CHAPTER V
Dark power! with shudd'ring, meek submitted thought Be mine to read the visions old Which thy awak'ning bards have told, And, lest they meet my blasted view, Hold each strange tale devoutly true. COLLINS' ODE TO FEAR
Emily was recalled from a kind of slumber, into which she had, atlength, sunk, by a quick knocking at her chamber door. She started upin terror, for Montoni and Count Morano instantly came to her mind; but,having listened in silence for some time, and recognizing the voiceof Annette, she rose and opened the door. 'What brings you hither soearly?' said Emily, trembling excessively. She was unable to supportherself, and sat down on the bed.
'Dear ma'amselle!' said Annette, 'do not look so pale. I am quitefrightened to see you. Here is a fine bustle below stairs, all theservants running to and fro, and none of them fast enough! Here is abustle, indeed, all of a sudden, and nobody knows for what!'
'Who is below besides them?' said Emily, 'Annette, do not trifle withme!'
'Not for the world, ma'amselle, I would not trifle for the world; butone cannot help making one's remarks, and there is the Signor in sucha bustle, as I never saw him before; and he has sent me to tell you,ma'am, to get ready immediately.'
'Good God support me!' cried Emily, almost fainting, 'Count Morano isbelow, then!'
'No, ma'amselle, he is not below that I know of,' replied Annette, 'onlyhis excellenza sent me to desire you would get ready directly to leaveVenice, for that the gondolas would be at the steps of the canal in afew minutes: but I must hurry back to my lady, who is just at her witsend, and knows not which way to turn for haste.'
'Explain, Annette, explain the meaning of all this before you go,' saidEmily, so overcome with surprise and timid hope, that she had scarcelybreath to speak.
'Nay, ma'amselle, that is more than I can do. I only know that theSignor is just come home in a very ill humour, that he has had usall called out of our beds, and tells us we are all to leave Veniceimmediately.'
'Is Count Morano to go with the signor?' said Emily, 'and whither are wegoing?'
'I know neither, ma'am, for certain; but I heard Ludovico say somethingabout going, after we get to terra-firma, to the signor's castle amongsome mountains, that he talked of.'
'The Apennines!' said Emily, eagerly, 'O! then I have little to hope!'
'That is the very place, ma'am. But cheer up, and do not take it so muchto heart, and think what a little time you have to get ready in, and howimpatient the Signor is. Holy St. Mark! I hear the oars on the canal;and now they come nearer, and now they are dashing at the steps below;it is the gondola, sure enough.'
Annette hastened from the room; and Emily prepared for this unexpectedflight, as fast as her trembling hands would permit, not perceiving,that any change in her situation could possibly be for the worse. Shehad scarcely thrown her books and clothes into her travellingtrunk, when, receiving a second summons, she went down to her aunt'sdressing-room, where she found Montoni impatiently reproving his wifefor delay. He went out, soon after, to give some further orders to hispeople, and Emily then enquired the occasion of this hasty journey; buther aunt appeared to be as ignorant as herself, and to undertake thejourney with more reluctance.
The family at length embarked, but neither Count Morano, nor Cavigni,was of the party. Somewhat revived by observing this, Emily, when thegondolieri dashed their oars in the water, and put off from the stepsof the portico, felt like a criminal, who receives a short reprieve. Herheart beat yet lighter, when they emerged from the canal into the ocean,and lighter still, when they skimmed past the walls of St. Mark, withouthaving stopped to take up Count Morano.
The dawn now began to tint the horizon, and to break upon the shores ofthe Adriatic. Emily did not venture to ask any questions of Montoni, whosat, for some time, in gloomy silence, and then rolled himself up in hiscloak, as if to sleep, while Madame Montoni did the same; but Emily, whocould not sleep, undrew one of the little curtains of the gondola,and looked out upon the sea. The rising dawn now enlightened themountain-tops of Friuli, but their lower sides, and the distant waves,that rolled at their feet, were still in deep shadow. Emily, sunk intranquil melancholy, watched the strengthening light spreading upon theocean, shewing successively Venice and her islets, and the shores ofItaly, along which boats, with their pointed latin sails, began to move.
The gondolieri were frequently hailed, at this early hour, by themarket-people, as they glided by towards Venice, and the lagunesoon displayed a gay scene of innumerable little barks, passing fromterra-firma with provisions. Emily gave a last look to that splendidcity, but her mind was then occupied by considering the probable events,that awaited her, in the scenes, to which she was removing, and withconjectures, concerning the motive of this sudden journey. It appeared,upon calmer consideration, that Montoni was removing her to his secludedcastle, because he could there, with more probability of success,attempt to terrify her into obedience; or, that, should its gloomy andsequestered scenes fail of this effect, her forced marriage with theCount could there be solemnized with the secrecy, which was necessaryto the honour of Montoni. The little spirit, which this reprieve hadrecalled, now began to fail, and, when Emily reached the shore, her mindhad sunk into all its former depression.
Montoni did not embark on the Brenta, but pursued his way in carriagesacross the country, towards the Apennine; during which journey, hismanner to Emily was so particularly severe, that this alone would haveconfirmed her late conjecture, had any such confirmation been necessary.Her senses were now dead to the beautiful country, through which shetravelled. Sometimes she was compelled to smile at the naivete ofAnnette, in her remarks on what she saw, and sometimes to sigh, as ascene of peculiar beauty recalled Valancourt to her thoughts, who wasindeed seldom absent from them, and of whom she could never hope to hearin the solitude, to which she was hastening.
At length, the travellers began to ascend among the Apennines. Theimmense pine-forests, which, at that period, overhung these mountains,and between which the road wound, excluded all view but of the cliffsaspiring above, except, that, now and then, an opening through the darkwoods allowed the eye a momentary glimpse of the country below. Thegloom of these shades, their solitary silence, except when the breezeswept over their summits, the tremendous precipices of the mountains,that came partially to the eye, each assisted to raise the solemnity ofEmily's feelings into awe; she saw only images of gloomy grandeur, or ofdreadful sublimity, around her; other images, equally gloomy and equallyterrible, gleamed on her imagination. She was going she scarcelyknew whither, under the dominion of a person, from whose arbitrarydisposition she had already suffered so much, to marry, perhaps, a manwho possessed neither her affection, or esteem; or to endure, beyond thehope of succour, whatever punishment revenge, and that Italian revenge,might dictate.--The more she considered what might be the motive of thejourney, the more she became convinced, that it was for the purpose ofconcluding her nuptials with Count Morano, with that secrecy, whichher resolute resistance had made necessary to the honour, if not tothe safety, of Montoni. From the deep solitudes, into which she wasimmerging, and from the gloomy castle, of which she had heardsome mysterious hints, her sick heart recoiled in despair, and sheexperienced, that, though her mind was already occupied by peculiardistress, it was still alive to the influence of new and localcircumstance; why else did she shudder at the idea of this desolatecastle?
As the travellers still ascended among the pine forests, steep rose oversteep, the mountains seemed to multiply, as they went, and what was thesummit of one eminence proved to be only the base of another. At length,they reached a little plain, where the drivers stopped to rest themules, whence a scene of such extent and magnificence opened below, asdrew even from Madame Montoni a note of admiration. Emily lost, for amoment, her sorrows, in the immensity of nature. Beyond the amphitheatreof mountains, that stretched below, whose tops appeared as numerousalmost, as the waves of the sea, and whose feet were concealed by theforests--extended the campagna of Italy, whe
re cities and rivers, andwoods and all the glow of cultivation were mingled in gay confusion. TheAdriatic bounded the horizon, into which the Po and the Brenta, afterwinding through the whole extent of the landscape, poured their fruitfulwaves. Emily gazed long on the splendours of the world she was quitting,of which the whole magnificence seemed thus given to her sight only toincrease her regret on leaving it; for her, Valancourt alone was in thatworld; to him alone her heart turned, and for him alone fell her bittertears.
From this sublime scene the travellers continued to ascend among thepines, till they entered a narrow pass of the mountains, which shut outevery feature of the distant country, and, in its stead, exhibited onlytremendous crags, impending over the road, where no vestige of humanity,or even of vegetation, appeared, except here and there the trunk andscathed branches of an oak, that hung nearly headlong from the rock,into which its strong roots had fastened. This pass, which led into theheart of the Apennine, at length opened to day, and a scene of mountainsstretched in long perspective, as wild as any the travellers had yetpassed. Still vast pine-forests hung upon their base, and crowned theridgy precipice, that rose perpendicularly from the vale, while, above,the rolling mists caught the sun-beams, and touched their cliffswith all the magical colouring of light and shade. The scene seemedperpetually changing, and its features to assume new forms, as thewinding road brought them to the eye in different attitudes; while theshifting vapours, now partially concealing their minuter beauties andnow illuminating them with splendid tints, assisted the illusions of thesight.
Though the deep vallies between these mountains were, for the most part,clothed with pines, sometimes an abrupt opening presented a perspectiveof only barren rocks, with a cataract flashing from their summit amongbroken cliffs, till its waters, reaching the bottom, foamed along withunceasing fury; and sometimes pastoral scenes exhibited their 'greendelights' in the narrow vales, smiling amid surrounding horror. Thereherds and flocks of goats and sheep, browsing under the shade of hangingwoods, and the shepherd's little cabin, reared on the margin of a clearstream, presented a sweet picture of repose.
Wild and romantic as were these scenes, their character had far lessof the sublime, that had those of the Alps, which guard the entranceof Italy. Emily was often elevated, but seldom felt those emotionsof indescribable awe which she had so continually experienced, in herpassage over the Alps.
Towards the close of day, the road wound into a deep valley. Mountains,whose shaggy steeps appeared to be inaccessible, almost surroundedit. To the east, a vista opened, that exhibited the Apennines in theirdarkest horrors; and the long perspective of retiring summits, risingover each other, their ridges clothed with pines, exhibited a strongerimage of grandeur, than any that Emily had yet seen. The sun had justsunk below the top of the mountains she was descending, whose longshadow stretched athwart the valley, but his sloping rays, shootingthrough an opening of the cliffs, touched with a yellow gleam thesummits of the forest, that hung upon the opposite steeps, and streamedin full splendour upon the towers and battlements of a castle, thatspread its extensive ramparts along the brow of a precipice above. Thesplendour of these illumined objects was heightened by the contrastedshade, which involved the valley below.
'There,' said Montoni, speaking for the first time in several hours, 'isUdolpho.'
Emily gazed with melancholy awe upon the castle, which she understood tobe Montoni's; for, though it was now lighted up by the setting sun, thegothic greatness of its features, and its mouldering walls of dark greystone, rendered it a gloomy and sublime object. As she gazed, the lightdied away on its walls, leaving a melancholy purple tint, which spreaddeeper and deeper, as the thin vapour crept up the mountain, while thebattlements above were still tipped with splendour. From those, too,the rays soon faded, and the whole edifice was invested with the solemnduskiness of evening. Silent, lonely, and sublime, it seemed to standthe sovereign of the scene, and to frown defiance on all, who dared toinvade its solitary reign. As the twilight deepened, its featuresbecame more awful in obscurity, and Emily continued to gaze, till itsclustering towers were alone seen, rising over the tops of the woods,beneath whose thick shade the carriages soon after began to ascend.
The extent and darkness of these tall woods awakened terrific images inher mind, and she almost expected to see banditti start up from underthe trees. At length, the carriages emerged upon a heathy rock, and,soon after, reached the castle gates, where the deep tone of the portalbell, which was struck upon to give notice of their arrival, increasedthe fearful emotions, that had assailed Emily. While they waited tillthe servant within should come to open the gates, she anxiouslysurveyed the edifice: but the gloom, that overspread it, allowed her todistinguish little more than a part of its outline, with the massy wallsof the ramparts, and to know, that it was vast, ancient and dreary. Fromthe parts she saw, she judged of the heavy strength and extent of thewhole. The gateway before her, leading into the courts, was of giganticsize, and was defended by two round towers, crowned by overhangingturrets, embattled, where, instead of banners, now waved long grass andwild plants, that had taken root among the mouldering stones, and whichseemed to sigh, as the breeze rolled past, over the desolation aroundthem. The towers were united by a curtain, pierced and embattled also,below which appeared the pointed arch of a huge portcullis, surmountingthe gates: from these, the walls of the ramparts extended to othertowers, overlooking the precipice, whose shattered outline, appearing ona gleam, that lingered in the west, told of the ravages of war.--Beyondthese all was lost in the obscurity of evening.
While Emily gazed with awe upon the scene, footsteps were heard withinthe gates, and the undrawing of bolts; after which an ancient servant ofthe castle appeared, forcing back the huge folds of the portal, to admithis lord. As the carriage-wheels rolled heavily under the portcullis,Emily's heart sunk, and she seemed, as if she was going into her prison;the gloomy court, into which she passed, served to confirm the idea,and her imagination, ever awake to circumstance, suggested even moreterrors, than her reason could justify.
Another gate delivered them into the second court, grass-grown, and morewild than the first, where, as she surveyed through the twilight itsdesolation--its lofty walls, overtopt with briony, moss and nightshade,and the embattled towers that rose above,--long-suffering and murdercame to her thoughts. One of those instantaneous and unaccountableconvictions, which sometimes conquer even strong minds, impressed herwith its horror. The sentiment was not diminished, when she entered anextensive gothic hall, obscured by the gloom of evening, which a light,glimmering at a distance through a long perspective of arches, onlyrendered more striking. As a servant brought the lamp nearer partialgleams fell upon the pillars and the pointed arches, forming a strongcontrast with their shadows, that stretched along the pavement and thewalls.
The sudden journey of Montoni had prevented his people from making anyother preparations for his reception, than could be had in the shortinterval, since the arrival of the servant, who had been sent forwardfrom Venice; and this, in some measure, may account for the air ofextreme desolation, that everywhere appeared.
The servant, who came to light Montoni, bowed in silence, and themuscles of his countenance relaxed with no symptom of joy.--Montoninoticed the salutation by a slight motion of his hand, and passed on,while his lady, following, and looking round with a degree of surpriseand discontent, which she seemed fearful of expressing, and Emily,surveying the extent and grandeur of the hall in timid wonder,approached a marble stair-case. The arches here opened to a lofty vault,from the centre of which hung a tripod lamp, which a servant was hastilylighting; and the rich fret-work of the roof, a corridor, leading intoseveral upper apartments, and a painted window, stretching nearly fromthe pavement to the ceiling of the hall, became gradually visible.
Having crossed the foot of the stair-case, and passed through anante-room, they entered a spacious apartment, whose walls, wainscotedwith black larch-wood, the growth of the neighbouring mountains, werescarcely distinguisha
ble from darkness itself. 'Bring more light,'said Montoni, as he entered. The servant, setting down his lamp, waswithdrawing to obey him, when Madame Montoni observing, that the eveningair of this mountainous region was cold, and that she should like afire, Montoni ordered that wood might be brought.
While he paced the room with thoughtful steps, and Madame Montoni satsilently on a couch, at the upper end of it, waiting till the servantreturned, Emily was observing the singular solemnity and desolation ofthe apartment, viewed, as it now was, by the glimmer of the single lamp,placed near a large Venetian mirror, that duskily reflected the scene,with the tall figure of Montoni passing slowly along, his arms folded,and his countenance shaded by the plume, that waved in his hat.
From the contemplation of this scene, Emily's mind proceeded to theapprehension of what she might suffer in it, till the remembrance ofValancourt, far, far distant! came to her heart, and softened it intosorrow. A heavy sigh escaped her: but, trying to conceal her tears, shewalked away to one of the high windows, that opened upon the ramparts,below which, spread the woods she had passed in her approach to thecastle. But the night-shade sat deeply on the mountains beyond, andtheir indented outline alone could be faintly traced on the horizon,where a red streak yet glimmered in the west. The valley between wassunk in darkness.
The scene within, upon which Emily turned on the opening of the door,was scarcely less gloomy. The old servant, who had received them at thegates, now entered, bending under a load of pine-branches, while two ofMontoni's Venetian servants followed with lights.
'Your excellenza is welcome to the castle,' said the old man, as heraised himself from the hearth, where he had laid the wood: 'it has beena lonely place a long while; but you will excuse it, Signor, knowing wehad but short notice. It is near two years, come next feast of St. Mark,since your excellenza was within these walls.'
'You have a good memory, old Carlo,' said Montoni: 'it is there-about;and how hast thou contrived to live so long?'
'A-well-a-day, sir, with much ado; the cold winds, that blow through thecastle in winter, are almost too much for me; and I thought sometimes ofasking your excellenza to let me leave the mountains, and go down intothe lowlands. But I don't know how it is--I am loth to quit these oldwalls I have lived in so long.'
'Well, how have you gone on in the castle, since I left it?' saidMontoni.
'Why much as usual, Signor, only it wants a good deal of repairing.There is the north tower--some of the battlements have tumbled down, andhad liked one day to have knocked my poor wife (God rest her soul!) onthe head. Your excellenza must know'--
'Well, but the repairs,' interrupted Montoni.
'Aye, the repairs,' said Carlo: 'a part of the roof of the great hallhas fallen in, and all the winds from the mountains rushed through itlast winter, and whistled through the whole castle so, that there was nokeeping one's self warm, be where one would. There, my wife and I usedto sit shivering over a great fire in one corner of the little hall,ready to die with cold, and'--
'But there are no more repairs wanted,' said Montoni, impatiently.
'O Lord! Your excellenza, yes--the wall of the rampart has tumbled downin three places; then, the stairs, that lead to the west gallery, havebeen a long time so bad, that it is dangerous to go up them; and thepassage leading to the great oak chamber, that overhangs the northrampart--one night last winter I ventured to go there by myself, andyour excellenza'--
'Well, well, enough of this,' said Montoni, with quickness: 'I will talkmore with thee to-morrow.'
The fire was now lighted; Carlo swept the hearth, placed chairs, wipedthe dust from a large marble table that stood near it, and then left theroom.
Montoni and his family drew round the fire. Madame Montoni made severalattempts at conversation, but his sullen answers repulsed her, whileEmily sat endeavouring to acquire courage enough to speak to him. Atlength, in a tremulous voice, she said, 'May I ask, sir, the motiveof this sudden journey?'--After a long pause, she recovered sufficientcourage to repeat the question.
'It does not suit me to answer enquiries,' said Montoni, 'nor does itbecome you to make them; time may unfold them all: but I desire I maybe no further harassed, and I recommend it to you to retire to yourchamber, and to endeavour to adopt a more rational conduct, than thatof yielding to fancies, and to a sensibility, which, to call it by thegentlest name, is only a weakness.'
Emily rose to withdraw. 'Good night, madam,' said she to her aunt, withan assumed composure, that could not disguise her emotion.
'Good night, my dear,' said Madame Montoni, in a tone of kindness, whichher niece had never before heard from her; and the unexpected endearmentbrought tears to Emily's eyes. She curtsied to Montoni, and wasretiring; 'But you do not know the way to your chamber,' said her aunt.Montoni called the servant, who waited in the ante-room, and badehim send Madame Montoni's woman, with whom, in a few minutes, Emilywithdrew.
'Do you know which is my room?' said she to Annette, as they crossed thehall.
'Yes, I believe I do, ma'amselle; but this is such a strange ramblingplace! I have been lost in it already: they call it the double chamber,over the south rampart, and I went up this great stair-case to it. Mylady's room is at the other end of the castle.'
Emily ascended the marble staircase, and came to the corridor, as theypassed through which, Annette resumed her chat--'What a wild lonelyplace this is, ma'am! I shall be quite frightened to live in it. Howoften, and often have I wished myself in France again! I little thought,when I came with my lady to see the world, that I should ever be shut upin such a place as this, or I would never have left my own country!This way, ma'amselle, down this turning. I can almost believe in giantsagain, and such like, for this is just like one of their castles; and,some night or other, I suppose I shall see fairies too, hopping aboutin that great old hall, that looks more like a church, with its hugepillars, than any thing else.'
'Yes,' said Emily, smiling, and glad to escape from more seriousthought, 'if we come to the corridor, about midnight, and look down intothe hall, we shall certainly see it illuminated with a thousand lamps,and the fairies tripping in gay circles to the sound of delicious music;for it is in such places as this, you know, that they come to holdtheir revels. But I am afraid, Annette, you will not be able to pay thenecessary penance for such a sight: and, if once they hear your voice,the whole scene will vanish in an instant.'
'O! if you will bear me company, ma'amselle, I will come to thecorridor, this very night, and I promise you I will hold my tongue; itshall not be my fault if the show vanishes.--But do you think they willcome?'
'I cannot promise that with certainty, but I will venture to say, itwill not be your fault if the enchantment should vanish.'
'Well, ma'amselle, that is saying more than I expected of you: but I amnot so much afraid of fairies, as of ghosts, and they say there are aplentiful many of them about the castle: now I should be frightened todeath, if I should chance to see any of them. But hush! ma'amselle, walksoftly! I have thought, several times, something passed by me.'
'Ridiculous!' said Emily, 'you must not indulge such fancies.'
'O ma'am! they are not fancies, for aught I know; Benedetto says thesedismal galleries and halls are fit for nothing but ghosts to livein; and I verily believe, if I LIVE long in them I shall turn to onemyself!'
'I hope,' said Emily, 'you will not suffer Signor Montoni to hear ofthese weak fears; they would highly displease him.'
'What, you know then, ma'amselle, all about it!' rejoined Annette. 'No,no, I do know better than to do so; though, if the Signor can sleepsound, nobody else in the castle has any right to lie awake, I am sure.'Emily did not appear to notice this remark.
'Down this passage, ma'amselle; this leads to a back stair-case. O! if Isee any thing, I shall be frightened out of my wits!'
'That will scarcely be possible,' said Emily smiling, as she followedthe winding of the passage, which opened into another gallery: and thenAnnette, perceiving that she had missed her way, while
she had beenso eloquently haranguing on ghosts and fairies, wandered about throughother passages and galleries, till, at length, frightened by theirintricacies and desolation, she called aloud for assistance: but theywere beyond the hearing of the servants, who were on the other side ofthe castle, and Emily now opened the door of a chamber on the left.
'O! do not go in there, ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'you will only loseyourself further.'
'Bring the light forward,' said Emily, 'we may possibly find our waythrough these rooms.'
Annette stood at the door, in an attitude of hesitation, with the lightheld up to shew the chamber, but the feeble rays spread through not halfof it. 'Why do you hesitate?' said Emily, 'let me see whither this roomleads.'
Annette advanced reluctantly. It opened into a suite of spacious andancient apartments, some of which were hung with tapestry, and otherswainscoted with cedar and black larch-wood. What furniture there was,seemed to be almost as old as the rooms, and retained an appearanceof grandeur, though covered with dust, and dropping to pieces with thedamps, and with age.
'How cold these rooms are, ma'amselle!' said Annette: 'nobody has livedin them for many, many years, they say. Do let us go.'
'They may open upon the great stair-case, perhaps,' said Emily, passingon till she came to a chamber, hung with pictures, and took the lightto examine that of a soldier on horseback in a field of battle.--He wasdarting his spear upon a man, who lay under the feet of the horse, andwho held up one hand in a supplicating attitude. The soldier,whose beaver was up, regarded him with a look of vengeance, and thecountenance, with that expression, struck Emily as resembling Montoni.She shuddered, and turned from it. Passing the light hastily overseveral other pictures, she came to one concealed by a veil of blacksilk. The singularity of the circumstance struck her, and she stoppedbefore it, wishing to remove the veil, and examine what could thuscarefully be concealed, but somewhat wanting courage. 'Holy Virgin! whatcan this mean?' exclaimed Annette. 'This is surely the picture they toldme of at Venice.'
'What picture?' said Emily. 'Why a picture--a picture,' replied Annette,hesitatingly--'but I never could make out exactly what it was about,either.'
'Remove the veil, Annette.'
'What! I, ma'amselle!--I! not for the world!' Emily, turning round, sawAnnette's countenance grow pale. 'And pray, what have you heard ofthis picture, to terrify you so, my good girl?' said she. 'Nothing,ma'amselle: I have heard nothing, only let us find our way out.'
'Certainly: but I wish first to examine the picture; take the light,Annette, while I lift the veil.' Annette took the light, and immediatelywalked away with it, disregarding Emily's call to stay, who, notchoosing to be left alone in the dark chamber, at length followed her.'What is the reason of this, Annette?' said Emily, when she overtookher, 'what have you heard concerning that picture, which makes you sounwilling to stay when I bid you?'
'I don't know what is the reason, ma'amselle, replied Annette, 'norany thing about the picture, only I have heard there is something verydreadful belonging to it--and that it has been covered up in black EVERSINCE--and that nobody has looked at it for a great many years--and itsomehow has to do with the owner of this castle before Signor Montonicame to the possession of it--and'---
'Well, Annette,' said Emily, smiling, 'I perceive it is as you say--thatyou know nothing about the picture.'
'No, nothing, indeed, ma'amselle, for they made me promise never totell:--but'--
'Well,' rejoined Emily, who observed that she was struggling betweenher inclination to reveal a secret, and her apprehension for theconsequence, 'I will enquire no further'---
'No, pray, ma'am, do not.'
'Lest you should tell all,' interrupted Emily.
Annette blushed, and Emily smiled, and they passed on to the extremityof this suite of apartments, and found themselves, after some furtherperplexity, once more at the top of the marble stair-case, where Annetteleft Emily, while she went to call one of the servants of the castle toshew them to the chamber, for which they had been seeking.
While she was absent, Emily's thoughts returned to the picture; anunwillingness to tamper with the integrity of a servant, had checked herenquiries on this subject, as well as concerning some alarming hints,which Annette had dropped respecting Montoni; though her curiositywas entirely awakened, and she had perceived, that her questions mighteasily be answered. She was now, however, inclined to go back to theapartment and examine the picture; but the loneliness of the hour andof the place, with the melancholy silence that reigned around her,conspired with a certain degree of awe, excited by the mystery attendingthis picture, to prevent her. She determined, however, when day-lightshould have re-animated her spirits, to go thither and remove the veil.As she leaned from the corridor, over the stair-case, and her eyeswandered round, she again observed, with wonder, the vast strength ofthe walls, now somewhat decayed, and the pillars of solid marble, thatrose from the hall, and supported the roof.
A servant now appeared with Annette, and conducted Emily to her chamber,which was in a remote part of the castle, and at the very end of thecorridor, from whence the suite of apartments opened, through which theyhad been wandering. The lonely aspect of her room made Emily unwillingthat Annette should leave her immediately, and the dampness of itchilled her with more than fear. She begged Caterina, the servant of thecastle, to bring some wood and light a fire.
'Aye, lady, it's many a year since a fire was lighted here,' saidCaterina.
'You need not tell us that, good woman,' said Annette; 'every room inthe castle feels like a well. I wonder how you contrive to live here;for my part, I wish myself at Venice again.' Emily waved her hand forCaterina to fetch the wood.
'I wonder, ma'am, why they call this the double chamber?' said Annette,while Emily surveyed it in silence and saw that it was lofty andspacious, like the others she had seen, and, like many of them, too, hadits walls lined with dark larch-wood. The bed and other furniture wasvery ancient, and had an air of gloomy grandeur, like all that shehad seen in the castle. One of the high casements, which she opened,overlooked a rampart, but the view beyond was hid in darkness.
In the presence of Annette, Emily tried to support her spirits, and torestrain the tears, which, every now and then, came to her eyes. Shewished much to enquire when Count Morano was expected at the castle,but an unwillingness to ask unnecessary questions, and to mention familyconcerns to a servant, withheld her. Meanwhile, Annette's thoughts wereengaged upon another subject: she dearly loved the marvellous, andhad heard of a circumstance, connected with the castle, that highlygratified this taste. Having been enjoined not to mention it, herinclination to tell it was so strong, that she was every instant on thepoint of speaking what she had heard. Such a strange circumstance, too,and to be obliged to conceal it, was a severe punishment; but she knew,that Montoni might impose one much severer, and she feared to incur itby offending him.
Caterina now brought the wood, and its bright blaze dispelled, for awhile, the gloom of the chamber. She told Annette, that her ladyhad enquired for her, and Emily was once again left to her own sadreflections. Her heart was not yet hardened against the stern mannersof Montoni, and she was nearly as much shocked now, as she had been whenshe first witnessed them. The tenderness and affection, to which she hadbeen accustomed, till she lost her parents, had made her particularlysensible to any degree of unkindness, and such a reverse as this noapprehension had prepared her to support.
To call off her attention from subjects, that pressed heavily on herspirits, she rose and again examined her room and its furniture. Asshe walked round it, she passed a door, that was not quite shut, and,perceiving, that it was not the one, through which she entered, shebrought the light forward to discover whither it led. She opened it,and, going forward, had nearly fallen down a steep, narrow stair-casethat wound from it, between two stone walls. She wished to know to whatit led, and was the more anxious, since it communicated so immediatelywith her apartment; but, in the present state of her spirits, she wanted
courage to venture into the darkness alone. Closing the door, therefore,she endeavoured to fasten it, but, upon further examination, perceived,that it had no bolts on the chamber side, though it had two on theother. By placing a heavy chair against it, she in some measure remediedthe defect; yet she was still alarmed at the thought of sleeping in thisremote room alone, with a door opening she knew not whither, and whichcould not be perfectly fastened on the inside. Sometimes she wished toentreat of Madame Montoni, that Annette might have leave to remain withher all night, but was deterred by an apprehension of betraying whatwould be thought childish fears, and by an unwillingness to increase theapt terrors of Annette.
Her gloomy reflections were, soon after, interrupted by a footstep inthe corridor, and she was glad to see Annette enter with some supper,sent by Madame Montoni. Having a table near the fire, she made the goodgirl sit down and sup with her; and, when their little repast was over,Annette, encouraged by her kindness and stirring the wood into a blaze,drew her chair upon the hearth, nearer to Emily, and said--'Did you everhear, ma'amselle, of the strange accident, that made the Signor lord ofthis castle?'
'What wonderful story have you now to tell?' said Emily, concealing thecuriosity, occasioned by the mysterious hints she had formerly heard onthat subject.
'I have heard all about it, ma'amselle,' said Annette, looking roundthe chamber and drawing closer to Emily; 'Benedetto told it me as wetravelled together: says he, "Annette, you don't know about this castlehere, that we are going to?" No, says I, Mr. Benedetto, pray what do youknow? But, ma'amselle, you can keep a secret, or I would not tell ityou for the world; for I promised never to tell, and they say, that theSignor does not like to have it talked of.'
'If you promised to keep this secret,' said Emily, 'you do right not tomention it.'
Annette paused a moment, and then said, 'O, but to you, ma'amselle, toyou I may tell it safely, I know.'
Emily smiled, 'I certainly shall keep it as faithful as yourself,Annette.'
Annette replied very gravely, that would do, and proceeded--'Thiscastle, you must know, ma'amselle, is very old, and very strong, andhas stood out many sieges as they say. Now it was not Signor Montoni'salways, nor his father's; no; but, by some law or other, it was to cometo the Signor, if the lady died unmarried.'
'What lady?' said Emily.
'I am not come to that yet,' replied Annette, 'it is the lady I am goingto tell you about, ma'amselle: but, as I was saying, this lady lived inthe castle, and had everything very grand about her, as you may suppose,ma'amselle. The Signor used often to come to see her, and was in lovewith her, and offered to marry her; for, though he was somehow related,that did not signify. But she was in love with somebody else, and wouldnot have him, which made him very angry, as they say, and you know,ma'amselle, what an ill-looking gentleman he is, when he is angry.Perhaps she saw him in a passion, and therefore would not have him. But,as I was saying, she was very melancholy and unhappy, and all that, fora long while, and--Holy Virgin! what noise is that? did not you hear asound, ma'amselle?'
'It was only the wind,' said Emily, 'but do come to the end of yourstory.'
'As I was saying--O, where was I?--as I was saying--she was verymelancholy and unhappy a long while, and used to walk about upon theterrace, there, under the windows, by herself, and cry so! it would havedone your heart good to hear her. That is--I don't mean good, but itwould have made you cry too, as they tell me.'
'Well, but, Annette, do tell me the substance of your tale.'
'All in good time, ma'am; all this I heard before at Venice, but what isto come I never heard till to-day. This happened a great many years ago,when Signor Montoni was quite a young man. The lady--they called herSignora Laurentini, was very handsome, but she used to be in greatpassions, too, sometimes, as well as the Signor. Finding he could notmake her listen to him--what does he do, but leave the castle, and nevercomes near it for a long time! but it was all one to her; she was justas unhappy whether he was here or not, till one evening, Holy St. Peter!ma'amselle,' cried Annette, 'look at that lamp, see how blue it burns!'She looked fearfully round the chamber. 'Ridiculous girl!' said Emily,'why will you indulge those fancies? Pray let me hear the end of yourstory, I am weary.'
Annette still kept her eyes on the lamp, and proceeded in a lower voice.'It was one evening, they say, at the latter end of the year, itmight be about the middle of September, I suppose, or the beginning ofOctober; nay, for that matter, it might be November, for that, too, isthe latter end of the year, but that I cannot say for certain, becausethey did not tell me for certain themselves. However, it was at thelatter end of the year, this grand lady walked out of the castle intothe woods below, as she had often done before, all alone, only her maidwas with her. The wind blew cold, and strewed the leaves about, andwhistled dismally among those great old chesnut trees, that we passed,ma'amselle, as we came to the castle--for Benedetto shewed me thetrees as he was talking--the wind blew cold, and her woman would havepersuaded her to return: but all would not do, for she was fond ofwalking in the woods, at evening time, and, if the leaves were fallingabout her, so much the better.
'Well, they saw her go down among the woods, but night came, and shedid not return: ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock came, and nolady! Well, the servants thought to be sure, some accident had befallenher, and they went out to seek her. They searched all night long, butcould not find her, or any trace of her; and, from that day to this,ma'amselle, she has never been heard of.'
'Is this true, Annette?' said Emily, in much surprise.
'True, ma'am!' said Annette, with a look of horror, 'yes, it is true,indeed. But they do say,' she added, lowering her voice, 'they do say,that the Signora has been seen, several times since, walking in thewoods and about the castle in the night: several of the old servants,who remained here some time after, declare they saw her; and, sincethen, she has been seen by some of the vassals, who have happened to bein the castle, at night. Carlo, the old steward, could tell such things,they say, if he would.'
'How contradictory is this, Annette!' said Emily, 'you say nothing hasbeen since known of her, and yet she has been seen!'
'But all this was told me for a great secret,' rejoined Annette, withoutnoticing the remark, 'and I am sure, ma'am, you would not hurt eitherme or Benedetto, so much as to go and tell it again.' Emily remainedsilent, and Annette repeated her last sentence.
'You have nothing to fear from my indiscretion,' replied Emily, 'and letme advise you, my good Annette, be discreet yourself, and never mentionwhat you have just told me to any other person. Signor Montoni, asyou say, may be angry if he hears of it. But what inquiries were madeconcerning the lady?'
'O! a great deal, indeed, ma'amselle, for the Signor laid claim to thecastle directly, as being the next heir, and they said, that is, thejudges, or the senators, or somebody of that sort, said, he could nottake possession of it till so many years were gone by, and then, if,after all, the lady could not be found, why she would be as good asdead, and the castle would be his own; and so it is his own. But thestory went round, and many strange reports were spread, so very strange,ma'amselle, that I shall not tell them.'
'That is stranger still, Annette,' said Emily, smiling, and rousingherself from her reverie. 'But, when Signora Laurentini was afterwardsseen in the castle, did nobody speak to her?'
'Speak--speak to her!' cried Annette, with a look of terror; 'no, to besure.'
'And why not?' rejoined Emily, willing to hear further.
'Holy Mother! speak to a spirit!'
'But what reason had they to conclude it was a spirit, unless they hadapproached, and spoken to it?' 'O ma'amselle, I cannot tell. How can youask such shocking questions? But nobody ever saw it come in, or go outof the castle; and it was in one place now, and then the next minute inquite another part of the castle; and then it never spoke, and, if itwas alive, what should it do in the castle if it never spoke? Severalparts of the castle have never been gone into since, they say, for thatvery reason.'
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'What, because it never spoke?' said Emily, trying to laugh away thefears that began to steal upon her.--'No, ma'amselle, no;' repliedAnnette, rather angrily 'but because something has been seen there. Theysay, too, there is an old chapel adjoining the west side of the castle,where, any time at midnight, you may hear such groans!--it makes oneshudder to think of them!--and strange sights have been seen there--'
'Pr'ythee, Annette, no more of these silly tales,' said Emily.
'Silly tales, ma'amselle! O, but I will tell you one story about this,if you please, that Caterina told me. It was one cold winter's nightthat Caterina (she often came to the castle then, she says, to keep oldCarlo and his wife company, and so he recommended her afterwards to theSignor, and she has lived here ever since) Caterina was sitting withthem in the little hall, says Carlo, "I wish we had some of those figsto roast, that lie in the store-closet, but it is a long way off, and Iam loath to fetch them; do, Caterina," says he, "for you are young andnimble, do bring us some, the fire is in nice trim for roasting them;they lie," says he, "in such a corner of the store-room, at the end ofthe north-gallery; here, take the lamp," says he, "and mind, as you goup the great stair-case, that the wind, through the roof, does not blowit out." So, with that, Caterina took the lamp--Hush! ma'amselle, Isurely heard a noise!'
Emily, whom Annette had now infected with her own terrors, listenedattentively; but every thing was still, and Annette proceeded:
'Caterina went to the north-gallery, that is the wide gallery we passed,ma'am, before we came to the corridor, here. As she went with the lampin her hand, thinking of nothing at all--There, again!' cried Annettesuddenly--'I heard it again!--it was not fancy, ma'amselle!'
'Hush!' said Emily, trembling. They listened, and, continuing to sitquite still, Emily heard a low knocking against the wall. It camerepeatedly. Annette then screamed loudly, and the chamber door slowlyopened.--It was Caterina, come to tell Annette, that her lady wantedher. Emily, though she now perceived who it was, could not immediatelyovercome her terror; while Annette, half laughing, half crying, scoldedCaterina heartily for thus alarming them; and was also terrified lestwhat she had told had been overheard.--Emily, whose mind was deeplyimpressed by the chief circumstance of Annette's relation, was unwillingto be left alone, in the present state of her spirits; but, to avoidoffending Madame Montoni, and betraying her own weakness, she struggledto overcome the illusions of fear, and dismissed Annette for the night.
When she was alone, her thoughts recurred to the strange history ofSignora Laurentini and then to her own strange situation, in the wildand solitary mountains of a foreign country, in the castle, and thepower of a man, to whom, only a few preceding months, she was an entirestranger; who had already exercised an usurped authority over her, andwhose character she now regarded, with a degree of terror, apparentlyjustified by the fears of others. She knew, that he had invention equalto the conception and talents to the execution of any project, andshe greatly feared he had a heart too void of feeling to oppose theperpetration of whatever his interest might suggest. She had longobserved the unhappiness of Madame Montoni, and had often been witnessto the stern and contemptuous behaviour she received from her husband.To these circumstances, which conspired to give her just cause foralarm, were now added those thousand nameless terrors, which exist onlyin active imaginations, and which set reason and examination equally atdefiance.
Emily remembered all that Valancourt had told her, on the eve of herdeparture from Languedoc, respecting Montoni, and all that he had saidto dissuade her from venturing on the journey. His fears had often sinceappeared to her prophetic--now they seemed confirmed. Her heart, asit gave her back the image of Valancourt, mourned in vain regret, butreason soon came with a consolation which, though feeble at first,acquired vigour from reflection. She considered, that, whatever might beher sufferings, she had withheld from involving him in misfortune, andthat, whatever her future sorrows could be, she was, at least, free fromself-reproach.
Her melancholy was assisted by the hollow sighings of the wind along thecorridor and round the castle. The cheerful blaze of the wood had longbeen extinguished, and she sat with her eyes fixed on the dying embers,till a loud gust, that swept through the corridor, and shook the doorsand casements, alarmed her, for its violence had moved the chair she hadplaced as a fastening, and the door, leading to the private stair-casestood half open. Her curiosity and her fears were again awakened. Shetook the lamp to the top of the steps, and stood hesitating whether togo down; but again the profound stillness and the gloom of the placeawed her, and, determining to enquire further, when day-light mightassist the search, she closed the door, and placed against it a strongerguard.
She now retired to her bed, leaving the lamp burning on the table; butits gloomy light, instead of dispelling her fear, assisted it; for,by its uncertain rays, she almost fancied she saw shapes flit past hercurtains and glide into the remote obscurity of her chamber.--The castleclock struck one before she closed her eyes to sleep.