The Mysteries of Udolpho
of superstition, trifles impress it with the force of conviction.
Still, however, she remembered with awe the mysterious music, which had
been heard, at midnight, near Château-le-Blanc, and she asked Ludovico
if he could give any explanation of it; but he could not.
“I only know, madam,” he added, “that it did not belong to the pirates,
for I have heard them laugh about it, and say, they believed the devil
was in league with them there.”
“Yes, I will answer for it he was,” said Annette, her countenance
brightening, “I was sure all along, that he or his spirits had
something to do with the north apartments, and now you see, madam, I am
right at last.”
“It cannot be denied, that his spirits were very busy in that part of
the château,” replied Emily, smiling. “But I am surprised, Ludovico,
that these pirates should persevere in their schemes, after the arrival
of the Count; what could they expect but certain detection?”
“I have reason to believe, madam,” replied Ludovico, “that it was their
intention to persevere no longer than was necessary for the removal of
the stores, which were deposited in the vaults; and it appeared, that
they had been employed in doing so from within a short period after the
Count’s arrival; but, as they had only a few hours in the night for
this business, and were carrying on other schemes at the same time, the
vaults were not above half emptied, when they took me away. They
gloried exceedingly in this opportunity of confirming the superstitious
reports, that had been spread of the north chambers, were careful to
leave everything there as they had found it, the better to promote the
deception, and frequently, in their jocose moods, would laugh at the
consternation, which they believed the inhabitants of the castle had
suffered upon my disappearing, and it was to prevent the possibility of
my betraying their secret, that they had removed me to such a distance.
From that period they considered the château as nearly their own; but I
found from the discourse of their comrades, that, though they were
cautious, at first, in showing their power there, they had once very
nearly betrayed themselves. Going, one night, as was their custom, to
the north chambers to repeat the noises, that had occasioned such alarm
among the servants, they heard, as they were about to unfasten the
secret door, voices in the bedroom. My lord has since told me, that
himself and M. Henri were then in the apartment, and they heard very
extraordinary sounds of lamentation, which it seems were made by these
fellows, with their usual design of spreading terror; and my lord has
owned, he then felt somewhat more, than surprise; but, as it was
necessary to the peace of his family, that no notice should be taken,
he was silent on the subject, and enjoined silence to his son.”
Emily, recollecting the change, that had appeared in the spirits of the
Count, after the night, when he had watched in the north room, now
perceived the cause of it; and, having made some further enquiries upon
this strange affair, she dismissed Ludovico, and went to give orders
for the accommodation of her friends, on the following day.
In the evening, Theresa, lame as she was, came to deliver the ring,
with which Valancourt had entrusted her, and, when she presented it,
Emily was much affected, for she remembered to have seen him wear it
often in happier days. She was, however, much displeased, that Theresa
had received it, and positively refused to accept it herself, though to
have done so would have afforded her a melancholy pleasure. Theresa
entreated, expostulated, and then described the distress of Valancourt,
when he had given the ring, and repeated the message, with which he had
commissioned her to deliver it; and Emily could not conceal the extreme
sorrow this recital occasioned her, but wept, and remained lost in
thought.
“Alas! my dear young lady!” said Theresa, “why should all this be? I
have known you from your infancy, and it may well be supposed I love
you, as if you were my own, and wish as much to see you happy. M.
Valancourt, to be sure, I have not known so long, but then I have
reason to love him, as though he was my own son. I know how well you
love one another, or why all this weeping and wailing?” Emily waved her
hand for Theresa to be silent, who, disregarding the signal, continued,
“And how much you are alike in your tempers and ways, and, that, if you
were married, you would be the happiest couple in the whole
province—then what is there to prevent your marrying? Dear dear! to see
how some people fling away their happiness, and then cry and lament
about it, just as if it was not their own doing, and as if there was
more pleasure in wailing and weeping, than in being at peace. Learning,
to be sure, is a fine thing, but, if it teaches folks no better than
that, why I had rather be without it; if it would teach them to be
happier, I would say something to it, then it would be learning and
wisdom too.”
Age and long services had given Theresa a privilege to talk, but Emily
now endeavoured to check her loquacity, and, though she felt the
justness of some of her remarks, did not choose to explain the
circumstances, that had determined her conduct towards Valancourt. She,
therefore, only told Theresa, that it would much displease her to hear
the subject renewed; that she had reasons for her conduct, which she
did not think it proper to mention, and that the ring must be returned,
with an assurance, that she could not accept it with propriety; and, at
the same time, she forbade Theresa to repeat any future message from
Valancourt, as she valued her esteem and kindness. Theresa was
afflicted, and made another attempt, though feeble, to interest her for
Valancourt, but the unusual displeasure, expressed in Emily’s
countenance, soon obliged her to desist, and she departed in wonder and
lamentation.
To relieve her mind, in some degree, from the painful recollections,
that intruded upon it, Emily busied herself in preparations for the
journey into Languedoc, and, while Annette, who assisted her, spoke
with joy and affection of the safe return of Ludovico, she was
considering how she might best promote their happiness, and determined,
if it appeared, that his affection was as unchanged as that of the
simple and honest Annette, to give her a marriage portion, and settle
them on some part of her estate. These considerations led her to the
remembrance of her father’s paternal domain, which his affairs had
formerly compelled him to dispose of to M. Quesnel, and which she
frequently wished to regain, because St. Aubert had lamented, that the
chief lands of his ancestors had passed into another family, and
because they had been his birth-place and the haunt of his early years.
To the estate at Thoulouse she had no peculiar attachment, and it was
her wish to dispose of this, that she might purchase her paternal
domains, if M. Quesnel could be prevailed on to part with them, which,
as he talked much of living in Italy, did not appear very improbable.
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 drooping
Emily, and La Vallée became once more the scene of social kindness and
of elegant hospitality. Illness and the terror she had suffered had
stolen from Blanche much of her sprightliness, but all her affectionate
simplicity remained, and, though she appeared less blooming, she was
not less engaging than before. The unfortunate adventure on the
Pyrenees had made the Count very anxious to reach home, and, after
little more than a week’s stay at La Vallée, Emily prepared to set out
with her friends for Languedoc, assigning the care of her house, during
her absence, to Theresa. On the evening, preceding her departure, this
old servant brought again the ring of Valancourt, and, with tears,
entreated her mistress to receive it, for that she had neither seen,
nor heard of M. Valancourt, since the night when he delivered it to
her. As she said this, her countenance expressed more alarm, than she
dared to utter; but Emily, checking her own propensity to fear,
considered, that he had probably returned to the residence of his
brother, and, again refusing to 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 Lady
Blanche, left La Vallée, and, on the ensuing evening, arrived at the
Château-le-Blanc, where the Countess, Henri, and M. Du Pont, whom Emily
was surprised to find there, received them with much joy and
congratulation. She was concerned to observe, that the Count still
encouraged the hopes of his friend, whose countenance declared, that
his affection had suffered no abatement from absence; and was much
distressed, 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 which she
listened to his intercessions at first, deceiving him, as to her
sentiments, he began to believe, that, her affection for Valancourt
being overcome, she was, at length, disposed to think favourably of M.
Du Pont; and, when she afterwards convinced him of his mistake, he
ventured, in the earnestness of his wish to promote what he considered
to be the happiness of two persons, whom he so much esteemed, gently to
remonstrate with her, on thus suffering an ill-placed affection to
poison the happiness of her most valuable years.
Observing her silence and the deep dejection of her countenance, he
concluded with saying, “I will not say more now, but I will still
believe, my dear Mademoiselle St. Aubert, that you will not always
reject 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 a suit, which she had repeatedly rejected, and lost amidst the
melancholy recollections, which this topic had revived, till she had
insensibly reached the borders of the woods, that screened the
monastery of St. Clair, when, perceiving how far she had wandered, she
determined to extend her walk a little farther, and to enquire about
the abbess and some of her friends among the nuns.
Though the evening was now drawing to a close, she accepted the
invitation of the friar, who opened the gate, and, anxious to meet some
of her old acquaintances, proceeded towards the convent parlour. As she
crossed the lawn, that sloped from the front of the monastery towards
the sea, she was struck with the picture of repose, exhibited by some
monks, sitting in the cloisters, which extended under the brow of the
woods, that crowned this eminence; where, as they meditated, at this
twilight hour, holy subjects, they sometimes suffered their attention
to be relieved by the scene before them, nor thought it profane to look
at nature, now that it had exchanged the brilliant colours of day for
the sober hue of evening. Before the cloisters, however, spread an
ancient chesnut, whose ample branches were designed to screen the full
magnificence of a scene, that might tempt the wish to worldly
pleasures; but still, beneath the dark and spreading foliage, gleamed a
wide extent of ocean, and many a passing sail; while, to the right and
left, thick woods were seen stretching along the winding shores. So
much as this had been admitted, perhaps, to give to the secluded votary
an image of the dangers and vicissitudes of life, and to console him,