The Monk - A Romance
Page 23
moment to inform you, that we lodge in the Strada di San Iago,
four doors from the Palace d'Albornos, and nearly opposite to the
Barber's Miguel Coello. Enquire for Donna Elvira Dalfa, since in
compliance with her Father-in-law's order, my Sister continues to
be called by her maiden name. At eight this evening you will be
sure of finding us: But let not a word drop which may raise a
suspicion of my having written this letter. Should you see the
Conde d'Ossorio, tell him . . . I blush while I declare it . . .
Tell him that his presence will be but too acceptable to the
sympathetic Leonella.
The latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the
blushes of her cheek, while She committed an outrage upon her
virgin modesty.
Lorenzo had no sooner perused this note than He set out in
search of Don Christoval. Not being able to find him in the
course of the day, He proceeded to Donna Elvira's alone, to
Leonella's infinite disappointment. The Domestic by whom He
sent up his name, having already declared his Lady to be at home,
She had no excuse for refusing his visit: Yet She consented to
receive it with much reluctance. That reluctance was increased
by the changes which his approach produced in Antonia's
countenance; nor was it by any means abated when the Youth
himself appeared. The symmetry of his person, animation of his
features, and natural elegance of his manners and address,
convinced Elvira that such a Guest must be dangerous for her
Daughter. She resolved to treat him with distant politeness, to
decline his services with gratitude for the tender of them, and
to make him feel, without offence, that his future visits would
be far from acceptable.
On his entrance He found Elvira, who was indisposed, reclining
upon a Sopha: Antonia sat by her embroidery frame, and Leonella,
in a pastoral dress, held 'Montemayor's Diana.' In spite of
her being the Mother of Antonia, Lorenzo could not help expecting
to find in Elvira Leonella's true Sister, and the Daughter of 'as
honest a painstaking Shoe-maker, as any in Cordova.' A single
glance was sufficient to undeceive him. He beheld a Woman whose
features, though impaired by time and sorrow, still bore the
marks of distinguished beauty: A serious dignity reigned upon
her countenance, but was tempered by a grace and sweetness which
rendered her truly enchanting. Lorenzo fancied that She must
have resembled her Daughter in her youth, and readily excused the
imprudence of the late Conde de las Cisternas. She desired him
to be seated, and immediately resumed her place upon the Sopha.
Antonia received him with a simple reverence, and continued her
work: Her cheeks were suffused with crimson, and She strove to
conceal her emotion by leaning over her embroidery frame. Her
Aunt also chose to play off her airs of modesty; She affected to
blush and tremble, and waited with her eyes cast down to receive,
as She expected, the compliments of Don Christoval. Finding
after some time that no sign of his approach was given, She
ventured to look round the room, and perceived with vexation that
Medina was unaccompanied. Impatience would not permit her
waiting for an explanation: Interrupting Lorenzo, who was
delivering Raymond's message, She desired to know what was become
of his Friend.
He, who thought it necessary to maintain himself in her good
graces, strove to console her under her disappointment by
committing a little violence upon truth.
'Ah! Segnora,' He replied in a melancholy voice 'How grieved will
He be at losing this opportunity of paying you his respects! A
Relation's illness has obliged him to quit Madrid in haste: But
on his return, He will doubtless seize the first moment with
transport to throw himself at your feet!'
As He said this, his eyes met those of Elvira: She punished his
falsehood sufficiently by darting at him a look expressive of
displeasure and reproach. Neither did the deceit answer his
intention. Vexed and disappointed Leonella rose from her seat,
and retired in dudgeon to her own apartment.
Lorenzo hastened to repair the fault, which had injured him in
Elvira's opinion. He related his conversation with the Marquis
respecting her: He assured her that Raymond was prepared to
acknowledge her for his Brother's Widow; and that till it was in
his power to pay his compliments to her in person, Lorenzo was
commissioned to supply his place. This intelligence relieved
Elvira from an heavy weight of uneasiness: She had now found a
Protector for the fatherless Antonia, for whose future fortunes
She had suffered the greatest apprehensions. She was not sparing
of her thanks to him who had interfered so generously in her
behalf; But still She gave him no invitation to repeat his visit.
However, when upon rising to depart He requested permission to
enquire after her health occasionally, the polite earnestness of
his manner, gratitude for his services, and respect for his
Friend the Marquis, would not admit of a refusal. She consented
reluctantly to receive him: He promised not to abuse her
goodness, and quitted the House.
Antonia was now left alone with her Mother: A temporary silence
ensued. Both wished to speak upon the same subject, but Neither
knew how to introduce it. The one felt a bashfulness which
sealed up her lips, and for which She could not account: The
other feared to find her apprehensions true, or to inspire her
Daughter with notions to which She might be still a Stranger. At
length Elvira began the conversation.
'That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with
him. Was He long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?'
'He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church: He
gave me his seat, and was very obliging and attentive.'
'Indeed? Why then have you never mentioned his name to me? Your
Aunt lanched out in praise of his Friend, and you vaunted
Ambrosio's eloquence: But Neither said a word of Don Lorenzo's
person and accomplishments. Had not Leonella spoken of his
readiness to undertake our cause, I should not have known him to
be in existence.'
She paused. Antonia coloured, but was silent.
'Perhaps you judge him less favourably than I do. In my opinion
his figure is pleasing, his conversation sensible, and manners
engaging. Still He may have struck you differently: You may
think him disagreeable, and . . .'.
'Disagreeable? Oh! dear Mother, how should I possibly think him
so? I should be very ungrateful were I not sensible of his
kindness yesterday, and very blind if his merits had escaped me.
His figure is so graceful, so noble! His manners so gentle, yet
so manly! I never yet saw so many accomplishments united in one
person, and I doubt whether Madrid can produce his equal.'
'Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid?
Why was it concealed from me that his society had afforded you
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pleasure?'
'In truth, I know not: You ask me a question which I cannot
resolve myself. I was on the point of mentioning him a thousand
times: His name was constantly upon my lips, but when I would
have pronounced it, I wanted courage to execute my design.
However, if I did not speak of him, it was not that I thought of
him the less.'
'That I believe; But shall I tell you why you wanted courage? It
was because, accustomed to confide to me your most secret
thoughts, you knew not how to conceal, yet feared to acknowledge,
that your heart nourished a sentiment which you were conscious I
should disapprove. Come hither to me, my Child.'
Antonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her
knees by the Sopha, and hid her face in her Mother's lap.
'Fear not, my sweet Girl! Consider me equally as your Friend and
Parent, and apprehend no reproof from me. I have read the
emotions of your bosom; you are yet ill-skilled in concealing
them, and they could not escape my attentive eye. This Lorenzo
is dangerous to your repose; He has already made an impression
upon your heart. 'Tis true that I perceive easily that your
affection is returned; But what can be the consequences of this
attachment? You are poor and friendless, my Antonia; Lorenzo is
the Heir of the Duke of Medina Celi. Even should Himself mean
honourably, his Uncle never will consent to your union; Nor
without that Uncle's consent, will I. By sad experience I know
what sorrows She must endure, who marries into a family unwilling
to receive her. Then struggle with your affection: Whatever
pains it may cost you, strive to conquer it. Your heart is
tender and susceptible: It has already received a strong
impression; But when once convinced that you should not encourage
such sentiments, I trust, that you have sufficient fortitude to
drive them from your bosom.'
Antonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience. Elvira
then continued.
'To prevent your passion from growing stronger, it will be
needful to prohibit Lorenzo's visits. The service which He has
rendered me permits not my forbidding them positively; But unless
I judge too favourably of his character, He will discontinue them
without taking offence, if I confess to him my reasons, and throw
myself entirely on his generosity. The next time that I see him,
I will honestly avow to him the embarrassment which his presence
occasions. How say you, my Child? Is not this measure
necessary?'
Antonia subscribed to every thing without hesitation, though not
without regret. Her Mother kissed her affectionately, and
retired to bed. Antonia followed her example, and vowed so
frequently never more to think of Lorenzo, that till Sleep closed
her eyes She thought of nothing else.
While this was passing at Elvira's, Lorenzo hastened to rejoin
the Marquis. Every thing was ready for the second elopement of
Agnes; and at twelve the two Friends with a Coach and four were
at the Garden wall of the Convent. Don Raymond drew out his Key,
and unlocked the door. They entered, and waited for some time in
expectation of being joined by Agnes. At length the Marquis grew
impatient: Beginning to fear that his second attempt would
succeed no better than the first, He proposed to reconnoitre the
Convent. The Friends advanced towards it. Every thing was still
and dark. The Prioress was anxious to keep the story a secret,
fearing lest the crime of one of its members should bring
disgrace upon the whole community, or that the interposition of
powerful Relations should deprive her vengeance of its intended
victim. She took care therefore to give the Lover of Agnes no
cause to suppose that his design was discovered, and his
Mistress on the point of suffering the punishment of her fault.
The same reason made her reject the idea of arresting the unknown
Seducer in the Garden; Such a proceeding would have created much
disturbance, and the disgrace of her Convent would have been
noised about Madrid. She contented herself with confining Agnes
closely; As to the Lover, She left him at liberty to pursue his
designs. What She had expected was the result. The Marquis and
Lorenzo waited in vain till the break of day: They then retired
without noise, alarmed at the failure of their plan, and ignorant
of the cause of its ill-success.
The next morning Lorenzo went to the Convent, and requested to
see his Sister. The Prioress appeared at the Grate with a
melancholy countenance: She informed him that for several days
Agnes had appeared much agitated; That She had been prest by the
Nuns in vain to reveal the cause, and apply to their tenderness
for advice and consolation; That She had obstinately persisted in
concealing the cause of her distress; But that on Thursday
Evening it had produced so violent an effect upon her
constitution, that She had fallen ill, and was actually confined
to her bed. Lorenzo did not credit a syllable of this account:
He insisted upon seeing his Sister; If She was unable to come to
the Grate, He desired to be admitted to her Cell. The Prioress
crossed herself! She was shocked at the very idea of a Man's
profane eye pervading the interior of her holy Mansion, and
professed herself astonished that Lorenzo could think of such a
thing. She told him that his request could not be granted; But
that if He returned the next day, She hoped that her beloved
Daughter would then be sufficiently recovered to join him at the
Parlour grate.
With this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied and
trembling for his Sister's safety.
He returned the next morning at an early hour. 'Agnes was worse;
The Physician had pronounced her to be in imminent danger; She
was ordered to remain quiet, and it was utterly impossible for
her to receive her Brother's visit.' Lorenzo stormed at this
answer, but there was no resource. He raved, He entreated, He
threatened: No means were left untried to obtain a sight of
Agnes. His endeavours were as fruitless as those of the day
before, and He returned in despair to the Marquis. On his side,
the Latter had spared no pains to discover what had occasioned
his plot to fail: Don Christoval, to whom the affair was now
entrusted, endeavoured to worm out the secret from the Old
Porteress of St. Clare, with whom He had formed an acquaintance;
But She was too much upon her guard, and He gained from her no
intelligence. The Marquis was almost distracted, and Lorenzo felt
scarcely less inquietude. Both were convinced that the purposed
elopement must have been discovered: They doubted not but the
malady of Agnes was a pretence, But they knew not by what means
to rescue her from the hands of the Prioress.
Regularly every day did Lorenzo visit the Convent: As regularly
was He informed that his Sister rather grew worse than better.
Certain that her indisposition was feigned, these accounts did
not alarm him: But his ignorance of her fate, and of the motives
which induced the Prioress to keep her from him, excited the most
serious uneasiness. He was still uncertain what steps He ought
to take, when the Marquis received a letter from the
Cardinal-Duke of Lerma. It inclosed the Pope's expected Bull,
ordering that Agnes should be released from her vows, and
restored to her Relations. This essential paper decided at once
the proceedings of her Friends: They resolved that Lorenzo
should carry it to the Domina without delay, and demand that his
Sister should be instantly given up to him. Against this mandate
illness could not be pleaded: It gave her Brother the power of
removing her instantly to the Palace de Medina, and He determined
to use that power on the following day.
His mind relieved from inquietude respecting his Sister, and his
Spirits raised by the hope of soon restoring her to freedom, He
now had time to give a few moments to love and to Antonia. At
the same hour as on his former visit He repaired to Donna
Elvira's: She had given orders for his admission. As soon as He
was announced, her Daughter retired with Leonella, and when He
entered the chamber, He found the Lady of the House alone. She
received him with less distance than before, and desired him to
place himself near her upon the Sopha. She then without losing
time opened her business, as had been agreed between herself and
Antonia.
'You must not think me ungrateful, Don Lorenzo, or forgetful how
essential are the services which you have rendered me with the
Marquis. I feel the weight of my obligations; Nothing under the
Sun should induce my taking the step to which I am now compelled
but the interest of my Child, of my beloved Antonia. My health
is declining; God only knows how soon I may be summoned before
his Throne. My Daughter will be left without Parents, and should
She lose the protection of the Cisternas family, without Friends.
She is young and artless, uninstructed in the world's perfidy,
and with charms sufficient to render her an object of seduction.
Judge then, how I must tremble at the prospect before her!
Judge how anxious I must be to keep her from their society who
may excite the yet dormant passions of her bosom. You are
amiable, Don Lorenzo: Antonia has a susceptible, a loving heart,
and is grateful for the favours conferred upon us by your