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 daemon’s succour, he only hastened tortures which he never could escape. The fiend saw that his resolution was shaken: he renewed his instances, and endeavoured to fix the abbot’s indecision. He described the agonies of death in the most terrific colours; 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 daemon, 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 you make me again your mock! Call me no more till resolved to accept my offers! Summon me a second time to dismiss me thus idly, 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 daemon fled with blasphemy and curses.