The Mysteries of Udolpho
only to the feeble lamp they carried. Emily, deceived by the long
shadows of the pillars and by the catching lights between, often
stopped, imagining she saw some person, moving in the distant obscurity
of the perspective; and, as she passed these pillars, she feared to
turn her eyes toward them, almost expecting to see a figure start out
from behind their broad shaft. She reached, however, the vaulted
gallery, without interruption, but unclosed its outer door with a
trembling hand, and, charging Annette not to quit it and to keep it a
little open, that she might be heard if she called, she delivered to
her the lamp, which she did not dare to take herself because of the men
on watch, and, alone, stepped out upon the dark terrace. Everything was
so still, that she feared, lest her own light steps should be heard by
the distant sentinels, and she walked cautiously towards the spot,
where she had before met Barnardine, listening for a sound, and looking
onward through the gloom in search of him. At length, she was startled
by a deep voice, that spoke near her, and she paused, uncertain whether
it was his, till it spoke again, and she then recognised the hollow
tones of Barnardine, who had been punctual to the moment, and was at
the appointed place, resting on the rampart wall. After chiding her for
not coming sooner, and saying that he had been waiting nearly half an
hour, he desired Emily, who made no reply, to follow him to the door
through which he had entered the terrace.
While he unlocked it, she looked back to that she had left, and,
observing the rays of the lamp stream through a small opening, was
certain, that Annette was still there. But her remote situation could
little befriend Emily, after she had quitted the terrace; and, when
Barnardine unclosed the gate, the dismal aspect of the passage beyond,
shown by a torch burning on the pavement, made her shrink from
following him alone, and she refused to go, unless Annette might
accompany her. This, however, Barnardine absolutely refused to permit,
mingling at the same time with his refusal such artful circumstances to
heighten the pity and curiosity of Emily towards her aunt, that she, at
length, consented to follow him alone to the portal.
He then took up the torch, and led her along the passage, at the
extremity of which he unlocked another door, whence they descended, a
few steps, into a chapel, which, as Barnardine held up the torch to
light her, Emily observed to be in ruins, and she immediately
recollected a former conversation of Annette, concerning it, with very
unpleasant emotions. She looked fearfully on the almost roofless walls,
green with damps, and on the gothic points of the windows, where the
ivy and the briony had long supplied the place of glass, and ran
mantling among the broken capitals of some columns, that had once
supported the roof. Barnardine stumbled over the broken pavement, and
his voice, as he uttered a sudden oath, was returned in hollow echoes,
that made it more terrific. Emily’s heart sunk; but she still followed
him, and he turned out of what had been the principal aisle of the
chapel. “Down these steps, lady,” said Barnardine, as he descended a
flight, which appeared to lead into the vaults; but Emily paused on the
top, and demanded, in a tremulous tone, whither he was conducting her.
“To the portal,” said Barnardine.
“Cannot we go through the chapel to the portal?” said Emily.
“No, Signora, that leads to the inner court, which I don’t choose to
unlock. This way, and we shall reach the outer court presently.”
Emily still hesitated; fearing not only to go on, but, since she had
gone thus far, to irritate Barnardine by refusing to go further.
“Come, lady,” said the man, who had nearly reached the bottom of the
flight, “make a little haste; I cannot wait here all night.”
“Whither do these steps lead?” said Emily, yet pausing.
“To the portal,” repeated Barnardine, in an angry tone, “I will wait no
longer.” As he said this, he moved on with the light, and Emily,
fearing to provoke him by further delay, reluctantly followed. From the
steps, they proceeded through a passage, adjoining the vaults, the
walls of which were dropping with unwholesome dews, and the vapours,
that crept along the ground, made the torch burn so dimly, that Emily
expected every moment to see it extinguished, and Barnardine could
scarcely find his way. As they advanced, these vapours thickened, and
Barnardine, believing the torch was expiring, stopped for a moment to
trim it. As he then rested against a pair of iron gates, that opened
from the passage, Emily saw, by uncertain flashes of light, the vaults
beyond, and, near her, heaps of earth, that seemed to surround an open
grave. Such an object, in such a scene, would, at any time, have
disturbed her; but now she was shocked by an instantaneous
presentiment, that this was the grave of her unfortunate aunt, and that
the treacherous Barnardine was leading herself to destruction. The
obscure and terrible place, to which he had conducted her, seemed to
justify the thought; it was a place suited for murder, a receptacle for
the dead, where a deed of horror might be committed, and no vestige
appear to proclaim it. Emily was so overwhelmed with terror, that, for
a moment, she was unable to determine what conduct to pursue. She then
considered that it would be vain to attempt an escape from Barnardine
by flight, since the length and the intricacy of the way she had passed
would soon enable him to overtake her, who was unacquainted with the
turnings, and whose feebleness would not suffer her to run long with
swiftness. She feared equally to irritate him by a disclosure of her
suspicions, which a refusal to accompany him further certainly would
do; and, since she was already as much in his power as it was possible
she could be, if she proceeded, she, at length, determined to suppress,
as far as she could, the appearance of apprehension, and to follow
silently whither he designed to lead her. Pale with horror and anxiety,
she now waited till Barnardine had trimmed the torch, and, as her sight
glanced again upon the grave, she could not forbear enquiring, for whom
it was prepared. He took his eyes from the torch, and fixed them upon
her face without speaking. She faintly repeated the question, but the
man, shaking the torch, passed on; and she followed, trembling, to a
second flight of steps, having ascended which, a door delivered them
into the first court of the castle. As they crossed it, the light
showed the high black walls around them, fringed with long grass and
dank weeds, that found a scanty soil among the mouldering stones; the
heavy buttresses, with, here and there, between them, a narrow grate,
that admitted a freer circulation of air to the court, the massy iron
gates, that led to the castle, whose clustering turrets appeared above,
and, opposite, the huge towers and arch of the portal itself. In this
scene the large, uncouth person of Barnardine, bearing the torch,
formed a characteristic figure. This Barnardine was wrapt in a long
dark cloak, which scarcely allowed the kind of half-boots, or sandals,
that were laced upon his legs, to appear, and showed only the point of
a broad sword, which he usually wore, slung in a belt across his
shoulders. On his head was a heavy flat velvet cap, somewhat resembling
a turban, in which was a short feather; the visage beneath it showed
strong features, and a countenance furrowed with the lines of cunning
and darkened by habitual discontent.
The view of the court, however, reanimated Emily, who, as she crossed
silently towards the portal, began to hope, that her own fears, and not
the treachery of Barnardine, had deceived her. She looked anxiously up
at the first casement, that appeared above the lofty arch of the
portcullis; but it was dark, and she enquired, whether it belonged to
the chamber where Madame Montoni was confined. Emily spoke low, and
Barnardine, perhaps, did not hear her question, for he returned no
answer; and they, soon after, entered the postern door of the gateway,
which brought them to the foot of a narrow staircase that wound up one
of the towers.
“Up this staircase the Signora lies,” said Barnardine.
“Lies!” repeated Emily faintly, as she began to ascend.
“She lies in the upper chamber,” said Barnardine.
As they passed up, the wind, which poured through the narrow cavities
in the wall, made the torch flare, and it threw a stronger gleam upon
the grim and sallow countenance of Barnardine, and discovered more
fully the desolation of the place—the rough stone walls, the spiral
stairs, black with age, and a suit of ancient armour, with an iron
visor, that hung upon the walls, and appeared a trophy of some former
victory.
Having reached a landing-place, “You may wait here, lady,” said he,
applying a key to the door of a chamber, “while I go up, and tell the
Signora you are coming.”
“That ceremony is unnecessary,” replied Emily, “my aunt will rejoice to
see me.”
“I am not so sure of that,” said Barnardine, pointing to the room he
had opened: “Come in here, lady, while I step up.”
Emily, surprised and somewhat shocked, did not dare to oppose him
further, but, as he was turning away with the torch, desired he would
not leave her in darkness. He looked around, and, observing a tripod
lamp, that stood on the stairs, lighted and gave it to Emily, who
stepped forward into a large old chamber, and he closed the door. As
she listened anxiously to his departing steps, she thought he
descended, instead of ascending, the stairs; but the gusts of wind,
that whistled round the portal, would not allow her to hear distinctly
any other sound. Still, however, she listened, and, perceiving no step
in the room above, where he had affirmed Madame Montoni to be, her
anxiety increased, though she considered, that the thickness of the
floor in this strong building might prevent any sound reaching her from
the upper chamber. The next moment, in a pause of the wind, she
distinguished Barnardine’s step descending to the court, and then
thought she heard his voice; but, the rising gust again overcoming
other sounds, Emily, to be certain on this point, moved softly to the
door, which, on attempting to open it, she discovered was fastened. All
the horrid apprehensions, that had lately assailed her, returned at
this instant with redoubled force, and no longer appeared like the
exaggerations of a timid spirit, but seemed to have been sent to warn
her of her fate. She now did not doubt, that Madame Montoni had been
murdered, perhaps in this very chamber; or that she herself was brought
hither for the same purpose. The countenance, the manners and the
recollected words of Barnardine, when he had spoken of her aunt,
confirmed her worst fears. For some moments, she was incapable of
considering of any means, by which she might attempt an escape. Still
she listened, but heard footsteps neither on the stairs, nor in the
room above; she thought, however, that she again distinguished
Barnardine’s voice below, and went to a grated window, that opened upon
the court, to enquire further. Here, she plainly heard his hoarse
accents, mingling with the blast, that swept by, but they were lost
again so quickly, that their meaning could not be interpreted; and then
the light of a torch, which seemed to issue from the portal below,
flashed across the court, and the long shadow of a man, who was under
the arch-way, appeared upon the pavement. Emily, from the hugeness of
this sudden portrait, concluded it to be that of Barnardine; but other
deep tones, which passed in the wind, soon convinced her he was not
alone, and that his companion was not a person very liable to pity.
When her spirits had overcome the first shock of her situation, she