volume01-第7部分

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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　not　for　the　tortures　of　apprehension。　　Oh　God！　　Oh　God！　how　cruel　is　a　life　of　fear！Father！　I　have　given　up　all；　I　have　abandoned　the　world　and　its　delights　for　ever：　　Nothing　now　remains；　Nothing　now　has　charms　for　me；　but　your　friendship；　but　your　affection。　　If　I　lose　that；　Father！　　Oh！　if　I　lose　that；　tremble　at　the　effects　of　my　despair！'

'You　apprehend　the　loss　of　my　friendship？　　How　has　my　conduct　justified　this　fear？　　Know　me　better；　Rosario；　and　think　me　worthy　of　your　confidence。　　What　are　your　sufferings？　　Reveal　them　to　me；　and　believe　that　if　'tis　in　my　power　to　relieve　them。　。　。　。'

'Ah！　'tis　in　no　one's　power　but　yours。　　Yet　I　must　not　let　you　know　them。　　You　would　hate　me　for　my　avowal！　　You　would　drive　me　from　your　presence　with　scorn　and　ignominy！'

'My　Son；　I　conjure　you！　　I　entreat　you！'

'For　pity's　sake；　enquire　no　further！　　I　must　not　。　。　。　　I　dare　not　。　。　。　　Hark！　　The　Bell　rings　for　Vespers！　　Father；　your　benediction；　and　I　leave　you！'

As　He　said　this；　He　threw　himself　upon　his　knees　and　received　the　blessing　which　He　demanded。　　Then　pressing　the　Abbot's　hand　to　his　lips；　He　started　from　the　ground　and　hastily　quitted　the　apartment。　　Soon　after　Ambrosio　descended　to　Vespers　（which　were　celebrated　in　a　small　chapel　belonging　to　the　Abbey）；　filled　with　surprise　at　the　singularity　of　the　Youth's　behaviour。

Vespers　being　over；　the　Monks　retired　to　their　respective　Cells。　　The　Abbot　alone　remained　in　the　Chapel　to　receive　the　Nuns　of　St。　Clare。　　He　had　not　been　long　seated　in　the　confessional　chair　　before　the　Prioress　made　her　appearance。　　Each　of　the　Nuns　was　heard　in　her　turn；　while　the　Others　waited　with　the　Domina　in　the　adjoining　Vestry。　　Ambrosio　listened　to　the　confessions　with　attention；　made　many　exhortations；　enjoined　penance　proportioned　to　each　offence；　and　for　some　time　every　thing　went　on　as　usual：　till　at　last　one　of　the　Nuns；　conspicuous　from　the　nobleness　of　her　air　and　elegance　of　her　figure；　carelessly　permitted　a　letter　to　fall　from　her　bosom。　　She　was　retiring；　unconscious　of　her　loss。　　Ambrosio　supposed　it　to　have　been　written　by　some　one　of　her　Relations；　and　picked　it　up　intending　to　restore　it　to　her。

'Stay；　Daughter；'　said　He；　'You　have　let　fall。　。　。　。'

At　this　moment；　the　paper　being　already　open；　his　eye　involuntarily　read　the　first　words。　　He　started　back　with　surprise！　　The　Nun　had　turned　round　on　hearing　his　voice：　　She　perceived　her　letter　in　his　hand；　and　uttering　a　shriek　of　terror；　flew　hastily　to　regain　it。

'Hold！'　said　the　Friar　in　a　tone　of　severity；　'Daughter；　I　must　read　this　letter。'

'Then　I　am　lost！'　　She　exclaimed　clasping　her　hands　together　wildly。

All　colour　instantly　faded　from　her　face；　she　trembled　with　agitation；　and　was　obliged　to　fold　her　arms　round　a　Pillar　of　the　Chapel　to　save　herself　from　sinking　upon　the　floor。　　In　the　meanwhile　the　Abbot　read　the　following　lines。

'All　is　ready　for　your　escape；　my　dearest　Agnes。　　At　twelve　tomorrow　night　I　shall　expect　to　find　you　at　the　Garden　door：　　I　have　obtained　the　Key；　and　a　few　hours　will　suffice　to　place　you　in　a　secure　asylum。　　Let　no　mistaken　scruples　induce　you　to　reject　the　certain　means　of　preserving　yourself　and　the　innocent　Creature　whom　you　nourish　in　your　bosom。　　Remember　that　you　had　promised　to　be　mine；　long　ere　you　engaged　yourself　to　the　church；　that　your　situation　will　soon　be　evident　to　the　prying　eyes　of　your　Companions；　and　that　flight　is　the　only　means　of　avoiding　the　effects　of　their　malevolent　resentment。　　Farewell；　my　Agnes！　my　dear　and　destined　Wife！　　Fail　not　to　be　at　the　Garden　door　at　twelve！'

As　soon　as　He　had　finished；　Ambrosio　bent　an　eye　stern　and　angry　upon　the　imprudent　Nun。

'This　letter　must　to　the　Prioress！'　said　He；　and　passed　her。

His　words　sounded　like　thunder　to　her　ears：　　She　awoke　from　her　torpidity　only　to　be　sensible　of　the　dangers　of　her　situation。　　She　followed　him　hastily；　and　detained　him　by　his　garment。

'Stay！　　Oh！　stay！'　She　cried　in　the　accents　of　despair；　while　She　threw　herself　at　the　Friar's　feet；　and　bathed　them　with　her　tears。　　'Father；　compassionate　my　youth！　　Look　with　indulgence　on　a　Woman's　weakness；　and　deign　to　conceal　my　frailty！　　The　remainder　of　my　life　shall　be　employed　in　expiating　this　single　fault；　and　your　lenity　will　bring　back　a　soul　to　heaven！'

'Amazing　confidence！　　What！　　Shall　St。　Clare's　Convent　become　the　retreat　of　Prostitutes？　　Shall　I　suffer　the　Church　of　Christ　to　cherish　in　its　bosom　debauchery　and　shame？　　Unworthy　Wretch！　such　lenity　would　make　me　your　accomplice。　　Mercy　would　here　be　criminal。　　You　have　abandoned　yourself　to　a　Seducer's　lust；　You　have　defiled　the　sacred　habit　by　your　impurity；　and　still　dare　you　think　yourself　deserving　my　compassion？　　Hence；　nor　detain　me　longer！　　Where　is　the　Lady　Prioress？'　He　added；　raising　his　voice。

'Hold！　Father；　Hold！　　Hear　me　but　for　one　moment！　Tax　me　not　with　impurity；　nor　think　that　I　have　erred　from　the　warmth　of　temperament。　　Long　before　I　took　the　veil；　Raymond　was　Master　of　my　heart：　　He　inspired　me　with　the　purest；　the　most　irreproachable　passion；　and　was　on　the　point　of　becoming　my　lawful　husband。　　An　horrible　adventure；　and　the　treachery　of　a　Relation；　separated　us　from　each　other：　　I　believed　him　for　ever　lost　to　me；　and　threw　myself　into　a　Convent　from　motives　of　despair。　　Accident　again　united　us；　I　could　not　refuse　myself　the　melancholy　pleasure　of　mingling　my　tears　with　his：　　We　met　nightly　in　the　Gardens　of　St。　Clare；　and　in　an　unguarded　moment　I　violated　my　vows　of　Chastity。　　I　shall　soon　become　a　Mother：　　Reverend　Ambrosio；　take　compassion　on　me；　take　compassion　on　the　innocent　Being　whose　existence　is　attached　to　mine。　If　you　discover　my　imprudence　to　the　Domina；　both　of　us　are　lost：　　The　punishment　which　the　laws　of　St。　Clare　assign　to　Unfortunates　like　myself　is　most　severe　and　cruel。　　Worthy；　worthy　Father！　　Let　not　your　own　untainted　conscience　render　you　unfeeling　towards　those　less　able　to　withstand　temptation！　　Let　not　mercy　be　the　only　virtue　of　which　your　heart　is　unsusceptible！　　Pity　me；　most　reverend！　　Restore　m