The Monk: A Romance
She entered her cell, and closed the door.
The Abbot dispatched to her the Physician without losing a moment, and
waited his report impatiently. But Father Pablos soon returned, and
declared that his errand had been fruitless. Rosario refused to admit
him, and had positively rejected his offers of assistance. The
uneasiness which this account gave Ambrosio was not trifling: Yet He
determined that Matilda should have her own way for that night: But
that if her situation did not mend by the morning, he would insist upon
her taking the advice of Father Pablos.
He did not find himself inclined to sleep. He opened his casement, and
gazed upon the moonbeams as they played upon the small stream whose
waters bathed the walls of the Monastery. The coolness of the night
breeze and tranquillity of the hour inspired the Friar’s mind with
sadness. He thought upon Matilda’s beauty and affection; Upon the
pleasures which He might have shared with her, had He not been
restrained by monastic fetters. He reflected, that unsustained by hope
her love for him could not long exist; That doubtless She would succeed
in extinguishing her passion, and seek for happiness in the arms of One
more fortunate. He shuddered at the void which her absence would leave
in his bosom. He looked with disgust on the monotony of a Convent, and
breathed a sigh towards that world from which He was for ever
separated. Such were the reflections which a loud knocking at his door
interrupted. The Bell of the Church had already struck Two. The Abbot
hastened to enquire the cause of this disturbance. He opened the door
of his Cell, and a Lay-Brother entered, whose looks declared his hurry
and confusion.
“Hasten, reverend Father!” said He; “Hasten to the young Rosario.
He earnestly requests to see you; He lies at the point of death.”
“Gracious God! Where is Father Pablos? Why is He not with him? Oh! I
fear! I fear!”
“Father Pablos has seen him, but his art can do nothing. He says that
He suspects the Youth to be poisoned.”
“Poisoned? Oh! The Unfortunate! It is then as I suspected! But let me
not lose a moment; Perhaps it may yet be time to save her!”
He said, and flew towards the Cell of the Novice. Several Monks were
already in the chamber. Father Pablos was one of them, and held a
medicine in his hand which He was endeavouring to persuade Rosario to
swallow. The Others were employed in admiring the Patient’s divine
countenance, which They now saw for the first time. She looked lovelier
than ever. She was no longer pale or languid; A bright glow had spread
itself over her cheeks; her eyes sparkled with a serene delight, and
her countenance was expressive of confidence and resignation.
“Oh! torment me no more!” was She saying to Pablos, when the terrified
Abbot rushed hastily into the Cell; “My disease is far beyond the reach
of your skill, and I wish not to be cured of it”—Then perceiving
Ambrosio,— “Ah! ’tis He!” She cried; “I see him once again, before we
part for ever! Leave me, my Brethren; Much have I to tell this holy Man
in private.”
The Monks retired immediately, and Matilda and the Abbot remained
together.
“What have you done, imprudent Woman!” exclaimed the Latter, as soon as
they were left alone; “Tell me; Are my suspicions just? Am I indeed to
lose you? Has your own hand been the instrument of your destruction?”
She smiled, and grasped his hand.
“In what have I been imprudent, Father? I have sacrificed a pebble, and
saved a diamond: My death preserves a life valuable to the world, and
more dear to me than my own. Yes, Father; I am poisoned; But know that
the poison once circulated in your veins.”
“Matilda!”
“What I tell you I resolved never to discover to you but on the bed of
death: That moment is now arrived. You cannot have forgotten the day
already, when your life was endangered by the bite of a Cientipedoro.
The Physician gave you over, declaring himself ignorant how to extract
the venom: I knew but of one means, and hesitated not a moment to
employ it. I was left alone with you: You slept; I loosened the bandage
from your hand; I kissed the wound, and drew out the poison with my
lips. The effect has been more sudden than I expected. I feel death at
my heart; Yet an hour, and I shall be in a better world.”
“Almighty God!” exclaimed the Abbot, and sank almost lifeless upon the
Bed.
After a few minutes He again raised himself up suddenly, and gazed upon
Matilda with all the wildness of despair.
“And you have sacrificed yourself for me! You die, and die to preserve
Ambrosio! And is there indeed no remedy, Matilda? And is there indeed
no hope? Speak to me, Oh! speak to me! Tell me, that you have still the
means of life!”
“Be comforted, my only Friend! Yes, I have still the means of life in
my power: But ’tis a means which I dare not employ. It is dangerous! It
is dreadful! Life would be purchased at too dear a rate, ... unless it
were permitted me to live for you.”
“Then live for me, Matilda, for me and gratitude!”— (He caught her
hand, and pressed it rapturously to his lips.)—“Remember our late
conversations; I now consent to every thing: Remember in what lively
colours you described the union of souls; Be it ours to realize those
ideas. Let us forget the distinctions of sex, despise the world’s
prejudices, and only consider each other as Brother and Friend. Live
then, Matilda! Oh! live for me!”
“Ambrosio, it must not be. When I thought thus, I deceived both you and
myself. Either I must die at present, or expire by the lingering
torments of unsatisfied desire. Oh! since we last conversed together, a
dreadful veil has been rent from before my eyes. I love you no longer
with the devotion which is paid to a Saint: I prize you no more for the
virtues of your soul; I lust for the enjoyment of your person. The
Woman reigns in my bosom, and I am become a prey to the wildest of
passions. Away with friendship! ’tis a cold unfeeling word. My bosom
burns with love, with unutterable love, and love must be its return.
Tremble then, Ambrosio, tremble to succeed in your prayers. If I live,
your truth, your reputation, your reward of a life past in sufferings,
all that you value is irretrievably lost. I shall no longer be able to
combat my passions, shall seize every opportunity to excite your
desires, and labour to effect your dishonour and my own. No, no,
Ambrosio; I must not live! I am convinced with every moment, that I
have but one alternative; I feel with every heart-throb, that I must
enjoy you, or die.”
“Amazement!—Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?”
He made a movement as if to quit his seat. She uttered a loud shriek,
and raising herself half out of the Bed, threw her arms round the Friar
to detain him.
“Oh! do not leave me! Listen to my errors with compassion! In a few
hours I shall be no more; Yet a little, and I am free from this
disgraceful passion.”
“Wretched Woman, what can I say to you! I cannot ... I must not ... But
live, Matilda! Oh! live!”
“You do not reflect on what you ask. What? Live to plunge myself in
infamy? To become the Agent of Hell? To work the destruction both of
you and of Myself? Feel this heart, Father!”
She took his hand: Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He withdrew
it not, and felt her heart throb under it.
“Feel this heart, Father! It is yet the seat of honour, truth, and
chastity: If it beats tomorrow, it must fall a prey to the blackest
crimes. Oh! let me then die today! Let me die, while I yet deserve the
tears of the virtuous! Thus will expire!”—(She reclined her head upon
his shoulder; Her golden Hair poured itself over his Chest.)— “Folded
in your arms, I shall sink to sleep; Your hand shall close my eyes for
ever, and your lips receive my dying breath. And will you not sometimes
think of me? Will you not sometimes shed a tear upon my Tomb? Oh! Yes!
Yes! Yes! That kiss is my assurance!”
The hour was night. All was silence around. The faint beams of a
solitary Lamp darted upon Matilda’s figure, and shed through the
chamber a dim mysterious light. No prying eye, or curious ear was near
the Lovers: Nothing was heard but Matilda’s melodious accents. Ambrosio
was in the full vigour of Manhood. He saw before him a young and
beautiful Woman, the preserver of his life, the Adorer of his person,
and whom affection for him had reduced to the brink of the Grave. He
sat upon her Bed; His hand rested upon her bosom; Her head reclined
voluptuously upon his breast. Who then can wonder, if He yielded to the
temptation? Drunk with desire, He pressed his lips to those which
sought them: His kisses vied with Matilda’s in warmth and passion. He
clasped her rapturously in his arms; He forgot his vows, his sanctity,
and his fame: He remembered nothing but the pleasure and opportunity.
“Ambrosio! Oh! my Ambrosio!” sighed Matilda.
“Thine, ever thine!” murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom.
CHAPTER III
——These are the Villains
Whom all the Travellers do fear so much.
————Some of them are Gentlemen
Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth
Thrust from the company of awful Men.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
The Marquis and Lorenzo proceeded to the Hotel in silence. The Former
employed himself in calling every circumstance to his mind, which
related might give Lorenzo’s the most favourable idea of his connexion
with Agnes. The Latter, justly alarmed for the honour of his family,
felt embarrassed by the presence of the Marquis: The adventure which He
had just witnessed forbad his treating him as a Friend; and Antonia’s
interests being entrusted to his mediation, He saw the impolicy of
treating him as a Foe. He concluded from these reflections, that
profound silence would be the wisest plan, and waited with impatience
for Don Raymond’s explanation.
They arrived at the Hotel de las Cisternas. The Marquis immediately
conducted him to his apartment, and began to express his satisfaction
at finding him at Madrid. Lorenzo interrupted him.
“Excuse me, my Lord,” said He with a distant air, “if I reply somewhat
coldly to your expressions of regard. A Sister’s honour is involved in
this affair: Till that is established, and the purport of your
correspondence with Agnes cleared up, I cannot consider you as my
Friend. I am anxious to hear the meaning of your conduct, and hope that
you will not delay the promised explanation.”
“First give me your word, that you will listen with patience and
indulgence.”
“I love my Sister too well to judge her harshly; and till this moment I
possessed no Friend so dear to me as yourself. I will also confess,
that your having it in your power to oblige me in a business which I
have much at heart, makes me very anxious to find you still deserving
my esteem.”
“Lorenzo, you transport me! No greater pleasure can be given me, than
an opportunity of serving the Brother of Agnes.”
“Convince me that I can accept your favours without dishonour, and
there is no Man in the world to whom I am more willing to be obliged.”
“Probably, you have already heard your Sister mention the name of
Alphonso d’Alvarada?”
“Never. Though I feel for Agnes an affection truly fraternal,
circumstances have prevented us from being much together. While yet a
Child She was consigned to the care of her Aunt, who had married a
German Nobleman. At his Castle She remained till two years since, when
She returned to Spain, determined upon secluding herself from the
world.”
“Good God! Lorenzo, you knew of her intention, and yet strove not to
make her change it?”
“Marquis, you wrong me. The intelligence, which I received at Naples,
shocked me extremely, and I hastened my return to Madrid for the
express purpose of preventing the sacrifice. The moment that I arrived,
I flew to the Convent of St. Clare, in which Agnes had chosen to