the monk(僧侣)-第15节

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Greatly　joyed　the　Moorish　party；　　
That　the　gallant　Knight　was　slain。

Bitter　weeping　Montesinos　　
Took　from　him　his　helm　and　glaive；　
Bitter　weeping　Montesinos　　
Dug　his　gallant　Cousin's　grave。

To　perform　his　promise　made；　He　　
Cut　the　heart　from　out　the　breast；　　
That　Belerma；　wretched　Lady！　　
Might　receive　the　last　bequest。

Sad　was　Montesinos'　heart；　He　　
Felt　distress　his　bosom　rend。　
'Oh！　my　Cousin　Durandarte；　　
Woe　is　me　to　view　thy　end！

'Sweet　in　manners；　fair　in　favour；　　
Mild　in　temper；　fierce　in　fight；　　
Warrior；　nobler；　gentler；　braver；　　
Never　shall　behold　the　light！

'Cousin；　Lo！　my　tears　bedew　thee！　　
How　shall　I　thy　loss　survive！　
Durandarte；　He　who　slew　thee；　　
Wherefore　left　He　me　alive！'

While　She　sung；　Ambrosio　listened　with　delight：　Never　had　He
heard　a　voice　more　harmonious；　and　He　wondered　how　such　heavenly
sounds　could　be　produced　by　any　but　Angels。　　But　though　He
indulged　the　sense　of　hearing；　a　single　look　convinced　him　that
He　must　not　trust　to　that　of　sight。　　The　Songstress　sat　at　a
little　distance　from　his　Bed。　　The　attitude　in　which　She　bent
over　her　harp；　was　easy　and　graceful：　　Her　Cowl　had　fallen　back…
warder　than　usual：　　Two　coral　lips　were　visible；　ripe；　fresh；　and
melting；　and　a　Chin　in　whose　dimples　seemed　to　lurk　a　thousand
Cupids。　　Her　Habit's　long　sleeve　would　have　swept　along　the
Chords　of　the　Instrument：　　To　prevent　this　inconvenience　She　had
drawn　it　above　her　elbow；　and　by　this　means　an　arm　was　discovered
formed　in　the　most　perfect　symmetry；　the　delicacy　of　whose　skin
might　have　contended　with　snow　in　whiteness。　　Ambrosio　dared　to
look　on　her　but　once：　　That　glance　sufficed　to　convince　him；　how
dangerous　was　the　presence　of　this　seducing　Object。　　He　closed
his　eyes；　but　strove　in　vain　to　banish　her　from　his　thoughts。　
There　She　still　moved　before　him；　adorned　with　all　those　charms
which　his　heated　imagination　could　supply：　　Every　beauty　which　He
had　seen；　appeared　embellished；　and　those　still　concealed　Fancy
represented　to　him　in　glowing　colours。　　Still；　however；　his　vows
and　the　necessity　of　keeping　to　them　were　present　to　his　memory。　
He　struggled　with　desire；　and　shuddered　when　He　beheld　how　deep
was　the　precipice　before　him。

Matilda　ceased　to　sing。　　Dreading　the　influence　of　her　charms；
Ambrosio　remained　with　his　eyes　closed；　and　offered　up　his
prayers　to　St。　Francis　to　assist　him　in　this　dangerous　trial！　
Matilda　believed　that　He　was　sleeping。　　She　rose　from　her　seat；
approached　the　Bed　softly；　and　for　some　minutes　gazed　upon　him
attentively。

'He　sleeps！'　said　She　at　length　in　a　low　voice；　but　whose　accents
the　Abbot　distinguished　perfectly；　'Now　then　I　may　gaze　upon　him
without　offence！　　I　may　mix　my　breath　with　his；　I　may　doat　upon
his　features；　and　He　cannot　suspect　me　of　impurity　and
deceit！He　fears　my　seducing　him　to　the　violation　of　his　vows！　
Oh！　the　Unjust！　　Were　it　my　wish　to　excite　desire；　should　I
conceal　my　features　from　him　so　carefully？　　Those　features；　of
which　I　daily　hear　him。　。　。　。'

She　stopped；　and　was　lost　in　her　reflections。

'It　was　but　yesterday！'　She　continued；　'But　a　few　short　hours
have　past；　since　I　was　dear　to　him！　　He　esteemed　me；　and　my　heart
was　satisfied！　　Now！。　。　。　　Oh！　now　how　cruelly　is　my　situation
changed！　　He　looks　on　me　with　suspicion！　　He　bids　me　leave　him；
leave　him　for　ever！　　Oh！　You；　my　Saint！　my　Idol！　　You；　holding
the　next　place　to　God　in　my　breast！　　Yet　two　days；　and　my　heart
will　be　unveiled　to　you。Could　you　know　my　feelings；　when　I
beheld　your　agony！　　Could　you　know；　how　much　your　sufferings　have
endeared　you　to　me！　　But　the　time　will　come；　when　you　will　be
convinced　that　my　passion　is　pure　and　disinterested。　　Then　you
will　pity　me；　and　feel　the　whole　weight　of　these　sorrows！'

As　She　said　this；　her　voice　was　choaked　by　weeping。　While　She
bent　over　Ambrosio；　a　tear　fell　upon　his　cheek。

'Ah！　　I　have　disturbed　him！'　cried　Matilda；　and　retreated
hastily。

Her　alarm　was　ungrounded。　　None　sleep　so　profoundly；　as　those　who
are　determined　not　to　wake。　　The　Friar　was　in　this　predicament：　
He　still　seemed　buried　in　a　repose；　which　every　succeeding　minute
rendered　him　less　capable　of　enjoying。　　The　burning　tear　had
communicated　its　warmth　to　his　heart。

'What　affection！　　What　purity！'　said　He　internally；　'Ah！　　since
my　bosom　is　thus　sensible　of　pity；　what　would　it　be　if　agitated
by　love？'

Matilda　again　quitted　her　seat；　and　retired　to　some　distance　from
the　Bed。　　Ambrosio　ventured　to　open　his　eyes；　and　to　cast　them
upon　her　fearfully。　　Her　face　was　turned　from　him。　　She　rested
her　head　in　a　melancholy　posture　upon　her　Harp；　and　gazed　on　the
picture　which　hung　opposite　to　the　Bed。

'Happy；　happy　Image！'　　Thus　did　She　address　the　beautiful　Madona；
'　'Tis　to　you　that　He　offers　his　prayers！　　'Tis　on　you　that　He
gazes　with　admiration！　　I　thought　you　would　have　lightened　my
sorrows；　You　have　only　served　to　increase　their　weight：　　You　have
made　me　feel　that　had　I　known　him　ere　his　vows　were　pronounced；
Ambrosio　and　happiness　might　have　been　mine。　　With　what　pleasure
He　views　this　picture！　　With　what　fervour　He　addresses　his
prayers　to　the　insensible　Image！　　Ah！　may　not　his　sentiments　be
inspired　by　some　kind　and　secret　Genius；　Friend　to　my　affection？　
May　it　not　be　Man's　natural　instinct　which　informs　him。　。　。　Be
silent；　idle　hopes！　　Let　me　not　encourage　an　idea　which　takes
from　the　brilliance　of　Ambrosio's　virtue。　　'Tis　Religion；　not
Beauty　which　attracts　his　admiration；　'Tis　not　to　the　Woman；　but
the　Divinity　that　He　kneels。　　Would　He　but　address　to　me　the
least　tender　expression　which　He　pours　forth　to　this　Madona！　
Would　He　but　say　that　were　He　not　already　affianced　to　the
Church；　He　would　not　have　despised　Matilda！　　Oh！　　let　me　nourish
that　fond　idea！　　Perhaps　He　may　yet　acknowledge　that　He　feels　for
me　more　than　pity；　and　that　affection　like　mine　might　well　have
deserved　a　return；　Perhaps；　He　may　own　thus　much　when　I　lye　on　my
deathbed！　　He　then　need　not　fear　to　infringe　his　vows；　and　the
confession　of　his　regard　will　soften　the　pangs　of　dying。　　Would　I
were　sure　of　this！　　Oh！　　how　earnestly　should　I　sigh　for　the
moment　of　dissolution！'

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

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

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

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

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