The Mysteries of Udolpho
watched over her with the most tender solicitude, no longer seeing her
imperious aunt in the poor object before her, but the sister of her
late beloved father, in a situation that called for all her compassion
and kindness. When night came, she determined to sit up with her aunt,
but this the latter positively forbade, commanding her to retire to
rest, and Annette alone to remain in her chamber. Rest was, indeed,
necessary to Emily, whose spirits and frame were equally wearied by the
occurrences and exertions of the day; but she would not leave Madame
Montoni, till after the turn of midnight, a period then thought so
critical by the physicians.
Soon after twelve, having enjoined Annette to be wakeful, and to call
her, should any change appear for the worse, Emily sorrowfully bade
Madame Montoni good night, and withdrew to her chamber. Her spirits
were more than usually depressed by the piteous condition of her aunt,
whose recovery she scarcely dared to expect. To her own misfortunes she
saw no period, inclosed as she was, in a remote castle, beyond the
reach of any friends, had she possessed such, and beyond the pity even
of strangers; while she knew herself to be in the power of a man
capable of any action, which his interest, or his ambition, might
suggest.
Occupied by melancholy reflections and by anticipations as sad, she did
not retire immediately to rest, but leaned thoughtfully on her open
casement. The scene before her of woods and mountains, reposing in the
moonlight, formed a regretted contrast with the state of her mind; but
the lonely murmur of these woods, and the view of this sleeping
landscape, gradually soothed her emotions and softened her to tears.
She continued to weep, for some time, lost to everything, but to a
gentle sense of her misfortunes. When she, at length, took the
handkerchief from her eyes, she perceived, before her, on the terrace
below, the figure she had formerly observed, which stood fixed and
silent, immediately opposite to her casement. On perceiving it, she
started back, and terror for some time overcame curiosity;—at length,
she returned to the casement, and still the figure was before it, which
she now compelled herself to observe, but was utterly unable to speak,
as she had formerly intended. The moon shone with a clear light, and it
was, perhaps, the agitation of her mind, that prevented her
distinguishing, with any degree of accuracy, the form before her. It
was still stationary, and she began to doubt, whether it was really
animated.
Her scattered thoughts were now so far returned as to remind her, that
her light exposed her to dangerous observation, and she was stepping
back to remove it, when she perceived the figure move, and then wave
what seemed to be its arm, as if to beckon her; and, while she gazed,
fixed in fear, it repeated the action. She now attempted to speak, but
the words died on her lips, and she went from the casement to remove
her light; as she was doing which, she heard, from without, a faint
groan. Listening, but not daring to return, she presently heard it
repeated.
“Good God!—what can this mean!” said she.
Again she listened, but the sound came no more; and, after a long
interval of silence, she recovered courage enough to go to the
casement, when she again saw the same appearance! It beckoned again,
and again uttered a low sound.
“That groan was surely human!” said she. “I _will_ speak.” “Who is it,”
cried Emily in a faint voice, “that wanders at this late hour?”
The figure raised its head but suddenly started away, and glided down
the terrace. She watched it, for a long while, passing swiftly in the
moonlight, but heard no footstep, till a sentinel from the other
extremity of the rampart walked slowly along. The man stopped under her
window, and, looking up, called her by name. She was retiring
precipitately, but, a second summons inducing her to reply, the soldier
then respectfully asked if she had seen anything pass. On her
answering, that she had; he said no more, but walked away down the
terrace, Emily following him with her eyes, till he was lost in the
distance. But, as he was on guard, she knew he could not go beyond the
rampart, and, therefore, resolved to await his return.
Soon after, his voice was heard, at a distance, calling loudly; and
then a voice still more distant answered, and, in the next moment, the
watch-word was given, and passed along the terrace. As the soldiers
moved hastily under the casement, she called to enquire what had
happened, but they passed without regarding her.
Emily’s thoughts returning to the figure she had seen, “It cannot be a
person, who has designs upon the castle,” said she; “such a one would
conduct himself very differently. He would not venture where sentinels
were on watch, nor fix himself opposite to a window, where he perceived
he must be observed; much less would he beckon, or utter a sound of
complaint. Yet it cannot be a prisoner, for how could he obtain the
opportunity to wander thus?”
If she had been subject to vanity, she might have supposed this figure
to be some inhabitant of the castle, who wandered under her casement in
the hope of seeing her, and of being allowed to declare his admiration;
but this opinion never occurred to Emily, and, if it had, she would
have dismissed it as improbable, on considering, that, when the
opportunity of speaking had occurred, it had been suffered to pass in
silence; and that, even at the moment in which she had spoken, the form
had abruptly quitted the place.
While she mused, two sentinels walked up the rampart in earnest
conversation, of which she caught a few words, and learned from these,
that one of their comrades had fallen down senseless. Soon after, three
other soldiers appeared slowly advancing from the bottom of the
terrace, but she heard only a low voice, that came at intervals. As
they drew near, she perceived this to be the voice of him, who walked
in the middle, apparently supported by his comrades; and she again
called to them, enquiring what had happened. At the sound of her voice,
they stopped, and looked up, while she repeated her question, and was
told, that Roberto, their fellow of the watch, had been seized with a
fit, and that his cry, as he fell, had caused a false alarm.
“Is he subject to fits?” said Emily.
“Yes, Signora,” replied Roberto; “but if I had not, what I saw was
enough to have frightened the Pope himself.”
“What was it?” enquired Emily, trembling.
“I cannot tell what it was, lady, or what I saw, or how it vanished,”
replied the soldier, who seemed to shudder at the recollection.
“Was it the person, whom you followed down the rampart, that has
occasioned you this alarm?” said Emily, endeavouring to conceal her
own.
“Person!” exclaimed the man,—“it was the devil, and this is not the
first time I have seen him!”
“Nor will it be the last,” observed one of his comrades, laughing.
“No, no, I warrant not,” said another.
“Well,” rejoined Roberto, “you may be as merry now, as you please; you
were none so jocose the other night, Sebastian, when you were on watch
with Launcelot.”
“Launcelot need not talk of that,” replied Sebastian, “let him remember
how he stood trembling, and unable to give the _word_, till the man was
gone. If the man had not come so silently upon us, I would have seized
him, and soon made him tell who he was.”
“What man?” enquired Emily.
“It was no man, lady,” said Launcelot, who stood by, “but the devil
himself, as my comrade says. What man, who does not live in the castle,
could get within the walls at midnight? Why, I might just as well
pretend to march to Venice, and get among all the Senators, when they
are counselling; and I warrant I should have more chance of getting out
again alive, than any fellow, that we should catch within the gates
after dark. So I think I have proved plainly enough, that this can be
nobody that lives out of the castle; and now I will prove, that it can
be nobody that lives in the castle—for, if he did—why should he be
afraid to be seen? So after this, I hope nobody will pretend to tell me
it was anybody. No, I say again, by holy Pope! it was the devil, and
Sebastian, there, knows this is not the first time we have seen him.”
“When did you see the figure, then, before?” said Emily half smiling,
who, though she thought the conversation somewhat too much, felt an
interest, which would not permit her to conclude it.
“About a week ago, lady,” said Sebastian, taking up the story.
“And where?”
“On the rampart, lady, higher up.”
“Did you pursue it, that it fled?”
“No, Signora. Launcelot and I were on watch together, and everything
was so still, you might have heard a mouse stir, when, suddenly,
Launcelot says—Sebastian! do you see nothing? I turned my head a little
to the left, as it might be—thus. No, says I. Hush! said
Launcelot,—look yonder—just by the last cannon on the rampart! I
looked, and then thought I did see something move; but there being no
light, but what the stars gave, I could not be certain. We stood quite
silent, to watch it, and presently saw something pass along the castle
wall just opposite to us!”
“Why did you not seize it, then?” cried a soldier, who had scarcely
spoken till now.
“Aye, why did you not seize it?” said Roberto.
“You should have been there to have done that,” replied Sebastian. “You
would have been bold enough to have taken it by the throat, though it
had been the devil himself; we could not take such a liberty, perhaps,
because we are not so well acquainted with him, as you are. But, as I
was saying, it stole by us so quickly, that we had not time to get rid
of our surprise, before it was gone. Then, we knew it was in vain to
follow. We kept constant watch all that night, but we saw it no more.
Next morning, we told some of our comrades, who were on duty on other
parts of the ramparts, what we had seen; but they had seen nothing, and
laughed at us, and it was not till tonight, that the same figure walked
again.”
“Where did you lose it, friend?” said Emily to Roberto.
“When I left you, lady,” replied the man, “you might see me go down the
rampart, but it was not till I reached the east terrace, that I saw
anything. Then, the moon shining bright, I saw something like a shadow
flitting before me, as it were, at some distance. I stopped, when I
turned the corner of the east tower, where I had seen this figure not a
moment before,—but it was gone! As I stood, looking through the old
arch which leads to the east rampart, and where I am sure it had
passed, I heard, all of a sudden, such a sound!—it was not like a
groan, or a cry, or a shout, or anything I ever heard in my life. I
heard it only once, and that was enough for me; for I know nothing that
happened after, till I found my comrades, here, about me.”
“Come,” said Sebastian, “let us go to our posts—the moon is setting.
Good night, lady!”
“Aye, let us go,” rejoined Roberto. “Good night, lady.”
“Good night; the holy mother guard you!” said Emily, as she closed her
casement and retired to reflect upon the strange circumstance that had
just occurred, connecting which with what had happened on former
nights, she endeavoured to derive from the whole something more
positive, than conjecture. But her imagination was inflamed, while her
judgment was not enlightened, and the terrors of superstition again
pervaded her mind.
CHAPTER IV
There is one within,
Besides the things that we have heard and seen,
Recounts most horrid sights, seen by the watch.
JULIUS CÆSAR
In the morning, Emily found Madame Montoni nearly in the same
condition, as on the preceding night; she had slept little, and that
little had not refreshed her; she smiled on her niece, and seemed