The Monk: A Romance
have dispelled, an universal murmur through the Church announced the
Preacher’s arrival. Donna Leonella rose from her seat to take a better
view of him, and Antonia followed her example.
He was a Man of noble port and commanding presence. His stature was
lofty, and his features uncommonly handsome. His Nose was aquiline, his
eyes large black and sparkling, and his dark brows almost joined
together. His complexion was of a deep but clear Brown; Study and
watching had entirely deprived his cheek of colour. Tranquillity
reigned upon his smooth unwrinkled forehead; and Content, expressed
upon every feature, seemed to announce the Man equally unacquainted
with cares and crimes. He bowed himself with humility to the audience:
Still there was a certain severity in his look and manner that inspired
universal awe, and few could sustain the glance of his eye at once
fiery and penetrating. Such was Ambrosio, Abbot of the Capuchins, and
surnamed, “The Man of Holiness”.
Antonia, while She gazed upon him eagerly, felt a pleasure fluttering
in her bosom which till then had been unknown to her, and for which She
in vain endeavoured to account. She waited with impatience till the
Sermon should begin; and when at length the Friar spoke, the sound of
his voice seemed to penetrate into her very soul. Though no other of
the Spectators felt such violent sensations as did the young Antonia,
yet every one listened with interest and emotion. They who were
insensible to Religion’s merits, were still enchanted with Ambrosio’s
oratory. All found their attention irresistibly attracted while He
spoke, and the most profound silence reigned through the crowded
Aisles.
Even Lorenzo could not resist the charm: He forgot that Antonia was
seated near him, and listened to the Preacher with undivided attention.
In language nervous, clear, and simple, the Monk expatiated on the
beauties of Religion. He explained some abstruse parts of the sacred
writings in a style that carried with it universal conviction. His
voice at once distinct and deep was fraught with all the terrors of the
Tempest, while He inveighed against the vices of humanity, and
described the punishments reserved for them in a future state. Every
Hearer looked back upon his past offences, and trembled: The Thunder
seemed to roll, whose bolt was destined to crush him, and the abyss of
eternal destruction to open before his feet. But when Ambrosio,
changing his theme, spoke of the excellence of an unsullied conscience,
of the glorious prospect which Eternity presented to the Soul untainted
with reproach, and of the recompense which awaited it in the regions of
everlasting glory, His Auditors felt their scattered spirits insensibly
return. They threw themselves with confidence upon the mercy of their
Judge; They hung with delight upon the consoling words of the Preacher;
and while his full voice swelled into melody, They were transported to
those happy regions which He painted to their imaginations in colours
so brilliant and glowing.
The discourse was of considerable length; Yet when it concluded, the
Audience grieved that it had not lasted longer. Though the Monk had
ceased to speak, enthusiastic silence still prevailed through the
Church: At length the charm gradually dissolving, the general
admiration was expressed in audible terms. As Ambrosio descended from
the Pulpit, His Auditors crowded round him, loaded him with blessings,
threw themselves at his feet, and kissed the hem of his Garment. He
passed on slowly with his hands crossed devoutly upon his bosom, to the
door opening into the Abbey Chapel, at which his Monks waited to
receive him. He ascended the Steps, and then turning towards his
Followers, addressed to them a few words of gratitude, and exhortation.
While He spoke, his Rosary, composed of large grains of amber, fell
from his hand, and dropped among the surrounding multitude. It was
seized eagerly, and immediately divided amidst the Spectators. Whoever
became possessor of a Bead, preserved it as a sacred relique; and had
it been the Chaplet of thrice-blessed St. Francis himself, it could not
have been disputed with greater vivacity. The Abbot, smiling at their
eagerness, pronounced his benediction, and quitted the Church, while
humility dwelt upon every feature. Dwelt She also in his heart?
Antonia’s eyes followed him with anxiety. As the Door closed after him,
it seemed to her as had she lost some one essential to her happiness. A
tear stole in silence down her cheek.
“He is separated from the world!” said She to herself; “Perhaps, I
shall never see him more!”
As she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo observed her action.
“Are you satisfied with our Orator?” said He; “Or do you think that
Madrid overrates his talents?”
Antonia’s heart was so filled with admiration for the Monk, that She
eagerly seized the opportunity of speaking of him: Besides, as She now
no longer considered Lorenzo as an absolute Stranger, She was less
embarrassed by her excessive timidity.
“Oh! He far exceeds all my expectations,” answered She; “Till this
moment I had no idea of the powers of eloquence. But when He spoke, his
voice inspired me with such interest, such esteem, I might almost say
such affection for him, that I am myself astonished at the acuteness of
my feelings.”
Lorenzo smiled at the strength of her expressions.
“You are young and just entering into life,” said He; “Your heart, new
to the world and full of warmth and sensibility, receives its first
impressions with eagerness. Artless yourself, you suspect not others of
deceit; and viewing the world through the medium of your own truth and
innocence, you fancy all who surround you to deserve your confidence
and esteem. What pity, that these gay visions must soon be dissipated!
What pity, that you must soon discover the baseness of mankind, and
guard against your fellow-creatures as against your Foes!”
“Alas! Segnor,” replied Antonia; “The misfortunes of my Parents have
already placed before me but too many sad examples of the perfidy of
the world! Yet surely in the present instance the warmth of sympathy
cannot have deceived me.”
“In the present instance, I allow that it has not. Ambrosio’s character
is perfectly without reproach; and a Man who has passed the whole of
his life within the walls of a Convent cannot have found the
opportunity to be guilty, even were He possessed of the inclination.
But now, when, obliged by the duties of his situation, He must enter
occasionally into the world, and be thrown into the way of temptation,
it is now that it behoves him to show the brilliance of his virtue. The
trial is dangerous; He is just at that period of life when the passions
are most vigorous, unbridled, and despotic; His established reputation
will mark him out to Seduction as an illustrious Victim; Novelty will
give additional charms to the allurements of pleasure; and even the
Talents with which Nature has endowed him will contribute to his ruin,
by facilitating the means of obtaining his object. Very few would
return victorious from a contest so severe.”
“Ah! surely Ambrosio will be one of those few.”
“Of that I have myself no doubt: By all accounts He is an exception to
mankind in general, and Envy would seek in vain for a blot upon his
character.”
“Segnor, you delight me by this assurance! It encourages me to indulge
my prepossession in his favour; and you know not with what pain I
should have repressed the sentiment! Ah! dearest Aunt, entreat my
Mother to choose him for our Confessor.”
“I entreat her?” replied Leonella; “I promise you that I shall do no
such thing. I do not like this same Ambrosio in the least; He has a
look of severity about him that made me tremble from head to foot: Were
He my Confessor, I should never have the courage to avow one half of my
peccadilloes, and then I should be in a rare condition! I never saw
such a stern-looking Mortal, and hope that I never shall see such
another. His description of the Devil, God bless us! almost terrified
me out of my wits, and when He spoke about Sinners He seemed as if He
was ready to eat them.”
“You are right, Segnora,” answered Don Christoval; “Too great severity
is said to be Ambrosio’s only fault. Exempted himself from human
failings, He is not sufficiently indulgent to those of others; and
though strictly just and disinterested in his decisions, his government
of the Monks has already shown some proofs of his inflexibility. But
the crowd is nearly dissipated: Will you permit us to attend you home?”
“Oh! Christ! Segnor,” exclaimed Leonella affecting to blush; “I would
not suffer such a thing for the Universe! If I came home attended by so
gallant a Cavalier, My Sister is so scrupulous that She would read me
an hour’s lecture, and I should never hear the last of it. Besides, I
rather wish you not to make your proposals just at present.”
“My proposals? I assure you, Segnora....”
“Oh! Segnor, I believe that your assurances of impatience are all very
true; But really I must desire a little respite. It would not be quite
so delicate in me to accept your hand at first sight.”
“Accept my hand? As I hope to live and breathe....”
“Oh! dear Segnor, press me no further, if you love me! I shall consider
your obedience as a proof of your affection; You shall hear from me
tomorrow, and so farewell. But pray, Cavaliers, may I not enquire your
names?”
“My Friend’s,” replied Lorenzo, “is the Condé d’Ossorio, and mine
Lorenzo de Medina.”
“’Tis sufficient. Well, Don Lorenzo, I shall acquaint my Sister with
your obliging offer, and let you know the result with all expedition.
Where may I send to you?”
“I am always to be found at the Medina Palace.”
“You may depend upon hearing from me. Farewell, Cavaliers. Segnor
Condé, let me entreat you to moderate the excessive ardour of your
passion: However, to prove to you that I am not displeased with you,
and prevent your abandoning yourself to despair, receive this mark of
my affection, and sometimes bestow a thought upon the absent Leonella.”
As She said this, She extended a lean and wrinkled hand; which her
supposed Admirer kissed with such sorry grace and constraint so
evident, that Lorenzo with difficulty repressed his inclination to
laugh. Leonella then hastened to quit the Church; The lovely Antonia
followed her in silence; but when She reached the Porch, She turned
involuntarily, and cast back her eyes towards Lorenzo. He bowed to her,
as bidding her farewell; She returned the compliment, and hastily
withdrew.
“So, Lorenzo!” said Don Christoval as soon as they were alone, “You
have procured me an agreeable Intrigue! To favour your designs upon
Antonia, I obligingly make a few civil speeches which mean nothing to
the Aunt, and at the end of an hour I find myself upon the brink of
Matrimony! How will you reward me for having suffered so grievously for
your sake? What can repay me for having kissed the leathern paw of that
confounded old Witch? Diavolo! She has left such a scent upon my lips
that I shall smell of garlick for this month to come! As I pass along
the Prado, I shall be taken for a walking Omelet, or some large Onion
running to seed!”
“I confess, my poor Count,” replied Lorenzo, “that your service has
been attended with danger; Yet am I so far from supposing it be past
all endurance that I shall probably solicit you to carry on your amours
still further.”
“From that petition I conclude that the little Antonia has made some
impression upon you.”
“I cannot express to you how much I am charmed with her. Since my
Father’s death, My Uncle the Duke de Medina, has signified to me his
wishes to see me married; I have till now eluded his hints, and refused
to understand them; But what I have seen this Evening....”