The Monk - A Romance

by The Monk [lit]

  they had seen inflicted on the Superior, many of the Pensioners

  and Nuns had taken refuge in the Sepulchre. Among the former was

  to be reckoned the lovely Virginia. Nearly related to the

  Prioress, She had more reason than the rest to dread the Rioters,

  and now besought Lorenzo earnestly not to abandon her to their

  rage. Her Companions, most of whom were Women of noble family,

  made the same request, which He readily granted. He promised not

  to quit them, till He had seen each of them safe in the arms of

  her Relations: But He advised their deferring to quit the

  Sepulchre for some time longer, when the popular fury should be

  somewhat calmed, and the arrival of military force have dispersed

  the multitude.

  'Would to God!' cried Virginia, 'That I were already safe in my

  Mother's embraces! How say you, Segnor; Will it be long, ere we

  may leave this place? Every moment that I pass here, I pass in

  torture!'

  'I hope, not long,' said He; 'But till you can proceed with

  security, this Sepulchre will prove an impenetrable asylum. Here

  you run no risque of a discovery, and I would advise your

  remaining quiet for the next two or three hours.'

  'Two or three hours?' exclaimed Sister Helena; 'If I stay another

  hour in these vaults, I shall expire with fear! Not the wealth

  of worlds should bribe me to undergo again what I have suffered

  since my coming hither. Blessed Virgin! To be in this melancholy

  place in the middle of night, surrounded by the mouldering bodies

  of my deceased Companions, and expecting every moment to be torn

  in pieces by their Ghosts who wander about me, and complain, and

  groan, and wail in accents that make my blood run cold, . . . . .

  . Christ Jesus! It is enough to drive me to madness!'

  'Excuse me,' replied Lorenzo, 'if I am surprized that while

  menaced by real woes you are capable of yielding to imaginary

  dangers. These terrors are puerile and groundless: Combat them,

  holy Sister; I have promised to guard you from the Rioters, but

  against the attacks of superstition you must depend for

  protection upon yourself. The idea of Ghosts is ridiculous in the

  extreme; And if you continue to be swayed by ideal terrors . . .

  . . .'

  'Ideal?' exclaimed the Nuns with one voice; 'Why we heard it

  ourselves, Segnor! Every one of us heard it! It was frequently

  repeated, and it sounded every time more melancholy and deep.

  You will never persuade me that we could all have been deceived.

  Not we, indeed; No, no; Had the noise been merely created by

  fancy . . . .'

  'Hark! Hark!' interrupted Virginia in a voice of terror; 'God

  preserve us! There it is again!'

  The Nuns clasped their hands together, and sank upon their knees.

  Lorenzo looked round him eagerly, and was on the point of

  yielding to the fears which already had possessed the Women.

  Universal silence prevailed. He examined the Vault, but nothing

  was to be seen. He now prepared to address the Nuns, and

  ridicule their childish apprehensions, when his attention was

  arrested by a deep and long-drawn groan.

  'What was that?' He cried, and started.

  'There, Segnor!' said Helena; 'Now you must be convinced! You

  have heard the noise yourself! Now judge, whether our terrors

  are imaginary. Since we have been here, that groaning has been

  repeated almost every five minutes. Doubtless, it proceeds from

  some Soul in pain, who wishes to be prayed out of purgatory: But

  none of us here dares ask it the question. As for me, were I to

  see an Apparition, the fright, I am very certain, would kill me

  out of hand.'

  As She said this, a second groan was heard yet more distinctly.

  The Nuns crossed themselves, and hastened to repeat their prayers

  against evil Spirits. Lorenzo listened attentively. He even

  thought that He could distinguish sounds, as of one speaking in

  complaint; But distance rendered them inarticulate. The noise

  seemed to come from the midst of the small Vault in which He and

  the Nuns then were, and which a multitude of passages branching

  out in various directions, formed into a sort of Star. Lorenzo's

  curiosity which was ever awake, made him anxious to solve this

  mystery. He desired that silence might be kept. The Nuns obeyed

  him. All was hushed, till the general stillness was again

  disturbed by the groaning, which was repeated several times

  successively. He perceived it to be most audible, when upon

  following the sound He was conducted close to the shrine of St.

  Clare;

  'The noise comes from hence,' said He; 'Whose is this Statue?'

  Helena, to whom He addressed the question, paused for a moment.

  Suddenly She clapped her hands together.

  'Aye!' cried She, 'it must be so. I have discovered the meaning

  of these groans.'

  The Nuns crowded round her, and besought her eagerly to explain

  herself. She gravely replied that for time immemorial the

  Statue had been famous for performing miracles: From this She

  inferred that the Saint was concerned at the conflagration of a

  Convent which She protected, and expressed her grief by audible

  lamentations. Not having equal faith in the miraculous Saint,

  Lorenzo did not think this solution of the mystery quite so

  satisfactory, as the Nuns, who subscribed to it without

  hesitation. In one point, 'tis true, that He agreed with Helena.

  He suspected that the groans proceeded from the Statue: The more

  He listened, the more was He confirmed in this idea. He drew

  nearer to the Image, designing to inspect it more closely: But

  perceiving his intention, the Nuns besought him for God's sake to

  desist, since if He touched the Statue, his death was inevitable.

  'And in what consists the danger?' said He.

  'Mother of God! In what?' replied Helena, ever eager to relate a

  miraculous adventure; 'If you had only heard the hundredth part

  of those marvellous Stories about this Statue which the Domina

  used to recount! She assured us often and often, that if we only

  dared to lay a finger upon it, we might expect the most fatal

  consequences. Among other things She told us that a Robber

  having entered these Vaults by night, He observed yonder Ruby,

  whose value is inestimable. Do you see it, Segnor? It sparkles

  upon the third finger of the hand, in which She holds a crown of

  Thorns. This Jewel naturally excited the Villain's cupidity. He

  resolved to make himself Master of it. For this purpose He

  ascended the Pedestal: He supported himself by grasping the

  Saint's right arm, and extended his own towards the Ring. What

  was his surprize, when He saw the Statue's hand raised in a

  posture of menace, and heard her lips pronounce his eternal

  perdition! Penetrated with awe and consternation, He desisted

  from his attempt, and prepared to quit the Sepulchre. In this He

  also failed. Flight was denied him. He found it impossible to

  disengage the hand, which rested upon the right arm of the

  Statue. In vain did He struggle: He remained fixed to the
<
br />   Image, till the insupportable and fiery anguish which darted

  itself through his veins, compelled his shrieking for assistance.

  The Sepulchre was now filled with Spectators. The Villain

  confessed his sacrilege, and was only released by the separation

  of his hand from his body. It has remained ever since fastened

  to the Image. The Robber turned Hermit, and led ever after an

  exemplary life: But yet the Saint's decree was performed, and

  Tradition says that He continues to haunt this Sepulchre, and

  implore St. Clare's pardon with groans and lamentations. Now I

  think of it, those which we have just heard, may very possibly

  have been uttered by the Ghost of this Sinner: But of this I will

  not be positive. All that I can say is, that since that time no

  one has ever dared to touch the Statue: Then do not be

  foolhardy, good Segnor! For the love of heaven, give up your

  design, nor expose yourself unnecessarily to certain

  destruction.'

  Not being convinced that his destruction would be so certain as

  Helena seemed to think it, Lorenzo persisted in his resolution.

  The Nuns besought him to desist in piteous terms, and even

  pointed out the Robber's hand, which in effect was still visible

  upon the arm of the Statue. This proof, as they imagined, must

  convince him. It was very far from doing so; and they were

  greatly scandalized when he declared his suspicion that the

  dried and shrivelled fingers had been placed there by order of

  the Prioress. In spite of their prayers and threats He

  approached the Statue. He sprang over the iron Rails which

  defended it, and the Saint underwent a thorough examination.

  The Image at first appeared to be of Stone, but proved on further

  inspection to be formed of no more solid materials than coloured

  Wood. He shook it, and attempted to move it; But it appeared to

  be of a piece with the Base which it stood upon. He examined it

  over and over: Still no clue guided him to the solution of this

  mystery, for which the Nuns were become equally solicitous, when

  they saw that He touched the Statue with impunity. He paused,

  and listened: The groans were repeated at intervals, and He was

  convinced of being in the spot nearest to them. He mused upon

  this singular event, and ran over the Statue with enquiring eyes.

  Suddenly they rested upon the shrivelled hand. It struck him,

  that so particular an injunction was not given without cause, not

  to touch the arm of the Image. He again ascended the Pedestal;

  He examined the object of his attention, and discovered a small

  knob of iron concealed between the Saint's shoulder and what was

  supposed to have been the hand of the Robber. This observation

  delighted him. He applied his fingers to the knob, and pressed

  it down forcibly. Immediately a rumbling noise was heard within

  the Statue, as if a chain tightly stretched was flying back.

  Startled at the sound the timid Nuns started away, prepared to

  hasten from the Vault at the first appearance of danger. All

  remaining quiet and still, they again gathered round Lorenzo, and

  beheld his proceedings with anxious curiosity.

  Finding that nothing followed this discovery, He descended. As

  He took his hand from the Saint, She trembled beneath his touch.

  This created new terrors in the Spectators, who believed the

  Statue to be animated. Lorenzo's ideas upon the subject were

  widely different. He easily comprehended that the noise which He

  had heard, was occasioned by his having loosened a chain which

  attached the Image to its Pedestal. He once more attempted to

  move it, and succeeded without much exertion. He placed it upon

  the ground, and then perceived the Pedestal to be hollow, and

  covered at the opening with an heavy iron grate.

  This excited such general curiosity that the Sisters forgot both

  their real and imaginary dangers. Lorenzo proceeded to raise the

  Grate, in which the Nuns assisted him to the utmost of their

  strength. The attempt was accomplished with little difficulty.

  A deep abyss now presented itself before them, whose thick

  obscurity the eye strove in vain to pierce. The rays of the Lamp

  were too feeble to be of much assistance. Nothing was

  discernible, save a flight of rough unshapen steps which sank

  into the yawning Gulph and were soon lost in darkness. The

  groans were heard no more; But All believed them to have ascended

  from this Cavern. As He bent over it, Lorenzo fancied that He

  distinguished something bright twinkling through the gloom. He

  gazed attentively upon the spot where it showed itself, and was

  convinced that He saw a small spark of light, now visible, now

  disappearing. He communicated this circumstance to the Nuns:

  They also perceived the spark; But when He declared his intention

  to descend into the Cave, they united to oppose his resolution.

  All their remonstrances could not prevail on him to alter it.

  None of them had courage enough to accompany him; neither could

  He think of depriving them of the Lamp. Alone therefore, and in

  darkness, He prepared to pursue his design, while the Nuns were

  contented to offer up prayers for his success and safety.

  The steps were so narrow and uneven, that to descend them was

  like walking down the side of a precipice. The obscurity by

  which He was surrounded rendered his footing insecure. He was

  obliged to proceed with great caution, lest He should miss the

  steps and fall into the Gulph below him. This He was several

  times on the point of doing. However, He arrived sooner upon

  solid ground than He had expected: He now found that the thick

  darkness and impenetrable mists which reigned through the Cavern

  had deceived him into the belief of its being much more profound

  than it proved upon inspection. He reached the foot of the

  Stairs unhurt: He now stopped, and looked round for the spark

  which had before caught his attention. He sought it in vain: All

  was dark and gloomy. He listened for the groans; But his ear

  caught no sound, except the distant murmur of the Nuns above, as

  in low voices they repeated their Ave-Marias. He stood

  irresolute to which side He should address his steps. At all

  events He determined to proceed: He did so, but slowly, fearing

  lest instead of approaching, He should be retiring from the

  object of his search. The groans seemed to announce one in pain,

  or at least in sorrow, and He hoped to have the power of

  relieving the Mourner's calamities. A plaintive tone, sounding

  at no great distance, at length reached his hearing; He bent his

  course joyfully towards it. It became more audible as He

  advanced; and He soon beheld again the spark of light, which a

  low projecting Wall had hitherto concealed from him.

  It proceeded from a small Lamp which was placed upon an heap of

  stones, and whose faint and melancholy rays served rather to

  point out, than dispell the horrors of a narrow gloomy dungeon

  formed in one side of the Cavern; It also showed several other

  recesses of similar construction, but who
se depth was buried in

  obscurity. Coldly played the light upon the damp walls, whose

  dew-stained surface gave back a feeble reflection. A thick and

  pestilential fog clouded the height of the vaulted dungeon. As

  Lorenzo advanced, He felt a piercing chillness spread itself

  through his veins. The frequent groans still engaged him to move

  forwards. He turned towards them, and by the Lamp's glimmering

  beams beheld in a corner of this loathsome abode, a Creature

  stretched upon a bed of straw, so wretched, so emaciated, so

  pale, that He doubted to think her Woman. She was half-naked:

  Her long dishevelled hair fell in disorder over her face, and

  almost entirely concealed it. One wasted Arm hung listlessly

  upon a tattered rug which covered her convulsed and shivering

  limbs: The Other was wrapped round a small bundle, and held it

  closely to her bosom. A large Rosary lay near her: Opposite to

  her was a Crucifix, on which She bent her sunk eyes fixedly, and

  by her side stood a Basket and a small Earthen Pitcher.

  Lorenzo stopped: He was petrified with horror. He gazed upon

  the miserable Object with disgust and pity. He trembled at the

  spectacle; He grew sick at heart: His strength failed him, and

  his limbs were unable to support his weight. He was obliged to

  lean against the low Wall which was near him, unable to go

  forward, or to address the Sufferer. She cast her eyes towards

  the Staircase: The Wall concealed Lorenzo, and She observed him

  not.

  'No one comes!' She at length murmured.

  As She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat:

  She sighed bitterly.

  'No one comes!' She repeated; 'No! They have forgotten me! They

  will come no more!'

  She paused for a moment: Then continued mournfully.

  'Two days! Two long, long days, and yet no food! And yet no

  hope, no comfort! Foolish Woman! How can I wish to lengthen a

  life so wretched! Yet such a death! O! God! To perish by such

  a death! To linger out such ages in torture! Till now, I knew

  not what it was to hunger! Hark! No. No one comes! They will

  come no more!'

  She was silent. She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked

  shoulders.

  'I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon!

  'Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet

  not feel it--I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!'