The Monk: A Romance
confusion, the Monk quitted the Grotto, and sped with precipitation
towards the Abbey. His action did not escape the Suppliant. She sprang
from the ground; She hastened to follow him, overtook him, threw
herself in his passage, and embraced his knees. Ambrosio strove in vain
to disengage himself from her grasp.
“Do not fly me!” She cried; “Leave me not abandoned to the impulse of
despair! Listen, while I excuse my imprudence; while I acknowledge my
Sister’s story to be my own! I am Matilda; You are her Beloved.”
If Ambrosio’s surprise was great at her first avowal, upon hearing her
second it exceeded all bounds. Amazed, embarrassed, and irresolute He
found himself incapable of pronouncing a syllable, and remained in
silence gazing upon Matilda: This gave her opportunity to continue her
explanation as follows.
“Think not, Ambrosio, that I come to rob your Bride of your affections.
No, believe me: Religion alone deserves you; and far is it from
Matilda’s wish to draw you from the paths of virtue. What I feel for
you is love, not licentiousness; I sigh to be possessor of your heart,
not lust for the enjoyment of your person. Deign to listen to my
vindication: A few moments will convince you that this holy retreat is
not polluted by my presence, and that you may grant me your compassion
without trespassing against your vows.”—She seated herself: Ambrosio,
scarcely conscious of what He did, followed her example, and She
proceeded in her discourse.
“I spring from a distinguished family: My Father was Chief of the noble
House of Villanegas. He died while I was still an Infant, and left me
sole Heiress of his immense possessions. Young and wealthy, I was
sought in marriage by the noblest Youths of Madrid; But no one
succeeded in gaining my affections. I had been brought up under the
care of an Uncle possessed of the most solid judgment and extensive
erudition. He took pleasure in communicating to me some portion of his
knowledge. Under his instructions my understanding acquired more
strength and justness than generally falls to the lot of my sex: The
ability of my Preceptor being aided by natural curiosity, I not only
made a considerable progress in sciences universally studied, but in
others, revealed but to few, and lying under censure from the blindness
of superstition. But while my Guardian laboured to enlarge the sphere
of my knowledge, He carefully inculcated every moral precept: He
relieved me from the shackles of vulgar prejudice; He pointed out the
beauty of Religion; He taught me to look with adoration upon the pure
and virtuous, and, woe is me! I have obeyed him but too well!
“With such dispositions, Judge whether I could observe with any other
sentiment than disgust the vice, dissipation, and ignorance, which
disgrace our Spanish Youth. I rejected every offer with disdain. My
heart remained without a Master till chance conducted me to the
Cathedral of the Capuchins. Oh! surely on that day my Guardian Angel
slumbered neglectful of his charge! Then was it that I first beheld
you: You supplied the Superior’s place, absent from illness. You cannot
but remember the lively enthusiasm which your discourse created. Oh!
how I drank your words! How your eloquence seemed to steal me from
myself! I scarcely dared to breathe, fearing to lose a syllable; and
while you spoke, Methought a radiant glory beamed round your head, and
your countenance shone with the majesty of a God. I retired from the
Church, glowing with admiration. From that moment you became the idol
of my heart, the never-changing object of my Meditations. I enquired
respecting you. The reports which were made me of your mode of life, of
your knowledge, piety, and self-denial riveted the chains imposed on me
by your eloquence. I was conscious that there was no longer a void in
my heart; That I had found the Man whom I had sought till then in vain.
In expectation of hearing you again, every day I visited your
Cathedral: You remained secluded within the Abbey walls, and I always
withdrew, wretched and disappointed. The Night was more propitious to
me, for then you stood before me in my dreams; You vowed to me eternal
friendship; You led me through the paths of virtue, and assisted me to
support the vexations of life. The Morning dispelled these pleasing
visions; I woke, and found myself separated from you by Barriers which
appeared insurmountable. Time seemed only to increase the strength of
my passion: I grew melancholy and despondent; I fled from society, and
my health declined daily. At length no longer able to exist in this
state of torture, I resolved to assume the disguise in which you see
me. My artifice was fortunate: I was received into the Monastery, and
succeeded in gaining your esteem.
“Now then I should have felt compleatly happy, had not my quiet been
disturbed by the fear of detection. The pleasure which I received from
your society, was embittered by the idea that perhaps I should soon be
deprived of it: and my heart throbbed so rapturously at obtaining the
marks of your friendship, as to convince me that I never should survive
its loss. I resolved, therefore, not to leave the discovery of my sex
to chance, to confess the whole to you, and throw myself entirely on
your mercy and indulgence. Ah! Ambrosio, can I have been deceived? Can
you be less generous than I thought you? I will not suspect it. You
will not drive a Wretch to despair; I shall still be permitted to see
you, to converse with you, to adore you! Your virtues shall be my
example through life; and when we expire, our bodies shall rest in the
same Grave.”
She ceased. While She spoke, a thousand opposing sentiments combated in
Ambrosio’s bosom. Surprise at the singularity of this adventure,
Confusion at her abrupt declaration, Resentment at her boldness in
entering the Monastery, and Consciousness of the austerity with which
it behoved him to reply, such were the sentiments of which He was
aware; But there were others also which did not obtain his notice. He
perceived not, that his vanity was flattered by the praises bestowed
upon his eloquence and virtue; that He felt a secret pleasure in
reflecting that a young and seemingly lovely Woman had for his sake
abandoned the world, and sacrificed every other passion to that which
He had inspired: Still less did He perceive that his heart throbbed
with desire, while his hand was pressed gently by Matilda’s ivory
fingers.
By degrees He recovered from his confusion. His ideas became less
bewildered: He was immediately sensible of the extreme impropriety,
should Matilda be permitted to remain in the Abbey after this avowal of
her sex. He assumed an air of severity, and drew away his hand.
“How, Lady!” said He; “Can you really hope for my permission to remain
amongst us? Even were I to grant your request, what good could you
derive from it? Think you that I ever can reply to an affection,
which...”
“No, Father, No! I expect not to inspire you with a love like mine. I
only wish for the liberty to be near you, to pass some hours of the day
in your society; to obtain your compassion, your friendship and esteem.
Surely my request is not unreasonable.”
“But reflect, Lady! Reflect only for a moment on the impropriety of my
harbouring a Woman in the Abbey; and that too a Woman, who confesses
that She loves me. It must not be. The risque of your being discovered
is too great, and I will not expose myself to so dangerous a
temptation.”
“Temptation, say you? Forget that I am a Woman, and it no longer
exists: Consider me only as a Friend, as an Unfortunate, whose
happiness, whose life depends upon your protection. Fear not lest I
should ever call to your remembrance that love the most impetuous, the
most unbounded, has induced me to disguise my sex; or that instigated
by desires, offensive to _your_ vows and my own honour, I should
endeavour to seduce you from the path of rectitude. No, Ambrosio, learn
to know me better. I love you for your virtues: Lose them, and with
them you lose my affections. I look upon you as a Saint; Prove to me
that you are no more than Man, and I quit you with disgust. Is it then
from me that you fear temptation? From me, in whom the world’s dazzling
pleasures created no other sentiment than contempt? From me, whose
attachment is grounded on your exemption from human frailty? Oh!
dismiss such injurious apprehensions! Think nobler of me, think nobler
of yourself. I am incapable of seducing you to error; and surely your
Virtue is established on a basis too firm to be shaken by unwarranted
desires. Ambrosio, dearest Ambrosio! drive me not from your presence;
Remember your promise, and authorize my stay!”
“Impossible, Matilda; _your_ interest commands me to refuse your
prayer, since I tremble for you, not for myself. After vanquishing the
impetuous ebullitions of Youth; After passing thirty years in
mortification and penance, I might safely permit your stay, nor fear
your inspiring me with warmer sentiments than pity. But to yourself,
remaining in the Abbey can produce none but fatal consequences. You
will misconstrue my every word and action; You will seize every
circumstance with avidity, which encourages you to hope the return of
your affection; Insensibly your passions will gain a superiority over
your reason; and far from these being repressed by my presence, every
moment which we pass together, will only serve to irritate and excite
them. Believe me, unhappy Woman! you possess my sincere compassion. I
am convinced that you have hitherto acted upon the purest motives; But
though you are blind to the imprudence of your conduct, in me it would
be culpable not to open your eyes. I feel that Duty obliges my treating
you with harshness: I must reject your prayer, and remove every shadow
of hope which may aid to nourish sentiments so pernicious to your
repose. Matilda, you must from hence tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, Ambrosio? Tomorrow? Oh! surely you cannot mean it!
You cannot resolve on driving me to despair! You cannot have the
cruelty....”
“You have heard my decision, and it must be obeyed. The Laws of our
Order forbid your stay: It would be perjury to conceal that a Woman is
within these Walls, and my vows will oblige me to declare your story to
the Community. You must from hence!—I pity you, but can do no more!”
He pronounced these words in a faint and trembling voice: Then rising
from his seat, He would have hastened towards the Monastery. Uttering a
loud shriek, Matilda followed, and detained him.
“Stay yet one moment, Ambrosio! Hear me yet speak one word!”
“I dare not listen! Release me! You know my resolution!”
“But one word! But one last word, and I have done!”
“Leave me! Your entreaties are in vain! You must from hence tomorrow!”
“Go then, Barbarian! But this resource is still left me.”
As She said this, She suddenly drew a poignard: She rent open her
garment, and placed the weapon’s point against her bosom.
“Father, I will never quit these Walls alive!”
“Hold! Hold, Matilda! What would you do?”
“You are determined, so am I: The Moment that you leave me, I plunge
this Steel in my heart.”
“Holy St. Francis! Matilda, have you your senses? Do you know the
consequences of your action? That Suicide is the greatest of crimes?
That you destroy your Soul? That you lose your claim to salvation? That
you prepare for yourself everlasting torments?”
“I care not! I care not!” She replied passionately; “Either your hand
guides me to Paradise, or my own dooms me to perdition! Speak to me,
Ambrosio! Tell me that you will conceal my story, that I shall remain
your Friend and your Companion, or this poignard drinks my blood!”
As She uttered these last words, She lifted her arm, and made a motion
as if to stab herself. The Friar’s eyes followed with dread the course