The Mysteries of Udolpho
Page 106Emily suppressed a starting tear, and tried to smile away the expression
of an oppressed heart; she was thinking of HER home, and felt too
sensibly the arrogance and ostentatious vanity of Madame Cheron's
conversation. 'Can this be my father's sister!' said she to herself; and
then the conviction that she was so, warming her heart with something
like kindness towards her, she felt anxious to soften the harsh
impression her mind had received of her aunt's character, and to shew
a willingness to oblige her. The effort did not entirely fail; she
listened with apparent cheerfulness, while Madame Cheron expatiated
on the splendour of her house, told of the numerous parties she
entertained, and what she should expect of Emily, whose diffidence
assumed the air of a reserve, which her aunt, believing it to be that
of pride and ignorance united, now took occasion to reprehend. She knew
nothing of the conduct of a mind, that fears to trust its own powers;
other person perceives still more critically, fears to commit itself
to censure, and seeks shelter in the obscurity of silence. Emily had
frequently blushed at the fearless manners, which she had seen admired,
and the brilliant nothings, which she had heard applauded; yet this
applause, so far from encouraging her to imitate the conduct that had
won it, rather made her shrink into the reserve, that would protect her
from such absurdity.
Madame Cheron looked on her niece's diffidence with a feeling very near
to contempt, and endeavoured to overcome it by reproof, rather than to
encourage it by gentleness.
The entrance of supper somewhat interrupted the complacent discourse of
Madame Cheron and the painful considerations, which it had forced
upon Emily. When the repast, which was rendered ostentatious by the
was over, Madame Cheron retired to her chamber, and a female servant
came to shew Emily to hers. Having passed up a large stair-case, and
through several galleries, they came to a flight of back stairs, which
led into a short passage in a remote part of the chateau, and there
the servant opened the door of a small chamber, which she said was
Ma'amselle Emily's, who, once more alone, indulged the tears she had
long tried to restrain.
Those, who know, from experience, how much the heart becomes attached
even to inanimate objects, to which it has been long accustomed, how
unwillingly it resigns them; how with the sensations of an old friend it
meets them, after temporary absence, will understand the forlornness
of Emily's feelings, of Emily shut out from the only home she had
known from her infancy, and thrown upon a scene, and among persons,
favourite dog, now in the chamber, thus seemed to acquire the character
and importance of a friend; and, as the animal fawned over her when she
wept, and licked her hands, 'Ah, poor Manchon!' said she, 'I have nobody
now to love me--but you!' and she wept the more. After some time, her
thoughts returning to her father's injunctions, she remembered how often
he had blamed her for indulging useless sorrow; how often he had pointed
out to her the necessity of fortitude and patience, assuring her, that
the faculties of the mind strengthen by exertion, till they finally
unnerve affliction, and triumph over it. These recollections dried her
tears, gradually soothed her spirits, and inspired her with the sweet
emulation of practising precepts, which her father had so frequently
inculcated.