CHAPTER XVIII
Then, fresh tears Stood on her cheek, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd SHAKESPEARE
After the late discoveries, Emily was distinguished at the chateau bythe Count and his family, as a relative of the house of Villeroi, andreceived, if possible, more friendly attention, than had yet been shewnher.
Count De Villefort's surprise at the delay of an answer to his letter,which had been directed to Valancourt, at Estuviere, was mingled withsatisfaction for the prudence, which had saved Emily from a share of theanxiety he now suffered, though, when he saw her still drooping underthe effect of his former error, all his resolution was necessary torestrain him from relating the truth, that would afford her a momentaryrelief. The approaching nuptials of the Lady Blanche now divided hisattention with this subject of his anxiety, for the inhabitants of thechateau were already busied in preparations for that event, and thearrival of Mons. St. Foix was daily expected. In the gaiety, whichsurrounded her, Emily vainly tried to participate, her spirits beingdepressed by the late discoveries, and by the anxiety concerning thefate of Valancourt, that had been occasioned by the description of hismanner, when he had delivered the ring. She seemed to perceive in itthe gloomy wildness of despair; and, when she considered to what thatdespair might have urged him, her heart sunk with terror and grief.The state of suspense, as to his safety, to which she believed herselfcondemned, till she should return to La Vallee, appeared insupportable,and, in such moments, she could not even struggle to assume thecomposure, that had left her mind, but would often abruptly quit thecompany she was with, and endeavour to sooth her spirits in the deepsolitudes of the woods, that overbrowed the shore. Here, the faint roarof foaming waves, that beat below, and the sullen murmur of the windamong the branches around, were circumstances in unison with the temperof her mind; and she would sit on a cliff, or on the broken steps ofher favourite watch-tower, observing the changing colours of the eveningclouds, and the gloom of twilight draw over the sea, till the white topsof billows, riding towards the shore, could scarcely be discerned amidstthe darkened waters. The lines, engraved by Valancourt on this tower,she frequently repeated with melancholy enthusiasm, and then wouldendeavour to check the recollections and the grief they occasioned, andto turn her thoughts to indifferent subjects.
One evening, having wandered with her lute to this her favourite spot,she entered the ruined tower, and ascended a winding staircase, thatled to a small chamber, which was less decayed than the rest of thebuilding, and whence she had often gazed, with admiration, on the wideprospect of sea and land, that extended below. The sun was now settingon that tract of the Pyrenees, which divided Languedoc from Rousillon,and, placing herself opposite to a small grated window, which, like thewood-tops beneath, and the waves lower still, gleamed with the red glowof the west, she touched the chords of her lute in solemn symphony, andthen accompanied it with her voice, in one of the simple and affectingairs, to which, in happier days, Valancourt had often listened inrapture, and which she now adapted to the following lines.
TO MELANCHOLY
Spirit of love and sorrow--hail! Thy solemn voice from far I hear, Mingling with ev'ning's dying gale: Hail, with this sadly-pleasing tear!
O! at this still, this lonely hour, Thine own sweet hour of closing day, Awake thy lute, whose charmful pow'r Shall call up Fancy to obey:
To paint the wild romantic dream, That meets the poet's musing eye, As, on the bank of shadowy stream, He breathes to her the fervid sigh.
O lonely spirit! let thy song Lead me through all thy sacred haunt; The minister's moon-light aisles along, Where spectres raise the midnight chaunt.
I hear their dirges faintly swell! Then, sink at once in silence drear, While, from the pillar'd cloister's cell, Dimly their gliding forms appear!
Lead where the pine-woods wave on high, Whose pathless sod is darkly seen, As the cold moon, with trembling eye, Darts her long beams the leaves between.
Lead to the mountain's dusky head, Where, far below, in shade profound, Wide forests, plains and hamlets spread, And sad the chimes of vesper sound,
Or guide me, where the dashing oar Just breaks the stillness of the vale, As slow it tracks the winding shore, To meet the ocean's distant sail:
To pebbly banks, that Neptune laves, With measur'd surges, loud and deep, Where the dark cliff bends o'er the waves, And wild the winds of autumn sweep.
There pause at midnight's spectred hour, And list the long-resounding gale; And catch the fleeting moon-light's pow'r, O'er foaming seas and distant sail.
The soft tranquillity of the scene below, where the evening breezescarcely curled the water, or swelled the passing sail, that caught thelast gleam of the sun, and where, now and then, a dipping oar was allthat disturbed the trembling radiance, conspired with the tender melodyof her lute to lull her mind into a state of gentle sadness, and shesung the mournful songs of past times, till the remembrances theyawakened were too powerful for her heart, her tears fell upon thelute, over which she drooped, and her voice trembled, and was unable toproceed.
Though the sun had now sunk behind the mountains, and even his reflectedlight was fading from their highest points, Emily did not leave thewatch-tower, but continued to indulge her melancholy reverie, till afootstep, at a little distance, startled her, and, on looking throughthe grate, she observed a person walking below, whom, however, soonperceiving to be Mons. Bonnac, she returned to the quiet thoughtfulnesshis step had interrupted. After some time, she again struck her lute,and sung her favourite air; but again a step disturbed her, and, as shepaused to listen, she heard it ascending the stair-case of the tower.The gloom of the hour, perhaps, made her sensible to some degree offear, which she might not otherwise have felt; for, only a few minutesbefore, she had seen Mons. Bonnac pass. The steps were quick andbounding, and, in the next moment, the door of the chamber opened, and aperson entered, whose features were veiled in the obscurity oftwilight; but his voice could not be concealed, for it was the voiceof Valancourt! At the sound, never heard by Emily, without emotion, shestarted, in terror, astonishment and doubtful pleasure, and had scarcelybeheld him at her feet, when she sunk into a seat, overcome by thevarious emotions, that contended at her heart, and almost insensible tothat voice, whose earnest and trembling calls seemed as if endeavouringto save her. Valancourt, as he hung over Emily, deplored his own rashimpatience, in having thus surprised her: for when he had arrived atthe chateau, too anxious to await the return of the Count, who, heunderstood, was in the grounds, he went himself to seek him, when, ashe passed the tower, he was struck by the sound of Emily's voice, andimmediately ascended.
It was a considerable time before she revived, but, when herrecollection returned, she repulsed his attentions, with an air ofreserve, and enquired, with as much displeasure as it was possible shecould feel in these first moments of his appearance, the occasion of hisvisit.
'Ah Emily!' said Valancourt, 'that air, those words--alas! I have, then,little to hope--when you ceased to esteem me, you ceased also to loveme!'
'Most true, sir,' replied Emily, endeavouring to command her tremblingvoice; 'and if you had valued my esteem, you would not have given methis new occasion for uneasiness.'
Valancourt's countenance changed suddenly from the anxieties of doubt toan expression of surprise and dismay: he was silent a moment, and thensaid, 'I had been taught to hope for a very different reception! Isit, then, true, Emily, that I have lost your regard forever? am I tobelieve, that, though your esteem for me may return--your affectionnever can? Can the Count have meditated the cruelty, which now torturesme with a second death?'
The voice, in which he spoke this, alarmed Emily as much as his wordssurprised her, and, with trembling impatience, she begged that he wouldexplain them.
'Can any explanation be necessary?' said Valancourt, 'do you not knowhow cruelly my conduct has been misrepresented? that the actions ofwhich you once believed me guilty (and, O Emily! how could you sodegrade me i
n your opinion, even for a moment!) those actions--I hold inas much contempt and abhorrence as yourself? Are you, indeed, ignorant,that Count de Villefort has detected the slanders, that have robbed meof all I hold dear on earth, and has invited me hither to justify toyou my former conduct? It is surely impossible you can be uninformed ofthese circumstances, and I am again torturing myself with a false hope!'
The silence of Emily confirmed this supposition; for the deep twilightwould not allow Valancourt to distinguish the astonishment and doubtingjoy, that fixed her features. For a moment, she continued unable tospeak; then a profound sigh seemed to give some relief to her spirits,and she said,
'Valancourt! I was, till this moment, ignorant of all the circumstancesyou have mentioned; the emotion I now suffer may assure you of the truthof this, and, that, though I had ceased to esteem, I had not taughtmyself entirely to forget you.'
'This moment,' said Valancourt, in a low voice, and leaning for supportagainst the window--'this moment brings with it a conviction thatoverpowers me!--I am dear to you then--still dear to you, my Emily!'
'Is it necessary that I should tell you so?' she replied, 'is itnecessary, that I should say--these are the first moments of joy I haveknown, since your departure, and that they repay me for all those ofpain I have suffered in the interval?'
Valancourt sighed deeply, and was unable to reply; but, as he pressedher hand to his lips, the tears, that fell over it, spoke a language,which could not be mistaken, and to which words were inadequate.
Emily, somewhat tranquillized, proposed returning to the chateau,and then, for the first time, recollected that the Count had invitedValancourt thither to explain his conduct, and that no explanation hadyet been given. But, while she acknowledged this, her heart wouldnot allow her to dwell, for a moment, on the possibility of hisunworthiness; his look, his voice, his manner, all spoke the noblesincerity, which had formerly distinguished him; and she again permittedherself to indulge the emotions of a joy, more surprising and powerful,than she had ever before experienced.
Neither Emily, or Valancourt, were conscious how they reached thechateau, whither they might have been transferred by the spell of afairy, for any thing they could remember; and it was not, till they hadreached the great hall, that either of them recollected there were otherpersons in the world besides themselves. The Count then came forthwith surprise, and with the joyfulness of pure benevolence, to welcomeValancourt, and to entreat his forgiveness of the injustice he had donehim; soon after which, Mons. Bonnac joined this happy group, in which heand Valancourt were mutually rejoiced to meet.
When the first congratulations were over, and the general joy becamesomewhat more tranquil, the Count withdrew with Valancourt to thelibrary, where a long conversation passed between them, in whichthe latter so clearly justified himself of the criminal parts of theconduct, imputed to him, and so candidly confessed and so feelinglylamented the follies, which he had committed, that the Count wasconfirmed in his belief of all he had hoped; and, while he perceived somany noble virtues in Valancourt, and that experience had taught himto detest the follies, which before he had only not admired, he did notscruple to believe, that he would pass through life with the dignity ofa wise and good man, or to entrust to his care the future happiness ofEmily St. Aubert, for whom he felt the solicitude of a parent. Of thishe soon informed her, in a short conversation, when Valancourt had lefthim. While Emily listened to a relation of the services, that Valancourthad rendered Mons. Bonnac, her eyes overflowed with tears of pleasure,and the further conversation of Count De Villefort perfectly dissipatedevery doubt, as to the past and future conduct of him, to whom she nowrestored, without fear, the esteem and affection, with which she hadformerly received him.
When they returned to the supper-room, the Countess and Lady Blanchemet Valancourt with sincere congratulations; and Blanche, indeed, wasso much rejoiced to see Emily returned to happiness, as to forget, for awhile, that Mons. St. Foix was not yet arrived at the chateau, thoughhe had been expected for some hours; but her generous sympathy was, soonafter, rewarded by his appearance. He was now perfectly recovered fromthe wounds, received, during his perilous adventure among the Pyrenees,the mention of which served to heighten to the parties, who hadbeen involved in it, the sense of their present happiness. Newcongratulations passed between them, and round the supper-table appeareda group of faces, smiling with felicity, but with a felicity, which hadin each a different character. The smile of Blanche was frank and gay,that of Emily tender and pensive; Valancourt's was rapturous, tender andgay alternately; Mons. St. Foix's was joyous, and that of the Count, ashe looked on the surrounding party, expressed the tempered complacencyof benevolence; while the features of the Countess, Henri, and Mons.Bonnac, discovered fainter traces of animation. Poor Mons. Du Pont didnot, by his presence, throw a shade of regret over the company; for,when he had discovered, that Valancourt was not unworthy of the esteemof Emily, he determined seriously to endeavour at the conquest ofhis own hopeless affection, and had immediately withdrawn fromChateau-le-Blanc--a conduct, which Emily now understood, and rewardedwith her admiration and pity.
The Count and his guests continued together till a late hour, yieldingto the delights of social gaiety, and to the sweets of friendship. WhenAnnette heard of the arrival of Valancourt, Ludovico had some difficultyto prevent her going into the supper-room, to express her joy, for shedeclared, that she had never been so rejoiced at any ACCIDENT as this,since she had found Ludovico himself.
CHAPTER XIX
Now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin low doth bend, And, from thence, can soar as soon To the corners of the moon. MILTON
The marriages of the Lady Blanche and Emily St. Aubert were celebrated,on the same day, and with the ancient baronial magnificence, atChateau-le-Blanc. The feasts were held in the great hall of the castle,which, on this occasion, was hung with superb new tapestry, representingthe exploits of Charlemagne and his twelve peers; here, were seen theSaracens, with their horrible visors, advancing to battle; and there,were displayed the wild solemnities of incantation, and the necromanticfeats, exhibited by the magician JARL before the Emperor. The sumptuousbanners of the family of Villeroi, which had long slept in dust, wereonce more unfurled, to wave over the gothic points of painted casements;and music echoed, in many a lingering close, through every windinggallery and colonnade of that vast edifice.
As Annette looked down from the corridor upon the hall, whose arches andwindows were illuminated with brilliant festoons of lamps, and gazedon the splendid dresses of the dancers, the costly liveries of theattendants, the canopies of purple velvet and gold, and listened tothe gay strains that floated along the vaulted roof, she almost fanciedherself in an enchanted palace, and declared, that she had not met withany place, which charmed her so much, since she read the fairy tales;nay, that the fairies themselves, at their nightly revels in this oldhall, could display nothing finer; while old Dorothee, as she surveyedthe scene, sighed, and said, the castle looked as it was wont to do inthe time of her youth.
After gracing the festivities of Chateau-le-Blanc, for some days,Valancourt and Emily took leave of their kind friends, and returned toLa Vallee, where the faithful Theresa received them with unfeignedjoy, and the pleasant shades welcomed them with a thousand tender andaffecting remembrances; and, while they wandered together over thescenes, so long inhabited by the late Mons. and Madame St. Aubert, andEmily pointed out, with pensive affection, their favourite haunts, herpresent happiness was heightened, by considering, that it would havebeen worthy of their approbation, could they have witnessed it.
Valancourt led her to the plane-tree on the terrace, where he had firstventured to declare his love, and where now the remembrance of theanxiety he had then suffered, and the retrospect of all the dangersand misfortunes they had each encountered, since last they sat togetherbeneath its broad branches, exalted the sense of their present felicity,which, on this spot, sacred to
the memory of St. Aubert, they solemnlyvowed to deserve, as far as possible, by endeavouring to imitate hisbenevolence,--by remembering, that superior attainments of every sortbring with them duties of superior exertion,--and by affording to theirfellow-beings, together with that portion of ordinary comforts, whichprosperity always owes to misfortune, the example of lives passed inhappy thankfulness to GOD, and, therefore, in careful tenderness to hiscreatures.
Soon after their return to La Vallee, the brother of Valancourt came tocongratulate him on his marriage, and to pay his respects to Emily, withwhom he was so much pleased, as well as with the prospect of rationalhappiness, which these nuptials offered to Valancourt, that heimmediately resigned to him a part of the rich domain, the whole ofwhich, as he had no family, would of course descend to his brother, onhis decease.
The estates, at Tholouse, were disposed of, and Emily purchased ofMons. Quesnel the ancient domain of her late father, where, having givenAnnette a marriage portion, she settled her as the housekeeper,and Ludovico as the steward; but, since both Valancourt and herselfpreferred the pleasant and long-loved shades of La Vallee to themagnificence of Epourville, they continued to reside there, passing,however, a few months in the year at the birth-place of St. Aubert, intender respect to his memory.
The legacy, which had been bequeathed to Emily by Signora Laurentini,she begged Valancourt would allow her to resign to Mons. Bonnac;and Valancourt, when she made the request, felt all the value of thecompliment it conveyed. The castle of Udolpho, also, descended to thewife of Mons. Bonnac, who was the nearest surviving relation of thehouse of that name, and thus affluence restored his long-oppressedspirits to peace, and his family to comfort.
O! how joyful it is to tell of happiness, such as that of Valancourtand Emily; to relate, that, after suffering under the oppression of thevicious and the disdain of the weak, they were, at length, restored toeach other--to the beloved landscapes of their native country,--to thesecurest felicity of this life, that of aspiring to moral and labouringfor intellectual improvement--to the pleasures of enlightened society,and to the exercise of the benevolence, which had always animated theirhearts; while the bowers of La Vallee became, once more, the retreat ofgoodness, wisdom and domestic blessedness!
O! useful may it be to have shewn, that, though the vicious cansometimes pour affliction upon the good, their power is transientand their punishment certain; and that innocence, though oppressedby injustice, shall, supported by patience, finally triumph overmisfortune!
And, if the weak hand, that has recorded this tale, has, by its scenes,beguiled the mourner of one hour of sorrow, or, by its moral, taught himto sustain it--the effort, however humble, has not been vain, nor is thewriter unrewarded.
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