CHAPTER I
I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on 't; for 't must be done to-night. MACBETH
Emily was somewhat surprised, on the following day, to find that Annettehad heard of Madame Montoni's confinement in the chamber over theportal, as well as of her purposed visit there, on the approachingnight. That the circumstance, which Barnardine had so solemnly enjoinedher to conceal, he had himself told to so indiscreet an hearer asAnnette, appeared very improbable, though he had now charged her witha message, concerning the intended interview. He requested, that Emilywould meet him, unattended, on the terrace, at a little after midnight,when he himself would lead her to the place he had promised; a proposal,from which she immediately shrunk, for a thousand vague fears dartedathwart her mind, such as had tormented her on the preceding night,and which she neither knew how to trust, or to dismiss. It frequentlyoccurred to her, that Barnardine might have deceived her, concerningMadame Montoni, whose murderer, perhaps, he really was; and that he haddeceived her by order of Montoni, the more easily to draw her into someof the desperate designs of the latter. The terrible suspicion, thatMadame Montoni no longer lived, thus came, accompanied by one not lessdreadful for herself. Unless the crime, by which the aunt had suffered,was instigated merely by resentment, unconnected with profit, a motive,upon which Montoni did not appear very likely to act, its object must beunattained, till the niece was also dead, to whom Montoni knew thathis wife's estates must descend. Emily remembered the words, which hadinformed her, that the contested estates in France would devolve to her,if Madame Montoni died, without consigning them to her husband, and theformer obstinate perseverance of her aunt made it too probable, thatshe had, to the last, withheld them. At this instant, recollectingBarnardine's manner, on the preceding night, she now believed, what shehad then fancied, that it expressed malignant triumph. She shuddered atthe recollection, which confirmed her fears, and determined not tomeet him on the terrace. Soon after, she was inclined to consider thesesuspicions as the extravagant exaggerations of a timid and harassedmind, and could not believe Montoni liable to such preposterousdepravity as that of destroying, from one motive, his wife and herniece. She blamed herself for suffering her romantic imagination tocarry her so far beyond the bounds of probability, and determined toendeavour to check its rapid flights, lest they should sometimes extendinto madness. Still, however, she shrunk from the thought of meetingBarnardine, on the terrace, at midnight; and still the wish to berelieved from this terrible suspense, concerning her aunt, to see her,and to sooth her sufferings, made her hesitate what to do.
'Yet how is it possible, Annette, I can pass to the terrace at thathour?' said she, recollecting herself, 'the sentinels will stop me, andSignor Montoni will hear of the affair.'
'O ma'amselle! that is well thought of,' replied Annette. 'That iswhat Barnardine told me about. He gave me this key, and bade me say itunlocks the door at the end of the vaulted gallery, that opens near theend of the east rampart, so that you need not pass any of the men onwatch. He bade me say, too, that his reason for requesting you to cometo the terrace was, because he could take you to the place you wantto go to, without opening the great doors of the hall, which grate soheavily.'
Emily's spirits were somewhat calmed by this explanation, which seemedto be honestly given to Annette. 'But why did he desire I would comealone, Annette?' said she.
'Why that was what I asked him myself, ma'amselle. Says I, Why is myyoung lady to come alone?--Surely I may come with her!--What harm can Ido? But he said "No--no--I tell you not," in his gruff way. Nay, says I,I have been trusted in as great affairs as this, I warrant, and it's ahard matter if _I_ can't keep a secret now. Still he would say nothingbut--"No--no--no." Well, says I, if you will only trust me, I willtell you a great secret, that was told me a month ago, and I have neveropened my lips about it yet--so you need not be afraid of telling me.But all would not do. Then, ma'amselle, I went so far as to offer him abeautiful new sequin, that Ludovico gave me for a keep sake, and I wouldnot have parted with it for all St. Marco's Place; but even that wouldnot do! Now what can be the reason of this? But I know, you know, ma'am,who you are going to see.'
'Pray did Barnardine tell you this?'
'He! No, ma'amselle, that he did not.'
Emily enquired who did, but Annette shewed, that she COULD keep asecret.
During the remainder of the day, Emily's mind was agitated with doubtsand fears and contrary determinations, on the subject of meeting thisBarnardine on the rampart, and submitting herself to his guidance,she scarcely knew whither. Pity for her aunt and anxiety for herselfalternately swayed her determination, and night came, before shehad decided upon her conduct. She heard the castle clock strikeeleven--twelve--and yet her mind wavered. The time, however, was nowcome, when she could hesitate no longer: and then the interest she feltfor her aunt overcame other considerations, and, bidding Annette followher to the outer door of the vaulted gallery, and there await herreturn, she descended from her chamber. The castle was perfectlystill, and the great hall, where so lately she had witnessed a scene ofdreadful contention, now returned only the whispering footsteps of thetwo solitary figures gliding fearfully between the pillars, and gleamedonly to the feeble lamp they carried. Emily, deceived by the longshadows of the pillars and by the catching lights between, oftenstopped, imagining she saw some person, moving in the distant obscurityof the perspective; and, as she passed these pillars, she feared to turnher eyes toward them, almost expecting to see a figure start out frombehind their broad shaft. She reached, however, the vaulted gallery,without interruption, but unclosed its outer door with a trembling hand,and, charging Annette not to quit it and to keep it a little open, thatshe might be heard if she called, she delivered to her the lamp, whichshe did not dare to take herself because of the men on watch, and,alone, stepped out upon the dark terrace. Every thing was so still,that she feared, lest her own light steps should be heard by the distantsentinels, and she walked cautiously towards the spot, where she hadbefore met Barnardine, listening for a sound, and looking onward throughthe gloom in search of him. At length, she was startled by a deep voice,that spoke near her, and she paused, uncertain whether it was his, tillit spoke again, and she then recognized the hollow tones of Barnardine,who had been punctual to the moment, and was at the appointed place,resting on the rampart wall. After chiding her for not coming sooner,and saying, that he had been waiting nearly half an hour, he desiredEmily, who made no reply, to follow him to the door, through which hehad entered the terrace.
While he unlocked it, she looked back to that she had left, and,observing the rays of the lamp stream through a small opening, wascertain, that Annette was still there. But her remote situation couldlittle befriend Emily, after she had quitted the terrace; and, whenBarnardine unclosed the gate, the dismal aspect of the passage beyond,shewn by a torch burning on the pavement, made her shrink from followinghim alone, and she refused to go, unless Annette might accompany her.This, however, Barnardine absolutely refused to permit, mingling at thesame time with his refusal such artful circumstances to heighten thepity and curiosity of Emily towards her aunt, that she, at length,consented to follow him alone to the portal.
He then took up the torch, and led her along the passage, at theextremity of which he unlocked another door, whence they descended,a few steps, into a chapel, which, as Barnardine held up the torchto light her, Emily observed to be in ruins, and she immediatelyrecollected a former conversation of Annette, concerning it, with veryunpleasant emotions. She looked fearfully on the almost roofless walls,green with damps, and on the gothic points of the windows, where the ivyand the briony had long supplied the place of glass, and ran mantlingamong the broken capitals of some columns, that had once supported theroof. Barnardine stumbled over the broken pavement, and his voice, as heuttered a sudden oath, was returned in hollow echoes, that made it moreterrific. Emily's heart sunk; but she still followed him, and he turnedout of
what had been the principal aisle of the chapel. 'Down thesesteps, lady,' said Barnardine, as he descended a flight, which appearedto lead into the vaults; but Emily paused on the top, and demanded, in atremulous tone, whither he was conducting her.
'To the portal,' said Barnardine.
'Cannot we go through the chapel to the portal?' said Emily.
'No, Signora, that leads to the inner court, which I don't choose tounlock. This way, and we shall reach the outer court presently.'
Emily still hesitated; fearing not only to go on, but, since she hadgone thus far, to irritate Barnardine by refusing to go further.
'Come, lady,' said the man, who had nearly reached the bottom of theflight, 'make a little haste; I cannot wait here all night.'
'Whither do these steps lead?' said Emily, yet pausing.
'To the portal,' repeated Barnardine, in an angry tone, 'I will wait nolonger.' As he said this, he moved on with the light, and Emily, fearingto provoke him by further delay, reluctantly followed. From the steps,they proceeded through a passage, adjoining the vaults, the walls ofwhich were dropping with unwholesome dews, and the vapours, that creptalong the ground, made the torch burn so dimly, that Emily expectedevery moment to see it extinguished, and Barnardine could scarcely findhis way. As they advanced, these vapours thickened, and Barnardine,believing the torch was expiring, stopped for a moment to trim it. As hethen rested against a pair of iron gates, that opened from the passage,Emily saw, by uncertain flashes of light, the vaults beyond, and, nearher, heaps of earth, that seemed to surround an open grave. Such anobject, in such a scene, would, at any time, have disturbed her; butnow she was shocked by an instantaneous presentiment, that this was thegrave of her unfortunate aunt, and that the treacherous Barnardine wasleading herself to destruction. The obscure and terrible place, to whichhe had conducted her, seemed to justify the thought; it was a placesuited for murder, a receptacle for the dead, where a deed of horrormight be committed, and no vestige appear to proclaim it. Emily was sooverwhelmed with terror, that, for a moment, she was unable to determinewhat conduct to pursue. She then considered, that it would be vain toattempt an escape from Barnardine, by flight, since the length and theintricacy of the way she had passed would soon enable him to overtakeher, who was unacquainted with the turnings, and whose feeblenesswould not suffer her to run long with swiftness. She feared equallyto irritate him by a disclosure of her suspicions, which a refusal toaccompany him further certainly would do; and, since she was alreadyas much in his power as it was possible she could be, if she proceeded,she, at length, determined to suppress, as far as she could, theappearance of apprehension, and to follow silently whither he designedto lead her. Pale with horror and anxiety, she now waited tillBarnardine had trimmed the torch, and, as her sight glanced again uponthe grave, she could not forbear enquiring, for whom it was prepared.He took his eyes from the torch, and fixed them upon her face withoutspeaking. She faintly repeated the question, but the man, shaking thetorch, passed on; and she followed, trembling, to a second flight ofsteps, having ascended which, a door delivered them into the first courtof the castle. As they crossed it, the light shewed the high black wallsaround them, fringed with long grass and dank weeds, that found a scantysoil among the mouldering stones; the heavy buttresses, with, here andthere, between them, a narrow grate, that admitted a freer circulationof air to the court, the massy iron gates, that led to the castle, whoseclustering turrets appeared above, and, opposite, the huge towers andarch of the portal itself. In this scene the large, uncouth person ofBarnardine, bearing the torch, formed a characteristic figure. ThisBarnardine was wrapt in a long dark cloak, which scarcely allowedthe kind of half-boots, or sandals, that were laced upon his legs, toappear, and shewed only the point of a broad sword, which he usuallywore, slung in a belt across his shoulders. On his head was a heavy flatvelvet cap, somewhat resembling a turban, in which was a short feather;the visage beneath it shewed strong features, and a countenance furrowedwith the lines of cunning and darkened by habitual discontent.
The view of the court, however, reanimated Emily, who, as she crossedsilently towards the portal, began to hope, that her own fears, and notthe treachery of Barnardine, had deceived her. She looked anxiouslyup at the first casement, that appeared above the lofty arch of theportcullis; but it was dark, and she enquired, whether it belonged tothe chamber, where Madame Montoni was confined. Emily spoke low, andBarnardine, perhaps, did not hear her question, for he returned noanswer; and they, soon after, entered the postern door of the gate-way,which brought them to the foot of a narrow stair-case, that wound up oneof the towers.
'Up this stair-case the Signora lies,' said Barnardine.
'Lies!' repeated Emily faintly, as she began to ascend.
'She lies in the upper chamber,' said Barnardine.
As they passed up, the wind, which poured through the narrow cavities inthe wall, made the torch flare, and it threw a stronger gleam upon thegrim and sallow countenance of Barnardine, and discovered more fully thedesolation of the place--the rough stone walls, the spiral stairs, blackwith age, and a suit of antient armour, with an iron visor, that hungupon the walls, and appeared a trophy of some former victory.
Having reached a landing-place, 'You may wait here, lady,' said he,applying a key to the door of a chamber, 'while I go up, and tell theSignora you are coming.'
'That ceremony is unnecessary,' replied Emily, 'my aunt will rejoice tosee me.'
'I am not so sure of that,' said Barnardine, pointing to the room he hadopened: 'Come in here, lady, while I step up.'
Emily, surprised and somewhat shocked, did not dare to oppose himfurther, but, as he was turning away with the torch, desired he wouldnot leave her in darkness. He looked around, and, observing a tripodlamp, that stood on the stairs, lighted and gave it to Emily, whostepped forward into a large old chamber, and he closed the door. Asshe listened anxiously to his departing steps, she thought he descended,instead of ascending, the stairs; but the gusts of wind, that whistledround the portal, would not allow her to hear distinctly any othersound. Still, however, she listened, and, perceiving no step in theroom above, where he had affirmed Madame Montoni to be, her anxietyincreased, though she considered, that the thickness of the floor inthis strong building might prevent any sound reaching her from the upperchamber. The next moment, in a pause of the wind, she distinguishedBarnardine's step descending to the court, and then thought she heardhis voice; but, the rising gust again overcoming other sounds, Emily, tobe certain on this point, moved softly to the door, which, on attemptingto open it, she discovered was fastened. All the horrid apprehensions,that had lately assailed her, returned at this instant with redoubledforce, and no longer appeared like the exaggerations of a timid spirit,but seemed to have been sent to warn her of her fate. She now did notdoubt, that Madame Montoni had been murdered, perhaps in this verychamber; or that she herself was brought hither for the same purpose.The countenance, the manners and the recollected words of Barnardine,when he had spoken of her aunt, confirmed her worst fears. For somemoments, she was incapable of considering of any means, by which shemight attempt an escape. Still she listened, but heard footsteps neitheron the stairs, or in the room above; she thought, however, that sheagain distinguished Barnardine's voice below, and went to a gratedwindow, that opened upon the court, to enquire further. Here, sheplainly heard his hoarse accents, mingling with the blast, that sweptby, but they were lost again so quickly, that their meaning could not beinterpreted; and then the light of a torch, which seemed to issue fromthe portal below, flashed across the court, and the long shadow of aman, who was under the arch-way, appeared upon the pavement. Emily,from the hugeness of this sudden portrait, concluded it to be thatof Barnardine; but other deep tones, which passed in the wind, soonconvinced her he was not alone, and that his companion was not a personvery liable to pity.
When her spirits had overcome the first shock of her situation, sheheld up the lamp to examine, if the chamber afforded a possibility of anescape. It was a
spacious room, whose walls, wainscoted with rough oak,shewed no casement but the grated one, which Emily had left, and noother door than that, by which she had entered. The feeble rays of thelamp, however, did not allow her to see at once its full extent; sheperceived no furniture, except, indeed, an iron chair, fastened in thecentre of the chamber, immediately over which, depending on a chain fromthe ceiling, hung an iron ring. Having gazed upon these, for some time,with wonder and horror, she next observed iron bars below, made for thepurpose of confining the feet, and on the arms of the chair were ringsof the same metal. As she continued to survey them, she concluded, thatthey were instruments of torture, and it struck her, that some poorwretch had once been fastened in this chair, and had there been starvedto death. She was chilled by the thought; but, what was her agony, when,in the next moment, it occurred to her, that her aunt might have beenone of these victims, and that she herself might be the next! An acutepain seized her head, she was scarcely able to hold the lamp, and,looking round for support, was seating herself, unconsciously, in theiron chair itself; but suddenly perceiving where she was, she startedfrom it in horror, and sprung towards a remote end of the room. Hereagain she looked round for a seat to sustain her, and perceived only adark curtain, which, descending from the ceiling to the floor, was drawnalong the whole side of the chamber. Ill as she was, the appearance ofthis curtain struck her, and she paused to gaze upon it, in wonder andapprehension.
It seemed to conceal a recess of the chamber; she wished, yet dreaded,to lift it, and to discover what it veiled: twice she was withheld bya recollection of the terrible spectacle her daring hand had formerlyunveiled in an apartment of the castle, till, suddenly conjecturing,that it concealed the body of her murdered aunt, she seized it, in a fitof desperation, and drew it aside. Beyond, appeared a corpse, stretchedon a kind of low couch, which was crimsoned with human blood, as wasthe floor beneath. The features, deformed by death, were ghastly andhorrible, and more than one livid wound appeared in the face. Emily,bending over the body, gazed, for a moment, with an eager, frenzied eye;but, in the next, the lamp dropped from her hand, and she fell senselessat the foot of the couch.
When her senses returned, she found herself surrounded by men, amongwhom was Barnardine, who were lifting her from the floor, and then boreher along the chamber. She was sensible of what passed, but the extremelanguor of her spirits did not permit her to speak, or move, or even tofeel any distinct fear. They carried her down the stair-case, by whichshe had ascended; when, having reached the arch-way, they stopped, andone of the men, taking the torch from Barnardine, opened a small door,that was cut in the great gate, and, as he stepped out upon the road,the light he bore shewed several men on horseback, in waiting. Whetherit was the freshness of the air, that revived Emily, or that the objectsshe now saw roused the spirit of alarm, she suddenly spoke, and made anineffectual effort to disengage herself from the grasp of the ruffians,who held her.
Barnardine, meanwhile, called loudly for the torch, while distant voicesanswered, and several persons approached, and, in the same instant, alight flashed upon the court of the castle. Again he vociferated for thetorch, and the men hurried Emily through the gate. At a short distance,under the shelter of the castle walls, she perceived the fellow, who hadtaken the light from the porter, holding it to a man, busily employedin altering the saddle of a horse, round which were several horsemen,looking on, whose harsh features received the full glare of the torch;while the broken ground beneath them, the opposite walls, with thetufted shrubs, that overhung their summits, and an embattled watch-towerabove, were reddened with the gleam, which, fading gradually away, leftthe remoter ramparts and the woods below to the obscurity of night.
'What do you waste time for, there?' said Barnardine with an oath, as heapproached the horsemen. 'Dispatch--dispatch!'
'The saddle will be ready in a minute,' replied the man who was bucklingit, at whom Barnardine now swore again, for his negligence, and Emily,calling feebly for help, was hurried towards the horses, while theruffians disputed on which to place her, the one designed for her notbeing ready. At this moment a cluster of lights issued from the greatgates, and she immediately heard the shrill voice of Annette abovethose of several other persons, who advanced. In the same moment, shedistinguished Montoni and Cavigni, followed by a number of ruffian-facedfellows, to whom she no longer looked with terror, but with hope, for,at this instant, she did not tremble at the thought of any dangers, thatmight await her within the castle, whence so lately, and so anxiouslyshe had wished to escape. Those, which threatened her from without, hadengrossed all her apprehensions.
A short contest ensued between the parties, in which that of Montoni,however, were presently victors, and the horsemen, perceiving thatnumbers were against them, and being, perhaps, not very warmlyinterested in the affair they had undertaken, galloped off, whileBarnardine had run far enough to be lost in the darkness, and Emily wasled back into the castle. As she re-passed the courts, the remembranceof what she had seen in the portal-chamber came, with all its horror, toher mind; and when, soon after, she heard the gate close, that shuther once more within the castle walls, she shuddered for herself, and,almost forgetting the danger she had escaped, could scarcely think, thatany thing less precious than liberty and peace was to be found beyondthem.
Montoni ordered Emily to await him in the cedar parlour, whither he soonfollowed, and then sternly questioned her on this mysterious affair.Though she now viewed him with horror, as the murderer of her aunt, andscarcely knew what she said in reply to his impatient enquiries, heranswers and her manner convinced him, that she had not taken a voluntarypart in the late scheme, and he dismissed her upon the appearance of hisservants, whom he had ordered to attend, that he might enquire furtherinto the affair, and discover those, who had been accomplices in it.
Emily had been some time in her apartment, before the tumult of her mindallowed her to remember several of the past circumstances. Then, again,the dead form, which the curtain in the portal-chamber had disclosed,came to her fancy, and she uttered a groan, which terrified Annette themore, as Emily forbore to satisfy her curiosity, on the subject ofit, for she feared to trust her with so fatal a secret, lest herindiscretion should call down the immediate vengeance of Montoni onherself.
Thus compelled to bear within her own mind the whole horror of thesecret, that oppressed it, her reason seemed to totter under theintolerable weight. She often fixed a wild and vacant look on Annette,and, when she spoke, either did not hear her, or answered from thepurpose. Long fits of abstraction succeeded; Annette spoke repeatedly,but her voice seemed not to make any impression on the sense of the longagitated Emily, who sat fixed and silent, except that, now and then, sheheaved a heavy sigh, but without tears.
Terrified at her condition, Annette, at length, left the room, to informMontoni of it, who had just dismissed his servants, without having madeany discoveries on the subject of his enquiry. The wild description,which this girl now gave of Emily, induced him to follow her immediatelyto the chamber.
At the sound of his voice, Emily turned her eyes, and a gleam ofrecollection seemed to shoot athwart her mind, for she immediately rosefrom her seat, and moved slowly to a remote part of the room. He spoketo her in accents somewhat softened from their usual harshness, butshe regarded him with a kind of half curious, half terrified look,and answered only 'yes,' to whatever he said. Her mind still seemed toretain no other impression, than that of fear.
Of this disorder Annette could give no explanation, and Montoni, havingattempted, for some time, to persuade Emily to talk, retired, afterordering Annette to remain with her, during the night, and to informhim, in the morning, of her condition.
When he was gone, Emily again came forward, and asked who it was, thathad been there to disturb her. Annette said it was the Signor-SignorMontoni. Emily repeated the name after her, several times, as if shedid not recollect it, and then suddenly groaned, and relapsed intoabstraction.
With some difficulty, Annette led her t
o the bed, which Emily examinedwith an eager, frenzied eye, before she lay down, and then, pointing,turned with shuddering emotion, to Annette, who, now more terrified,went towards the door, that she might bring one of the female servantsto pass the night with them; but Emily, observing her going, called herby name, and then in the naturally soft and plaintive tone of her voice,begged, that she, too, would not forsake her.--'For since my fatherdied,' added she, sighing, 'every body forsakes me.'
'Your father, ma'amselle!' said Annette, 'he was dead before you knewme.'
'He was, indeed!' rejoined Emily, and her tears began to flow. She nowwept silently and long, after which, becoming quite calm, she at lengthsunk to sleep, Annette having had discretion enough not to interrupther tears. This girl, as affectionate as she was simple, lost in thesemoments all her former fears of remaining in the chamber, and watchedalone by Emily, during the whole night.