himself opposite to the great Gate, through which the Pilgrims
were to pass. Convinced that the Prioress could not escape him,
He waited patiently for her appearance, which She was expected to
make exactly at Midnight.
The Nuns were employed in religious duties established in honour
of St. Clare, and to which no Prophane was ever admitted. The
Chapel windows were illuminated. As they stood on the outside,
the Auditors heard the full swell of the organ, accompanied by a
chorus of female voices, rise upon the stillness of the night.
This died away, and was succeeded by a single strain of harmony:
It was the voice of her who was destined to sustain in the
procession the character of St. Clare. For this office the most
beautiful Virgin of Madrid was always selected, and She upon whom
the choice fell esteemed it as the highest of honours. While
listening to the Music, whose melody distance only seemed to
render sweeter, the Audience was wrapped up in profound
attention. Universal silence prevailed through the Crowd, and
every heart was filled with reverence for religion. Every heart
but Lorenzo's. Conscious that among those who chaunted the
praises of their God so sweetly, there were some who cloaked with
devotion the foulest sins, their hymns inspired him with
detestation at their Hypocrisy. He had long observed with
disapprobation and contempt the superstition which governed
Madrid's Inhabitants. His good sense had pointed out to him the
artifices of the Monks, and the gross absurdity of their
miracles, wonders, and supposititious reliques. He blushed to
see his Countrymen the Dupes of deceptions so ridiculous, and
only wished for an opportunity to free them from their monkish
fetters. That opportunity, so long desired in vain, was at
length presented to him. He resolved not to let it slip, but to
set before the People in glaring colours how enormous were the
abuses but too frequently practised in Monasteries, and how
unjustly public esteem was bestowed indiscriminately upon all who
wore a religious habit. He longed for the moment destined to
unmask the Hypocrites, and convince his Countrymen that a
sanctified exterior does not always hide a virtuous heart.
The service lasted, till Midnight was announced by the
Convent Bell. That sound being heard, the Music ceased: The
voices died away softly, and soon after the lights disappeared
from the Chapel windows. Lorenzo's heart beat high, when He
found the execution of his plan to be at hand. From the natural
superstition of the People He had prepared himself for some
resistance. But He trusted that the Mother St. Ursula would
bring good reasons to justify his proceeding. He had force with
him to repel the first impulse of the Populace, till his
arguments should be heard: His only fear was lest the Domina,
suspecting his design, should have spirited away the Nun on
whose deposition every thing depended. Unless the Mother St.
Ursula should be present, He could only accuse the Prioress upon
suspicion; and this reflection gave him some little apprehension
for the success of his enterprize. The tranquillity which seemed
to reign through the Convent in some degree re-assured him:
Still He expected the moment eagerly, when the presence of his
Ally should deprive him of the power of doubting.
The Abbey of Capuchins was only separated from the Convent by the
Garden and Cemetery. The Monks had been invited to assist at the
Pilgrimage. They now arrived, marching two by two with lighted
Torches in their hands, and chaunting Hymns in honour of St.
Clare. Father Pablos was at their head, the Abbot having excused
himself from attending. The people made way for the holy Train,
and the Friars placed themselves in ranks on either side of the
great Gates. A few minutes sufficed to arrange the order of the
Procession. This being settled, the Convent doors were thrown
open, and again the female Chorus sounded in full melody. First
appeared a Band of Choristers: As soon as they had passed, the
Monks fell in two by two, and followed with steps slow and
measured. Next came the Novices; They bore no Tapers, as did the
Professed, but moved on with eyes bent downwards, and seemed to
be occupied by telling their Beads. To them succeeded a young
and lovely Girl, who represented St. Lucia: She held a golden
bason in which were two eyes: Her own were covered by a velvet
bandage, and She was conducted by another Nun habited as an
Angel. She was followed by St. Catherine, a palm-branch in one
hand, a flaming Sword in the other: She was robed in white, and
her brow was ornamented with a sparkling Diadem. After her
appeared St. Genevieve, surrounded by a number of Imps, who
putting themselves into grotesque attitudes, drawing her by the
robe, and sporting round her with antic gestures, endeavoured to
distract her attention from the Book, on which her eyes were
constantly fixed. These merry Devils greatly entertained the
Spectators, who testified their pleasure by repeated bursts of
Laughter. The Prioress had been careful to select a Nun whose
disposition was naturally solemn and saturnine. She had every
reason to be satisfied with her choice: The drolleries of the
Imps were entirely thrown away, and St. Genevieve moved on
without discomposing a muscle.
Each of these Saints was separated from the Other by a band of
Choristers, exalting her praise in their Hymns, but declaring her
to be very much inferior to St. Clare, the Convent's avowed
Patroness. These having passed, a long train of Nuns appeared,
bearing like the Choristers each a burning Taper. Next came the
reliques of St. Clare, inclosed in vases equally precious for
their materials and workmanship: But they attracted not
Lorenzo's attention. The Nun who bore the heart occupied him
entirely. According to Theodore's description, He doubted not
her being the Mother St. Ursula. She seemed to look round with
anxiety. As He stood foremost in the rank by which the
procession past, her eye caught Lorenzo's. A flush of joy
overspread her till then pallid cheek. She turned to her
Companion eagerly.
'We are safe!' He heard her whisper; ' 'tis her Brother!'
His heart being now at ease, Lorenzo gazed with tranquillity upon
the remainder of the show. Now appeared its most brilliant
ornament. It was a Machine fashioned like a throne, rich with
jewels and dazzling with light. It rolled onwards upon
concealed wheels, and was guided by several lovely Children,
dressed as Seraphs. The summit was covered with silver clouds,
upon which reclined the most beautiful form that eyes ever
witnessed. It was a Damsel representing St. Clare: Her dress was
of inestimable price, and round her head a wreath of Diamonds
formed an artificial glory: But all these ornaments yielded to
the lustre of her charms. As She advanced, a murmur of delight
ran through the Crowd. Even Lorenzo confessed se
cretly, that He
never beheld more perfect beauty, and had not his heart been
Antonia's, it must have fallen a sacrifice to this enchanting
Girl. As it was, He considered her only as a fine Statue: She
obtained from him no tribute save cold admiration, and when She
had passed him, He thought of her no more.
'Who is She?' asked a By-stander in Lorenzo's hearing.
'One whose beauty you must often have heard celebrated. Her name
is Virginia de Villa-Franca: She is a Pensioner of St. Clare's
Convent, a Relation of the Prioress, and has been selected with
justice as the ornament of the Procession.'
The Throne moved onwards. It was followed by the Prioress
herself: She marched at the head of the remaining Nuns with a
devout and sanctified air, and closed the procession. She moved
on slowly: Her eyes were raised to heaven: Her countenance calm
and tranquil seemed abstracted from all sublunary things, and no
feature betrayed her secret pride at displaying the pomp and
opulence of her Convent. She passed along, accompanied by the
prayers and benedictions of the Populace: But how great was the
general confusion and surprize, when Don Ramirez starting
forward, challenged her as his Prisoner.
For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable:
But no sooner did She recover herself, than She exclaimed against
sacrilege and impiety, and called the People to rescue a Daughter
of the Church. They were eagerly preparing to obey her; when Don
Ramirez, protected by the Archers from their rage, commanded them
to forbear, and threatened them with the severest vengeance of
the Inquisition. At that dreaded word every arm fell, every
sword shrunk back into its scabbard. The Prioress herself turned
pale, and trembled. The general silence convinced her that She
had nothing to hope but from innocence, and She besought Don
Ramirez in a faultering voice, to inform her of what crime She
was accused.
'That you shall know in time,' replied He; 'But first I must
secure the Mother St. Ursula.'
'The Mother St. Ursula?' repeated the Domina faintly.
At this moment casting her eyes round, She saw near her Lorenzo
and the Duke, who had followed Don Ramirez.
'Ah! great God!' She cried, clasping her hands together with a
frantic air; 'I am betrayed!'
'Betrayed?' replied St. Ursula, who now arrived conducted by some
of the Archers, and followed by the Nun her Companion in the
procession: 'Not betrayed, but discovered. In me recognise your
Accuser: You know not how well I am instructed in your
guilt!--Segnor!' She continued, turning to Don Ramirez; 'I commit
myself to your custody. I charge the Prioress of St. Clare with
murder, and stake my life for the justice of my accusation.'
A general cry of surprize was uttered by the whole Audience, and
an explanation was demanded loudly.n The trembling Nuns,
terrifiedat the noise and universal confusion, had dispersed, and
fleddifferent ways. Some regained the Convent; Others sought
refugein the dwellings of their Relations; and Many, only
sensible oftheir present danger, and anxious to escape from the
tumult, ran through the Streets, and wandered, they knew not
whither. The lovely Virginia was one of the first to fly: And
in order that She might be better seen and heard, the People
desired that St. Ursula should harangue them from the vacant
Throne. The Nun complied; She ascended the glittering Machine,
and then addressed the surrounding multitude as follows.
'However strange and unseemly may appear my conduct, when
considered to be adopted by a Female and a Nun, necessity will
justify it most fully. A secret, an horrible secret weighs heavy
upon my soul: No rest can be mine till I have revealed it to the
world, and satisfied that innocent blood which calls from the
Grave for vengeance. Much have I dared to gain this opportunity
of lightening my conscience. Had I failed in my attempt to
reveal the crime, had the Domina but suspected that the mystery
was none to me, my ruin was inevitable. Angels who watch
unceasingly over those who deserve their favour, have enabled me
to escape detection: I am now at liberty to relate a Tale, whose
circumstances will freeze every honest soul with horror. Mine is
the task to rend the veil from Hypocrisy, and show misguided
Parents to what dangers the Woman is exposed, who falls under the
sway of a monastic Tyrant.
'Among the Votaries of St. Clare, none was more lovely, none more
gentle, than Agnes de Medina. I knew her well; She entrusted to
me every secret of her heart; I was her Friend and Confident, and
I loved her with sincere affection. Nor was I singular in my
attachment. Her piety unfeigned, her willingness to oblige, and
her angelic disposition, rendered her the Darling of all that was
estimable in the Convent. The Prioress herself, proud,
scrupulous and forbidding, could not refuse Agnes that tribute of
approbation which She bestowed upon no one else. Every one has
some fault: Alas! Agnes had her weakness! She violated the laws
of our order, and incurred the inveterate hate of the unforgiving
Domina. St. Clare's rules are severe: But grown antiquated and
neglected, many of late years have either been forgotten, or
changed by universal consent into milder punishments. The
penance, adjudged to the crime of Agnes, was most cruel, most
inhuman! The law had been long exploded: Alas! It still
existed, and the revengeful Prioress now determined to revive it.
This law decreed that the Offender should be plunged into a
private dungeon, expressly constituted to hide from the world for
ever the Victim of Cruelty and tyrannic superstition. In this
dreadful abode She was to lead a perpetual solitude, deprived of
all society, and believed to be dead by those whom affection
might have prompted to attempt her rescue. Thus was She to
languish out the remainder of her days, with no other food than
bread and water, and no other comfort than the free indulgence of
her tears.'
The indignation created by this account was so violent, as for
some moments to interrupt St. Ursula's narrative. When the
disturbance ceased, and silence again prevailed through the
Assembly, She continued her discourse, while at every word the
Domina's countenance betrayed her increasing terrors.
'A Council of the twelve elder Nuns was called: I was of the
number. The Prioress in exaggerated colours described the
offence of Agnes, and scrupled not to propose the revival of this
almost forgotten law. To the shame of our sex be it spoken, that
either so absolute was the Domina's will in the Convent, or so
much had disappointment, solitude, and self-denial hardened their
hearts and sowered their tempers that this barbarous proposal
was assented to by nine voices out of the twelve. I was not one
of the nine. Frequent opportunities had convinced me of the
virtues of Agnes, and I loved and pitied her most s
incerely. The
Mothers Bertha and Cornelia joined my party: We made the
strongest opposition possible, and the Superior found herself
compelled to change her intention. In spite of the majority in
her favour, She feared to break with us openly. She knew that
supported by the Medina family, our forces would be too strong
for her to cope with: And She also knew that after being once
imprisoned and supposed dead, should Agnes be discovered, her
ruin would be inevitable. She therefore gave up her design,
though which much reluctance. She demanded some days to reflect
upon a mode of punishment which might be agreeable to the whole
Community; and She promised, that as soon as her resolution was
fixed, the same Council should be again summoned. Two days
passed away: On the Evening of the Third it was announced that
on the next day Agnes should be examined; and that according to
her behaviour on that occasion, her punishment should be either
strengthened or mitigated.
'On the night preceding this examination, I stole to the Cell of
Agnes at an hour when I supposed the other Nuns to be buried in
sleep. I comforted her to the best of my power: I bad her take
courage, told her to rely upon the support of her friends, and
taught her certain signs, by which I might instruct her to answer
the Domina's questions by an assent or negative. Conscious that
her Enemy would strive to confuse, embarrass, and daunt her, I
feared her being ensnared into some confession prejudicial to her
interests. Being anxious to keep my visit secret, I stayed with
Agnes but a short time. I bad her not let her spirits be cast
down; I mingled my tears with those which streamed down her
cheek, embraced her fondly, and was on the point of retiring,
when I heard the sound of steps approaching the Cell. I started
back. A Curtain which veiled a large Crucifix offered me a
retreat, and I hastened to place myself behind it. The door
opened. The Prioress entered, followed by four other Nuns. They
advanced towards the bed of Agnes. The Superior reproached her
with her errors in the bitterest terms: She told her that She
was a disgrace to the Convent, that She was resolved to deliver
the world and herself from such a Monster, and commanded her to
drink the contents of a Goblet now presented to her by one of the
Nuns. Aware of the fatal properties of the liquor, and trembling
The Monk - A Romance Page 39