The Mysteries of Udolpho
then directed to the securing it on the inside also, by placing against
it as much of the heavy furniture of the room, as they could lift.
Emily then retired to bed, and Annette continued on a chair by the
hearth, where some feeble embers remained.
CHAPTER VII
Of aery tongues, that syllable men’s names
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.
MILTON
It is now necessary to mention some circumstances, which could not be
related amidst the events of Emily’s hasty departure from Venice, or
together with those, which so rapidly succeeded to her arrival in the
castle.
On the morning of her journey, Count Morano had gone at the appointed
hour to the mansion of Montoni, to demand his bride. When he reached
it, he was somewhat surprised by the silence and solitary air of the
portico, where Montoni’s lacqueys usually loitered; but surprise was
soon changed to astonishment, and astonishment to the rage of
disappointment, when the door was opened by an old woman, who told his
servants, that her master and his family had left Venice, early in the
morning, for _Terra-firma_. Scarcely believing what his servants told,
he left his gondola, and rushed into the hall to enquire further. The
old woman, who was the only person left in care of the mansion,
persisted in her story, which the silent and deserted apartments soon
convinced him was no fiction. He then seized her with a menacing air,
as if he meant to wreak all his vengeance upon her, at the same time
asking her twenty questions in a breath, and all these with a
gesticulation so furious, that she was deprived of the power of
answering them; then suddenly letting her go, he stamped about the
hall, like a madman, cursing Montoni and his own folly.
When the good woman was at liberty, and had somewhat recovered from her
fright, she told him all she knew of the affair, which was, indeed,
very little, but enough to enable Morano to discover, that Montoni was
gone to his castle on the Apennine. Thither he followed, as soon as his
servants could complete the necessary preparation for the journey,
accompanied by a friend, and attended by a number of his people,
determined to obtain Emily, or a full revenge on Montoni. When his mind
had recovered from the first effervescence of rage, and his thoughts
became less obscured, his conscience hinted to him certain
circumstances, which, in some measure, explained the conduct of
Montoni: but how the latter could have been led to suspect an
intention, which, he had believed, was known only to himself, he could
not even guess. On this occasion, however, he had been partly betrayed
by that sympathetic intelligence, which may be said to exist between
bad minds, and which teaches one man to judge what another will do in
the same circumstances. Thus it was with Montoni, who had now received
indisputable proof of a truth, which he had some time suspected—that
Morano’s circumstances, instead of being affluent, as he had been
bidden to believe, were greatly involved. Montoni had been interested
in his suit, by motives entirely selfish, those of avarice and pride;
the last of which would have been gratified by an alliance with a
Venetian nobleman, the former by Emily’s estate in Gascony, which he
had stipulated, as the price of his favour, should be delivered up to
him from the day of her marriage. In the meantime, he had been led to
suspect the consequence of the Count’s boundless extravagance; but it
was not till the evening, preceding the intended nuptials, that he
obtained certain information of his distressed circumstances. He did
not hesitate then to infer, that Morano designed to defraud him of
Emily’s estate; and in this supposition he was confirmed, and with
apparent reason, by the subsequent conduct of the Count, who, after
having appointed to meet him on that night, for the purpose of signing
the instrument, which was to secure to him his reward, failed in his
engagement. Such a circumstance, indeed, in a man of Morano’s gay and
thoughtless character, and at a time when his mind was engaged by the
bustle of preparation for his nuptials, might have been attributed to a
cause less decisive, than design; but Montoni did not hesitate an
instant to interpret it his own way, and, after vainly waiting the
Count’s arrival, for several hours, he gave orders for his people to be
in readiness to set off at a moment’s notice. By hastening to Udolpho
he intended to remove Emily from the reach of Morano, as well as to
break off the affair, without submitting himself to useless
altercation: and, if the Count meant what he called honourably, he
would doubtless follow Emily, and sign the writings in question. If
this was done, so little consideration had Montoni for her welfare,
that he would not have scrupled to sacrifice her to a man of ruined
fortune, since by that means he could enrich himself; and he forbore to
mention to her the motive of his sudden journey, lest the hope it might
revive should render her more intractable, when submission would be
required.
With these considerations, he had left Venice; and, with others totally
different, Morano had, soon after, pursued his steps across the rugged
Apennines. When his arrival was announced at the castle, Montoni did
not believe, that he would have presumed to show himself, unless he had
meant to fulfil his engagement, and he, therefore, readily admitted
him; but the enraged countenance and expressions of Morano, as he
entered the apartment, instantly undeceived him; and, when Montoni had
explained, in part, the motives of his abrupt departure from Venice,
the Count still persisted in demanding Emily, and reproaching Montoni,
without even naming the former stipulation.
Montoni, at length, weary of the dispute, deferred the settling of it
till the morrow, and Morano retired with some hope, suggested by
Montoni’s apparent indecision. When, however, in the silence of his own
apartment, he began to consider the past conversation, the character of
Montoni, and some former instances of his duplicity, the hope, which he
had admitted, vanished, and he determined not to neglect the present
possibility of obtaining Emily by other means. To his confidential
valet he told his design of carrying away Emily, and sent him back to
Montoni’s servants to find out one among them, who might enable him to
execute it. The choice of this person he entrusted to the fellow’s own
discernment, and not imprudently; for he discovered a man, whom Montoni
had, on some former occasion, treated harshly, and who was now ready to
betray him. This man conducted Cesario round the castle, through a
private passage, to the staircase, that led to Emily’s chamber; then
showed him a short way out of the building, and afterwards procured him
the keys, that would secure his retreat. The man was well rewarded for
his trouble; how the Count was rewarded for his treachery, had already
appeared.
Meanwhile, old Carlo had overheard two of Morano’s servants, who had
been ordered to be in waiting with the carriage, beyond the castle
walls, expressing their surprise at their master’s sudden, and secret
departure, for the valet had entrusted them with no more of Morano’s
designs, than it was necessary for them to execute. They, however,
indulged themselves in surmises, and in expressing them to each other;
and from these Carlo had drawn a just conclusion. But, before he
ventured to disclose his apprehensions to Montoni, he endeavoured to
obtain further confirmation of them, and, for this purpose, placed
himself, with one of his fellow-servants, at the door of Emily’s
apartment, that opened upon the corridor. He did not watch long in
vain, though the growling of the dog had once nearly betrayed him. When
he was convinced, that Morano was in the room, and had listened long
enough to his conversation, to understand his scheme, he immediately
alarmed Montoni, and thus rescued Emily from the designs of the Count.
Montoni, on the following morning, appeared as usual, except that he
wore his wounded arm in a sling; he went out upon the ramparts;
overlooked the men employed in repairing them; gave orders for
additional workmen, and then came into the castle to give audience to
several persons, who were just arrived, and who were shown into a
private apartment, where he communicated with them, for near an hour.
Carlo was then summoned, and ordered to conduct the strangers to a part
of the castle, which, in former times, had been occupied by the upper
servants of the family, and to provide them with every necessary
refreshment.—When he had done this, he was bidden to return to his
master.
Meanwhile, the Count remained in a cottage in the skirts of the woods
below, suffering under bodily and mental pain, and meditating deep
revenge against Montoni. His servant, whom he had dispatched for a
surgeon to the nearest town, which was, however, at a considerable
distance, did not return till the following day, when, his wounds being
examined and dressed, the practitioner refused to deliver any positive
opinion, concerning the degree of danger attending them; but giving his
patient a composing draught and ordering him to be quiet, remained at
the cottage to watch the event.
Emily, for the remainder of the late eventful night, had been suffered
to sleep, undisturbed; and, when her mind recovered from the confusion
of slumber, and she remembered, that she was now released from the
addresses of Count Morano, her spirits were suddenly relieved from a
part of the terrible anxiety, that had long oppressed them; that which
remained, arose chiefly from a recollection of Morano’s assertions,
concerning the schemes of Montoni. He had said, that plans of the
latter, concerning Emily, were insearchable, yet that he knew them to
be terrible. At the time he uttered this, she almost believed it to be
designed for the purpose of prevailing with her to throw herself into
his protection, and she still thought it might be chiefly so accounted
for; but his assertions had left an impression on her mind, which a
consideration of the character and former conduct of Montoni did not
contribute to efface. She, however, checked her propensity to
anticipate evil; and, determined to enjoy this respite from actual
misfortune, tried to dismiss thought, took her instruments for drawing,
and placed herself at a window, to select into a landscape some
features of the scenery without.
As she was thus employed, she saw, walking on the rampart below, the
men, who had so lately arrived at the castle. The sight of strangers
surprised her, but still more, of strangers such as these. There was a
singularity in their dress, and a certain fierceness in their air, that
fixed all her attention. She withdrew from the casement, while they
passed, but soon returned to observe them further. Their figures seemed
so well suited to the wildness of the surrounding objects, that, as
they stood surveying the castle, she sketched them for banditti, amid
the mountain-view of her picture, when she had finished which, she was
surprised to observe the spirit of her group. But she had copied from
nature.
Carlo, when he had placed refreshment before these men in the apartment
assigned to them, returned, as he was ordered, to Montoni, who was
anxious to discover by what servant the keys of the castle had been
delivered to Morano, on the preceding night. But this man, though he
was too faithful to his master quietly to see him injured, would not
betray a fellow-servant even to justice; he, therefore, pretended to be
ignorant who it was, that had conspired with Count Morano, and related,
as before, that he had only overheard some of the strangers describing
the plot.
Montoni’s suspicions naturally fell upon the porter, whom he ordered