The Monk: A Romance
one hand She held a Lamp, in the other a large Knife, and She seemed
advancing towards the iron gates of the Hall.
“What does this mean, Agnes?” said I; “Is this some invention of your
own?”
She cast her eye upon the drawing.
“Oh! no,” She replied; “’Tis the invention of much wiser heads than
mine. But can you possibly have lived at Lindenberg for three whole
Months without hearing of the Bleeding Nun?”
“You are the first, who ever mentioned the name to me. Pray, who may
the Lady be?”
“That is more than I can pretend to tell you. All my knowledge of her
History comes from an old tradition in this family, which has been
handed down from Father to Son, and is firmly credited throughout the
Baron’s domains. Nay, the Baron believes it himself; and as for my Aunt
who has a natural turn for the marvellous, She would sooner doubt the
veracity of the Bible, than of the Bleeding Nun. Shall I tell you this
History?”
I answered that She would oblige me much by relating it: She resumed
her drawing, and then proceeded as follows in a tone of burlesqued
gravity.
“It is surprising that in all the Chronicles of past times, this
remarkable Personage is never once mentioned. Fain would I recount to
you her life; But unluckily till after her death She was never known to
have existed. Then first did She think it necessary to make some noise
in the world, and with that intention She made bold to seize upon the
Castle of Lindenberg. Having a good taste, She took up her abode in the
best room of the House: and once established there, She began to amuse
herself by knocking about the tables and chairs in the middle of the
night. Perhaps She was a bad Sleeper, but this I have never been able
to ascertain. According to the tradition, this entertainment commenced
about a Century ago. It was accompanied with shrieking, howling,
groaning, swearing, and many other agreeable noises of the same kind.
But though one particular room was more especially honoured with her
visits, She did not entirely confine herself to it. She occasionally
ventured into the old Galleries, paced up and down the spacious Halls,
or sometimes stopping at the doors of the Chambers, She wept and wailed
there to the universal terror of the Inhabitants. In these nocturnal
excursions She was seen by different People, who all describe her
appearance as you behold it here, traced by the hand of her unworthy
Historian.”
The singularity of this account insensibly engaged my attention.
“Did She never speak to those who met her?” said I.
“Not She. The specimens indeed, which She gave nightly of her talents
for conversation, were by no means inviting. Sometimes the Castle rung
with oaths and execrations: A Moment after She repeated her
Paternoster: Now She howled out the most horrible blasphemies, and then
chaunted De Profundis, as orderly as if still in the Choir. In short
She seemed a mighty capricious Being: But whether She prayed or cursed,
whether She was impious or devout, She always contrived to terrify her
Auditors out of their senses. The Castle became scarcely habitable; and
its Lord was so frightened by these midnight Revels, that one fine
morning He was found dead in his bed. This success seemed to please the
Nun mightily, for now She made more noise than ever. But the next Baron
proved too cunning for her. He made his appearance with a celebrated
Exorciser in his hand, who feared not to shut himself up for a night in
the haunted Chamber. There it seems that He had an hard battle with the
Ghost, before She would promise to be quiet. She was obstinate, but He
was more so, and at length She consented to let the Inhabitants of the
Castle take a good night’s rest. For some time after no news was heard
of her. But at the end of five years the Exorciser died, and then the
Nun ventured to peep abroad again. However, She was now grown much more
tractable and well-behaved. She walked about in silence, and never made
her appearance above once in five years. This custom, if you will
believe the Baron, She still continues. He is fully persuaded, that on
the fifth of May of every fifth year, as soon as the Clock strikes One,
the Door of the haunted Chamber opens. (Observe, that this room has
been shut up for near a Century.) Then out walks the Ghostly Nun with
her Lamp and dagger: She descends the staircase of the Eastern Tower;
and crosses the great Hall! On that night the Porter always leaves the
Gates of the Castle open, out of respect to the Apparition: Not that
this is thought by any means necessary, since She could easily whip
through the Keyhole if She chose it; But merely out of politeness, and
to prevent her from making her exit in a way so derogatory to the
dignity of her Ghost-ship.”
“And whither does She go on quitting the Castle?”
“To Heaven, I hope; But if She does, the place certainly is not to her
taste, for She always returns after an hour’s absence. The Lady then
retires to her chamber, and is quiet for another five years.”
“And you believe this, Agnes?”
“How can you ask such a question? No, no, Alphonso! I have too much
reason to lament superstition’s influence to be its Victim myself.
However I must not avow my incredulity to the Baroness: She entertains
not a doubt of the truth of this History. As to Dame Cunegonda, my
Governess, She protests that fifteen years ago She saw the Spectre with
her own eyes. She related to me one evening how She and several other
Domestics had been terrified while at Supper by the appearance of the
Bleeding Nun, as the Ghost is called in the Castle: ’Tis from her
account that I drew this sketch, and you may be certain that Cunegonda
was not omitted. There She is! I shall never forget what a passion She
was in, and how ugly She looked while She scolded me for having made
her picture so like herself!”
Here She pointed to a burlesque figure of an old Woman in an attitude
of terror.
In spite of the melancholy which oppressed me, I could not help smiling
at the playful imagination of Agnes: She had perfectly preserved Dame
Cunegonda’s resemblance, but had so much exaggerated every fault, and
rendered every feature so irresistibly laughable, that I could easily
conceive the Duenna’s anger.
“The figure is admirable, my dear Agnes! I knew not that you possessed
such talents for the ridiculous.”
“Stay a moment,” She replied; “I will show you a figure still more
ridiculous than Dame Cunegonda’s. If it pleases you, you may dispose of
it as seems best to yourself.”
She rose, and went to a Cabinet at some little distance. Unlocking a
drawer, She took out a small case, which She opened, and presented to
me.
“Do you know the resemblance?” said She smiling.
It was her own.
Transported at the gift, I pressed the portrait to my lips with
passion: I threw myself at her feet, and declared my gratitude in the
warmest and most affectionate terms. She listened to me with
complaisance, and assured me that She shared my sentiments: When
suddenly She uttered a loud shriek, disengaged the hand which I held,
and flew from the room by a door which opened to the Garden. Amazed at
this abrupt departure, I rose hastily from my knees. I beheld with
confusion the Baroness standing near me glowing with jealousy, and
almost choaked with rage. On recovering from her swoon, She had
tortured her imagination to discover her concealed Rival. No one
appeared to deserve her suspicions more than Agnes. She immediately
hastened to find her Niece, tax her with encouraging my addresses, and
assure herself whether her conjectures were well-grounded.
Unfortunately She had already seen enough to need no other
confirmation. She arrived at the door of the room at the precise
moment, when Agnes gave me her Portrait. She heard me profess an
everlasting attachment to her Rival, and saw me kneeling at her feet.
She advanced to separate us; We were too much occupied by each other to
perceive her approach, and were not aware of it, till Agnes beheld her
standing by my side.
Rage on the part of Donna Rodolpha, embarrassment on mine, for some
time kept us both silent. The Lady recovered herself first.
“My suspicions then were just,” said She; “The Coquetry of my Niece has
triumphed, and ’tis to her that I am sacrificed. In one respect however
I am fortunate: I shall not be the only one who laments a disappointed
passion. You too shall know, what it is to love without hope! I daily
expect orders for restoring Agnes to her Parents. Immediately upon her
arrival in Spain, She will take the veil, and place an insuperable
barrier to your union. You may spare your supplications.” She
continued, perceiving me on the point of speaking; “My resolution is
fixed and immoveable. Your Mistress shall remain a close Prisoner in
her chamber till She exchanges this Castle for the Cloister. Solitude
will perhaps recall her to a sense of her duty: But to prevent your
opposing that wished event, I must inform you, Don Alphonso, that your
presence here is no longer agreeable either to the Baron or Myself. It
was not to talk nonsense to my Niece that your Relations sent you to
Germany: Your business was to travel, and I should be sorry to impede
any longer so excellent a design. Farewell, Segnor; Remember, that
tomorrow morning we meet for the last time.”
Having said this, She darted upon me a look of pride, contempt, and
malice, and quitted the apartment. I also retired to mine, and consumed
the night in planning the means of rescuing Agnes from the power of her
tyrannical Aunt.
After the positive declaration of its Mistress, it was impossible for
me to make a longer stay at the Castle of Lindenberg. Accordingly I the
next day announced my immediate departure. The Baron declared that it
gave him sincere pain; and He expressed himself in my favour so warmly,
that I endeavoured to win him over to my interest. Scarcely had I
mentioned the name of Agnes when He stopped me short, and said, that it
was totally out of his power to interfere in the business. I saw that
it was in vain to argue; The Baroness governed her Husband with
despotic sway, and I easily perceived that She had prejudiced him
against the match. Agnes did not appear: I entreated permission to take
leave of her, but my prayer was rejected. I was obliged to depart
without seeing her.
At quitting him the Baron shook my hand affectionately, and assured me
that as soon as his Niece was gone, I might consider his House as my
own.
“Farewell, Don Alphonso!” said the Baroness, and stretched out her hand
to me.
I took it, and offered to carry it to my lips. She prevented me.
Her Husband was at the other end of the room, and out of hearing.
“Take care of yourself,” She continued; “My love is become hatred, and
my wounded pride shall not be unatoned. Go where you will, my vengeance
shall follow you!”
She accompanied these words with a look sufficient to make me tremble.
I answered not, but hastened to quit the Castle.
As my Chaise drove out of the Court, I looked up to the windows of your
Sister’s chamber. Nobody was to be seen there: I threw myself back
despondent in my Carriage. I was attended by no other servants than a
Frenchman whom I had hired at Strasbourg in Stephano’s room, and my
little Page whom I before mentioned to you. The fidelity, intelligence,
and good temper of Theodore had already made him dear to me; But He now
prepared to lay an obligation on me, which made me look upon him as a
Guardian Genius. Scarcely had we proceeded half a mile from the Castle,
when He rode up to the Chaise-door.
“Take courage, Segnor!” said He in Spanish, which He had already learnt
to speak with fluency and correctness. “While you were with the Baron,
I watched the moment when Dame Cunegonda was below stairs, and mounted