The Monk by Matthew Lewis Read Free Book Online Page A

Christoval had kissed this same hand; but as she drew conclusions from it somewhat different from her aunt’s, she was wise enough to hold her tongue. As this is the only instance known of a woman’s ever having done so, it was judged worthy to be recorded here.
    The old lady continued her discourse to Antonia in the same strain, till they gained the street in which was their lodging. Here a crowd collected before their door permitted them not to approach it; and placing themselves on the opposite side of the street, they endeavoured to make out what had drawn all these people together. After some minutes the crowd formed itself into a circle; and now Antonia perceived in the midst of it a woman of extraordinary height, who whirled herself repeatedly round and round, using all sorts of extravagant gestures. Her dress was composed of shreds of various-coloured silks and linens fantastically arranged, yet not entirely without taste. Her head was covered with a kind of turban ornamented with vine-leaves and wild flowers. She seemed much sun-burnt, and her complexion was of a deep olive; her eyes looked fiery and strange; and in her hand she bore a long black rod, with which she at intervals traced a variety of singular figures upon the ground, round about which she danced in all the eccentric attitudes of folly and delirium. Suddenly she broke off her dance, whirled herself round thrice with rapidity, and after a moment’s pause she sung the following ballad:
T HE G IPSY’S S ONG .
Come, cross my hand! My art surpasses
   All that did ever mortal know:
Come, maidens, come! My magic glasses
   Your future husband’s form can show:
For ’Tis to me the power is given
   Unclosed the book of fate to see;
To read the fixed resolves of heaven,
   And dive into futurity.
I guide the pale moon’s silver waggon;
   The winds in magic bonds I hold;
I charm to sleep the crimson dragon,
   Who loves to watch o’er buried gold.
Fenced round with spells, unhurt I venture
   Their sabbath strange where witches keep;
Fearless the sorcerer’s circle enter,
   And woundless tread on snakes asleep.
Lo! here are charms of mighty power!
   This makes secure an husband’s truth;
And this, composed at midnight hour,
   Will force to love the coldest youth.
If any maid too much has granted,
   Her loss this philtre will repair.
This blooms a cheek where red is wanted,
   And this will make a brown girl fair;
Then silent hear, while I discover
   What I in fortune’s mirror view;
And each, when many a year is over,
   Shall own the Gipsy’s sayings true.
    “Dear aunt!” said Antonia when the stranger had finished, “is she not mad?”
    “Mad? Not she, child; she is only wicked. She is a gipsy, a sort of vagabond, whose sole occupation is to run about the country telling lyes, and pilfering from those who come by their money honestly. Out upon such vermin! If I were king of Spain, every one of them should be burnt alive, who was found in my dominions after the next three weeks.”
    These words were pronounced so audibly, that they reached the gipsy’s ears. She immediately pierced through the crowd, and made towards the ladies. She saluted them thrice in the eastern fashion, and then addressed herself to Antonia.
T HE G IPSY .
“Lady, gentle lady! know,
I your future fate can show;
Give your hand, and do not fear;
Lady, gentle lady! hear!”
    “Dearest aunt!” said Antonia, “indulge me this once! let me have my fortune told me!”
    “Nonsense, child! She will tell you nothing but falsehoods.”
    “No matter; let me at least hear what she has to say. Do, my dear aunt, oblige me, I beseech you!”
    “Well, well! Antonia, since you are so bent upon the thing——— Here, good woman, you shall see the hands of both of us. There is money for you, and now let me hear my fortune.”
    As she said this, she drew off her glove, and presented her hand. The gipsy looked at it