'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! Ibelieved, 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!'
'Alas! unhappy!' said the abbess, 'and ill-informed of our holy religion!' Emily listened to Agnes, in silent awe, while she still examined the miniature, and became confirmed in her opinion of its strong resemblance to the portrait at Udolpho.'This face is familiar to me,' said she, wishing to lead the nun to an explanation, yet fearing to discover too abruptly her knowledge of Udolpho.
'You are mistaken,' replied Agnes, 'you certainly never saw that picture before.'
'No,' replied Emily, 'but I have seen one extremely like it.'
'Impossible,' said Agnes, who may now be called the Lady Laurentini.
'It was in the castle of Udolpho,' continued Emily, looking stedfastly at her.
'Of Udolpho!' exclaimed Laurentini, 'of Udolpho in Italy!' 'The same,' replied Emily.
'You know me then,' said Laurentini, 'and you are the daughter of the Marchioness.' Emily was somewhat surprised at this abrupt assertion.
'I am the daughter of the late Mons.St.Aubert,' said she; 'and the lady you name is an utter stranger to me.'
'At least you believe so,' rejoined Laurentini.
Emily asked what reasons there could be to believe otherwise.
'The family likeness, that you bear her,' said the nun.'The Marchioness, it is known, was attached to a gentleman of Gascony, at the time when she accepted the hand of the Marquis, by the command of her father.Ill-fated, unhappy woman!'
Emily, remembering the extreme emotion which St.Aubert had betrayed on the mention of the Marchioness, would now have suffered something more than surprise, had her confidence in his integrity been less; as it was, she could not, for a moment, believe what the words of Laurentini insinuated; yet she still felt strongly interested, concerning them, and begged, that she would explain them further.
'Do not urge me on that subject,' said the nun, 'it is to me a terrible one! Would that I could blot it from my memory!' She sighed deeply, and, after the pause of a moment, asked Emily, by what means she had discovered her name?
'By your portrait in the castle of Udolpho, to which this miniature bears a striking resemblance,' replied Emily.
'You have been at Udolpho then!' said the nun, with great emotion.
'Alas! what scenes does the mention of it revive in my fancy--scenes of happiness--of suffering--and of horror!'
At this moment, the terrible spectacle, which Emily had witnessed in a chamber of that castle, occurred to her, and she shuddered, while she looked upon the nun--and recollected her late words--that 'years of prayer and penitence could not wash out the foulness of murder.'
She was now compelled to attribute these to another cause, than that of delirium.With a degree of horror, that almost deprived her of sense, she now believed she looked upon a murderer; all the recollected behaviour of Laurentini seemed to confirm the supposition, yet Emily was still lost in a labyrinth of perplexities, and, not knowing how to ask the questions, which might lead to truth, she could only hint them in broken sentences.
'Your sudden departure from Udolpho'--said she.
Laurentini groaned.
'The reports that followed it,' continued Emily--'The west chamber--the mournful veil--the object it conceals!--when murders are committed--'
The nun shrieked.'What! there again!' said she, endeavouring to raise herself, while her starting eyes seemed to follow some object round the room--'Come from the grave! What! Blood--blood too!--There was no blood--thou canst not say it!--Nay, do not smile,--do not smile so piteously!'
Laurentini fell into convulsions, as she uttered the last words; and Emily, unable any longer to endure the horror of the scene, hurried from the room, and sent some nuns to the assistance of the abbess.
