The Monk: A Romance
Having said this, the Gypsy again whirled herself round thrice, and
then hastened out of the Street with frantic gesture. The Crowd
followed her; and Elvira’s door being now unembarrassed Leonella
entered the House out of humour with the Gypsy, with her Niece, and
with the People; In short with every body, but herself and her charming
Cavalier. The Gypsy’s predictions had also considerably affected
Antonia; But the impression soon wore off, and in a few hours She had
forgotten the adventure as totally as had it never taken place.
CHAPTER II.
Fòrse sé tu gustassi una sòl volta
La millésima parte délle giòje,
Ché gusta un còr amato riamando,
Diresti ripentita sospirando,
Perduto è tutto il tempo
Ché in amar non si spènde.
TASSO.
Hadst Thou but tasted once the thousandth part
Of joys, which bless the loved and loving heart,
Your words repentant and your sighs would prove,
Lost is the time which is not past in love.
The monks having attended their Abbot to the door of his Cell, He
dismissed them with an air of conscious superiority in which Humility’s
semblance combated with the reality of pride.
He was no sooner alone, than He gave free loose to the indulgence of
his vanity. When He remembered the Enthusiasm which his discourse had
excited, his heart swelled with rapture, and his imagination presented
him with splendid visions of aggrandizement. He looked round him with
exultation, and Pride told him loudly that He was superior to the rest
of his fellow-Creatures.
“Who,” thought He; “Who but myself has passed the ordeal of Youth, yet
sees no single stain upon his conscience? Who else has subdued the
violence of strong passions and an impetuous temperament, and submitted
even from the dawn of life to voluntary retirement? I seek for such a
Man in vain. I see no one but myself possessed of such resolution.
Religion cannot boast Ambrosio’s equal! How powerful an effect did my
discourse produce upon its Auditors! How they crowded round me! How
they loaded me with benedictions, and pronounced me the sole
uncorrupted Pillar of the Church! What then now is left for me to do?
Nothing, but to watch as carefully over the conduct of my Brothers as I
have hitherto watched over my own. Yet hold! May I not be tempted from
those paths which till now I have pursued without one moment’s
wandering? Am I not a Man, whose nature is frail, and prone to error? I
must now abandon the solitude of my retreat; The fairest and noblest
Dames of Madrid continually present themselves at the Abbey, and will
use no other Confessor.
I must accustom my eyes to Objects of temptation, and expose myself to
the seduction of luxury and desire. Should I meet in that world which I
am constrained to enter some lovely Female, lovely ... as yon
Madona....!”
As He said this, He fixed his eyes upon a picture of the Virgin, which
was suspended opposite to him: This for two years had been the Object
of his increasing wonder and adoration. He paused, and gazed upon it
with delight.
“What Beauty in that countenance!” He continued after a silence of some
minutes; “How graceful is the turn of that head! What sweetness, yet
what majesty in her divine eyes! How softly her cheek reclines upon her
hand! Can the Rose vie with the blush of that cheek? Can the Lily rival
the whiteness of that hand? Oh! if such a Creature existed, and existed
but for me! Were I permitted to twine round my fingers those golden
ringlets, and press with my lips the treasures of that snowy bosom!
Gracious God, should I then resist the temptation? Should I not barter
for a single embrace the reward of my sufferings for thirty years?
Should I not abandon.... Fool that I am! Whither do I suffer my
admiration of this picture to hurry me? Away, impure ideas! Let me
remember that Woman is for ever lost to me. Never was Mortal formed so
perfect as this picture. But even did such exist, the trial might be
too mighty for a common virtue, but Ambrosio’s is proof against
temptation. Temptation, did I say? To me it would be none. What charms
me, when ideal and considered as a superior Being, would disgust me,
become Woman and tainted with all the failings of Mortality. It is not
the Woman’s beauty that fills me with such enthusiasm; It is the
Painter’s skill that I admire, it is the Divinity that I adore! Are not
the passions dead in my bosom? Have I not freed myself from the frailty
of Mankind? Fear not, Ambrosio! Take confidence in the strength of your
virtue. Enter boldly into a world to whose failings you are superior;
Reflect that you are now exempted from Humanity’s defects, and defy all
the arts of the Spirits of Darkness. They shall know you for what you
are!”
Here his Reverie was interrupted by three soft knocks at the door of
his Cell. With difficulty did the Abbot awake from his delirium. The
knocking was repeated.
“Who is there?” said Ambrosio at length.
“It is only Rosario,” replied a gentle voice.
“Enter! Enter, my Son!”
The Door was immediately opened, and Rosario appeared with a small
basket in his hand.
Rosario was a young Novice belonging to the Monastery, who in three
Months intended to make his profession. A sort of mystery enveloped
this Youth which rendered him at once an object of interest and
curiosity. His hatred of society, his profound melancholy, his rigid
observation of the duties of his order, and his voluntary seclusion
from the world at his age so unusual, attracted the notice of the whole
fraternity. He seemed fearful of being recognised, and no one had ever
seen his face. His head was continually muffled up in his Cowl; Yet
such of his features as accident discovered, appeared the most
beautiful and noble. Rosario was the only name by which He was known in
the Monastery.
No one knew from whence He came, and when questioned in the subject He
preserved a profound silence. A Stranger, whose rich habit and
magnificent equipage declared him to be of distinguished rank, had
engaged the Monks to receive a Novice, and had deposited the necessary
sums. The next day He returned with Rosario, and from that time no more
had been heard of him.
The Youth had carefully avoided the company of the Monks: He answered
their civilities with sweetness, but reserve, and evidently showed that
his inclination led him to solitude. To this general rule the Superior
was the only exception. To him He looked up with a respect approaching
idolatry: He sought his company with the most attentive assiduity, and
eagerly seized every means to ingratiate himself in his favour. In the
Abbot’s society his Heart seemed to be at ease, and an air of gaiety
pervaded his whole manners and discourse. Ambrosio on his side did not
feel less attracted towards the Youth; With him alone did He lay aside
his habitual severity. When He spoke to him, He insensibly assumed a
tone milder than was usual to him; and no voice sounded so sweet to him
as did Rosario’s. He repayed the Youth’s attentions by instructing him
in various sciences; The Novice received his lessons with docility;
Ambrosio was every day more charmed with the vivacity of his Genius,
the simplicity of his manners, and the rectitude of his heart: In short
He loved him with all the affection of a Father. He could not help
sometimes indulging a desire secretly to see the face of his Pupil; But
his rule of self-denial extended even to curiosity, and prevented him
from communicating his wishes to the Youth.
“Pardon my intrusion, Father,” said Rosario, while He placed his basket
upon the Table; “I come to you a Suppliant. Hearing that a dear Friend
is dangerously ill, I entreat your prayers for his recovery. If
supplications can prevail upon heaven to spare him, surely yours must
be efficacious.”
“Whatever depends upon me, my Son, you know that you may command.
What is your Friend’s name?”
“Vincentio della Ronda.”
“’Tis sufficient. I will not forget him in my prayers, and may our
thrice-blessed St. Francis deign to listen to my intercession!—What
have you in your basket, Rosario?”
“A few of those flowers, reverend Father, which I have observed to be
most acceptable to you. Will you permit my arranging them in your
chamber?”
“Your attentions charm me, my Son.”
While Rosario dispersed the contents of his Basket in small Vases
placed for that purpose in various parts of the room, the Abbot thus
continued the conversation.
“I saw you not in the Church this evening, Rosario.”
“Yet I was present, Father. I am too grateful for your protection to
lose an opportunity of witnessing your Triumph.”
“Alas! Rosario, I have but little cause to triumph: The Saint spoke by
my mouth; To him belongs all the merit. It seems then you were
contented with my discourse?”
“Contented, say you? Oh! you surpassed yourself! Never did I hear such
eloquence ... save once!”
Here the Novice heaved an involuntary sigh.
“When was that once?” demanded the Abbot.
“When you preached upon the sudden indisposition of our late Superior.”
“I remember it: That is more than two years ago. And were you present?
I knew you not at that time, Rosario.”
“’Tis true, Father; and would to God! I had expired, ere I beheld that
day! What sufferings, what sorrows should I have escaped!”
“Sufferings at your age, Rosario?”
“Aye, Father; Sufferings, which if known to you, would equally raise
your anger and compassion! Sufferings, which form at once the torment
and pleasure of my existence! Yet in this retreat my bosom would feel
tranquil, were it not for the tortures of apprehension. Oh God! Oh God!
how cruel is a life of fear!—Father! I have given up all; I have
abandoned the world and its delights for ever: Nothing now remains,
Nothing now has charms for me, but your friendship, but your affection.
If I lose that, Father! Oh! if I lose that, tremble at the effects of
my despair!”
“You apprehend the loss of my friendship? How has my conduct justified
this fear? Know me better, Rosario, and think me worthy of your
confidence. What are your sufferings? Reveal them to me, and believe
that if ’tis in my power to relieve them....”
“Ah! ’tis in no one’s power but yours. Yet I must not let you know
them. You would hate me for my avowal! You would drive me from your
presence with scorn and ignominy!”
“My Son, I conjure you! I entreat you!”
“For pity’s sake, enquire no further! I must not ... I dare not...
Hark! The Bell rings for Vespers! Father, your benediction, and I leave
you!”
As He said this, He threw himself upon his knees and received the
blessing which He demanded. Then pressing the Abbot’s hand to his lips,
He started from the ground and hastily quitted the apartment. Soon
after Ambrosio descended to Vespers (which were celebrated in a small
chapel belonging to the Abbey), filled with surprise at the singularity
of the Youth’s behaviour.
Vespers being over, the Monks retired to their respective Cells. The
Abbot alone remained in the Chapel to receive the Nuns of St. Clare. He
had not been long seated in the confessional chair before the Prioress
made her appearance. Each of the Nuns was heard in her turn, while the
Others waited with the Domina in the adjoining Vestry. Ambrosio
listened to the confessions with attention, made many exhortations,
enjoined penance proportioned to each offence, and for some time every
thing went on as usual: till at last one of the Nuns, conspicuous from
the nobleness of her air and elegance of her figure, carelessly
permitted a letter to fall from her bosom. She was retiring,
unconscious of her loss. Ambrosio supposed it to have been written by
some one of her Relations, and picked it up intending to restore it to
her.
“Stay, Daughter,” said He; “You have let fall....”
At this moment, the paper being already open, his eye involuntarily