We now return to Languedoc and to Count De Villefort, the nobleman who had inherited the estate of the late Marquis De Villeroi, located near the monastery of St. Claire.
It may be remembered that when St. Aubert and his daughter had once been in that region, the château had stood empty. St. Aubert had been deeply moved when he discovered that he was so close to Château-le-Blanc, a place connected with certain mysterious hints that old La Voisin had later mentioned, hints that had awakened Emily’s curiosity.
In the year 1584, the same year in which St. Aubert died, Francis Beauveau, Count De Villefort, became the owner of Château-le-Blanc, a grand estate on the Mediterranean coast of Languedoc.
The property had belonged to his family for generations. It came to him after the death of his relative, the Marquis De Villeroi, who in his later years had become a reserved and stern man. His serious nature, combined with his military duties, which often called him away to battle, had prevented him from forming any close relationship with his cousin, Count De Villefort.
For many years, the two men had known very little of each other. The Count first learned of the Marquis’s death when he received the legal documents that transferred ownership of Château-le-Blanc to him. However, he did not decide to visit the estate until the following year, when he planned to spend the autumn there.
The memories of Château-le-Blanc often returned to him, made more beautiful by the way imagination brightens the pleasures of youth. Many years earlier, during the lifetime of the Marchioness, when his heart had been especially open to happiness and excitement, he had visited this place once.
Although many years had passed, and although his life in public affairs had brought him countless worries and disappointments, the peaceful woods of Languedoc and the magnificent scenery around the château had never faded from his memory.
For many years, the late Marquis had abandoned the estate. Only an old steward and his wife remained there, and because no one cared for the property, the château had fallen into serious disrepair.
One of Count De Villefort’s main reasons for spending the autumn in Languedoc was to supervise the repairs needed to make the château comfortable again.
Neither the complaints nor even the tears of the Countess could change his decision.
She was therefore forced to accept leaving Paris, where her beauty was admired everywhere and where her charm attracted attention, even though her wit had earned less praise.
Instead, she would now exchange elegant gatherings and fashionable society for silent forests, lonely mountains, dark Gothic halls, and endless corridors where the only sounds would be the footsteps of servants or the slow ticking of the great clock in the ancient hall.
To comfort herself, she tried to remember everything she had heard about the joyful grape harvests of Languedoc.
But those simple country celebrations could not please a heart that had long been spoiled by luxury and had lost much of its natural kindness.
The Count had a son and a daughter from his first marriage who were to accompany him to southern France.
His son Henri was twenty years old and served in the French army.
His daughter Blanche, not yet eighteen, had spent almost her entire life in a convent. She had been sent there soon after her father’s second marriage.
The present Countess had neither the ability nor the desire to educate her husband’s daughter. She had encouraged the decision to place Blanche in the convent.
Later, fearing that Blanche’s beauty might attract more admiration than her own, she had used every influence she possessed to persuade the Count to keep the young girl hidden away.
Therefore, when the Count announced that Blanche would finally leave the convent, the Countess felt deeply unhappy.
Still, she comforted herself with the thought that although Blanche would return to society, the quiet countryside would hide her beauty for some time.
On the morning of their departure, the carriage stopped at the convent to collect Blanche.
The young girl’s heart was filled with excitement at the thought of freedom and new experiences.
As the day approached, her impatience grew stronger. The final night seemed endless, and she counted every hour until morning.
At last, daylight appeared.
The morning bell rang.
She heard the nuns leaving their rooms, and she rose from her sleepless bed to welcome the day that would free her from the strict life of the convent.
She imagined she was entering a world where happiness always smiled and goodness always existed—a world where nothing but joy and kindness could be found.
When the great gate bell rang and the sound of carriage wheels followed, Blanche rushed to the window.
Seeing her father’s carriage waiting below, she hurried happily through the corridor, where a nun met her with a message from the abbess.
A moment later, she entered the reception room and stood before the Countess.
To Blanche, the Countess seemed almost like an angel sent to lead her into happiness.
But the feelings of the Countess were completely different.
Blanche had never looked more beautiful than at that moment. Her face shone with innocent joy, and happiness seemed to brighten every feature.
After speaking briefly with the abbess, the Countess prepared to leave.
This was the moment Blanche had dreamed of—the moment when she would finally step into the world she had imagined as a paradise of happiness.
Surely, this was not a moment for sadness or tears.
Yet tears came.
She turned toward the young women who had come to say goodbye, and her expression suddenly became sorrowful.
She cried as she embraced her friends.
Even the strict and dignified abbess received a farewell filled with emotion.
Only an hour earlier, Blanche would have thought such sadness impossible.
But people often feel sorrow when leaving even unpleasant places, when they know the separation may last forever.
She kissed the poor nuns goodbye once more and followed the Countess away, with tears she had expected to replace with smiles.
However, the presence of her father and the changing scenes along the road soon captured her attention and softened her sadness.
While the Countess and her friend Mademoiselle Bearn talked together, Blanche sat quietly, lost in pleasant thoughts.
She watched the clouds drifting across the blue sky, sometimes covering the sun and spreading shadows across the landscape, and sometimes revealing the full brightness of the light.
Every moment of the journey brought new sights before her eyes.
Her imagination filled itself with beautiful and joyful images.
On the evening of the seventh day, the travelers finally saw Château-le-Blanc.
The romantic beauty of its location immediately impressed Blanche.
The Pyrenean mountains, which had appeared distant earlier in the day, now rose only a few leagues away.
Their wild cliffs and enormous precipices appeared and disappeared behind drifting evening clouds.
The setting sun painted their snowy peaks with a soft rose color, while their lower slopes displayed countless shades of light and shadow.
The plains of Languedoc stretched far away, covered with purple vineyards and scattered with forests of mulberry, almond, and olive trees.
To the south lay the Mediterranean Sea, shining like crystal beneath the sky it reflected.
White sails moved across its surface, catching the sunlight and bringing life to the peaceful scene.
High on a rocky promontory beside the sea stood her father’s mansion.
The château was almost hidden among forests of pine, oak, and chestnut trees that covered the hill and extended toward the shore.
As Blanche approached, the ancient Gothic features of the château slowly appeared.
First came a tower rising above the trees.
Then she saw the broken arch of a massive gateway.
Her imagination carried her into the world of old romances.
She almost believed she was approaching one of those castles from legendary tales, where knights stood on battlements and watched for a hero arriving in black armor to rescue a beautiful lady from danger.
She had read such stories occasionally in the convent library, which, like many old monastic libraries, contained many romantic tales of past ages.
The carriage stopped before a gate leading into the estate, but the gate was locked.
The great bell that once announced the arrival of visitors had long since fallen away.
A servant therefore climbed over a damaged section of the wall to inform those inside that their lord had arrived.
Blanche leaned from the carriage window and allowed herself to enjoy the gentle emotions created by the evening and the scenery.
The sun had disappeared, and twilight was spreading over the mountains.
The distant sea still reflected the fading light of the western sky, appearing like a bright line along the horizon.
The quiet sound of waves reached her through the breeze, and occasionally she heard the distant sound of oars moving through the water.
She remained silent, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.
Meanwhile, everyone else was occupied with their own thoughts.
The Countess looked sadly back toward the fashionable life she had left in Paris and viewed the dark woods and lonely landscape with dislike.
She imagined herself trapped inside an ancient castle and prepared to dislike everything around her.
Henri felt some of the same regret.
He thought of the pleasures of Paris and remembered a woman who, he believed, had captured his heart—or at least his imagination.
Yet the unfamiliar countryside and the new life ahead still held some attraction for him.
The gates finally opened.
The carriage slowly moved beneath enormous chestnut trees that blocked the remaining daylight.
The road, once carefully maintained, had now become almost invisible beneath thick vegetation. Only the lines of trees on each side showed where it had once been.
The path continued for nearly half a mile through the woods before reaching the château.
This was the same road that St. Aubert and Emily had entered years earlier when they searched for a place to stay overnight and quickly left after seeing the wild surroundings and a figure that their postillion had mistaken for a robber.
“What a gloomy place!” exclaimed the Countess as the carriage moved deeper into the forest.
“Surely, my lord, you do not intend to spend the whole autumn in this wilderness? Someone should bring a cup of the waters of Lethe here, so that people might forget more pleasant places and not notice how dreary this one is.”
“I shall decide according to circumstances, madam,” replied the Count.
“But remember, this place was once the home of my ancestors.”
The carriage soon reached the château.
At the entrance of the great hall stood the old steward and the servants from Paris who had arrived earlier to prepare the house.
Blanche now saw that the building was not entirely Gothic. Some parts had been added in later times.
However, the great hall itself was completely Gothic.
Although the darkness prevented her from seeing clearly, she noticed magnificent tapestries covering the walls, showing scenes from ancient Provençal romances.
A huge Gothic window opened toward the south.
Climbing vines surrounded it, and beyond the glass Blanche could see a wide lawn, dark forests on the edge of the promontory, and the endless Mediterranean stretching toward the horizon.
To the northeast were the rich lands of Languedoc and Provence, filled with woods, vineyards, and green fields.
To the southwest, the great Pyrenean mountains faded slowly into the evening darkness.
Blanche stopped for a moment to admire the view.
Although twilight covered the landscape, it did not hide its beauty.
But the Countess quickly interrupted her admiration.
Impatient for food and rest, she hurried into a large room whose dark wooden walls, narrow pointed windows, and carved ceiling created a gloomy atmosphere.
The old green velvet furniture, decorated with faded golden edges, had once been intended to brighten the room but now only added to its sadness.
While the Countess asked for refreshments, the Count and Henri went to inspect parts of the château.
Blanche remained behind, listening quietly to her stepmother’s complaints.
“How long have you lived in this lonely place?” asked the Countess when the old housekeeper arrived to greet her.
“More than twenty years, my lady, since the next feast of Saint Jerome,” answered Dorothée.
“How have you managed to stay here so long, almost alone? I understood that the château had been closed for years.”
“Yes, madam. It remained closed for many years after my late lord went to war. My husband and I entered his service more than twenty years ago. The château was so large and so empty that we felt completely lost inside it. Eventually, we moved to a cottage at the edge of the woods near the tenants, and only came here from time to time to care for the place.
“When my lord returned from the wars, he no longer liked living here. He allowed us to remain at the cottage instead.
“Ah, my lady, how different the château is now from what it once was! How much my late lady loved this place! I remember when she arrived here as a bride. Everything was beautiful then.
“But now it has been neglected for so long. It has fallen into ruin. I shall never see those happy days again.”
The Countess seemed annoyed by the old woman’s simple sadness.
Dorothée quickly added:
“But now the château will be filled with life again. I would not live here alone for anything in the world.”
“Well, I doubt such an experiment will happen,” replied the Countess.
Her irritation was interrupted by the arrival of the Count.
He explained that he had inspected part of the château and found that many repairs and changes would be needed before it became a comfortable residence.
“I am sorry to hear that,” said the Countess.
“Why are you sorry, madam?”
“Because this place will hardly repay your efforts. Even if it were paradise itself, it would still be unbearable so far from Paris.”
The Count gave no answer but turned toward the window.
“There are windows here, my lord,” continued the Countess, “but they bring neither pleasure nor brightness. They show only a scene of wild nature.”
“I do not understand what you mean by wild nature,” said the Count. “Do those plains, those forests, or that beautiful sea deserve such a name?”
“Those mountains certainly do,” replied the Countess, pointing toward the Pyrenees. “And this château, though not created by nature, is, in my opinion, an example of wild and unpleasant architecture.”
The Count’s face became red with anger.
“This place was built by my ancestors,” he said.
“And I must tell you that your remarks show neither good taste nor good manners.”
Blanche, disturbed by the growing disagreement, rose to leave.
At that moment, the Countess’s maid entered, and the Countess immediately requested to be shown to her room.
She left with Mademoiselle Bearn.
Since it was still light outside, Blanche decided to explore her new home.
She walked from the hall into a wide gallery decorated with marble columns and a richly designed arched ceiling.
Through a distant window, she saw the purple evening clouds and a landscape slowly disappearing into twilight.
The gallery ended in a magnificent room of modern design.
Although it appeared grand, it seemed unfinished or neglected.
The large windows offered a wide view of the surrounding country.
Blanche stood there for a long time, imagining forests, mountains, rivers, and valleys in the shadowy evening scene.
The distant bark of a dog and the soft movement of the wind among the leaves only increased the beauty of the moment.
Occasionally, a small cottage light appeared among the trees.
At last, the evening bell of a distant convent sounded and slowly faded away.
When Blanche finally turned away from these pleasant thoughts, the silence and darkness of the room made her uneasy.
She searched for the way back and wandered through a dark passage until she reached another hall.
This one was completely different from the first.
Through an open entrance, she could see that it was bright and elegant, built in a Moorish style with white marble floors and graceful arches.
As Blanche stood there, the moon rose above the sea.
Its light slowly revealed the beauty of the hill where she stood.
The lawn below was wild and covered with tall grass.
Beyond it, forests surrounded the château and stretched down toward the ocean.
Far away were the plains of Languedoc and the towers of a monastery shining beneath the moon.
The peaceful beauty of the scene overwhelmed Blanche.
“Have I lived in this beautiful world for so long,” she whispered, “and never seen such wonders until now?
“Every village girl on my father’s estate has known nature since childhood. She has walked freely through forests and fields, while I was locked inside a convent and prevented from seeing these beautiful things created to inspire every heart.
“How can those who live behind monastery walls truly feel devotion if they never see the sunrise or sunset?
“Only tonight have I understood what true devotion means.
“Who would choose the dark streets of Paris when they could look upon the blue sky and the green earth?”
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind her.
The loneliness of the château suddenly made her afraid.
She thought she saw something moving between the pillars.
For a moment she stood silently watching.
Then, ashamed of her fear, she gathered courage.
“Who is there?” she called.
“Oh, my young lady, is it you?” answered Dorothée, the old housekeeper, who had come to close the windows.
“I am glad it is you.”
Blanche noticed the strange way she spoke.
“You seem frightened, Dorothée. What is wrong?”
“No, no, my young lady,” replied Dorothée, trying to appear calm.
“I am only old, and small things can surprise me.”
Blanche smiled.
“I am glad my lord the Count has returned to live here,” Dorothée continued.
“The château has been empty and gloomy for many years. Now perhaps it will become like it was when my poor lady was alive.”
“When did the Marchioness die?” asked Blanche.
“Ah, my lady, so long ago that I no longer count the years.
“This place has seemed to mourn ever since.
“But you have lost your way, young lady. Shall I show you back to the other side of the château?”
Blanche asked when this part of the building had been constructed.
“Soon after my lord’s marriage,” replied Dorothée.
“The old château was already large enough, but my lord thought it gloomy. And gloomy enough it certainly is!”
Blanche asked to be shown back to the inhabited part of the house.
Because the passages were completely dark, Dorothée guided her outside along the edge of the lawn.
When Blanche returned to the great hall, Mademoiselle Bearn met her.
“Where have you been all this time?” she asked.
“I began to think some wonderful adventure had happened to you. Perhaps the giant of this enchanted castle—or the ghost that surely haunts it—carried you away through a secret door into an underground chamber.”
“No,” replied Blanche with a laugh.
“You seem to enjoy adventures so much that I shall leave them for you.”
“My dear Mademoiselle Bearn,” said Henri, entering the room, “no ghost today would be cruel enough to silence you. Our ghosts are much too polite to give a lady a punishment worse than their own.”
Mademoiselle Bearn only laughed.
Soon the Count entered, and supper was served.
During the meal, he spoke little.
He seemed thoughtful and often remarked how much the château had changed since his last visit.
“Many years have passed since then,” he said.
“The great features of the landscape remain the same, but they create feelings in me very different from those I once experienced.”
“Did this place ever seem more beautiful than it does now?” asked Blanche.
“To me, that seems impossible.”
The Count looked at her sadly.
“They once seemed as beautiful to me as they do to you now.
“The landscape has not changed. Time has changed me.
“The imagination that once gave life and color to nature is slowly fading from my mind.
“If you live many years, my dear Blanche, and return here again, you may then understand what your father feels tonight.”
Blanche was moved by his words.
She imagined the day when her father might no longer be alive.
Her eyes filled with tears.
She gently took his hand.
The Count smiled affectionately, then rose and walked to the window to hide his own emotion.
Soon afterward, everyone retired.
Blanche walked through a long oak corridor to her bedroom.
The high walls, ancient windows, and distant location made the room feel lonely and mysterious.
The furniture was old.
The bed was covered with blue silk decorated with faded golden lace.
Its tall canopy and hanging curtains looked like those seen in ancient paintings.
Every object fascinated Blanche.
Taking a lamp from her maid, she examined the tapestry on the walls.
It showed scenes from the Trojan War.
But the colors had almost disappeared, and the faded fabric could hardly express the heroic events it once displayed.
She first laughed at the strange contrast.
Then she remembered that the hands that had woven it, like the poet whose imagination had inspired it, had long since turned to dust.
A feeling of sadness replaced her amusement.
She almost cried.
After ordering her maid to wake her before sunrise, Blanche dismissed her.
To escape her gloomy thoughts, she opened one of the tall windows.
Immediately, the beauty of nature comforted her.
The earth, air, and sea were completely still.
A few soft clouds drifted across the dark sky.
The stars appeared and disappeared behind them, shining with greater brilliance each time they emerged.
Blanche’s thoughts naturally turned toward the Creator of such magnificent beauty.
She whispered a prayer more sincere than any she had ever spoken beneath the walls of the convent.
She remained at the window until midnight shadows covered the entire landscape.
Then she went to bed, carrying with her joyful dreams of tomorrow and the peaceful sleep known only to the healthy and innocent.
Tomorrow would bring her new forests, new fields, and a new world.