her opinion: But her mind was too much accustomed to the fallacy
of worldly friendships to permit her present disappointment to
weigh upon it long. She now endeavoured to make her Daughter
aware of the risque which She had ran: But She was obliged to
treat the subject with caution, lest in removing the bandage of
ignorance, the veil of innocence should be rent away. She
therefore contented herself with warning Antonia to be upon her
guard, and ordering her, should the Abbot persist in his visits,
never to receive them but in company. With this injunction
Antonia promised to comply.
Ambrosio hastened to his Cell. He closed the door after him, and
threw himself upon the bed in despair. The impulse of desire, the
stings of disappointment, the shame of detection, and the fear of
being publicly unmasked, 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 part of 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, He
should now have possessed the object of his desires. With the
direct imprecations He vowed vengeance against her; He swore
that, cost what it would, He still would possess Antonia.
Starting from the Bed, He paced the chamber with disordered
steps, howled with impotent fury, dashed himself violently
against the walls, and indulged all the transports of rage and
madness.
He was still under the influence of this storm of passions when
He heard a gentle knock at the door of his Cell. Conscious that
his voice must have been heard, He dared not refuse admittance to
the Importuner: He strove to compose himself, and to hide his
agitation. Having in some degree succeeded, He drew back the
bolt: The door opened, and Matilda appeared.
At this precise moment there was no one with whose presence He
could better have dispensed. He had not sufficient command over
himself to conceal 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
advanced towards him with an air gentle and supplicating.
'Forgive me, Ambrosio,' said She; 'For your own sake I must not
obey you. Fear no complaints from me; I come not to reproach you
with your ingratitude. I pardon you from my heart, and since
your love can no longer be mine, I request the next best gift,
your confidence and friendship. We cannot force our
inclinations; The little beauty which you once saw in me has
perished with its novelty, and if it can no longer excite desire,
mine is the fault, not yours. But why persist in shunning me?
Why such anxiety to fly my presence? You have sorrows, but will
not permit me to share them; You have disappointments, but will
not accept my comfort; You have wishes, but forbid my aiding your
pursuits. 'Tis of this which I complain, not of your
indifference to my person. I have given up the claims of the
Mistress, but nothing shall 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
rise superior to the foibles of your sex! Yes, I accept your
offer. I have need of an adviser, and a Confident: In you I
find every needful quality united. But to aid my pursuits . . .
. Ah! Matilda, it lies not in your power!'
'It lies in no one's power but mine. Ambrosio, your secret is
none to me; Your every step, your every action has been observed
by my attentive eye. You love.'
'Matilda!'
'Why conceal it from me? Fear not the little jealousy which
taints the generality of Women: My soul disdains so despicable a
passion. You love, Ambrosio; Antonia Dalfa is the object of your
flame. I know every circumstance respecting your passion: Every
conversation has been repeated to me. I have been informed of
your attempt to enjoy Antonia's person, your disappointment, and
dismission from Elvira's House. You now despair of possessing
your Mistress; But I come to revive 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 yet be happy. The time is come, Ambrosio, when regard for
your comfort and tranquillity compels me to reveal a part of my
History, with which you are still unacquainted. Listen, and do
not interrupt me: Should my confession disgust you, remember
that in making it my sole aim is to satisfy your wishes, and
restore that peace to your heart which at present has abandoned
it. I formerly mentioned that my Guardian was a Man of uncommon
knowledge: He took pains to instil that knowledge into my infant
mind. Among the various sciences which curiosity had induced him
to explore, He neglected not that which by most is esteemed
impious, and by many chimerical. I speak of those arts which
relate to the world of Spirits. His deep researches into causes
and effects, his unwearied application to the study of natural
philosophy, his profound and unlimited knowledge of the
properties and virtues of every gem which enriches the deep, of
every herb which the earth produces, at length procured him the
distinction which He had sought so long, so earnestly. His
curiosity was fully slaked, his ambition amply gratified. He
gave laws to the elements; He could reverse the order of nature;
His eye read the mandates of futurity, and the infernal Spirits
were submissive to his commands. Why shrink you from me? I
understand that enquiring look. Your suspicions are right,
though your terrors are unfounded. My Guardian concealed not
from me his most precious acquisition. Yet had I never seen YOU,
I should never have exerted my power. Like you I shuddered at
the thoughts of Magic: Like you I had formed a terrible idea of
the consequences of raising a daemon. To preserve that life
which your love had taught me to prize, I had recourse to means
which I trembled at employing. You remember that night which I
past in St. Clare's Sepulchre? Then was it that, surrounded by
mouldering bodies, I dared to perform those mystic rites which
summoned to my aid a fallen Angel. Judge what must have been my
joy at discovering that my terrors were imaginary: I saw the
Daemon obedient 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 for myself a Slave.'
'Rash Matilda! What have you done? You have doomed yourself to
endless perdition; You have bartered for momentary power eternal
happiness! If on witchcraft depends the fruition of my desires,
I renounce your aid most absol
utely. The consequences are too
horrible: I doat upon Antonia, but am not so blinded by lust as
to sacrifice for her enjoyment my existence both in this world
and the next.'
'Ridiculous prejudices! Oh! blush, Ambrosio, blush at being
subjected to their dominion. Where is the risque of accepting my
offers? What should induce my persuading you to this step,
except the wish of restoring you to happiness and quiet. If
there is danger, it must fall upon me: It is I who invoke the
ministry of the Spirits; Mine therefore will be the crime, and
yours the profit. But danger there is none: The Enemy of
Mankind is my Slave, not my Sovereign. Is there no difference
between giving and receiving laws, between serving and
commanding? Awake from your idle dreams, Ambrosio! Throw from
you these terrors so ill-suited to a soul like yours; Leave them
for common Men, and dare to be happy! Accompany me this night to
St. Clare's Sepulchre, witness my incantations, and Antonia is
your own.'
'To obtain her by such means I neither can, or will. Cease then
to persuade me, for I dare not employ Hell's agency.
'You DARE not? How have you deceived me! That mind which I
esteemed so great and valiant, proves to be feeble, puerile, and
grovelling, a slave to vulgar errors, and weaker than a Woman's.'
'What? Though conscious of the danger, wilfully shall I expose
myself to the Seducer's arts? Shall I renounce for ever my title
to salvation? 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 your
engagements with him, renounced his service, and abandoned
yourself to the impulse of your passions? Are you not planning
the destruction of innocence, the ruin of a Creature whom He
formed in the mould of Angels? If not of Daemons, whose aid
would you invoke to forward this laudable design? Will the
Seraphims protect it, conduct Antonia to your arms, and sanction
with their ministry your illicit pleasures? Absurd! But I am
not deceived, Ambrosio! It is not virtue which makes you reject
my offer: You WOULD accept it, but you dare not. 'Tis not the
crime which holds your hand, but the punishment; 'Tis not respect
for God which restrains you, but the terror of his vengeance!
Fain would you offend him in secret, but you tremble to profess
yourself his Foe. Now shame on the coward soul, which wants the
courage either to be a firm Friend or open Enemy!'
'To look upon guilt with horror, Matilda, is in itself a merit:
In this respect I glory to confess myself a Coward. Though my
passions have made me deviate from her laws, I still feel in my
heart an innate love of virtue. But it ill becomes you to tax me
with my perjury: You, who first seduced me to violate my vows;
You, who first rouzed my sleeping vices, made me feel the weight
of Religion's chains, and bad me be convinced that guilt had
pleasures. Yet though my principles have yielded to the force of
temperament, I still have sufficient grace to shudder at Sorcery,
and avoid a crime so monstrous, so unpardonable!'
'Unpardonable, say you? Where then is your constant boast of the
Almighty's infinite mercy? Has He of late set bounds to it?
Receives He no longer a Sinner with joy? You injure him,
Ambrosio; You will always have time to repent, and He have
goodness to forgive. Afford him a glorious opportunity to exert
that goodness: The greater your crime, the greater his merit in
pardoning. Away then with these childish scruples: Be persuaded
to your good, and follow me to the Sepulchre.'
'Oh! cease, Matilda! That scoffing tone, that bold and impious
language, is horrible in every mouth, but most so in a Woman's.
Let us drop a conversation which excites no other sentiments
than horror and disgust. I will not follow you to the Sepulchre,
or accept the services of your infernal Agents. Antonia shall be
mine, but mine by human means.'
'Then yours She will never be! You are banished her presence;
Her Mother has opened her eyes to your designs, and She is now
upon her guard against them. Nay more, She loves another. A
Youth of distinguished merit possesses her heart, and unless you
interfere, a few days will make her his Bride. This intelligence
was brought me by my invisible Servants, to whom I had recourse
on first perceiving your indifference. They watched your every
action, related to me all that past at Elvira's, and inspired me
with the idea of favouring your designs. Their reports have been
my only comfort. Though you shunned my presence, all your
proceedings were known to me: Nay, I was constantly with you in
some degree, thanks to this precious gift!'
With these words She drew from beneath her habit a mirror of
polished steel, the borders of which were marked with various
strange and unknown characters.
'Amidst all my sorrows, amidst all my regrets for your coldness,
I was sustained from despair by the virtues of this Talisman. On
pronouncing certain words, the Person appears in it on whom the
Observer's thoughts are 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
yourself with 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 the magic words. Immediately, a thick smoke rose from
the characters traced upon the borders, and spread itself over
the surface. It dispersed again gradually; A confused mixture of
colours and images presented themselves to the Friar's eyes,
which at length arranging themselves in their proper places, He
beheld in miniature Antonia's lovely form.
The scene was a small closet belonging to her apartment. She was
undressing to bathe herself. The long tresses of her hair were
already bound up. The amorous Monk had full opportunity to
observe the voluptuous contours and admirable symmetry of her
person. She threw off her last garment, and advancing to the
Bath prepared for her, She put her foot into the water. It
struck cold, and She drew it back again. Though unconscious of
being observed, an inbred sense of modesty induced her to veil
her charms; and She stood hesitating upon the brink, in the
attitude of the Venus de Medicis. At this moment a tame Linnet
flew towards her, nestled its head between her breasts, and
nibbled them in wanton play. The smiling Antonia strove in vain
to shake off the Bird, and at length raised her hands to drive it
from its delightful harbour. Ambrosio could bear no more: His
desires were worked up to phrenzy.
'I yield!' He cried, dashing the mirror upon the ground:
'Matilda, I follow you! Do with me what you will!'
She w
aited not to hear his consent repeated. It was already
midnight. She flew to her Cell, and soon returned with her
little basket and the Key of the Cemetery, which had remained in
her possession since her first visit to the Vaults. She gave the
Monk no time for reflection.
'Come!' She said, and took his hand; 'Follow me, and witness the
effects of your resolve!'
This said, She drew him hastily along. They passed into the
Burying-ground unobserved, opened the door of the Sepulchre, and
found themselves at the head of the subterraneous Staircase. As
yet the beams of the full Moon had guided their steps, but that
resource now failed them. Matilda had neglected to provide
herself with a Lamp. Still holding Ambrosio's hand She descended
the marble steps; But the profound obscurity with which they were
overspread obliged them to walk slow and cautiously.
'You tremble!' said Matilda to her Companion; 'Fear not; The
destined spot is near.'
They reached the foot of the Staircase, and continued to
proceed, feeling their way along the Walls. On turning a corner
suddenly, they descried faint gleams of light which seemed
burning at a distance. Thither they bent their steps: The rays
proceeded from a small sepulchral Lamp which flamed unceasingly
before the Statue of St. Clare. It tinged with dim and cheerless
beams the massy Columns which supported the Roof, but was too
feeble to dissipate the thick gloom in which the Vaults above
were buried.
Matilda took the Lamp.
'Wait for me!' said She to the Friar; 'In a few moments I am here
again.'
With these words She hastened into one of the passages which
branched in 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 had been hurried away by the delirium
of the moment: The shame of betraying his terrors, while in
Matilda's presence, had induced him to repress them; But now that
he was abandoned to himself, they resumed their former
ascendancy. He trembled at the scene which He was soon to
witness. He knew not how far the delusions of Magic might
operate upon his mind, and possibly might force him to some deed
whose commission would make the breach between himself and Heaven
The Monk - A Romance Page 30
