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

by Eliza Parsons

  "The language of the venerable man allayed the tempest of my soul: I suffered him to lead me to the Earl, at whose feet I sunk. He turned from the bed, and attempted to speak, but his voice was inarticulate, and tears burst from him. I almost envied him the tears he shed; they relieved his oppression; but mine I could not lighten in that manner; mine was that deep, that silent grief which whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.

  "'They are gone! (said he at length, and extending his trembling hand, he laid it on my shoulder); the pillars of my age are gone! No more shall the soft accents of my children attune my soul to peace! no more shall their bright eyes be opened to inspire me with gladness! the shroud already covers both, and on the cold bed of Elenora my Geraldine will soon be laid!'

  "I groaned—grasped his hands convulsively in mine, and, in frantic exclamations, expressed my grief. The monk endeavoured to moderate my transports, and the Earl made a feeble effort to aid him.

  "'Oh! my son (said he), in pity to me, in pity to your child, exert yourself; let me not descend forlorn to my grave, neither let her be cast without a friend upon the world!'

  "I started from the ground, and demanded to see my babe. You were laid in a distant chamber, and the monk instantly proceeded thither to dismiss the attendants, after which he cautiously conducted me to it. Oh, my child! how utterly impossible to describe the feelings which pervaded my breast as I gently raised the mantle that covered your sleeping face, and first cast my eyes upon you! I longed to strain you to my breast; yet I feared to breathe upon you lest I should injure you. I kneeled down, and gazed upon you till my sight grew dim! With difficulty the monk could tear me away. When he did, he would have reconducted me to my dungeon, but I pushed him aside, and again rushed to the chamber of death. For a long time I resisted his entreaties to leave it; nor should I at last, I believe, have been prevailed on to do so, had not the Earl at length bent his knee to me: I could not refuse the kneeling father of my Geraldine; and half-dragged, half-supported by the monk, I descended to my prison. Oh! what a night was that which followed the knowledge of my Geraldine's death: on the damp ground I lay stretched, and the gloomy echoes of the vaults were awakened by my moans!

  "But I will not, by any longer dwelling on my feelings, lengthen out my story. It was determined that I should remain in my present situation during the life of the Earl, and, after his decease, seek another asylum with my child. Contrary to all expectation, the Earl survived the loss of his Geraldine two years; during which period no occurrence happened to disturb the melancholy quiet of the castle. As the infirmities of Lord Dunlere prevented his coming to me, I was frequently conducted to him by the monk, who, whilst I continued with him, always remained near the chamber to prevent our being surprised.

  "Never shall I forget the last hours I passed with the father of my love at the decline of a lovely summer's day; I was brought to him to pay my then almost daily visit; I found him seated near an open window inhaling the sweet breeze which played around, whilst the setting sun beaming through it, cast a kind of luminous glory on the portraits of his daughters, before which, exhausted by play, you had fallen asleep.

  "'Ah! (said he, motioning for me to sit near him) how much should I have enjoyed the calmness of this delightful evening, had the blessings I once possessed been still mine! but let me not murmur at the decrees of the Almighty; something whispers to my soul I shall soon be re-united to those I regret. Oh! my son (he continued, observing a tear starting from me), do not too bitterly mourn my death; rather rejoice at what to me will be a release from misery as incurable as unspeakable: sink not beneath affliction at the very period your exertions will be most requisite. Oh! rouse your fortitude for the sake of Geraldine's child, and live to preserve one relic of the noble house of Dunlere! Yes, I repeat, noble was the house of Dunlere: and should any chance ever lead you to the isle in which it stands, you will find I have not been a vain boaster in calling it so. True, its honours are departed, its possessions are divided; but though its glory has set, it has set like yon bright orb, leaving a long tract of radiance behind it: 'tis on the flowery banks of the Shannon you would hear of the fame of my ancestors; 'tis there you would hear that they were ever foremost in the ranks of virtue and of valour; that their arms were never stretched against the feeble, nor their swords stained with the blood of innocence.' His eyes sparkled as he spoke, and the vigour of his soul seemed revived; but, alas! his was but the emanation of a departing spirit.

  "Early the ensuing morning, contrary to his usual custom, the monk came to me. His unexpected visit, and agitated countenance, instantly alarmed me; and, in faltering accents, I pronounced your name.

  "'Your child is well (said he); the Earl too is well—he sleeps in peace; his soul has this day been called to heaven.'

  "I could not refrain my tears on hearing of this event; in losing the Earl, I lost the friend who soothed my sorrows by talking to me of my Geraldine. 'All then that now remains to me (cried I), of the friends I adored, (the wife I must eternally regret) is a poor helpless infant!'

  "'For her sake (said the monk), you must now exert yourself. Oh! rouse yourself (he continued, seeing me despondently shake my head), to guard her tender years from the cruelties and snares of the world! Ah, let not the sweet blossom, which gives so early a promise of perfection, fade untimely for want of a paternal shelter!'

  "By degrees his language re-animated me to exertion, and we began to arrange plans for the future. He enquired to what part of the globe I was inclined to bend my steps? My broken spirits, I told him, rendered me, not only unwilling, but unable, to acquire new habits. I had, therefore, an unconquerable aversion to any strange country; and thought, from being so little known in my own, that I might, particularly as the story of my death was credited, remain in it with safety. The monk expressed his regret at my disinclination to quit France, but did not attempt to oppose it. After some consideration he mentioned the place he had come from, as a situation well calculated for retirement. I was enamoured of it from his description; and he assured me he would dispatch a confidential person that very day to procure a residence in it for me. He had already, he said, prepared the servants for dismission; and, before others came to supply their place, from the real owner of the castle, who had only lent it to the Earl as a temporary asylum, 'my messenger (said he), will be returned, and every thing prepared for your departure. I have (continued he), prevented all enquiries as to the destination of your child, by declaring her solely committed to my charge: and when the hour for your quitting the castle approaches, I shall send the woman who now takes care of her after the other domestics.'

  "Every thing succeeded according to our wishes. At the expected time the messenger arrived, after having taken the cottage for me in which you were brought up, and I set out for it a few days after the interment of the Earl. At the moment I was bidding a last adieu to the castle, the monk put you into my arms in order to revive my resolution, which he saw drooping. 'Tis said that our first parents lingered as they were quitting paradise; so I lingered as I was leaving what to me had been a paradise—so I paused and cast my tearful eyes upon it. With difficulty the monk could prevail on me to proceed; he insisted on accompanying me to the place, about half a league from the castle, where a guide and mules were stationed for me. As we proceeded thither, he exhorted me to patience and submission to the Divine will. Our farewell was solemn and affecting; I strained him to my breast, and attempted to express my gratitude for all his kindness. 'Oh! my son (cried the holy man, while tears bedewed his venerable face), I do not merit such thanks; I but performed my duty in the services I rendered you and the family of the Earl; for am I not the servant of a God, who pities the frailties of his creatures, and pours balm upon the wounds which his justice sees proper to inflict?' He promised to keep up a constant correspondence with me. 'When I cease to write (said he), you may be convinced that either my faculties have failed me, or—I am no more.'

  "Our journey commenced at night; the ens
uing day we lay by in an obscure cottage, and the following night reached our habitation. My domestic arrangements were soon made. I changed my name; and, from the retirement of my house, and its being entirely out of the beaten track, had not a fear of being discovered. Here had my bosom been free from the pangs of conscience, I might again have experienced some small degree of peace; but horror and remorse had taken possession of me, and the spirit of the murdered Philippe continually haunted my steps; life was so great a burden, that often should I have been tempted to raise a desperate hand against it but for your sake.

  "To hide from you an anguish which I could not at times suppress, have I frequently wandered away to the wildest and most forlorn spots in our neighbourhood. No weather, no circumstance, could at these periods prevent those rambles; the dews of summer, the rains of winter, the closing hour of day, the midnight one of darkness were alike disregarded by me. Oh! how often have I stretched myself upon the damp earth, whilst the bleak winds of winter have whistled round me, to deprecate the wrath of Philippe's angry spirit: 'I plead not on my own account (I have cried), Oh! my brother, 'tis for the sake of my child I plead; in pity to her let not the thunders of vengeance burst upon my head! in pity to her, let me sink without infamy to my grave, that, as she bends over it, she may sooth the sorrows of her heart by saying, My father was virtuous, and his memory shall live for ever.'

  "When I told you I would at some period or other elucidate the mysteries of my life, I said so but for the purpose of allaying your suspicions, hoping that, in consequence of such a promise, you would no longer imagine I had any dreadful secrets to disclose.

  "Exclusive of the misery I felt from conscious guilt, I felt a considerable portion also from reflecting on the distresses to which, in all probability, you would be exposed after my death, as I could not hope that the farm would then, under the superintendence of a less interested person, yield such profits as it had before done; and I knew the small remainder of your grandfather's wealth, which the monk had deposited in my hands, and which I had most carefully husbanded, would be quite inadequate to your support.

  "From this uneasiness I was relieved by our blessed friend the Countess de Merville. I should previously have told you of her seeing your mother; the visit I paid her on my way to Montmorenci Castle, was discovered by her guardian, and awakened his apprehensions. He wished to unite her to his son; and, ignorant of my situation, he imagined I had come back to the neighbourhood for the purpose of disappointing that wish, and profiting by the ascendancy he knew I had over her: he therefore, in order to baffle what he supposed were my designs, immediately determined on taking her to Italy. As he did not assign his real motive for this sudden journey, of course he received no explanation from her relative to me. They stopped for refreshment near the castle, and she contrived to escape to it to pay a visit to my wife; a visit, however, little attended to by Geraldine, who was then nearly distracted by the danger of her sister.

  "In Italy the Countess first saw the Count de Merville, a French nobleman of amiable manners and illustrious descent; reason had conquered her hopeless passion, and in his arms she gladly sought a shelter from the tyranny of her guardian. They remained abroad some years after their marriage; and when, on their return to France, they stopped at the castle for the purpose of enquiring after me and mine, they could only receive a confused account of the sorrows and death of the family from an old woman who then took care of the mansion.

  "To the Countess, on our unexpected meeting, I imparted all the particulars which I have related to you. She heard them with horror, grief, and astonishment; and, her emotions a little abating, bitterly regretted my not having applied to her friendship for protection; the reproaches she uttered for my not having done so, I at length stopped by reminding her of the danger which would have attended an application.

  "She told me of the marriage of her daughter, and her connexion in consequence of it, with the House of Montmorenci. 'But though allied now in some degree to the Marquis (cried she), I never could prevail on myself to see him, so abhorrent to my soul has his cruelty to you and your mother made him: yet did I imagine that I could, by personally imploring his protection for you and your child, obtain it, I would instantly conquer my repugnance to an interview; but I am well convinced, that all supplications for justice would be unavailing, as I am confidently assured by those I cannot doubt, that he execrates the memory of those whom he has injured.'

  "How much was she deceived when she believed that assurance! (exclaimed Madeline); my grandfather's acknowledging you as his rightful heir almost the moment he discovered your residence, proves he spoke truth when he assured us that his penitence for the injuries he had committed was extreme, and that his soul rejoiced at an opportunity of doing justice. The unworthy husband and father-in-law of her daughter were, I fear, the wretches who imposed upon her. But I interrupt your narrative."

  "The Countess (resumed St. Julian), assured me that, since her child was to be enriched by my birthright, she would take care to guard my daughter against the ills of poverty. How this generous intention was frustrated you best know.

  "You may imagine I was not a little confounded when, on arriving at the castle, the first object almost I beheld was Lafroy: the alarm of my soul, which my countenance I believe too faithfully depicted, he however tried to dissipate by a secret look, and a slight pressure of his hand upon his heart, as if to assure me of his fidelity.

  "At night, when I was undressing, he entered my apartment—'Pardon my intrusion, my Lord (said he), but I could not refrain from coming to express my joy at seeing you, as I may say, risen from the grave; for the monk assured me you were dead. He might have confided in me; I pledged a solemn oath never to betray you; and, though but a servant, I have ever been taught to consider a promise as sacred.'

  "'Excuse the caution of old age, Lafroy, (replied I); 'twas not by my desire the monk deceived you.'

  "'Certainly, my Lord (said he); I allow too much caution could not be practised then, nor is there less occasion for it now; as I am convinced, if the Marquis knew you were but accessary to the death of Lord Philippe, he would punish you with the most implacable vengeance. For my part, I think you more to be pitied than condemned; and that those who instigated you to the destruction of your brother, alone merit punishment.'

  "'Did you ever (asked I), discover any clue to unravel the horrid mysteries which involved me in guilt?'

  "'I once (cried Lafroy), had an opportunity of doing so, but, alas! I lost it.'

  "'Lost it! (repeated I); explain yourself.'

  "'About seven years ago (resumed he), as I was attending the Marquis to a seat of his near Paris, at a post-house, to which I rode before the carriage for the purpose of securing horses, my eyes encountered that villain Claude: I instantly seized him by the arm, and, dragging him into a room, bolted the door—'Accursed wretch! (cried I), the long delayed punishment of heaven has at length overtaken you; the Marquis of Montmorenci approaches, and into his hands I shall consign you, as the immediate cause of his son's death.'

  "'Oh! have mercy (he exclaimed, and dropped upon his knees); I am not quite so guilty as you imagine: my poverty exposed me to temptation, and a base enemy of Lord Philippe's, by lavish promises, seduced me to evil. I have already made a full confession of every circumstance to a relation of the Marquis's; and I am ready to repeat the same to you, if you but promise not to give me into his power.'

  "'Well (said I, after some minutes of consideration), on this condition I give the promise you desire.' I accordingly raised him from the ground, and with an impatience which made me tremble, seated myself near him to hear his narrative. He had just opened his lips for the purpose of beginning it, when a violent knock came to the door, and the post-master bid me come out directly, for the Marquis of Montmorenci was dying. All horror and consternation, I obeyed him, and found a fellow-servant in the hall, who told me his Lord was in violent fits.'

  "'Secure the man in the parlour (cried I to the post-mas
ter as I sprung upon my horse to ride off to the carriage, which the servants had stopped for fear of rendering their Lord worse by the motion. It was long ere he regained his senses). We then slowly proceeded to the post-house; but think of my rage, my regret, when, upon enquiring for him, I learned that, during the bustle in the passage, Claude had slipped from the parlour, and escaped from the house by a back way, fearing, no doubt, that I would not keep my promise to him. 'Tis a true saying, my Lord, that a man generally judges of the disposition of others by his own, so Claude, being himself a deceiver, feared deception from me.'

  "Lafroy then proceeded to inform me, that he had, ever since the death of my brother, been immediately about the person of the Marquis, and ended his conversation with assurances of being ever faithful to me and mine."

  "It must have been to D'Alembert that Claude confessed his guilt," said Madeline.

  "So I think (cried her father); I know of no other way by which he could have attained a knowledge of my life."

  "Ah! what a base advantage does he take of the secret reposed in him!" said Madeline.

  "A base one indeed (repeated St. Julian). Oh! my child, never can I consent to bribe him to silence by sacrificing you. What, to save a life upon which misery is entailed—a life already in its decline—shall I devote my heart's best treasure to wretchedness?—no, Madeline, no; sooner will I brave the threats, will I meet the vengeance of D'Alembert, than consent to such a measure."