CHAPTER XIV

Call up him, that left half told

The story of Cambuscan bold.

MILTON

On the following morning, as Emily sat in the parlour adjoining the

library, reflecting on the scene of the preceding night, Annette rushed

wildly into the room, and, without speaking, sunk breathless into a

chair. It was some time before she could answer the anxious enquiries

of Emily, as to the occasion of her emotion, but, at length, she

exclaimed, “I have seen his ghost, madam, I have seen his ghost!”

“Who do you mean?” said Emily, with extreme impatience.

“It came in from the hall, madam,” continued Annette, “as I was

crossing to the parlour.”

“Who are you speaking of?” repeated Emily, “Who came in from the hall?”

“It was dressed just as I have seen him, often and often,” added

Annette. “Ah! who could have thought—”

Emily’s patience was now exhausted, and she was reprimanding her for

such idle fancies, when a servant entered the room, and informed her,

that a stranger without begged leave to speak with her.

It immediately occurred to Emily, that this stranger was Valancourt,

and she told the servant to inform him, that she was engaged, and could

not see any person.

The servant, having delivered his message, returned with one from the

stranger, urging the first request, and saying, that he had something

of consequence to communicate; while Annette, who had hitherto sat

silent and amazed, now started up, and crying, “It is Ludovico!—it is

Ludovico!” ran out of the room. Emily bade the servant follow her, and,

if it really was Ludovico, to show him into the parlour.

In a few minutes, Ludovico appeared, accompanied by Annette, who, as

joy rendered her forgetful of all rules of decorum towards her

mistress, would not suffer any person to be heard, for some time, but

herself. Emily expressed surprise and satisfaction, on seeing Ludovico

in safety, and the first emotions increased, when he delivered letters

from Count De Villefort and the Lady Blanche, informing her of their

late adventure, and of their present situation at an inn among the

Pyrenees, where they had been detained by the illness of Mons. St.

Foix, and the indisposition of Blanche, who added, that the Baron St.

Foix was just arrived to attend his son to his château, where he would

remain till the perfect recovery of his wounds, and then return to

Languedoc, but that her father and herself purposed to be at La Vallée,

on the following day. She added, that Emily’s presence would be

expected at the approaching nuptials, and begged she would be prepared

to proceed, in a few days to Château-le-Blanc. For an account of

Ludovico’s adventure, she referred her to himself; and Emily, though

much interested, concerning the means, by which he had disappeared from

the north apartments, had the forbearance to suspend the gratification

of her curiosity, till he had taken some refreshment, and had conversed

with Annette, whose joy, on seeing him in safety, could not have been

more extravagant, had he arisen from the grave.

Meanwhile, Emily perused again the letters of her friends, whose

expressions of esteem and kindness were very necessary consolations to

her heart, awakened as it was by the late interview to emotions of

keener sorrow and regret.

The invitation to Château-le-Blanc was pressed with so much kindness by

the Count and his daughter, who strengthened it by a message from the

Countess, and the occasion of it was so important to her friend, that

Emily could not refuse to accept it, nor, though she wished to remain

in the quiet shades of her native home, could she avoid perceiving the

impropriety of remaining there alone, since Valancourt was again in the

neighbourhood. Sometimes, too, she thought, that change of scenery and

the society of her friends might contribute, more than retirement, to

restore her to tranquillity.

When Ludovico again appeared, she desired him to give a detail of his

adventure in the north apartments, and to tell by what means he became

a companion of the banditti, with whom the Count had found him.

He immediately obeyed, while Annette, who had not yet had leisure to

ask him many questions, on the subject, prepared to listen, with a

countenance of extreme curiosity, venturing to remind her lady of her

incredulity, concerning spirits, in the castle of Udolpho, and of her

own sagacity in believing in them; while Emily, blushing at the

consciousness of her late credulity, observed, that, if Ludovico’s

adventure could justify Annette’s superstition, he had probably not

been here to relate it.

Ludovico smiled at Annette, and bowed to Emily, and then began as

follows:

“You may remember, madam, that, on the night, when I sat up in the

north chamber, my lord, the Count, and Mons. Henri accompanied me

thither, and that, while they remained there, nothing happened to

excite any alarm. When they were gone I made a fire in the bedroom,

and, not being inclined to sleep, I sat down on the hearth with a book

I had brought with me to divert my mind. I confess I did sometimes look

round the chamber, with something like apprehension—”

“O very like it, I dare say,” interrupted Annette, “and I dare say too,

if the truth was known, you shook from head to foot.”

“Not quite so bad as that,” replied Ludovico, smiling, “but several

times, as the wind whistled round the castle, and shook the old

casements, I did fancy I heard odd noises, and, once or twice, I got up

and looked about me; but nothing was to be seen, except the grim

figures in the tapestry, which seemed to frown upon me, as I looked at

them. I had sat thus for above an hour,” continued Ludovico, “when

again I thought I heard a noise, and glanced my eyes round the room, to

discover what it came from, but, not perceiving anything, I began to

read again, and, when I had finished the story I was upon, I felt

drowsy, and dropped asleep. But presently I was awakened by the noise I

had heard before, and it seemed to come from that part of the chamber,

where the bed stood; and then, whether it was the story I had been

reading that affected my spirits, or the strange reports, that had been

spread of these apartments, I don’t know, but, when I looked towards

the bed again, I fancied I saw a man’s face within the dusky curtains.”

At the mention of this, Emily trembled, and looked anxiously,

remembering the spectacle she had herself witnessed there with

Dorothée.

“I confess, madam, my heart did fail me, at that instant,” continued

Ludovico, “but a return of the noise drew my attention from the bed,

and I then distinctly heard a sound, like that of a key, turning in a

lock, but what surprised me more was, that I saw no door where the

sound seemed to come from. In the next moment, however, the arras near

the bed was slowly lifted, and a person appeared behind it, entering

from a small door in the wall. He stood for a moment as if half

retreating, with his head bending under the arras which concealed the

upper part of his face except his eyes scowling beneath the tapestry as

he held it; and then, while he raised it higher, I saw the face of

another man behind, looking over his shoulder. I know not how it was,

but, though my sword was upon the table before me, I had not the power

just then to seize it, but sat quite still, watching them, with my eyes

half shut as if I was asleep. I suppose they thought me so, and were

debating what they should do, for I heard them whisper, and they stood

in the same posture for the value of a minute, and then, I thought I

perceived other faces in the duskiness beyond the door, and heard

louder whispers.”

“This door surprises me,” said Emily, “because I understood, that the

Count had caused the arras to be lifted, and the walls examined,

suspecting, that they might have concealed a passage through which you

had departed.”

“It does not appear so extraordinary to me, madam,” replied Ludovico,

“that this door should escape notice, because it was formed in a narrow

compartment, which appeared to be part of the outward wall, and, if the

Count had not passed over it, he might have thought it was useless to

search for a door where it seemed as if no passage could communicate

with one; but the truth was, that the passage was formed within the

wall itself.—But, to return to the men, whom I saw obscurely beyond the

door, and who did not suffer me to remain long in suspense, concerning

their design. They all rushed into the room, and surrounded me, though

not before I had snatched up my sword to defend myself. But what could

one man do against four? They soon disarmed me, and, having fastened my

arms, and gagged my mouth, forced me through the private door, leaving

my sword upon the table, to assist, as they said, those who should come

in the morning to look for me, in fighting against the ghosts. They

then led me through many narrow passages, cut, as I fancied, in the

walls, for I had never seen them before, and down several flights of

steps, till we came to the vaults underneath the castle; and then

opening a stone door, which I should have taken for the wall itself, we

went through a long passage, and down other steps cut in the solid

rock, when another door delivered us into a cave. After turning and

twining about, for some time, we reached the mouth of it, and I found

myself on the sea-beach at the foot of the cliffs, with the château

above. A boat was in waiting, into which the ruffians got, forcing me

along with them, and we soon reached a small vessel, that was at

anchor, where other men appeared, when setting me aboard, two of the

fellows who had seized me, followed, and the other two rowed back to

the shore, while we set sail. I soon found out what all this meant, and

what was the business of these men at the château. We landed in

Rousillon, and, after lingering several days about the shore, some of

their comrades came down from the mountains, and carried me with them

to the fort, where I remained till my Lord so unexpectedly arrived, for

they had taken good care to prevent my running away, having blindfolded

me, during the journey, and, if they had not done this, I think I never

could have found my road to any town, through the wild country we

traversed. After I reached the fort I was watched like a prisoner, and

never suffered to go out, without two or three companions, and I became

so weary of life, that I often wished to get rid of it.”

“Well, but they let you talk,” said Annette, “they did not gagg you

after they got you away from the château, so I don’t see what reason

there was to be so very weary of living; to say nothing about the

chance you had of seeing me again.”

Ludovico smiled, and Emily also, who enquired what was the motive of

these men for carrying him off.

“I soon found out, madam,” resumed Ludovico, “that they were pirates,

who had, during many years, secreted their spoil in the vaults of the

castle, which, being so near the sea, suited their purpose well. To

prevent detection they had tried to have it believed, that the château

was haunted, and, having discovered the private way to the north

apartments, which had been shut up ever since the death of the lady

marchioness, they easily succeeded. The housekeeper and her husband,

who were the only persons, that had inhabited the castle, for some

years, were so terrified by the strange noises they heard in the

nights, that they would live there no longer; a report soon went

abroad, that it was haunted, and the whole country believed this the

more readily, I suppose, because it had been said, that the lady

marchioness had died in a strange way, and because my lord never would

return to the place afterwards.”

“But why,” said Emily, “were not these pirates contented with the

cave—why did they think it necessary to deposit their spoil in the

castle?”

“The cave, madam,” replied Ludovico, “was open to anybody, and their

treasures would not long have remained undiscovered there, but in the

vaults they were secure so long as the report prevailed of their being

haunted. Thus then, it appears, that they brought at midnight, the

spoil they took on the seas, and kept it till they had opportunities of

disposing of it to advantage. The pirates were connected with Spanish

smugglers and banditti, who live among the wilds of the Pyrenees, and

carry on various kinds of traffic, such as nobody would think of; and

with this desperate horde of banditti I remained, till my lord arrived.

I shall never forget what I felt, when I first discovered him—I almost

gave him up for lost! but I knew, that, if I showed myself, the

banditti would discover who he was, and probably murder us all, to

prevent their secret in the château being detected. I, therefore, kept

out of my lord’s sight, but had a strict watch upon the ruffians, and

determined, if they offered him or his family violence, to discover

myself, and fight for our lives. Soon after, I overheard some of them

laying a most diabolical plan for the murder and plunder of the whole

party, when I contrived to speak to some of my lord’s attendants,

telling them what was going forward, and we consulted what was best to

be done; meanwhile my lord, alarmed at the absence of the Lady Blanche,

demanded her, and the ruffians having given some unsatisfactory answer,

my lord and Mons. St. Foix became furious, so then we thought it a good

time to discover the plot, and rushing into the chamber, I called out,

‘Treachery! my lord count, defend yourself!’ His lordship and the

chevalier drew their swords directly, and a hard battle we had, but we

conquered at last, as, madam, you are already informed of by my Lord

Count.”

“This is an extraordinary adventure,” said Emily, “and much praise is

due, Ludovico, to your prudence and intrepidity. There are some

circumstances, however, concerning the north apartments, which still

perplex me; but, perhaps, you may be able to explain them. Did you ever

hear the banditti relate anything extraordinary of these rooms?”

“No, madam,” replied Ludovico, “I never heard them speak about the

rooms, except to laugh at the credulity of the old housekeeper, who

once was very near catching one of the pirates; it was since the Count

arrived at the château, he said, and he laughed heartily as he related

the trick he had played off.”

A blush overspread Emily’s cheek, and she impatiently desired Ludovico

to explain himself.

“Why, my lady,” said he, “as this fellow was, one night in the bedroom,

he heard somebody approaching through the next apartment, and not

having time to lift up the arras, and unfasten the door, he hid himself

in the bed just by. There he lay for some time in as great a fright, I

suppose—”

“As you were in,” interrupted Annette, “when you sat up so boldly to

watch by yourself.”

“Aye,” said Ludovico, “in as great a fright as he ever made anybody

else suffer; and presently the housekeeper and some other person came

up to the bed, when he, thinking they were going to examine it,

bethought him, that his only chance of escaping detection, was by

terrifying them; so he lifted up the counterpane, but that did not do,

till he raised his face above it, and then they both set off, he said,

as if they had seen the devil, and he got out of the rooms

undiscovered.”

Emily could not forbear smiling at this explanation of the deception,

which had given her so much superstitious terror, and was surprised,

that she could have suffered herself to be thus alarmed, till she

considered, that, when the mind has once begun to yield to the weakness

of superstition, trifles impress it with the force of conviction.

Still, however, she remembered with awe the mysterious music, which had

been heard, at midnight, near Château-le-Blanc, and she asked Ludovico

if he could give any explanation of it; but he could not.

“I only know, madam,” he added, “that it did not belong to the pirates,

for I have heard them laugh about it, and say, they believed the devil

was in league with them there.”

“Yes, I will answer for it he was,” said Annette, her countenance

brightening, “I was sure all along, that he or his spirits had

something to do with the north apartments, and now you see, madam, I am

right at last.”

“It cannot be denied, that his spirits were very busy in that part of

the château,” replied Emily, smiling. “But I am surprised, Ludovico,

that these pirates should persevere in their schemes, after the arrival

of the Count; what could they expect but certain detection?”

“I have reason to believe, madam,” replied Ludovico, “that it was their

intention to persevere no longer than was necessary for the removal of

the stores, which were deposited in the vaults; and it appeared, that

they had been employed in doing so from within a short period after the

Count’s arrival; but, as they had only a few hours in the night for

this business, and were carrying on other schemes at the same time, the

vaults were not above half emptied, when they took me away. They

gloried exceedingly in this opportunity of confirming the superstitious

reports, that had been spread of the north chambers, were careful to

leave everything there as they had found it, the better to promote the

deception, and frequently, in their jocose moods, would laugh at the

consternation, which they believed the inhabitants of the castle had

suffered upon my disappearing, and it was to prevent the possibility of

my betraying their secret, that they had removed me to such a distance.

From that period they considered the château as nearly their own; but I

found from the discourse of their comrades, that, though they were

cautious, at first, in showing their power there, they had once very

nearly betrayed themselves. Going, one night, as was their custom, to

the north chambers to repeat the noises, that had occasioned such alarm

among the servants, they heard, as they were about to unfasten the

secret door, voices in the bedroom. My lord has since told me, that

himself and M. Henri were then in the apartment, and they heard very

extraordinary sounds of lamentation, which it seems were made by these

fellows, with their usual design of spreading terror; and my lord has

owned, he then felt somewhat more, than surprise; but, as it was

necessary to the peace of his family, that no notice should be taken,

he was silent on the subject, and enjoined silence to his son.”

Emily, recollecting the change, that had appeared in the spirits of the

Count, after the night, when he had watched in the north room, now

perceived the cause of it; and, having made some further enquiries upon

this strange affair, she dismissed Ludovico, and went to give orders

for the accommodation of her friends, on the following day.

In the evening, Theresa, lame as she was, came to deliver the ring,

with which Valancourt had entrusted her, and, when she presented it,

Emily was much affected, for she remembered to have seen him wear it

often in happier days. She was, however, much displeased, that Theresa

had received it, and positively refused to accept it herself, though to

have done so would have afforded her a melancholy pleasure. Theresa

entreated, expostulated, and then described the distress of Valancourt,

when he had given the ring, and repeated the message, with which he had

commissioned her to deliver it; and Emily could not conceal the extreme

sorrow this recital occasioned her, but wept, and remained lost in

thought.

“Alas! my dear young lady!” said Theresa, “why should all this be? I

have known you from your infancy, and it may well be supposed I love

you, as if you were my own, and wish as much to see you happy. M.

Valancourt, to be sure, I have not known so long, but then I have

reason to love him, as though he was my own son. I know how well you

love one another, or why all this weeping and wailing?” Emily waved her

hand for Theresa to be silent, who, disregarding the signal, continued,

“And how much you are alike in your tempers and ways, and, that, if you

were married, you would be the happiest couple in the whole

province—then what is there to prevent your marrying? Dear dear! to see

how some people fling away their happiness, and then cry and lament

about it, just as if it was not their own doing, and as if there was

more pleasure in wailing and weeping, than in being at peace. Learning,

to be sure, is a fine thing, but, if it teaches folks no better than

that, why I had rather be without it; if it would teach them to be

happier, I would say something to it, then it would be learning and

wisdom too.”

Age and long services had given Theresa a privilege to talk, but Emily

now endeavoured to check her loquacity, and, though she felt the

justness of some of her remarks, did not choose to explain the

circumstances, that had determined her conduct towards Valancourt. She,

therefore, only told Theresa, that it would much displease her to hear

the subject renewed; that she had reasons for her conduct, which she

did not think it proper to mention, and that the ring must be returned,

with an assurance, that she could not accept it with propriety; and, at

the same time, she forbade Theresa to repeat any future message from

Valancourt, as she valued her esteem and kindness. Theresa was

afflicted, and made another attempt, though feeble, to interest her for

Valancourt, but the unusual displeasure, expressed in Emily’s

countenance, soon obliged her to desist, and she departed in wonder and

lamentation.

To relieve her mind, in some degree, from the painful recollections,

that intruded upon it, Emily busied herself in preparations for the

journey into Languedoc, and, while Annette, who assisted her, spoke

with joy and affection of the safe return of Ludovico, she was

considering how she might best promote their happiness, and determined,

if it appeared, that his affection was as unchanged as that of the

simple and honest Annette, to give her a marriage portion, and settle

them on some part of her estate. These considerations led her to the

remembrance of her father’s paternal domain, which his affairs had

formerly compelled him to dispose of to M. Quesnel, and which she

frequently wished to regain, because St. Aubert had lamented, that the

chief lands of his ancestors had passed into another family, and

because they had been his birth-place and the haunt of his early years.

To the estate at Thoulouse she had no peculiar attachment, and it was

her wish to dispose of this, that she might purchase her paternal

domains, if M. Quesnel could be prevailed on to part with them, which,

as he talked much of living in Italy, did not appear very improbable.