CHAPTER I
The crickets sing, and Man's o'er-laboured sense Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus Did softly press the rushes, ere He wakened The chastity He wounded--Cytherea, How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! Fresh Lily! And whiter than the sheets! Cymbeline.
All the researches of the Marquis de las Cisternas proved vain: Agneswas lost to him for ever. Despair produced so violent an effect uponhis constitution, that the consequence was a long and severe illness.This prevented him from visiting Elvira as He had intended; and Shebeing ignorant of the cause of his neglect, it gave her no triflinguneasiness. His Sister's death had prevented Lorenzo fromcommunicating to his Uncle his designs respecting Antonia: Theinjunctions of her Mother forbad his presenting himself to her withoutthe Duke's consent; and as She heard no more of him or his proposals,Elvira conjectured that He had either met with a better match, or hadbeen commanded to give up all thoughts of her Daughter. Every day madeher more uneasy respecting Antonia's fate: While She retained theAbbot's protection, She bore with fortitude the disappointment of herhopes with regard to Lorenzo and the Marquis. That resource now failedher. She was convinced that Ambrosio had meditated her Daughter'sruin: And when She reflected that her death would leave Antoniafriendless and unprotected in a world so base, so perfidious anddepraved, her heart swelled with the bitterness of apprehension. Atsuch times She would sit for hours gazing upon the lovely Girl; andseeming to listen to her innocent prattle, while in reality herthoughts dwelt upon the sorrows into which a moment would suffice toplunge her. Then She would clasp her in her arms suddenly, lean herhead upon her Daughter's bosom, and bedew it with her tears.
An event was in preparation which, had She known it, would haverelieved her from her inquietude. Lorenzo now waited only for afavourable opportunity to inform the Duke of his intended marriage:However, a circumstance which occurred at this period, obliged him todelay his explanation for a few days longer.
Don Raymond's malady seemed to gain ground. Lorenzo was constantly athis bedside, and treated him with a tenderness truly fraternal. Boththe cause and effects of the disorder were highly afflicting to theBrother of Agnes: yet Theodore's grief was scarcely less sincere. Thatamiable Boy quitted not his Master for a moment, and put every means inpractice to console and alleviate his sufferings. The Marquis hadconceived so rooted an affection for his deceased Mistress, that it wasevident to all that He never could survive her loss: Nothing couldhave prevented him from sinking under his grief but the persuasion ofher being still alive, and in need of his assistance. Though convincedof its falsehood, his Attendants encouraged him in a belief whichformed his only comfort. He was assured daily that fresh perquisitionswere making respecting the fate of Agnes: Stories were inventedrecounting the various attempts made to get admittance into theConvent; and circumstances were related which, though they did notpromise her absolute recovery, at least were sufficient to keep hishopes alive. The Marquis constantly fell into the most terrible excessof passion when informed of the failure of these supposed attempts.Still He would not credit that the succeeding ones would have the samefate, but flattered himself that the next would prove more fortunate.
Theodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his Master'sChimoeras. He was eternally busied in planning schemes for enteringthe Convent, or at least of obtaining from the Nuns some intelligenceof Agnes. To execute these schemes was the only inducement which couldprevail on him to quit Don Raymond. He became a very Proteus, changinghis shape every day; but all his metamorphoses were to very littlepurpose: He regularly returned to the Palace de las Cisternas withoutany intelligence to confirm his Master's hopes. One day He took itinto his head to disguise himself as a Beggar. He put a patch over hisleft eye, took his Guitar in hand, and posted himself at the Gate ofthe Convent.
'If Agnes is really confined in the Convent,' thought He, 'and hears myvoice, She will recollect it, and possibly may find means to let meknow that She is here.'
With this idea He mingled with a crowd of Beggars who assembled dailyat the Gate of St. Clare to receive Soup, which the Nuns wereaccustomed to distribute at twelve o'clock. All were provided withjugs or bowls to carry it away; But as Theodore had no utensil of thiskind, He begged leave to eat his portion at the Convent door. This wasgranted without difficulty: His sweet voice, and in spite of hispatched eye, his engaging countenance, won the heart of the good oldPorteress, who, aided by a Lay-Sister, was busied in serving to eachhis Mess. Theodore was bad to stay till the Others should depart, andpromised that his request should then be granted. The Youth desired nobetter, since it was not to eat Soup that He presented himself at theConvent. He thanked the Porteress for her permission, retired from theDoor, and seating himself upon a large stone, amused himself in tuninghis Guitar while the Beggars were served.
As soon as the Crowd was gone, Theodore was beckoned to the Gate, anddesired to come in. He obeyed with infinite readiness, but affectedgreat respect at passing the hallowed Threshold, and to be much dauntedby the presence of the Reverend Ladies. His feigned timidity flatteredthe vanity of the Nuns, who endeavoured to reassure him. The Porteresstook him into her awn little Parlour: In the meanwhile, the Lay-Sisterwent to the Kitchen, and soon returned with a double portion of Soup,of better quality than what was given to the Beggars. His Hostessadded some fruits and confections from her own private store, and Bothencouraged the Youth to dine heartily. To all these attentions Hereplied with much seeming gratitude, and abundance of blessings uponhis benefactresses. While He ate, the Nuns admired the delicacy of hisfeatures, the beauty of his hair, and the sweetness and grace whichaccompanied all his actions. They lamented to each other in whispers,that so charming a Youth should be exposed to the seductions of theWorld, and agreed, that He would be a worthy Pillar of the CatholicChurch. They concluded their conference by resolving that Heaven wouldbe rendered a real service if they entreated the Prioress to intercedewith Ambrosio for the Beggar's admission into the order of Capuchins.
This being determined, the Porteress, who was a person of greatinfluence in the Convent, posted away in all haste to the Domina'sCell. Here She made so flaming a narrative of Theodore's merits thatthe old Lady grew curious to see him. Accordingly, the Porteress wascommissioned to convey him to the Parlour grate. In the interim, thesupposed Beggar was sifting the Lay-Sister with respect to the fate ofAgnes: Her evidence only corroborated the Domina's assertions. Shesaid that Agnes had been taken ill on returning from confession, hadnever quitted her bed from that moment, and that She had herself beenpresent at the Funeral. She even attested having seen her dead body,and assisted with her own hands in adjusting it upon the Bier. Thisaccount discouraged Theodore: Yet as He had pushed the adventure sofar, He resolved to witness its conclusion.
The Porteress now returned, and ordered him to follow her. He obeyed,and was conducted into the Parlour, where the Lady Prioress was alreadyposted at the Grate. The Nuns surrounded her, who all flocked witheagerness to a scene which promised some diversion. Theodore salutedthem with profound respect, and his presence had the power to smoothfor a moment even the stern brow of the Superior. She asked severalquestions respecting his Parents, his religion, and what had reducedhim to a state of Beggary. To these demands his answers were perfectlysatisfactory and perfectly false. He was then asked his opinion of amonastic life: He replied in terms of high estimation and respect forit. Upon this, the Prioress told him that his obtaining an entranceinto a religious order was not impossible; that her recommendationwould not permit his poverty to be an obstacle, and that if She foundhim deserving it, He might depend in future upon her protection.Theodore assured her that to merit her favour would be his highestambition; and having ordered him to return next day, when She wouldtalk with him further, the Domina quitted the Parlour.
The Nuns, whom respect for the Superior had till then kept silent, nowcrowded all together to the Grate, and assailed the Youth with amultitude of questions
. He had already examined each with attention:Alas! Agnes was not amongst them. The Nuns heaped question uponquestion so thickly that it was scarcely possible for him to reply.One asked where He was born, since his accent declared him to be aForeigner: Another wanted to know, why He wore a patch upon his lefteye: Sister Helena enquired whether He had not a Sister like him,because She should like such a Companion; and Sister Rachael was fullypersuaded that the Brother would be the pleasanter Companion of theTwo. Theodore amused himself with retailing to the credulous Nuns fortruths all the strange stories which his imagination could invent. Herelated to them his supposed adventures, and penetrated every Auditorwith astonishment, while He talked of Giants, Savages, Ship-wrecks, andIslands inhabited
'By Anthropophagi, and Men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders,'
With many other circumstances to the full as remarkable. He said, thatHe was born in Terra Incognita, was educated at an HottentotUniversity, and had past two years among the Americans of Silesia.
'For what regards the loss of my eye' said He, 'it was a justpunishment upon me for disrespect to the Virgin, when I made my secondpilgrimage to Loretto. I stood near the Altar in the miraculousChapel: The Monks were proceeding to array the Statue in her bestapparel. The Pilgrims were ordered to close their eyes during thisceremony: But though by nature extremely religious, curiosity was toopowerful. At the moment ..... I shall penetrate you with horror,reverend Ladies, when I reveal my crime! .... At the moment thatthe Monks were changing her shift, I ventured to open my left eye, andgave a little peep towards the Statue. That look was my last! TheGlory which surrounded the Virgin was too great to be supported. Ihastily shut my sacrilegious eye, and never have been able to uncloseit since!'
At the relation of this miracle the Nuns all crossed themselves, andpromised to intercede with the blessed Virgin for the recovery of hissight. They expressed their wonder at the extent of his travels, andat the strange adventures which He had met with at so early an age.They now remarked his Guitar, and enquired whether he was an adept inMusic. He replied with modesty that it was not for him to decide uponhis talents, but requested permission to appeal to them as Judges.This was granted without difficulty.
'But at least,' said the old Porteress, 'take care not to sing anything profane.'
'You may depend upon my discretion,' replied Theodore: 'You shall hearhow dangerous it is for young Women to abandon themselves to theirpassions, illustrated by the adventure of a Damsel who fell suddenly inlove with an unknown Knight.'
'But is the adventure true?' enquired the Porteress.
'Every word of it. It happened in Denmark, and the Heroine was thoughtso beautiful that She was known by no other name but that of "thelovely Maid".'
'In Denmark, say you?' mumbled an old Nun; 'Are not the People allBlacks in Denmark?'
'By no means, reverend Lady; They are of a delicate pea-green withflame-coloured hair and whiskers.'
'Mother of God! Pea-green?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'Oh! 'tisimpossible!'
'Impossible?' said the Porteress with a look of contempt andexultation: 'Not at all: When I was a young Woman, I remember seeingseveral of them myself.'
Theodore now put his instrument in proper order. He had read the storyof a King of England whose prison was discovered by a Minstrel; and Hehoped that the same scheme would enable him to discover Agnes, shouldShe be in the Convent. He chose a Ballad which She had taught himherself in the Castle of Lindenberg: She might possibly catch thesound, and He hoped to hear her replying to some of the Stanzas. HisGuitar was now in tune, and He prepared to strike it.
'But before I begin,' said He 'it is necessary to inform you, Ladies,that this same Denmark is terribly infested by Sorcerers, Witches, andEvil Spirits. Every element possesses its appropriate Daemons. TheWoods are haunted by a malignant power, called "the Erl- orOak-King:" He it is who blights the Trees, spoils the Harvest, andcommands the Imps and Goblins: He appears in the form of an old Man ofmajestic figure, with a golden Crown and long white beard: Hisprincipal amusement is to entice young Children from their Parents, andas soon as He gets them into his Cave, He tears them into a thousandpieces--The Rivers are governed by another Fiend, called "theWater-King:" His province is to agitate the deep, occasionship-wrecks, and drag the drowning Sailors beneath the waves: He wearsthe appearance of a Warrior, and employs himself in luring youngVirgins into his snare: What He does with them, when He catches themin the water, Reverend Ladies, I leave for you to imagine--"TheFire-King" seems to be a Man all formed of flames: He raises theMeteors and wandering lights which beguile Travellers into ponds andmarshes, and He directs the lightning where it may do mostmischief--The last of these elementary Daemons is called "theCloud-King;" His figure is that of a beautiful Youth, and He isdistinguished by two large sable Wings: Though his outside is soenchanting, He is not a bit better disposed than the Others: He iscontinually employed in raising Storms, tearing up Forests by theroots, and blowing Castles and Convents about the ears of theirInhabitants. The First has a Daughter, who is Queen of the Elves andFairies; The Second has a Mother, who is a powerful Enchantress:Neither of these Ladies are worth more than the Gentlemen: I do notremember to have heard any family assigned to the two other Daemons,but at present I have no business with any of them except the Fiend ofthe Waters. He is the Hero of my Ballad; but I thought it necessarybefore I began, to give you some account of his proceedings--'
Theodore then played a short symphony; After which, stretching hisvoice to its utmost extent to facilitate its reaching the ear of Agnes,He sang the following Stanzas.
THE WATER-KING
A DANISH BALLAD
With gentle murmur flowed the Tide, While by the fragrant flowery side The lovely Maid with carols gay To Mary's Church pursued her way.
The Water-Fiend's malignant eye Along the Banks beheld her hie; Straight to his Mother-witch He sped, And thus in suppliant accents said:
'Oh! Mother! Mother! now advise, How I may yonder Maid surprize: Oh! Mother! Mother! Now explain, How I may yonder Maid obtain.'
The Witch She gave him armour white; She formed him like a gallant Knight; Of water clear next made her hand A Steed, whose housings were of sand.
The Water-King then swift He went; To Mary's Church his steps He bent: He bound his Courser to the Door, And paced the Church-yard three times four.
His Courser to the door bound He, And paced the Church-yard four time three: Then hastened up the Aisle, where all The People flocked, both great and small.
The Priest said, as the Knight drew near, 'And wherefore comes the white Chief here?' The lovely Maid She smiled aside; 'Oh! would I were the white Chief's Bride!'
He stept o'er Benches one and two; 'Oh! lovely Maid, I die for You!' He stept o'er Benches two and three; 'Oh! lovely Maiden, go with me!'
Then sweet She smiled, the lovely Maid, And while She gave her hand, She said, 'Betide me joy, betide me woe, O'er Hill, o'er dale, with thee I go.'
The Priest their hands together joins: They dance, while clear the moon-beam shines; And little thinks the Maiden bright, Her Partner is the Water-spright.
Oh! had some spirit deigned to sing, 'Your Partner is the Water-King!' The Maid had fear and hate confest, And cursed the hand which then She prest.
But nothing giving cause to think, How near She strayed to danger's brink, Still on She went, and hand in hand The Lovers reached the yellow sand.
'Ascend this Steed with me, my Dear; We needs must cross the streamlet here; Ride boldly in; It is not deep; The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.'
Thus spoke the Water-King. The Maid Her Traitor-Bride-groom's wish obeyed: And soon She saw the Courser lave Delighted in his parent wave.
'Stop! Stop! my Love! The waters blue E'en now my shrinking foot bedew!' 'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart! We now have reached the deepest part.'
'Stop! Stop! my Love!
For now I see The waters rise above my knee.' 'Oh! lay aside your fears, sweet Heart! We now have reached the deepest part.'
'Stop! Stop! for God's sake, stop! For Oh! The waters o'er my bosom flow!'-- Scarce was the word pronounced, when Knight And Courser vanished from her sight.
She shrieks, but shrieks in vain; for high The wild winds rising dull the cry; The Fiend exults; The Billows dash, And o'er their hapless Victim wash.
Three times while struggling with the stream, The lovely Maid was heard to scream; But when the Tempest's rage was o'er, The lovely Maid was seen no more.
Warned by this Tale, ye Damsels fair, To whom you give your love beware! Believe not every handsome Knight, And dance not with the Water-Spright!
The Youth ceased to sing. The Nuns were delighted with the sweetnessof his voice and masterly manner of touching the Instrument: Buthowever acceptable this applause would have been at any other time, atpresent it was insipid to Theodore. His artifice had not succeeded. Hepaused in vain between the Stanzas: No voice replied to his, and Heabandoned the hope of equalling Blondel.
The Convent Bell now warned the Nuns that it was time to assemble inthe Refectory. They were obliged to quit the Grate; They thanked theYouth for the entertainment which his Music had afforded them, andcharged him to return the next day. This He promised: The Nuns, togive him the greater inclination to keep his word, told him that Hemight always depend upon the Convent for his meals, and each of themmade him some little present. One gave him a box of sweetmeats;Another, an Agnus Dei; Some brought reliques of Saints, waxen Images,and consecrated Crosses; and Others presented him with pieces of thoseworks in which the Religious excel, such as embroidery, artificialflowers, lace, and needlework. All these He was advised to sell, inorder to put himself into better case; and He was assured that it wouldbe easy to dispose of them, since the Spaniards hold the performancesof the Nuns in high estimation. Having received these gifts withseeming respect and gratitude, He remarked that, having no Basket, Heknew not how to convey them away. Several of the Nuns were hasteningin search of one, when they were stopped by the return of an elderlyWoman, whom Theodore had not till then observed: Her mild countenance,and respectable air prejudiced him immediately in her favour.
'Hah!' said the Porteress; 'Here comes the Mother St. Ursula with aBasket.'
The Nun approached the Grate, and presented the Basket to Theodore: Itwas of willow, lined with blue satin, and upon the four sides werepainted scenes from the legend of St. Genevieve.
'Here is my gift,' said She, as She gave it into his hand; 'Good Youth,despise it not; Though its value seems insignificant, it has manyhidden virtues.'
She accompanied these words with an expressive look. It was not lostupon Theodore; In receiving the present, He drew as near the Grate aspossible.
'Agnes!' She whispered in a voice scarcely intelligible. Theodore,however, caught the sound: He concluded that some mystery wasconcealed in the Basket, and his heart beat with impatience and joy.At this moment the Domina returned. Her air was gloomy and frowning,and She looked if possible more stern than ever.
'Mother St. Ursula, I would speak with you in private.'
The Nun changed colour, and was evidently disconcerted.
'With me?' She replied in a faltering voice.
The Domina motioned that She must follow her, and retired. The MotherSt. Ursula obeyed her; Soon after, the Refectory Bell ringing a secondtime, the Nuns quitted the Grate, and Theodore was left at liberty tocarry off his prize. Delighted that at length He had obtained someintelligence for the Marquis, He flew rather than ran, till He reachedthe Hotel de las Cisternas. In a few minutes He stood by his Master'sBed with the Basket in his hand. Lorenzo was in the chamber,endeavouring to reconcile his Friend to a misfortune which He felthimself but too severely. Theodore related his adventure, and the hopeswhich had been created by the Mother St. Ursula's gift. The Marquisstarted from his pillow: That fire which since the death of Agnes hadbeen extinguished, now revived in his bosom, and his eyes sparkled withthe eagerness of expectation. The emotions which Lorenzo's countenancebetrayed, were scarcely weaker, and He waited with inexpressibleimpatience for the solution of this mystery. Raymond caught the basketfrom the hands of his Page: He emptied the contents upon the bed, andexamined them with minute attention. He hoped that a letter would befound at the bottom; Nothing of the kind appeared. The search wasresumed, and still with no better success. At length Don Raymondobserved that one corner of the blue satin lining was unripped; He toreit open hastily, and drew forth a small scrap of paper neither foldedor sealed. It was addressed to the Marquis de las Cisternas, and thecontents were as follows.
Having recognised your Page, I venture to send these few lines. Procurean order from the Cardinal-Duke for seizing my Person, and that of theDomina; But let it not be executed till Friday at midnight. It is theFestival of St. Clare: There will be a procession of Nuns bytorch-light, and I shall be among them. Beware not to let yourintention be known: Should a syllable be dropt to excite the Domina'ssuspicions, you will never hear of me more. Be cautious, if you prizethe memory of Agnes, and wish to punish her Assassins. I have that totell, will freeze your blood with horror. St. Ursula.
No sooner had the Marquis read the note than He fell back upon hispillow deprived of sense or motion. The hope failed him which till nowhad supported his existence; and these lines convinced him but toopositively that Agnes was indeed no more. Lorenzo felt thiscircumstance less forcibly, since it had always been his idea that hisSister had perished by unfair means. When He found by the Mother St.Ursula's letter how true were his suspicions, the confirmation excitedno other sentiment in his bosom than a wish to punish the Murderers asthey deserved. It was no easy task to recall the Marquis to himself.As soon as He recovered his speech, He broke out into execrationsagainst the Assassins of his Beloved, and vowed to take upon them asignal vengeance. He continued to rave and torment himself withimpotent passion till his constitution, enfeebled by grief and illness,could support itself no longer, and He relapsed into insensibility.His melancholy situation sincerely affected Lorenzo, who wouldwillingly have remained in the apartment of his Friend; But other caresnow demanded his presence. It was necessary to procure the order forseizing the Prioress of St. Clare. For this purpose, having committedRaymond to the care of the best Physicians in Madrid, He quitted theHotel de las Cisternas, and bent his course towards the Palace of theCardinal-Duke.
His disappointment was excessive, when He found that affairs of Statehad obliged the Cardinal to set out for a distant Province.
It wanted but five to Friday: Yet by travelling day and night, Hehoped to return in time for the Pilgrimage of St. Clare. In this Hesucceeded. He found the Cardinal-Duke; and represented to him thesupposed culpability of the Prioress, as also the violent effects whichit had produced upon Don Raymond. He could have used no argument soforcible as this last. Of all his Nephews, the Marquis was the onlyone to whom the Cardinal-Duke was sincerely attached: He perfectlydoated upon him, and the Prioress could have committed no greater crimein his eyes than to have endangered the life of the Marquis.Consequently, He granted the order of arrest without difficulty: Healso gave Lorenzo a letter to a principal Officer of the Inquisition,desiring him to see his mandate executed. Furnished with these papers,Medina hastened back to Madrid, which He reached on the Friday a fewhours before dark. He found the Marquis somewhat easier, but so weakand exhausted that without great exertion He could neither speak ormore. Having past an hour by his Bedside, Lorenzo left him tocommunicate his design to his Uncle, as also to give Don Ramirez deMello the Cardinal's letter. The First was petrified with horror whenHe learnt the fate of his unhappy Niece: He encouraged Lorenzo topunish her Assassins, and engaged to accompany him at night to St.Clare's Convent. Don Ramirez promised his firmest support, andselected a band of trusty Archers to prevent opposition on the part ofthe Populace.
But while Lorenzo was anxious to
unmask one religious Hypocrite, He wasunconscious of the sorrows prepared for him by Another. Aided byMatilda's infernal Agents, Ambrosio had resolved upon the innocentAntonia's ruin. The moment destined to be so fatal to her arrived.She had taken leave of her Mother for the night.
As She kissed her, She felt an unusual despondency infuse itself intoher bosom. She left her, and returned to her instantly, threw herselfinto her maternal arms, and bathed her cheek with tears: She feltuneasy at quitting her, and a secret presentiment assured her thatnever must they meet again. Elvira observed, and tried to laugh herout of this childish prejudice: She chid her mildly for encouragingsuch ungrounded sadness, and warned her how dangerous it was toencourage such ideas.
To all her remonstrances She received no other answer than,
'Mother! Dear Mother! Oh! would to God, it were Morning!'
Elvira, whose inquietude respecting her Daughter was a great obstacleto her perfect reestablishment, was still labouring under the effectsof her late severe illness. She was this Evening more than usuallyindisposed, and retired to bed before her accustomed hour. Antoniawithdrew from her Mother's chamber with regret, and till the Doorclosed, kept her eyes fixed upon her with melancholy expression. Sheretired to her own apartment; Her heart was filled with bitterness: Itseemed to her that all her prospects were blasted, and the worldcontained nothing for which it was worth existing. She sank into aChair, reclined her head upon her arm, and gazed upon the floor with avacant stare, while the most gloomy images floated before her fancy.She was still in this state of insensibility when She was disturbed byhearing a strain of soft Music breathed beneath her window. She rose,drew near the Casement, and opened it to hear it more distinctly.Having thrown her veil over her face, She ventured to look out. By thelight of the Moon She perceived several Men below with Guitars andLutes in their hands; and at a little distance from them stood Anotherwrapped in his cloak, whose stature and appearance bore a strongresemblance to Lorenzo's. She was not deceived in this conjecture. Itwas indeed Lorenzo himself, who bound by his word not to presenthimself to Antonia without his Uncle's consent, endeavoured byoccasional Serenades, to convince his Mistress that his attachmentstill existed. His stratagem had not the desired effect. Antonia wasfar from supposing that this nightly music was intended as a complimentto her: She was too modest to think herself worthy such attentions; andconcluding them to be addressed to some neighbouring Lady, She grievedto find that they were offered by Lorenzo.
The air which was played, was plaintive and melodious. It accorded withthe state of Antonia's mind, and She listened with pleasure. After asymphony of some length, it was succeeded by the sound of voices, andAntonia distinguished the following words.
SERENADE
Chorus
Oh! Breathe in gentle strain, my Lyre! 'Tis here that Beauty loves to rest: Describe the pangs of fond desire, Which rend a faithful Lover's breast.
Song
In every heart to find a Slave, In every Soul to fix his reign, In bonds to lead the wise and brave, And make the Captives kiss his chain, Such is the power of Love, and Oh! I grieve so well Love's power to know.
In sighs to pass the live-long day, To taste a short and broken sleep, For one dear Object far away, All others scorned, to watch and weep, Such are the pains of Love, and Oh! I grieve so well Love's pains to know!
To read consent in virgin eyes, To press the lip ne'er prest till then To hear the sigh of transport rise, And kiss, and kiss, and kiss again, Such are thy pleasures, Love, But Oh! When shall my heart thy pleasures know?
Chorus
Now hush, my Lyre! My voice be still! Sleep, gentle Maid! May fond desire With amorous thoughts thy visions fill, Though still my voice, and hushed my Lyre.
The Music ceased: The Performers dispersed, and silence prevailedthrough the Street. Antonia quitted the window with regret: She asusual recommended herself to the protection of St. Rosolia, said heraccustomed prayers, and retired to bed. Sleep was not long absent, andhis presence relieved her from her terrors and inquietude.
It was almost two o'clock before the lustful Monk ventured to bend hissteps towards Antonia's dwelling. It has been already mentioned thatthe Abbey was at no great distance from the Strada di San Iago. Hereached the House unobserved. Here He stopped, and hesitated for amoment. He reflected on the enormity of the crime, the consequences ofa discovery, and the probability, after what had passed, of Elvira'ssuspecting him to be her Daughter's Ravisher: On the other hand it wassuggested that She could do no more than suspect; that no proofs of hisguilt could be produced; that it would seem impossible for the rape tohave been committed without Antonia's knowing when, where, or by whom;and finally, He believed that his fame was too firmly established to beshaken by the unsupported accusations of two unknown Women. Thislatter argument was perfectly false: He knew not how uncertain is theair of popular applause, and that a moment suffices to make him todaythe detestation of the world, who yesterday was its Idol. The resultof the Monk's deliberations was that He should proceed in hisenterprize. He ascended the steps leading to the House. No sooner didHe touch the door with the silver Myrtle, than it flew open, andpresented him with a free passage. He entered, and the door closedafter him of its own accord.
Guided by the moonbeams, He proceeded up the Staircase with slow andcautious steps. He looked round him every moment with apprehension andanxiety. He saw a Spy in every shadow, and heard a voice in everymurmur of the night breeze. Consciousness of the guilty business onwhich He was employed appalled his heart, and rendered it more timidthan a Woman's. Yet still He proceeded. He reached the door ofAntonia's chamber. He stopped, and listened. All was hushed within.The total silence persuaded him that his intended Victim was retired torest, and He ventured to lift up the Latch. The door was fastened, andresisted his efforts: But no sooner was it touched by the Talisman,than the Bolt flew back. The Ravisher stept on, and found himself inthe chamber, where slept the innocent Girl, unconscious how dangerous aVisitor was drawing near her Couch. The door closed after him, and theBolt shot again into its fastening.
Ambrosio advanced with precaution. He took care that not a boardshould creak under his foot, and held in his breath as He approachedthe Bed. His first attention was to perform the magic ceremony, asMatilda had charged him: He breathed thrice upon the silver Myrtle,pronounced over it Antonia's name, and laid it upon her pillow. Theeffects which it had already produced permitted not his doubting itssuccess in prolonging the slumbers of his devoted Mistress. No soonerwas the enchantment performed than He considered her to be absolutelyin his power, and his eyes flamed with lust and impatience. He nowventured to cast a glance upon the sleeping Beauty. A single Lamp,burning before the Statue of St. Rosolia, shed a faint light throughthe room, and permitted him to examine all the charms of the lovelyObject before him. The heat of the weather had obliged her to throwoff part of the Bed-cloathes: Those which still covered her,Ambrosio's insolent hand hastened to remove. She lay with her cheekreclining upon one ivory arm; The Other rested on the side of the Bedwith graceful indolence. A few tresses of her hair had escaped frombeneath the Muslin which confined the rest, and fell carelessly overher bosom, as it heaved with slow and regular suspiration. The warmair had spread her cheek with higher colour than usual. A smileinexpressibly sweet played round her ripe and coral lips, from whichevery now and then escaped a gentle sigh or an half-pronouncedsentence. An air of enchanting innocence and candour pervaded herwhole form; and there was a sort of modesty in her very nakedness whichadded fresh stings to the desires of the lustful Monk.
He remained for some moments devouring those charms with his eyes whichsoon were to be subjected to his ill-regulated passions. Her mouthhalf-opened seemed to solicit a kiss: He bent over her; he joined hislips to hers, and drew in the fragrance of her breath with rapture.This momentary pleasure increased his longing for still greater. Hisdesires were raised to that frantic height by
which Brutes areagitated. He resolved not to delay for one instant longer theaccomplishment of his wishes, and hastily proceeded to tear off thosegarments which impeded the gratification of his lust.
'Gracious God!' exclaimed a voice behind him; 'Am I not deceived?
Is not this an illusion?'
Terror, confusion, and disappointment accompanied these words, as theystruck Ambrosio's hearing. He started, and turned towards it. Elvirastood at the door of the chamber, and regarded the Monk with looks ofsurprize and detestation.
A frightful dream had represented to her Antonia on the verge of aprecipice. She saw her trembling on the brink: Every moment seemed tothreaten her fall, and She heard her exclaim with shrieks, 'Save me,Mother! Save me!--Yet a moment, and it will be too late!' Elvira wokein terror. The vision had made too strong an impression upon her mind,to permit her resting till assured of her Daughter's safety. Shehastily started from her Bed, threw on a loose night-gown, and passingthrough the Closet in which slept the Waiting-woman, She reachedAntonia's chamber just in time to rescue her from the grasp of theRavisher.
His shame and her amazement seemed to have petrified into Statues bothElvira and the Monk: They remained gazing upon each other in silence.The Lady was the first to recover herself.
'It is no dream!' She cried; 'It is really Ambrosio, who stands beforeme! It is the Man whom Madrid esteems a Saint, that I find at thislate hour near the Couch of my unhappy Child! Monster of Hypocrisy! Ialready suspected your designs, but forbore your accusation in pity tohuman frailty. Silence would now be criminal: The whole City shall beinformed of your incontinence. I will unmask you, Villain, andconvince the Church what a Viper She cherishes in her bosom.'
Pale and confused the baffled Culprit stood trembling before her.
He would fain have extenuated his offence, but could find no apologyfor his conduct: He could produce nothing but broken sentences, andexcuses which contradicted each other. Elvira was too justly incensedto grant the pardon which He requested. She protested that She wouldraise the neighbourhood, and make him an example to all futureHypocrites. Then hastening to the Bed, She called to Antonia to wake;and finding that her voice had no effect, She took her arm, and raisedher forcibly from the pillow. The charm operated too powerfully.Antonia remained insensible, and on being released by her Mother, sankback upon the pillow.
'This slumber cannot be natural!' cried the amazed Elvira, whoseindignation increased with every moment. 'Some mystery is concealed init; But tremble, Hypocrite; all your villainy shall soon be unravelled!Help! Help!' She exclaimed aloud; 'Within there! Flora! Flora!'
'Hear me for one moment, Lady!' cried the Monk, restored to himself bythe urgency of the danger; 'By all that is sacred and holy, I swearthat your Daughter's honour is still unviolated. Forgive mytransgression! Spare me the shame of a discovery, and permit me toregain the Abbey undisturbed. Grant me this request in mercy! Ipromise not only that Antonia shall be secure from me in future, butthat the rest of my life shall prove .....'
Elvira interrupted him abruptly.
'Antonia secure from you? _I_ will secure her! You shall betray nolonger the confidence of Parents! Your iniquity shall be unveiled tothe public eye: All Madrid shall shudder at your perfidy, yourhypocrisy and incontinence. What Ho! there! Flora! Flora, I say!'
While She spoke thus, the remembrance of Agnes struck upon his mind.Thus had She sued to him for mercy, and thus had He refused her prayer!It was now his turn to suffer, and He could not but acknowledge thathis punishment was just. In the meanwhile Elvira continued to callFlora to her assistance; but her voice was so choaked with passion thatthe Servant, who was buried in profound slumber, was insensible to allher cries: Elvira dared not go towards the Closet in which Flora slept,lest the Monk should take that opportunity to escape. Such indeed washis intention: He trusted that could He reach the Abbey unobserved byany other than Elvira, her single testimony would not suffice to ruin areputation so well established as his was in Madrid. With this idea Hegathered up such garments as He had already thrown off, and hastenedtowards the Door. Elvira was aware of his design; She followed him,and ere He could draw back the bolt, seized him by the arm, anddetained him.
'Attempt not to fly!' said She; 'You quit not this room withoutWitnesses of your guilt.'
Ambrosio struggled in vain to disengage himself. Elvira quitted nother hold, but redoubled her cries for succour. The Friar's danger grewmore urgent. He expected every moment to hear people assembling at hervoice; And worked up to madness by the approach of ruin, He adopted aresolution equally desperate and savage. Turning round suddenly, withone hand He grasped Elvira's throat so as to prevent her continuing herclamour, and with the other, dashing her violently upon the ground, Hedragged her towards the Bed. Confused by this unexpected attack, Shescarcely had power to strive at forcing herself from his grasp: Whilethe Monk, snatching the pillow from beneath her Daughter's head,covering with it Elvira's face, and pressing his knee upon her stomachwith all his strength, endeavoured to put an end to her existence. Hesucceeded but too well. Her natural strength increased by the excessof anguish, long did the Sufferer struggle to disengage herself, but invain. The Monk continued to kneel upon her breast, witnessed withoutmercy the convulsive trembling of her limbs beneath him, and sustainedwith inhuman firmness the spectacle of her agonies, when soul and bodywere on the point of separating. Those agonies at length were over.She ceased to struggle for life. The Monk took off the pillow, andgazed upon her. Her face was covered with a frightful blackness:
Her limbs moved no more; The blood was chilled in her veins; Her hearthad forgotten to beat, and her hands were stiff and frozen.
Ambrosio beheld before him that once noble and majestic form, nowbecome a Corse, cold, senseless and disgusting.
This horrible act was no sooner perpetrated, than the Friar beheld theenormity of his crime. A cold dew flowed over his limbs; his eyesclosed; He staggered to a chair, and sank into it almost as lifeless asthe Unfortunate who lay extended at his feet. From this state He wasrouzed by the necessity of flight, and the danger of being found inAntonia's apartment. He had no desire to profit by the execution ofhis crime. Antonia now appeared to him an object of disgust. A deadlycold had usurped the place of that warmth which glowed in his bosom:No ideas offered themselves to his mind but those of death and guilt,of present shame and future punishment. Agitated by remorse and fearHe prepared for flight: Yet his terrors did not so compleatly masterhis recollection, as to prevent his taking the precautions necessaryfor his safety. He replaced the pillow upon the bed, gathered up hisgarments, and with the fatal Talisman in his hand, bent his unsteadysteps towards the door. Bewildered by fear, He fancied that his flightwas opposed by Legions of Phantoms; Whereever He turned, the disfiguredCorse seemed to lie in his passage, and it was long before He succeededin reaching the door. The enchanted Myrtle produced its former effect.The door opened, and He hastened down the staircase. He entered theAbbey unobserved, and having shut himself into his Cell, He abandonedhis soul to the tortures of unavailing remorse, and terrors ofimpending detection.