Chapter: CHAPTER X



     Oh! the joy
 Of young ideas, painted on the mind
 In the warm glowing colours fancy spreads
 On objects not yet known, when all is new,
 And all is lovely!
     SACRED DRAMAS

We now return to Languedoc and to the mention of Count De Villefort, the
nobleman, who succeeded to an estate of the Marquis De Villeroi situated
near the monastery of St. Claire. It may be recollected, that this
chateau was uninhabited, when St. Aubert and his daughter were in the
neighbourhood, and that the former was much affected on discovering
himself to be so near Chateau-le-Blanc, a place, concerning which the
good old La Voisin afterwards dropped some hints, that had alarmed
Emily's curiosity.

It was in the year 1584, the beginning of that, in which St. Aubert
died, that Francis Beauveau, Count De Villefort, came into possession
of the mansion and extensive domain called Chateau-le-Blanc, situated
in the province of Languedoc, on the shore of the Mediterranean. This
estate, which, during some centuries, had belonged to his family,
now descended to him, on the decease of his relative, the Marquis De
Villeroi, who had been latterly a man of reserved manners and austere
character; circumstances, which, together with the duties of his
profession, that often called him into the field, had prevented any
degree of intimacy with his cousin, the Count De Villefort. For many
years, they had known little of each other, and the Count received the
first intelligence of his death, which happened in a distant part of
France, together with the instruments, that gave him possession of the
domain Chateau-le-Blanc; but it was not till the following year, that
he determined to visit that estate, when he designed to pass the autumn
there. The scenes of Chateau-le-Blanc often came to his remembrance,
heightened by the touches, which a warm imagination gives to the
recollection of early pleasures; for, many years before, in the
life-time of the Marchioness, and at that age when the mind is
particularly sensible to impressions of gaiety and delight, he had once
visited this spot, and, though he had passed a long intervening period
amidst the vexations and tumults of public affairs, which too frequently
corrode the heart, and vitiate the taste, the shades of Languedoc and
the grandeur of its distant scenery had never been remembered by him
with indifference.

During many years, the chateau had been abandoned by the late Marquis,
and, being inhabited only by an old steward and his wife, had been
suffered to fall much into decay. To superintend the repairs, that would
be requisite to make it a comfortable residence, had been a principal
motive with the Count for passing the autumnal months in Languedoc; and
neither the remonstrances, or the tears of the Countess, for, on
urgent occasions, she could weep, were powerful enough to overcome his
determination. She prepared, therefore, to obey the command, which she
could not conquer, and to resign the gay assemblies of Paris,--where her
beauty was generally unrivalled and won the applause, to which her
wit had but feeble claim--for the twilight canopy of woods, the lonely
grandeur of mountains and the solemnity of gothic halls and of long,
long galleries, which echoed only the solitary step of a domestic, or
the measured clink, that ascended from the great clock--the ancient
monitor of the hall below. From these melancholy expectations she
endeavoured to relieve her spirits by recollecting all that she had ever
heard, concerning the joyous vintage of the plains of Languedoc; but
there, alas! no airy forms would bound to the gay melody of Parisian
dances, and a view of the rustic festivities of peasants could afford
little pleasure to a heart, in which even the feelings of ordinary
benevolence had long since decayed under the corruptions of luxury.

The Count had a son and a daughter, the children of a former marriage,
who, he designed, should accompany him to the south of France; Henri,
who was in his twentieth year, was in the French service; and Blanche,
who was not yet eighteen, had been hitherto confined to the convent,
where she had been placed immediately on her father's second
marriage. The present Countess, who had neither sufficient ability, or
inclination, to superintend the education of her daughter-in-law, had
advised this step, and the dread of superior beauty had since urged
her to employ every art, that might prevail on the Count to prolong
the period of Blanche's seclusion; it was, therefore, with extreme
mortification, that she now understood he would no longer submit on this
subject, yet it afforded her some consolation to consider, that, though
the Lady Blanche would emerge from her convent, the shades of the
country would, for some time, veil her beauty from the public eye.

On the morning, which commenced the journey, the postillions stopped at
the convent, by the Count's order, to take up Blanche, whose heart beat
with delight, at the prospect of novelty and freedom now before her. As
the time of her departure drew nigh, her impatience had increased, and
the last night, during which she counted every note of every hour, had
appeared the most tedious of any she had ever known. The morning light,
at length, dawned; the matin-bell rang; she heard the nuns descending
from their chambers, and she started from a sleepless pillow to welcome
the day, which was to emancipate her from the severities of a cloister,
and introduce her to a world, where pleasure was ever smiling, and
goodness ever blessed--where, in short, nothing but pleasure and
goodness reigned! When the bell of the great gate rang, and the sound
was followed by that of carriage wheels, she ran, with a palpitating
heart, to her lattice, and, perceiving her father's carriage in the
court below, danced, with airy steps, along the gallery, where she was
met by a nun with a summons from the abbess. In the next moment, she was
in the parlour, and in the presence of the Countess who now appeared to
her as an angel, that was to lead her into happiness. But the emotions
of the Countess, on beholding her, were not in unison with those of
Blanche, who had never appeared so lovely as at this moment, when her
countenance, animated by the lightning smile of joy, glowed with the
beauty of happy innocence.

After conversing for a few minutes with the abbess, the Countess rose to
go. This was the moment, which Blanche had anticipated with such eager
expectation, the summit from which she looked down upon the fairy-land
of happiness, and surveyed all its enchantment; was it a moment, then,
for tears of regret? Yet it was so. She turned, with an altered and
dejected countenance, to her young companions, who were come to bid her
farewell, and wept! Even my lady abbess, so stately and so solemn, she
saluted with a degree of sorrow, which, an hour before, she would
have believed it impossible to feel, and which may be accounted for by
considering how reluctantly we all part, even with unpleasing objects,
when the separation is consciously for ever. Again, she kissed the poor
nuns and then followed the Countess from that spot with tears, which she
expected to leave only with smiles.

But the presence of her father and the variety of objects, on the road,
soon engaged her attention, and dissipated the shade, which tender
regret had thrown upon her spirits. Inattentive to a conversation, which
was passing between the Countess and a Mademoiselle Bearn, her friend,
Blanche sat, lost in pleasing reverie, as she watched the clouds
floating silently along the blue expanse, now veiling the sun and
stretching their shadows along the distant scene, and then disclosing
all his brightness. The journey continued to give Blanche inexpressible
delight, for new scenes of nature were every instant opening to her
view, and her fancy became stored with gay and beautiful imagery.

It was on the evening of the seventh day, that the travellers came
within view of Chateau-le-Blanc, the romantic beauty of whose situation
strongly impressed the imagination of Blanche, who observed, with
sublime astonishment, the Pyrenean mountains, which had been seen only
at a distance during the day, now rising within a few leagues, with
their wild cliffs and immense precipices, which the evening clouds,
floating round them, now disclosed, and again veiled. The setting rays,
that tinged their snowy summits with a roseate hue, touched their lower
points with various colouring, while the blueish tint, that pervaded
their shadowy recesses, gave the strength of contrast to the splendour
of light. The plains of Languedoc, blushing with the purple vine and
diversified with groves of mulberry, almond and olives, spread far to
the north and the east; to the south, appeared the Mediterranean, clear
as crystal, and blue as the heavens it reflected, bearing on its bosom
vessels, whose white sails caught the sun-beams, and gave animation
to the scene. On a high promontory, washed by the waters of the
Mediterranean, stood her father's mansion, almost secluded from the
eye by woods of intermingled pine, oak and chesnut, which crowned the
eminence, and sloped towards the plains, on one side; while, on the
other, they extended to a considerable distance along the sea-shores.

As Blanche drew nearer, the gothic features of this antient mansion
successively appeared--first an embattled turret, rising above the
trees--then the broken arch of an immense gate-way, retiring beyond
them; and she almost fancied herself approaching a castle, such as is
often celebrated in early story, where the knights look out from the
battlements on some champion below, who, clothed in black armour,
comes, with his companions, to rescue the fair lady of his love from
the oppression of his rival; a sort of legends, to which she had once
or twice obtained access in the library of her convent, that, like
many others, belonging to the monks, was stored with these reliques of
romantic fiction.

The carriages stopped at a gate, which led into the domain of the
chateau, but which was now fastened; and the great bell, that had
formerly served to announce the arrival of strangers, having long since
fallen from its station, a servant climbed over a ruined part of the
adjoining wall, to give notice to those within of the arrival of their
lord.

As Blanche leaned from the coach window, she resigned herself to the
sweet and gentle emotions, which the hour and the scenery awakened. The
sun had now left the earth, and twilight began to darken the mountains;
while the distant waters, reflecting the blush that still glowed in
the west, appeared like a line of light, skirting the horizon. The low
murmur of waves, breaking on the shore, came in the breeze, and, now and
then, the melancholy dashing of oars was feebly heard from a distance.
She was suffered to indulge her pensive mood, for the thoughts of the
rest of the party were silently engaged upon the subjects of their
several interests. Meanwhile, the Countess, reflecting, with regret,
upon the gay parties she had left at Paris, surveyed, with disgust, what
she thought the gloomy woods and solitary wildness of the scene; and,
shrinking from the prospect of being shut up in an old castle, was
prepared to meet every object with displeasure. The feelings of Henri
were somewhat similar to those of the Countess; he gave a mournful sigh
to the delights of the capital, and to the remembrance of a lady,
who, he believed, had engaged his affections, and who had certainly
fascinated his imagination; but the surrounding country, and the mode
of life, on which he was entering, had, for him, at least, the charm of
novelty, and his regret was softened by the gay expectations of youth.
The gates being at length unbarred, the carriage moved slowly on, under
spreading chesnuts, that almost excluded the remains of day, following
what had been formerly a road, but which now, overgrown with luxuriant
vegetation, could be traced only by the boundary, formed by trees,
on either side, and which wound for near half a mile among the woods,
before it reached the chateau. This was the very avenue that St.
Aubert and Emily had formerly entered, on their first arrival in the
neighbourhood, with the hope of finding a house, that would receive
them, for the night, and had so abruptly quitted, on perceiving the
wildness of the place, and a figure, which the postillion had fancied
was a robber.

'What a dismal place is this!' exclaimed the Countess, as the carriage
penetrated the deeper recesses of the woods. 'Surely, my lord, you do
not mean to pass all the autumn in this barbarous spot! One ought to
bring hither a cup of the waters of Lethe, that the remembrance of
pleasanter scenes may not heighten, at least, the natural dreariness of
these.'

'I shall be governed by circumstances, madam,' said the Count, 'this
barbarous spot was inhabited by my ancestors.'

The carriage now stopped at the chateau, where, at the door of the great
hall, appeared the old steward and the Parisian servants, who had been
sent to prepare the chateau, waiting to receive their lord. Lady Blanche
now perceived, that the edifice was not built entirely in the gothic
style, but that it had additions of a more modern date; the large and
gloomy hall, however, into which she now entered, was entirely gothic,
and sumptuous tapestry, which it was now too dark to distinguish, hung
upon the walls, and depictured scenes from some of the antient Provencal
romances. A vast gothic window, embroidered with CLEMATIS and eglantine,
that ascended to the south, led the eye, now that the casements were
thrown open, through this verdant shade, over a sloping lawn, to the
tops of dark woods, that hung upon the brow of the promontory. Beyond,
appeared the waters of the Mediterranean, stretching far to the south,
and to the east, where they were lost in the horizon; while, to the
north-east, they were bounded by the luxuriant shores of Languedoc and
Provence, enriched with wood, and gay with vines and sloping pastures;
and, to the south-west, by the majestic Pyrenees, now fading from the
eye, beneath the gradual gloom.

Blanche, as she crossed the hall, stopped a moment to observe this
lovely prospect, which the evening twilight obscured, yet did not
conceal. But she was quickly awakened from the complacent delight,
which this scene had diffused upon her mind, by the Countess, who,
discontented with every object around, and impatient for refreshment
and repose, hastened forward to a large parlour, whose cedar wainscot,
narrow, pointed casements, and dark ceiling of carved cypress wood,
gave it an aspect of peculiar gloom, which the dingy green velvet of the
chairs and couches, fringed with tarnished gold, had once been designed
to enliven.

While the Countess enquired for refreshment, the Count, attended by
his son, went to look over some part of the chateau, and Lady Blanche
reluctantly remained to witness the discontent and ill-humour of her
step-mother.

'How long have you lived in this desolate place?' said her ladyship, to
the old house keeper, who came to pay her duty.

'Above twenty years, your ladyship, on the next feast of St. Jerome.'

'How happened it, that you have lived here so long, and almost alone,
too? I understood, that the chateau had been shut up for some years?'

'Yes, madam, it was for many years after my late lord, the Count, went
to the wars; but it is above twenty years, since I and my husband came
into his service. The place is so large, and has of late been so lonely,
that we were lost in it, and, after some time, we went to live in a
cottage at the end of the woods, near some of the tenants, and came to
look after the chateau, every now and then. When my lord returned to
France from the wars, he took a dislike to the place, and never came
to live here again, and so he was satisfied with our remaining at the
cottage. Alas--alas! how the chateau is changed from what it once was!
What delight my late lady used to take in it! I well remember when she
came here a bride, and how fine it was. Now, it has been neglected so
long, and is gone into such decay! I shall never see those days again!'

The Countess appearing to be somewhat offended by the thoughtless
simplicity, with which the old woman regretted former times, Dorothee
added--'But the chateau will now be inhabited, and cheerful again; not
all the world could tempt me to live in it alone.'

'Well, the experiment will not be made, I believe,' said the Countess,
displeased that her own silence had been unable to awe the loquacity of
this rustic old housekeeper, now spared from further attendance by the
entrance of the Count, who said he had been viewing part of the
chateau, and found, that it would require considerable repairs and some
alterations, before it would be perfectly comfortable, as a place of
residence. 'I am sorry to hear it, my lord,' replied the Countess. 'And
why sorry, madam?' 'Because the place will ill repay your trouble; and
were it even a paradise, it would be insufferable at such a distance
from Paris.'

The Count made no reply, but walked abruptly to a window. 'There are
windows, my lord, but they neither admit entertainment, or light; they
shew only a scene of savage nature.'

'I am at a loss, madam,' said the Count, 'to conjecture what you mean by
savage nature. Do those plains, or those woods, or that fine expanse of
water, deserve the name?'

'Those mountains certainly do, my lord,' rejoined the Countess, pointing
to the Pyrenees, 'and this chateau, though not a work of rude nature,
is, to my taste, at least, one of savage art.' The Count coloured
highly. 'This place, madam, was the work of my ancestors,' said he,
'and you must allow me to say, that your present conversation discovers
neither good taste, or good manners.' Blanche, now shocked at an
altercation, which appeared to be increasing to a serious disagreement,
rose to leave the room, when her mother's woman entered it; and the
Countess, immediately desiring to be shewn to her own apartment,
withdrew, attended by Mademoiselle Bearn.

Lady Blanche, it being not yet dark, took this opportunity of exploring
new scenes, and, leaving the parlour, she passed from the hall into
a wide gallery, whose walls were decorated by marble pilasters, which
supported an arched roof, composed of a rich mosaic work. Through a
distant window, that seemed to terminate the gallery, were seen the
purple clouds of evening and a landscape, whose features, thinly veiled
in twilight, no longer appeared distinctly, but, blended into one grand
mass, stretched to the horizon, coloured only with a tint of solemn
grey.

The gallery terminated in a saloon, to which the window she had seen
through an open door, belonged; but the increasing dusk permitted her
only an imperfect view of this apartment, which seemed to be magnificent
and of modern architecture; though it had been either suffered to fall
into decay, or had never been properly finished. The windows, which were
numerous and large, descended low, and afforded a very extensive, and
what Blanche's fancy represented to be, a very lovely prospect; and
she stood for some time, surveying the grey obscurity and depicturing
imaginary woods and mountains, vallies and rivers, on this scene of
night; her solemn sensations rather assisted, than interrupted, by the
distant bark of a watch-dog, and by the breeze, as it trembled upon the
light foliage of the shrubs. Now and then, appeared for a moment, among
the woods, a cottage light; and, at length, was heard, afar off, the
evening bell of a convent, dying on the air. When she withdrew her
thoughts from these subjects of fanciful delight, the gloom and silence
of the saloon somewhat awed her; and, having sought the door of the
gallery, and pursued, for a considerable time, a dark passage, she came
to a hall, but one totally different from that she had formerly seen.
By the twilight, admitted through an open portico, she could just
distinguish this apartment to be of very light and airy architecture,
and that it was paved with white marble, pillars of which supported the
roof, that rose into arches built in the Moorish style. While Blanche
stood on the steps of this portico, the moon rose over the sea, and
gradually disclosed, in partial light, the beauties of the eminence, on
which she stood, whence a lawn, now rude and overgrown with high grass,
sloped to the woods, that, almost surrounding the chateau, extended in a
grand sweep down the southern sides of the promontory to the very margin
of the ocean. Beyond the woods, on the north-side, appeared a long tract
of the plains of Languedoc; and, to the east, the landscape she had
before dimly seen, with the towers of a monastery, illumined by the
moon, rising over dark groves.

The soft and shadowy tint, that overspread the scene, the waves,
undulating in the moon-light, and their low and measured murmurs on the
beach, were circumstances, that united to elevate the unaccustomed mind
of Blanche to enthusiasm.

'And have I lived in this glorious world so long,' said she, 'and never
till now beheld such a prospect--never experienced these delights! Every
peasant girl, on my father's domain, has viewed from her infancy the
face of nature; has ranged, at liberty, her romantic wilds, while I have
been shut in a cloister from the view of these beautiful appearances,
which were designed to enchant all eyes, and awaken all hearts. How
can the poor nuns and friars feel the full fervour of devotion, if they
never see the sun rise, or set? Never, till this evening, did I know
what true devotion is; for, never before did I see the sun sink below
the vast earth! To-morrow, for the first time in my life, I will see
it rise. O, who would live in Paris, to look upon black walls and dirty
streets, when, in the country, they might gaze on the blue heavens, and
all the green earth!'

This enthusiastic soliloquy was interrupted by a rustling noise in the
hall; and, while the loneliness of the place made her sensible to fear,
she thought she perceived something moving between the pillars. For
a moment, she continued silently observing it, till, ashamed of her
ridiculous apprehensions, she recollected courage enough to demand who
was there. 'O my young lady, is it you?' said the old housekeeper, who
was come to shut the windows, 'I am glad it is you.' The manner, in
which she spoke this, with a faint breath, rather surprised Blanche, who
said, 'You seemed frightened, Dorothee, what is the matter?'

'No, not frightened, ma'amselle,' replied Dorothee, hesitating and
trying to appear composed, 'but I am old, and--a little matter startles
me.' The Lady Blanche smiled at the distinction. 'I am glad, that my
lord the Count is come to live at the chateau, ma'amselle,' continued
Dorothee, 'for it has been many a year deserted, and dreary enough; now,
the place will look a little as it used to do, when my poor lady was
alive.' Blanche enquired how long it was, since the Marchioness died?
'Alas! my lady,' replied Dorothee, 'so long--that I have ceased to count
the years! The place, to my mind, has mourned ever since, and I am sure
my lord's vassals have! But you have lost yourself, ma'amselle,--shall I
shew you to the other side of the chateau?'

Blanche enquired how long this part of the edifice had been built. 'Soon
after my lord's marriage, ma'am,' replied Dorothee. 'The place was large
enough without this addition, for many rooms of the old building were
even then never made use of, and my lord had a princely household too;
but he thought the antient mansion gloomy, and gloomy enough it is!'
Lady Blanche now desired to be shewn to the inhabited part of the
chateau; and, as the passages were entirely dark, Dorothee conducted her
along the edge of the lawn to the opposite side of the edifice, where,
a door opening into the great hall, she was met by Mademoiselle Bearn.
'Where have you been so long?' said she, 'I had begun to think some
wonderful adventure had befallen you, and that the giant of this
enchanted castle, or the ghost, which, no doubt, haunts it, had conveyed
you through a trap-door into some subterranean vault, whence you was
never to return.'

'No,' replied Blanche, laughingly, 'you seem to love adventures so well,
that I leave them for you to achieve.'

'Well, I am willing to achieve them, provided I am allowed to describe
them.'

'My dear Mademoiselle Bearn,' said Henri, as he met her at the door of
the parlour, 'no ghost of these days would be so savage as to impose
silence on you. Our ghosts are more civilized than to condemn a lady to
a purgatory severer even, than their own, be it what it may.'

Mademoiselle Bearn replied only by a laugh; and, the Count now entering
the room, supper was served, during which he spoke little, frequently
appeared to be abstracted from the company, and more than once remarked,
that the place was greatly altered, since he had last seen it. 'Many
years have intervened since that period,' said he; 'and, though the
grand features of the scenery admit of no change, they impress me with
sensations very different from those I formerly experienced.'

'Did these scenes, sir,' said Blanche, 'ever appear more lovely, than
they do now? To me this seems hardly possible.' The Count, regarding her
with a melancholy smile, said, 'They once were as delightful to me, as
they are now to you; the landscape is not changed, but time has changed
me; from my mind the illusion, which gave spirit to the colouring of
nature, is fading fast! If you live, my dear Blanche, to re-visit this
spot, at the distance of many years, you will, perhaps, remember and
understand the feelings of your father.'

Lady Blanche, affected by these words, remained silent; she looked
forward to the period, which the Count anticipated, and considering,
that he, who now spoke, would then probably be no more, her eyes, bent
to the ground, were filed with tears. She gave her hand to her father,
who, smiling affectionately, rose from his chair, and went to a window
to conceal his emotion.

The fatigues of the day made the party separate at an early hour,
when Blanche retired through a long oak gallery to her chamber, whose
spacious and lofty walls, high antiquated casements, and, what was the
effect of these, its gloomy air, did not reconcile her to its remote
situation, in this antient building. The furniture, also, was of antient
date; the bed was of blue damask, trimmed with tarnished gold lace,
and its lofty tester rose in the form of a canopy, whence the curtains
descended, like those of such tents as are sometimes represented in old
pictures, and, indeed, much resembling those, exhibited on the faded
tapestry, with which the chamber was hung. To Blanche, every object here
was matter of curiosity; and, taking the light from her woman to examine
the tapestry, she perceived, that it represented scenes from the wars
of Troy, though the almost colourless worsted now mocked the glowing
actions they once had painted. She laughed at the ludicrous absurdity
she observed, till, recollecting, that the hands, which had wove it,
were, like the poet, whose thoughts of fire they had attempted to
express, long since mouldered into dust, a train of melancholy ideas
passed over her mind, and she almost wept.

Having given her woman a strict injunction to awaken her, before
sun-rise, she dismissed her; and then, to dissipate the gloom, which
reflection had cast upon her spirits, opened one of the high casements,
and was again cheered by the face of living nature. The shadowy earth,
the air, and ocean--all was still. Along the deep serene of the heavens,
a few light clouds floated slowly, through whose skirts the stars now
seemed to tremble, and now to emerge with purer splendour. Blanche's
thoughts arose involuntarily to the Great Author of the sublime objects
she contemplated, and she breathed a prayer of finer devotion, than any
she had ever uttered beneath the vaulted roof of a cloister. At this
casement, she remained till the glooms of midnight were stretched over
the prospect. She then retired to her pillow, and, 'with gay visions of
to-morrow,' to those sweet slumbers, which health and happy innocence
only know.

  To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.

 All right, Shmoopers. It's time for a 180 that involves a totally new plot and characters. It all relates back to Em, we promise! So there's this Count de Villeforte guy who inherited the estate of the Marquis de Villeroi. Sound familiar? That's because it's the place Em passed by with her dad way back in the beginning of the book. Think spooky music and peasants who tell them to stay far away. Count de Villeforte's got a whole family coming with him to Chateau-le-Blanc, including his stuck-up wife, the Countess, and his kiddos from a former marriage, Blanche and Henri. The de Villefortes meet old Dorothee at Chateau-le-Blanc, a jittery servant who's been there since the Marquis de Villeroi's time. She's totally got some ghost stories to tell. Blanche is particularly into wandering around the estates and musing about how beautiful everything is. Sound familiar to anyone?

