fetters. He reflected, that unsustained by hope her love for him
could not long exist; That doubtless She would succeed in
extinguishing her passion, and seek for happiness in the arms of
One more fortunate. He shuddered at the void which her absence
would leave in his bosom. He looked with disgust on the monotony
of a Convent, and breathed a sigh towards that world from which
He was for ever separated. Such were the reflections which a
loud knocking at his door interrupted. The Bell of the Church
had already struck Two. The Abbot hastened to enquire the cause
of this disturbance. He opened the door of his Cell, and a
Lay-Brother entered, whose looks declared his hurry and
confusion.
'Hasten, reverend Father!' said He; 'Hasten to the young Rosario.
He earnestly requests to see you; He lies at the point of death.'
'Gracious God! Where is Father Pablos? Why is He not with him?
Oh! I fear! I fear!'
'Father Pablos has seen him, but his art can do nothing. He
says that He suspects the Youth to be poisoned.'
'Poisoned? Oh! The Unfortunate! It is then as I suspected!
But let me not lose a moment; Perhaps it may yet be time to save
her!'
He said, and flew towards the Cell of the Novice. Several Monks
were already in the chamber. Father Pablos was one of them, and
held a medicine in his hand which He was endeavouring to
persuade Rosario to swallow. The Others were employed in
admiring the Patient's divine countenance, which They now saw for
the first time. She looked lovelier than ever. She was no
longer pale or languid; A bright glow had spread itself over her
cheeks; her eyes sparkled with a serene delight, and her
countenance was expressive of confidence and resignation.
'Oh! torment me no more!' was She saying to Pablos, when the
terrified Abbot rushed hastily into the Cell; 'My disease is far
beyond the reach of your skill, and I wish not to be cured of
it'--Then perceiving Ambrosio,-- 'Ah! 'tis He!' She cried; 'I see
him once again, before we part for ever! Leave me, my Brethren;
Much have I to tell this holy Man in private.'
The Monks retired immediately, and Matilda and the Abbot remained
together.
'What have you done, imprudent Woman!' exclaimed the Latter, as
soon as they were left alone; 'Tell me; Are my suspicions just?
Am I indeed to lose you? Has your own hand been the instrument
of your destruction?'
She smiled, and grasped his hand.
'In what have I been imprudent, Father? I have sacrificed a
pebble, and saved a diamond: My death preserves a life valuable
to the world, and more dear to me than my own. Yes, Father; I am
poisoned; But know that the poison once circulated in your
veins.'
'Matilda!'
'What I tell you I resolved never to discover to you but on the
bed of death: That moment is now arrived. You cannot have
forgotten the day already, when your life was endangered by the
bite of a Cientipedoro. The Physician gave you over, declaring
himself ignorant how to extract the venom: I knew but of one
means, and hesitated not a moment to employ it. I was left alone
with you: You slept; I loosened the bandage from your hand; I
kissed the wound, and drew out the poison with my lips. The
effect has been more sudden than I expected. I feel death at my
heart; Yet an hour, and I shall be in a better world.'
'Almighty God!' exclaimed the Abbot, and sank almost lifeless
upon the Bed.
After a few minutes He again raised himself up suddenly, and
gazed upon Matilda with all the wildness of despair.
'And you have sacrificed yourself for me! You die, and die to
preserve Ambrosio! And is there indeed no remedy, Matilda? And
is there indeed no hope? Speak to me, Oh! speak to me! Tell
me, that you have still the means of life!'
'Be comforted, my only Friend! Yes, I have still the means of
life in my power: But 'tis a means which I dare not employ. It
is dangerous! It is dreadful! Life would be purchased at too
dear a rate, . . . unless it were permitted me to live for you.'
'Then live for me, Matilda, for me and gratitude!'-- (He caught
her hand, and pressed it rapturously to his lips.)--'Remember our
late conversations; I now consent to every thing: Remember in
what lively colours you described the union of souls; Be it ours
to realize those ideas. Let us forget the distinctions of sex,
despise the world's prejudices, and only consider each other as
Brother and Friend. Live then, Matilda! Oh! live for me!'
'Ambrosio, it must not be. When I thought thus, I deceived both
you and myself. Either I must die at present, or expire by the
lingering torments of unsatisfied desire. Oh! since we last
conversed together, a dreadful veil has been rent from before my
eyes. I love you no longer with the devotion which is paid to a
Saint: I prize you no more for the virtues of your soul; I lust
for the enjoyment of your person. The Woman reigns in my bosom,
and I am become a prey to the wildest of passions. Away with
friendship! 'tis a cold unfeeling word. My bosom burns with
love, with unutterable love, and love must be its return.
Tremble then, Ambrosio, tremble to succeed in your prayers. If I
live, your truth, your reputation, your reward of a life past in
sufferings, all that you value is irretrievably lost. I shall no
longer be able to combat my passions, shall seize every
opportunity to excite your desires, and labour to effect your
dishonour and my own. No, no, Ambrosio; I must not live! I am
convinced with every moment, that I have but one alternative; I
feel with every heart-throb, that I must enjoy you, or die.'
'Amazement!--Matilda! Can it be you who speak to me?'
He made a movement as if to quit his seat. She uttered a loud
shriek, and raising herself half out of the Bed, threw her arms
round the Friar to detain him.
'Oh! do not leave me! Listen to my errors with compassion! In a
few hours I shall be no more; Yet a little, and I am free from
this disgraceful passion.'
'Wretched Woman, what can I say to you! I cannot . . . I must
not . . . But live, Matilda! Oh! live!'
'You do not reflect on what you ask. What? Live to plunge
myself in infamy? To become the Agent of Hell? To work the
destruction both of you and of Myself? Feel this heart, Father!'
She took his hand: Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He
withdrew it not, and felt her heart throb under it.
'Feel this heart, Father! It is yet the seat of honour, truth,
and chastity: If it beats tomorrow, it must fall a prey to the
blackest crimes. Oh! let me then die today! Let me die, while
I yet deserve the tears of the virtuous! Thus will
expire!'--(She reclined her head upon his shoulder; Her golden
Hair poured itself over his Chest.)-- 'Folded in your arms, I
shall sink to sleep; Your hand shall close my eyes for ever, and
your lips receive my dying breath. And will you not sometimes
>
think of me? Will you not sometimes shed a tear upon my Tomb?
Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! That kiss is my assurance!'
The hour was night. All was silence around. The faint beams of
a solitary Lamp darted upon Matilda's figure, and shed through
the chamber a dim mysterious light. No prying eye, or curious
ear was near the Lovers: Nothing was heard but Matilda's
melodious accents. Ambrosio was in the full vigour of Manhood.
He saw before him a young and beautiful Woman, the preserver of
his life, the Adorer of his person, and whom affection for him
had reduced to the brink of the Grave. He sat upon her Bed; His
hand rested upon her bosom; Her head reclined voluptuously upon
his breast. Who then can wonder, if He yielded to the
temptation? Drunk with desire, He pressed his lips to those
which sought them: His kisses vied with Matilda's in warmth and
passion. He clasped her rapturously in his arms; He forgot his
vows, his sanctity, and his fame: He remembered nothing but the
pleasure and opportunity.
'Ambrosio! Oh! my Ambrosio!' sighed Matilda.
'Thine, ever thine!' murmured the Friar, and sank upon her bosom.
CHAPTER III
----These are the Villains
Whom all the Travellers do fear so much.
--------Some of them are Gentlemen
Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth
Thrust from the company of awful Men.
Two Gentlemen of Verona.
The Marquis and Lorenzo proceeded to the Hotel in silence. The
Former employed himself in calling every circumstance to his
mind, which related might give Lorenzo's the most favourable idea
of his connexion with Agnes. The Latter, justly alarmed for the
honour of his family, felt embarrassed by the presence of the
Marquis: The adventure which He had just witnessed forbad his
treating him as a Friend; and Antonia's interests being entrusted
to his mediation, He saw the impolicy of treating him as a Foe.
He concluded from these reflections, that profound silence would
be the wisest plan, and waited with impatience for Don Raymond's
explanation.
They arrived at the Hotel de las Cisternas. The Marquis
immediately conducted him to his apartment, and began to express
his satisfaction at finding him at Madrid. Lorenzo interrupted
him.
'Excuse me, my Lord,' said He with a distant air, 'if I reply
somewhat coldly to your expressions of regard. A Sister's honour
is involved in this affair: Till that is established, and the
purport of your correspondence with Agnes cleared up, I cannot
consider you as my Friend. I am anxious to hear the meaning of
your conduct, and hope that you will not delay the promised
explanation.'
'First give me your word, that you will listen with patience and
indulgence.'
'I love my Sister too well to judge her harshly; and till this
moment I possessed no Friend so dear to me as yourself. I will
also confess, that your having it in your power to oblige me in a
business which I have much at heart, makes me very anxious to
find you still deserving my esteem.'
'Lorenzo, you transport me! No greater pleasure can be given me,
than an opportunity of serving the Brother of Agnes.'
'Convince me that I can accept your favours without dishonour,
and there is no Man in the world to whom I am more willing to be
obliged.'
'Probably, you have already heard your Sister mention the name of
Alphonso d'Alvarada?'
'Never. Though I feel for Agnes an affection truly fraternal,
circumstances have prevented us from being much together. While
yet a Child She was consigned to the care of her Aunt, who had
married a German Nobleman. At his Castle She remained till two
years since, when She returned to Spain, determined upon
secluding herself from the world.'
'Good God! Lorenzo, you knew of her intention, and yet strove
not to make her change it?'
'Marquis, you wrong me. The intelligence, which I received at
Naples, shocked me extremely, and I hastened my return to Madrid
for the express purpose of preventing the sacrifice. The moment
that I arrived, I flew to the Convent of St. Clare, in which
Agnes had chosen to perform her Noviciate. I requested to see my
Sister. Conceive my surprise when She sent me a refusal; She
declared positively, that apprehending my influence over her
mind, She would not trust herself in my society till the day
before that on which She was to receive the Veil. I supplicated
the Nuns; I insisted upon seeing Agnes, and hesitated not to avow
my suspicions that her being kept from me was against her own
inclinations. To free herself from the imputation of violence,
the Prioress brought me a few lines written in my Sister's
well-known hand, repeating the message already delivered. All
future attempts to obtain a moment's conversation with her were
as fruitless as the first. She was inflexible, and I was not
permitted to see her till the day preceding that on which She
entered the Cloister never to quit it more. This interview took
place in the presence of our principal Relations. It was for the
first time since her childhood that I saw her, and the scene was
most affecting. She threw herself upon my bosom, kissed me, and
wept bitterly. By every possible argument, by tears, by prayers,
by kneeling, I strove to make her abandon her intention. I
represented to her all the hardships of a religious life; I
painted to her imagination all the pleasures which She was going
to quit, and besought her to disclose to me, what occasioned her
disgust to the world. At this last question She turned pale, and
her tears flowed yet faster. She entreated me not to press her
on that subject; That it sufficed me to know that her resolution
was taken, and that a Convent was the only place where She could
now hope for tranquillity. She persevered in her design, and
made her profession. I visited her frequently at the Grate, and
every moment that I passed with her, made me feel more affliction
at her loss. I was shortly after obliged to quit Madrid; I
returned but yesterday evening, and since then have not had time
to call at St. Clare's Convent.'
'Then till I mentioned it, you never heard the name of Alphonso
d'Alvarada?'
'Pardon me: my Aunt wrote me word that an Adventurer so called
had found means to get introduced into the Castle of Lindenberg;
That He had insinuated himself into my Sister's good graces, and
that She had even consented to elope with him. However, before
the plan could be executed, the Cavalier discovered that the
estates which He believed Agnes to possess in Hispaniola, in
reality belonged to me. This intelligence made him change his
intention; He disappeared on the day that the elopement was to
have taken place, and Agnes, in despair at his perfidy and
meanness, had resolved upon seclusion in a Convent. She added,
that as this adventurer had given himself out to be a Friend of
mine, She w
ished to know whether I had any knowledge of him. I
replied in the negative. I had then very little idea, that
Alphonso d'Alvarada and the Marquis de las Cisternas were one and
the same person: The description given me of the first by no
means tallied with what I knew of the latter.'
'In this I easily recognize Donna Rodolpha's perfidious
character. Every word of this account is stamped with marks of
her malice, of her falsehood, of her talents for misrepresenting
those whom She wishes to injure. Forgive me, Medina, for
speaking so freely of your Relation. The mischief which She has
done me authorises my resentment, and when you have heard my
story, you will be convinced that my expressions have not been
too severe.'
He then began his narrative in the following manner.
HISTORY OF DON RAYMOND, MARQUIS DE LAS CISTERNAS
Long experience, my dear Lorenzo, has convinced me how generous
is your nature: I waited not for your declaration of ignorance
respecting your Sister's adventures to suppose that they had
been purposely concealed from you. Had they reached your
knowledge, from what misfortunes should both Agnes and myself
have escaped! Fate had ordained it otherwise! You were on your
Travels when I first became acquainted with your Sister; and as
our Enemies took care to conceal from her your direction, it was
impossible for her to implore by letter your protection and
advice.
On leaving Salamanca, at which University as I have since heard,
you remained a year after I quitted it, I immediately set out
upon my Travels. My Father supplied me liberally with money; But
He insisted upon my concealing my rank, and presenting myself as
no more than a private Gentleman. This command was issued by the
counsels of his Friend, the Duke of Villa Hermosa, a Nobleman for
whose abilities and knowledge of the world I have ever
entertained the most profound veneration.
'Believe me,' said He, 'my dear Raymond, you will hereafter feel
the benefits of this temporary degradation. 'Tis true, that as
the Conde de las Cisternas you would have been received with open
arms; and your youthful vanity might have felt gratified by the
attentions showered upon you from all sides. At present, much
will depend upon yourself: You have excellent recommendations,
but it must be your own business to make them of use to you. You
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