The Monk: A Romance
wide world presented him with no other object than Antonia.
“Happy Man!” He exclaimed in his romantic enthusiasm; “Happy Man, who
is destined to possess the heart of that lovely Girl! What delicacy in
her features! What elegance in her form! How enchanting was the timid
innocence of her eyes, and how different from the wanton expression,
the wild luxurious fire which sparkles in Matilda’s! Oh! sweeter must
one kiss be snatched from the rosy lips of the First, than all the full
and lustful favours bestowed so freely by the Second. Matilda gluts me
with enjoyment even to loathing, forces me to her arms, apes the
Harlot, and glories in her prostitution. Disgusting! Did She know the
inexpressible charm of Modesty, how irresistibly it enthralls the heart
of Man, how firmly it chains him to the Throne of Beauty, She never
would have thrown it off. What would be too dear a price for this
lovely Girl’s affections? What would I refuse to sacrifice, could I be
released from my vows, and permitted to declare my love in the sight of
earth and heaven? While I strove to inspire her with tenderness, with
friendship and esteem, how tranquil and undisturbed would the hours
roll away! Gracious God! To see her blue downcast eyes beam upon mine
with timid fondness! To sit for days, for years listening to that
gentle voice! To acquire the right of obliging her, and hear the
artless expressions of her gratitude! To watch the emotions of her
spotless heart! To encourage each dawning virtue! To share in her joy
when happy, to kiss away her tears when distrest, and to see her fly to
my arms for comfort and support! Yes; If there is perfect bliss on
earth, ’tis his lot alone, who becomes that Angel’s Husband.”
While his fancy coined these ideas, He paced his Cell with a disordered
air. His eyes were fixed upon vacancy: His head reclined upon his
shoulder; A tear rolled down his cheek, while He reflected that the
vision of happiness for him could never be realized.
“She is lost to me!” He continued; “By marriage She cannot be mine: And
to seduce such innocence, to use the confidence reposed in me to work
her ruin.... Oh! it would be a crime, blacker than yet the world ever
witnessed! Fear not, lovely Girl! Your virtue runs no risque from me.
Not for Indies would I make that gentle bosom know the tortures of
remorse.”
Again He paced his chamber hastily. Then stopping, his eye fell upon
the picture of his once-admired Madona. He tore it with indignation
from the wall: He threw it on the ground, and spurned it from him with
his foot.
“The Prostitute!”
Unfortunate Matilda! Her Paramour forgot that for his sake alone She
had forfeited her claim to virtue; and his only reason for despising
her was that She had loved him much too well.
He threw himself into a Chair which stood near the Table. He saw the
card with Elvira’s address. He took it up, and it brought to his
recollection his promise respecting a Confessor. He passed a few
minutes in doubt: But Antonia’s Empire over him was already too much
decided to permit his making a long resistance to the idea which struck
him. He resolved to be the Confessor himself. He could leave the Abbey
unobserved without difficulty: By wrapping up his head in his Cowl He
hoped to pass through the Streets without being recognised: By taking
these precautions, and by recommending secrecy to Elvira’s family, He
doubted not to keep Madrid in ignorance that He had broken his vow
never to see the outside of the Abbey walls. Matilda was the only
person whose vigilance He dreaded: But by informing her at the
Refectory that during the whole of that day, Business would confine him
to his Cell, He thought himself secure from her wakeful jealousy.
Accordingly, at the hours when the Spaniards are generally taking their
Siesta, He ventured to quit the Abbey by a private door, the Key of
which was in his possession. The Cowl of his habit was thrown over his
face: From the heat of the weather the Streets were almost totally
deserted: The Monk met with few people, found the Strada di San Iago,
and arrived without accident at Donna Elvira’s door. He rang, was
admitted, and immediately ushered into an upper apartment.
It was here that He ran the greatest risque of a discovery. Had
Leonella been at home, She would have recognized him directly: Her
communicative disposition would never have permitted her to rest till
all Madrid was informed that Ambrosio had ventured out of the Abbey,
and visited her Sister. Fortune here stood the Monk’s Friend. On
Leonella’s return home, She found a letter instructing her that a
Cousin was just dead, who had left what little He possessed between
Herself and Elvira. To secure this bequest She was obliged to set out
for Cordova without losing a moment. Amidst all her foibles her heart
was truly warm and affectionate, and She was unwilling to quit her
Sister in so dangerous a state. But Elvira insisted upon her taking the
journey, conscious that in her Daughter’s forlorn situation no increase
of fortune, however trifling, ought to be neglected. Accordingly,
Leonella left Madrid, sincerely grieved at her Sister’s illness, and
giving some few sighs to the memory of the amiable but inconstant Don
Christoval. She was fully persuaded that at first She had made a
terrible breach in his heart: But hearing nothing more of him, She
supposed that He had quitted the pursuit, disgusted by the lowness of
her origin, and knowing upon other terms than marriage He had nothing
to hope from such a Dragon of Virtue as She professed herself; Or else,
that being naturally capricious and changeable, the remembrance of her
charms had been effaced from the Condé’s heart by those of some newer
Beauty. Whatever was the cause of her losing him, She lamented it
sorely. She strove in vain, as She assured every body who was kind
enough to listen to her, to tear his image from her too susceptible
heart. She affected the airs of a lovesick Virgin, and carried them all
to the most ridiculous excess. She heaved lamentable sighs, walked with
her arms folded, uttered long soliloquies, and her discourse generally
turned upon some forsaken Maid who expired of a broken heart! Her fiery
locks were always ornamented with a garland of willow; Every evening
She was seen straying upon the Banks of a rivulet by Moonlight; and She
declared herself a violent Admirer of murmuring Streams and
Nightingales;
“Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves,
“Places which pale Passion loves!”
Such was the state of Leonella’s mind, when obliged to quit Madrid.
Elvira was out of patience at all these follies, and endeavoured at
persuading her to act like a reasonable Woman. Her advice was thrown
away: Leonella assured her at parting that nothing could make her
forget the perfidious Don Christoval. In this point She was fortunately
mistaken. An honest Youth of Cordova, Journeyman to an Apothecary,
found that her fortune would be sufficient to set him up in a genteel
Shop of his own: In consequence of this reflection He avowed himself
her Admirer. Leonella was not inflexible. The ardour of his sighs
melted her heart, and She soon consented to make him the happiest of
Mankind. She wrote to inform her Sister of her marriage; But, for
reasons which will be explained hereafter, Elvira never answered her
letter.
Ambrosio was conducted into the Antichamber to that where Elvira was
reposing. The Female Domestic who had admitted him left him alone while
She announced his arrival to her Mistress. Antonia, who had been by her
Mother’s Bedside, immediately came to him.
“Pardon me, Father,” said She, advancing towards him; when recognizing
his features, She stopped suddenly, and uttered a cry of joy. “Is it
possible!” She continued;
“Do not my eyes deceive me? Has the worthy Ambrosio broken through his
resolution, that He may soften the agonies of the best of Women? What
pleasure will this visit give my Mother! Let me not delay for a moment
the comfort which your piety and wisdom will afford her.”
Thus saying, She opened the chamber door, presented to her Mother her
distinguished Visitor, and having placed an armed-chair by the side of
the Bed, withdrew into another department.
Elvira was highly gratified by this visit: Her expectations had been
raised high by general report, but She found them far exceeded.
Ambrosio, endowed by nature with powers of pleasing, exerted them to
the utmost while conversing with Antonia’s Mother. With persuasive
eloquence He calmed every fear, and dissipated every scruple: He bad
her reflect on the infinite mercy of her Judge, despoiled Death of his
darts and terrors, and taught her to view without shrinking the abyss
of eternity, on whose brink She then stood. Elvira was absorbed in
attention and delight: While She listened to his exhortations,
confidence and comfort stole insensibly into her mind. She unbosomed to
him without hesitation her cares and apprehensions. The latter
respecting a future life He had already quieted: And He now removed the
former, which She felt for the concerns of this. She trembled for
Antonia. She had none to whose care She could recommend her, save to
the Marquis de las Cisternas and her Sister Leonella. The protection of
the One was very uncertain; and as to the Other, though fond of her
Niece, Leonella was so thoughtless and vain as to make her an improper
person to have the sole direction of a Girl so young and ignorant of
the World. The Friar no sooner learnt the cause of her alarms than He
begged her to make herself easy upon that head. He doubted not being
able to secure for Antonia a safe refuge in the House of one of his
Penitents, the Marchioness of Villa-Franca: This was a Lady of
acknowledged virtue, remarkable for strict principles and extensive
charity. Should accident deprive her of this resource, He engaged to
procure Antonia a reception in some respectable Convent: That is to
say, in quality of boarder; for Elvira had declared herself no Friend
to a monastic life, and the Monk was either candid or complaisant
enough to allow that her disapprobation was not unfounded.
These proofs of the interest which He felt for her completely won
Elvira’s heart. In thanking him She exhausted every expression which
Gratitude could furnish, and protested that now She should resign
herself with tranquillity to the Grave. Ambrosio rose to take leave: He
promised to return the next day at the same hour, but requested that
his visits might be kept secret.
“I am unwilling” said He, “that my breaking through a rule imposed by
necessity should be generally known. Had I not resolved never to quit
my Convent, except upon circumstances as urgent as that which has
conducted me to your door, I should be frequently summoned upon
insignificant occasions: That time would be engrossed by the Curious,
the Unoccupied, and the fanciful, which I now pass at the Bedside of
the Sick, in comforting the expiring Penitent, and clearing the passage
to Eternity from Thorns.”
Elvira commended equally his prudence and compassion, promising to
conceal carefully the honour of his visits. The Monk then gave her his
benediction, and retired from the chamber.
In the Antiroom He found Antonia: He could not refuse himself the
pleasure of passing a few moments in her society. He bad her take
comfort, for that her Mother seemed composed and tranquil, and He hoped
that She might yet do well. He enquired who attended her, and engaged
to send the Physician of his Convent to see her, one of the most
skilful in Madrid. He then launched out in Elvira’s commendation,
praised her purity and fortitude of mind, and declared that She had
inspired him with the highest esteem and reverence. Antonia’s innocent
heart swelled with gratitude: Joy danced in her eyes, where a tear