The Monk: A Romance
immense chamber totally covered with blue trembling fire. It emitted no
heat: On the contrary, the extreme chillness of the place seemed to
augment with every moment. Matilda continued her incantations: At
intervals She took various articles from the Basket, the nature and
name of most of which were unknown to the Friar: But among the few
which He distinguished, He particularly observed three human fingers,
and an Agnus Dei which She broke in pieces. She threw them all into the
flames which burned before her, and they were instantly consumed.
The Monk beheld her with anxious curiosity. Suddenly She uttered a loud
and piercing shriek. She appeared to be seized with an access of
delirium; She tore her hair, beat her bosom, used the most frantic
gestures, and drawing the poignard from her girdle plunged it into her
left arm. The blood gushed out plentifully, and as She stood on the
brink of the circle, She took care that it should fall on the outside.
The flames retired from the spot on which the blood was pouring. A
volume of dark clouds rose slowly from the ensanguined earth, and
ascended gradually, till it reached the vault of the Cavern. At the
same time a clap of thunder was heard: The echo pealed fearfully along
the subterraneous passages, and the ground shook beneath the feet of
the Enchantress.
It was now that Ambrosio repented of his rashness. The solemn
singularity of the charm had prepared him for something strange and
horrible. He waited with fear for the Spirit’s appearance, whose coming
was announced by thunder and earthquakes. He looked wildly round him,
expecting that some dreadful Apparition would meet his eyes, the sight
of which would drive him mad. A cold shivering seized his body, and He
sank upon one knee, unable to support himself.
“He comes!” exclaimed Matilda in a joyful accent.
Ambrosio started, and expected the Dæmon with terror. What was his
surprize, when the Thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of melodious
Music sounded in the air. At the same time the cloud dispersed, and He
beheld a Figure more beautiful than Fancy’s pencil ever drew. It was a
Youth seemingly scarce eighteen, the perfection of whose form and face
was unrivalled. He was perfectly naked: A bright Star sparkled upon his
forehead; Two crimson wings extended themselves from his shoulders; and
his silken locks were confined by a band of many-coloured fires, which
played round his head, formed themselves into a variety of figures, and
shone with a brilliance far surpassing that of precious Stones.
Circlets of Diamonds were fastened round his arms and ankles, and in
his right hand He bore a silver branch, imitating Myrtle. His form
shone with dazzling glory: He was surrounded by clouds of rose-coloured
light, and at the moment that He appeared, a refreshing air breathed
perfumes through the Cavern. Enchanted at a vision so contrary to his
expectations, Ambrosio gazed upon the Spirit with delight and wonder:
Yet however beautiful the Figure, He could not but remark a wildness in
the Dæmon’s eyes, and a mysterious melancholy impressed upon his
features, betraying the Fallen Angel, and inspiring the Spectators with
secret awe.
The Music ceased. Matilda addressed herself to the Spirit: She spoke in
a language unintelligible to the Monk, and was answered in the same.
She seemed to insist upon something which the Dæmon was unwilling to
grant. He frequently darted upon Ambrosio angry glances, and at such
times the Friar’s heart sank within him. Matilda appeared to grow
incensed. She spoke in a loud and commanding tone, and her gestures
declared that She was threatening him with her vengeance. Her menaces
had the desired effect: The Spirit sank upon his knee, and with a
submissive air presented to her the branch of Myrtle. No sooner had She
received it, than the Music was again heard; A thick cloud spread
itself over the Apparition; The blue flames disappeared, and total
obscurity reigned through the Cave. The Abbot moved not from his place:
His faculties were all bound up in pleasure, anxiety, and surprize. At
length the darkness dispersing, He perceived Matilda standing near him
in her religious habit, with the Myrtle in her hand. No traces of the
incantation, and the Vaults were only illuminated by the faint rays of
the sepulchral Lamp.
“I have succeeded,” said Matilda, “though with more difficulty than I
expected. Lucifer, whom I summoned to my assistance, was at first
unwilling to obey my commands: To enforce his compliance I was
constrained to have recourse to my strongest charms. They have produced
the desired effect, but I have engaged never more to invoke his agency
in your favour. Beware then, how you employ an opportunity which never
will return. My magic arts will now be of no use to you: In future you
can only hope for supernatural aid by invoking the Dæmons yourself, and
accepting the conditions of their service. This you will never do: You
want strength of mind to force them to obedience, and unless you pay
their established price, they will not be your voluntary Servants. In
this one instance they consent to obey you: I offer you the means of
enjoying your Mistress, and be careful not to lose the opportunity.
Receive this constellated Myrtle: While you bear this in your hand,
every door will fly open to you. It will procure you access tomorrow
night to Antonia’s chamber: Then breathe upon it thrice, pronounce her
name, and place it upon her pillow. A death-like slumber will
immediately seize upon her, and deprive her of the power of resisting
your attempts. Sleep will hold her till break of Morning. In this state
you may satisfy your desires without danger of being discovered; since
when daylight shall dispel the effects of the enchantment, Antonia will
perceive her dishonour, but be ignorant of the Ravisher. Be happy then,
my Ambrosio, and let this service convince you that my friendship is
disinterested and pure. The night must be near expiring: Let us return
to the Abbey, lest our absence should create surprize.”
The Abbot received the talisman with silent gratitude. His ideas were
too much bewildered by the adventures of the night to permit his
expressing his thanks audibly, or indeed as yet to feel the whole value
of her present. Matilda took up her Lamp and Basket, and guided her
Companion from the mysterious Cavern. She restored the Lamp to its
former place, and continued her route in darkness, till She reached the
foot of the Staircase. The first beams of the rising Sun darting down
it facilitated the ascent. Matilda and the Abbot hastened out of the
Sepulchre, closed the door after them, and soon regained the Abbey’s
western Cloister. No one met them, and they retired unobserved to their
respective Cells.
The confusion of Ambrosio’s mind now began to appease. He rejoiced in
the fortunate issue of his adventure, and reflecting upon the virtues
of the Myrtle, looked upon Antonia as already in his power. Imagination
retraced to him those secret charms betrayed to him by the Enchanted
Mirror, and He waited with impatience for the approach of midnight.
CHAPTER VIII.
The crickets sing, and Man’s o’er-laboured sense
Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened
The chastity He wounded—Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! Fresh Lily!
And whiter than the sheets!
CYMBELINE.
All the researches of the Marquis de las Cisternas proved vain: Agnes
was lost to him for ever. Despair produced so violent an effect upon
his constitution, that the consequence was a long and severe illness.
This prevented him from visiting Elvira as He had intended; and She
being ignorant of the cause of his neglect, it gave her no trifling
uneasiness. His Sister’s death had prevented Lorenzo from communicating
to his Uncle his designs respecting Antonia: The injunctions of her
Mother forbad his presenting himself to her without the Duke’s consent;
and as She heard no more of him or his proposals, Elvira conjectured
that He had either met with a better match, or had been commanded to
give up all thoughts of her Daughter. Every day made her more uneasy
respecting Antonia’s fate: While She retained the Abbot’s protection,
She bore with fortitude the disappointment of her hopes with regard to
Lorenzo and the Marquis. That resource now failed her. She was
convinced that Ambrosio had meditated her Daughter’s ruin: And when She
reflected that her death would leave Antonia friendless and unprotected
in a world so base, so perfidious and depraved, her heart swelled with
the bitterness of apprehension. At such times She would sit for hours
gazing upon the lovely Girl; and seeming to listen to her innocent
prattle, while in reality her thoughts dwelt upon the sorrows into
which a moment would suffice to plunge her. Then She would clasp her in
her arms suddenly, lean her head upon her Daughter’s bosom, and bedew
it with her tears.
An event was in preparation which, had She known it, would have
relieved her from her inquietude. Lorenzo now waited only for a
favourable opportunity to inform the Duke of his intended marriage:
However, a circumstance which occurred at this period, obliged him to
delay his explanation for a few days longer.
Don Raymond’s malady seemed to gain ground. Lorenzo was constantly at
his bedside, and treated him with a tenderness truly fraternal. Both
the cause and effects of the disorder were highly afflicting to the
Brother of Agnes: yet Theodore’s grief was scarcely less sincere. That
amiable Boy quitted not his Master for a moment, and put every means in
practice to console and alleviate his sufferings. The Marquis had
conceived so rooted an affection for his deceased Mistress, that it was
evident to all that He never could survive her loss: Nothing could have
prevented him from sinking under his grief but the persuasion of her
being still alive, and in need of his assistance. Though convinced of
its falsehood, his Attendants encouraged him in a belief which formed
his only comfort. He was assured daily that fresh perquisitions were
making respecting the fate of Agnes: Stories were invented recounting
the various attempts made to get admittance into the Convent; and
circumstances were related which, though they did not promise her
absolute recovery, at least were sufficient to keep his hopes alive.
The Marquis constantly fell into the most terrible excess of passion
when informed of the failure of these supposed attempts. Still He would
not credit that the succeeding ones would have the same fate, but
flattered himself that the next would prove more fortunate.
Theodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his Master’s
Chimoeras. He was eternally busied in planning schemes for entering the
Convent, or at least of obtaining from the Nuns some intelligence of
Agnes. To execute these schemes was the only inducement which could
prevail on him to quit Don Raymond. He became a very Proteus, changing
his shape every day; but all his metamorphoses were to very little
purpose: He regularly returned to the Palace de las Cisternas without
any intelligence to confirm his Master’s hopes. One day He took it into
his head to disguise himself as a Beggar. He put a patch over his left
eye, took his Guitar in hand, and posted himself at the Gate of the
Convent.
“If Agnes is really confined in the Convent,” thought He, “and hears my
voice, She will recollect it, and possibly may find means to let me
know that She is here.”
With this idea He mingled with a crowd of Beggars who assembled daily
at the Gate of St. Clare to receive Soup, which the Nuns were
accustomed to distribute at twelve o’clock. All were provided with jugs
or bowls to carry it away; But as Theodore had no utensil of this kind,