the monk(僧侣)-第13章

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were　sure　of　this！　　Oh！　　how　earnestly　should　I　sigh　for　the
moment　of　dissolution！'

Of　this　discourse　the　Abbot　lost　not　a　syllable；　and　the　tone　in
which　She　pronounced　these　last　words　pierced　to　his　heart。　
Involuntarily　He　raised　himself　from　his　pillow。

'Matilda！'　He　said　in　a　troubled　voice；　'Oh！　my　Matilda！'

She　started　at　the　sound；　and　turned　towards　him　hastily。　　The
suddenness　of　her　movement　made　her　Cowl　fall　back　from　her　head；
Her　features　became　visible　to　the　Monk's　enquiring　eye。　　What
was　his　amazement　at　beholding　the　exact　resemblance　of　his
admired　Madona？　　The　same　exquisite　proportion　of　features；　the
same　profusion　of　golden　hair；　the　same　rosy　lips；　heavenly　eyes；
and　majesty　of　countenance　adorned　Matilda！　　Uttering　an
exclamation　of　surprize；　Ambrosio　sank　back　upon　his　pillow；　and
doubted　whether　the　Object　before　him　was　mortal　or　divine。

Matilda　seemed　penetrated　with　confusion。　　She　remained
motionless　in　her　place；　and　supported　herself　upon　her
Instrument。　　Her　eyes　were　bent　upon　the　earth；　and　her　fair
cheeks　overspread　with　blushes。　　On　recovering　herself；　her
first　action　was　to　conceal　her　features。　　She　then　in　an
unsteady　and　troubled　voice　ventured　to　address　these　words　to
the　Friar。

'Accident　has　made　you　Master　of　a　secret；　which　I　never　would
have　revealed　but　on　the　Bed　of　death。　　Yes；　Ambrosio；　In　Matilda
de　Villanegas　you　see　the　original　of　your　beloved　Madona。　　Soon
after　I　conceived　my　unfortunate　passion；　I　formed　the　project　of
conveying　to　you　my　Picture：　　Crowds　of　Admirers　had　persuaded　me
that　I　possessed　some　beauty；　and　I　was　anxious　to　know　what
effect　it　would　produce　upon　you。　　I　caused　my　Portrait　to　be
drawn　by　Martin　Galuppi；　a　celebrated　Venetian　at　that　time
resident　in　Madrid。　　The　resemblance　was　striking：　　I　sent　it　to
the　Capuchin　Abbey　as　if　for　sale；　and　the　Jew　from　whom　you
bought　it　was　one　of　my　Emissaries。　　You　purchased　it。　　Judge　of
my　rapture；　when　informed　that　you　had　gazed　upon　it　with
delight；　or　rather　with　adoration；　that　you　had　suspended　it　in
your　Cell；　and　that　you　addressed　your　supplications　to　no　other
Saint。　　Will　this　discovery　make　me　still　more　regarded　as　an
object　of　suspicion？　　Rather　should　it　convince　you　how　pure　is
my　affection；　and　engage　you　to　suffer　me　in　your　society　and
esteem。　　I　heard　you　daily　extol　the　praises　of　my　Portrait：　　I
was　an　eyewitness　of　the　transports；　which　its　beauty　excited
in　you：　Yet　I　forbore　to　use　against　your　virtue　those　arms；　with
which　yourself　had　furnished　me。　　I　concealed　those　features　from
your　sight；　which　you　loved　unconsciously。　　I　strove　not　to
excite　desire　by　displaying　my　charms；　or　to　make　myself　Mistress
of　your　heart　through　the　medium　of　your　senses。　　To　attract　your
notice　by　studiously　attending　to　religious　duties；　to　endear
myself　to　you　by　convincing　you　that　my　mind　was　virtuous　and　my
attachment　sincere；　such　was　my　only　aim。　　I　succeeded；　I　became
your　companion　and　your　Friend。　　I　concealed　my　sex　from　your
knowledge；　and　had　you　not　pressed　me　to　reveal　my　secret；　had　I
not　been　tormented　by　the　fear　of　a　discovery；　never　had　you
known　me　for　any　other　than　Rosario。　　And　still　are　you　resolved
to　drive　me　from　you？　　The　few　hours　of　life　which　yet　remain　for
me；　may　I　not　pass　them　in　your　presence？　　Oh！　speak；　Ambrosio；
and　tell　me　that　I　may　stay！'

This　speech　gave　the　Abbot　an　opportunity　of　recollecting
himself。　　He　was　conscious　that　in　the　present　disposition　of　his
mind；　avoiding　her　society　was　his　only　refuge　from　the　power　of
this　enchanting　Woman。

'You　declaration　has　so　much　astonished　me；'　said　He；　'that　I　am
at　present　incapable　of　answering　you。　　Do　not　insist　upon　a
reply；　Matilda；　Leave　me　to　myself；　I　have　need　to　be　alone。'

'I　obey　youBut　before　I　go；　promise　not　to　insist　upon　my
quitting　the　Abbey　immediately。'

'Matilda；　reflect　upon　your　situation；　Reflect　upon　the
consequences　of　your　stay。　　Our　separation　is　indispensable；　and
we　must　part。'

'But　not　to…day；　Father！　　Oh！　in　pity　not　today！'

'You　press　me　too　hard；　but　I　cannot　resist　that　tone　of
supplication。　　Since　you　insist　upon　it；　I　yield　to　your　prayer：　
I　consent　to　your　remaining　here　a　sufficient　time　to　prepare　in
some　measure　the　Brethren　for　your　departure。　　Stay　yet　two　days；
But　on　the　third；'　。　。　。　（He　sighed　involuntarily）'Remember；
that　on　the　third　we　must　part　for　ever！'

She　caught　his　hand　eagerly；　and　pressed　it　to　her　lips。

'On　the　third？'　She　exclaimed　with　an　air　of　wild　solemnity；　'You
are　right；　Father！　　You　are　right！　　On　the　third　we　must　part　for
ever！'

There　was　a　dreadful　expression　in　her　eye　as　She　uttered　these
words；　which　penetrated　the　Friar's　soul　with　horror：　　Again　She
kissed　his　hand；　and　then　fled　with　rapidity　from　the　chamber。

Anxious　to　authorise　the　presence　of　his　dangerous　Guest；　yet
conscious　that　her　stay　was　infringing　the　laws　of　his　order；
Ambrosio's　bosom　became　the　Theatre　of　a　thousand　contending
passions。　　At　length　his　attachment　to　the　feigned　Rosario；　aided
by　the　natural　warmth　of　his　temperament；　seemed　likely　to　obtain
the　victory：　The　success　was　assured；　when　that　presumption　which
formed　the　groundwork　of　his　character　came　to　Matilda's
assistance。　　The　Monk　reflected　that　to　vanquish　temptation　was
an　infinitely　greater　merit　than　to　avoid　it：　　He　thought　that
He　ought　rather　to　rejoice　in　the　opportunity　given　him　of
proving　the　firmness　of　his　virtue。　　St。　Anthony　had　withstood
all　seductions　to　lust；　Then　why　should　not　He？　　Besides；　St。
Anthony　was　tempted　by　the　Devil；　who　put　every　art　into　practice
to　excite　his　passions：　　Whereas；　Ambrosio's　danger　proceeded
from　a　mere　mortal　Woman；　fearful　and　modest；　whose　apprehensions
of　his　yielding　were　not　less　violent　than　his　own。

'Yes；'　said　He；　'The　Unfortunate　shall　stay；　I　have　nothing　to
fear　from　her　presence。　　Even　should　my　own　prove　too　weak　to
resist　the　temptation；　I　am　secured　from　danger　by　the　innocence
of　Matilda。'

Ambrosio　was　yet　to　learn；　that　to　an　heart　unacquainted　with
her；　Vice　is　ever　most　dangerous　when　lurking　behind　the　Mask　of
Virtue。

He　found　himself　so　perfectly　recovered；　that　when　Father　Pablos
visited　him　again　at　night；　He　entreated　permission　to　quit　his
chamber　on　the　day　following。　His　request　was　granted。　　Matilda
appeared　no　more　that　evening；　except　in　company　with　the　Monks
when　they　came　in　a　body　to　enquire　after　the　Abbot's　health。　
She　seemed　fearful　of　conversing　with　him　in　private；　and　stayed
but　a　few　minutes　in　his　room。　　The　Friar　slept　well；　But　the
dreams　of　the　former　night　were　repeated；　and　his　sensations　of
voluptuousness　were　yet　more　keen　and　exquisite。　　The　same
lust…exciting　visions　floated　before　his　eyes：　　Matilda；　in　all
the　pomp　of　beauty；　warm；　tender；　and　luxurious；　clasped　him　to
her　bosom；　and　lavished　upon　him　the　most　ardent　caresses。　　He
returned　them　as　eagerly；　and　already　was　on　the　point　of
satisfying　his　desires；　when　the　faithless　form　disappeared；　and
left　him　to　all　the　horrors　of　shame　and　disappointment。

The　Morning　dawned。　　Fatigued；　harassed；　and　exhausted　by　his
provoking　dreams；　He　was　not　disposed　to　quit　his　Bed。　　He
excused　himself　from　appearing　at　Matins：　　It　was　the　first
morning　in　his　life　that　He　had　ever　missed　them。　　He　rose　late。　
During　the　whole　of　the　day　He　had　no　opportunity　of　speaking　to
Matilda　without　witnesses。　　His　Cell　was　thronged　by　the　Monks；
anxious　to　express　their　concern　at　his　illness；　And　He　was　still
occupied　in　receiving　their　compliments　on　his　recovery；　when　the
Bell　summoned　them　to　the　Refectory。

After　dinner　the　Monks　separated；　and　dispersed　themselves　in
various　parts　of　the　Garden；　where　the　shade　of　trees　or
retirement　of　some　Grotto　presented　the　most　agreeable　means　of
enjoying　the　Siesta。　　The　Abbot　bent　his　steps　towards　the
Hermitage：　　A　glance　of　his　eye　invited　Matilda　to　accompany　him。

She　obeyed；　and　followed　him　thither　in　silence。　　They　entered
the　Grotto；　and　seated　themselves。　　Both　seemed　unwilling　to
begin　the　conversation；　and　to　labour　under　the　influence　of
mutual　embarrassment。　　At　length　the　Abbot　spoke：　　He　conversed
only　on　indifferent　topics；　and　Matilda　answered　him　in　the　same
tone。　　She　seemed　anxious　to　make　him　forget　that　the　Person　who
sat　by　him　was　any　other　than　Rosario。　　Neither　of　them　dared；　or
indeed　wished　to　make　an　allusion；　to　the　subject　which　was　most
at　the　hearts　of　both。

Matilda's　efforts　to　appear　gay　were　evidently　forced：　Her
spirits　were　oppressed　by　the　weight　of　anxiety；　and　when　She
spoke　her　voice　was　low　and　feeble。　　She　seemed　desirous　of
finishing　a　conversation　which　embarrassed　her；　and　complaining
that　She　was　unwell；　She　requested　Ambrosio's　permission　to
return　to　the　Abbey。　　He　accompanied　her　to　the　door　of　her　cell；
and　when　arrived　there；　He　stopped　her　to　declare　his　consent　to
her　continuing　the　Partner　of　his　solitude　so　long　as　should　be
agreeable　to　herself。

She　discovered　no　marks　of　pleasure　at　receiving　this
intelligence；　though　on　the　preceding　day　She　had　been　so　anxious
to　obtain　the　permission。

'Alas！　Father；'　She　said；　waving　her　head　mournfully；　'Your
kindness　comes　too　late！　　My　doom　is　fixed。　　We　must　separate　for
ever。　　Yet　believe；　that　I　am　grateful　for　your　generosity；　for
your　compassion　of　an　Unfortunate　who　is　but　too　little　deserving
of　it！'

She　put　her　handkerchief　to　her　eyes。　　Her　Cowl　was　only　half
drawn　over　her　face。　　Ambrosio　observed　that　She　was　pale；　and
her　eyes　sunk　and　heavy。

'Good　God！'　He　cried；　'You　are　very　ill；　Matilda！　I　shall　send
Father　Pablos　to　you　instantly。'

'No；　Do　not。　　I　am　ill；　'tis　true；　But　He　cannot　cure　my　malady。　
Farewell；　Father！　　Remember　me　in　your　prayers　tomorrow；　while　I
shall　remember　you　in　heaven！'

She　entered　her　cell；　and　closed　the　door。

The　Abbot　dispatched　to　her　the　Physician　without　losing　a
moment；　and　waited　his　report　impatiently。　　But　Father　Pablos
soon　returned；　and　declared　that　his　errand　had　been　fruitless。　
Rosario　refused　to　admit　him；　and　had　positively　rejected　his
offers　of　assistance。　　The　uneasiness　which　this　account　gave
Ambrosio　was　not　trifling：　　Yet　He　determined　that　Matilda　should
have　her　own　way　for　that　night：　　But　that　if　her　situation　did
not　mend　by　the　morning；　he　would　insist　upon　her　taking　the
advice　of　Father　Pablos。

He　did　not　find　himself　inclined　to　sleep。　　He　opened　his
casement；　and　gazed　upon　the　moonbeams　as　they　played　upon　the
small　stream　whose　waters　bathed　the　walls　of　the　Monastery。　　The
coolness　of　the　night　breeze　and　tranquillity　of　the　hour
inspired　the　Friar's　mind　with　sadness。　　He　thought　upon
Matilda's　beauty　and　affection；　Upon　the　pleasures　which　He　might
have　shared　with　her；　had　He　not　been　restrained　by　monastic　
fetters。　　He　reflected；　that　unsustained　by　hope　her　love　for　him
could　not　long　exist；　That　doubtless　She　would　succeed　in
extinguishing　her　passion；　and　seek　for　happiness　in　the　arms　of
One　more　fortunate。　　He　shuddered　at　the　void　which　her　absence
would　leave　in　his　bosom。　　He　looked　with　disgust　on　the　monot