to find herself upon the brink of Eternity, the unhappy Girl
strove to excite the Domina's pity by the most affecting prayers.
She sued for life in terms which might have melted the heart of a
Fiend: She promised to submit patiently to any punishment, to
shame, imprisonment, and torture, might She but be permitted to
live! Oh! might She but live another month, or week, or day!
Her merciless Enemy listened to her complaints unmoved: She told
her that at first She meant to have spared her life, and that if
She had altered her intention, She had to thank the opposition of
her Friends. She continued to insist upon her swallowing the
poison: She bad her recommend herself to the Almighty's mercy,
not to hers, and assured her that in an hour She would be
numbered with the Dead. Perceiving that it was vain to implore
this unfeeling Woman, She attempted to spring from her bed, and
call for assistance: She hoped, if She could not escape the fate
announced to her, at least to have witnesses of the violence
committed. The Prioress guessed her design. She seized her
forcibly by the arm, and pushed her back upon her pillow. At the
same time drawing a dagger, and placing it at the breast of the
unfortunate Agnes, She protested that if She uttered a single
cry, or hesitated a single moment to drink the poison, She would
pierce her heart that instant. Already half-dead with fear, She
could make no further resistance. The Nun approached with the
fatal Goblet. The Domina obliged her to take it, and swallow the
contents. She drank, and the horrid deed was accomplished. The
Nuns then seated themselves round the Bed. They answered her
groans with reproaches; They interrupted with sarcasms the
prayers in which She recommended her parting soul to mercy: They
threatened her with heaven's vengeance and eternal perdition:
They bad her despair of pardon, and strowed with yet sharper
thorns Death's painful pillow. Such were the sufferings of this
young Unfortunate, till released by fate from the malice of her
Tormentors. She expired in horror of the past, in fears for the
future; and her agonies were such as must have amply gratified
the hate and vengeance of her Enemies. As soon as her Victim
ceased to breathe, the Domina retired, and was followed by her
Accomplices.
'It was now that I ventured from my concealment. I dared not to
assist my unhappy Friend, aware that without preserving her, I
should only have brought on myself the same destruction. Shocked
and terrified beyond expression at this horrid scene, scarcely
had I sufficient strength to regain my Cell. As I reached the
door of that of Agnes, I ventured to look towards the bed, on
which lay her lifeless body, once so lovely and so sweet! I
breathed a prayer for her departed Spirit, and vowed to revenge
her death by the shame and punishment of her Assassins. With
danger and difficulty have I kept my oath. I unwarily dropped
some words at the funeral of Agnes, while thrown off my guard by
excessive grief, which alarmed the guilty conscience of the
Prioress. My every action was observed; My every step was
traced. I was constantly surrounded by the Superior's spies. It
was long before I could find the means of conveying to the
unhappy Girl's Relations an intimation of my secret. It was
given out that Agnes had expired suddenly: This account was
credited not only by her Friends in Madrid, but even by those
within the Convent. The poison had left no marks upon her body:
No one suspected the true cause of her death, and it remained
unknown to all, save the Assassins and Myself.
'I have no more to say: For what I have already said, I will
answer with my life. I repeat that the Prioress is a Murderess;
That She has driven from the world, perhaps from heaven, an
Unfortunate whose offence was light and venial; that She has
abused the power intrusted to her hands, and has been a Tyrant, a
Barbarian, and an Hypocrite. I also accuse the four Nuns,
Violante, Camilla, Alix, and Mariana, as being her Accomplices,
and equally criminal.'
Here St. Ursula ended her narrative. It created horror and
surprize throughout: But when She related the inhuman murder of
Agnes, the indignation of the Mob was so audibly testified, that
it was scarcely possible to hear the conclusion. This confusion
increased with every moment: At length a multitude of voices
exclaimed that the Prioress should be given up to their fury.
To this Don Ramirez refused to consent positively. Even Lorenzo
bad the People remember that She had undergone no trial, and
advised them to leave her punishment to the Inquisition. All
representations were fruitless: The disturbance grew still more
violent, and the Populace more exasperated. In vain did Ramirez
attempt to convey his Prisoner out of the Throng. Wherever He
turned, a band of Rioters barred his passage, and demanded her
being delivered over to them more loudly than before. Ramirez
ordered his Attendants to cut their way through the multitude:
Oppressed by numbers, it was impossible for them to draw their
swords. He threatened the Mob with the vengeance of the
Inquisition: But in this moment of popular phrenzy even this
dreadful name had lost its effect. Though regret for his Sister
made him look upon the Prioress with abhorrence, Lorenzo could
not help pitying a Woman in a situation so terrible: But in
spite of all his exertions, and those of the Duke, of Don
Ramirez, and the Archers, the People continued to press onwards.
They forced a passage through the Guards who protected their
destined Victim, dragged her from her shelter, and proceeded to
take upon her a most summary and cruel vengeance. Wild with
terror, and scarcely knowing what She said, the wretched Woman
shrieked for a moment's mercy: She protested that She was
innocent of the death of Agnes, and could clear herself from the
suspicion beyond the power of doubt. The Rioters heeded nothing
but the gratification of their barbarous vengeance. They refused
to listen to her: They showed her every sort of insult, loaded
her with mud and filth, and called her by the most opprobrious
appellations. They tore her one from another, and each new
Tormentor was more savage than the former. They stifled with
howls and execrations her shrill cries for mercy; and dragged her
through the Streets, spurning her, trampling her, and treating
her with every species of cruelty which hate or vindictive fury
could invent. At length a Flint, aimed by some well-directing
hand, struck her full upon the temple. She sank upon the ground
bathed in blood, and in a few minutes terminated her miserable
existence. Yet though She no longer felt their insults, the
Rioters still exercised their impotent rage upon her lifeless
body. They beat it, trod upon it, and ill-used it, till it
became no more than a mass of flesh, unsightly, shapeless, and
disgusting.
Unable to preve
nt this shocking event, Lorenzo and his Friends
had beheld it with the utmost horror: But they were rouzed from
their compelled inactivity, on hearing that the Mob was attacking
the Convent of St. Clare. The incensed Populace, confounding the
innocent with the guilty, had resolved to sacrifice all the Nuns
of that order to their rage, and not to leave one stone of the
building upon another. Alarmed at this intelligence, they
hastened to the Convent, resolved to defend it if possible, or at
least to rescue the Inhabitants from the fury of the Rioters.
Most of the Nuns had fled, but a few still remained in their
habitation. Their situation was truly dangerous. However, as
they had taken the precaution of fastening the inner Gates, with
this assistance Lorenzo hoped to repel the Mob, till Don Ramirez
should return to him with a more sufficient force.
Having been conducted by the former disturbance to the distance
of some Streets from the Convent, He did not immediately reach
it: When He arrived, the throng surrounding it was so excessive
as to prevent his approaching the Gates. In the interim, the
Populace besieged the Building with persevering rage: They
battered the walls, threw lighted torches in at the windows, and
swore that by break of day not a Nun of St. Clare's order should
be left alive. Lorenzo had just succeeded in piercing his way
through the Crowd, when one of the Gates was forced open. The
Rioters poured into the interior part of the Building, where they
exercised their vengeance upon every thing which found itself in
their passage. They broke the furniture into pieces, tore down
the pictures, destroyed the reliques, and in their hatred of her
Servant forgot all respect to the Saint. Some employed
themselves in searching out the Nuns, Others in pulling down
parts of the Convent, and Others again in setting fire to the
pictures and valuable furniture which it contained. These
Latter produced the most decisive desolation: Indeed the
consequences of their action were more sudden than themselves
had expected or wished. The Flames rising from the burning piles
caught part of the Building, which being old and dry, the
conflagration spread with rapidity from room to room. The Walls
were soon shaken by the devouring element: The Columns gave way:
The Roofs came tumbling down upon the Rioters, and crushed many
of them beneath their weight. Nothing was to be heard but
shrieks and groans; The Convent was wrapped in flames, and the
whole presented a scene of devastation and horror.
Lorenzo was shocked at having been the cause, however innocent,
of this frightful disturbance: He endeavoured to repair his
fault by protecting the helpless Inhabitants of the Convent. He
entered it with the Mob, and exerted himself to repress the
prevailing Fury, till the sudden and alarming progress of the
flames compelled him to provide for his own safety. The People
now hurried out, as eagerly as they had before thronged in; But
their numbers clogging up the doorway, and the fire gaining upon
them rapidly, many of them perished ere they had time to effect
their escape. Lorenzo's good fortune directed him to a small
door in a farther Aisle of the Chapel. The bolt was already
undrawn: He opened the door, and found himself at the foot of
St. Clare's Sepulchre.
Here He stopped to breathe. The Duke and some of his Attendants
had followed him, and thus were in security for the present.
They now consulted, what steps they should take to escape from
this scene of disturbance: But their deliberations were
considerably interrupted by the sight of volumes of fire rising
from amidst the Convent's massy walls, by the noise of some heavy
Arch tumbling down in ruins, or by the mingled shrieks of the
Nuns and Rioters, either suffocating in the press, perishing in
the flames, or crushed beneath the weight of the falling Mansion.
Lorenzo enquired, whither the Wicket led? He was answered, to
the Garden of the Capuchins, and it was resolved to explore an
outlet upon that side. Accordingly the Duke raised the Latch,
and passed into the adjoining Cemetery. The Attendants followed
without ceremony. Lorenzo, being the last, was also on the point
of quitting the Colonnade, when He saw the door of the Sepulchre
opened softly. Someone looked out, but on perceiving Strangers
uttered a loud shriek, started back again, and flew down the
marble Stairs.
'What can this mean?' cried Lorenzo; 'Here is some mystery
concealed. Follow me without delay!'
Thus saying, He hastened into the Sepulchre, and pursued the
person who continued to fly before him. The Duke knew not the
cause of his exclamation, but supposing that He had good reasons
for it, he followed him without hesitation. The Others did the
same, and the whole Party soon arrived at the foot of the Stairs.
The upper door having been left open, the neighbouring flames
darted from above a sufficient light to enable Lorenzo's catching
a glance of the Fugitive running through the long passages and
distant Vaults: But when a sudden turn deprived him of this
assistance, total darkness succeeded, and He could only trace the
object of his enquiry by the faint echo of retiring feet. The
Pursuers were now compelled to proceed with caution: As well as
they could judge, the Fugitive also seemed to slacken pace, for
they heard the steps follow each other at longer intervals. They
at length were bewildered by the Labyrinth of passages, and
dispersed in various directions. Carried away by his eagerness
to clear up this mystery, and to penetrate into which He was
impelled by a movement secret and unaccountable, Lorenzo heeded
not this circumstance till He found himself in total solitude.
The noise of footsteps had ceased. All was silent around, and
no clue offered itself to guide him to the flying Person. He
stopped to reflect on the means most likely to aid his pursuit.
He was persuaded that no common cause would have induced the
Fugitive to seek that dreary place at an hour so unusual: The
cry which He had heard, seemed uttered in a voice of terror, and
He was convinced that some mystery was attached to this event.
After some minutes past in hesitation He continued to proceed,
feeling his way along the walls of the passage. He had already
past some time in this slow progress, when He descried a spark of
light glimmering at a distance. Guided by this observation, and
having drawn his sword, He bent his steps towards the place,
whence the beam seemed to be emitted.
It proceeded from the Lamp which flamed before St. Clare's
Statue. Before it stood several Females, their white Garments
streaming in the blast, as it howled along the vaulted dungeons.
Curious to know what had brought them together in this melancholy
spot, Lorenzo drew near with precaution. The Strangers seemed
earnestly engaged in conversation. They heard not Lorenzo's
steps, and He approached
unobserved, till He could hear their
voices distinctly.
'I protest,' continued She who was speaking when He arrived, and
to whom the rest were listening with great attention; 'I protest,
that I saw them with my own eyes. I flew down the steps; They
pursued me, and I escaped falling into their hands with
difficulty. Had it not been for the Lamp, I should never have
found you.'
'And what could bring them hither?' said another in a trembling
voice; 'Do you think that they were looking for us?'
'God grant that my fears may be false,' rejoined the First; 'But
I doubt they are Murderers! If they discover us, we are lost!
As for me, my fate is certain: My affinity to the Prioress will
be a sufficient crime to condemn me; and though till now these
Vaults have afforded me a retreat. . . . . . .'
Here looking up, her eye fell upon Lorenzo, who had continued to
approach softly.
'The Murderers!' She cried--
She started away from the Statue's Pedestal on which She had been
seated, and attempted to escape by flight. Her Companions at the
same moment uttered a terrified scream, while Lorenzo arrested
the Fugitive by the arm. Frightened and desperate She sank upon
her knees before him.
'Spare me!' She exclaimed; 'For Christ's sake, spare me! I am
innocent, indeed, I am!'
While She spoke, her voice was almost choaked with fear. The
beams of the Lamp darting full upon her face which was unveiled,
Lorenzo recognized the beautiful Virginia de Villa-Franca. He
hastened to raise her from the ground, and besought her to take
courage. He promised to protect her from the Rioters, assured
her that her retreat was still a secret, and that She might
depend upon his readiness to defend her to the last drop of his
blood. During this conversation, the Nuns had thrown themselves
into various attitudes: One knelt, and addressed herself to
heaven; Another hid her face in the lap of her Neighbour; Some
listened motionless with fear to the discourse of the supposed
Assassin; while Others embraced the Statue of St. Clare, and
implored her protection with frantic cries. On perceiving their
mistake, they crowded round Lorenzo and heaped benedictions on
him by dozens. He found that, on hearing the threats of the Mob,
and terrified by the cruelties which from the Convent Towers
The Monk - A Romance Page 40