Of the evening, which passed on without any particular incident, she
wished the conclusion, that she might escape from the attentions of the
Count; and, as opposite qualities frequently attract each other in our
thoughts, thus Emily, when she looked on Count Morano, remembered
Valancourt, and a sigh sometimes followed the recollection. Several weeks passed in the course of customary visits, during which
nothing remarkable occurred. Emily was amused by the manners and scenes
that surrounded her, so different from those of France, but where Count
Morano, too frequently for her comfort, contrived to introduce himself. His manner, figure and accomplishments, which were generally admired,
Emily would, perhaps, have admired also, had her heart been disengaged
from Valancourt, and had the Count forborne to persecute her with
officious attentions, during which she observed some traits in his
character, that prejudiced her against whatever might otherwise be good
in it. Soon after his arrival at Venice, Montoni received a packet from M.
Quesnel, in which the latter mentioned the death of his wife’s uncle,
at his villa on the Brenta; and that, in consequence of this event, he
should hasten to take possession of that estate and of other effects
bequeathed to him. This uncle was the brother of Madame Quesnel’s late
mother; Montoni was related to her by the father’s side, and though he
could have had neither claim nor expectation concerning these
possessions, he could scarcely conceal the envy which M. Quesnel’s
letter excited. Emily had observed with concern, that, since they left France, Montoni
had not even affected kindness towards her aunt, and that, after
treating her, at first, with neglect, he now met her with uniform
ill-humour and reserve. She had never supposed, that her aunt’s foibles
could have escaped the discernment of Montoni, or that her mind or
figure were of a kind to deserve his attention. Her surprise,
therefore, at this match, had been extreme; but since he had made the
choice, she did not suspect that he would so openly have discovered his
contempt of it. But Montoni, who had been allured by the seeming wealth
of Madame Cheron, was now severely disappointed by her comparative
poverty, and highly exasperated by the deceit she had employed to
conceal it, till concealment was no longer necessary. He had been
deceived in an affair, wherein he meant to be the deceiver; out-witted
by the superior cunning of a woman, whose understanding he despised,
and to whom he had sacrificed his pride and his liberty, without saving
himself from the ruin, which had impended over his head. Madame Montoni
had contrived to have the greatest part of what she really did possess,
settled upon herself: what remained, though it was totally inadequate
both to her husband’s expectations, and to his necessities, he had
converted into money, and brought with him to Venice, that he might a
little longer delude society, and make a last effort to regain the
fortunes he had lost. The hints which had been thrown out to Valancourt, concerning Montoni’s
character and condition, were too true; but it was now left to time and
occasion, to unfold the circumstances, both of what had, and of what
had not been hinted, and to time and occasion we commit them. Madame Montoni was not of a nature to bear injuries with meekness, or
to resent them with dignity: her exasperated pride displayed itself in
all the violence and acrimony of a little, or at least of an
ill-regulated mind. She would not acknowledge, even to herself, that
she had in any degree provoked contempt by her duplicity, but weakly
persisted in believing, that she alone was to be pitied, and Montoni
alone to be censured; for, as her mind had naturally little perception
of moral obligation, she seldom understood its force but when it
happened to be violated towards herself: her vanity had already been
severely shocked by a discovery of Montoni’s contempt; it remained to
be farther reproved by a discovery of his circumstances. His mansion at
Venice, though its furniture discovered a part of the truth to
unprejudiced persons, told nothing to those who were blinded by a
resolution to believe whatever they wished. Madame Montoni still
thought herself little less than a princess, possessing a palace at
Venice, and a castle among the Apennines. To the castle di Udolpho,
indeed, Montoni sometimes talked of going for a few weeks to examine
into its condition, and to receive some rents; for it appeared that he
had not been there for two years, and that, during this period, it had
been inhabited only by an old servant, whom he called his steward. Emily listened to the mention of this journey with pleasure, for she
not only expected from it new ideas, but a release from the persevering
assiduities of Count Morano. In the country, too, she would have
leisure to think of Valancourt, and to indulge the melancholy, which
his image, and a recollection of the scenes of La Vallée, always
blessed with the memory of her parents, awakened. The ideal scenes were
dearer, and more soothing to her heart, than all the splendour of gay
assemblies; they were a kind of talisman that expelled the poison of
temporary evils, and supported her hopes of happy days: they appeared
like a beautiful landscape, lighted up by a gleam of sunshine, and seen
through a perspective of dark and rugged rocks. But Count Morano did not long confine himself to silent assiduities; he
declared his passion to Emily, and made proposals to Montoni, who
encouraged, though Emily rejected, him: with Montoni for his friend,
and an abundance of vanity to delude him, he did not despair of
success. Emily was astonished and highly disgusted at his perseverance,
after she had explained her sentiments with a frankness that would not
allow him to misunderstand them. He now passed the greater part of his time at Montoni’s, dining there
almost daily, and attending Madame and Emily wherever they went; and
all this, notwithstanding the uniform reserve of Emily, whose aunt
seemed as anxious as Montoni to promote this marriage; and would never
dispense with her attendance at any assembly where the Count proposed
to be present. Montoni now said nothing of his intended journey, of which Emily waited
impatiently to hear; and he was seldom at home but when the Count, or
Signor Orsino, was there, for between himself and Cavigni a coolness
seemed to subsist, though the latter remained in his house. With
Orsino, Montoni was frequently closeted for hours together, and,
whatever might be the business, upon which they consulted, it appeared
to be of consequence, since Montoni often sacrificed to it his
favourite passion for play, and remained at home the whole night.