The Monk - Matthew Gregory Lewis [109]
Ambrosio was conducted into the anti-chamber to that where Elvira was reposing. The female domestic who had admitted him, left him alone, while she announced his arrival to her mistress. Antonia, who had been by her mother’s bed-side, immediately came to him.
“Pardon me, father,” said she, advancing towards him; when recognizing his features, she stopped suddenly, and uttered a cry of joy. “Is it possible?” she continued, “do not my eyes deceive me? Has the worthy Ambrosio broken through his resolution, that he may soften the agonies of the best of women? What pleasure will this visit give my mother! Let me not delay for a moment the comfort which your piety and wisdom will afford her.”
Thus saying, she opened the chamber-door, presented to her mother her distinguished visitor, and, having placed an arm-chair by the side of the bed, withdrew into another apartment.
Elvira was highly gratified by this visit: her expectations had been raised high by general report, but she found them far exceeded. Ambrosio, endowed by nature with powers of pleasing, exerted them to the utmost, while conversing with Antonia’s mother. With persuasive eloquence he calmed every fear, and dissipated every scruple. He bid her reflect on the infinite mercy of her judge, despoiled death of his darts and terrors, and taught her to view without shrinking the abyss of eternity, on whose brink she then stood. Elvira was absorbed in attention and delight; while she listened to his exhortations, confidence and comfort stole insensibly into her mind. She unbosomed to him without hesitation her cares and apprehensions. The latter respecting a future life he had already quieted, and he now removed the former, which she felt for the concerns of this. She trembled for Antonia; she had none to whose care she could recommend her, save to the marquis de las Cisternas, and her sister Leonella. The protection of the one was very uncertain; and as to the other, though fond of her niece, Leonella was so thoughtless and vain, as to make her an improper person to have the sole direction of a girl so young and ignorant of the world. The friar no sooner learned the cause of her alarms, than he begged her to make herself easy upon that head. He doubted not being able to secure for Antonia a safe refuge in the house of one of his penitents, the marchioness of Villa-Franca: this was a lady of acknowledged virtue, remarkable for strict principles and extensive charity. Should accident deprive her of this resource, he engaged to procure Antonia’s reception in some respectable convent, that is to say, in quality of boarder; for Elvira had declared herself no friend to a monastic life, and the monk was either candid or complaisant enough to allow that her disapprobation was not unfounded.
These proofs of the interest which he felt for her, completely won Elvira’s heart. In thanking him, she exhausted every expression which gratitude could furnish, and protested, that now she should resign herself with tranquillity to the grave. Ambrosio rose to take leave; he promised to return the next day at the same hour, but requested that his visits might be kept secret.
“I am unwilling,” said he, “that my breaking through a rule imposed by necessity, should be generally known. Had I not resolved never to quit my convent, except upon circumstances as urgent as that which has conducted me to your door, I should be frequently summoned upon insignificant occasions; that time would be engrossed by the curious, the unoccupied, and the fanciful, which I now pass at the bed-side of the sick, in comforting the expiring penitent, and clearing the passage to eternity from thorns.”
Elvira commended equally his prudence and compassion, promising to conceal carefully the honour of his visits. The monk then gave her his benediction, and retired from the chamber.
In the anti-room he found Antonia; he could not refuse himself the pleasure of passing a