The Monk: A Romance
grief, She continued to converse with him till the moment of
dissolution. Her voice grew faint and scarcely audible; A thick cloud
spread itself over her eyes; Her heart beat slow and irregular, and
every instant seemed to announce that her fate was near at hand.
She lay, her head reclining upon Lorenzo’s bosom, and her lips still
murmuring to him words of comfort. She was interrupted by the Convent
Bell, as tolling at a distance, it struck the hour. Suddenly Antonia’s
eyes sparkled with celestial brightness: Her frame seemed to have
received new strength and animation. She started from her Lover’s arms.
“Three o’clock!” She cried; “Mother, I come!”
She clasped her hands, and sank lifeless upon the ground. Lorenzo in
agony threw himself beside her: He tore his hair, beat his breast, and
refused to be separated from the Corse. At length his force being
exhausted, He suffered himself to be led from the Vault, and was
conveyed to the Palace de Medina scarcely more alive than the
unfortunate Antonia.
In the meanwhile, though closely pursued, Ambrosio succeeded in
regaining the Vault. The Door was already fastened when Don Ramirez
arrived, and much time elapsed, ere the Fugitive’s retreat was
discovered. But nothing can resist perseverance. Though so artfully
concealed, the Door could not escape the vigilance of the Archers. They
forced it open, and entered the Vault to the infinite dismay of
Ambrosio and his Companion. The Monk’s confusion, his attempt to hide
himself, his rapid flight, and the blood sprinkled upon his cloaths,
left no room to doubt his being Antonia’s Murderer. But when He was
recognized for the immaculate Ambrosio, “The Man of Holiness,” the Idol
of Madrid, the faculties of the Spectators were chained up in surprize,
and scarcely could they persuade themselves that what they saw was no
vision. The Abbot strove not to vindicate himself, but preserved a
sullen silence. He was secured and bound. The same precaution was taken
with Matilda: Her Cowl being removed, the delicacy of her features and
profusion of her golden hair betrayed her sex, and this incident
created fresh amazement. The dagger was also found in the Tomb, where
the Monk had thrown it; and the dungeon having undergone a thorough
search, the two Culprits were conveyed to the prisons of the
Inquisition.
Don Ramirez took care that the populace should remain ignorant both of
the crimes and profession of the Captives. He feared a repetition of
the riots which had followed the apprehending the Prioress of St.
Clare. He contented himself with stating to the Capuchins the guilt of
their Superior. To avoid the shame of a public accusation, and dreading
the popular fury from which they had already saved their Abbey with
much difficulty, the Monks readily permitted the Inquisitors to search
their Mansion without noise. No fresh discoveries were made. The
effects found in the Abbot’s and Matilda’s Cells were seized, and
carried to the Inquisition to be produced in evidence. Every thing else
remained in its former position, and order and tranquillity once more
prevailed through Madrid.
St. Clare’s Convent was completely ruined by the united ravages of the
Mob and conflagration. Nothing remained of it but the principal Walls,
whose thickness and solidity had preserved them from the flames. The
Nuns who had belonged to it were obliged in consequence to disperse
themselves into other Societies: But the prejudice against them ran
high, and the Superiors were very unwilling to admit them. However,
most of them being related to Families the most distinguished for their
riches, birth and power, the several Convents were compelled to receive
them, though they did it with a very ill grace. This prejudice was
extremely false and unjustifiable: After a close investigation, it was
proved that All in the Convent were persuaded of the death of Agnes,
except the four Nuns whom St. Ursula had pointed out. These had fallen
Victims to the popular fury; as had also several who were perfectly
innocent and unconscious of the whole affair. Blinded by resentment,
the Mob had sacrificed every Nun who fell into their hands: They who
escaped were entirely indebted to the Duke de Medina’s prudence and
moderation. Of this they were conscious, and felt for that Nobleman a
proper sense of gratitude.
Virginia was not the most sparing of her thanks: She wished equally to
make a proper return for his attentions, and to obtain the good graces
of Lorenzo’s Uncle. In this She easily succeeded.
The Duke beheld her beauty with wonder and admiration; and while his
eyes were enchanted with her Form, the sweetness of her manners and her
tender concern for the suffering Nun prepossessed his heart in her
favour. This Virginia had discernment enough to perceive, and She
redoubled her attention to the Invalid. When He parted from her at the
door of her Father’s Palace, the Duke entreated permission to enquire
occasionally after her health. His request was readily granted:
Virginia assured him that the Marquis de Villa-Franca would be proud of
an opportunity to thank him in person for the protection afforded to
her. They now separated, He enchanted with her beauty and gentleness,
and She much pleased with him and more with his Nephew.
On entering the Palace, Virginia’s first care was to summon the family
Physician, and take care of her unknown charge. Her Mother hastened to
share with her the charitable office. Alarmed by the riots, and
trembling for his Daughter’s safety, who was his only child, the
Marquis had flown to St. Clare’s Convent, and was still employed in
seeking her. Messengers were now dispatched on all sides to inform him
that He would find her safe at his Hotel, and desire him to hasten
thither immediately. His absence gave Virginia liberty to bestow her
whole attention upon her Patient; and though much disordered herself by
the adventures of the night, no persuasion could induce her to quit the
bedside of the Sufferer. Her constitution being much enfeebled by want
and sorrow, it was some time before the Stranger was restored to her
senses. She found great difficulty in swallowing the medicines
prescribed to her: But this obstacle being removed, She easily
conquered her disease which proceeded from nothing but weakness. The
attention which was paid her, the wholesome food to which She had been
long a Stranger, and her joy at being restored to liberty, to society,
and, as She dared to hope, to Love, all this combined to her speedy
re-establishment.
From the first moment of knowing her, her melancholy situation, her
sufferings almost unparalleled had engaged the affections of her
amiable Hostess: Virginia felt for her the most lively interest; But
how was She delighted, when her Guest being sufficiently recovered to
relate her History, She recognized in the captive Nun the Sister of
Lorenzo!
This victim of monastic cruelty was indeed no other than the
unfortunate Agnes. During her abode in the Convent, She had been well
known to Virginia: But her emaciated form, her features altered by
affliction, her death universally credited, and her overgrown and
matted hair which hung over her face and bosom in disorder at first had
prevented her being recollected. The Prioress had put every artifice in
practice to induce Virginia to take the veil; for the Heiress of
Villa-Franca would have been no despicable acquisition. Her seeming
kindness and unremitted attention so far succeeded that her young
Relation began to think seriously upon compliance. Better instructed in
the disgust and ennui of a monastic life, Agnes had penetrated the
designs of the Domina: She trembled for the innocent Girl, and
endeavoured to make her sensible of her error. She painted in their
true colours the numerous inconveniencies attached to a Convent, the
continued restraint, the low jealousies, the petty intrigues, the
servile court and gross flattery expected by the Superior. She then bad
Virginia reflect on the brilliant prospect which presented itself
before her: The Idol of her Parents, the admiration of Madrid, endowed
by nature and education with every perfection of person and mind, She
might look forward to an establishment the most fortunate. Her riches
furnished her with the means of exercising in their fullest extent,
charity and benevolence, those virtues so dear to her; and her stay in
the world would enable her discovering Objects worthy her protection,
which could not be done in the seclusion of a Convent.
Her persuasions induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the Veil:
But another argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight with her than
all the others put together. She had seen Lorenzo, when He visited his
Sister at the Grate. His Person pleased her, and her conversations with
Agnes generally used to terminate in some question about her Brother.
She, who doted upon Lorenzo, wished for no better than an opportunity
to trumpet out his praise. She spoke of him in terms of rapture; and to
convince her Auditor how just were his sentiments, how cultivated his
mind, and elegant his expressions, She showed her at different times
the letters which She received from him. She soon perceived that from
these communications the heart of her young Friend had imbibed
impressions, which She was far from intending to give, but was truly
happy to discover. She could not have wished her Brother a more
desirable union: Heiress of Villa-Franca, virtuous, affectionate,
beautiful, and accomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him
happy. She sounded her Brother upon the subject, though without
mentioning names or circumstances. He assured her in his answers that
his heart and hand were totally disengaged, and She thought that upon
these grounds She might proceed without danger. She in consequence
endeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her Friend. Lorenzo
was made the constant topic of her discourse; and the avidity with
which her Auditor listened, the sighs which frequently escaped from her
bosom, and the eagerness with which upon any digression She brought
back the conversation to the subject whence it had wandered, sufficed
to convince Agnes that her Brother’s addresses would be far from
disagreeable. She at length ventured to mention her wishes to the Duke:
Though a Stranger to the Lady herself, He knew enough of her situation
to think her worthy his Nephew’s hand. It was agreed between him and
his Niece, that She should insinuate the idea to Lorenzo, and She only
waited his return to Madrid to propose her Friend to him as his Bride.
The unfortunate events which took place in the interim, prevented her
from executing her design. Virginia wept her loss sincerely, both as a
Companion, and as the only Person to whom She could speak of Lorenzo.
Her passion continued to prey upon her heart in secret, and She had
almost determined to confess her sentiments to her Mother, when
accident once more threw their object in her way. The sight of him so
near her, his politeness, his compassion, his intrepidity, had combined
to give new ardour to her affection. When She now found her Friend and
Advocate restored to her, She looked upon her as a Gift from Heaven;
She ventured to cherish the hope of being united to Lorenzo, and
resolved to use with him his Sister’s influence.
Supposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made the
proposal, the Duke had placed all his Nephew’s hints of marriage to
Virginia’s account: Consequently, He gave them the most favourable
reception. On returning to his Hotel, the relation given him of
Antonia’s death, and Lorenzo’s behaviour on the occasion, made evident
his mistake. He lamented the circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being
effectually out of the way, He trusted that his designs would yet be