The Monk - A Romance

by The Monk [lit]

  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