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+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 ***
+
+
+
+
+The Monk:
+A Romance
+
+by M. G. Lewis, Esq. M.P.
+
+
+Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,
+Nocturnos lemures, portentaque.
+
+HORAT.
+
+Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power,
+Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour.
+
+
+Contents
+
+ PREFACE
+ CHAPTER I.
+ CHAPTER II.
+ CHAPTER III.
+ CHAPTER IV.
+ CHAPTER V.
+ CHAPTER VI.
+ CHAPTER VII.
+ CHAPTER VIII.
+ CHAPTER IX.
+ CHAPTER X.
+ CHAPTER XI.
+ CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+
+
+
+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!
+
+M. G. L.
+
+Hague,
+Oct. 28, 1794.
+
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+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 Condé 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 Condé, 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 Condé 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
+Condé, 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 Condé? 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, Condé?” 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.
+Suddenly 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 Condé 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 Condé? 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 humour 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.
+
+
+Fòrse sé tu gustassi una sòl volta
+La millésima parte délle giòje,
+Ché gusta un còr amato riamando,
+Diresti ripentita sospirando,
+Perduto è tutto il tempo
+Ché in amar non si spènde.
+
+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 yon
+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
+
+
+Whoe’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:[1] The venom which you see upon my Lancet confirms my
+idea: He cannot live three days.”
+
+    [1] 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.
+
+“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 Condé 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 Condé 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!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+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 overgrown 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 Condé 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 V.
+
+
+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:
+    Suddenly 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 Phœbus 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 Condé 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 Condé 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 Condé 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 Condé 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 Condé 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 VI.
+
+
+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 Condé’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 VII.
+
+
+——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 Dæmon
+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 Dæmons, 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 Dæmons, 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 Dæmons. 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 Dæmon 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 Dæmon’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 Dæmon 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 Dæmons 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+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 Dæmons. 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 Dæmons 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 Dæmons, 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 IX.
+
+
+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 X.
+
+
+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 soured 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 XI.
+
+
+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 XII.
+
+
+——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 Dæmons,
+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 Dæmons:
+
+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 dæmon, 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 Dæmon’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 Dæmon, 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 Dæmon’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 Dæmon, 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 Dæmon 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 Dæmon 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 Dæmon’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 Dæmon 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 Dæmon:
+
+“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 Dæmon’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 dæmon 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.
+
+
+Haughty Lady, why shrunk you back when yon poor frail-one drew near?
+Was the air infected by her errors? Was your purity soiled by her
+passing breath? Ah! Lady, smooth that insulting brow: stifle the
+reproach just bursting from your scornful lip: wound not a soul, that
+bleeds already! She has suffered, suffers still. Her air is gay, but
+her heart is broken; her dress sparkles, but her bosom groans.
+
+Lady, to look with mercy on the conduct of others, is a virtue no less
+than to look with severity on your own.
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK ***
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