the monk(僧侣)-第16章

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care。　　Ambrosio's　strength　worn　out　by　the　violence　of　his
exertions；　He　had　by　this　time　fallen　into　a　profound　sleep。　　So
totally　was　He　overcome　by　weariness；　that　He　scarcely　gave　any
signs　of　life；　He　was　still　in　this　situation；　when　the　Monks
returned　to　enquire　whether　any　change　had　taken　place。　　Pablos
loosened　the　bandage　which　concealed　the　wound；　more　from　a
principle　of　curiosity　than　from　indulging　the　hope　of
discovering　any　favourable　symptoms。　　What　was　his　astonishment
at　finding；　that　the　inflammation　had　totally　subsided！　　He
probed　the　hand；　His　Lancet　came　out　pure　and　unsullied；　No
traces　of　the　venom　were　perceptible；　and　had　not　the　orifice
still　been　visible；　Pablos　might　have　doubted　that　there　had　ever
been　a　wound。

He　communicated　this　intelligence　to　his　Brethren；　their　delight
was　only　equalled　by　their　surprize。　　From　the　latter　sentiment；
however；　they　were　soon　released　by　explaining　the　circumstance
according　to　their　own　ideas：　　They　were　perfectly　convinced　that
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