CHAPTER X
Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain: Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies! PLEASURES OF MEMORY
Emily pursued her journey, without any accident, along the plains ofLanguedoc towards the north-west; and, on this her return to Tholouse,which she had last left with Madame Montoni, she thought much on themelancholy fate of her aunt, who, but for her own imprudence, might nowhave been living in happiness there! Montoni, too, often rose to herfancy, such as she had seen him in his days of triumph, bold, spiritedand commanding; such also as she had since beheld him in his days ofvengeance; and now, only a few short months had passed--and he hadno longer the power, or the will to afflict;--he had become a clod ofearth, and his life was vanished like a shadow! Emily could have wept athis fate, had she not remembered his crimes; for that of her unfortunateaunt she did weep, and all sense of her errors was overcome by therecollection of her misfortunes.
Other thoughts and other emotions succeeded, as Emily drew near thewell-known scenes of her early love, and considered, that Valancourt waslost to her and to himself, for ever. At length, she came to the brow ofthe hill, whence, on her departure for Italy, she had given a farewelllook to this beloved landscape, amongst whose woods and fields she hadso often walked with Valancourt, and where he was then to inhabit,when she would be far, far away! She saw, once more, that chain of thePyrenees, which overlooked La Vallee, rising, like faint clouds, on thehorizon. 'There, too, is Gascony, extended at their feet!' said she,'O my father,--my mother! And there, too, is the Garonne!' she added,drying the tears, that obscured her sight,--'and Tholouse, and my aunt'smansion--and the groves in her garden!--O my friends! are ye all lostto me--must I never, never see ye more!' Tears rushed again to her eyes,and she continued to weep, till an abrupt turn in the road had nearlyoccasioned the carriage to overset, when, looking up, she perceivedanother part of the well-known scene around Tholouse, and all thereflections and anticipations, which she had suffered, at the moment,when she bade it last adieu, came with recollected force to her heart.She remembered how anxiously she had looked forward to the futurity,which was to decide her happiness concerning Valancourt, and whatdepressing fears had assailed her; the very words she had uttered, asshe withdrew her last look from the prospect, came to her memory. 'CouldI but be certain,' she had then said, 'that I should ever return, andthat Valancourt would still live for me--I should go in peace!'
Now, that futurity, so anxiously anticipated, was arrived, she wasreturned--but what a dreary blank appeared!--Valancourt no longerlived for her! She had no longer even the melancholy satisfaction ofcontemplating his image in her heart, for he was no longer the sameValancourt she had cherished there--the solace of many a mournfulhour, the animating friend, that had enabled her to bear up against theoppression of Montoni--the distant hope, that had beamed over her gloomyprospect! On perceiving this beloved idea to be an illusion of her owncreation, Valancourt seemed to be annihilated, and her soul sickened atthe blank, that remained. His marriage with a rival, even his death, shethought she could have endured with more fortitude, than this discovery;for then, amidst all her grief, she could have looked in secret upon theimage of goodness, which her fancy had drawn of him, and comfort wouldhave mingled with her suffering!
Drying her tears, she looked, once more, upon the landscape, which hadexcited them, and perceived, that she was passing the very bank, whereshe had taken leave of Valancourt, on the morning of her departure fromTholouse, and she now saw him, through her returning tears, such ashe had appeared, when she looked from the carriage to give him a lastadieu--saw him leaning mournfully against the high trees, and rememberedthe fixed look of mingled tenderness and anguish, with which he had thenregarded her. This recollection was too much for her heart, and she sunkback in the carriage, nor once looked up, till it stopped at the gatesof what was now her own mansion.
These being opened, and by the servant, to whose care the chateau hadbeen entrusted, the carriage drove into the court, where, alighting,she hastily passed through the great hall, now silent and solitary, toa large oak parlour, the common sitting room of the late Madame Montoni,where, instead of being received by M. Quesnel, she found a letter fromhim, informing her that business of consequence had obliged him to leaveTholouse two days before. Emily was, upon the whole, not sorry to bespared his presence, since his abrupt departure appeared to indicate thesame indifference, with which he had formerly regarded her. This letterinformed her, also, of the progress he had made in the settlement ofher affairs, and concluded with directions, concerning the forms ofsome business, which remained for her to transact. But M. Quesnel'sunkindness did not long occupy her thoughts, which returned theremembrance of the persons she had been accustomed to see in thismansion, and chiefly of the ill-guided and unfortunate Madame Montoni.In the room, where she now sat, she had breakfasted with her on themorning of their departure for Italy; and the view of it brought mostforcibly to her recollection all she had herself suffered, at that time,and the many gay expectations, which her aunt had formed, respectingthe journey before her. While Emily's mind was thus engaged, her eyeswandered unconsciously to a large window, that looked upon the garden,and here new memorials of the past spoke to her heart, for she sawextended before her the very avenue, in which she had parted withValancourt, on the eve of her journey; and all the anxiety, the tenderinterest he had shewn, concerning her future happiness, his earnestremonstrances against her committing herself to the power of Montoni,and the truth of his affection, came afresh to her memory. At thismoment, it appeared almost impossible, that Valancourt could have becomeunworthy of her regard, and she doubted all that she had lately heard tohis disadvantage, and even his own words, which had confirmed Count DeVillefort's report of him. Overcome by the recollections, which the viewof this avenue occasioned, she turned abruptly from the window, andsunk into a chair beside it, where she sat, given up to grief, till theentrance of Annette, with coffee, aroused her.
'Dear madam, how melancholy this place looks now,' said Annette, 'towhat it used to do! It is dismal coming home, when there is nobody towelcome one!'
This was not the moment, in which Emily could bear the remark; her tearsfell again, and, as soon as she had taken the coffee, she retired toher apartment, where she endeavoured to repose her fatigued spirits. Butbusy memory would still supply her with the visions of former times: shesaw Valancourt interesting and benevolent, as he had been wont to appearin the days of their early love, and, amidst the scenes, where she hadbelieved that they should sometimes pass their years together!--but, atlength, sleep closed these afflicting scenes from her view.
On the following morning, serious occupation recovered her from suchmelancholy reflections; for, being desirous of quitting Tholouse, and ofhastening on to La Vallee, she made some enquiries into the condition ofthe estate, and immediately dispatched a part of the necessary businessconcerning it, according to the directions of Mons. Quesnel. Itrequired a strong effort to abstract her thoughts from other interestssufficiently to attend to this, but she was rewarded for her exertionsby again experiencing, that employment is the surest antidote to sorrow.
This day was devoted entirely to business; and, among other concerns,she employed means to learn the situation of all her poor tenants, thatshe might relieve their wants, or confirm their comforts.
In the evening, her spirits were so much strengthened, that she thoughtshe could bear to visit the gardens, where she had so often walked withValancourt; and, knowing, that, if she delayed to do so, their sceneswould only affect her the more, whenever they should be viewed, she tookadvantage of the present state of her mind, and entered them.
Passing hastily the gate leading from the court into the gardens, shehurried up the great avenue, scarcely permitting her memory to dwell fora moment on the circumstance of her having here parted with Valancourt,and soon quitted this for other walks less interesting to her heart.These brou
ght her, at length, to the flight of steps, that led from thelower garden to the terrace, on seeing which, she became agitated,and hesitated whether to ascend, but, her resolution returning, sheproceeded.
'Ah!' said Emily, as she ascended, 'these are the same high trees, thatused to wave over the terrace, and these the same flowery thickets--theliburnum, the wild rose, and the cerinthe--which were wont to growbeneath them! Ah! and there, too, on that bank, are the very plants,which Valancourt so carefully reared!--O, when last I saw them!'--shechecked the thought, but could not restrain her tears, and, afterwalking slowly on for a few moments, her agitation, upon the view ofthis well-known scene, increased so much, that she was obliged to stop,and lean upon the wall of the terrace. It was a mild, and beautifulevening. The sun was setting over the extensive landscape, to which hisbeams, sloping from beneath a dark cloud, that overhung the west,gave rich and partial colouring, and touched the tufted summits of thegroves, that rose from the garden below, with a yellow gleam. Emily andValancourt had often admired together this scene, at the same hour; andit was exactly on this spot, that, on the night preceding her departurefor Italy, she had listened to his remonstrances against the journey,and to the pleadings of passionate affection. Some observations, whichshe made on the landscape, brought this to her remembrance, and with itall the minute particulars of that conversation;--the alarming doubts hehad expressed concerning Montoni, doubts, which had since been fatallyconfirmed; the reasons and entreaties he had employed to prevail withher to consent to an immediate marriage; the tenderness of his love,the paroxysms of this grief, and the conviction that he had repeatedlyexpressed, that they should never meet again in happiness! All thesecircumstances rose afresh to her mind, and awakened the various emotionsshe had then suffered. Her tenderness for Valancourt became as powerfulas in the moments, when she thought, that she was parting with him andhappiness together, and when the strength of her mind had enabled her totriumph over present suffering, rather than to deserve the reproachof her conscience by engaging in a clandestine marriage.--'Alas!' saidEmily, as these recollections came to her mind, 'and what have I gainedby the fortitude I then practised?--am I happy now?--He said, we shouldmeet no more in happiness; but, O! he little thought his own misconductwould separate us, and lead to the very evil he then dreaded!'
Her reflections increased her anguish, while she was compelled toacknowledge, that the fortitude she had formerly exerted, if it hadnot conducted her to happiness, had saved her from irretrievablemisfortune--from Valancourt himself! But in these moments she could notcongratulate herself on the prudence, that had saved her; she could onlylament, with bitterest anguish, the circumstances, which had conspiredto betray Valancourt into a course of life so different from that,which the virtues, the tastes, and the pursuits of his early years hadpromised; but she still loved him too well to believe, that hisheart was even now depraved, though his conduct had been criminal. Anobservation, which had fallen from M. St. Aubert more than once, nowoccurred to her. 'This young man,' said he, speaking of Valancourt, 'hasnever been at Paris;' a remark, that had surprised her at the timeit was uttered, but which she now understood, and she exclaimedsorrowfully, 'O Valancourt! if such a friend as my father had been withyou at Paris--your noble, ingenuous nature would not have fallen!'
The sun was now set, and, recalling her thoughts from their melancholysubject, she continued her walk; for the pensive shade of twilight waspleasing to her, and the nightingales from the surrounding groves beganto answer each other in the long-drawn, plaintive note, which alwaystouched her heart; while all the fragrance of the flowery thickets, thatbounded the terrace, was awakened by the cool evening air, which floatedso lightly among their leaves, that they scarcely trembled as it passed.
Emily came, at length, to the steps of the pavilion, that terminatedthe terrace, and where her last interview with Valancourt, before herdeparture from Tholouse, had so unexpectedly taken place. The door wasnow shut, and she trembled, while she hesitated whether to open it; buther wish to see again a place, which had been the chief scene of herformer happiness, at length overcoming her reluctance to encounter thepainful regret it would renew, she entered. The room was obscured by amelancholy shade; but through the open lattices, darkened by thehanging foliage of the vines, appeared the dusky landscape, the Garonnereflecting the evening light, and the west still glowing. A chair wasplaced near one of the balconies, as if some person had been sittingthere, but the other furniture of the pavilion remained exactly asusual, and Emily thought it looked as if it had not once been movedsince she set out for Italy. The silent and deserted air of the placeadded solemnity to her emotions, for she heard only the low whisperof the breeze, as it shook the leaves of the vines, and the very faintmurmur of the Garonne.
She seated herself in a chair, near the lattice, and yielded to thesadness of her heart, while she recollected the circumstances of herparting interview with Valancourt, on this spot. It was here too, thatshe had passed some of the happiest hours of her life with him, whenher aunt favoured the connection, for here she had often sat and worked,while he conversed, or read; and she now well remembered with whatdiscriminating judgment, with what tempered energy, he used to repeatsome of the sublimest passages of their favourite authors; how often hewould pause to admire with her their excellence, and with what tenderdelight he would listen to her remarks, and correct her taste.
'And is it possible,' said Emily, as these recollections returned--'isit possible, that a mind, so susceptible of whatever is grand andbeautiful, could stoop to low pursuits, and be subdued by frivoloustemptations?'
She remembered how often she had seen the sudden tear start in his eye,and had heard his voice tremble with emotion, while he related any greator benevolent action, or repeated a sentiment of the same character.'And such a mind,' said she, 'such a heart, were to be sacrificed to thehabits of a great city!'
These recollections becoming too painful to be endured, she abruptlyleft the pavilion, and, anxious to escape from the memorials of herdeparted happiness, returned towards the chateau. As she passed alongthe terrace, she perceived a person, walking, with a slow step, and adejected air, under the trees, at some distance. The twilight, whichwas now deep, would not allow her to distinguish who it was, and sheimagined it to be one of the servants, till, the sound of her stepsseeming to reach him, he turned half round, and she thought she sawValancourt!
Whoever it was, he instantly struck among the thickets on the left, anddisappeared, while Emily, her eyes fixed on the place, whence hehad vanished, and her frame trembling so excessively, that she couldscarcely support herself, remained, for some moments, unable to quit thespot, and scarcely conscious of existence. With her recollection, herstrength returned, and she hurried toward the house, where she did notventure to enquire who had been in the gardens, lest she should betrayher emotion; and she sat down alone, endeavouring to recollect thefigure, air and features of the person she had just seen. Her view ofhim, however, had been so transient, and the gloom had rendered itso imperfect, that she could remember nothing with exactness; yet thegeneral appearance of his figure, and his abrupt departure, made herstill believe, that this person was Valancourt. Sometimes, indeed, shethought, that her fancy, which had been occupied by the idea of him,had suggested his image to her uncertain sight: but this conjecture wasfleeting. If it was himself whom she had seen, she wondered much, thathe should be at Tholouse, and more, how he had gained admittance intothe garden; but as often as her impatience prompted her to enquirewhether any stranger had been admitted, she was restrained by anunwillingness to betray her doubts; and the evening was passed inanxious conjecture, and in efforts to dismiss the subject from herthoughts. But, these endeavours were ineffectual, and a thousandinconsistent emotions assailed her, whenever she fancied that Valancourtmight be near her; now, she dreaded it to be true, and now she feared itto be false; and, while she constantly tried to persuade herself, thatshe wished the person, whom she had seen, might not be Valancourt, herheart as constantly con
tradicted her reason.
The following day was occupied by the visits of several neighbouringfamilies, formerly intimate with Madame Montoni, who came to condolewith Emily on her death, to congratulate her upon the acquisition ofthese estates, and to enquire about Montoni, and concerning the strangereports they had heard of her own situation; all which was done with theutmost decorum, and the visitors departed with as much composure as theyhad arrived.
Emily was wearied by these formalities, and disgusted by the subservientmanners of many persons, who had thought her scarcely worthy of commonattention, while she was believed to be a dependant on Madame Montoni.
'Surely,' said she, 'there is some magic in wealth, which can thus makepersons pay their court to it, when it does not even benefit themselves.How strange it is, that a fool or a knave, with riches, should betreated with more respect by the world, than a good man, or a wise manin poverty!'
It was evening, before she was left alone, and she then wished to haverefreshed her spirits in the free air of her garden; but she feared togo thither, lest she should meet again the person, whom she had seen onthe preceding night, and he should prove to be Valancourt. The suspenseand anxiety she suffered, on this subject, she found all her effortsunable to controul, and her secret wish to see Valancourt once more,though unseen by him, powerfully prompted her to go, but prudence anda delicate pride restrained her, and she determined to avoid thepossibility of throwing herself in his way, by forbearing to visit thegardens, for several days.
When, after near a week, she again ventured thither, she made Annetteher companion, and confined her walk to the lower grounds, but oftenstarted as the leaves rustled in the breeze, imagining, that some personwas among the thickets; and, at the turn of every alley, she lookedforward with apprehensive expectation. She pursued her walk thoughtfullyand silently, for her agitation would not suffer her to converse withAnnette, to whom, however, thought and silence were so intolerable, thatshe did not scruple at length to talk to her mistress.
'Dear madam,' said she, 'why do you start so? one would think you knewwhat has happened.'
'What has happened?' said Emily, in a faltering voice, and trying tocommand her emotion.
'The night before last, you know, madam'--
'I know nothing, Annette,' replied her lady in a more hurried voice.
'The night before last, madam, there was a robber in the garden.'
'A robber!' said Emily, in an eager, yet doubting tone.
'I suppose he was a robber, madam. What else could he be?'
'Where did you see him, Annette?' rejoined Emily, looking round her, andturning back towards the chateau.
'It was not I that saw him, madam, it was Jean the gardener. It wastwelve o'clock at night, and, as he was coming across the court to gothe back way into the house, what should he see--but somebody walking inthe avenue, that fronts the garden gate! So, with that, Jean guessed howit was, and he went into the house for his gun.'
'His gun!' exclaimed Emily.
'Yes, madam, his gun; and then he came out into the court to watch him.Presently, he sees him come slowly down the avenue, and lean over thegarden gate, and look up at the house for a long time; and I warrant heexamined it well, and settled what window he should break in at.'
'But the gun,' said Emily--'the gun!'
'Yes, madam, all in good time. Presently, Jean says, the robber openedthe gate, and was coming into the court, and then he thought proper toask him his business: so he called out again, and bade him say who hewas, and what he wanted. But the man would do neither; but turned uponhis heel, and passed into the garden again. Jean knew then well enoughhow it was, and so he fired after him.'
'Fired!' exclaimed Emily.
'Yes, madam, fired off his gun; but, Holy Virgin! what makes you lookso pale, madam? The man was not killed,--I dare say; but if he was, hiscomrades carried him off: for, when Jean went in the morning, to lookfor the body, it was gone, and nothing to be seen but a track of bloodon the ground. Jean followed it, that he might find out where the mangot into the garden, but it was lost in the grass, and'--
Annette was interrupted: for Emily's spirits died away, and she wouldhave fallen to the ground, if the girl had not caught her, and supportedher to a bench, close to them.
When, after a long absence, her senses returned, Emily desired to beled to her apartment; and, though she trembled with anxiety to enquirefurther on the subject of her alarm, she found herself too ill atpresent, to dare the intelligence which it was possible she mightreceive of Valancourt. Having dismissed Annette, that she might weepand think at liberty, she endeavoured to recollect the exact air of theperson, whom she had seen on the terrace, and still her fancy gave herthe figure of Valancourt. She had, indeed, scarcely a doubt, that it washe whom she had seen, and at whom the gardener had fired: for the mannerof the latter person, as described by Annette, was not that of a robber;nor did it appear probable, that a robber would have come alone, tobreak into a house so spacious as this.
When Emily thought herself sufficiently recovered, to listen to whatJean might have to relate, she sent for him; but he could inform her ofno circumstance, that might lead to a knowledge of the person, whohad been shot, or of the consequence of the wound; and, after severelyreprimanding him, for having fired with bullets, and ordering diligentenquiry to be made in the neighbourhood for the discovery of the woundedperson, she dismissed him, and herself remained in the same state ofterrible suspense. All the tenderness she had ever felt for Valancourt,was recalled by the sense of his danger; and the more she considered thesubject, the more her conviction strengthened, that it was he, whohad visited the gardens, for the purpose of soothing the misery ofdisappointed affection, amidst the scenes of his former happiness.
'Dear madam,' said Annette, when she returned, 'I never saw you soaffected before! I dare say the man is not killed.'
Emily shuddered, and lamented bitterly the rashness of the gardener inhaving fired.
'I knew you would be angry enough about that, madam, or I should havetold you before; and he knew so too; for, says he, "Annette, say nothingabout this to my lady. She lies on the other side of the house, so didnot hear the gun, perhaps; but she would be angry with me, if she knew,seeing there is blood. But then," says he, "how is one to keep thegarden clear, if one is afraid to fire at a robber, when one sees him?"'
'No more of this,' said Emily, 'pray leave me.'
Annette obeyed, and Emily returned to the agonizing considerations, thathad assailed her before, but which she, at length, endeavoured to soothby a new remark. If the stranger was Valancourt, it was certain he hadcome alone, and it appeared, therefore, that he had been able to quitthe gardens, without assistance; a circumstance which did not seemprobable, had his wound been dangerous. With this consideration, sheendeavoured to support herself, during the enquiries, that were makingby her servants in the neighbourhood; but day after day came, and stillclosed in uncertainty, concerning this affair: and Emily, suffering insilence, at length, drooped, and sunk under the pressure of her anxiety.She was attacked by a slow fever, and when she yielded to the persuasionof Annette to send for medical advice, the physicians prescribed littlebeside air, gentle exercise and amusement: but how was this last to beobtained? She, however, endeavoured to abstract her thoughts from thesubject of her anxiety, by employing them in promoting that happiness inothers, which she had lost herself; and, when the evening was fine, sheusually took an airing, including in her ride the cottages of some ofher tenants, on whose condition she made such observations, as oftenenabled her, unasked, to fulfil their wishes.
Her indisposition and the business she engaged in, relative to thisestate, had already protracted her stay at Tholouse, beyond the periodshe had formerly fixed for her departure to La Vallee; and now shewas unwilling to leave the only place, where it seemed possible, thatcertainty could be obtained on the subject of her distress. But the timewas come, when her presence was necessary at La Vallee, a letter fromthe Lady Blanche now informing her, th
at the Count and herself, beingthen at the chateau of the Baron St. Foix, purposed to visit her at LaVallee, on their way home, as soon as they should be informed of herarrival there. Blanche added, that they made this visit, with the hopeof inducing her to return with them to Chateau-le-Blanc.
Emily, having replied to the letter of her friend, and said that sheshould be at La Vallee in a few days, made hasty preparations for thejourney; and, in thus leaving Tholouse, endeavoured to support herselfwith a belief, that, if any fatal accident had happened to Valancourt,she must in this interval have heard of it.
On the evening before her departure, she went to take leave of theterrace and the pavilion. The day had been sultry, but a light shower,that fell just before sun-set, had cooled the air, and given that softverdure to the woods and pastures, which is so refreshing to the eye;while the rain drops, still trembling on the shrubs, glittered in thelast yellow gleam, that lighted up the scene, and the air was filledwith fragrance, exhaled by the late shower, from herbs and flowers andfrom the earth itself. But the lovely prospect, which Emily beheld fromthe terrace, was no longer viewed by her with delight; she sighed deeplyas her eye wandered over it, and her spirits were in a state of suchdejection, that she could not think of her approaching return to LaVallee, without tears, and seemed to mourn again the death of herfather, as if it had been an event of yesterday. Having reached thepavilion, she seated herself at the open lattice, and, while hereyes settled on the distant mountains, that overlooked Gascony, stillgleaming on the horizon, though the sun had now left the plains below,'Alas!' said she, 'I return to your long-lost scenes, but shall meetno more the parents, that were wont to render them delightful!--nomore shall see the smile of welcome, or hear the well-known voice offondness:--all will now be cold and silent in what was once my happyhome.'
Tears stole down her cheek, as the remembrance of what that home hadbeen, returned to her; but, after indulging her sorrow for some time,she checked it, accusing herself of ingratitude in forgetting thefriends, that she possessed, while she lamented those that weredeparted; and she, at length, left the pavilion and the terrace, withouthaving observed a shadow of Valancourt or of any other person.