The Monk: A Romance
and apprehension: They were equally surprized and delighted on seeing
him suddenly emerge from the Cave. Every heart was filled with
compassion for the miserable Creature whom He bore in his arms. While
the Nuns, and Virginia in particular, employed themselves in striving
to recall her to her senses, Lorenzo related in few words the manner of
his finding her. He then observed to them that by this time the tumult
must have been quelled, and that He could now conduct them to their
Friends without danger. All were eager to quit the Sepulchre: Still to
prevent all possibility of ill-usage, they besought Lorenzo to venture
out first alone, and examine whether the Coast was clear. With this
request He complied. Helena offered to conduct him to the Staircase,
and they were on the point of departing, when a strong light flashed
from several passages upon the adjacent walls. At the same time Steps
were heard of people approaching hastily, and whose number seemed to be
considerable. The Nuns were greatly alarmed at this circumstance: They
supposed their retreat to be discovered, and the Rioters to be
advancing in pursuit of them. Hastily quitting the Prisoner who
remained insensible, they crowded round Lorenzo, and claimed his
promise to protect them. Virginia alone forgot her own danger by
striving to relieve the sorrows of Another. She supported the
Sufferer’s head upon her knees, bathing her temples with rose-water,
chafing her cold hands, and sprinkling her face with tears which were
drawn from her by compassion. The Strangers approaching nearer, Lorenzo
was enabled to dispel the fears of the Suppliants. His name, pronounced
by a number of voices among which He distinguished the Duke’s, pealed
along the Vaults, and convinced him that He was the object of their
search. He communicated this intelligence to the Nuns, who received it
with rapture. A few moments after confirmed his idea. Don Ramirez, as
well as the Duke, appeared, followed by Attendants with Torches. They
had been seeking him through the Vaults, in order to let him know that
the Mob was dispersed, and the riot entirely over. Lorenzo recounted
briefly his adventure in the Cavern, and explained how much the Unknown
was in want of medical assistance. He besought the Duke to take charge
of her, as well as of the Nuns and Pensioners.
“As for me,” said He, “Other cares demand my attention. While you with
one half of the Archers convey these Ladies to their respective homes,
I wish the other half to be left with me. I will examine the Cavern
below, and pervade the most secret recesses of the Sepulchre. I cannot
rest till convinced that yonder wretched Victim was the only one
confined by Superstition in these vaults.”
The Duke applauded his intention. Don Ramirez offered to assist him in
his enquiry, and his proposal was accepted with gratitude.
The Nuns having made their acknowledgments to Lorenzo, committed
themselves to the care of his Uncle, and were conducted from the
Sepulchre. Virginia requested that the Unknown might be given to her in
charge, and promised to let Lorenzo know whenever She was sufficiently
recovered to accept his visits. In truth, She made this promise more
from consideration for herself than for either Lorenzo or the Captive.
She had witnessed his politeness, gentleness, and intrepidity with
sensible emotion. She wished earnestly to preserve his acquaintance;
and in addition to the sentiments of pity which the Prisoner excited,
She hoped that her attention to this Unfortunate would raise her a
degree in the esteem of Lorenzo. She had no occasion to trouble herself
upon this head. The kindness already displayed by her and the tender
concern which She had shown for the Sufferer had gained her an exalted
place in his good graces. While occupied in alleviating the Captive’s
sorrows, the nature of her employment adorned her with new charms, and
rendered her beauty a thousand times more interesting. Lorenzo viewed
her with admiration and delight: He considered her as a ministering
Angel descended to the aid of afflicted innocence; nor could his heart
have resisted her attractions, had it not been steeled by the
remembrance of Antonia.
The duke now conveyed the nuns in safety to the dwellings of their
respective friends. The rescued Prisoner was still insensible and gave
no signs of life, except by occasional groans. She was borne upon a
sort of litter; Virginia, who was constantly by the side of it, was
apprehensive that exhausted by long abstinence, and shaken by the
sudden change from bonds and darkness to liberty and light, her frame
would never get the better of the shock. Lorenzo and Don Ramirez still
remained in the Sepulchre. After deliberating upon their proceedings,
it was resolved that to prevent losing time, the Archers should be
divided into two Bodies: That with one Don Ramirez should examine the
cavern, while Lorenzo with the other might penetrate into the further
Vaults. This being arranged, and his Followers being provided with
Torches, Don Ramirez advanced to the Cavern. He had already descended
some steps when He heard People approaching hastily from the interior
part of the Sepulchre. This surprized him, and He quitted the Cave
precipitately.
“Do you hear footsteps?” said Lorenzo; “Let us bend our course towards
them. ’Tis from this side that they seem to proceed.”
At that moment a loud and piercing shriek induced him to quicken his
steps.
“Help! Help, for God’s sake! cried a voice, whose melodious tone
penetrated Lorenzo’s heart with terror.
He flew towards the cry with the rapidity of lightning, and was
followed by Don Ramirez with equal swiftness.
CHAPTER XI.
Great Heaven! How frail thy creature Man is made!
How by himself insensibly betrayed!
In our own strength unhappily secure,
Too little cautious of the adverse power,
On pleasure’s flowery brink we idly stray,
Masters as yet of our returning way:
Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,
Till the dire Tempest mingles earth and skies,
And swift into the boundless Ocean borne,
Our foolish confidence too late we mourn:
Round our devoted heads the billows beat,
And from our troubled view the lessening lands retreat.
PRIOR.
All this while, Ambrosio was unconscious of the dreadful scenes which
were passing so near. The execution of his designs upon Antonia
employed his every thought. Hitherto, He was satisfied with the success
of his plans. Antonia had drank the opiate, was buried in the vaults of
St. Clare, and absolutely in his disposal. Matilda, who was well
acquainted with the nature and effects of the soporific medicine, had
computed that it would not cease to operate till one in the Morning.
For that hour He waited with impatience. The Festival of St. Clare
presented him with a favourable opportunity of consummating his crime.
He was certain that the Friars and Nuns would be engaged in the
Procession, and that He had no cause to dread an interruption: From
appearing himself at the head of his Monks, He had desired to be
excused. He doubted not, that being beyond the reach of help, cut off
from all the world, and totally in his power, Antonia would comply with
his desires. The affection which She had ever exprest for him,
warranted this persuasion: But He resolved that should She prove
obstinate, no consideration whatever should prevent him from enjoying
her. Secure from a discovery, He shuddered not at the idea of employing
force: If He felt any repugnance, it arose not from a principle of
shame or compassion, but from his feeling for Antonia the most sincere
and ardent affection, and wishing to owe her favours to no one but
herself.
The Monks quitted the Abbey at midnight. Matilda was among the
Choristers, and led the chaunt. Ambrosio was left by himself, and at
liberty to pursue his own inclinations. Convinced that no one remained
behind to watch his motions, or disturb his pleasures, He now hastened
to the Western Aisles. His heart beating with hope not unmingled with
anxiety, He crossed the Garden, unlocked the door which admitted him
into the Cemetery, and in a few minutes He stood before the Vaults.
Here He paused.
He looked round him with suspicion, conscious that his business was
unfit for any other eye. As He stood in hesitation, He heard the
melancholy shriek of the screech-Owl: The wind rattled loudly against
the windows of the adjacent Convent, and as the current swept by him,
bore with it the faint notes of the chaunt of Choristers. He opened the
door cautiously, as if fearing to be overheard: He entered; and closed
it again after him. Guided by his Lamp, He threaded the long passages,
in whose windings Matilda had instructed him, and reached the private
Vault which contained his sleeping Mistress.
Its entrance was by no means easy to discover: But this was no obstacle
to Ambrosio, who at the time of Antonia’s Funeral had observed it too
carefully to be deceived. He found the door, which was unfastened,
pushed it open, and descended into the dungeon. He approached the
humble Tomb in which Antonia reposed. He had provided himself with an
iron crow and a pick-axe; But this precaution was unnecessary. The
Grate was slightly fastened on the outside: He raised it, and placing
the Lamp upon its ridge, bent silently over the Tomb. By the side of
three putrid half-corrupted Bodies lay the sleeping Beauty. A lively
red, the forerunner of returning animation, had already spread itself
over her cheek; and as wrapped in her shroud She reclined upon her
funeral Bier, She seemed to smile at the Images of Death around her.
While He gazed upon their rotting bones and disgusting figures, who
perhaps were once as sweet and lovely, Ambrosio thought upon Elvira, by
him reduced to the same state. As the memory of that horrid act glanced
upon his mind, it was clouded with a gloomy horror. Yet it served but
to strengthen his resolution to destroy Antonia’s honour.
“For your sake, Fatal Beauty!” murmured the Monk, while gazing on his
devoted prey; “For your sake, have I committed this murder, and sold
myself to eternal tortures. Now you are in my power: The produce of my
guilt will at least be mine. Hope not that your prayers breathed in
tones of unequalled melody, your bright eyes filled with tears, and
your hands lifted in supplication, as when seeking in penitence the
Virgin’s pardon; Hope not that your moving innocence, your beauteous
grief, or all your suppliant arts shall ransom you from my embraces.
Before the break of day, mine you must, and mine you shall be!”
He lifted her still motionless from the Tomb: He seated himself upon a
bank of Stone, and supporting her in his arms, watched impatiently for
the symptoms of returning animation. Scarcely could He command his
passions sufficiently, to restrain himself from enjoying her while yet
insensible. His natural lust was increased in ardour by the
difficulties which had opposed his satisfying it: As also by his long
abstinence from Woman, since from the moment of resigning her claim to
his love, Matilda had exiled him from her arms for ever.
“I am no Prostitute, Ambrosio;” Had She told him, when in the fullness
of his lust He demanded her favours with more than usual earnestness;
“I am now no more than your Friend, and will not be your Mistress.
Cease then to solicit my complying with desires, which insult me. While
your heart was mine, I gloried in your embraces: Those happy times are
past: My person is become indifferent to you, and ’tis necessity, not
love, which makes you seek my enjoyment. I cannot yield to a request so
humiliating to my pride.”
Suddenly deprived of pleasures, the use of which had made them an
absolute want, the Monk felt this restraint severely. Naturally
addicted to the gratification of the senses, in the full vigour of