The Mysteries of Udolpho
Page 391She 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
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
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
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.