CHAPTER XI
Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! Ah fields belov'd in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to sooth. GRAY
On the following morning, Emily left Tholouse at an early hour, andreached La Vallee about sun-set. With the melancholy she experienced onthe review of a place which had been the residence of her parents, andthe scene of her earliest delight, was mingled, after the first shockhad subsided, a tender and undescribable pleasure. For time had so farblunted the acuteness of her grief, that she now courted every scene,that awakened the memory of her friends; in every room, where she hadbeen accustomed to see them, they almost seemed to live again; andshe felt that La Vallee was still her happiest home. One of the firstapartments she visited, was that, which had been her father'slibrary, and here she seated herself in his arm-chair, and, while shecontemplated, with tempered resignation, the picture of past times,which her memory gave, the tears she shed could scarcely be called thoseof grief.
Soon after her arrival, she was surprised by a visit from the venerableM. Barreaux, who came impatiently to welcome the daughter of his laterespected neighbour, to her long-deserted home. Emily was comforted bythe presence of an old friend, and they passed an interesting hour inconversing of former times, and in relating some of the circumstances,that had occurred to each, since they parted.
The evening was so far advanced, when M. Barreaux left Emily, that shecould not visit the garden that night; but, on the following morning,she traced its long-regretted scenes with fond impatience; and, as shewalked beneath the groves, which her father had planted, and whereshe had so often sauntered in affectionate conversation with him, hiscountenance, his smile, even the accents of his voice, returnedwith exactness to her fancy, and her heart melted to the tenderrecollections.
This, too, was his favourite season of the year, at which they had oftentogether admired the rich and variegated tints of these woods and themagical effect of autumnal lights upon the mountains; and now, the viewof these circumstances made memory eloquent. As she wandered pensivelyon, she fancied the following address
TO AUTUMN
Sweet Autumn! how thy melancholy grace Steals on my heart, as through these shades I wind! Sooth'd by thy breathing sigh, I fondly trace Each lonely image of the pensive mind! Lov'd scenes, lov'd friends--long lost! around me rise, And wake the melting thought, the tender tear! That tear, that thought, which more than mirth I prize-- Sweet as the gradual tint, that paints thy year! Thy farewel smile, with fond regret, I view, Thy beaming lights, soft gliding o'er the woods; Thy distant landscape, touch'd with yellow hue While falls the lengthen'd gleam; thy winding floods, Now veil'd in shade, save where the skiff's white sails Swell to the breeze, and catch thy streaming ray. But now, e'en now!--the partial vision fails, And the wave smiles, as sweeps the cloud away! Emblem of life!--Thus checquer'd is its plan, Thus joy succeeds to grief--thus smiles the varied man!
One of Emily's earliest enquiries, after her arrival at La Vallee, wasconcerning Theresa, her father's old servant, whom it may be rememberedthat M. Quesnel had turned from the house when it was let, withoutany provision. Understanding that she lived in a cottage at no greatdistance, Emily walked thither, and, on approaching, was pleased to see,that her habitation was pleasantly situated on a green slope, shelteredby a tuft of oaks, and had an appearance of comfort and extremeneatness. She found the old woman within, picking vine-stalks, who, onperceiving her young mistress, was nearly overcome with joy.
'Ah! my dear young lady!' said she, 'I thought I should never seeyou again in this world, when I heard you was gone to that outlandishcountry. I have been hardly used, since you went; I little thought theywould have turned me out of my old master's family in my old age!'
Emily lamented the circumstance, and then assured her, that she wouldmake her latter days comfortable, and expressed satisfaction, on seeingher in so pleasant an habitation.
Theresa thanked her with tears, adding, 'Yes, mademoiselle, it is avery comfortable home, thanks to the kind friend, who took me out ofmy distress, when you was too far off to help me, and placed me here! Ilittle thought!--but no more of that--'
'And who was this kind friend?' said Emily: 'whoever it was, I shallconsider him as mine also.'
'Ah, mademoiselle! that friend forbad me to blazon the good deed--I mustnot say, who it was. But how you are altered since I saw you last! Youlook so pale now, and so thin, too; but then, there is my old master'ssmile! Yes, that will never leave you, any more than the goodness, thatused to make him smile. Alas-a-day! the poor lost a friend indeed, whenhe died!'
Emily was affected by this mention of her father, which Theresaobserving, changed the subject. 'I heard, mademoiselle,' said she,'that Madame Cheron married a foreign gentleman, after all, and took youabroad; how does she do?'
Emily now mentioned her death. 'Alas!' said Theresa, 'if she had notbeen my master's sister, I should never have loved her; she was alwaysso cross. But how does that dear young gentleman do, M. Valancourt? hewas an handsome youth, and a good one; is he well, mademoiselle?'
Emily was much agitated.
'A blessing on him!' continued Theresa. 'Ah, my dear young lady, youneed not look so shy; I know all about it. Do you think I do not know,that he loves you? Why, when you was away, mademoiselle, he used tocome to the chateau and walk about it, so disconsolate! He would go intoevery room in the lower part of the house, and, sometimes, he wouldsit himself down in a chair, with his arms across, and his eyes onthe floor, and there he would sit, and think, and think, for the hourtogether. He used to be very fond of the south parlour, because Itold him it used to be yours; and there he would stay, looking at thepictures, which I said you drew, and playing upon your lute, that hungup by the window, and reading in your books, till sunset, and then hemust go back to his brother's chateau. And then--'
'It is enough, Theresa,' said Emily.--'How long have you lived in thiscottage--and how can I serve you? Will you remain here, or return andlive with me?'
'Nay, mademoiselle,' said Theresa, 'do not be so shy to your poorold servant. I am sure it is no disgrace to like such a good younggentleman.'
A deep sigh escaped from Emily.
'Ah! how he did love to talk of you! I loved him for that. Nay, for thatmatter, he liked to hear me talk, for he did not say much himself. But Isoon found out what he came to the chateau about. Then, he would gointo the garden, and down to the terrace, and sit under that great treethere, for the day together, with one of your books in his hand; but hedid not read much, I fancy; for one day I happened to go that way, and Iheard somebody talking. Who can be here? says I: I am sure I let nobodyinto the garden, but the Chevalier. So I walked softly, to see who itcould be; and behold! it was the Chevalier himself, talking to himselfabout you. And he repeated your name, and sighed so! and said he hadlost you for ever, for that you would never return for him. I thought hewas out in his reckoning there, but I said nothing, and stole away.'
'No more of this trifling,' said Emily, awakening from her reverie: 'itdispleases me.'
'But, when M. Quesnel let the chateau, I thought it would have broke theChevalier's heart.'
'Theresa,' said Emily seriously, 'you must name the Chevalier no more!'
'Not name him, mademoiselle!' cried Theresa: 'what times are comeup now? Why, I love the Chevalier next to my old master and you,mademoiselle.'
'Perhaps your love was not well bestowed, then,' replied Emily, tryingto conceal her tears; 'but, however that might be, we shall meet nomore.'
'Meet no more!--not well bestowed!' exclaimed Theresa. 'What do I hear?No, mademoiselle, my love was well bestowed, for it was the ChevalierValancourt, who gave me this cottage, and has supported me in my oldage, ever since M. Quesnel turned me from my master's house.'
'The Chevalier Valancourt!' said Emily, trembling extremely.
'Yes, mademoisell
e, he himself, though he made me promise not to tell;but how could one help, when one heard him ill spoken of? Ah! dear younglady, you may well weep, if you have behaved unkindly to him, for a moretender heart than his never young gentleman had. He found me out in mydistress, when you was too far off to help me; and M. Quesnel refusedto do so, and bade me go to service again--Alas! I was too old forthat!--The Chevalier found me, and bought me this cottage, and gave memoney to furnish it, and bade me seek out another poor woman to livewith me; and he ordered his brother's steward to pay me, every quarter,that which has supported me in comfort. Think then, mademoiselle,whether I have not reason to speak well of the Chevalier. And there areothers, who could have afforded it better than he: and I am afraid hehas hurt himself by his generosity, for quarter day is gone by longsince, and no money for me! But do not weep so, mademoiselle: you arenot sorry surely to hear of the poor Chevalier's goodness?'
'Sorry!' said Emily, and wept the more. 'But how long is it since youhave seen him?'
'Not this many a day, mademoiselle.'
'When did you hear of him?' enquired Emily, with increased emotion.
'Alas! never since he went away so suddenly into Languedoc; and he wasbut just come from Paris then, or I should have seen him, I am sure.Quarter day is gone by long since, and, as I said, no money for me; andI begin to fear some harm has happened to him: and if I was not so farfrom Estuviere and so lame, I should have gone to enquire before thistime; and I have nobody to send so far.'
Emily's anxiety, as to the fate of Valancourt, was now scarcelyendurable, and, since propriety would not suffer her to send to thechateau of his brother, she requested that Theresa would immediatelyhire some person to go to his steward from herself, and, when he askedfor the quarterage due to her, to make enquiries concerning Valancourt.But she first made Theresa promise never to mention her name in thisaffair, or ever with that of the Chevalier Valancourt; and herformer faithfulness to M. St. Aubert induced Emily to confide in herassurances. Theresa now joyfully undertook to procure a person for thiserrand, and then Emily, after giving her a sum of money to supply herwith present comforts, returned, with spirits heavily oppressed, to herhome, lamenting, more than ever, that an heart, possessed of so muchbenevolence as Valancourt's, should have been contaminated by the vicesof the world, but affected by the delicate affection, which his kindnessto her old servant expressed for herself.