The Mysteries of Udolpho
you have mentioned; the emotion I now suffer may assure you of the
truth of this, and, that, though I had ceased to esteem, I had not
taught myself entirely to forget you.”
“This moment,” said Valancourt, in a low voice, and leaning for support
against the window—“this moment brings with it a conviction that
overpowers 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 it
necessary, that I should say—these are the first moments of joy I have
known, since your departure, and that they repay me for all those of
pain I have suffered in the interval?”
Valancourt sighed deeply, and was unable to reply; but, as he pressed
her 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 château, and
then, for the first time, recollected that the Count had invited
Valancourt thither to explain his conduct, and that no explanation had
yet been given. But, while she acknowledged this, her heart would not
allow her to dwell, for a moment, on the possibility of his
unworthiness; his look, his voice, his manner, all spoke the noble
sincerity, which had formerly distinguished him; and she again
permitted herself to indulge the emotions of a joy, more surprising and
powerful, than she had ever before experienced.
Neither Emily, nor Valancourt, were conscious how they reached the
château, whither they might have been transferred by the spell of a
fairy, for anything they could remember; and it was not, till they had
reached the great hall, that either of them recollected there were
other persons in the world besides themselves. The Count then came
forth with surprise, and with the joyfulness of pure benevolence, to
welcome Valancourt, and to entreat his forgiveness of the injustice he
had done him; soon after which, Mons. Bonnac joined this happy group,
in which he and Valancourt were mutually rejoiced to meet.
When the first congratulations were over, and the general joy became
somewhat more tranquil, the Count withdrew with Valancourt to the
library, where a long conversation passed between them, in which the
latter so clearly justified himself of the criminal parts of the
conduct, imputed to him, and so candidly confessed and so feelingly
lamented the follies, which he had committed, that the Count was
confirmed in his belief of all he had hoped; and, while he perceived so
many noble virtues in Valancourt, and that experience had taught him to
detest the follies, which before he had only not admired, he did not
scruple to believe, that he would pass through life with the dignity of
a wise and good man, or to entrust to his care the future happiness of
Emily St. Aubert, for whom he felt the solicitude of a parent. Of this
he soon informed her, in a short conversation, when Valancourt had left
him. While Emily listened to a relation of the services, that
Valancourt had rendered Mons. Bonnac, her eyes overflowed with tears of
pleasure, and the further conversation of Count De Villefort perfectly
dissipated every doubt, as to the past and future conduct of him, to
whom she now restored, without fear, the esteem and affection, with
which she had formerly received him.
When they returned to the supper-room, the Countess and Lady Blanche
met Valancourt with sincere congratulations; and Blanche, indeed, was
so much rejoiced to see Emily returned to happiness, as to forget, for
a while, that Mons. St. Foix was not yet arrived at the château, though
he had been expected for some hours; but her generous sympathy was,
soon after, rewarded by his appearance. He was now perfectly recovered
from the wounds, received, during his perilous adventure among the
Pyrenees, the mention of which served to heighten to the parties, who
had been involved in it, the sense of their present happiness. New
congratulations passed between them, and round the supper-table
appeared a group of faces, smiling with felicity, but with a felicity,
which had in each a different character. The smile of Blanche was frank
and gay, that of Emily tender and pensive; Valancourt’s was rapturous,
tender and gay alternately; Mons. St. Foix’s was joyous, and that of
the Count, as he looked on the surrounding party, expressed the
tempered complacency of benevolence; while the features of the
Countess, Henri, and Mons. Bonnac, discovered fainter traces of
animation. Poor Mons. Du Pont did not, by his presence, throw a shade
of regret over the company; for, when he had discovered, that
Valancourt was not unworthy of the esteem of Emily, he determined
seriously to endeavour at the conquest of his own hopeless affection,
and had immediately withdrawn from Château-le-Blanc—a conduct, which
Emily now understood, and rewarded with her admiration and pity.
The Count and his guests continued together till a late hour, yielding
to the delights of social gaiety, and to the sweets of friendship. When
Annette heard of the arrival of Valancourt, Ludovico had some
difficulty to prevent her going into the supper-room, to express her
joy, for she declared, 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, at
Château-le-Blanc. The feasts were held in the great hall of the castle,
which, on this occasion, was hung with superb new tapestry,
representing the exploits of Charlemagne and his twelve peers; here,
were seen the Saracens, with their horrible visors, advancing to
battle; and there, were displayed the wild solemnities of incantation,
and the necromantic feats, exhibited by the magician _Jarl_ before the
Emperor. The sumptuous banners of the family of Villeroi, which had
long slept in dust, were once more unfurled, to wave over the gothic
points of painted casements; and music echoed, in many a lingering
close, through every winding gallery and colonnade of that vast
edifice.
As Annette looked down from the corridor upon the hall, whose arches
and windows were illuminated with brilliant festoons of lamps, and
gazed on the splendid dresses of the dancers, the costly liveries of
the attendants, the canopies of purple velvet and gold, and listened to
the gay strains that floated along the vaulted roof, she almost fancied
herself in an enchanted palace, and declared, that she had not met with
any place, which charmed her so much, since she read the fairy tales;
nay, that the fairies themselves, at their nightly revels in this old
hall, could display nothing finer; while old Dorothée, as she surveyed
the scene, sighed, and said, the castle looked as it was wont to do in
the time of her youth.
After gracing the festivities of Château-le-Blanc, for some days,
Valancourt and Emily took leave of their kind friends, and returned to
La Vallée, where the faithful Theresa received them with unfeigned joy,
and the pleasant shades welcomed them with a thousand tender and
affecting remembrances; and, while they wandered together over the
scenes, so long inhabited by the late Mons. and Madame St. Aubert, and
Emily pointed out, with pensive affection, their favourite haunts, her
present happiness was heightened, by considering, that it would have
been worthy of their approbation, could they have witnessed it.
Valancourt led her to the plane-tree on the terrace, where he had first
ventured to declare his love, and where now the remembrance of the
anxiety he had then suffered, and the retrospect of all the dangers and
misfortunes they had each encountered, since last they sat together
beneath its broad branches, exalted the sense of their present
felicity, which, on this spot, sacred to the memory of St. Aubert, they
solemnly vowed to deserve, as far as possible, by endeavouring to
imitate his benevolence,—by remembering, that superior attainments of
every sort bring with them duties of superior exertion,—and by
affording to their fellow-beings, together with that portion of
ordinary comforts, which prosperity always owes to misfortune, the
example of lives passed in happy thankfulness to God, and, therefore,
in careful tenderness to his creatures.
Soon after their return to La Vallée, the brother of Valancourt came to
congratulate him on his marriage, and to pay his respects to Emily,
with whom he was so much pleased, as well as with the prospect of
rational happiness, which these nuptials offered to Valancourt, that he
immediately resigned to him a part of the rich domain, the whole of
which, as he had no family, would of course descend to his brother, on
his decease.
The estates, at Thoulouse, were disposed of, and Emily purchased of
Mons. Quesnel the ancient domain of her late father, where, having
given Annette a marriage portion, she settled her as the housekeeper,
and Ludovico as the steward; but, since both Valancourt and herself
preferred the pleasant and long-loved shades of La Vallée to the
magnificence of Epourville, they continued to reside there, passing,
however, a few months in the year at the birth-place of St. Aubert, in
tender 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 the
compliment it conveyed. The castle of Udolpho, also, descended to the
wife of Mons. Bonnac, who was the nearest surviving relation of the
house of that name, and thus affluence restored his long-oppressed
spirits to peace, and his family to comfort.
O! how joyful it is to tell of happiness, such as that of Valancourt
and Emily; to relate, that, after suffering under the oppression of the
vicious and the disdain of the weak, they were, at length, restored to
each other—to the beloved landscapes of their native country,—to the
securest felicity of this life, that of aspiring to moral and labouring
for intellectual improvement—to the pleasures of enlightened society,
and to the exercise of the benevolence, which had always animated their
hearts; while the bowers of La Vallée became, once more, the retreat of
goodness, wisdom and domestic blessedness!
O! useful may it be to have shown, that, though the vicious can
sometimes pour affliction upon the good, their power is transient and
their punishment certain; and that innocence, though oppressed by
injustice, shall, supported by patience, finally triumph over
misfortune!
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
him to sustain it—the effort, however humble, has not been vain, nor is
the writer unrewarded.