Read The Mysteries of Udolpho Page 33


  CHAPTER VIII

  My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small, To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken. RICHARD II

  We now return, for a moment, to Venice, where Count Morano was sufferingunder an accumulation of misfortunes. Soon after his arrival in thatcity, he had been arrested by order of the Senate, and, without knowingof what he was suspected, was conveyed to a place of confinement,whither the most strenuous enquiries of his friends had been unable totrace him. Who the enemy was, that had occasioned him this calamity, hehad not been able to guess, unless, indeed, it was Montoni, on whom hissuspicions rested, and not only with much apparent probability, but withjustice.

  In the affair of the poisoned cup, Montoni had suspected Morano; but,being unable to obtain the degree of proof, which was necessary toconvict him of a guilty intention, he had recourse to means of otherrevenge, than he could hope to obtain by prosecution. He employeda person, in whom he believed he might confide, to drop a letter ofaccusation into the DENUNZIE SECRETE, or lions' mouths, which arefixed in a gallery of the Doge's palace, as receptacles for anonymousinformation, concerning persons, who may be disaffected towards thestate. As, on these occasions, the accuser is not confronted with theaccused, a man may falsely impeach his enemy, and accomplish an unjustrevenge, without fear of punishment, or detection. That Montoni shouldhave recourse to these diabolical means of ruining a person, whom hesuspected of having attempted his life, is not in the least surprising.In the letter, which he had employed as the instrument of his revenge,he accused Morano of designs against the state, which he attempted toprove, with all the plausible simplicity of which he was master; andthe Senate, with whom a suspicion was, at that time, almost equal toa proof, arrested the Count, in consequence of this accusation; and,without even hinting to him his crime, threw him into one of thosesecret prisons, which were the terror of the Venetians, and in whichpersons often languished, and sometimes died, without being discoveredby their friends.

  Morano had incurred the personal resentment of many members of thestate; his habits of life had rendered him obnoxious to some; and hisambition, and the bold rivalship, which he discovered, on several publicoccasions,--to others; and it was not to be expected, that mercy wouldsoften the rigour of a law, which was to be dispensed from the hands ofhis enemies.

  Montoni, meantime, was beset by dangers of another kind. His castlewas besieged by troops, who seemed willing to dare every thing, and tosuffer patiently any hardships in pursuit of victory. The strengthof the fortress, however, withstood their attack, and this, with thevigorous defence of the garrison and the scarcity of provision on thesewild mountains, soon compelled the assailants to raise the siege.

  When Udolpho was once more left to the quiet possession of Montoni,he dispatched Ugo into Tuscany for Emily, whom he had sent fromconsiderations of her personal safety, to a place of greater security,than a castle, which was, at that time, liable to be overrun by hisenemies. Tranquillity being once more restored to Udolpho, he wasimpatient to secure her again under his roof, and had commissioned Ugoto assist Bertrand in guarding her back to the castle. Thus compelled toreturn, Emily bade the kind Maddelina farewell, with regret, and,after about a fortnight's stay in Tuscany, where she had experiencedan interval of quiet, which was absolutely necessary to sustain herlong-harassed spirits, began once more to ascend the Apennines, fromwhose heights she gave a long and sorrowful look to the beautifulcountry, that extended at their feet, and to the distant Mediterranean,whose waves she had so often wished would bear her back to France.The distress she felt, on her return towards the place of her formersufferings, was, however, softened by a conjecture, that Valancourt wasthere, and she found some degree of comfort in the thought of being nearhim, notwithstanding the consideration, that he was probably a prisoner.

  It was noon, when she had left the cottage, and the evening was closed,long before she came within the neighbourhood of Udolpho. There was amoon, but it shone only at intervals, for the night was cloudy, and,lighted by the torch, which Ugo carried, the travellers paced silentlyalong, Emily musing on her situation, and Bertrand and Ugo anticipatingthe comforts of a flask of wine and a good fire, for they had perceivedfor some time the difference between the warm climate of the lowlandsof Tuscany and the nipping air of these upper regions. Emily was, atlength, roused from her reverie by the far-off sound of the castleclock, to which she listened not without some degree of awe, as itrolled away on the breeze. Another and another note succeeded, and diedin sullen murmur among the mountains:--to her mournful imagination itseemed a knell measuring out some fateful period for her.

  'Aye, there is the old clock,' said Bertrand, 'there he is still; thecannon have not silenced him!'

  'No,' answered Ugo, 'he crowed as loud as the best of them in the midstof it all. There he was roaring out in the hottest fire I have seen thismany a day! I said that some of them would have a hit at the old fellow,but he escaped, and the tower too.'

  The road winding round the base of a mountain, they now came within viewof the castle, which was shewn in the perspective of the valley by agleam of moon-shine, and then vanished in shade; while even a transientview of it had awakened the poignancy of Emily's feelings. Its massy andgloomy walls gave her terrible ideas of imprisonment and suffering:yet, as she advanced, some degree of hope mingled with her terror; for,though this was certainly the residence of Montoni, it was possibly,also, that of Valancourt, and she could not approach a place, where hemight be, without experiencing somewhat of the joy of hope.

  They continued to wind along the valley, and, soon after, she saw againthe old walls and moon-lit towers, rising over the woods: the strongrays enabled her, also, to perceive the ravages, which the siege hadmade,--with the broken walls, and shattered battlements, for they werenow at the foot of the steep, on which Udolpho stood. Massy fragmentshad rolled down among the woods, through which the travellers now beganto ascend, and there mingled with the loose earth, and pieces of rockthey had brought with them. The woods, too, had suffered much from thebatteries above, for here the enemy had endeavoured to screen themselvesfrom the fire of the ramparts. Many noble trees were levelled with theground, and others, to a wide extent, were entirely stripped of theirupper branches. 'We had better dismount,' said Ugo, 'and lead the mulesup the hill, or we shall get into some of the holes, which the ballshave left. Here are plenty of them. Give me the torch,' continued Ugo,after they had dismounted, 'and take care you don't stumble over anything, that lies in your way, for the ground is not yet cleared of theenemy.'

  'How!' exclaimed Emily, 'are any of the enemy here, then?'

  'Nay, I don't know for that, now,' he replied, 'but when I came away Isaw one or two of them lying under the trees.'

  As they proceeded, the torch threw a gloomy light upon the ground, andfar among the recesses of the woods, and Emily feared to look forward,lest some object of horror should meet her eye. The path was oftenstrewn with broken heads of arrows, and with shattered remains ofarmour, such as at that period was mingled with the lighter dress of thesoldiers. 'Bring the light hither,' said Bertrand, 'I have stumbled oversomething, that rattles loud enough.' Ugo holding up the torch, theyperceived a steel breastplate on the ground, which Bertrand raised, andthey saw, that it was pierced through, and that the lining was entirelycovered with blood; but upon Emily's earnest entreaties, that they wouldproceed, Bertrand, uttering some joke upon the unfortunate person, towhom it had belonged, threw it hard upon the ground, and they passed on.

  At every step she took, Emily feared to see some vestige of death.Coming soon after to an opening in the woods, Bertrand stopped to surveythe ground, which was encumbered with massy trunks and branches of thetrees, that had so lately adorned it, and seemed to have been a spotparticularly fatal to the besiegers; for it was evident from thedestruction of the trees, that here the hottest fire of the garrisonhad been directed. As Ugo held again forth the torch, steel glitteredbetween the fallen trees; the ground beneath was c
overed with brokenarms, and with the torn vestments of soldiers, whose mangled formsEmily almost expected to see; and she again entreated her companions toproceed, who were, however, too intent in their examination, to regardher, and she turned her eyes from this desolated scene to the castleabove, where she observed lights gliding along the ramparts. Presently,the castle clock struck twelve, and then a trumpet sounded, of whichEmily enquired the occasion.

  'O! they are only changing watch,' replied Ugo. 'I do not rememberthis trumpet,' said Emily, 'it is a new custom.' 'It is only an old onerevived, lady; we always use it in time of war. We have sounded it, atmidnight, ever since the place was besieged.'

  'Hark!' said Emily, as the trumpet sounded again; and, in the nextmoment, she heard a faint clash of arms, and then the watchword passedalong the terrace above, and was answered from a distant part of thecastle; after which all was again still. She complained of cold, andbegged to go on. 'Presently, lady,' said Bertrand, turning over somebroken arms with the pike he usually carried. 'What have we here?'

  'Hark!' cried Emily, 'what noise was that?'

  'What noise was it?' said Ugo, starting up and listening.

  'Hush!' repeated Emily. 'It surely came from the ramparts above:' and,on looking up, they perceived a light moving along the walls, while,in the next instant, the breeze swelling, the voice sounded louder thanbefore.

  'Who goes yonder?' cried a sentinel of the castle. 'Speak or it will beworse for you.' Bertrand uttered a shout of joy. 'Hah! my brave comrade,is it you?' said he, and he blew a shrill whistle, which signal wasanswered by another from the soldier on watch; and the party, thenpassing forward, soon after emerged from the woods upon the broken road,that led immediately to the castle gates, and Emily saw, with renewedterror, the whole of that stupendous structure. 'Alas!' said she toherself, 'I am going again into my prison!'

  'Here has been warm work, by St. Marco!' cried Bertrand, waving atorch over the ground; 'the balls have torn up the earth here with avengeance.'

  'Aye,' replied Ugo, 'they were fired from that redoubt, yonder, andrare execution they did. The enemy made a furious attack upon the greatgates; but they might have guessed they could never carry it there; for,besides the cannon from the walls, our archers, on the two round towers,showered down upon them at such a rate, that, by holy Peter! there wasno standing it. I never saw a better sight in my life; I laughed,till my sides aked, to see how the knaves scampered. Bertrand, my goodfellow, thou shouldst have been among them; I warrant thou wouldst havewon the race!'

  'Hah! you are at your old tricks again,' said Bertrand in a surly tone.'It is well for thee thou art so near the castle; thou knowest I havekilled my man before now.' Ugo replied only by a laugh, and then gavesome further account of the siege, to which as Emily listened, she wasstruck by the strong contrast of the present scene with that which hadso lately been acted here.

  The mingled uproar of cannon, drums, and trumpets, the groans of theconquered, and the shouts of the conquerors were now sunk into a silenceso profound, that it seemed as if death had triumphed alike over thevanquished and the victor. The shattered condition of one of the towersof the great gates by no means confirmed the VALIANT account just givenby Ugo of the scampering party, who, it was evident, had not only madea stand, but had done much mischief before they took to flight; for thistower appeared, as far as Emily could judge by the dim moon-lightthat fell upon it, to be laid open, and the battlements were nearlydemolished. While she gazed, a light glimmered through one of the lowerloop-holes, and disappeared; but, in the next moment, she perceivedthrough the broken wall, a soldier, with a lamp, ascending the narrowstaircase, that wound within the tower, and, remembering that it was thesame she had passed up, on the night, when Barnardine had deluded herwith a promise of seeing Madame Montoni, fancy gave her somewhat ofthe terror she had then suffered. She was now very near the gates, overwhich the soldier having opened the door of the portal-chamber, the lamphe carried gave her a dusky view of that terrible apartment, and shealmost sunk under the recollected horrors of the moment, when she haddrawn aside the curtain, and discovered the object it was meant toconceal.

  'Perhaps,' said she to herself, 'it is now used for a similar purpose;perhaps, that soldier goes, at this dead hour, to watch over the corpseof his friend!' The little remains of her fortitude now gave way to theunited force of remembered and anticipated horrors, for the melancholyfate of Madame Montoni appeared to foretell her own. She considered,that, though the Languedoc estates, if she relinquished them, wouldsatisfy Montoni's avarice, they might not appease his vengeance, whichwas seldom pacified but by a terrible sacrifice; and she even thought,that, were she to resign them, the fear of justice might urge him eitherto detain her a prisoner, or to take away her life.

  They were now arrived at the gates, where Bertrand, observing the lightglimmer through a small casement of the portal-chamber, called aloud;and the soldier, looking out, demanded who was there. 'Here, I havebrought 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? Ihave brought home a prisoner here, bound hand and foot--a fellow, whohas been drinking Tuscany wine, while we here have been fighting.'

  'You will not rest till you meet with your match,' said Bertrandsullenly. 'Hah! my comrade, is it you?' said the soldier--'I'll be withyou directly.'

  Emily presently heard his steps descending the stairs within, and thenthe 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 shew thestep of the gate, and she found herself once more beneath the gloomyarch, and heard the door close, that seemed to shut her from the worldfor 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 calmdespair; while the dead hour of the night, the gothic gloom of thesurrounding buildings, and the hollow and imperfect echoes, whichthey returned, as Ugo and the soldier conversed together, assisted toincrease the melancholy forebodings of her heart. Passing on to thesecond court, a distant sound broke feebly on the silence, and graduallyswelling louder, as they advanced, Emily distinguished voices of revelryand 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 onemay judge by the uproar that is going forward. Ugo has taken a largershare of that than of fighting, I'll be sworn. Who is carousing at thislate hour?'

  'His excellenza and the Signors,' replied the soldier: 'it is a sign youare 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 thenight in good cheer; would that we, who keep the watch, had a little ofit! It is cold work, pacing the ramparts so many hours of the night, ifone 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 Ugoperceiving, prevented his saying more, by returning to the subject ofthe 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 wasthey, I would settle accounts with myself, for all my hard fighting, thesame way.'

  They had now crossed the second court, and reached the hall door, whenthe soldier, bidding them good night, hastened back to his post; and,while they waited for admittance, Emily considered how she might avoidseeing Montoni, and retire unnoticed to her former apartment, for sheshrunk 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, thoughUgo knocked repeatedly at the hall door, he was not heard by any ofthe servants, a circumstance, which increased Emily's alarm, while itallowed her time to deliberate on the means of retiring unobserved; for,though she might, perhaps, pass up the great stai
r-case unseen, it wasimpossible she could find the way to her chamber, without a light, thedifficulty of procuring which, and the danger of wandering about thecastle, without one, immediately struck her. Bertrand had only a torch,and she knew, that the servants never brought a taper to the door, forthe hall was sufficiently lighted by the large tripod lamp, which hungin the vaulted roof; and, while she should wait till Annette could bringa taper, Montoni, or some of his companions, might discover her.

  The door was now opened by Carlo; and Emily, having requested him tosend Annette immediately with a light to the great gallery, whereshe determined to await her, passed on with hasty steps towards thestair-case; while Bertrand and Ugo, with the torch, followed old Carloto the servants' hall, impatient for supper and the warm blaze of a woodfire. Emily, lighted only by the feeble rays, which the lamp above threwbetween the arches of this extensive hall, endeavoured to find her wayto the stair-case, 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 seethe door of that room open, and Montoni and his companions issue forth.Having, at length, reached the stair-case, 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 proceedingfarther, and, while she listened for her footstep, she heard onlydistant sounds of revelry, which rose in sullen echoes from among thearcades below. Once she thought she heard a low sound from the darkgallery behind her; and, turning her eyes, fancied she saw somethingluminous move in it; and, since she could not, at this moment, subduethe weakness that caused her fears, she quitted her seat, and creptsoftly down a few stairs lower.

  Annette not yet appearing, Emily now concluded, that she was goneto bed, and that nobody chose to call her up; and the prospect, thatpresented itself, of passing the night in darkness, in this place, orin some other equally forlorn (for she knew it would be impracticable tofind 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 fromthe gallery, and she listened, scarcely daring to breathe, but theincreasing voices below overcame every other sound. Soon after, sheheard Montoni and his companions burst into the hall, who spoke, asif they were much intoxicated, and seemed to be advancing towards thestair-case. She now remembered, that they must come this way to theirchambers, and, forgetting all the terrors of the gallery, hurriedtowards it with an intention of secreting herself in some of thepassages, that opened beyond, and of endeavouring, when the Signors wereretired, to find her way to her own room, or to that of Annette, whichwas in a remote part of the castle.

  With extended arms, she crept along the gallery, still hearing thevoices of persons below, who seemed to stop in conversation at the footof the stair-case, and then pausing for a moment to listen, half fearfulof going further into the darkness of the gallery, where she stillimagined, from the noise she had heard, that some person was lurking,'They are already informed of my arrival,' said she, 'and Montoni iscoming himself to seek me! In the present state of his mind, his purposemust be desperate.' Then, recollecting the scene, that had passed inthe corridor, on the night preceding her departure from the castle, 'OValancourt!' said she, 'I must then resign you for ever. To brave anylonger the injustice of Montoni, would not be fortitude, but rashness.'Still the voices below did not draw nearer, but they became louder, andshe distinguished those of Verezzi and Bertolini above the rest, whilethe few words she caught made her listen more anxiously for others. Theconversation seemed to concern herself; and, having ventured to stepa few paces nearer to the stair-case, she discovered, that they weredisputing about her, each seeming to claim some former promise ofMontoni, who appeared, at first, inclined to appease and to persuadethem 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 returningwith 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 ofimpatience: 'tell us where she is.' 'I have already told you that Ido not know,' replied Montoni, who seemed to be somewhat overcome withwine; 'but she is most probably gone to her apartment.' Verezziand Bertolini now desisted from their enquiries, and sprang to thestair-case together, while Emily, who, during this discourse, hadtrembled so excessively, that she had with difficulty supported herself,seemed inspired with new strength, the moment she heard the soundof their steps, and ran along the gallery, dark as it was, with thefleetness of a fawn. But, long before she reached its extremity, thelight, 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 impatienceovercame what little caution he had hitherto used, stumbled, and fellat his length. The lamp fell with him, and was presently expiring on thefloor; but Verezzi, regardless of saving it, seized the advantage thisaccident 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 shehad taken, and this he pursued; but the sound of her steps soon sunkin distance, while he, less acquainted with the passage, was obligedto proceed through the dark, with caution, lest he should fall downa flight of steps, such as in this extensive old castle frequentlyterminated an avenue. This passage at length brought Emily to thecorridor, into which her own chamber opened, and, not hearing anyfootstep, she paused to take breath, and consider what was the safestdesign to be adopted. She had followed this passage, merely because itwas 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 herway in the dark, she knew not; she was aware only that she must not seekher apartment, for there she would certainly be sought, and her dangerincreased every instant, while she remained near it. Her spirits and herbreath, 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 nosteps approaching. As thus she stood, light glimmered under an oppositedoor of the gallery, and, from its situation, she knew, that it wasthe door of that mysterious chamber, where she had made a discovery soshocking, that she never remembered it but with the utmost horror. Thatthere should be light in this chamber, and at this hour, excited herstrong surprise, and she felt a momentary terror concerning it, whichdid not permit her to look again, for her spirits were now in such astate of weakness, that she almost expected to see the door slowly open,and some horrible object appear at it. Still she listened for astep along the passage, and looked up it, where, not a ray of lightappearing, she concluded, that Verezzi had gone back for the lamp; and,believing that he would shortly be there, she again considered which wayshe 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 notagain have tempted its secrets, though she had been certain of obtainingthe light so important to her safety. She was still breathing withdifficulty, and resting at the end of the passage, when she heard arustling sound, and then a low voice, so very near her, that it seemedclose 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 bethe 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: 'thisshould be the corridor.' Perhaps, he was one of those heroes, whosecourage can defy an enemy better than darkness, and he tried to rallyhis 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 anintoxicated person, he followed pertinaciously the one idea, that hadpossessed his imagination.


  The moment she heard his steps steal away, she left her station andmoved softly to the other end of the corridor, determined to trustagain 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, asshe thought, being perceived; but, in the next instant, another light,glimmering at the further end of this passage, threw her into newterror. While she stopped and hesitated which way to go, the pauseallowed her to perceive, that it was Annette, who advanced, andshe hurried to meet her: but her imprudence again alarmed Emily,on perceiving whom, she burst into a scream of joy, and it was someminutes, before she could be prevailed with to be silent, or to releaseher mistress from the ardent clasp, in which she held her. When, atlength, Emily made Annette comprehend her danger, they hurriedtowards Annette's room, which was in a distant part of the castle.No apprehensions, however, could yet silence the latter. 'Oh dearma'amselle,' said she, as they passed along, 'what a terrified time haveI had of it! Oh! I thought I should have died an hundred times! I neverthought I should live to see you again! and I never was so glad to seeany body 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,' saidAnnette, 'it was only the echo of a door shutting; sound runs alongthese vaulted passages so, that one is continually deceived by it; ifone 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 thedoor, Emily sat down on her little bed, to recover breath and composure.To her enquiry, whether Valancourt was among the prisoners in thecastle, Annette replied, that she had not been able to hear, but thatshe knew there were several persons confined. She then proceeded, in hertedious way, to give an account of the siege, or rather a detail of herterrors and various sufferings, during the attack. 'But,' added she,'when I heard the shouts of victory from the ramparts, I thought we wereall taken, and gave myself up for lost, instead of which, WE had driventhe enemy away. I went then to the north gallery, and saw a great manyof them scampering away among the mountains; but the rampart walls wereall in ruins, as one may say, and there was a dismal sight to see downamong the woods below, where the poor fellows were lying in heaps, butwere carried off presently by their comrades. While the siege was goingon, the Signor was here, and there, and every where, at the same time,as Ludovico told me, for he would not let me see any thing hardly, andlocked me up, as he has often done before, in a room in the middle ofthe castle, and used to bring me food, and come and talk with me asoften as he could; and I must say, if it had not been for Ludovico, Ishould have died outright.'

  'Well, Annette,' said Emily, 'and how have affairs gone on, since thesiege?'

  'O! sad hurly burly doings, ma'amselle,' replied Annette; 'the Signorshave done nothing but sit and drink and game, ever since. They sit up,all night, and play among themselves, for all those riches and finethings, they brought in, some time since, when they used to go outa-robbing, or as good, for days together; and then they have dreadfulquarrels about who loses, and who wins. That fierce Signor Verezzi isalways losing, as they tell me, and Signor Orsino wins from him, andthis makes him very wroth, and they have had several hard set-to's aboutit. Then, all those fine ladies are at the castle still; and I declare Iam frighted, whenever I meet any of them in the passages.'--

  'Surely, Annette,' said Emily starting, 'I heard a noise: listen.' Aftera long pause, 'No, ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'it was only the wind inthe gallery; I often hear it, when it shakes the old doors, at the otherend. But won't you go to bed, ma'amselle? you surely will not sit upstarving, all night.' Emily now laid herself down on the mattress, anddesired Annette to leave the lamp burning on the hearth; having donewhich, the latter placed herself beside Emily, who, however, was notsuffered to sleep, for she again thought she heard a noise from thepassage; and Annette was again trying to convince her, that it was onlythe wind, when footsteps were distinctly heard near the door. Annettewas now starting from the bed, but Emily prevailed with her to remainthere, and listened with her in a state of terrible expectation. Thesteps still loitered at the door, when presently an attempt was made onthe lock, and, in the next instant, a voice called. 'For heaven's sake,Annette, do not answer,' said Emily softly, 'remain quite still; but Ifear we must extinguish the lamp, or its glare will betray us.' 'HolyVirgin!' exclaimed Annette, forgetting her discretion, 'I would not bein darkness now for the whole world.' While she spoke, the voice becamelouder than before, and repeated Annette's name; 'Blessed Virgin!' criedshe suddenly, 'it is only Ludovico.' She rose to open the door, butEmily prevented her, till they should be more certain, that it was healone; 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 herroom 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 throughthe door, consented that it should be opened, and a young man appeared,whose open countenance confirmed the favourable opinion of him, whichhis care of Annette had already prompted her to form. She entreated hisprotection, should Verezzi make this requisite; and Ludovico offeredto pass the night in an old chamber, adjoining, that opened from thegallery, and, on the first alarm, to come to their defence.

  Emily was much soothed by this proposal; and Ludovico, having lightedhis lamp, went to his station, while she, once more, endeavoured torepose on her mattress. But a variety of interests pressed upon herattention, and prevented sleep. She thought much on what Annette hadtold her of the dissolute manners of Montoni and his associates, andmore of his present conduct towards herself, and of the danger, fromwhich she had just escaped. From the view of her present situation sheshrunk, as from a new picture of terror. She saw herself in a castle,inhabited by vice and violence, seated beyond the reach of law orjustice, and in the power of a man, whose perseverance was equal toevery occasion, and in whom passions, of which revenge was not theweakest, 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 futurehappiness with Valancourt, she determined, that, on the followingmorning, she would compromise with Montoni, and give up her estates,on condition, that he would permit her immediate return to France. Suchconsiderations 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, inwhich she heard circumstances concerning the castle, and received hintsof the designs of Montoni, that considerably increased her alarms. Onexpressing her surprise, that Ludovico, who seemed to be so sensible ofthe evils of his situation, should continue in it, he informed her, thatit was not his intention to do so, and she then ventured to ask him, ifhe would assist her to escape from the castle. Ludovico assured her ofhis readiness to attempt this, but strongly represented the difficultyof 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 mightcontribute to the success of the attempt, and to think upon some plan ofdeparture.

  Emily now confided to him the name of Valancourt, and begged he wouldenquire for such a person among the prisoners in the castle; for thefaint hope, which this conversation awakened, made her now recede fromher 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 estatesat once. Her thoughts were on this subject, when Montoni, who was nowrecovered 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?' Emilyrelated to him some circumstances of her alarm, and entreated hisprotection from a repetition of them. 'You know the terms of myprotection,' 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, shewed Emily the necessityof an immediate compliance with his terms; but she first demanded,whether he would permit her immediately to depart, if she gave up herclaim to the contested estates. In a very solemn manner he then assuredher, that he would, and immediately laid before her a paper, which wasto transfer the right of those estates to himself.

  She was, for a considerable time, unable to sign it, and her heartwas torn with contending interests, for she was about to resign thehappiness of all her future years--the hope, which had sustained her inso many hours of adversity.

  After hearing from Montoni a recapitulation of the conditions of hercompliance, and a remonstrance, that his time was valuable, she put herhand 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 herdeparture, and that he would allow Annette to accompany her. Montonismiled. 'It was necessary to deceive you,' said he,--'there was no otherway of making you act reasonably; you shall go, but it must not be atpresent. I must first secure these estates by possession: when that isdone, you may return to France if you will.'

  The deliberate villany, with which he violated the solemn engagement hehad just entered into, shocked Emily as much, as the certainty, that shehad made a fruitless sacrifice, and must still remain his prisoner. Shehad no words to express what she felt, and knew, that it would have beenuseless, if she had. As she looked piteously at Montoni, he turned away,and at the same time desired she would withdraw to her apartment; but,unable to leave the room, she sat down in a chair near the door, andsighed heavily. She had neither words nor tears.

  'Why will you indulge this childish grief?' said he. 'Endeavour tostrengthen your mind, to bear patiently what cannot now be avoided; youhave no real evil to lament; be patient, and you will be sent back toFrance. At present retire to your apartment.'

  'I dare not go, sir,' said she, 'where I shall be liable to theintrusion of Signor Verezzi.' 'Have I not promised to protect you?'said Montoni. 'You have promised, sir,'--replied Emily, after somehesitation. 'And is not my promise sufficient?' added he sternly. 'Youwill recollect your former promise, Signor,' said Emily, trembling,'and may determine for me, whether I ought to rely upon this.' 'Will youprovoke me to declare to you, that I will not protect you then?' saidMontoni, in a tone of haughty displeasure. 'If that will satisfy you,I will do it immediately. Withdraw to your chamber, before I retract mypromise; you have nothing to fear there.' Emily left the room, and movedslowly into the hall, where the fear of meeting Verezzi, or Bertolini,made her quicken her steps, though she could scarcely support herself;and soon after she reached once more her own apartment. Having lookedfearfully round her, to examine if any person was there, and havingsearched every part of it, she fastened the door, and sat down by one ofthe casements. Here, while she looked out for some hope to support herfainting spirits, which had been so long harassed and oppressed, that,if she had not now struggled much against misfortune, they would haveleft her, perhaps, for ever, she endeavoured to believe, that Montonidid really intend to permit her return to France as soon as he hadsecured her property, and that he would, in the mean time, protect herfrom insult; but her chief hope rested with Ludovico, who, she doubtednot, would be zealous in her cause, though he seemed almost to despairof success in it. One circumstance, however, she had to rejoice in. Herprudence, or rather her fears, had saved her from mentioning the nameof Valancourt to Montoni, which she was several times on the point ofdoing, before she signed the paper, and of stipulating for his release,if he should be really a prisoner in the castle. Had she done this,Montoni's jealous fears would now probably have loaded Valancourtwith new severities, and have suggested the advantage of holding him acaptive for life.

  Thus passed the melancholy day, as she had before passed many in thissame chamber. When night drew on, she would have withdrawn herself toAnnette's bed, had not a particular interest inclined her to remainin this chamber, in spite of her fears; for, when the castle should bestill, and the customary hour arrived, she determined to watch for themusic, which she had formerly heard. Though its sounds might not enableher positively to determine, whether Valancourt was there, they wouldperhaps strengthen her opinion that he was, and impart the comfort, sonecessary to her present support.--But, on the other hand, if all shouldbe silent--! She hardly dared to suffer her thoughts to glance that way,but waited, with impatient expectation, the approaching hour.

  The night was stormy; the battlements of the castle appeared to rock inthe wind, and, at intervals, long groans seemed to pass on the air,such as those, which often deceive the melancholy mind, in tempests,and amidst scenes of desolation. Emily heard, as formerly, the sentinelspass along the terrace to their posts, and, looking out from hercasement, observed, that the watch was doubled; a precaution, whichappeared necessary enough, when she threw her eyes on the walls, and sawtheir shattered condition. The well-known sounds of the soldiers' march,and of their distant voices, which passed her in the wind, and were lostagain, recalled to her memory the melancholy sensation she hadsuffered, when she formerly heard the same sounds; and occasioned almostinvoluntary comparisons between her present, and her late situation.But this was no subject for congratulations, and she wisely checked thecourse of her thoughts, while, as the hour was not yet come, in whichshe had been accustomed to hear the music, she closed the casement,and endeavoured to await it in patience. The door of the stair-case shetried to secure, as usual, with some of the furniture of the room; butthis expedient her fears now represented to her to be very inadequate tothe power and perseverance of Verezzi; and she often looked at a largeand heavy chest, that stood in the chamber, with wishes that she andAnnette had strength enough to move it. While she blamed the longstay of this girl, who was still with Ludovico and some other of theservants, she trimmed her wood fire, to make the room appear lessdesolate, and sat down beside it with a book, which her eyes perused,while her thoughts wandered to Valancourt, and her own misfortunes. Asshe sat thus, she thought, in a pause of the wind, she distinguishedmusic, and went to the casement to listen, but the loud swell of thegust overcame every other sound. When the wind sunk again, she hearddistinctly, in the deep pause that succeeded, the sweet strings of alute; but again the rising tempest bore away the notes, and again wassucceeded by a solemn pause. Emily, trembling with hope and fear, openedher casement to listen, and to try whether her own voice could beheard by the musician; for to endure any longer this state of torturingsuspense concerning Valancourt, seemed to be utterly impossible. Therewas a kind of breathless stillness in the chambers, that permitted herto distinguish from below the tender notes of the very lute she hadformerly heard, and with it, a plaintive voice, made sweeter by the lowrustling sound, that now began to creep along the wood-tops, till itwas lost in the rising wind. Their tall heads then began to wave, while,through a forest of pine, on the left, the wind, groaning heavily,rolled onward over the woods below, bending them almost to their roots;and, as the long-resounding gale swept away, other woods, on theright, seemed to answer the 'loud lament;' then, others, further still,softened it into a murmur, that died into silence. Emily listened,with mingled awe and expectation, hope and fear; and again the meltingsweetness of the lute was heard, and the same solemn-breathing voice.Convinced that these came from an apartment underneath, she leaned farout of her window, that she might discover whether any light was there;but the casements below, as well as those above, were sunk so deep inthe thick walls of the castle, that she could not see them, or even thefaint ray, that probably glimmered through their bars. She then venturedto call; but the wind bore her voice to the other end of the terrace,and then the music was heard as before, in the pause of the gust.Suddenly, she thought she heard a noise in he
r chamber, and she drewherself within the casement; but, in a moment after, distinguishingAnnette's voice at the door, she concluded it was her she had heardbefore, and she let her in. 'Move softly, Annette, to the casement,'said she, 'and listen with me; the music is returned.' They were silenttill, the measure changing, Annette exclaimed, 'Holy Virgin! I know thatsong well; it is a French song, one of the favourite songs of my dearcountry.' This was the ballad Emily had heard on a former night, thoughnot the one she had first listened to from the fishing-house in Gascony.'O! it is a Frenchman, that sings,' said Annette: 'it must be MonsieurValancourt.' 'Hark! Annette, do not speak so loud,' said Emily, 'we maybe overheard.' 'What! by the Chevalier?' said Annette. 'No,' repliedEmily mournfully, 'but by somebody, who may report us to the Signor.What reason have you to think it is Monsieur Valancourt, who sings? Buthark! now the voice swells louder! Do you recollect those tones? I fearto trust my own judgment.' 'I never happened to hear the Chevaliersing, Mademoiselle,' replied Annette, who, as Emily was disappointed toperceive, had no stronger reason for concluding this to be Valancourt,than that the musician must be a Frenchman. Soon after, she heard thesong of the fishing-house, and distinguished her own name, which wasrepeated so distinctly, that Annette had heard it also. She trembled,sunk into a chair by the window, and Annette called aloud, 'MonsieurValancourt! Monsieur Valancourt!' while Emily endeavoured to check her,but she repeated the call more loudly than before, and the lute and thevoice suddenly stopped. Emily listened, for some time, in a stateof intolerable suspense; but, no answer being returned, 'It does notsignify, Mademoiselle,' said Annette; 'it is the Chevalier, and I willspeak to him.' 'No, Annette,' said Emily, 'I think I will speak myself;if it is he, he will know my voice, and speak again.' 'Who is it,' saidshe, 'that sings at this late hour?'

  A long silence ensued, and, having repeated the question, she perceivedsome faint accents, mingling in the blast, that swept by; but the soundswere so distant, and passed so suddenly, that she could scarcely hearthem, much less distinguish the words they uttered, or recognise thevoice. After another pause, Emily called again; and again they hearda voice, but as faintly as before; and they perceived, that there wereother circumstances, besides the strength, and direction of the wind, tocontent with; for the great depth, at which the casements were fixed inthe castle walls, contributed, still more than the distance, to preventarticulated sounds from being understood, though general ones wereeasily heard. Emily, however, ventured to believe, from the circumstanceof her voice alone having been answered, that the stranger wasValancourt, as well as that he knew her, and she gave herself up tospeechless joy. Annette, however, was not speechless.--She renewedher calls, but received no answer; and Emily, fearing, that a furtherattempt, which certainly was, as present, highly dangerous, might exposethem to the guards of the castle, while it could not perhaps terminateher suspense, insisted on Annette's dropping the enquiry for this night;though she determined herself to question Ludovico, on the subject, inthe morning, more urgently than she had yet done. She was now enabledto say, that the stranger, whom she had formerly heard, was still inthe castle, and to direct Ludovico to that part of it, in which he wasconfined.

  Emily, attended by Annette, continued at the casement, for some time,but all remained still; they heard neither lute or voice again, andEmily was now as much oppressed by anxious joy, as she lately was by asense of her misfortunes. With hasty steps she paced the room, now halfcalling on Valancourt's name, then suddenly stopping, and now going tothe casement and listening, where, however, she heard nothing butthe solemn waving of the woods. Sometimes her impatience to speak toLudovico prompted her to send Annette to call him; but a sense of theimpropriety of this at midnight restrained her. Annette, meanwhile, asimpatient as her mistress, went as often to the casement to listen, andreturned almost as much disappointed. She, at length, mentionedSignor Verezzi, and her fear, lest he should enter the chamber by thestaircase, door. 'But the night is now almost past, Mademoiselle,' saidshe, recollecting herself; 'there is the morning light, beginning topeep over those mountains yonder in the east.'

  Emily had forgotten, till this moment, that such a person existed asVerezzi, and all the danger that had appeared to threaten her; but themention of his name renewed her alarm, and she remembered the old chest,that she had wished to place against the door, which she now, withAnnette, attempted to move, but it was so heavy, that they could notlift it from the floor. 'What is in this great old chest, Mademoiselle,'said Annette, 'that makes it so weighty?' Emily having replied, 'thatshe found it in the chamber, when she first came to the castle, and hadnever examined it.'--'Then I will, ma'amselle,' said Annette, and shetried to lift the lid; but this was held by a lock, for which she hadno key, and which, indeed, appeared, from its peculiar construction, toopen with a spring. The morning now glimmered through the casements, andthe wind had sunk into a calm. Emily looked out upon the dusky woods,and on the twilight mountains, just stealing in the eye, and saw thewhole scene, after the storm, lying in profound stillness, the woodsmotionless, and the clouds above, through which the dawn trembled,scarcely appearing to move along the heavens. One soldier was pacing theterrace beneath, with measured steps; and two, more distant, were sunkasleep on the walls, wearied with the night's watch. Having inhaled, fora while, the pure spirit of the air, and of vegetation, which the laterains had called forth; and having listened, once more, for a note ofmusic, she now closed the casement, and retired to rest.