The Mysteries of Udolpho

Do not receive this as merely a commonplace

remark, but let reason THEREFORE restrain sorrow. I would not annihilate

your feelings, my child, I would only teach you to command them; for

whatever may be the evils resulting from a too susceptible heart,

nothing can be hoped from an insensible one; that, on the other hand,

is all vice--vice, of which the deformity is not softened, or the effect

consoled for, by any semblance or possibility of good. You know my

sufferings, and are, therefore, convinced that mine are not the light

words which, on these occasions, are so often repeated to destroy even

the sources of honest emotion, or which merely display the selfish

ostentation of a false philosophy. I will shew my Emily, that I can

practise what I advise. I have said thus much, because I cannot bear to

see you wasting in useless sorrow, for want of that resistance which

is due from mind; and I have not said it till now, because there is

a period when all reasoning must yield to nature; that is past: and

another, when excessive indulgence, having sunk into habit, weighs

down the elasticity of the spirits so as to render conquest nearly

impossible; this is to come. You, my Emily, will shew that you are

willing to avoid it.' Emily smiled through her tears upon her father:

'Dear sir,' said she,

and her voice trembled; she would have added, 'I will shew myself worthy

of being your daughter;' but a mingled emotion of gratitude, affection,

and grief overcame her. St. Aubert suffered her to weep without

interruption, and then began to talk on common topics.

The first person who came to condole with St. Aubert was a M. Barreaux,

an austere and seemingly unfeeling man. A taste for botany had

introduced them to each other, for they had frequently met in their

wanderings among the mountains. M. Barreaux had retired from the world,

and almost from society, to live in a pleasant chateau, on the skirts of

the woods, near La Vallee. He also had been disappointed in his opinion

of mankind; but he did not, like St. Aubert, pity and mourn for them;

he felt more indignation at their vices, than compassion for their

weaknesses.

St. Aubert was somewhat surprised to see him; for, though he had often

pressed him to come to the chateau, he had never till now accepted the

invitation; and now he came without ceremony or reserve, entering the

parlour as an old friend. The claims of misfortune appeared to have

softened down all the ruggedness and prejudices of his heart. St. Aubert

unhappy, seemed to be the sole idea that occupied his mind. It was in

manners, more than in words, that he appeared to sympathize with his

friends: he spoke little on the subject of their grief; but the minute

attention he gave them, and the modulated voice, and softened look that

accompanied it, came from his heart, and spoke to theirs.