The Mysteries of Udolpho

  CHAPTER VII

  Was nought around but images of rest, Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between, And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kept, From poppies breath'd, and banks of pleasant green, Where never yet was creeping creature seen. Meantime unnumbered glittering streamlets play'd, And hurled every where their water's sheen, That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made. THOMSON

  When Emily, in the morning, opened her casement, she was surprisedto observe the beauties, that surrounded it. The cottage was nearlyembowered in the woods, which were chiefly of chesnut intermixedwith some cypress, larch and sycamore. Beneath the dark and spreadingbranches, appeared, to the north, and to the east, the woody Apennines,rising in majestic amphitheatre, not black with pines, as she had beenaccustomed to see them, but their loftiest summits crowned with antientforests of chesnut, oak, and oriental plane, now animated with the richtints of autumn, and which swept downward to the valley uninterruptedly,except where some bold rocky promontory looked out from among thefoliage, and caught the passing gleam. Vineyards stretched along thefeet of the mountains, where the elegant villas of the Tuscan nobilityfrequently adorned the scene, and overlooked slopes clothed withgroves of olive, mulberry, orange and lemon. The plain, to which thesedeclined, was coloured with the riches of cultivation, whose mingledhues were mellowed into harmony by an Italian sun. Vines, their purpleclusters blushing between the russet foliage, hung in luxuriant festoonsfrom the branches of standard fig and cherry trees, while pastures ofverdure, such as Emily had seldom seen in Italy, enriched the banks ofa stream that, after descending from the mountains, wound along thelandscape, which it reflected, to a bay of the sea. There, far in thewest, the waters, fading into the sky, assumed a tint of the faintestpurple, and the line of separation between them was, now and then,discernible only by the progress of a sail, brightened with the sunbeam,along the horizon.

  The cottage, which was shaded by the woods from the intenser rays of thesun, and was open only to his evening light, was covered entirely withvines, fig-trees and jessamine, whose flowers surpassed in size andfragrance any that Emily had seen. These and ripening clusters of grapeshung round her little casement. The turf, that grew under the woods, wasinlaid with a variety of wild flowers and perfumed herbs, and, on theopposite margin of the stream, whose current diffused freshness beneaththe shades, rose a grove of lemon and orange trees. This, though nearlyopposite to Emily's window, did not interrupt her prospect, but ratherheightened, by its dark verdure, the effect of the perspective; andto her this spot was a bower of sweets, whose charms communicatedimperceptibly to her mind somewhat of their own serenity.

  She was soon summoned to breakfast, by the peasant's daughter, a girlabout seventeen, of a pleasant countenance, which, Emily was glad toobserve, seemed animated with the pure affections of nature, thoughthe others, that surrounded her, expressed, more or less, the worstqualities--cruelty, ferocity, cunning and duplicity; of the latter styleof countenance, especially, were those of the peasant and his wife.Maddelina spoke little, but what she said was in a soft voice, andwith an air of modesty and complacency, that interested Emily, whobreakfasted at a separate table with Dorina, while Ugo and Bertrandwere taking a repast of Tuscany bacon and wine with their host, nearthe cottage door; when they had finished which, Ugo, rising hastily,enquired for his mule, and Emily learned that he was to return toUdolpho, while Bertrand remained at the cottage; a circumstance, which,though it did not surprise, distressed her.

  When Ugo was departed, Emily proposed to walk in the neighbouring woods;but, on being told, that she must not quit the cottage, without havingBertrand for her attendant, she withdrew to her own room. There, as hereyes settled on the towering Apennines, she recollected the terrificscenery they had exhibited and the horrors she had suffered, on thepreceding night, particularly at the moment when Bertrand had betrayedhimself to be an assassin; and these remembrances awakened a train ofimages, which, since they abstracted her from a consideration of her ownsituation, she pursued for some time, and then arranged in the followinglines; pleased to have discovered any innocent means, by which she couldbeguile an hour of misfortune.

  THE PILGRIM*

  Slow o'er the Apennine, with bleeding feet, A patient Pilgrim wound his lonely way, To deck the Lady of Loretto's seat With all the little wealth his zeal could pay. From mountain-tops cold died the evening ray, And, stretch'd in twilight, slept the vale below; And now the last, last purple streaks of day Along the melancholy West fade slow. High o'er his head, the restless pines complain, As on their summit rolls the breeze of night; Beneath, the hoarse stream chides the rocks in vain: The Pilgrim pauses on the dizzy height. Then to the vale his cautious step he prest, For there a hermit's cross was dimly seen, Cresting the rock, and there his limbs might rest, Cheer'd in the good man's cave, by faggot's sheen, On leafy beds, nor guile his sleep molest. Unhappy Luke! he trusts a treacherous clue! Behind the cliff the lurking robber stood; No friendly moon his giant shadow threw Athwart the road, to save the Pilgrim's blood; On as he went a vesper-hymn he sang, The hymn, that nightly sooth'd him to repose. Fierce on his harmless prey the ruffian sprang! The Pilgrim bleeds to death, his eye-lids close. Yet his meek spirit knew no vengeful care, But, dying, for his murd'rer breath'd--a sainted pray'r!

  (* This poem and that entitled THE TRAVELLER in vol. ii, have alreadyappeared in a periodical publication. [A. R.])

  Preferring the solitude of her room to the company of the persons belowstairs, Emily dined above, and Maddelina was suffered to attend her,from whose simple conversation she learned, that the peasant and hiswife were old inhabitants of this cottage, which had been purchased forthem by Montoni, in reward of some service, rendered him, many yearsbefore, by Marco, to whom Carlo, the steward at the castle, was nearlyrelated. 'So many years ago, Signora,' added Maddelina, 'that I knownothing about it; but my father did the Signor a great good, for mymother has often said to him, this cottage was the least he ought tohave had.'

  To the mention of this circumstance Emily listened with a painfulinterest, since it appeared to give a frightful colour to the characterof Marco, whose service, thus rewarded by Montoni, she could scarcelydoubt have been criminal; and, if so, had too much reason to believe,that she had been committed into his hands for some desperatepurpose. 'Did you ever hear how many years it is,' said Emily, who wasconsidering of Signora Laurentini's disappearance from Udolpho, 'sinceyour father performed the services you spoke of?'

  'It was a little before he came to live at the cottage, Signora,'replied Maddelina, 'and that is about eighteen years ago.'

  This was near the period, when Signora Laurentini had been said todisappear, and it occurred to Emily, that Marco had assisted in thatmysterious affair, and, perhaps, had been employed in a murder! Thishorrible suggestion fixed her in such profound reverie, that Maddelinaquitted the room, unperceived by her, and she remained unconscious ofall around her, for a considerable time. Tears, at length, came to herrelief, after indulging which, her spirits becoming calmer, sheceased to tremble at a view of evils, that might never arrive; and hadsufficient resolution to endeavour to withdraw her thoughts from thecontemplation of her own interests. Remembering the few books, whicheven in the hurry of her departure from Udolpho she had put into herlittle package, she sat down with one of them at her pleasant casement,whence her eyes often wandered from the page to the landscape, whosebeauty gradually soothed her mind into gentle melancholy.

  Here, she remained alone, till evening, and saw the sun descend thewestern sky, throw all his pomp of light and shadow upon the mountains,and gleam upon the distant ocean and the stealing sails, as he sunkamidst the waves. Then, at the musing hour of twilight, her softenedthoughts returned to Valancourt; she again recollected everycircumstance, connected with the midnight music, and all that mightassist her conjecture, concerning his imprisonment at the castle, and,becoming confirmed in the supposition, that it was his voice she hadheard ther
e, she looked back to that gloomy abode with emotions of griefand momentary regret.

  Refreshed by the cool and fragrant air, and her spirits soothed to astate of gentle melancholy by the stilly murmur of the brook below andof the woods around, she lingered at her casement long after the sunhad set, watching the valley sinking into obscurity, till only thegrand outline of the surrounding mountains, shadowed upon the horizon,remained visible. But a clear moon-light, that succeeded, gave to thelandscape, what time gives to the scenes of past life, when it softensall their harsher features, and throws over the whole the mellowingshade of distant contemplation. The scenes of La Vallee, in the earlymorn of her life, when she was protected and beloved by parents equallyloved, appeared in Emily's memory tenderly beautiful, like the prospectbefore her, and awakened mournful comparisons. Unwilling to encounterthe coarse behaviour of the peasant's wife, she remained supperless inher room, while she wept again over her forlorn and perilous situation,a review of which entirely overcame the small remains of her fortitude,and, reducing her to temporary despondence, she wished to be releasedfrom the heavy load of life, that had so long oppressed her, and prayedto Heaven to take her, in its mercy, to her parents.

  Wearied with weeping, she, at length, lay down on her mattress, and sunkto sleep, but was soon awakened by a knocking at her chamber door,and, starting up in terror, she heard a voice calling her. The image ofBertrand, with a stilletto in his hand, appeared to her alarmed fancy,and she neither opened the door, or answered, but listened in profoundsilence, till, the voice repeating her name in the same low tone, shedemanded who called. 'It is I, Signora,' replied the voice, which shenow distinguished to be Maddelina's, 'pray open the door. Don't befrightened, it is I.'

  'And what brings you here so late, Maddelina?' said Emily, as she lether in.

  'Hush! signora, for heaven's sake hush!--if we are overheard I shallnever be forgiven. My father and mother and Bertrand are all goneto bed,' continued Maddelina, as she gently shut the door, and creptforward, 'and I have brought you some supper, for you had none, youknow, Signora, below stairs. Here are some grapes and figs and half acup of wine.' Emily thanked her, but expressed apprehension lestthis kindness should draw upon her the resentment of Dorina, when sheperceived the fruit was gone. 'Take it back, therefore, Maddelina,'added Emily, 'I shall suffer much less from the want of it, thanI should do, if this act of good-nature was to subject you to yourmother's displeasure.'

  'O Signora! there is no danger of that,' replied Maddelina, 'my mothercannot miss the fruit, for I saved it from my own supper. You will makeme very unhappy, if you refuse to take it, Signora.' Emily was somuch affected by this instance of the good girl's generosity, that sheremained for some time unable to reply, and Maddelina watched her insilence, till, mistaking the cause of her emotion, she said, 'Do notweep so, Signora! My mother, to be sure, is a little cross, sometimes,but then it is soon over,--so don't take it so much to heart. She oftenscolds me, too, but then I have learned to bear it, and, when she hasdone, if I can but steal out into the woods, and play upon my sticcado,I forget it all directly.'

  Emily, smiling through her tears, told Maddelina, that she was a goodgirl, and then accepted her offering. She wished anxiously to know,whether Bertrand and Dorina had spoken of Montoni, or of his designs,concerning herself, in the presence of Maddelina, but disdained to temptthe innocent girl to a conduct so mean, as that of betraying the privateconversations of her parents. When she was departing, Emily requested,that she would come to her room as often as she dared, without offendingher mother, and Maddelina, after promising that she would do so, stolesoftly back again to her own chamber.

  Thus several days passed, during which Emily remained in her own room,Maddelina attending her only at her repast, whose gentle countenance andmanners soothed her more than any circumstance she had known for manymonths. Of her pleasant embowered chamber she now became fond, andbegan to experience in it those feelings of security, which we naturallyattach to home. In this interval also, her mind, having been undisturbedby any new circumstance of disgust, or alarm, recovered its tonesufficiently to permit her the enjoyment of her books, among which shefound some unfinished sketches of landscapes, several blank sheets ofpaper, with her drawing instruments, and she was thus enabled to amuseherself with selecting some of the lovely features of the prospect,that her window commanded, and combining them in scenes, to which hertasteful fancy gave a last grace. In these little sketches she generallyplaced interesting groups, characteristic of the scenery they animated,and often contrived to tell, with perspicuity, some simple and affectingstory, when, as a tear fell over the pictured griefs, which herimagination drew, she would forget, for a moment, her real sufferings.Thus innocently she beguiled the heavy hours of misfortune, and, withmeek patience, awaited the events of futurity.

  A beautiful evening, that had succeeded to a sultry day, at lengthinduced Emily to walk, though she knew that Bertrand must attend her,and, with Maddelina for her companion, she left the cottage, followed byBertrand, who allowed her to choose her own way. The hour was cool andsilent, and she could not look upon the country around her, withoutdelight. How lovely, too, appeared the brilliant blue, that coloured allthe upper region of the air, and, thence fading downward, was lost inthe saffron glow of the horizon! Nor less so were the varied shades andwarm colouring of the Apennines, as the evening sun threw his slantingrays athwart their broken surface. Emily followed the course of thestream, under the shades, that overhung its grassy margin. On theopposite banks, the pastures were animated with herds of cattle of abeautiful cream-colour; and, beyond, were groves of lemon and orange,with fruit glowing on the branches, frequent almost as the leaves,which partly concealed it. She pursued her way towards the sea, whichreflected the warm glow of sun-set, while the cliffs, that rose over itsedge, were tinted with the last rays. The valley was terminated on theright by a lofty promontory, whose summit, impending over the waves, wascrowned with a ruined tower, now serving for the purpose of a beacon,whose shattered battlements and the extended wings of some sea-fowl,that circled near it, were still illumined by the upward beams of thesun, though his disk was now sunk beneath the horizon; while the lowerpart of the ruin, the cliff on which it stood and the waves at its foot,were shaded with the first tints of twilight.

  Having reached this headland, Emily gazed with solemn pleasure on thecliffs, that extended on either hand along the sequestered shores,some crowned with groves of pine, and others exhibiting only barrenprecipices of grayish marble, except where the crags were tufted withmyrtle and other aromatic shrubs. The sea slept in a perfect calm;its waves, dying in murmurs on the shores, flowed with the gentlestundulation, while its clear surface reflected in softened beauty thevermeil tints of the west. Emily, as she looked upon the ocean, thoughtof France and of past times, and she wished, Oh! how ardently, andvainly--wished! that its waves would bear her to her distant, nativehome!

  'Ah! that vessel,' said she, 'that vessel, which glides along sostately, with its tall sails reflected in the water is, perhaps, boundfor France! Happy--happy bark!' She continued to gaze upon it, with warmemotion, till the gray of twilight obscured the distance, and veiled itfrom her view. The melancholy sound of the waves at her feet assistedthe tenderness, that occasioned her tears, and this was the only sound,that broke upon the hour, till, having followed the windings of thebeach, for some time, a chorus of voices passed her on the air. Shepaused a moment, wishing to hear more, yet fearing to be seen, and,for the first time, looked back to Bertrand, as her protector, whowas following, at a short distance, in company with some other person.Reassured by this circumstance, she advanced towards the sounds, whichseemed to arise from behind a high promontory, that projected athwartthe beach. There was now a sudden pause in the music, and then onefemale voice was heard to sing in a kind of chant. Emily quickenedher steps, and, winding round the rock, saw, within the sweeping bay,beyond, which was hung with woods from the borders of the beach to thevery summit of the cliffs, two groups of peasants, on
e seated beneaththe shades, and the other standing on the edge of the sea, round thegirl, who was singing, and who held in her hand a chaplet of flowers,which she seemed about to drop into the waves.

  Emily, listening with surprise and attention, distinguished thefollowing invocation delivered in the pure and elegant tongue ofTuscany, and accompanied by a few pastoral instruments.

  TO A SEA-NYMPH

  O nymph! who loves to float on the green wave, When Neptune sleeps beneath the moon-light hour, Lull'd by the music's melancholy pow'r, O nymph, arise from out thy pearly cave!

  For Hesper beams amid the twilight shade, And soon shall Cynthia tremble o'er the tide, Gleam on these cliffs, that bound the ocean's pride, And lonely silence all the air pervade.

  Then, let thy tender voice at distance swell, And steal along this solitary shore, Sink on the breeze, till dying--heard no more-- Thou wak'st the sudden magic of thy shell.

  While the long coast in echo sweet replies, Thy soothing strains the pensive heart beguile, And bid the visions of the future smile, O nymph! from out thy pearly cave--arise!

  (Chorus)--ARISE! (Semi-chorus)--ARISE!

  The last words being repeated by the surrounding group, the garland offlowers was thrown into the waves, and the chorus, sinking graduallyinto a chant, died away in silence.

  'What can this mean, Maddelina?' said Emily, awakening from the pleasingtrance, into which the music had lulled her. 'This is the eve of afestival, Signora,' replied Maddelina; 'and the peasants then amusethemselves with all kinds of sports.'

  'But they talked of a sea-nymph,' said Emily: 'how came these goodpeople to think of a sea-nymph?'

  'O, Signora,' rejoined Maddelina, mistaking the reason of Emily'ssurprise, 'nobody BELIEVES in such things, but our old songs tell ofthem, and, when we are at our sports, we sometimes sing to them, andthrow garlands into the sea.'

  Emily had been early taught to venerate Florence as the seat ofliterature and of the fine arts; but, that its taste for classic storyshould descend to the peasants of the country, occasioned her bothsurprise and admiration. The Arcadian air of the girls next attractedher attention. Their dress was a very short full petticoat of lightgreen, with a boddice of white silk; the sleeves loose, and tied up atthe shoulders with ribbons and bunches of flowers. Their hair, fallingin ringlets on their necks, was also ornamented with flowers, and with asmall straw hat, which, set rather backward and on one side of the head,gave an expression of gaiety and smartness to the whole figure. Whenthe song had concluded, several of these girls approached Emily, and,inviting her to sit down among them, offered her, and Maddelina, whomthey knew, grapes and figs.

  Emily accepted their courtesy, much pleased with the gentleness andgrace of their manners, which appeared to be perfectly natural to them;and when Bertrand, soon after, approached, and was hastily drawing heraway, a peasant, holding up a flask, invited him to drink; a temptation,which Bertrand was seldom very valiant in resisting.

  'Let the young lady join in the dance, my friend,' said the peasant,'while we empty this flask. They are going to begin directly. Strike up!my lads, strike up your tambourines and merry flutes!'

  They sounded gaily; and the younger peasants formed themselves into acircle, which Emily would readily have joined, had her spirits been inunison with their mirth. Maddelina, however, tripped it lightly,and Emily, as she looked on the happy group, lost the sense of hermisfortunes in that of a benevolent pleasure. But the pensive melancholyof her mind returned, as she sat rather apart from the company,listening to the mellow music, which the breeze softened as it bore itaway, and watching the moon, stealing its tremulous light over the wavesand on the woody summits of the cliffs, that wound along these Tuscanshores.

  Meanwhile, Bertrand was so well pleased with his first flask, that hevery willingly commenced the attack on a second, and it was late beforeEmily, not without some apprehension, returned to the cottage.

  After this evening, she frequently walked with Maddelina, but was neverunattended by Bertrand; and her mind became by degrees as tranquil asthe circumstances of her situation would permit. The quiet, in whichshe was suffered to live, encouraged her to hope, that she was not senthither with an evil design; and, had it not appeared probable, thatValancourt was at this time an inhabitant of Udolpho, she would havewished to remain at the cottage, till an opportunity should offer ofreturning to her native country. But, concerning Montoni's motive forsending her into Tuscany, she was more than ever perplexed, nor couldshe believe that any consideration for her safety had influenced him onthis occasion.

  She had been some time at the cottage, before she recollected, that, inthe hurry of leaving Udolpho, she had forgotten the papers committedto her by her late aunt, relative to the Languedoc estates; but, thoughthis remembrance occasioned her much uneasiness, she had some hope,that, in the obscure place, where they were deposited, they would escapethe detection of Montoni.