volume01-第8章

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on　presented　him　with　splendid　visions　of　aggrandizement。　　He　looked　round　him　with　exultation；　and　Pride　told　him　loudly　that　He　was　superior　to　the　rest　of　his　fellow…Creatures。

'Who；'　thought　He；　'Who　but　myself　has　passed　the　ordeal　of　Youth；　yet　sees　no　single　stain　upon　his　conscience？　　Who　else　has　subdued　the　violence　of　strong　passions　and　an　impetuous　temperament；　and　submitted　even　from　the　dawn　of　life　to　voluntary　retirement？　　I　seek　for　such　a　Man　in　vain。　　I　see　no　one　but　myself　possessed　of　such　resolution。　　Religion　cannot　boast　Ambrosio's　equal！　　How　powerful　an　effect　did　my　discourse　produce　upon　its　Auditors！　　How　they　crowded　round　me！　　How　they　loaded　me　with　benedictions；　and　pronounced　me　the　sole　uncorrupted　Pillar　of　the　Church！　　What　then　now　is　left　for　me　to　do？　　Nothing；　but　to　watch　as　carefully　over　the　conduct　of　my　Brothers　as　I　have　hitherto　watched　over　my　own。　　Yet　hold！　　May　I　not　be　tempted　from　those　paths　which　till　now　I　have　pursued　without　one　moment's　wandering？　　Am　I　not　a　Man；　whose　nature　is　frail；　and　prone　to　error？　　I　must　now　abandon　the　solitude　of　my　retreat；　The　fairest　and　noblest　Dames　of　Madrid　continually　present　themselves　at　the　Abbey；　and　will　use　no　other　Confessor。

I　must　accustom　my　eyes　to　Objects　of　temptation；　and　expose　myself　to　the　seduction　of　luxury　and　desire。　　Should　I　meet　in　that　world　which　I　am　constrained　to　enter　some　lovely　Female；　lovely　。　。　。　　as　you；　Madona。　。　。　。！'

As　He　said　this；　He　fixed　his　eyes　upon　a　picture　of　the　Virgin；　which　was　suspended　opposite　to　him：　　This　for　two　years　had　been　the　Object　of　his　increasing　wonder　and　adoration。　　He　paused；　and　gazed　upon　it　with　delight。

'What　Beauty　in　that　countenance！'　　He　continued　after　a　silence　of　some　minutes；　'How　graceful　is　the　turn　of　that　head！　　What　sweetness；　yet　what　majesty　in　her　divine　eyes！　　How　softly　her　cheek　reclines　upon　her　hand！　　Can　the　Rose　vie　with　the　blush　of　that　cheek？　　Can　the　Lily　rival　the　whiteness　of　that　hand？　Oh！　if　such　a　Creature　existed；　and　existed　but　for　me！　Were　I　permitted　to　twine　round　my　fingers　those　golden　ringlets；　and　press　with　my　lips　the　treasures　of　that　snowy　bosom！　　Gracious　God；　should　I　then　resist　the　temptation？　　Should　I　not　barter　for　a　single　embrace　the　reward　of　my　sufferings　for　thirty　years？　　Should　I　not　abandon。　。　。　。　　Fool　that　I　am！　　Whither　do　I　suffer　my　admiration　of　this　picture　to　hurry　me？　　Away；　impure　ideas！　　Let　me　remember　that　Woman　is　for　ever　lost　to　me。　　Never　was　Mortal　formed　so　perfect　as　this　picture。　But　even　did　such　exist；　the　trial　might　be　too　mighty　for　a　common　virtue；　but　Ambrosio's　is　proof　against　temptation。　　Temptation；　did　I　say？　　To　me　it　would　be　none。　　What　charms　me；　when　ideal　and　considered　as　a　superior　Being；　would　disgust　me；　become　Woman　and　tainted　with　all　the　failings　of　Mortality。　　It　is　not　the　Woman's　beauty　that　fills　me　with　such　enthusiasm；　It　is　the　Painter's　skill　that　I　admire；　it　is　the　Divinity　that　I　adore！　　Are　not　the　passions　dead　in　my　bosom？　　Have　I　not　freed　myself　from　the　frailty　of　Mankind？　　Fear　not；　Ambrosio！　　Take　confidence　in　the　strength　of　your　virtue。　　Enter　boldly　into　a　world　to　whose　failings　you　are　superior；　Reflect　that　you　are　now　exempted　from　Humanity's　defects；　and　defy　all　the　arts　of　the　Spirits　of　Darkness。　　They　shall　know　you　for　what　you　are！'

Here　his　Reverie　was　interrupted　by　three　soft　knocks　at　the　door　of　his　Cell。　　With　difficulty　did　the　Abbot　awake　from　his　delirium。　　The　knocking　was　repeated。

'Who　is　there？'　said　Ambrosio　at　length。

'It　is　only　Rosario；'　replied　a　gentle　voice。

'Enter！　　Enter；　my　Son！'

The　Door　was　immediately　opened；　and　Rosario　appeared　with　a　small　basket　in　his　hand。

Rosario　was　a　young　Novice　belonging　to　the　Monastery；　who　in　three　Months　intended　to　make　his　profession。　　A　sort　of　mystery　enveloped　this　Youth　which　rendered　him　at　once　an　object　of　interest　and　curiosity。　　His　hatred　of　society；　his　profound　melancholy；　his　rigid　observation　of　the　duties　of　his　order；　and　his　voluntary　seclusion　from　the　world　at　his　age　so　unusual；　attracted　the　notice　of　the　whole　fraternity。　　He　seemed　fearful　of　being　recognised；　and　no　one　had　ever　seen　his　face。　His　head　was　continually　muffled　up　in　his　Cowl；　Yet　such　of　his　features　as　accident　discovered；　appeared　the　most　beautiful　and　noble。　　Rosario　was　the　only　name　by　which　He　was　known　in　the　Monastery。

No　one　knew　from　whence　He　came；　and　when　questioned　in　the　subject　He　preserved　a　profound　silence。　　A　Stranger；　whose　rich　habit　and　magnificent　equipage　declared　him　to　be　of　distinguished　rank；　had　engaged　the　Monks　to　receive　a　Novice；　and　had　deposited　the　necessary　sums。　　The　next　day　He　returned　with　Rosario；　and　from　that　time　no　more　had　been　heard　of　him。

The　Youth　had　carefully　avoided　the　company　of　the　Monks：　　He　answered　their　civilities　with　sweetness；　but　reserve；　and　evidently　showed　that　his　inclination　led　him　to　solitude。　　To　this　general　rule　the　Superior　was　the　only　exception。　　To　him　He　looked　up　with　a　respect　approaching　idolatry：　　He　sought　his　company　with　the　most　attentive　assiduity；　and　eagerly　seized　every　means　to　ingratiate　himself　in　his　favour。　　In　the　Abbot's　society　his　Heart　seemed　to　be　at　ease；　and　an　air　of　gaiety　pervaded　his　whole　manners　and　discourse。　　Ambrosio　on　his　side　did　not　feel　less　attracted　towards　the　Youth；　With　him　alone　did　He　lay　aside　his　habitual　severity。　　When　He　spoke　to　him；　He　insensibly　assumed　a　tone　milder　than　was　usual　to　him；　and　no　voice　sounded　so　sweet　to　him　as　did　Rosario's。　　He　repayed　the　Youth's　attentions　by　instructing　him　in　various　sciences；　The　Novice　received　his　lessons　with　docility；　Ambrosio　was　every　day　more　charmed　with　the　vivacity　of　his　Genius；　the　simplicity　of　his　manners；　and　the　rectitude　of　his　heart：　　In　short　He　loved　him　with　all　the　affection　of　a　Father。　　He　could　not　help　sometimes　indulging　a　desire　secretly　to　see　the　face　of　his　Pupil；　But　his　rule　of　self…denial　extended　even　to　curiosity；　and　prevented　him　from　communicating　his　wishes　to　the　Youth。

'Pardon　my　intrusion；　Father；'　said　Rosario；　while　He　placed　his　basket　upon　the　Table；　'I　come　to　you　a　Suppliant。　　Hearing　that　a　dear　Friend　is　dangerously　ill；　I　entreat　your　prayers　for　his　recovery。　　If　supplications　can　prevail　upon　heaven　to　spare　him；　surely　yours　must　be　efficacious。'

'Whatever　depends　upon　me；　my　Son；　you　know　that　you　may　command。

What　is　your　Friend's　name？'

'Vincentio　della　Ronda。'

'　'Tis　sufficient。　　I　will　not　forget　him　in　my　prayers；　and　may　our　thrice…blessed　St。　Francis　deign　to　listen　to　my　intercession！What　have　you　in　your　basket；　Rosario？'

'A　few　of　those　flowers；　reverend　Father；　which　I　have　observed　to　be　most　acceptable　to　you。　　Will　you　permit　my　arranging　them　in　your　chamber？'

'Your　attentions　charm　me；　my　Son。'

While　Rosario　dispersed　the　contents　of　his　Basket　in　small　Vases　placed　for　that　purpose　in　various　parts　of　the　room；　the　Abbot　thus　continued　the　conversation。

'I　saw　you　not　in　the　Church　this　evening；　Rosario。'

'Yet　I　was　present；　Father。　　I　am　too　grateful　for　your　protection　to　lose　an　opportunity　of　witnessing　your　Triumph。'

'Alas！　Rosario；　I　have　but　little　cause　to　triumph：　　The　Saint　spoke　by　my　mouth；　To　him　belongs　all　the　merit。　It　seems　then　you　were　contented　with　my　discourse？'

'Contented；　say　you？　　Oh！　you　surpassed　yourself！　　Never　did　I　hear　such　eloquence　。　。　。　　save　once！'

Here　the　Novice　heaved　an　involuntary　sigh。

'When　was　that　once？'　demanded　the　Abbot。

'When　you　preached　upon　the　sudden　indisposition　of　our　late　Superior。'

'I　remember　it：　　That　is　more　than　two　years　ago。　　And　were　you　present？　　I　knew　you　not　at　that　time；　Rosario。'

'　'Tis　true；　Father；　and　would　to　God！　I　had　expired；　ere　I　beheld　that　day！　　What　sufferings；　what　sorrows　should　I　have　escaped！'

'Sufferings　at　your　age；　Rosario？'

'Aye；　Father；　Sufferings；　which　if　known　to　you；　would　equally　raise　your　anger　and　compassion！　　Sufferings；　which　form　at　once　the　torment　and　pleasure　of　my　existence！　　Yet　in　this　retreat　my　bosom　would　feel　tranquil；　were　it　no