CHAPTER XII
Then, oh, you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience; and, in ripen'd time, Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up In countenance. SHAKESPEARE
Annette came almost breathless to Emily's apartment in the morning. 'Oma'amselle!' said she, in broken sentences, 'what news I have to tell! Ihave found out who the prisoner is--but he was no prisoner, neither;--hethat was shut up in the chamber I told you of. I must think him a ghost,forsooth!'
'Who was the prisoner?' enquired Emily, while her thoughts glanced backto the circumstance of the preceding night.
'You mistake, ma'am,' said Annette; 'he was not a prisoner, after all.'
'Who is the person, then?'
'Holy Saints!' rejoined Annette; 'How I was surprised! I met him justnow, on the rampart below, there. I never was so surprised in my life!Ah! ma'amselle! this is a strange place! I should never have donewondering, if I was to live here an hundred years. But, as I was saying,I met him just now on the rampart, and I was thinking of nobody lessthan of him.'
'This trifling is insupportable,' said Emily; 'prythee, Annette, do nottorture my patience any longer.'
'Nay, ma'amselle, guess--guess who it was; it was somebody you know verywell.'
'I cannot guess,' said Emily impatiently.
'Nay, ma'amselle, I'll tell you something to guess by--A tall Signor,with a longish face, who walks so stately, and used to wear such a highfeather in his hat; and used often to look down upon the ground, whenpeople spoke to him; and to look at people from under his eyebrows, asit were, all so dark and frowning. You have seen him, often and often,at Venice, ma'am. Then he was so intimate with the Signor, too. And, nowI think of it, I wonder what he could be afraid of in this lonely oldcastle, that he should shut himself up for. But he is come abroad now,for I met him on the rampart just this minute. I trembled when I sawhim, for I always was afraid of him, somehow; but I determined I wouldnot let him see it; so I went up to him, and made him a low curtesy,"You are welcome to the castle, Signor Orsino," said I.'
'O, it was Signor Orsino, then!' said Emily.
'Yes, ma'amselle, Signor Orsino, himself, who caused that Venetiangentleman to be killed, and has been popping about from place to place,ever since, as I hear.'
'Good God!' exclaimed Emily, recovering from the shock of thisintelligence; 'and is HE come to Udolpho! He does well to endeavour toconceal himself.'
'Yes, ma'amselle, but if that was all, this desolate place would concealhim, without his shutting himself up in one room. Who would think ofcoming to look for him here? I am sure I should as soon think of goingto look for any body in the other world.'
'There is some truth in that,' said Emily, who would now have concludedit was Orsino's music, which she had heard, on the preceding night,had she not known, that he had neither taste, or skill in the art. But,though she was unwilling to add to the number of Annette's surprises, bymentioning the subject of her own, she enquired, whether any person inthe castle played on a musical instrument?
'O yes, ma'amselle! there is Benedetto plays the great drum toadmiration; and then, there is Launcelot the trumpeter; nay, for thatmatter, Ludovico himself can play on the trumpet;--but he is ill now. Iremember once'--
Emily interrupted her; 'Have you heard no other music since you came tothe castle--none last night?'
'Why, did YOU hear any last night, ma'amselle?'
Emily evaded this question, by repeating her own.
'Why, no, ma'am,' replied Annette; 'I never heard any music here, Imust say, but the drums and the trumpet; and, as for last night, I didnothing but dream I saw my late lady's ghost.'
'Your LATE lady's,' said Emily in a tremulous voice; 'you have heardmore, then. Tell me--tell me all, Annette, I entreat; tell me the worstat once.'
'Nay, ma'amselle, you know the worst already.'
'I know nothing,' said Emily.
'Yes, you do, ma'amselle; you know, that nobody knows any thing abouther; and it is plain, therefore, she is gone, the way of the first ladyof the castle--nobody ever knew any thing about her.'
Emily leaned her head upon her hand, and was, for some time, silent;then, telling Annette she wished to be alone, the latter left the room.
The remark of Annette had revived Emily's terrible suspicion, concerningthe fate of Madame Montoni; and she resolved to make another effort toobtain certainty on this subject, by applying to Montoni once more.
When Annette returned, a few hours after, she told Emily, that theporter of the castle wished very much to speak with her, for that he hadsomething of importance to say; her spirits had, however, of late beenso subject to alarm, that any new circumstance excited it; and thismessage from the porter, when her first surprise was over, made her lookround for some lurking danger, the more suspiciously, perhaps, becauseshe had frequently remarked the unpleasant air and countenance of thisman. She now hesitated, whether to speak with him, doubting even, thatthis request was only a pretext to draw her into some danger; but alittle reflection shewed her the improbability of this, and she blushedat her weak fears.
'I will speak to him, Annette,' said she; 'desire him to come to thecorridor immediately.'
Annette departed, and soon after returned.
'Barnardine, ma'amselle,' said she, 'dare not come to the corridor, lesthe should be discovered, it is so far from his post; and he dare noteven leave the gates for a moment now; but, if you will come to himat the portal, through some roundabout passages he told me of, withoutcrossing the courts, he has that to tell, which will surprise you. Butyou must not come through the courts, lest the Signor should see you.'
Emily, neither approving these 'roundabout passage,' nor the other partof the request, now positively refused to go. 'Tell him,' said she,'if he has any thing of consequence to impart, I will hear him in thecorridor, whenever he has an opportunity of coming thither.'
Annette went to deliver this message, and was absent a considerabletime. When she returned, 'It won't do, ma'amselle,' said she.'Barnardine has been considering all this time what can be done, for itis as much as his place is worth to leave his post now. But, if you willcome to the east rampart in the dusk of the evening, he can, perhaps,steal away, and tell you all he has to say.'
Emily was surprised and alarmed, at the secrecy which this man seemedto think so necessary, and hesitated whether to meet him, till,considering, that he might mean to warn her of some serious danger, sheresolved to go.
'Soon after sun-set,' said she, 'I will be at the end of the eastrampart. But then the watch will be set,' she added, recollectingherself, 'and how can Barnardine pass unobserved?'
'That is just what I said to him, ma'am, and he answered me, that he hadthe key of the gate, at the end of the rampart, that leads towardsthe courts, and could let himself through that way; and as for thesentinels, there were none at this end of the terrace, because the placeis guarded enough by the high walls of the castle, and the east turret;and he said those at the other end were too far off to see him, if itwas pretty duskyish.'
'Well,' said Emily, 'I must hear what he has to tell; and, therefore,desire you will go with me to the terrace, this evening.'
'He desired it might be pretty duskyish, ma'amselle,' repeated Annette,'because of the watch.'
Emily paused, and then said she would be on the terrace, an hour aftersun-set;--'and tell Barnardine,' she added, 'to be punctual to thetime; for that I, also, may be observed by Signor Montoni. Where is theSignor? I would speak with him.'
'He is in the cedar chamber, ma'am, counselling with the other Signors.He is going to give them a sort of treat to-day, to make up for whatpassed at the last, I suppose; the people are all very busy in thekitchen.'
Emily now enquired, if Montoni expected any new guests? and Annettebelieved that he did not. 'Poor Ludovico!' added she, 'he would be asmerry as the best of them, if he was well; but he may recover yet. CountMorano was wounded as bad, as he, and he is got well again, and is goneback to Venice.'
'Is he so?' s
aid Emily, 'when did you hear this?'
'I heard it, last night, ma'amselle, but I forgot to tell it.'
Emily asked some further questions, and then, desiring Annette wouldobserve and inform her, when Montoni was alone, the girl went to deliverher message to Barnardine.
Montoni was, however, so much engaged, during the whole day, that Emilyhad no opportunity of seeking a release from her terrible suspense,concerning her aunt. Annette was employed in watching his steps, and inattending upon Ludovico, whom she, assisted by Caterina, nursed withthe utmost care; and Emily was, of course, left much alone. Herthoughts dwelt often on the message of the porter, and were employedin conjecturing the subject, that occasioned it, which she sometimesimagined concerned the fate of Madame Montoni; at others, that itrelated to some personal danger, which threatened herself. The cautioussecrecy which Barnardine observed in his conduct, inclined her tobelieve the latter.
As the hour of appointment drew near, her impatience increased. Atlength, the sun set; she heard the passing steps of the sentinels goingto their posts; and waited only for Annette to accompany her to theterrace, who, soon after, came, and they descended together. When Emilyexpressed apprehensions of meeting Montoni, or some of his guests, 'O,there is no fear of that, ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'they are all setin to feasting yet, and that Barnardine knows.'
They reached the first terrace, where the sentinels demanded who passed;and Emily, having answered, walked on to the east rampart, at theentrance of which they were again stopped; and, having again replied,were permitted to proceed. But Emily did not like to expose herself tothe discretion of these men, at such an hour; and, impatient to withdrawfrom the situation, she stepped hastily on in search of Barnardine. Hewas not yet come. She leaned pensively on the wall of the rampart,and waited for him. The gloom of twilight sat deep on the surroundingobjects, blending in soft confusion the valley, the mountains, and thewoods, whose tall heads, stirred by the evening breeze, gave the onlysounds, that stole on silence, except a faint, faint chorus of distantvoices, that arose from within the castle.
'What voices are those?' said Emily, as she fearfully listened.
'It is only the Signor and his guests, carousing,' replied Annette.
'Good God!' thought Emily, 'can this man's heart be so gay, when he hasmade another being so wretched; if, indeed, my aunt is yet suffered tofeel her wretchedness? O! whatever are my own sufferings, may my heartnever, never be hardened against those of others!'
She looked up, with a sensation of horror, to the east turret, nearwhich she then stood; a light glimmered through the grates of the lowerchamber, but those of the upper one were dark. Presently, she perceiveda person moving with a lamp across the lower room; but this circumstancerevived no hope, concerning Madame Montoni, whom she had vainlysought in that apartment, which had appeared to contain only soldiers'accoutrements. Emily, however, determined to attempt the outer doorof the turret, as soon as Barnardine should withdraw; and, if it wasunfastened, to make another effort to discover her aunt.
The moments passed, but still Barnardine did not appear; and Emily,becoming uneasy, hesitated whether to wait any longer. She would havesent Annette to the portal to hasten him, but feared to be left alone,for it was now almost dark, and a melancholy streak of red, that stilllingered in the west, was the only vestige of departed day. The stronginterest, however, which Barnardine's message had awakened, overcameother apprehensions, and still detained her.
While she was conjecturing with Annette what could thus occasion hisabsence, they heard a key turn in the lock of the gate near them, andpresently saw a man advancing. It was Barnardine, of whom Emily hastilyenquired what he had to communicate, and desired, that he would tell herquickly, 'for I am chilled with this evening air,' said she.
'You must dismiss your maid, lady,' said the man in a voice, the deeptone of which shocked her, 'what I have to tell is to you only.'
Emily, after some hesitation, desired Annette to withdraw to a littledistance. 'Now, my friend, what would you say?'
He was silent a moment, as if considering, and then said,--
'That which would cost me my place, at least, if it came to the Signor'sears. You must promise, lady, that nothing shall ever make you tell asyllable of the matter; I have been trusted in this affair, and, if itwas known, that I betrayed my trust, my life, perhaps, might answerit. But I was concerned for you, lady, and I resolved to tell you.' Hepaused.--
Emily thanked him, assured him that he might repose on her discretion,and entreated him to dispatch.
'Annette told us in the hall how unhappy you was about Signora Montoni,and how much you wished to know what was become of her.'
'Most true,' said Emily eagerly, 'and you can inform me. I conjure youtell me the worst, without hesitation.' She rested her trembling armupon the wall.
'I can tell you,' said Barnardine, and paused.--
Emily had no power to enforce her entreaties.
'I CAN tell you,' resumed Barnardine,--'but'--
'But what?' exclaimed Emily, recovering her resolution.
'Here I am, ma'amselle,' said Annette, who, having heard the eager tone,in which Emily pronounced these words, came running towards her.
'Retire!' said Barnardine, sternly; 'you are not wanted;' and, as Emilysaid nothing, Annette obeyed.
'I CAN tell you,' repeated the porter,--'but I know not how--you wasafflicted before.'--
'I am prepared for the worst, my friend,' said Emily, in a firm andsolemn voice. 'I can support any certainty better than this suspense.'
'Well, Signora, if that is the case, you shall hear.--You know, Isuppose, that the Signor and his lady used sometimes to disagree. It isnone of my concerns to enquire what it was about, but I believe you knowit was so.'
'Well,' said Emily, 'proceed.'
'The Signor, it seems, had lately been very wrath against her. I sawall, and heard all,--a great deal more than people thought for; but itwas none of my business, so I said nothing. A few days ago, the Signorsent for me. "Barnardine," says he, "you are--an honest man, I think Ican trust you." I assured his excellenza that he could. "Then," says he,as near as I can remember, "I have an affair in hand, which I want youto assist me in."--Then he told me what I was to do; but that I shallsay nothing about--it concerned only the Signora.'
'O Heavens!' exclaimed Emily--'what have you done?'
Barnardine hesitated, and was silent.
'What fiend could tempt him, or you, to such an act!' cried Emily,chilled with horror, and scarcely able to support her fainting spirits.
'It was a fiend,' said Barnardine in a gloomy tone of voice. Theywere now both silent;--Emily had not courage to enquire further, andBarnardine seemed to shrink from telling more. At length he said, 'Itis of no use to think of the past; the Signor was cruel enough, but hewould be obeyed. What signified my refusing? He would have found others,who had no scruples.'
'You have murdered her, then!' said Emily, in a hollow and inwardvoice--'I am talking with a murderer!' Barnardine stood silent; whileEmily turned from him, and attempted to leave the place.
'Stay, lady!' said he, 'You deserve to think so still--since you canbelieve me capable of such a deed.'
'If you are innocent, tell me quickly,' said Emily, in faint accents,'for I feel I shall not be able to hear you long.'
'I will tell you no more,' said he, and walked away. Emily had juststrength enough to bid him stay, and then to call Annette, on whose armshe leaned, and they walked slowly up the rampart, till they heard stepsbehind them. It was Barnardine again.
'Send away the girl,' said he, 'and I will tell you more.'
'She must not go,' said Emily; 'what you have to say, she may hear.'
'May she so, lady?' said he. 'You shall know no more, then;' and he wasgoing, though slowly, when Emily's anxiety, overcoming the resentmentand fear, which the man's behaviour had roused, she desired him to stay,and bade Annette retire.
'The Signora is alive,' said he, 'for me. She is my prisoner,
though;his excellenza has shut her up in the chamber over the great gates ofthe court, and I have the charge of her. I was going to have told you,you might see her--but now--'
Emily, relieved from an unutterable load of anguish by this speech, hadnow only to ask Barnardine's forgiveness, and to conjure, that he wouldlet her visit her aunt.
He complied with less reluctance, than she expected, and told her, that,if she would repair, on the following night, when the Signor was retiredto rest, to the postern-gate of the castle, she should, perhaps, seeMadame Montoni.
Amid all the thankfulness, which Emily felt for this concession,she thought she observed a malicious triumph in his manner, when hepronounced the last words; but, in the next moment, she dismissed thethought, and, having again thanked him, commended her aunt to hispity, and assured him, that she would herself reward him, and wouldbe punctual to her appointment, she bade him good night, and retired,unobserved, to her chamber. It was a considerable time, beforethe tumult of joy, which Barnardine's unexpected intelligence hadoccasioned, allowed Emily to think with clearness, or to be conscious ofthe real dangers, that still surrounded Madame Montoni and herself.When this agitation subsided, she perceived, that her aunt was yet theprisoner of a man, to whose vengeance, or avarice, she might fall asacrifice; and, when she further considered the savage aspect of theperson, who was appointed to guard Madame Montoni, her doom appeared tobe already sealed, for the countenance of Barnardine seemed to bear thestamp of a murderer; and, when she had looked upon it, she felt inclinedto believe, that there was no deed, however black, which he might not beprevailed upon to execute. These reflections brought to her remembrancethe tone of voice, in which he had promised to grant her request tosee his prisoner; and she mused upon it long in uneasiness and doubt.Sometimes, she even hesitated, whether to trust herself with him at thelonely hour he had appointed; and once, and only once, it struck her,that Madame Montoni might be already murdered, and that this ruffian wasappointed to decoy herself to some secret place, where her life alsowas to be sacrificed to the avarice of Montoni, who then would claimsecurely the contested estates in Languedoc. The consideration of theenormity of such guilt did, at length, relieve her from the beliefof its probability, but not from all the doubts and fears, which arecollection of Barnardine's manner had occasioned. From these subjects,her thoughts, at length, passed to others; and, as the evening advanced,she remembered, with somewhat more than surprise, the music she hadheard, on the preceding night, and now awaited its return, with morethan curiosity.
She distinguished, till a late hour, the distant carousals of Montoniand his companions--the loud contest, the dissolute laugh and the choralsong, that made the halls re-echo. At length, she heard the heavy gatesof the castle shut for the night, and those sounds instantly sunk intoa silence, which was disturbed only by the whispering steps of persons,passing through the galleries to their remote rooms. Emily now judgingit to be about the time, when she had heard the music, on the precedingnight, dismissed Annette, and gently opened the casement to watchfor its return. The planet she had so particularly noticed, at therecurrence of the music, was not yet risen; but, with superstitiousweakness, she kept her eyes fixed on that part of the hemisphere, whereit would rise, almost expecting, that, when it appeared, the soundswould return. At length, it came, serenely bright, over the easterntowers of the castle. Her heart trembled, when she perceived it, and shehad scarcely courage to remain at the casement, lest the returningmusic should confirm her terror, and subdue the little strength she yetretained. The clock soon after struck one, and, knowing this to be aboutthe time, when the sounds had occurred, she sat down in a chair, nearthe casement, and endeavoured to compose her spirits; but the anxietyof expectation yet disturbed them. Every thing, however, remained still;she heard only the solitary step of a sentinel, and the lulling murmurof the woods below, and she again leaned from the casement, and againlooked, as if for intelligence, to the planet, which was now risen highabove the towers.
Emily continued to listen, but no music came. 'Those were surely nomortal sounds!' said she, recollecting their entrancing melody. 'Noinhabitant of this castle could utter such; and, where is the feeling,that could modulate such exquisite expression? We all know, that ithas been affirmed celestial sounds have sometimes been heard on earth.Father Pierre and Father Antoine declared, that they had sometimes heardthem in the stillness of night, when they alone were waking to offertheir orisons to heaven. Nay, my dear father himself, once said, that,soon after my mother's death, as he lay watchful in grief, sounds ofuncommon sweetness called him from his bed; and, on opening his window,he heard lofty music pass along the midnight air. It soothed him, hesaid; he looked up with confidence to heaven, and resigned her to hisGod.'
Emily paused to weep at this recollection. 'Perhaps,' resumed she,'perhaps, those strains I heard were sent to comfort,--to encourage me!Never shall I forget those I heard, at this hour, in Languedoc!Perhaps, my father watches over me, at this moment!' She wept again intenderness. Thus passed the hour in watchfulness and solemn thought; butno sounds returned; and, after remaining at the casement, till thelight tint of dawn began to edge the mountain-tops and steal upon thenight-shade, she concluded, that they would not return, and retiredreluctantly to repose.
VOLUME 3