CHAPTER XII
Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia, silver-bright, In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of folly, With freedom by my side, and soft-ey'd melancholy. GRAY
The Lady Blanche was so much interested for Emily, that, upon hearingshe was going to reside in the neighbouring convent, she requested theCount would invite her to lengthen her stay at the chateau. 'And youknow, my dear sir,' added Blanche, 'how delighted I shall be with sucha companion; for, at present, I have no friend to walk, or to read with,since Mademoiselle Bearn is my mamma's friend only.'
The Count smiled at the youthful simplicity, with which his daughteryielded to first impressions; and, though he chose to warn her of theirdanger, he silently applauded the benevolence, that could thus readilyexpand in confidence to a stranger. He had observed Emily, withattention, on the preceding evening, and was as much pleased withher, as it was possible he could be with any person, on so short anacquaintance. The mention, made of her by Mons. Du Pont, had also givenhim a favourable impression of Emily; but, extremely cautious asto those, whom he introduced to the intimacy of his daughter, hedetermined, on hearing that the former was no stranger at the convent ofSt. Claire, to visit the abbess, and, if her account corresponded withhis wish, to invite Emily to pass some time at the chateau. On thissubject, he was influenced by a consideration of the Lady Blanche'swelfare, still more than by either a wish to oblige her, or to befriendthe orphan Emily, for whom, however, he felt considerably interested.
On the following morning, Emily was too much fatigued to appear; butMons. Du Pont was at the breakfast-table, when the Count entered theroom, who pressed him, as his former acquaintance, and the son of a veryold friend, to prolong his stay at the chateau; an invitation, which DuPont willingly accepted, since it would allow him to be near Emily; and,though he was not conscious of encouraging a hope, that she wouldever return his affection, he had not fortitude enough to attempt, atpresent, to overcome it.
Emily, when she was somewhat recovered, wandered with her new friendover the grounds belonging to the chateau, as much delighted with thesurrounding views, as Blanche, in the benevolence of her heart, hadwished; from thence she perceived, beyond the woods, the towers of themonastery, and remarked, that it was to this convent she designed to go.
'Ah!' said Blanche with surprise, 'I am but just released from aconvent, and would you go into one? If you could know what pleasureI feel in wandering here, at liberty,--and in seeing the sky and thefields, and the woods all round me, I think you would not.' Emily,smiling at the warmth, with which the Lady Blanche spoke, observed, thatshe did not mean to confine herself to a convent for life.
'No, you may not intend it now,' said Blanche; 'but you do not know towhat the nuns may persuade you to consent: I know how kind they willappear, and how happy, for I have seen too much of their art.'
When they returned to the chateau, Lady Blanche conducted Emily toher favourite turret, and from thence they rambled through the ancientchambers, which Blanche had visited before. Emily was amused byobserving the structure of these apartments, and the fashion of theirold but still magnificent furniture, and by comparing them with thoseof the castle of Udolpho, which were yet more antique and grotesque.She was also interested by Dorothee the house-keeper, who attended them,whose appearance was almost as antique as the objects around her, andwho seemed no less interested by Emily, on whom she frequently gazedwith so much deep attention, as scarcely to hear what was said to her.
While Emily looked from one of the casements, she perceived, withsurprise, some objects, that were familiar to her memory;--the fieldsand woods, with the gleaming brook, which she had passed with La Voisin,one evening, soon after the death of Monsieur St. Aubert, in her wayfrom the monastery to her cottage; and she now knew this to be thechateau, which he had then avoided, and concerning which he had droppedsome remarkable hints.
Shocked by this discovery, yet scarcely knowing why, she mused forsome time in silence, and remembered the emotion, which her fatherhad betrayed on finding himself so near this mansion, and some othercircumstances of his conduct, that now greatly interested her. Themusic, too, which she had formerly heard, and, respecting which LaVoisin had given such an odd account, occurred to her, and, desirous ofknowing more concerning it, she asked Dorothee whether it returned atmidnight, as usual, and whether the musician had yet been discovered.
'Yes, ma'amselle,' replied Dorothee, 'that music is still heard, butthe musician has never been found out, nor ever will, I believe; thoughthere are some people, who can guess.'
'Indeed!' said Emily, 'then why do they not pursue the enquiry?'
'Ah, young lady! enquiry enough has been made--but who can pursue aspirit?'
Emily smiled, and, remembering how lately she had suffered herself to beled away by superstition, determined now to resist its contagion; yet,in spite of her efforts, she felt awe mingle with her curiosity, onthis subject; and Blanche, who had hitherto listened in silence, nowenquired what this music was, and how long it had been heard.
'Ever since the death of my lady, madam,' replied Dorothee.
'Why, the place is not haunted, surely?' said Blanche, between jestingand seriousness.
'I have heard that music almost ever since my dear lady died,' continuedDorothee, 'and never before then. But that is nothing to some things Icould tell of.'
'Do, pray, tell them, then,' said Lady Blanche, now more in earnest thanin jest. 'I am much interested, for I have heard sister Henriette, andsister Sophie, in the convent, tell of such strange appearances, whichthey themselves had witnessed!'
'You never heard, my lady, I suppose, what made us leave the chateau,and go and live in a cottage,' said Dorothee. 'Never!' replied Blanchewith impatience.
'Nor the reason, that my lord, the Marquis'--Dorothee checked herself,hesitated, and then endeavoured to change the topic; but the curiosityof Blanche was too much awakened to suffer the subject thus easily toescape her, and she pressed the old house-keeper to proceed with heraccount, upon whom, however, no entreaties could prevail; and it wasevident, that she was alarmed for the imprudence, into which she hadalready betrayed herself.
'I perceive,' said Emily, smiling, 'that all old mansions are haunted; Iam lately come from a place of wonders; but unluckily, since I left it,I have heard almost all of them explained.'
Blanche was silent; Dorothee looked grave, and sighed; and Emily feltherself still inclined to believe more of the wonderful, than shechose to acknowledge. Just then, she remembered the spectacle she hadwitnessed in a chamber of Udolpho, and, by an odd kind of coincidence,the alarming words, that had accidentally met her eye in the MS. papers,which she had destroyed, in obedience to the command of her father; andshe shuddered at the meaning they seemed to impart, almost as much as atthe horrible appearance, disclosed by the black veil.
The Lady Blanche, meanwhile, unable to prevail with Dorothee to explainthe subject of her late hints, had desired, on reaching the door, thatterminated the gallery, and which she found fastened on the precedingday, to see the suite of rooms beyond. 'Dear young lady,' said thehousekeeper, 'I have told you my reason for not opening them; I havenever seen them, since my dear lady died; and it would go hard with meto see them now. Pray, madam, do not ask me again.'
'Certainly I will not,' replied Blanche, 'if that is really yourobjection.'
'Alas! it is,' said the old woman: 'we all loved her well, and I shallalways grieve for her. Time runs round! it is now many years, since shedied; but I remember every thing, that happened then, as if it was butyesterday. Many things, that have passed of late years, are gone quitefrom my memory, while those so long ago, I can see as if in a glass.'She paused, but afterwards, as they walked up the gallery, added toEmily, 'this young lady sometimes brings the late Marchioness to mymind; I can remember, when she looked just as blooming, and very likeher, when she smiles. Poor lady! how gay she was, when she first came tothe chateau!'
'And was she not gay, afterwards?' said Blanche.
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p; Dorothee shook her head; and Emily observed her, with eyes stronglyexpressive of the interest she now felt. 'Let us sit down in thiswindow,' said the Lady Blanche, on reaching the opposite end of thegallery: 'and pray, Dorothee, if it is not painful to you, tell ussomething more about the Marchioness. I should like to look into theglass you spoke of just now, and see a few of the circumstances, whichyou say often pass over it.'
'No, my lady,' replied Dorothee; 'if you knew as much as I do, you wouldnot, for you would find there a dismal train of them; I often wish Icould shut them out, but they will rise to my mind. I see my dear ladyon her death-bed,--her very look,--and remember all she said--it was aterrible scene!'
'Why was it so terrible?' said Emily with emotion.
'Ah, dear young lady! is not death always terrible?' replied Dorothee.
To some further enquiries of Blanche Dorothee was silent; and Emily,observing the tears in her eyes, forbore to urge the subject, andendeavoured to withdraw the attention of her young friend to some objectin the gardens, where the Count, with the Countess and Monsieur Du Pont,appearing, they went down to join them.
When he perceived Emily, he advanced to meet her, and presented her tothe Countess, in a manner so benign, that it recalled most powerfullyto her mind the idea of her late father, and she felt more gratitude tohim, than embarrassment towards the Countess, who, however, receivedher with one of those fascinating smiles, which her caprice sometimesallowed her to assume, and which was now the result of a conversationthe Count had held with her, concerning Emily. Whatever this might be,or whatever had passed in his conversation with the lady abbess, whomhe had just visited, esteem and kindness were strongly apparent in hismanner, when he addressed Emily, who experienced that sweet emotion,which arises from the consciousness of possessing the approbation ofthe good; for to the Count's worth she had been inclined to yield herconfidence almost from the first moment, in which she had seen him.
Before she could finish her acknowledgments for the hospitality she hadreceived, and mention of her design of going immediately to the convent,she was interrupted by an invitation to lengthen her stay at thechateau, which was pressed by the Count and the Countess, with anappearance of such friendly sincerity, that, though she much wished tosee her old friends at the monastery, and to sigh, once more, over herfather's grave, she consented to remain a few days at the chateau.
To the abbess, however, she immediately wrote, mentioning her arrivalin Languedoc and her wish to be received into the convent, as a boarder;she also sent letters to Monsieur Quesnel and to Valancourt, whom shemerely informed of her arrival in France; and, as she knew not where thelatter might be stationed, she directed her letter to his brother's seatin Gascony.
In the evening, Lady Blanche and Mons. Du Pont walked with Emily tothe cottage of La Voisin, which she had now a melancholy pleasure inapproaching, for time had softened her grief for the loss of St. Aubert,though it could not annihilate it, and she felt a soothing sadness inindulging the recollections, which this scene recalled. La Voisin wasstill living, and seemed to enjoy, as much as formerly, the tranquilevening of a blameless life. He was sitting at the door of his cottage,watching some of his grandchildren, playing on the grass before him,and, now and then, with a laugh, or a commendation, encouraging theirsports. He immediately recollected Emily, whom he was much pleased tosee, and she was as rejoiced to hear, that he had not lost one of hisfamily, since her departure.
'Yes, ma'amselle,' said the old man, 'we all live merrily togetherstill, thank God! and I believe there is not a happier family to befound in Languedoc, than ours.'
Emily did not trust herself in the chamber, where St. Aubert died; and,after half an hour's conversation with La Voisin and his family, sheleft the cottage.
During these the first days of her stay at Chateau-le-Blanc, she wasoften affected, by observing the deep, but silent melancholy, which, attimes, stole over Du Pont; and Emily, pitying the self-delusion, whichdisarmed him of the will to depart, determined to withdraw herself assoon as the respect she owed the Count and Countess De Villefort wouldpermit. The dejection of his friend soon alarmed the anxiety of theCount, to whom Du Pont, at length, confided the secret of his hopelessaffection, which, however, the former could only commiserate, though hesecretly determined to befriend his suit, if an opportunity of doing soshould ever occur. Considering the dangerous situation of Du Pont, hebut feebly opposed his intention of leaving Chateau-le-Blanc, on thefollowing day, but drew from him a promise of a longer visit, when hecould return with safety to his peace. Emily herself, though she couldnot encourage his affection, esteemed him both for the many virtues hepossessed, and for the services she had received from him; and it wasnot without tender emotions of gratitude and pity, that she now saw himdepart for his family seat in Gascony; while he took leave of her witha countenance so expressive of love and grief, as to interest the Countmore warmly in his cause than before.
In a few days, Emily also left the chateau, but not before the Count andCountess had received her promise to repeat her visit very soon; andshe was welcomed by the abbess, with the same maternal kindness she hadformerly experienced, and by the nuns, with much expression of regard.The well-known scenes of the convent occasioned her many melancholyrecollections, but with these were mingled others, that inspiredgratitude for having escaped the various dangers, that had pursued her,since she quitted it, and for the good, which she yet possessed; and,though she once more wept over her father's grave, with tears of tenderaffection, her grief was softened from its former acuteness.
Some time after her return to the monastery, she received a letter fromher uncle, Mons. Quesnel, in answer to information that she had arrivedin France, and to her enquiries, concerning such of her affairs ashe had undertaken to conduct during her absence, especially as to theperiod for which La Vallee had been let, whither it was her wish toreturn, if it should appear, that her income would permit her to doso. The reply of Mons. Quesnel was cold and formal, as she expected,expressing neither concern for the evils she suffered, nor pleasure,that she was now removed from them; nor did he allow the opportunityto pass, of reproving her for her rejection of Count Morano, whom heaffected still to believe a man of honour and fortune; nor of vehementlydeclaiming against Montoni, to whom he had always, till now, felthimself to be inferior. On Emily's pecuniary concerns, he was not veryexplicit; he informed her, however, that the term, for which La Valleehad been engaged, was nearly expired; but, without inviting her to hisown house, added, that her circumstances would by no means allow her toreside there, and earnestly advised her to remain, for the present, inthe convent of St. Claire.
To her enquiries respecting poor old Theresa, her late father's servant,he gave no answer. In the postscript to his letter, Monsieur Quesnelmentioned M. Motteville, in whose hands the late St. Aubert had placedthe chief of his personal property, as being likely to arrange hisaffairs nearly to the satisfaction of his creditors, and that Emilywould recover much more of her fortune, than she had formerly reason toexpect. The letter also inclosed to Emily an order upon a merchant atNarbonne, for a small sum of money.
The tranquillity of the monastery, and the liberty she was sufferedto enjoy, in wandering among the woods and shores of this delightfulprovince, gradually restored her spirits to their natural tone, exceptthat anxiety would sometimes intrude, concerning Valancourt, as the timeapproached, when it was possible that she might receive an answer to herletter.