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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd7ea41 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53686 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53686) diff --git a/old/53686-0.txt b/old/53686-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8779da4..0000000 --- a/old/53686-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5036 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Melmoth the Wanderer Vol 2 (of 4), by -Charles Robert Maturin - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Melmoth the Wanderer Vol 2 (of 4) - -Author: Charles Robert Maturin - -Release Date: December 7, 2016 [EBook #53686] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELMOTH THE WANDERER VOL 2 (OF 4) *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Jana Srna and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes: - - Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as - possible, including inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and - punctuation. Some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been - made. They are listed at the end of the text. - - Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. - - The motto for Chapter VI is misquoted from Iliad XXIII 72; it has - been left as printed. - - - - - MELMOTH - THE - WANDERER: - A - TALE. - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “BERTRAM,” &c. - - IN FOUR VOLUMES. - - VOL. II. - - EDINBURGH: - PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY, - AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. CHEAPSIDE, - LONDON. - - 1820. - - - - -MELMOTH. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - Τηλε μἐιργουσι ψυχαι ειδωλα καμοντων. - - HOMER. - - -When, after some days interval, the Spaniard attempted to describe -his feelings on the receipt of his brother’s letter, the sudden -resuscitation of heart, and hope, and existence, that followed its -perusal, he trembled,--uttered some inarticulate sounds;--wept;--and -his agitation appeared to Melmoth, with _his uncontinental feelings_, -so violent, that he entreated him to spare the description of his -feelings, and proceed with his narrative. - -“You are right,” said the Spaniard, drying his tears, “joy is a -convulsion, but grief is a habit, and to describe what we never can -communicate, is as absurd as to talk of colours to the blind. I will -hasten on, not to tell of my feelings, but of the results which they -produced. A new world of hope was opened to me. I thought I saw liberty -on the face of heaven when I walked in the garden. I laughed at the jar -of the doors as they opened, and said to myself, “You shall soon expand -to me for ever.” I behaved with uncommon complacency to the community. -But I did not, amid all this, neglect the most scrupulous precautions -suggested by my brother. Am I confessing the strength or the weakness of -my heart? In the midst of all the systematic dissimulation that I was -prepared and eager to carry on, the only circumstance that gave me real -compunction, was my being obliged to destroy the letters of that dear -and generous youth who had risked every thing for my emancipation. In -the mean time, I pursued my preparations with industry inconceivable to -you, who have never been in a convent. - -“Lent was now begun,--all the community were preparing themselves for -the great confession. They shut themselves up,--they prostrated -themselves before the shrines of the saints,--they occupied themselves -whole hours in taking minutes of their consciences, and magnifying the -trivial defects of conventual discipline into offences in the eye of -God, in order to give consequence to their penitence in the hearing of -the confessor,--in fact, they would have been glad to accuse themselves -of a crime, to escape from the monotony of a monastic conscience. There -was a kind of silent bustle in the house, that very much favoured my -purposes. Hour after hour I demanded paper for my confession. I obtained -it, but my frequent demands excited suspicion,--they little knew what I -was writing. Some said, for every thing excites inquiry in a convent, -“He is writing the history of his family; he will discharge it into the -ears of the confessor, along with the secrets of his own soul.” Others -said, “He has been in a state of _alienation_ for some time, he is -giving an account to God for it,--we shall never hear a word about it.” -Others, who were more judicious, said, “He is weary of the monastic -life, he is writing an account of his monotony and ennui, doubtless that -must be very long;” and the speakers yawned as they uttered these words, -which gave a very strong attestation to what they said. The Superior -watched me in silence. He was alarmed, and with reason. He consulted -with some of the _discreet_ brethren, whom I mentioned before, and the -result was a restless vigilance on their part, to which I supplied an -incessant fuel, by my absurd and perpetual demand for paper. Here, I -acknowledge, I committed a great oversight. It was impossible for the -most exaggerated conscience to charge itself, even in a convent, with -crimes enough to fill all the paper I required. I was filling them all -the time with _their_ crimes, not my own. Another great mistake I made, -was being wholly unprepared for the great confession when it came on. I -received intimations of this as we walked in the garden,--I have before -mentioned that I had assumed an amicability of habit toward them. They -would say to me, “You have made ample preparations for the great -confession.” “I have prepared myself.” “But we expect great edification -from its results.” “I trust you will receive it.”--I said no more, but I -was very much disturbed at these hints. Others would say, “My brother, -amid the multitudinous offences that burden your conscience, and which -you have found necessary to employ quires of paper to record, would it -not be a relief to you to open your mind to the Superior, and ask for a -few previous moments of consolation and direction from _him_.” To this I -answered, “I thank you, and will consider of it.”--I was thinking all -the time of something else. - -“It was a few nights before the time of the great confession, that I had -to entrust the last packet of my memorial to the porter. Our meetings -had been hitherto unsuspected. I had received and answered my brother’s -communications, and our correspondence had been conducted with a secrecy -unexampled in convents. But this last night, as I put my packet into the -porter’s hand, I saw a change in his appearance that terrified me. He -had been a comely, robust man, but now, even by the moon-light, I could -perceive he was wasted to a shadow,--his hands trembled as he took the -papers from me,--his voice faultered as he promised his usual secrecy. -The change, which had been observed by the whole convent, had escaped me -till that night; my mind had been too much occupied by my own situation. -I noticed it then, however, and I said, “But what is the matter?” “Can -you then ask? I am withered to a spectre by the terrors of the office I -have been bribed to. Do you know what I risk?--incarceration for life, -or rather for death,--perhaps a denunciation to the Inquisition. Every -line I deliver from you, or to you, seems a charge against my own -soul,--I tremble when I meet you. I know that you have the sources of -life and death, temporal and eternal, in your hands. The secret in which -I am an agent should never be intrusted but to _one_, and _you are -another_. As I sit in my place, I think every step in the cloister is -advancing to summon me to the presence of the Superior. When I attend in -the choir, amid the sounds of devotion your voice swells to accuse me. -When I lie down at night, the evil spirit is beside my bed, reproaching -me with perjury, and reclaiming his prey;--his emissaries surround me -wherever I move,--I am beset by the tortures of hell. The saints from -their shrines frown on me,--I see the painting of the traitor Judas on -every side I turn to. When I sleep for a moment, I am awakened by my own -cries. I exclaim, “Do not betray me, he has not yet violated his vows, I -was but an agent,--I was bribed,--do not kindle those fires for me.” I -shudder,--I start up in a cold sweat. My rest, my appetite, are gone. -Would to God you were out of this convent;--and O! would that I had -never been instrumental to your release, then both of us might have -escaped damnation to all eternity.” I tried to pacify him, to assure him -of his safety, but nothing could satisfy him but my solemn and sincere -assurance that this was the last packet I would ever ask him to deliver. -He departed tranquillized by this assurance; and I felt the dangers of -my attempt multiplying around me every hour. - -“This man was faithful, but he was timid; and what confidence can we -have in a being whose right hand is held out to you, while his left -trembles to be employed in transferring your secret to your enemy. This -man died a few weeks after. I believe I owed his dying fidelity to the -delirium that seized on his last moments. But what I suffered during -those moments!--his death under such circumstances, and the unchristian -joy I felt at it, were only in my mind stronger evidences against the -unnatural state of life that could render such an event, and such -feelings, almost necessary. It was on the evening after this, that I was -surprised to see the Superior, with four of the monks, enter my cell. I -felt this visit boded me no good. I trembled all over, while I received -them with deference. The Superior seated himself opposite to me, -arranging his seat so as that I was opposite the light. I did not -understand what this precaution meant, but I conceive now, that he -wished to watch every change in my countenance, while his was concealed -from me. The four monks stood at the back of his chair; their arms were -folded, their lips closed, their eyes half shut, their heads -declined--they looked like men assembled reluctantly to witness the -execution of a criminal. The Superior began, in a mild voice, “My son, -you have been intently employed on your confession for some time--that -was laudable. But have you, then, accused yourself of every crime your -conscience charges you with?” “I have, my father.” “Of all, you are -sure?” “My father, I have accused myself of all I was conscious of. Who -but God can penetrate the abysses of the heart? I have searched mine as -far as I could.” “And you have recorded all the accusations you found -there?” “I have.” “And you did not discover among them the crime of -obtaining the means of writing out your confession, to abuse them to a -very different purpose?”--This was coming to the point. I felt it -necessary to summon my resolution--and I said, with a venial -equivocation, “That is a crime of which my conscience _does not accuse -me_.” “My son, do not dissemble with your conscience, or with me. I -should be even above it in your estimation; for if it errs and deceives -you, it is to me you should apply to enlighten and direct it. But I see -it is in vain to attempt to touch your heart. I make my last appeal to -it in these plain words. A few moments only of indulgence await you--use -them or abuse them, as you will. I have to ask you a few plain -questions, which, if you refuse to answer, or do not answer truly, your -blood be on your own head.” I trembled, but I said, “My father, have I -then refused to answer your questions?” “Your answers are all either -interrogations or evasions. They must be direct and simple to the -questions I am about to propose in the presence of these brethren. More -depends on your answer than you are aware of. The warning voice breaks -forth in spite of me.”--Terrified at these words, and humbled to the -wish to propitiate them, I rose from my chair--then gasping, I leant on -it for support. I said, “My God! what is all this terrible preparation -for? Of what am I guilty? Why am I summoned by this warning voice so -often, whose warnings are only so many mysterious threatenings? Why am I -not told of my offence?” - -“The four monks, who had never spoken or lifted up their heads till -that moment, now directed their livid eyes at me, and repeated, -all together, in a voice that seemed to issue from the bottom of -a sepulchre, “Your crime is--” The Superior gave them a signal to -be silent, and this interruption increased my consternation. It is -certain, that when we are conscious of guilt, we always suspect -that a greater degree of it will be ascribed to us by others. Their -consciences avenge the palliations of our own, by the most horrible -exaggerations. I did not know of what crime they might be disposed -to accuse me; and already I felt the accusation of my clandestine -correspondence as dust in the balance of their resentment. I had heard -the crimes of convents were sometimes unutterably atrocious; and I -felt as anxious now for a distinct charge to be preferred against me, -as I had a few moments before to evade it. These indefinite fears were -soon exchanged for real ones, as the Superior proposed his questions. -“You have procured a large quantity of paper--how did you employ it?” -I recovered myself, and said, “As I ought to do.” “How, in unburdening -your conscience?” “Yes, in unburdening my conscience.” “That is false; -the greatest sinner on earth could not have blotted so many pages with -the record of his crimes.” “I have often been told in the convent, I -_was_ the greatest sinner on earth.” “You equivocate again, and convert -your ambiguities into reproaches--this will not do--you must answer -plainly: For what purpose did you procure so much paper, and how have -you employed it?” “I have told you already.” “It was, then, employed -in your confession?”--I was silent, but bowed assentingly.--“You -can, then, shew us the proofs of your application to your duties. -Where is the manuscript that contains your confession?” I blushed and -hesitated, as I showed about half-a-dozen blotted and scrawled pages as -my confession. It was ridiculous. It did not occupy more than a tenth -part of the paper which I had received. “And this is your confession?” -“It is.” “And you dare to say that you have employed all the paper -entrusted to you for that purpose.”--I was silent. “Wretch!” said the -Superior, losing all patience, “disclose instantly for what purpose -you have employed the paper granted you. Acknowledge instantly that -it was for some purpose contrary to the interests of this house.”--At -these words I was roused. I saw again the cloven foot of interest -peeping from beneath the monastic garb. I answered, “Why am I suspected -if _you_ are not guilty? What could I accuse you of? What could I -complain of if there were no cause? Your own consciences must answer -this question for me.” At these words, the monks were again about to -interpose, when the Superior, silencing them by a signal, went on with -his matter-of-fact questions, that paralyzed all the energy of passion. -“You will not tell me what you have done with the paper committed -to you?”--I was silent.--“I enjoin you, by your holy obedience, to -disclose it this moment.”--His voice rose in passion as he spoke, and -this operated as a signal on mine. I said, “You have no right, my -father, to demand such a declaration.” “Right is not the question now. -I command you to tell me. I require your oath on the altar of Jesus -Christ, and by the image of his blessed Mother.” “You have no right to -demand such an oath. I know the rules of the house--I am responsible -to the confessor.” “Do you, then, make a question between right and -power? You shall soon feel, within these walls, they are the same.” “I -make no question--perhaps they are the same.” “And you will not tell -what you have done with those papers, blotted, doubtless, with the most -infernal calumnies?” “I will not.” “And you will take the consequences -of your obstinacy on your own head?” “I will.” And the four monks -chorussed again, all in the same unnatural tone, “The consequences be -on his own head.” But while they spoke thus, two of them whispered in -my ears, “Deliver up your papers, and all is well. The whole convent -knows you have been writing.” I answered, “I have nothing to give -up--nothing on the faith of a monk. I have not a single page in my -possession, but what you have seized on.” The monks, who had whispered -in a conciliatory tone to me before, quitted me. They conversed in -whispers with the Superior, who, darting on me a terrible look, -exclaimed, “And you will not give up your papers?” “I have nothing to -give up: Search my person--search my cell--every thing is open to you.” -“Every thing shall be soon,” said the Superior in fury. In a moment -the examination commenced. There was not an article of furniture in -my cell that was not the object of their investigation. My chair and -table were overturned, shaken, and finally broken, in the attempt to -discover whether any papers had been secreted in them. The prints were -snatched from the walls,--held up between them and the light.--Then -the very frames were broken, to try if any thing was concealed in -them. Then they examined my bed;--they threw all the furniture about -the floor, they unripped the mattress, and tore out the straw; one of -them, during this operation, actually applied his teeth to facilitate -it,--and this malice of activity formed a singular contrast to the -motionless and rigid torpor with which they had clothed themselves -but a few moments before. All this time, I stood in the centre of the -floor, as I was ordered, without turning to right or left. Nothing was -found to justify their suspicions. They then surrounded me; and the -examination of my person was equally rapid, minute, and indecorous. -Every thing I wore was on the floor in a moment: The very seams of my -habit were ript open; and, during the examination, I covered myself -with one of the blankets they had taken from my bed. When it was over, -I said, “Have you discovered any thing?” The Superior answered, in a -voice of rage, struggling proudly, but vainly, with disappointment, “I -have other means of discovery--prepare for them, and tremble when they -are resorted to.” At these words he rushed from my cell, giving a sign -to the four monks to follow him. I was left alone. I had no longer any -doubt of my danger. I saw myself exposed to the fury of men who would -risk nothing to appease it. I watched, waited, trembled, at every step -I heard in the gallery--at the sound of every door that opened or shut -near me. Hours went on in this agony of suspense, and terminated at -last without an event. No one came near me that night--the next was to -be that of the great confession. In the course of the day, I took my -place in the choir, trembling, and watching every eye. I felt as if -every countenance was turned on me, and every tongue said in silence, -“Thou art the man.” Often I wished that the storm I felt was gathering -around me, would burst at once. It is better to hear the thunder than -to watch the cloud. It did not burst, however, then. And when the -duties of the day were over, I retired to my cell, and remained there, -pensive, anxious, and irresolute. - -“The confession had begun; and as I heard the penitents, one by one, -return from the church, and close the doors of their cells, I began -to dread that I was to be excluded from approaching the holy chair, -and that this exclusion from a sacred and indispensible right, was to -be the commencement of some mysterious course of rigour. I waited, -however, and was at last summoned. This restored my courage, and I went -through my duties more tranquilly. After I had made my confession, only -a few simple questions were proposed to me, as, Whether I could accuse -myself of any _inward_ breach of conventual duty? of any thing I had -_reserved_? any thing in my conscience? &c.--and on my answering them -in the negative, was suffered to depart. It was on that very night the -porter died. My last packet had gone some days before,--all was safe -and well. Neither voice or line could bear witness against me now, and -hope began to revisit me, as I reflected that my brother’s zealous -industry would discover some other means for our future communication. - -“All was profound calm for a few days, but the storm was to come soon -enough. On the fourth evening after the confession, I was sitting alone -in my cell, when I heard an unusual bustle in the convent. The bell was -rung,--the new porter seemed in great agitation,--the Superior hurried -to the parlour first, then to his cell,--then some of the elder monks -were summoned. The younger whispered in the galleries,--shut their -doors violently,--all seemed in agitation. In a domestic building, -occupied by the smallest family, such circumstances would hardly be -noticed, but, in a convent, the miserable monotony of what may be -called their internal existence, gives an importance,--an interest, to -the most trivial external circumstance in common life. I felt all this. -I said to myself, “Something is going on.”--I added, “Something is -going on against me.” I was right in both my conjectures. Late in the -evening I was ordered to attend the Superior in his own apartment,--I -said I was ready to go. Two minutes after the order was reversed, and -I was desired to remain in my cell, and await the approach of the -Superior,--I answered I was willing to obey. But this sudden change of -orders filled me with an _indefinite_ fear; and in all the changes of -my life, and vicissitude of my feelings, I have never felt any fear -so horrible. I walked up and down, I repeated incessantly, “My God -protect me! my God strengthen me!” Then I dreaded to ask the protection -of God, doubting whether the cause in which I was engaged merited -his protection. My ideas, however, were all scattered by the sudden -entrance of the Superior and the four monks who had attended him on -the visit previous to the confession. At their entrance I rose,--no -one desired me to sit down. The Superior advanced with a look of fury, -and, dashing some papers on my table, said, “Is that your writing?” I -threw a hurried and terrified eye over the papers,--_they were a copy -of my memorial_. I had presence of mind enough to say, “That is not my -writing.” “Wretch! you equivocate, it is a copy of your writing.”--I -was silent.--“Here is a proof of it,” he added, throwing down another -paper. It was a copy of the memoir of the advocate, addressed to me, -and which, by the influence of a superior court, they had not the power -of withholding from me. I was expiring with anxiety to examine it, but -I did not dare to glance at it. The Superior unfolded page after page. -He said, “Read, wretch! read,--look into it, examine it line by line.” -I approached trembling,--I glanced at it,--in the very first lines I -read _hope_. My courage revived.--I said, “My father, I acknowledge -this to be the copy of my memorial. I demand your permission to read -the answer of the advocate, you cannot refuse me this right.” “Read -it,” said the Superior, and he flung it towards me. - -“You may readily believe, Sir, that, under such circumstances, I could -not read with very steady eyes; and my penetration was not at all -quickened by the four monks disappearing from the cell, at a signal I -did not see. The Superior and I were now alone. He walked up and down my -cell, while I appeared to hang over the advocate’s memoir. Suddenly he -stopped;--he struck his hand with violence on the table,--the pages I -was trembling over quivered from the violence of the blow,--I started -from my chair. “Wretch,” said the Superior, “when have such papers as -those profaned the convent before? When, till your unhallowed entrance, -were we insulted with the memoirs of legal advocates? How comes it that -you have dared to----” “Do what, my father?” “Reclaim your vows, and -expose _us_ to all the scandal of a civil court and its proceedings.” “I -weighed it all against my own misery.” “Misery! is it thus you speak of -a conventual life, the only life that can promise tranquillity here, or -ensure salvation hereafter.” These words, uttered by a man convulsed by -the most frantic passion, were their own refutation. My courage rose in -proportion to his fury; and besides, I was driven to a point, and forced -to act on my defence. The sight of the papers added to my confidence. I -said, “My father, it is in vain to endeavour to diminish my repugnance -to the monastic life; the proof that that repugnance is invincible lies -before you. If I have been guilty of a step that violates the decorum of -a convent, I am sorry,--but I am not reprehensible. Those who forced me -into a convent, are guilty of the violence which is falsely ascribed to -me. I am determined, if it be possible, to change my situation. You see -the efforts I have already made, be assured they will never cease. -Disappointment will only redouble their energy; and if it be in the -power of heaven or earth to procure the annulment of my vows, there is -no power in either I will not have recourse to.” I expected he would not -have heard me out, but he did. He even listened with calmness, and I -prepared myself to encounter and repel that alternation of reproach and -remonstrance, of solicitation and menace, which they so well know how to -employ in a convent. “Your repugnance to a conventual life is then -invincible?” “It is.” “But to what do you object?--not to your duties, -for you perform them with the most edifying punctuality,--not to the -treatment you receive, for it has been the most indulgent that our -discipline admits of,--not to the community itself, who are all disposed -to cherish and love you;--of what do you complain?” “Of the life -itself,--that comprehends every thing. I am not fit to be a monk.” -“Remember, I implore you, that though the forms of earthly courts must -be obeyed, from the necessity that makes us dependent on human -institutions, in all matters between man and man, they never can be -available in matters between God and man. Be assured, my deluded child, -that if all the courts on earth pronounced you absolved from your vows -this moment, your own conscience never can absolve you. All your -ignominious life, it will continue to reproach you with the violation of -a vow, whose breach man has connived at, but God has not. And, at your -last hour, how horrible will those reproaches be!” “Not so horrible as -at the hour I took that vow, or rather at the hour when it was -extorted.” “Extorted!” “Yes, my father, yes,--I take Heaven to witness -against you. On that disastrous morning, your anger, your remonstrances, -your pleadings, were as ineffectual as they are now, till you flung the -body of my mother before my feet.” “And do you reproach me with my zeal -in the cause of your salvation?” “I do not wish to reproach you. You -know the step I have taken, you must be aware I will pursue it with all -the powers of nature,--that I will never rest till my vows are annulled, -while a hope of it remains,--and that a soul, determined as mine, can -convert despair itself into hope. Surrounded, suspected, watched as I -have been, I yet found the means of conveying my papers to the hands of -the advocate. Calculate the strength of that resolution which could -effectuate such a measure in the very heart of a convent. Judge of the -futility of all future opposition, when you failed in defeating, or even -detecting, the first steps of my design.” At these words the Superior -was silent. I believed I had made an impression on him. I added, “If you -wish to spare the community the disgrace of my prosecuting my appeal -within its walls, the alternative is easy. Let the door be left -unguarded some day, connive at my escape, and my presence shall never -molest or dishonour you another hour.” “How! would you make me not only -a witness, but an accomplice in your crime? Apostate from God, and -plunged in perdition as you are, do you repay the hand stretched out to -save you, by seizing it, that you may drag me into the infernal gulph -along with you?” and he walked up and down the cell in the most violent -agitation. This unlucky proposal operated on his master-passion, (for he -was exemplarily rigid in discipline), and produced only convulsions of -hostility. I stood waiting till this fresh burst had subsided, while he -continued to exclaim incessantly, “My God, for what offence am I thus -humiliated?--for what inconceivable crime is this disgrace precipitated -on the whole convent? What will become of our character? What will all -Madrid say?” “My father, whether an obscure monk lives, dies, or recalls -his vows, is an object of little importance beyond the walls of his -convent. They will forget me soon, and you will be consoled by the -restored harmony of the discipline, in which I should always be a -jarring note. Besides, all Madrid, with all the interest you ascribe to -it, could never be made responsible for my salvation.” He continued to -walk up and down, repeating, “What will the world say? What will become -of us?” till he had worked himself into a state of fury; and, suddenly -turning on me, he exclaimed, “Wretch! renounce your horrible -resolution,--renounce it this moment! I give you but five minutes for -consideration.” “Five thousand would make no change.” “Tremble, then, -lest you should not have life spared to see the fulfilment of your -impious purposes.” - -“As he uttered these words he rushed from my cell. The moments I passed -during his absence were, I think, the most horrible of my life. Their -terror was aggravated by darkness, for it was now night, and he had -carried away the light along with him. My agitation did not at first -permit me to observe this. I felt I was in the dark, but knew not how or -why. A thousand images of indescribable horror rushed in a host on me. I -had heard much of the terrors of convents,--of their punishments, often -carried to the infliction of death, or of reducing their victim to a -state in which death would have been a blessing. Dungeons, chains, and -scourges, swam before my eyes in a fiery mist. The threatening words of -the Superior appeared emblazoned on the darkened walls of my cell in -characters of flame. I shuddered,--I cried aloud, though conscious that -my voice would be echoed by no friendly answering tones in a community -of sixty persons,--such is the sterility of humanity in a convent. At -last my very fears recovered me by their excess. I said to myself, “They -dare not murder me,--they dare not incarcerate me;--they are answerable -to the court to which I have appealed for my forthcoming,--they dare not -be guilty of any violence.” Just as I had come to this comfortable -conclusion, which indeed was the triumph of the sophistry of hope, the -door of my cell was thrown open, and the Superior, attended by his four -satellites, re-entered. My eyes were dim from the darkness in which I -had been left, but I could distinguish that they carried with them a -rope and a piece of sackcloth. I drew the most frightful presages from -this apparatus. I altered my reasoning in a moment, and instead of -saying they dare not do so and so, I instantly argued, “What dare they -not do? I am in their power,--they know it. I have provoked them to the -utmost,--what is it monks will not do in the impotence of their -malignity?--what is to become of me?” They advanced, and I imagined the -rope was to strangle me, and the sackcloth to inclose my murdered body. -A thousand images of blood swam before me,--a gush of fire choaked up my -respiration. The groans of a thousand victims seemed to rise from the -vaults of the convent, to which they had been hurried by a fate like -mine. I know not what is death, but I am convinced I suffered the -agonies of many deaths in that moment. My first impulse was to throw -myself on my knees. I said, “I am in your power,--I am guilty in your -eyes,--accomplish your purpose, but do not keep me long in pain.” The -Superior, without heeding, or perhaps hearing me, said, “Now you are in -the posture that becomes you.” At hearing these words, which sounded -less dreadful than I had feared, I prostrated myself to the ground. A -few moments before I would have thought this a degradation, but fear is -very debasing. I had a dread of violent means,--I was very young, and -life was not the less attractive from its being arrayed only in the -brilliant drapery of imagination. The monks observed my posture,--they -feared its effect on the Superior. They said, in that choral -monotony,--that _discordant unison_ that had frozen my blood when I -knelt in the same posture but a few nights before, “Reverend father, do -not suffer yourself to be imposed on by this prostituted -humiliation,--the time for mercy is past. You gave him his moments of -deliberation,--he refused to avail himself of them. You come now not to -listen to pleadings, but to inflict justice.” At these words, that -announced every thing horrible, I went on my knees from one to the -other, as they all stood in a grim and executioner-like row. I said to -each with tears, “Brother Clement,--Brother Justin,--why do you try to -irritate the Superior against me? Why do you precipitate a sentence -which, whether just or not, must be severe, since you are to be the -executioners? What have I done to offend you? I interceded for you when -you were guilty of any slight deviation--Is this my return?” “This is -wasting time,” said the monks. “Hold,” said the Superior; “give him -leave to speak. Will you avail yourself of the last moment of indulgence -I can ever afford you, to renounce your horrible resolution of recalling -your vows?” Those words renewed all my energies. I stood upright before -them all. I said, in a loud distinct voice, “Never--I stand at the bar -of God.” “Wretch! you have renounced God.” “Well, then, my father, I -have only to hope that God will not renounce me. I have appealed to a -bar also, over which you have no power.” “But we have power here, and -that you shall feel.” He made a signal, and the four monks approached. I -uttered one short cry of fear, but submitted the next moment. I felt -convinced it was to be my last. I was astonished, when, instead of -fastening the cords round my neck, they bound my arms with them. They -then took off my habit, and covered me with the sackcloth. I made no -resistance; but shall I confess to you, Sir, I felt some disappointment. -I was prepared for death, but something worse than death appeared -threatened in these preparations. When we are driven to the precipice of -mortality, we spring forward with resolution, and often defeat the -triumph of our murderers, by merging it in our own. But when we are led -to it step by step, held often over it, and then withdrawn, we lose our -resolution along with our patience; and feel, that the last blow would -be mercy, compared with its long-suspended, slowly descending, wavering, -mutilating, hesitating stroke. I was prepared for every thing but what -followed. Bound with this rope as fast as a felon, or a galley-slave, -and covered only with the sackcloth, they dragged me along the gallery. -I uttered no cry, made no resistance. They descended the stairs that led -to the church. I followed, or rather was dragged after them. They -crossed the aisle; there was a dark passage near it which I had never -observed before. We entered it. A low door at the end presented a -frightful perspective. At sight of it I cried aloud, “You will not -immure me? You will not plunge me in that horrible dungeon, to be -withered by damps, and devoured by reptiles? No, you will not,--remember -you are answerable for my life.” At these words, they surrounded me; -then, for the first time, I struggled,--I called for help;--this was the -moment they waited for; they wanted some repugnance on my part. The -signal was instantly given to a lay-brother, who waited in the -passage,--the bell was rung,--that terrible bell, that requires every -member of a convent to plunge into his cell, as something extraordinary -is going on in the house. At the first toll I lost all hope. I felt as -if not a living being was in existence but those who surrounded me, and -who appeared, in the livid light of one taper burning faintly in that -dismal passage, like spectres hurrying a condemned soul to his doom. -They hurried me down the steps to this door, which was considerably -below the level of the passage. It was a long time before they could -open it; many keys were tried; perhaps they might have felt some -agitation at the thoughts of the violence they were going to commit. But -this delay increased my terrors beyond expression; I imagined this -terrible vault had never been inclosed before; that I was to be the -first victim inhumed within it; and that their determination was, I -should never quit it alive. As these thoughts occurred, in unutterable -agony I cried aloud, though I felt I was beyond all human hearing; but -my cries were drowned in the jarring of the heavy door, as it yielded to -the efforts of the monks, who, uniting their strength, pushed it with -extended arms, grating all the way against the floor of stone. The monks -hurried me in, while the Superior stood at the entrance with the light, -appearing to shudder at the view it disclosed. I had time to view all -the furniture of what I thought my last abode. It was of stone; the roof -formed an arch; a block of stone supported a crucifix, and a death’s -head, with a loaf and a pitcher of water. There was a mat on the floor, -to lie on; another rolled up at the end of it formed a pillow. They -flung me on it, and prepared to depart. I no longer struggled, for I -knew escape was in vain, but I supplicated them at least to leave me a -light; and I petitioned for this with as much earnestness as I could -have done for my liberty. Thus it is that misery always breaks down the -mind into petty details. We have not strength to comprehend the whole of -our calamity. We feel not the mountain which is heaped on us, but the -nearest grains press on and grind us. I said, “In Christian mercy leave -me a light, if it be but to defend myself against the reptiles that must -swarm here.” And already I saw this was true, for some of extraordinary -size, disturbed by the phænomenon of the light, came crawling down the -walls. All this time the monks were straining their strength to close -the heavy door; they did not utter a word. “I adjure you to leave me -light, _if it is but to gaze on that skull_; fear not the exercise of -sight can be any indulgence in this place; but still let me have a -light; think that when I wish to pray, I must _feel my way_ to that -crucifix.” As I spoke, the door was with difficulty closed and locked, -and I heard their departing steps. You will hardly believe, Sir, that I -slept profoundly; yet I did; but I would rather never sleep again, than -awake so horribly. I awoke in _the darkness of day_. I was to behold the -light no more; nor to watch those divisions of time, which, by measuring -our portions of suffering, appear to diminish them. When the clock -strikes, we know an hour of wretchedness is past, never to return. My -only time-keeper was the approach of the monk, who every day renewed my -allowance of bread and water; and had he been the object I loved most on -earth, the sound of his steps could not have made more delicious music. -These æras by which we compute the hours of darkness and inanity are -inconceivable to any but those who are situated as I was. You have -heard, Sir, no doubt, that the eye which, on its being first immersed -into darkness, appears deprived of the power of vision for ever, -acquires, imperceptibly, a power of accommodating itself to its darkened -sphere, and even of distinguishing objects by a kind of conventional -light. The mind certainly possesses the same power, otherwise, how could -I have had the power to reflect, to summon some resolution, and even to -indulge some hope, in this frightful abode? Thus it is, when all the -world seems sworn to hostility against us, we turn friends to ourselves -with all the obstinacy of despair;--and _while all the world is -flattering and deifying us, we are the perpetual victims of lassitude -and self-reproach_. - -“The prisoner whose hours are visited by a dream of emancipation, is -less a prey to ennui than the sovereign on a throne, begirt with -adulation, voluptuousness, and satiety. I reflected that all my papers -were safe,--that my cause was prosecuting with vigour,--that, owing to -my brother’s zeal, I had the ablest advocate in Madrid,--that they dared -not murder me, and were answerable with the whole credit of the house -for my re-appearance whenever the courts demanded it,--that the very -rank of my family was a powerful protection, though none of them but my -generous fiery Juan was probably favourable to me;--that if I was -permitted to receive and read the advocate’s first memoir, even through -the hands of the Superior, it was absurd to imagine that I could be -denied intercourse with him in a more advanced and important stage of -the business. These were the suggestions of my hope, and they were -plausible enough. What were the suggestions of my despair, I shudder -even at this moment to reflect on. The most terrible of all was, that I -might be murdered _conventually_ before it was possible that my -liberation could be accomplished. - -“Such, Sir, were my reflections; you may ask, what were my occupations? -My situation supplied me with those, and, revolting as they were, they -were still occupations. I had my devotions to perform; religion was my -only resource in solitude and darkness, and while I prayed only for -liberty and peace, I felt I was not at least insulting God by the -prayers of hypocrisy, which I would have been compelled to utter in the -choir. There I was obliged to join in a sacrifice that was odious to me, -and offensive to him;--in my dungeon I offered up the sacrifice of my -heart, and felt it was not unacceptable. During the glimpse of light -afforded me by the approach of the monk who brought me bread and water, -I arranged the crucifix so as that I could feel it when I awoke. This -was very often, and not knowing whether it was day or night, I uttered -my prayers at random. I knew not whether it was matins or vespers; there -was neither morning or evening for me, but it was like a talisman to me -to touch the crucifix, and I said as I felt for it, “My God is with me -in the darkness of my dungeon; he is a God who has suffered, and can -pity me. My extremest point of wretchedness can be nothing to what this -symbol of divine humiliation for the sins of man, has undergone for -mine!”--and I kissed the sacred image (with lips wandering from the -darkness) with more emotion than I had ever felt when I saw it -illuminated by the blaze of tapers, amid the elevation of the Host, the -tossing of the perfumed censers, the gorgeous habits of the priests, and -the breathless prostration of the faithful. I had other occupations less -dignified, but quite as necessary. The reptiles, who filled the hole -into which I had been thrust, gave me opportunity for a kind of -constant, miserable, ridiculous hostility. My mat had been placed in the -very seat of warfare;--I shifted it,--still they pursued me;--I placed -it against the wall,--the cold crawling of their bloated limbs often -awoke me from my sleep, and still oftener made me shudder when awake. I -struck at them;--I tried to terrify them by my voice, to arm myself -against them by the help of my mat; but above all, my anxiety was -ceaseless to defend my bread from their loathsome incursions, and my -pitcher of water from their dropping into it. I adopted a thousand -precautions, trivial as they were inefficacious, but still there was -occupation. I do assure you, Sir, I _had more to do in my dungeon than -in my cell_. To be fighting with reptiles in the dark appears the most -horrible struggle that can be assigned to man; but what is it compared -to his combat with those reptiles which his own heart hourly engenders -in a cell, and of which, if his heart be the mother, solitude is the -father. I had another employment,--I cannot call it occupation. I had -calculated with myself, that sixty minutes made an hour, and sixty -seconds a minute. I began to think I could keep time as accurately as -any clock in a convent, and measure the hours of my confinement or--my -release. So I sat and counted sixty; a doubt always occurred to me, that -I _was counting them faster than the clock_. Then I wished to be the -clock, that I might have no feeling, no _motive for hurrying on the -approach of time_. Then I reckoned slower. Sleep sometimes overtook me -in this exercise, (perhaps I adopted it from that hope); but when I -awoke, I applied to it again instantly. Thus I oscillated, reckoned, and -measured time on my mat, while time withheld its delicious diary of -rising and setting suns,--of the dews of dawn and of twilight,--of the -glow of morning and the shades of the evening. When my reckoning was -broken by my sleep, (and I knew not whether I slept by day or by night), -I tried to eke it out by my incessant repetition of minutes and seconds, -and I succeeded; for I always consoled myself, that whatever hour it -was, sixty minutes must go to an hour. Had I led this life much longer, -I might have been converted into the idiot, who, as I have read, from -the habit of watching a clock, imitated its mechanism so well, that when -it was down, he sounded the hour as faithfully as ear could desire. Such -was my life. On the fourth day, (as I reckoned by the visits of the -monk), he placed my bread and water on the block of stone as usual, but -hesitated for some time before he departed. In fact, he felt a -repugnance at delivering an intimation of hope; it was not consonant -either to his profession, or the office which, in the wantonness of -monastic malignity, he had accepted as penance. You shudder at this, -Sir, but it is nevertheless true; this man thought he was doing service -to God, by witnessing the misery of a being incarcerated amid famine, -darkness, and reptiles. He recoiled when his penance terminated. Alas! -how false is that religion which makes our aggravating the sufferings of -others our mediator with that God who willeth all men to be saved. But -this is a question to be solved in convents. This man hesitated long, -struggled with the ferocity of his nature, and at last departed and -bolted the door, that he might indulge it a few moments longer. Perhaps -in those moments he prayed to God, and ejaculated a petition, that this -protraction of _my_ sufferings might be accepted as a melioration of his -own. I dare say he was very sincere; but if men were taught to look to -the _one great Sacrifice_, would they be so ready to believe that their -own, or those of others, could ever be accepted as a commutation for it? -You are surprised, Sir, at these sentiments from a Catholic; but another -part of my story will disclose the cause of my uttering them. At length -this man could delay his commission no longer. He was obliged to tell me -that the Superior was moved by my sufferings, that God had touched his -heart in my behalf, and that he permitted me to quit my dungeon. The -words were scarce out of his mouth, before I rose, and rushed out with a -shout that electrified him. Emotion is very unusual in convents, and the -expression of joy a phenomenon. I had gained the passage before he -recovered his surprise; and the convent walls, which I had considered as -those of a prison, now appeared the area of emancipation. Had its doors -been thrown open to me that moment, I don’t think I could have felt a -more exquisite sensibility of liberty. I fell on my knees in the passage -to thank God. I thanked him for the light, for the air, for the restored -power of respiration. As I was uttering these effusions, (certainly not -the least sincere that were ever poured forth within those walls), -suddenly I became sick,--my head swam round,--I had feasted on the light -to excess. I fell to the ground, and remember nothing for many hours -afterwards. When I recovered my senses, I was in my cell, which appeared -just as I had left it; it was day-light, however; and I am persuaded -that circumstance contributed more to my restoration, than the food and -cordials with which I was now liberally supplied. All that day I heard -nothing, and had time to meditate on the motives of the indulgence with -which I had been treated. I conceived that an order might have been -issued to the Superior to produce me, or, at all events, that he could -not prevent those interviews between the advocate and me, which the -former might insist on as necessary while my cause was carrying on. -Towards evening some monks entered my cell; they talked of indifferent -matters,--affected to consider my absence as the result of -indisposition, and I did not undeceive them. They mentioned, as if -incidentally, that my father and mother, overwhelmed with grief at the -scandal I had brought on religion by appealing against my vows, had -quitted Madrid. At this intelligence I felt much more emotion than I -showed. I asked them how long I had been _ill_? They answered, Four -days. This confirmed my suspicions with regard to the cause of my -liberation, for the advocate’s letter had mentioned, that on the fifth -day he would require an interview with me on the subject of my appeal. -They then departed; but I was soon to receive another visitor. After -vespers, (from which I was excused), the Superior entered my cell alone. -He approached my bed. I attempted to rise, but he desired me to compose -myself, and sat down near me with a calm but penetrating look. He said, -“You have now found we have it in our power to punish.”--“I never -doubted it.”--“Before you tempt that power to an extremity, which, I -warn you, you will not be able to endure, I come to demand of you to -resign this desperate appeal against your vows, which can terminate only -in dishonouring God, and disappointing yourself.”--“My father, without -entering into details, which the steps taken on both sides have rendered -wholly unnecessary, I can only reply, that I will support my appeal with -every power Providence puts within my reach, and that my punishment has -only confirmed my resolution.”--“And this is your final -determination?”--“It is, and I implore you to spare me all further -importunity,--it will be useless.” He was silent for a long time; at -length he said, “And you will insist on your right to an interview with -the advocate to-morrow?”--“I shall claim it.”--“It will not be -necessary, however, to mention to him your late punishment.” These words -struck me. I comprehended the meaning which he wished to conceal in -them, and I answered, “It may not be necessary, but it will probably be -expedient.”--“How?--would you violate the secrets of the house, while -you are yet within its walls?”--“Pardon me, my father, for saying, that -you must be conscious of having exceeded your duty, to be so anxious for -its concealment. It is not, then, the secrets of your discipline, but -the violation of it, I shall have to disclose.”--He was silent, and I -added, “If you have abused your power, though I have been the sufferer, -it is you who are guilty.”--The Superior rose, and quitted my cell in -silence. The next morning I attended matins. Service went on as usual, -but at its conclusion, when the community were about to rise from their -knees, the Superior, striking the desk violently with his hand, -commanded them all to remain in the same posture. He added, in a -thundering voice, “The intercession of this whole community with God is -supplicated for a monk who, abandoned by the Spirit of God, is about to -commit an act dishonourable to Him, disgraceful to the church, and -infallibly destructive of his own salvation.” At these terrible sounds -the monks, all shuddering, sunk on their knees again. I was kneeling -among them, when the Superior, calling me by my name, said aloud, “Rise, -wretch! rise, and pollute not our incense with your unhallowed breath!” -I rose, trembling and confounded, and shrunk to my cell, where I -remained till I was summoned by a monk to the parlour, to meet the -advocate, who waited for me there. This interview was rendered quite -ineffective by the presence of the monk, who was desired by the Superior -to witness our conference, and whom the advocate could not order away. -When we entered into details, he interrupted us with declarations, that -his duty would not permit such a violation of the rules of the parlour. -When I asserted a fact, he contradicted it, gave me the lie repeatedly, -and finally disturbed the purpose of our conference so completely, that -in mere self-defence, I spoke of the subject of my punishment, which he -could not deny, and to which my livid looks bore a testimony invincible. -The moment I spoke on this subject the monk became silent, (he was -treasuring every word for the Superior), and the advocate redoubled his -attention. He took minutes of every thing I said, and appeared to lay -more stress on the matter than I had imagined, or indeed wished for. -When the conference was over, I retired again to my cell. The advocate’s -visits were repeated for some days, till he had obtained the information -requisite for carrying on my suit; and during this time, my treatment in -the convent was such as to give me no cause of complaint; and this -doubtless was the motive of their forbearance. But the moment those -visits ceased, the warfare of persecution commenced. They considered me -as one with whom no measures were to be kept, and they treated me -accordingly. I am convinced it was their intention that I should not -survive the event of my appeal; at least it is certain they left nothing -unaccomplished that could verify that intention. This began, as I -mentioned, on the day of the advocate’s last visit. The bell rung for -refection;--I was going to take my place as usual, when the Superior -said, “Hold,--place a mat for him in the midst of the hall.” This was -done, and I was required to sit down on it, and supplied with bread and -water. I eat a little, which I moistened with my tears. I foresaw what I -had to undergo, and did not attempt to expostulate. When grace was about -to be said, I was desired to stand without the door, lest my presence -should frustrate the benediction they implored. - -“I retired, and when the bell rung for vespers, I presented myself among -the rest at the door of the church. I was surprised to find it shut, and -they all assembled. When the bell ceased, the Superior appeared, the -door was opened, and the monks hurried in. I was following, when the -Superior repelled me, exclaiming, “_You, wretch, you!_ Remain where you -are.” I obeyed; and the whole community entered the church, while I -remained at the door. This species of excommunication produced its full -effect of terror on me. As the monks slowly came out, and cast on me -looks of silent horror, I thought myself the most abject being on earth; -I could have hid myself under the pavement till the event of my appeal -was over. - -“The next morning, when I went to matins, the same scene was renewed, -with the horrible addition of audible reproaches, and almost -imprecations, denounced against me, as they entered and returned. I -knelt at the door. I did not answer a word. I returned not “railing for -railing,” and lifted up my heart with a trembling hope, that this -offering might be as acceptable to God as the sonorous chaunt of the -choir, which I still felt it was miserable to be excluded from joining. - -“In the course of the day, every sluice of monastic malignity and -vengeance was thrown open. I appeared at the door of the refectory. I -did not dare to enter. Alas! Sir, how are monks employed in the hour of -refection? It is an hour, when, while they swallow their meal, they -banquet on the little scandal of the convent. They ask, “Who was late at -prayers? Who is to undergo penance?” This serves them for conversation; -and the details of their miserable life supply no other subject for that -mixture of exhaustless malignity and curiosity, which are the -inseparable twins of monastic birth. As I stood at the door of the -refectory, a lay-brother, to whom the Superior nodded, bid me retire. I -went to my cell, waited for several hours, and just when the bell for -vespers had rung, was supplied with food, which famine itself would have -shrunk from. I tried to swallow it, but could not, and hurried away, as -the bell tolled, to attend vespers; for I wished to have no cause of -complaint against my neglect of duties. I hastened down. The door was -again shut; service began; and again I was compelled to retire without -partaking of it. The next day I was excluded from matins; the same -degrading scene was acted over when I appeared at the door of the -refectory. Food was sent to my cell, that a dog would have rejected; and -the door was shut when I attempted to enter the church. A thousand -circumstances of persecution, too contemptible, too minute, either for -recollection or repetition, but infinitely harassing to the sufferer, -were heaped on me every day. Imagine, Sir, a community of upwards of -sixty persons, all sworn to each other to make the life of one -individual insupportable; joined in a common resolution to insult, -harass, torment, and persecute him; and then imagine how that individual -can support such a life. I began to dread the preservation of my -reason--of my existence, which, miserable as it was, still fed on the -hope of my appeal. I will sketch one day of my life for you. _Ex uno -disce omnes._ I went down to matins, and knelt at the door; I did not -dare to enter. When I retired to my cell, I found the crucifix taken -away. I was about to go to the Superior’s apartment to complain of this -outrage; in the passage I happened to meet a monk and two boarders. They -all shrunk close to the walls; they drew in their garments, as if -trembling to encounter the pollution of my touch. I said mildly, “There -is no danger; the passage is wide enough.” The monk replied, “Apage -Satana. My children,” addressing the boarders, “repeat with me, apage -Satana; avoid the approach of that demon, who insults the habit he -desecrates.” They did so; and to render the exorcism complete, they spit -in my face as they passed. I wiped it off, and thought how little of the -spirit of Jesus was to be found in the house of his nominal brethren. I -proceeded to the apartment of the Superior, and knocked timidly at the -door. I heard the words, “Enter in peace;” and I prayed that it might be -in peace. As I opened the door, I saw several monks assembled with the -Superior. The latter uttered an exclamation of horror when he saw me, -and threw his robe over his eyes; the monks understood the signal; the -door was closed, and I was excluded. That day I waited several hours in -my cell before any food was brought me. There is no state of feeling -that exempts us from the wants of nature. I had no food for many days -requisite for the claims of adolescence, which were then rapidly -manifesting themselves in my tall, but attenuated frame. I descended to -the kitchen to ask for my share of food. The cook crossed himself as I -appeared at the door; for even at the door of the kitchen I faultered at -the threshold. He had been taught to consider me as a demon incarnate, -and shuddered, while he asked, “What do you want?”--“Food,” I replied; -“food;--that is all.”--“Well, you shall have it--but come no -further--there is food.” And he flung me the offal of the kitchen on the -earth; and I was so hungry, that I devoured it eagerly. The next day I -was not so lucky; the cook had learned the secret of the convent, (that -of tormenting those whom they no longer have hopes of commanding), and -mixed the fragments he threw to me, with ashes, hair, and dust. I could -hardly pick out a morsel that, famished as I was, was eatable. They -allowed me no water in my cell; I was not permitted to partake of it at -refection; and, in the agonies of thirst, aggravated by my constant -solicitude of mind, I was compelled to kneel at the brink of the well, -(as I had no vessel to drink out of), and take up the water in my hand, -or lap it like a dog. If I descended to the garden for a moment, they -took the advantage of my absence to enter my cell, and remove or destroy -every article of furniture. I have told you that they took away my -crucifix. I had still continued to kneel and repeat my prayers before -the table on which it stood. That was taken away,--table, chair, missal, -rosary, every thing, disappeared gradually; and my cell presented -nothing but four bare walls, with a bed, on which they had rendered it -impossible for me to taste repose. Perhaps they dreaded I might, -however, and they hit on an expedient, which, if it had succeeded, might -have deprived me of reason as well as repose. - -“I awoke one night, and saw my cell in flames; I started up in horror, -but shrunk back on perceiving myself surrounded by demons, who, clothed -in fire, were breathing forth clouds of it around me. Desperate with -horror, I rushed against the wall, and found what I touched was cold. My -recollection returned, and I comprehended, that these were hideous -figures scrawled in phosphorus, to terrify me. I then returned to my -bed, and as the day-light approached, observed these figures gradually -decline. In the morning, I took a desperate resolution of forcing my way -to the Superior, and speaking to him. I felt my reason might be -destroyed amid the horrors they were surrounding me with. - -“It was noon before I could work myself up to execute this resolution. I -knocked at his cell, and when the door was opened, he exhibited the same -horror as at my former intrusion, but I was not to be repelled. “My -father, I require you to hear me, nor will I quit this spot till you do -so.”--“Speak.”--“They famish me,--I am not allowed food to support -nature.”--“Do you deserve it?”--“Whether I do or not, neither the laws -of God or man have yet condemned me to die of hunger; and if _you_ do, -you commit murder.”--“Have you any thing else to complain of?”--“Every -thing; I am not allowed to enter the church,--I am forbid to pray,--they -have stripped my cell of crucifix, rosary, and the vessel for holy -water. It is impossible for me to perform my devotions even -alone.”--“_Your_ devotions!”--“My father, though I am not a monk, may I -not still be a Christian?”--“In renouncing your vows, you have abjured -your claim to either character.”--“But I am still a human being, and as -such--But I appeal not to your humanity, I call on your authority for -protection. Last night, my cell was covered with representations of -fiends. I awoke in the midst of flames and spectres.”--“So you will at -the last day!”--“My punishment will then be enough, it need not commence -already.”--“These are the phantoms of your conscience.”--“My father, if -you will deign to examine my cell, you will find the traces of -phosphorus on the walls.”--“_I_ examine your cell? _I_ enter it?”--“Am I -then to expect no redress? Interpose your authority for the sake of the -house over which you preside. Remember that, when my appeal becomes -public, all these circumstances will become so too, and you are to judge -what degree of credit they will attach to the community.” “Retire!” I -did so, and found my application attended to, at least with regard to -food, but my cell remained in the same dismantled state, and I continued -under the same desolating interdiction from all communion, religious or -social. I assure you, with truth, that so horrible was this amputation -from life to me, that I have walked hours in the cloister and the -passages, to place myself in the way of the monks, who, I knew, as they -passed, would bestow on me some malediction or reproachful epithet. Even -this was better than the withering silence which surrounded me. I began -almost to receive it as a customary salutation, and always returned it -with a benediction. In a fortnight my appeal was to be decided on; this -was a circumstance I was kept in ignorance of, but the Superior had -received a notification of it, and this precipitated his resolution to -deprive me of the benefit of its eventual success, by one of the most -horrible schemes that ever entered the human (I retract the expression) -the monastic heart. I received an indistinct intimation of it the very -night after my application to the Superior; but had I been apprised, -from the first, of the whole extent and bearings of their purpose, what -resources could I have employed against it? - -“That evening I had gone into the garden; my heart felt unusually -oppressed. Its thick troubled beatings, seemed like the vibrations of a -time-piece, as it measures our approach to some hour of sorrow. - -“It was twilight; the garden was empty; and kneeling on the ground, in -the open air, (the only oratory they had left me), I attempted to pray. -The attempt was in vain;--I ceased to articulate sounds that had no -meaning--and, overcome by a heaviness of mind and body inexpressible, I -fell on the ground, and remained extended on my face, torpid, but not -senseless. Two figures passed, without perceiving me; they were in -earnest conversation. One of them said, “More vigorous measures must be -adopted. You are to blame to delay them so long. You will be answerable -for the disgrace of the whole community, if you persist in this foolish -lenity.”--“But his resolution remains unbroken,” said the Superior, (for -it was he).--“It will not be proof against the measure I have -proposed.”--“He is in your hands then; but remember I will not be -accountable for----” They were by this time out of hearing. I was less -terrified than you will believe, by what I had heard. Those who have -suffered much, are always ready to exclaim, with the unfortunate Agag, -“Surely the bitterness of death is past.” They know not, that that is -the very moment when the sword is unsheathed to hew them in pieces. That -night, I had not been long asleep, when I was awoke by a singular noise -in my cell: I started up, and listened. I thought I heard some one hurry -away barefooted. I knew I had no lock to my door, and could not prevent -the intrusion of any one into my cell who pleased to visit it; but still -I believed the discipline of the convent too strict to allow of this. I -composed myself again, but was hardly asleep, when I was again awoke by -something that touched me. I started up again; a soft voice near me said -in whispers, “Compose yourself; I am your friend.”--“My friend? Have I -one?--but why visit me at this hour?”--“It is the only hour at which I -am permitted to visit you.”--“But who are you, then?”--“One whom these -walls can never exclude. One to whom, if you devote yourself, you may -expect services beyond the power of man.”--There was something frightful -in these words. I cried out, “Is it the enemy of souls that is tempting -me?” As I uttered these words, a monk rushed in from the passage, (where -he had been evidently waiting, for his dress was on). He exclaimed, -“What is the matter? You have alarmed me by your cries,--you pronounced -the name of the infernal spirit,--what have you seen? what is it you -fear?” I recovered myself, and said, “I have seen or heard nothing -extraordinary. I have had frightful dreams, that is all. Ah! Brother St -Joseph, no wonder, after passing such days, my nights should be -disturbed.” - -“The monk retired, and the next day passed as usual; but at night the -same whispering sounds awoke me again. The preceding night these sounds -had only startled me; they now alarmed me. In the darkness of night, and -the solitude of my cell, this repeated visitation overcame my spirits. I -began almost to admit the idea that I was exposed to the assaults of the -enemy of man. I repeated a prayer, but the whisper, which seemed close -to my ear, still continued. It said, “Listen,--listen to me, and be -happy. Renounce your vows, place yourself under my protection, and you -shall have no cause to complain of the exchange. Rise from your bed, -trample on the crucifix which you will find at the foot of it, spit on -the picture of the Virgin that lies beside it, and----” At these words I -could not suppress a cry of horror. The voice ceased in a moment, and -the same monk, who occupied the cell next to mine, rushed in with the -same exclamations as on the preceding night; and, as he entered my cell, -the light in his hand shewed a crucifix, and a picture of the blessed -Virgin, _placed_ at the foot of my bed. I had sprung up when the monk -entered my cell; I saw them, and recognized them to be the very crucifix -and picture of the Virgin which had been taken from my cell. All the -hypocritical outcries of the monk, at the disturbance I had again caused -him, could not efface the impression which this slight circumstance made -on me. I believed, and not without reason, they had been left there by -the hands of some human tempter. I started, awake to this horrible -imposition, and required the monk to leave my cell. He demanded, with a -frightful paleness in his looks, why I had again disturbed him? said it -was impossible to obtain repose while such noises were occurring in my -cell; and, finally, stumbling over the crucifix and picture, demanded -how they came there. I answered, “You know best.”--“How, then, do you -accuse me of a compact with the infernal demon? By what means could -these have been brought to your cell?”--“By the very hands that removed -them,” I answered; and these words appeared to produce an effect on him -for a moment; but he retired, declaring, that if the nightly disturbance -in my cell continued, he must represent it to the Superior. I answered, -the disturbance did not proceed from me,--but I trembled for the -following night. - -“I had reason to tremble. That night, before I lay down, I repeated -prayer after prayer, the terrors of my excommunication pressing heavy on -my soul. I also repeated the prayers against possession or temptation by -the evil spirit. These I was compelled to utter from memory, for I have -told you that they had not left a book in my cell. In repeating these -prayers, which were very long, and somewhat verbose, I at last fell -asleep. That sleep was not to continue long. I was again addressed by -the voice that whispered close to my bed. The moment I heard it, I rose -without fear. I crept around my cell with my hands extended, and my feet -bare. I could feel nothing but the empty walls,--not a single object, -tangible or visible, could I encounter. I lay down again, and had hardly -begun the prayer with which I tried to fortify myself, when the same -sounds were repeated close to my ear, without the possibility either of -my discovering from whence they proceeded, or preventing their reaching -me. Thus I was completely deprived of sleep; and if I dozed for a -moment, the same terrible sounds were re-echoed in my dreams. I became -feverish from want of rest. The night was passed in watching for these -sounds, or listening to them, and the day in wild conjectures or fearful -anticipations. I felt a mixture of terror and impatience inconceivable -at the approach of night. I had a consciousness of imposture the whole -time, but this gave me no consolation, for there is a point to which -human malice and mischief may be carried, that would baffle those of a -demon. Every night the persecution was renewed, and every night it -became more terrible. At times the voice would suggest to me the most -unutterable impurities,--at another, blasphemies that would make a demon -shudder. Then it would applaud me in a tone of derision, and assure me -of the final success of my appeal, then change to the most appalling -menaces. The wretched sleep I obtained, during the intervals of this -visitation, was any thing but refreshing. I would awake in a cold -perspiration, catching at the bed-furniture, and repeating in an -inarticulate voice, the last sounds that had rung in my closing ears. I -would start up and see the bed surrounded by monks, who assured me they -had been disturbed by my cries,--that they had hurried in terror to my -cell. Then they would cast looks of fear and consternation on each other -and on me; say, “Something extraordinary is the matter,--something -presses on your mind that you will not disburden it of.” They implored -me, in the most awful names, and for the interests of my salvation, to -disclose the cause of these extraordinary visitations. At these words, -however agitated before, I always became calm. I said, “Nothing is the -matter,--why do you intrude into my cell?” They shook their heads, and -affected to retire slowly and reluctantly, as if from pity of my -dreadful situation, while I repeated, “Ah, Brother Justin, ah Brother -Clement, I see you, I understand you,--remember there is a God in -heaven.” - -“One night I lay for a considerable time without hearing any sound. I -fell asleep, but was soon awoke by an extraordinary light. I sat up in -my bed, and beheld displayed before me the mother of God, in all the -glorious and irradiated incarnation of beatitude. She hovered, rather -than stood, in an atmosphere of light at the foot of my bed, and held a -crucifix in her hand, while she appeared to invite me, with a benign -action, to kiss the five mysterious wounds(1). For a moment I almost -believed in the actual presence of this glorious visitor, but just then -_the voice_ was heard louder than ever, “Spurn them,--spit on them,--you -are mine, and I claim this homage from my vassal.” At these words the -figure disappeared instantly, and the voice was renewing its whispers, -but they were repeated to an insensible ear, for I fell into a swoon. I -could easily distinguish between this state and sleep, by the deadly -sickness, the cold sweats, and the horrid sense of _evanition_, that -preceded it, and by the gasping, sobbing, choaking efforts that attended -my recovery. In the mean time the whole community carried on and even -aggravated the terrible delusion, which, while it was my torment to -detect, it was my greater to be the victim of. When art assumes the -omnipotence of reality, when we feel we suffer as much from an illusion -as from truth, our sufferings lose all dignity and all consolation. We -turn demons against ourselves, and laugh at what we are writhing under. -All day long I was exposed to the stare of horror, the shudder of -suspicion, and, worst of all, the hastily-averted glance of hypocritical -commiseration, that dropt its pitying ray on me for a moment, and was -then instantly raised to heaven, as if to implore forgiveness for the -involuntary crime of compassionating one whom God had renounced. When I -encountered any of them in the garden, they would strike into another -walk, and cross themselves in my sight. If I met them in the passages of -the convent, they drew their garments close, turned their faces to the -wall, and told their beads as I went by. If I ventured to dip my hands -in the holy water that stood at the door of the church, it was thrown -out before my face. Certain extraordinary precautions were adopted by -the whole community against the power of the evil one. Forms of exorcism -were distributed, and additional prayers were used in the service of -matins and vespers. A report was industriously diffused, that Satan was -permitted to visit a favoured and devoted servant of his in the convent, -and that all the brethren might expect the redoubled malice of his -assaults. The effect of this on the young boarders was indescribable. -They flew with the speed of lightning from me, whenever they saw me. If -accident forced us to be near each other for a moment, they were armed -with holy water, which they flung at me in pailfuls; and when that -failed, what cries,--what convulsions of terror! They knelt,--they -screamed,--they shut their eyes,--they cried, “Satan have mercy on -me,--do not fix your infernal talons on me,--take your victim,” and they -mentioned my name. The terror that I inspired I at last began to feel. I -began to believe myself--I know not what, whatever they thought me. This -is a dreadful state of mind, but one impossible to avoid. In some -circumstances, where the whole world is against us, we begin to take its -part against ourselves, to avoid the withering sensation of being alone -on our own side. Such was my appearance, too, my flushed and haggard -look, my torn dress, my unequal gait, my constant internal muttering, -and my complete isolation from the habits of the house, that it was no -wonder I should justify, by my exterior, all of horrible and awful that -might be supposed passing in my mind. Such an impression I must have -made on the minds of the younger members. They had been taught to hate -me, but their hatred was now combined with fear, and such a union is the -most terrible amid all the complications of human passion. Desolate as -my cell was, I retired to it early, as I was excluded from the exercises -of the community. The bell for vespers would ring, I would hear the -steps of those who were hastening to join in the service of God, and -tedious as that service had once appeared to me, I would now have given -worlds to be permitted to join in it, as a defence against that -_horrible midnight mass of Satan_(2), that I was awaiting to be summoned -to. I knelt however in my cell, and repeated what prayers I could -recollect, while every toll of the bell struck on my heart, and the -chaunt of the choir from below sounded like a repulsive echo to an -answer which my fears already anticipated from heaven. - - (1) Vide Mosheim’s Ecclesiastical History for the truth of this part - of the narrative. I have suppressed circumstances in the original too - horrible for modern ears. - - (2) This expression is not exaggerated. In the dreams of sorcery, or - of imposture, the evil spirit was supposed to perform a mass in - derision; and in Beaumont and Fletcher there is mention of “_howling a - black Santis_,” _i. e._ Satan’s mass. - -“One evening that I still continued to pray, and audibly, as the monks -passed my cell they said, “Do _you_ presume to pray? Die, desperate -wretch,--die and be damned. Precipitate yourself into the infernal gulph -at once, no longer desecrate these walls by your presence.” At these -words I only redoubled my prayers; but this gave greater offence, for -churchmen cannot bear to hear prayers uttered in a form different from -their own. The cry of a solitary individual to God, sounds like -profanation in their ears. They ask, Why do they not employ our form? -How dare they hope to be heard? Alas! is it forms then that God regards? -or is it not rather the prayer of the heart which alone reaches him, and -prospers in its petition? As they called out, passing my cell, “Perish, -impious wretch, perish,--God will not hear you,” I answered them on my -knees with blessings,--which of us had the spirit of prayer? That night -was one of trial I could no longer support. My frame was exhausted, my -mind excited, and, owing to our frail nature, this battle of the senses -and soul is never long carried on without the worst side remaining -conqueror. I was no sooner laid down than the voice began to whisper. I -began to pray, but my head swam round, my eyes flashed fire,--fire -almost tangible, my cell appeared in flames. Recollect my frame worn out -with famine, my mind worn out with persecution. I struggled with what I -was conscious was delirium,--but this consciousness aggravated its -horror. It is better to be mad at once, than to believe that all the -world is sworn to think and _make_ you be so, in spite of your own -consciousness of your sanity. The whispers this night were so horrible, -so full of ineffable abominations, of--I cannot think of them,--that -they _maddened my very ear_. My senses seemed deranged along with my -intellect. I will give you an instance, it is but a slight one, of the -horrors which----” Here the Spaniard whispered Melmoth(3). The hearer -shuddered, and the Spaniard went on in an agitated tone. - - (3) We do not venture to guess at the _horrors_ of this whisper, but - every one conversant with ecclesiastical history knows, that _Tetzel_ - offered indulgences in Germany, even on the condition that the sinner - had been guilty of the _impossible_ crime of violating the mother of - God. - -“I could bear it no longer. I sprung from my bed, I ran through the -gallery like a maniac, knocking at the doors of the cells, and -exclaiming, “Brother such a one, pray for me,--pray for me, I beseech -you.” I roused the whole convent. Then I flew down to the church; it was -open, and I rushed in. I ran up the aisle, I precipitated myself before -the altar, I embraced the images, I clung to the crucifix with loud and -reiterated supplications. The monks, awakened by my outcries, or perhaps -on the watch for them, descended in a body to the church, but, -perceiving I was there, they would not enter,--they remained at the -doors, with lights in their hands, gazing on me. It was a singular -contrast between me, hurrying round the church almost in the dark, (for -there were but a few lamps burning dimly), and the groupe at the door, -whose expression of horror was strongly marked by the light, which -appeared to have deserted me to concentrate itself among them. The most -impartial person on earth might have supposed me deranged, or possessed, -or both, from the state in which they saw me. Heaven knows, too, what -construction might have been put on my wild actions, which the -surrounding darkness exaggerated and distorted, or on the prayers which -I uttered, as I included in them the horrors of the temptation against -which I implored protection. Exhausted at length, I fell to the ground, -and remained there, without the power of moving, but able to hear and -observe every thing that passed. I heard them debate whether they should -leave me there or not, till the Superior commanded them to remove that -abomination from the sanctuary; and such was the terror of me into which -they had _acted_ themselves, that he had to repeat his orders before he -could procure obedience to them. They approached me at last, with the -same caution that they would an infected corse, and dragged me out by -the habit, leaving me on the paved floor before the door of the church. -They then retired, and in this state I actually fell asleep, and -continued so till I was awoke by the bell for matins. I recollected -myself, and attempted to rise; but my having slept on a damp floor, when -in a fever from terror and excitement, had so cramped my limbs, that I -could not accomplish this without the most exquisite pain. As the -community passed in to matins, I could not suppress a few cries of pain. -They must have seen what was the matter, but not one of them offered me -assistance, nor did I dare to implore it. By slow and painful efforts, I -at last reached my cell; but, shuddering at the sight of the bed, I -threw myself on the floor for repose. - -“I was aware that some notice must be taken of a circumstance so -extraordinary--that such a subversion of the order and tranquillity of a -convent, would force an inquiry, even if the object was less remarkable. -But I had a sad foreboding, (for suffering makes us full of presages), -that this inquiry, however conducted, would terminate unfavourably to -me. I was the Jonah of the vessel--let the storm blow from what point it -would, I felt the lot was to fall on me. About noon, I was summoned to -the apartment of the Superior. I went, but not as at former times, with -a mixture of supplication and remonstrance on my lips,--with hope and -fear in my heart,--in a fever of excitement or of terror,--I went -sullen, squalid, listless, reckless; my physical strength, borne down by -fatigue and want of sleep; my mental, by persecution, incessant and -insupportable. I went no longer shrinking from, and deprecating _their -worst_, but defying, almost desiring it, in the terrible and indefinite -curiosity of despair. The apartment was full of monks; the Superior -stood among them, while they formed a semicircle at a respectful -distance from him. I must have presented a miserable contrast to these -men arrayed against me in their pride of power,--their long and not -ungraceful habits, giving their figures an air of solemnity, perhaps -more imposing than splendour--while I stood opposed to them, ragged, -meagre, livid, and obdurate, the very personification of an evil spirit -summoned before the angels of judgment. The Superior addressed me in a -long discourse, in which he but slightly touched on the scandal given by -the attempt to repeal my vows. He also suppressed any allusion to the -circumstance which was known to every one in the convent but myself, -that my appeal would be decided on in a few days. But he adverted in -terms that (in spite of my consciousness that they were hollow) made me -shudder, to the horror and consternation diffused through the convent by -my late tremendous visitation, as he called it. “Satan hath desired to -have you,” he said, “because you have put yourself within his power, by -your impious reclamation of your vows. You are the Judas among the -brethren; a branded Cain amid a primitive family; a scape-goat that -struggles to burst from the hands of the congregation into the -wilderness. The horrors that your presence is hourly heaping on us here, -are not only intolerable to the discipline of a religious house, but to -the peace of civilized society. There is not a monk who can sleep within -three cells of you. You disturb them by the most horrible cries--you -exclaim that the infernal spirit is perpetually beside your bed--that he -is whispering in your ears. You fly from cell to cell, supplicating the -prayers of the brethren. Your shrieks disturb the holy sleep of the -community--that sleep which they snatch only in the intervals of -devotion. All order is broken, all discipline subverted, while you -remain among us. The imaginations of the younger members are at once -polluted and inflamed, by the idea of the infernal and impure orgies -which the demon celebrates in your cell; and of which we know not -whether your cries, (which all can hear), announce triumph in, or -remorse for. You rush at midnight into the church, deface the images, -revile the crucifix, spurn at the altar; and when the whole community is -forced, by this unparalleled atrocity of blasphemy, to drag you from the -spot you are desecrating, you disturb, by your cries, those who are -passing to the service of God. In a word, your howls, your distortions, -your demoniac language, habits, and gestures, have but too well -justified the suspicion entertained when you first entered the convent. -You were abominable from your very birth,--you were the offspring of -sin--you are conscious of it. Amid the livid paleness, that horrible -unnatural white that discolours your very lips, I see a tinge like -crimson burning on your cheek at the mention of it. The demon who was -presiding at your natal hour--the demon of impurity and -anti-monasticism--pursues you in the very walls of a convent. The -Almighty, in my voice, bids you begone;--depart, and trouble us no -more.--Stop,” he added, as he saw I was obeying his directions -literally, “hold, the interests of religion, and of the community, have -required that I should take particular notice of the extraordinary -circumstances that have haunted your unhallowed presence within these -walls. In a short time you may expect a visit from the Bishop--prepare -yourself for it as you may.” I considered these as the final words -addressed to me, and was about to retire, when I was recalled. I was -desired to utter some words, which every one was eager to put into my -mouth, of expostulation, of remonstrance, of supplication. I resisted -them all as steadily as if I had known (which I did not) that the Bishop -had himself instituted the examination into the deranged state of the -convent; and that instead of the Superior inviting the Bishop to examine -into the cause of the disturbance in his convent, (the very last step he -would have taken), the Bishop, (a man whose character will shortly be -developed), had been apprized of the _scandal_ of the convent, and had -determined to take the matter into his own hands. Sunk in solitude and -persecution, I knew not that all Madrid was on fire,--that the Bishop -had determined to be no longer a passive hearer of the extraordinary -scenes reported to pass in the convent,--that, in a word, my _exorcism_ -and my appeal were quivering in alternate scales, and that the Superior -himself doubted which way the scale might incline. All this I was -ignorant of, for no one dared to tell it to me. I therefore was about to -retire without uttering a word in answer to the many whispered speeches -to humble myself to the Superior, to implore his intercession with the -Bishop to suspend this disgraceful examination that threatened _us_ all. -I broke from them as they surrounded me; and standing calm and sullen at -the door, I threw a retorting look at them, and said, “God forgive you -all, and grant you such an acquittal at his judgment-seat, as I hesitate -not to claim at that of the Bishop-visitant.” These words, though -uttered by a ragged demoniac, (as they thought me), made them tremble. -Truth is rarely heard in convents, and therefore its language is equally -emphatical and portentous. - -“The monks crossed themselves, and, as I left the apartment, repeated, -“But how then,--what if we _prevented_ this mischief?”--“By what -means?”--“By any that the interests of religion may suggest,--the -character of the convent is at stake. The Bishop is a man of a strict -and scrutinizing character,--he will keep his eyes open to the -truth,--he will inquire into facts,--what will become of us? Were it not -better that----” “What?”--“You comprehend us.”--“And if I dared to -comprehend you, _the time is too short_.”--“We have heard of the death -of maniacs being very sudden, of----” “What do you dare to hint -at?”--“Nothing, we only spoke of what every one knows, that a profound -sleep is often a restorative to lunatics. _He_ is a lunatic, as all the -convent are ready to swear,--a wretch possessed by the infernal spirit, -whom he invocates every night in his cell,--he disturbs the whole -convent by his outcries.” - -“The Superior all this time walked impatiently up and down his -apartment. He entangled his fingers in his rosary,--he threw on the -monks angry looks from time to time; at last he said, “I am myself -disturbed by his cries,--his wanderings,--his undoubted commerce with -the enemy of souls. I need rest,--I require a profound sleep to repair -my exhausted spirits,--_what would you prescribe?_” Several pressed -forward, not understanding the hint, and eagerly recommended the common -opiates--Mithridate, &c. &c. An old monk whispered in his ear, -“Laudanum,--it will procure a deep and sound sleep. Try it, my father, -if you want rest; but to make the experiment sure, were it not best to -try it first on another?” The Superior nodded, and the party were about -to disperse, when the Superior caught the old monk by his habit, and -whispered, “But no murder!”--“Oh no! only profound sleep.--What matter -when he wakes? It must be to suffering in this life or the next. _We_ -are not guilty in the business. What signifies a few moments sooner or -later?” The Superior was of a timid and passionate character. He still -kept hold of the monk’s habit;--he whispered, “But it must not be -known.”--“But who can know it?” At this moment the clock struck, and an -old ascetic monk, who occupied a cell adjacent to the Superior’s, and -who had accustomed himself to the exclamation, “God knoweth all things,” -whenever the clock struck, repeated it aloud. The Superior quitted his -hold of the monk’s habit,--the monk crawled to his cell _God-struck_, if -I may use the expression,--the laudanum was not administered that -night,--the voice did not return,--I slept the entire night, and the -whole convent was delivered from the harassings of the infernal spirit. -Alas! none haunted it, but that spirit which the natural _malignity of -solitude_ raises within the circle of every heart, and forces us, from -the terrible economy of misery, to feed on the vitals of others, that we -may spare our own. - -“This conversation was repeated to me afterwards by a monk who was on -his dying bed. He had witnessed it, and I have no reason to doubt his -sincerity. In fact, I always considered it as rather a palliation than -an aggravation of their cruelty to me. They had made me suffer worse -than many deaths,--the single suffering would have been -instantaneous,--the single act would have been mercy. The next day the -visit of the Bishop was expected. There was an indescribable kind of -terrified preparation among the community. This house was the first in -Madrid, and the singular circumstance of the son of one of the highest -families in Spain having entered it in early youth,--having protested -against his vows in a few months,--having been accused of being in a -compact with the infernal spirit a few weeks after,--the hope of a scene -of exorcism,--the doubt of the success of my appeal,--the probable -interference of the Inquisition,--the _possible_ festival of an auto da -fe,--had set the imagination of all Madrid on fire; and never did an -audience long more for the drawing up of the curtain at a popular opera, -than the religious and irreligious of Madrid did for the developement of -the scene which was acting at the convent of the Ex-Jesuits. - -“In Catholic countries, Sir, religion is the national drama; the priests -are the principal performers, the populace the audience; and whether the -piece concludes with a “Don Giovanni” plunging in flames, or the -beatification of a saint, the applause and the enjoyment is the same. - -“I feared my destiny was to be the former. I knew nothing of the Bishop, -and hoped nothing from his visit; but my hopes began to rise in -proportion to the visible fears of the society. I argued, with the -natural malignity of wretchedness, “If they tremble, I may exult.” When -suffering is thus weighed against suffering, the hand is never steady; -we are always disposed to make the balance incline a little on our own -side. The Bishop came early, and passed some hours with the Superior in -his own apartment. During this interval, there was a stillness in the -house that was strongly contrasted with its previous agitation. I stood -alone in my cell,--_stood_, for I had no seat left me. I said to myself, -“This event bodes neither good or evil to me. I am not guilty of what -they accuse me of. They never can prove it,--an accomplice with -Satan!--the victim of diabolical delusion!--Alas! my only crime is my -involuntary subjection to the delusions they have practised on me. This -man, this Bishop, cannot give me freedom, but he may at least do me -justice.” All this time the community were in a fever--the character of -the house was at stake--my situation was notorious. They had laboured to -represent me as a possessed being beyond their walls, and to _make_ me -appear as one within them. The hour of trial approached. For the honour -of human nature,--from the dread of violating decency,--from the dread -of apparently violating truth, I will not attempt to relate the means -they had recourse to the morning of the Bishop’s visitation, to qualify -me to perform the part of a possessed, insane, and blasphemous wretch. -The four monks I have before mentioned, were the principal executioners, -(I must call them so).--Under pretence that there was no part of my -person which was not under the influence of the demon, * * * * * * * - -“This was not enough. I was deluged almost to suffocation with -aspersions of holy water. Then followed, &c. * * * * * - -“The result was, that I remained half-naked, half-drowned, gasping, -choaking, and delirious with rage, shame, and fear, when I was summoned -to attend the Bishop, who, surrounded by the Superior and the community, -awaited me in the church. This was the moment they had fixed on--I -yielded myself to them. I said, stretching out my arms, “Yes, drag me -naked, mad--religion and nature alike violated in my abused -figure--before your Bishop. If he speaks truth,--if he feels -conscience,--woe be to you, hypocritical, tyrannical wretches. You have -half-driven me mad!--half-murdered me, by the unnatural cruelties you -have exercised on me!--and in this state you drag me before the Bishop! -Be it so, I must follow you.” As I uttered these words, they bound my -arms and legs with ropes, carried me down, and placed me at the door of -the church, standing close to me. The Bishop was at the altar, the -Superior near him; the community filled the choir. They flung me down -like a heap of carrion, and retreated as if they fled from the pollution -of my touch. This sight struck the Bishop: He said, in a loud voice, -“Rise, _unhappy_, and come forward.” I answered, in a voice whose tones -appeared to thrill him, “Bid them unbind me, and I will obey you.” The -Bishop turned a cold and yet indignant look on the Superior, who -immediately approached and whispered him. This whispering consultation -was carried on for some time; but, though lying on the ground, I could -perceive the Bishop shook his head at every whisper of the Superior; and -the end of the business was an order to unbind me. I did not fare much -the better for this order, for the four monks were still close to me. -They held my arms as they led me up the steps to the altar. I was then, -for the first time, placed opposite to the Bishop. He was a man, the -effect of whose physiognomy was as indelible as that of his -character.--The one left its impress on the senses, as strongly as the -other did on the soul. He was tall, majestic, and hoary; not a feeling -agitated his frame--not a passion had left its trace on his features. He -was a marble statue of Episcopacy, chiselled out by the hand of -Catholicism,--a figure magnificent and motionless. His cold black eyes -did not seem to see you, when they were turned on you. His voice, when -it reached you, did not address _you_, but your _soul_. Such was his -exterior:--for the rest, his character was unimpeachable, his discipline -exemplary, his life that of an Anchorite hewed out in stone. But he was -partially suspected of what is called _liberality_ in opinions, (that -is, of an inclination to Protestantism), and the sanctity of his -character went bail in vain for this imputed heterodoxy, which the -Bishop could hardly redeem by his rigid cognizance of every conventual -abuse in his district, among which my convent happened to be. Such was -the man before whom I stood. At the command to unloose me, the Superior -shewed much agitation; but the command was positive, and I was released. -I was then between the four monks, who held me, and I felt that my -appearance must have justified the impression he had received. I was -ragged, famished, livid, and on fire, with the horrible treatment I had -just received. I hoped, however, that my submission to whatever was to -be performed, might, in some degree, redeem the opinion of the Bishop. -He went with evident reluctance through the forms of exorcism, which -were delivered in Latin, while all the time, the monks crossed -themselves, and the _Acolytes_ were not sparing of holy water and of -incense. Whenever the terms “diabole te adjuro” occurred, the monks who -held me twisted my arms, so that I appeared to make contortions, and -uttered cries of pain. This, at first, seemed to disturb the Bishop; but -when the form of exorcism was over, he commanded me to approach the -altar alone. I attempted to do so; but the four monks surrounding me, -made it appear an act of great difficulty. He said, “Stand apart--let -him alone.” They were compelled to obey. I advanced alone, trembling. I -knelt. The Bishop, placing his stole on my head, demanded, “Did I -believe in God, and the holy Catholic church?” Instead of answering, I -shrieked, flung off the stole, and trampled in agony on the steps of the -altar. The Bishop retreated, while the Superior and the rest advanced. I -collected courage as I saw them approach; and, without uttering a word, -pointed to the pieces of broken glass which had been thrown on the steps -where I stood, and which had pierced me through my torn sandals. The -Bishop instantly ordered a monk to sweep them away with the sleeve of -his tunic. The order was obeyed in a moment, and the next I stood before -him without fear or pain. He continued to ask, “Why do you not pray in -the church?”--“Because its doors are shut against me.”--“How? what is -this? A memorial is in my hands urging many complaints against you, and -this among the first, that you do not pray in the church.”--“I have told -you the doors of the church are shut against me.--Alas! I could no more -open them, than I could open the hearts of the community--every thing is -shut against me here.” He turned to the Superior, who answered, “The -doors of the church are always shut to the enemies of God.” The Bishop -said, with his usual stern calmness, “I am asking a plain -question--evasive and circuitous answers will not do. Have the doors of -the church been shut against this wretched being?--have you denied him -the privilege of addressing God?”--“I did so, because I thought and -believed--” “I ask not what you thought or believed; I ask a plain -answer to a matter-of-fact question. Did you, or did you not, deny him -access to the house of God?”--“I had reason to believe that--” “I warn -you, these answers may compel me to make you exchange situations in one -moment with the object you accuse. Did you, or did you not, shut the -doors of the church against him?--answer yes or no.” The Superior, -trembling with fear and rage, said, “I did; and I was justified in doing -so.”--“That is for another tribunal to judge. But it seems you plead -guilty to the fact of which you accuse him.” The Superior was dumb. The -Bishop then examining his paper, addressed me again, “How is it that the -monks cannot sleep in their cells from the disturbance you cause?”--“I -know not--you must ask them.”--“Does not the evil spirit visit you -nightly? Are not your blasphemies, your execrable impurities, disgorged -even in the ears of those who have the misfortune to be placed near you? -Are you not the terror and the torment of the whole community?” I -answered, “I am what they have made me. I do not deny there are -extraordinary noises in my cell, but they can best account for them. I -am assailed by whispers close to my bed-side: It seems these whispers -reach the ears of the brethren, for they burst into my cell, and take -advantage of the terror with which I am overwhelmed, to put the most -incredible constructions on it.”--“Are there no cries, then, heard in -your cell at night?”--“Yes, cries of terror--cries uttered not by one -who is celebrating infernal orgies, but dreading them.”--“But the -blasphemies, the imprecations, the impurities, which proceed from your -lips?”--“Sometimes, in irrepressible terror, I have repeated the sounds -that were suggested to my ears; but it was always with an exclamation of -horror and aversion, that proved these sounds were not _uttered_ but -_echoed_ by me,--as a man may take up a reptile in his hand, and gaze on -its hideousness a moment, before he flings it from him. I take the whole -community to witness the truth of this. The cries I uttered, the -expressions I used, were evidently those of hostility to the infernal -suggestions which had been breathed into my ears. Ask the whole -community--they must testify, that when they broke into my cell, they -found me alone, trembling, convulsed. That I was the victim of those -disturbances, they affected to complain of; and though I never was able -to guess the means by which this persecution was effected, I am not rash -in ascribing it to the hands that covered the walls of my cell with -representations of demons, the traces of which still remain.”--“You are -also accused of having burst into the church at midnight, defaced the -images, trampled on the crucifix, and performed all the acts of a demon -violating the sanctuary.” At this accusation, so unjust and cruel, I was -agitated beyond controul. I exclaimed, “I flew to the church for -protection in a paroxysm of terror, which their machinations had filled -me with! I flew there at night, because it was shut against me during -the day, as you have discovered! I prostrated myself before the cross, -instead of trampling on it! I embraced the images of the blessed saints, -instead of violating them! And I doubt whether prayers more sincere were -ever offered within these walls, than those I uttered that night amid -helplessness, terror, and persecutions!”--“Did you not obstruct and -deter the community next morning by your cries, as they attempted to -enter the church?”--“I was paralyzed from the effects of lying all night -on the stone pavement, where they had flung me. I attempted to rise and -crawl away at their approach, and a few cries of pain were extorted from -me by my efforts to do so--efforts rendered more painful by their -refusing to offer me the slightest assistance. In a word, the whole is a -fabrication. I flew to the church to implore for mercy, and they -represent it as the outrages of an apostate spirit. Might not the same -arbitrary and absurd construction be put on the daily visits of -multitudes of afflicted souls, who weep and groan audibly as I did? If I -attempted to overturn the crucifix, to deface the images, would not the -marks of this violence remain? Would they not have been preserved with -care, to substantiate the accusation against me? Is there a trace of -them?--there is not, there cannot be, because they never existed.” The -Bishop paused. An appeal to his feelings would have been vain, but this -appeal to facts had its full effect. After some time, he said, “You can -have no objection, then, to render before the whole community the same -homage to the representations of the Redeemer and the holy saints, that -you say it was your purpose to render them that night?”--“None.” A -crucifix was brought me, which I kissed with reverence and unction, and -prayed, while the tears streamed from my eyes, an interest in the -infinite merits of the sacrifice it represented. The Bishop then said, -“Make a deed of faith, of love, of hope.” I did so; and though they were -extempore, my expressions, I could perceive, made the dignified -ecclesiastics who attended on the Bishop, cast on each other looks in -which were mingled compassion, interest, and admiration. The Bishop -said, “Where did you learn those prayers?”--“My heart is my only -teacher--I have no other--I am allowed no book.”--“How!--recollect what -you say.”--“I repeat I have none. They have taken away my breviary, my -crucifix;--they have stript my cell of all its furniture. I kneel on the -floor--I pray from the heart. If you deign to visit my cell, you will -find I have told you the truth.” At these words, the Bishop cast a -terrible look on the Superior. He recovered himself, however, -immediately, for he was a man unaccustomed to any emotion, and felt it -at once a suspension of his habits, and an infringement of his rank. In -a cold voice he bid me retire; then, as I was obeying him, he recalled -me,--my appearance for the first time seemed to strike him. He was a man -so absorbed in the contemplation of that waveless and frozen tide of -duty in which his mind was anchored, without fluctuation, progress, or -improvement, that physical objects must be presented before him a long -time before they made the least impression on him,--his senses were -almost ossified. Thus he had come to examine a supposed demoniac; but he -had made up his mind that there must be injustice and imposture in the -case, and he acted in the matter with a spirit, decision, and integrity, -that did him honour. - -“But, all the time, the horror and misery of my appearance, which would -have made the first impression on a man whose feelings were at all -_external_, made the last. They struck him as I slowly and painfully -crawled from the steps of the altar, and the impression was forcible in -proportion to its slowness. He called me back and inquired, as if he saw -me for the first time, “How is it your habit is so scandalously ragged?” -At these words I thought I could disclose a scene that would have added -to the Superior’s humiliation, but I only said, “It is the consequence -of the ill treatment I have experienced.” Several other questions of the -same kind, relating to my appearance, which was deplorable enough, -followed, and at last I was forced to make a full discovery. The Bishop -was incensed at the detail more than was credible. Rigid minds, when -they yield themselves to emotion, do it with a vehemence inconceivable, -for to them every thing is a duty, and passion (when it occurs) among -the rest. Perhaps the novelty of emotion, too, may be a delightful -surprise to them. - -“More than all this was the case now with the good Bishop, who was as -pure as he was rigid, and shrunk with horror, disgust, and indignation, -at the detail I was compelled to give, which the Superior trembled at my -uttering, and which the community dared not to contradict. He resumed -his cold manner; for to him feeling was an effort, and rigour a habit, -and he ordered me again to retire. I obeyed, and went to my cell. The -walls were as bare as I had described them, but, even contrasted with -all the splendour and array of the scene in the church, they seemed -emblazoned with my triumph. A dazzling vision passed before me for a -moment, then all subsided; and, in the solitude of my cell, I knelt and -implored the Almighty to touch the Bishop’s heart, and impress on him -the moderation and simplicity with which I had spoken. As I was thus -employed, I heard steps in the passage. They ceased for a moment, and I -was silent. It appeared the persons overheard me, and paused; and these -few words, uttered in solitude, made, I found, a deep impression on -them. A few moments after the Bishop, with some dignified attendants, -followed by the Superior, entered my cell. The former all stopped, -horror-struck at its appearance. - -“I have told you, Sir, that my cell now consisted of four bare walls and -a bed;--it was a scandalous, degrading sight. I was kneeling in the -middle of the floor, God knows, without the least idea of producing an -effect. The Bishop gazed around him for some time, while the -ecclesiastics who attended him testified their horror by looks and -attitudes that needed no interpretation. The Bishop, after a pause, -turned to the Superior, “Well, what do you say to this?” The Superior -hesitated, and at last said, “I was ignorant of this.”--“That is false,” -said the Bishop; “and even if it was true, it would be your crimination, -not your apology. Your duty binds you to visit the cells every day; how -could you be ignorant of the shameful state of this cell, without -neglecting your own duties?” He took several turns about the cell, -followed by the ecclesiastics, shrugging their shoulders, and throwing -on each other looks of disgust. The Superior stood dismayed. They went -out, and I could hear the Bishop say, in the passage, “All this disorder -must be rectified before I quit the house.” And to the Superior, “You -are unworthy of the situation you hold,--you ought to be deposed.” And -he added in severer tones, “Catholics, monks, Christians, this is -shocking,--horrible! tremble for the consequences of my next visit, if -the same disorders exist,--I promise you it shall be repeated soon.” He -then returned, and standing at the door of my cell, said to the -Superior, “Take care that all the abuses committed in this cell are -rectified before to-morrow morning.” The Superior signified his -submission to this order in silence. - -“That evening I went to sleep on a bare mattress, between four dry -walls. I slept profoundly, from exhaustion and fatigue. I awoke in the -morning far beyond the time for matins, and found myself surrounded by -all the comforts that can be bestowed on a cell. As if magic had been -employed during my sleep, crucifix, breviary, desk, table, every thing -was replaced. I sprung from bed, and actually gazed in extasy around my -cell. As the day advanced, and the hour for refection approached, my -extasy abated, and my terrors increased;--it is not easy to pass from -extreme humiliation and utter abhorrence, to your former state in the -society of which you are a member. When the bell rung I went down. I -stood at the door for a moment,--then, with an impulse, like despair, I -entered, and took my usual place. No opposition was made,--not a word -was said. The community separated after dinner. I watched for the toll -of the bell for vespers,--I imagined that would be decisive. The bell -tolled at last,--the monks assembled. I joined them without -opposition,--I took my place in the choir,--my triumph was complete, and -I trembled at it. Alas! in what moment of success do we not feel a -sensation of terror? Our destiny always acts the part of the ancient -slave to us, who was required every morning to remind the monarch that -he was a man; and it seldom neglects to fulfil its own predictions -before the evening. Two days passed away,--the storm that had so long -agitated us, seemed to have sunk into a sudden calm. I resumed my former -place,--I performed the customary duties,--no one congratulated or -reviled me. They all seemed to consider me as one beginning monastic -life _de novo_. I passed two days of perfect tranquillity, and I take -God to witness, I enjoyed this triumph with moderation. I never reverted -to my former situation,--I never reproached those who had been agents in -it,--I never uttered a syllable on the subject of the visitation, which -had made me and the whole convent change places in the space of a few -hours, and the oppressed take the part (if he pleased) of the oppressor. -I bore my success with temperance, for I was supported by the hope of -liberation. The Superior’s triumph was soon to come. - -“On the third morning I was summoned to the parlour, where a messenger -put into my hands a packet, containing (as I well understood) the result -of my appeal. This, according to the rules of the convent, I was -compelled to put first into the hands of the Superior to read, before I -was permitted to read it myself. I took the packet, and slowly walked to -the Superior’s apartment. As I held it in my hand, I considered it, felt -every corner, weighed it over and over again in my hand, tried to catch -an omen from its very shape. Then a withering thought crossed me, that, -if its intelligence was auspicious, the messenger would have put it into -my hands with an air of triumph, that, in spite of convent etiquette, I -might break open the seals which inclosed the sentence of my liberation. -We are very apt to take our presages from our destination, and mine -being that of a monk, no wonder its auguries were black,--and were -verified. - -“I approached the Superior’s cell with the packet. I knocked, was -desired to enter, and, my eyes cast down, could only distinguish the -hems of many habits, whose wearers were all assembled in the Superior’s -apartment. I offered the packet with reverence. The Superior cast a -careless eye over it, and then flung it on the floor. One of the monks -approached to take it up. The Superior exclaimed, “Hold, let _him_ take -it up.” I did so, and retired to my cell, making first a profound -reverence to the Superior. I then went to my cell, where I sat down with -the fatal packet in my hands. I was about to open it, when a voice from -within me seemed to say,--It is useless, you must know the contents -already. It was some hours before I perused it,--it contained the -account of the failure of my appeal. It seemed, from the detail, that -the advocate had exerted his abilities, zeal, and eloquence to the -utmost; and that, at one time, the court had been near deciding in -favour of my claims, but the precedent was reckoned too dangerous. The -advocate on the other side had remarked, “If this succeeds, we shall -have all the monks in Spain appealing against their vows.” Could a -stronger argument have been used in favour of my cause? An impulse so -universal must surely originate in nature, justice, and truth.” - - * * * * * - -On reverting to the disastrous issue of his appeal, the unfortunate -Spaniard was so much overcome, that it was some days before he could -resume his narrative. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - Pandere res alta terrâ et caligine mersas. - - I’ll shew your Grace the strangest sight,-- - Body o’me, what is it, Butts?-- - - HENRY THE EIGHTH. - - -“Of the desolation of mind into which the rejection of my appeal plunged -me, I can give no account, for I retain no distinguishing image. All -colours disappear in the night, and despair has no diary,--monotony is -her essence and her curse. Hours have I walked in the garden, without -retaining a single impression but that of the sounds of my -footsteps;--thought, feeling, passion, and all that employs them,--life -and futurity, extinct and swallowed up. I was already like an inhabitant -of the land where “all things are forgotten.” I hovered on the regions -of mental twilight, where the “light is as darkness.” The clouds were -gathering that portended the approach of utter night,--they were -scattered by a sudden and extraordinary light. - -“The garden was my constant resort,--a kind of instinct supplying the -place of that choice I had no longer energy enough to make, directed me -there to avoid the presence of the monks. One evening I saw a change in -its appearance. The fountain was out of repair. The spring that supplied -it was beyond the walls of the convent, and the workmen, in prosecuting -the repairs, had found it necessary to excavate a passage under the -garden-wall, that communicated with an open space in the city. This -passage, however, was closely watched during the day while the workmen -were employed, and well secured at night by a door erected for the -purpose, which was chained, barred, and bolted, the moment the workmen -quitted the passage. It was, however, left open during the day; and this -tantalizing image of escape and freedom, amid the withering certainty of -eternal imprisonment, gave a kind of awakened sting to the pains that -were becoming obtuse. I entered the passage, and drew as close as -possible to the door that shut me out from life. My seat was one of the -stones that were scattered about, my head rested on my hand, and my eyes -were sadly fixed on the _tree and the well_, the scene of that false -miracle. I knew not how long I sat thus. I was aroused by a slight noise -near me, and perceived a paper, which some one was thrusting under the -door, where a slight inequality in the ground rendered the attempt just -practicable. I stooped and attempted to seize it. It was withdrawn; but -a moment after a voice, whose tones my agitation did not permit me to -distinguish, whispered, “Alonzo.”--“Yes,--yes,” I answered eagerly. The -paper was instantly thrust into my hands, and I heard a sound of steps -retreating rapidly. I lost not a moment in reading the few words it -contained. “Be here to-morrow evening at the same hour. I have suffered -much on your account,--destroy this.” It was the hand of my brother -Juan, that hand so well remembered from our late eventful -correspondence,--that hand whose traces I never beheld without feeling -corresponding characters of hope and confidence retraced in my soul, as -lines before invisible appear on exposure to the heat that seems to -vivify them. I am surprised that between this and the following evening -my agitation did not betray me to the community. But perhaps it is only -agitation arising from frivolous causes, that vents itself in external -indications,--I was absorbed in mine. It is certain, at least, that my -mind was all that day vacillating like a clock that struck every minute -the alternate sounds, “_There is hope,--there is no hope._” The -day,--the eternal day, was at last over. Evening came on; how I watched -the advancing shades! At vespers, with what delight did I trace the -gradual mellowing of the gold and purple tinges that gleamed through the -great eastern window, and calculated that their western decline, though -slower, must come at last!--It came. Never was a more propitious -evening. It was calm and dark--the garden deserted, not a form to be -seen, not a step to be heard in the walks.--I hurried on. Suddenly I -thought I heard the sound of something pursuing me. I paused,--it was -but the beating of my own heart, audible in the deep stillness of that -eventful moment. I pressed my hand on my breast, as a mother would on an -infant whom she tried to pacify;--it did not cease to throb, however. I -entered the passage. I approached the door, of which hope and despair -seemed to stand the alternate portresses. The words still rung in my -ears, “Be here to-morrow evening at the same hour.” I stooped, and saw, -with eyes that devoured the sight, a piece of paper appear under the -door. I seized and buried it in my habit. I trembled with such ecstacy, -that I thought I never should be able to carry it undiscovered to my -cell. I succeeded, however; and the contents, when I read them, -justified my emotion. To my unspeakable uneasiness, great part of it was -illegible, from being crushed amid the stones and damp clay contiguous -to the door, and from the first page I could hardly extract that he had -been kept in the country almost a prisoner, through the influence of the -Director; that one day, while shooting with only one attendant, the hope -of liberation suddenly filled him with the idea of terrifying this man -into submission. Presenting his loaded fowling piece at the terrified -wretch, he threatened him with instant death, if he made the least -opposition. The man suffered himself to be bound to a tree; and the next -page, though much defaced, gave me to understand he had reached Madrid -in safety, and heard for the first time the event of my ill-fated -appeal. The effect of this intelligence on the impetuous, sanguine, and -affectionate Juan, could be easily traced in the broken and irregular -lines in which he vainly attempted to describe it. The letter then -proceeded. “I am now in Madrid, pledged body and soul never to quit it -till you are liberated. If you possess resolution, this is not -impossible,--the doors even of convents are not inaccessible to a silver -key. My first object, that of obtaining a communication with you, -appeared as impracticable as your escape, yet it has been accomplished. -I understood that repairs were going on in the garden, and stationed -myself at the door evening after evening, whispering your name, but it -was not till the sixth that you were there.” - -“In another part he detailed his plans more fully. “Money and secrecy -are the primary objects,--the latter I can insure by the disguises I -wear, but the former I scarce know how to obtain. My escape was so -sudden, that I was wholly unprovided, and have been obliged to dispose -of my watch and rings since I reached Madrid, to purchase disguises and -procure subsistence. I could command what sums I pleased by disclosing -my name, but this would be fatal. The report of my being in Madrid would -immediately reach my father’s ears. My resource must be a Jew; and when -I have obtained money, I have little doubt of effecting your liberation. -I have already heard of a person in the convent under very extraordinary -circumstances, who would probably not be disinclined to * * * * * * * - -“Here a long interval occurred in the letter, which appeared to be -written at different times. The next lines that I could trace, expressed -all the light-heartedness of this most fiery, volatile, and generous of -created beings. * * * * * * - -“Be not under the least uneasiness about me, it is impossible that I -should be discovered. At school I was remarkable for a dramatic talent, -a power of personation almost incredible, and which I now find of -infinite service. Sometimes I strut as a _Majo_(4), with enormous -whiskers. Sometimes I assume the accent of a Biscayan, and, like the -husband of Donna Rodriguez, “am as good a gentleman as the king, because -I came from the mountains.” But my favourite disguise is that of a -mendicant or a fortune-teller,--the former procures me access to the -convent, the other money and intelligence. Thus I am paid, while I -appear to be the buyer. When the wanderings and stratagems of the day -are over, you would smile to see the loft and pallet to which the heir -of Monçada retires. This masquerade amuses _me_ more than the -spectators. A consciousness of our superiority is often more delightful -when confined to our own breasts, than when expressed by others. -Besides, I feel as if the squalid bed, the tottering seat, the cobwebbed -rafters, the rancid oil, and all the other _agremens_ of my new abode, -were a kind of atonement for the wrongs I have done you, Alonzo. My -spirits sometimes sink under privations so new to me, but still a kind -of playful and wild energy, peculiar to my character, supports me. I -shudder at my situation when I retire at night, and place, for the first -time _with my own hands_, the lamp on the miserable hearth; but I laugh -when, in the morning, I attire myself in fantastic rags, discolour my -face, and modulate my accent, so that the people in the house, (where I -tenant a garret), when they meet me on the stairs, do not know the being -they saw the preceding evening. I change my abode and costume every day. -Feel no fears for me, but come every evening to the door in the passage, -for every evening I shall have fresh intelligence for you. My industry -is indefatigable, my zeal unquenchable, my heart and soul are on fire in -the cause. Again I pledge myself, soul and body, never to quit this spot -till you are free,--_depend on me, Alonzo_.” - - (4) Something between a bully and a rake. - -“I will spare you, Sir, the detail of the feelings,--feelings! Oh my -God, pardon me the prostration of heart with which I kissed those lines, -with which I could have consecrated the hand that traced them, and which -are worthy only to be devoted to the image of the great Sacrifice. Yet a -being so young, so generous, so devoted, with a heart at once so wild -and warm, sacrificing all that rank, and youth, and pleasure could -offer,--submitting to the vilest disguises, undergoing the most -deplorable privations, struggling with what must have been most -intolerable to a proud voluptuous boy, (and I knew he was all this), -hiding his revoltings under a gaiety that was assumed, and a magnanimity -that was real--and all this for me!----Oh what I felt! * * * * * * - -“The next evening I was at the door; no paper appeared, though I sat -watching for it till the declining light made it impossible for me to -discover it, had it been there. The next I was more fortunate; it -appeared. The same disguised voice whispered “Alonzo,” in tones that -were the sweetest music that ever reached my ears. This billet contained -but a very few lines, (so I found no difficulty in _swallowing it_ -immediately after perusal). It said, “I have found a Jew, at last, who -will advance me a large sum. He pretends not to know me, though I am -satisfied he does.--But his usurious interest and illegal practices are -my full security. I shall be master of the means of liberating you in a -few days; and I have been fortunate enough to discover how those means -may be applied. There is a wretch----” - -“Here the billet ended; and for four following evenings the state of the -repairs excited so much curiosity in the convent, (where it is so easy -to excite curiosity), that I dared not to remain in the passage, without -the fear of exciting suspicion. All this time I suffered not only the -agony of suspended hope, but the dread of this accidental communication -being finally closed; for I knew the workmen could not have more than a -few days to employ on their task. This I conveyed the intelligence of to -my brother in the same way in which I received his billets. Then I -reproached myself for hurrying him. I reflected on the difficulties of -his concealment--of his dealing with Jews--of his bribing the servants -of the convent. I thought of all he had undertaken, and all he had -undergone. Then I dreaded that all might be in vain. I would not live -over those four days again to be sovereign of the earth. I will give you -one slight proof of what I must have felt, when I heard the workmen say, -“It will be finished soon.” I used to rise at an hour before matins, -displace the stones, trample on the mortar, which I mingled with the -clay, so as to render it totally useless; and finally, _re-act -Penelope’s web_ with such success, that the workmen believed the devil -himself was obstructing their operations, and latterly never came to -their task unless armed with a vessel of holy water, which they dashed -about with infinite sanctimony and profusion. On the fifth evening I -caught the following lines beneath the door. “All is settled--I have -fixed the Jew on _Jewish terms_. He affects to be ignorant of my real -rank, and certain (_future_) wealth, but he knows it all, and dare not, -for his own sake, betray me. The Inquisition, to which I could expose -him in a moment, is my best security--I must add, my _only_. There is a -wretch in your convent, who took sanctuary from _parricide_, and -consented to become a monk, to escape the vengeance of heaven in this -life at least. I have heard, that this monster cut his own father’s -throat, as he sat at supper, to obtain a small sum which he had lost at -gambling. His partner, who was a loser also, had, it seems, made a vow -to an image of the Virgin, that was in the neighbourhood of the wretched -house where they gamed, to present two wax tapers before it in the event -of his success. He lost; and, in the fury of a gamester, as he repassed -the image, he struck and spit at it. This was very shocking--but what -was it to the crime of him who is now an inmate of your convent? The one -defaced an image, the other murdered his father: Yet the former expired -under tortures the most horrible, and the other, after some vain efforts -to elude justice, _took sanctuary_, and is now a lay-brother in your -convent. On the crimes of this wretch I build all my hopes. His soul -must be saturated with avarice, sensuality, and desperation. There is -nothing he will hesitate at if he be bribed;--for money he will -undertake your liberation--for money he will undertake to strangle you -in your cell. He envies Judas the thirty pieces of silver for which the -Redeemer of mankind was sold. _His_ soul might be purchased at -half-price. Such is the instrument with which I must work.--It is -horrible, but necessary. I have read, that from the most venomous -reptiles and plants, have been extracted the most sanative medicines. I -will squeeze the juice, and trample on the weed. - -“Alonzo, tremble not at these words. Let not your habits prevail over -your character. Entrust your liberation to me, and the instruments I am -compelled to work with; and doubt not, that the hand which traces these -lines, will soon be clasping that of a brother in freedom.” - -“I read these lines over and over again in the solitude of my cell, when -the excitement of watching for, secreting, and perusing it _for the -first time_, were over, and many doubts and fears began to gather round -me like twilight clouds. In proportion as Juan’s confidence increased, -mine appeared to diminish. There was a terrifying contrast between the -fearlessness, independence, and enterprise of _his_ situation, and the -loneliness, timidity, and danger of mine. While the hope of escape, -through his courage and address, still burnt like an inextinguishable -light in the depth of my heart, I still dreaded entrusting my destiny to -a youth so impetuous, though so affectionate; one who had fled from his -parents’ mansion, was living by subterfuge and imposture in Madrid, and -had engaged, as his coadjutor, a wretch whom nature must revolt from. -Upon whom and what did my hopes of liberation rest? On the affectionate -energies of a wild, enterprising, and unaided being, and the -co-operation of a demon, who might snatch at a bribe, and then shake it -in triumph in his ears, as the seal of our mutual and eternal despair, -while he flung the key of liberation into an abyss where no light could -penetrate, and from which no arm could redeem it. - -“Under these impressions, I deliberated, I prayed, I wept in the agony -of doubt. At last I wrote a few lines to Juan, in which I honestly -stated my doubts and apprehensions. I stated first my doubts of the -possibility of my escape. I said, “Can it be imagined that a being whom -all Madrid, whom all Spain, is on the watch for, can elude their -detection? Reflect, dear Juan, that I am staked against a community, a -priesthood, a nation. The escape of a monk is almost impossible,--but -his concealment afterwards is downright impossible. Every bell in every -convent in Spain would ring out _untouched_ in pursuit of the fugitive. -The military, civil, and ecclesiastical powers, would all be on the “qui -vive.” Hunted, panting, and despairing, I might fly from place to -place--no place affording me shelter. The incensed powers of the -church--the fierce and vigorous gripe of the law--the execration and -hatred of society--the suspicions of the lowest order among whom I must -lurk, to shun and curse their penetration; think of encountering all -this, while the fiery cross of the Inquisition blazes in the van, -followed by the whole pack, shouting, cheering, hallooing on to the -prey. Oh Juan! if you knew the terrors under which I live--under which I -would rather die than encounter them again, even on the condition of -liberation! Liberation! Great God! what chance of liberation for a monk -in Spain? There is not a cottage where I could rest one night in -security--there is not a cavern whose echoes would not resound to the -cry of my apostacy. If I was hid in the bowels of the earth, they would -discover me, and tear me from its entrails. My beloved Juan, when I -consider the omnipotence of the ecclesiastical power in Spain, may I not -address it in the language applied to Omnipotence itself: “If I climb up -to heaven, thou art _there_;--if I go down to hell, thou art _there_ -also;--if I take the wings of the morning, and flee unto the _uttermost -parts of the sea_, _even there_--” And suppose my liberation was -accomplished--suppose the convent plunged in a profound torpor, and the -unsleeping eye of the Inquisition winked at my apostacy--where am I to -reside? how am I to procure subsistence? The luxurious indolence of my -early years unfit me for active employment. The horrible conflict of -apathy the deepest, with hostility the most deadly, in monastic life, -disqualifies me for society. Throw the doors of every convent in Spain -open, and for what will their inmates be fit? For nothing that will -either embellish or improve it. What could I do to serve myself?--what -could I do that would not betray me? I should be a persecuted, -breathless fugitive,--a branded _Cain_. Alas!--perhaps expiring in -flames, I might see _Abel_ not _my_ victim, but that of the -Inquisition.” - -“When I had written these lines, with an impulse for which all can -account but the writer, I tore them to atoms, burnt them deliberately by -the assistance of the lamp in my cell, and went to watch again at the -door in the passage--the door of hope. In passing through the gallery, I -encountered, for a moment, a person of a most forbidding aspect. I drew -on one side--for I had made it a point not to mix, in the slightest -degree, with the community, beyond what the discipline of the house -compelled me to. As he passed, however, he touched my habit, and gave a -most significant look. I immediately comprehended this was the person -Juan alluded to in his letter. And in a few moments after, on descending -to the garden, I found a note that confirmed my conjectures. It -contained these words: “I have procured the money--I have secured our -agent. He is an incarnate devil, but his resolution and intrepidity are -unquestionable. Walk in the cloister to-morrow evening--some one will -touch your habit--grasp his left wrist, that will be the signal. If he -hesitates, whisper to him--“Juan,” he will answer--“Alonzo.” That is -your man, consult with him. Every step that I have taken will be -communicated to you by him.” - -“After reading these lines, I appeared to myself like a piece of -mechanism wound up to perform certain functions, in which its -co-operation was irresistible. The precipitate vigour of Juan’s -movements seemed to impel mine without my own concurrence; and as the -shortness of the time left me no opportunity for deliberation, it left -me also none for choice. I was like a clock whose hands are pushed -forward, and I struck the hours I was impelled to strike. When a -powerful agency is thus exercised on us,--when another undertakes to -think, feel, and act for us, we are delighted to transfer to him, not -only our physical, but our moral responsibility. We say, with selfish -cowardice, and self-flattering passiveness, “Be it so--you have decided -for me,”--without reflecting that at the bar of God there is no bail. So -I walked the next evening in the cloister. I composed my habit,--my -looks; any one would have imagined me plunged in profound -meditation,--and so I was, but not on the subjects with which they -conceived I was occupied. As I walked, some one touched my habit. I -started, and, to my consternation, one of the monks asked my pardon for -the sleeve of his tunic having touched mine. Two minutes after another -touched my habit. I felt the difference,--there was an intelligential -and communicative force in his grasp. He seized it as one who did not -fear to be known, and who had no need to apologise. How is it that crime -thus seizes us in life with a fearless grasp, while the touch of -conscience trembles on the verge of our garment. One would almost parody -the words of the well known Italian proverb, and say that guilt is -masculine, and innocence feminine. _I grasped his wrist_ with a -trembling hand, and whispered--“Juan,” in the same breath. He -answered--“Alonzo,” and passed me onward in a moment. I had then a few -moments leisure to reflect on a destiny thus singularly entrusted to a -being whose affections honoured humanity, and a being whose crimes -disgraced it. I was suspended like Mahomet’s tomb between heaven and -earth. I felt an antipathy indescribable to hold any communication with -a monster who had tried to hide the stains of parricide, by casting over -their bloody and ineffaceable traces the shroud of monasticism. I felt -also an inexpressible terror of Juan’s passions and precipitancy; and I -felt ultimately that I was in the power of all I dreaded most, and must -submit to the operation of that power for my liberation. - -“I was in the cloisters the following evening. I cannot say I walked -with a step so equal, but I am sure I did with a step much more -artificially regular. For the second time the same person touched my -habit, and whispered the name of Juan. After this I could no longer -hesitate. I said, in passing, “I am in your power.” A hoarse repulsive -voice answered, “No, I am in yours.” I murmured, “Well, then, I -understand you, we belong to each other.”--“Yes. We must not speak here, -but a fortunate opportunity presents itself for our communication. -To-morrow will be the eve of the feast of Pentecost; the vigil is kept -by the whole community, who go two and two every hour to the altar, pass -their hour in prayer, and then are succeeded by two more, and this -continues all night. Such is the aversion with which you have inspired -the community, that they have one and all refused to accompany you -during your hour, which is to be from two till three. You will therefore -be alone, and during your hour I will come and visit you,--we shall be -undisturbed and unsuspected.” At these words he quitted me. The next -night was the eve of Pentecost, the monks went two and two all night to -the altar,--at two o’clock my turn arrived. They rapped at my cell, and -I descended to the church alone.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - Ye monks and nuns throughout the land, - Who go to church at night in pairs, - Never take bell-ropes in your hands, - To raise you up again from prayers. - - COLMAN. - - -“I am not superstitious, but, as I entered the church, I felt a chill of -body and soul inexpressible. I approached the altar, and attempted to -kneel,--an invisible hand repelled me. A voice seemed to address me from -the recesses of the altar, and demand what brought me there? I reflected -that those who had just quitted that spot had been absorbed in prayer, -that those who were to succeed me would be engaged in the same profound -homage, while I sought the church with a purpose of imposture and -deception, and abused the hour allotted to the divine worship in -contriving the means to escape from it. I felt I was a deceiver, -shrouding my fraud in the very veils of the temple. I trembled at my -purpose and at myself. I knelt, however, though I did not dare to pray. -The steps of the altar felt unusually cold,--I shuddered at the silence -I was compelled to observe. Alas! how can we expect that object to -succeed, which we dare not entrust to God. Prayer, Sir, when we are -deeply engaged in it, not only makes us eloquent, but communicates a -kind of answering eloquence to the objects around us. At former times, -while I poured out my heart before God, I felt as if the lamps burnt -brighter, and the images smiled,--the silent midnight air was filled -with forms and voices, and every breeze that sighed by the casement bore -to my ear the harpings of a thousand angels. Now all was stilled,--the -lamps, the images, the altar, the roof, seemed to behold me in silence. -They surrounded me like witnesses, whose presence alone is enough to -condemn you, without their uttering a word. I dared not look up,--I -dared not speak,--I dared not pray, lest it would unfold a thought I -could not supplicate a blessing on; and this kind of keeping a secret, -which God must know, is at once so vain and impious. - -“I had not remained long in this state of agitation, when I heard a step -approach,--it was that of him I expected. “Rise,” said he, for I was on -my knees; “rise,--we have no time to lose. You have but an hour to -remain in the church, and I have much to tell you in that hour.” I rose. -“To-morrow night is fixed for your escape.”--“To-morrow night,--merciful -God!”--“Yes; in desperate steps there is always more danger from delay -than from precipitation. A thousand eyes and ears are on the watch -already,--a single sinister or ambiguous movement would render it -impossible to escape their vigilance. There may be some danger in -hastening matters thus, but it is unavoidable. To-morrow night, after -midnight, descend to the church, it is probable no one will then be -here. If any one should, (engaged in recollection or in penance), retire -to avoid suspicion. Return as soon as the church is empty,--I will be -here. Do you observe that door?” and he pointed to a low door which I -had often observed before, but never remembered to have seen opened; “I -have obtained the key of that door,--no matter by what means. It -formerly led to the vaults of the convent, but, for some extraordinary -reasons, which I have not time to relate, another passage has been -opened, and the former has not been employed or frequented for many -years. From thence branches another passage, which, I have heard, opens -by a trap-door into the garden.”--“Heard,” I repeated; “Good God! is it -on report, then, you depend in a matter so momentous? If you are not -certain that such a passage exists, and that you will be able to trace -its windings, may we not be wandering amid them all night? Or -perhaps----” “Interrupt me no more with those faint objections; I have -no time to listen to fears which I can neither sympathise with or -obviate. When we get through the trap-door into the garden, (if ever we -do), another danger awaits us.” He paused, I thought, like a man who is -watching the effect of the terrors he excites, not from malignity but -vanity, merely to magnify his own courage in encountering them. I was -silent; and, as he heard neither flattery nor fear, he went on. “Two -fierce dogs are let loose in the garden every night,--but they must be -taken care of. The wall is sixteen feet high,--but your brother has -provided a ladder of ropes, which he will fling over, and by which you -may descend on the other side in safety.”--“Safety! but then Juan will -be in danger.”--“Interrupt me no more,--the danger within the walls is -the least you have to dread, beyond them, where can you seek for refuge -or secrecy? Your brother’s money will enable you possibly to escape from -Madrid. He will bribe high, and every inch of your way must be paved -with his gold. But, after that, so many dangers present themselves, that -the enterprise and the danger seem but just begun. How will you cross -the Pyrennees? How----” and he passed his hand over his forehead, with -the air of a man engaged in an effort beyond his powers, and sorely -perplexed about the means to effect it. This expression, so full of -sincerity, struck me forcibly. It operated as a balance against all my -former prepossessions. But still the more confidence I felt in him, the -more I was impressed by his fears. I repeated after him, “How is it -possible for me to escape ultimately? I may, by your assistance, -traverse those intricate passages, whose cold dews I feel already -distilling on me. I may emerge into light, ascend and descend the wall, -but, after that, how am I to escape?--how am I even to live? All Spain -is but one great monastery,--I must be a prisoner every step that I -take.”--“Your brother must look to that,” said he abruptly; “I have done -what I have undertaken.” I then pressed him with several questions -relating to the details of my escape. His answer was monotonous, -unsatisfactory, and evasive, to a degree that again filled me first with -suspicion, and then with terror. I asked, “But how have you obtained -possession of the keys?”--“It is not your business to inquire.” It was -singular that he returned the same answer to every question I put to -him, relative to his becoming possessed of the means to facilitate my -escape, so that I was compelled to desist unsatisfied, and revert to -what he had told me.--“But, then, that terrible passage near the -vaults,--the chance, the fear that we may never emerge to light! Think -of wandering amid sepulchral ruins, of stumbling over the bones of the -dead, of encountering what I cannot describe,--the horror of being among -those who are neither the living or the dead;--those dark and shadowless -things that sport themselves with the reliques of the dead, and feast -and love amid corruption,--ghastly, mocking, and terrific. _Must_ we -pass near the vaults?”--“What matter? perhaps I have more reason to -dread them than you. Do _you_ expect the spirit of your father to start -from the earth to blast you?” At these words, which he uttered in a tone -intended to inspire me with confidence, I shuddered with horror. They -were uttered by a parricide, boasting of his crime in a church at -midnight, amid saints, whose images were silent, but seemed to tremble. -For relief I reverted to the unscaleable wall, and the difficulty of -managing the ladder of ropes without detection. The same answer was on -his lips,--“Leave that to me,--all that is settled.” While he answered -thus, he always turned his face away, and broke his words into -monosyllables. At last I felt that the case was desperate,--that I must -trust every thing to him. _To him!_ Oh, my God! what I felt when I said -this to myself! The conviction thrilled on my soul,--I am in his power. -And yet, even under the impression, I could not help recurring to the -impracticable difficulties that appeared to obstruct my escape. He then -lost patience,--reproached me with timidity and ingratitude; and, while -resuming his naturally ferocious and menacing tone, I actually felt more -confidence in him than when he had attempted to disguise it. -Half-remonstrance, half-invective as it was, what he said displayed so -much ability, intrepidity, and art, that I began to feel a kind of -doubtful security. I conceived, at least, that if any being on earth -could effect my liberation, this was the man. He had no conception of -fear,--no idea of conscience. When he hinted at his having murdered his -father, it was done to impress me with an idea of his hardihood. I saw -this from his expression, for I had involuntarily looked up at him. His -eye had neither the hollowness of remorse, or the wandering of fear,--it -glared on me bold, challenging, and prominent. He had but one idea -annexed to the word danger,--that of strong excitement. He undertook a -perilous attempt as a gamester would sit down to encounter an antagonist -worthy of him; and, if life and death were the stake, he only felt as if -he were playing at a higher rate, and the increased demands on his -courage and talent actually supplied him with the means of meeting them. -Our conference was now nearly at an end, when it occurred to me that -this man was exposing himself to a degree of danger which it was almost -incredible he should brave on my account; and this mystery, at least, I -was resolved to penetrate. I said, “But how will you provide for your -own safety? What will become of you when my escape is discovered? Would -not the most dreadful punishments attend even the suspicion of your -having been an agent in it, and what must be the result when that -suspicion is exchanged for the most undeniable certainty?” It is -impossible for me to describe the change his expression underwent while -I uttered these words. He looked at me for some time without speaking, -with an indefinable mixture of sarcasm, contempt, doubt, and curiosity -in his countenance, and then attempted to laugh, but the muscles of his -face were too stubborn and harsh to admit of this modulation. To -features like his, frowns were a habit, and smiles a convulsion. He -could produce nothing but a _rictus Sardonicus_, the terrors of which -there is no describing. It is very frightful to behold crime in its -merriment,--its smile must be purchased by many groans. My blood ran -cold as I looked at him. I waited for the sound of his voice as a kind -of relief. At length he said, “Do you imagine me such an ideot as to -promote your escape at the risk of imprisonment for life,--perhaps of -immurement,--perhaps of the Inquisition?” and again he laughed. “No, we -must escape together. Could you suppose I would have so much anxiety -about an event, in which I had no part but that of an assistant? It was -of my own danger I was thinking,--it was of my own safety I was -doubtful. Our situation has happened to unite very opposite characters -in the same adventure, but it is an union inevitable and _inseparable_. -Your destiny is now bound to mine by a tie which no human force can -break,--we part no more for ever. The secret that each is in possession -of, must be watched by the other. Our lives are in each other’s hands, -and a moment of absence might be that of treachery. We must pass life in -each watching every breath the other draws, every glance the other -gives,--in dreading sleep as an involuntary betrayer, and watching the -broken murmurs of each other’s restless dreams. We may hate each other, -torment each other,--worst of all, we may be weary of each other, (for -hatred itself would be a relief, compared to the tedium of our -inseparability), but separate we must never.” At this picture of the -liberty for which I had risked so much, my very soul recoiled. I gazed -on the formidable being with whom my existence was thus incorporated. He -was now retiring, when he paused at some distance to repeat his last -words, or perhaps to observe their effect. I was sitting on the -altar,--it was late,--the lamps in the church burned very dimly, and, as -he stood in the aisle, he was placed in such a position, with regard to -that which hung from the roof, that the light fell only on his face and -one hand, which he extended towards me. The rest of his figure, -enveloped in darkness, gave to this bodyless and spectre head an effect -truly appalling. The ferocity of his features, too, was softened into a -heavy and death-like gloom, as he repeated, “We part never,--I must be -near you for ever,” and the deep tones of his voice rolled like -subterranean thunder round the church. A long pause followed. He -continued to stand in the same posture, nor had I power to change mine. -The clock struck three, its sound reminded me that my hour had expired. -We separated, each taking different directions; and the two monks who -succeeded me luckily came a few minutes late, (both of them yawning most -fearfully), so our departure was unobserved. - -“The day that followed I have no more power of describing, than of -analysing a dream to its component parts of sanity, delirium, defeated -memory, and triumphant imagination. The sultan in the eastern tale, who -plunged his head in a bason of water, and, before he raised it again, -passed through adventures the most vicissitudinous and incredible--was a -monarch, a slave, a husband, a widower, a father, childless,--in five -minutes, never underwent the changes of _mind_ that I did during that -memorable day. I was a prisoner,--free,--a happy being, surrounded by -smiling infants,--a victim of the Inquisition, writhing amid flames and -execrations. I was a maniac, oscillating between hope and despair. I -seemed to myself all that day to be pulling the rope of a bell, whose -alternate knell was _heaven_--_hell_, and this rung in my ears with all -the dreary and ceaseless monotony of the bell of the convent. Night came -at last. I might almost say _day came_, for that day had been my night. -Every thing was propitious to me,--the convent was all hushed. I put my -head several times out of my cell, to be assured of this,--_all was -hushed_. There was not a step in the corridor,--not a voice, not a -whisper to be heard under a roof containing so many souls. I stole from -my cell, I descended to the church. This was not unusual for those whose -consciences or nerves were disturbed, during the sleepless gloom of a -conventual night. As I advanced to the door of the church, where the -lamps were always kept burning, I heard a human voice. I retreated in -terror;--then I ventured to give a glance. An old monk was at prayers -before one of the images of the saints, and the object of his prayers -was to be relieved, not from the anguish of conscience, or the -annihilation of monasticism, but from the pains of a toothache, for -which he had been desired to apply his gums to the image of a saint -quite notorious for her efficacy in such cases(5). The poor, old, -tortured wretch, prayed with all the fervency of agony, and then rubbed -his gums over and over again on the cold marble, which increased his -complaint, his suffering, and his devotion. I watched, listened,--there -was something at once ludicrous and frightful in my situation. I felt -inclined to laugh at my own distress, while it was rising almost to -agony every moment. I dreaded, too, the approach of another intruder, -and feeling my fear about to be realized by the approach of some one, I -turned round, and, to my inexpressible relief, saw my companion. I made -him comprehend, by a sign, how I was prevented from entering the church; -he answered me in the same way, and retreated a few steps, but not -without shewing me a bunch of huge keys under his habit. This revived my -spirits, and I waited for another half-hour in a state of mental -excruciation, which, were it inflicted on the bitterest enemy I have on -earth, I think I would have cried, “Hold,--hold, spare him.” The clock -struck two,--I writhed and stamped with my feet, as loud as I dared, on -the floor of the passage. I was not at all tranquillized by the visible -impatience of my companion, who started, from time to time, from his -hiding-place behind a pillar of the cloister, flung on me a -glance----no, a glare--of wild and restless inquiry, (which I answered -with one of despondency), and retired, grinding curses between his -teeth, whose horrible grating I could hear distinctly in the intervals -of my long-withheld breath. At last I took a desperate step. I walked -into the church, and, going straight up to the altar, prostrated myself -on the steps. The old monk observed me. He believed that I had come -there with the same purpose, if not with the same feelings, as himself; -and he approached me, to announce his intention of joining in my -aspirations, and intreating an interest in them, _as the pain had now -reached from the lower jaw to the upper_. There is something that one -can hardly describe in this union of the lowest with the highest -interests of life. I was a prisoner, panting for emancipation, and -staking my existence on the step I was compelled to take,--my whole -interest for time, and perhaps for eternity, hung on a moment; and -beside me knelt a being whose destiny was decided already, who could be -nothing but a monk for the few years of his worthless existence, and who -was supplicating a short remission from a temporary pain, that I would -have endured my whole life for an hour’s liberty. As he drew near me, -and supplicated an interest in my prayers, I shrunk away. I felt a -difference in the object of our addresses to God, that I dared not -search my heart for the motive of. I knew not, at the moment, which of -us was right,--he, whose prayer did no dishonour to the place,--or I, -who was to struggle against a disorganized and unnatural state of life, -whose vows I was about to violate. I knelt with him, however, and prayed -for the removal of his pain with a sincerity that cannot be questioned, -as the success of my petitions might be the means of procuring his -absence. As I knelt, I trembled at my own hypocrisy. I was profaning the -altar of God,--I was mocking the sufferings of the being I supplicated -for,--I was the worst of all hypocrites, a hypocrite on my knees, and at -the altar. Yet, was I not compelled to be so? If I _was_ a hypocrite, -who had made me one? If I profaned the altar, who had dragged me there, -to insult it by vows my soul belied and reversed faster than my lips -could utter them? But this was no time for self-examination. I knelt, -prayed, and trembled, till the poor sufferer, weary of his ineffectual -and unanswered supplications, rose, and began to crawl away. For a few -minutes I shivered in horrible anxiety, lest some other intruder might -approach, but the quick decisive step that trod the aisle restored my -confidence in a moment,--it was my companion. He stood beside me. He -uttered a few curses, which sounded very shocking in my ears, more from -the force of habit, and influence of the place, than from the meaning -attached to them, and then hurried on _to the door_. A large bunch of -keys was in his hand, and I followed instinctively this pledge of my -liberation. - - (5) Vide Moore’s View of France and Italy. - -“The door was very low--we descended to it by four steps. He applied his -key, muffling it in the sleeve of his habit to suppress the sound. At -every application he recoiled, gnashed his teeth, stamped--then applied -both hands. The lock did not give way--I clasped my hands in agony--I -tossed them over my head. “Fetch a light,” he said in a whisper; “take a -lamp from before one of those figures.” The levity with which he spoke -of the holy images appalled me, and the act appeared to me nothing short -of sacrilege; yet I went and took a lamp, which, with a shuddering hand, -I held to him as he again tried the key. During this second attempt, we -communicated in whispers those fears that left us scarce breath even for -whispers. “Was not that a noise?”--“No, it was the echo of this jarring, -stubborn lock. Is there no one coming?”--“Not one.”--“Look out into the -passage.”--“Then I cannot hold the light to you.”--“No matter--any thing -but detection.”--“Any thing for escape,” I retorted with a courage that -made him start, as I set down the lamp, and joined my strength to his to -turn the key. It grated, resisted; the lock seemed invincible. Again we -tried, with cranched teeth, indrawn breath, and fingers stripped almost -to the bone,--in vain.--Again--in vain.--Whether the natural ferocity of -his temper bore disappointment worse than mine, or that, like many men -of undoubted courage, he was impatient of a _slight_ degree of physical -pain, in a struggle where he would have risked and lost life without a -murmur,--or how it was, I know not,--but he sunk down on the steps -leading to the door, wiped away the big drops of toil and terror from -his forehead with the sleeve of his habit, and cast on me a look that -was at once the pledge of sincerity and of despair. The clock struck -three. The sound rung in my ears like the trumpet of the day of -doom--the trumpet that _will sound_. He clasped his hands with a fierce -and convulsive agony, that might have pictured the last struggles of the -impenitent malefactor,--that agony without remorse, that suffering -without requital or consolation, that, if I may say so, arrays crime in -the dazzling robe of magnanimity, and makes us admire the fallen spirit, -with whom we dare not sympathize. “We are undone,” he cried; “_you_ are -undone. At the hour of three another monk is to enter on his hour of -recollection.” And he added, in a lower tone of horror inexpressible, “I -hear his steps in the passage.” At the moment he uttered these words, -the key, that I had never ceased to struggle with, turned in the lock. -The door opened, the passage lay free to us. My companion recovered -himself at the sight, and in the next moment we were both in the -passage. Our first care was to remove the key, and lock the door on the -inside; and during this, we had the satisfaction to discover, that there -was no one in the church, no one approaching it. Our fears had deceived -us; we retired from the door, looked at each other with a kind of -breathless, half-revived confidence, and began our progress through the -vault in silence and in safety. In safety! my God! I yet tremble at the -thought of that subterranean journey, amid the vaults of a convent, with -a parricide for my companion. But what is there that danger will not -familiarize us with? Had I been told such a story of another, I would -have denounced him as the most reckless and desperate being on -earth--yet _I was the man_. I had secured the lamp, (whose light -appeared to reproach me with sacrilege at every gleam it shed on our -progress), and followed my companion in silence. Romances have made your -country, Sir, familiar with tales of subterranean passages, and -supernatural horrors. All these, painted by the most eloquent pen, must -fall short of the breathless horror felt by a being engaged in an -enterprise beyond his powers, experience, or calculation, driven to -trust his life and liberation to hands that reeked with a father’s -blood. It was in vain that I tried _to make up my mind_,--that I said to -myself, “This is to last but for a short time,”--that I struggled to -force on myself the conviction that it was necessary to have such -associates in desperate enterprises;--it was all in vain. I trembled at -my situation,--at myself, and that is a terror we can never overcome. I -stumbled over the stones,--I was chilled with horror at every step. A -blue mist gathered before my eyes,--it furred the edges of the lamp with -a dim and hazy light. My imagination began to operate, and when I heard -the curses with which my companion reproached my involuntary delay, I -began almost to fear that I was following the steps of a demon, who had -lured me there for purposes beyond the reach of imagination to picture. -Tales of superstition crowded on me like images of terror on those who -are in the dark. I had heard of infernal beings who deluded monks with -the hopes of liberation, seduced them into the vaults of the convent, -and then proposed conditions which it is almost as horrible to relate as -to undergo the performance of. I thought of being forced to witness the -unnatural revels of a diabolical feast,--of seeing the rotting flesh -distributed,--of drinking the dead corrupted blood,--of hearing the -anthems of fiends howled in insult, on that awful verge where life and -eternity mingle,--of hearing the hallelujahs of the choir, echoed even -through the vaults, where demons were yelling the _black mass_ of their -infernal Sabbath.--I thought of all that the interminable passages, the -livid light, and the diabolical companion, might suggest. - -“Our wanderings in the passage seemed to be endless. My companion turned -to right, to left,--advanced, retreated, paused,--(the pause was -dreadful)!--Then advanced again, tried another direction, where the -passage was so low that I was obliged to crawl on my hands and knees to -follow him, and even in this posture my head struck against the ragged -roof. When we had proceeded for a considerable time, (at least so it -appeared to me, for minutes are hours in the _noctuary_ of -terror,--terror has no _diary_), this passage became so narrow and so -low, that I could proceed no farther, and wondered how my companion -could have advanced beyond me. I called to him, but received no answer; -and, in the darkness of the passage, or rather hole, it was impossible -to see ten inches before me. I had the lamp, too, to watch, which I had -held with a careful trembling hand, but which began to burn dim in the -condensed and narrow atmosphere. A gush of terror rose in my throat. -Surrounded as I was by damps and dews, my whole body felt in a fever. I -called again, but no voice answered. In situations of peril, the -imagination is unhappily fertile, and I could not help recollecting and -_applying_ a story I had once read of some travellers who attempted to -explore the vaults of the Egyptian pyramids. One of them, who was -advancing, as I was, on his hands and knees, stuck in the passage, and, -whether from terror, or from the natural consequences of his situation, -swelled so that it was impossible for him to retreat, advance, or allow -a passage for his companions. The party were on their return, and -finding their passage stopped by this irremoveable obstruction, their -lights trembling on the verge of extinction, and their guide terrified -beyond the power of direction or advice, proposed, in the selfishness to -which the feeling of vital danger reduces all, to cut off the limbs of -the wretched being who obstructed their passage. He heard this proposal, -and, contracting himself with agony at the sound, was reduced, by that -strong muscular spasm, to his usual dimensions, dragged out, and -afforded room for the party to advance. He was suffocated, however, in -the effort, and left behind a corse. All this detail, that takes many -words to tell, rushed on my soul in a moment;--on my soul?--no, on my -body. I was all physical feeling,--all intense corporeal agony, and God -only knows, and man only can feel, how that agony can absorb and -annihilate all other feeling within us,--how we could, in such a moment, -feed on a parent, to gnaw out our passage into life and liberty, as -sufferers in a wreck have been known to gnaw their own flesh, for the -support of that existence which the unnatural morsel was diminishing at -every agonizing bite. - -“I tried to crawl backwards,--I succeeded. I believe the story I -recollected had an effect on me, I felt a contraction of muscles -corresponding to what I had read of. I felt myself almost liberated by -the sensation, and the next moment I was actually so;--I had got out of -the passage I knew not how. I must have made one of those extraordinary -exertions, whose energy is perhaps not only increased by, but dependent -on, our unconsciousness of them. However it was, I was extricated, and -stood breathless and exhausted, with the dying lamp in my hand, staring -around me, and seeing nothing but the black and dripping walls, and the -low arches of the vault, that seemed to lower over me like the frown of -an eternal hostility,--a frown that forbids hope or escape. The lamp was -rapidly extinguishing in my hand,--I gazed on it with a fixed eye. I -knew that my life, and, what was dearer than my life, my liberation, -depended on my watching its last glimpse, yet I gazed on it with the eye -of an ideot,--a stupified stare. The lamp glimmered more faintly,--its -dying gleams awoke me to recollection. I roused myself,--I looked -around. A strong flash discovered an object near me. I shuddered,--I -uttered cries, though I was unconscious of doing so, for a voice said to -me,--“Hush, be silent; I left you only to reconnoitre the passages. I -have made out the way to the trap-door,--be silent, and all is well.” I -advanced trembling, my companion appeared trembling too. He whispered, -“Is the lamp so nearly extinguished?”--“You see.”--“Try to keep it in -for a few moments.”--“I will; but, if I cannot, what then?”--“Then we -must perish,” he added, with an execration that I thought would have -brought down the vaults over our heads. It is certain, Sir, however, -that desperate sentiments are best suited to desperate emergencies, and -this wretch’s blasphemies gave me a kind of horrible confidence in his -courage. On he went, muttering curses before me; and I followed, -watching the last light of the lamp with agony increased by my fear -of further provoking my horrible guide. I have before mentioned how -our feelings, even in the most fearful exigencies, dwindle into -petty and wretched details. With all my care, however, the lamp -declined,--quivered,--flashed a pale light, like the smile of despair -on me, and was extinguished. I shall never forget the look my guide -threw on me by its sinking light. I had watched it like the last -beatings of an expiring heart, like the shiverings of a spirit about to -part for eternity. I saw it extinguished, and believed myself already -among those for “whom the blackness of darkness is reserved for ever.” - -“It was at this moment that a faint sound reached our frozen ears;--it -was the chaunt of matins, performed by candle-light at this season of -the year, which was begun in the chapel now far above us. This voice of -heaven thrilled us,--we seemed the pioneers of darkness, on the very -frontiers of hell. This superb insult of celestial triumph, that amid -the strains of hope spoke despair to us, announced a God to those who -were stopping their ears against the sound of his name, had an effect -indescribably awful. I fell to the ground, whether from stumbling from -the darkness, or shrinking from emotion, I know not. I was roused by the -rough arm, and rougher voice of my companion. Amid execrations that -froze my blood, he told me this was no time for failing or for fear. I -asked him, trembling, what I was to do? He answered, “Follow me, and -feel your way in darkness.” Dreadful sounds!--Those who tell us _the -whole_ of our calamity always appear malignant, for our hearts, or our -imaginations, always flatter us that it is not so great as reality -proves it to be. Truth is told us by any mouth sooner than our own. - -“In darkness, total darkness, and on my hands and knees, for I could no -longer stand, I followed him. This motion soon affected my head; I grew -giddy first, then stupified. I paused. He growled a curse, and I -instinctively quickened my movements, like a dog who hears the voice of -a chiding master. My habit was now in rags from my struggles, my knees -and hands stript of skin. I had received several severe bruises on my -head, from striking against the jagged and unhewn stones which formed -the irregular sides and roof of this eternal passage. And, above all, -the unnatural atmosphere, combined with the intensity of my emotion, had -produced a thirst, the agony of which I can compare to nothing but that -of a burning coal dropt into my throat, which I seemed to suck for -moisture, but which left only drops of fire on my tongue. Such was my -state, when I called out to my companion that I could proceed no -farther. “Stay there and rot, then,” was the answer; and perhaps the -most soothing words of encouragement could not have produced so strong -an effect on me. This confidence of despair, this bravado against -danger, that menaced the power in his very citadel, gave me a temporary -courage,--but what is courage amid darkness and doubt? From the -faultering steps, the suffocated breath, the muttered curses, I guessed -what was going on. I was right. The final--hopeless stop followed -instantly, announced by the last wild sob, the cranching of despairing -teeth, the clasping, or rather clap, of the locked hands, in the -terrible extacy of utter agony. I was kneeling behind him at that -moment, and I echoed every cry and gesture with a violence that started -my guide. He silenced me with curses. Then he attempted to pray; but his -prayers sounded so like curses, and his curses were so like prayers to -the evil one, that, choaking with horror, I implored him to cease. He -did cease, and for nearly half an hour neither of us uttered a word. We -lay beside each other like two panting dogs that I have read of, who lay -down to die close to the animal they pursued, whose fur they fanned with -their dying breath, while unable to mouthe her. - -“Such appeared emancipation to us,--so near, and yet so hopeless. We lay -thus, not daring to speak to each other, for who could speak but of -despair, and which of us dared to aggravate the despair of the other. -This kind of fear which we know already felt by others, and which we -dread to aggravate by uttering, _even to those who know it_, is perhaps -the most horrible sensation ever experienced. The very thirst of my body -seemed to vanish in this fiery thirst of the soul for communication, -where all communication was unutterable, impossible, hopeless. Perhaps -the condemned spirits will feel thus at their final sentence, when they -know all that is to be suffered, and dare not disclose to each other -that horrible truth which is no longer a secret, but which the profound -silence of their despair would seem to make one. The secret of silence -is the only secret. Words are a blasphemy against that taciturn and -invisible God, whose presence enshrouds us in our last extremity. These -moments that appeared to me endless, were soon to cease. My companion -sprung up,--he uttered a cry of joy. I imagined him deranged,--he was -not. He exclaimed, “Light, light,--the light of heaven; we are near the -trap-door, I see the light through it.” Amid all the horrors of our -situation, he had kept his eye constantly turned upwards, for he knew -that, if we were near it, the smallest glimmering of light would be -visible in the intense darkness that enveloped us. He was right. I -started up,--I saw it too. With locked hands, with dropt and wordless -lips, with dilated and thirsting eyes, we gazed upwards. A thin line of -grey light appeared above our heads. It broadened, it grew brighter,--it -_was_ the light of heaven, and its breezes too came fluttering to us -through the chinks of the trap-door that opened into the garden.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -“Though life and liberty seemed so near, our situation was still very -critical. The morning light that aided our escape, might open many an -eye to mark it. There was not a moment to be lost. My companion proposed -to ascend first, and I did not venture to oppose him. I was too much in -his power to resist; and in early youth superiority of depravity always -seems like a superiority of power. We reverence, with a prostituted -idolatry, those who have passed through the degrees of vice before us. -This man was criminal, and crime gave him a kind of heroic immunity in -my eyes. Premature knowledge in life is always to be purchased by guilt. -He knew more than I did,--he was my all in this desperate attempt. I -dreaded him as a demon, yet I invoked him as a god. - -“In the end I submitted to his proposal. I was very tall, but he was -much stronger than I. He rose on my shoulders, I trembled under his -weight, but he succeeded in raising the trap-door,--the full light of -day broke on us both. In a moment he dropt his hold of the door,--he -fell to the ground with a force that struck me down. He exclaimed, “The -workmen are there, they have come about the repairs, we are lost if we -are discovered. They are there, the garden is full of them already, they -will be there the whole day. That cursed lamp, it has undone us! Had it -but kept in for a few moments, we might have been in the garden, might -have crossed the wall, might have been at liberty, and now----” He fell -to the ground convulsed with rage and disappointment, as he spoke. To me -there was nothing so terrible in this intelligence. That we were -disappointed for a time was evident, but we had been relieved from the -most horrible of all fears, that of wandering in famine and darkness -till we perished,--we had found the way to the trap-door. I had -unfailing confidence in Juan’s patience and zeal. I was sure that if he -was watching for us on that night, he would watch for many a successive -night. Finally, I felt we had but twenty-four hours or less to wait, and -what was that to the eternity of hours that must otherwise be wasted in -a convent. I suggested all this to my companion as I closed the -trap-door; but I found in his complaints, imprecations, and tossing -restlessness of impatience and despair, the difference between man and -man in the hour of trial. He possessed active, and I passive fortitude. -Give him something to do, and he would do it at the risk of limb, and -life, and soul,--he never murmured. Give me something to suffer, to -undergo, to submit, and I became at once the _hero of submission_. While -this man, with all his physical strength, and all his mental hardihood, -was tossing on the earth with the imbecillity of an infant, in a -paroxysm of unappeasable passion, I was his consoler, adviser, and -supporter. At last he suffered himself to hear reason; he agreed that we -must remain twenty-four hours more in the passage, on which he bestowed -a whole litany of curses. So we determined to stand in stillness and -darkness till night; but such is the restlessness of the human heart, -that this arrangement, which a few hours before we would have embraced -as the offer of a benignant angel for our emancipation, began to -display, as we were compelled to examine its aspect more closely, -certain features that were repulsive almost to hideousness. We were -exhausted nearly to death. Our physical exertions had been, for the last -few hours, almost incredible; in fact, I am convinced that nothing but -the consciousness that we were engaged in a struggle for life or death, -could have enabled us to support it, and now that the struggle was over, -we began to feel our weakness. Our mental sufferings had not been -less,--we had been excruciated body and soul alike. Could our mental -struggles have operated like our bodily ones, we would have been seen to -weep drops of blood, as we felt we were doing at every step of our -progress. Recollect too, Sir, the unnatural atmosphere we had breathed -so long, amid darkness and danger, and which now began to show its -anti-vital and pestilent effect, in producing alternately on our bodies -deluges of perspiration, succeeded by a chill that seemed to freeze the -very marrow. In this state of mental fever, and bodily exhaustion, we -had now to wait many hours, in darkness, without food, till Heaven -pleased to send us night. But how were those hours to be passed? The -preceding day had been one of strict abstinence,--we began already to -feel the gnawings of hunger, a hunger not to be appeased. We must fast -till the moment of liberation, and we must fast amid stone walls, and -damp seats on floors of stone, which diminished every moment the -strength necessary to contend with their impenetrable hardness,--their -withering chillness. - -“The last thought that occurred to me was,--with what a companion those -hours must be passed. With a being whom I abhorred from my very soul, -while I felt that his presence was at once an irrepealable curse, and an -invincible necessity. So we stood, shivering under the trap-door, not -daring to whisper our thoughts to each other, but feeling _that despair -of incommunication_ which is perhaps the severest curse that can be -inflicted on those who are compelled to be together, and compelled, by -the same necessity that imposes their ungenial union, not even to -communicate their fears to each other. We _hear_ the throb of each -others hearts, and yet dare not say, “My heart beats in unison with -yours.” - -“As we stood thus, the light became suddenly eclipsed. I knew not from -what this arose, till I felt a shower, the most violent perhaps that -ever was precipitated on the earth, make its way even through the -trap-door, and drench me in five minutes to the skin. I retreated from -the spot, but not before I had received it in every pore of my body. -You, Sir, who live in happy Ireland, blessed by God with an exemption -from those vicissitudes of the atmosphere, can have no idea of their -violence in continental countries. This rain was followed by peals of -thunder, that made me fear God was pursuing me into the abysses where I -had shrunk to escape from his vengeance, and drew from my companion -blasphemies more loud than thunder, as he felt himself drenched by the -shower, that now, flooding the vault, rose almost to our ancles. At last -he proposed our retiring to a place which he said he was acquainted -with, and which would shelter us. He added, that it was but a few steps -from where we stood, and that we could easily find our way back. I did -not dare to oppose him, and followed to a dark recess, only -distinguished from the rest of the vault by the remains of what had once -been a door. It was now light, and I could distinguish objects plainly. -By the deep hollows framed for the shooting of the bolt, and the size of -the iron hinges that still remained, though covered with rust, I saw it -must have been of no common strength, and probably intended to secure -the entrance to a dungeon,--there was no longer a door, yet I shuddered -to enter it. As we did so, both of us, exhausted in body and mind, sunk -on the hard floor. We did not say a word to each other, an inclination -to sleep irresistibly overcame us; and whether that sleep was to be my -last or not, I felt a profound indifference. Yet I was now on the verge -of liberty, and though drenched, famishing, and comfortless, was, in any -rational estimate, an object much more enviable than in the -heart-withering safety of my cell. Alas! it is too true that our souls -always contract themselves on the approach of a blessing, and seem as if -their powers, exhausted in the effort to obtain it, had no longer energy -to embrace the object. Thus we are always compelled to substitute the -pleasure of the pursuit for that of the attainment,--to reverse the -means for the end, or confound them, in order to extract any enjoyment -from either, and at last fruition becomes only another name for -lassitude. These reflections certainly did not occur to me, when, worn -out with toil, terror, and famine, I fell on the stone floor in a sleep -that was not sleep,--it seemed the suspension both of my mortal and -immortal nature. I ceased from animal and intellectual life at once. -There are cases, Sir, where the thinking power appears to accompany us -to the very verge of slumber, where we sleep full of delightful -thoughts, and sleep only to review them in our dreams: But there are -also cases when we feel that our sleep is a “sleep for ever,”--when we -resign the hope of immortality for the hope of a profound repose,--when -we demand from the harassings of fate, “Rest, rest,” and no more,--when -the soul and body faint together, and all we ask of God or man is to let -us sleep. - -“In such a state I fell to the ground; and, at that moment, would have -bartered all my hopes of liberation for twelve hours profound repose, as -Esau sold his birth-right for a small but indispensible refreshment. I -was not to enjoy even this repose long. My companion was sleeping too. -Sleeping! great God! what was his sleep?--that in whose neighbourhood no -one could close an eye, or, worse, an ear. He talked as loudly and -incessantly as if he had been employed in all the active offices of -life. I heard involuntarily the secret of his dreams. I knew he had -murdered his father, but I did not know that the vision of parricide -haunted him in his broken visions. My sleep was first broken by sounds -as horrible as any I ever had heard at my bed-side in the convent. I -heard sounds that disturbed me, but I was not yet fully awake. They -increased, they redoubled,--the terrors of my habitual associations -awoke me. I imagined the Superior and the whole community pursuing us -with lighted torches. I felt the blaze of the lights in contact with my -very eye-balls. I shrieked. I said, “Spare my sight, do not blind me, do -not drive me mad, and I will confess all.” A deep voice near me -muttered, “Confess.” I started up fully awake,--it was only the voice of -my sleeping companion. I stood on my feet, I viewed him as he lay. He -heaved and wallowed on his bed of stone, as if it had been down. He -seemed to have a frame of adamant. The jagged points of stone, the -hardness of the floor, the ruts and rudenesses of his inhospitable bed, -produced no effect on him. He could have slept, but his dreams were from -within. I have heard, I have read, of the horrors attending the dying -beds of the guilty. They often told us of such in the convent. One monk -in particular, who was a priest, was fond of dwelling on a death-bed -scene he had witnessed, and of describing its horrors. He related that -he had urged a person, who was sitting calmly in his chair, though -evidently dying, to intrust him with his confession. The dying person -answered, “I will, when those leave the room.” The monk, conceiving that -this referred to the relatives and friends, motioned them to retire. -They did so, and again the monk renewed his demands on the conscience of -the penitent. The room was now empty. The monk renewed his adjuration to -the dying man to disclose the secrets of his conscience. The answer was -the same,--“I will, when those are gone.”--“_Those!_”--“Yes, those whom -you cannot see, and cannot banish,--send them away, and I will tell you -the truth.”--“Tell it now, then; there are none here but you and -me.”--“There are,” answered the dying man. “There are none that I can -see,” said the monk, gazing round the room. “But there are those that I -do see,” replied the dying wretch, “and that see me; that are watching, -waiting for me, the moment the breath is out of my body. I see them, I -feel them,--stand on my right side.” The monk changed his position. “Now -they are on the left.” The monk shifted again. “Now they are on my -right.” The monk commanded the children and relatives of the dying -wretch to enter the room, and surround the bed. They obeyed the command. -“Now they are every where,” exclaimed the sufferer, and expired(6). - - (6) Fact,--me ipso teste. - -“This terrible story came freshly to my recollection, accompanied by -many others. I had heard much of the terrors that surrounded the dying -bed of the guilty, but, from what I was compelled to hear, I almost -believe them to be less than the terrors of a guilty sleep. I have said -my companion began at first with low mutterings, but among them I could -distinguish sounds that reminded me too soon of all I wished to forget, -at least while we were together. He murmured, “An old man?--yes,--well, -the less blood in him. Grey hairs?--no matter, my crimes have helped to -turn them grey,--he ought to have rent them from the roots long ago. -They are white, you say?--well, to-night they shall be dyed in blood, -then they will be white no longer. Aye,--he will hold them up at the day -of judgment, like a banner of condemnation against me. He will stand at -the head of an army stronger than the army of martyrs,--the host of -those whose murderers have been their own children. What matter whether -they cut their parents’ hearts or their throats. I have cut _one_ -through and through, to the very core,--now for the other, it will give -him less pain, I feel that,”--and he laughed, shuddered, and writhed on -his stony bed. Trembling with horror ineffable, I tried to awake him. I -shook his muscular arms, I rolled him on his back, on his face,--nothing -could awake him. It seemed as if I was only rocking him on his cradle of -stone. He went on, “Secure the purse, I know the drawer of the cabinet -where it lies, but secure him first. Well, then, you cannot,--you -shudder at his white hairs, at his calm sleep!--ha! ha! that villains -should be fools. Well, then, I must be the man, it is but a short -struggle with him or me,--he may be damned, and I must. Hush,--how the -stairs creak, they will not tell him it is his son’s foot that is -ascending?--They dare not, the stones of the wall would give them the -lie. Why did you not oil the hinges of the door?--now for it. He sleeps -intensely,--aye, how calm he looks!--the calmer the fitter for heaven. -Now,--now, my knee is on his breast,--where is the knife?--where is the -knife?--if he looks at me I am lost. The knife,--I am a coward; the -knife,--if he opens his eyes I am gone; the knife, ye cursed -cravens,--who dare shrink when I have griped my father’s throat? -There,--there,--there,--blood to the hilt,--the old man’s blood; look -for the money, while I wipe the blade. I cannot wipe it, the grey hairs -are mingled with the blood,--those hairs brushed my lips the last time -he kissed me. I was a child then. I would not have taken a world to -murder him then, now,--now, what am I? Ha! ha! ha! Let Judas shake his -bag of silver against mine,--he betrayed his Saviour, and I have -murdered my father. Silver against silver, and soul against soul. I have -got more for mine,--he was a fool to sell his for thirty. But for which -of us will the last fire burn hotter?--no matter, I am going to try.” At -these horrible expressions, repeated over and over, I called, I shrieked -to my companion to awake. He did so, with a laugh almost as wild as the -chattering of his dreams. “Well, what have you heard? I murdered -him,--you knew that long before. You trusted me in this cursed -adventure, which will risk the life of both, and can you not bear to -hear me speak to myself, though I am only telling what you knew -before?”--“No, I cannot bear it,” I answered, in an agony of horror; -“not even to effect my escape, could I undertake to sustain another hour -like the past,--the prospect of seclusion here for a whole day amid -famine, damps, and darkness, listening to the ravings of a ----. Look -not at me with that glare of mockery, I know it all, I shudder at your -sight. Nothing but the iron link of necessity could have bound me to you -even for a moment. I _am_ bound to you,--I must bear it while it -continues, but do not make those moments insupportable. My life and -liberty are in your hands,--I must add my reason, too, in the -circumstances in which we are plunged,--I cannot sustain your horrible -eloquence of sleep. If I am forced to listen to it again, you may bear -me alive from these walls, but you will bear me away an ideot, stupified -by terrors which my brain is unable to support. Do not sleep, I adjure -you. Let me watch beside you during this wretched day,--this day which -is to be measured by darkness and suffering, instead of light and -enjoyment. I am willing to famish with hunger, to shudder with cold, to -couch on these hard stones, but I cannot bear your dreams,--if you -sleep, I must rouse you in defence of my reason. All physical strength -is failing me fast, and I am become more jealous of the preservation of -my intellect. Do not cast at me those looks of defiance, I am your -inferior in strength, but despair makes us equal.” As I spoke, my voice -sounded like thunder in my own ears, my eyes flashed visibly to myself. -I felt the power that passion gives us, and I saw that my companion felt -it too. I went on, in a tone that made myself start, “If you dare to -sleep, I will wake you,--if you dose even, you shall not have a moment -undisturbed,--you shall wake with me. For this long day we must starve -and shiver together, I have wound myself up to it. I can bear every -thing,--every thing but the dreams of him whose sleep reveals to him the -vision of a murdered parent. Wake,--rave,--blaspheme,--but sleep you -shall not!” - -“The man stared at me for some time, almost incredulous of my being -capable of such energy of passion and command. But when he had, by the -help of his dilated eyes, and gaping mouth, appeared to satisfy himself -fully of the fact, his expression suddenly changed. He appeared to feel -a community of nature with me for the first time. Any thing of ferocity -appeared congenial and balsamic to him; and, with oaths, that froze my -blood, swore he liked me the better for my resolution. “I _will_ keep -awake,” he added, with a yawn that distended like the jaws of an Ogre -preparing for his cannibal feast. Then suddenly relaxing, “But how shall -we keep awake? We have nothing to eat, nothing to drink, what shall we -do to keep awake?” And incontinently he uttered a volley of curses. Then -he began to sing. But what songs?--full of such ribaldry and looseness, -that, bred as I was first in domestic privacy, and then in the -strictness of a convent, made me believe it was an incarnate demon that -was howling beside me. I implored him to cease, but this man could pass -so instantaneously from the extremes of atrocity to those of -levity,--from the ravings of guilt and horror ineffable, to songs that -would insult a brothel, that I knew not what to make of him. This _union -of antipodes_, this unnatural alliance of the extremes of guilt and -light-mindedness, I had never met or imagined before. He started from -the visions of a parricide, and sung songs that would have made a harlot -blush. How ignorant of life I must have been, not to know that guilt and -insensibility often join to tenant and deface the same mansion, and that -there is not a more strong and indissoluble alliance on earth, than that -between the hand that dare do any thing, and the heart that can feel -nothing. - -“It was in the midst of one of his most licentious songs, that my -companion suddenly paused. He gazed about him for some time; and faint -and dismal as the light was by which we beheld each other, I thought I -could observe an extraordinary expression overshadow his countenance. I -did not venture to notice it. “Do you know where we are?” he whispered. -“Too well;--in the vault of a convent, beyond the help or reach of -man,--without food, without light, and almost without hope.”--“Aye, so -its last inhabitants might well say.”--“Its last inhabitants!--who were -they?”--“I can tell you, if you can bear it.”--“_I cannot bear it_,” I -cried, stopping my ears, “I will not listen to it. I feel by the -narrator it must be something horrid.”--“It was indeed a horrid night,” -said he, unconsciously adverting to some circumstance in the narrative; -and his voice sunk into mutterings, and he forbore to mention the -subject further. I retired as far from him as the limits of the vault -admitted; and, burying my head between my knees, tried to _forbear to -think_. What a state of mind must that be, in which we are driven to -wish we no longer had one!--when we would willingly become “as the -beasts that perish,” to forget that privilege of humanity, which only -seems an undisputed title to superlative misery! To sleep was -impossible. Though sleep seems to be only a necessity of nature, it -always requires an act of the mind to concur in it. And if I had been -willing to rest, the gnawings of hunger, which now began to be exchanged -for the most deadly sickness, would have rendered it impossible. Amid -this complication of physical and mental suffering, it is hardly -credible, Sir, but it is not the less true, that my principal one arose -from the inanity, the want of occupation, inevitably attached to my -dreary situation. To inflict a suspension of the action on a being -conscious of possessing the powers of action, and burning for their -employment,--to forbid all interchange of mutual ideas, or acquirement -of new ones to an intellectual being,--to do this, is to invent a -torture that might make Phalaris blush for his impotence of cruelty. - -“I had felt other sufferings almost intolerable, but I felt this -impossible to sustain; and, will you believe it, Sir, after wrestling -with it during an hour (as I counted hours) of unimaginable misery, I -rose, and supplicated my companion to relate the circumstance he had -alluded to, as connected with our dreadful abode. His ferocious good -nature took part with this request in a moment; and though I could see -that his strong frame had suffered more than my comparatively feeble -one, from the struggles of the night and the privations of the day, he -prepared himself with a kind of grim alacrity for the effort. He was now -in his element. He was enabled to daunt a feeble mind by the narration -of horrors, and to amaze an ignorant one with a display of crimes;--and -he needed no more to make him commence. “I remember,” said he, “an -extraordinary circumstance connected with this vault. I wondered how I -felt so familiar with this door, this arch, at first.--I did not -recollect immediately, so many strange thoughts have crossed my mind -every day, that events which would make a life-lasting impression on -others, pass like shadows before me, while thoughts appear like -substances. _Emotions are my events_--you know what brought me to this -cursed convent--well, don’t shiver or look _paler_--you were pale -before. However it was, I found myself in the convent, and I was obliged -to subscribe to its discipline. A part of it was, that extraordinary -criminals should undergo what they called extraordinary penance; that -is, not only submit to every ignominy and rigour of conventual life, -(which, fortunately for its penitents, is never wanting in such amusing -resources), but act the part of executioner whenever any distinguished -punishment was to be inflicted or witnessed. They did me the honour to -believe me particularly qualified for this species of recreation, and -perhaps they did not flatter me. I had all the humility of a saint on -trial; but still I had a kind of confidence in my talents of this -description, provided they were put to a proper test; and the monks had -the goodness to assure me, that I never could long be without one in a -convent. This was a very tempting picture of my situation, but I found -these worthy people had not in the least exaggerated. An instance -occurred a few days after I had the happiness to become a member of this -amiable community, of whose merits you are doubtless sensible. I was -desired to attach myself to a young monk of distinguished family, who -had lately taken the vows, and who performed his duties with that -heartless punctuality that intimated to the community that his heart was -elsewhere. I was soon put in possession of the business; from their -ordering me to _attach_ myself to him, I instantly conceived I was bound -to the most deadly hostility against him. The friendship of convents is -always a treacherous league--we watch, suspect, and torment each other, -for the love of God. This young monk’s only crime was, that he was -suspected of cherishing an earthly passion. He was, in fact, as I have -stated, the son of a distinguished family, who (from the fear of his -contracting what is called a degrading marriage, _i. e._ of marrying a -woman of inferior rank whom he loved, and who would have made him happy, -as fools, that is, half mankind, estimate happiness) forced him to take -the vows. He appeared at times broken-hearted, but at times there was a -light of hope in his eye, that looked somewhat ominous in the eyes of -the community. It is certain, that hope not being an indigenous plant in -the parterre of a convent, must excite suspicion with regard both to its -origin and its growth. - -“Some time after, a young novice entered the convent. From the moment he -did so, a change the most striking took place in the young monk. He and -the novice became inseparable companions--there was something suspicious -in that. My eyes were on the watch in a moment. Eyes are particularly -sharpened in discovering misery when they can hope to aggravate it. The -attachment between the young monk and the novice went on. They were for -ever in the garden together--they inhaled the odours of the -flowers--they cultivated the same cluster of carnations--they entwined -themselves as they walked together--when they were in the choir, their -voices were like mixed incense. Friendship is often carried to excess in -conventual life, but this friendship was too like love. For instance, -the psalms sung in the choir sometimes breathe a certain language; at -these words, the young monk and the novice would direct their voices to -each other in sounds that could not be misunderstood. If the least -correction was inflicted, one would intreat to undergo it for the other. -If a day of relaxation was allowed, whatever presents were sent to the -cell of one, were sure to be found in the cell of the other. This was -enough for me. I saw that secret of mysterious happiness, which is the -greatest misery to those who never can share it. My vigilance was -redoubled, and it was rewarded by the discovery of a secret--a secret -that I had to communicate and raise my consequence by. You cannot guess -the importance attached to the discovery of a secret in a convent, -(particularly when the remission of our own offences depends on the -discovery of those of others.) - -“One evening as the young monk and his darling novice were in the -garden, the former plucked a peach, which he immediately offered to his -favourite; the latter accepted it with a movement I thought rather -awkward--it seemed like what I imagined would be the reverence of a -female. The young monk divided the peach with a knife; in doing so, the -knife grazed the finger of the novice, and the monk, in agitation -inexpressible, tore his habit to bind up the wound. I saw it all--my -mind was made up on the business--I went to the Superior that very -night. The result may be conceived. They were watched, but cautiously at -first. They were probably on their guard; for, for some time it defied -even my vigilance to make the slightest discovery. It is a situation -incomparably tantalizing, when suspicion is satisfied of her own -suggestions, as of the truth of the gospel, but still wants the _little -fact_ to make them credible to others. One night that I had, by -direction of the Superior, taken my station in the gallery, (where I was -contented to remain hour after hour, and night after night, amid -solitude, darkness, and cold, for the chance of the power of retaliating -on others the misery inflicted on myself)--One night, I thought I heard -a step in the gallery--I have told you that I was in the dark--a light -step passed me. I could hear the broken and palpitating respiration of -the person. A few moments after, I heard a door open, and knew it to be -the door of the young monk. I knew it; for by long watching in the dark, -and accustoming myself to number the cells, by the groan from one, the -prayer from another, the faint shriek of restless dreams from a third, -my ear had become so finely graduated, that I could instantly -distinguish the opening of _that door_, from which (to my sorrow) no -sound had ever before issued. I was provided with a small chain, by -which I fastened the handle of the door to a contiguous one, in such a -manner, that it was impossible to open either of them from the inside. I -then hastened to the Superior, with a pride of which none but the -successful tracer of a guilty secret in convents, can have any -conception. I believe the Superior was himself agitated by the luxury of -the same feelings, for he was awake and up in his apartment, attended by -_four monks_, whom you may remember.” I shuddered at the remembrance. “I -communicated my intelligence with a voluble eagerness, not only unsuited -to the respect I owed these persons, but which must have rendered me -almost unintelligible, yet they were good enough not only to overlook -this violation of decorum, which would in any other case have been -severely punished, but even to supply certain pauses in my narrative, -with a condescension and facility truly miraculous. I felt what it was -to acquire importance in the eyes of a Superior, and gloried in all the -dignified depravity of an informer. We set out without losing a -moment,--we arrived at the door of the cell, and I pointed out with -triumph the chain unremoved, though a slight vibration, perceptible at -our approach, showed the wretches within were already apprised of their -danger. I unfastened the door,--how they must have shuddered! The -Superior and his satellites burst into the cell, and _I_ held the light. -You tremble,--why? I was guilty, and I wished to witness guilt that -palliated mine, at least in the opinion of the convent. I had only -violated the laws of nature, but they had outraged the decorum of a -convent, and, of course, in the creed of a convent, there was no -proportion between our offences. Besides, I was anxious to witness -misery that might perhaps equal or exceed my own, and this is a -curiosity not easily satisfied. It is actually possible to become -_amateurs in suffering_. I have heard of men who have travelled into -countries where horrible executions were to be daily witnessed, for the -sake of that excitement which the sight of suffering never fails to -give, from the spectacle of a tragedy, or an _auto da fe_, down to the -writhings of the meanest reptile on whom you can inflict torture, and -feel that torture is the result of your own power. It is a species of -feeling of which we never can divest ourselves,--a triumph over those -whose sufferings have placed them below us, and no wonder,--suffering is -always an indication of weakness,--we glory in our impenetrability. _I_ -did, as we burst into the cell. The wretched husband and wife were -locked in each others arms. You may imagine the scene that followed. -Here I must do the Superior reluctant justice. He was a man (of course -from his conventual feelings) who had no more idea of the intercourse -between the sexes, than between two beings of a different species. The -scene that he beheld could not have revolted him more, than if he had -seen the horrible loves of the baboons and the Hottentot women, at the -Cape of Good Hope; or those still more loathsome unions between the -serpents of South America and their human victims(7), when they can -catch them, and twine round them in folds of unnatural and ineffable -union. He really stood as much astonished and appalled, to see two human -beings of different sexes, who dared to love each other in spite of -monastic ties, as if he had witnessed the horrible conjunctions I have -alluded to. Had he seen vipers engendering in that frightful knot which -seems the pledge of mortal hostility, instead of love, he could not have -testified more horror,--and I do him the justice to believe he felt all -he testified. Whatever affectation he might employ on points of -conventual austerity, there was none here. Love was a thing he always -believed connected with sin, even though consecrated by the name of a -sacrament, and called marriage, as it is in our church. But, love in a -convent!--Oh, there is no conceiving his rage; still less is it possible -to conceive the majestic and overwhelming extent of that rage, when -strengthened by principle, and sanctified by religion. I enjoyed the -scene beyond all power of description. I saw those wretches, who had -triumphed over me, reduced to my level in a moment,--their passions all -displayed, and the display placing me a hero triumphant above all. I had -crawled to the shelter of their walls, a wretched degraded outcast, and -what was my crime? Well,--you shudder, I have done with that. I can only -say want drove me to it. And here were beings whom, a few months before, -I would have knelt to as to the images round the shrine,--to whom, in -the moments of my desperate penitence, I would have clung as to the -“horns of the altar,” all brought as low, and lower than myself. “Sons -of the morning,” as I deemed them in the agonies of my humiliation, “how -were they fallen!” I feasted on the degradation of the apostate monk and -novice,--I enjoyed, to the core of my ulcerated heart, the passion of -the Superior,--I felt that they were all men like myself. Angels, as I -had thought them, they had all proved themselves mortal; and, by -watching their motions, and flattering their passions, and promoting -their interest, or setting up my own in opposition to them all, while I -made them believe it was only theirs I was intent on, I might make shift -to contrive as much misery to others, and to carve out as much -occupation to myself, as if I were actually living in the world. Cutting -my father’s throat was a noble feat certainly, (I ask your pardon, I did -not mean to extort that groan from you), but here were hearts to be -cut,--and to the core, every day, and all day long, so I never could -want employment.” - - (7) Vide Charlevoix’s History of Paraguay. - -“Here he wiped his hard brow, drew his breath for a moment, and then -said, “I do not quite like to go through the details by which this -wretched pair were deluded into the hope of effecting their escape from -the convent. It is enough that I was the principal agent,--that the -Superior connived at it,--that I led them through the very passages you -have traversed to-night, they trembling and blessing me at every -step,--that----” “Stop,” I cried; “wretch! you are tracing my course -this night step by step.”--“What?” he retorted, with a ferocious laugh, -“you think I am betraying you, then; and if it were true, what good -would your suspicions do you,--you are in my power? My voice might -summon half the convent to seize you this moment,--my arm might fasten -you to that wall, till those dogs of death, that wait but my whistle, -plunged their fangs into your very vitals. I fancy you would not find -their bite less keen, from their tusks being so long sharpened by an -immersion in holy water.” Another laugh, that seemed to issue from the -lungs of a demon, concluded this sentence. “I know I am in your power,” -I answered; “and were I to trust to that, or to your heart, I had better -dash out my brains at once against these walls of rock, which I believe -are not harder than the latter. But I know your interests to be some way -or other connected with my escape, and therefore I trust you,--because I -must. Though my blood, chilled as it is by famine and fatigue, seems -frozen in every drop while I listen to you, yet listen I must, and trust -my life and liberation to you. I speak to you with the horrid confidence -our situation has taught me,--I hate,--I dread you. If we were to meet -in life, I would shrink from you with loathings of unspeakable -abhorrence, but here mutual misery has mixed the most repugnant -substances in unnatural coalition. The force of that alchemy must cease -at the moment of my escape from the convent and from you; yet, for these -miserable hours, my life is as much dependent on your exertions and -presence, as my power of supporting them is on the continuance of your -horrible tale,--go on, then. Let us struggle through this dreadful day. -_Day!_ a name unknown _here_, where noon and night shake hands that -never unlock. Let us struggle through it, “hateful and hating one -another;” and when it has passed, let us curse and part.” - -“As I uttered these words, Sir, I felt that terrible _confidence of -hostility_ which the worst beings are driven to in the worst of -circumstances, and I question whether there is a more horrible situation -than that in which we cling to each other’s hate, instead of each -other’s love,--in which, at every step of our progress, we hold a dagger -to our companion’s breast, and say, “If you faulter for a moment, this -is in your heart. I hate,--I fear, but I must bear with you.” It was -singular to me, though it would not be so to those who investigate human -nature, that, in proportion as my situation inspired me with a ferocity -quite unsuited to our comparative situations, and which must have been -the result of the madness of despair and famine, my companion’s respect -for me appeared to increase. After a long pause, he asked, might he -continue his story? I could not speak, for, after the slightest -exertion, the sickness of deadly hunger returned on me, and I could only -signify, by a feeble motion of my hand, that he might go on. - -“They were conducted here,” he continued; “I had suggested the plan, and -the Superior consented to it. He would not be present, but his dumb nod -was enough. I was the conductor of their (intended) escape; they -believed they were departing with the connivance of the Superior. I led -them through those very passages that you and I have trod. I had a map -of this subterranean region, but my blood ran cold as I traversed it; -and it was not at all inclined to resume its usual temperament, as I -felt what was to be the destination of my attendants. Once I turned the -lamp, on pretence of trimming it, to catch a glimpse of the devoted -wretches. They were embracing each other,--the light of joy trembled in -their eyes. They were whispering to each other hopes of liberation and -happiness, and blending my name in the interval they could spare from -their prayers for each other. That sight extinguished the last remains -of compunction with which my horrible task had inspired me. They dared -to be happy in the sight of one who must be for ever miserable,--could -there be a greater insult? I resolved to punish it on the spot. This -very apartment was near,--I knew it, and the map of their wanderings no -longer trembled in my hand. I urged them to enter this recess, (the door -was then entire), while I went to examine the passage. They entered it, -thanking me for my precaution,--they knew not they were never to quit it -alive. But what were their lives for the agony their happiness cost me? -The moment they were inclosed, and clasping each other, (a sight that -made me grind my teeth), I closed and locked the door. This movement -gave them no immediate uneasiness,--they thought it a friendly -precaution. The moment they were secured, I hastened to the Superior, -who was on fire at the insult offered to the sanctity of his convent, -and still more to the purity of his penetration, on which the worthy -Superior piqued himself as much as if it had ever been possible for him -to acquire the smallest share of it. He descended with me to the -passage,--the monks followed with eyes on fire. In the agitation of -their rage, it was with difficulty they could discover the door after I -had repeatedly pointed it out to them. The Superior, with his own hands, -drove several nails, which the monks eagerly supplied, into the door, -that effectually joined it to the staple, _never to be disjoined_; and -every blow he gave, doubtless he felt as if it was a reminiscence to the -accusing angel, to strike out a sin from the catalogue of his -accusations. The work was soon done,--the work never to be undone. At -the first sound of steps in the passage, and blows on the door, the -victims uttered a shriek of terror. They imagined they were detected, -and that an incensed party of monks were breaking open the door. These -terrors were soon exchanged for others,--and worse,--as they heard the -door nailed up, and listened to our departing steps. They uttered -another shriek, but O how different was the accent of its despair!--they -knew their doom. * * * * * It was my penance (no,--my delight) to watch -at the door, under the pretence of precluding the possibility of their -escape, (of which they knew there was no possibility); but, in reality, -not only to inflict on me the indignity of being the convent gaoler, but -of teaching me that callosity of heart, and induration of nerve, and -stubbornness of eye, and apathy of ear, that were best suited to my -office. But they might have saved themselves the trouble,--I had them -all before ever I entered the convent. Had I been the Superior of the -community, I should have undertaken the office of watching the door. You -will call this cruelty, I call it curiosity,--that curiosity that brings -thousands to witness a tragedy, and makes the most delicate female feast -on groans and agonies. I had an advantage over them,--the groan, the -agony I feasted on, were real. I took my station at _the door_--that -door which, like that of Dante’s hell, might have borne the inscription, -“Here is no hope,”--with a face of mock penitence, and genuine--cordial -delectation. I could hear every word that transpired. For the first -hours they tried to comfort each other,--they suggested to each other -hopes of liberation,--and as my shadow, crossing the threshold, darkened -or restored the light, they said, “That is he;”--then, when this -occurred repeatedly, without any effect, they said, “No,--no, it is not -he,” and swallowed down the sick sob of despair, to hide it from each -other. Towards night a monk came to take my place, and to offer me food. -I would not have quitted my place for worlds; but I talked to the monk -in his own language, and told him I would make a merit with God of my -sacrifices, and was resolved to remain there all night, with the -permission of the Superior. The monk was glad of having a substitute on -such easy terms, and I was glad of the food he left me, for I was hungry -now, but I reserved the appetite of my soul for richer luxuries. I heard -them talking within. While I was eating, I actually lived on the famine -that was devouring them, but of which they did not dare to say a word to -each other. They debated, deliberated, and, as misery grows ingenious in -its own defence, they at last assured each other that it was impossible -the Superior had locked them in there to perish by hunger. At these -words I could not help laughing. This laugh reached their ears, and they -became silent in a moment. All that night, however, I heard their -groans,--those groans of physical suffering, that laugh to scorn all the -sentimental sighs that are exhaled from the hearts of the most -intoxicated lovers that ever breathed. I heard them all that night. I -had read French romances, and all their unimaginable nonsense. Madame -Sevignè herself says she would have been tired of her daughter in a long -tete-a-tete journey, but clap me two lovers into a dungeon, without -food, light, or hope, and I will be damned (that I am already, by the -bye) if they do not grow sick of each other within the first twelve -hours. The second day hunger and darkness had their usual influence. -They shrieked for liberation, and knocked loud and long at their dungeon -door. They exclaimed they were ready to submit to any punishment; and -the approach of the monks, which they would have dreaded so much the -preceding night, they now solicited on their knees. What a jest, after -all, are the most awful vicissitudes of human life!--they supplicated -now for what they would have sacrificed their souls to avert -four-and-twenty hours before. Then the agony of hunger increased, they -shrunk from the door, and grovelled apart from each other. _Apart!_--how -I watched that. They were rapidly becoming objects of hostility to each -other,--oh what a feast to me! They could not disguise from each other -the revolting circumstances of their mutual sufferings. It is one thing -for lovers to sit down to a feast magnificently spread, and another for -lovers to couch in darkness and famine,--to exchange that appetite which -cannot be supported without dainties and flattery, for that which would -barter a descended Venus for a morsel of food. The second night they -raved and groaned, (as occurred); and, amid their agonies, (I must do -justice to women, whom I hate as well as men), the man often accused the -female as the cause of all his sufferings, but the woman never,--never -reproached him. Her groans might indeed have reproached him bitterly, -but she never uttered a word that could have caused him pain. There was -a change which I well could mark, however, in their physical feelings. -The first day they clung together, and every movement I felt was like -that of one person. The next the man alone struggled, and the woman -moaned in helplessness. The third night,--how shall I tell it?--but you -have bid me go on. All the horrible and loathsome excruciations of -famine had been undergone; the disunion of every tie of the heart, of -passion, of nature, had commenced. In the agonies of their famished -sickness they loathed each other,--they could have cursed each other, if -they had had breath to curse. It was on the fourth night that I heard -the shriek of the wretched female,--her lover, in the agony of hunger, -had fastened his teeth in her shoulder;--that bosom on which he had so -often luxuriated, became a meal to him now.” * * * * * “Monster! and you -laugh?”--“Yes, I laugh at all mankind, and the imposition they dare to -practise when they talk of hearts. I laugh at human passions and human -cares,--vice and virtue, religion and impiety; they are all the result -of petty localities, and artificial situation. One physical want, one -severe and abrupt lesson from the tintless and shrivelled lip of -necessity, is worth all the logic of the empty wretches who have -presumed to prate it, from Zeno down to Burgersdicius. Oh! it silences -in a second all the feeble sophistry of _conventional_ life, and -ascetitious passion. Here were a pair who would not have believed all -the world on their knees, even though angels had descended to join in -the attestation, that it was possible for them to exist without each -other. They had risked every thing, trampled on every thing human and -divine, to be in each others sight and arms. One hour of hunger -undeceived them. A trivial and ordinary want, whose claims at another -time they would have regarded as a vulgar interruption of their -spiritualised intercourse, not only, by its natural operation, sundered -it for ever, but, before it ceased, converted that intercourse into a -source of torment and hostility inconceivable, except among cannibals. -The bitterest enemies on earth could not have regarded each other with -more abhorrence than _these lovers_. Deluded wretches! you boasted of -having hearts, I boast I have none, and which of us gained most by the -vaunt, let life decide. My story is nearly finished, and so I hope is -the day. When I was last here I had something to excite me;--talking of -those things is poor employment to one who has been a witness to them. -On the _sixth_ day all was still. The door was unnailed, we -entered,--they were no more. They lay far from each other, farther than -on that voluptuous couch into which their passion had converted the mat -of a convent bed. She lay contracted in a heap, a lock of her long hair -in her mouth. There was a slight scar on her shoulder,--the rabid -despair of famine had produced no farther outrage. He lay extended at -his length,--his hand was between his lips; it seemed as if he had not -strength to execute the purpose for which he had brought it there. The -bodies were brought out for interment. As we removed them into the -light, the long hair of the female, falling over a face no longer -disguised by the novice’s dress, recalled a likeness I thought I could -remember. I looked closer, she was my own sister,--my only one,----and I -had heard her voice grow fainter and fainter. I had heard----” and his -own voice grew fainter--it ceased. - -“Trembling for a life with which my own was linked, I staggered towards -him. I raised him half up in my arms, and recollecting there must be a -current of air through the trap-door, I attempted to trail him along -thither. I succeeded, and, as the breeze played over him, I saw with -delight unutterable the diminution of the light that streamed through -it. It was _evening_,--there was no longer any necessity, no longer any -time for delay. He recovered, for his swoon arose not from exhausted -sensibility, but from mere inanition. However it was, I found my -interest in watching his recovery; and, had I been adequate to the task -of observing extraordinary vicissitudes of the human mind, I would have -been indeed amazed at the change that he manifested on his recovery. -Without the least reference to his late story, or late feelings, he -started from my arms at the discovery that the light had diminished, and -prepared for our escape through the trap-door, with a restored energy of -strength, and sanity of intellect, that might have been deemed -miraculous if it had occurred in a convent:--Happening to occur full -thirty feet below the proper surface for a miracle, it must be put to -the account of strong excitement merely. I could not indeed dare to -believe a miracle was wrought in favour of my profane attempt, and so I -was glad to put up with second causes. With incredible dexterity he -climbed up the wall, with the help of the rugged stones and my -shoulders,--threw open the trap-door, pronounced that all was safe, -assisted me to ascend after him,--and, with gasping delight, I once more -breathed the breath of heaven. The night was perfectly dark. I could not -distinguish the buildings from the trees, except when a faint breeze -gave motion to the latter. To this darkness, I am convinced, I owe the -preservation of my reason under such vicissitudes,--the glory of a -resplendent night would have driven me mad, emerging from darkness, -famine, and cold. I would have wept, and laughed, and knelt, and turned -idolater. I would have “worshipped the host of heaven, and the moon -walking in her brightness.” Darkness was my best security, in every -sense of the word. We traversed the garden, without feeling the ground -under our feet. As we approached the wall, I became again deadly -sick,--my senses grew giddy, I reeled. I whispered to my companion, “Are -there not lights gleaming from the convent windows?”--“No, the lights -are flashing from your own eyes,--it is only the effect of darkness, -famine, and fear,--come on.”--“But I hear a sound of bells.”--“The bells -are ringing only in your ears,--an empty stomach is your sexton, and you -fancy you hear bells. Is this a time to faulter?--come on, come on. -Don’t hang such a dead weight on my arm,--don’t fall, if you can help -it. Oh God, he has swooned!” - -“These were the last words I heard. I had fallen, I believe, into his -arms. With that instinct that acts most auspiciously in the absence of -both thought and feeling, he dragged me in his brawny arms to the wall, -_and twisted my cold fingers_ in the ropes of the ladder. The touch -restored me in a moment; and, almost before my hand had touched the -ropes, my feet began to ascend them. My companion followed extempore. We -reached the summit,--I tottered from weakness and terror. I felt a -sickly dread, that, though the ladder was there, Juan was not. A moment -after a lanthorn flashed in my eyes,--I saw a figure below. I sprung -down, careless, in that wild moment, whether I met the dagger of an -assassin, or the embrace of a brother. “Alonzo, dear Alonzo,” murmured a -voice. “Juan, dear Juan,” was all I could utter, as I felt my shivering -breast held close to that of the most generous and affectionate of -brothers. “How much you must have suffered,--how much I have suffered,” -he whispered; “during the last horrible twenty-four hours, I almost gave -you up. Make haste, the carriage is not twenty paces off.” And, as he -spoke, the shifting of a lanthorn shewed me those imperious and -beautiful features, which I had once dreaded as the pledge of eternal -emulation, but which I now regarded as the smile of the proud but -benignant god of my liberation. I pointed to my companion, I could not -speak,--hunger was consuming my vitals. Juan supported me, consoled me, -encouraged me; did all, and more, than man ever did for man,--than man -ever did, perhaps, for the most shrinking and delicate of the other sex -under his protection. Oh, with what agony of heart I retrace his manly -tenderness! We waited for my companion,--he descended the wall. “Make -haste, make haste,” Juan whispered; “I am famishing too. I have not -tasted food for four-and-twenty hours, watching for you.” We hurried on. -It was a waste place,--I could only distinguish a carriage by the light -of a dim lanthorn, but that was enough for me. I sprung lightly into it. -“_He is safe_,” cried Juan, following me. “_But are you?_” answered a -voice of thunder. Juan staggered back from the step of the carriage,--he -fell. I sprung out, I fell too--on his body. I was bathed in his -blood,----he was no more.” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - Men who with mankind were foes. - * * * * - Or who, in desperate doubt of grace.-- - * * * * - - SCOTT’S MARMION. - - -“One wild moment of yelling agony,--one flash of a fierce and fiery -light, that seemed to envelope and wither me soul and body,--one sound, -that swept through my ears and brain like the last trumpet, as it will -thrill on the senses of those who slept in guilt, and awake in -despair,--one such moment, that condenses and crowds all imaginable -sufferings in one brief and intense pang, and appears exhausted itself -by the blow it has struck,--one such moment I remember, and no more. -Many a month of gloomy unconsciousness rolled over me, without date or -notice. One thousand waves may welter over a sunk wreck, and be felt as -_one_. I have a dim recollection of refusing food, of resisting change -of place, &c. but they were like the faint and successless attempts we -make under the burden of the night-mare; and those with whom I had to -do, probably regarded any opposition I could make no more than the -tossings of a restless sleeper. - -“From dates that I have since been enabled to collect, I must have been -four months at least in this state; and ordinary persecutors would have -given me up as a hopeless subject for any further sufferings; but -religious malignity is too industrious, and too ingenious, to resign the -hope of a victim but with life. If the fire is extinguished, it sits and -watches the embers. If the strings of the heart crack in its hearing, it -listens if it be the _last_ that has broken. It is a spirit that -delights to ride on the _tenth wave_, and view it whelm and bury the -sufferer for ever. * * * * * * * - -“Many changes had taken place, without any consciousness on my part of -them. Perhaps the profound tranquillity of my _last_ abode contributed -more than any thing else to the recovery of my reason. I distinctly -remember awaking at once to the full exercise of my senses and reason, -and finding myself in a place which I examined with the most amazed and -jealous curiosity. My memory did not molest me in the least. Why I was -there? or what I had suffered before I was brought there? it never -occurred to me to inquire. The return of the intellectual powers came -slowly in, like the waves of an advancing tide, and happily for me -memory was the last,--the occupation of my senses was at first quite -enough for me. You must expect no romance-horrors, Sir, from my -narrative. Perhaps a life like mine may revolt the taste that has -feasted to fastidiousness; but truth sometimes gives full and dreadful -compensation, in presenting us facts instead of images. - -“I found myself lying on a bed, not very different from that in my cell, -but the apartment was wholly unlike the latter. It was somewhat larger, -and covered with matting. There was neither crucifix, painting, or -vessel for holy water;--the bed, a coarse table which supported a -lighted lamp, and a vessel containing water for the purpose, were all -the furniture. There was no window; and some iron knobs in the door, to -which the light of the lamp gave a kind of dismal distinctness and -prominence, proved that it was strongly secured. I raised myself on my -arm, and gazed round me with the apprehensiveness of one who fears that -the slightest motion may dissolve the spell, and plunge him again in -darkness. At that moment the recollection of all the past struck me like -a thunder-bolt. I uttered a cry, that seemed to drain me of breath and -being at once, and fell back on the bed, not senseless but exhausted. I -remembered every event in a moment, with an intenseness that could only -be equalled by actual and present agency in them,--my escape,--my -safety,--my despair. I felt Juan’s embrace,--then I felt his blood -stream over me. I saw his eyes turn in despair, before they closed for -ever, and I uttered another cry, such as had never before been heard -within those walls. At the repetition of this sound the door opened, and -a person, in a habit I had never seen before, approached, and signified -to me by signs, that I must observe the most profound silence. Nothing, -indeed, could be more expressive of this meaning, than his denying -himself the use of his voice to convey it. I gazed on this apparition in -silence,--my amazement had all the effect of an apparent submission to -his injunctions. He retired, and I began to wonder where I was. Was it -among the dead? or some subterranean world of the mute and voiceless, -where there was no air to convey sounds, and no echo to repeat them, and -the famished ear waited in vain for its sweetest banquet,--the voice of -man? These wanderings were dispelled by the re-entrance of the person. -He placed bread, water, and a small portion of meat on the table, -motioned me to approach, (which I did mechanically), and, when I was -seated, _whispered_ me, That my unhappy situation having hitherto -rendered me incapable of understanding the regulations of the place -where I was, he had been compelled to postpone acquainting me with them; -but _now_ he was obliged to warn me, that my voice must never be raised -beyond the key in which he addressed me, and which was sufficient for -all proper purposes of communication; finally, he assured me that cries, -exclamations of any kind, or even _coughing too loud_(8), (which might -be interpreted as a signal), would be considered as an attempt on the -inviolable habits of the place, and punished with the utmost severity. -To my repeated questions of “Where am I? what is this place, with its -mysterious regulations?” he replied in a whisper, that his business was -to issue orders, not to answer questions; and so saying he departed. -However extraordinary these injunctions appeared, the manner in which -they were issued was so imposing, peremptory, and _habitual_,--it seemed -so little a thing of local contrivance and temporary display,--so much -like the established language of an absolute and long-fixed system, that -obedience to it seemed inevitable. I threw myself on the bed, and -murmured to myself, “Where am I?” till sleep overcame me. - - (8) This is a fact well established. - -“I have heard that the first sleep of a recovered maniac is intensely -profound. Mine was not so, it was broken by many troubled dreams. One, -in particular, brought me back to the convent. I thought I was a boarder -in it, and studying Virgil. I was reading that passage in the second -book, where the vision of Hector appears to Æneas in his dream, and his -ghastly and dishonoured form suggests the mournful exclamation, - - “----Heu quantum mutatus ab illo,-- - ----Quibus ab oris, Hector expectate venis?” - -Then I thought Juan was Hector,--that the same pale and bloody phantom -stood calling me to fly--“Heu fuge,” while I vainly tried to obey him. -Oh that dreary mixture of truth and delirium, of the real and visionary, -of the conscious and unconscious parts of existence, that visits the -dreams of the unhappy! He was Pantheus, and murmured, - - “Venit summa dies, et ineluctabile tempus.” - -I appeared to weep and struggle in my dream. I addressed the figure that -stood before me sometimes as Juan, and sometimes as the image of the -Trojan vision. At last the figure uttered, with a kind of querulous -shriek,--that _vox stridula_ which we hear only in dreams, - - “Proximus ardet Ucalegon,” - -and I started up fully awake, in all the horrors of an expected -conflagration. - -“It is incredible, Sir, how the senses and the mind can operate thus, -during the apparent suspension of both; how sound can affect organs that -seem to be shut, and objects affect the sight, while its sense appears -to be closed,--can impress on its dreaming consciousness, images more -horribly vivid than even reality ever presented. I awoke with the idea -that flames were raging in contact with my eye-balls, and I saw only a -pale light, held by a paler hand--close to my eyes indeed, but withdrawn -the moment I awoke. The person who held it shrouded it for a moment, and -then advanced and flashed its full light on me, and along with it--the -person of my companion. The associations of our last meeting rushed on -me. I started up, and said, “Are we free, then?”--“Hush,--one of us is -free; but you must not speak so loud.”--“Well, I have heard that before, -but I cannot comprehend the necessity of this whispering secrecy. If I -am free, tell me so, and tell me whether Juan has survived that last -horrible moment,--my intellect is but just respiring. Tell me how Juan -fares.”--“Oh, sumptuously. No prince in all the land reposes under a -more gorgeous canopy,--marble pillars, waving banners, and nodding -plumes. He had music too, but he did not seem to heed it. He lay -stretched on velvet and gold, but he appeared insensible of all these -luxuries. There was a curl on his cold white lip, too, that seemed to -breathe ineffable scorn on all that was going on,--but he was proud -enough even in his life-time.”--“His life-time!” I shrieked; “then he -_is_ dead?”--“Can you doubt that, when you know who struck the blow? -None of my victims ever gave me the trouble of a second.”--“You,--you?” -I swam for some moments in a sea of flames and blood. My frenzy -returned, and I remember only uttering curses that would have exhausted -divine vengeance in all its plenitude to fulfil. I might have continued -to rave till my reason was totally lost, but I was silenced and stunned -by his laugh bursting out amid my curses, and overwhelming them. - -“That laugh made me cease, and lift up my eyes to him, as if I expected -to see another being,--it was still the same. “And you dreamt,” he -cried, “in your temerity, you dreamt of setting the vigilance of a -convent at defiance? Two boys, one the fool of fear, and the other of -temerity, were fit antagonists for that stupendous system, whose roots -are in the bowels of the earth, and whose head is among the -stars,--_you_ escape from a convent! _you_ defy a power that has defied -sovereigns! A power whose influence is unlimited, indefinable, and -unknown, even to those who exercise it, as there are mansions so vast, -that their inmates, to their last hour, have never visited all the -apartments;--a power whose operation is like its motto,--one and -indivisible. The soul of the Vatican breathes in the humblest convent in -Spain,--and you, an insect perched on a wheel of this vast machine, -imagined you were able to arrest its progress, while its rotation was -hurrying on to crush you to atoms.” While he was uttering these words, -with a rapidity and energy inconceivable, (a rapidity that literally -made one word seem to devour another), I tried, with that effort of -intellect which seems like the gasping respiration of one whose breath -has long been forcibly suppressed or suspended, to comprehend and follow -him. The first thought that struck me was one not very improbable in my -situation, that he was not the person he appeared to be,--that it was -not the companion of my escape who now addressed me; and I summoned all -the remains of my intellect to ascertain this. A few questions must -determine this point, if I had breath to utter them. “Were you not the -agent in my escape? Were you not the man who---- What tempted you to -this step, in the defeat of which you appear to rejoice?”--“A -bribe.”--“And you have betrayed me, you say, and boast of your -treachery,--what tempted you to this?”--“A higher bribe. Your brother -gave gold, but the convent promised me salvation,--a business I was very -willing to commit to their hands, as I was totally incompetent to manage -it myself.”--“Salvation, for treachery and murder?”--“Treachery and -murder,--hard words. Now, to talk sense, was not yours the vilest -treachery? You reclaimed your vows,--you declared before God and man, -that the words you uttered before both were the babble of an infant; -then you seduced your brother from his duty to his and your -parents,--you connived at his intriguing against the peace and sanctity -of a monastic institution, and dare _you_ talk of treachery? And did you -not, with a callosity of conscience unexampled in one so young, accept, -nay, cling to an associate in your escape whom you knew you were -seducing from his vows,--from all that man reveres as holy, and all that -God (if there be a God) must regard as binding on man? You knew my -crime, you knew my atrocity, yet you brandished me as your banner of -defiance against the Almighty, though its inscription was, in glaring -characters,--impiety--parricide--irreligion. Torn as the banner was, it -still hung near the altar, till you dragged it away, to wrap yourself -from detection in its folds,--and _you_ talk of treachery?--there is not -a more traitorous wretch on earth than yourself. Suppose that I was all -that is vile and culpable, was it for you to double-dye the hue of my -crime in the crimson of your sacrilege and apostacy? And for murder, I -know I am a parricide. I cut my father’s throat, but he never felt the -blow,--nor did I,--I was intoxicated with wine, with passion, with -blood,--no matter which; but you, with cold deliberate blows, struck at -the hearts of father and mother. You killed by inches,--I murdered at a -blow,--which of us is the murderer?--And _you_ prate of treachery and -murder? I am as innocent as the child that is born this hour, compared -to you. Your father and mother have separated,--she is gone into a -convent, to hide her despair and shame at your unnatural conduct,--your -father is plunging successively into the abysses of voluptuousness and -penitence, wretched in both; your brother, in his desperate attempt to -liberate you, has perished,--you have scattered desolation over a whole -family,--you have stabbed the peace and heart of each of them, with a -hand that deliberated and paused on its blow, and then struck it -calmly,--and you dare to talk of treachery and murder? You are a -thousand times more culpable than I am, guilty as you think me. I stand -a blasted tree,--I am struck to the heart, to the root,--I wither -alone,--but you are the Upas, under whose poisonous droppings all things -living have perished,--father--mother--brother, and last yourself;--the -erosions of the poison, having nothing left to consume, strike inward, -and prey on your own heart. Wretch, condemned beyond the sympathy of -man, beyond the redemption of the Saviour, what can you say to this?”--I -answered only, “Is Juan dead, and were you his murderer,--were you -indeed? I believe all you say, I must be very guilty, but is Juan dead?” -As I spoke, I lifted up to him eyes that no longer seemed to see,--a -countenance that bore no expression but that of the stupefaction of -intense grief. I could neither utter nor feel reproaches,--I had -suffered beyond the power of complaint. I awaited his answer; he was -silent, but his diabolical silence spoke. “And my mother retired to a -convent?” he nodded. “And my father?” he smiled, and I closed my eyes. I -could bear any thing but his smile. I raised my head a few moments -after, and saw him, with an habitual motion, (it could not have been -more), make the sign of the cross, as a clock in some distant passage -struck. This sight reminded me of the play so often acted in Madrid, and -which I had seen in my few days of liberation,--El diablo Predicador. -You smile, Sir, at such a recollection operating at such a moment, but -it is a fact; and had you witnessed that play under the singular -circumstances I did, you would not wonder at my being struck with the -coincidence. In this performance the infernal spirit is the hero, and in -the disguise of a monk he appears in a convent, where he torments and -persecutes the community with a mixture of malignity and mirth truly -Satanic. One night that I saw it performed, a groupe of monks were -carrying the Host to a dying person; the walls of the theatre were so -slight, that we could distinctly hear the sound of the bell which they -ring on that occasion. In an instant, actors, audience, and all, were on -their knees, and the devil, who happened to be on the stage, knelt among -the rest, and crossed himself with visible marks of a devotion equally -singular and edifying. You will allow the coincidence to be irresistibly -striking. - -“When he had finished his monstrous profanation of the holy sign, I -fixed my eyes on him with an expression not to be mistaken. He saw it. -There is not so bitter a reproach on earth as silence, for it always -seems to refer the guilty to their own hearts, whose eloquence seldom -fails to fill up the pause very little to the satisfaction of the -accused. My look threw him into a rage, that I am now convinced not the -most bitter upbraidings could have caused. The utmost fury of -imprecation would have fallen on his ear like the most lulling -harmony;--it would have convinced him that his victim was suffering all -he could possibly inflict. He betrayed this in the violence of his -exclamations. “What, wretch!” he cried;--“Do you think it was for your -masses and your mummeries, your vigils, and fasts, and mumbling over -senseless unconsoling beads, and losing my rest all night watching for -the matins, and then quitting my frozen mat to nail my knees to stone -till they grew there,--till I thought the whole pavement would rise with -me when I rose,--do you think it was for the sake of listening to -sermons that the preachers did not believe,--and prayers that the lips -that uttered them yawned at in the listlessness of their -infidelity,--and penances that might be hired out to a lay-brother to -undergo for a pound of coffee or of snuff,--and the vilest -subserviencies to the caprice and passion of a Superior,--and the -listening to men with God for ever in their mouths, and the world for -ever in their hearts,--men who think of nothing but the aggrandizement -of their temporal distinction, and screen, under the most revolting -affectation of a concern in spiritualities, their ravening cupidity -after earthly eminence:--Wretch! do you dream that it was for -this?--that this _atheism of bigotry_,--this creed of all the priests -that ever have existed in connexion with the state, and in hope of -extending their interest by that connexion,--could have any influence -over _me_? I had sounded every depth in the mine of depravity before -them. I knew them,--I despised them. I crouched before them in body, I -spurned them in my soul. With all their sanctimony, they had hearts so -worldly, that it was scarce worth while to watch their hypocrisy, the -secret developed itself so soon. There was no discovery to be made, no -place for detection. I have seen them on their high festivals, prelates, -and abbots, and priests, in all their pomp of office, appearing to the -laity like descended gods, blazing in gems and gold, amid the lustre of -tapers and the floating splendour of an irradiated atmosphere alive with -light, and all soft and delicate harmonies and delicious odours, till, -as they disappeared amid the clouds of incense so gracefully tossed from -the gilded censers, the intoxicated eye dreamed it saw them ascending to -Paradise. Such was the _scene_, but what was _behind the scene_?--_I saw -it all._ Two or three of them would rush from service into the vestry -together, under the pretence of changing their vestments. One would -imagine that these men would have at least the decency to refrain, while -in the intervals of the holy mass. No, I overheard them. While shifting -their robes, they talked incessantly of promotions and appointments,--of -this or that prelate, dying or dead,--of a wealthy benefice being -vacant,--of one dignitary having bargained hard with the state for the -promotion of a relative,--of another who had well-founded hopes of -obtaining a bishoprick, for what? neither for learning or piety, or one -feature of the pastoral character, but because he had valuable benefices -to resign in exchange, that might be divided among numerous candidates. -Such was their conversation,--such and such only were their thoughts, -till the last thunders of the allelujah from the church made them start, -and hurry to resume their places at the altar. Oh what a compound of -meanness and pride, of imbecillity and pretension, of sanctimony so -transparently and awkwardly worn, that the naked frame of the natural -mind was visible to every eye beneath it,--that mind which is “earthly, -sensual, devilish.” Was it to live among such wretches, who, all-villain -as I was, made me hug myself with the thought that at least I was not -like them, a passionless prone reptile,--a thing made of forms and -dressings, half satin and shreds, half ave’s and credo’s,--bloated and -abject,--creeping and aspiring,--winding up and up the pedestal of power -at the rate of an inch a day, and tracking its advance to eminence by -the flexibility of its writhings, the obliquity of its course, and the -filth of its slime,--was it for this?”--he paused, half-choaked with his -emotions. - -“This man might have been a better being under better circumstances; he -had at least a disdain of all that was mean in vice, with a wild avidity -for all that was atrocious. “Was it for this,” he continued, “that I -have sold myself to work their works of darkness,--that I have become in -this life as it were an apprentice to Satan, to take anticipated lessons -of torture,--that I have sealed those indentures here, which must be -fulfilled below? No, I despise--I loathe it all, the agents and the -system,--the men and their matters. But it is the creed of that system, -(and true or false it avails not,--some kind of creed is necessary, and -the falser perhaps the better, for falsehood at least flatters), that -the greatest criminal may expiate his offences, by vigilantly watching, -and severely punishing, those of the enemies of heaven. Every offender -may purchase his immunity, by consenting to become the executioner of -the offender whom he betrays and denounces. In the language of the laws -of another country, they may turn “king’s evidence,” and buy their own -lives at the price of another’s,--a bargain which every man is very -ready to make. But, in religious life, this kind of transfer, this -substitutional suffering, is adopted with an avidity indescribable. How -we love to punish those whom the church calls the enemies of God, while -conscious that, though our enmity against him is infinitely greater, we -become acceptable in his sight by tormenting those who may be less -guilty, but who are in our power! I hate you, not because I have any -natural or social cause to do so, but because the exhaustion of my -resentment on you, may diminish that of the Deity towards me. If I -persecute and torment the enemies of God, must I not be the friend of -God? Must not every pang I inflict on another, be recorded in the book -of the All-remembering, as an expurgation of at least one of the pangs -that await me hereafter? I have no religion, I believe in no God, I -repeat no creed, but I have that superstition of fear and of futurity, -that seeks its wild and hopeless mitigation in the sufferings of others -when our own are exhausted, or when (a much more common case) we are -unwilling to undergo them. I am convinced that my own crimes will be -obliterated, by whatever crimes of others I can promote or punish. Had I -not, then, every motive to urge you to crime? Had I not every motive to -watch and aggravate your punishment? Every coal of fire that I heaped on -your head, was removing one from that fire that burns for ever and ever -for mine. Every drop of water that I withheld from your burning tongue, -I expect will be repaid to me in slaking the fire and brimstone into -which I must one day be hurled. Every tear that I draw, every groan that -I extort, will, I am convinced, be repaid me in the remission of my -own!--guess what a price I set on yours, or those of any other victim. -The man in ancient story trembled and paused over the scattered limbs of -his child, and failed in the pursuit,--the true penitent rushes over the -mangled members of nature and passion, collects them with a hand in -which there is no pulse, and a heart in which there is no feeling, and -holds them up them in the face of the Divinity as a peace-offering. Mine -is the best theology,--the theology of utter hostility to all beings -whose sufferings may mitigate mine. In this flattering theory, your -crimes become my virtues,--I need not any of my own. Guilty as I am of -the crime that outrages nature, your crimes (the crimes of those who -offend against the church) are of a much more heinous order. But your -guilt is my exculpation, your sufferings are my triumph. I need not -repent, I need not believe; if you suffer, I am saved,--that is enough -for me. How glorious and easy it is to erect at once the trophy of our -salvation, on the trampled and buried hopes of another’s! How subtle and -sublime that alchemy, that can convert the iron of another’s contumacy -and impenitence into the precious gold of your own redemption! I have -literally worked out _my_ salvation by _your_ fear and trembling. With -this hope I appeared to concur in the plan laid by your brother, every -feature of which was in its progress disclosed to the Superior. With -this hope I passed that wretched night and day in the dungeon with you, -for, to have effected our escape by day-light, would have startled -credulity as gross as even yours. But all the time I was feeling the -dagger I bore in my breast, and which I had received for a purpose amply -accomplished. As for you,--the Superior consented to your attempt to -escape, merely that he might have you more in his power. He and the -community were tired of you, they saw you would never make a monk,--your -appeal had brought disgrace on them, your presence was a reproach and a -burden to them. The sight of you was as thorns in their eyes,--they -judged you would make a better victim than a proselyte, and they judged -well. You are a much fitter inmate for your present abode than your -last, and from hence there is no danger of your escaping.”--“And where, -then, am I?”--“_You are in the prison of the Inquisition._” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - Oh! torture me no more, I will confess. - - HENRY THE SIXTH. - - You have betrayed her to her own reproof. - - COMEDY OF ERRORS. - - -“And it was true,--I was a prisoner in the Inquisition. Great -emergencies certainly inspire us with the feelings they demand; and many -a man has braved a storm on the wide wild ocean, who would have shrunk -from its voice as it pealed down his chimney. I believe so it fared with -me,--the storm had risen, and I braced myself to meet it. I was in the -Inquisition, but I knew that my crime, heinous as it was, was not one -that came properly under the cognizance of the Inquisition. It was a -conventual fault of the highest class, but liable only to be punished by -the ecclesiastical power. The punishment of a monk who had dared to -escape from his convent, might be dreadful enough,--immurement, or death -perhaps, but still I was not legitimately a prisoner of the Inquisition. -I had never, under all my trials, spoken a disrespectful word of the -holy Catholic church, or a doubtful one of our most holy faith,--I had -not dropped one heretical, obnoxious, or equivocal expression, relative -to a single point of duty, or article of faith. The preposterous charges -of sorcery and possession, brought against me in the convent, had been -completely disproved at the visitation of the Bishop. My aversion to the -monastic state was indeed sufficiently known and fatally proved, but -that was no subject for the investigation or penalties of the -Inquisition. I had nothing to fear from the Inquisition,--at least so I -said to myself in my prison, and I believed myself. The seventh day -after the recovery of my reason was fixed on for my examination, and of -this I received due notice, though I believe it is contrary to the usual -forms of the Inquisition to give this notice; and the examination took -place on the day and hour appointed. - -“You are aware, Sir, that the tales related in general of the interior -discipline of the Inquisition, must be in nine out of ten mere fables, -as the prisoners are bound by an oath never to disclose what happens -within its walls; and they who could violate this oath, would certainly -not scruple to violate truth in the details with which their -emancipation from it indulges them. I am forbidden, by an oath which I -shall never break, to disclose the circumstances of my imprisonment or -examination. I am at liberty to mention some general features of both, -as they are connected with my extraordinary narrative. My first -examination terminated rather favourably; my contumacy and aversion to -monasticism were indeed deplored and reprobated, but there was no -ulterior hint,--nothing to alarm the peculiar fears of an inmate of the -Inquisition. So I was as happy as solitude, darkness, straw, bread, and -water, could make me, or any one, till, on the fourth night after my -first examination, I was awoke by a light gleaming so strongly on my -eyes, that I started up. The person then retired with his light, and I -discovered a figure sitting in the farthest corner of my cell. Delighted -at the sight of a human form, I yet had acquired so much of the habit of -the Inquisition, that I demanded, in a cold and peremptory voice, who -had ventured to intrude on the cell of a prisoner? The person answered -in the blandest tones that ever soothed the human ear, that he was, like -myself, a prisoner in the Inquisition;--that, by its indulgence, he had -been permitted to visit me, and hoped----“And is _hope_ to be named -here?” I could not help exclaiming. He answered in the same soft and -deprecatory tone; and, without adverting to our peculiar circumstances, -suggested the consolation that might be derived from the society of two -sufferers who were indulged with the power of meeting and communicating -with each other. - -“This man visited me for several successive nights; and I could not help -noticing three extraordinary circumstances in his visits and his -appearance. The first was, that he always (when he could) concealed his -eyes from me; he sat sideways and backways, shifted his position, -changed his seat, held up his hand before his eyes; but when at times he -was compelled or _surprised_ to turn their light on me, I felt that I -had never beheld such eyes blazing in a mortal face,--in the darkness of -my prison, I held up my hand to shield myself from their preternatural -glare. The second was, that he came and retired apparently without help -or hindrance,--that he came, like one who had a key to the door of my -dungeon, at all hours, without leave or forbiddance,--that he traversed -the prisons of the Inquisition, like one who had a master-key to its -deepest recesses. Lastly, he spoke not only in a tone of voice clear and -audible, totally unlike the whispered communications of the Inquisition, -but spoke his abhorrence of the whole system,--his indignation against -the Inquisition, Inquisitors, and all their aiders and abettors, from St -Dominic down to the lowest official,--with such unqualified rage of -vituperation, such caustic inveteracy of satire, such unbounded license -of ludicrous and yet withering severity, that I trembled. - -“You know, Sir, or perhaps have yet to know, that there are persons -_accredited_ in the Inquisition, who are permitted to solace the -solitude of the prisoners, on the condition of obtaining, under the -pretence of friendly communication, those secrets which even torture has -failed to extort. I discovered in a moment that my visitor was not one -of these,--his abuse of the system was too gross, his indignation too -unfeigned. Yet, in his continued visits, there was one circumstance -more, which struck me with a feeling of terror that actually paralyzed -and annihilated all the terrors of the Inquisition. - -“He constantly alluded to events and personages beyond his _possible -memory_,--then he checked himself,--then he appeared to go on, with a -kind of wild and derisive sneer at his own _absence_. But this perpetual -reference to events long past, and men long buried, made an impression -on me I cannot describe. His conversation was rich, various, and -intelligent, but it was interspersed with such reiterated mention of the -dead, that I might be pardoned for feeling as if the speaker was one of -them. He dealt much in anecdotical history, and I, who was very ignorant -of it, was delighted to listen to him, for he told every thing with the -fidelity of an eye-witness. He spoke of the _Restoration_ in England, -and repeated the well-remembered observation of the queen-mother, -Henriette of France,--that, had she known as much of the English on her -first arrival, as she did on her second, she never would have been -driven from the throne; then he added, to my astonishment, I was beside -her carriage(9), _it was the only one then in London_. He afterwards -spoke of the superb fetes given by Louis Quatorze, and described, with -an accuracy that made me start, the magnificent chariot in which that -monarch personated the god of day, while all the titled pimps and -harlots of the court followed as the rabble of Olympus. Then he reverted -to the death of the Duchesse d’Orleans, sister to Charles II.--to Pere -Bourdalone’s awful sermon, preached at the death-bed of the royal -beauty, dying of poison, (as suspected); and added, I saw the roses -heaped on her toilette, to array her for a fete that very night, and -near them stood the pix, and tapers, and oil, shrouded with the lace of -that very toilette. Then he passed to England; he spoke of the wretched -and well-rebuked pride of the wife of James II. who “thought it scorn” -to sit at the same table with an Irish officer who informed her husband -(then Duke of York) that _he_ had sat at table, as an officer in the -Austrian service, where the Duchess’s father (Duke of Modena) had stood -behind a chair, as a vassal to the Emperor of Germany. - - (9) I have read this somewhere, but cannot believe it. Coaches are - mentioned by Beaumont and Fletcher, and even glass-coaches by Butler, - in his “Remains.” - -“These circumstances were trifling, and might be told by any one, but -there was a minuteness and circumstantiality in his details, that -perpetually forced on the mind the idea that he had himself seen what he -described, and been conversant with the personages he spoke of. I -listened to him with an indefinable mixture of curiosity and terror. At -last, while relating a trifling but characteristic circumstance that -occurred in the reign of Louis the Thirteenth, he used the following -expressions(10): “One night that the king was at an entertainment, where -Cardinal Richelieu also was present, the Cardinal had the insolence to -rush out of the apartment before his Majesty, just as the coach of the -latter was announced. The King, without any indignant notice of the -arrogance of the minister, said, with much _bon hommie_, “His Eminence -the Cardinal will always be first.”--“The first to attend your Majesty,” -answered the Cardinal, with admirable polite presence of mind; and, -snatching a flambeau from a page who _stood near me_, he lighted the -King to his carriage.” I could not help catching at the extraordinary -words that had escaped him; and I asked him, “Were you there?” He gave -some indirect answer; and, avoiding the subject, went on to amuse me -with some other curious circumstances of the private history of that -age, of which he spoke with a minute fidelity somewhat _alarming_. I -confess my pleasure in listening to them was greatly diminished by the -singular sensation with which this man’s presence and conversation -inspired me. He departed, and I regretted his absence, though I could -not account for the extraordinary feeling which I experienced during his -visits. - - (10) This circumstance is related, I believe, in the Jewish Spy. - -“A few days after I was to encounter my second examination. The night -before it one of the _officials_ visited me. These are men who are not -the common officers of a prison, but accredited in some degree by the -higher powers of the Inquisition, and I paid due respect to his -communications, particularly as they were delivered more in detail, and -with more emphasis and energy than I could have expected from an inmate -of that speechless mansion. This circumstance made me expect something -extraordinary, and his discourse verified all, and more than I expected. -He told me in plain terms, that there had been lately a cause of -disturbance and inquietude, which had never before occurred in the -Inquisition. That it was reported a human figure had appeared in the -cells of some of the prisoners, uttering words not only hostile to the -Catholic religion, and the discipline of the most holy Inquisition, but -to religion in general, to the belief of a God and a future state. He -added, that the utmost vigilance of the officials, on the rack for -discovery, had never been able to trace this being in his visits to the -cells of the prisoners; that the guards had been doubled, and every -precaution that the circumspection of the Inquisition could employ, was -had recourse to, hitherto without success; and that the only intimation -they had of this singular visitor, was from some of the prisoners whose -cells he had entered, and whom he had addressed in language that seemed -lent him by the enemy of mankind, to accomplish the perdition of these -unhappy beings. He himself had hitherto eluded all discovery; but he -trusted, that, with the means lately adopted, it was impossible for this -agent of the evil one to insult and baffle the holy tribunal much -longer. He advised me to be prepared on this point, as it would -undoubtedly be touched on at my next examination, and perhaps more -urgently than I might otherwise imagine; and so, commending me to the -holy keeping of God, he departed. - -“Not wholly unconscious of the subject alluded to in this extraordinary -communication, but perfectly innocent of any ulterior signification, as -far as related to myself, I awaited my next examination rather with hope -than fear. After the usual questions of--Why I was there? who had -accused me? for what offence? whether I could recollect any expression -that had ever intimated a disregard for the tenets of the holy church? -&c. &c. &c.--after all this had been gone through, in a detail that may -be spared the hearer, certain extraordinary questions were proposed to -me, that appeared to relate indirectly to the appearance of my late -visitor. I answered them with a sincerity that seemed to make a -frightful impression on my judges. I stated plainly, in answer to their -questions, that a person had appeared in my dungeon. “You must call it -cell,” said the Supreme. “In my cell, then. He spoke with the utmost -severity of the holy office,--he uttered words that it would not be -respectful for me to repeat. I could scarcely believe that such a person -would be permitted to visit the dungeons (cells, I should say) of the -holy Inquisition.” As I uttered these words, one of the judges, -trembling on his seat, (while his shadow, magnified by the imperfect -light, pictured the figure of a paralytic giant on the wall opposite to -me), attempted to address some question to me. As he spoke, there came a -hollow sound from his throat, his eyes were rolled upwards in their -sockets,--he was in an apoplectic paroxysm, and died before he could be -removed to another apartment. The examination terminated suddenly, and -in some confusion; but, as I was remanded back to my cell, I could -perceive, to my consternation, that I had left an impression the most -unfavourable on the minds of the judges. They interpreted this -accidental circumstance in a manner the most extraordinary and unjust, -and I felt the consequences of it at my next examination. - -“That night I received a visit in my cell from one of the judges of the -Inquisition, who conversed with me a considerable time, and in an -earnest and dispassionate manner. He stated the atrocious and revolting -character under which I appeared from the first before the -Inquisition,--that of a monk who had apostatized, had been accused of -the crime of sorcery in his convent, and, in his impious attempt at -escape, had caused the death of his brother, whom he had seduced to join -in it, and had overwhelmed one of the first families with despair and -disgrace. Here I was going to reply, but he stopped me, and observed, -that he came not to listen, but to speak; and went on to inform me, that -though I had been acquitted of the charge of communication with the evil -spirit at the visitation of the Bishop, certain suspicions attached to -me had been fearfully strengthened, by the fact that the visits of the -extraordinary being, of whom I had heard enough to assure me of his -actuality, had never been known in the prison of the Inquisition till my -entrance into it. That the fair and probable conclusion was, that I was -really the victim of the enemy of mankind, whose power (through the -reluctant permission of God and St Dominic, and he crossed himself as he -spoke) had been suffered to range even through the walls of the holy -office. He cautioned me, in severe but plain terms, against the danger -of the situation in which I was placed, by the suspicions universally -and (he feared) too justly attached to me; and, finally, adjured me, as -I valued my salvation, to place my entire confidence in the mercy of the -holy office, and, if _the figure_ should visit me again, to watch what -its impure lips might suggest, and faithfully report it to the holy -office. - -“When the Inquisitor had departed, I reflected on what he had said. I -conceived it was something like the conspiracies so often occurring in -the convent. I conceived that this might be an attempt to involve me in -some plot against myself, something in which I might be led to be active -in my own condemnation,--I felt the necessity of vigilant and breathless -caution. I knew myself innocent, and this is a consciousness that defies -even the Inquisition itself; but, within the walls of the Inquisition, -the consciousness, and the defiance it inspires, are alike vain. I -finally resolved, however, to watch every circumstance that might occur -within the walls of my cell very closely, threatened as I was at once by -the powers of the Inquisition, and those of the infernal demon, and I -had not long to watch. It was on the second night after my examination, -that I saw this person enter my cell. My first impulse was to call aloud -for the officials of the Inquisition. I felt a kind of vacillation I -cannot describe, between throwing myself into the power of the -Inquisition, or the power of this extraordinary being, more formidable -perhaps than all the Inquisitors on earth, from Madrid to Goa. I dreaded -imposition on both sides. I believed that they were playing off terror -against terror; I knew not what to believe or think. I felt myself -surrounded by enemies on every side, and would have given my heart to -those who would first throw off the mask, and announce themselves as my -decided and avowed enemy. After some reflection, I judged it best _to -distrust the Inquisition_, and to hear all that this extraordinary -visitor had to say. In my secret soul I believed him their secret -agent,--I did them great injustice. His conversation on this second -visit was more than usually amusing, but it was certainly such as might -justify all the suspicions of the Inquisitors. At every sentence he -uttered, I was disposed to start up and call for the officials. Then I -represented to myself his turning accuser, and pointing _me_ out as the -victim of their condemnation. I trembled at the idea of committing -myself by a word, while in the power of that dreadful body that might -condemn me to expire under the torture,--or, worse, to die the long and -lingering death of inanity,--the mind famished, the body scarcely -fed,--the annihilation of hopeless and interminable solitude,--the -terrible inversion of natural feeling, that makes life the object of -deprecation, and death of indulgence. - -“The result was, that I sat and listened to the conversation (if it may -be called so) of this extraordinary visitor, who appeared to regard the -walls of the Inquisition no more than those of a domestic apartment, and -who seated himself beside me as quietly as if he had been reposing on -the most luxurious sofa that ever was arrayed by the fingers of -voluptuousness. My senses were so bewildered, my mind so disarranged, -that I can hardly remember his conversation. Part of it ran thus: “You -are a prisoner of the Inquisition. The holy office, no doubt, is -instituted for wise purposes, beyond the cognizance of sinful beings -like us; but, as far as we can judge, its prisoners are not only -insensible of, but shamefully ungrateful for, the benefits they might -derive from its provident vigilance. For instance, you, who are accused -of sorcery, fratricide, and plunging an illustrious and affectionate -family in despair, by your atrocious misconduct, and who are now -fortunately restrained from farther outrages against nature, religion, -and society, by your salutary confinement here;--you, I venture to say, -are so unconscious of these blessings, that it is your earnest desire to -escape from the further enjoyment of them. In a word, I am convinced -that the secret wish of your heart (unconverted by all the profusion of -charity which has been heaped on you by the holy office) is not on any -account to increase the burden of your obligation to them, but, on the -contrary, to diminish as much as possible the grief these worthy persons -must feel, as long as your residence pollutes their holy walls, by -abridging its period, even long before they intend you should do so. -Your wish is to escape from the prison of the holy office, if -possible,--you know it is.” I did not answer a word. I felt a terror at -this wild and fierce irony,--I felt a terror at the mention of escape, -(I had fatal reasons for this feeling),--a terror of every thing, and -every one near me, indescribable. I believed myself tottering on a -narrow ridge,--an Al-araf, between the alternate gulphs which the -infernal spirit and the Inquisition (not less dreaded) disclosed on each -side of my trembling march. I compressed my lips,--I hardly suffered my -breath to escape. - -“The speaker went on. “With regard to your escape, though I can promise -that to you, (and that is what no _human power_ can promise you), you -must be aware of the difficulty which will attend it,--and, should that -difficulty terrify you, will you hesitate?” Still I was silent;--my -visitor perhaps took this for the silence of doubt. He went on. “Perhaps -you think that your lingering here, amid the dungeons of the -Inquisition, will infallibly secure your salvation. There is no error -more absurd, and yet more rooted in the heart of man, than the belief -that his sufferings will promote his spiritual safety.” Here I thought -myself safe in rejoining, that I felt,--I trusted, my sufferings here -would indeed be accepted as a partial mitigation of my well-merited -punishment hereafter. I acknowledged my many errors,--I professed myself -as penitent for my misfortunes as if they had been crimes; and the -energy of my grief combining with the innocence of my heart, I commended -myself to the Almighty with an unction I really felt,--I called on the -names of God, the Saviour, and the Virgin, with the earnest supplication -of sincere devoutness. When I had risen from my knees, my visitor had -retired. * * * * * * * - -“Examination followed examination before the judges, with a rapidity -unexampled in the annals of the Inquisition. Alas! that they should be -_annals_,--that they should be more than records of _one day_ of abuse, -oppression, falsehood, and torture. At my next examination before the -judges, I was interrogated according to the usual forms, and afterwards -was led, by questions as artfully constructed, as if there was any -necessity for art to lead me, to speak to the question on which I longed -to disburden myself. The moment the subject was mentioned, I entered on -my narrative with an eagerness of sincerity that would have undeceived -any but Inquisitors. I announced that I had received another visit from -this unknown being. I repeated, with breathless and trembling eagerness, -every word of our late conference. I did not suppress a syllable of the -insults on the holy office, the wild and fiend-like acrimony of his -satire, the avowed atheism, the diabolism of his conversation,--I dwelt -on every particular. I hoped to _make merit_ with the Inquisition, by -accusing their enemy, and that of mankind. Oh! there is no telling the -agony of zeal with which we work between two mortal adversaries, hoping -to make a friend of one of them! I had suffered enough already from the -Inquisition, but at this moment I would have crouched at the knees of -the Inquisitors,--I would have pleaded for the place of the meanest -official in their prison,--I would have supplicated for the loathsome -office of their executioner,--I would have encountered any thing that -the Inquisition could inflict, to be spared the horror of being imagined -the ally of the enemy of souls. To my distraction, I perceived that -every word I uttered, in all the agony of truth,--in all the hopeless -eloquence of a soul struggling with the fiends who are bearing it beyond -the reach of mercy, was disregarded. The judges appeared struck, indeed, -by the earnestness with which I spoke. They gave, for a moment, a kind -of instinctive credit to my words, extorted by terror; but, a moment -after, I could perceive that _I_, and not my communication, was the -object of that terror. They seemed to view me through a distorting -atmosphere of mystery and suspicion. They urged me, over and over again, -for further particulars,--for ulterior circumstances,--for something -that was in _their_ minds, but not in mine. The more pains they took to -construct their questions skilfully, the more unintelligible they became -to me. I had told all I knew, I was anxious to tell all, but I could not -tell more than I knew, and the agony of my solicitude to meet the object -of the judges, was aggravated in proportion to my ignorance of it. On -being remanded to my cell, I was warned, in the most solemn manner, that -if I neglected to watch, remember, and report every word uttered by the -extraordinary being, whose visits they tacitly acknowledged they could -neither prevent or detect, I might expect the utmost severity of the -holy office. I promised all this,--all that could be demanded, and, -finally, as the last proof I could give of my sincerity, I implored that -some one might be allowed to pass the night in my cell,--or, if that was -contrary to the rules of the Inquisition, that one of the guard might be -stationed in the passage communicating with my cell, to whom I could, by -a signal agreed on, intimate when this nameless being burst on me, and -his impious intrusion might be at once detected and punished. In -speaking thus, I was indulged with a privilege very unusual in the -Inquisition, where the prisoner is only to answer questions, but never -to speak unless when called on. My proposal, however, caused some -consultation; and it was with horror I found, on its termination, that -not one of the officials, even under the discipline of the Inquisition, -would undertake the task of watching at the door of _my_ cell. - -“I went back to it in an agony inexpressible. The more I had laboured to -clear myself, the more I had become involved. My only resource and -consolation was in a determination to obey, to the strictest letter, the -injunctions of the Inquisition. I kept myself studiously awake,--_he_ -came not all that night. Towards the morning I slept,--Oh what a sleep -was mine!--the genii, or the demons of the place, seemed busy in the -dream that haunted me. I am convinced that a real victim of an _auto da -fe_ (so called) never suffered more during his horrible procession to -flames temporal and eternal, than I did during that dream. I dreamed -that the judgement had passed,--the bell had tolled,--and we marched out -from the prison of the Inquisition;--my crime was proved, and my -sentence determined, as an apostate monk and a _diabolical_ heretic. The -procession commenced,--the Dominicans went first, then followed the -penitents, arms and feet bare, each hand holding a wax taper, some with -_san benitos_, some without, all pale, haggard, and breathless, the hue -of their faces frightfully resembling that of their clay-coloured arms -and feet. Then followed those who had on their black dresses the _fuego -revolto_(11). Then followed--I saw _myself_; and this horrid tracing of -yourself in a dream,--this haunting of yourself by your own spectre, -while you still live, is perhaps a curse almost equal to your crimes -visiting you in the punishments of eternity. I saw myself in the garment -of condemnation, _the flames pointing upwards_, while the demons painted -on my dress were mocked by the demons who beset my feet, and hovered -round my temples. The Jesuits on each side of me, urged me to consider -the difference between these painted fires, and those which were about -to enwrap my writhing soul for an eternity of ages. All the bells of -Madrid seemed to be ringing in my ears. There was no light but a dull -twilight, such as one always sees in his sleep, (no man ever dreamed of -sun-light);--there was a dim and smoky blaze of torches in my eyes, -whose flames were soon to _be in my eyes_. I saw the stage before me,--I -was chained to the chair, amid the ringing of bells, the preaching of -the Jesuits, and the shouts of the multitude. A splendid amphitheatre -stood opposite,--the king and queen of Spain, and all the nobility and -hierarchy of the land, were there to see us burn. Our thoughts in dreams -wander; I had heard a story of an _auto da fe_, where a young Jewess, -not sixteen, doomed to be burnt alive, had prostrated herself before the -queen, and exclaimed, “Save me,--save me, do not let me burn, my only -crime is believing in the God of my fathers;”--the queen (I believe -Elizabeth of France, wife of Philip) wept, but the procession went on. -Something like this crossed my dream. I saw the supplicant rejected; the -next moment the figure was that of my brother Juan, who clung to me, -shrieking, “Save me, save me.” The next moment I was chained to my chair -again,--the fires were lit, the bells rang out, the litanies were -sung;--my feet were scorched to a cinder,--my muscles cracked, my blood -and marrow hissed, my flesh consumed like shrinking leather,--the bones -of my legs hung two black withering and moveless sticks in the ascending -blaze;--it ascended, caught my hair,--I was crowned with fire,--my head -was a ball of molten metal, my eyes flashed and melted in their -sockets;--I opened my mouth, it drank fire,--I closed it, the fire was -within,--and still the bells rung on, and the crowd shouted, and the -king and queen, and all the nobility and priesthood, looked on, and we -burned, and burned!--I was a cinder body and soul in my dream. - - (11) _Flames reversed_, intimating that the criminal is not to be - burned. - -“I awoke from it with the horrible exclamation--ever shrieked, never -heard--of those wretches, when the fires are climbing fast and -fell,--_Misericordia por amor di Dios!_ My own screams awoke me,--I was -in my prison, and beside me stood the tempter. With an impulse I could -not resist,--an impulse borrowed from the horrors of my dream, I flung -myself at his feet, and called on him to “save me.” - -“I know not, Sir, nor is it a problem to be solved by human intellect, -whether this inscrutable being had not the power to influence my dreams, -and dictate to a tempting demon the images which had driven me to fling -myself at his feet for hope and safety. However it was, he certainly -took advantage of my agony, half-visionary, half-real as it was, and, -while proving to me that he had the power of effecting my escape from -the Inquisition, proposed to me that incommunicable condition which I am -forbid to reveal, except in the act of confession.” - -Here Melmoth could not forbear remembering the _incommunicable -condition_ proposed to Stanton in the mad-house,--he shuddered, and was -silent. The Spaniard went on. - -“At my next examination, the questions were more eager and earnest than -ever, and I was more anxious to be heard than questioned; so, in spite -of the eternal circumspection and formality of an inquisitorial -examination, we soon came to understand each other. I had an object to -gain, and they had nothing to lose by my gaining that object. I -confessed, without hesitation, that I had received another visit from -that most mysterious being, who could penetrate the recesses of the -Inquisition, without either its leave or prevention, (the judges -trembled on their seats, as I uttered these words);--that I was most -willing to disclose all that had transpired at our last conference, but -that I required to first confess to a priest, and receive absolution. -This, though quite contrary to the rules of the Inquisition, was, on -this extraordinary occasion, complied with. A black curtain was dropt -before one of the recesses; I knelt down before a priest, and confided -to him that tremendous secret, which, according to the rules of the -Catholic church, can never be disclosed by the confessor but to the -Pope. I do not understand how the business was managed, but I was called -on to repeat the same confession before the Inquisitors. I repeated it -word for word, saving only the words that my oath, and my consciousness -of the holy secret of confession, forbade me to disclose. The sincerity -of this confession, I thought, would have worked a miracle for me,--and -so it did, but not the miracle that I expected. They required from me -that incommunicable secret; I announced it was in the bosom of the -priest to whom I had confessed. They whispered, and seemed to debate -about the torture. - -“At this time, as may be supposed, I cast an anxious and miserable look -round the apartment, where the large crucifix, thirteen feet high, stood -bending above the seat of the Supreme. At this moment I saw a person -seated at the table covered with black cloth, intensely busy as a -secretary, or person employed in taking down the depositions of the -accused. As I was led near the table, this person flashed a look of -recognition on me,--he was my dreaded companion,--he was an official now -of the Inquisition. I gave all up the moment I saw his ferocious and -lurking scowl, like that of the tiger before he springs from his jungle, -or the wolf from his den. This person threw on me looks, from time to -time, which I could not mistake, and I dared not interpret;--and I had -reason to believe that the tremendous sentence pronounced against me, -issued, if not from his lips, at least from his dictation.--“You, Alonzo -di Monçada, monk, professed of the order of ----, accused of the crimes -of heresy, apostacy, fratricide, (“Oh no,--no!” I shrieked, but no one -heeded me), and conspiracy with the enemy of mankind against the peace -of the community in which you professed yourself a votary of God, and -against the authority of the holy office; accused, moreover, of -intercourse in your cell, the prison of the holy office, with an -infernal messenger of the foe of God, man, and your own apostatized -soul; condemned on your own confession of the infernal spirit having had -access to your cell,--are hereby delivered to----” - -“I heard no more. I exclaimed, but my voice was drowned in the murmur of -the officials. The crucifix suspended behind the chair of the judge, -rocked and reeled before my eyes; the lamp that hung from the ceiling, -seemed to send forth twenty lights. I held up my hands in -abjuration--they were held down by stronger hands. I tried to speak--my -mouth was stopped. I sunk on my knees--on my knees I was about to be -dragged away, when an aged Inquisitor giving a sign to the officials, I -was released for a few moments, and he addressed me in these -words--words rendered terrible by the sincerity of the speaker. From his -age, from his sudden interposition, I had expected mercy. He was a very -old man--he had been blind for twenty years; and as he rose to speak my -malediction, my thoughts wandered from Appius Claudius of -Rome,--blessing the loss of sight, that saved him from beholding the -disgrace of his country,--to that blind chief Inquisitor of Spain, who -assured Philip, that in sacrificing his son, he imitated the Almighty, -who had sacrificed his Son also for the salvation of mankind.--Horrid -profanation! yet striking application to the bosom of a Catholic. The -words of the Inquisitor were these: “Wretch, apostate, and -excommunicate, I bless God that these withered balls can no longer -behold you. The demon has haunted you from your birth--you were born in -sin--fiends rocked your cradle, and dipt their talons in the holy font, -while they mocked the sponsors of your unsanctified baptism. -Illegitimate and accursed, you were always the burden of the holy -church; and now, the infernal spirit comes to claim his own, and you -acknowledge him as your lord and master. He has sought and sealed you as -his own, even amid the prison of the Inquisition. Begone, accursed, we -deliver you over to the secular arm, praying that it may deal with you -not too severely.” At these terrible words, whose meaning I understood -but too well, I uttered one shriek of agony--the only _human_ sound ever -heard within the walls of the Inquisition. But I was borne away; and -that cry into which I had thrown the whole strength of nature, was -heeded no more than a cry from the torture room. On my return to my -cell, I felt convinced the whole was a scheme of inquisitorial art, to -involve me in self-accusation, (their constant object when they can -effect it), and punish me for a crime, while I was guilty only of an -extorted confession. - -“With compunction and anguish unutterable, I execrated my own beast-like -and credulous stupidity. Could any but an idiot, a driveller, have been -the victim of such a plot? Was it in nature to believe that the prisons -of the Inquisition could be traversed at will by a stranger whom no one -could discover or apprehend? That such a being could enter cells -impervious to human power, and hold conversation with the prisoners at -his pleasure--appear and disappear--insult, ridicule, and -blaspheme--propose escape, and point out the means with a precision and -facility, that must be the result of calm and profound calculation--and -this within the walls of the Inquisition, almost in the hearing of the -judges--actually in the hearing of the guards, who night and day paced -the passages with sleepless and inquisitorial vigilance?--ridiculous, -monstrous, impossible! it was all a plot to betray me to -self-condemnation. My visitor was an agent and accomplice of the -Inquisition, and I was my own betrayer and executioner. Such was my -conclusion; and, hopeless as it was, it certainly seemed probable. - -“I had now nothing to await but the most dreadful of all destinations, -amid the darkness and silence of my cell, where the total suspension of -the stranger’s visits confirmed me every hour in my conviction of their -nature and purport, when an event occurred, whose consequences alike -defeated fear, hope, and calculation. This was the great fire that broke -out within the walls of the Inquisition, about the close of the last -century. - -“It was on the night of the 29th November 17--, that this extraordinary -circumstance took place--extraordinary from the well-known precautions -adopted by the vigilance of the holy office against such an accident, -and also from the very small quantity of fuel consumed within its walls. -On the first intimation that the fire was spreading rapidly, and -threatened danger, the prisoners were ordered to be brought from their -cells, and guarded in a court of the prison. I must acknowledge we were -treated with great humanity and consideration. We were conducted -deliberately from our cells, placed each of us between two guards, who -did us no violence, nor used harsh language, but assured us, from time -to time, that if the danger became imminent, we would be permitted every -fair opportunity to effect our escape. It was a subject worthy of the -pencil of Salvator Rosa, or of Murillo, to sketch us as we stood. Our -dismal garbs and squalid looks, contrasted with the equally dark, but -imposing and authoritative looks of the guards and officials, all -displayed by the light of torches, which burned, or appeared to burn, -fainter and fainter, as the flames rose and roared in triumph above the -towers of the Inquisition. The heavens were all on fire--and the -torches, held no longer in firm hands, gave a tremulous and pallid -light. It seemed to me like a wildly painted picture of the last day. -God appeared descending in the light that enveloped the skies--and we -stood pale and shuddering in the light below. - -“Among the groupe of prisoners, there were fathers and sons, who perhaps -had been inmates of adjacent cells for years, without being conscious of -each others vicinity or existence--but they did not dare to recognize -each other. Was not this like the day of judgement, where similar mortal -relations may meet under different classes of the sheep and goats, -without presuming to acknowledge the strayed one amid the flock of a -different shepherd? There were also parents and children who _did_ -recognize and stretch out their wasted arms to each other, though -feeling they must never meet,--some of them condemned to the flames, -some to imprisonment, and some to the official duties of the -Inquisition, as a mitigation of their sentence,--and was not this like -the day of judgement, where parent and child may be allotted different -destinations, and the arms that would attest the last proof of mortal -affection, are expanded in vain over the gulph of eternity. Behind and -around us stood the officials and guards of the Inquisition, all -watching and intent on the progress of the flames, but fearless of the -result with regard to themselves. Such may be the feeling of those -spirits who watch the doom of the Almighty, and know the destination of -those they are appointed to watch. And is not this like the day of -judgement? Far, far, above us, the flames burst out in volumes, in solid -masses of fire, spiring up to the burning heavens. The towers of the -Inquisition shrunk into cinders--that tremendous monument of the power, -and crime, and gloom of the human mind, was wasting like a scroll in the -fire. Will it not be thus also at the day of judgement? Assistance was -slowly brought--Spaniards are very indolent--the engines played -imperfectly--the danger increased--the fire blazed higher and -higher--the persons employed to work the engines, paralyzed by terror, -fell to the ground, and called on every saint they could think of, to -arrest the progress of the flames. Their exclamations were so loud and -earnest, that really the saints must have been deaf, or must have felt a -particular predilection for a conflagration, not to attend to them. -However it was, the fire went on. Every bell in Madrid rang out.--Orders -were issued to every Alcalde to be had.--The king of Spain himself, -((12)after a hard day’s shooting), attended in person. The churches were -all lit up, and thousands of the devout supplicated on their knees by -torchlight, or whatever light they could get, that the reprobate souls -confined in the Inquisition might feel the fires that were consuming its -walls, as merely a slight foretaste of the fires that glowed for them -for ever and ever. The fire went on, doing its dreadful work, and -heeding kings and priests no more than if they were firemen. I am -convinced twenty able men, accustomed to such business, could have -quenched the fire; but when our workmen should have played their -engines, they were all on their knees. - - (12) The passion of the late king of Spain for field sports was well - known. - -“The flames at last began to descend into the court. Then commenced a -scene of horror indescribable. The wretches who had been doomed to the -flames, imagined their hour was come. Idiots from long confinement, and -submissive as the holy office could require, they became delirious as -they saw the flames approaching, and shrieked audibly, “Spare me--spare -me--put me to as little torture as you can.” Others, kneeling to the -approaching flames, invoked them as saints. They dreamt they saw the -visions they had worshipped,--the holy angels, and even the blessed -virgin, descending in flames to receive their souls as parting from the -stake; and they howled out their allelujahs half in horror, half in -hope. Amid this scene of distraction, the Inquisitors stood their -ground. It was admirable to see their firm and solemn array. As the -flames prevailed, they never faultered with foot, or gave a sign with -hand, or winked with eye;--their duty, their stern and heartless duty, -seemed to be the only principle and motive of their existence. They -seemed a phalanx clad in iron impenetrable. When the fires roared, they -crossed themselves calmly;--when the prisoners shrieked, they gave a -signal for silence;--when they dared to pray, they tore them from their -knees, and hinted the inutility of prayer at such a juncture, when they -might be sure that the flames they were deprecating would burn hotter in -a region from which there was neither escape or hope of departure. At -this moment, while standing amid the groupe of prisoners, my eyes were -struck by an extraordinary spectacle. Perhaps it is amid the moments of -despair, that imagination has most power, and they who have suffered, -can best describe and feel. In the burning light, the steeple of the -Dominican church was as visible as at noon-day. It was close to the -prison of the Inquisition. The night was intensely dark, but so strong -was the light of the conflagration, that I could see the spire blazing, -from the reflected lustre, like a meteor. The hands of the clock were as -visible as if a torch was held before them; and this calm and silent -progress of time, amid the tumultuous confusion of midnight -horrors,--this scene of the physical and mental world in an agony of -fruitless and incessant motion, might have suggested a profound and -singular image, had not my whole attention been rivetted to a human -figure placed on a pinnacle of the spire, and surveying the scene in -perfect tranquillity. It was a figure not to be mistaken--it was the -figure of him who had visited me in the cells of the Inquisition. The -hopes of my justification made me forget every thing. I called aloud on -the guard, and pointed out the figure, visible as it was in that strong -light to every eye. No one had time, however, to give a glance towards -it. At that very moment, the archway of the court opposite to us gave -way, and sunk in ruins at our feet, dashing, as it fell, an ocean of -flame against us. One wild shriek burst from every lip at that moment. -Prisoners, guards, and Inquisitors, all shrunk together, mingled in one -groupe of terror. - -“The next instant, the flames being suppressed by the fall of such a -mass of stone, there arose such a blinding cloud of smoke and dust, that -it was impossible to distinguish the face or figure of those who were -next you. The confusion was increased by the contrast of this sudden -darkness, to the intolerable light that had been drying up our sight for -the last hour, and by the cries of those who, being near the arch, lay -maimed and writhing under its fragments. Amid shrieks, and darkness, and -flames, a space lay open before me. The thought, the motion, were -simultaneous--no one saw--no one pursued;--and hours before my absence -could be discovered, or an inquiry be made after me, I had struggled -safe and secret through the ruins, and was in the streets of Madrid. - -“To those who have escaped present and extreme peril, all other peril -seems trifling. The wretch who has swum from a wreck cares not on what -shore he is cast; and though Madrid was in fact only a wider prison of -the Inquisition to me, in knowing that I was no longer in the hands of -the officials, I felt a delirious and indefinite consciousness of -safety. Had I reflected for a moment, I must have known, that my -peculiar dress and _bare feet_ must betray me wherever I went. The -conjuncture, however, was very favourable to me--the streets were -totally deserted;--every inhabitant who was not in bed, or bed-rid, was -in the churches, deprecating the wrath of heaven, and praying for the -extinction of the flames. - -“I ran on, I know not where, till I could run no longer. The pure air, -which I had been so long unaccustomed to breathe, acted like the most -torturing spicula on my throat and lungs as I flew along, and utterly -deprived me of the power of respiration, which at first it appeared to -restore. I saw a building near me, whose large doors were open. I rushed -in--it was a church. I fell on the pavement panting. It was the aisle -into which I had burst--it was separated from the chancel by large -grated railings. Within I could see the priests at the altar, by the -lamps recently and rarely lighted, and a few trembling devotees on their -knees, in the body of the chancel. There was a strong contrast between -the glare of the lamps within the chancel, and the faint light that -trembled through the windows of the aisle, scarcely showing me the -monuments, on one of which I leaned to rest my throbbing temples for a -moment. I could not rest--I dared not--and rising, I cast an involuntary -glance on the inscription which the monument bore. The light appeared to -increase maliciously, to aid my powers of vision. I read, “Orate pro -anima.” I at last came to the name--“Juan di Monçada.” I flew from the -spot as if pursued by demons--my brother’s early grave had been my -resting place. - -END OF VOLUME SECOND. - - - - - Transcriber’s Note: - - The following is a list of corrections made to the original. - The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. - - escaped damnation to all eternity. I tried to pacify him, to assure him - escaped damnation to all eternity.” I tried to pacify him, to assure him - - I have never felt any fear so horrible. “I walked up and down, I repeated - I have never felt any fear so horrible. I walked up and down, I repeated - - It was noon before I could work myself up to execute this resolution. I - “It was noon before I could work myself up to execute this resolution. I - - God - God. - - my late tremendous visitation, as he called it. Satan hath desired to - my late tremendous visitation, as he called it. “Satan hath desired to - - have you, he said, because you have put yourself within his power, by - have you,” he said, “because you have put yourself within his power, by - - The Superior all this time walked impatiently up and down his - “The Superior all this time walked impatiently up and down his - - natural malignity of wretchedness, “If they tremble, I may exult. When - natural malignity of wretchedness, “If they tremble, I may exult.” When - - Bishop paused. An appeal to his fealings would have been vain, but this - Bishop paused. An appeal to his feelings would have been vain, but this - - the assistance of the lamp in my ce , and went to watch again at the - the assistance of the lamp in my cell, and went to watch again at the - - they cut their parents hearts or their throats. I have cut _one_ - they cut their parents’ hearts or their throats. I have cut _one_ - - criminals should undergo what they called extraorordinary penance; that - criminals should undergo what they called extraordinary penance; that - - were issued to every Alcaide to be had.--The king of Spain himself, - were issued to every Alcalde to be had.--The king of Spain himself, - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Melmoth the Wanderer Vol 2 (of 4), by -Charles Robert Maturin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELMOTH THE WANDERER VOL 2 (OF 4) *** - -***** This file should be named 53686-0.txt or 53686-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/6/8/53686/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Jana Srna and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Melmoth the Wanderer Vol 2 (of 4) - -Author: Charles Robert Maturin - -Release Date: December 7, 2016 [EBook #53686] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELMOTH THE WANDERER VOL 2 (OF 4) *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Jana Srna and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<div class="transcribers-note"> -<p class="center"><b>Transcriber’s Notes:</b></p> - -<p>Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully -as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation.</p> - -<p>Some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. -<span class="screen">They are marked <ins title="transcriber's note">like -this</ins> in the text. The original text appears when hovering the cursor -over the marked text.</span> A <a href="#tn-bottom">list of amendments</a> is -at the end of the text.</p> -<p>The motto for <a href="#Chapter_VI">Chapter VI</a> is misquoted from -<cite>Iliad</cite> XXIII 72; it has been left as printed.</p> -</div> - -<h1><big>MELMOTH</big><br /> -<small>THE</small><br /> -WANDERER:<br /> -<small>A</small><br /> -TALE.</h1> - -<p class="center">BY THE AUTHOR OF “BERTRAM,” &c.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">IN FOUR VOLUMES.</p> - -<p class="center">VOL. II.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center spaced"><big>EDINBURGH:</big><br /> -PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY,<br /> -<small>AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. CHEAPSIDE,<br /> -LONDON.</small></p> - -<hr class="short-line"/> - -<p class="center">1820.</p> - -<p class="center page-break" style="font-size: x-large;"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_1" title="1"> </a>MELMOTH.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="Chapter_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line" lang="grc" xml:lang="grc" title="Têle meirgousi psychai eidôla kamontôn.">Τηλε μἐιργουσι ψυχαι ειδωλα καμοντων.<br /></div> -<div class="line right small-caps">Homer.<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="small-caps">When</span>, after some days interval, the -Spaniard attempted to describe his feelings -on the receipt of his brother’s letter, the -sudden resuscitation of heart, and hope, and -existence, that followed its perusal, he trembled,—uttered -some inarticulate sounds;—wept;—and -his agitation appeared to Melmoth, -with <em>his uncontinental feelings</em>, so -violent, that he entreated him to spare the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_2" title="2"> </a> -description of his feelings, and proceed -with his narrative.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” said the Spaniard, drying -his tears, “joy is a convulsion, but -grief is a habit, and to describe what we -never can communicate, is as absurd as to -talk of colours to the blind. I will hasten -on, not to tell of my feelings, but of the -results which they produced. A new world -of hope was opened to me. I thought I -saw liberty on the face of heaven when I -walked in the garden. I laughed at the -jar of the doors as they opened, and said -to myself, “You shall soon expand to me -for ever.” I behaved with uncommon -complacency to the community. But I did -not, amid all this, neglect the most scrupulous -precautions suggested by my brother. -Am I confessing the strength or -the weakness of my heart? In the midst -of all the systematic dissimulation that I -was prepared and eager to carry on, the -only circumstance that gave me real compunction, -was my being obliged to destroy -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_3" title="3"> </a> -the letters of that dear and generous -youth who had risked every thing for my -emancipation. In the mean time, I pursued -my preparations with industry inconceivable -to you, who have never been in a -convent.</p> - -<p>“Lent was now begun,—all the community -were preparing themselves for the -great confession. They shut themselves -up,—they prostrated themselves before the -shrines of the saints,—they occupied themselves -whole hours in taking minutes of -their consciences, and magnifying the trivial -defects of conventual discipline into -offences in the eye of God, in order to -give consequence to their penitence in -the hearing of the confessor,—in fact, -they would have been glad to accuse -themselves of a crime, to escape from the -monotony of a monastic conscience. -There was a kind of silent bustle in the -house, that very much favoured my purposes. -Hour after hour I demanded paper -for my confession. I obtained it, but -my frequent demands excited suspicion,—they -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_4" title="4"> </a> -little knew what I was writing. -Some said, for every thing excites inquiry -in a convent, “He is writing the history -of his family; he will discharge it into the -ears of the confessor, along with the secrets -of his own soul.” Others said, “He -has been in a state of <em>alienation</em> for some -time, he is giving an account to God for -it,—we shall never hear a word about it.” -Others, who were more judicious, said, -“He is weary of the monastic life, he is -writing an account of his monotony and -ennui, doubtless that must be very long;” -and the speakers yawned as they uttered -these words, which gave a very strong attestation -to what they said. The Superior -watched me in silence. He was alarmed, -and with reason. He consulted with some -of the <em>discreet</em> brethren, whom I mentioned -before, and the result was a restless -vigilance on their part, to which I supplied -an incessant fuel, by my absurd and perpetual -demand for paper. Here, I acknowledge, -I committed a great oversight. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_5" title="5"> </a> -It was impossible for the most exaggerated -conscience to charge itself, even in a convent, -with crimes enough to fill all the -paper I required. I was filling them all -the time with <em>their</em> crimes, not my own. -Another great mistake I made, was being -wholly unprepared for the great confession -when it came on. I received intimations -of this as we walked in the garden,—I -have before mentioned that I had assumed -an amicability of habit toward them. They -would say to me, “You have made ample -preparations for the great confession.” “I -have prepared myself.” “But we expect -great edification from its results.” “I -trust you will receive it.”—I said no -more, but I was very much disturbed at -these hints. Others would say, “My -brother, amid the multitudinous offences -that burden your conscience, and which -you have found necessary to employ quires -of paper to record, would it not be a relief -to you to open your mind to the Superior, -and ask for a few previous moments -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_6" title="6"> </a> -of consolation and direction from -<em>him</em>.” To this I answered, “I thank you, -and will consider of it.”—I was thinking -all the time of something else.</p> - -<p>“It was a few nights before the time of -the great confession, that I had to entrust -the last packet of my memorial to the -porter. Our meetings had been hitherto -unsuspected. I had received and answered -my brother’s communications, and our -correspondence had been conducted with a -secrecy unexampled in convents. But this -last night, as I put my packet into the -porter’s hand, I saw a change in his appearance -that terrified me. He had been a -comely, robust man, but now, even by the -moon-light, I could perceive he was wasted -to a shadow,—his hands trembled as he -took the papers from me,—his voice faultered -as he promised his usual secrecy. -The change, which had been observed by -the whole convent, had escaped me till -that night; my mind had been too much -occupied by my own situation. I noticed -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_7" title="7"> </a> -it then, however, and I said, “But what -is the matter?” “Can you then ask? I -am withered to a spectre by the terrors of -the office I have been bribed to. Do you -know what I risk?—incarceration for life, -or rather for death,—perhaps a denunciation -to the Inquisition. Every line I deliver -from you, or to you, seems a charge -against my own soul,—I tremble when I -meet you. I know that you have the -sources of life and death, temporal and -eternal, in your hands. The secret in -which I am an agent should never be intrusted -but to <em>one</em>, and <em>you are another</em>. -As I sit in my place, I think every step -in the cloister is advancing to summon me -to the presence of the Superior. When I -attend in the choir, amid the sounds of -devotion your voice swells to accuse me. -When I lie down at night, the evil spirit -is beside my bed, reproaching me with -perjury, and reclaiming his prey;—his -emissaries surround me wherever I move,—I -am beset by the tortures of hell. The -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_8" title="8"> </a> -saints from their shrines frown on me,—I -see the painting of the traitor Judas on -every side I turn to. When I sleep for a -moment, I am awakened by my own cries. -I exclaim, “Do not betray me, he has -not yet violated his vows, I was but an agent,—I -was bribed,—do not kindle those -fires for me.” I shudder,—I start up in a -cold sweat. My rest, my appetite, are -gone. Would to God you were out of -this convent;—and O! would that I had -never been instrumental to your release, -then both of us might have escaped damnation -to all <ins title="eternity.">eternity.”</ins> I tried to pacify -him, to assure him of his safety, but nothing -could satisfy him but my solemn -and sincere assurance that this was the -last packet I would ever ask him to deliver. -He departed tranquillized by this assurance; -and I felt the dangers of my attempt -multiplying around me every hour.</p> - -<p>“This man was faithful, but he was timid; -and what confidence can we have in -a being whose right hand is held out to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_9" title="9"> </a> -you, while his left trembles to be employed -in transferring your secret to your enemy. -This man died a few weeks after. I -believe I owed his dying fidelity to the -delirium that seized on his last moments. -But what I suffered during those moments!—his -death under such circumstances, -and the unchristian joy I felt at it, -were only in my mind stronger evidences -against the unnatural state of life that -could render such an event, and such feelings, -almost necessary. It was on the evening -after this, that I was surprised to see -the Superior, with four of the monks, enter -my cell. I felt this visit boded me no -good. I trembled all over, while I received -them with deference. The Superior -seated himself opposite to me, arranging -his seat so as that I was opposite the light. -I did not understand what this precaution -meant, but I conceive now, that he wished -to watch every change in my countenance, -while his was concealed from me. The -four monks stood at the back of his chair; -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_10" title="10"> </a> -their arms were folded, their lips closed, -their eyes half shut, their heads declined—they -looked like men assembled reluctantly -to witness the execution of a criminal. -The Superior began, in a mild voice, “My -son, you have been intently employed on -your confession for some time—that was -laudable. But have you, then, accused -yourself of every crime your conscience -charges you with?” “I have, my father.” -“Of all, you are sure?” “My father, I -have accused myself of all I was conscious -of. Who but God can penetrate the abysses -of the heart? I have searched mine as -far as I could.” “And you have recorded -all the accusations you found there?” “I -have.” “And you did not discover among -them the crime of obtaining the means of -writing out your confession, to abuse them -to a very different purpose?”—This was -coming to the point. I felt it necessary -to summon my resolution—and I said, -with a venial equivocation, “That is a -crime of which my conscience <em>does not accuse -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_11" title="11"> </a> -me</em>.” “My son, do not dissemble -with your conscience, or with me. I -should be even above it in your estimation; -for if it errs and deceives you, it is -to me you should apply to enlighten and -direct it. But I see it is in vain to attempt -to touch your heart. I make my -last appeal to it in these plain words. A -few moments only of indulgence await -you—use them or abuse them, as you will. -I have to ask you a few plain questions, -which, if you refuse to answer, or do not -answer truly, your blood be on your own -head.” I trembled, but I said, “My father, -have I then refused to answer your questions?” -“Your answers are all either interrogations -or evasions. They must be direct -and simple to the questions I am about to -propose in the presence of these brethren. -More depends on your answer than you -are aware of. The warning voice breaks -forth in spite of me.”—Terrified at these -words, and humbled to the wish to propitiate -them, I rose from my chair—then -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_12" title="12"> </a> -gasping, I leant on it for support. I said, -“My God! what is all this terrible preparation -for? Of what am I guilty? Why -am I summoned by this warning voice so -often, whose warnings are only so many -mysterious threatenings? Why am I not -told of my offence?”</p> - -<p>“The four monks, who had never spoken -or lifted up their heads till that moment, -now directed their livid eyes at me, -and repeated, all together, in a voice that -seemed to issue from the bottom of a sepulchre, -“Your crime is—” The Superior -gave them a signal to be silent, and -this interruption increased my consternation. -It is certain, that when we are conscious -of guilt, we always suspect that a -greater degree of it will be ascribed to us -by others. Their consciences avenge the -palliations of our own, by the most horrible -exaggerations. I did not know of -what crime they might be disposed to accuse -me; and already I felt the accusation -of my clandestine correspondence as dust -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_13" title="13"> </a> -in the balance of their resentment. I had -heard the crimes of convents were sometimes -unutterably atrocious; and I felt as -anxious now for a distinct charge to be -preferred against me, as I had a few moments -before to evade it. These indefinite -fears were soon exchanged for real ones, as -the Superior proposed his questions. “You -have procured a large quantity of paper—how -did you employ it?” I recovered -myself, and said, “As I ought to do.” -“How, in unburdening your conscience?” -“Yes, in unburdening my conscience.” -“That is false; the greatest sinner on -earth could not have blotted so many pages -with the record of his crimes.” “I have -often been told in the convent, I <em>was</em> the -greatest sinner on earth.” “You equivocate -again, and convert your ambiguities -into reproaches—this will not do—you -must answer plainly: For what purpose did -you procure so much paper, and how have -you employed it?” “I have told you already.” -“It was, then, employed in your -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_14" title="14"> </a> -confession?”—I was silent, but bowed assentingly.—“You -can, then, shew us the -proofs of your application to your duties. -Where is the manuscript that contains -your confession?” I blushed and hesitated, -as I showed about half-a-dozen blotted -and scrawled pages as my confession. It -was ridiculous. It did not occupy more -than a tenth part of the paper which I had -received. “And this is your confession?” -“It is.” “And you dare to say that you -have employed all the paper entrusted to -you for that purpose.”—I was silent. -“Wretch!” said the Superior, losing all -patience, “disclose instantly for what purpose -you have employed the paper granted -you. Acknowledge instantly that it -was for some purpose contrary to the interests -of this house.”—At these words I -was roused. I saw again the cloven foot -of interest peeping from beneath the monastic -garb. I answered, “Why am I -suspected if <em>you</em> are not guilty? What -could I accuse you of? What could I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_15" title="15"> </a> -complain of if there were no cause? Your -own consciences must answer this question -for me.” At these words, the monks were -again about to interpose, when the Superior, -silencing them by a signal, went on -with his matter-of-fact questions, that paralyzed -all the energy of passion. “You will -not tell me what you have done with the -paper committed to you?”—I was silent.—“I -enjoin you, by your holy obedience, -to disclose it this moment.”—His voice rose -in passion as he spoke, and this operated -as a signal on mine. I said, “You have -no right, my father, to demand such a declaration.” -“Right is not the question now. -I command you to tell me. I require -your oath on the altar of Jesus Christ, and -by the image of his blessed Mother.” -“You have no right to demand such an -oath. I know the rules of the house—I -am responsible to the confessor.” “Do -you, then, make a question between right -and power? You shall soon feel, within -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_16" title="16"> </a> -these walls, they are the same.” “I make -no question—perhaps they are the same.” -“And you will not tell what you have -done with those papers, blotted, doubtless, -with the most infernal calumnies?” “I -will not.” “And you will take the consequences -of your obstinacy on your own -head?” “I will.” And the four monks -chorussed again, all in the same unnatural -tone, “The consequences be on his own -head.” But while they spoke thus, two -of them whispered in my ears, “Deliver -up your papers, and all is well. The -whole convent knows you have been -writing.” I answered, “I have nothing -to give up—nothing on the faith of a -monk. I have not a single page in my -possession, but what you have seized on.” -The monks, who had whispered in a conciliatory -tone to me before, quitted me. -They conversed in whispers with the Superior, -who, darting on me a terrible look, -exclaimed, “And you will not give up -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_17" title="17"> </a> -your papers?” “I have nothing to give -up: Search my person—search my cell—every -thing is open to you.” “Every -thing shall be soon,” said the Superior in -fury. In a moment the examination commenced. -There was not an article of furniture -in my cell that was not the object -of their investigation. My chair and table -were overturned, shaken, and finally broken, -in the attempt to discover whether -any papers had been secreted in them. -The prints were snatched from the walls,—held -up between them and the light.—Then -the very frames were broken, to try -if any thing was concealed in them. Then -they examined my bed;—they threw all -the furniture about the floor, they unripped -the mattress, and tore out the straw; -one of them, during this operation, actually -applied his teeth to facilitate it,—and -this malice of activity formed a singular -contrast to the motionless and rigid torpor -with which they had clothed themselves -but a few moments before. All this time, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_18" title="18"> </a> -I stood in the centre of the floor, as I was -ordered, without turning to right or left. -Nothing was found to justify their suspicions. -They then surrounded me; and -the examination of my person was equally -rapid, minute, and indecorous. Every -thing I wore was on the floor in a moment: -The very seams of my habit were -ript open; and, during the examination, I -covered myself with one of the blankets -they had taken from my bed. When it -was over, I said, “Have you discovered -any thing?” The Superior answered, in -a voice of rage, struggling proudly, but -vainly, with disappointment, “I have -other means of discovery—prepare for -them, and tremble when they are resorted -to.” At these words he rushed from my -cell, giving a sign to the four monks to -follow him. I was left alone. I had no -longer any doubt of my danger. I saw -myself exposed to the fury of men who -would risk nothing to appease it. I watched, -waited, trembled, at every step I heard -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_19" title="19"> </a> -in the gallery—at the sound of every door -that opened or shut near me. Hours went -on in this agony of suspense, and terminated -at last without an event. No one came -near me that night—the next was to be -that of the great confession. In the course -of the day, I took my place in the choir, -trembling, and watching every eye. I felt -as if every countenance was turned on me, -and every tongue said in silence, “Thou -art the man.” Often I wished that the -storm I felt was gathering around me, -would burst at once. It is better to hear -the thunder than to watch the cloud. It -did not burst, however, then. And when -the duties of the day were over, I retired -to my cell, and remained there, pensive, -anxious, and irresolute.</p> - -<p>“The confession had begun; and as I -heard the penitents, one by one, return -from the church, and close the doors of -their cells, I began to dread that I was to -be excluded from approaching the holy -chair, and that this exclusion from a sacred -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_20" title="20"> </a> -and indispensible right, was to be the commencement -of some mysterious course of -rigour. I waited, however, and was at -last summoned. This restored my courage, -and I went through my duties more -tranquilly. After I had made my confession, -only a few simple questions were -proposed to me, as, Whether I could accuse -myself of any <em>inward</em> breach of conventual -duty? of any thing I had <em>reserved</em>? -any thing in my conscience? &c.—and -on my answering them in the negative, -was suffered to depart. It was on -that very night the porter died. My last -packet had gone some days before,—all -was safe and well. Neither voice or line -could bear witness against me now, and -hope began to revisit me, as I reflected -that my brother’s zealous industry would -discover some other means for our future -communication.</p> - -<p>“All was profound calm for a few days, -but the storm was to come soon enough. -On the fourth evening after the confession, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_21" title="21"> </a> -I was sitting alone in my cell, when I -heard an unusual bustle in the convent. -The bell was rung,—the new porter seemed -in great agitation,—the Superior hurried -to the parlour first, then to his cell,—then -some of the elder monks were summoned. -The younger whispered in the -galleries,—shut their doors violently,—all -seemed in agitation. In a domestic building, -occupied by the smallest family, such -circumstances would hardly be noticed, -but, in a convent, the miserable monotony -of what may be called their internal existence, -gives an importance,—an interest, to -the most trivial external circumstance in -common life. I felt all this. I said to myself, -“Something is going on.”—I added, -“Something is going on against me.” I -was right in both my conjectures. Late in -the evening I was ordered to attend the -Superior in his own apartment,—I said -I was ready to go. Two minutes after the -order was reversed, and I was desired to -remain in my cell, and await the approach -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_22" title="22"> </a> -of the Superior,—I answered I was willing -to obey. But this sudden change of orders -filled me with an <em>indefinite</em> fear; and in all -the changes of my life, and vicissitude of -my feelings, I have never felt any fear so -horrible. <ins title="“I">I</ins> walked up and down, I repeated -incessantly, “My God protect me! -my God strengthen me!” Then I dreaded -to ask the protection of God, doubting -whether the cause in which I was engaged -merited his protection. My ideas, however, -were all scattered by the sudden entrance -of the Superior and the four monks -who had attended him on the visit previous -to the confession. At their entrance -I rose,—no one desired me to sit down. -The Superior advanced with a look of -fury, and, dashing some papers on my -table, said, “Is that your writing?” I -threw a hurried and terrified eye over the -papers,—<em>they were a copy of my memorial</em>. -I had presence of mind enough to -say, “That is not my writing.” “Wretch! -you equivocate, it is a copy of your writing.”—I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_23" title="23"> </a> -was silent.—“Here is a proof of -it,” he added, throwing down another paper. -It was a copy of the memoir of the -advocate, addressed to me, and which, by -the influence of a superior court, they -had not the power of withholding from -me. I was expiring with anxiety to examine -it, but I did not dare to glance at it. -The Superior unfolded page after page. -He said, “Read, wretch! read,—look into -it, examine it line by line.” I approached -trembling,—I glanced at it,—in the -very first lines I read <em>hope</em>. My courage -revived.—I said, “My father, I acknowledge -this to be the copy of my memorial. -I demand your permission to read the answer -of the advocate, you cannot refuse -me this right.” “Read it,” said the Superior, -and he flung it towards me.</p> - -<p>“You may readily believe, Sir, that, -under such circumstances, I could not read -with very steady eyes; and my penetration -was not at all quickened by the four -monks disappearing from the cell, at a signal -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_24" title="24"> </a> -I did not see. The Superior and I -were now alone. He walked up and down -my cell, while I appeared to hang over -the advocate’s memoir. Suddenly he stopped;—he -struck his hand with violence on -the table,—the pages I was trembling over -quivered from the violence of the blow,—I -started from my chair. “Wretch,” said the -Superior, “when have such papers as those -profaned the convent before? When, till -your unhallowed entrance, were we insulted -with the memoirs of legal advocates? -How comes it that you have dared -to<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” “Do what, my father?” “Reclaim -your vows, and expose <em>us</em> to all the -scandal of a civil court and its proceedings.” -“I weighed it all against my own -misery.” “Misery! is it thus you speak -of a conventual life, the only life that can -promise tranquillity here, or ensure salvation -hereafter.” These words, uttered by a man -convulsed by the most frantic passion, were -their own refutation. My courage rose in -proportion to his fury; and besides, I was -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_25" title="25"> </a> -driven to a point, and forced to act on my -defence. The sight of the papers added -to my confidence. I said, “My father, -it is in vain to endeavour to diminish my -repugnance to the monastic life; the proof -that that repugnance is invincible lies before -you. If I have been guilty of a step -that violates the decorum of a convent, I -am sorry,—but I am not reprehensible. -Those who forced me into a convent, are -guilty of the violence which is falsely ascribed -to me. I am determined, if it be -possible, to change my situation. You see -the efforts I have already made, be assured -they will never cease. Disappointment -will only redouble their energy; and if it -be in the power of heaven or earth to procure -the annulment of my vows, there is -no power in either I will not have recourse -to.” I expected he would not have heard -me out, but he did. He even listened -with calmness, and I prepared myself to -encounter and repel that alternation of reproach -and remonstrance, of solicitation -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_26" title="26"> </a> -and menace, which they so well know how -to employ in a convent. “Your repugnance -to a conventual life is then invincible?” -“It is.” “But to what do you -object?—not to your duties, for you perform -them with the most edifying punctuality,—not -to the treatment you receive, -for it has been the most indulgent that our -discipline admits of,—not to the community -itself, who are all disposed to cherish -and love you;—of what do you complain?” -“Of the life itself,—that comprehends -every thing. I am not fit to be a monk.” -“Remember, I implore you, that though -the forms of earthly courts must be obeyed, -from the necessity that makes us dependent -on human institutions, in all matters -between man and man, they never -can be available in matters between God -and man. Be assured, my deluded child, -that if all the courts on earth pronounced -you absolved from your vows this moment, -your own conscience never can absolve -you. All your ignominious life, it will -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_27" title="27"> </a> -continue to reproach you with the violation -of a vow, whose breach man has connived -at, but God has not. And, at your -last hour, how horrible will those reproaches -be!” “Not so horrible as at the -hour I took that vow, or rather at the hour -when it was extorted.” “Extorted!” -“Yes, my father, yes,—I take Heaven to -witness against you. On that disastrous -morning, your anger, your remonstrances, -your pleadings, were as ineffectual as they -are now, till you flung the body of my -mother before my feet.” “And do you -reproach me with my zeal in the cause of -your salvation?” “I do not wish to reproach -you. You know the step I have -taken, you must be aware I will pursue it -with all the powers of nature,—that I will -never rest till my vows are annulled, while -a hope of it remains,—and that a soul, determined -as mine, can convert despair itself -into hope. Surrounded, suspected, -watched as I have been, I yet found the -means of conveying my papers to the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_28" title="28"> </a> -hands of the advocate. Calculate the -strength of that resolution which could -effectuate such a measure in the very heart -of a convent. Judge of the futility of all -future opposition, when you failed in defeating, -or even detecting, the first steps of -my design.” At these words the Superior -was silent. I believed I had made an impression -on him. I added, “If you wish -to spare the community the disgrace of -my prosecuting my appeal within its walls, -the alternative is easy. Let the door be -left unguarded some day, connive at my -escape, and my presence shall never molest -or dishonour you another hour.” -“How! would you make me not only a -witness, but an accomplice in your crime? -Apostate from God, and plunged in perdition -as you are, do you repay the hand -stretched out to save you, by seizing it, -that you may drag me into the infernal -gulph along with you?” and he walked up -and down the cell in the most violent agitation. -This unlucky proposal operated -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_29" title="29"> </a> -on his master-passion, (for he was exemplarily -rigid in discipline), and produced only -convulsions of hostility. I stood waiting -till this fresh burst had subsided, while he -continued to exclaim incessantly, “My -God, for what offence am I thus humiliated?—for -what inconceivable crime is this -disgrace precipitated on the whole convent? -What will become of our character? -What will all Madrid say?” “My father, -whether an obscure monk lives, dies, -or recalls his vows, is an object of little importance -beyond the walls of his convent. -They will forget me soon, and you will be -consoled by the restored harmony of the -discipline, in which I should always be a -jarring note. Besides, all Madrid, with all -the interest you ascribe to it, could never -be made responsible for my salvation.” -He continued to walk up and down, repeating, -“What will the world say? What -will become of us?” till he had worked -himself into a state of fury; and, suddenly -turning on me, he exclaimed, “Wretch! -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_30" title="30"> </a> -renounce your horrible resolution,—renounce -it this moment! I give you but -five minutes for consideration.” “Five -thousand would make no change.” “Tremble, -then, lest you should not have life -spared to see the fulfilment of your impious -purposes.”</p> - -<p>“As he uttered these words he rushed -from my cell. The moments I passed -during his absence were, I think, the most -horrible of my life. Their terror was -aggravated by darkness, for it was now -night, and he had carried away the light -along with him. My agitation did not at -first permit me to observe this. I felt I -was in the dark, but knew not how or -why. A thousand images of indescribable -horror rushed in a host on me. I -had heard much of the terrors of convents,—of -their punishments, often carried to -the infliction of death, or of reducing their -victim to a state in which death would -have been a blessing. Dungeons, chains, -and scourges, swam before my eyes in a -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_31" title="31"> </a> -fiery mist. The threatening words of the -Superior appeared emblazoned on the -darkened walls of my cell in characters of -flame. I shuddered,—I cried aloud, though -conscious that my voice would be echoed -by no friendly answering tones in a community -of sixty persons,—such is the sterility -of humanity in a convent. At last -my very fears recovered me by their excess. -I said to myself, “They dare not -murder me,—they dare not incarcerate me;—they -are answerable to the court to which -I have appealed for my forthcoming,—they -dare not be guilty of any violence.” -Just as I had come to this comfortable -conclusion, which indeed was the triumph -of the sophistry of hope, the door of my -cell was thrown open, and the Superior, -attended by his four satellites, re-entered. -My eyes were dim from the darkness -in which I had been left, but I could -distinguish that they carried with them a -rope and a piece of sackcloth. I drew the -most frightful presages from this apparatus. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_32" title="32"> </a> -I altered my reasoning in a moment, and -instead of saying they dare not do so and -so, I instantly argued, “What dare they -not do? I am in their power,—they know -it. I have provoked them to the utmost,—what -is it monks will not do in the impotence -of their malignity?—what is to become -of me?” They advanced, and I imagined -the rope was to strangle me, and the -sackcloth to inclose my murdered body. -A thousand images of blood swam before -me,—a gush of fire choaked up my respiration. -The groans of a thousand victims -seemed to rise from the vaults of the convent, -to which they had been hurried by -a fate like mine. I know not what is -death, but I am convinced I suffered the -agonies of many deaths in that moment. -My first impulse was to throw myself on -my knees. I said, “I am in your power,—I -am guilty in your eyes,—accomplish -your purpose, but do not keep me long in -pain.” The Superior, without heeding, -or perhaps hearing me, said, “Now you -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_33" title="33"> </a> -are in the posture that becomes you.” At -hearing these words, which sounded less -dreadful than I had feared, I prostrated -myself to the ground. A few moments -before I would have thought this a degradation, -but fear is very debasing. I had a -dread of violent means,—I was very young, -and life was not the less attractive from its -being arrayed only in the brilliant drapery -of imagination. The monks observed my -posture,—they feared its effect on the Superior. -They said, in that choral monotony,—that -<em>discordant unison</em> that had -frozen my blood when I knelt in the same -posture but a few nights before, “Reverend -father, do not suffer yourself to be -imposed on by this prostituted humiliation,—the -time for mercy is past. You -gave him his moments of deliberation,—he -refused to avail himself of them. You -come now not to listen to pleadings, but -to inflict justice.” At these words, that -announced every thing horrible, I went on -my knees from one to the other, as they -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_34" title="34"> </a> -all stood in a grim and executioner-like -row. I said to each with tears, “Brother -Clement,—Brother Justin,—why do you -try to irritate the Superior against me? -Why do you precipitate a sentence which, -whether just or not, must be severe, since -you are to be the executioners? What -have I done to offend you? I interceded -for you when you were guilty of any slight -deviation—Is this my return?” “This is -wasting time,” said the monks. “Hold,” -said the Superior; “give him leave to -speak. Will you avail yourself of the last -moment of indulgence I can ever afford -you, to renounce your horrible resolution -of recalling your vows?” Those words -renewed all my energies. I stood upright -before them all. I said, in a loud distinct -voice, “Never—I stand at the bar of -God.” “Wretch! you have renounced -God.” “Well, then, my father, I have -only to hope that God will not renounce -me. I have appealed to a bar also, over -which you have no power.” “But we -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_35" title="35"> </a> -have power here, and that you shall feel.” -He made a signal, and the four monks approached. -I uttered one short cry of fear, -but submitted the next moment. I felt -convinced it was to be my last. I was astonished, -when, instead of fastening the -cords round my neck, they bound my arms -with them. They then took off my habit, -and covered me with the sackcloth. I made -no resistance; but shall I confess to you, -Sir, I felt some disappointment. I was -prepared for death, but something worse -than death appeared threatened in these -preparations. When we are driven to the -precipice of mortality, we spring forward -with resolution, and often defeat the triumph -of our murderers, by merging it in our -own. But when we are led to it step by step, -held often over it, and then withdrawn, we -lose our resolution along with our patience; -and feel, that the last blow would be mercy, -compared with its long-suspended, slowly -descending, wavering, mutilating, hesitating -stroke. I was prepared for every thing -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_36" title="36"> </a> -but what followed. Bound with this rope -as fast as a felon, or a galley-slave, and covered -only with the sackcloth, they dragged -me along the gallery. I uttered no -cry, made no resistance. They descended -the stairs that led to the church. I followed, -or rather was dragged after them. -They crossed the aisle; there was a dark -passage near it which I had never observed -before. We entered it. A low door at -the end presented a frightful perspective. -At sight of it I cried aloud, “You will not -immure me? You will not plunge me in -that horrible dungeon, to be withered by -damps, and devoured by reptiles? No, -you will not,—remember you are answerable -for my life.” At these words, they -surrounded me; then, for the first time, I -struggled,—I called for help;—this was the -moment they waited for; they wanted -some repugnance on my part. The signal -was instantly given to a lay-brother, who -waited in the passage,—the bell was rung,—that -terrible bell, that requires every -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_37" title="37"> </a> -member of a convent to plunge into -his cell, as something extraordinary is -going on in the house. At the first -toll I lost all hope. I felt as if not a living -being was in existence but those who -surrounded me, and who appeared, in the -livid light of one taper burning faintly in -that dismal passage, like spectres hurrying -a condemned soul to his doom. They -hurried me down the steps to this door, -which was considerably below the level of -the passage. It was a long time before -they could open it; many keys were tried; -perhaps they might have felt some agitation -at the thoughts of the violence they -were going to commit. But this delay -increased my terrors beyond expression; I -imagined this terrible vault had never been -inclosed before; that I was to be the first -victim inhumed within it; and that their -determination was, I should never quit it -alive. As these thoughts occurred, in unutterable -agony I cried aloud, though I -felt I was beyond all human hearing; but -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_38" title="38"> </a> -my cries were drowned in the jarring of the -heavy door, as it yielded to the efforts of the -monks, who, uniting their strength, pushed -it with extended arms, grating all the way -against the floor of stone. The monks -hurried me in, while the Superior stood at -the entrance with the light, appearing to -shudder at the view it disclosed. I had -time to view all the furniture of what I -thought my last abode. It was of stone; the -roof formed an arch; a block of stone supported -a crucifix, and a death’s head, with -a loaf and a pitcher of water. There was a -mat on the floor, to lie on; another rolled -up at the end of it formed a pillow. They -flung me on it, and prepared to depart. I -no longer struggled, for I knew escape was -in vain, but I supplicated them at least to -leave me a light; and I petitioned for this -with as much earnestness as I could have -done for my liberty. Thus it is that misery -always breaks down the mind into -petty details. We have not strength to -comprehend the whole of our calamity. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_39" title="39"> </a> -We feel not the mountain which is heaped -on us, but the nearest grains press on and -grind us. I said, “In Christian mercy -leave me a light, if it be but to defend myself -against the reptiles that must swarm -here.” And already I saw this was true, -for some of extraordinary size, disturbed -by the phænomenon of the light, came -crawling down the walls. All this time -the monks were straining their strength -to close the heavy door; they did not utter -a word. “I adjure you to leave me light, -<em>if it is but to gaze on that skull</em>; fear not -the exercise of sight can be any indulgence -in this place; but still let me have a light; -think that when I wish to pray, I must <em>feel -my way</em> to that crucifix.” As I spoke, the -door was with difficulty closed and locked, -and I heard their departing steps. You -will hardly believe, Sir, that I slept profoundly; -yet I did; but I would rather -never sleep again, than awake so horribly. -I awoke in <em>the darkness of day</em>. I was to -behold the light no more; nor to watch -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_40" title="40"> </a> -those divisions of time, which, by measuring -our portions of suffering, appear to -diminish them. When the clock strikes, -we know an hour of wretchedness is past, -never to return. My only time-keeper -was the approach of the monk, who every -day renewed my allowance of bread and -water; and had he been the object I loved -most on earth, the sound of his steps could -not have made more delicious music. -These æras by which we compute the -hours of darkness and inanity are inconceivable -to any but those who are situated -as I was. You have heard, Sir, no -doubt, that the eye which, on its being -first immersed into darkness, appears deprived -of the power of vision for ever, acquires, -imperceptibly, a power of accommodating -itself to its darkened sphere, and -even of distinguishing objects by a kind of -conventional light. The mind certainly -possesses the same power, otherwise, how -could I have had the power to reflect, to -summon some resolution, and even to indulge -some hope, in this frightful abode? -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_41" title="41"> </a> -Thus it is, when all the world seems sworn -to hostility against us, we turn friends to -ourselves with all the obstinacy of despair;—and -<em>while all the world is flattering and -deifying us, we are the perpetual victims -of lassitude and self-reproach</em>.</p> - -<p>“The prisoner whose hours are visited by -a dream of emancipation, is less a prey to -ennui than the sovereign on a throne, begirt -with adulation, voluptuousness, and -satiety. I reflected that all my papers -were safe,—that my cause was prosecuting -with vigour,—that, owing to my brother’s -zeal, I had the ablest advocate in Madrid,—that -they dared not murder me, and -were answerable with the whole credit of -the house for my re-appearance whenever -the courts demanded it,—that the very -rank of my family was a powerful protection, -though none of them but my generous -fiery Juan was probably favourable -to me;—that if I was permitted to receive -and read the advocate’s first memoir, even -through the hands of the Superior, it was -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_42" title="42"> </a> -absurd to imagine that I could be denied -intercourse with him in a more advanced -and important stage of the business. These -were the suggestions of my hope, and -they were plausible enough. What were -the suggestions of my despair, I shudder -even at this moment to reflect on. The -most terrible of all was, that I might be -murdered <em>conventually</em> before it was possible -that my liberation could be accomplished.</p> - -<p>“Such, Sir, were my reflections; you -may ask, what were my occupations? My -situation supplied me with those, and, revolting -as they were, they were still occupations. -I had my devotions to perform; -religion was my only resource in solitude -and darkness, and while I prayed only for -liberty and peace, I felt I was not at least -insulting God by the prayers of hypocrisy, -which I would have been compelled to utter -in the choir. There I was obliged to -join in a sacrifice that was odious to me, -and offensive to him;—in my dungeon I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_43" title="43"> </a> -offered up the sacrifice of my heart, and -felt it was not unacceptable. During the -glimpse of light afforded me by the approach -of the monk who brought me -bread and water, I arranged the crucifix -so as that I could feel it when I awoke. -This was very often, and not knowing -whether it was day or night, I uttered my -prayers at random. I knew not whether -it was matins or vespers; there was neither -morning or evening for me, but it -was like a talisman to me to touch the crucifix, -and I said as I felt for it, “My God -is with me in the darkness of my dungeon; -he is a God who has suffered, and can pity -me. My extremest point of wretchedness -can be nothing to what this symbol of divine -humiliation for the sins of man, has -undergone for mine!”—and I kissed the -sacred image (with lips wandering from -the darkness) with more emotion than I -had ever felt when I saw it illuminated by -the blaze of tapers, amid the elevation of -the Host, the tossing of the perfumed -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_44" title="44"> </a> -censers, the gorgeous habits of the priests, -and the breathless prostration of the faithful. -I had other occupations less dignified, -but quite as necessary. The reptiles, who -filled the hole into which I had been -thrust, gave me opportunity for a kind of -constant, miserable, ridiculous hostility. -My mat had been placed in the very seat -of warfare;—I shifted it,—still they pursued -me;—I placed it against the wall,—the -cold crawling of their bloated limbs -often awoke me from my sleep, and still -oftener made me shudder when awake. I -struck at them;—I tried to terrify them -by my voice, to arm myself against them -by the help of my mat; but above all, my -anxiety was ceaseless to defend my bread -from their loathsome incursions, and my -pitcher of water from their dropping into -it. I adopted a thousand precautions, trivial -as they were inefficacious, but still -there was occupation. I do assure you, -Sir, I <em>had more to do in my dungeon than -in my cell</em>. To be fighting with reptiles -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_45" title="45"> </a> -in the dark appears the most horrible -struggle that can be assigned to man; but -what is it compared to his combat with -those reptiles which his own heart hourly -engenders in a cell, and of which, if his -heart be the mother, solitude is the father. -I had another employment,—I cannot call -it occupation. I had calculated with myself, -that sixty minutes made an hour, -and sixty seconds a minute. I began to -think I could keep time as accurately as -any clock in a convent, and measure the -hours of my confinement or—my release. -So I sat and counted sixty; a doubt always -occurred to me, that I <em>was counting -them faster than the clock</em>. Then I wished -to be the clock, that I might have no -feeling, no <em>motive for hurrying on the approach -of time</em>. Then I reckoned slower. -Sleep sometimes overtook me in this exercise, -(perhaps I adopted it from that hope); -but when I awoke, I applied to it again -instantly. Thus I oscillated, reckoned, and -measured time on my mat, while time -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_46" title="46"> </a> -withheld its delicious diary of rising and -setting suns,—of the dews of dawn and -of twilight,—of the glow of morning and -the shades of the evening. When my -reckoning was broken by my sleep, (and -I knew not whether I slept by day or by -night), I tried to eke it out by my incessant -repetition of minutes and seconds, -and I succeeded; for I always consoled -myself, that whatever hour it was, sixty -minutes must go to an hour. Had I led -this life much longer, I might have been -converted into the idiot, who, as I have -read, from the habit of watching a clock, -imitated its mechanism so well, that when -it was down, he sounded the hour as faithfully -as ear could desire. Such was my -life. On the fourth day, (as I reckoned -by the visits of the monk), he placed my -bread and water on the block of stone as -usual, but hesitated for some time before -he departed. In fact, he felt a repugnance -at delivering an intimation of hope; it -was not consonant either to his profession, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_47" title="47"> </a> -or the office which, in the wantonness of -monastic malignity, he had accepted as -penance. You shudder at this, Sir, but -it is nevertheless true; this man thought -he was doing service to God, by witnessing -the misery of a being incarcerated -amid famine, darkness, and reptiles. He -recoiled when his penance terminated. -Alas! how false is that religion which -makes our aggravating the sufferings of -others our mediator with that God who -willeth all men to be saved. But this is a -question to be solved in convents. This -man hesitated long, struggled with the -ferocity of his nature, and at last departed -and bolted the door, that he might indulge -it a few moments longer. Perhaps in -those moments he prayed to God, and ejaculated -a petition, that this protraction of -<em>my</em> sufferings might be accepted as a melioration -of his own. I dare say he was -very sincere; but if men were taught to -look to the <em>one great Sacrifice</em>, would they -be so ready to believe that their own, or -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_48" title="48"> </a> -those of others, could ever be accepted as -a commutation for it? You are surprised, -Sir, at these sentiments from a Catholic; -but another part of my story will disclose -the cause of my uttering them. At length -this man could delay his commission no -longer. He was obliged to tell me that -the Superior was moved by my sufferings, -that God had touched his heart in my behalf, -and that he permitted me to quit my -dungeon. The words were scarce out of -his mouth, before I rose, and rushed out -with a shout that electrified him. Emotion -is very unusual in convents, and the -expression of joy a phenomenon. I had -gained the passage before he recovered -his surprise; and the convent walls, which -I had considered as those of a prison, now -appeared the area of emancipation. Had -its doors been thrown open to me that -moment, I don’t think I could have felt a -more exquisite sensibility of liberty. I -fell on my knees in the passage to thank -God. I thanked him for the light, for the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_49" title="49"> </a> -air, for the restored power of respiration. -As I was uttering these effusions, (certainly -not the least sincere that were ever -poured forth within those walls), suddenly -I became sick,—my head swam round,—I -had feasted on the light to excess. I fell to -the ground, and remember nothing for many -hours afterwards. When I recovered my -senses, I was in my cell, which appeared just -as I had left it; it was day-light, however; -and I am persuaded that circumstance contributed -more to my restoration, than the -food and cordials with which I was now -liberally supplied. All that day I heard -nothing, and had time to meditate on the -motives of the indulgence with which I -had been treated. I conceived that an -order might have been issued to the Superior -to produce me, or, at all events, that -he could not prevent those interviews between -the advocate and me, which the -former might insist on as necessary while -my cause was carrying on. Towards -evening some monks entered my cell; -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_50" title="50"> </a> -they talked of indifferent matters,—affected -to consider my absence as the result of -indisposition, and I did not undeceive -them. They mentioned, as if incidentally, -that my father and mother, overwhelmed -with grief at the scandal I had brought -on religion by appealing against my vows, -had quitted Madrid. At this intelligence -I felt much more emotion than I showed. -I asked them how long I had been <em>ill</em>? -They answered, Four days. This confirmed -my suspicions with regard to the -cause of my liberation, for the advocate’s -letter had mentioned, that on the fifth day -he would require an interview with me on -the subject of my appeal. They then departed; -but I was soon to receive another -visitor. After vespers, (from which I was -excused), the Superior entered my cell -alone. He approached my bed. I attempted -to rise, but he desired me to -compose myself, and sat down near me -with a calm but penetrating look. He -said, “You have now found we have it in -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_51" title="51"> </a> -our power to punish.”—“I never doubted -it.”—“Before you tempt that power to an -extremity, which, I warn you, you will -not be able to endure, I come to demand -of you to resign this desperate appeal -against your vows, which can terminate -only in dishonouring God, and disappointing -yourself.”—“My father, without entering -into details, which the steps taken -on both sides have rendered wholly unnecessary, -I can only reply, that I will support -my appeal with every power Providence -puts within my reach, and that my -punishment has only confirmed my resolution.”—“And -this is your final determination?”—“It -is, and I implore you to -spare me all further importunity,—it will -be useless.” He was silent for a long time; -at length he said, “And you will insist -on your right to an interview with the -advocate to-morrow?”—“I shall claim it.”—“It -will not be necessary, however, to -mention to him your late punishment.” -These words struck me. I comprehended -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_52" title="52"> </a> -the meaning which he wished to conceal -in them, and I answered, “It may not be -necessary, but it will probably be expedient.”—“How?—would -you violate the -secrets of the house, while you are yet -within its walls?”—“Pardon me, my father, -for saying, that you must be conscious -of having exceeded your duty, to -be so anxious for its concealment. It is -not, then, the secrets of your discipline, -but the violation of it, I shall have to disclose.”—He -was silent, and I added, “If -you have abused your power, though I -have been the sufferer, it is you who are -guilty.”—The Superior rose, and quitted -my cell in silence. The next morning I -attended matins. Service went on as -usual, but at its conclusion, when the -community were about to rise from their -knees, the Superior, striking the desk -violently with his hand, commanded them -all to remain in the same posture. He -added, in a thundering voice, “The intercession -of this whole community with -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_53" title="53"> </a> -God is supplicated for a monk who, abandoned -by the Spirit of God, is about to -commit an act dishonourable to Him, disgraceful -to the church, and infallibly destructive -of his own salvation.” At these -terrible sounds the monks, all shuddering, -sunk on their knees again. I was kneeling -among them, when the Superior, calling -me by my name, said aloud, “Rise, -wretch! rise, and pollute not our incense -with your unhallowed breath!” I -rose, trembling and confounded, and -shrunk to my cell, where I remained -till I was summoned by a monk to the -parlour, to meet the advocate, who waited -for me there. This interview was -rendered quite ineffective by the presence -of the monk, who was desired -by the Superior to witness our conference, -and whom the advocate could not -order away. When we entered into details, -he interrupted us with declarations, -that his duty would not permit such a violation -of the rules of the parlour. When -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_54" title="54"> </a> -I asserted a fact, he contradicted it, gave -me the lie repeatedly, and finally disturbed -the purpose of our conference so completely, -that in mere self-defence, I spoke -of the subject of my punishment, which -he could not deny, and to which my livid -looks bore a testimony invincible. The -moment I spoke on this subject the monk -became silent, (he was treasuring every -word for the Superior), and the advocate -redoubled his attention. He took minutes -of every thing I said, and appeared to lay -more stress on the matter than I had imagined, -or indeed wished for. When the -conference was over, I retired again to my -cell. The advocate’s visits were repeated -for some days, till he had obtained the information -requisite for carrying on my -suit; and during this time, my treatment -in the convent was such as to give me no -cause of complaint; and this doubtless -was the motive of their forbearance. But -the moment those visits ceased, the warfare -of persecution commenced. They -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_55" title="55"> </a> -considered me as one with whom no measures -were to be kept, and they treated -me accordingly. I am convinced it was -their intention that I should not survive -the event of my appeal; at least it is certain -they left nothing unaccomplished that -could verify that intention. This began, -as I mentioned, on the day of the advocate’s -last visit. The bell rung for refection;—I -was going to take my place as -usual, when the Superior said, “Hold,—place -a mat for him in the midst of the -hall.” This was done, and I was required -to sit down on it, and supplied with bread -and water. I eat a little, which I moistened -with my tears. I foresaw what I -had to undergo, and did not attempt to -expostulate. When grace was about to -be said, I was desired to stand without the -door, lest my presence should frustrate the -benediction they implored.</p> - -<p>“I retired, and when the bell rung for -vespers, I presented myself among the rest -at the door of the church. I was surprised -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_56" title="56"> </a> -to find it shut, and they all assembled. -When the bell ceased, the Superior appeared, -the door was opened, and the monks hurried -in. I was following, when the Superior repelled -me, exclaiming, “<em>You, wretch, you!</em> -Remain where you are.” I obeyed; and -the whole community entered the church, -while I remained at the door. This species -of excommunication produced its full -effect of terror on me. As the monks -slowly came out, and cast on me looks of -silent horror, I thought myself the most -abject being on earth; I could have hid -myself under the pavement till the event -of my appeal was over.</p> - -<p>“The next morning, when I went to matins, -the same scene was renewed, with the -horrible addition of audible reproaches, and -almost imprecations, denounced against -me, as they entered and returned. I knelt -at the door. I did not answer a word. I -returned not “railing for railing,” and lifted -up my heart with a trembling hope, -that this offering might be as acceptable to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_57" title="57"> </a> -God as the sonorous chaunt of the choir, -which I still felt it was miserable to be excluded -from joining.</p> - -<p>“In the course of the day, every sluice -of monastic malignity and vengeance was -thrown open. I appeared at the door of the -refectory. I did not dare to enter. Alas! -Sir, how are monks employed in the hour -of refection? It is an hour, when, while -they swallow their meal, they banquet on -the little scandal of the convent. They -ask, “Who was late at prayers? Who is -to undergo penance?” This serves them -for conversation; and the details of their -miserable life supply no other subject for -that mixture of exhaustless malignity and -curiosity, which are the inseparable twins -of monastic birth. As I stood at the door -of the refectory, a lay-brother, to whom -the Superior nodded, bid me retire. I went -to my cell, waited for several hours, and -just when the bell for vespers had rung, -was supplied with food, which famine itself -would have shrunk from. I tried to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_58" title="58"> </a> -swallow it, but could not, and hurried -away, as the bell tolled, to attend vespers; -for I wished to have no cause of complaint -against my neglect of duties. I hastened -down. The door was again shut; service -began; and again I was compelled to -retire without partaking of it. The next -day I was excluded from matins; the -same degrading scene was acted over when -I appeared at the door of the refectory. -Food was sent to my cell, that a dog would -have rejected; and the door was shut when -I attempted to enter the church. A thousand -circumstances of persecution, too contemptible, -too minute, either for recollection -or repetition, but infinitely harassing to the -sufferer, were heaped on me every day. -Imagine, Sir, a community of upwards of -sixty persons, all sworn to each other to -make the life of one individual insupportable; -joined in a common resolution to insult, -harass, torment, and persecute him; -and then imagine how that individual -can support such a life. I began to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_59" title="59"> </a> -dread the preservation of my reason—of -my existence, which, miserable as it was, -still fed on the hope of my appeal. I will -sketch one day of my life for you. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ex -uno disce omnes.</i> I went down to matins, -and knelt at the door; I did not dare to -enter. When I retired to my cell, I found -the crucifix taken away. I was about to -go to the Superior’s apartment to complain -of this outrage; in the passage I happened -to meet a monk and two boarders. They -all shrunk close to the walls; they drew -in their garments, as if trembling to encounter -the pollution of my touch. I said -mildly, “There is no danger; the passage -is wide enough.” The monk replied, -“Apage Satana. My children,” addressing -the boarders, “repeat with me, apage -Satana; avoid the approach of that demon, -who insults the habit he desecrates.” They -did so; and to render the exorcism complete, -they spit in my face as they passed. -I wiped it off, and thought how little of -the spirit of Jesus was to be found in the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_60" title="60"> </a> -house of his nominal brethren. I proceeded -to the apartment of the Superior, and -knocked timidly at the door. I heard the -words, “Enter in peace;” and I prayed that -it might be in peace. As I opened the -door, I saw several monks assembled with -the Superior. The latter uttered an exclamation -of horror when he saw me, and -threw his robe over his eyes; the monks -understood the signal; the door was closed, -and I was excluded. That day I waited -several hours in my cell before any food -was brought me. There is no state of -feeling that exempts us from the wants of -nature. I had no food for many days requisite -for the claims of adolescence, which -were then rapidly manifesting themselves -in my tall, but attenuated frame. I descended -to the kitchen to ask for my share -of food. The cook crossed himself as I -appeared at the door; for even at the door -of the kitchen I faultered at the threshold. -He had been taught to consider me as a -demon incarnate, and shuddered, while he -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_61" title="61"> </a> -asked, “What do you want?”—“Food,” I -replied; “food;—that is all.”—“Well, you -shall have it—but come no further—there -is food.” And he flung me the offal of -the kitchen on the earth; and I was so -hungry, that I devoured it eagerly. The -next day I was not so lucky; the cook had -learned the secret of the convent, (that of -tormenting those whom they no longer -have hopes of commanding), and mixed the -fragments he threw to me, with ashes, hair, -and dust. I could hardly pick out a morsel -that, famished as I was, was eatable. -They allowed me no water in my cell; I -was not permitted to partake of it at refection; -and, in the agonies of thirst, aggravated -by my constant solicitude of -mind, I was compelled to kneel at the -brink of the well, (as I had no vessel to -drink out of), and take up the water in -my hand, or lap it like a dog. If I descended -to the garden for a moment, they -took the advantage of my absence to enter -my cell, and remove or destroy every -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_62" title="62"> </a> -article of furniture. I have told you that -they took away my crucifix. I had still -continued to kneel and repeat my prayers -before the table on which it stood. That -was taken away,—table, chair, missal, rosary, -every thing, disappeared gradually; -and my cell presented nothing but four bare -walls, with a bed, on which they had rendered -it impossible for me to taste repose. -Perhaps they dreaded I might, however, -and they hit on an expedient, which, if it -had succeeded, might have deprived me of -reason as well as repose.</p> - -<p>“I awoke one night, and saw my cell in -flames; I started up in horror, but shrunk -back on perceiving myself surrounded by -demons, who, clothed in fire, were breathing -forth clouds of it around me. Desperate -with horror, I rushed against the -wall, and found what I touched was cold. -My recollection returned, and I comprehended, -that these were hideous figures -scrawled in phosphorus, to terrify me. I -then returned to my bed, and as the day-light -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_63" title="63"> </a> -approached, observed these figures -gradually decline. In the morning, I took -a desperate resolution of forcing my way -to the Superior, and speaking to him. I -felt my reason might be destroyed amid -the horrors they were surrounding me -with.</p> - -<p><ins title="It">“It</ins> was noon before I could work myself -up to execute this resolution. I knocked -at his cell, and when the door was opened, -he exhibited the same horror as at my former -intrusion, but I was not to be repelled. -“My father, I require you to hear me, nor -will I quit this spot till you do so.”—“Speak.”—“They -famish me,—I am not -allowed food to support nature.”—“Do -you deserve it?”—“Whether I do or not, -neither the laws of God or man have yet -condemned me to die of hunger; and if -<em>you</em> do, you commit murder.”—“Have -you any thing else to complain of?”—“Every -thing; I am not allowed to enter -the church,—I am forbid to pray,—they -have stripped my cell of crucifix, rosary, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_64" title="64"> </a> -and the vessel for holy water. It is impossible -for me to perform my devotions -even alone.”—“<em>Your</em> devotions!”—“My -father, though I am not a monk, may I -not still be a Christian?”—“In renouncing -your vows, you have abjured your claim -to either character.”—“But I am still a human -being, and as such—But I appeal not -to your humanity, I call on your authority -for protection. Last night, my cell was -covered with representations of fiends. -I awoke in the midst of flames and spectres.”—“So -you will at the last day!”—“My -punishment will then be enough, it -need not commence already.”—“These are -the phantoms of your conscience.”—“My -father, if you will deign to examine my -cell, you will find the traces of phosphorus -on the walls.”—“<em>I</em> examine your cell? -<em>I</em> enter it?”—“Am I then to expect no -redress? Interpose your authority for the -sake of the house over which you preside. -Remember that, when my appeal becomes -public, all these circumstances will become -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_65" title="65"> </a> -so too, and you are to judge what degree -of credit they will attach to the community.” -“Retire!” I did so, and found -my application attended to, at least with regard -to food, but my cell remained in the -same dismantled state, and I continued -under the same desolating interdiction from -all communion, religious or social. I assure -you, with truth, that so horrible was -this amputation from life to me, that I -have walked hours in the cloister and the -passages, to place myself in the way of the -monks, who, I knew, as they passed, would -bestow on me some malediction or reproachful -epithet. Even this was better -than the withering silence which surrounded -me. I began almost to receive it -as a customary salutation, and always returned -it with a benediction. In a fortnight -my appeal was to be decided on; -this was a circumstance I was kept in ignorance -of, but the Superior had received -a notification of it, and this precipitated his -resolution to deprive me of the benefit of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_66" title="66"> </a> -its eventual success, by one of the most -horrible schemes that ever entered the human -(I retract the expression) the monastic -heart. I received an indistinct intimation -of it the very night after my application -to the Superior; but had I been apprised, -from the first, of the whole extent -and bearings of their purpose, what resources -could I have employed against -it?</p> - -<p>“That evening I had gone into the garden; -my heart felt unusually oppressed. -Its thick troubled beatings, seemed like -the vibrations of a time-piece, as it measures -our approach to some hour of sorrow.</p> - -<p>“It was twilight; the garden was -empty; and kneeling on the ground, in -the open air, (the only oratory they had -left me), I attempted to pray. The attempt -was in vain;—I ceased to articulate -sounds that had no meaning—and, overcome -by a heaviness of mind and body -inexpressible, I fell on the ground, and remained -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_67" title="67"> </a> -extended on my face, torpid, but -not senseless. Two figures passed, without -perceiving me; they were in earnest -conversation. One of them said, “More -vigorous measures must be adopted. You -are to blame to delay them so long. You -will be answerable for the disgrace of the -whole community, if you persist in this -foolish lenity.”—“But his resolution remains -unbroken,” said the Superior, (for -it was he).—“It will not be proof against -the measure I have proposed.”—“He is -in your hands then; but remember I will -not be accountable for<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” They were by -this time out of hearing. I was less terrified -than you will believe, by what I had -heard. Those who have suffered much, -are always ready to exclaim, with the unfortunate -Agag, “Surely the bitterness of -death is past.” They know not, that that -is the very moment when the sword is -unsheathed to hew them in pieces. That -night, I had not been long asleep, when I -was awoke by a singular noise in my cell: -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_68" title="68"> </a> -I started up, and listened. I thought I -heard some one hurry away barefooted. -I knew I had no lock to my door, and -could not prevent the intrusion of any one -into my cell who pleased to visit it; but -still I believed the discipline of the convent -too strict to allow of this. I composed -myself again, but was hardly asleep, -when I was again awoke by something -that touched me. I started up again; a -soft voice near me said in whispers, “Compose -yourself; I am your friend.”—“My -friend? Have I one?—but why visit me -at this hour?”—“It is the only hour at -which I am permitted to visit you.”—“But -who are you, then?”—“One whom these -walls can never exclude. One to whom, -if you devote yourself, you may expect -services beyond the power of man.”—There -was something frightful in these words. -I cried out, “Is it the enemy of souls that -is tempting me?” As I uttered these -words, a monk rushed in from the passage, -(where he had been evidently -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_69" title="69"> </a> -waiting, for his dress was on). He exclaimed, -“What is the matter? You -have alarmed me by your cries,—you pronounced -the name of the infernal spirit,—what -have you seen? what is it you fear?” -I recovered myself, and said, “I have seen -or heard nothing extraordinary. I have -had frightful dreams, that is all. Ah! -Brother St Joseph, no wonder, after passing -such days, my nights should be disturbed.”</p> - -<p>“The monk retired, and the next day -passed as usual; but at night the same -whispering sounds awoke me again. The -preceding night these sounds had only -startled me; they now alarmed me. In -the darkness of night, and the solitude of -my cell, this repeated visitation overcame -my spirits. I began almost to admit the -idea that I was exposed to the assaults of -the enemy of man. I repeated a prayer, -but the whisper, which seemed close to -my ear, still continued. It said, “Listen,—listen -to me, and be happy. Renounce -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_70" title="70"> </a> -your vows, place yourself under -my protection, and you shall have no -cause to complain of the exchange. Rise -from your bed, trample on the crucifix -which you will find at the foot of it, spit -on the picture of the Virgin that lies beside -it, and<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” At these words I -could not suppress a cry of horror. The -voice ceased in a moment, and the same -monk, who occupied the cell next to mine, -rushed in with the same exclamations as -on the preceding night; and, as he entered -my cell, the light in his hand shewed a -crucifix, and a picture of the blessed Virgin, -<em>placed</em> at the foot of my bed. I had -sprung up when the monk entered my -cell; I saw them, and recognized them to -be the very crucifix and picture of the -Virgin which had been taken from my -cell. All the hypocritical outcries of the -monk, at the disturbance I had again -caused him, could not efface the impression -which this slight circumstance made -on me. I believed, and not without reason, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_71" title="71"> </a> -they had been left there by the hands -of some human tempter. I started, awake -to this horrible imposition, and required -the monk to leave my cell. He demanded, -with a frightful paleness in his looks, -why I had again disturbed him? said it -was impossible to obtain repose while such -noises were occurring in my cell; and, -finally, stumbling over the crucifix and -picture, demanded how they came there. -I answered, “You know best.”—“How, -then, do you accuse me of a compact with -the infernal demon? By what means could -these have been brought to your cell?”—“By -the very hands that removed them,” -I answered; and these words appeared to -produce an effect on him for a moment; -but he retired, declaring, that if the nightly -disturbance in my cell continued, he -must represent it to the Superior. I answered, -the disturbance did not proceed -from me,—but I trembled for the following -night.</p> - -<p>“I had reason to tremble. That night, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_72" title="72"> </a> -before I lay down, I repeated prayer after -prayer, the terrors of my excommunication -pressing heavy on my soul. I also -repeated the prayers against possession or -temptation by the evil spirit. These I was -compelled to utter from memory, for I -have told you that they had not left a book -in my cell. In repeating these prayers, -which were very long, and somewhat verbose, -I at last fell asleep. That sleep was -not to continue long. I was again addressed -by the voice that whispered close -to my bed. The moment I heard it, I -rose without fear. I crept around my cell -with my hands extended, and my feet -bare. I could feel nothing but the empty -walls,—not a single object, tangible or visible, -could I encounter. I lay down again, -and had hardly begun the prayer -with which I tried to fortify myself, when -the same sounds were repeated close to -my ear, without the possibility either of -my discovering from whence they proceeded, -or preventing their reaching me. Thus -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_73" title="73"> </a> -I was completely deprived of sleep; and if -I dozed for a moment, the same terrible -sounds were re-echoed in my dreams. I -became feverish from want of rest. The -night was passed in watching for these -sounds, or listening to them, and the day -in wild conjectures or fearful anticipations. -I felt a mixture of terror and impatience -inconceivable at the approach -of night. I had a consciousness of imposture -the whole time, but this gave me no -consolation, for there is a point to which -human malice and mischief may be carried, -that would baffle those of a demon. Every -night the persecution was renewed, and -every night it became more terrible. At -times the voice would suggest to me the -most unutterable impurities,—at another, -blasphemies that would make a demon -shudder. Then it would applaud me in a -tone of derision, and assure me of the -final success of my appeal, then change to -the most appalling menaces. The wretched -sleep I obtained, during the intervals -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_74" title="74"> </a> -of this visitation, was any thing but refreshing. -I would awake in a cold perspiration, -catching at the bed-furniture, -and repeating in an inarticulate voice, the -last sounds that had rung in my closing -ears. I would start up and see the bed -surrounded by monks, who assured me -they had been disturbed by my cries,—that -they had hurried in terror to my cell. -Then they would cast looks of fear and -consternation on each other and on me; -say, “Something extraordinary is the matter,—something -presses on your mind that -you will not disburden it of.” They implored -me, in the most awful names, and -for the interests of my salvation, to disclose -the cause of these extraordinary visitations. -At these words, however agitated -before, I always became calm. I said, -“Nothing is the matter,—why do you intrude -into my cell?” They shook their -heads, and affected to retire slowly and reluctantly, -as if from pity of my dreadful -situation, while I repeated, “Ah, Brother -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_75" title="75"> </a> -Justin, ah Brother Clement, I see you, I -understand you,—remember there is a God -in heaven.”</p> - -<p>“One night I lay for a considerable -time without hearing any sound. I fell asleep, -but was soon awoke by an extraordinary -light. I sat up in my bed, and beheld -displayed before me the mother of -God, in all the glorious and irradiated incarnation -of beatitude. She hovered, rather -than stood, in an atmosphere of light -at the foot of my bed, and held a crucifix -in her hand, while she appeared to invite -me, with a benign action, to kiss the five -mysterious wounds<a name="FootnoteMarker_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="footnote-marker">(1)</a>. For a moment I -almost believed in the actual presence of -this glorious visitor, but just then <em>the voice</em> -was heard louder than ever, “Spurn them,—spit -on them,—you are mine, and I claim -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_76" title="76"> </a> -this homage from my vassal.” At these -words the figure disappeared instantly, -and the voice was renewing its whispers, -but they were repeated to an insensible -ear, for I fell into a swoon. I could easily -distinguish between this state and sleep, -by the deadly sickness, the cold sweats, -and the horrid sense of <em>evanition</em>, that -preceded it, and by the gasping, sobbing, -choaking efforts that attended my recovery. -In the mean time the whole community -carried on and even aggravated the terrible -delusion, which, while it was my torment -to detect, it was my greater to be the victim -of. When art assumes the omnipotence -of reality, when we feel we suffer as -much from an illusion as from truth, our -sufferings lose all dignity and all consolation. -We turn demons against ourselves, -and laugh at what we are writhing under. -All day long I was exposed to the stare of -horror, the shudder of suspicion, and, -worst of all, the hastily-averted glance of hypocritical -commiseration, that dropt its pitying -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_77" title="77"> </a> -ray on me for a moment, and was then -instantly raised to heaven, as if to implore -forgiveness for the involuntary crime of -compassionating one whom God had renounced. -When I encountered any of -them in the garden, they would strike into -another walk, and cross themselves in -my sight. If I met them in the passages -of the convent, they drew their garments -close, turned their faces to the wall, and -told their beads as I went by. If I ventured -to dip my hands in the holy water -that stood at the door of the church, it -was thrown out before my face. Certain -extraordinary precautions were adopted by -the whole community against the power -of the evil one. Forms of exorcism were -distributed, and additional prayers were -used in the service of matins and vespers. -A report was industriously diffused, that -Satan was permitted to visit a favoured -and devoted servant of his in the convent, -and that all the brethren might expect the -redoubled malice of his assaults. The effect -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_78" title="78"> </a> -of this on the young boarders was indescribable. -They flew with the speed of -lightning from me, whenever they saw -me. If accident forced us to be near each -other for a moment, they were armed with -holy water, which they flung at me in -pailfuls; and when that failed, what cries,—what -convulsions of terror! They knelt,—they -screamed,—they shut their eyes,—they -cried, “Satan have mercy on me,—do -not fix your infernal talons on me,—take -your victim,” and they mentioned -my name. The terror that I inspired I at -last began to feel. I began to believe myself—I -know not what, whatever they -thought me. This is a dreadful state of -mind, but one impossible to avoid. In -some circumstances, where the whole -world is against us, we begin to take its -part against ourselves, to avoid the withering -sensation of being alone on our own -side. Such was my appearance, too, my -flushed and haggard look, my torn dress, -my unequal gait, my constant internal -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_79" title="79"> </a> -muttering, and my complete isolation from -the habits of the house, that it was no -wonder I should justify, by my exterior, -all of horrible and awful that might be -supposed passing in my mind. Such an -impression I must have made on the -minds of the younger members. They -had been taught to hate me, but their hatred -was now combined with fear, and -such a union is the most terrible amid all -the complications of human passion. Desolate -as my cell was, I retired to it early, as -I was excluded from the exercises of the -community. The bell for vespers would -ring, I would hear the steps of those who -were hastening to join in the service of -God, and tedious as that service had once -appeared to me, I would now have given -worlds to be permitted to join in it, as a -defence against that <em>horrible midnight -mass of Satan</em><a name="FootnoteMarker_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="footnote-marker">(2)</a>, that I was awaiting -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_80" title="80"> </a> -to be summoned to. I knelt however -in my cell, and repeated what prayers -I could recollect, while every toll of the -bell struck on my heart, and the chaunt of -the choir from below sounded like a repulsive -echo to an answer which my fears already -anticipated from heaven.</p> - -<p>“One evening that I still continued to -pray, and audibly, as the monks passed -my cell they said, “Do <em>you</em> presume to -pray? Die, desperate wretch,—die and be -damned. Precipitate yourself into the infernal -gulph at once, no longer desecrate -these walls by your presence.” At these -words I only redoubled my prayers; but -this gave greater offence, for churchmen -cannot bear to hear prayers uttered in a -form different from their own. The cry -of a solitary individual to God, sounds like -profanation in their ears. They ask, Why -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_81" title="81"> </a> -do they not employ our form? How dare -they hope to be heard? Alas! is it forms -then that God regards? or is it not rather -the prayer of the heart which alone reaches -him, and prospers in its petition? As they -called out, passing my cell, “Perish, impious -wretch, perish,—God will not hear -you,” I answered them on my knees with -blessings,—which of us had the spirit of -prayer? That night was one of trial I -could no longer support. My frame was -exhausted, my mind excited, and, owing -to our frail nature, this battle of the senses -and soul is never long carried on without -the worst side remaining conqueror. I -was no sooner laid down than the voice -began to whisper. I began to pray, but -my head swam round, my eyes flashed -fire,—fire almost tangible, my cell appeared -in flames. Recollect my frame worn -out with famine, my mind worn out with -persecution. I struggled with what I was -conscious was delirium,—but this consciousness -aggravated its horror. It is better -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_82" title="82"> </a> -to be mad at once, than to believe that -all the world is sworn to think and <em>make</em> -you be so, in spite of your own consciousness -of your sanity. The whispers this -night were so horrible, so full of ineffable -abominations, of—I cannot think of them,—that -they <em>maddened my very ear</em>. My -senses seemed deranged along with my intellect. -I will give you an instance, it is -but a slight one, of the horrors which<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” -Here the Spaniard whispered Melmoth<a name="FootnoteMarker_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="footnote-marker">(3)</a>. -The hearer shuddered, and the Spaniard -went on in an agitated tone.</p> - -<p>“I could bear it no longer. I sprung -from my bed, I ran through the gallery -like a maniac, knocking at the doors of -the cells, and exclaiming, “Brother such -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_83" title="83"> </a> -a one, pray for me,—pray for me, I beseech -you.” I roused the whole convent. -Then I flew down to the church; it was -open, and I rushed in. I ran up the aisle, -I precipitated myself before the altar, I -embraced the images, I clung to the crucifix -with loud and reiterated supplications. -The monks, awakened by my outcries, or -perhaps on the watch for them, descended -in a body to the church, but, perceiving I -was there, they would not enter,—they remained -at the doors, with lights in their -hands, gazing on me. It was a singular -contrast between me, hurrying round the -church almost in the dark, (for there were -but a few lamps burning dimly), and the -groupe at the door, whose expression of -horror was strongly marked by the light, -which appeared to have deserted me to -concentrate itself among them. The most -impartial person on earth might have supposed -me deranged, or possessed, or both, -from the state in which they saw me. -Heaven knows, too, what construction -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_84" title="84"> </a> -might have been put on my wild actions, -which the surrounding darkness exaggerated -and distorted, or on the prayers -which I uttered, as I included in them the -horrors of the temptation against which I -implored protection. Exhausted at length, -I fell to the ground, and remained there, -without the power of moving, but able to -hear and observe every thing that passed. -I heard them debate whether they should -leave me there or not, till the Superior -commanded them to remove that abomination -from the sanctuary; and such was -the terror of me into which they had <em>acted</em> -themselves, that he had to repeat his -orders before he could procure obedience -to them. They approached me at last, with -the same caution that they would an infected -corse, and dragged me out by the habit, -leaving me on the paved floor before the -door of the church. They then retired, -and in this state I actually fell asleep, and -continued so till I was awoke by the bell for -matins. I recollected myself, and attempted -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_85" title="85"> </a> -to rise; but my having slept on a damp -floor, when in a fever from terror and excitement, -had so cramped my limbs, that -I could not accomplish this without the -most exquisite pain. As the community -passed in to matins, I could not suppress -a few cries of pain. They must have seen -what was the matter, but not one of them -offered me assistance, nor did I dare to implore -it. By slow and painful efforts, I -at last reached my cell; but, shuddering -at the sight of the bed, I threw myself on -the floor for repose.</p> - -<p>“I was aware that some notice must be -taken of a circumstance so extraordinary—that -such a subversion of the order and -tranquillity of a convent, would force an -inquiry, even if the object was less remarkable. -But I had a sad foreboding, (for -suffering makes us full of presages), that -this inquiry, however conducted, would -terminate unfavourably to me. I was the -Jonah of the vessel—let the storm blow -from what point it would, I felt the lot -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_86" title="86"> </a> -was to fall on me. About noon, I was -summoned to the apartment of the Superior. -I went, but not as at former times, -with a mixture of supplication and remonstrance -on my lips,—with hope and fear -in my heart,—in a fever of excitement or -of terror,—I went sullen, squalid, listless, -reckless; my physical strength, borne -down by fatigue and want of sleep; my -mental, by persecution, incessant and insupportable. -I went no longer shrinking -from, and deprecating <em>their worst</em>, but defying, -almost desiring it, in the terrible -and indefinite curiosity of despair. The -apartment was full of monks; the Superior -stood among them, while they formed -a semicircle at a respectful distance from -him. I must have presented a miserable -contrast to these men arrayed against me -in their pride of power,—their long and -not ungraceful habits, giving their figures -an air of solemnity, perhaps more imposing -than splendour—while I stood opposed to -them, ragged, meagre, livid, and obdurate, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_87" title="87"> </a> -the very personification of an evil spirit -summoned before the angels of judgment. -The Superior addressed me in a long discourse, -in which he but slightly touched -on the scandal given by the attempt to repeal -my vows. He also suppressed any -allusion to the circumstance which was -known to every one in the convent but -myself, that my appeal would be decided -on in a few days. But he adverted in -terms that (in spite of my consciousness -that they were hollow) made me shudder, -to the horror and consternation diffused -through the convent by my late tremendous -visitation, as he called it. <ins title="Satan">“Satan</ins> hath -desired to have <ins title="you,">you,”</ins> he said, <ins title="because">“because</ins> you -have put yourself within his power, by -your impious reclamation of your vows. -You are the Judas among the brethren; -a branded Cain amid a primitive family; -a scape-goat that struggles to burst from -the hands of the congregation into the -wilderness. The horrors that your presence -is hourly heaping on us here, are -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_88" title="88"> </a> -not only intolerable to the discipline of a -religious house, but to the peace of civilized -society. There is not a monk who -can sleep within three cells of you. You -disturb them by the most horrible cries—you -exclaim that the infernal spirit is perpetually -beside your bed—that he is whispering -in your ears. You fly from cell to -cell, supplicating the prayers of the brethren. -Your shrieks disturb the holy sleep -of the community—that sleep which they -snatch only in the intervals of devotion. -All order is broken, all discipline subverted, -while you remain among us. The imaginations -of the younger members are at -once polluted and inflamed, by the idea of -the infernal and impure orgies which the -demon celebrates in your cell; and of -which we know not whether your cries, -(which all can hear), announce triumph in, -or remorse for. You rush at midnight into -the church, deface the images, revile the -crucifix, spurn at the altar; and when the -whole community is forced, by this unparalleled -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_89" title="89"> </a> -atrocity of blasphemy, to drag you -from the spot you are desecrating, you disturb, -by your cries, those who are passing -to the service of God. In a word, your -howls, your distortions, your demoniac -language, habits, and gestures, have but -too well justified the suspicion entertained -when you first entered the convent. -You were abominable from your -very birth,—you were the offspring of -sin—you are conscious of it. Amid the -livid paleness, that horrible unnatural -white that discolours your very lips, I -see a tinge like crimson burning on -your cheek at the mention of it. The -demon who was presiding at your natal -hour—the demon of impurity and anti-monasticism—pursues -you in the very -walls of a convent. The Almighty, in my -voice, bids you begone;—depart, and trouble -us no more.—Stop,” he added, as he -saw I was obeying his directions literally, -“hold, the interests of religion, and of the -community, have required that I should -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_90" title="90"> </a> -take particular notice of the extraordinary -circumstances that have haunted your unhallowed -presence within these walls. In -a short time you may expect a visit from -the Bishop—prepare yourself for it as you -may.” I considered these as the final -words addressed to me, and was about to -retire, when I was recalled. I was desired -to utter some words, which every one was -eager to put into my mouth, of expostulation, -of remonstrance, of supplication. I -resisted them all as steadily as if I had -known (which I did not) that the Bishop -had himself instituted the examination into -the deranged state of the convent; and -that instead of the Superior inviting the -Bishop to examine into the cause of the -disturbance in his convent, (the very last -step he would have taken), the Bishop, (a -man whose character will shortly be developed), -had been apprized of the <em>scandal</em> -of the convent, and had determined to -take the matter into his own hands. -Sunk in solitude and persecution, I knew -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_91" title="91"> </a> -not that all Madrid was on fire,—that the -Bishop had determined to be no longer a -passive hearer of the extraordinary scenes -reported to pass in the convent,—that, in -a word, my <em>exorcism</em> and my appeal were -quivering in alternate scales, and that the -Superior himself doubted which way the -scale might incline. All this I was ignorant -of, for no one dared to tell it to me. -I therefore was about to retire without -uttering a word in answer to the many -whispered speeches to humble myself to -the Superior, to implore his intercession -with the Bishop to suspend this disgraceful -examination that threatened <em>us</em> all. I -broke from them as they surrounded me; -and standing calm and sullen at the door, -I threw a retorting look at them, and said, -“God forgive you all, and grant you such -an acquittal at his judgment-seat, as I hesitate -not to claim at that of the Bishop-visitant.” -These words, though uttered -by a ragged demoniac, (as they thought -me), made them tremble. Truth is rarely -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_92" title="92"> </a> -heard in convents, and therefore its language -is equally emphatical and portentous.</p> - -<p>“The monks crossed themselves, and, -as I left the apartment, repeated, “But -how then,—what if we <em>prevented</em> this -mischief?”—“By what means?”—“By -any that the interests of religion may -suggest,—the character of the convent is -at stake. The Bishop is a man of a strict -and scrutinizing character,—he will keep -his eyes open to the truth,—he will inquire -into facts,—what will become of us? -Were it not better that<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” “What?”—“You -comprehend us.”—“And if I -dared to comprehend you, <em>the time is -too short</em>.”—“We have heard of the death -of maniacs being very sudden, of<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” -“What do you dare to hint at?”—“Nothing, -we only spoke of what every one -knows, that a profound sleep is often a restorative -to lunatics. <em>He</em> is a lunatic, as -all the convent are ready to swear,—a -wretch possessed by the infernal spirit, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_93" title="93"> </a> -whom he invocates every night in his cell,—he -disturbs the whole convent by his -outcries.”</p> - -<p><ins title="The">“The</ins> Superior all this time walked impatiently -up and down his apartment. He -entangled his fingers in his rosary,—he -threw on the monks angry looks from -time to time; at last he said, “I am myself -disturbed by his cries,—his wanderings,—his -undoubted commerce with the -enemy of souls. I need rest,—I require -a profound sleep to repair my exhausted -spirits,—<em>what would you prescribe?</em>” Several -pressed forward, not understanding -the hint, and eagerly recommended the -common opiates—Mithridate, &c. &c. An -old monk whispered in his ear, “Laudanum,—it -will procure a deep and sound -sleep. Try it, my father, if you want -rest; but to make the experiment sure, -were it not best to try it first on another?” -The Superior nodded, and the party were -about to disperse, when the Superior -caught the old monk by his habit, and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_94" title="94"> </a> -whispered, “But no murder!”—“Oh no! -only profound sleep.—What matter when -he wakes? It must be to suffering in this -life or the next. <em>We</em> are not guilty in -the business. What signifies a few moments -sooner or later?” The Superior -was of a timid and passionate character. -He still kept hold of the monk’s habit;—he -whispered, “But it must not be -known.”—“But who can know it?” At -this moment the clock struck, and an old -ascetic monk, who occupied a cell adjacent -to the Superior’s, and who had accustomed -himself to the exclamation, “God -knoweth all things,” whenever the clock -struck, repeated it aloud. The Superior -quitted his hold of the monk’s habit,—the -monk crawled to his cell <em>God-struck</em>, if I -may use the expression,—the laudanum -was not administered that night,—the -voice did not return,—I slept the entire -night, and the whole convent was delivered -from the harassings of the infernal -spirit. Alas! none haunted it, but that -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_95" title="95"> </a> -spirit which the natural <em>malignity of solitude</em> -raises within the circle of every heart, -and forces us, from the terrible economy -of misery, to feed on the vitals of others, -that we may spare our own.</p> - -<p>“This conversation was repeated to me -afterwards by a monk who was on his dying -bed. He had witnessed it, and I have -no reason to doubt his sincerity. In fact, -I always considered it as rather a palliation -than an aggravation of their cruelty to me. -They had made me suffer worse than -many deaths,—the single suffering would -have been instantaneous,—the single act -would have been mercy. The next day -the visit of the Bishop was expected. -There was an indescribable kind of terrified -preparation among the community. -This house was the first in Madrid, and -the singular circumstance of the son of one -of the highest families in Spain having entered -it in early youth,—having protested -against his vows in a few months,—having -been accused of being in a compact -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_96" title="96"> </a> -with the infernal spirit a few weeks after,—the -hope of a scene of exorcism,—the -doubt of the success of my appeal,—the -probable interference of the Inquisition,—the -<em>possible</em> festival of an auto da fe,—had -set the imagination of all Madrid on fire; -and never did an audience long more for -the drawing up of the curtain at a popular -opera, than the religious and irreligious of -Madrid did for the developement of the -scene which was acting at the convent of -the Ex-Jesuits.</p> - -<p>“In Catholic countries, Sir, religion is -the national drama; the priests are the -principal performers, the populace the audience; -and whether the piece concludes -with a “Don Giovanni” plunging in -flames, or the beatification of a saint, the -applause and the enjoyment is the same.</p> - -<p>“I feared my destiny was to be the -former. I knew nothing of the Bishop, -and hoped nothing from his visit; but my -hopes began to rise in proportion to the -visible fears of the society. I argued, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_97" title="97"> </a> -with the natural malignity of wretchedness, -“If they tremble, I may <ins title="exult.">exult.”</ins> -When suffering is thus weighed against -suffering, the hand is never steady; we -are always disposed to make the balance -incline a little on our own side. The -Bishop came early, and passed some hours -with the Superior in his own apartment. -During this interval, there was a stillness -in the house that was strongly contrasted -with its previous agitation. I stood alone -in my cell,—<em>stood</em>, for I had no seat left -me. I said to myself, “This event bodes -neither good or evil to me. I am not -guilty of what they accuse me of. They -never can prove it,—an accomplice with -Satan!—the victim of diabolical delusion!—Alas! -my only crime is my involuntary -subjection to the delusions they have practised -on me. This man, this Bishop, cannot -give me freedom, but he may at least -do me justice.” All this time the community -were in a fever—the character of -the house was at stake—my situation was -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_98" title="98"> </a> -notorious. They had laboured to represent -me as a possessed being beyond their -walls, and to <em>make</em> me appear as one within -them. The hour of trial approached. -For the honour of human nature,—from -the dread of violating decency,—from the -dread of apparently violating truth, I will -not attempt to relate the means they had -recourse to the morning of the Bishop’s -visitation, to qualify me to perform the -part of a possessed, insane, and blasphemous -wretch. The four monks I have before -mentioned, were the principal executioners, -(I must call them so).—Under -pretence that there was no part of my person -which was not under the influence of -the demon, * * * -* * * *</p> - -<p>“This was not enough. I was deluged -almost to suffocation with aspersions of -holy water. Then followed, &c. * -* * * *</p> - -<p>“The result was, that I remained half-naked, -half-drowned, gasping, choaking, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_99" title="99"> </a> -and delirious with rage, shame, and fear, -when I was summoned to attend the -Bishop, who, surrounded by the Superior -and the community, awaited me in the -church. This was the moment they had -fixed on—I yielded myself to them. I -said, stretching out my arms, “Yes, drag -me naked, mad—religion and nature alike -violated in my abused figure—before your -Bishop. If he speaks truth,—if he feels -conscience,—woe be to you, hypocritical, -tyrannical wretches. You have half-driven -me mad!—half-murdered me, by the unnatural -cruelties you have exercised -on me!—and in this state you drag me -before the Bishop! Be it so, I must follow -you.” As I uttered these words, they -bound my arms and legs with ropes, carried -me down, and placed me at the door -of the church, standing close to me. The -Bishop was at the altar, the Superior near -him; the community filled the choir. -They flung me down like a heap of carrion, -and retreated as if they fled from the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_100" title="100"> </a> -pollution of my touch. This sight struck -the Bishop: He said, in a loud voice, -“Rise, <em>unhappy</em>, and come forward.” I -answered, in a voice whose tones appeared -to thrill him, “Bid them unbind me, and I -will obey you.” The Bishop turned a cold -and yet indignant look on the Superior, -who immediately approached and whispered -him. This whispering consultation was -carried on for some time; but, though -lying on the ground, I could perceive the -Bishop shook his head at every whisper of -the Superior; and the end of the business -was an order to unbind me. I did -not fare much the better for this order, for -the four monks were still close to me. -They held my arms as they led me up -the steps to the altar. I was then, for -the first time, placed opposite to the -Bishop. He was a man, the effect of -whose physiognomy was as indelible as -that of his character.—The one left its -impress on the senses, as strongly as the -other did on the soul. He was tall, majestic, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_101" title="101"> </a> -and hoary; not a feeling agitated -his frame—not a passion had left its trace -on his features. He was a marble statue -of Episcopacy, chiselled out by the hand -of Catholicism,—a figure magnificent and -motionless. His cold black eyes did not -seem to see you, when they were turned -on you. His voice, when it reached -you, did not address <em>you</em>, but your <em>soul</em>. -Such was his exterior:—for the rest, his -character was unimpeachable, his discipline -exemplary, his life that of an Anchorite -hewed out in stone. But he was partially -suspected of what is called <em>liberality</em> in -opinions, (that is, of an inclination to Protestantism), -and the sanctity of his character -went bail in vain for this imputed heterodoxy, -which the Bishop could hardly -redeem by his rigid cognizance of every -conventual abuse in his district, among -which my convent happened to be. Such -was the man before whom I stood. At -the command to unloose me, the Superior -shewed much agitation; but the command -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_102" title="102"> </a> -was positive, and I was released. I was -then between the four monks, who held -me, and I felt that my appearance must -have justified the impression he had received. -I was ragged, famished, livid, and -on fire, with the horrible treatment I had -just received. I hoped, however, that my -submission to whatever was to be performed, -might, in some degree, redeem the opinion -of the Bishop. He went with evident -reluctance through the forms of exorcism, -which were delivered in Latin, while all -the time, the monks crossed themselves, -and the <em>Acolytes</em> were not sparing of holy -water and of incense. Whenever the terms -“diabole te adjuro” occurred, the monks -who held me twisted my arms, so that I -appeared to make contortions, and uttered -cries of pain. This, at first, seemed to disturb -the Bishop; but when the form of -exorcism was over, he commanded me to -approach the altar alone. I attempted to -do so; but the four monks surrounding -me, made it appear an act of great difficulty. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_103" title="103"> </a> -He said, “Stand apart—let him -alone.” They were compelled to obey. I -advanced alone, trembling. I knelt. The -Bishop, placing his stole on my head, demanded, -“Did I believe in God, and the -holy Catholic church?” Instead of answering, -I shrieked, flung off the stole, and -trampled in agony on the steps of the altar. -The Bishop retreated, while the Superior -and the rest advanced. I collected -courage as I saw them approach; and, -without uttering a word, pointed to the -pieces of broken glass which had been -thrown on the steps where I stood, and -which had pierced me through my torn -sandals. The Bishop instantly ordered a -monk to sweep them away with the sleeve -of his tunic. The order was obeyed in a -moment, and the next I stood before him -without fear or pain. He continued to -ask, “Why do you not pray in the -church?”—“Because its doors are shut -against me.”—“How? what is this? A -memorial is in my hands urging many -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_104" title="104"> </a> -complaints against you, and this among -the first, that you do not pray in the -church.”—“I have told you the doors -of the church are shut against me.—Alas! -I could no more open them, than -I could open the hearts of the community—every -thing is shut against me -here.” He turned to the Superior, who -answered, “The doors of the church -are always shut to the enemies of God.” -The Bishop said, with his usual stern -calmness, “I am asking a plain question—evasive -and circuitous answers will not -do. Have the doors of the church been -shut against this wretched being?—have -you denied him the privilege of addressing -God?”—“I did so, because I thought and -believed—” “I ask not what you thought -or believed; I ask a plain answer to a matter-of-fact -question. Did you, or did you -not, deny him access to the house of God?”—“I -had reason to believe that—” “I warn -you, these answers may compel me to make -you exchange situations in one moment -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_105" title="105"> </a> -with the object you accuse. Did you, or -did you not, shut the doors of the church -against him?—answer yes or no.” The -Superior, trembling with fear and rage, -said, “I did; and I was justified in doing -so.”—“That is for another tribunal to -judge. But it seems you plead guilty to -the fact of which you accuse him.” The -Superior was dumb. The Bishop then -examining his paper, addressed me again, -“How is it that the monks cannot sleep -in their cells from the disturbance you -cause?”—“I know not—you must ask -them.”—“Does not the evil spirit visit -you nightly? Are not your blasphemies, -your execrable impurities, disgorged even -in the ears of those who have the misfortune -to be placed near you? Are you -not the terror and the torment of the -whole community?” I answered, “I am -what they have made me. I do not deny -there are extraordinary noises in my cell, -but they can best account for them. I am -assailed by whispers close to my bed-side: -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_106" title="106"> </a> -It seems these whispers reach the ears of -the brethren, for they burst into my cell, -and take advantage of the terror with -which I am overwhelmed, to put the most -incredible constructions on it.”—“Are -there no cries, then, heard in your cell at -night?”—“Yes, cries of terror—cries uttered -not by one who is celebrating infernal -orgies, but dreading them.”—“But the -blasphemies, the imprecations, the impurities, -which proceed from your lips?”—“Sometimes, -in irrepressible terror, I have -repeated the sounds that were suggested -to my ears; but it was always with an exclamation -of horror and aversion, that -proved these sounds were not <em>uttered</em> but -<em>echoed</em> by me,—as a man may take up a -reptile in his hand, and gaze on its hideousness -a moment, before he flings it -from him. I take the whole community -to witness the truth of this. The cries I -uttered, the expressions I used, were evidently -those of hostility to the infernal -suggestions which had been breathed into -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_107" title="107"> </a> -my ears. Ask the whole community—they -must testify, that when they broke -into my cell, they found me alone, trembling, -convulsed. That I was the victim -of those disturbances, they affected to -complain of; and though I never was able -to guess the means by which this persecution -was effected, I am not rash in ascribing -it to the hands that covered the walls -of my cell with representations of demons, -the traces of which still remain.”—“You -are also accused of having burst into the -church at midnight, defaced the images, -trampled on the crucifix, and performed -all the acts of a demon violating the sanctuary.” -At this accusation, so unjust and -cruel, I was agitated beyond controul. I -exclaimed, “I flew to the church for protection -in a paroxysm of terror, which their -machinations had filled me with! I flew -there at night, because it was shut against -me during the day, as you have discovered! -I prostrated myself before the cross, instead -of trampling on it! I embraced the images -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_108" title="108"> </a> -of the blessed saints, instead of violating -them! And I doubt whether prayers -more sincere were ever offered within these -walls, than those I uttered that night amid -helplessness, terror, and persecutions!”—“Did -you not obstruct and deter the -community next morning by your cries, as -they attempted to enter the church?”—“I -was paralyzed from the effects of lying all -night on the stone pavement, where they -had flung me. I attempted to rise and -crawl away at their approach, and a few -cries of pain were extorted from me by my -efforts to do so—efforts rendered more -painful by their refusing to offer me the -slightest assistance. In a word, the whole -is a fabrication. I flew to the church to -implore for mercy, and they represent it -as the outrages of an apostate spirit. -Might not the same arbitrary and absurd -construction be put on the daily visits of -multitudes of afflicted souls, who weep -and groan audibly as I did? If I attempted -to overturn the crucifix, to deface the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_109" title="109"> </a> -images, would not the marks of this violence -remain? Would they not have been -preserved with care, to substantiate the accusation -against me? Is there a trace of -them?—there is not, there cannot be, because -they never existed.” The Bishop -paused. An appeal to his <ins title="fealings">feelings</ins> would -have been vain, but this appeal to facts -had its full effect. After some time, he -said, “You can have no objection, then, -to render before the whole community the -same homage to the representations of the -Redeemer and the holy saints, that you -say it was your purpose to render them -that night?”—“None.” A crucifix was -brought me, which I kissed with reverence -and unction, and prayed, while the tears -streamed from my eyes, an interest in the -infinite merits of the sacrifice it represented. -The Bishop then said, “Make a -deed of faith, of love, of hope.” I did so; -and though they were extempore, my expressions, -I could perceive, made the dignified -ecclesiastics who attended on the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_110" title="110"> </a> -Bishop, cast on each other looks in which -were mingled compassion, interest, and admiration. -The Bishop said, “Where did -you learn those prayers?”—“My heart is -my only teacher—I have no other—I am -allowed no book.”—“How!—recollect -what you say.”—“I repeat I have none. -They have taken away my breviary, my -crucifix;—they have stript my cell of all -its furniture. I kneel on the floor—I pray -from the heart. If you deign to visit my -cell, you will find I have told you the -truth.” At these words, the Bishop cast -a terrible look on the Superior. He recovered -himself, however, immediately, -for he was a man unaccustomed to any -emotion, and felt it at once a suspension -of his habits, and an infringement of his -rank. In a cold voice he bid me retire; -then, as I was obeying him, he recalled -me,—my appearance for the first time -seemed to strike him. He was a man so -absorbed in the contemplation of that -waveless and frozen tide of duty in which -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_111" title="111"> </a> -his mind was anchored, without fluctuation, -progress, or improvement, that physical -objects must be presented before him -a long time before they made the least impression -on him,—his senses were almost -ossified. Thus he had come to examine -a supposed demoniac; but he had made -up his mind that there must be injustice -and imposture in the case, and he acted in -the matter with a spirit, decision, and integrity, -that did him honour.</p> - -<p>“But, all the time, the horror and misery -of my appearance, which would have -made the first impression on a man whose -feelings were at all <em>external</em>, made the -last. They struck him as I slowly and -painfully crawled from the steps of the altar, -and the impression was forcible in proportion -to its slowness. He called me -back and inquired, as if he saw me for -the first time, “How is it your habit is so -scandalously ragged?” At these words I -thought I could disclose a scene that would -have added to the Superior’s humiliation, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_112" title="112"> </a> -but I only said, “It is the consequence of -the ill treatment I have experienced.” -Several other questions of the same kind, -relating to my appearance, which was deplorable -enough, followed, and at last I -was forced to make a full discovery. The -Bishop was incensed at the detail more -than was credible. Rigid minds, when -they yield themselves to emotion, do it -with a vehemence inconceivable, for to -them every thing is a duty, and passion -(when it occurs) among the rest. Perhaps -the novelty of emotion, too, may be a delightful -surprise to them.</p> - -<p>“More than all this was the case now -with the good Bishop, who was as pure as -he was rigid, and shrunk with horror, disgust, -and indignation, at the detail I -was compelled to give, which the Superior -trembled at my uttering, and which -the community dared not to contradict. -He resumed his cold manner; for to him -feeling was an effort, and rigour a habit, -and he ordered me again to retire. I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_113" title="113"> </a> -obeyed, and went to my cell. The walls -were as bare as I had described them, but, -even contrasted with all the splendour and -array of the scene in the church, they -seemed emblazoned with my triumph. -A dazzling vision passed before me for a -moment, then all subsided; and, in the solitude -of my cell, I knelt and implored -the Almighty to touch the Bishop’s heart, -and impress on him the moderation and -simplicity with which I had spoken. As -I was thus employed, I heard steps in the -passage. They ceased for a moment, and -I was silent. It appeared the persons -overheard me, and paused; and these few -words, uttered in solitude, made, I found, -a deep impression on them. A few moments -after the Bishop, with some dignified -attendants, followed by the Superior, -entered my cell. The former all stopped, -horror-struck at its appearance.</p> - -<p>“I have told you, Sir, that my cell now -consisted of four bare walls and a bed;—it -was a scandalous, degrading sight. I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_114" title="114"> </a> -was kneeling in the middle of the floor, -God knows, without the least idea of producing -an effect. The Bishop gazed around -him for some time, while the ecclesiastics -who attended him testified their -horror by looks and attitudes that needed -no interpretation. The Bishop, after a -pause, turned to the Superior, “Well, -what do you say to this?” The Superior -hesitated, and at last said, “I was ignorant -of this.”—“That is false,” said the -Bishop; “and even if it was true, it would -be your crimination, not your apology. -Your duty binds you to visit the cells -every day; how could you be ignorant of -the shameful state of this cell, without neglecting -your own duties?” He took several -turns about the cell, followed by the -ecclesiastics, shrugging their shoulders, -and throwing on each other looks of disgust. -The Superior stood dismayed. They -went out, and I could hear the Bishop -say, in the passage, “All this disorder -must be rectified before I quit the house.” -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_115" title="115"> </a> -And to the Superior, “You are unworthy -of the situation you hold,—you ought to -be deposed.” And he added in severer -tones, “Catholics, monks, Christians, this -is shocking,—horrible! tremble for the consequences -of my next visit, if the same -disorders exist,—I promise you it shall be -repeated soon.” He then returned, and -standing at the door of my cell, said to -the Superior, “Take care that all the abuses -committed in this cell are rectified -before to-morrow morning.” The Superior -signified his submission to this order -in silence.</p> - -<p>“That evening I went to sleep on a -bare mattress, between four dry walls. I -slept profoundly, from exhaustion and fatigue. -I awoke in the morning far beyond -the time for matins, and found myself -surrounded by all the comforts that -can be bestowed on a cell. As if magic -had been employed during my sleep, crucifix, -breviary, desk, table, every thing -was replaced. I sprung from bed, and actually -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_116" title="116"> </a> -gazed in extasy around my cell. As -the day advanced, and the hour for refection -approached, my extasy abated, and -my terrors increased;—it is not easy to -pass from extreme humiliation and utter -abhorrence, to your former state in the society -of which you are a member. When -the bell rung I went down. I stood at -the door for a moment,—then, with an -impulse, like despair, I entered, and took -my usual place. No opposition was made,—not -a word was said. The community -separated after dinner. I watched for the -toll of the bell for vespers,—I imagined -that would be decisive. The bell tolled at -last,—the monks assembled. I joined them -without opposition,—I took my place in -the choir,—my triumph was complete, and -I trembled at it. Alas! in what moment -of success do we not feel a sensation of -terror? Our destiny always acts the part -of the ancient slave to us, who was required -every morning to remind the monarch -that he was a man; and it seldom -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_117" title="117"> </a> -neglects to fulfil its own predictions before -the evening. Two days passed away,—the -storm that had so long agitated us, -seemed to have sunk into a sudden calm. -I resumed my former place,—I performed -the customary duties,—no one congratulated -or reviled me. They all seemed to -consider me as one beginning monastic life -<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">de novo</i>. I passed two days of perfect -tranquillity, and I take God to witness, I -enjoyed this triumph with moderation. I -never reverted to my former situation,—I -never reproached those who had been agents -in it,—I never uttered a syllable on -the subject of the visitation, which had -made me and the whole convent change -places in the space of a few hours, and the -oppressed take the part (if he pleased) of -the oppressor. I bore my success with -temperance, for I was supported by the -hope of liberation. The Superior’s triumph -was soon to come.</p> - -<p>“On the third morning I was summoned -to the parlour, where a messenger put -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_118" title="118"> </a> -into my hands a packet, containing (as I -well understood) the result of my appeal. -This, according to the rules of the convent, -I was compelled to put first into the -hands of the Superior to read, before I -was permitted to read it myself. I took -the packet, and slowly walked to the Superior’s -apartment. As I held it in my -hand, I considered it, felt every corner, -weighed it over and over again in my -hand, tried to catch an omen from its very -shape. Then a withering thought crossed -me, that, if its intelligence was auspicious, -the messenger would have put it into my -hands with an air of triumph, that, in spite -of convent etiquette, I might break open -the seals which inclosed the sentence of -my liberation. We are very apt to take -our presages from our destination, and -mine being that of a monk, no wonder -its auguries were black,—and were verified.</p> - -<p>“I approached the Superior’s cell with -the packet. I knocked, was desired to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_119" title="119"> </a> -enter, and, my eyes cast down, could only -distinguish the hems of many habits, -whose wearers were all assembled in the -Superior’s apartment. I offered the packet -with reverence. The Superior cast a careless -eye over it, and then flung it on the -floor. One of the monks approached to -take it up. The Superior exclaimed, -“Hold, let <em>him</em> take it up.” I did so, -and retired to my cell, making first a profound -reverence to the Superior. I then -went to my cell, where I sat down with -the fatal packet in my hands. I was about -to open it, when a voice from within -me seemed to say,—It is useless, you must -know the contents already. It was some -hours before I perused it,—it contained -the account of the failure of my appeal. -It seemed, from the detail, that the advocate -had exerted his abilities, zeal, and -eloquence to the utmost; and that, at one -time, the court had been near deciding in -favour of my claims, but the precedent -was reckoned too dangerous. The advocate -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_120" title="120"> </a> -on the other side had remarked, -“If this succeeds, we shall have all the -monks in Spain appealing against their -vows.” Could a stronger argument have -been used in favour of my cause? An impulse -so universal must surely originate in -nature, justice, and truth.”</p> - -<hr class="thought-break"/> - -<p>On reverting to the disastrous issue of -his appeal, the unfortunate Spaniard was -so much overcome, that it was some days -before he could resume his narrative.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="Chapter_VII">CHAPTER VII.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_121" title="121"> </a></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Pandere res alta terrâ et caligine mersas.<br /></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">I’ll shew your Grace the strangest sight,—<br /></div> -<div class="line">Body o’me, what is it, Butts?—<br /></div> -<div class="line right small-caps">Henry the Eighth.<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="small-caps">“Of</span> the desolation of mind into which -the rejection of my appeal plunged me, I -can give no account, for I retain no distinguishing -image. All colours disappear in -the night, and despair has no diary,—monotony -is her essence and her curse. -Hours have I walked in the garden, without -retaining a single impression but that -of the sounds of my footsteps;—thought, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_122" title="122"> </a> -feeling, passion, and all that employs -them,—life and futurity, extinct and swallowed -up. I was already like an inhabitant -of the land where “all things are forgotten.” -I hovered on the regions of mental -twilight, where the “light is as darkness.” -The clouds were gathering that -portended the approach of utter night,—they -were scattered by a sudden and extraordinary -light.</p> - -<p>“The garden was my constant resort,—a -kind of instinct supplying the place of -that choice I had no longer energy enough -to make, directed me there to avoid the -presence of the monks. One evening I -saw a change in its appearance. The fountain -was out of repair. The spring that -supplied it was beyond the walls of the -convent, and the workmen, in prosecuting -the repairs, had found it necessary to -excavate a passage under the garden-wall, -that communicated with an open space in -the city. This passage, however, was -closely watched during the day while the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_123" title="123"> </a> -workmen were employed, and well secured -at night by a door erected for the purpose, -which was chained, barred, and bolted, -the moment the workmen quitted the -passage. It was, however, left open during -the day; and this tantalizing image of escape -and freedom, amid the withering -certainty of eternal imprisonment, gave a -kind of awakened sting to the pains that -were becoming obtuse. I entered the passage, -and drew as close as possible to the -door that shut me out from life. My seat -was one of the stones that were scattered -about, my head rested on my hand, and -my eyes were sadly fixed on the <em>tree and -the well</em>, the scene of that false miracle. -I knew not how long I sat thus. I was -aroused by a slight noise near me, and perceived -a paper, which some one was -thrusting under the door, where a slight -inequality in the ground rendered the attempt -just practicable. I stooped and attempted -to seize it. It was withdrawn; -but a moment after a voice, whose tones -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_124" title="124"> </a> -my agitation did not permit me to distinguish, -whispered, “Alonzo.”—“Yes,—yes,” -I answered eagerly. The paper was -instantly thrust into my hands, and I -heard a sound of steps retreating rapidly. -I lost not a moment in reading the few -words it contained. “Be here to-morrow -evening at the same hour. I have suffered -much on your account,—destroy this.” -It was the hand of my brother Juan, that -hand so well remembered from our late eventful -correspondence,—that hand whose traces -I never beheld without feeling corresponding -characters of hope and confidence retraced -in my soul, as lines before invisible -appear on exposure to the heat that seems -to vivify them. I am surprised that between -this and the following evening my -agitation did not betray me to the community. -But perhaps it is only agitation -arising from frivolous causes, that vents itself -in external indications,—I was absorbed -in mine. It is certain, at least, that -my mind was all that day vacillating like -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_125" title="125"> </a> -a clock that struck every minute the alternate -sounds, “<em>There is hope,—there is no -hope.</em>” The day,—the eternal day, was at -last over. Evening came on; how I watched -the advancing shades! At vespers, -with what delight did I trace the gradual -mellowing of the gold and purple tinges -that gleamed through the great eastern -window, and calculated that their western -decline, though slower, must come at last!—It -came. Never was a more propitious -evening. It was calm and dark—the garden -deserted, not a form to be seen, not a -step to be heard in the walks.—I hurried on. -Suddenly I thought I heard the sound of -something pursuing me. I paused,—it -was but the beating of my own heart, -audible in the deep stillness of that eventful -moment. I pressed my hand on my -breast, as a mother would on an infant -whom she tried to pacify;—it did not cease -to throb, however. I entered the passage. -I approached the door, of which hope and -despair seemed to stand the alternate portresses. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_126" title="126"> </a> -The words still rung in my ears, -“Be here to-morrow evening at the same -hour.” I stooped, and saw, with eyes -that devoured the sight, a piece of paper -appear under the door. I seized and buried -it in my habit. I trembled with such -ecstacy, that I thought I never should be -able to carry it undiscovered to my cell. -I succeeded, however; and the contents, -when I read them, justified my emotion. -To my unspeakable uneasiness, great part -of it was illegible, from being crushed amid -the stones and damp clay contiguous -to the door, and from the first page I could -hardly extract that he had been kept in -the country almost a prisoner, through the -influence of the Director; that one day, -while shooting with only one attendant, -the hope of liberation suddenly filled him -with the idea of terrifying this man into -submission. Presenting his loaded fowling -piece at the terrified wretch, he threatened -him with instant death, if he made the -least opposition. The man suffered himself -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_127" title="127"> </a> -to be bound to a tree; and the next page, -though much defaced, gave me to understand -he had reached Madrid in safety, and -heard for the first time the event of my -ill-fated appeal. The effect of this intelligence -on the impetuous, sanguine, and -affectionate Juan, could be easily traced -in the broken and irregular lines in which -he vainly attempted to describe it. The -letter then proceeded. “I am now in Madrid, -pledged body and soul never to quit -it till you are liberated. If you possess -resolution, this is not impossible,—the doors -even of convents are not inaccessible to a -silver key. My first object, that of obtaining -a communication with you, appeared as -impracticable as your escape, yet it has been -accomplished. I understood that repairs -were going on in the garden, and stationed -myself at the door evening after evening, -whispering your name, but it was not till -the sixth that you were there.”</p> - -<p>“In another part he detailed his plans -more fully. “Money and secrecy are the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_128" title="128"> </a> -primary objects,—the latter I can insure -by the disguises I wear, but the former I -scarce know how to obtain. My escape -was so sudden, that I was wholly unprovided, -and have been obliged to dispose of -my watch and rings since I reached Madrid, -to purchase disguises and procure -subsistence. I could command what sums -I pleased by disclosing my name, but this -would be fatal. The report of my being -in Madrid would immediately reach my -father’s ears. My resource must be a Jew; -and when I have obtained money, I have -little doubt of effecting your liberation. I -have already heard of a person in the convent -under very extraordinary circumstances, -who would probably not be disinclined -to * * * -* * * *</p> - -<p>“Here a long interval occurred in the -letter, which appeared to be written at -different times. The next lines that I -could trace, expressed all the light-heartedness -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_129" title="129"> </a> -of this most fiery, volatile, and generous -of created beings. * * -* * * *</p> - -<p>“Be not under the least uneasiness about -me, it is impossible that I should be -discovered. At school I was remarkable -for a dramatic talent, a power of personation -almost incredible, and which I now -find of infinite service. Sometimes I strut -as a <em>Majo</em><a name="FootnoteMarker_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="footnote-marker">(4)</a>, with enormous whiskers. -Sometimes I assume the accent of a Biscayan, -and, like the husband of Donna -Rodriguez, “am as good a gentleman as -the king, because I came from the mountains.” -But my favourite disguise is that -of a mendicant or a fortune-teller,—the -former procures me access to the convent, -the other money and intelligence. Thus I -am paid, while I appear to be the buyer. -When the wanderings and stratagems of -the day are over, you would smile to see -the loft and pallet to which the heir of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_130" title="130"> </a> -Monçada retires. This masquerade amuses -<em>me</em> more than the spectators. A consciousness -of our superiority is often more delightful -when confined to our own breasts, -than when expressed by others. Besides, -I feel as if the squalid bed, the tottering -seat, the cobwebbed rafters, the rancid oil, -and all the other <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">agremens</i> of my new abode, -were a kind of atonement for the wrongs -I have done you, Alonzo. My spirits -sometimes sink under privations so new -to me, but still a kind of playful and wild -energy, peculiar to my character, supports -me. I shudder at my situation when I -retire at night, and place, for the first time -<em>with my own hands</em>, the lamp on the miserable -hearth; but I laugh when, in the -morning, I attire myself in fantastic rags, -discolour my face, and modulate my accent, -so that the people in the house, -(where I tenant a garret), when they meet -me on the stairs, do not know the being -they saw the preceding evening. I change -my abode and costume every day. Feel -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_131" title="131"> </a> -no fears for me, but come every evening -to the door in the passage, for every evening -I shall have fresh intelligence for you. -My industry is indefatigable, my zeal unquenchable, -my heart and soul are on fire -in the cause. Again I pledge myself, soul -and body, never to quit this spot till you -are free,—<em>depend on me, Alonzo</em>.”</p> - -<p>“I will spare you, Sir, the detail of the -feelings,—feelings! Oh my God, pardon -me the prostration of heart with which I -kissed those lines, with which I could have -consecrated the hand that traced them, and -which are worthy only to be devoted to -the image of the great Sacrifice. Yet a -being so young, so generous, so devoted, -with a heart at once so wild and warm, -sacrificing all that rank, and youth, and -pleasure could offer,—submitting to the -vilest disguises, undergoing the most deplorable -privations, struggling with what -must have been most intolerable to a proud -voluptuous boy, (and I knew he was all -this), hiding his revoltings under a gaiety -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_132" title="132"> </a> -that was assumed, and a magnanimity -that was real—and all this for me!<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>Oh -what I felt! * * -* * * *</p> - -<p>“The next evening I was at the door; -no paper appeared, though I sat watching -for it till the declining light made it impossible -for me to discover it, had it been -there. The next I was more fortunate; it -appeared. The same disguised voice whispered -“Alonzo,” in tones that were the -sweetest music that ever reached my ears. -This billet contained but a very few lines, -(so I found no difficulty in <em>swallowing it</em> -immediately after perusal). It said, “I -have found a Jew, at last, who will advance -me a large sum. He pretends not -to know me, though I am satisfied he -does.—But his usurious interest and illegal -practices are my full security. I shall -be master of the means of liberating you -in a few days; and I have been fortunate -enough to discover how those means may -be applied. There is a wretch<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>”</p> - -<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_133" title="133"> </a>“Here the billet ended; and for four -following evenings the state of the repairs -excited so much curiosity in the convent, -(where it is so easy to excite curiosity), -that I dared not to remain in the passage, -without the fear of exciting suspicion. All -this time I suffered not only the agony of -suspended hope, but the dread of this -accidental communication being finally -closed; for I knew the workmen could -not have more than a few days to employ -on their task. This I conveyed -the intelligence of to my brother in the -same way in which I received his billets. -Then I reproached myself for hurrying -him. I reflected on the difficulties of his -concealment—of his dealing with Jews—of -his bribing the servants of the convent. -I thought of all he had undertaken, and -all he had undergone. Then I dreaded -that all might be in vain. I would not -live over those four days again to be sovereign -of the earth. I will give you one -slight proof of what I must have felt, when -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_134" title="134"> </a> -I heard the workmen say, “It will be finished -soon.” I used to rise at an hour -before matins, displace the stones, trample -on the mortar, which I mingled with the -clay, so as to render it totally useless; and -finally, <em>re-act Penelope’s web</em> with such -success, that the workmen believed the -devil himself was obstructing their operations, -and latterly never came to their -task unless armed with a vessel of holy -water, which they dashed about with infinite -sanctimony and profusion. On the -fifth evening I caught the following lines -beneath the door. “All is settled—I have -fixed the Jew on <em>Jewish terms</em>. He affects -to be ignorant of my real rank, and certain -(<em>future</em>) wealth, but he knows it all, and -dare not, for his own sake, betray me. -The Inquisition, to which I could expose -him in a moment, is my best security—I -must add, my <em>only</em>. There is a wretch in -your convent, who took sanctuary from -<em>parricide</em>, and consented to become a -monk, to escape the vengeance of heaven -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_135" title="135"> </a> -in this life at least. I have heard, that this -monster cut his own father’s throat, as he -sat at supper, to obtain a small sum which -he had lost at gambling. His partner, -who was a loser also, had, it seems, made -a vow to an image of the Virgin, that was -in the neighbourhood of the wretched -house where they gamed, to present two -wax tapers before it in the event of his success. -He lost; and, in the fury of a gamester, -as he repassed the image, he struck -and spit at it. This was very shocking—but -what was it to the crime of him who -is now an inmate of your convent? The -one defaced an image, the other murdered -his father: Yet the former expired under -tortures the most horrible, and the other, -after some vain efforts to elude justice, -<em>took sanctuary</em>, and is now a lay-brother -in your convent. On the crimes of this -wretch I build all my hopes. His soul -must be saturated with avarice, sensuality, -and desperation. There is nothing he will -hesitate at if he be bribed;—for money he -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_136" title="136"> </a> -will undertake your liberation—for money -he will undertake to strangle you in your -cell. He envies Judas the thirty pieces of -silver for which the Redeemer of mankind -was sold. <em>His</em> soul might be purchased -at half-price. Such is the instrument with -which I must work.—It is horrible, but -necessary. I have read, that from the most -venomous reptiles and plants, have been -extracted the most sanative medicines. I -will squeeze the juice, and trample on the -weed.</p> - -<p>“Alonzo, tremble not at these words. -Let not your habits prevail over your character. -Entrust your liberation to me, and -the instruments I am compelled to work -with; and doubt not, that the hand which -traces these lines, will soon be clasping that -of a brother in freedom.”</p> - -<p>“I read these lines over and over again -in the solitude of my cell, when the excitement -of watching for, secreting, and -perusing it <em>for the first time</em>, were over, -and many doubts and fears began to gather -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_137" title="137"> </a> -round me like twilight clouds. In proportion -as Juan’s confidence increased, -mine appeared to diminish. There was a -terrifying contrast between the fearlessness, -independence, and enterprise of <em>his</em> situation, -and the loneliness, timidity, and danger -of mine. While the hope of escape, -through his courage and address, still -burnt like an inextinguishable light in the -depth of my heart, I still dreaded entrusting -my destiny to a youth so impetuous, -though so affectionate; one who had fled -from his parents’ mansion, was living by -subterfuge and imposture in Madrid, and -had engaged, as his coadjutor, a wretch -whom nature must revolt from. Upon -whom and what did my hopes of liberation -rest? On the affectionate energies of -a wild, enterprising, and unaided being, -and the co-operation of a demon, who -might snatch at a bribe, and then shake it -in triumph in his ears, as the seal of our -mutual and eternal despair, while he flung -the key of liberation into an abyss where -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_138" title="138"> </a> -no light could penetrate, and from which -no arm could redeem it.</p> - -<p>“Under these impressions, I deliberated, -I prayed, I wept in the agony of doubt. -At last I wrote a few lines to Juan, in -which I honestly stated my doubts and -apprehensions. I stated first my doubts -of the possibility of my escape. I said, -“Can it be imagined that a being whom -all Madrid, whom all Spain, is on the -watch for, can elude their detection? Reflect, -dear Juan, that I am staked against -a community, a priesthood, a nation. The -escape of a monk is almost impossible,—but -his concealment afterwards is downright -impossible. Every bell in every convent -in Spain would ring out <em>untouched</em> in -pursuit of the fugitive. The military, civil, -and ecclesiastical powers, would all be on -the “qui vive.” Hunted, panting, and -despairing, I might fly from place to place—no -place affording me shelter. The incensed -powers of the church—the fierce -and vigorous gripe of the law—the execration -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_139" title="139"> </a> -and hatred of society—the suspicions of -the lowest order among whom I must lurk, -to shun and curse their penetration; think -of encountering all this, while the fiery cross -of the Inquisition blazes in the van, followed -by the whole pack, shouting, cheering, -hallooing on to the prey. Oh Juan! if you -knew the terrors under which I live—under -which I would rather die than encounter -them again, even on the condition of -liberation! Liberation! Great God! what -chance of liberation for a monk in Spain? -There is not a cottage where I could rest -one night in security—there is not a cavern -whose echoes would not resound to -the cry of my apostacy. If I was hid in -the bowels of the earth, they would discover -me, and tear me from its entrails. -My beloved Juan, when I consider the -omnipotence of the ecclesiastical power in -Spain, may I not address it in the language -applied to Omnipotence itself: “If -I climb up to heaven, thou art <em>there</em>;—if -I go down to hell, thou art <em>there</em> also;—if -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_140" title="140"> </a> -I take the wings of the morning, and flee -unto the <em>uttermost parts of the sea</em>, <em>even -there</em>—” And suppose my liberation was -accomplished—suppose the convent plunged -in a profound torpor, and the unsleeping -eye of the Inquisition winked at my -apostacy—where am I to reside? how am -I to procure subsistence? The luxurious -indolence of my early years unfit me for -active employment. The horrible conflict -of apathy the deepest, with hostility the -most deadly, in monastic life, disqualifies -me for society. Throw the doors of every -convent in Spain open, and for what will -their inmates be fit? For nothing that -will either embellish or improve it. What -could I do to serve myself?—what could -I do that would not betray me? I should -be a persecuted, breathless fugitive,—a -branded <em>Cain</em>. Alas!—perhaps expiring -in flames, I might see <em>Abel</em> not <em>my</em> victim, -but that of the Inquisition.”</p> - -<p>“When I had written these lines, with -an impulse for which all can account but -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_141" title="141"> </a> -the writer, I tore them to atoms, burnt -them deliberately by the assistance of the -lamp in my <ins title="ce ">cell</ins>, and went to watch again -at the door in the passage—the door of -hope. In passing through the gallery, I -encountered, for a moment, a person of a -most forbidding aspect. I drew on one -side—for I had made it a point not to mix, -in the slightest degree, with the community, -beyond what the discipline of the house -compelled me to. As he passed, however, -he touched my habit, and gave a most significant -look. I immediately comprehended -this was the person Juan alluded to in -his letter. And in a few moments after, -on descending to the garden, I found a -note that confirmed my conjectures. It -contained these words: “I have procured -the money—I have secured our agent. -He is an incarnate devil, but his resolution -and intrepidity are unquestionable. Walk -in the cloister to-morrow evening—some -one will touch your habit—grasp his left -wrist, that will be the signal. If he hesitates, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_142" title="142"> </a> -whisper to him—“Juan,” he will -answer—“Alonzo.” That is your man, -consult with him. Every step that I have -taken will be communicated to you by -him.”</p> - -<p>“After reading these lines, I appeared -to myself like a piece of mechanism -wound up to perform certain functions, in -which its co-operation was irresistible. -The precipitate vigour of Juan’s movements -seemed to impel mine without my -own concurrence; and as the shortness of -the time left me no opportunity for deliberation, -it left me also none for choice. -I was like a clock whose hands are pushed -forward, and I struck the hours I was impelled -to strike. When a powerful agency -is thus exercised on us,—when another -undertakes to think, feel, and act for us, we -are delighted to transfer to him, not only -our physical, but our moral responsibility. -We say, with selfish cowardice, and self-flattering -passiveness, “Be it so—you have -decided for me,”—without reflecting that at -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_143" title="143"> </a> -the bar of God there is no bail. So I -walked the next evening in the cloister. -I composed my habit,—my looks; any one -would have imagined me plunged in profound -meditation,—and so I was, but not -on the subjects with which they conceived -I was occupied. As I walked, some one -touched my habit. I started, and, to my -consternation, one of the monks asked my -pardon for the sleeve of his tunic having -touched mine. Two minutes after another -touched my habit. I felt the difference,—there -was an intelligential and communicative -force in his grasp. He seized it as -one who did not fear to be known, and -who had no need to apologise. How is it -that crime thus seizes us in life with a -fearless grasp, while the touch of conscience -trembles on the verge of our garment. -One would almost parody the words of -the well known Italian proverb, and say -that guilt is masculine, and innocence feminine. -<em>I grasped his wrist</em> with a trembling -hand, and whispered—“Juan,” in the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_144" title="144"> </a> -same breath. He answered—“Alonzo,” -and passed me onward in a moment. I -had then a few moments leisure to reflect -on a destiny thus singularly entrusted to a -being whose affections honoured humanity, -and a being whose crimes disgraced it. I -was suspended like Mahomet’s tomb between -heaven and earth. I felt an antipathy -indescribable to hold any communication -with a monster who had tried to hide -the stains of parricide, by casting over their -bloody and ineffaceable traces the shroud of -monasticism. I felt also an inexpressible -terror of Juan’s passions and precipitancy; -and I felt ultimately that I was in the -power of all I dreaded most, and must -submit to the operation of that power for -my liberation.</p> - -<p>“I was in the cloisters the following -evening. I cannot say I walked with a -step so equal, but I am sure I did with a -step much more artificially regular. For -the second time the same person touched -my habit, and whispered the name of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_145" title="145"> </a> -Juan. After this I could no longer -hesitate. I said, in passing, “I am in -your power.” A hoarse repulsive voice -answered, “No, I am in yours.” I murmured, -“Well, then, I understand you, -we belong to each other.”—“Yes. We -must not speak here, but a fortunate opportunity -presents itself for our communication. -To-morrow will be the eve of the -feast of Pentecost; the vigil is kept by the -whole community, who go two and two -every hour to the altar, pass their hour in -prayer, and then are succeeded by two -more, and this continues all night. Such is -the aversion with which you have inspired -the community, that they have one and all -refused to accompany you during your -hour, which is to be from two till three. -You will therefore be alone, and during -your hour I will come and visit you,—we -shall be undisturbed and unsuspected.” -At these words he quitted me. The -next night was the eve of Pentecost, the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_146" title="146"> </a> -monks went two and two all night to the -altar,—at two o’clock my turn arrived. -They rapped at my cell, and I descended -to the church alone.”</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="Chapter_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_147" title="147"> </a></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Ye monks and nuns throughout the land,<br /></div> -<div class="line indent2">Who go to church at night in pairs,<br /></div> -<div class="line">Never take bell-ropes in your hands,<br /></div> -<div class="line indent2">To raise you up again from prayers.<br /></div> -<div class="line right small-caps">Colman.<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="small-caps">“I am</span> not superstitious, but, as I entered -the church, I felt a chill of body and -soul inexpressible. I approached the altar, -and attempted to kneel,—an invisible hand -repelled me. A voice seemed to address -me from the recesses of the altar, and demand -what brought me there? I reflected -that those who had just quitted that spot -had been absorbed in prayer, that those -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_148" title="148"> </a> -who were to succeed me would be engaged -in the same profound homage, while I -sought the church with a purpose of imposture -and deception, and abused the -hour allotted to the divine worship in contriving -the means to escape from it. I -felt I was a deceiver, shrouding my fraud -in the very veils of the temple. I trembled -at my purpose and at myself. I -knelt, however, though I did not dare to -pray. The steps of the altar felt unusually -cold,—I shuddered at the silence I was -compelled to observe. Alas! how can we -expect that object to succeed, which we -dare not entrust to God. Prayer, Sir, -when we are deeply engaged in it, not -only makes us eloquent, but communicates -a kind of answering eloquence to the objects -around us. At former times, while I -poured out my heart before God, I felt as -if the lamps burnt brighter, and the images -smiled,—the silent midnight air was filled -with forms and voices, and every breeze -that sighed by the casement bore to my ear -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_149" title="149"> </a> -the harpings of a thousand angels. Now -all was stilled,—the lamps, the images, the -altar, the roof, seemed to behold me in -silence. They surrounded me like witnesses, -whose presence alone is enough to -condemn you, without their uttering a -word. I dared not look up,—I dared not -speak,—I dared not pray, lest it would unfold -a thought I could not supplicate a -blessing on; and this kind of keeping a -secret, which God must know, is at once -so vain and impious.</p> - -<p>“I had not remained long in this state -of agitation, when I heard a step approach,—it -was that of him I expected. “Rise,” -said he, for I was on my knees; “rise,—we -have no time to lose. You have but -an hour to remain in the church, and I -have much to tell you in that hour.” I -rose. “To-morrow night is fixed for your -escape.”—“To-morrow night,—merciful -God!”—“Yes; in desperate steps there is -always more danger from delay than from -precipitation. A thousand eyes and ears -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_150" title="150"> </a> -are on the watch already,—a single sinister -or ambiguous movement would render it -impossible to escape their vigilance. There -may be some danger in hastening matters -thus, but it is unavoidable. To-morrow -night, after midnight, descend to the -church, it is probable no one will then be -here. If any one should, (engaged in recollection -or in penance), retire to avoid -suspicion. Return as soon as the church -is empty,—I will be here. Do you observe -that door?” and he pointed to a low -door which I had often observed before, -but never remembered to have seen opened; -“I have obtained the key of that -door,—no matter by what means. It formerly -led to the vaults of the convent, -but, for some extraordinary reasons, which -I have not time to relate, another passage -has been opened, and the former has not -been employed or frequented for many -years. From thence branches another -passage, which, I have heard, opens by a -trap-door into the garden.”—“Heard,” I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_151" title="151"> </a> -repeated; “Good God! is it on report, -then, you depend in a matter so momentous? -If you are not certain that such a -passage exists, and that you will be able to -trace its windings, may we not be wandering -amid them all night? Or perhaps<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” -“Interrupt me no more with those faint -objections; I have no time to listen to -fears which I can neither sympathise with -or obviate. When we get through the -trap-door into the garden, (if ever we do), -another danger awaits us.” He paused, I -thought, like a man who is watching the -effect of the terrors he excites, not from -malignity but vanity, merely to magnify -his own courage in encountering them. I -was silent; and, as he heard neither flattery -nor fear, he went on. “Two fierce -dogs are let loose in the garden every night,—but -they must be taken care of. The -wall is sixteen feet high,—but your brother -has provided a ladder of ropes, which he -will fling over, and by which you may -descend on the other side in safety.”—“Safety! -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_152" title="152"> </a> -but then Juan will be in danger.”—“Interrupt -me no more,—the danger -within the walls is the least you have -to dread, beyond them, where can you -seek for refuge or secrecy? Your brother’s -money will enable you possibly to escape -from Madrid. He will bribe high, and -every inch of your way must be paved with -his gold. But, after that, so many dangers -present themselves, that the enterprise -and the danger seem but just begun. -How will you cross the Pyrennees? -How<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” and he passed his hand over his -forehead, with the air of a man engaged in -an effort beyond his powers, and sorely -perplexed about the means to effect it. -This expression, so full of sincerity, struck -me forcibly. It operated as a balance against -all my former prepossessions. But -still the more confidence I felt in him, the -more I was impressed by his fears. I repeated -after him, “How is it possible for -me to escape ultimately? I may, by your -assistance, traverse those intricate passages, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_153" title="153"> </a> -whose cold dews I feel already distilling on -me. I may emerge into light, ascend and -descend the wall, but, after that, how am -I to escape?—how am I even to live? All -Spain is but one great monastery,—I must -be a prisoner every step that I take.”—“Your -brother must look to that,” said he -abruptly; “I have done what I have undertaken.” -I then pressed him with several -questions relating to the details of my -escape. His answer was monotonous, unsatisfactory, -and evasive, to a degree that -again filled me first with suspicion, and -then with terror. I asked, “But how -have you obtained possession of the keys?”—“It -is not your business to inquire.” It -was singular that he returned the same answer -to every question I put to him, -relative to his becoming possessed of -the means to facilitate my escape, so that -I was compelled to desist unsatisfied, and -revert to what he had told me.—“But, -then, that terrible passage near the vaults,—the -chance, the fear that we may never -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_154" title="154"> </a> -emerge to light! Think of wandering amid -sepulchral ruins, of stumbling over -the bones of the dead, of encountering -what I cannot describe,—the horror of being -among those who are neither the living -or the dead;—those dark and shadowless -things that sport themselves with the reliques -of the dead, and feast and love amid -corruption,—ghastly, mocking, and terrific. -<em>Must</em> we pass near the vaults?”—“What -matter? perhaps I have more reason -to dread them than you. Do <em>you</em> expect -the spirit of your father to start from -the earth to blast you?” At these words, -which he uttered in a tone intended to inspire -me with confidence, I shuddered with -horror. They were uttered by a parricide, -boasting of his crime in a church at midnight, -amid saints, whose images were silent, -but seemed to tremble. For relief I -reverted to the unscaleable wall, and the -difficulty of managing the ladder of ropes -without detection. The same answer was -on his lips,—“Leave that to me,—all that -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_155" title="155"> </a> -is settled.” While he answered thus, he -always turned his face away, and broke his -words into monosyllables. At last I felt -that the case was desperate,—that I must -trust every thing to him. <em>To him!</em> Oh, -my God! what I felt when I said this to -myself! The conviction thrilled on my -soul,—I am in his power. And yet, -even under the impression, I could not -help recurring to the impracticable difficulties -that appeared to obstruct my escape. -He then lost patience,—reproached me -with timidity and ingratitude; and, while -resuming his naturally ferocious and menacing -tone, I actually felt more confidence -in him than when he had attempted to -disguise it. Half-remonstrance, half-invective -as it was, what he said displayed -so much ability, intrepidity, and art, that -I began to feel a kind of doubtful security. -I conceived, at least, that if any being on -earth could effect my liberation, this was -the man. He had no conception of fear,—no -idea of conscience. When he hinted -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_156" title="156"> </a> -at his having murdered his father, it was -done to impress me with an idea of his -hardihood. I saw this from his expression, -for I had involuntarily looked up at him. -His eye had neither the hollowness of remorse, -or the wandering of fear,—it glared -on me bold, challenging, and prominent. -He had but one idea annexed to the word -danger,—that of strong excitement. He -undertook a perilous attempt as a gamester -would sit down to encounter an antagonist -worthy of him; and, if life and -death were the stake, he only felt as if he -were playing at a higher rate, and the increased -demands on his courage and talent -actually supplied him with the means of -meeting them. Our conference was now -nearly at an end, when it occurred to me -that this man was exposing himself to a -degree of danger which it was almost incredible -he should brave on my account; -and this mystery, at least, I was resolved -to penetrate. I said, “But how will you -provide for your own safety? What will -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_157" title="157"> </a> -become of you when my escape is discovered? -Would not the most dreadful -punishments attend even the suspicion of -your having been an agent in it, and what -must be the result when that suspicion is -exchanged for the most undeniable certainty?” -It is impossible for me to describe -the change his expression underwent while -I uttered these words. He looked at me -for some time without speaking, with an -indefinable mixture of sarcasm, contempt, -doubt, and curiosity in his countenance, -and then attempted to laugh, but the -muscles of his face were too stubborn and -harsh to admit of this modulation. To -features like his, frowns were a habit, and -smiles a convulsion. He could produce -nothing but a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">rictus Sardonicus</i>, the terrors -of which there is no describing. It is -very frightful to behold crime in its merriment,—its -smile must be purchased by -many groans. My blood ran cold as I -looked at him. I waited for the sound of -his voice as a kind of relief. At length he -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_158" title="158"> </a> -said, “Do you imagine me such an ideot -as to promote your escape at the risk of -imprisonment for life,—perhaps of immurement,—perhaps -of the Inquisition?” and -again he laughed. “No, we must escape -together. Could you suppose I would -have so much anxiety about an event, in -which I had no part but that of an assistant? -It was of my own danger I was -thinking,—it was of my own safety I was -doubtful. Our situation has happened to -unite very opposite characters in the same -adventure, but it is an union inevitable -and <em>inseparable</em>. Your destiny is now -bound to mine by a tie which no human -force can break,—we part no more for ever. -The secret that each is in possession of, -must be watched by the other. Our lives -are in each other’s hands, and a moment -of absence might be that of treachery. -We must pass life in each watching every -breath the other draws, every glance the -other gives,—in dreading sleep as an involuntary -betrayer, and watching the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_159" title="159"> </a> -broken murmurs of each other’s restless -dreams. We may hate each other, torment -each other,—worst of all, we may be -weary of each other, (for hatred itself -would be a relief, compared to the tedium -of our inseparability), but separate we -must never.” At this picture of the liberty -for which I had risked so much, my -very soul recoiled. I gazed on the formidable -being with whom my existence was -thus incorporated. He was now retiring, -when he paused at some distance to repeat -his last words, or perhaps to observe their -effect. I was sitting on the altar,—it was -late,—the lamps in the church burned very -dimly, and, as he stood in the aisle, he was -placed in such a position, with regard to -that which hung from the roof, that the -light fell only on his face and one hand, -which he extended towards me. The rest -of his figure, enveloped in darkness, gave -to this bodyless and spectre head an effect -truly appalling. The ferocity of his features, -too, was softened into a heavy and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_160" title="160"> </a> -death-like gloom, as he repeated, “We -part never,—I must be near you for ever,” -and the deep tones of his voice rolled like -subterranean thunder round the church. -A long pause followed. He continued to -stand in the same posture, nor had I power -to change mine. The clock struck three, -its sound reminded me that my hour had -expired. We separated, each taking different -directions; and the two monks who -succeeded me luckily came a few minutes -late, (both of them yawning most fearfully), -so our departure was unobserved.</p> - -<p>“The day that followed I have no more -power of describing, than of analysing a -dream to its component parts of sanity, -delirium, defeated memory, and triumphant -imagination. The sultan in the eastern -tale, who plunged his head in a bason -of water, and, before he raised it again, -passed through adventures the most vicissitudinous -and incredible—was a monarch, -a slave, a husband, a widower, a father, -childless,—in five minutes, never underwent -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_161" title="161"> </a> -the changes of <em>mind</em> that I did during -that memorable day. I was a prisoner,—free,—a -happy being, surrounded by -smiling infants,—a victim of the Inquisition, -writhing amid flames and execrations. -I was a maniac, oscillating between hope -and despair. I seemed to myself all that -day to be pulling the rope of a bell, whose -alternate knell was <em>heaven</em>—<em>hell</em>, and this -rung in my ears with all the dreary and -ceaseless monotony of the bell of the convent. -Night came at last. I might almost -say <em>day came</em>, for that day had been -my night. Every thing was propitious to -me,—the convent was all hushed. I put -my head several times out of my cell, to -be assured of this,—<em>all was hushed</em>. There -was not a step in the corridor,—not a -voice, not a whisper to be heard under a -roof containing so many souls. I stole from -my cell, I descended to the church. This -was not unusual for those whose consciences -or nerves were disturbed, during -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_162" title="162"> </a> -the sleepless gloom of a conventual night. -As I advanced to the door of the church, -where the lamps were always kept burning, -I heard a human voice. I retreated -in terror;—then I ventured to give a -glance. An old monk was at prayers before -one of the images of the saints, and -the object of his prayers was to be relieved, -not from the anguish of conscience, or -the annihilation of monasticism, but from -the pains of a toothache, for which he had -been desired to apply his gums to the -image of a saint quite notorious for her -efficacy in such cases<a name="FootnoteMarker_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="footnote-marker">(5)</a>. The poor, old, -tortured wretch, prayed with all the fervency -of agony, and then rubbed his gums -over and over again on the cold marble, -which increased his complaint, his suffering, -and his devotion. I watched, listened,—there -was something at once ludicrous -and frightful in my situation. I felt inclined -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_163" title="163"> </a> -to laugh at my own distress, while it was -rising almost to agony every moment. I -dreaded, too, the approach of another intruder, -and feeling my fear about to be -realized by the approach of some one, I -turned round, and, to my inexpressible relief, -saw my companion. I made him -comprehend, by a sign, how I was prevented -from entering the church; he answered -me in the same way, and retreated -a few steps, but not without shewing me -a bunch of huge keys under his habit. -This revived my spirits, and I waited for -another half-hour in a state of mental excruciation, -which, were it inflicted on the -bitterest enemy I have on earth, I think I -would have cried, “Hold,—hold, spare -him.” The clock struck two,—I writhed -and stamped with my feet, as loud as I -dared, on the floor of the passage. I was -not at all tranquillized by the visible impatience -of my companion, who started, -from time to time, from his hiding-place -behind a pillar of the cloister, flung on me -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_164" title="164"> </a> -a glance<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>no, a glare—of wild and restless -inquiry, (which I answered with one -of despondency), and retired, grinding -curses between his teeth, whose horrible -grating I could hear distinctly in the intervals -of my long-withheld breath. At -last I took a desperate step. I walked into -the church, and, going straight up to -the altar, prostrated myself on the steps. -The old monk observed me. He believed -that I had come there with the same purpose, -if not with the same feelings, as -himself; and he approached me, to announce -his intention of joining in my aspirations, -and intreating an interest in -them, <em>as the pain had now reached from -the lower jaw to the upper</em>. There is -something that one can hardly describe in -this union of the lowest with the highest -interests of life. I was a prisoner, panting -for emancipation, and staking my existence -on the step I was compelled to take,—my -whole interest for time, and perhaps -for eternity, hung on a moment; and beside -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_165" title="165"> </a> -me knelt a being whose destiny was -decided already, who could be nothing but -a monk for the few years of his worthless -existence, and who was supplicating a -short remission from a temporary pain, -that I would have endured my whole -life for an hour’s liberty. As he drew near -me, and supplicated an interest in my -prayers, I shrunk away. I felt a difference -in the object of our addresses to -God, that I dared not search my heart for -the motive of. I knew not, at the moment, -which of us was right,—he, whose -prayer did no dishonour to the place,—or I, -who was to struggle against a disorganized -and unnatural state of life, whose vows I -was about to violate. I knelt with him, -however, and prayed for the removal of -his pain with a sincerity that cannot be -questioned, as the success of my petitions -might be the means of procuring -his absence. As I knelt, I trembled at -my own hypocrisy. I was profaning the -altar of God,—I was mocking the sufferings -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_166" title="166"> </a> -of the being I supplicated for,—I -was the worst of all hypocrites, a hypocrite -on my knees, and at the altar. Yet, was -I not compelled to be so? If I <em>was</em> a hypocrite, -who had made me one? If I profaned -the altar, who had dragged me there, -to insult it by vows my soul belied and -reversed faster than my lips could utter -them? But this was no time for self-examination. -I knelt, prayed, and trembled, -till the poor sufferer, weary of his ineffectual -and unanswered supplications, rose, and -began to crawl away. For a few minutes -I shivered in horrible anxiety, lest some -other intruder might approach, but the -quick decisive step that trod the aisle restored -my confidence in a moment,—it was -my companion. He stood beside me. He -uttered a few curses, which sounded very -shocking in my ears, more from the force -of habit, and influence of the place, than -from the meaning attached to them, and -then hurried on <em>to the door</em>. A large -bunch of keys was in his hand, and I followed -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_167" title="167"> </a> -instinctively this pledge of my liberation.</p> - -<p>“The door was very low—we descended -to it by four steps. He applied his key, -muffling it in the sleeve of his habit to -suppress the sound. At every application -he recoiled, gnashed his teeth, stamped—then -applied both hands. The lock did -not give way—I clasped my hands in -agony—I tossed them over my head. -“Fetch a light,” he said in a whisper; -“take a lamp from before one of those -figures.” The levity with which he spoke -of the holy images appalled me, and the act -appeared to me nothing short of sacrilege; -yet I went and took a lamp, which, with -a shuddering hand, I held to him as he -again tried the key. During this second attempt, -we communicated in whispers those -fears that left us scarce breath even for -whispers. “Was not that a noise?”—“No, -it was the echo of this jarring, stubborn -lock. Is there no one coming?”—“Not -one.”—“Look out into the passage.”—“Then -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_168" title="168"> </a> -I cannot hold the light to you.”—“No -matter—any thing but detection.”—“Any -thing for escape,” I retorted with a -courage that made him start, as I set down -the lamp, and joined my strength to his to -turn the key. It grated, resisted; the -lock seemed invincible. Again we tried, -with cranched teeth, indrawn breath, and -fingers stripped almost to the bone,—in -vain.—Again—in vain.—Whether the natural -ferocity of his temper bore disappointment -worse than mine, or that, like many -men of undoubted courage, he was impatient -of a <em>slight</em> degree of physical pain, in -a struggle where he would have risked and -lost life without a murmur,—or how it -was, I know not,—but he sunk down on -the steps leading to the door, wiped away -the big drops of toil and terror from his -forehead with the sleeve of his habit, and -cast on me a look that was at once the -pledge of sincerity and of despair. The -clock struck three. The sound rung in -my ears like the trumpet of the day of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_169" title="169"> </a> -doom—the trumpet that <em>will sound</em>. He -clasped his hands with a fierce and convulsive -agony, that might have pictured the -last struggles of the impenitent malefactor,—that -agony without remorse, that suffering -without requital or consolation, that, -if I may say so, arrays crime in the dazzling -robe of magnanimity, and makes -us admire the fallen spirit, with whom -we dare not sympathize. “We are undone,” -he cried; “<em>you</em> are undone. At -the hour of three another monk is to enter -on his hour of recollection.” And he added, -in a lower tone of horror inexpressible, -“I hear his steps in the passage.” At the -moment he uttered these words, the key, -that I had never ceased to struggle with, -turned in the lock. The door opened, the -passage lay free to us. My companion recovered -himself at the sight, and in the -next moment we were both in the passage. -Our first care was to remove the -key, and lock the door on the inside; and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_170" title="170"> </a> -during this, we had the satisfaction to discover, -that there was no one in the church, -no one approaching it. Our fears had deceived -us; we retired from the door, looked -at each other with a kind of breathless, -half-revived confidence, and began our progress -through the vault in silence and in -safety. In safety! my God! I yet tremble -at the thought of that subterranean -journey, amid the vaults of a convent, with -a parricide for my companion. But what -is there that danger will not familiarize us -with? Had I been told such a story of -another, I would have denounced him as -the most reckless and desperate being on -earth—yet <em>I was the man</em>. I had secured -the lamp, (whose light appeared to reproach -me with sacrilege at every gleam it -shed on our progress), and followed my -companion in silence. Romances have -made your country, Sir, familiar with tales -of subterranean passages, and supernatural -horrors. All these, painted by the most -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_171" title="171"> </a> -eloquent pen, must fall short of the breathless -horror felt by a being engaged in an -enterprise beyond his powers, experience, -or calculation, driven to trust his life and -liberation to hands that reeked with a father’s -blood. It was in vain that I tried -<em>to make up my mind</em>,—that I said to myself, -“This is to last but for a short time,”—that -I struggled to force on myself the -conviction that it was necessary to have -such associates in desperate enterprises;—it -was all in vain. I trembled at my situation,—at -myself, and that is a terror we -can never overcome. I stumbled over -the stones,—I was chilled with horror -at every step. A blue mist gathered before -my eyes,—it furred the edges of the -lamp with a dim and hazy light. My -imagination began to operate, and when I -heard the curses with which my companion -reproached my involuntary delay, I -began almost to fear that I was following -the steps of a demon, who had lured me -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_172" title="172"> </a> -there for purposes beyond the reach of -imagination to picture. Tales of superstition -crowded on me like images of -terror on those who are in the dark. -I had heard of infernal beings who deluded -monks with the hopes of liberation, -seduced them into the vaults of the -convent, and then proposed conditions -which it is almost as horrible to relate as -to undergo the performance of. I thought -of being forced to witness the unnatural -revels of a diabolical feast,—of seeing -the rotting flesh distributed,—of drinking -the dead corrupted blood,—of hearing -the anthems of fiends howled in insult, on -that awful verge where life and eternity -mingle,—of hearing the hallelujahs of the -choir, echoed even through the vaults, -where demons were yelling the <em>black mass</em> -of their infernal Sabbath.—I thought of -all that the interminable passages, the livid -light, and the diabolical companion, might -suggest.</p> - -<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_173" title="173"> </a>“Our wanderings in the passage seemed -to be endless. My companion turned -to right, to left,—advanced, retreated, -paused,—(the pause was dreadful)!—Then -advanced again, tried another direction, -where the passage was so low that I was -obliged to crawl on my hands and knees -to follow him, and even in this posture -my head struck against the ragged roof. -When we had proceeded for a considerable -time, (at least so it appeared to me, -for minutes are hours in the <em>noctuary</em> of -terror,—terror has no <em>diary</em>), this passage -became so narrow and so low, that -I could proceed no farther, and wondered -how my companion could have advanced -beyond me. I called to him, but received -no answer; and, in the darkness of the -passage, or rather hole, it was impossible -to see ten inches before me. I had the -lamp, too, to watch, which I had held -with a careful trembling hand, but which -began to burn dim in the condensed and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_174" title="174"> </a> -narrow atmosphere. A gush of terror rose -in my throat. Surrounded as I was by -damps and dews, my whole body felt in a -fever. I called again, but no voice answered. -In situations of peril, the imagination -is unhappily fertile, and I could not -help recollecting and <em>applying</em> a story I -had once read of some travellers who attempted -to explore the vaults of the Egyptian -pyramids. One of them, who was -advancing, as I was, on his hands and -knees, stuck in the passage, and, whether -from terror, or from the natural consequences -of his situation, swelled so that it -was impossible for him to retreat, advance, -or allow a passage for his companions. -The party were on their return, and finding -their passage stopped by this irremoveable -obstruction, their lights trembling on -the verge of extinction, and their guide -terrified beyond the power of direction or -advice, proposed, in the selfishness to which -the feeling of vital danger reduces all, to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_175" title="175"> </a> -cut off the limbs of the wretched being -who obstructed their passage. He heard -this proposal, and, contracting himself with -agony at the sound, was reduced, by that -strong muscular spasm, to his usual dimensions, -dragged out, and afforded room -for the party to advance. He was suffocated, -however, in the effort, and left behind -a corse. All this detail, that takes -many words to tell, rushed on my soul in -a moment;—on my soul?—no, on my -body. I was all physical feeling,—all -intense corporeal agony, and God only -knows, and man only can feel, how that -agony can absorb and annihilate all other -feeling within us,—how we could, in such -a moment, feed on a parent, to gnaw out -our passage into life and liberty, as sufferers -in a wreck have been known to gnaw their -own flesh, for the support of that existence -which the unnatural morsel was diminishing -at every agonizing bite.</p> - -<p>“I tried to crawl backwards,—I succeeded. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_176" title="176"> </a> -I believe the story I recollected -had an effect on me, I felt a contraction of -muscles corresponding to what I had read of. -I felt myself almost liberated by the sensation, -and the next moment I was actually so;—I -had got out of the passage I knew not -how. I must have made one of those extraordinary -exertions, whose energy is perhaps -not only increased by, but dependent -on, our unconsciousness of them. However -it was, I was extricated, and stood -breathless and exhausted, with the dying -lamp in my hand, staring around me, and -seeing nothing but the black and dripping -walls, and the low arches of the vault, -that seemed to lower over me like the -frown of an eternal hostility,—a frown -that forbids hope or escape. The lamp -was rapidly extinguishing in my hand,—I -gazed on it with a fixed eye. I knew -that my life, and, what was dearer than my -life, my liberation, depended on my watching -its last glimpse, yet I gazed on it with -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_177" title="177"> </a> -the eye of an ideot,—a stupified stare. -The lamp glimmered more faintly,—its -dying gleams awoke me to recollection. -I roused myself,—I looked around. A -strong flash discovered an object near me. -I shuddered,—I uttered cries, though I was -unconscious of doing so, for a voice said to -me,—“Hush, be silent; I left you only to -reconnoitre the passages. I have made out -the way to the trap-door,—be silent, and all -is well.” I advanced trembling, my companion -appeared trembling too. He whispered, -“Is the lamp so nearly extinguished?”—“You -see.”—“Try to keep it in -for a few moments.”—“I will; but, if I -cannot, what then?”—“Then we must -perish,” he added, with an execration that -I thought would have brought down the -vaults over our heads. It is certain, Sir, -however, that desperate sentiments are best -suited to desperate emergencies, and this -wretch’s blasphemies gave me a kind of -horrible confidence in his courage. On he -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_178" title="178"> </a> -went, muttering curses before me; and I -followed, watching the last light of the -lamp with agony increased by my fear of -further provoking my horrible guide. I -have before mentioned how our feelings, -even in the most fearful exigencies, -dwindle into petty and wretched details. -With all my care, however, the lamp declined,—quivered,—flashed -a pale light, -like the smile of despair on me, and was -extinguished. I shall never forget the -look my guide threw on me by its sinking -light. I had watched it like the last beatings -of an expiring heart, like the shiverings -of a spirit about to part for eternity. -I saw it extinguished, and believed myself -already among those for “whom the -blackness of darkness is reserved for ever.”</p> - -<p>“It was at this moment that a faint -sound reached our frozen ears;—it was the -chaunt of matins, performed by candle-light -at this season of the year, which was -begun in the chapel now far above us. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_179" title="179"> </a> -This voice of heaven thrilled us,—we -seemed the pioneers of darkness, on the -very frontiers of hell. This superb insult -of celestial triumph, that amid the strains -of hope spoke despair to us, announced a -God to those who were stopping their ears -against the sound of his name, had an effect -indescribably awful. I fell to the ground, -whether from stumbling from the darkness, -or shrinking from emotion, I know -not. I was roused by the rough arm, and -rougher voice of my companion. Amid -execrations that froze my blood, he told -me this was no time for failing or for fear. -I asked him, trembling, what I was to do? -He answered, “Follow me, and feel your -way in darkness.” Dreadful sounds!—Those -who tell us <em>the whole</em> of our calamity -always appear malignant, for our -hearts, or our imaginations, always flatter -us that it is not so great as reality proves -it to be. Truth is told us by any mouth -sooner than our own.</p> - -<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_180" title="180"> </a>“In darkness, total darkness, and on -my hands and knees, for I could no longer -stand, I followed him. This motion soon -affected my head; I grew giddy first, then -stupified. I paused. He growled a curse, -and I instinctively quickened my movements, -like a dog who hears the voice of a -chiding master. My habit was now in -rags from my struggles, my knees and -hands stript of skin. I had received -several severe bruises on my head, from -striking against the jagged and unhewn -stones which formed the irregular sides and -roof of this eternal passage. And, above -all, the unnatural atmosphere, combined -with the intensity of my emotion, had -produced a thirst, the agony of which I -can compare to nothing but that of a -burning coal dropt into my throat, which -I seemed to suck for moisture, but which -left only drops of fire on my tongue. -Such was my state, when I called out to my -companion that I could proceed no farther. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_181" title="181"> </a> -“Stay there and rot, then,” was the answer; -and perhaps the most soothing words of -encouragement could not have produced -so strong an effect on me. This confidence -of despair, this bravado against danger, -that menaced the power in his very -citadel, gave me a temporary courage,—but -what is courage amid darkness and -doubt? From the faultering steps, the -suffocated breath, the muttered curses, I -guessed what was going on. I was right. -The final—hopeless stop followed instantly, -announced by the last wild sob, the -cranching of despairing teeth, the clasping, -or rather clap, of the locked hands, in -the terrible extacy of utter agony. I was -kneeling behind him at that moment, and -I echoed every cry and gesture with a violence -that started my guide. He silenced -me with curses. Then he attempted to -pray; but his prayers sounded so like -curses, and his curses were so like prayers -to the evil one, that, choaking with horror, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_182" title="182"> </a> -I implored him to cease. He did -cease, and for nearly half an hour neither -of us uttered a word. We lay beside each -other like two panting dogs that I have -read of, who lay down to die close to the -animal they pursued, whose fur they fanned -with their dying breath, while unable to -mouthe her.</p> - -<p>“Such appeared emancipation to us,—so -near, and yet so hopeless. We lay thus, not -daring to speak to each other, for who -could speak but of despair, and which of us -dared to aggravate the despair of the other. -This kind of fear which we know already -felt by others, and which we dread to aggravate -by uttering, <em>even to those who -know it</em>, is perhaps the most horrible sensation -ever experienced. The very thirst -of my body seemed to vanish in this fiery -thirst of the soul for communication, -where all communication was unutterable, -impossible, hopeless. Perhaps the condemned -spirits will feel thus at their final -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_183" title="183"> </a> -sentence, when they know all that is to -be suffered, and dare not disclose to each -other that horrible truth which is no longer -a secret, but which the profound silence of -their despair would seem to make one. -The secret of silence is the only secret. -Words are a blasphemy against that taciturn -and invisible God, whose presence -enshrouds us in our last extremity. These -moments that appeared to me endless, -were soon to cease. My companion sprung -up,—he uttered a cry of joy. I imagined -him deranged,—he was not. He exclaimed, -“Light, light,—the light of heaven; -we are near the trap-door, I see the -light through it.” Amid all the horrors -of our situation, he had kept his eye constantly -turned upwards, for he knew that, -if we were near it, the smallest glimmering -of light would be visible in the intense -darkness that enveloped us. He -was right. I started up,—I saw it too. -With locked hands, with dropt and wordless -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_184" title="184"> </a> -lips, with dilated and thirsting eyes, -we gazed upwards. A thin line of grey -light appeared above our heads. It broadened, -it grew brighter,—it <em>was</em> the light -of heaven, and its breezes too came fluttering -to us through the chinks of the -trap-door that opened into the garden.”</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="Chapter_IX">CHAPTER IX.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_185" title="185"> </a></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="small-caps">“Though</span> life and liberty seemed so -near, our situation was still very critical. -The morning light that aided our escape, -might open many an eye to mark it. -There was not a moment to be lost. My -companion proposed to ascend first, and I -did not venture to oppose him. I was too -much in his power to resist; and in early -youth superiority of depravity always -seems like a superiority of power. We -reverence, with a prostituted idolatry, those -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_186" title="186"> </a> -who have passed through the degrees of -vice before us. This man was criminal, -and crime gave him a kind of heroic immunity -in my eyes. Premature knowledge -in life is always to be purchased by -guilt. He knew more than I did,—he -was my all in this desperate attempt. I -dreaded him as a demon, yet I invoked -him as a god.</p> - -<p>“In the end I submitted to his proposal. -I was very tall, but he was much -stronger than I. He rose on my shoulders, -I trembled under his weight, but -he succeeded in raising the trap-door,—the -full light of day broke on us -both. In a moment he dropt his hold -of the door,—he fell to the ground with a -force that struck me down. He exclaimed, -“The workmen are there, they have -come about the repairs, we are lost if we -are discovered. They are there, the garden -is full of them already, they will be -there the whole day. That cursed lamp, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_187" title="187"> </a> -it has undone us! Had it but kept in for a -few moments, we might have been in the -garden, might have crossed the wall, might -have been at liberty, and now<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” He -fell to the ground convulsed with rage and -disappointment, as he spoke. To me -there was nothing so terrible in this intelligence. -That we were disappointed for a -time was evident, but we had been relieved -from the most horrible of all fears, that -of wandering in famine and darkness till -we perished,—we had found the way to -the trap-door. I had unfailing confidence -in Juan’s patience and zeal. I was sure -that if he was watching for us on that -night, he would watch for many a successive -night. Finally, I felt we had but -twenty-four hours or less to wait, and -what was that to the eternity of hours that -must otherwise be wasted in a convent. I -suggested all this to my companion as I -closed the trap-door; but I found in his -complaints, imprecations, and tossing restlessness -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_188" title="188"> </a> -of impatience and despair, the -difference between man and man in the -hour of trial. He possessed active, and -I passive fortitude. Give him something -to do, and he would do it at the -risk of limb, and life, and soul,—he never -murmured. Give me something to suffer, -to undergo, to submit, and I became at -once the <em>hero of submission</em>. While this -man, with all his physical strength, and -all his mental hardihood, was tossing on -the earth with the imbecillity of an infant, -in a paroxysm of unappeasable passion, I -was his consoler, adviser, and supporter. -At last he suffered himself to hear reason; -he agreed that we must remain twenty-four -hours more in the passage, on which -he bestowed a whole litany of curses. So -we determined to stand in stillness and -darkness till night; but such is the restlessness -of the human heart, that this arrangement, -which a few hours before we -would have embraced as the offer of a benignant -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_189" title="189"> </a> -angel for our emancipation, began -to display, as we were compelled to examine -its aspect more closely, certain features -that were repulsive almost to hideousness. -We were exhausted nearly to -death. Our physical exertions had been, -for the last few hours, almost incredible; -in fact, I am convinced that nothing but -the consciousness that we were engaged in -a struggle for life or death, could have enabled -us to support it, and now that the -struggle was over, we began to feel our -weakness. Our mental sufferings had not -been less,—we had been excruciated body -and soul alike. Could our mental struggles -have operated like our bodily ones, -we would have been seen to weep drops -of blood, as we felt we were doing at -every step of our progress. Recollect too, -Sir, the unnatural atmosphere we had -breathed so long, amid darkness and danger, -and which now began to show its -anti-vital and pestilent effect, in producing -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_190" title="190"> </a> -alternately on our bodies deluges of perspiration, -succeeded by a chill that seemed -to freeze the very marrow. In this state -of mental fever, and bodily exhaustion, -we had now to wait many hours, in darkness, -without food, till Heaven pleased to -send us night. But how were those hours -to be passed? The preceding day had been -one of strict abstinence,—we began already -to feel the gnawings of hunger, a -hunger not to be appeased. We must -fast till the moment of liberation, and we -must fast amid stone walls, and damp seats -on floors of stone, which diminished every -moment the strength necessary to contend -with their impenetrable hardness,—their -withering chillness.</p> - -<p>“The last thought that occurred to -me was,—with what a companion those -hours must be passed. With a being -whom I abhorred from my very soul, -while I felt that his presence was at once -an irrepealable curse, and an invincible -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_191" title="191"> </a> -necessity. So we stood, shivering under -the trap-door, not daring to whisper our -thoughts to each other, but feeling <em>that -despair of incommunication</em> which is perhaps -the severest curse that can be inflicted -on those who are compelled to be together, -and compelled, by the same necessity -that imposes their ungenial union, not -even to communicate their fears to each -other. We <em>hear</em> the throb of each others -hearts, and yet dare not say, “My heart -beats in unison with yours.”</p> - -<p>“As we stood thus, the light became -suddenly eclipsed. I knew not from what -this arose, till I felt a shower, the most -violent perhaps that ever was precipitated -on the earth, make its way even through -the trap-door, and drench me in five minutes -to the skin. I retreated from the -spot, but not before I had received it in -every pore of my body. You, Sir, who -live in happy Ireland, blessed by God with -an exemption from those vicissitudes of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_192" title="192"> </a> -the atmosphere, can have no idea of their -violence in continental countries. This -rain was followed by peals of thunder, that -made me fear God was pursuing me into -the abysses where I had shrunk to escape -from his vengeance, and drew from my -companion blasphemies more loud than -thunder, as he felt himself drenched by -the shower, that now, flooding the vault, -rose almost to our ancles. At last he proposed -our retiring to a place which he -said he was acquainted with, and which -would shelter us. He added, that it was -but a few steps from where we stood, and -that we could easily find our way back. -I did not dare to oppose him, and followed -to a dark recess, only distinguished -from the rest of the vault by the remains -of what had once been a door. It was -now light, and I could distinguish objects -plainly. By the deep hollows framed for -the shooting of the bolt, and the size of -the iron hinges that still remained, though -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_193" title="193"> </a> -covered with rust, I saw it must have been -of no common strength, and probably intended -to secure the entrance to a dungeon,—there -was no longer a door, yet I -shuddered to enter it. As we did so, both -of us, exhausted in body and mind, sunk -on the hard floor. We did not say a word -to each other, an inclination to sleep irresistibly -overcame us; and whether that -sleep was to be my last or not, I felt a profound -indifference. Yet I was now on the -verge of liberty, and though drenched, -famishing, and comfortless, was, in any -rational estimate, an object much more -enviable than in the heart-withering safety -of my cell. Alas! it is too true that our -souls always contract themselves on the approach -of a blessing, and seem as if their -powers, exhausted in the effort to obtain -it, had no longer energy to embrace the -object. Thus we are always compelled to -substitute the pleasure of the pursuit for -that of the attainment,—to reverse the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_194" title="194"> </a> -means for the end, or confound them, in -order to extract any enjoyment from either, -and at last fruition becomes only another -name for lassitude. These reflections certainly -did not occur to me, when, worn -out with toil, terror, and famine, I fell on -the stone floor in a sleep that was not -sleep,—it seemed the suspension both of -my mortal and immortal nature. I ceased -from animal and intellectual life at once. -There are cases, Sir, where the thinking -power appears to accompany us to the very -verge of slumber, where we sleep full of -delightful thoughts, and sleep only to review -them in our dreams: But there are -also cases when we feel that our sleep is a -“sleep for ever,”—when we resign the -hope of immortality for the hope of a profound -repose,—when we demand from the -harassings of fate, “Rest, rest,” and no -more,—when the soul and body faint together, -and all we ask of God or man is -to let us sleep.</p> - -<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_195" title="195"> </a>“In such a state I fell to the ground; -and, at that moment, would have bartered -all my hopes of liberation for twelve -hours profound repose, as Esau sold his -birth-right for a small but indispensible -refreshment. I was not to enjoy even -this repose long. My companion was -sleeping too. Sleeping! great God! what -was his sleep?—that in whose neighbourhood -no one could close an eye, or, worse, -an ear. He talked as loudly and incessantly -as if he had been employed in all -the active offices of life. I heard involuntarily -the secret of his dreams. I knew -he had murdered his father, but I did not -know that the vision of parricide haunted -him in his broken visions. My sleep was -first broken by sounds as horrible as any I -ever had heard at my bed-side in the convent. -I heard sounds that disturbed me, -but I was not yet fully awake. They increased, -they redoubled,—the terrors of my -habitual associations awoke me. I imagined -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_196" title="196"> </a> -the Superior and the whole community -pursuing us with lighted torches. I -felt the blaze of the lights in contact with -my very eye-balls. I shrieked. I said, -“Spare my sight, do not blind me, do not -drive me mad, and I will confess all.” A -deep voice near me muttered, “Confess.” -I started up fully awake,—it was only the -voice of my sleeping companion. I stood -on my feet, I viewed him as he lay. He -heaved and wallowed on his bed of stone, -as if it had been down. He seemed to -have a frame of adamant. The jagged -points of stone, the hardness of the floor, -the ruts and rudenesses of his inhospitable -bed, produced no effect on him. He could -have slept, but his dreams were from within. -I have heard, I have read, of the -horrors attending the dying beds of the -guilty. They often told us of such in the -convent. One monk in particular, who -was a priest, was fond of dwelling on a -death-bed scene he had witnessed, and of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_197" title="197"> </a> -describing its horrors. He related that he -had urged a person, who was sitting calmly -in his chair, though evidently dying, -to intrust him with his confession. The dying -person answered, “I will, when those -leave the room.” The monk, conceiving -that this referred to the relatives and friends, -motioned them to retire. They did so, -and again the monk renewed his demands -on the conscience of the penitent. The -room was now empty. The monk renewed -his adjuration to the dying man to disclose -the secrets of his conscience. The answer -was the same,—“I will, when those are -gone.”—“<em>Those!</em>”—“Yes, those whom -you cannot see, and cannot banish,—send -them away, and I will tell you the truth.”—“Tell -it now, then; there are none here -but you and me.”—“There are,” answered -the dying man. “There are none that -I can see,” said the monk, gazing round -the room. “But there are those that I do -see,” replied the dying wretch, “and that -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_198" title="198"> </a> -see me; that are watching, waiting for me, -the moment the breath is out of my body. -I see them, I feel them,—stand on my -right side.” The monk changed his position. -“Now they are on the left.” The -monk shifted again. “Now they are on -my right.” The monk commanded the -children and relatives of the dying wretch -to enter the room, and surround the bed. -They obeyed the command. “Now they -are every where,” exclaimed the sufferer, -and expired<a name="FootnoteMarker_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="footnote-marker">(6)</a>.</p> - -<p>“This terrible story came freshly to my -recollection, accompanied by many others. -I had heard much of the terrors that surrounded -the dying bed of the guilty, but, -from what I was compelled to hear, I almost -believe them to be less than the terrors -of a guilty sleep. I have said my -companion began at first with low mutterings, -but among them I could distinguish -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_199" title="199"> </a> -sounds that reminded me too soon -of all I wished to forget, at least while we -were together. He murmured, “An old -man?—yes,—well, the less blood in him. -Grey hairs?—no matter, my crimes have -helped to turn them grey,—he ought to -have rent them from the roots long ago. -They are white, you say?—well, to-night -they shall be dyed in blood, then they will -be white no longer. Aye,—he will hold -them up at the day of judgment, like a -banner of condemnation against me. He -will stand at the head of an army stronger -than the army of martyrs,—the host of -those whose murderers have been their -own children. What matter whether they -cut their <ins title="parents">parents’</ins> hearts or their throats. -I have cut <em>one</em> through and through, -to the very core,—now for the other, it -will give him less pain, I feel that,”—and -he laughed, shuddered, and writhed -on his stony bed. Trembling with horror -ineffable, I tried to awake him. I shook -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_200" title="200"> </a> -his muscular arms, I rolled him on his -back, on his face,—nothing could awake -him. It seemed as if I was only rocking -him on his cradle of stone. He went on, -“Secure the purse, I know the drawer of -the cabinet where it lies, but secure him -first. Well, then, you cannot,—you shudder -at his white hairs, at his calm sleep!—ha! -ha! that villains should be fools. Well, -then, I must be the man, it is but a short -struggle with him or me,—he may be -damned, and I must. Hush,—how the -stairs creak, they will not tell him it is -his son’s foot that is ascending?—They dare -not, the stones of the wall would give -them the lie. Why did you not oil the -hinges of the door?—now for it. He -sleeps intensely,—aye, how calm he looks!—the -calmer the fitter for heaven. Now,—now, -my knee is on his breast,—where -is the knife?—where is the knife?—if he -looks at me I am lost. The knife,—I am -a coward; the knife,—if he opens his eyes -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_201" title="201"> </a> -I am gone; the knife, ye cursed cravens,—who -dare shrink when I have griped my -father’s throat? There,—there,—there,—blood -to the hilt,—the old man’s blood; -look for the money, while I wipe the blade. -I cannot wipe it, the grey hairs are mingled -with the blood,—those hairs brushed -my lips the last time he kissed me. I was -a child then. I would not have taken a -world to murder him then, now,—now, -what am I? Ha! ha! ha! Let Judas shake -his bag of silver against mine,—he betrayed -his Saviour, and I have murdered -my father. Silver against silver, and -soul against soul. I have got more for -mine,—he was a fool to sell his for thirty. -But for which of us will the last fire burn -hotter?—no matter, I am going to try.” -At these horrible expressions, repeated -over and over, I called, I shrieked to my -companion to awake. He did so, with a -laugh almost as wild as the chattering -of his dreams. “Well, what have you -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_202" title="202"> </a> -heard? I murdered him,—you knew that -long before. You trusted me in this cursed -adventure, which will risk the life of -both, and can you not bear to hear me -speak to myself, though I am only telling -what you knew before?”—“No, I cannot -bear it,” I answered, in an agony of horror; -“not even to effect my escape, could -I undertake to sustain another hour like -the past,—the prospect of seclusion here -for a whole day amid famine, damps, and -darkness, listening to the ravings of a <span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>. -Look not at me with that glare of mockery, -I know it all, I shudder at your sight. -Nothing but the iron link of necessity -could have bound me to you even for a -moment. I <em>am</em> bound to you,—I must -bear it while it continues, but do not make -those moments insupportable. My life -and liberty are in your hands,—I must add -my reason, too, in the circumstances in -which we are plunged,—I cannot sustain -your horrible eloquence of sleep. If I am -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_203" title="203"> </a> -forced to listen to it again, you may bear -me alive from these walls, but you will -bear me away an ideot, stupified by terrors -which my brain is unable to support. -Do not sleep, I adjure you. Let me -watch beside you during this wretched -day,—this day which is to be measured by -darkness and suffering, instead of light and -enjoyment. I am willing to famish with -hunger, to shudder with cold, to couch on -these hard stones, but I cannot bear your -dreams,—if you sleep, I must rouse you -in defence of my reason. All physical -strength is failing me fast, and I am become -more jealous of the preservation of -my intellect. Do not cast at me those -looks of defiance, I am your inferior in -strength, but despair makes us equal.” As -I spoke, my voice sounded like thunder -in my own ears, my eyes flashed visibly to -myself. I felt the power that passion gives -us, and I saw that my companion felt it -too. I went on, in a tone that made myself -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_204" title="204"> </a> -start, “If you dare to sleep, I will -wake you,—if you dose even, you shall -not have a moment undisturbed,—you shall -wake with me. For this long day we -must starve and shiver together, I have -wound myself up to it. I can bear every -thing,—every thing but the dreams of him -whose sleep reveals to him the vision of a -murdered parent. Wake,—rave,—blaspheme,—but -sleep you shall not!”</p> - -<p>“The man stared at me for some time, -almost incredulous of my being capable of -such energy of passion and command. But -when he had, by the help of his dilated -eyes, and gaping mouth, appeared to satisfy -himself fully of the fact, his expression -suddenly changed. He appeared to feel a -community of nature with me for the first -time. Any thing of ferocity appeared congenial -and balsamic to him; and, with -oaths, that froze my blood, swore he liked -me the better for my resolution. “I <em>will</em> -keep awake,” he added, with a yawn that -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_205" title="205"> </a> -distended like the jaws of an Ogre preparing -for his cannibal feast. Then suddenly -relaxing, “But how shall we keep -awake? We have nothing to eat, nothing -to drink, what shall we do to keep awake?” -And incontinently he uttered a volley of -curses. Then he began to sing. But -what songs?—full of such ribaldry and -looseness, that, bred as I was first in domestic -privacy, and then in the strictness -of a convent, made me believe it was an -incarnate demon that was howling beside -me. I implored him to cease, but this -man could pass so instantaneously from the -extremes of atrocity to those of levity,—from -the ravings of guilt and horror ineffable, -to songs that would insult a brothel, -that I knew not what to make of -him. This <em>union of antipodes</em>, this unnatural -alliance of the extremes of guilt and -light-mindedness, I had never met or imagined -before. He started from the visions -of a parricide, and sung songs that would -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_206" title="206"> </a> -have made a harlot blush. How ignorant -of life I must have been, not to know that -guilt and insensibility often join to tenant -and deface the same mansion, and that -there is not a more strong and indissoluble -alliance on earth, than that between the -hand that dare do any thing, and the heart -that can feel nothing.</p> - -<p>“It was in the midst of one of his most -licentious songs, that my companion suddenly -paused. He gazed about him for -some time; and faint and dismal as the -light was by which we beheld each other, -I thought I could observe an extraordinary -expression overshadow his countenance. -I did not venture to notice it. -“Do you know where we are?” he whispered. -“Too well;—in the vault of a -convent, beyond the help or reach of man,—without -food, without light, and almost -without hope.”—“Aye, so its last inhabitants -might well say.”—“Its last inhabitants!—who -were they?”—“I can tell -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_207" title="207"> </a> -you, if you can bear it.”—“<em>I cannot bear -it</em>,” I cried, stopping my ears, “I will not -listen to it. I feel by the narrator it must -be something horrid.”—“It was indeed a -horrid night,” said he, unconsciously adverting -to some circumstance in the narrative; -and his voice sunk into mutterings, -and he forbore to mention the subject -further. I retired as far from him as -the limits of the vault admitted; and, -burying my head between my knees, tried -to <em>forbear to think</em>. What a state of mind -must that be, in which we are driven to -wish we no longer had one!—when we -would willingly become “as the beasts -that perish,” to forget that privilege of humanity, -which only seems an undisputed -title to superlative misery! To sleep was -impossible. Though sleep seems to be -only a necessity of nature, it always requires -an act of the mind to concur in it. -And if I had been willing to rest, the -gnawings of hunger, which now began to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_208" title="208"> </a> -be exchanged for the most deadly sickness, -would have rendered it impossible. Amid -this complication of physical and mental -suffering, it is hardly credible, Sir, but it -is not the less true, that my principal one -arose from the inanity, the want of occupation, -inevitably attached to my dreary -situation. To inflict a suspension of the -action on a being conscious of possessing the -powers of action, and burning for their employment,—to -forbid all interchange of -mutual ideas, or acquirement of new ones -to an intellectual being,—to do this, is to -invent a torture that might make Phalaris -blush for his impotence of cruelty.</p> - -<p>“I had felt other sufferings almost intolerable, -but I felt this impossible to sustain; -and, will you believe it, Sir, after -wrestling with it during an hour (as I -counted hours) of unimaginable misery, I -rose, and supplicated my companion to relate -the circumstance he had alluded to, as -connected with our dreadful abode. His -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_209" title="209"> </a> -ferocious good nature took part with this -request in a moment; and though I could -see that his strong frame had suffered more -than my comparatively feeble one, from -the struggles of the night and the privations -of the day, he prepared himself with -a kind of grim alacrity for the effort. He -was now in his element. He was enabled -to daunt a feeble mind by the narration of -horrors, and to amaze an ignorant one with -a display of crimes;—and he needed no -more to make him commence. “I remember,” -said he, “an extraordinary circumstance -connected with this vault. I -wondered how I felt so familiar with this -door, this arch, at first.—I did not recollect -immediately, so many strange thoughts -have crossed my mind every day, that -events which would make a life-lasting impression -on others, pass like shadows before -me, while thoughts appear like substances. -<em>Emotions are my events</em>—you -know what brought me to this cursed convent—well, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_210" title="210"> </a> -don’t shiver or look <em>paler</em>—you -were pale before. However it was, I -found myself in the convent, and I was -obliged to subscribe to its discipline. A -part of it was, that extraordinary criminals -should undergo what they called <ins title="extraorordinary">extraordinary</ins> -penance; that is, not only submit -to every ignominy and rigour of conventual -life, (which, fortunately for its penitents, -is never wanting in such amusing resources), -but act the part of executioner -whenever any distinguished punishment -was to be inflicted or witnessed. They -did me the honour to believe me particularly -qualified for this species of recreation, -and perhaps they did not flatter me. I -had all the humility of a saint on trial; -but still I had a kind of confidence in my -talents of this description, provided they -were put to a proper test; and the monks -had the goodness to assure me, that I never -could long be without one in a convent. -This was a very tempting picture of my -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_211" title="211"> </a> -situation, but I found these worthy people -had not in the least exaggerated. An instance -occurred a few days after I had the -happiness to become a member of this amiable -community, of whose merits you -are doubtless sensible. I was desired to -attach myself to a young monk of distinguished -family, who had lately taken the -vows, and who performed his duties with -that heartless punctuality that intimated -to the community that his heart was elsewhere. -I was soon put in possession of -the business; from their ordering me to <em>attach</em> -myself to him, I instantly conceived I -was bound to the most deadly hostility against -him. The friendship of convents is -always a treacherous league—we watch, -suspect, and torment each other, for the -love of God. This young monk’s only -crime was, that he was suspected of cherishing -an earthly passion. He was, in -fact, as I have stated, the son of a distinguished -family, who (from the fear of his -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_212" title="212"> </a> -contracting what is called a degrading -marriage, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i> of marrying a woman of inferior -rank whom he loved, and who would -have made him happy, as fools, that is, -half mankind, estimate happiness) forced -him to take the vows. He appeared at -times broken-hearted, but at times there -was a light of hope in his eye, that looked -somewhat ominous in the eyes of the community. -It is certain, that hope not being -an indigenous plant in the parterre of a -convent, must excite suspicion with regard -both to its origin and its growth.</p> - -<p>“Some time after, a young novice entered -the convent. From the moment he -did so, a change the most striking took -place in the young monk. He and the -novice became inseparable companions—there -was something suspicious in that. -My eyes were on the watch in a moment. -Eyes are particularly sharpened in discovering -misery when they can hope to aggravate -it. The attachment between the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_213" title="213"> </a> -young monk and the novice went on. -They were for ever in the garden together—they -inhaled the odours of the flowers—they -cultivated the same cluster of carnations—they -entwined themselves as they -walked together—when they were in the -choir, their voices were like mixed incense. -Friendship is often carried to excess -in conventual life, but this friendship -was too like love. For instance, the -psalms sung in the choir sometimes -breathe a certain language; at these -words, the young monk and the novice -would direct their voices to each other in -sounds that could not be misunderstood. -If the least correction was inflicted, one -would intreat to undergo it for the other. -If a day of relaxation was allowed, whatever -presents were sent to the cell of one, -were sure to be found in the cell of the -other. This was enough for me. I saw -that secret of mysterious happiness, which -is the greatest misery to those who never -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_214" title="214"> </a> -can share it. My vigilance was redoubled, -and it was rewarded by the discovery of a -secret—a secret that I had to communicate -and raise my consequence by. You cannot -guess the importance attached to the -discovery of a secret in a convent, (particularly -when the remission of our own offences -depends on the discovery of those of -others.)</p> - -<p>“One evening as the young monk and -his darling novice were in the garden, the -former plucked a peach, which he immediately -offered to his favourite; the latter -accepted it with a movement I thought -rather awkward—it seemed like what I -imagined would be the reverence of a female. -The young monk divided the peach -with a knife; in doing so, the knife grazed -the finger of the novice, and the monk, in -agitation inexpressible, tore his habit to -bind up the wound. I saw it all—my -mind was made up on the business—I -went to the Superior that very night. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_215" title="215"> </a> -The result may be conceived. They were -watched, but cautiously at first. They -were probably on their guard; for, for some -time it defied even my vigilance to make -the slightest discovery. It is a situation incomparably -tantalizing, when suspicion is -satisfied of her own suggestions, as of the -truth of the gospel, but still wants the <em>little -fact</em> to make them credible to others. One -night that I had, by direction of the Superior, -taken my station in the gallery, (where -I was contented to remain hour after hour, -and night after night, amid solitude, darkness, -and cold, for the chance of the power -of retaliating on others the misery inflicted -on myself)—One night, I thought I -heard a step in the gallery—I have told -you that I was in the dark—a light step -passed me. I could hear the broken and -palpitating respiration of the person. A -few moments after, I heard a door open, -and knew it to be the door of the young -monk. I knew it; for by long watching -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_216" title="216"> </a> -in the dark, and accustoming myself to -number the cells, by the groan from one, -the prayer from another, the faint shriek -of restless dreams from a third, my ear had -become so finely graduated, that I could -instantly distinguish the opening of <em>that -door</em>, from which (to my sorrow) no sound -had ever before issued. I was provided -with a small chain, by which I fastened -the handle of the door to a contiguous one, -in such a manner, that it was impossible to -open either of them from the inside. I -then hastened to the Superior, with a pride -of which none but the successful tracer of -a guilty secret in convents, can have any -conception. I believe the Superior was -himself agitated by the luxury of the same -feelings, for he was awake and up in his -apartment, attended by <em>four monks</em>, whom -you may remember.” I shuddered at the -remembrance. “I communicated my intelligence -with a voluble eagerness, not -only unsuited to the respect I owed these -persons, but which must have rendered -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_217" title="217"> </a> -me almost unintelligible, yet they were -good enough not only to overlook this -violation of decorum, which would in any -other case have been severely punished, -but even to supply certain pauses in my -narrative, with a condescension and facility -truly miraculous. I felt what it was to -acquire importance in the eyes of a Superior, -and gloried in all the dignified depravity -of an informer. We set out without -losing a moment,—we arrived at the door -of the cell, and I pointed out with triumph -the chain unremoved, though a slight vibration, -perceptible at our approach, showed -the wretches within were already apprised -of their danger. I unfastened the -door,—how they must have shuddered! -The Superior and his satellites burst into -the cell, and <em>I</em> held the light. You -tremble,—why? I was guilty, and I wished -to witness guilt that palliated mine, at -least in the opinion of the convent. I had -only violated the laws of nature, but they -had outraged the decorum of a convent, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_218" title="218"> </a> -and, of course, in the creed of a convent, -there was no proportion between -our offences. Besides, I was anxious -to witness misery that might perhaps -equal or exceed my own, and this is a -curiosity not easily satisfied. It is actually -possible to become <em>amateurs in suffering</em>. -I have heard of men who have -travelled into countries where horrible executions -were to be daily witnessed, for the -sake of that excitement which the sight of -suffering never fails to give, from the -spectacle of a tragedy, or an <i>auto da fe</i>, -down to the writhings of the meanest reptile -on whom you can inflict torture, and -feel that torture is the result of your own -power. It is a species of feeling of which -we never can divest ourselves,—a triumph -over those whose sufferings have placed them -below us, and no wonder,—suffering is always -an indication of weakness,—we glory -in our impenetrability. <em>I</em> did, as we burst -into the cell. The wretched husband and -wife were locked in each others arms. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_219" title="219"> </a> -You may imagine the scene that followed. -Here I must do the Superior reluctant justice. -He was a man (of course from his -conventual feelings) who had no more idea -of the intercourse between the sexes, than -between two beings of a different species. -The scene that he beheld could -not have revolted him more, than if he -had seen the horrible loves of the baboons -and the Hottentot women, at the -Cape of Good Hope; or those still more -loathsome unions between the serpents of -South America and their human victims<a name="FootnoteMarker_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="footnote-marker">(7)</a>, -when they can catch them, and twine -round them in folds of unnatural and ineffable -union. He really stood as much -astonished and appalled, to see two human -beings of different sexes, who dared to -love each other in spite of monastic ties, -as if he had witnessed the horrible conjunctions -I have alluded to. Had he seen -vipers engendering in that frightful knot -which seems the pledge of mortal hostility, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_220" title="220"> </a> -instead of love, he could not have testified -more horror,—and I do him the justice to -believe he felt all he testified. Whatever -affectation he might employ on points of -conventual austerity, there was none here. -Love was a thing he always believed connected -with sin, even though consecrated -by the name of a sacrament, and called -marriage, as it is in our church. But, love -in a convent!—Oh, there is no conceiving -his rage; still less is it possible to conceive -the majestic and overwhelming extent of -that rage, when strengthened by principle, -and sanctified by religion. I enjoyed the -scene beyond all power of description. I -saw those wretches, who had triumphed -over me, reduced to my level in a moment,—their -passions all displayed, and the display -placing me a hero triumphant above -all. I had crawled to the shelter of their -walls, a wretched degraded outcast, and -what was my crime? Well,—you shudder, -I have done with that. I can only say -want drove me to it. And here were beings -whom, a few months before, I would -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_221" title="221"> </a> -have knelt to as to the images round the -shrine,—to whom, in the moments of my -desperate penitence, I would have clung as -to the “horns of the altar,” all brought as -low, and lower than myself. “Sons of the -morning,” as I deemed them in the agonies -of my humiliation, “how were they -fallen!” I feasted on the degradation of the -apostate monk and novice,—I enjoyed, to -the core of my ulcerated heart, the passion -of the Superior,—I felt that they were all -men like myself. Angels, as I had thought -them, they had all proved themselves mortal; -and, by watching their motions, and -flattering their passions, and promoting -their interest, or setting up my own in opposition -to them all, while I made them -believe it was only theirs I was intent on, -I might make shift to contrive as much -misery to others, and to carve out as much -occupation to myself, as if I were actually -living in the world. Cutting my father’s -throat was a noble feat certainly, (I ask -your pardon, I did not mean to extort -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_222" title="222"> </a> -that groan from you), but here were hearts -to be cut,—and to the core, every day, and -all day long, so I never could want employment.”</p> - -<p>“Here he wiped his hard brow, drew -his breath for a moment, and then said, -“I do not quite like to go through the details -by which this wretched pair were deluded -into the hope of effecting their -escape from the convent. It is enough -that I was the principal agent,—that the -Superior connived at it,—that I led them -through the very passages you have traversed -to-night, they trembling and blessing -me at every step,—that<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” “Stop,” -I cried; “wretch! you are tracing my -course this night step by step.”—“What?” -he retorted, with a ferocious laugh, “you -think I am betraying you, then; and if it -were true, what good would your suspicions -do you,—you are in my power? My -voice might summon half the convent to -seize you this moment,—my arm might -fasten you to that wall, till those dogs of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_223" title="223"> </a> -death, that wait but my whistle, plunged -their fangs into your very vitals. I fancy -you would not find their bite less keen, -from their tusks being so long sharpened -by an immersion in holy water.” Another -laugh, that seemed to issue from -the lungs of a demon, concluded this sentence. -“I know I am in your power,” -I answered; “and were I to trust to that, -or to your heart, I had better dash out -my brains at once against these walls of -rock, which I believe are not harder than -the latter. But I know your interests to -be some way or other connected with my -escape, and therefore I trust you,—because -I must. Though my blood, chilled as it -is by famine and fatigue, seems frozen in -every drop while I listen to you, yet listen -I must, and trust my life and liberation -to you. I speak to you with the horrid -confidence our situation has taught me,—I -hate,—I dread you. If we were to -meet in life, I would shrink from you with -loathings of unspeakable abhorrence, but -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_224" title="224"> </a> -here mutual misery has mixed the most -repugnant substances in unnatural coalition. -The force of that alchemy must -cease at the moment of my escape from -the convent and from you; yet, for these -miserable hours, my life is as much dependent -on your exertions and presence, as -my power of supporting them is on the continuance -of your horrible tale,—go on, then. -Let us struggle through this dreadful day. -<em>Day!</em> a name unknown <em>here</em>, where noon -and night shake hands that never unlock. -Let us struggle through it, “hateful and -hating one another;” and when it has passed, -let us curse and part.”</p> - -<p>“As I uttered these words, Sir, I felt -that terrible <em>confidence of hostility</em> which -the worst beings are driven to in the worst -of circumstances, and I question whether -there is a more horrible situation than that -in which we cling to each other’s hate, instead -of each other’s love,—in which, at -every step of our progress, we hold a dagger -to our companion’s breast, and say, “If -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_225" title="225"> </a> -you faulter for a moment, this is in your -heart. I hate,—I fear, but I must bear -with you.” It was singular to me, though -it would not be so to those who investigate -human nature, that, in proportion -as my situation inspired me with a ferocity -quite unsuited to our comparative situations, -and which must have been the result -of the madness of despair and famine, -my companion’s respect for me appeared -to increase. After a long pause, he asked, -might he continue his story? I could not -speak, for, after the slightest exertion, the -sickness of deadly hunger returned on me, -and I could only signify, by a feeble motion -of my hand, that he might go on.</p> - -<p>“They were conducted here,” he continued; -“I had suggested the plan, and the -Superior consented to it. He would not -be present, but his dumb nod was enough. -I was the conductor of their (intended) -escape; they believed they were departing -with the connivance of the Superior. I led -them through those very passages that you -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_226" title="226"> </a> -and I have trod. I had a map of this subterranean -region, but my blood ran cold as -I traversed it; and it was not at all inclined -to resume its usual temperament, as -I felt what was to be the destination of my -attendants. Once I turned the lamp, on -pretence of trimming it, to catch a glimpse -of the devoted wretches. They were embracing -each other,—the light of joy trembled -in their eyes. They were whispering -to each other hopes of liberation and happiness, -and blending my name in the interval -they could spare from their prayers -for each other. That sight extinguished -the last remains of compunction with which -my horrible task had inspired me. They -dared to be happy in the sight of one -who must be for ever miserable,—could -there be a greater insult? I resolved to -punish it on the spot. This very apartment -was near,—I knew it, and the map -of their wanderings no longer trembled in -my hand. I urged them to enter this recess, -(the door was then entire), while I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_227" title="227"> </a> -went to examine the passage. They entered -it, thanking me for my precaution,—they -knew not they were never to quit -it alive. But what were their lives for the -agony their happiness cost me? The moment -they were inclosed, and clasping -each other, (a sight that made me grind -my teeth), I closed and locked the door. -This movement gave them no immediate -uneasiness,—they thought it a friendly -precaution. The moment they were secured, -I hastened to the Superior, who -was on fire at the insult offered to the -sanctity of his convent, and still more to -the purity of his penetration, on which the -worthy Superior piqued himself as much -as if it had ever been possible for him to -acquire the smallest share of it. He descended -with me to the passage,—the -monks followed with eyes on fire. In the -agitation of their rage, it was with difficulty -they could discover the door after I -had repeatedly pointed it out to them. -The Superior, with his own hands, drove -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_228" title="228"> </a> -several nails, which the monks eagerly supplied, -into the door, that effectually joined it -to the staple, <em>never to be disjoined</em>; and -every blow he gave, doubtless he felt as if it -was a reminiscence to the accusing angel, to -strike out a sin from the catalogue of his -accusations. The work was soon done,—the -work never to be undone. At the -first sound of steps in the passage, and -blows on the door, the victims uttered a -shriek of terror. They imagined they -were detected, and that an incensed party -of monks were breaking open the door. -These terrors were soon exchanged for -others,—and worse,—as they heard the door -nailed up, and listened to our departing -steps. They uttered another shriek, but -O how different was the accent of its despair!—they -knew their doom. * -* * * * -It was my penance (no,—my delight) to -watch at the door, under the pretence of -precluding the possibility of their escape, -(of which they knew there was no possibility); -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_229" title="229"> </a> -but, in reality, not only to inflict -on me the indignity of being the convent -gaoler, but of teaching me that callosity -of heart, and induration of nerve, and -stubbornness of eye, and apathy of ear, -that were best suited to my office. But -they might have saved themselves the -trouble,—I had them all before ever I entered -the convent. Had I been the Superior -of the community, I should have undertaken -the office of watching the door. -You will call this cruelty, I call it curiosity,—that -curiosity that brings thousands -to witness a tragedy, and makes the most -delicate female feast on groans and agonies. -I had an advantage over them,—the groan, -the agony I feasted on, were real. I took -my station at <em>the door</em>—that door which, -like that of Dante’s hell, might have borne -the inscription, “Here is no hope,”—with -a face of mock penitence, and genuine—cordial -delectation. I could hear every -word that transpired. For the first hours -they tried to comfort each other,—they -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_230" title="230"> </a> -suggested to each other hopes of liberation,—and -as my shadow, crossing the -threshold, darkened or restored the light, -they said, “That is he;”—then, when this -occurred repeatedly, without any effect, -they said, “No,—no, it is not he,” and -swallowed down the sick sob of despair, -to hide it from each other. Towards night -a monk came to take my place, and to offer -me food. I would not have quitted -my place for worlds; but I talked to the -monk in his own language, and told him -I would make a merit with God of my sacrifices, -and was resolved to remain there -all night, with the permission of the Superior. -The monk was glad of having a -substitute on such easy terms, and I was -glad of the food he left me, for I was hungry -now, but I reserved the appetite of -my soul for richer luxuries. I heard them -talking within. While I was eating, I -actually lived on the famine that was devouring -them, but of which they did not -dare to say a word to each other. They -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_231" title="231"> </a> -debated, deliberated, and, as misery grows -ingenious in its own defence, they at last -assured each other that it was impossible -the Superior had locked them in there to -perish by hunger. At these words I could -not help laughing. This laugh reached -their ears, and they became silent in a moment. -All that night, however, I heard -their groans,—those groans of physical -suffering, that laugh to scorn all the sentimental -sighs that are exhaled from the -hearts of the most intoxicated lovers that -ever breathed. I heard them all that -night. I had read French romances, and -all their unimaginable nonsense. Madame -Sevignè herself says she would have been -tired of her daughter in a long tete-a-tete -journey, but clap me two lovers into -a dungeon, without food, light, or -hope, and I will be damned (that I am -already, by the bye) if they do not -grow sick of each other within the first -twelve hours. The second day hunger -and darkness had their usual influence. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_232" title="232"> </a> -They shrieked for liberation, and knocked -loud and long at their dungeon door. -They exclaimed they were ready to submit -to any punishment; and the approach -of the monks, which they would have -dreaded so much the preceding night, -they now solicited on their knees. What -a jest, after all, are the most awful vicissitudes -of human life!—they supplicated -now for what they would have sacrificed -their souls to avert four-and-twenty hours -before. Then the agony of hunger increased, -they shrunk from the door, and -grovelled apart from each other. <em>Apart!</em>—how -I watched that. They were rapidly -becoming objects of hostility to each -other,—oh what a feast to me! They could -not disguise from each other the revolting -circumstances of their mutual sufferings. -It is one thing for lovers to sit down to a -feast magnificently spread, and another for -lovers to couch in darkness and famine,—to -exchange that appetite which cannot be -supported without dainties and flattery, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_233" title="233"> </a> -for that which would barter a descended -Venus for a morsel of food. The -second night they raved and groaned, (as -occurred); and, amid their agonies, (I -must do justice to women, whom I hate -as well as men), the man often accused -the female as the cause of all his sufferings, -but the woman never,—never reproached -him. Her groans might indeed -have reproached him bitterly, but she -never uttered a word that could have caused -him pain. There was a change which -I well could mark, however, in their physical -feelings. The first day they clung -together, and every movement I felt was -like that of one person. The next the man -alone struggled, and the woman moaned -in helplessness. The third night,—how -shall I tell it?—but you have bid me go on. -All the horrible and loathsome excruciations -of famine had been undergone; the -disunion of every tie of the heart, of passion, -of nature, had commenced. In the -agonies of their famished sickness they -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_234" title="234"> </a> -loathed each other,—they could have cursed -each other, if they had had breath to -curse. It was on the fourth night that I -heard the shriek of the wretched female,—her -lover, in the agony of hunger, had -fastened his teeth in her shoulder;—that -bosom on which he had so often luxuriated, -became a meal to him now.” * -* * * * -“Monster! and you laugh?”—“Yes, I -laugh at all mankind, and the imposition -they dare to practise when they talk of -hearts. I laugh at human passions and -human cares,—vice and virtue, religion and -impiety; they are all the result of petty localities, -and artificial situation. One physical -want, one severe and abrupt lesson -from the tintless and shrivelled lip of necessity, -is worth all the logic of the empty -wretches who have presumed to prate it, -from Zeno down to Burgersdicius. Oh! it -silences in a second all the feeble sophistry -of <em>conventional</em> life, and ascetitious passion. -Here were a pair who would not -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_235" title="235"> </a> -have believed all the world on their -knees, even though angels had descended -to join in the attestation, that it was possible -for them to exist without each other. -They had risked every thing, trampled on -every thing human and divine, to be in -each others sight and arms. One hour of -hunger undeceived them. A trivial and -ordinary want, whose claims at another time -they would have regarded as a vulgar interruption -of their spiritualised intercourse, -not only, by its natural operation, sundered -it for ever, but, before it ceased, converted -that intercourse into a source of torment and -hostility inconceivable, except among cannibals. -The bitterest enemies on earth could -not have regarded each other with more -abhorrence than <em>these lovers</em>. Deluded -wretches! you boasted of having hearts, I -boast I have none, and which of us gained -most by the vaunt, let life decide. My story -is nearly finished, and so I hope is the day. -When I was last here I had something -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_236" title="236"> </a> -to excite me;—talking of those things is -poor employment to one who has been a -witness to them. On the <em>sixth</em> day all was -still. The door was unnailed, we entered,—they -were no more. They lay far -from each other, farther than on that voluptuous -couch into which their passion -had converted the mat of a convent bed. -She lay contracted in a heap, a lock of her -long hair in her mouth. There was a -slight scar on her shoulder,—the rabid despair -of famine had produced no farther -outrage. He lay extended at his length,—his -hand was between his lips; it seemed -as if he had not strength to execute the -purpose for which he had brought it there. -The bodies were brought out for interment. -As we removed them into the -light, the long hair of the female, falling -over a face no longer disguised by the novice’s -dress, recalled a likeness I thought -I could remember. I looked closer, she -was my own sister,—my only one,<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_237" title="237"> </a> -I had heard her voice grow fainter and -fainter. I had heard<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>” and his own -voice grew fainter—it ceased.</p> - -<p>“Trembling for a life with which my -own was linked, I staggered towards him. -I raised him half up in my arms, and recollecting -there must be a current of air -through the trap-door, I attempted to trail -him along thither. I succeeded, and, as -the breeze played over him, I saw with -delight unutterable the diminution of the -light that streamed through it. It was -<em>evening</em>,—there was no longer any necessity, -no longer any time for delay. He recovered, -for his swoon arose not from exhausted -sensibility, but from mere inanition. However -it was, I found my interest in watching -his recovery; and, had I been adequate -to the task of observing extraordinary -vicissitudes of the human mind, I -would have been indeed amazed at the -change that he manifested on his recovery. -Without the least reference to his late -story, or late feelings, he started from my -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_238" title="238"> </a> -arms at the discovery that the light had -diminished, and prepared for our escape -through the trap-door, with a restored -energy of strength, and sanity of intellect, -that might have been deemed miraculous if -it had occurred in a convent:—Happening -to occur full thirty feet below the proper -surface for a miracle, it must be put to the -account of strong excitement merely. I -could not indeed dare to believe a miracle was -wrought in favour of my profane attempt, -and so I was glad to put up with second -causes. With incredible dexterity he climbed -up the wall, with the help of the rugged -stones and my shoulders,—threw open -the trap-door, pronounced that all was safe, -assisted me to ascend after him,—and, with -gasping delight, I once more breathed the -breath of heaven. The night was perfectly -dark. I could not distinguish the -buildings from the trees, except when a -faint breeze gave motion to the latter. To -this darkness, I am convinced, I owe the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_239" title="239"> </a> -preservation of my reason under such vicissitudes,—the -glory of a resplendent -night would have driven me mad, emerging -from darkness, famine, and cold. I -would have wept, and laughed, and knelt, -and turned idolater. I would have “worshipped -the host of heaven, and the moon -walking in her brightness.” Darkness was -my best security, in every sense of the -word. We traversed the garden, without -feeling the ground under our feet. As we -approached the wall, I became again deadly -sick,—my senses grew giddy, I reeled. -I whispered to my companion, “Are -there not lights gleaming from the convent -windows?”—“No, the lights are -flashing from your own eyes,—it is only -the effect of darkness, famine, and fear,—come -on.”—“But I hear a sound of -bells.”—“The bells are ringing only in -your ears,—an empty stomach is your -sexton, and you fancy you hear bells. Is -this a time to faulter?—come on, come -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_240" title="240"> </a> -on. Don’t hang such a dead weight on -my arm,—don’t fall, if you can help it. -Oh God, he has swooned!”</p> - -<p>“These were the last words I heard. I -had fallen, I believe, into his arms. With -that instinct that acts most auspiciously in -the absence of both thought and feeling, -he dragged me in his brawny arms to the -wall, <em>and twisted my cold fingers</em> in the -ropes of the ladder. The touch restored -me in a moment; and, almost before my -hand had touched the ropes, my feet began -to ascend them. My companion followed -extempore. We reached the summit,—I -tottered from weakness and terror. -I felt a sickly dread, that, though the ladder -was there, Juan was not. A moment -after a lanthorn flashed in my eyes,—I saw -a figure below. I sprung down, careless, -in that wild moment, whether I met the -dagger of an assassin, or the embrace of a -brother. “Alonzo, dear Alonzo,” murmured -a voice. “Juan, dear Juan,” was all I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_241" title="241"> </a> -could utter, as I felt my shivering breast -held close to that of the most generous -and affectionate of brothers. “How much -you must have suffered,—how much I -have suffered,” he whispered; “during the -last horrible twenty-four hours, I almost -gave you up. Make haste, the carriage is -not twenty paces off.” And, as he spoke, -the shifting of a lanthorn shewed me those -imperious and beautiful features, which I -had once dreaded as the pledge of eternal -emulation, but which I now regarded as -the smile of the proud but benignant god -of my liberation. I pointed to my companion, -I could not speak,—hunger was -consuming my vitals. Juan supported -me, consoled me, encouraged me; did -all, and more, than man ever did for -man,—than man ever did, perhaps, for the -most shrinking and delicate of the other -sex under his protection. Oh, with what -agony of heart I retrace his manly tenderness! -We waited for my companion,—he -descended the wall. “Make haste, make -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_242" title="242"> </a> -haste,” Juan whispered; “I am famishing -too. I have not tasted food for four-and-twenty -hours, watching for you.” We -hurried on. It was a waste place,—I could -only distinguish a carriage by the light of -a dim lanthorn, but that was enough for -me. I sprung lightly into it. “<em>He is -safe</em>,” cried Juan, following me. “<em>But -are you?</em>” answered a voice of thunder. -Juan staggered back from the step of the -carriage,—he fell. I sprung out, I fell -too—on his body. I was bathed in his -blood,<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>he was no more.”</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="Chapter_X">CHAPTER X.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_243" title="243"> </a></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Men who with mankind were foes.<br /></div> -<div class="line center">*   *   *   *<br /></div> -<div class="line">Or who, in desperate doubt of grace.—<br /></div> -<div class="line center">*   *   *   *<br /></div> -<div class="line right small-caps">Scott’s Marmion.<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="small-caps">“One</span> wild moment of yelling agony,—one -flash of a fierce and fiery light, that -seemed to envelope and wither me soul and -body,—one sound, that swept through my -ears and brain like the last trumpet, as it -will thrill on the senses of those who slept -in guilt, and awake in despair,—one such -moment, that condenses and crowds all -imaginable sufferings in one brief and intense -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_244" title="244"> </a> -pang, and appears exhausted itself -by the blow it has struck,—one such moment -I remember, and no more. Many -a month of gloomy unconsciousness rolled -over me, without date or notice. One -thousand waves may welter over a sunk -wreck, and be felt as <em>one</em>. I have a dim -recollection of refusing food, of resisting -change of place, &c. but they were like the -faint and successless attempts we make -under the burden of the night-mare; and -those with whom I had to do, probably regarded -any opposition I could make no -more than the tossings of a restless sleeper.</p> - -<p>“From dates that I have since been enabled -to collect, I must have been four -months at least in this state; and ordinary -persecutors would have given me up as a -hopeless subject for any further sufferings; -but religious malignity is too industrious, -and too ingenious, to resign the hope of a victim -but with life. If the fire is extinguished, -it sits and watches the embers. If the strings -of the heart crack in its hearing, it listens if -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_245" title="245"> </a> -it be the <em>last</em> that has broken. It is a spirit -that delights to ride on the <em>tenth wave</em>, -and view it whelm and bury the sufferer -for ever. * * * -* * * *</p> - -<p>“Many changes had taken place, without -any consciousness on my part of them. -Perhaps the profound tranquillity of my -<em>last</em> abode contributed more than any thing -else to the recovery of my reason. I distinctly -remember awaking at once to the -full exercise of my senses and reason, and -finding myself in a place which I examined -with the most amazed and jealous curiosity. -My memory did not molest me -in the least. Why I was there? or what -I had suffered before I was brought there? -it never occurred to me to inquire. The -return of the intellectual powers came -slowly in, like the waves of an advancing -tide, and happily for me memory was the -last,—the occupation of my senses was at -first quite enough for me. You must expect -no romance-horrors, Sir, from my -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_246" title="246"> </a> -narrative. Perhaps a life like mine may -revolt the taste that has feasted to fastidiousness; -but truth sometimes gives full -and dreadful compensation, in presenting -us facts instead of images.</p> - -<p>“I found myself lying on a bed, not -very different from that in my cell, but -the apartment was wholly unlike the latter. -It was somewhat larger, and covered -with matting. There was neither crucifix, -painting, or vessel for holy water;—the -bed, a coarse table which supported a -lighted lamp, and a vessel containing water -for the purpose, were all the furniture. -There was no window; and some iron -knobs in the door, to which the light of -the lamp gave a kind of dismal distinctness -and prominence, proved that it was -strongly secured. I raised myself on my -arm, and gazed round me with the apprehensiveness -of one who fears that the -slightest motion may dissolve the spell, -and plunge him again in darkness. At -that moment the recollection of all the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_247" title="247"> </a> -past struck me like a thunder-bolt. I uttered -a cry, that seemed to drain me of -breath and being at once, and fell back on -the bed, not senseless but exhausted. I -remembered every event in a moment, -with an intenseness that could only be -equalled by actual and present agency in -them,—my escape,—my safety,—my despair. -I felt Juan’s embrace,—then I felt -his blood stream over me. I saw his eyes -turn in despair, before they closed for ever, -and I uttered another cry, such as had -never before been heard within those walls. -At the repetition of this sound the door -opened, and a person, in a habit I had -never seen before, approached, and signified -to me by signs, that I must observe -the most profound silence. Nothing, indeed, -could be more expressive of this -meaning, than his denying himself the -use of his voice to convey it. I gazed on -this apparition in silence,—my amazement -had all the effect of an apparent submission -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_248" title="248"> </a> -to his injunctions. He retired, and I began -to wonder where I was. Was it among the -dead? or some subterranean world of the -mute and voiceless, where there was no air to -convey sounds, and no echo to repeat them, -and the famished ear waited in vain for its -sweetest banquet,—the voice of man? -These wanderings were dispelled by the -re-entrance of the person. He placed -bread, water, and a small portion of meat -on the table, motioned me to approach, -(which I did mechanically), and, when I -was seated, <em>whispered</em> me, That my unhappy -situation having hitherto rendered -me incapable of understanding the regulations -of the place where I was, he had -been compelled to postpone acquainting -me with them; but <em>now</em> he was obliged -to warn me, that my voice must never be -raised beyond the key in which he addressed -me, and which was sufficient for all proper -purposes of communication; finally, -he assured me that cries, exclamations of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_249" title="249"> </a> -any kind, or even <em>coughing too loud</em><a name="FootnoteMarker_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="footnote-marker">(8)</a>, -(which might be interpreted as a signal), -would be considered as an attempt on the -inviolable habits of the place, and punished -with the utmost severity. To my repeated -questions of “Where am I? what -is this place, with its mysterious regulations?” -he replied in a whisper, that his -business was to issue orders, not to answer -questions; and so saying he departed. -However extraordinary these injunctions -appeared, the manner in which they were -issued was so imposing, peremptory, and -<em>habitual</em>,—it seemed so little a thing of local -contrivance and temporary display,—so -much like the established language of an -absolute and long-fixed system, that obedience -to it seemed inevitable. I threw -myself on the bed, and murmured to myself, -“Where am I?” till sleep overcame -me.</p> - -<p>“I have heard that the first sleep of a -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_250" title="250"> </a> -recovered maniac is intensely profound. -Mine was not so, it was broken by many -troubled dreams. One, in particular, -brought me back to the convent. I -thought I was a boarder in it, and studying -Virgil. I was reading that passage in -the second book, where the vision of Hector -appears to Æneas in his dream, and his -ghastly and dishonoured form suggests the -mournful exclamation,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">“<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>Heu quantum mutatus ab illo,—<br /></div> -<div class="line"><span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>Quibus ab oris, Hector expectate venis?”<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="no-indent">Then I thought Juan was Hector,—that -the same pale and bloody phantom -stood calling me to fly—“Heu fuge,” -while I vainly tried to obey him. Oh that -dreary mixture of truth and delirium, of -the real and visionary, of the conscious -and unconscious parts of existence, that -visits the dreams of the unhappy! He was -Pantheus, and murmured,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">“Venit summa dies, et ineluctabile tempus.”<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="no-indent"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_251" title="251"> </a>I appeared to weep and struggle in my -dream. I addressed the figure that stood -before me sometimes as Juan, and sometimes -as the image of the Trojan vision. -At last the figure uttered, with a kind of -querulous shriek,—that <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">vox stridula</i> which -we hear only in dreams,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">“Proximus ardet Ucalegon,”<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="no-indent">and I started up fully awake, in all the -horrors of an expected conflagration.</p> - -<p>“It is incredible, Sir, how the senses -and the mind can operate thus, during the -apparent suspension of both; how sound -can affect organs that seem to be shut, and -objects affect the sight, while its sense appears -to be closed,—can impress on its -dreaming consciousness, images more horribly -vivid than even reality ever presented. -I awoke with the idea that flames -were raging in contact with my eye-balls, -and I saw only a pale light, held by a -paler hand—close to my eyes indeed, but -withdrawn the moment I awoke. The -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_252" title="252"> </a> -person who held it shrouded it for a moment, -and then advanced and flashed its -full light on me, and along with it—the -person of my companion. The associations -of our last meeting rushed on me. -I started up, and said, “Are we free, -then?”—“Hush,—one of us is free; but -you must not speak so loud.”—“Well, I -have heard that before, but I cannot comprehend -the necessity of this whispering -secrecy. If I am free, tell me so, and tell -me whether Juan has survived that last -horrible moment,—my intellect is but just -respiring. Tell me how Juan fares.”—“Oh, -sumptuously. No prince in all the land -reposes under a more gorgeous canopy,—marble -pillars, waving banners, and nodding -plumes. He had music too, but he -did not seem to heed it. He lay stretched -on velvet and gold, but he appeared insensible -of all these luxuries. There was -a curl on his cold white lip, too, that seemed -to breathe ineffable scorn on all that -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_253" title="253"> </a> -was going on,—but he was proud enough -even in his life-time.”—“His life-time!” -I shrieked; “then he <em>is</em> dead?”—“Can -you doubt that, when you know who -struck the blow? None of my victims -ever gave me the trouble of a second.”—“You,—you?” -I swam for some moments -in a sea of flames and blood. My frenzy -returned, and I remember only uttering -curses that would have exhausted divine -vengeance in all its plenitude to fulfil. I -might have continued to rave till my reason -was totally lost, but I was silenced -and stunned by his laugh bursting out amid -my curses, and overwhelming them.</p> - -<p>“That laugh made me cease, and lift up -my eyes to him, as if I expected to see -another being,—it was still the same. -“And you dreamt,” he cried, “in your -temerity, you dreamt of setting the vigilance -of a convent at defiance? Two boys, -one the fool of fear, and the other of temerity, -were fit antagonists for that stupendous -system, whose roots are in the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_254" title="254"> </a> -bowels of the earth, and whose head is among -the stars,—<em>you</em> escape from a convent! -<em>you</em> defy a power that has defied -sovereigns! A power whose influence is -unlimited, indefinable, and unknown, even -to those who exercise it, as there are mansions -so vast, that their inmates, to their -last hour, have never visited all the apartments;—a -power whose operation is like -its motto,—one and indivisible. The soul -of the Vatican breathes in the humblest -convent in Spain,—and you, an insect -perched on a wheel of this vast machine, -imagined you were able to arrest its progress, -while its rotation was hurrying on -to crush you to atoms.” While he was -uttering these words, with a rapidity and -energy inconceivable, (a rapidity that literally -made one word seem to devour another), -I tried, with that effort of intellect -which seems like the gasping respiration -of one whose breath has long been forcibly -suppressed or suspended, to comprehend -and follow him. The first thought that -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_255" title="255"> </a> -struck me was one not very improbable -in my situation, that he was not the person -he appeared to be,—that it was not the -companion of my escape who now addressed -me; and I summoned all the remains of -my intellect to ascertain this. A few -questions must determine this point, if I -had breath to utter them. “Were you -not the agent in my escape? Were you -not the man who<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span> What tempted -you to this step, in the defeat of which -you appear to rejoice?”—“A bribe.”—“And -you have betrayed me, you say, -and boast of your treachery,—what tempted -you to this?”—“A higher bribe. -Your brother gave gold, but the convent -promised me salvation,—a business -I was very willing to commit to their -hands, as I was totally incompetent to manage -it myself.”—“Salvation, for treachery -and murder?”—“Treachery and murder,—hard -words. Now, to talk sense, was not -yours the vilest treachery? You reclaimed -your vows,—you declared before God and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_256" title="256"> </a> -man, that the words you uttered before -both were the babble of an infant; then -you seduced your brother from his duty -to his and your parents,—you connived at -his intriguing against the peace and sanctity -of a monastic institution, and dare <em>you</em> -talk of treachery? And did you not, with -a callosity of conscience unexampled in -one so young, accept, nay, cling to an associate -in your escape whom you knew -you were seducing from his vows,—from -all that man reveres as holy, and all that -God (if there be a God) must regard as -binding on man? You knew my crime, -you knew my atrocity, yet you brandished -me as your banner of defiance against -the Almighty, though its inscription was, -in glaring characters,—impiety—parricide—irreligion. -Torn as the banner was, it -still hung near the altar, till you dragged -it away, to wrap yourself from detection -in its folds,—and <em>you</em> talk of treachery?—there -is not a more traitorous wretch -on earth than yourself. Suppose that I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_257" title="257"> </a> -was all that is vile and culpable, was -it for you to double-dye the hue of my -crime in the crimson of your sacrilege and -apostacy? And for murder, I know I am -a parricide. I cut my father’s throat, but -he never felt the blow,—nor did I,—I was -intoxicated with wine, with passion, with -blood,—no matter which; but you, with -cold deliberate blows, struck at the hearts -of father and mother. You killed by -inches,—I murdered at a blow,—which of -us is the murderer?—And <em>you</em> prate of -treachery and murder? I am as innocent -as the child that is born this hour, compared -to you. Your father and mother -have separated,—she is gone into a convent, -to hide her despair and shame at your -unnatural conduct,—your father is plunging -successively into the abysses of voluptuousness -and penitence, wretched in both; your -brother, in his desperate attempt to liberate -you, has perished,—you have scattered -desolation over a whole family,—you -have stabbed the peace and heart of each -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_258" title="258"> </a> -of them, with a hand that deliberated and -paused on its blow, and then struck it -calmly,—and you dare to talk of treachery -and murder? You are a thousand times -more culpable than I am, guilty as you -think me. I stand a blasted tree,—I am -struck to the heart, to the root,—I wither -alone,—but you are the Upas, under whose -poisonous droppings all things living have -perished,—father—mother—brother, and -last yourself;—the erosions of the poison, -having nothing left to consume, strike inward, -and prey on your own heart. -Wretch, condemned beyond the sympathy -of man, beyond the redemption of the -Saviour, what can you say to this?”—I answered -only, “Is Juan dead, and were -you his murderer,—were you indeed? I -believe all you say, I must be very guilty, -but is Juan dead?” As I spoke, I lifted up -to him eyes that no longer seemed to see,—a -countenance that bore no expression -but that of the stupefaction of intense grief. -I could neither utter nor feel reproaches,—I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_259" title="259"> </a> -had suffered beyond the power of complaint. -I awaited his answer; he was silent, -but his diabolical silence spoke. “And -my mother retired to a convent?” he nodded. -“And my father?” he smiled, and -I closed my eyes. I could bear any thing -but his smile. I raised my head a few -moments after, and saw him, with an habitual -motion, (it could not have been -more), make the sign of the cross, as a -clock in some distant passage struck. This -sight reminded me of the play so often -acted in Madrid, and which I had seen in -my few days of liberation,—El diablo Predicador. -You smile, Sir, at such a recollection -operating at such a moment, but -it is a fact; and had you witnessed that -play under the singular circumstances I -did, you would not wonder at my being -struck with the coincidence. In this performance -the infernal spirit is the hero, -and in the disguise of a monk he appears -in a convent, where he torments and persecutes -the community with a mixture of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_260" title="260"> </a> -malignity and mirth truly Satanic. One -night that I saw it performed, a groupe -of monks were carrying the Host to a -dying person; the walls of the theatre -were so slight, that we could distinctly -hear the sound of the bell which they ring -on that occasion. In an instant, actors, -audience, and all, were on their knees, -and the devil, who happened to be on the -stage, knelt among the rest, and crossed -himself with visible marks of a devotion -equally singular and edifying. You will -allow the coincidence to be irresistibly -striking.</p> - -<p>“When he had finished his monstrous -profanation of the holy sign, I fixed my -eyes on him with an expression not to be -mistaken. He saw it. There is not so -bitter a reproach on earth as silence, for it -always seems to refer the guilty to their -own hearts, whose eloquence seldom fails -to fill up the pause very little to the satisfaction -of the accused. My look threw -him into a rage, that I am now convinced -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_261" title="261"> </a> -not the most bitter upbraidings could have -caused. The utmost fury of imprecation -would have fallen on his ear like the most -lulling harmony;—it would have convinced -him that his victim was suffering all -he could possibly inflict. He betrayed -this in the violence of his exclamations. -“What, wretch!” he cried;—“Do you -think it was for your masses and your -mummeries, your vigils, and fasts, and -mumbling over senseless unconsoling beads, -and losing my rest all night watching for the -matins, and then quitting my frozen mat -to nail my knees to stone till they grew -there,—till I thought the whole pavement -would rise with me when I rose,—do you -think it was for the sake of listening to -sermons that the preachers did not believe,—and -prayers that the lips that uttered -them yawned at in the listlessness of their -infidelity,—and penances that might be -hired out to a lay-brother to undergo for -a pound of coffee or of snuff,—and the -vilest subserviencies to the caprice and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_262" title="262"> </a> -passion of a Superior,—and the listening -to men with God for ever in their mouths, -and the world for ever in their hearts,—men -who think of nothing but the aggrandizement -of their temporal distinction, -and screen, under the most revolting -affectation of a concern in spiritualities, -their ravening cupidity after earthly -eminence:—Wretch! do you dream -that it was for this?—that this <em>atheism -of bigotry</em>,—this creed of all the priests -that ever have existed in connexion with -the state, and in hope of extending their -interest by that connexion,—could have -any influence over <em>me</em>? I had sounded -every depth in the mine of depravity -before them. I knew them,—I despised -them. I crouched before them in body, -I spurned them in my soul. With all -their sanctimony, they had hearts so -worldly, that it was scarce worth while to -watch their hypocrisy, the secret developed -itself so soon. There was no discovery to -be made, no place for detection. I have seen -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_263" title="263"> </a> -them on their high festivals, prelates, and -abbots, and priests, in all their pomp of -office, appearing to the laity like descended -gods, blazing in gems and gold, amid -the lustre of tapers and the floating splendour -of an irradiated atmosphere alive -with light, and all soft and delicate harmonies -and delicious odours, till, as they -disappeared amid the clouds of incense so -gracefully tossed from the gilded censers, -the intoxicated eye dreamed it saw them -ascending to Paradise. Such was the -<em>scene</em>, but what was <em>behind the scene</em>?—<em>I -saw it all.</em> Two or three of them would -rush from service into the vestry together, -under the pretence of changing their vestments. -One would imagine that these -men would have at least the decency -to refrain, while in the intervals of the -holy mass. No, I overheard them. -While shifting their robes, they talked incessantly -of promotions and appointments,—of -this or that prelate, dying or dead,—of -a wealthy benefice being vacant,—of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_264" title="264"> </a> -one dignitary having bargained hard -with the state for the promotion of a relative,—of -another who had well-founded -hopes of obtaining a bishoprick, for what? -neither for learning or piety, or one feature -of the pastoral character, but because -he had valuable benefices to resign in exchange, -that might be divided among numerous -candidates. Such was their conversation,—such -and such only were their -thoughts, till the last thunders of the allelujah -from the church made them start, -and hurry to resume their places at the -altar. Oh what a compound of meanness -and pride, of imbecillity and pretension, -of sanctimony so transparently and -awkwardly worn, that the naked frame -of the natural mind was visible to every -eye beneath it,—that mind which is -“earthly, sensual, devilish.” Was it -to live among such wretches, who, all-villain -as I was, made me hug myself with -the thought that at least I was not like -them, a passionless prone reptile,—a thing -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_265" title="265"> </a> -made of forms and dressings, half satin -and shreds, half ave’s and credo’s,—bloated -and abject,—creeping and aspiring,—winding -up and up the pedestal of power -at the rate of an inch a day, and tracking -its advance to eminence by the flexibility -of its writhings, the obliquity of its course, -and the filth of its slime,—was it for this?”—he -paused, half-choaked with his emotions.</p> - -<p>“This man might have been a better being -under better circumstances; he had at -least a disdain of all that was mean in vice, -with a wild avidity for all that was atrocious. -“Was it for this,” he continued, -“that I have sold myself to work their -works of darkness,—that I have become -in this life as it were an apprentice to Satan, -to take anticipated lessons of torture,—that -I have sealed those indentures here, -which must be fulfilled below? No, I -despise—I loathe it all, the agents and the -system,—the men and their matters. But -it is the creed of that system, (and true or -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_266" title="266"> </a> -false it avails not,—some kind of creed is -necessary, and the falser perhaps the better, -for falsehood at least flatters), that the -greatest criminal may expiate his offences, -by vigilantly watching, and severely punishing, -those of the enemies of heaven. -Every offender may purchase his immunity, -by consenting to become the executioner -of the offender whom he betrays -and denounces. In the language of the -laws of another country, they may turn -“king’s evidence,” and buy their own -lives at the price of another’s,—a bargain -which every man is very ready to make. -But, in religious life, this kind of transfer, -this substitutional suffering, is adopted with -an avidity indescribable. How we love -to punish those whom the church calls the -enemies of God, while conscious that, -though our enmity against him is infinitely -greater, we become acceptable in -his sight by tormenting those who may be -less guilty, but who are in our power! I -hate you, not because I have any natural -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_267" title="267"> </a> -or social cause to do so, but because the -exhaustion of my resentment on you, may -diminish that of the Deity towards me. -If I persecute and torment the enemies of -God, must I not be the friend of God? -Must not every pang I inflict on another, -be recorded in the book of the All-remembering, -as an expurgation of at least one -of the pangs that await me hereafter? I -have no religion, I believe in no God, I -repeat no creed, but I have that superstition -of fear and of futurity, that seeks its -wild and hopeless mitigation in the sufferings -of others when our own are exhausted, -or when (a much more common case) -we are unwilling to undergo them. I am -convinced that my own crimes will be -obliterated, by whatever crimes of others -I can promote or punish. Had I not, -then, every motive to urge you to crime? -Had I not every motive to watch and aggravate -your punishment? Every coal of -fire that I heaped on your head, was removing -one from that fire that burns for -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_268" title="268"> </a> -ever and ever for mine. Every drop of -water that I withheld from your burning -tongue, I expect will be repaid to me in -slaking the fire and brimstone into which -I must one day be hurled. Every tear that I -draw, every groan that I extort, will, I am -convinced, be repaid me in the remission -of my own!—guess what a price I set on -yours, or those of any other victim. The -man in ancient story trembled and paused -over the scattered limbs of his child, and -failed in the pursuit,—the true penitent -rushes over the mangled members of nature -and passion, collects them with a -hand in which there is no pulse, and a -heart in which there is no feeling, and -holds them up them in the face of the Divinity -as a peace-offering. Mine is the best -theology,—the theology of utter hostility -to all beings whose sufferings may mitigate -mine. In this flattering theory, your -crimes become my virtues,—I need not -any of my own. Guilty as I am of -the crime that outrages nature, your -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_269" title="269"> </a> -crimes (the crimes of those who offend against -the church) are of a much more -heinous order. But your guilt is my exculpation, -your sufferings are my triumph. -I need not repent, I need not believe; if -you suffer, I am saved,—that is enough -for me. How glorious and easy it is to -erect at once the trophy of our salvation, -on the trampled and buried hopes of another’s! -How subtle and sublime that alchemy, -that can convert the iron of another’s -contumacy and impenitence into -the precious gold of your own redemption! -I have literally worked out <em>my</em> salvation -by <em>your</em> fear and trembling. With this -hope I appeared to concur in the plan laid -by your brother, every feature of which was -in its progress disclosed to the Superior. -With this hope I passed that wretched -night and day in the dungeon with you, -for, to have effected our escape by day-light, -would have startled credulity as -gross as even yours. But all the time I -was feeling the dagger I bore in my breast, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_270" title="270"> </a> -and which I had received for a purpose -amply accomplished. As for you,—the Superior -consented to your attempt to escape, -merely that he might have you more in -his power. He and the community were -tired of you, they saw you would never -make a monk,—your appeal had brought -disgrace on them, your presence was a reproach -and a burden to them. The sight -of you was as thorns in their eyes,—they -judged you would make a better victim -than a proselyte, and they judged well. -You are a much fitter inmate for your present -abode than your last, and from hence -there is no danger of your escaping.”—“And -where, then, am I?”—“<em>You are -in the prison of the Inquisition.</em>”</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="Chapter_XI">CHAPTER XI.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_271" title="271"> </a></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Oh! torture me no more, I will confess.<br /></div> -<div class="line right small-caps">Henry the Sixth.<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">You have betrayed her to her own reproof.<br /></div> -<div class="line right small-caps">Comedy of Errors.<br /></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="small-caps">“And</span> it was true,—I was a prisoner in -the Inquisition. Great emergencies certainly -inspire us with the feelings they demand; -and many a man has braved a -storm on the wide wild ocean, who would -have shrunk from its voice as it pealed -down his chimney. I believe so it fared -with me,—the storm had risen, and I -braced myself to meet it. I was in the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_272" title="272"> </a> -Inquisition, but I knew that my crime, -heinous as it was, was not one that came -properly under the cognizance of the Inquisition. -It was a conventual fault of the -highest class, but liable only to be punished -by the ecclesiastical power. The punishment -of a monk who had dared to -escape from his convent, might be dreadful -enough,—immurement, or death perhaps, -but still I was not legitimately a -prisoner of the Inquisition. I had never, -under all my trials, spoken a disrespectful -word of the holy Catholic church, or a -doubtful one of our most holy faith,—I -had not dropped one heretical, obnoxious, -or equivocal expression, relative to a single -point of duty, or article of faith. The -preposterous charges of sorcery and possession, -brought against me in the convent, -had been completely disproved at -the visitation of the Bishop. My aversion -to the monastic state was indeed sufficiently -known and fatally proved, but that was -no subject for the investigation or penalties -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_273" title="273"> </a> -of the Inquisition. I had nothing to -fear from the Inquisition,—at least so I -said to myself in my prison, and I believed -myself. The seventh day after the recovery -of my reason was fixed on for my -examination, and of this I received due -notice, though I believe it is contrary to -the usual forms of the Inquisition to give -this notice; and the examination took -place on the day and hour appointed.</p> - -<p>“You are aware, Sir, that the tales related -in general of the interior discipline -of the Inquisition, must be in nine out of -ten mere fables, as the prisoners are bound -by an oath never to disclose what happens -within its walls; and they who could violate -this oath, would certainly not scruple -to violate truth in the details with which -their emancipation from it indulges them. -I am forbidden, by an oath which I shall -never break, to disclose the circumstances -of my imprisonment or examination. I am -at liberty to mention some general features -of both, as they are connected with my extraordinary -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_274" title="274"> </a> -narrative. My first examination -terminated rather favourably; my contumacy -and aversion to monasticism were indeed -deplored and reprobated, but there was no -ulterior hint,—nothing to alarm the peculiar -fears of an inmate of the Inquisition. -So I was as happy as solitude, darkness, -straw, bread, and water, could make me, -or any one, till, on the fourth night after -my first examination, I was awoke by a -light gleaming so strongly on my eyes, -that I started up. The person then retired -with his light, and I discovered a figure -sitting in the farthest corner of my cell. -Delighted at the sight of a human form, -I yet had acquired so much of the habit -of the Inquisition, that I demanded, in a -cold and peremptory voice, who had ventured -to intrude on the cell of a prisoner? -The person answered in the blandest -tones that ever soothed the human ear, -that he was, like myself, a prisoner in the -Inquisition;—that, by its indulgence, he -had been permitted to visit me, and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_275" title="275"> </a> -hoped<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>“And is <em>hope</em> to be named -here?” I could not help exclaiming. He -answered in the same soft and deprecatory -tone; and, without adverting to our peculiar -circumstances, suggested the consolation -that might be derived from the society -of two sufferers who were indulged -with the power of meeting and communicating -with each other.</p> - -<p>“This man visited me for several successive -nights; and I could not help noticing -three extraordinary circumstances -in his visits and his appearance. The -first was, that he always (when he could) -concealed his eyes from me; he sat sideways -and backways, shifted his position, -changed his seat, held up his hand before -his eyes; but when at times he was compelled -or <em>surprised</em> to turn their light on -me, I felt that I had never beheld such -eyes blazing in a mortal face,—in the darkness -of my prison, I held up my hand to -shield myself from their preternatural -glare. The second was, that he came and -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_276" title="276"> </a> -retired apparently without help or hindrance,—that -he came, like one who had a -key to the door of my dungeon, at all -hours, without leave or forbiddance,—that -he traversed the prisons of the Inquisition, -like one who had a master-key to -its deepest recesses. Lastly, he spoke not -only in a tone of voice clear and audible, -totally unlike the whispered communications -of the Inquisition, but spoke his -abhorrence of the whole system,—his indignation -against the Inquisition, Inquisitors, -and all their aiders and abettors, -from St Dominic down to the lowest -official,—with such unqualified rage of -vituperation, such caustic inveteracy of -satire, such unbounded license of ludicrous -and yet withering severity, that I -trembled.</p> - -<p>“You know, Sir, or perhaps have yet -to know, that there are persons <em>accredited</em> -in the Inquisition, who are permitted -to solace the solitude of the prisoners, on -the condition of obtaining, under the pretence -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_277" title="277"> </a> -of friendly communication, those secrets -which even torture has failed to extort. -I discovered in a moment that my -visitor was not one of these,—his abuse of -the system was too gross, his indignation -too unfeigned. Yet, in his continued visits, -there was one circumstance more, -which struck me with a feeling of terror -that actually paralyzed and annihilated all -the terrors of the Inquisition.</p> - -<p>“He constantly alluded to events and -personages beyond his <em>possible memory</em>,—then -he checked himself,—then he appeared -to go on, with a kind of wild and -derisive sneer at his own <em>absence</em>. But -this perpetual reference to events long -past, and men long buried, made an impression -on me I cannot describe. His -conversation was rich, various, and intelligent, -but it was interspersed with such -reiterated mention of the dead, that I -might be pardoned for feeling as if the -speaker was one of them. He dealt much -in anecdotical history, and I, who was -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_278" title="278"> </a> -very ignorant of it, was delighted to listen -to him, for he told every thing with -the fidelity of an eye-witness. He spoke -of the <em>Restoration</em> in England, and repeated -the well-remembered observation of the -queen-mother, Henriette of France,—that, -had she known as much of the English on -her first arrival, as she did on her second, -she never would have been driven from -the throne; then he added, to my astonishment, -I was beside her carriage<a name="FootnoteMarker_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="footnote-marker">(9)</a>, <em>it was the -only one then in London</em>. He afterwards -spoke of the superb fetes given by Louis -Quatorze, and described, with an accuracy -that made me start, the magnificent chariot -in which that monarch personated the -god of day, while all the titled pimps and -harlots of the court followed as the rabble -of Olympus. Then he reverted to the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_279" title="279"> </a> -death of the Duchesse d’Orleans, sister to -Charles II.—to Pere Bourdalone’s awful -sermon, preached at the death-bed of the -royal beauty, dying of poison, (as suspected); -and added, I saw the roses heaped -on her toilette, to array her for a -fete that very night, and near them stood -the pix, and tapers, and oil, shrouded -with the lace of that very toilette. Then -he passed to England; he spoke of the -wretched and well-rebuked pride of the -wife of James II. who “thought it scorn” -to sit at the same table with an Irish officer -who informed her husband (then Duke of -York) that <em>he</em> had sat at table, as an officer -in the Austrian service, where the Duchess’s -father (Duke of Modena) had stood behind -a chair, as a vassal to the Emperor of -Germany.</p> - -<p>“These circumstances were trifling, and -might be told by any one, but there was -a minuteness and circumstantiality in his -details, that perpetually forced on the mind -the idea that he had himself seen what he -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_280" title="280"> </a> -described, and been conversant with the -personages he spoke of. I listened to him -with an indefinable mixture of curiosity -and terror. At last, while relating a -trifling but characteristic circumstance that -occurred in the reign of Louis the Thirteenth, -he used the following expressions<a name="FootnoteMarker_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="footnote-marker">(10)</a>: -“One night that the king was at an entertainment, -where Cardinal Richelieu also -was present, the Cardinal had the insolence -to rush out of the apartment before -his Majesty, just as the coach of the latter -was announced. The King, without any -indignant notice of the arrogance of the -minister, said, with much <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon hommie</i>, -“His Eminence the Cardinal will always -be first.”—“The first to attend your Majesty,” -answered the Cardinal, with admirable -polite presence of mind; and, snatching -a flambeau from a page who <em>stood near -me</em>, he lighted the King to his carriage.” -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_281" title="281"> </a> -I could not help catching at the extraordinary -words that had escaped him; and -I asked him, “Were you there?” He -gave some indirect answer; and, avoiding -the subject, went on to amuse me with -some other curious circumstances of the -private history of that age, of which he -spoke with a minute fidelity somewhat -<em>alarming</em>. I confess my pleasure in listening -to them was greatly diminished by -the singular sensation with which this -man’s presence and conversation inspired -me. He departed, and I regretted his absence, -though I could not account for the -extraordinary feeling which I experienced -during his visits.</p> - -<p>“A few days after I was to encounter my -second examination. The night before it -one of the <em>officials</em> visited me. These are -men who are not the common officers of a -prison, but accredited in some degree by -the higher powers of the Inquisition, and -I paid due respect to his communications, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_282" title="282"> </a> -particularly as they were delivered more -in detail, and with more emphasis and -energy than I could have expected from -an inmate of that speechless mansion. -This circumstance made me expect something -extraordinary, and his discourse -verified all, and more than I expected. -He told me in plain terms, that there had -been lately a cause of disturbance and inquietude, -which had never before occurred -in the Inquisition. That it was reported -a human figure had appeared in the cells -of some of the prisoners, uttering words -not only hostile to the Catholic religion, -and the discipline of the most holy Inquisition, -but to religion in general, to -the belief of a God and a future state. -He added, that the utmost vigilance of -the officials, on the rack for discovery, -had never been able to trace this being in -his visits to the cells of the prisoners; that -the guards had been doubled, and every -precaution that the circumspection of the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_283" title="283"> </a> -Inquisition could employ, was had recourse -to, hitherto without success; and -that the only intimation they had of this -singular visitor, was from some of the -prisoners whose cells he had entered, and -whom he had addressed in language that -seemed lent him by the enemy of mankind, -to accomplish the perdition of these -unhappy beings. He himself had hitherto -eluded all discovery; but he trusted, -that, with the means lately adopted, it -was impossible for this agent of the evil -one to insult and baffle the holy tribunal -much longer. He advised me to be prepared -on this point, as it would undoubtedly -be touched on at my next examination, -and perhaps more urgently than I -might otherwise imagine; and so, commending -me to the holy keeping of God, -he departed.</p> - -<p>“Not wholly unconscious of the subject -alluded to in this extraordinary communication, -but perfectly innocent of any ulterior -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_284" title="284"> </a> -signification, as far as related to myself, -I awaited my next examination rather with -hope than fear. After the usual questions -of—Why I was there? who had accused -me? for what offence? whether I could -recollect any expression that had ever intimated -a disregard for the tenets of the -holy church? &c. &c. &c.—after all this -had been gone through, in a detail that -may be spared the hearer, certain extraordinary -questions were proposed to me, -that appeared to relate indirectly to the -appearance of my late visitor. I answered -them with a sincerity that seemed to -make a frightful impression on my judges. -I stated plainly, in answer to their questions, -that a person had appeared in my -dungeon. “You must call it cell,” said -the Supreme. “In my cell, then. He -spoke with the utmost severity of the -holy office,—he uttered words that it would -not be respectful for me to repeat. I could -scarcely believe that such a person would -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_285" title="285"> </a> -be permitted to visit the dungeons (cells, -I should say) of the holy Inquisition.” -As I uttered these words, one of the -judges, trembling on his seat, (while his -shadow, magnified by the imperfect light, -pictured the figure of a paralytic giant -on the wall opposite to me), attempted -to address some question to me. As -he spoke, there came a hollow sound -from his throat, his eyes were rolled upwards -in their sockets,—he was in an apoplectic -paroxysm, and died before he -could be removed to another apartment. -The examination terminated suddenly, -and in some confusion; but, as I was remanded -back to my cell, I could perceive, -to my consternation, that I had left an impression -the most unfavourable on the -minds of the judges. They interpreted this -accidental circumstance in a manner the -most extraordinary and unjust, and I felt -the consequences of it at my next examination.</p> - -<p>“That night I received a visit in my -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_286" title="286"> </a> -cell from one of the judges of the Inquisition, -who conversed with me a considerable -time, and in an earnest and dispassionate -manner. He stated the atrocious -and revolting character under which I appeared -from the first before the Inquisition,—that -of a monk who had apostatized, -had been accused of the crime of sorcery -in his convent, and, in his impious -attempt at escape, had caused the death of -his brother, whom he had seduced to join -in it, and had overwhelmed one of the -first families with despair and disgrace. -Here I was going to reply, but he stopped -me, and observed, that he came -not to listen, but to speak; and went -on to inform me, that though I had -been acquitted of the charge of communication -with the evil spirit at the -visitation of the Bishop, certain suspicions -attached to me had been fearfully -strengthened, by the fact that the visits of -the extraordinary being, of whom I had -heard enough to assure me of his actuality, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_287" title="287"> </a> -had never been known in the prison -of the Inquisition till my entrance into it. -That the fair and probable conclusion was, -that I was really the victim of the enemy -of mankind, whose power (through the -reluctant permission of God and St Dominic, -and he crossed himself as he spoke) -had been suffered to range even through -the walls of the holy office. He cautioned -me, in severe but plain terms, against -the danger of the situation in which I was -placed, by the suspicions universally and -(he feared) too justly attached to me; and, -finally, adjured me, as I valued my salvation, -to place my entire confidence in the -mercy of the holy office, and, if <em>the figure</em> -should visit me again, to watch what its -impure lips might suggest, and faithfully -report it to the holy office.</p> - -<p>“When the Inquisitor had departed, I -reflected on what he had said. I conceived -it was something like the conspiracies so -often occurring in the convent. I conceived -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_288" title="288"> </a> -that this might be an attempt to involve -me in some plot against myself, something -in which I might be led to be active in my -own condemnation,—I felt the necessity -of vigilant and breathless caution. I knew -myself innocent, and this is a consciousness -that defies even the Inquisition itself; -but, within the walls of the Inquisition, -the consciousness, and the defiance it inspires, -are alike vain. I finally resolved, -however, to watch every circumstance that -might occur within the walls of my cell -very closely, threatened as I was at once -by the powers of the Inquisition, and -those of the infernal demon, and I had -not long to watch. It was on the second -night after my examination, that I saw -this person enter my cell. My first impulse -was to call aloud for the officials of -the Inquisition. I felt a kind of vacillation -I cannot describe, between throwing -myself into the power of the Inquisition, -or the power of this extraordinary being, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_289" title="289"> </a> -more formidable perhaps than all the Inquisitors -on earth, from Madrid to Goa. -I dreaded imposition on both sides. I believed -that they were playing off terror against -terror; I knew not what to believe -or think. I felt myself surrounded by -enemies on every side, and would have -given my heart to those who would first -throw off the mask, and announce themselves -as my decided and avowed enemy. -After some reflection, I judged it best <em>to -distrust the Inquisition</em>, and to hear all -that this extraordinary visitor had to say. -In my secret soul I believed him their secret -agent,—I did them great injustice. -His conversation on this second visit was -more than usually amusing, but it was -certainly such as might justify all the suspicions -of the Inquisitors. At every sentence -he uttered, I was disposed to start -up and call for the officials. Then I represented -to myself his turning accuser, -and pointing <em>me</em> out as the victim -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_290" title="290"> </a> -of their condemnation. I trembled at the -idea of committing myself by a word, -while in the power of that dreadful body -that might condemn me to expire under -the torture,—or, worse, to die the long and -lingering death of inanity,—the mind famished, -the body scarcely fed,—the annihilation -of hopeless and interminable solitude,—the -terrible inversion of natural -feeling, that makes life the object of deprecation, -and death of indulgence.</p> - -<p>“The result was, that I sat and listened -to the conversation (if it may be called -so) of this extraordinary visitor, who -appeared to regard the walls of the Inquisition -no more than those of a domestic apartment, -and who seated himself beside -me as quietly as if he had been reposing -on the most luxurious sofa that ever was -arrayed by the fingers of voluptuousness. -My senses were so bewildered, my mind -so disarranged, that I can hardly remember -his conversation. Part of it ran thus: -“You are a prisoner of the Inquisition. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_291" title="291"> </a> -The holy office, no doubt, is instituted -for wise purposes, beyond the cognizance -of sinful beings like us; but, as far as we -can judge, its prisoners are not only insensible -of, but shamefully ungrateful for, the -benefits they might derive from its provident -vigilance. For instance, you, who -are accused of sorcery, fratricide, and -plunging an illustrious and affectionate family -in despair, by your atrocious misconduct, -and who are now fortunately restrained -from farther outrages against nature, -religion, and society, by your salutary -confinement here;—you, I venture to -say, are so unconscious of these blessings, -that it is your earnest desire to escape from -the further enjoyment of them. In a -word, I am convinced that the secret wish -of your heart (unconverted by all the profusion -of charity which has been heaped -on you by the holy office) is not on any -account to increase the burden of your obligation -to them, but, on the contrary, to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_292" title="292"> </a> -diminish as much as possible the grief -these worthy persons must feel, as long as -your residence pollutes their holy walls, -by abridging its period, even long before -they intend you should do so. Your wish -is to escape from the prison of the holy -office, if possible,—you know it is.” I did -not answer a word. I felt a terror at this -wild and fierce irony,—I felt a terror at -the mention of escape, (I had fatal reasons -for this feeling),—a terror of every thing, -and every one near me, indescribable. I -believed myself tottering on a narrow -ridge,—an Al-araf, between the alternate -gulphs which the infernal spirit and the -Inquisition (not less dreaded) disclosed on -each side of my trembling march. I compressed -my lips,—I hardly suffered my -breath to escape.</p> - -<p>“The speaker went on. “With regard -to your escape, though I can promise that -to you, (and that is what no <em>human power</em> -can promise you), you must be aware of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_293" title="293"> </a> -the difficulty which will attend it,—and, -should that difficulty terrify you, will you -hesitate?” Still I was silent;—my visitor -perhaps took this for the silence of doubt. -He went on. “Perhaps you think that -your lingering here, amid the dungeons of -the Inquisition, will infallibly secure your -salvation. There is no error more absurd, -and yet more rooted in the heart of man, -than the belief that his sufferings will promote -his spiritual safety.” Here I thought -myself safe in rejoining, that I felt,—I -trusted, my sufferings here would indeed -be accepted as a partial mitigation of my -well-merited punishment hereafter. I acknowledged -my many errors,—I professed -myself as penitent for my misfortunes as -if they had been crimes; and the energy -of my grief combining with the innocence -of my heart, I commended myself to the -Almighty with an unction I really felt,—I -called on the names of God, the Saviour, -and the Virgin, with the earnest supplication -of sincere devoutness. When I had -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_294" title="294"> </a> -risen from my knees, my visitor had retired. * * * -* * * *</p> - -<p>“Examination followed examination before -the judges, with a rapidity unexampled -in the annals of the Inquisition. -Alas! that they should be <em>annals</em>,—that -they should be more than records of <em>one -day</em> of abuse, oppression, falsehood, and -torture. At my next examination before -the judges, I was interrogated according to -the usual forms, and afterwards was led, -by questions as artfully constructed, as if -there was any necessity for art to lead me, -to speak to the question on which I longed -to disburden myself. The moment the -subject was mentioned, I entered on my -narrative with an eagerness of sincerity -that would have undeceived any but Inquisitors. -I announced that I had received -another visit from this unknown being. -I repeated, with breathless and trembling -eagerness, every word of our late conference. -I did not suppress a syllable of the -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_295" title="295"> </a> -insults on the holy office, the wild and -fiend-like acrimony of his satire, the avowed -atheism, the diabolism of his conversation,—I -dwelt on every particular. I -hoped to <em>make merit</em> with the Inquisition, -by accusing their enemy, and that -of mankind. Oh! there is no telling the -agony of zeal with which we work between -two mortal adversaries, hoping to -make a friend of one of them! I had suffered -enough already from the Inquisition, -but at this moment I would have crouched -at the knees of the Inquisitors,—I would -have pleaded for the place of the meanest -official in their prison,—I would have supplicated -for the loathsome office of their executioner,—I -would have encountered any -thing that the Inquisition could inflict, to -be spared the horror of being imagined the -ally of the enemy of souls. To my distraction, -I perceived that every word I uttered, -in all the agony of truth,—in all the -hopeless eloquence of a soul struggling -with the fiends who are bearing it beyond -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_296" title="296"> </a> -the reach of mercy, was disregarded. The -judges appeared struck, indeed, by the -earnestness with which I spoke. They -gave, for a moment, a kind of instinctive -credit to my words, extorted by terror; -but, a moment after, I could perceive that -<em>I</em>, and not my communication, was the -object of that terror. They seemed to -view me through a distorting atmosphere -of mystery and suspicion. They urged -me, over and over again, for further particulars,—for -ulterior circumstances,—for -something that was in <em>their</em> minds, but -not in mine. The more pains they took -to construct their questions skilfully, the -more unintelligible they became to me. -I had told all I knew, I was anxious to -tell all, but I could not tell more than I -knew, and the agony of my solicitude to -meet the object of the judges, was aggravated -in proportion to my ignorance of -it. On being remanded to my cell, I -was warned, in the most solemn manner, -that if I neglected to watch, remember, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_297" title="297"> </a> -and report every word uttered by the extraordinary -being, whose visits they tacitly -acknowledged they could neither prevent -or detect, I might expect the utmost severity -of the holy office. I promised all -this,—all that could be demanded, and, -finally, as the last proof I could give of -my sincerity, I implored that some one -might be allowed to pass the night in my -cell,—or, if that was contrary to the rules -of the Inquisition, that one of the guard -might be stationed in the passage communicating -with my cell, to whom I could, -by a signal agreed on, intimate when this -nameless being burst on me, and his impious -intrusion might be at once detected -and punished. In speaking thus, I was -indulged with a privilege very unusual in -the Inquisition, where the prisoner is only -to answer questions, but never to speak -unless when called on. My proposal, -however, caused some consultation; and it -was with horror I found, on its termination, -that not one of the officials, even -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_298" title="298"> </a> -under the discipline of the Inquisition, -would undertake the task of watching at -the door of <em>my</em> cell.</p> - -<p>“I went back to it in an agony inexpressible. -The more I had laboured to -clear myself, the more I had become involved. -My only resource and consolation -was in a determination to obey, to -the strictest letter, the injunctions of the -Inquisition. I kept myself studiously -awake,—<em>he</em> came not all that night. Towards -the morning I slept,—Oh what a -sleep was mine!—the genii, or the demons -of the place, seemed busy in the dream -that haunted me. I am convinced that -a real victim of an <i>auto da fe</i> (so called) -never suffered more during his horrible -procession to flames temporal and eternal, -than I did during that dream. I dreamed -that the judgement had passed,—the bell -had tolled,—and we marched out from the -prison of the Inquisition;—my crime was -proved, and my sentence determined, as -an apostate monk and a <em>diabolical</em> heretic. -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_299" title="299"> </a> -The procession commenced,—the Dominicans -went first, then followed the penitents, -arms and feet bare, each hand holding -a wax taper, some with <i>san benitos</i>, -some without, all pale, haggard, and breathless, -the hue of their faces frightfully resembling -that of their clay-coloured arms -and feet. Then followed those who had -on their black dresses the <i>fuego revolto</i><a name="FootnoteMarker_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="footnote-marker">(11)</a>. -Then followed—I saw <em>myself</em>; and this -horrid tracing of yourself in a dream,—this -haunting of yourself by your own -spectre, while you still live, is perhaps -a curse almost equal to your crimes visiting -you in the punishments of eternity. -I saw myself in the garment of condemnation, -<em>the flames pointing upwards</em>, -while the demons painted on my dress -were mocked by the demons who beset -my feet, and hovered round my temples. -The Jesuits on each side of me, urged me -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_300" title="300"> </a> -to consider the difference between these -painted fires, and those which were about -to enwrap my writhing soul for an eternity -of ages. All the bells of Madrid seemed -to be ringing in my ears. There was -no light but a dull twilight, such as one -always sees in his sleep, (no man ever -dreamed of sun-light);—there was a dim -and smoky blaze of torches in my eyes, -whose flames were soon to <em>be in my eyes</em>. -I saw the stage before me,—I was chained -to the chair, amid the ringing of bells, the -preaching of the Jesuits, and the shouts -of the multitude. A splendid amphitheatre -stood opposite,—the king and -queen of Spain, and all the nobility and -hierarchy of the land, were there to see -us burn. Our thoughts in dreams wander; -I had heard a story of an <i>auto da fe</i>, -where a young Jewess, not sixteen, doomed -to be burnt alive, had prostrated herself -before the queen, and exclaimed, “Save -me,—save me, do not let me burn, my -only crime is believing in the God of my -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_301" title="301"> </a> -fathers;”—the queen (I believe Elizabeth -of France, wife of Philip) wept, but -the procession went on. Something like -this crossed my dream. I saw the supplicant -rejected; the next moment the figure was -that of my brother Juan, who clung to me, -shrieking, “Save me, save me.” The next -moment I was chained to my chair again,—the -fires were lit, the bells rang out, the -litanies were sung;—my feet were scorched -to a cinder,—my muscles cracked, my -blood and marrow hissed, my flesh consumed -like shrinking leather,—the bones -of my legs hung two black withering -and moveless sticks in the ascending blaze;—it -ascended, caught my hair,—I was -crowned with fire,—my head was a ball of -molten metal, my eyes flashed and melted -in their sockets;—I opened my mouth, it -drank fire,—I closed it, the fire was within,—and -still the bells rung on, and the -crowd shouted, and the king and queen, -and all the nobility and priesthood, looked -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_302" title="302"> </a> -on, and we burned, and burned!—I was -a cinder body and soul in my dream.</p> - -<p>“I awoke from it with the horrible exclamation—ever -shrieked, never heard—of -those wretches, when the fires are -climbing fast and fell,—<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Misericordia por -amor di Dios!</i> My own screams awoke -me,—I was in my prison, and beside me -stood the tempter. With an impulse I -could not resist,—an impulse borrowed -from the horrors of my dream, I flung -myself at his feet, and called on him to -“save me.”</p> - -<p>“I know not, Sir, nor is it a problem to be -solved by human intellect, whether this inscrutable -being had not the power to influence -my dreams, and dictate to a tempting -demon the images which had driven me to -fling myself at his feet for hope and safety. -However it was, he certainly took advantage -of my agony, half-visionary, half-real -as it was, and, while proving to me that he -had the power of effecting my escape from -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_303" title="303"> </a> -the Inquisition, proposed to me that incommunicable -condition which I am forbid -to reveal, except in the act of confession.”</p> - -<p>Here Melmoth could not forbear remembering -the <em>incommunicable condition</em> -proposed to Stanton in the mad-house,—he -shuddered, and was silent. The Spaniard -went on.</p> - -<p>“At my next examination, the questions -were more eager and earnest than -ever, and I was more anxious to be heard -than questioned; so, in spite of the eternal -circumspection and formality of an inquisitorial -examination, we soon came to -understand each other. I had an object -to gain, and they had nothing to lose by -my gaining that object. I confessed, without -hesitation, that I had received another -visit from that most mysterious being, -who could penetrate the recesses of the Inquisition, -without either its leave or prevention, -(the judges trembled on their -seats, as I uttered these words);—that I -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_304" title="304"> </a> -was most willing to disclose all that had -transpired at our last conference, but that -I required to first confess to a priest, and -receive absolution. This, though quite -contrary to the rules of the Inquisition, -was, on this extraordinary occasion, complied -with. A black curtain was dropt -before one of the recesses; I knelt down -before a priest, and confided to him that -tremendous secret, which, according to -the rules of the Catholic church, can -never be disclosed by the confessor but -to the Pope. I do not understand how -the business was managed, but I was -called on to repeat the same confession -before the Inquisitors. I repeated it -word for word, saving only the words -that my oath, and my consciousness of -the holy secret of confession, forbade -me to disclose. The sincerity of this confession, -I thought, would have worked -a miracle for me,—and so it did, but not -the miracle that I expected. They required -from me that incommunicable secret; -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_305" title="305"> </a> -I announced it was in the bosom of -the priest to whom I had confessed. They -whispered, and seemed to debate about the -torture.</p> - -<p>“At this time, as may be supposed, I -cast an anxious and miserable look round -the apartment, where the large crucifix, -thirteen feet high, stood bending above -the seat of the Supreme. At this moment -I saw a person seated at the table -covered with black cloth, intensely busy -as a secretary, or person employed in taking -down the depositions of the accused. -As I was led near the table, this person -flashed a look of recognition on me,—he -was my dreaded companion,—he was an -official now of the Inquisition. I gave all -up the moment I saw his ferocious and -lurking scowl, like that of the tiger before -he springs from his jungle, or the wolf -from his den. This person threw on me -looks, from time to time, which I could -not mistake, and I dared not interpret;—and -I had reason to believe that the tremendous -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_306" title="306"> </a> -sentence pronounced against me, -issued, if not from his lips, at least from -his dictation.—“You, Alonzo di Monçada, -monk, professed of the order of <span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>, -accused of the crimes of heresy, apostacy, -fratricide, (“Oh no,—no!” I shrieked, but -no one heeded me), and conspiracy with -the enemy of mankind against the peace -of the community in which you professed -yourself a votary of God, and against the -authority of the holy office; accused, -moreover, of intercourse in your cell, the -prison of the holy office, with an infernal -messenger of the foe of God, man, and -your own apostatized soul; condemned on -your own confession of the infernal spirit -having had access to your cell,—are hereby -delivered to<span style="white-space: nowrap;">——</span>”</p> - -<p>“I heard no more. I exclaimed, but -my voice was drowned in the murmur of -the officials. The crucifix suspended behind -the chair of the judge, rocked and -reeled before my eyes; the lamp that hung -from the ceiling, seemed to send forth -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_307" title="307"> </a> -twenty lights. I held up my hands in -abjuration—they were held down by stronger -hands. I tried to speak—my mouth -was stopped. I sunk on my knees—on -my knees I was about to be dragged away, -when an aged Inquisitor giving a sign to -the officials, I was released for a few moments, -and he addressed me in these words—words -rendered terrible by the sincerity -of the speaker. From his age, from his -sudden interposition, I had expected mercy. -He was a very old man—he had been -blind for twenty years; and as he rose to -speak my malediction, my thoughts wandered -from Appius Claudius of Rome,—blessing -the loss of sight, that saved -him from beholding the disgrace of his -country,—to that blind chief Inquisitor -of Spain, who assured Philip, that in -sacrificing his son, he imitated the Almighty, -who had sacrificed his Son also -for the salvation of mankind.—Horrid -profanation! yet striking application to -the bosom of a Catholic. The words of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_308" title="308"> </a> -the Inquisitor were these: “Wretch, apostate, -and excommunicate, I bless God -that these withered balls can no longer behold -you. The demon has haunted you -from your birth—you were born in sin—fiends -rocked your cradle, and dipt -their talons in the holy font, while they -mocked the sponsors of your unsanctified -baptism. Illegitimate and accursed, -you were always the burden of the holy -church; and now, the infernal spirit comes -to claim his own, and you acknowledge -him as your lord and master. He has -sought and sealed you as his own, even amid -the prison of the Inquisition. Begone, -accursed, we deliver you over to the secular -arm, praying that it may deal with you -not too severely.” At these terrible words, -whose meaning I understood but too well, -I uttered one shriek of agony—the only -<em>human</em> sound ever heard within the walls -of the Inquisition. But I was borne away; -and that cry into which I had thrown -the whole strength of nature, was heeded -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_309" title="309"> </a> -no more than a cry from the torture room. -On my return to my cell, I felt convinced -the whole was a scheme of inquisitorial -art, to involve me in self-accusation, (their -constant object when they can effect it), -and punish me for a crime, while I was -guilty only of an extorted confession.</p> - -<p>“With compunction and anguish unutterable, -I execrated my own beast-like -and credulous stupidity. Could any but -an idiot, a driveller, have been the victim -of such a plot? Was it in nature to believe -that the prisons of the Inquisition -could be traversed at will by a stranger -whom no one could discover or apprehend? -That such a being could enter cells impervious -to human power, and hold conversation -with the prisoners at his pleasure—appear -and disappear—insult, ridicule, and -blaspheme—propose escape, and point out -the means with a precision and facility, -that must be the result of calm and profound -calculation—and this within the walls -of the Inquisition, almost in the hearing of -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_310" title="310"> </a> -the judges—actually in the hearing of the -guards, who night and day paced the passages -with sleepless and inquisitorial vigilance?—ridiculous, -monstrous, impossible! -it was all a plot to betray me to self-condemnation. -My visitor was an agent and -accomplice of the Inquisition, and I was -my own betrayer and executioner. Such -was my conclusion; and, hopeless as it was, -it certainly seemed probable.</p> - -<p>“I had now nothing to await but the -most dreadful of all destinations, amid the -darkness and silence of my cell, where the -total suspension of the stranger’s visits confirmed -me every hour in my conviction of -their nature and purport, when an event -occurred, whose consequences alike defeated -fear, hope, and calculation. This was -the great fire that broke out within the -walls of the Inquisition, about the close of -the last century.</p> - -<p>“It was on the night of the 29th November -17—, that this extraordinary circumstance -took place—extraordinary from -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_311" title="311"> </a> -the well-known precautions adopted by -the vigilance of the holy office against -such an accident, and also from the very -small quantity of fuel consumed within its -walls. On the first intimation that the fire -was spreading rapidly, and threatened danger, -the prisoners were ordered to be -brought from their cells, and guarded in -a court of the prison. I must acknowledge -we were treated with great humanity -and consideration. We were conducted -deliberately from our cells, placed each -of us between two guards, who did us no -violence, nor used harsh language, but assured -us, from time to time, that if the -danger became imminent, we would be -permitted every fair opportunity to effect -our escape. It was a subject worthy of -the pencil of Salvator Rosa, or of Murillo, -to sketch us as we stood. Our dismal garbs -and squalid looks, contrasted with the equally -dark, but imposing and authoritative -looks of the guards and officials, all displayed -by the light of torches, which burned, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_312" title="312"> </a> -or appeared to burn, fainter and fainter, -as the flames rose and roared in triumph -above the towers of the Inquisition. -The heavens were all on fire—and the torches, -held no longer in firm hands, gave a -tremulous and pallid light. It seemed to -me like a wildly painted picture of the -last day. God appeared descending in the -light that enveloped the skies—and we -stood pale and shuddering in the light below.</p> - -<p>“Among the groupe of prisoners, there -were fathers and sons, who perhaps had -been inmates of adjacent cells for years, -without being conscious of each others vicinity -or existence—but they did not dare -to recognize each other. Was not this like -the day of judgement, where similar mortal -relations may meet under different classes -of the sheep and goats, without presuming -to acknowledge the strayed one amid -the flock of a different shepherd? There -were also parents and children who <em>did</em> recognize -and stretch out their wasted arms -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_313" title="313"> </a> -to each other, though feeling they must -never meet,—some of them condemned to -the flames, some to imprisonment, and -some to the official duties of the Inquisition, -as a mitigation of their sentence,—and -was not this like the day of judgement, -where parent and child may be allotted -different destinations, and the arms -that would attest the last proof of mortal -affection, are expanded in vain over the -gulph of eternity. Behind and around us -stood the officials and guards of the -Inquisition, all watching and intent on -the progress of the flames, but fearless -of the result with regard to themselves. -Such may be the feeling of those spirits -who watch the doom of the Almighty, -and know the destination of those they -are appointed to watch. And is not this -like the day of judgement? Far, far, above -us, the flames burst out in volumes, -in solid masses of fire, spiring up to the -burning heavens. The towers of the Inquisition -shrunk into cinders—that tremendous -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_314" title="314"> </a> -monument of the power, and -crime, and gloom of the human mind, was -wasting like a scroll in the fire. Will it -not be thus also at the day of judgement? -Assistance was slowly brought—Spaniards -are very indolent—the engines played imperfectly—the -danger increased—the fire -blazed higher and higher—the persons -employed to work the engines, paralyzed -by terror, fell to the ground, and called on -every saint they could think of, to arrest -the progress of the flames. Their exclamations -were so loud and earnest, that -really the saints must have been deaf, or -must have felt a particular predilection for -a conflagration, not to attend to them. -However it was, the fire went on. Every -bell in Madrid rang out.—Orders were issued -to every <ins title="Alcaide">Alcalde</ins> to be had.—The -king of Spain himself, (<a name="FootnoteMarker_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="footnote-marker">(12)</a>after a hard day’s -shooting), attended in person. The churches -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_315" title="315"> </a> -were all lit up, and thousands of the devout -supplicated on their knees by torchlight, -or whatever light they could get, -that the reprobate souls confined in the -Inquisition might feel the fires that were -consuming its walls, as merely a slight -foretaste of the fires that glowed for them -for ever and ever. The fire went on, doing -its dreadful work, and heeding kings -and priests no more than if they were firemen. -I am convinced twenty able men, -accustomed to such business, could have -quenched the fire; but when our workmen -should have played their engines, -they were all on their knees.</p> - -<p>“The flames at last began to descend -into the court. Then commenced a scene -of horror indescribable. The wretches -who had been doomed to the flames, imagined -their hour was come. Idiots from -long confinement, and submissive as the -holy office could require, they became delirious -as they saw the flames approaching, -and shrieked audibly, “Spare me—spare -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_316" title="316"> </a> -me—put me to as little torture as you -can.” Others, kneeling to the approaching -flames, invoked them as saints. They -dreamt they saw the visions they had -worshipped,—the holy angels, and even -the blessed virgin, descending in flames to -receive their souls as parting from the -stake; and they howled out their allelujahs -half in horror, half in hope. Amid this -scene of distraction, the Inquisitors stood -their ground. It was admirable to see -their firm and solemn array. As the -flames prevailed, they never faultered -with foot, or gave a sign with hand, or -winked with eye;—their duty, their stern -and heartless duty, seemed to be the only -principle and motive of their existence. -They seemed a phalanx clad in iron impenetrable. -When the fires roared, they -crossed themselves calmly;—when the prisoners -shrieked, they gave a signal for silence;—when -they dared to pray, they tore -them from their knees, and hinted the -inutility of prayer at such a juncture, -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_317" title="317"> </a> -when they might be sure that the flames -they were deprecating would burn hotter -in a region from which there was neither -escape or hope of departure. At this moment, -while standing amid the groupe of -prisoners, my eyes were struck by an extraordinary -spectacle. Perhaps it is amid -the moments of despair, that imagination -has most power, and they who have suffered, -can best describe and feel. In the -burning light, the steeple of the Dominican -church was as visible as at noon-day. -It was close to the prison of the Inquisition. -The night was intensely dark, but -so strong was the light of the conflagration, -that I could see the spire blazing, -from the reflected lustre, like a meteor. -The hands of the clock were as visible as -if a torch was held before them; and this -calm and silent progress of time, amid the -tumultuous confusion of midnight horrors,—this -scene of the physical and mental -world in an agony of fruitless and incessant -motion, might have suggested a profound -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_318" title="318"> </a> -and singular image, had not my -whole attention been rivetted to a human -figure placed on a pinnacle of the spire, -and surveying the scene in perfect tranquillity. -It was a figure not to be mistaken—it -was the figure of him who had -visited me in the cells of the Inquisition. -The hopes of my justification made me -forget every thing. I called aloud on -the guard, and pointed out the figure, visible -as it was in that strong light to every -eye. No one had time, however, to give -a glance towards it. At that very moment, -the archway of the court opposite -to us gave way, and sunk in ruins at our -feet, dashing, as it fell, an ocean of flame -against us. One wild shriek burst from -every lip at that moment. Prisoners, -guards, and Inquisitors, all shrunk together, -mingled in one groupe of terror.</p> - -<p>“The next instant, the flames being -suppressed by the fall of such a mass of -stone, there arose such a blinding cloud of -smoke and dust, that it was impossible to -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_319" title="319"> </a> -distinguish the face or figure of those who -were next you. The confusion was increased -by the contrast of this sudden -darkness, to the intolerable light that had -been drying up our sight for the last hour, -and by the cries of those who, being near -the arch, lay maimed and writhing under -its fragments. Amid shrieks, and darkness, -and flames, a space lay open before -me. The thought, the motion, were simultaneous—no -one saw—no one pursued;—and -hours before my absence could -be discovered, or an inquiry be made -after me, I had struggled safe and secret -through the ruins, and was in the streets -of Madrid.</p> - -<p>“To those who have escaped present -and extreme peril, all other peril seems -trifling. The wretch who has swum from -a wreck cares not on what shore he is cast; -and though Madrid was in fact only a wider -prison of the Inquisition to me, in knowing -that I was no longer in the hands of the -officials, I felt a delirious and indefinite -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_320" title="320"> </a> -consciousness of safety. Had I reflected -for a moment, I must have known, that -my peculiar dress and <em>bare feet</em> must betray -me wherever I went. The conjuncture, -however, was very favourable to me—the -streets were totally deserted;—every inhabitant -who was not in bed, or bed-rid, was -in the churches, deprecating the wrath of -heaven, and praying for the extinction of -the flames.</p> - -<p>“I ran on, I know not where, till I -could run no longer. The pure air, which -I had been so long unaccustomed to breathe, -acted like the most torturing spicula on -my throat and lungs as I flew along, and -utterly deprived me of the power of respiration, -which at first it appeared to restore. -I saw a building near me, whose large -doors were open. I rushed in—it was a -church. I fell on the pavement panting. -It was the aisle into which I had burst—it -was separated from the chancel by large -grated railings. Within I could see the -priests at the altar, by the lamps recently -<a class="pagenum" name="Page_321" title="321"> </a> -and rarely lighted, and a few trembling -devotees on their knees, in the body of the -chancel. There was a strong contrast between -the glare of the lamps within the -chancel, and the faint light that trembled -through the windows of the aisle, scarcely -showing me the monuments, on one of -which I leaned to rest my throbbing temples -for a moment. I could not rest—I -dared not—and rising, I cast an involuntary -glance on the inscription which the -monument bore. The light appeared to -increase maliciously, to aid my powers of -vision. I read, “Orate pro anima.” I -at last came to the name—“Juan di Monçada.” -I flew from the spot as if pursued -by demons—my brother’s early grave had -been my resting place.</p> - -<p class="end">END OF VOLUME SECOND.</p> - - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_1" href="#FootnoteMarker_1" class="label">(1)</a> -Vide Mosheim’s Ecclesiastical History for the -truth of this part of the narrative. I have suppressed -circumstances in the original too horrible for modern -ears. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_2" href="#FootnoteMarker_2" class="label">(2)</a> -This expression is not exaggerated. In the -dreams of sorcery, or of imposture, the evil spirit -was supposed to perform a mass in derision; and in -Beaumont and Fletcher there is mention of “<em>howling -a black Santis</em>,” <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i> Satan’s mass. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_3" href="#FootnoteMarker_3" class="label">(3)</a> -We do not venture to guess at the <em>horrors</em> of -this whisper, but every one conversant with ecclesiastical -history knows, that <em>Tetzel</em> offered indulgences -in Germany, even on the condition that the sinner -had been guilty of the <em>impossible</em> crime of violating -the mother of <ins title="God">God.</ins> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_4" href="#FootnoteMarker_4" class="label">(4)</a> -Something between a bully and a rake. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_5" href="#FootnoteMarker_5" class="label">(5)</a> -Vide Moore’s View of France and Italy. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_6" href="#FootnoteMarker_6" class="label">(6)</a> -Fact,—me ipso teste. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_7" href="#FootnoteMarker_7" class="label">(7)</a> -Vide Charlevoix’s History of Paraguay. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_8" href="#FootnoteMarker_8" class="label">(8)</a> -This is a fact well established. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_9" href="#FootnoteMarker_9" class="label">(9)</a> -I have read this somewhere, but cannot believe -it. Coaches are mentioned by Beaumont and -Fletcher, and even glass-coaches by Butler, in his -“Remains.” -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_10" href="#FootnoteMarker_10" class="label">(10)</a> -This circumstance is related, I believe, in the -Jewish Spy. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_11" href="#FootnoteMarker_11" class="label">(11)</a> -<em>Flames reversed</em>, intimating that the criminal is -not to be burned. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_12" href="#FootnoteMarker_12" class="label">(12)</a> -The passion of the late king of Spain for field -sports was well known. -</p> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="transcribers-note page-break-after"> -<p class="center"><a name="tn-bottom"></a><b>Transcriber’s Note:</b></p> -<p>The following is a list of corrections made to the original. The -first passage is the original passage, the second the corrected one.</p> - -<ul id="corrections"> -<li><a href="#Page_8">Page 8</a>:<br /> -to all <span class="correction">eternity.</span> I tried to pacify<br /> -to all <span class="correction">eternity.”</span> I tried to pacify -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_22">Page 22</a>:<br /> -horrible. <span class="correction">“I</span> walked up and down, I repeated<br /> -horrible. <span class="correction">I</span> walked up and down, I repeated -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_63">Page 63</a>:<br /> -<span class="correction">It</span> was noon before I could work myself<br /> -<span class="correction">“It</span> was noon before I could work myself -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_87">Page 87</a>:<br /> -visitation, as he called it. <span class="correction">Satan</span> hath<br /> -visitation, as he called it. <span class="correction">“Satan</span> hath -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_87">Page 87</a>:<br /> -desired to have <span class="correction">you,</span> he said, <span class="correction">because</span> you<br /> -desired to have <span class="correction">you,”</span> he said, <span class="correction">“because</span> you -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_93">Page 93</a>:<br /> -<span class="correction">The</span> Superior all this time walked impatiently<br /> -<span class="correction">“The</span> Superior all this time walked impatiently -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_97">Page 97</a>:<br /> -“If they tremble, I may <span class="correction">exult.</span><br /> -“If they tremble, I may <span class="correction">exult.”</span> -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_109">Page 109</a>:<br /> -paused. An appeal to his <span class="correction">fealings</span> would<br /> -paused. An appeal to his <span class="correction">feelings</span> would -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_141">Page 141</a>:<br /> -lamp in my <span class="correction">ce </span>, and went to watch again<br /> -lamp in my <span class="correction">cell</span>, and went to watch again -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_199">Page 199</a>:<br /> -cut their <span class="correction">parents</span> hearts or their throats.<br /> -cut their <span class="correction">parents’</span> hearts or their throats. -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_210">Page 210</a>:<br /> -should undergo what they called <span class="correction">extraorordinary</span><br /> -should undergo what they called <span class="correction">extraordinary</span> -</li> -<li><a href="#Page_314">Page 314</a>:<br /> -to every <span class="correction">Alcaide</span> to be had.—The<br /> -to every <span class="correction">Alcalde</span> to be had.—The -</li> -<li><a href="#Footnote_3">Footnote 3:</a><br /> -the mother of <span class="correction">God</span><br /> -the mother of <span class="correction">God.</span> -</li> -</ul> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Melmoth the Wanderer Vol 2 (of 4), by -Charles Robert Maturin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELMOTH THE WANDERER VOL 2 (OF 4) *** - -***** This file should be named 53686-h.htm or 53686-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/6/8/53686/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Jana Srna and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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