The Mysteries of Udolpho
and listened to the steps of the sentinels, as they changed the watch,
only to rejoice, that another hour was gone. “O, Valancourt!” said she,
“after all I have suffered; after our long, long separation, when I
thought I should never—never see you more—we are still to meet again!
O! I have endured grief, and anxiety, and terror, and let me, then, not
sink beneath this joy!” These were moments, when it was impossible for
her to feel emotions of regret, or melancholy, for any ordinary
interests;—even the reflection, that she had resigned the estates,
which would have been a provision for herself and Valancourt for life,
threw only a light and transient shade upon her spirits. The idea of
Valancourt, and that she should see him so soon, alone occupied her
heart.
At length the clock struck twelve; she opened the door to listen, if
any noise was in the castle, and heard only distant shouts of riot and
laughter, echoed feebly along the gallery. She guessed, that the Signor
and his guests were at the banquet. “They are now engaged for the
night,” said she; “and Valancourt will soon be here.” Having softly
closed the door, she paced the room with impatient steps, and often
went to the casement to listen for the lute; but all was silent, and,
her agitation every moment increasing, she was at length unable to
support herself, and sat down by the window. Annette, whom she
detained, was, in the meantime, as loquacious as usual; but Emily heard
scarcely anything she said, and having at length risen to the casement,
she distinguished the chords of the lute, struck with an expressive
hand, and then the voice, she had formerly listened to, accompanied it.
Now rising love they fann’d, now pleasing dole
They breath’d in tender musings through the heart;
And now a graver, sacred strain they stole,
As when seraphic hands a hymn impart!
Emily wept in doubtful joy and tenderness; and, when the strain ceased,
she considered it as a signal, that Valancourt was about to leave the
prison. Soon after, she heard steps in the corridor;—they were the
light, quick steps of hope; she could scarcely support herself, as they
approached, but opening the door of the apartment, she advanced to meet
Valancourt, and, in the next moment, sunk in the arms of a stranger.
His voice—his countenance instantly convinced her, and she fainted
away.
On reviving, she found herself supported by the stranger, who was
watching over her recovery, with a countenance of ineffable tenderness
and anxiety. She had no spirits for reply, or enquiry; she asked no
questions, but burst into tears, and disengaged herself from his arms;
when the expression of his countenance changed to surprise and
disappointment, and he turned to Ludovico, for an explanation; Annette
soon gave the information, which Ludovico could not. “O, sir!” said
she, in a voice, interrupted with sobs; “O, sir! you are not the other
Chevalier. We expected Monsieur Valancourt, but you are not he! O
Ludovico! how could you deceive us so? my poor lady will never recover
it—never!” The stranger, who now appeared much agitated, attempted to
speak, but his words faltered; and then striking his hand against his
forehead, as if in sudden despair, he walked abruptly to the other end
of the corridor.
Suddenly, Annette dried her tears, and spoke to Ludovico. “But,
perhaps,” said she, “after all, the other Chevalier is not this:
perhaps the Chevalier Valancourt is still below.” Emily raised her
head. “No,” replied Ludovico, “Monsieur Valancourt never was below, if
this gentleman is not he.” “If you, sir,” said Ludovico, addressing the
stranger, “would but have had the goodness to trust me with your name,
this mistake had been avoided.” “Most true,” replied the stranger,
speaking in broken Italian, “but it was of the utmost consequence to
me, that my name should be concealed from Montoni. Madam,” added he
then, addressing Emily in French, “will you permit me to apologise for
the pain I have occasioned you, and to explain to you alone my name,
and the circumstance, which has led me into this error? I am of
France;—I am your countryman;—we are met in a foreign land.” Emily
tried to compose her spirits; yet she hesitated to grant his request.
At length, desiring, that Ludovico would wait on the staircase, and
detaining Annette, she told the stranger, that her woman understood
very little Italian, and begged he would communicate what he wished to
say, in that language.—Having withdrawn to a distant part of the
corridor, he said, with a long-drawn sigh, “You, madam, are no stranger
to me, though I am so unhappy as to be unknown to you.—My name is Du
Pont; I am of France, of Gascony, your native province, and have long
admired,—and, why should I affect to disguise it?—have long loved you.”
He paused, but, in the next moment, proceeded. “My family, madam, is
probably not unknown to you, for we lived within a few miles of La
Vallée, and I have, sometimes, had the happiness of meeting you, on
visits in the neighbourhood. I will not offend you by repeating how
much you interested me; how much I loved to wander in the scenes you
frequented; how often I visited your favourite fishing-house, and
lamented the circumstance, which, at that time, forbade me to reveal my
passion. I will not explain how I surrendered to temptation, and became
possessed of a treasure, which was to me inestimable; a treasure, which
I committed to your messenger, a few days ago, with expectations very
different from my present ones. I will say nothing of these
circumstances, for I know they will avail me little; let me only
supplicate from you forgiveness, and the picture, which I so unwarily
returned. Your generosity will pardon the theft, and restore the prize.
My crime has been my punishment; for the portrait I stole has
contributed to nourish a passion, which must still be my torment.”
Emily now interrupted him. “I think, sir, I may leave it to your
integrity to determine, whether, after what has just appeared,
concerning Mons. Valancourt, I ought to return the picture. I think you
will acknowledge, that this would not be generosity; and you will allow
me to add, that it would be doing myself an injustice. I must consider
myself honoured by your good opinion, but”—and she hesitated,—“the
mistake of this evening makes it unnecessary for me to say more.”
“It does, madam,—alas! it does!” said the stranger, who, after a long
pause, proceeded.—“But you will allow me to show my disinterestedness,
though not my love, and will accept the services I offer. Yet, alas!
what services can I offer? I am myself a prisoner, a sufferer, like
you. But, dear as liberty is to me, I would not seek it through half
the hazards I would encounter to deliver you from this recess of vice.
Accept the offered services of a friend; do not refuse me the reward of
having, at least, attempted to deserve your thanks.”
“You deserve them already, sir,” said Emily; “the wish deserves my
warmest thanks. But you will excuse me for reminding you of the danger
you incur by prolonging this interview. It will be a great consolation
to me to remember, whether your friendly attempts to release me succeed
or not, that I have a countryman, who would so generously protect
me.”—Monsieur Du Pont took her hand, which she but feebly attempted to
withdraw, and pressed it respectfully to his lips. “Allow me to breathe
another fervent sigh for your happiness,” said he, “and to applaud
myself for an affection, which I cannot conquer.” As he said this,
Emily heard a noise from her apartment, and, turning round, saw the
door from the staircase open, and a man rush into her chamber. “I will
teach you to conquer it,” cried he, as he advanced into the corridor,
and drew a stiletto, which he aimed at Du Pont, who was unarmed, but
who, stepping back, avoided the blow, and then sprung upon Verezzi,
from whom he wrenched the stiletto. While they struggled in each
other’s grasp, Emily, followed by Annette, ran further into the
corridor, calling on Ludovico, who was, however, gone from the
staircase, and, as she advanced, terrified and uncertain what to do, a
distant noise, that seemed to arise from the hall, reminded her of the
danger she was incurring; and, sending Annette forward in search of
Ludovico, she returned to the spot where Du Pont and Verezzi were still
struggling for victory. It was her own cause which was to be decided
with that of the former, whose conduct, independently of this
circumstance, would, however, have interested her in his success, even
had she not disliked and dreaded Verezzi. She threw herself in a chair,
and supplicated them to desist from further violence, till, at length,
Du Pont forced Verezzi to the floor, where he lay stunned by the
violence of his fall; and she then entreated Du Pont to escape from the
room, before Montoni, or his party, should appear; but he still refused
to leave her unprotected; and, while Emily, now more terrified for him,
than for herself, enforced the entreaty, they heard steps ascending the
private staircase.
“O you are lost!” cried she, “these are Montoni’s people.” Du Pont made
no reply, but supported Emily, while, with a steady, though eager,
countenance, he awaited their appearance, and, in the next moment,
Ludovico, alone, mounted the landing-place. Throwing a hasty glance
round the chamber, “Follow me,” said he, “as you value your lives; we
have not an instant to lose!”
Emily enquired what had occurred, and whither they were to go?
“I cannot stay to tell you now, Signora,” replied Ludovico: “fly! fly!”
She immediately followed him, accompanied by Mons. Du Pont, down the
staircase, and along a vaulted passage, when suddenly she recollected
Annette, and enquired for her. “She awaits us further on, Signora,”
said Ludovico, almost breathless with haste; “the gates were open, a
moment since, to a party just come in from the mountains: they will be
shut, I fear, before we can reach them! Through this door, Signora,”
added Ludovico, holding down the lamp, “take care, here are two steps.”
Emily followed, trembling still more, than before she had understood,
that her escape from the castle, depended upon the present moment;
while Du Pont supported her, and endeavoured, as they passed along, to
cheer her spirits.
“Speak low, Signor,” said Ludovico, “these passages send echoes all
round the castle.”
“Take care of the light,” cried Emily, “you go so fast, that the air
will extinguish it.”
Ludovico now opened another door, where they found Annette, and the
party then descended a short flight of steps into a passage, which,
Ludovico said, led round the inner court of the castle, and opened into
the outer one. As they advanced, confused and tumultuous sounds, that
seemed to come from the inner court, alarmed Emily. “Nay, Signora,”
said Ludovico, “our only hope is in that tumult; while the Signor’s
people are busied about the men, who are just arrived, we may, perhaps,
pass unnoticed through the gates. But hush!” he added, as they
approached the small door, that opened into the outer court, “if you
will remain here a moment, I will go to see whether the gates are open,
and anybody is in the way. Pray extinguish the light, Signor, if you
hear me talking,” continued Ludovico, delivering the lamp to Du Pont,
“and remain quite still.”
Saying this, he stepped out upon the court, and they closed the door,
listening anxiously to his departing steps. No voice, however, was
heard in the court, which he was crossing, though a confusion of many
voices yet issued from the inner one. “We shall soon be beyond the
walls,” said Du Pont softly to Emily, “support yourself a little
longer, Madam, and all will be well.”
But soon they heard Ludovico speaking loud, and the voice also of some