The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror)

by Eliza Parsons

  So congenial was its gloom to the present feelings of Madame D'Alembert, that she never talked of quitting it without the deepest regret; exclusive of the above consideration, she was also attached to it from its having been the favourite residence of her parents, the place where the blossoms of her youth had blown. Here she wished to pass the remainder of her days—here, where she could be free from that restraint—that state—those tiresome ceremonies, which in a public situation the etiquette of the world obliged her to observe. Like the poet, she might have said,

  "This shadowing desert, unfrequented woods,

  I better brook than flourishing peopl'd towns.

  Here I can sit alone, unseen of any,

  And to the nightingale's complaining notes

  Tune my distresses, and record my woes."

  From words which sometimes dropped from Madame D'Alembert, Madeline was more than once led to imagine, that besides the death of her mother, she had another cause for sorrow; but whenever she reflected on her situation, that idea vanished, and she wondered how she could for a moment have harboured it; knowing, as she did, that Madame D'Alembert possessed those blessings, which in general are supposed to render life estimable—the affections of the man of her choice (for such Madeline always understood M. D'Alembert to be), friends who adored her, and even a superabundance of riches.

  Those attentions, which pity for the afflicted Viola, and reverence for the commands of her benefactress, first prompted her to pay, Madeline now continued from affection.

  Madame D'Alembert was a woman, whose temper and disposition, upon an intimacy, captivated the heart, as much as her beauty and elegance, at first sight, charmed the eye: besides, she treated Madeline exactly as a tender sister would have done, ordered the same mourning for her as for herself, nor suffered the servants to make any distinction between them.

  In the course of the conversation Madeline discovered that Madame D'Alembert knew nothing of her or her father prior to her introduction at the chateau; and she felt from this circumstance more firmly convinced than ever that the private history of her father must be dreadful, when the Countess would not impart it even to her daughter.

  A month elapsed without Madame D'Alembert's solitude being in the least interrupted, during which she and Madeline paid many visits to the grave of the Countess, which the latter could never approach without shuddering.

  At the expiration of that period, as they sat at breakfast one morning, a letter was brought to Madame D'Alembert by her woman; who, as she put it into her hands, said, "From my master, Madam."

  Her Lady turned pale at those words, and desiring her to retire, broke the seal with a trembling hand.

  END OF VOLUME TWO

  VOLUME THREE

  CHAPTER I

  Thoughts succeed thoughts, like restless troubled waves,

  Dashing out one another.

  After perusing her letter, Madame D'Alembert leaned her head upon her hand and continued silent many minutes as if absorbed in profound meditation; then raising it, "my love (she cried to Madeline, whose eyes, though she had retired to a window were fastened on her), my love, (motioning for her to take a seat by her), I am now going to put your friendship to the test."

  "I trust, Madame, (said Madeline as she seated herself), you do not doubt its being able to bear any trial you can put it to."

  "I have no reason indeed, (replied Madame, taking her hand) to doubt your affection or sincerity; but the request I am about making appears to me unreasonable, consequently I fear its appearing much more so to you." She paused a minute, and then, tho' with rather a hesitating voice, proceeded.

  "Monsieur D'Alembert is coming to the chateau; the letter I have just received came by an express to announce his approach,—in the course of this day I expect him. Reasons of the most powerful nature, but reasons which I cannot, must not, dare not declare, make me wish to prevent his seeing you, at least while you are under my protection."

  "Dearest Madam (then said Madeline with quickness), let me return immediately to my father; how could you imagine I should think your requesting me to do so unreasonable; I have long wished to see him, and my regret at quitting you will now be lessened by knowing Monsieur D'Alembert will be your companion."

  "My dear girl (cried Madame) you totally mistake me; though I do not wish you to see Monsieur D'Alembert, I by no means wish you to return to your father; on the contrary, should you insist on doing so, you will pain me beyond expression."

  "But how, Madame, (asked Madeline with much surprise) how will it be possible to avoid being seen by Monsieur if I do not quit the chateau."

  "By consenting to seclude yourself from society (answered Madame) while he is in it; his stay he informs me will be but short—was it a long one I could not be so selfish as to attempt to keep you; tell me then, my Madeline—terminate my suspense—will you gratify, will you comply with my wishes?" She paused and looked earnestly at Madeline for a reply, but it was many minutes ere Madeline could give one.

  Amazed by what she had heard, and learning that Madame D'Alembert had powerful reasons for concealing her from her husband, her whole soul was engrossed in trying to develop those reasons; but like the other mysteries which had tortured it, she vainly tried to do so.

  "Ah! Madeline (said Madame D'Alembert, in a melancholy voice) I fear this silence bodes me no good."

  "My dearest Madam, (cried Madeline) I would at once have answered you, could I at once have determined how to act; but I will acknowledge though my affection for you prompts me to comply with your request, my pride makes me revolt from the idea of becoming the unknown guest of any person; besides—besides (with some little hesitation) there is a kind of apprehension mingled with that pride. I recollect the particular, the impressive manner, in which my beloved benefactress bade me remember, that whenever Monsieur D'Alembert came to the chateau, she did not desire me to continue in it; and her words, together with those you have uttered, make me fear that Monsieur has some secret enmity against me, though for what cause I cannot possibly conceive, unacquainted as I am with him."

  "What a wild idea, (exclaimed Madame), to suppose a person who is really ignorant of your existence, can have any enmity to you?"

  "Good heaven! Madam, (cried Madeline) how you astonish me!"

  "I repeat, (said her friend) that Monsieur D'Alembert, at this moment, knows not that such a being as Madeline Clermont exists: when he comes to the chateau he certainly must hear about you, but your real residence I shall take care to have concealed from him: Come, tell me, do you longer hesitate how to act?"

  Madeline sighed deeply; she was unwilling to stay, and yet unwilling to go: unwilling from motives of affection, and a fear that if she did she should be deemed ungrateful; rightly considering that those who will not sometimes tax their feelings for a friend, are themselves unworthy of the appellation of one.

  "No, Madam, (said she, after the silence of a few minutes) I no longer hesitate,—do with me as you please; I should ill requite your favors if I disobeyed your wishes."

  "A thousand thanks, my Madeline, for your compliance; (cried her friend, tenderly embracing her) it has removed a heavy burden of uneasiness from me: and now, my dear girl, to inform you of the plan which I have concerted for your concealment; a plan which only to those immediately concerned in carrying it into execution I shall impart, in order to avoid any danger of a discovery, and to prevent idle curiosity: I shall immediately have it circulated through the family that you are going to pay a visit to a relation some leagues off, and order Lubin, (in whom, his old godmother, Agatha, and Floretta, I alone mean to confide) to prepare horses for the journey; as soon as you are out of sight of the chateau, he shall conduct you to the grotto by the lake, where as soon as it is dark, Floretta shall be sent to re-conduct you home, and by a private door bring you to the chamber of my mother, which I think better adapted than your own for concealing you, as her death is too recent to permit the servants to wish to enter it.

  "I hope my
love (seeing Madeline turn pale) you have no objection to it?"

  Madeline was ashamed to acknowledge she had.—

  "No, Madam, (answered she falteringly) I have not."

  "Consider, my dear, (said her friend, who was not perfectly satisfied by this assurance) your seclusion in it will be but short; and while you continue in it, Agatha and Floretta shall pass as much time as possible with you; every opportunity too which occurs for visiting you, without danger of detection, I shall seize: retire now, my love to your chamber, and in order to give the appearance we wish to my plan, put on a riding habit."

  Madeline withdrew, but instead of changing her dress, she sat down to reconsider all that had passed, and the more she reflected on it, the more her heart recoiled from the idea of continuing in the chateau.

  "If discovered (said she) I may be insulted as an intruder, and degraded not only in my own eyes, but those of the family; but can I retract the promise I have given to Madame D'Alembert? No, it is impossible to do so—I cannot appear fickle, I cannot disappoint her; sooner than do so I will run the risk even of indignity."

  While thus engrossed in thought, Madame D'Alembert, followed by Agatha and Floretta, entered: Madeline started and attempted to apologize for not having put on the habit.

  "You are an idle girl, (cried her friend) the horses are waiting, and no time is to be lost."

  In a few minutes she was ready, and with Madame D'Alembert descended to the hall, where she found many of the old servants, (who loved her for the sake of their dear departed lady as well as for her own) assembled to bid her farewell; having received and returned that farewell, and also a parting embrace from her friend, she mounted her horse and set off at a smart pace with Lubin: they soon penetrated into the thickest of the wood, and after proceeding about a mile through it, they turned into a winding path leading to the lake; here they both alighted, and Madeline, being acquainted with the way, walked on, while Lubin slowly led the horses after her. This was the very path which de Sevignie had taken the last evening she beheld him, and the moment she entered it, the remembrance of that evening rushed upon her mind; she sighed heavily: "Ah! how different (she cried to herself) were my feelings then to what they are now!—then I imagined myself the beloved of de Sevignie's heart, then believed him entitled, not only from affection but worth, to the possession of mine; but now no idea of that kind remains, and to that which I once entertained I look back as to a delightful dream, from which I have only been awakened to misery and horror.

  "Yet can de Sevignie (she continued, as she pursued her way), can de Sevignie, (as if only now she had conceived the doubt) be perfidious, be unworthy? Oh! impossible! (cried she, yielding to the suggestions of a tenderness, which, though opposed, had never been in the least degree conquered), Oh! impossible! Vice could never wear such a semblance of virtue as he wore; the alteration in his manner must have been owing to some circumstances which pride prevented his revealing, and I should, I ought at once to have believed so: surely I had done so, had I not obeyed, (let me whisper it to myself) the dictates of disappointed tenderness and offended pride."

  On reaching the grotto she seated herself on the moss-covered stone before it; the very seat on which she had once been alarmed by de Sevignie; the very seat on which she had once, while the pale stars glimmered o'er her head, so impatiently waited his approach.

  "Oh! what minutes were those, (she exclaimed) Oh! what the palpitation of that moment which brought him to my feet!—" Again she beheld him in idea, again saw his fine eyes beaming on her with mingled love, hope and sorrow; again felt the soft pressure of his cold trembling hand; again heard the sighs, with which he declared there was an unconquerable necessity for their separation.

  "Oh! de Sevignie (she cried) to know you happier now than when that declaration was made, would relieve my heart of an almost intolerable weight of anguish: she wished she could learn whether he had yet left V—; but to enquire without betraying her motives for doing so was impossible, and from the idea of discovering them she shrunk with affright.

  "What satisfaction (she asked herself) could I derive by knowing he was still there? No hope of seeing him could be derived by such a knowledge."

  She continued engrossed by this idea till she felt the tears dropping upon her cheeks; these brought her to a sense of her weakness. "Is it by indulging such feelings as my present ones,—is it by dwelling on the remembrance of Sevignie, (said she) that I adhere to the resolution I formed not to think about him, that I obey the injunctions of my lamented benefactress, or what I know must be the wishes of my father: what folly! instead of trying to drive him from my heart, to try and establish him more firmly than ever within it, by still believing him amiable! Ah, had he been really so, never would he have formed plans which he did not mean to realize; never would he have condemned my opening my heart to such a friend as I was blessed with; and 'tis only a sudden impulse of weak and culpable tenderness which could make me again consider him in the light I once did, an impulse which I will endeavour never more to yield to: Yes, de Sevignie, more resolutely than ever I will try to expel you from my heart." She wiped away her tears, but felt at the moment how arduous was the task which she had imposed upon herself.—

  How difficult it would be, in moments of security and quiet, to banish de Sevignie from her thoughts, when scenes of grief and terror, such as she had lately experienced, had not had power to do so.

  "Heaven, however, (cried she) strengthens those who wish to do right; I wish to do so, and to do so I think I must forget de Sevignie."

  Lubin, who had hitherto been engaged in securing the horses within a cavity of the mountain, now approached, and opening a small basket of nice provisions, which Agatha had given him, he spread a napkin on the grass before Madeline, and laid the contents of the basket on it.

  " 'Tis time for you to take something Mademoiselle (said he) I dare say 'tis now far beyond your usual dinner hour; do pray, Mademoiselle, do take something, you look faint indeed."

  Madeline felt weak and tired, and did not resist his entreaty: after her little repast was over, he removed the things to a respectful distance, and sat down to refresh himself. The parents of Lubin had passed the principal part of their lives in the service of the Countess and her family, and at their death, which happened when he was very young, she had taken him entirely under her protection; his gratitude and fidelity amply repaid her kindness, and she had considered him as she did Agatha, infinitely above the rest of the servants.

  With true French gaiety after he had finished his repast, he amused himself with singing the following

  SONG

  Come, sweet Content, thou ever smiling maid,

  Come, sit with me beneath this old tree's shade;

  Or ramble with me round yon green-clad hill,

  Adown whose side soft steals the silvery rill.

  If thou'rt an inmate of my humble home,

  I would not change it for a gilded dome;

  If blessed with thee, my table shall be crown'd

  With sweets, in riot's banquet never found;

  Careless with thee I'd roam at early day,

  And join the warblers on the waving spray;

  Or gaily tend my fleecy bleating fold,

  And kindly guard them from the wint'ry cold.

  Oh! let me fold thee to this throbbing heart,

  Which sighs for peace thou only canst impart;

  And let me with thee ever humbly bend,

  Before each trial heav'n may please to send.

  Like some kind star that gives a cheering ray,

  To lead benighted mortals on their way,

  Do thou appear to check each anxious thought,

  And give that blessedness so long I've sought.

  "Is that your own composition, Lubin?" (asked Madeline) whose mind was amused by listening to him.

  "Yes, Mademoiselle, (replied he) I pass many of the long winter nights in scribbling, and then I set my own words to my own music, and they answer my
purpose as well as the best song in the world."

  "The purpose of amusing you," said Madeline.

  "Yes, Mademoiselle, and keeping care from my mind: life is so short that one should, according to the old saying, 'learn to live all the days of their life', which they never can do if they yield to fretting or vexation."

  "True, (cried Madeline), those who think as you do, Lubin, are only truly happy."

  Lubin now rambled away, and Madeline also arose and walked about.

  The day was now far advanced,

  "And in the western sky the downward sun

  Look'd out effulgent from amid the flush

  Of broken clouds, gay shifting to his beams."

  Those beautiful clouds, and all his dazzling splendour were reflected in the clear bosom of the lake, along with its verdant banks; where the laurestine just beginning to blossom, and the arbutis already in bloom, reared high their beauteous heads, while its soft murmurs intermingled in the wild concert of woodland choristers: a thousand golden beams played upon the forest, heightening the richness of its autumnal shades, and as they illumined the distant mountains, discovering some of their most romantic recesses. The mind of Madeline was soothed by the charming scene, and she felt that while she retained her present taste for the works of nature, she could not be entirely insensible to pleasure. The wild flowers that grew about now emitted their choicest fragrance, and the evening gale bore to her ear the bleating of distant flocks, and the far off whistle of the peasant the welcome signal to his companions in industry, to retire from their labours.