 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Michele Crandall. The Mysteries of Udolfo by Ann Radcliffe. Volume 1, Chapter 1. Home is the resort of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where supporting and supported, polished friends and dear relations mingle into bliss. Thompson. On the pleasant banks of the Garonne, in the province of Gascany, stood, in the year 1584, the Chateau of Monsieur Saint-Ober. From its windows were seen the pastoral landscapes of Guien, and Gascany, stretching along the river, gay with luxuriant woods and vine, and plantations of olives. To the south, the view was bounded by the majestic Pyrenees, whose summits, veiled in clouds or exhibiting awful forms, seen and lost again, as the partial vapors rolled along were sometimes barren and gleamed through the blue tinge of air, and sometimes frowned with forests of gloomy pine that swept downward to their base. These tremendous precipices were contrasted by the soft green of the pastures and woods that hung upon their skirts, among whose flocks and herds and simple cottages, the eye, after having skilled the cliffs above, delighted to repose. To the north and to the east, the plains of Guien and Langdok were lost in the mist of distance. On the west, Gascany was bounded by the waters of Biscay. Monsieur Saint-Ober loved to wander, with his wife and daughter, on the margin of the Garonne, and to listen to the music that floated on its waves. He had known life in other forms than those of pastoral simplicity, having mingled in the gay and in the busy scenes of the world. But the flattering portrait of mankind, which his heart had delineated in early youth, his experience had too sorrowfully corrected. Yet, amidst the changing visions of life, his principles remained unshaken, his benevolence unchilled, and he retired from the multitude more in pity than in anger, to scenes of simple nature, to the pure delights of literature, and to the exercise of domestic virtues. He was a descendant from the younger branch of an illustrious family, and it was designed that the deficiency of his patrimonial wealth should be supplied either by a splendid alliance in marriage, or by success in the intrigues of public affairs. But Saint-Ober had too nice a sense of honor to fulfill the latter hope, and too small a portion of ambition to sacrifice what he called happiness to the attainment of wealth. After the death of his father, he married a very amiable woman, his equal in birth, and not his superior in fortune. The late Monsieur Saint-Ober's liberality, or extravagance, had so much involved his affairs that his son found it necessary to dispose a part of the family domain. And, some years after his marriage, he sold it to Monsieur Cannell, the brother of his wife, and retired to a small estate in Gascony, where conjugal felicity and parental duties divided his attention with the treasures of knowledge and the illuminations of genius. To this spot he had been attached from his infancy. He had often made excursions to it when a boy, and the impressions of delight given to his mind by the homely kindness of the grey-headed peasant, to whom it was entrusted, and whose fruit and cream never failed, had not been obliterated by succeeding circumstances. The green pastures, along which he had so often bounded in the exultation of health and youthful freedom, the woods under whose refreshing shade he had first indulged that pence of melancholy, which afterwards made a strong feature of his character, the wild walks of the mountains, the river on whose waves he had floated, and the distant plains, which seemed boundless as his early hopes, were never after remembered by Saint-Ober, but with enthusiasm and regret. At length he disengaged himself from the world and retired hither to realize the wishes of many years. The building, as it then stood, was merely a summer cottage, rendered interesting to a stranger by its neat simplicity, or the beauty of the surrounding scene, and considerable additions were necessary to make it a comfortable family residence. Saint-Ober felt a kind of affection for every part of the fabric, which he remembered in his youth, and would not suffer a stone of it to be removed, so that the new building, adapted to the style of the old one, formed with it only a simple and elegant residence. The taste of Madame Saint-Ober was conspicuous in its internal finishing, where the same chaste simplicity was observable in the furniture, and in the few ornaments of the apartments that characterized the manners of its inhabitants. The library occupied the west side of the chateau, and was enriched by a collection of the best books in the ancient and modern languages. This room opened upon a grove, which stood on the brow of a gentle declivity, that fell towards the river, and the tall trees gave it a melancholy and pleasing shade, while from the windows the eye caught beneath the spreading branches, the gay and luxuriant landscape stretching to the west, and overlooked on the left by the bold precipices of the Pyrenees. Adjoining the library was a greenhouse, stored with scarce and beautiful plants, for one of the amusements of Saint-Ober was the study of botany, and among the neighbouring mountains, which afforded a luxurious feast to the mind of the naturalist, he often passed the day in the pursuit of his favourite science. He was sometimes accompanied in these little excursions by Madame Saint-Ober, and frequently by his daughter, when, with a small Ossier basket to receive plants, and another filled with cold refreshments, such as the cabin of the shepherd did not afford, they wandered away among the most romantic and magnificent scenes, nor suffered the charms of nature's lowly children to abstract them from the observance of her stupendous works. When weary of sauntering among cliffs that seemed scarcely accessible but to the steps of the enthusiast, and where no track appeared on the vegetation but what the foot of the lizard had left, they would seek one of those green recesses, which so beautifully adorned the bosom of these mountains, where, under the shade of the lofty larch or cedar, they enjoyed their simple repast, made sweeter by the waters of the cool stream that crept along the turf, and by the breath of wild flowers and aromatic plants that fringed the rocks and inlaid the grass. Adjoining the eastern side of the greenhouse, looking towards the plains of Langdok, was a room which Emily called hers, and which contained her books, her drawings, her musical instruments with some favourite birds and plants. Here she usually exercised herself in elegant arts, cultivated only because they were congenial to her taste, and in which native genius, assisted by the instructions of Monsieur Madame Sainobert, made her an early proficient. The windows of this room were particularly pleasant. They descended to the floor, and opening upon the little lawn that surrounded the house, the eye was led between groves of almond, palm trees, flowering ash and myrtle to the distant landscape where the Garonne wandered. The peasants of this gay climate were often seen on an evening, when the day's labour was done, dancing in groups on the margin of the river. Their sprightly melodies, debonair's steps, the fanciful figure of their dances, with the tasteful and capricious manner in which the girls adjusted their simple dress, gave a character to the scene entirely French. The front of the Chateau, which, having a southern aspect, opened upon the grandeur of the mountains, was occupied on the ground floor by a rustic hall and two excellent sitting-rooms. The first floor, for the cottage had no second story, was laid out in bed-chambers, except one apartment that opened to a balcony, in which was generally used for a breakfast room. In the surrounding ground, Saint-Obert had made very tasteful improvements, yet such was his attachment to objects he had remembered from his boyish days that he had in some instances sacrificed taste to sentiment. There were two old larches that shaded the building and interrupted the prospect. Saint-Obert had sometimes declared that he believed he should have been weak enough to have wept at their fall. In addition to these larches, he planted a little grove of beach, pine, and mountain ash. On a lofty terrace, formed by the swelling bank of the river, rose a plantation of orange lemon and palm trees whose fruit in the coolness of evening breathed delicious fragrance. With these were mingled the few trees of other species. Here, under the ample shade of a plain tree that spread its majestic canopy towards the river, Saint-Obert loved to sit in the fine evenings of summer with his wife and children, watching beneath its foliage, the setting sun, the mild splendour of its light fading from the distant landscape, till the shadows of twilight melted its various features into one tint of sober grey. Here, too, he loved to read and to converse with Madame Saint-Obert, or to play with his children, resigning himself to the influence of those sweet affections which are ever attendant on simplicity and nature. He has often said, while tears of pleasure trembled in his eyes, that these were moments infinitely more delightful than any past amid the brilliant and tumultuous scenes that are quartered by the world. His heart was occupied. It had what can be so rarely said, no wish for a happiness beyond what it experienced. The consciousness of acting bright diffused a serenity over his manners, which nothing else could impart to a man of moral perceptions like his, and which refined his sense of every surrounding blessing. The deepest shade of twilight did not send him from his favourite plain tree. He loved the soothing hour when the last tints of light die away, when the stars, one by one, tremble through ether, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters. That hour, which of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation. When the moon shed her soft rays among the foliage, he still lingered, and his pastoral supper of cream and fruits was often spread beneath it. Then, on the stillness of night came the song of the nightingale, breathing sweetness and a waking melancholy. The first interruptions to the happiness he had known since his retirement were occasioned by the death of his two sons. He lost them at that age when infantine simplicity is so fascinating, and though, in consideration of Madame Sainobert's distress, he restrained the expression of his own, an endeavour to bear it as he meant with philosophy, he had in truth no philosophy that could render him calm to such losses. One daughter was now his only surviving child, and, while he watched the unfolding of her infant character with anxious fondness, he endeavored with unremitting effort to counteract those traits in her disposition which might hereafter lead her from happiness. She had discovered in her early years uncommon delicacy of mind warm affections and ready benevolence, but with these was observable a degree of susceptibility too exquisite to admit of lasting peace. As she advanced in youth, this sensibility gave a pensive tone to her spirits and a softness to her manner which added grace to beauty and rendered her a very interesting object to persons of a congenial disposition. But Sainobert had too much good sense to prefer a charm to a virtue and had penetration enough to see that this charm was too dangerous to its possessor to be allowed the character of a blessing. He endeavored, therefore, to strengthen her mind, to enure her to habits of self-command, to teach her to reject the first impulse of her feelings, and to look with cool examination upon the disappointments he sometimes threw in her way. While he instructed her to resist first impressions and to acquire that steady dignity of mind that can alone counterbalance the passions, and bear us as far as is compatible with our nature above the reach of circumstances, he taught himself a lesson of fortitude, for he was often obliged to witness with seeming indifference the tears and struggles which his caution occasioned her. In person, Emily resembled her mother, having the same elegant symmetry of form, the same delicacy of features, and the same blue eyes full of tender sweetness. But, lovely as was her person, it was the varied expression of her countenance as conversation awakened the nicer emotions of her mind that threw such a captivating grace around her. Those tenderer spirits that shun the careless eye and in the world's contagious circle die. Sanne Aubert cultivated her understanding with the most scrupulous care. He gave her a general view of the sciences, and an exact acquaintance with every part of elegant literature. He taught her Latin and English, chiefly that she might understand the sublimity of their best poets. She discovered in her early years a taste for works of genius, and it was Sanne Aubert's principle, as well as his inclination, to promote every innocent means of happiness. A well-informed mind, he would say, is the best security against the contagion of folly and vice. The vacant mind is ever on the watch for relief, and ready to plunge into error to escape from the langer of idleness. Store it with ideas, teach it the pleasure of thinking, and the temptations of the world without will be counteracted by the gratifications derived from the world within. Thought and cultivation are necessary equally to the happiness of a country and a city life. In the first, they prevent the uneasy sensations of indolence, and afford a sublime pleasure in the taste they create for the beautiful and the grand. In the latter, they make dissipation less an object of necessity, and consequently of interest. It was one of Emily's earliest pleasures to ramble among the scenes of nature, nor was it in the soft and glowing landscape that she most delighted. She loved more the wild wood walks that skirt at the mountain, and still more the mountain's stupendous recesses, where the silence and grandeur of solitude impressed a sacred awe upon her heart, and lifted her thoughts to the God of heaven and earth. In scenes like these, she would often linger along, wrapped in a melancholy charm, till the last gleam of day faded from the west, till the lonely sound of a sheet bell, or the distant bark of a watchdog were all that broke on the stillness of the evening. Then the gleam of the woods, the trembling of their leaves at intervals in the breeze, the bat flitting on the twilight, the cottage lights now seen and now lost, were circumstances that awakened her mind into effort, and led to enthusiasm and poetry. Her favorite walk was to a little fishing-house belonging to Sennobere in a woody glen on the margin of a rivulet that descended from the Pyrenees, and, after foaming among their rocks, wound its silent way beneath the shades it reflected. Above the woods, that screen this glen, rose the lofty summits of the Pyrenees, which often burst boldly on the eye through the glades below. Sometimes the shattered face of a rock only was seen, crowned with wild shrubs, or a shepherd's cabin seated on a cliff overshadowed by dark cypress or waving ash. Emerging from the deep recesses of the woods, the glade opened to the distant landscape, where the rich pastures and vine-covered slopes of Gascony gradually declined to the plains. And there, on the winding shores of the Garonne, groves and handlets and villas, their outlines softened by distance, melted from the eye into one rich harmonious tint. This, too, was the favorite retreat of Sennobere, to which he frequently withdrew from the fervor of noon with his wife, his daughter, and his books, or came at the sweet evening hour to welcome the silent dusk, or to listen for the music of the nightingale. Sometimes, too, he brought music of his own, and awakened every fairy echo with the tender accents of his oboe, and often have the tones of Emily's voice drawn sweetness from the waves over which they trembled. It was in one of these excursions to this spot that she observed the following lines written with pencil on a part of the wane-scot. Sonnet. Go, pencil, faithful to the master's size. Go tell the goddess of the fairy scene when next her light steps wind these woodwalks green, whence all his tears, his tender sorrows rise. Ah, paint her form, her soul allume dies, the sweet expression of her pensive face, the lightning smile, the animated grace, the portrait well the lover's voice supplies, speaks all his heart must feel, his tongue would say. Yet, ah, not all his heart must sadly feel. How off to the flower it silk and leaves conceal the drug that steals the vital spark away, and who that gazes on that angel's smile would fear its charm or think it could be guile. These lines were not inscribed to any person, and only therefore could not apply them to herself, though she was undoubtedly the nymph of these shades. Having glanced round the little circle of her acquaintance without being detained by a suspicion as to whom they could be addressed, she was compelled to rest in uncertainty, an uncertainty which would have been more painful to an idle mind than it was to hers. She had no leisure to suffer this circumstance, trifling at first, to swell into importance by frequent remembrance. The little vanity it had excited, for the insertitude which forbade her to presume upon having inspired the Sonnet forbade her also to disbelieve it, passed away, and the incident was dismissed from her thoughts amid her books, her studies, and the exercise of social charities. Soon after this period, her anxiety was awakened by the indisposition of her father, who was attacked with a fever, which, though not thought to be of a dangerous kind, gave a severe shock to his constitution. Madame Saint Aubert and Emily attended him with unremitting care, but his recovery was very slow, and as he advanced towards health, Madame seemed to decline. The first scene he visited after he was well enough to take the air was his favourite fishing-house. A basket of provisions was sent thither with books, and Emily's loot, for fishing tackle he had no use, for he never could find amusement in torturing or destroying. After employing himself for about an hour in botanizing, dinner was served. It was a repast to which gratitude for being again permitted to visit this spot gave sweetness, and family happiness once more smiled beneath these shades. Monsieur Saint Aubert conversed with unusual cheerfulness. Every object delighted his senses. The refreshing pleasure from the first view of nature after the pain of illness and the confinement of a sick chamber is above the conceptions as well as the descriptions of those in health. The green woods and pastures, the flowery turf, the blue concave of the heavens, the gloomy air, the murmur of the limpid stream, and even the hum of every little insect of the shade seemed to revivify the soul and make mere existence bliss. Madame Saint Aubert, reanimated by the cheerfulness and recovery of her husband, was no longer sensible of the indisposition which had lately oppressed her, and as she sauntered along the wood walks of this romantic glen and conversed with him and with her daughter, she often looked at them alternately with a degree of tenderness that filled her eyes with tears. Saint Aubert observed this more than once and gently reproved her for the emotion, but she could only smile, clasp his hand, and that of Emily, and weep the more. He felt the tender enthusiasm stealing upon himself in a degree that became almost painful. His features assumed a serious error, and he could not forbear sighing secretly. Perhaps I shall sometime look back to these moments as to the summit of my happiness, with hopeless regret. But let me not misuse them by useless anticipation. Let me hope I shall not live to mourn the loss of those who are dearer to me than life. To relieve, or perhaps to indulge the pensive temper of his mind, he bade Emily fetch the loot she knew how to touch with such sweet pathos. As she drew near the fishing-house, she was surprised to hear the tones of the instrument which were awakened by the hand of taste, and uttered a plaintive air, whose exquisite melody engaged all her attention. She listened in profound silence. Afraid to move from the spot lest the sound of her steps should occasion her to lose a note of the music or should disturb the musician. Everything without the building was still, and no person appeared. She continued to listen, till timidity succeeded to surprise and delight. A timidity increased by a remembrance of the penciled lines she had formerly seen, and she hesitated whether to proceed or to return. While she paused, the music ceased, and, after a momentary hesitation, she recollected courage to advance to the fishing-house, which she entered with faltering steps and found unoccupied. Her loot lay on the table. Everything seemed undisturbed, and she began to believe it was another instrument she had heard, till she remembered that, when she followed Monsieur and Madame Saint-Obert from this spot, her loot was left on a window seat. She felt alarmed, yet knew not wherefore. The melancholy gloom of evening and the profound stillness of the place, interrupted only by the light trembling of leaves, heightened her fanciful apprehensions, and she was desirous of quitting the building, but perceived herself grow faint and set down. As she tried to recover herself, the penciled lines on the wainscote met her eye. She started as if she had seen a stranger. But, endeavoring to conquer the tremor of her spirits, rose and went to the window. To the lines before noticed, she now perceived that others were added, in which her name appeared. Though no longer suffered to doubt that they were addressed to herself, she was as ignorant as before by whom they could be written. While she mused, she thought she heard the sound of a step without the building, and again alarmed, she caught up her loot and hurried away. Monsieur and Madame Saint-Obert, she found in the little path that wound along the sides of the Glen. Having reached a green summit, shadowed by palm trees, and overlooking the valleys and plains of Gascony, they seated themselves on the turf, and while their eyes wandered over the glorious scene, and they inhaled the sweet breath of flowers and herbs that enriched the grass, Emily played and sung several of their favorite airs, with the delicacy of expression in which she so much excelled. Music and conversation detamed them in this enchanting spot till the sun's last light slept upon the plains, till the white sails that glided beneath the mountains, where the Giron wandered, became dim, and the gloom of evening stole over the landscape. It was a melancholy but not unpleasing gloom. Saint-Obert and his family rose, and left the place with regret. Alas, Madame Saint-Obert knew not that she left it for ever. Part A. Recorded by Michelle Crandall, Fremont, California, October 2008 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Michelle Crandall. The Mysteries of Udalfo by Ann Radcliffe. Volume 1, Chapter 1. Part 2 When they reached the fishing-house, she missed her bracelet, and recollected that she had taken it from her arm after dinner, and had left it on the table when she went to walk. After a long search, in which Emily was very active, she was compelled to resign herself to the loss of it. What made this bracelet valuable to her was a miniature of her daughter to which it was attached, a steam to striking resemblance, in which had been painted only a few months before. When Emily was convinced that the bracelet was really gone, she blushed and became thoughtful. That some stranger had been in the fishing-house during her absence, her loot in the additional lines of a pencil had already informed her. From the purport of these lines it was not unreasonable to believe that the poet, the musician, and the thief were the same person. But though the music she had heard, the written lines she had seen, and the disappearance of the picture formed a combination of circumstances very remarkable. She was irresistibly restrained from mentioning them, secretly determining, however, never again to visit the fishing-house without Monsieur and Madame Saint-Obert. They returned pensively to the chateau, Emily musing on the incident which had just occurred, Saint-Obert reflecting with placid gratitude on the blessings he possessed, and Madame Saint-Obert somewhat disturbed and perplexed by the loss of her daughter's picture. As they drew near the house, they observed an unusual bustle about it. The sound of voices was distinctly heard. Servants and horses were seen passing between the trees, and at length the wheels of a carriage rolled along. Having come within view of the front of the chateau, a landow with smoking horses appeared on the little lawn before it, Saint-Obert perceived the liveries of his brother-in-law, and in the parlor he found Monsieur and Madame Cannelle already entered. They had left Paris some days before, and were on the way to their estate only ten leagues distant from Lavalie, and which Monsieur Cannelle had purchased several years before of Saint-Obert. This gentleman was the only brother of Madame Saint-Obert, but the ties of relationship having never been strengthened by congeniality of character, the intercourse between them had not been frequent. Monsieur Cannelle had lived altogether in the world. His aim had been consequence. Splendour was the object of his taste, and his address and knowledge of character had carried him forward to the attainment of almost all that he had courted. By a man of such a disposition it is not surprising that the virtues of Saint-Obert should be overlooked, or that his pure taste, simplicity and moderated wishes were considered as marks of a weak intellect and of confined views. The marriage of his sister with Saint-Obert had been mortifying to his ambition, for he had designed that the matrimonial connection she formed should assist him to attain the consequence which he so much desired, and some offers were made her by persons whose rank and fortune flattered his warmest hope. But his sister, who was then addressed also by Saint-Obert, perceived or thought she perceived that happiness and Splendour were not the same, and she did not hesitate to forego the last for the attainment of the former. Whether Monsieur Cannelle thought them the same or not, he would readily have sacrificed his sister's peace to the gratification of his own ambition, and, on her marriage with Saint-Obert, expressed in private his contempt of her spiritless conduct and of the connection which it permitted. Madame Saint-Obert, though she concealed this insult from her husband, but perhaps for the first time resentment lighted in her heart, and though a regard for her own dignity, united with considerations of prudence, restrained her expression of this resentment, there was ever after a mild reserve in her manner towards Monsieur Cannelle which she both understood and felt. In his own marriage he did not follow his sister's example. His lady was an Italian and an heiress by birth, and by nature and education was a vain and frivolous woman. They now determined to pass the night with Saint-Obert, and, as the chateau was not large enough to accommodate their servants, the latter were dismissed to the neighbouring village. When the first compliments were over and the arrangements for the night made, Monsieur Cannelle began the display of his intelligence and his connections, while Saint-Obert, who had been long enough in retirement to find these topics recommended by their novelty, listened with a degree of patience and attention which his guests mistook for the humility of wonder. The latter indeed described the few festivities which the turbulence of that period permitted to the court of Henry III with a minuteness that somewhat recompensed for his ostentation. But when he came to speak of the character of the Duke d'Aix-jeu, of a secret treaty which he knew to be negotiating with the port, and of the light in which Henry M. Navarre was received, Monsieur Saint-Obert recollected enough of his former experience to be assured that his guests could be only of an inferior class of politicians, and that, from the importance of the subjects upon which he committed himself, he could not be of the rank to which he pretended to belong. The opinions delivered by Monsieur Cannelle were such as Saint-Obert forbore to reply to, for he knew that his guests had neither humanity to feel nor discernment to perceive what is just. Madame Cannelle, meanwhile, was expressing to Madame Saint-Obert her astonishment that she could bear to pass her life in this remote corner of the world, as she called it, and describing from a wish probably of exciting envy the splendour of the balls, banquets, and processions which had just been given by the court in honour of the nuptials of the Duke d'Aix-jeu with Margarete of Lorraine, the sister of the Queen. She described with equal minuteness the magnificence she had seen, and that from which she had been excluded, while Emily's vivid fancy, as she listened with the ardent curiosity of youth, heightened the scenes she heard of, and Madame Saint-Obert, looking on her family, felt as a tear stole to her eye that though splendour may grace happiness, virtue only can bestow it. It is now twelve years, Saint-Obert, said Monsieur Cannelle, since I purchased your family estate. Somewhere thereabout, replied Saint-Obert, suppressing a sigh, it is near five years since I have been there, resumed Cannelle, for Paris and its neighbourhood is the only place in the world to live in, and I am so immersed in politics, and have so many affairs of moment on my hands, that I find it difficult to steal away even for a month or two. Saint-Obert remaining silent, Monsieur Cannelle proceeded. I have sometimes wondered how you, who have lived in the capital and are accustomed to company, can exist elsewhere, especially in so remote a country as this, where you can neither hear nor see anything, and can in short be scarcely conscious of life. I live for my family and myself, said Saint-Obert. I am now contented to know only happiness. Formerly I knew life. I mean to expend thirty or forty thousand levers on improvements, said Monsieur Cannelle, without seeming to notice the words of Saint-Obert, for I designed next summer to bring here my friends the Duc des Dursfortes and the Marquis Romain to pass a month or two with me. To Saint-Obert's inquiry, as to these intended improvements, he replied, that he should take down the whole east wing of the château and raise upon the site a set of stables. Then I shall build, said he, a sale au manger, a salon, a sale au commune, and a number of rooms for servants. For a present there is not accommodation for a third part of my own people. It accommodated our father's household, said Saint-Obert, gripped that the old mansion was to be thus improved, and that was not a small one. Our notions are somewhat enlarged since those days, said Monsieur Cannelle. What was then thought a decent style of living would not now be endured. Even the calm Saint-Obert blushed at these words, but his anger soon yielded to contempt. The ground about the château is encumbered with trees. I mean to cut some of them down. Cut down the trees, too, said Saint-Obert. Certainly, why should I not? they interrupt my prospects. There is a chestnut which spreads its branches before the whole south side of the château, and which is so ancient that they tell me the hollow of its trunk will hold a dozen men. Your enthusiasm will scarcely contend that there can be either use or beauty in such a sapless old tree as this. Good God! exclaimed Saint-Obert, you surely will not destroy that noble chestnut which has flourished for centuries. The glory of the estate! It was in its maturity when the present mansion was built. How often in my youth have I climbed among its broad branches, and sat embowered amidst a world of leaves, while the heavy shower has plattered above, and not a brain-drop reached me. How often I have sat with a book in my hand, sometimes reading and sometimes looking out between the branches upon the wide landscape and the setting sun till twilight came, and brought the birds home to their little nests among the leaves. How often, but pardon me, added Saint-Obert, recollecting that he was speaking to a man who could neither comprehend nor allow his feelings. I am talking of times and feelings as old-fashioned as the taste that would spare that venerable tree. It will certainly come down, said Moussir Kinnell. I believe I shall plant some Lombardi poplars among the clumps of chestnut that I shall leave of the avenue. Madame Kinnell is partial to the poplar, and tells me how much it adorns the villa of her uncle not far from Venice. On the banks of the Brenta indeed, continued Saint-Obert, where its spirey form is intermingled with the pine and the cypress, and where it plays over light and elegant porticoes, and colonnades, it unquestionably adorns the scene, but among the giants of the forest and near a heavy gothic mansion. Well, my good sir, said Moussir Kinnell, I will not dispute you. You must return to Paris before our ideas can at all agree. But, apropos of Venice, I have some thoughts of going thither next summer. Events may call me to take position of that same villa, too, which they tell me is the most charming that can be imagined. In that case, I shall leave the improvements I mentioned to another year, and I may perhaps be tempted to stay some time in Italy. Emily was somewhat surprised to hear him talk of being tempted to remain abroad after he had mentioned his presence to be so necessary at Paris that it was with difficulty he could steal away for a month or two. But Saint-Obert understood the self-importance of the man too well to wonder at this trait, and the possibility that these projected improvements might be deferred gave him a hope that they might never take place. Before they separated for the night, Moussir Kinnell desired to speak with Saint-Obert alone, and they retired to another room where they remained a considerable time. The subject of this conversation was not known, but whatever it might be, Saint-Obert, when he returned to the supper-room, seemed much disturbed, and a shade of sorrow sometimes fell upon his features that alarmed Madame Saint-Obert. When they were alone, she was tempted to inquire the occasion of it. But the delicacy of mind which had ever appeared in his conduct restrained her. She considered that if Saint-Obert wished her to be acquainted with the subject of his concern, he would not wait on her inquiries. On the following day, before Moussir Kinnell departed, he had a second conference with Saint-Obert. The guests, after dining at the chateau, set out in the cool of the day for Eporville, whether they gave him and Madame Saint-Obert a pressing invitation, prompted rather by the vanity of displaying their splendor than by a wish to make their friends happy. Emily returned with delight to the vanity which their presence had restrained, to her books, her walks, and the rational conversation of Moussir and Madame Saint-Obert, who seemed to rejoice no less that they were delivered from the shackles which arrogance and frivolity had imposed. Madame Saint-Obert excused herself from sharing their usual evening walk, complaining that she was not quite well, and Saint-Obert and Emily went out together. They chose a walk towards the mountains, intending to visit some old pensioners of Saint-Obert, which, from his very moderate income, he contrived to support, though it is probable Moussir Kinnell, with his very large one, could not have afforded this. After distributing to his pensioners their weekly stipends, listening patiently to the complaints of some, redressing the grievances of others, and softening the discontents of all by the look of sympathy and the smile of benevolence, Saint-Obert returned home through the woods, where, at fall of Eve fairy people throng in various games and revelry to pass the summer night as village stories tell. Thompson The evening gloom of woods was always delightful to me, said Saint-Obert, whose mind now experienced the sweet calm which results from the consciousness of having done a beneficent action, and which disposes it to receive pleasure from every surrounding object. I remember that in my youth this gloom used to call forth to my fancy a thousand fairy visions and romantic images. And I own, I am not yet wholly insensible of that high enthusiasm which wakes the poet's dream. I can linger with solemn steps under the deep shades, send forward a transforming eye into the distant obscurity, and listen with thrilling delight to the mystic murmuring of the woods. Oh, my dear father, said Emily, while a sudden tear started to her eye, how exactly you describe what I have felt so often in which I thought nobody had ever felt but myself. But, Hark, here comes the sweeping sound over the wood-tops. Now it dies away. How solemn the stillness that succeeds. Now the breeze swells again. It is like the voice of some supernatural being, the voice of the spirit of the woods that watches over them by night. Ah, what light is jaunder, but it is gone, and now it gleams again near the root of that large chestnut. Look, sir. Are you such an admirer of nature, said Saint Aubert, and so little acquainted with her appearances as not to know that for the glowworm? But come, he added gaily, step a little further and we shall see fairies, perhaps, their often companions. The glowworm lends his light, and they, in return, charm him with music and the dance. Do you see nothing tripping yaunder? Emily laughed. Well, my dear sir, said she, allow of this alliance I may venture to own I have anticipated you, and almost dare venture to repeat some verses I made one evening in these very woods. Nay, replied Saint Aubert, dismiss the almost, and venture quite. Let us hear what vagaries fancy has been playing in your mind. If she has given you one of her spells, you need not envy those of the fairies. If it is strong enough to enchant your judgment, sir, said Emily while I disclose her images, I need not envy them. The lines go in a sort of tripping measure which I thought might suit the subject well enough, but I fear they are too irregular. The glowworm How pleasant is the green woods deep matted shade on a mid-summer's eve when the fresh rain is o'er, when the yellow beams slope and sparkle through the glade, and swiftly in the thin air the light swallows soar. But sweeter, sweeter still, when the sun sinks to rest and twilight comes on with the fairies so gay tripping through the forest-walk, where flowers unpressed bow not their tall heads beneath their frolic play. To music's softest sounds they dance away the hour, till moonlight steals down among the traveling leaves and checkers all the ground and guides them to the bower, the long-haunted bower where the nightingale greaves. Then no more they dance till her sad song is done, and no more they seek to her morning attend, and often as her dying notes their pity have won, they vow all her sacred haunts from mortals to defend. When down among the mountains sinks the evening star and the changing moon forsakes the shadowy sphere, how cheerless would they be though they fairies are if I with my pale light came not near. Yet cheerless, though they'd be, they're ungrateful to my love on his way and I glimmer in his path and would guide him through the grove they bind me in their magic spells to lead him far astray. And in the mire to leave him till the stars are all burnt out while in strange-looking shapes they frisk about the ground and afar in the woods they raise a dismal shout till I shrink into my cell again for terror of the sound. But see where all the tiny elves come dancing in a ring with the merry-mary pipe and the timbrel so clear and the lute with dulcet string then round about the oak they go till peeping of the morn. Down yonder glade two lovers steal to shun the fairy queen who frowns upon their plighted vows and jealouses of me that yester eve I lighted them along the dewy green to seek the purple flower whose juice from all her spells can free. And now to punish me she keeps afar her jokin' band with the merry-mary pipe and the timbrel and the lute if I creep near yonder oak she will wave her fairy wand and to me the dance will cease and the music all be mute. Ah! had I but that purple flower whose leaves her charms can foil a new like phase to draw the juice and throw it on the wind I'd be her slave no longer nor the traveler beguile and help all faithful lovers nor fear the fairy kind. And now the woods will wander afar and the fickle moon will fade and the stars disappear then cheerless will they be though they fairies are if I with my pale light come not near. Whatever Seinobert might think of the stanzas he would not deny his daughter the pleasure of believing that he approved them and having given his commendation he sunk into a reverie and they walked on in silence. A faint erroneous ray on those surfaces of things flung half an image on the straining eye while waving wits and villages and streams and rocks and mountaintops that long retained the ascending gleam are all one swimming scene uncertain if beheld. Thompson Seinobert continued silent till he reached the chateau where his wife had retired to her chamber the languor and ejection that had lately oppressed her and which the exertion called forth by the guests had suspended now returned with increased effect. On the following day symptoms of fever appeared and Seinobert having sent for medical advice learned that her disorder was a fever of the same nature as that from which he had lately recovered. She had indeed taken the infection during her attendance upon him and her constitution being too weak to throw out the disease immediately it had lurked in her veins and occasioned the heavy languor Seinobert, whose anxiety for his wife overcame every other consideration detained the physician in his house. He remembered the feelings and the reflections that had called the momentary gloom upon his mind on the day when he had last visited the fishing-house in company with Madame Seinobert and he now admitted a pre-sentiment that this illness would be a fatal one but he effectually concealed this from her and from his daughter whom he endeavored to re-animate and her constant assiduities would not be unavailing. The physician, when asked by Seinobert for his opinion of the disorder, replied that the event of it depended upon circumstances which he could not ascertain. Madame Seinobert seemed to have formed a more decided one but her eyes only gave hints of this. She frequently fixed them upon her anxious friends with an expression of pity and of tenderness as if she anticipated the sorrow that awaited them and one that seemed to say it was for their sakes only for their sufferings that she regretted life. On the seventh day the disorder was at its crisis. The physician assumed a graver manner which she observed and took occasion when her family had once quitted the chamber to tell him that she perceived her death was approaching. Do not attempt to deceive me, said she. I feel that I cannot long survive. I am prepared for the event. I have the hope been preparing for it. Since I have not long to live do not suffer a mistaking compassion to induce you to flatter my family with false hopes. If you do, their affliction will only be the heavier when it arrives. I will endeavor to teach them resignation by my example. The physician was affected. He promised to obey her and told Seinobert somewhat abruptly that there was nothing to expect. The latter was not philosopher enough for his feelings when he received this information. But a consideration of the increased affliction which the observance of his grief would occasion his wife enabled him after some time to command himself in her presence. Emily was at first overwhelmed with the intelligence. Then, deluded by the strength of her wishes a hope sprung up in her mind that her mother would yet recover. And to this she pertinaciously adhered almost to the last hour. The progress of the disorder was marked on the side of Madame Seinobert by patient suffering and subjected wishes. The composure with which she awaited her death could be derived only from the retrospect of a life governed as far as human frailty permits by a consciousness of being always in the presence of the deity and by the hope of a higher world. But her piety could not entirely subdue the grief of parting from those whom she so dearly loved. In these her last hours she conversed as much with Seinobert and Emily on the prospect of futurity and on other religious topics. The resignation she expressed with the firm hope of meeting in a future world the friends she left in this and the effort which sometimes appeared to conceal her sorrow at this temporary separation frequently affected Seinobert so much as to oblige him to leave the room. Having indulged his tears a while he would dry them and return to the chamber of accountants composed by an endeavor which did but increase his grief. Never had Emily felt the importance of the lessons which had taught her to restrain her sensibility so much as in these moments and never had she practiced them with a triumph so complete. But when the last was over she sunk at once under the pressure of her sorrow and then perceived that it was hope as well as fortitude which had hitherto supported her. Seinobert was for a time employed of comfort himself to bestow any on his daughter. End of Book 1, Chapter 1, Part 2 Recorded by Michelle Crandall Fremont, California, December 2008 I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul. Shakespeare. Madame Saint Aubert was interred in the neighboring village church. Her husband and daughter attended her to the grave followed by a long train of the peasantry who were sincere mourners of this excellent woman. On her return from the funeral Saint Aubert shut himself in his chamber. When he came forth it was with the serene countenance though pale and sorrow. He gave orders that his family should attend him. Emily Only was absent who overcome with the scene she had just witnessed had retired to her closet to weep alone. Saint Aubert followed her dither. He took her hand in silence while she continued to weep and it was some moments he had trembled while he said My Emily, I am going to prayers with my family. You will join us. We must ask support from above. Where else ought we to seek it? Where else can we find it? Emily checked her tears and followed her father to the parlor where the servants being assembled Saint Aubert read in a low and solemn voice the evening service and added a prayer for the soul During this his voice often faltered his tears fell upon the book and at length he paused. But the sublime emotions of pure devotion gradually elevated his views above this world and finally brought comfort to his heart. When the service was ended and the servants were withdrawn he tenderly kissed Emily and said I have endeavored to teach you from your earliest youth the duty of self-command I have pointed out to you the great importance of it through life not only as it preserves us in the various and dangerous temptations that call us from rectitude and virtue but as it limits the indulgences which are termed virtuous yet which extended beyond a certain boundary are vicious for their consequences evil all excesses vicious even that sorrow which is amiable in its origin becomes a selfish and unjust passion if indulged at the expense of our duties by our duties I mean what we owe to ourselves as well as to others. The indulgence of excessive grief innervates the mind and almost incapacitates it for again partaking of those various innocent enjoyments which a benevolent God designed to be the sunshine of our lives. My dear Emily recollect and practice the things you have so often given you and which your own experience has so often shown you to be wise. Your sorrow is useless do not receive this as merely a commonplace remark but let reason therefore restrain sorrow I would not annihilate your feelings my child I would only teach you to command them for whatever may be the evils resulting from too susceptible a heart nothing can be hoped from an insensible one on the other hand is all vice vice of which the deformity is not softened or the effect consoled for by any semblance or possibility of good you know my sufferings and are therefore convinced that mine are not the light words which on these occasions are so often repeated to destroy even the sources of honest emotion of which merely display the selfish ostentation of a false philosophy I will show you my Emily that I can practice what I advise I have said thus much because I cannot bear to see you wasting in useless sorrow for want of that resistance which is due for mind and I have not said it till now because there is a period when all reasoning must yield to nature that is past and another when excessive indulgence having sunk into habit weighs down the elasticity to render conquest nearly impossible this is to come you my Emily will show that you are willing to avoid it Emily smiled through her tears upon her father dear sir said she and her voice trembled she would have added I will show myself worthy of being your daughter but a mingled emotion of gratitude affection and grief overcame her Saint Aubert suffered her to weep without interruption and began to talk on common topics the first person who came to Condole with Saint Aubert was Monsieur Perrault an austere and seemingly unfeeling man a taste for botany had introduced them to each other for they had frequently met in their wanderings among the mountains Monsieur Perrault had retired from the world and almost from society to live in a pleasant chateau on the skirts of the woods near Lavalais he also had been disappointed in his opinion of mankind but he did not, like Saint Aubert pity and mourn for them he felt more indignation at their vices than compassion for their weaknesses Saint Aubert was somewhat surprised to see him for though he had often pressed him to come to the chateau he had never till now accepted the invitation and now he came without ceremony or reserve as a parlor as an old friend the claims of misfortune appeared to have softened down all the ruggedness and prejudices of his heart Saint Aubert, unhappy seemed to be the sole idea that occupied his mind it was in manners more than in words that he appeared to sympathize with his friends he spoke little on the subject of their grief but the minute attention he gave them and the modulated voice and softened look that accompanied it and spoke to theirs at this melancholy period Saint Aubert was likewise visited by Madame Chéron his only surviving sister who had been some years a widow and now resided in her own estate near Thelouse the intercourse between them had not been very frequent in her condolence words were not wanting she understood not the magic of the look that speaks at once to the soul or the voice of things like balm to the heart but she assured Saint Aubert that she sincerely sympathized with him praised the virtues of his late wife and then offered what she considered to be consolation Emily wept unceasingly while she spoke Saint Aubert was tranquil listened to what she said in silence and then turned the discourse upon another subject at parting she pressed him and her niece to make an early visit change of place will amuse you said she and it is wrong to give way to grief Saint Aubert acknowledged the truth of these words of course but at the same time felt more reluctant than ever to quit the spot which his past happiness had consecrated the presence of his wife had sanctified every surrounding scene and each day as it gradually softened the acuteness of his suffering assisted the tender enchantment that bound him to home and to the house which must be complied with and of this kind was the visit he paid to his brother-in-law an affair of an interesting nature made it necessary that he should delay this visit no longer and wishing to rouse Emily from her dejection he took her with him to épouxville as the carriage entered upon the forest that adjoined his paternal domain his eyes once more caught between the Chestnut Avenue the turreted corners of the Chateau he tried to think of what had passed since he was last there and that it was now the property of a man who neither revered nor valued it at length he entered the avenue whose lofty trees had so often delighted him when a boy and whose melancholy shade was now so congenial with the tone of his spirits every feature of the edifice distinguished by an air of heavy grandeur appeared successively between the branches of the trees the turret the arched gateway that led to the courts the drawbridge and the dry-foss which surrounded the whole the sound of carriage wheels brought a troop of servants to the great gate where Saint Aubert alighted and from which he led Emily into the Gothic Hall now no longer hung with the arms and ancient banners of the family these were displaced and the oak-wain scotting and beams that crossed the roof that used to stretch along the upper end of the hall where the master of the mansion loved to display his hospitality and once the peel of laughter and the song of conviviality had so often resounded was now removed even the benches that had surrounded the hall were no longer there the heavy walls were hung with frivolous ornaments and everything that appeared denoted the false taste and corrupted sentiments of the present owner Saint Aubert followed a gay Parisian servant to a parlor where sat Monsieur and Madame Connell who received him with a stately politeness and after a few formal words of condolment seemed to have forgotten that they ever had a sister Emily felt tears well into her eyes and then resentment checked them Saint Aubert calm and deliberate preserved his dignity without assuming importance and Connell was depressed by his presence without exactly knowing where for after some general conversation Saint Aubert requested to speak with him alone and Emily being left with Madame Connell soon learned that a large party was invited to dine at the chateau and was compelled to hear that nothing which was passed an irremediable ought to prevent the festivity of the present hour Saint Aubert when he was told that company were expected felt a mixed emotion of disgust against the insensibility of Connell which prompted him to return home immediately but he was informed that Madame Sharon had been asked to meet him and when he looked at Emily and considered that a time might come when the enmity of her uncle would be prejudicial to her he determined not to incur it himself by conduct which would be resented as indecorous by the very persons who now showed so little sense of decorum. Visitors assembled at dinner were two Italian gentlemen of whom one was named Artoni a distant relation of Madame Connell a man about forty of an uncommonly handsome person with features manly and expressive but whose countenance exhibited upon the whole more of the haughtiness of command and the quickness of discernment than of any other character. Signor Cavigny, his friend appeared to be about thirty in dignity but equal to him in penetration of countenance and superior in insinuation of manner. Emily was shocked by the salutation with which Madame Sharon met her father. Dear brother, said she, I am concerned to see you look so very ill. Do pray, have advice! Saint Aubert answered with a melancholy smile that he felt himself much as usual but Emily's fears made her now fancy that her father looked worse than he really did. Emily would have been amused by the new character she saw and the varied conversation that passed during dinner which was served in a style of splendor she had seldom seen before had her spirits been less oppressed. Of the guests, Signor Montoni was lately come from Italy and he spoke of the commotions which at that period agitated the country, talked of party differences with warmth and then lamented the probable consequences of the tumults. His friends spoke with equal order of the politics of his country, praised that government and prosperity of Venice and boasted of its decided superiority over all the other Italian states. He then turned to the ladies and talked with the same eloquence of Parisian fashions, the French opera and French manners and on the latter subject he did not fail to mingle what is so particularly agreeable to French taste. He was not detected by those to whom it was addressed, though its effect in producing submissive attention did not escape his observation. When he would disengage himself from the assiduities of the other ladies he sometimes addressed Emily but she knew nothing of Parisian fashions or Parisian operas and her modesty, simplicity and correct manners formed a decided contrast to those of her female companions. After dinner Saint Aubert stole from the room to view once more the old chestnut which Connell talked of cutting down. As he stood under its shade and looked up among its branches still luxuriant and saw here and there the blue sky trembling between them the pursuits and events of his early days crowded fast to his mind with the figures and characters of friends long since gone from the earth and he now felt himself to be almost an insulated being with nobody but his Emily for his heart to turn to. He stood lost amid the scenes of years which fancy called up till the succession closed with the picture of his dying wife and he started a way to forget if possible at the social board. Saint Aubert ordered his carriage at an early hour and Emily observed that he was more than unusually silent and dejected on the way home to be the effect of his visit to a place which spoke so eloquently of former times nor suspected that he had a cause for grief which he concealed from her. On entering the chateau she felt more depressed than ever for she more than ever missed the presence of that dear parent who, whenever she had been from home used to welcome her return with smiles and fondness. Now all was silent and forsaken. But what reason and effort may fail to do, time affects. Week after week passed away and each as it passed stole something from the harshness of her affliction till it was mellowed to that tenderness which the feeling heart cherishes as sacred. Saint Aubert, on the contrary, visibly declined in health, though Emily who had been so constantly with him was almost the last person who observed it. His constitution had never recovered from the late attack of the fever and the succeeding shock it received from Madame Saint Aubert's death had produced its present infirmity. His physician now ordered him to travel for it was perceptible that sorrow had seized upon his nerves weakened as they had been by the preceding illness and variety of scene it was probable would by amusing his mind restore them to their proper tone. For some days Emily was occupied in preparations to attend him and he, by endeavours to diminish his expenses at home during the journey a purpose which determined him at length to dismiss his domestics. Emily seldom opposed her father's wishes by questions or remonstrances or she would now have asked why he did not take a servant and have represented that his infirm health made one almost necessary. But when on the eve of their departure she found that he had dismissed Jacques, Francis Mary and detained only Teresa the old housekeeper she was extremely surprised and ventured to ask his reason for having done so. To save expenses my dear he replied we are going on an expensive excursion. The physician had prescribed the air of Languedoc and Provence and Saint Aubert determined therefore to travel leisurely along the shores of the Mediterranean toward Provence. She started early to their bed chamber on the night before their departure but Emily had a few books and other things to collect and the clock had struck twelve before she had finished or had remembered that some of her drawing instruments which she meant to take with her were in the parlor below. As she went to fetch these she passed her father's room and proceeding the door half open concluded that he was in his study. For since the death of Madame Saint Aubert it had been frequently his custom to rise from his restless bed and go thither to compose his mind. When she was below stairs she looked into this room but without finding him and as she returned to her chamber she tapped at his door and receiving no answer stepped softly in to be certain whether he was there. The room was dark but a light glimmered through some panes of glass that were placed in the upper part of a closet door. And surprised that he was up at so late an hour apprehended he was unwell and was going to inquire but considering that her sudden appearance at this hour might alarm him she removed her light to the staircase and then stepped softly to the closet. On looking through the panes of glass she saw him seated at a small table with papers before him some of which he was reading with deep attention and interest during which he often whipped and sobbed aloud. Emily who had come to the door to learn whether her father was ill was now detained there by a mixture of curiosity and tenderness. She could not witness his sorrow without being anxious to know the subject of and she therefore continued to observe him in silence concluding that those papers were letters of her dear mother. Presently he knelt down and with a look so solemn which was mingled with a certain wild expression that partook more of horror than of any other character he prayed silently for a considerable time. When he rose a ghastly paleness was on his countenance. Emily was hastily retiring but she saw him turn again to the papers and she stopped. He took from among them a small case and from thence a miniature picture. The rays of light fell strongly upon it and she perceived it to be that of a lady but not of her mother. Saint Aubert gazed earnestly and tenderly upon his portrait put it to his lips and then to his heart and sighed with a convulsive force. Emily could scarcely believe what she saw to be real. She never knew till now that he had a picture of any other lady than her mother much less that he had one which he evidently valued so highly but having looked repeatedly to be certain that it was not the resemblance of Madame Saint Aubert she became entirely convinced that it was designed for that of some other person. At length Saint Aubert returned the picture to its case and Emily recollecting that she was intruding upon his private sorrows softly withdrew from the chamber. End of Volume 1 Chapter 2 Recording by Linda McDaniel Headland to Georgia March 2009 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Mysteries of Udalfo by Anne Radcliffe Volume 1 Chapter 3 Oh how canst thou renounce the boundless store of charms which nature to her votry yields the warbling woodland the resounding shore the fields all that the genial ray of morning guilds and all that echoes to the song of even all that the mountain-sheltering bosom shields and all the dread magnificence of heaven Oh how canst thou renounce and hope to be forgiven these charms shall work thy soul's eternal health and love and gentleness and joy in part the minstrel. He found a little out of his way to take leave of Monsieur Boreau whom he found botanizing in the wood near his chateau and who, when he was told the purpose of Saint Aubert's visit expressed a degree of concern such as his friend had thought it was scarcely possible for him to feel on any similar occasion. He found a little out of his way to take leave of Monsieur Boreau whom he found botanizing in the wood near his chateau and he felt on any similar occasion. They parted with mutual regret. If anything could have tempted me from my retirement said Monsieur Boreau it would have been the pleasure of accompanying you on this little tour. I do not often offer compliments you may therefore believe me when I say that I shall look for your return with impatience. The travelers proceeded on their journey as they ascended the heights Saint Aubert often looked back upon the chateau in the plain below. Tender images crowded to his mind. His melancholy imagination suggested that he should return no more and though he checked this wandering thought still he continued to look till the haziness of distance blended his home with the general landscape and Saint Aubert seemed to drag at each remove a lengthening chain. He and Emily continued sunk in using silence for some leagues from which melancholy reverie Emily first awoke and her young fancy struck with the grandeur of the objects around gradually yielded to delightful impressions. The road now descended into glens confined by stupendous walls of rock gray and barren except where shrubs fringed their summits or patches of meager vegetation tinted their recesses in which the wild goat was frequently browsing. Now the way led to the lofty cliffs from whence the landscape was seen extending in all its magnificence. Emily could not restrain her transport as she looked over the pine forests of the mountains upon the vast plains that enriched with woods, towns, blushing vines and plantations of almonds, palms and olives stretched along till their various colors melted in distance into one harmonious hue that seemed to unite earth with heaven. Through the whole of this glorious scene the majestic Geron wandered descending from its source among the Pyrenees and winding its blue waves towards the Bay of Biscay. The ruggedness of the infrequent road often obliged the wanderers to alight from their little carriage but they thought themselves amply repaid for this inconvenience by the grandeur of the scenes. And while the moloteer led his animals slowly over the broken ground they felt leisure to linger amid these solitudes and to indulge the sublime reflections which soften while they elevate the heart and fill it with the certainty of a present God. Still the enjoyment of San Obert was touched with that pensive melancholy which gives to every object a mellower tint and breathes a sacred charm over all around. They had provided against part of the evil to be encountered from a want of convenient ends by carrying a stock of provisions in the carriage so that they might take refreshment on any pleasant spot in the open air and past the nights wherever they should happen to meet with a comfortable cottage. For the mind also they had provided by a work on botany written by Monsieur Barrault and by several of the Latin and Italian poets while Amelie's pencil enabled her to preserve some of those combinations of forms which charmed her at every step. The loneliness of the road where only now and then a peasant was seen driving his mule or some mountaineer children at play among the rocks heightened the effect of the scenery. San Obert was so much struck with it that he determined if he could hear of a road to penetrate further among the mountains and bending his way rather more to the south to emerge in Roussillon and coasts the Mediterranean along part of that country to Languedoc. Soon after midday he reached the summit of one of those cliffs which bright with the verdure of palm trees adorned like gems the tremendous walls of the rocks and which overlooked the greater part of Gascony and part of Languedoc. Here was shade and the fresh water of a spring that gliding among the turf under the trees then precipitated itself from rock to rock till its dashing murmurs were lost in the abyss though its white foam was long seen amid the darkness of the pines below. This was a spot well suited for rest and the travellers alighted to dine while the mules were unharnessed to browse on the savoury herbs that enriched this summit. It was some time before San Obert or Emily could withdraw their attention from the surrounding objects so as to partake of their little repast. Seated in the shade of the palms San Obert pointed out to her observation the course of the rivers, the location of great towns and the boundaries of provinces which science rather than the eye enabled him to describe. Notwithstanding this occupation when he had talked a while he suddenly became silent, thoughtful and tears often swelled to his eyes which Emily observed and the sympathy of her own heart told her their cause. The scene before them bore some resemblance though it was on a much grander scale to a favourite one of the late Madame San Obert within view of the fishing-house. They both observed this and thought how delighted she would have been with the present landscape while they knew that her eyes must never, never more open upon this world. San Obert remembered the last time of his visiting that spot in company with her and also the mournfully presaging thoughts which had arisen in his mind and were now even thus soon realised. His eyes subdued him and he abruptly rose from his seat and walked away to where no eye could observe his grief. When he returned his countenance had recovered its usual serenity. He took Emily's hand pressed it affectionately without speaking and soon after called to the moloteer who sat at a little distance concerning a road among the mountains towards Roussillon. Michael said there were several that way but he did not know how far they extended or even whether they were passable. And San Obert who did not intend to travel after sunset asked what village they could reach about that time. The moloteer calculated that they could easily reach Mathieu which was in their present road but that if they took a road that sloped more to the south towards Roussillon there was a hamlet which he thought they could gain before the evening shut in. San Obert after some hesitation determined to take the latter course and Michael having finished his meal and harnessed his mules again set forward but soon stopped and San Obert saw him doing homage to a cross that stood on a rock impending over their way. Having concluded his devotions he smacked his whip in the air and in spite of the rough road and the pain of his poor mules which he had been lately lamenting rattled in a full gallop of the precipice which it made the eye dizzy to look down. Emily was terrified almost to fainting and San Obert apprehending still greater danger from suddenly stopping the driver was compelled to sit quietly and trust his fate to the great strength and discretion of the mules who seemed to possess a greater portion of the latter quality than their master. For they carried the travelers safely into the valley and there stopped upon the brink of the rivulet leaving the splendor of extensive prospects they now entered this narrow valley screened by rocks on rocks piled as if by magic spell here scorched by lightnings there with ivy green the scene of barrenness was here and there interrupted by the spreading branches of the large and cedar which threw their gloom over the cliff no living creature appeared except the isard scrambling among the rocks and often hanging upon points so dangerous that fancy shrunk from the view of them this was such a scene as Salvatore would have chosen had he then existed for his canvas San Obert impressed by the romantic character of the place almost expected to see bandit start from behind some projecting rock and he kept his hand upon the arms with which he always traveled as they advanced the valley opened its savage features gradually softened and towards evening they were among heathy mountains stretched in far perspective along which the solitary sheep bell was heard and the voice of the shepherd calling his wandering flocks to the nightly fold his cabin partly shadowed by the cork tree in the illyx which San Obert observed to flourish in higher regions of the air than any other trees except the fir was all the human habitation that yet appeared along the bottom of this valley the most vivid verdure was spread and in the little hollow recesses of the mountains under the shade of the oak and chestnut herds of cattle were grazing groups of them too were often seen reposing on the banks of the rivulet or leaving their sides in the cool stream and sipping its wave the sun was now setting upon the valley its last light gleamed upon the water and heightened to the rich yellow and purple tints of the heath and broom that overspread the mountains San Obert inquired of Michael the distance to the hamlet he had mentioned but the man could not with certainty tell and Emily began to fear that he had mistaken the road here was no human being to assist or direct them they had left the shepherd in his cabin far behind and the scene became so obscured in twilight that the eye could not follow the distant perspective of the valley in search of a cottage or a hamlet a glow of the horizon still marked the west and this was of some little use to the travelers Michael seemed endeavouring to keep up his courage by singing his music however was not of a kind to disperse melancholy he sung in a sort of chant one of the most dismal ditties his present auditors had ever heard and San Obert at length discovered it to be a vest for him to his favourite saint they travelled on sunk in that thoughtful melancholy with which twilight and solitude impressed the mind Michael had now ended his ditty and nothing was heard but the drowsy murmur of the breeze among the woods and its light flutter as it blew freshly into the carriage they were at length roused by the sound of firearms San Obert called to the moloteer and they listened the noise was not repeated but presently they heard a wrestling among the breaks San Obert drew forth a pistol and ordered Michael to proceed as fast as possible who had not long obeyed before a horn sounded that made the mountains ring he looked again from the window and then saw a young man spring from the bushes into the road followed by a couple of dogs the stranger was in a hunter's dress his gun was slung across his shoulders the hunter's horn hung from his belt and in his hand was a small pike which as he held it added to the manly grace of his figure and assisted the agility of his steps after a moment's hesitation San Obert again stopped the carriage and waited till he came up that they might inquire concerning the hamlet they were in search of the stranger informed him that it was only half a leak distant that he was going thither himself and would readily shoo the way San Obert thanked him for the offer and, pleased with his chevalier-like air and open countenance asked him to take a seat in the carriage which the stranger, with an acknowledgment declined adding that he would keep pace with the mules but I fear you will be wretchedly accommodated said he the inhabitants of these mountains are a simple people who are not only without the luxuries of life but almost destitute of what in other places are held to be its necessaries I perceive you are not one of its inhabitants, sir said San Obert no, I am only a wanderer here the carriage drove on and the increasing dusk made the travelers very thankful that they had a guide the frequent glens, too that now opened among the mountains would likewise have added to their perplexity Emily, as she looked up one of these saw something at a great distance like a bright cloud in the air what light is yonder, sir, said she San Obert looked and perceived that it was the snowy summit of a mountain so much higher than any around it that it still reflected the sun's rays while those below lay in deep shade at length the village lights were seen to twinkle through the dusk and soon after some cottages were discovered in the valley there were seen by reflection in the stream on whose margin they stood and which still gleamed with the evening light the stranger now came up and San Obert on further enquiry found that not only was there no inn in the place but not any sort of house of public reception the stranger, however offered to walk on and inquire for a cottage to accommodate them for which further civility San Obert returned his thanks and said that as the village was so near he would alight and walk with him Emily followed slowly in the carriage on the way San Obert asked his companion what success he had had in the chase not much, sir, he replied nor do I aim at it I am pleased with the country and mean to saunter away a few weeks among its scenes my dogs I take with me more for companionship than for gain this dress, too gives me enough sensible business and procures me that respect from the people which would perhaps be refused to a lonely stranger who had no visible motive for coming among them I admire your taste, said San Obert and if I was a younger man should like to pass a few weeks in your way exceedingly I, too, am a wanderer but neither my plan nor pursuits are exactly like yours I go in search of health as much as of amusement San Obert sighed and paused and then, seeming to recollect himself, he resumed if I can hear of a tolerable road that shall afford decent accommodation it is my intention to pass into Roussillon and along the sea shore to Langdok you, sir, seem to be acquainted with the country and can perhaps give me information on the subject the stranger said that what information he could give was entirely at his service and then mentioned a road rather more to the east which led to a town once it would be easy to proceed into Roussillon they now arrived at the village and commenced their search for a cottage that would afford a night's lodging in several which they entered ignorance, poverty and mirth seemed equally to prevail and the owners eyed San Obert with a mixture of curiosity and timidity something like a bed could be found and he had ceased to inquire for one when Emily joined him who observed the languor of her father's countenance and lamented that he had taken a road so ill provided with the comforts necessary for an invalid other cottages which they examined seemed somewhat less savage than the former consisting of two rooms if such they could be called the first of these occupied by mules and pigs second by the family which generally consisted of six or eight children with their parents who slept on beds of skins and dried beach-leaves spread upon a mud-floor here light was admitted and smoke discharged through an aperture in the roof and here the scent of spirits for the travelling smugglers who haunted the Pyrenees had made this rude people familiar with the use of liquors was generally perceptible enough Emily turned from such scenes and looked at her father with anxious tenderness which the young stranger seemed to observe for drawing Sanobert aside he made him an offer of his own bed it is a decent one said he when compared with what we have just seen yet such is in other circumstances I should be ashamed to offer you Sanobert acknowledged how much he felt himself obliged by this kindness but refused to accept it till the young stranger would take no denial do not give me the pain of knowing sir he said he that an invalid like you lies on hard skins while I sleep in a bed besides sir your refusal wounds my pride I must believe you think my offer unworthy your acceptance let me shoe you the way I have no doubt my landlady can accommodate this young lady also Sanobert length consented this could be done he would accept his kindness though he felt rather surprised that the stranger had proved himself so deficient in gallantry as to administer to the repose of an infirm man rather than that of a very lovely young woman for he had not once offered the room for Emily but she thought not of herself and the animated smile she gave him told how much she felt herself obliged for the preference of her father on their way the stranger whose name was Valancor stepped on burst to speak to his hostess and she came out to welcome Sanobert into a cottage much superior to any he had seen this good woman seemed very willing to accommodate the strangers who were soon compelled to accept the only two beds in the place eggs and milk were the only food the cottage afforded but against scarcity of provisions Sanobert had provided Valancor to stay and partake with him of less homely fair an invitation which was readily accepted and they passed an hour in intelligent conversation Sanobert was much pleased with the manly frankness, simplicity and keen susceptibility to the grandeur of nature which his new acquaintance discovered and indeed he had often been heard to say that without a certain simplicity of heart this taste could not exist in any strong degree the conversation was interrupted by a violent uproar without in which the voice of the moloteer was heard above every other sound Valancor started from his seat and went to inquire the occasion but the dispute continued so long afterwards that Sanobert went himself and found Michael quarreling with the hostess because she had refused to let his mules lie in a little room where he and three of her sons were to pass the night the place was wretched enough but there was no other for these people to sleep in and with somewhat more of delicacy than was usual among the inhabitants of this wild tract of country she persisted in refusing to let the animals have the same bed chamber with her children this was a tender point with the moloteer his honor was wounded when his mules were treated with disrespect and he would have received a blow perhaps with more meekness his beasts were as honest beasts and as good beasts as any in the whole province and that they had a right to be well treated wherever they went they are as harmless as lambs said he if people don't affront them I never knew them behave themselves amiss above once or twice in my life and then they had good reason for doing so once indeed they kicked at a boy's leg that lay asleep in the stable and broke it but I told them they were out there and by saying Anthony I believe they understood me for they never did so again he concluded this eloquent harangue with protesting that they should share with him go where he would the dispute was at length settled by Valancourt who drew the hostess aside and desired she would let the moloteer and his beasts have the place in question to themselves while her son should have the bed of skins designed for him to sleep in his cloak and sleep on the bench by the cottage door but this she thought it her duty to oppose and she felt it to be her inclination to disappoint the moloteer Valancourt however was positive and the tedious affair was at length settled it was late when Saint Aubert and Emily retired to their rooms and Valancourt to his station at the door which at this mild season he preferred to a closed cabin Saint Aubert was somewhat surprised to find in his room volumes of Homer Horace and Petrarch but the name of Valancourt written in them told him to whom they belonged End of Volume 1 Chapter 3