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diff --git a/601-h/601-h.htm b/601-h/601-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9dbd917 --- /dev/null +++ b/601-h/601-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17600 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monk, by M. G. Lewis</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.left {text-align: left; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Monk: a romance, by M. G. Lewis</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Monk:<br /> + A Romance</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: M. G. Lewis</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July, 1996 [eBook #601]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 8, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK ***</div> + +<h1>The Monk:<br /> +<small>A Romance</small></h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by M. G. Lewis, Esq. M.P.</h2> + + +<p class="letter"> +Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,<br /> +Nocturnos lemures, portentaque. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +H<small>ORAT</small>. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power,<br /> +Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap00">PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap00"></a>PREFACE</h2> + +<p class="center"> +IMITATION OF HORACE<br /> +Ep. 20.—B. 1. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Methinks, Oh! vain ill-judging Book,<br /> +I see thee cast a wishful look,<br /> +Where reputations won and lost are<br /> +In famous row called Paternoster.<br /> +Incensed to find your precious olio<br /> +Buried in unexplored port-folio,<br /> +You scorn the prudent lock and key,<br /> +And pant well bound and gilt to see<br /> +Your Volume in the window set<br /> +Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett.<br /> +<br /> +Go then, and pass that dangerous bourn<br /> +Whence never Book can back return:<br /> +And when you find, condemned, despised,<br /> +Neglected, blamed, and criticised,<br /> +Abuse from All who read you fall,<br /> +(If haply you be read at all<br /> +Sorely will you your folly sigh at,<br /> +And wish for me, and home, and quiet.<br /> +<br /> +Assuming now a conjuror’s office, I<br /> +Thus on your future Fortune prophesy:—<br /> +Soon as your novelty is o’er,<br /> +And you are young and new no more,<br /> +In some dark dirty corner thrown,<br /> +Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown,<br /> +Your leaves shall be the Book-worm’s prey;<br /> +Or sent to Chandler-Shop away,<br /> +And doomed to suffer public scandal,<br /> +Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle!<br /> +<br /> +But should you meet with approbation,<br /> +And some one find an inclination<br /> +To ask, by natural transition<br /> +Respecting me and my condition;<br /> +That I am one, the enquirer teach,<br /> +Nor very poor, nor very rich;<br /> +Of passions strong, of hasty nature,<br /> +Of graceless form and dwarfish stature;<br /> +By few approved, and few approving;<br /> +Extreme in hating and in loving;<br /> +<br /> +Abhorring all whom I dislike,<br /> +Adoring who my fancy strike;<br /> +In forming judgements never long,<br /> +And for the most part judging wrong;<br /> +In friendship firm, but still believing<br /> +Others are treacherous and deceiving,<br /> +And thinking in the present aera<br /> +That Friendship is a pure chimaera:<br /> +More passionate no creature living,<br /> +Proud, obstinate, and unforgiving,<br /> +But yet for those who kindness show,<br /> +Ready through fire and smoke to go.<br /> +<br /> +Again, should it be asked your page,<br /> +“Pray, what may be the author’s age?”<br /> +Your faults, no doubt, will make it clear,<br /> +I scarce have seen my twentieth year,<br /> +Which passed, kind Reader, on my word,<br /> +While England’s Throne held George the Third.<br /> +<br /> +Now then your venturous course pursue:<br /> +Go, my delight! Dear Book, adieu! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +M. G. L. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Hague,<br /> +Oct. 28, 1794. +</p> + +<h3>ADVERTISEMENT</h3> + +<p> +The first idea of this Romance was suggested by the story of the <i>Santon +Barsisa</i>, related in The Guardian.—The <i>Bleeding Nun</i> is a +tradition still credited in many parts of Germany; and I have been told that +the ruins of the Castle of <i>Lauenstein</i>, which She is supposed to haunt, +may yet be seen upon the borders of <i>Thuringia.—The Water-King</i>, +from the third to the twelfth stanza, is the fragment of an original Danish +Ballad—And <i>Belerma and Durandarte</i> is translated from some stanzas +to be found in a collection of old Spanish poetry, which contains also the +popular song of <i>Gayferos and Melesindra</i>, 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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +——Lord Angelo is precise;<br /> +Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses<br /> +That his blood flows, or that his appetite<br /> +Is more to bread than stone. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +M<small>EASURE FOR</small> M<small>EASURE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Am I wrong in supposing you to be a Stranger to Madrid?” +</p> + +<p> +The Lady hesitated; and at last, in so low a voice as to be scarcely +intelligible, She made shift to answer,—“No, Segnor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you intend making a stay of any length?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Segnor.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo was deceived, for the Lady answered only by a bow. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +At the same time He advanced his hand towards the Gauze: The Lady raised hers +to prevent him. +</p> + +<p> +“I never unveil in public, Segnor.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear aunt, it is not the custom in Murcia.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo gazed upon her with mingled surprise and admiration; but the Aunt +thought it necessary to apologize for Antonia’s mauvaise honte. +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And has so little sense?” said Don Christoval with feigned +astonishment; “How very Extraordinary!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, this was a most terrible old Fellow, Segnora!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ridiculous”, cried Don Christoval; “Doubtless the Count +would have thought himself fortunate, had he been permitted to exchange the one +Sister for the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! Segnor, her Father-in-Law being lately dead, the Steward of his +Murcian Estates has refused to pay her pension any longer. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of that, Segnora, I have not the least doubt. But permit me to ask you; +Have you then any aversion to Matrimony?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is an home question. I cannot but confess, that if an amiable +Cavalier was to present himself....” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“May I enquire,” said He, “the name of the Marquis?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Marquis de las Cisternas.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Aunt, I am very sensible that....” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly, Segnor, He is of noble origin—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does that make a Saint?” enquired Antonia; “Bless me! Then +am I one?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 ...”. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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”. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Even Lorenzo could not resist the charm: He forgot that Antonia was seated near +him, and listened to the Preacher with undivided attention. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“He is separated from the world!” said She to herself; +“Perhaps, I shall never see him more!” +</p> + +<p> +As she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo observed her action. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you satisfied with our Orator?” said He; “Or do you +think that Madrid overrates his talents?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo smiled at the strength of her expressions. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! surely Ambrosio will be one of those few.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My proposals? I assure you, Segnora....” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Accept my hand? As I hope to live and breathe....” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“My Friend’s,” replied Lorenzo, “is the Condé +d’Ossorio, and mine Lorenzo de Medina.” +</p> + +<p> +“’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am always to be found at the Medina Palace.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“From that petition I conclude that the little Antonia has made some +impression upon you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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’?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very possibly; But you cannot mean to marry her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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....” +</p> + +<p> +“Sensible? Why, She said nothing but ‘Yes,’ and +‘No’.” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say much more, I must confess—But then She always said +‘Yes,’ or ‘No,’ in the right place.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He said, and darted out of the Cathedral. +</p> + +<p> +“How wild-brained!” said Lorenzo; “With so excellent an +heart, what pity that He possesses so little solidity of judgment!” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +Universal silence prevailed around, only interrupted by the occasional closing +of Doors in the adjoining Abbey. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And where is the Bridegroom?” said the imaginary Friar. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Friend! we shall meet above!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Our Hero was conscious that He had no right to pry into the secrets of this +unknown Cavalier. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go,” said Lorenzo. And Lorenzo stayed, where He was. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, Segnor?” said He; “What mean you by this +rudeness?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who will be here?” +</p> + +<p> +“The old Hen and all her pretty little Chickens! In, I say, and then you +shall know the whole History.” +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo followed him into the Cathedral, and they concealed themselves behind +the Statue of St. Francis. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said our Hero, “may I take the liberty of asking, +what is the meaning of all this haste and rapture?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing. The Nuns are always +veiled.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said Lorenzo to himself; “I may possibly discover to +whom the vows are addressed of this mysterious Stranger.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” said Christoval in a low voice; “Here we have some +little Intrigue, no doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes, by heaven!” cried Lorenzo. +</p> + +<p> +“What, your Sister? Diavolo! Then somebody, I suppose, will have to pay +for our peeping.” +</p> + +<p> +“And shall pay for it without delay,” replied the incensed Brother. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Attempt not to fly me!” exclaimed Lorenzo; “I will know who +you are, and what were the contents of that Letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of that Letter?” repeated the Unknown. “And by what title do +you ask the question?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The latter method will be the shortest,” rejoined the Other, +drawing his Rapier; “Come on, Segnor Bravo! I am ready!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold! Hold! Medina!” He exclaimed; “Remember the +consequences of shedding blood on consecrated ground!” +</p> + +<p> +The Stranger immediately dropped his Sword. +</p> + +<p> +“Medina?” He cried; “Great God, is it possible! Lorenzo, have +you quite forgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You here, Marquis? What is the meaning of all this? You engaged in a +clandestine correspondence with my Sister, whose affections....” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“One whom I believe you to have seen before,” replied Don +Christoval, “though probably not at Church.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Condé d’Ossorio?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly so, Marquis.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no objection to entrusting you with my secret, for I am sure that +I may depend upon your silence.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! Good! Farewell, Cavaliers!” said Don Christoval, and +instantly departed. +</p> + +<p> +“You, Marquis,” said Lorenzo in the accent of surprise; “You, +Alphonso d’Alvarada?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE GYPSY’S SONG +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Come, cross my hand! My art surpasses<br /> + All that did ever Mortal know;<br /> +Come, Maidens, come! My magic glasses<br /> + Your future Husband’s form can show:<br /> +<br /> +For ’tis to me the power is given<br /> + Unclosed the book of Fate to see;<br /> +To read the fixed resolves of heaven,<br /> + And dive into futurity.<br /> +<br /> +I guide the pale Moon’s silver waggon;<br /> + The winds in magic bonds I hold;<br /> +I charm to sleep the crimson Dragon,<br /> + Who loves to watch o’er buried gold:<br /> +<br /> +Fenced round with spells, unhurt I venture<br /> + Their sabbath strange where Witches keep;<br /> +Fearless the Sorcerer’s circle enter,<br /> + And woundless tread on snakes asleep.<br /> +<br /> +Lo! Here are charms of mighty power!<br /> + This makes secure an Husband’s truth<br /> +And this composed at midnight hour<br /> + Will force to love the coldest Youth:<br /> +<br /> +If any Maid too much has granted,<br /> + Her loss this Philtre will repair;<br /> +This blooms a cheek where red is wanted,<br /> + And this will make a brown girl fair!<br /> +<br /> +Then silent hear, while I discover<br /> + What I in Fortune’s mirror view;<br /> +And each, when many a year is over,<br /> + Shall own the Gypsy’s sayings true. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Aunt!” said Antonia when the Stranger had finished, “Is +She not mad?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE GYPSY +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Lady! gentle Lady! Know,<br /> +I your future fate can show;<br /> +Give your hand, and do not fear;<br /> +Lady! gentle Lady! hear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest Aunt!” said Antonia, “Indulge me this once! Let me +have my fortune told me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Child! She will tell you nothing but falsehoods.” +</p> + +<p> +“No matter; Let me at least hear what She has to say. Do, my dear Aunt! +Oblige me, I beseech you!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE GYPSY +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Your fortune? You are now so old,<br /> +Good Dame, that ’tis already told:<br /> +Yet for your money, in a trice<br /> +I will repay you in advice.<br /> +Astonished at your childish vanity,<br /> +Your Friends all tax you with insanity,<br /> +And grieve to see you use your art<br /> +To catch some youthful Lover’s heart.<br /> +Believe me, Dame, when all is done,<br /> +Your age will still be fifty one;<br /> +And Men will rarely take an hint<br /> +Of love, from two grey eyes that squint.<br /> +Take then my counsels; Lay aside<br /> +Your paint and patches, lust and pride,<br /> +And on the Poor those sums bestow,<br /> +Which now are spent on useless show.<br /> +Think on your Maker, not a Suitor;<br /> +Think on your past faults, not on future;<br /> +And think Time’s Scythe will quickly mow<br /> +The few red hairs, which deck your brow. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE GYPSY +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Peace, Lady! What I said was true;<br /> +And now, my lovely Maid, to you;<br /> +Give me your hand, and let me see<br /> +Your future doom, and heaven’s decree.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE GYPSY +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Jesus! what a palm is there!<br /> +Chaste, and gentle, young and fair,<br /> +Perfect mind and form possessing,<br /> +You would be some good Man’s blessing:<br /> +But Alas! This line discovers,<br /> +That destruction o’er you hovers;<br /> +Lustful Man and crafty Devil<br /> +Will combine to work your evil;<br /> +And from earth by sorrows driven,<br /> +Soon your Soul must speed to heaven.<br /> +Yet your sufferings to delay,<br /> +Well remember what I say.<br /> +When you One more virtuous see<br /> +Than belongs to Man to be,<br /> +One, whose self no crimes assailing,<br /> +Pities not his Neighbour’s Failing,<br /> +Call the Gypsy’s words to mind:<br /> +Though He seem so good and kind,<br /> +Fair Exteriors oft will hide<br /> +Hearts, that swell with lust and pride!<br /> +Lovely Maid, with tears I leave you!<br /> +Let not my prediction grieve you;<br /> +Rather with submission bending<br /> +Calmly wait distress impending,<br /> +And expect eternal bliss<br /> +In a better world than this. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Fòrse sé tu gustassi una sòl volta<br /> +La millésima parte délle giòje,<br /> +Ché gusta un còr amato riamando,<br /> +Diresti ripentita sospirando,<br /> +Perduto è tutto il tempo<br /> +Ché in amar non si spènde. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +T<small>ASSO</small>. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part<br /> +Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart,<br /> +Your words repentant and your sighs would prove,<br /> +Lost is the time which is not past in love. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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....!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is there?” said Ambrosio at length. +</p> + +<p> +“It is only Rosario,” replied a gentle voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Enter! Enter, my Son!” +</p> + +<p> +The Door was immediately opened, and Rosario appeared with a small basket in +his hand. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever depends upon me, my Son, you know that you may command. +</p> + +<p> +What is your Friend’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Vincentio della Ronda.” +</p> + +<p> +“’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your attentions charm me, my Son.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw you not in the Church this evening, Rosario.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet I was present, Father. I am too grateful for your protection to lose +an opportunity of witnessing your Triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Contented, say you? Oh! you surpassed yourself! Never did I hear such +eloquence ... save once!” +</p> + +<p> +Here the Novice heaved an involuntary sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“When was that once?” demanded the Abbot. +</p> + +<p> +“When you preached upon the sudden indisposition of our late +Superior.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember it: That is more than two years ago. And were you present? I +knew you not at that time, Rosario.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis true, Father; and would to God! I had expired, ere I beheld +that day! What sufferings, what sorrows should I have escaped!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sufferings at your age, Rosario?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“My Son, I conjure you! I entreat you!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay, Daughter,” said He; “You have let fall....” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold!” said the Friar in a tone of severity; “Daughter, I +must read this letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I am lost!” She exclaimed clasping her hands together wildly. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as He had finished, Ambrosio bent an eye stern and angry upon the +imprudent Nun. +</p> + +<p> +“This letter must to the Prioress!” said He, and passed her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your boldness confounds me! Shall <i>I</i> conceal your crime, <i>I</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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Father! By all that is sacred, by all that is most dear to you, I +supplicate, I entreat....” +</p> + +<p> +“Release me! I will not hear you. Where is the Domina? Mother St. Agatha, +where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +The door of the Vestry opened, and the Prioress entered the Chapel, followed by +her Nuns. +</p> + +<p> +“Cruel! Cruel!” exclaimed Agnes, relinquishing her hold. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Away with her to the Convent!” said She at length to some of her +Attendants. +</p> + +<p> +Two of the oldest Nuns now approaching Agnes, raised her forcibly from the +ground, and prepared to conduct her from the Chapel. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus saying, She hastened out of the Chapel. +</p> + +<p> +“I have done my duty,” said Ambrosio to himself. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is a singular thought, Rosario,” said the Abbot, entering the +Grotto. +</p> + +<p> +“You here, reverend Father?” cried the Novice. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +As He said this, He pointed to a marble Tablet fixed against the opposite Wall: +On it were engraved the following lines. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Whoe’er Thou art these lines now reading,<br /> +Think not, though from the world receding<br /> +I joy my lonely days to lead in<br /> + This Desart drear,<br /> +That with remorse a conscience bleeding<br /> + Hath led me here.<br /> +<br /> +No thought of guilt my bosom sowrs:<br /> +Free-willed I fled from courtly bowers;<br /> +For well I saw in Halls and Towers<br /> + That Lust and Pride,<br /> +The Arch-Fiend’s dearest darkest Powers,<br /> + In state preside.<br /> +<br /> +I saw Mankind with vice incrusted;<br /> +I saw that Honour’s sword was rusted;<br /> +That few for aught but folly lusted;<br /> +That He was still deceiv’d, who trusted<br /> + In Love or Friend;<br /> +And hither came with Men disgusted<br /> + My life to end.<br /> +<br /> +In this lone Cave, in garments lowly,<br /> +Alike a Foe to noisy folly,<br /> +And brow-bent gloomy melancholy<br /> + I wear away<br /> +My life, and in my office holy<br /> + Consume the day.<br /> +<br /> +Content and comfort bless me more in<br /> +This Grot, than e’er I felt before in<br /> +A Palace, and with thoughts still soaring<br /> + To God on high,<br /> +Each night and morn with voice imploring<br /> + This wish I sigh.<br /> +<br /> +“Let me, Oh! Lord! from life retire,<br /> +Unknown each guilty worldly fire,<br /> +Remorseful throb, or loose desire;<br /> + And when I die,<br /> +Let me in this belief expire,<br /> + ‘To God I fly’!”<br /> +<br /> +Stranger, if full of youth and riot<br /> +As yet no grief has marred thy quiet,<br /> +Thou haply throw’st a scornful eye at<br /> + The Hermit’s prayer:<br /> +But if Thou hast a cause to sigh at<br /> + Thy fault, or care;<br /> +<br /> +If Thou hast known false Love’s vexation,<br /> +Or hast been exil’d from thy Nation,<br /> +Or guilt affrights thy contemplation,<br /> + And makes thee pine,<br /> +Oh! how must Thou lament thy station,<br /> + And envy mine! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had a Sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were those sorrows?” +</p> + +<p> +“They will not excite <i>your</i> pity: <i>you</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“If her love was so well bestowed, what forbad her to hope the obtaining +of its object?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did not your Parents seek for her? Did they submit tamely to their +loss, nor attempt to recover their wandering Daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unhappy Girl! Surely her fate was too severe, and Julian was too +cruel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so, Father?” cried the Novice with vivacity; +“Do you think that He was cruel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless I do, and pity her most sincerely.” +</p> + +<p> +“You pity her? You pity her? Oh! Father! Father! Then pity me!” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +As He uttered these words, He sobbed audibly. The Friar was affected. He took +Rosario’s hand, and pressed it with tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“What, my Son?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you should abhor me for my weakness; That the reward of my +confidence should be the loss of your esteem.” +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold!” interrupted the Novice; “Swear, that whatever be my +secret, you will not oblige me to quit the Monastery till my Noviciate shall +expire.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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...” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>your</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible, Matilda; <i>your</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tomorrow, Ambrosio? Tomorrow? Oh! surely you cannot mean it! +</p> + +<p> +You cannot resolve on driving me to despair! You cannot have the +cruelty....” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay yet one moment, Ambrosio! Hear me yet speak one word!” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare not listen! Release me! You know my resolution!” +</p> + +<p> +“But one word! But one last word, and I have done!” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave me! Your entreaties are in vain! You must from hence +tomorrow!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go then, Barbarian! But this resource is still left me.” +</p> + +<p> +As She said this, She suddenly drew a poignard: She rent open her garment, and +placed the weapon’s point against her bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“Father, I will never quit these Walls alive!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold! Hold, Matilda! What would you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are determined, so am I: The Moment that you leave me, I plunge this +Steel in my heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold!” He cried in an hurried faultering voice; “I can +resist no longer! Stay, then, Enchantress; Stay for my destruction!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes! Agnes!” He exclaimed, while reflecting on his +embarrassments, “I already feel thy curse!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ambrosio!” She cried, in a voice at once expressive of surprise +and sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Matilda!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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! <i>your</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“I was not then deceived! Matilda’s generosity equals my +expectations.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Matilda, I fear that I shall think on you but too often for my +repose!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I give you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” She cried; “Answer me, for God’s +sake! What has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have received my death!” He replied in a faint voice; +“Concealed among the Roses ... A Serpent....” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis as I feared!” said He; “There is no hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“No hope?” exclaimed the Monks with one voice; “Say you, no +hope?” +</p> + +<p> +“From the sudden effects, I suspected that the Abbot was stung by a +cientipedoro:<a href="#fn1" name="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> The venom which +you see upon my Lancet confirms my idea: He cannot live three days.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a> +The cientipedoro is supposed to be a native of Cuba, and to have been brought +into Spain from that island in the vessel of Columbus. +</p> + +<p> +“And can no possible remedy be found?” enquired Rosario. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +Matilda interrupted him by putting her hand before his lips with an air of +gaiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! Father, Hush! You must not talk!” +</p> + +<p> +“He who imposed that order, knew not how interesting are the subjects on +which I wish to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I know it, and yet issue the same positive command. I am appointed +your Nurse, and you must not disobey my orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are in spirits, Matilda!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well may I be so: I have just received a pleasure unexampled through my +whole life.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was that pleasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“What I must conceal from all, but most from you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But most from me? Nay then, I entreat you, Matilda....” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“How? I knew not that you understood Music.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She soon returned with it. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“What you please, Matilda.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +DURANDARTE AND BELERMA +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sad and fearful is the story<br /> +Of the Roncevalles fight;<br /> +On those fatal plains of glory<br /> +Perished many a gallant Knight.<br /> +<br /> +There fell Durandarte; Never<br /> +Verse a nobler Chieftain named:<br /> +He, before his lips for ever<br /> +Closed in silence thus exclaimed.<br /> +<br /> +“Oh! Belerma! Oh! my dear-one!<br /> +For my pain and pleasure born!<br /> +Seven long years I served thee, fair-one,<br /> +Seven long years my fee was scorn:<br /> +<br /> +“And when now thy heart replying<br /> +To my wishes, burns like mine,<br /> +Cruel Fate my bliss denying<br /> +Bids me every hope resign.<br /> +<br /> +“Ah! Though young I fall, believe me,<br /> +Death would never claim a sigh;<br /> +’Tis to lose thee, ’tis to leave thee,<br /> +Makes me think it hard to die!<br /> +<br /> +“Oh! my Cousin Montesinos,<br /> +By that friendship firm and dear<br /> +Which from Youth has lived between us,<br /> +Now my last petition hear!<br /> +<br /> +“When my Soul these limbs forsaking<br /> +Eager seeks a purer air,<br /> +From my breast the cold heart taking,<br /> +Give it to Belerma’s care.<br /> +<br /> +Say, I of my lands Possessor<br /> +Named her with my dying breath:<br /> +Say, my lips I op’d to bless her,<br /> +Ere they closed for aye in death:<br /> +<br /> +“Twice a week too how sincerely<br /> +I adored her, Cousin, say;<br /> +Twice a week for one who dearly<br /> +Loved her, Cousin, bid her pray.<br /> +<br /> +“Montesinos, now the hour<br /> +Marked by fate is near at hand:<br /> +Lo! my arm has lost its power!<br /> +Lo! I drop my trusty brand!<br /> +<br /> +“Eyes, which forth beheld me going,<br /> +Homewards ne’er shall see me hie!<br /> +Cousin, stop those tears o’er-flowing,<br /> +Let me on thy bosom die!<br /> +<br /> +“Thy kind hand my eyelids closing,<br /> +Yet one favour I implore:<br /> +Pray Thou for my Soul’s reposing,<br /> +When my heart shall throb no more;<br /> +<br /> +“So shall Jesus, still attending<br /> +Gracious to a Christian’s vow,<br /> +Pleased accept my Ghost ascending,<br /> +And a seat in heaven allow.”<br /> +<br /> +Thus spoke gallant Durandarte;<br /> +Soon his brave heart broke in twain.<br /> +Greatly joyed the Moorish party,<br /> +That the gallant Knight was slain.<br /> +<br /> +Bitter weeping Montesinos<br /> +Took from him his helm and glaive;<br /> +Bitter weeping Montesinos<br /> +Dug his gallant Cousin’s grave.<br /> +<br /> +To perform his promise made, He<br /> +Cut the heart from out the breast,<br /> +That Belerma, wretched Lady!<br /> +Might receive the last bequest.<br /> +<br /> +Sad was Montesinos’ heart, He<br /> +Felt distress his bosom rend.<br /> +“Oh! my Cousin Durandarte,<br /> +Woe is me to view thy end!<br /> +<br /> +“Sweet in manners, fair in favour,<br /> +Mild in temper, fierce in fight,<br /> +Warrior, nobler, gentler, braver,<br /> +Never shall behold the light!<br /> +<br /> +“Cousin, Lo! my tears bedew thee!<br /> +How shall I thy loss survive!<br /> +Durandarte, He who slew thee,<br /> +Wherefore left He me alive!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped, and was lost in her reflections. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +As She said this, her voice was choaked by weeping. While She bent over +Ambrosio, a tear fell upon his cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I have disturbed him!” cried Matilda, and retreated hastily. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What affection! What purity!” said He internally; “Ah! since +my bosom is thus sensible of pity, what would it be if agitated by love?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Matilda!” He said in a troubled voice; “Oh! my +Matilda!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I obey you—But before I go, promise not to insist upon my quitting +the Abbey immediately.” +</p> + +<p> +“Matilda, reflect upon your situation; Reflect upon the consequences of +your stay. Our separation is indispensable, and we must part.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not to-day, Father! Oh! in pity not today!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She caught his hand eagerly, and pressed it to her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrosio was yet to learn, that to an heart unacquainted with her, Vice is ever +most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She discovered no marks of pleasure at receiving this intelligence, though on +the preceding day She had been so anxious to obtain the permission. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” He cried; “You are very ill, Matilda! I shall +send Father Pablos to you instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She entered her cell, and closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hasten, reverend Father!” said He; “Hasten to the young +Rosario. +</p> + +<p> +He earnestly requests to see you; He lies at the point of death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious God! Where is Father Pablos? Why is He not with him? Oh! I +fear! I fear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Father Pablos has seen him, but his art can do nothing. He says that He +suspects the Youth to be poisoned.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Monks retired immediately, and Matilda and the Abbot remained together. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled, and grasped his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Matilda!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Almighty God!” exclaimed the Abbot, and sank almost lifeless upon +the Bed. +</p> + +<p> +After a few minutes He again raised himself up suddenly, and gazed upon Matilda +with all the wildness of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Amazement!—Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wretched Woman, what can I say to you! I cannot ... I must not ... But +live, Matilda! Oh! live!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She took his hand: Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He withdrew it not, +and felt her heart throb under it. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ambrosio! Oh! my Ambrosio!” sighed Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +“Thine, ever thine!” murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +——These are the Villains<br /> +Whom all the Travellers do fear so much.<br /> +————Some of them are Gentlemen<br /> +Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth<br /> +Thrust from the company of awful Men. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +T<small>WO</small> G<small>ENTLEMEN OF</small> V<small>ERONA</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“First give me your word, that you will listen with patience and +indulgence.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lorenzo, you transport me! No greater pleasure can be given me, than an +opportunity of serving the Brother of Agnes.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably, you have already heard your Sister mention the name of +Alphonso d’Alvarada?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! Lorenzo, you knew of her intention, and yet strove not to make +her change it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then till I mentioned it, you never heard the name of Alphonso +d’Alvarada?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He then began his narrative in the following manner:— +</p> + +<h4>HISTORY OF DON RAYMOND,<br /> +MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS</h4> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +I followed the Duke’s advice; I was soon convinced of its wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +I enquired of the Host, who the Lady was, that had just departed. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that perhaps Monsieur would not deign to accept....” +</p> + +<p> +“Absurd! Come, come! Say no more, but conduct us without delay to the +Wood-man’s Cottage.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! is it you, honest Claude?” replied a Man’s voice from +within; “Wait a moment, and the door shall be opened.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“For Strasbourg?” interrupted Baptiste; “You are not going +thither tonight?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon: If I do not fetch Workmen to mend the Chaise, How is +Monsieur to proceed tomorrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marguerite was at this time employed in laying the cloth. +</p> + +<p> +“And are you equally anxious for the return of your Sons?” said I +to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Not I!” She replied peevishly; “They are no children of +mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marguerite clasped her hands together passionately. +</p> + +<p> +“God forbid!” said She; “God forbid! If I thought it, I would +strangle them with my own hands!” +</p> + +<p> +She quitted the room hastily, and went up stairs. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +We were conversing in this manner, when our discourse was interrupted by a loud +halloo, which rang through the Forest. +</p> + +<p> +“My Sons, I hope!” exclaimed the Wood-man, and ran to open the +door. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“The Baroness Lindenberg,” was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell and Furies!” exclaimed the first starting back; +“Robert, the House is filled with Strangers!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! There are my Sons!” cried our Host. “Why, Jacques! +Robert! whither are you running, Boys? There is room enough still for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You travel well-armed,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” said the Baroness; “Are there Robbers +hereabout?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And how comes it,” said I, “that you are under no +apprehension of meeting these Robbers?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Which chamber is it, Mother?” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are out of humour, Mother, but that is no novelty. Have the goodness +to follow me, Monsieur.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door, and advanced towards a narrow staircase. +</p> + +<p> +“You have got no light!” said Marguerite; “Is it your own +neck or the Gentleman’s that you have a mind to break?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Marguerite seized the moment, when we were unobserved. She caught my hand, and +pressed it strongly. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at the Sheets!” said She as She passed me, and immediately +resumed her former occupation. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Plague take him!” said He at length with impatience; “What +can He be about!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke in a low voice; but as He was just below my window, I had no +difficulty to distinguish his words. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“However,” added He, “my diligence at present shall make up +for my past delay.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“His Servant boasted at the Inn, that the effects in his Chaise were +worth above two thousand Pistoles.” +</p> + +<p> +Oh! how I cursed Stephano’s imprudent vanity! +</p> + +<p> +“And I have been told,” continued the Postillion, “that this +Baroness carries about her a casket of jewels of immense value.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And suppose either of the Travellers should discover your design?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell Robert that I have taken his Horse: My own has broken his bridle, +and escaped into the Wood. What is the watch-word?” +</p> + +<p> +“The reward of Courage.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis sufficient. I hasten to the Cavern.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I to rejoin my Guests, lest my absence should create suspicion. +Farewell, and be diligent.” +</p> + +<p> +These worthy Associates now separated: The One bent his course towards the +Stable, while the Other returned to the House. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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:” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” added He, “should any accident detain my noble Guests +longer than they at present intend, I hope to give them a better +treatment.” +</p> + +<p> +The Villain! I well knew the accident to which He alluded; I shuddered at the +treatment which He taught us to expect! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear me?” said Baptiste in an angry tone. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Baptiste and Jacques exchanged looks of distrust. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Robert, “the smell may be disagreeable to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He quitted his chair, and removed the Goblet. I observed, that He examined, +whether it was nearly empty. +</p> + +<p> +“He must have drank sufficient,” said He to his Brother in a low +voice, while He reseated himself. +</p> + +<p> +Marguerite looked apprehensive, that I had tasted the liquor: A glance from my +eye reassured her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +You are the most unlucky Rogues!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“True! True!” said Baptiste; “Marguerite, have you given the +sleeping-draught to the Waiting-women?” +</p> + +<p> +She replied in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Almighty God! They are lost!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Open! Open!” exclaimed several voices on the outside of the +Cottage. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Robert hastened to open the door of the Cottage. +</p> + +<p> +“But first,” said Jacques, taking up his arms; “first let me +dispatch these Sleepers.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Now! Now!” whispered Marguerite. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +No sooner was this horrible but necessary act perpetrated than Marguerite +called on me to follow her. +</p> + +<p> +“Flight is our only refuge!” said She; “Quick! Quick! +Away!” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Betrayed! Betrayed!” He shouted to his Companions. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“We are lost!” She exclaimed; “The Villains gain upon +us!” +</p> + +<p> +“On! On!” replied I; “I hear the trampling of Horses coming +from the Town.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay! Stay!” shrieked Marguerite; “Save us! For God’s +sake, save us!” +</p> + +<p> +The Foremost, who seemed to act as Guide, immediately reined in his Steed. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis She! ’Tis She!” exclaimed He, springing upon the +ground; “Stop, my Lord, stop! They are safe! ’Tis my Mother!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The Baroness Lindenberg?” cried another of the Strangers eagerly; +“Where is She? Is She not with you?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“God be thanked!” said He; “She has escaped unhurt.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the Earth hide thee!<br /> +Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold!<br /> +Thou hast no speculation in those eyes<br /> +Which Thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow!<br /> +Unreal mockery hence! +</p> + +<p class="left"> +M<small>ACBETH</small>. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Continuation of the History of Don Raymond. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +(Here Lorenzo interrupted the Marquis by an exclamation of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Intended for the Convent from her cradle?” said He; “By +heaven, this is the first word that I ever heard of such a design!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He then resumed his narrative as follows.) +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>your</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +“<i>Perceforest</i>,” “<i>Tirante the White</i>,” “<i>Palmerin of +England</i>,” and “<i>the Knight of the Sun</i>,” 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 “<i>The Loves of +Tristan and the Queen Iseult</i>——” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She interrupted me. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew not the hand which I held; But She turned from me, and covered her +face with the other. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What means this silence?” said She in a trembling voice; +“Where is that joy which you led me to expect?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +What raises her above Rodolpha?” +</p> + +<p> +I endeavoured to lift her from her Knees. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +I prepared to quit the apartment: The Baroness caught me suddenly by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“And who is this happy Rival?” said She in a menacing tone; +“I will know her name, and <i>when</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What does this mean, Agnes?” said I; “Is this some invention +of your own?” +</p> + +<p> +She cast her eye upon the drawing. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are the first, who ever mentioned the name to me. Pray, who may the +Lady be?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The singularity of this account insensibly engaged my attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Did She never speak to those who met her?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And whither does She go on quitting the Castle?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you believe this, Agnes?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Here She pointed to a burlesque figure of an old Woman in an attitude of +terror. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The figure is admirable, my dear Agnes! I knew not that you possessed +such talents for the ridiculous.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know the resemblance?” said She smiling. +</p> + +<p> +It was her own. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Rage on the part of Donna Rodolpha, embarrassment on mine, for some time kept +us both silent. The Lady recovered herself first. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, Don Alphonso!” said the Baroness, and stretched out her +hand to me. +</p> + +<p> +I took it, and offered to carry it to my lips. She prevented me. +</p> + +<p> +Her Husband was at the other end of the room, and out of hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She accompanied these words with a look sufficient to make me tremble. I +answered not, but hastened to quit the Castle. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He then presented me with a small note addressed to me. I opened it with +impatience: It contained the following words written in pencil: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“AGNES.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are those Ladies?” said I to my Host, as the Carriage past. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She approached the Sopha on which her trembling Pupil was seated, took her by +the hand, and prepared to lead her from the Pavilion. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me the light!” said Theodore; “My Master is +coming.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What can occasion that noise, Theodore?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes!” said I while I pressed her to my bosom, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Agnes! Agnes! Thou art mine!<br /> +Agnes! Agnes! I am thine!<br /> +In my veins while blood shall roll,<br /> +Thou art mine!<br /> +I am thine!<br /> +Thine my body! Thine my soul! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +One after another the Peasants returned to the Inn, and informed me that no +traces had been discovered of my unfortunate Mistress. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br /> +Raymond! Raymond! I am thine!<br /> +In thy veins while blood shall roll,<br /> +I am thine!<br /> +Thou art mine!<br /> +Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!——’ +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br /> +Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.—’ +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!<br /> +Raymond! Raymond! I am thine! &c.——’ +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! Ha!” cried He suddenly; “Yonder is the Great +Mogul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Only a Man who made me a strange speech at Munich.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was the purport of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the strange speech, Theodore.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I know your business,” said He, without giving me time to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I be ignorant of your distress, when their cause at this moment +stands beside you?” +</p> + +<p> +I started. The Stranger continued. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is that request?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Having said this He departed, leaving me in astonishment at the mysterious turn +of his manner and conversation. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Beatrice! Beatrice! Beatrice!” +</p> + +<p> +“What wouldst Thou?” replied the Apparition in a hollow faltering +tone. +</p> + +<p> +“What disturbs thy sleep? Why dost thou afflict and torture this Youth? +How can rest be restored to thy unquiet Spirit?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare not tell!—I must not tell!—Fain would I repose in my +Grave, but stern commands force me to prolong my punishment!” +</p> + +<p> +“Knowest Thou this blood? Knowest Thou in whose veins it flowed? +</p> + +<p> +Beatrice! Beatrice! In his name I charge thee to answer me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare not disobey my taskers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Darest Thou disobey Me?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Here the Stranger prepared to quit the apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +(Lorenzo here interrupted his Friend’s narrative. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” said He; “You have never discovered who He was, or +even formed a guess?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.”) +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +(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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.) +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the Nuns were retired, the old Gardener joined me with a sorrowful +air. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +(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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“AGNES.” +</p> + +<p> +Having perused the letter, Lorenzo restored it in silence. The Marquis replaced +it in the Cabinet, and then proceeded.) +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +O You! whom Vanity’s light bark conveys<br /> +On Fame’s mad voyage by the wind of praise,<br /> +With what a shifting gale your course you ply,<br /> +For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!<br /> +Who pants for glory finds but short repose,<br /> +A breath revives him, and a breath o’er-throws. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +P<small>OPE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Here the Marquis concluded his adventures. Lorenzo, before He could determine +on his reply, past some moments in reflection. At length He broke silence. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“There it is!” cried He aloud: “Now they are charming!” +</p> + +<p> +His transports were interrupted by a laugh from the Marquis, who suspected the +nature of his employment. +</p> + +<p> +“What is so charming, Theodore?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall follow his example when I have given my opinion of your +verses.” +</p> + +<p> +“My verses, my Lord?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Theodore’s cheeks glowed with still deeper crimson: He longed to show his +poetry, but first chose to be pressed for it. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, my Lord, they are not worthy your attention.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not these verses, which you just now declared to be so charming? +</p> + +<p> +Come, come, let me see whether our opinions are the same. I promise that you +shall find in me an indulgent Critic.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +LOVE AND AGE +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The night was dark; The wind blew cold;<br /> + Anacreon, grown morose and old,<br /> +Sat by his fire, and fed the chearful flame:<br /> + Suddenly the Cottage-door expands,<br /> + And lo! before him Cupid stands,<br /> +Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name.<br /> +<br /> + “What is it Thou?” the startled Sire<br /> + In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire<br /> +With crimson flushed his pale and wrinkled cheek:<br /> + “Wouldst Thou again with amorous rage<br /> + Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age,<br /> +Vain Boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak.<br /> +<br /> + “What seek You in this desart drear?<br /> + No smiles or sports inhabit here;<br /> +Ne’er did these vallies witness dalliance sweet:<br /> + Eternal winter binds the plains;<br /> + Age in my house despotic reigns,<br /> +My Garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat.<br /> +<br /> + “Begone, and seek the blooming bower,<br /> + Where some ripe Virgin courts thy power,<br /> +Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed;<br /> + On Damon’s amorous breast repose;<br /> + Wanton—on Chloe’s lip of rose,<br /> +Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head.<br /> +<br /> + “Be such thy haunts; These regions cold<br /> + Avoid! Nor think grown wise and old<br /> +This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear:<br /> + Remembering that my fairest years<br /> + By Thee were marked with sighs and tears,<br /> +I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare.<br /> +<br /> + “I have not yet forgot the pains<br /> + I felt, while bound in Julia’s chains;<br /> +The ardent flames with which my bosom burned;<br /> + The nights I passed deprived of rest;<br /> + The jealous pangs which racked my breast;<br /> +My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned.<br /> +<br /> + “Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more!<br /> + Fly from my peaceful Cottage-door!<br /> +No day, no hour, no moment shalt Thou stay.<br /> + I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts,<br /> + Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts;<br /> +Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!”<br /> +<br /> + “Does Age, old Man, your wits confound?”<br /> + Replied the offended God, and frowned;<br /> +(His frown was sweet as is the Virgin’s smile!)<br /> + “Do You to Me these words address?<br /> + To Me, who do not love you less,<br /> +Though You my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile!<br /> +<br /> + “If one proud Fair you chanced to find,<br /> + An hundred other Nymphs were kind,<br /> +Whose smiles might well for Julia’s frowns atone:<br /> + But such is Man! His partial hand<br /> + Unnumbered favours writes on sand,<br /> +But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.<br /> +<br /> + “Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave,<br /> + At noon where Lesbia loved to lave?<br /> +Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay?<br /> + And who, when Caelia shrieked for aid,<br /> + Bad you with kisses hush the Maid?<br /> +What other was’t than Love, Oh! false Anacreon, say!<br /> +<br /> + “Then You could call me—‘Gentle Boy!<br /> + ‘My only bliss! my source of joy!’—<br /> +Then You could prize me dearer than your soul!<br /> + Could kiss, and dance me on your knees;<br /> + And swear, not wine itself would please,<br /> +Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl!<br /> +<br /> + “Must those sweet days return no more?<br /> + Must I for aye your loss deplore,<br /> +Banished your heart, and from your favour driven?<br /> + Ah! no; My fears that smile denies;<br /> + That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes<br /> +Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven.<br /> +<br /> + “Again beloved, esteemed, carest,<br /> + Cupid shall in thine arms be prest,<br /> +Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep:<br /> + My Torch thine age-struck heart shall warm;<br /> + My Hand pale Winter’s rage disarm,<br /> +And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.”—<br /> +<br /> + A feather now of golden hue<br /> + He smiling from his pinion drew;<br /> +This to the Poet’s hand the Boy commits;<br /> + And straight before Anacreon’s eyes<br /> + The fairest dreams of fancy rise,<br /> +And round his favoured head wild inspiration flits.<br /> +<br /> + His bosom glows with amorous fire<br /> + Eager He grasps the magic lyre;<br /> +Swift o’er the tuneful chords his fingers move:<br /> + The Feather plucked from Cupid’s wing<br /> + Sweeps the too-long-neglected string,<br /> +While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of Love.<br /> +<br /> + Soon as that name was heard, the Woods<br /> + Shook off their snows; The melting floods<br /> +Broke their cold chains, and Winter fled away.<br /> + Once more the earth was deckt with flowers;<br /> + Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers;<br /> +High towered the glorious Sun, and poured the blaze of day.<br /> +<br /> + Attracted by the harmonious sound,<br /> + Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround,<br /> +And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold:<br /> + The Wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove;<br /> + Eager They run; They list, they love,<br /> +And while They hear the strain, forget the Man is old.<br /> +<br /> + Cupid, to nothing constant long,<br /> + Perched on the Harp attends the song,<br /> +Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes:<br /> + Now on the Poet’s breast reposes,<br /> + Now twines his hoary locks with roses,<br /> +Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.<br /> +<br /> + Then thus Anacreon—“I no more<br /> + At other shrine my vows will pour,<br /> +Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire:<br /> + From Phœbus or the blue-eyed Maid<br /> + Now shall my verse request no aid,<br /> +For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre.<br /> +<br /> + “In lofty strain, of earlier days,<br /> + I spread the King’s or Hero’s praise,<br /> +And struck the martial Chords with epic fire:<br /> + But farewell, Hero! farewell, King!<br /> + Your deeds my lips no more shall sing,<br /> +For Love alone shall be the subject of my Lyre. +</p> + +<p> +The Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, my Lord, you do not think these lines tolerable?” said +Theodore with an humble and dejected air. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“All this is true, Segnor; But you should consider that I only write for +pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Marquis rose from the Sopha; the Page looked discouraged and melancholy, +and this did not escape his Master’s observation. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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 +</p> + +<p class="right"> +LEONELLA. +</p> + +<p> +The latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the blushes of her +cheek, while She committed an outrage upon her virgin modesty. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +“<i>Montemayor’s Diana</i>.” 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with him. Was +He long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?” +</p> + +<p> +“He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church: He gave me +his seat, and was very obliging and attentive.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused. Antonia coloured, but was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +...”. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid? +</p> + +<p> +Why was it concealed from me that his society had afforded you pleasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Antonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her knees by the +Sopha, and hid her face in her Mother’s lap. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Antonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience. Elvira then +continued. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +With this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied and trembling for +his Sister’s safety. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He was proceeding, but Elvira interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +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 ...”. +</p> + +<p> +Elvira paused. Her voice faltered, and She concealed her face with her +handkerchief. After a short silence She rose from the Sopha, and proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE EXILE +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Farewell, Oh! native Spain! Farewell for ever!<br /> + These banished eyes shall view thy coasts no more;<br /> +A mournful presage tells my heart, that never<br /> + Gonzalvo’s steps again shall press thy shore.<br /> +<br /> +Hushed are the winds; While soft the Vessel sailing<br /> + With gentle motion plows the unruffled Main,<br /> +I feel my bosom’s boasted courage failing,<br /> + And curse the waves which bear me far from Spain.<br /> +<br /> +I see it yet! Beneath yon blue clear Heaven<br /> + Still do the Spires, so well beloved, appear;<br /> +From yonder craggy point the gale of Even<br /> + Still wafts my native accents to mine ear:<br /> +<br /> +Propped on some moss-crowned Rock, and gaily singing,<br /> + There in the Sun his nets the Fisher dries;<br /> +Oft have I heard the plaintive Ballad, bringing<br /> + Scenes of past joys before my sorrowing eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Ah! Happy Swain! He waits the accustomed hour,<br /> + When twilight-gloom obscures the closing sky;<br /> +Then gladly seeks his loved paternal bower,<br /> + And shares the feast his native fields supply:<br /> +<br /> +Friendship and Love, his Cottage Guests, receive him<br /> + With honest welcome and with smile sincere;<br /> +No threatening woes of present joys bereave him,<br /> + No sigh his bosom owns, his cheek no tear.<br /> +<br /> +Ah! Happy Swain! Such bliss to me denying,<br /> + Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view;<br /> +Me, who from home and Spain an Exile flying,<br /> + Bid all I value, all I love, adieu.<br /> +<br /> +No more mine ear shall list the well-known ditty<br /> + Sung by some Mountain-Girl, who tends her Goats,<br /> +Some Village-Swain imploring amorous pity,<br /> + Or Shepherd chaunting wild his rustic notes:<br /> +<br /> +No more my arms a Parent’s fond embraces,<br /> + No more my heart domestic calm, must know;<br /> +Far from these joys, with sighs which Memory traces,<br /> + To sultry skies, and distant climes I go.<br /> +<br /> +Where Indian Suns engender new diseases,<br /> + Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way<br /> +To brave the feverish thirst no art appeases,<br /> + The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day:<br /> +<br /> +But not to feel slow pangs consume my liver,<br /> + To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age,<br /> +My boiling blood drank by insatiate fever,<br /> + And brain delirious with the day-star’s rage,<br /> +<br /> +Can make me know such grief, as thus to sever<br /> + With many a bitter sigh, Dear Land, from Thee;<br /> +To feel this heart must doat on thee for ever,<br /> + And feel, that all thy joys are torn from me!<br /> +<br /> +Ah me! How oft will Fancy’s spells in slumber<br /> + Recall my native Country to my mind!<br /> +How oft regret will bid me sadly number<br /> + Each lost delight and dear Friend left behind!<br /> +<br /> +Wild Murcia’s Vales, and loved romantic bowers,<br /> + The River on whose banks a Child I played,<br /> +My Castle’s antient Halls, its frowning Towers,<br /> + Each much-regretted wood, and well-known Glade,<br /> +<br /> +Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre,<br /> + Thy scenes, which I am doomed no more to know,<br /> +Full oft shall Memory trace, my soul’s Tormentor,<br /> + And turn each pleasure past to present woe.<br /> +<br /> +But Lo! The Sun beneath the waves retires;<br /> + Night speeds apace her empire to restore:<br /> +Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires,<br /> + Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more.<br /> +<br /> +Oh! breathe not, Winds! Still be the Water’s motion!<br /> + Sleep, sleep, my Bark, in silence on the Main!<br /> +So when to-morrow’s light shall gild the Ocean,<br /> + Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain.<br /> +<br /> +Vain is the wish! My last petition scorning,<br /> + Fresh blows the Gale, and high the Billows swell:<br /> +Far shall we be before the break of Morning;<br /> + Oh! then for ever, native Spain, farewell! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The Lady shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lorenzo interrupted her by an exclamation of surprize. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +While in each other’s arms entranced They lay,<br /> +They blessed the night, and curst the coming day. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +L<small>EE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Matilda was the first to break it. She took his hand gently, and pressed it to +her burning lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Ambrosio!” She murmured in a soft and trembling voice. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</i> +not shared in <i>your</i> guilt? Have <i>you</i> not shared in <i>my</i> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He did so in a manner the most binding. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Friar obeyed, and left the Cell. As He opened the door, Father Pablos made +his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“I come,” said the Latter, “to enquire after the health of my +young Patient.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been expecting you with impatience,” said She; “My +life depends upon these moments. Have you the Key?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away then to the garden. We have no time to lose. Follow me!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“There are People in the Vaults!” She whispered to the Monk; +“Conceal yourself till they are past. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I design,” said He, “to request an audience of the Domina +tomorrow, and use every means of obtaining a mitigation of her sentence.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see any thing?” She asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Twice I saw a column of light flash up the Staircase.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Morning is on the point of breaking. Let us retire to the Abbey, +lest daylight should betray us.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +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 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“That men were fond, he smiled, and wondered how!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As yet his other passions lay dormant; But they only needed to be once +awakened, to display themselves with violence as great and irresistible. +</p> + +<p> +He continued to be the admiration of Madrid. The Enthusiasm created by his +eloquence seemed rather to increase than diminish. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +He acceded to the request. The Petitioner returned him thanks with every mark +of gratitude, and then continued. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Donna Elvira Dalfa, Strada di San Iago, four doors from the Palace +d’Albornos.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The Prostitute!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves,<br /> +“Places which pale Passion loves!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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; +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess that Father Dominic had not the most pleasing manners in the +world; But He was honest, friendly, and well-meaning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my dear Mother, those qualities are so common!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Holy Virgin! As you say, that is very true.—Oh! But might He not +have been born in the Abbey?” +</p> + +<p> +Elvira smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, not very easily.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was very kind of her. And so He fell from heaven, Antonia? +</p> + +<p> +He must have had a terrible tumble.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Antonia, you argue very closely! Your conclusions are +infallible! I did not suspect you of being so able a Logician.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +MIDNIGHT HYMN +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Now all is hushed; The solemn chime<br /> +No longer swells the nightly gale:<br /> +Thy awful presence, Hour sublime,<br /> +With spotless heart once more I hail.<br /> +<br /> +’Tis now the moment still and dread,<br /> +When Sorcerers use their baleful power;<br /> +When Graves give up their buried dead<br /> +To profit by the sanctioned hour:<br /> +<br /> +From guilt and guilty thoughts secure,<br /> +To duty and devotion true,<br /> +With bosom light and conscience pure,<br /> +Repose, thy gentle aid I woo.<br /> +<br /> +Good Angels, take my thanks, that still<br /> +The snares of vice I view with scorn;<br /> +Thanks, that to-night as free from ill<br /> +I sleep, as when I woke at morn.<br /> +<br /> +Yet may not my unconscious breast<br /> +Harbour some guilt to me unknown?<br /> +Some wish impure, which unreprest<br /> +You blush to see, and I to own?<br /> +<br /> +If such there be, in gentle dream<br /> +Instruct my feet to shun the snare;<br /> +Bid truth upon my errors beam,<br /> +And deign to make me still your care.<br /> +<br /> +Chase from my peaceful bed away<br /> +The witching Spell, a foe to rest,<br /> +The nightly Goblin, wanton Fay,<br /> +The Ghost in pain, and Fiend unblest:<br /> +<br /> +Let not the Tempter in mine ear<br /> +Pour lessons of unhallowed joy;<br /> +Let not the Night-mare, wandering near<br /> +My Couch, the calm of sleep destroy;<br /> +<br /> +Let not some horrid dream affright<br /> +With strange fantastic forms mine eyes;<br /> +But rather bid some vision bright<br /> +Display the bliss of yonder skies.<br /> +<br /> +Show me the crystal Domes of Heaven,<br /> +The worlds of light where Angels lie;<br /> +Shew me the lot to Mortals given,<br /> +Who guiltless live, who guiltless die.<br /> +<br /> +Then show me how a seat to gain<br /> +Amidst those blissful realms of<br /> +Air; Teach me to shun each guilty stain,<br /> +And guide me to the good and fair.<br /> +<br /> +So every morn and night, my Voice<br /> +To heaven the grateful strain shall raise;<br /> +In You as Guardian Powers rejoice,<br /> +Good Angels, and exalt your praise:<br /> +<br /> +So will I strive with zealous fire<br /> +Each vice to shun, each fault correct;<br /> +Will love the lessons you inspire,<br /> +And Prize the virtues you protect.<br /> +<br /> +Then when at length by high command<br /> +My body seeks the Grave’s repose,<br /> +When Death draws nigh with friendly hand<br /> +My failing Pilgrim eyes to close;<br /> +<br /> +Pleased that my soul has ’scaped the wreck,<br /> +Sighless will I my life resign,<br /> +And yield to God my Spirit back,<br /> +As pure as when it first was mine. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +——Ah! how dark<br /> +These long-extended realms and rueful wastes;<br /> +Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night,<br /> +Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun<br /> +Was rolled together, or had tried its beams<br /> +Athwart the gloom profound!<br /> +The sickly Taper<br /> +By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults,<br /> +Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,<br /> +Lets fall a supernumerary horror,<br /> +And only serves to make<br /> +Thy night more irksome! +</p> + +<p class="left"> +B<small>LAIR</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He examined the Book which She had been reading, and had now placed upon the +Table. It was the Bible. +</p> + +<p> +“How!” said the Friar to himself; “Antonia reads the Bible, +and is still so ignorant?” +</p> + +<p> +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 “<i>Amadis de Gaul</i>,” or “<i>The Valiant +Champion, Tirante the White;</i>” and would sooner have authorised her +studying the lewd exploits of “<i>Don Galaor</i>,” or the lascivious jokes +of the “<i>Damsel Plazer di mi vida</i>.” 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. +</p> + +<p> +Antonia spoke of her Mother’s health with all the enthusiastic joy of a +youthful heart. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What it is to love?” said She, repeating his question; “Oh! +yes, undoubtedly; I have loved many, many People.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! No, indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I have: The first time that I saw you, I felt it.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrosio started. Scarcely dared He credit his hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +I wept when you departed, and longed for the time which should restore you to +my sight.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I do: Let my Mother be excepted, and the world holds no one more +dear to me!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Father! .... Ambrosio!” She cried; “Release me, for +God’s sake!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I am busy,” said He in a stern and hasty tone; “Leave +me!” +</p> + +<p> +Matilda heeded him not: She again fastened the door, and then advanced towards +him with an air gentle and supplicating. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Her mildness had an instantaneous effect upon Ambrosio’s feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Matilda!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To success? Oh! impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To obtain her by such means I neither can, or will. Cease then to +persuade me, for I dare not employ Hell’s agency. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</i> was exiled from <i>your</i> sight, you, Ambrosio, were ever +present to mine.” +</p> + +<p> +The Friar’s curiosity was excited strongly. +</p> + +<p> +“What you relate is incredible! Matilda, are you not amusing yourself +with my credulity?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be your own eyes the Judge.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I yield!” He cried, dashing the mirror upon the ground: +“Matilda, I follow you! Do with me what you will!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” She said, and took his hand; “Follow me, and witness +the effects of your resolve!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You tremble!” said Matilda to her Companion; “Fear not; The +destined spot is near.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Matilda took the Lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait for me!” said She to the Friar; “In a few moments I am +here again.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“God! Oh! God! No hope! No succour!” +</p> + +<p> +Yet deeper groans followed these words. They died away gradually, and universal +silence again prevailed. +</p> + +<p> +“What can this mean?” thought the bewildered Monk. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment an idea which flashed into his mind, almost petrified him with +horror. He started, and shuddered at himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Should it be possible!” He groaned involuntarily; “Should it +but be possible, Oh! what a Monster am I!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow me!” She said to the Monk in a low and solemn voice; +“All is ready!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“He comes!” exclaimed Matilda in a joyful accent. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The crickets sing, and Man’s o’er-laboured sense<br /> +Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus<br /> +Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened<br /> +The chastity He wounded—Cytherea,<br /> +How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! Fresh Lily!<br /> +And whiter than the sheets! +</p> + +<p class="left"> +C<small>YMBELINE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“By anthropophagi, and men whose heads<br /> +Do grow beneath their shoulders,” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“But at least,” said the old Porteress, “take care not to +sing any thing profane.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But is the adventure true?” enquired the Porteress. +</p> + +<p> +“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’.” +</p> + +<p> +“In Denmark, say you?” mumbled an old Nun; “Are not the +People all Blacks in Denmark?” +</p> + +<p> +“By no means, reverend Lady; They are of a delicate pea-green with +flame-coloured hair and whiskers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother of God! Pea-green?” exclaimed Sister Helena; “Oh! +’tis impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE WATER-KING<br /> +A DANISH BALLAD +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +With gentle murmur flowed the tide,<br /> +While by the fragrant flowery side<br /> +The lovely Maid with carols gay<br /> +To Mary’s church pursued her way.<br /> +<br /> +The Water-Fiend’s malignant eye<br /> +Along the Banks beheld her hie;<br /> +Straight to his Mother-witch he sped,<br /> +And thus in suppliant accents said:<br /> +<br /> +“Oh! Mother! Mother! now advise,<br /> +How I may yonder Maid surprize:<br /> +Oh! Mother! Mother! Now explain,<br /> +How I may yonder Maid obtain.”<br /> +<br /> +The Witch She gave him armour white;<br /> +She formed him like a gallant Knight;<br /> +Of water clear next made her hand<br /> +A Steed, whose housings were of sand.<br /> +<br /> +The Water-King then swift He went;<br /> +To Mary’s Church his steps He bent:<br /> +He bound his Courser to the Door,<br /> +And paced the Church-yard three times four.<br /> +<br /> +His Courser to the door bound He,<br /> +And paced the Church-yard four time three:<br /> +Then hastened up the Aisle, where all<br /> +The People flocked, both great and small.<br /> +<br /> +The Priest said, as the Knight drew near,<br /> +“And wherefore comes the white Chief here?”<br /> +The lovely Maid She smiled aside;<br /> +“Oh! would I were the white Chief’s Bride!”<br /> +<br /> +He stept o’er Benches one and two;<br /> +“Oh! lovely Maid, I die for You!”<br /> +He stept o’er Benches two and three;<br /> +“Oh! lovely Maiden, go with me!”<br /> +<br /> +Then sweet She smiled, the lovely Maid,<br /> +And while She gave her hand, She said,<br /> +“Betide me joy, betide me woe,<br /> +O’er Hill, o’er dale, with thee I go.”<br /> +<br /> +The Priest their hands together joins:<br /> +They dance, while clear the moon-beam shines;<br /> +And little thinks the Maiden bright,<br /> +Her Partner is the Water-spright.<br /> +<br /> +Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing,<br /> +“Your Partner is the Water-King!”<br /> +The Maid had fear and hate confest,<br /> +And cursed the hand which then She prest.<br /> +<br /> +But nothing giving cause to think,<br /> +How near She strayed to danger’s brink,<br /> +Still on She went, and hand in hand<br /> +The Lovers reached the yellow sand.<br /> +<br /> +“Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear;<br /> +We needs must cross the streamlet here;<br /> +Ride boldly in; It is not deep;<br /> +The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.”<br /> +<br /> +Thus spoke the Water-King. The Maid<br /> +Her Traitor-Bride-groom’s wish obeyed:<br /> +And soon She saw the Courser lave<br /> +Delighted in his parent wave.<br /> +<br /> +“Stop! Stop! my Love! The waters blue<br /> +E’en now my shrinking foot bedew!”<br /> +“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!<br /> +We now have reached the deepest part.”<br /> +<br /> +“Stop! Stop! my Love! For now I see<br /> +The waters rise above my knee.”<br /> +“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!<br /> +We now have reached the deepest part.”<br /> +<br /> +“Stop! Stop! for God’s sake, stop! For Oh!<br /> +The waters o’er my bosom flow!”—<br /> +Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight<br /> +And Courser vanished from her sight.<br /> +<br /> +She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high<br /> +The wild winds rising dull the cry;<br /> +The Fiend exults; The Billows dash,<br /> +And o’er their hapless Victim wash.<br /> +<br /> +Three times while struggling with the stream,<br /> +The lovely Maid was heard to scream;<br /> +But when the Tempest’s rage was o’er,<br /> +The lovely Maid was seen no more.<br /> +<br /> +Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair,<br /> +To whom you give your love beware!<br /> +Believe not every handsome Knight,<br /> +And dance not with the Water-Spright! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hah!” said the Porteress; “Here comes the Mother St. Ursula +with a Basket.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother St. Ursula, I would speak with you in private.” +</p> + +<p> +The Nun changed colour, and was evidently disconcerted. +</p> + +<p> +“With me?” She replied in a faltering voice. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“ST. URSULA.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +His disappointment was excessive, when He found that affairs of State had +obliged the Cardinal to set out for a distant Province. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +To all her remonstrances She received no other answer than, +</p> + +<p> +“Mother! Dear Mother! Oh! would to God, it were Morning!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SERENADE +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Chorus +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre!<br /> +’Tis here that Beauty loves to rest:<br /> +Describe the pangs of fond desire,<br /> +Which rend a faithful Lover’s breast. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Song +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In every heart to find a Slave,<br /> +In every Soul to fix his reign,<br /> +In bonds to lead the wise and brave,<br /> +And make the Captives kiss his chain,<br /> +Such is the power of Love, and Oh!<br /> +I grieve so well Love’s power to know.<br /> +<br /> +In sighs to pass the live-long day,<br /> +To taste a short and broken sleep,<br /> +For one dear Object far away,<br /> +All others scorned, to watch and weep,<br /> +Such are the pains of Love, and Oh!<br /> +I grieve so well Love’s pains to know!<br /> +<br /> +To read consent in virgin eyes,<br /> +To press the lip ne’er prest till then<br /> +To hear the sigh of transport rise,<br /> +And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again,<br /> +Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh!<br /> +When shall my heart thy pleasures know? +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Chorus +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still!<br /> +Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire<br /> +With amorous thoughts thy visions fill,<br /> +Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious God!” exclaimed a voice behind him; “Am I not +deceived? +</p> + +<p> +Is not this an illusion?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Pale and confused the baffled Culprit stood trembling before her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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 .....” +</p> + +<p> +Elvira interrupted him abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Antonia secure from you? <i>I</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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Attempt not to fly!” said She; “You quit not this room +without Witnesses of your guilt.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrosio beheld before him that once noble and majestic form, now become a +Corse, cold, senseless and disgusting. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Tell us, ye Dead, will none of you in pity<br /> +To those you left behind disclose the secret?<br /> +O! That some courteous Ghost would blab it out,<br /> +What ’tis you are, and we must shortly be.<br /> +I’ve heard that Souls departed have sometimes<br /> +Fore-warned Men of their deaths:<br /> +’Twas kindly done<br /> +To knock, and give the alarum. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +B<small>LAIR</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright<br /> + Conversed, as They sat on the green:<br /> +They gazed on each other with tender delight;<br /> +Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight,<br /> + The Maid’s was the Fair Imogine.<br /> +<br /> +“And Oh!” said the Youth, “since to-morrow I go<br /> + To fight in a far distant land,<br /> +Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow,<br /> +Some Other will court you, and you will bestow<br /> + On a wealthier Suitor your hand.”<br /> +<br /> +“Oh! hush these suspicions,” Fair Imogine said,<br /> + “Offensive to Love and to me!<br /> +For if ye be living, or if ye be dead,<br /> +I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead<br /> + Shall Husband of Imogine be.<br /> +<br /> +“If e’er I by lust or by wealth led aside<br /> + Forget my Alonzo the Brave,<br /> +God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride<br /> +Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side,<br /> +May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride,<br /> + And bear me away to the Grave!”<br /> +<br /> +To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold;<br /> + His Love, She lamented him sore:<br /> +But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold,<br /> +A Baron all covered with jewels and gold<br /> + Arrived at Fair Imogine’s door.<br /> +<br /> +His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain<br /> + Soon made her untrue to her vows:<br /> +He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain;<br /> +He caught her affections so light and so vain,<br /> + And carried her home as his Spouse.<br /> +<br /> +And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest;<br /> + The revelry now was begun:<br /> +The Tables, they groaned with the weight of the Feast;<br /> +Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,<br /> + When the Bell of the Castle told,—“One!”<br /> +<br /> +Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found<br /> + That a Stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific;<br /> +He uttered no sound; He spoke not, He moved not,<br /> +He looked not around,<br /> + But earnestly gazed on the Bride.<br /> +<br /> +His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height;<br /> + His armour was sable to view:<br /> +All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;<br /> +The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright,<br /> + The Lights in the chamber burned blue!<br /> +<br /> +His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay;<br /> + The Guests sat in silence and fear.<br /> +At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled;<br /> +“I pray, Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay,<br /> + And deign to partake of our chear.”<br /> +<br /> +The Lady is silent: The Stranger complies.<br /> + His vizor lie slowly unclosed:<br /> +Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine’s eyes!<br /> +What words can express her dismay and surprize,<br /> + When a Skeleton’s head was exposed.<br /> +<br /> +All present then uttered a terrified shout;<br /> + All turned with disgust from the scene.<br /> +The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out,<br /> +And sported his eyes and his temples about,<br /> + While the Spectre addressed Imogine.<br /> +<br /> +“Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!” He cried;<br /> + “Remember Alonzo the Brave!<br /> +God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride<br /> +My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,<br /> +Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride<br /> + And bear thee away to the Grave!”<br /> +<br /> +Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound,<br /> + While loudly She shrieked in dismay;<br /> +Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground:<br /> +Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,<br /> + Or the Spectre who bore her away.<br /> +<br /> +Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time<br /> + To inhabit the Castle presume:<br /> +For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime<br /> +There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,<br /> + And mourns her deplorable doom.<br /> +<br /> +At midnight four times in each year does her Spright<br /> + When Mortals in slumber are bound,<br /> +Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,<br /> +Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight,<br /> + And shriek, as He whirls her around.<br /> +<br /> +While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,<br /> + Dancing round them the Spectres are seen:<br /> +Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave<br /> +They howl.—“To the health of Alonzo the Brave,<br /> + And his Consort, the False Imogine!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious God!” She said to herself; “What could be that +sound? Was I deceived, or did I really hear it?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet three days,” said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral; +“Yet three days, and we meet again!” +</p> + +<p> +Antonia shuddered at the words. +</p> + +<p> +“We meet again?” She pronounced at length with difficulty: +“Where shall we meet? Whom shall I meet?” +</p> + +<p> +The figure pointed to the ground with one hand, and with the other raised the +Linen which covered its face. +</p> + +<p> +“Almighty God! My Mother!” +</p> + +<p> +Antonia shrieked, and fell lifeless upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Safe from whom, my Child?” replied the astonished Jacintha; +“What alarms you? Of whom are you afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She threw herself upon Jacintha’s bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw her? Saw whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“My Mother’s Ghost!” +</p> + +<p> +“Christ Jesus!” cried Jacintha, and starting from the Bed, let fall +Antonia upon the pillow, and fled in consternation out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +As She hastened down stairs, She met Flora ascending them. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“See this Woman,” said She in a low voice; “I have my +reasons.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Here She wept bitterly, wrung her hands, and begged to know the Abbot’s +opinion of her case. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +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 .....” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Ambrosio stared at this strange story, which He could not credit. +</p> + +<p> +“Did Donna Antonia also see the Ghost?” said He. +</p> + +<p> +“As plain as I see you, Reverend Father!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Friar started, and interrupted her hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“In convulsions, say you? Antonia in convulsions? Lead on, good Woman! I +follow you this moment!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She thanked him gratefully for his visit, and related to him the adventure, +which had alarmed her so seriously. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“By profiting by my counsels. Ambrosio, I live but to serve you: +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How is this?” said He to himself; “How comes this door +unfastened?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It was only the wind,” said He, recovering himself. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Absurd terrors!” He cried at length, ashamed of his own +weakness—— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ghost, or Devil, I hold you!” He exclaimed, and seized the Spectre +by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Christ Jesus!” cried a shrill voice; “Holy Father, how +you gripe me! I protest that I meant no harm!” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak! Speak!” cried Flora and the Monk at the same time; +“What has happened? What is the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She paused. The Abbot shuddered when She mentioned Elvira: Antonia imputed his +emotion to pity and concern for her. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh! could I worship aught beneath the skies<br /> +That earth hath seen or fancy could devise,<br /> +Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,<br /> +Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,<br /> +With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair,<br /> +As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +C<small>OWPER</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“We are safe!” He heard her whisper; “’tis her +Brother!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is She?” asked a By-stander in Lorenzo’s hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That you shall know in time,” replied He; “But first I must +secure the Mother St. Ursula.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Mother St. Ursula?” repeated the Domina faintly. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment casting her eyes round, She saw near her Lorenzo and the Duke, +who had followed Don Ramirez. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! great God!” She cried, clasping her hands together with a +frantic air; “I am betrayed!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What can this mean?” cried Lorenzo; “Here is some mystery +concealed. Follow me without delay!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what could bring them hither?” said another in a trembling +voice; “Do you think that they were looking for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.......” +</p> + +<p> +Here looking up, her eye fell upon Lorenzo, who had continued to approach +softly. +</p> + +<p> +“The Murderers!” She cried— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Spare me!” She exclaimed; “For Christ’s sake, spare +me! I am innocent, indeed, I am!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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 ...” +</p> + +<p> +“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 ....” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark! Hark!” interrupted Virginia in a voice of terror; “God +preserve us! There it is again!” +</p> + +<p> +The Nuns clasped their hands together, and sank upon their knees. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that?” He cried, and started. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“The noise comes from hence,” said He; “Whose is this +Statue?” +</p> + +<p> +Helena, to whom He addressed the question, paused for a moment. Suddenly She +clapped her hands together. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye!” cried she, “it must be so. I have discovered the +meaning of these groans.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And in what consists the danger?” said He. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“No one comes!” She at length murmured. +</p> + +<p> +As She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat: She sighed +bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“No one comes!” She repeated; “No! They have forgotten me! +They will come no more!” +</p> + +<p> +She paused for a moment: Then continued mournfully. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent. She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon! +</p> + +<p> +’Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet not feel +it—I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark! Hark! Hark!” She cried: “Some one comes!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Fearing that surprize in her enfeebled state might be fatal, Lorenzo was at a +loss how to address her. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not Camilla,” said He at length, speaking in a slow and +gentle voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mistake my business,” replied Lorenzo; “I am no Emissary +of the cruel Prioress. I pity your sorrows, and come hither to relieve +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“To relieve them?” repeated the Captive; “Said you, to +relieve them?” +</p> + +<p> +At the same time starting from the ground, and supporting herself upon her +hands, She gazed upon the Stranger earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +As Lorenzo stooped to raise her, the beams of the Lamp struck full upon his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Almighty God!” She exclaimed; “Is it possible! That look! +Those features! Oh! Yes, it is, it is .....” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Duke applauded his intention. Don Ramirez offered to assist him in his +enquiry, and his proposal was accepted with gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear footsteps?” said Lorenzo; “Let us bend our +course towards them. ’Tis from this side that they seem to +proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment a loud and piercing shriek induced him to quicken his steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Help! Help, for God’s sake! cried a voice, whose melodious tone +penetrated Lorenzo’s heart with terror. +</p> + +<p> +He flew towards the cry with the rapidity of lightning, and was followed by Don +Ramirez with equal swiftness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Great Heaven! How frail thy creature Man is made!<br /> +How by himself insensibly betrayed!<br /> +In our own strength unhappily secure,<br /> +Too little cautious of the adverse power,<br /> +On pleasure’s flowery brink we idly stray,<br /> +Masters as yet of our returning way:<br /> +Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,<br /> +Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies,<br /> +And swift into the boundless Ocean borne,<br /> +Our foolish confidence too late we mourn:<br /> +Round our devoted heads the billows beat,<br /> +And from our troubled view the lessening lands retreat. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +P<small>RIOR</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She attempted to rise, but the Monk prevented her. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +Your flaming eyes terrify me! Spare me, Father! Oh! spare me for God’s +sake!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Whither go you?” He cried in a stern voice; “Return this +instant!” +</p> + +<p> +Antonia trembled at the fury of his countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</i> saw you; that you were innocent, till +<i>I</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!” +</p> + +<p> +As He thundered out these words, He violently grasped Antonia’s arm, and +spurned the earth with delirious fury. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Spare me! Spare me!” She murmured with difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence!” cried the Friar madly, and dashed her upon the +ground—— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +Haply it may not be observed, and we may remain concealed till the search is +over.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Antonia ..... Should the Inquisitors draw near, and her cries be +heard ....” +</p> + +<p> +“Thus I remove that danger!” interrupted Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time drawing a poignard, She rushed upon her devoted prey. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Matilda darted upon him a look of scorn. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Help!” She continued to exclaim; “Help! Help! for +God’s sake!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“God Almighty! It is Antonia!” +</p> + +<p> +Such was Lorenzo’s exclamation, while He snatched her from the +Attendant’s arms, and clasped her in his own. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Three o’clock!” She cried; “Mother, I come!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<h4>Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina</h4> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +I threw it from me, and sank almost lifeless upon my Bier. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She gazed upon me with angry eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She paused, but kept her eye still fixt upon mine. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +The Prioress drew back haughtily: She forced her habit from my grasp, as if my +touch had been contagious. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +——He was a fell despightful Fiend:<br /> +Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below:<br /> +By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancor keened;<br /> +Of Man alike, if good or bad the Foe. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +T<small>HOMSON</small>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon?” He would cry in an access of phrenzy “Oh! there can +be none for me!” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! fearful is night to the Guilty!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Look up, Ambrosio!” said a Voice in accents well-known to +him— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She paused for the Monk’s reply: He shuddered, while He gave it. +</p> + +<p> +“Matilda!” He said after a long silence in a low and unsteady +voice; “What price gave you for liberty?” +</p> + +<p> +She answered him firm and dauntless. +</p> + +<p> +“Ambrosio, it was my Soul!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wretched Woman, what have you done? Pass but a few years, and how +dreadful will be your sufferings!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is such your resolution? I have no more to say. I speed to joy and +liberty, and abandon you to death and eternal torments.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet stay one moment, Matilda! You command the infernal Dæmons: +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not sell my soul to perdition.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +They were in a language, whose import was totally unknown to him. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“For what am I summoned hither?” said the dæmon, in a voice which +<i>sulphurous fogs had damped to hoarseness</i>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrosio was long unable to answer the Dæmon’s demand. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will not. I must have your soul; must have it mine, and mine for +ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Insatiate Dæmon, I will not doom myself to endless torments. I will not +give up my hopes of being one day pardoned.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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....” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What am I doing?” He cried—Then turning to the Fiend with a +desperate air, “Leave me! Begone! I will not sign the Parchment.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not! Leave me! Away!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must!—Fate urges me! I accept your conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sign the Parchment!” replied the Dæmon in an exulting tone. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark!” cried the Tempter; “They come! Be quick! Sign the +Parchment, and I bear you from hence this moment.” +</p> + +<p> +In effect, the Archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead Ambrosio to +the Stake. The sound encouraged the Monk in his resolution. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the import of this writing?” said He. +</p> + +<p> +“It makes your soul over to me for ever, and without reserve.” +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to receive in exchange?” +</p> + +<p> +“My protection, and release from this dungeon. Sign it, and this instant +I bear you away.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Weak and Puerile!” cried the exasperated Fiend: “Away with +this folly! Sign the writing this instant, or I sacrifice you to my +rage!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it!” said the God-abandoned; “Now then save me! Snatch +me from hence!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold! Do you freely and absolutely renounce your Creator and his +Son?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do! I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you make over your soul to me for ever?” +</p> + +<p> +“For ever!” +</p> + +<p> +“Without reserve or subterfuge? Without future appeal to the divine +mercy?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have triumphed! You are mine past reprieve, and I fulfil my +promise.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +The Fiend replied not, but continued to gaze upon him in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Ambrosio could not sustain his glance; He turned away his eyes, while thus +spoke the Dæmon: +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused; then addressed himself to the Monk—— +</p> + +<p> +“Carry you to Matilda?” He continued, repeating Ambrosio’s +words: +</p> + +<p> +“Wretch! you shall soon be with her! You well deserve a place near her, +for hell boasts no miscreant more guilty than yourself. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +During the Dæmon’s speech, Ambrosio had been stupefied by terror and +surprize. This last declaration rouzed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Not quit these mountains alive?” He exclaimed: “Perfidious, +what mean you? Have you forgotten our contract?” +</p> + +<p> +The Fiend answered by a malicious laugh: +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Lady, to look with mercy on the conduct of others, is a virtue no less than to +look with severity on your own. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +FINIS. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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