the monk(僧侣)-第12章

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their　Superior　was　a　Saint；　and　thought；　that　nothing　could　be
more　natural　than　for　St。　Francis　to　have　operated　a　miracle　in
his　favour。　　This　opinion　was　adopted　unanimously：　They　declared
it　so　loudly；　and　vociferated；'A　miracle！　a　miracle！'with
such　fervour；　that　they　soon　interrupted　Ambrosio's　slumbers。

The　Monks　immediately　crowded　round　his　Bed；　and　expressed　their
satisfaction　at　his　wonderful　recovery。　　He　was　perfectly　in　his
senses；　and　free　from　every　complaint　except　feeling　weak　and
languid。　　Pablos　gave　him　a　strengthening　medicine；　and　advised
his　keeping　his　bed　for　the　two　succeeding　days：　　He　then
retired；　having　desired　his　Patient　not　to　exhaust　himself　by
conversation；　but　rather　to　endeavour　at　taking　some　repose。　　The
other　Monks　followed　his　example；　and　the　Abbot　and　Rosario　were
left　without　Observers。

For　some　minutes　Ambrosio　regarded　his　Attendant　with　a　look　of
mingled　pleasure　and　apprehension。　　She　was　seated　upon　the　side
of　the　Bed；　her　head　bending　down；　and　as　usual　enveloped　in　the
Cowl　of　her　Habit。

'And　you　are　still　here；　Matilda？'　said　the　Friar　at　length。　
'Are　you　not　satisfied　with　having　so　nearly　effected　my
destruction；　that　nothing　but　a　miracle　could　have　saved　me　from
the　Grave？　　Ah！　surely　Heaven　sent　that　Serpent　to　punish。　。　。　。'

Matilda　interrupted　him　by　putting　her　hand　before　his　lips　with
an　air　of　gaiety。

'Hush！　Father；　Hush！　　You　must　not　talk！'

'He　who　imposed　that　order；　knew　not　how　interesting　are　the
subjects　on　which　I　wish　to　speak。'

'But　I　know　it；　and　yet　issue　the　same　positive　command。　　I　am
appointed　your　Nurse；　and　you　must　not　disobey　my　orders。'

'You　are　in　spirits；　Matilda！'

'Well　may　I　be　so：　　I　have　just　received　a　pleasure　unexampled
through　my　whole　life。'

'What　was　that　pleasure？'

'What　I　must　conceal　from　all；　but　most　from　you。'

'But　most　from　me？　　Nay　then；　I　entreat　you；　Matilda。　。　。　。'

'Hush；　Father！　　Hush！　　You　must　not　talk。　　But　as　you　do　not　seem
inclined　to　sleep；　shall　I　endeavour　to　amuse　you　with　my　Harp？'

'How？　　I　knew　not　that　you　understood　Music。'

'Oh！　I　am　a　sorry　Performer！　　Yet　as　silence　is　prescribed　you
for　eight　and　forty　hours；　I　may　possibly　entertain　you；　when
wearied　of　your　own　reflections。　　I　go　to　fetch　my　Harp。'

She　soon　returned　with　it。

'Now；　Father；　What　shall　I　sing？　　Will　you　hear　the　Ballad　which
treats　of　the　gallant　Durandarte；　who　died　in　the　famous　battle
of　Roncevalles？'

'What　you　please；　Matilda。'

'Oh！　call　me　not　Matilda！　　Call　me　Rosario；　call　me　your　Friend！　
Those　are　the　names；　which　I　love　to　hear　from　your　lips。　　Now
listen！'

She　then　tuned　her　harp；　and　afterwards　preluded　for　some　moments
with　such　exquisite　taste　as　to　prove　her　a　perfect　Mistress　of
the　Instrument。　　The　air　which　She　played　was　soft　and　plaintive：

Ambrosio；　while　He　listened；　felt　his　uneasiness　subside；　and　a
pleasing　melancholy　spread　itself　into　his　bosom。　　Suddenly
Matilda　changed　the　strain：　　With　an　hand　bold　and　rapid　She
struck　a　few　loud　martial　chords；　and　then　chaunted　the　following
Ballad　to　an　air　at　once　simple　and　melodious。

　DURANDARTE　AND　BELERMA

Sad　and　fearful　is　the　story　　
Of　the　Roncevalles　fight；　　
On　those　fatal　plains　of　glory　　
Perished　many　a　gallant　Knight。

There　fell　Durandarte；　Never　　
Verse　a　nobler　Chieftain　named：　
He；　before　his　lips　for　ever　　
Closed　in　silence　thus　exclaimed。

'Oh！　Belerma！　　Oh！　my　dear…one！　　
For　my　pain　and　pleasure　born！　
Seven　long　years　I　served　thee；　fair…one；　　
Seven　long　years　my　fee　was　scorn：

'And　when　now　thy　heart　replying　　
To　my　wishes；　burns　like　mine；　
Cruel　Fate　my　bliss　denying　　
Bids　me　every　hope　resign。

'Ah！　Though　young　I　fall；　believe　me；　　
Death　would　never　claim　a　sigh；　　
'Tis　to　lose　thee；　'tis　to　leave　thee；　　
Makes　me　think　it　hard　to　die！

'Oh！　my　Cousin　Montesinos；　　
By　that　friendship　firm　and　dear　
Which　from　Youth　has　lived　between　us；　　
Now　my　last　petition　hear！

'When　my　Soul　these　limbs　forsaking　　
Eager　seeks　a　purer　air；　
From　my　breast　the　cold　heart　taking；　　
Give　it　to　Belerma's　care。

Say；　I　of　my　lands　Possessor　　
Named　her　with　my　dying　breath：　
Say；　my　lips　I　op'd　to　bless　her；　　
Ere　they　closed　for　aye　in　death：

'Twice　a　week　too　how　sincerely　　
I　adored　her；　Cousin；　say；　
Twice　a　week　for　one　who　dearly　　
Loved　her；　Cousin；　bid　her　pray。

'Montesinos；　now　the　hour　　
Marked　by　fate　is　near　at　hand：　　
Lo！　my　arm　has　lost　its　power！　　
Lo！　I　drop　my　trusty　brand！

'Eyes；　which　forth　beheld　me　going；　　
Homewards　ne'er　shall　see　me　hie！　　
Cousin；　stop　those　tears　o'er…flowing；　　
Let　me　on　thy　bosom　die！

'Thy　kind　hand　my　eyelids　closing；　　
Yet　one　favour　I　implore：　
Pray　Thou　for　my　Soul's　reposing；　　
When　my　heart　shall　throb　no　more；

'So　shall　Jesus；　still　attending　　
Gracious　to　a　Christian's　vow；　
Pleased　accept　my　Ghost　ascending；　　
And　a　seat　in　heaven　allow。'

Thus　spoke　gallant　Durandarte；　　
Soon　his　brave　heart　broke　in　twain。　　
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　di