The painting of the Madona—the Virgin Mary—that hangs in Ambrosio’s cell symbolizes what the novel presents as religious doctrine’s limited ability to suppress human instinct. It also represents Ambrosio’s hypocrisy. At first, Ambrosio turns to the painting of the Virgin Mary that hangs in his cell for reassurance as he prays for the strength he needs to ward off temptation. Yet even before Matilda has tempted Ambrosio into breaking his vows and having sex with her, his adoration of the painting isn’t entirely bound in religious devotion—indeed, he effusively praises the Madona’s physical beauty in a manner that veers uncomfortably toward sexual objectification. His objectification of the painting suggests that he has never been as pious and innocent as his reputation would suggest. This becomes especially prescient when it’s revealed that Matilda, having already fallen in love with Ambrosio, commissioned the painting to be painted in her image and then sent to Rosario in order to subliminally encourage his attraction to her. Given the nearly identical appearance of the Madona and the mortal woman in whose image she was made, it follows that Ambrosio is not just drawn to the Madona by religious awe but also by physical, sexual attraction—a blasphemous urge that contradicts Ambrosio’s public image as the gold standard of piety, innocence, and self-discipline.
The Madona Quotes in The Monk
He awoke heated and unrefreshed. During his sleep, his inflamed imagination had presented him with none but the most voluptuous objects. Matilda stood before him in his dreams, and his eyes again dwelt upon her naked breast; she repeated her protestations of eternal love, threw her arms round his neck, and loaded him with kisses: he returned them; he clasped her passionately to his bosom, and – the vision was dissolved. Sometimes his dreams presented the image of his favourite Madona, and he fancied that he was kneeling before her: as he offered up his vows to her, the eyes of the figure seemed to beam on him with inexpressible sweetness; he pressed his lips to hers, and found them warm: the animated form started from the canvas, embraced him affectionately, and his senses were unable to support delight so exquisite. Such were the scenes on which his thoughts were employed while sleeping: his unsatisfied desires placed before him the most lustful and provoking images, and he rioted in joys till then unknown to him.
Again he paced his chamber hastily. Then stopping, his eye fell upon the picture of his once-admired Madona. He tore it with indignation from the wall: he threw it upon the ground, and spurred it from him with his foot.
‘The prostitute!’