The Monk: A Romance

by M. G. Lewis

  CHAPTER II

  O You! whom Vanity's light bark conveys On Fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise, With what a shifting gale your course you ply, For ever sunk too low, or borne too high! Who pants for glory finds but short repose, A breath revives him, and a breath o'er-throws. Pope.

  Here the Marquis concluded his adventures. Lorenzo, before He coulddetermine on his reply, past some moments in reflection. At length Hebroke silence.

  'Raymond,' said He taking his hand, 'strict honour would oblige me towash off in your blood the stain thrown upon my family; But thecircumstances of your case forbid me to consider you as an Enemy. Thetemptation was too great to be resisted. 'Tis the superstition of myRelations which has occasioned these misfortunes, and they are more theOffenders than yourself and Agnes. What has past between you cannot berecalled, but may yet be repaired by uniting you to my Sister. Youhave ever been, you still continue to be, my dearest and indeed my onlyFriend. I feel for Agnes the truest affection, and there is no one onwhom I would bestow her more willingly than on yourself. Pursue thenyour design. I will accompany you tomorrow night, and conduct hermyself to the House of the Cardinal. My presence will be a sanctionfor her conduct, and prevent her incurring blame by her flight from theConvent.'

  The Marquis thanked him in terms by no means deficient in gratitude.Lorenzo then informed him that He had nothing more to apprehend fromDonna Rodolpha's enmity. Five Months had already elapsed since, in anexcess of passion, She broke a blood-vessel and expired in the courseof a few hours. He then proceeded to mention the interests of Antonia.The Marquis was much surprized at hearing of this new Relation: HisFather had carried his hatred of Elvira to the Grave, and had nevergiven the least hint that He knew what was become of his eldest Son'sWidow. Don Raymond assured his friend that He was not mistaken insupposing him ready to acknowledge his Sister-in-law and her amiableDaughter. The preparations for the elopement would not permit hisvisiting them the next day; But in the meanwhile He desired Lorenzo toassure them of his friendship, and to supply Elvira upon his accountwith any sums which She might want. This the Youth promised to do, assoon as her abode should be known to him: He then took leave of hisfuture Brother, and returned to the Palace de Medina.

  The day was already on the point of breaking when the Marquis retiredto his chamber. Conscious that his narrative would take up some hours,and wishing to secure himself from interruption on returning to theHotel, He ordered his Attendants not to sit up for him. Consequently,He was somewhat surprised on entering his Antiroom, to find Theodoreestablished there. The Page sat near a Table with a pen in his hand,and was so totally occupied by his employment that He perceived not hisLord's approach. The Marquis stopped to observe him. Theodore wrote afew lines, then paused, and scratched out a part of the writing: Thenwrote again, smiled, and seemed highly pleased with what He had beenabout. At last He threw down his pen, sprang from his chair, andclapped his hands together joyfully.

  'There it is!' cried He aloud: 'Now they are charming!'

  His transports were interrupted by a laugh from the Marquis, whosuspected the nature of his employment.

  'What is so charming, Theodore?'

  The Youth started, and looked round. He blushed, ran to the Table,seized the paper on which He had been writing, and concealed it inconfusion.

  'Oh! my Lord, I knew not that you were so near me. Can I be of use toyou? Lucas is already gone to bed.'

  'I shall follow his example when I have given my opinion of yourverses.'

  'My verses, my Lord?'

  'Nay, I am sure that you have been writing some, for nothing else couldhave kept you awake till this time of the morning. Where are they,Theodore? I shall like to see your composition.'

  Theodore's cheeks glowed with still deeper crimson: He longed to showhis poetry, but first chose to be pressed for it.

  'Indeed, my Lord, they are not worthy your attention.'

  'Not these verses, which you just now declared to be so charming?

  Come, come, let me see whether our opinions are the same. I promisethat you shall find in me an indulgent Critic.'

  The Boy produced his paper with seeming reluctance; but thesatisfaction which sparkled in his dark expressive eyes betrayed thevanity of his little bosom. The Marquis smiled while He observed theemotions of an heart as yet but little skilled in veiling itssentiments. He seated himself upon a Sopha: Theodore, while Hope andfear contended on his anxious countenance, waited with inquietude forhis Master's decision, while the Marquis read the following lines.

  LOVE AND AGE

  The night was dark; The wind blew cold; Anacreon, grown morose and old, Sat by his fire, and fed the chearful flame: Sudden the Cottage-door expands, And lo! before him Cupid stands, Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name.

  'What is it Thou?' the startled Sire In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire With crimson flushed his pale and wrinkled cheek: 'Wouldst Thou again with amorous rage Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age, Vain Boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak.

  'What seek You in this desart drear? No smiles or sports inhabit here; Ne'er did these vallies witness dalliance sweet: Eternal winter binds the plains; Age in my house despotic reigns, My Garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat.

  'Begone, and seek the blooming bower, Where some ripe Virgin courts thy power, Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed; On Damon's amorous breast repose; Wanton--on Chloe's lip of rose, Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head.

  'Be such thy haunts; These regions cold Avoid! Nor think grown wise and old This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear: Remembering that my fairest years By Thee were marked with sighs and tears, I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare.

  'I have not yet forgot the pains I felt, while bound in Julia's chains; The ardent flames with which my bosom burned; The nights I passed deprived of rest; The jealous pangs which racked my breast; My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned.

  'Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more! Fly from my peaceful Cottage-door! No day, no hour, no moment shalt Thou stay. I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts, Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts; Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!'

  'Does Age, old Man, your wits confound?' Replied the offended God, and frowned; (His frown was sweet as is the Virgin's smile!) 'Do You to Me these words address? To Me, who do not love you less, Though You my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile!

  'If one proud Fair you chanced to find, An hundred other Nymphs were kind, Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone: But such is Man! His partial hand Unnumbered favours writes on sand, But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.

  'Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave, At noon where Lesbia loved to lave? Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay? And who, when Caelia shrieked for aid, Bad you with kisses hush the Maid? What other was't than Love, Oh! false Anacreon, say!

  'Then You could call me--"Gentle Boy! "My only bliss! my source of joy!"-- Then You could prize me dearer than your soul! Could kiss, and dance me on your knees; And swear, not wine itself would please, Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl!

  'Must those sweet days return no more? Must I for aye your loss deplore, Banished your heart, and from your favour driven? Ah! no; My fears that smile denies; That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven.

  'Again beloved, esteemed, carest, Cupid shall in thine arms be prest, Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep: My Torch thine age-struck heart shall warm; My Hand pale Winter's rage disarm, And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.'--

  A feather now of golden hue He smiling from his pinion drew; This to the Poet's hand the Boy commits; And straight before Anacreon's eyes The fairest dreams of fancy rise, And round his
favoured head wild inspiration flits.

  His bosom glows with amorous fire Eager He grasps the magic lyre; Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move: The Feather plucked from Cupid's wing Sweeps the too-long-neglected string, While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of Love.

  Soon as that name was heard, the Woods Shook off their snows; The melting floods Broke their cold chains, and Winter fled away. Once more the earth was deckt with flowers; Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers; High towered the glorious Sun, and poured the blaze of day.

  Attracted by the harmonious sound, Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround, And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold: The Wood-nymphs haste the spell to prove; Eager They run; They list, they love, And while They hear the strain, forget the Man is old.

  Cupid, to nothing constant long, Perched on the Harp attends the song, Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes: Now on the Poet's breast reposes, Now twines his hoary locks with roses, Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.

  Then thus Anacreon--'I no more At other shrine my vows will pour, Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire: From Phoebus or the blue-eyed Maid Now shall my verse request no aid, For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre.

  'In lofty strain, of earlier days, I spread the King's or Hero's praise, And struck the martial Chords with epic fire: But farewell, Hero! farewell, King! Your deeds my lips no more shall sing, For Love alone shall be the subject of my Lyre.

  The Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement.

  'Your little poem pleases me much,' said He; 'However, you must notcount my opinion for anything. I am no judge of verses, and for my ownpart, never composed more than six lines in my life: Those six producedso unlucky an effect that I am fully resolved never to compose another.But I wander from my subject. I was going to say that you cannotemploy your time worse than in making verses. An Author, whether goodor bad, or between both, is an Animal whom everybody is privileged toattack; For though All are not able to write books, all conceivethemselves able to judge them. A bad composition carries with it itsown punishment, contempt and ridicule. A good one excites envy, andentails upon its Author a thousand mortifications. He finds himselfassailed by partial and ill-humoured Criticism: One Man finds faultwith the plan, Another with the style, a Third with the precept, whichit strives to inculcate; and they who cannot succeed in finding faultwith the Book, employ themselves in stigmatizing its Author. Theymaliciously rake out from obscurity every little circumstance which maythrow ridicule upon his private character or conduct, and aim atwounding the Man, since They cannot hurt the Writer. In short, toenter the lists of literature is wilfully to expose yourself to thearrows of neglect, ridicule, envy, and disappointment. Whether youwrite well or ill, be assured that you will not escape from blame;Indeed this circumstance contains a young Author's chief consolation:He remembers that Lope de Vega and Calderona had unjust and enviousCritics, and He modestly conceives himself to be exactly in theirpredicament. But I am conscious that all these sage observations arethrown away upon you. Authorship is a mania to conquer which noreasons are sufficiently strong; and you might as easily persuade menot to love, as I persuade you not to write. However, if you cannothelp being occasionally seized with a poetical paroxysm, take at leastthe precaution of communicating your verses to none but those whosepartiality for you secures their approbation.'

  'Then, my Lord, you do not think these lines tolerable?' said Theodorewith an humble and dejected air.

  'You mistake my meaning. As I said before, they have pleased me much;But my regard for you makes me partial, and Others might judge themless favourably. I must still remark that even my prejudice in yourfavour does not blind me so much as to prevent my observing severalfaults. For instance, you make a terrible confusion of metaphors; Youare too apt to make the strength of your lines consist more in thewords than sense; Some of the verses only seem introduced in order torhyme with others; and most of the best ideas are borrowed from otherPoets, though possibly you are unconscious of the theft yourself.These faults may occasionally be excused in a work of length; But ashort Poem must be correct and perfect.'

  'All this is true, Segnor; But you should consider that I only writefor pleasure.'

  'Your defects are the less excusable. Their incorrectness may beforgiven in those who work for money, who are obliged to compleat agiven task in a given time, and are paid according to the bulk, notvalue of their productions. But in those whom no necessity forces toturn Author, who merely write for fame, and have full leisure to polishtheir compositions, faults are impardonable, and merit the sharpestarrows of criticism.'

  The Marquis rose from the Sopha; the Page looked discouraged andmelancholy, and this did not escape his Master's observation.

  'However' added He smiling, 'I think that these lines do you nodiscredit. Your versification is tolerably easy, and your ear seems tobe just. The perusal of your little poem upon the whole gave me muchpleasure; and if it is not asking too great a favour, I shall be highlyobliged to you for a Copy.'

  The Youth's countenance immediately cleared up. He perceived not thesmile, half approving, half ironical, which accompanied the request,and He promised the Copy with great readiness. The Marquis withdrew tohis chamber, much amused by the instantaneous effect produced uponTheodore's vanity by the conclusion of his Criticism. He threw himselfupon his Couch; Sleep soon stole over him, and his dreams presented himwith the most flattering pictures of happiness with Agnes.

  On reaching the Hotel de Medina, Lorenzo's first care was to enquirefor Letters. He found several waiting for him; but that which Hesought was not amongst them. Leonella had found it impossible to writethat evening. However, her impatience to secure Don Christoval'sheart, on which She flattered herself with having made no slightimpression, permitted her not to pass another day without informing himwhere She was to be found. On her return from the Capuchin Church, Shehad related to her Sister with exultation how attentive an handsomeCavalier had been to her; as also how his Companion had undertaken toplead Antonia's cause with the Marquis de las Cisternas. Elvirareceived this intelligence with sensations very different from thosewith which it was communicated. She blamed her Sister's imprudence inconfiding her history to an absolute Stranger, and expressed her fearslest this inconsiderate step should prejudice the Marquis against her.The greatest of her apprehensions She concealed in her own breast. Shehad observed with inquietude that at the mention of Lorenzo, a deepblush spread itself over her Daughter's cheek. The timid Antonia darednot to pronounce his name: Without knowing wherefore, She feltembarrassed when He was made the subject of discourse, and endeavouredto change the conversation to Ambrosio. Elvira perceived the emotionsof this young bosom: In consequence, She insisted upon Leonella'sbreaking her promise to the Cavaliers. A sigh, which on hearing thisorder escaped from Antonia, confirmed the wary Mother in her resolution.

  Through this resolution Leonella was determined to break: Sheconceived it to be inspired by envy, and that her Sister dreaded herbeing elevated above her. Without imparting her design to anyone, Shetook an opportunity of dispatching the following note to Lorenzo; Itwas delivered to him as soon as He woke.

  'Doubtless, Segnor Don Lorenzo, you have frequently accused me ofingratitude and forgetfulness: But on the word of a Virgin, it was outof my power to perform my promise yesterday. I know not in what wordsto inform you how strange a reception my Sister gave your kind wish tovisit her. She is an odd Woman, with many good points about her; Buther jealousy of me frequently makes her conceive notions quiteunaccountable. On hearing that your Friend had paid some littleattention to me, She immediately took the alarm: She blamed myconduct, and has absolutely forbidden me to let you know our abode. Mystrong sense of gratitude for your kind offers of service, and ...Shall I confess it? my desire to behold once more the too amiable DonChristoval, will not permit my obeying her injunctions. I havetherefore stolen a moment t
o inform you, that we lodge in the Strada diSan Iago, four doors from the Palace d'Albornos, and nearly opposite tothe Barber's Miguel Coello. Enquire for Donna Elvira Dalfa, since incompliance with her Father-in-law's order, my Sister continues to becalled by her maiden name. At eight this evening you will be sure offinding us: But let not a word drop which may raise a suspicion of myhaving written this letter. Should you see the Conde d'Ossorio, tellhim ... I blush while I declare it ...

  Tell him that his presence will be but too acceptable to thesympathetic Leonella.

  The latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the blushes ofher cheek, while She committed an outrage upon her virgin modesty.

  Lorenzo had no sooner perused this note than He set out in search ofDon Christoval. Not being able to find him in the course of the day,He proceeded to Donna Elvira's alone, to Leonella's infinitedisappointment. The Domestic by whom He sent up his name, havingalready declared his Lady to be at home, She had no excuse for refusinghis visit: Yet She consented to receive it with much reluctance. Thatreluctance was increased by the changes which his approach produced inAntonia's countenance; nor was it by any means abated when the Youthhimself appeared. The symmetry of his person, animation of hisfeatures, and natural elegance of his manners and address, convincedElvira that such a Guest must be dangerous for her Daughter. Sheresolved to treat him with distant politeness, to decline his serviceswith gratitude for the tender of them, and to make him feel, withoutoffence, that his future visits would be far from acceptable.

  On his entrance He found Elvira, who was indisposed, reclining upon aSopha: Antonia sat by her embroidery frame, and Leonella, in apastoral dress, held 'Montemayor's Diana.' In spite of her being theMother of Antonia, Lorenzo could not help expecting to find in ElviraLeonella's true Sister, and the Daughter of 'as honest a painstakingShoe-maker, as any in Cordova.' A single glance was sufficient toundeceive him. He beheld a Woman whose features, though impaired bytime and sorrow, still bore the marks of distinguished beauty: Aserious dignity reigned upon her countenance, but was tempered by agrace and sweetness which rendered her truly enchanting. Lorenzofancied that She must have resembled her Daughter in her youth, andreadily excused the imprudence of the late Conde de las Cisternas. Shedesired him to be seated, and immediately resumed her place upon theSopha.

  Antonia received him with a simple reverence, and continued her work:Her cheeks were suffused with crimson, and She strove to conceal heremotion by leaning over her embroidery frame. Her Aunt also chose toplay off her airs of modesty; She affected to blush and tremble, andwaited with her eyes cast down to receive, as She expected, thecompliments of Don Christoval. Finding after some time that no sign ofhis approach was given, She ventured to look round the room, andperceived with vexation that Medina was unaccompanied. Impatiencewould not permit her waiting for an explanation: Interrupting Lorenzo,who was delivering Raymond's message, She desired to know what wasbecome of his Friend.

  He, who thought it necessary to maintain himself in her good graces,strove to console her under her disappointment by committing a littleviolence upon truth.

  'Ah! Segnora,' He replied in a melancholy voice 'How grieved will He beat losing this opportunity of paying you his respects! A Relation'sillness has obliged him to quit Madrid in haste: But on his return, Hewill doubtless seize the first moment with transport to throw himselfat your feet!'

  As He said this, his eyes met those of Elvira: She punished hisfalsehood sufficiently by darting at him a look expressive ofdispleasure and reproach. Neither did the deceit answer his intention.Vexed and disappointed Leonella rose from her seat, and retired indudgeon to her own apartment.

  Lorenzo hastened to repair the fault, which had injured him in Elvira'sopinion. He related his conversation with the Marquis respecting her:He assured her that Raymond was prepared to acknowledge her for hisBrother's Widow; and that till it was in his power to pay hiscompliments to her in person, Lorenzo was commissioned to supply hisplace. This intelligence relieved Elvira from an heavy weight ofuneasiness: She had now found a Protector for the fatherless Antonia,for whose future fortunes She had suffered the greatest apprehensions.She was not sparing of her thanks to him who had interfered sogenerously in her behalf; But still She gave him no invitation torepeat his visit.

  However, when upon rising to depart He requested permission to enquireafter her health occasionally, the polite earnestness of his manner,gratitude for his services, and respect for his Friend the Marquis,would not admit of a refusal. She consented reluctantly to receivehim: He promised not to abuse her goodness, and quitted the House.

  Antonia was now left alone with her Mother: A temporary silenceensued. Both wished to speak upon the same subject, but Neither knewhow to introduce it. The one felt a bashfulness which sealed up herlips, and for which She could not account: The other feared to findher apprehensions true, or to inspire her Daughter with notions towhich She might be still a Stranger. At length Elvira began theconversation.

  'That is a charming young Man, Antonia; I am much pleased with him.Was He long near you yesterday in the Cathedral?'

  'He quitted me not for a moment while I staid in the Church: He gaveme his seat, and was very obliging and attentive.'

  'Indeed? Why then have you never mentioned his name to me? Your Auntlanched out in praise of his Friend, and you vaunted Ambrosio'seloquence: But Neither said a word of Don Lorenzo's person andaccomplishments. Had not Leonella spoken of his readiness to undertakeour cause, I should not have known him to be in existence.'

  She paused. Antonia coloured, but was silent.

  'Perhaps you judge him less favourably than I do. In my opinion hisfigure is pleasing, his conversation sensible, and manners engaging.Still He may have struck you differently: You may think himdisagreeable, and ...'.

  'Disagreeable? Oh! dear Mother, how should I possibly think him so? Ishould be very ungrateful were I not sensible of his kindnessyesterday, and very blind if his merits had escaped me. His figure isso graceful, so noble! His manners so gentle, yet so manly! I neveryet saw so many accomplishments united in one person, and I doubtwhether Madrid can produce his equal.'

  'Why then were you so silent in praise of this Phoenix of Madrid?

  Why was it concealed from me that his society had afforded youpleasure?'

  'In truth, I know not: You ask me a question which I cannot resolvemyself. I was on the point of mentioning him a thousand times: Hisname was constantly upon my lips, but when I would have pronounced it,I wanted courage to execute my design. However, if I did not speak ofhim, it was not that I thought of him the less.'

  'That I believe; But shall I tell you why you wanted courage? It wasbecause, accustomed to confide to me your most secret thoughts, youknew not how to conceal, yet feared to acknowledge, that your heartnourished a sentiment which you were conscious I should disapprove.Come hither to me, my Child.'

  Antonia quitted her embroidery frame, threw herself upon her knees bythe Sopha, and hid her face in her Mother's lap.

  'Fear not, my sweet Girl! Consider me equally as your Friend andParent, and apprehend no reproof from me. I have read the emotions ofyour bosom; you are yet ill-skilled in concealing them, and they couldnot escape my attentive eye. This Lorenzo is dangerous to your repose;He has already made an impression upon your heart. 'Tis true that Iperceive easily that your affection is returned; But what can be theconsequences of this attachment? You are poor and friendless, myAntonia; Lorenzo is the Heir of the Duke of Medina Celi. Even shouldHimself mean honourably, his Uncle never will consent to your union;Nor without that Uncle's consent, will I. By sad experience I knowwhat sorrows She must endure, who marries into a family unwilling toreceive her. Then struggle with your affection: Whatever pains it maycost you, strive to conquer it. Your heart is tender and susceptible:It has already received a strong impression; But when once convincedthat you should not encourage such sentiments, I trust, that
you havesufficient fortitude to drive them from your bosom.'

  Antonia kissed her hand, and promised implicit obedience. Elvira thencontinued.

  'To prevent your passion from growing stronger, it will be needful toprohibit Lorenzo's visits. The service which He has rendered mepermits not my forbidding them positively; But unless I judge toofavourably of his character, He will discontinue them without takingoffence, if I confess to him my reasons, and throw myself entirely onhis generosity. The next time that I see him, I will honestly avow tohim the embarrassment which his presence occasions. How say you, myChild? Is not this measure necessary?'

  Antonia subscribed to every thing without hesitation, though notwithout regret. Her Mother kissed her affectionately, and retired tobed. Antonia followed her example, and vowed so frequently never moreto think of Lorenzo, that till Sleep closed her eyes She thought ofnothing else.

  While this was passing at Elvira's, Lorenzo hastened to rejoin theMarquis. Every thing was ready for the second elopement of Agnes; andat twelve the two Friends with a Coach and four were at the Garden wallof the Convent. Don Raymond drew out his Key, and unlocked the door.They entered, and waited for some time in expectation of being joinedby Agnes. At length the Marquis grew impatient: Beginning to fearthat his second attempt would succeed no better than the first, Heproposed to reconnoitre the Convent. The Friends advanced towards it.Every thing was still and dark. The Prioress was anxious to keep thestory a secret, fearing lest the crime of one of its members shouldbring disgrace upon the whole community, or that the interposition ofpowerful Relations should deprive her vengeance of its intended victim.She took care therefore to give the Lover of Agnes no cause to supposethat his design was discovered, and his Mistress on the point ofsuffering the punishment of her fault. The same reason made her rejectthe idea of arresting the unknown Seducer in the Garden; Such aproceeding would have created much disturbance, and the disgrace of herConvent would have been noised about Madrid. She contented herselfwith confining Agnes closely; As to the Lover, She left him at libertyto pursue his designs. What She had expected was the result. TheMarquis and Lorenzo waited in vain till the break of day: They thenretired without noise, alarmed at the failure of their plan, andignorant of the cause of its ill-success.

  The next morning Lorenzo went to the Convent, and requested to see hisSister. The Prioress appeared at the Grate with a melancholycountenance: She informed him that for several days Agnes had appearedmuch agitated; That She had been prest by the Nuns in vain to revealthe cause, and apply to their tenderness for advice and consolation;That She had obstinately persisted in concealing the cause of herdistress; But that on Thursday Evening it had produced so violent aneffect upon her constitution, that She had fallen ill, and was actuallyconfined to her bed. Lorenzo did not credit a syllable of thisaccount: He insisted upon seeing his Sister; If She was unable to cometo the Grate, He desired to be admitted to her Cell. The Prioresscrossed herself! She was shocked at the very idea of a Man's profaneeye pervading the interior of her holy Mansion, and professed herselfastonished that Lorenzo could think of such a thing. She told him thathis request could not be granted; But that if He returned the next day,She hoped that her beloved Daughter would then be sufficientlyrecovered to join him at the Parlour grate.

  With this answer Lorenzo was obliged to retire, unsatisfied andtrembling for his Sister's safety.

  He returned the next morning at an early hour. 'Agnes was worse; ThePhysician had pronounced her to be in imminent danger; She was orderedto remain quiet, and it was utterly impossible for her to receive herBrother's visit.' Lorenzo stormed at this answer, but there was noresource. He raved, He entreated, He threatened: No means were leftuntried to obtain a sight of Agnes. His endeavours were as fruitlessas those of the day before, and He returned in despair to the Marquis.On his side, the Latter had spared no pains to discover what hadoccasioned his plot to fail: Don Christoval, to whom the affair wasnow entrusted, endeavoured to worm out the secret from the OldPorteress of St. Clare, with whom He had formed an acquaintance; ButShe was too much upon her guard, and He gained from her nointelligence. The Marquis was almost distracted, and Lorenzo feltscarcely less inquietude. Both were convinced that the purposedelopement must have been discovered: They doubted not but the maladyof Agnes was a pretence, But they knew not by what means to rescue herfrom the hands of the Prioress.

  Regularly every day did Lorenzo visit the Convent: As regularly was Heinformed that his Sister rather grew worse than better. Certain thather indisposition was feigned, these accounts did not alarm him: Buthis ignorance of her fate, and of the motives which induced thePrioress to keep her from him, excited the most serious uneasiness. Hewas still uncertain what steps He ought to take, when the Marquisreceived a letter from the Cardinal-Duke of Lerma. It inclosed thePope's expected Bull, ordering that Agnes should be released from hervows, and restored to her Relations. This essential paper decided atonce the proceedings of her Friends: They resolved that Lorenzo shouldcarry it to the Domina without delay, and demand that his Sister shouldbe instantly given up to him. Against this mandate illness could notbe pleaded: It gave her Brother the power of removing her instantly tothe Palace de Medina, and He determined to use that power on thefollowing day.

  His mind relieved from inquietude respecting his Sister, and hisSpirits raised by the hope of soon restoring her to freedom, He now hadtime to give a few moments to love and to Antonia. At the same hour ason his former visit He repaired to Donna Elvira's: She had givenorders for his admission. As soon as He was announced, her Daughterretired with Leonella, and when He entered the chamber, He found theLady of the House alone. She received him with less distance thanbefore, and desired him to place himself near her upon the Sopha. Shethen without losing time opened her business, as had been agreedbetween herself and Antonia.

  'You must not think me ungrateful, Don Lorenzo, or forgetful howessential are the services which you have rendered me with the Marquis.I feel the weight of my obligations; Nothing under the Sun shouldinduce my taking the step to which I am now compelled but the interestof my Child, of my beloved Antonia. My health is declining; God onlyknows how soon I may be summoned before his Throne. My Daughter willbe left without Parents, and should She lose the protection of theCisternas family, without Friends.

  She is young and artless, uninstructed in the world's perfidy, and withcharms sufficient to render her an object of seduction. Judge then, howI must tremble at the prospect before her! Judge how anxious I must beto keep her from their society who may excite the yet dormant passionsof her bosom. You are amiable, Don Lorenzo: Antonia has asusceptible, a loving heart, and is grateful for the favours conferredupon us by your interference with the Marquis. Your presence makes metremble: I fear lest it should inspire her with sentiments which mayembitter the remainder of her life, or encourage her to cherish hopesin her situation unjustifiable and futile. Pardon me when I avow myterrors, and let my frankness plead in my excuse. I cannot forbid youmy House, for gratitude restrains me; I can only throw myself upon yourgenerosity, and entreat you to spare the feelings of an anxious, of adoting Mother. Believe me when I assure you that I lament thenecessity of rejecting your acquaintance; But there is no remedy, andAntonia's interest obliges me to beg you to forbear your visits. Bycomplying with my request, you will increase the esteem which I alreadyfeel for you, and of which everything convinces me that you are trulydeserving.'

  'Your frankness charms me,' replied Lorenzo; 'You shall find that inyour favourable opinion of me you were not deceived. Yet I hope thatthe reasons, now in my power to allege, will persuade you to withdraw arequest which I cannot obey without infinite reluctance. I love yourDaughter, love her most sincerely: I wish for no greater happinessthan to inspire her with the same sentiments, and receive her hand atthe Altar as her Husband. 'Tis true, I am not rich myself; My Father'sdeath has left me but little in my own possession; But my expectationsjustify my pretending to the Conde de las Cister
nas' Daughter.'

  He was proceeding, but Elvira interrupted him.

  'Ah! Don Lorenzo, you forget in that pompous title the meanness of myorigin. You forget that I have now past fourteen years in Spain,disavowed by my Husband's family, and existing upon a stipend barelysufficient for the support and education of my Daughter. Nay, I haveeven been neglected by most of my own Relations, who out of envy affectto doubt the reality of my marriage. My allowance being discontinuedat my Father-in-law's death, I was reduced to the very brink of want.In this situation I was found by my Sister, who amongst all her foiblespossesses a warm, generous, and affectionate heart. She aided me withthe little fortune which my Father left her, persuaded me to visitMadrid, and has supported my Child and myself since our quittingMurcia. Then consider not Antonia as descended from the Conde de laCisternas: Consider her as a poor and unprotected Orphan, as theGrand-child of the Tradesman Torribio Dalfa, as the needy Pensioner ofthat Tradesman's Daughter. Reflect upon the difference between such asituation, and that of the Nephew and Heir of the potent Duke ofMedina. I believe your intentions to be honourable; But as there areno hopes that your Uncle will approve of the union, I foresee that theconsequences of your attachment must be fatal to my Child's repose.'

  'Pardon me, Segnora; You are misinformed if you suppose the Duke ofMedina to resemble the generality of Men. His sentiments are liberaland disinterested: He loves me well; and I have no reason to dread hisforbidding the marriage when He perceives that my happiness dependsupon Antonia. But supposing him to refuse his sanction, what have Istill to fear? My Parents are no more; My little fortune is in my ownpossession: It will be sufficient to support Antonia, and I shallexchange for her hand Medina's Dukedom without one sigh of regret.'

  'You are young and eager; It is natural for you to entertain suchideas. But Experience has taught me to my cost that curses accompanyan unequal alliance. I married the Conde de las Cisternas inopposition to the will of his Relations; Many an heart-pang haspunished me for the imprudent step. Whereever we bent our course, aFather's execration pursued Gonzalvo. Poverty overtook us, and noFriend was near to relieve our wants. Still our mutual affectionexisted, but alas! not without interruption.

  Accustomed to wealth and ease, ill could my Husband support thetransition to distress and indigence. He looked back with repining tothe comforts which He once enjoyed. He regretted the situation whichfor my sake He had quitted; and in moments when Despair possessed hismind, has reproached me with having made him the Companion of want andwretchedness! He has called me his bane! The source of his sorrows,the cause of his destruction! Ah God! He little knew how much keenerwere my own heart's reproaches! He was ignorant that I sufferedtrebly, for myself, for my Children, and for him! 'Tis true that hisanger seldom lasted long: His sincere affection for me soon revived inhis heart; and then his repentance for the tears which He had made meshed tortured me even more than his reproaches. He would throw himselfon the ground, implore my forgiveness in the most frantic terms, andload himself with curses for being the Murderer of my repose. Taughtby experience that an union contracted against the inclinations offamilies on either side must be unfortunate, I will save my Daughterfrom those miseries which I have suffered. Without your Uncle'sconsent, while I live, She never shall be yours. Undoubtedly He willdisapprove of the union; His power is immense, and Antonia shall not beexposed to his anger and persecution.'

  'His persecution? How easily may that be avoided! Let the worsthappen, it is but quitting Spain. My wealth may easily be realised;The Indian Islands will offer us a secure retreat; I have an estate,though not of value, in Hispaniola: Thither will we fly, and I shallconsider it to be my native Country, if it gives me Antonia'sundisturbed possession.'

  'Ah! Youth, this is a fond romantic vision. Gonzalvo thought the same.He fancied that He could leave Spain without regret; But the moment ofparting undeceived him. You know not yet what it is to quit yournative land; to quit it, never to behold it more!

  You know not, what it is to exchange the scenes where you have passedyour infancy, for unknown realms and barbarous climates! To beforgotten, utterly eternally forgotten, by the Companions of yourYouth! To see your dearest Friends, the fondest objects of youraffection, perishing with diseases incidental to Indian atmospheres,and find yourself unable to procure for them necessary assistance! Ihave felt all this! My Husband and two sweet Babes found their Gravesin Cuba: Nothing would have saved my young Antonia but my suddenreturn to Spain. Ah! Don Lorenzo, could you conceive what I sufferedduring my absence! Could you know how sorely I regretted all that Ileft behind, and how dear to me was the very name of Spain! I enviedthe winds which blew towards it: And when the Spanish Sailor chauntedsome well-known air as He past my window, tears filled my eyes while Ithought upon my native land. Gonzalvo too ... My Husband ...'.

  Elvira paused. Her voice faltered, and She concealed her face with herhandkerchief. After a short silence She rose from the Sopha, andproceeded.

  'Excuse my quitting you for a few moments: The remembrance of what Ihave suffered has much agitated me, and I need to be alone. Till Ireturn peruse these lines. After my Husband's death I found them amonghis papers; Had I known sooner that He entertained such sentiments,Grief would have killed me. He wrote these verses on his voyage toCuba, when his mind was clouded by sorrow, and He forgot that He had aWife and Children.

  What we are losing, ever seems to us the most precious: Gonzalvo wasquitting Spain for ever, and therefore was Spain dearer to his eyesthan all else which the World contained. Read them, Don Lorenzo; Theywill give you some idea of the feelings of a banished Man!'

  Elvira put a paper into Lorenzo's hand, and retired from the chamber.The Youth examined the contents, and found them to be as follows.

  THE EXILE

  Farewell, Oh! native Spain! Farewell for ever! These banished eyes shall view thy coasts no more; A mournful presage tells my heart, that never Gonzalvo's steps again shall press thy shore.

  Hushed are the winds; While soft the Vessel sailing With gentle motion plows the unruffled Main, I feel my bosom's boasted courage failing, And curse the waves which bear me far from Spain.

  I see it yet! Beneath yon blue clear Heaven Still do the Spires, so well beloved, appear; From yonder craggy point the gale of Even Still wafts my native accents to mine ear:

  Propped on some moss-crowned Rock, and gaily singing, There in the Sun his nets the Fisher dries; Oft have I heard the plaintive Ballad, bringing Scenes of past joys before my sorrowing eyes.

  Ah! Happy Swain! He waits the accustomed hour, When twilight-gloom obscures the closing sky; Then gladly seeks his loved paternal bower, And shares the feast his native fields supply:

  Friendship and Love, his Cottage Guests, receive him With honest welcome and with smile sincere; No threatening woes of present joys bereave him, No sigh his bosom owns, his cheek no tear.

  Ah! Happy Swain! Such bliss to me denying, Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view; Me, who from home and Spain an Exile flying, Bid all I value, all I love, adieu.

  No more mine ear shall list the well-known ditty Sung by some Mountain-Girl, who tends her Goats, Some Village-Swain imploring amorous pity, Or Shepherd chaunting wild his rustic notes:

  No more my arms a Parent's fond embraces, No more my heart domestic calm, must know; Far from these joys, with sighs which Memory traces, To sultry skies, and distant climes I go.

  Where Indian Suns engender new diseases, Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way To brave the feverish thirst no art appeases, The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day:

  But not to feel slow pangs consume my liver, To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age, My boiling blood drank by insatiate fever, And brain delirious with the day-star's rage,

  Can make me know such grief, as thus to sever With many a bitter sigh, Dear Land, from Thee; To feel this heart must doat on thee for ever, And feel, that all thy joys are tor
n from me!

  Ah me! How oft will Fancy's spells in slumber Recall my native Country to my mind! How oft regret will bid me sadly number Each lost delight and dear Friend left behind!

  Wild Murcia's Vales, and loved romantic bowers, The River on whose banks a Child I played, My Castle's antient Halls, its frowning Towers, Each much-regretted wood, and well-known Glade,

  Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre, Thy scenes, which I am doomed no more to know, Full oft shall Memory trace, my soul's Tormentor, And turn each pleasure past to present woe.

  But Lo! The Sun beneath the waves retires; Night speeds apace her empire to restore: Clouds from my sight obscure the village-spires, Now seen but faintly, and now seen no more.

  Oh! breathe not, Winds! Still be the Water's motion! Sleep, sleep, my Bark, in silence on the Main! So when to-morrow's light shall gild the Ocean, Once more mine eyes shall see the coast of Spain.

  Vain is the wish! My last petition scorning, Fresh blows the Gale, and high the Billows swell: Far shall we be before the break of Morning; Oh! then for ever, native Spain, farewell!

  Lorenzo had scarcely time to read these lines, when Elvira returned tohim: The giving a free course to her tears had relieved her, and herspirits had regained their usual composure.

  'I have nothing more to say, my Lord,' said She; 'You have heard myapprehensions, and my reasons for begging you not to repeat yourvisits. I have thrown myself in full confidence upon your honour: Iam certain that you will not prove my opinion of you to have been toofavourable.'

  'But one question more, Segnora, and I leave you. Should the Duke ofMedina approve my love, would my addresses be unacceptable to yourselfand the fair Antonia?'

  'I will be open with you, Don Lorenzo: There being little probabilityof such an union taking place, I fear that it is desired but tooardently by my Daughter. You have made an impression upon her youngheart, which gives me the most serious alarm: To prevent thatimpression from growing stronger, I am obliged to decline youracquaintance. For me, you may be sure that I should rejoice atestablishing my Child so advantageously. Conscious that myconstitution, impaired by grief and illness, forbids me to expect along continuance in this world, I tremble at the thought of leaving herunder the protection of a perfect Stranger. The Marquis de lasCisternas is totally unknown to me:

  He will marry; His Lady may look upon Antonia with an eye ofdispleasure, and deprive her of her only Friend. Should the Duke, yourUncle, give his consent, you need not doubt obtaining mine, and myDaughter's: But without his, hope not for ours. At all events, whatever steps you may take, what ever may be the Duke's decision, till youknow it let me beg your forbearing to strengthen by your presenceAntonia's prepossession. If the sanction of your Relations authorisesyour addressing her as your Wife, my Doors fly open to you: If thatsanction is refused, be satisfied to possess my esteem and gratitude,but remember, that we must meet no more.'

  Lorenzo promised reluctantly to conform to this decree: But He addedthat He hoped soon to obtain that consent which would give him a claimto the renewal of their acquaintance. He then explained to her why theMarquis had not called in person, and made no scruple of confiding toher his Sister's History. He concluded by saying that He hoped to setAgnes at liberty the next day; and that as soon as Don Raymond's fearswere quieted upon this subject, He would lose no time in assuring DonnaElvira of his friendship and protection.

  The Lady shook her head.

  'I tremble for your Sister,' said She; 'I have heard many traits of theDomina of St. Clare's character, from a Friend who was educated in thesame Convent with her. She reported her to be haughty, inflexible,superstitious, and revengeful. I have since heard that She isinfatuated with the idea of rendering her Convent the most regular inMadrid, and never forgave those whose imprudence threw upon it theslightest stain. Though naturally violent and severe, when herinterests require it, She well knows how to assume an appearance ofbenignity. She leaves no means untried to persuade young Women of rankto become Members of her Community: She is implacable when onceincensed, and has too much intrepidity to shrink at taking the mostrigorous measures for punishing the Offender. Doubtless, She willconsider your Sister's quitting the Convent as a disgrace thrown uponit: She will use every artifice to avoid obeying the mandate of hisHoliness, and I shudder to think that Donna Agnes is in the hands ofthis dangerous Woman.'

  Lorenzo now rose to take leave. Elvira gave him her hand at parting,which He kissed respectfully; and telling her that He soon hoped forthe permission to salute that of Antonia, He returned to his Hotel.The Lady was perfectly satisfied with the conversation which had pastbetween them. She looked forward with satisfaction to the prospect ofhis becoming her Son-in-law; But Prudence bad her conceal from herDaughter's knowledge the flattering hopes which Herself now ventured toentertain.

  Scarcely was it day, and already Lorenzo was at the Convent of St.Clare, furnished with the necessary mandate. The Nuns were at Matins.He waited impatiently for the conclusion of the service, and at lengththe Prioress appeared at the Parlour Grate. Agnes was demanded. Theold Lady replied, with a melancholy air, that the dear Child'ssituation grew hourly more dangerous; That the Physicians despaired ofher life; But that they had declared the only chance for her recoveryto consist in keeping her quiet, and not to permit those to approachher whose presence was likely to agitate her. Not a word of all thiswas believed by Lorenzo, any more than He credited the expressions ofgrief and affection for Agnes, with which this account was interlarded.To end the business, He put the Pope's Bull into the hands of theDomina, and insisted that, ill or in health, his Sister should bedelivered to him without delay.

  The Prioress received the paper with an air of humility: But no soonerhad her eye glanced over the contents, than her resentment baffled allthe efforts of Hypocrisy. A deep crimson spread itself over her face,and She darted upon Lorenzo looks of rage and menace.

  'This order is positive,' said She in a voice of anger, which She invain strove to disguise; 'Willingly would I obey it; But unfortunatelyit is out of my power.'

  Lorenzo interrupted her by an exclamation of surprize.

  'I repeat it, Segnor; to obey this order is totally out of my power.From tenderness to a Brother's feelings, I would have communicated thesad event to you by degrees, and have prepared you to hear it withfortitude. My measures are broken through: This order commands me todeliver up to you the Sister Agnes without delay; I am thereforeobliged to inform you without circumlocution, that on Friday last, Sheexpired.'

  Lorenzo started back with horror, and turned pale. A moment'srecollection convinced him that this assertion must be false, and itrestored him to himself.

  'You deceive me!' said He passionately; 'But five minutes past sinceyou assured me that though ill She was still alive. Produce her thisinstant! See her I must and will, and every attempt to keep her fromme will be unavailing.'

  'You forget yourself, Segnor; You owe respect to my age as well as myprofession. Your Sister is no more. If I at first concealed herdeath, it was from dreading lest an event so unexpected should produceon you too violent an effect. In truth, I am but ill repaid for myattention. And what interest, I pray you, should I have in detainingher? To know her wish of quitting our society is a sufficient reasonfor me to wish her absence, and think her a disgrace to the Sisterhoodof St. Clare: But She has forfeited my affection in a manner yet moreculpable. Her crimes were great, and when you know the cause of herdeath, you will doubtless rejoice, Don Lorenzo, that such a Wretch isno longer in existence. She was taken ill on Thursday last onreturning from confession in the Capuchin Chapel. Her malady seemedattended with strange circumstances; But She persisted in concealingits cause: Thanks to the Virgin, we were too ignorant to suspect it!Judge then what must have been our consternation, our horror, when Shewas delivered the next day of a stillborn Child, whom She immediatelyfollowed to the Grave. How, Segnor? Is it possible that yourcountenance expresses no su
rprize, no indignation? Is it possible thatyour Sister's infamy was known to you, and that still She possessedyour affection? In that case, you have no need of my compassion. Ican say nothing more, except repeat my inability of obeying the ordersof his Holiness. Agnes is no more, and to convince you that what I sayis true, I swear by our blessed Saviour, that three days have pastsince She was buried.'

  Here She kissed a small crucifix which hung at her girdle. She thenrose from her chair, and quitted the Parlour. As She withdrew, Shecast upon Lorenzo a scornful smile.

  'Farewell, Segnor,' said She; 'I know no remedy for this accident: Ifear that even a second Bull from the Pope will not procure yourSister's resurrection.'

  Lorenzo also retired, penetrated with affliction: But Don Raymond's atthe news of this event amounted to Madness. He would not be convincedthat Agnes was really dead, and continued to insist that the Walls ofSt. Clare still confined her. No arguments could make him abandon hishopes of regaining her: Every day some fresh scheme was invented forprocuring intelligence of her, and all of them were attended with thesame success.

  On his part, Medina gave up the idea of ever seeing his Sister more:Yet He believed that She had been taken off by unfair means. Underthis persuasion, He encouraged Don Raymond's researches, determined,should He discover the least warrant for his suspicions, to take asevere vengeance upon the unfeeling Prioress. The loss of his Sisteraffected him sincerely; Nor was it the least cause of his distress thatpropriety obliged him for some time to defer mentioning Antonia to theDuke. In the meanwhile his emissaries constantly surrounded Elvira'sDoor. He had intelligence of all the movements of his Mistress: As Shenever failed every Thursday to attend the Sermon in the CapuchinCathedral, He was secure of seeing her once a week, though incompliance with his promise, He carefully shunned her observation.Thus two long Months passed away. Still no information was procured ofAgnes: All but the Marquis credited her death; and now Lorenzodetermined to disclose his sentiments to his Uncle. He had alreadydropt some hints of his intention to marry; They had been as favourablyreceived as He could expect, and He harboured no doubt of the successof his application.