Oh! I am the most unfortunate Woman alive! My House is filled
with Ghosts and dead Bodies, and the Lord knows what besides; Yet
I am sure, nobody likes such company less than I do. But go
your way to Donna Antonia, Flora, and let me go mine.'
Thus saying, She continued her course to the Street door, which
She opened, and without allowing herself time to throw on her
veil, She made the best of her way to the Capuchin Abbey. In the
meanwhile, Flora hastened to her Lady's chamber, equally
surprized and alarmed at Jacintha's consternation. She found
Antonia lying upon the bed insensible. She used the same means
for her recovery that Jacintha had already employed; But finding
that her Mistress only recovered from one fit to fall into
another, She sent in all haste for a Physician. While expecting
his arrival, She undrest Antonia, and conveyed her to Bed.
Heedless of the storm, terrified almost out of her senses,
Jacintha ran through the Streets, and stopped not till She
reached the Gate of the Abbey. She rang loudly at the bell, and
as soon as the Porter appeared, She desired permission to speak
to the Superior. Ambrosio was then conferring with Matilda upon
the means of procuring access to Antonia. The cause of Elvira's
death remaining unknown, He was convinced that crimes were not so
swiftly followed by punishment, as his Instructors the Monks had
taught him, and as till then He had himself believed. This
persuasion made him resolve upon Antonia's ruin, for the
enjoyment of whose person dangers and difficulties only seemed to
have increased his passion. The Monk had already made one
attempt to gain admission to her presence; But Flora had refused
him in such a manner as to convince him that all future
endeavours must be vain. Elvira had confided her suspicions to
that trusty Servant: She had desired her never to leave Ambrosio
alone with her Daughter, and if possible to prevent their meeting
altogether. Flora promised to obey her, and had executed her
orders to the very letter. Ambrosio's visit had been rejected
that morning, though Antonia was ignorant of it. He saw that to
obtain a sight of his Mistress by open means was out of the
question; and both Himself and Matilda had consumed the night, in
endeavouring to invent some plan, whose event might be more
successful. Such was their employment, when a Lay-Brother
entered the Abbot's Cell, and informed him that a Woman calling
herself Jacintha Zuniga requested audience for a few minutes.
Ambrosio was by no means disposed to grant the petition of his
Visitor. He refused it positively, and bad the Lay-Brother tell
the Stranger to return the next day. Matilda interrupted him.
'See this Woman,' said She in a low voice; 'I have my reasons.'
The Abbot obeyed her, and signified that He would go to the
Parlour immediately. With this answer the Lay-Brother
withdrew. As soon as they were alone Ambrosio enquired why
Matilda wished him to see this Jacintha.
'She is Antonia's Hostess,' replied Matilda; 'She may possibly be
of use to you: but let us examine her, and learn what brings her
hither.'
They proceeded together to the Parlour, where Jacintha was
already waiting for the Abbot. She had conceived a great opinion
of his piety and virtue; and supposing him to have much influence
over the Devil, thought that it must be an easy matter for him to
lay Elvira's Ghost in the Red Sea. Filled with this persuasion
She had hastened to the Abbey. As soon as She saw the Monk enter
the Parlour, She dropped upon her knees, and began her story as
follows.
'Oh! Reverend Father! Such an accident! Such an adventure! I
know not what course to take, and unless you can help me, I shall
certainly go distracted. Well, to be sure, never was Woman so
unfortunate, as myself! All in my power to keep clear of such
abomination have I done, and yet that all is too little. What
signifies my telling my beads four times a day, and observing
every fast prescribed by the Calendar? What signifies my having
made three Pilgrimages to St. James of Compostella, and purchased
as many pardons from the Pope as would buy off Cain's
punishment? Nothing prospers with me! All goes wrong, and God
only knows, whether any thing will ever go right again! Why now,
be your Holiness the Judge. My Lodger dies in convulsions; Out
of pure kindness I bury her at my own expence; (Not that She is
any Relation of mine, or that I shall be benefited a single
pistole by her death: I got nothing by it, and therefore you
know, reverend Father, that her living or dying was just the same
to me. But that is nothing to the purpose; To return to what I
was saying,) I took care of her funeral, had every thing
performed decently and properly, and put myself to expence
enough, God knows! And how do you think the Lady repays me for
my kindness? Why truly by refusing to sleep quietly in her
comfortable deal Coffin, as a peaceable well-disposed Spirit
ought to do, and coming to plague me, who never wish to set eyes
on her again. Forsooth, it well becomes her to go racketing
about my House at midnight, popping into her Daughter's room
through the Keyhole, and frightening the poor Child out of her
wits! Though She be a Ghost, She might be more civil than to
bolt into a Person's House, who likes her company so little. But
as for me, reverend Father, the plain state of the case is this:
If She walks into my House, I must walk out of it, for I cannot
abide such Visitors, not I! Thus you see, your Sanctity, that
without your assistance I am ruined and undone for ever. I shall
be obliged to quit my House; Nobody will take it, when 'tis known
that She haunts it, and then I shall find myself in a fine
situation! Miserable Woman that I am! What shall I do! What
will become of me!'
Here She wept bitterly, wrung her hands, and begged to know the
Abbot's opinion of her case.
'In truth, good Woman,' replied He, 'It will be difficult for me
to relieve you without knowing what is the matter with you. You
have forgotten to tell me what has happened, and what it is you
want.'
'Let me die' cried Jacintha, 'but your Sanctity is in the right!
This then is the fact stated briefly. A lodger of mine is lately
dead, a very good sort of Woman that I must needs say for her as
far as my knowledge of her went, though that was not a great way:
She kept me too much at a distance; for indeed She was given to
be upon the high ropes, and whenever I ventured to speak to her,
She had a look with her which always made me feel a little
queerish, God forgive me for saying so. However, though She was
more stately than needful, and affected to look down upon me
(Though if I am well informed, I come of as good Parents as She
could do for her ears, for her Father was a Shoe-maker at
Cordova, and Mine was an Hatter at Madrid, aye, and a very
creditable Hatter too, let me tell you,) Yet
for all her pride,
She was a quiet well-behaved Body, and I never wish to have a
better Lodger. This makes me wonder the more at her not sleeping
quietly in her Grave: But there is no trusting to people in this
world! For my part, I never saw her do amiss, except on the
Friday before her death. To be sure, I was then much scandalized
by seeing her eat the wing of a Chicken! ''How, Madona Flora!''
quoth I; (Flora, may it please your Reverence, is the name of the
waiting Maid)--''How, Madona Flora!'' quoth I; ''Does your
Mistress eat flesh upon Fridays? Well! Well! See the event,
and then remember that Dame Jacintha warned you of it!'' These
were my very words, but Alas! I might as well have held my
tongue! Nobody minded me; and Flora, who is somewhat pert and
snappish, (More is the pity, say I) told me that there was no
more harm in eating a Chicken than the egg from which it came.
Nay, She even declared that if her Lady added a slice of bacon,
She would not be an inch nearer Damnation, God protect us! A
poor ignorant sinful soul! I protest to your Holiness, I
trembled to hear her utter such blasphemies, and expected every
moment to see the ground open and swallow her up, Chicken and
all! For you must know, worshipful Father, that while She talked
thus, She held the plate in her hand, on which lay the identical
roast Fowl. And a fine Bird it was, that I must say for it! Done
to a turn, for I superintended the cooking of it myself: It was
a little Gallician of my own raising, may it please your
Holiness, and the flesh was as white as an egg-shell, as indeed
Donna Elvira told me herself. ''Dame Jacintha,'' said She, very
good-humouredly, though to say the truth, She was always very
polite to me . . . . .'
Here Ambrosio's patience failed him. Eager to know Jacintha's
business in which Antonia seemed to be concerned, He was almost
distracted while listening to the rambling of this prosing old
Woman. He interrupted her, and protested that if She did not
immediately tell her story and have done with it, He should quit
the Parlour, and leave her to get out of her difficulties by
herself. This threat had the desired effect. Jacintha related
her business in as few words as She could manage; But her account
was still so prolix that Ambrosio had need of his patience to
bear him to the conclusion.
'And so, your Reverence,' said She, after relating Elvira's death
and burial, with all their circumstances; 'And so, your
Reverence, upon hearing the shriek, I put away my work, and away
posted I to Donna Antonia's chamber. Finding nobody there, I
past on to the next; But I must own, I was a little timorous at
going in, for this was the very room where Donna Elvira used to
sleep. However, in I went, and sure enough, there lay the young
Lady at full length upon the floor, as cold as a stone, and as
white as a sheet. I was surprized at this, as your Holiness may
well suppose; But Oh me! how I shook when I saw a great tall
figure at my elbow whose head touched the ceiling! The face was
Donna Elvira's, I must confess; But out of its mouth came clouds
of fire, its arms were loaded with heavy chains which it rattled
piteously, and every hair on its head was a Serpent as big as my
arm! At this I was frightened enough, and began to say my
Ave-Maria: But the Ghost interrupting me uttered three loud
groans, and roared out in a terrible voice, ''Oh! That Chicken's
wing! My poor soul suffers for it!'' As soon as She had said
this, the Ground opened, the Spectre sank down, I heard a clap of
thunder, and the room was filled with a smell of brimstone. When
I recovered from my fright, and had brought Donna Antonia to
herself, who told me that She had cried out upon seeing her
Mother's Ghost, (And well might She cry, poor Soul! Had I been
in her place, I should have cried ten times louder) it directly
came into my head, that if any one had power to quiet this
Spectre, it must be your Reverence. So hither I came in all
diligence, to beg that you will sprinkle my House with holy
water, and lay the Apparition in the Red Sea.'
Ambrosio stared at this strange story, which He could not credit.
'Did Donna Antonia also see the Ghost?' said He.
'As plain as I see you, Reverend Father!'
Ambrosio paused for a moment. Here was an opportunity offered
him of gaining access to Antonia, but He hesitated to employ it.
The reputation which He enjoyed in Madrid was still dear to him;
and since He had lost the reality of virtue, it appeared as if
its semblance was become more valuable. He was conscious that
publicly to break through the rule never to quit the
Abbey precincts, would derogate much from his supposed austerity.
In visiting Elvira, He had always taken care to keep his features
concealed from the Domestics. Except by the Lady, her Daughter,
and the faithful Flora, He was known in the Family by no other
name than that of Father Jerome. Should He comply with
Jacintha's request, and accompany her to her House, He knew that
the violation of his rule could not be kept a secret. However,
his eagerness to see Antonia obtained the victory: He even hoped,
that the singularity of this adventure would justify him in the
eyes of Madrid: But whatever might be the consequences, He
resolved to profit by the opportunity which chance had presented
to him. An expressive look from Matilda confirmed him in this
resolution.
'Good Woman,' said He to Jacintha, 'what you tell me is so
extraordinary that I can scarcely credit your assertions.
However, I will comply with your request. Tomorrow after Matins
you may expect me at your House: I will then examine into what I
can do for you, and if it is in my power, will free you from this
unwelcome Visitor. Now then go home, and peace be with you!'
'Home?' exclaimed Jacintha; 'I go home? Not I by my troth!
except under your protection, I set no foot of mine within the
threshold. God help me, the Ghost may meet me upon the Stairs,
and whisk me away with her to the devil! Oh! That I had
accepted young Melchior Basco's offer! Then I should have had
somebody to protect me; But now I am a lone Woman, and meet with
nothing but crosses and misfortunes! Thank Heaven, it is not yet
too late to repent! There is Simon Gonzalez will have me any day
of the week, and if I live till daybreak, I will marry him out
of hand: An Husband I will have, that is determined, for now
this Ghost is once in my House, I shall be frightened out of my
wits to sleep alone. But for God's sake, reverend Father, come
with me now. I shall have no rest till the House is purified, or
the poor young Lady either. The dear Girl! She is in a piteous
taking: I left her in strong convulsions, and I doubt, She will
not easily recover her fright.'
The Friar started, and interrupted her hastily.
'In convulsions, say you? Antonia in convulsions? Lead on, good
Woman! I follow you this moment!'
Jacintha insisted upon his stopping to furnish himself with the
vessel of holy water: With this request He complied. Thinking
herself safe under his protection should a Legion of Ghosts
attack her, the old Woman returned the Monk a profusion of
thanks, and they departed together for the Strada di San Iago.
So strong an impression had the Spectre made upon Antonia, that
for the first two or three hours the Physician declared her life
to be in danger. The fits at length becoming less frequent
induced him to alter his opinion. He said that to keep her quiet
was all that was necessary; and He ordered a medicine to be
prepared which would tranquillize her nerves, and procure her
that repose which at present She much wanted. The sight of
Ambrosio, who now appeared with Jacintha at her Bedside,
contributed essentially to compose her ruffled spirits. Elvira
had not sufficiently explained herself upon the nature of his
designs, to make a Girl so ignorant of the world as her Daughter
aware how dangerous was his acquaintance. At this moment, when
penetrated with horror at the scene which had just past, and
dreading to contemplate the Ghost's prediction, her mind had need
of all the succours of friendship and religion, Antonia regarded
the Abbot with an eye doubly partial. That strong prepossession
in his favour still existed which She had felt for him at first
sight: She fancied, yet knew not wherefore, that his presence
was a safeguard to her from every danger, insult, or misfortune.
She thanked him gratefully for his visit, and related to him the
adventure, which had alarmed her so seriously.
The Abbot strove to reassure her, and convince her that the
whole had been a deception of her overheated fancy. The
solitude in which She had passed the Evening, the gloom of night,
the Book which She had been reading, and the Room in which She
sat, were all calculated to place before her such a vision. He
treated the idea of Ghosts with ridicule, and produced strong
arguments to prove the fallacy of such a system. His
conversation tranquillized and comforted her, but did not
convince her. She could not believe that the Spectre had been a
mere creature of her imagination; Every circumstance was
impressed upon her mind too forcibly, to permit her flattering
herself with such an idea. She persisted in asserting that She
The Monk - A Romance Page 36
