interference with the Marquis. Your presence makes me tremble:
I fear lest it should inspire her with sentiments which may
embitter the remainder of her life, or encourage her to cherish
hopes in her situation unjustifiable and futile. Pardon me when
I avow my terrors, and let my frankness plead in my excuse. I
cannot forbid you my House, for gratitude restrains me; I can
only throw myself upon your generosity, and entreat you to spare
the feelings of an anxious, of a doting Mother. Believe me when
I assure you that I lament the necessity of rejecting your
acquaintance; But there is no remedy, and Antonia's interest
obliges me to beg you to forbear your visits. By complying with
my request, you will increase the esteem which I already feel for
you, and of which everything convinces me that you are truly
deserving.'
'Your frankness charms me,' replied Lorenzo; 'You shall find that
in your favourable opinion of me you were not deceived. Yet I
hope that the reasons, now in my power to allege, will persuade
you to withdraw a request which I cannot obey without infinite
reluctance. I love your Daughter, love her most sincerely: I
wish for no greater happiness than to inspire her with the same
sentiments, and receive her hand at the Altar as her Husband.
'Tis true, I am not rich myself; My Father's death has left me
but little in my own possession; But my expectations justify my
pretending to the Conde de las Cisternas' Daughter.'
He was proceeding, but Elvira interrupted him.
'Ah! Don Lorenzo, you forget in that pompous title the meanness
of my origin. You forget that I have now past fourteen years in
Spain, disavowed by my Husband's family, and existing upon a
stipend barely sufficient for the support and education of my
Daughter. Nay, I have even been neglected by most of my own
Relations, who out of envy affect to doubt the reality of my
marriage. My allowance being discontinued at 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 foibles
possesses a warm, generous, and affectionate heart. She aided me
with the little fortune which my Father left her, persuaded me to
visit Madrid, and has supported my Child and myself since our
quitting Murcia. Then consider not Antonia as descended from the
Conde de la Cisternas: Consider her as a poor and unprotected
Orphan, as the Grand-child of the Tradesman Torribio Dalfa, as
the needy Pensioner of that Tradesman's Daughter. Reflect upon
the difference between such a situation, and that of the Nephew
and Heir of the potent Duke of Medina. I believe your intentions
to be honourable; But as there are no hopes that your Uncle will
approve of the union, I foresee that the consequences of your
attachment must be fatal to my Child's repose.'
'Pardon me, Segnora; You are misinformed if you suppose the Duke
of Medina to resemble the generality of Men. His sentiments are
liberal and disinterested: He loves me well; and I have no
reason to dread his forbidding the marriage when He perceives
that my happiness depends upon Antonia. But supposing him to
refuse his sanction, what have I still to fear? My Parents are
no more; My little fortune is in my own possession: It will be
sufficient to support Antonia, and I shall exchange for her hand
Medina's Dukedom without one sigh of regret.'
'You are young and eager; It is natural for you to entertain such
ideas. But Experience has taught me to my cost that curses
accompany an unequal alliance. I married the Conde de las
Cisternas in opposition to the will of his Relations; Many an
heart-pang has punished me for the imprudent step. Whereever we
bent our course, a Father's execration pursued Gonzalvo. Poverty
overtook us, and no Friend was near to relieve our wants. Still
our mutual affection existed, but alas! not without interruption.
Accustomed to wealth and ease, ill could my Husband support the
transition to distress and indigence. He looked back with
repining to the comforts which He once enjoyed. He regretted the
situation which for my sake He had quitted; and in moments when
Despair possessed his mind, has reproached me with having made
him the Companion of want and wretchedness! He has called me his
bane! The source of his sorrows, the cause of his destruction!
Ah God! He little knew how much keener were my own heart's
reproaches! He was ignorant that I suffered trebly, for myself,
for my Children, and for him! 'Tis true that his anger seldom
lasted long: His sincere affection for me soon revived in his
heart; and then his repentance for the tears which He had made me
shed tortured me even more than his reproaches. He would throw
himself on the ground, implore my forgiveness in the most frantic
terms, and load himself with curses for being the Murderer of my
repose. Taught by experience that an union contracted against
the inclinations of families on either side must be unfortunate,
I will save my Daughter from those miseries which I have
suffered. Without your Uncle's consent, while I live, She never
shall be yours. Undoubtedly He will disapprove of the union; His
power is immense, and Antonia shall not be exposed to his anger
and persecution.'
'His persecution? How easily may that be avoided! Let the worst
happen, 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 shall consider it to be my native Country, if it
gives me Antonia's undisturbed 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 of parting undeceived him. You know not yet what it
is to quit your native land; to quit it, never to behold it more!
You know not, what it is to exchange the scenes where you have
passed your infancy, for unknown realms and barbarous climates!
To be forgotten, utterly eternally forgotten, by the Companions
of your Youth! To see your dearest Friends, the fondest objects
of your affection, perishing with diseases incidental to Indian
atmospheres, and find yourself unable to procure for them
necessary assistance! I have felt all this! My Husband and two
sweet Babes found their Graves in Cuba: Nothing would have saved
my young Antonia but my sudden return to Spain. Ah! Don Lorenzo,
could you conceive what I suffered during my absence! Could you
know how sorely I regretted all that I left behind, and how dear
to me was the very name of Spain! I envied the winds which blew
towards it: And when the Spanish Sailor chaunted some well-known
air as He past my window, tears filled my eyes while I thought
upon my native land. Gonzalvo too . . . My Husband . . .'.
Elvira paused. Her voice faltered, and She concealed her face
with her handkerchief. After a short silence Sh
e rose from the
Sopha, and proceeded.
'Excuse my quitting you for a few moments: The remembrance of
what I have suffered has much agitated me, and I need to be
alone. Till I return peruse these lines. After my Husband's
death I found them among his papers; Had I known sooner that He
entertained such sentiments, Grief would have killed me. He
wrote these verses on his voyage to Cuba, when his mind was
clouded by sorrow, and He forgot that He had a Wife and Children.
What we are losing, ever seems to us the most precious: Gonzalvo
was quitting Spain for ever, and therefore was Spain dearer to
his eyes than all else which the World contained. Read them,
Don Lorenzo; They will 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 torn 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 to him: The giving a free course to her tears had
relieved her, and her spirits had regained their usual composure.
'I have nothing more to say, my Lord,' said She; 'You have heard
my apprehensions, and my reasons for begging you not to repeat
your visits. I have thrown myself in full confidence upon your
honour: I am certain that you will not prove my opinion of you
to have been too favourable.'
'But one question more, Segnora, and I leave you. Should the
Duke of Medina approve my love, would my addresses be
unacceptable to yourself and the fair Antonia?'
'I will be open with you, Don Lorenzo: There being little
probability of such an union taking place, I fear that it is
desired but too ardently by my Daughter. You have made an
impression upon her young heart, which gives me the most serious
alarm: To prevent that impression from growing stronger, I am
obliged to decline your acquaintance. For me, you may be sure
that I should rejoice at establishing my Child so advantageously.
Conscious that my constitution, impaired by grief and illness,
forbids me to expect a long continuance in this world, I tremble
at the thought of leaving her under the protection of a perfect
Stranger. The Marquis de las Cisternas is totally unknown to me:
He will marry; His Lady may look upon Antonia with an eye of
displeasure, and deprive her of her only Friend. Should the
Duke, your Uncle, give his consent, you need not doubt obtaining
mine, and my Daughter's: But without his, hope not for ours. At
all events, what ever steps you may take, what ever may be the
Duke's decision, till you know it let me beg your forbearing to
strengthen by your presence Antonia's prepossession. If the
sanction of your Relations authorises your addressing her as your
Wife, my Doors fly open to you: If that sanction 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
added that He hoped soon to obtain that consent which would give
him a claim to the renewal of their acquaintance. He then
explained to her why the Marquis had not called in person, and
made no scruple of confiding to her his Sister's History. He
concluded by saying that He hoped to set Agnes at liberty the
next day; and that as soon
as Don Raymond's fears were quieted
upon this subject, He would lose no time in assuring Donna Elvira
of his friendship and protection.
The Lady shook her head.
'I tremble for your Sister,' said She; 'I have heard many traits
of the Domina of St. Clare's character, from a Friend who was
educated in the same Convent with her. She reported her to be
haughty, inflexible, superstitious, and revengeful. I have since
heard that She is infatuated with the idea of rendering her
Convent the most regular in Madrid, and never forgave those whose
imprudence threw upon it the slightest stain. Though naturally
violent and severe, when her interests require it, She well knows
how to assume an appearance of benignity. She leaves no means
untried to persuade young Women of rank to become Members of her
Community: She is implacable when once incensed, and has too
much intrepidity to shrink at taking the most rigorous measures
for punishing the Offender. Doubtless, She will consider your
Sister's quitting the Convent as a disgrace thrown upon it: She
will use every artifice to avoid obeying the mandate of his
Holiness, and I shudder to think that Donna Agnes is in the
hands of this 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 for the permission to salute that of Antonia, He
returned to his Hotel. The Lady was perfectly satisfied with the
conversation which had past between them. She looked forward
with satisfaction to the prospect of his becoming her Son-in-
law; But Prudence bad her conceal from her Daughter's knowledge
the flattering hopes which Herself now ventured to entertain.
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 length the Prioress appeared at the Parlour
Grate. Agnes was demanded. The old Lady replied, with a
melancholy air, that the dear Child's situation grew hourly more
dangerous; That the Physicians despaired of her life; But that
they had declared the only chance for her recovery to consist in
keeping her quiet, and not to permit those to approach her whose
presence was likely to agitate her. Not a word of all this was
believed by Lorenzo, any more than He credited the expressions of
The Monk - A Romance Page 24