CHAPTER VI
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes, That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me! JULIUS CAESAR
Daylight dispelled from Emily's mind the glooms of superstition, butnot those of apprehension. The Count Morano was the first image, thatoccurred to her waking thoughts, and then came a train of anticipatedevils, which she could neither conquer, nor avoid. She rose, and, torelieve her mind from the busy ideas, that tormented it, compelledherself to notice external objects. From her casement she looked outupon the wild grandeur of the scene, closed nearly on all sides byalpine steeps, whose tops, peeping over each other, faded from the eyein misty hues, while the promontories below were dark with woods, thatswept down to their base, and stretched along the narrow vallies. Therich pomp of these woods was particularly delightful to Emily; and sheviewed with astonishment the fortifications of the castle spreadingalong a vast extent of rock, and now partly in decay, the grandeur ofthe ramparts below, and the towers and battlements and various featuresof the fabric above. From these her sight wandered over the cliffs andwoods into the valley, along which foamed a broad and rapid stream, seenfalling among the crags of an opposite mountain, now flashing in thesun-beams, and now shadowed by over-arching pines, till it was entirelyconcealed by their thick foliage. Again it burst from beneath thisdarkness in one broad sheet of foam, and fell thundering into the vale.Nearer, towards the west, opened the mountain-vista, which Emily hadviewed with such sublime emotion, on her approach to the castle: a thindusky vapour, that rose from the valley, overspread its features with asweet obscurity. As this ascended and caught the sun-beams, it kindledinto a crimson tint, and touched with exquisite beauty the woods andcliffs, over which it passed to the summit of the mountains; then, asthe veil drew up, it was delightful to watch the gleaming objects, thatprogressively disclosed themselves in the valley--the green turf--darkwoods--little rocky recesses--a few peasants' huts--the foamingstream--a herd of cattle, and various images of pastoral beauty. Then,the pine-forests brightened, and then the broad breast of the mountains,till, at length, the mist settled round their summit, touching them witha ruddy glow. The features of the vista now appeared distinctly, and thebroad deep shadows, that fell from the lower cliffs, gave strong effectto the streaming splendour above; while the mountains, gradually sinkingin the perspective, appeared to shelve into the Adriatic sea, for suchEmily imagined to be the gleam of blueish light, that terminated theview.
Thus she endeavoured to amuse her fancy, and was not unsuccessful.The breezy freshness of the morning, too, revived her. She raised herthoughts in prayer, which she felt always most disposed to do, whenviewing the sublimity of nature, and her mind recovered its strength.
When she turned from the casement, her eyes glanced upon the door shehad so carefully guarded, on the preceding night, and she now determinedto examine whither it led; but, on advancing to remove the chairs,she perceived, that they were already moved a little way. Her surprisecannot be easily imagined, when, in the next minute, she perceived thatthe door was fastened.--She felt, as if she had seen an apparition. Thedoor of the corridor was locked as she had left it, but this door, whichcould be secured only on the outside, must have been bolted, during thenight. She became seriously uneasy at the thought of sleeping again ina chamber, thus liable to intrusion, so remote, too, as it was fromthe family, and she determined to mention the circumstance to MadameMontoni, and to request a change.
After some perplexity she found her way into the great hall, and to theroom, which she had left, on the preceding night, where breakfast wasspread, and her aunt was alone, for Montoni had been walking over theenvirons of the castle, examining the condition of its fortifications,and talking for some time with Carlo. Emily observed that her aunt hadbeen weeping, and her heart softened towards her, with an affection,that shewed itself in her manner, rather than in words, while shecarefully avoided the appearance of having noticed, that she wasunhappy. She seized the opportunity of Montoni's absence to mention thecircumstance of the door, to request that she might be allowed anotherapartment, and to enquire again, concerning the occasion of theirsudden journey. On the first subject her aunt referred her to Montoni,positively refusing to interfere in the affair; on the last, sheprofessed utter ignorance.
Emily, then, with a wish of making her aunt more reconciled to hersituation, praised the grandeur of the castle and the surroundingscenery, and endeavoured to soften every unpleasing circumstanceattending it. But, though misfortune had somewhat conquered theasperities of Madame Montoni's temper, and, by increasing her caresfor herself, had taught her to feel in some degree for others, thecapricious love of rule, which nature had planted and habit hadnourished in her heart, was not subdued. She could not now deny herselfthe gratification of tyrannizing over the innocent and helpless Emily,by attempting to ridicule the taste she could not feel.
Her satirical discourse was, however, interrupted by the entrance ofMontoni, and her countenance immediately assumed a mingled expression offear and resentment, while he seated himself at the breakfast-table, asif unconscious of there being any person but himself in the room.
Emily, as she observed him in silence, saw, that his countenance wasdarker and sterner than usual. 'O could I know,' said she to herself,'what passes in that mind; could I know the thoughts, that are knownthere, I should no longer be condemned to this torturing suspense!'Their breakfast passed in silence, till Emily ventured to request, thatanother apartment might be allotted to her, and related the circumstancewhich made her wish it.
'I have no time to attend to these idle whims,' said Montoni, 'thatchamber was prepared for you, and you must rest contented with it. Itis not probable, that any person would take the trouble of going to thatremote stair-case, for the purpose of fastening a door. If it was notfastened, when you entered the chamber, the wind, perhaps, shook thedoor and made the bolts slide. But I know not why I should undertake toaccount for so trifling an occurrence.'
This explanation was by no means satisfactory to Emily, who hadobserved, that the bolts were rusted, and consequently could not be thuseasily moved; but she forbore to say so, and repeated her request.
'If you will not release yourself from the slavery of these fears,' saidMontoni, sternly, 'at least forbear to torment others by the mentionof them. Conquer such whims, and endeavour to strengthen your mind. Noexistence is more contemptible than that, which is embittered by fear.'As he said this, his eye glanced upon Madame Montoni, who colouredhighly, but was still silent. Emily, wounded and disappointed, thoughther fears were, in this instance, too reasonable to deserve ridicule;but, perceiving, that, however they might oppress her, she must endurethem, she tried to withdraw her attention from the subject.
Carlo soon after entered with some fruit:
'Your excellenza is tired after your long ramble,' said he, as he setthe fruit upon the table; 'but you have more to see after breakfast.There is a place in the vaulted passage leading to--'
Montoni frowned upon him, and waved his hand for him to leave theroom. Carlo stopped, looked down, and then added, as he advanced to thebreakfast-table, and took up the basket of fruit, 'I made bold, yourexcellenza, to bring some cherries, here, for my honoured lady andmy young mistress. Will your ladyship taste them, madam?' said Carlo,presenting the basket, 'they are very fine ones, though I gathered themmyself, and from an old tree, that catches all the south sun; they areas big as plums, your ladyship.'
'Very well, old Carlo,' said Madame Montoni; 'I am obliged to you.'
'And the young Signora, too, she may like some of them,' rejoined Carlo,turning with the basket to Emily, 'it will do me good to see her eatsome.'
'Thank you, Carlo,' said Emily, taking some cherries, and smilingkindly.
'Come, come,' said Montoni, impatiently, 'enough of this. Leave theroom, but be in waiting. I shall want you presently.'
Carlo obeyed, and Montoni, soon after, went out to examine further intothe state of the castle; while Emily remained with her aunt,
patientlyenduring her ill humour, and endeavouring, with much sweetness, tosoothe her affliction, instead of resenting its effect.
When Madame Montoni retired to her dressing-room, Emily endeavoured toamuse herself by a view of the castle. Through a folding door she passedfrom the great hall to the ramparts, which extended along the brow ofthe precipice, round three sides of the edifice; the fourth was guardedby the high walls of the courts, and by the gateway, through whichshe had passed, on the preceding evening. The grandeur of the broadramparts, and the changing scenery they overlooked, excited her highadmiration; for the extent of the terraces allowed the features of thecountry to be seen in such various points of view, that they appeared toform new landscapes. She often paused to examine the gothic magnificenceof Udolpho, its proud irregularity, its lofty towers and battlements,its high-arched casements, and its slender watch-towers, perched uponthe corners of turrets. Then she would lean on the wall of the terrace,and, shuddering, measure with her eye the precipice below, till thedark summits of the woods arrested it. Wherever she turned, appearedmountain-tops, forests of pine and narrow glens, opening among theApennines and retiring from the sight into inaccessible regions.
While she thus leaned, Montoni, followed by two men, appeared, ascendinga winding path, cut in the rock below. He stopped upon a cliff, and,pointing to the ramparts, turned to his followers, and talked with mucheagerness of gesticulation.--Emily perceived, that one of these men wasCarlo; the other was in the dress of a peasant, and he alone seemed tobe receiving the directions of Montoni.
She withdrew from the walls, and pursued her walk, till she heard ata distance the sound of carriage wheels, and then the loud bell ofthe portal, when it instantly occurred to her, that Count Morano wasarrived. As she hastily passed the folding doors from the terrace,towards her own apartment, several persons entered the hall by anopposite door. She saw them at the extremities of the arcades, andimmediately retreated; but the agitation of her spirits, and the extentand duskiness of the hall, had prevented her from distinguishing thepersons of the strangers. Her fears, however, had but one object, andthey had called up that object to her fancy:--she believed that she hadseen Count Morano.
When she thought that they had passed the hall, she ventured again tothe door, and proceeded, unobserved, to her room, where she remained,agitated with apprehensions, and listening to every distant sound. Atlength, hearing voices on the rampart, she hastened to her window,and observed Montoni, with Signor Cavigni, walking below, conversingearnestly, and often stopping and turning towards each other, at whichtime their discourse seemed to be uncommonly interesting.
Of the several persons who had appeared in the hall, here was Cavignialone: but Emily's alarm was soon after heightened by the steps of someone in the corridor, who, she apprehended, brought a message from theCount. In the next moment, Annette appeared.
'Ah! ma'amselle,' said she, 'here is the Signor Cavigni arrived! I amsure I rejoiced to see a christian person in this place; and then he isso good natured too, he always takes so much notice of me!--And here isalso Signor Verezzi, and who do you think besides, ma'amselle?'
'I cannot guess, Annette; tell me quickly.'
'Nay, ma'am, do guess once.'
'Well, then,' said Emily, with assumed composure, 'it is--Count Morano,I suppose.'
'Holy Virgin!' cried Annette, 'are you ill, ma'amselle? you are going tofaint! let me get some water.'
Emily sunk into a chair. 'Stay, Annette,' said she, feebly, 'do notleave me--I shall soon be better; open the casement.--The Count, yousay--he is come, then?'
'Who, I!--the Count! No, ma'amselle, I did not say so.' 'He is NOT comethen?' said Emily eagerly. 'No, ma'amselle.'
'You are sure of it?'
'Lord bless me!' said Annette, 'you recover very suddenly, ma'am! why, Ithought you was dying, just now.'
'But the Count--you are sure, is not come?'
'O yes, quite sure of that, ma'amselle. Why, I was looking out throughthe grate in the north turret, when the carriages drove into thecourt-yard, and I never expected to see such a goodly sight in thisdismal old castle! but here are masters and servants, too, enough tomake the place ring again. O! I was ready to leap through the rusty oldbars for joy!--O! who would ever have thought of seeing a christianface in this huge dreary house? I could have kissed the very horses thatbrought them.'
'Well, Annette, well, I am better now.'
'Yes, ma'amselle, I see you are. O! all the servants will lead merrylives here, now; we shall have singing and dancing in the little hall,for the Signor cannot hear us there--and droll stories--Ludovico's come,ma'am; yes, there is Ludovico come with them! You remember Ludovico,ma'am--a tall, handsome young man--Signor Cavigni's lacquey--who alwayswears his cloak with such a grace, thrown round his left arm, and hishat set on so smartly, all on one side, and--'
'No,' said Emily, who was wearied by her loquacity.
'What, ma'amselle, don't you remember Ludovico--who rowed theCavaliero's gondola, at the last regatta, and won the prize? Andwho used to sing such sweet verses about Orlandos and about theBlack-a-moors, too; and Charly--Charly--magne, yes, that was the name,all under my lattice, in the west portico, on the moon-light nights atVenice? O! I have listened to him!'---
'I fear, to thy peril, my good Annette,' said Emily; 'for it seems hisverses have stolen thy heart. But let me advise you; if it is so, keepthe secret; never let him know it.'
'Ah--ma'amselle!--how can one keep such a secret as that?'
'Well, Annette, I am now so much better, that you may leave me.'
'O, but, ma'amselle, I forgot to ask--how did you sleep in thisdreary old chamber last night?'--'As well as usual.'--'Did you hearno noises?'--'None.'--'Nor see anything?'--'Nothing.'--'Well, that issurprising!'--'Not in the least: and now tell me, why you ask thesequestions.'
'O, ma'amselle! I would not tell you for the world, nor all I have heardabout this chamber, either; it would frighten you so.'
'If that is all, you have frightened me already, and may therefore tellme what you know, without hurting your conscience.'
'O Lord! they say the room is haunted, and has been so these manyyears.'
'It is by a ghost, then, who can draw bolts,' said Emily, endeavouringto laugh away her apprehensions; 'for I left the door open, last night,and found it fastened this morning.'
Annette turned pale, and said not a word.
'Do you know whether any of the servants fastened this door in themorning, before I rose?'
'No, ma'am, that I will be bound they did not; but I don't know: shallI go and ask, ma'amselle?' said Annette, moving hastily towards thecorridor.
'Stay, Annette, I have another question to ask; tell me what you haveheard concerning this room, and whither that stair-case leads.'
'I will go and ask it all directly, ma'am; besides, I am sure my ladywants me. I cannot stay now, indeed, ma'am.'
She hurried from the room, without waiting Emily's reply, whose heart,lightened by the certainty, that Morano was not arrived, allowed herto smile at the superstitious terror, which had seized on Annette; for,though she sometimes felt its influence herself, she could smile at it,when apparent in other persons.
Montoni having refused Emily another chamber, she determined to bearwith patience the evil she could not remove, and, in order to make theroom as comfortable as possible, unpacked her books, her sweet delightin happier days, and her soothing resource in the hours of moderatesorrow: but there were hours when even these failed of their effect;when the genius, the taste, the enthusiasm of the sublimest writers werefelt no longer.
Her little library being arranged on a high chest, part of the furnitureof the room, she took out her drawing utensils, and was tranquil enoughto be pleased with the thought of sketching the sublime scenes, beheldfrom her windows; but she suddenly checked this pleasure, rememberinghow often she had soothed herself by the intention of obtainingamusement of this kind, and had been prevented by some new circumstanceof misfortune.
'H
ow can I suffer myself to be deluded by hope,' said she, 'and, becauseCount Morano is not yet arrived, feel a momentary happiness? Alas! whatis it to me, whether he is here to-day, or to-morrow, if he comes atall?--and that he will come--it were weakness to doubt.'
To withdraw her thoughts, however, from the subject of her misfortunes,she attempted to read, but her attention wandered from the page, and,at length, she threw aside the book, and determined to explore theadjoining chambers of the castle. Her imagination was pleased with theview of ancient grandeur, and an emotion of melancholy awe awakened allits powers, as she walked through rooms, obscure and desolate, where nofootsteps had passed probably for many years, and remembered the strangehistory of the former possessor of the edifice. This brought to herrecollection the veiled picture, which had attracted her curiosity,on the preceding night, and she resolved to examine it. As she passedthrough the chambers, that led to this, she found herself somewhatagitated; its connection with the late lady of the castle, and theconversation of Annette, together with the circumstance of the veil,throwing a mystery over the subject, that excited a faint degree ofterror. But a terror of this nature, as it occupies and expands themind, and elevates it to high expectation, is purely sublime, and leadsus, by a kind of fascination, to seek even the object, from which weappear to shrink.
Emily passed on with faltering steps, and having paused a moment atthe door, before she attempted to open it, she then hastily entered thechamber, and went towards the picture, which appeared to be enclosedin a frame of uncommon size, that hung in a dark part of the room.She paused again, and then, with a timid hand, lifted the veil; butinstantly let it fall--perceiving that what it had concealed was nopicture, and, before she could leave the chamber, she dropped senselesson the floor.
When she recovered her recollection, the remembrance of what she hadseen had nearly deprived her of it a second time. She had scarcelystrength to remove from the room, and regain her own; and, when arrivedthere, wanted courage to remain alone. Horror occupied her mind, andexcluded, for a time, all sense of past, and dread of future misfortune:she seated herself near the casement, because from thence she heardvoices, though distant, on the terrace, and might see people pass, andthese, trifling as they were, were reviving circumstances. When herspirits had recovered their tone, she considered, whether she shouldmention what she had seen to Madame Montoni, and various and importantmotives urged her to do so, among which the least was the hope of therelief, which an overburdened mind finds in speaking of the subject ofits interest. But she was aware of the terrible consequences, which sucha communication might lead to; and, dreading the indiscretion of heraunt, at length, endeavoured to arm herself with resolution to observe aprofound silence, on the subject. Montoni and Verezzi soon after passedunder the casement, speaking cheerfully, and their voices revived her.Presently the Signors Bertolini and Cavigni joined the party on theterrace, and Emily, supposing that Madame Montoni was then alone, wentto seek her; for the solitude of her chamber, and its proximity to thatwhere she had received so severe a shock, again affected her spirit.
She found her aunt in her dressing-room, preparing for dinner. Emily'spale and affrighted countenance alarmed even Madame Montoni; but she hadsufficient strength of mind to be silent on the subject, that still madeher shudder, and which was ready to burst from her lips. In her aunt'sapartment she remained, till they both descended to dinner. There shemet the gentlemen lately arrived, who had a kind of busy seriousness intheir looks, which was somewhat unusual with them, while their thoughtsseemed too much occupied by some deep interest, to suffer them to bestowmuch attention either on Emily, or Madame Montoni. They spoke little,and Montoni less. Emily, as she now looked on him, shuddered. The horrorof the chamber rushed on her mind. Several times the colour faded fromher cheeks, and she feared, that illness would betray her emotions,and compel her to leave the room; but the strength of her resolutionremedied the weakness of her frame; she obliged herself to converse, andeven tried to look cheerful.
Montoni evidently laboured under some vexation, such as would probablyhave agitated a weaker mind, or a more susceptible heart, but whichappeared, from the sternness of his countenance, only to bend up hisfaculties to energy and fortitude.
It was a comfortless and silent meal. The gloom of the castle seemed tohave spread its contagion even over the gay countenance of Cavigni, andwith this gloom was mingled a fierceness, such as she had seldom seenhim indicate. Count Morano was not named, and what conversation therewas, turned chiefly upon the wars, which at that time agitated theItalian states, the strength of the Venetian armies, and the charactersof their generals.
After dinner, when the servants had withdrawn, Emily learned, that thecavalier, who had drawn upon himself the vengeance of Orsino, had sincedied of his wounds, and that strict search was still making for hismurderer. The intelligence seemed to disturb Montoni, who mused, andthen enquired, where Orsino had concealed himself. His guests, who all,except Cavigni, were ignorant, that Montoni had himself assisted himto escape from Venice, replied, that he had fled in the night with suchprecipitation and secrecy, that his most intimate companions knew notwhither. Montoni blamed himself for having asked the question, for asecond thought convinced him, that a man of Orsino's suspicious temperwas not likely to trust any of the persons present with the knowledgeof his asylum. He considered himself, however, as entitled to his utmostconfidence, and did not doubt, that he should soon hear of him.
Emily retired with Madame Montoni, soon after the cloth was withdrawn,and left the cavaliers to their secret councils, but not before thesignificant frowns of Montoni had warned his wife to depart, who passedfrom the hall to the ramparts, and walked, for some time, in silence,which Emily did not interrupt, for her mind was also occupied byinterests of its own. It required all her resolution, to forbearcommunicating to Madame Montoni the terrible subject, which stillthrilled her every nerve with horror; and sometimes she was on the pointof doing so, merely to obtain the relief of a moment; but she knewhow wholly she was in the power of Montoni, and, considering, that theindiscretion of her aunt might prove fatal to them both, she compelledherself to endure a present and an inferior evil, rather than to tempt afuture and a heavier one. A strange kind of presentiment frequently, onthis day, occurred to her;--it seemed as if her fate rested here, andwas by some invisible means connected with this castle.
'Let me not accelerate it,' said she to herself: 'for whatever I may bereserved, let me, at least, avoid self-reproach.'
As she looked on the massy walls of the edifice, her melancholy spiritsrepresented it to be her prison; and she started as at a new suggestion,when she considered how far distant she was from her native country,from her little peaceful home, and from her only friend--how remote washer hope of happiness, how feeble the expectation of again seeing him!Yet the idea of Valancourt, and her confidence in his faithful love, hadhitherto been her only solace, and she struggled hard to retain them.A few tears of agony started to her eyes, which she turned aside toconceal.
While she afterwards leaned on the wall of the rampart, some peasants,at a little distance, were seen examining a breach, before which laya heap of stones, as if to repair it, and a rusty old cannon, thatappeared to have fallen from its station above. Madame Montoni stoppedto speak to the men, and enquired what they were going to do. 'To repairthe fortifications, your ladyship,' said one of them; a labour whichshe was somewhat surprised, that Montoni should think necessary,particularly since he had never spoken of the castle, as of a place, atwhich he meant to reside for any considerable time; but she passed ontowards a lofty arch, that led from the south to the east rampart,and which adjoined the castle, on one side, while, on the other, itsupported a small watch-tower, that entirely commanded the deep valleybelow. As she approached this arch, she saw, beyond it, winding alongthe woody descent of a distant mountain, a long troop of horse and foot,whom she knew to be soldiers, only by the glitter of their pikes andother arms, for the distance did not allow her to discover the colouro
f their liveries. As she gazed, the vanguard issued from the woods intothe valley, but the train still continued to pour over the remotesummit of the mountain, in endless succession; while, in the front,the military uniform became distinguishable, and the commanders, ridingfirst, and seeming, by their gestures, to direct the march of those thatfollowed, at length, approached very near to the castle.
Such a spectacle, in these solitary regions, both surprised and alarmedMadame Montoni, and she hastened towards some peasants, who wereemployed in raising bastions before the south rampart, where the rockwas less abrupt than elsewhere. These men could give no satisfactoryanswers to her enquiries, but, being roused by them, gazed in stupidastonishment upon the long cavalcade. Madame Montoni, then thinking itnecessary to communicate further the object of her alarm, sent Emily tosay, that she wished to speak to Montoni; an errand her niece did notapprove, for she dreaded his frowns, which she knew this message wouldprovoke; but she obeyed in silence.
As she drew near the apartment, in which he sat with his guests,she heard them in earnest and loud dispute, and she paused a moment,trembling at the displeasure, which her sudden interruption wouldoccasion. In the next, their voices sunk all together; she then venturedto open the door, and, while Montoni turned hastily and looked at her,without speaking, she delivered her message.
'Tell Madam Montoni I am engaged,' said he.
Emily then thought it proper to mention the subject of her alarm.Montoni and his companions rose instantly and went to the windows, but,these not affording them a view of the troops, they at length proceededto the ramparts, where Cavigni conjectured it to be a legion ofcondottieri, on their march towards Modena.
One part of the cavalcade now extended along the valley, and anotherwound among the mountains towards the north, while some troops stilllingered on the woody precipices, where the first had appeared, so thatthe great length of the procession seemed to include an whole army.While Montoni and his family watched its progress, they heard the soundof trumpets and the clash of cymbals in the vale, and then others,answering from the heights. Emily listened with emotion to the shrillblast, that woke the echoes of the mountains, and Montoni explained thesignals, with which he appeared to be well acquainted, and which meantnothing hostile. The uniforms of the troops, and the kind of armsthey bore, confirmed to him the conjecture of Cavigni, and he had thesatisfaction to see them pass by, without even stopping to gaze upon hiscastle. He did not, however, leave the rampart, till the bases ofthe mountains had shut them from his view, and the last murmur of thetrumpet floated away on the wind. Cavigni and Verezzi were inspiritedby this spectacle, which seemed to have roused all the fire of theirtemper; Montoni turned into the castle in thoughtful silence.
Emily's mind had not yet sufficiently recovered from its late shock,to endure the loneliness of her chamber, and she remained upon theramparts; for Madame Montoni had not invited her to her dressing-room,whither she had gone evidently in low spirits, and Emily, from herlate experience, had lost all wish to explore the gloomy and mysteriousrecesses of the castle. The ramparts, therefore, were almost her onlyretreat, and here she lingered, till the gray haze of evening was againspread over the scene.
The cavaliers supped by themselves, and Madame Montoni remained in herapartment, whither Emily went, before she retired to her own. She foundher aunt weeping, and in much agitation. The tenderness of Emily wasnaturally so soothing, that it seldom failed to give comfort to thedrooping heart: but Madame Montoni's was torn, and the softest accentsof Emily's voice were lost upon it. With her usual delicacy, she didnot appear to observe her aunt's distress, but it gave an involuntarygentleness to her manners, and an air of solicitude to her countenance,which Madame Montoni was vexed to perceive, who seemed to feel the pityof her niece to be an insult to her pride, and dismissed her as soonas she properly could. Emily did not venture to mention again thereluctance she felt to her gloomy chamber, but she requested thatAnnette might be permitted to remain with her till she retired to rest;and the request was somewhat reluctantly granted. Annette, however, wasnow with the servants, and Emily withdrew alone.
With light and hasty steps she passed through the long galleries, whilethe feeble glimmer of the lamp she carried only shewed the gloomaround her, and the passing air threatened to extinguish it. The lonelysilence, that reigned in this part of the castle, awed her; now andthen, indeed, she heard a faint peal of laughter rise from a remote partof the edifice, where the servants were assembled, but it was soon lost,and a kind of breathless stillness remained. As she passed the suite ofrooms which she had visited in the morning, her eyes glanced fearfullyon the door, and she almost fancied she heard murmuring sounds within,but she paused not a moment to enquire.
Having reached her own apartment, where no blazing wood on thehearth dissipated the gloom, she sat down with a book, to enliven herattention, till Annette should come, and a fire could be kindled. Shecontinued to read till her light was nearly expired, but Annette did notappear, and the solitude and obscurity of her chamber again affected herspirits, the more, because of its nearness to the scene of horror, thatshe had witnessed in the morning. Gloomy and fantastic images came toher mind. She looked fearfully towards the door of the stair-case, andthen, examining whether it was still fastened, found that it was so.Unable to conquer the uneasiness she felt at the prospect of sleepingagain in this remote and insecure apartment, which some person seemed tohave entered during the preceding night, her impatience to see Annette,whom she had bidden to enquire concerning this circumstance, becameextremely painful. She wished also to question her, as to the object,which had excited so much horror in her own mind, and which Annette onthe preceding evening had appeared to be in part acquainted with, thoughher words were very remote from the truth, and it appeared plainly toEmily, that the girl had been purposely misled by a false report: aboveall she was surprised, that the door of the chamber, which containedit, should be left unguarded. Such an instance of negligence almostsurpassed belief. But her light was now expiring; the faint flashes itthrew upon the walls called up all the terrors of fancy, and she roseto find her way to the habitable part of the castle, before it was quiteextinguished. As she opened the chamber door, she heard remote voices,and, soon after, saw a light issue upon the further end of the corridor,which Annette and another servant approached. 'I am glad you arecome,' said Emily: 'what has detained you so long? Pray light me a fireimmediately.'
'My lady wanted me, ma'amselle,' replied Annette in some confusion; 'Iwill go and get the wood.'
'No,' said Caterina, 'that is my business,' and left the room instantly,while Annette would have followed; but, being called back, she beganto talk very loud, and laugh, and seemed afraid to trust a pause ofsilence.
Caterina soon returned with the wood, and then, when the cheerful blazeonce more animated the room, and this servant had withdrawn, Emilyasked Annette, whether she had made the enquiry she bade her. 'Yes,ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'but not a soul knows any thing about thematter: and old Carlo--I watched him well, for they say he knows strangethings--old Carlo looked so as I don't know how to tell, and he asked meagain and again, if I was sure the door was ever unfastened. Lord, saysI--am I sure I am alive? And as for me, ma'am, I am all astounded, asone may say, and would no more sleep in this chamber, than I would onthe great cannon at the end of the east rampart.'
'And what objection have you to that cannon, more than to any of therest?' said Emily smiling: 'the best would be rather a hard bed.'
'Yes, ma'amselle, any of them would be hard enough for that matter; butthey do say, that something has been seen in the dead of night, standingbeside the great cannon, as if to guard it.'
'Well! my good Annette, the people who tell such stories, are happy inhaving you for an auditor, for I perceive you believe them all.'
'Dear ma'amselle! I will shew you the very cannon; you can see it fromthese windows!'
'Well,' said Emily, 'but that does not prove, that an apparition guardsit.'
'What! not if I
shew you the very cannon! Dear ma'am, you will believenothing.'
'Nothing probably upon this subject, but what I see,' saidEmily.--'Well, ma'am, but you shall see it, if you will only step thisway to the casement.'--Emily could not forbear laughing, and Annettelooked surprised. Perceiving her extreme aptitude to credit themarvellous, Emily forbore to mention the subject she had intended, lestit should overcome her with idle terrors, and she began to speak on alively topic--the regattas of Venice.
'Aye, ma'amselle, those rowing matches,' said Annette, 'and the finemoon-light nights, are all, that are worth seeing in Venice. To be surethe moon is brighter than any I ever saw; and then to hear such sweetmusic, too, as Ludovico has often and often sung under the lattice bythe west portico! Ma'amselle, it was Ludovico, that told me about thatpicture, which you wanted so to look at last night, and---'
'What picture?' said Emily, wishing Annette to explain herself.
'O! that terrible picture with the black veil over it.'
'You never saw it, then?' said Emily.
'Who, I!--No, ma'amselle, I never did. But this morning,' continuedAnnette, lowering her voice, and looking round the room, 'this morning,as it was broad daylight, do you know, ma'am, I took a strange fancy tosee it, as I had heard such odd hints about it, and I got as far as thedoor, and should have opened it, if it had not been locked!'
Emily, endeavouring to conceal the emotion this circumstance occasioned,enquired at what hour she went to the chamber, and found, that it wassoon after herself had been there. She also asked further questions, andthe answers convinced her, that Annette, and probably her informer, wereignorant of the terrible truth, though in Annette's account somethingvery like the truth, now and then, mingled with the falsehood. Emily nowbegan to fear, that her visit to the chamber had been observed, sincethe door had been closed, so immediately after her departure; anddreaded lest this should draw upon her the vengeance of Montoni. Heranxiety, also, was excited to know whence, and for what purpose, thedelusive report, which had been imposed upon Annette, had originated,since Montoni could only have wished for silence and secrecy; but shefelt, that the subject was too terrible for this lonely hour, and shecompelled herself to leave it, to converse with Annette, whose chat,simple as it was, she preferred to the stillness of total solitude.
Thus they sat, till near midnight, but not without many hints fromAnnette, that she wished to go. The embers were now nearly burnt out;and Emily heard, at a distance, the thundering sound of the hall doors,as they were shut for the night. She, therefore, prepared for rest, butwas still unwilling that Annette should leave her. At this instant, thegreat bell of the portal sounded. They listened in fearful expectation,when, after a long pause of silence, it sounded again. Soon after, theyheard the noise of carriage wheels in the court-yard. Emily sunk almostlifeless in her chair; 'It is the Count,' said she.
'What, at this time of night, ma'am!' said Annette: 'no, my dear lady.But, for that matter, it is a strange time of night for any body tocome!'
'Nay, pr'ythee, good Annette, stay not talking,' said Emily in a voiceof agony--'Go, pr'ythee, go, and see who it is.'
Annette left the room, and carried with her the light, leaving Emily indarkness, which a few moments before would have terrified her in thisroom, but was now scarcely observed by her. She listened and waited, inbreathless expectation, and heard distant noises, but Annette did notreturn. Her patience, at length, exhausted, she tried to find her wayto the corridor, but it was long before she could touch the door of thechamber, and, when she had opened it, the total darkness without madeher fear to proceed. Voices were now heard, and Emily even thought shedistinguished those of Count Morano, and Montoni. Soon after, sheheard steps approaching, and then a ray of light streamed through thedarkness, and Annette appeared, whom Emily went to meet.
'Yes, ma'amselle,' said she, 'you was right, it is the Count sureenough.'
'It is he!' exclaimed Emily, lifting her eyes towards heaven andsupporting herself by Annette's arm.
'Good Lord! my dear lady, don't be in such a FLUSTER, and look so pale,we shall soon hear more.'
'We shall, indeed!' said Emily, moving as fast as she was able towardsher apartment. 'I am not well; give me air.' Annette opened a casement,and brought water. The faintness soon left Emily, but she desiredAnnette would not go till she heard from Montoni.
'Dear ma'amselle! he surely will not disturb you at this time of night;why he must think you are asleep.'
'Stay with me till I am so, then,' said Emily, who felt temporary relieffrom this suggestion, which appeared probable enough, though her fearshad prevented its occurring to her. Annette, with secret reluctance,consented to stay, and Emily was now composed enough to ask her somequestions; among others, whether she had seen the Count.
'Yes, ma'am, I saw him alight, for I went from hence to the grate in thenorth turret, that overlooks the inner court-yard, you know. There Isaw the Count's carriage, and the Count in it, waiting at the greatdoor,--for the porter was just gone to bed--with several men onhorseback all by the light of the torches they carried.' Emily wascompelled to smile. 'When the door was opened, the Count said something,that I could not make out, and then got out, and another gentleman withhim. I thought, to be sure, the Signor was gone to bed, and I hastenedaway to my lady's dressing-room, to see what I could hear. But in theway I met Ludovico, and he told me that the Signor was up, counsellingwith his master and the other Signors, in the room at the end of thenorth gallery; and Ludovico held up his finger, and laid it on his lips,as much as to say--There is more going on, than you think of, Annette,but you must hold your tongue. And so I did hold my tongue, ma'amselle,and came away to tell you directly.'
Emily enquired who the cavalier was, that accompanied the Count, and howMontoni received them; but Annette could not inform her.
'Ludovico,' she added, 'had just been to call Signor Montoni's valet,that he might tell him they were arrived, when I met him.'
Emily sat musing, for some time, and then her anxiety was so muchincreased, that she desired Annette would go to the servants' hall,where it was possible she might hear something of the Count's intention,respecting his stay at the castle.
'Yes, ma'am,' said Annette with readiness; 'but how am I to find theway, if I leave the lamp with you?'
Emily said she would light her, and they immediately quitted thechamber. When they had reached the top of the great stair-case, Emilyrecollected, that she might be seen by the Count, and, to avoid thegreat hall, Annette conducted her through some private passages to aback stair-case, which led directly to that of the servants.
As she returned towards her chamber, Emily began to fear, that shemight again lose herself in the intricacies of the castle, and againbe shocked by some mysterious spectacle; and, though she was alreadyperplexed by the numerous turnings, she feared to open one of the manydoors that offered. While she stepped thoughtfully along, she fancied,that she heard a low moaning at no great distance, and, having paused amoment, she heard it again and distinctly. Several doors appeared on theright hand of the passage. She advanced, and listened. When she came tothe second, she heard a voice, apparently in complaint, within, to whichshe continued to listen, afraid to open the door, and unwilling toleave it. Convulsive sobs followed, and then the piercing accents of anagonizing spirit burst forth. Emily stood appalled, and looked throughthe gloom, that surrounded her, in fearful expectation. The lamentationscontinued. Pity now began to subdue terror; it was possible she mightadminister comfort to the sufferer, at least, by expressing sympathy,and she laid her hand on the door. While she hesitated she thoughtshe knew this voice, disguised as it was by tones of grief. Having,therefore, set down the lamp in the passage, she gently opened the door,within which all was dark, except that from an inner apartment a partiallight appeared; and she stepped softly on. Before she reached it, theappearance of Madame Montoni, leaning on her dressing-table, weeping,and with a handkerchief held to her eyes, struck her, and she paused.
Some person was se
ated in a chair by the fire, but who it was she couldnot distinguish. He spoke, now and then, in a low voice, that did notallow Emily to hear what was uttered, but she thought, that MadameMontoni, at those times, wept the more, who was too much occupied by herown distress, to observe Emily, while the latter, though anxious to knowwhat occasioned this, and who was the person admitted at so late anhour to her aunt's dressing-room, forbore to add to her sufferings bysurprising her, or to take advantage of her situation, by listening to aprivate discourse. She, therefore, stepped softly back, and, aftersome further difficulty, found the way to her own chamber, where nearerinterests, at length, excluded the surprise and concern she had felt,respecting Madame Montoni.
Annette, however, returned without satisfactory intelligence, for theservants, among whom she had been, were either entirely ignorant, oraffected to be so, concerning the Count's intended stay at the castle.They could talk only of the steep and broken road they had just passed,and of the numerous dangers they had escaped and express wonder howtheir lord could choose to encounter all these, in the darkness ofnight; for they scarcely allowed, that the torches had served for anyother purpose but that of shewing the dreariness of the mountains.Annette, finding she could gain no information, left them, making noisypetitions, for more wood on the fire and more supper on the table.
'And now, ma'amselle,' added she, 'I am so sleepy!--I am sure, if youwas so sleepy, you would not desire me to sit up with you.'
Emily, indeed, began to think it was cruel to wish it; she had alsowaited so long, without receiving a summons from Montoni, that itappeared he did not mean to disturb her, at this late hour, and shedetermined to dismiss Annette. But, when she again looked round hergloomy chamber, and recollected certain circumstances, fear seized herspirits, and she hesitated.
'And yet it were cruel of me to ask you to stay, till I am asleep,Annette,' said she, 'for I fear it will be very long before I forgetmyself in sleep.'
'I dare say it will be very long, ma'amselle,' said Annette.
'But, before you go,' rejoined Emily, 'let me ask you--Had SignorMontoni left Count Morano, when you quitted the hall?'
'O no, ma'am, they were alone together.'
'Have you been in my aunt's dressing-room, since you left me?'
'No, ma'amselle, I called at the door as I passed, but it was fastened;so I thought my lady was gone to bed.'
'Who, then, was with your lady just now?' said Emily, forgetting, insurprise, her usual prudence.
'Nobody, I believe, ma'am,' replied Annette, 'nobody has been with her,I believe, since I left you.'
Emily took no further notice of the subject, and, after some strugglewith imaginary fears, her good nature prevailed over them so far, thatshe dismissed Annette for the night. She then sat, musing upon her owncircumstances and those of Madame Montoni, till her eye rested on theminiature picture, which she had found, after her father's death, amongthe papers he had enjoined her to destroy. It was open upon the table,before her, among some loose drawings, having, with them, been taken outof a little box by Emily, some hours before. The sight of it calledup many interesting reflections, but the melancholy sweetness of thecountenance soothed the emotions, which these had occasioned. It wasthe same style of countenance as that of her late father, and, whileshe gazed on it with fondness on this account, she even fancieda resemblance in the features. But this tranquillity was suddenlyinterrupted, when she recollected the words in the manuscript, that hadbeen found with this picture, and which had formerly occasioned herso much doubt and horror. At length, she roused herself from the deepreverie, into which this remembrance had thrown her; but, when she roseto undress, the silence and solitude, to which she was left, at thismidnight hour, for not even a distant sound was now heard, conspiredwith the impression the subject she had been considering had given toher mind, to appall her. Annette's hints, too, concerning this chamber,simple as they were, had not failed to affect her, since they followeda circumstance of peculiar horror, which she herself had witnessed, andsince the scene of this was a chamber nearly adjoining her own.
The door of the stair-case was, perhaps, a subject of more reasonablealarm, and she now began to apprehend, such was the aptitude of herfears, that this stair-case had some private communication with theapartment, which she shuddered even to remember. Determined not toundress, she lay down to sleep in her clothes, with her late father'sdog, the faithful MANCHON, at the foot of the bed, whom she consideredas a kind of guard.
Thus circumstanced, she tried to banish reflection, but her busy fancywould still hover over the subjects of her interest, and she heard theclock of the castle strike two, before she closed her eyes.
From the disturbed slumber, into which she then sunk, she was soonawakened by a noise, which seemed to arise within her chamber; but thesilence, that prevailed, as she fearfully listened, inclined her tobelieve, that she had been alarmed by such sounds as sometimes occur indreams, and she laid her head again upon the pillow.
A return of the noise again disturbed her; it seemed to come from thatpart of the room, which communicated with the private stair-case, andshe instantly remembered the odd circumstance of the door having beenfastened, during the preceding night, by some unknown hand. Her latealarming suspicion, concerning its communication, also occurred to her.Her heart became faint with terror. Half raising herself from the bed,and gently drawing aside the curtain, she looked towards the door of thestair-case, but the lamp, that burnt on the hearth, spread so feeble alight through the apartment, that the remote parts of it were lost inshadow. The noise, however, which, she was convinced, came from thedoor, continued. It seemed like that made by the undrawing of rustybolts, and often ceased, and was then renewed more gently, as if thehand, that occasioned it, was restrained by a fear of discovery.
While Emily kept her eyes fixed on the spot, she saw the door move,and then slowly open, and perceived something enter the room, but theextreme duskiness prevented her distinguishing what it was. Almostfainting with terror, she had yet sufficient command over herself, tocheck the shriek, that was escaping from her lips, and, letting thecurtain drop from her hand, continued to observe in silence the motionsof the mysterious form she saw. It seemed to glide along the remoteobscurity of the apartment, then paused, and, as it approached thehearth, she perceived, in the stronger light, what appeared to be ahuman figure. Certain remembrances now struck upon her heart, and almostsubdued the feeble remains of her spirits; she continued, however, towatch the figure, which remained for some time motionless, but then,advancing slowly towards the bed, stood silently at the feet, wherethe curtains, being a little open, allowed her still to see it; terror,however, had now deprived her of the power of discrimination, as well asof that of utterance.
Having continued there a moment, the form retreated towards the hearth,when it took the lamp, held it up, surveyed the chamber, for a fewmoments, and then again advanced towards the bed. The light at thatinstant awakening the dog, that had slept at Emily's feet, he barkedloudly, and, jumping to the floor, flew at the stranger, who struck theanimal smartly with a sheathed sword, and, springing towards the bed,Emily discovered--Count Morano!
She gazed at him for a moment in speechless affright, while he, throwinghimself on his knee at the bed-side, besought her to fear nothing,and, having thrown down his sword, would have taken her hand, when thefaculties, that terror had suspended, suddenly returned, and shesprung from the bed, in the dress, which surely a kind of propheticapprehension had prevented her, on this night, from throwing aside.
Morano rose, followed her to the door, through which he had entered,and caught her hand, as she reached the top of the stair-case, but notbefore she had discovered, by the gleam of a lamp, another man half-waydown the steps. She now screamed in despair, and, believing herselfgiven up by Montoni, saw, indeed, no possibility of escape.
The Count, who still held her hand, led her back into the chamber.
'Why all this terror?' said he, in a tremulous voice. 'Hear me, Emily: Icome not to
alarm you; no, by Heaven! I love you too well--too well formy own peace.'
Emily looked at him for a moment, in fearful doubt.
'Then leave me, sir,' said she, 'leave me instantly.'
'Hear me, Emily,' resumed Morano, 'hear me! I love, and am indespair--yes--in despair. How can I gaze upon you, and know, that itis, perhaps, for the last time, without suffering all the phrensy ofdespair? But it shall not be so; you shall be mine, in spite of Montoniand all his villany.'
'In spite of Montoni!' cried Emily eagerly: 'what is it I hear?'
'You hear, that Montoni is a villain,' exclaimed Morano withvehemence,--'a villain who would have sold you to my love!--Who---'
'And is he less, who would have bought me?' said Emily, fixing on theCount an eye of calm contempt. 'Leave the room, sir, instantly,' shecontinued in a voice, trembling between joy and fear, 'or I will alarmthe family, and you may receive that from Signor Montoni's vengeance,which I have vainly supplicated from his pity.' But Emily knew, that shewas beyond the hearing of those, who might protect her.
'You can never hope any thing from his pity,' said Morano, 'he has usedme infamously, and my vengeance shall pursue him. And for you, Emily,for you, he has new plans more profitable than the last, no doubt.'The gleam of hope, which the Count's former speech had revived, wasnow nearly extinguished by the latter; and, while Emily's countenancebetrayed the emotions of her mind, he endeavoured to take advantage ofthe discovery.
'I lose time,' said he: 'I came not to exclaim against Montoni; I cameto solicit, to plead--to Emily; to tell her all I suffer, to entreather to save me from despair, and herself from destruction. Emily! theschemes of Montoni are insearchable, but, I warn you, they are terrible;he has no principle, when interest, or ambition leads. Can I love you,and abandon you to his power? Fly, then, fly from this gloomy prison,with a lover, who adores you! I have bribed a servant of the castle toopen the gates, and, before tomorrow's dawn, you shall be far on the wayto Venice.'
Emily, overcome by the sudden shock she had received, at the moment,too, when she had begun to hope for better days, now thought she sawdestruction surround her on every side. Unable to reply, and almost tothink, she threw herself into a chair, pale and breathless. That Montonihad formerly sold her to Morano, was very probable; that he had nowwithdrawn his consent to the marriage, was evident from the Count'spresent conduct; and it was nearly certain, that a scheme of strongerinterest only could have induced the selfish Montoni to forego a plan,which he had hitherto so strenuously pursued. These reflections made hertremble at the hints, which Morano had just given, which she no longerhesitated to believe; and, while she shrunk from the new scenes ofmisery and oppression, that might await her in the castle of Udolpho,she was compelled to observe, that almost her only means of escapingthem was by submitting herself to the protection of this man, with whomevils more certain and not less terrible appeared,--evils, upon whichshe could not endure to pause for an instant.
Her silence, though it was that of agony, encouraged the hopes ofMorano, who watched her countenance with impatience, took again theresisting hand she had withdrawn, and, as he pressed it to his heart,again conjured her to determine immediately. 'Every moment we lose, willmake our departure more dangerous,' said he: 'these few moments lost mayenable Montoni to overtake us.'
'I beseech you, sir, be silent,' said Emily faintly: 'I am indeed verywretched, and wretched I must remain. Leave me--I command you, leave meto my fate.'
'Never!' cried the Count vehemently: 'let me perish first! But forgivemy violence! the thought of losing you is madness. You cannotbe ignorant of Montoni's character, you may be ignorant of hisschemes--nay, you must be so, or you would not hesitate between my loveand his power.'
'Nor do I hesitate,' said Emily.
'Let us go, then,' said Morano, eagerly kissing her hand, and rising,'my carriage waits, below the castle walls.'
'You mistake me, sir,' said Emily. 'Allow me to thank you for theinterest you express in my welfare, and to decide by my own choice. Ishall remain under the protection of Signor Montoni.'
'Under his protection!' exclaimed Morano, proudly, 'his PROTECTION!Emily, why will you suffer yourself to be thus deluded? I have alreadytold you what you have to expect from his PROTECTION.'
'And pardon me, sir, if, in this instance, I doubt mere assertion, and,to be convinced, require something approaching to proof.'
'I have now neither the time, or the means of adducing proof,' repliedthe Count.
'Nor have I, sir, the inclination to listen to it, if you had.'
'But you trifle with my patience and my distress,' continued Morano. 'Isa marriage with a man, who adores you, so very terrible in your eyes,that you would prefer to it all the misery, to which Montoni maycondemn you in this remote prison? Some wretch must have stolen thoseaffections, which ought to be mine, or you would not thus obstinatelypersist in refusing an offer, that would place you beyond the reachof oppression.' Morano walked about the room, with quick steps, and adisturbed air.
'This discourse, Count Morano, sufficiently proves, that my affectionsought not to be yours,' said Emily, mildly, 'and this conduct, thatI should not be placed beyond the reach of oppression, so long as Iremained in your power. If you wish me to believe otherwise, cease tooppress me any longer by your presence. If you refuse this, you willcompel me to expose you to the resentment of Signor Montoni.'
'Yes, let him come,' cried Morano furiously, 'and brave MY resentment!Let him dare to face once more the man he has so courageously injured;danger shall teach him morality, and vengeance justice--let him come,and receive my sword in his heart!'
The vehemence, with which this was uttered, gave Emily new cause ofalarm, who arose from her chair, but her trembling frame refused tosupport her, and she resumed her seat;--the words died on her lips, and,when she looked wistfully towards the door of the corridor, which waslocked, she considered it was impossible for her to leave the apartment,before Morano would be apprised of, and able to counteract, herintention.
Without observing her agitation, he continued to pace the room in theutmost perturbation of spirits. His darkened countenance expressedall the rage of jealousy and revenge; and a person, who had seen hisfeatures under the smile of ineffable tenderness, which he so latelyassumed, would now scarcely have believed them to be the same.
'Count Morano,' said Emily, at length recovering her voice, 'calm, Ientreat you, these transports, and listen to reason, if you will not topity. You have equally misplaced your love, and your hatred.--I nevercould have returned the affection, with which you honour me, andcertainly have never encouraged it; neither has Signor Montoni injuredyou, for you must have known, that he had no right to dispose of myhand, had he even possessed the power to do so. Leave, then, leavethe castle, while you may with safety. Spare yourself the dreadfulconsequences of an unjust revenge, and the remorse of having prolongedto me these moments of suffering.'
'Is it for mine, or for Montoni's safety, that you are thus alarmed?'said Morano, coldly, and turning towards her with a look of acrimony.
'For both,' replied Emily, in a trembling voice.
'Unjust revenge!' cried the Count, resuming the abrupt tones of passion.'Who, that looks upon that face, can imagine a punishment adequate tothe injury he would have done me? Yes, I will leave the castle; but itshall not be alone. I have trifled too long. Since my prayers and mysufferings cannot prevail, force shall. I have people in waiting, whoshall convey you to my carriage. Your voice will bring no succour; itcannot be heard from this remote part of the castle; submit, therefore,in silence, to go with me.'
This was an unnecessary injunction, at present; for Emily was toocertain, that her call would avail her nothing; and terror had soentirely disordered her thoughts, that she knew not how to plead toMorano, but sat, mute and trembling, in her chair, till he advancedto lift her from it, when she suddenly raised herself, and, with arepulsive gesture, and a countenance of forced serenity, said, 'CountMorano! I am now in your power; but you w
ill observe, that this is notthe conduct which can win the esteem you appear so solicitous to obtain,and that you are preparing for yourself a load of remorse, in themiseries of a friendless orphan, which can never leave you. Do youbelieve your heart to be, indeed, so hardened, that you can look withoutemotion on the suffering, to which you would condemn me?'---
Emily was interrupted by the growling of the dog, who now came againfrom the bed, and Morano looked towards the door of the stair-case,where no person appearing, he called aloud, 'Cesario!'
'Emily,' said the Count, 'why will you reduce me to adopt this conduct?How much more willingly would I persuade, than compel you to become mywife! but, by Heaven! I will not leave you to be sold by Montoni. Yet athought glances across my mind, that brings madness with it. I know nothow to name it. It is preposterous--it cannot be.--Yet you tremble--yougrow pale! It is! it is so;--you--you--love Montoni!' cried Morano,grasping Emily's wrist, and stamping his foot on the floor.
An involuntary air of surprise appeared on her countenance. 'If you haveindeed believed so,' said she, 'believe so still.'
'That look, those words confirm it,' exclaimed Morano, furiously. 'No,no, no, Montoni had a richer prize in view, than gold. But he shall notlive to triumph over me!--This very instant---'
He was interrupted by the loud barking of the dog.
'Stay, Count Morano,' said Emily, terrified by his words, and by thefury expressed in his eyes, 'I will save you from this error.--Of allmen, Signor Montoni is not your rival; though, if I find all other meansof saving myself vain, I will try whether my voice may not arouse hisservants to my succour.'
'Assertion,' replied Morano, 'at such a moment, is not to be dependedupon. How could I suffer myself to doubt, even for an instant, that hecould see you, and not love?--But my first care shall be to convey youfrom the castle. Cesario! ho,--Cesario!'
A man now appeared at the door of the stair-case, and other steps wereheard ascending. Emily uttered a loud shriek, as Morano hurried heracross the chamber, and, at the same moment, she heard a noise at thedoor, that opened upon the corridor. The Count paused an instant, as ifhis mind was suspended between love and the desire of vengeance; and,in that instant, the door gave way, and Montoni, followed by the oldsteward and several other persons, burst into the room.
'Draw!' cried Montoni to the Count, who did not pause for a secondbidding, but, giving Emily into the hands of the people, that appearedfrom the stair-case, turned fiercely round. 'This in thine heart,villain!' said he, as he made a thrust at Montoni with his sword, whoparried the blow, and aimed another, while some of the persons, whohad followed him into the room, endeavoured to part the combatants, andothers rescued Emily from the hands of Morano's servants.
'Was it for this, Count Morano,' said Montoni, in a cool sarcastic toneof voice, 'that I received you under my roof, and permitted you, thoughmy declared enemy, to remain under it for the night? Was it, that youmight repay my hospitality with the treachery of a fiend, and rob me ofmy niece?'
'Who talks of treachery?' said Morano, in a tone of unrestrainedvehemence. 'Let him that does, shew an unblushing face of innocence.Montoni, you are a villain! If there is treachery in this affair, lookto yourself as the author of it. IF--do I say? I--whom you have wrongedwith unexampled baseness, whom you have injured almost beyond redress!But why do I use words?--Come on, coward, and receive justice at myhands!'
'Coward!' cried Montoni, bursting from the people who held him, andrushing on the Count, when they both retreated into the corridor, wherethe fight continued so desperately, that none of the spectators daredapproach them, Montoni swearing, that the first who interfered, shouldfall by his sword.
Jealousy and revenge lent all their fury to Morano, while the superiorskill and the temperance of Montoni enabled him to wound his adversary,whom his servants now attempted to seize, but he would not berestrained, and, regardless of his wound, continued to fight. He seemedto be insensible both of pain and loss of blood, and alive only to theenergy of his passions. Montoni, on the contrary, persevered in thecombat, with a fierce, yet wary, valour; he received the point ofMorano's sword on his arm, but, almost in the same instant, severelywounded and disarmed him. The Count then fell back into the arms of hisservant, while Montoni held his sword over him, and bade him ask hislife. Morano, sinking under the anguish of his wound, had scarcelyreplied by a gesture, and by a few words, feebly articulated, that hewould not--when he fainted; and Montoni was then going to have plungedthe sword into his breast, as he lay senseless, but his arm was arrestedby Cavigni. To the interruption he yielded without much difficulty, buthis complexion changed almost to blackness, as he looked upon his fallenadversary, and ordered, that he should be carried instantly from thecastle.
In the mean time, Emily, who had been with-held from leaving the chamberduring the affray, now came forward into the corridor, and pleaded acause of common humanity, with the feelings of the warmest benevolence,when she entreated Montoni to allow Morano the assistance in the castle,which his situation required. But Montoni, who had seldom listened topity, now seemed rapacious of vengeance, and, with a monster's cruelty,again ordered his defeated enemy to be taken from the castle, inhis present state, though there were only the woods, or a solitaryneighbouring cottage, to shelter him from the night.
The Count's servants having declared, that they would not move him tillhe revived, Montoni's stood inactive, Cavigni remonstrating, and Emily,superior to Montoni's menaces, giving water to Morano, and directing theattendants to bind up his wound. At length, Montoni had leisure to feelpain from his own hurt, and he withdrew to examine it.
The Count, meanwhile, having slowly recovered, the first object he saw,on raising his eyes, was Emily, bending over him with a countenancestrongly expressive of solicitude. He surveyed her with a look ofanguish.
'I have deserved this,' said he, 'but not from Montoni. It is from you,Emily, that I have deserved punishment, yet I receive only pity!' Hepaused, for he had spoken with difficulty. After a moment, he proceeded.'I must resign you, but not to Montoni. Forgive me the sufferings I havealready occasioned you! But for THAT villain--his infamy shall not gounpunished. Carry me from this place,' said he to his servants. 'I amin no condition to travel: you must, therefore, take me to the nearestcottage, for I will not pass the night under his roof, although I mayexpire on the way from it.'
Cesario proposed to go out, and enquire for a cottage, that mightreceive his master, before he attempted to remove him: but Morano wasimpatient to be gone; the anguish of his mind seemed to be even greaterthan that of his wound, and he rejected, with disdain, the offer ofCavigni to entreat Montoni, that he might be suffered to pass the nightin the castle. Cesario was now going to call up the carriage to thegreat gate, but the Count forbade him. 'I cannot bear the motion of acarriage,' said he: 'call some others of my people, that they may assistin bearing me in their arms.'
At length, however, Morano submitted to reason, and consented, thatCesario should first prepare some cottage to receive him. Emily,now that he had recovered his senses, was about to withdraw from thecorridor, when a message from Montoni commanded her to do so, and alsothat the Count, if he was not already gone, should quit the castleimmediately. Indignation flashed from Morano's eyes, and flushed hischeeks.
'Tell Montoni,' said he, 'that I shall go when it suits my ownconvenience; that I quit the castle, he dares to call his, as I wouldthe nest of a serpent, and that this is not the last he shall hear fromme. Tell him, I will not leave ANOTHER murder on his conscience, if Ican help it.'
'Count Morano! do you know what you say?' said Cavigni.
'Yes, Signor, I know well what I say, and he will understand well what Imean. His conscience will assist his understanding, on this occasion.'
'Count Morano,' said Verezzi, who had hitherto silently observed him,'dare again to insult my friend, and I will plunge this sword in yourbody.'
'It would be an action worthy the friend of a villain!' said Morano, asthe strong impulse of his indigna
tion enabled him to raise himself fromthe arms of his servants; but the energy was momentary, and he sunkback, exhausted by the effort. Montoni's people, meanwhile, heldVerezzi, who seemed inclined, even in this instant, to execute histhreat; and Cavigni, who was not so depraved as to abet the cowardlymalignity of Verezzi, endeavoured to withdraw him from the corridor;and Emily, whom a compassionate interest had thus long detained, wasnow quitting it in new terror, when the supplicating voice of Moranoarrested her, and, by a feeble gesture, he beckoned her to drawnearer. She advanced with timid steps, but the fainting languor of hiscountenance again awakened her pity, and overcame her terror.
'I am going from hence for ever,' said he: 'perhaps, I shall never seeyou again. I would carry with me your forgiveness, Emily; nay more--Iwould also carry your good wishes.'
'You have my forgiveness, then,' said Emily, 'and my sincere wishes foryour recovery.'
'And only for my recovery?' said Morano, with a sigh. 'For your generalwelfare,' added Emily.
'Perhaps I ought to be contented with this,' he resumed; 'I certainlyhave not deserved more; but I would ask you, Emily, sometimes to thinkof me, and, forgetting my offence, to remember only the passion whichoccasioned it. I would ask, alas! impossibilities: I would ask you tolove me! At this moment, when I am about to part with you, and that,perhaps, for ever, I am scarcely myself. Emily--may you never know thetorture of a passion like mine! What do I say? O, that, for me, youmight be sensible of such a passion!'
Emily looked impatient to be gone. 'I entreat you, Count, to consultyour own safety,' said she, 'and linger here no longer. I tremblefor the consequences of Signor Verezzi's passion, and of Montoni'sresentment, should he learn that you are still here.'
Morano's face was overspread with a momentary crimson, his eyessparkled, but he seemed endeavouring to conquer his emotion, and repliedin a calm voice, 'Since you are interested for my safety, I will regardit, and be gone. But, before I go, let me again hear you say, that youwish me well,' said he, fixing on her an earnest and mournful look.
Emily repeated her assurances. He took her hand, which she scarcelyattempted to withdraw, and put it to his lips. 'Farewell, Count Morano!'said Emily; and she turned to go, when a second message arrived fromMontoni, and she again conjured Morano, as he valued his life, to quitthe castle immediately. He regarded her in silence, with a look of fixeddespair. But she had no time to enforce her compassionate entreaties,and, not daring to disobey the second command of Montoni, she left thecorridor, to attend him.
He was in the cedar parlour, that adjoined the great hall, laid upona couch, and suffering a degree of anguish from his wound, which fewpersons could have disguised, as he did. His countenance, which wasstern, but calm, expressed the dark passion of revenge, but no symptomof pain; bodily pain, indeed, he had always despised, and had yieldedonly to the strong and terrible energies of the soul. He was attended byold Carlo and by Signor Bertolini, but Madame Montoni was not with him.
Emily trembled, as she approached and received his severe rebuke,for not having obeyed his first summons; and perceived, also, thathe attributed her stay in the corridor to a motive, that had not evenoccurred to her artless mind.
'This is an instance of female caprice,' said he, 'which I ought to haveforeseen. Count Morano, whose suit you obstinately rejected, so long asit was countenanced by me, you favour, it seems, since you find I havedismissed him.'
Emily looked astonished. 'I do not comprehend you, sir,' said she: 'Youcertainly do not mean to imply, that the design of the Count to visitthe double-chamber, was founded upon any approbation of mine.'
'To that I reply nothing,' said Montoni; 'but it must certainly be amore than common interest, that made you plead so warmly in his cause,and that could detain you thus long in his presence, contrary to myexpress order--in the presence of a man, whom you have hitherto, on alloccasions, most scrupulously shunned!'
'I fear, sir, it was a more than common interest, that detained me,'said Emily calmly; 'for of late I have been inclined to think, that ofcompassion is an uncommon one. But how could I, could YOU, sir, witnessCount Morano's deplorable condition, and not wish to relieve it?'
'You add hypocrisy to caprice,' said Montoni, frowning, 'and an attemptat satire, to both; but, before you undertake to regulate the moralsof other persons, you should learn and practise the virtues, whichare indispensable to a woman--sincerity, uniformity of conduct andobedience.'
Emily, who had always endeavoured to regulate her conduct by the nicestlaws, and whose mind was finely sensible, not only of what is justin morals, but of whatever is beautiful in the female character, wasshocked by these words; yet, in the next moment, her heart swelled withthe consciousness of having deserved praise, instead of censure, and shewas proudly silent. Montoni, acquainted with the delicacy of her mind,knew how keenly she would feel his rebuke; but he was a stranger to theluxury of conscious worth, and, therefore, did not foresee the energy ofthat sentiment, which now repelled his satire. Turning to a servant whohad lately entered the room, he asked whether Morano had quitted thecastle. The man answered, that his servants were then removing him, ona couch, to a neighbouring cottage. Montoni seemed somewhat appeased,on hearing this; and, when Ludovico appeared, a few moments after,and said, that Morano was gone, he told Emily she might retire to herapartment.
She withdrew willingly from his presence; but the thought of passing theremainder of the night in a chamber, which the door from the stair-casemade liable to the intrusion of any person, now alarmed her more thanever, and she determined to call at Madame Montoni's room, and request,that Annette might be permitted to be with her.
On reaching the great gallery, she heard voices seemingly indispute, and, her spirits now apt to take alarm, she paused, but soondistinguished some words of Cavigni and Verezzi, and went towards them,in the hope of conciliating their difference. They were alone. Verezzi'sface was still flushed with rage; and, as the first object of it wasnow removed from him, he appeared willing to transfer his resentmentto Cavigni, who seemed to be expostulating, rather than disputing, withhim.
Verezzi was protesting, that he would instantly inform Montoni of theinsult, which Morano had thrown out against him, and above all, that,wherein he had accused him of murder.
'There is no answering,' said Cavigni, 'for the words of a man in apassion; little serious regard ought to be paid to them. If you persistin your resolution, the consequences may be fatal to both. We have nowmore serious interests to pursue, than those of a petty revenge.'
Emily joined her entreaties to Cavigni's arguments, and they, at length,prevailed so far, as that Verezzi consented to retire, without seeingMontoni.
On calling at her aunt's apartment, she found it fastened. In a fewminutes, however, it was opened by Madame Montoni herself.
It may be remembered, that it was by a door leading into the bedroomfrom a back passage, that Emily had secretly entered a few hourspreceding. She now conjectured, by the calmness of Madame Montoni'sair, that she was not apprised of the accident, which had befallen herhusband, and was beginning to inform her of it, in the tenderest mannershe could, when her aunt interrupted her, by saying, she was acquaintedwith the whole affair.
Emily knew indeed, that she had little reason to love Montoni, but couldscarcely have believed her capable of such perfect apathy, as she nowdiscovered towards him; having obtained permission, however, for Annetteto sleep in her chamber, she went thither immediately.
A track of blood appeared along the corridor, leading to it; and onthe spot, where the Count and Montoni had fought, the whole floor wasstained. Emily shuddered, and leaned on Annette, as she passed. When shereached her apartment, she instantly determined, since the door of thestair-case had been left open, and that Annette was now with her, toexplore whither it led,--a circumstance now materially connected withher own safety. Annette accordingly, half curious and half afraid,proposed to descend the stairs; but, on approaching the door, theyperceived, that it was already fastened without, and their c
are was thendirected to the securing it on the inside also, by placing against it asmuch of the heavy furniture of the room, as they could lift. Emily thenretired to bed, and Annette continued on a chair by the hearth, wheresome feeble embers remained.