The Monk: A Romance

by M. G. Lewis

  CHAPTER IV

  ----Ah! how dark These long-extended realms and rueful wastes; Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night, Dark as was Chaos ere the Infant Sun Was rolled together, or had tried its beams Athwart the gloom profound! The sickly Taper By glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults, Furred round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime, Lets fall a supernumerary horror, And only serves to make Thy night more irksome! Blair.

  Returned undiscovered to the Abbey, Ambrosio's mind was filled with themost pleasing images. He was wilfully blind to the danger of exposinghimself to Antonia's charms: He only remembered the pleasure which hersociety had afforded him, and rejoiced in the prospect of that pleasurebeing repeated. He failed not to profit by Elvira's indisposition toobtain a sight of her Daughter every day. At first He bounded hiswishes to inspire Antonia with friendship: But no sooner was Heconvinced that She felt that sentiment in its fullest extent, than hisaim became more decided, and his attentions assumed a warmer colour.The innocent familiarity with which She treated him, encouraged hisdesires: Grown used to her modesty, it no longer commanded the samerespect and awe: He still admired it, but it only made him moreanxious to deprive her of that quality which formed her principalcharm. Warmth of passion, and natural penetration, of which latterunfortunately both for himself and Antonia He possessed an ample share,supplied a knowledge of the arts of seduction. He easily distinguishedthe emotions which were favourable to his designs, and seized everymeans with avidity of infusing corruption into Antonia's bosom. ThisHe found no easy matter. Extreme simplicity prevented her fromperceiving the aim to which the Monk's insinuations tended; But theexcellent morals which She owed to Elvira's care, the solidity andcorrectness of her understanding, and a strong sense of what was rightimplanted in her heart by Nature, made her feel that his precepts mustbe faulty. By a few simple words She frequently overthrew the wholebulk of his sophistical arguments, and made him conscious how weak theywere when opposed to Virtue and Truth. On such occasion He took refugein his eloquence; He overpowered her with a torrent of Philosophicalparadoxes, to which, not understanding them, it was impossible for herto reply; And thus though He did not convince her that his reasoningwas just, He at least prevented her from discovering it to be false.He perceived that her respect for his judgment augmented daily, anddoubted not with time to bring her to the point desired.

  He was not unconscious that his attempts were highly criminal: He sawclearly the baseness of seducing the innocent Girl: But his passionwas too violent to permit his abandoning his design. He resolved topursue it, let the consequences be what they might. He depended uponfinding Antonia in some unguarded moment; And seeing no other Manadmitted into her society, nor hearing any mentioned either by her orby Elvira, He imagined that her young heart was still unoccupied. WhileHe waited for the opportunity of satisfying his unwarrantable lust,every day increased his coldness for Matilda. Not a little was thisoccasioned by the consciousness of his faults to her. To hide themfrom her He was not sufficiently master of himself: Yet He dreadedlest, in a transport of jealous rage, She should betray the secret onwhich his character and even his life depended. Matilda could not butremark his indifference: He was conscious that She remarked it, andfearing her reproaches, shunned her studiously. Yet when He could notavoid her, her mildness might have convinced him that He had nothing todread from her resentment. She had resumed the character of the gentleinteresting Rosario: She taxed him not with ingratitude; But her eyesfilled with involuntary tears, and the soft melancholy of hercountenance and voice uttered complaints far more touching than wordscould have conveyed. Ambrosio was not unmoved by her sorrow; Butunable to remove its cause, He forbore to show that it affected him.As her conduct convinced him that He needed not fear her vengeance, Hecontinued to neglect her, and avoided her company with care. Matildasaw that She in vain attempted to regain his affections: Yet Shestifled the impulse of resentment, and continued to treat herinconstant Lover with her former fondness and attention.

  By degrees Elvira's constitution recovered itself. She was no longertroubled with convulsions, and Antonia ceased to tremble for herMother. Ambrosio beheld this reestablishment with displeasure. He sawthat Elvira's knowledge of the world would not be the Dupe of hissanctified demeanour, and that She would easily perceive his views uponher Daughter. He resolved therefore, before She quitted her chamber,to try the extent of his influence over the innocent Antonia.

  One evening, when He had found Elvira almost perfectly restored tohealth, He quitted her earlier than was his usual custom. Not findingAntonia in the Antichamber, He ventured to follow her to her own. Itwas only separated from her Mother's by a Closet, in which Flora, theWaiting-Woman, generally slept. Antonia sat upon a Sopha with her backtowards the door, and read attentively. She heard not his approach,till He had seated himself by her. She started, and welcomed him witha look of pleasure: Then rising, She would have conducted him to thesitting-room; But Ambrosio taking her hand, obliged her by gentleviolence to resume her place. She complied without difficulty: Sheknew not that there was more impropriety in conversing with him in oneroom than another. She thought herself equally secure of hisprinciples and her own, and having replaced herself upon the Sopha, Shebegan to prattle to him with her usual ease and vivacity.

  He examined the Book which She had been reading, and had now placedupon the Table. It was the Bible.

  'How!' said the Friar to himself; 'Antonia reads the Bible, and isstill so ignorant?'

  But, upon a further inspection, He found that Elvira had made exactlythe same remark. That prudent Mother, while She admired the beautiesof the sacred writings, was convinced that, unrestricted, no readingmore improper could be permitted a young Woman. Many of the narrativescan only tend to excite ideas the worst calculated for a female breast:Every thing is called plainly and roundly by its name; and the annalsof a Brothel would scarcely furnish a greater choice of indecentexpressions. Yet this is the Book which young Women are recommended tostudy; which is put into the hands of Children, able to comprehendlittle more than those passages of which they had better remainignorant; and which but too frequently inculcates the first rudimentsof vice, and gives the first alarm to the still sleeping passions. Ofthis was Elvira so fully convinced, that She would have preferredputting into her Daughter's hands 'Amadis de Gaul,' or 'The ValiantChampion, Tirante the White;' and would sooner have authorised herstudying the lewd exploits of 'Don Galaor,' or the lascivious jokes ofthe 'Damsel Plazer di mi vida.' She had in consequence made tworesolutions respecting the Bible. The first was that Antonia shouldnot read it till She was of an age to feel its beauties, and profit byits morality: The second, that it should be copied out with her ownhand, and all improper passages either altered or omitted. She hadadhered to this determination, and such was the Bible which Antonia wasreading: It had been lately delivered to her, and She perused it withan avidity, with a delight that was inexpressible. Ambrosio perceivedhis mistake, and replaced the Book upon the Table.

  Antonia spoke of her Mother's health with all the enthusiastic joy of ayouthful heart.

  'I admire your filial affection,' said the Abbot; 'It proves theexcellence and sensibility of your character; It promises a treasure tohim whom Heaven has destined to possess your affections. The Breast,so capable of fondness for a Parent, what will it feel for a Lover?Nay, perhaps, what feels it for one even now? Tell me, my lovelyDaughter; Have you known what it is to love? Answer me with sincerity:Forget my habit, and consider me only as a Friend.'

  'What it is to love?' said She, repeating his question; 'Oh! yes,undoubtedly; I have loved many, many People.'

  'That is not what I mean. The love of which I speak can be felt onlyfor one. Have you never seen the Man whom you wished to be yourHusband?'

  'Oh! No, indeed!'

  This was an untruth, but She was unconscious of its falsehood: She knewnot the nature of her sentiments for Lorenzo; and never havi
ng seen himsince his first visit to Elvira, with every day his Image grew lessfeebly impressed upon her bosom. Besides, She thought of an Husbandwith all a Virgin's terror, and negatived the Friar's demand without amoment's hesitation.

  'And do you not long to see that Man, Antonia? Do you feel no void inyour heart which you fain would have filled up? Do you heave no sighsfor the absence of some one dear to you, but who that some one is, youknow not? Perceive you not that what formerly could please, has charmsfor you no longer? That a thousand new wishes, new ideas, newsensations, have sprang in your bosom, only to be felt, never to bedescribed? Or while you fill every other heart with passion, is itpossible that your own remains insensible and cold? It cannot be!That melting eye, that blushing cheek, that enchanting voluptuousmelancholy which at times overspreads your features, all these marksbelye your words. You love, Antonia, and in vain would hide it fromme.'

  'Father, you amaze me! What is this love of which you speak? Ineither know its nature, nor if I felt it, why I should conceal thesentiment.'

  'Have you seen no Man, Antonia, whom though never seen before, youseemed long to have sought? Whose form, though a Stranger's, wasfamiliar to your eyes? The sound of whose voice soothed you, pleasedyou, penetrated to your very soul? In whose presence you rejoiced, forwhose absence you lamented? With whom your heart seemed to expand, andin whose bosom with confidence unbounded you reposed the cares of yourown? Have you not felt all this, Antonia?'

  'Certainly I have: The first time that I saw you, I felt it.'

  Ambrosio started. Scarcely dared He credit his hearing.

  'Me, Antonia?' He cried, his eyes sparkling with delight andimpatience, while He seized her hand, and pressed it rapturously to hislips. 'Me, Antonia? You felt these sentiments for me?'

  'Even with more strength than you have described. The very moment thatI beheld you, I felt so pleased, so interested! I waited so eagerly tocatch the sound of your voice, and when I heard it, it seemed so sweet!It spoke to me a language till then so unknown! Methought, it told mea thousand things which I wished to hear! It seemed as if I had longknown you; as if I had a right to your friendship, your advice, andyour protection.

  I wept when you departed, and longed for the time which should restoreyou to my sight.'

  'Antonia! my charming Antonia!' exclaimed the Monk, and caught her tohis bosom; 'Can I believe my senses? Repeat it to me, my sweet Girl!Tell me again that you love me, that you love me truly and tenderly!'

  'Indeed, I do: Let my Mother be excepted, and the world holds no onemore dear to me!'

  At this frank avowal Ambrosio no longer possessed himself; Wild withdesire, He clasped the blushing Trembler in his arms. He fastened hislips greedily upon hers, sucked in her pure delicious breath, violatedwith his bold hand the treasures of her bosom, and wound around him hersoft and yielding limbs. Startled, alarmed, and confused at his action,surprize at first deprived her of the power of resistance. At lengthrecovering herself, She strove to escape from his embrace.

  'Father! .... Ambrosio!' She cried; 'Release me, for God's sake!'

  But the licentious Monk heeded not her prayers: He persisted in hisdesign, and proceeded to take still greater liberties. Antonia prayed,wept, and struggled: Terrified to the extreme, though at what She knewnot, She exerted all her strength to repulse the Friar, and was on thepoint of shrieking for assistance when the chamber door was suddenlythrown open. Ambrosio had just sufficient presence of mind to besensible of his danger. Reluctantly He quitted his prey, and startedhastily from the Couch. Antonia uttered an exclamation of joy, flewtowards the door, and found herself clasped in the arms of her Mother.

  Alarmed at some of the Abbot's speeches, which Antonia had innocentlyrepeated, Elvira resolved to ascertain the truth of her suspicions.She had known enough of Mankind not to be imposed upon by the Monk'sreputed virtue. She reflected on several circumstances, which thoughtrifling, on being put together seemed to authorize her fears. Hisfrequent visits, which as far as She could see, were confined to herfamily; His evident emotion, whenever She spoke of Antonia; His beingin the full prime and heat of Manhood; and above all, his perniciousphilosophy communicated to her by Antonia, and which accorded but illwith his conversation in her presence, all these circumstances inspiredher with doubts respecting the purity of Ambrosio's friendship. Inconsequence, She resolved, when He should next be alone with Antonia,to endeavour at surprizing him. Her plan had succeeded. 'Tis true,that when She entered the room, He had already abandoned his prey; Butthe disorder of her Daughter's dress, and the shame and confusionstamped upon the Friar's countenance, sufficed to prove that hersuspicions were but too well-founded. However, She was too prudent tomake those suspicions known. She judged that to unmask the Imposterwould be no easy matter, the public being so much prejudiced in hisfavour: and having but few Friends, She thought it dangerous to makeherself so powerful an Enemy. She affected therefore not to remark hisagitation, seated herself tranquilly upon the Sopha, assigned sometrifling reason for having quitted her room unexpectedly, and conversedon various subjects with seeming confidence and ease.

  Reassured by her behaviour, the Monk began to recover himself. Hestrove to answer Elvira without appearing embarrassed: But He wasstill too great a novice in dissimulation, and He felt that He mustlook confused and awkward. He soon broke off the conversation, androse to depart. What was his vexation, when on taking leave, Elviratold him in polite terms, that being now perfectly reestablished, Shethought it an injustice to deprive Others of his company, who might bemore in need of it! She assured him of her eternal gratitude, for thebenefit which during her illness She had derived from his society andexhortations: And She lamented that her domestic affairs, as well asthe multitude of business which his situation must of necessity imposeupon him, would in future deprive her of the pleasure of his visits.Though delivered in the mildest language this hint was too plain to bemistaken. Still, He was preparing to put in a remonstrance when anexpressive look from Elvira stopped him short. He dared not press herto receive him, for her manner convinced him that He was discovered:He submitted without reply, took an hasty leave, and retired to theAbbey, his heart filled with rage and shame, with bitterness anddisappointment.

  Antonia's mind felt relieved by his departure; Yet She could not helplamenting that She was never to see him more. Elvira also felt asecret sorrow; She had received too much pleasure from thinking him herFriend, not to regret the necessity of changing her opinion: But hermind was too much accustomed to the fallacy of worldly friendships topermit her present disappointment to weigh upon it long. She nowendeavoured to make her Daughter aware of the risque which She had ran:But She was obliged to treat the subject with caution, lest in removingthe bandage of ignorance, the veil of innocence should be rent away.She therefore contented herself with warning Antonia to be upon herguard, and ordering her, should the Abbot persist in his visits, neverto receive them but in company. With this injunction Antonia promisedto comply.

  Ambrosio hastened to his Cell. He closed the door after him, and threwhimself upon the bed in despair. The impulse of desire, the stings ofdisappointment, the shame of detection, and the fear of being publiclyunmasked, rendered his bosom a scene of the most horrible confusion.He knew not what course to pursue. Debarred the presence of Antonia,He had no hopes of satisfying that passion which was now become a partof his existence. He reflected that his secret was in a Woman's power:He trembled with apprehension when He beheld the precipice before him,and with rage, when He thought that had it not been for Elvira, Heshould now have possessed the object of his desires. With the directimprecations He vowed vengeance against her; He swore that, cost whatit would, He still would possess Antonia. Starting from the Bed, Hepaced the chamber with disordered steps, howled with impotent fury,dashed himself violently against the walls, and indulged all thetransports of rage and madness.

  He was still under the influence of this storm of passions when Heheard a gentle knock at
the door of his Cell. Conscious that his voicemust have been heard, He dared not refuse admittance to the Importuner:He strove to compose himself, and to hide his agitation. Having insome degree succeeded, He drew back the bolt: The door opened, andMatilda appeared.

  At this precise moment there was no one with whose presence He couldbetter have dispensed. He had not sufficient command over himself toconceal his vexation. He started back, and frowned.

  'I am busy,' said He in a stern and hasty tone; 'Leave me!'

  Matilda heeded him not: She again fastened the door, and then advancedtowards him with an air gentle and supplicating.

  'Forgive me, Ambrosio,' said She; 'For your own sake I must not obeyyou. Fear no complaints from me; I come not to reproach you with youringratitude. I pardon you from my heart, and since your love can nolonger be mine, I request the next best gift, your confidence andfriendship. We cannot force our inclinations; The little beauty whichyou once saw in me has perished with its novelty, and if it can nolonger excite desire, mine is the fault, not yours. But why persist inshunning me? Why such anxiety to fly my presence? You have sorrows,but will not permit me to share them; You have disappointments, butwill not accept my comfort; You have wishes, but forbid my aiding yourpursuits. 'Tis of this which I complain, not of your indifference tomy person. I have given up the claims of the Mistress, but nothingshall prevail on me to give up those of the Friend.'

  Her mildness had an instantaneous effect upon Ambrosio's feelings.

  'Generous Matilda!' He replied, taking her hand, 'How far do you risesuperior to the foibles of your sex! Yes, I accept your offer. I haveneed of an adviser, and a Confident: In you I find every needfulquality united. But to aid my pursuits .... Ah! Matilda, it liesnot in your power!'

  'It lies in no one's power but mine. Ambrosio, your secret is none tome; Your every step, your every action has been observed by myattentive eye. You love.'

  'Matilda!'

  'Why conceal it from me? Fear not the little jealousy which taints thegenerality of Women: My soul disdains so despicable a passion. Youlove, Ambrosio; Antonia Dalfa is the object of your flame. I knowevery circumstance respecting your passion: Every conversation hasbeen repeated to me. I have been informed of your attempt to enjoyAntonia's person, your disappointment, and dismission from Elvira'sHouse. You now despair of possessing your Mistress; But I come torevive your hopes, and point out the road to success.'

  'To success? Oh! impossible!'

  'To them who dare nothing is impossible. Rely upon me, and you may yetbe happy. The time is come, Ambrosio, when regard for your comfort andtranquillity compels me to reveal a part of my History, with which youare still unacquainted. Listen, and do not interrupt me: Should myconfession disgust you, remember that in making it my sole aim is tosatisfy your wishes, and restore that peace to your heart which atpresent has abandoned it. I formerly mentioned that my Guardian was aMan of uncommon knowledge: He took pains to instil that knowledge intomy infant mind. Among the various sciences which curiosity had inducedhim to explore, He neglected not that which by most is esteemedimpious, and by many chimerical. I speak of those arts which relate tothe world of Spirits. His deep researches into causes and effects, hisunwearied application to the study of natural philosophy, his profoundand unlimited knowledge of the properties and virtues of every gemwhich enriches the deep, of every herb which the earth produces, atlength procured him the distinction which He had sought so long, soearnestly. His curiosity was fully slaked, his ambition amplygratified. He gave laws to the elements; He could reverse the order ofnature; His eye read the mandates of futurity, and the infernal Spiritswere submissive to his commands. Why shrink you from me? I understandthat enquiring look. Your suspicions are right, though your terrorsare unfounded. My Guardian concealed not from me his most preciousacquisition. Yet had I never seen YOU, I should never have exerted mypower. Like you I shuddered at the thoughts of Magic: Like you I hadformed a terrible idea of the consequences of raising a daemon. Topreserve that life which your love had taught me to prize, I hadrecourse to means which I trembled at employing. You remember thatnight which I past in St. Clare's Sepulchre? Then was it that,surrounded by mouldering bodies, I dared to perform those mystic riteswhich summoned to my aid a fallen Angel. Judge what must have been myjoy at discovering that my terrors were imaginary: I saw the Daemonobedient to my orders, I saw him trembling at my frown, and found that,instead of selling my soul to a Master, my courage had purchased formyself a Slave.'

  'Rash Matilda! What have you done? You have doomed yourself toendless perdition; You have bartered for momentary power eternalhappiness! If on witchcraft depends the fruition of my desires, Irenounce your aid most absolutely. The consequences are too horrible:I doat upon Antonia, but am not so blinded by lust as to sacrifice forher enjoyment my existence both in this world and the next.'

  'Ridiculous prejudices! Oh! blush, Ambrosio, blush at being subjectedto their dominion. Where is the risque of accepting my offers? Whatshould induce my persuading you to this step, except the wish ofrestoring you to happiness and quiet. If there is danger, it must fallupon me: It is I who invoke the ministry of the Spirits; Minetherefore will be the crime, and yours the profit. But danger there isnone: The Enemy of Mankind is my Slave, not my Sovereign. Is there nodifference between giving and receiving laws, between serving andcommanding? Awake from your idle dreams, Ambrosio! Throw from youthese terrors so ill-suited to a soul like yours; Leave them for commonMen, and dare to be happy! Accompany me this night to St. Clare'sSepulchre, witness my incantations, and Antonia is your own.'

  'To obtain her by such means I neither can, or will. Cease then topersuade me, for I dare not employ Hell's agency.

  'You DARE not? How have you deceived me! That mind which I esteemedso great and valiant, proves to be feeble, puerile, and grovelling, aslave to vulgar errors, and weaker than a Woman's.'

  'What? Though conscious of the danger, wilfully shall I expose myselfto the Seducer's arts? Shall I renounce for ever my title tosalvation? Shall my eyes seek a sight which I know will blast them?No, no, Matilda; I will not ally myself with God's Enemy.'

  'Are you then God's Friend at present? Have you not broken yourengagements with him, renounced his service, and abandoned yourself tothe impulse of your passions? Are you not planning the destruction ofinnocence, the ruin of a Creature whom He formed in the mould ofAngels? If not of Daemons, whose aid would you invoke to forward thislaudable design? Will the Seraphims protect it, conduct Antonia toyour arms, and sanction with their ministry your illicit pleasures?Absurd! But I am not deceived, Ambrosio! It is not virtue which makesyou reject my offer: You WOULD accept it, but you dare not. 'Tis notthe crime which holds your hand, but the punishment; 'Tis not respectfor God which restrains you, but the terror of his vengeance! Fainwould you offend him in secret, but you tremble to profess yourself hisFoe. Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the courage either tobe a firm Friend or open Enemy!'

  'To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit: In thisrespect I glory to confess myself a Coward. Though my passions havemade me deviate from her laws, I still feel in my heart an innate loveof virtue. But it ill becomes you to tax me with my perjury: You, whofirst seduced me to violate my vows; You, who first rouzed my sleepingvices, made me feel the weight of Religion's chains, and bad me beconvinced that guilt had pleasures. Yet though my principles haveyielded to the force of temperament, I still have sufficient grace toshudder at Sorcery, and avoid a crime so monstrous, so unpardonable!'

  'Unpardonable, say you? Where then is your constant boast of theAlmighty's infinite mercy? Has He of late set bounds to it? ReceivesHe no longer a Sinner with joy? You injure him, Ambrosio; You willalways have time to repent, and He have goodness to forgive. Affordhim a glorious opportunity to exert that goodness: The greater yourcrime, the greater his merit in pardoning. Away then with thesechildish scruples: Be persuaded to your good, and foll
ow me to theSepulchre.'

  'Oh! cease, Matilda! That scoffing tone, that bold and impiouslanguage, is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman's. Let usdrop a conversation which excites no other sentiments than horror anddisgust. I will not follow you to the Sepulchre, or accept theservices of your infernal Agents. Antonia shall be mine, but mine byhuman means.'

  'Then yours She will never be! You are banished her presence; HerMother has opened her eyes to your designs, and She is now upon herguard against them. Nay more, She loves another. A Youth ofdistinguished merit possesses her heart, and unless you interfere, afew days will make her his Bride. This intelligence was brought me bymy invisible Servants, to whom I had recourse on first perceiving yourindifference. They watched your every action, related to me all thatpast at Elvira's, and inspired me with the idea of favouring yourdesigns. Their reports have been my only comfort. Though you shunnedmy presence, all your proceedings were known to me: Nay, I wasconstantly with you in some degree, thanks to this precious gift!'

  With these words She drew from beneath her habit a mirror of polishedsteel, the borders of which were marked with various strange andunknown characters.

  'Amidst all my sorrows, amidst all my regrets for your coldness, I wassustained from despair by the virtues of this Talisman. On pronouncingcertain words, the Person appears in it on whom the Observer's thoughtsare bent: thus though _I_ was exiled from YOUR sight, you, Ambrosio,were ever present to mine.'

  The Friar's curiosity was excited strongly.

  'What you relate is incredible! Matilda, are you not amusing yourselfwith my credulity?'

  'Be your own eyes the Judge.'

  She put the Mirror into his hand. Curiosity induced him to take it,and Love, to wish that Antonia might appear. Matilda pronounced themagic words. Immediately, a thick smoke rose from the characterstraced upon the borders, and spread itself over the surface. Itdispersed again gradually; A confused mixture of colours and imagespresented themselves to the Friar's eyes, which at length arrangingthemselves in their proper places, He beheld in miniature Antonia'slovely form.

  The scene was a small closet belonging to her apartment. She wasundressing to bathe herself. The long tresses of her hair were alreadybound up. The amorous Monk had full opportunity to observe thevoluptuous contours and admirable symmetry of her person. She threwoff her last garment, and advancing to the Bath prepared for her, Sheput her foot into the water. It struck cold, and She drew it backagain. Though unconscious of being observed, an inbred sense ofmodesty induced her to veil her charms; and She stood hesitating uponthe brink, in the attitude of the Venus de Medicis. At this moment atame Linnet flew towards her, nestled its head between her breasts, andnibbled them in wanton play. The smiling Antonia strove in vain toshake off the Bird, and at length raised her hands to drive it from itsdelightful harbour. Ambrosio could bear no more: His desires wereworked up to phrenzy.

  'I yield!' He cried, dashing the mirror upon the ground: 'Matilda, Ifollow you! Do with me what you will!'

  She waited not to hear his consent repeated. It was already midnight.She flew to her Cell, and soon returned with her little basket and theKey of the Cemetery, which had remained in her possession since herfirst visit to the Vaults. She gave the Monk no time for reflection.

  'Come!' She said, and took his hand; 'Follow me, and witness theeffects of your resolve!'

  This said, She drew him hastily along. They passed into theBurying-ground unobserved, opened the door of the Sepulchre, and foundthemselves at the head of the subterraneous Staircase. As yet thebeams of the full Moon had guided their steps, but that resource nowfailed them. Matilda had neglected to provide herself with a Lamp.Still holding Ambrosio's hand She descended the marble steps; But theprofound obscurity with which they were overspread obliged them to walkslow and cautiously.

  'You tremble!' said Matilda to her Companion; 'Fear not; The destinedspot is near.'

  They reached the foot of the Staircase, and continued to proceed,feeling their way along the Walls. On turning a corner suddenly, theydescried faint gleams of light which seemed burning at a distance.Thither they bent their steps: The rays proceeded from a smallsepulchral Lamp which flamed unceasingly before the Statue of St.Clare. It tinged with dim and cheerless beams the massy Columns whichsupported the Roof, but was too feeble to dissipate the thick gloom inwhich the Vaults above were buried.

  Matilda took the Lamp.

  'Wait for me!' said She to the Friar; 'In a few moments I am hereagain.'

  With these words She hastened into one of the passages which branchedin various directions from this spot, and formed a sort of Labyrinth.Ambrosio was now left alone: Darkness the most profound surrounded him,and encouraged the doubts which began to revive in his bosom. He hadbeen hurried away by the delirium of the moment: The shame ofbetraying his terrors, while in Matilda's presence, had induced him torepress them; But now that he was abandoned to himself, they resumedtheir former ascendancy. He trembled at the scene which He was soon towitness. He knew not how far the delusions of Magic might operate uponhis mind, and possibly might force him to some deed whose commissionwould make the breach between himself and Heaven irreparable. In thisfearful dilemma, He would have implored God's assistance, but wasconscious that He had forfeited all claim to such protection. Gladlywould He have returned to the Abbey; But as He had past throughinnumerable Caverns and winding passages, the attempt of regaining theStairs was hopeless. His fate was determined: No possibility ofescape presented itself: He therefore combated his apprehensions, andcalled every argument to his succour, which might enable him to supportthe trying scene with fortitude. He reflected that Antonia would be thereward of his daring: He inflamed his imagination by enumerating hercharms. He persuaded himself that (as Matilda had observed), He alwaysshould have time sufficient for repentance, and that as He employed HERassistance, not that of the Daemons, the crime of Sorcery could not belaid to his charge. He had read much respecting witchcraft: Heunderstood that unless a formal Act was signed renouncing his claim tosalvation, Satan would have no power over him. He was fully determinednot to execute any such act, whatever threats might be used, oradvantages held out to him.

  Such were his meditations while waiting for Matilda. They wereinterrupted by a low murmur which seemed at no great distance from him.He was startled. He listened. Some minutes past in silence, afterwhich the murmur was repeated. It appeared to be the groaning of onein pain. In any other situation, this circumstance would only haveexcited his attention and curiosity:

  In the present, his predominant sensation was that of terror. Hisimagination totally engrossed by the ideas of sorcery and Spirits, Hefancied that some unquiet Ghost was wandering near him; or else thatMatilda had fallen a Victim to her presumption, and was perishing underthe cruel fangs of the Daemons. The noise seemed not to approach, butcontinued to be heard at intervals. Sometimes it became more audible,doubtless as the sufferings of the person who uttered the groans becamemore acute and insupportable. Ambrosio now and then thought that Hecould distinguish accents; and once in particular He was almostconvinced that He heard a faint voice exclaim,

  'God! Oh! God! No hope! No succour!'

  Yet deeper groans followed these words. They died away gradually, anduniversal silence again prevailed.

  'What can this mean?' thought the bewildered Monk.

  At that moment an idea which flashed into his mind, almost petrifiedhim with horror. He started, and shuddered at himself.

  'Should it be possible!' He groaned involuntarily; 'Should it but bepossible, Oh! what a Monster am I!'

  He wished to resolve his doubts, and to repair his fault, if it werenot too late already: But these generous and compassionate sentimentswere soon put to flight by the return of Matilda. He forgot thegroaning Sufferer, and remembered nothing but the danger andembarrassment of his own situation. The light of the returning Lampgilded the walls, and in a few moments after Matilda stood beside him.She
had quitted her religious habit: She was now cloathed in a longsable Robe, on which was traced in gold embroidery a variety of unknowncharacters: It was fastened by a girdle of precious stones, in whichwas fixed a poignard. Her neck and arms were uncovered. In her handShe bore a golden wand. Her hair was loose and flowed wildly upon hershoulders; Her eyes sparkled with terrific expression; and her wholeDemeanour was calculated to inspire the beholder with awe andadmiration.

  'Follow me!' She said to the Monk in a low and solemn voice; 'All isready!'

  His limbs trembled, while He obeyed her. She led him through variousnarrow passages; and on every side as they past along, the beams of theLamp displayed none but the most revolting objects; Skulls, Bones,Graves, and Images whose eyes seemed to glare on them with horror andsurprize. At length they reached a spacious Cavern, whose lofty roofthe eye sought in vain to discover. A profound obscurity hoveredthrough the void. Damp vapours struck cold to the Friar's heart; andHe listened sadly to the blast while it howled along the lonely Vaults.Here Matilda stopped. She turned to Ambrosio. His cheeks and lipswere pale with apprehension. By a glance of mingled scorn and angerShe reproved his pusillanimity, but She spoke not. She placed the Lampupon the ground, near the Basket. She motioned that Ambrosio should besilent, and began the mysterious rites. She drew a circle round him,another round herself, and then taking a small Phial from the Basket,poured a few drops upon the ground before her. She bent over theplace, muttered some indistinct sentences, and immediately a palesulphurous flame arose from the ground. It increased by degrees, andat length spread its waves over the whole surface, the circles aloneexcepted in which stood Matilda and the Monk. It then ascended thehuge Columns of unhewn stone, glided along the roof, and formed theCavern into an immense chamber totally covered with blue tremblingfire. It emitted no heat: On the contrary, the extreme chillness ofthe place seemed to augment with every moment. Matilda continued herincantations: At intervals She took various articles from the Basket,the nature and name of most of which were unknown to the Friar: Butamong the few which He distinguished, He particularly observed threehuman fingers, and an Agnus Dei which She broke in pieces. She threwthem all into the flames which burned before her, and they wereinstantly consumed.

  The Monk beheld her with anxious curiosity. Suddenly She uttered aloud and piercing shriek. She appeared to be seized with an access ofdelirium; She tore her hair, beat her bosom, used the most franticgestures, and drawing the poignard from her girdle plunged it into herleft arm. The blood gushed out plentifully, and as She stood on thebrink of the circle, She took care that it should fall on the outside.The flames retired from the spot on which the blood was pouring. Avolume of dark clouds rose slowly from the ensanguined earth, andascended gradually, till it reached the vault of the Cavern. At thesame time a clap of thunder was heard: The echo pealed fearfully alongthe subterraneous passages, and the ground shook beneath the feet ofthe Enchantress.

  It was now that Ambrosio repented of his rashness. The solemnsingularity of the charm had prepared him for something strange andhorrible. He waited with fear for the Spirit's appearance, whosecoming was announced by thunder and earthquakes. He looked wildlyround him, expecting that some dreadful Apparition would meet his eyes,the sight of which would drive him mad. A cold shivering seized hisbody, and He sank upon one knee, unable to support himself.

  'He comes!' exclaimed Matilda in a joyful accent.

  Ambrosio started, and expected the Daemon with terror. What was hissurprize, when the Thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of melodiousMusic sounded in the air. At the same time the cloud dispersed, and Hebeheld a Figure more beautiful than Fancy's pencil ever drew. It was aYouth seemingly scarce eighteen, the perfection of whose form and facewas unrivalled. He was perfectly naked: A bright Star sparkled uponhis forehead; Two crimson wings extended themselves from his shoulders;and his silken locks were confined by a band of many-coloured fires,which played round his head, formed themselves into a variety offigures, and shone with a brilliance far surpassing that of preciousStones. Circlets of Diamonds were fastened round his arms and ankles,and in his right hand He bore a silver branch, imitating Myrtle. Hisform shone with dazzling glory: He was surrounded by clouds ofrose-coloured light, and at the moment that He appeared, a refreshingair breathed perfumes through the Cavern. Enchanted at a vision socontrary to his expectations, Ambrosio gazed upon the Spirit withdelight and wonder: Yet however beautiful the Figure, He could not butremark a wildness in the Daemon's eyes, and a mysterious melancholyimpressed upon his features, betraying the Fallen Angel, and inspiringthe Spectators with secret awe.

  The Music ceased. Matilda addressed herself to the Spirit: She spokein a language unintelligible to the Monk, and was answered in the same.She seemed to insist upon something which the Daemon was unwilling togrant. He frequently darted upon Ambrosio angry glances, and at suchtimes the Friar's heart sank within him. Matilda appeared to growincensed. She spoke in a loud and commanding tone, and her gesturesdeclared that She was threatening him with her vengeance. Her menaceshad the desired effect: The Spirit sank upon his knee, and with asubmissive air presented to her the branch of Myrtle. No sooner hadShe received it, than the Music was again heard; A thick cloud spreaditself over the Apparition; The blue flames disappeared, and totalobscurity reigned through the Cave. The Abbot moved not from hisplace: His faculties were all bound up in pleasure, anxiety, andsurprize. At length the darkness dispersing, He perceived Matildastanding near him in her religious habit, with the Myrtle in her hand.No traces of the incantation, and the Vaults were only illuminated bythe faint rays of the sepulchral Lamp.

  'I have succeeded,' said Matilda, 'though with more difficulty than Iexpected. Lucifer, whom I summoned to my assistance, was at firstunwilling to obey my commands: To enforce his compliance I wasconstrained to have recourse to my strongest charms. They haveproduced the desired effect, but I have engaged never more to invokehis agency in your favour. Beware then, how you employ an opportunitywhich never will return. My magic arts will now be of no use to you:In future you can only hope for supernatural aid by invoking theDaemons yourself, and accepting the conditions of their service. Thisyou will never do: You want strength of mind to force them toobedience, and unless you pay their established price, they will not beyour voluntary Servants. In this one instance they consent to obeyyou: I offer you the means of enjoying your Mistress, and be carefulnot to lose the opportunity. Receive this constellated Myrtle: Whileyou bear this in your hand, every door will fly open to you. It willprocure you access tomorrow night to Antonia's chamber: Then breatheupon it thrice, pronounce her name, and place it upon her pillow. Adeath-like slumber will immediately seize upon her, and deprive her ofthe power of resisting your attempts. Sleep will hold her till breakof Morning. In this state you may satisfy your desires without dangerof being discovered; since when daylight shall dispel the effects ofthe enchantment, Antonia will perceive her dishonour, but be ignorantof the Ravisher. Be happy then, my Ambrosio, and let this serviceconvince you that my friendship is disinterested and pure. The nightmust be near expiring: Let us return to the Abbey, lest our absenceshould create surprize.'

  The Abbot received the talisman with silent gratitude. His ideas weretoo much bewildered by the adventures of the night to permit hisexpressing his thanks audibly, or indeed as yet to feel the whole valueof her present. Matilda took up her Lamp and Basket, and guided herCompanion from the mysterious Cavern. She restored the Lamp to itsformer place, and continued her route in darkness, till She reached thefoot of the Staircase. The first beams of the rising Sun darting downit facilitated the ascent. Matilda and the Abbot hastened out of theSepulchre, closed the door after them, and soon regained the Abbey'swestern Cloister. No one met them, and they retired unobserved totheir respective Cells.

  The confusion of Ambrosio's mind now began to appease. He rejoiced inthe fortunate issue of his adventure, and reflecting upon the virtuesof the Myrtle, looked upon An
tonia as already in his power.Imagination retraced to him those secret charms betrayed to him by theEnchanted Mirror, and He waited with impatience for the approach ofmidnight.

  VOLUME III