The Monk: A Romance
Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing,
“Your Partner is the Water-King!”
The Maid had fear and hate confest,
And cursed the hand which then She prest.
But nothing giving cause to think,
How near She strayed to danger’s brink,
Still on She went, and hand in hand
The Lovers reached the yellow sand.
“Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear;
We needs must cross the streamlet here;
Ride boldly in; It is not deep;
The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.”
Thus spoke the Water-King. The Maid
Her Traitor-Bride-groom’s wish obeyed:
And soon She saw the Courser lave
Delighted in his parent wave.
“Stop! Stop! my Love! The waters blue
E’en now my shrinking foot bedew!”
“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!
We now have reached the deepest part.”
“Stop! Stop! my Love! For now I see
The waters rise above my knee.”
“Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart!
We now have reached the deepest part.”
“Stop! Stop! for God’s sake, stop! For Oh!
The waters o’er my bosom flow!”—
Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight
And Courser vanished from her sight.
She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high
The wild winds rising dull the cry;
The Fiend exults; The Billows dash,
And o’er their hapless Victim wash.
Three times while struggling with the stream,
The lovely Maid was heard to scream;
But when the Tempest’s rage was o’er,
The lovely Maid was seen no more.
Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair,
To whom you give your love beware!
Believe not every handsome Knight,
And dance not with the Water-Spright!
The Youth ceased to sing. The Nuns were delighted with the sweetness of
his voice and masterly manner of touching the Instrument: But however
acceptable this applause would have been at any other time, at present
it was insipid to Theodore. His artifice had not succeeded. He paused
in vain between the Stanzas: No voice replied to his, and He abandoned
the hope of equalling Blondel.
The Convent Bell now warned the Nuns that it was time to assemble in
the Refectory. They were obliged to quit the Grate; They thanked the
Youth for the entertainment which his Music had afforded them, and
charged him to return the next day. This He promised: The Nuns, to give
him the greater inclination to keep his word, told him that He might
always depend upon the Convent for his meals, and each of them made him
some little present. One gave him a box of sweetmeats; Another, an
Agnus Dei; Some brought reliques of Saints, waxen Images, and
consecrated Crosses; and Others presented him with pieces of those
works in which the Religious excel, such as embroidery, artificial
flowers, lace, and needlework. All these He was advised to sell, in
order to put himself into better case; and He was assured that it would
be easy to dispose of them, since the Spaniards hold the performances
of the Nuns in high estimation. Having received these gifts with
seeming respect and gratitude, He remarked that, having no Basket, He
knew not how to convey them away. Several of the Nuns were hastening in
search of one, when they were stopped by the return of an elderly
Woman, whom Theodore had not till then observed: Her mild countenance,
and respectable air prejudiced him immediately in her favour.
“Hah!” said the Porteress; “Here comes the Mother St. Ursula with a
Basket.”
The Nun approached the Grate, and presented the Basket to Theodore: It
was of willow, lined with blue satin, and upon the four sides were
painted scenes from the legend of St. Genevieve.
“Here is my gift,” said She, as She gave it into his hand; “Good Youth,
despise it not; Though its value seems insignificant, it has many
hidden virtues.”
She accompanied these words with an expressive look. It was not lost
upon Theodore; In receiving the present, He drew as near the Grate as
possible.
“Agnes!” She whispered in a voice scarcely intelligible. Theodore,
however, caught the sound: He concluded that some mystery was concealed
in the Basket, and his heart beat with impatience and joy. At this
moment the Domina returned. Her air was gloomy and frowning, and She
looked if possible more stern than ever.
“Mother St. Ursula, I would speak with you in private.”
The Nun changed colour, and was evidently disconcerted.
“With me?” She replied in a faltering voice.
The Domina motioned that She must follow her, and retired. The Mother
St. Ursula obeyed her; Soon after, the Refectory Bell ringing a second
time, the Nuns quitted the Grate, and Theodore was left at liberty to
carry off his prize. Delighted that at length He had obtained some
intelligence for the Marquis, He flew rather than ran, till He reached
the Hotel de las Cisternas. In a few minutes He stood by his Master’s
Bed with the Basket in his hand. Lorenzo was in the chamber,
endeavouring to reconcile his Friend to a misfortune which He felt
himself but too severely. Theodore related his adventure, and the hopes
which had been created by the Mother St. Ursula’s gift. The Marquis
started from his pillow: That fire which since the death of Agnes had
been extinguished, now revived in his bosom, and his eyes sparkled with
the eagerness of expectation. The emotions which Lorenzo’s countenance
betrayed, were scarcely weaker, and He waited with inexpressible
impatience for the solution of this mystery. Raymond caught the basket
from the hands of his Page: He emptied the contents upon the bed, and
examined them with minute attention. He hoped that a letter would be
found at the bottom; Nothing of the kind appeared. The search was
resumed, and still with no better success. At length Don Raymond
observed that one corner of the blue satin lining was unripped; He tore
it open hastily, and drew forth a small scrap of paper neither folded
or sealed. It was addressed to the Marquis de las Cisternas, and the
contents were as follows:
“Having recognised your Page, I venture to send these few lines.
Procure an order from the Cardinal-Duke for seizing my Person, and that
of the Domina; But let it not be executed till Friday at midnight. It
is the Festival of St. Clare: There will be a procession of Nuns by
torch-light, and I shall be among them. Beware not to let your
intention be known: Should a syllable be dropt to excite the Domina’s
suspicions, you will never hear of me more. Be cautious, if you prize
the memory of Agnes, and wish to punish her Assassins. I have that to
tell, will freeze your blood with horror.
“ST. URSULA.”
No sooner had the Marquis read the note than He fell back upon his
pillow deprived of sense or motion. The hope failed him which till now
had supported his existence; and these lines convinced him but too
positively that Agnes was indeed no more. Lorenzo felt this
circumstance less forcibly, since it had always been his idea that his
Sister had perished by unfair means. When He found by the Mother St.
Ursula’s letter how true were his suspicions, the confirmation excited
no other sentiment in his bosom than a wish to punish the Murderers as
they deserved. It was no easy task to recall the Marquis to himself. As
soon as He recovered his speech, He broke out into execrations against
the Assassins of his Beloved, and vowed to take upon them a signal
vengeance. He continued to rave and torment himself with impotent
passion till his constitution, enfeebled by grief and illness, could
support itself no longer, and He relapsed into insensibility. His
melancholy situation sincerely affected Lorenzo, who would willingly
have remained in the apartment of his Friend; But other cares now
demanded his presence. It was necessary to procure the order for
seizing the Prioress of St. Clare. For this purpose, having committed
Raymond to the care of the best Physicians in Madrid, He quitted the
Hotel de las Cisternas, and bent his course towards the Palace of the
Cardinal-Duke.
His disappointment was excessive, when He found that affairs of State
had obliged the Cardinal to set out for a distant Province.
It wanted but five to Friday: Yet by travelling day and night, He hoped
to return in time for the Pilgrimage of St. Clare. In this He
succeeded. He found the Cardinal-Duke; and represented to him the
supposed culpability of the Prioress, as also the violent effects which
it had produced upon Don Raymond. He could have used no argument so
forcible as this last. Of all his Nephews, the Marquis was the only one
to whom the Cardinal-Duke was sincerely attached: He perfectly doated
upon him, and the Prioress could have committed no greater crime in his
eyes than to have endangered the life of the Marquis. Consequently, He
granted the order of arrest without difficulty: He also gave Lorenzo a
letter to a principal Officer of the Inquisition, desiring him to see
his mandate executed. Furnished with these papers, Medina hastened back
to Madrid, which He reached on the Friday a few hours before dark. He
found the Marquis somewhat easier, but so weak and exhausted that
without great exertion He could neither speak or more. Having past an
hour by his Bedside, Lorenzo left him to communicate his design to his
Uncle, as also to give Don Ramirez de Mello the Cardinal’s letter. The
First was petrified with horror when He learnt the fate of his unhappy
Niece: He encouraged Lorenzo to punish her Assassins, and engaged to
accompany him at night to St. Clare’s Convent. Don Ramirez promised his
firmest support, and selected a band of trusty Archers to prevent
opposition on the part of the Populace.
But while Lorenzo was anxious to unmask one religious Hypocrite, He was
unconscious of the sorrows prepared for him by Another. Aided by
Matilda’s infernal Agents, Ambrosio had resolved upon the innocent
Antonia’s ruin. The moment destined to be so fatal to her arrived. She
had taken leave of her Mother for the night.
As She kissed her, She felt an unusual despondency infuse itself into
her bosom. She left her, and returned to her instantly, threw herself
into her maternal arms, and bathed her cheek with tears: She felt
uneasy at quitting her, and a secret presentiment assured her that
never must they meet again. Elvira observed, and tried to laugh her out
of this childish prejudice: She chid her mildly for encouraging such
ungrounded sadness, and warned her how dangerous it was to encourage
such ideas.
To all her remonstrances She received no other answer than,
“Mother! Dear Mother! Oh! would to God, it were Morning!”
Elvira, whose inquietude respecting her Daughter was a great obstacle
to her perfect reestablishment, was still labouring under the effects
of her late severe illness. She was this Evening more than usually
indisposed, and retired to bed before her accustomed hour. Antonia
withdrew from her Mother’s chamber with regret, and till the Door
closed, kept her eyes fixed upon her with melancholy expression. She
retired to her own apartment; Her heart was filled with bitterness: It
seemed to her that all her prospects were blasted, and the world
contained nothing for which it was worth existing. She sank into a
Chair, reclined her head upon her arm, and gazed upon the floor with a
vacant stare, while the most gloomy images floated before her fancy.
She was still in this state of insensibility when She was disturbed by
hearing a strain of soft Music breathed beneath her window. She rose,
drew near the Casement, and opened it to hear it more distinctly.
Having thrown her veil over her face, She ventured to look out. By the
light of the Moon She perceived several Men below with Guitars and
Lutes in their hands; and at a little distance from them stood Another
wrapped in his cloak, whose stature and appearance bore a strong
resemblance to Lorenzo’s. She was not deceived in this conjecture. It
was indeed Lorenzo himself, who bound by his word not to present