"As soon as I had struck into the glen that wound up the steep ascent of the eminence, the meek and holy strain swelled louder, paused, then sunk into deeper cadence, and in a few moments was heard no more.
"Fearing lest I should not be able to reach the monastery before the Monks returned from the chapel, I redoubled my speed, knowing that admittance could not be easily obtained, should the fathers have returned to their cells before I could introduce myself to their notice.
"When I had arrived at the outer gate, I perceived they were just crossing the chapel yard; and, hanging the bridle of my horse round the trunk of a chestnut tree, I waited in hopes of being able to distinguish Father Benedicta, to whom I could instantly make my self known, and explain the occasion of this visit. But the faces of the Monks were so shrouded in their cowls, that not a feature was exposed to observation.
"The Superior walked first, and the rest of the order in procession. They had nearly reached the arched door leading into the court, before I had determined in what manner to address them; when finding I was at present unperceived, I resolved to let them pass quietly into the abbey. This done, I rapped loudly at the gate, and one of the lay brothers appearing, I enquired for Father Benedicta.
"Without returning an answer, the person whom I addressed retired, but soon afterwards came attended by a Monk, who, I felt assured, by his gait and figure, was him for whom I had enquired. Believing I could not be mistaken in this particular, I was advancing forwards to meet him, and to express my satisfaction on seeing him, when he threw back his cowl, and discovered a countenance meek, placid, and full of devout expression, but it was not Father Benedicta's.
"The Monk bowed courteously, and seemed to await my introduction; I informed him that I was a benighted traveller who had met with some singular misfortunes, and had been induced, by the known benevolence of the fraternity, to request a lodging for the night. The Monk again bowing, I declared my name, and repeated my enquiries for Father Benedicta.
"Our brother is ill," replied the Monk, mildly, "and has not been able to attend public devotions for some days; but if you will have the goodness to step into the Refectoire, I will visit his cell, and will inform him of your name, and the circumstances you have mentioned." Then ordering a servant to take care of my horse, he desired me to follow him.
"Having entered the Refectoire, he offered me a seat by the fire, and hastened to acquaint the Father with my arrival. I was soon ordered to attend him, and accompanied my conductor to his cell.
"At the farther end of this little apartment was the holy Benedicta, who had newly arisen from a mattress, probably for the purpose of performing his midnight devotions. He appeared pale and emaciated, but serene and cheerful. He arose on my entrance, and instantly recollecting me, sprang forwards to receive me with an expression of affection which words would have imperfectly conveyed.
"His looks and manner affected me so powerfully that I was unable to speak, and sitting down by his side, I covered my face with my handkerchief to conceal my emotions; when these had somewhat subsided, I observed that his features were lighted up by a smile of more than usual tranquillity, and he began to converse upon common topics of discourse. I saw he wished to lead me from the subject of my griefs, and I wished to flatter him with the hope that he had succeeded."—
Laurette, who had listened with tender anxiety to this little narrative, here interrupted Enrico, by asking if the Father Benedicta was indeed very ill, and if his disorder was supposed to be of a dangerous nature? On being assured that it was generally believed to be otherwise throughout the monastery, she demanded eagerly, whether the Monk had mentioned any thing relative to herself, or the Marchese de Montferrat? Enrico's countenance visibly changed as she repeated the question, and he appeared for the moment unable to reply.
"You hesitate," resumed Laurette, tenderly, "and consequently have heard something you are unwilling to disclose;—but if you feel for me as for a sister, agreeably to your former professions, I conjure you to make me acquainted with it?" "If I feel for you as for a sister!" repeated Enrico, "Oh, Laurette, is it possible you can be ignorant of my sentiments?" But in a moment recollecting that he had never openly avowed them, he checked himself; whilst Laurette, confused, and anxious to change the conversation, asked whether he had been into the castle previous to his meeting with her, and if he had been introduced to the Signora? To this he answered that he had seen the Marchese's casiera, whom he supposed to be the lady mentioned, and was directed by her to that part of the grounds where, she observed, her young guest usually walked when alone. A silence of some minutes then ensued, which Laurette at length broke, by asking whether his servant was sufficiently recovered to be able to attend him hither. "He is somewhere hereabouts," returned Enrico, "and will soon be here to answer for himself. Anxious as I was to see you, I could not leave the poor fellow alone in so melancholy a situation; which occasioned me to prolong my continuance in the monastery, till the surgeon who attended him assured me that he was in a situation to travel without endangering his health." "You had then frequent conferences with the Monk?" returned Laurette. Enrico assured her that he had; but it required little penetration to discover that there was something connected with the subject he was desirous to avoid. The discourse then turned upon Madame Chamont, but this was too distressing to be continued.—Enrico had gained no intelligence respecting her, as Father Benedicta's exertions had been at present unsuccessful. The Signora, who now crossed the court to remind them of the lateness of the hour, a circumstance that never occurred to them before, summoned her guests into the saloon, where a simple, but elegant, repast was prepared.
The conversation now became more animated, though less interesting, than before; and the Signora joined in it with much spirit and sentiment; she related many incidents concerning some of the most celebrated families in Italy, and displayed much wit and vivacity.
Enrico insensibly became pleased with her, and, had not his attention been so entirely engrossed by the companion of his earliest days, she might have been a candidate for admiration.
It was late when the party retired to their beds; and Enrico and Laurette were both too deeply interested in the occurrences of the day, and too much inclined to reflection, to yield immediately to the impulse of nature, by seeking forgetfulness in repose.
CHAPTER III
Oh! let me still with simple Nature live.
My lowly field-flowers at her altar lay;
Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give.
And calmly waste th' inoffensive day.
When waves the grey light o'er the mountain's brow.
Then let me meet the morn's first beauteous ray;
Carelessly wander from my sylvan shed
And catch the sweet breath of the op'ning day.
-LANGHORNE
Enrico arose early in the morning, and as no part of the family was stirring, except the inferior domestics, endeavoured for some time to amuse himself with strolling about the gardens. As the residence of the lovely Laurette, scenes that might otherwise have been contemplated without any extraordinary emotions, excited an interest in his breast, and he wandered about the castle, wrapped in that pleasing kind of melancholy which is peculiar to refined and cultivated minds.
Often as he paced silently the terrace-walk that led to the inner court, he turned an enquiring eye towards the upper apartments, in hopes of seeing Laurette at the casement; but she was at present invisible, and he could not forbear secretly chiding her for losing the beauty of the morning. Still anxious to beguile the moments of separation, he walked towards the western lawn, and having reached the centre, attempted to open the door of the pavilion; but it was fastened, which made him for a short time irresolute in what manner to dispose of himself.
At length he determined to return towards the mansion, and to procure the key; this being delivered to him by the porter, he again walked pensively along the lawn, and before he applied the key to the door of the pavilion, stopped to
examine this magnificent structure with more attention than he had before bestowed on it.
It was of Corinthian architecture, and ornamented with much taste and splendour. It appeared not to have been coeval with the castle, which was originally Gothic, though some part of the edifice was so materially modernized that, except the embattled parapets, the chapel, which was half in ruins, and the narrow pointed arch of the window, it retained little of its primitive appearance.
The portico of the pavilion was composed of various coloured marbles, and the pillars which supported it were of the finest porphyry. The interior of the building was not inferior in magnificence, and displayed an infinite superiority in point of taste and beauty. It consisted of three apartments elegantly furnished; one as a banqueting room, which being lofty and extensive, exhibited a profusion of rare and valuable ornaments; the ceiling was richly adorned with paintings by the most celebrated masters; and the floor covered with a carpet of purple damask, which was beautifully embroidered with silver, in fanciful and elegant devices. The walls being in fine relief, were decorated with gilded trophies, whilst the canopies and other ornaments harmonized with the splendour and magnificence that pervaded the other parts of this superb apartment.
Behind this were two other rooms, smaller but not less beautiful than the one he had examined. They were terminated by glass doors opening into a shrubbery, whose entrance was guarded by two statues from the antique, which were half lost to the eye amid the trees and flowering shrubs that surrounded them. The floors of these apartments were covered with tapestry, representing scenes from Lucan, Tasso, and Ovid. The walls were adorned with historical and fanciful devices, and the upper part of them decorated with valuable pictures by the first Italian painters. One was a descending angel, by Pietro Perugino; another a Madonna, by Raphael.
As Enrico gazed attentively upon the latter, which exhibited the astonishing genius and cultivated taste of the inimitable artist, he thought he discovered a charm that was familiar to his fancy. The lifted eye, the melancholy, yet captivating, smile that was stealing upon the features, he imagined so strikingly resembled the lovely object of his affections, that he was unable to move from the spot.
Whilst he was regarding this performance with the admiration it merited, Laurette entered the room, and finding his attention was entirely absorbed in the contemplation of the picture, she seated herself, without accosting him, on a small settee, which was placed near the door, and amused herself with penciling a flower, which she had selected for the purpose on her way thither.
When a few minutes had elapsed, finding that he still continued to observe the Madonna with a fixed and earnest attention, she laid aside her pencil, and advancing towards him, demanded why he continued to examine that picture so minutely, when there were so many paintings in the pavilion which were equally worthy of admiration?
Enrico, though effectually roused from his reverie, did not immediately reply; whilst Laurette turning her beautiful eyes alternately upon him and the picture, repeated the enquiry.
"Because it resembles," returned Enrico, in a voice faltering with emotion, "my too charming sister she whose image is ever present to my mind, and who is dearer to me than my existence.
Laurette blushed deeply, but was silent and Enrico proceeded:
"Did you know what I have suffered and that I still suffer on your account, you would not deny me a part of that angelic pity and commiseration which I have seen you bestow upon objects less deserving of it.—I have long imposed upon myself," resumed he, still more agitated, yet endeavouring to stifle his emotions, "a severe restraint;—hitherto I have listened to, and obeyed the dictates of prudence which instigated me to forbear verbally acknowledging an attachment which must eventually form all the happiness or torment of my future life. But doubts and melancholy presages recur frequently and forcibly to my thoughts which neither reason nor reflection can subdue. I would fain find a solace for my present inquietude by anticipating the future, with those enthusiastic hopes which are peculiar to youth and inexperience; but that future presents only grief and disappointment to my disordered fancy.
"Whilst you are here, Laurette," continued Enrico, pressing her unreluctant hand to his breast, "you are under the protection of the Marchese de Montferrat; a man who has had art enough to impose himself upon the superficial part of the world, as one of its most perfect characters. I cannot absolutely assert that I am acquainted with any material crimes that can be alledged against him; but from some hints, inadvertently dropped by those who have received better information upon the subject, I am convinced that there are reasons to justify the suspicion that he is not what he pretends to be."
Finding that Laurette continued to listen to him with eager attention, he requested that she would take a seat upon the sofa, and, placing himself by her side, proceeded:
"The Marchese is yet passionately attached to the pleasures and luxuries of life, and his ample possessions at once gratify, and give unlimited range to his desires; he is unaccustomed to control, and cannot submit to be shackled by discretion, when it is at enmity with his inclinations.—Is such a man the proper guardian of youth and beauty? or is it possible that he, who has hitherto never resisted their power, can behold them with decided indifference. Besides he has recently been released from a matrimonial connexion, in which his heart had no interest, and may possibly earnestly desire to contract another less repugnant to his feelings and inclinations."
"Why, Enrico," interrupted Laurette, "do you thus resign yourself to unavailing despondency? why voluntarily yield to the impulse of a quick and warm indignation, which at once enslaves and obscures your better judgment?—Is it likely that the Marchese de Montferrat should behold with decided preference a poor dependant orphan, whose birth is veiled from all but himself in impenetrable mystery, and whose youth must preclude the probability of his thinking of her but as a child?"
Enrico was meditating a reply, when a summons for breakfast prevented a continuation of the subject.
As soon as they entered the castle they were met by the Signora, who had prepared the morning's repast, and had been some time in waiting to receive them. Having rallied them good-naturedly on their early rising, she proposed a walk, after breakfast, to an adjacent village, which, from its elevated situation, commanded an extensive prospect. Laurette and Enrico readily acceding to her wishes, it was agreed that a female servant should attend them, for the purpose of conveying a basket of fruit, sweetmeats, and other articles of food, that the party might not be obliged to return before the evening.
The Signora's favourite woman was also permitted to accompany them on their excursion, more in the capacity of a companion than a domestic. She was an Italian, and before the arrival of Laurette, was admitted as a familiar into those apartments which were appropriated to the use of her mistress, and was considered as her companion and confidante. Since then she had been less conversant with the Signora, who was more strongly attached to her new acquaintance, but was still highly esteemed and beloved.
It was yet early in the autumn, and the weather remarkably fine. The road leading to the village was for a considerable way through a lone and beautiful wood, chiefly composed of oak, flowering ash, and wild juniper; it skirted a neighbouring mountain which rose gradually from the gloom, whose summit was crested with the village, which was the object of their ramble. Its aspect was wild and picturesque, whilst the profusion of trees that half screened it from observation, being contrasted with the bare rocks and huge masses of granite, with which they were surrounded, had a singular and beautiful appearance.
By winding round an obscure path, encircling the foot of the mountain, they might have avoided a steep and rugged ascent, but they preferred the unfrequented glade they had chosen, accessible only to the foot of the enthusiast and the goatherd. Here they lingered amid the points of the rocks, selecting mosses and flowers from the interstices, till the sun, in its noon-tide radiance, spread over the variegated scenery that full profusion of
light and shade, which is deemed the most favourable to landscape.
As they advanced within a few paces of the summit, the Signora's foot unfortunately slipped; and had not Enrico, whose solicitude was equally extended to all that were in need of it, caught her in his arms, she must have fallen, and such a fall would consequently have been attended with danger.
A slight hurt was however the result of this trifling accident; her ankle was sprained, but being unwilling to give pain to others by the expression of her own, she concealed it; and thanking Enrico for his attention, agreed to accept of his arm the rest of the way.
Before they arrived at the village it was considerably worse, and she was under the necessity of stopping at one of the huts, which were dispersed over the brow of the mountain, to procure an embrocation. An hospitable cottager received them with a hearty welcome, and as the Signora's ankle was much swelled, and the pain still more acute, it was thought necessary for the party to postpone the execution of their design; and, as it was impossible for her to return without a conveyance, it was proposed that Enrico and Laurette should return to the castle, and send Ambrose or Anselmo with a horse; as no carriage could be procured at a convenient distance.
This, however, the Signora earnestly opposed till they had taken a view of the country from the extremity of the eminence, and had seen every thing worthy of observation; at the same time informing them that it was her intention to remain in the cottage till the evening, if her hospitable hostess, addressing herself to the woman of the house, would permit her to remain there.
The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror) Page 354