The Mysteries of Udolpho
In an agony of disappointment, she returned to Emily, who foreboded
little good towards herself, from this refusal to Annette, and who,
soon after, received a summons to repair to the great court, where the
mules, with her guides, were in waiting. Emily here tried in vain to
sooth the weeping Annette, who persisted in saying, that she should
never see her dear young lady again; a fear, which her mistress
secretly thought too well justified, but which she endeavoured to
restrain, while, with apparent composure, she bade this affectionate
servant farewell. Annette, however, followed to the courts, which were
now thronged with people, busy in preparation for the enemy; and,
having seen her mount her mule and depart, with her attendants, through
the portal, turned into the castle and wept again.
Emily, meanwhile, as she looked back upon the gloomy courts of the
castle, no longer silent as when she had first entered them, but
resounding with the noise of preparation for their defence, as well as
crowded with soldiers and workmen, hurrying to and fro; and, when she
passed once more under the huge portcullis, which had formerly struck
her with terror and dismay, and, looking round, saw no walls to confine
her steps—felt, in spite of anticipation, the sudden joy of a prisoner,
who unexpectedly finds himself at liberty. This emotion would not
suffer her now to look impartially on the dangers that awaited her
without; on mountains infested by hostile parties, who seized every
opportunity for plunder; and on a journey commenced under the guidance
of men, whose countenances certainly did not speak favourably of their
dispositions. In the present moments, she could only rejoice, that she
was liberated from those walls, which she had entered with such dismal
forebodings; and, remembering the superstitious presentiment, which had
then seized her, she could now smile at the impression it had made upon
her mind.
As she gazed, with these emotions, upon the turrets of the castle,
rising high over the woods, among which she wound, the stranger, whom
she believed to be confined there, returned to her remembrance, and
anxiety and apprehension, lest he should be Valancourt, again passed
like a cloud upon her joy. She recollected every circumstance,
concerning this unknown person, since the night, when she had first
heard him play the song of her native province;—circumstances, which
she had so often recollected, and compared before, without extracting
from them anything like conviction, and which still only prompted her
to believe, that Valancourt was a prisoner at Udolpho. It was possible,
however, that the men, who were her conductors, might afford her
information, on this subject; but, fearing to question them
immediately, lest they should be unwilling to discover any circumstance
to her in the presence of each other, she watched for an opportunity of
speaking with them separately.
Soon after, a trumpet echoed faintly from a distance; the guides
stopped, and looked toward the quarter whence it came, but the thick
woods, which surrounded them, excluding all view of the country beyond,
one of the men rode on to the point of an eminence, that afforded a
more extensive prospect, to observe how near the enemy, whose trumpet
he guessed this to be, were advanced; the other, meanwhile, remained
with Emily, and to him she put some questions, concerning the stranger
at Udolpho. Ugo, for this was his name, said, that there were several
prisoners in the castle, but he neither recollected their persons, nor
the precise time of their arrival, and could therefore give her no
information. There was a surliness in his manner, as he spoke, that
made it probable he would not have satisfied her enquiries, even if he
could have done so.
Having asked him what prisoners had been taken, about the time, as
nearly as she could remember, when she had first heard the music, “All
that week,” said Ugo, “I was out with a party, upon the mountains, and
knew nothing of what was doing at the castle. We had enough upon our
hands, we had warm work of it.”
Bertrand, the other man, being now returned, Emily enquired no further,
and, when he had related to his companion what he had seen, they
travelled on in deep silence; while Emily often caught, between the
opening woods, partial glimpses of the castle above—the west towers,
whose battlements were now crowded with archers, and the ramparts
below, where soldiers were seen hurrying along, or busy upon the walls,
preparing the cannon.
Having emerged from the woods, they wound along the valley in an
opposite direction to that, from whence the enemy were approaching.
Emily now had a full view of Udolpho, with its grey walls, towers and
terraces, high over-topping the precipices and the dark woods, and
glittering partially with the arms of the _Condottieri_, as the sun’s
rays, streaming through an autumnal cloud, glanced upon a part of the
edifice, whose remaining features stood in darkened majesty. She
continued to gaze, through her tears, upon walls that, perhaps,
confined Valancourt, and which now, as the cloud floated away, were
lighted up with sudden splendour, and then, as suddenly were shrouded
in gloom; while the passing gleam fell on the wood-tops below, and
heightened the first tints of autumn, that had begun to steal upon the
foliage. The winding mountains, at length, shut Udolpho from her view,
and she turned, with mournful reluctance, to other objects. The
melancholy sighing of the wind among the pines, that waved high over
the steeps, and the distant thunder of a torrent assisted her musings,
and conspired with the wild scenery around, to diffuse over her mind
emotions solemn, yet not unpleasing, but which were soon interrupted by
the distant roar of cannon, echoing among the mountains. The sounds
rolled along the wind, and were repeated in faint and fainter
reverberation, till they sunk in sullen murmurs. This was a signal,
that the enemy had reached the castle, and fear for Valancourt again
tormented Emily. She turned her anxious eyes towards that part of the
country, where the edifice stood, but the intervening heights concealed
it from her view; still, however, she saw the tall head of a mountain,
which immediately fronted her late chamber, and on this she fixed her
gaze, as if it could have told her of all that was passing in the scene
it overlooked. The guides twice reminded her, that she was losing time
and that they had far to go, before she could turn from this
interesting object, and, even when she again moved onward, she often
sent a look back, till only its blue point, brightening in a gleam of
sunshine, appeared peeping over other mountains.
The sound of the cannon affected Ugo, as the blast of the trumpet does
the war-horse; it called forth all the fire of his nature; he was
impatient to be in the midst of the fight, and uttered frequent
execrations against Montoni for having sent him to a distance. The
feelings of his comrade seemed to be very opposite, and adapted rather
to the cruelties, than to the dangers of war.
Emily asked frequent questions, concerning the place of her
destination, but could only learn, that she was going to a cottage in
Tuscany; and, whenever she mentioned the subject, she fancied she
perceived, in the countenances of these men, an expression of malice
and cunning, that alarmed her.
It was afternoon, when they had left the castle. During several hours,
they travelled through regions of profound solitude, where no bleat of
sheep, or bark of watch-dog, broke on silence, and they were now too
far off to hear even the faint thunder of the cannon. Towards evening,
they wound down precipices, black with forests of cypress, pine and
cedar, into a glen so savage and secluded, that, if Solitude ever had
local habitation, this might have been “her place of dearest
residence.” To Emily it appeared a spot exactly suited for the retreat
of banditti, and, in her imagination, she already saw them lurking
under the brow of some projecting rock, whence their shadows,
lengthened by the setting sun, stretched across the road, and warned
the traveller of his danger. She shuddered at the idea, and, looking at
her conductors, to observe whether they were armed, thought she saw in
them the banditti she dreaded!
It was in this glen, that they proposed to alight, “For,” said Ugo,
“night will come on presently, and then the wolves will make it
dangerous to stop.” This was a new subject of alarm to Emily, but
inferior to what she suffered from the thought of being left in these
wilds, at midnight, with two such men as her present conductors. Dark
and dreadful hints of what might be Montoni’s purpose in sending her
hither, came to her mind. She endeavoured to dissuade the men from
stopping, and enquired, with anxiety, how far they had yet to go.
“Many leagues yet,” replied Bertrand. “As for you, Signora, you may do
as you please about eating, but for us, we will make a hearty supper,
while we can. We shall have need of it, I warrant, before we finish our
journey. The sun’s going down apace; let us alight under that rock,
yonder.”
His comrade assented, and, turning the mules out of the road, they
advanced towards a cliff, overhung with cedars, Emily following in
trembling silence. They lifted her from her mule, and, having seated
themselves on the grass, at the foot of the rocks, drew some homely
fare from a wallet, of which Emily tried to eat a little, the better to
disguise her apprehensions.
The sun was now sunk behind the high mountains in the west, upon which
a purple haze began to spread, and the gloom of twilight to draw over
the surrounding objects. To the low and sullen murmur of the breeze,
passing among the woods, she no longer listened with any degree of
pleasure, for it conspired with the wildness of the scene and the
evening hour, to depress her spirits.
Suspense had so much increased her anxiety, as to the prisoner at
Udolpho, that, finding it impracticable to speak alone with Bertrand,
on that subject, she renewed her questions in the presence of Ugo; but
he either was, or pretended to be entirely ignorant, concerning the
stranger. When he had dismissed the question, he talked with Ugo on
some subject, which led to the mention of Signor Orsino and of the
affair that had banished him from Venice; respecting which Emily had
ventured to ask a few questions. Ugo appeared to be well acquainted
with the circumstances of that tragical event, and related some minute
particulars, that both shocked and surprised her; for it appeared very
extraordinary how such particulars could be known to any, but to
persons, present when the assassination was committed.
“He was of rank,” said Bertrand, “or the State would not have troubled
itself to enquire after his assassins. The Signor has been lucky
hitherto; this is not the first affair of the kind he has had upon his
hands; and to be sure, when a gentleman has no other way of getting
redress—why he must take this.”
“Aye,” said Ugo, “and why is not this as good as another? This is the
way to have justice done at once, without more ado. If you go to law,
you must stay till the judges please, and may lose your cause, at last.
Why the best way, then, is to make sure of your right, while you can,
and execute justice yourself.”
“Yes, yes,” rejoined Bertrand, “if you wait till justice is done
you—you may stay long enough. Why if I want a friend of mine properly
served, how am I to get my revenge? Ten to one they will tell me he is
in the right, and I am in the wrong. Or, if a fellow has got possession
of property, which I think ought to be mine, why I may wait, till I
starve, perhaps, before the law will give it me, and then, after all,
the judge may say—the estate is his. What is to be done then?—Why the