Chapter: CHAPTER XII



  Then, oh, you blessed ministers above,
 Keep me in patience; and, in ripen'd time,
 Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
 In countenance.
     SHAKESPEARE

Annette came almost breathless to Emily's apartment in the morning. 'O
ma'amselle!' said she, in broken sentences, 'what news I have to tell! I
have found out who the prisoner is--but he was no prisoner, neither;--he
that was shut up in the chamber I told you of. I must think him a ghost,
forsooth!'

'Who was the prisoner?' enquired Emily, while her thoughts glanced back
to the circumstance of the preceding night.

'You mistake, ma'am,' said Annette; 'he was not a prisoner, after all.'

'Who is the person, then?'

'Holy Saints!' rejoined Annette; 'How I was surprised! I met him just
now, on the rampart below, there. I never was so surprised in my life!
Ah! ma'amselle! this is a strange place! I should never have done
wondering, if I was to live here an hundred years. But, as I was saying,
I met him just now on the rampart, and I was thinking of nobody less
than of him.'

'This trifling is insupportable,' said Emily; 'prythee, Annette, do not
torture my patience any longer.'

'Nay, ma'amselle, guess--guess who it was; it was somebody you know very
well.'

'I cannot guess,' said Emily impatiently.

'Nay, ma'amselle, I'll tell you something to guess by--A tall Signor,
with a longish face, who walks so stately, and used to wear such a high
feather in his hat; and used often to look down upon the ground, when
people spoke to him; and to look at people from under his eyebrows, as
it were, all so dark and frowning. You have seen him, often and often,
at Venice, ma'am. Then he was so intimate with the Signor, too. And, now
I think of it, I wonder what he could be afraid of in this lonely old
castle, that he should shut himself up for. But he is come abroad now,
for I met him on the rampart just this minute. I trembled when I saw
him, for I always was afraid of him, somehow; but I determined I would
not let him see it; so I went up to him, and made him a low curtesy,
"You are welcome to the castle, Signor Orsino," said I.'

'O, it was Signor Orsino, then!' said Emily.

'Yes, ma'amselle, Signor Orsino, himself, who caused that Venetian
gentleman to be killed, and has been popping about from place to place,
ever since, as I hear.'

'Good God!' exclaimed Emily, recovering from the shock of this
intelligence; 'and is HE come to Udolpho! He does well to endeavour to
conceal himself.'

'Yes, ma'amselle, but if that was all, this desolate place would conceal
him, without his shutting himself up in one room. Who would think of
coming to look for him here? I am sure I should as soon think of going
to look for any body in the other world.'

'There is some truth in that,' said Emily, who would now have concluded
it was Orsino's music, which she had heard, on the preceding night,
had she not known, that he had neither taste, or skill in the art. But,
though she was unwilling to add to the number of Annette's surprises, by
mentioning the subject of her own, she enquired, whether any person in
the castle played on a musical instrument?

'O yes, ma'amselle! there is Benedetto plays the great drum to
admiration; and then, there is Launcelot the trumpeter; nay, for that
matter, Ludovico himself can play on the trumpet;--but he is ill now. I
remember once'--

Emily interrupted her; 'Have you heard no other music since you came to
the castle--none last night?'

'Why, did YOU hear any last night, ma'amselle?'

Emily evaded this question, by repeating her own.

'Why, no, ma'am,' replied Annette; 'I never heard any music here, I
must say, but the drums and the trumpet; and, as for last night, I did
nothing but dream I saw my late lady's ghost.'

'Your LATE lady's,' said Emily in a tremulous voice; 'you have heard
more, then. Tell me--tell me all, Annette, I entreat; tell me the worst
at once.'

'Nay, ma'amselle, you know the worst already.'

'I know nothing,' said Emily.

'Yes, you do, ma'amselle; you know, that nobody knows any thing about
her; and it is plain, therefore, she is gone, the way of the first lady
of the castle--nobody ever knew any thing about her.'

Emily leaned her head upon her hand, and was, for some time, silent;
then, telling Annette she wished to be alone, the latter left the room.

The remark of Annette had revived Emily's terrible suspicion, concerning
the fate of Madame Montoni; and she resolved to make another effort to
obtain certainty on this subject, by applying to Montoni once more.

When Annette returned, a few hours after, she told Emily, that the
porter of the castle wished very much to speak with her, for that he had
something of importance to say; her spirits had, however, of late been
so subject to alarm, that any new circumstance excited it; and this
message from the porter, when her first surprise was over, made her look
round for some lurking danger, the more suspiciously, perhaps, because
she had frequently remarked the unpleasant air and countenance of this
man. She now hesitated, whether to speak with him, doubting even, that
this request was only a pretext to draw her into some danger; but a
little reflection shewed her the improbability of this, and she blushed
at her weak fears.

'I will speak to him, Annette,' said she; 'desire him to come to the
corridor immediately.'

Annette departed, and soon after returned.

'Barnardine, ma'amselle,' said she, 'dare not come to the corridor, lest
he should be discovered, it is so far from his post; and he dare not
even leave the gates for a moment now; but, if you will come to him
at the portal, through some roundabout passages he told me of, without
crossing the courts, he has that to tell, which will surprise you. But
you must not come through the courts, lest the Signor should see you.'

Emily, neither approving these 'roundabout passage,' nor the other part
of the request, now positively refused to go. 'Tell him,' said she,
'if he has any thing of consequence to impart, I will hear him in the
corridor, whenever he has an opportunity of coming thither.'

Annette went to deliver this message, and was absent a considerable
time. When she returned, 'It won't do, ma'amselle,' said she.
'Barnardine has been considering all this time what can be done, for it
is as much as his place is worth to leave his post now. But, if you will
come to the east rampart in the dusk of the evening, he can, perhaps,
steal away, and tell you all he has to say.'

Emily was surprised and alarmed, at the secrecy which this man seemed
to think so necessary, and hesitated whether to meet him, till,
considering, that he might mean to warn her of some serious danger, she
resolved to go.

'Soon after sun-set,' said she, 'I will be at the end of the east
rampart. But then the watch will be set,' she added, recollecting
herself, 'and how can Barnardine pass unobserved?'

'That is just what I said to him, ma'am, and he answered me, that he had
the key of the gate, at the end of the rampart, that leads towards
the courts, and could let himself through that way; and as for the
sentinels, there were none at this end of the terrace, because the place
is guarded enough by the high walls of the castle, and the east turret;
and he said those at the other end were too far off to see him, if it
was pretty duskyish.'

'Well,' said Emily, 'I must hear what he has to tell; and, therefore,
desire you will go with me to the terrace, this evening.'

'He desired it might be pretty duskyish, ma'amselle,' repeated Annette,
'because of the watch.'

Emily paused, and then said she would be on the terrace, an hour after
sun-set;--'and tell Barnardine,' she added, 'to be punctual to the
time; for that I, also, may be observed by Signor Montoni. Where is the
Signor? I would speak with him.'

'He is in the cedar chamber, ma'am, counselling with the other Signors.
He is going to give them a sort of treat to-day, to make up for what
passed at the last, I suppose; the people are all very busy in the
kitchen.'

Emily now enquired, if Montoni expected any new guests? and Annette
believed that he did not. 'Poor Ludovico!' added she, 'he would be as
merry as the best of them, if he was well; but he may recover yet. Count
Morano was wounded as bad, as he, and he is got well again, and is gone
back to Venice.'

'Is he so?' said Emily, 'when did you hear this?'

'I heard it, last night, ma'amselle, but I forgot to tell it.'

Emily asked some further questions, and then, desiring Annette would
observe and inform her, when Montoni was alone, the girl went to deliver
her message to Barnardine.

Montoni was, however, so much engaged, during the whole day, that Emily
had no opportunity of seeking a release from her terrible suspense,
concerning her aunt. Annette was employed in watching his steps, and in
attending upon Ludovico, whom she, assisted by Caterina, nursed with
the utmost care; and Emily was, of course, left much alone. Her
thoughts dwelt often on the message of the porter, and were employed
in conjecturing the subject, that occasioned it, which she sometimes
imagined concerned the fate of Madame Montoni; at others, that it
related to some personal danger, which threatened herself. The cautious
secrecy which Barnardine observed in his conduct, inclined her to
believe the latter.

As the hour of appointment drew near, her impatience increased. At
length, the sun set; she heard the passing steps of the sentinels going
to their posts; and waited only for Annette to accompany her to the
terrace, who, soon after, came, and they descended together. When Emily
expressed apprehensions of meeting Montoni, or some of his guests, 'O,
there is no fear of that, ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'they are all set
in to feasting yet, and that Barnardine knows.'

They reached the first terrace, where the sentinels demanded who passed;
and Emily, having answered, walked on to the east rampart, at the
entrance of which they were again stopped; and, having again replied,
were permitted to proceed. But Emily did not like to expose herself to
the discretion of these men, at such an hour; and, impatient to withdraw
from the situation, she stepped hastily on in search of Barnardine. He
was not yet come. She leaned pensively on the wall of the rampart,
and waited for him. The gloom of twilight sat deep on the surrounding
objects, blending in soft confusion the valley, the mountains, and the
woods, whose tall heads, stirred by the evening breeze, gave the only
sounds, that stole on silence, except a faint, faint chorus of distant
voices, that arose from within the castle.

'What voices are those?' said Emily, as she fearfully listened.

'It is only the Signor and his guests, carousing,' replied Annette.

'Good God!' thought Emily, 'can this man's heart be so gay, when he has
made another being so wretched; if, indeed, my aunt is yet suffered to
feel her wretchedness? O! whatever are my own sufferings, may my heart
never, never be hardened against those of others!'

She looked up, with a sensation of horror, to the east turret, near
which she then stood; a light glimmered through the grates of the lower
chamber, but those of the upper one were dark. Presently, she perceived
a person moving with a lamp across the lower room; but this circumstance
revived no hope, concerning Madame Montoni, whom she had vainly
sought in that apartment, which had appeared to contain only soldiers'
accoutrements. Emily, however, determined to attempt the outer door
of the turret, as soon as Barnardine should withdraw; and, if it was
unfastened, to make another effort to discover her aunt.

The moments passed, but still Barnardine did not appear; and Emily,
becoming uneasy, hesitated whether to wait any longer. She would have
sent Annette to the portal to hasten him, but feared to be left alone,
for it was now almost dark, and a melancholy streak of red, that still
lingered in the west, was the only vestige of departed day. The strong
interest, however, which Barnardine's message had awakened, overcame
other apprehensions, and still detained her.

While she was conjecturing with Annette what could thus occasion his
absence, they heard a key turn in the lock of the gate near them, and
presently saw a man advancing. It was Barnardine, of whom Emily hastily
enquired what he had to communicate, and desired, that he would tell her
quickly, 'for I am chilled with this evening air,' said she.

'You must dismiss your maid, lady,' said the man in a voice, the deep
tone of which shocked her, 'what I have to tell is to you only.'

Emily, after some hesitation, desired Annette to withdraw to a little
distance. 'Now, my friend, what would you say?'

He was silent a moment, as if considering, and then said,--

'That which would cost me my place, at least, if it came to the Signor's
ears. You must promise, lady, that nothing shall ever make you tell a
syllable of the matter; I have been trusted in this affair, and, if it
was known, that I betrayed my trust, my life, perhaps, might answer
it. But I was concerned for you, lady, and I resolved to tell you.' He
paused.--

Emily thanked him, assured him that he might repose on her discretion,
and entreated him to dispatch.

'Annette told us in the hall how unhappy you was about Signora Montoni,
and how much you wished to know what was become of her.'

'Most true,' said Emily eagerly, 'and you can inform me. I conjure you
tell me the worst, without hesitation.' She rested her trembling arm
upon the wall.

'I can tell you,' said Barnardine, and paused.--

Emily had no power to enforce her entreaties.

'I CAN tell you,' resumed Barnardine,--'but'--

'But what?' exclaimed Emily, recovering her resolution.

'Here I am, ma'amselle,' said Annette, who, having heard the eager tone,
in which Emily pronounced these words, came running towards her.

'Retire!' said Barnardine, sternly; 'you are not wanted;' and, as Emily
said nothing, Annette obeyed.

'I CAN tell you,' repeated the porter,--'but I know not how--you was
afflicted before.'--

'I am prepared for the worst, my friend,' said Emily, in a firm and
solemn voice. 'I can support any certainty better than this suspense.'

'Well, Signora, if that is the case, you shall hear.--You know, I
suppose, that the Signor and his lady used sometimes to disagree. It is
none of my concerns to enquire what it was about, but I believe you know
it was so.'

'Well,' said Emily, 'proceed.'

'The Signor, it seems, had lately been very wrath against her. I saw
all, and heard all,--a great deal more than people thought for; but it
was none of my business, so I said nothing. A few days ago, the Signor
sent for me. "Barnardine," says he, "you are--an honest man, I think I
can trust you." I assured his excellenza that he could. "Then," says he,
as near as I can remember, "I have an affair in hand, which I want you
to assist me in."--Then he told me what I was to do; but that I shall
say nothing about--it concerned only the Signora.'

'O Heavens!' exclaimed Emily--'what have you done?'

Barnardine hesitated, and was silent.

'What fiend could tempt him, or you, to such an act!' cried Emily,
chilled with horror, and scarcely able to support her fainting spirits.

'It was a fiend,' said Barnardine in a gloomy tone of voice. They
were now both silent;--Emily had not courage to enquire further, and
Barnardine seemed to shrink from telling more. At length he said, 'It
is of no use to think of the past; the Signor was cruel enough, but he
would be obeyed. What signified my refusing? He would have found others,
who had no scruples.'

'You have murdered her, then!' said Emily, in a hollow and inward
voice--'I am talking with a murderer!' Barnardine stood silent; while
Emily turned from him, and attempted to leave the place.

'Stay, lady!' said he, 'You deserve to think so still--since you can
believe me capable of such a deed.'

'If you are innocent, tell me quickly,' said Emily, in faint accents,
'for I feel I shall not be able to hear you long.'

'I will tell you no more,' said he, and walked away. Emily had just
strength enough to bid him stay, and then to call Annette, on whose arm
she leaned, and they walked slowly up the rampart, till they heard steps
behind them. It was Barnardine again.

'Send away the girl,' said he, 'and I will tell you more.'

'She must not go,' said Emily; 'what you have to say, she may hear.'

'May she so, lady?' said he. 'You shall know no more, then;' and he was
going, though slowly, when Emily's anxiety, overcoming the resentment
and fear, which the man's behaviour had roused, she desired him to stay,
and bade Annette retire.

'The Signora is alive,' said he, 'for me. She is my prisoner, though;
his excellenza has shut her up in the chamber over the great gates of
the court, and I have the charge of her. I was going to have told you,
you might see her--but now--'

Emily, relieved from an unutterable load of anguish by this speech, had
now only to ask Barnardine's forgiveness, and to conjure, that he would
let her visit her aunt.

He complied with less reluctance, than she expected, and told her, that,
if she would repair, on the following night, when the Signor was retired
to rest, to the postern-gate of the castle, she should, perhaps, see
Madame Montoni.

Amid all the thankfulness, which Emily felt for this concession,
she thought she observed a malicious triumph in his manner, when he
pronounced the last words; but, in the next moment, she dismissed the
thought, and, having again thanked him, commended her aunt to his
pity, and assured him, that she would herself reward him, and would
be punctual to her appointment, she bade him good night, and retired,
unobserved, to her chamber. It was a considerable time, before
the tumult of joy, which Barnardine's unexpected intelligence had
occasioned, allowed Emily to think with clearness, or to be conscious of
the real dangers, that still surrounded Madame Montoni and herself.
When this agitation subsided, she perceived, that her aunt was yet the
prisoner of a man, to whose vengeance, or avarice, she might fall a
sacrifice; and, when she further considered the savage aspect of the
person, who was appointed to guard Madame Montoni, her doom appeared to
be already sealed, for the countenance of Barnardine seemed to bear the
stamp of a murderer; and, when she had looked upon it, she felt inclined
to believe, that there was no deed, however black, which he might not be
prevailed upon to execute. These reflections brought to her remembrance
the tone of voice, in which he had promised to grant her request to
see his prisoner; and she mused upon it long in uneasiness and doubt.
Sometimes, she even hesitated, whether to trust herself with him at the
lonely hour he had appointed; and once, and only once, it struck her,
that Madame Montoni might be already murdered, and that this ruffian was
appointed to decoy herself to some secret place, where her life also
was to be sacrificed to the avarice of Montoni, who then would claim
securely the contested estates in Languedoc. The consideration of the
enormity of such guilt did, at length, relieve her from the belief
of its probability, but not from all the doubts and fears, which a
recollection of Barnardine's manner had occasioned. From these subjects,
her thoughts, at length, passed to others; and, as the evening advanced,
she remembered, with somewhat more than surprise, the music she had
heard, on the preceding night, and now awaited its return, with more
than curiosity.

She distinguished, till a late hour, the distant carousals of Montoni
and his companions--the loud contest, the dissolute laugh and the choral
song, that made the halls re-echo. At length, she heard the heavy gates
of the castle shut for the night, and those sounds instantly sunk into
a silence, which was disturbed only by the whispering steps of persons,
passing through the galleries to their remote rooms. Emily now judging
it to be about the time, when she had heard the music, on the preceding
night, dismissed Annette, and gently opened the casement to watch
for its return. The planet she had so particularly noticed, at the
recurrence of the music, was not yet risen; but, with superstitious
weakness, she kept her eyes fixed on that part of the hemisphere, where
it would rise, almost expecting, that, when it appeared, the sounds
would return. At length, it came, serenely bright, over the eastern
towers of the castle. Her heart trembled, when she perceived it, and she
had scarcely courage to remain at the casement, lest the returning
music should confirm her terror, and subdue the little strength she yet
retained. The clock soon after struck one, and, knowing this to be about
the time, when the sounds had occurred, she sat down in a chair, near
the casement, and endeavoured to compose her spirits; but the anxiety
of expectation yet disturbed them. Every thing, however, remained still;
she heard only the solitary step of a sentinel, and the lulling murmur
of the woods below, and she again leaned from the casement, and again
looked, as if for intelligence, to the planet, which was now risen high
above the towers.

Emily continued to listen, but no music came. 'Those were surely no
mortal sounds!' said she, recollecting their entrancing melody. 'No
inhabitant of this castle could utter such; and, where is the feeling,
that could modulate such exquisite expression? We all know, that it
has been affirmed celestial sounds have sometimes been heard on earth.
Father Pierre and Father Antoine declared, that they had sometimes heard
them in the stillness of night, when they alone were waking to offer
their orisons to heaven. Nay, my dear father himself, once said, that,
soon after my mother's death, as he lay watchful in grief, sounds of
uncommon sweetness called him from his bed; and, on opening his window,
he heard lofty music pass along the midnight air. It soothed him, he
said; he looked up with confidence to heaven, and resigned her to his
God.'

Emily paused to weep at this recollection. 'Perhaps,' resumed she,
'perhaps, those strains I heard were sent to comfort,--to encourage me!
Never shall I forget those I heard, at this hour, in Languedoc!
Perhaps, my father watches over me, at this moment!' She wept again in
tenderness. Thus passed the hour in watchfulness and solemn thought; but
no sounds returned; and, after remaining at the casement, till the
light tint of dawn began to edge the mountain-tops and steal upon the
night-shade, she concluded, that they would not return, and retired
reluctantly to repose.

 Annette has big news for Em about a new guest at the castle. That would be Orsino, otherwise known as the outlaw who killed a guy in Venice. Yup. Montoni is harboring a fugitive. But what Em really wants to know is where that strange music is coming from. She asks Annette about musicians in the castle, but gets nada. Annette does have a little tidbit for Em: Barnardine, the castle porter, says he can get Em to see her aunt in the east turret. There's only one catch. Em has to meet Barnardine late at night, totally alone, and he'll take her to see Madame Montoni. Danger, Will Robinson.

