The Mysteries of Udolpho
either to detain her a prisoner, or to take away her life.
They were now arrived at the gates, where Bertrand, observing the light
glimmer through a small casement of the portal-chamber, called aloud;
and the soldier, looking out, demanded who was there. “Here, I have
brought you a prisoner,” said Ugo, “open the gate, and let us in.”
“Tell me first who it is, that demands entrance,” replied the soldier.
“What! my old comrade,” cried Ugo, “don’t you know me? not know Ugo? I
have brought home a prisoner here, bound hand and foot—a fellow, who
has been drinking Tuscany wine, while we here have been fighting.”
“You will not rest till you meet with your match,” said Bertrand
sullenly. “Hah! my comrade, is it you?” said the soldier—“I’ll be with
you directly.”
Emily presently heard his steps descending the stairs within, and then
the heavy chain fall, and the bolts undraw of a small postern door,
which he opened to admit the party. He held the lamp low, to show the
step of the gate, and she found herself once more beneath the gloomy
arch, and heard the door close, that seemed to shut her from the world
for ever. In the next moment, she was in the first court of the castle,
where she surveyed the spacious and solitary area, with a kind of calm
despair; while the dead hour of the night, the gothic gloom of the
surrounding buildings, and the hollow and imperfect echoes, which they
returned, as Ugo and the soldier conversed together, assisted to
increase the melancholy forebodings of her heart. Passing on to the
second court, a distant sound broke feebly on the silence, and
gradually swelling louder, as they advanced, Emily distinguished voices
of revelry and laughter, but they were to her far other than sounds of
joy. “Why, you have got some Tuscany wine among you, _here_,” said
Bertrand, “if one may judge by the uproar that is going forward. Ugo
has taken a larger share of that than of fighting, I’ll be sworn. Who
is carousing at this late hour?”
“His _Excellenza_ and the Signors,” replied the soldier: “it is a sign
you are a stranger at the castle, or you would not need to ask the
question. They are brave spirits, that do without sleep—they generally
pass the night in good cheer; would that we, who keep the watch, had a
little of it! It is cold work, pacing the ramparts so many hours of the
night, if one has no good liquor to warm one’s heart.”
“Courage, my lad, courage ought to warm your heart,” said Ugo.
“Courage!” replied the soldier sharply, with a menacing air, which Ugo
perceiving, prevented his saying more, by returning to the subject of
the carousal. “This is a new custom,” said he; “when I left the castle,
the Signors used to sit up counselling.”
“Aye, and for that matter, carousing too,” replied the soldier, “but,
since the siege, they have done nothing but make merry: and if I was
they, I would settle accounts with myself, for all my hard fighting,
the same way.”
They had now crossed the second court, and reached the hall door, when
the soldier, bidding them good night, hastened back to his post; and,
while they waited for admittance, Emily considered how she might avoid
seeing Montoni, and retire unnoticed to her former apartment, for she
shrunk from the thought of encountering either him, or any of his
party, at this hour. The uproar within the castle was now so loud,
that, though Ugo knocked repeatedly at the hall door, he was not heard
by any of the servants, a circumstance, which increased Emily’s alarm,
while it allowed her time to deliberate on the means of retiring
unobserved; for, though she might, perhaps, pass up the great staircase
unseen, it was impossible she could find the way to her chamber,
without a light, the difficulty of procuring which, and the danger of
wandering about the castle, without one, immediately struck her.
Bertrand had only a torch, and she knew, that the servants never
brought a taper to the door, for the hall was sufficiently lighted by
the large tripod lamp, which hung in the vaulted roof; and, while she
should wait till Annette could bring a taper, Montoni, or some of his
companions, might discover her.
The door was now opened by Carlo; and Emily, having requested him to
send Annette immediately with a light to the great gallery, where she
determined to await her, passed on with hasty steps towards the
staircase; while Bertrand and Ugo, with the torch, followed old Carlo
to the servants’ hall, impatient for supper and the warm blaze of a
wood fire. Emily, lighted only by the feeble rays, which the lamp above
threw between the arches of this extensive hall, endeavoured to find
her way to the staircase, now hid in obscurity; while the shouts of
merriment, that burst from a remote apartment, served, by heightening
her terror, to increase her perplexity, and she expected, every
instant, to see the door of that room open, and Montoni and his
companions issue forth. Having, at length, reached the staircase, and
found her way to the top, she seated herself on the last stair, to
await the arrival of Annette; for the profound darkness of the gallery
deterred her from proceeding farther, and, while she listened for her
footstep, she heard only distant sounds of revelry, which rose in
sullen echoes from among the arcades below. Once she thought she heard
a low sound from the dark gallery behind her; and, turning her eyes,
fancied she saw something luminous move in it; and, since she could
not, at this moment, subdue the weakness that caused her fears, she
quitted her seat, and crept softly down a few stairs lower.
Annette not yet appearing, Emily now concluded, that she was gone to
bed, and that nobody chose to call her up; and the prospect, that
presented itself, of passing the night in darkness, in this place, or
in some other equally forlorn (for she knew it would be impracticable
to find her way through the intricacies of the galleries to her
chamber), drew tears of mingled terror and despondency from her eyes.
While thus she sat, she fancied she heard again an odd sound from the
gallery, and she listened, scarcely daring to breathe, but the
increasing voices below overcame every other sound. Soon after, she
heard Montoni and his companions burst into the hall, who spoke, as if
they were much intoxicated, and seemed to be advancing towards the
staircase. She now remembered, that they must come this way to their
chambers, and, forgetting all the terrors of the gallery, hurried
towards it with an intention of secreting herself in some of the
passages, that opened beyond, and of endeavouring, when the Signors
were retired, to find her way to her own room, or to that of Annette,
which was in a remote part of the castle.
With extended arms, she crept along the gallery, still hearing the
voices of persons below, who seemed to stop in conversation at the foot
of the staircase, and then pausing for a moment to listen, half fearful
of going further into the darkness of the gallery, where she still
imagined, from the noise she had heard, that some person was lurking,
“They are already informed of my arrival,” said she, “and Montoni is
coming himself to seek me! In the present state of his mind, his
purpose must be desperate.” Then, recollecting the scene, that had
passed in the corridor, on the night preceding her departure from the
castle, “O Valancourt!” said she, “I must then resign you for ever. To
brave any longer the injustice of Montoni, would not be fortitude, but
rashness.” Still the voices below did not draw nearer, but they became
louder, and she distinguished those of Verezzi and Bertolini above the
rest, while the few words she caught made her listen more anxiously for
others. The conversation seemed to concern herself; and, having
ventured to step a few paces nearer to the staircase, she discovered,
that they were disputing about her, each seeming to claim some former
promise of Montoni, who appeared, at first, inclined to appease and to
persuade them to return to their wine, but afterwards to be weary of
the dispute, and, saying that he left them to settle it as they could,
was returning with the rest of the party to the apartment he had just
quitted. Verezzi then stopped him. “Where is she? Signor,” said he, in
a voice of impatience: “tell us where she is.” “I have already told you
that I do not know,” replied Montoni, who seemed to be somewhat
overcome with wine; “but she is most probably gone to her apartment.”
Verezzi and Bertolini now desisted from their enquiries, and sprang to
the staircase together, while Emily, who, during this discourse, had
trembled so excessively, that she had with difficulty supported
herself, seemed inspired with new strength, the moment she heard the
sound of their steps, and ran along the gallery, dark as it was, with
the fleetness of a fawn. But, long before she reached its extremity,
the light, which Verezzi carried, flashed upon the walls; both
appeared, and, instantly perceiving Emily, pursued her. At this moment,
Bertolini, whose steps, though swift, were not steady, and whose
impatience overcame what little caution he had hitherto used, stumbled,
and fell at his length. The lamp fell with him, and was presently
expiring on the floor; but Verezzi, regardless of saving it, seized the
advantage this accident gave him over his rival, and followed Emily, to
whom, however, the light had shown one of the passages that branched
from the gallery, and she instantly turned into it. Verezzi could just
discern the way she had taken, and this he pursued; but the sound of
her steps soon sunk in distance, while he, less acquainted with the
passage, was obliged to proceed through the dark, with caution, lest he
should fall down a flight of steps, such as in this extensive old
castle frequently terminated an avenue. This passage at length brought
Emily to the corridor, into which her own chamber opened, and, not
hearing any footstep, she paused to take breath, and consider what was
the safest design to be adopted. She had followed this passage, merely
because it was the first that appeared, and now that she had reached
the end of it, was as perplexed as before. Whither to go, or how
further to find her way in the dark, she knew not; she was aware only
that she must not seek her apartment, for there she would certainly be
sought, and her danger increased every instant, while she remained near
it. Her spirits and her breath, however, were so much exhausted, that
she was compelled to rest, for a few minutes, at the end of the
passage, and still she heard no steps approaching. As thus she stood,
light glimmered under an opposite door of the gallery, and, from its
situation, she knew, that it was the door of that mysterious chamber,
where she had made a discovery so shocking, that she never remembered
it but with the utmost horror. That there should be light in this
chamber, and at this hour, excited her strong surprise, and she felt a
momentary terror concerning it, which did not permit her to look again,
for her spirits were now in such a state of weakness, that she almost
expected to see the door slowly open, and some horrible object appear
at it. Still she listened for a step along the passage, and looked up
it, where, not a ray of light appearing, she concluded, that Verezzi
had gone back for the lamp; and, believing that he would shortly be
there, she again considered which way she should go, or rather which
way she could find in the dark.
A faint ray still glimmered under the opposite door, but so great, and,
perhaps, so just was her horror of that chamber, that she would not
again have tempted its secrets, though she had been certain of
obtaining the light so important to her safety. She was still breathing
with difficulty, and resting at the end of the passage, when she heard