“You here, Matilda?” he at length exclaimed; “How have you gained entrance? Where are your chains? What means this magnificence, and the joy which sparkles in your eyes? Have our judges relented? Is there a chance of my escaping? Answer me for pity, and tell me, what I have to hope, or fear.”
“Ambrosio!” she replied with an air of commanding dignity; “I have baffled the inquisition’s fury. I am free: a few moments will place kingdoms between these dungeons and me. Yet I purchase my liberty at a dear, at a dreadful price! Dare you pay the same, Ambrosio? Dare you spring without fear over the bounds which separate men from angels?—You are silent.—You look upon me with eyes of suspicion and alarm—I read your thoughts and confess their justice. Yes, Ambrosio; I have sacrificed all for life and liberty. I am no longer a candidate for heaven! I have renounced God’s service, and am enlisted beneath the banners of his foes. The deed is past recall: yet were it in my power to go back, I would not. Oh! my friend, to expire in such torments! To die amidst curses and execrations! To bear the insults of an exasperated mob! To be exposed to all the mortifications of shame and infamy! Who can reflect without horror on such a doom? Let me then exult in my exchange. I have sold distant and uncertain happiness for present and secure: I have preserved a life which otherwise I had lost in torture; and I have obtained the power of procuring every bliss which can make that life delicious! The infernal spirits obey me as their sovereign: by their aid shall my days be passed in every refinement of luxury and voluptuousness. I will enjoy unrestrained the gratification of my senses: every passion shall be indulged, even to satiety; then will I bid my servants invent new pleasures, to revive and stimulate my glutted appetites! I go impatient to exercise my newly-gained dominion. I pant to be at liberty. Nothing should hold me one moment longer in this abhorred abode, but the hope of persuading you to follow my example. Ambrosio, I still love you: our mutual guilt and danger have rendered you dearer to me than ever, and I would fain save you from impending destruction. Summon then your resolution to your aid; and renounce for immediate and certain benefits the hopes of a salvation, difficult to obtain, and perhaps altogether erroneous. Shake off the prejudice of vulgar souls; abandon a God who has abandoned you, and raise yourself to the level of superior beings!”
She paused for the monk’s reply: he shuddered, while he gave it.
“Matilda!” he said after a long silence in a low and unsteady voice; “What price gave you for liberty?”
She answered him firm and dauntless.
“Ambrosio, it was my soul!”
“Wretched woman, what have you done? Pass but a few years, and how dreadful will be your sufferings!”
“Weak man, pass but this night, and how dreadful will be your own! Do you remember what you have already endured? Tomorrow you must bear torments doubly exquisite. Do you remember the horrors of a fiery punishment? In two days you must be led a victim to the stake! What then will become of you? Still dare you hope for pardon? Still are you beguiled with visions of salvation? Think upon your crimes! Think upon your lust, your perjury, inhumanity, and hypocrisy! Think upon the innocent blood which cries to the throne of God for vengeance, and then hope for mercy! Then dream of heaven, and sigh for worlds of light, and realms of peace and pleasure! Absurd! Open your eyes, Ambrosio, and be prudent. Hell is your lot; you are doomed to eternal perdition; nought lies beyond your grave but a gulf of devouring flames. And will you then speed towards that hell? Will you clasp that perdition in your arms, ere ’tis needful? Will you plunge into those flames while you still have the power to shun them? ’Tis a madman’s action. No, no, Ambrosio: let us for awhile fly from divine vengeance. Be advised by me; purchase by one moment’s courage the bliss of years; enjoy the present, and forget that a future lags behind.”
“Matilda, your counsels are dangerous: I dare not, I will not follow them. I must not give up my claim to salvation. Monstrous are my crimes; but God is merciful, and I will not despair of pardon.”
“Is such your resolution? I have no more to say. I speed to joy and liberty, and abandon you to death and eternal torments.”
“Yet stay one moment, Matilda! You command the infernal daemons: you can force open these prison doors; you can release me from these chains which weigh me down. Save me, I conjure you, and bear me from these fearful abodes!”
“You ask the only boon beyond my power to bestow. I am forbidden to assist a churchman and a partisan of God: renounce those titles, and command me.”
“I will not sell my soul to perdition.”
“Persist in your obstinacy, till you find yourself at the stake: then will you repent your error, and sigh for escape when the moment is gone by. I quit you. Yet ere the hour of death arrives should wisdom enlighten you, listen to the means of repairing your present fault. I leave with you this book. Read the four first lines of the seventh page backwards: the spirit whom you have already once beheld will immediately appear to you. If you are wise, we shall meet again: if not, farewell forever!”
She let the book fall
