The Monk: A Romance
of love? She raised her head at my approach, and recognised me in spite
of my disguise at a single glance. She rose hastily from her seat with
an exclamation of surprize, and attempted to retire; But I followed
her, detained her, and entreated to be heard. Persuaded of my falsehood
She refused to listen to me, and ordered me positively to quit the
Garden. It was now my turn to refuse. I protested that however
dangerous might be the consequences, I would not leave her till She had
heard my justification. I assured her that She had been deceived by the
artifices of her Relations; that I could convince her beyond the power
of doubt that my passion had been pure and disinterested; and I asked
her what should induce me to seek her in the Convent, were I influenced
by the selfish motives which my Enemies had ascribed to me.
My prayers, my arguments, and vows not to quit her, till She had
promised to listen to me, united to her fears lest the Nuns should see
me with her, to her natural curiosity, and to the affection which She
still felt for me in spite of my supposed desertion, at length
prevailed. She told me that to grant my request at that moment was
impossible; But She engaged to be in the same spot at eleven that
night, and to converse with me for the last time. Having obtained this
promise I released her hand, and She fled back with rapidity towards
the Convent.
I communicated my success to my Ally, the old Gardener: He pointed out
an hiding place where I might shelter myself till night without fear of
a discovery. Thither I betook myself at the hour when I ought to have
retired with my supposed Master, and waited impatiently for the
appointed time. The chillness of the night was in my favour, since it
kept the other Nuns confined to their Cells. Agnes alone was insensible
of the inclemency of the Air, and before eleven joined me at the spot
which had witnessed our former interview. Secure from interruption, I
related to her the true cause of my disappearing on the fatal fifth of
May. She was evidently much affected by my narrative: When it was
concluded, She confessed the injustice of her suspicions, and blamed
herself for having taken the veil through despair at my ingratitude.
“But now it is too late to repine!” She added; “The die is thrown: I
have pronounced my vows, and dedicated myself to the service of heaven.
I am sensible, how ill I am calculated for a Convent. My disgust at a
monastic life increases daily: Ennui and discontent are my constant
Companions; and I will not conceal from you that the passion which I
formerly felt for one so near being my Husband is not yet extinguished
in my bosom. But we must part! Insuperable Barriers divide us from each
other, and on this side the Grave we must never meet again!”
I now exerted myself to prove that our union was not so impossible as
She seemed to think it. I vaunted to her the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma’s
influence at the Court of Rome: I assured her that I should easily
obtain a dispensation from her vows; and I doubted not but Don Gaston
would coincide with my views, when informed of my real name and long
attachment. Agnes replied that since I encouraged such an hope, I could
know but little of her Father. Liberal and kind in every other respect,
Superstition formed the only stain upon his character. Upon this head
He was inflexible; He sacrificed his dearest interests to his scruples,
and would consider it an insult to suppose him capable of authorising
his daughter to break her vows to heaven.
“But suppose,” said I interrupting her; “Suppose that He should
disapprove of our union; Let him remain ignorant of my proceedings,
till I have rescued you from the prison in which you are now confined.
Once my Wife, you are free from his authority: I need from him no
pecuniary assistance; and when He sees his resentment to be unavailing,
He will doubtless restore you to his favour. But let the worst happen;
Should Don Gaston be irreconcileable, my Relations will vie with each
other in making you forget his loss: and you will find in my Father a
substitute for the Parent of whom I shall deprive you.”
“Don Raymond,” replied Agnes in a firm and resolute voice, “I love my
Father: He has treated me harshly in this one instance; but I have
received from him in every other so many proofs of love that his
affection is become necessary to my existence. Were I to quit the
Convent, He never would forgive me; nor can I think that on his
deathbed He would leave me his curse, without shuddering at the very
idea. Besides, I am conscious myself, that my vows are binding:
Wilfully did I contract my engagement with heaven; I cannot break it
without a crime. Then banish from your mind the idea of our being ever
united. I am devoted to religion; and however I may grieve at our
separation, I would oppose obstacles myself, to what I feel would
render me guilty.”
I strove to overrule these ill-grounded scruples: We were still
disputing upon the subject, when the Convent Bell summoned the Nuns to
Matins. Agnes was obliged to attend them; But She left me not till I
had compelled her to promise that on the following night She would be
at the same place at the same hour. These meetings continued for
several Weeks uninterrupted; and ’tis now, Lorenzo, that I must implore
your indulgence. Reflect upon our situation, our youth, our long
attachment: Weigh all the circumstances which attended our
assignations, and you will confess the temptation to have been
irresistible; you will even pardon me when I acknowledge, that in an
unguarded moment, the honour of Agnes was sacrificed to my passion.”
(Lorenzo’s eyes sparkled with fury: A deep crimson spread itself over
his face. He started from his seat, and attempted to draw his sword.
The Marquis was aware of his movement, and caught his hand: He pressed
it affectionately.
“My Friend! My Brother! Hear me to the conclusion! Till then restrain
your passion, and be at least convinced, that if what I have related is
criminal, the blame must fall upon me, and not upon your Sister.”
Lorenzo suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Don Raymond’s
entreaties. He resumed his place, and listened to the rest of the
narrative with a gloomy and impatient countenance. The Marquis thus
continued.)
“Scarcely was the first burst of passion past when Agnes, recovering
herself, started from my arms with horror. She called me infamous
Seducer, loaded me with the bitterest reproaches, and beat her bosom in
all the wildness of delirium. Ashamed of my imprudence, I with
difficulty found words to excuse myself. I endeavoured to console her;
I threw myself at her feet, and entreated her forgiveness. She forced
her hand from me, which I had taken, and would have prest to my lips.
“Touch me not!” She cried with a violence which terrified me; “Monster
of perfidy and ingratitude, how have I been deceived in you! I looked
upon you as my Friend, my Protector: I trusted myself in your hands
with confidence, and relying upon your honour, thought that mine ran no
risque. And ’tis by you, whom I adored, that I am covered with infamy!
’Tis by you that I have been seduced into breaking my vows to God, that
I am reduced to a level with the basest of my sex! Shame upon you,
Villain, you shall never see me more!”
She started from the Bank on which She was seated. I endeavoured to
detain her; But She disengaged herself from me with violence, and took
refuge in the Convent.
I retired, filled with confusion and inquietude. The next morning I
failed not as usual to appear in the Garden; but Agnes was no where to
be seen. At night I waited for her at the place where we generally met;
I found no better success. Several days and nights passed away in the
same manner. At length I saw my offended Mistress cross the walk on
whose borders I was working: She was accompanied by the same young
Pensioner, on whose arm She seemed from weakness obliged to support
herself. She looked upon me for a moment, but instantly turned her head
away. I waited her return; But She passed on to the Convent without
paying any attention to me, or the penitent looks with which I implored
her forgiveness.
As soon as the Nuns were retired, the old Gardener joined me with a
sorrowful air.
“Segnor,” said He, “it grieves me to say, that I can be no longer of
use to you. The Lady whom you used to meet has just assured me that if
I admitted you again into the Garden, She would discover the whole
business to the Lady Prioress. She bade me tell you also, that your
presence was an insult, and that if you still possess the least respect
for her, you will never attempt to see her more. Excuse me then for
informing you that I can favour your disguise no longer. Should the
Prioress be acquainted with my conduct, She might not be contented with
dismissing me her service: Out of revenge She might accuse me of having
profaned the Convent, and cause me to be thrown into the Prisons of the
Inquisition.”
Fruitless were my attempts to conquer his resolution. He denied me all
future entrance into the Garden, and Agnes persevered in neither
letting me see or hear from her. In about a fortnight after, a violent
illness which had seized my Father obliged me to set out for Andalusia.
I hastened thither, and as I imagined, found the Marquis at the point
of death. Though on its first appearance his complaint was declared
mortal, He lingered out several Months; during which my attendance upon
him during his malady, and the occupation of settling his affairs after
his decease, permitted not my quitting Andalusia. Within these four
days I returned to Madrid, and on arriving at my Hotel, I there found
this letter waiting for me.
(Here the Marquis unlocked the drawer of a Cabinet: He took out a
folded paper, which He presented to his Auditor. Lorenzo opened it, and
recognised his Sister’s hand. The contents were as follows:
“Into what an abyss of misery have you plunged me! Raymond, you force
me to become as criminal as yourself. I had resolved never to see you
more; if possible, to forget you; If not, only to remember you with
hate. A Being for whom I already feel a Mother’s tenderness, solicits
me to pardon my Seducer, and apply to his love for the means of
preservation. Raymond, your child lives in my bosom. I tremble at the
vengeance of the Prioress; I tremble much for myself, yet more for the
innocent Creature whose existence depends upon mine. Both of us are
lost, should my situation be discovered. Advise me then what steps to
take, but seek not to see me. The Gardener, who undertakes to deliver
this, is dismissed, and we have nothing to hope from that quarter: The
Man engaged in his place is of incorruptible fidelity. The best means
of conveying to me your answer, is by concealing it under the great
Statue of St. Francis, which stands in the Capuchin Cathedral. Thither
I go every Thursday to confession, and shall easily have an opportunity
of securing your letter. I hear that you are now absent from Madrid;
Need I entreat you to write the very moment of your return? I will not
think it. Ah! Raymond! Mine is a cruel situation! Deceived by my
nearest Relations, compelled to embrace a profession the duties of
which I am ill-calculated to perform, conscious of the sanctity of
those duties, and seduced into violating them by One whom I least
suspected of perfidy, I am now obliged by circumstances to chuse
between death and perjury. Woman’s timidity, and maternal affection,
permit me not to balance in the choice. I feel all the guilt into which
I plunge myself, when I yield to the plan which you before proposed to
me. My poor Father’s death which has taken place since we met, has
removed one obstacle. He sleeps in his grave, and I no longer dread his