The Monk: A Romance
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.
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.
“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!”
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.
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.
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.
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.
“That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with him. Was
He long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?”
“He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church: He gave me
his seat, and was very obliging and attentive.”
“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.”
She paused. Antonia coloured, but was silent.
“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 ...”.
“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.”
“Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid?
Why was it concealed from me that his society had afforded you
pleasure?”
“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.”
“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.”
Antonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her knees by
the Sopha, and hid her face in her Mother’s lap.
“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.”
Antonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience. Elvira then
continued.
“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?”
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.
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.
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.
With this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied and
trembling for his Sister’s safety.
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.
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.
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