The present Countess, who had neither sufficient ability, nor
inclination, to superintend the education of her daughter-in-law, had
advised this step, and the dread of superior beauty had since urged her
to employ every art, that might prevail on the Count to prolong the
period of Blanche’s seclusion; it was, therefore, with extreme
mortification, that she now understood he would no longer submit on
this subject, yet it afforded her some consolation to consider, that,
though the Lady Blanche would emerge from her convent, the shades of
the country would, for some time, veil her beauty from the public eye. On the morning, which commenced the journey, the postillions stopped at
the convent, by the Count’s order, to take up Blanche, whose heart beat
with delight, at the prospect of novelty and freedom now before her. As
the time of her departure drew nigh, her impatience had increased, and
the last night, during which she counted every note of every hour, had
appeared the most tedious of any she had ever known. The morning light,
at length, dawned; the matin-bell rang; she heard the nuns descending
from their chambers, and she started from a sleepless pillow to welcome
the day, which was to emancipate her from the severities of a cloister,
and introduce her to a world, where pleasure was ever smiling, and
goodness ever blessed—where, in short, nothing but pleasure and
goodness reigned! When the bell of the great gate rang, and the sound
was followed by that of carriage wheels, she ran, with a palpitating
heart, to her lattice, and, perceiving her father’s carriage in the
court below, danced, with airy steps, along the gallery, where she was
met by a nun with a summons from the abbess. In the next moment, she
was in the parlour, and in the presence of the Countess who now
appeared to her as an angel, that was to lead her into happiness. But
the emotions of the Countess, on beholding her, were not in unison with
those of Blanche, who had never appeared so lovely as at this moment,
when her countenance, animated by the lightning smile of joy, glowed
with the beauty of happy innocence. After conversing for a few minutes with the abbess, the Countess rose
to go. This was the moment, which Blanche had anticipated with such
eager expectation, the summit from which she looked down upon the
fairy-land of happiness, and surveyed all its enchantment; was it a
moment, then, for tears of regret? Yet it was so. She turned, with an
altered and dejected countenance, to her young companions, who were
come to bid her farewell, and wept! Even my lady abbess, so stately and
so solemn, she saluted with a degree of sorrow, which, an hour before,
she would have believed it impossible to feel, and which may be
accounted for by considering how reluctantly we all part, even with
unpleasing objects, when the separation is consciously for ever. Again,
she kissed the poor nuns and then followed the Countess from that spot
with tears, which she expected to leave only with smiles. But the presence of her father and the variety of objects, on the road,
soon engaged her attention, and dissipated the shade, which tender
regret had thrown upon her spirits. Inattentive to a conversation,
which was passing between the Countess and a Mademoiselle Bearn, her
friend, Blanche sat, lost in pleasing reverie, as she watched the
clouds floating silently along the blue expanse, now veiling the sun
and stretching their shadows along the distant scene, and then
disclosing all his brightness. The journey continued to give Blanche
inexpressible delight, for new scenes of nature were every instant
opening to her view, and her fancy became stored with gay and beautiful
imagery. It was on the evening of the seventh day, that the travellers came
within view of Château-le-Blanc, the romantic beauty of whose situation
strongly impressed the imagination of Blanche, who observed, with
sublime astonishment, the Pyrenean mountains, which had been seen only
at a distance during the day, now rising within a few leagues, with
their wild cliffs and immense precipices, which the evening clouds,
floating round them, now disclosed, and again veiled. The setting rays,
that tinged their snowy summits with a roseate hue, touched their lower
points with various colouring, while the bluish tint, that pervaded
their shadowy recesses, gave the strength of contrast to the splendour
of light. The plains of Languedoc, blushing with the purple vine and
diversified with groves of mulberry, almond and olives, spread far to
the north and the east; to the south, appeared the Mediterranean, clear
as crystal, and blue as the heavens it reflected, bearing on its bosom
vessels, whose white sails caught the sunbeams, and gave animation to
the scene. On a high promontory, washed by the waters of the
Mediterranean, stood her father’s mansion, almost secluded from the eye
by woods of intermingled pine, oak and chesnut, which crowned the
eminence, and sloped towards the plains, on one side; while, on the
other, they extended to a considerable distance along the sea-shores. As Blanche drew nearer, the gothic features of this ancient mansion
successively appeared—first an embattled turret, rising above the
trees—then the broken arch of an immense gateway, retiring beyond them;
and she almost fancied herself approaching a castle, such as is often
celebrated in early story, where the knights look out from the
battlements on some champion below, who, clothed in black armour,
comes, with his companions, to rescue the fair lady of his love from
the oppression of his rival; a sort of legends, to which she had once
or twice obtained access in the library of her convent, that, like many
others, belonging to the monks, was stored with these reliques of
romantic fiction. The carriages stopped at a gate, which led into the domain of the
château, but which was now fastened; and the great bell, that had
formerly served to announce the arrival of strangers, having long since
fallen from its station, a servant climbed over a ruined part of the
adjoining wall, to give notice to those within of the arrival of their
lord. As Blanche leaned from the coach window, she resigned herself to the
sweet and gentle emotions, which the hour and the scenery awakened. The
sun had now left the earth, and twilight began to darken the mountains;
while the distant waters, reflecting the blush that still glowed in the
west, appeared like a line of light, skirting the horizon. The low
murmur of waves, breaking on the shore, came in the breeze, and, now
and then, the melancholy dashing of oars was feebly heard from a
distance. She was suffered to indulge her pensive mood, for the
thoughts of the rest of the party were silently engaged upon the
subjects of their several interests.