With pleasing murmur1 sooth
Her parted soul?
Shall no tear wet her grave?
SAYERS
On the following morning, Emily went early to the apartment of Madame Montoni, who had slept well, and was much recovered. Her spirits had also returned with her health, and her resolution to oppose Montoni’s demands revived, though it yet struggled with her fears, which Emily, who trembled for the consequence of further opposition2, endeavoured to confirm.
Her aunt, as has been already shewn, had a disposition3, which delighted in contradiction, and which taught her, when unpleasant circumstances were offered to her understanding, not to enquire4 into their truth, but to seek for arguments, by which she might make them appear false. Long habit had so entirely5 confirmed this natural propensity6, that she was not conscious of possessing it. Emily’s remonstrances7 and representations, therefore, roused her pride, instead of alarming, or convincing her judgment8, and she still relied upon the discovery of some means, by which she might yet avoid submitting to the demand of her husband. Considering, that, if she could once escape from his castle, she might defy his power, and, obtaining a decisive separation, live in comfort on the estates, that yet remained for her, she mentioned this to her niece, who accorded with her in the wish, but differed from her, as to the probability of its completion. She represented the impossibility of passing the gates, secured and guarded as they were, and the extreme danger of committing her design to the discretion9 of a servant, who might either purposely betray, or accidentally disclose it.— Montoni’s vengeance10 would also disdain11 restraint, if her intention was detected: and, though Emily wished, as fervently12 as she could do, to regain13 her freedom, and return to France, she consulted only Madame Montoni’s safety, and persevered14 in advising her to relinquish16 her settlement, without braving further outrage17.
The struggle of contrary emotions, however, continued to rage in her aunt’s bosom18, and she still brooded over the chance of effecting an escape. While she thus sat, Montoni entered the room, and, without noticing his wife’s indisposition, said, that he came to remind her of the impolicy of trifling19 with him, and that he gave her only till the evening to determine, whether she would consent to his demand, or compel him, by a refusal, to remove her to the east turret20. He added, that a party of cavaliers would dine with him, that day, and that he expected that she would sit at the head of the table, where Emily, also, must be present. Madame Montoni was now on the point of uttering an absolute refusal, but, suddenly considering, that her liberty, during this entertainment, though circumscribed22, might favour her further plans, she acquiesced23, with seeming reluctance24, and Montoni, soon after, left the apartment. His command struck Emily with surprise and apprehension25, who shrank from the thought of being exposed to the gaze of strangers, such as her fancy represented these to be, and the words of Count Morano, now again recollected26, did not sooth her fears.
When she withdrew to prepare for dinner, she dressed herself with even more simplicity27 than usual, that she might escape observation — a policy, which did not avail her, for, as she re-passed to her aunt’s apartment, she was met by Montoni, who censured28 what he called her prudish29 appearance, and insisted, that she should wear the most splendid dress she had, even that, which had been prepared for her intended nuptials30 with Count Morano, and which, it now appeared, her aunt had carefully brought with her from Venice. This was made, not in the Venetian, but, in the Neapolitan fashion, so as to set off the shape and figure, to the utmost advantage. In it, her beautiful chestnut31 tresses were negligently32 bound up in pearls, and suffered to fall back again on her neck. The simplicity of a better taste, than Madame Montoni’s, was conspicuous33 in this dress, splendid as it was, and Emily’s unaffected beauty never had appeared more captivatingly. She had now only to hope, that Montoni’s order was prompted, not by any extraordinary design, but by an ostentation34 of displaying his family, richly attired35, to the eyes of strangers; yet nothing less than his absolute command could have prevailed with her to wear a dress, that had been designed for such an offensive purpose, much less to have worn it on this occasion. As she descended37 to dinner, the emotion of her mind threw a faint blush over her countenance38, and heightened its interesting expression; for timidity had made her linger in her apartment, till the utmost moment, and, when she entered the hall, in which a kind of state dinner was spread, Montoni and his guests were already seated at the table. She was then going to place herself by her aunt; but Montoni waved his hand, and two of the cavaliers rose, and seated her between them.
The eldest39 of these was a tall man, with strong Italian features, an aquiline40 nose, and dark penetrating41 eyes, that flashed with fire, when his mind was agitated42, and, even in its state of rest, retained somewhat of the wildness of the passions. His visage was long and narrow, and his complexion43 of a sickly yellow.
The other, who appeared to be about forty, had features of a different cast, yet Italian, and his look was slow, subtle and penetrating; his eyes, of a dark grey, were small, and hollow; his complexion was a sun-burnt brown, and the contour of his face, though inclined to oval, was irregular and ill-formed.
Eight other guests sat round the table, who were all dressed in an uniform, and had all an expression, more or less, of wild fierceness, of subtle design, or of licentious44 passions. As Emily timidly surveyed them, she remembered the scene of the preceding morning, and again almost fancied herself surrounded by banditti; then, looking back to the tranquillity45 of her early life, she felt scarcely less astonishment46, than grief, at her present situation. The scene, in which they sat, assisted the illusion; it was an antient hall, gloomy from the style of its architecture, from its great extent, and because almost the only light it received was from one large gothic window, and from a pair of folding doors, which, being open, admitted likewise a view of the west rampart, with the wild mountains of the Apennine beyond.
The middle compartment47 of this hall rose into a vaulted48 roof, enriched with fretwork, and supported, on three sides, by pillars of marble; beyond these, long colonades retired49 in gloomy grandeur50, till their extent was lost in twilight51. The lightest footsteps of the servants, as they advanced through these, were returned in whispering echoes, and their figures, seen at a distance imperfectly through the dusk, frequently awakened53 Emily’s imagination. She looked alternately at Montoni, at his guests and on the surrounding scene; and then, remembering her dear native province, her pleasant home and the simplicity and goodness of the friends, whom she had lost, grief and surprise again occupied her mind.
When her thoughts could return from these considerations, she fancied she observed an air of authority towards his guests, such as she had never before seen him assume, though he had always been distinguished54 by an haughty55 carriage; there was something also in the manners of the strangers, that seemed perfectly52, though not servilely, to acknowledge his superiority.
During dinner, the conversation was chiefly on war and politics. They talked with energy of the state of Venice, its dangers, the character of the reigning56 Doge and of the chief senators; and then spoke57 of the state of Rome. When the repast was over, they rose, and, each filling his goblet58 with wine from the gilded59 ewer60, that stood beside him, drank ‘Success to our exploits!’ Montoni was lifting his goblet to his lips to drink this toast, when suddenly the wine hissed61, rose to the brim, and, as he held the glass from him, it burst into a thousand pieces.
To him, who constantly used that sort of Venice glass, which had the quality of breaking, upon receiving poisoned liquor, a suspicion, that some of his guests had endeavoured to betray him, instantly occurred, and he ordered all the gates to be closed, drew his sword, and, looking round on them, who stood in silent amazement62, exclaimed, ‘Here is a traitor63 among us; let those, that are innocent, assist in discovering the guilty.’
Indignation flashed from the eyes of the cavaliers, who all drew their swords; and Madame Montoni, terrified at what might ensue, was hastening from the hall, when her husband commanded her to stay; but his further words could not now be distinguished, for the voice of every person rose together. His order, that all the servants should appear, was at length obeyed, and they declared their ignorance of any deceit — a protestation which could not be believed; for it was evident, that, as Montoni’s liquor, and his only, had been poisoned, a deliberate design had been formed against his life, which could not have been carried so far towards its accomplishment66, without the connivance67 of the servant, who had the care of the wine ewers68.
This man, with another, whose face betrayed either the consciousness of guilt64, or the fear of punishment, Montoni ordered to be chained instantly, and confined in a strong room, which had formerly69 been used as a prison. Thither70, likewise, he would have sent all his guests, had he not foreseen the consequence of so bold and unjustifiable a proceeding71. As to those, therefore, he contented72 himself with swearing, that no man should pass the gates, till this extraordinary affair had been investigated, and then sternly bade his wife retire to her apartment, whither he suffered Emily to attend her.
In about half an hour, he followed to the dressing-room; and Emily observed, with horror, his dark countenance and quivering lip, and heard him denounce vengeance on her aunt.
‘It will avail you nothing,’ said he to his wife, ‘to deny the fact; I have proof of your guilt. Your only chance of mercy rests on a full confession73;— there is nothing to hope from sullenness74, or falsehood; your accomplice76 has confessed all.’
Emily’s fainting spirits were roused by astonishment, as she heard her aunt accused of a crime so atrocious, and she could not, for a moment, admit the possibility of her guilt. Meanwhile Madame Montoni’s agitation77 did not permit her to reply; alternately her complexion varied78 from livid paleness to a crimson79 flush; and she trembled,— but, whether with fear, or with indignation, it were difficult to decide.
‘Spare your words,’ said Montoni, seeing her about to speak, ‘your countenance makes full confession of your crime.— You shall be instantly removed to the east turret.’
‘This accusation,’ said Madame Montoni, speaking with difficulty, ‘is used only as an excuse for your cruelty; I disdain to reply to it. You do not believe me guilty.’
‘Signor!’ said Emily solemnly, ‘this dreadful charge, I would answer with my life, is false. Nay80, Signor,’ she added, observing the severity of his countenance, ‘this is no moment for restraint, on my part; I do not scruple81 to tell you, that you are deceived — most wickedly deceived, by the suggestion of some person, who aims at the ruin of my aunt:— it is impossible, that you could yourself have imagined a crime so hideous82.’
Montoni, his lips trembling more than before, replied only, ‘If you value your own safety,’ addressing Emily, ‘you will be silent. I shall know how to interpret your remonstrances, should you persevere15 in them.’
Emily raised her eyes calmly to heaven. ‘Here is, indeed, then, nothing to hope!’ said she.
‘Peace!’ cried Montoni, ‘or you shall find there is something to fear.’
He turned to his wife, who had now recovered her spirits, and who vehemently83 and wildly remonstrated84 upon this mysterious suspicion: but Montoni’s rage heightened with her indignation, and Emily, dreading85 the event of it, threw herself between them, and clasped his knees in silence, looking up in his face with an expression, that might have softened86 the heart of a fiend. Whether his was hardened by a conviction of Madame Montoni’s guilt, or that a bare suspicion of it made him eager to exercise vengeance, he was totally and alike insensible to the distress87 of his wife, and to the pleading looks of Emily, whom he made no attempt to raise, but was vehemently menacing both, when he was called out of the room by some person at the door. As he shut the door, Emily heard him turn the lock and take out the key; so that Madame Montoni and herself were now prisoners; and she saw that his designs became more and more terrible. Her endeavours to explain his motives88 for this circumstance were almost as ineffectual as those to sooth the distress of her aunt, whose innocence89 she could not doubt; but she, at length, accounted for Montoni’s readiness to suspect his wife by his own consciousness of cruelty towards her, and for the sudden violence of his present conduct against both, before even his suspicions could be completely formed, by his general eagerness to effect suddenly whatever he was led to desire and his carelessness of justice, or humanity, in accomplishing it.
Madame Montoni, after some time, again looked round, in search of a possibility of escape from the castle, and conversed90 with Emily on the subject, who was now willing to encounter any hazard, though she forbore to encourage a hope in her aunt, which she herself did not admit. How strongly the edifice91 was secured, and how vigilantly92 guarded, she knew too well; and trembled to commit their safety to the caprice of the servant, whose assistance they must solicit93. Old Carlo was compassionate94, but he seemed to be too much in his master’s interest to be trusted by them; Annette could of herself do little, and Emily knew Ludovico only from her report. At present, however, these considerations were useless, Madame Montoni and her niece being shut up from all intercourse95, even with the persons, whom there might be these reasons to reject.
In the hall, confusion and tumult96 still reigned97. Emily, as she listened anxiously to the murmur, that sounded along the gallery, sometimes fancied she heard the clashing of swords, and, when she considered the nature of the provocation98, given by Montoni, and his impetuosity, it appeared probable, that nothing less than arms would terminate the contention99. Madame Montoni, having exhausted100 all her expressions of indignation, and Emily, hers of comfort, they remained silent, in that kind of breathless stillness, which, in nature, often succeeds to the uproar101 of conflicting elements; a stillness, like the morning, that dawns upon the ruins of an earthquake.
An uncertain kind of terror pervaded102 Emily’s mind; the circumstances of the past hour still came dimly and confusedly to her memory; and her thoughts were various and rapid, though without tumult.
From this state of waking visions she was recalled by a knocking at the chamber103-door, and, enquiring104 who was there, heard the whispering voice of Annette.
‘Dear madam, let me come in, I have a great deal to say,’ said the poor girl.
‘The door is locked,’ answered the lady.
‘Yes, ma’am, but do pray open it.’
‘The Signor has the key,’ said Madame Montoni.
‘O blessed Virgin105! what will become of us?’ exclaimed Annette.
‘Assist us to escape,’ said her mistress. ‘Where is Ludovico?’
‘Below in the hall, ma’am, amongst them all, fighting with the best of them!’
‘Fighting! Who are fighting?’ cried Madame Montoni.
‘Why the Signor, ma’am, and all the Signors, and a great many more.’
‘Is any person much hurt?’ said Emily, in a tremulous voice. ‘Hurt! Yes, ma’amselle,— there they lie bleeding, and the swords are clashing, and — O holy saints! Do let me in, ma’am, they are coming this way — I shall be murdered!’
‘Fly!’ cried Emily, ‘fly! we cannot open the door.’
Annette repeated, that they were coming, and in the same moment fled.
‘Be calm, madam,’ said Emily, turning to her aunt, ‘I entreat106 you to be calm, I am not frightened — not frightened in the least, do not you be alarmed.’
‘You can scarcely support yourself,’ replied her aunt; ‘Merciful God! what is it they mean to do with us?’
‘They come, perhaps, to liberate65 us,’ said Emily, ‘Signor Montoni perhaps is — is conquered.’
The belief of his death gave her spirits a sudden shock, and she grew faint as she saw him in imagination, expiring at her feet.
‘They are coming!’ cried Madame Montoni —‘I hear their steps — they are at the door!’
Emily turned her languid eyes to the door, but terror deprived her of utterance107. The key sounded in the lock; the door opened, and Montoni appeared, followed by three ruffian-like men. ‘Execute your orders,’ said he, turning to them, and pointing to his wife, who shrieked108, but was immediately carried from the room; while Emily sunk, senseless, on a couch, by which she had endeavoured to support herself. When she recovered, she was alone, and recollected only, that Madame Montoni had been there, together with some unconnected particulars of the preceding transaction, which were, however, sufficient to renew all her terror. She looked wildly round the apartment, as if in search of some means of intelligence, concerning her aunt, while neither her own danger, or an idea of escaping from the room, immediately occurred.
When her recollection was more complete, she raised herself and went, but with only a faint hope, to examine whether the door was unfastened. It was so, and she then stepped timidly out into the gallery, but paused there, uncertain which way she should proceed. Her first wish was to gather some information, as to her aunt, and she, at length, turned her steps to go to the lesser110 hall, where Annette and the other servants usually waited.
Every where, as she passed, she heard, from a distance, the uproar of contention, and the figures and faces, which she met, hurrying along the passages, struck her mind with dismay. Emily might now have appeared, like an angel of light, encompassed111 by fiends. At length, she reached the lesser hall, which was silent and deserted112, but, panting for breath, she sat down to recover herself. The total stillness of this place was as awful as the tumult, from which she had escaped: but she had now time to recall her scattered113 thoughts, to remember her personal danger, and to consider of some means of safety. She perceived, that it was useless to seek Madame Montoni, through the wide extent and intricacies of the castle, now, too, when every avenue seemed to be beset114 by ruffians; in this hall she could not resolve to stay, for she knew not how soon it might become their place of rendezvous115; and, though she wished to go to her chamber, she dreaded116 again to encounter them on the way.
Thus she sat, trembling and hesitating, when a distant murmur broke on the silence, and grew louder and louder, till she distinguished voices and steps approaching. She then rose to go, but the sounds came along the only passage, by which she could depart, and she was compelled to await in the hall, the arrival of the persons, whose steps she heard. As these advanced, she distinguished groans117, and then saw a man borne slowly along by four others. Her spirits faltered118 at the sight, and she leaned against the wall for support. The bearers, meanwhile, entered the hall, and, being too busily occupied to detain, or even notice Emily, she attempted to leave it, but her strength failed, and she again sat down on the bench. A damp chillness came over her; her sight became confused; she knew not what had passed, or where she was, yet the groans of the wounded person still vibrated on her heart. In a few moments, the tide of life seemed again to flow; she began to breathe more freely, and her senses revived. She had not fainted, nor had ever totally lost her consciousness, but had contrived119 to support herself on the bench; still without courage to turn her eyes upon the unfortunate object, which remained near her, and about whom the men were yet too much engaged to attend to her.
When her strength returned, she rose, and was suffered to leave the hall, though her anxiety, having produced some vain enquiries, concerning Madame Montoni, had thus made a discovery of herself. Towards her chamber she now hastened, as fast as her steps would bear her, for she still perceived, upon her passage, the sounds of confusion at a distance, and she endeavoured, by taking her way through some obscure rooms, to avoid encountering the persons, whose looks had terrified her before, as well as those parts of the castle, where the tumult might still rage.
At length, she reached her chamber, and, having secured the door of the corridor, felt herself, for a moment, in safety. A profound stillness reigned in this remote apartment, which not even the faint murmur of the most distant sounds now reached. She sat down, near one of the casements120, and, as she gazed on the mountain-view beyond, the deep repose122 of its beauty struck her with all the force of contrast, and she could scarcely believe herself so near a scene of savage123 discord124. The contending elements seemed to have retired from their natural spheres, and to have collected themselves into the minds of men, for there alone the tempest now reigned.
Emily tried to tranquillize her spirits, but anxiety made her constantly listen for some sound, and often look out upon the ramparts, where all, however, was lonely and still. As a sense of her own immediate109 danger had decreased, her apprehension concerning Madame Montoni heightened, who, she remembered, had been fiercely threatened with confinement125 in the east turret, and it was possible, that her husband had satisfied his present vengeance with this punishment. She, therefore, determined126, when night should return, and the inhabitants of the castle should be asleep, to explore the way to the turret, which, as the direction it stood in was mentioned, appeared not very difficult to be done. She knew, indeed, that although her aunt might be there, she could afford her no effectual assistance, but it might give her some comfort even to know, that she was discovered, and to hear the sound of her niece’s voice; for herself, any certainty, concerning Madame Montoni’s fate, appeared more tolerable, than this exhausting suspense127.
Meanwhile, Annette did not appear, and Emily was surprised, and somewhat alarmed for her, whom, in the confusion of the late scene, various accidents might have befallen, and it was improbable, that she would have failed to come to her apartment, unless something unfortunate had happened.
Thus the hours passed in solitude128, in silence, and in anxious conjecturing129. Being not once disturbed by a message, or a sound, it appeared, that Montoni had wholly forgotten her, and it gave her some comfort to find, that she could be so unnoticed. She endeavoured to withdraw her thoughts from the anxiety, that preyed130 upon them, but they refused controul; she could neither read, or draw, and the tones of her lute21 were so utterly131 discordant132 with the present state of her feelings, that she could not endure them for a moment.
The sun, at length, set behind the western mountains; his fiery133 beams faded from the clouds, and then a dun melancholy134 purple drew over them, and gradually involved the features of the country below. Soon after, the sentinels passed on the rampart to commence the watch.
Twilight had now spread its gloom over every object; the dismal135 obscurity of her chamber recalled fearful thoughts, but she remembered, that to procure136 a light she must pass through a great extent of the castle, and, above all, through the halls, where she had already experienced so much horror. Darkness, indeed, in the present state of her spirits, made silence and solitude terrible to her; it would also prevent the possibility of her finding her way to the turret, and condemn137 her to remain in suspense, concerning the fate of her aunt; yet she dared not to venture forth138 for a lamp.
Continuing at the casement121, that she might catch the last lingering gleam of evening, a thousand vague images of fear floated on her fancy. ‘What if some of these ruffians,’ said she, ‘should find out the private stair-case, and in the darkness of night steal into my chamber!’ Then, recollecting139 the mysterious inhabitant of the neighbouring apartment, her terror changed its object. ‘He is not a prisoner,’ said she, ‘though he remains140 in one chamber, for Montoni did not fasten the door, when he left it; the unknown person himself did this; it is certain, therefore, he can come out when he pleases.’
She paused, for, notwithstanding the terrors of darkness, she considered it to be very improbable, whoever he was, that he could have any interest in intruding141 upon her retirement142; and again the subject of her emotion changed, when, remembering her nearness to the chamber, where the veil had formerly disclosed a dreadful spectacle, she doubted whether some passage might not communicate between it and the insecure door of the stair-case.
It was now entirely dark, and she left the casement. As she sat with her eyes fixed143 on the hearth144, she thought she perceived there a spark of light; it twinkled and disappeared, and then again was visible. At length, with much care, she fanned the embers of a wood fire, that had been lighted in the morning, into flame, and, having communicated it to a lamp, which always stood in her room, felt a satisfaction not to be conceived, without a review of her situation. Her first care was to guard the door of the stair-case, for which purpose she placed against it all the furniture she could move, and she was thus employed, for some time, at the end of which she had another instance how much more oppressive misfortune is to the idle, than to the busy; for, having then leisure to think over all the circumstances of her present afflictions, she imagined a thousand evils for futurity, and these real and ideal subjects of distress alike wounded her mind.
Thus heavily moved the hours till midnight, when she counted the sullen75 notes of the great clock, as they rolled along the rampart, unmingled with any sound, except the distant foot-fall of a sentinel, who came to relieve guard. She now thought she might venture towards the turret, and, having gently opened the chamber door to examine the corridor, and to listen if any person was stirring in the castle, found all around in perfect stillness. Yet no sooner had she left the room, than she perceived a light flash on the walls of the corridor, and, without waiting to see by whom it was carried, she shrunk back, and closed her door. No one approaching, she conjectured146, that it was Montoni going to pay his mid-night visit to her unknown neighbour, and she determined to wait, till he should have retired to his own apartment.
When the chimes had tolled147 another half hour, she once more opened the door, and, perceiving that no person was in the corridor, hastily crossed into a passage, that led along the south side of the castle towards the stair-case, whence she believed she could easily find her way to the turret. Often pausing on her way, listening apprehensively148 to the murmurs149 of the wind, and looking fearfully onward150 into the gloom of the long passages, she, at length, reached the stair-case; but there her perplexity began. Two passages appeared, of which she knew not how to prefer one, and was compelled, at last, to decide by chance, rather than by circumstances. That she entered, opened first into a wide gallery, along which she passed lightly and swiftly; for the lonely aspect of the place awed151 her, and she started at the echo of her own steps.
On a sudden, she thought she heard a voice, and, not distinguishing from whence it came, feared equally to proceed, or to return. For some moments, she stood in an attitude of listening expectation, shrinking almost from herself and scarcely daring to look round her. The voice came again, but, though it was now near her, terror did not allow her to judge exactly whence it proceeded. She thought, however, that it was the voice of complaint, and her belief was soon confirmed by a low moaning sound, that seemed to proceed from one of the chambers152, opening into the gallery. It instantly occurred to her, that Madame Montoni might be there confined, and she advanced to the door to speak, but was checked by considering, that she was, perhaps, going to commit herself to a stranger, who might discover her to Montoni; for, though this person, whoever it was, seemed to be in affliction, it did not follow, that he was a prisoner.
While these thoughts passed over her mind, and left her still in hesitation153, the voice spoke again, and, calling ‘Ludovico,’ she then perceived it to be that of Annette; on which, no longer hesitating, she went in joy to answer her.
‘Ludovico!’ cried Annette, sobbing154 —‘Ludovico!’
‘It is not Ludovico, it is I— Mademoiselle Emily.’
Annette ceased sobbing, and was silent.
‘If you can open the door, let me in,’ said Emily, ‘here is no person to hurt you.’
‘Ludovico!— O, Ludovico!’ cried Annette.
Emily now lost her patience, and her fear of being overheard increasing, she was even nearly about to leave the door, when she considered, that Annette might, possibly, know something of the situation of Madame Montoni, or direct her to the turret. At length, she obtained a reply, though little satisfactory, to her questions, for Annette knew nothing of Madame Montoni, and only conjured155 Emily to tell her what was become of Ludovico. Of him she had no information to give, and she again asked who had shut Annette up.
‘Ludovico,’ said the poor girl, ‘Ludovico shut me up. When I ran away from the dressing-room door to-day, I went I scarcely knew where, for safety; and, in this gallery, here, I met Ludovico, who hurried me into this chamber, and locked me up to keep me out of harm, as he said. But he was in such a hurry himself, he hardly spoke ten words, but he told me he would come, and let me out, when all was quiet, and he took away the key with him. Now all these hours are passed, and I have neither seen, or heard a word of him; they have murdered him — I know they have!’
Emily suddenly remembered the wounded person, whom she had seen borne into the servants’ hall, and she scarcely doubted, that he was Ludovico, but she concealed156 the circumstance from Annette, and endeavoured to comfort her. Then, impatient to learn something of her aunt, she again enquired157 the way to the turret.
‘O! you are not going, ma’amselle,’ said Annette, ‘for Heaven’s sake, do not go, and leave me here by myself.’
‘Nay, Annette, you do not think I can wait in the gallery all night,’ replied Emily. ‘Direct me to the turret; in the morning I will endeavour to release you.’
‘O holy Mary!’ exclaimed Annette, ‘am I to stay here by myself all night! I shall be frightened out of my senses, and I shall die of hunger; I have had nothing to eat since dinner!’
Emily could scarcely forbear smiling at the heterogeneous158 distresses159 of Annette, though she sincerely pitied them, and said what she could to sooth her. At length, she obtained something like a direction to the east turret, and quitted the door, from whence, after many intricacies and perplexities, she reached the steep and winding160 stairs of the turret, at the foot of which she stopped to rest, and to re-animate her courage with a sense of her duty. As she surveyed this dismal place, she perceived a door on the opposite side of the stair-case, and, anxious to know whether it would lead her to Madame Montoni, she tried to undraw the bolts, which fastened it. A fresher air came to her face, as she unclosed the door, which opened upon the east rampart, and the sudden current had nearly extinguished her light, which she now removed to a distance; and again, looking out upon the obscure terrace, she perceived only the faint outline of the walls and of some towers, while, above, heavy clouds, borne along the wind, seemed to mingle145 with the stars, and wrap the night in thicker darkness. As she gazed, now willing to defer161 the moment of certainty, from which she expected only confirmation162 of evil, a distant footstep reminded her, that she might be observed by the men on watch, and, hastily closing the door, she took her lamp, and passed up the stair-case. Trembling came upon her, as she ascended163 through the gloom. To her melancholy fancy this seemed to be a place of death, and the chilling silence, that reigned, confirmed its character. Her spirits faltered. ‘Perhaps,’ said she, ‘I am come hither only to learn a dreadful truth, or to witness some horrible spectacle; I feel that my senses would not survive such an addition of horror.’
The image of her aunt murdered — murdered, perhaps, by the hand of Montoni, rose to her mind; she trembled, gasped164 for breath — repented165 that she had dared to venture hither, and checked her steps. But, after she had paused a few minutes, the consciousness of her duty returned, and she went on. Still all was silent. At length a track of blood, upon a stair, caught her eye; and instantly she perceived, that the wall and several other steps were stained. She paused, again struggled to support herself, and the lamp almost fell from her trembling hand. Still no sound was heard, no living being seemed to inhabit the turret; a thousand times she wished herself again in her chamber; dreaded to enquire farther — dreaded to encounter some horrible spectacle, and yet could not resolve, now that she was so near the termination of her efforts, to desist from them. Having again collected courage to proceed, after ascending166 about half way up the turret, she came to another door, but here again she stopped in hesitation; listened for sounds within, and then, summoning all her resolution, unclosed it, and entered a chamber, which, as her lamp shot its feeble rays through the darkness, seemed to exhibit only dew-stained and deserted walls. As she stood examining it, in fearful expectation of discovering the remains of her unfortunate aunt, she perceived something lying in an obscure corner of the room, and, struck with an horrible conviction, she became, for an instant, motionless and nearly insensible. Then, with a kind of desperate resolution, she hurried towards the object that excited her terror, when, perceiving the clothes of some person, on the floor, she caught hold of them, and found in her grasp the old uniform of a soldier, beneath which appeared a heap of pikes and other arms. Scarcely daring to trust her sight, she continued, for some moments, to gaze on the object of her late alarm, and then left the chamber, so much comforted and occupied by the conviction, that her aunt was not there, that she was going to descend36 the turret, without enquiring farther; when, on turning to do so, she observed upon some steps on the second flight an appearance of blood, and remembering, that there was yet another chamber to be explored, she again followed the windings167 of the ascent168. Still, as she ascended, the track of blood glared upon the stairs.
It led her to the door of a landing-place, that terminated them, but she was unable to follow it farther. Now that she was so near the sought-for certainty, she dreaded to know it, even more than before, and had not fortitude169 sufficient to speak, or to attempt opening the door.
Having listened, in vain, for some sound, that might confirm, or destroy her fears, she, at length, laid her hand on the lock, and, finding it fastened, called on Madame Montoni; but only a chilling silence ensued.
‘She is dead!’ she cried,—‘murdered!— her blood is on the stairs!’
Emily grew very faint; could support herself no longer, and had scarcely presence of mind to set down the lamp, and place herself on a step.
When her recollection returned, she spoke again at the door, and again attempted to open it, and, having lingered for some time, without receiving any answer, or hearing a sound, she descended the turret, and, with all the swiftness her feebleness would permit, sought her own apartment.
As she turned into the corridor, the door of a chamber opened, from whence Montoni came forth; but Emily, more terrified than ever to behold170 him, shrunk back into the passage soon enough to escape being noticed, and heard him close the door, which she had perceived was the same she formerly observed. Having here listened to his departing steps, till their faint sound was lost in distance, she ventured to her apartment, and, securing it once again, retired to her bed, leaving the lamp burning on the hearth. But sleep was fled from her harassed171 mind, to which images of horror alone occurred. She endeavoured to think it possible, that Madame Montoni had not been taken to the turret; but, when she recollected the former menaces of her husband and the terrible spirit of vengeance, which he had displayed on a late occasion; when she remembered his general character, the looks of the men, who had forced Madame Montoni from her apartment, and the written traces on the stairs of the turret — she could not doubt, that her aunt had been carried thither, and could scarcely hope, that she had not been carried to be murdered.
The grey of morning had long dawned through her casements, before Emily closed her eyes in sleep; when wearied nature, at length, yielded her a respite172 from suffering.
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收听单词发音
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1
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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8
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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14
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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16
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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17
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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18
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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20
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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22
circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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23
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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25
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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26
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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28
censured
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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29
prudish
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| adj.装淑女样子的，装规矩的，过分规矩的；adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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30
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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31
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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32
negligently
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33
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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34
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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35
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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37
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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38
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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39
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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40
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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41
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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42
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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43
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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44
licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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45
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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46
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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47
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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48
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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49
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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50
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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51
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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52
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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53
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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54
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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55
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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56
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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57
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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58
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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59
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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60
ewer
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| n.大口水罐 | |
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61
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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62
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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63
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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64
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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65
liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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66
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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67
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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68
ewers
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| n.大口水壶，水罐( ewer的名词复数 ) | |
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69
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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70
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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71
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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72
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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73
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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74
sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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75
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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76
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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77
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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78
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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79
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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80
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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81
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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82
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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83
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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84
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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85
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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86
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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87
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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88
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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89
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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90
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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91
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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92
vigilantly
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| adv.警觉地，警惕地 | |
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93
solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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94
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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95
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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96
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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97
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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98
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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99
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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100
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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101
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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102
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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104
enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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105
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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106
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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107
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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108
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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110
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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111
encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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114
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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115
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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116
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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117
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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118
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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119
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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120
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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121
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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122
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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123
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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124
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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127
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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128
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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129
conjecturing
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| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
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130
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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131
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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132
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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133
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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139
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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140
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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141
intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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143
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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149
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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151
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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153
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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154
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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155
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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156
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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157
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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158
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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159
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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160
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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161
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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162
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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163
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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167
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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168
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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169
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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170
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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171
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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172
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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