The Mysteries of Udolpho
a rustling sound, and then a low voice, so very near her, that it
seemed close to her ear; but she had presence of mind to check her
emotions, and to remain quite still; in the next moment, she perceived
it to be the voice of Verezzi, who did not appear to know, that she was
there, but to have spoken to himself. “The air is fresher here,” said
he: “this should be the corridor.” Perhaps, he was one of those heroes,
whose courage can defy an enemy better than darkness, and he tried to
rally his spirits with the sound of his own voice. However this might
be, he turned to the right, and proceeded, with the same stealing
steps, towards Emily’s apartment, apparently forgetting, that, in
darkness, she could easily elude his search, even in her chamber; and,
like an intoxicated person, he followed pertinaciously the one idea,
that had possessed his imagination.
The moment she heard his steps steal away, she left her station and
moved softly to the other end of the corridor, determined to trust
again to chance, and to quit it by the first avenue she could find;
but, before she could effect this, light broke upon the walls of the
gallery, and, looking back, she saw Verezzi crossing it towards her
chamber. She now glided into a passage, that opened on the left,
without, as she thought, being perceived; but, in the next instant,
another light, glimmering at the further end of this passage, threw her
into new terror. While she stopped and hesitated which way to go, the
pause allowed her to perceive, that it was Annette, who advanced, and
she hurried to meet her: but her imprudence again alarmed Emily, on
perceiving whom, she burst into a scream of joy, and it was some
minutes, before she could be prevailed with to be silent, or to release
her mistress from the ardent clasp, in which she held her. When, at
length, Emily made Annette comprehend her danger, they hurried towards
Annette’s room, which was in a distant part of the castle. No
apprehensions, however, could yet silence the latter. “Oh dear
ma’amselle,” said she, as they passed along, “what a terrified time
have I had of it! Oh! I thought I should have died a hundred times! I
never thought I should live to see you again! and I never was so glad
to see anybody in my whole life, as I am to see you now.” “Hark!” cried
Emily, “we are pursued; that was the echo of steps!” “No, ma’amselle,”
said Annette, “it was only the echo of a door shutting; sound runs
along these vaulted passages so, that one is continually deceived by
it; if one does but speak, or cough, it makes a noise as loud as a
cannon.” “Then there is the greater necessity for us to be silent,”
said Emily: “pr’ythee say no more, till we reach your chamber.” Here,
at length, they arrived, without interruption, and, Annette having
fastened the door, Emily sat down on her little bed, to recover breath
and composure. To her enquiry, whether Valancourt was among the
prisoners in the castle, Annette replied, that she had not been able to
hear, but that she knew there were several persons confined. She then
proceeded, in her tedious way, to give an account of the siege, or
rather a detail of her terrors and various sufferings, during the
attack. “But,” added she, “when I heard the shouts of victory from the
ramparts, I thought we were all taken, and gave myself up for lost,
instead of which, _we_ had driven the enemy away. I went then to the
north gallery, and saw a great many of them scampering away among the
mountains; but the rampart walls were all in ruins, as one may say, and
there was a dismal sight to see down among the woods below, where the
poor fellows were lying in heaps, but were carried off presently by
their comrades. While the siege was going on, the Signor was here, and
there, and everywhere, at the same time, as Ludovico told me, for he
would not let me see anything hardly, and locked me up, as he has often
done before, in a room in the middle of the castle, and used to bring
me food, and come and talk with me as often as he could; and I must
say, if it had not been for Ludovico, I should have died outright.”
“Well, Annette,” said Emily, “and how have affairs gone on, since the
siege?”
“O! sad hurly-burly doings, ma’amselle,” replied Annette; “the Signors
have done nothing but sit and drink and game, ever since. They sit up,
all night, and play among themselves, for all those riches and fine
things, they brought in, some time since, when they used to go out
a-robbing, or as good, for days together; and then they have dreadful
quarrels about who loses, and who wins. That fierce Signor Verezzi is
always losing, as they tell me, and Signor Orsino wins from him, and
this makes him very wroth, and they have had several hard set-to’s
about it. Then, all those fine ladies are at the castle still; and I
declare I am frighted, whenever I meet any of them in the passages—”
“Surely, Annette,” said Emily starting, “I heard a noise: listen.”
After a long pause, “No, ma’amselle,” said Annette, “it was only the
wind in the gallery; I often hear it, when it shakes the old doors, at
the other end. But won’t you go to bed, ma’amselle? you surely will not
sit up starving, all night.” Emily now laid herself down on the
mattress, and desired Annette to leave the lamp burning on the hearth;
having done which, the latter placed herself beside Emily, who,
however, was not suffered to sleep, for she again thought she heard a
noise from the passage; and Annette was again trying to convince her,
that it was only the wind, when footsteps were distinctly heard near
the door. Annette was now starting from the bed, but Emily prevailed
with her to remain there, and listened with her in a state of terrible
expectation. The steps still loitered at the door, when presently an
attempt was made on the lock, and, in the next instant, a voice called.
“For heaven’s sake, Annette, do not answer,” said Emily softly, “remain
quite still; but I fear we must extinguish the lamp, or its glare will
betray us.” “Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Annette, forgetting her
discretion, “I would not be in darkness now for the whole world.” While
she spoke, the voice became louder than before, and repeated Annette’s
name; “Blessed Virgin!” cried she suddenly, “it is only Ludovico.” She
rose to open the door, but Emily prevented her, till they should be
more certain, that it was he alone; with whom Annette, at length,
talked for some time, and learned, that he was come to enquire after
herself, whom he had let out of her room to go to Emily, and that he
was now returned to lock her in again. Emily, fearful of being
overheard, if they conversed any longer through the door, consented
that it should be opened, and a young man appeared, whose open
countenance confirmed the favourable opinion of him, which his care of
Annette had already prompted her to form. She entreated his protection,
should Verezzi make this requisite; and Ludovico offered to pass the
night in an old chamber, adjoining, that opened from the gallery, and,
on the first alarm, to come to their defence.
Emily was much soothed by this proposal; and Ludovico, having lighted
his lamp, went to his station, while she, once more, endeavoured to
repose on her mattress. But a variety of interests pressed upon her
attention, and prevented sleep. She thought much on what Annette had
told her of the dissolute manners of Montoni and his associates, and
more of his present conduct towards herself, and of the danger, from
which she had just escaped. From the view of her present situation she
shrunk, as from a new picture of terror. She saw herself in a castle,
inhabited by vice and violence, seated beyond the reach of law or
justice, and in the power of a man, whose perseverance was equal to
every occasion, and in whom passions, of which revenge was not the
weakest, entirely supplied the place of principles. She was compelled,
once more, to acknowledge, that it would be folly, and not fortitude,
any longer to dare his power; and, resigning all hopes of future
happiness with Valancourt, she determined, that, on the following
morning, she would compromise with Montoni, and give up her estates, on
condition, that he would permit her immediate return to France. Such
considerations kept her waking for many hours; but, the night passed,
without further alarm from Verezzi.
On the next morning, Emily had a long conversation with Ludovico, in
which she heard circumstances concerning the castle, and received hints
of the designs of Montoni, that considerably increased her alarms. On
expressing her surprise, that Ludovico, who seemed to be so sensible of
the evils of his situation, should continue in it, he informed her,
that it was not his intention to do so, and she then ventured to ask
him, if he would assist her to escape from the castle. Ludovico assured
her of his readiness to attempt this, but strongly represented the
difficulty of the enterprise, and the certain destruction which must
ensue, should Montoni overtake them, before they had passed the
mountains; he, however, promised to be watchful of every circumstance,
that might contribute to the success of the attempt, and to think upon
some plan of departure.
Emily now confided to him the name of Valancourt, and begged he would
enquire for such a person among the prisoners in the castle; for the
faint hope, which this conversation awakened, made her now recede from
her resolution of an immediate compromise with Montoni. She determined,
if possible, to delay this, till she heard further from Ludovico, and,
if his designs were found to be impracticable, to resign the estates at
once. Her thoughts were on this subject, when Montoni, who was now
recovered from the intoxication of the preceding night, sent for her,
and she immediately obeyed the summons. He was alone. “I find,” said
he, “that you were not in your chamber, last night; where were you?”
Emily related to him some circumstances of her alarm, and entreated his
protection from a repetition of them. “You know the terms of my
protection,” said he; “if you really value this, you will secure it.”
His open declaration, that he would only conditionally protect her,
while she remained a prisoner in the castle, showed Emily the necessity
of an immediate compliance with his terms; but she first demanded,
whether he would permit her immediately to depart, if she gave up her
claim to the contested estates. In a very solemn manner he then assured
her, that he would, and immediately laid before her a paper, which was
to transfer the right of those estates to himself.
She was, for a considerable time, unable to sign it, and her heart was
torn with contending interests, for she was about to resign the
happiness of all her future years—the hope, which had sustained her in
so many hours of adversity.
After hearing from Montoni a recapitulation of the conditions of her
compliance, and a remonstrance, that his time was valuable, she put her
hand to the paper; when she had done which, she fell back in her chair,
but soon recovered, and desired, that he would give orders for her
departure, and that he would allow Annette to accompany her. Montoni
smiled. “It was necessary to deceive you,” said he,—“there was no other
way of making you act reasonably; you shall go, but it must not be at
present. I must first secure these estates by possession: when that is
done, you may return to France if you will.”
The deliberate villany, with which he violated the solemn engagement he
had just entered into, shocked Emily as much, as the certainty, that
she had made a fruitless sacrifice, and must still remain his prisoner.
She had no words to express what she felt, and knew, that it would have
been useless, if she had. As she looked piteously at Montoni, he turned