The Mysteries of Udolpho
striking scenes in the passage over the Alps; her emotions on her first
view of Italy; the manners and characters of the people around her, and
some few circumstances of Montoni’s conduct. But she avoided even
naming Count Morano, much more the declaration he had made, since she
well knew how tremblingly alive to fear is real love, how jealously
watchful of every circumstance that may affect its interest; and she
scrupulously avoided to give Valancourt even the slightest reason for
believing he had a rival.
On the following day Count Morano dined again at Montoni’s. He was in
an uncommon flow of spirits, and Emily thought there was somewhat of
exultation in his manner of addressing her, which she had never
observed before. She endeavoured to repress this by more than her usual
reserve, but the cold civility of her air now seemed rather to
encourage than to depress him. He appeared watchful of an opportunity
of speaking with her alone, and more than once solicited this; but
Emily always replied, that she could hear nothing from him which he
would be unwilling to repeat before the whole company.
In the evening, Madame Montoni and her party went out upon the sea, and
as the Count led Emily to his _zendaletto_, he carried her hand to his
lips, and thanked her for the condescension she had shown him. Emily,
in extreme surprise and displeasure, hastily withdrew her hand, and
concluded that he had spoken ironically; but, on reaching the steps of
the terrace, and observing by the livery, that it was the Count’s
_zendaletto_ which waited below, while the rest of the party, having
arranged themselves in the gondolas, were moving on, she determined not
to permit a separate conversation, and, wishing him a good evening,
returned to the portico. The Count followed to expostulate and entreat,
and Montoni, who then came out, rendered solicitation unnecessary, for,
without condescending to speak, he took her hand, and led her to the
_zendaletto_. Emily was not silent; she entreated Montoni, in a low
voice, to consider the impropriety of these circumstances, and that he
would spare her the mortification of submitting to them; he, however,
was inflexible.
“This caprice is intolerable,” said he, “and shall not be indulged:
there is no impropriety in the case.”
At this moment, Emily’s dislike of Count Morano rose to abhorrence.
That he should, with undaunted assurance, thus pursue her,
notwithstanding all she had expressed on the subject of his addresses,
and think, as it was evident he did, that her opinion of him was of no
consequence, so long as his pretensions were sanctioned by Montoni,
added indignation to the disgust which she had felt towards him. She
was somewhat relieved by observing that Montoni was to be of the party,
who seated himself on one side of her, while Morano placed himself on
the other. There was a pause for some moments as the gondolieri
prepared their oars, and Emily trembled from apprehension of the
discourse that might follow this silence. At length she collected
courage to break it herself, in the hope of preventing fine speeches
from Morano, and reproof from Montoni. To some trivial remark which she
made, the latter returned a short and disobliging reply; but Morano
immediately followed with a general observation, which he contrived to
end with a particular compliment, and, though Emily passed it without
even the notice of a smile, he was not discouraged.
“I have been impatient,” said he, addressing Emily, “to express my
gratitude; to thank you for your goodness; but I must also thank Signor
Montoni, who has allowed me this opportunity of doing so.”
Emily regarded the Count with a look of mingled astonishment and
displeasure.
“Why,” continued he, “should you wish to diminish the delight of this
moment by that air of cruel reserve?—Why seek to throw me again into
the perplexities of doubt, by teaching your eyes to contradict the
kindness of your late declaration? You cannot doubt the sincerity, the
ardour of my passion; it is therefore unnecessary, charming Emily!
surely unnecessary, any longer to attempt a disguise of your
sentiments.”
“If I ever had disguised them, sir,” said Emily, with recollected
spirit, “it would certainly be unnecessary any longer to do so. I had
hoped, sir, that you would have spared me any farther necessity of
alluding to them; but, since you do not grant this, hear me declare,
and for the last time, that your perseverance has deprived you even of
the esteem, which I was inclined to believe you merited.”
“Astonishing!” exclaimed Montoni: “this is beyond even my expectation,
though I have hitherto done justice to the caprice of the sex! But you
will observe, Mademoiselle Emily, that I am no lover, though Count
Morano is, and that I will not be made the amusement of your capricious
moments. Here is the offer of an alliance, which would do honour to any
family; yours, you will recollect, is not noble; you long resisted my
remonstrances, but my honour is now engaged, and it shall not be
trifled with.—You shall adhere to the declaration, which you have made
me an agent to convey to the Count.”
“I must certainly mistake you, sir,” said Emily; “my answers on the
subject have been uniform; it is unworthy of you to accuse me of
caprice. If you have condescended to be my agent, it is an honour I did
not solicit. I myself have constantly assured Count Morano, and you
also, sir, that I never can accept the honour he offers me, and I now
repeat the declaration.”
The Count looked with an air of surprise and enquiry at Montoni, whose
countenance also was marked with surprise, but it was surprise mingled
with indignation.
“Here is confidence, as well as caprice!” said the latter. “Will you
deny your own words, Madam?”
“Such a question is unworthy of an answer, sir;” said Emily blushing;
“you will recollect yourself, and be sorry that you have asked it.”
“Speak to the point,” rejoined Montoni, in a voice of increasing
vehemence. “Will you deny your own words; will you deny, that you
acknowledged, only a few hours ago, that it was too late to recede from
your engagements, and that you accepted the Count’s hand?”
“I will deny all this, for no words of mine ever imported it.”
“Astonishing! Will you deny what you wrote to Mons. Quesnel, your
uncle? If you do, your own hand will bear testimony against you. What
have you now to say?” continued Montoni, observing the silence and
confusion of Emily.
“I now perceive, sir, that you are under a very great error, and that I
have been equally mistaken.”
“No more duplicity, I entreat; be open and candid, if it be possible.”
“I have always been so, sir; and can claim no merit in such conduct,
for I have had nothing to conceal.”
“How is this, Signor?” cried Morano, with trembling emotion.
“Suspend your judgment, Count,” replied Montoni, “the wiles of a female
heart are unsearchable. Now, Madame, your _explanation_.”
“Excuse me, sir, if I withhold my explanation till you appear willing
to give me your confidence; assertion as present can only subject me to
insult.”
“Your explanation, I entreat you!” said Morano.
“Well, well,” rejoined Montoni, “I give you my confidence; let us hear
this explanation.”
“Let me lead to it then, by asking a question.”
“As many as you please,” said Montoni, contemptuously.
“What, then, was the subject of your letter to Mons. Quesnel?”
“The same that was the subject of your note to him, certainly. You did
well to stipulate for my confidence before you demanded that question.”
“I must beg you will be more explicit, sir; what was that subject?”
“What could it be, but the noble offer of Count Morano,” said Montoni.
“Then, sir, we entirely misunderstood each other,” replied Emily.
“We entirely misunderstood each other too, I suppose,” rejoined
Montoni, “in the conversation which preceded the writing of that note?
I must do you the justice to own, that you are very ingenious at this
same art of misunderstanding.”
Emily tried to restrain the tears that came to her eyes, and to answer
with becoming firmness. “Allow me, sir, to explain myself fully, or to
be wholly silent.”
“The explanation may now be dispensed with; it is anticipated. If Count
Morano still thinks one necessary, I will give him an honest one: you
have changed your intention since our last conversation; and, if he can
have patience and humility enough to wait till tomorrow, he will
probably find it changed again: but as I have neither the patience nor
the humility, which you expect from a lover, I warn you of the effect
of my displeasure!”
“Montoni, you are too precipitate,” said the Count, who had listened to
this conversation in extreme agitation and impatience;—“Signora, I
entreat your own explanation of this affair!”
“Signor Montoni has said justly,” replied Emily, “that all explanation
may now be dispensed with; after what has passed I cannot suffer myself
to give one. It is sufficient for me, and for you, sir, that I repeat
my late declaration; let me hope this is the last time it will be
necessary for me to repeat it—I never can accept the honour of your
alliance.”
“Charming Emily!” exclaimed the Count in an impassioned tone, “let not
resentment make you unjust; let me not suffer for the offence of
Montoni!—Revoke—”
“Offence!” interrupted Montoni—“Count, this language is ridiculous,
this submission is childish!—speak as becomes a man, not as the slave
of a pretty tyrant.”
“You distract me, Signor; suffer me to plead my own cause; you have
already proved insufficient to it.”
“All conversation on this subject, sir,” said Emily, “is worse than
useless, since it can bring only pain to each of us: if you would
oblige me, pursue it no farther.”
“It is impossible, Madam, that I can thus easily resign the object of a
passion, which is the delight and torment of my life.—I must still
love—still pursue you with unremitting ardour;—when you shall be
convinced of the strength and constancy of my passion, your heart must
soften into pity and repentance.”
“Is this generous, sir? is this manly? Can it either deserve or obtain
the esteem you solicit, thus to continue a persecution from which I
have no present means of escaping?”
A gleam of moonlight that fell upon Morano’s countenance, revealed the
strong emotions of his soul; and, glancing on Montoni discovered the
dark resentment, which contrasted his features.
“By Heaven this is too much!” suddenly exclaimed the Count; “Signor
Montoni, you treat me ill; it is from you that I shall look for
explanation.”
“From me, sir! you shall have it;” muttered Montoni, “if your
discernment is indeed so far obscured by passion, as to make
explanation necessary. And for you, madam, you should learn, that a man
of honour is not to be trifled with, though you may, perhaps, with
impunity, treat a _boy_ like a puppet.”
This sarcasm roused the pride of Morano, and the resentment which he
had felt at the indifference of Emily, being lost in indignation of the
insolence of Montoni, he determined to mortify him, by defending her.
“This also,” said he, replying to Montoni’s last words, “this also,
shall not pass unnoticed. I bid you learn, sir, that you have a
stronger enemy than a woman to contend with: I will protect Signora St.
Aubert from your threatened resentment. You have misled me, and would
revenge your disappointed views upon the innocent.”
“Misled you!” retorted Montoni with quickness, “is my conduct—my
word”—then pausing, while he seemed endeavouring to restrain the
resentment, that flashed in his eyes, in the next moment he added, in a
subdued voice, “Count Morano, this is a language, a sort of conduct to
which I am not accustomed: it is the conduct of a passionate boy—as
such, I pass it over in contempt.”