the monk(僧侣)-第42章

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dreaded　lest；　in　a　transport　of　jealous　rage；　She　should　betray
the　secret　on　which　his　character　and　even　his　life　depended。
Matilda　could　not　but　remark　his　indifference：　　He　was　conscious
that　She　remarked　it；　and　fearing　her　reproaches；　shunned　her
studiously。　　Yet　when　He　could　not　avoid　her；　her　mildness　might
have　convinced　him　that　He　had　nothing　to　dread　from　her
resentment。　　She　had　resumed　the　character　of　the　gentle
interesting　Rosario：　She　taxed　him　not　with　ingratitude；　But　her
eyes　filled　with　involuntary　tears；　and　the　soft　melancholy　of
her　countenance　and　voice　uttered　complaints　far　more　touching
than　words　could　have　conveyed。　　Ambrosio　was　not　unmoved　by　her
sorrow；　But　unable　to　remove　its　cause；　He　forbore　to　show　that
it　affected　him。　　As　her　conduct　convinced　him　that　He　needed　not
fear　her　vengeance；　He　continued　to　neglect　her；　and　avoided　her
company　with　care。　　Matilda　saw　that　She　in　vain　attempted　to
regain　his　affections：　　Yet　She　stifled　the　impulse　of
resentment；　and　continued　to　treat　her　inconstant　Lover　with　her
former　fondness　and　attention。

By　degrees　Elvira's　constitution　recovered　itself。　　She　was　no
longer　troubled　with　convulsions；　and　Antonia　ceased　to　tremble
for　her　Mother。　　Ambrosio　beheld　this　reestablishment　with
displeasure。　　He　saw　that　Elvira's　knowledge　of　the　world　would
not　be　the　Dupe　of　his　sanctified　demeanour；　and　that　She　would
easily　perceive　his　views　upon　her　Daughter。　　He　resolved
therefore；　before　She　quitted　her　chamber；　to　try　the　extent　of
his　influence　over　the　innocent　Antonia。

One　evening；　when　He　had　found　Elvira　almost　perfectly　restored
to　health；　He　quitted　her　earlier　than　was　his　usual　custom。　　Not
finding　Antonia　in　the　Antichamber；　He　ventured　to　follow　her
to　her　own。　　It　was　only　separated　from　her　Mother's　by　a　Closet；
in　which　Flora；　the　Waiting…Woman；　generally　slept。　　Antonia　sat
upon　a　Sopha　with　her　back　towards　the　door；　and　read
attentively。　　She　heard　not　his　approach；　till　He　had　seated
himself　by　her。　　She　started；　and　welcomed　him　with　a　look　of
pleasure：　　Then　rising；　She　would　have　conducted　him　to　the
sitting…room；　But　Ambrosio　taking　her　hand；　obliged　her　by　gentle
violence　to　resume　her　place。　　She　complied　without　difficulty：　
She　knew　not　that　there　was　more　impropriety　in　conversing　with
him　in　one　room　than　another。　　She　thought　herself　equally　secure
of　his　principles　and　her　own；　and　having　replaced　herself　upon
the　Sopha；　She　began　to　prattle　to　him　with　her　usual　ease　and
vivacity。

He　examined　the　Book　which　She　had　been　reading；　and　had　now
placed　upon　the　Table。　　It　was　the　Bible。

'How！'　said　the　Friar　to　himself；　'Antonia　reads　the　Bible；　and
is　still　so　ignorant？'

But；　upon　a　further　inspection；　He　found　that　Elvira　had　made
exactly　the　same　remark。　　That　prudent　Mother；　while　She　admired
the　beauties　of　the　sacred　writings；　was　convinced　that；
unrestricted；　no　reading　more　improper　could　be　permitted　a　young
Woman。　　Many　of　the　narratives　can　only　tend　to　excite　ideas　the
worst　calculated　for　a　female　breast：　　Every　thing　is　called
plainly　and　roundly　by　its　name；　and　the　annals　of　a　Brothel
would　scarcely　furnish　a　greater　choice　of　indecent　expressions。　
Yet　this　is　the　Book　which　young　Women　are　recommended　to　study；
which　is　put　into　the　hands　of　Children；　able　to　comprehend
little　more　than　those　passages　of　which　they　had　better　remain
ignorant；　and　which　but　too　frequently　inculcates　the　first
rudiments　of　vice；　and　gives　the　first　alarm　to　the　still
sleeping　passions。　　Of　this　was　Elvira　so　fully　convinced；　that
She　would　have　preferred　putting　into　her　Daughter's　hands
'Amadis　de　Gaul；'　or　'The　Valiant　Champion；　Tirante　the
White；'　and　would　sooner　have　authorised　her　studying　the　lewd
exploits　of　'Don　Galaor；'　or　the　lascivious　jokes　of　the
'Damsel　Plazer　di　mi　vida。'　　She　had　in　consequence　made　two
resolutions　respecting　the　Bible。　　The　first　was　that　Antonia
should　not　read　it　till　She　was　of　an　age　to　feel　its　beauties；
and　profit　by　its　morality：　　The　second；　that　it　should　be　copied
out　with　her　own　hand；　and　all　improper　passages　either　altered
or　omitted。　　She　had　adhered　to　this　determination；　and　such　was
the　Bible　which　Antonia　was　reading：　　It　had　been　lately
delivered　to　her；　and　She　perused　it　with　an　avidity；　with　a
delight　that　was　inexpressible。　　Ambrosio　perceived　his　mistake；
and　replaced　the　Book　upon　the　Table。

Antonia　spoke　of　her　Mother's　health　with　all　the　enthusiastic
joy　of　a　youthful　heart。

'I　admire　your　filial　affection；'　said　the　Abbot；　'It　proves　the
excellence　and　sensibility　of　your　character；　It　promises　a
treasure　to　him　whom　Heaven　has　destined　to　possess　your
affections。　　The　Breast；　so　capable　of　fondness　for　a　Parent；
what　will　it　feel　for　a　Lover？　　Nay；　perhaps；　what　feels　it　for
one　even　now？　　Tell　me；　my　lovely　Daughter；　Have　you　known　what
it　is　to　love？　　Answer　me　with　sincerity：　　Forget　my　habit；　and
consider　me　only　as　a　Friend。'

'What　it　is　to　love？'　said　She；　repeating　his　question；　'Oh！　yes；
undoubtedly；　I　have　loved　many；　many　People。'

'That　is　not　what　I　mean。　　The　love　of　which　I　speak　can　be　felt
only　for　one。　　Have　you　never　seen　the　Man　whom　you　wished　to　be
your　Husband？'

'Oh！　No；　indeed！'

This　was　an　untruth；　but　She　was　unconscious　of　its　falsehood：　
She　knew　not　the　nature　of　her　sentiments　for　Lorenzo；　and　never
having　seen　him　since　his　first　visit　to　Elvira；　with　every　day
his　Image　grew　less　feebly　impressed　upon　her　bosom。　　Besides；
She　thought　of　an　Husband　with　all　a　Virgin's　terror；　and
negatived　the　Friar's　demand　without　a　moment's　hesitation。

'And　do　you　not　long　to　see　that　Man；　Antonia？　　Do　you　feel　no
void　in　your　heart　which　you　fain　would　have　filled　up？　　Do　you
heave　no　sighs　for　the　absence　of　some　one　dear　to　you；　but　who
that　some　one　is；　you　know　not？　　Perceive　you　not　that　what
formerly　could　please；　has　charms　for　you　no　longer？　　That　a
thousand　new　wishes；　new　ideas；　new　sensations；　have　sprang　in
your　bosom；　only　to　be　felt；　never　to　be　described？　　Or　while　you
fill　every　other　heart　with　passion；　is　it　possible　that　your　own
remains　insensible　and　cold？　　It　cannot　be！　　That　melting　eye；
that　blushing　cheek；　that　enchanting　voluptuous　melancholy　which
at　times　overspreads　your　features；　all　these　marks　belye　your
words。　　You　love；　Antonia；　and　in　vain　would　hide　it　from　me。'

'Father；　you　amaze　me！　　What　is　this　love　of　which　you　speak？　　I
neither　know　its　nature；　nor　if　I　felt　it；　why　I　should　conceal
the　sentiment。'

'Have　you　seen　no　Man；　Antonia；　whom　though　never　seen　before；
you　seemed　long　to　have　sought？　　Whose　form；　though　a　Stranger's；
was　familiar　to　your　eyes？　　The　sound　of　whose　voice　soothed　you；
pleased　you；　penetrated　to　your　very　soul？　　In　whose　presence　you
rejoiced；　for　whose　absence　you　lamented？　　With　whom　your　heart
seemed　to　expand；　and　in　whose　bosom　with　confidence　unbounded
you　reposed　the　cares　of　your　own？　　Have　you　not　felt　all　this；
Antonia？'

'Certainly　I　have：　　The　first　time　that　I　saw　you；　I　felt　it。'

Ambrosio　started。　　Scarcely　dared　He　credit　his　hearing。

'Me；　Antonia？'　He　cried；　his　eyes　sparkling　with　delight　and
impatience；　while　He　seized　her　hand；　and　pressed　it　rapturously
to　his　lips。　　'Me；　Antonia？　　You　felt　these　sentiments　for　me？'

'Even　with　more　strength　than　you　have　described。　　The　very
moment　that　I　beheld　you；　I　felt　so　pleased；　so　interested！　　I
waited　so　eagerly　to　catch　the　sound　of　your　voice；　and　when　I
heard　it；　it　seemed　so　sweet！　　It　spoke　to　me　a　language　till
then　so　unknown！　　Methought；　it　told　me　a　thousand　things　which　I
wished　to　hear！　　It　seemed　as　if　I　had　long　known　you；　as　if　I
had　a　right　to　your　friendship；　your　advice；　and　your　protection。

I　wept　when　you　departed；　and　longed　for　the　time　which　should
restore　you　to　my　sight。'

'Antonia！　　my　charming　Antonia！'　exclaimed　the　Monk；　and　caught
her　to　his　bosom；　'Can　I　believe　my　senses？　　Repeat　it　to　me；　my
sweet　Girl！　　Tell　me　again　that　you　love　me；　that　you　love　me
truly　and　tenderly！'

'Indeed；　I　do：　　Let　my　Mother　be　excepted；　and　the　world　holds　no
one　more　dear　to　me！'

At　this　frank　avowal　Ambrosio　no　longer　possessed　himself；　Wild
with　desire；　He　clasped　the　blushing　Trembler　in　his　arms。　　He
fastened　his　lips　greedily　upon　hers；　sucked　in　her　pure
delicious　breath；　violated　with　his　bold　hand　the　treasures　of
her　bosom；　and　wound　around　him　her　soft　and　yielding　limbs。　
Startled；　alarmed；　and　confused　at　his　action；　surprize　at　first
deprived　her　of　the　power　of　resistance。　　At　length　recovering
herself；　She　strove　to　escape　from　his　embrace。

'Father！　　。　。　。　。　　Ambrosio！'　She　cried；　'Release　me；　for　God's
sake！'

But　the　licentious　Monk　heeded　not　her　prayers：　　He　persisted　in
his　design；　and　proceeded　to　take　still　greater　liberties。　
Antonia　prayed；　wept；　and　struggled：　　Terrified　to　the　extreme；
though　at　what　She　knew　not；　She　exerted　all　her　strength　to
repulse　the　Friar；　and　was　on　the　point　of　shrieking　for
assistance　when　the　chamber　door　was　suddenly　thrown　open。　
Ambrosio　had　just　sufficient　presence　of　mind　to　be　sensible　of
his　danger。　　Reluctantly　He　quitted　his　prey；　and　started　hastily
from　the　Couch。　　Antonia　uttered　an　exclamation　of　joy；　flew
towards　the　door；　and　found　herself　clasped　in　the　arms　of　her
Mother。

Alarmed　at　some　of　the　Abbot's　speeches；　which　Antonia　had
innocently　repeated；　Elvira　resolved　to　ascertain　the　truth　of
her　suspicions。　　She　had　known　enough　of　Mankind　not　to　be
imposed　upon　by　the　Monk's　reputed　virtue。　　She　reflected　on
several　circumstances；　which　though　trifling；　on　being　put
together　seemed　to　authorize　her　fears。　　His　frequent　visits；
which　as　far　as　She　could　see；　were　confined　to　her　family；　His
evident　emotion；　whenever　She　spoke　of　Antonia；　His　being　in　the
full　prime　and　heat　of　Manhood；　and　above　all；　his　pernicious
philosophy　communicated　to　her　by　Antonia；　and　which　accorded　but
ill　with　his　conversation　in　her　presence；　all　these
circumstances　inspired　her　with　doubts　respecting　the　purity　of
Ambrosio's　friendship。　　In　consequence；　She　resolved；　when　He
should　next　be　alone　with　Antonia；　to　endeavour　at　surprizing
him。　　Her　plan　had　succeeded。　　'Tis　true；　that　when　She　entered
the　room；　He　had　already　abandoned　his　prey；　But　the　disorder　of
her　Daughter's　dress；　and　the　shame　and　confusion　stamped　upon
the　Friar's　countenance；　sufficed　to　prove　that　her　suspicions
were　but　too　well…founded。　　However；　She　was　too　prudent　to　make
those　suspicions　known。　　She　judged　that　to　unmask　the　Imposter
would　be　no　easy　matter；　the　public　being　so　much　prejudiced　in
his　favour：　and　having　but　few　Friends；　She　thought　it　dangerous
to　make　herself　so　powerful　an　Enemy。　　She　affected　therefore　not
to　remark　his　agitation；　seated　herself　tranquilly　upon　the
Sopha；　assigned　some　trifling　reason　for　having　quitted　her　room
unexpectedly；　and　conversed　on　various　subjects　with　seeming
confidence　and　ease。

Reassured　by　her　behaviour；　the　Monk　began　to　recover　himself。　
He　strove　to　answer　Elvira　without　appearing　embarrassed：　　But　He
was　still　too