The Mysteries of Udolpho

Emily impatiently received the miniature, which her eyes had scarcely

glanced upon, before her trembling hands had nearly suffered it to

fall--it was the resemblance of the portrait of Signora Laurentini,

which she had formerly seen in the castle of Udolpho--the lady, who

had disappeared in so mysterious a manner, and whom Montoni had been

suspected of having caused to be murdered.

In silent astonishment, Emily continued to gaze alternately upon the

picture and the dying nun, endeavouring to trace a resemblance between

them, which no longer existed.

'Why do you look so sternly on me?' said Agnes, mistaking the nature of

Emily's emotion. 'I have seen this face before,' said Emily, at length; 'was it really

your resemblance?' 'You may well ask that question,' replied the nun,--'but it was once

esteemed a striking likeness of me. Look at me well, and see what guilt

has made me. I then was innocent; the evil passions of my nature slept.

Sister!' added she solemnly, and stretching forth her cold, damp hand

to Emily, who shuddered at its touch--'Sister! beware of the first

indulgence of the passions; beware of the first! Their course, if not

checked then, is rapid--their force is uncontroulable--they lead us we

know not whither--they lead us perhaps to the commission of crimes, for

which whole years of prayer and penitence cannot atone!--Such may be the

force of even a single passion, that it overcomes every other, and sears

up every other approach to the heart. Possessing us like a fiend, it

leads us on to the acts of a fiend, making us insensible to pity and

to conscience.

And, when its purpose is accomplished, like a fiend,

it leaves us to the torture of those feelings, which its power had

suspended--not annihilated,--to the tortures of compassion, remorse, and

conscience.

Then, we awaken as from a dream, and perceive a new

world around us--we gaze in astonishment, and horror--but the deed

is committed; not all the powers of heaven and earth united can

undo it--and the spectres of conscience will not fly! What are

riches--grandeur--health itself, to the luxury of a pure conscience, the

health of the soul;--and what the sufferings of poverty, disappointment,

despair--to the anguish of an afflicted one! O! how long is it since

I knew that luxury! I believed, that I had suffered the most agonizing

pangs of human nature, in love, jealousy, and despair--but these pangs

were ease, compared with the stings of conscience, which I have since

endured.

I tasted too what was called the sweet of revenge--but it was

transient, it expired even with the object, that provoked it. Remember,

sister, that the passions are the seeds of vices as well as of virtues,

from which either may spring, accordingly as they are nurtured. Unhappy

they who have never been taught the art to govern them!'