The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Ward Radcliffe (english novels to improve english TXT) 📖

below, and still more, that she might sometimes explore the sublime scenes of the surrounding country. But, as Montoni would not suffer her to pass the gates of the castle, she tried to be contented with the romantic views she beheld from the walls. The peasants, who had been employed on the fortifications, had left their work, and the ramparts were silent and solitary. Their lonely appearance, together with the gloom of a lowering sky, assisted the musings of her mind, and threw over it a kind of melancholy tranquillity, such as she often loved to indulge. She turned to observe a fine effect of the sun, as his rays, suddenly streaming from behind a heavy cloud, lighted up the west towers of the castle, while the rest of the edifice was in deep shade, except, that, through a lofty gothic arch, adjoining the tower, which led to another terrace, the beams darted in full splendour, and shewed the three strangers she had observed in the morning. Perceiving them, she started, and a momentary fear came over her, as she looked up the long rampart, and saw no other persons. While she hesitated, they approached. The gate at the end of the terrace, whither they were advancing, she knew, was always locked, and she could not depart by the opposite extremity, without meeting them; but, before she passed them, she hastily drew a thin veil over her face, which did, indeed, but ill conceal her beauty.

They looked earnestly at her, and spoke to each other in bad Italian, of which she caught only a few words; but the fierceness of their countenances, now that she was near enough to discriminate them, struck her yet more than the wild singularity of their air and dress had formerly done. It was the countenance and figure of him, who walked between the other two, that chiefly seized her attention, which expressed a sullen haughtiness and a kind of dark watchful villany, that gave a thrill of horror to her heart. All this was so legibly written on his features, as to be seen by a single glance, for she passed the group swiftly, and her timid eyes scarcely rested on them a moment. Having reached the terrace, she stopped, and perceived the strangers standing in the shadow of one of the turrets, gazing after her, and seemingly, by their action, in earnest conversation. She immediately left the rampart, and retired to her apartment.

In the evening, Montoni sat late, carousing with his guests in the cedar chamber. His recent triumph over Count Morano, or, perhaps, some other circumstance, contributed to elevate his spirits to an unusual height. He filled the goblet often, and gave a loose to merriment and talk. The gaiety of Cavigni, on the contrary, was somewhat clouded by anxiety. He kept a watchful eye upon Verezzi, whom, with the utmost difficulty, he had hitherto restrained from exasperating Montoni further against Morano, by a mention of his late taunting words.

One of the company exultingly recurred to the event of the preceding evening. Verezzi’s eyes sparkled. The mention of Morano led to that of Emily, of whom they were all profuse in the praise, except Montoni, who sat silent, and then interrupted the subject.

When the servants had withdrawn, Montoni and his friends entered into close conversation, which was sometimes checked by the irascible temper of Verezzi, but in which Montoni displayed his conscious superiority, by that decisive look and manner, which always accompanied the vigour of his thought, and to which most of his companions submitted, as to a power, that they had no right to question, though of each other’s self-importance they were jealously scrupulous. Amidst this conversation, one of them imprudently introduced again the name of Morano; and Verezzi, now more heated by wine, disregarded the expressive looks of Cavigni, and gave some dark hints of what had passed on the preceding night. These, however, Montoni did not appear to understand, for he continued silent in his chair, without discovering any emotion, while, the choler of Verezzi increasing with the apparent insensibility of Montoni, he at length told the suggestion of Morano, that this castle did not lawfully belong to him, and that he would not willingly leave another murder on his conscience.

‘Am I to be insulted at my own table, and by my own friends?’ said Montoni, with a countenance pale in anger. ‘Why are the words of that madman repeated to me?’ Verezzi, who had expected to hear Montoni’s indignation poured forth against Morano, and answered by thanks to himself, looked with astonishment at Cavigni, who enjoyed his confusion. ‘Can you be weak enough to credit the assertions of a madman?’ rejoined Montoni, ‘or, what is the same thing, a man possessed by the spirit of vengeance? But he has succeeded too well; you believe what he said.’

‘Signor,’ said Verezzi, ‘we believe only what we know.’—‘How!’

interrupted Montoni, sternly: ‘produce your proof.’

‘We believe only what we know,’ repeated Verezzi, ‘and we know nothing of what Morano asserts.’ Montoni seemed to recover himself.

‘I am hasty, my friends,’ said he, ‘with respect to my honour; no man shall question it with impunity—you did not mean to question it.

These foolish words are not worth your remembrance, or my resentment.

Verezzi, here is to your first exploit.’

‘Success to your first exploit,’ re-echoed the whole company.

‘Noble Signor,’ replied Verezzi, glad to find he had escaped Montoni’s resentment, ‘with my good will, you shall build your ramparts of gold.’

‘Pass the goblet,’ cried Montoni. ‘We will drink to Signora St.

Aubert,’ said Cavigni. ‘By your leave we will first drink to the lady of the castle.’ said Bertolini.—Montoni was silent. ‘To the lady of the castle,’ said his guests. He bowed his head.

‘It much surprises me, Signor,’ said Bertolini, ‘that you have so long neglected this castle; it is a noble edifice.’

‘It suits our purpose,’ replied Montoni, ‘and IS a noble edifice.

You know not, it seems, by what mischance it came to me.’

‘It was a lucky mischance, be it what it may, Signor,’ replied Bertolini, smiling. ‘I would, that one so lucky had befallen me.’

Montoni looked gravely at him. ‘If you will attend to what I say,’

he resumed, ‘you shall hear the story.’

The countenances of Bertolini and Verezzi expressed something more than curiosity; Cavigni, who seemed to feel none, had probably heard the relation before.

‘It is now near twenty years,’ said Montoni, ‘since this castle came into my possession. I inherit it by the female line. The lady, my predecessor, was only distantly related to me; I am the last of her family. She was beautiful and rich; I wooed her; but her heart was fixed upon another, and she rejected me. It is probable, however, that she was herself rejected of the person, whoever he might be, on whom she bestowed her favour, for a deep and settled melancholy took possession of her; and I have reason to believe she put a period to her own life. I was not at the castle at the time; but, as there are some singular and mysterious circumstances attending that event, I shall repeat them.’

‘Repeat them!’ said a voice.

Montoni was silent; the guests looked at each other, to know who spoke; but they perceived, that each was making the same enquiry.

Montoni, at length, recovered himself. ‘We are overheard,’ said he: ‘we will finish this subject another time. Pass the goblet.’

The cavaliers looked round the wide chamber.

‘Here is no person, but ourselves,’ said Verezzi: ‘pray, Signor, proceed.’

‘Did you hear any thing?’ said Montoni.

‘We did,’ said Bertolini.

‘It could be only fancy,’ said Verezzi, looking round again. ‘We see no person besides ourselves; and the sound I thought I heard seemed within the room. Pray, Signor, go on.’

Montoni paused a moment, and then proceeded in a lowered voice, while the cavaliers drew nearer to attend.

‘Ye are to know, Signors, that the Lady Laurentini had for some months shewn symptoms of a dejected mind, nay, of a disturbed imagination. Her mood was very unequal; sometimes she was sunk in calm melancholy, and, at others, as I have been told, she betrayed all the symptoms of frantic madness. It was one night in the month of October, after she had recovered from one of those fits of excess, and had sunk again into her usual melancholy, that she retired alone to her chamber, and forbade all interruption. It was the chamber at the end of the corridor, Signors, where we had the affray, last night. From that hour, she was seen no more.’

‘How! seen no more!’ said Bertolini, ‘was not her body found in the chamber?’

‘Were her remains never found?’ cried the rest of the company all together.

‘Never!’ replied Montoni.

‘What reasons were there to suppose she destroyed herself, then?’

said Bertolini.—‘Aye, what reasons?’ said Verezzi.—‘How happened it, that her remains were never found? Although she killed herself, she could not bury herself.’ Montoni looked indignantly at Verezzi, who began to apologize. ‘Your pardon, Signor,’ said he: ‘I did not consider, that the lady was your relative, when I spoke of her so lightly.’

Montoni accepted the apology.

‘But the Signor will oblige us with the reasons, which urged him to believe, that the lady committed suicide.’

‘Those I will explain hereafter,’ said Montoni: ‘at present let me relate a most extraordinary circumstance. This conversation goes no further, Signors. Listen, then, to what I am going to say.’

‘Listen!’ said a voice.

They were all again silent, and the countenance of Montoni changed.

‘This is no illusion of the fancy,’ said Cavigni, at length breaking the profound silence.—‘No,’ said Bertolini; ‘I heard it myself, now.

Yet here is no person in the room but ourselves!’

‘This is very extraordinary,’ said Montoni, suddenly rising. ‘This is not to be borne; here is some deception, some trick. I will know what it means.’

All the company rose from their chairs in confusion.

‘It is very odd!’ said Bertolini. ‘Here is really no stranger in the room. If it is a trick, Signor, you will do well to punish the author of it severely.’

‘A trick! what else can it be?’ said Cavigni, affecting a laugh.

The servants were now summoned, and the chamber was searched, but no person was found. The surprise and consternation of the company increased. Montoni was discomposed. ‘We will leave this room,’ said he, ‘and the subject of our conversation also; it is too solemn.’

His guests were equally ready to quit the apartment; but the subject had roused their curiosity, and they entreated Montoni to withdraw to another chamber, and finish it; no entreaties could, however, prevail with him. Notwithstanding his efforts to appear at ease, he was visibly and greatly disordered.

‘Why, Signor, you are not superstitious,’ cried Verezzi, jeeringly; ‘you, who have so often laughed at the credulity of others!’

‘I am not superstitious,’ replied Montoni, regarding him with stern displeasure, ‘though I know how to despise the commonplace sentences, which are frequently uttered against superstition. I will enquire further into this affair.’ He then left the room; and his guests, separating for the night, retired to their respective apartments.