Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres,
Lingering, and sitting, by a new-made grave.
MILTON
On the following day, Montoni sent a second excuse to Emily, who was surprised at the circumstance. ‘This is very strange!’ said she to herself. ‘His conscience tells him the purport2 of my visit, and he defers3 it, to avoid an explanation.’ She now almost resolved to throw herself in his way, but terror checked the intention, and this day passed, as the preceding one, with Emily, except that a degree of awful expectation, concerning the approaching night, now somewhat disturbed the dreadful calmness that had pervaded4 her mind.
Towards evening, the second part of the band, which had made the first excursion among the mountains, returned to the castle, where, as they entered the courts, Emily, in her remote chamber5, heard their loud shouts and strains of exultation6, like the orgies of furies over some horrid7 sacrifice. She even feared they were about to commit some barbarous deed; a conjecture8 from which, however, Annette soon relieved her, by telling, that the people were only exulting9 over the plunder10 they had brought with them. This circumstance still further confirmed her in the belief, that Montoni had really commenced to be a captain of banditti, and meant to retrieve11 his broken fortunes by the plunder of travellers! Indeed, when she considered all the circumstances of his situation — in an armed, and almost inaccessible12 castle, retired13 far among the recesses14 of wild and solitary15 mountains, along whose distant skirts were scattered16 towns, and cities, whither wealthy travellers were continually passing — this appeared to be the situation of all others most suited for the success of schemes of rapine, and she yielded to the strange thought, that Montoni was become a captain of robbers. His character also, unprincipled, dauntless, cruel and enterprising, seemed to fit him for the situation. Delighting in the tumult17 and in the struggles of life, he was equally a stranger to pity and to fear; his very courage was a sort of animal ferocity; not the noble impulse of a principle, such as inspirits the mind against the oppressor, in the cause of the oppressed; but a constitutional hardiness18 of nerve, that cannot feel, and that, therefore, cannot fear.
Emily’s supposition, however natural, was in part erroneous, for she was a stranger to the state of this country and to the circumstances, under which its frequent wars were partly conducted. The revenues of the many states of Italy being, at that time, insufficient19 to the support of standing20 armies, even during the short periods, which the turbulent habits both of the governments and the people permitted to pass in peace, an order of men arose not known in our age, and but faintly described in the history of their own. Of the soldiers, disbanded at the end of every war, few returned to the safe, but unprofitable occupations, then usual in peace. Sometimes they passed into other countries, and mingled21 with armies, which still kept the field. Sometimes they formed themselves into bands of robbers, and occupied remote fortresses22, where their desperate character, the weakness of the governments which they offended, and the certainty, that they could be recalled to the armies, when their presence should be again wanted, prevented them from being much pursued by the civil power; and, sometimes, they attached themselves to the fortunes of a popular chief, by whom they were led into the service of any state, which could settle with him the price of their valour. From this latter practice arose their name — CONDOTTIERI; a term formidable all over Italy, for a period, which concluded in the earlier part of the seventeenth century, but of which it is not so easy to ascertain24 the commencement.
Contests between the smaller states were then, for the most part, affairs of enterprize alone, and the probabilities of success were estimated, not from the skill, but from the personal courage of the general, and the soldiers. The ability, which was necessary to the conduct of tedious operations, was little valued. It was enough to know how a party might be led towards their enemies, with the greatest secrecy25, or conducted from them in the compactest order. The officer was to precipitate26 himself into a situation, where, but for his example, the soldiers might not have ventured; and, as the opposed parties knew little of each other’s strength, the event of the day was frequently determined27 by the boldness of the first movements. In such services the condottieri were eminent28, and in these, where plunder always followed success, their characters acquired a mixture of intrepidity29 and profligacy30, which awed31 even those whom they served.
When they were not thus engaged, their chief had usually his own fortress23, in which, or in its neighbourhood, they enjoyed an irksome rest; and, though their wants were, at one time, partly supplied from the property of the inhabitants, the lavish32 distribution of their plunder at others, prevented them from being obnoxious33; and the peasants of such districts gradually shared the character of their warlike visitors. The neighbouring governments sometimes professed34, but seldom endeavoured, to suppress these military communities; both because it was difficult to do so, and because a disguised protection of them ensured, for the service of their wars, a body of men, who could not otherwise be so cheaply maintained, or so perfectly35 qualified36. The commanders sometimes even relied so far upon this policy of the several powers, as to frequent their capitals; and Montoni, having met them in the gaming parties of Venice and Padua, conceived a desire to emulate37 their characters, before his ruined fortunes tempted38 him to adopt their practices. It was for the arrangement of his present plan of life, that the midnight councils were held at his mansion39 in Venice, and at which Orsino and some other members of the present community then assisted with suggestions, which they had since executed with the wreck40 of their fortunes.
On the return of night, Emily resumed her station at the casement41. There was now a moon; and, as it rose over the tufted woods, its yellow light served to shew the lonely terrace and the surrounding objects, more distinctly, than the twilight42 of the stars had done, and promised Emily to assist her observations, should the mysterious form return. On this subject, she again wavered in conjecture, and hesitated whether to speak to the figure, to which a strong and almost irresistible43 interest urged her; but terror, at intervals44, made her reluctant to do so.
‘If this is a person who has designs upon the castle,’ said she, ‘my curiosity may prove fatal to me; yet the mysterious music, and the lamentations I heard, must surely have proceeded from him: if so, he cannot be an enemy.’
She then thought of her unfortunate aunt, and, shuddering47 with grief and horror, the suggestions of imagination seized her mind with all the force of truth, and she believed, that the form she had seen was supernatural. She trembled, breathed with difficulty, an icy coldness touched her cheeks, and her fears for a while overcame her judgment48. Her resolution now forsook49 her, and she determined, if the figure should appear, not to speak to it.
Thus the time passed, as she sat at her casement, awed by expectation, and by the gloom and stillness of midnight; for she saw obscurely in the moon-light only the mountains and woods, a cluster of towers, that formed the west angle of the castle, and the terrace below; and heard no sound, except, now and then, the lonely watch- word, passed by the centinels on duty, and afterwards the steps of the men who came to relieve guard, and whom she knew at a distance on the rampart by their pikes, that glittered in the moonbeam, and then, by the few short words, in which they hailed their fellows of the night. Emily retired within her chamber, while they passed the casement. When she returned to it, all was again quiet. It was now very late, she was wearied with watching, and began to doubt the reality of what she had seen on the preceding night; but she still lingered at the window, for her mind was too perturbed50 to admit of sleep. The moon shone with a clear lustre51, that afforded her a complete view of the terrace; but she saw only a solitary centinel, pacing at one end of it; and, at length, tired with expectation, she withdrew to seek rest.
Such, however, was the impression, left on her mind by the music, and the complaining she had formerly52 heard, as well as by the figure, which she fancied she had seen, that she determined to repeat the watch, on the following night.
Montoni, on the next day, took no notice of Emily’s appointed visit, but she, more anxious than before to see him, sent Annette to enquire53, at what hour he would admit her. He mentioned eleven o’clock, and Emily was punctual to the moment; at which she called up all her fortitude54 to support the shock of his presence and the dreadful recollections it enforced. He was with several of his officers, in the cedar56 room; on observing whom she paused; and her agitation57 increased, while he continued to converse58 with them, apparently59 not observing her, till some of his officers, turning round, saw Emily, and uttered an exclamation60. She was hastily retiring, when Montoni’s voice arrested her, and, in a faultering accent, she said,—‘I would speak with you, Signor Montoni, if you are at leisure.’
‘These are my friends,’ he replied, ‘whatever you would say, they may hear.’
Emily, without replying, turned from the rude gaze of the chevaliers, and Montoni then followed her to the hall, whence he led her to a small room, of which he shut the door with violence. As she looked on his dark countenance61, she again thought she saw the murderer of her aunt; and her mind was so convulsed with horror, that she had not power to recal thought enough to explain the purport of her visit; and to trust herself with the mention of Madame Montoni was more than she dared.
Montoni at length impatiently enquired62 what she had to say? ‘I have no time for trifling,’ he added, ‘my moments are important.’
Emily then told him, that she wished to return to France, and came to beg, that he would permit her to do so.— But when he looked surprised, and enquired for the motive63 of the request, she hesitated, became paler than before, trembled, and had nearly sunk at his feet. He observed her emotion, with apparent indifference64, and interrupted the silence by telling her, he must be gone. Emily, however, recalled her spirits sufficiently65 to enable her to repeat her request. And, when Montoni absolutely refused it, her slumbering66 mind was roused.
‘I can no longer remain here with propriety67, sir,’ said she, ‘and I may be allowed to ask, by what right you detain me.’
‘It is my will that you remain here,’ said Montoni, laying his hand on the door to go; ‘let that suffice you.’
Emily, considering that she had no appeal from this will, forbore to dispute his right, and made a feeble effort to persuade him to be just. ‘While my aunt lived, sir,’ said she, in a tremulous voice, ‘my residence here was not improper68; but now, that she is no more, I may surely be permitted to depart. My stay cannot benefit you, sir, and will only distress69 me.’
‘Who told you, that Madame Montoni was dead?’ said Montoni, with an inquisitive70 eye. Emily hesitated, for nobody had told her so, and she did not dare to avow71 the having seen that spectacle in the portal-chamber, which had compelled her to the belief.
‘Who told you so?’ he repeated, more sternly.
‘Alas! I know it too well,’ replied Emily: ‘spare me on this terrible subject!’
She sat down on a bench to support herself.
‘If you wish to see her,’ said Montoni, ‘you may; she lies in the east turret72.’
He now left the room, without awaiting her reply, and returned to the cedar chamber, where such of the chevaliers as had not before seen Emily, began to rally him, on the discovery they had made; but Montoni did not appear disposed to bear this mirth, and they changed the subject.
Having talked with the subtle Orsino, on the plan of an excursion, which he meditated73 for a future day, his friend advised, that they should lie in wait for the enemy, which Verezzi impetuously opposed, reproached Orsino with want of spirit, and swore, that, if Montoni would let him lead on fifty men, he would conquer all that should oppose him.
Orsino smiled contemptuously; Montoni smiled too, but he also listened. Verezzi then proceeded with vehement74 declamation75 and assertion, till he was stopped by an argument of Orsino, which he knew not how to answer better than by invective76. His fierce spirit detested77 the cunning caution of Orsino, whom he constantly opposed, and whose inveterate78, though silent, hatred79 he had long ago incurred80. And Montoni was a calm observer of both, whose different qualifications he knew, and how to bend their opposite character to the perfection of his own designs. But Verezzi, in the heat of opposition81, now did not scruple82 to accuse Orsino of cowardice83, at which the countenance of the latter, while he made no reply, was overspread with a livid paleness; and Montoni, who watched his lurking84 eye, saw him put his hand hastily into his bosom85. But Verezzi, whose face, glowing with crimson86, formed a striking contrast to the complexion87 of Orsino, remarked not the action, and continued boldly declaiming against cowards to Cavigni, who was slily laughing at his vehemence88, and at the silent mortification89 of Orsino, when the latter, retiring a few steps behind, drew forth90 a stilletto to stab his adversary91 in the back. Montoni arrested his half-extended arm, and, with a significant look, made him return the poinard into his bosom, unseen by all except himself; for most of the party were disputing at a distant window, on the situation of a dell where they meant to form an ambuscade.
When Verezzi had turned round, the deadly hatred, expressed on the features of his opponent, raising, for the first time, a suspicion of his intention, he laid his hand on his sword, and then, seeming to recollect55 himself, strode up to Montoni.
‘Signor,’ said he, with a significant look at Orsino, ‘we are not a band of assassins; if you have business for brave men employ me on this expedition: you shall have the last drop of my blood; if you have only work for cowards — keep him,’ pointing to Orsino, ‘and let me quit Udolpho.’
Orsino, still more incensed92, again drew forth his stilletto, and rushed towards Verezzi, who, at the same instant, advanced with his sword, when Montoni and the rest of the party interfered93 and separated them.
‘This is the conduct of a boy,’ said Montoni to Verezzi, ‘not of a man: be more moderate in your speech.’
‘Moderation is the virtue94 of cowards,’ retorted Verezzi; ‘they are moderate in every thing — but in fear.’
‘I accept your words,’ said Montoni, turning upon him with a fierce and haughty95 look, and drawing his sword out of the scabbard.
‘With all my heart,’ cried Verezzi, ‘though I did not mean them for you.’
He directed a pass at Montoni; and, while they fought, the villain96 Orsino made another attempt to stab Verezzi, and was again prevented.
The combatants were, at length, separated; and, after a very long and violent dispute, reconciled. Montoni then left the room with Orsino, whom he detained in private consultation97 for a considerable time.
Emily, meanwhile, stunned98 by the last words of Montoni, forgot, for the moment, his declaration, that she should continue in the castle, while she thought of her unfortunate aunt, who, he had said, was laid in the east turret. In suffering the remains99 of his wife to lie thus long unburied, there appeared a degree of brutality100 more shocking than she had suspected even Montoni could practise.
After a long struggle, she determined to accept his permission to visit the turret, and to take a last look of her ill-fated aunt: with which design she returned to her chamber, and, while she waited for Annette to accompany her, endeavoured to acquire fortitude sufficient to support her through the approaching scene; for, though she trembled to encounter it, she knew that to remember the performance of this last act of duty would hereafter afford her consoling satisfaction.
Annette came, and Emily mentioned her purpose, from which the former endeavoured to dissuade101 her, though without effect, and Annette was, with much difficulty, prevailed upon to accompany her to the turret; but no consideration could make her promise to enter the chamber of death.
They now left the corridor, and, having reached the foot of the stair-case, which Emily had formerly ascended102, Annette declared she would go no further, and Emily proceeded alone. When she saw the track of blood, which she had before observed, her spirits fainted, and, being compelled to rest on the stairs, she almost determined to proceed no further. The pause of a few moments restored her resolution, and she went on.
As she drew near the landing-place, upon which the upper chamber opened, she remembered, that the door was formerly fastened, and apprehended103, that it might still be so. In this expectation, however, she was mistaken; for the door opened at once, into a dusky and silent chamber, round which she fearfully looked, and then slowly advanced, when a hollow voice spoke104. Emily, who was unable to speak, or to move from the spot, uttered no sound of terror. The voice spoke again; and, then, thinking that it resembled that of Madame Montoni, Emily’s spirits were instantly roused; she rushed towards a bed, that stood in a remote part of the room, and drew aside the curtains. Within, appeared a pale and emaciated105 face. She started back, then again advanced, shuddered106 as she took up the skeleton hand, that lay stretched upon the quilt; then let it drop, and then viewed the face with a long, unsettled gaze. It was that of Madame Montoni, though so changed by illness, that the resemblance of what it had been, could scarcely be traced in what it now appeared. she was still alive, and, raising her heavy eyes, she turned them on her niece.
‘Where have you been so long?’ said she, in the same hollow tone, ‘I thought you had forsaken107 me.’
‘Do you indeed live,’ said Emily, at length, ‘or is this but a terrible apparition108?’ she received no answer, and again she snatched up the hand. ‘This is substance,’ she exclaimed, ‘but it is cold — cold as marble!’ She let it fall. ‘O, if you really live, speak!’ said Emily, in a voice of desperation, ‘that I may not lose my senses — say you know me!’
‘I do live,’ replied Madame Montoni, ‘but — I feel that I am about to die.’
Emily clasped the hand she held, more eagerly, and groaned110. They were both silent for some moments. Then Emily endeavoured to soothe111 her, and enquired what had reduced her to this present deplorable state.
Montoni, when he removed her to the turret under the improbable suspicion of having attempted his life, had ordered the men employed on the occasion, to observe a strict secrecy concerning her. To this he was influenced by a double motive. He meant to debar her from the comfort of Emily’s visits, and to secure an opportunity of privately112 dispatching her, should any new circumstances occur to confirm the present suggestions of his suspecting mind. His consciousness of the hatred he deserved it was natural enough should at first led him to attribute to her the attempt that had been made upon his life; and, though there was no other reason to believe that she was concerned in that atrocious design, his suspicions remained; he continued to confine her in the turret, under a strict guard; and, without pity or remorse113, had suffered her to lie, forlorn and neglected, under a raging fever, till it had reduced her to the present state.
The track of blood, which Emily had seen on the stairs, had flowed from the unbound wound of one of the men employed to carry Madame Montoni, and which he had received in the late affray. At night these men, having contented114 themselves with securing the door of their prisoner’s room, had retired from guard; and then it was, that Emily, at the time of her first enquiry, had found the turret so silent and deserted115.
When she had attempted to open the door of the chamber, her aunt was sleeping, and this occasioned the silence, which had contributed to delude116 her into a belief, that she was no more; yet had her terror permitted her to persevere117 longer in the call, she would probably have awakened118 Madame Montoni, and have been spared much suffering. The spectacle in the portal-chamber, which afterwards confirmed Emily’s horrible suspicion, was the corpse119 of a man, who had fallen in the affray, and the same which had been borne into the servants’ hall, where she took refuge from the tumult. This man had lingered under his wounds for some days; and, soon after his death, his body had been removed on the couch, on which he died, for interment in the vault1 beneath the chapel120, through which Emily and Barnardine had passed to the chamber.
Emily, after asking Madame Montoni a thousand questions concerning herself, left her, and sought Montoni; for the more solemn interest she felt for her aunt, made her now regardless of the resentment121 her remonstrances122 might draw upon herself, and of the improbability of his granting what she meant to entreat123.
‘Madame Montoni is now dying, sir,’ said Emily, as soon as she saw him —‘Your resentment, surely will not pursue her to the last moment! Suffer her to be removed from that forlorn room to her own apartment, and to have necessary comforts administered.’
‘Of what service will that be, if she is dying?’ said Montoni, with apparent indifference.
‘The service, at leave, of saving you, sir, from a few of those pangs124 of conscience you must suffer, when you shall be in the same situation,’ said Emily, with imprudent indignation, of which Montoni soon made her sensible, by commanding her to quit his presence. Then, forgetting her resentment, and impressed only by compassion125 for the piteous state of her aunt, dying without succour, she submitted to humble126 herself to Montoni, and to adopt every persuasive127 means, that might induce him to relent towards his wife.
For a considerable time he was proof against all she said, and all she looked; but at length the divinity of pity, beaming in Emily’s eyes, seemed to touch his heart. He turned away, ashamed of his better feelings, half sullen128 and half relenting; but finally consented, that his wife should be removed to her own apartment, and that Emily should attend her. Dreading129 equally, that this relief might arrive too late, and that Montoni might retract130 his concession131, Emily scarcely staid to thank him for it, but, assisted by Annette, she quickly prepared Madame Montoni’s bed, and they carried her a cordial, that might enable her feeble frame to sustain the fatigue132 of a removal.
Madame was scarcely arrived in her own apartment, when an order was given by her husband, that she should remain in the turret; but Emily, thankful that she had made such dispatch, hastened to inform him of it, as well as that a second removal would instantly prove fatal, and he suffered his wife to continue where she was.
During this day, Emily never left Madame Montoni, except to prepare such little nourishing things as she judged necessary to sustain her, and which Madame Montoni received with quiet acquiescence133, though she seemed sensible that they could not save her from approaching dissolution, and scarcely appeared to wish for life. Emily meanwhile watched over her with the most tender solicitude134, no longer seeing her imperious aunt in the poor object before her, but the sister of her late beloved father, in a situation that called for all her compassion and kindness. When night came, she determined to sit up with her aunt, but this the latter positively135 forbade, commanding her to retire to rest, and Annette alone to remain in her chamber. Rest was, indeed, necessary to Emily, whose spirits and frame were equally wearied by the occurrences and exertions136 of the day; but she would not leave Madame Montoni, till after the turn of midnight, a period then thought so critical by the physicians.
Soon after twelve, having enjoined137 Annette to be wakeful, and to call her, should any change appear for the worse, Emily sorrowfully bade Madame Montoni good night, and withdrew to her chamber. Her spirits were more than usually depressed138 by the piteous condition of her aunt, whose recovery she scarcely dared to expect. To her own misfortunes she saw no period, inclosed as she was, in a remote castle, beyond the reach of any friends, had she possessed139 such, and beyond the pity even of strangers; while she knew herself to be in the power of a man capable of any action, which his interest, or his ambition, might suggest.
Occupied by melancholy140 reflections and by anticipations141 as sad, she did not retire immediately to rest, but leaned thoughtfully on her open casement. The scene before her of woods and mountains, reposing142 in the moon-light, formed a regretted contrast with the state of her mind; but the lonely murmur143 of these woods, and the view of this sleeping landscape, gradually soothed144 her emotions and softened145 her to tears.
She continued to weep, for some time, lost to every thing, but to a gentle sense of her misfortunes. When she, at length, took the handkerchief from her eyes, she perceived, before her, on the terrace below, the figure she had formerly observed, which stood fixed146 and silent, immediately opposite to her casement. On perceiving it, she started back, and terror for some time overcame curiosity;— at length, she returned to the casement, and still the figure was before it, which she now compelled herself to observe, but was utterly147 unable to speak, as she had formerly intended. The moon shone with a clear light, and it was, perhaps, the agitation of her mind, that prevented her distinguishing, with any degree of accuracy, the form before her. It was still stationary148, and she began to doubt, whether it was really animated149.
Her scattered thoughts were now so far returned as to remind her, that her light exposed her to dangerous observation, and she was stepping back to remove it, when she perceived the figure move, and then wave what seemed to be its arm, as if to beckon150 her; and, while she gazed, fixed in fear, it repeated the action. She now attempted to speak, but the words died on her lips, and she went from the casement to remove her light; as she was doing which, she heard, from without, a faint groan109. Listening, but not daring to return, she presently heard it repeated.
‘Good God!— what can this mean!’ said she.
Again she listened, but the sound came no more; and, after a long interval45 of silence, she recovered courage enough to go to the casement, when she again saw the same appearance! It beckoned151 again, and again uttered a low sound.
‘That groan was surely human!’ said she. ‘I WILL speak.’ ‘Who is it,’ cried Emily in a faint voice, ‘that wanders at this late hour?’
The figure raised its head but suddenly started away, and glided152 down the terrace. She watched it, for a long while, passing swiftly in the moon-light, but heard no footstep, till a sentinel from the other extremity153 of the rampart walked slowly along. The man stopped under her window, and, looking up, called her by name. She was retiring precipitately154, but, a second summons inducing her to reply, the soldier then respectfully asked if she had seen any thing pass. On her answering, that she had; he said no more, but walked away down the terrace, Emily following him with her eyes, till he was lost in the distance. But, as he was on guard, she knew he could not go beyond the rampart, and, therefore, resolved to await his return.
Soon after, his voice was heard, at a distance, calling loudly; and then a voice still more distant answered, and, in the next moment, the watch-word was given, and passed along the terrace. As the soldiers moved hastily under the casement, she called to enquire what had happened, but they passed without regarding her.
Emily’s thoughts returning to the figure she had seen, ‘It cannot be a person, who has designs upon the castle,’ said she; ‘such an one would conduct himself very differently. He would not venture where sentinels were on watch, nor fix himself opposite to a window, where he perceived he must be observed; much less would he beckon, or utter a sound of complaint. Yet it cannot be a prisoner, for how could he obtain the opportunity to wander thus?’
If she had been subject to vanity, she might have supposed this figure to be some inhabitant of the castle, who wandered under her casement in the hope of seeing her, and of being allowed to declare his admiration155; but this opinion never occurred to Emily, and, if it had, she would have dismissed it as improbable, on considering, that, when the opportunity of speaking had occurred, it had been suffered to pass in silence; and that, even at the moment in which she had spoken, the form had abruptly156 quitted the place.
While she mused157, two sentinels walked up the rampart in earnest conversation, of which she caught a few words, and learned from these, that one of their comrades had fallen down senseless. Soon after, three other soldiers appeared slowly advancing from the bottom of the terrace, but she heard only a low voice, that came at intervals. As they drew near, she perceived this to be the voice of him, who walked in the middle, apparently supported by his comrades; and she again called to them, enquiring158 what had happened. At the sound of her voice, they stopped, and looked up, while she repeated her question, and was told, that Roberto, their fellow of the watch, had been seized with a fit, and that his cry, as he fell, had caused a false alarm.
‘Is he subject to fits?’ said Emily.
‘Yes, Signora,’ replied Roberto; ‘but if I had not, what I saw was enough to have frightened the Pope himself.’
‘What was it?’ enquired Emily, trembling.
‘I cannot tell what it was, lady, or what I saw, or how it vanished,’ replied the soldier, who seemed to shudder46 at the recollection.
‘Was it the person, whom you followed down the rampart, that has occasioned you this alarm?’ said Emily, endeavouring to conceal159 her own.
‘Person!’ exclaimed the man,—‘it was the devil, and this is not the first time I have seen him!’
‘Nor will it be the last,’ observed one of his comrades, laughing.
‘No, no, I warrant not,’ said another.
‘Well,’ rejoined Roberto, ‘you may be as merry now, as you please; you was none so jocose160 the other night, Sebastian, when you was on watch with Launcelot.’
“Launcelot need not talk of that,’ replied Sebastian, ‘let him remember how he stood trembling, and unable to give the WORD, till the man was gone, If the man had not come so silently upon us, I would have seized him, and soon made him tell who he was.’
‘What man?’ enquired Emily.
‘It was no man, lady,’ said Launcelot, who stood by, ‘but the devil himself, as my comrade says. What man, who does not live in the castle, could get within the walls at midnight? Why, I might just as well pretend to march to Venice, and get among all the Senators, when they are counselling; and I warrant I should have more chance of getting out again alive, than any fellow, that we should catch within the gates after dark. So I think I have proved plainly enough, that this can be nobody that lives out of the castle; and now I will prove, that it can be nobody that lives in the castle — for, if he did — why should he be afraid to be seen? So after this, I hope nobody will pretend to tell me it was anybody. No, I say again, by holy Pope! it was the devil, and Sebastian, there, knows this is not the first time we have seen him.’
‘When did you see the figure, then, before?’ said Emily half smiling, who, though she thought the conversation somewhat too much, felt an interest, which would not permit her to conclude it.
‘About a week ago, lady,’ said Sebastian, taking up the story.
‘And where?’
‘On the rampart, lady, higher up.’
‘Did you pursue it, that it fled?’
‘No, Signora. Launcelot and I were on watch together, and every thing was so still, you might have heard a mouse stir, when, suddenly, Launcelot says — Sebastian! do you see nothing? I turned my head a little to the left, as it might be — thus. No, says I. Hush161! said Launcelot,— look yonder — just by the last cannon162 on the rampart! I looked, and then thought I did see something move; but there being no light, but what the stars gave, I could not be certain. We stood quite silent, to watch it, and presently saw something pass along the castle wall just opposite to us!’
‘Why did you not seize it, then?’ cried a soldier, who had scarcely spoken till now.
‘Aye, why did you not seize it?’ said Roberto.
‘You should have been there to have done that,’ replied Sebastian. ‘You would have been bold enough to have taken it by the throat, though it had been the devil himself; we could not take such a liberty, perhaps, because we are not so well acquainted with him, as you are. But, as I was saying, it stole by us so quickly, that we had not time to get rid of our surprise, before it was gone. Then, we knew it was in vain to follow. We kept constant watch all that night, but we saw it no more. Next morning, we told some of our comrades, who were on duty on other parts of the ramparts, what we had seen; but they had seen nothing, and laughed at us, and it was not till to-night, that the same figure walked again.’
‘Where did you lose it, friend?’ said Emily to Roberto.
‘When I left you, lady,’ replied the man, ‘you might see me go down the rampart, but it was not till I reached the east terrace, that I saw any thing. Then, the moon shining bright, I saw something like a shadow flitting before me, as it were, at some distance. I stopped, when I turned the corner of the east tower, where I had seen this figure not a moment before,— but it was gone! As I stood, looking through the old arch, which leads to the east rampart, and where I am sure it had passed, I heard, all of a sudden, such a sound!— it was not like a groan, or a cry, or a shout, or any thing I ever heard in my life. I heard it only once, and that was enough for me; for I know nothing that happened after, till I found my comrades, here, about me.’
‘Come,’ said Sebastian, ‘let us go to our posts — the moon is setting. Good night, lady!’
‘Aye, let us go,’ rejoined Roberto. ‘Good night, lady.’
‘Good night; the holy mother guard you!’ said Emily, as she closed her casement and retired to reflect upon the strange circumstance that had just occurred, connecting which with what had happened on former nights, she endeavoured to derive163 from the whole something more positive, than conjecture. But her imagination was inflamed164, while her judgment was not enlightened, and the terrors of superstition165 again pervaded her mind.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
vault
|
|
| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
defers
|
|
| v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的第三人称单数 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
pervaded
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
conjecture
|
|
| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
exulting
|
|
| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
plunder
|
|
| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
retrieve
|
|
| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
inaccessible
|
|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
recesses
|
|
| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
hardiness
|
|
| n.耐劳性，强壮；勇气，胆子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
insufficient
|
|
| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
fortresses
|
|
| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
fortress
|
|
| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
ascertain
|
|
| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
precipitate
|
|
| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
eminent
|
|
| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
intrepidity
|
|
| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
profligacy
|
|
| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
awed
|
|
| 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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
lavish
|
|
| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
obnoxious
|
|
| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
qualified
|
|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
emulate
|
|
| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
wreck
|
|
| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
forsook
|
|
| forsake的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
perturbed
|
|
| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
enquire
|
|
| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
converse
|
|
| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
enquired
|
|
| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
slumbering
|
|
| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
inquisitive
|
|
| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
avow
|
|
| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
turret
|
|
| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
meditated
|
|
| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
vehement
|
|
| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
declamation
|
|
| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
invective
|
|
| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
detested
|
|
| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
inveterate
|
|
| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
incurred
|
|
| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
scruple
|
|
| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
vehemence
|
|
| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
adversary
|
|
| adj.敌手，对手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
incensed
|
|
| 盛怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
interfered
|
|
| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
consultation
|
|
| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
brutality
|
|
| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
dissuade
|
|
| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
apprehended
|
|
| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
emaciated
|
|
| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
soothe
|
|
| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
privately
|
|
| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
delude
|
|
| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
persevere
|
|
| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
chapel
|
|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
remonstrances
|
|
| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
entreat
|
|
| v.恳求，恳请 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
pangs
|
|
| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
persuasive
|
|
| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
dreading
|
|
| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
retract
|
|
| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
concession
|
|
| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
acquiescence
|
|
| n.默许；顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
exertions
|
|
| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
enjoined
|
|
| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
anticipations
|
|
| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
reposing
|
|
| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
stationary
|
|
| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
beckon
|
|
| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
beckoned
|
|
| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
extremity
|
|
| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
precipitately
|
|
| adv.猛进地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
enquiring
|
|
| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
jocose
|
|
| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
cannon
|
|
| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
derive
|
|
| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
inflamed
|
|
| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |