MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS

THE MONK

1795

[This romance, the most famous of the "tales of terror," was written partly under the influence of Mrs. Radcliffe's Udolpho (see above), though the story was taken from that of Santon Barsisa in The Guardian (No. 148). It was published when the author was twenty years old. A prosecution was begun, on the ground that certain passages were immoral, and in a second edition the author expunged them. The extract here reprinted is the conclusion of the tale, and exemplifies in particular both Lewis's fondness for the supernatural and his use of the details of physical horror.]

AMBROSIO, rather dead than alive, was left alone in his dungeon. . . . He looked forward to the morrow with despair, and his terrors increased with the approach of midnight. Sometimes he was buried in gloomy silence; at others he raved with delirious passion, wrung his hands, and cursed the hour when he first beheld the light. In one of these moments his eye rested upon Matilda's mysterious gift. His transports of rage were instantly suspended. He looked earnestly at the book; he took it up, but immediately threw it from him with horror. He walked rapidly up and down his dungeon - then stopped, and again fixed his eyes on the spot where the book had fallen. He reflected that here at least was a resource from the fate which he dreaded. He stooped, and took it up a second time. He remained for some time trembling and irresolute; he longed to try the charm, yet feared its consequences. The recollection of his sentence at length fixed his indecision. He opened the volume; but his agitation was so great that he at first sought in vain for the page mentioned by Matilda. Ashamed of himself, he called all his courage to his aid. He turned to the seventh leaf; he began to read it aloud; but his eyes frequently wandered from the book, while he anxiously cast them round in search of the spirit whom he wished yet dreaded to behold. Still he persisted in his design; and with a voice unassured, and frequent interrup

tions, he contrived to finish the four first lines of the page. They were in a language whose import was totally unknown to him.

Scarce had he pronounced the last word, when the effects of the charm were evident. A loud burst of thunder was heard, the prison shook to its very foundations, a blaze of lightning flashed through the cell, and in the next moment, borne upon sulphurous whirlwinds, Lucifer stood before him a second time. But he came not as when, at Matilda's summons, he borrowed the seraph's form to deceive Ambrosio. He appeared in all that ugliness which since his fall from heaven had been his portion. His blasted limbs still bore marks of the Almighty's thunder. A swarthy darkness spread itself over his gigantic form; his hands and feet were armed with long talons. Fury glared in his eyes, which might have struck the bravest heart with terror. Over his huge shoulders waved two enormous sable wings, and his hair was supplied by living snakes, which twined themselves round his brows with frightful hissings. In one hand he held a roll of parchment, and in the other an iron pen. Still the lightning flashed around him, and the thunder with repeated bursts seemed to announce the dissolution of Nature.

Terrified at an apparition so different from what he had expected, Ambrosio remained gazing upon the fiend, deprived of the power of utterance. The thunder had ceased to roll; universal silence reigned through the dungeon.

"For what am I summoned hither?" said the demon, in a voice which sulphurous fogs had damped to hoarseness.

At the sound Nature seemed to tremble. A violent earthquake rocked the ground, accompanied by a fresh burst of thunder, louder and more appalling than the first.

Ambrosio was long unable to answer the demon's demand. “I am condemned to die," he said with a faint voice, his blood running cold while he gazed upon his dreadful visitor. "Save me! bear me from hence!"

"Shall the reward of my services be paid me? Dare you embrace my cause? Will you be mine, body and soul? Are you prepared to renounce Him who made you, and Him who died for you? Answer but Yes, and Lucifer is your slave."

"Will no less price content you? Can nothing satisfy you but my eternal ruin? Spirit, you ask too much. Yet convey me from

this dungeon! Be my servant for one hour, and I will be yours for a thousand years. Will not this offer suffice?"

"It will not. I must have your soul; must have it mine, and mine forever."

"Insatiate demon! I will not doom myself to endless torments. I will not give up my hopes of being one day pardoned.' "You will not? On what chimera rest, then, your hopes? Short-sighted mortal! Miserable wretch! Are you not guilty? Are you not infamous in the eyes of men and angels? Can such enormous sins be forgiven? Hope you to escape my power? Your fate is already pronounced. The Eternal has abandoned you. Mine you are marked in the book of destiny, and mine you must and shall be."

"Fiend, 'tis false! Infinite is the Almighty's mercy, and the penitent shall meet His forgiveness. My crimes are monstrous, but I will not despair of pardon. Haply, when they have received due chastisement

"Chastisement? Was purgatory meant for guilt like yours? Hope you that your offenses shall be bought off by prayers of superstitious dotards and droning monks? Ambrosio! be wise. Mine you must be. You are doomed to flames, but may shun them for the present. Sign this parchment; I will bear you from hence, and you may pass your remaining years in bliss and liberty. Enjoy your existence. Indulge in every pleasure to which appetite may lead you. But from the moment that it quits your body, remember that your soul belongs to me, and that I will not be defrauded of my right."

The monk was silent, but his looks declared that the tempter's words were not thrown away. He reflected on the conditions proposed with horror. On the other hand, he believed himself doomed to perdition, and that, by refusing the demon's succor, he only hastened tortures which he could never escape. The fiend saw that his resolution was shaken. He renewed his instances, and endeavored to fix the abbot's indecision. He described the agonies of death in the most terrific colors, and he worked so powerfully upon Ambrosio's despair and fears that he prevailed upon him to receive the parchment. He then struck the iron pen which he held into a vein of the monk's left hand. It pierced deep, and was instantly filled with blood; yet Ambrosio felt no pain from the wound. The pen was put into his hand;

it trembled. The wretch placed the parchment on the table before him, and prepared to sign it. Suddenly he held his hand; he started away hastily, and threw the pen upon the table.

"What am I doing?" he cried. Then, turning to the fiend with a desperate air, "Leave me! Begone! I will not sign the parchment."

"Fool!" exclaimed the disappointed demon, darting looks so furious as penetrated the friar's soul with horror. "Thus am I trifled with? Go, then! Rave in agony, expire in tortures, and then learn the extent of the Eternal's mercy! But beware how vou make me again your mock! Call me no more, till resolved to accept my offers. Summon me a second time to dismiss me thus dly, and these talons shall rend you into a thousand pieces. Speak yet again: will you sign the parchment?"

"I will not. Leave me! Away!"

Instantly the thunder was heard to roll horribly; once more the earth trembled with violence; the dungeon resounded with loud shrieks, and the demon fled with blasphemy and curses.

At first the monk rejoiced at having resisted the seducer's arts, and obtained a triumph over mankind's enemy; but as the hour of punishment drew near, his former terrors revived in his heart. Their momentary repose seemed to have given them fresh vigor. The nearer that the time approached, the more did he dread appearing before the throne of God. He shuddered to think how soon he must be plunged into eternity - how soon meet the eyes of his Creator, whom he had so grievously offended. The bell announced midnight. As he listened for the first stroke, the blood ceased to circulate in the abbot's veins. He heard death and torture murmured in each succeeding sound. He expected to see the archers entering his prison; and, as the bell forbore to toll, he seized the magic volume in a fit of despair. He opened it, turned hastily to the seventh page, and, as if fearing to allow himself a moment's thought, ran over the fatal lines with rapidity.

Accompanied by his former terrors, Lucifer again stood before the trembler.

"You have summoned me," said the fiend. "Are you determined to be wise? Will you accept my conditions? You know them already. Renounce your claim to salvation, make over to me your soul, and I bear you from this dungeon instantly. Yet

is it time. Resolve, or it will be too late. Will you sign the parchment?"

"I must- Fate urges me I accept your conditions."

"Sign the parchment," replied the demon, in an exulting tone. The contract and the bloody pen still lay upon the table. Ambrosio drew near it. He prepared to sign his name. A moment's reflection made him hesitate.

"Hark!" cried the tempter. "They come. Be quick! Sign the parchment, and I bear you from hence this moment."

In effect, the archers were heard approaching, appointed to lead Ambrosio to the stake. The sound encouraged the monk in his resolution.

"What is the import of this writing?" said he.

"It makes your soul over to me forever, and without reserve." "What am I to receive in exchange?"

"My protection, and release from this dungeon. Sign it, and this instant I bear you away."

Ambrosio took up the pen. He set it to the parchment. Again his courage failed him. He felt a pang of terror at his heart, and once more threw the pen upon the table.

"Weak and puerile!" cried the exasperated fiend. "Away with this folly! Sign the writing this instant, or I sacrifice you to my rage.'

At this moment the bolt of the outward door was drawn back. The prisoner heard the rattling of chains; the heavy bar fell; the archers were on the point of entering. Worked up to frenzy by the urgent danger, shrinking from the approach of death, terrified by the demon's threats, and seeing no other means to escape destruction, the wretched monk complied. He signed the fatal contract, and gave it hastily into the evil spirit's hands, whose eyes, as he received the gift, glared with malicious rapture. "Take it!" said the God-abandoned. "Now then save me! Snatch me from hence!"

"Hold! Do you freely and absolutely renounce your Creator and His Son?"

"I do! I do!"

"Do you make over your soul to me forever?"

"Forever!"

"Without reserve or subterfuge? without future appeal to the divine mercy?"