When Emily opened her window the next morning, she was amazed by the beauty that surrounded her.
The cottage was almost hidden inside a forest, mostly made up of chestnut trees, with some cypress, larch, and sycamore trees mixed among them.
Beyond the dark spreading branches, to the north and east, rose the magnificent Apennine Mountains. Unlike the mountains Emily had seen before, these were not covered with dark pine forests. Their highest peaks were crowned with ancient woods of chestnut, oak, and oriental plane trees, their autumn colors glowing warmly under the sunlight.
The forests flowed down toward the valley without interruption, except where a bold rocky cliff pushed out through the trees and caught the passing rays of light.
At the foot of the mountains were vineyards and elegant country villas belonging to wealthy Tuscan families. The slopes around them were covered with olive groves, mulberry trees, orange trees, and lemon trees.
The wide plain below was filled with fields of different colors. Under the gentle Italian sun, all those shades blended together into a beautiful harmony.
Purple grapes hung in rich clusters among the reddish leaves of vines, forming graceful curtains from the branches of fig and cherry trees. Green fields surrounded the banks of a winding stream, which came down from the mountains, crossed the landscape, and finally flowed into a distant bay.
Far away in the west, the sea seemed to merge with the sky. The water faded into the softest purple color, and the boundary between them could only sometimes be seen when a ship’s sail moved slowly across the horizon, shining in the sunlight.
The cottage itself was protected from the strongest heat of the sun by the surrounding woods. Only the evening sunlight reached it.
The walls were completely covered with vines, fig branches, and jasmine. The flowers were larger and more fragrant than any Emily had ever seen.
Clusters of ripe grapes and flowers hung around her small window.
The grass beneath the trees was covered with wildflowers and sweet-smelling herbs. Across the stream stood a grove of lemon and orange trees. Although it was almost directly opposite Emily’s window, it did not block her view. Instead, its deep green leaves made the distant scenery appear even more beautiful.
To Emily, this place seemed like a peaceful garden of sweetness and calm. Without her realizing it, its beauty slowly brought peace to her troubled heart.
Soon Maddelina, the peasant’s seventeen-year-old daughter, came to call her for breakfast.
Emily immediately noticed the girl’s pleasant face and gentle expression. Unlike the cruel, violent, dishonest, and cunning people who surrounded her, Maddelina seemed to possess the simple goodness of a natural and innocent heart.
The girl spoke little, but every word she said was gentle. Her modest and kind manner pleased Emily.
Emily ate breakfast at a separate table with Dorina, while Ugo and Bertrand shared a meal of Tuscan bacon and wine with the peasant near the cottage door.
After they finished eating, Ugo suddenly stood up.
“I must see to my mule,” he said.
Emily soon learned that he was leaving and returning to Udolpho, while Bertrand would remain at the cottage.
Although she had expected something like this might happen, she felt troubled by it.
After Ugo departed, Emily suggested taking a walk in the nearby woods.
But she was told that she could not leave the cottage unless Bertrand accompanied her.
Unwilling to have him constantly beside her, she returned to her room.
There, as she looked toward the towering Apennines, she remembered the terrifying scenes she had witnessed the previous night. She especially recalled the moment when Bertrand had revealed himself as a murderer.
Those memories filled her mind with painful images. Yet, because they distracted her from thinking only about her own dangerous situation, she allowed herself to follow those thoughts for a while.
Then she arranged them into a poem, feeling grateful that she had found an innocent way to pass an hour of misery.
The Pilgrim
A lonely pilgrim slowly crossed the Apennines, his feet wounded from the difficult journey.
He traveled patiently toward the holy shrine of Our Lady of Loreto, carrying only the small offerings his devotion allowed him to bring.
As evening fell, the last rays of sunlight disappeared from the mountain tops, and the valley below sank into purple shadows.
The final streaks of light faded slowly in the lonely western sky.
Above him, the restless pine trees whispered and groaned as the night wind moved through their branches.
Below, a rough stream crashed against the rocks, its angry sound echoing through the valley.
The pilgrim stopped on the dangerous mountain path.
Then he carefully continued downward, where he saw the faint outline of a hermit’s cross standing upon a rock.
There, he hoped, he might find shelter and rest.
Perhaps inside the old hermit’s cave, beside the warmth of a small fire and on a bed of leaves, he could sleep peacefully without fear.
Poor Luke.
He trusted the wrong path.
Behind the cliff stood a hidden robber, waiting.
No friendly moon appeared to cast a warning shadow across the road and save the pilgrim’s life.
The pilgrim continued forward, singing the evening hymn that had always comforted him before sleep.
Suddenly, the cruel attacker rushed upon his innocent victim.
The pilgrim fell, wounded and dying.
His eyes slowly closed.
Yet even in death, his gentle soul felt no hatred.
With his final breath, he prayed for the man who had murdered him.
After finishing her poem, Emily preferred the quiet of her room to the company downstairs.
She ate dinner there, with Maddelina serving her.
Through the girl’s simple conversation, Emily learned more about the cottage.
The peasant and his wife had lived there for many years. Montoni had purchased the cottage for them as a reward for a service the peasant Marco had once performed.
Marco was closely connected with Carlo, the steward at Udolpho Castle.
Maddelina said:
“My father did a great service for the Signor many years ago. My mother often tells him that this cottage was the least reward he deserved.”
Emily listened with painful interest.
This information gave Marco’s character a darker appearance. If Montoni had rewarded him for some terrible act, then perhaps Marco’s service had been something criminal.
Emily began to fear that she herself had been placed under his care for some desperate purpose.
She asked carefully:
“Do you know how many years ago your father performed this service?”
“It was shortly before he came to live here, Signora,” Maddelina answered. “That was about eighteen years ago.”
Eighteen years.
The time was almost exactly when Signora Laurentini had disappeared from Udolpho.
A terrible thought entered Emily’s mind.
Perhaps Marco had helped with that mysterious disappearance.
Perhaps he had even assisted in a murder.
The horrible possibility overwhelmed her. She became so lost in thought that Maddelina quietly left the room without Emily noticing.
For a long time Emily remained completely unaware of everything around her.
At last, tears brought her relief.
After crying, her mind became calmer. She realized she had been frightening herself with dangers that might never happen.
She forced herself to think of something else.
Remembering the few books she had managed to pack before leaving Udolpho, she sat beside her pleasant window with one of them.
Often her eyes moved away from the pages and wandered across the beautiful landscape outside.
Slowly, the peaceful view softened her sadness.
She remained there alone until evening.
She watched the sun descend behind the western sky, spreading golden light and long shadows over the mountains. The distant ocean and passing ships shone brightly before the sun disappeared into the waves.
During the quiet hour of twilight, her thoughts returned to Valancourt.
She remembered the strange music she had heard at midnight in Udolpho and every detail that might support her suspicion that he had been imprisoned there.
Gradually, she became convinced that the voice she had heard inside the castle had been his.
Her heart turned back toward that gloomy place with sorrow and regret.
The cool, fragrant air and the gentle sounds of the stream and forest soothed her troubled spirit.
She remained beside her window long after sunset, watching the valley disappear into darkness until only the great outlines of the mountains remained against the sky.
Then the moon rose.
Its clear light transformed the landscape, softening every harsh feature, just as time softens painful memories of the past.
Emily remembered La Vallée, the home of her childhood, when she had been protected and loved by her dear parents.
Those memories appeared as beautiful and gentle as the scene before her, but they also brought painful comparisons.
Unable to face the rude behavior of the peasant’s wife, Emily stayed in her room without supper.
She cried again over her lonely and dangerous situation.
Her sadness became too heavy, and for a moment she lost all courage.
She wished only for release from the burden of life and prayed that Heaven would take her to her beloved parents.
Exhausted from crying, she finally lay down on her mattress and fell asleep.
But soon she was awakened by knocking at her door.
She sat up in fear.
A voice called her name.
Immediately, her imagination showed her the image of Bertrand standing outside with a dagger in his hand.
She refused to open the door or answer.
She listened silently.
Again, the voice softly called her name.
“Who is there?” Emily asked.
“It is I, Signora,” came the reply.
She recognized Maddelina’s voice.
“Please open the door. Do not be afraid. It is only me.”
Emily opened the door.
“What brings you here so late, Maddelina?”
“Hush, Signora! For heaven’s sake, speak quietly. If anyone hears me, I shall be punished,” Maddelina whispered.
“My father, mother, and Bertrand are all asleep. I brought you some supper because you had nothing to eat downstairs.”
She held out some grapes, figs, and half a cup of wine.
Emily thanked her but immediately worried.
“If your mother notices the fruit is missing, she may be angry with you. Take it back, Maddelina. I would rather suffer hunger than cause you trouble.”
“There is no danger, Signora,” Maddelina replied.
“My mother will not know. I saved these from my own supper. You will make me unhappy if you refuse them.”
Emily was deeply touched by the girl’s kindness.
For a moment, she could not speak.
Maddelina watched her silently.
Then, misunderstanding Emily’s tears, she said:
“Do not cry, Signora. My mother can be a little harsh sometimes, but she soon forgets her anger. She scolds me often too, but I have learned to bear it. When she finishes, I go secretly into the woods and play my sticcado, and then I forget everything.”
Emily smiled through her tears.
“You are a very good girl,” she said.
She accepted the food.
Emily wanted to know whether Bertrand or Dorina had ever spoken in front of Maddelina about Montoni or his plans for her.
But she could not bring herself to encourage such innocent betrayal.
When Maddelina was leaving, Emily asked her to visit whenever she could do so without upsetting her mother.
The girl promised she would and quietly returned to her own room.
Several days passed.
Emily remained mostly in her room, and Maddelina only attended her during meals.
The girl’s gentle face and kind manners brought Emily more comfort than anything she had experienced for many months.
Gradually, Emily grew attached to her pleasant little chamber.
For the first time in a long while, she began to feel something like safety and home.
During this peaceful period, her mind recovered enough to enjoy reading again.
Among her belongings, she discovered unfinished landscape drawings, blank sheets of paper, and her drawing tools.
She began creating pictures of the beautiful scenes outside her window.
In her sketches, she often added small groups of people and imagined simple, touching stories about them.
Whenever a tear fell over the sadness she created in her drawings, she forgot her own suffering for a moment.
In this innocent way, Emily passed the difficult days and patiently waited for whatever the future might bring.
One evening, after a hot day, the cool air encouraged Emily to take a walk.
She knew Bertrand would have to accompany her, but with Maddelina beside her, she agreed.
The evening was calm and beautiful.
Emily followed the stream beneath the trees.
Across the water, cream-colored cattle grazed in the fields. Beyond them stood orange and lemon groves, their branches glowing with ripe fruit.
She continued toward the sea.
The sunset reflected on the water, and the cliffs above the shore shone with the last golden rays of the day.
On the right side of the valley stood a tall cliff crowned by an old ruined tower.
The tower had been turned into a lighthouse. Its broken walls and the wings of sea birds flying nearby still caught the fading sunlight, while the lower ruins and waves below had already fallen into twilight shadows.
Emily looked with quiet admiration at the lonely coast.
Some cliffs were covered with pine trees, while others showed only bare gray marble, except where myrtle and fragrant plants grew among the rocks.
The sea was perfectly calm.
Its gentle waves whispered against the shore.
Looking across the water, Emily thought of France and her former life.
With deep longing, she wished the sea could carry her back to her homeland.
“Ah, that ship,” she whispered.
“That beautiful ship sailing so proudly with its tall sails reflected in the water—perhaps it is going to France. How happy you are, dear ship!”
She watched it until twilight hid it from sight.
The soft sound of the waves increased her sadness, and tears filled her eyes.
Then, as she followed the curves of the beach, she suddenly heard voices carried by the wind.
She stopped.
She wanted to hear more, but she was also afraid of being noticed.
For the first time, she looked back at Bertrand and felt some comfort seeing him following nearby with another person.
Feeling safer, she moved toward the sound.
The music seemed to come from behind a high cliff.
Suddenly, the singing stopped.
Then a woman’s voice began a beautiful chant.
Emily walked faster.
Around the rock, she saw a small bay surrounded by woods.
Two groups of peasants gathered there.
Some sat beneath the trees, while others stood near the sea around a young woman holding a flower garland, preparing to drop it into the waves.
Emily listened carefully and heard the song in the elegant Tuscan language.
The villagers sang to a mythical sea spirit, asking her to rise from her ocean home and fill the lonely shore with beautiful music.
When the song ended, the garland was thrown into the sea.
The voices slowly faded away.
Emily asked:
“What does this mean, Maddelina?”
“It is the night before a festival, Signora,” Maddelina replied. “The peasants entertain themselves with many kinds of games.”
“But they spoke of a sea-nymph,” Emily said. “Why do they speak of such creatures?”
“Oh, Signora, nobody truly believes in them,” Maddelina explained. “They are only part of our old songs. During festivals, we sometimes sing to them and throw flowers into the sea.”
Emily had always been taught that Florence was the center of literature and art.
She was surprised and delighted to discover that even country peasants preserved the beauty of classical traditions.
She also admired the graceful appearance of the young women.
Their short green skirts, white silk bodices, loose sleeves, ribbons, and flower decorations gave them a charming appearance.
Their hair fell in curls around their shoulders, decorated with flowers and small straw hats.
When the song ended, several girls approached Emily.
They invited her and Maddelina to sit with them and offered them grapes and figs.
Emily accepted their kindness.
She was pleased by their natural gentleness and elegance.
Soon Bertrand approached and tried to hurry her away.
But one of the peasants offered him wine.
Bertrand rarely refused such invitations.
“Let the young lady join the dance,” the peasant said. “We will enjoy this bottle while the music begins.”
The tambourines and flutes started playing.
The younger villagers formed a circle.
Emily would gladly have joined them if her heart had been lighter.
Maddelina danced happily.
Watching the cheerful group, Emily forgot her own troubles for a while and felt a quiet pleasure.
But her sadness soon returned.
She sat apart, listening to the gentle music carried away by the breeze and watching the moonlight spread across the sea and cliffs.
Meanwhile, Bertrand enjoyed his wine so much that he willingly began another bottle.
It was late before Emily finally returned to the cottage.
After that evening, she often walked with Maddelina.
But Bertrand always followed them.
Little by little, Emily’s mind became calmer.
The peaceful life she was allowed to live made her hope that she had not been sent there for some evil purpose.
If she had not believed that Valancourt might still be inside Udolpho, she would have wished to remain at the cottage until she found a way to return to France.
Yet she still could not understand why Montoni had sent her to Tuscany.
She could not believe that he had acted out of concern for her safety.
After staying at the cottage for some time, Emily suddenly remembered something terrible.
In the confusion of leaving Udolpho, she had forgotten the papers her aunt had entrusted to her concerning the Languedoc estates.
The thought caused her great anxiety.
Still, she hoped that because the papers had been hidden in such an obscure place, Montoni might never discover them.