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Gustave le Bon - "The Crowd"

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - "Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre Buch 1"

Roger Ascham - "The Scholemaster"

Stanley Weyman - "The House of the Wolf"

The Monk

M >> Matthew Lewis >> The Monk




Her persuasions induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the
Veil: But another argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight
with her than all the others put together. She had seen Lorenzo,
when He visited his Sister at the Grate. His Person pleased her,
and her conversations with Agnes generally used to terminate in
some question about her Brother. She, who doted upon Lorenzo,
wished for no better than an opportunity to trumpet out his
praise. She spoke of him in terms of rapture; and to convince
her Auditor how just were his sentiments, how cultivated his
mind, and elegant his expressions, She showed her at different
times the letters which She received from him. She soon
perceived that from these communications the heart of her young
Friend had imbibed impressions, which She was far from intending
to give, but was truly happy to discover. She could not have
wished her Brother a more desirable union: Heiress of
Villa-Franca, virtuous, affectionate, beautiful, and
accomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him happy. She
sounded her Brother upon the subject, though without mentioning
names or circumstances. He assured her in his answers that his
heart and hand were totally disengaged, and She thought that
upon these grounds She might proceed without danger. She in
consequence endeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her
Friend. Lorenzo was made the constant topic of her discourse;
and the avidity with which her Auditor listened, the sighs which
frequently escaped from her bosom, and the eagerness with which
upon any digression She brought back the conversation to the
subject whence it had wandered, sufficed to convince Agnes that
her Brother's addresses would be far from disagreeable. She at
length ventured to mention her wishes to the Duke: Though a
Stranger to the Lady herself, He knew enough of her situation to
think her worthy his Nephew's hand. It was agreed between him
and his Niece, that She should insinuate the idea to Lorenzo, and
She only waited his return to Madrid to propose her Friend to him
as his Bride. The unfortunate events which took place in the
interim, prevented her from executing her design. Virginia wept
her loss sincerely, both as a Companion, and as the only Person
to whom She could speak of Lorenzo. Her passion continued to
prey upon her heart in secret, and She had almost determined to
confess her sentiments to her Mother, when accident once more
threw their object in her way. The sight of him so near her, his
politeness, his compassion, his intrepidity, had combined to give
new ardour to her affection. When She now found her Friend and
Advocate restored to her, She looked upon her as a Gift from
Heaven; She ventured to cherish the hope of being united to
Lorenzo, and resolved to use with him his Sister's influence.

Supposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made
the proposal, the Duke had placed all his Nephew's hints of
marriage to Virginia's account: Consequently, He gave them the
most favourable reception. On returning to his Hotel, the
relation given him of Antonia's death, and Lorenzo's behaviour on
the occasion, made evident his mistake. He lamented the
circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being effectually out of the
way, He trusted that his designs would yet be executed. 'Tis
true that Lorenzo's situation just then ill-suited him for
a Bridegroom. His hopes disappointed at the moment when He
expected to realize them, and the dreadful and sudden death of
his Mistress had affected him very severely. The Duke found him
upon the Bed of sickness. His Attendants expressed serious
apprehensions for his life; But the Uncle entertained not the
same fears. He was of opinion, and not unwisely, that 'Men have
died, and worms have eat them; but not for Love!' He therefore
flattered himself that however deep might be the impression made
upon his Nephew's heart, Time and Virginia would be able to
efface it. He now hastened to the afflicted Youth, and
endeavoured to console him: He sympathised in his distress, but
encouraged him to resist the encroachments of despair. He
allowed that He could not but feel shocked at an event so
terrible, nor could He blame his sensibility; But He besought him
not to torment himself with vain regrets, and rather to struggle
with affliction, and preserve his life, if not for his own sake,
at least for the sake of those who were fondly attached to him.
While He laboured thus to make Lorenzo forget Antonia's loss, the
Duke paid his court assiduously to Virginia, and seized every
opportunity to advance his Nephew's interest in her heart.

It may easily be expected that Agnes was not long without
enquiring after Don Raymond. She was shocked to hear the
wretched situation to which grief had reduced him; Yet She could
not help exulting secretly, when She reflected, that his illness
proved the sincerity of his love. The Duke undertook the office
himself, of announcing to the Invalid the happiness which awaited
him. Though He omitted no precaution to prepare him for such an
event, at this sudden change from despair to happiness Raymond's
transports were so violent, as nearly to have proved fatal to
him. These once passed, the tranquillity of his mind, the
assurance of felicity, and above all the presence of Agnes, (Who
was no sooner reestablished by the care of Virginia and the
Marchioness, than She hastened to attend her Lover) soon enabled
him to overcome the effects of his late dreadful malady. The
calm of his soul communicated itself to his body, and He
recovered with such rapidity as to create universal surprize.

No so Lorenzo. Antonia's death accompanied with such terrible
circumstances weighed upon his mind heavily. He was worn down to
a shadow. Nothing could give him pleasure. He was persuaded
with difficulty to swallow nourishment sufficient for the support
of life, and a consumption was apprehended. The society of Agnes
formed his only comfort. Though accident had never permitted
their being much together, He entertained for her a sincere
friendship and attachment. Perceiving how necessary She was to
him, She seldom quitted his chamber. She listened to his
complaints with unwearied attention, and soothed him by the
gentleness of her manners, and by sympathising with his distress.
She still inhabited the Palace de Villa-Franca, the Possessors of
which treated her with marked affection. The Duke had intimated
to the Marquis his wishes respecting Virginia. The match was
unexceptionable: Lorenzo was Heir to his Uncle's immense
property, and was distinguished in Madrid for his agreeable
person, extensive knowledge, and propriety of conduct: Add to
this, that the Marchioness had discovered how strong was her
Daughter's prepossession in his favour.

In consequence the Duke's proposal was accepted without
hesitation: Every precaution was taken to induce Lorenzo's
seeing the Lady with those sentiments which She so well merited
to excite. In her visits to her Brother Agnes was frequently
accompanied by the Marchioness; and as soon as He was able to
move into his Antichamber, Virginia under her mother's
protection was sometimes permitted to express her wishes for his
recovery. This She did with such delicacy, the manner in which
She mentioned Antonia was so tender and soothing, and when She
lamented her Rival's melancholy fate, her bright eyes shone so
beautiful through her tears, that Lorenzo could not behold, or
listen to her without emotion. His Relations, as well as the
Lady, perceived that with every day her society seemed to give
him fresh pleasure, and that He spoke of her in terms of stronger
admiration. However, they prudently kept their observations to
themselves. No word was dropped which might lead him to suspect
their designs. They continued their former conduct and
attention, and left Time to ripen into a warmer sentiment the
friendship which He already felt for Virginia.

In the mean while, her visits became more frequent; and latterly
there was scarce a day, of which She did not pass some part by
the side of Lorenzo's Couch. He gradually regained his strength,
but the progress of his recovery was slow and doubtful. One
evening He seemed to be in better spirits than usual: Agnes and
her Lover, the Duke, Virginia, and her Parents were sitting round
him. He now for the first time entreated his Sister to inform
him how She had escaped the effects of the poison which St.
Ursula had seen her swallow. Fearful of recalling those scenes
to his mind in which Antonia had perished, She had hitherto
concealed from him the history of her sufferings. As He now
started the subject himself, and thinking that perhaps the
narrative of her sorrows might draw him from the contemplation of
those on which He dwelt too constantly, She immediately complied
with his request. The rest of the company had already heard her
story; But the interest which all present felt for its Heroine
made them anxious to hear it repeated. The whole society
seconding Lorenzo's entreaties, Agnes obeyed. She first
recounted the discovery which had taken place in the
Abbey Chapel, the Domina's resentment, and the midnight scene of
which St. Ursula had been a concealed witness. Though the Nun
had already described this latter event, Agnes now related it
more circumstantially and at large: After which She proceeded in
her narrative as follows.

Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina

My supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies. Those
moments which I believed my last, were embittered by the Domina's
assurances that I could not escape perdition; and as my eyes
closed, I heard her rage exhale itself in curses on my offence.
The horror of this situation, of a death-bed from which hope was
banished, of a sleep from which I was only to wake to find myself
the prey of flames and Furies, was more dreadful than I can
describe. When animation revived in me, my soul was still
impressed with these terrible ideas: I looked round with fear,
expecting to behold the Ministers of divine vengeance. For the
first hour, my senses were so bewildered, and my brain so dizzy,
that I strove in vain to arrange the strange images which floated
in wild confusion before me. If I endeavoured to raise myself
from the ground, the wandering of my head deceived me. Every
thing around me seemed to rock, and I sank once more upon the
earth. My weak and dazzled eyes were unable to bear a nearer
approach to a gleam of light which I saw trembling above me. I
was compelled to close them again, and remain motionless in the
same posture.

A full hour elapsed, before I was sufficiently myself to examine
the surrounding Objects. When I did examine them, what terror
filled my bosom I found myself extended upon a sort of wicker
Couch: It had six handles to it, which doubtless had served the
Nuns to convey me to my grave. I was covered with a linen cloth:

Several faded flowers were strown over me: On one side lay a
small wooden Crucifix; On the other, a Rosary of large Beads.
Four low narrow walls confined me. The top was also covered, and
in it was practised a small grated Door: Through this was
admitted the little air which circulated in this miserable
place. A faint glimmering of light which streamed through the
Bars, permitted me to distinguish the surrounding horrors. I was
opprest by a noisome suffocating smell; and perceiving that the
grated door was unfastened, I thought that I might possibly
effect my escape. As I raised myself with this design, my hand
rested upon something soft: I grasped it, and advanced it
towards the light. Almighty God! What was my disgust, my
consternation! In spite of its putridity, and the worms which
preyed upon it, I perceived a corrupted human head, and
recognised the features of a Nun who had died some months before!

I threw it from me, and sank almost lifeless upon my Bier.

When my strength returned, this circumstance, and the
consciousness of being surrounded by the loathsome and mouldering
Bodies of my Companions, increased my desire to escape from my
fearful prison. I again moved towards the light. The grated
door was within my reach: I lifted it without difficulty;
Probably it had been left unclosed to facilitate my quitting the
dungeon. Aiding myself by the irregularity of the Walls some of
whose stones projected beyond the rest, I contrived to ascend
them, and drag myself out of my prison. I now found Myself in a
Vault tolerably spacious. Several Tombs, similar in appearance
to that whence I had just escaped, were ranged along the sides in
order, and seemed to be considerably sunk within the earth. A
sepulchral Lamp was suspended from the roof by an iron chain, and
shed a gloomy light through the dungeon. Emblems of Death were
seen on every side: Skulls, shoulder-blades, thigh-bones, and
other leavings of Mortality were scattered upon the dewy ground.
Each Tomb was ornamented with a large Crucifix, and in one corner
stood a wooden Statue of St. Clare. To these objects I at first
paid no attention: A Door, the only outlet from the Vault, had
attracted my eyes. I hastened towards it, having wrapped my
winding-sheet closely round me. I pushed against the door, and
to my inexpressible terror found that it was fastened on the
outside.

I guessed immediately that the Prioress, mistaking the nature of
the liquor which She had compelled me to drink, instead of poison
had administered a strong Opiate. From this I concluded that
being to all appearance dead I had received the rites of burial;
and that deprived of the power of making my existence known, it
would be my fate to expire of hunger. This idea penetrated me
with horror, not merely for my own sake, but that of the innocent
Creature, who still lived within my bosom. I again endeavoured
to open the door, but it resisted all my efforts. I stretched my
voice to the extent of its compass, and shrieked for aid: I was
remote from the hearing of every one: No friendly voice replied
to mine. A profound and melancholy silence prevailed through the
Vault, and I despaired of liberty. My long abstinence from food
now began to torment me. The tortures which hunger inflicted on
me, were the most painful and insupportable: Yet they seemed to
increase with every hour which past over my head. Sometimes I
threw myself upon the ground, and rolled upon it wild and
desperate: Sometimes starting up, I returned to the door, again
strove to force it open, and repeated my fruitless cries for
succour. Often was I on the point of striking my temple against
the sharp corner of some Monument, dashing out my brains, and
thus terminating my woes at once; But still the remembrance of my
Baby vanquished my resolution: I trembled at a deed which
equally endangered my Child's existence and my own. Then would I
vent my anguish in loud exclamations and passionate complaints;
and then again my strength failing me, silent and hopeless I
would sit me down upon the base of St. Clare's Statue, fold my
arms, and abandon myself to sullen despair. Thus passed several
wretched hours. Death advanced towards me with rapid strides,
and I expected that every succeeding moment would be that of my
dissolution. Suddenly a neighbouring Tomb caught my eye: A
Basket stood upon it, which till then I had not observed. I
started from my seat: I made towards it as swiftly as my
exhausted frame would permit. How eagerly did I seize the
Basket, on finding it to contain a loaf of coarse bread and a
small bottle of water.

I threw myself with avidity upon these humble aliments. They had
to all appearance been placed in the Vault for several days; The
bread was hard, and the water tainted; Yet never did I taste food
to me so delicious. When the cravings of appetite were
satisfied, I busied myself with conjectures upon this new
circumstance: I debated whether the Basket had been placed there
with a view to my necessity. Hope answered my doubts in the
affirmative. Yet who could guess me to be in need of such
assistance? If my existence was known, why was I detained in
this gloomy Vault? If I was kept a Prisoner, what meant the
ceremony of committing me to the Tomb? Or if I was doomed to
perish with hunger, to whose pity was I indebted for provisions
placed within my reach? A Friend would not have kept my dreadful
punishment a secret; Neither did it seem probable that an Enemy
would have taken pains to supply me with the means of existence.
Upon the whole I was inclined to think that the Domina's designs
upon my life had been discovered by some one of my Partizans in
the Convent, who had found means to substitute an opiate for
poison: That She had furnished me with food to support me, till
She could effect my delivery: And that She was then employed in
giving intelligence to my Relations of my danger, and pointing
out a way to release me from captivity. Yet why then was the
quality of my provisions so coarse? How could my Friend have
entered the Vault without the Domina's knowledge? And if She had
entered, why was the Door fastened so carefully? These
reflections staggered me: Yet still this idea was the most
favourable to my hopes, and I dwelt upon it in preference.

My meditations were interrupted by the sound of distant
footsteps. They approached, but slowly. Rays of light now
darted through the crevices of the Door. Uncertain whether the
Persons who advanced came to relieve me, or were conducted by
some other motive to the Vault, I failed not to attract their
notice by loud cries for help. Still the sounds drew near: The
light grew stronger: At length with inexpressible pleasure I
heard the Key turning in the Lock. Persuaded that my deliverance
was at hand, I flew towards the Door with a shriek of joy. It
opened: But all my hopes of escape died away, when the Prioress
appeared followed by the same four Nuns, who had been witnesses
of my supposed death. They bore torches in their hands, and
gazed upon me in fearful silence.

I started back in terror. The Domina descended into the Vault,
as did also her Companions. She bent upon me a stern resentful
eye, but expressed no surprize at finding me still living. She
took the seat which I had just quitted: The door was again
closed, and the Nuns ranged themselves behind their Superior,
while the glare of their torches, dimmed by the vapours and
dampness of the Vault, gilded with cold beams the surrounding
Monuments. For some moments all preserved a dead and solemn
silence. I stood at some distance from the Prioress. At length
She beckoned me to advance. Trembling at the severity of her
aspect my strength scarce sufficed me to obey her. I drew near,
but my limbs were unable to support their burthen. I sank upon
my knees; I clasped my hands, and lifted them up to her for
mercy, but had no power to articulate a syllable.

She gazed upon me with angry eyes.

'Do I see a Penitent, or a Criminal?' She said at length; 'Are
those hands raised in contrition for your crimes, or in fear of
meeting their punishment? Do those tears acknowledge the justice
of your doom, or only solicit mitigation of your sufferings? I
fear me, 'tis the latter!'

She paused, but kept her eye still fixt upon mine.

'Take courage;' She continued: 'I wish not for your death, but
your repentance. The draught which I administered, was no
poison, but an opiate. My intention in deceiving you was to
make you feel the agonies of a guilty conscience, had Death
overtaken you suddenly while your crimes were still unrepented.
You have suffered those agonies: I have brought you to be
familiar with the sharpness of death, and I trust that your
momentary anguish will prove to you an eternal benefit. It is
not my design to destroy your immortal soul; or bid you seek the
grave, burthened with the weight of sins unexpiated. No,
Daughter, far from it: I will purify you with wholesome
chastisement, and furnish you with full leisure for contrition
and remorse. Hear then my sentence; The ill-judged zeal of your
Friends delayed its execution, but cannot now prevent it. All
Madrid believes you to be no more; Your Relations are thoroughly
persuaded of your death, and the Nuns your Partizans have
assisted at your funeral. Your existence can never be suspected;
I have taken such precautions, as must render it an impenetrable
mystery. Then abandon all thoughts of a World from which you are
eternally separated, and employ the few hours which are allowed
you, in preparing for the next.'

This exordium led me to expect something terrible. I trembled,
and would have spoken to deprecate her wrath: but a motion of the
Domina commanded me to be silent. She proceeded.

'Though of late years unjustly neglected, and now opposed by many
of our misguided Sisters, (whom Heaven convert!) it is my
intention to revive the laws of our order in their full force.
That against incontinence is severe, but no more than so
monstrous an offence demands: Submit to it, Daughter, without
resistance; You will find the benefit of patience and resignation
in a better life than this. Listen then to the sentence of St.
Clare. Beneath these Vaults there exist Prisons, intended to
receive such criminals as yourself: Artfully is their entrance
concealed, and She who enters them, must resign all hopes of
liberty. Thither must you now be conveyed. Food shall be
supplied you, but not sufficient for the indulgence of appetite:
You shall have just enough to keep together body and soul, and
its quality shall be the simplest and coarsest. Weep, Daughter,
weep, and moisten your bread with your tears: God knows that
you have ample cause for sorrow! Chained down in one of these
secret dungeons, shut out from the world and light for ever, with
no comfort but religion, no society but repentance, thus must you
groan away the remainder of your days. Such are St. Clare's
orders; Submit to them without repining. Follow me!'

Thunderstruck at this barbarous decree, my little remaining
strength abandoned me. I answered only by falling at her feet,
and bathing them with tears. The Domina, unmoved by my
affliction, rose from her seat with a stately air. She repeated
her commands in an absolute tone: But my excessive faintness
made me unable to obey her. Mariana and Alix raised me from the
ground, and carried me forwards in their arms. The Prioress
moved on, leaning upon Violante, and Camilla preceded her with a
Torch. Thus passed our sad procession along the passages, in
silence only broken by my sighs and groans. We stopped before
the principal shrine of St. Clare. The Statue was removed from
its Pedestal, though how I knew not. The Nuns afterwards raised
an iron grate till then concealed by the Image, and let it fall
on the other side with a loud crash. The awful sound, repeated
by the vaults above, and Caverns below me, rouzed me from the
despondent apathy in which I had been plunged. I looked before
me: An abyss presented itself to my affrighted eyes, and a steep
and narrow Staircase, whither my Conductors were leading me. I
shrieked, and started back. I implored compassion, rent the air
with my cries, and summoned both heaven and earth to my
assistance. In vain! I was hurried down the Staircase, and
forced into one of the Cells which lined the Cavern's sides.

My blood ran cold, as I gazed upon this melancholy abode. The
cold vapours hovering in the air, the walls green with damp, the
bed of Straw so forlorn and comfortless, the Chain destined to
bind me for ever to my prison, and the Reptiles of every
description which as the torches advanced towards them, I
descried hurrying to their retreats, struck my heart with terrors
almost too exquisite for nature to bear. Driven by despair to
madness, I burst suddenly from the Nuns who held me: I threw
myself upon my knees before the Prioress, and besought her mercy
in the most passionate and frantic terms.

'If not on me,' said I, 'look at least with pity on that innocent
Being, whose life is attached to mine! Great is my crime, but
let not my Child suffer for it! My Baby has committed no fault:
Oh! spare me for the sake of my unborn Offspring, whom ere it
tastes life your severity dooms to destruction!'

The Prioress drew back haughtily: She forced her habit from my
grasp, as if my touch had been contagious.

'What?' She exclaimed with an exasperated air; 'What? Dare you
plead for the produce of your shame? Shall a Creature be
permitted to live, conceived in guilt so monstrous? Abandoned
Woman, speak for him no more! Better that the Wretch should
perish than live: Begotten in perjury, incontinence, and
pollution, It cannot fail to prove a Prodigy of vice. Hear me,
thou Guilty! Expect no mercy from me either for yourself, or
Brat. Rather pray that Death may seize you before you produce
it; Or if it must see the light, that its eyes may immediately be
closed again for ever! No aid shall be given you in your labour;
Bring your Offspring into the world yourself, Feed it yourself,
Nurse it yourself, Bury it yourself: God grant that the latter
may happen soon, lest you receive comfort from the fruit of your
iniquity!'

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