The Monk - A Romance Read online

  He spoke about Sinners He seemed as if He was ready to eat them.'

  'You are right, Segnora,' answered Don Christoval; 'Too great

  severity is said to be Ambrosio's only fault. Exempted himself

  from human failings, He is not sufficiently indulgent to those of

  others; and though strictly just and disinterested in his

  decisions, his government of the Monks has already shown some

  proofs of his inflexibility. But the crowd is nearly dissipated:

  Will you permit us to attend you home?'

  'Oh! Christ! Segnor,' exclaimed Leonella affecting to blush; 'I

  would not suffer such a thing for the Universe! If I came home

  attended by so gallant a Cavalier, My Sister is so scrupulous

  that She would read me an hour's lecture, and I should never hear

  the last of it. Besides, I rather wish you not to make your

  proposals just at present.'

  'My proposals? I assure you, Segnora. . . .'

  'Oh! Segnor, I believe that your assurances of impatience are all

  very true; But really I must desire a little respite. It would

  not be quite so delicate in me to accept your hand at first

  sight.'

  'Accept my hand? As I hope to live and breathe. . . .'

  'Oh! dear Segnor, press me no further, if you love me! I shall

  consider your obedience as a proof of your affection; You shall

  hear from me tomorrow, and so farewell. But pray, Cavaliers,

  may I not enquire your names?'

  'My Friend's,' replied Lorenzo, 'is the Conde d'Ossorio, and mine

  Lorenzo de Medina.'

  ' 'Tis sufficient. Well, Don Lorenzo, I shall acquaint my Sister

  with your obliging offer, and let you know the result with all

  expedition. Where may I send to you?'

  'I am always to be found at the Medina Palace.'

  'You may depend upon hearing from me. Farewell, Cavaliers.

  Segnor Conde, let me entreat you to moderate the excessive ardour

  of your passion: However, to prove to you that I am not

  displeased with you, and prevent your abandoning yourself to

  despair, receive this mark of my affection, and sometimes bestow

  a thought upon the absent Leonella.'

  As She said this, She extended a lean and wrinkled hand; which

  her supposed Admirer kissed with such sorry grace and constraint

  so evident, that Lorenzo with difficulty repressed his

  inclination to laugh. Leonella then hastened to quit the Church;

  The lovely Antonia followed her in silence; but when She reached

  the Porch, She turned involuntarily, and cast back her eyes

  towards Lorenzo. He bowed to her, as bidding her farewell; She

  returned the compliment, and hastily withdrew.

  'So, Lorenzo!' said Don Christoval as soon as they were alone,

  'You have procured me an agreeable Intrigue! To favour your

  designs upon Antonia, I obligingly make a few civil speeches

  which mean nothing to the Aunt, and at the end of an hour I find

  myself upon the brink of Matrimony! How will you reward me for

  having suffered so grievously for your sake? What can repay me

  for having kissed the leathern paw of that confounded old Witch?

  Diavolo! She has left such a scent upon my lips that I shall

  smell of garlick for this month to come! As I pass along the

  Prado, I shall be taken for a walking Omelet, or some large Onion

  running to seed!'

  'I confess, my poor Count,' replied Lorenzo, 'that your service

  has been attended with danger; Yet am I so far from supposing it

  be past all endurance that I shall probably solicit you to carry

  on your amours still further.'

  'From that petition I conclude that the little Antonia has made

  some impression upon you.'

  'I cannot express to you how much I am charmed with her. Since

  my Father's death, My Uncle the Duke de Medina, has signified to

  me his wishes to see me married; I have till now eluded his

  hints, and refused to understand them; But what I have seen this

  Evening. . . .'

  'Well? What have you seen this Evening? Why surely, Don

  Lorenzo, You cannot be mad enough to think of making a Wife out

  of this Grand-daughter of ''as honest a painstaking Shoe-maker

  as any in Cordova''?'

  'You forget, that She is also the Grand-daughter of the late

  Marquis de las Cisternas; But without disputing about birth and

  titles, I must assure you, that I never beheld a Woman so

  interesting as Antonia.'

  'Very possibly; But you cannot mean to marry her?'

  'Why not, my dear Conde? I shall have wealth enough for both of

  us, and you know that my Uncle thinks liberally upon the subject.

  From what I have seen of Raymond de las Cisternas, I am certain

  that he will readily acknowledge Antonia for his Niece. Her

  birth therefore will be no objection to my offering her my hand.

  I should be a Villain could I think of her on any other terms

  than marriage; and in truth She seems possessed of every quality

  requisite to make me happy in a Wife. Young, lovely, gentle,

  sensible. . . .'

  'Sensible? Why, She said nothing but ''Yes,'' and ''No''.'

  'She did not say much more, I must confess--But then She always

  said ''Yes,'' or ''No,'' in the right place.'

  'Did She so? Oh! your most obedient! That is using a right

  Lover's argument, and I dare dispute no longer with so profound a

  Casuist. Suppose we adjourn to the Comedy?'

  'It is out of my power. I only arrived last night at Madrid, and

  have not yet had an opportunity of seeing my Sister; You know

  that her Convent is in this Street, and I was going thither when

  the Crowd which I saw thronging into this Church excited my

  curiosity to know what was the matter. I shall now pursue my

  first intention, and probably pass the Evening with my Sister at

  the Parlour grate.'

  'Your Sister in a Convent, say you? Oh! very true, I had

  forgotten. And how does Donna Agnes? I am amazed, Don Lorenzo,

  how you could possibly think of immuring so charming a Girl

  within the walls of a Cloister!'

  'I think of it, Don Christoval? How can you suspect me of such

  barbarity? You are conscious that She took the veil by her own

  desire, and that particular circumstances made her wish for a

  seclusion from the World. I used every means in my power to

  induce her to change her resolution; The endeavour was fruitless,

  and I lost a Sister!'

  'The luckier fellow you; I think, Lorenzo, you were a

  considerable gainer by that loss: If I remember right, Donna

  Agnes had a portion of ten thousand pistoles, half of which

  reverted to your Lordship. By St. Jago! I wish that I had fifty

  Sisters in the same predicament. I should consent to losing them

  every soul without much heart-burning--'

  'How, Conde?' said Lorenzo in an angry voice; 'Do you suppose me

  base enough to have influenced my Sister's retirement? Do you

  suppose that the despicable wish to make myself Master of her

  fortune could. . . .'

  'Admirable! Courage, Don Lorenzo! Now the Man is all in a

  blaze. God grant that Antonia may soften that fiery temper, or

  we shall certainly cut each other's throat before the Month is
r />   over! However, to prevent such a tragical Catastrophe for the

  present, I shall make a retreat, and leave you Master of the

  field. Farewell, my Knight of Mount Aetna! Moderate that

  inflammable disposition, and remember that whenever it is

  necessary to make love to yonder Harridan, you may reckon upon my

  services.'

  He said, and darted out of the Cathedral.

  'How wild-brained!' said Lorenzo; 'With so excellent an heart,

  what pity that He possesses so little solidity of judgment!'

  The night was now fast advancing. The Lamps were not yet

  lighted. The faint beams of the rising Moon scarcely could

  pierce through the gothic obscurity of the Church. Lorenzo found

  himself unable to quit the Spot. The void left in his bosom by

  Antonia's absence, and his Sister's sacrifice which Don

  Christoval had just recalled to his imagination, created that

  melancholy of mind which accorded but too well with the

  religious gloom surrounding him. He was still leaning against

  the seventh column from the Pulpit. A soft and cooling air

  breathed along the solitary Aisles: The Moonbeams darting into

  the Church through painted windows tinged the fretted roofs and

  massy pillars with a thousand various tints of light and colours:

  Universal silence prevailed around, only interrupted by the

  occasional closing of Doors in the adjoining Abbey.

  The calm of the hour and solitude of the place contributed to

  nourish Lorenzo's disposition to melancholy. He threw himself

  upon a seat which stood near him, and abandoned himself to the

  delusions of his fancy. He thought of his union with Antonia; He

  thought of the obstacles which might oppose his wishes; and a

  thousand changing visions floated before his fancy, sad 'tis

  true, but not unpleasing. Sleep insensibly stole over him, and

  the tranquil solemnity of his mind when awake for a while

  continued to influence his slumbers.

  He still fancied himself to be in the Church of the Capuchins;

  but it was no longer dark and solitary. Multitudes of silver

  Lamps shed splendour from the vaulted Roof; Accompanied by the

  captivating chaunt of distant choristers, the Organ's melody

  swelled through the Church; The Altar seemed decorated as for

  some distinguished feast; It was surrounded by a brilliant

  Company; and near it stood Antonia arrayed in bridal white, and

  blushing with all the charms of Virgin Modesty.

  Half hoping, half fearing, Lorenzo gazed upon the scene before

  him. Sudden the door leading to the Abbey unclosed, and He saw,

  attended by a long train of Monks, the Preacher advance to whom

  He had just listened with so much admiration. He drew near

  Antonia.

  'And where is the Bridegroom?' said the imaginary Friar.

  Antonia seemed to look round the Church with anxiety.

  Involuntarily the Youth advanced a few steps from his

  concealment. She saw him; The blush of pleasure glowed upon her

  cheek; With a graceful motion of her hand She beckoned to him to

  advance. He disobeyed not the command; He flew towards her, and

  threw himself at her feet.

  She retreated for a moment; Then gazing upon him with unutterable

  delight;--'Yes!' She exclaimed, 'My Bridegroom! My destined

  Bridegroom!' She said, and hastened to throw herself into his

  arms; But before He had time to receive her, an Unknown rushed

  between them. His form was gigantic; His complexion was swarthy,

  His eyes fierce and terrible; his Mouth breathed out volumes of

  fire; and on his forehead was written in legible

  characters--'Pride! Lust! Inhumanity!'

  Antonia shrieked. The Monster clasped her in his arms, and

  springing with her upon the Altar, tortured her with his odious

  caresses. She endeavoured in vain to escape from his embrace.

  Lorenzo flew to her succour, but ere He had time to reach her, a

  loud burst of thunder was heard. Instantly the Cathedral seemed

  crumbling into pieces; The Monks betook themselves to flight,

  shrieking fearfully; The Lamps were extinguished, the Altar sank

  down, and in its place appeared an abyss vomiting forth clouds of

  flame. Uttering a loud and terrible cry the Monster plunged into

  the Gulph, and in his fall attempted to drag Antonia with him.

  He strove in vain. Animated by supernatural powers She

  disengaged herself from his embrace; But her white Robe was left

  in his possession. Instantly a wing of brilliant splendour

  spread itself from either of Antonia's arms. She darted upwards,

  and while ascending cried to Lorenzo,

  'Friend! we shall meet above!'

  At the same moment the Roof of the Cathedral opened; Harmonious

  voices pealed along the Vaults; and the glory into which Antonia

  was received was composed of rays of such dazzling brightness,

  that Lorenzo was unable to sustain the gaze. His sight failed,

  and He sank upon the ground.

  When He woke, He found himself extended upon the pavement of the

  Church: It was Illuminated, and the chaunt of Hymns sounded from

  a distance. For a while Lorenzo could not persuade himself that

  what He had just witnessed had been a dream, so strong an

  impression had it made upon his fancy. A little recollection

  convinced him of its fallacy: The Lamps had been lighted during

  his sleep, and the music which he heard was occasioned by the

  Monks, who were celebrating their Vespers in the Abbey Chapel.

  Lorenzo rose, and prepared to bend his steps towards his Sister's

  Convent. His mind fully occupied by the singularity of his

  dream, He already drew near the Porch, when his attention was

  attracted by perceiving a Shadow moving upon the opposite wall.

  He looked curiously round, and soon descried a Man wrapped up in

  his Cloak, who seemed carefully examining whether his actions

  were observed. Very few people are exempt from the influence of

  curiosity. The Unknown seemed anxious to conceal his business in

  the Cathedral, and it was this very circumstance, which made

  Lorenzo wish to discover what He was about.

  Our Hero was conscious that He had no right to pry into the

  secrets of this unknown Cavalier.

  'I will go,' said Lorenzo. And Lorenzo stayed, where He was.

  The shadow thrown by the Column, effectually concealed him from

  the Stranger, who continued to advance with caution. At length

  He drew a letter from beneath his cloak, and hastily placed it

  beneath a Colossal Statue of St. Francis. Then retiring with

  precipitation, He concealed himself in a part of the Church at a

  considerable distance from that in which the Image stood.

  'So!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'This is only some foolish love

  affair. I believe, I may as well be gone, for I can do no good

  in it.'

  In truth till that moment it never came into his head that He

  could do any good in it; But He thought it necessary to make some

  little excuse to himself for having indulged his curiosity. He

  now made a second attempt to retire from the Church: For this

  time He gained the Porch without meeting with any impediment; But

  it wa
s destined that He should pay it another visit that night.

  As He descended the steps leading into the Street, a Cavalier

  rushed against him with such violence, that Both were nearly

  overturned by the concussion. Lorenzo put his hand to his sword.

  'How now, Segnor?' said He; 'What mean you by this rudeness?'

  'Ha! Is it you, Medina?' replied the Newcomer, whom Lorenzo by

  his voice now recognized for Don Christoval; 'You are the

  luckiest Fellow in the Universe, not to have left the Church

  before my return. In, in! my dear Lad! They will be here

  immediately!'

  'Who will be here?'

  'The old Hen and all her pretty little Chickens! In, I say, and

  then you shall know the whole History.'

  Lorenzo followed him into the Cathedral, and they concealed

  themselves behind the Statue of St. Francis.

  'And now,' said our Hero, 'may I take the liberty of asking, what

  is the meaning of all this haste and rapture?'

  'Oh! Lorenzo, we shall see such a glorious sight! The Prioress

  of St. Clare and her whole train of Nuns are coming hither. You

  are to know, that the pious Father Ambrosio (The Lord reward him

  for it!) will upon no account move out of his own precincts: It

  being absolutely necessary for every fashionable Convent to have

  him for its Confessor, the Nuns are in consequence obliged to

  visit him at the Abbey; since when the Mountain will not come to

  Mahomet, Mahomet must needs go to the Mountain. Now the Prioress

  of St. Clare, the better to escape the gaze of such impure eyes

  as belong to yourself and your humble Servant, thinks proper to

  bring her holy flock to confession in the Dusk: She is to be

  admitted into the Abbey Chapel by yon private door. The

  Porteress of St. Clare, who is a worthy old Soul and a particular

  Friend of mine, has just assured me of their being here in a few

  moments. There is news for you, you Rogue! We shall see some of

  the prettiest faces in Madrid!'

  'In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing. The Nuns are

  always veiled.'

  'No! No! I know better. On entering a place of worship, they

  ever take off their veils from respect to the Saint to whom 'tis

  dedicated. But Hark! They are coming! Silence, silence!

  Observe, and be convinced.'

  'Good!' said Lorenzo to himself; 'I may possibly discover to whom

  the vows are addressed of this mysterious Stranger.'