The Monk - A Romance

by The Monk [lit]

  situation; She besought him to compassionate his Brother's Child,

  to continue to her Elvira's pension, and to authorise her

  retiring to his old Castle in Murcia, which till now had been her

  retreat. Having sealed her letter, She gave it to the trusty

  Flora, who immediately set out to execute her commission. But

  Antonia was born under an unlucky Star. Had She made her

  application to the Marquis but one day sooner, received as his

  Niece and placed at the head of his Family, She would have

  escaped all the misfortunes with which She was now threatened.

  Raymond had always intended to execute this plan: But first, his

  hopes of making the proposal to Elvira through the lips of Agnes,

  and afterwards, his disappointment at losing his intended Bride,

  as well as the severe illness which for some time had confined

  him to his Bed, made him defer from day to day the giving an

  Asylum in his House to his Brother's Widow. He had commissioned

  Lorenzo to supply her liberally with money: But Elvira,

  unwilling to receive obligations from that Nobleman, had assured

  him that She needed no immediate pecuniary assistance.

  Consequently, the Marquis did not imagine that a trifling delay

  on his part could create any embarrassment; and the distress and

  agitation of his mind might well excuse his negligence.

  Had He been informed that Elvira's death had left her Daughter

  Friendless and unprotected, He would doubtless have taken such

  measures, as would have ensured her from every danger: But

  Antonia was not destined to be so fortunate. The day on which

  She sent her letter to the Palace de las Cisternas was that

  following Lorenzo's departure from Madrid. The Marquis was in

  the first paroxysms of despair at the conviction that Agnes was

  indeed no more: He was delirious, and his life being in danger,

  no one was suffered to approach him. Flora was informed that He

  was incapable of attending to Letters, and that probably a few

  hours would decide his fate. With this unsatisfactory answer She

  was obliged to return to her Mistress, who now found herself

  plunged into greater difficulties than ever.

  Flora and Dame Jacintha exerted themselves to console her. The

  Latter begged her to make herself easy, for that as long as She

  chose to stay with her, She would treat her like her own Child.

  Antonia, finding that the good Woman had taken a real affection

  for her, was somewhat comforted by thinking that She had at

  least one Friend in the World. A Letter was now brought to her,

  directed to Elvira. She recognized Leonella's writing, and

  opening it with joy, found a detailed account of her Aunt's

  adventures at Cordova. She informed her Sister that She had

  recovered her Legacy, had lost her heart, and had received in

  exchange that of the most amiable of Apothecaries, past, present,

  and to come. She added that She should be at Madrid on the

  Tuesday night, and meant to have the pleasure of presenting her

  Caro Sposo in form. Though her nuptials were far from pleasing

  Antonia, Leonella's speedy return gave her Niece much delight.

  She rejoiced in thinking that She should once more be under a

  Relation's care. She could not but judge it to be highly

  improper, for a young Woman to be living among absolute

  Strangers, with no one to regulate her conduct, or protect her

  from the insults to which, in her defenceless situation, She was

  exposed. She therefore looked forward with impatience to the

  Tuesday night.

  It arrived. Antonia listened anxiously to the Carriages, as they

  rolled along the Street. None of them stopped, and it grew late

  without Leonella's appearing. Still, Antonia resolved to sit up

  till her Aunt's arrival, and in spite of all her remonstrances,

  Dame Jacintha and Flora insisted upon doing the same. The hours

  passed on slow and tediously. Lorenzo's departure from Madrid

  had put a stop to the nightly Serenades: She hoped in vain to

  hear the usual sound of Guitars beneath her window. She took up

  her own, and struck a few chords: But Music that evening had lost

  its charms for her, and She soon replaced the Instrument in its

  case. She seated herself at her embroidery frame, but nothing

  went right: The silks were missing, the thread snapped every

  moment, and the needles were so expert at falling that they

  seemed to be animated. At length a flake of wax fell from the

  Taper which stood near her upon a favourite wreath of Violets:

  This compleatly discomposed her; She threw down her needle, and

  quitted the frame. It was decreed that for that night nothing

  should have the power of amusing her. She was the prey of Ennui,

  and employed herself in making fruitless wishes for the arrival

  of her Aunt.

  As She walked with a listless air up and down the chamber, the

  Door caught her eye conducting to that which had been her

  Mother's. She remembered that Elvira's little Library was

  arranged there, and thought that She might possibly find in it

  some Book to amuse her till Leonella should arrive. Accordingly

  She took her Taper from the table, passed through the little

  Closet, and entered the adjoining apartment. As She looked

  around her, the sight of this room brought to her recollection a

  thousand painful ideas. It was the first time of her entering it

  since her Mother's death. The total silence prevailing through

  the chamber, the Bed despoiled of its furniture, the cheerless

  hearth where stood an extinguished Lamp, and a few dying Plants

  in the window which, since Elvira's loss, had been neglected,

  inspired Antonia with a melancholy awe. The gloom of night gave

  strength to this sensation. She placed her light upon the Table,

  and sank into a large chair, in which She had seen her Mother

  seated a thousand and a thousand times. She was never to see her

  seated there again! Tears unbidden streamed down her cheek, and

  She abandoned herself to the sadness which grew deeper with

  every moment.

  Ashamed of her weakness, She at length rose from her seat: She

  proceeded to seek for what had brought her to this melancholy

  scene. The small collection of Books was arranged upon several

  shelves in order. Antonia examined them without finding any

  thing likely to interest her, till She put her hand upon a volume

  of old Spanish Ballads. She read a few Stanzas of one of them:

  They excited her curiosity. She took down the Book, and seated

  herself to peruse it with more ease. She trimmed the Taper,

  which now drew towards its end, and then read the following

  Ballad.

  ALONZO THE BRAVE, AND FAIR IMOGINE

  A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright

  Conversed, as They sat on the green:

  They gazed on each other with tender delight;

  Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight,

  The Maid's was the Fair Imogine.

  'And Oh!' said the Youth, 'since to-morrow I go

  To fight in a far distant land,

  Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow,

  Some Other will court you, and you
will bestow

  On a wealthier Suitor your hand.'

  'Oh! hush these suspicions,' Fair Imogine said,

  'Offensive to Love and to me!

  For if ye be living, or if ye be dead,

  I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead

  Shall Husband of Imogine be.

  'If e'er I by lust or by wealth led aside

  Forget my Alonzo the Brave,

  God grant, that to punish my falsehood and pride

  Your Ghost at the Marriage may sit by my side,

  May tax me with perjury, claim me as Bride,

  And bear me away to the Grave!'

  To Palestine hastened the Hero so bold;

  His Love, She lamented him sore:

  But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold,

  A Baron all covered with jewels and gold

  Arrived at Fair Imogine's door.

  His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain

  Soon made her untrue to her vows:

  He dazzled her eyes; He bewildered her brain;

  He caught her affections so light and so vain,

  And carried her home as his Spouse.

  And now had the Marriage been blest by the Priest;

  The revelry now was begun:

  The Tables, they groaned with the weightof the Feast;

  Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,

  When the Bell of the Castle told,--'One!'

  Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found

  That a Stranger was placed by her side: His air was terrific;

  He uttered no sound; He spoke not, He moved not,

  He looked not around,

  But earnestly gazed on the Bride.

  His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height;

  His armour was sable to view:

  All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;

  The Dogs as They eyed him drew back in affright,

  The Lights in the chamber burned blue!

  His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay;

  The Guests sat in silence and fear.

  At length spoke the Bride, while She trembled;

  'I pray, Sir Knight, that your Helmet aside you would lay,

  And deign to partake of our chear.'

  The Lady is silent: The Stranger complies.

  His vizor lie slowly unclosed:

  Oh! God! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eyes!

  What words can express her dismay and surprize,

  When a Skeleton's head was exposed.

  All present then uttered a terrified shout;

  All turned with disgust from the scene.

  The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out,

  And sported his eyes and his temples about,

  While the Spectre addressed Imogine.

  'Behold me, Thou false one! Behold me!' He cried;

  'Remember Alonzo the Brave!

  God grants, that to punish thy falsehood and pride

  My Ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,

  Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as Bride

  And bear thee away to the Grave!'

  Thus saying, his arms round the Lady He wound,

  While loudly She shrieked in dismay;

  Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground:

  Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,

  Or the Spectre who bore her away.

  Not long lived the Baron; and none since that time

  To inhabit the Castle presume:

  For Chronicles tell, that by order sublime

  There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,

  And mourns her deplorable doom.

  At midnight four times in each year does her Spright

  When Mortals in slumber are bound,

  Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,

  Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight,

  And shriek, as He whirls her around.

  While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,

  Dancing round them the Spectres are seen:

  Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave

  They howl.--'To the health of Alonzo the Brave,

  And his Consort, the False Imogine!'

  The perusal of this story was ill-calculated to dispel Antonia's

  melancholy. She had naturally a strong inclination to the

  marvellous; and her Nurse, who believed firmly in Apparitions,

  had related to her when an Infant so many horrible adventures of

  this kind, that all Elvira's attempts had failed to eradicate

  their impressions from her Daughter's mind. Antonia still

  nourished a superstitious prejudice in her bosom: She was often

  susceptible of terrors which, when She discovered their natural

  and insignificant cause, made her blush at her own weakness.

  With such a turn of mind, the adventure which She had just been

  reading sufficed to give her apprehensions the alarm. The hour

  and the scene combined to authorize them. It was the dead of

  night: She was alone, and in the chamber once occupied by her

  deceased Mother. The weather was comfortless and stormy: The

  wind howled around the House, the doors rattled in their frames,

  and the heavy rain pattered against the windows. No other sound

  was heard. The Taper, now burnt down to the socket, sometimes

  flaring upwards shot a gleam of light through the room, then

  sinking again seemed upon the point of expiring. Antonia's heart

  throbbed with agitation: Her eyes wandered fearfully over the

  objects around her, as the trembling flame illuminated them at

  intervals. She attempted to rise from her seat; But her limbs

  trembled so violently that She was unable to proceed. She then

  called Flora, who was in a room at no great distance: But

  agitation choaked her voice, and her cries died away in hollow

  murmurs.

  She passed some minutes in this situation, after which her

  terrors began to diminish. She strove to recover herself, and

  acquire strength enough to quit the room: Suddenly She fancied,

  that She heard a low sigh drawn near her. This idea brought back

  her former weakness. She had already raised herself from her

  seat, and was on the point of taking the Lamp from the Table.

  The imaginary noise stopped her: She drew back her hand, and

  supported herself upon the back of a Chair. She listened

  anxiously, but nothing more was heard.

  'Gracious God!' She said to herself; 'What could be that sound?

  Was I deceived, or did I really hear it?'

  Her reflections were interrupted by a noise at the door scarcely

  audible: It seemed as if somebody was whispering. Antonia's

  alarm increased: Yet the Bolt She knew to be fastened, and this

  idea in some degree reassured her. Presently the Latch was

  lifted up softly, and the Door moved with caution backwards and

  forwards. Excess of terror now supplied Antonia with that

  strength, of which She had till then been deprived. She started

  from her place and made towards the Closet door, whence She

  might soon have reached the chamber where She expected to find

  Flora and Dame Jacintha. Scarcely had She reached the middle of

  the room when the Latch was lifted up a second time. An

  involuntary movement obliged her to turn her head. Slowly and

  gradually the Door turned upon its hinges, and standing upon the

  Threshold She beheld a tall thin Figure, wrapped in a white

  shroud which covered it from head to foot.

  This vision arrested her feet: She remained as if petrified in

  the middl
e of the apartment. The Stranger with measured and

  solemn steps drew near the Table. The dying Taper darted a blue

  and melancholy flame as the Figure advanced towards it. Over the

  Table was fixed a small Clock; The hand of it was upon the stroke

  of three. The Figure stopped opposite to the Clock: It raised

  its right arm, and pointed to the hour, at the same time looking

  earnestly upon Antonia, who waited for the conclusion of this

  scene, motionless and silent.

  The figure remained in this posture for some moments. The clock

  struck. When the sound had ceased, the Stranger advanced yet a

  few steps nearer Antonia.

  'Yet three days,' said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral;

  'Yet three days, and we meet again!'

  Antonia shuddered at the words.

  'We meet again?' She pronounced at length with difficulty:

  'Where shall we meet? Whom shall I meet?'

  The figure pointed to the ground with one hand, and with the

  other raised the Linen which covered its face.

  'Almighty God! My Mother!'

  Antonia shrieked, and fell lifeless upon the floor.

  Dame Jacintha who was at work in a neighbouring chamber, was

  alarmed by the cry: Flora was just gone down stairs to fetch

  fresh oil for the Lamp, by which they had been sitting. Jacintha

  therefore hastened alone to Antonia's assistance, and great was

  her amazement to find her extended upon the floor. She raised

  her in her arms, conveyed her to her apartment, and placed her

  upon the Bed still senseless. She then proceeded to bathe her

  temples, chafe her hands, and use all possible means of bringing

  her to herself. With some difficulty She succeeded. Antonia

  opened her eyes, and looked round her wildly.

  'Where is She?' She cried in a trembling voice; 'Is She gone? Am

  I safe? Speak to me! Comfort me! Oh! speak to me for God's

  sake!'

  'Safe from whom, my Child?' replied the astonished Jacintha;

  'What alarms you? Of whom are you afraid?'

  'In three days! She told me that we should meet in three days! I

  heard her say it! I saw her, Jacintha, I saw her but this

  moment!'

  She threw herself upon Jacintha's bosom.

  'You saw her? Saw whom?'

  'My Mother's Ghost!'

  'Christ Jesus!' cried Jacintha, and starting from the Bed, let

  fall Antonia upon the pillow, and fled in consternation out of

  the room.

  As She hastened down stairs, She met Flora ascending them.

  'Go to your Mistress, Flora,' said She; 'Here are rare doings!