The Mysteries of Udolpho

They proceeded, and, having reached the top of the stair-case, Dorothee

applied the key to the lock. 'Ah,' said she, as she endeavoured to turn

it, 'so many years have passed since this was opened, that I fear it

will not move.' Emily was more successful, and they presently entered a

spacious and ancient chamber.

'Alas!' exclaimed Dorothee, as she entered, 'the last time I passed

through this door--I followed my poor lady's corpse!'

Emily, struck with the circumstance, and affected by the dusky and

solemn air of the apartment, remained silent, and they passed on through

a long suite of rooms, till they came to one more spacious than the

rest, and rich in the remains of faded magnificence. 'Let us rest here awhile, madam,' said Dorothee faintly, 'we are going

into the chamber, where my lady died! that door opens into it. Ah,

ma'amselle! why did you persuade me to come?'

Emily drew one of the massy arm-chairs, with which the apartment was

furnished, and begged Dorothee would sit down, and try to compose her

spirits. 'How the sight of this place brings all that passed formerly to my

mind!' said Dorothee; 'it seems as if it was but yesterday since all

that sad affair happened!'

'Hark! what noise is that?' said Emily.

Dorothee, half starting from her chair, looked round the apartment, and

they listened--but, every thing remaining still, the old woman spoke

again upon the subject of her sorrow. 'This saloon, ma'amselle, was in

my lady's time the finest apartment in the chateau, and it was fitted

up according to her own taste. All this grand furniture, but you can

now hardly see what it is for the dust, and our light is none of the

best--ah! how I have seen this room lighted up in my lady's time!--all

this grand furniture came from Paris, and was made after the fashion of

some in the Louvre there, except those large glasses, and they came from

some outlandish place, and that rich tapestry. How the colours are faded

already!--since I saw it last!'

'I understood, that was twenty years ago,' observed Emily.

'Thereabout, madam,' said Dorothee, 'and well remembered, but all the

time between then and now seems as nothing. That tapestry used to be

greatly admired at, it tells the stories out of some famous book, or

other, but I have forgot the name.'

Emily now rose to examine the figures it exhibited, and discovered, by

verses in the Provencal tongue, wrought underneath each scene, that it

exhibited stories from some of the most celebrated ancient romances.