The Monk - A Romance

by The Monk [lit]

  mournfully; the shrill cry of mountain Eagles, who had built

  their nests among these lonely Desarts; the stunning roar of

  torrents, as swelled by late rains they rushed violently down

  tremendous precipices; and the dark waters of a silent sluggish

  stream which faintly reflected the moonbeams, and bathed the

  Rock's base on which Ambrosio stood. The Abbot cast round him a

  look of terror. His infernal Conductor was still by his side,

  and eyed him with a look of mingled malice, exultation, and

  contempt.

  'Whither have you brought me?' said the Monk at length in an

  hollow trembling voice: 'Why am I placed in this melancholy

  scene? Bear me from it quickly! Carry me to Matilda!'

  The Fiend replied not, but continued to gaze upon him in silence.

  Ambrosio could not sustain his glance; He turned away his eyes,

  while thus spoke the Daemon:

  'I have him then in my power! This model of piety! This being

  without reproach! This Mortal who placed his puny virtues on a

  level with those of Angels. He is mine! Irrevocably, eternally

  mine! Companions of my sufferings! Denizens of hell! How

  grateful will be my present!'

  He paused; then addressed himself to the Monk----

  'Carry you to Matilda?' He continued, repeating Ambrosio's words:

  'Wretch! you shall soon be with her! You well deserve a place

  near her, for hell boasts no miscreant more guilty than yourself.

  Hark, Ambrosio, while I unveil your crimes! You have shed the

  blood of two innocents; Antonia and Elvira perished by your hand.

  That Antonia whom you violated, was your Sister! That Elvira whom

  you murdered, gave you birth! Tremble, abandoned Hypocrite!

  Inhuman Parricide! Incestuous Ravisher! Tremble at the extent of

  your offences! And you it was who thought yourself proof against

  temptation, absolved from human frailties, and free from error

  and vice! Is pride then a virtue? Is inhumanity no fault?

  Know, vain Man! That I long have marked you for my prey: I

  watched the movements of your heart; I saw that you were virtuous

  from vanity, not principle, and I seized the fit moment of

  seduction. I observed your blind idolatry of the Madona's

  picture. I bad a subordinate but crafty spirit assume a similar

  form, and you eagerly yielded to the blandishments of Matilda.

  Your pride was gratified by her flattery; Your lust only needed

  an opportunity to break forth; You ran into the snare blindly,

  and scrupled not to commit a crime which you blamed in another

  with unfeeling severity. It was I who threw Matilda in your way;

  It was I who gave you entrance to Antonia's chamber; It was I who

  caused the dagger to be given you which pierced your Sister's

  bosom; and it was I who warned Elvira in dreams of your designs

  upon her Daughter, and thus, by preventing your profiting by her

  sleep, compelled you to add rape as well as incest to the

  catalogue of your crimes. Hear, hear, Ambrosio! Had you

  resisted me one minute longer, you had saved your body and soul.

  The guards whom you heard at your prison door came to signify

  your pardon. But I had already triumphed: My plots had already

  succeeded. Scarcely could I propose crimes so quick as you

  performed them. You are mine, and Heaven itself cannot rescue

  you from my power. Hope not that your penitence will make void

  our contract. Here is your bond signed with your blood; You have

  given up your claim to mercy, and nothing can restore to you the

  rights which you have foolishly resigned. Believe you that your

  secret thoughts escaped me? No, no, I read them all! You

  trusted that you should still have time for repentance. I saw

  your artifice, knew its falsity, and rejoiced in deceiving the

  deceiver! You are mine beyond reprieve: I burn to possess my

  right, and alive you quit not these mountains.'

  During the Daemon's speech, Ambrosio had been stupefied by terror

  and surprize. This last declaration rouzed him.

  'Not quit these mountains alive?' He exclaimed: 'Perfidious, what

  mean you? Have you forgotten our contract?'

  The Fiend answered by a malicious laugh:

  'Our contract? Have I not performed my part? What more did I

  promise than to save you from your prison? Have I not done so?

  Are you not safe from the Inquisition--safe from all but from

  me? Fool that you were to confide yourself to a Devil! Why did

  you not stipulate for life, and power, and pleasure? Then all

  would have been granted: Now, your reflections come too late.

  Miscreant, prepare for death; You have not many hours to live!'

  On hearing this sentence, dreadful were the feelings of the

  devoted Wretch! He sank upon his knees, and raised his hands

  towards heaven. The Fiend read his intention and prevented it--

  'What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury: 'Dare you still

  implore the Eternal's mercy? Would you feign penitence, and

  again act an Hypocrite's part? Villain, resign your hopes of

  pardon. Thus I secure my prey!'

  As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown,

  He sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang

  with Ambrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till

  reaching a dreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong

  fell the Monk through the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock

  received him; and He rolled from precipice to precipice, till

  bruised and mangled He rested on the river's banks. Life still

  existed in his miserable frame: He attempted in vain to raise

  himself; His broken and dislocated limbs refused to perform their

  office, nor was He able to quit the spot where He had first

  fallen. The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching beams

  darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner. Myriads of

  insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood

  which trickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive

  them from him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their

  stings into his body, covered him with their multitudes, and

  inflicted on him tortures the most exquisite and insupportable.

  The Eagles of the rock tore his flesh piecemeal, and dug out his

  eyeballs with their crooked beaks. A burning thirst tormented

  him; He heard the river's murmur as it rolled beside him, but

  strove in vain to drag himself towards the sound. Blind, maimed,

  helpless, and despairing, venting his rage in blasphemy and

  curses, execrating his existence, yet dreading the arrival of

  death destined to yield him up to greater torments, six miserable

  days did the Villain languish. On the Seventh a violent storm

  arose: The winds in fury rent up rocks and forests: The sky was

  now black with clouds, now sheeted with fire: The rain fell in

  torrents; It swelled the stream; The waves overflowed their

  banks; They reached the spot where Ambrosio lay, and when they

  abated carried with them into the river the Corse of the

  despairing Monk.

  The End

  bsp;