The Mysteries of Udolpho

'This is nothing extraordinary,'

said he, 'you will hear the same, perhaps, at every inn on our way. It

is one of our landlord's family who plays, I doubt not,' Emily, as she

listened, thought he could be scarcely less than a professor of music

whom she heard; and the sweet and plaintive strains soon lulled her into

a reverie, from which she was very unwillingly roused by the raillery

of Cavigni, and by the voice of Montoni, who gave orders to a servant to

have the carriages ready at an early hour on the following morning; and

added, that he meant to dine at Turin.

Madame Montoni was exceedingly rejoiced to be once more on level ground;

and, after giving a long detail of the various terrors she had suffered,

which she forgot that she was describing to the companions of her

dangers, she added a hope, that she should soon be beyond the view of

these horrid mountains, 'which all the world,' said she, 'should not

tempt me to cross again.' Complaining of fatigue she soon retired to

rest, and Emily withdrew to her own room, when she understood from

Annette, her aunt's woman, that Cavigni was nearly right in his

conjecture concerning the musician, who had awakened the violin with

so much taste, for that he was the son of a peasant inhabiting the

neighbouring valley.

'He is going to the Carnival at Venice,' added

Annette, 'for they say he has a fine hand at playing, and will get a

world of money; and the Carnival is just going to begin: but for my

part, I should like to live among these pleasant woods and hills, better

than in a town; and they say Ma'moiselle, we shall see no woods, or

hills, or fields, at Venice, for that it is built in the very middle of

the sea.' Emily agreed with the talkative Annette, that this young man was making

a change for the worse, and could not forbear silently lamenting, that

he should be drawn from the innocence and beauty of these scenes, to the

corrupt ones of that voluptuous city.

When she was alone, unable to sleep, the landscapes of her native home,

with Valancourt, and the circumstances of her departure, haunted her

fancy; she drew pictures of social happiness amidst the grand simplicity

of nature, such as she feared she had bade farewel to for ever; and

then, the idea of this young Piedmontese, thus ignorantly sporting with

his happiness, returned to her thoughts, and, glad to escape awhile from

the pressure of nearer interests, she indulged her fancy in composing

the following lines.