The Mysteries of Udolpho

'Ungrateful man!' said Madame Montoni, 'he has deceived me in every

respect; and now he has taken me from my country and friends, to shut

me up in this old castle; and, here he thinks he can compel me to do

whatever he designs! But he shall find himself mistaken, he shall find

that no threats can alter--But who would have believed! who would have

supposed, that a man of his family and apparent wealth had absolutely

no fortune?--no, scarcely a sequin of his own! I did all for the best;

I thought he was a man of consequence, of great property, or I am sure

I would never have married him,--ungrateful, artful man!' She paused to

take breath. 'Dear Madam, be composed,' said Emily: 'the Signor may not be so rich as

you had reason to expect, but surely he cannot be very poor, since

this castle and the mansion at Venice are his. May I ask what are the

circumstances, that particularly affect you?'

'What are the circumstances!' exclaimed Madame Montoni with resentment:

'why is it not sufficient, that he had long ago ruined his own fortune

by play, and that he has since lost what I brought him--and that now he

would compel me to sign away my settlement (it was well I had the chief

of my property settled on myself!) that he may lose this also, or throw

it away in wild schemes, which nobody can understand but himself? And,

and--is not all this sufficient?'

'It is, indeed,' said Emily, 'but you must recollect, dear madam, that I

knew nothing of all this.' 'Well, and is it not sufficient,' rejoined her aunt, 'that he is also

absolutely ruined, that he is sunk deeply in debt, and that neither

this castle, or the mansion at Venice, is his own, if all his debts,

honourable and dishonourable, were paid!' '

I am shocked by what you tell me, madam,' said Emily. 'And is it not enough,' interrupted Madame Montoni, 'that he has treated

me with neglect, with cruelty, because I refused to relinquish my

settlements, and, instead of being frightened by his menaces, resolutely

defied him, and upbraided him with his shameful conduct? But I bore all

meekly,--you know, niece, I never uttered a word of complaint, till now;

no! That such a disposition as mine should be so imposed upon! That I,

whose only faults are too much kindness, too much generosity, should be

chained for life to such a vile, deceitful, cruel monster!'

Want of breath compelled Madame Montoni to stop. If any thing could have

made Emily smile in these moments, it would have been this speech of

her aunt, delivered in a voice very little below a scream, and with a

vehemence of gesticulation and of countenance, that turned the whole

into burlesque. Emily saw, that her misfortunes did not admit of real

consolation, and, contemning the commonplace terms of superficial

comfort, she was silent; while Madame Montoni, jealous of her own

consequence, mistook this for the silence of indifference, or of

contempt, and reproached her with want of duty and feeling