CHAPTER XV
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, The bees' collected treasures sweet, Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet The still, small voice of gratitude. GRAY
On the following day, the arrival of her friend revived the droopingEmily, and La Vallee became once more the scene of social kindness andof elegant hospitality. Illness and the terror she had suffered hadstolen from Blanche much of her sprightliness, but all her affectionatesimplicity remained, and, though she appeared less blooming, she was notless engaging than before. The unfortunate adventure on the Pyrenees hadmade the Count very anxious to reach home, and, after little more than aweek's stay at La Vallee, Emily prepared to set out with her friendsfor Languedoc, assigning the care of her house, during her absence,to Theresa. On the evening, preceding her departure, this old servantbrought again the ring of Valancourt, and, with tears, entreated hermistress to receive it, for that she had neither seen, or heard of M.Valancourt, since the night when he delivered it to her. As she saidthis, her countenance expressed more alarm, than she dared to utter;but Emily, checking her own propensity to fear, considered, that he hadprobably returned to the residence of his brother, and, again refusingto accept the ring, bade Theresa preserve it, till she saw him, which,with extreme reluctance, she promised to do.
On the following day, Count De Villefort, with Emily and the LadyBlanche, left La Vallee, and, on the ensuing evening, arrived at theChateau-le-Blanc, where the Countess, Henri, and M. Du Pont, whomEmily was surprised to find there, received them with much joy andcongratulation. She was concerned to observe, that the Count stillencouraged the hopes of his friend, whose countenance declared, thathis affection had suffered no abatement from absence; and was muchdistressed, when, on the second evening after her arrival, the Count,having withdrawn her from the Lady Blanche, with whom she was walking,renewed the subject of M. Du Pont's hopes. The mildness, with whichshe listened to his intercessions at first, deceiving him, as to hersentiments, he began to believe, that, her affection for Valancourtbeing overcome, she was, at length, disposed to think favourably ofM. Du Pont; and, when she afterwards convinced him of his mistake, heventured, in the earnestness of his wish to promote what he consideredto be the happiness of two persons, whom he so much esteemed, gentlyto remonstrate with her, on thus suffering an ill-placed affection topoison the happiness of her most valuable years.
Observing her silence and the deep dejection of her countenance, heconcluded with saying, 'I will not say more now, but I will stillbelieve, my dear Mademoiselle St. Aubert, that you will not alwaysreject a person, so truly estimable as my friend Du Pont.'
He spared her the pain of replying, by leaving her; and she strolled on,somewhat displeased with the Count for having persevered to plead for asuit, which she had repeatedly rejected, and lost amidst the melancholyrecollections, which this topic had revived, till she had insensiblyreached the borders of the woods, that screened the monastery of St.Clair, when, perceiving how far she had wandered, she determined toextend her walk a little farther, and to enquire about the abbess andsome of her friends among the nuns.
Though the evening was now drawing to a close, she accepted theinvitation of the friar, who opened the gate, and, anxious to meet someof her old acquaintances, proceeded towards the convent parlour. As shecrossed the lawn, that sloped from the front of the monastery towardsthe sea, she was struck with the picture of repose, exhibited by somemonks, sitting in the cloisters, which extended under the brow of thewoods, that crowned this eminence; where, as they meditated, at thistwilight hour, holy subjects, they sometimes suffered their attention tobe relieved by the scene before them, nor thought it profane to look atnature, now that it had exchanged the brilliant colours of day for thesober hue of evening. Before the cloisters, however, spread anancient chesnut, whose ample branches were designed to screen the fullmagnificence of a scene, that might tempt the wish to worldly pleasures;but still, beneath the dark and spreading foliage, gleamed a wide extentof ocean, and many a passing sail; while, to the right and left, thickwoods were seen stretching along the winding shores. So much as this hadbeen admitted, perhaps, to give to the secluded votary an image of thedangers and vicissitudes of life, and to console him, now that he hadrenounced its pleasures, by the certainty of having escaped its evils.As Emily walked pensively along, considering how much suffering shemight have escaped, had she become a votaress of the order, and remainedin this retirement from the time of her father's death, the vesper-bellstruck up, and the monks retired slowly toward the chapel, while she,pursuing her way, entered the great hall, where an unusual silenceseemed to reign. The parlour too, which opened from it, she foundvacant, but, as the evening bell was sounding, she believed the nuns hadwithdrawn into the chapel, and sat down to rest, for a moment, beforeshe returned to the chateau, where, however, the increasing gloom madeher now anxious to be.
Not many minutes had elapsed, before a nun, entering in haste, enquiredfor the abbess, and was retiring, without recollecting Emily, whenshe made herself known, and then learned, that a mass was going to beperformed for the soul of sister Agnes, who had been declining, for sometime, and who was now believed to be dying.
Of her sufferings the sister gave a melancholy account, and of thehorrors, into which she had frequently started, but which had nowyielded to a dejection so gloomy, that neither the prayers, in which shewas joined by the sisterhood, or the assurances of her confessor, hadpower to recall her from it, or to cheer her mind even with a momentarygleam of comfort.
To this relation Emily listened with extreme concern, and, recollectingthe frenzied manners and the expressions of horror, which she hadherself witnessed of Agnes, together with the history, that sisterFrances had communicated, her compassion was heightened to a verypainful degree. As the evening was already far advanced, Emily did notnow desire to see her, or to join in the mass, and, after leaving manykind remembrances with the nun, for her old friends, she quitted themonastery, and returned over the cliffs towards the chateau, meditatingupon what she had just heard, till, at length she forced her mind uponless interesting subjects.
The wind was high, and as she drew near the chateau, she often pausedto listen to its awful sound, as it swept over the billows, that beatbelow, or groaned along the surrounding woods; and, while she rested ona cliff at a short distance from the chateau, and looked upon the widewaters, seen dimly beneath the last shade of twilight, she thought ofthe following address:
TO THE WINDS
Viewless, through heaven's vast vault your course ye steer, Unknown from whence ye come, or whither go! Mysterious pow'rs! I hear ye murmur low, Till swells your loud gust on my startled ear, And, awful! seems to say--some God is near! I love to list your midnight voices float In the dread storm, that o'er the ocean rolls, And, while their charm the angry wave controuls, Mix with its sullen roar, and sink remote. Then, rising in the pause, a sweeter note, The dirge of spirits, who your deeds bewail, A sweeter note oft swells while sleeps the gale! But soon, ye sightless pow'rs! your rest is o'er, Solemn and slow, ye rise upon the air, Speak in the shrouds, and bid the sea-boy fear, And the faint-warbled dirge--is heard no more! Oh! then I deprecate your awful reign! The loud lament yet bear not on your breath! Bear not the crash of bark far on the main, Bear not the cry of men, who cry in vain, The crew's dread chorus sinking into death! Oh! give not these, ye pow'rs! I ask alone, As rapt I climb these dark romantic steeps, The elemental war, the billow's moan; I ask the still, sweet tear, that listening Fancy weeps!