CHAPTER IV
And poor Misfortune feels the lash of Vice. THOMSON
Emily seized the first opportunity of conversing alone with Mons.Quesnel, concerning La Vallee. His answers to her enquiries wereconcise, and delivered with the air of a man, who is conscious ofpossessing absolute power and impatient of hearing it questioned. Hedeclared, that the disposal of the place was a necessary measure; andthat she might consider herself indebted to his prudence for even thesmall income that remained for her. 'But, however,' added he, 'whenthis Venetian Count (I have forgot his name) marries you, your presentdisagreeable state of dependence will cease. As a relation to you Irejoice in the circumstance, which is so fortunate for you, and, I mayadd, so unexpected by your friends.' For some moments Emily was chilledinto silence by this speech; and, when she attempted to undeceive him,concerning the purport of the note she had inclosed in Montoni's letter,he appeared to have some private reason for disbelieving her assertion,and, for a considerable time, persevered in accusing her of capriciousconduct. Being, at length, however, convinced that she really dislikedMorano and had positively rejected his suit, his resentment wasextravagant, and he expressed it in terms equally pointed and inhuman;for, secretly flattered by the prospect of a connection with a nobleman,whose title he had affected to forget, he was incapable of feelingpity for whatever sufferings of his niece might stand in the way of hisambition.
Emily saw at once in his manner all the difficulties, that awaitedher, and, though no oppression could have power to make her renounceValancourt for Morano, her fortitude now trembled at an encounter withthe violent passions of her uncle.
She opposed his turbulence and indignation only by the mild dignity ofa superior mind; but the gentle firmness of her conduct served toexasperate still more his resentment, since it compelled him to feelhis own inferiority, and, when he left her, he declared, that, if shepersisted in her folly, both himself and Montoni would abandon her tothe contempt of the world.
The calmness she had assumed in his presence failed Emily, when alone,and she wept bitterly, and called frequently upon the name of herdeparted father, whose advice to her from his death-bed she thenremembered. 'Alas!' said she, 'I do indeed perceive how much morevaluable is the strength of fortitude than the grace of sensibility,and I will also endeavour to fulfil the promise I then made; I willnot indulge in unavailing lamentation, but will try to endure, withfirmness, the oppression I cannot elude.'
Somewhat soothed by the consciousness of performing a part of St.Aubert's last request, and of endeavouring to pursue the conduct whichhe would have approved, she overcame her tears, and, when the companymet at dinner, had recovered her usual serenity of countenance.
In the cool of the evening, the ladies took the FRESCO along the bank ofthe Brenta in Madame Quesnel's carriage. The state of Emily's mind wasin melancholy contrast with the gay groups assembled beneath the shadesthat overhung this enchanting stream. Some were dancing under the trees,and others reclining on the grass, taking ices and coffee and calmlyenjoying the effect of a beautiful evening, on a luxuriant landscape.Emily, when she looked at the snow-capt Apennines, ascending in thedistance, thought of Montoni's castle, and suffered some terror, lest heshould convey her thither, for the purpose of enforcing her obedience;but the thought vanished, when she considered, that she was as much inhis power at Venice as she could be elsewhere.
It was moonlight before the party returned to the villa, where supperwas spread in the airy hall, which had so much enchanted Emily's fancy,on the preceding night. The ladies seated themselves in the portico,till Mons. Quesnel, Montoni, and other gentlemen should join them attable, and Emily endeavoured to resign herself to the tranquillity ofthe hour. Presently, a barge stopped at the steps that led into thegardens, and, soon after, she distinguished the voices of Montoni andQuesnel, and then that of Morano, who, in the next moment, appeared. Hiscompliments she received in silence, and her cold air seemed at first todiscompose him; but he soon recovered his usual gaiety of manner,though the officious kindness of M. and Madame Quesnel Emily perceiveddisgusted him. Such a degree of attention she had scarcely believedcould be shewn by M. Quesnel, for she had never before seen himotherwise than in the presence of his inferiors or equals.
When she could retire to her own apartment, her mind almostinvoluntarily dwelt on the most probable means of prevailing with theCount to withdraw his suit, and to her liberal mind none appeared moreprobable, than that of acknowledging to him a prior attachment andthrowing herself upon his generosity for a release. When, however,on the following day, he renewed his addresses, she shrunk from theadoption of the plan she had formed. There was something so repugnant toher just pride, in laying open the secret of her heart to such a manas Morano, and in suing to him for compassion, that she impatientlyrejected this design and wondered, that she could have paused uponit for a moment. The rejection of his suit she repeated in the mostdecisive terms she could select, mingling with it a severe censureof his conduct; but, though the Count appeared mortified by this, hepersevered in the most ardent professions of admiration, till he wasinterrupted and Emily released by the presence of Madame Quesnel.
During her stay at this pleasant villa, Emily was thus renderedmiserable by the assiduities of Morano, together with the cruellyexerted authority of M. Quesnel and Montoni, who, with her aunt, seemednow more resolutely determined upon this marriage than they had evenappeared to be at Venice. M. Quesnel, finding, that both argument andmenace were ineffectual in enforcing an immediate conclusion to it, atlength relinquished his endeavours, and trusted to the power of Montoniand to the course of events at Venice. Emily, indeed, looked to Venicewith hope, for there she would be relieved in some measure from thepersecution of Morano, who would no longer be an inhabitant of the samehouse with herself, and from that of Montoni, whose engagements wouldnot permit him to be continually at home. But amidst the pressure of herown misfortunes, she did not forget those of poor Theresa, for whom shepleaded with courageous tenderness to Quesnel, who promised, in slightand general terms, that she should not be forgotten.
Montoni, in a long conversation with M. Quesnel, arranged the plan tobe pursued respecting Emily, and M. Quesnel proposed to be at Venice, assoon as he should be informed, that the nuptials were concluded.
It was new to Emily to part with any person, with whom she wasconnected, without feeling of regret; the moment, however, in which shetook leave of M. and Madame Quesnel, was, perhaps, the only satisfactoryone she had known in their presence.
Morano returned in Montoni's barge, and Emily, as she watched hergradual approach to that magic city, saw at her side the only person,who occasioned her to view it with less than perfect delight. Theyarrived there about midnight, when Emily was released from the presenceof the Count, who, with Montoni, went to a Casino, and she was sufferedto retire to her own apartment.
On the following day, Montoni, in a short conversation, which he heldwith Emily, informed her, that he would no longer be TRIFLED with, andthat, since her marriage with the Count would be so highly advantageousto her, that folly only could object to it, and folly of such extentas was incapable of conviction, it should be celebrated without furtherdelay, and, if that was necessary, without her consent.
Emily, who had hitherto tried remonstrance, had now recourse tosupplication, for distress prevented her from foreseeing, that, with aman of Montoni's disposition, supplication would be equally useless. Sheafterwards enquired by what right he exerted this unlimited authorityover her? a question, which her better judgment would have with-heldher, in a calmer moment, from making, since it could avail her nothing,and would afford Montoni another opportunity of triumphing over herdefenceless condition.
'By what right!' cried Montoni, with a malicious smile, 'by the right ofmy will; if you can elude that, I will not inquire by what right you doso. I now remind you, for the last time, that you are a stranger, in aforeign country, and that it is your interest to make me your friend;you know the means; if you compel me to b
ecome your enemy--I willventure to tell you, that the punishment shall exceed your expectation.You may know _I_ am not to be trifled with.'
Emily continued, for some time after Montoni had left her, in a state ofdespair, or rather stupefaction; a consciousness of misery was all thatremained in her mind. In this situation Madame Montoni found her, at thesound of whose voice Emily looked up, and her aunt, somewhat softened bythe expression of despair, that fixed her countenance, spoke in a mannermore kind than she had ever yet done. Emily's heart was touched; sheshed tears, and, after weeping for some time, recovered sufficientcomposure to speak on the subject of her distress, and to endeavour tointerest Madame Montoni in her behalf. But, though the compassion of heraunt had been surprised, her ambition was not to be overcome, andher present object was to be the aunt of a Countess. Emily's efforts,therefore, were as unsuccessful as they had been with Montoni, and shewithdrew to her apartment to think and weep alone. How often did sheremember the parting scene with Valancourt, and wish, that the Italianhad mentioned Montoni's character with less reserve! When her mind,however, had recovered from the first shock of this behaviour, sheconsidered, that it would be impossible for him to compel her alliancewith Morano, if she persisted in refusing to repeat any part of themarriage ceremony; and she persevered in her resolution to awaitMontoni's threatened vengeance rather than give herself for life to aman, whom she must have despised for his present conduct, had she nevereven loved Valancourt; yet she trembled at the revenge she thus resolvedto brave.
An affair, however, soon after occurred, which somewhat called offMontoni's attention from Emily. The mysterious visits of Orsino wererenewed with more frequency since the return of the former to Venice.There were others, also, besides Orsino, admitted to these midnightcouncils, and among them Cavigni and Verezzi. Montoni became morereserved and austere in his manner than ever; and Emily, if her owninterests had not made her regardless of his, might have perceived, thatsomething extraordinary was working in his mind.
One night, on which a council was not held, Orsino came in greatagitation of spirits, and dispatched his confidential servant toMontoni, who was at a Casino, desiring that he would return homeimmediately; but charging the servant not to mention his name. Montoniobeyed the summons, and, on meeting Orsino, was informed of thecircumstances, that occasioned his visit and his visible alarm, with apart of which he was already acquainted.
A Venetian nobleman, who had, on some late occasion, provoked the hatredof Orsino, had been way-laid and poniarded by hired assassins: and, asthe murdered person was of the first connections, the Senate hadtaken up the affair. One of the assassins was now apprehended, who hadconfessed, that Orsino was his employer in the atrocious deed; and thelatter, informed of his danger, had now come to Montoni to consult onthe measures necessary to favour his escape. He knew, that, at thistime, the officers of the police were upon the watch for him, all overthe city; to leave it, at present, therefore, was impracticable, andMontoni consented to secrete him for a few days till the vigilance ofjustice should relax, and then to assist him in quitting Venice. He knewthe danger he himself incurred by permitting Orsino to remain in hishouse, but such was the nature of his obligations to this man, that hedid not think it prudent to refuse him an asylum.
Such was the person whom Montoni had admitted to his confidence, and forwhom he felt as much friendship as was compatible with his character.
While Orsino remained concealed in his house, Montoni was unwilling toattract public observation by the nuptials of Count Morano; but thisobstacle was, in a few days, overcome by the departure of his criminalvisitor, and he then informed Emily, that her marriage was to becelebrated on the following morning. To her repeated assurances, thatit should not take place, he replied only by a malignant smile; and,telling her that the Count and a priest would be at his house, earlyin the morning, he advised her no further to dare his resentment, byopposition to his will and to her own interest. 'I am now going out forthe evening,' said he, 'remember, that I shall give your hand to CountMorano in the morning.' Emily, having, ever since his late threats,expected, that her trials would at length arrive to this crisis, wasless shocked by the declaration, that she otherwise would have been,and she endeavoured to support herself by the belief, that the marriagecould not be valid, so long as she refused before the priest to repeatany part of the ceremony. Yet, as the moment of trial approached, herlong-harassed spirits shrunk almost equally from the encounter of hisvengeance, and from the hand of Count Morano. She was not even perfectlycertain of the consequence of her steady refusal at the altar, andshe trembled, more than ever, at the power of Montoni, which seemedunlimited as his will, for she saw, that he would not scruple totransgress any law, if, by so doing, he could accomplish his project.
While her mind was thus suffering and in a state little short ofdistraction, she was informed that Morano asked permission to seeher, and the servant had scarcely departed with an excuse, before sherepented that she had sent one. In the next moment, reverting toher former design, and determining to try, whether expostulation andentreaty would not succeed, where a refusal and a just disdain hadfailed, she recalled the servant, and, sending a different message,prepared to go down to the Count.
The dignity and assumed composure with which she met him, and thekind of pensive resignation, that softened her countenance, werecircumstances not likely to induce him to relinquish her, serving,as they did, to heighten a passion, which had already intoxicated hisjudgment. He listened to all she said with an appearance of complacencyand of a wish to oblige her; but his resolution remained invariably thesame, and he endeavoured to win her admiration by every insinuating arthe so well knew how to practise. Being, at length, assured, that shehad nothing to hope from his justice, she repeated, in a solemn andimpressive manner, her absolute rejection of his suit, and quitted himwith an assurance, that her refusal would be effectually maintainedagainst every circumstance, that could be imagined for subduing it. Ajust pride had restrained her tears in his presence, but now they flowedfrom the fulness of her heart. She often called upon the name of herlate father, and often dwelt with unutterable anguish on the idea ofValancourt.
She did not go down to supper, but remained alone in her apartment,sometimes yielding to the influence of grief and terror, and, at others,endeavouring to fortify her mind against them, and to prepare herselfto meet, with composed courage, the scene of the following morning, whenall the stratagem of Morano and the violence of Montoni would be unitedagainst her.
The evening was far advanced, when Madame Montoni came to her chamberwith some bridal ornaments, which the Count had sent to Emily. Shehad, this day, purposely avoided her niece; perhaps, because her usualinsensibility failed her, and she feared to trust herself with a view ofEmily's distress; or possibly, though her conscience was seldom audible,it now reproached her with her conduct to her brother's orphan child,whose happiness had been entrusted to her care by a dying father.
Emily could not look at these presents, and made a last, though almosthopeless, effort to interest the compassion of Madame Montoni, who, ifshe did feel any degree of pity, or remorse, successfully concealed it,and reproached her niece with folly in being miserable, concerning amarriage, which ought only to make her happy. 'I am sure,' said she, 'ifI was unmarried, and the Count had proposed to me, I should have beenflattered by the distinction: and if I should have been so, I am sure,niece, you, who have no fortune, ought to feel yourself highly honoured,and shew a proper gratitude and humility towards the Count, for hiscondescension. I am often surprised, I must own, to observe how humblyhe deports himself to you, notwithstanding the haughty airs you giveyourself; I wonder he has patience to humour you so: if I was he,I know, I should often be ready to reprehend you, and make you knowyourself a little better. I would not have flattered you, I can tellyou, for it is this absurd flattery that makes you fancy yourself ofso much consequence, that you think nobody can deserve you, and I oftentell the Count so, for I have no patience to hear him pay you suchextrav
agant compliments, which you believe every word of!'
'Your patience, madam, cannot suffer more cruelly on such occasions,than my own,' said Emily.
'O! that is all mere affectation,' rejoined her aunt. 'I know that hisflattery delights you, and makes you so vain, that you think you mayhave the whole world at your feet. But you are very much mistaken; Ican assure you, niece, you will not meet with many such suitors as theCount: every other person would have turned upon his heel, and left youto repent at your leisure, long ago.'
'O that the Count had resembled every other person, then!' said Emily,with a heavy sigh.
'It is happy for you, that he does not,' rejoined Madame Montoni;'and what I am now saying is from pure kindness. I am endeavouring toconvince you of your good fortune, and to persuade you to submit tonecessity with a good grace. It is nothing to me, you know, whether youlike this marriage or not, for it must be; what I say, therefore, isfrom pure kindness. I wish to see you happy, and it is your own fault ifyou are not so. I would ask you, now, seriously and calmly, what kind ofa match you can expect, since a Count cannot content your ambition?'
'I have no ambition whatever, madam,' replied Emily, 'my only wish is toremain in my present station.'
'O! that is speaking quite from the purpose,' said her aunt, 'I seeyou are still thinking of Mons. Valancourt. Pray get rid of allthose fantastic notions about love, and this ridiculous pride, and besomething like a reasonable creature. But, however, this is nothing tothe purpose--for your marriage with the Count takes place tomorrow, youknow, whether you approve it or not. The Count will be trifled with nolonger.'
Emily made no attempt to reply to this curious speech; she felt itwould be mean, and she knew it would be useless. Madame Montoni laid theCount's presents upon the table, on which Emily was leaning, and then,desiring she would be ready early in the morning, bade her good-night.'Good-night, madam,' said Emily, with a deep sigh, as the door closedupon her aunt, and she was left once more to her own sad reflections.For some time she sat so lost in thought, as to be wholly unconsciouswhere she was; at length, raising her head, and looking round the room,its gloom and profound stillness awed her. She fixed her eyes on thedoor, through which her aunt had disappeared, and listened anxiously forsome sound, that might relieve the deep dejection of her spirits; but itwas past midnight, and all the family except the servant, who sat up forMontoni, had retired to bed. Her mind, long harassed by distress, nowyielded to imaginary terrors; she trembled to look into the obscurityof her spacious chamber, and feared she knew not what; a state of mind,which continued so long, that she would have called up Annette, heraunt's woman, had her fears permitted her to rise from her chair, and tocross the apartment.
These melancholy illusions at length began to disperse, and she retiredto her bed, not to sleep, for that was scarcely possible, but to try, atleast, to quiet her disturbed fancy, and to collect strength of spiritssufficient to bear her through the scene of the approaching morning.