The Monk: A Romance
having loosened a chain which attached the Image to its Pedestal. He
once more attempted to move it, and succeeded without much exertion. He
placed it upon the ground, and then perceived the Pedestal to be
hollow, and covered at the opening with an heavy iron grate.
This excited such general curiosity that the Sisters forgot both their
real and imaginary dangers. Lorenzo proceeded to raise the Grate, in
which the Nuns assisted him to the utmost of their strength. The
attempt was accomplished with little difficulty. A deep abyss now
presented itself before them, whose thick obscurity the eye strove in
vain to pierce. The rays of the Lamp were too feeble to be of much
assistance. Nothing was discernible, save a flight of rough unshapen
steps which sank into the yawning Gulph and were soon lost in darkness.
The groans were heard no more; But All believed them to have ascended
from this Cavern. As He bent over it, Lorenzo fancied that He
distinguished something bright twinkling through the gloom. He gazed
attentively upon the spot where it showed itself, and was convinced
that He saw a small spark of light, now visible, now disappearing. He
communicated this circumstance to the Nuns: They also perceived the
spark; But when He declared his intention to descend into the Cave,
they united to oppose his resolution. All their remonstrances could not
prevail on him to alter it. None of them had courage enough to
accompany him; neither could He think of depriving them of the Lamp.
Alone therefore, and in darkness, He prepared to pursue his design,
while the Nuns were contented to offer up prayers for his success and
safety.
The steps were so narrow and uneven, that to descend them was like
walking down the side of a precipice. The obscurity by which He was
surrounded rendered his footing insecure. He was obliged to proceed
with great caution, lest He should miss the steps and fall into the
Gulph below him. This He was several times on the point of doing.
However, He arrived sooner upon solid ground than He had expected: He
now found that the thick darkness and impenetrable mists which reigned
through the Cavern had deceived him into the belief of its being much
more profound than it proved upon inspection. He reached the foot of
the Stairs unhurt: He now stopped, and looked round for the spark which
had before caught his attention. He sought it in vain: All was dark and
gloomy. He listened for the groans; But his ear caught no sound, except
the distant murmur of the Nuns above, as in low voices they repeated
their Ave-Marias. He stood irresolute to which side He should address
his steps. At all events He determined to proceed: He did so, but
slowly, fearing lest instead of approaching, He should be retiring from
the object of his search. The groans seemed to announce one in pain, or
at least in sorrow, and He hoped to have the power of relieving the
Mourner’s calamities. A plaintive tone, sounding at no great distance,
at length reached his hearing; He bent his course joyfully towards it.
It became more audible as He advanced; and He soon beheld again the
spark of light, which a low projecting Wall had hitherto concealed from
him.
It proceeded from a small lamp which was placed upon an heap of stones,
and whose faint and melancholy rays served rather to point out, than
dispell the horrors of a narrow gloomy dungeon formed in one side of
the Cavern; It also showed several other recesses of similar
construction, but whose depth was buried in obscurity. Coldly played
the light upon the damp walls, whose dew-stained surface gave back a
feeble reflection. A thick and pestilential fog clouded the height of
the vaulted dungeon. As Lorenzo advanced, He felt a piercing chillness
spread itself through his veins. The frequent groans still engaged him
to move forwards. He turned towards them, and by the Lamp’s glimmering
beams beheld in a corner of this loathsome abode, a Creature stretched
upon a bed of straw, so wretched, so emaciated, so pale, that He
doubted to think her Woman. She was half-naked: Her long dishevelled
hair fell in disorder over her face, and almost entirely concealed it.
One wasted Arm hung listlessly upon a tattered rug which covered her
convulsed and shivering limbs: The Other was wrapped round a small
bundle, and held it closely to her bosom. A large Rosary lay near her:
Opposite to her was a Crucifix, on which She bent her sunk eyes
fixedly, and by her side stood a Basket and a small Earthen Pitcher.
Lorenzo stopped: He was petrified with horror. He gazed upon the
miserable Object with disgust and pity. He trembled at the spectacle;
He grew sick at heart: His strength failed him, and his limbs were
unable to support his weight. He was obliged to lean against the low
Wall which was near him, unable to go forward, or to address the
Sufferer. She cast her eyes towards the Staircase: The Wall concealed
Lorenzo, and She observed him not.
“No one comes!” She at length murmured.
As She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat: She
sighed bitterly.
“No one comes!” She repeated; “No! They have forgotten me! They will
come no more!”
She paused for a moment: Then continued mournfully.
“Two days! Two long, long days, and yet no food! And yet no hope, no
comfort! Foolish Woman! How can I wish to lengthen a life so wretched!
Yet such a death! O! God! To perish by such a death! To linger out such
ages in torture! Till now, I knew not what it was to hunger! Hark! No.
No one comes! They will come no more!”
She was silent. She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked
shoulders.
“I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon!
’Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet not feel
it—I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!”
She looked at the bundle which lay upon her breast. She bent over it,
and kissed it: Then drew back hastily, and shuddered with disgust.
“It was once so sweet! It would have been so lovely, so like him! I
have lost it for ever! How a few days have changed it! I should not
know it again myself! Yet it is dear to me! God! how dear! I will
forget what it is: I will only remember what it was, and love it as
well, as when it was so sweet! so lovely! so like him! I thought that I
had wept away all my tears, but here is one still lingering.”
She wiped her eyes with a tress of her hair. She put out her hand for
the Pitcher, and reached it with difficulty. She cast into it a look of
hopeless enquiry. She sighed, and replaced it upon the ground.
“Quite a void! Not a drop! Not one drop left to cool my scorched-up
burning palate! Now would I give treasures for a draught of water! And
they are God’s Servants, who make me suffer thus! They think themselves
holy, while they torture me like Fiends! They are cruel and unfeeling;
And ’tis they who bid me repent; And ’tis they, who threaten me with
eternal perdition! Saviour, Saviour! You think not so!”
She again fixed her eyes upon the Crucifix, took her Rosary, and while
She told her beads, the quick motion of her lips declared her to be
praying with fervency.
While He listened to her melancholy accents, Lorenzo’s sensibility
became yet more violently affected. The first sight of such misery had
given a sensible shock to his feelings: But that being past, He now
advanced towards the Captive. She heard his steps, and uttering a cry
of joy, dropped the Rosary.
“Hark! Hark! Hark!” She cried: “Some one comes!”
She strove to raise herself, but her strength was unequal to the
attempt: She fell back, and as She sank again upon the bed of straw,
Lorenzo heard the rattling of heavy chains. He still approached, while
the Prisoner thus continued.
“Is it you, Camilla? You are come then at last? Oh! it was time! I
thought that you had forsaken me; that I was doomed to perish of
hunger. Give me to drink, Camilla, for pity’s sake! I am faint with
long fasting, and grown so weak that I cannot raise myself from the
ground. Good Camilla, give me to drink, lest I expire before you!”
Fearing that surprize in her enfeebled state might be fatal, Lorenzo
was at a loss how to address her.
“It is not Camilla,” said He at length, speaking in a slow and gentle
voice.
“Who is it then?” replied the Sufferer: “Alix, perhaps, or Violante. My
eyes are grown so dim and feeble that I cannot distinguish your
features. But whichever it is, if your breast is sensible of the least
compassion, if you are not more cruel than Wolves and Tigers, take pity
on my sufferings. You know that I am dying for want of sustenance. This
is the third day, since these lips have received nourishment. Do you
bring me food? Or come you only to announce my death, and learn how
long I have yet to exist in agony?”
“You mistake my business,” replied Lorenzo; “I am no Emissary of the
cruel Prioress. I pity your sorrows, and come hither to relieve them.”
“To relieve them?” repeated the Captive; “Said you, to relieve them?”
At the same time starting from the ground, and supporting herself upon
her hands, She gazed upon the Stranger earnestly.
“Great God! It is no illusion! A Man! Speak! Who are you? What brings
you hither? Come you to save me, to restore me to liberty, to life and
light? Oh! speak, speak quickly, lest I encourage an hope whose
disappointment will destroy me.”
“Be calm!” replied Lorenzo in a voice soothing and compassionate; “The
Domina of whose cruelty you complain, has already paid the forfeit of
her offences: You have nothing more to fear from her.
A few minutes will restore you to liberty, and the embraces of your
Friends from whom you have been secluded. You may rely upon my
protection. Give me your hand, and be not fearful. Let me conduct you
where you may receive those attentions which your feeble state
requires.”
“Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!” cried the Prisoner with an exulting shriek; “There
is a God then, and a just one! Joy! Joy! I shall once more breath the
fresh air, and view the light of the glorious sunbeams! I will go with
you! Stranger, I will go with you! Oh! Heaven will bless you for
pitying an Unfortunate! But this too must go with me,” She added
pointing to the small bundle which She still clasped to her bosom; “I
cannot part with this. I will bear it away: It shall convince the world
how dreadful are the abodes so falsely termed religious. Good Stranger,
lend me your hand to rise: I am faint with want, and sorrow, and
sickness, and my forces have quite forsaken me! So, that is well!”
As Lorenzo stooped to raise her, the beams of the Lamp struck full upon
his face.
“Almighty God!” She exclaimed; “Is it possible! That look! Those
features! Oh! Yes, it is, it is .....”
She extended her arms to throw them round him; But her enfeebled frame
was unable to sustain the emotions which agitated her bosom. She
fainted, and again sank upon the bed of straw.
Lorenzo was surprized at her last exclamation. He thought that He had
before heard such accents as her hollow voice had just formed, but
where He could not remember. He saw that in her dangerous situation
immediate physical aid was absolutely necessary, and He hastened to
convey her from the dungeon. He was at first prevented from doing so by
a strong chain fastened round the prisoner’s body, and fixing her to
the neighbouring Wall. However, his natural strength being aided by
anxiety to relieve the Unfortunate, He soon forced out the Staple to
which one end of the Chain was attached. Then taking the Captive in his
arms, He bent his course towards the Staircase. The rays of the Lamp
above, as well as the murmur of female voices, guided his steps. He
gained the Stairs, and in a few minutes after arrived at the
iron-grate.
The nuns during his absence had been terribly tormented by curiosity