Chapter: CHAPTER V



  Hail, mildly-pleasing Solitude!
 Companion of the wise and good--

 This is the balmy breath of morn,
 Just as the dew-bent rose is born.

 But chief when evening scenes decay
 And the faint landscape swims away,
 Thine is the doubtful, soft decline,
 And that best hour of musing thine.
     THOMSON

Emily's injunctions to Annette to be silent on the subject of her terror
were ineffectual, and the occurrence of the preceding night spread such
alarm among the servants, who now all affirmed, that they had frequently
heard unaccountable noises in the chateau, that a report soon reached
the Count of the north side of the castle being haunted. He treated
this, at first, with ridicule, but, perceiving, that it was productive
of serious evil, in the confusion it occasioned among his household, he
forbade any person to repeat it, on pain of punishment.

The arrival of a party of his friends soon withdrew his thoughts
entirely from this subject, and his servants had now little leisure to
brood over it, except, indeed, in the evenings after supper, when they
all assembled in their hall, and related stories of ghosts, till they
feared to look round the room; started, if the echo of a closing door
murmured along the passage, and refused to go singly to any part of the
castle.

On these occasions Annette made a distinguished figure. When she told
not only of all the wonders she had witnessed, but of all that she
had imagined, in the castle of Udolpho, with the story of the strange
disappearance of Signora Laurentini, she made no trifling impression on
the mind of her attentive auditors. Her suspicions, concerning Montoni,
she would also have freely disclosed, had not Ludovico, who was now in
the service of the Count, prudently checked her loquacity, whenever it
pointed to that subject.

Among the visitors at the chateau was the Baron de Saint Foix, an old
friend of the Count, and his son, the Chevalier St. Foix, a sensible
and amiable young man, who, having in the preceding year seen the Lady
Blanche, at Paris, had become her declared admirer. The friendship,
which the Count had long entertained for his father, and the equality
of their circumstances made him secretly approve of the connection; but,
thinking his daughter at this time too young to fix her choice for
life, and wishing to prove the sincerity and strength of the Chevalier's
attachment, he then rejected his suit, though without forbidding his
future hope. This young man now came, with the Baron, his father,
to claim the reward of a steady affection, a claim, which the Count
admitted and which Blanche did not reject.

While these visitors were at the chateau, it became a scene of gaiety
and splendour. The pavilion in the woods was fitted up and frequented,
in the fine evenings, as a supper-room, when the hour usually concluded
with a concert, at which the Count and Countess, who were scientific
performers, and the Chevaliers Henri and St. Foix, with the Lady Blanche
and Emily, whose voices and fine taste compensated for the want of more
skilful execution, usually assisted. Several of the Count's servants
performed on horns and other instruments, some of which, placed at
a little distance among the woods, spoke, in sweet response, to the
harmony, that proceeded from the pavilion.

At any other period, these parties would have been delightful to
Emily; but her spirits were now oppressed with a melancholy, which
she perceived that no kind of what is called amusement had power to
dissipate, and which the tender and, frequently, pathetic, melody of
these concerts sometimes increased to a very painful degree.

She was particularly fond of walking in the woods, that hung on a
promontory, overlooking the sea. Their luxuriant shade was soothing to
her pensive mind, and, in the partial views, which they afforded of
the Mediterranean, with its winding shores and passing sails, tranquil
beauty was united with grandeur. The paths were rude and frequently
overgrown with vegetation, but their tasteful owner would suffer little
to be done to them, and scarcely a single branch to be lopped from the
venerable trees. On an eminence, in one of the most sequestered parts
of these woods, was a rustic seat, formed of the trunk of a decayed oak,
which had once been a noble tree, and of which many lofty branches still
flourishing united with beech and pines to over-canopy the spot. Beneath
their deep umbrage, the eye passed over the tops of other woods, to the
Mediterranean, and, to the left, through an opening, was seen a ruined
watch-tower, standing on a point of rock, near the sea, and rising from
among the tufted foliage.

Hither Emily often came alone in the silence of evening, and, soothed
by the scenery and by the faint murmur, that rose from the waves, would
sit, till darkness obliged her to return to the chateau. Frequently,
also, she visited the watch-tower, which commanded the entire
prospect, and, when she leaned against its broken walls, and thought of
Valancourt, she not once imagined, what was so true, that this tower had
been almost as frequently his resort, as her own, since his estrangement
from the neighbouring chateau.

One evening, she lingered here to a late hour. She had sat on the steps
of the building, watching, in tranquil melancholy, the gradual effect
of evening over the extensive prospect, till the gray waters of the
Mediterranean and the massy woods were almost the only features of the
scene, that remained visible; when, as she gazed alternately on these,
and on the mild blue of the heavens, where the first pale star of
evening appeared, she personified the hour in the following lines:--

  SONG OF THE EVENING HOUR

 Last of the Hours, that track the fading Day,
 I move along the realms of twilight air,
 And hear, remote, the choral song decay
 Of sister-nymphs, who dance around his car.

 Then, as I follow through the azure void,
 His partial splendour from my straining eye
 Sinks in the depth of space; my only guide
 His faint ray dawning on the farthest sky;

 Save that sweet, lingering strain of gayer Hours,
 Whose close my voice prolongs in dying notes,
 While mortals on the green earth own its pow'rs,
 As downward on the evening gale it floats.

 When fades along the West the Sun's last beam,
 As, weary, to the nether world he goes,
 And mountain-summits catch the purple gleam,
 And slumbering ocean faint and fainter glows,

 Silent upon the globe's broad shade I steal,
 And o'er its dry turf shed the cooling dews,
 And ev'ry fever'd herb and flow'ret heal,
 And all their fragrance on the air diffuse.

 Where'er I move, a tranquil pleasure reigns;
 O'er all the scene the dusky tints I send,
 That forests wild and mountains, stretching plains
 And peopled towns, in soft confusion blend.

 Wide o'er the world I waft the fresh'ning wind,
 Low breathing through the woods and twilight vale,
 In whispers soft, that woo the pensive mind
 Of him, who loves my lonely steps to hail.

 His tender oaten reed I watch to hear,
 Stealing its sweetness o'er some plaining rill,
 Or soothing ocean's wave, when storms are near,
 Or swelling in the breeze from distant hill!

 I wake the fairy elves, who shun the light;
 When, from their blossom'd beds, they slily peep,
 And spy my pale star, leading on the night,--
 Forth to their games and revelry they leap;

 Send all the prison'd sweets abroad in air,
 That with them slumber'd in the flow'ret's cell;
 Then to the shores and moon-light brooks repair,
 Till the high larks their matin-carol swell.

 The wood-nymphs hail my airs and temper'd shade,
 With ditties soft and lightly sportive dance,
 On river margin of some bow'ry glade,
 And strew their fresh buds as my steps advance:

 But, swift I pass, and distant regions trace,
 For moon-beams silver all the eastern cloud,
 And Day's last crimson vestige fades apace;
 Down the steep west I fly from Midnight's shroud.

The moon was now rising out of the sea. She watched its gradual
progress, the extending line of radiance it threw upon the waters, the
sparkling oars, the sail faintly silvered, and the wood-tops and the
battlements of the watch-tower, at whose foot she was sitting, just
tinted with the rays. Emily's spirits were in harmony with this scene.
As she sat meditating, sounds stole by her on the air, which she
immediately knew to be the music and the voice she had formerly heard at
midnight, and the emotion of awe, which she felt, was not unmixed with
terror, when she considered her remote and lonely situation. The sounds
drew nearer. She would have risen to leave the place, but they seemed
to come from the way she must have taken towards the chateau, and she
awaited the event in trembling expectation. The sounds continued to
approach, for some time, and then ceased. Emily sat listening, gazing
and unable to move, when she saw a figure emerge from the shade of the
woods and pass along the bank, at some little distance before her. It
went swiftly, and her spirits were so overcome with awe, that, though
she saw, she did not much observe it.

Having left the spot, with a resolution never again to visit it alone,
at so late an hour, she began to approach the chateau, when she heard
voices calling her from the part of the wood, which was nearest to it.
They were the shouts of the Count's servants, who were sent to search
for her; and when she entered the supper-room, where he sat with Henri
and Blanche, he gently reproached her with a look, which she blushed to
have deserved.

This little occurrence deeply impressed her mind, and, when she withdrew
to her own room, it recalled so forcibly the circumstances she had
witnessed, a few nights before, that she had scarcely courage to remain
alone. She watched to a late hour, when, no sound having renewed
her fears, she, at length, sunk to repose. But this was of short
continuance, for she was disturbed by a loud and unusual noise, that
seemed to come from the gallery, into which her chamber opened. Groans
were distinctly heard, and, immediately after, a dead weight fell
against the door, with a violence, that threatened to burst it open. She
called loudly to know who was there, but received no answer, though,
at intervals, she still thought she heard something like a low moaning.
Fear deprived her of the power to move. Soon after, she heard footsteps
in a remote part of the gallery, and, as they approached, she called
more loudly than before, till the steps paused at her door. She then
distinguished the voices of several of the servants, who seemed too
much engaged by some circumstance without, to attend to her calls; but,
Annette soon after entering the room for water, Emily understood, that
one of the maids had fainted, whom she immediately desired them to bring
into her room, where she assisted to restore her. When this girl had
recovered her speech, she affirmed, that, as she was passing up the back
stair-case, in the way to her chamber, she had seen an apparition on the
second landing-place; she held the lamp low, she said, that she might
pick her way, several of the stairs being infirm and even decayed, and
it was upon raising her eyes, that she saw this appearance. It stood for
a moment in the corner of the landing-place, which she was approaching,
and then, gliding up the stairs, vanished at the door of the apartment,
that had been lately opened. She heard afterwards a hollow sound.

'Then the devil has got a key to that apartment,' said Dorothee, 'for it
could be nobody but he; I locked the door myself!'

The girl, springing down the stairs and passing up the great stair-case,
had run, with a faint scream, till she reached the gallery, where she
fell, groaning, at Emily's door.

Gently chiding her for the alarm she had occasioned, Emily tried to make
her ashamed of her fears; but the girl persisted in saying, that she
had seen an apparition, till she went to her own room, whither she
was accompanied by all the servants present, except Dorothee, who,
at Emily's request, remained with her during the night. Emily was
perplexed, and Dorothee was terrified, and mentioned many occurrences
of former times, which had long since confirmed her superstitions; among
these, according to her belief, she had once witnessed an appearance,
like that just described, and on the very same spot, and it was the
remembrance of it, that had made her pause, when she was going to ascend
the stairs with Emily, and which had increased her reluctance to open
the north apartments. Whatever might be Emily's opinions, she did
not disclose them, but listened attentively to all that Dorothee
communicated, which occasioned her much thought and perplexity.

From this night the terror of the servants increased to such an excess,
that several of them determined to leave the chateau, and requested
their discharge of the Count, who, if he had any faith in the subject of
their alarm, thought proper to dissemble it, and, anxious to avoid the
inconvenience that threatened him, employed ridicule and then argument
to convince them they had nothing to apprehend from supernatural agency.
But fear had rendered their minds inaccessible to reason; and it was
now, that Ludovico proved at once his courage and his gratitude for the
kindness he had received from the Count, by offering to watch, during a
night, in the suite of rooms, reputed to be haunted. He feared, he said,
no spirits, and, if any thing of human form appeared--he would prove
that he dreaded that as little.

The Count paused upon the offer, while the servants, who heard it,
looked upon one another in doubt and amazement, and Annette, terrified
for the safety of Ludovico, employed tears and entreaties to dissuade
him from his purpose.

'You are a bold fellow,' said the Count, smiling, 'Think well of what
you are going to encounter, before you finally determine upon it.
However, if you persevere in your resolution, I will accept your offer,
and your intrepidity shall not go unrewarded.'

'I desire no reward, your excellenza,' replied Ludovico, 'but your
approbation. Your excellenza has been sufficiently good to me already;
but I wish to have arms, that I may be equal to my enemy, if he should
appear.'

'Your sword cannot defend you against a ghost,' replied the Count,
throwing a glance of irony upon the other servants, 'neither can bars,
or bolts; for a spirit, you know, can glide through a keyhole as easily
as through a door.'

'Give me a sword, my lord Count,' said Ludovico, 'and I will lay all the
spirits, that shall attack me, in the red sea.'

'Well,' said the Count, 'you shall have a sword, and good cheer, too;
and your brave comrades here will, perhaps, have courage enough to
remain another night in the chateau, since your boldness will certainly,
for this night, at least, confine all the malice of the spectre to
yourself.'

Curiosity now struggled with fear in the minds of several of his fellow
servants, and, at length, they resolved to await the event of Ludovico's
rashness.

Emily was surprised and concerned, when she heard of his intention, and
was frequently inclined to mention what she had witnessed in the north
apartments to the Count, for she could not entirely divest herself of
fears for Ludovico's safety, though her reason represented these to be
absurd. The necessity, however, of concealing the secret, with which
Dorothee had entrusted her, and which must have been mentioned, with the
late occurrence, in excuse for her having so privately visited the north
apartments, kept her entirely silent on the subject of her apprehension;
and she tried only to sooth Annette, who held, that Ludovico was
certainly to be destroyed; and who was much less affected by Emily's
consolatory efforts, than by the manner of old Dorothee, who often, as
she exclaimed Ludovico, sighed, and threw up her eyes to heaven.

 Em makes the mistake of telling loudmouth Annette all about the ghostly figure, which means half the castle knows by the morning. Luckily, there are some new visitors to distract from the ghost stories. The Baron de Saint Foix and his cute son, the Chevalier St. Foix, show up at the chateau. The Chevalier St. Foix is into Blanche in a big way. It's about time someone besides Em got some attention around here. On a quiet evening when Em takes a walk around the chateau grounds, she hears some more strange music. This girl seems to attract musicians wherever she goes. Em sits and listens for a while, and then retreats back to the castle. Meanwhile, Annette is whipping the servants up into a frenzy about the ghost in the Marchioness's room. The brave Ludovico offers to stay the night in the Marchioness's room to put an end to the rumors for once and all. Maybe he's a proto-Ghost Hunter.

