The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror)

  This comfort, however delusive in its consequences, was cherished as a divine emanation, and with spirits more tranquillized than before, she partook of the evening's repast, whilst Dorothée, availing herself of her permission, kindled a fire in the apartment, as the night was unusually chill; and the hollow gusts of wind, penetrating through the crevices of the walls, which were but partially covered with the faded and decayed tapestry, made her shrink with cold.

  Having drawn close to the fire, whose cheerful blaze enlivened the gloominess of her extensive apartment, she thought in the pauses of the wind she perceived the whispering of voices on the stairs. The sound was indistinct; but on advancing towards the door, she easily distinguished that of the Marchese, who, before she had time for resistance, entered the room.

  Alarmed at this intrusion, she uttered an involuntary scream, and attempted to retire; but this he so resolutely opposed, that she was compelled to desist. When he had in some degree quieted her apprehensions, he acquainted her with the purport of his visit, which was to convey some important and necessary intelligence respecting the intentions of Signor Vescolini, who had determined, with the assistance of Madame Laronne, to remove her either by force or stratagem from the chateau at the expiration of three days, and to oblige her to assent to the nuptials. How he had obtained this information he seemed unwilling to disclose; but from what had already occurred, the intimation was too probable to admit of a doubt as to the truth of it; and the shortness of the intervening time appeared to preclude all possibility of escape.

  The Marchese, who beheld every movement of her soul in the expression of her countenance, so tenderly interested himself in her concerns, and applauded so warmly that uniform piety and rectitude of mind which had hitherto withstood the attacks of severity and artifice, that, though Julie continually besought him to resign her to her destiny, she was not insensitive to the sympathy he discovered, which she assured him would be ever gratefully retained in her memory.

  He then ventured to repeat his former proposals, urging the necessity of the measure with all the arts of persuasion he could summon to his aid, which, he added, would insure his happiness, and, he presumed to flatter himself, her own. That, if she would consent to accept of his protection, a carriage should be stationed at a convenient distance from the chateau, which would convey her with all imaginable speed to the Castello St Aubin, where the ceremony, which was to complete his felicity, might be instantly performed.

  Though Julie at first strenuously opposed a proceeding which, on a cursory survey, appeared rash and imprudent, she was finally influenced by a mode of behaviour, which, but for the circumstance of his having forced himself into her room, was at once amiable and respectful; and ventured to promise, if he would immediately quit the apartment, she would reconsider his proposals, and acquaint him with the result of her reflections on the ensuing day.

  As soon as the Marchese had retired, Mademoiselle de Rubine being again alone, began to ruminate in silence upon this singular adventure. The person who was solicitous to obtain her regard, had hitherto conducted himself in her presence with the strictest propriety and decorum. In respect to religion he was decidedly of that persuasion in which she had been educated, and early taught to believe was essential both to her temporal and eternal interests. His figure was rather agreeable to her than otherwise; in manners he was peculiarly elegant and alluring, whilst in point of rank, which was only a secondary consideration, it was a match which she imagined as far transcended her merit as expectations. To escape unassisted from the power of Vescolini was impossible, and even could it be effected, without a protector to act in her defence, she was still liable to insult and persecution.

  These arguments determined her to accept the offers of the Marchese, could she be so fortunate as to prevail upon her favourite domestic to attend her. This being easily accomplished, she awaited the evening, when she was to deliver her final answer to him agreeable to her promise, with a kind of fearful impatience.

  Madame Laronne had so carefully concealed from Mademoiselle de Rubine her extraordinary prepossession in favour of the Marchese, that the most distant suspicion of this partiality never occurred to her thoughts, or she might have concluded, from the present as well as the past, that jealousy was the foundation of this arbitrary conduct.

  When the time, in which her final decision was to be conveyed to the Marchese, arrived, being anxious to spare herself the confusion of another interview, Julie wrote a note to acquaint him with the whole of her determination, which was carefully delivered by Dorothée. Another was instantly returned, informing her that a carriage would be in readiness to receive them beyond the walls of the mansion, at an appointed hour, on the succeeding evening.

  The intervening time was passed by Mademoiselle de Rubine in extreme agitation of mind; she, however, endeavoured to combat her fears, and when the hour of their departure approached, had reasoned herself into some degree of composure.

  Having with much difficulty escaped from the chateau, she ran, attended by Dorothée, to the appointed spot; and the Marchese, after placing them in the carriage, seated himself by their side, and commanded the postilion to proceed.

  In a few hours they reached the Castello St Aubin, the residence of the Marchese, and a priest being in readiness, the nuptials were solemnized.

  As soon as this ceremony was performed, he acquainted Julie, that, owing to his not having at present informed his friends of the connexion, it was necessary for them to remove to another of his seats till the affair should be unfolded. To this proposition Julie readily assented, and was soon afterwards conveyed to a hunting villa, in a very remote situation, half concealed in a wood.

  Here the augmenting tenderness of the Marchese, aided by his amiable and polished manners, soon ripened what was only esteem into the most lasting affection; but the happiness of Mademoiselle de Rubine was always of a transient nature. After the few first months had elapsed, his attentions visibly declined; he was continually forming excuses to absent himself, and at last nearly forsook the retreat. He was forever engaged in parties of pleasure, in gaming, and expensive diversions; and when he visited the villa, conducted himself towards Julie with a chilling indifference of demeanour, which was perceived with inexpressive uneasiness.

  Yet still she retained some hopes that when the tender interest of a father was united with that of a husband, his former affection might be awakened, and his home endeared; but in this she was also deceived; he still pleaded engagements; nor could the infantile innocence of Enrîco withdraw him from folly and dissipation.

  Unable to endure the pressure of this severe and unexpected calamity, she at last ventured to inquire of the Marchese in what way she had been so unfortunate as to forfeit his regard, and if there was no possible means of regaining it? But what was her grief and astonishment when he informed her that their nuptials were not solemnized by a priest, and that the marriage was consequently illegal!

  For a considerable time after she had received this intelligence Julie was too ill to bear a removal; but as soon as her health was sufficiently re-established, she took an eternal adieu of the Marchese, and with the child and Dorothée, after much fatigue and many difficulties, repaired to the cottage on the borders of the Lake of Geneva.

  CHAPTER VIII

  I care not, Fortune, what you from me take.

  You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;

  You cannot shut the windows of the sky.

  Thro' which Aurora shows her brightening face;

  You cannot bar my constant feet to trace

  The woods and lawns by living streams at eve;

  Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace.

  Of Fancy, Reason, Virtue, nought can me bereave.

  -THOMSON

  Several years passed in an uninterrupted tranquillity at the castle of Elfinbach, and its peaceful inhabitants, being perfectly reconciled to their situation, had not a wish ungratified. No visitor, except Paoli, broke in upon their sol
itude, and his visits being those of business and necessity, were hastily terminated.

  The amiable manners of Julie, whose real name will hereafter be disguised under that of Chamont, and the uniform sweetness of her disposition, so endeared her to her dependants, that the domestics were cheerful and assiduous to oblige; and as she contemplated the happy countenances around her, she felt that delightful sensation arising from the performance of duty, which is frequently the only temporal reward of virtue; but is, notwithstanding, a reward so considerable, that the mind, which has once experienced its effects, would not exchange it for every other advantage independent of it.

  Ambrose, who had been long tutored in the family of the Marchese, did not possess that openness of character which distinguished the rest of the household. A mixture of selfishness and cunning was evident in his disposition, which could not elude the penetration of an accurate observer, though upon the whole he appeared quiet and inoffensive; and, if he did not secure the esteem of his associates, he managed so as to escape their censure.

  Nothing could be more simple, more innocent, than the life of Madame Chamont, which was occupied in the education of her children, in family arrangements, and every other worthy employment which her station required.

  Both Enrîco and Laurette displayed early in life quickness of parts and gracefulness of demeanour, which were united with the most amiable inclinations of which the human mind is susceptible. It was impossible for any thing to exceed their mutual affection; one was never to be seen without the other; in play, or in study, they were equally inseparable; nor could one taste of any enjoyment, of which the other might not partake.

  Enrîco possessed spirit, and energy of soul, sufficient to encounter the greatest difficulties. He was sometimes impatient of control, and impetuous in his replies; but a fault was scarcely committed before it was followed by repentance, and an earnest desire of removing the consequent uneasiness of his mother by the most endearing caresses.

  Laurette was blessed with an equal share of sensibility, but was gentle and timid. Her manners were so invariably amiable, that she never excited anger; when she did fall into an error, which was seldom the case, a look of disapprobation was sufficient to recall her to a sense of her duty, and an acknowledgment of her fault. Her charming instructress had never imposed herself upon her as her mother, neither had she intimated anything relative to the mysterious manner in which she had been conveyed to her; but had taught her to believe that she was an orphan, protected by the Marchese de Montferrat, to whom she was under infinite obligations, and whose kindness she must repay with the obedience of a child.

  Nor was Enrîco informed of the circumstances of his birth, his affectionate parent having concealed from him, with equal discretion, what she did not cease to reflect upon with unutterable anguish; though sometimes in infantile simplicity he would touch upon the subject, and ask some questions respecting his father, his innocent interrogatories being only answered by tears and blushes, he had soon penetration enough to discover they had awakened mournful recollections, and a sufficient degree of prudence to discontinue the inquiry.

  Father Benedicta, a friar, who belonged to a monastery of Carthusians, not far from the castle of Elfinbach, and who was Madame Chamont's confessor, assisted her in the education of the children. He was a man that had spent the early part of his life in the bustle and gaiety of the world, in which he was supposed to have suffered much from disappointment; but what were the misfortunes that had occasioned this almost total seclusion from society, and from which he had taken refuge in the gloom of a cloister, were unknown even to the fraternity; but they were thought to be of a peculiar and mournful nature. Yet, though removed from the pleasures, he was sensible to the charities of life. To the unfortunate, the afflicted, or the dying, he was a never failing source of support and assistance; he never heard of a calamity in which he did not take an interest, or a request, if virtuous, that he did not immediately grant. But the uniform austerities of his own life were beyond the strictest rules of his order, and it was only from the tender concern that he discovered for the welfare of others, that he was supposed to feel any "touch of humanity".

  He overlooked the conduct of Enrîco and Laurette with the mild benignity of a saint; instructed them in the principles of religion, as well as in the classics, and watched the unfolding of each infant virtue with parental tenderness.

  From the instructive conversation of this holy Father, Madame Chamont reaped many advantages; he was her friend and adviser, as well as her confessor, acquitting himself always to her satisfaction in every undertaking; though his increasing affection for his pupils, exclusively considered, was of itself sufficient to secure her esteem.

  Of this Monk she made an inquiry concerning La Roque; but no Friar of the name of Francisco had arrived at his monastery. At her request he wrote to the Superiors of several others, but every attempt of gaining intelligence upon the subject proved ineffectual, which made her apprehend that either his illness had proved fatal, or that he had fallen into the hands of his persecutors. His mournful, his interesting expressions, the stingings of remorse that attended the recollection of his sufferings, excited her Compassion whenever she reflected upon them, and awakened new curiosity to be acquainted with the sequel.

  The undisturbed felicity which was experienced by Madame Chamont in the bosom of her family, and in the exercise of religion and virtue, was of a more pure and animated nature than any she had enjoyed since the death of her parents. No society was to her like that of her children, no hours passed so pleasantly as those dedicated to their improvement and amusement; whilst on their part affection was so entirely divested of fear, that they were never so happy as when in her presence.

  The mornings were chiefly devoted to study, and the evenings to beautiful rambles in the woods, or along the margin of the river, and sometimes to the adjacent villages, where they were enabled to feel that tranquil delight arising from the practice of benevolence the luxury of succouring the unfortunate, and of giving an expression of joy to the face long accustomed to sadness.

  The study of botany was one of Madame Chamont's favourite employments, in which she had made some proficiency, which occasioned her to spend many hours in the fields, improving herself in this useful and elegant science. On these expeditions her young pupils were ever ready to attend her, and taking an osier basket on her arm, she would frequently wander with them in the stillness of the evening amid scenes the most romantic and picturesque, where, seated upon a hillock, or under the broad shade of a chestnut, she would weave a garland for Enrîco, or a chaplet to adorn the beautiful hair of Laurette; and frequently they would exchange the fertile and cultivated charms of Nature for her unadorned and more majestic works; sometimes they would ascend the steep crags of the mountains, where all was wild, waste, and rude, yet in its naked simplicity grand, stupendous, and sublime. Here they would contemplate the awful beauty of the scene, the retiring hills half lost in the distant horizon, and the spires of some neighbouring abbeys just appearing amid the deep gloom of the woods, and hearken to the faint sound of the vesper bell, borne at intervals upon the wing of the breeze; and sometimes, when not a breath of air disturbed the universal calm, or shook the light foliage of the leaves, the distant chant of the Nuns would be heard, now swelling into holy rapture, and now sinking into sweet and mournful cadence, till softened by distance, or lost in the rising flutter of the gale, it died away upon the ear.

  To the admirer of Nature every object she presents becomes interesting; the variety of her charms relieves the mind from satiety, and, in the enjoyment of her beauties, the soul of the enthusiast becomes elevated above the narrow boundaries of the world: he sees the Creator in his works, and adores in silence the perfection of the whole. At times a disposition of this cast will be inclined to melancholy; but it is a sublime and tender melancholy, which he would not resign for all the pleasures which gaiety could bestow, or wealth procure. To such impressions as these the mind of Mad
ame Chamont was peculiarly susceptible, and she perceived this pensive sensation steal upon her spirits, at that season above all others, when the rich bloom of the landscape begins to fade, when the glow of vegetation and the flush of maturity are past, and the whole scenery exhibits a more saddened, but a more interesting appearance.

  To these simple and innocent delights Enrîco and Laurette discovered an early attachment, which their amiable protectress beheld with satisfaction. She knew the necessity of employment, being well aware of the danger attending inactivity and indolence. She taught them to value every moment of their existence, not allowing them to pass without due improvement. Reading was a favourite occupation, and Madame Chamont did not neglect the selecting such books for their perusal as were capable of conveying both instruction and amusement, the reading of which might be considered not so much a task as a recreation. Enrîco was partial to historical writings, and having been permitted to examine, at an early age, the most eminent authors in that species of composition, was soon well acquainted with the works of the most celebrated Grecian and Latin historians. He was also an ardent lover of ancient poetry, particularly of the epic kind. Homer, Lucan, and Virgil, were perused with juvenile transport; nor was the much admired Gerusalemme of Tasso disregarded: his soul was fired with the illustrious atchievements of Rinaldo, and he burned with an irresistible desire of attaining military honours. Madame Chamont, who discovered his inclinations before he was conscious of having betrayed them, endeavoured at first to check a propensity which she had not a sufficient portion of fortitude to reflect upon with calmness: but finding that his happiness depended upon the success of his hopes, opposition appeared like cruelty; and having heard from Paoli that the Marchese wished to provide for him in the army, where his interest could not fail of being successful, she began to reason herself into compliance. She considered that if his disposition had a strong bias to a military life, he would not have an equal chance of rising to eminence in any other profession; and that this disposition, aided by the powerful interest of the Marchese, would doubtless raise him to high preferment. Thus the fondness overcame the fears of the mother, and she acquiesced in the proposition.