The Monk - A Romance

by The Monk [lit]

  her sufferings almost unparalleled had engaged the affections of

  her amiable Hostess: Virginia felt for her the most lively

  interest; But how was She delighted, when her Guest being

  sufficiently recovered to relate her History, She recognized in

  the captive Nun the Sister of Lorenzo!

  This victim of monastic cruelty was indeed no other than the

  unfortunate Agnes. During her abode in the Convent, She had been

  well known to Virginia: But her emaciated form, her features

  altered by affliction, her death universally credited, and her

  overgrown and matted hair which hung over her face and bosom in

  disorder at first had prevented her being recollected. The

  Prioress had put every artifice in practice to induce Virginia to

  take the veil; for the Heiress of Villa-Franca would have been no

  despicable acquisition. Her seeming kindness and unremitted

  attention so far succeeded that her young Relation began to

  think seriously upon compliance. Better instructed in the

  disgust and ennui of a monastic life, Agnes had penetrated the

  designs of the Domina: She trembled for the innocent Girl, and

  endeavoured to make her sensible of her error. She painted in

  their true colours the numerous inconveniencies attached to a

  Convent, the continued restraint, the low jealousies, the petty

  intrigues, the servile court and gross flattery expected by the

  Superior. She then bad Virginia reflect on the brilliant

  prospect which presented itself before her: The Idol of her

  Parents, the admiration of Madrid, endowed by nature and

  education with every perfection of person and mind, She might

  look forward to an establishment the most fortunate. Her riches

  furnished her with the means of exercising in their fullest

  extent, charity and benevolence, those virtues so dear to her;

  and her stay in the world would enable her discovering Objects

  worthy her protection, which could not be done in the seclusion

  of a Convent.

  Her persuasions induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the

  Veil: But another argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight

  with her than all the others put together. She had seen Lorenzo,

  when He visited his Sister at the Grate. His Person pleased her,

  and her conversations with Agnes generally used to terminate in

  some question about her Brother. She, who doted upon Lorenzo,

  wished for no better than an opportunity to trumpet out his

  praise. She spoke of him in terms of rapture; and to convince

  her Auditor how just were his sentiments, how cultivated his

  mind, and elegant his expressions, She showed her at different

  times the letters which She received from him. She soon

  perceived that from these communications the heart of her young

  Friend had imbibed impressions, which She was far from intending

  to give, but was truly happy to discover. She could not have

  wished her Brother a more desirable union: Heiress of

  Villa-Franca, virtuous, affectionate, beautiful, and

  accomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him happy. She

  sounded her Brother upon the subject, though without mentioning

  names or circumstances. He assured her in his answers that his

  heart and hand were totally disengaged, and She thought that

  upon these grounds She might proceed without danger. She in

  consequence endeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her

  Friend. Lorenzo was made the constant topic of her discourse;

  and the avidity with which her Auditor listened, the sighs which

  frequently escaped from her bosom, and the eagerness with which

  upon any digression She brought back the conversation to the

  subject whence it had wandered, sufficed to convince Agnes that

  her Brother's addresses would be far from disagreeable. She at

  length ventured to mention her wishes to the Duke: Though a

  Stranger to the Lady herself, He knew enough of her situation to

  think her worthy his Nephew's hand. It was agreed between him

  and his Niece, that She should insinuate the idea to Lorenzo, and

  She only waited his return to Madrid to propose her Friend to him

  as his Bride. The unfortunate events which took place in the

  interim, prevented her from executing her design. Virginia wept

  her loss sincerely, both as a Companion, and as the only Person

  to whom She could speak of Lorenzo. Her passion continued to

  prey upon her heart in secret, and She had almost determined to

  confess her sentiments to her Mother, when accident once more

  threw their object in her way. The sight of him so near her, his

  politeness, his compassion, his intrepidity, had combined to give

  new ardour to her affection. When She now found her Friend and

  Advocate restored to her, She looked upon her as a Gift from

  Heaven; She ventured to cherish the hope of being united to

  Lorenzo, and resolved to use with him his Sister's influence.

  Supposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made

  the proposal, the Duke had placed all his Nephew's hints of

  marriage to Virginia's account: Consequently, He gave them the

  most favourable reception. On returning to his Hotel, the

  relation given him of Antonia's death, and Lorenzo's behaviour on

  the occasion, made evident his mistake. He lamented the

  circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being effectually out of the

  way, He trusted that his designs would yet be executed. 'Tis

  true that Lorenzo's situation just then ill-suited him for

  a Bridegroom. His hopes disappointed at the moment when He

  expected to realize them, and the dreadful and sudden death of

  his Mistress had affected him very severely. The Duke found him

  upon the Bed of sickness. His Attendants expressed serious

  apprehensions for his life; But the Uncle entertained not the

  same fears. He was of opinion, and not unwisely, that 'Men have

  died, and worms have eat them; but not for Love!' He therefore

  flattered himself that however deep might be the impression made

  upon his Nephew's heart, Time and Virginia would be able to

  efface it. He now hastened to the afflicted Youth, and

  endeavoured to console him: He sympathised in his distress, but

  encouraged him to resist the encroachments of despair. He

  allowed that He could not but feel shocked at an event so

  terrible, nor could He blame his sensibility; But He besought him

  not to torment himself with vain regrets, and rather to struggle

  with affliction, and preserve his life, if not for his own sake,

  at least for the sake of those who were fondly attached to him.

  While He laboured thus to make Lorenzo forget Antonia's loss, the

  Duke paid his court assiduously to Virginia, and seized every

  opportunity to advance his Nephew's interest in her heart.

  It may easily be expected that Agnes was not long without

  enquiring after Don Raymond. She was shocked to hear the

  wretched situation to which grief had reduced him; Yet She could

  not help exulting secretly, when She reflected, that his illness

  proved the sincerity of his love. The Duke undertook the office

  himself, of announcing to the Invalid the happin
ess which awaited

  him. Though He omitted no precaution to prepare him for such an

  event, at this sudden change from despair to happiness Raymond's

  transports were so violent, as nearly to have proved fatal to

  him. These once passed, the tranquillity of his mind, the

  assurance of felicity, and above all the presence of Agnes, (Who

  was no sooner reestablished by the care of Virginia and the

  Marchioness, than She hastened to attend her Lover) soon enabled

  him to overcome the effects of his late dreadful malady. The

  calm of his soul communicated itself to his body, and He

  recovered with such rapidity as to create universal surprize.

  No so Lorenzo. Antonia's death accompanied with such terrible

  circumstances weighed upon his mind heavily. He was worn down to

  a shadow. Nothing could give him pleasure. He was persuaded

  with difficulty to swallow nourishment sufficient for the support

  of life, and a consumption was apprehended. The society of Agnes

  formed his only comfort. Though accident had never permitted

  their being much together, He entertained for her a sincere

  friendship and attachment. Perceiving how necessary She was to

  him, She seldom quitted his chamber. She listened to his

  complaints with unwearied attention, and soothed him by the

  gentleness of her manners, and by sympathising with his distress.

  She still inhabited the Palace de Villa-Franca, the Possessors of

  which treated her with marked affection. The Duke had intimated

  to the Marquis his wishes respecting Virginia. The match was

  unexceptionable: Lorenzo was Heir to his Uncle's immense

  property, and was distinguished in Madrid for his agreeable

  person, extensive knowledge, and propriety of conduct: Add to

  this, that the Marchioness had discovered how strong was her

  Daughter's prepossession in his favour.

  In consequence the Duke's proposal was accepted without

  hesitation: Every precaution was taken to induce Lorenzo's

  seeing the Lady with those sentiments which She so well merited

  to excite. In her visits to her Brother Agnes was frequently

  accompanied by the Marchioness; and as soon as He was able to

  move into his Antichamber, Virginia under her mother's

  protection was sometimes permitted to express her wishes for his

  recovery. This She did with such delicacy, the manner in which

  She mentioned Antonia was so tender and soothing, and when She

  lamented her Rival's melancholy fate, her bright eyes shone so

  beautiful through her tears, that Lorenzo could not behold, or

  listen to her without emotion. His Relations, as well as the

  Lady, perceived that with every day her society seemed to give

  him fresh pleasure, and that He spoke of her in terms of stronger

  admiration. However, they prudently kept their observations to

  themselves. No word was dropped which might lead him to suspect

  their designs. They continued their former conduct and

  attention, and left Time to ripen into a warmer sentiment the

  friendship which He already felt for Virginia.

  In the mean while, her visits became more frequent; and latterly

  there was scarce a day, of which She did not pass some part by

  the side of Lorenzo's Couch. He gradually regained his strength,

  but the progress of his recovery was slow and doubtful. One

  evening He seemed to be in better spirits than usual: Agnes and

  her Lover, the Duke, Virginia, and her Parents were sitting round

  him. He now for the first time entreated his Sister to inform

  him how She had escaped the effects of the poison which St.

  Ursula had seen her swallow. Fearful of recalling those scenes

  to his mind in which Antonia had perished, She had hitherto

  concealed from him the history of her sufferings. As He now

  started the subject himself, and thinking that perhaps the

  narrative of her sorrows might draw him from the contemplation of

  those on which He dwelt too constantly, She immediately complied

  with his request. The rest of the company had already heard her

  story; But the interest which all present felt for its Heroine

  made them anxious to hear it repeated. The whole society

  seconding Lorenzo's entreaties, Agnes obeyed. She first

  recounted the discovery which had taken place in the

  Abbey Chapel, the Domina's resentment, and the midnight scene of

  which St. Ursula had been a concealed witness. Though the Nun

  had already described this latter event, Agnes now related it

  more circumstantially and at large: After which She proceeded in

  her narrative as follows.

  Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina

  My supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies. Those

  moments which I believed my last, were embittered by the Domina's

  assurances that I could not escape perdition; and as my eyes

  closed, I heard her rage exhale itself in curses on my offence.

  The horror of this situation, of a death-bed from which hope was

  banished, of a sleep from which I was only to wake to find myself

  the prey of flames and Furies, was more dreadful than I can

  describe. When animation revived in me, my soul was still

  impressed with these terrible ideas: I looked round with fear,

  expecting to behold the Ministers of divine vengeance. For the

  first hour, my senses were so bewildered, and my brain so dizzy,

  that I strove in vain to arrange the strange images which floated

  in wild confusion before me. If I endeavoured to raise myself

  from the ground, the wandering of my head deceived me. Every

  thing around me seemed to rock, and I sank once more upon the

  earth. My weak and dazzled eyes were unable to bear a nearer

  approach to a gleam of light which I saw trembling above me. I

  was compelled to close them again, and remain motionless in the

  same posture.

  A full hour elapsed, before I was sufficiently myself to examine

  the surrounding Objects. When I did examine them, what terror

  filled my bosom I found myself extended upon a sort of wicker

  Couch: It had six handles to it, which doubtless had served the

  Nuns to convey me to my grave. I was covered with a linen cloth:

  Several faded flowers were strown over me: On one side lay a

  small wooden Crucifix; On the other, a Rosary of large Beads.

  Four low narrow walls confined me. The top was also covered, and

  in it was practised a small grated Door: Through this was

  admitted the little air which circulated in this miserable

  place. A faint glimmering of light which streamed through the

  Bars, permitted me to distinguish the surrounding horrors. I was

  opprest by a noisome suffocating smell; and perceiving that the

  grated door was unfastened, I thought that I might possibly

  effect my escape. As I raised myself with this design, my hand

  rested upon something soft: I grasped it, and advanced it

  towards the light. Almighty God! What was my disgust, my

  consternation! In spite of its putridity, and the worms which

  preyed upon it, I perceived a corrupted human head, and

  recognised the features of a Nun who had died some months before!

  I threw it from me, and s
ank almost lifeless upon my Bier.

  When my strength returned, this circumstance, and the

  consciousness of being surrounded by the loathsome and mouldering

  Bodies of my Companions, increased my desire to escape from my

  fearful prison. I again moved towards the light. The grated

  door was within my reach: I lifted it without difficulty;

  Probably it had been left unclosed to facilitate my quitting the

  dungeon. Aiding myself by the irregularity of the Walls some of

  whose stones projected beyond the rest, I contrived to ascend

  them, and drag myself out of my prison. I now found Myself in a

  Vault tolerably spacious. Several Tombs, similar in appearance

  to that whence I had just escaped, were ranged along the sides in

  order, and seemed to be considerably sunk within the earth. A

  sepulchral Lamp was suspended from the roof by an iron chain, and

  shed a gloomy light through the dungeon. Emblems of Death were

  seen on every side: Skulls, shoulder-blades, thigh-bones, and

  other leavings of Mortality were scattered upon the dewy ground.

  Each Tomb was ornamented with a large Crucifix, and in one corner

  stood a wooden Statue of St. Clare. To these objects I at first

  paid no attention: A Door, the only outlet from the Vault, had

  attracted my eyes. I hastened towards it, having wrapped my

  winding-sheet closely round me. I pushed against the door, and

  to my inexpressible terror found that it was fastened on the

  outside.

  I guessed immediately that the Prioress, mistaking the nature of

  the liquor which She had compelled me to drink, instead of poison

  had administered a strong Opiate. From this I concluded that

  being to all appearance dead I had received the rites of burial;

  and that deprived of the power of making my existence known, it

  would be my fate to expire of hunger. This idea penetrated me

  with horror, not merely for my own sake, but that of the innocent

  Creature, who still lived within my bosom. I again endeavoured

  to open the door, but it resisted all my efforts. I stretched my

  voice to the extent of its compass, and shrieked for aid: I was

  remote from the hearing of every one: No friendly voice replied

  to mine. A profound and melancholy silence prevailed through the

  Vault, and I despaired of liberty. My long abstinence from food

  now began to torment me. The tortures which hunger inflicted on