. It was addressed to the Marquis de las Cisternas, and the -contents were as follows. - -Having recognised your Page, I venture to send these few lines. Procure -an order from the Cardinal-Duke for seizing my Person, and that of the -Domina; But let it not be executed till Friday at midnight. It is the -Festival of St. Clare: There will be a procession of Nuns by -torch-light, and I shall be among them. Beware not to let your -intention be known: Should a syllable be dropt to excite the Domina's -suspicions, you will never hear of me more. Be cautious, if you prize -the memory of Agnes, and wish to punish her Assassins. I have that to -tell, will freeze your blood with horror. St. Ursula. - -No sooner had the Marquis read the note than He fell back upon his -pillow deprived of sense or motion. The hope failed him which till now -had supported his existence; and these lines convinced him but too -positively that Agnes was indeed no more. Lorenzo felt this -circumstance less forcibly, since it had always been his idea that his -Sister had perished by unfair means. When He found by the Mother St. -Ursula's letter how true were his suspicions, the confirmation excited -no other sentiment in his bosom than a wish to punish the Murderers as -they deserved. It was no easy task to recall the Marquis to himself. -As soon as He recovered his speech, He broke out into execrations -against the Assassins of his Beloved, and vowed to take upon them a -signal vengeance. He continued to rave and torment himself with -impotent passion till his constitution, enfeebled by grief and illness, -could support itself no longer, and He relapsed into insensibility. -His melancholy situation sincerely affected Lorenzo, who would -willingly have remained in the apartment of his Friend; But other cares -now demanded his presence. It was necessary to procure the order for -seizing the Prioress of St. Clare. For this purpose, having committed -Raymond to the care of the best Physicians in Madrid, He quitted the -Hotel de las Cisternas, and bent his course towards the Palace of the -Cardinal-Duke. - -His disappointment was excessive, when He found that affairs of State -had obliged the Cardinal to set out for a distant Province. - -It wanted but five to Friday: Yet by travelling day and night, He -hoped to return in time for the Pilgrimage of St. Clare. In this He -succeeded. He found the Cardinal-Duke; and represented to him the -supposed culpability of the Prioress, as also the violent effects which -it had produced upon Don Raymond. He could have used no argument so -forcible as this last. Of all his Nephews, the Marquis was the only -one to whom the Cardinal-Duke was sincerely attached: He perfectly -doated upon him, and the Prioress could have committed no greater crime -in his eyes than to have endangered the life of the Marquis. -Consequently, He granted the order of arrest without difficulty: He -also gave Lorenzo a letter to a principal Officer of the Inquisition, -desiring him to see his mandate executed. Furnished with these papers, -Medina hastened back to Madrid, which He reached on the Friday a few -hours before dark. He found the Marquis somewhat easier, but so weak -and exhausted that without great exertion He could neither speak or -more. Having past an hour by his Bedside, Lorenzo left him to -communicate his design to his Uncle, as also to give Don Ramirez de -Mello the Cardinal's letter. The First was petrified with horror when -He learnt the fate of his unhappy Niece: He encouraged Lorenzo to -punish her Assassins, and engaged to accompany him at night to St. -Clare's Convent. Don Ramirez promised his firmest support, and -selected a band of trusty Archers to prevent opposition on the part of -the Populace. - -But while Lorenzo was anxious to unmask one religious Hypocrite, He was -unconscious of the sorrows prepared for him by Another. Aided by -Matilda's infernal Agents, Ambrosio had resolved upon the innocent -Antonia's ruin. The moment destined to be so fatal to her arrived. -She had taken leave of her Mother for the night. - -As She kissed her, She felt an unusual despondency infuse itself into -her bosom. She left her, and returned to her instantly, threw herself -into her maternal arms, and bathed her cheek with tears: She felt -uneasy at quitting her, and a secret presentiment assured her that -never must they meet again. Elvira observed, and tried to laugh her -out of this childish prejudice: She chid her mildly for encouraging -such ungrounded sadness, and warned her how dangerous it was to -encourage such ideas. - -To all her remonstrances She received no other answer than, - -'Mother! Dear Mother! Oh! would to God, it were Morning!' - -Elvira, whose inquietude respecting her Daughter was a great obstacle -to her perfect reestablishment, was still labouring under the effects -of her late severe illness. She was this Evening more than usually -indisposed, and retired to bed before her accustomed hour. Antonia -withdrew from her Mother's chamber with regret, and till the Door -closed, kept her eyes fixed upon her with melancholy expression. She -retired to her own apartment; Her heart was filled with bitterness: It -seemed to her that all her prospects were blasted, and the world -contained nothing for which it was worth existing. She sank into a -Chair, reclined her head upon her arm, and gazed upon the floor with a -vacant stare, while the most gloomy images floated before her fancy. -She was still in this state of insensibility when She was disturbed by -hearing a strain of soft Music breathed beneath her window. She rose, -drew near the Casement, and opened it to hear it more distinctly. -Having thrown her veil over her face, She ventured to look out. By the -light of the Moon She perceived several Men below with Guitars and -Lutes in their hands; and at a little distance from them stood Another -wrapped in his cloak, whose stature and appearance bore a strong -resemblance to Lorenzo's. She was not deceived in this conjecture. It -was indeed Lorenzo himself, who bound by his word not to present -himself to Antonia without his Uncle's consent, endeavoured by -occasional Serenades, to convince his Mistress that his attachment -still existed. His stratagem had not the desired effect. Antonia was -far from supposing that this nightly music was intended as a compliment -to her: She was too modest to think herself worthy such attentions; and -concluding them to be addressed to some neighbouring Lady, She grieved -to find that they were offered by Lorenzo. - -The air which was played, was plaintive and melodious. It accorded with -the state of Antonia's mind, and She listened with pleasure. After a -symphony of some length, it was succeeded by the sound of voices, and -Antonia distinguished the following words. - - SERENADE - - Chorus - - Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre! - 'Tis here that Beauty loves to rest: - Describe the pangs of fond desire, - Which rend a faithful Lover's breast. - - Song - - In every heart to find a Slave, - In every Soul to fix his reign, - In bonds to lead the wise and brave, - And make the Captives kiss his chain, - Such is the power of Love, and Oh! - I grieve so well Love's power to know. - - In sighs to pass the live-long day, - To taste a short and broken sleep, - For one dear Object far away, - All others scorned, to watch and weep, - Such are the pains of Love, and Oh! - I grieve so well Love's pains to know! - - To read consent in virgin eyes, - To press the lip ne'er prest till then - To hear the sigh of transport rise, - And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again, - Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh! - When shall my heart thy pleasures know? - - Chorus - - Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still! - Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire - With amorous thoughts thy visions fill, - Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre. - - -The Music ceased: The Performers dispersed, and silence prevailed -through the Street. Antonia quitted the window with regret: She as -usual recommended herself to the protection of St. Rosolia, said her -accustomed prayers, and retired to bed. Sleep was not long absent, and -his presence relieved her from her terrors and inquietude. - -It was almost two o'clock before the lustful Monk ventured to bend his -steps towards Antonia's dwelling. It has been already mentioned that -the Abbey was at no great distance from the Strada di San Iago. He -reached the House unobserved. Here He stopped, and hesitated for a -moment. He reflected on the enormity of the crime, the consequences of -a discovery, and the probability, after what had passed, of Elvira's -suspecting him to be her Daughter's Ravisher: On the other hand it was -suggested that She could do no more than suspect; that no proofs of his -guilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the rape to -have been committed without Antonia's knowing when, where, or by whom; -and finally, He believed that his fame was too firmly established to be -shaken by the unsupported accusations of two unknown Women. This -latter argument was perfectly false: He knew not how uncertain is the -air of popular applause, and that a moment suffices to make him today -the detestation of the world, who yesterday was its Idol. The result -of the Monk's deliberations was that He should proceed in his -enterprize. He ascended the steps leading to the House. No sooner did -He touch the door with the silver Myrtle, than it flew open, and -presented him with a free passage. He entered, and the door closed -after him of its own accord. - -Guided by the moonbeams, He proceeded up the Staircase with slow and -cautious steps. He looked round him every moment with apprehension and -anxiety. He saw a Spy in every shadow, and heard a voice in every -murmur of the night breeze. Consciousness of the guilty business on -which He was employed appalled his heart, and rendered it more timid -than a Woman's. Yet still He proceeded. He reached the door of -Antonia's chamber. He stopped, and listened. All was hushed within. -The total silence persuaded him that his intended Victim was retired to -rest, and He ventured to lift up the Latch. The door was fastened, and -resisted his efforts: But no sooner was it touched by the Talisman, -than the Bolt flew back. The Ravisher stept on, and found himself in -the chamber, where slept the innocent Girl, unconscious how dangerous a -Visitor was drawing near her Couch. The door closed after him, and the -Bolt shot again into its fastening. - -Ambrosio advanced with precaution. He took care that not a board -should creak under his foot, and held in his breath as He approached -the Bed. His first attention was to perform the magic ceremony, as -Matilda had charged him: He breathed thrice upon the silver Myrtle, -pronounced over it Antonia's name, and laid it upon her pillow. The -effects which it had already produced permitted not his doubting its -success in prolonging the slumbers of his devoted Mistress. No sooner -was the enchantment performed than He considered her to be absolutely -in his power, and his eyes flamed with lust and impatience. He now -ventured to cast a glance upon the sleeping Beauty. A single Lamp, -burning before the Statue of St. Rosolia, shed a faint light through -the room, and permitted him to examine all the charms of the lovely -Object before him. The heat of the weather had obliged her to throw -off part of the Bed-cloathes: Those which still covered her, -Ambrosio's insolent hand hastened to remove. She lay with her cheek -reclining upon one ivory arm; The Other rested on the side of the Bed -with graceful indolence. A few tresses of her hair had escaped from -beneath the Muslin which confined the rest, and fell carelessly over -her bosom, as it heaved with slow and regular suspiration. The warm -air had spread her cheek with higher colour than usual. A smile -inexpressibly sweet played round her ripe and coral lips, from which -every now and then escaped a gentle sigh or an half-pronounced -sentence. An air of enchanting innocence and candour pervaded her -whole form; and there was a sort of modesty in her very nakedness which -added fresh stings to the desires of the lustful Monk. - -He remained for some moments devouring those charms with his eyes which -soon were to be subjected to his ill-regulated passions. Her mouth -half-opened seemed to solicit a kiss: He bent over her; he joined his -lips to hers, and drew in the fragrance of her breath with rapture. -This momentary pleasure increased his longing for still greater. His -desires were raised to that frantic height by which Brutes are -agitated. He resolved not to delay for one instant longer the -accomplishment of his wishes, and hastily proceeded to tear off those -garments which impeded the gratification of his lust. - -'Gracious God!' exclaimed a voice behind him; 'Am I not deceived? - -Is not this an illusion?' - -Terror, confusion, and disappointment accompanied these words, as they -struck Ambrosio's hearing. He started, and turned towards it. Elvira -stood at the door of the chamber, and regarded the Monk with looks of -surprize and detestation. - -A frightful dream had represented to her Antonia on the verge of a -precipice. She saw her trembling on the brink: Every moment seemed to -threaten her fall, and She heard her exclaim with shrieks, 'Save me, -Mother! Save me!--Yet a moment, and it will be too late!' Elvira woke -in terror. The vision had made too strong an impression upon her mind, -to permit her resting till assured of her Daughter's safety. She -hastily started from her Bed, threw on a loose night-gown, and passing -through the Closet in which slept the Waiting-woman, She reached -Antonia's chamber just in time to rescue her from the grasp of the -Ravisher. - -His shame and her amazement seemed to have petrified into Statues both -Elvira and the Monk: They remained gazing upon each other in silence. -The Lady was the first to recover herself. - -'It is no dream!' She cried; 'It is really Ambrosio, who stands before -me! It is the Man whom Madrid esteems a Saint, that I find at this -late hour near the Couch of my unhappy Child! Monster of Hypocrisy! I -already suspected your designs, but forbore your accusation in pity to -human frailty. Silence would now be criminal: The whole City shall be -informed of your incontinence. I will unmask you, Villain, and -convince the Church what a Viper She cherishes in her bosom.' - -Pale and confused the baffled Culprit stood trembling before her. - -He would fain have extenuated his offence, but could find no apology -for his conduct: He could produce nothing but broken sentences, and -excuses which contradicted each other. Elvira was too justly incensed -to grant the pardon which He requested. She protested that She would -raise the neighbourhood, and make him an example to all future -Hypocrites. Then hastening to the Bed, She called to Antonia to wake; -and finding that her voice had no effect, She took her arm, and raised -her forcibly from the pillow. The charm operated too powerfully. -Antonia remained insensible, and on being released by her Mother, sank -back upon the pillow. - -'This slumber cannot be natural!' cried the amazed Elvira, whose -indignation increased with every moment. 'Some mystery is concealed in -it; But tremble, Hypocrite; all your villainy shall soon be unravelled! -Help! Help!' She exclaimed aloud; 'Within there! Flora! Flora!' - -'Hear me for one moment, Lady!' cried the Monk, restored to himself by -the urgency of the danger; 'By all that is sacred and holy, I swear -that your Daughter's honour is still unviolated. Forgive my -transgression! Spare me the shame of a discovery, and permit me to -regain the Abbey undisturbed. Grant me this request in mercy! I -promise not only that Antonia shall be secure from me in future, but -that the rest of my life shall prove .....' - -Elvira interrupted him abruptly. - -'Antonia secure from you? _I_ will secure her! You shall betray no -longer the confidence of Parents! Your iniquity shall be unveiled to -the public eye: All Madrid shall shudder at your perfidy, your -hypocrisy and incontinence. What Ho! there! Flora! Flora, I say!' - -While She spoke thus, the remembrance of Agnes struck upon his mind. -Thus had She sued to him for mercy, and thus had He refused her prayer! -It was now his turn to suffer, and He could not but acknowledge that -his punishment was just. In the meanwhile Elvira continued to call -Flora to her assistance; but her voice was so choaked with passion that -the Servant, who was buried in profound slumber, was insensible to all -her cries: Elvira dared not go towards the Closet in which Flora slept, -lest the Monk should take that opportunity to escape. Such indeed was -his intention: He trusted that could He reach the Abbey unobserved by -any other than Elvira, her single testimony would not suffice to ruin a -reputation so well established as his was in Madrid. With this idea He -gathered up such garments as He had already thrown off, and hastened -towards the Door. Elvira was aware of his design; She followed him, -and ere He could draw back the bolt, seized him by the arm, and -detained him. - -'Attempt not to fly!' said She; 'You quit not this room without -Witnesses of your guilt.' - -Ambrosio struggled in vain to disengage himself. Elvira quitted not -her hold, but redoubled her cries for succour. The Friar's danger grew -more urgent. He expected every moment to hear people assembling at her -voice; And worked up to madness by the approach of ruin, He adopted a -resolution equally desperate and savage. Turning round suddenly, with -one hand He grasped Elvira's throat so as to prevent her continuing her -clamour, and with the other, dashing her violently upon the ground, He -dragged her towards the Bed. Confused by this unexpected attack, She -scarcely had power to strive at forcing herself from his grasp: While -the Monk, snatching the pillow from beneath her Daughter's head, -covering with it Elvira's face, and pressing his knee upon her stomach -with all his strength, endeavoured to put an end to her existence. He -succeeded but too well. Her natural strength increased by the excess -of anguish, long did the Sufferer struggle to disengage herself, but in -vain. The Monk continued to kneel upon her breast, witnessed without -mercy the convulsive trembling of her limbs beneath him, and sustained -with inhuman firmness the spectacle of her agonies, when soul and body -were on the point of separating. Those agonies at length were over. -She ceased to struggle for life. The Monk took off the pillow, and -gazed upon her. Her face was covered with a frightful blackness: - -Her limbs moved no more; The blood was chilled in her veins; Her heart -had forgotten to beat, and her hands were stiff and frozen. - -Ambrosio beheld before him that once noble and majestic form, now -become a Corse, cold, senseless and disgusting. - -This horrible act was no sooner perpetrated, than the Friar beheld the -enormity of his crime. A cold dew flowed over his limbs; his eyes -closed; He staggered to a chair, and sank into it almost as lifeless as -the Unfortunate who lay extended at his feet. From this state He was -rouzed by the necessity of flight, and the danger of being found in -Antonia's apartment. He had no desire to profit by the execution of -his crime. Antonia now appeared to him an object of disgust. A deadly -cold had usurped the place of that warmth which glowed in his bosom: -No ideas offered themselves to his mind but those of death and guilt, -of present shame and future punishment. Agitated by remorse and fear -He prepared for flight: Yet his terrors did not so compleatly master -his recollection, as to prevent his taking the precautions necessary -for his safety. He replaced the pillow upon the bed, gathered up his -garments, and with the fatal Talisman in his hand, bent his unsteady -steps towards the door. Bewildered by fear, He fancied that his flight -was opposed by Legions of Phantoms; Whereever He turned, the disfigured -Corse seemed to lie in his passage, and it was long before He succeeded -in reaching the door. The enchanted Myrtle produced its former effect. -The door opened, and He hastened down the staircase. He entered the -Abbey unobserved, and having shut himself into his Cell, He abandoned -his soul to the tortures of unavailing remorse, and terrors of -impending detection. - - - -CHAPTER II - - Tell us, ye Dead, will none of you in pity - To those you left behind disclose the secret? - O! That some courteous Ghost would blab it out, - What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be. - I've heard that Souls departed have sometimes - Fore-warned Men of their deaths: - 'Twas kindly done - To knock, and give the alarum. - Blair. - - -Ambrosio shuddered at himself, when He reflected on his rapid advances -in iniquity. The enormous crime which He had just committed filled him -with real horror. The murdered Elvira was continually before his eyes, -and his guilt was already punished by the agonies of his conscience. -Time, however, considerably weakened these impressions: One day passed -away, another followed it, and still not the least suspicion was thrown -upon him. Impunity reconciled him to his guilt: He began to resume -his spirits; and as his fears of detection died away, He paid less -attention to the reproaches of remorse. Matilda exerted herself to -quiet his alarms. At the first intelligence of Elvira's death, She -seemed greatly affected, and joined the Monk in deploring the unhappy -catastrophe of his adventure: But when She found his agitation to be -somewhat calmed, and himself better disposed to listen to her -arguments, She proceeded to mention his offence in milder terms, and -convince him that He was not so highly culpable as He appeared to -consider himself. She represented that He had only availed himself of -the rights which Nature allows to every one, those of -self-preservation: That either Elvira or himself must have perished, -and that her inflexibility and resolution to ruin him had deservedly -marked her out for the Victim. She next stated, that as He had before -rendered himself suspected to Elvira, it was a fortunate event for him -that her lips were closed by death; since without this last adventure, -her suspicions if made public might have produced very disagreeable -consequences. He had therefore freed himself from an Enemy, to whom -the errors of his conduct were sufficiently known to make her -dangerous, and who was the greatest obstacle to his designs upon -Antonia. Those designs She encouraged him not to abandon. She assured -him that, no longer protected by her Mother's watchful eye, the -Daughter would fall an easy conquest; and by praising and enumerating -Antonia's charms, She strove to rekindle the desires of the Monk. In -this endeavour She succeeded but too well. - -As if the crimes into which his passion had seduced him had only -increased its violence, He longed more eagerly than ever to enjoy -Antonia. The same success in concealing his present guilt, He trusted -would attend his future. He was deaf to the murmurs of conscience, and -resolved to satisfy his desires at any price. He waited only for an -opportunity of repeating his former enterprize; But to procure that -opportunity by the same means was now impracticable. In the first -transports of despair He had dashed the enchanted Myrtle into a -thousand pieces: Matilda told him plainly that He must expect no -further assistance from the infernal Powers unless He was willing to -subscribe to their established conditions. This Ambrosio was -determined not to do: He persuaded himself that however great might be -his iniquity, so long as he preserved his claim to salvation, He need -not despair of pardon. He therefore resolutely refused to enter into -any bond or compact with the Fiends; and Matilda finding him obstinate -upon this point, forbore to press him further. She exerted her -invention to discover some means of putting Antonia into the Abbot's -power: Nor was it long before that means presented itself. - -While her ruin was thus meditating, the unhappy Girl herself suffered -severely from the loss of her Mother. Every morning on waking, it was -her first care to hasten to Elvira's chamber. On that which followed -Ambrosio's fatal visit, She woke later than was her usual custom: Of -this She was convinced by the Abbey Chimes. She started from her bed, -threw on a few loose garments hastily, and was speeding to enquire how -her Mother had passed the night, when her foot struck against something -which lay in her passage. She looked down. What was her horror at -recognizing Elvira's livid Corse! She uttered a loud shriek, and threw -herself upon the floor. She clasped the inanimate form to her bosom, -felt that it was dead-cold, and with a movement of disgust, of which -She was not the Mistress, let it fall again from her arms. The cry had -alarmed Flora, who hastened to her assistance. The sight which She -beheld penetrated her with horror; but her alarm was more audible than -Antonia's. She made the House ring with her lamentations, while her -Mistress, almost suffocated with grief, could only mark her distress by -sobs and groans. Flora's shrieks soon reached the ears of the Hostess, -whose terror and surprize were excessive on learning the cause of this -disturbance. A Physician was immediately sent for: But on the first -moment of beholding the Corse, He declared that Elvira's recovery was -beyond the power of art. He proceeded therefore to give his assistance -to Antonia, who by this time was truly in need of it. She was conveyed -to bed, while the Landlady busied herself in giving orders for Elvira's -Burial. Dame Jacintha was a plain good kind of Woman, charitable, -generous, and devout: But her intellects were weak, and She was a -Miserable Slave to fear and superstition. She shuddered at the idea of -passing the night in the same House with a dead Body: She was persuaded -that Elvira's Ghost would appear to her, and no less certain that such -a visit would kill her with fright. From this persuasion, She resolved -to pass the night at a Neighbour's, and insisted that the Funeral -should take place the next day. St. Clare's Cemetery being the nearest, -it was determined that Elvira should be buried there. Dame Jacintha -engaged to defray every expence attending the burial. She knew not in -what circumstances Antonia was left, but from the sparing manner in -which the Family had lived, She concluded them to be indifferent. - -Consequently, She entertained very little hope of ever being -recompensed; But this consideration prevented her not from taking care -that the Interment was performed with decency, and from showing the -unfortunate Antonia all possible respect. - -Nobody dies of mere grief; Of this Antonia was an instance. Aided by -her youth and healthy constitution, She shook off the malady which her -Mother's death had occasioned; But it was not so easy to remove the -disease of her mind. Her eyes were constantly filled with tears: Every -trifle affected her, and She evidently nourished in her bosom a -profound and rooted melancholy. The slightest mention of Elvira, the -most trivial circumstance recalling that beloved Parent to her memory, -was sufficient to throw her into serious agitation. How much would her -grief have been increased, had She known the agonies which terminated -her Mother's existence! But of this no one entertained the least -suspicion. Elvira was subject to strong convulsions: It was supposed -that, aware of their approach, She had dragged herself to her -Daughter's chamber in hopes of assistance; that a sudden access of her -fits had seized her, too violent to be resisted by her already -enfeebled state of health; and that She had expired ere She had time to -reach the medicine which generally relieved her, and which stood upon a -shelf in Antonia's room. This idea was firmly credited by the few -people, who interested themselves about Elvira: Her Death was esteemed -a natural event, and soon forgotten by all save by her, who had but too -much reason to deplore her loss. - -In truth Antonia's situation was sufficiently embarrassing and -unpleasant. She was alone in the midst of a dissipated and expensive -City; She was ill provided with money, and worse with Friends. Her -aunt Leonella was still at Cordova, and She knew not her direction. Of -the Marquis de las Cisternas She heard no news: As to Lorenzo, She had -long given up the idea of possessing any interest in his bosom. She -knew not to whom She could address herself in her present dilemma. She -wished to consult Ambrosio; But She remembered her Mother's injunctions -to shun him as much as possible, and the last conversation which Elvira -had held with her upon the subject had given her sufficient lights -respecting his designs to put her upon her guard against him in future. -Still all her Mother's warnings could not make her change her good -opinion of the Friar. She continued to feel that his friendship and -society were requisite to her happiness: She looked upon his failings -with a partial eye, and could not persuade herself that He really had -intended her ruin. However, Elvira had positively commanded her to -drop his acquaintance, and She had too much respect for her orders to -disobey them. - -At length She resolved to address herself for advice and protection to -the Marquis de las Cisternas, as being her nearest Relation. She wrote -to him, briefly stating her desolate situation; She besought him to -compassionate his Brother's Child, to continue to her Elvira's pension, -and to authorise her retiring to his old Castle in Murcia, which till -now had been her retreat. Having sealed her letter, She gave it to the -trusty Flora, who immediately set out to execute her commission. But -Antonia was born under an unlucky Star. Had She made her application -to the Marquis but one day sooner, received as his Niece and placed at -the head of his Family, She would have escaped all the misfortunes with -which She was now threatened. Raymond had always intended to execute -this plan: But first, his hopes of making the proposal to Elvira -through the lips of Agnes, and afterwards, his disappointment at losing -his intended Bride, as well as the severe illness which for some time -had confined him to his Bed, made him defer from day to day the giving -an Asylum in his House to his Brother's Widow. He had commissioned -Lorenzo to supply her liberally with money: But Elvira, unwilling to -receive obligations from that Nobleman, had assured him that She needed -no immediate pecuniary assistance. Consequently, the Marquis did not -imagine that a trifling delay on his part could create any -embarrassment; and the distress and agitation of his mind might well -excuse his negligence. - -Had He been informed that Elvira's death had left her Daughter -Friendless and unprotected, He would doubtless have taken such -measures, as would have ensured her from every danger: But Antonia was -not destined to be so fortunate. The day on which She sent her letter -to the Palace de las Cisternas was that following Lorenzo's departure -from Madrid. The Marquis was in the first paroxysms of despair at the -conviction that Agnes was indeed no more: He was delirious, and his -life being in danger, no one was suffered to approach him. Flora was -informed that He was incapable of attending to Letters, and that -probably a few hours would decide his fate. With this unsatisfactory -answer She was obliged to return to her Mistress, who now found herself -plunged into greater difficulties than ever. - -Flora and Dame Jacintha exerted themselves to console her. The Latter -begged her to make herself easy, for that as long as She chose to stay -with her, She would treat her like her own Child. Antonia, finding that -the good Woman had taken a real affection for her, was somewhat -comforted by thinking that She had at least one Friend in the World. A -Letter was now brought to her, directed to Elvira. She recognized -Leonella's writing, and opening it with joy, found a detailed account -of her Aunt's adventures at Cordova. She informed her Sister that She -had recovered her Legacy, had lost her heart, and had received in -exchange that of the most amiable of Apothecaries, past, present, and -to come. She added that She should be at Madrid on the Tuesday night, -and meant to have the pleasure of presenting her Caro Sposo in form. -Though her nuptials were far from pleasing Antonia, Leonella's speedy -return gave her Niece much delight. She rejoiced in thinking that She -should once more be under a Relation's care. She could not but judge -it to be highly improper, for a young Woman to be living among absolute -Strangers, with no one to regulate her conduct, or protect her from the -insults to which, in her defenceless situation, She was exposed. She -therefore looked forward with impatience to the Tuesday night. - -It arrived. Antonia listened anxiously to the Carriages, as they -rolled along the Street. None of them stopped, and it grew late -without Leonella's appearing. Still, Antonia resolved to sit up till -her Aunt's arrival, and in spite of all her remonstrances, Dame -Jacintha and Flora insisted upon doing the same. The hours passed on -slow and tediously. Lorenzo's departure from Madrid had put a stop to -the nightly Serenades: She hoped in vain to hear the usual sound of -Guitars beneath her window. She took up her own, and struck a few -chords: But Music that evening had lost its charms for her, and She -soon replaced the Instrument in its case. She seated herself at her -embroidery frame, but nothing went right: The silks were missing, the -thread snapped every moment, and the needles were so expert at falling -that they seemed to be animated. At length a flake of wax fell from -the Taper which stood near her upon a favourite wreath of Violets: This -compleatly discomposed her; She threw down her needle, and quitted the -frame. It was decreed that for that night nothing should have the -power of amusing her. She was the prey of Ennui, and employed herself -in making fruitless wishes for the arrival of her Aunt. - -As She walked with a listless air up and down the chamber, the Door -caught her eye conducting to that which had been her Mother's. She -remembered that Elvira's little Library was arranged there, and thought -that She might possibly find in it some Book to amuse her till Leonella -should arrive. Accordingly She took her Taper from the table, passed -through the little Closet, and entered the adjoining apartment. As She -looked around her, the sight of this room brought to her recollection a -thousand painful ideas. It was the first time of her entering it since -her Mother's death. The total silence prevailing through the chamber, -the Bed despoiled of its furniture, the cheerless hearth where stood an -extinguished Lamp, and a few dying Plants in the window which, since -Elvira's loss, had been neglected, inspired Antonia with a melancholy -awe. The gloom of night gave strength to this sensation. She placed -her light upon the Table, and sank into a large chair, in which She had -seen her Mother seated a thousand and a thousand times. She was never -to see her seated there again! Tears unbidden streamed down her cheek, -and She abandoned herself to the sadness which grew deeper with every -moment. - -Ashamed of her weakness, She at length rose from her seat: She -proceeded to seek for what had brought her to this melancholy scene. -The small collection of Books was arranged upon several shelves in -order. Antonia examined them without finding any thing likely to -interest her, till She put her hand upon a volume of old Spanish -Ballads. She read a few Stanzas of one of them: They excited her -curiosity. She took down the Book, and seated herself to peruse it -with more ease. She trimmed the Taper, which now drew towards its end, -and then read the following Ballad. - - ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE - - A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright - Conversed, as They sat on the green: - They gazed on each other with tender delight; - Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight, - The Maid's was the Fair Imogine. - - 'And Oh!' said the Youth, 'since to-morrow I go - To fight in a far distant land, - Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow, - Some Other will court you, and you will bestow - On a wealthier Suitor your hand.' - - 'Oh! hush these suspicions,' Fair Imogine said, - 'Offensive to Love and to me! - For if ye be living, or if ye be dead, - I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead - Shall Husband of Imogine be. - - 'If e'er I by lust or by wealth led aside - Forget my Alonzo the Brave, - God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride - Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side, - May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride, - And bear me away to the Grave!' - - To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold; - His Love, She lamented him sore: - But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold, - A Baron all covered with jewels and gold - Arrived at Fair Imogine's door. - - His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain - Soon made her untrue to her vows: - He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain; - He caught her affections so light and so vain, - And carried her home as his Spouse. - - And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest; - The revelry now was begun: - The Tables, they groaned with the weight of the Feast; - Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, - When the Bell of the Castle told,--'One!' - - Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found - That a Stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific; - He uttered no sound; He spoke not, He moved not, - He looked not around, - But earnestly gazed on the Bride. - - His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height; - His armour was sable to view: - All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight; - The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright, - The Lights in the chamber burned blue! - - His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay; - The Guests sat in silence and fear. - At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled; - 'I pray, Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay, - And deign to partake of our chear.' - - The Lady is silent: The Stranger complies. - His vizor lie slowly unclosed: - Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eyes! - What words can express her dismay and surprize, - When a Skeleton's head was exposed. - - All present then uttered a terrified shout; - All turned with disgust from the scene. - The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out, - And sported his eyes and his temples about, - While the Spectre addressed Imogine. - - 'Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!' He cried; - 'Remember Alonzo the Brave! - God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride - My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side, - Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride - And bear thee away to the Grave!' - - Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound, - While loudly She shrieked in dismay; - Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground: - Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found, - Or the Spectre who bore her away. - - Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time - To inhabit the Castle presume: - For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime - There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime, - And mourns her deplorable doom. - - At midnight four times in each year does her Spright - When Mortals in slumber are bound, - Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white, - Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight, - And shriek, as He whirls her around. - - While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave, - Dancing round them the Spectres are seen: - Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave - They howl.--'To the health of Alonzo the Brave, - And his Consort, the False Imogine!' - - -The perusal of this story was ill-calculated to dispel Antonia's -melancholy. She had naturally a strong inclination to the marvellous; -and her Nurse, who believed firmly in Apparitions, had related to her -when an Infant so many horrible adventures of this kind, that all -Elvira's attempts had failed to eradicate their impressions from her -Daughter's mind. Antonia still nourished a superstitious prejudice in -her bosom: She was often susceptible of terrors which, when She -discovered their natural and insignificant cause, made her blush at her -own weakness. With such a turn of mind, the adventure which She had -just been reading sufficed to give her apprehensions the alarm. The -hour and the scene combined to authorize them. It was the dead of -night: She was alone, and in the chamber once occupied by her deceased -Mother. The weather was comfortless and stormy: The wind howled -around the House, the doors rattled in their frames, and the heavy rain -pattered against the windows. No other sound was heard. The Taper, -now burnt down to the socket, sometimes flaring upwards shot a gleam of -light through the room, then sinking again seemed upon the point of -expiring. Antonia's heart throbbed with agitation: Her eyes wandered -fearfully over the objects around her, as the trembling flame -illuminated them at intervals. She attempted to rise from her seat; -But her limbs trembled so violently that She was unable to proceed. -She then called Flora, who was in a room at no great distance: But -agitation choaked her voice, and her cries died away in hollow murmurs. - -She passed some minutes in this situation, after which her terrors -began to diminish. She strove to recover herself, and acquire strength -enough to quit the room: Suddenly She fancied, that She heard a low -sigh drawn near her. This idea brought back her former weakness. She -had already raised herself from her seat, and was on the point of -taking the Lamp from the Table. The imaginary noise stopped her: She -drew back her hand, and supported herself upon the back of a Chair. -She listened anxiously, but nothing more was heard. - -'Gracious God!' She said to herself; 'What could be that sound? Was I -deceived, or did I really hear it?' - -Her reflections were interrupted by a noise at the door scarcely -audible: It seemed as if somebody was whispering. Antonia's alarm -increased: Yet the Bolt She knew to be fastened, and this idea in some -degree reassured her. Presently the Latch was lifted up softly, and -the Door moved with caution backwards and forwards. Excess of terror -now supplied Antonia with that strength, of which She had till then -been deprived. She started from her place and made towards the Closet -door, whence She might soon have reached the chamber where She expected -to find Flora and Dame Jacintha. Scarcely had She reached the middle -of the room when the Latch was lifted up a second time. An involuntary -movement obliged her to turn her head. Slowly and gradually the Door -turned upon its hinges, and standing upon the Threshold She beheld a -tall thin Figure, wrapped in a white shroud which covered it from head -to foot. - -This vision arrested her feet: She remained as if petrified in the -middle of the apartment. The Stranger with measured and solemn steps -drew near the Table. The dying Taper darted a blue and melancholy -flame as the Figure advanced towards it. Over the Table was fixed a -small Clock; The hand of it was upon the stroke of three. The Figure -stopped opposite to the Clock: It raised its right arm, and pointed to -the hour, at the same time looking earnestly upon Antonia, who waited -for the conclusion of this scene, motionless and silent. - -The figure remained in this posture for some moments. The clock struck. -When the sound had ceased, the Stranger advanced yet a few steps nearer -Antonia. - -'Yet three days,' said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral; 'Yet -three days, and we meet again!' - -Antonia shuddered at the words. - -'We meet again?' She pronounced at length with difficulty: 'Where shall -we meet? Whom shall I meet?' - -The figure pointed to the ground with one hand, and with the other -raised the Linen which covered its face. - -'Almighty God! My Mother!' - -Antonia shrieked, and fell lifeless upon the floor. - -Dame Jacintha who was at work in a neighbouring chamber, was alarmed by -the cry: Flora was just gone down stairs to fetch fresh oil for the -Lamp, by which they had been sitting. Jacintha therefore hastened -alone to Antonia's assistance, and great was her amazement to find her -extended upon the floor. She raised her in her arms, conveyed her to -her apartment, and placed her upon the Bed still senseless. She then -proceeded to bathe her temples, chafe her hands, and use all possible -means of bringing her to herself. With some difficulty She succeeded. -Antonia opened her eyes, and looked round her wildly. - -'Where is She?' She cried in a trembling voice; 'Is She gone? Am I -safe? Speak to me! Comfort me! Oh! speak to me for God's sake!' - -'Safe from whom, my Child?' replied the astonished Jacintha; 'What -alarms you? Of whom are you afraid?' - -'In three days! She told me that we should meet in three days! I heard -her say it! I saw her, Jacintha, I saw her but this moment!' - -She threw herself upon Jacintha's bosom. - -'You saw her? Saw whom?' - -'My Mother's Ghost!' - -'Christ Jesus!' cried Jacintha, and starting from the Bed, let fall -Antonia upon the pillow, and fled in consternation out of the room. - -As She hastened down stairs, She met Flora ascending them. - -'Go to your Mistress, Flora,' said She; 'Here are rare doings! Oh! I am -the most unfortunate Woman alive! My House is filled with Ghosts and -dead Bodies, and the Lord knows what besides; Yet I am sure, nobody -likes such company less than I do. But go your way to Donna Antonia, -Flora, and let me go mine.' - -Thus saying, She continued her course to the Street door, which She -opened, and without allowing herself time to throw on her veil, She -made the best of her way to the Capuchin Abbey. In the meanwhile, -Flora hastened to her Lady's chamber, equally surprized and alarmed at -Jacintha's consternation. She found Antonia lying upon the bed -insensible. She used the same means for her recovery that Jacintha had -already employed; But finding that her Mistress only recovered from one -fit to fall into another, She sent in all haste for a Physician. While -expecting his arrival, She undrest Antonia, and conveyed her to Bed. - -Heedless of the storm, terrified almost out of her senses, Jacintha ran -through the Streets, and stopped not till She reached the Gate of the -Abbey. She rang loudly at the bell, and as soon as the Porter -appeared, She desired permission to speak to the Superior. Ambrosio -was then conferring with Matilda upon the means of procuring access to -Antonia. The cause of Elvira's death remaining unknown, He was -convinced that crimes were not so swiftly followed by punishment, as -his Instructors the Monks had taught him, and as till then He had -himself believed. This persuasion made him resolve upon Antonia's -ruin, for the enjoyment of whose person dangers and difficulties only -seemed to have increased his passion. The Monk had already made one -attempt to gain admission to her presence; But Flora had refused him in -such a manner as to convince him that all future endeavours must be -vain. Elvira had confided her suspicions to that trusty Servant: She -had desired her never to leave Ambrosio alone with her Daughter, and if -possible to prevent their meeting altogether. Flora promised to obey -her, and had executed her orders to the very letter. Ambrosio's visit -had been rejected that morning, though Antonia was ignorant of it. He -saw that to obtain a sight of his Mistress by open means was out of the -question; and both Himself and Matilda had consumed the night, in -endeavouring to invent some plan, whose event might be more successful. -Such was their employment, when a Lay-Brother entered the Abbot's Cell, -and informed him that a Woman calling herself Jacintha Zuniga requested -audience for a few minutes. - -Ambrosio was by no means disposed to grant the petition of his Visitor. -He refused it positively, and bad the Lay-Brother tell the Stranger to -return the next day. Matilda interrupted him. - -'See this Woman,' said She in a low voice; 'I have my reasons.' - -The Abbot obeyed her, and signified that He would go to the Parlour -immediately. With this answer the Lay-Brother withdrew. As soon as -they were alone Ambrosio enquired why Matilda wished him to see this -Jacintha. - -'She is Antonia's Hostess,' replied Matilda; 'She may possibly be of -use to you: but let us examine her, and learn what brings her hither.' - -They proceeded together to the Parlour, where Jacintha was already -waiting for the Abbot. She had conceived a great opinion of his piety -and virtue; and supposing him to have much influence over the Devil, -thought that it must be an easy matter for him to lay Elvira's Ghost in -the Red Sea. Filled with this persuasion She had hastened to the -Abbey. As soon as She saw the Monk enter the Parlour, She dropped upon -her knees, and began her story as follows. - -'Oh! Reverend Father! Such an accident! Such an adventure! I know -not what course to take, and unless you can help me, I shall certainly -go distracted. Well, to be sure, never was Woman so unfortunate, as -myself! All in my power to keep clear of such abomination have I done, -and yet that all is too little. What signifies my telling my beads -four times a day, and observing every fast prescribed by the Calendar? -What signifies my having made three Pilgrimages to St. James of -Compostella, and purchased as many pardons from the Pope as would buy -off Cain's punishment? Nothing prospers with me! All goes wrong, and -God only knows, whether any thing will ever go right again! Why now, -be your Holiness the Judge. My Lodger dies in convulsions; Out of pure -kindness I bury her at my own expence; (Not that She is any Relation of -mine, or that I shall be benefited a single pistole by her death: I -got nothing by it, and therefore you know, reverend Father, that her -living or dying was just the same to me. But that is nothing to the -purpose; To return to what I was saying,) I took care of her funeral, -had every thing performed decently and properly, and put myself to -expence enough, God knows! And how do you think the Lady repays me for -my kindness? Why truly by refusing to sleep quietly in her comfortable -deal Coffin, as a peaceable well-disposed Spirit ought to do, and -coming to plague me, who never wish to set eyes on her again. -Forsooth, it well becomes her to go racketing about my House at -midnight, popping into her Daughter's room through the Keyhole, and -frightening the poor Child out of her wits! Though She be a Ghost, She -might be more civil than to bolt into a Person's House, who likes her -company so little. But as for me, reverend Father, the plain state of -the case is this: If She walks into my House, I must walk out of it, -for I cannot abide such Visitors, not I! Thus you see, your Sanctity, -that without your assistance I am ruined and undone for ever. I shall -be obliged to quit my House; Nobody will take it, when 'tis known that -She haunts it, and then I shall find myself in a fine situation! -Miserable Woman that I am! What shall I do! What will become of me!' - -Here She wept bitterly, wrung her hands, and begged to know the Abbot's -opinion of her case. - -'In truth, good Woman,' replied He, 'It will be difficult for me to -relieve you without knowing what is the matter with you. You have -forgotten to tell me what has happened, and what it is you want.' - -'Let me die' cried Jacintha, 'but your Sanctity is in the right! This -then is the fact stated briefly. A lodger of mine is lately dead, a -very good sort of Woman that I must needs say for her as far as my -knowledge of her went, though that was not a great way: - -She kept me too much at a distance; for indeed She was given to be upon -the high ropes, and whenever I ventured to speak to her, She had a look -with her which always made me feel a little queerish, God forgive me -for saying so. However, though She was more stately than needful, and -affected to look down upon me (Though if I am well informed, I come of -as good Parents as She could do for her ears, for her Father was a -Shoe-maker at Cordova, and Mine was an Hatter at Madrid, aye, and a -very creditable Hatter too, let me tell you,) Yet for all her pride, -She was a quiet well-behaved Body, and I never wish to have a better -Lodger. This makes me wonder the more at her not sleeping quietly in -her Grave: But there is no trusting to people in this world! For my -part, I never saw her do amiss, except on the Friday before her death. -To be sure, I was then much scandalized by seeing her eat the wing of a -Chicken! "How, Madona Flora!" quoth I; (Flora, may it please your -Reverence, is the name of the waiting Maid)--"How, Madona Flora!" -quoth I; "Does your Mistress eat flesh upon Fridays? Well! Well! -See the event, and then remember that Dame Jacintha warned you of it!" -These were my very words, but Alas! I might as well have held my -tongue! Nobody minded me; and Flora, who is somewhat pert and -snappish, (More is the pity, say I) told me that there was no more harm -in eating a Chicken than the egg from which it came. Nay, She even -declared that if her Lady added a slice of bacon, She would not be an -inch nearer Damnation, God protect us! A poor ignorant sinful soul! I -protest to your Holiness, I trembled to hear her utter such -blasphemies, and expected every moment to see the ground open and -swallow her up, Chicken and all! For you must know, worshipful Father, -that while She talked thus, She held the plate in her hand, on which -lay the identical roast Fowl. And a fine Bird it was, that I must say -for it! Done to a turn, for I superintended the cooking of it myself: -It was a little Gallician of my own raising, may it please your -Holiness, and the flesh was as white as an egg-shell, as indeed Donna -Elvira told me herself. "Dame Jacintha," said She, very -good-humouredly, though to say the truth, She was always very polite to -me .....' - -Here Ambrosio's patience failed him. Eager to know Jacintha's business -in which Antonia seemed to be concerned, He was almost distracted while -listening to the rambling of this prosing old Woman. He interrupted -her, and protested that if She did not immediately tell her story and -have done with it, He should quit the Parlour, and leave her to get out -of her difficulties by herself. This threat had the desired effect. -Jacintha related her business in as few words as She could manage; But -her account was still so prolix that Ambrosio had need of his patience -to bear him to the conclusion. - -'And so, your Reverence,' said She, after relating Elvira's death and -burial, with all their circumstances; 'And so, your Reverence, upon -hearing the shriek, I put away my work, and away posted I to Donna -Antonia's chamber. Finding nobody there, I past on to the next; But I -must own, I was a little timorous at going in, for this was the very -room where Donna Elvira used to sleep. However, in I went, and sure -enough, there lay the young Lady at full length upon the floor, as cold -as a stone, and as white as a sheet. I was surprized at this, as your -Holiness may well suppose; But Oh me! how I shook when I saw a great -tall figure at my elbow whose head touched the ceiling! The face was -Donna Elvira's, I must confess; But out of its mouth came clouds of -fire, its arms were loaded with heavy chains which it rattled -piteously, and every hair on its head was a Serpent as big as my arm! -At this I was frightened enough, and began to say my Ave-Maria: But -the Ghost interrupting me uttered three loud groans, and roared out in -a terrible voice, "Oh! That Chicken's wing! My poor soul suffers for -it!" As soon as She had said this, the Ground opened, the Spectre -sank down, I heard a clap of thunder, and the room was filled with a -smell of brimstone. When I recovered from my fright, and had brought -Donna Antonia to herself, who told me that She had cried out upon -seeing her Mother's Ghost, (And well might She cry, poor Soul! Had I -been in her place, I should have cried ten times louder) it directly -came into my head, that if any one had power to quiet this Spectre, it -must be your Reverence. So hither I came in all diligence, to beg that -you will sprinkle my House with holy water, and lay the Apparition in -the Red Sea.' - -Ambrosio stared at this strange story, which He could not credit. - -'Did Donna Antonia also see the Ghost?' said He. - -'As plain as I see you, Reverend Father!' - -Ambrosio paused for a moment. Here was an opportunity offered him of -gaining access to Antonia, but He hesitated to employ it. The -reputation which He enjoyed in Madrid was still dear to him; and since -He had lost the reality of virtue, it appeared as if its semblance was -become more valuable. He was conscious that publicly to break through -the rule never to quit the Abbey precincts, would derogate much from -his supposed austerity. In visiting Elvira, He had always taken care to -keep his features concealed from the Domestics. Except by the Lady, -her Daughter, and the faithful Flora, He was known in the Family by no -other name than that of Father Jerome. Should He comply with -Jacintha's request, and accompany her to her House, He knew that the -violation of his rule could not be kept a secret. However, his -eagerness to see Antonia obtained the victory: He even hoped, that the -singularity of this adventure would justify him in the eyes of Madrid: -But whatever might be the consequences, He resolved to profit by the -opportunity which chance had presented to him. An expressive look from -Matilda confirmed him in this resolution. - -'Good Woman,' said He to Jacintha, 'what you tell me is so -extraordinary that I can scarcely credit your assertions. However, I -will comply with your request. Tomorrow after Matins you may expect me -at your House: I will then examine into what I can do for you, and if -it is in my power, will free you from this unwelcome Visitor. Now then -go home, and peace be with you!' - -'Home?' exclaimed Jacintha; 'I go home? Not I by my troth! except -under your protection, I set no foot of mine within the threshold. God -help me, the Ghost may meet me upon the Stairs, and whisk me away with -her to the devil! Oh! That I had accepted young Melchior Basco's -offer! Then I should have had somebody to protect me; But now I am a -lone Woman, and meet with nothing but crosses and misfortunes! Thank -Heaven, it is not yet too late to repent! There is Simon Gonzalez will -have me any day of the week, and if I live till daybreak, I will marry -him out of hand: An Husband I will have, that is determined, for now -this Ghost is once in my House, I shall be frightened out of my wits to -sleep alone. But for God's sake, reverend Father, come with me now. I -shall have no rest till the House is purified, or the poor young Lady -either. The dear Girl! She is in a piteous taking: I left her in -strong convulsions, and I doubt, She will not easily recover her -fright.' - -The Friar started, and interrupted her hastily. - -'In convulsions, say you? Antonia in convulsions? Lead on, good -Woman! I follow you this moment!' - -Jacintha insisted upon his stopping to furnish himself with the vessel -of holy water: With this request He complied. Thinking herself safe -under his protection should a Legion of Ghosts attack her, the old -Woman returned the Monk a profusion of thanks, and they departed -together for the Strada di San Iago. - -So strong an impression had the Spectre made upon Antonia, that for the -first two or three hours the Physician declared her life to be in -danger. The fits at length becoming less frequent induced him to alter -his opinion. He said that to keep her quiet was all that was -necessary; and He ordered a medicine to be prepared which would -tranquillize her nerves, and procure her that repose which at present -She much wanted. The sight of Ambrosio, who now appeared with Jacintha -at her Bedside, contributed essentially to compose her ruffled spirits. -Elvira had not sufficiently explained herself upon the nature of his -designs, to make a Girl so ignorant of the world as her Daughter aware -how dangerous was his acquaintance. At this moment, when penetrated -with horror at the scene which had just past, and dreading to -contemplate the Ghost's prediction, her mind had need of all the -succours of friendship and religion, Antonia regarded the Abbot with an -eye doubly partial. That strong prepossession in his favour still -existed which She had felt for him at first sight: She fancied, yet -knew not wherefore, that his presence was a safeguard to her from every -danger, insult, or misfortune. - -She thanked him gratefully for his visit, and related to him the -adventure, which had alarmed her so seriously. - -The Abbot strove to reassure her, and convince her that the whole had -been a deception of her overheated fancy. The solitude in which She -had passed the Evening, the gloom of night, the Book which She had been -reading, and the Room in which She sat, were all calculated to place -before her such a vision. He treated the idea of Ghosts with ridicule, -and produced strong arguments to prove the fallacy of such a system. -His conversation tranquillized and comforted her, but did not convince -her. She could not believe that the Spectre had been a mere creature -of her imagination; Every circumstance was impressed upon her mind too -forcibly, to permit her flattering herself with such an idea. She -persisted in asserting that She had really seen her Mother's Ghost, had -heard the period of her dissolution announced and declared that She -never should quit her bed alive. Ambrosio advised her against -encouraging these sentiments, and then quitted her chamber, having -promised to repeat his visit on the morrow. Antonia received this -assurance with every mark of joy: But the Monk easily perceived that -He was not equally acceptable to her Attendant. Flora obeyed Elvira's -injunctions with the most scrupulous observance. She examined every -circumstance with an anxious eye likely in the least to prejudice her -young Mistress, to whom She had been attached for many years. She was -a Native of Cuba, had followed Elvira to Spain, and loved the young -Antonia with a Mother's affection. Flora quitted not the room for a -moment while the Abbot remained there: She watched his every word, his -every look, his every action. He saw that her suspicious eye was -always fixed upon him, and conscious that his designs would not bear -inspection so minute, He felt frequently confused and disconcerted. He -was aware that She doubted the purity of his intentions; that She would -never leave him alone with Antonia, and his Mistress defended by the -presence of this vigilant Observer, He despaired of finding the means -to gratify his passion. - -As He quitted the House, Jacintha met him, and begged that some Masses -might be sung for the repose of Elvira's soul, which She doubted not -was suffering in Purgatory. He promised not to forget her request; But -He perfectly gained the old Woman's heart by engaging to watch during -the whole of the approaching night in the haunted chamber. Jacintha -could find no terms sufficiently strong to express her gratitude, and -the Monk departed loaded with her benedictions. - -It was broad day when He returned to the Abbey. His first care was to -communicate what had past to his Confident. He felt too sincere a -passion for Antonia to have heard unmoved the prediction of her speedy -death, and He shuddered at the idea of losing an object so dear to him. -Upon this head Matilda reassured him. She confirmed the arguments -which Himself had already used: She declared Antonia to have been -deceived by the wandering of her brain, by the Spleen which opprest her -at the moment, and by the natural turn of her mind to superstition, and -the marvellous. As to Jacintha's account, the absurdity refuted -itself; The Abbot hesitated not to believe that She had fabricated the -whole story, either confused by terror, or hoping to make him comply -more readily with her request. Having overruled the Monk's -apprehensions, Matilda continued thus. - -'The prediction and the Ghost are equally false; But it must be your -care, Ambrosio, to verify the first. Antonia within three days must -indeed be dead to the world; But She must live for you. - -Her present illness, and this fancy which She has taken into her head, -will colour a plan which I have long meditated, but which was -impracticable without your procuring access to Antonia. She shall be -yours, not for a single night, but for ever. All the vigilance of her -Duenna shall not avail her: You shall riot unrestrained in the charms -of your Mistress. This very day must the scheme be put in execution, -for you have no time to lose. The Nephew of the Duke of Medina Celi -prepares to demand Antonia for his Bride: In a few days She will be -removed to the Palace of her Relation, the Marquis de las Cisternas, -and there She will be secure from your attempts. Thus during your -absence have I been informed by my Spies, who are ever employed in -bringing me intelligence for your service. Now then listen to me. -There is a juice extracted from certain herbs, known but to few, which -brings on the Person who drinks it the exact image of Death. Let this -be administered to Antonia: You may easily find means to pour a few -drops into her medicine. The effect will be throwing her into strong -convulsions for an hour: After which her blood will gradually cease to -flow, and heart to beat; A mortal paleness will spread itself over her -features, and She will appear a Corse to every eye. She has no Friends -about her: You may charge yourself unsuspected with the -superintendence of her funeral, and cause her to be buried in the -Vaults of St. Clare. Their solitude and easy access render these -Caverns favourable to your designs. Give Antonia the soporific draught -this Evening: Eight and forty hours after She has drank it, Life will -revive to her bosom. She will then be absolutely in your power: She -will find all resistance unavailing, and necessity will compel her to -receive you in her arms.' - -'Antonia will be in my power!' exclaimed the Monk; 'Matilda, you -transport me! At length then, happiness will be mine, and that -happiness will be Matilda's gift, will be the gift of friendship! - -I shall clasp Antonia in my arms, far from every prying eye, from every -tormenting Intruder! I shall sigh out my soul upon her bosom; Shall -teach her young heart the first rudiments of pleasure, and revel -uncontrouled in the endless variety of her charms! And shall this -delight indeed by mine? Shall I give the reins to my desires, and -gratify every wild tumultuous wish? Oh! Matilda, how can I express to -you my gratitude?' - -'By profiting by my counsels. Ambrosio, I live but to serve you: - -Your interest and happiness are equally mine. Be your person Antonia's, -but to your friendship and your heart I still assert my claim. -Contributing to yours forms now my only pleasure. Should my exertions -procure the gratification of your wishes, I shall consider my trouble -to be amply repaid. But let us lose no time. The liquor of which I -spoke is only to be found in St. Clare's Laboratory. Hasten then to -the Prioress; Request of her admission to the Laboratory, and it will -not be denied. There is a Closet at the lower end of the great Room, -filled with liquids of different colours and qualities. The Bottle in -question stands by itself upon the third shelf on the left. It -contains a greenish liquor: Fill a small phial with it when you are -unobserved, and Antonia is your own.' - -The Monk hesitated not to adopt this infamous plan. His desires, but -too violent before, had acquired fresh vigour from the sight of -Antonia. As He sat by her bedside, accident had discovered to him some -of those charms which till then had been concealed from him: He found -them even more perfect, than his ardent imagination had pictured them. -Sometimes her white and polished arm was displayed in arranging the -pillow: Sometimes a sudden movement discovered part of her swelling -bosom: But whereever the new-found charm presented itself, there -rested the Friar's gloting eyes. Scarcely could He master himself -sufficiently to conceal his desires from Antonia and her vigilant -Duenna. Inflamed by the remembrance of these beauties, He entered into -Matilda's scheme without hesitation. - -No sooner were Matins over than He bent his course towards the Convent -of St. Clare: His arrival threw the whole Sisterhood into the utmost -amazement. The Prioress was sensible of the honour done her Convent by -his paying it his first visit, and strove to express her gratitude by -every possible attention. He was paraded through the Garden, shown all -the reliques of Saints and Martyrs, and treated with as much respect -and distinction as had He been the Pope himself. On his part, Ambrosio -received the Domina's civilities very graciously, and strove to remove -her surprize at his having broken through his resolution. He stated, -that among his penitents, illness prevented many from quitting their -Houses. These were exactly the People who most needed his advice and -the comforts of Religion: Many representations had been made to him -upon this account, and though highly repugnant to his own wishes, He -had found it absolutely necessary for the service of heaven to change -his determination, and quit his beloved retirement. The Prioress -applauded his zeal in his profession and his charity towards Mankind: -She declared that Madrid was happy in possessing a Man so perfect and -irreproachable. In such discourse, the Friar at length reached the -Laboratory. He found the Closet: The Bottle stood in the place which -Matilda had described, and the Monk seized an opportunity to fill his -phial unobserved with the soporific liquor. Then having partaken of a -Collation in the Refectory, He retired from the Convent pleased with -the success of his visit, and leaving the Nuns delighted by the honour -conferred upon them. - -He waited till Evening before He took the road to Antonia's dwelling. -Jacintha welcomed him with transport, and besought him not to forget -his promise to pass the night in the haunted Chamber: That promise He -now repeated. He found Antonia tolerably well, but still harping upon -the Ghost's prediction. Flora moved not from her Lady's Bed, and by -symptoms yet stronger than on the former night testified her dislike to -the Abbot's presence. Still Ambrosio affected not to observe them. -The Physician arrived, while He was conversing with Antonia. It was -dark already; Lights were called for, and Flora was compelled to -descend for them herself. However, as She left a third Person in the -room, and expected to be absent but a few minutes, She believed that -She risqued nothing in quitting her post. No sooner had She left the -room, than Ambrosio moved towards the Table, on which stood Antonia's -medicine: It was placed in a recess of the window. The Physician -seated in an armed-chair, and employed in questioning his Patient, paid -no attention to the proceedings of the Monk. Ambrosio seized the -opportunity: He drew out the fatal Phial, and let a few drops fall -into the medicine. He then hastily left the Table, and returned to the -seat which He had quitted. When Flora made her appearance with lights, -every thing seemed to be exactly as She had left it. - -The Physician declared that Antonia might quit her chamber the next day -with perfect safety. He recommended her following the same -prescription which, on the night before, had procured her a refreshing -sleep: Flora replied that the draught stood ready upon the Table: He -advised the Patient to take it without delay, and then retired. Flora -poured the medicine into a Cup and presented it to her Mistress. At -that moment Ambrosio's courage failed him. Might not Matilda have -deceived him? Might not Jealousy have persuaded her to destroy her -Rival, and substitute poison in the room of an opiate? This idea -appeared so reasonable that He was on the point of preventing her from -swallowing the medicine. His resolution was adopted too late: The Cup -was already emptied, and Antonia restored it into Flora's hands. No -remedy was now to be found: Ambrosio could only expect the moment -impatiently, destined to decide upon Antonia's life or death, upon his -own happiness or despair. - -Dreading to create suspicion by his stay, or betray himself by his -mind's agitation, He took leave of his Victim, and withdrew from the -room. Antonia parted from him with less cordiality than on the former -night. Flora had represented to her Mistress that to admit his visits -was to disobey her Mother's orders: She described to her his emotion -on entering the room, and the fire which sparkled in his eyes while He -gazed upon her. This had escaped Antonia's observation, but not her -Attendant's; Who explaining the Monk's designs and their probable -consequences in terms much clearer than Elvira's, though not quite so -delicate, had succeeded in alarming her young Lady, and persuading her -to treat him more distantly than She had done hitherto. The idea of -obeying her Mother's will at once determined Antonia. Though She -grieved at losing his society, She conquered herself sufficiently to -receive the Monk with some degree of reserve and coldness. She thanked -him with respect and gratitude for his former visits, but did not -invite his repeating them in future. It now was not the Friar's -interest to solicit admission to her presence, and He took leave of her -as if not designing to return. Fully persuaded that the acquaintance -which She dreaded was now at an end, Flora was so much worked upon by -his easy compliance that She began to doubt the justice of her -suspicions. As She lighted him down Stairs, She thanked him for having -endeavoured to root out from Antonia's mind her superstitious terrors -of the Spectre's prediction: She added, that as He seemed interested -in Donna Antonia's welfare, should any change take place in her -situation, She would be careful to let him know it. The Monk in -replying took pains to raise his voice, hoping that Jacintha would hear -it. In this He succeeded; As He reached the foot of the Stairs with -his Conductress, the Landlady failed not to make her appearance. - -'Why surely you are not going away, reverend Father?' cried She; 'Did -you not promise to pass the night in the haunted Chamber? Christ Jesus! -I shall be left alone with the Ghost, and a fine pickle I shall be in -by morning! Do all I could, say all I could, that obstinate old Brute, -Simon Gonzalez, refused to marry me today; And before tomorrow comes, I -suppose, I shall be torn to pieces, by the Ghosts, and Goblins, and -Devils, and what not! For God's sake, your Holiness, do not leave me in -such a woeful condition! On my bended knees I beseech you to keep your -promise: Watch this night in the haunted chamber; Lay the Apparition -in the Red Sea, and Jacintha remembers you in her prayers to the last -day of her existence!' - -This request Ambrosio expected and desired; Yet He affected to raise -objections, and to seem unwilling to keep his word. He told Jacintha -that the Ghost existed nowhere but in her own brain, and that her -insisting upon his staying all night in the House was ridiculous and -useless. Jacintha was obstinate: She was not to be convinced, and -pressed him so urgently not to leave her a prey to the Devil, that at -length He granted her request. All this show of resistance imposed not -upon Flora, who was naturally of a suspicious temper. She suspected -the Monk to be acting a part very contrary to his own inclinations, and -that He wished for no better than to remain where He was. She even -went so far as to believe that Jacintha was in his interest; and the -poor old Woman was immediately set down, as no better than a Procuress. -While She applauded herself for having penetrated into this plot -against her Lady's honour, She resolved in secret to render it -fruitless. - -'So then,' said She to the Abbot with a look half-satirical and half -indignant; 'So then you mean to stay here tonight? Do so, in God's -name! Nobody will prevent you. Sit up to watch for the Ghost's -arrival: I shall sit up too, and the Lord grant that I may see nothing -worse than a Ghost! I quit not Donna Antonia's Bedside during this -blessed night: Let me see any one dare to enter the room, and be He -mortal or immortal, be He Ghost, Devil, or Man, I warrant his repenting -that ever He crossed the threshold!' - -This hint was sufficiently strong, and Ambrosio understood its meaning. -But instead of showing that He perceived her suspicions; He replied -mildly that He approved the Duenna's precautions, and advised her to -persevere in her intention. This, She assured him faithfully that He -might depend upon her doing. Jacintha then conducted him into the -chamber where the Ghost had appeared, and Flora returned to her Lady's. - -Jacintha opened the door of the haunted room with a trembling hand: -She ventured to peep in; But the wealth of India would not have tempted -her to cross the threshold. She gave the Taper to the Monk, wished him -well through the adventure, and hastened to be gone. Ambrosio entered. -He bolted the door, placed the light upon the Table, and seated himself -in the Chair which on the former night had sustained Antonia. In spite -of Matilda's assurances that the Spectre was a mere creation of fancy, -his mind was impressed with a certain mysterious horror. He in vain -endeavoured to shake it off. The silence of the night, the story of -the Apparition, the chamber wainscotted with dark oak pannells, the -recollection which it brought with it of the murdered Elvira, and his -incertitude respecting the nature of the drops given by him to Antonia, -made him feel uneasy at his present situation. But He thought much -less of the Spectre, than of the poison. Should He have destroyed the -only object which rendered life dear to him; Should the Ghost's -prediction prove true; Should Antonia in three days be no more, and He -the wretched cause of her death ...... The supposition was too -horrible to dwell upon. He drove away these dreadful images, and as -often they presented themselves again before him. Matilda had assured -him that the effects of the Opiate would be speedy. He listened with -fear, yet with eagerness, expecting to hear some disturbance in the -adjoining chamber. All was still silent. He concluded that the drops -had not begun to operate. Great was the stake, for which He now -played: A moment would suffice to decide upon his misery or happiness. -Matilda had taught him the means of ascertaining that life was not -extinct for ever: Upon this assay depended all his hopes. With every -instant his impatience redoubled; His terrors grew more lively, his -anxiety more awake. Unable to bear this state of incertitude, He -endeavoured to divert it by substituting the thoughts of Others to his -own. The Books, as was before mentioned, were ranged upon shelves near -the Table: This stood exactly opposite to the Bed, which was placed in -an Alcove near the Closet door. Ambrosio took down a Volume, and -seated himself by the Table: But his attention wandered from the Pages -before him. Antonia's image and that of the murdered Elvira persisted -to force themselves before his imagination. Still He continued to -read, though his eyes ran over the characters without his mind being -conscious of their import. Such was his occupation, when He fancied -that He heard a footstep. He turned his head, but nobody was to be -seen. - -He resumed his Book; But in a few minutes after the same sound was -repeated, and followed by a rustling noise close behind him. He now -started from his seat, and looking round him, perceived the Closet door -standing half-unclosed. On his first entering the room He had tried to -open it, but found it bolted on the inside. - -'How is this?' said He to himself; 'How comes this door unfastened?' - -He advanced towards it: He pushed it open, and looked into the closet: -No one was there. While He stood irresolute, He thought that He -distinguished a groaning in the adjacent chamber: It was Antonia's, -and He supposed that the drops began to take effect: But upon -listening more attentively, He found the noise to be caused by -Jacintha, who had fallen asleep by the Lady's Bedside, and was snoring -most lustily. Ambrosio drew back, and returned to the other room, -musing upon the sudden opening of the Closet door, for which He strove -in vain to account. - -He paced the chamber up and down in silence. At length He stopped, and -the Bed attracted his attention. The curtain of the Recess was but -half-drawn. He sighed involuntarily. - -'That Bed,' said He in a low voice, 'That Bed was Elvira's! There has -She past many a quiet night, for She was good and innocent. How sound -must have been her sleep! And yet now She sleeps sounder! Does She -indeed sleep? Oh! God grant that She may! What if She rose from her -Grave at this sad and silent hour? What if She broke the bonds of the -Tomb, and glided angrily before my blasted eyes? Oh! I never could -support the sight! Again to see her form distorted by dying agonies, -her blood-swollen veins, her livid countenance, her eyes bursting from -their sockets with pain! To hear her speak of future punishment, -menace me with Heaven's vengeance, tax me with the crimes I have -committed, with those I am going to commit ..... Great God! What is -that?' - -As He uttered these words, his eyes which were fixed upon the Bed, saw -the curtain shaken gently backwards and forwards. The Apparition was -recalled to his mind, and He almost fancied that He beheld Elvira's -visionary form reclining upon the Bed. A few moments consideration -sufficed to reassure him. - -'It was only the wind,' said He, recovering himself. - -Again He paced the chamber; But an involuntary movement of awe and -inquietude constantly led his eye towards the Alcove. He drew near it -with irresolution. He paused before He ascended the few steps which led -to it. He put out his hand thrice to remove the curtain, and as often -drew it back. - -'Absurd terrors!' He cried at length, ashamed of his own weakness---- - -Hastily he mounted the steps; When a Figure drest in white started from -the Alcove, and gliding by him, made with precipitation towards the -Closet. Madness and despair now supplied the Monk with that courage, -of which He had till then been destitute. He flew down the steps, -pursued the Apparition, and attempted to grasp it. - -'Ghost, or Devil, I hold you!' He exclaimed, and seized the Spectre by -the arm. - -'Oh! Christ Jesus!' cried a shrill voice; 'Holy Father, how you gripe -me! I protest that I meant no harm!' - -This address, as well as the arm which He held, convinced the Abbot -that the supposed Ghost was substantial flesh and blood. He drew the -Intruder towards the Table, and holding up the light, discovered the -features of ...... Madona Flora! - -Incensed at having been betrayed by this trifling cause into fears so -ridiculous, He asked her sternly, what business had brought her to that -chamber. Flora, ashamed at being found out, and terrified at the -severity of Ambrosio's looks, fell upon her knees, and promised to make -a full confession. - -'I protest, reverend Father,' said She, 'that I am quite grieved at -having disturbed you: Nothing was further from my intention. I meant -to get out of the room as quietly as I got in; and had you been -ignorant that I watched you, you know, it would have been the same -thing as if I had not watched you at all. To be sure, I did very wrong -in being a Spy upon you, that I cannot deny; But Lord! your Reverence, -how can a poor weak Woman resist curiosity? Mine was so strong to know -what you were doing, that I could not but try to get a little peep, -without any body knowing any thing about it. So with that I left old -Dame Jacintha sitting by my Lady's Bed, and I ventured to steal into -the Closet. Being unwilling to interrupt you, I contented myself at -first with putting my eye to the Keyhole; But as I could see nothing by -this means, I undrew the bolt, and while your back was turned to the -Alcove, I whipt me in softly and silently. Here I lay snug behind the -curtain, till your Reverence found me out, and seized me ere I had time -to regain the Closet door. This is the whole truth, I assure you, Holy -Father, and I beg your pardon a thousand times for my impertinence.' - -During this speech the Abbot had time to recollect himself: He was -satisfied with reading the penitent Spy a lecture upon the dangers of -curiosity, and the meanness of the action in which She had been just -discovered. Flora declared herself fully persuaded that She had done -wrong; She promised never to be guilty of the same fault again, and was -retiring very humble and contrite to Antonia's chamber, when the Closet -door was suddenly thrown open, and in rushed Jacintha pale and out of -breath. - -'Oh! Father! Father!' She cried in a voice almost choaked with -terror; 'What shall I do! What shall I do! Here is a fine piece of -work! Nothing but misfortunes! Nothing but dead people, and dying -people! Oh! I shall go distracted! I shall go distracted!' - -'Speak! Speak!' cried Flora and the Monk at the same time; 'What has -happened? What is the matter?' - -'Oh! I shall have another Corse in my House! Some Witch has certainly -cast a spell upon it, upon me, and upon all about me! Poor Donna -Antonia! There She lies in just such convulsions, as killed her -Mother! The Ghost told her true! I am sure, the Ghost has told her -true!' - -Flora ran, or rather flew to her Lady's chamber: Ambrosio followed her, -his bosom trembling with hope and apprehension. They found Antonia as -Jacintha had described, torn by racking convulsions from which they in -vain endeavoured to relieve her. The Monk dispatched Jacintha to the -Abbey in all haste, and commissioned her to bring Father Pablos back -with her, without losing a moment. - -'I will go for him,' replied Jacintha, 'and tell him to come hither; -But as to bringing him myself, I shall do no such thing. I am sure that -the House is bewitched, and burn me if ever I set foot in it again.' - -With this resolution She set out for the Monastery, and delivered to -Father Pablos the Abbot's orders. She then betook herself to the House -of old Simon Gonzalez, whom She resolved never to quit, till She had -made him her Husband, and his dwelling her own. - -Father Pablos had no sooner beheld Antonia, than He pronounced her -incurable. The convulsions continued for an hour: During that time -her agonies were much milder than those which her groans created in the -Abbot's heart. Her every pang seemed a dagger in his bosom, and He -cursed himself a thousand times for having adopted so barbarous a -project. The hour being expired, by degrees the Fits became less -frequent, and Antonia less agitated. She felt that her dissolution was -approaching, and that nothing could save her. - -'Worthy Ambrosio,' She said in a feeble voice, while She pressed his -hand to her lips; 'I am now at liberty to express, how grateful is my -heart for your attention and kindness. I am upon the bed of death; Yet -an hour, and I shall be no more. I may therefore acknowledge without -restraint, that to relinquish your society was very painful to me: But -such was the will of a Parent, and I dared not disobey. I die without -repugnance: There are few, who will lament my leaving them; There are -few, whom I lament to leave. Among those few, I lament for none more -than for yourself; But we shall meet again, Ambrosio! We shall one day -meet in heaven: There shall our friendship be renewed, and my Mother -shall view it with pleasure!' - -She paused. The Abbot shuddered when She mentioned Elvira: Antonia -imputed his emotion to pity and concern for her. - -'You are grieved for me, Father,' She continued; 'Ah! sigh not for my -loss. I have no crimes to repent, at least none of which I am -conscious, and I restore my soul without fear to him from whom I -received it. I have but few requests to make: Yet let me hope that -what few I have shall be granted. Let a solemn Mass be said for my -soul's repose, and another for that of my beloved Mother. Not that I -doubt her resting in her Grave: I am now convinced that my reason -wandered, and the falsehood of the Ghost's prediction is sufficient to -prove my error. But every one has some failing: My Mother may have -had hers, though I knew them not: I therefore wish a Mass to be -celebrated for her repose, and the expence may be defrayed by the -little wealth of which I am possessed. Whatever may then remain, I -bequeath to my Aunt Leonella. When I am dead, let the Marquis de las -Cisternas know that his Brother's unhappy family can no longer -importune him. But disappointment makes me unjust: They tell me that -He is ill, and perhaps had it been in his power, He wished to have -protected me. Tell him then, Father, only that I am dead, and that if -He had any faults to me, I forgave him from my heart. This done, I have -nothing more to ask for, than your prayers: Promise to remember my -requests, and I shall resign my life without a pang or sorrow.' - -Ambrosio engaged to comply with her desires, and proceeded to give her -absolution. Every moment announced the approach of Antonia's fate: -Her sight failed; Her heart beat sluggishly; Her fingers stiffened, and -grew cold, and at two in the morning She expired without a groan. As -soon as the breath had forsaken her body, Father Pablos retired, -sincerely affected at the melancholy scene. On her part, Flora gave -way to the most unbridled sorrow. - -Far different concerns employed Ambrosio: He sought for the pulse -whose throbbing, so Matilda had assured him, would prove Antonia's -death but temporal. He found it; He pressed it; It palpitated beneath -his hand, and his heart was filled with ecstacy. However, He carefully -concealed his satisfaction at the success of his plan. He assumed a -melancholy air, and addressing himself to Flora, warned her against -abandoning herself to fruitless sorrow. Her tears were too sincere to -permit her listening to his counsels, and She continued to weep -unceasingly. - -The Friar withdrew, first promising to give orders himself about the -Funeral, which, out of consideration for Jacintha as He pretended, -should take place with all expedition. Plunged in grief for the loss -of her beloved Mistress, Flora scarcely attended to what He said. -Ambrosio hastened to command the Burial. He obtained permission from -the Prioress, that the Corse should be deposited in St. Clare's -Sepulchre: and on the Friday Morning, every proper and needful ceremony -being performed, Antonia's body was committed to the Tomb. - -On the same day Leonella arrived at Madrid, intending to present her -young Husband to Elvira. Various circumstances had obliged her to -defer her journey from Tuesday to Friday, and She had no opportunity of -making this alteration in her plans known to her Sister. As her heart -was truly affectionate, and as She had ever entertained a sincere -regard for Elvira and her Daughter, her surprize at hearing of their -sudden and melancholy fate was fully equalled by her sorrow and -disappointment. Ambrosio sent to inform her of Antonia's bequest: At -her solication, He promised, as soon as Elvira's trifling debts were -discharged, to transmit to her the remainder. This being settled, no -other business detained Leonella in Madrid, and She returned to Cordova -with all diligence. - - - -CHAPTER III - - Oh! could I worship aught beneath the skies - That earth hath seen or fancy could devise, - Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, - Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, - With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair, - As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air. - Cowper. - -His whole attention bent upon bringing to justice the Assassins of his -Sister, Lorenzo little thought how severely his interest was suffering -in another quarter. As was before mentioned, He returned not to Madrid -till the evening of that day on which Antonia was buried. Signifying to -the Grand Inquisitor the order of the Cardinal-Duke (a ceremony not to -be neglected, when a Member of the Church was to be arrested publicly) -communicating his design to his Uncle and Don Ramirez, and assembling a -troop of Attendants sufficiently to prevent opposition, furnished him -with full occupation during the few hours preceding midnight. -Consequently, He had no opportunity to enquire about his Mistress, and -was perfectly ignorant both of her death and her Mother's. - -The Marquis was by no means out of danger: His delirium was gone, but -had left him so much exhausted that the Physicians declined pronouncing -upon the consequences likely to ensue. As for Raymond himself, He -wished for nothing more earnestly than to join Agnes in the grave. -Existence was hateful to him: He saw nothing in the world deserving -his attention; and He hoped to hear that Agnes was revenged, and -himself given over in the same moment. - -Followed by Raymond's ardent prayers for success, Lorenzo was at the -Gates of St. Clare a full hour before the time appointed by the Mother -St. Ursula. He was accompanied by his Uncle, by Don Ramirez de Mello, -and a party of chosen Archers. Though in considerable numbers their -appearance created no surprize: A great Crowd was already assembled -before the Convent doors, in order to witness the Procession. It was -naturally supposed that Lorenzo and his Attendants were conducted -thither by the same design. The Duke of Medina being recognised, the -People drew back, and made way for his party to advance. Lorenzo -placed himself opposite to the great Gate, through which the Pilgrims -were to pass. Convinced that the Prioress could not escape him, He -waited patiently for her appearance, which She was expected to make -exactly at Midnight. - -The Nuns were employed in religious duties established in honour of St. -Clare, and to which no Prophane was ever admitted. The Chapel windows -were illuminated. As they stood on the outside, the Auditors heard the -full swell of the organ, accompanied by a chorus of female voices, rise -upon the stillness of the night. This died away, and was succeeded by a -single strain of harmony: It was the voice of her who was destined to -sustain in the procession the character of St. Clare. For this office -the most beautiful Virgin of Madrid was always selected, and She upon -whom the choice fell esteemed it as the highest of honours. While -listening to the Music, whose melody distance only seemed to render -sweeter, the Audience was wrapped up in profound attention. Universal -silence prevailed through the Crowd, and every heart was filled with -reverence for religion. Every heart but Lorenzo's. Conscious that -among those who chaunted the praises of their God so sweetly, there -were some who cloaked with devotion the foulest sins, their hymns -inspired him with detestation at their Hypocrisy. He had long observed -with disapprobation and contempt the superstition which governed -Madrid's Inhabitants. His good sense had pointed out to him the -artifices of the Monks, and the gross absurdity of their miracles, -wonders, and supposititious reliques. He blushed to see his Countrymen -the Dupes of deceptions so ridiculous, and only wished for an -opportunity to free them from their monkish fetters. That opportunity, -so long desired in vain, was at length presented to him. He resolved -not to let it slip, but to set before the People in glaring colours how -enormous were the abuses but too frequently practised in Monasteries, -and how unjustly public esteem was bestowed indiscriminately upon all -who wore a religious habit. He longed for the moment destined to -unmask the Hypocrites, and convince his Countrymen that a sanctified -exterior does not always hide a virtuous heart. - -The service lasted, till Midnight was announced by the Convent Bell. -That sound being heard, the Music ceased: The voices died away softly, -and soon after the lights disappeared from the Chapel windows. -Lorenzo's heart beat high, when He found the execution of his plan to -be at hand. From the natural superstition of the People He had -prepared himself for some resistance. But He trusted that the Mother -St. Ursula would bring good reasons to justify his proceeding. He had -force with him to repel the first impulse of the Populace, till his -arguments should be heard: His only fear was lest the Domina, -suspecting his design, should have spirited away the Nun on whose -deposition every thing depended. Unless the Mother St. Ursula should -be present, He could only accuse the Prioress upon suspicion; and this -reflection gave him some little apprehension for the success of his -enterprize. The tranquillity which seemed to reign through the Convent -in some degree re-assured him: Still He expected the moment eagerly, -when the presence of his Ally should deprive him of the power of -doubting. - -The Abbey of Capuchins was only separated from the Convent by the -Garden and Cemetery. The Monks had been invited to assist at the -Pilgrimage. They now arrived, marching two by two with lighted Torches -in their hands, and chaunting Hymns in honour of St. Clare. Father -Pablos was at their head, the Abbot having excused himself from -attending. The people made way for the holy Train, and the Friars -placed themselves in ranks on either side of the great Gates. A few -minutes sufficed to arrange the order of the Procession. This being -settled, the Convent doors were thrown open, and again the female -Chorus sounded in full melody. First appeared a Band of Choristers: -As soon as they had passed, the Monks fell in two by two, and followed -with steps slow and measured. Next came the Novices; They bore no -Tapers, as did the Professed, but moved on with eyes bent downwards, -and seemed to be occupied by telling their Beads. To them succeeded a -young and lovely Girl, who represented St. Lucia: She held a golden -bason in which were two eyes: Her own were covered by a velvet -bandage, and She was conducted by another Nun habited as an Angel. She -was followed by St. Catherine, a palm-branch in one hand, a flaming -Sword in the other: She was robed in white, and her brow was -ornamented with a sparkling Diadem. After her appeared St. Genevieve, -surrounded by a number of Imps, who putting themselves into grotesque -attitudes, drawing her by the robe, and sporting round her with antic -gestures, endeavoured to distract her attention from the Book, on which -her eyes were constantly fixed. These merry Devils greatly entertained -the Spectators, who testified their pleasure by repeated bursts of -Laughter. The Prioress had been careful to select a Nun whose -disposition was naturally solemn and saturnine. She had every reason -to be satisfied with her choice: The drolleries of the Imps were -entirely thrown away, and St. Genevieve moved on without discomposing a -muscle. - -Each of these Saints was separated from the Other by a band of -Choristers, exalting her praise in their Hymns, but declaring her to be -very much inferior to St. Clare, the Convent's avowed Patroness. These -having passed, a long train of Nuns appeared, bearing like the -Choristers each a burning Taper. Next came the reliques of St. Clare, -inclosed in vases equally precious for their materials and workmanship: -But they attracted not Lorenzo's attention. The Nun who bore the heart -occupied him entirely. According to Theodore's description, He doubted -not her being the Mother St. Ursula. She seemed to look round with -anxiety. As He stood foremost in the rank by which the procession -past, her eye caught Lorenzo's. A flush of joy overspread her till -then pallid cheek. She turned to her Companion eagerly. - -'We are safe!' He heard her whisper; ''tis her Brother!' - -His heart being now at ease, Lorenzo gazed with tranquillity upon the -remainder of the show. Now appeared its most brilliant ornament. It -was a Machine fashioned like a throne, rich with jewels and dazzling -with light. It rolled onwards upon concealed wheels, and was guided by -several lovely Children, dressed as Seraphs. The summit was covered -with silver clouds, upon which reclined the most beautiful form that -eyes ever witnessed. It was a Damsel representing St. Clare: Her dress -was of inestimable price, and round her head a wreath of Diamonds -formed an artificial glory: But all these ornaments yielded to the -lustre of her charms. As She advanced, a murmur of delight ran through -the Crowd. Even Lorenzo confessed secretly, that He never beheld more -perfect beauty, and had not his heart been Antonia's, it must have -fallen a sacrifice to this enchanting Girl. As it was, He considered -her only as a fine Statue: She obtained from him no tribute save cold -admiration, and when She had passed him, He thought of her no more. - -'Who is She?' asked a By-stander in Lorenzo's hearing. - -'One whose beauty you must often have heard celebrated. Her name is -Virginia de Villa-Franca: She is a Pensioner of St. Clare's Convent, a -Relation of the Prioress, and has been selected with justice as the -ornament of the Procession.' - -The Throne moved onwards. It was followed by the Prioress herself: -She marched at the head of the remaining Nuns with a devout and -sanctified air, and closed the procession. She moved on slowly: Her -eyes were raised to heaven: Her countenance calm and tranquil seemed -abstracted from all sublunary things, and no feature betrayed her -secret pride at displaying the pomp and opulence of her Convent. She -passed along, accompanied by the prayers and benedictions of the -Populace: But how great was the general confusion and surprize, when -Don Ramirez starting forward, challenged her as his Prisoner. - -For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: But no -sooner did She recover herself, than She exclaimed against sacrilege -and impiety, and called the People to rescue a Daughter of the Church. -They were eagerly preparing to obey her; when Don Ramirez, protected by -the Archers from their rage, commanded them to forbear, and threatened -them with the severest vengeance of the Inquisition. At that dreaded -word every arm fell, every sword shrunk back into its scabbard. The -Prioress herself turned pale, and trembled. The general silence -convinced her that She had nothing to hope but from innocence, and She -besought Don Ramirez in a faultering voice, to inform her of what crime -She was accused. - -'That you shall know in time,' replied He; 'But first I must secure the -Mother St. Ursula.' - -'The Mother St. Ursula?' repeated the Domina faintly. - -At this moment casting her eyes round, She saw near her Lorenzo and the -Duke, who had followed Don Ramirez. - -'Ah! great God!' She cried, clasping her hands together with a frantic -air; 'I am betrayed!' - -'Betrayed?' replied St. Ursula, who now arrived conducted by some of -the Archers, and followed by the Nun her Companion in the procession: -'Not betrayed, but discovered. In me recognise your Accuser: You know -not how well I am instructed in your guilt!--Segnor!' She continued, -turning to Don Ramirez; 'I commit myself to your custody. I charge the -Prioress of St. Clare with murder, and stake my life for the justice of -my accusation.' - -A general cry of surprize was uttered by the whole Audience, and an -explanation was demanded loudly. The trembling Nuns, terrified at the -noise and universal confusion, had dispersed, and fled different ways. -Some regained the Convent; Others sought refuge in the dwellings of -their Relations; and Many, only sensible of their present danger, and -anxious to escape from the tumult, ran through the Streets, and -wandered, they knew not whither. The lovely Virginia was one of the -first to fly: And in order that She might be better seen and heard, -the People desired that St. Ursula should harangue them from the vacant -Throne. The Nun complied; She ascended the glittering Machine, and -then addressed the surrounding multitude as follows. - -'However strange and unseemly may appear my conduct, when considered to -be adopted by a Female and a Nun, necessity will justify it most fully. -A secret, an horrible secret weighs heavy upon my soul: No rest can be -mine till I have revealed it to the world, and satisfied that innocent -blood which calls from the Grave for vengeance. Much have I dared to -gain this opportunity of lightening my conscience. Had I failed in my -attempt to reveal the crime, had the Domina but suspected that the -mystery was none to me, my ruin was inevitable. Angels who watch -unceasingly over those who deserve their favour, have enabled me to -escape detection: I am now at liberty to relate a Tale, whose -circumstances will freeze every honest soul with horror. Mine is the -task to rend the veil from Hypocrisy, and show misguided Parents to -what dangers the Woman is exposed, who falls under the sway of a -monastic Tyrant. - -'Among the Votaries of St. Clare, none was more lovely, none more -gentle, than Agnes de Medina. I knew her well; She entrusted to me -every secret of her heart; I was her Friend and Confident, and I loved -her with sincere affection. Nor was I singular in my attachment. Her -piety unfeigned, her willingness to oblige, and her angelic -disposition, rendered her the Darling of all that was estimable in the -Convent. The Prioress herself, proud, scrupulous and forbidding, could -not refuse Agnes that tribute of approbation which She bestowed upon no -one else. Every one has some fault: Alas! Agnes had her weakness! -She violated the laws of our order, and incurred the inveterate hate of -the unforgiving Domina. St. Clare's rules are severe: But grown -antiquated and neglected, many of late years have either been -forgotten, or changed by universal consent into milder punishments. -The penance, adjudged to the crime of Agnes, was most cruel, most -inhuman! The law had been long exploded: Alas! It still existed, and -the revengeful Prioress now determined to revive it. - -This law decreed that the Offender should be plunged into a private -dungeon, expressly constituted to hide from the world for ever the -Victim of Cruelty and tyrannic superstition. In this dreadful abode -She was to lead a perpetual solitude, deprived of all society, and -believed to be dead by those whom affection might have prompted to -attempt her rescue. Thus was She to languish out the remainder of her -days, with no other food than bread and water, and no other comfort -than the free indulgence of her tears.' - -The indignation created by this account was so violent, as for some -moments to interrupt St. Ursula's narrative. When the disturbance -ceased, and silence again prevailed through the Assembly, She continued -her discourse, while at every word the Domina's countenance betrayed -her increasing terrors. - -'A Council of the twelve elder Nuns was called: I was of the number. -The Prioress in exaggerated colours described the offence of Agnes, and -scrupled not to propose the revival of this almost forgotten law. To -the shame of our sex be it spoken, that either so absolute was the -Domina's will in the Convent, or so much had disappointment, solitude, -and self-denial hardened their hearts and sowered their tempers that -this barbarous proposal was assented to by nine voices out of the -twelve. I was not one of the nine. Frequent opportunities had -convinced me of the virtues of Agnes, and I loved and pitied her most -sincerely. The Mothers Bertha and Cornelia joined my party: We made -the strongest opposition possible, and the Superior found herself -compelled to change her intention. In spite of the majority in her -favour, She feared to break with us openly. She knew that supported by -the Medina family, our forces would be too strong for her to cope with: -And She also knew that after being once imprisoned and supposed dead, -should Agnes be discovered, her ruin would be inevitable. She -therefore gave up her design, though which much reluctance. She -demanded some days to reflect upon a mode of punishment which might be -agreeable to the whole Community; and She promised, that as soon as her -resolution was fixed, the same Council should be again summoned. Two -days passed away: On the Evening of the Third it was announced that on -the next day Agnes should be examined; and that according to her -behaviour on that occasion, her punishment should be either -strengthened or mitigated. - -'On the night preceding this examination, I stole to the Cell of Agnes -at an hour when I supposed the other Nuns to be buried in sleep. I -comforted her to the best of my power: I bad her take courage, told -her to rely upon the support of her friends, and taught her certain -signs, by which I might instruct her to answer the Domina's questions -by an assent or negative. Conscious that her Enemy would strive to -confuse, embarrass, and daunt her, I feared her being ensnared into -some confession prejudicial to her interests. Being anxious to keep my -visit secret, I stayed with Agnes but a short time. I bad her not let -her spirits be cast down; I mingled my tears with those which streamed -down her cheek, embraced her fondly, and was on the point of retiring, -when I heard the sound of steps approaching the Cell. I started back. -A Curtain which veiled a large Crucifix offered me a retreat, and I -hastened to place myself behind it. The door opened. The Prioress -entered, followed by four other Nuns. They advanced towards the bed of -Agnes. The Superior reproached her with her errors in the bitterest -terms: She told her that She was a disgrace to the Convent, that She -was resolved to deliver the world and herself from such a Monster, and -commanded her to drink the contents of a Goblet now presented to her by -one of the Nuns. Aware of the fatal properties of the liquor, and -trembling to find herself upon the brink of Eternity, the unhappy Girl -strove to excite the Domina's pity by the most affecting prayers. - -She sued for life in terms which might have melted the heart of a -Fiend: She promised to submit patiently to any punishment, to shame, -imprisonment, and torture, might She but be permitted to live! Oh! -might She but live another month, or week, or day! Her merciless Enemy -listened to her complaints unmoved: She told her that at first She -meant to have spared her life, and that if She had altered her -intention, She had to thank the opposition of her Friends. She -continued to insist upon her swallowing the poison: She bad her -recommend herself to the Almighty's mercy, not to hers, and assured her -that in an hour She would be numbered with the Dead. Perceiving that -it was vain to implore this unfeeling Woman, She attempted to spring -from her bed, and call for assistance: She hoped, if She could not -escape the fate announced to her, at least to have witnesses of the -violence committed. The Prioress guessed her design. She seized her -forcibly by the arm, and pushed her back upon her pillow. At the same -time drawing a dagger, and placing it at the breast of the unfortunate -Agnes, She protested that if She uttered a single cry, or hesitated a -single moment to drink the poison, She would pierce her heart that -instant. Already half-dead with fear, She could make no further -resistance. The Nun approached with the fatal Goblet. The Domina -obliged her to take it, and swallow the contents. She drank, and the -horrid deed was accomplished. The Nuns then seated themselves round -the Bed. They answered her groans with reproaches; They interrupted -with sarcasms the prayers in which She recommended her parting soul to -mercy: They threatened her with heaven's vengeance and eternal -perdition: They bad her despair of pardon, and strowed with yet sharper -thorns Death's painful pillow. Such were the sufferings of this young -Unfortunate, till released by fate from the malice of her Tormentors. -She expired in horror of the past, in fears for the future; and her -agonies were such as must have amply gratified the hate and vengeance -of her Enemies. As soon as her Victim ceased to breathe, the Domina -retired, and was followed by her Accomplices. - -'It was now that I ventured from my concealment. I dared not to assist -my unhappy Friend, aware that without preserving her, I should only -have brought on myself the same destruction. Shocked and terrified -beyond expression at this horrid scene, scarcely had I sufficient -strength to regain my Cell. As I reached the door of that of Agnes, I -ventured to look towards the bed, on which lay her lifeless body, once -so lovely and so sweet! I breathed a prayer for her departed Spirit, -and vowed to revenge her death by the shame and punishment of her -Assassins. With danger and difficulty have I kept my oath. I unwarily -dropped some words at the funeral of Agnes, while thrown off my guard -by excessive grief, which alarmed the guilty conscience of the -Prioress. My every action was observed; My every step was traced. I -was constantly surrounded by the Superior's spies. It was long before -I could find the means of conveying to the unhappy Girl's Relations an -intimation of my secret. It was given out that Agnes had expired -suddenly: This account was credited not only by her Friends in Madrid, -but even by those within the Convent. The poison had left no marks -upon her body: No one suspected the true cause of her death, and it -remained unknown to all, save the Assassins and Myself. - -'I have no more to say: For what I have already said, I will answer -with my life. I repeat that the Prioress is a Murderess; That She has -driven from the world, perhaps from heaven, an Unfortunate whose -offence was light and venial; that She has abused the power intrusted -to her hands, and has been a Tyrant, a Barbarian, and an Hypocrite. I -also accuse the four Nuns, Violante, Camilla, Alix, and Mariana, as -being her Accomplices, and equally criminal.' - -Here St. Ursula ended her narrative. It created horror and surprize -throughout: But when She related the inhuman murder of Agnes, the -indignation of the Mob was so audibly testified, that it was scarcely -possible to hear the conclusion. This confusion increased with every -moment: At length a multitude of voices exclaimed that the Prioress -should be given up to their fury. To this Don Ramirez refused to -consent positively. Even Lorenzo bad the People remember that She had -undergone no trial, and advised them to leave her punishment to the -Inquisition. All representations were fruitless: The disturbance grew -still more violent, and the Populace more exasperated. In vain did -Ramirez attempt to convey his Prisoner out of the Throng. Wherever He -turned, a band of Rioters barred his passage, and demanded her being -delivered over to them more loudly than before. Ramirez ordered his -Attendants to cut their way through the multitude: Oppressed by -numbers, it was impossible for them to draw their swords. He -threatened the Mob with the vengeance of the Inquisition: But in this -moment of popular phrenzy even this dreadful name had lost its effect. -Though regret for his Sister made him look upon the Prioress with -abhorrence, Lorenzo could not help pitying a Woman in a situation so -terrible: But in spite of all his exertions, and those of the Duke, of -Don Ramirez, and the Archers, the People continued to press onwards. -They forced a passage through the Guards who protected their destined -Victim, dragged her from her shelter, and proceeded to take upon her a -most summary and cruel vengeance. Wild with terror, and scarcely -knowing what She said, the wretched Woman shrieked for a moment's -mercy: She protested that She was innocent of the death of Agnes, and -could clear herself from the suspicion beyond the power of doubt. The -Rioters heeded nothing but the gratification of their barbarous -vengeance. They refused to listen to her: They showed her every sort -of insult, loaded her with mud and filth, and called her by the most -opprobrious appellations. They tore her one from another, and each new -Tormentor was more savage than the former. They stifled with howls and -execrations her shrill cries for mercy; and dragged her through the -Streets, spurning her, trampling her, and treating her with every -species of cruelty which hate or vindictive fury could invent. At -length a Flint, aimed by some well-directing hand, struck her full upon -the temple. She sank upon the ground bathed in blood, and in a few -minutes terminated her miserable existence. Yet though She no longer -felt their insults, the Rioters still exercised their impotent rage -upon her lifeless body. They beat it, trod upon it, and ill-used it, -till it became no more than a mass of flesh, unsightly, shapeless, and -disgusting. - -Unable to prevent this shocking event, Lorenzo and his Friends had -beheld it with the utmost horror: But they were rouzed from their -compelled inactivity, on hearing that the Mob was attacking the Convent -of St. Clare. The incensed Populace, confounding the innocent with the -guilty, had resolved to sacrifice all the Nuns of that order to their -rage, and not to leave one stone of the building upon another. Alarmed -at this intelligence, they hastened to the Convent, resolved to defend -it if possible, or at least to rescue the Inhabitants from the fury of -the Rioters. Most of the Nuns had fled, but a few still remained in -their habitation. Their situation was truly dangerous. However, as -they had taken the precaution of fastening the inner Gates, with this -assistance Lorenzo hoped to repel the Mob, till Don Ramirez should -return to him with a more sufficient force. - -Having been conducted by the former disturbance to the distance of some -Streets from the Convent, He did not immediately reach it: When He -arrived, the throng surrounding it was so excessive as to prevent his -approaching the Gates. In the interim, the Populace besieged the -Building with persevering rage: They battered the walls, threw lighted -torches in at the windows, and swore that by break of day not a Nun of -St. Clare's order should be left alive. Lorenzo had just succeeded in -piercing his way through the Crowd, when one of the Gates was forced -open. The Rioters poured into the interior part of the Building, where -they exercised their vengeance upon every thing which found itself in -their passage. They broke the furniture into pieces, tore down the -pictures, destroyed the reliques, and in their hatred of her Servant -forgot all respect to the Saint. Some employed themselves in searching -out the Nuns, Others in pulling down parts of the Convent, and Others -again in setting fire to the pictures and valuable furniture which it -contained. These Latter produced the most decisive desolation: Indeed -the consequences of their action were more sudden than themselves had -expected or wished. The Flames rising from the burning piles caught -part of the Building, which being old and dry, the conflagration spread -with rapidity from room to room. The Walls were soon shaken by the -devouring element: The Columns gave way: The Roofs came tumbling down -upon the Rioters, and crushed many of them beneath their weight. -Nothing was to be heard but shrieks and groans; The Convent was wrapped -in flames, and the whole presented a scene of devastation and horror. - -Lorenzo was shocked at having been the cause, however innocent, of this -frightful disturbance: He endeavoured to repair his fault by -protecting the helpless Inhabitants of the Convent. He entered it with -the Mob, and exerted himself to repress the prevailing Fury, till the -sudden and alarming progress of the flames compelled him to provide for -his own safety. The People now hurried out, as eagerly as they had -before thronged in; But their numbers clogging up the doorway, and the -fire gaining upon them rapidly, many of them perished ere they had time -to effect their escape. Lorenzo's good fortune directed him to a small -door in a farther Aisle of the Chapel. The bolt was already undrawn: -He opened the door, and found himself at the foot of St. Clare's -Sepulchre. - -Here He stopped to breathe. The Duke and some of his Attendants had -followed him, and thus were in security for the present. They now -consulted, what steps they should take to escape from this scene of -disturbance: But their deliberations were considerably interrupted by -the sight of volumes of fire rising from amidst the Convent's massy -walls, by the noise of some heavy Arch tumbling down in ruins, or by -the mingled shrieks of the Nuns and Rioters, either suffocating in the -press, perishing in the flames, or crushed beneath the weight of the -falling Mansion. - -Lorenzo enquired, whither the Wicket led? He was answered, to the -Garden of the Capuchins, and it was resolved to explore an outlet upon -that side. Accordingly the Duke raised the Latch, and passed into the -adjoining Cemetery. The Attendants followed without ceremony. -Lorenzo, being the last, was also on the point of quitting the -Colonnade, when He saw the door of the Sepulchre opened softly. -Someone looked out, but on perceiving Strangers uttered a loud shriek, -started back again, and flew down the marble Stairs. - -'What can this mean?' cried Lorenzo; 'Here is some mystery concealed. -Follow me without delay!' - -Thus saying, He hastened into the Sepulchre, and pursued the person who -continued to fly before him. The Duke knew not the cause of his -exclamation, but supposing that He had good reasons for it, he followed -him without hesitation. The Others did the same, and the whole Party -soon arrived at the foot of the Stairs. - -The upper door having been left open, the neighbouring flames darted -from above a sufficient light to enable Lorenzo's catching a glance of -the Fugitive running through the long passages and distant Vaults: But -when a sudden turn deprived him of this assistance, total darkness -succeeded, and He could only trace the object of his enquiry by the -faint echo of retiring feet. The Pursuers were now compelled to -proceed with caution: As well as they could judge, the Fugitive also -seemed to slacken pace, for they heard the steps follow each other at -longer intervals. They at length were bewildered by the Labyrinth of -passages, and dispersed in various directions. Carried away by his -eagerness to clear up this mystery, and to penetrate into which He was -impelled by a movement secret and unaccountable, Lorenzo heeded not -this circumstance till He found himself in total solitude. The noise of -footsteps had ceased. All was silent around, and no clue offered -itself to guide him to the flying Person. He stopped to reflect on the -means most likely to aid his pursuit. He was persuaded that no common -cause would have induced the Fugitive to seek that dreary place at an -hour so unusual: The cry which He had heard, seemed uttered in a voice -of terror, and He was convinced that some mystery was attached to this -event. After some minutes past in hesitation He continued to proceed, -feeling his way along the walls of the passage. He had already past -some time in this slow progress, when He descried a spark of light -glimmering at a distance. Guided by this observation, and having drawn -his sword, He bent his steps towards the place, whence the beam seemed -to be emitted. - -It proceeded from the Lamp which flamed before St. Clare's Statue. -Before it stood several Females, their white Garments streaming in the -blast, as it howled along the vaulted dungeons. Curious to know what -had brought them together in this melancholy spot, Lorenzo drew near -with precaution. The Strangers seemed earnestly engaged in -conversation. They heard not Lorenzo's steps, and He approached -unobserved, till He could hear their voices distinctly. - -'I protest,' continued She who was speaking when He arrived, and to -whom the rest were listening with great attention; 'I protest, that I -saw them with my own eyes. I flew down the steps; They pursued me, and -I escaped falling into their hands with difficulty. Had it not been -for the Lamp, I should never have found you.' - -'And what could bring them hither?' said another in a trembling voice; -'Do you think that they were looking for us?' - -'God grant that my fears may be false,' rejoined the First; 'But I -doubt they are Murderers! If they discover us, we are lost! As for me, -my fate is certain: My affinity to the Prioress will be a sufficient -crime to condemn me; and though till now these Vaults have afforded me -a retreat.......' - -Here looking up, her eye fell upon Lorenzo, who had continued to -approach softly. - -'The Murderers!' She cried-- - -She started away from the Statue's Pedestal on which She had been -seated, and attempted to escape by flight. Her Companions at the same -moment uttered a terrified scream, while Lorenzo arrested the Fugitive -by the arm. Frightened and desperate She sank upon her knees before -him. - -'Spare me!' She exclaimed; 'For Christ's sake, spare me! I am -innocent, indeed, I am!' - -While She spoke, her voice was almost choaked with fear. The beams of -the Lamp darting full upon her face which was unveiled, Lorenzo -recognized the beautiful Virginia de Villa-Franca. He hastened to -raise her from the ground, and besought her to take courage. He -promised to protect her from the Rioters, assured her that her retreat -was still a secret, and that She might depend upon his readiness to -defend her to the last drop of his blood. During this conversation, -the Nuns had thrown themselves into various attitudes: One knelt, and -addressed herself to heaven; Another hid her face in the lap of her -Neighbour; Some listened motionless with fear to the discourse of the -supposed Assassin; while Others embraced the Statue of St. Clare, and -implored her protection with frantic cries. On perceiving their -mistake, they crowded round Lorenzo and heaped benedictions on him by -dozens. He found that, on hearing the threats of the Mob, and -terrified by the cruelties which from the Convent Towers they had seen -inflicted on the Superior, many of the Pensioners and Nuns had taken -refuge in the Sepulchre. Among the former was to be reckoned the -lovely Virginia. Nearly related to the Prioress, She had more reason -than the rest to dread the Rioters, and now besought Lorenzo earnestly -not to abandon her to their rage. Her Companions, most of whom were -Women of noble family, made the same request, which He readily granted. -He promised not to quit them, till He had seen each of them safe in the -arms of her Relations: But He advised their deferring to quit the -Sepulchre for some time longer, when the popular fury should be -somewhat calmed, and the arrival of military force have dispersed the -multitude. - -'Would to God!' cried Virginia, 'That I were already safe in my -Mother's embraces! How say you, Segnor; Will it be long, ere we may -leave this place? Every moment that I pass here, I pass in torture!' - -'I hope, not long,' said He; 'But till you can proceed with security, -this Sepulchre will prove an impenetrable asylum. Here you run no -risque of a discovery, and I would advise your remaining quiet for the -next two or three hours.' - -'Two or three hours?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'If I stay another hour -in these vaults, I shall expire with fear! Not the wealth of worlds -should bribe me to undergo again what I have suffered since my coming -hither. Blessed Virgin! To be in this melancholy place in the middle -of night, surrounded by the mouldering bodies of my deceased -Companions, and expecting every moment to be torn in pieces by their -Ghosts who wander about me, and complain, and groan, and wail in -accents that make my blood run cold, ..... Christ Jesus! It is -enough to drive me to madness!' - -'Excuse me,' replied Lorenzo, 'if I am surprized that while menaced by -real woes you are capable of yielding to imaginary dangers. These -terrors are puerile and groundless: Combat them, holy Sister; I have -promised to guard you from the Rioters, but against the attacks of -superstition you must depend for protection upon yourself. The idea of -Ghosts is ridiculous in the extreme; And if you continue to be swayed -by ideal terrors ...' - -'Ideal?' exclaimed the Nuns with one voice; 'Why we heard it ourselves, -Segnor! Every one of us heard it! It was frequently repeated, and it -sounded every time more melancholy and deep. You will never persuade me -that we could all have been deceived. Not we, indeed; No, no; Had the -noise been merely created by fancy ....' - -'Hark! Hark!' interrupted Virginia in a voice of terror; 'God preserve -us! There it is again!' - -The Nuns clasped their hands together, and sank upon their knees. - -Lorenzo looked round him eagerly, and was on the point of yielding to -the fears which already had possessed the Women. Universal silence -prevailed. He examined the Vault, but nothing was to be seen. He now -prepared to address the Nuns, and ridicule their childish -apprehensions, when his attention was arrested by a deep and long-drawn -groan. - -'What was that?' He cried, and started. - -'There, Segnor!' said Helena; 'Now you must be convinced! You have -heard the noise yourself! Now judge, whether our terrors are -imaginary. Since we have been here, that groaning has been repeated -almost every five minutes. Doubtless, it proceeds from some Soul in -pain, who wishes to be prayed out of purgatory: But none of us here -dares ask it the question. As for me, were I to see an Apparition, the -fright, I am very certain, would kill me out of hand.' - -As She said this, a second groan was heard yet more distinctly. The -Nuns crossed themselves, and hastened to repeat their prayers against -evil Spirits. Lorenzo listened attentively. He even thought that He -could distinguish sounds, as of one speaking in complaint; But distance -rendered them inarticulate. The noise seemed to come from the midst of -the small Vault in which He and the Nuns then were, and which a -multitude of passages branching out in various directions, formed into -a sort of Star. Lorenzo's curiosity which was ever awake, made him -anxious to solve this mystery. He desired that silence might be kept. -The Nuns obeyed him. All was hushed, till the general stillness was -again disturbed by the groaning, which was repeated several times -successively. He perceived it to be most audible, when upon following -the sound He was conducted close to the shrine of St. Clare: - -'The noise comes from hence,' said He; 'Whose is this Statue?' - -Helena, to whom He addressed the question, paused for a moment. -Suddenly She clapped her hands together. - -'Aye!' cried She, 'it must be so. I have discovered the meaning of -these groans.' - -The Nuns crowded round her, and besought her eagerly to explain -herself. She gravely replied that for time immemorial the Statue had -been famous for performing miracles: From this She inferred that the -Saint was concerned at the conflagration of a Convent which She -protected, and expressed her grief by audible lamentations. Not having -equal faith in the miraculous Saint, Lorenzo did not think this -solution of the mystery quite so satisfactory, as the Nuns, who -subscribed to it without hesitation. In one point, 'tis true, that He -agreed with Helena. - -He suspected that the groans proceeded from the Statue: The more He -listened, the more was He confirmed in this idea. He drew nearer to -the Image, designing to inspect it more closely: But perceiving his -intention, the Nuns besought him for God's sake to desist, since if He -touched the Statue, his death was inevitable. - -'And in what consists the danger?' said He. - -'Mother of God! In what?' replied Helena, ever eager to relate a -miraculous adventure; 'If you had only heard the hundredth part of -those marvellous Stories about this Statue which the Domina used to -recount! She assured us often and often, that if we only dared to lay -a finger upon it, we might expect the most fatal consequences. Among -other things She told us that a Robber having entered these Vaults by -night, He observed yonder Ruby, whose value is inestimable. Do you see -it, Segnor? It sparkles upon the third finger of the hand, in which -She holds a crown of Thorns. This Jewel naturally excited the -Villain's cupidity. He resolved to make himself Master of it. For -this purpose He ascended the Pedestal: He supported himself by -grasping the Saint's right arm, and extended his own towards the Ring. -What was his surprize, when He saw the Statue's hand raised in a -posture of menace, and heard her lips pronounce his eternal perdition! -Penetrated with awe and consternation, He desisted from his attempt, -and prepared to quit the Sepulchre. In this He also failed. Flight -was denied him. He found it impossible to disengage the hand, which -rested upon the right arm of the Statue. In vain did He struggle: He -remained fixed to the Image, till the insupportable and fiery anguish -which darted itself through his veins, compelled his shrieking for -assistance. - -The Sepulchre was now filled with Spectators. The Villain confessed -his sacrilege, and was only released by the separation of his hand from -his body. It has remained ever since fastened to the Image. The -Robber turned Hermit, and led ever after an exemplary life: But yet -the Saint's decree was performed, and Tradition says that He continues -to haunt this Sepulchre, and implore St. Clare's pardon with groans and -lamentations. Now I think of it, those which we have just heard, may -very possibly have been uttered by the Ghost of this Sinner: But of -this I will not be positive. All that I can say is, that since that -time no one has ever dared to touch the Statue: Then do not be -foolhardy, good Segnor! For the love of heaven, give up your design, -nor expose yourself unnecessarily to certain destruction.' - -Not being convinced that his destruction would be so certain as Helena -seemed to think it, Lorenzo persisted in his resolution. The Nuns -besought him to desist in piteous terms, and even pointed out the -Robber's hand, which in effect was still visible upon the arm of the -Statue. This proof, as they imagined, must convince him. It was very -far from doing so; and they were greatly scandalized when he declared -his suspicion that the dried and shrivelled fingers had been placed -there by order of the Prioress. In spite of their prayers and threats -He approached the Statue. He sprang over the iron Rails which defended -it, and the Saint underwent a thorough examination. The Image at first -appeared to be of Stone, but proved on further inspection to be formed -of no more solid materials than coloured Wood. He shook it, and -attempted to move it; But it appeared to be of a piece with the Base -which it stood upon. He examined it over and over: Still no clue -guided him to the solution of this mystery, for which the Nuns were -become equally solicitous, when they saw that He touched the Statue -with impunity. He paused, and listened: The groans were repeated at -intervals, and He was convinced of being in the spot nearest to them. -He mused upon this singular event, and ran over the Statue with -enquiring eyes. Suddenly they rested upon the shrivelled hand. It -struck him, that so particular an injunction was not given without -cause, not to touch the arm of the Image. He again ascended the -Pedestal; He examined the object of his attention, and discovered a -small knob of iron concealed between the Saint's shoulder and what was -supposed to have been the hand of the Robber. This observation -delighted him. He applied his fingers to the knob, and pressed it down -forcibly. Immediately a rumbling noise was heard within the Statue, as -if a chain tightly stretched was flying back. Startled at the sound the -timid Nuns started away, prepared to hasten from the Vault at the first -appearance of danger. All remaining quiet and still, they again -gathered round Lorenzo, and beheld his proceedings with anxious -curiosity. - -Finding that nothing followed this discovery, He descended. As He took -his hand from the Saint, She trembled beneath his touch. This created -new terrors in the Spectators, who believed the Statue to be animated. -Lorenzo's ideas upon the subject were widely different. He easily -comprehended that the noise which He had heard, was occasioned by his -having loosened a chain which attached the Image to its Pedestal. He -once more attempted to move it, and succeeded without much exertion. -He placed it upon the ground, and then perceived the Pedestal to be -hollow, and covered at the opening with an heavy iron grate. - -This excited such general curiosity that the Sisters forgot both their -real and imaginary dangers. Lorenzo proceeded to raise the Grate, in -which the Nuns assisted him to the utmost of their strength. The -attempt was accomplished with little difficulty. A deep abyss now -presented itself before them, whose thick obscurity the eye strove in -vain to pierce. The rays of the Lamp were too feeble to be of much -assistance. Nothing was discernible, save a flight of rough unshapen -steps which sank into the yawning Gulph and were soon lost in darkness. -The groans were heard no more; But All believed them to have ascended -from this Cavern. As He bent over it, Lorenzo fancied that He -distinguished something bright twinkling through the gloom. He gazed -attentively upon the spot where it showed itself, and was convinced -that He saw a small spark of light, now visible, now disappearing. He -communicated this circumstance to the Nuns: They also perceived the -spark; But when He declared his intention to descend into the Cave, -they united to oppose his resolution. All their remonstrances could not -prevail on him to alter it. None of them had courage enough to -accompany him; neither could He think of depriving them of the Lamp. -Alone therefore, and in darkness, He prepared to pursue his design, -while the Nuns were contented to offer up prayers for his success and -safety. - -The steps were so narrow and uneven, that to descend them was like -walking down the side of a precipice. The obscurity by which He was -surrounded rendered his footing insecure. He was obliged to proceed -with great caution, lest He should miss the steps and fall into the -Gulph below him. This He was several times on the point of doing. -However, He arrived sooner upon solid ground than He had expected: He -now found that the thick darkness and impenetrable mists which reigned -through the Cavern had deceived him into the belief of its being much -more profound than it proved upon inspection. He reached the foot of -the Stairs unhurt: He now stopped, and looked round for the spark -which had before caught his attention. He sought it in vain: All was -dark and gloomy. He listened for the groans; But his ear caught no -sound, except the distant murmur of the Nuns above, as in low voices -they repeated their Ave-Marias. He stood irresolute to which side He -should address his steps. At all events He determined to proceed: He -did so, but slowly, fearing lest instead of approaching, He should be -retiring from the object of his search. The groans seemed to announce -one in pain, or at least in sorrow, and He hoped to have the power of -relieving the Mourner's calamities. A plaintive tone, sounding at no -great distance, at length reached his hearing; He bent his course -joyfully towards it. It became more audible as He advanced; and He -soon beheld again the spark of light, which a low projecting Wall had -hitherto concealed from him. - -It proceeded from a small Lamp which was placed upon an heap of stones, -and whose faint and melancholy rays served rather to point out, than -dispell the horrors of a narrow gloomy dungeon formed in one side of -the Cavern; It also showed several other recesses of similar -construction, but whose depth was buried in obscurity. Coldly played -the light upon the damp walls, whose dew-stained surface gave back a -feeble reflection. A thick and pestilential fog clouded the height of -the vaulted dungeon. As Lorenzo advanced, He felt a piercing chillness -spread itself through his veins. The frequent groans still engaged him -to move forwards. He turned towards them, and by the Lamp's glimmering -beams beheld in a corner of this loathsome abode, a Creature stretched -upon a bed of straw, so wretched, so emaciated, so pale, that He -doubted to think her Woman. She was half-naked: Her long dishevelled -hair fell in disorder over her face, and almost entirely concealed it. -One wasted Arm hung listlessly upon a tattered rug which covered her -convulsed and shivering limbs: The Other was wrapped round a small -bundle, and held it closely to her bosom. A large Rosary lay near her: -Opposite to her was a Crucifix, on which She bent her sunk eyes -fixedly, and by her side stood a Basket and a small Earthen Pitcher. - -Lorenzo stopped: He was petrified with horror. He gazed upon the -miserable Object with disgust and pity. He trembled at the spectacle; -He grew sick at heart: His strength failed him, and his limbs were -unable to support his weight. He was obliged to lean against the low -Wall which was near him, unable to go forward, or to address the -Sufferer. She cast her eyes towards the Staircase: The Wall concealed -Lorenzo, and She observed him not. - -'No one comes!' She at length murmured. - -As She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat: She -sighed bitterly. - -'No one comes!' She repeated; 'No! They have forgotten me! They will -come no more!' - -She paused for a moment: Then continued mournfully. - -'Two days! Two long, long days, and yet no food! And yet no hope, no -comfort! Foolish Woman! How can I wish to lengthen a life so -wretched! Yet such a death! O! God! To perish by such a death! To -linger out such ages in torture! Till now, I knew not what it was to -hunger! Hark! No. No one comes! They will come no more!' - -She was silent. She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked -shoulders. - -'I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon! - -'Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet not feel -it--I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!' - -She looked at the bundle which lay upon her breast. She bent over it, -and kissed it: Then drew back hastily, and shuddered with disgust. - -'It was once so sweet! It would have been so lovely, so like him! I -have lost it for ever! How a few days have changed it! I should not -know it again myself! Yet it is dear to me! God! how dear! I will -forget what it is: I will only remember what it was, and love it as -well, as when it was so sweet! so lovely! so like him! I thought that -I had wept away all my tears, but here is one still lingering.' - -She wiped her eyes with a tress of her hair. She put out her hand for -the Pitcher, and reached it with difficulty. She cast into it a look -of hopeless enquiry. She sighed, and replaced it upon the ground. - -'Quite a void! Not a drop! Not one drop left to cool my scorched-up -burning palate! Now would I give treasures for a draught of water! -And they are God's Servants, who make me suffer thus! They think -themselves holy, while they torture me like Fiends! They are cruel and -unfeeling; And 'tis they who bid me repent; And 'tis they, who threaten -me with eternal perdition! Saviour, Saviour! You think not so!' - -She again fixed her eyes upon the Crucifix, took her Rosary, and while -She told her beads, the quick motion of her lips declared her to be -praying with fervency. - -While He listened to her melancholy accents, Lorenzo's sensibility -became yet more violently affected. The first sight of such misery had -given a sensible shock to his feelings: But that being past, He now -advanced towards the Captive. She heard his steps, and uttering a cry -of joy, dropped the Rosary. - -'Hark! Hark! Hark!' She cried: 'Some one comes!' - -She strove to raise herself, but her strength was unequal to the -attempt: She fell back, and as She sank again upon the bed of straw, -Lorenzo heard the rattling of heavy chains. He still approached, while -the Prisoner thus continued. - -'Is it you, Camilla? You are come then at last? Oh! it was time! I -thought that you had forsaken me; that I was doomed to perish of -hunger. Give me to drink, Camilla, for pity's sake! I am faint with -long fasting, and grown so weak that I cannot raise myself from the -ground. Good Camilla, give me to drink, lest I expire before you!' - -Fearing that surprize in her enfeebled state might be fatal, Lorenzo -was at a loss how to address her. - -'It is not Camilla,' said He at length, speaking in a slow and gentle -voice. - -'Who is it then?' replied the Sufferer: 'Alix, perhaps, or Violante. -My eyes are grown so dim and feeble that I cannot distinguish your -features. But whichever it is, if your breast is sensible of the least -compassion, if you are not more cruel than Wolves and Tigers, take pity -on my sufferings. You know that I am dying for want of sustenance. -This is the third day, since these lips have received nourishment. Do -you bring me food? Or come you only to announce my death, and learn -how long I have yet to exist in agony?' - -'You mistake my business,' replied Lorenzo; 'I am no Emissary of the -cruel Prioress. I pity your sorrows, and come hither to relieve them.' - -'To relieve them?' repeated the Captive; 'Said you, to relieve them?' - -At the same time starting from the ground, and supporting herself upon -her hands, She gazed upon the Stranger earnestly. - -'Great God! It is no illusion! A Man! Speak! Who are you? What -brings you hither? Come you to save me, to restore me to liberty, to -life and light? Oh! speak, speak quickly, lest I encourage an hope -whose disappointment will destroy me.' - -'Be calm!' replied Lorenzo in a voice soothing and compassionate; 'The -Domina of whose cruelty you complain, has already paid the forfeit of -her offences: You have nothing more to fear from her. - -A few minutes will restore you to liberty, and the embraces of your -Friends from whom you have been secluded. You may rely upon my -protection. Give me your hand, and be not fearful. Let me conduct you -where you may receive those attentions which your feeble state -requires.' - -'Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!' cried the Prisoner with an exulting shriek; -'There is a God then, and a just one! Joy! Joy! I shall once more -breath the fresh air, and view the light of the glorious sunbeams! I -will go with you! Stranger, I will go with you! Oh! Heaven will bless -you for pitying an Unfortunate! But this too must go with me,' She -added pointing to the small bundle which She still clasped to her -bosom; 'I cannot part with this. I will bear it away: It shall -convince the world how dreadful are the abodes so falsely termed -religious. Good Stranger, lend me your hand to rise: I am faint with -want, and sorrow, and sickness, and my forces have quite forsaken me! -So, that is well!' - -As Lorenzo stooped to raise her, the beams of the Lamp struck full upon -his face. - -'Almighty God!' She exclaimed; 'Is it possible! That look! Those -features! Oh! Yes, it is, it is .....' - -She extended her arms to throw them round him; But her enfeebled frame -was unable to sustain the emotions which agitated her bosom. She -fainted, and again sank upon the bed of straw. - -Lorenzo was surprized at her last exclamation. He thought that He had -before heard such accents as her hollow voice had just formed, but -where He could not remember. He saw that in her dangerous situation -immediate physical aid was absolutely necessary, and He hastened to -convey her from the dungeon. He was at first prevented from doing so -by a strong chain fastened round the prisoner's body, and fixing her to -the neighbouring Wall. However, his natural strength being aided by -anxiety to relieve the Unfortunate, He soon forced out the Staple to -which one end of the Chain was attached. Then taking the Captive in his -arms, He bent his course towards the Staircase. The rays of the Lamp -above, as well as the murmur of female voices, guided his steps. He -gained the Stairs, and in a few minutes after arrived at the iron-grate. - -The Nuns during his absence had been terribly tormented by curiosity -and apprehension: They were equally surprized and delighted on seeing -him suddenly emerge from the Cave. Every heart was filled with -compassion for the miserable Creature whom He bore in his arms. While -the Nuns, and Virginia in particular, employed themselves in striving -to recall her to her senses, Lorenzo related in few words the manner of -his finding her. He then observed to them that by this time the tumult -must have been quelled, and that He could now conduct them to their -Friends without danger. All were eager to quit the Sepulchre: Still -to prevent all possibility of ill-usage, they besought Lorenzo to -venture out first alone, and examine whether the Coast was clear. With -this request He complied. Helena offered to conduct him to the -Staircase, and they were on the point of departing, when a strong light -flashed from several passages upon the adjacent walls. At the same -time Steps were heard of people approaching hastily, and whose number -seemed to be considerable. The Nuns were greatly alarmed at this -circumstance: They supposed their retreat to be discovered, and the -Rioters to be advancing in pursuit of them. Hastily quitting the -Prisoner who remained insensible, they crowded round Lorenzo, and -claimed his promise to protect them. Virginia alone forgot her own -danger by striving to relieve the sorrows of Another. She supported -the Sufferer's head upon her knees, bathing her temples with -rose-water, chafing her cold hands, and sprinkling her face with tears -which were drawn from her by compassion. The Strangers approaching -nearer, Lorenzo was enabled to dispel the fears of the Suppliants. His -name, pronounced by a number of voices among which He distinguished the -Duke's, pealed along the Vaults, and convinced him that He was the -object of their search. He communicated this intelligence to the Nuns, -who received it with rapture. A few moments after confirmed his idea. -Don Ramirez, as well as the Duke, appeared, followed by Attendants with -Torches. They had been seeking him through the Vaults, in order to let -him know that the Mob was dispersed, and the riot entirely over. -Lorenzo recounted briefly his adventure in the Cavern, and explained -how much the Unknown was in want of medical assistance. He besought -the Duke to take charge of her, as well as of the Nuns and Pensioners. - -'As for me,' said He, 'Other cares demand my attention. While you with -one half of the Archers convey these Ladies to their respective homes, -I wish the other half to be left with me. I will examine the Cavern -below, and pervade the most secret recesses of the Sepulchre. I cannot -rest till convinced that yonder wretched Victim was the only one -confined by Superstition in these vaults.' - -The Duke applauded his intention. Don Ramirez offered to assist him in -his enquiry, and his proposal was accepted with gratitude. - -The Nuns having made their acknowledgments to Lorenzo, committed -themselves to the care of his Uncle, and were conducted from the -Sepulchre. Virginia requested that the Unknown might be given to her -in charge, and promised to let Lorenzo know whenever She was -sufficiently recovered to accept his visits. In truth, She made this -promise more from consideration for herself than for either Lorenzo or -the Captive. She had witnessed his politeness, gentleness, and -intrepidity with sensible emotion. She wished earnestly to preserve -his acquaintance; and in addition to the sentiments of pity which the -Prisoner excited, She hoped that her attention to this Unfortunate -would raise her a degree in the esteem of Lorenzo. She had no occasion -to trouble herself upon this head. The kindness already displayed by -her and the tender concern which She had shown for the Sufferer had -gained her an exalted place in his good graces. While occupied in -alleviating the Captive's sorrows, the nature of her employment adorned -her with new charms, and rendered her beauty a thousand times more -interesting. Lorenzo viewed her with admiration and delight: He -considered her as a ministering Angel descended to the aid of afflicted -innocence; nor could his heart have resisted her attractions, had it -not been steeled by the remembrance of Antonia. - -The Duke now conveyed the Nuns in safety to the Dwellings of their -respective Friends. The rescued Prisoner was still insensible and gave -no signs of life, except by occasional groans. She was borne upon a -sort of litter; Virginia, who was constantly by the side of it, was -apprehensive that exhausted by long abstinence, and shaken by the -sudden change from bonds and darkness to liberty and light, her frame -would never get the better of the shock. Lorenzo and Don Ramirez still -remained in the Sepulchre. After deliberating upon their proceedings, -it was resolved that to prevent losing time, the Archers should be -divided into two Bodies: That with one Don Ramirez should examine the -cavern, while Lorenzo with the other might penetrate into the further -Vaults. This being arranged, and his Followers being provided with -Torches, Don Ramirez advanced to the Cavern. He had already descended -some steps when He heard People approaching hastily from the interior -part of the Sepulchre. This surprized him, and He quitted the Cave -precipitately. - -'Do you hear footsteps?' said Lorenzo; 'Let us bend our course towards -them. 'Tis from this side that they seem to proceed.' - -At that moment a loud and piercing shriek induced him to quicken his -steps. - -'Help! Help, for God's sake! cried a voice, whose melodious tone -penetrated Lorenzo's heart with terror. - -He flew towards the cry with the rapidity of lightning, and was -followed by Don Ramirez with equal swiftness. - - - -CHAPTER IV - - Great Heaven! How frail thy creature Man is made! - How by himself insensibly betrayed! - In our own strength unhappily secure, - Too little cautious of the adverse power, - On pleasure's flowery brink we idly stray, - Masters as yet of our returning way: - Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise, - Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies, - And swift into the boundless Ocean borne, - Our foolish confidence too late we mourn: - Round our devoted heads the billows beat, - And from our troubled view the lessening lands retreat. - Prior. - - -All this while, Ambrosio was unconscious of the dreadful scenes which -were passing so near. The execution of his designs upon Antonia -employed his every thought. Hitherto, He was satisfied with the -success of his plans. Antonia had drank the opiate, was buried in the -vaults of St. Clare, and absolutely in his disposal. Matilda, who was -well acquainted with the nature and effects of the soporific medicine, -had computed that it would not cease to operate till one in the -Morning. For that hour He waited with impatience. The Festival of St. -Clare presented him with a favourable opportunity of consummating his -crime. He was certain that the Friars and Nuns would be engaged in the -Procession, and that He had no cause to dread an interruption: From -appearing himself at the head of his Monks, He had desired to be -excused. He doubted not, that being beyond the reach of help, cut off -from all the world, and totally in his power, Antonia would comply with -his desires. The affection which She had ever exprest for him, -warranted this persuasion: But He resolved that should She prove -obstinate, no consideration whatever should prevent him from enjoying -her. Secure from a discovery, He shuddered not at the idea of -employing force: If He felt any repugnance, it arose not from a -principle of shame or compassion, but from his feeling for Antonia the -most sincere and ardent affection, and wishing to owe her favours to no -one but herself. - -The Monks quitted the Abbey at midnight. Matilda was among the -Choristers, and led the chaunt. Ambrosio was left by himself, and at -liberty to pursue his own inclinations. Convinced that no one remained -behind to watch his motions, or disturb his pleasures, He now hastened -to the Western Aisles. His heart beating with hope not unmingled with -anxiety, He crossed the Garden, unlocked the door which admitted him -into the Cemetery, and in a few minutes He stood before the Vaults. -Here He paused. - -He looked round him with suspicion, conscious that his business was -unfit for any other eye. As He stood in hesitation, He heard the -melancholy shriek of the screech-Owl: The wind rattled loudly against -the windows of the adjacent Convent, and as the current swept by him, -bore with it the faint notes of the chaunt of Choristers. He opened -the door cautiously, as if fearing to be overheard: He entered; and -closed it again after him. Guided by his Lamp, He threaded the long -passages, in whose windings Matilda had instructed him, and reached the -private Vault which contained his sleeping Mistress. - -Its entrance was by no means easy to discover: But this was no -obstacle to Ambrosio, who at the time of Antonia's Funeral had observed -it too carefully to be deceived. He found the door, which was -unfastened, pushed it open, and descended into the dungeon. He -approached the humble Tomb in which Antonia reposed. He had provided -himself with an iron crow and a pick-axe; But this precaution was -unnecessary. The Grate was slightly fastened on the outside: He -raised it, and placing the Lamp upon its ridge, bent silently over the -Tomb. By the side of three putrid half-corrupted Bodies lay the -sleeping Beauty. A lively red, the forerunner of returning animation, -had already spread itself over her cheek; and as wrapped in her shroud -She reclined upon her funeral Bier, She seemed to smile at the Images -of Death around her. While He gazed upon their rotting bones and -disgusting figures, who perhaps were once as sweet and lovely, Ambrosio -thought upon Elvira, by him reduced to the same state. As the memory of -that horrid act glanced upon his mind, it was clouded with a gloomy -horror. Yet it served but to strengthen his resolution to destroy -Antonia's honour. - -'For your sake, Fatal Beauty!' murmured the Monk, while gazing on his -devoted prey; 'For your sake, have I committed this murder, and sold -myself to eternal tortures. Now you are in my power: The produce of my -guilt will at least be mine. Hope not that your prayers breathed in -tones of unequalled melody, your bright eyes filled with tears, and -your hands lifted in supplication, as when seeking in penitence the -Virgin's pardon; Hope not that your moving innocence, your beauteous -grief, or all your suppliant arts shall ransom you from my embraces. -Before the break of day, mine you must, and mine you shall be!' - -He lifted her still motionless from the Tomb: He seated himself upon a -bank of Stone, and supporting her in his arms, watched impatiently for -the symptoms of returning animation. Scarcely could He command his -passions sufficiently, to restrain himself from enjoying her while yet -insensible. His natural lust was increased in ardour by the -difficulties which had opposed his satisfying it: As also by his long -abstinence from Woman, since from the moment of resigning her claim to -his love, Matilda had exiled him from her arms for ever. - -'I am no Prostitute, Ambrosio;' Had She told him, when in the fullness -of his lust He demanded her favours with more than usual earnestness; -'I am now no more than your Friend, and will not be your Mistress. -Cease then to solicit my complying with desires, which insult me. -While your heart was mine, I gloried in your embraces: Those happy -times are past: My person is become indifferent to you, and 'tis -necessity, not love, which makes you seek my enjoyment. I cannot yield -to a request so humiliating to my pride.' - -Suddenly deprived of pleasures, the use of which had made them an -absolute want, the Monk felt this restraint severely. Naturally -addicted to the gratification of the senses, in the full vigour of -manhood, and heat of blood, He had suffered his temperament to acquire -such ascendency that his lust was become madness. Of his fondness for -Antonia, none but the grosser particles remained: He longed for the -possession of her person; and even the gloom of the vault, the -surrounding silence, and the resistance which He expected from her, -seemed to give a fresh edge to his fierce and unbridled desires. - -Gradually He felt the bosom which rested against his, glow with -returning warmth. Her heart throbbed again; Her blood flowed swifter, -and her lips moved. At length She opened her eyes, but still opprest -and bewildered by the effects of the strong opiate, She closed them -again immediately. Ambrosio watched her narrowly, nor permitted a -movement to escape him. Perceiving that She was fully restored to -existence, He caught her in rapture to his bosom, and closely pressed -his lips to hers. The suddenness of his action sufficed to dissipate -the fumes which obscured Antonia's reason. She hastily raised herself, -and cast a wild look round her. The strange Images which presented -themselves on every side contributed to confuse her. She put her hand -to her head, as if to settle her disordered imagination. At length She -took it away, and threw her eyes through the dungeon a second time. -They fixed upon the Abbot's face. - -'Where am I?' She said abruptly. 'How came I here? Where is my -Mother? Methought, I saw her! Oh! a dream, a dreadful dreadful dream -told me ...... But where am I? Let me go! I cannot stay here!' - -She attempted to rise, but the Monk prevented her. - -'Be calm, lovely Antonia!' He replied; 'No danger is near you: Confide -in my protection. Why do you gaze on me so earnestly? Do you not know -me? Not know your Friend? Ambrosio?' - -'Ambrosio? My Friend? Oh! yes, yes; I remember ...... But why -am I here? Who has brought me? Why are you with me? Oh! Flora bad me -beware .....! Here are nothing but Graves, and Tombs, and -Skeletons! This place frightens me! Good Ambrosio take me away from -it, for it recalls my fearful dream! Methought I was dead, and laid in -my grave! Good Ambrosio, take me from hence. Will you not? Oh! will -you not? Do not look on me thus! - -Your flaming eyes terrify me! Spare me, Father! Oh! spare me for God's -sake!' - -'Why these terrors, Antonia?' rejoined the Abbot, folding her in his -arms, and covering her bosom with kisses which She in vain struggled to -avoid: 'What fear you from me, from one who adores you? What matters -it where you are? This Sepulchre seems to me Love's bower; This gloom -is the friendly night of mystery which He spreads over our delights! -Such do I think it, and such must my Antonia. Yes, my sweet Girl! -Yes! Your veins shall glow with fire which circles in mine, and my -transports shall be doubled by your sharing them!' - -While He spoke thus, He repeated his embraces, and permitted himself -the most indecent liberties. Even Antonia's ignorance was not proof -against the freedom of his behaviour. She was sensible of her danger, -forced herself from his arms, and her shroud being her only garment, -She wrapped it closely round her. - -'Unhand me, Father!' She cried, her honest indignation tempered by -alarm at her unprotected position; 'Why have you brought me to this -place? Its appearance freezes me with horror! Convey me from hence, -if you have the least sense of pity and humanity! Let me return to the -House which I have quitted I know not how; But stay here one moment -longer, I neither will, or ought.' - -Though the Monk was somewhat startled by the resolute tone in which -this speech was delivered, it produced upon him no other effect than -surprize. He caught her hand, forced her upon his knee, and gazing -upon her with gloting eyes, He thus replied to her. - -'Compose yourself, Antonia. Resistance is unavailing, and I need -disavow my passion for you no longer. You are imagined dead: Society -is for ever lost to you. I possess you here alone; You are absolutely -in my power, and I burn with desires which I must either gratify or -die: But I would owe my happiness to yourself. My lovely Girl! My -adorable Antonia! Let me instruct you in joys to which you are still a -Stranger, and teach you to feel those pleasures in my arms which I must -soon enjoy in yours. Nay, this struggling is childish,' He continued, -seeing her repell his caresses, and endeavour to escape from his grasp; -'No aid is near: Neither heaven or earth shall save you from my -embraces. Yet why reject pleasures so sweet, so rapturous? No one -observes us: Our loves will be a secret to all the world: Love and -opportunity invite your giving loose to your passions. Yield to them, -my Antonia! Yield to them, my lovely Girl! Throw your arms thus -fondly round me; Join your lips thus closely to mine! Amidst all her -gifts, has Nature denied her most precious, the sensibility of -Pleasure? Oh! impossible! Every feature, look, and motion declares -you formed to bless, and to be blessed yourself! Turn not on me those -supplicating eyes: Consult your own charms; They will tell you that I -am proof against entreaty. Can I relinquish these limbs so white, so -soft, so delicate; These swelling breasts, round, full, and elastic! -These lips fraught with such inexhaustible sweetness? Can I relinquish -these treasures, and leave them to another's enjoyment? No, Antonia; -never, never! I swear it by this kiss, and this! and this!' - -With every moment the Friar's passion became more ardent, and Antonia's -terror more intense. She struggled to disengage herself from his arms: -Her exertions were unsuccessful; and finding that Ambrosio's conduct -became still freer, She shrieked for assistance with all her strength. -The aspect of the Vault, the pale glimmering of the Lamp, the -surrounding obscurity, the sight of the Tomb, and the objects of -mortality which met her eyes on either side, were ill-calculated to -inspire her with those emotions by which the Friar was agitated. Even -his caresses terrified her from their fury, and created no other -sentiment than fear. On the contrary, her alarm, her evident disgust, -and incessant opposition, seemed only to inflame the Monk's desires, -and supply his brutality with additional strength. Antonia's shrieks -were unheard: Yet She continued them, nor abandoned her endeavours to -escape, till exhausted and out of breath She sank from his arms upon -her knees, and once more had recourse to prayers and supplications. -This attempt had no better success than the former. On the contrary, -taking advantage of her situation, the Ravisher threw himself by her -side: He clasped her to his bosom almost lifeless with terror, and -faint with struggling. He stifled her cries with kisses, treated her -with the rudeness of an unprincipled Barbarian, proceeded from freedom -to freedom, and in the violence of his lustful delirium, wounded and -bruised her tender limbs. Heedless of her tears, cries and entreaties, -He gradually made himself Master of her person, and desisted not from -his prey, till He had accomplished his crime and the dishonour of -Antonia. - -Scarcely had He succeeded in his design than He shuddered at himself -and the means by which it was effected. The very excess of his former -eagerness to possess Antonia now contributed to inspire him with -disgust; and a secret impulse made him feel how base and unmanly was -the crime which He had just committed. He started hastily from her -arms. She, who so lately had been the object of his adoration, now -raised no other sentiment in his heart than aversion and rage. He -turned away from her; or if his eyes rested upon her figure -involuntarily, it was only to dart upon her looks of hate. The -Unfortunate had fainted ere the completion of her disgrace: She only -recovered life to be sensible of her misfortune. She remained stretched -upon the earth in silent despair: The tears chased each other slowly -down her cheeks, and her bosom heaved with frequent sobs. Oppressed -with grief, She continued for some time in this state of torpidity. At -length She rose with difficulty, and dragging her feeble steps towards -the door, prepared to quit the dungeon. - -The sound of her footsteps rouzed the Monk from his sullen apathy. -Starting from the Tomb against which He reclined, while his eyes -wandered over the images of corruption contained in it, He pursued the -Victim of his brutality, and soon overtook her. He seized her by the -arm, and violently forced her back into the dungeon. - -'Whither go you?' He cried in a stern voice; 'Return this instant!' - -Antonia trembled at the fury of his countenance. - -'What, would you more?' She said with timidity: 'Is not my ruin -compleated? Am I not undone, undone for ever? Is not your cruelty -contented, or have I yet more to suffer? Let me depart. Let me return -to my home, and weep unrestrained my shame and my affliction!' - -'Return to your home?' repeated the Monk, with bitter and contemptuous -mockery; Then suddenly his eyes flaming with passion, 'What? That you -may denounce me to the world? That you may proclaim me an Hypocrite, a -Ravisher, a Betrayer, a Monster of cruelty, lust, and ingratitude? No, -no, no! I know well the whole weight of my offences; Well that your -complaints would be too just, and my crimes too notorious! You shall -not from hence to tell Madrid that I am a Villain; that my conscience -is loaded with sins which make me despair of Heaven's pardon. Wretched -Girl, you must stay here with me! Here amidst these lonely Tombs, -these images of Death, these rotting loathsome corrupted bodies! Here -shall you stay, and witness my sufferings; witness what it is to die in -the horrors of despondency, and breathe the last groan in blasphemy and -curses! And who am I to thank for this? What seduced me into crimes, -whose bare remembrance makes me shudder? Fatal Witch! was it not thy -beauty? Have you not plunged my soul into infamy? Have you not made -me a perjured Hypocrite, a Ravisher, an Assassin! Nay, at this moment, -does not that angel look bid me despair of God's forgiveness? Oh! when -I stand before his judgment-throne, that look will suffice to damn me! -You will tell my Judge that you were happy, till I saw you; that you -were innocent, till I polluted you! You will come with those tearful -eyes, those cheeks pale and ghastly, those hands lifted in -supplication, as when you sought from me that mercy which I gave not! -Then will my perdition be certain! Then will come your Mother's Ghost, -and hurl me down into the dwellings of Fiends, and flames, and Furies, -and everlasting torments! And 'tis you, who will accuse me! 'Tis you, -who will cause my eternal anguish! You, wretched Girl! You! You!' - -As He thundered out these words, He violently grasped Antonia's arm, -and spurned the earth with delirious fury. - -Supposing his brain to be turned, Antonia sank in terror upon her -knees: She lifted up her hands, and her voice almost died away, ere -She could give it utterance. - -'Spare me! Spare me!' She murmured with difficulty. - -'Silence!' cried the Friar madly, and dashed her upon the ground---- - -He quitted her, and paced the dungeon with a wild and disordered air. -His eyes rolled fearfully: Antonia trembled whenever She met their -gaze. He seemed to meditate on something horrible, and She gave up all -hopes of escaping from the Sepulchre with life. Yet in harbouring this -idea, She did him injustice. Amidst the horror and disgust to which -his soul was a prey, pity for his Victim still held a place in it. The -storm of passion once over, He would have given worlds had He possest -them, to have restored to her that innocence of which his unbridled -lust had deprived her. Of the desires which had urged him to the -crime, no trace was left in his bosom: The wealth of India would not -have tempted him to a second enjoyment of her person. His nature -seemed to revolt at the very idea, and fain would He have wiped from -his memory the scene which had just past. As his gloomy rage abated, -in proportion did his compassion augment for Antonia. He stopped, and -would have spoken to her words of comfort; But He knew not from whence -to draw them, and remained gazing upon her with mournful wildness. Her -situation seemed so hopeless, so woebegone, as to baffle mortal power -to relieve her. What could He do for her? Her peace of mind was lost, -her honour irreparably ruined. She was cut off for ever from society, -nor dared He give her back to it. He was conscious that were She to -appear in the world again, his guilt would be revealed, and his -punishment inevitable. To one so laden with crimes, Death came armed -with double terrors. Yet should He restore Antonia to light, and stand -the chance of her betraying him, how miserable a prospect would present -itself before her. She could never hope to be creditably established; -She would be marked with infamy, and condemned to sorrow and solitude -for the remainder of her existence. What was the alternative? A -resolution far more terrible for Antonia, but which at least would -insure the Abbot's safety. He determined to leave the world persuaded -of her death, and to retain her a captive in this gloomy prison: There -He proposed to visit her every night, to bring her food, to profess his -penitence, and mingle his tears with hers. The Monk felt that this -resolution was unjust and cruel; but it was his only means to prevent -Antonia from publishing his guilt and her own infamy. Should He -release her, He could not depend upon her silence: His offence was too -flagrant to permit his hoping for her forgiveness. Besides, her -reappearing would excite universal curiosity, and the violence of her -affliction would prevent her from concealing its cause. He determined -therefore, that Antonia should remain a Prisoner in the dungeon. - -He approached her with confusion painted on his countenance. He raised -her from the ground. Her hand trembled, as He took it, and He dropped -it again as if He had touched a Serpent. Nature seemed to recoil at -the touch. He felt himself at once repulsed from and attracted towards -her, yet could account for neither sentiment. There was something in -her look which penetrated him with horror; and though his understanding -was still ignorant of it, Conscience pointed out to him the whole -extent of his crime. In hurried accents yet the gentlest He could find, -while his eye was averted, and his voice scarcely audible, He strove to -console her under a misfortune which now could not be avoided. He -declared himself sincerely penitent, and that He would gladly shed a -drop of his blood, for every tear which his barbarity had forced from -her. Wretched and hopeless, Antonia listened to him in silent grief: -But when He announced her confinement in the Sepulchre, that dreadful -doom to which even death seemed preferable roused her from her -insensibility at once. To linger out a life of misery in a narrow -loathsome Cell, known to exist by no human Being save her Ravisher, -surrounded by mouldering Corses, breathing the pestilential air of -corruption, never more to behold the light, or drink the pure gale of -heaven, the idea was more terrible than She could support. It conquered -even her abhorrence of the Friar. Again She sank upon her knees: She -besought his compassion in terms the most pathetic and urgent. She -promised, would He but restore her to liberty, to conceal her injuries -from the world; to assign any reason for her reappearance which He -might judge proper; and in order to prevent the least suspicion from -falling upon him, She offered to quit Madrid immediately. Her -entreaties were so urgent as to make a considerable impression upon the -Monk. He reflected that as her person no longer excited his desires, -He had no interest in keeping her concealed as He had at first -intended; that He was adding a fresh injury to those which She had -already suffered; and that if She adhered to her promises, whether She -was confined or at liberty, his life and reputation were equally -secure. On the other hand, He trembled lest in her affliction Antonia -should unintentionally break her engagement; or that her excessive -simplicity and ignorance of deceit should permit some one more artful -to surprize her secret. However well-founded were these apprehensions, -compassion, and a sincere wish to repair his fault as much as possible -solicited his complying with the prayers of his Suppliant. The -difficulty of colouring Antonia's unexpected return to life, after her -supposed death and public interment, was the only point which kept him -irresolute. He was still pondering on the means of removing this -obstacle, when He heard the sound of feet approaching with -precipitation. The door of the Vault was thrown open, and Matilda -rushed in, evidently much confused and terrified. - -On seeing a Stranger enter, Antonia uttered a cry of joy: But her -hopes of receiving succour from him were soon dissipated. The supposed -Novice, without expressing the least surprize at finding a Woman alone -with the Monk, in so strange a place, and at so late an hour, addressed -him thus without losing a moment. - -'What is to be done, Ambrosio? We are lost, unless some speedy means -is found of dispelling the Rioters. Ambrosio, the Convent of St. Clare -is on fire; The Prioress has fallen a victim to the fury of the Mob. -Already is the Abbey menaced with a similar fate. Alarmed at the -threats of the People, the Monks seek for you everywhere. They imagine -that your authority alone will suffice to calm this disturbance. No -one knows what is become of you, and your absence creates universal -astonishment and despair. I profited by the confusion, and fled hither -to warn you of the danger.' - -'This will soon be remedied,' answered the Abbot; 'I will hasten back -to my Cell: a trivial reason will account for my having been missed.' - -'Impossible!' rejoined Matilda: 'The Sepulchre is filled with Archers. -Lorenzo de Medina, with several Officers of the Inquisition, searches -through the Vaults, and pervades every passage. You will be -intercepted in your flight; Your reasons for being at this late hour in -the Sepulchre will be examined; Antonia will be found, and then you are -undone for ever!' - -'Lorenzo de Medina? Officers of the Inquisition? What brings them -here? Seek they for me? Am I then suspected? Oh! speak, Matilda! -Answer me, in pity!' - -'As yet they do not think of you, but I fear that they will ere long. -Your only chance of escaping their notice rests upon the difficulty of -exploring this Vault. The door is artfully hidden: - -Haply it may not be observed, and we may remain concealed till the -search is over.' - -'But Antonia ..... Should the Inquisitors draw near, and her cries -be heard ....' - -'Thus I remove that danger!' interrupted Matilda. - -At the same time drawing a poignard, She rushed upon her devoted prey. - -'Hold! Hold!' cried Ambrosio, seizing her hand, and wresting from it -the already lifted weapon. 'What would you do, cruel Woman? The -Unfortunate has already suffered but too much, thanks to your -pernicious consels! Would to God that I had never followed them! -Would to God that I had never seen your face!' - -Matilda darted upon him a look of scorn. - -'Absurd!' She exclaimed with an air of passion and majesty which -impressed the Monk with awe. 'After robbing her of all that made it -dear, can you fear to deprive her of a life so miserable? But 'tis -well! Let her live to convince you of your folly. I abandon you to -your evil destiny! I disclaim your alliance! Who trembles to commit -so insignificant a crime, deserves not my protection. Hark! Hark! -Ambrosio; Hear you not the Archers? They come, and your destruction is -inevitable!' - -At this moment the Abbot heard the sound of distant voices. He flew to -close the door on whose concealment his safety depended, and which -Matilda had neglected to fasten. Ere He could reach it, He saw Antonia -glide suddenly by him, rush through the door, and fly towards the noise -with the swiftness of an arrow. She had listened attentively to -Matilda: She heard Lorenzo's name mentioned, and resolved to risque -every thing to throw herself under his protection. The door was open. -The sounds convinced her that the Archers could be at no great -distance. She mustered up her little remaining strength, rushed by the -Monk ere He perceived her design, and bent her course rapidly towards -the voices. As soon as He recovered from his first surprize, the Abbot -failed not to pursue her. In vain did Antonia redouble her speed, and -stretch every nerve to the utmost. Her Enemy gained upon her every -moment: She heard his steps close after her, and felt the heat of his -breath glow upon her neck. He overtook her; He twisted his hand in the -ringlets of her streaming hair, and attempted to drag her back with him -to the dungeon. Antonia resisted with all her strength: She folded -her arms round a Pillar which supported the roof, and shrieked loudly -for assistance. In vain did the Monk strive to threaten her to silence. - -'Help!' She continued to exclaim; 'Help! Help! for God's sake!' - -Quickened by her cries, the sound of footsteps was heard approaching. -The Abbot expected every moment to see the Inquisitors arrive. Antonia -still resisted, and He now enforced her silence by means the most -horrible and inhuman. He still grasped Matilda's dagger: Without -allowing himself a moment's reflection, He raised it, and plunged it -twice in the bosom of Antonia! She shrieked, and sank upon the ground. -The Monk endeavoured to bear her away with him, but She still embraced -the Pillar firmly. At that instant the light of approaching Torches -flashed upon the Walls. Dreading a discovery, Ambrosio was compelled -to abandon his Victim, and hastily fled back to the Vault, where He had -left Matilda. - -He fled not unobserved. Don Ramirez happening to arrive the first, -perceived a Female bleeding upon the ground, and a Man flying from the -spot, whose confusion betrayed him for the Murderer. He instantly -pursued the Fugitive with some part of the Archers, while the Others -remained with Lorenzo to protect the wounded Stranger. They raised her, -and supported her in their arms. She had fainted from excess of pain, -but soon gave signs of returning life. She opened her eyes, and on -lifting up her head, the quantity of fair hair fell back which till -then had obscured her features. - -'God Almighty! It is Antonia!' - -Such was Lorenzo's exclamation, while He snatched her from the -Attendant's arms, and clasped her in his own. - -Though aimed by an uncertain hand, the poignard had answered but too -well the purpose of its Employer. The wounds were mortal, and Antonia -was conscious that She never could recover. Yet the few moments which -remained for her were moments of happiness. The concern exprest upon -Lorenzo's countenance, the frantic fondness of his complaints, and his -earnest enquiries respecting her wounds, convinced her beyond a doubt -that his affections were her own. She would not be removed from the -Vaults, fearing lest motion should only hasten her death; and She was -unwilling to lose those moments which She past in receiving proofs of -Lorenzo's love, and assuring him of her own. She told him that had She -still been undefiled She might have lamented the loss of life; But that -deprived of honour and branded with shame, Death was to her a blessing: -She could not have been his Wife, and that hope being denied her, She -resigned herself to the Grave without one sigh of regret. She bad him -take courage, conjured him not to abandon himself to fruitless sorrow, -and declared that She mourned to leave nothing in the whole world but -him. While every sweet accent increased rather than lightened -Lorenzo's grief, She continued to converse with him till the moment of -dissolution. Her voice grew faint and scarcely audible; A thick cloud -spread itself over her eyes; Her heart beat slow and irregular, and -every instant seemed to announce that her fate was near at hand. - -She lay, her head reclining upon Lorenzo's bosom, and her lips still -murmuring to him words of comfort. She was interrupted by the Convent -Bell, as tolling at a distance, it struck the hour. Suddenly Antonia's -eyes sparkled with celestial brightness: Her frame seemed to have -received new strength and animation. She started from her Lover's arms. - -'Three o'clock!' She cried; 'Mother, I come!' - -She clasped her hands, and sank lifeless upon the ground. Lorenzo in -agony threw himself beside her: He tore his hair, beat his breast, and -refused to be separated from the Corse. At length his force being -exhausted, He suffered himself to be led from the Vault, and was -conveyed to the Palace de Medina scarcely more alive than the -unfortunate Antonia. - -In the meanwhile, though closely pursued, Ambrosio succeeded in -regaining the Vault. The Door was already fastened when Don Ramirez -arrived, and much time elapsed, ere the Fugitive's retreat was -discovered. But nothing can resist perseverance. Though so artfully -concealed, the Door could not escape the vigilance of the Archers. -They forced it open, and entered the Vault to the infinite dismay of -Ambrosio and his Companion. The Monk's confusion, his attempt to hide -himself, his rapid flight, and the blood sprinkled upon his cloaths, -left no room to doubt his being Antonia's Murderer. But when He was -recognized for the immaculate Ambrosio, 'The Man of Holiness,' the Idol -of Madrid, the faculties of the Spectators were chained up in surprize, -and scarcely could they persuade themselves that what they saw was no -vision. The Abbot strove not to vindicate himself, but preserved a -sullen silence. He was secured and bound. The same precaution was -taken with Matilda: Her Cowl being removed, the delicacy of her -features and profusion of her golden hair betrayed her sex, and this -incident created fresh amazement. The dagger was also found in the -Tomb, where the Monk had thrown it; and the dungeon having undergone a -thorough search, the two Culprits were conveyed to the prisons of the -Inquisition. - -Don Ramirez took care that the populace should remain ignorant both of -the crimes and profession of the Captives. He feared a repetition of -the riots which had followed the apprehending the Prioress of St. -Clare. He contented himself with stating to the Capuchins the guilt of -their Superior. To avoid the shame of a public accusation, and -dreading the popular fury from which they had already saved their Abbey -with much difficulty, the Monks readily permitted the Inquisitors to -search their Mansion without noise. No fresh discoveries were made. -The effects found in the Abbot's and Matilda's Cells were seized, and -carried to the Inquisition to be produced in evidence. Every thing -else remained in its former position, and order and tranquillity once -more prevailed through Madrid. - -St. Clare's Convent was completely ruined by the united ravages of the -Mob and conflagration. Nothing remained of it but the principal Walls, -whose thickness and solidity had preserved them from the flames. The -Nuns who had belonged to it were obliged in consequence to disperse -themselves into other Societies: But the prejudice against them ran -high, and the Superiors were very unwilling to admit them. However, -most of them being related to Families the most distinguished for their -riches, birth and power, the several Convents were compelled to receive -them, though they did it with a very ill grace. This prejudice was -extremely false and unjustifiable: After a close investigation, it was -proved that All in the Convent were persuaded of the death of Agnes, -except the four Nuns whom St. Ursula had pointed out. These had fallen -Victims to the popular fury; as had also several who were perfectly -innocent and unconscious of the whole affair. Blinded by resentment, -the Mob had sacrificed every Nun who fell into their hands: They who -escaped were entirely indebted to the Duke de Medina's prudence and -moderation. Of this they were conscious, and felt for that Nobleman a -proper sense of gratitude. - -Virginia was not the most sparing of her thanks: She wished equally to -make a proper return for his attentions, and to obtain the good graces -of Lorenzo's Uncle. In this She easily succeeded. - -The Duke beheld her beauty with wonder and admiration; and while his -eyes were enchanted with her Form, the sweetness of her manners and her -tender concern for the suffering Nun prepossessed his heart in her -favour. This Virginia had discernment enough to perceive, and She -redoubled her attention to the Invalid. When He parted from her at the -door of her Father's Palace, the Duke entreated permission to enquire -occasionally after her health. His request was readily granted: -Virginia assured him that the Marquis de Villa-Franca would be proud of -an opportunity to thank him in person for the protection afforded to -her. They now separated, He enchanted with her beauty and gentleness, -and She much pleased with him and more with his Nephew. - -On entering the Palace, Virginia's first care was to summon the family -Physician, and take care of her unknown charge. Her Mother hastened to -share with her the charitable office. Alarmed by the riots, and -trembling for his Daughter's safety, who was his only child, the -Marquis had flown to St. Clare's Convent, and was still employed in -seeking her. Messengers were now dispatched on all sides to inform him -that He would find her safe at his Hotel, and desire him to hasten -thither immediately. His absence gave Virginia liberty to bestow her -whole attention upon her Patient; and though much disordered herself by -the adventures of the night, no persuasion could induce her to quit the -bedside of the Sufferer. Her constitution being much enfeebled by want -and sorrow, it was some time before the Stranger was restored to her -senses. She found great difficulty in swallowing the medicines -prescribed to her: But this obstacle being removed, She easily -conquered her disease which proceeded from nothing but weakness. The -attention which was paid her, the wholesome food to which She had been -long a Stranger, and her joy at being restored to liberty, to society, -and, as She dared to hope, to Love, all this combined to her speedy -re-establishment. - -From the first moment of knowing her, her melancholy situation, her -sufferings almost unparalleled had engaged the affections of her -amiable Hostess: Virginia felt for her the most lively interest; But -how was She delighted, when her Guest being sufficiently recovered to -relate her History, She recognized in the captive Nun the Sister of -Lorenzo! - -This victim of monastic cruelty was indeed no other than the -unfortunate Agnes. During her abode in the Convent, She had been well -known to Virginia: But her emaciated form, her features altered by -affliction, her death universally credited, and her overgrown and -matted hair which hung over her face and bosom in disorder at first had -prevented her being recollected. The Prioress had put every artifice -in practice to induce Virginia to take the veil; for the Heiress of -Villa-Franca would have been no despicable acquisition. Her seeming -kindness and unremitted attention so far succeeded that her young -Relation began to think seriously upon compliance. Better instructed -in the disgust and ennui of a monastic life, Agnes had penetrated the -designs of the Domina: She trembled for the innocent Girl, and -endeavoured to make her sensible of her error. She painted in their -true colours the numerous inconveniencies attached to a Convent, the -continued restraint, the low jealousies, the petty intrigues, the -servile court and gross flattery expected by the Superior. She then -bad Virginia reflect on the brilliant prospect which presented itself -before her: The Idol of her Parents, the admiration of Madrid, endowed -by nature and education with every perfection of person and mind, She -might look forward to an establishment the most fortunate. Her riches -furnished her with the means of exercising in their fullest extent, -charity and benevolence, those virtues so dear to her; and her stay in -the world would enable her discovering Objects worthy her protection, -which could not be done in the seclusion of a Convent. - -Her persuasions induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the Veil: -But another argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight with her than -all the others put together. She had seen Lorenzo, when He visited his -Sister at the Grate. His Person pleased her, and her conversations -with Agnes generally used to terminate in some question about her -Brother. She, who doted upon Lorenzo, wished for no better than an -opportunity to trumpet out his praise. She spoke of him in terms of -rapture; and to convince her Auditor how just were his sentiments, how -cultivated his mind, and elegant his expressions, She showed her at -different times the letters which She received from him. She soon -perceived that from these communications the heart of her young Friend -had imbibed impressions, which She was far from intending to give, but -was truly happy to discover. She could not have wished her Brother a -more desirable union: Heiress of Villa-Franca, virtuous, affectionate, -beautiful, and accomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him -happy. She sounded her Brother upon the subject, though without -mentioning names or circumstances. He assured her in his answers that -his heart and hand were totally disengaged, and She thought that upon -these grounds She might proceed without danger. She in consequence -endeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her Friend. Lorenzo -was made the constant topic of her discourse; and the avidity with -which her Auditor listened, the sighs which frequently escaped from her -bosom, and the eagerness with which upon any digression She brought -back the conversation to the subject whence it had wandered, sufficed -to convince Agnes that her Brother's addresses would be far from -disagreeable. She at length ventured to mention her wishes to the -Duke: Though a Stranger to the Lady herself, He knew enough of her -situation to think her worthy his Nephew's hand. It was agreed between -him and his Niece, that She should insinuate the idea to Lorenzo, and -She only waited his return to Madrid to propose her Friend to him as -his Bride. The unfortunate events which took place in the interim, -prevented her from executing her design. Virginia wept her loss -sincerely, both as a Companion, and as the only Person to whom She -could speak of Lorenzo. Her passion continued to prey upon her heart -in secret, and She had almost determined to confess her sentiments to -her Mother, when accident once more threw their object in her way. The -sight of him so near her, his politeness, his compassion, his -intrepidity, had combined to give new ardour to her affection. When -She now found her Friend and Advocate restored to her, She looked upon -her as a Gift from Heaven; She ventured to cherish the hope of being -united to Lorenzo, and resolved to use with him his Sister's influence. - -Supposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made the -proposal, the Duke had placed all his Nephew's hints of marriage to -Virginia's account: Consequently, He gave them the most favourable -reception. On returning to his Hotel, the relation given him of -Antonia's death, and Lorenzo's behaviour on the occasion, made evident -his mistake. He lamented the circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being -effectually out of the way, He trusted that his designs would yet be -executed. 'Tis true that Lorenzo's situation just then ill-suited him -for a Bridegroom. His hopes disappointed at the moment when He -expected to realize them, and the dreadful and sudden death of his -Mistress had affected him very severely. The Duke found him upon the -Bed of sickness. His Attendants expressed serious apprehensions for -his life; But the Uncle entertained not the same fears. He was of -opinion, and not unwisely, that 'Men have died, and worms have eat -them; but not for Love!' He therefore flattered himself that however -deep might be the impression made upon his Nephew's heart, Time and -Virginia would be able to efface it. He now hastened to the afflicted -Youth, and endeavoured to console him: He sympathised in his distress, -but encouraged him to resist the encroachments of despair. He allowed -that He could not but feel shocked at an event so terrible, nor could -He blame his sensibility; But He besought him not to torment himself -with vain regrets, and rather to struggle with affliction, and preserve -his life, if not for his own sake, at least for the sake of those who -were fondly attached to him. While He laboured thus to make Lorenzo -forget Antonia's loss, the Duke paid his court assiduously to Virginia, -and seized every opportunity to advance his Nephew's interest in her -heart. - -It may easily be expected that Agnes was not long without enquiring -after Don Raymond. She was shocked to hear the wretched situation to -which grief had reduced him; Yet She could not help exulting secretly, -when She reflected, that his illness proved the sincerity of his love. -The Duke undertook the office himself, of announcing to the Invalid the -happiness which awaited him. Though He omitted no precaution to -prepare him for such an event, at this sudden change from despair to -happiness Raymond's transports were so violent, as nearly to have -proved fatal to him. These once passed, the tranquillity of his mind, -the assurance of felicity, and above all the presence of Agnes, (Who -was no sooner reestablished by the care of Virginia and the -Marchioness, than She hastened to attend her Lover) soon enabled him to -overcome the effects of his late dreadful malady. The calm of his soul -communicated itself to his body, and He recovered with such rapidity as -to create universal surprize. - -No so Lorenzo. Antonia's death accompanied with such terrible -circumstances weighed upon his mind heavily. He was worn down to a -shadow. Nothing could give him pleasure. He was persuaded with -difficulty to swallow nourishment sufficient for the support of life, -and a consumption was apprehended. The society of Agnes formed his -only comfort. Though accident had never permitted their being much -together, He entertained for her a sincere friendship and attachment. -Perceiving how necessary She was to him, She seldom quitted his -chamber. She listened to his complaints with unwearied attention, and -soothed him by the gentleness of her manners, and by sympathising with -his distress. She still inhabited the Palace de Villa-Franca, the -Possessors of which treated her with marked affection. The Duke had -intimated to the Marquis his wishes respecting Virginia. The match was -unexceptionable: Lorenzo was Heir to his Uncle's immense property, and -was distinguished in Madrid for his agreeable person, extensive -knowledge, and propriety of conduct: Add to this, that the Marchioness -had discovered how strong was her Daughter's prepossession in his -favour. - -In consequence the Duke's proposal was accepted without hesitation: -Every precaution was taken to induce Lorenzo's seeing the Lady with -those sentiments which She so well merited to excite. In her visits to -her Brother Agnes was frequently accompanied by the Marchioness; and as -soon as He was able to move into his Antichamber, Virginia under her -mother's protection was sometimes permitted to express her wishes for -his recovery. This She did with such delicacy, the manner in which She -mentioned Antonia was so tender and soothing, and when She lamented her -Rival's melancholy fate, her bright eyes shone so beautiful through her -tears, that Lorenzo could not behold, or listen to her without emotion. -His Relations, as well as the Lady, perceived that with every day her -society seemed to give him fresh pleasure, and that He spoke of her in -terms of stronger admiration. However, they prudently kept their -observations to themselves. No word was dropped which might lead him -to suspect their designs. They continued their former conduct and -attention, and left Time to ripen into a warmer sentiment the -friendship which He already felt for Virginia. - -In the mean while, her visits became more frequent; and latterly there -was scarce a day, of which She did not pass some part by the side of -Lorenzo's Couch. He gradually regained his strength, but the progress -of his recovery was slow and doubtful. One evening He seemed to be in -better spirits than usual: Agnes and her Lover, the Duke, Virginia, -and her Parents were sitting round him. He now for the first time -entreated his Sister to inform him how She had escaped the effects of -the poison which St. Ursula had seen her swallow. Fearful of recalling -those scenes to his mind in which Antonia had perished, She had -hitherto concealed from him the history of her sufferings. As He now -started the subject himself, and thinking that perhaps the narrative of -her sorrows might draw him from the contemplation of those on which He -dwelt too constantly, She immediately complied with his request. The -rest of the company had already heard her story; But the interest which -all present felt for its Heroine made them anxious to hear it repeated. -The whole society seconding Lorenzo's entreaties, Agnes obeyed. She -first recounted the discovery which had taken place in the Abbey -Chapel, the Domina's resentment, and the midnight scene of which St. -Ursula had been a concealed witness. Though the Nun had already -described this latter event, Agnes now related it more circumstantially -and at large: After which She proceeded in her narrative as follows. - - Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina - -My supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies. Those -moments which I believed my last, were embittered by the Domina's -assurances that I could not escape perdition; and as my eyes closed, I -heard her rage exhale itself in curses on my offence. The horror of -this situation, of a death-bed from which hope was banished, of a sleep -from which I was only to wake to find myself the prey of flames and -Furies, was more dreadful than I can describe. When animation revived -in me, my soul was still impressed with these terrible ideas: I looked -round with fear, expecting to behold the Ministers of divine vengeance. -For the first hour, my senses were so bewildered, and my brain so -dizzy, that I strove in vain to arrange the strange images which -floated in wild confusion before me. If I endeavoured to raise myself -from the ground, the wandering of my head deceived me. Every thing -around me seemed to rock, and I sank once more upon the earth. My weak -and dazzled eyes were unable to bear a nearer approach to a gleam of -light which I saw trembling above me. I was compelled to close them -again, and remain motionless in the same posture. - -A full hour elapsed, before I was sufficiently myself to examine the -surrounding Objects. When I did examine them, what terror filled my -bosom I found myself extended upon a sort of wicker Couch: It had six -handles to it, which doubtless had served the Nuns to convey me to my -grave. I was covered with a linen cloth: - -Several faded flowers were strown over me: On one side lay a small -wooden Crucifix; On the other, a Rosary of large Beads. Four low narrow -walls confined me. The top was also covered, and in it was practised a -small grated Door: Through this was admitted the little air which -circulated in this miserable place. A faint glimmering of light which -streamed through the Bars, permitted me to distinguish the surrounding -horrors. I was opprest by a noisome suffocating smell; and perceiving -that the grated door was unfastened, I thought that I might possibly -effect my escape. As I raised myself with this design, my hand rested -upon something soft: I grasped it, and advanced it towards the light. -Almighty God! What was my disgust, my consternation! In spite of its -putridity, and the worms which preyed upon it, I perceived a corrupted -human head, and recognised the features of a Nun who had died some -months before! - -I threw it from me, and sank almost lifeless upon my Bier. - -When my strength returned, this circumstance, and the consciousness of -being surrounded by the loathsome and mouldering Bodies of my -Companions, increased my desire to escape from my fearful prison. I -again moved towards the light. The grated door was within my reach: I -lifted it without difficulty; Probably it had been left unclosed to -facilitate my quitting the dungeon. Aiding myself by the irregularity -of the Walls some of whose stones projected beyond the rest, I -contrived to ascend them, and drag myself out of my prison. I now -found Myself in a Vault tolerably spacious. Several Tombs, similar in -appearance to that whence I had just escaped, were ranged along the -sides in order, and seemed to be considerably sunk within the earth. A -sepulchral Lamp was suspended from the roof by an iron chain, and shed -a gloomy light through the dungeon. Emblems of Death were seen on -every side: Skulls, shoulder-blades, thigh-bones, and other leavings -of Mortality were scattered upon the dewy ground. Each Tomb was -ornamented with a large Crucifix, and in one corner stood a wooden -Statue of St. Clare. To these objects I at first paid no attention: A -Door, the only outlet from the Vault, had attracted my eyes. I -hastened towards it, having wrapped my winding-sheet closely round me. -I pushed against the door, and to my inexpressible terror found that it -was fastened on the outside. - -I guessed immediately that the Prioress, mistaking the nature of the -liquor which She had compelled me to drink, instead of poison had -administered a strong Opiate. From this I concluded that being to all -appearance dead I had received the rites of burial; and that deprived -of the power of making my existence known, it would be my fate to -expire of hunger. This idea penetrated me with horror, not merely for -my own sake, but that of the innocent Creature, who still lived within -my bosom. I again endeavoured to open the door, but it resisted all my -efforts. I stretched my voice to the extent of its compass, and -shrieked for aid: I was remote from the hearing of every one: No -friendly voice replied to mine. A profound and melancholy silence -prevailed through the Vault, and I despaired of liberty. My long -abstinence from food now began to torment me. The tortures which -hunger inflicted on me, were the most painful and insupportable: Yet -they seemed to increase with every hour which past over my head. -Sometimes I threw myself upon the ground, and rolled upon it wild and -desperate: Sometimes starting up, I returned to the door, again strove -to force it open, and repeated my fruitless cries for succour. Often -was I on the point of striking my temple against the sharp corner of -some Monument, dashing out my brains, and thus terminating my woes at -once; But still the remembrance of my Baby vanquished my resolution: I -trembled at a deed which equally endangered my Child's existence and my -own. Then would I vent my anguish in loud exclamations and passionate -complaints; and then again my strength failing me, silent and hopeless -I would sit me down upon the base of St. Clare's Statue, fold my arms, -and abandon myself to sullen despair. Thus passed several wretched -hours. Death advanced towards me with rapid strides, and I expected -that every succeeding moment would be that of my dissolution. Suddenly -a neighbouring Tomb caught my eye: A Basket stood upon it, which till -then I had not observed. I started from my seat: I made towards it as -swiftly as my exhausted frame would permit. How eagerly did I seize -the Basket, on finding it to contain a loaf of coarse bread and a small -bottle of water. - -I threw myself with avidity upon these humble aliments. They had to all -appearance been placed in the Vault for several days; The bread was -hard, and the water tainted; Yet never did I taste food to me so -delicious. When the cravings of appetite were satisfied, I busied -myself with conjectures upon this new circumstance: I debated whether -the Basket had been placed there with a view to my necessity. Hope -answered my doubts in the affirmative. Yet who could guess me to be in -need of such assistance? If my existence was known, why was I detained -in this gloomy Vault? If I was kept a Prisoner, what meant the -ceremony of committing me to the Tomb? Or if I was doomed to perish -with hunger, to whose pity was I indebted for provisions placed within -my reach? A Friend would not have kept my dreadful punishment a -secret; Neither did it seem probable that an Enemy would have taken -pains to supply me with the means of existence. Upon the whole I was -inclined to think that the Domina's designs upon my life had been -discovered by some one of my Partizans in the Convent, who had found -means to substitute an opiate for poison: That She had furnished me -with food to support me, till She could effect my delivery: And that -She was then employed in giving intelligence to my Relations of my -danger, and pointing out a way to release me from captivity. Yet why -then was the quality of my provisions so coarse? How could my Friend -have entered the Vault without the Domina's knowledge? And if She had -entered, why was the Door fastened so carefully? These reflections -staggered me: Yet still this idea was the most favourable to my hopes, -and I dwelt upon it in preference. - -My meditations were interrupted by the sound of distant footsteps. -They approached, but slowly. Rays of light now darted through the -crevices of the Door. Uncertain whether the Persons who advanced came -to relieve me, or were conducted by some other motive to the Vault, I -failed not to attract their notice by loud cries for help. Still the -sounds drew near: The light grew stronger: At length with -inexpressible pleasure I heard the Key turning in the Lock. Persuaded -that my deliverance was at hand, I flew towards the Door with a shriek -of joy. It opened: But all my hopes of escape died away, when the -Prioress appeared followed by the same four Nuns, who had been -witnesses of my supposed death. They bore torches in their hands, and -gazed upon me in fearful silence. - -I started back in terror. The Domina descended into the Vault, as did -also her Companions. She bent upon me a stern resentful eye, but -expressed no surprize at finding me still living. She took the seat -which I had just quitted: The door was again closed, and the Nuns -ranged themselves behind their Superior, while the glare of their -torches, dimmed by the vapours and dampness of the Vault, gilded with -cold beams the surrounding Monuments. For some moments all preserved a -dead and solemn silence. I stood at some distance from the Prioress. -At length She beckoned me to advance. Trembling at the severity of her -aspect my strength scarce sufficed me to obey her. I drew near, but my -limbs were unable to support their burthen. I sank upon my knees; I -clasped my hands, and lifted them up to her for mercy, but had no power -to articulate a syllable. - -She gazed upon me with angry eyes. - -'Do I see a Penitent, or a Criminal?' She said at length; 'Are those -hands raised in contrition for your crimes, or in fear of meeting their -punishment? Do those tears acknowledge the justice of your doom, or -only solicit mitigation of your sufferings? I fear me, 'tis the -latter!' - -She paused, but kept her eye still fixt upon mine. - -'Take courage;' She continued: 'I wish not for your death, but your -repentance. The draught which I administered, was no poison, but an -opiate. My intention in deceiving you was to make you feel the agonies -of a guilty conscience, had Death overtaken you suddenly while your -crimes were still unrepented. You have suffered those agonies: I have -brought you to be familiar with the sharpness of death, and I trust -that your momentary anguish will prove to you an eternal benefit. It -is not my design to destroy your immortal soul; or bid you seek the -grave, burthened with the weight of sins unexpiated. No, Daughter, far -from it: I will purify you with wholesome chastisement, and furnish -you with full leisure for contrition and remorse. Hear then my -sentence; The ill-judged zeal of your Friends delayed its execution, -but cannot now prevent it. All Madrid believes you to be no more; Your -Relations are thoroughly persuaded of your death, and the Nuns your -Partizans have assisted at your funeral. Your existence can never be -suspected; I have taken such precautions, as must render it an -impenetrable mystery. Then abandon all thoughts of a World from which -you are eternally separated, and employ the few hours which are allowed -you, in preparing for the next.' - -This exordium led me to expect something terrible. I trembled, and -would have spoken to deprecate her wrath: but a motion of the Domina -commanded me to be silent. She proceeded. - -'Though of late years unjustly neglected, and now opposed by many of -our misguided Sisters, (whom Heaven convert!) it is my intention to -revive the laws of our order in their full force. That against -incontinence is severe, but no more than so monstrous an offence -demands: Submit to it, Daughter, without resistance; You will find the -benefit of patience and resignation in a better life than this. Listen -then to the sentence of St. Clare. Beneath these Vaults there exist -Prisons, intended to receive such criminals as yourself: Artfully is -their entrance concealed, and She who enters them, must resign all -hopes of liberty. Thither must you now be conveyed. Food shall be -supplied you, but not sufficient for the indulgence of appetite: You -shall have just enough to keep together body and soul, and its quality -shall be the simplest and coarsest. Weep, Daughter, weep, and moisten -your bread with your tears: God knows that you have ample cause for -sorrow! Chained down in one of these secret dungeons, shut out from -the world and light for ever, with no comfort but religion, no society -but repentance, thus must you groan away the remainder of your days. -Such are St. Clare's orders; Submit to them without repining. Follow -me!' - -Thunderstruck at this barbarous decree, my little remaining strength -abandoned me. I answered only by falling at her feet, and bathing them -with tears. The Domina, unmoved by my affliction, rose from her seat -with a stately air. She repeated her commands in an absolute tone: -But my excessive faintness made me unable to obey her. Mariana and -Alix raised me from the ground, and carried me forwards in their arms. -The Prioress moved on, leaning upon Violante, and Camilla preceded her -with a Torch. Thus passed our sad procession along the passages, in -silence only broken by my sighs and groans. We stopped before the -principal shrine of St. Clare. The Statue was removed from its -Pedestal, though how I knew not. The Nuns afterwards raised an iron -grate till then concealed by the Image, and let it fall on the other -side with a loud crash. The awful sound, repeated by the vaults above, -and Caverns below me, rouzed me from the despondent apathy in which I -had been plunged. I looked before me: An abyss presented itself to my -affrighted eyes, and a steep and narrow Staircase, whither my -Conductors were leading me. I shrieked, and started back. I implored -compassion, rent the air with my cries, and summoned both heaven and -earth to my assistance. In vain! I was hurried down the Staircase, and -forced into one of the Cells which lined the Cavern's sides. - -My blood ran cold, as I gazed upon this melancholy abode. The cold -vapours hovering in the air, the walls green with damp, the bed of -Straw so forlorn and comfortless, the Chain destined to bind me for -ever to my prison, and the Reptiles of every description which as the -torches advanced towards them, I descried hurrying to their retreats, -struck my heart with terrors almost too exquisite for nature to bear. -Driven by despair to madness, I burst suddenly from the Nuns who held -me: I threw myself upon my knees before the Prioress, and besought her -mercy in the most passionate and frantic terms. - -'If not on me,' said I, 'look at least with pity on that innocent -Being, whose life is attached to mine! Great is my crime, but let not -my Child suffer for it! My Baby has committed no fault: Oh! spare me -for the sake of my unborn Offspring, whom ere it tastes life your -severity dooms to destruction!' - -The Prioress drew back haughtily: She forced her habit from my grasp, -as if my touch had been contagious. - -'What?' She exclaimed with an exasperated air; 'What? Dare you plead -for the produce of your shame? Shall a Creature be permitted to live, -conceived in guilt so monstrous? Abandoned Woman, speak for him no -more! Better that the Wretch should perish than live: Begotten in -perjury, incontinence, and pollution, It cannot fail to prove a Prodigy -of vice. Hear me, thou Guilty! Expect no mercy from me either for -yourself, or Brat. Rather pray that Death may seize you before you -produce it; Or if it must see the light, that its eyes may immediately -be closed again for ever! No aid shall be given you in your labour; -Bring your Offspring into the world yourself, Feed it yourself, Nurse -it yourself, Bury it yourself: God grant that the latter may happen -soon, lest you receive comfort from the fruit of your iniquity!' - -This inhuman speech, the threats which it contained, the dreadful -sufferings foretold to me by the Domina, and her prayers for my -Infant's death, on whom though unborn I already doated, were more than -my exhausted frame could support. Uttering a deep groan, I fell -senseless at the feet of my unrelenting Enemy. I know not how long I -remained in this situation; But I imagine that some time must have -elapsed before my recovery, since it sufficed the Prioress and her Nuns -to quit the Cavern. When my senses returned, I found myself in silence -and solitude. I heard not even the retiring footsteps of my -Persecutors. All was hushed, and all was dreadful! I had been thrown -upon the bed of Straw: The heavy Chain which I had already eyed with -terror, was wound around my waist, and fastened me to the Wall. A Lamp -glimmering with dull, melancholy rays through my dungeon, permitted my -distinguishing all its horrors: It was separated from the Cavern by a -low and irregular Wall of Stone: A large Chasm was left open in it -which formed the entrance, for door there was none. A leaden Crucifix -was in front of my straw Couch. A tattered rug lay near me, as did -also a Chaplet of Beads; and not far from me stood a pitcher of water, -and a wicker Basket containing a small loaf, and a bottle of oil to -supply my Lamp. - -With a despondent eye did I examine this scene of suffering: When I -reflected that I was doomed to pass in it the remainder of my days, my -heart was rent with bitter anguish. I had once been taught to look -forward to a lot so different! At one time my prospects had appeared -so bright, so flattering! Now all was lost to me. Friends, comfort, -society, happiness, in one moment I was deprived of all! Dead to the -world, Dead to pleasure, I lived to nothing but the sense of misery. -How fair did that world seem to me, from which I was for ever excluded! -How many loved objects did it contain, whom I never should behold -again! As I threw a look of terror round my prison, as I shrunk from -the cutting wind which howled through my subterraneous dwelling, the -change seemed so striking, so abrupt, that I doubted its reality. - -That the Duke de Medina's Niece, that the destined Bride of the Marquis -de las Cisternas, One bred up in affluence, related to the noblest -families in Spain, and rich in a multitude of affectionate Friends, -that She should in one moment become a Captive, separated from the -world for ever, weighed down with chains, and reduced to support life -with the coarsest aliments, appeared a change so sudden and incredible, -that I believed myself the sport of some frightful vision. Its -continuance convinced me of my mistake with but too much certainty. -Every morning my hopes were disappointed. At length I abandoned all -idea of escaping: I resigned myself to my fate, and only expected -Liberty when She came the Companion of Death. - -My mental anguish, and the dreadful scenes in which I had been an -Actress, advanced the period of my labour. In solitude and misery, -abandoned by all, unassisted by Art, uncomforted by Friendship, with -pangs which if witnessed would have touched the hardest heart, was I -delivered of my wretched burthen. It came alive into the world; But I -knew not how to treat it, or by what means to preserve its existence. -I could only bathe it with tears, warm it in my bosom, and offer up -prayers for its safety. I was soon deprived of this mournful -employment: The want of proper attendance, my ignorance how to nurse -it, the bitter cold of the dungeon, and the unwholesome air which -inflated its lungs, terminated my sweet Babe's short and painful -existence. It expired in a few hours after its birth, and I witnessed -its death with agonies which beggar all description. - -But my grief was unavailing. My Infant was no more; nor could all my -sighs impart to its little tender frame the breath of a moment. I rent -my winding-sheet, and wrapped in it my lovely Child. I placed it on my -bosom, its soft arm folded round my neck, and its pale cold cheek -resting upon mine. Thus did its lifeless limbs repose, while I covered -it with kisses, talked to it, wept, and moaned over it without -remission, day or night. Camilla entered my prison regularly once every -twenty-four hours, to bring me food. In spite of her flinty nature, -She could not behold this spectacle unmoved. She feared that grief so -excessive would at length turn my brain, and in truth I was not always -in my proper senses. From a principle of compassion She urged me to -permit the Corse to be buried: But to this I never would consent. I -vowed not to part with it while I had life: Its presence was my only -comfort, and no persuasion could induce me to give it up. It soon -became a mass of putridity, and to every eye was a loathsome and -disgusting Object; To every eye but a Mother's. In vain did human -feelings bid me recoil from this emblem of mortality with repugnance: -I withstood, and vanquished that repugnance. I persisted in holding my -Infant to my bosom, in lamenting it, loving it, adoring it! Hour after -hour have I passed upon my sorry Couch, contemplating what had once -been my Child: I endeavoured to retrace its features through the livid -corruption, with which they were overspread: During my confinement this -sad occupation was my only delight; and at that time Worlds should not -have bribed me to give it up. Even when released from my prison, I -brought away my Child in my arms. The representations of my two kind -Friends,"--(Here She took the hands of the Marchioness and Virginia, -and pressed them alternately to her lips)--"at length persuaded me to -resign my unhappy Infant to the Grave. Yet I parted from it with -reluctance: However, reason at length prevailed; I suffered it to be -taken from me, and it now reposes in consecrated ground. - -I before mentioned that regularly once a day Camilla brought me food. -She sought not to embitter my sorrows with reproach: She bad me, 'tis -true, resign all hopes of liberty and worldly happiness; But She -encouraged me to bear with patience my temporary distress, and advised -me to draw comfort from religion. - -My situation evidently affected her more than She ventured to express: -But She believed that to extenuate my fault would make me less anxious -to repent it. Often while her lips painted the enormity of my guilt in -glaring colours, her eyes betrayed, how sensible She was to my -sufferings. In fact I am certain that none of my Tormentors, (for the -three other Nuns entered my prison occasionally) were so much actuated -by the spirit of oppressive cruelty as by the idea that to afflict my -body was the only way to preserve my soul. Nay, even this persuasion -might not have had such weight with them, and they might have thought -my punishment too severe, had not their good dispositions been represt -by blind obedience to their Superior. Her resentment existed in full -force. My project of elopement having been discovered by the Abbot of -the Capuchins, She supposed herself lowered in his opinion by my -disgrace, and in consequence her hate was inveterate. She told the -Nuns to whose custody I was committed that my fault was of the most -heinous nature, that no sufferings could equal the offence, and that -nothing could save me from eternal perdition but punishing my guilt -with the utmost severity. The Superior's word is an oracle to but too -many of a Convent's Inhabitants. The Nuns believed whatever the -Prioress chose to assert: Though contradicted by reason and charity, -they hesitated not to admit the truth of her arguments. They followed -her injunctions to the very letter, and were fully persuaded that to -treat me with lenity, or to show the least pity for my woes, would be a -direct means to destroy my chance for salvation. - -Camilla, being most employed about me, was particularly charged by the -Prioress to treat me with harshness. In compliance with these orders, -She frequently strove to convince me, how just was my punishment, and -how enormous was my crime: She bad me think myself too happy in saving -my soul by mortifying my body, and even threatened me sometimes with -eternal perdition. Yet as I before observed, She always concluded by -words of encouragement and comfort; and though uttered by Camilla's -lips, I easily recognised the Domina's expressions. Once, and once -only, the Prioress visited me in my dungeon. She then treated me with -the most unrelenting cruelty: She loaded me with reproaches, taunted -me with my frailty, and when I implored her mercy, told me to ask it of -heaven, since I deserved none on earth. She even gazed upon my -lifeless Infant without emotion; and when She left me, I heard her -charge Camilla to increase the hardships of my Captivity. Unfeeling -Woman! But let me check my resentment: She has expiated her errors by -her sad and unexpected death. Peace be with her; and may her crimes be -forgiven in heaven, as I forgive her my sufferings on earth! - -Thus did I drag on a miserable existence. Far from growing familiar -with my prison, I beheld it every moment with new horror. The cold -seemed more piercing and bitter, the air more thick and pestilential. -My frame became weak, feverish, and emaciated. I was unable to rise -from the bed of Straw, and exercise my limbs in the narrow limits, to -which the length of my chain permitted me to move. Though exhausted, -faint, and weary, I trembled to profit by the approach of Sleep: My -slumbers were constantly interrupted by some obnoxious Insect crawling -over me. - -Sometimes I felt the bloated Toad, hideous and pampered with the -poisonous vapours of the dungeon, dragging his loathsome length along -my bosom: Sometimes the quick cold Lizard rouzed me leaving his slimy -track upon my face, and entangling itself in the tresses of my wild and -matted hair: Often have I at waking found my fingers ringed with the -long worms which bred in the corrupted flesh of my Infant. At such -times I shrieked with terror and disgust, and while I shook off the -reptile, trembled with all a Woman's weakness. - -Such was my situation, when Camilla was suddenly taken ill. A -dangerous fever, supposed to be infectious, confined her to her bed. -Every one except the Lay-Sister appointed to nurse her, avoided her -with caution, and feared to catch the disease. She was perfectly -delirious, and by no means capable of attending to me. The Domina and -the Nuns admitted to the mystery, had latterly given me over entirely -to Camilla's care: In consequence, they busied themselves no more -about me; and occupied by preparing for the approaching Festival, it is -more than probable that I never once entered into their thoughts. Of -the reason of Camilla's negligence, I have been informed since my -release by the Mother St. Ursula; At that time I was very far from -suspecting its cause. On the contrary, I waited for my Gaoler's -appearance at first with impatience, and afterwards with despair. One -day passed away; Another followed it; The Third arrived. Still no -Camilla! Still no food! I knew the lapse of time by the wasting of my -Lamp, to supply which fortunately a week's supply of Oil had been left -me. I supposed, either that the Nuns had forgotten me, or that the -Domina had ordered them to let me perish. The latter idea seemed the -most probable; Yet so natural is the love of life, that I trembled to -find it true. Though embittered by every species of misery, my -existence was still dear to me, and I dreaded to lose it. Every -succeeding minute proved to me that I must abandon all hopes of relief. -I was become an absolute skeleton: My eyes already failed me, and my -limbs were beginning to stiffen. I could only express my anguish, and -the pangs of that hunger which gnawed my heart-strings, by frequent -groans, whose melancholy sound the vaulted roof of the dungeon -re-echoed. I resigned myself to my fate: I already expected the -moment of dissolution, when my Guardian Angel, when my beloved Brother -arrived in time to save me. My sight grown dim and feeble at first -refused to recognize him; and when I did distinguish his features, the -sudden burst of rapture was too much for me to bear. I was overpowered -by the swell of joy at once more beholding a Friend, and that a Friend -so dear to me. Nature could not support my emotions, and took her -refuge in insensibility. - -You already know, what are my obligations to the Family of -Villa-Franca: But what you cannot know is the extent of my gratitude, -boundless as the excellence of my Benefactors. Lorenzo! Raymond! -Names so dear to me! Teach me to bear with fortitude this sudden -transition from misery to bliss. So lately a Captive, opprest with -chains, perishing with hunger, suffering every inconvenience of cold -and want, hidden from the light, excluded from society, hopeless, -neglected, and as I feared, forgotten; Now restored to life and -liberty, enjoying all the comforts of affluence and ease, surrounded by -those who are most loved by me, and on the point of becoming his Bride -who has long been wedded to my heart, my happiness is so exquisite, so -perfect, that scarcely can my brain sustain the weight. One only wish -remains ungratified: It is to see my Brother in his former health, and -to know that Antonia's memory is buried in her grave. - -Granted this prayer, I have nothing more to desire. I trust, that my -past sufferings have purchased from heaven the pardon of my momentary -weakness. That I have offended, offended greatly and grievously, I am -fully conscious; But let not my Husband, because He once conquered my -virtue, doubt the propriety of my future conduct. I have been frail -and full of error: But I yielded not to the warmth of constitution; -Raymond, affection for you betrayed me. I was too confident of my -strength; But I depended no less on your honour than my own. I had -vowed never to see you more: Had it not been for the consequences of -that unguarded moment, my resolution had been kept. Fate willed it -otherwise, and I cannot but rejoice at its decree. Still my conduct -has been highly blameable, and while I attempt to justify myself, I -blush at recollecting my imprudence. Let me then dismiss the -ungrateful subject; First assuring you, Raymond, that you shall have no -cause to repent our union, and that the more culpable have been the -errors of your Mistress, the more exemplary shall be the conduct of -your Wife. - -Here Agnes ceased, and the Marquis replied to her address in terms -equally sincere and affectionate. Lorenzo expressed his satisfaction at -the prospect of being so closely connected with a Man for whom He had -ever entertained the highest esteem. The Pope's Bull had fully and -effectually released Agnes from her religious engagements: The -marriage was therefore celebrated as soon as the needful preparations -had been made, for the Marquis wished to have the ceremony performed -with all possible splendour and publicity. This being over, and the -Bride having received the compliments of Madrid, She departed with Don -Raymond for his Castle in Andalusia: Lorenzo accompanied them, as did -also the Marchioness de Villa-Franca and her lovely Daughter. It is -needless to say that Theodore was of the party, and would be impossible -to describe his joy at his Master's marriage. Previous to his -departure, the Marquis, to atone in some measure for his past neglect, -made some enquiries relative to Elvira. Finding that She as well as her -Daughter had received many services from Leonella and Jacintha, He -showed his respect to the memory of his Sister-in-law by making the two -Women handsome presents. Lorenzo followed his example--Leonella was -highly flattered by the attentions of Noblemen so distinguished, and -Jacintha blessed the hour on which her House was bewitched. - -On her side, Agnes failed not to reward her Convent Friends. The worthy -Mother St. Ursula, to whom She owed her liberty, was named at her -request Superintendent of 'The Ladies of Charity:' This was one of the -best and most opulent Societies throughout Spain. Bertha and Cornelia -not choosing to quit their Friend, were appointed to principal charges -in the same establishment. As to the Nuns who had aided the Domina in -persecuting Agnes, Camilla being confined by illness to her bed, had -perished in the flames which consumed St. Clare's Convent. Mariana, -Alix, and Violante, as well as two more, had fallen victims to the -popular rage. The three Others who in Council had supported the -Domina's sentence, were severely reprimanded, and banished to religious -Houses in obscure and distant Provinces: Here they languished away a -few years, ashamed of their former weakness, and shunned by their -Companions with aversion and contempt. - -Nor was the fidelity of Flora permitted to go unrewarded. Her wishes -being consulted, She declared herself impatient to revisit her native -land. In consequence, a passage was procured for her to Cuba, where -She arrived in safety, loaded with the presents of Raymond and Lorenzo. - -The debts of gratitude discharged, Agnes was at liberty to pursue her -favourite plan. Lodged in the same House, Lorenzo and Virginia were -eternally together. The more He saw of her, the more was He convinced -of her merit. On her part, She laid herself out to please, and not to -succeed was for her impossible. - -Lorenzo witnessed with admiration her beautiful person, elegant -manners, innumerable talents, and sweet disposition: He was also much -flattered by her prejudice in his favour, which She had not sufficient -art to conceal. However, his sentiments partook not of that ardent -character which had marked his affection for Antonia. The image of -that lovely and unfortunate Girl still lived in his heart, and baffled -all Virginia's efforts to displace it. Still when the Duke proposed to -him the match, which He wished to earnestly to take place, his Nephew -did not reject the offer. The urgent supplications of his Friends, and -the Lady's merit conquered his repugnance to entering into new -engagements. He proposed himself to the Marquis de Villa-Franca, and -was accepted with joy and gratitude. Virginia became his Wife, nor did -She ever give him cause to repent his choice. His esteem increased for -her daily. Her unremitted endeavours to please him could not but -succeed. His affection assumed stronger and warmer colours. Antonia's -image was gradually effaced from his bosom; and Virginia became sole -Mistress of that heart, which She well deserved to possess without a -Partner. - -The remaining years of Raymond and Agnes, of Lorenzo and Virginia, were -happy as can be those allotted to Mortals, born to be the prey of -grief, and sport of disappointment. The exquisite sorrows with which -they had been afflicted, made them think lightly of every succeeding -woe. They had felt the sharpest darts in misfortune's quiver; Those -which remained appeared blunt in comparison. Having weathered Fate's -heaviest Storms, they looked calmly upon its terrors: or if ever they -felt Affliction's casual gales, they seemed to them gentle as Zephyrs -which breathe over summer-seas. - - - -CHAPTER V - - ----He was a fell despightful Fiend: - Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below: - By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened; - Of Man alike, if good or bad the Foe. - Thomson. - -On the day following Antonia's death, all Madrid was a scene of -consternation and amazement. An Archer who had witnessed the adventure -in the Sepulchre had indiscreetly related the circumstances of the -murder: He had also named the Perpetrator. The confusion was without -example which this intelligence raised among the Devotees. Most of -them disbelieved it, and went themselves to the Abbey to ascertain the -fact. Anxious to avoid the shame to which their Superior's ill-conduct -exposed the whole Brotherhood, the Monks assured the Visitors that -Ambrosio was prevented from receiving them as usual by nothing but -illness. This attempt was unsuccessful: The same excuse being repeated -day after day, the Archer's story gradually obtained confidence. His -Partizans abandoned him: No one entertained a doubt of his guilt; and -they who before had been the warmest in his praise were now the most -vociferous in his condemnation. - -While his innocence or guilt was debated in Madrid with the utmost -acrimony, Ambrosio was a prey to the pangs of conscious villainy, and -the terrors of punishment impending over him. When He looked back to -the eminence on which He had lately stood, universally honoured and -respected, at peace with the world and with himself, scarcely could He -believe that He was indeed the culprit whose crimes and whose fate He -trembled to envisage. But a few weeks had elapsed, since He was pure -and virtuous, courted by the wisest and noblest in Madrid, and regarded -by the People with a reverence that approached idolatry: He now saw -himself stained with the most loathed and monstrous sins, the object of -universal execration, a Prisoner of the Holy Office, and probably -doomed to perish in tortures the most severe. He could not hope to -deceive his Judges: The proofs of his guilt were too strong. His -being in the Sepulchre at so late an hour, his confusion at the -discovery, the dagger which in his first alarm He owned had been -concealed by him, and the blood which had spirted upon his habit from -Antonia's wound, sufficiently marked him out for the Assassin. He -waited with agony for the day of examination: He had no resource to -comfort him in his distress. Religion could not inspire him with -fortitude: If He read the Books of morality which were put into his -hands, He saw in them nothing but the enormity of his offences; If he -attempted to pray, He recollected that He deserved not heaven's -protection, and believed his crimes so monstrous as to baffle even -God's infinite goodness. For every other Sinner He thought there might -be hope, but for him there could be none. Shuddering at the past, -anguished by the present, and dreading the future, thus passed He the -few days preceding that which was marked for his Trial. - -That day arrived. At nine in the morning his prison door was unlocked, -and his Gaoler entering, commanded him to follow him. He obeyed with -trembling. He was conducted into a spacious Hall, hung with black -cloth. At the Table sat three grave, stern-looking Men, also habited in -black: One was the Grand Inquisitor, whom the importance of this cause -had induced to examine into it himself. At a smaller table at a little -distance sat the Secretary, provided with all necessary implements for -writing. Ambrosio was beckoned to advance, and take his station at the -lower end of the Table. As his eye glanced downwards, He perceived -various iron instruments lying scattered upon the floor. Their forms -were unknown to him, but apprehension immediately guessed them to be -engines of torture. He turned pale, and with difficulty prevented -himself from sinking upon the ground. - -Profound silence prevailed, except when the Inquisitors whispered a few -words among themselves mysteriously. Near an hour past away, and with -every second of it Ambrosio's fears grew more poignant. At length a -small Door, opposite to that by which He had entered the Hall, grated -heavily upon its hinges. An Officer appeared, and was immediately -followed by the beautiful Matilda. Her hair hung about her face wildly; -Her cheeks were pale, and her eyes sunk and hollow. She threw a -melancholy look upon Ambrosio: He replied by one of aversion and -reproach. She was placed opposite to him. A Bell then sounded thrice. -It was the signal for opening the Court, and the Inquisitors entered -upon their office. - -In these trials neither the accusation is mentioned, or the name of the -Accuser. The Prisoners are only asked, whether they will confess: If -they reply that having no crime they can make no confession, they are -put to the torture without delay. This is repeated at intervals, -either till the suspected avow themselves culpable, or the perseverance -of the examinants is worn out and exhausted: But without a direct -acknowledgment of their guilt, the Inquisition never pronounces the -final doom of its Prisoners. - -In general much time is suffered to elapse without their being -questioned: But Ambrosio's trial had been hastened, on account of a -solemn Auto da Fe which would take place in a few days, and in which -the Inquisitors meant this distinguished Culprit to perform a part, and -give a striking testimony of their vigilance. - -The Abbot was not merely accused of rape and murder: The crime of -Sorcery was laid to his charge, as well as to Matilda's. She had been -seized as an Accomplice in Antonia's assassination. On searching her -Cell, various suspicious books and instruments were found which -justified the accusation brought against her. To criminate the Monk, -the constellated Mirror was produced, which Matilda had accidentally -left in his chamber. The strange figures engraved upon it caught the -attention of Don Ramirez, while searching the Abbot's Cell: In -consequence, He carried it away with him. It was shown to the Grand -Inquisitor, who having considered it for some time, took off a small -golden Cross which hung at his girdle, and laid it upon the Mirror. -Instantly a loud noise was heard, resembling a clap of thunder, and the -steel shivered into a thousand pieces. This circumstance confirmed the -suspicion of the Monk's having dealt in Magic: It was even supposed -that his former influence over the minds of the People was entirely to -be ascribed to witchcraft. - -Determined to make him confess not only the crimes which He had -committed, but those also of which He was innocent, the Inquisitors -began their examination. Though dreading the tortures, as He dreaded -death still more which would consign him to eternal torments, the Abbot -asserted his purity in a voice bold and resolute. Matilda followed his -example, but spoke with fear and trembling. Having in vain exhorted -him to confess, the Inquisitors ordered the Monk to be put to the -question. The Decree was immediately executed. Ambrosio suffered the -most excruciating pangs that ever were invented by human cruelty: Yet -so dreadful is Death when guilt accompanies it, that He had sufficient -fortitude to persist in his disavowal. His agonies were redoubled in -consequence: Nor was He released till fainting from excess of pain, -insensibility rescued him from the hands of his Tormentors. - -Matilda was next ordered to the torture: But terrified by the sight of -the Friar's sufferings, her courage totally deserted her. She sank -upon her knees, acknowledged her corresponding with infernal Spirits, -and that She had witnessed the Monk's assassination of Antonia: But as -to the crime of Sorcery, She declared herself the sole criminal, and -Ambrosio perfectly innocent. The latter assertion met with no credit. -The Abbot had recovered his senses in time to hear the confession of -his Accomplice: But He was too much enfeebled by what He had already -undergone to be capable at that time of sustaining new torments. - -He was commanded back to his Cell, but first informed that as soon as -He had gained strength sufficient, He must prepare himself for a second -examination. The Inquisitors hoped that He would then be less hardened -and obstinate. To Matilda it was announced that She must expiate her -crime in fire on the approaching Auto da Fe. All her tears and -entreaties could procure no mitigation of her doom, and She was dragged -by force from the Hall of Trial. - -Returned to his dungeon, the sufferings of Ambrosio's body were far -more supportable than those of his mind. His dislocated limbs, the -nails torn from his hands and feet, and his fingers mashed and broken -by the pressure of screws, were far surpassed in anguish by the -agitation of his soul and vehemence of his terrors. He saw that, -guilty or innocent, his Judges were bent upon condemning him: The -remembrance of what his denial had already cost him terrified him at -the idea of being again applied to the question, and almost engaged him -to confess his crimes. Then again the consequences of his confession -flashed before him, and rendered him once more irresolute. His death -would be inevitable, and that a death the most dreadful: He had -listened to Matilda's doom, and doubted not that a similar was reserved -for him. He shuddered at the approaching Auto da Fe, at the idea of -perishing in flames, and only escaping from indurable torments to pass -into others more subtile and ever-lasting! With affright did He bend -his mind's eye on the space beyond the grave; nor could hide from -himself how justly he ought to dread Heaven's vengeance. In this -Labyrinth of terrors, fain would He have taken his refuge in the gloom -of Atheism: Fain would He have denied the soul's immortality; have -persuaded himself that when his eyes once closed, they would never more -open, and that the same moment would annihilate his soul and body. -Even this resource was refused to him. To permit his being blind to -the fallacy of this belief, his knowledge was too extensive, his -understanding too solid and just. He could not help feeling the -existence of a God. Those truths, once his comfort, now presented -themselves before him in the clearest light; But they only served to -drive him to distraction. They destroyed his ill-grounded hopes of -escaping punishment; and dispelled by the irresistible brightness of -Truth and convinction, Philosophy's deceitful vapours faded away like a -dream. - -In anguish almost too great for mortal frame to bear, He expected the -time when He was again to be examined. He busied himself in planning -ineffectual schemes for escaping both present and future punishment. -Of the first there was no possibility; Of the second Despair made him -neglect the only means. While Reason forced him to acknowledge a God's -existence, Conscience made him doubt the infinity of his goodness. He -disbelieved that a Sinner like him could find mercy. He had not been -deceived into error: Ignorance could furnish him with no excuse. He -had seen vice in her true colours; Before He committed his crimes, He -had computed every scruple of their weight; and yet he had committed -them. - -'Pardon?' He would cry in an access of phrenzy 'Oh! there can be none -for me!' - -Persuaded of this, instead of humbling himself in penitence, of -deploring his guilt, and employing his few remaining hours in -deprecating Heaven's wrath, He abandoned himself to the transports of -desperate rage; He sorrowed for the punishment of his crimes, not their -commission; and exhaled his bosom's anguish in idle sighs, in vain -lamentations, in blasphemy and despair. As the few beams of day which -pierced through the bars of his prison window gradually disappeared, -and their place was supplied by the pale and glimmering Lamp, He felt -his terrors redouble, and his ideas become more gloomy, more solemn, -more despondent. He dreaded the approach of sleep: No sooner did his -eyes close, wearied with tears and watching, than the dreadful visions -seemed to be realised on which his mind had dwelt during the day. He -found himself in sulphurous realms and burning Caverns, surrounded by -Fiends appointed his Tormentors, and who drove him through a variety of -tortures, each of which was more dreadful than the former. Amidst -these dismal scenes wandered the Ghosts of Elvira and her Daughter. -They reproached him with their deaths, recounted his crimes to the -Daemons, and urged them to inflict torments of cruelty yet more -refined. Such were the pictures which floated before his eyes in -sleep: They vanished not till his repose was disturbed by excess of -agony. Then would He start from the ground on which He had stretched -himself, his brows running down with cold sweat, his eyes wild and -phrenzied; and He only exchanged the terrible certainty for surmizes -scarcely more supportable. He paced his dungeon with disordered steps; -He gazed with terror upon the surrounding darkness, and often did He -cry, - - 'Oh! fearful is night to the Guilty!' - -The day of his second examination was at hand. He had been compelled -to swallow cordials, whose virtues were calculated to restore his -bodily strength, and enable him to support the question longer. On the -night preceding this dreaded day, his fears for the morrow permitted -him not to sleep. His terrors were so violent, as nearly to annihilate -his mental powers. He sat like one stupefied near the Table on which -his Lamp was burning dimly. Despair chained up his faculties in -Idiotism, and He remained for some hours, unable to speak or move, or -indeed to think. - -'Look up, Ambrosio!' said a Voice in accents well-known to him-- - -The Monk started, and raised his melancholy eyes. Matilda stood before -him. She had quitted her religious habit. She now wore a female -dress, at once elegant and splendid: A profusion of diamonds blazed -upon her robes, and her hair was confined by a coronet of Roses. In -her right hand She held a small Book: A lively expression of pleasure -beamed upon her countenance; But still it was mingled with a wild -imperious majesty which inspired the Monk with awe, and represt in some -measure his transports at seeing her. - -'You here, Matilda?' He at length exclaimed; 'How have you gained -entrance? Where are your Chains? What means this magnificence, and -the joy which sparkles in your eyes? Have our Judges relented? Is -there a chance of my escaping? Answer me for pity, and tell me, what I -have to hope, or fear.' - -'Ambrosio!' She replied with an air of commanding dignity; 'I have -baffled the Inquisition's fury. I am free: A few moments will place -kingdoms between these dungeons and me. Yet I purchase my liberty at a -dear, at a dreadful price! Dare you pay the same, Ambrosio? Dare you -spring without fear over the bounds which separate Men from -Angels?--You are silent.--You look upon me with eyes of suspicion and -alarm--I read your thoughts and confess their justice. Yes, Ambrosio; -I have sacrificed all for life and liberty. I am no longer a candidate -for heaven! I have renounced God's service, and am enlisted beneath -the banners of his Foes. The deed is past recall: Yet were it in my -power to go back, I would not. Oh! my Friend, to expire in such -torments! To die amidst curses and execrations! To bear the insults of -an exasperated Mob! To be exposed to all the mortifications of shame -and infamy! Who can reflect without horror on such a doom? Let me -then exult in my exchange. I have sold distant and uncertain happiness -for present and secure: I have preserved a life which otherwise I had -lost in torture; and I have obtained the power of procuring every bliss -which can make that life delicious! The Infernal Spirits obey me as -their Sovereign: By their aid shall my days be past in every -refinement of luxury and voluptuousness. I will enjoy unrestrained the -gratification of my senses: Every passion shall be indulged, even to -satiety; Then will I bid my Servants invent new pleasures, to revive -and stimulate my glutted appetites! I go impatient to exercise my -newly-gained dominion. I pant to be at liberty. Nothing should hold me -one moment longer in this abhorred abode, but the hope of persuading -you to follow my example. Ambrosio, I still love you: Our mutual -guilt and danger have rendered you dearer to me than ever, and I would -fain save you from impending destruction. Summon then your resolution -to your aid; and renounce for immediate and certain benefits the hopes -of a salvation, difficult to obtain, and perhaps altogether erroneous. -Shake off the prejudice of vulgar souls; Abandon a God who has -abandoned you, and raise yourself to the level of superior Beings!' - -She paused for the Monk's reply: He shuddered, while He gave it. - -'Matilda!' He said after a long silence in a low and unsteady voice; -'What price gave you for liberty?' - -She answered him firm and dauntless. - -'Ambrosio, it was my Soul!' - -'Wretched Woman, what have you done? Pass but a few years, and how -dreadful will be your sufferings!' - -'Weak Man, pass but this night, and how dreadful will be your own! Do -you remember what you have already endured? Tomorrow you must bear -torments doubly exquisite. Do you remember the horrors of a fiery -punishment? In two days you must be led a Victim to the Stake! What -then will become of you? Still dare you hope for pardon? Still are -you beguiled with visions of salvation? Think upon your crimes! Think -upon your lust, your perjury, inhumanity, and hypocrisy! Think upon -the innocent blood which cries to the Throne of God for vengeance, and -then hope for mercy! Then dream of heaven, and sigh for worlds of -light, and realms of peace and pleasure! Absurd! Open your eyes, -Ambrosio, and be prudent. Hell is your lot; You are doomed to eternal -perdition; Nought lies beyond your grave but a gulph of devouring -flames. And will you then speed towards that Hell? Will you clasp that -perdition in your arms, ere 'tis needful? Will you plunge into those -flames while you still have the power to shun them? 'Tis a Madman's -action. No, no, Ambrosio: Let us for awhile fly from divine -vengeance. Be advised by me; Purchase by one moment's courage the -bliss of years; Enjoy the present, and forget that a future lags -behind.' - -'Matilda, your counsels are dangerous: I dare not, I will not follow -them. I must not give up my claim to salvation. Monstrous are my -crimes; But God is merciful, and I will not despair of pardon.' - -'Is such your resolution? I have no more to say. I speed to joy and -liberty, and abandon you to death and eternal torments.' - -'Yet stay one moment, Matilda! You command the infernal Daemons: - -You can force open these prison doors; You can release me from these -chains which weigh me down. Save me, I conjure you, and bear me from -these fearful abodes!' - -'You ask the only boon beyond my power to bestow. I am forbidden to -assist a Churchman and a Partizan of God: Renounce those titles, and -command me.' - -'I will not sell my soul to perdition.' - -'Persist in your obstinacy, till you find yourself at the Stake: Then -will you repent your error, and sigh for escape when the moment is gone -by. I quit you. Yet ere the hour of death arrives should wisdom -enlighten you, listen to the means of repairing your present fault. I -leave with you this Book. Read the four first lines of the seventh -page backwards: The Spirit whom you have already once beheld will -immediately appear to you. If you are wise, we shall meet again: If -not, farewell for ever!' - -She let the Book fall upon the ground. A cloud of blue fire wrapped -itself round her: She waved her hand to Ambrosio, and disappeared. -The momentary glare which the flames poured through the dungeon, on -dissipating suddenly, seemed to have increased its natural gloom. The -solitary Lamp scarcely gave light sufficient to guide the Monk to a -Chair. He threw himself into his seat, folded his arms, and leaning -his head upon the table, sank into reflections perplexing and -unconnected. - -He was still in this attitude when the opening of the prison door -rouzed him from his stupor. He was summoned to appear before the Grand -Inquisitor. He rose, and followed his Gaoler with painful steps. He -was led into the same Hall, placed before the same Examiners, and was -again interrogated whether He would confess. He replied as before, that -having no crimes, He could acknowledge none: But when the Executioners -prepared to put him to the question, when He saw the engines of -torture, and remembered the pangs which they had already inflicted, his -resolution failed him entirely. Forgetting the consequences, and only -anxious to escape the terrors of the present moment, He made an ample -confession. He disclosed every circumstance of his guilt, and owned -not merely the crimes with which He was charged, but those of which He -had never been suspected. Being interrogated as to Matilda's flight -which had created much confusion, He confessed that She had sold -herself to Satan, and that She was indebted to Sorcery for her escape. -He still assured his Judges that for his own part He had never entered -into any compact with the infernal Spirits; But the threat of being -tortured made him declare himself to be a Sorcerer, and Heretic, and -whatever other title the Inquisitors chose to fix upon him. In -consequence of this avowal, his sentence was immediately pronounced. -He was ordered to prepare himself to perish in the Auto da Fe, which -was to be solemnized at twelve o'clock that night. This hour was -chosen from the idea that the horror of the flames being heightened by -the gloom of midnight, the execution would have a greater effect upon -the mind of the People. - -Ambrosio rather dead than alive was left alone in his dungeon. The -moment in which this terrible decree was pronounced had nearly proved -that of his dissolution. He looked forward to the morrow with despair, -and his terrors increased with the approach of midnight. Sometimes He -was buried in gloomy silence: At others He raved with delirious -passion, wrung his hands, and cursed the hour when He first beheld the -light. In one of these moments his eye rested upon Matilda's -mysterious gift. His transports of rage were instantly suspended. He -looked earnestly at the Book; He took it up, but immediately threw it -from him with horror. He walked rapidly up and down his dungeon: Then -stopped, and again fixed his eyes on the spot where the Book had -fallen. He reflected that here at least was a resource from the fate -which He dreaded. He stooped, and took it up a second time. - -He remained for some time trembling and irresolute: He longed to try -the charm, yet feared its consequences. The recollection of his -sentence at length fixed his indecision. He opened the Volume; but his -agitation was so great that He at first sought in vain for the page -mentioned by Matilda. Ashamed of himself, He called all his courage to -his aid. He turned to the seventh leaf. He began to read it aloud; -But his eyes frequently wandered from the Book, while He anxiously cast -them round in search of the Spirit, whom He wished, yet dreaded to -behold. Still He persisted in his design; and with a voice unassured -and frequent interruptions, He contrived to finish the four first lines -of the page. - -They were in a language, whose import was totally unknown to him. - -Scarce had He pronounced the last word when the effects of the charm -were evident. A loud burst of Thunder was heard; The prison shook to -its very foundations; A blaze of lightning flashed through the Cell; -and in the next moment, borne upon sulphurous whirl-winds, Lucifer -stood before him a second time. But He came not as when at Matilda's -summons He borrowed the Seraph's form to deceive Ambrosio. He appeared -in all that ugliness which since his fall from heaven had been his -portion: His blasted limbs still bore marks of the Almighty's thunder: -A swarthy darkness spread itself over his gigantic form: His hands and -feet were armed with long Talons: Fury glared in his eyes, which might -have struck the bravest heart with terror: Over his huge shoulders -waved two enormous sable wings; and his hair was supplied by living -snakes, which twined themselves round his brows with frightful -hissings. In one hand He held a roll of parchment, and in the other an -iron pen. Still the lightning flashed around him, and the Thunder with -repeated bursts, seemed to announce the dissolution of Nature. - -Terrified at an Apparition so different from what He had expected, -Ambrosio remained gazing upon the Fiend, deprived of the power of -utterance. The Thunder had ceased to roll: Universal silence reigned -through the dungeon. - -'For what am I summoned hither?' said the Daemon, in a voice which -sulphurous fogs had damped to hoarseness-- - -At the sound Nature seemed to tremble: A violent earthquake rocked the -ground, accompanied by a fresh burst of Thunder, louder and more -appalling than the first. - -Ambrosio was long unable to answer the Daemon's demand. - -'I am condemned to die;' He said with a faint voice, his blood running -cold, while He gazed upon his dreadful Visitor. 'Save me! Bear me -from hence!' - -'Shall the reward of my services be paid me? Dare you embrace my -cause? Will you be mine, body and soul? Are you prepared to renounce -him who made you, and him who died for you? Answer but "Yes" and -Lucifer is your Slave.' - -'Will no less price content you? Can nothing satisfy you but my -eternal ruin? Spirit, you ask too much. Yet convey me from this -dungeon: Be my Servant for one hour, and I will be yours for a -thousand years. Will not this offer suffice?' - -'It will not. I must have your soul; must have it mine, and mine for -ever.' - -'Insatiate Daemon, I will not doom myself to endless torments. I will -not give up my hopes of being one day pardoned.' - -'You will not? On what Chimaera rest then your hopes? Short-sighted -Mortal! Miserable Wretch! Are you not guilty? Are you not infamous in -the eyes of Men and Angels. Can such enormous sins be forgiven? Hope -you to escape my power? Your fate is already pronounced. The Eternal -has abandoned you; Mine you are marked in the book of destiny, and mine -you must and shall be!' - -'Fiend, 'tis false! Infinite is the Almighty's mercy, and the Penitent -shall meet his forgiveness. My crimes are monstrous, but I will not -despair of pardon: Haply, when they have received due chastisement....' - -'Chastisement? Was Purgatory meant for guilt like yours? Hope you -that your offences shall be bought off by prayers of superstitious -dotards and droning Monks? Ambrosio, be wise! Mine you must be: You -are doomed to flames, but may shun them for the present. Sign this -parchment: I will bear you from hence, and you may pass your remaining -years in bliss and liberty. Enjoy your existence: Indulge in every -pleasure to which appetite may lead you: But from the moment that it -quits your body, remember that your soul belongs to me, and that I will -not be defrauded of my right.' - -The Monk was silent; But his looks declared that the Tempter's words -were not thrown away. He reflected on the conditions proposed with -horror: On the other hand, He believed himself doomed to perdition and -that, by refusing the Daemon's succour, He only hastened tortures which -He never could escape. The Fiend saw that his resolution was shaken: -He renewed his instances, and endeavoured to fix the Abbot's -indecision. He described the agonies of death in the most terrific -colours; and He worked so powerfully upon Ambrosio's despair and fears -that He prevailed upon him to receive the Parchment. He then struck -the iron Pen which He held into a vein of the Monk's left hand. It -pierced deep, and was instantly filled with blood; Yet Ambrosio felt no -pain from the wound. The Pen was put into his hand: It trembled. The -Wretch placed the Parchment on the Table before him, and prepared to -sign it. Suddenly He held his hand: He started away hastily, and -threw the Pen upon the table. - -'What am I doing?' He cried--Then turning to the Fiend with a desperate -air, 'Leave me! Begone! I will not sign the Parchment.' - -'Fool!' exclaimed the disappointed Daemon, darting looks so furious as -penetrated the Friar's soul with horror; 'Thus am I trifled with? Go -then! Rave in agony, expire in tortures, and then learn the extent of -the Eternal's mercy! But beware how you make me again your mock! Call -me no more till resolved to accept my offers! Summon me a second time -to dismiss me thus idly, and these Talons shall rend you into a -thousand pieces! Speak yet again; Will you sign the Parchment?' - -'I will not! Leave me! Away!' - -Instantly the Thunder was heard to roll horribly: Once more the earth -trembled with violence: The Dungeon resounded with loud shrieks, and -the Daemon fled with blasphemy and curses. - -At first, the Monk rejoiced at having resisted the Seducer's arts, and -obtained a triumph over Mankind's Enemy: But as the hour of punishment -drew near, his former terrors revived in his heart. Their momentary -repose seemed to have given them fresh vigour. The nearer that the -time approached, the more did He dread appearing before the Throne of -God. He shuddered to think how soon He must be plunged into eternity; -How soon meet the eyes of his Creator, whom He had so grievously -offended. The Bell announced midnight: It was the signal for being -led to the Stake! As He listened to the first stroke, the blood ceased -to circulate in the Abbot's veins: He heard death and torture murmured -in each succeeding sound. He expected to see the Archers entering his -prison; and as the Bell forbore to toll, he seized the magic volume in -a fit of despair. He opened it, turned hastily to the seventh page, -and as if fearing to allow himself a moment's thought ran over the -fatal lines with rapidity. Accompanied by his former terrors, Lucifer -again stood before the Trembler. - -'You have summoned me,' said the Fiend; 'Are you determined to be wise? -Will you accept my conditions? You know them already. Renounce your -claim to salvation, make over to me your soul, and I bear you from this -dungeon instantly. Yet is it time. Resolve, or it will be too late. -Will you sign the Parchment?' - -'I must!--Fate urges me! I accept your conditions.' - -'Sign the Parchment!' replied the Daemon in an exulting tone. - -The Contract and the bloody Pen still lay upon the Table. Ambrosio drew -near it. He prepared to sign his name. A moment's reflection made him -hesitate. - -'Hark!' cried the Tempter; 'They come! Be quick! Sign the Parchment, -and I bear you from hence this moment.' - -In effect, the Archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead -Ambrosio to the Stake. The sound encouraged the Monk in his resolution. - -'What is the import of this writing?' said He. - -'It makes your soul over to me for ever, and without reserve.' - -'What am I to receive in exchange?' - -'My protection, and release from this dungeon. Sign it, and this -instant I bear you away.' - -Ambrosio took up the Pen; He set it to the Parchment. Again his courage -failed him: He felt a pang of terror at his heart, and once more threw -the Pen upon the Table. - -'Weak and Puerile!' cried the exasperated Fiend: 'Away with this folly! -Sign the writing this instant, or I sacrifice you to my rage!' - -At this moment the bolt of the outward Door was drawn back. The -Prisoner heard the rattling of Chains; The heavy Bar fell; The Archers -were on the point of entering. Worked up to phrenzy by the urgent -danger, shrinking from the approach of death, terrified by the Daemon's -threats, and seeing no other means to escape destruction, the wretched -Monk complied. He signed the fatal contract, and gave it hastily into -the evil Spirit's hands, whose eyes, as He received the gift, glared -with malicious rapture. - -'Take it!' said the God-abandoned; 'Now then save me! Snatch me from -hence!' - -'Hold! Do you freely and absolutely renounce your Creator and his Son?' - -'I do! I do!' - -'Do you make over your soul to me for ever?' - -'For ever!' - -'Without reserve or subterfuge? Without future appeal to the divine -mercy?' - -The last Chain fell from the door of the prison: The key was heard -turning in the Lock: Already the iron door grated heavily upon its -rusty hinges. - -'I am yours for ever and irrevocably!' cried the Monk wild with terror: -'I abandon all claim to salvation! I own no power but yours! Hark! -Hark! They come! Oh! save me! Bear me away!' - -'I have triumphed! You are mine past reprieve, and I fulfil my -promise.' - -While He spoke, the Door unclosed. Instantly the Daemon grasped one of -Ambrosio's arms, spread his broad pinions, and sprang with him into the -air. The roof opened as they soared upwards, and closed again when -they had quitted the Dungeon. - -In the meanwhile, the Gaoler was thrown into the utmost surprize by the -disappearance of his Prisoner. Though neither He nor the Archers were -in time to witness the Monk's escape, a sulphurous smell prevailing -through the prison sufficiently informed them by whose aid He had been -liberated. They hastened to make their report to the Grand Inquisitor. -The story, how a Sorcerer had been carried away by the Devil, was soon -noised about Madrid; and for some days the whole City was employed in -discussing the subject. Gradually it ceased to be the topic of -conversation: Other adventures arose whose novelty engaged universal -attention; and Ambrosio was soon forgotten as totally, as if He never -had existed. While this was passing, the Monk supported by his -infernal guide, traversed the air with the rapidity of an arrow, and a -few moments placed him upon a Precipice's brink, the steepest in Sierra -Morena. - -Though rescued from the Inquisition, Ambrosio as yet was insensible of -the blessings of liberty. The damning contract weighed heavy upon his -mind; and the scenes in which He had been a principal actor had left -behind them such impressions as rendered his heart the seat of anarchy -and confusion. The Objects now before his eyes, and which the full -Moon sailing through clouds permitted him to examine, were -ill-calculated to inspire that calm, of which He stood so much in need. -The disorder of his imagination was increased by the wildness of the -surrounding scenery; By the gloomy Caverns and steep rocks, rising -above each other, and dividing the passing clouds; solitary clusters of -Trees scattered here and there, among whose thick-twined branches the -wind of night sighed hoarsely and mournfully; the shrill cry of -mountain Eagles, who had built their nests among these lonely Desarts; -the stunning roar of torrents, as swelled by late rains they rushed -violently down tremendous precipices; and the dark waters of a silent -sluggish stream which faintly reflected the moonbeams, and bathed the -Rock's base on which Ambrosio stood. The Abbot cast round him a look -of terror. His infernal Conductor was still by his side, and eyed him -with a look of mingled malice, exultation, and contempt. - -'Whither have you brought me?' said the Monk at length in an hollow -trembling voice: 'Why am I placed in this melancholy scene? Bear me -from it quickly! Carry me to Matilda!' - -The Fiend replied not, but continued to gaze upon him in silence. - -Ambrosio could not sustain his glance; He turned away his eyes, while -thus spoke the Daemon: - -'I have him then in my power! This model of piety! This being without -reproach! This Mortal who placed his puny virtues on a level with -those of Angels. He is mine! Irrevocably, eternally mine! Companions -of my sufferings! Denizens of hell! How grateful will be my present!' - -He paused; then addressed himself to the Monk---- - -'Carry you to Matilda?' He continued, repeating Ambrosio's words: - -'Wretch! you shall soon be with her! You well deserve a place near her, -for hell boasts no miscreant more guilty than yourself. - -Hark, Ambrosio, while I unveil your crimes! You have shed the blood of -two innocents; Antonia and Elvira perished by your hand. That Antonia -whom you violated, was your Sister! That Elvira whom you murdered, gave -you birth! Tremble, abandoned Hypocrite! Inhuman Parricide! Incestuous -Ravisher! Tremble at the extent of your offences! And you it was who -thought yourself proof against temptation, absolved from human -frailties, and free from error and vice! Is pride then a virtue? Is -inhumanity no fault? Know, vain Man! That I long have marked you for -my prey: I watched the movements of your heart; I saw that you were -virtuous from vanity, not principle, and I seized the fit moment of -seduction. I observed your blind idolatry of the Madona's picture. I -bad a subordinate but crafty spirit assume a similar form, and you -eagerly yielded to the blandishments of Matilda. Your pride was -gratified by her flattery; Your lust only needed an opportunity to -break forth; You ran into the snare blindly, and scrupled not to commit -a crime which you blamed in another with unfeeling severity. It was I -who threw Matilda in your way; It was I who gave you entrance to -Antonia's chamber; It was I who caused the dagger to be given you which -pierced your Sister's bosom; and it was I who warned Elvira in dreams -of your designs upon her Daughter, and thus, by preventing your -profiting by her sleep, compelled you to add rape as well as incest to -the catalogue of your crimes. Hear, hear, Ambrosio! Had you resisted -me one minute longer, you had saved your body and soul. The guards whom -you heard at your prison door came to signify your pardon. But I had -already triumphed: My plots had already succeeded. Scarcely could I -propose crimes so quick as you performed them. You are mine, and -Heaven itself cannot rescue you from my power. Hope not that your -penitence will make void our contract. Here is your bond signed with -your blood; You have given up your claim to mercy, and nothing can -restore to you the rights which you have foolishly resigned. Believe -you that your secret thoughts escaped me? No, no, I read them all! -You trusted that you should still have time for repentance. I saw your -artifice, knew its falsity, and rejoiced in deceiving the deceiver! -You are mine beyond reprieve: I burn to possess my right, and alive -you quit not these mountains.' - -During the Daemon's speech, Ambrosio had been stupefied by terror and -surprize. This last declaration rouzed him. - -'Not quit these mountains alive?' He exclaimed: 'Perfidious, what mean -you? Have you forgotten our contract?' - -The Fiend answered by a malicious laugh: - -'Our contract? Have I not performed my part? What more did I promise -than to save you from your prison? Have I not done so? Are you not -safe from the Inquisition--safe from all but from me? Fool that you -were to confide yourself to a Devil! Why did you not stipulate for -life, and power, and pleasure? Then all would have been granted: Now, -your reflections come too late. Miscreant, prepare for death; You have -not many hours to live!' - -On hearing this sentence, dreadful were the feelings of the devoted -Wretch! He sank upon his knees, and raised his hands towards heaven. -The Fiend read his intention and prevented it-- - -'What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury: 'Dare you still -implore the Eternal's mercy? Would you feign penitence, and again act -an Hypocrite's part? Villain, resign your hopes of pardon. Thus I -secure my prey!' - -As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown, He -sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang with -Ambrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till reaching a -dreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong fell the Monk -through the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock received him; and He -rolled from precipice to precipice, till bruised and mangled He rested -on the river's banks. Life still existed in his miserable frame: He -attempted in vain to raise himself; His broken and dislocated limbs -refused to perform their office, nor was He able to quit the spot where -He had first fallen. The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching -beams darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner. Myriads of -insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood which -trickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive them from -him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their stings into his -body, covered him with their multitudes, and inflicted on him tortures -the most exquisite and insupportable. The Eagles of the rock tore his -flesh piecemeal, and dug out his eyeballs with their crooked beaks. A -burning thirst tormented him; He heard the river's murmur as it rolled -beside him, but strove in vain to drag himself towards the sound. -Blind, maimed, helpless, and despairing, venting his rage in blasphemy -and curses, execrating his existence, yet dreading the arrival of death -destined to yield him up to greater torments, six miserable days did -the Villain languish. On the Seventh a violent storm arose: The winds -in fury rent up rocks and forests: The sky was now black with clouds, -now sheeted with fire: The rain fell in torrents; It swelled the -stream; The waves overflowed their banks; They reached the spot where -Ambrosio lay, and when they abated carried with them into the river the -Corse of the despairing Monk. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Monk; a romance, by M. G. 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Keller <keller@Ra.MsState.Edu> - - - - - -MATTHEW LEWIS - - - -THE MONK - A ROMANCE - - - Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, -Nocturnos lemures, portentaque. - Horat. - - Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power, -Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour. - - -PREFACE - -IMITATION OF HORACE -Ep. 20.--B. 1. - - Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book, -I see thee cast a wishful look, -Where reputations won and lost are -In famous row called Paternoster. -Incensed to find your precious olio -Buried in unexplored port-folio, -You scorn the prudent lock and key, -And pant well bound and gilt to see -Your Volume in the window set -Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett. - - Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn -Whence never Book can back return: -And when you find, condemned, despised, -Neglected, blamed, and criticised, -Abuse from All who read you fall, -(If haply you be read at all -Sorely will you your folly sigh at, -And wish for me, and home, and quiet. - - Assuming now a conjuror's office, I -Thus on your future Fortune prophesy:-- -Soon as your novelty is o'er, -And you are young and new no more, -In some dark dirty corner thrown, -Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown, -Your leaves shall be the Book-worm's prey; -Or sent to Chandler-Shop away, -And doomed to suffer public scandal, -Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle! - - But should you meet with approbation, -And some one find an inclination -To ask, by natural transition -Respecting me and my condition; -That I am one, the enquirer teach, -Nor very poor, nor very rich; -Of passions strong, of hasty nature, -Of graceless form and dwarfish stature; -By few approved, and few approving; -Extreme in hating and in loving; - - Abhorring all whom I dislike, -Adoring who my fancy strike; -In forming judgements never long, -And for the most part judging wrong; -In friendship firm, but still believing -Others are treacherous and deceiving, -And thinking in the present aera -That Friendship is a pure chimaera: -More passionate no creature living, -Proud, obstinate, and unforgiving, -But yet for those who kindness show, -Ready through fire and smoke to go. - - Again, should it be asked your page, -'Pray, what may be the author's age?' -Your faults, no doubt, will make it clear, -I scarce have seen my twentieth year, -Which passed, kind Reader, on my word, -While England's Throne held George the Third. - - Now then your venturous course pursue: -Go, my delight! Dear Book, adieu! - -Hague, -Oct. 28, 1794. M. G. L. - - -ADVERTISEMENT -The first idea of this Romance was suggested by the story of the -Santon Barsisa, related in The Guardian.--The Bleeding Nun is a -tradition still credited in many parts of Germany; and I have -been told that the ruins of the Castle of Lauenstein, which She -is supposed to haunt, may yet be seen upon the borders of -Thuringia.--The Water-King, from the third to the twelfth stanza, -is the fragment of an original Danish Ballad--And Belerma and -Durandarte is translated from some stanzas to be found in a -collection of old Spanish poetry, which contains also the popular -song of Gayferos and Melesindra, mentioned in Don Quixote.--I -have now made a full avowal of all the plagiarisms of which I am -aware myself; but I doubt not, many more may be found, of which I -am at present totally unconscious. - - - -VOLUME I - -CHAPTER I - -----Lord Angelo is precise; -Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses -That his blood flows, or that his appetite -Is more to bread than stone. - Measure for Measure. - - -Scarcely had the Abbey Bell tolled for five minutes,and already -was the Church of the Capuchins thronged with Auditors. Do not -encourage the idea that the Crowd was assembled either from -motives of piety or thirst of information. But very few were -influenced by those reasons; and in a city where superstition -reigns with such despotic sway as in Madrid, to seek for true -devotion would be a fruitless attempt. The Audience now -assembled in the Capuchin Church was collected by various causes, -but all of them were foreign to the ostensible motive. The Women -came to show themselves, the Men to see the Women: Some were -attracted by curiosity to hear an Orator so celebrated; Some came -because they had no better means of employing their time till the -play began; Some, from being assured that it would be impossible -to find places in the Church; and one half of Madrid was brought -thither by expecting to meet the other half. The only persons -truly anxious to hear the Preacher were a few antiquated -devotees, and half a dozen rival Orators, determined to find -fault with and ridicule the discourse. As to the remainder of -the Audience, the Sermon might have been omitted altogether, -certainly without their being disappointed, and very probably -without their perceiving the omission. - -Whatever was the occasion, it is at least certain that the -Capuchin Church had never witnessed a more numerous assembly. -Every corner was filled, every seat was occupied. The very -Statues which ornamented the long aisles were pressed into the -service. Boys suspended themselves upon the wings of Cherubims; -St. Francis and St. Mark bore each a spectator on his shoulders; -and St. Agatha found herself under the necessity of carrying -double. The consequence was, that in spite of all their hurry -and expedition, our two newcomers, on entering the Church, looked -round in vain for places. - -However, the old Woman continued to move forwards. In vain were -exclamations of displeasure vented against her from all sides: -In vain was She addressed with--'I assure you, Segnora, there are -no places here.'-- 'I beg, Segnora, that you will not crowd me so -intolerably!'--'Segnora, you cannot pass this way. Bless me! -How can people be so troublesome!'--The old Woman was obstinate, -and on She went. By dint of perseverance and two brawny arms She -made a passage through the Crowd, and managed to bustle herself -into the very body of the Church, at no great distance from the -Pulpit. Her companion had followed her with timidity and in -silence, profiting by the exertions of her conductress. - -'Holy Virgin!' exclaimed the old Woman in a tone of -disappointment, while She threw a glance of enquiry round her; -'Holy Virgin! What heat! What a Crowd! I wonder what can be the -meaning of all this. I believe we must return: There is no such -thing as a seat to be had, and nobody seems kind enough to -accommodate us with theirs.' - -This broad hint attracted the notice of two Cavaliers, who -occupied stools on the right hand, and were leaning their backs -against the seventh column from the Pulpit. Both were young, and -richly habited. Hearing this appeal to their politeness -pronounced in a female voice, they interrupted their conversation -to look at the speaker. She had thrown up her veil in order to -take a clearer look round the Cathedral. Her hair was red, and -She squinted. The Cavaliers turned round, and renewed their -conversation. - -'By all means,' replied the old Woman's companion; 'By all means, -Leonella, let us return home immediately; The heat is excessive, -and I am terrified at such a crowd.' - -These words were pronounced in a tone of unexampled sweetness. -The Cavaliers again broke off their discourse, but for this time -they were not contented with looking up: Both started -involuntarily from their seats, and turned themselves towards the -Speaker. - -The voice came from a female, the delicacy and elegance of whose -figure inspired the Youths with the most lively curiosity to view -the face to which it belonged. This satisfaction was denied -them. Her features were hidden by a thick veil; But struggling -through the crowd had deranged it sufficiently to discover a neck -which for symmetry and beauty might have vied with the Medicean -Venus. It was of the most dazzling whiteness, and received -additional charms from being shaded by the tresses of her long -fair hair, which descended in ringlets to her waist. Her figure -was rather below than above the middle size: It was light and -airy as that of an Hamadryad. Her bosom was carefully veiled. -Her dress was white; it was fastened by a blue sash, and just -permitted to peep out from under it a little foot of the most -delicate proportions. A chaplet of large grains hung upon her -arm, and her face was covered with a veil of thick black gauze. -Such was the female, to whom the youngest of the Cavaliers now -offered his seat, while the other thought it necessary to pay the -same attention to her companion. - -The old Lady with many expressions of gratitude, but without much -difficulty, accepted the offer, and seated herself: The young -one followed her example, but made no other compliment than a -simple and graceful reverence. Don Lorenzo (such was the -Cavalier's name, whose seat She had accepted) placed himself near -her; But first He whispered a few words in his Friend's ear, who -immediately took the hint, and endeavoured to draw off the old -Woman's attention from her lovely charge. - -'You are doubtless lately arrived at Madrid,' said Lorenzo to his -fair Neighbour; 'It is impossible that such charms should have -long remained unobserved; and had not this been your first public -appearance, the envy of the Women and adoration of the Men would -have rendered you already sufficiently remarkable.' - -He paused, in expectation of an answer. As his speech did not -absolutely require one, the Lady did not open her lips: After a -few moments He resumed his discourse: - -'Am I wrong in supposing you to be a Stranger to Madrid?' - -The Lady hesitated; and at last, in so low a voice as to be -scarcely intelligible, She made shift to answer,-- 'No, Segnor.' - -'Do you intend making a stay of any length?' - -'Yes, Segnor.' - -'I should esteem myself fortunate, were it in my power to -contribute to making your abode agreeable. I am well known at -Madrid, and my Family has some interest at Court. If I can be of -any service, you cannot honour or oblige me more than by -permitting me to be of use to you.'--'Surely,' said He to -himself, 'She cannot answer that by a monosyllable; now She must -say something to me.' - -Lorenzo was deceived, for the Lady answered only by a bow. - -By this time He had discovered that his Neighbour was not very -conversible; But whether her silence proceeded from pride, -discretion, timidity, or idiotism, He was still unable to decide. - -After a pause of some minutes--'It is certainly from your being a -Stranger,' said He, 'and as yet unacquainted with our customs, -that you continue to wear your veil. Permit me to remove it.' - -At the same time He advanced his hand towards the Gauze: The -Lady raised hers to prevent him. - -'I never unveil in public, Segnor.' - -'And where is the harm, I pray you?' interrupted her Companion -somewhat sharply; 'Do not you see that the other Ladies have all -laid their veils aside, to do honour no doubt to the holy place -in which we are? I have taken off mine already; and surely if I -expose my features to general observation, you have no cause to -put yourself in such a wonderful alarm! Blessed Maria! Here is a -fuss and a bustle about a chit's face! Come, come, Child! -Uncover it; I warrant you that nobody will run away with it from -you--' - -'Dear aunt, it is not the custom in Murcia.' - -'Murcia, indeed! Holy St. Barbara, what does that signify? You -are always putting me in mind of that villainous Province. If it -is the custom in Madrid, that is all that we ought to mind, and -therefore I desire you to take off your veil immediately. Obey -me this moment Antonia, for you know that I cannot bear -contradiction--' - -Her niece was silent, but made no further opposition to Don -Lorenzo's efforts, who, armed with the Aunt's sanction hastened -to remove the Gauze. What a Seraph's head presented itself to -his admiration! Yet it was rather bewitching than beautiful; It -wasnot so lovely from regularity of features as from sweetness -and sensibility of Countenance. The several parts of her face -considered separately, many of them were far from handsome; but -when examined together, the whole was adorable. Her skin though -fair was not entirely without freckles; Her eyes were not very -large, nor their lashes particularly long. But then her lips -were of the most rosy freshness; Her fair and undulating hair, -confined by a simple ribband, poured itself below her waist in a -profusion of ringlets; Her throat was full and beautiful in the -extreme; Her hand and arm were formed with the most perfect -symmetry; Her mild blue eyes seemed an heaven of sweetness, and -the crystal in which they moved sparkled with all the brilliance -of Diamonds: She appeared to be scarcely fifteen; An arch smile, -playing round her mouth, declared her to be possessed of -liveliness, which excess of timidity at present represt; She -looked round her with a bashful glance; and whenever her eyes -accidentally met Lorenzo's, She dropt them hastily upon her -Rosary; Her cheek was immediately suffused with blushes, and She -began to tell her beads; though her manner evidently showed that -She knew not what She was about. - -Lorenzo gazed upon her with mingled surprise and admiration; but -the Aunt thought it necessary to apologize for Antonia's -mauvaise honte. - -' 'Tis a young Creature,' said She, 'who is totally ignorant of -the world. She has been brought up in an old Castle in Murcia; -with no other Society than her Mother's, who, God help her! has -no more sense, good Soul, than is necessary to carry her Soup to -her mouth. Yet She is my own Sister, both by Father and Mother.' - -'And has so little sense?' said Don Christoval with feigned -astonishment; 'How very Extraordinary!' - -'Very true, Segnor; Is it not strange? However, such is the -fact; and yet only to see the luck of some people! A young -Nobleman, of the very first quality, took it into his head that -Elvira had some pretensions to Beauty--As to pretensions, in -truth, She had always enough of THEM; But as to Beauty. . . .! -If I had only taken half the pains to set myself off which She -did. . . .! But this is neither here nor there. As I was -saying, Segnor, a young Nobleman fell in love with her, and -married her unknown to his Father. Their union remained a secret -near three years, But at last it came to the ears of the old -Marquis, who, as you may well suppose, was not much pleased with -the intelligence. Away He posted in all haste to Cordova, -determined to seize Elvira, and send her away to some place or -other, where She would never be heard of more. Holy St. Paul! -How He stormed on finding that She had escaped him, had joined -her Husband, and that they had embarked together for the Indies. -He swore at us all, as if the Evil Spirit had possessed him; He -threw my Father into prison, as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker -as any in Cordova; and when He went away, He had the cruelty to -take from us my Sister's little Boy, then scarcely two years old, -and whom in the abruptness of her flight, She had been obliged to -leave behind her. I suppose, that the poor little Wretch met -with bitter bad treatment from him, for in a few months after, we -received intelligence of his death.' - -'Why, this was a most terrible old Fellow, Segnora!' - -'Oh! shocking! and a Man so totally devoid of taste! Why, would -you believe it, Segnor? When I attempted to pacify him, He -cursed me for a Witch, and wished that to punish the Count, my -Sister might become as ugly as myself! Ugly indeed! I like him -for that.' - -'Ridiculous', cried Don Christoval; 'Doubtless the Count would -have thought himself fortunate, had he been permitted to exchange -the one Sister for the other.' - -'Oh! Christ! Segnor, you are really too polite. However, I am -heartily glad that the Conde was of a different way of thinking. -A mighty pretty piece of business, to be sure, Elvira has made of -it! After broiling and stewing in the Indies for thirteen long -years, her Husband dies, and She returns to Spain, without an -House to hide her head, or money to procure her one! This -Antonia was then but an Infant, and her only remaining Child. -She found that her Father-in-Law had married again, that he was -irreconcileable to the Conde, and that his second Wife had -produced him a Son, who is reported to be a very fine young Man. -The old Marquis refused to see my Sister or her Child; But sent -her word that on condition of never hearing any more of her, He -would assign her a small pension, and She might live in an old -Castle which He possessed in Murcia; This had been the favourite -habitation of his eldest Son; But since his flight from Spain, -the old Marquis could not bear the place, but let it fall to ruin -and confusion--My Sister accepted the proposal; She retired to -Murcia, and has remained there till within the last Month.' - -'And what brings her now to Madrid?' enquired Don Lorenzo, whom -admiration of the young Antonia compelled to take a lively -interest in the talkative old Woman's narration. - -'Alas! Segnor, her Father-in-Law being lately dead, the Steward -of his Murcian Estates has refused to pay her pension any longer. - -With the design of supplicating his Son to renew it, She is now -come to Madrid; But I doubt, that She might have saved herself -the trouble! You young Noblemen have always enough to do with -your money, and are not very often disposed to throw it away upon -old Women. I advised my Sister to send Antonia with her -petition; But She would not hear of such a thing. She is so -obstinate! Well! She will find herself the worse for not -following my counsels: the Girl has a good pretty face, and -possibly might have done much.' - -'Ah! Segnora,' interrupted Don Christoval, counterfeiting a -passionate air; 'If a pretty face will do the business, why has -not your Sister recourse to you?' - -'Oh! Jesus! my Lord, I swear you quite overpower me with your -gallantry! But I promise you that I am too well aware of the -danger of such Expeditions to trust myself in a young Nobleman's -power! No, no; I have as yet preserved my reputation without -blemish or reproach, and I always knew how to keep the Men at a -proper distance.' - -'Of that, Segnora, I have not the least doubt. But permit me to -ask you; Have you then any aversion to Matrimony?' - -'That is an home question. I cannot but confess, that if an -amiable Cavalier was to present himself. . . .' - -Here She intended to throw a tender and significant look upon Don -Christoval; But, as She unluckily happened to squint most -abominably, the glance fell directly upon his Companion: Lorenzo -took the compliment to himself, and answered it by a profound -bow. - -'May I enquire,' said He, 'the name of the Marquis?' - -'The Marquis de las Cisternas.' - -'I know him intimately well. He is not at present in Madrid, but -is expected here daily. He is one of the best of Men; and if the -lovely Antonia will permit me to be her Advocate with him, I -doubt not my being able to make a favourable report of her -cause.' - -Antonia raised her blue eyes, and silently thanked him for the -offer by a smile of inexpressible sweetness. Leonella's -satisfaction was much more loud and audible: Indeed, as her Niece -was generally silent in her company, She thought it incumbent -upon her to talk enough for both: This She managed without -difficulty, for She very seldom found herself deficient in words. - -'Oh! Segnor!' She cried; 'You will lay our whole family under the -most signal obligations! I accept your offer with all possible -gratitude, and return you a thousand thanks for the generosity of -your proposal. Antonia, why do not you speak, Child? While the -Cavalier says all sorts of civil things to you, you sit like a -Statue, and never utter a syllable of thanks, either bad, good, -or indifferent!' - -'My dear Aunt, I am very sensible that. . . .' - -'Fye, Niece! How often have I told you, that you never should -interrupt a Person who is speaking!? When did you ever know me -do such a thing? Are these your Murcian manners? Mercy on me! -I shall never be able to make this Girl any thing like a Person -of good breeding. But pray, Segnor,' She continued, addressing -herself to Don Christoval, 'inform me, why such a Crowd is -assembled today in this Cathedral?' - -'Can you possibly be ignorant, that Ambrosio, Abbot of this -Monastery, pronounces a Sermon in this Church every Thursday? -All Madrid rings with his praises. As yet He has preached but -thrice; But all who have heard him are so delighted with his -eloquence, that it is as difficult to obtain a place at Church, -as at the first representation of a new Comedy. His fame -certainly must have reached your ears--' - -'Alas! Segnor, till yesterday I never had the good fortune to see -Madrid; and at Cordova we are so little informed of what is -passing in the rest of the world, that the name of Ambrosio has -never been mentioned in its precincts.' - -'You will find it in every one's mouth at Madrid. He seems to -have fascinated the Inhabitants; and not having attended his -Sermons myself, I am astonished at the Enthusiasm which He has -excited. The adoration paid him both by Young and Old, by Man -and Woman is unexampled. The Grandees load him with presents; -Their Wives refuse to have any other Confessor, and he is known -through all the city by the name of the ''Man of Holiness''.' - -'Undoubtedly, Segnor, He is of noble origin--' - -'That point still remains undecided. The late Superior of the -Capuchins found him while yet an Infant at the Abbey door. All -attempts to discover who had left him there were vain, and the -Child himself could give no account of his Parents. He was -educated in the Monastery, where He has remained ever since. He -early showed a strong inclination for study and retirement, and -as soon as He was of a proper age, He pronounced his vows. No -one has ever appeared to claim him, or clear up the mystery which -conceals his birth; and the Monks, who find their account in the -favour which is shewn to their establishment from respect to him, -have not hesitated to publish that He is a present to them from -the Virgin. In truth the singular austerity of his life gives -some countenance to the report. He is now thirty years old, -every hour of which period has been passed in study, total -seclusion from the world, and mortification of the flesh. Till -these last three weeks, when He was chosen superior of the -Society to which He belongs, He had never been on the outside of -the Abbey walls: Even now He never quits them except on -Thursdays, when He delivers a discourse in this Cathedral which -all Madrid assembles to hear. His knowledge is said to be the -most profound, his eloquence the most persuasive. In the whole -course of his life He has never been known to transgress a single -rule of his order; The smallest stain is not to be discovered -upon his character; and He is reported to be so strict an -observer of Chastity, that He knows not in what consists the -difference of Man and Woman. The common People therefore esteem -him to be a Saint.' - -'Does that make a Saint?' enquired Antonia; 'Bless me! Then am I -one?' - -'Holy St. Barbara!' exclaimed Leonella; 'What a question! Fye, -Child, Fye! These are not fit subjects for young Women to -handle. You should not seem to remember that there is such a -thing as a Man in the world, and you ought to imagine every body -to be of the same sex with yourself. I should like to see you -give people to understand, that you know that a Man has no -breasts, and no hips, and no . . .'. - -Luckily for Antonia's ignorance which her Aunt's lecture would -soon have dispelled, an universal murmur through the Church -announced the Preacher's arrival. Donna Leonella rose from her -seat to take a better view of him, and Antonia followed her -example. - -He was a Man of noble port and commanding presence. His stature -was lofty, and his features uncommonly handsome. His Nose was -aquiline, his eyes large black and sparkling, and his dark brows -almost joined together. His complexion was of a deep but clear -Brown; Study and watching had entirely deprived his cheek of -colour. Tranquillity reigned upon his smooth unwrinkled -forehead; and Content, expressed upon every feature, seemed to -announce the Man equally unacquainted with cares and crimes. He -bowed himself with humility to the audience: Still there was a -certain severity in his look and manner that inspired universal -awe, and few could sustain the glance of his eye at once fiery -and penetrating. Such was Ambrosio, Abbot of the Capuchins, and -surnamed, 'The Man of Holiness'. - -Antonia, while She gazed upon him eagerly, felt a pleasure -fluttering in her bosom which till then had been unknown to her, -and for which She in vain endeavoured to account. She waited -with impatience till the Sermon should begin; and when at length -the Friar spoke, the sound of his voice seemed to penetrate into -her very soul. Though no other of the Spectators felt such -violent sensations as did the young Antonia, yet every one -listened with interest and emotion. They who were insensible to -Religion's merits, were still enchanted with Ambrosio's oratory. -All found their attention irresistibly attracted while He spoke, -and the most profound silence reigned through the crowded Aisles. - -Even Lorenzo could not resist the charm: He forgot that Antonia -was seated near him, and listened to the Preacher with undivided -attention. - -In language nervous, clear, and simple, the Monk expatiated on -the beauties of Religion. He explained some abstruse parts of -the sacred writings in a style that carried with it universal -conviction. His voice at once distinct and deep was fraught with -all the terrors of the Tempest, while He inveighed against the -vices of humanity, and described the punishments reserved for -them in a future state. Every Hearer looked back upon his past -offences, and trembled: The Thunder seemed to roll, whose bolt -was destined to crush him, and the abyss of eternal destruction -to open before his feet. But when Ambrosio, changing his theme, -spoke of the excellence of an unsullied conscience, of the -glorious prospect which Eternity presented to the Soul untainted -with reproach, and of the recompense which awaited it in the -regions of everlasting glory, His Auditors felt their scattered -spirits insensibly return. They threw themselves with confidence -upon the mercy of their Judge; They hung with delight upon the -consoling words of the Preacher; and while his full voice swelled -into melody, They were transported to those happy regions which -He painted to their imaginations in colours so brilliant and -glowing. - -The discourse was of considerable length; Yet when it concluded, -the Audience grieved that it had not lasted longer. Though the -Monk had ceased to speak, enthusiastic silence still prevailed -through the Church: At length the charm gradually dissolving, -the general admiration was expressed in audible terms. As -Ambrosio descended from the Pulpit, His Auditors crowded round -him, loaded him with blessings, threw themselves at his feet, and -kissed the hem of his Garment. He passed on slowly with his -hands crossed devoutly upon his bosom, to the door opening into -the Abbey Chapel, at which his Monks waited to receive him. He -ascended the Steps, and then turning towards his Followers, -addressed to them a few words of gratitude, and exhortation. -While He spoke, his Rosary, composed of large grains of amber, -fell from his hand, and dropped among the surrounding multitude. -It was seized eagerly, and immediately divided amidst the -Spectators. Whoever became possessor of a Bead, preserved it as -a sacred relique; and had it been the Chaplet of thrice-blessed -St. Francis himself, it could not have been disputed with greater -vivacity. The Abbot, smiling at their eagerness, pronounced his -benediction, and quitted the Church, while humility dwelt upon -every feature. Dwelt She also in his heart? - -Antonia's eyes followed him with anxiety. As the Door closed -after him, it seemed to her as had she lost some one essential to -her happiness. A tear stole in silence down her cheek. - -'He is separated from the world!' said She to herself; 'Perhaps, -I shall never see him more!' - -As she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo observed her action. - -'Are you satisfied with our Orator?' said He; 'Or do you think -that Madrid overrates his talents?' - -Antonia's heart was so filled with admiration for the Monk, that -She eagerly seized the opportunity of speaking of him: Besides, -as She now no longer considered Lorenzo as an absolute Stranger, -She was less embarrassed by her excessive timidity. - -'Oh! He far exceeds all my expectations,' answered She; 'Till -this moment I had no idea of the powers of eloquence. But when -He spoke, his voice inspired me with such interest, such esteem, -I might almost say such affection for him, that I am myself -astonished at the acuteness of my feelings.' - -Lorenzo smiled at the strength of her expressions. - -'You are young and just entering into life,' said He; 'Your -heart, new to the world and full of warmth and sensibility, -receives its first impressions with eagerness. Artless yourself, -you suspect not others of deceit; and viewing the world through -the medium of your own truth and innocence, you fancy all who -surround you to deserve your confidence and esteem. What pity, -that these gay visions must soon be dissipated! What pity, that -you must soon discover the baseness of mankind, and guard against -your fellow-creatures as against your Foes!' - -'Alas! Segnor,' replied Antonia; 'The misfortunes of my Parents -have already placed before me but too many sad examples of the -perfidy of the world! Yet surely in the present instance the -warmth of sympathy cannot have deceived me.' - -'In the present instance, I allow that it has not. Ambrosio's -character is perfectly without reproach; and a Man who has passed -the whole of his life within the walls of a Convent cannot have -found the opportunity to be guilty, even were He possessed of the -inclination. But now, when, obliged by the duties of his -situation, He must enter occasionally into the world, and be -thrown into the way of temptation, it is now that it behoves him -to show the brilliance of his virtue. The trial is dangerous; He -is just at that period of life when the passions are most -vigorous, unbridled, and despotic; His established reputation -will mark him out to Seduction as an illustrious Victim; Novelty -will give additional charms to the allurements of pleasure; and -even the Talents with which Nature has endowed him will -contribute to his ruin, by facilitating the means of obtaining -his object. Very few would return victorious from a contest so -severe.' - -'Ah! surely Ambrosio will be one of those few.' - -'Of that I have myself no doubt: By all accounts He is an -exception to mankind in general, and Envy would seek in vain for -a blot upon his character.' - -'Segnor, you delight me by this assurance! It encourages me to -indulge my prepossession in his favour; and you know not with -what pain I should have repressed the sentiment! Ah! dearest -Aunt, entreat my Mother to choose him for our Confessor.' - -'I entreat her?' replied Leonella; 'I promise you that I shall do -no such thing. I do not like this same Ambrosio in the least; He -has a look of severity about him that made me tremble from head -to foot: Were He my Confessor, I should never have the courage -to avow one half of my peccadilloes, and then I should be in a -rare condition! I never saw such a stern-looking Mortal, and -hope that I never shall see such another. His description of the -Devil, God bless us! almost terrified me out of my wits, and when -He spoke about Sinners He seemed as if He was ready to eat them.' - -'You are right, Segnora,' answered Don Christoval; 'Too great -severity is said to be Ambrosio's only fault. Exempted himself -from human failings, He is not sufficiently indulgent to those of -others; and though strictly just and disinterested in his -decisions, his government of the Monks has already shown some -proofs of his inflexibility. But the crowd is nearly dissipated: -Will you permit us to attend you home?' - -'Oh! Christ! Segnor,' exclaimed Leonella affecting to blush; 'I -would not suffer such a thing for the Universe! If I came home -attended by so gallant a Cavalier, My Sister is so scrupulous -that She would read me an hour's lecture, and I should never hear -the last of it. Besides, I rather wish you not to make your -proposals just at present.' - -'My proposals? I assure you, Segnora. . . .' - -'Oh! Segnor, I believe that your assurances of impatience are all -very true; But really I must desire a little respite. It would -not be quite so delicate in me to accept your hand at first -sight.' - -'Accept my hand? As I hope to live and breathe. . . .' - -'Oh! dear Segnor, press me no further, if you love me! I shall -consider your obedience as a proof of your affection; You shall -hear from me tomorrow, and so farewell. But pray, Cavaliers, -may I not enquire your names?' - -'My Friend's,' replied Lorenzo, 'is the Conde d'Ossorio, and mine -Lorenzo de Medina.' - -' 'Tis sufficient. Well, Don Lorenzo, I shall acquaint my Sister -with your obliging offer, and let you know the result with all -expedition. Where may I send to you?' - -'I am always to be found at the Medina Palace.' - -'You may depend upon hearing from me. Farewell, Cavaliers. -Segnor Conde, let me entreat you to moderate the excessive ardour -of your passion: However, to prove to you that I am not -displeased with you, and prevent your abandoning yourself to -despair, receive this mark of my affection, and sometimes bestow -a thought upon the absent Leonella.' - -As She said this, She extended a lean and wrinkled hand; which -her supposed Admirer kissed with such sorry grace and constraint -so evident, that Lorenzo with difficulty repressed his -inclination to laugh. Leonella then hastened to quit the Church; -The lovely Antonia followed her in silence; but when She reached -the Porch, She turned involuntarily, and cast back her eyes -towards Lorenzo. He bowed to her, as bidding her farewell; She -returned the compliment, and hastily withdrew. - -'So, Lorenzo!' said Don Christoval as soon as they were alone, -'You have procured me an agreeable Intrigue! To favour your -designs upon Antonia, I obligingly make a few civil speeches -which mean nothing to the Aunt, and at the end of an hour I find -myself upon the brink of Matrimony! How will you reward me for -having suffered so grievously for your sake? What can repay me -for having kissed the leathern paw of that confounded old Witch? -Diavolo! She has left such a scent upon my lips that I shall -smell of garlick for this month to come! As I pass along the -Prado, I shall be taken for a walking Omelet, or some large Onion -running to seed!' - -'I confess, my poor Count,' replied Lorenzo, 'that your service -has been attended with danger; Yet am I so far from supposing it -be past all endurance that I shall probably solicit you to carry -on your amours still further.' - -'From that petition I conclude that the little Antonia has made -some impression upon you.' - -'I cannot express to you how much I am charmed with her. Since -my Father's death, My Uncle the Duke de Medina, has signified to -me his wishes to see me married; I have till now eluded his -hints, and refused to understand them; But what I have seen this -Evening. . . .' - -'Well? What have you seen this Evening? Why surely, Don -Lorenzo, You cannot be mad enough to think of making a Wife out -of this Grand-daughter of ''as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker -as any in Cordova''?' - -'You forget, that She is also the Grand-daughter of the late -Marquis de las Cisternas; But without disputing about birth and -titles, I must assure you, that I never beheld a Woman so -interesting as Antonia.' - -'Very possibly; But you cannot mean to marry her?' - -'Why not, my dear Conde? I shall have wealth enough for both of -us, and you know that my Uncle thinks liberally upon the subject. - -From what I have seen of Raymond de las Cisternas, I am certain -that he will readily acknowledge Antonia for his Niece. Her -birth therefore will be no objection to my offering her my hand. -I should be a Villain could I think of her on any other terms -than marriage; and in truth She seems possessed of every quality -requisite to make me happy in a Wife. Young, lovely, gentle, -sensible. . . .' - -'Sensible? Why, She said nothing but ''Yes,'' and ''No''.' - -'She did not say much more, I must confess--But then She always -said ''Yes,'' or ''No,'' in the right place.' - -'Did She so? Oh! your most obedient! That is using a right -Lover's argument, and I dare dispute no longer with so profound a -Casuist. Suppose we adjourn to the Comedy?' - -'It is out of my power. I only arrived last night at Madrid, and -have not yet had an opportunity of seeing my Sister; You know -that her Convent is in this Street, and I was going thither when -the Crowd which I saw thronging into this Church excited my -curiosity to know what was the matter. I shall now pursue my -first intention, and probably pass the Evening with my Sister at -the Parlour grate.' - -'Your Sister in a Convent, say you? Oh! very true, I had -forgotten. And how does Donna Agnes? I am amazed, Don Lorenzo, -how you could possibly think of immuring so charming a Girl -within the walls of a Cloister!' - -'I think of it, Don Christoval? How can you suspect me of such -barbarity? You are conscious that She took the veil by her own -desire, and that particular circumstances made her wish for a -seclusion from the World. I used every means in my power to -induce her to change her resolution; The endeavour was fruitless, -and I lost a Sister!' - -'The luckier fellow you; I think, Lorenzo, you were a -considerable gainer by that loss: If I remember right, Donna -Agnes had a portion of ten thousand pistoles, half of which -reverted to your Lordship. By St. Jago! I wish that I had fifty -Sisters in the same predicament. I should consent to losing them -every soul without much heart-burning--' - -'How, Conde?' said Lorenzo in an angry voice; 'Do you suppose me -base enough to have influenced my Sister's retirement? Do you -suppose that the despicable wish to make myself Master of her -fortune could. . . .' - -'Admirable! Courage, Don Lorenzo! Now the Man is all in a -blaze. God grant that Antonia may soften that fiery temper, or -we shall certainly cut each other's throat before the Month is -over! However, to prevent such a tragical Catastrophe for the -present, I shall make a retreat, and leave you Master of the -field. Farewell, my Knight of Mount Aetna! Moderate that -inflammable disposition, and remember that whenever it is -necessary to make love to yonder Harridan, you may reckon upon my -services.' - -He said, and darted out of the Cathedral. - -'How wild-brained!' said Lorenzo; 'With so excellent an heart, -what pity that He possesses so little solidity of judgment!' - -The night was now fast advancing. The Lamps were not yet -lighted. The faint beams of the rising Moon scarcely could -pierce through the gothic obscurity of the Church. Lorenzo found -himself unable to quit the Spot. The void left in his bosom by -Antonia's absence, and his Sister's sacrifice which Don -Christoval had just recalled to his imagination, created that -melancholy of mind which accorded but too well with the -religious gloom surrounding him. He was still leaning against -the seventh column from the Pulpit. A soft and cooling air -breathed along the solitary Aisles: The Moonbeams darting into -the Church through painted windows tinged the fretted roofs and -massy pillars with a thousand various tints of light and colours: - -Universal silence prevailed around, only interrupted by the -occasional closing of Doors in the adjoining Abbey. - -The calm of the hour and solitude of the place contributed to -nourish Lorenzo's disposition to melancholy. He threw himself -upon a seat which stood near him, and abandoned himself to the -delusions of his fancy. He thought of his union with Antonia; He -thought of the obstacles which might oppose his wishes; and a -thousand changing visions floated before his fancy, sad 'tis -true, but not unpleasing. Sleep insensibly stole over him, and -the tranquil solemnity of his mind when awake for a while -continued to influence his slumbers. - -He still fancied himself to be in the Church of the Capuchins; -but it was no longer dark and solitary. Multitudes of silver -Lamps shed splendour from the vaulted Roof; Accompanied by the -captivating chaunt of distant choristers, the Organ's melody -swelled through the Church; The Altar seemed decorated as for -some distinguished feast; It was surrounded by a brilliant -Company; and near it stood Antonia arrayed in bridal white, and -blushing with all the charms of Virgin Modesty. - -Half hoping, half fearing, Lorenzo gazed upon the scene before -him. Sudden the door leading to the Abbey unclosed, and He saw, -attended by a long train of Monks, the Preacher advance to whom -He had just listened with so much admiration. He drew near -Antonia. - -'And where is the Bridegroom?' said the imaginary Friar. - -Antonia seemed to look round the Church with anxiety. -Involuntarily the Youth advanced a few steps from his -concealment. She saw him; The blush of pleasure glowed upon her -cheek; With a graceful motion of her hand She beckoned to him to -advance. He disobeyed not the command; He flew towards her, and -threw himself at her feet. - -She retreated for a moment; Then gazing upon him with unutterable -delight;--'Yes!' She exclaimed, 'My Bridegroom! My destined -Bridegroom!' She said, and hastened to throw herself into his -arms; But before He had time to receive her, an Unknown rushed -between them. His form was gigantic; His complexion was swarthy, -His eyes fierce and terrible; his Mouth breathed out volumes of -fire; and on his forehead was written in legible -characters--'Pride! Lust! Inhumanity!' - -Antonia shrieked. The Monster clasped her in his arms, and -springing with her upon the Altar, tortured her with his odious -caresses. She endeavoured in vain to escape from his embrace. -Lorenzo flew to her succour, but ere He had time to reach her, a -loud burst of thunder was heard. Instantly the Cathedral seemed -crumbling into pieces; The Monks betook themselves to flight, -shrieking fearfully; The Lamps were extinguished, the Altar sank -down, and in its place appeared an abyss vomiting forth clouds of -flame. Uttering a loud and terrible cry the Monster plunged into -the Gulph, and in his fall attempted to drag Antonia with him. -He strove in vain. Animated by supernatural powers She -disengaged herself from his embrace; But her white Robe was left -in his possession. Instantly a wing of brilliant splendour -spread itself from either of Antonia's arms. She darted upwards, -and while ascending cried to Lorenzo, - -'Friend! we shall meet above!' - -At the same moment the Roof of the Cathedral opened; Harmonious -voices pealed along the Vaults; and the glory into which Antonia -was received was composed of rays of such dazzling brightness, -that Lorenzo was unable to sustain the gaze. His sight failed, -and He sank upon the ground. - -When He woke, He found himself extended upon the pavement of the -Church: It was Illuminated, and the chaunt of Hymns sounded from -a distance. For a while Lorenzo could not persuade himself that -what He had just witnessed had been a dream, so strong an -impression had it made upon his fancy. A little recollection -convinced him of its fallacy: The Lamps had been lighted during -his sleep, and the music which he heard was occasioned by the -Monks, who were celebrating their Vespers in the Abbey Chapel. - -Lorenzo rose, and prepared to bend his steps towards his Sister's -Convent. His mind fully occupied by the singularity of his -dream, He already drew near the Porch, when his attention was -attracted by perceiving a Shadow moving upon the opposite wall. -He looked curiously round, and soon descried a Man wrapped up in -his Cloak, who seemed carefully examining whether his actions -were observed. Very few people are exempt from the influence of -curiosity. The Unknown seemed anxious to conceal his business in -the Cathedral, and it was this very circumstance, which made -Lorenzo wish to discover what He was about. - -Our Hero was conscious that He had no right to pry into the -secrets of this unknown Cavalier. - -'I will go,' said Lorenzo. And Lorenzo stayed, where He was. - -The shadow thrown by the Column, effectually concealed him from -the Stranger, who continued to advance with caution. At length -He drew a letter from beneath his cloak, and hastily placed it -beneath a Colossal Statue of St. Francis. Then retiring with -precipitation, He concealed himself in a part of the Church at a -considerable distance from that in which the Image stood. - -'So!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'This is only some foolish love -affair. I believe, I may as well be gone, for I can do no good -in it.' - -In truth till that moment it never came into his head that He -could do any good in it; But He thought it necessary to make some -little excuse to himself for having indulged his curiosity. He -now made a second attempt to retire from the Church: For this -time He gained the Porch without meeting with any impediment; But -it was destined that He should pay it another visit that night. -As He descended the steps leading into the Street, a Cavalier -rushed against him with such violence, that Both were nearly -overturned by the concussion. Lorenzo put his hand to his sword. - -'How now, Segnor?' said He; 'What mean you by this rudeness?' - -'Ha! Is it you, Medina?' replied the Newcomer, whom Lorenzo by -his voice now recognized for Don Christoval; 'You are the -luckiest Fellow in the Universe, not to have left the Church -before my return. In, in! my dear Lad! They will be here -immediately!' - -'Who will be here?' - -'The old Hen and all her pretty little Chickens! In, I say, and -then you shall know the whole History.' - -Lorenzo followed him into the Cathedral, and they concealed -themselves behind the Statue of St. Francis. - -'And now,' said our Hero, 'may I take the liberty of asking, what -is the meaning of all this haste and rapture?' - -'Oh! Lorenzo, we shall see such a glorious sight! The Prioress -of St. Clare and her whole train of Nuns are coming hither. You -are to know, that the pious Father Ambrosio (The Lord reward him -for it!) will upon no account move out of his own precincts: It -being absolutely necessary for every fashionable Convent to have -him for its Confessor, the Nuns are in consequence obliged to -visit him at the Abbey; since when the Mountain will not come to -Mahomet, Mahomet must needs go to the Mountain. Now the Prioress -of St. Clare, the better to escape the gaze of such impure eyes -as belong to yourself and your humble Servant, thinks proper to -bring her holy flock to confession in the Dusk: She is to be -admitted into the Abbey Chapel by yon private door. The -Porteress of St. Clare, who is a worthy old Soul and a particular -Friend of mine, has just assured me of their being here in a few -moments. There is news for you, you Rogue! We shall see some of -the prettiest faces in Madrid!' - -'In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing. The Nuns are -always veiled.' - -'No! No! I know better. On entering a place of worship, they -ever take off their veils from respect to the Saint to whom 'tis -dedicated. But Hark! They are coming! Silence, silence! -Observe, and be convinced.' - -'Good!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'I may possibly discover to whom -the vows are addressed of this mysterious Stranger.' - -Scarcely had Don Christoval ceased to speak, when the Domina of -St. Clare appeared, followed by a long procession of Nuns. Each -upon entering the Church took off her veil. The Prioress crossed -her hands upon her bosom, and made a profound reverence as She -passed the Statue of St. Francis, the Patron of this Cathedral. -The Nuns followed her example, and several moved onwards without -having satisfied Lorenzo's curiosity. He almost began to despair -of seeing the mystery cleared up, when in paying her respects to -St. Francis, one of the Nuns happened to drop her Rosary. As She -stooped to pick it up, the light flashed full upon her face. At -the same moment She dexterously removed the letter from beneath -the Image, placed it in her bosom, and hastened to resume her -rank in the procession. - -'Ha!' said Christoval in a low voice; 'Here we have some little -Intrigue, no doubt.' - -'Agnes, by heaven!' cried Lorenzo. - -'What, your Sister? Diavolo! Then somebody, I suppose, will -have to pay for our peeping.' - -'And shall pay for it without delay,' replied the incensed -Brother. - -The pious procession had now entered the Abbey; The Door was -already closed upon it. The Unknown immediately quitted his -concealment and hastened to leave the Church: Ere He could -effect his intention, He descried Medina stationed in his -passage. The Stranger hastily retreated, and drew his Hat over -his eyes. - -'Attempt not to fly me!' exclaimed Lorenzo; 'I will know who you -are, and what were the contents of that Letter.' - -'Of that Letter?' repeated the Unknown. 'And by what title do -you ask the question?' - -'By a title of which I am now ashamed; But it becomes not you to -question me. Either reply circumstantially to my demands, or -answer me with your Sword.' - -'The latter method will be the shortest,' rejoined the Other, -drawing his Rapier; 'Come on, Segnor Bravo! I am ready!' - -Burning with rage, Lorenzo hastened to the attack: The -Antagonists had already exchanged several passes before -Christoval, who at that moment had more sense than either of -them, could throw himself between their weapons. - -'Hold! Hold! Medina!' He exclaimed; 'Remember the consequences -of shedding blood on consecrated ground!' - -The Stranger immediately dropped his Sword. - -'Medina?' He cried; 'Great God, is it possible! Lorenzo, have you -quite forgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?' - -Lorenzo's astonishment increased with every succeeding moment. -Raymond advanced towards him, but with a look of suspicion He -drew back his hand, which the Other was preparing to take. - -'You here, Marquis? What is the meaning of all this? You -engaged in a clandestine correspondence with my Sister, whose -affections. . . .' - -'Have ever been, and still are mine. But this is no fit place -for an explanation. Accompany me to my Hotel, and you shall know -every thing. Who is that with you?' - -'One whom I believe you to have seen before,' replied Don -Christoval, 'though probably not at Church.' - -'The Conde d'Ossorio?' - -'Exactly so, Marquis.' - -'I have no objection to entrusting you with my secret, for I am -sure that I may depend upon your silence.' - -'Then your opinion of me is better than my own, and therefore I -must beg leave to decline your confidence. Do you go your own -way, and I shall go mine. Marquis, where are you to be found?' - -'As usual, at the Hotel de las Cisternas; But remember, that I am -incognito, and that if you wish to see me, you must ask for -Alphonso d'Alvarada.' - -'Good! Good! Farewell, Cavaliers!' said Don Christoval, and -instantly departed. - -'You, Marquis,' said Lorenzo in the accent of surprise; 'You, -Alphonso d'Alvarada?' - -'Even so, Lorenzo: But unless you have already heard my story -from your Sister, I have much to relate that will astonish you. -Follow me, therefore, to my Hotel without delay.' - -At this moment the Porter of the Capuchins entered the Cathedral -to lock up the doors for the night. The two Noblemen instantly -withdrew, and hastened with all speed to the Palace de las -Cisternas. - -'Well, Antonia!' said the Aunt, as soon as She had quitted the -Church; 'What think you of our Gallants? Don Lorenzo really -seems a very obliging good sort of young Man: He paid you some -attention, and nobody knows what may come of it. But as to Don -Christoval, I protest to you, He is the very Phoenix of -politeness. So gallant! so well-bred! So sensible, and so -pathetic! Well! If ever Man can prevail upon me to break my vow -never to marry, it will be that Don Christoval. You see, Niece, -that every thing turns out exactly as I told you: The very -moment that I produced myself in Madrid, I knew that I should be -surrounded by Admirers. When I took off my veil, did you see, -Antonia, what an effect the action had upon the Conde? And when -I presented him my hand, did you observe the air of passion with -which He kissed it? If ever I witnessed real love, I then saw it -impressed upon Don Christoval's countenance!' - -Now Antonia had observed the air, with which Don Christoval had -kissed this same hand; But as She drew conclusions from it -somewhat different from her Aunt's, She was wise enough to hold -her tongue. As this is the only instance known of a Woman's ever -having done so, it was judged worthy to be recorded here. - -The old Lady continued her discourse to Antonia in the same -strain, till they gained the Street in which was their Lodging. -Here a Crowd collected before their door permitted them not to -approach it; and placing themselves on the opposite side of the -Street, they endeavoured to make out what had drawn all these -people together. After some minutes the Crowd formed itself into -a Circle; And now Antonia perceived in the midst of it a Woman of -extraordinary height, who whirled herself repeatedly round and -round, using all sorts of extravagant gestures. Her dress was -composed of shreds of various-coloured silks and Linens -fantastically arranged, yet not entirely without taste. Her head -was covered with a kind of Turban, ornamented with vine leaves -and wild flowers. She seemed much sun-burnt, and her complexion -was of a deep olive: Her eyes looked fiery and strange; and in -her hand She bore a long black Rod, with which She at intervals -traced a variety of singular figures upon the ground, round about -which She danced in all the eccentric attitudes of folly and -delirium. Suddenly She broke off her dance, whirled herself -round thrice with rapidity, and after a moment's pause She sang -the following Ballad. - - THE GYPSY'S SONG - - Come, cross my hand! My art surpasses - All that did ever Mortal know; -Come, Maidens, come! My magic glasses - Your future Husband's form can show: - - For 'tis to me the power is given - Unclosed the book of Fate to see; - To read the fixed resolves of heaven, - And dive into futurity. - - I guide the pale Moon's silver waggon; - The winds in magic bonds I hold; - I charm to sleep the crimson Dragon, - Who loves to watch o'er buried gold: - - Fenced round with spells, unhurt I venture - Their sabbath strange where Witches keep; - Fearless the Sorcerer's circle enter, - And woundless tread on snakes asleep. - - Lo! Here are charms of mighty power! - This makes secure an Husband's truth - And this composed at midnight hour - Will force to love the coldest Youth: - - If any Maid too much has granted, - Her loss this Philtre will repair; - This blooms a cheek where red is wanted, - And this will make a brown girl fair! - - Then silent hear, while I discover - What I in Fortune's mirror view; - And each, when many a year is over, - Shall own the Gypsy's sayings true. - -'Dear Aunt!' said Antonia when the Stranger had finished, 'Is She -not mad?' - -'Mad? Not She, Child; She is only wicked. She is a Gypsy, a -sort of Vagabond, whose sole occupation is to run about the -country telling lyes, and pilfering from those who come by their -money honestly. Out upon such Vermin! If I were King of Spain, -every one of them should be burnt alive who was found in my -dominions after the next three weeks.' - -These words were pronounced so audibly that they reached the -Gypsy's ears. She immediately pierced through the Crowd and -made towards the Ladies. She saluted them thrice in the Eastern -fashion, and then addressed herself to Antonia. - -THE GYPSY - - 'Lady! gentle Lady! Know, - I your future fate can show; - Give your hand, and do not fear; - Lady! gentle Lady! hear!' - -'Dearest Aunt!' said Antonia, 'Indulge me this once! Let me have -my fortune told me!' - -'Nonsense, Child! She will tell you nothing but falsehoods.' - -'No matter; Let me at least hear what She has to say. Do, my dear -Aunt! Oblige me, I beseech you!' - -'Well, well! Antonia, since you are so bent upon the thing, . . . -Here, good Woman, you shall see the hands of both of us. There -is money for you, and now let me hear my fortune.' - -As She said this, She drew off her glove, and presented her hand; -The Gypsy looked at it for a moment, and then made this reply. - - -THE GYPSY - - 'Your fortune? You are now so old, - Good Dame, that 'tis already told: - Yet for your money, in a trice - I will repay you in advice. - Astonished at your childish vanity, - Your Friends alltax you with insanity, - And grieve to see you use your art - To catch some youthful Lover's heart. - Believe me, Dame, when all is done, - Your age will still be fifty one; - And Men will rarely take an hint - Of love, from two grey eyes that squint. - Take then my counsels; Lay aside - Your paint and patches, lust and pride, - And on the Poor those sums bestow, - Which now are spent on useless show. - Think on your Maker, not a Suitor; - Think on your past faults, not on future; - And think Time's Scythe will quickly mow - The few red hairs, which deck your brow. - -The audience rang with laughter during the Gypsy's address; -and--'fifty one,'--'squinting eyes,' 'red hair,' --'paint and -patches,' &c. were bandied from mouth to mouth. Leonella was -almost choaked with passion, and loaded her malicious Adviser -with the bitterest reproaches. The swarthy Prophetess for some -time listened to her with a contemptuous smile: at length She -made her a short answer, and then turned to Antonia. - -THE GYPSY - - 'Peace, Lady! What I said was true; - And now, my lovely Maid, to you; - Give me your hand, and let me see - Your future doom, and heaven's decree.' - -In imitation of Leonella, Antonia drew off her glove, and -presented her white hand to the Gypsy, who having gazed upon it -for some time with a mingled expression of pity and astonishment, -pronounced her Oracle in the following words. - -THE GYPSY - - 'Jesus! what a palm is there! - Chaste, and gentle, young and fair, - Perfect mind and form possessing, - You would be some good Man's blessing: - But Alas! This line discovers, - That destruction o'er you hovers; - Lustful Man and crafty Devil - Will combine to work your evil; - And from earth by sorrows driven, - Soon your Soul must speed to heaven. - Yet your sufferings to delay, - Well remember what I say. - When you One more virtuous see - Than belongs to Man to be, - One, whose self no crimes assailing, - Pities not his Neighbour's Failing, - Call the Gypsy's words to mind: - Though He seem so good and kind, - Fair Exteriors oft will hide - Hearts, that swell with lust and pride! - Lovely Maid, with tears I leave you! - Let not my prediction grieve you; - Rather with submission bending - Calmly wait distress impending, - And expect eternal bliss - In a better world than this. - -Having said this, the Gypsy again whirled herself round thrice, -and then hastened out of the Street with frantic gesture. The -Crowd followed her; and Elvira's door being now unembarrassed -Leonella entered the House out of honour with the Gypsy, with her -Niece, and with the People; In short with every body, but herself -and her charming Cavalier. The Gypsy's predictions had also -considerably affected Antonia; But the impression soon wore off, -and in a few hours She had forgotten the adventure as totally as -had it never taken place. - - -CHAPTER II - -Forse se tu gustassi una sol volta -La millesima parte delle gioje, -Che gusta un cor amato riamando, -Diresti ripentita sospirando, -Perduto e tutto il tempo -Che in amar non si sponde. - Tasso. - - Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part - Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart, - Your words repentant and your sighs would prove, - Lost is the time which is not past in love. - -The monks having attended their Abbot to the door of his Cell, He -dismissed them with an air of conscious superiority in which -Humility's semblance combated with the reality of pride. - -He was no sooner alone, than He gave free loose to the indulgence -of his vanity. When He remembered the Enthusiasm which his -discourse had excited, his heart swelled with rapture, and his -imagination presented him with splendid visions of -aggrandizement. He looked round him with exultation, and Pride -told him loudly that He was superior to the rest of his -fellow-Creatures. - -'Who,' thought He; 'Who but myself has passed the ordeal of -Youth, yet sees no single stain upon his conscience? Who else -has subdued the violence of strong passions and an impetuous -temperament, and submitted even from the dawn of life to -voluntary retirement? I seek for such a Man in vain. I see no -one but myself possessed of such resolution. Religion cannot -boast Ambrosio's equal! How powerful an effect did my discourse -produce upon its Auditors! How they crowded round me! How they -loaded me with benedictions, and pronounced me the sole -uncorrupted Pillar of the Church! What then now is left for me -to do? Nothing, but to watch as carefully over the conduct of my -Brothers as I have hitherto watched over my own. Yet hold! May -I not be tempted from those paths which till now I have pursued -without one moment's wandering? Am I not a Man, whose nature is -frail, and prone to error? I must now abandon the solitude of my -retreat; The fairest and noblest Dames of Madrid continually -present themselves at the Abbey, and will use no other Confessor. - -I must accustom my eyes to Objects of temptation, and expose -myself to the seduction of luxury and desire. Should I meet in -that world which I am constrained to enter some lovely Female, -lovely . . . as you, Madona. . . .!' - -As He said this, He fixed his eyes upon a picture of the Virgin, -which was suspended opposite to him: This for two years had been -the Object of his increasing wonder and adoration. He paused, -and gazed upon it with delight. - -'What Beauty in that countenance!' He continued after a silence -of some minutes; 'How graceful is the turn of that head! What -sweetness, yet what majesty in her divine eyes! How softly her -cheek reclines upon her hand! Can the Rose vie with the blush of -that cheek? Can the Lily rival the whiteness of that hand? Oh! -if such a Creature existed, and existed but for me! Were I -permitted to twine round my fingers those golden ringlets, and -press with my lips the treasures of that snowy bosom! Gracious -God, should I then resist the temptation? Should I not barter -for a single embrace the reward of my sufferings for thirty -years? Should I not abandon. . . . Fool that I am! Whither do -I suffer my admiration of this picture to hurry me? Away, impure -ideas! Let me remember that Woman is for ever lost to me. -Never was Mortal formed so perfect as this picture. But even did -such exist, the trial might be too mighty for a common virtue, -but Ambrosio's is proof against temptation. Temptation, did I -say? To me it would be none. What charms me, when ideal and -considered as a superior Being, would disgust me, become Woman -and tainted with all the failings of Mortality. It is not the -Woman's beauty that fills me with such enthusiasm; It is the -Painter's skill that I admire, it is the Divinity that I adore! -Are not the passions dead in my bosom? Have I not freed myself -from the frailty of Mankind? Fear not, Ambrosio! Take -confidence in the strength of your virtue. Enter boldly into a -world to whose failings you are superior; Reflect that you are -now exempted from Humanity's defects, and defy all the arts of -the Spirits of Darkness. They shall know you for what you are!' - -Here his Reverie was interrupted by three soft knocks at the door -of his Cell. With difficulty did the Abbot awake from his -delirium. The knocking was repeated. - -'Who is there?' said Ambrosio at length. - -'It is only Rosario,' replied a gentle voice. - -'Enter! Enter, my Son!' - -The Door was immediately opened, and Rosario appeared with a -small basket in his hand. - -Rosario was a young Novice belonging to the Monastery, who in -three Months intended to make his profession. A sort of mystery -enveloped this Youth which rendered him at once an object of -interest and curiosity. His hatred of society, his profound -melancholy, his rigid observation of the duties of his order, and -his voluntary seclusion from the world at his age so unusual, -attracted the notice of the whole fraternity. He seemed fearful -of being recognised, and no one had ever seen his face. His head -was continually muffled up in his Cowl; Yet such of his features -as accident discovered, appeared the most beautiful and noble. -Rosario was the only name by which He was known in the Monastery. - -No one knew from whence He came, and when questioned in the -subject He preserved a profound silence. A Stranger, whose rich -habit and magnificent equipage declared him to be of -distinguished rank, had engaged the Monks to receive a Novice, -and had deposited the necessary sums. The next day He returned -with Rosario, and from that time no more had been heard of him. - -The Youth had carefully avoided the company of the Monks: He -answered their civilities with sweetness, but reserve, and -evidently showed that his inclination led him to solitude. To -this general rule the Superior was the only exception. To him He -looked up with a respect approaching idolatry: He sought his -company with the most attentive assiduity, and eagerly seized -every means to ingratiate himself in his favour. In the Abbot's -society his Heart seemed to be at ease, and an air of gaiety -pervaded his whole manners and discourse. Ambrosio on his side -did not feel less attracted towards the Youth; With him alone did -He lay aside his habitual severity. When He spoke to him, He -insensibly assumed a tone milder than was usual to him; and no -voice sounded so sweet to him as did Rosario's. He repayed the -Youth's attentions by instructing him in various sciences; The -Novice received his lessons with docility; Ambrosio was every day -more charmed with the vivacity of his Genius, the simplicity of -his manners, and the rectitude of his heart: In short He loved -him with all the affection of a Father. He could not help -sometimes indulging a desire secretly to see the face of his -Pupil; But his rule of self-denial extended even to curiosity, -and prevented him from communicating his wishes to the Youth. - -'Pardon my intrusion, Father,' said Rosario, while He placed his -basket upon the Table; 'I come to you a Suppliant. Hearing that -a dear Friend is dangerously ill, I entreat your prayers for his -recovery. If supplications can prevail upon heaven to spare him, -surely yours must be efficacious.' - -'Whatever depends upon me, my Son, you know that you may command. - -What is your Friend's name?' - -'Vincentio della Ronda.' - -' 'Tis sufficient. I will not forget him in my prayers, and may -our thrice-blessed St. Francis deign to listen to my -intercession!--What have you in your basket, Rosario?' - -'A few of those flowers, reverend Father, which I have observed -to be most acceptable to you. Will you permit my arranging them -in your chamber?' - -'Your attentions charm me, my Son.' - -While Rosario dispersed the contents of his Basket in small -Vases placed for that purpose in various parts of the room, the -Abbot thus continued the conversation. - -'I saw you not in the Church this evening, Rosario.' - -'Yet I was present, Father. I am too grateful for your -protection to lose an opportunity of witnessing your Triumph.' - -'Alas! Rosario, I have but little cause to triumph: The Saint -spoke by my mouth; To him belongs all the merit. It seems then -you were contented with my discourse?' - -'Contented, say you? Oh! you surpassed yourself! Never did I -hear such eloquence . . . save once!' - -Here the Novice heaved an involuntary sigh. - -'When was that once?' demanded the Abbot. - -'When you preached upon the sudden indisposition of our late -Superior.' - -'I remember it: That is more than two years ago. And were you -present? I knew you not at that time, Rosario.' - -' 'Tis true, Father; and would to God! I had expired, ere I -beheld that day! What sufferings, what sorrows should I have -escaped!' - -'Sufferings at your age, Rosario?' - -'Aye, Father; Sufferings, which if known to you, would equally -raise your anger and compassion! Sufferings, which form at once -the torment and pleasure of my existence! Yet in this retreat my -bosom would feel tranquil, were it not for the tortures of -apprehension. Oh God! Oh God! how cruel is a life of -fear!--Father! I have given up all; I have abandoned the world -and its delights for ever: Nothing now remains, Nothing now has -charms for me, but your friendship, but your affection. If I -lose that, Father! Oh! if I lose that, tremble at the effects of -my despair!' - -'You apprehend the loss of my friendship? How has my conduct -justified this fear? Know me better, Rosario, and think me -worthy of your confidence. What are your sufferings? Reveal -them to me, and believe that if 'tis in my power to relieve them. -. . .' - -'Ah! 'tis in no one's power but yours. Yet I must not let you -know them. You would hate me for my avowal! You would drive me -from your presence with scorn and ignominy!' - -'My Son, I conjure you! I entreat you!' - -'For pity's sake, enquire no further! I must not . . . I dare -not . . . Hark! The Bell rings for Vespers! Father, your -benediction, and I leave you!' - -As He said this, He threw himself upon his knees and received -the blessing which He demanded. Then pressing the Abbot's hand -to his lips, He started from the ground and hastily quitted the -apartment. Soon after Ambrosio descended to Vespers (which were -celebrated in a small chapel belonging to the Abbey), filled with -surprise at the singularity of the Youth's behaviour. - -Vespers being over, the Monks retired to their respective Cells. -The Abbot alone remained in the Chapel to receive the Nuns of St. -Clare. He had not been long seated in the confessional chair -before the Prioress made her appearance. Each of the Nuns was -heard in her turn, while the Others waited with the Domina in the -adjoining Vestry. Ambrosio listened to the confessions with -attention, made many exhortations, enjoined penance proportioned -to each offence, and for some time every thing went on as usual: -till at last one of the Nuns, conspicuous from the nobleness of -her air and elegance of her figure, carelessly permitted a letter -to fall from her bosom. She was retiring, unconscious of her -loss. Ambrosio supposed it to have been written by some one of -her Relations, and picked it up intending to restore it to her. - -'Stay, Daughter,' said He; 'You have let fall. . . .' - -At this moment, the paper being already open, his eye -involuntarily read the first words. He started back with -surprise! The Nun had turned round on hearing his voice: She -perceived her letter in his hand, and uttering a shriek of -terror, flew hastily to regain it. - -'Hold!' said the Friar in a tone of severity; 'Daughter, I must -read this letter.' - -'Then I am lost!' She exclaimed clasping her hands together -wildly. - -All colour instantly faded from her face; she trembled with -agitation, and was obliged to fold her arms round a Pillar of the -Chapel to save herself from sinking upon the floor. In the -meanwhile the Abbot read the following lines. - -'All is ready for your escape, my dearest Agnes. At twelve -tomorrow night I shall expect to find you at the Garden door: I -have obtained the Key, and a few hours will suffice to place you -in a secure asylum. Let no mistaken scruples induce you to -reject the certain means of preserving yourself and the innocent -Creature whom you nourish in your bosom. Remember that you had -promised to be mine, long ere you engaged yourself to the church; -that your situation will soon be evident to the prying eyes of -your Companions; and that flight is the only means of avoiding -the effects of their malevolent resentment. Farewell, my Agnes! -my dear and destined Wife! Fail not to be at the Garden door at -twelve!' - -As soon as He had finished, Ambrosio bent an eye stern and angry -upon the imprudent Nun. - -'This letter must to the Prioress!' said He, and passed her. - -His words sounded like thunder to her ears: She awoke from her -torpidity only to be sensible of the dangers of her situation. -She followed him hastily, and detained him by his garment. - -'Stay! Oh! stay!' She cried in the accents of despair, while She -threw herself at the Friar's feet, and bathed them with her -tears. 'Father, compassionate my youth! Look with indulgence on -a Woman's weakness, and deign to conceal my frailty! The -remainder of my life shall be employed in expiating this single -fault, and your lenity will bring back a soul to heaven!' - -'Amazing confidence! What! Shall St. Clare's Convent become the -retreat of Prostitutes? Shall I suffer the Church of Christ to -cherish in its bosom debauchery and shame? Unworthy Wretch! such -lenity would make me your accomplice. Mercy would here be -criminal. You have abandoned yourself to a Seducer's lust; You -have defiled the sacred habit by your impurity; and still dare -you think yourself deserving my compassion? Hence, nor detain me -longer! Where is the Lady Prioress?' He added, raising his -voice. - -'Hold! Father, Hold! Hear me but for one moment! Tax me not with -impurity, nor think that I have erred from the warmth of -temperament. Long before I took the veil, Raymond was Master of -my heart: He inspired me with the purest, the most -irreproachable passion, and was on the point of becoming my -lawful husband. An horrible adventure, and the treachery of a -Relation, separated us from each other: I believed him for ever -lost to me, and threw myself into a Convent from motives of -despair. Accident again united us; I could not refuse myself the -melancholy pleasure of mingling my tears with his: We met -nightly in the Gardens of St. Clare, and in an unguarded moment I -violated my vows of Chastity. I shall soon become a Mother: -Reverend Ambrosio, take compassion on me; take compassion on the -innocent Being whose existence is attached to mine. If you -discover my imprudence to the Domina, both of us are lost: The -punishment which the laws of St. Clare assign to Unfortunates -like myself is most severe and cruel. Worthy, worthy Father! -Let not your own untainted conscience render you unfeeling -towards those less able to withstand temptation! Let not mercy -be the only virtue of which your heart is unsusceptible! Pity -me, most reverend! Restore my letter, nor doom me to inevitable -destruction!' - -'Your boldness confounds me! Shall I conceal your crime, I whom -you have deceived by your feigned confession? No, Daughter, no! -I will render you a more essential service. I will rescue you -from perdition in spite of yourself; Penance and mortification -shall expiate your offence, and Severity force you back to the -paths of holiness. What; Ho! Mother St. Agatha!' - -'Father! By all that is sacred, by all that is most dear to you, -I supplicate, I entreat. . . .' - -'Release me! I will not hear you. Where is the Domina? Mother -St. Agatha, where are you?' - -The door of the Vestry opened, and the Prioress entered the -Chapel, followed by her Nuns. - -'Cruel! Cruel!' exclaimed Agnes, relinquishing her hold. - -Wild and desperate, She threw herself upon the ground, beating -her bosom and rending her veil in all the delirium of despair. -The Nuns gazed with astonishment upon the scene before them. The -Friar now presented the fatal paper to the Prioress, informed her -of the manner in which he had found it, and added, that it was -her business to decide, what penance the delinquent merited. - -While She perused the letter, the Domina's countenance grew -inflamed with passion. What! Such a crime committed in her -Convent, and made known to Ambrosio, to the Idol of Madrid, to -the Man whom She was most anxious to impress with the opinion of -the strictness and regularity of her House! Words were -inadequate to express her fury. She was silent, and darted upon -the prostrate Nun looks of menace and malignity. - -'Away with her to the Convent!' said She at length to some of her -Attendants. - -Two of the oldest Nuns now approaching Agnes, raised her forcibly -from the ground, and prepared to conduct her from the Chapel. - -'What!' She exclaimed suddenly shaking off their hold with -distracted gestures; 'Is all hope then lost? Already do you drag -me to punishment? Where are you, Raymond? Oh! save me! save -me!' - -Then casting upon the Abbot a frantic look, 'Hear me!' She -continued; 'Man of an hard heart! Hear me, Proud, Stern, and -Cruel! You could have saved me; you could have restored me to -happiness and virtue, but would not! You are the destroyer of my -Soul; You are my Murderer, and on you fall the curse of my death -and my unborn Infant's! Insolent in your yet-unshaken virtue, -you disdained the prayers of a Penitent; But God will show mercy, -though you show none. And where is the merit of your boasted -virtue? What temptations have you vanquished? Coward! you have -fled from it, not opposed seduction. But the day of Trial will -arrive! Oh! then when you yield to impetuous passions! when you -feel that Man is weak, and born to err; When shuddering you look -back upon your crimes, and solicit with terror the mercy of your -God, Oh! in that fearful moment think upon me! Think upon your -Cruelty! Think upon Agnes, and despair of pardon!' - -As She uttered these last words, her strength was exhausted, and -She sank inanimate upon the bosom of a Nun who stood near her. -She was immediately conveyed from the Chapel, and her Companions -followed her. - -Ambrosio had not listened to her reproaches without emotion. A -secret pang at his heart made him feel, that He had treated this -Unfortunate with too great severity. He therefore detained the -Prioress and ventured to pronounce some words in favour of the -Delinquent. - -'The violence of her despair,' said He, 'proves, that at least -Vice is not become familiar to her. Perhaps by treating her with -somewhat less rigour than is generally practised, and mitigating -in some degree the accustomed penance. . . .' - -'Mitigate it, Father?' interrupted the Lady Prioress; 'Not I, -believe me. The laws of our order are strict and severe; they -have fallen into disuse of late, But the crime of Agnes shows me -the necessity of their revival. I go to signify my intention to -the Convent, and Agnes shall be the first to feel the rigour of -those laws, which shall be obeyed to the very letter. Father, -Farewell.' - -Thus saying, She hastened out of the Chapel. - -'I have done my duty,' said Ambrosio to himself. - -Still did He not feel perfectly satisfied by this reflection. To -dissipate the unpleasant ideas which this scene had excited in -him, upon quitting the Chapel He descended into the Abbey Garden. - -In all Madrid there was no spot more beautiful or better -regulated. It was laid out with the most exquisite taste; The -choicest flowers adorned it in the height of luxuriance, and -though artfully arranged, seemed only planted by the hand of -Nature: Fountains, springing from basons of white Marble, cooled -the air with perpetual showers; and the Walls were entirely -covered by Jessamine, vines, and Honeysuckles. The hour now -added to the beauty of the scene. The full Moon, ranging through -a blue and cloudless sky, shed upon the trees a trembling lustre, -and the waters of the fountains sparkled in the silver beam: A -gentle breeze breathed the fragrance of Orange-blossoms along the -Alleys; and the Nightingale poured forth her melodious murmur -from the shelter of an artificial wilderness. Thither the Abbot -bent his steps. - -In the bosom of this little Grove stood a rustic Grotto, formed -in imitation of an Hermitage. The walls were constructed of -roots of trees, and the interstices filled up with Moss and Ivy. -Seats of Turf were placed on either side, and a natural Cascade -fell from the Rock above. Buried in himself the Monk approached -the spot. The universal calm had communicated itself to his -bosom, and a voluptuous tranquillity spread languor through his -soul. - -He reached the Hermitage, and was entering to repose himself, -when He stopped on perceiving it to be already occupied. -Extended upon one of the Banks lay a man in a melancholy posture. - -His head was supported upon his arm, and He seemed lost in -mediation. The Monk drew nearer, and recognised Rosario: He -watched him in silence, and entered not the Hermitage. After -some minutes the Youth raised his eyes, and fixed them mournfully -upon the opposite Wall. - -'Yes!' said He with a deep and plaintive sigh; 'I feel all the -happiness of thy situation, all the misery of my own! Happy were -I, could I think like Thee! Could I look like Thee with disgust -upon Mankind, could bury myself for ever in some impenetrable -solitude, and forget that the world holds Beings deserving to be -loved! Oh God! What a blessing would Misanthropy be to me!' - -'That is a singular thought, Rosario,' said the Abbot, entering -the Grotto. - -'You here, reverend Father?' cried the Novice. - -At the same time starting from his place in confusion, He drew -his Cowl hastily over his face. Ambrosio seated himself upon the -Bank, and obliged the Youth to place himself by him. - -'You must not indulge this disposition to melancholy,' said He; -'What can possibly have made you view in so desirable a light, -Misanthropy, of all sentiments the most hateful?' - -'The perusal of these Verses, Father, which till now had escaped -my observation. The Brightness of the Moonbeams permitted my -reading them; and Oh! how I envy the feelings of the Writer!' - -As He said this, He pointed to a marble Tablet fixed against the -opposite Wall: On it were engraved the following lines. - - INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE - -Who-e'er Thou art these lines now reading, -Think not, though from the world receding -I joy my lonely days to lead in - This Desart drear, -That with remorse aconscience bleeding - Hath led me here. - -No thought of guilt my bosom sowrs: -Free-willed I fled from courtly bowers; -For well I saw in Halls and Towers - That Lust and Pride, -The Arch-Fiend's dearest darkest Powers, - In state preside. - -I saw Mankind with vice incrusted; -I saw that Honour's sword was rusted; -That few for aught but folly lusted; -That He was still deceiv'd, who trusted - In Love or Friend; -And hither came with Men disgusted - My life to end. - -In this lone Cave, in garments lowly, -Alike a Foe to noisy folly, -And brow-bent gloomy melancholy - I wear away -My life, and in my office holy - Consume the day. - -Content and comfort bless me more in -This Grot, than e'er I felt before in -A Palace, and with thoughts still soaring - To God on high, -Each night and morn with voice imploring - This wish I sigh. - -'Let me, Oh! Lord! from life retire, -Unknown each guilty worldly fire, -Remorseful throb, or loose desire; - And when I die, -Let me in this belief expire, - ''To God I fly''!' - -Stranger, if full of youth and riot -As yet no grief has marred thy quiet, -Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at - The Hermit's prayer: -But if Thou hast a cause to sigh at - Thy fault, or care; - -If Thou hast known false Love's vexation, -Or hast been exil'd from thy Nation, -Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, - And makes thee pine, -Oh! how must Thou lament thy station, - And envy mine! - -'Were it possible' said the Friar, 'for Man to be so totally -wrapped up in himself as to live in absolute seclusion from human -nature, and could yet feel the contented tranquillity which these -lines express, I allow that the situation would be more -desirable, than to live in a world so pregnant with every vice -and every folly. But this never can be the case. This -inscription was merely placed here for the ornament of the -Grotto, and the sentiments and the Hermit are equally imaginary. -Man was born for society. However little He may be attached to -the World, He never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly -forgotten by it. Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity of Mankind, -the Misanthrope flies from it: He resolves to become an Hermit, -and buries himself in the Cavern of some gloomy Rock. While Hate -inflames his bosom, possibly He may feel contented with his -situation: But when his passions begin to cool; when Time has -mellowed his sorrows, and healed those wounds which He bore with -him to his solitude, think you that Content becomes his -Companion? Ah! no, Rosario. No longer sustained by the violence -of his passions, He feels all the monotony of his way of living, -and his heart becomes the prey of Ennui and weariness. He looks -round, and finds himself alone in the Universe: The love of -society revives in his bosom, and He pants to return to that -world which He has abandoned. Nature loses all her charms in his -eyes: No one is near him to point out her beauties, or share in -his admiration of her excellence and variety. Propped upon the -fragment of some Rock, He gazes upon the tumbling waterfall with -a vacant eye, He views without emotion the glory of the setting -Sun. Slowly He returns to his Cell at Evening, for no one there -is anxious for his arrival; He has no comfort in his solitary -unsavoury meal: He throws himself upon his couch of Moss -despondent and dissatisfied, and wakes only to pass a day as -joyless, as monotonous as the former.' - -'You amaze me, Father! Suppose that circumstances condemned you -to solitude; Would not the duties of Religion and the -consciousness of a life well spent communicate to your heart that -calm which. . . .' - -'I should deceive myself, did I fancy that they could. I am -convinced of the contrary, and that all my fortitude would not -prevent me from yielding to melancholy and disgust. After -consuming the day in study, if you knew my pleasure at meeting my -Brethren in the Evening! After passing many a long hour in -solitude, if I could express to you the joy which I feel at once -more beholding a fellow-Creature! 'Tis in this particular that I -place the principal merit of a Monastic Institution. It secludes -Man from the temptations of Vice; It procures that leisure -necessary for the proper service of the Supreme; It spares him -the mortification of witnessing the crimes of the worldly, and -yet permits him to enjoy the blessings of society. And do you, -Rosario, do YOU envy an Hermit's life? Can you be thus blind to -the happiness of your situation? Reflect upon it for a moment. -This Abbey is become your Asylum: Your regularity, your -gentleness, your talents have rendered you the object of -universal esteem: You are secluded from the world which you -profess to hate; yet you remain in possession of the benefits of -society, and that a society composed of the most estimable of -Mankind.' - -'Father! Father! 'tis that which causes my Torment! Happy had -it been for me, had my life been passed among the vicious and -abandoned! Had I never heard pronounced the name of Virtue! 'Tis -my unbounded adoration of religion; 'Tis my soul's exquisite -sensibility of the beauty of fair and good, that loads me with -shame! that hurries me to perdition! Oh! that I had never seen -these Abbey walls!' - -'How, Rosario? When we last conversed, you spoke in a different -tone. Is my friendship then become of such little consequence? -Had you never seen these Abbey walls, you never had seen me: -Can that really be your wish?' - -'Had never seen you?' repeated the Novice, starting from the -Bank, and grasping the Friar's hand with a frantic air; 'You? -You? Would to God, that lightning had blasted them, before you -ever met my eyes! Would to God! that I were never to see you -more, and could forget that I had ever seen you!' - -With these words He flew hastily from the Grotto. Ambrosio -remained in his former attitude, reflecting on the Youth's -unaccountable behaviour. He was inclined to suspect the -derangement of his senses: yet the general tenor of his conduct, -the connexion of his ideas, and calmness of his demeanour till -the moment of his quitting the Grotto, seemed to discountenance -this conjecture. After a few minutes Rosario returned. He again -seated himself upon the Bank: He reclined his cheek upon one -hand, and with the other wiped away the tears which trickled from -his eyes at intervals. - -The Monk looked upon him with compassion, and forbore to -interrupt his meditations. Both observed for some time a -profound silence. The Nightingale had now taken her station upon -an Orange Tree fronting the Hermitage, and poured forth a strain -the most melancholy and melodious. Rosario raised his head, and -listened to her with attention. - -'It was thus,' said He, with a deep-drawn sigh; 'It was thus, -that during the last month of her unhappy life, my Sister used to -sit listening to the Nightingale. Poor Matilda! She sleeps in -the Grave, and her broken heart throbs no more with passion.' - -'You had a Sister?' - -'You say right, that I HAD; Alas! I have one no longer. She -sunk beneath the weight of her sorrows in the very spring of -life.' - -'What were those sorrows?' - -'They will not excite YOUR pity: YOU know not the power of those -irresistible, those fatal sentiments, to which her Heart was a -prey. Father, She loved unfortunately. A passion for One -endowed with every virtue, for a Man, Oh! rather let me say, for -a divinity, proved the bane of her existence. His noble form, -his spotless character, his various talents, his wisdom solid, -wonderful, and glorious, might have warmed the bosom of the most -insensible. My Sister saw him, and dared to love though She -never dared to hope.' - -'If her love was so well bestowed, what forbad her to hope the -obtaining of its object?' - -'Father, before He knew her, Julian had already plighted his vows -to a Bride most fair, most heavenly! Yet still my Sister loved, -and for the Husband's sake She doted upon the Wife. One morning -She found means to escape from our Father's House: Arrayed in -humble weeds She offered herself as a Domestic to the Consort of -her Beloved, and was accepted. She was now continually in his -presence: She strove to ingratiate herself into his favour: She -succeeded. Her attentions attracted Julian's notice; The -virtuous are ever grateful, and He distinguished Matilda above -the rest of her Companions.' - -'And did not your Parents seek for her? Did they submit tamely -to their loss, nor attempt to recover their wandering Daughter?' - -'Ere they could find her, She discovered herself. Her love grew -too violent for concealment; Yet She wished not for Julian's -person, She ambitioned but a share of his heart. In an unguarded -moment She confessed her affection. What was the return? -Doating upon his Wife, and believing that a look of pity bestowed -upon another was a theft from what He owed to her, He drove -Matilda from his presence. He forbad her ever again appearing -before him. His severity broke her heart: She returned to her -Father's, and in a few Months after was carried to her Grave.' - -'Unhappy Girl! Surely her fate was too severe, and Julian was -too cruel.' - -'Do you think so, Father?' cried the Novice with vivacity; 'Do -you think that He was cruel?' - -'Doubtless I do, and pity her most sincerely.' - -'You pity her? You pity her? Oh! Father! Father! Then pity -me!' - -The Friar started; when after a moment's pause Rosario added with -a faltering voice,--'for my sufferings are still greater. My -Sister had a Friend, a real Friend, who pitied the acuteness of -her feelings, nor reproached her with her inability to repress -them. I . . .! I have no Friend! The whole wide world cannot -furnish an heart that is willing to participate in the sorrows -of mine!' - -As He uttered these words, He sobbed audibly. The Friar was -affected. He took Rosario's hand, and pressed it with -tenderness. - -'You have no Friend, say you? What then am I? Why will you not -confide in me, and what can you fear? My severity? Have I ever -used it with you? The dignity of my habit? Rosario, I lay aside -the Monk, and bid you consider me as no other than your Friend, -your Father. Well may I assume that title, for never did Parent -watch over a Child more fondly than I have watched over you. -From the moment in which I first beheld you, I perceived -sensations in my bosom till then unknown to me; I found a -delight in your society which no one's else could afford; and -when I witnessed the extent of your genius and information, I -rejoiced as does a Father in the perfections of his Son. Then -lay aside your fears; Speak to me with openness: Speak to me, -Rosario, and say that you will confide in me. If my aid or my -pity can alleviate your distress. . . .' - -'Yours can! Yours only can! Ah! Father, how willingly would I -unveil to you my heart! How willingly would I declare the -secret which bows me down with its weight! But Oh! I fear! I -fear!' - -'What, my Son?' - -'That you should abhor me for my weakness; That the reward of my -confidence should be the loss of your esteem.' - -'How shall I reassure you? Reflect upon the whole of my past -conduct, upon the paternal tenderness which I have ever shown -you. Abhor you, Rosario? It is no longer in my power. To give -up your society would be to deprive myself of the greatest -pleasure of my life. Then reveal to me what afflicts you, and -believe me while I solemnly swear. . . .' - -'Hold!' interrupted the Novice; 'Swear, that whatever be my -secret, you will not oblige me to quit the Monastery till my -Noviciate shall expire.' - -'I promise it faithfully, and as I keep my vows to you, may -Christ keep his to Mankind. Now then explain this mystery, and -rely upon my indulgence.' - -'I obey you. Know then. . . . Oh! how I tremble to name the -word! Listen to me with pity, revered Ambrosio! Call up every -latent spark of human weakness that may teach you compassion for -mine! Father!' continued He throwing himself at the Friar's -feet, and pressing his hand to his lips with eagerness, while -agitation for a moment choaked his voice; 'Father!' continued He -in faltering accents, 'I am a Woman!' - -The Abbot started at this unexpected avowal. Prostrate on the -ground lay the feigned Rosario, as if waiting in silence the -decision of his Judge. Astonishment on the one part, -apprehension on the other, for some minutes chained them in the -same attitudes, as had they been touched by the Rod of some -Magician. At length recovering from his confusion, the Monk -quitted the Grotto, and sped with precipitation towards the -Abbey. His action did not escape the Suppliant. She sprang from -the ground; She hastened to follow him, overtook him, threw -herself in his passage, and embraced his knees. Ambrosio strove -in vain to disengage himself from her grasp. - -'Do not fly me!' She cried; 'Leave me not abandoned to the -impulse of despair! Listen, while I excuse my imprudence; while -I acknowledge my Sister's story to be my own! I am Matilda; You -are her Beloved.' - -If Ambrosio's surprise was great at her first avowal, upon -hearing her second it exceeded all bounds. Amazed, embarrassed, -and irresolute He found himself incapable of pronouncing a -syllable, and remained in silence gazing upon Matilda: This gave -her opportunity to continue her explanation as follows. - -'Think not, Ambrosio, that I come to rob your Bride of your -affections. No, believe me: Religion alone deserves you; and -far is it from Matilda's wish to draw you from the paths of -virtue. What I feel for you is love, not licentiousness; I sigh -to be possessor of your heart, not lust for the enjoyment of your -person. Deign to listen to my vindication: A few moments will -convince you that this holy retreat is not polluted by my -presence, and that you may grant me your compassion without -trespassing against your vows.'--She seated herself: Ambrosio, -scarcely conscious of what He did, followed her example, and She -proceeded in her discourse. - -'I spring from a distinguished family: My Father was Chief of -the noble House of Villanegas. He died while I was still an -Infant, and left me sole Heiress of his immense possessions. -Young and wealthy, I was sought in marriage by the noblest Youths -of Madrid; But no one succeeded in gaining my affections. I had -been brought up under the care of an Uncle possessed of the most -solid judgment and extensive erudition. He took pleasure in -communicating to me some portion of his knowledge. Under his -instructions my understanding acquired more strength and -justness than generally falls to the lot of my sex: The ability -of my Preceptor being aided by natural curiosity, I not only made -a considerable progress in sciences universally studied, but in -others, revealed but to few, and lying under censure from the -blindness of superstition. But while my Guardian laboured to -enlarge the sphere of my knowledge, He carefully inculcated every -moral precept: He relieved me from the shackles of vulgar -prejudice; He pointed out the beauty of Religion; He taught me to -look with adoration upon the pure and virtuous, and, woe is me! -I have obeyed him but too well! - -'With such dispositions, Judge whether I could observe with any -other sentiment than disgust the vice, dissipation, and -ignorance, which disgrace our Spanish Youth. I rejected every -offer with disdain. My heart remained without a Master till -chance conducted me to the Cathedral of the Capuchins. Oh! -surely on that day my Guardian Angel slumbered neglectful of his -charge! Then was it that I first beheld you: You supplied the -Superior's place, absent from illness. You cannot but remember -the lively enthusiasm which your discourse created. Oh! how I -drank your words! How your eloquence seemed to steal me from -myself! I scarcely dared to breathe, fearing to lose a syllable; -and while you spoke, Methought a radiant glory beamed round your -head, and your countenance shone with the majesty of a God. I -retired from the Church, glowing with admiration. From that -moment you became the idol of my heart, the never-changing object -of my Meditations. I enquired respecting you. The reports which -were made me of your mode of life, of your knowledge, piety, and -self-denial riveted the chains imposed on me by your eloquence. -I was conscious that there was no longer a void in my heart; That -I had found the Man whom I had sought till then in vain. In -expectation of hearing you again, every day I visited your -Cathedral: You remained secluded within the Abbey walls, and I -always withdrew, wretched and disappointed. The Night was more -propitious to me, for then you stood before me in my dreams; You -vowed to me eternal friendship; You led me through the paths of -virtue, and assisted me to support the vexations of life. The -Morning dispelled these pleasing visions; I woke, and found -myself separated from you by Barriers which appeared -insurmountable. Time seemed only to increase the strength of my -passion: I grew melancholy and despondent; I fled from society, -and my health declined daily. At length no longer able to exist -in this state of torture, I resolved to assume the disguise in -which you see me. My artifice was fortunate: I was received -into the Monastery, and succeeded in gaining your esteem. - -'Now then I should have felt compleatly happy, had not my quiet -been disturbed by the fear of detection. The pleasure which I -received from your society, was embittered by the idea that -perhaps I should soon be deprived of it: and my heart throbbed so -rapturously at obtaining the marks of your friendship, as to -convince me that I never should survive its loss. I resolved, -therefore, not to leave the discovery of my sex to chance, to -confess the whole to you, and throw myself entirely on your mercy -and indulgence. Ah! Ambrosio, can I have been deceived? Can you -be less generous than I thought you? I will not suspect it. You -will not drive a Wretch to despair; I shall still be permitted to -see you, to converse with you, to adore you! Your virtues shall -be my example through life; and when we expire, our bodies shall -rest in the same Grave.' - -She ceased. While She spoke, a thousand opposing sentiments -combated in Ambrosio's bosom. Surprise at the singularity of -this adventure, Confusion at her abrupt declaration, Resentment -at her boldness in entering the Monastery, and Consciousness of -the austerity with which it behoved him to reply, such were the -sentiments of which He was aware; But there were others also -which did not obtain his notice. He perceived not, that his -vanity was flattered by the praises bestowed upon his eloquence -and virtue; that He felt a secret pleasure in reflecting that a -young and seemingly lovely Woman had for his sake abandoned the -world, and sacrificed every other passion to that which He had -inspired: Still less did He perceive that his heart throbbed -with desire, while his hand was pressed gently by Matilda's ivory -fingers. - -By degrees He recovered from his confusion. His ideas became -less bewildered: He was immediately sensible of the extreme -impropriety, should Matilda be permitted to remain in the Abbey -after this avowal of her sex. He assumed an air of severity, and -drew away his hand. - -'How, Lady!' said He; 'Can you really hope for my permission to -remain amongst us? Even were I to grant your request, what good -could you derive from it? Think you that I ever can reply to an -affection, which . . .'. - -'No, Father, No! I expect not to inspire you with a love like -mine. I only wish for the liberty to be near you, to pass some -hours of the day in your society; to obtain your compassion, your -friendship and esteem. Surely my request is not unreasonable.' - -'But reflect, Lady! Reflect only for a moment on the impropriety -of my harbouring a Woman in the Abbey; and that too a Woman, who -confesses that She loves me. It must not be. The risque of your -being discovered is too great, and I will not expose myself to so -dangerous a temptation.' - -'Temptation, say you? Forget that I am a Woman, and it no -longer exists: Consider me only as a Friend, as an Unfortunate, -whose happiness, whose life depends upon your protection. Fear -not lest I should ever call to your remembrance that love the -most impetuous, the most unbounded, has induced me to disguise my -sex; or that instigated by desires, offensive to YOUR vows and my -own honour, I should endeavour to seduce you from the path of -rectitude. No, Ambrosio, learn to know me better. I love you -for your virtues: Lose them, and with them you lose my -affections. I look upon you as a Saint; Prove to me that you are -no more than Man, and I quit you with disgust. Is it then from -me that you fear temptation? From me, in whom the world's -dazzling pleasures created no other sentiment than contempt? -From me, whose attachment is grounded on your exemption from -human frailty? Oh! dismiss such injurious apprehensions! Think -nobler of me, think nobler of yourself. I am incapable of -seducing you to error; and surely your Virtue is established on a -basis too firm to be shaken by unwarranted desires. Ambrosio, -dearest Ambrosio! drive me not from your presence; Remember your -promise, and authorize my stay!' - -'Impossible, Matilda; YOUR interest commands me to refuse your -prayer, since I tremble for you, not for myself. After -vanquishing the impetuous ebullitions of Youth; After passing -thirty years in mortification and penance, I might safely permit -your stay, nor fear your inspiring me with warmer sentiments than -pity. But to yourself, remaining in the Abbey can produce none -but fatal consequences. You will misconstrue my every word and -action; You will seize every circumstance with avidity, which -encourages you to hope the return of your affection; Insensibly -your passions will gain a superiority over your reason; and far -from these being repressed by my presence, every moment which we -pass together, will only serve to irritate and excite them. -Believe me, unhappy Woman! you possess my sincere compassion. I -am convinced that you have hitherto acted upon the purest -motives; But though you are blind to the imprudence of your -conduct, in me it would be culpable not to open your eyes. I -feel that Duty obliges my treating you with harshness: I must -reject your prayer, and remove every shadow of hope which may -aid to nourish sentiments so pernicious to your repose. Matilda, -you must from hence tomorrow.' - -'Tomorrow, Ambrosio? Tomorrow? Oh! surely you cannot mean it! - -You cannot resolve on driving me to despair! You cannot have the -cruelty. . . .' - -'You have heard my decision, and it must be obeyed. The Laws of -our Order forbid your stay: It would be perjury to conceal that -a Woman is within these Walls, and my vows will oblige me to -declare your story to the Community. You must from hence!--I -pity you, but can do no more!' - -He pronounced these words in a faint and trembling voice: Then -rising from his seat, He would have hastened towards the -Monastery. Uttering a loud shriek, Matilda followed, and -detained him. - -'Stay yet one moment, Ambrosio! Hear me yet speak one word!' - -'I dare not listen! Release me! You know my resolution!' - -'But one word! But one last word, and I have done!' - -'Leave me! Your entreaties are in vain! You must from hence -tomorrow!' - -'Go then, Barbarian! But this resource is still left me.' - -As She said this, She suddenly drew a poignard: She rent open -her garment, and placed the weapon's point against her bosom. - -'Father, I will never quit these Walls alive!' - -'Hold! Hold, Matilda! What would you do?' - -'You are determined, so am I: The Moment that you leave me, I -plunge this Steel in my heart.' - -'Holy St. Francis! Matilda, have you your senses? Do you know -the consequences of your action? That Suicide is the greatest of -crimes? That you destroy your Soul? That you lose your claim to -salvation? That you prepare for yourself everlasting torments?' - -'I care not! I care not!' She replied passionately; 'Either your -hand guides me to Paradise, or my own dooms me to perdition! -Speak to me, Ambrosio! Tell me that you will conceal my story, -that I shall remain your Friend and your Companion, or this -poignard drinks my blood!' - -As She uttered these last words, She lifted her arm, and made a -motion as if to stab herself. The Friar's eyes followed with -dread the course of the dagger. She had torn open her habit, and -her bosom was half exposed. The weapon's point rested upon her -left breast: And Oh! that was such a breast! The Moonbeams -darting full upon it enabled the Monk to observe its dazzling -whiteness. His eye dwelt with insatiable avidity upon the -beauteous Orb. A sensation till then unknown filled his heart -with a mixture of anxiety and delight: A raging fire shot -through every limb; The blood boiled in his veins, and a thousand -wild wishes bewildered his imagination. - -'Hold!' He cried in an hurried faultering voice; 'I can resist no -longer! Stay, then, Enchantress; Stay for my destruction!' - -He said, and rushing from the place, hastened towards the -Monastery: He regained his Cell and threw himself upon his -Couch, distracted irresolute and confused. - -He found it impossible for some time to arrange his ideas. The -scene in which He had been engaged had excited such a variety of -sentiments in his bosom, that He was incapable of deciding which -was predominant. He was irresolute what conduct He ought to hold -with the disturber of his repose. He was conscious that -prudence, -religion, and propriety necessitated his obliging her to quit the -Abbey: But on the other hand such powerful reasons authorized -her stay that He was but too much inclined to consent to her -remaining. He could not avoid being flattered by Matilda's -declaration, and at reflecting that He had unconsciously -vanquished an heart which had resisted the attacks of Spain's -noblest Cavaliers: The manner in which He had gained her -affections was also the most satisfactory to his vanity: He -remembered the many happy hours which He had passed in Rosario's -society, and dreaded that void in his heart which parting with -him would occasion. Besides all this, He considered, that as -Matilda was wealthy, her favour might be of essential benefit to -the Abbey. - -'And what do I risque,' said He to himself, 'by authorizing her -stay? May I not safely credit her assertions? Will it not be -easy for me to forget her sex, and still consider her as my -Friend and my disciple? Surely her love is as pure as She -describes. Had it been the offspring of mere licentiousness, -would She so long have concealed it in her own bosom? Would She -not have employed some means to procure its gratification? She -has done quite the contrary: She strove to keep me in ignorance -of her sex; and nothing but the fear of detection, and my -instances, would have compelled her to reveal the secret. She -has observed the duties of religion not less strictly than -myself. She has made no attempts to rouze my slumbering -passions, nor has She ever conversed with me till this night on -the subject of Love. Had She been desirous to gain my -affections, not my esteem, She would not have concealed from me -her charms so carefully: At this very moment I have never seen -her face: Yet certainly that face must be lovely, and her person -beautiful, to judge by her . . . by what I have seen.' - -As this last idea passed through his imagination, a blush spread -itself over his cheek. Alarmed at the sentiments which He was -indulging, He betook himself to prayer; He started from his -Couch, knelt before the beautiful Madona, and entreated her -assistance in stifling such culpable emotions. He then returned -to his Bed, and resigned himself to slumber. - -He awoke, heated and unrefreshed. During his sleep his inflamed -imagination had presented him with none but the most voluptuous -objects. Matilda stood before him in his dreams, and his eyes -again dwelt upon her naked breast. She repeated her -protestations of eternal love, threw her arms round his neck, and -loaded him with kisses: He returned them; He clasped her -passionately to his bosom, and . . . the vision was dissolved. -Sometimes his dreams presented the image of his favourite Madona, -and He fancied that He was kneeling before her: As He offered up -his vows to her, the eyes of the Figure seemed to beam on him -with inexpressible sweetness. He pressed his lips to hers, and -found them warm: The animated form started from the Canvas, -embraced him affectionately, and his senses were unable to -support delight so exquisite. Such were the scenes, on which his -thoughts were employed while sleeping: His unsatisfied Desires -placed before him the most lustful and provoking Images, and he -rioted in joys till then unknown to him. - -He started from his Couch, filled with confusion at the -remembrance of his dreams. Scarcely was He less ashamed, when He -reflected on his reasons of the former night which induced him -to authorize Matilda's stay. The cloud was now dissipated which -had obscured his judgment: He shuddered when He beheld his -arguments blazoned in their proper colours, and found that He had -been a slave to flattery, to avarice, and self-love. If in one -hour's conversation Matilda had produced a change so remarkable -in his sentiments, what had He not to dread from her remaining in -the Abbey? Become sensible of his danger, awakened from his -dream of confidence, He resolved to insist on her departing -without delay. He began to feel that He was not proof against -temptation; and that however Matilda might restrain herself -within the bounds of modesty, He was unable to contend with those -passions, from which He falsely thought himself exempted. - -'Agnes! Agnes!' He exclaimed, while reflecting on his -embarrassments, 'I already feel thy curse!' - -He quitted his Cell, determined upon dismissing the feigned -Rosario. He appeared at Matins; But his thoughts were absent, -and He paid them but little attention. His heart and brain were -both of them filled with worldly objects, and He prayed without -devotion. The service over, He descended into the Garden. He -bent his steps towards the same spot where, on the preceding -night, He had made this embarrassing discovery. He doubted not -but that Matilda would seek him there: He was not deceived. She -soon entered the Hermitage, and approached the Monk with a timid -air. After a few minutes during which both were silent, She -appeared as if on the point of speaking; But the Abbot, who -during this time had been summoning up all his resolution, -hastily interrupted her. Though still unconscious how extensive -was its influence, He dreaded the melodious seduction of her -voice. - -'Seat yourself by my side, Matilda,' said He, assuming a look of -firmness, though carefully avoiding the least mixture of -severity; 'Listen to me patiently, and believe, that in what I -shall say, I am not more influenced by my own interest than by -yours: Believe, that I feel for you the warmest friendship, the -truest compassion, and that you cannot feel more grieved than I -do, when I declare to you that we must never meet again.' - -'Ambrosio!' She cried, in a voice at once expressive of surprise -and sorrow. - -'Be calm, my Friend! My Rosario! Still let me call you by that -name so dear to me! Our separation is unavoidable; I blush to -own, how sensibly it affects me.-- But yet it must be so. I feel -myself incapable of treating you with indifference, and that very -conviction obliges me to insist upon your departure. Matilda, -you must stay here no longer.' - -'Oh! where shall I now seek for probity? Disgusted with a -perfidious world, in what happy region does Truth conceal -herself? Father, I hoped that She resided here; I thought that -your bosom had been her favourite shrine. And you too prove -false? Oh God! And you too can betray me?' - -'Matilda!' - -'Yes, Father, Yes! 'Tis with justice that I reproach you. Oh! -where are your promises? My Noviciate is not expired, and yet -will you compell me to quit the Monastery? Can you have the -heart to drive me from you? And have I not received your solemn -oath to the contrary?' - -'I will not compell you to quit the Monastery: You have received -my solemn oath to the contrary. But yet when I throw myself upon -your generosity, when I declare to you the embarrassments in -which your presence involves me, will you not release me from -that oath? Reflect upon the danger of a discovery, upon the -opprobrium in which such an event would plunge me: Reflect that -my honour and reputation are at stake, and that my peace of mind -depends on your compliance. As yet my heart is free; I shall -separate from you with regret, but not with despair. Stay here, -and a few weeks will sacrifice my happiness on the altar of your -charms. You are but too interesting, too amiable! I should love -you, I should doat on you! My bosom would become the prey of -desires which Honour and my profession forbid me to gratify. If -I resisted them, the impetuosity of my wishes unsatisfied would -drive me to madness: If I yielded to the temptation, I should -sacrifice to one moment of guilty pleasure my reputation in this -world, my salvation in the next. To you then I fly for defence -against myself. Preserve me from losing the reward of thirty -years of sufferings! Preserve me from becoming the Victim of -Remorse! YOUR heart has already felt the anguish of hopeless -love; Oh! then if you really value me, spare mine that anguish! -Give me back my promise; Fly from these walls. Go, and you bear -with you my warmest prayers for your happiness, my friendship, my -esteem and admiration: Stay, and you become to me the source of -danger, of sufferings, of despair! Answer me, Matilda; What is -your resolve?'--She was silent--'Will you not speak, Matilda? -Will you not name your choice?' - -'Cruel! Cruel!' She exclaimed, wringing her hands in agony; 'You -know too well that you offer me no choice! You know too well that -I can have no will but yours!' - -'I was not then deceived! Matilda's generosity equals my -expectations.' - -'Yes; I will prove the truth of my affection by submitting to a -decree which cuts me to the very heart. Take back your promise. -I will quit the Monastery this very day. I have a Relation, -Abbess of a Covent in Estramadura: To her will I bend my steps, -and shut myself from the world for ever. Yet tell me, Father; -Shall I bear your good wishes with me to my solitude? Will you -sometimes abstract your attention from heavenly objects to bestow -a thought upon me?' - -'Ah! Matilda, I fear that I shall think on you but too often for -my repose!' - -'Then I have nothing more to wish for, save that we may meet in -heaven. Farewell, my Friend! my Ambrosio!-- And yet methinks, I -would fain bear with me some token of your regard!' - -'What shall I give you?' - -'Something.--Any thing.--One of those flowers will be -sufficient.' (Here She pointed to a bush of Roses, planted at the -door of the Grotto.) 'I will hide it in my bosom, and when I am -dead, the Nuns shall find it withered upon my heart.' - -The Friar was unable to reply: With slow steps, and a soul heavy -with affliction, He quitted the Hermitage. He approached the -Bush, and stooped to pluck one of the Roses. Suddenly He uttered -a piercing cry, started back hastily, and let the flower, which -He already held, fall from his hand. Matilda heard the shriek, -and flew anxiously towards him. - -'What is the matter?' She cried; 'Answer me, for God's sake! -What has happened?' - -'I have received my death!' He replied in a faint voice; -'Concealed among the Roses . . . A Serpent. . . .' - -Here the pain of his wound became so exquisite, that Nature was -unable to bear it: His senses abandoned him, and He sank -inanimate into Matilda's arms. - -Her distress was beyond the power of description. She rent her -hair, beat her bosom, and not daring to quit Ambrosio, -endeavoured by loud cries to summon the Monks to her assistance. -She at length succeeded. Alarmed by her shrieks, Several of the -Brothers hastened to the spot, and the Superior was conveyed back -to the Abbey. He was immediately put to bed, and the Monk who -officiated as Surgeon to the Fraternity prepared to examine the -wound. By this time Ambrosio's hand had swelled to an -extraordinary size; The remedies which had been administered to -him, 'tis true, restored him to life, but not to his senses; He -raved in all the horrors of delirium, foamed at the mouth, and -four of the strongest Monks were scarcely able to hold him in his -bed. - -Father Pablos, such was the Surgeon's name, hastened to examine -the wounded hand. The Monks surrounded the Bed, anxiously -waiting for the decision: Among these the feigned Rosario -appeared not the most insensible to the Friar's calamity. He -gazed upon the Sufferer with inexpressible anguish; and the -groans which every moment escaped from his bosom sufficiently -betrayed the violence of his affliction. - -Father Pablos probed the wound. As He drew out his Lancet, its -point was tinged with a greenish hue. He shook his head -mournfully, and quitted the bedside. - -' 'Tis as I feared!' said He; 'There is no hope.' - -'No hope?' exclaimed the Monks with one voice; 'Say you, no -hope?' - -'From the sudden effects, I suspected that the Abbot was stung by -a Cientipedoro: The venom which you see upon my Lancet -confirms my idea: He cannot live three days.' - -'And can no possible remedy be found?' enquired Rosario. - -'Without extracting the poison, He cannot recover; and how to -extract it is to me still a secret. All that I can do is to -apply such herbs to the wound as will relieve the anguish: The -Patient will be restored to his senses; But the venom will -corrupt the whole mass of his blood, and in three days He will -exist no longer.' - -Excessive was the universal grief at hearing this decision. -Pablos, as He had promised, dressed the wound, and then retired, -followed by his Companions: Rosario alone remained in the Cell, -the Abbot at his urgent entreaty having been committed to his -care. Ambrosio's strength worn out by the violence of his -exertions, He had by this time fallen into a profound sleep. So -totally was He overcome by weariness, that He scarcely gave any -signs of life; He was still in this situation, when the Monks -returned to enquire whether any change had taken place. Pablos -loosened the bandage which concealed the wound, more from a -principle of curiosity than from indulging the hope of -discovering any favourable symptoms. What was his astonishment -at finding, that the inflammation had totally subsided! He -probed the hand; His Lancet came out pure and unsullied; No -traces of the venom were perceptible; and had not the orifice -still been visible, Pablos might have doubted that there had ever -been a wound. - -He communicated this intelligence to his Brethren; their delight -was only equalled by their surprize. From the latter sentiment, -however, they were soon released by explaining the circumstance -according to their own ideas: They were perfectly convinced that -their Superior was a Saint, and thought, that nothing could be -more natural than for St. Francis to have operated a miracle in -his favour. This opinion was adopted unanimously: They declared -it so loudly, and vociferated,--'A miracle! a miracle!'--with -such fervour, that they soon interrupted Ambrosio's slumbers. - -The Monks immediately crowded round his Bed, and expressed their -satisfaction at his wonderful recovery. He was perfectly in his -senses, and free from every complaint except feeling weak and -languid. Pablos gave him a strengthening medicine, and advised -his keeping his bed for the two succeeding days: He then -retired, having desired his Patient not to exhaust himself by -conversation, but rather to endeavour at taking some repose. The -other Monks followed his example, and the Abbot and Rosario were -left without Observers. - -For some minutes Ambrosio regarded his Attendant with a look of -mingled pleasure and apprehension. She was seated upon the side -of the Bed, her head bending down, and as usual enveloped in the -Cowl of her Habit. - -'And you are still here, Matilda?' said the Friar at length. -'Are you not satisfied with having so nearly effected my -destruction, that nothing but a miracle could have saved me from -the Grave? Ah! surely Heaven sent that Serpent to punish. . . .' - -Matilda interrupted him by putting her hand before his lips with -an air of gaiety. - -'Hush! Father, Hush! You must not talk!' - -'He who imposed that order, knew not how interesting are the -subjects on which I wish to speak.' - -'But I know it, and yet issue the same positive command. I am -appointed your Nurse, and you must not disobey my orders.' - -'You are in spirits, Matilda!' - -'Well may I be so: I have just received a pleasure unexampled -through my whole life.' - -'What was that pleasure?' - -'What I must conceal from all, but most from you.' - -'But most from me? Nay then, I entreat you, Matilda. . . .' - -'Hush, Father! Hush! You must not talk. But as you do not seem -inclined to sleep, shall I endeavour to amuse you with my Harp?' - -'How? I knew not that you understood Music.' - -'Oh! I am a sorry Performer! Yet as silence is prescribed you -for eight and forty hours, I may possibly entertain you, when -wearied of your own reflections. I go to fetch my Harp.' - -She soon returned with it. - -'Now, Father; What shall I sing? Will you hear the Ballad which -treats of the gallant Durandarte, who died in the famous battle -of Roncevalles?' - -'What you please, Matilda.' - -'Oh! call me not Matilda! Call me Rosario, call me your Friend! -Those are the names, which I love to hear from your lips. Now -listen!' - -She then tuned her harp, and afterwards preluded for some moments -with such exquisite taste as to prove her a perfect Mistress of -the Instrument. The air which She played was soft and plaintive: - -Ambrosio, while He listened, felt his uneasiness subside, and a -pleasing melancholy spread itself into his bosom. Suddenly -Matilda changed the strain: With an hand bold and rapid She -struck a few loud martial chords, and then chaunted the following -Ballad to an air at once simple and melodious. - - DURANDARTE AND BELERMA - -Sad and fearful is the story -Of the Roncevalles fight; -On those fatal plains of glory -Perished many a gallant Knight. - -There fell Durandarte; Never -Verse a nobler Chieftain named: -He, before his lips for ever -Closed in silence thus exclaimed. - -'Oh! Belerma! Oh! my dear-one! -For my pain and pleasure born! -Seven long years I served thee, fair-one, -Seven long years my fee was scorn: - -'And when now thy heart replying -To my wishes, burns like mine, -Cruel Fate my bliss denying -Bids me every hope resign. - -'Ah! Though young I fall, believe me, -Death would never claim a sigh; -'Tis to lose thee, 'tis to leave thee, -Makes me think it hard to die! - -'Oh! my Cousin Montesinos, -By that friendship firm and dear -Which from Youth has lived between us, -Now my last petition hear! - -'When my Soul these limbs forsaking -Eager seeks a purer air, -From my breast the cold heart taking, -Give it to Belerma's care. - -Say, I of my lands Possessor -Named her with my dying breath: -Say, my lips I op'd to bless her, -Ere they closed for aye in death: - -'Twice a week too how sincerely -I adored her, Cousin, say; -Twice a week for one who dearly -Loved her, Cousin, bid her pray. - -'Montesinos, now the hour -Marked by fate is near at hand: -Lo! my arm has lost its power! -Lo! I drop my trusty brand! - -'Eyes, which forth beheld me going, -Homewards ne'er shall see me hie! -Cousin, stop those tears o'er-flowing, -Let me on thy bosom die! - -'Thy kind hand my eyelids closing, -Yet one favour I implore: -Pray Thou for my Soul's reposing, -When my heart shall throb no more; - -'So shall Jesus, still attending -Gracious to a Christian's vow, -Pleased accept my Ghost ascending, -And a seat in heaven allow.' - -Thus spoke gallant Durandarte; -Soon his brave heart broke in twain. -Greatly joyed the Moorish party, -That the gallant Knight was slain. - -Bitter weeping Montesinos -Took from him his helm and glaive; -Bitter weeping Montesinos -Dug his gallant Cousin's grave. - -To perform his promise made, He -Cut the heart from out the breast, -That Belerma, wretched Lady! -Might receive the last bequest. - -Sad was Montesinos' heart, He -Felt distress his bosom rend. -'Oh! my Cousin Durandarte, -Woe is me to view thy end! - -'Sweet in manners, fair in favour, -Mild in temper, fierce in fight, -Warrior, nobler, gentler, braver, -Never shall behold the light! - -'Cousin, Lo! my tears bedew thee! -How shall I thy loss survive! -Durandarte, He who slew thee, -Wherefore left He me alive!' - -While She sung, Ambrosio listened with delight: Never had He -heard a voice more harmonious; and He wondered how such heavenly -sounds could be produced by any but Angels. But though He -indulged the sense of hearing, a single look convinced him that -He must not trust to that of sight. The Songstress sat at a -little distance from his Bed. The attitude in which She bent -over her harp, was easy and graceful: Her Cowl had fallen back- -warder than usual: Two coral lips were visible, ripe, fresh, and -melting, and a Chin in whose dimples seemed to lurk a thousand -Cupids. Her Habit's long sleeve would have swept along the -Chords of the Instrument: To prevent this inconvenience She had -drawn it above her elbow, and by this means an arm was discovered -formed in the most perfect symmetry, the delicacy of whose skin -might have contended with snow in whiteness. Ambrosio dared to -look on her but once: That glance sufficed to convince him, how -dangerous was the presence of this seducing Object. He closed -his eyes, but strove in vain to banish her from his thoughts. -There She still moved before him, adorned with all those charms -which his heated imagination could supply: Every beauty which He -had seen, appeared embellished, and those still concealed Fancy -represented to him in glowing colours. Still, however, his vows -and the necessity of keeping to them were present to his memory. -He struggled with desire, and shuddered when He beheld how deep -was the precipice before him. - -Matilda ceased to sing. Dreading the influence of her charms, -Ambrosio remained with his eyes closed, and offered up his -prayers to St. Francis to assist him in this dangerous trial! -Matilda believed that He was sleeping. She rose from her seat, -approached the Bed softly, and for some minutes gazed upon him -attentively. - -'He sleeps!' said She at length in a low voice, but whose accents -the Abbot distinguished perfectly; 'Now then I may gaze upon him -without offence! I may mix my breath with his; I may doat upon -his features, and He cannot suspect me of impurity and -deceit!--He fears my seducing him to the violation of his vows! -Oh! the Unjust! Were it my wish to excite desire, should I -conceal my features from him so carefully? Those features, of -which I daily hear him. . . .' - -She stopped, and was lost in her reflections. - -'It was but yesterday!' She continued; 'But a few short hours -have past, since I was dear to him! He esteemed me, and my heart -was satisfied! Now!. . . Oh! now how cruelly is my situation -changed! He looks on me with suspicion! He bids me leave him, -leave him for ever! Oh! You, my Saint! my Idol! You, holding -the next place to God in my breast! Yet two days, and my heart -will be unveiled to you.--Could you know my feelings, when I -beheld your agony! Could you know, how much your sufferings have -endeared you to me! But the time will come, when you will be -convinced that my passion is pure and disinterested. Then you -will pity me, and feel the whole weight of these sorrows!' - -As She said this, her voice was choaked by weeping. While She -bent over Ambrosio, a tear fell upon his cheek. - -'Ah! I have disturbed him!' cried Matilda, and retreated -hastily. - -Her alarm was ungrounded. None sleep so profoundly, as those who -are determined not to wake. The Friar was in this predicament: -He still seemed buried in a repose, which every succeeding minute -rendered him less capable of enjoying. The burning tear had -communicated its warmth to his heart. - -'What affection! What purity!' said He internally; 'Ah! since -my bosom is thus sensible of pity, what would it be if agitated -by love?' - -Matilda again quitted her seat, and retired to some distance from -the Bed. Ambrosio ventured to open his eyes, and to cast them -upon her fearfully. Her face was turned from him. She rested -her head in a melancholy posture upon her Harp, and gazed on the -picture which hung opposite to the Bed. - -'Happy, happy Image!' Thus did She address the beautiful Madona; -' 'Tis to you that He offers his prayers! 'Tis on you that He -gazes with admiration! I thought you would have lightened my -sorrows; You have only served to increase their weight: You have -made me feel that had I known him ere his vows were pronounced, -Ambrosio and happiness might have been mine. With what pleasure -He views this picture! With what fervour He addresses his -prayers to the insensible Image! Ah! may not his sentiments be -inspired by some kind and secret Genius, Friend to my affection? -May it not be Man's natural instinct which informs him. . . Be -silent, idle hopes! Let me not encourage an idea which takes -from the brilliance of Ambrosio's virtue. 'Tis Religion, not -Beauty which attracts his admiration; 'Tis not to the Woman, but -the Divinity that He kneels. Would He but address to me the -least tender expression which He pours forth to this Madona! -Would He but say that were He not already affianced to the -Church, He would not have despised Matilda! Oh! let me nourish -that fond idea! Perhaps He may yet acknowledge that He feels for -me more than pity, and that affection like mine might well have -deserved a return; Perhaps, He may own thus much when I lye on my -deathbed! He then need not fear to infringe his vows, and the -confession of his regard will soften the pangs of dying. Would I -were sure of this! Oh! how earnestly should I sigh for the -moment of dissolution!' - -Of this discourse the Abbot lost not a syllable; and the tone in -which She pronounced these last words pierced to his heart. -Involuntarily He raised himself from his pillow. - -'Matilda!' He said in a troubled voice; 'Oh! my Matilda!' - -She started at the sound, and turned towards him hastily. The -suddenness of her movement made her Cowl fall back from her head; -Her features became visible to the Monk's enquiring eye. What -was his amazement at beholding the exact resemblance of his -admired Madona? The same exquisite proportion of features, the -same profusion of golden hair, the same rosy lips, heavenly eyes, -and majesty of countenance adorned Matilda! Uttering an -exclamation of surprize, Ambrosio sank back upon his pillow, and -doubted whether the Object before him was mortal or divine. - -Matilda seemed penetrated with confusion. She remained -motionless in her place, and supported herself upon her -Instrument. Her eyes were bent upon the earth, and her fair -cheeks overspread with blushes. On recovering herself, her -first action was to conceal her features. She then in an -unsteady and troubled voice ventured to address these words to -the Friar. - -'Accident has made you Master of a secret, which I never would -have revealed but on the Bed of death. Yes, Ambrosio; In Matilda -de Villanegas you see the original of your beloved Madona. Soon -after I conceived my unfortunate passion, I formed the project of -conveying to you my Picture: Crowds of Admirers had persuaded me -that I possessed some beauty, and I was anxious to know what -effect it would produce upon you. I caused my Portrait to be -drawn by Martin Galuppi, a celebrated Venetian at that time -resident in Madrid. The resemblance was striking: I sent it to -the Capuchin Abbey as if for sale, and the Jew from whom you -bought it was one of my Emissaries. You purchased it. Judge of -my rapture, when informed that you had gazed upon it with -delight, or rather with adoration; that you had suspended it in -your Cell, and that you addressed your supplications to no other -Saint. Will this discovery make me still more regarded as an -object of suspicion? Rather should it convince you how pure is -my affection, and engage you to suffer me in your society and -esteem. I heard you daily extol the praises of my Portrait: I -was an eyewitness of the transports, which its beauty excited -in you: Yet I forbore to use against your virtue those arms, with -which yourself had furnished me. I concealed those features from -your sight, which you loved unconsciously. I strove not to -excite desire by displaying my charms, or to make myself Mistress -of your heart through the medium of your senses. To attract your -notice by studiously attending to religious duties, to endear -myself to you by convincing you that my mind was virtuous and my -attachment sincere, such was my only aim. I succeeded; I became -your companion and your Friend. I concealed my sex from your -knowledge; and had you not pressed me to reveal my secret, had I -not been tormented by the fear of a discovery, never had you -known me for any other than Rosario. And still are you resolved -to drive me from you? The few hours of life which yet remain for -me, may I not pass them in your presence? Oh! speak, Ambrosio, -and tell me that I may stay!' - -This speech gave the Abbot an opportunity of recollecting -himself. He was conscious that in the present disposition of his -mind, avoiding her society was his only refuge from the power of -this enchanting Woman. - -'You declaration has so much astonished me,' said He, 'that I am -at present incapable of answering you. Do not insist upon a -reply, Matilda; Leave me to myself; I have need to be alone.' - -'I obey you--But before I go, promise not to insist upon my -quitting the Abbey immediately.' - -'Matilda, reflect upon your situation; Reflect upon the -consequences of your stay. Our separation is indispensable, and -we must part.' - -'But not to-day, Father! Oh! in pity not today!' - -'You press me too hard, but I cannot resist that tone of -supplication. Since you insist upon it, I yield to your prayer: -I consent to your remaining here a sufficient time to prepare in -some measure the Brethren for your departure. Stay yet two days; -But on the third,' . . . (He sighed involuntarily)--'Remember, -that on the third we must part for ever!' - -She caught his hand eagerly, and pressed it to her lips. - -'On the third?' She exclaimed with an air of wild solemnity; 'You -are right, Father! You are right! On the third we must part for -ever!' - -There was a dreadful expression in her eye as She uttered these -words, which penetrated the Friar's soul with horror: Again She -kissed his hand, and then fled with rapidity from the chamber. - -Anxious to authorise the presence of his dangerous Guest, yet -conscious that her stay was infringing the laws of his order, -Ambrosio's bosom became the Theatre of a thousand contending -passions. At length his attachment to the feigned Rosario, aided -by the natural warmth of his temperament, seemed likely to obtain -the victory: The success was assured, when that presumption which -formed the groundwork of his character came to Matilda's -assistance. The Monk reflected that to vanquish temptation was -an infinitely greater merit than to avoid it: He thought that -He ought rather to rejoice in the opportunity given him of -proving the firmness of his virtue. St. Anthony had withstood -all seductions to lust; Then why should not He? Besides, St. -Anthony was tempted by the Devil, who put every art into practice -to excite his passions: Whereas, Ambrosio's danger proceeded -from a mere mortal Woman, fearful and modest, whose apprehensions -of his yielding were not less violent than his own. - -'Yes,' said He; 'The Unfortunate shall stay; I have nothing to -fear from her presence. Even should my own prove too weak to -resist the temptation, I am secured from danger by the innocence -of Matilda.' - -Ambrosio was yet to learn, that to an heart unacquainted with -her, Vice is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of -Virtue. - -He found himself so perfectly recovered, that when Father Pablos -visited him again at night, He entreated permission to quit his -chamber on the day following. His request was granted. Matilda -appeared no more that evening, except in company with the Monks -when they came in a body to enquire after the Abbot's health. -She seemed fearful of conversing with him in private, and stayed -but a few minutes in his room. The Friar slept well; But the -dreams of the former night were repeated, and his sensations of -voluptuousness were yet more keen and exquisite. The same -lust-exciting visions floated before his eyes: Matilda, in all -the pomp of beauty, warm, tender, and luxurious, clasped him to -her bosom, and lavished upon him the most ardent caresses. He -returned them as eagerly, and already was on the point of -satisfying his desires, when the faithless form disappeared, and -left him to all the horrors of shame and disappointment. - -The Morning dawned. Fatigued, harassed, and exhausted by his -provoking dreams, He was not disposed to quit his Bed. He -excused himself from appearing at Matins: It was the first -morning in his life that He had ever missed them. He rose late. -During the whole of the day He had no opportunity of speaking to -Matilda without witnesses. His Cell was thronged by the Monks, -anxious to express their concern at his illness; And He was still -occupied in receiving their compliments on his recovery, when the -Bell summoned them to the Refectory. - -After dinner the Monks separated, and dispersed themselves in -various parts of the Garden, where the shade of trees or -retirement of some Grotto presented the most agreeable means of -enjoying the Siesta. The Abbot bent his steps towards the -Hermitage: A glance of his eye invited Matilda to accompany him. - -She obeyed, and followed him thither in silence. They entered -the Grotto, and seated themselves. Both seemed unwilling to -begin the conversation, and to labour under the influence of -mutual embarrassment. At length the Abbot spoke: He conversed -only on indifferent topics, and Matilda answered him in the same -tone. She seemed anxious to make him forget that the Person who -sat by him was any other than Rosario. Neither of them dared, or -indeed wished to make an allusion, to the subject which was most -at the hearts of both. - -Matilda's efforts to appear gay were evidently forced: Her -spirits were oppressed by the weight of anxiety, and when She -spoke her voice was low and feeble. She seemed desirous of -finishing a conversation which embarrassed her; and complaining -that She was unwell, She requested Ambrosio's permission to -return to the Abbey. He accompanied her to the door of her cell; -and when arrived there, He stopped her to declare his consent to -her continuing the Partner of his solitude so long as should be -agreeable to herself. - -She discovered no marks of pleasure at receiving this -intelligence, though on the preceding day She had been so anxious -to obtain the permission. - -'Alas! Father,' She said, waving her head mournfully; 'Your -kindness comes too late! My doom is fixed. We must separate for -ever. Yet believe, that I am grateful for your generosity, for -your compassion of an Unfortunate who is but too little deserving -of it!' - -She put her handkerchief to her eyes. Her Cowl was only half -drawn over her face. Ambrosio observed that She was pale, and -her eyes sunk and heavy. - -'Good God!' He cried; 'You are very ill, Matilda! I shall send -Father Pablos to you instantly.' - -'No; Do not. I am ill, 'tis true; But He cannot cure my malady. -Farewell, Father! Remember me in your prayers tomorrow, while I -shall remember you in heaven!' - -She entered her cell, and closed the door. - -The Abbot dispatched to her the Physician without losing a -moment, and waited his report impatiently. But Father Pablos -soon returned, and declared that his errand had been fruitless. -Rosario refused to admit him, and had positively rejected his -offers of assistance. The uneasiness which this account gave -Ambrosio was not trifling: Yet He determined that Matilda should -have her own way for that night: But that if her situation did -not mend by the morning, he would insist upon her taking the -advice of Father Pablos. - -He did not find himself inclined to sleep. He opened his -casement, and gazed upon the moonbeams as they played upon the -small stream whose waters bathed the walls of the Monastery. The -coolness of the night breeze and tranquillity of the hour -inspired the Friar's mind with sadness. He thought upon -Matilda's beauty and affection; Upon the pleasures which He might -have shared with her, had He not been restrained by monastic -fetters. He reflected, that unsustained by hope her love for him -could not long exist; That doubtless She would succeed in -extinguishing her passion, and seek for happiness in the arms of -One more fortunate. He shuddered at the void which her absence -would leave in his bosom. He looked with disgust on the monotony -of a Convent, and breathed a sigh towards that world from which -He was for ever separated. Such were the reflections which a -loud knocking at his door interrupted. The Bell of the Church -had already struck Two. The Abbot hastened to enquire the cause -of this disturbance. He opened the door of his Cell, and a -Lay-Brother entered, whose looks declared his hurry and -confusion. - -'Hasten, reverend Father!' said He; 'Hasten to the young Rosario. - -He earnestly requests to see you; He lies at the point of death.' - -'Gracious God! Where is Father Pablos? Why is He not with him? -Oh! I fear! I fear!' - -'Father Pablos has seen him, but his art can do nothing. He -says that He suspects the Youth to be poisoned.' - -'Poisoned? Oh! The Unfortunate! It is then as I suspected! -But let me not lose a moment; Perhaps it may yet be time to save -her!' - -He said, and flew towards the Cell of the Novice. Several Monks -were already in the chamber. Father Pablos was one of them, and -held a medicine in his hand which He was endeavouring to -persuade Rosario to swallow. The Others were employed in -admiring the Patient's divine countenance, which They now saw for -the first time. She looked lovelier than ever. She was no -longer pale or languid; A bright glow had spread itself over her -cheeks; her eyes sparkled with a serene delight, and her -countenance was expressive of confidence and resignation. - -'Oh! torment me no more!' was She saying to Pablos, when the -terrified Abbot rushed hastily into the Cell; 'My disease is far -beyond the reach of your skill, and I wish not to be cured of -it'--Then perceiving Ambrosio,-- 'Ah! 'tis He!' She cried; 'I see -him once again, before we part for ever! Leave me, my Brethren; -Much have I to tell this holy Man in private.' - -The Monks retired immediately, and Matilda and the Abbot remained -together. - -'What have you done, imprudent Woman!' exclaimed the Latter, as -soon as they were left alone; 'Tell me; Are my suspicions just? -Am I indeed to lose you? Has your own hand been the instrument -of your destruction?' - -She smiled, and grasped his hand. - -'In what have I been imprudent, Father? I have sacrificed a -pebble, and saved a diamond: My death preserves a life valuable -to the world, and more dear to me than my own. Yes, Father; I am -poisoned; But know that the poison once circulated in your -veins.' - -'Matilda!' - -'What I tell you I resolved never to discover to you but on the -bed of death: That moment is now arrived. You cannot have -forgotten the day already, when your life was endangered by the -bite of a Cientipedoro. The Physician gave you over, declaring -himself ignorant how to extract the venom: I knew but of one -means, and hesitated not a moment to employ it. I was left alone -with you: You slept; I loosened the bandage from your hand; I -kissed the wound, and drew out the poison with my lips. The -effect has been more sudden than I expected. I feel death at my -heart; Yet an hour, and I shall be in a better world.' - -'Almighty God!' exclaimed the Abbot, and sank almost lifeless -upon the Bed. - -After a few minutes He again raised himself up suddenly, and -gazed upon Matilda with all the wildness of despair. - -'And you have sacrificed yourself for me! You die, and die to -preserve Ambrosio! And is there indeed no remedy, Matilda? And -is there indeed no hope? Speak to me, Oh! speak to me! Tell -me, that you have still the means of life!' - -'Be comforted, my only Friend! Yes, I have still the means of -life in my power: But 'tis a means which I dare not employ. It -is dangerous! It is dreadful! Life would be purchased at too -dear a rate, . . . unless it were permitted me to live for you.' - -'Then live for me, Matilda, for me and gratitude!'-- (He caught -her hand, and pressed it rapturously to his lips.)--'Remember our -late conversations; I now consent to every thing: Remember in -what lively colours you described the union of souls; Be it ours -to realize those ideas. Let us forget the distinctions of sex, -despise the world's prejudices, and only consider each other as -Brother and Friend. Live then, Matilda! Oh! live for me!' - -'Ambrosio, it must not be. When I thought thus, I deceived both -you and myself. Either I must die at present, or expire by the -lingering torments of unsatisfied desire. Oh! since we last -conversed together, a dreadful veil has been rent from before my -eyes. I love you no longer with the devotion which is paid to a -Saint: I prize you no more for the virtues of your soul; I lust -for the enjoyment of your person. The Woman reigns in my bosom, -and I am become a prey to the wildest of passions. Away with -friendship! 'tis a cold unfeeling word. My bosom burns with -love, with unutterable love, and love must be its return. -Tremble then, Ambrosio, tremble to succeed in your prayers. If I -live, your truth, your reputation, your reward of a life past in -sufferings, all that you value is irretrievably lost. I shall no -longer be able to combat my passions, shall seize every -opportunity to excite your desires, and labour to effect your -dishonour and my own. No, no, Ambrosio; I must not live! I am -convinced with every moment, that I have but one alternative; I -feel with every heart-throb, that I must enjoy you, or die.' - -'Amazement!--Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?' - -He made a movement as if to quit his seat. She uttered a loud -shriek, and raising herself half out of the Bed, threw her arms -round the Friar to detain him. - -'Oh! do not leave me! Listen to my errors with compassion! In a -few hours I shall be no more; Yet a little, and I am free from -this disgraceful passion.' - -'Wretched Woman, what can I say to you! I cannot . . . I must -not . . . But live, Matilda! Oh! live!' - -'You do not reflect on what you ask. What? Live to plunge -myself in infamy? To become the Agent of Hell? To work the -destruction both of you and of Myself? Feel this heart, Father!' - -She took his hand: Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He -withdrew it not, and felt her heart throb under it. - -'Feel this heart, Father! It is yet the seat of honour, truth, -and chastity: If it beats tomorrow, it must fall a prey to the -blackest crimes. Oh! let me then die today! Let me die, while -I yet deserve the tears of the virtuous! Thus will -expire!'--(She reclined her head upon his shoulder; Her golden -Hair poured itself over his Chest.)-- 'Folded in your arms, I -shall sink to sleep; Your hand shall close my eyes for ever, and -your lips receive my dying breath. And will you not sometimes -think of me? Will you not sometimes shed a tear upon my Tomb? -Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! That kiss is my assurance!' - -The hour was night. All was silence around. The faint beams of -a solitary Lamp darted upon Matilda's figure, and shed through -the chamber a dim mysterious light. No prying eye, or curious -ear was near the Lovers: Nothing was heard but Matilda's -melodious accents. Ambrosio was in the full vigour of Manhood. -He saw before him a young and beautiful Woman, the preserver of -his life, the Adorer of his person, and whom affection for him -had reduced to the brink of the Grave. He sat upon her Bed; His -hand rested upon her bosom; Her head reclined voluptuously upon -his breast. Who then can wonder, if He yielded to the -temptation? Drunk with desire, He pressed his lips to those -which sought them: His kisses vied with Matilda's in warmth and -passion. He clasped her rapturously in his arms; He forgot his -vows, his sanctity, and his fame: He remembered nothing but the -pleasure and opportunity. - -'Ambrosio! Oh! my Ambrosio!' sighed Matilda. - -'Thine, ever thine!' murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom. - - -CHAPTER III - - ----These are the Villains -Whom all the Travellers do fear so much. ---------Some of them are Gentlemen -Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth -Thrust from the company of awful Men. - Two Gentlemen of Verona. - -The Marquis and Lorenzo proceeded to the Hotel in silence. The -Former employed himself in calling every circumstance to his -mind, which related might give Lorenzo's the most favourable idea -of his connexion with Agnes. The Latter, justly alarmed for the -honour of his family, felt embarrassed by the presence of the -Marquis: The adventure which He had just witnessed forbad his -treating him as a Friend; and Antonia's interests being entrusted -to his mediation, He saw the impolicy of treating him as a Foe. -He concluded from these reflections, that profound silence would -be the wisest plan, and waited with impatience for Don Raymond's -explanation. - -They arrived at the Hotel de las Cisternas. The Marquis -immediately conducted him to his apartment, and began to express -his satisfaction at finding him at Madrid. Lorenzo interrupted -him. - -'Excuse me, my Lord,' said He with a distant air, 'if I reply -somewhat coldly to your expressions of regard. A Sister's honour -is involved in this affair: Till that is established, and the -purport of your correspondence with Agnes cleared up, I cannot -consider you as my Friend. I am anxious to hear the meaning of -your conduct, and hope that you will not delay the promised -explanation.' - -'First give me your word, that you will listen with patience and -indulgence.' - -'I love my Sister too well to judge her harshly; and till this -moment I possessed no Friend so dear to me as yourself. I will -also confess, that your having it in your power to oblige me in a -business which I have much at heart, makes me very anxious to -find you still deserving my esteem.' - -'Lorenzo, you transport me! No greater pleasure can be given me, -than an opportunity of serving the Brother of Agnes.' - -'Convince me that I can accept your favours without dishonour, -and there is no Man in the world to whom I am more willing to be -obliged.' - -'Probably, you have already heard your Sister mention the name of -Alphonso d'Alvarada?' - -'Never. Though I feel for Agnes an affection truly fraternal, -circumstances have prevented us from being much together. While -yet a Child She was consigned to the care of her Aunt, who had -married a German Nobleman. At his Castle She remained till two -years since, when She returned to Spain, determined upon -secluding herself from the world.' - -'Good God! Lorenzo, you knew of her intention, and yet strove -not to make her change it?' - -'Marquis, you wrong me. The intelligence, which I received at -Naples, shocked me extremely, and I hastened my return to Madrid -for the express purpose of preventing the sacrifice. The moment -that I arrived, I flew to the Convent of St. Clare, in which -Agnes had chosen to perform her Noviciate. I requested to see my -Sister. Conceive my surprise when She sent me a refusal; She -declared positively, that apprehending my influence over her -mind, She would not trust herself in my society till the day -before that on which She was to receive the Veil. I supplicated -the Nuns; I insisted upon seeing Agnes, and hesitated not to avow -my suspicions that her being kept from me was against her own -inclinations. To free herself from the imputation of violence, -the Prioress brought me a few lines written in my Sister's -well-known hand, repeating the message already delivered. All -future attempts to obtain a moment's conversation with her were -as fruitless as the first. She was inflexible, and I was not -permitted to see her till the day preceding that on which She -entered the Cloister never to quit it more. This interview took -place in the presence of our principal Relations. It was for the -first time since her childhood that I saw her, and the scene was -most affecting. She threw herself upon my bosom, kissed me, and -wept bitterly. By every possible argument, by tears, by prayers, -by kneeling, I strove to make her abandon her intention. I -represented to her all the hardships of a religious life; I -painted to her imagination all the pleasures which She was going -to quit, and besought her to disclose to me, what occasioned her -disgust to the world. At this last question She turned pale, and -her tears flowed yet faster. She entreated me not to press her -on that subject; That it sufficed me to know that her resolution -was taken, and that a Convent was the only place where She could -now hope for tranquillity. She persevered in her design, and -made her profession. I visited her frequently at the Grate, and -every moment that I passed with her, made me feel more affliction -at her loss. I was shortly after obliged to quit Madrid; I -returned but yesterday evening, and since then have not had time -to call at St. Clare's Convent.' - -'Then till I mentioned it, you never heard the name of Alphonso -d'Alvarada?' - -'Pardon me: my Aunt wrote me word that an Adventurer so called -had found means to get introduced into the Castle of Lindenberg; -That He had insinuated himself into my Sister's good graces, and -that She had even consented to elope with him. However, before -the plan could be executed, the Cavalier discovered that the -estates which He believed Agnes to possess in Hispaniola, in -reality belonged to me. This intelligence made him change his -intention; He disappeared on the day that the elopement was to -have taken place, and Agnes, in despair at his perfidy and -meanness, had resolved upon seclusion in a Convent. She added, -that as this adventurer had given himself out to be a Friend of -mine, She wished to know whether I had any knowledge of him. I -replied in the negative. I had then very little idea, that -Alphonso d'Alvarada and the Marquis de las Cisternas were one and -the same person: The description given me of the first by no -means tallied with what I knew of the latter.' - -'In this I easily recognize Donna Rodolpha's perfidious -character. Every word of this account is stamped with marks of -her malice, of her falsehood, of her talents for misrepresenting -those whom She wishes to injure. Forgive me, Medina, for -speaking so freely of your Relation. The mischief which She has -done me authorises my resentment, and when you have heard my -story, you will be convinced that my expressions have not been -too severe.' - -He then began his narrative in the following manner. - -HISTORY OF DON RAYMOND, MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS - -Long experience, my dear Lorenzo, has convinced me how generous -is your nature: I waited not for your declaration of ignorance -respecting your Sister's adventures to suppose that they had -been purposely concealed from you. Had they reached your -knowledge, from what misfortunes should both Agnes and myself -have escaped! Fate had ordained it otherwise! You were on your -Travels when I first became acquainted with your Sister; and as -our Enemies took care to conceal from her your direction, it was -impossible for her to implore by letter your protection and -advice. - -On leaving Salamanca, at which University as I have since heard, -you remained a year after I quitted it, I immediately set out -upon my Travels. My Father supplied me liberally with money; But -He insisted upon my concealing my rank, and presenting myself as -no more than a private Gentleman. This command was issued by the -counsels of his Friend, the Duke of Villa Hermosa, a Nobleman for -whose abilities and knowledge of the world I have ever -entertained the most profound veneration. - -'Believe me,' said He, 'my dear Raymond, you will hereafter feel -the benefits of this temporary degradation. 'Tis true, that as -the Conde de las Cisternas you would have been received with open -arms; and your youthful vanity might have felt gratified by the -attentions showered upon you from all sides. At present, much -will depend upon yourself: You have excellent recommendations, -but it must be your own business to make them of use to you. You -must lay yourself out to please; You must labour to gain the -approbation of those, to whom you are presented: They who would -have courted the friendship of the Conde de las Cisternas will -have no interest in finding out the merits, or bearing patiently -with the faults, of Alphonso d'Alvarada. Consequently, when you -find yourself really liked, you may safely ascribe it to your -good qualities, not your rank, and the distinction shown you will -be infinitely more flattering. Besides, your exalted birth would -not permit your mixing with the lower classes of society, which -will now be in your power, and from which, in my opinion, you -will derive considerable benefit. Do not confine yourself to the -Illustrious of those Countries through which you pass. Examine -the manners and customs of the multitude: Enter into the -Cottages; and by observing how the Vassals of Foreigners are -treated, learn to diminish the burthens and augment the comforts -of your own. According to my ideas, of those advantages which a -Youth destined to the possession of power and wealth may reap -from travel, He should not consider as the least essential, the -opportunity of mixing with the classes below him, and becoming an -eyewitness of the sufferings of the People.' - -Forgive me, Lorenzo, if I seem tedious in my narration. The close -connexion which now exists between us, makes me anxious that you -should know every particular respecting me; and in my fear of -omitting the least circumstance which may induce you to think -favourably of your Sister and myself, I may possibly relate many -which you may think uninteresting. - -I followed the Duke's advice; I was soon convinced of its wisdom. - -I quitted Spain, calling myself by the assumed title of Don -Alphonso d'Alvarada, and attended by a single Domestic of -approved fidelity. Paris was my first station. For some time I -was enchanted with it, as indeed must be every Man who is young, -rich, and fond of pleasure. Yet among all its gaieties, I felt -that something was wanting to my heart. I grew sick of -dissipation: I discovered, that the People among whom I lived, -and whose exterior was so polished and seducing, were at bottom -frivolous, unfeeling and insincere. I turned from the -Inhabitants of Paris with disgust, and quitted that Theatre of -Luxury without heaving one sigh of regret. - -I now bent my course towards Germany, intending to visit most of -the principal courts: Prior to this expedition, I meant to make -some little stay at Strasbourg. On quitting my Chaise at -Luneville to take some refreshment, I observed a splendid -Equipage, attended by four Domestics in rich liveries, waiting at -the door of the Silver Lion. Soon after as I looked out of the -window, I saw a Lady of noble presence, followed by two female -Attendants, step into the Carriage, which drove off immediately. - -I enquired of the Host, who the Lady was, that had just departed. - -'A German Baroness, Monsieur, of great rank and fortune. She has -been upon a visit to the Duchess of Longueville, as her Servants -informed me; She is going to Strasbourg, where She will find her -Husband, and then both return to their Castle in Germany.' - -I resumed my journey, intending to reach Strasbourg that night. -My hopes, however were frustrated by the breaking down of my -Chaise. The accident happened in the middle of a thick Forest, -and I was not a little embarrassed as to the means of proceeding. - -It was the depth of winter: The night was already closing round -us; and Strasbourg, which was the nearest Town, was still distant -from us several leagues. It seemed to me that my only -alternative to passing the night in the Forest, was to take my -Servant's Horse and ride on to Strasbourg, an undertaking at -that season very far from agreeable. However, seeing no other -resource, I was obliged to make up my mind to it. Accordingly I -communicated my design to the Postillion, telling him that I -would send People to assist him as soon as I reached Strasbourg. -I had not much confidence in his honesty; But Stephano being -well-armed, and the Driver to all appearance considerably -advanced in years, I believed I ran no danger of losing my -Baggage. - -Luckily, as I then thought, an opportunity presented itself of -passing the night more agreeably than I expected. On mentioning -my design of proceeding by myself to Strasbourg, the Postillion -shook his head in disapprobation. - -'It is a long way,' said He; 'You will find it a difficult matter -to arrive there without a Guide. Besides, Monsieur seems -unaccustomed to the season's severity, and 'tis possible that -unable to sustain the excessive cold. . . .' - -'What use is there to present me with all these objections?' said -I, impatiently interrupting him; 'I have no other resource: I -run still greater risque of perishing with cold by passing the -night in the Forest.' - -'Passing the night in the Forest?' He replied; 'Oh! by St. Denis! -We are not in quite so bad a plight as that comes to yet. If I -am not mistaken, we are scarcely five minutes walk from the -Cottage of my old Friend, Baptiste. He is a Wood-cutter, and a -very honest Fellow. I doubt not but He will shelter you for the -night with pleasure. In the meantime I can take the -saddle-Horse, ride to Strasbourg, and be back with proper people -to mend your Carriage by break of day.' - -'And in the name of God,' said I, 'How could you leave me so long -in suspense? Why did you not tell me of this Cottage sooner? -What excessive stupidity!' - -'I thought that perhaps Monsieur would not deign to accept. . . -.' - -'Absurd! Come, come! Say no more, but conduct us without delay -to the Wood-man's Cottage.' - -He obeyed, and we moved onwards: The Horses contrived with some -difficulty to drag the shattered vehicle after us. My Servant -was become almost speechless, and I began to feel the effects of -the cold myself, before we reached the wished-for Cottage. It -was a small but neat Building: As we drew near it, I rejoiced at -observing through the window the blaze of a comfortable fire. -Our Conductor knocked at the door: It was some time before any -one answered; The People within seemed in doubt whether we should -be admitted. - -'Come! Come, Friend Baptiste!' cried the Driver with impatience; -'What are you about? Are you asleep? Or will you refuse a -night's lodging to a Gentleman, whose Chaise has just broken down -in the Forest?' - -'Ah! is it you, honest Claude?' replied a Man's voice from -within; 'Wait a moment, and the door shall be opened.' - -Soon after the bolts were drawn back. The door was unclosed, and -a Man presented himself to us with a Lamp in his hand. He gave -the Guide an hearty reception, and then addressed himself to me. - -'Walk in, Monsieur; Walk in, and welcome! Excuse me for not -admitting you at first: But there are so many Rogues about this -place, that saving your presence, I suspected you to be one.' - -Thus saying, He ushered me into the room, where I had observed -the fire: I was immediately placed in an Easy Chair, which stood -close to the Hearth. A Female, whom I supposed to be the Wife of -my Host, rose from her seat upon my entrance, and received me -with a slight and distant reverence. She made no answer to my -compliment, but immediately re-seating herself, continued the -work on which She had been employed. Her Husband's manners were -as friendly as hers were harsh and repulsive. - -'I wish, I could lodge you more conveniently, Monsieur,' said He; -'But we cannot boast of much spare room in this hovel. However, -a chamber for yourself, and another for your Servant, I think, we -can make shift to supply. You must content yourself with sorry -fare; But to what we have, believe me, you are heartily welcome.' -----Then turning to his wife--'Why, how you sit there, -Marguerite, with as much tranquillity as if you had nothing -better to do! Stir about, Dame! Stir about! Get some supper; -Look out some sheets; Here, here; throw some logs upon the fire, -for the Gentleman seems perished with cold.' - -The Wife threw her work hastily upon the Table, and proceeded to -execute his commands with every mark of unwillingness. Her -countenance had displeased me on the first moment of my examining -it. Yet upon the whole her features were handsome -unquestionably; But her skin was sallow, and her person thin and -meagre; A louring gloom over-spread her countenance; and it bore -such visible marks of rancour and ill-will, as could not escape -being noticed by the most inattentive Observer. Her every look -and action expressed discontent and impatience, and the answers -which She gave Baptiste, when He reproached her good-humouredly -for her dissatisfied air, were tart, short, and cutting. In -fine, I conceived at first sight equal disgust for her, and -prepossession in favour of her Husband, whose appearance was -calculated to inspire esteem and confidence. His countenance was -open, sincere, and friendly; his manners had all the Peasant's -honesty unaccompanied by his rudeness; His cheeks were broad, -full, and ruddy; and in the solidity of his person He seemed to -offer an ample apology for the leanness of his Wife's. From the -wrinkles on his brow I judged him to be turned of sixty; But He -bore his years well, and seemed still hearty and strong: The Wife -could not be more than thirty, but in spirits and vivacity She -was infinitely older than the Husband. - -However, in spite of her unwillingness, Marguerite began to -prepare the supper, while the Wood-man conversed gaily on -different subjects. The Postillion, who had been furnished with -a bottle of spirits, was now ready to set out for Strasbourg, and -enquired, whether I had any further commands. - -'For Strasbourg?' interrupted Baptiste; 'You are not going -thither tonight?' - -'I beg your pardon: If I do not fetch Workmen to mend the -Chaise, How is Monsieur to proceed tomorrow?' - -'That is true, as you say; I had forgotten the Chaise. Well, but -Claude; You may at least eat your supper here? That can make you -lose very little time, and Monsieur looks too kind-hearted to -send you out with an empty stomach on such a bitter cold night as -this is.' - -To this I readily assented, telling the Postillion that my -reaching Strasbourg the next day an hour or two later would be -perfectly immaterial. He thanked me, and then leaving the -Cottage with Stephano, put up his Horses in the Wood-man's -Stable. Baptiste followed them to the door, and looked out with -anxiety. - -' 'Tis a sharp biting wind!' said He; 'I wonder, what detains my -Boys so long! Monsieur, I shall show you two of the finest Lads, -that ever stept in shoe of leather. The eldest is three and -twenty, the second a year younger: Their Equals for sense, -courage, and activity, are not to be found within fifty miles of -Strasbourg. Would They were back again! I begin to feel uneasy -about them.' - -Marguerite was at this time employed in laying the cloth. - -'And are you equally anxious for the return of your Sons?' said I -to her. - -'Not I!' She replied peevishly; 'They are no children of mine.' - -'Come! Come, Marguerite!' said the Husband; 'Do not be out of -humour with the Gentleman for asking a simple question. Had you -not looked so cross, He would never have thought you old enough -to have a Son of three and twenty: But you see how many years -ill-temper adds to you!--Excuse my Wife's rudeness, Monsieur. A -little thing puts her out, and She is somewhat displeased at -your not thinking her to be under thirty. That is the truth, is -it not, Marguerite? You know, Monsieur, that Age is always a -ticklish subject with a Woman. Come! come! Marguerite, clear up -a little. If you have not Sons as old, you will some twenty -years hence, and I hope, that we shall live to see them just such -Lads as Jacques and Robert.' - -Marguerite clasped her hands together passionately. - -'God forbid!' said She; 'God forbid! If I thought it, I would -strangle them with my own hands!' - -She quitted the room hastily, and went up stairs. - -I could not help expressing to the Wood-man how much I pitied -him for being chained for life to a Partner of such ill-humour. - -'Ah! Lord! Monsieur, Every one has his share of grievances, and -Marguerite has fallen to mine. Besides, after all She is only -cross, and not malicious. The worst is, that her affection for -two children by a former Husband makes her play the Step-mother -with my two Sons. She cannot bear the sight of them, and by her -good-will they would never set a foot within my door. But on -this point I always stand firm, and never will consent to abandon -the poor Lads to the world's mercy, as She has often solicited me -to do. In every thing else I let her have her own way; and truly -She manages a family rarely, that I must say for her.' - -We were conversing in this manner, when our discourse was -interrupted by a loud halloo, which rang through the Forest. - -'My Sons, I hope!' exclaimed the Wood-man, and ran to open the -door. - -The halloo was repeated: We now distinguished the trampling of -Horses, and soon after a Carriage, attended by several Cavaliers -stopped at the Cottage door. One of the Horsemen enquired how -far they were still from Strasbourg. As He addressed himself to -me, I answered in the number of miles which Claude had told me; -Upon which a volley of curses was vented against the Drivers for -having lost their way. The Persons in the Coach were now -informed of the distance of Strasbourg, and also that the Horses -were so fatigued as to be incapable of proceeding further. A -Lady, who appeared to be the principal, expressed much chagrin at -this intelligence; But as there was no remedy, one of the -Attendants asked the Wood-man, whether He could furnish them with -lodging for the night. - -He seemed much embarrassed, and replied in the negative; Adding -that a Spanish Gentleman and his Servant were already in -possession of the only spare apartments in his House. On hearing -this, the gallantry of my nation would not permit me to retain -those accommodations, of which a Female was in want. I instantly -signified to the Wood-man, that I transferred my right to the -Lady; He made some objections; But I overruled them, and -hastening to the Carriage, opened the door, and assisted the Lady -to descend. I immediately recognized her for the same person -whom I had seen at the Inn at Luneville. I took an opportunity -of asking one of her Attendants, what was her name? - -'The Baroness Lindenberg,' was the answer. - -I could not but remark how different a reception our Host had -given these newcomers and myself. His reluctance to admit them -was visibly expressed on his countenance, and He prevailed on -himself with difficulty to tell the Lady that She was welcome. -I conducted her into the House, and placed her in the -armed-chair, which I had just quitted. She thanked me very -graciously; and made a thousand apologies for putting me to an -inconvenience. Suddenly the Wood-man's countenance cleared up. - -'At last I have arranged it!' said He, interrupting her excuses; -'I can lodge you and your suite, Madam, and you will not be under -the necessity of making this Gentleman suffer for his politeness. - -We have two spare chambers, one for the Lady, the other, -Monsieur, for you: My Wife shall give up hers to the two -Waiting-women; As for the Men-servants, they must content -themselves with passing the night in a large Barn, which stands -at a few yards distance from the House. There they shall have a -blazing fire, and as good a supper as we can make shift to give -them.' - -After several expressions of gratitude on the Lady's part, and -opposition on mine to Marguerite's giving up her bed, this -arrangement was agreed to. As the Room was small, the Baroness -immediately dismissed her Male Domestics: Baptiste was on the -point of conducting them to the Barn which He had mentioned when -two young Men appeared at the door of the Cottage. - -'Hell and Furies!' exclaimed the first starting back; 'Robert, -the House is filled with Strangers!' - -'Ha! There are my Sons!' cried our Host. 'Why, Jacques! Robert! -whither are you running, Boys? There is room enough still for -you.' - -Upon this assurance the Youths returned. The Father presented -them to the Baroness and myself: After which He withdrew with -our Domestics, while at the request of the two Waiting-women, -Marguerite conducted them to the room designed for their -Mistress. - -The two new-comers were tall, stout, well-made young Men, -hard-featured, and very much sun-burnt. They paid their -compliments to us in few words, and acknowledged Claude, who now -entered the room, as an old acquaintance. They then threw aside -their cloaks in which they were wrapped up, took off a leathern -belt to which a large Cutlass was suspended, and each drawing a -brace of pistols from his girdle laid them upon a shelf. - -'You travel well-armed,' said I. - -'True, Monsieur;' replied Robert. 'We left Strasbourg late this -Evening, and 'tis necessary to take precautions at passing -through this Forest after dark. It does not bear a good repute, -I promise you.' - -'How?' said the Baroness; 'Are there Robbers hereabout?' - -'So it is said, Madame; For my own part, I have travelled through -the wood at all hours, and never met with one of them.' - -Here Marguerite returned. Her Stepsons drew her to the other -end of the room, and whispered her for some minutes. By the -looks which they cast towards us at intervals, I conjectured them -to be enquiring our business in the Cottage. - -In the meanwhile the Baroness expressed her apprehensions, that -her Husband would be suffering much anxiety upon her account. -She had intended to send on one of her Servants to inform the -Baron of her delay; But the account which the young Men gave of -the Forest rendered this plan impracticable. Claude relieved -her from her embarrassment. He informed her that He was under -the necessity of reaching Strasbourg that night, and that would -She trust him with a letter, She might depend upon its being -safely delivered. - -'And how comes it,' said I, 'that you are under no apprehension -of meeting these Robbers?' - -'Alas! Monsieur, a poor Man with a large family must not lose -certain profit because 'tis attended with a little danger, and -perhaps my Lord the Baron may give me a trifle for my pains. -Besides, I have nothing to lose except my life, and that will not -be worth the Robbers taking.' - -I thought his arguments bad, and advised his waiting till the -Morning; But as the Baroness did not second me, I was obliged to -give up the point. The Baroness Lindenberg, as I found -afterwards, had long been accustomed to sacrifice the interests -of others to her own, and her wish to send Claude to Strasbourg -blinded her to the danger of the undertaking. Accordingly, it -was resolved that He should set out without delay. The Baroness -wrote her letter to her Husband, and I sent a few lines to my -Banker, apprising him that I should not be at Strasbourg till the -next day. Claude took our letters, and left the Cottage. - -The Lady declared herself much fatigued by her journey: Besides -having come from some distance, the Drivers had contrived to lose -their way in the Forest. She now addressed herself to -Marguerite, desiring to be shown to her chamber, and permitted to -take half an hour's repose. One of the Waiting-women was -immediately summoned; She appeared with a light, and the Baroness -followed her up stairs. The cloth was spreading in the chamber -where I was, and Marguerite soon gave me to understand that I -was in her way. Her hints were too broad to be easily mistaken; -I therefore desired one of the young Men to conduct me to the -chamber where I was to sleep, and where I could remain till -supper was ready. - -'Which chamber is it, Mother?' said Robert. - -'The One with green hangings,' She replied; 'I have just been at -the trouble of getting it ready, and have put fresh sheets upon -the Bed; If the Gentleman chooses to lollop and lounge upon it, -He may make it again himself for me.' - -'You are out of humour, Mother, but that is no novelty. Have the -goodness to follow me, Monsieur.' - -He opened the door, and advanced towards a narrow staircase. - -'You have got no light!' said Marguerite; 'Is it your own neck or -the Gentleman's that you have a mind to break?' - -She crossed by me, and put a candle into Robert's hand, having -received which, He began to ascend the staircase. Jacques was -employed in laying the cloth, and his back was turned towards me. - -Marguerite seized the moment, when we were unobserved. She -caught my hand, and pressed it strongly. - -'Look at the Sheets!' said She as She passed me, and immediately -resumed her former occupation. - -Startled by the abruptness of her action, I remained as if -petrified. Robert's voice, desiring me to follow him, recalled -me to myself. I ascended the staircase. My conductor ushered -me into a chamber, where an excellent wood-fire was blazing upon -the hearth. He placed the light upon the Table, enquired whether -I had any further commands, and on my replying in the negative, -He left me to myself. You may be certain that the moment when I -found myself alone was that on which I complied with Marguerite's -injunction. I took the candle, hastily approached the Bed, and -turned down the Coverture. What was my astonishment, my horror, -at finding the sheets crimsoned with blood! - -At that moment a thousand confused ideas passed before my -imagination. The Robbers who infested the Wood, Marguerite's -exclamation respecting her Children, the arms and appearance of -the two young Men, and the various Anecdotes which I had heard -related, respecting the secret correspondence which frequently -exists between Banditti and Postillions, all these circumstances -flashed upon my mind, and inspired me with doubt and -apprehension. I ruminated on the most probable means of -ascertaining the truth of my conjectures. Suddenly I was aware -of Someone below pacing hastily backwards and forwards. Every -thing now appeared to me an object of suspicion. With precaution -I drew near the window, which, as the room had been long shut up, -was left open in spite of the cold. I ventured to look out. The -beams of the Moon permitted me to distinguish a Man, whom I had -no difficulty to recognize for my Host. I watched his movements. - -He walked swiftly, then stopped, and seemed to listen: He -stamped upon the ground, and beat his stomach with his arms as if -to guard himself from the inclemency of the season. At the least -noise, if a voice was heard in the lower part of the House, if a -Bat flitted past him, or the wind rattled amidst the leafless -boughs, He started, and looked round with anxiety. - -'Plague take him!' said He at length with impatience; 'What can -He be about!' - -He spoke in a low voice; but as He was just below my window, I -had no difficulty to distinguish his words. - -I now heard the steps of one approaching. Baptiste went towards -the sound; He joined a man, whom his low stature and the Horn -suspended from his neck, declared to be no other than my faithful -Claude, whom I had supposed to be already on his way to -Strasbourg. Expecting their discourse to throw some light upon -my situation, I hastened to put myself in a condition to hear it -with safety. For this purpose I extinguished the candle, which -stood upon a table near the Bed: The flame of the fire was not -strong enough to betray me, and I immediately resumed my place at -the window. - -The objects of my curiosity had stationed themselves directly -under it. I suppose that during my momentary absence the -Wood-man had been blaming Claude for tardiness, since when I -returned to the window, the latter was endeavouring to excuse his -fault. - -'However,' added He, 'my diligence at present shall make up for -my past delay.' - -'On that condition,' answered Baptiste, 'I shall readily forgive -you. But in truth as you share equally with us in our prizes, -your own interest will make you use all possible diligence. -'Twould be a shame to let such a noble booty escape us! You say, -that this Spaniard is rich?' - -'His Servant boasted at the Inn, that the effects in his Chaise -were worth above two thousand Pistoles.' - -Oh! how I cursed Stephano's imprudent vanity! - -'And I have been told,' continued the Postillion, 'that this -Baroness carries about her a casket of jewels of immense value.' - -'May be so, but I had rather She had stayed away. The Spaniard -was a secure prey. The Boys and myself could easily have -mastered him and his Servant, and then the two thousand Pistoles -would have been shared between us four. Now we must let in the -Band for a share, and perhaps the whole Covey may escape us. -Should our Friends have betaken themselves to their different -posts before you reach the Cavern, all will be lost. The Lady's -Attendants are too numerous for us to overpower them: Unless -our Associates arrive in time, we must needs let these Travellers -set out tomorrow without damage or hurt.' - -' 'Tis plaguy unlucky that my Comrades who drove the Coach -should be those unacquainted with our Confederacy! But never -fear, Friend Baptiste. An hour will bring me to the Cavern; It -is now but ten o'clock, and by twelve you may expect the arrival -of the Band. By the bye, take care of your Wife: You know how -strong is her repugnance to our mode of life, and She may find -means to give information to the Lady's Servants of our design.' - -'Oh! I am secure of her silence; She is too much afraid of me, -and fond of her children, to dare to betray my secret. Besides, -Jacques and Robert keep a strict eye over her, and She is not -permitted to set a foot out of the Cottage. The Servants are -safely lodged in the Barn; I shall endeavour to keep all quiet -till the arrival of our Friends. Were I assured of your finding -them, the Strangers should be dispatched this instant; But as it -is possible for you to miss the Banditti, I am fearful of being -summoned to produce them by their Domestics in the Morning.' - -'And suppose either of the Travellers should discover your -design?' - -'Then we must poignard those in our power, and take our chance -about mastering the rest. However, to avoid running such a -risque, hasten to the Cavern: The Banditti never leave it before -eleven, and if you use diligence, you may reach it in time to -stop them.' - -'Tell Robert that I have taken his Horse: My own has broken his -bridle, and escaped into the Wood. What is the watch-word?' - -'The reward of Courage.' - -' 'Tis sufficient. I hasten to the Cavern.' - -'And I to rejoin my Guests, lest my absence should create -suspicion. Farewell, and be diligent.' - -These worthy Associates now separated: The One bent his course -towards the Stable, while the Other returned to the House. - -You may judge, what must have been my feelings during this -conversation, of which I lost not a single syllable. I dared not -trust myself to my reflections, nor did any means present itself -to escape the dangers which threatened me. Resistance, I knew to -be vain; I was unarmed, and a single Man against Three: However, -I resolved at least to sell my life as dearly as I could. -Dreading lest Baptiste should perceive my absence, and suspect me -to have overheard the message with which Claude was dispatched, I -hastily relighted my candle and quitted the chamber. On -descending, I found the Table spread for six Persons. The -Baroness sat by the fireside: Marguerite was employed in -dressing a sallad, and her Step-sons were whispering together at -the further end of the room. Baptiste having the round of the -Garden to make, ere He could reach the Cottage door, was not yet -arrived. I seated myself quietly opposite to the Baroness. - -A glance upon Marguerite told her that her hint had not been -thrown away upon me. How different did She now appear to me! -What before seemed gloom and sullenness, I now found to be -disgust at her Associates, and compassion for my danger. I -looked up to her as to my only resource; Yet knowing her to be -watched by her Husband with a suspicious eye, I could place but -little reliance on the exertions of her good-will. - -In spite of all my endeavours to conceal it, my agitation was but -too visibly expressed upon my countenance. I was pale, and both -my words and actions were disordered and embarrassed. The young -Men observed this, and enquired the cause. I attributed it to -excess of fatigue, and the violent effect produced on me by the -severity of the season. Whether they believed me or not, I will -not pretend to say: They at least ceased to embarrass me with -their questions. I strove to divert my attention from the perils -which surrounded me, by conversing on different subjects with the -Baroness. I talked of Germany, declaring my intention of -visiting it immediately: God knows, that I little thought at -that moment of ever seeing it! She replied to me with great ease -and politeness, professed that the pleasure of making my -acquaintance amply compensated for the delay in her journey, and -gave me a pressing invitation to make some stay at the Castle of -Lindenberg. As She spoke thus, the Youths exchanged a malicious -smile, which declared that She would be fortunate if She ever -reached that Castle herself. This action did not escape me; But -I concealed the emotion which it excited in my breast. I -continued to converse with the Lady; But my discourse was so -frequently incoherent, that as She has since informed me, She -began to doubt whether I was in my right senses. The fact was, -that while my conversation turned upon one subject, my thoughts -were entirely occupied by another. I meditated upon the means of -quitting the Cottage, finding my way to the Barn, and giving the -Domestics information of our Host's designs. I was soon -convinced, how impracticable was the attempt. Jacques and Robert -watched my every movement with an attentive eye, and I was -obliged to abandon the idea. All my hopes now rested upon -Claude's not finding the Banditti: In that case, according to -what I had overheard, we should be permitted to depart unhurt. - -I shuddered involuntarily as Baptiste entered the room. He made -many apologies for his long absence, but 'He had been detained by -affairs impossible to be delayed.' He then entreated permission -for his family to sup at the same table with us, without which, -respect would not authorize his taking such a liberty. Oh! how -in my heart I cursed the Hypocrite! How I loathed his presence, -who was on the point of depriving me of an existence, at that -time infinitely dear! I had every reason to be satisfied with -life; I had youth, wealth, rank, and education; and the fairest -prospects presented themselves before me. I saw those prospects -on the point of closing in the most horrible manner: Yet was I -obliged to dissimulate, and to receive with a semblance of -gratitude the false civilities of him who held the dagger to my -bosom. - -The permission which our Host demanded, was easily obtained. We -seated ourselves at the Table. The Baroness and myself occupied -one side: The Sons were opposite to us with their backs to the -door. Baptiste took his seat by the Baroness at the upper end, -and the place next to him was left for his Wife. She soon -entered the room, and placed before us a plain but comfortable -Peasant's repast. Our Host thought it necessary to apologize for -the poorness of the supper: 'He had not been apprized of our -coming; He could only offer us such fare as had been intended for -his own family:' - -'But,' added He, 'should any accident detain my noble Guests -longer than they at present intend, I hope to give them a better -treatment.' - -The Villain! I well knew the accident to which He alluded; I -shuddered at the treatment which He taught us to expect! - -My Companion in danger seemed entirely to have got rid of her -chagrin at being delayed. She laughed, and conversed with the -family with infinite gaiety. I strove but in vain to follow her -example. My spirits were evidently forced, and the constraint -which I put upon myself escaped not Baptiste's observation. - -'Come, come, Monsieur, cheer up!' said He; 'You seem not quite -recovered from your fatigue. To raise your spirits, what say you -to a glass of excellent old wine which was left me by my Father? -God rest his soul, He is in a better world! I seldom produce -this wine; But as I am not honoured with such Guests every day, -this is an occasion which deserves a Bottle.' - -He then gave his Wife a Key, and instructed her where to find the -wine of which He spoke. She seemed by no means pleased with the -commission; She took the Key with an embarrassed air, and -hesitated to quit the Table. - -'Did you hear me?' said Baptiste in an angry tone. - -Marguerite darted upon him a look of mingled anger and fear, and -left the chamber. His eyes followed her suspiciously, till She -had closed the door. - -She soon returned with a bottle sealed with yellow wax. She -placed it upon the table, and gave the Key back to her Husband. -I suspected that this liquor was not presented to us without -design, and I watched Marguerite's movements with inquietude. -She was employed in rinsing some small horn Goblets. As She -placed them before Baptiste, She saw that my eye was fixed upon -her; and at the moment when She thought herself unobserved by the -Banditti, She motioned to me with her head not to taste the -liquor, She then resumed her place. - -In the mean while our Host had drawn the Cork, and filling two of -the Goblets, offered them to the Lady and myself. She at first -made some objections, but the instances of Baptiste were so -urgent, that She was obliged to comply. Fearing to excite -suspicion, I hesitated not to take the Goblet presented to me. -By its smell and colour I guessed it to be Champagne; But some -grains of powder floating upon the top convinced me that it was -not unadulterated. However, I dared not to express my repugnance -to drinking it; I lifted it to my lips, and seemed to be -swallowing it: Suddenly starting from my chair, I made the best -of my way towards a Vase of water at some distance, in which -Marguerite had been rinsing the Goblets. I pretended to spit out -the wine with disgust, and took an opportunity unperceived of -emptying the liquor into the Vase. - -The Banditti seemed alarmed at my action. Jacques half rose from -his chair, put his hand into his bosom, and I discovered the haft -of a dagger. I returned to my seat with tranquillity, and -affected not to have observed their confusion. - -'You have not suited my taste, honest Friend,' said I, addressing -myself to Baptiste. 'I never can drink Champagne without its -producing a violent illness. I swallowed a few mouthfuls ere I -was aware of its quality, and fear that I shall suffer for my -imprudence.' - -Baptiste and Jacques exchanged looks of distrust. - -'Perhaps,' said Robert, 'the smell may be disagreeable to you.' - -He quitted his chair, and removed the Goblet. I observed, that -He examined, whether it was nearly empty. - -'He must have drank sufficient,' said He to his Brother in a low -voice, while He reseated himself. - -Marguerite looked apprehensive, that I had tasted the liquor: A -glance from my eye reassured her. - -I waited with anxiety for the effects which the Beverage would -produce upon the Lady. I doubted not but the grains which I had -observed were poisonous, and lamented that it had been -impossible for me to warn her of the danger. But a few minutes -had elapsed before I perceived her eyes grow heavy; Her head -sank upon her shoulder, and She fell into a deep sleep. I -affected not to attend to this circumstance, and continued my -conversation with Baptiste, with all the outward gaiety in my -power to assume. But He no longer answered me without -constraint. He eyed me with distrust and astonishment, and I saw -that the Banditti were frequently whispering among themselves. -My situation became every moment more painful; I sustained the -character of confidence with a worse grace than ever. Equally -afraid of the arrival of their Accomplices and of their -suspecting my knowledge of their designs, I knew not how to -dissipate the distrust which the Banditti evidently entertained -for me. In this new dilemma the friendly Marguerite again -assisted me. She passed behind the Chairs of her Stepsons, -stopped for a moment opposite to me, closed her eyes, and -reclined her head upon her shoulder. This hint immediately -dispelled my incertitude. It told me, that I ought to imitate -the Baroness, and pretend that the liquor had taken its full -effect upon me. I did so, and in a few minutes seemed perfectly -overcome with slumber. - -'So!' cried Baptiste, as I fell back in my chair; 'At last He -sleeps! I began to think that He had scented our design, and -that we should have been forced to dispatch him at all events.' - -'And why not dispatch him at all events?' enquired the ferocious -Jacques. 'Why leave him the possibility of betraying our secret? -Marguerite, give me one of my Pistols: A single touch of the -trigger will finish him at once.' - -'And supposing,' rejoined the Father, 'Supposing that our Friends -should not arrive tonight, a pretty figure we should make when -the Servants enquire for him in the Morning! No, no, Jacques; We -must wait for our Associates. If they join us, we are strong -enough to dispatch the Domestics as well as their Masters, and -the booty is our own; If Claude does not find the Troop, we must -take patience, and suffer the prey to slip through our fingers. -Ah! Boys, Boys, had you arrived but five minutes sooner, the -Spaniard would have been done for, and two thousand Pistoles our -own. But you are always out of the way when you are most wanted. - -You are the most unlucky Rogues!' - -'Well, well, Father!' answered Jacques; 'Had you been of my mind, -all would have been over by this time. You, Robert, Claude, and -myself, why the Strangers were but double the number, and I -warrant you we might have mastered them. However, Claude is -gone; 'Tis too late to think of it now. We must wait patiently -for the arrival of the Gang; and if the Travellers escape us -tonight, we must take care to waylay them tomorrow.' - -'True! True!' said Baptiste; 'Marguerite, have you given the -sleeping-draught to the Waiting-women?' - -She replied in the affirmative. - -'All then is safe. Come, come, Boys; Whatever falls out, we have -no reason to complain of this adventure. We run no danger, may -gain much, and can lose nothing.' - -At this moment I heard a trampling of Horses. Oh! how dreadful -was the sound to my ears. A cold sweat flowed down my forehead, -and I felt all the terrors of impending death. I was by no means -reassured by hearing the compassionate Marguerite exclaim in the -accents of despair, - -'Almighty God! They are lost!' - -Luckily the Wood-man and his Sons were too much occupied by the -arrival of their Associates to attend to me, or the violence of -my agitation would have convinced them that my sleep was -feigned. - -'Open! Open!' exclaimed several voices on the outside of the -Cottage. - -'Yes! Yes!' cried Baptiste joyfully; 'They are our Friends sure -enough! Now then our booty is certain. Away! Lads, Away! Lead -them to the Barn; You know what is to be done there.' - -Robert hastened to open the door of the Cottage. - -'But first,' said Jacques, taking up his arms; 'first let me -dispatch these Sleepers.' - -'No, no, no!' replied his Father; 'Go you to the Barn, where your -presence is wanted. Leave me to take care of these and the Women -above.' - -Jacques obeyed, and followed his Brother. They seemed to -converse with the New-Comers for a few minutes: After which I -heard the Robbers dismount, and as I conjectured, bend their -course towards the Barn. - -'So! That is wisely done!' muttered Baptiste; 'They have quitted -their Horses, that They may fall upon the Strangers by surprise. -Good! Good! and now to business.' - -I heard him approach a small Cupboard which was fixed up in a -distant part of the room, and unlock it. At this moment I felt -myself shaken gently. - -'Now! Now!' whispered Marguerite. - -I opened my eyes. Baptiste stood with his back towards me. No -one else was in the room save Marguerite and the sleeping Lady. -The Villain had taken a dagger from the Cupboard and seemed -examining whether it was sufficiently sharp. I had neglected to -furnish myself with arms; But I perceived this to be my only -chance of escaping, and resolved not to lose the opportunity. I -sprang from my seat, darted suddenly upon Baptiste, and clasping -my hands round his throat, pressed it so forcibly as to prevent -his uttering a single cry. You may remember that I was -remarkable at Salamanca for the power of my arm: It now rendered -me an essential service. Surprised, terrified, and breathless, -the Villain was by no means an equal Antagonist. I threw him -upon the ground; I grasped him still tighter; and while I fixed -him without motion upon the floor, Marguerite, wresting the -dagger from his hand, plunged it repeatedly in his heart till He -expired. - -No sooner was this horrible but necessary act perpetrated than -Marguerite called on me to follow her. - -'Flight is our only refuge!' said She; 'Quick! Quick! Away!' - -I hesitated not to obey her: but unwilling to leave the Baroness -a victim to the vengeance of the Robbers, I raised her in my arms -still sleeping, and hastened after Marguerite. The Horses of the -Banditti were fastened near the door: My Conductress sprang upon -one of them. I followed her example, placed the Baroness before -me, and spurred on my Horse. Our only hope was to reach -Strasbourg, which was much nearer than the perfidious Claude had -assured me. Marguerite was well acquainted with the road, and -galloped on before me. We were obliged to pass by the Barn, -where the Robbers were slaughtering our Domestics. The door was -open: We distinguished the shrieks of the dying and imprecations -of the Murderers! What I felt at that moment language is unable -to describe! - -Jacques heard the trampling of our Horses as we rushed by the -Barn. He flew to the Door with a burning Torch in his hand, and -easily recognised the Fugitives. - -'Betrayed! Betrayed!' He shouted to his Companions. - -Instantly they left their bloody work, and hastened to regain -their Horses. We heard no more. I buried my spurs in the sides -of my Courser, and Marguerite goaded on hers with the poignard, -which had already rendered us such good service. We flew like -lightning, and gained the open plains. Already was Strasbourg's -Steeple in sight, when we heard the Robbers pursuing us. -Marguerite looked back, and distinguished our followers -descending a small Hill at no great distance. It was in vain -that we urged on our Horses; The noise approached nearer with -every moment. - -'We are lost!' She exclaimed; 'The Villains gain upon us!' - -'On! On!' replied I; 'I hear the trampling of Horses coming from -the Town.' - -We redoubled our exertions, and were soon aware of a numerous -band of Cavaliers, who came towards us at full speed. They were -on the point of passing us. - -'Stay! Stay!' shrieked Marguerite; 'Save us! For God's sake, -save us!' - -The Foremost, who seemed to act as Guide, immediately reined in -his Steed. - -' 'Tis She! 'Tis She!' exclaimed He, springing upon the ground; -'Stop, my Lord, stop! They are safe! 'Tis my Mother!' - -At the same moment Marguerite threw herself from her Horse, -clasped him in her arms, and covered him with Kisses. The other -Cavaliers stopped at the exclamation. - -'The Baroness Lindenberg?' cried another of the Strangers -eagerly; 'Where is She? Is She not with you?' - -He stopped on beholding her lying senseless in my arms. Hastily -He caught her from me. The profound sleep in which She was -plunged made him at first tremble for her life; but the beating -of her heart soon reassured him. - -'God be thanked!' said He; 'She has escaped unhurt.' - -I interrupted his joy by pointing out the Brigands, who continued -to approach. No sooner had I mentioned them than the greatest -part of the Company, which appeared to be chiefly composed of -soldiers, hastened forward to meet them. The Villains stayed not -to receive their attack: Perceiving their danger they turned the -heads of their Horses, and fled into the wood, whither they were -followed by our Preservers. In the mean while the Stranger, whom -I guessed to be the Baron Lindenberg, after thanking me for my -care of his Lady, proposed our returning with all speed to the -Town. The Baroness, on whom the effects of the opiate had not -ceased to operate, was placed before him; Marguerite and her Son -remounted their Horses; the Baron's Domestics followed, and we -soon arrived at the Inn, where He had taken his apartments. - -This was at the Austrian Eagle, where my Banker, whom before my -quitting Paris I had apprised of my intention to visit -Strasbourg, had prepared Lodgings for me. I rejoiced at this -circumstance. It gave me an opportunity of cultivating the -Baron's acquaintance, which I foresaw would be of use to me in -Germany. Immediately upon our arrival the Lady was conveyed to -bed; A Physician was sent for, who prescribed a medicine likely -to counteract the effects of the sleepy potion, and after it had -been poured down her throat, She was committed to the care of the -Hostess. The Baron then addressed himself to me, and entreated -me to recount the particulars of this adventure. I complied with -his request instantaneously; for in pain respecting Stephano's -fate, whom I had been compelled to abandon to the cruelty of the -Banditti, I found it impossible for me to repose, till I had some -news of him. I received but too soon the intelligence, that my -trusty Servant had perished. The Soldiers who had pursued the -Brigands returned while I was employed in relating my adventure -to the Baron. By their account I found that the Robbers had been -overtaken: Guilt and true courage are incompatible; They had -thrown themselves at the feet of their Pursuers, had surrendered -themselves without striking a blow, had discovered their secret -retreat, made known their signals by which the rest of the Gang -might be seized, and in short had betrayed ever mark of cowardice -and baseness. By this means the whole of the Band, consisting of -near sixty persons, had been made Prisoners, bound, and conducted -to Strasbourg. Some of the Soldiers hastened to the Cottage, One -of the Banditti serving them as Guide. Their first visit was to -the fatal Barn, where they were fortunate enough to find two of -the Baron's Servants still alive, though desperately wounded. -The rest had expired beneath the swords of the Robbers, and of -these my unhappy Stephano was one. - -Alarmed at our escape, the Robbers in their haste to overtake -us, had neglected to visit the Cottage. In consequence, the -Soldiers found the two Waiting-women unhurt, and buried in the -same death-like slumber which had overpowered their Mistress. -There was nobody else found in the Cottage, except a child not -above four years old, which the Soldiers brought away with them. -We were busying ourselves with conjectures respecting the birth -of this little unfortunate, when Marguerite rushed into the room -with the Baby in her arms. She fell at the feet of the Officer -who was making us this report, and blessed him a thousand times -for the preservation of her Child. - -When the first burst of maternal tenderness was over, I besought -her to declare, by what means She had been united to a Man whose -principles seemed so totally discordant with her own. She bent -her eyes downwards, and wiped a few tears from her cheek. - -'Gentlemen,' said She after a silence of some minutes, 'I would -request a favour of you: You have a right to know on whom you -confer an obligation. I will not therefore stifle a confession -which covers me with shame; But permit me to comprise it in as -few words as possible. - -'I was born in Strasbourg of respectable Parents; Their names I -must at present conceal: My Father still lives, and deserves not -to be involved in my infamy; If you grant my request, you shall -be informed of my family name. A Villain made himself Master of -my affections, and to follow him I quitted my Father's House. -Yet though my passions overpowered my virtue, I sank not into -that degeneracy of vice, but too commonly the lot of Women who -make the first false step. I loved my Seducer; dearly loved him! -I was true to his Bed; this Baby, and the Youth who warned you, -my Lord Baron, of your Lady's danger, are the pledges of our -affection. Even at this moment I lament his loss, though 'tis to -him that I owe all the miseries of my existence. - -'He was of noble birth, but He had squandered away his paternal -inheritance. His Relations considered him as a disgrace to their -name, and utterly discarded him. His excesses drew upon him the -indignation of the Police. He was obliged to fly from -Strasbourg, and saw no other resource from beggary than an union -with the Banditti who infested the neighbouring Forest, and -whose Troop was chiefly composed of Young Men of family in the -same predicament with himself. I was determined not to forsake -him. I followed him to the Cavern of the Brigands, and shared -with him the misery inseparable from a life of pillage. But -though I was aware that our existence was supported by plunder, I -knew not all the horrible circumstances attached to my Lover's -profession. These He concealed from me with the utmost care; He -was conscious that my sentiments were not sufficiently depraved -to look without horror upon assassination: He supposed, and with -justice, that I should fly with detestation from the embraces of -a Murderer. Eight years of possession had not abated his love -for me; and He cautiously removed from my knowledge every -circumstance, which might lead me to suspect the crimes in which -He but too often participated. He succeeded perfectly: It was -not till after my Seducer's death, that I discovered his hands to -have been stained with the blood of innocence. - -'One fatal night He was brought back to the Cavern covered with -wounds: He received them in attacking an English Traveller, whom -his Companions immediately sacrificed to their resentment. He -had only time to entreat my pardon for all the sorrows which He -had caused me: He pressed my hand to his lips, and expired. My -grief was inexpressible. As soon as its violence abated, I -resolved to return to Strasbourg, to throw myself with my two -Children at my Father's feet, and implore his forgiveness, though -I little hoped to obtain it. What was my consternation when -informed that no one entrusted with the secret of their retreat -was ever permitted to quit the troop of the Banditti; That I must -give up all hopes of ever rejoining society, and consent -instantly to accepting one of their Band for my Husband! My -prayers and remonstrances were vain. They cast lots to decide to -whose possession I should fall; I became the property of the -infamous Baptiste. A Robber, who had once been a Monk, -pronounced over us a burlesque rather than a religious Ceremony: -I and my Children were delivered into the hands of my new -Husband, and He conveyed us immediately to his home. - -'He assured me that He had long entertained for me the most -ardent regard; But that Friendship for my deceased Lover had -obliged him to stifle his desires. He endeavoured to reconcile -me to my fate, and for some time treated me with respect and -gentleness: At length finding that my aversion rather increased -than diminished, He obtained those favours by violence, which I -persisted to refuse him. No resource remained for me but to bear -my sorrows with patience; I was conscious that I deserved them -but too well. Flight was forbidden: My Children were in the -power of Baptiste, and He had sworn that if I attempted to -escape, their lives should pay for it. I had had too many -opportunities of witnessing the barbarity of his nature to doubt -his fulfilling his oath to the very letter. Sad experience had -convinced me of the horrors of my situation: My first Lover had -carefully concealed them from me; Baptiste rather rejoiced in -opening my eyes to the cruelties of his profession, and strove to -familiarise me with blood and slaughter. - -'My nature was licentious and warm, but not cruel: My conduct had -been imprudent, but my heart was not unprincipled. Judge then -what I must have felt at being a continual witness of crimes the -most horrible and revolting! Judge how I must have grieved at -being united to a Man who received the unsuspecting Guest with -an air of openness and hospitality, at the very moment that He -meditated his destruction. Chagrin and discontent preyed upon my -constitution: The few charms bestowed on me by nature withered -away, and the dejection of my countenance denoted the sufferings -of my heart. I was tempted a thousand times to put an end to my -existence; But the remembrance of my Children held my hand. I -trembled to leave my dear Boys in my Tyrant's power, and trembled -yet more for their virtue than their lives. The Second was still -too young to benefit by my instructions; But in the heart of my -Eldest I laboured unceasingly to plant those principles, which -might enable him to avoid the crimes of his Parents. He listened -to me with docility, or rather with eagerness. Even at his early -age, He showed that He was not calculated for the society of -Villains; and the only comfort which I enjoyed among my sorrows, -was to witness the dawning virtues of my Theodore. - -'Such was my situation, when the perfidy of Don Alphonso's -postillion conducted him to the Cottage. His youth, air, and -manners interested me most forcibly in his behalf. The absence -of my Husband's Sons gave me an opportunity which I had long -wished to find, and I resolved to risque every thing to preserve -the Stranger. The vigilance of Baptiste prevented me from -warning Don Alphonso of his danger: I knew that my betraying the -secret would be immediately punished with death; and however -embittered was my life by calamities, I wanted courage to -sacrifice it for the sake of preserving that of another Person. -My only hope rested upon procuring succour from Strasbourg: At -this I resolved to try; and should an opportunity offer of -warning Don Alphonso of his danger unobserved, I was determined -to seize it with avidity. By Baptiste's orders I went upstairs -to make the Stranger's Bed: I spread upon it Sheets in which a -Traveller had been murdered but a few nights before, and which -still were stained with blood. I hoped that these marks would -not escape the vigilance of our Guest, and that He would collect -from them the designs of my perfidious Husband. Neither was this -the only step which I took to preserve the Stranger. Theodore -was confined to his bed by illness. I stole into his room -unobserved by my Tyrant, communicated to him my project, and He -entered into it with eagerness. He rose in spite of his malady, -and dressed himself with all speed. I fastened one of the Sheets -round his arms, and lowered him from the Window. He flew to the -Stable, took Claude's Horse, and hastened to Strasbourg. Had He -been accosted by the Banditti, He was to have declared himself -sent upon a message by Baptiste, but fortunately He reached the -Town without meeting any obstacle. Immediately upon his arrival -at Strasbourg, He entreated assistance from the Magistrature: -His Story passed from mouth to mouth, and at length came to the -knowledge of my Lord the Baron. Anxious for the safety of his -Lady, whom He knew would be upon the road that Evening, it struck -him that She might have fallen into the power of the Robbers. He -accompanied Theodore who guided the Soldiers towards the Cottage, -and arrived just in time to save us from falling once more into -the hands of our Enemies.' - -Here I interrupted Marguerite to enquire why the sleepy potion -had been presented to me. She said that Baptiste supposed me to -have arms about me, and wished to incapacitate me from making -resistance: It was a precaution which He always took, since as -the Travellers had no hopes of escaping, Despair would have -incited them to sell their lives dearly. - -The Baron then desired Marguerite to inform him, what were her -present plans. I joined him in declaring my readiness to show my -gratitude to her for the preservation of my life. - -'Disgusted with a world,' She replied, 'in which I have met with -nothing but misfortunes, my only wish is to retire into a -Convent. But first I must provide for my Children. I find that -my Mother is no more, probably driven to an untimely grave by my -desertion! My Father is still living; He is not an hard Man; -Perhaps, Gentlemen, in spite of my ingratitude and imprudence, -your intercessions may induce him to forgive me, and to take -charge of his unfortunate Grand-sons. If you obtain this boon -for me, you will repay my services a thousand-fold!' - -Both the Baron and myself assured Marguerite, that we would spare -no pains to obtain her pardon: and that even should her Father be -inflexible, She need be under no apprehensions respecting the -fate of her Children. I engaged myself to provide for Theodore, -and the Baron promised to take the youngest under his protection. - -The grateful Mother thanked us with tears for what She called -generosity, but which in fact was no more than a proper sense of -our obligations to her. She then left the room to put her little -Boy to bed, whom fatigue and sleep had compleatly overpowered. - -The Baroness, on recovering and being informed from what dangers -I had rescued her, set no bounds to the expressions of her -gratitude. She was joined so warmly by her Husband in pressing -me to accompany them to their Castle in Bavaria, that I found it -impossible to resist their entreaties. During a week which we -passed at Strasbourg, the interests of Marguerite were not -forgotten: In our application to her Father we succeeded as amply -as we could wish. The good old Man had lost his Wife: He had no -Children but this unfortunate Daughter, of whom He had received -no news for almost fourteen years. He was surrounded by distant -Relations, who waited with impatience for his decease in order to -get possession of his money. When therefore Marguerite appeared -again so unexpectedly, He considered her as a gift from heaven: -He received her and her Children with open arms, and insisted -upon their establishing themselves in his House without delay. -The disappointed Cousins were obliged to give place. The old Man -would not hear of his Daughter's retiring into a Convent: He -said that She was too necessary to his happiness, and She was -easily persuaded to relinquish her design. But no persuasions -could induce Theodore to give up the plan which I had at first -marked out for him. He had attached himself to me most -sincerely during my stay at Strasbourg; and when I was on the -point of leaving it, He besought me with tears to take him into -my service: He set forth all his little talents in the most -favourable colours, and tried to convince me that I should find -him of infinite use to me upon the road. I was unwilling to -charge myself with a Lad but scarcely turned of thirteen, whom I -knew could only be a burthen to me: However, I could not resist -the entreaties of this affectionate Youth, who in fact possessed -a thousand estimable qualities. With some difficulty He -persuaded his relations to let him follow me, and that permission -once obtained, He was dubbed with the title of my Page. Having -passed a week at Strasbourg, Theodore and myself set out for -Bavaria in company with the Baron and his Lady. These Latter as -well as myself had forced Marguerite to accept several presents -of value, both for herself, and her youngest Son: On leaving -her, I promised his Mother faithfully that I would restore -Theodore to her within the year. - -I have related this adventure at length, Lorenzo, that you might -understand the means by which 'The Adventurer, Alphonso -d'Alvarada got introduced into the Castle of Lindenberg.' Judge -from this specimen how much faith should be given to your Aunt's -assertions! - - - -VOLUME II - -CHAPTER I - -Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the Earth hide thee! -Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold! -Thou hast no speculation in those eyes -Which Thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow! -Unreal mockery hence! - Macbeth. - -Continuation of the History of Don Raymond. - -My journey was uncommonly agreeable: I found the Baron a Man of -some sense, but little knowledge of the world. He had past a -great part of his life without stirring beyond the precincts of -his own domains, and consequently his manners were far from being -the most polished: But He was hearty, good-humoured, and -friendly. His attention to me was all that I could wish, and I -had every reason to be satisfied with his behaviour. His ruling -passion was Hunting, which He had brought himself to consider as -a serious occupation; and when talking over some remarkable -chace, He treated the subject with as much gravity as it had -been a Battle on which the fate of two kingdoms was depending. I -happened to be a tolerable Sportsman: Soon after my arrival at -Lindenberg I gave some proofs of my dexterity. The Baron -immediately marked me down for a Man of Genius, and vowed to me -an eternal friendship. - -That friendship was become to me by no means indifferent. At the -Castle of Lindenberg I beheld for the first time your Sister, the -lovely Agnes. For me whose heart was unoccupied, and who grieved -at the void, to see her and to love her were the same. I found -in Agnes all that was requisite to secure my affection. She was -then scarcely sixteen; Her person light and elegant was already -formed; She possessed several talents in perfection, particularly -those of Music and drawing: Her character was gay, open, and -good-humoured; and the graceful simplicity of her dress and -manners formed an advantageous contrast to the art and studied -Coquetry of the Parisian Dames, whom I had just quitted. From -the moment that I beheld her, I felt the most lively interest in -her fate. I made many enquiries respecting her of the Baroness. - -'She is my Niece,' replied that Lady; 'You are still ignorant, -Don Alphonso, that I am your Countrywoman. I am Sister to the -Duke of Medina Celi: Agnes is the Daughter of my second Brother, -Don Gaston: She has been destined to the Convent from her -cradle, and will soon make her profession at Madrid.' - -(Here Lorenzo interrupted the Marquis by an exclamation of -surprise. - -'Intended for the Convent from her cradle?' said He; 'By heaven, -this is the first word that I ever heard of such a design!' - -'I believe it, my dear Lorenzo,' answered Don Raymond; 'But you -must listen to me with patience. You will not be less surprised, -when I relate some particulars of your family still unknown to -you, and which I have learnt from the mouth of Agnes herself.' - -He then resumed his narrative as follows.) - -You cannot but be aware that your Parents were unfortunately -Slaves to the grossest superstition: When this foible was called -into play, their every other sentiment, their every other passion -yielded to its irresistible strength. While She was big with -Agnes, your Mother was seized by a dangerous illness, and given -over by her Physicians. In this situation, Donna Inesilla vowed, -that if She recovered from her malady, the Child then living in -her bosom if a Girl should be dedicated to St. Clare, if a Boy to -St. Benedict. Her prayers were heard; She got rid of her -complaint; Agnes entered the world alive, and was immediately -destined to the service of St. Clare. - -Don Gaston readily chimed in with his Lady's wishes: But knowing -the sentiments of the Duke, his Brother, respecting a Monastic -life, it was determined that your Sister's destination should be -carefully concealed from him. The better to guard the secret, it -was resolved that Agnes should accompany her Aunt, Donna Rodolpha -into Germany, whither that Lady was on the point of following her -new-married Husband, Baron Lindenberg. On her arrival at that -Estate, the young Agnes was put into a Convent, situated but a -few miles from the Castle. The Nuns to whom her education was -confided performed their charge with exactitude: They made her -a perfect Mistress of many talents, and strove to infuse into her -mind a taste for the retirement and tranquil pleasures of a -Convent. But a secret instinct made the young Recluse sensible -that She was not born for solitude: In all the freedom of youth -and gaiety, She scrupled not to treat as ridiculous many -ceremonies which the Nuns regarded with awe; and She was never -more happy than when her lively imagination inspired her with -some scheme to plague the stiff Lady Abbess, or the ugly ill- -tempered old Porteress. She looked with disgust upon the -prospect before her: However no alternative was offered to her, -and She submitted to the decree of her Parents, though not -without secret repining. - -That repugnance She had not art enough to conceal long: Don -Gaston was informed of it. Alarmed, Lorenzo, lest your affection -for her should oppose itself to his projects, and lest you should -positively object to your Sister's misery, He resolved to keep -the whole affair from YOUR knowledge as well as the Duke's, till -the sacrifice should be consummated. The season of her taking -the veil was fixed for the time when you should be upon your -travels: In the meanwhile no hint was dropped of Donna -Inesilla's fatal vow. Your Sister was never permitted to know -your direction. All your letters were read before She received -them, and those parts effaced, which were likely to nourish her -inclination for the world: Her answers were dictated either by -her Aunt, or by Dame Cunegonda, her Governess. These particulars -I learnt partly from Agnes, partly from the Baroness herself. - -I immediately determined upon rescuing this lovely Girl from a -fate so contrary to her inclinations, and ill-suited to her -merit. I endeavoured to ingratiate myself into her favour: I -boasted of my friendship and intimacy with you. She listened to -me with avidity; She seemed to devour my words while I spoke in -your praise, and her eyes thanked me for my affection to her -Brother. My constant and unremitted attention at length gained -me her heart, and with difficulty I obliged her to confess that -She loved me. When however, I proposed her quitting the Castle -of Lindenberg, She rejected the idea in positive terms. - -'Be generous, Alphonso,' She said; 'You possess my heart, but use -not the gift ignobly. Employ not your ascendancy over me in -persuading me to take a step, at which I should hereafter have -to blush. I am young and deserted: My Brother, my only Friend, -is separated from me, and my other Relations act with me as my -Enemies. Take pity on my unprotected situation. Instead of -seducing me to an action which would cover me with shame, strive -rather to gain the affections of those who govern me. The Baron -esteems you. My Aunt, to others ever harsh proud and -contemptuous, remembers that you rescued her from the hands of -Murderers, and wears with you alone the appearance of kindness -and benignity. Try then your influence over my Guardians. If -they consent to our union my hand is yours: From your account of -my Brother, I cannot doubt your obtaining his approbation: And -when they find the impossibility of executing their design, I -trust that my Parents will excuse my disobedience, and expiate by -some other sacrifice my Mother's fatal vow.' - -From the first moment that I beheld Agnes, I had endeavoured to -conciliate the favour of her Relations. Authorised by the -confession of her regard, I redoubled my exertions. My principal -Battery was directed against the Baroness; It was easy to -discover that her word was law in the Castle: Her Husband paid -her the most absolute submission, and considered her as a -superior Being. She was about forty: In her youth She had been -a Beauty; But her charms had been upon that large scale which can -but ill sustain the shock of years: However She still possessed -some remains of them. Her understanding was strong and excellent -when not obscured by prejudice, which unluckily was but seldom -the case. Her passions were violent: She spared no pains to -gratify them, and pursued with unremitting vengeance those who -opposed themselves to her wishes. The warmest of Friends, the -most inveterate of Enemies, such was the Baroness Lindenberg. - -I laboured incessantly to please her: Unluckily I succeeded but -too well. She seemed gratified by my attention, and treated me -with a distinction accorded by her to no one else. One of my -daily occupations was reading to her for several hours: Those -hours I should much rather have past with Agnes; But as I was -conscious that complaisance for her Aunt would advance our -union, I submitted with a good grace to the penance imposed upon -me. Donna Rodolpha's Library was principally composed of old -Spanish Romances: These were her favourite studies, and once a -day one of these unmerciful Volumes was put regularly into my -hands. I read the wearisome adventures of 'Perceforest,' -'Tirante the White,' 'Palmerin of England,' and 'the Knight of -the Sun,' till the Book was on the point of falling from my hands -through Ennui. However, the increasing pleasure which the -Baroness seemed to take in my society, encouraged me to -persevere; and latterly She showed for me a partiality so marked, -that Agnes advised me to seize the first opportunity of declaring -our mutual passion to her Aunt. - -One Evening, I was alone with Donna Rodolpha in her own -apartment. As our readings generally treated of love, Agnes was -never permitted to assist at them. I was just congratulating -myself on having finished 'The Loves of Tristan and the Queen -Iseult----' - -'Ah! The Unfortunates!' cried the Baroness; 'How say you, -Segnor? Do you think it possible for Man to feel an attachment -so disinterested and sincere?' - -'I cannot doubt it,' replied I; 'My own heart furnishes me with -the certainty. Ah! Donna Rodolpha, might I but hope for your -approbation of my love! Might I but confess the name of my -Mistress without incurring your resentment!' - -She interrupted me. - -'Suppose, I were to spare you that confession? Suppose I were -to acknowledge that the object of your desires is not unknown to -me? Suppose I were to say that She returns your affection, and -laments not less sincerely than yourself the unhappy vows which -separate her from you?' - -'Ah! Donna Rodolpha!' I exclaimed, throwing myself upon my knees -before her, and pressing her hand to my lips, 'You have -discovered my secret! What is your decision? Must I despair, or -may I reckon upon your favour?' - -She withdrew not the hand which I held; But She turned from me, -and covered her face with the other. - -'How can I refuse it you?' She replied; 'Ah! Don Alphonso, I have -long perceived to whom your attentions were directed, but till -now I perceived not the impression which they made upon my heart. - -At length I can no longer hide my weakness either from myself or -from you. I yield to the violence of my passion, and own that I -adore you! For three long months I stifled my desires; But grown -stronger by resistance, I submit to their impetuosity. Pride, -fear, and honour, respect for myself, and my engagements to the -Baron, all are vanquished. I sacrifice them to my love for you, -and it still seems to me that I pay too mean a price for your -possession.' - -She paused for an answer.--Judge, my Lorenzo, what must have been -my confusion at this discovery. I at once saw all the magnitude -of this obstacle, which I had raised myself to my happiness. The -Baroness had placed those attentions to her own account, which I -had merely paid her for the sake of Agnes: And the strength of -her expressions, the looks which accompanied them, and my -knowledge of her revengeful disposition made me tremble for -myself and my Beloved. I was silent for some minutes. I knew -not how to reply to her declaration: I could only resolve to -clear up the mistake without delay, and for the present to -conceal from her knowledge the name of my Mistress. No sooner -had She avowed her passion than the transports which before were -evident in my features gave place to consternation and -constraint. I dropped her hand, and rose from my knees. The -change in my countenance did not escape her observation. - -'What means this silence?' said She in a trembling voice; 'Where -is that joy which you led me to expect?' - -'Forgive me, Segnora,' I answered, 'if what necessity forces from -me should seem harsh and ungrateful: To encourage you in an -error, which, however it may flatter myself, must prove to you -the source of disappointment, would make me appear criminal in -every eye. Honour obliges me to inform you that you have -mistaken for the solicitude of Love what was only the attention -of Friendship. The latter sentiment is that which I wished to -excite in your bosom: To entertain a warmer, respect for you -forbids me, and gratitude for the Baron's generous treatment. -Perhaps these reasons would not be sufficient to shield me from -your attractions, were it not that my affections are already -bestowed upon another. You have charms, Segnora, which might -captivate the most insensible; No heart unoccupied could resist -them. Happy is it for me that mine is no longer in my -possession; or I should have to reproach myself for ever with -having violated the Laws of Hospitality. Recollect yourself, -noble Lady; Recollect what is owed by you to honour, by me to the -Baron, and replace by esteem and friendship those sentiments -which I never can return.' - -The Baroness turned pale at this unexpected and positive -declaration: She doubted whether She slept or woke. At length -recovering from her surprise, consternation gave place to rage, -and the blood rushed back into her cheeks with violence. - -'Villain!' She cried; 'Monster of deceit! Thus is the avowal of -my love received? Is it thus that. . . . But no, no! It -cannot, it shall not be! Alphonso, behold me at your feet! Be -witness of my despair! Look with pity on a Woman who loves you -with sincere affection! She who possesses your heart, how has -She merited such a treasure? What sacrifice has She made to you? - -What raises her above Rodolpha?' - -I endeavoured to lift her from her Knees. - -'For God's sake, Segnora, restrain these transports: They -disgrace yourself and me. Your exclamations may be heard, and -your secret divulged to your Attendants. I see that my presence -only irritates you: permit me to retire.' - -I prepared to quit the apartment: The Baroness caught me -suddenly by the arm. - -'And who is this happy Rival?' said She in a menacing tone; 'I -will know her name, and WHEN I know it. . . . ! She is someone -in my power; You entreated my favour, my protection! Let me but -find her, let me but know who dares to rob me of your heart, and -She shall suffer every torment which jealousy and disappointment -can inflict! Who is She? Answer me this moment. Hope not to -conceal her from my vengeance! Spies shall be set over you; -every step, every look shall be watched; Your eyes will discover -my Rival; I shall know her, and when She is found, tremble, -Alphonso for her and for yourself!' - -As She uttered these last words her fury mounted to such a pitch -as to stop her powers of respiration. She panted, groaned, and -at length fainted away. As She was falling I caught her in my -arms, and placed her upon a Sopha. Then hastening to the door, I -summoned her Women to her assistance; I committed her to their -care, and seized the opportunity of escaping. - -Agitated and confused beyond expression I bent my steps towards -the Garden. The benignity with which the Baroness had listened -to me at first raised my hopes to the highest pitch: I imagined -her to have perceived my attachment for her Niece, and to approve -of it. Extreme was my disappointment at understanding the true -purport of her discourse. I knew not what course to take: The -superstition of the Parents of Agnes, aided by her Aunt's -unfortunate passion, seemed to oppose such obstacles to our union -as were almost insurmountable. - -As I past by a low parlour, whose windows looked into the Garden, -through the door which stood half open I observed Agnes seated at -a Table. She was occupied in drawing, and several unfinished -sketches were scattered round her. I entered, still undetermined -whether I should acquaint her with the declaration of the -Baroness. - -'Oh! is it only you?' said She, raising her head; 'You are no -Stranger, and I shall continue my occupation without ceremony. -Take a Chair, and seat yourself by me.' - -I obeyed, and placed myself near the Table. Unconscious what I -was doing, and totally occupied by the scene which had just -passed, I took up some of the drawings, and cast my eye over -them. One of the subjects struck me from its singularity. It -represented the great Hall of the Castle of Lindenberg. A door -conducting to a narrow staircase stood half open. In the -foreground appeared a Groupe of figures, placed in the most -grotesque attitudes; Terror was expressed upon every countenance. - -Here was One upon his knees with his eyes cast up to heaven, and -praying most devoutly; There Another was creeping away upon all -fours. Some hid their faces in their cloaks or the laps of their -Companions; Some had concealed themselves beneath a Table, on -which the remnants of a feast were visible; While Others with -gaping mouths and eyes wide-stretched pointed to a Figure, -supposed to have created this disturbance. It represented a -Female of more than human stature, clothed in the habit of some -religious order. Her face was veiled; On her arm hung a chaplet -of beads; Her dress was in several places stained with the blood -which trickled from a wound upon her bosom. In one hand She held -a Lamp, in the other a large Knife, and She seemed advancing -towards the iron gates of the Hall. - -'What does this mean, Agnes?' said I; 'Is this some invention of -your own?' - -She cast her eye upon the drawing. - -'Oh! no,' She replied; ' 'Tis the invention of much wiser heads -than mine. But can you possibly have lived at Lindenberg for -three whole Months without hearing of the Bleeding Nun?' - -'You are the first, who ever mentioned the name to me. Pray, who -may the Lady be?' - -'That is more than I can pretend to tell you. All my knowledge -of her History comes from an old tradition in this family, which -has been handed down from Father to Son, and is firmly credited -throughout the Baron's domains. Nay, the Baron believes it -himself; and as for my Aunt who has a natural turn for the -marvellous, She would sooner doubt the veracity of the Bible, -than of the Bleeding Nun. Shall I tell you this History?' - -I answered that She would oblige me much by relating it: She -resumed her drawing, and then proceeded as follows in a tone of -burlesqued gravity. - -'It is surprising that in all the Chronicles of past times, this -remarkable Personage is never once mentioned. Fain would I -recount to you her life; But unluckily till after her death She -was never known to have existed. Then first did She think it -necessary to make some noise in the world, and with that -intention She made bold to seize upon the Castle of Lindenberg. -Having a good taste, She took up her abode in the best room of -the House: and once established there, She began to amuse -herself by knocking about the tables and chairs in the middle of -the night. Perhaps She was a bad Sleeper, but this I have never -been able to ascertain. According to the tradition, this -entertainment commenced about a Century ago. It was accompanied -with shrieking, howling, groaning, swearing, and many other -agreeable noises of the same kind. But though one particular -room was more especially honoured with her visits, She did not -entirely confine herself to it. She occasionally ventured into -the old Galleries, paced up and down the spacious Halls, or -sometimes stopping at the doors of the Chambers, She wept and -wailed there to the universal terror of the Inhabitants. In -these nocturnal excursions She was seen by different People, who -all describe her appearance as you behold it here, traced by the -hand of her unworthy Historian.' - -The singularity of this account insensibly engaged my attention. - -'Did She never speak to those who met her?' said I. - -'Not She. The specimens indeed, which She gave nightly of her -talents for conversation, were by no means inviting. Sometimes -the Castle rung with oaths and execrations: A Moment after She -repeated her Paternoster: Now She howled out the most horrible -blasphemies, and then chaunted De Profundis, as orderly as if -still in the Choir. In short She seemed a mighty capricious -Being: But whether She prayed or cursed, whether She was impious -or devout, She always contrived to terrify her Auditors out of -their senses. The Castle became scarcely habitable; and its Lord -was so frightened by these midnight Revels, that one fine morning -He was found dead in his bed. This success seemed to please the -Nun mightily, for now She made more noise than ever. But the -next Baron proved too cunning for her. He made his appearance -with a celebrated Exorciser in his hand, who feared not to shut -himself up for a night in the haunted Chamber. There it seems -that He had an hard battle with the Ghost, before She would -promise to be quiet. She was obstinate, but He was more so, and -at length She consented to let the Inhabitants of the Castle take -a good night's rest. For some time after no news was heard of -her. But at the end of five years the Exorciser died, and then -the Nun ventured to peep abroad again. However, She was now -grown much more tractable and well-behaved. She walked about in -silence, and never made her appearance above once in five years. -This custom, if you will believe the Baron, She still continues. -He is fully persuaded, that on the fifth of May of every fifth -year, as soon as the Clock strikes One, the Door of the haunted -Chamber opens. (Observe, that this room has been shut up for -near a Century.) Then out walks the Ghostly Nun with her Lamp -and dagger: She descends the staircase of the Eastern Tower; -and crosses the great Hall! On that night the Porter always -leaves the Gates of the Castle open, out of respect to the -Apparition: Not that this is thought by any means necessary, -since She could easily whip through the Keyhole if She chose it; -But merely out of politeness, and to prevent her from making her -exit in a way so derogatory to the dignity of her Ghost-ship.' - -'And whither does She go on quitting the Castle?' - -'To Heaven, I hope; But if She does, the place certainly is not -to her taste, for She always returns after an hour's absence. -The Lady then retires to her chamber, and is quiet for another -five years.' - -'And you believe this, Agnes?' - -'How can you ask such a question? No, no, Alphonso! I have too -much reason to lament superstition's influence to be its Victim -myself. However I must not avow my incredulity to the Baroness: -She entertains not a doubt of the truth of this History. As to -Dame Cunegonda, my Governess, She protests that fifteen years ago -She saw the Spectre with her own eyes. She related to me one -evening how She and several other Domestics had been terrified -while at Supper by the appearance of the Bleeding Nun, as the -Ghost is called in the Castle: 'Tis from her account that I drew -this sketch, and you may be certain that Cunegonda was not -omitted. There She is! I shall never forget what a passion She -was in, and how ugly She looked while She scolded me for having -made her picture so like herself!' - -Here She pointed to a burlesque figure of an old Woman in an -attitude of terror. - -In spite of the melancholy which oppressed me, I could not help -smiling at the playful imagination of Agnes: She had perfectly -preserved Dame Cunegonda's resemblance, but had so much -exaggerated every fault, and rendered every feature so -irresistibly laughable, that I could easily conceive the Duenna's -anger. - -'The figure is admirable, my dear Agnes! I knew not that you -possessed such talents for the ridiculous.' - -'Stay a moment,' She replied; 'I will show you a figure still -more ridiculous than Dame Cunegonda's. If it pleases you, you -may dispose of it as seems best to yourself.' - -She rose, and went to a Cabinet at some little distance. -Unlocking a drawer, She took out a small case, which She opened, -and presented to me. - -'Do you know the resemblance?' said She smiling. - -It was her own. - -Transported at the gift, I pressed the portrait to my lips with -passion: I threw myself at her feet, and declared my gratitude -in the warmest and most affectionate terms. She listened to me -with complaisance, and assured me that She shared my sentiments: -When suddenly She uttered a loud shriek, disengaged the hand -which I held, and flew from the room by a door which opened to -the Garden. Amazed at this abrupt departure, I rose hastily from -my knees. I beheld with confusion the Baroness standing near me -glowing with jealousy, and almost choaked with rage. On -recovering from her swoon, She had tortured her imagination to -discover her concealed Rival. No one appeared to deserve her -suspicions more than Agnes. She immediately hastened to find her -Niece, tax her with encouraging my addresses, and assure herself -whether her conjectures were well-grounded. Unfortunately She -had already seen enough to need no other confirmation. She -arrived at the door of the room at the precise moment, when Agnes -gave me her Portrait. She heard me profess an everlasting -attachment to her Rival, and saw me kneeling at her feet. She -advanced to separate us; We were too much occupied by each other -to perceive her approach, and were not aware of it, till Agnes -beheld her standing by my side. - -Rage on the part of Donna Rodolpha, embarrassment on mine, for -some time kept us both silent. The Lady recovered herself first. - -'My suspicions then were just,' said She; 'The Coquetry of my -Niece has triumphed, and 'tis to her that I am sacrificed. In -one respect however I am fortunate: I shall not be the only one -who laments a disappointed passion. You too shall know, what it -is to love without hope! I daily expect orders for restoring -Agnes to her Parents. Immediately upon her arrival in Spain, She -will take the veil, and place an insuperable barrier to your -union. You may spare your supplications.' She continued, -perceiving me on the point of speaking; 'My resolution is fixed -and immoveable. Your Mistress shall remain a close Prisoner in -her chamber till She exchanges this Castle for the Cloister. -Solitude will perhaps recall her to a sense of her duty: But to -prevent your opposing that wished event, I must inform you, Don -Alphonso, that your presence here is no longer agreeable either -to the Baron or Myself. It was not to talk nonsense to my Niece -that your Relations sent you to Germany: Your business was to -travel, and I should be sorry to impede any longer so excellent a -design. Farewell, Segnor; Remember, that tomorrow morning we -meet for the last time.' - -Having said this, She darted upon me a look of pride, contempt, -and malice, and quitted the apartment. I also retired to mine, -and consumed the night in planning the means of rescuing Agnes -from the power of her tyrannical Aunt. - -After the positive declaration of its Mistress, it was impossible -for me to make a longer stay at the Castle of Lindenberg. -Accordingly I the next day announced my immediate departure. The -Baron declared that it gave him sincere pain; and He expressed -himself in my favour so warmly, that I endeavoured to win him -over to my interest. Scarcely had I mentioned the name of Agnes -when He stopped me short, and said, that it was totally out of -his power to interfere in the business. I saw that it was in -vain to argue; The Baroness governed her Husband with despotic -sway, and I easily perceived that She had prejudiced him against -the match. Agnes did not appear: I entreated permission to take -leave of her, but my prayer was rejected. I was obliged to -depart without seeing her. - -At quitting him the Baron shook my hand affectionately, and -assured me that as soon as his Niece was gone, I might consider -his House as my own. - -'Farewell, Don Alphonso!' said the Baroness, and stretched out -her hand to me. - -I took it, and offered to carry it to my lips. She prevented me. - -Her Husband was at the other end of the room, and out of hearing. - -'Take care of yourself,' She continued; 'My love is become -hatred, and my wounded pride shall not be unatoned. Go where -you will, my vengeance shall follow you!' - -She accompanied these words with a look sufficient to make me -tremble. I answered not, but hastened to quit the Castle. - -As my Chaise drove out of the Court, I looked up to the windows -of your Sister's chamber. Nobody was to be seen there: I threw -myself back despondent in my Carriage. I was attended by no -other servants than a Frenchman whom I had hired at Strasbourg -in Stephano's room, and my little Page whom I before mentioned to -you. The fidelity, intelligence, and good temper of Theodore had -already made him dear to me; But He now prepared to lay an -obligation on me, which made me look upon him as a Guardian -Genius. Scarcely had we proceeded half a mile from the Castle, -when He rode up to the Chaise-door. - -'Take courage, Segnor!' said He in Spanish, which He had already -learnt to speak with fluency and correctness. 'While you were -with the Baron, I watched the moment when Dame Cunegonda was -below stairs, and mounted into the chamber over that of Donna -Agnes. I sang as loud as I could a little German air well-known -to her, hoping that She would recollect my voice. I was not -disappointed, for I soon heard her window open. I hastened to -let down a string with which I had provided myself: Upon hearing -the casement closed again, I drew up the string, and fastened to -it I found this scrap of paper.' - -He then presented me with a small note addressed to me. I opened -it with impatience: It contained the following words written in -pencil: - -Conceal yourself for the next fortnight in some neighbouring -Village. My Aunt will believe you to have quitted Lindenberg, -and I shall be restored to liberty. I will be in the West -Pavilion at twelve on the night of the thirtieth. Fail not to be -there, and we shall have an opportunity of concerting our future -plans. Adieu. Agnes. - -At perusing these lines my transports exceeded all bounds; -Neither did I set any to the expressions of gratitude which I -heaped upon Theodore. In fact his address and attention merited -my warmest praise. You will readily believe that I had not -entrusted him with my passion for Agnes; But the arch Youth had -too much discernment not to discover my secret, and too much -discretion not to conceal his knowledge of it. He observed in -silence what was going on, nor strove to make himself an Agent in -the business till my interests required his interference. I -equally admired his judgment, his penetration, his address, and -his fidelity. This was not the first occasion in which I had -found him of infinite use, and I was every day more convinced of -his quickness and capacity. During my short stay at Strasbourg, -He had applied himself diligently to learning the rudiments of -Spanish: He continued to study it, and with so much success that -He spoke it with the same facility as his native language. He -past the greatest part of his time in reading; He had acquired -much information for his Age; and united the advantages of a -lively countenance and prepossessing figure to an excellent -understanding and the very best of hearts. He is now fifteen; He -is still in my service, and when you see him, I am sure that He -will please you. But excuse this digression: I return to the -subject which I quitted. - -I obeyed the instructions of Agnes. I proceeded to Munich. -There I left my Chaise under the care of Lucas, my French -Servant, and then returned on Horseback to a small Village about -four miles distant from the Castle of Lindenberg. Upon arriving -there a story was related to the Host at whose Inn I descended, -which prevented his wondering at my making so long a stay in his -House. The old Man fortunately was credulous and incurious: He -believed all I said, and sought to know no more than what I -thought proper to tell him. Nobody was with me but Theodore; -Both were disguised, and as we kept ourselves close, we were not -suspected to be other than what we seemed. In this manner the -fortnight passed away. During that time I had the pleasing -conviction that Agnes was once more at liberty. She past through -the Village with Dame Cunegonda: She seemed in health and -spirits, and talked to her Companion without any appearance of -constraint. - -'Who are those Ladies?' said I to my Host, as the Carriage past. - -'Baron Lindenberg's Niece with her Governess,' He replied; 'She -goes regularly every Friday to the Convent of St. Catharine, in -which She was brought up, and which is situated about a mile from -hence.' - -You may be certain that I waited with impatience for the ensuing -Friday. I again beheld my lovely Mistress. She cast her eyes -upon me, as She passed the Inn-door. A blush which overspread -her cheek told me that in spite of my disguise I had been -recognised. I bowed profoundly. She returned the compliment by -a slight inclination of the head as if made to one inferior, and -looked another way till the Carriage was out of sight. - -The long-expected, long-wished for night arrived. It was calm, -and the Moon was at the full. As soon as the Clock struck eleven -I hastened to my appointment, determined not to be too late. -Theodore had provided a Ladder; I ascended the Garden wall -without difficulty; The Page followed me, and drew the Ladder -after us. I posted myself in the West Pavilion, and waited -impatiently for the approach of Agnes. Every breeze that -whispered, every leaf that fell, I believed to be her footstep, -and hastened to meet her. Thus was I obliged to pass a full -hour, every minute of which appeared to me an age. The -Castle Bell at length tolled twelve, and scarcely could I believe -the night to be no further advanced. Another quarter of an hour -elapsed, and I heard the light foot of my Mistress approaching -the Pavilion with precaution. I flew to receive her, and -conducted her to a seat. I threw myself at her feet, and was -expressing my joy at seeing her, when She thus interrupted me. - -'We have no time to lose, Alphonso: The moments are precious, -for though no more a Prisoner, Cunegonda watches my every step. -An express is arrived from my Father; I must depart immediately -for Madrid, and 'tis with difficulty that I have obtained a -week's delay. The superstition of my Parents, supported by the -representations of my cruel Aunt, leaves me no hope of softening -them to compassion. In this dilemma I have resolved to commit -myself to your honour: God grant that you may never give me -cause to repent my resolution! Flight is my only resource from -the horrors of a Convent, and my imprudence must be excused by -the urgency of the danger. Now listen to the plan by which I -hope to effect my escape. - -'We are now at the thirtieth of April. On the fifth day from -this the Visionary Nun is expected to appear. In my last visit -to the Convent I provided myself with a dress proper for the -character: A Friend, whom I have left there and to whom I made -no scruple to confide my secret, readily consented to supply me -with a religious habit. Provide a carriage, and be with it at a -little distance from the great Gate of the Castle. As soon as -the Clock strikes 'one,' I shall quit my chamber, drest in the -same apparel as the Ghost is supposed to wear. Whoever meets me -will be too much terrified to oppose my escape. I shall easily -reach the door, and throw myself under your protection. Thus far -success is certain: But Oh! Alphonso, should you deceive me! -Should you despise my imprudence and reward it with ingratitude, -the World will not hold a Being more wretched than myself! I -feel all the dangers to which I shall be exposed. I feel that I -am giving you a right to treat me with levity: But I rely upon -your love, upon your honour! The step which I am on the point of -taking, will incense my Relations against me: Should you desert -me, should you betray the trust reposed in you, I shall have no -friend to punish your insult, or support my cause. On yourself -alone rests all my hope, and if your own heart does not plead in -my behalf, I am undone for ever!' - -The tone in which She pronounced these words was so touching, -that in spite of my joy at receiving her promise to follow me, I -could not help being affected. I also repined in secret at not -having taken the precaution to provide a Carriage at the Village, -in which case I might have carried off Agnes that very night. -Such an attempt was now impracticable: Neither Carriage or -Horses were to be procured nearer than Munich, which was distant -from Lindenberg two good days journey. I was therefore obliged -to chime in with her plan, which in truth seemed well arranged: -Her disguise would secure her from being stopped in quitting the -Castle, and would enable her to step into the Carriage at the -very Gate without difficulty or losing time. - -Agnes reclined her head mournfully upon my shoulder, and by the -light of the Moon I saw tears flowing down her cheek. I strove -to dissipate her melancholy, and encouraged her to look forward -to the prospect of happiness. I protested in the most solemn -terms that her virtue and innocence would be safe in my keeping, -and that till the church had made her my lawful Wife, her honour -should be held by me as sacred as a Sister's. I told her that -my first care should be to find you out, Lorenzo, and reconcile -you to our union; and I was continuing to speak in the same -strain, when a noise without alarmed me. Suddenly the door of -the Pavilion was thrown open, and Cunegonda stood before us. She -had heard Agnes steal out of her chamber, followed her into the -Garden, and perceived her entering the Pavilion. Favoured by the -Trees which shaded it, and unperceived by Theodore who waited at -a little distance, She had approached in silence, and overheard -our whole conversation. - -'Admirable!' cried Cunegonda in a voice shrill with passion, -while Agnes uttered a loud shriek; 'By St. Barbara, young Lady, -you have an excellent invention! You must personate the Bleeding -Nun, truly? What impiety! What incredulity! Marry, I have a -good mind to let you pursue your plan: When the real Ghost met -you, I warrant, you would be in a pretty condition! Don -Alphonso, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for seducing a -young ignorant Creature to leave her family and Friends: -However, for this time at least I shall mar your wicked designs. -The noble Lady shall be informed of the whole affair, and Agnes -must defer playing the Spectre till a better opportunity. -Farewell, Segnor-- Donna Agnes, let me have the honour of -conducting your Ghost-ship back to your apartment.' - -She approached the Sopha on which her trembling Pupil was seated, -took her by the hand, and prepared to lead her from the Pavilion. - -I detained her, and strove by entreaties, soothing, promises, and -flattery to win her to my party: But finding all that I could -say of no avail, I abandoned the vain attempt. - -'Your obstinacy must be its own punishment,' said I; 'But one -resource remains to save Agnes and myself, and I shall not -hesitate to employ it.' - -Terrified at this menace, She again endeavoured to quit the -Pavilion; But I seized her by the wrist, and detained her -forcibly. At the same moment Theodore, who had followed her into -the room, closed the door, and prevented her escape. I took the -veil of Agnes: I threw it round the Duenna's head, who uttered -such piercing shrieks that in spite of our distance from the -Castle, I dreaded their being heard. At length I succeeded in -gagging her so compleatly that She could not produce a single -sound. Theodore and myself with some difficulty next contrived -to bind her hands and feet with our handkerchiefs; And I advised -Agnes to regain her chamber with all diligence. I promised that -no harm should happen to Cunegonda, bad her remember that on the -fifth of May I should be in waiting at the Great Gate of the -Castle, and took of her an affectionate farewell. Trembling and -uneasy She had scarce power enough to signify her consent to my -plans, and fled back to her apartment in disorder and confusion. - -In the meanwhile Theodore assisted me in carrying off my -antiquated Prize. She was hoisted over the wall, placed before -me upon my Horse like a Portmanteau, and I galloped away with her -from the Castle of Lindenberg. The unlucky Duenna never had made -a more disagreeable journey in her life: She was jolted and -shaken till She was become little more than an animated Mummy; -not to mention her fright when we waded through a small River -through which it was necessary to pass in order to regain the -Village. Before we reached the Inn, I had already determined how -to dispose of the troublesome Cunegonda. We entered the Street -in which the Inn stood, and while the page knocked, I waited at a -little distance. The Landlord opened the door with a Lamp in his -hand. - -'Give me the light!' said Theodore; 'My Master is coming.' - -He snatched the Lamp hastily, and purposely let it fall upon the -ground: The Landlord returned to the Kitchen to re-light the -Lamp, leaving the door open. I profited by the obscurity, sprang -from my Horse with Cunegonda in my arms, darted up stairs, -reached my chamber unperceived, and unlocking the door of a -spacious Closet, stowed her within it, and then turned the Key. -The Landlord and Theodore soon after appeared with lights: The -Former expressed himself a little surprised at my returning so -late, but asked no impertinent questions. He soon quitted the -room, and left me to exult in the success of my undertaking. - -I immediately paid a visit to my Prisoner. I strove to persuade -her submitting with patience to her temporary confinement. My -attempt was unsuccessful. Unable to speak or move, She expressed -her fury by her looks, and except at meals I never dared to -unbind her, or release her from the Gag. At such times I stood -over her with a drawn sword, and protested, that if She uttered a -single cry, I would plunge it in her bosom. As soon as She had -done eating, the Gag was replaced. I was conscious that this -proceeding was cruel, and could only be justified by the urgency -of circumstances: As to Theodore, He had no scruples upon the -subject. Cunegonda's captivity entertained him beyond measure. -During his abode in the Castle, a continual warfare had been -carried on between him and the Duenna; and now that He found his -Enemy so absolutely in his power, He triumphed without mercy. He -seemed to think of nothing but how to find out new means of -plaguing her: Sometimes He affected to pity her misfortune, then -laughed at, abused, and mimicked her; He played her a thousand -tricks, each more provoking than the other, and amused himself by -telling her that her elopement must have occasioned much -surprise at the Baron's. This was in fact the case. No one -except Agnes could imagine what was become of Dame Cunegonda: -Every hole and corner was searched for her; The Ponds were -dragged, and the Woods underwent a thorough examination. Still -no Dame Cunegonda made her appearance. Agnes kept the secret, -and I kept the Duenna: The Baroness, therefore, remained in -total ignorance respecting the old Woman's fate, but suspected -her to have perished by suicide. Thus past away five days, -during which I had prepared every thing necessary for my -enterprise. On quitting Agnes, I had made it my first business -to dispatch a Peasant with a letter to Lucas at Munich, ordering -him to take care that a Coach and four should arrive about ten -o'clock on the fifth of May at the Village of Rosenwald. He -obeyed my instructions punctually: The Equipage arrived at the -time appointed. As the period of her Lady's elopement drew -nearer, Cunegonda's rage increased. I verily believe that spight -and passion would have killed her, had I not luckily discovered -her prepossession in favour of Cherry Brandy. With this favourite -liquor She was plentifully supplied, and Theodore always -remaining to guard her, the Gag was occasionally removed. The -liquor seemed to have a wonderful effect in softening the -acrimony of her nature; and her confinement not admitting of any -other amusement, She got drunk regularly once a day just by way -of passing the time. - -The fifth of May arrived, a period by me never to be forgotten! -Before the Clock struck twelve, I betook myself to the scene of -action. Theodore followed me on horseback. I concealed the -Carriage in a spacious Cavern of the Hill, on whose brow the -Castle was situated: This Cavern was of considerable depth, and -among the peasants was known by the name of Lindenberg Hole. The -night was calm and beautiful: The Moonbeams fell upon the -antient Towers of the Castle, and shed upon their summits a -silver light. All was still around me: Nothing was to be heard -except the night breeze sighing among the leaves, the distant -barking of Village Dogs, or the Owl who had established herself -in a nook of the deserted Eastern Turret. I heard her melancholy -shriek, and looked upwards. She sat upon the ride of a window, -which I recognized to be that of the haunted Room. This brought -to my remembrance the story of the Bleeding Nun, and I sighed -while I reflected on the influence of superstition and weakness -of human reason. Suddenly I heard a faint chorus steal upon the -silence of the night. - -'What can occasion that noise, Theodore?' - -'A Stranger of distinction,' replied He, 'passed through the -Village today in his way to the Castle: He is reported to be -the Father of Donna Agnes. Doubtless, the Baron has given an -entertainment to celebrate his arrival.' - -The Castle Bell announced the hour of midnight: This was the -usual signal for the family to retire to Bed. Soon after I -perceived lights in the Castle moving backwards and forwards in -different directions. I conjectured the company to be -separating. I could hear the heavy doors grate as they opened -with difficulty, and as they closed again the rotten Casements -rattled in their frames. The chamber of Agnes was on the other -side of the Castle. I trembled lest She should have failed in -obtaining the Key of the haunted Room: Through this it was -necessary for her to pass in order to reach the narrow -Staircase by which the Ghost was supposed to descend into the -great Hall. Agitated by this apprehension, I kept my eyes -constantly fixed upon the window, where I hoped to perceive the -friendly glare of a Lamp borne by Agnes. I now heard the massy -Gates unbarred. By the candle in his hand I distinguished old -Conrad, the Porter. He set the Portal doors wide open, and -retired. The lights in the Castle gradually disappeared, and at -length the whole Building was wrapt in darkness. - -While I sat upon a broken ridge of the Hill, the stillness of the -scene inspired me with melancholy ideas not altogether -unpleasing. The Castle which stood full in my sight, formed an -object equally awful and picturesque. Its ponderous Walls tinged -by the moon with solemn brightness, its old and partly-ruined -Towers lifting themselves into the clouds and seeming to frown on -the plains around them, its lofty battlements oergrown with ivy, -and folding Gates expanding in honour of the Visionary -Inhabitant, made me sensible of a sad and reverential horror. -Yet did not these sensations occupy me so fully, as to prevent me -from witnessing with impatience the slow progress of time. I -approached the Castle, and ventured to walk round it. A few rays -of light still glimmered in the chamber of Agnes. I observed -them with joy. I was still gazing upon them, when I perceived a -figure draw near the window, and the Curtain was carefully closed -to conceal the Lamp which burned there. Convinced by this -observation that Agnes had not abandoned our plan, I returned -with a light heart to my former station. - -The half-hour struck! The three-quarters struck! My bosom beat -high with hope and expectation. At length the wished-for sound -was heard. The Bell tolled 'One,' and the Mansion echoed with -the noise loud and solemn. I looked up to the Casement of the -haunted Chamber. Scarcely had five minutes elapsed, when the -expected light appeared. I was now close to the Tower. The -window was not so far from the Ground but that I fancied I -perceived a female figure with a Lamp in her hand moving slowly -along the Apartment. The light soon faded away, and all was -again dark and gloomy. - -Occasional gleams of brightness darted from the Staircase -windows as the lovely Ghost past by them. I traced the light -through the Hall: It reached the Portal, and at length I beheld -Agnes pass through the folding gates. She was habited exactly -as She had described the Spectre. A chaplet of Beads hung upon -her arm; her head was enveloped in a long white veil; Her Nun's -dress was stained with blood, and She had taken care to provide -herself with a Lamp and dagger. She advanced towards the spot -where I stood. I flew to meet her, and clasped her in my arms. - -'Agnes!' said I while I pressed her to my bosom, -Agnes! Agnes! Thou art mine! -Agnes! Agnes! I am thine! -In my veins while blood shall roll, -Thou art mine! -I am thine! -Thine my body! Thine my soul! - -Terrified and breathless She was unable to speak: She dropt her -Lamp and dagger, and sank upon my bosom in silence. I raised her -in my arms, and conveyed her to the Carriage. Theodore remained -behind in order to release Dame Cunegonda. I also charged him -with a letter to the Baroness explaining the whole affair, and -entreating her good offices in reconciling Don Gaston to my union -with his Daughter. I discovered to her my real name: I proved -to her that my birth and expectations justified my pretending to -her Niece, and assured her, though it was out of my power to -return her love, that I would strive unceasingly to obtain her -esteem and friendship. - -I stepped into the Carriage, where Agnes was already seated. -Theodore closed the door, and the Postillions drove away. At -first I was delighted with the rapidity of our progress; But as -soon as we were in no danger of pursuit, I called to the Drivers, -and bad them moderate their pace. They strove in vain to obey -me. The Horses refused to answer the rein, and continued to rush -on with astonishing swiftness. The Postillions redoubled their -efforts to stop them, but by kicking and plunging the Beasts soon -released themselves from this restraint. Uttering a loud shriek, -the Drivers were hurled upon the ground. Immediately thick -clouds obscured the sky: The winds howled around us, the -lightning flashed, and the Thunder roared tremendously. Never -did I behold so frightful a Tempest! Terrified by the jar of -contending elements, the Horses seemed every moment to increase -their speed. Nothing could interrupt their career; They dragged -the Carriage through Hedges and Ditches, dashed down the most -dangerous precipices, and seemed to vye in swiftness with the -rapidity of the winds. - -All this while my Companion lay motionless in my arms. Truly -alarmed by the magnitude of the danger, I was in vain attempting -to recall her to her senses; when a loud crash announced, that a -stop was put to our progress in the most disagreeable manner. -The Carriage was shattered to pieces. In falling I struck my -temple against a flint. The pain of the wound, the violence of -the shock, and apprehension for the safety of Agnes combined to -overpower me so compleatly, that my senses forsook me, and I lay -without animation on the ground. - -I probably remained for some time in this situation, since when I -opened my eyes, it was broad daylight. Several Peasants were -standing round me, and seemed disputing whether my recovery was -possible. I spoke German tolerably well. As soon as I could -utter an articulate sound, I enquired after Agnes. What was my -surprise and distress, when assured by the Peasants, that nobody -had been seen answering the description which I gave of her! -They told me that in going to their daily labour they had been -alarmed by observing the fragments of my Carriage, and by hearing -the groans of an Horse, the only one of the four which remained -alive: The other Three lay dead by my side. Nobody was near me -when they came up, and much time had been lost, before they -succeeded in recovering me. Uneasy beyond expression respecting -the fate of my Companion, I besought the Peasants to disperse -themselves in search of her: I described her dress, and promised -immense rewards to whoever brought me any intelligence. As for -myself, it was impossible for me to join in the pursuit: I had -broken two of my ribs in the fall: My arm being dislocated hung -useless by my side; and my left leg was shattered so terribly, -that I never expected to recover its use. - -The Peasants complied with my request: All left me except Four, -who made a litter of boughs and prepared to convey me to the -neighbouring Town. I enquired its name. It proved to be -Ratisbon, and I could scarcely persuade myself that I had -travelled to such a distance in a single night. I told the -Countrymen that at one o'clock that morning I had past through -the Village of Rosenwald. They shook their heads wistfully, and -made signs to each other that I must certainly be delirious. I -was conveyed to a decent Inn and immediately put to bed. A -Physician was sent for, who set my arm with success. He then -examined my other hurts, and told me that I need be under no -apprehension of the consequences of any of them; But ordered me -to keep myself quiet, and be prepared for a tedious and painful -cure. I answered him that if He hoped to keep me quiet, He must -first endeavour to procure me some news of a Lady who had -quitted Rosenwald in my company the night before, and had been -with me at the moment when the Coach broke down. He smiled, and -only replied by advising me to make myself easy, for that all -proper care should be taken of me. As He quitted me, the Hostess -met him at the door of the room. - -'The Gentleman is not quite in his right senses;' I heard him say -to her in a low voice; ' 'Tis the natural consequence of his -fall, but that will soon be over.' - -One after another the Peasants returned to the Inn, and informed -me that no traces had been discovered of my unfortunate Mistress. - -Uneasiness now became despair. I entreated them to renew their -search in the most urgent terms, doubling the promises which I -had already made them. My wild and frantic manner confirmed the -bye-standers in the idea of my being delirious. No signs of the -Lady having appeared, they believed her to be a creature -fabricated by my over-heated brain, and paid no attention to my -entreaties. However, the Hostess assured me that a fresh enquiry -should be made, but I found afterwards that her promise was only -given to quiet me. No further steps were taken in the business. - -Though my Baggage was left at Munich under the care of my French -Servant, having prepared myself for a long journey, my purse was -amply furnished: Besides my equipage proved me to be of -distinction, and in consequence all possible attention was paid -me at the Inn. The day passed away: Still no news arrived of -Agnes. The anxiety of fear now gave place to despondency. I -ceased to rave about her and was plunged in the depth of -melancholy reflections. Perceiving me to be silent and tranquil, -my Attendants believed my delirium to have abated, and that my -malady had taken a favourable turn. According to the Physician's -order I swallowed a composing medicine; and as soon as the night -shut in, my attendants withdrew and left me to repose. - -That repose I wooed in vain. The agitation of my bosom chased -away sleep. Restless in my mind, in spite of the fatigue of my -body, I continued to toss about from side to side, till the Clock -in a neighbouring Steeple struck 'One.' As I listened to the -mournful hollow sound, and heard it die away in the wind, I felt -a sudden chillness spread itself over my body. I shuddered -without knowing wherefore; Cold dews poured down my forehead, and -my hair stood bristling with alarm. Suddenly I heard slow and -heavy steps ascending the staircase. By an involuntary movement -I started up in my bed, and drew back the curtain. A single -rush-light which glimmered upon the hearth shed a faint gleam -through the apartment, which was hung with tapestry. The door -was thrown open with violence. A figure entered, and drew near -my Bed with solemn measured steps. With trembling apprehension I -examined this midnight Visitor. God Almighty! It was the -Bleeding Nun! It was my lost Companion! Her face was still -veiled, but She no longer held her Lamp and dagger. She lifted -up her veil slowly. What a sight presented itself to my startled -eyes! I beheld before me an animated Corse. Her countenance was -long and haggard; Her cheeks and lips were bloodless; The -paleness of death was spread over her features, and her eyeballs -fixed stedfastly upon me were lustreless and hollow. - -I gazed upon the Spectre with horror too great to be described. -My blood was frozen in my veins. I would have called for aid, -but the sound expired ere it could pass my lips. My nerves were -bound up in impotence, and I remained in the same attitude -inanimate as a Statue. - -The visionary Nun looked upon me for some minutes in silence: -There was something petrifying in her regard. At length in a low -sepulchral voice She pronounced the following words. - - ''Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine! - Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! - In thy veins while blood shall roll, - I am thine! - Thou art mine! - Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!----'' - -Breathless with fear, I listened while She repeated my own -expressions. The Apparition seated herself opposite to me at the -foot of the Bed, and was silent. Her eyes were fixed earnestly -upon mine: They seemed endowed with the property of the -Rattlesnake's, for I strove in vain to look off her. My eyes -were fascinated, and I had not the power of withdrawing them from -the Spectre's. - -In this attitude She remained for a whole long hour without -speaking or moving; nor was I able to do either. At length the -Clock struck two. The Apparition rose from her seat, and -approached the side of the bed. She grasped with her icy fingers -my hand which hung lifeless upon the Coverture, and pressing her -cold lips to mine, again repeated, - - ''Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine! - Raymond! Raymond! - I am thine! &c.----'' - -She then dropped my hand, quitted the chamber with slow steps, -and the Door closed after her. Till that moment the faculties of -my body had been all suspended; Those of my mind had alone been -waking. The charm now ceased to operate: The blood which had -been frozen in my veins rushed back to my heart with violence: I -uttered a deep groan, and sank lifeless upon my pillow. - -The adjoining room was only separated from mine by a thin -partition: It was occupied by the Host and his Wife: The Former -was rouzed by my groan, and immediately hastened to my chamber: -The Hostess soon followed him. With some difficulty they -succeeded in restoring me to my senses, and immediately sent for -the Physician, who arrived in all diligence. He declared my -fever to be very much increased, and that if I continued to -suffer such violent agitation, He would not take upon him to -ensure my life. Some medicines which He gave me in some degree -tranquillized my spirits. I fell into a sort of slumber towards -daybreak; But fearful dreams prevented me from deriving any -benefit from my repose. Agnes and the Bleeding Nun presented -themselves by turns to my fancy, and combined to harass and -torment me. I awoke fatigued and unrefreshed. My fever seemed -rather augmented than diminished; The agitation of my mind -impeded my fractured bones from knitting: I had frequent -fainting fits, and during the whole day the Physician judged it -expedient not to quit me for two hours together. - -The singularity of my adventure made me determine to conceal it -from every one, since I could not expect that a circumstance so -strange should gain credit. I was very uneasy about Agnes. I -knew not what She would think at not finding me at the -rendezvous, and dreaded her entertaining suspicions of my -fidelity. However, I depended upon Theodore's discretion, and -trusted that my letter to the Baroness would convince her of the -rectitude of my intentions. These considerations somewhat -lightened my inquietude upon her account: But the impression -left upon my mind by my nocturnal Visitor grew stronger with -every succeeding moment. The night drew near; I dreaded its -arrival. Yet I strove to persuade myself that the Ghost would -appear no more, and at all events I desired that a Servant might -sit up in my chamber. - -The fatigue of my body from not having slept on the former night, -co-operating with the strong opiates administered to me in -profusion, at length procured me that repose of which I was so -much in need. I sank into a profound and tranquil slumber, and -had already slept for some hours, when the neighbouring Clock -rouzed me by striking 'One'. Its sound brought with it to my -memory all the horrors of the night before. The same cold -shivering seized me. I started up in my bed, and perceived the -Servant fast asleep in an armed-Chair near me. I called him by -his name: He made no answer. I shook him forcibly by the arm, -and strove in vain to wake him. He was perfectly insensible to -my efforts. I now heard the heavy steps ascending the -staircase; The Door was thrown open, and again the Bleeding Nun -stood before me. Once more my limbs were chained in second -infancy. Once more I heard those fatal words repeated, - - ''Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine! - Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.----'' - -The scene which had shocked me so sensibly on the former night, -was again presented. The Spectre again pressed her lips to mine, -again touched me with her rotting fingers, and as on her first -appearance, quitted the chamber as soon as the Clock told 'Two.' - -Even night was this repeated. Far from growing accustomed to the -Ghost, every succeeding visit inspired me with greater horror. -Her idea pursued me continually, and I became the prey of -habitual melancholy. The constant agitation of my mind naturally -retarded the re-establishment of my health. Several months -elapsed before I was able to quit my bed; and when at length I -was moved to a Sopha, I was so faint, spiritless, and emaciated, -that I could not cross the room without assistance. The looks of -my Attendants sufficiently denoted the little hope, which they -entertained of my recovery. The profound sadness, which -oppressed me without remission made the Physician consider me to -be an Hypochondriac. The cause of my distress I carefully -concealed in my own bosom, for I knew that no one could give me -relief: The Ghost was not even visible to any eye but mine. I -had frequently caused Attendants to sit up in my room: But the -moment that the Clock struck 'One,' irresistible slumber seized -them, nor left them till the departure of the Ghost. - -You may be surprized that during this time I made no enquiries -after your Sister. Theodore, who with difficulty had discovered -my abode, had quieted my apprehensions for her safety: At the -same time He convinced me that all attempts to release her from -captivity must be fruitless till I should be in a condition to -return to Spain. The particulars of her adventure which I shall -now relate to you, were partly communicated to me by Theodore, -and partly by Agnes herself. - -On the fatal night when her elopement was to have taken place, -accident had not permitted her to quit her chamber at the -appointed time. At length She ventured into the haunted room, -descended the staircase leading into the Hall, found the Gates -open as She expected, and left the Castle unobserved. What was -her surprize at not finding me ready to receive her! She -examined the Cavern, ranged through every Alley of the -neighbouring wood, and passed two full hours in this fruitless -enquiry. She could discover no traces either of me or of the -Carriage. Alarmed and disappointed, her only resource was to -return to the Castle before the Baroness missed her: But here -She found herself in a fresh embarrassment. The Bell had already -tolled 'Two:' The Ghostly hour was past, and the careful Porter -had locked the folding gates. After much irresolution She -ventured to knock softly. Luckily for her, Conrad was still -awake: He heard the noise and rose, murmuring at being called -up a second time. No sooner had He opened one of the Doors, and -beheld the supposed Apparition waiting there for admittance, than -He uttered a loud cry, and sank upon his knees. Agnes profited -by his terror. She glided by him, flew to her own apartment, and -having thrown off her Spectre's trappings, retired to bed -endeavouring in vain to account for my disappearing. - -In the mean while Theodore having seen my Carriage drive off with -the false Agnes, returned joyfully to the Village. The next -morning He released Cunegonda from her confinement, and -accompanied her to the Castle. There He found the Baron, his -Lady, and Don Gaston, disputing together upon the Porter's -relation. All of them agreed in believing the existence of -Spectres: But the Latter contended, that for a Ghost to knock -for admittance was a proceeding till then unwitnessed, and -totally incompatible with the immaterial nature of a Spirit. -They were still discussing this subject when the Page appeared -with Cunegonda and cleared up the mystery. On hearing his -deposition, it was agreed unanimously that the Agnes whom -Theodore had seen step into my Carriage must have been the -Bleeding Nun, and that the Ghost who had terrified Conrad was no -other than Don Gaston's Daughter. - -The first surprize which this discovery occasioned being over, -the Baroness resolved to make it of use in persuading her Niece -to take the veil. Fearing lest so advantageous an establishment -for his Daughter should induce Don Gaston to renounce his -resolution, She suppressed my letter, and continued to represent -me as a needy unknown Adventurer. A childish vanity had led me -to conceal my real name even from my Mistress; I wished to be -loved for myself, not for being the Son and Heir of the Marquis -de las Cisternas. The consequence was that my rank was known to -no one in the Castle except the Baroness, and She took good care -to confine the knowledge to her own breast. Don Gaston having -approved his Sister's design, Agnes was summoned to appear before -them. She was taxed with having meditated an elopement, obliged -to make a full confession, and was amazed at the gentleness with -which it was received: But what was her affliction, when -informed that the failure of her project must be attributed to -me! Cunegonda, tutored by the Baroness, told her that when I -released her, I had desired her to inform her Lady that our -connexion was at an end, that the whole affair was occasioned by -a false report, and that it by no means suited my circumstances -to marry a Woman without fortune or expectations. - -To this account my sudden disappearing gave but too great an air -of probability. Theodore, who could have contradicted the story, -by Donna Rodolpha's order was kept out of her sight: What proved -a still greater confirmation of my being an Impostor, was the -arrival of a letter from yourself declaring that you had no sort -of acquaintance with Alphonso d'Alvarada. These seeming proofs -of my perfidy, aided by the artful insinuations of her Aunt, by -Cunegonda's flattery, and her Father's threats and anger, -entirely conquered your Sister's repugnance to a Convent. -Incensed at my behaviour, and disgusted with the world in -general, She consented to receive the veil. She past another -Month at the Castle of Lindenberg, during which my non-appearance -confirmed her in her resolution, and then accompanied Don Gaston -into Spain. Theodore was now set at liberty. He hastened to -Munich, where I had promised to let him hear from me; But finding -from Lucas that I had never arrived there, He pursued his search -with indefatigable perseverance, and at length succeeded in -rejoining me at Ratisbon. - -So much was I altered, that scarcely could He recollect my -features: The distress visible upon his sufficiently testified -how lively was the interest which He felt for me. The society of -this amiable Boy, whom I had always considered rather as a -Companion than a Servant, was now my only comfort. His -conversation was gay yet sensible, and his observations shrewd -and entertaining: He had picked up much more knowledge than is -usual at his Age: But what rendered him most agreeable to me, -was his having a delightful voice, and some skill in Music. He -had also acquired some taste in poetry, and even ventured -sometimes to write verses himself. He occasionally composed -little Ballads in Spanish, his compositions were but indifferent, -I must confess; yet they were pleasing to me from their novelty, -and hearing him sing them to his guitar was the only amusement, -which I was capable of receiving. Theodore perceived well enough -that something preyed upon my mind; But as I concealed the cause -of my grief even from him, Respect would not permit him to pry -into my secrets. - -One Evening I was lying upon my Sopha, plunged in reflections -very far from agreeable: Theodore amused himself by observing -from the window a Battle between two Postillions, who were -quarrelling in the Inn-yard. - -'Ha! Ha!' cried He suddenly; 'Yonder is the Great Mogul.' - -'Who?' said I. - -'Only a Man who made me a strange speech at Munich.' - -'What was the purport of it?' - -'Now you put me in mind of it, Segnor, it was a kind of message -to you; but truly it was not worth delivering. I believe the -Fellow to be mad, for my part. When I came to Munich in search -of you, I found him living at 'The King of the Romans,' and the -Host gave me an odd account of him. By his accent He is supposed -to be a Foreigner, but of what Country nobody can tell. He -seemed to have no acquaintance in the Town, spoke very seldom, -and never was seen to smile. He had neither Servants or Baggage; -But his Purse seemed well-furnished, and He did much good in the -Town. Some supposed him to be an Arabian Astrologer, Others to -be a Travelling Mountebank, and many declared that He was Doctor -Faustus, whom the Devil had sent back to Germany. The Landlord, -however told me, that He had the best reasons to believe him to -be the Great Mogul incognito.' - -'But the strange speech, Theodore.' - -'True, I had almost forgotten the speech: Indeed for that -matter, it would not have been a great loss if I had forgotten -it altogether. You are to know, Segnor, that while I was -enquiring about you of the Landlord, this Stranger passed by. He -stopped, and looked at me earnestly. 'Youth!' said He in a solemn -voice, 'He whom you seek, has found that which He would fain -lose. My hand alone can dry up the blood: Bid your Master wish -for me when the Clock strikes, 'One.' - -'How?' cried I, starting from my Sopha. (The words which -Theodore had repeated, seemed to imply the Stranger's knowledge -of my secret) 'Fly to him, my Boy! Entreat him to grant me one -moment's conversation!' - -Theodore was surprised at the vivacity of my manner: However, He -asked no questions, but hastened to obey me. I waited his return -impatiently. But a short space of time had elapsed when He again -appeared and ushered the expected Guest into my chamber. He was -a Man of majestic presence: His countenance was strongly marked, -and his eyes were large, black, and sparkling: Yet there was a -something in his look which, the moment that I saw him, inspired -me with a secret awe, not to say horror. He was drest plainly, -his hair was unpowdered, and a band of black velvet which -encircled his forehead spread over his features an additional -gloom. His countenance wore the marks of profound melancholy; -his step was slow, and his manner grave, stately, and solemn. - -He saluted me with politeness; and having replied to the usual -compliments of introduction, He motioned to Theodore to quit the -chamber. The Page instantly withdrew. - -'I know your business,' said He, without giving me time to speak. - -'I have the power of releasing you from your nightly Visitor; But -this cannot be done before Sunday. On the hour when the Sabbath -Morning breaks, Spirits of darkness have least influence over -Mortals. After Saturday the Nun shall visit you no more.' - -'May I not enquire,' said I, 'by what means you are in possession -of a secret which I have carefully concealed from the knowledge -of everyone?' - -'How can I be ignorant of your distress, when their cause at this -moment stands beside you?' - -I started. The Stranger continued. - -'Though to you only visible for one hour in the twenty-four, -neither day or night does She ever quit you; Nor will She ever -quit you till you have granted her request.' - -'And what is that request?' - -'That She must herself explain: It lies not in my knowledge. -Wait with patience for the night of Saturday: All shall be then -cleared up.' - -I dared not press him further. He soon after changed the -conversation and talked of various matters. He named People who -had ceased to exist for many Centuries, and yet with whom He -appeared to have been personally acquainted. I could not mention -a Country however distant which He had not visited, nor could I -sufficiently admire the extent and variety of his information. -I remarked to him that having travelled, seen, and known so much, -must have given him infinite pleasure. He shook his head -mournfully. - -'No one,' He replied, 'is adequate to comprehending the misery of -my lot! Fate obliges me to be constantly in movement: I am not -permitted to pass more than a fortnight in the same place. I -have no Friend in the world, and from the restlessness of my -destiny I never can acquire one. Fain would I lay down my -miserable life, for I envy those who enjoy the quiet of the -Grave: But Death eludes me, and flies from my embrace. In vain -do I throw myself in the way of danger. I plunge into the Ocean; -The Waves throw me back with abhorrence upon the shore: I rush -into fire; The flames recoil at my approach: I oppose myself to -the fury of Banditti; Their swords become blunted, and break -against my breast: The hungry Tiger shudders at my approach, and -the Alligator flies from a Monster more horrible than itself. -God has set his seal upon me, and all his Creatures respect this -fatal mark!' - -He put his hand to the velvet, which was bound round his -forehead. There was in his eyes an expression of fury, despair, -and malevolence, that struck horror to my very soul. An -involuntary convulsion made me shudder. The Stranger perceived -it. - -'Such is the curse imposed on me,' he continued: 'I am doomed to -inspire all who look on me with terror and detestation. You -already feel the influence of the charm, and with every -succeeding moment will feel it more. I will not add to your -sufferings by my presence. Farewell till Saturday. As soon as -the Clock strikes twelve, expect me at your chamber door.' - -Having said this He departed, leaving me in astonishment at the -mysterious turn of his manner and conversation. - -His assurances that I should soon be relieved from the -Apparition's visits produced a good effect upon my constitution. -Theodore, whom I rather treated as an adopted Child than a -Domestic, was surprized at his return to observe the amendment in -my looks. He congratulated me on this symptom of returning -health, and declared himself delighted at my having received so -much benefit from my conference with the Great Mogul. Upon -enquiry I found that the Stranger had already past eight days in -Ratisbon: According to his own account, therefore, He was only -to remain there six days longer. Saturday was still at the -distance of Three. Oh! with what impatience did I expect its -arrival! In the interim, the Bleeding Nun continued her -nocturnal visits; But hoping soon to be released from them -altogether, the effects which they produced on me became less -violent than before. - -The wished-for night arrived. To avoid creating suspicion I -retired to bed at my usual hour: But as soon as my Attendants -had left me, I dressed myself again, and prepared for the -Stranger's reception. He entered my room upon the turn of -midnight. A small Chest was in his hand, which He placed near -the Stove. He saluted me without speaking; I returned the -compliment, observing an equal silence. He then opened his -Chest. The first thing which He produced was a small wooden -Crucifix: He sank upon his knees, gazed upon it mournfully, and -cast his eyes towards heaven. He seemed to be praying devoutly. -At length He bowed his head respectfully, kissed the Crucifix -thrice, and quitted his kneeling posture. He next drew from the -Chest a covered Goblet: With the liquor which it contained, and -which appeared to be blood, He sprinkled the floor, and then -dipping in it one end of the Crucifix, He described a circle in -the middle of the room. Round about this He placed various -reliques, sculls, thigh-bones &c; I observed, that He disposed -them all in the forms of Crosses. Lastly He took out a large -Bible, and beckoned me to follow him into the Circle. I obeyed. - -'Be cautious not to utter a syllable!' whispered the Stranger; -'Step not out of the circle, and as you love yourself, dare not -to look upon my face!' - -Holding the Crucifix in one hand, the Bible in the other, He -seemed to read with profound attention. The Clock struck 'One'! -As usual I heard the Spectre's steps upon the Staircase: But I -was not seized with the accustomed shivering. I waited her -approach with confidence. She entered the room, drew near the -Circle, and stopped. The Stranger muttered some words, to me -unintelligible. Then raising his head from the Book, and -extending the Crucifix towards the Ghost, He pronounced in a -voice distinct and solemn, - -'Beatrice! Beatrice! Beatrice!' - -'What wouldst Thou?' replied the Apparition in a hollow faltering -tone. - -'What disturbs thy sleep? Why dost thou afflict and torture this -Youth? How can rest be restored to thy unquiet Spirit?' - -'I dare not tell!--I must not tell!--Fain would I repose in my -Grave, but stern commands force me to prolong my punishment!' - -'Knowest Thou this blood? Knowest Thou in whose veins it flowed? - -Beatrice! Beatrice! In his name I charge thee to answer me!' - -'I dare not disobey my taskers.' - -'Darest Thou disobey Me?' - -He spoke in a commanding tone, and drew the sable band from his -forehead. In spite of his injunctions to the contrary, -Curiosity would not suffer me to keep my eyes off his face: I -raised them, and beheld a burning Cross impressed upon his brow. -For the horror with which this object inspired me I cannot -account, but I never felt its equal! My senses left me for some -moments; A mysterious dread overcame my courage, and had not the -Exorciser caught my hand, I should have fallen out of the Circle. - -When I recovered myself, I perceived that the burning Cross had -produced an effect no less violent upon the Spectre. Her -countenance expressed reverence, and horror, and her visionary -limbs were shaken by fear. - -'Yes!' She said at length; 'I tremble at that mark!-- respect -it!--I obey you! Know then, that my bones lie still unburied: -They rot in the obscurity of Lindenberg Hole. None but this -Youth has the right of consigning them to the Grave. His own -lips have made over to me his body and his soul: Never will I -give back his promise, never shall He know a night devoid of -terror, unless He engages to collect my mouldering bones, and -deposit them in the family vault of his Andalusian Castle. Then -let thirty Masses be said for the repose of my Spirit, and I -trouble this world no more. Now let me depart! Those flames are -scorching!' - -He let the hand drop slowly which held the Crucifix, and which -till then He had pointed towards her. The apparition bowed her -head, and her form melted into air. The Exorciser led me out of -the Circle. He replaced the Bible &c. in the Chest, and then -addressed himself to me, who stood near him speechless from -astonishment. - -'Don Raymond, you have heard the conditions on which repose is -promised you. Be it your business to fulfil them to the letter. -For me nothing more remains than to clear up the darkness still -spread over the Spectre's History, and inform you that when -living, Beatrice bore the name of las Cisternas. She was the -great Aunt of your Grandfather: In quality of your relation, -her ashes demand respect from you, though the enormity of her -crimes must excite your abhorrence. The nature of those crimes -no one is more capable of explaining to you than myself: I was -personally acquainted with the holy Man who proscribed her -nocturnal riots in the Castle of Lindenberg, and I hold this -narrative from his own lips. - -'Beatrice de las Cisternas took the veil at an early age, not by -her own choice, but at the express command of her Parents. She -was then too young to regret the pleasures of which her -profession deprived her: But no sooner did her warm and -voluptuous character begin to be developed than She abandoned -herself freely to the impulse of her passions, and seized the -first opportunity to procure their gratification. This -opportunity was at length presented, after many obstacles which -only added new force to her desires. She contrived to elope from -the Convent, and fled to Germany with the Baron Lindenberg. She -lived at his Castle several months as his avowed Concubine: All -Bavaria was scandalized by her impudent and abandoned conduct. -Her feasts vied in luxury with Cleopatra's, and Lindenberg became -the Theatre of the most unbridled debauchery. Not satisfied with -displaying the incontinence of a Prostitute, She professed -herself an Atheist: She took every opportunity to scoff at her -monastic vows, and loaded with ridicule the most sacred -ceremonies of Religion. - -'Possessed of a character so depraved, She did not long confine -her affections to one object. Soon after her arrival at the -Castle, the Baron's younger Brother attracted her notice by his -strong-marked features, gigantic Stature, and Herculean limbs. -She was not of an humour to keep her inclinations long unknown; -But She found in Otto von Lindenberg her equal in depravity. He -returned her passion just sufficiently to increase it; and when -He had worked it up to the desired pitch, He fixed the price of -his love at his Brother's murder. The Wretch consented to this -horrible agreement. A night was pitched upon for perpetrating -the deed. Otto, who resided on a small Estate a few miles -distant from the Castle, promised that at One in the morning He -would be waiting for her at Lindenberg Hole; that He would bring -with him a party of chosen Friends, by whose aid He doubted not -being able to make himself Master of the Castle; and that his -next step should be the uniting her hand to his. It was this -last promise, which overruled every scruple of Beatrice, since in -spite of his affection for her, the Baron had declared positively -that He never would make her his Wife. - -'The fatal night arrived. The Baron slept in the arms of his -perfidious Mistress, when the Castle-Bell struck 'One.' -Immediately Beatrice drew a dagger from underneath the pillow, -and plunged it in her Paramour's heart. The Baron uttered a -single dreadful groan, and expired. The Murderess quitted her -bed hastily, took a Lamp in one hand, in the other the bloody -dagger, and bent her course towards the cavern. The Porter dared -not to refuse opening the Gates to one more dreaded in the -Castle than its Master. Beatrice reached Lindenberg Hole -unopposed, where according to promise She found Otto waiting for -her. He received and listened to her narrative with transport: -But ere She had time to ask why He came unaccompanied, He -convinced her that He wished for no witnesses to their interview. -Anxious to conceal his share in the murder, and to free himself -from a Woman, whose violent and atrocious character made him -tremble with reason for his own safety, He had resolved on the -destruction of his wretched Agent. Rushing upon her suddenly, He -wrested the dagger from her hand: He plunged it still reeking -with his Brother's blood in her bosom, and put an end to her -existence by repeated blows. - -'Otto now succeeded to the Barony of Lindenberg. The murder was -attributed solely to the fugitive Nun, and no one suspected him -to have persuaded her to the action. But though his crime was -unpunished by Man, God's justice permitted him not to enjoy in -peace his blood-stained honours. Her bones lying still unburied -in the Cave, the restless soul of Beatrice continued to inhabit -the Castle. Drest in her religious habit in memory of her vows -broken to heaven, furnished with the dagger which had drank the -blood of her Paramour, and holding the Lamp which had guided her -flying steps, every night did She stand before the Bed of Otto. -The most dreadful confusion reigned through the Castle; The -vaulted chambers resounded with shrieks and groans; And the -Spectre, as She ranged along the antique Galleries, uttered an -incoherent mixture of prayers and blasphemies. Otto was unable -to withstand the shock which He felt at this fearful Vision: -Its horror increased with every succeeding appearance: His alarm -at length became so insupportable that his heart burst, and one -morning He was found in his bed totally deprived of warmth and -animation. His death did not put an end to the nocturnal riots. -The bones of Beatrice continued to lie unburied, and her Ghost -continued to haunt the Castle. - -'The domains of Lindenberg now fell to a distant Relation. But -terrified by the accounts given him of the Bleeding Nun (So was -the Spectre called by the multitude), the new Baron called to his -assistance a celebrated Exorciser. This holy Man succeeded in -obliging her to temporary repose; But though She discovered to -him her history, He was not permitted to reveal it to others, or -cause her skeleton to be removed to hallowed ground. That Office -was reserved for you, and till your coming, her Ghost was doomed -to wander about the Castle and lament the crime which She had -there committed. However, the Exorciser obliged her to silence -during his lifetime. So long as He existed, the haunted chamber -was shut up, and the Spectre was invisible. At his death which -happened in five years after, She again appeared, but only once -on every fifth year, on the same day and at the same hour when -She plunged her Knife in the heart of her sleeping Lover: She -then visited the Cavern which held her mouldering skeleton, -returned to the Castle as soon as the Clock struck 'Two,' and was -seen no more till the next five years had elapsed. - -'She was doomed to suffer during the space of a Century. That -period is past. Nothing now remains but to consign to the Grave -the ashes of Beatrice. I have been the means of releasing you -from your visionary Tormentor; and amidst all the sorrows which -oppress me, to think that I have been of use to you, is some -consolation. Youth, farewell! May the Ghost of your Relation -enjoy that rest in the Tomb, which the Almighty's vengeance has -denied to me for ever!' - -Here the Stranger prepared to quit the apartment. - -'Stay yet one moment!' said I; 'You have satisfied my curiosity -with regard to the Spectre, but you leave me in prey to yet -greater respecting yourself. Deign to inform me, to whom I am -under such real obligations. You mention circumstances long -past, and persons long dead: You were personally acquainted with -the Exorciser, who by your own account has been deceased near a -Century. How am I to account for this? What means that burning -Cross upon your forehead, and why did the sight of it strike -such horror to my soul?' - -On these points He for some time refused to satisfy me. At -length overcome by my entreaties, He consented to clear up the -whole, on condition that I would defer his explanation till the -next day. With this request I was obliged to comply, and He left -me. In the Morning my first care was to enquire after the -mysterious Stranger. Conceive my disappointment when informed -that He had already quitted Ratisbon. I dispatched messengers in -pursuit of him but in vain. No traces of the Fugitive were -discovered. Since that moment I never have heard any more of -him, and 'tis most probable that I never shall.' - -(Lorenzo here interrupted his Friend's narrative. - -'How?' said He; 'You have never discovered who He was, or even -formed a guess?' - -'Pardon me,' replied the Marquis; 'When I related this adventure -to my Uncle, the Cardinal-Duke, He told me that He had no doubt -of this singular Man's being the celebrated Character known -universally by the name of 'the wandering Jew.' His not being -permitted to pass more than fourteen days on the same spot, the -burning Cross impressed upon his forehead, the effect which it -produced upon the Beholders, and many other circumstances give -this supposition the colour of truth. The Cardinal is fully -persuaded of it; and for my own part I am inclined to adopt the -only solution which offers itself to this riddle. I return to -the narrative from which I have digressed.') - -From this period I recovered my health so rapidly as to astonish -my Physicians. The Bleeding Nun appeared no more, and I was soon -able to set out for Lindenberg. The Baron received me with open -arms. I confided to him the sequel of my adventure; and He was -not a little pleased to find that his Mansion would be no longer -troubled with the Phantom's quiennial visits. I was sorry to -perceive that absence had not weakened Donna Rodolpha's -imprudent passion. In a private conversation which I had with -her during my short stay at the Castle, She renewed her attempts -to persuade me to return her affection. Regarding her as the -primary cause of all my sufferings, I entertained for her no -other sentiment than disgust. The Skeleton of Beatrice was found -in the place which She had mentioned. This being all that I -sought at Lindenberg, I hastened to quit the Baron's domains, -equally anxious to perform the obsequies of the murdered Nun, and -escape the importunity of a Woman whom I detested. I departed, -followed by Donna Rodolpha's menaces that my contempt should not -be long unpunished. - -I now bent my course towards Spain with all diligence. Lucas -with my Baggage had joined me during my abode at Lindenberg. I -arrived in my native Country without any accident, and -immediately proceeded to my Father's Castle in Andalusia. The -remains of Beatrice were deposited in the family vault, all due -ceremonies performed, and the number of Masses said which She had -required. Nothing now hindered me from employing all my -endeavours to discover the retreat of Agnes. The Baroness had -assured me that her Niece had already taken the veil: This -intelligence I suspected to have been forged by jealousy, and -hoped to find my Mistress still at liberty to accept my hand. I -enquired after her family; I found that before her Daughter could -reach Madrid, Donna Inesilla was no more: You, my dear Lorenzo, -were said to be abroad, but where I could not discover: Your -Father was in a distant Province on a visit to the Duke de -Medina, and as to Agnes, no one could or would inform me what was -become of her. Theodore, according to promise, had returned to -Strasbourg, where He found his Grandfather dead, and Marguerite -in possession of his fortune. All her persuations to remain with -her were fruitless: He quitted her a second time, and followed -me to Madrid. He exerted himself to the utmost in forwarding my -search: But our united endeavours were unattended by success. -The retreat, which concealed Agnes remained an impenetrable -mystery, and I began to abandon all hopes of recovering her. - -About eight months ago I was returning to my Hotel in a -melancholy humour, having past the evening at the Play-House. -The Night was dark, and I was unaccompanied. Plunged in -reflections which were far from being agreeable, I perceived not -that three Men had followed me from the Theatre; till, on turning -into an unfrequented Street, they all attacked me at the same -time with the utmost fury. I sprang back a few paces, drew my -sword, and threw my cloak over my left arm. The obscurity of the -night was in my favour. For the most part the blows of the -Assassins, being aimed at random, failed to touch me. I at -length was fortunate enough to lay one of my Adversaries at my -feet; But before this I had already received so many wounds, and -was so warmly pressed, that my destruction would have been -inevitable, had not the clashing of swords called a Cavalier to -my assistance. He ran towards me with his sword drawn: Several -Domestics followed him with torches. His arrival made the combat -equal: Yet would not the Bravoes abandon their design till the -Servants were on the point of joining us. They then fled away, -and we lost them in the obscurity. - -The Stranger now addressed himself to me with politeness, and -enquired whether I was wounded. Faint with the loss of blood, I -could scarcely thank him for his seasonable aid, and entreat him -to let some of his Servants convey me to the Hotel de las -Cisternas. I no sooner mentioned the name than He profest -himself an acquaintance of my Father's, and declared that He -would not permit my being transported to such a distance before -my wounds had been examined. He added that his House was hard -by, and begged me to accompany him thither. His manner was so -earnest, that I could not reject his offer, and leaning upon his -arm, a few minutes brought me to the Porch of a magnificent -Hotel. - -On entering the House, an old grey-headed Domestic came to -welcome my Conductor: He enquired when the Duke, his Master, -meant to quit the Country, and was answered that He would remain -there yet some months. My Deliverer then desired the -family Surgeon to be summoned without delay. His orders were -obeyed. I was seated upon a Sopha in a noble apartment; and my -wounds being examined, they were declared to be very slight. The -Surgeon, however, advised me not to expose myself to the -night air; and the Stranger pressed me so earnestly to take a bed -in his House, that I consented to remain where I was for the -present. - -Being now left alone with my Deliverer, I took the opportunity of -thanking him in more express terms, than I had done hitherto: -But He begged me to be silent upon the subject. - -'I esteem myself happy,' said He, 'in having had it in my power -to render you this little service; and I shall think myself -eternally obliged to my Daughter for detaining me so late at the -Convent of St. Clare. The high esteem in which I have ever held -the Marquis de las Cisternas, though accident has not permitted -our being so intimate as I could wish, makes me rejoice in the -opportunity of making his Son's acquaintance. I am certain that -my Brother in whose House you now are, will lament his not being -at Madrid to receive you himself: But in the Duke's absence I am -Master of the family, and may assure you in his name, that every -thing in the Hotel de Medina is perfectly at your disposal.' - -Conceive my surprize, Lorenzo, at discovering in the person of my -Preserver Don Gaston de Medina: It was only to be equalled by my -secret satisfaction at the assurance that Agnes inhabited the -Convent of St. Clare. This latter sensation was not a little -weakened, when in answer to my seemingly indifferent questions He -told me that his Daughter had really taken the veil. I suffered -not my grief at this circumstance to take root in my mind: I -flattered myself with the idea that my Uncle's credit at the -Court of Rome would remove this obstacle, and that without -difficulty I should obtain for my Mistress a dispensation from -her vows. Buoyed up with this hope I calmed the uneasiness of my -bosom; and I redoubled my endeavours to appear grateful for the -attention and pleased with the society of Don Gaston. - -A Domestic now entered the room, and informed me that the Bravo -whom I had wounded discovered some signs of life. I desired -that He might be carried to my Father's Hotel, and that as soon -as He recovered his voice, I would examine him respecting his -reasons for attempting my life. I was answered that He was -already able to speak, though with difficulty: Don Gaston's -curiosity made him press me to interrogate the Assassin in his -presence, but this curiosity I was by no means inclined to -gratify. One reason was, that doubting from whence the blow -came, I was unwilling to place before Don Gaston's eyes the guilt -of a Sister: Another was, that I feared to be recognized for -Alphonso d'Alvarada, and precautions taken in consequence to keep -me from the sight of Agnes. To avow my passion for his Daughter, -and endeavour to make him enter into my schemes, what I knew of -Don Gaston's character convinced me would be an imprudent step: -and considering it to be essential that He should know me for no -other than the Conde de las Cisternas, I was determined not to -let him hear the Bravo's confession. I insinuated to him, that -as I suspected a Lady to be concerned in the Business, whose name -might accidentally escape from the Assassin, it was necessary for -me to examine the Man in private. Don Gaston's delicacy would -not permit his urging the point any longer, and in consequence -the Bravo was conveyed to my Hotel. - -The next Morning I took leave of my Host, who was to return to -the Duke on the same day. My wounds had been so trifling that, -except being obliged to wear my arm in a sling for a short time, -I felt no inconvenience from the night's adventure. The Surgeon -who examined the Bravo's wound declared it to be mortal: He had -just time to confess that He had been instigated to murder me by -the revengeful Donna Rodolpha, and expired in a few minutes -after. - -All my thoughts were now bent upon getting to the speech of my -lovely Nun. Theodore set himself to work, and for this time with -better success. He attacked the Gardener of St. Clare so -forcibly with bribes and promises that the Old Man was entirely -gained over to my interests; and it was settled that I should be -introduced into the Convent in the character of his Assistant. -The plan was put into execution without delay. Disguised in a -common habit, and a black patch covering one of my eyes, I was -presented to the Lady Prioress, who condescended to approve of -the Gardener's choice. I immediately entered upon my employment. -Botany having been a favourite study with me, I was by no means -at a loss in my new station. For some days I continued to work -in the Convent Garden without meeting the Object of my disguise: -On the fourth Morning I was more successful. I heard the voice -of Agnes, and was speeding towards the sound, when the sight of -the Domina stopped me. I drew back with caution, and concealed -myself behind a thick clump of Trees. - -The Prioress advanced and seated herself with Agnes on a Bench -at no great distance. I heard her in an angry tone blame her -Companion's continual melancholy: She told her that to weep the -loss of any Lover in her situation was a crime; But that to weep -the loss of a faithless one was folly and absurdity in the -extreme. Agnes replied in so low a voice that I could not -distinguish her words, but I perceived that She used terms of -gentleness and submission. The conversation was interrupted by -the arrival of a young Pensioner who informed the Domina that -She was waited for in the Parlour. The old Lady rose, kissed the -cheek of Agnes, and retired. The newcomer remained. Agnes spoke -much to her in praise of somebody whom I could not make out, but -her Auditor seemed highly delighted, and interested by the -conversation. The Nun showed her several letters; the Other -perused them with evident pleasure, obtained permission to copy -them, and withdrew for that purpose to my great satisfaction. - -No sooner was She out of sight, than I quitted my concealment. -Fearing to alarm my lovely Mistress, I drew near her gently, -intending to discover myself by degrees. But who for a moment -can deceive the eyes of love? She raised her head at my -approach, and recognised me in spite of my disguise at a single -glance. She rose hastily from her seat with an exclamation of -surprize, and attempted to retire; But I followed her, detained -her, and entreated to be heard. Persuaded of my falsehood She -refused to listen to me, and ordered me positively to quit the -Garden. It was now my turn to refuse. I protested that however -dangerous might be the consequences, I would not leave her till -She had heard my justification. I assured her that She had been -deceived by the artifices of her Relations; that I could convince -her beyond the power of doubt that my passion had been pure and -disinterested; and I asked her what should induce me to seek her -in the Convent, were I influenced by the selfish motives which my -Enemies had ascribed to me. - -My prayers, my arguments, and vows not to quit her, till She had -promised to listen to me, united to her fears lest the Nuns -should see me with her, to her natural curiosity, and to the -effection which She still felt for me in spite of my supposed -desertion, at length prevailed. She told me that to grant my -request at that moment was impossible; But She engaged to be in -the same spot at eleven that night, and to converse with me for -the last time. Having obtained this promise I released her hand, -and She fled back with rapidity towards the Convent. - -I communicated my success to my Ally, the old Gardener: He -pointed out an hiding place where I might shelter myself till -night without fear of a discovery. Thither I betook myself at -the hour when I ought to have retired with my supposed Master, -and waited impatiently for the appointed time. The chillness of -the night was in my favour, since it kept the other Nuns confined -to their Cells. Agnes alone was insensible of the inclemency of -the Air, and before eleven joined me at the spot which had -witnessed our former interview. Secure from interruption, I -related to her the true cause of my disappearing on the fatal -fifth of May. She was evidently much affected by my narrative: -When it was concluded, She confessed the injustice of her -suspicions, and blamed herself for having taken the veil through -despair at my ingratitude. - -'But now it is too late to repine!' She added; 'The die is -thrown: I have pronounced my vows, and dedicated myself to the -service of heaven. I am sensible, how ill I am calculated for a -Convent. My disgust at a monastic life increases daily: Ennui -and discontent are my constant Companions; and I will not conceal -from you that the passion which I formerly felt for one so near -being my Husband is not yet extinguished in my bosom. But we -must part! Insuperable Barriers divide us from each other, and -on this side the Grave we must never meet again!' - -I now exerted myself to prove that our union was not so -impossible as She seemed to think it. I vaunted to her the -Cardinal-Duke of Lerma's influence at the Court of Rome: I -assured her that I should easily obtain a dispensation from her -vows; and I doubted not but Don Gaston would coincide with my -views, when informed of my real name and long attachment. Agnes -replied that since I encouraged such an hope, I could know but -little of her Father. Liberal and kind in every other respect, -Superstition formed the only stain upon his character. Upon this -head He was inflexible; He sacrificed his dearest interests to -his scruples, and would consider it an insult to suppose him -capable of authorising his daughter to break her vows to heaven. - -'But suppose,' said I interrupting her; 'Suppose that He should -disapprove of our union; Let him remain ignorant of my -proceedings, till I have rescued you from the prison in which -you are now confined. Once my Wife, you are free from his -authority: I need from him no pecuniary assistance; and when He -sees his resentment to be unavailing, He will doubtless restore -you to his favour. But let the worst happen; Should Don Gaston -be irreconcileable, my Relations will vie with each other in -making you forget his loss: and you will find in my Father a -substitute for the Parent of whom I shall deprive you.' - -'Don Raymond,' replied Agnes in a firm and resolute voice, 'I -love my Father: He has treated me harshly in this one instance; -but I have received from him in every other so many proofs of -love that his affection is become necessary to my existence. -Were I to quit the Convent, He never would forgive me; nor can I -think that on his deathbed He would leave me his curse, without -shuddering at the very idea. Besides, I am conscious myself, -that my vows are binding: Wilfully did I contract my engagement -with heaven; I cannot break it without a crime. Then banish from -your mind the idea of our being ever united. I am devoted to -religion; and however I may grieve at our separation, I would -oppose obstacles myself, to what I feel would render me guilty.' - -I strove to overrule these ill-grounded scruples: We were still -disputing upon the subject, when the Convent Bell summoned the -Nuns to Matins. Agnes was obliged to attend them; But She left -me not till I had compelled her to promise that on the following -night She would be at the same place at the same hour. These -meetings continued for several Weeks uninterrupted; and 'tis now, -Lorenzo, that I must implore your indulgence. Reflect upon our -situation, our youth, our long attachment: Weigh all the -circumstances which attended our assignations, and you will -confess the temptation to have been irresistible; you will even -pardon me when I acknowledge, that in an unguarded moment, the -honour of Agnes was sacrificed to my passion.' - -(Lorenzo's eyes sparkled with fury: A deep crimson spread itself -over his face. He started from his seat, and attempted to draw -his sword. The Marquis was aware of his movement, and caught his -hand: He pressed it affectionately. - -'My Friend! My Brother! Hear me to the conclusion! Till then -restrain your passion, and be at least convinced, that if what I -have related is criminal, the blame must fall upon me, and not -upon your Sister.' - -Lorenzo suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Don Raymond's -entreaties. He resumed his place, and listened to the rest of -the narrative with a gloomy and impatient countenance. The -Marquis thus continued.) - -'Scarcely was the first burst of passion past when Agnes, -recovering herself, started from my arms with horror. She called -me infamous Seducer, loaded me with the bitterest reproaches, and -beat her bosom in all the wildness of delirium. Ashamed of my -imprudence, I with difficulty found words to excuse myself. I -endeavoured to console her; I threw myself at her feet, and -entreated her forgiveness. She forced her hand from me, which I -had taken, and would have prest to my lips. - -'Touch me not!' She cried with a violence which terrified me; -'Monster of perfidy and ingratitude, how have I been deceived in -you! I looked upon you as my Friend, my Protector: I trusted -myself in your hands with confidence, and relying upon your -honour, thought that mine ran no risque. And 'tis by you, whom I -adored, that I am covered with infamy! 'Tis by you that I have -been seduced into breaking my vows to God, that I am reduced to a -level with the basest of my sex! Shame upon you, Villain, you -shall never see me more!' - -She started from the Bank on which She was seated. I endeavoured -to detain her; But She disengaged herself from me with violence, -and took refuge in the Convent. - -I retired, filled with confusion and inquietude. The next -morning I failed not as usual to appear in the Garden; but Agnes -was no where to be seen. At night I waited for her at the place -where we generally met; I found no better success. Several days -and nights passed away in the same manner. At length I saw my -offended Mistress cross the walk on whose borders I was working: -She was accompanied by the same young Pensioner, on whose arm She -seemed from weakness obliged to support herself. She looked upon -me for a moment, but instantly turned her head away. I waited -her return; But She passed on to the Convent without paying any -attention to me, or the penitent looks with which I implored her -forgiveness. - -As soon as the Nuns were retired, the old Gardener joined me with -a sorrowful air. - -'Segnor,' said He, 'it grieves me to say, that I can be no longer -of use to you. The Lady whom you used to meet has just assured -me that if I admitted you again into the Garden, She would -discover the whole business to the Lady Prioress. She bade me -tell you also, that your presence was an insult, and that if you -still possess the least respect for her, you will never attempt -to see her more. Excuse me then for informing you that I can -favour your disguise no longer. Should the Prioress be -acquainted with my conduct, She might not be contented with -dismissing me her service: Out of revenge She might accuse me of -having profaned the Convent, and cause me to be thrown into the -Prisons of the Inquisition.' - -Fruitless were my attempts to conquer his resolution. He denied -me all future entrance into the Garden, and Agnes persevered in -neither letting me see or hear from her. In about a fortnight -after, a violent illness which had seized my Father obliged me to -set out for Andalusia. I hastened thither, and as I imagined, -found the Marquis at the point of death. Though on its first -appearance his complaint was declared mortal, He lingered out -several Months; during which my attendance upon him during his -malady, and the occupation of settling his affairs after his -decease, permitted not my quitting Andalusia. Within these four -days I returned to Madrid, and on arriving at my Hotel, I there -found this letter waiting for me. - -(Here the Marquis unlocked the drawer of a Cabinet: He took out a -folded paper, which He presented to his Auditor. Lorenzo opened -it, and recognised his Sister's hand. The Contents were as -follows. - -Into what an abyss of misery have you plunged me! Raymond, you -force me to become as criminal as yourself. I had resolved never -to see you more; if possible, to forget you; If not, only to -remember you with hate. A Being for whom I already feel a -Mother's tenderness, solicits me to pardon my Seducer, and apply -to his love for the means of preservation. Raymond, your child -lives in my bosom. I tremble at the vengeance of the Prioress; I -tremble much for myself, yet more for the innocent Creature whose -existence depends upon mine. Both of us are lost, should my -situation be discovered. Advise me then what steps to take, but -seek not to see me. The Gardener, who undertakes to deliver -this, is dismissed, and we have nothing to hope from that -quarter: The Man engaged in his place is of incorruptible -fidelity. The best means of conveying to me your answer, is by -concealing it under the great Statue of St. Francis, which stands -in the Capuchin Cathedral. Thither I go every Thursday to -confession, and shall easily have an opportunity of securing your -letter. I hear that you are now absent from Madrid; Need I -entreat you to write the very moment of your return? I will not -think it. Ah! Raymond! Mine is a cruel situation! Deceived by -my nearest Relations, compelled to embrace a profession the -duties of which I am ill-calculated to perform, conscious of the -sanctity of those duties, and seduced into violating them by One -whom I least suspected of perfidy, I am now obliged by -circumstances to chuse between death and perjury. Woman's -timidity, and maternal affection, permit me not to balance in the -choice. I feel all the guilt into which I plunge myself, when I -yield to the plan which you before proposed to me. My poor -Father's death which has taken place since we met, has removed -one obstacle. He sleeps in his grave, and I no longer dread his -anger. But from the anger of God, Oh! Raymond! who shall shield -me? Who can protect me against my conscience, against myself? I -dare not dwell upon these thoughts; They will drive me mad. I -have taken my resolution: Procure a dispensation from my vows; I -am ready to fly with you. Write to me, my Husband! Tell me, -that absence has not abated your love, tell me that you will -rescue from death your unborn Child, and its unhappy Mother. I -live in all the agonies of terror: Every eye which is fixed upon -me seems to read my secret and my shame. And you are the cause -of those agonies! Oh! When my heart first loved you, how little -did it suspect you of making it feel such pangs! - Agnes. - -Having perused the letter, Lorenzo restored it in silence. The -Marquis replaced it in the Cabinet, and then proceeded.) - -'Excessive was my joy at reading this intelligence so -earnestly-desired, so little expected. My plan was soon -arranged. When Don Gaston discovered to me his Daughter's -retreat, I entertained no doubt of her readiness to quit the -Convent: I had, therefore, entrusted the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma -with the whole affair, who immediately busied himself in -obtaining the necessary Bull. Fortunately I had afterwards -neglected to stop his proceedings. Not long since I received a -letter from him, stating that He expected daily to receive the -order from the Court of Rome. Upon this I would willingly have -relyed: But the Cardinal wrote me word, that I must find some -means of conveying Agnes out of the Convent, unknown to the -Prioress. He doubted not but this Latter would be much incensed -by losing a Person of such high rank from her society, and -consider the renunciation of Agnes as an insult to her House. He -represented her as a Woman of a violent and revengeful character, -capable of proceeding to the greatest extremities. It was -therefore to be feared, lest by confining Agnes in the Convent -She should frustrate my hopes, and render the Pope's mandate -unavailing. Influenced by this consideration, I resolved to -carry off my Mistress, and conceal her till the arrival of the -expected Bull in the Cardinal-Duke's Estate. He approved of my -design, and profest himself ready to give a shelter to the -Fugitive. I next caused the new Gardener of St. Clare to be -seized privately, and confined in my Hotel. By this means I -became Master of the Key to the Garden door, and I had now -nothing more to do than prepare Agnes for the elopement. This -was done by the letter, which you saw me deliver this Evening. I -told her in it, that I should be ready to receive her at twelve -tomorrow night, that I had secured the Key of the Garden, and -that She might depend upon a speedy release. - -You have now, Lorenzo, heard the whole of my long narrative. I -have nothing to say in my excuse, save that my intentions towards -your Sister have been ever the most honourable: That it has -always been, and still is my design to make her my Wife: And -that I trust, when you consider these circumstances, our youth, -and our attachment, you will not only forgive our momentary lapse -from virtue, but will aid me in repairing my faults to Agnes, and -securing a lawful title to her person and her heart. - - -CHAPTER II - -O You! whom Vanity's light bark conveys -On Fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise, -With what a shifting gale your course you ply, -For ever sunk too low, or borne too high! -Who pants for glory finds but short repose, -A breath revives him, and a breath o'er-throws. - Pope. - -Here the Marquis concluded his adventures. Lorenzo, before He -could determine on his reply, past some moments in reflection. -At length He broke silence. - -'Raymond,' said He taking his hand, 'strict honour would oblige -me to wash off in your blood the stain thrown upon my family; But -the circumstances of your case forbid me to consider you as an -Enemy. The temptation was too great to be resisted. 'Tis the -superstition of my Relations which has occasioned these -misfortunes, and they are more the Offenders than yourself and -Agnes. What has past between you cannot be recalled, but may yet -be repaired by uniting you to my Sister. You have ever been, you -still continue to be, my dearest and indeed my only Friend. I -feel for Agnes the truest affection, and there is no one on whom -I would bestow her more willingly than on yourself. Pursue then -your design. I will accompany you tomorrow night, and conduct -her myself to the House of the Cardinal. My presence will be a -sanction for her conduct, and prevent her incurring blame by her -flight from the Convent.' - -The Marquis thanked him in terms by no means deficient in -gratitude. Lorenzo then informed him that He had nothing more -to apprehend from Donna Rodolpha's enmity. Five Months had -already elapsed since, in an excess of passion, She broke a -blood-vessel and expired in the course of a few hours. He then -proceeded to mention the interests of Antonia. The Marquis was -much surprized at hearing of this new Relation: His Father had -carried his hatred of Elvira to the Grave, and had never given -the least hint that He knew what was become of his eldest Son's -Widow. Don Raymond assured his friend that He was not mistaken -in supposing him ready to acknowledge his Sister-in-law and her -amiable Daughter. The preparations for the elopement would not -permit his visiting them the next day; But in the meanwhile He -desired Lorenzo to assure them of his friendship, and to supply -Elvira upon his account with any sums which She might want. This -the Youth promised to do, as soon as her abode should be known to -him: He then took leave of his future Brother, and returned to -the Palace de Medina. - -The day was already on the point of breaking when the Marquis -retired to his chamber. Conscious that his narrative would take -up some hours, and wishing to secure himself from interruption -on returning to the Hotel, He ordered his Attendants not to sit -upfor him. Consequently, He was somewhat surprised on entering -his Antiroom, to find Theodore established there. The Page sat -near a Table with a pen in his hand, and was so totally occupied -by his employment that He perceived not his Lord's approach. The -Marquis stopped to observe him. Theodore wrote a few lines, then -paused, and scratched out a part of the writing: Then wrote -again, smiled, and seemed highly pleased with what He had been -about. At last He threw down his pen, sprang from his chair, and -clapped his hands together joyfully. - -'There it is!' cried He aloud: 'Now they are charming!' - -His transports were interrupted by a laugh from the Marquis, who -suspected the nature of his employment. - -'What is so charming, Theodore?' - -The Youth started, and looked round. He blushed, ran to the -Table, seized the paper on which He had been writing, and -concealed it in confusion. - -'Oh! my Lord, I knew not that you were so near me. Can I be of -use to you? Lucas is already gone to bed.' - -'I shall follow his example when I have given my opinion of your -verses.' - -'My verses, my Lord?' - -'Nay, I am sure that you have been writing some, for nothing else -could have kept you awake till this time of the morning. Where -are they, Theodore? I shall like to see your composition.' - -Theodore's cheeks glowed with still deeper crimson: He longed to -show his poetry, but first chose to be pressed for it. - -'Indeed, my Lord, they are not worthy your attention.' - -'Not these verses, which you just now declared to be so charming? - -Come, come, let me see whether our opinions are the same. I -promise that you shall find in me an indulgent Critic.' - -The Boy produced his paper with seeming reluctance; but the -satisfaction which sparkled in his dark expressive eyes betrayed -the vanity of his little bosom. The Marquis smiled while He -observed the emotions of an heart as yet but little skilled in -veiling its sentiments. He seated himself upon a Sopha: -Theodore, while Hope and fear contended on his anxious -countenance, waited with inquietude for his Master's decision, -while the Marquis read the following lines. - - LOVE AND AGE - - The night was dark; The wind blew cold; -Anacreon, grown morose and old, -Sat by his fire, and fed the chearful flame: -Sudden the Cottage-door expands, -And lo! before him Cupid stands, -Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name. - - 'What is it Thou?' the startled Sire -In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire -With crimson flushed his pale and wrinkled cheek: -'Wouldst Thou again with amorous rage -Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age, -Vain Boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak. - - 'What seek You in this desart drear? -No smiles or sports inhabit here; -Ne'er did these vallies witness dalliance sweet: -Eternal winter binds the plains; -Age in my house despotic reigns, -My Garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat. - - 'Begone, and seek the blooming bower, -Where some ripe Virgin courts thy power, -Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed; -On Damon's amorous breast repose; -Wanton-on Chloe's lip of rose, -Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head. - - 'Be such thy haunts; These regions cold -Avoid! Nor think grown wise and old -This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear: -Remembering that my fairest years -By Thee were marked with sighs and tears, -I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare. - - 'I have not yet forgot the pains -I felt, while bound in Julia's chains; -The ardent flames with which my bosom burned; -The nights I passed deprived of rest; -The jealous pangs which racked my breast; -My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned. - -'Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more! -Fly from my peaceful Cottage-door! -No day, no hour, no moment shalt Thou stay. -I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts, -Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts; -Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!' - - 'Does Age, old Man, your wits confound?' -Replied the offended God, and frowned; -(His frown was sweet as is the Virgin's smile!) -'Do You to Me these words address? -To Me, who do not love you less, -Though You my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile! - - 'If one proud Fair you chanced to find, -An hundred other Nymphs were kind, -Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone: -But such is Man! His partial hand -Unnumbered favours writes on sand, -But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone. - - 'Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave, -At noon where Lesbia loved to lave? -Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay? -And who, when Caelia shrieked for aid, -Bad you with kisses hush the Maid? -What other was't than Love, Oh! false Anacreon, say! - - 'Then You could call me--''Gentle Boy! -''My only bliss! my source of joy !''-- -Then You could prize me dearer than your soul! -Could kiss, and dance me on your knees; -And swear, not wine itself would please, -Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl! - - 'Must those sweet days return no more? -Must I for aye your loss deplore, -Banished your heart, and from your favour driven? -Ah! no; My fears that smile denies; -That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes -Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven. - - 'Again beloved, esteemed, carest, -Cupid shall in thine arms be prest, -Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep: -My Torch thine age-struck heart shall warm; -My Hand pale Winter's rage disarm, -And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.'-- - - A feather now of golden hue -He smiling from his pinion drew; -This to the Poet's hand the Boy commits; -And straight before Anacreon's eyes -The fairest dreams of fancy rise, -And round his favoured head wild inspiration flits. - - His bosom glows with amorous fire -Eager He grasps the magic lyre; -Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move: -The Feather plucked from Cupid's wing -Sweeps the too-long-neglected string, -While soft Anacreon sings the power -and praise of Love. - - Soon as that name was heard, the Woods -Shook off their snows; The melting floods -Broke their cold chains, and Winter fled away. -Once more the earth was deckt with flowers; -Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers; -High towered the glorious Sun, and poured the blaze of day. - - Attracted by the harmonious sound, -Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround, -And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold: -The Wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove; -Eager They run; They list, they love, -And while They hear the strain, forget the Man is old. - - Cupid, to nothing constant long, -Perched on the Harp attends the song, -Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes: -Now on the Poet's breast reposes, -Now twines his hoary locks with roses, -Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats. - - Then thus Anacreon--'I no more -At other shrine my vows will pour, -Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire: -From Phoebus or the blue-eyed Maid -Now shall my verse request no aid, -For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre. - - 'In lofty strain, of earlier days, -I spread the King's or Hero's praise, -And struck the martial Chords with epic fire: -But farewell, Hero! farewell, King! -Your deeds my lips no more shall sing, -For Love alone shall be the subject of my Lyre. - -The Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement. - -'Your little poem pleases me much,' said He; 'However, you must -not count my opinion for anything. I am no judge of verses, and -for my own part, never composed more than six lines in my life: -Those six produced so unlucky an effect that I am fully resolved -never to compose another. But I wander from my subject. I was -going to say that you cannot employ your time worse than in -making verses. An Author, whether good or bad, or between both, -is an Animal whom everybody is privileged to attack; For though -All are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to -judge them. A bad composition carries with it its own -punishment, contempt and ridicule. A good one excites envy, and -entails upon its Author a thousand mortifications. He finds -himself assailed by partial and ill-humoured Criticism: One Man -finds fault with the plan, Another with the style, a Third with -the precept, which it strives to inculcate; and they who cannot -succeed in finding fault with the Book, employ themselves in -stigmatizing its Author. They maliciously rake out from -obscurity every little circumstance which may throw ridicule -upon his private character or conduct, and aim at wounding the -Man, since They cannot hurt the Writer. In short, to enter the -lists of literature is wilfully to expose yourself to the arrows -of neglect, ridicule, envy, and disappointment. Whether you -write well or ill, be assured that you will not escape from -blame; Indeed this circumstance contains a young Author's chief -consolation: He remembers that Lope de Vega and Calderona had -unjust and envious Critics, and He modestly conceives himself to -be exactly in their predicament. But I am conscious that all -these sage observations are thrown away upon you. Authorship is -a mania to conquer which no reasons are sufficiently strong; and -you might as easily persuade me not to love, as I persuade you -not to write. However, if you cannot help being occasionally -seized with a poetical paroxysm, take at least the precaution of -communicating your verses to none but those whose partiality for -you secures their approbation.' - -'Then, my Lord, you do not think these lines tolerable?' said -Theodore with an humble and dejected air. - -'You mistake my meaning. As I said before, they have pleased me -much; But my regard for you makes me partial, and Others might -judge them less favourably. I must still remark that even my -prejudice in your favour does not blind me so much as to prevent -my observing several faults. For instance, you make a terrible -confusion of metaphors; You are too apt to make the strength of -your lines consist more in the words than sense; Some of the -verses only seem introduced in order to rhyme with others; and -most of the best ideas are borrowed from other Poets, though -possibly you are unconscious of the theft yourself. These faults -may occasionally be excused in a work of length; But a short Poem -must be correct and perfect.' - -'All this is true, Segnor; But you should consider that I only -write for pleasure.' - -'Your defects are the less excusable. Their incorrectness may be -forgiven in those who work for money, who are obliged to compleat -a given task in a given time, and are paid according to the bulk, -not value of their productions. But in those whom no necessity -forces to turn Author, who merely write for fame, and have full -leisure to polish their compositions, faults are impardonable, -and merit the sharpest arrows of criticism.' - -The Marquis rose from the Sopha; the Page looked discouraged and -melancholy, and this did not escape his Master's observation. - -'However' added He smiling, 'I think that these lines do you no -discredit. Your versification is tolerably easy, and your ear -seems to be just. The perusal of your little poem upon the whole -gave me much pleasure; and if it is not asking too great a -favour, I shall be highly obliged to you for a Copy.' - -The Youth's countenance immediately cleared up. He perceived not -the smile, half approving, half ironical, which accompanied the -request, and He promised the Copy with great readiness. The -Marquis withdrew to his chamber, much amused by the -instantaneous effect produced upon Theodore's vanity by the -conclusion of his Criticism. He threw himself upon his Couch; -Sleep soon stole over him, and his dreams presented him with the -most flattering pictures of happiness with Agnes. - -On reaching the Hotel de Medina, Lorenzo's first care was to -enquire for Letters. He found several waiting for him; but that -which He sought was not amongst them. Leonella had found it -impossible to write that evening. However, her impatience to -secure Don Christoval's heart, on which She flattered herself -with having made no slight impression, permitted her not to pass -another day without informing him where She was to be found. On -her return from the Capuchin Church, She had related to her -Sister with exultation how attentive an handsome Cavalier had -been to her; as also how his Companion had undertaken to plead -Antonia's cause with the Marquis de las Cisternas. Elvira -received this intelligence with sensations very different from -those with which it was communicated. She blamed her Sister's -imprudence in confiding her history to an absolute Stranger, and -expressed her fears lest this inconsiderate step should -prejudice the Marquis against her. The greatest of her -apprehensions She concealed in her own breast. She had observed -with inquietude that at the mention of Lorenzo, a deep blush -spread itself over her Daughter's cheek. The timid Antonia dared -not to pronounce his name: Without knowing wherefore, She felt -embarrassed when He was made the subject of discourse, and -endeavoured to change the conversation to Ambrosio. Elvira -perceived the emotions of this young bosom: In consequence, She -insisted upon Leonella's breaking her promise to the Cavaliers. -A sigh, which on hearing this order escaped from Antonia, -confirmed the wary Mother in her resolution. - -Through this resolution Leonella was determined to break: She -conceived it to be inspired by envy, and that her Sister dreaded -her being elevated above her. Without imparting her design to -anyone, She took an opportunity of dispatching the following -note to Lorenzo; It was delivered to him as soon as He woke. - -'Doubtless, Segnor Don Lorenzo, you have frequently accused me of -ingratitude and forgetfulness: But on the word of a Virgin, it -was out of my power to perform my promise yesterday. I know not -in what words to inform you how strange a reception my Sister -gave your kind wish to visit her. She is an odd Woman, with many -good points about her; But her jealousy of me frequently makes -her conceive notions quite unaccountable. On hearing that your -Friend had paid some little attention to me, She immediately took -the alarm: She blamed my conduct, and has absolutely forbidden -me to let you know our abode. My strong sense of gratitude for -your kind offers of service, and . . . Shall I confess it? my -desire to behold once more the too amiable Don Christoval, will -not permit my obeying her injunctions. I have therefore stolen a -moment to inform you, that we lodge in the Strada di San Iago, -four doors from the Palace d'Albornos, and nearly opposite to the -Barber's Miguel Coello. Enquire for Donna Elvira Dalfa, since in -compliance with her Father-in-law's order, my Sister continues to -be called by her maiden name. At eight this evening you will be -sure of finding us: But let not a word drop which may raise a -suspicion of my having written this letter. Should you see the -Conde d'Ossorio, tell him . . . I blush while I declare it . . . - -Tell him that his presence will be but too acceptable to the -sympathetic Leonella. - -The latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the -blushes of her cheek, while She committed an outrage upon her -virgin modesty. - -Lorenzo had no sooner perused this note than He set out in -search of Don Christoval. Not being able to find him in the -course of the day, He proceeded to Donna Elvira's alone, to -Leonella's infinite disappointment. The Domestic by whom He -sent up his name, having already declared his Lady to be at home, -She had no excuse for refusing his visit: Yet She consented to -receive it with much reluctance. That reluctance was increased -by the changes which his approach produced in Antonia's -countenance; nor was it by any means abated when the Youth -himself appeared. The symmetry of his person, animation of his -features, and natural elegance of his manners and address, -convinced Elvira that such a Guest must be dangerous for her -Daughter. She resolved to treat him with distant politeness, to -decline his services with gratitude for the tender of them, and -to make him feel, without offence, that his future visits would -be far from acceptable. - -On his entrance He found Elvira, who was indisposed, reclining -upon a Sopha: Antonia sat by her embroidery frame, and Leonella, -in a pastoral dress, held 'Montemayor's Diana.' In spite of -her being the Mother of Antonia, Lorenzo could not help expecting -to find in Elvira Leonella's true Sister, and the Daughter of 'as -honest a painstaking Shoe-maker, as any in Cordova.' A single -glance was sufficient to undeceive him. He beheld a Woman whose -features, though impaired by time and sorrow, still bore the -marks of distinguished beauty: A serious dignity reigned upon -her countenance, but was tempered by a grace and sweetness which -rendered her truly enchanting. Lorenzo fancied that She must -have resembled her Daughter in her youth, and readily excused the -imprudence of the late Conde de las Cisternas. She desired him -to be seated, and immediately resumed her place upon the Sopha. - -Antonia received him with a simple reverence, and continued her -work: Her cheeks were suffused with crimson, and She strove to -conceal her emotion by leaning over her embroidery frame. Her -Aunt also chose to play off her airs of modesty; She affected to -blush and tremble, and waited with her eyes cast down to receive, -as She expected, the compliments of Don Christoval. Finding -after some time that no sign of his approach was given, She -ventured to look round the room, and perceived with vexation that -Medina was unaccompanied. Impatience would not permit her -waiting for an explanation: Interrupting Lorenzo, who was -delivering Raymond's message, She desired to know what was become -of his Friend. - -He, who thought it necessary to maintain himself in her good -graces, strove to console her under her disappointment by -committing a little violence upon truth. - -'Ah! Segnora,' He replied in a melancholy voice 'How grieved will -He be at losing this opportunity of paying you his respects! A -Relation's illness has obliged him to quit Madrid in haste: But -on his return, He will doubtless seize the first moment with -transport to throw himself at your feet!' - -As He said this, his eyes met those of Elvira: She punished his -falsehood sufficiently by darting at him a look expressive of -displeasure and reproach. Neither did the deceit answer his -intention. Vexed and disappointed Leonella rose from her seat, -and retired in dudgeon to her own apartment. - -Lorenzo hastened to repair the fault, which had injured him in -Elvira's opinion. He related his conversation with the Marquis -respecting her: He assured her that Raymond was prepared to -acknowledge her for his Brother's Widow; and that till it was in -his power to pay his compliments to her in person, Lorenzo was -commissioned to supply his place. This intelligence relieved -Elvira from an heavy weight of uneasiness: She had now found a -Protector for the fatherless Antonia, for whose future fortunes -She had suffered the greatest apprehensions. She was not sparing -of her thanks to him who had interfered so generously in her -behalf; But still She gave him no invitation to repeat his visit. - -However, when upon rising to depart He requested permission to -enquire after her health occasionally, the polite earnestness of -his manner, gratitude for his services, and respect for his -Friend the Marquis, would not admit of a refusal. She consented -reluctantly to receive him: He promised not to abuse her -goodness, and quitted the House. - -Antonia was now left alone with her Mother: A temporary silence -ensued. Both wished to speak upon the same subject, but Neither -knew how to introduce it. The one felt a bashfulness which -sealed up her lips, and for which She could not account: The -other feared to find her apprehensions true, or to inspire her -Daughter with notions to which She might be still a Stranger. At -length Elvira began the conversation. - -'That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with -him. Was He long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?' - -'He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church: He -gave me his seat, and was very obliging and attentive.' - -'Indeed? Why then have you never mentioned his name to me? Your -Aunt lanched out in praise of his Friend, and you vaunted -Ambrosio's eloquence: But Neither said a word of Don Lorenzo's -person and accomplishments. Had not Leonella spoken of his -readiness to undertake our cause, I should not have known him to -be in existence.' - -She paused. Antonia coloured, but was silent. - -'Perhaps you judge him less favourably than I do. In my opinion -his figure is pleasing, his conversation sensible, and manners -engaging. Still He may have struck you differently: You may -think him disagreeable, and . . .'. - -'Disagreeable? Oh! dear Mother, how should I possibly think him -so? I should be very ungrateful were I not sensible of his -kindness yesterday, and very blind if his merits had escaped me. -His figure is so graceful, so noble! His manners so gentle, yet -so manly! I never yet saw so many accomplishments united in one -person, and I doubt whether Madrid can produce his equal.' - -'Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid? - -Why was it concealed from me that his society had afforded you -pleasure?' - -'In truth, I know not: You ask me a question which I cannot -resolve myself. I was on the point of mentioning him a thousand -times: His name was constantly upon my lips, but when I would -have pronounced it, I wanted courage to execute my design. -However, if I did not speak of him, it was not that I thought of -him the less.' - -'That I believe; But shall I tell you why you wanted courage? It -was because, accustomed to confide to me your most secret -thoughts, you knew not how to conceal, yet feared to acknowledge, -that your heart nourished a sentiment which you were conscious I -should disapprove. Come hither to me, my Child.' - -Antonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her -knees by the Sopha, and hid her face in her Mother's lap. - -'Fear not, my sweet Girl! Consider me equally as your Friend and -Parent, and apprehend no reproof from me. I have read the -emotions of your bosom; you are yet ill-skilled in concealing -them, and they could not escape my attentive eye. This Lorenzo -is dangerous to your repose; He has already made an impression -upon your heart. 'Tis true that I perceive easily that your -affection is returned; But what can be the consequences of this -attachment? You are poor and friendless, my Antonia; Lorenzo is -the Heir of the Duke of Medina Celi. Even should Himself mean -honourably, his Uncle never will consent to your union; Nor -without that Uncle's consent, will I. By sad experience I know -what sorrows She must endure, who marries into a family unwilling -to receive her. Then struggle with your affection: Whatever -pains it may cost you, strive to conquer it. Your heart is -tender and susceptible: It has already received a strong -impression; But when once convinced that you should not encourage -such sentiments, I trust, that you have sufficient fortitude to -drive them from your bosom.' - -Antonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience. Elvira -then continued. - -'To prevent your passion from growing stronger, it will be -needful to prohibit Lorenzo's visits. The service which He has -rendered me permits not my forbidding them positively; But unless -I judge too favourably of his character, He will discontinue them -without taking offence, if I confess to him my reasons, and throw -myself entirely on his generosity. The next time that I see him, -I will honestly avow to him the embarrassment which his presence -occasions. How say you, my Child? Is not this measure -necessary?' - -Antonia subscribed to every thing without hesitation, though not -without regret. Her Mother kissed her affectionately, and -retired to bed. Antonia followed her example, and vowed so -frequently never more to think of Lorenzo, that till Sleep closed -her eyes She thought of nothing else. - -While this was passing at Elvira's, Lorenzo hastened to rejoin -the Marquis. Every thing was ready for the second elopement of -Agnes; and at twelve the two Friends with a Coach and four were -at the Garden wall of the Convent. Don Raymond drew out his Key, -and unlocked the door. They entered, and waited for some time in -expectation of being joined by Agnes. At length the Marquis grew -impatient: Beginning to fear that his second attempt would -succeed no better than the first, He proposed to reconnoitre the -Convent. The Friends advanced towards it. Every thing was still -and dark. The Prioress was anxious to keep the story a secret, -fearing lest the crime of one of its members should bring -disgrace upon the whole community, or that the interposition of -powerful Relations should deprive her vengeance of its intended -victim. She took care therefore to give the Lover of Agnes no -cause to suppose that his design was discovered, and his -Mistress on the point of suffering the punishment of her fault. -The same reason made her reject the idea of arresting the unknown -Seducer in the Garden; Such a proceeding would have created much -disturbance, and the disgrace of her Convent would have been -noised about Madrid. She contented herself with confining Agnes -closely; As to the Lover, She left him at liberty to pursue his -designs. What She had expected was the result. The Marquis and -Lorenzo waited in vain till the break of day: They then retired -without noise, alarmed at the failure of their plan, and ignorant -of the cause of its ill-success. - -The next morning Lorenzo went to the Convent, and requested to -see his Sister. The Prioress appeared at the Grate with a -melancholy countenance: She informed him that for several days -Agnes had appeared much agitated; That She had been prest by the -Nuns in vain to reveal the cause, and apply to their tenderness -for advice and consolation; That She had obstinately persisted in -concealing the cause of her distress; But that on Thursday -Evening it had produced so violent an effect upon her -constitution, that She had fallen ill, and was actually confined -to her bed. Lorenzo did not credit a syllable of this account: -He insisted upon seeing his Sister; If She was unable to come to -the Grate, He desired to be admitted to her Cell. The Prioress -crossed herself! She was shocked at the very idea of a Man's -profane eye pervading the interior of her holy Mansion, and -professed herself astonished that Lorenzo could think of such a -thing. She told him that his request could not be granted; But -that if He returned the next day, She hoped that her beloved -Daughter would then be sufficiently recovered to join him at the -Parlour grate. - -With this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied and -trembling for his Sister's safety. - -He returned the next morning at an early hour. 'Agnes was worse; -The Physician had pronounced her to be in imminent danger; She -was ordered to remain quiet, and it was utterly impossible for -her to receive her Brother's visit.' Lorenzo stormed at this -answer, but there was no resource. He raved, He entreated, He -threatened: No means were left untried to obtain a sight of -Agnes. His endeavours were as fruitless as those of the day -before, and He returned in despair to the Marquis. On his side, -the Latter had spared no pains to discover what had occasioned -his plot to fail: Don Christoval, to whom the affair was now -entrusted, endeavoured to worm out the secret from the Old -Porteress of St. Clare, with whom He had formed an acquaintance; -But She was too much upon her guard, and He gained from her no -intelligence. The Marquis was almost distracted, and Lorenzo felt -scarcely less inquietude. Both were convinced that the purposed -elopement must have been discovered: They doubted not but the -malady of Agnes was a pretence, But they knew not by what means -to rescue her from the hands of the Prioress. - -Regularly every day did Lorenzo visit the Convent: As regularly -was He informed that his Sister rather grew worse than better. -Certain that her indisposition was feigned, these accounts did -not alarm him: But his ignorance of her fate, and of the motives -which induced the Prioress to keep her from him, excited the most -serious uneasiness. He was still uncertain what steps He ought -to take, when the Marquis received a letter from the -Cardinal-Duke of Lerma. It inclosed the Pope's expected Bull, -ordering that Agnes should be released from her vows, and -restored to her Relations. This essential paper decided at once -the proceedings of her Friends: They resolved that Lorenzo -should carry it to the Domina without delay, and demand that his -Sister should be instantly given up to him. Against this mandate -illness could not be pleaded: It gave her Brother the power of -removing her instantly to the Palace de Medina, and He determined -to use that power on the following day. - -His mind relieved from inquietude respecting his Sister, and his -Spirits raised by the hope of soon restoring her to freedom, He -now had time to give a few moments to love and to Antonia. At -the same hour as on his former visit He repaired to Donna -Elvira's: She had given orders for his admission. As soon as He -was announced, her Daughter retired with Leonella, and when He -entered the chamber, He found the Lady of the House alone. She -received him with less distance than before, and desired him to -place himself near her upon the Sopha. She then without losing -time opened her business, as had been agreed between herself and -Antonia. - -'You must not think me ungrateful, Don Lorenzo, or forgetful how -essential are the services which you have rendered me with the -Marquis. I feel the weight of my obligations; Nothing under the -Sun should induce my taking the step to which I am now compelled -but the interest of my Child, of my beloved Antonia. My health -is declining; God only knows how soon I may be summoned before -his Throne. My Daughter will be left without Parents, and should -She lose the protection of the Cisternas family, without Friends. - -She is young and artless, uninstructed in the world's perfidy, -and with charms sufficient to render her an object of seduction. -Judge then, how I must tremble at the prospect before her! -Judge how anxious I must be to keep her from their society who -may excite the yet dormant passions of her bosom. You are -amiable, Don Lorenzo: Antonia has a susceptible, a loving heart, -and is grateful for the favours conferred upon us by your -interference with the Marquis. Your presence makes me tremble: -I fear lest it should inspire her with sentiments which may -embitter the remainder of her life, or encourage her to cherish -hopes in her situation unjustifiable and futile. Pardon me when -I avow my terrors, and let my frankness plead in my excuse. I -cannot forbid you my House, for gratitude restrains me; I can -only throw myself upon your generosity, and entreat you to spare -the feelings of an anxious, of a doting Mother. Believe me when -I assure you that I lament the necessity of rejecting your -acquaintance; But there is no remedy, and Antonia's interest -obliges me to beg you to forbear your visits. By complying with -my request, you will increase the esteem which I already feel for -you, and of which everything convinces me that you are truly -deserving.' - -'Your frankness charms me,' replied Lorenzo; 'You shall find that -in your favourable opinion of me you were not deceived. Yet I -hope that the reasons, now in my power to allege, will persuade -you to withdraw a request which I cannot obey without infinite -reluctance. I love your Daughter, love her most sincerely: I -wish for no greater happiness than to inspire her with the same -sentiments, and receive her hand at the Altar as her Husband. -'Tis true, I am not rich myself; My Father's death has left me -but little in my own possession; But my expectations justify my -pretending to the Conde de las Cisternas' Daughter.' - -He was proceeding, but Elvira interrupted him. - -'Ah! Don Lorenzo, you forget in that pompous title the meanness -of my origin. You forget that I have now past fourteen years in -Spain, disavowed by my Husband's family, and existing upon a -stipend barely sufficient for the support and education of my -Daughter. Nay, I have even been neglected by most of my own -Relations, who out of envy affect to doubt the reality of my -marriage. My allowance being discontinued at my Father-in-law's -death, I was reduced to the very brink of want. In this -situation I was found by my Sister, who amongst all her foibles -possesses a warm, generous, and affectionate heart. She aided me -with the little fortune which my Father left her, persuaded me to -visit Madrid, and has supported my Child and myself since our -quitting Murcia. Then consider not Antonia as descended from the -Conde de la Cisternas: Consider her as a poor and unprotected -Orphan, as the Grand-child of the Tradesman Torribio Dalfa, as -the needy Pensioner of that Tradesman's Daughter. Reflect upon -the difference between such a situation, and that of the Nephew -and Heir of the potent Duke of Medina. I believe your intentions -to be honourable; But as there are no hopes that your Uncle will -approve of the union, I foresee that the consequences of your -attachment must be fatal to my Child's repose.' - -'Pardon me, Segnora; You are misinformed if you suppose the Duke -of Medina to resemble the generality of Men. His sentiments are -liberal and disinterested: He loves me well; and I have no -reason to dread his forbidding the marriage when He perceives -that my happiness depends upon Antonia. But supposing him to -refuse his sanction, what have I still to fear? My Parents are -no more; My little fortune is in my own possession: It will be -sufficient to support Antonia, and I shall exchange for her hand -Medina's Dukedom without one sigh of regret.' - -'You are young and eager; It is natural for you to entertain such -ideas. But Experience has taught me to my cost that curses -accompany an unequal alliance. I married the Conde de las -Cisternas in opposition to the will of his Relations; Many an -heart-pang has punished me for the imprudent step. Whereever we -bent our course, a Father's execration pursued Gonzalvo. Poverty -overtook us, and no Friend was near to relieve our wants. Still -our mutual affection existed, but alas! not without interruption. - -Accustomed to wealth and ease, ill could my Husband support the -transition to distress and indigence. He looked back with -repining to the comforts which He once enjoyed. He regretted the -situation which for my sake He had quitted; and in moments when -Despair possessed his mind, has reproached me with having made -him the Companion of want and wretchedness! He has called me his -bane! The source of his sorrows, the cause of his destruction! -Ah God! He little knew how much keener were my own heart's -reproaches! He was ignorant that I suffered trebly, for myself, -for my Children, and for him! 'Tis true that his anger seldom -lasted long: His sincere affection for me soon revived in his -heart; and then his repentance for the tears which He had made me -shed tortured me even more than his reproaches. He would throw -himself on the ground, implore my forgiveness in the most frantic -terms, and load himself with curses for being the Murderer of my -repose. Taught by experience that an union contracted against -the inclinations of families on either side must be unfortunate, -I will save my Daughter from those miseries which I have -suffered. Without your Uncle's consent, while I live, She never -shall be yours. Undoubtedly He will disapprove of the union; His -power is immense, and Antonia shall not be exposed to his anger -and persecution.' - -'His persecution? How easily may that be avoided! Let the worst -happen, it is but quitting Spain. My wealth may easily be -realised; The Indian Islands will offer us a secure retreat; I -have an estate, though not of value, in Hispaniola: Thither will -we fly, and I shall consider it to be my native Country, if it -gives me Antonia's undisturbed possession.' - -'Ah! Youth, this is a fond romantic vision. Gonzalvo thought the -same. He fancied that He could leave Spain without regret; But -the moment of parting undeceived him. You know not yet what it -is to quit your native land; to quit it, never to behold it more! - -You know not, what it is to exchange the scenes where you have -passed your infancy, for unknown realms and barbarous climates! -To be forgotten, utterly eternally forgotten, by the Companions -of your Youth! To see your dearest Friends, the fondest objects -of your affection, perishing with diseases incidental to Indian -atmospheres, and find yourself unable to procure for them -necessary assistance! I have felt all this! My Husband and two -sweet Babes found their Graves in Cuba: Nothing would have saved -my young Antonia but my sudden return to Spain. Ah! Don Lorenzo, -could you conceive what I suffered during my absence! Could you -know how sorely I regretted all that I left behind, and how dear -to me was the very name of Spain! I envied the winds which blew -towards it: And when the Spanish Sailor chaunted some well-known -air as He past my window, tears filled my eyes while I thought -upon my native land. Gonzalvo too . . . My Husband . . .'. - -Elvira paused. Her voice faltered, and She concealed her face -with her handkerchief. After a short silence She rose from the -Sopha, and proceeded. - -'Excuse my quitting you for a few moments: The remembrance of -what I have suffered has much agitated me, and I need to be -alone. Till I return peruse these lines. After my Husband's -death I found them among his papers; Had I known sooner that He -entertained such sentiments, Grief would have killed me. He -wrote these verses on his voyage to Cuba, when his mind was -clouded by sorrow, and He forgot that He had a Wife and Children. - -What we are losing, ever seems to us the most precious: Gonzalvo -was quitting Spain for ever, and therefore was Spain dearer to -his eyes than all else which the World contained. Read them, -Don Lorenzo; They will give you some idea of the feelings of a -banished Man!' - -Elvira put a paper into Lorenzo's hand, and retired from the -chamber. The Youth examined the contents, and found them to be -as follows. - - THE EXILE - -Farewell, Oh! native Spain! Farewell for ever! -These banished eyes shall view thy coasts no more; -A mournful presage tells my heart, that never -Gonzalvo's steps again shall press thy shore. - -Hushed are the winds; While soft the Vessel sailing -With gentle motion plows the unruffled Main, -I feel my bosom's boasted courage failing, -And curse the waves which bear me far from Spain. - -I see it yet! Beneath yon blue clear Heaven -Still do the Spires, so well beloved, appear; -From yonder craggy point the gale of Even -Still wafts my native accents to mine ear: - -Propped on some moss-crowned Rock, and gaily singing, -There in the Sun his nets the Fisher dries; -Oft have I heard the plaintive Ballad, bringing -Scenes of past joys before my sorrowing eyes. - - Ah! Happy Swain! He waits the accustomed hour, -When twilight-gloom obscures the closing sky; -Then gladly seeks his loved paternal bower, -And shares the feast his native fields supply: - -Friendship and Love, his Cottage Guests, receive him -With honest welcome and with smile sincere; -No threatening woes of present joys bereave him, -No sigh his bosom owns, his cheek no tear. - - Ah! Happy Swain! Such bliss to me denying, -Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view; -Me, who from home and Spain an Exile flying, -Bid all I value, all I love, adieu. - -No more mine ear shall list the well-known ditty -Sung by some Mountain-Girl, who tends her Goats, -Some Village-Swain imploring amorous pity, -Or Shepherd chaunting wild his rustic notes: - -No more my arms a Parent's fond embraces, -No more my heart domestic calm, must know; -Far from these joys, with sighs which Memory traces, -To sultry skies, and distant climes I go. - -Where Indian Suns engender new diseases, -Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way -To brave the feverish thirst no art appeases, -The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day: - -But not to feel slow pangs consume my liver, -To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age, -My boiling blood drank by insatiate fever, -And brain delirious with the day-star's rage, - -Can make me know such grief, as thus to sever -With many a bitter sigh, Dear Land, from Thee; -To feel this heart must doat on thee for ever, -And feel, that all thy joys are torn from me! - -Ah me! How oft will Fancy's spells in slumber -Recall my native Country to my mind! -How oft regret will bid me sadly number -Each lost delight and dear Friend left behind! - -Wild Murcia's Vales, and loved romantic bowers, -The River on whose banks a Child I played, -My Castle's antient Halls, its frowning Towers, -Each much-regretted wood, and well-known Glade, - -Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre, -Thy scenes, which I am doomed no more to know, -Full oft shall Memory trace, my soul's Tormentor, -And turn each pleasure past to present woe. - -But Lo! The Sun beneath the waves retires; -Night speeds apace her empire to restore: -Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires, -Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more. - -Oh! breathe not, Winds! Still be the Water's motion! -Sleep, sleep, my Bark, in silence on the Main! -So when to-morrow's light shall gild the Ocean, -Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain. - -Vain is the wish! My last petition scorning, -Fresh blows the Gale, and high the Billows swell: -Far shall we be before the break of Morning; -Oh! then for ever, native Spain, farewell! - - -Lorenzo had scarcely time to read these lines, when Elvira -returned to him: The giving a free course to her tears had -relieved her, and her spirits had regained their usual composure. - -'I have nothing more to say, my Lord,' said She; 'You have heard -my apprehensions, and my reasons for begging you not to repeat -your visits. I have thrown myself in full confidence upon your -honour: I am certain that you will not prove my opinion of you -to have been too favourable.' - -'But one question more, Segnora, and I leave you. Should the -Duke of Medina approve my love, would my addresses be -unacceptable to yourself and the fair Antonia?' - -'I will be open with you, Don Lorenzo: There being little -probability of such an union taking place, I fear that it is -desired but too ardently by my Daughter. You have made an -impression upon her young heart, which gives me the most serious -alarm: To prevent that impression from growing stronger, I am -obliged to decline your acquaintance. For me, you may be sure -that I should rejoice at establishing my Child so advantageously. -Conscious that my constitution, impaired by grief and illness, -forbids me to expect a long continuance in this world, I tremble -at the thought of leaving her under the protection of a perfect -Stranger. The Marquis de las Cisternas is totally unknown to me: - -He will marry; His Lady may look upon Antonia with an eye of -displeasure, and deprive her of her only Friend. Should the -Duke, your Uncle, give his consent, you need not doubt obtaining -mine, and my Daughter's: But without his, hope not for ours. At -all events, what ever steps you may take, what ever may be the -Duke's decision, till you know it let me beg your forbearing to -strengthen by your presence Antonia's prepossession. If the -sanction of your Relations authorises your addressing her as your -Wife, my Doors fly open to you: If that sanction is refused, be -satisfied to possess my esteem and gratitude, but remember, that -we must meet no more.' - -Lorenzo promised reluctantly to conform to this decree: But He -added that He hoped soon to obtain that consent which would give -him a claim to the renewal of their acquaintance. He then -explained to her why the Marquis had not called in person, and -made no scruple of confiding to her his Sister's History. He -concluded by saying that He hoped to set Agnes at liberty the -next day; and that as soon as Don Raymond's fears were quieted -upon this subject, He would lose no time in assuring Donna Elvira -of his friendship and protection. - -The Lady shook her head. - -'I tremble for your Sister,' said She; 'I have heard many traits -of the Domina of St. Clare's character, from a Friend who was -educated in the same Convent with her. She reported her to be -haughty, inflexible, superstitious, and revengeful. I have since -heard that She is infatuated with the idea of rendering her -Convent the most regular in Madrid, and never forgave those whose -imprudence threw upon it the slightest stain. Though naturally -violent and severe, when her interests require it, She well knows -how to assume an appearance of benignity. She leaves no means -untried to persuade young Women of rank to become Members of her -Community: She is implacable when once incensed, and has too -much intrepidity to shrink at taking the most rigorous measures -for punishing the Offender. Doubtless, She will consider your -Sister's quitting the Convent as a disgrace thrown upon it: She -will use every artifice to avoid obeying the mandate of his -Holiness, and I shudder to think that Donna Agnes is in the -hands of this dangerous Woman.' - -Lorenzo now rose to take leave. Elvira gave him her hand at -parting, which He kissed respectfully; and telling her that He -soon hoped for the permission to salute that of Antonia, He -returned to his Hotel. The Lady was perfectly satisfied with the -conversation which had past between them. She looked forward -with satisfaction to the prospect of his becoming her Son-in- -law; But Prudence bad her conceal from her Daughter's knowledge -the flattering hopes which Herself now ventured to entertain. - -Scarcely was it day, and already Lorenzo was at the Convent of -St. Clare, furnished with the necessary mandate. The Nuns were -at Matins. He waited impatiently for the conclusion of the -service, and at length the Prioress appeared at the Parlour -Grate. Agnes was demanded. The old Lady replied, with a -melancholy air, that the dear Child's situation grew hourly more -dangerous; That the Physicians despaired of her life; But that -they had declared the only chance for her recovery to consist in -keeping her quiet, and not to permit those to approach her whose -presence was likely to agitate her. Not a word of all this was -believed by Lorenzo, any more than He credited the expressions of -grief and affection for Agnes, with which this account was -interlarded. To end the business, He put the Pope's Bull into -the hands of the Domina, and insisted that, ill or in health, his -Sister should be delivered to him without delay. - -The Prioress received the paper with an air of humility: But no -sooner had her eye glanced over the contents, than her resentment -baffled all the efforts of Hypocrisy. A deep crimson spread -itself over her face, and She darted upon Lorenzo looks of rage -and menace. - -'This order is positive,' said She in a voice of anger, which She -in vain strove to disguise; 'Willingly would I obey it; But -unfortunately it is out of my power.' - -Lorenzo interrupted her by an exclamation of surprize. - -'I repeat it, Segnor; to obey this order is totally out of my -power. From tenderness to a Brother's feelings, I would have -communicated the sad event to you by degrees, and have prepared -you to hear it with fortitude. My measures are broken through: -This order commands me to deliver up to you the Sister Agnes -without delay; I am therefore obliged to inform you without -circumlocution, that on Friday last, She expired.' - -Lorenzo started back with horror, and turned pale. A moment's -recollection convinced him that this assertion must be false, -and it restored him to himself. - -'You deceive me!' said He passionately; 'But five minutes past -since you assured me that though ill She was still alive. -Produce her this instant! See her I must and will, and every -attempt to keep her from me will be unavailing.' - -'You forget yourself, Segnor; You owe respect to my age as well -as my profession. Your Sister is no more. If I at first -concealed her death, it was from dreading lest an event so -unexpected should produce on you too violent an effect. In -truth, I am but ill repaid for my attention. And what interest, -I pray you, should I have in detaining her? To know her wish of -quitting our society is a sufficient reason for me to wish her -absence, and think her a disgrace to the Sisterhood of St. -Clare: But She has forfeited my affection in a manner yet more -culpable. Her crimes were great, and when you know the cause of -her death, you will doubtless rejoice, Don Lorenzo, that such a -Wretch is no longer in existence. She was taken ill on Thursday -last on returning from confession in the Capuchin Chapel. Her -malady seemed attended with strange circumstances; But She -persisted in concealing its cause: Thanks to the Virgin, we were -too ignorant to suspect it! Judge then what must have been our -consternation, our horror, when She was delivered the next day of -a stillborn Child, whom She immediately followed to the Grave. -How, Segnor? Is it possible that your countenance expresses no -surprize, no indignation? Is it possible that your Sister's -infamy was known to you, and that still She possessed your -affection? In that case, you have no need of my compassion. I -can say nothing more, except repeat my inability of obeying the -orders of his Holiness. Agnes is no more, and to convince you -that what I say is true, I swear by our blessed Saviour, that -three days have past since She was buried.' - -Here She kissed a small crucifix which hung at her girdle. She -then rose from her chair, and quitted the Parlour. As She -withdrew, She cast upon Lorenzo a scornful smile. - -'Farewell, Segnor,' said She; 'I know no remedy for this -accident: I fear that even a second Bull from the Pope will not -procure your Sister's resurrection.' - -Lorenzo also retired, penetrated with affliction: But Don -Raymond's at the news of this event amounted to Madness. He -would not be convinced that Agnes was really dead, and continued -to insist that the Walls of St. Clare still confined her. No -arguments could make him abandon his hopes of regaining her: -Every day some fresh scheme was invented for procuring -intelligence of her, and all of them were attended with the same -success. - -On his part, Medina gave up the idea of ever seeing his Sister -more: Yet He believed that She had been taken off by unfair -means. Under this persuasion, He encouraged Don Raymond's -researches, determined, should He discover the least warrant for -his suspicions, to take a severe vengeance upon the unfeeling -Prioress. The loss of his Sister affected him sincerely; Nor was -it the least cause of his distress that propriety obliged him -for some time to defer mentioning Antonia to the Duke. In the -meanwhile his emissaries constantly surrounded Elvira's Door. -He had intelligence of all the movements of his Mistress: As She -never failed every Thursday to attend the Sermon in the Capuchin -Cathedral, He was secure of seeing her once a week, though in -compliance with his promise, He carefully shunned her -observation. Thus two long Months passed away. Still no -information was procured of Agnes: All but the Marquis credited -her death; and now Lorenzo determined to disclose his sentiments -to his Uncle. He had already dropt some hints of his intention -to marry; They had been as favourably received as He could -expect, and He harboured no doubt of the success of his -application. - - -CHAPTER III - - While in each other's arms entranced They lay, -They blessed the night, and curst the coming day. - Lee. - -The burst of transport was past: Ambrosio's lust was satisfied; -Pleasure fled, and Shame usurped her seat in his bosom. Confused -and terrified at his weakness, He drew himself from Matilda's -arms. His perjury presented itself before him: He reflected on -the scene which had just been acted, and trembled at the -consequences of a discovery. He looked forward with horror; His -heart was despondent, and became the abode of satiety and -disgust. He avoided the eyes of his Partner in frailty; A -melancholy silence prevailed, during which Both seemed busied -with disagreable reflections. - -Matilda was the first to break it. She took his hand gently, and -pressed it to her burning lips. - -'Ambrosio!' She murmured in a soft and trembling voice. - -The Abbot started at the sound. He turned his eyes upon -Matilda's: They were filled with tears; Her cheeks were covered -with blushes, and her supplicating looks seemed to solicit his -compassion. - -'Dangerous Woman!' said He; 'Into what an abyss of misery have -you plunged me! Should your sex be discovered, my honour, nay my -life, must pay for the pleasure of a few moments. Fool that I -was, to trust myself to your seductions! What can now be done? -How can my offence be expiated? What atonement can purchase the -pardon of my crime? Wretched Matilda, you have destroyed my -quiet for ever!' - -'To me these reproaches, Ambrosio? To me, who have sacrificed -for you the world's pleasures, the luxury of wealth, the delicacy -of sex, my Friends, my fortune, and my fame? What have you lost, -which I preserved? Have _I_ not shared in YOUR guilt? Have YOU -not shared in MY pleasure? Guilt, did I say? In what consists -ours, unless in the opinion of an ill-judging World? Let that -World be ignorant of them, and our joys become divine and -blameless! Unnatural were your vows of Celibacy; Man was not -created for such a state; And were Love a crime, God never would -have made it so sweet, so irresistible! Then banish those clouds -from your brow, my Ambrosio! Indulge in those pleasures freely, -without which life is a worthless gift: Cease to reproach me -with having taught you what is bliss, and feel equal transports -with the Woman who adores you!' - -As She spoke, her eyes were filled with a delicious languor. Her -bosom panted: She twined her arms voluptuously round him, drew -him towards her, and glewed her lips to his. Ambrosio again -raged with desire: The die was thrown: His vows were already -broken; He had already committed the crime, and why should He -refrain from enjoying its reward? He clasped her to his breast -with redoubled ardour. No longer repressed by the sense of -shame, He gave a loose to his intemperate appetites. While the -fair Wanton put every invention of lust in practice, every -refinement in the art of pleasure which might heighten the bliss -of her possession, and render her Lover's transports still more -exquisite, Ambrosio rioted in delights till then unknown to him: -Swift fled the night, and the Morning blushed to behold him still -clasped in the embraces of Matilda. - -Intoxicated with pleasure, the Monk rose from the Syren's -luxurious Couch. He no longer reflected with shame upon his -incontinence, or dreaded the vengeance of offended heaven. His -only fear was lest Death should rob him of enjoyments, for which -his long Fast had only given a keener edge to his appetite. -Matilda was still under the influence of poison, and the -voluptuous Monk trembled less for his Preserver's life than his -Concubine's. Deprived of her, He would not easily find another -Mistress with whom He could indulge his passions so fully, and -so safely. He therefore pressed her with earnestness to use the -means of preservation which She had declared to be in her -possession. - -'Yes!' replied Matilda; 'Since you have made me feel that Life is -valuable, I will rescue mine at any rate. No dangers shall -appall me: I will look upon the consequences of my action -boldly, nor shudder at the horrors which they present. I will -think my sacrifice scarcely worthy to purchase your possession, -and remember that a moment past in your arms in this world -o'er-pays an age of punishment in the next. But before I take -this step, Ambrosio, give me your solemn oath never to enquire -by what means I shall preserve myself.' - -He did so in a manner the most binding. - -'I thank you, my Beloved. This precaution is necessary, for -though you know it not, you are under the command of vulgar -prejudices: The Business on which I must be employed this night, -might startle you from its singularity, and lower me in your -opinion. Tell me; Are you possessed of the Key of the low door -on the western side of the Garden?' - -'The Door which opens into the burying-ground common to us and -the Sisterhood of St. Clare? I have not the Key, but can easily -procure it.' - -'You have only this to do. Admit me into the burying-ground at -midnight; Watch while I descend into the vaults of St. Clare, -lest some prying eye should observe my actions; Leave me there -alone for an hour, and that life is safe which I dedicate to -your pleasures. To prevent creating suspicion, do not visit me -during the day. Remember the Key, and that I expect you before -twelve. Hark! I hear steps approaching! Leave me; I will -pretend to sleep.' - -The Friar obeyed, and left the Cell. As He opened the door, -Father Pablos made his appearance. - -'I come,' said the Latter, 'to enquire after the health of my -young Patient.' - -'Hush!' replied Ambrosio, laying his finger upon his lip; 'Speak -softly; I am just come from him. He has fallen into a profound -slumber, which doubtless will be of service to him. Do not -disturb him at present, for He wishes to repose.' - -Father Pablos obeyed, and hearing the Bell ring, accompanied the -Abbot to Matins. Ambrosio felt embarrassed as He entered the -Chapel. Guilt was new to him, and He fancied that every eye -could read the transactions of the night upon his countenance. -He strove to pray; His bosom no longer glowed with devotion; His -thoughts insensibly wandered to Matilda's secret charms. But -what He wanted in purity of heart, He supplied by exterior -sanctity. The better to cloak his transgression, He redoubled -his pretensions to the semblance of virtue, and never appeared -more devoted to Heaven as since He had broken through his -engagements. Thus did He unconsciously add Hypocrisy to perjury -and incontinence; He had fallen into the latter errors from -yielding to seduction almost irresistible; But he was now guilty -of a voluntary fault by endeavouring to conceal those into which -Another had betrayed him. - -The Matins concluded, Ambrosio retired to his Cell. The -pleasures which He had just tasted for the first time were still -impressed upon his mind. His brain was bewildered, and presented -a confused Chaos of remorse, voluptuousness, inquietude, and -fear. He looked back with regret to that peace of soul, that -security of virtue, which till then had been his portion. He had -indulged in excesses whose very idea but four and twenty hours -before He had recoiled at with horror. He shuddered at -reflecting that a trifling indiscretion on his part, or on -Matilda's, would overturn that fabric of reputation which it had -cost him thirty years to erect, and render him the abhorrence of -that People of whom He was then the Idol. Conscience painted to -him in glaring colours his perjury and weakness; Apprehension -magnified to him the horrors of punishment, and He already -fancied himself in the prisons of the Inquisition. To these -tormenting ideas succeeded Matilda's beauty, and those delicious -lessons which, once learnt, can never be forgotten. A single -glance thrown upon these reconciled him with himself. He -considered the pleasures of the former night to have been -purchased at an easy price by the sacrifice of innocence and -honour. Their very remembrance filled his soul with ecstacy; He -cursed his foolish vanity, which had induced him to waste in -obscurity the bloom of life, ignorant of the blessings of Love -and Woman. He determined at all events to continue his commerce -with Matilda, and called every argument to his aid which might -confirm his resolution. He asked himself, provided his -irregularity was unknown, in what would his fault consist, and -what consequences He had to apprehend? By adhering strictly to -every rule of his order save Chastity, He doubted not to retain -the esteem of Men, and even the protection of heaven. He trusted -easily to be forgiven so slight and natural a deviation from his -vows: But He forgot that having pronounced those vows, -Incontinence, in Laymen the most venial of errors, became in his -person the most heinous of crimes. - -Once decided upon his future conduct, his mind became more easy. -He threw himself upon his bed, and strove by sleeping to recruit -his strength exhausted by his nocturnal excesses. He awoke -refreshed, and eager for a repetition of his pleasures. Obedient -to Matilda's order, He visited not her Cell during the day. -Father Pablos mentioned in the Refectory that Rosario had at -length been prevailed upon to follow his prescription; But that -the medicine had not produced the slightest effect, and that He -believed no mortal skill could rescue him from the Grave. With -this opinion the Abbot agreed, and affected to lament the -untimely fate of a Youth, whose talents had appeared so -promising. - -The night arrived. Ambrosio had taken care to procure from the -Porter the Key of the low door opening into the Cemetery. -Furnished with this, when all was silent in the Monastery, He -quitted his Cell, and hastened to Matilda's. She had left her -bed, and was drest before his arrival. - -'I have been expecting you with impatience,' said She; 'My life -depends upon these moments. Have you the Key?' - -'I have.' - -'Away then to the garden. We have no time to lose. Follow me!' - -She took a small covered Basket from the Table. Bearing this in -one hand, and the Lamp, which was flaming upon the Hearth, in the -other, She hastened from the Cell. Ambrosio followed her. Both -maintained a profound silence. She moved on with quick but -cautious steps, passed through the Cloisters, and reached the -Western side of the Garden. Her eyes flashed with a fire and -wildness which impressed the Monk at once with awe and horror. -A determined desperate courage reigned upon her brow. She gave -the Lamp to Ambrosio; Then taking from him the Key, She unlocked -the low Door, and entered the Cemetery. It was a vast and -spacious Square planted with yew trees: Half of it belonged to -the Abbey; The other half was the property of the Sisterhood of -St. Clare, and was protected by a roof of Stone. The Division -was marked by an iron railing, the wicket of which was generally -left unlocked. - -Thither Matilda bent her course. She opened the wicket and -sought for the door leading to the subterraneous Vaults, where -reposed the mouldering Bodies of the Votaries of St. Clare. The -night was perfectly dark; Neither Moon or Stars were visible. -Luckily there was not a breath of Wind, and the Friar bore his -Lamp in full security: By the assistance of its beams, the door -of the Sepulchre was soon discovered. It was sunk within the -hollow of a wall, and almost concealed by thick festoons of ivy -hanging over it. Three steps of rough-hewn Stone conducted to -it, and Matilda was on the point of descending them when She -suddenly started back. - -'There are People in the Vaults!' She whispered to the Monk; -'Conceal yourself till they are past. - -She took refuge behind a lofty and magnificent Tomb, erected in -honour of the Convent's Foundress. Ambrosio followed her -example, carefully hiding his Lamp lest its beams should betray -them. But a few moments had elapsed when the Door was pushed -open leading to the subterraneous Caverns. Rays of light -proceeded up the Staircase: They enabled the concealed -Spectators to observe two Females drest in religious habits, who -seemed engaged in earnest conversation. The Abbot had no -difficulty to recognize the Prioress of St. Clare in the first, -and one of the elder Nuns in her Companion. - -'Every thing is prepared,' said the Prioress; 'Her fate shall be -decided tomorrow. All her tears and sighs will be unavailing. -No! In five and twenty years that I have been Superior of this -Convent, never did I witness a transaction more infamous!' - -'You must expect much opposition to your will;' the Other replied -in a milder voice; 'Agnes has many Friends in the Convent, and in -particular the Mother St. Ursula will espouse her cause most -warmly. In truth, She merits to have Friends; and I wish I -could prevail upon you to consider her youth, and her peculiar -situation. She seems sensible of her fault; The excess of her -grief proves her penitence, and I am convinced that her tears -flow more from contrition than fear of punishment. Reverend -Mother, would you be persuaded to mitigate the severity of your -sentence, would you but deign to overlook this first -transgression, I offer myself as the pledge of her future -conduct.' - -'Overlook it, say you? Mother Camilla, you amaze me! What? -After disgracing me in the presence of Madrid's Idol, of the very -Man on whom I most wished to impress an idea of the strictness of -my discipline? How despicable must I have appeared to the -reverend Abbot! No, Mother, No! I never can forgive the insult. -I cannot better convince Ambrosio that I abhor such crimes, than -by punishing that of Agnes with all the rigour of which our -severe laws admit. Cease then your supplications; They will all -be unavailing. My resolution is taken: Tomorrow Agnes shall be -made a terrible example of my justice and resentment.' - -The Mother Camilla seemed not to give up the point, but by this -time the Nuns were out of hearing. The Prioress unlocked the -door which communicated with St. Clare's Chapel, and having -entered with her Companion, closed it again after them. - -Matilda now asked, who was this Agnes with whom the Prioress was -thus incensed, and what connexion She could have with Ambrosio. -He related her adventure; and He added, that since that time his -ideas having undergone a thorough revolution, He now felt much -compassion for the unfortunate Nun. - -'I design,' said He, 'to request an audience of the Domina -tomorrow, and use every means of obtaining a mitigation of her -sentence.' - -'Beware of what you do!' interrupted Matilda; 'Your sudden change -of sentiment may naturally create surprize, and may give birth to -suspicions which it is most our interest to avoid. Rather, -redouble your outward austerity, and thunder out menaces against -the errors of others, the better to conceal your own. Abandon -the Nun to her fate. Your interfering might be dangerous, and -her imprudence merits to be punished: She is unworthy to enjoy -Love's pleasures, who has not wit enough to conceal them. But in -discussing this trifling subject I waste moments which are -precious. The night flies apace, and much must be done before -morning. The Nuns are retired; All is safe. Give me the Lamp, -Ambrosio. I must descend alone into these Caverns: Wait here, -and if any one approaches, warn me by your voice; But as you -value your existence, presume not to follow me. Your life would -fall a victim to your imprudent curiosity.' - -Thus saying She advanced towards the Sepulchre, still holding her -Lamp in one hand, and her little Basket in the other. She -touched the door: It turned slowly upon its grating hinges, and -a narrow winding staircase of black marble presented itself to -her eyes. She descended it. Ambrosio remained above, watching -the faint beams of the Lamp as they still proceeded up the -stairs. They disappeared, and He found himself in total -darkness. - -Left to himself He could not reflect without surprize on the -sudden change in Matilda's character and sentiments. But a few -days had past since She appeared the mildest and softest of her -sex, devoted to his will, and looking up to him as to a superior -Being. Now She assumed a sort of courage and manliness in her -manners and discourse but ill-calculated to please him. She -spoke no longer to insinuate, but command: He found himself -unable to cope with her in argument, and was unwillingly -obliged to confess the superiority of her judgment. Every moment -convinced him of the astonishing powers of her mind: But what -She gained in the opinion of the Man, She lost with interest in -the affection of the Lover. He regretted Rosario, the fond, the -gentle, and submissive: He grieved that Matilda preferred the -virtues of his sex to those of her own; and when He thought of -her expressions respecting the devoted Nun, He could not help -blaming them as cruel and unfeminine. Pity is a sentiment so -natural, so appropriate to the female character, that it is -scarcely a merit for a Woman to possess it, but to be without it -is a grievous crime. Ambrosio could not easily forgive his -Mistress for being deficient in this amiable quality. However, -though he blamed her insensibility, He felt the truth of her -observations; and though He pitied sincerely the unfortunate -Agnes, He resolved to drop the idea of interposing in her behalf. - -Near an hour had elapsed, since Matilda descended into the -Caverns; Still She returned not. Ambrosio's curiosity was -excited. He drew near the Staircase. He listened. All was -silent, except that at intervals He caught the sound of Matilda's -voice, as it wound along the subteraneous passages, and was -re-echoed by the Sepulchre's vaulted roofs. She was at too great -a distance for him to distinguish her words, and ere they reached -him they were deadened into a low murmur. He longed to penetrate -into this mystery. He resolved to disobey her injunctions and -follow her into the Cavern. He advanced to the Staircase; He -had already descended some steps when his courage failed him. -He remembered Matilda's menaces if He infringed her orders, and -his bosom was filled with a secret unaccountable awe. He -returned up the stairs, resumed his former station, and waited -impatiently for the conclusion of this adventure. - -Suddenly He was sensible of a violent shock: An earthquake -rocked the ground. The Columns which supported the roof under -which He stood were so strongly shaken, that every moment -menaced him with its fall, and at the same moment He heard a loud -and tremendous burst of thunder. It ceased, and his eyes being -fixed upon the Staircase, He saw a bright column of light flash -along the Caverns beneath. It was seen but for an instant. No -sooner did it disappear, than all was once more quiet and -obscure. Profound Darkness again surrounded him, and the silence -of night was only broken by the whirring Bat, as She flitted -slowly by him. - -With every instant Ambrosio's amazement increased. Another hour -elapsed, after which the same light again appeared and was lost -again as suddenly. It was accompanied by a strain of sweet but -solemn Music, which as it stole through the Vaults below, -inspired the Monk with mingled delight and terror. It had not -long been hushed, when He heard Matilda's steps upon the -Staircase. She ascended from the Cavern; The most lively joy -animated her beautiful features. - -'Did you see any thing?' She asked. - -'Twice I saw a column of light flash up the Staircase.' - -'Nothing else?' - -'Nothing.' - -'The Morning is on the point of breaking. Let us retire to the -Abbey, lest daylight should betray us.' - -With a light step She hastened from the burying-ground. She -regained her Cell, and the curious Abbot still accompanied her. -She closed the door, and disembarrassed herself of her Lamp and -Basket. - -'I have succeeded!' She cried, throwing herself upon his bosom: -'Succeeded beyond my fondest hopes! I shall live, Ambrosio, -shall live for you! The step which I shuddered at taking -proves to me a source of joys inexpressible! Oh! that I dared -communicate those joys to you! Oh! that I were permitted to -share with you my power, and raise you as high above the level of -your sex, as one bold deed has exalted me above mine!' - -'And what prevents you, Matilda?' interrupted the Friar; 'Why is -your business in the Cavern made a secret? Do you think me -undeserving of your confidence? Matilda, I must doubt the truth -of your affection, while you have joys in which I am forbidden to -share.' - -'You reproach me with injustice. I grieve sincerely that I am -obliged to conceal from you my happiness. But I am not to blame: -The fault lies not in me, but in yourself, my Ambrosio! You are -still too much the Monk. Your mind is enslaved by the prejudices -of Education; And Superstition might make you shudder at the idea -of that which experience has taught me to prize and value. At -present you are unfit to be trusted with a secret of such -importance: But the strength of your judgment; and the curiosity -which I rejoice to see sparkling in your eyes, makes me hope -that you will one day deserve my confidence. Till that period -arrives, restrain your impatience. Remember that you have given -me your solemn oath never to enquire into this night's -adventures. I insist upon your keeping this oath: For though' -She added smiling, while She sealed his lips with a wanton kiss; -'Though I forgive your breaking your vows to heaven, I expect you -to keep your vows to me.' - -The Friar returned the embrace which had set his blood on fire. -The luxurious and unbounded excesses of the former night were -renewed, and they separated not till the Bell rang for Matins. - -The same pleasures were frequently repeated. The Monks rejoiced -in the feigned Rosario's unexpected recovery, and none of them -suspected his real sex. The Abbot possessed his Mistress in -tranquillity, and perceiving his frailty unsuspected, abandoned -himself to his passions in full security. Shame and remorse no -longer tormented him. Frequent repetitions made him familiar -with sin, and his bosom became proof against the stings of -Conscience. In these sentiments He was encouraged by Matilda; -But She soon was aware that She had satiated her Lover by the -unbounded freedom of her caresses. Her charms becoming -accustomed to him, they ceased to excite the same desires which -at first they had inspired. The delirium of passion being past, -He had leisure to observe every trifling defect: Where none were -to be found, Satiety made him fancy them. The Monk was glutted -with the fullness of pleasure: A Week had scarcely elapsed -before He was wearied of his Paramour: His warm constitution -still made him seek in her arms the gratification of his lust: -But when the moment of passion was over, He quitted her with -disgust, and his humour, naturally inconstant, made him sigh -impatiently for variety. - -Possession, which cloys Man, only increases the affection of -Woman. Matilda with every succeeding day grew more attached to -the Friar. Since He had obtained her favours, He was become -dearer to her than ever, and She felt grateful to him for the -pleasures in which they had equally been Sharers. Unfortunately -as her passion grew ardent, Ambrosio's grew cold; The very marks -of her fondness excited his disgust, and its excess served to -extinguish the flame which already burned but feebly in his -bosom. Matilda could not but remark that her society seemed to -him daily less agreeable: He was inattentive while She spoke: -her musical talents, which She possessed in perfection, had lost -the power of amusing him; Or if He deigned to praise them, his -compliments were evidently forced and cold. He no longer gazed -upon her with affection, or applauded her sentiments with a -Lover's partiality. This Matilda well perceived, and redoubled -her efforts to revive those sentiments which He once had felt. -She could not but fail, since He considered as importunities the -pains which She took to please him, and was disgusted by the very -means which She used to recall the Wanderer. Still, however, -their illicit Commerce continued: But it was clear that He was -led to her arms, not by love, but the cravings of brutal -appetite. His constitution made a Woman necessary to him, and -Matilda was the only one with whom He could indulge his passions -safely: In spite of her beauty, He gazed upon every other Female -with more desire; But fearing that his Hypocrisy should be made -public, He confined his inclinations to his own breast. - -It was by no means his nature to be timid: But his education had -impressed his mind with fear so strongly, that apprehension was -now become part of his character. Had his Youth been passed in -the world, He would have shown himself possessed of many -brilliant and manly qualities. He was naturally enterprizing, -firm, and fearless: He had a Warrior's heart, and He might have -shone with splendour at the head of an Army. There was no want -of generosity in his nature: The Wretched never failed to find -in him a compassionate Auditor: His abilities were quick and -shining, and his judgment, vast, solid, and decisive. With such -qualifications He would have been an ornament to his Country: -That He possessed them, He had given proofs in his earliest -infancy, and his Parents had beheld his dawning virtues with the -fondest delight and admiration. Unfortunately, while yet a Child -He was deprived of those Parents. He fell into the power of a -Relation whose only wish about him was never to hear of him -more; For that purpose He gave him in charge to his Friend, the -former Superior of the Capuchins. The Abbot, a very Monk, used -all his endeavours to persuade the Boy that happiness existed -not without the walls of a Convent. He succeeded fully. To -deserve admittance into the order of St. Francis was Ambrosio's -highest ambition. His Instructors carefully repressed those -virtues whose grandeur and disinterestedness were ill-suited to -the Cloister. Instead of universal benevolence, He adopted a -selfish partiality for his own particular establishment: He was -taught to consider compassion for the errors of Others as a crime -of the blackest dye: The noble frankness of his temper was -exchanged for servile humility; and in order to break his natural -spirit, the Monks terrified his young mind by placing before him -all the horrors with which Superstition could furnish them: They -painted to him the torments of the Damned in colours the most -dark, terrible, and fantastic, and threatened him at the -slightest fault with eternal perdition. No wonder that his -imagination constantly dwelling upon these fearful objects should -have rendered his character timid and apprehensive. Add to this, -that his long absence from the great world, and total -unacquaintance with the common dangers of life, made him form of -them an idea far more dismal than the reality. While the Monks -were busied in rooting out his virtues and narrowing his -sentiments, they allowed every vice which had fallen to his -share to arrive at full perfection. He was suffered to be -proud, vain, ambitious, and disdainful: He was jealous of his -Equals, and despised all merit but his own: He was implacable -when offended, and cruel in his revenge. Still in spite of the -pains taken to pervert them, his natural good qualities would -occasionally break through the gloom cast over them so carefully: - -At such times the contest for superiority between his real and -acquired character was striking and unaccountable to those -unacquainted with his original disposition. He pronounced the -most severe sentences upon Offenders, which, the moment after, -Compassion induced him to mitigate: He undertook the most daring -enterprizes, which the fear of their consequences soon obliged -him to abandon: His inborn genius darted a brilliant light upon -subjects the most obscure; and almost instantaneously his -Superstition replunged them in darkness more profound than that -from which they had just been rescued. His Brother Monks, -regarding him as a Superior Being, remarked not this -contradiction in their Idol's conduct. They were persuaded that -what He did must be right, and supposed him to have good reasons -for changing his resolutions. The fact was, that the different -sentiments with which Education and Nature had inspired him -were combating in his bosom: It remained for his passions, which -as yet no opportunity had called into play, to decide the -victory. Unfortunately his passions were the very worst Judges, -to whom He could possibly have applied. His monastic seclusion -had till now been in his favour, since it gave him no room for -discovering his bad qualities. The superiority of his talents -raised him too far above his Companions to permit his being -jealous of them: His exemplary piety, persuasive eloquence, and -pleasing manners had secured him universal Esteem, and -consequently He had no injuries to revenge: His Ambition was -justified by his acknowledged merit, and his pride considered as -no more than proper confidence. He never saw, much less -conversed with, the other sex: He was ignorant of the pleasures -in Woman's power to bestow, and if He read in the course of his -studies - - 'That Men were fond, He smiled, and wondered how!' - -For a time, spare diet, frequent watching, and severe penance -cooled and represt the natural warmth of his constitution: But -no sooner did opportunity present itself, no sooner did He catch -a glimpse of joys to which He was still a Stranger, than -Religion's barriers were too feeble to resist the overwhelming -torrent of his desires. All impediments yielded before the force -of his temperament, warm, sanguine, and voluptuous in the excess. - -As yet his other passions lay dormant; But they only needed to be -once awakened, to display themselves with violence as great and -irresistible. - -He continued to be the admiration of Madrid. The Enthusiasm -created by his eloquence seemed rather to increase than diminish. - -Every Thursday, which was the only day when He appeared in -public, the Capuchin Cathedral was crowded with Auditors, and -his discourse was always received with the same approbation. He -was named Confessor to all the chief families in Madrid; and no -one was counted fashionable who was injoined penance by any -other than Ambrosio. In his resolution of never stirring out of -his Convent, He still persisted. This circumstance created a -still greater opinion of his sanctity and self-denial. Above -all, the Women sang forth his praises loudly, less influenced by -devotion than by his noble countenance, majestic air, and -well-turned, graceful figure. The Abbey door was thronged with -Carriages from morning to night; and the noblest and fairest -Dames of Madrid confessed to the Abbot their secret peccadilloes. - -The eyes of the luxurious Friar devoured their charms: Had his -Penitents consulted those Interpreters, He would have needed no -other means of expressing his desires. For his misfortune, they -were so strongly persuaded of his continence, that the -possibility of his harbouring indecent thoughts never once -entered their imaginations. The climate's heat, 'tis well known, -operates with no small influence upon the constitutions of the -Spanish Ladies: But the most abandoned would have thought it an -easier task to inspire with passion the marble Statue of St. -Francis than the cold and rigid heart of the immaculate Ambrosio. - -On his part, the Friar was little acquainted with the depravity -of the world; He suspected not that but few of his Penitents -would have rejected his addresses. Yet had He been better -instructed on this head, the danger attending such an attempt -would have sealed up his lips in silence. He knew that it would -be difficult for a Woman to keep a secret so strange and so -important as his frailty; and He even trembled lest Matilda -should betray him. Anxious to preserve a reputation which was -infinitely dear to him, He saw all the risque of committing it to -the power of some vain giddy Female; and as the Beauties of -Madrid affected only his senses without touching his heart, He -forgot them as soon as they were out of his sight. The danger of -discovery, the fear of being repulsed, the loss of reputation, -all these considerations counselled him to stifle his desires: -And though He now felt for it the most perfect indifference, He -was necessitated to confine himself to Matilda's person. - -One morning, the confluence of Penitents was greater than usual. -He was detained in the Confessional Chair till a late hour. At -length the crowd was dispatched, and He prepared to quit the -Chapel, when two Females entered and drew near him with -humility. They threw up their veils, and the youngest entreated -him to listen to her for a few moments. The melody of her voice, -of that voice to which no Man ever listened without interest, -immediately caught Ambrosio's attention. He stopped. The -Petitioner seemed bowed down with affliction: Her cheeks were -pale, her eyes dimmed with tears, and her hair fell in disorder -over her face and bosom. Still her countenance was so sweet, so -innocent, so heavenly, as might have charmed an heart less -susceptible, than that which panted in the Abbot's breast. With -more than usual softness of manner He desired her to proceed, and -heard her speak as follows with an emotion which increased every -moment. - -'Reverend Father, you see an Unfortunate, threatened with the -loss of her dearest, of almost her only Friend! My Mother, my -excellent Mother lies upon the bed of sickness. A sudden and -dreadful malady seized her last night; and so rapid has been its -progress, that the Physicians despair of her life. Human aid -fails me; Nothing remains for me but to implore the mercy of -Heaven. Father, all Madrid rings with the report of your piety -and virtue. Deign to remember my Mother in your prayers: -Perhaps they may prevail on the Almighty to spare her; and should -that be the case, I engage myself every Thursday in the next -three Months to illuminate the Shrine of St. Francis in his -honour.' - -'So!' thought the Monk; 'Here we have a second Vincentio della -Ronda. Rosario's adventure began thus,' and He wished secretly -that this might have the same conclusion. - -He acceded to the request. The Petitioner returned him thanks -with every mark of gratitude, and then continued. - -'I have yet another favour to ask. We are Strangers in Madrid; -My Mother needs a Confessor, and knows not to whom She should -apply. We understand that you never quit the Abbey, and Alas! my -poor Mother is unable to come hither! If you would have the -goodness, reverend Father, to name a proper person, whose wise -and pious consolations may soften the agonies of my Parent's -deathbed, you will confer an everlasting favour upon hearts not -ungrateful.' - -With this petition also the Monk complied. Indeed, what petition -would He have refused, if urged in such enchanting accents? The -suppliant was so interesting! Her voice was so sweet, so -harmonious! Her very tears became her, and her affliction seemed -to add new lustre to her charms. He promised to send to her a -Confessor that same Evening, and begged her to leave her address. -The Companion presented him with a Card on which it was written, -and then withdrew with the fair Petitioner, who pronounced -before her departure a thousand benedictions on the Abbot's -goodness. His eyes followed her out of the Chapel. It was not -till She was out of sight that He examined the Card, on which He -read the following words. - -'Donna Elvira Dalfa, Strada di San Iago, four doors from the -Palace d'Albornos.' - -The Suppliant was no other than Antonia, and Leonella was her -Companion. The Latter had not consented without difficulty to -accompany her Niece to the Abbey: Ambrosio had inspired her with -such awe that She trembled at the very sight of him. Her fears -had conquered even her natural loquacity, and while in his -presence She uttered not a single syllable. - -The Monk retired to his Cell, whither He was pursued by Antonia's -image. He felt a thousand new emotions springing in his bosom, -and He trembled to examine into the cause which gave them birth. -They were totally different from those inspired by Matilda, when -She first declared her sex and her affection. He felt not the -provocation of lust; No voluptuous desires rioted in his bosom; -Nor did a burning imagination picture to him the charms which -Modesty had veiled from his eyes. On the contrary, what He now -felt was a mingled sentiment of tenderness, admiration, and -respect. A soft and delicious melancholy infused itself into his -soul, and He would not have exchanged it for the most lively -transports of joy. Society now disgusted him: He delighted in -solitude, which permitted his indulging the visions of Fancy: -His thoughts were all gentle, sad, and soothing, and the whole -wide world presented him with no other object than Antonia. - -'Happy Man!' He exclaimed in his romantic enthusiasm; 'Happy Man, -who is destined to possess the heart of that lovely Girl! What -delicacy in her features! What elegance in her form! How -enchanting was the timid innocence of her eyes, and how different -from the wanton expression, the wild luxurious fire which -sparkles in Matilda's! Oh! sweeter must one kiss be snatched -from the rosy lips of the First, than all the full and lustful -favours bestowed so freely by the Second. Matilda gluts me with -enjoyment even to loathing, forces me to her arms, apes the -Harlot, and glories in her prostitution. Disgusting! Did She -know the inexpressible charm of Modesty, how irresistibly it -enthralls the heart of Man, how firmly it chains him to the -Throne of Beauty, She never would have thrown it off. What would -be too dear a price for this lovely Girl's affections? What -would I refuse to sacrifice, could I be released from my vows, -and permitted to declare my love in the sight of earth and -heaven? While I strove to inspire her with tenderness, with -friendship and esteem, how tranquil and undisturbed would the -hours roll away! Gracious God! To see her blue downcast eyes -beam upon mine with timid fondness! To sit for days, for years -listening to that gentle voice! To acquire the right of obliging -her, and hear the artless expressions of her gratitude! To watch -the emotions of her spotless heart! To encourage each dawning -virtue! To share in her joy when happy, to kiss away her tears -when distrest, and to see her fly to my arms for comfort and -support! Yes; If there is perfect bliss on earth, 'tis his lot -alone, who becomes that Angel's Husband.' - -While his fancy coined these ideas, He paced his Cell with a -disordered air. His eyes were fixed upon vacancy: His head -reclined upon his shoulder; A tear rolled down his cheek, while -He reflected that the vision of happiness for him could never be -realized. - -'She is lost to me!' He continued; 'By marriage She cannot be -mine: And to seduce such innocence, to use the confidence -reposed in me to work her ruin. . . . Oh! it would be a crime, -blacker than yet the world ever witnessed! Fear not, lovely -Girl! Your virtue runs no risque from me. Not for Indies would -I make that gentle bosom know the tortures of remorse.' - -Again He paced his chamber hastily. Then stopping, his eye fell -upon the picture of his once-admired Madona. He tore it with -indignation from the wall: He threw it on the ground, and -spurned it from him with his foot. - -'The Prostitute!' - -Unfortunate Matilda! Her Paramour forgot that for his sake alone -She had forfeited her claim to virtue; and his only reason for -despising her was that She had loved him much too well. - -He threw himself into a Chair which stood near the Table. He -saw the card with Elvira's address. He took it up, and it -brought to his recollection his promise respecting a Confessor. -He passed a few minutes in doubt: But Antonia's Empire over him -was already too much decided to permit his making a long -resistance to the idea which struck him. He resolved to be the -Confessor himself. He could leave the Abbey unobserved without -difficulty: By wrapping up his head in his Cowl He hoped to pass -through the Streets without being recognised: By taking these -precautions, and by recommending secrecy to Elvira's family, He -doubted not to keep Madrid in ignorance that He had broken his -vow never to see the outside of the Abbey walls. Matilda was the -only person whose vigilance He dreaded: But by informing her at -the Refectory that during the whole of that day, Business would -confine him to his Cell, He thought himself secure from her -wakeful jealousy. Accordingly, at the hours when the Spaniards -are generally taking their Siesta, He ventured to quit the Abbey -by a private door, the Key of which was in his possession. The -Cowl of his habit was thrown over his face: From the heat of the -weather the Streets were almost totally deserted: The Monk met -with few people, found the Strada di San Iago, and arrived -without accident at Donna Elvira's door. He rang, was admitted, -and immediately ushered into an upper apartment. - -It was here that He ran the greatest risque of a discovery. Had -Leonella been at home, She would have recognized him directly: -Her communicative disposition would never have permitted her to -rest till all Madrid was informed that Ambrosio had ventured out -of the Abbey, and visited her Sister. Fortune here stood the -Monk's Friend. On Leonella's return home, She found a letter -instructing her that a Cousin was just dead, who had left what -little He possessed between Herself and Elvira. To secure this -bequest She was obliged to set out for Cordova without losing a -moment. Amidst all her foibles her heart was truly warm and -affectionate, and She was unwilling to quit her Sister in so -dangerous a state. But Elvira insisted upon her taking the -journey, conscious that in her Daughter's forlorn situation no -increase of fortune, however trifling, ought to be neglected. -Accordingly, Leonella left Madrid, sincerely grieved at her -Sister's illness, and giving some few sighs to the memory of the -amiable but inconstant Don Christoval. She was fully persuaded -that at first She had made a terrible breach in his heart: But -hearing nothing more of him, She supposed that He had quitted the -pursuit, disgusted by the lowness of her origin, and knowing upon -other terms than marriage He had nothing to hope from such a -Dragon of Virtue as She professed herself; Or else, that being -naturally capricious and changeable, the remembrance of her -charms had been effaced from the Conde's heart by those of some -newer Beauty. Whatever was the cause of her losing him, She -lamented it sorely. She strove in vain, as She assured every -body who was kind enough to listen to her, to tear his image from -her too susceptible heart. She affected the airs of a lovesick -Virgin, and carried them all to the most ridiculous excess. She -heaved lamentable sighs, walked with her arms folded, uttered -long soliloquies, and her discourse generally turned upon some -forsaken Maid who expired of a broken heart! Her fiery locks -were always ornamented with a garland of willow; Every evening -She was seen straying upon the Banks of a rivulet by Moonlight; -and She declared herself a violent Admirer of murmuring Streams -and Nightingales; - - 'Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves, - 'Places which pale Passion loves!' - -Such was the state of Leonella's mind, when obliged to quit -Madrid. Elvira was out of patience at all these follies, and -endeavoured at persuading her to act like a reasonable Woman. -Her advice was thrown away: Leonella assured her at parting that -nothing could make her forget the perfidious Don Christoval. In -this point She was fortunately mistaken. An honest Youth of -Cordova, Journeyman to an Apothecary, found that her fortune -would be sufficient to set him up in a genteel Shop of his own: -In consequence of this reflection He avowed himself her Admirer. -Leonella was not inflexible. The ardour of his sighs melted her -heart, and She soon consented to make him the happiest of -Mankind. She wrote to inform her Sister of her marriage; But, -for reasons which will be explained hereafter, Elvira never -answered her letter. - -Ambrosio was conducted into the Antichamber to that where -Elvira was reposing. The Female Domestic who had admitted him -left him alone while She announced his arrival to her Mistress. -Antonia, who had been by her Mother's Bedside, immediately came -to him. - -'Pardon me, Father,' said She, advancing towards him; when -recognizing his features, She stopped suddenly, and uttered a cry -of joy. 'Is it possible!' She continued; - -'Do not my eyes deceive me? Has the worthy Ambrosio broken -through his resolution, that He may soften the agonies of the -best of Women? What pleasure will this visit give my Mother! -Let me not delay for a moment the comfort which your piety and -wisdom will afford her.' - -Thus saying, She opened the chamber door, presented to her Mother -her distinguished Visitor, and having placed an armed-chair by -the side of the Bed, withdrew into another department. - -Elvira was highly gratified by this visit: Her expectations had -been raised high by general report, but She found them far -exceeded. Ambrosio, endowed by nature with powers of pleasing, -exerted them to the utmost while conversing with Antonia's -Mother. With persuasive eloquence He calmed every fear, and -dissipated every scruple: He bad her reflect on the infinite -mercy of her Judge, despoiled Death of his darts and terrors, and -taught her to view without shrinking the abyss of eternity, on -whose brink She then stood. Elvira was absorbed in attention and -delight: While She listened to his exhortations, confidence and -comfort stole insensibly into her mind. She unbosomed to him -without hesitation her cares and apprehensions. The latter -respecting a future life He had already quieted: And He now -removed the former, which She felt for the concerns of this. She -trembled for Antonia. She had none to whose care She could -recommend her, save to the Marquis de las Cisternas and her -Sister Leonella. The protection of the One was very uncertain; -and as to the Other, though fond of her Niece, Leonella was so -thoughtless and vain as to make her an improper person to have -the sole direction of a Girl so young and ignorant of the World. -The Friar no sooner learnt the cause of her alarms than He -begged her to make herself easy upon that head. He doubted not -being able to secure for Antonia a safe refuge in the House of -one of his Penitents, the Marchioness of Villa-Franca: This was -a Lady of acknowledged virtue, remarkable for strict principles -and extensive charity. Should accident deprive her of this -resource, He engaged to procure Antonia a reception in some -respectable Convent: That is to say, in quality of boarder; for -Elvira had declared herself no Friend to a monastic life, and the -Monk was either candid or complaisant enough to allow that her -disapprobation was not unfounded. - -These proofs of the interest which He felt for her completely -won Elvira's heart. In thanking him She exhausted every -expression which Gratitude could furnish, and protested that now -She should resign herself with tranquillity to the Grave. -Ambrosio rose to take leave: He promised to return the next day -at the same hour, but requested that his visits might be kept -secret. - -'I am unwilling' said He, 'that my breaking through a rule -imposed by necessity should be generally known. Had I not -resolved never to quit my Convent, except upon circumstances as -urgent as that which has conducted me to your door, I should be -frequently summoned upon insignificant occasions: That time -would be engrossed by the Curious, the Unoccupied, and the -fanciful, which I now pass at the Bedside of the Sick, in -comforting the expiring Penitent, and clearing the passage to -Eternity from Thorns.' - -Elvira commended equally his prudence and compassion, promising -to conceal carefully the honour of his visits. The Monk then -gave her his benediction, and retired from the chamber. - -In the Antiroom He found Antonia: He could not refuse himself -the pleasure of passing a few moments in her society. He bad her -take comfort, for that her Mother seemed composed and tranquil, -and He hoped that She might yet do well. He enquired who -attended her, and engaged to send the Physician of his Convent to -see her, one of the most skilful in Madrid. He then launched out -in Elvira's commendation, praised her purity and fortitude of -mind, and declared that She had inspired him with the highest -esteem and reverence. Antonia's innocent heart swelled with -gratitude: Joy danced in her eyes, where a tear still sparkled. -The hopes which He gave her of her Mother's recovery, the lively -interest which He seemed to feel for her, and the flattering way -in which She was mentioned by him, added to the report of his -judgment and virtue, and to the impression made upon her by his -eloquence, confirmed the favourable opinion with which his first, -appearance had inspired Antonia. She replied with diffidence, -but without restraint: She feared not to relate to him all her -little sorrows, all her little fears and anxieties; and She -thanked him for his goodness with all the genuine warmth which -favours kindle in a young and innocent heart. Such alone know -how to estimate benefits at their full value. They who are -conscious of Mankind's perfidy and selfishness, ever receive an -obligation with apprehension and distrust: They suspect that -some secret motive must lurk behind it: They express their -thanks with restraint and caution, and fear to praise a kind -action to its full extent, aware that some future day a return -may be required. Not so Antonia; She thought the world was -composed only of those who resembled her, and that vice existed, -was to her still a secret. The Monk had been of service to her; -He said that He wished her well; She was grateful for his -kindness, and thought that no terms were strong enough to be the -vehicle of her thanks. With what delight did Ambrosio listen to -the declaration of her artless gratitude! The natural grace of -her manners, the unequalled sweetness of her voice, her modest -vivacity, her unstudied elegance, her expressive countenance, and -intelligent eyes united to inspire him with pleasure and -admiration, While the solidity and correctness of her remarks -received additional beauty from the unaffected simplicity of the -language in which they were conveyed. - -Ambrosio was at length obliged to tear himself from this -conversation which possessed for him but too many charms. He -repeated to Antonia his wishes that his visits should not be -made known, which desire She promised to observe. He then -quitted the House, while his Enchantress hastened to her Mother, -ignorant of the mischief which her Beauty had caused. She was -eager to know Elvira's opinion of the Man whom She had praised in -such enthusiastic terms, and was delighted to find it equally -favourable, if not even more so, than her own. - -'Even before He spoke,' said Elvira, 'I was prejudiced in his -favour: The fervour of his exhortations, dignity of his manner, -and closeness of his reasoning, were very far from inducing me to -alter my opinion. His fine and full-toned voice struck me -particularly; But surely, Antonia, I have heard it before. It -seemed perfectly familiar to my ear. Either I must have known -the Abbot in former times, or his voice bears a wonderful -resemblance to that of some other, to whom I have often listened. - -There were certain tones which touched my very heart, and made me -feel sensations so singular, that I strive in vain to account for -them.' - -'My dearest Mother, it produced the same effect upon me: Yet -certainly neither of us ever heard his voice till we came to -Madrid. I suspect that what we attribute to his voice, really -proceeds from his pleasant manners, which forbid our considering -him as a Stranger. I know not why, but I feel more at my ease -while conversing with him than I usually do with people who are -unknown to me. I feared not to repeat to him all my childish -thoughts; and somehow I felt confident that He would hear my -folly with indulgence. Oh! I was not deceived in him! He -listened to me with such an air of kindness and attention! He -answered me with such gentleness, such condescension! He did not -call me an Infant, and treat me with contempt, as our cross old -Confessor at the Castle used to do. I verily believe that if I -had lived in Murcia a thousand years, I never should have liked -that fat old Father Dominic!' - -'I confess that Father Dominic had not the most pleasing manners -in the world; But He was honest, friendly, and well-meaning.' - -'Ah! my dear Mother, those qualities are so common!' - -'God grant, my Child, that Experience may not teach you to think -them rare and precious: I have found them but too much so! But -tell me, Antonia; Why is it impossible for me to have seen the -Abbot before?' - -'Because since the moment when He entered the Abbey, He has never -been on the outside of its walls. He told me just now, that from -his ignorance of the Streets, He had some difficulty to find the -Strada di San Iago, though so near the Abbey.' - -'All this is possible, and still I may have seen him BEFORE He -entered the Abbey: In order to come out, it was rather necessary -that He should first go in.' - -'Holy Virgin! As you say, that is very true.--Oh! But might He -not have been born in the Abbey?' - -Elvira smiled. - -'Why, not very easily.' - -'Stay, Stay! Now I recollect how it was. He was put into the -Abbey quite a Child; The common People say that He fell from -heaven, and was sent as a present to the Capuchins by the -Virgin.' - -'That was very kind of her. And so He fell from heaven, Antonia? - -He must have had a terrible tumble.' - -'Many do not credit this, and I fancy, my dear Mother, that I -must number you among the Unbelievers. Indeed, as our Landlady -told my Aunt, the general idea is that his Parents, being poor -and unable to maintain him, left him just born at the Abbey door. -The late Superior from pure charity had him educated in the -Convent, and He proved to be a model of virtue, and piety, and -learning, and I know not what else besides: In consequence, He -was first received as a Brother of the order, and not long ago -was chosen Abbot. However, whether this account or the other is -the true one, at least all agree that when the Monks took him -under their care, He could not speak: Therefore, you could not -have heard his voice before He entered the Monastery, because at -that time He had no voice at all.' - -'Upon my word, Antonia, you argue very closely! Your conclusions -are infallible! I did not suspect you of being so able a -Logician.' - -'Ah! You are mocking me! But so much the better. It delights me -to see you in spirits: Besides you seem tranquil and easy, and I -hope that you will have no more convulsions. Oh! I was sure the -Abbot's visit would do you good!' - -'It has indeed done me good, my Child. He has quieted my mind -upon some points which agitated me, and I already feel the -effects of his attention. My eyes grow heavy, and I think I can -sleep a little. Draw the curtains, my Antonia: But if I should -not wake before midnight, do not sit up with me, I charge you.' - -Antonia promised to obey her, and having received her blessing -drew the curtains of the Bed. She then seated herself in silence -at her embroidery frame, and beguiled the hours with building -Castles in the air. Her spirits were enlivened by the evident -change for the better in Elvira, and her fancy presented her with -visions bright and pleasing. In these dreams Ambrosio made no -despicable figure. She thought of him with joy and gratitude; -But for every idea which fell to the Friar's share, at least two -were unconsciously bestowed upon Lorenzo. Thus passed the time, -till the Bell in the neighbouring Steeple of the Capuchin -Cathedral announced the hour of midnight: Antonia remembered her -Mother's injunctions, and obeyed them, though with reluctance. -She undrew the curtains with caution. Elvira was enjoying a -profound and quiet slumber; Her cheek glowed with health's -returning colours: A smile declared that her dreams were -pleasant, and as Antonia bent over her, She fancied that She -heard her name pronounced. She kissed her Mother's forehead -softly, and retired to her chamber. There She knelt before a -Statue of St. Rosolia, her Patroness; She recommended herself to -the protection of heaven, and as had been her custom from -infancy, concluded her devotions by chaunting the following -Stanzas. - - MIDNIGHT HYMN - - Now all is hushed; The solemn chime -No longer swells the nightly gale: -Thy awful presence, Hour sublime, -With spotless heart once more I hail. - - 'Tis now the moment still and dread, -When Sorcerers use their baleful power; -When Graves give up their buried dead -To profit by the sanctioned hour: - - From guilt and guilty thoughts secure, -To duty and devotion true, -With bosom light and conscience pure, -Repose, thy gentle aid I woo. - - Good Angels, take my thanks, that still -The snares of vice I view with scorn; -Thanks, that to-night as free from ill -I sleep, as when I woke at morn. - - Yet may not my unconscious breast -Harbour some guilt to me unknown? -Some wish impure, which unreprest -You blush to see, and I to own? - - If such there be, in gentle dream -Instruct my feet to shun the snare; -Bid truth upon my errors beam, -And deign to make me still your care. - - Chase from my peaceful bed away -The witching Spell, a foe to rest, -The nightly Goblin, wanton Fay, -The Ghost in pain, and Fiend unblest: - - Let not the Tempter in mine ear -Pour lessons of unhallowed joy; -Let not the Night-mare, wandering near -My Couch, the calm of sleep destroy; - - Let not some horrid dream affright -With strange fantastic forms mine eyes; -But rather bid some vision bright -Display the blissof yonder skies. - - Show me the crystal Domes of Heaven, -The worlds of light where Angels lie; -Shew me the lot to Mortals given, -Who guiltless live, who guiltless die. - - Then show me how a seat to gain -Amidst those blissful realms of -Air; Teach me to shun each guilty stain, -And guide me to the good and fair. - - So every morn and night, my Voice -To heaven the grateful strain shall raise; -In You as Guardian Powers rejoice, -Good Angels, and exalt your praise: - - So will I strive with zealous fire -Each vice to shun, each fault correct; -Will love the lessons you inspire, -And Prize the virtues you protect. - - Then when at length by high command -My body seeks the Grave's repose, -When Death draws nigh with friendly hand -My failing Pilgrim eyes to close; - - Pleased that my soul has 'scaped the wreck, -Sighless will I my life resign, -And yield to God my Spirit back, -As pure as when it first was mine. - - -Having finished her usual devotions, Antonia retired to bed. -Sleep soon stole over her senses; and for several hours She -enjoyed that calm repose which innocence alone can know, and for -which many a Monarch with pleasure would exchange his Crown. - - - -CHAPTER IV - - ----Ah! how dark -These long-extended realms and rueful wastes; -Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night, -Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun -Was rolled together, or had tried its beams -Athwart the gloom profound! -The sickly Taper -By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults, -Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime, -Lets fall a supernumerary horror, -And only serves to make -Thy night more irksome! - Blair. - -Returned undiscovered to the Abbey, Ambrosio's mind was filled -with the most pleasing images. He was wilfully blind to the -danger of exposing himself to Antonia's charms: He only -remembered the pleasure which her society had afforded him, and -rejoiced in the prospect of that pleasure being repeated. He -failed not to profit by Elvira's indisposition to obtain a sight -of her Daughter every day. At first He bounded his wishes to -inspire Antonia with friendship: But no sooner was He convinced -that She felt that sentiment in its fullest extent, than his aim -became more decided, and his attentions assumed a warmer colour. -The innocent familiarity with which She treated him, encouraged -his desires: Grown used to her modesty, it no longer commanded -the same respect and awe: He still admired it, but it only made -him more anxious to deprive her of that quality which formed her -principal charm. Warmth of passion, and natural penetration, of -which latter unfortunately both for himself and Antonia He -possessed an ample share, supplied a knowledge of the arts of -seduction. He easily distinguished the emotions which were -favourable to his designs, and seized every means with avidity of -infusing corruption into Antonia's bosom. This He found no easy -matter. Extreme simplicity prevented her from perceiving the aim -to which the Monk's insinuations tended; But the excellent morals -which She owed to Elvira's care, the solidity and correctness of -her understanding, and a strong sense of what was right implanted -in her heart by Nature, made her feel that his precepts must be -faulty. By a few simple words She frequently overthrew the whole -bulk of his sophistical arguments, and made him conscious how -weak they were when opposed to Virtue and Truth. On such -occasion He took refuge in his eloquence; He overpowered her -with a torrent of Philosophical paradoxes, to which, not -understanding them, it was impossible for her to reply; And thus -though He did not convince her that his reasoning was just, He at -least prevented her from discovering it to be false. He -perceived that her respect for his judgment augmented daily, and -doubted not with time to bring her to the point desired. - -He was not unconscious that his attempts were highly criminal: -He saw clearly the baseness of seducing the innocent Girl: But -his passion was too violent to permit his abandoning his design. -He resolved to pursue it, let the consequences be what they -might. He depended upon finding Antonia in some unguarded -moment; And seeing no other Man admitted into her society, nor -hearing any mentioned either by her or by Elvira, He imagined -that her young heart was still unoccupied. While He waited for -the opportunity of satisfying his unwarrantable lust, every day -increased his coldness for Matilda. Not a little was this -occasioned by the consciousness of his faults to her. To hide -them from her He was not sufficiently master of himself: Yet He -dreaded lest, in a transport of jealous rage, She should betray -the secret on which his character and even his life depended. -Matilda could not but remark his indifference: He was conscious -that She remarked it, and fearing her reproaches, shunned her -studiously. Yet when He could not avoid her, her mildness might -have convinced him that He had nothing to dread from her -resentment. She had resumed the character of the gentle -interesting Rosario: She taxed him not with ingratitude; But her -eyes filled with involuntary tears, and the soft melancholy of -her countenance and voice uttered complaints far more touching -than words could have conveyed. Ambrosio was not unmoved by her -sorrow; But unable to remove its cause, He forbore to show that -it affected him. As her conduct convinced him that He needed not -fear her vengeance, He continued to neglect her, and avoided her -company with care. Matilda saw that She in vain attempted to -regain his affections: Yet She stifled the impulse of -resentment, and continued to treat her inconstant Lover with her -former fondness and attention. - -By degrees Elvira's constitution recovered itself. She was no -longer troubled with convulsions, and Antonia ceased to tremble -for her Mother. Ambrosio beheld this reestablishment with -displeasure. He saw that Elvira's knowledge of the world would -not be the Dupe of his sanctified demeanour, and that She would -easily perceive his views upon her Daughter. He resolved -therefore, before She quitted her chamber, to try the extent of -his influence over the innocent Antonia. - -One evening, when He had found Elvira almost perfectly restored -to health, He quitted her earlier than was his usual custom. Not -finding Antonia in the Antichamber, He ventured to follow her -to her own. It was only separated from her Mother's by a Closet, -in which Flora, the Waiting-Woman, generally slept. Antonia sat -upon a Sopha with her back towards the door, and read -attentively. She heard not his approach, till He had seated -himself by her. She started, and welcomed him with a look of -pleasure: Then rising, She would have conducted him to the -sitting-room; But Ambrosio taking her hand, obliged her by gentle -violence to resume her place. She complied without difficulty: -She knew not that there was more impropriety in conversing with -him in one room than another. She thought herself equally secure -of his principles and her own, and having replaced herself upon -the Sopha, She began to prattle to him with her usual ease and -vivacity. - -He examined the Book which She had been reading, and had now -placed upon the Table. It was the Bible. - -'How!' said the Friar to himself; 'Antonia reads the Bible, and -is still so ignorant?' - -But, upon a further inspection, He found that Elvira had made -exactly the same remark. That prudent Mother, while She admired -the beauties of the sacred writings, was convinced that, -unrestricted, no reading more improper could be permitted a young -Woman. Many of the narratives can only tend to excite ideas the -worst calculated for a female breast: Every thing is called -plainly and roundly by its name; and the annals of a Brothel -would scarcely furnish a greater choice of indecent expressions. -Yet this is the Book which young Women are recommended to study; -which is put into the hands of Children, able to comprehend -little more than those passages of which they had better remain -ignorant; and which but too frequently inculcates the first -rudiments of vice, and gives the first alarm to the still -sleeping passions. Of this was Elvira so fully convinced, that -She would have preferred putting into her Daughter's hands -'Amadis de Gaul,' or 'The Valiant Champion, Tirante the -White;' and would sooner have authorised her studying the lewd -exploits of 'Don Galaor,' or the lascivious jokes of the -'Damsel Plazer di mi vida.' She had in consequence made two -resolutions respecting the Bible. The first was that Antonia -should not read it till She was of an age to feel its beauties, -and profit by its morality: The second, that it should be copied -out with her own hand, and all improper passages either altered -or omitted. She had adhered to this determination, and such was -the Bible which Antonia was reading: It had been lately -delivered to her, and She perused it with an avidity, with a -delight that was inexpressible. Ambrosio perceived his mistake, -and replaced the Book upon the Table. - -Antonia spoke of her Mother's health with all the enthusiastic -joy of a youthful heart. - -'I admire your filial affection,' said the Abbot; 'It proves the -excellence and sensibility of your character; It promises a -treasure to him whom Heaven has destined to possess your -affections. The Breast, so capable of fondness for a Parent, -what will it feel for a Lover? Nay, perhaps, what feels it for -one even now? Tell me, my lovely Daughter; Have you known what -it is to love? Answer me with sincerity: Forget my habit, and -consider me only as a Friend.' - -'What it is to love?' said She, repeating his question; 'Oh! yes, -undoubtedly; I have loved many, many People.' - -'That is not what I mean. The love of which I speak can be felt -only for one. Have you never seen the Man whom you wished to be -your Husband?' - -'Oh! No, indeed!' - -This was an untruth, but She was unconscious of its falsehood: -She knew not the nature of her sentiments for Lorenzo; and never -having seen him since his first visit to Elvira, with every day -his Image grew less feebly impressed upon her bosom. Besides, -She thought of an Husband with all a Virgin's terror, and -negatived the Friar's demand without a moment's hesitation. - -'And do you not long to see that Man, Antonia? Do you feel no -void in your heart which you fain would have filled up? Do you -heave no sighs for the absence of some one dear to you, but who -that some one is, you know not? Perceive you not that what -formerly could please, has charms for you no longer? That a -thousand new wishes, new ideas, new sensations, have sprang in -your bosom, only to be felt, never to be described? Or while you -fill every other heart with passion, is it possible that your own -remains insensible and cold? It cannot be! That melting eye, -that blushing cheek, that enchanting voluptuous melancholy which -at times overspreads your features, all these marks belye your -words. You love, Antonia, and in vain would hide it from me.' - -'Father, you amaze me! What is this love of which you speak? I -neither know its nature, nor if I felt it, why I should conceal -the sentiment.' - -'Have you seen no Man, Antonia, whom though never seen before, -you seemed long to have sought? Whose form, though a Stranger's, -was familiar to your eyes? The sound of whose voice soothed you, -pleased you, penetrated to your very soul? In whose presence you -rejoiced, for whose absence you lamented? With whom your heart -seemed to expand, and in whose bosom with confidence unbounded -you reposed the cares of your own? Have you not felt all this, -Antonia?' - -'Certainly I have: The first time that I saw you, I felt it.' - -Ambrosio started. Scarcely dared He credit his hearing. - -'Me, Antonia?' He cried, his eyes sparkling with delight and -impatience, while He seized her hand, and pressed it rapturously -to his lips. 'Me, Antonia? You felt these sentiments for me?' - -'Even with more strength than you have described. The very -moment that I beheld you, I felt so pleased, so interested! I -waited so eagerly to catch the sound of your voice, and when I -heard it, it seemed so sweet! It spoke to me a language till -then so unknown! Methought, it told me a thousand things which I -wished to hear! It seemed as if I had long known you; as if I -had a right to your friendship, your advice, and your protection. - -I wept when you departed, and longed for the time which should -restore you to my sight.' - -'Antonia! my charming Antonia!' exclaimed the Monk, and caught -her to his bosom; 'Can I believe my senses? Repeat it to me, my -sweet Girl! Tell me again that you love me, that you love me -truly and tenderly!' - -'Indeed, I do: Let my Mother be excepted, and the world holds no -one more dear to me!' - -At this frank avowal Ambrosio no longer possessed himself; Wild -with desire, He clasped the blushing Trembler in his arms. He -fastened his lips greedily upon hers, sucked in her pure -delicious breath, violated with his bold hand the treasures of -her bosom, and wound around him her soft and yielding limbs. -Startled, alarmed, and confused at his action, surprize at first -deprived her of the power of resistance. At length recovering -herself, She strove to escape from his embrace. - -'Father! . . . . Ambrosio!' She cried; 'Release me, for God's -sake!' - -But the licentious Monk heeded not her prayers: He persisted in -his design, and proceeded to take still greater liberties. -Antonia prayed, wept, and struggled: Terrified to the extreme, -though at what She knew not, She exerted all her strength to -repulse the Friar, and was on the point of shrieking for -assistance when the chamber door was suddenly thrown open. -Ambrosio had just sufficient presence of mind to be sensible of -his danger. Reluctantly He quitted his prey, and started hastily -from the Couch. Antonia uttered an exclamation of joy, flew -towards the door, and found herself clasped in the arms of her -Mother. - -Alarmed at some of the Abbot's speeches, which Antonia had -innocently repeated, Elvira resolved to ascertain the truth of -her suspicions. She had known enough of Mankind not to be -imposed upon by the Monk's reputed virtue. She reflected on -several circumstances, which though trifling, on being put -together seemed to authorize her fears. His frequent visits, -which as far as She could see, were confined to her family; His -evident emotion, whenever She spoke of Antonia; His being in the -full prime and heat of Manhood; and above all, his pernicious -philosophy communicated to her by Antonia, and which accorded but -ill with his conversation in her presence, all these -circumstances inspired her with doubts respecting the purity of -Ambrosio's friendship. In consequence, She resolved, when He -should next be alone with Antonia, to endeavour at surprizing -him. Her plan had succeeded. 'Tis true, that when She entered -the room, He had already abandoned his prey; But the disorder of -her Daughter's dress, and the shame and confusion stamped upon -the Friar's countenance, sufficed to prove that her suspicions -were but too well-founded. However, She was too prudent to make -those suspicions known. She judged that to unmask the Imposter -would be no easy matter, the public being so much prejudiced in -his favour: and having but few Friends, She thought it dangerous -to make herself so powerful an Enemy. She affected therefore not -to remark his agitation, seated herself tranquilly upon the -Sopha, assigned some trifling reason for having quitted her room -unexpectedly, and conversed on various subjects with seeming -confidence and ease. - -Reassured by her behaviour, the Monk began to recover himself. -He strove to answer Elvira without appearing embarrassed: But He -was still too great a novice in dissimulation, and He felt that -He must look confused and awkward. He soon broke off the -conversation, and rose to depart. What was his vexation, when on -taking leave, Elvira told him in polite terms, that being now -perfectly reestablished, She thought it an injustice to deprive -Others of his company, who might be more in need of it! She -assured him of her eternal gratitude, for the benefit which -during her illness She had derived from his society and -exhortations: And She lamented that her domestic affairs, as -well as the multitude of business which his situation must of -necessity impose upon him, would in future deprive her of the -pleasure of his visits. Though delivered in the mildest language -this hint was too plain to be mistaken. Still, He was preparing -to put in a remonstrance when an expressive look from Elvira -stopped him short. He dared not press her to receive him, for -her manner convinced him that He was discovered: He submitted -without reply, took an hasty leave, and retired to the Abbey, his -heart filled with rage and shame, with bitterness and -disappointment. - -Antonia's mind felt relieved by his departure; Yet She could not -help lamenting that She was never to see him more. Elvira also -felt a secret sorrow; She had received too much pleasure from -thinking him her Friend, not to regret the necessity of changing -her opinion: But her mind was too much accustomed to the fallacy -of worldly friendships to permit her present disappointment to -weigh upon it long. She now endeavoured to make her Daughter -aware of the risque which She had ran: But She was obliged to -treat the subject with caution, lest in removing the bandage of -ignorance, the veil of innocence should be rent away. She -therefore contented herself with warning Antonia to be upon her -guard, and ordering her, should the Abbot persist in his visits, -never to receive them but in company. With this injunction -Antonia promised to comply. - -Ambrosio hastened to his Cell. He closed the door after him, and -threw himself upon the bed in despair. The impulse of desire, the -stings of disappointment, the shame of detection, and the fear of -being publicly unmasked, rendered his bosom a scene of the most -horrible confusion. He knew not what course to pursue. Debarred -the presence of Antonia, He had no hopes of satisfying that -passion which was now become a part of his existence. He -reflected that his secret was in a Woman's power: He trembled -with apprehension when He beheld the precipice before him, and -with rage, when He thought that had it not been for Elvira, He -should now have possessed the object of his desires. With the -direct imprecations He vowed vengeance against her; He swore -that, cost what it would, He still would possess Antonia. -Starting from the Bed, He paced the chamber with disordered -steps, howled with impotent fury, dashed himself violently -against the walls, and indulged all the transports of rage and -madness. - -He was still under the influence of this storm of passions when -He heard a gentle knock at the door of his Cell. Conscious that -his voice must have been heard, He dared not refuse admittance to -the Importuner: He strove to compose himself, and to hide his -agitation. Having in some degree succeeded, He drew back the -bolt: The door opened, and Matilda appeared. - -At this precise moment there was no one with whose presence He -could better have dispensed. He had not sufficient command over -himself to conceal his vexation. He started back, and frowned. - -'I am busy,' said He in a stern and hasty tone; 'Leave me!' - -Matilda heeded him not: She again fastened the door, and then -advanced towards him with an air gentle and supplicating. - -'Forgive me, Ambrosio,' said She; 'For your own sake I must not -obey you. Fear no complaints from me; I come not to reproach you -with your ingratitude. I pardon you from my heart, and since -your love can no longer be mine, I request the next best gift, -your confidence and friendship. We cannot force our -inclinations; The little beauty which you once saw in me has -perished with its novelty, and if it can no longer excite desire, -mine is the fault, not yours. But why persist in shunning me? -Why such anxiety to fly my presence? You have sorrows, but will -not permit me to share them; You have disappointments, but will -not accept my comfort; You have wishes, but forbid my aiding your -pursuits. 'Tis of this which I complain, not of your -indifference to my person. I have given up the claims of the -Mistress, but nothing shall prevail on me to give up those of the -Friend.' - -Her mildness had an instantaneous effect upon Ambrosio's -feelings. - -'Generous Matilda!' He replied, taking her hand, 'How far do you -rise superior to the foibles of your sex! Yes, I accept your -offer. I have need of an adviser, and a Confident: In you I -find every needful quality united. But to aid my pursuits . . . -. Ah! Matilda, it lies not in your power!' - -'It lies in no one's power but mine. Ambrosio, your secret is -none to me; Your every step, your every action has been observed -by my attentive eye. You love.' - -'Matilda!' - -'Why conceal it from me? Fear not the little jealousy which -taints the generality of Women: My soul disdains so despicable a -passion. You love, Ambrosio; Antonia Dalfa is the object of your -flame. I know every circumstance respecting your passion: Every -conversation has been repeated to me. I have been informed of -your attempt to enjoy Antonia's person, your disappointment, and -dismission from Elvira's House. You now despair of possessing -your Mistress; But I come to revive your hopes, and point out the -road to success.' - -'To success? Oh! impossible!' - -'To them who dare nothing is impossible. Rely upon me, and you -may yet be happy. The time is come, Ambrosio, when regard for -your comfort and tranquillity compels me to reveal a part of my -History, with which you are still unacquainted. Listen, and do -not interrupt me: Should my confession disgust you, remember -that in making it my sole aim is to satisfy your wishes, and -restore that peace to your heart which at present has abandoned -it. I formerly mentioned that my Guardian was a Man of uncommon -knowledge: He took pains to instil that knowledge into my infant -mind. Among the various sciences which curiosity had induced him -to explore, He neglected not that which by most is esteemed -impious, and by many chimerical. I speak of those arts which -relate to the world of Spirits. His deep researches into causes -and effects, his unwearied application to the study of natural -philosophy, his profound and unlimited knowledge of the -properties and virtues of every gem which enriches the deep, of -every herb which the earth produces, at length procured him the -distinction which He had sought so long, so earnestly. His -curiosity was fully slaked, his ambition amply gratified. He -gave laws to the elements; He could reverse the order of nature; -His eye read the mandates of futurity, and the infernal Spirits -were submissive to his commands. Why shrink you from me? I -understand that enquiring look. Your suspicions are right, -though your terrors are unfounded. My Guardian concealed not -from me his most precious acquisition. Yet had I never seen YOU, -I should never have exerted my power. Like you I shuddered at -the thoughts of Magic: Like you I had formed a terrible idea of -the consequences of raising a daemon. To preserve that life -which your love had taught me to prize, I had recourse to means -which I trembled at employing. You remember that night which I -past in St. Clare's Sepulchre? Then was it that, surrounded by -mouldering bodies, I dared to perform those mystic rites which -summoned to my aid a fallen Angel. Judge what must have been my -joy at discovering that my terrors were imaginary: I saw the -Daemon obedient to my orders, I saw him trembling at my frown, -and found that, instead of selling my soul to a Master, my -courage had purchased for myself a Slave.' - -'Rash Matilda! What have you done? You have doomed yourself to -endless perdition; You have bartered for momentary power eternal -happiness! If on witchcraft depends the fruition of my desires, -I renounce your aid most absolutely. The consequences are too -horrible: I doat upon Antonia, but am not so blinded by lust as -to sacrifice for her enjoyment my existence both in this world -and the next.' - -'Ridiculous prejudices! Oh! blush, Ambrosio, blush at being -subjected to their dominion. Where is the risque of accepting my -offers? What should induce my persuading you to this step, -except the wish of restoring you to happiness and quiet. If -there is danger, it must fall upon me: It is I who invoke the -ministry of the Spirits; Mine therefore will be the crime, and -yours the profit. But danger there is none: The Enemy of -Mankind is my Slave, not my Sovereign. Is there no difference -between giving and receiving laws, between serving and -commanding? Awake from your idle dreams, Ambrosio! Throw from -you these terrors so ill-suited to a soul like yours; Leave them -for common Men, and dare to be happy! Accompany me this night to -St. Clare's Sepulchre, witness my incantations, and Antonia is -your own.' - -'To obtain her by such means I neither can, or will. Cease then -to persuade me, for I dare not employ Hell's agency. - -'You DARE not? How have you deceived me! That mind which I -esteemed so great and valiant, proves to be feeble, puerile, and -grovelling, a slave to vulgar errors, and weaker than a Woman's.' - -'What? Though conscious of the danger, wilfully shall I expose -myself to the Seducer's arts? Shall I renounce for ever my title -to salvation? Shall my eyes seek a sight which I know will -blast them? No, no, Matilda; I will not ally myself with God's -Enemy.' - -'Are you then God's Friend at present? Have you not broken your -engagements with him, renounced his service, and abandoned -yourself to the impulse of your passions? Are you not planning -the destruction of innocence, the ruin of a Creature whom He -formed in the mould of Angels? If not of Daemons, whose aid -would you invoke to forward this laudable design? Will the -Seraphims protect it, conduct Antonia to your arms, and sanction -with their ministry your illicit pleasures? Absurd! But I am -not deceived, Ambrosio! It is not virtue which makes you reject -my offer: You WOULD accept it, but you dare not. 'Tis not the -crime which holds your hand, but the punishment; 'Tis not respect -for God which restrains you, but the terror of his vengeance! -Fain would you offend him in secret, but you tremble to profess -yourself his Foe. Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the -courage either to be a firm Friend or open Enemy!' - -'To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit: -In this respect I glory to confess myself a Coward. Though my -passions have made me deviate from her laws, I still feel in my -heart an innate love of virtue. But it ill becomes you to tax me -with my perjury: You, who first seduced me to violate my vows; -You, who first rouzed my sleeping vices, made me feel the weight -of Religion's chains, and bad me be convinced that guilt had -pleasures. Yet though my principles have yielded to the force of -temperament, I still have sufficient grace to shudder at Sorcery, -and avoid a crime so monstrous, so unpardonable!' - -'Unpardonable, say you? Where then is your constant boast of the -Almighty's infinite mercy? Has He of late set bounds to it? -Receives He no longer a Sinner with joy? You injure him, -Ambrosio; You will always have time to repent, and He have -goodness to forgive. Afford him a glorious opportunity to exert -that goodness: The greater your crime, the greater his merit in -pardoning. Away then with these childish scruples: Be persuaded -to your good, and follow me to the Sepulchre.' - -'Oh! cease, Matilda! That scoffing tone, that bold and impious -language, is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman's. -Let us drop a conversation which excites no other sentiments -than horror and disgust. I will not follow you to the Sepulchre, -or accept the services of your infernal Agents. Antonia shall be -mine, but mine by human means.' - -'Then yours She will never be! You are banished her presence; -Her Mother has opened her eyes to your designs, and She is now -upon her guard against them. Nay more, She loves another. A -Youth of distinguished merit possesses her heart, and unless you -interfere, a few days will make her his Bride. This intelligence -was brought me by my invisible Servants, to whom I had recourse -on first perceiving your indifference. They watched your every -action, related to me all that past at Elvira's, and inspired me -with the idea of favouring your designs. Their reports have been -my only comfort. Though you shunned my presence, all your -proceedings were known to me: Nay, I was constantly with you in -some degree, thanks to this precious gift!' - -With these words She drew from beneath her habit a mirror of -polished steel, the borders of which were marked with various -strange and unknown characters. - -'Amidst all my sorrows, amidst all my regrets for your coldness, -I was sustained from despair by the virtues of this Talisman. On -pronouncing certain words, the Person appears in it on whom the -Observer's thoughts are bent: thus though _I_ was exiled from -YOUR sight, you, Ambrosio, were ever present to mine.' - -The Friar's curiosity was excited strongly. - -'What you relate is incredible! Matilda, are you not amusing -yourself with my credulity?' - -'Be your own eyes the Judge.' - -She put the Mirror into his hand. Curiosity induced him to take -it, and Love, to wish that Antonia might appear. Matilda -pronounced the magic words. Immediately, a thick smoke rose from -the characters traced upon the borders, and spread itself over -the surface. It dispersed again gradually; A confused mixture of -colours and images presented themselves to the Friar's eyes, -which at length arranging themselves in their proper places, He -beheld in miniature Antonia's lovely form. - -The scene was a small closet belonging to her apartment. She was -undressing to bathe herself. The long tresses of her hair were -already bound up. The amorous Monk had full opportunity to -observe the voluptuous contours and admirable symmetry of her -person. She threw off her last garment, and advancing to the -Bath prepared for her, She put her foot into the water. It -struck cold, and She drew it back again. Though unconscious of -being observed, an inbred sense of modesty induced her to veil -her charms; and She stood hesitating upon the brink, in the -attitude of the Venus de Medicis. At this moment a tame Linnet -flew towards her, nestled its head between her breasts, and -nibbled them in wanton play. The smiling Antonia strove in vain -to shake off the Bird, and at length raised her hands to drive it -from its delightful harbour. Ambrosio could bear no more: His -desires were worked up to phrenzy. - -'I yield!' He cried, dashing the mirror upon the ground: -'Matilda, I follow you! Do with me what you will!' - -She waited not to hear his consent repeated. It was already -midnight. She flew to her Cell, and soon returned with her -little basket and the Key of the Cemetery, which had remained in -her possession since her first visit to the Vaults. She gave the -Monk no time for reflection. - -'Come!' She said, and took his hand; 'Follow me, and witness the -effects of your resolve!' - -This said, She drew him hastily along. They passed into the -Burying-ground unobserved, opened the door of the Sepulchre, and -found themselves at the head of the subterraneous Staircase. As -yet the beams of the full Moon had guided their steps, but that -resource now failed them. Matilda had neglected to provide -herself with a Lamp. Still holding Ambrosio's hand She descended -the marble steps; But the profound obscurity with which they were -overspread obliged them to walk slow and cautiously. - -'You tremble!' said Matilda to her Companion; 'Fear not; The -destined spot is near.' - -They reached the foot of the Staircase, and continued to -proceed, feeling their way along the Walls. On turning a corner -suddenly, they descried faint gleams of light which seemed -burning at a distance. Thither they bent their steps: The rays -proceeded from a small sepulchral Lamp which flamed unceasingly -before the Statue of St. Clare. It tinged with dim and cheerless -beams the massy Columns which supported the Roof, but was too -feeble to dissipate the thick gloom in which the Vaults above -were buried. - -Matilda took the Lamp. - -'Wait for me!' said She to the Friar; 'In a few moments I am here -again.' - -With these words She hastened into one of the passages which -branched in various directions from this spot, and formed a sort -of Labyrinth. Ambrosio was now left alone: Darkness the most -profound surrounded him, and encouraged the doubts which began -to revive in his bosom. He had been hurried away by the delirium -of the moment: The shame of betraying his terrors, while in -Matilda's presence, had induced him to repress them; But now that -he was abandoned to himself, they resumed their former -ascendancy. He trembled at the scene which He was soon to -witness. He knew not how far the delusions of Magic might -operate upon his mind, and possibly might force him to some deed -whose commission would make the breach between himself and Heaven -irreparable. In this fearful dilemma, He would have implored -God's assistance, but was conscious that He had forfeited all -claim to such protection. Gladly would He have returned to the -Abbey; But as He had past through innumerable Caverns and winding -passages, the attempt of regaining the Stairs was hopeless. His -fate was determined: No possibility of escape presented itself: -He therefore combated his apprehensions, and called every -argument to his succour, which might enable him to support the -trying scene with fortitude. He reflected that Antonia would be -the reward of his daring: He inflamed his imagination by -enumerating her charms. He persuaded himself that (as Matilda -had observed), He always should have time sufficient for -repentance, and that as He employed HER assistance, not that of -the Daemons, the crime of Sorcery could not be laid to his -charge. He had read much respecting witchcraft: He understood -that unless a formal Act was signed renouncing his claim to -salvation, Satan would have no power over him. He was fully -determined not to execute any such act, whatever threats might be -used, or advantages held out to him. - -Such were his meditations while waiting for Matilda. They were -interrupted by a low murmur which seemed at no great distance -from him. He was startled. He listened. Some minutes past in -silence, after which the murmur was repeated. It appeared to be -the groaning of one in pain. In any other situation, this -circumstance would only have excited his attention and curiosity: - -In the present, his predominant sensation was that of terror. His -imagination totally engrossed by the ideas of sorcery and -Spirits, He fancied that some unquiet Ghost was wandering near -him; or else that Matilda had fallen a Victim to her presumption, -and was perishing under the cruel fangs of the Daemons. The -noise seemed not to approach, but continued to be heard at -intervals. Sometimes it became more audible, doubtless as the -sufferings of the person who uttered the groans became -more acute and insupportable. Ambrosio now and then thought -that He could distinguish accents; and once in particular He was -almost convinced that He heard a faint voice exclaim, - -'God! Oh! God! No hope! No succour!' - -Yet deeper groans followed these words. They died away -gradually, and universal silence again prevailed. - -'What can this mean?' thought the bewildered Monk. - -At that moment an idea which flashed into his mind, almost -petrified him with horror. He started, and shuddered at himself. - -'Should it be possible!' He groaned involuntarily; 'Should it but -be possible, Oh! what a Monster am I!' - -He wished to resolve his doubts, and to repair his fault, if it -were not too late already: But these generous and compassionate -sentiments were soon put to flight by the return of Matilda. He -forgot the groaning Sufferer, and remembered nothing but the -danger and embarrassment of his own situation. The light of the -returning Lamp gilded the walls, and in a few moments after -Matilda stood beside him. She had quitted her religious habit: -She was now cloathed in a long sable Robe, on which was traced in -gold embroidery a variety of unknown characters: It was fastened -by a girdle of precious stones, in which was fixed a poignard. -Her neck and arms were uncovered. In her hand She bore a golden -wand. Her hair was loose and flowed wildly upon her shoulders; -Her eyes sparkled with terrific expression; and her whole -Demeanour was calculated to inspire the beholder with awe and -admiration. - -'Follow me!' She said to the Monk in a low and solemn voice; 'All -is ready!' - -His limbs trembled, while He obeyed her. She led him through -various narrow passages; and on every side as they past along, -the beams of the Lamp displayed none but the most revolting -objects; Skulls, Bones, Graves, and Images whose eyes seemed to -glare on them with horror and surprize. At length they reached a -spacious Cavern, whose lofty roof the eye sought in vain to -discover. A profound obscurity hovered through the void. Damp -vapours struck cold to the Friar's heart; and He listened sadly -to the blast while it howled along the lonely Vaults. Here -Matilda stopped. She turned to Ambrosio. His cheeks and lips -were pale with apprehension. By a glance of mingled scorn and -anger She reproved his pusillanimity, but She spoke not. She -placed the Lamp upon the ground, near the Basket. She motioned -that Ambrosio should be silent, and began the mysterious rites. -She drew a circle round him, another round herself, and then -taking a small Phial from the Basket, poured a few drops upon the -ground before her. She bent over the place, muttered some -indistinct sentences, and immediately a pale sulphurous flame -arose from the ground. It increased by degrees, and at length -spread its waves over the whole surface, the circles alone -excepted in which stood Matilda and the Monk. It then ascended -the huge Columns of unhewn stone, glided along the roof, and -formed the Cavern into an immense chamber totally covered with -blue trembling fire. It emitted no heat: On the contrary, the -extreme chillness of the place seemed to augment with every -moment. Matilda continued her incantations: At intervals She -took various articles from the Basket, the nature and name of -most of which were unknown to the Friar: But among the few which -He distinguished, He particularly observed three human fingers, -and an Agnus Dei which She broke in pieces. She threw them all -into the flames which burned before her, and they were instantly -consumed. - -The Monk beheld her with anxious curiosity. Suddenly She uttered -a loud and piercing shriek. She appeared to be seized with an -access of delirium; She tore her hair, beat her bosom, used the -most frantic gestures, and drawing the poignard from her girdle -plunged it into her left arm. The blood gushed out plentifully, -and as She stood on the brink of the circle, She took care that -it should fall on the outside. The flames retired from the spot -on which the blood was pouring. A volume of dark clouds rose -slowly from the ensanguined earth, and ascended gradually, till -it reached the vault of the Cavern. At the same time a clap of -thunder was heard: The echo pealed fearfully along the -subterraneous passages, and the ground shook beneath the feet of -the Enchantress. - -It was now that Ambrosio repented of his rashness. The solemn -singularity of the charm had prepared him for something strange -and horrible. He waited with fear for the Spirit's appearance, -whose coming was announced by thunder and earthquakes. He looked -wildly round him, expecting that some dreadful Apparition would -meet his eyes, the sight of which would drive him mad. A cold -shivering seized his body, and He sank upon one knee, unable to -support himself. - -'He comes!' exclaimed Matilda in a joyful accent. - -Ambrosio started, and expected the Daemon with terror. What was -his surprize, when the Thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of -melodious Music sounded in the air. At the same time the cloud -dispersed, and He beheld a Figure more beautiful than Fancy's -pencil ever drew. It was a Youth seemingly scarce eighteen, the -perfection of whose form and face was unrivalled. He was -perfectly naked: A bright Star sparkled upon his forehead; Two -crimson wings extended themselves from his shoulders; and his -silken locks were confined by a band of many-coloured fires, -which played round his head, formed themselves into a variety of -figures, and shone with a brilliance far surpassing that of -precious Stones. Circlets of Diamonds were fastened round his -arms and ankles, and in his right hand He bore a silver branch, -imitating Myrtle. His form shone with dazzling glory: He was -surrounded by clouds of rose-coloured light, and at the moment -that He appeared, a refreshing air breathed perfumes through the -Cavern. Enchanted at a vision so contrary to his expectations, -Ambrosio gazed upon the Spirit with delight and wonder: Yet -however beautiful the Figure, He could not but remark a wildness -in the Daemon's eyes, and a mysterious melancholy impressed upon -his features, betraying the Fallen Angel, and inspiring the -Spectators with secret awe. - -The Music ceased. Matilda addressed herself to the Spirit: She -spoke in a language unintelligible to the Monk, and was answered -in the same. She seemed to insist upon something which the -Daemon was unwilling to grant. He frequently darted upon -Ambrosio angry glances, and at such times the Friar's heart sank -within him. Matilda appeared to grow incensed. She spoke in a -loud and commanding tone, and her gestures declared that She was -threatening him with her vengeance. Her menaces had the desired -effect: The Spirit sank upon his knee, and with a submissive air -presented to her the branch of Myrtle. No sooner had She -received it, than the Music was again heard; A thick cloud spread -itself over the Apparition; The blue flames disappeared, and -total obscurity reigned through the Cave. The Abbot moved not -from his place: His faculties were all bound up in pleasure, -anxiety, and surprize. At length the darkness dispersing, He -perceived Matilda standing near him in her religious habit, with -the Myrtle in her hand. No traces of the incantation, and the -Vaults were only illuminated by the faint rays of the sepulchral -Lamp. - -'I have succeeded,' said Matilda, 'though with more difficulty -than I expected. Lucifer, whom I summoned to my assistance, was -at first unwilling to obey my commands: To enforce his compliance -I was constrained to have recourse to my strongest charms. They -have produced the desired effect, but I have engaged never more -to invoke his agency in your favour. Beware then, how you employ -an opportunity which never will return. My magic arts will now -be of no use to you: In future you can only hope for -supernatural aid by invoking the Daemons yourself, and accepting -the conditions of their service. This you will never do: You -want strength of mind to force them to obedience, and unless you -pay their established price, they will not be your voluntary -Servants. In this one instance they consent to obey you: I offer -you the means of enjoying your Mistress, and be careful not to -lose the opportunity. Receive this constellated Myrtle: While -you bear this in your hand, every door will fly open to you. It -will procure you access tomorrow night to Antonia's chamber: -Then breathe upon it thrice, pronounce her name, and place it -upon her pillow. A death-like slumber will immediately seize -upon her, and deprive her of the power of resisting your -attempts. Sleep will hold her till break of Morning. In this -state you may satisfy your desires without danger of being -discovered; since when daylight shall dispel the effects of the -enchantment, Antonia will perceive her dishonour, but be ignorant -of the Ravisher. Be happy then, my Ambrosio, and let this -service convince you that my friendship is disinterested and -pure. The night must be near expiring: Let us return to the -Abbey, lest our absence should create surprize.' - -The Abbot received the talisman with silent gratitude. His ideas -were too much bewildered by the adventures of the night to -permit his expressing his thanks audibly, or indeed as yet to -feel the whole value of her present. Matilda took up her Lamp -and Basket, and guided her Companion from the mysterious Cavern. -She restored the Lamp to its former place, and continued her -route in darkness, till She reached the foot of the Staircase. -The first beams of the rising Sun darting down it facilitated the -ascent. Matilda and the Abbot hastened out of the Sepulchre, -closed the door after them, and soon regained the Abbey's western -Cloister. No one met them, and they retired unobserved to their -respective Cells. - -The confusion of Ambrosio's mind now began to appease. He -rejoiced in the fortunate issue of his adventure, and reflecting -upon the virtues of the Myrtle, looked upon Antonia as already in -his power. Imagination retraced to him those secret charms -betrayed to him by the Enchanted Mirror, and He waited with -impatience for the approach of midnight. - - - - -VOLUME III - -CHAPTER I - -The crickets sing, and Man's o'er-laboured sense -Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus -Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened -The chastity He wounded--Cytherea, -How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! Fresh Lily! -And whiter than the sheets! - Cymbeline. - -All the researches of the Marquis de las Cisternas proved vain: -Agnes was lost to him for ever. Despair produced so violent an -effect upon his constitution, that the consequence was a long and -severe illness. This prevented him from visiting Elvira as He -had intended; and She being ignorant of the cause of his neglect, -it gave her no trifling uneasiness. His Sister's death had -prevented Lorenzo from communicating to his Uncle his designs -respecting Antonia: The injunctions of her Mother forbad his -presenting himself to her without the Duke's consent; and as She -heard no more of him or his proposals, Elvira conjectured that He -had either met with a better match, or had been commanded to give -up all thoughts of her Daughter. Every day made her more uneasy -respecting Antonia's fate: While She retained the Abbot's -protection, She bore with fortitude the disappointment of her -hopes with regard to Lorenzo and the Marquis. That resource now -failed her. She was convinced that Ambrosio had meditated her -Daughter's ruin: And when She reflected that her death would -leave Antonia friendless and unprotected in a world so base, so -perfidious and depraved, her heart swelled with the bitterness of -apprehension. At such times She would sit for hours gazing upon -the lovely Girl; and seeming to listen to her innocent prattle, -while in reality her thoughts dwelt upon the sorrows into which -a moment would suffice to plunge her. Then She would clasp her -in her arms suddenly, lean her head upon her Daughter's bosom, -and bedew it with her tears. - -An event was in preparation which, had She known it, would have -relieved her from her inquietude. Lorenzo now waited only for a -favourable opportunity to inform the Duke of his intended -marriage: However, a circumstance which occurred at this period, -obliged him to delay his explanation for a few days longer. - -Don Raymond's malady seemed to gain ground. Lorenzo was -constantly at his bedside, and treated him with a tenderness -truly fraternal. Both the cause and effects of the disorder were -highly afflicting to the Brother of Agnes: yet Theodore's grief -was scarcely less sincere. That amiable Boy quitted not his -Master for a moment, and put every means in practice to console -and alleviate his sufferings. The Marquis had conceived so -rooted an affection for his deceased Mistress, that it was -evident to all that He never could survive her loss: Nothing -could have prevented him from sinking under his grief but the -persuasion of her being still alive, and in need of his -assistance. Though convinced of its falsehood, his Attendants -encouraged him in a belief which formed his only comfort. He -was assured daily that fresh perquisitions were making -respecting the fate of Agnes: Stories were invented recounting -the various attempts made to get admittance into the Convent; and -circumstances were related which, though they did not promise her -absolute recovery, at least were sufficient to keep his hopes -alive. The Marquis constantly fell into the most terrible excess -of passion when informed of the failure of these supposed -attempts. Still He would not credit that the succeeding ones -would have the same fate, but flattered himself that the next -would prove more fortunate. - -Theodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his -Master's Chimoeras. He was eternally busied in planning schemes -for entering the Convent, or at least of obtaining from the Nuns -some intelligence of Agnes. To execute these schemes was the -only inducement which could prevail on him to quit Don Raymond. -He became a very Proteus, changing his shape every day; but all -his metamorphoses were to very little purpose: He regularly -returned to the Palace de las Cisternas without any intelligence -to confirm his Master's hopes. One day He took it into his head -to disguise himself as a Beggar. He put a patch over his left -eye, took his Guitar in hand, and posted himself at the Gate of -the Convent. - -'If Agnes is really confined in the Convent,' thought He, 'and -hears my voice, She will recollect it, and possibly may find -means to let me know that She is here.' - -With this idea He mingled with a crowd of Beggars who assembled -daily at the Gate of St. Clare to receive Soup, which the Nuns -were accustomed to distribute at twelve o'clock. All were -provided with jugs or bowls to carry it away; But as Theodore had -no utensil of this kind, He begged leave to eat his portion at -the Convent door. This was granted without difficulty: His -sweet voice, and in spite of his patched eye, his engaging -countenance, won the heart of the good old Porteress, who, aided -by a Lay-Sister, was busied in serving to each his Mess. -Theodore was bad to stay till the Others should depart, and -promised that his request should then be granted. The Youth -desired no better, since it was not to eat Soup that He presented -himself at the Convent. He thanked the Porteress for her -permission, retired from the Door, and seating himself upon a -large stone, amused himself in tuning his Guitar while the -Beggars were served. - -As soon as the Crowd was gone, Theodore was beckoned to the Gate, -and desired to come in. He obeyed with infinite readiness, but -affected great respect at passing the hallowed Threshold, and to -be much daunted by the presence of the Reverend Ladies. His -feigned timidity flattered the vanity of the Nuns, who -endeavoured to reassure him. The Porteress took him into her -awn little Parlour: In the meanwhile, the Lay-Sister went to -the Kitchen, and soon returned with a double portion of Soup, of -better quality than what was given to the Beggars. His Hostess -added some fruits and confections from her own private store, and -Both encouraged the Youth to dine heartily. To all these -attentions He replied with much seeming gratitude, and abundance -of blessings upon his benefactresses. While He ate, the Nuns -admired the delicacy of his features, the beauty of his hair, and -the sweetness and grace which accompanied all his actions. They -lamented to each other in whispers, that so charming a Youth -should be exposed to the seductions of the World, and agreed, -that He would be a worthy Pillar of the Catholic Church. They -concluded their conference by resolving that Heaven would be -rendered a real service if they entreated the Prioress to -intercede with Ambrosio for the Beggar's admission into the order -of Capuchins. - -This being determined, the Porteress, who was a person of great -influence in the Convent, posted away in all haste to the -Domina's Cell. Here She made so flaming a narrative of -Theodore's merits that the old Lady grew curious to see him. -Accordingly, the Porteress was commissioned to convey him to the -Parlour grate. In the interim, the supposed Beggar was sifting -the Lay-Sister with respect to the fate of Agnes: Her evidence -only corroborated the Domina's assertions. She said that Agnes -had been taken ill on returning from confession, had never -quitted her bed from that moment, and that She had herself been -present at the Funeral. She even attested having seen her dead -body, and assisted with her own hands in adjusting it upon the -Bier. This account discouraged Theodore: Yet as He had pushed -the adventure so far, He resolved to witness its conclusion. - -The Porteress now returned, and ordered him to follow her. He -obeyed, and was conducted into the Parlour, where the Lady -Prioress was already posted at the Grate. The Nuns surrounded -her, who all flocked with eagerness to a scene which promised -some diversion. Theodore saluted them with profound respect, and -his presence had the power to smooth for a moment even the stern -brow of the Superior. She asked several questions respecting his -Parents, his religion, and what had reduced him to a state of -Beggary. To these demands his answers were perfectly -satisfactory and perfectly false. He was then asked his opinion -of a monastic life: He replied in terms of high estimation and -respect for it. Upon this, the Prioress told him that his -obtaining an entrance into a religious order was not impossible; -that her recommendation would not permit his poverty to be an -obstacle, and that if She found him deserving it, He might depend -in future upon her protection. Theodore assured her that to -merit her favour would be his highest ambition; and having -ordered him to return next day, when She would talk with him -further, the Domina quitted the Parlour. - -The Nuns, whom respect for the Superior had till then kept -silent, now crowded all together to the Grate, and assailed the -Youth with a multitude of questions. He had already examined -each with attention: Alas! Agnes was not amongst them. The Nuns -heaped question upon question so thickly that it was scarcely -possible for him to reply. One asked where He was born, since -his accent declared him to be a Foreigner: Another wanted to -know, why He wore a patch upon his left eye: Sister Helena -enquired whether He had not a Sister like him, because She should -like such a Companion; and Sister Rachael was fully persuaded -that the Brother would be the pleasanter Companion of the Two. -Theodore amused himself with retailing to the credulous Nuns for -truths all the strange stories which his imagination could -invent. He related to them his supposed adventures, and -penetrated every Auditor with astonishment, while He talked of -Giants, Savages, Ship-wrecks, and Islands inhabited - - 'By Anthropophagi, and Men whose heads - Do grow beneath their shoulders,' - -With many other circumstances to the full as remarkable. He said, -that He was born in Terra Incognita, was educated at an Hottentot -University, and had past two years among the Americans of -Silesia. - -'For what regards the loss of my eye' said He, 'it was a just -punishment upon me for disrespect to the Virgin, when I made my -second pilgrimage to Loretto. I stood near the Altar in the -miraculous Chapel: The Monks were proceeding to array the Statue -in her best apparel. The Pilgrims were ordered to close their -eyes during this ceremony: But though by nature extremely -religious, curiosity was too powerful. At the moment . . . . . I -shall penetrate you with horror, reverend Ladies, when I reveal -my crime! . . . . At the moment that the Monks were changing her -shift, I ventured to open my left eye, and gave a little peep -towards the Statue. That look was my last! The Glory which -surrounded the Virgin was too great to be supported. I hastily -shut my sacrilegious eye, and never have been able to unclose it -since!' - -At the relation of this miracle the Nuns all crossed themselves, -and promised to intercede with the blessed Virgin for the -recovery of his sight. They expressed their wonder at the extent -of his travels, and at the strange adventures which He had met -with at so early an age. They now remarked his Guitar, and -enquired whether he was an adept in Music. He replied with -modesty that it was not for him to decide upon his talents, but -requested permission to appeal to them as Judges. This was -granted without difficulty. - -'But at least,' said the old Porteress, 'take care not to sing -any thing profane.' - -'You may depend upon my discretion,' replied Theodore: 'You shall -hear how dangerous it is for young Women to abandon themselves -to their passions, illustrated by the adventure of a Damsel who -fell suddenly in love with an unknown Knight.' - -'But is the adventure true?' enquired the Porteress. - -'Every word of it. It happened in Denmark, and the Heroine was -thought so beautiful that She was known by no other name but -that of ''the lovely Maid''.' - -'In Denmark, say you?' mumbled an old Nun; 'Are not the People -all Blacks in Denmark?' - -'By no means, reverend Lady; They are of a delicate pea-green -with flame-coloured hair and whiskers.' - -'Mother of God! Pea-green?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'Oh! 'tis -impossible!' - -'Impossible?' said the Porteress with a look of contempt and -exultation: 'Not at all: When I was a young Woman, I remember -seeing several of them myself.' - -Theodore now put his instrument in proper order. He had read the -story of a King of England whose prison was discovered by a -Minstrel; and He hoped that the same scheme would enable him to -discover Agnes, should She be in the Convent. He chose a Ballad -which She had taught him herself in the Castle of Lindenberg: She -might possibly catch the sound, and He hoped to hear her replying -to some of the Stanzas. His Guitar was now in tune, and He -prepared to strike it. - -'But before I begin,' said He 'it is necessary to inform you, -Ladies, that this same Denmark is terribly infested by Sorcerers, -Witches, and Evil Spirits. Every element possesses its -appropriate Daemons. The Woods are haunted by a malignant power, -called ''the Erl- or Oak-King:'' He it is who blights the Trees, -spoils the Harvest, and commands the Imps and Goblins: He -appears in the form of an old Man of majestic figure, with a -golden Crown and long white beard: His principal amusement is to -entice young Children from their Parents, and as soon as He gets -them into his Cave, He tears them into a thousand pieces--The -Rivers are governed by another Fiend, called ''the Water-King:'' -His province is to agitate the deep, occasion ship-wrecks, and -drag the drowning Sailors beneath the waves: He wears the -appearance of a Warrior, and employs himself in luring young -Virgins into his snare: What He does with them, when He catches -them in the water, Reverend Ladies, I leave for you to -imagine--''The Fire-King'' seems to be a Man all formed of -flames: He raises the Meteors and wandering lights which -beguile Travellers into ponds and marshes, and He directs the -lightning where it may do most mischief--The last of these -elementary Daemons is called ''the Cloud-King;'' His figure is -that of a beautiful Youth, and He is distinguished by two large -sable Wings: Though his outside is so enchanting, He is not a -bit better disposed than the Others: He is continually employed -in raising Storms, tearing up Forests by the roots, and blowing -Castles and Convents about the ears of their Inhabitants. The -First has a Daughter, who is Queen of the Elves and Fairies; The -Second has a Mother, who is a powerful Enchantress: Neither of -these Ladies are worth more than the Gentlemen: I do not -remember to have heard any family assigned to the two other -Daemons, but at present I have no business with any of them -except the Fiend of the Waters. He is the Hero of my Ballad; but -I thought it necessary before I began, to give you some account -of his proceedings--' - -Theodore then played a short symphony; After which, stretching -his voice to its utmost extent to facilitate its reaching the ear -of Agnes, He sang the following Stanzas. - -THE WATER-KING - -A DANISH BALLAD - -With gentle murmur flowed the Tide, -While by the fragrant flowery side -The lovely Maid with carols gay -To Mary's Church pursued her way. - -The Water-Fiend's malignant eye -Along the Banks beheld her hie; -Straight to his Mother-witch He sped, -And thus in suppliant accents said: - -'Oh! Mother! Mother! now advise, -How I may yonder Maid surprize: -Oh! Mother! Mother! Now explain, -How I may yonder Maid obtain.' - -The Witch She gave him armour white; -She formed him like a gallant Knight; -Of water clear next made her hand -A Steed, whose housings were of sand. - -The Water-King then swift He went; -To Mary's Church his steps He bent: -He bound his Courser to the Door, -And paced the Church-yard three times four. - -His Courser to the door bound He, -And paced the Church-yard four time three: -Then hastened up the Aisle, where all -The People flocked, both great and small. - -The Priest said, as the Knight drew near, -'And wherefore comes the white Chief here?' -The lovely Maid She smiled aside; -'Oh! would I were the white Chief's Bride!' - -He stept o'er Benches one and two; -'Oh! lovely Maid, I die for You!' -He stept o'er Benches two and three; -'Oh! lovely Maiden, go with me!' - -Then sweet She smiled, the lovely Maid, -And while She gave her hand, She said, -'Betide me joy, betide me woe, -O'er Hill, o'er dale, with thee I go.' - -The Priest their hands together joins: -They dance, while clear the moon-beam shines; -And little thinks the Maiden bright, -Her Partner is the Water-spright. - -Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing, -'Your Partner is the Water-King!' -The Maid had fear and hate confest, -And cursed the hand which then She prest. - -But nothing giving cause to think, -How near She strayed to danger's brink, -Still on She went, and hand in hand -The Lovers reached the yellow sand. - -'Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear; -We needs must cross the streamlet here; -Ride boldly in; It is not deep; -The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.' - -Thus spoke the Water-King. The Maid -Her Traitor-Bride-groom's wish obeyed: -And soon She saw the Courser lave -Delighted in his parent wave. - -'Stop! Stop! my Love! The waters blue -E'en now my shrinking foot bedew!' -'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart! -We now have reached the deepest part.' - -'Stop! Stop! my Love! For now I see -The waters rise above my knee.' -'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart! -We now have reached the deepest part.' - -'Stop! Stop! for God's sake, stop! For Oh! -The waters o'er my bosom flow!'-- -Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight -And Courser vanished from her sight. - -She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high -The wild winds rising dull the cry; -The Fiend exults; The Billows dash, -And o'er their hapless Victim wash. - -Three times while struggling with the stream, -The lovely Maid was heard to scream; -But when the Tempest's rage was o'er, -The lovely Maid was seen no more. - -Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair, -To whom you give your love beware! -Believe not every handsome Knight, -And dance not with the Water-Spright! - - -The Youth ceased to sing. The Nuns were delighted with the -sweetness of his voice and masterly manner of touching the -Instrument: But however acceptable this applause would have been -at any other time, at present it was insipid to Theodore. His -artifice had not succeeded. He paused in vain between the -Stanzas: No voice replied to his, and He abandoned the hope of -equalling Blondel. - -The Convent Bell now warned the Nuns that it was time to -assemble in the Refectory. They were obliged to quit the Grate; -They thanked the Youth for the entertainment which his Music had -afforded them, and charged him to return the next day. This He -promised: The Nuns, to give him the greater inclination to keep -his word, told him that He might always depend upon the Convent -for his meals, and each of them made him some little present. -One gave him a box of sweetmeats; Another, an Agnus Dei; Some -brought reliques of Saints, waxen Images, and consecrated -Crosses; and Others presented him with pieces of those works in -which the Religious excel, such as embroidery, artificial -flowers, lace, and needlework. All these He was advised to -sell, in order to put himself into better case; and He was -assured that it would be easy to dispose of them, since the -Spaniards hold the performances of the Nuns in high estimation. -Having received these gifts with seeming respect and gratitude, -He remarked that, having no Basket, He knew not how to convey -them away. Several of the Nuns were hastening in search of one, -when they were stopped by the return of an elderly Woman, whom -Theodore had not till then observed: Her mild countenance, and -respectable air prejudiced him immediately in her favour. - -'Hah!' said the Porteress; 'Here comes the Mother St. Ursula with -a Basket.' - -The Nun approached the Grate, and presented the Basket to -Theodore: It was of willow, lined with blue satin, and upon the -four sides were painted scenes from the legend of St. Genevieve. - -'Here is my gift,' said She, as She gave it into his hand; 'Good -Youth, despise it not; Though its value seems insignificant, it -has many hidden virtues.' - -She accompanied these words with an expressive look. It was not -lost upon Theodore; In receiving the present, He drew as near the -Grate as possible. - -'Agnes!' She whispered in a voice scarcely intelligible. -Theodore, however, caught the sound: He concluded that some -mystery was concealed in the Basket, and his heart beat with -impatience and joy. At this moment the Domina returned. Her air -was gloomy and frowning, and She looked if possible more stern -than ever. - -'Mother St. Ursula, I would speak with you in private.' - -The Nun changed colour, and was evidently disconcerted. - -'With me?' She replied in a faltering voice. - -The Domina motioned that She must follow her, and retired. The -Mother St. Ursula obeyed her; Soon after, the Refectory Bell -ringing a second time, the Nuns quitted the Grate, and Theodore -was left at liberty to carry off his prize. Delighted that at -length He had obtained some intelligence for the Marquis, He flew -rather than ran, till He reached the Hotel de las Cisternas. In -a few minutes He stood by his Master's Bed with the Basket in his -hand. Lorenzo was in the chamber, endeavouring to reconcile his -Friend to a misfortune which He felt himself but too severely. -Theodore related his adventure, and the hopes which had been -created by the Mother St. Ursula's gift. The Marquis started -from -his pillow: That fire which since the death of Agnes had been -extinguished, now revived in his bosom, and his eyes sparkled -with the eagerness of expectation. The emotions which Lorenzo's -countenance betrayed, were scarcely weaker, and He waited with -inexpressible impatience for the solution of this mystery. -Raymond caught the basket from the hands of his Page: He emptied -the contents upon the bed, and examined them with minute -attention. He hoped that a letter would be found at the bottom; -Nothing of the kind appeared. The search was resumed, and still -with no better success. At length Don Raymond observed that one -corner of the blue satin lining was unripped; He tore it open -hastily, and drew forth a small scrap of paper neither folded or -sealed. It was addressed to the Marquis de las Cisternas, and -the contents were as follows. - -Having recognised your Page, I venture to send these few lines. -Procure an order from the Cardinal-Duke for seizing my Person, -and that of the Domina; But let it not be executed till Friday at -midnight. It is the Festival of St. Clare: There will be a -procession of Nuns by torch-light, and I shall be among them. -Beware not to let your intention be known: Should a syllable be -dropt to excite the Domina's suspicions, you will never hear of -me more. Be cautious, if you prize the memory of Agnes, and wish -to punish her Assassins. I have that to tell, will freeze your -blood with horror. St. Ursula. - -No sooner had the Marquis read the note than He fell back upon -his pillow deprived of sense or motion. The hope failed him -which till now had supported his existence; and these lines -convinced him but too positively that Agnes was indeed no more. -Lorenzo felt this circumstance less forcibly, since it had always -been his idea that his Sister had perished by unfair means. When -He found by the Mother St. Ursula's letter how true were his -suspicions, the confirmation excited no other sentiment in his -bosom than a wish to punish the Murderers as they deserved. It -was no easy task to recall the Marquis to himself. As soon as He -recovered his speech, He broke out into execrations against the -Assassins of his Beloved, and vowed to take upon them a signal -vengeance. He continued to rave and torment himself with -impotent passion till his constitution, enfeebled by grief and -illness, could support itself no longer, and He relapsed into -insensibility. His melancholy situation sincerely affected -Lorenzo, who would willingly have remained in the apartment of -his Friend; But other cares now demanded his presence. It was -necessary to procure the order for seizing the Prioress of St. -Clare. For this purpose, having committed Raymond to the care of -the best Physicians in Madrid, He quitted the Hotel de las -Cisternas, and bent his course towards the Palace of the -Cardinal-Duke. - -His disappointment was excessive, when He found that affairs of -State had obliged the Cardinal to set out for a distant Province. - -It wanted but five to Friday: Yet by travelling day and night, -He hoped to return in time for the Pilgrimage of St. Clare. In -this He succeeded. He found the Cardinal-Duke; and represented -to him the supposed culpability of the Prioress, as also the -violent effects which it had produced upon Don Raymond. He could -have used no argument so forcible as this last. Of all his -Nephews, the Marquis was the only one to whom the Cardinal-Duke -was sincerely attached: He perfectly doated upon him, and the -Prioress could have committed no greater crime in his eyes than -to have endangered the life of the Marquis. Consequently, He -granted the order of arrest without difficulty: He also gave -Lorenzo a letter to a principal Officer of the Inquisition, -desiring him to see his mandate executed. Furnished with these -papers, Medina hastened back to Madrid, which He reached on the -Friday a few hours before dark. He found the Marquis somewhat -easier, but so weak and exhausted that without great exertion He -could neither speak or more. Having past an hour by his Bedside, -Lorenzo left him to communicate his design to his Uncle, as also -to give Don Ramirez de Mello the Cardinal's letter. The First -was petrified with horror when He learnt the fate of his unhappy -Niece: He encouraged Lorenzo to punish her Assassins, and -engaged to accompany him at night to St. Clare's Convent. Don -Ramirez promised his firmest support, and selected a band of -trusty Archers to prevent opposition on the part of the Populace. - -But while Lorenzo was anxious to unmask one religious Hypocrite, -He was unconscious of the sorrows prepared for him by Another. -Aided by Matilda's infernal Agents, Ambrosio had resolved upon -the innocent Antonia's ruin. The moment destined to be so fatal -to her arrived. She had taken leave of her Mother for the night. - -As She kissed her, She felt an unusual despondency infuse itself -into her bosom. She left her, and returned to her instantly, -threw herself into her maternal arms, and bathed her cheek with -tears: She felt uneasy at quitting her, and a secret -presentiment assured her that never must they meet again. Elvira -observed, and tried to laugh her out of this childish prejudice: -She chid her mildly for encouraging such ungrounded sadness, and -warned her how dangerous it was to encourage such ideas. - -To all her remonstrances She received no other answer than, - -'Mother! Dear Mother! Oh! would to God, it were Morning!' - -Elvira, whose inquietude respecting her Daughter was a great -obstacle to her perfect reestablishment, was still labouring -under the effects of her late severe illness. She was this -Evening more than usually indisposed, and retired to bed before -her accustomed hour. Antonia withdrew from her Mother's chamber -with regret, and till the Door closed, kept her eyes fixed upon -her with melancholy expression. She retired to her own -apartment; Her heart was filled with bitterness: It seemed to -her that all her prospects were blasted, and the world contained -nothing for which it was worth existing. She sank into a Chair, -reclined her head upon her arm, and gazed upon the floor with a -vacant stare, while the most gloomy images floated before her -fancy. She was still in this state of insensibility when She -was disturbed by hearing a strain of soft Music breathed beneath -her window. She rose, drew near the Casement, and opened it to -hear it more distinctly. Having thrown her veil over her face, -She ventured to look out. By the light of the Moon She perceived -several Men below with Guitars and Lutes in their hands; and at a -little distance from them stood Another wrapped in his cloak, -whose stature and appearance bore a strong resemblance to -Lorenzo's. She was not deceived in this conjecture. It was -indeed Lorenzo himself, who bound by his word not to present -himself to Antonia without his Uncle's consent, endeavoured by -occasional Serenades, to convince his Mistress that his -attachment still existed. His stratagem had not the desired -effect. Antonia was far from supposing that this nightly music -was intended as a compliment to her: She was too modest to think -herself worthy such attentions; and concluding them to be -addressed to some neighbouring Lady, She grieved to find that -they were offered by Lorenzo. - -The air which was played, was plaintive and melodious. It -accorded with the state of Antonia's mind, and She listened with -pleasure. After a symphony of some length, it was succeeded by -the sound of voices, and Antonia distinguished the following -words. - -SERENADE - - Chorus - -Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre! -'Tis here that Beauty loves to rest: -Describe the pangs of fond desire, -Which rend a faithful Lover's breast. - - Song - -In every heart to find a Slave, -In every Soul to fix his reign, -In bonds to lead the wise and brave, -And make the Captives kiss his chain, -Such is the power of Love, and Oh! -I grieve so well Love's power to know. - -In sighs to pass the live-long day, -To taste a short and broken sleep, -For one dear Object far away, -All others scorned, to watch and weep, -Such are the pains of Love, and Oh! -I grieve so well Love's pains to know! - -To read consent in virgin eyes, -To press the lip ne'er prest till then -To hear the sigh of transport rise, -And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again, -Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh! -When shall my heart thy pleasures know? - - Chorus - -Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still! -Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire -With amorous thoughts thy visions fill, -Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre. - -The Music ceased: The Performers dispersed, and silence -prevailed through the Street. Antonia quitted the window with -regret: She as usual recommended herself to the protection of -St. Rosolia, said her accustomed prayers, and retired to bed. -Sleep was not long absent, and his presence relieved her from her -terrors and inquietude - -It was almost two o'clock before the lustful Monk ventured to -bend his steps towards Antonia's dwelling. It has been already -mentioned that the Abbey was at no great distance from the -Strada di San Iago. He reached the House unobserved. Here He -stopped, and hesitated for a moment. He reflected on the -enormity of the crime, the consequences of a discovery, and the -probability, after what had passed, of Elvira's suspecting him to -be her Daughter's Ravisher: On the other hand it was suggested -that She could do no more than suspect; that no proofs of his -guilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the -rape to have been committed without Antonia's knowing when, -where, or by whom; and finally, He believed that his fame was too -firmly established to be shaken by the unsupported accusations of -two unknown Women. This latter argument was perfectly false: He -knew not how uncertain is the air of popular applause, and that a -moment suffices to make him today the detestation of the world, -who yesterday was its Idol. The result of the Monk's -deliberations was that He should proceed in his enterprize. He -ascended the steps leading to the House. No sooner did He touch -the door with the silver Myrtle, than it flew open, and presented -him with a free passage. He entered, and the door closed after -him of its own accord. - -Guided by the moonbeams, He proceeded up the Staircase with -slow and cautious steps. He looked round him every moment with -apprehension and anxiety. He saw a Spy in every shadow, and -heard a voice in every murmur of the night breeze. Consciousness -of the guilty business on which He was employed appalled his -heart, and rendered it more timid than a Woman's. Yet still He -proceeded. He reached the door of Antonia's chamber. He stopped, -and listened. All was hushed within. The total silence -persuaded him that his intended Victim was retired to rest, and -He ventured to lift up the Latch. The door was fastened, and -resisted his efforts: But no sooner was it touched by the -Talisman, than the Bolt flew back. The Ravisher stept on, and -found himself in the chamber, where slept the innocent Girl, -unconscious how dangerous a Visitor was drawing near her Couch. -The door closed after him, and the Bolt shot again into its -fastening. - -Ambrosio advanced with precaution. He took care that not a board -should creak under his foot, and held in his breath as He -approached the Bed. His first attention was to perform the magic -ceremony, as Matilda had charged him: He breathed thrice upon -the silver Myrtle, pronounced over it Antonia's name, and laid it -upon her pillow. The effects which it had already produced -permitted not his doubting its success in prolonging the slumbers -of his devoted Mistress. No sooner was the enchantment -performed than He considered her to be absolutely in his power, -and his eyes flamed with lust and impatience. He now ventured to -cast a glance upon the sleeping Beauty. A single Lamp, burning -before the Statue of St. Rosolia, shed a faint light through the -room, and permitted him to examine all the charms of the lovely -Object before him. The heat of the weather had obliged her to -throw off part of the Bed-cloathes: Those which still covered -her, Ambrosio's insolent hand hastened to remove. She lay with -her cheek reclining upon one ivory arm; The Other rested on the -side of the Bed with graceful indolence. A few tresses of her -hair had escaped from beneath the Muslin which confined the rest, -and fell carelessly over her bosom, as it heaved with slow and -regular suspiration. The warm air had spread her cheek with -higher colour than usual. A smile inexpressibly sweet played -round her ripe and coral lips, from which every now and then -escaped a gentle sigh or an half-pronounced sentence. An air of -enchanting innocence and candour pervaded her whole form; and -there was a sort of modesty in her very nakedness which added -fresh stings to the desires of the lustful Monk. - -He remained for some moments devouring those charms with his -eyes which soon were to be subjected to his ill-regulated -passions. Her mouth half-opened seemed to solicit a kiss: He -bent over her; he joined his lips to hers, and drew in the -fragrance of her breath with rapture. This momentary pleasure -increased his longing for still greater. His desires were raised -to that frantic height by which Brutes are agitated. He -resolved not to delay for one instant longer the accomplishment -of his wishes, and hastily proceeded to tear off those garments -which impeded the gratification of his lust. - -'Gracious God!' exclaimed a voice behind him; 'Am I not deceived? - -Is not this an illusion?' - -Terror, confusion, and disappointment accompanied these words, as -they struck Ambrosio's hearing. He started, and turned towards -it. Elvira stood at the door of the chamber, and regarded the -Monk with looks of surprize and detestation. - -A frightful dream had represented to her Antonia on the verge of -a precipice. She saw her trembling on the brink: Every moment -seemed to threaten her fall, and She heard her exclaim with -shrieks, 'Save me, Mother! Save me!--Yet a moment, and it will be -too late!' Elvira woke in terror. The vision had made too -strong an impression upon her mind, to permit her resting till -assured of her Daughter's safety. She hastily started from her -Bed, threw on a loose night-gown, and passing through the Closet -in which slept the Waiting-woman, She reached Antonia's chamber -just in time to rescue her from the grasp of the Ravisher. - -His shame and her amazement seemed to have petrified into Statues -both Elvira and the Monk: They remained gazing upon each other -in silence. The Lady was the first to recover herself. - -'It is no dream!' She cried; 'It is really Ambrosio, who stands -before me! It is the Man whom Madrid esteems a Saint, that I -find at this late hour near the Couch of my unhappy Child! -Monster of Hypocrisy! I already suspected your designs, but -forbore your accusation in pity to human frailty. Silence would -now be criminal: The whole City shall be informed of your -incontinence. I will unmask you, Villain, and convince the -Church what a Viper She cherishes in her bosom.' - -Pale and confused the baffled Culprit stood trembling before her. - -He would fain have extenuated his offence, but could find no -apology for his conduct: He could produce nothing but broken -sentences, and excuses which contradicted each other. Elvira was -too justly incensed to grant the pardon which He requested. She -protested that She would raise the neighbourhood, and make him an -example to all future Hypocrites. Then hastening to the Bed, She -called to Antonia to wake; and finding that her voice had no -effect, She took her arm, and raised her forcibly from the -pillow. The charm operated too powerfully. Antonia remained -insensible, and on being released by her Mother, sank back upon -the pillow. - -'This slumber cannot be natural!' cried the amazed Elvira, whose -indignation increased with every moment. 'Some mystery is -concealed in it; But tremble, Hypocrite; all your villainy shall -soon be unravelled! Help! Help!' She exclaimed aloud; 'Within -there! Flora! Flora!' - -'Hear me for one moment, Lady!' cried the Monk, restored to -himself by the urgency of the danger; 'By all that is sacred and -holy, I swear that your Daughter's honour is still unviolated. -Forgive my transgression! Spare me the shame of a discovery, and -permit me to regain the Abbey undisturbed. Grant me this request -in mercy! I promise not only that Antonia shall be secure from -me in future, but that the rest of my life shall prove . . . . .' - -Elvira interrupted him abruptly. - -'Antonia secure from you? _I_ will secure her! You shall betray -no longer the confidence of Parents! Your iniquity shall be -unveiled to the public eye: All Madrid shall shudder at your -perfidy, your hypocrisy and incontinence. What Ho! there! Flora! -Flora, I say!' - -While She spoke thus, the remembrance of Agnes struck upon his -mind. Thus had She sued to him for mercy, and thus had He -refused her prayer! It was now his turn to suffer, and He could -not but acknowledge that his punishment was just. In the -meanwhile Elvira continued to call Flora to her assistance; but -her voice was so choaked with passion that the Servant, who was -buried in profound slumber, was insensible to all her cries: -Elvira dared not go towards the Closet in which Flora slept, lest -the Monk should take that opportunity to escape. Such indeed was -his intention: He trusted that could He reach the Abbey -unobserved by any other than Elvira, her single testimony would -not suffice to ruin a reputation so well established as his was -in Madrid. With this idea He gathered up such garments as He had -already thrown off, and hastened towards the Door. Elvira was -aware of his design; She followed him, and ere He could draw back -the bolt, seized him by the arm, and detained him. - -'Attempt not to fly!' said She; 'You quit not this room without -Witnesses of your guilt.' - -Ambrosio struggled in vain to disengage himself. Elvira quitted -not her hold, but redoubled her cries for succour. The Friar's -danger grew more urgent. He expected every moment to hear people -assembling at her voice; And worked up to madness by the approach -of ruin, He adopted a resolution equally desperate and savage. -Turning round suddenly, with one hand He grasped Elvira's throat -so as to prevent her continuing her clamour, and with the other, -dashing her violently upon the ground, He dragged her towards the -Bed. Confused by this unexpected attack, She scarcely had power -to strive at forcing herself from his grasp: While the Monk, -snatching the pillow from beneath her Daughter's head, covering -with it Elvira's face, and pressing his knee upon her stomach -with all his strength, endeavoured to put an end to her -existence. He succeeded but too well. Her natural strength -increased by the excess of anguish, long did the Sufferer -struggle to disengage herself, but in vain. The Monk continued -to kneel upon her breast, witnessed without mercy the convulsive -trembling of her limbs beneath him, and sustained with inhuman -firmness the spectacle of her agonies, when soul and body were on -the point of separating. Those agonies at length were over. She -ceased to struggle for life. The Monk took off the pillow, and -gazed upon her. Her face was covered with a frightful blackness: - -Her limbs moved no more; The blood was chilled in her veins; Her -heart had forgotten to beat, and her hands were stiff and frozen. - -Ambrosio beheld before him that once noble and majestic form, now -become a Corse, cold, senseless and disgusting. - -This horrible act was no sooner perpetrated, than the Friar -beheld the enormity of his crime. A cold dew flowed over his -limbs; his eyes closed; He staggered to a chair, and sank into it -almost as lifeless as the Unfortunate who lay extended at his -feet. From this state He was rouzed by the necessity of flight, -and the danger of being found in Antonia's apartment. He had no -desire to profit by the execution of his crime. Antonia now -appeared to him an object of disgust. A deadly cold had usurped -the place of that warmth which glowed in his bosom: No ideas -offered themselves to his mind but those of death and guilt, of -present shame and future punishment. Agitated by remorse and -fear He prepared for flight: Yet his terrors did not so -compleatly master his recollection, as to prevent his taking the -precautions necessary for his safety. He replaced the pillow -upon the bed, gathered up his garments, and with the fatal -Talisman in his hand, bent his unsteady steps towards the door. -Bewildered by fear, He fancied that his flight was opposed by -Legions of Phantoms; Whereever He turned, the disfigured Corse -seemed to lie in his passage, and it was long before He succeeded -in reaching the door. The enchanted Myrtle produced its former -effect. The door opened, and He hastened down the staircase. -He entered the Abbey unobserved, and having shut himself into his -Cell, He abandoned his soul to the tortures of unavailing -remorse, and terrors of impending detection. - - - CHAPTER II - -Tell us, ye Dead, will none of you in pity -To those you left behind disclose the secret? -O! That some courteous Ghost would blab it out, -What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be. -I've heard that Souls departed have sometimes -Fore-warned Men of their deaths: -'Twas kindly done -To knock, and give the alarum. - -Blair. - - -Ambrosio shuddered at himself, when He reflected on his rapid -advances in iniquity. The enormous crime which He had just -committed filled him with real horror. The murdered Elvira was -continually before his eyes, and his guilt was already punished -by the agonies of his conscience. Time, however, considerably -weakened these impressions: One day passed away, another -followed it, and still not the least suspicion was thrown upon -him. Impunity reconciled him to his guilt: He began to resume -his spirits; and as his fears of detection died away, He paid -less attention to the reproaches of remorse. Matilda exerted -herself to quiet his alarms. At the first intelligence of -Elvira's death, She seemed greatly affected, and joined the Monk -in deploring the unhappy catastrophe of his adventure: But when -She found his agitation to be somewhat calmed, and himself better -disposed to listen to her arguments, She proceeded to mention his -offence in milder terms, and convince him that He was not so -highly culpable as He appeared to consider himself. She -represented that He had only availed himself of the rights which -Nature allows to every one, those of self-preservation: That -either Elvira or himself must have perished, and that her -inflexibility and resolution to ruin him had deservedly marked -her out for the Victim. She next stated, that as He had before -rendered himself suspected to Elvira, it was a fortunate event -for him that her lips were closed by death; since without this -last adventure, her suspicions if made public might have produced -very disagreeable consequences. He had therefore freed himself -from an Enemy, to whom the errors of his conduct were -sufficiently known to make her dangerous, and who was the -greatest obstacle to his designs upon Antonia. Those designs She -encouraged him not to abandon. She assured him that, no longer -protected by her Mother's watchful eye, the Daughter would fall -an easy conquest; and by praising and enumerating Antonia's -charms, She strove to rekindle the desires of the Monk. In this -endeavour She succeeded but too well. - -As if the crimes into which his passion had seduced him had only -increased its violence, He longed more eagerly than ever to enjoy -Antonia. The same success in concealing his present guilt, He -trusted would attend his future. He was deaf to the murmurs of -conscience, and resolved to satisfy his desires at any price. He -waited only for an opportunity of repeating his former -enterprize; But to procure that opportunity by the same means was -now impracticable. In the first transports of despair He had -dashed the enchanted Myrtle into a thousand pieces: Matilda told -him plainly that He must expect no further assistance from the -infernal Powers unless He was willing to subscribe to their -established conditions. This Ambrosio was determined not to do: -He persuaded himself that however great might be his iniquity, -so long as he preserved his claim to salvation, He need not -despair of pardon. He therefore resolutely refused to enter into -any bond or compact with the Fiends; and Matilda finding him -obstinate upon this point, forbore to press him further. She -exerted her invention to discover some means of putting Antonia -into the Abbot's power: Nor was it long before that means -presented itself. - -While her ruin was thus meditating, the unhappy Girl herself -suffered severely from the loss of her Mother. Every morning on -waking, it was her first care to hasten to Elvira's chamber. On -that which followed Ambrosio's fatal visit, She woke later than -was her usual custom: Of this She was convinced by the -Abbey Chimes. She started from her bed, threw on a few loose -garments hastily, and was speeding to enquire how her Mother had -passed the night, when her foot struck against something which -lay in her passage. She looked down. What was her horror at -recognizing Elvira's livid Corse! She uttered a loud shriek, and -threw herself upon the floor. She clasped the inanimate form to -her bosom, felt that it was dead-cold, and with a movement of -disgust, of which She was not the Mistress, let it fall again -from her arms. The cry had alarmed Flora, who hastened to her -assistance. The sight which She beheld penetrated her with -horror; but her alarm was more audible than Antonia's. She made -the House ring with her lamentations, while her Mistress, almost -suffocated with grief, could only mark her distress by sobs and -groans. Flora's shrieks soon reached the ears of the Hostess, -whose terror and surprize were excessive on learning the cause of -this disturbance. A Physician was immediately sent for: But on -the first moment of beholding the Corse, He declared that -Elvira's recovery was beyond the power of art. He proceeded -therefore to give his assistance to Antonia, who by this time was -truly in need of it. She was conveyed to bed, while the Landlady -busied herself in giving orders for Elvira's Burial. Dame -Jacintha was a plain good kind of Woman, charitable, generous, -and devout: But her intellects were weak, and She was a -Miserable Slave to fear and superstition. She shuddered at the -idea of passing the night in the same House with a dead Body: -She was persuaded that Elvira's Ghost would appear to her, and no -less certain that such a visit would kill her with fright. From -this persuasion, She resolved to pass the night at a Neighbour's, -and insisted that the Funeral should take place the next day. -St. Clare's Cemetery being the nearest, it was determined that -Elvira should be buried there. Dame Jacintha engaged to defray -every expence attending the burial. She knew not in what -circumstances Antonia was left, but from the sparing manner in -which the Family had lived, She concluded them to be indifferent. - -Consequently, She entertained very little hope of ever being -recompensed; But this consideration prevented her not from taking -care that the Interment was performed with decency, and from -showing the unfortunate Antonia all possible respect. - -Nobody dies of mere grief; Of this Antonia was an instance. -Aided by her youth and healthy constitution, She shook off the -malady which her Mother's death had occasioned; But it was not -so easy to remove the disease of her mind. Her eyes were -constantly filled with tears: Every trifle affected her, and She -evidently nourished in her bosom a profound and rooted -melancholy. The slightest mention of Elvira, the most trivial -circumstance recalling that beloved Parent to her memory, was -sufficient to throw her into serious agitation. How much would -her grief have been increased, had She known the agonies which -terminated her Mother's existence! But of this no one -entertained the least suspicion. Elvira was subject to strong -convulsions: It was supposed that, aware of their approach, She -had dragged herself to her Daughter's chamber in hopes of -assistance; that a sudden access of her fits had seized her, too -violent to be resisted by her already enfeebled state of health; -and that She had expired ere She had time to reach the medicine -which generally relieved her, and which stood upon a shelf in -Antonia's room. This idea was firmly credited by the few people, -who interested themselves about Elvira: Her Death was esteemed a -natural event, and soon forgotten by all save by her, who had but -too much reason to deplore her loss. - -In truth Antonia's situation was sufficiently embarrassing and -unpleasant. She was alone in the midst of a dissipated and -expensive City; She was ill provided with money, and worse with -Friends. Her aunt Leonella was still at Cordova, and She knew -not her direction. Of the Marquis de las Cisternas She heard no -news: As to Lorenzo, She had long given up the idea of -possessing any interest in his bosom. She knew not to whom She -could address herself in her present dilemma. She wished to -consult Ambrosio; But She remembered her Mother's injunctions to -shun him as much as possible, and the last conversation which -Elvira had held with her upon the subject had given her -sufficient lights respecting his designs to put her upon her -guard against him in future. Still all her Mother's warnings -could not make her change her good opinion of the Friar. She -continued to feel that his friendship and society were requisite -to her happiness: She looked upon his failings with a partial -eye, and could not persuade herself that He really had intended -her ruin. However, Elvira had positively commanded her to drop -his acquaintance, and She had too much respect for her orders to -disobey them. - -At length She resolved to address herself for advice and -protection to the Marquis de las Cisternas, as being her nearest -Relation. She wrote to him, briefly stating her desolate -situation; She besought him to compassionate his Brother's Child, -to continue to her Elvira's pension, and to authorise her -retiring to his old Castle in Murcia, which till now had been her -retreat. Having sealed her letter, She gave it to the trusty -Flora, who immediately set out to execute her commission. But -Antonia was born under an unlucky Star. Had She made her -application to the Marquis but one day sooner, received as his -Niece and placed at the head of his Family, She would have -escaped all the misfortunes with which She was now threatened. -Raymond had always intended to execute this plan: But first, his -hopes of making the proposal to Elvira through the lips of Agnes, -and afterwards, his disappointment at losing his intended Bride, -as well as the severe illness which for some time had confined -him to his Bed, made him defer from day to day the giving an -Asylum in his House to his Brother's Widow. He had commissioned -Lorenzo to supply her liberally with money: But Elvira, -unwilling to receive obligations from that Nobleman, had assured -him that She needed no immediate pecuniary assistance. -Consequently, the Marquis did not imagine that a trifling delay -on his part could create any embarrassment; and the distress and -agitation of his mind might well excuse his negligence. - -Had He been informed that Elvira's death had left her Daughter -Friendless and unprotected, He would doubtless have taken such -measures, as would have ensured her from every danger: But -Antonia was not destined to be so fortunate. The day on which -She sent her letter to the Palace de las Cisternas was that -following Lorenzo's departure from Madrid. The Marquis was in -the first paroxysms of despair at the conviction that Agnes was -indeed no more: He was delirious, and his life being in danger, -no one was suffered to approach him. Flora was informed that He -was incapable of attending to Letters, and that probably a few -hours would decide his fate. With this unsatisfactory answer She -was obliged to return to her Mistress, who now found herself -plunged into greater difficulties than ever. - -Flora and Dame Jacintha exerted themselves to console her. The -Latter begged her to make herself easy, for that as long as She -chose to stay with her, She would treat her like her own Child. -Antonia, finding that the good Woman had taken a real affection -for her, was somewhat comforted by thinking that She had at -least one Friend in the World. A Letter was now brought to her, -directed to Elvira. She recognized Leonella's writing, and -opening it with joy, found a detailed account of her Aunt's -adventures at Cordova. She informed her Sister that She had -recovered her Legacy, had lost her heart, and had received in -exchange that of the most amiable of Apothecaries, past, present, -and to come. She added that She should be at Madrid on the -Tuesday night, and meant to have the pleasure of presenting her -Caro Sposo in form. Though her nuptials were far from pleasing -Antonia, Leonella's speedy return gave her Niece much delight. -She rejoiced in thinking that She should once more be under a -Relation's care. She could not but judge it to be highly -improper, for a young Woman to be living among absolute -Strangers, with no one to regulate her conduct, or protect her -from the insults to which, in her defenceless situation, She was -exposed. She therefore looked forward with impatience to the -Tuesday night. - -It arrived. Antonia listened anxiously to the Carriages, as they -rolled along the Street. None of them stopped, and it grew late -without Leonella's appearing. Still, Antonia resolved to sit up -till her Aunt's arrival, and in spite of all her remonstrances, -Dame Jacintha and Flora insisted upon doing the same. The hours -passed on slow and tediously. Lorenzo's departure from Madrid -had put a stop to the nightly Serenades: She hoped in vain to -hear the usual sound of Guitars beneath her window. She took up -her own, and struck a few chords: But Music that evening had lost -its charms for her, and She soon replaced the Instrument in its -case. She seated herself at her embroidery frame, but nothing -went right: The silks were missing, the thread snapped every -moment, and the needles were so expert at falling that they -seemed to be animated. At length a flake of wax fell from the -Taper which stood near her upon a favourite wreath of Violets: -This compleatly discomposed her; She threw down her needle, and -quitted the frame. It was decreed that for that night nothing -should have the power of amusing her. She was the prey of Ennui, -and employed herself in making fruitless wishes for the arrival -of her Aunt. - -As She walked with a listless air up and down the chamber, the -Door caught her eye conducting to that which had been her -Mother's. She remembered that Elvira's little Library was -arranged there, and thought that She might possibly find in it -some Book to amuse her till Leonella should arrive. Accordingly -She took her Taper from the table, passed through the little -Closet, and entered the adjoining apartment. As She looked -around her, the sight of this room brought to her recollection a -thousand painful ideas. It was the first time of her entering it -since her Mother's death. The total silence prevailing through -the chamber, the Bed despoiled of its furniture, the cheerless -hearth where stood an extinguished Lamp, and a few dying Plants -in the window which, since Elvira's loss, had been neglected, -inspired Antonia with a melancholy awe. The gloom of night gave -strength to this sensation. She placed her light upon the Table, -and sank into a large chair, in which She had seen her Mother -seated a thousand and a thousand times. She was never to see her -seated there again! Tears unbidden streamed down her cheek, and -She abandoned herself to the sadness which grew deeper with -every moment. - -Ashamed of her weakness, She at length rose from her seat: She -proceeded to seek for what had brought her to this melancholy -scene. The small collection of Books was arranged upon several -shelves in order. Antonia examined them without finding any -thing likely to interest her, till She put her hand upon a volume -of old Spanish Ballads. She read a few Stanzas of one of them: -They excited her curiosity. She took down the Book, and seated -herself to peruse it with more ease. She trimmed the Taper, -which now drew towards its end, and then read the following -Ballad. - - ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE - -A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright -Conversed, as They sat on the green: -They gazed on each other with tender delight; -Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight, -The Maid's was the Fair Imogine. - -'And Oh!' said the Youth, 'since to-morrow I go -To fight in a far distant land, -Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow, -Some Other will court you, and you will bestow -On a wealthier Suitor your hand.' - -'Oh! hush these suspicions,' Fair Imogine said, -'Offensive to Love and to me! -For if ye be living, or if ye be dead, -I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead -Shall Husband of Imogine be. - -'If e'er I by lust or by wealth led aside -Forget my Alonzo the Brave, -God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride -Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side, -May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride, -And bear me away to the Grave!' - -To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold; -His Love, She lamented him sore: -But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold, -A Baron all covered with jewels and gold -Arrived at Fair Imogine's door. - -His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain -Soon made her untrue to her vows: -He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain; -He caught her affections so light and so vain, -And carried her home as his Spouse. - -And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest; -The revelry now was begun: -The Tables, they groaned with the weightof the Feast; -Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, -When the Bell of the Castle told,--'One!' - -Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found -That a Stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific; -He uttered no sound; He spoke not, He moved not, -He looked not around, -But earnestly gazed on the Bride. - -His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height; -His armour was sable to view: -All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight; -The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright, -The Lights in the chamber burned blue! - -His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay; -The Guests sat in silence and fear. -At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled; -'I pray, Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay, -And deign to partake of our chear.' - -The Lady is silent: The Stranger complies. -His vizor lie slowly unclosed: -Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eyes! -What words can express her dismay and surprize, -When a Skeleton's head was exposed. - -All present then uttered a terrified shout; -All turned with disgust from the scene. -The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out, -And sported his eyes and his temples about, -While the Spectre addressed Imogine. - -'Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!' He cried; -'Remember Alonzo the Brave! -God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride -My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side, -Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride -And bear thee away to the Grave!' - -Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound, -While loudly She shrieked in dismay; -Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground: -Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found, -Or the Spectre who bore her away. - -Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time -To inhabit the Castle presume: -For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime -There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime, -And mourns her deplorable doom. - -At midnight four times in each year does her Spright -When Mortals in slumber are bound, -Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white, -Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight, -And shriek, as He whirls her around. - -While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave, -Dancing round them the Spectres are seen: -Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave -They howl.--'To the health of Alonzo the Brave, -And his Consort, the False Imogine!' - -The perusal of this story was ill-calculated to dispel Antonia's -melancholy. She had naturally a strong inclination to the -marvellous; and her Nurse, who believed firmly in Apparitions, -had related to her when an Infant so many horrible adventures of -this kind, that all Elvira's attempts had failed to eradicate -their impressions from her Daughter's mind. Antonia still -nourished a superstitious prejudice in her bosom: She was often -susceptible of terrors which, when She discovered their natural -and insignificant cause, made her blush at her own weakness. -With such a turn of mind, the adventure which She had just been -reading sufficed to give her apprehensions the alarm. The hour -and the scene combined to authorize them. It was the dead of -night: She was alone, and in the chamber once occupied by her -deceased Mother. The weather was comfortless and stormy: The -wind howled around the House, the doors rattled in their frames, -and the heavy rain pattered against the windows. No other sound -was heard. The Taper, now burnt down to the socket, sometimes -flaring upwards shot a gleam of light through the room, then -sinking again seemed upon the point of expiring. Antonia's heart -throbbed with agitation: Her eyes wandered fearfully over the -objects around her, as the trembling flame illuminated them at -intervals. She attempted to rise from her seat; But her limbs -trembled so violently that She was unable to proceed. She then -called Flora, who was in a room at no great distance: But -agitation choaked her voice, and her cries died away in hollow -murmurs. - -She passed some minutes in this situation, after which her -terrors began to diminish. She strove to recover herself, and -acquire strength enough to quit the room: Suddenly She fancied, -that She heard a low sigh drawn near her. This idea brought back -her former weakness. She had already raised herself from her -seat, and was on the point of taking the Lamp from the Table. -The imaginary noise stopped her: She drew back her hand, and -supported herself upon the back of a Chair. She listened -anxiously, but nothing more was heard. - -'Gracious God!' She said to herself; 'What could be that sound? -Was I deceived, or did I really hear it?' - -Her reflections were interrupted by a noise at the door scarcely -audible: It seemed as if somebody was whispering. Antonia's -alarm increased: Yet the Bolt She knew to be fastened, and this -idea in some degree reassured her. Presently the Latch was -lifted up softly, and the Door moved with caution backwards and -forwards. Excess of terror now supplied Antonia with that -strength, of which She had till then been deprived. She started -from her place and made towards the Closet door, whence She -might soon have reached the chamber where She expected to find -Flora and Dame Jacintha. Scarcely had She reached the middle of -the room when the Latch was lifted up a second time. An -involuntary movement obliged her to turn her head. Slowly and -gradually the Door turned upon its hinges, and standing upon the -Threshold She beheld a tall thin Figure, wrapped in a white -shroud which covered it from head to foot. - -This vision arrested her feet: She remained as if petrified in -the middle of the apartment. The Stranger with measured and -solemn steps drew near the Table. The dying Taper darted a blue -and melancholy flame as the Figure advanced towards it. Over the -Table was fixed a small Clock; The hand of it was upon the stroke -of three. The Figure stopped opposite to the Clock: It raised -its right arm, and pointed to the hour, at the same time looking -earnestly upon Antonia, who waited for the conclusion of this -scene, motionless and silent. - -The figure remained in this posture for some moments. The clock -struck. When the sound had ceased, the Stranger advanced yet a -few steps nearer Antonia. - -'Yet three days,' said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral; -'Yet three days, and we meet again!' - -Antonia shuddered at the words. - -'We meet again?' She pronounced at length with difficulty: -'Where shall we meet? Whom shall I meet?' - -The figure pointed to the ground with one hand, and with the -other raised the Linen which covered its face. - -'Almighty God! My Mother!' - -Antonia shrieked, and fell lifeless upon the floor. - -Dame Jacintha who was at work in a neighbouring chamber, was -alarmed by the cry: Flora was just gone down stairs to fetch -fresh oil for the Lamp, by which they had been sitting. Jacintha -therefore hastened alone to Antonia's assistance, and great was -her amazement to find her extended upon the floor. She raised -her in her arms, conveyed her to her apartment, and placed her -upon the Bed still senseless. She then proceeded to bathe her -temples, chafe her hands, and use all possible means of bringing -her to herself. With some difficulty She succeeded. Antonia -opened her eyes, and looked round her wildly. - -'Where is She?' She cried in a trembling voice; 'Is She gone? Am -I safe? Speak to me! Comfort me! Oh! speak to me for God's -sake!' - -'Safe from whom, my Child?' replied the astonished Jacintha; -'What alarms you? Of whom are you afraid?' - -'In three days! She told me that we should meet in three days! I -heard her say it! I saw her, Jacintha, I saw her but this -moment!' - -She threw herself upon Jacintha's bosom. - -'You saw her? Saw whom?' - -'My Mother's Ghost!' - -'Christ Jesus!' cried Jacintha, and starting from the Bed, let -fall Antonia upon the pillow, and fled in consternation out of -the room. - -As She hastened down stairs, She met Flora ascending them. - -'Go to your Mistress, Flora,' said She; 'Here are rare doings! -Oh! I am the most unfortunate Woman alive! My House is filled -with Ghosts and dead Bodies, and the Lord knows what besides; Yet -I am sure, nobody likes such company less than I do. But go -your way to Donna Antonia, Flora, and let me go mine.' - -Thus saying, She continued her course to the Street door, which -She opened, and without allowing herself time to throw on her -veil, She made the best of her way to the Capuchin Abbey. In the -meanwhile, Flora hastened to her Lady's chamber, equally -surprized and alarmed at Jacintha's consternation. She found -Antonia lying upon the bed insensible. She used the same means -for her recovery that Jacintha had already employed; But finding -that her Mistress only recovered from one fit to fall into -another, She sent in all haste for a Physician. While expecting -his arrival, She undrest Antonia, and conveyed her to Bed. - -Heedless of the storm, terrified almost out of her senses, -Jacintha ran through the Streets, and stopped not till She -reached the Gate of the Abbey. She rang loudly at the bell, and -as soon as the Porter appeared, She desired permission to speak -to the Superior. Ambrosio was then conferring with Matilda upon -the means of procuring access to Antonia. The cause of Elvira's -death remaining unknown, He was convinced that crimes were not so -swiftly followed by punishment, as his Instructors the Monks had -taught him, and as till then He had himself believed. This -persuasion made him resolve upon Antonia's ruin, for the -enjoyment of whose person dangers and difficulties only seemed to -have increased his passion. The Monk had already made one -attempt to gain admission to her presence; But Flora had refused -him in such a manner as to convince him that all future -endeavours must be vain. Elvira had confided her suspicions to -that trusty Servant: She had desired her never to leave Ambrosio -alone with her Daughter, and if possible to prevent their meeting -altogether. Flora promised to obey her, and had executed her -orders to the very letter. Ambrosio's visit had been rejected -that morning, though Antonia was ignorant of it. He saw that to -obtain a sight of his Mistress by open means was out of the -question; and both Himself and Matilda had consumed the night, in -endeavouring to invent some plan, whose event might be more -successful. Such was their employment, when a Lay-Brother -entered the Abbot's Cell, and informed him that a Woman calling -herself Jacintha Zuniga requested audience for a few minutes. - -Ambrosio was by no means disposed to grant the petition of his -Visitor. He refused it positively, and bad the Lay-Brother tell -the Stranger to return the next day. Matilda interrupted him. - -'See this Woman,' said She in a low voice; 'I have my reasons.' - -The Abbot obeyed her, and signified that He would go to the -Parlour immediately. With this answer the Lay-Brother -withdrew. As soon as they were alone Ambrosio enquired why -Matilda wished him to see this Jacintha. - -'She is Antonia's Hostess,' replied Matilda; 'She may possibly be -of use to you: but let us examine her, and learn what brings her -hither.' - -They proceeded together to the Parlour, where Jacintha was -already waiting for the Abbot. She had conceived a great opinion -of his piety and virtue; and supposing him to have much influence -over the Devil, thought that it must be an easy matter for him to -lay Elvira's Ghost in the Red Sea. Filled with this persuasion -She had hastened to the Abbey. As soon as She saw the Monk enter -the Parlour, She dropped upon her knees, and began her story as -follows. - -'Oh! Reverend Father! Such an accident! Such an adventure! I -know not what course to take, and unless you can help me, I shall -certainly go distracted. Well, to be sure, never was Woman so -unfortunate, as myself! All in my power to keep clear of such -abomination have I done, and yet that all is too little. What -signifies my telling my beads four times a day, and observing -every fast prescribed by the Calendar? What signifies my having -made three Pilgrimages to St. James of Compostella, and purchased -as many pardons from the Pope as would buy off Cain's -punishment? Nothing prospers with me! All goes wrong, and God -only knows, whether any thing will ever go right again! Why now, -be your Holiness the Judge. My Lodger dies in convulsions; Out -of pure kindness I bury her at my own expence; (Not that She is -any Relation of mine, or that I shall be benefited a single -pistole by her death: I got nothing by it, and therefore you -know, reverend Father, that her living or dying was just the same -to me. But that is nothing to the purpose; To return to what I -was saying,) I took care of her funeral, had every thing -performed decently and properly, and put myself to expence -enough, God knows! And how do you think the Lady repays me for -my kindness? Why truly by refusing to sleep quietly in her -comfortable deal Coffin, as a peaceable well-disposed Spirit -ought to do, and coming to plague me, who never wish to set eyes -on her again. Forsooth, it well becomes her to go racketing -about my House at midnight, popping into her Daughter's room -through the Keyhole, and frightening the poor Child out of her -wits! Though She be a Ghost, She might be more civil than to -bolt into a Person's House, who likes her company so little. But -as for me, reverend Father, the plain state of the case is this: -If She walks into my House, I must walk out of it, for I cannot -abide such Visitors, not I! Thus you see, your Sanctity, that -without your assistance I am ruined and undone for ever. I shall -be obliged to quit my House; Nobody will take it, when 'tis known -that She haunts it, and then I shall find myself in a fine -situation! Miserable Woman that I am! What shall I do! What -will become of me!' - -Here She wept bitterly, wrung her hands, and begged to know the -Abbot's opinion of her case. - -'In truth, good Woman,' replied He, 'It will be difficult for me -to relieve you without knowing what is the matter with you. You -have forgotten to tell me what has happened, and what it is you -want.' - -'Let me die' cried Jacintha, 'but your Sanctity is in the right! -This then is the fact stated briefly. A lodger of mine is lately -dead, a very good sort of Woman that I must needs say for her as -far as my knowledge of her went, though that was not a great way: - -She kept me too much at a distance; for indeed She was given to -be upon the high ropes, and whenever I ventured to speak to her, -She had a look with her which always made me feel a little -queerish, God forgive me for saying so. However, though She was -more stately than needful, and affected to look down upon me -(Though if I am well informed, I come of as good Parents as She -could do for her ears, for her Father was a Shoe-maker at -Cordova, and Mine was an Hatter at Madrid, aye, and a very -creditable Hatter too, let me tell you,) Yet for all her pride, -She was a quiet well-behaved Body, and I never wish to have a -better Lodger. This makes me wonder the more at her not sleeping -quietly in her Grave: But there is no trusting to people in this -world! For my part, I never saw her do amiss, except on the -Friday before her death. To be sure, I was then much scandalized -by seeing her eat the wing of a Chicken! ''How, Madona Flora!'' -quoth I; (Flora, may it please your Reverence, is the name of the -waiting Maid)--''How, Madona Flora!'' quoth I; ''Does your -Mistress eat flesh upon Fridays? Well! Well! See the event, -and then remember that Dame Jacintha warned you of it!'' These -were my very words, but Alas! I might as well have held my -tongue! Nobody minded me; and Flora, who is somewhat pert and -snappish, (More is the pity, say I) told me that there was no -more harm in eating a Chicken than the egg from which it came. -Nay, She even declared that if her Lady added a slice of bacon, -She would not be an inch nearer Damnation, God protect us! A -poor ignorant sinful soul! I protest to your Holiness, I -trembled to hear her utter such blasphemies, and expected every -moment to see the ground open and swallow her up, Chicken and -all! For you must know, worshipful Father, that while She talked -thus, She held the plate in her hand, on which lay the identical -roast Fowl. And a fine Bird it was, that I must say for it! Done -to a turn, for I superintended the cooking of it myself: It was -a little Gallician of my own raising, may it please your -Holiness, and the flesh was as white as an egg-shell, as indeed -Donna Elvira told me herself. ''Dame Jacintha,'' said She, very -good-humouredly, though to say the truth, She was always very -polite to me . . . . .' - -Here Ambrosio's patience failed him. Eager to know Jacintha's -business in which Antonia seemed to be concerned, He was almost -distracted while listening to the rambling of this prosing old -Woman. He interrupted her, and protested that if She did not -immediately tell her story and have done with it, He should quit -the Parlour, and leave her to get out of her difficulties by -herself. This threat had the desired effect. Jacintha related -her business in as few words as She could manage; But her account -was still so prolix that Ambrosio had need of his patience to -bear him to the conclusion. - -'And so, your Reverence,' said She, after relating Elvira's death -and burial, with all their circumstances; 'And so, your -Reverence, upon hearing the shriek, I put away my work, and away -posted I to Donna Antonia's chamber. Finding nobody there, I -past on to the next; But I must own, I was a little timorous at -going in, for this was the very room where Donna Elvira used to -sleep. However, in I went, and sure enough, there lay the young -Lady at full length upon the floor, as cold as a stone, and as -white as a sheet. I was surprized at this, as your Holiness may -well suppose; But Oh me! how I shook when I saw a great tall -figure at my elbow whose head touched the ceiling! The face was -Donna Elvira's, I must confess; But out of its mouth came clouds -of fire, its arms were loaded with heavy chains which it rattled -piteously, and every hair on its head was a Serpent as big as my -arm! At this I was frightened enough, and began to say my -Ave-Maria: But the Ghost interrupting me uttered three loud -groans, and roared out in a terrible voice, ''Oh! That Chicken's -wing! My poor soul suffers for it!'' As soon as She had said -this, the Ground opened, the Spectre sank down, I heard a clap of -thunder, and the room was filled with a smell of brimstone. When -I recovered from my fright, and had brought Donna Antonia to -herself, who told me that She had cried out upon seeing her -Mother's Ghost, (And well might She cry, poor Soul! Had I been -in her place, I should have cried ten times louder) it directly -came into my head, that if any one had power to quiet this -Spectre, it must be your Reverence. So hither I came in all -diligence, to beg that you will sprinkle my House with holy -water, and lay the Apparition in the Red Sea.' - -Ambrosio stared at this strange story, which He could not credit. - -'Did Donna Antonia also see the Ghost?' said He. - -'As plain as I see you, Reverend Father!' - -Ambrosio paused for a moment. Here was an opportunity offered -him of gaining access to Antonia, but He hesitated to employ it. -The reputation which He enjoyed in Madrid was still dear to him; -and since He had lost the reality of virtue, it appeared as if -its semblance was become more valuable. He was conscious that -publicly to break through the rule never to quit the -Abbey precincts, would derogate much from his supposed austerity. -In visiting Elvira, He had always taken care to keep his features -concealed from the Domestics. Except by the Lady, her Daughter, -and the faithful Flora, He was known in the Family by no other -name than that of Father Jerome. Should He comply with -Jacintha's request, and accompany her to her House, He knew that -the violation of his rule could not be kept a secret. However, -his eagerness to see Antonia obtained the victory: He even hoped, -that the singularity of this adventure would justify him in the -eyes of Madrid: But whatever might be the consequences, He -resolved to profit by the opportunity which chance had presented -to him. An expressive look from Matilda confirmed him in this -resolution. - -'Good Woman,' said He to Jacintha, 'what you tell me is so -extraordinary that I can scarcely credit your assertions. -However, I will comply with your request. Tomorrow after Matins -you may expect me at your House: I will then examine into what I -can do for you, and if it is in my power, will free you from this -unwelcome Visitor. Now then go home, and peace be with you!' - -'Home?' exclaimed Jacintha; 'I go home? Not I by my troth! -except under your protection, I set no foot of mine within the -threshold. God help me, the Ghost may meet me upon the Stairs, -and whisk me away with her to the devil! Oh! That I had -accepted young Melchior Basco's offer! Then I should have had -somebody to protect me; But now I am a lone Woman, and meet with -nothing but crosses and misfortunes! Thank Heaven, it is not yet -too late to repent! There is Simon Gonzalez will have me any day -of the week, and if I live till daybreak, I will marry him out -of hand: An Husband I will have, that is determined, for now -this Ghost is once in my House, I shall be frightened out of my -wits to sleep alone. But for God's sake, reverend Father, come -with me now. I shall have no rest till the House is purified, or -the poor young Lady either. The dear Girl! She is in a piteous -taking: I left her in strong convulsions, and I doubt, She will -not easily recover her fright.' - -The Friar started, and interrupted her hastily. - -'In convulsions, say you? Antonia in convulsions? Lead on, good -Woman! I follow you this moment!' - -Jacintha insisted upon his stopping to furnish himself with the -vessel of holy water: With this request He complied. Thinking -herself safe under his protection should a Legion of Ghosts -attack her, the old Woman returned the Monk a profusion of -thanks, and they departed together for the Strada di San Iago. - -So strong an impression had the Spectre made upon Antonia, that -for the first two or three hours the Physician declared her life -to be in danger. The fits at length becoming less frequent -induced him to alter his opinion. He said that to keep her quiet -was all that was necessary; and He ordered a medicine to be -prepared which would tranquillize her nerves, and procure her -that repose which at present She much wanted. The sight of -Ambrosio, who now appeared with Jacintha at her Bedside, -contributed essentially to compose her ruffled spirits. Elvira -had not sufficiently explained herself upon the nature of his -designs, to make a Girl so ignorant of the world as her Daughter -aware how dangerous was his acquaintance. At this moment, when -penetrated with horror at the scene which had just past, and -dreading to contemplate the Ghost's prediction, her mind had need -of all the succours of friendship and religion, Antonia regarded -the Abbot with an eye doubly partial. That strong prepossession -in his favour still existed which She had felt for him at first -sight: She fancied, yet knew not wherefore, that his presence -was a safeguard to her from every danger, insult, or misfortune. - -She thanked him gratefully for his visit, and related to him the -adventure, which had alarmed her so seriously. - -The Abbot strove to reassure her, and convince her that the -whole had been a deception of her overheated fancy. The -solitude in which She had passed the Evening, the gloom of night, -the Book which She had been reading, and the Room in which She -sat, were all calculated to place before her such a vision. He -treated the idea of Ghosts with ridicule, and produced strong -arguments to prove the fallacy of such a system. His -conversation tranquillized and comforted her, but did not -convince her. She could not believe that the Spectre had been a -mere creature of her imagination; Every circumstance was -impressed upon her mind too forcibly, to permit her flattering -herself with such an idea. She persisted in asserting that She -had really seen her Mother's Ghost, had heard the period of her -dissolution announced and declared that She never should quit -her bed alive. Ambrosio advised her against encouraging these -sentiments, and then quitted her chamber, having promised to -repeat his visit on the morrow. Antonia received this assurance -with every mark of joy: But the Monk easily perceived that He -was not equally acceptable to her Attendant. Flora obeyed -Elvira's injunctions with the most scrupulous observance. She -examined every circumstance with an anxious eye likely in the -least to prejudice her young Mistress, to whom She had been -attached for many years. She was a Native of Cuba, had followed -Elvira to Spain, and loved the young Antonia with a Mother's -affection. Flora quitted not the room for a moment while the -Abbot remained there: She watched his every word, his every -look, his every action. He saw that her suspicious eye was -always fixed upon him, and conscious that his designs would not -bear inspection so minute, He felt frequently confused and -disconcerted. He was aware that She doubted the purity of his -intentions; that She would never leave him alone with Antonia, -and his Mistress defended by the presence of this vigilant -Observer, He despaired of finding the means to gratify his -passion. - -As He quitted the House, Jacintha met him, and begged that some -Masses might be sung for the repose of Elvira's soul, which She -doubted not was suffering in Purgatory. He promised not to -forget her request; But He perfectly gained the old Woman's -heart by engaging to watch during the whole of the approaching -night in the haunted chamber. Jacintha could find no terms -sufficiently strong to express her gratitude, and the Monk -departed loaded with her benedictions. - -It was broad day when He returned to the Abbey. His first care -was to communicate what had past to his Confident. He felt too -sincere a passion for Antonia to have heard unmoved the -prediction of her speedy death, and He shuddered at the idea of -losing an object so dear to him. Upon this head Matilda -reassured him. She confirmed the arguments which Himself had -already used: She declared Antonia to have been deceived by the -wandering of her brain, by the Spleen which opprest her at the -moment, and by the natural turn of her mind to superstition, and -the marvellous. As to Jacintha's account, the absurdity refuted -itself; The Abbot hesitated not to believe that She had -fabricated the whole story, either confused by terror, or hoping -to make him comply more readily with her request. Having -overruled the Monk's apprehensions, Matilda continued thus. - -'The prediction and the Ghost are equally false; But it must be -your care, Ambrosio, to verify the first. Antonia within three -days must indeed be dead to the world; But She must live for you. - -Her present illness, and this fancy which She has taken into her -head, will colour a plan which I have long meditated, but which -was impracticable without your procuring access to Antonia. She -shall be yours, not for a single night, but for ever. All the -vigilance of her Duenna shall not avail her: You shall riot -unrestrained in the charms of your Mistress. This very day must -the scheme be put in execution, for you have no time to lose. -The Nephew of the Duke of Medina Celi prepares to demand Antonia -for his Bride: In a few days She will be removed to the Palace -of her Relation, the Marquis de las Cisternas, and there She will -be secure from your attempts. Thus during your absence have I -been informed by my Spies, who are ever employed in bringing me -intelligence for your service. Now then listen to me. There is -a juice extracted from certain herbs, known but to few, which -brings on the Person who drinks it the exact image of Death. Let -this be administered to Antonia: You may easily find means to -pour a few drops into her medicine. The effect will be throwing -her into strong convulsions for an hour: After which her blood -will gradually cease to flow, and heart to beat; A mortal -paleness will spread itself over her features, and She will -appear a Corse to every eye. She has no Friends about her: You -may charge yourself unsuspected with the superintendence of her -funeral, and cause her to be buried in the Vaults of St. Clare. -Their solitude and easy access render these Caverns favourable to -your designs. Give Antonia the soporific draught this Evening: -Eight and forty hours after She has drank it, Life will revive to -her bosom. She will then be absolutely in your power: She will -find all resistance unavailing, and necessity will compel her to -receive you in her arms.' - -'Antonia will be in my power!' exclaimed the Monk; 'Matilda, you -transport me! At length then, happiness will be mine, and that -happiness will be Matilda's gift, will be the gift of friendship! - -I shall clasp Antonia in my arms, far from every prying eye, from -every tormenting Intruder! I shall sigh out my soul upon her -bosom; Shall teach her young heart the first rudiments of -pleasure, and revel uncontrouled in the endless variety of her -charms! And shall this delight indeed by mine? Shall I give the -reins to my desires, and gratify every wild tumultuous wish? Oh! -Matilda, how can I express to you my gratitude?' - -'By profiting by my counsels. Ambrosio, I live but to serve you: - -Your interest and happiness are equally mine. Be your person -Antonia's, but to your friendship and your heart I still assert -my claim. Contributing to yours forms now my only pleasure. -Should my exertions procure the gratification of your wishes, I -shall consider my trouble to be amply repaid. But let us lose no -time. The liquor of which I spoke is only to be found in St. -Clare's Laboratory. Hasten then to the Prioress; Request of her -admission to the Laboratory, and it will not be denied. There is -a Closet at the lower end of the great Room, filled with liquids -of different colours and qualities. The Bottle in question -stands by itself upon the third shelf on the left. It contains a -greenish liquor: Fill a small phial with it when you are -unobserved, and Antonia is your own.' - -The Monk hesitated not to adopt this infamous plan. His desires, -but too violent before, had acquired fresh vigour from the sight -of Antonia. As He sat by her bedside, accident had discovered to -him some of those charms which till then had been concealed from -him: He found them even more perfect, than his ardent imagination -had pictured them. Sometimes her white and polished arm was -displayed in arranging the pillow: Sometimes a sudden movement -discovered part of her swelling bosom: But whereever the -new-found charm presented itself, there rested the Friar's -gloting eyes. Scarcely could He master himself sufficiently to -conceal his desires from Antonia and her vigilant Duenna. -Inflamed by the remembrance of these beauties, He entered into -Matilda's scheme without hesitation. - -No sooner were Matins over than He bent his course towards the -Convent of St. Clare: His arrival threw the whole Sisterhood -into the utmost amazement. The Prioress was sensible of the -honour done her Convent by his paying it his first visit, and -strove to express her gratitude by every possible attention. He -was paraded through the Garden, shown all the reliques of Saints -and Martyrs, and treated with as much respect and distinction as -had He been the Pope himself. On his part, Ambrosio received the -Domina's civilities very graciously, and strove to remove her -surprize at his having broken through his resolution. He stated, -that among his penitents, illness prevented many from quitting -their Houses. These were exactly the People who most needed his -advice and the comforts of Religion: Many representations had -been made to him upon this account, and though highly repugnant -to his own wishes, He had found it absolutely necessary for the -service of heaven to change his determination, and quit his -beloved retirement. The Prioress applauded his zeal in his -profession and his charity towards Mankind: She declared that -Madrid was happy in possessing a Man so perfect and -irreproachable. In such discourse, the Friar at length reached -the Laboratory. He found the Closet: The Bottle stood in the -place which Matilda had described, and the Monk seized an -opportunity to fill his phial unobserved with the soporific -liquor. Then having partaken of a Collation in the Refectory, He -retired from the Convent pleased with the success of his visit, -and leaving the Nuns delighted by the honour conferred upon them. - -He waited till Evening before He took the road to Antonia's -dwelling. Jacintha welcomed him with transport, and besought him -not to forget his promise to pass the night in the haunted -Chamber: That promise He now repeated. He found Antonia -tolerably well, but still harping upon the Ghost's prediction. -Flora moved not from her Lady's Bed, and by symptoms yet stronger -than on the former night testified her dislike to the Abbot's -presence. Still Ambrosio affected not to observe them. The -Physician arrived, while He was conversing with Antonia. It was -dark already; Lights were called for, and Flora was compelled to -descend for them herself. However, as She left a third Person in -the room, and expected to be absent but a few minutes, She -believed that She risqued nothing in quitting her post. No -sooner had She left the room, than Ambrosio moved towards the -Table, on which stood Antonia's medicine: It was placed in a -recess of the window. The Physician seated in an armed-chair, -and employed in questioning his Patient, paid no attention to the -proceedings of the Monk. Ambrosio seized the opportunity: He -drew out the fatal Phial, and let a few drops fall into the -medicine. He then hastily left the Table, and returned to the -seat which He had quitted. When Flora made her appearance with -lights, every thing seemed to be exactly as She had left it. - -The Physician declared that Antonia might quit her chamber the -next day with perfect safety. He recommended her following the -same prescription which, on the night before, had procured her a -refreshing sleep: Flora replied that the draught stood ready -upon the Table: He advised the Patient to take it without delay, -and then retired. Flora poured the medicine into a Cup and -presented it to her Mistress. At that moment Ambrosio's courage -failed him. Might not Matilda have deceived him? Might not -Jealousy have persuaded her to destroy her Rival, and substitute -poison in the room of an opiate? This idea appeared so -reasonable that He was on the point of preventing her from -swallowing the medicine. His resolution was adopted too late: -The Cup was already emptied, and Antonia restored it into Flora's -hands. No remedy was now to be found: Ambrosio could only -expect the moment impatiently, destined to decide upon Antonia's -life or death, upon his own happiness or despair. - -Dreading to create suspicion by his stay, or betray himself by -his mind's agitation, He took leave of his Victim, and withdrew -from the room. Antonia parted from him with less cordiality than -on the former night. Flora had represented to her Mistress that -to admit his visits was to disobey her Mother's orders: She -described to her his emotion on entering the room, and the fire -which sparkled in his eyes while He gazed upon her. This had -escaped Antonia's observation, but not her Attendant's; Who -explaining the Monk's designs and their probable consequences in -terms much clearer than Elvira's, though not quite so delicate, -had succeeded in alarming her young Lady, and persuading her to -treat him more distantly than She had done hitherto. The idea of -obeying her Mother's will at once determined Antonia. Though She -grieved at losing his society, She conquered herself sufficiently -to receive the Monk with some degree of reserve and coldness. -She thanked him with respect and gratitude for his former visits, -but did not invite his repeating them in future. It now was not -the Friar's interest to solicit admission to her presence, and He -took leave of her as if not designing to return. Fully -persuaded that the acquaintance which She dreaded was now at an -end, Flora was so much worked upon by his easy compliance that -She began to doubt the justice of her suspicions. As She lighted -him down Stairs, She thanked him for having endeavoured to root -out from Antonia's mind her superstitious terrors of the -Spectre's prediction: She added, that as He seemed interested in -Donna Antonia's welfare, should any change take place in her -situation, She would be careful to let him know it. The Monk in -replying took pains to raise his voice, hoping that Jacintha -would hear it. In this He succeeded; As He reached the foot of -the Stairs with his Conductress, the Landlady failed not to make -her appearance. - -'Why surely you are not going away, reverend Father?' cried She; -'Did you not promise to pass the night in the haunted Chamber? -Christ Jesus! I shall be left alone with the Ghost, and a fine -pickle I shall be in by morning! Do all I could, say all I -could, that obstinate old Brute, Simon Gonzalez, refused to marry -me today; And before tomorrow comes, I suppose, I shall be torn -to pieces, by the Ghosts, and Goblins, and Devils, and what not! -For God's sake, your Holiness, do not leave me in such a woeful -condition! On my bended knees I beseech you to keep your -promise: Watch this night in the haunted chamber; Lay the -Apparition in the Red Sea, and Jacintha remembers you in her -prayers to the last day of her existence!' - -This request Ambrosio expected and desired; Yet He affected to -raise objections, and to seem unwilling to keep his word. He -told Jacintha that the Ghost existed nowhere but in her own -brain, and that her insisting upon his staying all night in the -House was ridiculous and useless. Jacintha was obstinate: She -was not to be convinced, and pressed him so urgently not to leave -her a prey to the Devil, that at length He granted her request. -All this show of resistance imposed not upon Flora, who was -naturally of a suspicious temper. She suspected the Monk to be -acting a part very contrary to his own inclinations, and that He -wished for no better than to remain where He was. She even went -so far as to believe that Jacintha was in his interest; and the -poor old Woman was immediately set down, as no better than a -Procuress. While She applauded herself for having penetrated -into this plot against her Lady's honour, She resolved in secret -to render it fruitless. - -'So then,' said She to the Abbot with a look half-satirical and -half indignant; 'So then you mean to stay here tonight? Do so, -in God's name! Nobody will prevent you. Sit up to watch for the -Ghost's arrival: I shall sit up too, and the Lord grant that I -may see nothing worse than a Ghost! I quit not Donna Antonia's -Bedside during this blessed night: Let me see any one dare to -enter the room, and be He mortal or immortal, be He Ghost, Devil, -or Man, I warrant his repenting that ever He crossed the -threshold!' - -This hint was sufficiently strong, and Ambrosio understood its -meaning. But instead of showing that He perceived her -suspicions; He replied mildly that He approved the Duenna's -precautions, and advised her to persevere in her intention. -This, She assured him faithfully that He might depend upon her -doing. Jacintha then conducted him into the chamber where the -Ghost had appeared, and Flora returned to her Lady's. - -Jacintha opened the door of the haunted room with a trembling -hand: She ventured to peep in; But the wealth of India would not -have tempted her to cross the threshold. She gave the Taper to -the Monk, wished him well through the adventure, and hastened to -be gone. Ambrosio entered. He bolted the door, placed the light -upon the Table, and seated himself in the Chair which on the -former night had sustained Antonia. In spite of Matilda's -assurances that the Spectre was a mere creation of fancy, his -mind was impressed with a certain mysterious horror. He in vain -endeavoured to shake it off. The silence of the night, the story -of the Apparition, the chamber wainscotted with dark oak -pannells, the recollection which it brought with it of the -murdered Elvira, and his incertitude respecting the nature of the -drops given by him to Antonia, made him feel uneasy at his -present situation. But He thought much less of the Spectre, than -of the poison. Should He have destroyed the only object which -rendered life dear to him; Should the Ghost's prediction prove -true; Should Antonia in three days be no more, and He the -wretched cause of her death . . . . . . The supposition was too -horrible to dwell upon. He drove away these dreadful images, and -as often they presented themselves again before him. Matilda had -assured him that the effects of the Opiate would be speedy. He -listened with fear, yet with eagerness, expecting to hear some -disturbance in the adjoining chamber. All was still silent. He -concluded that the drops had not begun to operate. Great was -the stake, for which He now played: A moment would suffice to -decide upon his misery or happiness. Matilda had taught him the -means of ascertaining that life was not extinct for ever: Upon -this assay depended all his hopes. With every instant his -impatience redoubled; His terrors grew more lively, his anxiety -more awake. Unable to bear this state of incertitude, He -endeavoured to divert it by substituting the thoughts of Others -to his own. The Books, as was before mentioned, were ranged upon -shelves near the Table: This stood exactly opposite to the Bed, -which was placed in an Alcove near the Closet door. Ambrosio -took down a Volume, and seated himself by the Table: But his -attention wandered from the Pages before him. Antonia's image -and that of the murdered Elvira persisted to force themselves -before his imagination. Still He continued to read, though his -eyes ran over the characters without his mind being conscious of -their import. Such was his occupation, when He fancied that He -heard a footstep. He turned his head, but nobody was to be seen. - -He resumed his Book; But in a few minutes after the same sound -was repeated, and followed by a rustling noise close behind him. -He now started from his seat, and looking round him, perceived -the Closet door standing half-unclosed. On his first entering -the room He had tried to open it, but found it bolted on the -inside. - -'How is this?' said He to himself; 'How comes this door -unfastened?' - -He advanced towards it: He pushed it open, and looked into the -closet: No one was there. While He stood irresolute, He -thought that He distinguished a groaning in the adjacent -chamber: It was Antonia's, and He supposed that the drops began -to take effect: But upon listening more attentively, He found -the noise to be caused by Jacintha, who had fallen asleep by the -Lady's Bedside, and was snoring most lustily. Ambrosio drew -back, and returned to the other room, musing upon the sudden -opening of the Closet door, for which He strove in vain to -account. - -He paced the chamber up and down in silence. At length He -stopped, and the Bed attracted his attention. The curtain of the -Recess was but half-drawn. He sighed involuntarily. - -'That Bed,' said He in a low voice, 'That Bed was Elvira's! -There has She past many a quiet night, for She was good and -innocent. How sound must have been her sleep! And yet now She -sleeps sounder! Does She indeed sleep? Oh! God grant that She -may! What if She rose from her Grave at this sad and silent -hour? What if She broke the bonds of the Tomb, and glided -angrily before my blasted eyes? Oh! I never could support the -sight! Again to see her form distorted by dying agonies, her -blood-swollen veins, her livid countenance, her eyes bursting -from their sockets with pain! To hear her speak of future -punishment, menace me with Heaven's vengeance, tax me with the -crimes I have committed, with those I am going to commit . . . . -. Great God! What is that?' - -As He uttered these words, his eyes which were fixed upon the -Bed, saw the curtain shaken gently backwards and forwards. The -Apparition was recalled to his mind, and He almost fancied that -He beheld Elvira's visionary form reclining upon the Bed. A few -moments consideration sufficed to reassure him. - -'It was only the wind,' said He, recovering himself. - -Again He paced the chamber; But an involuntary movement of awe -and inquietude constantly led his eye towards the Alcove. He -drew near it with irresolution. He paused before He ascended the -few steps which led to it. He put out his hand thrice to remove -the curtain, and as often drew it back. - -'Absurd terrors!' He cried at length, ashamed of his own -weakness---- - -Hastily he mounted the steps; When a Figure drest in white -started from the Alcove, and gliding by him, made with -precipitation towards the Closet. Madness and despair now -supplied the Monk with that courage, of which He had till then -been destitute. He flew down the steps, pursued the Apparition, -and attempted to grasp it. - -'Ghost, or Devil, I hold you!' He exclaimed, and seized the -Spectre by the arm. - -'Oh! Christ Jesus!' cried a shrill voice; 'Holy Father, how you -gripe me! I protest that I meant no harm!' - -This address, as well as the arm which He held, convinced the -Abbot that the supposed Ghost was substantial flesh and blood. -He drew the Intruder towards the Table, and holding up the light, -discovered the features of . . . . . . Madona Flora! - -Incensed at having been betrayed by this trifling cause into -fears so ridiculous, He asked her sternly, what business had -brought her to that chamber. Flora, ashamed at being found out, -and terrified at the severity of Ambrosio's looks, fell upon her -knees, and promised to make a full confession. - -'I protest, reverend Father,' said She, 'that I am quite grieved -at having disturbed you: Nothing was further from my intention. -I meant to get out of the room as quietly as I got in; and had -you been ignorant that I watched you, you know, it would have -been the same thing as if I had not watched you at all. To be -sure, I did very wrong in being a Spy upon you, that I cannot -deny; But Lord! your Reverence, how can a poor weak Woman resist -curiosity? Mine was so strong to know what you were doing, that -I could not but try to get a little peep, without any body -knowing any thing about it. So with that I left old Dame -Jacintha sitting by my Lady's Bed, and I ventured to steal into -the Closet. Being unwilling to interrupt you, I contented myself -at first with putting my eye to the Keyhole; But as I could see -nothing by this means, I undrew the bolt, and while your back was -turned to the Alcove, I whipt me in softly and silently. Here I -lay snug behind the curtain, till your Reverence found me out, -and seized me ere I had time to regain the Closet door. This is -the whole truth, I assure you, Holy Father, and I beg your pardon -a thousand times for my impertinence.' - -During this speech the Abbot had time to recollect himself: He -was satisfied with reading the penitent Spy a lecture upon the -dangers of curiosity, and the meanness of the action in which She -had been just discovered. Flora declared herself fully -persuaded that She had done wrong; She promised never to be -guilty of the same fault again, and was retiring very humble and -contrite to Antonia's chamber, when the Closet door was suddenly -thrown open, and in rushed Jacintha pale and out of breath. - -'Oh! Father! Father!' She cried in a voice almost choaked with -terror; 'What shall I do! What shall I do! Here is a fine piece -of work! Nothing but misfortunes! Nothing but dead people, and -dying people! Oh! I shall go distracted! I shall go -distracted!' - -'Speak! Speak!' cried Flora and the Monk at the same time; 'What -has happened? What is the matter?' - -'Oh! I shall have another Corse in my House! Some Witch has -certainly cast a spell upon it, upon me, and upon all about me! -Poor Donna Antonia! There She lies in just such convulsions, as -killed her Mother! The Ghost told her true! I am sure, the Ghost -has told her true!' - -Flora ran, or rather flew to her Lady's chamber: Ambrosio -followed her, his bosom trembling with hope and apprehension. -They found Antonia as Jacintha had described, torn by racking -convulsions from which they in vain endeavoured to relieve her. -The Monk dispatched Jacintha to the Abbey in all haste, and -commissioned her to bring Father Pablos back with her, without -losing a moment. - -'I will go for him,' replied Jacintha, 'and tell him to come -hither; But as to bringing him myself, I shall do no such thing. -I am sure that the House is bewitched, and burn me if ever I set -foot in it again.' - -With this resolution She set out for the Monastery, and delivered -to Father Pablos the Abbot's orders. She then betook herself to -the House of old Simon Gonzalez, whom She resolved never to quit, -till She had made him her Husband, and his dwelling her own. - -Father Pablos had no sooner beheld Antonia, than He pronounced -her incurable. The convulsions continued for an hour: During -that time her agonies were much milder than those which her -groans created in the Abbot's heart. Her every pang seemed a -dagger in his bosom, and He cursed himself a thousand times for -having adopted so barbarous a project. The hour being expired, -by degrees the Fits became less frequent, and Antonia less -agitated. She felt that her dissolution was approaching, and -that nothing could save her. - -'Worthy Ambrosio,' She said in a feeble voice, while She pressed -his hand to her lips; 'I am now at liberty to express, how -grateful is my heart for your attention and kindness. I am upon -the bed of death; Yet an hour, and I shall be no more. I may -therefore acknowledge without restraint, that to relinquish your -society was very painful to me: But such was the will of a -Parent, and I dared not disobey. I die without repugnance: -There are few, who will lament my leaving them; There are few, -whom I lament to leave. Among those few, I lament for none more -than for yourself; But we shall meet again, Ambrosio! We shall -one day meet in heaven: There shall our friendship be renewed, -and my Mother shall view it with pleasure!' - -She paused. The Abbot shuddered when She mentioned Elvira: -Antonia imputed his emotion to pity and concern for her. - -'You are grieved for me, Father,' She continued; 'Ah! sigh not -for my loss. I have no crimes to repent, at least none of which -I am conscious, and I restore my soul without fear to him from -whom I received it. I have but few requests to make: Yet let me -hope that what few I have shall be granted. Let a solemn Mass be -said for my soul's repose, and another for that of my beloved -Mother. Not that I doubt her resting in her Grave: I am now -convinced that my reason wandered, and the falsehood of the -Ghost's prediction is sufficient to prove my error. But every -one has some failing: My Mother may have had hers, though I knew -them not: I therefore wish a Mass to be celebrated for her -repose, and the expence may be defrayed by the little wealth of -which I am possessed. Whatever may then remain, I bequeath to my -Aunt Leonella. When I am dead, let the Marquis de las Cisternas -know that his Brother's unhappy family can no longer importune -him. But disappointment makes me unjust: They tell me that He -is ill, and perhaps had it been in his power, He wished to have -protected me. Tell him then, Father, only that I am dead, and -that if He had any faults to me, I forgave him from my heart. -This done, I have nothing more to ask for, than your prayers: -Promise to remember my requests, and I shall resign my life -without a pang or sorrow.' - -Ambrosio engaged to comply with her desires, and proceeded to -give her absolution. Every moment announced the approach of -Antonia's fate: Her sight failed; Her heart beat sluggishly; Her -fingers stiffened, and grew cold, and at two in the morning She -expired without a groan. As soon as the breath had forsaken her -body, Father Pablos retired, sincerely affected at the melancholy -scene. On her part, Flora gave way to the most unbridled sorrow. - -Far different concerns employed Ambrosio: He sought for the -pulse whose throbbing, so Matilda had assured him, would prove -Antonia's death but temporal. He found it; He pressed it; It -palpitated beneath his hand, and his heart was filled with -ecstacy. However, He carefully concealed his satisfaction at the -success of his plan. He assumed a melancholy air, and addressing -himself to Flora, warned her against abandoning herself to -fruitless sorrow. Her tears were too sincere to permit her -listening to his counsels, and She continued to weep unceasingly. - -The Friar withdrew, first promising to give orders himself about -the Funeral, which, out of consideration for Jacintha as He -pretended, should take place with all expedition. Plunged in -grief for the loss of her beloved Mistress, Flora scarcely -attended to what He said. Ambrosio hastened to command the -Burial. He obtained permission from the Prioress, that the Corse -should be deposited in St. Clare's Sepulchre: and on the Friday -Morning, every proper and needful ceremony being performed, -Antonia's body was committed to the Tomb. - -On the same day Leonella arrived at Madrid, intending to present -her young Husband to Elvira. Various circumstances had obliged -her to defer her journey from Tuesday to Friday, and She had no -opportunity of making this alteration in her plans known to her -Sister. As her heart was truly affectionate, and as She had ever -entertained a sincere regard for Elvira and her Daughter, her -surprize at hearing of their sudden and melancholy fate was fully -equalled by her sorrow and disappointment. Ambrosio sent to -inform her of Antonia's bequest: At her solication, He promised, -as soon as Elvira's trifling debts were discharged, to transmit -to her the remainder. This being settled, no other business -detained Leonella in Madrid, and She returned to Cordova with all -diligence. - - - CHAPTER III - -Oh! could I worship aught beneath the skies -That earth hath seen or fancy could devise, -Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, -Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, -With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair, -As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air. - Cowper. - -His whole attention bent upon bringing to justice the Assassins -of his Sister, Lorenzo little thought how severely his interest -was suffering in another quarter. As was before mentioned, He -returned not to Madrid till the evening of that day on which -Antonia was buried. Signifying to the Grand Inquisitor the order -of the Cardinal-Duke (a ceremony not to be neglected, when a -Member of the Church was to be arrested publicly) communicating -his design to his Uncle and Don Ramirez, and assembling a troop -of Attendants sufficiently to prevent opposition, furnished him -with full occupation during the few hours preceding midnight. -Consequently, He had no opportunity to enquire about his -Mistress, and was perfectly ignorant both of her death and her -Mother's. - -The Marquis was by no means out of danger: His delirium was -gone, but had left him so much exhausted that the Physicians -declined pronouncing upon the consequences likely to ensue. As -for Raymond himself, He wished for nothing more earnestly than to -join Agnes in the grave. Existence was hateful to him: He saw -nothing in the world deserving his attention; and He hoped to -hear that Agnes was revenged, and himself given over in the same -moment. - -Followed by Raymond's ardent prayers for success, Lorenzo was at -the Gates of St. Clare a full hour before the time appointed by -the Mother St. Ursula. He was accompanied by his Uncle, by Don -Ramirez de Mello, and a party of chosen Archers. Though in -considerable numbers their appearance created no surprize: A -great Crowd was already assembled before the Convent doors, in -order to witness the Procession. It was naturally supposed that -Lorenzo and his Attendants were conducted thither by the same -design. The Duke of Medina being recognised, the People drew -back, and made way for his party to advance. Lorenzo placed -himself opposite to the great Gate, through which the Pilgrims -were to pass. Convinced that the Prioress could not escape him, -He waited patiently for her appearance, which She was expected to -make exactly at Midnight. - -The Nuns were employed in religious duties established in honour -of St. Clare, and to which no Prophane was ever admitted. The -Chapel windows were illuminated. As they stood on the outside, -the Auditors heard the full swell of the organ, accompanied by a -chorus of female voices, rise upon the stillness of the night. -This died away, and was succeeded by a single strain of harmony: -It was the voice of her who was destined to sustain in the -procession the character of St. Clare. For this office the most -beautiful Virgin of Madrid was always selected, and She upon whom -the choice fell esteemed it as the highest of honours. While -listening to the Music, whose melody distance only seemed to -render sweeter, the Audience was wrapped up in profound -attention. Universal silence prevailed through the Crowd, and -every heart was filled with reverence for religion. Every heart -but Lorenzo's. Conscious that among those who chaunted the -praises of their God so sweetly, there were some who cloaked with -devotion the foulest sins, their hymns inspired him with -detestation at their Hypocrisy. He had long observed with -disapprobation and contempt the superstition which governed -Madrid's Inhabitants. His good sense had pointed out to him the -artifices of the Monks, and the gross absurdity of their -miracles, wonders, and supposititious reliques. He blushed to -see his Countrymen the Dupes of deceptions so ridiculous, and -only wished for an opportunity to free them from their monkish -fetters. That opportunity, so long desired in vain, was at -length presented to him. He resolved not to let it slip, but to -set before the People in glaring colours how enormous were the -abuses but too frequently practised in Monasteries, and how -unjustly public esteem was bestowed indiscriminately upon all who -wore a religious habit. He longed for the moment destined to -unmask the Hypocrites, and convince his Countrymen that a -sanctified exterior does not always hide a virtuous heart. - -The service lasted, till Midnight was announced by the -Convent Bell. That sound being heard, the Music ceased: The -voices died away softly, and soon after the lights disappeared -from the Chapel windows. Lorenzo's heart beat high, when He -found the execution of his plan to be at hand. From the natural -superstition of the People He had prepared himself for some -resistance. But He trusted that the Mother St. Ursula would -bring good reasons to justify his proceeding. He had force with -him to repel the first impulse of the Populace, till his -arguments should be heard: His only fear was lest the Domina, -suspecting his design, should have spirited away the Nun on -whose deposition every thing depended. Unless the Mother St. -Ursula should be present, He could only accuse the Prioress upon -suspicion; and this reflection gave him some little apprehension -for the success of his enterprize. The tranquillity which seemed -to reign through the Convent in some degree re-assured him: -Still He expected the moment eagerly, when the presence of his -Ally should deprive him of the power of doubting. - -The Abbey of Capuchins was only separated from the Convent by the -Garden and Cemetery. The Monks had been invited to assist at the -Pilgrimage. They now arrived, marching two by two with lighted -Torches in their hands, and chaunting Hymns in honour of St. -Clare. Father Pablos was at their head, the Abbot having excused -himself from attending. The people made way for the holy Train, -and the Friars placed themselves in ranks on either side of the -great Gates. A few minutes sufficed to arrange the order of the -Procession. This being settled, the Convent doors were thrown -open, and again the female Chorus sounded in full melody. First -appeared a Band of Choristers: As soon as they had passed, the -Monks fell in two by two, and followed with steps slow and -measured. Next came the Novices; They bore no Tapers, as did the -Professed, but moved on with eyes bent downwards, and seemed to -be occupied by telling their Beads. To them succeeded a young -and lovely Girl, who represented St. Lucia: She held a golden -bason in which were two eyes: Her own were covered by a velvet -bandage, and She was conducted by another Nun habited as an -Angel. She was followed by St. Catherine, a palm-branch in one -hand, a flaming Sword in the other: She was robed in white, and -her brow was ornamented with a sparkling Diadem. After her -appeared St. Genevieve, surrounded by a number of Imps, who -putting themselves into grotesque attitudes, drawing her by the -robe, and sporting round her with antic gestures, endeavoured to -distract her attention from the Book, on which her eyes were -constantly fixed. These merry Devils greatly entertained the -Spectators, who testified their pleasure by repeated bursts of -Laughter. The Prioress had been careful to select a Nun whose -disposition was naturally solemn and saturnine. She had every -reason to be satisfied with her choice: The drolleries of the -Imps were entirely thrown away, and St. Genevieve moved on -without discomposing a muscle. - -Each of these Saints was separated from the Other by a band of -Choristers, exalting her praise in their Hymns, but declaring her -to be very much inferior to St. Clare, the Convent's avowed -Patroness. These having passed, a long train of Nuns appeared, -bearing like the Choristers each a burning Taper. Next came the -reliques of St. Clare, inclosed in vases equally precious for -their materials and workmanship: But they attracted not -Lorenzo's attention. The Nun who bore the heart occupied him -entirely. According to Theodore's description, He doubted not -her being the Mother St. Ursula. She seemed to look round with -anxiety. As He stood foremost in the rank by which the -procession past, her eye caught Lorenzo's. A flush of joy -overspread her till then pallid cheek. She turned to her -Companion eagerly. - -'We are safe!' He heard her whisper; ' 'tis her Brother!' - -His heart being now at ease, Lorenzo gazed with tranquillity upon -the remainder of the show. Now appeared its most brilliant -ornament. It was a Machine fashioned like a throne, rich with -jewels and dazzling with light. It rolled onwards upon -concealed wheels, and was guided by several lovely Children, -dressed as Seraphs. The summit was covered with silver clouds, -upon which reclined the most beautiful form that eyes ever -witnessed. It was a Damsel representing St. Clare: Her dress was -of inestimable price, and round her head a wreath of Diamonds -formed an artificial glory: But all these ornaments yielded to -the lustre of her charms. As She advanced, a murmur of delight -ran through the Crowd. Even Lorenzo confessed secretly, that He -never beheld more perfect beauty, and had not his heart been -Antonia's, it must have fallen a sacrifice to this enchanting -Girl. As it was, He considered her only as a fine Statue: She -obtained from him no tribute save cold admiration, and when She -had passed him, He thought of her no more. - -'Who is She?' asked a By-stander in Lorenzo's hearing. - -'One whose beauty you must often have heard celebrated. Her name -is Virginia de Villa-Franca: She is a Pensioner of St. Clare's -Convent, a Relation of the Prioress, and has been selected with -justice as the ornament of the Procession.' - -The Throne moved onwards. It was followed by the Prioress -herself: She marched at the head of the remaining Nuns with a -devout and sanctified air, and closed the procession. She moved -on slowly: Her eyes were raised to heaven: Her countenance calm -and tranquil seemed abstracted from all sublunary things, and no -feature betrayed her secret pride at displaying the pomp and -opulence of her Convent. She passed along, accompanied by the -prayers and benedictions of the Populace: But how great was the -general confusion and surprize, when Don Ramirez starting -forward, challenged her as his Prisoner. - -For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: -But no sooner did She recover herself, than She exclaimed against -sacrilege and impiety, and called the People to rescue a Daughter -of the Church. They were eagerly preparing to obey her; when Don -Ramirez, protected by the Archers from their rage, commanded them -to forbear, and threatened them with the severest vengeance of -the Inquisition. At that dreaded word every arm fell, every -sword shrunk back into its scabbard. The Prioress herself turned -pale, and trembled. The general silence convinced her that She -had nothing to hope but from innocence, and She besought Don -Ramirez in a faultering voice, to inform her of what crime She -was accused. - -'That you shall know in time,' replied He; 'But first I must -secure the Mother St. Ursula.' - -'The Mother St. Ursula?' repeated the Domina faintly. - -At this moment casting her eyes round, She saw near her Lorenzo -and the Duke, who had followed Don Ramirez. - -'Ah! great God!' She cried, clasping her hands together with a -frantic air; 'I am betrayed!' - -'Betrayed?' replied St. Ursula, who now arrived conducted by some -of the Archers, and followed by the Nun her Companion in the -procession: 'Not betrayed, but discovered. In me recognise your -Accuser: You know not how well I am instructed in your -guilt!--Segnor!' She continued, turning to Don Ramirez; 'I commit -myself to your custody. I charge the Prioress of St. Clare with -murder, and stake my life for the justice of my accusation.' - -A general cry of surprize was uttered by the whole Audience, and -an explanation was demanded loudly.n The trembling Nuns, -terrifiedat the noise and universal confusion, had dispersed, and -fleddifferent ways. Some regained the Convent; Others sought -refugein the dwellings of their Relations; and Many, only -sensible oftheir present danger, and anxious to escape from the -tumult, ran through the Streets, and wandered, they knew not -whither. The lovely Virginia was one of the first to fly: And -in order that She might be better seen and heard, the People -desired that St. Ursula should harangue them from the vacant -Throne. The Nun complied; She ascended the glittering Machine, -and then addressed the surrounding multitude as follows. - -'However strange and unseemly may appear my conduct, when -considered to be adopted by a Female and a Nun, necessity will -justify it most fully. A secret, an horrible secret weighs heavy -upon my soul: No rest can be mine till I have revealed it to the -world, and satisfied that innocent blood which calls from the -Grave for vengeance. Much have I dared to gain this opportunity -of lightening my conscience. Had I failed in my attempt to -reveal the crime, had the Domina but suspected that the mystery -was none to me, my ruin was inevitable. Angels who watch -unceasingly over those who deserve their favour, have enabled me -to escape detection: I am now at liberty to relate a Tale, whose -circumstances will freeze every honest soul with horror. Mine is -the task to rend the veil from Hypocrisy, and show misguided -Parents to what dangers the Woman is exposed, who falls under the -sway of a monastic Tyrant. - -'Among the Votaries of St. Clare, none was more lovely, none more -gentle, than Agnes de Medina. I knew her well; She entrusted to -me every secret of her heart; I was her Friend and Confident, and -I loved her with sincere affection. Nor was I singular in my -attachment. Her piety unfeigned, her willingness to oblige, and -her angelic disposition, rendered her the Darling of all that was -estimable in the Convent. The Prioress herself, proud, -scrupulous and forbidding, could not refuse Agnes that tribute of -approbation which She bestowed upon no one else. Every one has -some fault: Alas! Agnes had her weakness! She violated the laws -of our order, and incurred the inveterate hate of the unforgiving -Domina. St. Clare's rules are severe: But grown antiquated and -neglected, many of late years have either been forgotten, or -changed by universal consent into milder punishments. The -penance, adjudged to the crime of Agnes, was most cruel, most -inhuman! The law had been long exploded: Alas! It still -existed, and the revengeful Prioress now determined to revive it. - -This law decreed that the Offender should be plunged into a -private dungeon, expressly constituted to hide from the world for -ever the Victim of Cruelty and tyrannic superstition. In this -dreadful abode She was to lead a perpetual solitude, deprived of -all society, and believed to be dead by those whom affection -might have prompted to attempt her rescue. Thus was She to -languish out the remainder of her days, with no other food than -bread and water, and no other comfort than the free indulgence of -her tears.' - -The indignation created by this account was so violent, as for -some moments to interrupt St. Ursula's narrative. When the -disturbance ceased, and silence again prevailed through the -Assembly, She continued her discourse, while at every word the -Domina's countenance betrayed her increasing terrors. - -'A Council of the twelve elder Nuns was called: I was of the -number. The Prioress in exaggerated colours described the -offence of Agnes, and scrupled not to propose the revival of this -almost forgotten law. To the shame of our sex be it spoken, that -either so absolute was the Domina's will in the Convent, or so -much had disappointment, solitude, and self-denial hardened their -hearts and sowered their tempers that this barbarous proposal -was assented to by nine voices out of the twelve. I was not one -of the nine. Frequent opportunities had convinced me of the -virtues of Agnes, and I loved and pitied her most sincerely. The -Mothers Bertha and Cornelia joined my party: We made the -strongest opposition possible, and the Superior found herself -compelled to change her intention. In spite of the majority in -her favour, She feared to break with us openly. She knew that -supported by the Medina family, our forces would be too strong -for her to cope with: And She also knew that after being once -imprisoned and supposed dead, should Agnes be discovered, her -ruin would be inevitable. She therefore gave up her design, -though which much reluctance. She demanded some days to reflect -upon a mode of punishment which might be agreeable to the whole -Community; and She promised, that as soon as her resolution was -fixed, the same Council should be again summoned. Two days -passed away: On the Evening of the Third it was announced that -on the next day Agnes should be examined; and that according to -her behaviour on that occasion, her punishment should be either -strengthened or mitigated. - -'On the night preceding this examination, I stole to the Cell of -Agnes at an hour when I supposed the other Nuns to be buried in -sleep. I comforted her to the best of my power: I bad her take -courage, told her to rely upon the support of her friends, and -taught her certain signs, by which I might instruct her to answer -the Domina's questions by an assent or negative. Conscious that -her Enemy would strive to confuse, embarrass, and daunt her, I -feared her being ensnared into some confession prejudicial to her -interests. Being anxious to keep my visit secret, I stayed with -Agnes but a short time. I bad her not let her spirits be cast -down; I mingled my tears with those which streamed down her -cheek, embraced her fondly, and was on the point of retiring, -when I heard the sound of steps approaching the Cell. I started -back. A Curtain which veiled a large Crucifix offered me a -retreat, and I hastened to place myself behind it. The door -opened. The Prioress entered, followed by four other Nuns. They -advanced towards the bed of Agnes. The Superior reproached her -with her errors in the bitterest terms: She told her that She -was a disgrace to the Convent, that She was resolved to deliver -the world and herself from such a Monster, and commanded her to -drink the contents of a Goblet now presented to her by one of the -Nuns. Aware of the fatal properties of the liquor, and trembling -to find herself upon the brink of Eternity, the unhappy Girl -strove to excite the Domina's pity by the most affecting prayers. - -She sued for life in terms which might have melted the heart of a -Fiend: She promised to submit patiently to any punishment, to -shame, imprisonment, and torture, might She but be permitted to -live! Oh! might She but live another month, or week, or day! -Her merciless Enemy listened to her complaints unmoved: She told -her that at first She meant to have spared her life, and that if -She had altered her intention, She had to thank the opposition of -her Friends. She continued to insist upon her swallowing the -poison: She bad her recommend herself to the Almighty's mercy, -not to hers, and assured her that in an hour She would be -numbered with the Dead. Perceiving that it was vain to implore -this unfeeling Woman, She attempted to spring from her bed, and -call for assistance: She hoped, if She could not escape the fate -announced to her, at least to have witnesses of the violence -committed. The Prioress guessed her design. She seized her -forcibly by the arm, and pushed her back upon her pillow. At the -same time drawing a dagger, and placing it at the breast of the -unfortunate Agnes, She protested that if She uttered a single -cry, or hesitated a single moment to drink the poison, She would -pierce her heart that instant. Already half-dead with fear, She -could make no further resistance. The Nun approached with the -fatal Goblet. The Domina obliged her to take it, and swallow the -contents. She drank, and the horrid deed was accomplished. The -Nuns then seated themselves round the Bed. They answered her -groans with reproaches; They interrupted with sarcasms the -prayers in which She recommended her parting soul to mercy: They -threatened her with heaven's vengeance and eternal perdition: -They bad her despair of pardon, and strowed with yet sharper -thorns Death's painful pillow. Such were the sufferings of this -young Unfortunate, till released by fate from the malice of her -Tormentors. She expired in horror of the past, in fears for the -future; and her agonies were such as must have amply gratified -the hate and vengeance of her Enemies. As soon as her Victim -ceased to breathe, the Domina retired, and was followed by her -Accomplices. - -'It was now that I ventured from my concealment. I dared not to -assist my unhappy Friend, aware that without preserving her, I -should only have brought on myself the same destruction. Shocked -and terrified beyond expression at this horrid scene, scarcely -had I sufficient strength to regain my Cell. As I reached the -door of that of Agnes, I ventured to look towards the bed, on -which lay her lifeless body, once so lovely and so sweet! I -breathed a prayer for her departed Spirit, and vowed to revenge -her death by the shame and punishment of her Assassins. With -danger and difficulty have I kept my oath. I unwarily dropped -some words at the funeral of Agnes, while thrown off my guard by -excessive grief, which alarmed the guilty conscience of the -Prioress. My every action was observed; My every step was -traced. I was constantly surrounded by the Superior's spies. It -was long before I could find the means of conveying to the -unhappy Girl's Relations an intimation of my secret. It was -given out that Agnes had expired suddenly: This account was -credited not only by her Friends in Madrid, but even by those -within the Convent. The poison had left no marks upon her body: -No one suspected the true cause of her death, and it remained -unknown to all, save the Assassins and Myself. - -'I have no more to say: For what I have already said, I will -answer with my life. I repeat that the Prioress is a Murderess; -That She has driven from the world, perhaps from heaven, an -Unfortunate whose offence was light and venial; that She has -abused the power intrusted to her hands, and has been a Tyrant, a -Barbarian, and an Hypocrite. I also accuse the four Nuns, -Violante, Camilla, Alix, and Mariana, as being her Accomplices, -and equally criminal.' - -Here St. Ursula ended her narrative. It created horror and -surprize throughout: But when She related the inhuman murder of -Agnes, the indignation of the Mob was so audibly testified, that -it was scarcely possible to hear the conclusion. This confusion -increased with every moment: At length a multitude of voices -exclaimed that the Prioress should be given up to their fury. -To this Don Ramirez refused to consent positively. Even Lorenzo -bad the People remember that She had undergone no trial, and -advised them to leave her punishment to the Inquisition. All -representations were fruitless: The disturbance grew still more -violent, and the Populace more exasperated. In vain did Ramirez -attempt to convey his Prisoner out of the Throng. Wherever He -turned, a band of Rioters barred his passage, and demanded her -being delivered over to them more loudly than before. Ramirez -ordered his Attendants to cut their way through the multitude: -Oppressed by numbers, it was impossible for them to draw their -swords. He threatened the Mob with the vengeance of the -Inquisition: But in this moment of popular phrenzy even this -dreadful name had lost its effect. Though regret for his Sister -made him look upon the Prioress with abhorrence, Lorenzo could -not help pitying a Woman in a situation so terrible: But in -spite of all his exertions, and those of the Duke, of Don -Ramirez, and the Archers, the People continued to press onwards. -They forced a passage through the Guards who protected their -destined Victim, dragged her from her shelter, and proceeded to -take upon her a most summary and cruel vengeance. Wild with -terror, and scarcely knowing what She said, the wretched Woman -shrieked for a moment's mercy: She protested that She was -innocent of the death of Agnes, and could clear herself from the -suspicion beyond the power of doubt. The Rioters heeded nothing -but the gratification of their barbarous vengeance. They refused -to listen to her: They showed her every sort of insult, loaded -her with mud and filth, and called her by the most opprobrious -appellations. They tore her one from another, and each new -Tormentor was more savage than the former. They stifled with -howls and execrations her shrill cries for mercy; and dragged her -through the Streets, spurning her, trampling her, and treating -her with every species of cruelty which hate or vindictive fury -could invent. At length a Flint, aimed by some well-directing -hand, struck her full upon the temple. She sank upon the ground -bathed in blood, and in a few minutes terminated her miserable -existence. Yet though She no longer felt their insults, the -Rioters still exercised their impotent rage upon her lifeless -body. They beat it, trod upon it, and ill-used it, till it -became no more than a mass of flesh, unsightly, shapeless, and -disgusting. - -Unable to prevent this shocking event, Lorenzo and his Friends -had beheld it with the utmost horror: But they were rouzed from -their compelled inactivity, on hearing that the Mob was attacking -the Convent of St. Clare. The incensed Populace, confounding the -innocent with the guilty, had resolved to sacrifice all the Nuns -of that order to their rage, and not to leave one stone of the -building upon another. Alarmed at this intelligence, they -hastened to the Convent, resolved to defend it if possible, or at -least to rescue the Inhabitants from the fury of the Rioters. -Most of the Nuns had fled, but a few still remained in their -habitation. Their situation was truly dangerous. However, as -they had taken the precaution of fastening the inner Gates, with -this assistance Lorenzo hoped to repel the Mob, till Don Ramirez -should return to him with a more sufficient force. - -Having been conducted by the former disturbance to the distance -of some Streets from the Convent, He did not immediately reach -it: When He arrived, the throng surrounding it was so excessive -as to prevent his approaching the Gates. In the interim, the -Populace besieged the Building with persevering rage: They -battered the walls, threw lighted torches in at the windows, and -swore that by break of day not a Nun of St. Clare's order should -be left alive. Lorenzo had just succeeded in piercing his way -through the Crowd, when one of the Gates was forced open. The -Rioters poured into the interior part of the Building, where they -exercised their vengeance upon every thing which found itself in -their passage. They broke the furniture into pieces, tore down -the pictures, destroyed the reliques, and in their hatred of her -Servant forgot all respect to the Saint. Some employed -themselves in searching out the Nuns, Others in pulling down -parts of the Convent, and Others again in setting fire to the -pictures and valuable furniture which it contained. These -Latter produced the most decisive desolation: Indeed the -consequences of their action were more sudden than themselves -had expected or wished. The Flames rising from the burning piles -caught part of the Building, which being old and dry, the -conflagration spread with rapidity from room to room. The Walls -were soon shaken by the devouring element: The Columns gave way: -The Roofs came tumbling down upon the Rioters, and crushed many -of them beneath their weight. Nothing was to be heard but -shrieks and groans; The Convent was wrapped in flames, and the -whole presented a scene of devastation and horror. - -Lorenzo was shocked at having been the cause, however innocent, -of this frightful disturbance: He endeavoured to repair his -fault by protecting the helpless Inhabitants of the Convent. He -entered it with the Mob, and exerted himself to repress the -prevailing Fury, till the sudden and alarming progress of the -flames compelled him to provide for his own safety. The People -now hurried out, as eagerly as they had before thronged in; But -their numbers clogging up the doorway, and the fire gaining upon -them rapidly, many of them perished ere they had time to effect -their escape. Lorenzo's good fortune directed him to a small -door in a farther Aisle of the Chapel. The bolt was already -undrawn: He opened the door, and found himself at the foot of -St. Clare's Sepulchre. - -Here He stopped to breathe. The Duke and some of his Attendants -had followed him, and thus were in security for the present. -They now consulted, what steps they should take to escape from -this scene of disturbance: But their deliberations were -considerably interrupted by the sight of volumes of fire rising -from amidst the Convent's massy walls, by the noise of some heavy -Arch tumbling down in ruins, or by the mingled shrieks of the -Nuns and Rioters, either suffocating in the press, perishing in -the flames, or crushed beneath the weight of the falling Mansion. - -Lorenzo enquired, whither the Wicket led? He was answered, to -the Garden of the Capuchins, and it was resolved to explore an -outlet upon that side. Accordingly the Duke raised the Latch, -and passed into the adjoining Cemetery. The Attendants followed -without ceremony. Lorenzo, being the last, was also on the point -of quitting the Colonnade, when He saw the door of the Sepulchre -opened softly. Someone looked out, but on perceiving Strangers -uttered a loud shriek, started back again, and flew down the -marble Stairs. - -'What can this mean?' cried Lorenzo; 'Here is some mystery -concealed. Follow me without delay!' - -Thus saying, He hastened into the Sepulchre, and pursued the -person who continued to fly before him. The Duke knew not the -cause of his exclamation, but supposing that He had good reasons -for it, he followed him without hesitation. The Others did the -same, and the whole Party soon arrived at the foot of the Stairs. - -The upper door having been left open, the neighbouring flames -darted from above a sufficient light to enable Lorenzo's catching -a glance of the Fugitive running through the long passages and -distant Vaults: But when a sudden turn deprived him of this -assistance, total darkness succeeded, and He could only trace the -object of his enquiry by the faint echo of retiring feet. The -Pursuers were now compelled to proceed with caution: As well as -they could judge, the Fugitive also seemed to slacken pace, for -they heard the steps follow each other at longer intervals. They -at length were bewildered by the Labyrinth of passages, and -dispersed in various directions. Carried away by his eagerness -to clear up this mystery, and to penetrate into which He was -impelled by a movement secret and unaccountable, Lorenzo heeded -not this circumstance till He found himself in total solitude. -The noise of footsteps had ceased. All was silent around, and -no clue offered itself to guide him to the flying Person. He -stopped to reflect on the means most likely to aid his pursuit. -He was persuaded that no common cause would have induced the -Fugitive to seek that dreary place at an hour so unusual: The -cry which He had heard, seemed uttered in a voice of terror, and -He was convinced that some mystery was attached to this event. -After some minutes past in hesitation He continued to proceed, -feeling his way along the walls of the passage. He had already -past some time in this slow progress, when He descried a spark of -light glimmering at a distance. Guided by this observation, and -having drawn his sword, He bent his steps towards the place, -whence the beam seemed to be emitted. - -It proceeded from the Lamp which flamed before St. Clare's -Statue. Before it stood several Females, their white Garments -streaming in the blast, as it howled along the vaulted dungeons. -Curious to know what had brought them together in this melancholy -spot, Lorenzo drew near with precaution. The Strangers seemed -earnestly engaged in conversation. They heard not Lorenzo's -steps, and He approached unobserved, till He could hear their -voices distinctly. - -'I protest,' continued She who was speaking when He arrived, and -to whom the rest were listening with great attention; 'I protest, -that I saw them with my own eyes. I flew down the steps; They -pursued me, and I escaped falling into their hands with -difficulty. Had it not been for the Lamp, I should never have -found you.' - -'And what could bring them hither?' said another in a trembling -voice; 'Do you think that they were looking for us?' - -'God grant that my fears may be false,' rejoined the First; 'But -I doubt they are Murderers! If they discover us, we are lost! -As for me, my fate is certain: My affinity to the Prioress will -be a sufficient crime to condemn me; and though till now these -Vaults have afforded me a retreat. . . . . . .' - -Here looking up, her eye fell upon Lorenzo, who had continued to -approach softly. - -'The Murderers!' She cried-- - -She started away from the Statue's Pedestal on which She had been -seated, and attempted to escape by flight. Her Companions at the -same moment uttered a terrified scream, while Lorenzo arrested -the Fugitive by the arm. Frightened and desperate She sank upon -her knees before him. - -'Spare me!' She exclaimed; 'For Christ's sake, spare me! I am -innocent, indeed, I am!' - -While She spoke, her voice was almost choaked with fear. The -beams of the Lamp darting full upon her face which was unveiled, -Lorenzo recognized the beautiful Virginia de Villa-Franca. He -hastened to raise her from the ground, and besought her to take -courage. He promised to protect her from the Rioters, assured -her that her retreat was still a secret, and that She might -depend upon his readiness to defend her to the last drop of his -blood. During this conversation, the Nuns had thrown themselves -into various attitudes: One knelt, and addressed herself to -heaven; Another hid her face in the lap of her Neighbour; Some -listened motionless with fear to the discourse of the supposed -Assassin; while Others embraced the Statue of St. Clare, and -implored her protection with frantic cries. On perceiving their -mistake, they crowded round Lorenzo and heaped benedictions on -him by dozens. He found that, on hearing the threats of the Mob, -and terrified by the cruelties which from the Convent Towers -they had seen inflicted on the Superior, many of the Pensioners -and Nuns had taken refuge in the Sepulchre. Among the former was -to be reckoned the lovely Virginia. Nearly related to the -Prioress, She had more reason than the rest to dread the Rioters, -and now besought Lorenzo earnestly not to abandon her to their -rage. Her Companions, most of whom were Women of noble family, -made the same request, which He readily granted. He promised not -to quit them, till He had seen each of them safe in the arms of -her Relations: But He advised their deferring to quit the -Sepulchre for some time longer, when the popular fury should be -somewhat calmed, and the arrival of military force have dispersed -the multitude. - -'Would to God!' cried Virginia, 'That I were already safe in my -Mother's embraces! How say you, Segnor; Will it be long, ere we -may leave this place? Every moment that I pass here, I pass in -torture!' - -'I hope, not long,' said He; 'But till you can proceed with -security, this Sepulchre will prove an impenetrable asylum. Here -you run no risque of a discovery, and I would advise your -remaining quiet for the next two or three hours.' - -'Two or three hours?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'If I stay another -hour in these vaults, I shall expire with fear! Not the wealth -of worlds should bribe me to undergo again what I have suffered -since my coming hither. Blessed Virgin! To be in this melancholy -place in the middle of night, surrounded by the mouldering bodies -of my deceased Companions, and expecting every moment to be torn -in pieces by their Ghosts who wander about me, and complain, and -groan, and wail in accents that make my blood run cold, . . . . . -. Christ Jesus! It is enough to drive me to madness!' - -'Excuse me,' replied Lorenzo, 'if I am surprized that while -menaced by real woes you are capable of yielding to imaginary -dangers. These terrors are puerile and groundless: Combat them, -holy Sister; I have promised to guard you from the Rioters, but -against the attacks of superstition you must depend for -protection upon yourself. The idea of Ghosts is ridiculous in the -extreme; And if you continue to be swayed by ideal terrors . . . -. . .' - -'Ideal?' exclaimed the Nuns with one voice; 'Why we heard it -ourselves, Segnor! Every one of us heard it! It was frequently -repeated, and it sounded every time more melancholy and deep. -You will never persuade me that we could all have been deceived. -Not we, indeed; No, no; Had the noise been merely created by -fancy . . . .' - -'Hark! Hark!' interrupted Virginia in a voice of terror; 'God -preserve us! There it is again!' - -The Nuns clasped their hands together, and sank upon their knees. - -Lorenzo looked round him eagerly, and was on the point of -yielding to the fears which already had possessed the Women. -Universal silence prevailed. He examined the Vault, but nothing -was to be seen. He now prepared to address the Nuns, and -ridicule their childish apprehensions, when his attention was -arrested by a deep and long-drawn groan. - -'What was that?' He cried, and started. - -'There, Segnor!' said Helena; 'Now you must be convinced! You -have heard the noise yourself! Now judge, whether our terrors -are imaginary. Since we have been here, that groaning has been -repeated almost every five minutes. Doubtless, it proceeds from -some Soul in pain, who wishes to be prayed out of purgatory: But -none of us here dares ask it the question. As for me, were I to -see an Apparition, the fright, I am very certain, would kill me -out of hand.' - -As She said this, a second groan was heard yet more distinctly. -The Nuns crossed themselves, and hastened to repeat their prayers -against evil Spirits. Lorenzo listened attentively. He even -thought that He could distinguish sounds, as of one speaking in -complaint; But distance rendered them inarticulate. The noise -seemed to come from the midst of the small Vault in which He and -the Nuns then were, and which a multitude of passages branching -out in various directions, formed into a sort of Star. Lorenzo's -curiosity which was ever awake, made him anxious to solve this -mystery. He desired that silence might be kept. The Nuns obeyed -him. All was hushed, till the general stillness was again -disturbed by the groaning, which was repeated several times -successively. He perceived it to be most audible, when upon -following the sound He was conducted close to the shrine of St. -Clare; - -'The noise comes from hence,' said He; 'Whose is this Statue?' - -Helena, to whom He addressed the question, paused for a moment. -Suddenly She clapped her hands together. - -'Aye!' cried She, 'it must be so. I have discovered the meaning -of these groans.' - -The Nuns crowded round her, and besought her eagerly to explain -herself. She gravely replied that for time immemorial the -Statue had been famous for performing miracles: From this She -inferred that the Saint was concerned at the conflagration of a -Convent which She protected, and expressed her grief by audible -lamentations. Not having equal faith in the miraculous Saint, -Lorenzo did not think this solution of the mystery quite so -satisfactory, as the Nuns, who subscribed to it without -hesitation. In one point, 'tis true, that He agreed with Helena. - -He suspected that the groans proceeded from the Statue: The more -He listened, the more was He confirmed in this idea. He drew -nearer to the Image, designing to inspect it more closely: But -perceiving his intention, the Nuns besought him for God's sake to -desist, since if He touched the Statue, his death was inevitable. - -'And in what consists the danger?' said He. - -'Mother of God! In what?' replied Helena, ever eager to relate a -miraculous adventure; 'If you had only heard the hundredth part -of those marvellous Stories about this Statue which the Domina -used to recount! She assured us often and often, that if we only -dared to lay a finger upon it, we might expect the most fatal -consequences. Among other things She told us that a Robber -having entered these Vaults by night, He observed yonder Ruby, -whose value is inestimable. Do you see it, Segnor? It sparkles -upon the third finger of the hand, in which She holds a crown of -Thorns. This Jewel naturally excited the Villain's cupidity. He -resolved to make himself Master of it. For this purpose He -ascended the Pedestal: He supported himself by grasping the -Saint's right arm, and extended his own towards the Ring. What -was his surprize, when He saw the Statue's hand raised in a -posture of menace, and heard her lips pronounce his eternal -perdition! Penetrated with awe and consternation, He desisted -from his attempt, and prepared to quit the Sepulchre. In this He -also failed. Flight was denied him. He found it impossible to -disengage the hand, which rested upon the right arm of the -Statue. In vain did He struggle: He remained fixed to the -Image, till the insupportable and fiery anguish which darted -itself through his veins, compelled his shrieking for assistance. - -The Sepulchre was now filled with Spectators. The Villain -confessed his sacrilege, and was only released by the separation -of his hand from his body. It has remained ever since fastened -to the Image. The Robber turned Hermit, and led ever after an -exemplary life: But yet the Saint's decree was performed, and -Tradition says that He continues to haunt this Sepulchre, and -implore St. Clare's pardon with groans and lamentations. Now I -think of it, those which we have just heard, may very possibly -have been uttered by the Ghost of this Sinner: But of this I will -not be positive. All that I can say is, that since that time no -one has ever dared to touch the Statue: Then do not be -foolhardy, good Segnor! For the love of heaven, give up your -design, nor expose yourself unnecessarily to certain -destruction.' - -Not being convinced that his destruction would be so certain as -Helena seemed to think it, Lorenzo persisted in his resolution. -The Nuns besought him to desist in piteous terms, and even -pointed out the Robber's hand, which in effect was still visible -upon the arm of the Statue. This proof, as they imagined, must -convince him. It was very far from doing so; and they were -greatly scandalized when he declared his suspicion that the -dried and shrivelled fingers had been placed there by order of -the Prioress. In spite of their prayers and threats He -approached the Statue. He sprang over the iron Rails which -defended it, and the Saint underwent a thorough examination. -The Image at first appeared to be of Stone, but proved on further -inspection to be formed of no more solid materials than coloured -Wood. He shook it, and attempted to move it; But it appeared to -be of a piece with the Base which it stood upon. He examined it -over and over: Still no clue guided him to the solution of this -mystery, for which the Nuns were become equally solicitous, when -they saw that He touched the Statue with impunity. He paused, -and listened: The groans were repeated at intervals, and He was -convinced of being in the spot nearest to them. He mused upon -this singular event, and ran over the Statue with enquiring eyes. -Suddenly they rested upon the shrivelled hand. It struck him, -that so particular an injunction was not given without cause, not -to touch the arm of the Image. He again ascended the Pedestal; -He examined the object of his attention, and discovered a small -knob of iron concealed between the Saint's shoulder and what was -supposed to have been the hand of the Robber. This observation -delighted him. He applied his fingers to the knob, and pressed -it down forcibly. Immediately a rumbling noise was heard within -the Statue, as if a chain tightly stretched was flying back. -Startled at the sound the timid Nuns started away, prepared to -hasten from the Vault at the first appearance of danger. All -remaining quiet and still, they again gathered round Lorenzo, and -beheld his proceedings with anxious curiosity. - -Finding that nothing followed this discovery, He descended. As -He took his hand from the Saint, She trembled beneath his touch. -This created new terrors in the Spectators, who believed the -Statue to be animated. Lorenzo's ideas upon the subject were -widely different. He easily comprehended that the noise which He -had heard, was occasioned by his having loosened a chain which -attached the Image to its Pedestal. He once more attempted to -move it, and succeeded without much exertion. He placed it upon -the ground, and then perceived the Pedestal to be hollow, and -covered at the opening with an heavy iron grate. - -This excited such general curiosity that the Sisters forgot both -their real and imaginary dangers. Lorenzo proceeded to raise the -Grate, in which the Nuns assisted him to the utmost of their -strength. The attempt was accomplished with little difficulty. -A deep abyss now presented itself before them, whose thick -obscurity the eye strove in vain to pierce. The rays of the Lamp -were too feeble to be of much assistance. Nothing was -discernible, save a flight of rough unshapen steps which sank -into the yawning Gulph and were soon lost in darkness. The -groans were heard no more; But All believed them to have ascended -from this Cavern. As He bent over it, Lorenzo fancied that He -distinguished something bright twinkling through the gloom. He -gazed attentively upon the spot where it showed itself, and was -convinced that He saw a small spark of light, now visible, now -disappearing. He communicated this circumstance to the Nuns: -They also perceived the spark; But when He declared his intention -to descend into the Cave, they united to oppose his resolution. -All their remonstrances could not prevail on him to alter it. -None of them had courage enough to accompany him; neither could -He think of depriving them of the Lamp. Alone therefore, and in -darkness, He prepared to pursue his design, while the Nuns were -contented to offer up prayers for his success and safety. - -The steps were so narrow and uneven, that to descend them was -like walking down the side of a precipice. The obscurity by -which He was surrounded rendered his footing insecure. He was -obliged to proceed with great caution, lest He should miss the -steps and fall into the Gulph below him. This He was several -times on the point of doing. However, He arrived sooner upon -solid ground than He had expected: He now found that the thick -darkness and impenetrable mists which reigned through the Cavern -had deceived him into the belief of its being much more profound -than it proved upon inspection. He reached the foot of the -Stairs unhurt: He now stopped, and looked round for the spark -which had before caught his attention. He sought it in vain: All -was dark and gloomy. He listened for the groans; But his ear -caught no sound, except the distant murmur of the Nuns above, as -in low voices they repeated their Ave-Marias. He stood -irresolute to which side He should address his steps. At all -events He determined to proceed: He did so, but slowly, fearing -lest instead of approaching, He should be retiring from the -object of his search. The groans seemed to announce one in pain, -or at least in sorrow, and He hoped to have the power of -relieving the Mourner's calamities. A plaintive tone, sounding -at no great distance, at length reached his hearing; He bent his -course joyfully towards it. It became more audible as He -advanced; and He soon beheld again the spark of light, which a -low projecting Wall had hitherto concealed from him. - -It proceeded from a small Lamp which was placed upon an heap of -stones, and whose faint and melancholy rays served rather to -point out, than dispell the horrors of a narrow gloomy dungeon -formed in one side of the Cavern; It also showed several other -recesses of similar construction, but whose depth was buried in -obscurity. Coldly played the light upon the damp walls, whose -dew-stained surface gave back a feeble reflection. A thick and -pestilential fog clouded the height of the vaulted dungeon. As -Lorenzo advanced, He felt a piercing chillness spread itself -through his veins. The frequent groans still engaged him to move -forwards. He turned towards them, and by the Lamp's glimmering -beams beheld in a corner of this loathsome abode, a Creature -stretched upon a bed of straw, so wretched, so emaciated, so -pale, that He doubted to think her Woman. She was half-naked: -Her long dishevelled hair fell in disorder over her face, and -almost entirely concealed it. One wasted Arm hung listlessly -upon a tattered rug which covered her convulsed and shivering -limbs: The Other was wrapped round a small bundle, and held it -closely to her bosom. A large Rosary lay near her: Opposite to -her was a Crucifix, on which She bent her sunk eyes fixedly, and -by her side stood a Basket and a small Earthen Pitcher. - -Lorenzo stopped: He was petrified with horror. He gazed upon -the miserable Object with disgust and pity. He trembled at the -spectacle; He grew sick at heart: His strength failed him, and -his limbs were unable to support his weight. He was obliged to -lean against the low Wall which was near him, unable to go -forward, or to address the Sufferer. She cast her eyes towards -the Staircase: The Wall concealed Lorenzo, and She observed him -not. - -'No one comes!' She at length murmured. - -As She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat: -She sighed bitterly. - -'No one comes!' She repeated; 'No! They have forgotten me! They -will come no more!' - -She paused for a moment: Then continued mournfully. - -'Two days! Two long, long days, and yet no food! And yet no -hope, no comfort! Foolish Woman! How can I wish to lengthen a -life so wretched! Yet such a death! O! God! To perish by such -a death! To linger out such ages in torture! Till now, I knew -not what it was to hunger! Hark! No. No one comes! They will -come no more!' - -She was silent. She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked -shoulders. - -'I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon! - -'Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet -not feel it--I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!' - -She looked at the bundle which lay upon her breast. She bent -over it, and kissed it: Then drew back hastily, and shuddered -with disgust. - -'It was once so sweet! It would have been so lovely, so like -him! I have lost it for ever! How a few days have changed it! -I should not know it again myself! Yet it is dear to me! God! -how dear! I will forget what it is: I will only remember what it -was, and love it as well, as when it was so sweet! so lovely! so -like him! I thought that I had wept away all my tears, but here -is one still lingering.' - -She wiped her eyes with a tress of her hair. She put out her -hand for the Pitcher, and reached it with difficulty. She cast -into it a look of hopeless enquiry. She sighed, and replaced it -upon the ground. - -'Quite a void! Not a drop! Not one drop left to cool my -scorched-up burning palate! Now would I give treasures for a -draught of water! And they are God's Servants, who make me -suffer thus! They think themselves holy, while they torture me -like Fiends! They are cruel and unfeeling; And 'tis they who bid -me repent; And 'tis they, who threaten me with eternal perdition! -Saviour, Saviour! You think not so!' - -She again fixed her eyes upon the Crucifix, took her Rosary, and -while She told her beads, the quick motion of her lips declared -her to be praying with fervency. - -While He listened to her melancholy accents, Lorenzo's -sensibility became yet more violently affected. The first sight -of such misery had given a sensible shock to his feelings: But -that being past, He now advanced towards the Captive. She heard -his steps, and uttering a cry of joy, dropped the Rosary. - -'Hark! Hark! Hark!' She cried: 'Some one comes!' - -She strove to raise herself, but her strength was unequal to the -attempt: She fell back, and as She sank again upon the bed of -straw, Lorenzo heard the rattling of heavy chains. He still -approached, while the Prisoner thus continued. - -'Is it you, Camilla? You are come then at last? Oh! it was -time! I thought that you had forsaken me; that I was doomed to -perish of hunger. Give me to drink, Camilla, for pity's sake! I -am faint with long fasting, and grown so weak that I cannot raise -myself from the ground. Good Camilla, give me to drink, lest I -expire before you!' - -Fearing that surprize in her enfeebled state might be fatal, -Lorenzo was at a loss how to address her. - -'It is not Camilla,' said He at length, speaking in a slow and -gentle voice. - -'Who is it then?' replied the Sufferer: 'Alix, perhaps, or -Violante. My eyes are grown so dim and feeble that I cannot -distinguish your features. But whichever it is, if your breast -is sensible of the least compassion, if you are not more cruel -than Wolves and Tigers, take pity on my sufferings. You know -that I am dying for want of sustenance. This is the third day, -since these lips have received nourishment. Do you bring me -food? Or come you only to announce my death, and learn how long -I have yet to exist in agony?' - -'You mistake my business,' replied Lorenzo; 'I am no Emissary of -the cruel Prioress. I pity your sorrows, and come hither to -relieve them.' - -'To relieve them?' repeated the Captive; 'Said you, to relieve -them?' - -At the same time starting from the ground, and supporting herself -upon her hands, She gazed upon the Stranger earnestly. - -'Great God! It is no illusion! A Man! Speak! Who are you? -What brings you hither? Come you to save me, to restore me to -liberty, to life and light? Oh! speak, speak quickly, lest I -encourage an hope whose disappointment will destroy me.' - -'Be calm!' replied Lorenzo in a voice soothing and compassionate; -'The Domina of whose cruelty you complain, has already paid the -forfeit of her offences: You have nothing more to fear from her. - -A few minutes will restore you to liberty, and the embraces of -your Friends from whom you have been secluded. You may rely upon -my protection. Give me your hand, and be not fearful. Let me -conduct you where you may receive those attentions which your -feeble state requires.' - -'Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!' cried the Prisoner with an exulting -shriek; 'There is a God then, and a just one! Joy! Joy! I shall -once more breath the fresh air, and view the light of the -glorious sunbeams! I will go with you! Stranger, I will go with -you! Oh! Heaven will bless you for pitying an Unfortunate! But -this too must go with me,' She added pointing to the small -bundle which She still clasped to her bosom; 'I cannot part with -this. I will bear it away: It shall convince the world how -dreadful are the abodes so falsely termed religious. Good -Stranger, lend me your hand to rise: I am faint with want, and -sorrow, and sickness, and my forces have quite forsaken me! So, -that is well!' - -As Lorenzo stooped to raise her, the beams of the Lamp struck -full upon his face. - -'Almighty God!' She exclaimed; 'Is it possible! That look! -Those features! Oh! Yes, it is, it is . . . . .' - -She extended her arms to throw them round him; But her enfeebled -frame was unable to sustain the emotions which agitated her -bosom. She fainted, and again sank upon the bed of straw. - -Lorenzo was surprized at her last exclamation. He thought that -He had before heard such accents as her hollow voice had just -formed, but where He could not remember. He saw that in her -dangerous situation immediate physical aid was absolutely -necessary, and He hastened to convey her from the dungeon. He -was at first prevented from doing so by a strong chain fastened -round the prisoner's body, and fixing her to the neighbouring -Wall. However, his natural strength being aided by anxiety to -relieve the Unfortunate, He soon forced out the Staple to which -one end of the Chain was attached. Then taking the Captive in his -arms, He bent his course towards the Staircase. The rays of the -Lamp above, as well as the murmur of female voices, guided his -steps. He gained the Stairs, and in a few minutes after arrived -at the iron-grate. - -The Nuns during his absence had been terribly tormented by -curiosity and apprehension: They were equally surprized and -delighted on seeing him suddenly emerge from the Cave. Every -heart was filled with compassion for the miserable Creature whom -He bore in his arms. While the Nuns, and Virginia in particular, -employed themselves in striving to recall her to her senses, -Lorenzo related in few words the manner of his finding her. He -then observed to them that by this time the tumult must have been -quelled, and that He could now conduct them to their Friends -without danger. All were eager to quit the Sepulchre: Still to -prevent all possibility of ill-usage, they besought Lorenzo to -venture out first alone, and examine whether the Coast was -clear. With this request He complied. Helena offered to conduct -him to the Staircase, and they were on the point of departing, -when a strong light flashed from several passages upon the -adjacent walls. At the same time Steps were heard of people -approaching hastily, and whose number seemed to be considerable. -The Nuns were greatly alarmed at this circumstance: They -supposed their retreat to be discovered, and the Rioters to be -advancing in pursuit of them. Hastily quitting the Prisoner who -remained insensible, they crowded round Lorenzo, and claimed his -promise to protect them. Virginia alone forgot her own danger by -striving to relieve the sorrows of Another. She supported the -Sufferer's head upon her knees, bathing her temples with -rose-water, chafing her cold hands, and sprinkling her face with -tears which were drawn from her by compassion. The Strangers -approaching nearer, Lorenzo was enabled to dispel the fears of -the Suppliants. His name, pronounced by a number of voices among -which He distinguished the Duke's, pealed along the Vaults, and -convinced him that He was the object of their search. He -communicated this intelligence to the Nuns, who received it with -rapture. A few moments after confirmed his idea. Don Ramirez, -as well as the Duke, appeared, followed by Attendants with -Torches. They had been seeking him through the Vaults, in order -to let him know that the Mob was dispersed, and the riot entirely -over. Lorenzo recounted briefly his adventure in the Cavern, and -explained how much the Unknown was in want of medical -assistance. He besought the Duke to take charge of her, as well -as of the Nuns and Pensioners. - -'As for me,' said He, 'Other cares demand my attention. While -you with one half of the Archers convey these Ladies to their -respective homes, I wish the other half to be left with me. I -will examine the Cavern below, and pervade the most secret -recesses of the Sepulchre. I cannot rest till convinced that -yonder wretched Victim was the only one confined by Superstition -in these vaults.' - -The Duke applauded his intention. Don Ramirez offered to assist -him in his enquiry, and his proposal was accepted with gratitude. - -The Nuns having made their acknowledgments to Lorenzo, committed -themselves to the care of his Uncle, and were conducted from the -Sepulchre. Virginia requested that the Unknown might be given to -her in charge, and promised to let Lorenzo know whenever She was -sufficiently recovered to accept his visits. In truth, She made -this promise more from consideration for herself than for either -Lorenzo or the Captive. She had witnessed his politeness, -gentleness, and intrepidity with sensible emotion. She wished -earnestly to preserve his acquaintance; and in addition to the -sentiments of pity which the Prisoner excited, She hoped that her -attention to this Unfortunate would raise her a degree in the -esteem of Lorenzo. She had no occasion to trouble herself upon -this head. The kindness already displayed by her and the tender -concern which She had shown for the Sufferer had gained her an -exalted place in his good graces. While occupied in alleviating -the Captive's sorrows, the nature of her employment adorned her -with new charms, and rendered her beauty a thousand times more -interesting. Lorenzo viewed her with admiration and delight: He -considered her as a ministering Angel descended to the aid of -afflicted innocence; nor could his heart have resisted her -attractions, had it not been steeled by the remembrance of -Antonia. - -The Duke now conveyed the Nuns in safety to the Dwellings of -their respective Friends. The rescued Prisoner was still -insensible and gave no signs of life, except by occasional -groans. She was borne upon a sort of litter; Virginia, who was -constantly by the side of it, was apprehensive that exhausted by -long abstinence, and shaken by the sudden change from bonds and -darkness to liberty and light, her frame would never get the -better of the shock. Lorenzo and Don Ramirez still remained in -the Sepulchre. After deliberating upon their proceedings, it was -resolved that to prevent losing time, the Archers should be -divided into two Bodies: That with one Don Ramirez should -examine the cavern, while Lorenzo with the other might penetrate -into the further Vaults. This being arranged, and his Followers -being provided with Torches, Don Ramirez advanced to the Cavern. -He had already descended some steps when He heard People -approaching hastily from the interior part of the Sepulchre. -This surprized him, and He quitted the Cave precipitately. - -'Do you hear footsteps?' said Lorenzo; 'Let us bend our course -towards them. 'Tis from this side that they seem to proceed.' - -At that moment a loud and piercing shriek induced him to quicken -his steps. - -'Help! Help, for God's sake! cried a voice, whose melodious -tone penetrated Lorenzo's heart with terror. - -He flew towards the cry with the rapidity of lightning, and was -followed by Don Ramirez with equal swiftness. - - - CHAPTER IV - -Great Heaven! How frail thy creature Man is made! -How by himself insensibly betrayed! -In our own strength unhappily secure, -Too little cautious of the adverse power, -On pleasure's flowery brink we idly stray, -Masters as yet of our returning way: -Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise, -Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies, -And swift into the boundless Ocean borne, -Our foolish confidence too late we mourn: -Round our devoted heads the billows beat, -And from our troubled view the lessening lands retreat. - - Prior. - -All this while, Ambrosio was unconscious of the dreadful scenes -which were passing so near. The execution of his designs upon -Antonia employed his every thought. Hitherto, He was satisfied -with the success of his plans. Antonia had drank the opiate, was -buried in the vaults of St. Clare, and absolutely in his -disposal. Matilda, who was well acquainted with the nature and -effects of the soporific medicine, had computed that it would not -cease to operate till one in the Morning. For that hour He -waited with impatience. The Festival of St. Clare presented him -with a favourable opportunity of consummating his crime. He was -certain that the Friars and Nuns would be engaged in the -Procession, and that He had no cause to dread an interruption: -From appearing himself at the head of his Monks, He had desired -to be excused. He doubted not, that being beyond the reach of -help, cut off from all the world, and totally in his power, -Antonia would comply with his desires. The affection which She -had ever exprest for him, warranted this persuasion: But He -resolved that should She prove obstinate, no consideration -whatever should prevent him from enjoying her. Secure from a -discovery, He shuddered not at the idea of employing force: If -He felt any repugnance, it arose not from a principle of shame -or compassion, but from his feeling for Antonia the most sincere -and ardent affection, and wishing to owe her favours to no one -but herself. - -The Monks quitted the Abbey at midnight. Matilda was among the -Choristers, and led the chaunt. Ambrosio was left by himself, -and at liberty to pursue his own inclinations. Convinced that no -one remained behind to watch his motions, or disturb his -pleasures, He now hastened to the Western Aisles. His heart -beating with hope not unmingled with anxiety, He crossed the -Garden, unlocked the door which admitted him into the Cemetery, -and in a few minutes He stood before the Vaults. Here He paused. - -He looked round him with suspicion, conscious that his business -was unfit for any other eye. As He stood in hesitation, He heard -the melancholy shriek of the screech-Owl: The wind rattled -loudly against the windows of the adjacent Convent, and as the -current swept by him, bore with it the faint notes of the chaunt -of Choristers. He opened the door cautiously, as if fearing to -be overheard: He entered; and closed it again after him. -Guided by his Lamp, He threaded the long passages, in whose -windings Matilda had instructed him, and reached the private -Vault which contained his sleeping Mistress. - -Its entrance was by no means easy to discover: But this was no -obstacle to Ambrosio, who at the time of Antonia's Funeral had -observed it too carefully to be deceived. He found the door, -which was unfastened, pushed it open, and descended into the -dungeon. He approached the humble Tomb in which Antonia -reposed. He had provided himself with an iron crow and a -pick-axe; But this precaution was unnecessary. The Grate was -slightly fastened on the outside: He raised it, and placing the -Lamp upon its ridge, bent silently over the Tomb. By the side of -three putrid half-corrupted Bodies lay the sleeping Beauty. A -lively red, the forerunner of returning animation, had already -spread itself over her cheek; and as wrapped in her shroud She -reclined upon her funeral Bier, She seemed to smile at the Images -of Death around her. While He gazed upon their rotting bones and -disgusting figures, who perhaps were once as sweet and lovely, -Ambrosio thought upon Elvira, by him reduced to the same state. -As the memory of that horrid act glanced upon his mind, it was -clouded with a gloomy horror. Yet it served but to strengthen -his resolution to destroy Antonia's honour. - -'For your sake, Fatal Beauty!' murmured the Monk, while gazing on -his devoted prey; 'For your sake, have I committed this murder, -and sold myself to eternal tortures. Now you are in my power: -The produce of my guilt will at least be mine. Hope not that -your prayers breathed in tones of unequalled melody, your bright -eyes filled with tears, and your hands lifted in supplication, as -when seeking in penitence the Virgin's pardon; Hope not that -your moving innocence, your beauteous grief, or all your -suppliant arts shall ransom you from my embraces. Before the -break of day, mine you must, and mine you shall be!' - -He lifted her still motionless from the Tomb: He seated himself -upon a bank of Stone, and supporting her in his arms, watched -impatiently for the symptoms of returning animation. Scarcely -could He command his passions sufficiently, to restrain himself -from enjoying her while yet insensible. His natural lust was -increased in ardour by the difficulties which had opposed his -satisfying it: As also by his long abstinence from Woman, since -from the moment of resigning her claim to his love, Matilda had -exiled him from her arms for ever. - -'I am no Prostitute, Ambrosio;' Had She told him, when in the -fullness of his lust He demanded her favours with more than usual -earnestness; 'I am now no more than your Friend, and will not be -your Mistress. Cease then to solicit my complying with desires, -which insult me. While your heart was mine, I gloried in your -embraces: Those happy times are past: My person is become -indifferent to you, and 'tis necessity, not love, which makes you -seek my enjoyment. I cannot yield to a request so humiliating -to my pride.' - -Suddenly deprived of pleasures, the use of which had made them an -absolute want, the Monk felt this restraint severely. Naturally -addicted to the gratification of the senses, in the full vigour -of manhood, and heat of blood, He had suffered his temperament to -acquire such ascendency that his lust was become madness. Of -his fondness for Antonia, none but the grosser particles -remained: He longed for the possession of her person; and even -the gloom of the vault, the surrounding silence, and the -resistance which He expected from her, seemed to give a fresh -edge to his fierce and unbridled desires. - -Gradually He felt the bosom which rested against his, glow with -returning warmth. Her heart throbbed again; Her blood flowed -swifter, and her lips moved. At length She opened her eyes, but -still opprest and bewildered by the effects of the strong opiate, -She closed them again immediately. Ambrosio watched her -narrowly, nor permitted a movement to escape him. Perceiving -that She was fully restored to existence, He caught her in -rapture to his bosom, and closely pressed his lips to hers. The -suddenness of his action sufficed to dissipate the fumes which -obscured Antonia's reason. She hastily raised herself, and cast -a wild look round her. The strange Images which presented -themselves on every side contributed to confuse her. She put her -hand to her head, as if to settle her disordered imagination. At -length She took it away, and threw her eyes through the dungeon a -second time. They fixed upon the Abbot's face. - -'Where am I?' She said abruptly. 'How came I here? Where is my -Mother? Methought, I saw her! Oh! a dream, a dreadful dreadful -dream told me . . . . . . But where am I? Let me go! I cannot -stay here!' - -She attempted to rise, but the Monk prevented her. - -'Be calm, lovely Antonia!' He replied; 'No danger is near you: -Confide in my protection. Why do you gaze on me so earnestly? -Do you not know me? Not know your Friend? Ambrosio?' - -'Ambrosio? My Friend? Oh! yes, yes; I remember . . . . . . -But why am I here? Who has brought me? Why are you with me? -Oh! Flora bad me beware . . . . .! Here are nothing but Graves, -and Tombs, and Skeletons! This place frightens me! Good Ambrosio -take me away from it, for it recalls my fearful dream! Methought -I was dead, and laid in my grave! Good Ambrosio, take me from -hence. Will you not? Oh! will you not? Do not look on me thus! - -Your flaming eyes terrify me! Spare me, Father! Oh! spare me for -God's sake!' - -'Why these terrors, Antonia?' rejoined the Abbot, folding her in -his arms, and covering her bosom with kisses which She in vain -struggled to avoid: 'What fear you from me, from one who adores -you? What matters it where you are? This Sepulchre seems to me -Love's bower; This gloom is the friendly night of mystery which -He spreads over our delights! Such do I think it, and such must -my Antonia. Yes, my sweet Girl! Yes! Your veins shall glow with -fire which circles in mine, and my transports shall be doubled -by your sharing them!' - -While He spoke thus, He repeated his embraces, and permitted -himself the most indecent liberties. Even Antonia's ignorance -was not proof against the freedom of his behaviour. She was -sensible of her danger, forced herself from his arms, and her -shroud being her only garment, She wrapped it closely round her. - -'Unhand me, Father!' She cried, her honest indignation tempered -by alarm at her unprotected position; 'Why have you brought me to -this place? Its appearance freezes me with horror! Convey me -from hence, if you have the least sense of pity and humanity! -Let me return to the House which I have quitted I know not how; -But stay here one moment longer, I neither will, or ought.' - -Though the Monk was somewhat startled by the resolute tone in -which this speech was delivered, it produced upon him no other -effect than surprize. He caught her hand, forced her upon his -knee, and gazing upon her with gloting eyes, He thus replied to -her. - -'Compose yourself, Antonia. Resistance is unavailing, and I need -disavow my passion for you no longer. You are imagined dead: -Society is for ever lost to you. I possess you here alone; You -are absolutely in my power, and I burn with desires which I must -either gratify or die: But I would owe my happiness to -yourself. My lovely Girl! My adorable Antonia! Let me instruct -you in joys to which you are still a Stranger, and teach you to -feel those pleasures in my arms which I must soon enjoy in -yours. Nay, this struggling is childish,' He continued, seeing -her repell his caresses, and endeavour to escape from his grasp; -'No aid is near: Neither heaven or earth shall save you from my -embraces. Yet why reject pleasures so sweet, so rapturous? No -one observes us: Our loves will be a secret to all the world: -Love and opportunity invite your giving loose to your passions. -Yield to them, my Antonia! Yield to them, my lovely Girl! Throw -your arms thus fondly round me; Join your lips thus closely to -mine! Amidst all her gifts, has Nature denied her most precious, -the sensibility of Pleasure? Oh! impossible! Every feature, -look, and motion declares you formed to bless, and to be blessed -yourself! Turn not on me those supplicating eyes: Consult your -own charms; They will tell you that I am proof against entreaty. -Can I relinquish these limbs so white, so soft, so delicate; -These swelling breasts, round, full, and elastic! These lips -fraught with such inexhaustible sweetness? Can I relinquish -these treasures, and leave them to another's enjoyment? No, -Antonia; never, never! I swear it by this kiss, and this! and -this!' - -With every moment the Friar's passion became more ardent, and -Antonia's terror more intense. She struggled to disengage -herself from his arms: Her exertions were unsuccessful; and -finding that Ambrosio's conduct became still freer, She shrieked -for assistance with all her strength. The aspect of the Vault, -the pale glimmering of the Lamp, the surrounding obscurity, the -sight of the Tomb, and the objects of mortality which met her -eyes on either side, were ill-calculated to inspire her with -those emotions by which the Friar was agitated. Even his -caresses terrified her from their fury, and created no other -sentiment than fear. On the contrary, her alarm, her evident -disgust, and incessant opposition, seemed only to inflame the -Monk's desires, and supply his brutality with additional -strength. Antonia's shrieks were unheard: Yet She continued -them, nor abandoned her endeavours to escape, till exhausted and -out of breath She sank from his arms upon her knees, and once -more had recourse to prayers and supplications. This attempt had -no better success than the former. On the contrary, taking -advantage of her situation, the Ravisher threw himself by her -side: He clasped her to his bosom almost lifeless with terror, -and faint with struggling. He stifled her cries with kisses, -treated her with the rudeness of an unprincipled Barbarian, -proceeded from freedom to freedom, and in the violence of his -lustful delirium, wounded and bruised her tender limbs. Heedless -of her tears, cries and entreaties, He gradually made himself -Master of her person, and desisted not from his prey, till He had -accomplished his crime and the dishonour of Antonia. - -Scarcely had He succeeded in his design than He shuddered at -himself and the means by which it was effected. The very excess -of his former eagerness to possess Antonia now contributed to -inspire him with disgust; and a secret impulse made him feel how -base and unmanly was the crime which He had just committed. He -started hastily from her arms. She, who so lately had been the -object of his adoration, now raised no other sentiment in his -heart than aversion and rage. He turned away from her; or if his -eyes rested upon her figure involuntarily, it was only to dart -upon her looks of hate. The Unfortunate had fainted ere the -completion of her disgrace: She only recovered life to be -sensible of her misfortune. She remained stretched upon the earth -in silent despair: The tears chased each other slowly down her -cheeks, and her bosom heaved with frequent sobs. Oppressed with -grief, She continued for some time in this state of torpidity. -At length She rose with difficulty, and dragging her feeble steps -towards the door, prepared to quit the dungeon. - -The sound of her footsteps rouzed the Monk from his sullen -apathy. Starting from the Tomb against which He reclined, while -his eyes wandered over the images of corruption contained in it, -He pursued the Victim of his brutality, and soon overtook her. -He seized her by the arm, and violently forced her back into the -dungeon. - -'Whither go you?' He cried in a stern voice; 'Return this -instant!' - -Antonia trembled at the fury of his countenance. - -'What, would you more?' She said with timidity: 'Is not my ruin -compleated? Am I not undone, undone for ever? Is not your -cruelty contented, or have I yet more to suffer? Let me depart. -Let me return to my home, and weep unrestrained my shame and my -affliction!' - -'Return to your home?' repeated the Monk, with bitter and -contemptuous mockery; Then suddenly his eyes flaming with -passion, 'What? That you may denounce me to the world? That -you may proclaim me an Hypocrite, a Ravisher, a Betrayer, a -Monster of cruelty, lust, and ingratitude? No, no, no! I know -well the whole weight of my offences; Well that your complaints -would be too just, and my crimes too notorious! You shall not -from hence to tell Madrid that I am a Villain; that my conscience -is loaded with sins which make me despair of Heaven's pardon. -Wretched Girl, you must stay here with me! Here amidst these -lonely Tombs, these images of Death, these rotting loathsome -corrupted bodies! Here shall you stay, and witness my -sufferings; witness what it is to die in the horrors of -despondency, and breathe the last groan in blasphemy and curses! -And who am I to thank for this? What seduced me into crimes, -whose bare remembrance makes me shudder? Fatal Witch! was it not -thy beauty? Have you not plunged my soul into infamy? Have you -not made me a perjured Hypocrite, a Ravisher, an Assassin! Nay, -at this moment, does not that angel look bid me despair of God's -forgiveness? Oh! when I stand before his judgment-throne, that -look will suffice to damn me! You will tell my Judge that you -were happy, till I saw you; that you were innocent, till I -polluted you! You will come with those tearful eyes, those -cheeks pale and ghastly, those hands lifted in supplication, as -when you sought from me that mercy which I gave not! Then will -my perdition be certain! Then will come your Mother's Ghost, and -hurl me down into the dwellings of Fiends, and flames, and -Furies, and everlasting torments! And 'tis you, who will accuse -me! 'Tis you, who will cause my eternal anguish! You, wretched -Girl! You! You!' - -As He thundered out these words, He violently grasped Antonia's -arm, and spurned the earth with delirious fury. - -Supposing his brain to be turned, Antonia sank in terror upon her -knees: She lifted up her hands, and her voice almost died away, -ere She could give it utterance. - -'Spare me! Spare me!' She murmured with difficulty. - -'Silence!' cried the Friar madly, and dashed her upon the -ground---- - -He quitted her, and paced the dungeon with a wild and disordered -air. His eyes rolled fearfully: Antonia trembled whenever She -met their gaze. He seemed to meditate on something horrible, and -She gave up all hopes of escaping from the Sepulchre with life. -Yet in harbouring this idea, She did him injustice. Amidst the -horror and disgust to which his soul was a prey, pity for his -Victim still held a place in it. The storm of passion once over, -He would have given worlds had He possest them, to have restored -to her that innocence of which his unbridled lust had deprived -her. Of the desires which had urged him to the crime, no trace -was left in his bosom: The wealth of India would not have -tempted him to a second enjoyment of her person. His nature -seemed to revolt at the very idea, and fain would He have wiped -from his memory the scene which had just past. As his gloomy -rage abated, in proportion did his compassion augment for -Antonia. He stopped, and would have spoken to her words of -comfort; But He knew not from whence to draw them, and remained -gazing upon her with mournful wildness. Her situation seemed so -hopeless, so woebegone, as to baffle mortal power to relieve -her. What could He do for her? Her peace of mind was lost, her -honour irreparably ruined. She was cut off for ever from -society, nor dared He give her back to it. He was conscious -that were She to appear in the world again, his guilt would be -revealed, and his punishment inevitable. To one so laden with -crimes, Death came armed with double terrors. Yet should He -restore Antonia to light, and stand the chance of her betraying -him, how miserable a prospect would present itself before her. -She could never hope to be creditably established; She would be -marked with infamy, and condemned to sorrow and solitude for the -remainder of her existence. What was the alternative? A -resolution far more terrible for Antonia, but which at least -would insure the Abbot's safety. He determined to leave the -world persuaded of her death, and to retain her a captive in this -gloomy prison: There He proposed to visit her every night, to -bring her food, to profess his penitence, and mingle his tears -with hers. The Monk felt that this resolution was unjust and -cruel; but it was his only means to prevent Antonia from -publishing his guilt and her own infamy. Should He release her, -He could not depend upon her silence: His offence was too -flagrant to permit his hoping for her forgiveness. Besides, her -reappearing would excite universal curiosity, and the violence -of her affliction would prevent her from concealing its cause. -He determined therefore, that Antonia should remain a Prisoner in -the dungeon. - -He approached her with confusion painted on his countenance. He -raised her from the ground. Her hand trembled, as He took it, -and He dropped it again as if He had touched a Serpent. Nature -seemed to recoil at the touch. He felt himself at once repulsed -from and attracted towards her, yet could account for neither -sentiment. There was something in her look which penetrated him -with horror; and though his understanding was still ignorant of -it, Conscience pointed out to him the whole extent of his crime. -In hurried accents yet the gentlest He could find, while his eye -was averted, and his voice scarcely audible, He strove to console -her under a misfortune which now could not be avoided. He -declared himself sincerely penitent, and that He would gladly -shed a drop of his blood, for every tear which his barbarity had -forced from her. Wretched and hopeless, Antonia listened to him -in silent grief: But when He announced her confinement in the -Sepulchre, that dreadful doom to which even death seemed -preferable roused her from her insensibility at once. To linger -out a life of misery in a narrow loathsome Cell, known to exist -by no human Being save her Ravisher, surrounded by mouldering -Corses, breathing the pestilential air of corruption, never more -to behold the light, or drink the pure gale of heaven, the idea -was more terrible than She could support. It conquered even her -abhorrence of the Friar. Again She sank upon her knees: She -besought his compassion in terms the most pathetic and urgent. -She promised, would He but restore her to liberty, to conceal her -injuries from the world; to assign any reason for her -reappearance which He might judge proper; and in order to -prevent the least suspicion from falling upon him, She offered to -quit Madrid immediately. Her entreaties were so urgent as to -make a considerable impression upon the Monk. He reflected that -as her person no longer excited his desires, He had no interest -in keeping her concealed as He had at first intended; that He was -adding a fresh injury to those which She had already suffered; -and that if She adhered to her promises, whether She was confined -or at liberty, his life and reputation were equally secure. On -the other hand, He trembled lest in her affliction Antonia should -unintentionally break her engagement; or that her excessive -simplicity and ignorance of deceit should permit some one more -artful to surprize her secret. However well-founded were these -apprehensions, compassion, and a sincere wish to repair his fault -as much as possible solicited his complying with the prayers of -his Suppliant. The difficulty of colouring Antonia's unexpected -return to life, after her supposed death and public interment, -was the only point which kept him irresolute. He was still -pondering on the means of removing this obstacle, when He heard -the sound of feet approaching with precipitation. The door of -the Vault was thrown open, and Matilda rushed in, evidently much -confused and terrified. - -On seeing a Stranger enter, Antonia uttered a cry of joy: But -her hopes of receiving succour from him were soon dissipated. -The supposed Novice, without expressing the least surprize at -finding a Woman alone with the Monk, in so strange a place, and -at so late an hour, addressed him thus without losing a moment. - -'What is to be done, Ambrosio? We are lost, unless some speedy -means is found of dispelling the Rioters. Ambrosio, the Convent -of St. Clare is on fire; The Prioress has fallen a victim to the -fury of the Mob. Already is the Abbey menaced with a similar -fate. Alarmed at the threats of the People, the Monks seek for -you everywhere. They imagine that your authority alone will -suffice to calm this disturbance. No one knows what is become -of you, and your absence creates universal astonishment and -despair. I profited by the confusion, and fled hither to warn -you of the danger.' - -'This will soon be remedied,' answered the Abbot; 'I will hasten -back to my Cell: a trivial reason will account for my having -been missed.' - -'Impossible!' rejoined Matilda: 'The Sepulchre is filled with -Archers. Lorenzo de Medina, with several Officers of the -Inquisition, searches through the Vaults, and pervades every -passage. You will be intercepted in your flight; Your reasons -for being at this late hour in the Sepulchre will be examined; -Antonia will be found, and then you are undone for ever!' - -'Lorenzo de Medina? Officers of the Inquisition? What brings -them here? Seek they for me? Am I then suspected? Oh! speak, -Matilda! Answer me, in pity!' - -'As yet they do not think of you, but I fear that they will ere -long. Your only chance of escaping their notice rests upon the -difficulty of exploring this Vault. The door is artfully hidden: - -Haply it may not be observed, and we may remain concealed till -the search is over.' - -'But Antonia . . . . . Should the Inquisitors draw near, and her -cries be heard . . . .' - -'Thus I remove that danger!' interrupted Matilda. - -At the same time drawing a poignard, She rushed upon her devoted -prey. - -'Hold! Hold!' cried Ambrosio, seizing her hand, and wresting from -it the already lifted weapon. 'What would you do, cruel Woman? -The Unfortunate has already suffered but too much, thanks to your -pernicious consels! Would to God that I had never followed them! - -Would to God that I had never seen your face!' - -Matilda darted upon him a look of scorn. - -'Absurd!' She exclaimed with an air of passion and majesty which -impressed the Monk with awe. 'After robbing her of all that made -it dear, can you fear to deprive her of a life so miserable? But -'tis well! Let her live to convince you of your folly. I -abandon you to your evil destiny! I disclaim your alliance! Who -trembles to commit so insignificant a crime, deserves not my -protection. Hark! Hark! Ambrosio; Hear you not the Archers? -They come, and your destruction is inevitable!' - -At this moment the Abbot heard the sound of distant voices. He -flew to close the door on whose concealment his safety depended, -and which Matilda had neglected to fasten. Ere He could reach -it, He saw Antonia glide suddenly by him, rush through the door, -and fly towards the noise with the swiftness of an arrow. She -had listened attentively to Matilda: She heard Lorenzo's name -mentioned, and resolved to risque every thing to throw herself -under his protection. The door was open. The sounds convinced -her that the Archers could be at no great distance. She -mustered up her little remaining strength, rushed by the Monk ere -He perceived her design, and bent her course rapidly towards the -voices. As soon as He recovered from his first surprize, the -Abbot failed not to pursue her. In vain did Antonia redouble her -speed, and stretch every nerve to the utmost. Her Enemy gained -upon her every moment: She heard his steps close after her, and -felt the heat of his breath glow upon her neck. He overtook -her; He twisted his hand in the ringlets of her streaming hair, -and attempted to drag her back with him to the dungeon. Antonia -resisted with all her strength: She folded her arms round a -Pillar which supported the roof, and shrieked loudly for -assistance. In vain did the Monk strive to threaten her to -silence. - -'Help!' She continued to exclaim; 'Help! Help! for God's sake!' - -Quickened by her cries, the sound of footsteps was heard -approaching. The Abbot expected every moment to see the -Inquisitors arrive. Antonia still resisted, and He now enforced -her silence by means the most horrible and inhuman. He still -grasped Matilda's dagger: Without allowing himself a moment's -reflection, He raised it, and plunged it twice in the bosom of -Antonia! She shrieked, and sank upon the ground. The Monk -endeavoured to bear her away with him, but She still embraced the -Pillar firmly. At that instant the light of approaching Torches -flashed upon the Walls. Dreading a discovery, Ambrosio was -compelled to abandon his Victim, and hastily fled back to the -Vault, where He had left Matilda. - -He fled not unobserved. Don Ramirez happening to arrive the -first, perceived a Female bleeding upon the ground, and a Man -flying from the spot, whose confusion betrayed him for the -Murderer. He instantly pursued the Fugitive with some part of -the Archers, while the Others remained with Lorenzo to protect -the wounded Stranger. They raised her, and supported her in their -arms. She had fainted from excess of pain, but soon gave signs -of returning life. She opened her eyes, and on lifting up her -head, the quantity of fair hair fell back which till then had -obscured her features. - -'God Almighty! It is Antonia!' - -Such was Lorenzo's exclamation, while He snatched her from the -Attendant's arms, and clasped her in his own. - -Though aimed by an uncertain hand, the poignard had answered but -too well the purpose of its Employer. The wounds were mortal, and -Antonia was conscious that She never could recover. Yet the few -moments which remained for her were moments of happiness. The -concern exprest upon Lorenzo's countenance, the frantic fondness -of his complaints, and his earnest enquiries respecting her -wounds, convinced her beyond a doubt that his affections were her -own. She would not be removed from the Vaults, fearing lest -motion should only hasten her death; and She was unwilling to -lose those moments which She past in receiving proofs of -Lorenzo's love, and assuring him of her own. She told him that -had She still been undefiled She might have lamented the loss of -life; But that deprived of honour and branded with shame, Death -was to her a blessing: She could not have been his Wife, and -that hope being denied her, She resigned herself to the Grave -without one sigh of regret. She bad him take courage, conjured -him not to abandon himself to fruitless sorrow, and declared that -She mourned to leave nothing in the whole world but him. While -every sweet accent increased rather than lightened Lorenzo's -grief, She continued to converse with him till the moment of -dissolution. Her voice grew faint and scarcely audible; A thick -cloud spread itself over her eyes; Her heart beat slow and -irregular, and every instant seemed to announce that her fate was -near at hand. - -She lay, her head reclining upon Lorenzo's bosom, and her lips -still murmuring to him words of comfort. She was interrupted by -the Convent Bell, as tolling at a distance, it struck the hour. -Suddenly Antonia's eyes sparkled with celestial brightness: Her -frame seemed to have received new strength and animation. She -started from her Lover's arms. - -'Three o'clock!' She cried; 'Mother, I come!' - -She clasped her hands, and sank lifeless upon the ground. -Lorenzo in agony threw himself beside her: He tore his hair, -beat his breast, and refused to be separated from the Corse. At -length his force being exhausted, He suffered himself to be led -from the Vault, and was conveyed to the Palace de Medina scarcely -more alive than the unfortunate Antonia. - -In the meanwhile, though closely pursued, Ambrosio succeeded in -regaining the Vault. The Door was already fastened when Don -Ramirez arrived, and much time elapsed, ere the Fugitive's -retreat was discovered. But nothing can resist perseverance. -Though so artfully concealed, the Door could not escape the -vigilance of the Archers. They forced it open, and entered the -Vault to the infinite dismay of Ambrosio and his Companion. The -Monk's confusion, his attempt to hide himself, his rapid flight, -and the blood sprinkled upon his cloaths, left no room to doubt -his being Antonia's Murderer. But when He was recognized for the -immaculate Ambrosio, 'The Man of Holiness,' the Idol of Madrid, -the faculties of the Spectators were chained up in surprize, and -scarcely could they persuade themselves that what they saw was no -vision. The Abbot strove not to vindicate himself, but preserved -a sullen silence. He was secured and bound. The same precaution -was taken with Matilda: Her Cowl being removed, the delicacy of -her features and profusion of her golden hair betrayed her sex, -and this incident created fresh amazement. The dagger was also -found in the Tomb, where the Monk had thrown it; and the dungeon -having undergone a thorough search, the two Culprits were -conveyed to the prisons of the Inquisition. - -Don Ramirez took care that the populace should remain ignorant -both of the crimes and profession of the Captives. He feared a -repetition of the riots which had followed the apprehending the -Prioress of St. Clare. He contented himself with stating to the -Capuchins the guilt of their Superior. To avoid the shame of a -public accusation, and dreading the popular fury from which they -had already saved their Abbey with much difficulty, the Monks -readily permitted the Inquisitors to search their Mansion without -noise. No fresh discoveries were made. The effects found in the -Abbot's and Matilda's Cells were seized, and carried to the -Inquisition to be produced in evidence. Every thing else -remained in its former position, and order and tranquillity once -more prevailed through Madrid. - -St. Clare's Convent was completely ruined by the united ravages -of the Mob and conflagration. Nothing remained of it but the -principal Walls, whose thickness and solidity had preserved them -from the flames. The Nuns who had belonged to it were obliged -in consequence to disperse themselves into other Societies: But -the prejudice against them ran high, and the Superiors were very -unwilling to admit them. However, most of them being related to -Families the most distinguished for their riches birth and power, -the several Convents were compelled to receive them, though they -did it with a very ill grace. This prejudice was extremely false -and unjustifiable: After a close investigation, it was proved -that All in the Convent were persuaded of the death of Agnes, -except the four Nuns whom St. Ursula had pointed out. These had -fallen Victims to the popular fury; as had also several who were -perfectly innocent and unconscious of the whole affair. Blinded -by resentment, the Mob had sacrificed every Nun who fell into -their hands: They who escaped were entirely indebted to the Duke -de Medina's prudence and moderation. Of this they were -conscious, and felt for that Nobleman a proper sense of -gratitude. - -Virginia was not the most sparing of her thanks: She wished -equally to make a proper return for his attentions, and to obtain -the good graces of Lorenzo's Uncle. In this She easily succeeded. - -The Duke beheld her beauty with wonder and admiration; and while -his eyes were enchanted with her Form, the sweetness of her -manners and her tender concern for the suffering Nun prepossessed -his heart in her favour. This Virginia had discernment enough to -perceive, and She redoubled her attention to the Invalid. When -He parted from her at the door of her Father's Palace, the Duke -entreated permission to enquire occasionally after her health. -His request was readily granted: Virginia assured him that the -Marquis de Villa-Franca would be proud of an opportunity to thank -him in person for the protection afforded to her. They now -separated, He enchanted with her beauty and gentleness, and She -much pleased with him and more with his Nephew. - -On entering the Palace, Virginia's first care was to summon the -family Physician, and take care of her unknown charge. Her -Mother hastened to share with her the charitable office. Alarmed -by the riots, and trembling for his Daughter's safety, who was -his only child, the Marquis had flown to St. Clare's Convent, and -was still employed in seeking her. Messengers were now -dispatched on all sides to inform him that He would find her -safe at his Hotel, and desire him to hasten thither immediately. -His absence gave Virginia liberty to bestow her whole attention -upon her Patient; and though much disordered herself by the -adventures of the night, no persuasion could induce her to quit -the bedside of the Sufferer. Her constitution being much -enfeebled by want and sorrow, it was some time before the -Stranger was restored to her senses. She found great difficulty -in swallowing the medicines prescribed to her: But this obstacle -being removed, She easily conquered her disease which proceeded -from nothing but weakness. The attention which was paid her, the -wholesome food to which She had been long a Stranger, and her joy -at being restored to liberty, to society, and, as She dared to -hope, to Love, all this combined to her speedy re-establishment. - -From the first moment of knowing her, her melancholy situation, -her sufferings almost unparalleled had engaged the affections of -her amiable Hostess: Virginia felt for her the most lively -interest; But how was She delighted, when her Guest being -sufficiently recovered to relate her History, She recognized in -the captive Nun the Sister of Lorenzo! - -This victim of monastic cruelty was indeed no other than the -unfortunate Agnes. During her abode in the Convent, She had been -well known to Virginia: But her emaciated form, her features -altered by affliction, her death universally credited, and her -overgrown and matted hair which hung over her face and bosom in -disorder at first had prevented her being recollected. The -Prioress had put every artifice in practice to induce Virginia to -take the veil; for the Heiress of Villa-Franca would have been no -despicable acquisition. Her seeming kindness and unremitted -attention so far succeeded that her young Relation began to -think seriously upon compliance. Better instructed in the -disgust and ennui of a monastic life, Agnes had penetrated the -designs of the Domina: She trembled for the innocent Girl, and -endeavoured to make her sensible of her error. She painted in -their true colours the numerous inconveniencies attached to a -Convent, the continued restraint, the low jealousies, the petty -intrigues, the servile court and gross flattery expected by the -Superior. She then bad Virginia reflect on the brilliant -prospect which presented itself before her: The Idol of her -Parents, the admiration of Madrid, endowed by nature and -education with every perfection of person and mind, She might -look forward to an establishment the most fortunate. Her riches -furnished her with the means of exercising in their fullest -extent, charity and benevolence, those virtues so dear to her; -and her stay in the world would enable her discovering Objects -worthy her protection, which could not be done in the seclusion -of a Convent. - -Her persuasions induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the -Veil: But another argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight -with her than all the others put together. She had seen Lorenzo, -when He visited his Sister at the Grate. His Person pleased her, -and her conversations with Agnes generally used to terminate in -some question about her Brother. She, who doted upon Lorenzo, -wished for no better than an opportunity to trumpet out his -praise. She spoke of him in terms of rapture; and to convince -her Auditor how just were his sentiments, how cultivated his -mind, and elegant his expressions, She showed her at different -times the letters which She received from him. She soon -perceived that from these communications the heart of her young -Friend had imbibed impressions, which She was far from intending -to give, but was truly happy to discover. She could not have -wished her Brother a more desirable union: Heiress of -Villa-Franca, virtuous, affectionate, beautiful, and -accomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him happy. She -sounded her Brother upon the subject, though without mentioning -names or circumstances. He assured her in his answers that his -heart and hand were totally disengaged, and She thought that -upon these grounds She might proceed without danger. She in -consequence endeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her -Friend. Lorenzo was made the constant topic of her discourse; -and the avidity with which her Auditor listened, the sighs which -frequently escaped from her bosom, and the eagerness with which -upon any digression She brought back the conversation to the -subject whence it had wandered, sufficed to convince Agnes that -her Brother's addresses would be far from disagreeable. She at -length ventured to mention her wishes to the Duke: Though a -Stranger to the Lady herself, He knew enough of her situation to -think her worthy his Nephew's hand. It was agreed between him -and his Niece, that She should insinuate the idea to Lorenzo, and -She only waited his return to Madrid to propose her Friend to him -as his Bride. The unfortunate events which took place in the -interim, prevented her from executing her design. Virginia wept -her loss sincerely, both as a Companion, and as the only Person -to whom She could speak of Lorenzo. Her passion continued to -prey upon her heart in secret, and She had almost determined to -confess her sentiments to her Mother, when accident once more -threw their object in her way. The sight of him so near her, his -politeness, his compassion, his intrepidity, had combined to give -new ardour to her affection. When She now found her Friend and -Advocate restored to her, She looked upon her as a Gift from -Heaven; She ventured to cherish the hope of being united to -Lorenzo, and resolved to use with him his Sister's influence. - -Supposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made -the proposal, the Duke had placed all his Nephew's hints of -marriage to Virginia's account: Consequently, He gave them the -most favourable reception. On returning to his Hotel, the -relation given him of Antonia's death, and Lorenzo's behaviour on -the occasion, made evident his mistake. He lamented the -circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being effectually out of the -way, He trusted that his designs would yet be executed. 'Tis -true that Lorenzo's situation just then ill-suited him for -a Bridegroom. His hopes disappointed at the moment when He -expected to realize them, and the dreadful and sudden death of -his Mistress had affected him very severely. The Duke found him -upon the Bed of sickness. His Attendants expressed serious -apprehensions for his life; But the Uncle entertained not the -same fears. He was of opinion, and not unwisely, that 'Men have -died, and worms have eat them; but not for Love!' He therefore -flattered himself that however deep might be the impression made -upon his Nephew's heart, Time and Virginia would be able to -efface it. He now hastened to the afflicted Youth, and -endeavoured to console him: He sympathised in his distress, but -encouraged him to resist the encroachments of despair. He -allowed that He could not but feel shocked at an event so -terrible, nor could He blame his sensibility; But He besought him -not to torment himself with vain regrets, and rather to struggle -with affliction, and preserve his life, if not for his own sake, -at least for the sake of those who were fondly attached to him. -While He laboured thus to make Lorenzo forget Antonia's loss, the -Duke paid his court assiduously to Virginia, and seized every -opportunity to advance his Nephew's interest in her heart. - -It may easily be expected that Agnes was not long without -enquiring after Don Raymond. She was shocked to hear the -wretched situation to which grief had reduced him; Yet She could -not help exulting secretly, when She reflected, that his illness -proved the sincerity of his love. The Duke undertook the office -himself, of announcing to the Invalid the happiness which awaited -him. Though He omitted no precaution to prepare him for such an -event, at this sudden change from despair to happiness Raymond's -transports were so violent, as nearly to have proved fatal to -him. These once passed, the tranquillity of his mind, the -assurance of felicity, and above all the presence of Agnes, (Who -was no sooner reestablished by the care of Virginia and the -Marchioness, than She hastened to attend her Lover) soon enabled -him to overcome the effects of his late dreadful malady. The -calm of his soul communicated itself to his body, and He -recovered with such rapidity as to create universal surprize. - -No so Lorenzo. Antonia's death accompanied with such terrible -circumstances weighed upon his mind heavily. He was worn down to -a shadow. Nothing could give him pleasure. He was persuaded -with difficulty to swallow nourishment sufficient for the support -of life, and a consumption was apprehended. The society of Agnes -formed his only comfort. Though accident had never permitted -their being much together, He entertained for her a sincere -friendship and attachment. Perceiving how necessary She was to -him, She seldom quitted his chamber. She listened to his -complaints with unwearied attention, and soothed him by the -gentleness of her manners, and by sympathising with his distress. -She still inhabited the Palace de Villa-Franca, the Possessors of -which treated her with marked affection. The Duke had intimated -to the Marquis his wishes respecting Virginia. The match was -unexceptionable: Lorenzo was Heir to his Uncle's immense -property, and was distinguished in Madrid for his agreeable -person, extensive knowledge, and propriety of conduct: Add to -this, that the Marchioness had discovered how strong was her -Daughter's prepossession in his favour. - -In consequence the Duke's proposal was accepted without -hesitation: Every precaution was taken to induce Lorenzo's -seeing the Lady with those sentiments which She so well merited -to excite. In her visits to her Brother Agnes was frequently -accompanied by the Marchioness; and as soon as He was able to -move into his Antichamber, Virginia under her mother's -protection was sometimes permitted to express her wishes for his -recovery. This She did with such delicacy, the manner in which -She mentioned Antonia was so tender and soothing, and when She -lamented her Rival's melancholy fate, her bright eyes shone so -beautiful through her tears, that Lorenzo could not behold, or -listen to her without emotion. His Relations, as well as the -Lady, perceived that with every day her society seemed to give -him fresh pleasure, and that He spoke of her in terms of stronger -admiration. However, they prudently kept their observations to -themselves. No word was dropped which might lead him to suspect -their designs. They continued their former conduct and -attention, and left Time to ripen into a warmer sentiment the -friendship which He already felt for Virginia. - -In the mean while, her visits became more frequent; and latterly -there was scarce a day, of which She did not pass some part by -the side of Lorenzo's Couch. He gradually regained his strength, -but the progress of his recovery was slow and doubtful. One -evening He seemed to be in better spirits than usual: Agnes and -her Lover, the Duke, Virginia, and her Parents were sitting round -him. He now for the first time entreated his Sister to inform -him how She had escaped the effects of the poison which St. -Ursula had seen her swallow. Fearful of recalling those scenes -to his mind in which Antonia had perished, She had hitherto -concealed from him the history of her sufferings. As He now -started the subject himself, and thinking that perhaps the -narrative of her sorrows might draw him from the contemplation of -those on which He dwelt too constantly, She immediately complied -with his request. The rest of the company had already heard her -story; But the interest which all present felt for its Heroine -made them anxious to hear it repeated. The whole society -seconding Lorenzo's entreaties, Agnes obeyed. She first -recounted the discovery which had taken place in the -Abbey Chapel, the Domina's resentment, and the midnight scene of -which St. Ursula had been a concealed witness. Though the Nun -had already described this latter event, Agnes now related it -more circumstantially and at large: After which She proceeded in -her narrative as follows. - - Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina - -My supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies. Those -moments which I believed my last, were embittered by the Domina's -assurances that I could not escape perdition; and as my eyes -closed, I heard her rage exhale itself in curses on my offence. -The horror of this situation, of a death-bed from which hope was -banished, of a sleep from which I was only to wake to find myself -the prey of flames and Furies, was more dreadful than I can -describe. When animation revived in me, my soul was still -impressed with these terrible ideas: I looked round with fear, -expecting to behold the Ministers of divine vengeance. For the -first hour, my senses were so bewildered, and my brain so dizzy, -that I strove in vain to arrange the strange images which floated -in wild confusion before me. If I endeavoured to raise myself -from the ground, the wandering of my head deceived me. Every -thing around me seemed to rock, and I sank once more upon the -earth. My weak and dazzled eyes were unable to bear a nearer -approach to a gleam of light which I saw trembling above me. I -was compelled to close them again, and remain motionless in the -same posture. - -A full hour elapsed, before I was sufficiently myself to examine -the surrounding Objects. When I did examine them, what terror -filled my bosom I found myself extended upon a sort of wicker -Couch: It had six handles to it, which doubtless had served the -Nuns to convey me to my grave. I was covered with a linen cloth: - -Several faded flowers were strown over me: On one side lay a -small wooden Crucifix; On the other, a Rosary of large Beads. -Four low narrow walls confined me. The top was also covered, and -in it was practised a small grated Door: Through this was -admitted the little air which circulated in this miserable -place. A faint glimmering of light which streamed through the -Bars, permitted me to distinguish the surrounding horrors. I was -opprest by a noisome suffocating smell; and perceiving that the -grated door was unfastened, I thought that I might possibly -effect my escape. As I raised myself with this design, my hand -rested upon something soft: I grasped it, and advanced it -towards the light. Almighty God! What was my disgust, my -consternation! In spite of its putridity, and the worms which -preyed upon it, I perceived a corrupted human head, and -recognised the features of a Nun who had died some months before! - -I threw it from me, and sank almost lifeless upon my Bier. - -When my strength returned, this circumstance, and the -consciousness of being surrounded by the loathsome and mouldering -Bodies of my Companions, increased my desire to escape from my -fearful prison. I again moved towards the light. The grated -door was within my reach: I lifted it without difficulty; -Probably it had been left unclosed to facilitate my quitting the -dungeon. Aiding myself by the irregularity of the Walls some of -whose stones projected beyond the rest, I contrived to ascend -them, and drag myself out of my prison. I now found Myself in a -Vault tolerably spacious. Several Tombs, similar in appearance -to that whence I had just escaped, were ranged along the sides in -order, and seemed to be considerably sunk within the earth. A -sepulchral Lamp was suspended from the roof by an iron chain, and -shed a gloomy light through the dungeon. Emblems of Death were -seen on every side: Skulls, shoulder-blades, thigh-bones, and -other leavings of Mortality were scattered upon the dewy ground. -Each Tomb was ornamented with a large Crucifix, and in one corner -stood a wooden Statue of St. Clare. To these objects I at first -paid no attention: A Door, the only outlet from the Vault, had -attracted my eyes. I hastened towards it, having wrapped my -winding-sheet closely round me. I pushed against the door, and -to my inexpressible terror found that it was fastened on the -outside. - -I guessed immediately that the Prioress, mistaking the nature of -the liquor which She had compelled me to drink, instead of poison -had administered a strong Opiate. From this I concluded that -being to all appearance dead I had received the rites of burial; -and that deprived of the power of making my existence known, it -would be my fate to expire of hunger. This idea penetrated me -with horror, not merely for my own sake, but that of the innocent -Creature, who still lived within my bosom. I again endeavoured -to open the door, but it resisted all my efforts. I stretched my -voice to the extent of its compass, and shrieked for aid: I was -remote from the hearing of every one: No friendly voice replied -to mine. A profound and melancholy silence prevailed through the -Vault, and I despaired of liberty. My long abstinence from food -now began to torment me. The tortures which hunger inflicted on -me, were the most painful and insupportable: Yet they seemed to -increase with every hour which past over my head. Sometimes I -threw myself upon the ground, and rolled upon it wild and -desperate: Sometimes starting up, I returned to the door, again -strove to force it open, and repeated my fruitless cries for -succour. Often was I on the point of striking my temple against -the sharp corner of some Monument, dashing out my brains, and -thus terminating my woes at once; But still the remembrance of my -Baby vanquished my resolution: I trembled at a deed which -equally endangered my Child's existence and my own. Then would I -vent my anguish in loud exclamations and passionate complaints; -and then again my strength failing me, silent and hopeless I -would sit me down upon the base of St. Clare's Statue, fold my -arms, and abandon myself to sullen despair. Thus passed several -wretched hours. Death advanced towards me with rapid strides, -and I expected that every succeeding moment would be that of my -dissolution. Suddenly a neighbouring Tomb caught my eye: A -Basket stood upon it, which till then I had not observed. I -started from my seat: I made towards it as swiftly as my -exhausted frame would permit. How eagerly did I seize the -Basket, on finding it to contain a loaf of coarse bread and a -small bottle of water. - -I threw myself with avidity upon these humble aliments. They had -to all appearance been placed in the Vault for several days; The -bread was hard, and the water tainted; Yet never did I taste food -to me so delicious. When the cravings of appetite were -satisfied, I busied myself with conjectures upon this new -circumstance: I debated whether the Basket had been placed there -with a view to my necessity. Hope answered my doubts in the -affirmative. Yet who could guess me to be in need of such -assistance? If my existence was known, why was I detained in -this gloomy Vault? If I was kept a Prisoner, what meant the -ceremony of committing me to the Tomb? Or if I was doomed to -perish with hunger, to whose pity was I indebted for provisions -placed within my reach? A Friend would not have kept my dreadful -punishment a secret; Neither did it seem probable that an Enemy -would have taken pains to supply me with the means of existence. -Upon the whole I was inclined to think that the Domina's designs -upon my life had been discovered by some one of my Partizans in -the Convent, who had found means to substitute an opiate for -poison: That She had furnished me with food to support me, till -She could effect my delivery: And that She was then employed in -giving intelligence to my Relations of my danger, and pointing -out a way to release me from captivity. Yet why then was the -quality of my provisions so coarse? How could my Friend have -entered the Vault without the Domina's knowledge? And if She had -entered, why was the Door fastened so carefully? These -reflections staggered me: Yet still this idea was the most -favourable to my hopes, and I dwelt upon it in preference. - -My meditations were interrupted by the sound of distant -footsteps. They approached, but slowly. Rays of light now -darted through the crevices of the Door. Uncertain whether the -Persons who advanced came to relieve me, or were conducted by -some other motive to the Vault, I failed not to attract their -notice by loud cries for help. Still the sounds drew near: The -light grew stronger: At length with inexpressible pleasure I -heard the Key turning in the Lock. Persuaded that my deliverance -was at hand, I flew towards the Door with a shriek of joy. It -opened: But all my hopes of escape died away, when the Prioress -appeared followed by the same four Nuns, who had been witnesses -of my supposed death. They bore torches in their hands, and -gazed upon me in fearful silence. - -I started back in terror. The Domina descended into the Vault, -as did also her Companions. She bent upon me a stern resentful -eye, but expressed no surprize at finding me still living. She -took the seat which I had just quitted: The door was again -closed, and the Nuns ranged themselves behind their Superior, -while the glare of their torches, dimmed by the vapours and -dampness of the Vault, gilded with cold beams the surrounding -Monuments. For some moments all preserved a dead and solemn -silence. I stood at some distance from the Prioress. At length -She beckoned me to advance. Trembling at the severity of her -aspect my strength scarce sufficed me to obey her. I drew near, -but my limbs were unable to support their burthen. I sank upon -my knees; I clasped my hands, and lifted them up to her for -mercy, but had no power to articulate a syllable. - -She gazed upon me with angry eyes. - -'Do I see a Penitent, or a Criminal?' She said at length; 'Are -those hands raised in contrition for your crimes, or in fear of -meeting their punishment? Do those tears acknowledge the justice -of your doom, or only solicit mitigation of your sufferings? I -fear me, 'tis the latter!' - -She paused, but kept her eye still fixt upon mine. - -'Take courage;' She continued: 'I wish not for your death, but -your repentance. The draught which I administered, was no -poison, but an opiate. My intention in deceiving you was to -make you feel the agonies of a guilty conscience, had Death -overtaken you suddenly while your crimes were still unrepented. -You have suffered those agonies: I have brought you to be -familiar with the sharpness of death, and I trust that your -momentary anguish will prove to you an eternal benefit. It is -not my design to destroy your immortal soul; or bid you seek the -grave, burthened with the weight of sins unexpiated. No, -Daughter, far from it: I will purify you with wholesome -chastisement, and furnish you with full leisure for contrition -and remorse. Hear then my sentence; The ill-judged zeal of your -Friends delayed its execution, but cannot now prevent it. All -Madrid believes you to be no more; Your Relations are thoroughly -persuaded of your death, and the Nuns your Partizans have -assisted at your funeral. Your existence can never be suspected; -I have taken such precautions, as must render it an impenetrable -mystery. Then abandon all thoughts of a World from which you are -eternally separated, and employ the few hours which are allowed -you, in preparing for the next.' - -This exordium led me to expect something terrible. I trembled, -and would have spoken to deprecate her wrath: but a motion of the -Domina commanded me to be silent. She proceeded. - -'Though of late years unjustly neglected, and now opposed by many -of our misguided Sisters, (whom Heaven convert!) it is my -intention to revive the laws of our order in their full force. -That against incontinence is severe, but no more than so -monstrous an offence demands: Submit to it, Daughter, without -resistance; You will find the benefit of patience and resignation -in a better life than this. Listen then to the sentence of St. -Clare. Beneath these Vaults there exist Prisons, intended to -receive such criminals as yourself: Artfully is their entrance -concealed, and She who enters them, must resign all hopes of -liberty. Thither must you now be conveyed. Food shall be -supplied you, but not sufficient for the indulgence of appetite: -You shall have just enough to keep together body and soul, and -its quality shall be the simplest and coarsest. Weep, Daughter, -weep, and moisten your bread with your tears: God knows that -you have ample cause for sorrow! Chained down in one of these -secret dungeons, shut out from the world and light for ever, with -no comfort but religion, no society but repentance, thus must you -groan away the remainder of your days. Such are St. Clare's -orders; Submit to them without repining. Follow me!' - -Thunderstruck at this barbarous decree, my little remaining -strength abandoned me. I answered only by falling at her feet, -and bathing them with tears. The Domina, unmoved by my -affliction, rose from her seat with a stately air. She repeated -her commands in an absolute tone: But my excessive faintness -made me unable to obey her. Mariana and Alix raised me from the -ground, and carried me forwards in their arms. The Prioress -moved on, leaning upon Violante, and Camilla preceded her with a -Torch. Thus passed our sad procession along the passages, in -silence only broken by my sighs and groans. We stopped before -the principal shrine of St. Clare. The Statue was removed from -its Pedestal, though how I knew not. The Nuns afterwards raised -an iron grate till then concealed by the Image, and let it fall -on the other side with a loud crash. The awful sound, repeated -by the vaults above, and Caverns below me, rouzed me from the -despondent apathy in which I had been plunged. I looked before -me: An abyss presented itself to my affrighted eyes, and a steep -and narrow Staircase, whither my Conductors were leading me. I -shrieked, and started back. I implored compassion, rent the air -with my cries, and summoned both heaven and earth to my -assistance. In vain! I was hurried down the Staircase, and -forced into one of the Cells which lined the Cavern's sides. - -My blood ran cold, as I gazed upon this melancholy abode. The -cold vapours hovering in the air, the walls green with damp, the -bed of Straw so forlorn and comfortless, the Chain destined to -bind me for ever to my prison, and the Reptiles of every -description which as the torches advanced towards them, I -descried hurrying to their retreats, struck my heart with terrors -almost too exquisite for nature to bear. Driven by despair to -madness, I burst suddenly from the Nuns who held me: I threw -myself upon my knees before the Prioress, and besought her mercy -in the most passionate and frantic terms. - -'If not on me,' said I, 'look at least with pity on that innocent -Being, whose life is attached to mine! Great is my crime, but -let not my Child suffer for it! My Baby has committed no fault: -Oh! spare me for the sake of my unborn Offspring, whom ere it -tastes life your severity dooms to destruction!' - -The Prioress drew back haughtily: She forced her habit from my -grasp, as if my touch had been contagious. - -'What?' She exclaimed with an exasperated air; 'What? Dare you -plead for the produce of your shame? Shall a Creature be -permitted to live, conceived in guilt so monstrous? Abandoned -Woman, speak for him no more! Better that the Wretch should -perish than live: Begotten in perjury, incontinence, and -pollution, It cannot fail to prove a Prodigy of vice. Hear me, -thou Guilty! Expect no mercy from me either for yourself, or -Brat. Rather pray that Death may seize you before you produce -it; Or if it must see the light, that its eyes may immediately be -closed again for ever! No aid shall be given you in your labour; -Bring your Offspring into the world yourself, Feed it yourself, -Nurse it yourself, Bury it yourself: God grant that the latter -may happen soon, lest you receive comfort from the fruit of your -iniquity!' - -This inhuman speech, the threats which it contained, the dreadful -sufferings foretold to me by the Domina, and her prayers for my -Infant's death, on whom though unborn I already doated, were more -than my exhausted frame could support. Uttering a deep groan, I -fell senseless at the feet of my unrelenting Enemy. I know not -how long I remained in this situation; But I imagine that some -time must have elapsed before my recovery, since it sufficed the -Prioress and her Nuns to quit the Cavern. When my senses -returned, I found myself in silence and solitude. I heard not -even the retiring footsteps of my Persecutors. All was hushed, -and all was dreadful! I had been thrown upon the bed of Straw: -The heavy Chain which I had already eyed with terror, was wound -around my waist, and fastened me to the Wall. A Lamp glimmering -with dull, melancholy rays through my dungeon, permitted my -distinguishing all its horrors: It was separated from the Cavern -by a low and irregular Wall of Stone: A large Chasm was left open -in it which formed the entrance, for door there was none. A -leaden Crucifix was in front of my straw Couch. A tattered rug -lay near me, as did also a Chaplet of Beads; and not far from me -stood a pitcher of water, and a wicker Basket containing a small -loaf, and a bottle of oil to supply my Lamp. - -With a despondent eye did I examine this scene of suffering: -When I reflected that I was doomed to pass in it the remainder -of my days, my heart was rent with bitter anguish. I had once -been taught to look forward to a lot so different! At one time -my prospects had appeared so bright, so flattering! Now all was -lost to me. Friends, comfort, society, happiness, in one moment -I was deprived of all! Dead to the world, Dead to pleasure, I -lived to nothing but the sense of misery. How fair did that -world seem to me, from which I was for ever excluded! How many -loved objects did it contain, whom I never should behold again! -As I threw a look of terror round my prison, as I shrunk from the -cutting wind which howled through my subterraneous dwelling, the -change seemed so striking, so abrupt, that I doubted its reality. - -That the Duke de Medina's Niece, that the destined Bride of the -Marquis de las Cisternas, One bred up in affluence, related to -the noblest families in Spain, and rich in a multitude of -affectionate Friends, that She should in one moment become a -Captive, separated from the world for ever, weighed down with -chains, and reduced to support life with the coarsest aliments, -appeared a change so sudden and incredible, that I believed -myself the sport of some frightful vision. Its continuance -convinced me of my mistake with but too much certainty. Every -morning my hopes were disappointed. At length I abandoned all -idea of escaping: I resigned myself to my fate, and only -expected Liberty when She came the Companion of Death. - -My mental anguish, and the dreadful scenes in which I had been an -Actress, advanced the period of my labour. In solitude and -misery, abandoned by all, unassisted by Art, uncomforted by -Friendship, with pangs which if witnessed would have touched the -hardest heart, was I delivered of my wretched burthen. It came -alive into the world; But I knew not how to treat it, or by what -means to preserve its existence. I could only bathe it with -tears, warm it in my bosom, and offer up prayers for its safety. -I was soon deprived of this mournful employment: The want of -proper attendance, my ignorance how to nurse it, the bitter cold -of the dungeon, and the unwholesome air which inflated its lungs, -terminated my sweet Babe's short and painful existence. It -expired in a few hours after its birth, and I witnessed its death -with agonies which beggar all description. - -But my grief was unavailing. My Infant was no more; nor could -all my sighs impart to its little tender frame the breath of a -moment. I rent my winding-sheet, and wrapped in it my lovely -Child. I placed it on my bosom, its soft arm folded round my -neck, and its pale cold cheek resting upon mine. Thus did its -lifeless limbs repose, while I covered it with kisses, talked to -it, wept, and moaned over it without remission, day or night. -Camilla entered my prison regularly once every twenty-four hours, -to bring me food. In spite of her flinty nature, She could not -behold this spectacle unmoved. She feared that grief so -excessive would at length turn my brain, and in truth I was not -always in my proper senses. From a principle of compassion She -urged me to permit the Corse to be buried: But to this I never -would consent. I vowed not to part with it while I had life: -Its presence was my only comfort, and no persuasion could induce -me to give it up. It soon became a mass of putridity, and to -every eye was a loathsome and disgusting Object; To every eye -but a Mother's. In vain did human feelings bid me recoil from -this emblem of mortality with repugnance: I withstood, and -vanquished that repugnance. I persisted in holding my Infant to -my bosom, in lamenting it, loving it, adoring it! Hour after -hour have I passed upon my sorry Couch, contemplating what had -once been my Child: I endeavoured to retrace its features -through the livid corruption, with which they were overspread: -During my confinement this sad occupation was my only delight; -and at that time Worlds should not have bribed me to give it up. -Even when released from my prison, I brought away my Child in my -arms. The representations of my two kind Friends,''--(Here She -took the hands of the Marchioness and Virginia, and pressed them -alternately to her lips)--''at length persuaded me to resign my -unhappy Infant to the Grave. Yet I parted from it with -reluctance: However, reason at length prevailed; I suffered it -to be taken from me, and it now reposes in consecrated ground. - -I before mentioned that regularly once a day Camilla brought me -food. She sought not to embitter my sorrows with reproach: She -bad me, 'tis true, resign all hopes of liberty and worldly -happiness; But She encouraged me to bear with patience my -temporary distress, and advised me to draw comfort from religion. - -My situation evidently affected her more than She ventured to -express: But She believed that to extenuate my fault would make -me less anxious to repent it. Often while her lips painted the -enormity of my guilt in glaring colours, her eyes betrayed, how -sensible She was to my sufferings. In fact I am certain that -none of my Tormentors, (for the three other Nuns entered my -prison occasionally) were so much actuated by the spirit of -oppressive cruelty as by the idea that to afflict my body was -the only way to preserve my soul. Nay, even this persuasion -might not have had such weight with them, and they might have -thought my punishment too severe, had not their good dispositions -been represt by blind obedience to their Superior. Her -resentment existed in full force. My project of elopement having -been discovered by the Abbot of the Capuchins, She supposed -herself lowered in his opinion by my disgrace, and in consequence -her hate was inveterate. She told the Nuns to whose custody I -was committed that my fault was of the most heinous nature, that -no sufferings could equal the offence, and that nothing could -save me from eternal perdition but punishing my guilt with the -utmost severity. The Superior's word is an oracle to but too -many of a Convent's Inhabitants. The Nuns believed whatever the -Prioress chose to assert: Though contradicted by reason and -charity, they hesitated not to admit the truth of her arguments. -They followed her injunctions to the very letter, and were fully -persuaded that to treat me with lenity, or to show the least -pity for my woes, would be a direct means to destroy my chance -for salvation. - -Camilla, being most employed about me, was particularly charged -by the Prioress to treat me with harshness. In compliance with -these orders, She frequently strove to convince me, how just was -my punishment, and how enormous was my crime: She bad me think -myself too happy in saving my soul by mortifying my body, and -even threatened me sometimes with eternal perdition. Yet as I -before observed, She always concluded by words of encouragement -and comfort; and though uttered by Camilla's lips, I easily -recognised the Domina's expressions. Once, and once only, the -Prioress visited me in my dungeon. She then treated me with the -most unrelenting cruelty: She loaded me with reproaches, taunted -me with my frailty, and when I implored her mercy, told me to ask -it of heaven, since I deserved none on earth. She even gazed -upon my lifeless Infant without emotion; and when She left me, I -heard her charge Camilla to increase the hardships of my -Captivity. Unfeeling Woman! But let me check my resentment: -She has expiated her errors by her sad and unexpected death. -Peace be with her; and may her crimes be forgiven in heaven, as I -forgive her my sufferings on earth! - -Thus did I drag on a miserable existence. Far from growing -familiar with my prison, I beheld it every moment with new -horror. The cold seemed more piercing and bitter, the air more -thick and pestilential. My frame became weak, feverish, and -emaciated. I was unable to rise from the bed of Straw, and -exercise my limbs in the narrow limits, to which the length of my -chain permitted me to move. Though exhausted, faint, and weary, -I trembled to profit by the approach of Sleep: My slumbers were -constantly interrupted by some obnoxious Insect crawling over me. - -Sometimes I felt the bloated Toad, hideous and pampered with the -poisonous vapours of the dungeon, dragging his loathsome length -along my bosom: Sometimes the quick cold Lizard rouzed me -leaving his slimy track upon my face, and entangling itself in -the tresses of my wild and matted hair: Often have I at waking -found my fingers ringed with the long worms which bred in the -corrupted flesh of my Infant. At such times I shrieked with -terror and disgust, and while I shook off the reptile, trembled -with all a Woman's weakness. - -Such was my situation, when Camilla was suddenly taken ill. A -dangerous fever, supposed to be infectious, confined her to her -bed. Every one except the Lay-Sister appointed to nurse her, -avoided her with caution, and feared to catch the disease. She -was perfectly delirious, and by no means capable of attending to -me. The Domina and the Nuns admitted to the mystery, had -latterly given me over entirely to Camilla's care: In -consequence, they busied themselves no more about me; and -occupied by preparing for the approaching Festival, it is more -than probable that I never once entered into their thoughts. Of -the reason of Camilla's negligence, I have been informed since my -release by the Mother St. Ursula; At that time I was very far -from suspecting its cause. On the contrary, I waited for my -Gaoler's appearance at first with impatience, and afterwards with -despair. One day passed away; Another followed it; The Third -arrived. Still no Camilla! Still no food! I knew the lapse of -time by the wasting of my Lamp, to supply which fortunately a -week's supply of Oil had been left me. I supposed, either that -the Nuns had forgotten me, or that the Domina had ordered them to -let me perish. The latter idea seemed the most probable; Yet so -natural is the love of life, that I trembled to find it true. -Though embittered by every species of misery, my existence was -still dear to me, and I dreaded to lose it. Every succeeding -minute proved to me that I must abandon all hopes of relief. I -was become an absolute skeleton: My eyes already failed me, and -my limbs were beginning to stiffen. I could only express my -anguish, and the pangs of that hunger which gnawed my -heart-strings, by frequent groans, whose melancholy sound the -vaulted roof of the dungeon re-echoed. I resigned myself to my -fate: I already expected the moment of dissolution, when my -Guardian Angel, when my beloved Brother arrived in time to save -me. My sight grown dim and feeble at first refused to recognize -him; and when I did distinguish his features, the sudden burst of -rapture was too much for me to bear. I was overpowered by the -swell of joy at once more beholding a Friend, and that a Friend -so dear to me. Nature could not support my emotions, and took -her refuge in insensibility. - -You already know, what are my obligations to the Family of -Villa-Franca: But what you cannot know is the extent of my -gratitude, boundless as the excellence of my Benefactors. -Lorenzo! Raymond! Names so dear to me! Teach me to bear with -fortitude this sudden transition from misery to bliss. So lately -a Captive, opprest with chains, perishing with hunger, suffering -every in convenience of cold and want, hidden from the light, -excluded from society, hopeless, neglected, and as I feared, -forgotten; Now restored to life and liberty, enjoying all the -comforts of affluence and ease, surrounded by those who are most -loved by me, and on the point of becoming his Bride who has long -been wedded to my heart, my happiness is so exquisite, so -perfect, that scarcely can my brain sustain the weight. One only -wish remains ungratified: It is to see my Brother in his former -health, and to know that Antonia's memory is buried in her grave. - -Granted this prayer, I have nothing more to desire. I trust, -that my past sufferings have purchased from heaven the pardon of -my momentary weakness. That I have offended, offended greatly and -grievously, I am fully conscious; But let not my Husband, because -He once conquered my virtue, doubt the propriety of my future -conduct. I have been frail and full of error: But I yielded not -to the warmth of constitution; Raymond, affection for you -betrayed me. I was too confident of my strength; But I depended -no less on your honour than my own. I had vowed never to see you -more: Had it not been for the consequences of that unguarded -moment, my resolution had been kept. Fate willed it otherwise, -and I cannot but rejoice at its decree. Still my conduct has -been highly blameable, and while I attempt to justify myself, I -blush at recollecting my imprudence. Let me then dismiss the -ungrateful subject; First assuring you, Raymond, that you shall -have no cause to repent our union, and that the more culpable -have been the errors of your Mistress, the more exemplary shall -be the conduct of your Wife. - -Here Agnes ceased, and the Marquis replied to her address in -terms equally sincere and affectionate. Lorenzo expressed his -satisfaction at the prospect of being so closely connected with a -Man for whom He had ever entertained the highest esteem. The -Pope's Bull had fully and effectually released Agnes from her -religious engagements: The marriage was therefore celebrated as -soon as the needful preparations had been made, for the Marquis -wished to have the ceremony performed with all possible splendour -and publicity. This being over, and the Bride having received -the compliments of Madrid, She departed with Don Raymond for his -Castle in Andalusia: Lorenzo accompanied them, as did also the -Marchioness de Villa-Franca and her lovely Daughter. It is -needless to say that Theodore was of the party, and would be -impossible to describe his joy at his Master's marriage. -Previous to his departure, the Marquis, to atone in some measure -for his past neglect, made some enquiries relative to Elvira. -Finding that She as well as her Daughter had received many -services from Leonella and Jacintha, He showed his respect to the -memory of his Sister-in-law by making the two Women handsome -presents. Lorenzo followed his example--Leonella was highly -flattered by the attentions of Noblemen so distinguished, and -Jacintha blessed the hour on which her House was bewitched. - -On her side, Agnes failed not to reward her Convent Friends. -The worthy Mother St. Ursula, to whom She owed her liberty, was -named at her request Superintendent of 'The Ladies of Charity:' -This was one of the best and most opulent Societies throughout -Spain. Bertha and Cornelia not choosing to quit their Friend, -were appointed to principal charges in the same establishment. -As to the Nuns who had aided the Domina in persecuting Agnes, -Camilla being confined by illness to her bed, had perished in the -flames which consumed St. Clare's Convent. Mariana, Alix, and -Violante, as well as two more, had fallen victims to the popular -rage. The three Others who in Council had supported the Domina's -sentence, were severely reprimanded, and banished to religious -Houses in obscure and distant Provinces: Here they languished -away a few years, ashamed of their former weakness, and shunned -by their Companions with aversion and contempt. - -Nor was the fidelity of Flora permitted to go unrewarded. Her -wishes being consulted, She declared herself impatient to revisit -her native land. In consequence, a passage was procured for her -to Cuba, where She arrived in safety, loaded with the presents of -Raymond and Lorenzo. - -The debts of gratitude discharged, Agnes was at liberty to pursue -her favourite plan. Lodged in the same House, Lorenzo and -Virginia were eternally together. The more He saw of her, the -more was He convinced of her merit. On her part, She laid -herself out to please, and not to succeed was for her impossible. - -Lorenzo witnessed with admiration her beautiful person, elegant -manners, innumerable talents, and sweet disposition: He was also -much flattered by her prejudice in his favour, which She had not -sufficient art to conceal. However, his sentiments partook not -of that ardent character which had marked his affection for -Antonia. The image of that lovely and unfortunate Girl still -lived in his heart, and baffled all Virginia's efforts to -displace it. Still when the Duke proposed to him the match, -which He wished to earnestly to take place, his Nephew did not -reject the offer. The urgent supplications of his Friends, and -the Lady's merit conquered his repugnance to entering into new -engagements. He proposed himself to the Marquis de Villa- Franca, -and was accepted with joy and gratitude. Virginia became his -Wife, nor did She ever give him cause to repent his choice. His -esteem increased for her daily. Her unremitted endeavours to -please him could not but succeed. His affection assumed stronger -and warmer colours. Antonia's image was gradually effaced from -his bosom; and Virginia became sole Mistress of that heart, which -She well deserved to possess without a Partner. - -The remaining years of Raymond and Agnes, of Lorenzo and -Virginia, were happy as can be those allotted to Mortals, born to -be the prey of grief, and sport of disappointment. The exquisite -sorrows with which they had been afflicted, made them think -lightly of every succeeding woe. They had felt the sharpest -darts in misfortune's quiver; Those which remained appeared blunt -in comparison. Having weathered Fate's heaviest Storms, they -looked calmly upon its terrors: or if ever they felt Affliction's -casual gales, they seemed to them gentle as Zephyrs which -breathe over summer-seas. - - - CHAPTER V - - ----He was a fell despightful Fiend: -Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below: -By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened; -Of Man alike, if good or bad the Foe. - Thomson. - -On the day following Antonia's death, all Madrid was a scene of -consternation and amazement. An Archer who had witnessed the -adventure in the Sepulchre had indiscreetly related the -circumstances of the murder: He had also named the Perpetrator. -The confusion was without example which this intelligence raised -among the Devotees. Most of them disbelieved it, and went -themselves to the Abbey to ascertain the fact. Anxious to avoid -the shame to which their Superior's ill-conduct exposed the whole -Brotherhood, the Monks assured the Visitors that Ambrosio was -prevented from receiving them as usual by nothing but illness. -This attempt was unsuccessful: The same excuse being repeated -day after day, the Archer's story gradually obtained confidence. -His Partizans abandoned him: No one entertained a doubt of his -guilt; and they who before had been the warmest in his praise -were now the most vociferous in his condemnation. - -While his innocence or guilt was debated in Madrid with the -utmost acrimony, Ambrosio was a prey to the pangs of conscious -villainy, and the terrors of punishment impending over him. When -He looked back to the eminence on which He had lately stood, -universally honoured and respected, at peace with the world and -with himself, scarcely could He believe that He was indeed the -culprit whose crimes and whose fate He trembled to envisage. -But a few weeks had elapsed, since He was pure and virtuous, -courted by the wisest and noblest in Madrid, and regarded by the -People with a reverence that approached idolatry: He now saw -himself stained with the most loathed and monstrous sins, the -object of universal execration, a Prisoner of the Holy Office, -and probably doomed to perish in tortures the most severe. He -could not hope to deceive his Judges: The proofs of his guilt -were too strong. His being in the Sepulchre at so late an hour, -his confusion at the discovery, the dagger which in his first -alarm He owned had been concealed by him, and the blood which had -spirted upon his habit from Antonia's wound, sufficiently marked -him out for the Assassin. He waited with agony for the day of -examination: He had no resource to comfort him in his distress. -Religion could not inspire him with fortitude: If He read the -Books of morality which were put into his hands, He saw in them -nothing but the enormity of his offences; If he attempted to -pray, He recollected that He deserved not heaven's protection, -and believed his crimes so monstrous as to baffle even God's -infinite goodness. For every other Sinner He thought there -might be hope, but for him there could be none. Shuddering at -the past, anguished by the present, and dreading the future, thus -passed He the few days preceding that which was marked for his -Trial. - -That day arrived. At nine in the morning his prison door was -unlocked, and his Gaoler entering, commanded him to follow him. -He obeyed with trembling. He was conducted into a spacious Hall, -hung with black cloth. At the Table sat three grave, -stern-looking Men, also habited in black: One was the Grand -Inquisitor, whom the importance of this cause had induced to -examine into it himself. At a smaller table at a little distance -sat the Secretary, provided with all necessary implements for -writing. Ambrosio was beckoned to advance, and take his station -at the lower end of the Table. As his eye glanced downwards, He -perceived various iron instruments lying scattered upon the -floor. Their forms were unknown to him, but apprehension -immediately guessed them to be engines of torture. He turned -pale, and with difficulty prevented himself from sinking upon the -ground. - -Profound silence prevailed, except when the Inquisitors whispered -a few words among themselves mysteriously. Near an hour past -away, and with every second of it Ambrosio's fears grew more -poignant. At length a small Door, opposite to that by which He -had entered the Hall, grated heavily upon its hinges. An Officer -appeared, and was immediately followed by the beautiful Matilda. -Her hair hung about her face wildly; Her cheeks were pale, and -her eyes sunk and hollow. She threw a melancholy look upon -Ambrosio: He replied by one of aversion and reproach. She was -placed opposite to him. A Bell then sounded thrice. It was the -signal for opening the Court, and the Inquisitors entered upon -their office. - -In these trials neither the accusation is mentioned, or the name -of the Accuser. The Prisoners are only asked, whether they will -confess: If they reply that having no crime they can make no -confession, they are put to the torture without delay. This is -repeated at intervals, either till the suspected avow themselves -culpable, or the perseverance of the examinants is worn out and -exhausted: But without a direct acknowledgment of their guilt, -the Inquisition never pronounces the final doom of its Prisoners. - -In general much time is suffered to elapse without their being -questioned: But Ambrosio's trial had been hastened, on account -of a solemn Auto da Fe which would take place in a few days, and -in which the Inquisitors meant this distinguished Culprit to -perform a part, and give a striking testimony of their vigilance. - -The Abbot was not merely accused of rape and murder: The crime -of Sorcery was laid to his charge, as well as to Matilda's. She -had been seized as an Accomplice in Antonia's assassination. On -searching her Cell, various suspicious books and instruments were -found which justified the accusation brought against her. To -criminate the Monk, the constellated Mirror was produced, which -Matilda had accidentally left in his chamber. The strange figures -engraved upon it caught the attention of Don Ramirez, while -searching the Abbot's Cell: In consequence, He carried it away -with him. It was shown to the Grand Inquisitor, who having -considered it for some time, took off a small golden Cross which -hung at his girdle, and laid it upon the Mirror. Instantly a loud -noise was heard, resembling a clap of thunder, and the steel -shivered into a thousand pieces. This circumstance confirmed the -suspicion of the Monk's having dealt in Magic: It was even -supposed that his former influence over the minds of the People -was entirely to be ascribed to witchcraft. - -Determined to make him confess not only the crimes which He had -committed, but those also of which He was innocent, the -Inquisitors began their examination. Though dreading the -tortures, as He dreaded death still more which would consign him -to eternal torments, the Abbot asserted his purity in a voice -bold and resolute. Matilda followed his example, but spoke with -fear and trembling. Having in vain exhorted him to confess, the -Inquisitors ordered the Monk to be put to the question. The -Decree was immediately executed. Ambrosio suffered the most -excruciating pangs that ever were invented by human cruelty: -Yet so dreadful is Death when guilt accompanies it, that He had -sufficient fortitude to persist in his disavowal. His agonies -were redoubled in consequence: Nor was He released till fainting -from excess of pain, insensibility rescued him from the hands of -his Tormentors. - -Matilda was next ordered to the torture: But terrified by the -sight of the Friar's sufferings, her courage totally deserted -her. She sank upon her knees, acknowledged her corresponding -with infernal Spirits, and that She had witnessed the Monk's -assassination of Antonia: But as to the crime of Sorcery, She -declared herself the sole criminal, and Ambrosio perfectly -innocent. The latter assertion met with no credit. The Abbot -had recovered his senses in time to hear the confession of his -Accomplice: But He was too much enfeebled by what He had already -undergone to be capable at that time of sustaining new torments. - -He was commanded back to his Cell, but first informed that as -soon as He had gained strength sufficient, He must prepare -himself for a second examination. The Inquisitors hoped that He -would then be less hardened and obstinate. To Matilda it was -announced that She must expiate her crime in fire on the -approaching Auto da Fe. All her tears and entreaties could -procure no mitigation of her doom, and She was dragged by force -from the Hall of Trial. - -Returned to his dungeon, the sufferings of Ambrosio's body were -far more supportable than those of his mind. His dislocated -limbs, the nails torn from his hands and feet, and his fingers -mashed and broken by the pressure of screws, were far surpassed -in anguish by the agitation of his soul and vehemence of his -terrors. He saw that, guilty or innocent, his Judges were bent -upon condemning him: The remembrance of what his denial had -already cost him terrified him at the idea of being again -applied to the question, and almost engaged him to confess his -crimes. Then again the consequences of his confession flashed -before him, and rendered him once more irresolute. His death -would be inevitable, and that a death the most dreadful: He had -listened to Matilda's doom, and doubted not that a similar was -reserved for him. He shuddered at the approaching Auto da Fe, at -the idea of perishing in flames, and only escaping from indurable -torments to pass into others more subtile and ever-lasting! With -affright did He bend his mind's eye on the space beyond the -grave; nor could hide from himself how justly he ought to dread -Heaven's vengeance. In this Labyrinth of terrors, fain would He -have taken his refuge in the gloom of Atheism: Fain would He -have denied the soul's immortality; have persuaded himself that -when his eyes once closed, they would never more open, and that -the same moment would annihilate his soul and body. Even this -resource was refused to him. To permit his being blind to the -fallacy of this belief, his knowledge was too extensive, his -understanding too solid and just. He could not help feeling the -existence of a God. Those truths, once his comfort, now -presented themselves before him in the clearest light; But they -only served to drive him to distraction. They destroyed his -ill-grounded hopes of escaping punishment; and dispelled by the -irresistible brightness of Truth and convinction, Philosophy's -deceitful vapours faded away like a dream. - -In anguish almost too great for mortal frame to bear, He expected -the time when He was again to be examined. He busied himself in -planning ineffectual schemes for escaping both present and future -punishment. Of the first there was no possibility; Of the second -Despair made him neglect the only means. While Reason forced him -to acknowledge a God's existence, Conscience made him doubt the -infinity of his goodness. He disbelieved that a Sinner like him -could find mercy. He had not been deceived into error: -Ignorance could furnish him with no excuse. He had seen vice in -her true colours; Before He committed his crimes, He had computed -every scruple of their weight; and yet he had committed them. - -'Pardon?' He would cry in an access of phrenzy 'Oh! there can be -none for me!' - -Persuaded of this, instead of humbling himself in penitence, of -deploring his guilt, and employing his few remaining hours in -deprecating Heaven's wrath, He abandoned himself to the -transports of desperate rage; He sorrowed for the punishment of -his crimes, not their commission; and exhaled his bosom's anguish -in idle sighs, in vain lamentations, in blasphemy and despair. -As the few beams of day which pierced through the bars of his -prison window gradually disappeared, and their place was -supplied by the pale and glimmering Lamp, He felt his terrors -redouble, and his ideas become more gloomy, more solemn, more -despondent. He dreaded the approach of sleep: No sooner did his -eyes close, wearied with tears and watching, than the dreadful -visions seemed to be realised on which his mind had dwelt during -the day. He found himself in sulphurous realms and burning -Caverns, surrounded by Fiends appointed his Tormentors, and who -drove him through a variety of tortures, each of which was more -dreadful than the former. Amidst these dismal scenes wandered -the Ghosts of Elvira and her Daughter. They reproached him with -their deaths, recounted his crimes to the Daemons, and urged them -to inflict torments of cruelty yet more refined. Such were the -pictures which floated before his eyes in sleep: They vanished -not till his repose was disturbed by excess of agony. Then would -He start from the ground on which He had stretched himself, his -brows running down with cold sweat, his eyes wild and phrenzied; -and He only exchanged the terrible certainty for surmizes -scarcely more supportable. He paced his dungeon with disordered -steps; He gazed with terror upon the surrounding darkness, and -often did He cry, - -'Oh! fearful is night to the Guilty!' - -The day of his second examination was at hand. He had been -compelled to swallow cordials, whose virtues were calculated to -restore his bodily strength, and enable him to support the -question longer. On the night preceding this dreaded day, his -fears for the morrow permitted him not to sleep. His terrors -were so violent, as nearly to annihilate his mental powers. He -sat like one stupefied near the Table on which his Lamp was -burning dimly. Despair chained up his faculties in Idiotism, and -He remained for some hours, unable to speak or move, or indeed to -think. - -'Look up, Ambrosio!' said a Voice in accents well-known to him-- - -The Monk started, and raised his melancholy eyes. Matilda stood -before him. She had quitted her religious habit. She now wore a -female dress, at once elegant and splendid: A profusion of -diamonds blazed upon her robes, and her hair was confined by a -coronet of Roses. In her right hand She held a small Book: A -lively expression of pleasure beamed upon her countenance; But -still it was mingled with a wild imperious majesty which -inspired the Monk with awe, and represt in some measure his -transports at seeing her. - -'You here, Matilda?' He at length exclaimed; 'How have you gained -entrance? Where are your Chains? What means this magnificence, -and the joy which sparkles in your eyes? Have our Judges -relented? Is there a chance of my escaping? Answer me for pity, -and tell me, what I have to hope, or fear.' - -'Ambrosio!' She replied with an air of commanding dignity; 'I -have baffled the Inquisition's fury. I am free: A few moments -will place kingdoms between these dungeons and me. Yet I -purchase my liberty at a dear, at a dreadful price! Dare you pay -the same, Ambrosio? Dare you spring without fear over the -bounds which separate Men from Angels?--You are silent.--You -look upon me with eyes of suspicion and alarm--I read your -thoughts and confess their justice. Yes, Ambrosio ; I have -sacrificed all for life and liberty. I am no longer a candidate -for heaven! I have renounced God's service, and am enlisted -beneath the banners of his Foes. The deed is past recall: Yet -were it in my power to go back, I would not. Oh! my Friend, to -expire in such torments! To die amidst curses and execrations! -To bear the insults of an exasperated Mob! To be exposed to all -the mortifications of shame and infamy! Who can reflect without -horror on such a doom? Let me then exult in my exchange. I have -sold distant and uncertain happiness for present and secure: I -have preserved a life which otherwise I had lost in torture; and -I have obtained the power of procuring every bliss which can -make that life delicious! The Infernal Spirits obey me as their -Sovereign: By their aid shall my days be past in every -refinement of luxury and voluptuousness. I will enjoy -unrestrained the gratification of my senses: Every passion shall -be indulged, even to satiety; Then will I bid my Servants invent -new pleasures, to revive and stimulate my glutted appetites! I -go impatient to exercise my newly-gained dominion. I pant to be -at liberty. Nothing should hold me one moment longer in this -abhorred abode, but the hope of persuading you to follow my -example. Ambrosio, I still love you: Our mutual guilt and -danger have rendered you dearer to me than ever, and I would fain -save you from impending destruction. Summon then your resolution -to your aid; and renounce for immediate and certain benefits the -hopes of a salvation, difficult to obtain, and perhaps altogether -erroneous. Shake off the prejudice of vulgar souls; Abandon a -God who has abandoned you, and raise yourself to the level of -superior Beings!' - -She paused for the Monk's reply: He shuddered, while He gave it. - -'Matilda!' He said after a long silence in a low and unsteady -voice; 'What price gave you for liberty?' - -She answered him firm and dauntless. - -'Ambrosio, it was my Soul!' - -'Wretched Woman, what have you done? Pass but a few years, and -how dreadful will be your sufferings!' - -'Weak Man, pass but this night, and how dreadful will be your -own! Do you remember what you have already endured? Tomorrow -you must bear torments doubly exquisite. Do you remember the -horrors of a fiery punishment? In two days you must be led a -Victim to the Stake! What then will become of you? Still dare -you hope for pardon? Still are you beguiled with visions of -salvation? Think upon your crimes! Think upon your lust, your -perjury, inhumanity, and hypocrisy! Think upon the innocent -blood which cries to the Throne of God for vengeance, and then -hope for mercy! Then dream of heaven, and sigh for worlds of -light, and realms of peace and pleasure! Absurd! Open your -eyes, Ambrosio, and be prudent. Hell is your lot; You are doomed -to eternal perdition; Nought lies beyond your grave but a gulph -of devouring flames. And will you then speed towards that Hell? -Will you clasp that perdition in your arms, ere 'tis needful? -Will you plunge into those flames while you still have the power -to shun them? 'Tis a Madman's action. No, no, Ambrosio: Let us -for awhile fly from divine vengeance. Be advised by me; Purchase -by one moment's courage the bliss of years; Enjoy the present, -and forget that a future lags behind.' - -'Matilda, your counsels are dangerous: I dare not, I will not -follow them. I must not give up my claim to salvation. -Monstrous are my crimes; But God is merciful, and I will not -despair of pardon.' - -'Is such your resolution? I have no more to say. I speed to joy -and liberty, and abandon you to death and eternal torments.' - -'Yet stay one moment, Matilda! You command the infernal Daemons: - -You can force open these prison doors; You can release me from -these chains which weigh me down. Save me, I conjure you, and -bear me from these fearful abodes!' - -'You ask the only boon beyond my power to bestow. I am forbidden -to assist a Churchman and a Partizan of God: Renounce those -titles, and command me.' - -'I will not sell my soul to perdition.' - -'Persist in your obstinacy, till you find yourself at the Stake: -Then will you repent your error, and sigh for escape when the -moment is gone by. I quit you. Yet ere the hour of death -arrives should wisdom enlighten you, listen to the means of -repairing your present fault. I leave with you this Book. Read -the four first lines of the seventh page backwards: The Spirit -whom you have already once beheld will immediately appear to -you. If you are wise, we shall meet again: If not, farewell for -ever!' - -She let the Book fall upon the ground. A cloud of blue fire -wrapped itself round her: She waved her hand to Ambrosio, and -disappeared. The momentary glare which the flames poured through -the dungeon, on dissipating suddenly, seemed to have increased -its natural gloom. The solitary Lamp scarcely gave light -sufficient to guide the Monk to a Chair. He threw himself into -his seat, folded his arms, and leaning his head upon the table, -sank into reflections perplexing and unconnected. - -He was still in this attitude when the opening of the prison door -rouzed him from his stupor. He was summoned to appear before the -Grand Inquisitor. He rose, and followed his Gaoler with painful -steps. He was led into the same Hall, placed before the same -Examiners, and was again interrogated whether Hewould confess. -He replied as before, that having no crimes, He could acknowledge -none: But when the Executioners prepared to put him to the -question, when He saw the engines of torture, and remembered the -pangs which they had already inflicted, his resolution failed him -entirely. Forgetting the consequences, and only anxious to -escape the terrors of the present moment, He made an ample -confession. He disclosed every circumstance of his guilt, and -owned not merely the crimes with which He was charged, but those -of which He had never been suspected. Being interrogated as to -Matilda's flight which had created much confusion, He confessed -that She had sold herself to Satan, and that She was indebted to -Sorcery for her escape. He still assured his Judges that for -his own part He had never entered into any compact with the -infernal Spirits; But the threat of being tortured made him -declare himself to be a Sorcerer, and Heretic, and whatever other -title the Inquisitors chose to fix upon him. In consequence of -this avowal, his sentence was immediately pronounced. He was -ordered to prepare himself to perish in the Auto da Fe, which was -to be solemnized at twelve o'clock that night. This hour was -chosen from the idea that the horror of the flames being -heightened by the gloom of midnight, the execution would have a -greater effect upon the mind of the People. - -Ambrosio rather dead than alive was left alone in his dungeon. -The moment in which this terrible decree was pronounced had -nearly proved that of his dissolution. He looked forward to the -morrow with despair, and his terrors increased with the approach -of midnight. Sometimes He was buried in gloomy silence: At -others He raved with delirious passion, wrung his hands, and -cursed the hour when He first beheld the light. In one of these -moments his eye rested upon Matilda's mysterious gift. His -transports of rage were instantly suspended. He looked earnestly -at the Book; He took it up, but immediately threw it from him -with horror. He walked rapidly up and down his dungeon: Then -stopped, and again fixed his eyes on the spot where the Book had -fallen. He reflected that here at least was a resource from the -fate which He dreaded. He stooped, and took it up a second time. - -He remained for some time trembling and irresolute: He longed to -try the charm, yet feared its consequences. The recollection of -his sentence at length fixed his indecision. He opened the -Volume; but his agitation was so great that He at first sought -in vain for the page mentioned by Matilda. Ashamed of himself, -He called all his courage to his aid. He turned to the seventh -leaf. He began to read it aloud; But his eyes frequently -wandered from the Book, while He anxiously cast them round in -search of the Spirit, whom He wished, yet dreaded to behold. -Still He persisted in his design; and with a voice unassured and -frequent interruptions, He contrived to finish the four first -lines of the page. - -They were in a language, whose import was totally unknown to him. - -Scarce had He pronounced the last word when the effects of the -charm were evident. A loud burst of Thunder was heard; The -prison shook to its very foundations; A blaze of lightning -flashed through the Cell; and in the next moment, borne upon -sulphurous whirl-winds, Lucifer stood before him a second time. -But He came not as when at Matilda's summons He borrowed the -Seraph's form to deceive Ambrosio. He appeared in all that -ugliness which since his fall from heaven had been his portion: -His blasted limbs still bore marks of the Almighty's thunder: A -swarthy darkness spread itself over his gigantic form: His hands -and feet were armed with long Talons: Fury glared in his eyes, -which might have struck the bravest heart with terror: Over his -huge shoulders waved two enormous sable wings; and his hair was -supplied by living snakes, which twined themselves round his -brows with frightful hissings. In one hand He held a roll of -parchment, and in the other an iron pen. Still the lightning -flashed around him, and the Thunder with repeated bursts, seemed -to announce the dissolution of Nature. - -Terrified at an Apparition so different from what He had -expected, Ambrosio remained gazing upon the Fiend, deprived of -the power of utterance. The Thunder had ceased to roll: -Universal silence reigned through the dungeon. - -'For what am I summoned hither?' said the Daemon, in a voice -which sulphurous fogs had damped to hoarseness-- - -At the sound Nature seemed to tremble: A violent earthquake -rocked the ground, accompanied by a fresh burst of Thunder, -louder and more appalling than the first. - -Ambrosio was long unable to answer the Daemon's demand. - -'I am condemned to die;' He said with a faint voice, his blood -running cold, while He gazed upon his dreadful Visitor. 'Save -me! Bear me from hence!' - -'Shall the reward of my services be paid me? Dare you embrace my -cause? Will you be mine, body and soul? Are you prepared to -renounce him who made you, and him who died for you? Answer but -''Yes'' and Lucifer is your Slave.' - -'Will no less price content you? Can nothing satisfy you but my -eternal ruin? Spirit, you ask too much. Yet convey me from this -dungeon: Be my Servant for one hour, and I will be yours for a -thousand years. Will not this offer suffice?' - -'It will not. I must have your soul; must have it mine, and mine -for ever.' - -'Insatiate Daemon, I will not doom myself to endless torments. I -will not give up my hopes of being one day pardoned.' - -'You will not? On what Chimaera rest then your hopes? -Short-sighted Mortal! Miserable Wretch! Are you not guilty? -Are you not infamous in the eyes of Men and Angels. Can such -enormous sins be forgiven? Hope you to escape my power? Your -fate is already pronounced. The Eternal has abandoned you; Mine -you are marked in the book of destiny, and mine you must and -shall be!' - -'Fiend, 'tis false! Infinite is the Almighty's mercy, and the -Penitent shall meet his forgiveness. My crimes are monstrous, -but I will not despair of pardon: Haply, when they have received -due chastisement . . . .' - -'Chastisement? Was Purgatory meant for guilt like yours? Hope -you that your offences shall be bought off by prayers of -superstitious dotards and droning Monks? Ambrosio, be wise! -Mine -you must be: You are doomed to flames, but may shun them for the -present. Sign this parchment: I will bear you from hence, and -you may pass your remaining years in bliss and liberty. Enjoy -your existence: Indulge in every pleasure to which appetite may -lead you: But from the moment that it quits your body, remember -that your soul belongs to me, and that I will not be defrauded of -my right.' - -The Monk was silent; But his looks declared that the Tempter's -words were not thrown away. He reflected on the conditions -proposed with horror: On the other hand, He believed himself -doomed to perdition and that, by refusing the Daemon's succour, -He only hastened tortures which He never could escape. The Fiend -saw that his resolution was shaken: He renewed his instances, -and endeavoured to fix the Abbot's indecision. He described the -agonies of death in the most terrific colours; and He worked so -powerfully upon Ambrosio's despair and fears that He prevailed -upon him to receive the Parchment. He then struck the iron Pen -which He held into a vein of the Monk's left hand. It pierced -deep, and was instantly filled with blood; Yet Ambrosio felt no -pain from the wound. The Pen was put into his hand: It -trembled. The Wretch placed the Parchment on the Table before -him, and prepared to sign it. Suddenly He held his hand: He -started away hastily, and threw the Pen upon the table. - -'What am I doing?' He cried--Then turning to the Fiend with a -desperate air, 'Leave me! Begone! I will not sign the -Parchment.' - -'Fool!' exclaimed the disappointed Daemon, darting looks so -furious as penetrated the Friar's soul with horror; 'Thus am I -trifled with? Go then! Rave in agony, expire in tortures, and -then learn the extent of the Eternal's mercy! But beware how you -make me again your mock! Call me no more till resolved to accept -my offers! Summon me a second time to dismiss me thus idly, and -these Talons shall rend you into a thousand pieces! Speak yet -again; Will you sign the Parchment?' - -'I will not! Leave me! Away!' - -Instantly the Thunder was heard to roll horribly: Once more the -earth trembled with violence: The Dungeon resounded with loud -shrieks, and the Daemon fled with blasphemy and curses. - -At first, the Monk rejoiced at having resisted the Seducer's -arts, and obtained a triumph over Mankind's Enemy: But as the -hour of punishment drew near, his former terrors revived in his -heart. Their momentary repose seemed to have given them fresh -vigour. The nearer that the time approached, the more did He -dread appearing before the Throne of God. He shuddered to think -how soon He must be plunged into eternity; How soon meet the eyes -of his Creator, whom He had so grievously offended. The Bell -announced midnight: It was the signal for being led to the -Stake! As He listened to the first stroke, the blood ceased to -circulate in the Abbot's veins: He heard death and torture -murmured in each succeeding sound. He expected to see the -Archers entering his prison; and as the Bell forbore to toll, he -seized the magic volume in a fit of despair. He opened it, -turned hastily to the seventh page, and as if fearing to allow -himself a moment's thought ran over the fatal lines with -rapidity. Accompanied by his former terrors, Lucifer again stood -before the Trembler. - -'You have summoned me,' said the Fiend; 'Are you determined to be -wise? Will you accept my conditions? You know them already. -Renounce your claim to salvation, make over to me your soul, and -I bear you from this dungeon instantly. Yet is it time. -Resolve, or it will be too late. Will you sign the Parchment?' - -'I must!--Fate urges me! I accept your conditions.' - -'Sign the Parchment!' replied the Daemon in an exulting tone. - -The Contract and the bloody Pen still lay upon the Table. -Ambrosio drew near it. He prepared to sign his name. A moment's -reflection made him hesitate. - -'Hark!' cried the Tempter; 'They come! Be quick! Sign the -Parchment, and I bear you from hence this moment.' - -In effect, the Archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead -Ambrosio to the Stake. The sound encouraged the Monk in his -resolution. - -'What is the import of this writing?' said He. - -'It makes your soul over to me for ever, and without reserve.' - -'What am I to receive in exchange?' - -'My protection, and release from this dungeon. Sign it, and this -instant I bear you away.' - -Ambrosio took up the Pen; He set it to the Parchment. Again his -courage failed him: He felt a pang of terror at his heart, and -once more threw the Pen upon the Table. - -'Weak and Puerile!' cried the exasperated Fiend: 'Away with this -folly! Sign the writing this instant, or I sacrifice you to my -rage!' - -At this moment the bolt of the outward Door was drawn back. The -Prisoner heard the rattling of Chains; The heavy Bar fell; The -Archers were on the point of entering. Worked up to phrenzy by -the urgent danger, shrinking from the approach of death, -terrified by the Daemon's threats, and seeing no other means to -escape destruction, the wretched Monk complied. He signed the -fatal contract, and gave it hastily into the evil Spirit's hands, -whose eyes, as He received the gift, glared with malicious -rapture. - -'Take it!' said the God-abandoned; 'Now then save me! Snatch me -from hence!' - -'Hold! Do you freely and absolutely renounce your Creator and -his Son?' - -'I do! I do!' - -'Do you make over your soul to me for ever?' - -'For ever!' - -'Without reserve or subterfuge? Without future appeal to the -divine mercy?' - -The last Chain fell from the door of the prison: The key was -heard turning in the Lock: Already the iron door grated heavily -upon its rusty hinges. - -'I am yours for ever and irrevocably!' cried the Monk wild with -terror: 'I abandon all claim to salvation! I own no power but -yours! Hark! Hark! They come! Oh! save me! Bear me away!' - -'I have triumphed! You are mine past reprieve, and I fulfil my -promise.' - -While He spoke, the Door unclosed. Instantly the Daemon grasped -one of Ambrosio's arms, spread his broad pinions, and sprang with -him into the air. The roof opened as they soared upwards, and -closed again when they had quitted the Dungeon. - -In the meanwhile, the Gaoler was thrown into the utmost surprize -by the disappearance of his Prisoner. Though neither He nor the -Archers were in time to witness the Monk's escape, a sulphurous -smell prevailing through the prison sufficiently informed them by -whose aid He had been liberated. They hastened to make their -report to the Grand Inquisitor. The story, how a Sorcerer had -been carried away by the Devil, was soon noised about Madrid; and -for some days the whole City was employed in discussing the -subject. Gradually it ceased to be the topic of conversation: -Other adventures arose whose novelty engaged universal attention; -and Ambrosio was soon forgotten as totally, as if He never had -existed. While this was passing, the Monk supported by his -infernal guide, traversed the air with the rapidity of an arrow, -and a few moments placed him upon a Precipice's brink, the -steepest in Sierra Morena. - -Though rescued from the Inquisition, Ambrosio as yet was -insensible of the blessings of liberty. The damning contract -weighed heavy upon his mind; and the scenes in which He had been -a principal actor had left behind them such impressions as -rendered his heart the seat of anarchy and confusion. The -Objects now before his eyes, and which the full Moon sailing -through clouds permitted him to examine, were ill-calculated to -inspire that calm, of which He stood so much in need. The -disorder of his imagination was increased by the wildness of the -surrounding scenery; By the gloomy Caverns and steep rocks, -rising above each other, and dividing the passing clouds; -solitary clusters of Trees scattered here and there, among whose -thick-twined branches the wind of night sighed hoarsely and -mournfully; the shrill cry of mountain Eagles, who had built -their nests among these lonely Desarts; the stunning roar of -torrents, as swelled by late rains they rushed violently down -tremendous precipices; and the dark waters of a silent sluggish -stream which faintly reflected the moonbeams, and bathed the -Rock's base on which Ambrosio stood. The Abbot cast round him a -look of terror. His infernal Conductor was still by his side, -and eyed him with a look of mingled malice, exultation, and -contempt. - -'Whither have you brought me?' said the Monk at length in an -hollow trembling voice: 'Why am I placed in this melancholy -scene? Bear me from it quickly! Carry me to Matilda!' - -The Fiend replied not, but continued to gaze upon him in silence. - -Ambrosio could not sustain his glance; He turned away his eyes, -while thus spoke the Daemon: - -'I have him then in my power! This model of piety! This being -without reproach! This Mortal who placed his puny virtues on a -level with those of Angels. He is mine! Irrevocably, eternally -mine! Companions of my sufferings! Denizens of hell! How -grateful will be my present!' - -He paused; then addressed himself to the Monk---- - -'Carry you to Matilda?' He continued, repeating Ambrosio's words: - -'Wretch! you shall soon be with her! You well deserve a place -near her, for hell boasts no miscreant more guilty than yourself. - -Hark, Ambrosio, while I unveil your crimes! You have shed the -blood of two innocents; Antonia and Elvira perished by your hand. -That Antonia whom you violated, was your Sister! That Elvira whom -you murdered, gave you birth! Tremble, abandoned Hypocrite! -Inhuman Parricide! Incestuous Ravisher! Tremble at the extent of -your offences! And you it was who thought yourself proof against -temptation, absolved from human frailties, and free from error -and vice! Is pride then a virtue? Is inhumanity no fault? -Know, vain Man! That I long have marked you for my prey: I -watched the movements of your heart; I saw that you were virtuous -from vanity, not principle, and I seized the fit moment of -seduction. I observed your blind idolatry of the Madona's -picture. I bad a subordinate but crafty spirit assume a similar -form, and you eagerly yielded to the blandishments of Matilda. -Your pride was gratified by her flattery; Your lust only needed -an opportunity to break forth; You ran into the snare blindly, -and scrupled not to commit a crime which you blamed in another -with unfeeling severity. It was I who threw Matilda in your way; -It was I who gave you entrance to Antonia's chamber; It was I who -caused the dagger to be given you which pierced your Sister's -bosom; and it was I who warned Elvira in dreams of your designs -upon her Daughter, and thus, by preventing your profiting by her -sleep, compelled you to add rape as well as incest to the -catalogue of your crimes. Hear, hear, Ambrosio! Had you -resisted me one minute longer, you had saved your body and soul. -The guards whom you heard at your prison door came to signify -your pardon. But I had already triumphed: My plots had already -succeeded. Scarcely could I propose crimes so quick as you -performed them. You are mine, and Heaven itself cannot rescue -you from my power. Hope not that your penitence will make void -our contract. Here is your bond signed with your blood; You have -given up your claim to mercy, and nothing can restore to you the -rights which you have foolishly resigned. Believe you that your -secret thoughts escaped me? No, no, I read them all! You -trusted that you should still have time for repentance. I saw -your artifice, knew its falsity, and rejoiced in deceiving the -deceiver! You are mine beyond reprieve: I burn to possess my -right, and alive you quit not these mountains.' - -During the Daemon's speech, Ambrosio had been stupefied by terror -and surprize. This last declaration rouzed him. - -'Not quit these mountains alive?' He exclaimed: 'Perfidious, what -mean you? Have you forgotten our contract?' - -The Fiend answered by a malicious laugh: - -'Our contract? Have I not performed my part? What more did I -promise than to save you from your prison? Have I not done so? -Are you not safe from the Inquisition--safe from all but from -me? Fool that you were to confide yourself to a Devil! Why did -you not stipulate for life, and power, and pleasure? Then all -would have been granted: Now, your reflections come too late. -Miscreant, prepare for death; You have not many hours to live!' - -On hearing this sentence, dreadful were the feelings of the -devoted Wretch! He sank upon his knees, and raised his hands -towards heaven. The Fiend read his intention and prevented it-- - -'What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury: 'Dare you still -implore the Eternal's mercy? Would you feign penitence, and -again act an Hypocrite's part? Villain, resign your hopes of -pardon. Thus I secure my prey!' - -As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown, -He sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang -with Ambrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till -reaching a dreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong -fell the Monk through the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock -received him; and He rolled from precipice to precipice, till -bruised and mangled He rested on the river's banks. Life still -existed in his miserable frame: He attempted in vain to raise -himself; His broken and dislocated limbs refused to perform their -office, nor was He able to quit the spot where He had first -fallen. The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching beams -darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner. Myriads of -insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood -which trickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive -them from him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their -stings into his body, covered him with their multitudes, and -inflicted on him tortures the most exquisite and insupportable. -The Eagles of the rock tore his flesh piecemeal, and dug out his -eyeballs with their crooked beaks. A burning thirst tormented -him; He heard the river's murmur as it rolled beside him, but -strove in vain to drag himself towards the sound. Blind, maimed, -helpless, and despairing, venting his rage in blasphemy and -curses, execrating his existence, yet dreading the arrival of -death destined to yield him up to greater torments, six miserable -days did the Villain languish. On the Seventh a violent storm -arose: The winds in fury rent up rocks and forests: The sky was -now black with clouds, now sheeted with fire: The rain fell in -torrents; It swelled the stream; The waves overflowed their -banks; They reached the spot where Ambrosio lay, and when they -abated carried with them into the river the Corse of the -despairing Monk. - -End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Monk, by Matthew Lewis - diff --git a/old/tmonk10.zip b/old/tmonk10.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index cfd15ec..0000000 --- a/old/tmonk10.zip +++ /dev/null |
