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A. Merritt - "The Moon Pool"

Christoph Martin Wieland - "Geschichte des Agathon, Teil 1"

Plato - "Apology"

Anthony Trollope - "The Prime Minister"

The Monk

M >> Matthew Lewis >> The Monk




Even Lorenzo could not resist the charm: He forgot that Antonia
was seated near him, and listened to the Preacher with undivided
attention.

In language nervous, clear, and simple, the Monk expatiated on
the beauties of Religion. He explained some abstruse parts of
the sacred writings in a style that carried with it universal
conviction. His voice at once distinct and deep was fraught with
all the terrors of the Tempest, while He inveighed against the
vices of humanity, and described the punishments reserved for
them in a future state. Every Hearer looked back upon his past
offences, and trembled: The Thunder seemed to roll, whose bolt
was destined to crush him, and the abyss of eternal destruction
to open before his feet. But when Ambrosio, changing his theme,
spoke of the excellence of an unsullied conscience, of the
glorious prospect which Eternity presented to the Soul untainted
with reproach, and of the recompense which awaited it in the
regions of everlasting glory, His Auditors felt their scattered
spirits insensibly return. They threw themselves with confidence
upon the mercy of their Judge; They hung with delight upon the
consoling words of the Preacher; and while his full voice swelled
into melody, They were transported to those happy regions which
He painted to their imaginations in colours so brilliant and
glowing.

The discourse was of considerable length; Yet when it concluded,
the Audience grieved that it had not lasted longer. Though the
Monk had ceased to speak, enthusiastic silence still prevailed
through the Church: At length the charm gradually dissolving,
the general admiration was expressed in audible terms. As
Ambrosio descended from the Pulpit, His Auditors crowded round
him, loaded him with blessings, threw themselves at his feet, and
kissed the hem of his Garment. He passed on slowly with his
hands crossed devoutly upon his bosom, to the door opening into
the Abbey Chapel, at which his Monks waited to receive him. He
ascended the Steps, and then turning towards his Followers,
addressed to them a few words of gratitude, and exhortation.
While He spoke, his Rosary, composed of large grains of amber,
fell from his hand, and dropped among the surrounding multitude.
It was seized eagerly, and immediately divided amidst the
Spectators. Whoever became possessor of a Bead, preserved it as
a sacred relique; and had it been the Chaplet of thrice-blessed
St. Francis himself, it could not have been disputed with greater
vivacity. The Abbot, smiling at their eagerness, pronounced his
benediction, and quitted the Church, while humility dwelt upon
every feature. Dwelt She also in his heart?

Antonia's eyes followed him with anxiety. As the Door closed
after him, it seemed to her as had she lost some one essential to
her happiness. A tear stole in silence down her cheek.

'He is separated from the world!' said She to herself; 'Perhaps,
I shall never see him more!'

As she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo observed her action.

'Are you satisfied with our Orator?' said He; 'Or do you think
that Madrid overrates his talents?'

Antonia's heart was so filled with admiration for the Monk, that
She eagerly seized the opportunity of speaking of him: Besides,
as She now no longer considered Lorenzo as an absolute Stranger,
She was less embarrassed by her excessive timidity.

'Oh! He far exceeds all my expectations,' answered She; 'Till
this moment I had no idea of the powers of eloquence. But when
He spoke, his voice inspired me with such interest, such esteem,
I might almost say such affection for him, that I am myself
astonished at the acuteness of my feelings.'

Lorenzo smiled at the strength of her expressions.

'You are young and just entering into life,' said He; 'Your
heart, new to the world and full of warmth and sensibility,
receives its first impressions with eagerness. Artless yourself,
you suspect not others of deceit; and viewing the world through
the medium of your own truth and innocence, you fancy all who
surround you to deserve your confidence and esteem. What pity,
that these gay visions must soon be dissipated! What pity, that
you must soon discover the baseness of mankind, and guard against
your fellow-creatures as against your Foes!'

'Alas! Segnor,' replied Antonia; 'The misfortunes of my Parents
have already placed before me but too many sad examples of the
perfidy of the world! Yet surely in the present instance the
warmth of sympathy cannot have deceived me.'

'In the present instance, I allow that it has not. Ambrosio's
character is perfectly without reproach; and a Man who has passed
the whole of his life within the walls of a Convent cannot have
found the opportunity to be guilty, even were He possessed of the
inclination. But now, when, obliged by the duties of his
situation, He must enter occasionally into the world, and be
thrown into the way of temptation, it is now that it behoves him
to show the brilliance of his virtue. The trial is dangerous; He
is just at that period of life when the passions are most
vigorous, unbridled, and despotic; His established reputation
will mark him out to Seduction as an illustrious Victim; Novelty
will give additional charms to the allurements of pleasure; and
even the Talents with which Nature has endowed him will
contribute to his ruin, by facilitating the means of obtaining
his object. Very few would return victorious from a contest so
severe.'

'Ah! surely Ambrosio will be one of those few.'

'Of that I have myself no doubt: By all accounts He is an
exception to mankind in general, and Envy would seek in vain for
a blot upon his character.'

'Segnor, you delight me by this assurance! It encourages me to
indulge my prepossession in his favour; and you know not with
what pain I should have repressed the sentiment! Ah! dearest
Aunt, entreat my Mother to choose him for our Confessor.'

'I entreat her?' replied Leonella; 'I promise you that I shall do
no such thing. I do not like this same Ambrosio in the least; He
has a look of severity about him that made me tremble from head
to foot: Were He my Confessor, I should never have the courage
to avow one half of my peccadilloes, and then I should be in a
rare condition! I never saw such a stern-looking Mortal, and
hope that I never shall see such another. His description of the
Devil, God bless us! almost terrified me out of my wits, and when
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
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 was 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.'

Scarcely had Don Christoval ceased to speak, when the Domina of
St. Clare appeared, followed by a long procession of Nuns. Each
upon entering the Church took off her veil. The Prioress crossed
her hands upon her bosom, and made a profound reverence as She
passed the Statue of St. Francis, the Patron of this Cathedral.
The Nuns followed her example, and several moved onwards without
having satisfied Lorenzo's curiosity. He almost began to despair
of seeing the mystery cleared up, when in paying her respects to
St. Francis, one of the Nuns happened to drop her Rosary. As She
stooped to pick it up, the light flashed full upon her face. At
the same moment She dexterously removed the letter from beneath
the Image, placed it in her bosom, and hastened to resume her
rank in the procession.

'Ha!' said Christoval in a low voice; 'Here we have some little
Intrigue, no doubt.'

'Agnes, by heaven!' cried Lorenzo.

'What, your Sister? Diavolo! Then somebody, I suppose, will
have to pay for our peeping.'

'And shall pay for it without delay,' replied the incensed
Brother.

The pious procession had now entered the Abbey; The Door was
already closed upon it. The Unknown immediately quitted his
concealment and hastened to leave the Church: Ere He could
effect his intention, He descried Medina stationed in his
passage. The Stranger hastily retreated, and drew his Hat over
his eyes.

'Attempt not to fly me!' exclaimed Lorenzo; 'I will know who you
are, and what were the contents of that Letter.'

'Of that Letter?' repeated the Unknown. 'And by what title do
you ask the question?'

'By a title of which I am now ashamed; But it becomes not you to
question me. Either reply circumstantially to my demands, or
answer me with your Sword.'

'The latter method will be the shortest,' rejoined the Other,
drawing his Rapier; 'Come on, Segnor Bravo! I am ready!'

Burning with rage, Lorenzo hastened to the attack: The
Antagonists had already exchanged several passes before
Christoval, who at that moment had more sense than either of
them, could throw himself between their weapons.

'Hold! Hold! Medina!' He exclaimed; 'Remember the consequences
of shedding blood on consecrated ground!'

The Stranger immediately dropped his Sword.

'Medina?' He cried; 'Great God, is it possible! Lorenzo, have you
quite forgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?'

Lorenzo's astonishment increased with every succeeding moment.
Raymond advanced towards him, but with a look of suspicion He
drew back his hand, which the Other was preparing to take.

'You here, Marquis? What is the meaning of all this? You
engaged in a clandestine correspondence with my Sister, whose
affections. . . .'

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