“It seemed to be a
vesper-hymn, which I have often heard in my convent,” said Blanche. “We are near the monastery, then,” observed the Count; and, the boat
soon after doubling a lofty head-land, the monastery of St. Claire
appeared, seated near the margin of the sea, where the cliffs, suddenly
sinking, formed a low shore within a small bay, almost encircled with
woods, among which partial features of the edifice were seen;—the great
gate and gothic window of the hall, the cloisters and the side of a
chapel more remote; while a venerable arch, which had once led to a
part of the fabric, now demolished, stood a majestic ruin detached from
the main building, beyond which appeared a grand perspective of the
woods. On the grey walls, the moss had fastened, and, round the pointed
windows of the chapel, the ivy and the briony hung in many a fantastic
wreath. All without was silent and forsaken; but, while Blanche gazed with
admiration on this venerable pile, whose effect was heightened by the
strong lights and shadows thrown athwart it by a cloudy sunset, a sound
of many voices, slowly chanting, arose from within. The Count bade his
men rest on their oars. The monks were singing the hymn of vespers, and
some female voices mingled with the strain, which rose by soft degrees,
till the high organ and the choral sounds swelled into full and solemn
harmony. The strain, soon after, dropped into sudden silence, and was
renewed in a low and still more solemn key, till, at length, the holy
chorus died away, and was heard no more.—Blanche sighed, tears trembled
in her eyes, and her thoughts seemed wafted with the sounds to heaven. While a rapt stillness prevailed in the boat, a train of friars, and
then of nuns, veiled in white, issued from the cloisters, and passed,
under the shade of the woods, to the main body of the edifice. The Countess was the first of her party to awaken from this pause of
silence. “These dismal hymns and friars make one quite melancholy,” said she;
“twilight is coming on; pray let us return, or it will be dark before
we get home.”

The count, looking up, now perceived, that the twilight of evening was
anticipated by an approaching storm. In the east a tempest was
collecting; a heavy gloom came on, opposing and contrasting the glowing
splendour of the setting sun. The clamorous sea-fowl skimmed in fleet
circles upon the surface of the sea, dipping their light pinions in the
wave, as they fled away in search of shelter. The boatmen pulled hard
at their oars; but the thunder, that now muttered at a distance, and
the heavy drops, that began to dimple the water, made the Count
determine to put back to the monastery for shelter, and the course of
the boat was immediately changed. As the clouds approached the west,
their lurid darkness changed to a deep ruddy glow, which, by
reflection, seemed to fire the tops of the woods and the shattered
towers of the monastery. The appearance of the heavens alarmed the Countess and Mademoiselle
Bearn, whose expressions of apprehension distressed the Count, and
perplexed his men; while Blanche continued silent, now agitated with
fear, and now with admiration, as she viewed the grandeur of the
clouds, and their effect on the scenery, and listened to the long, long
peals of thunder, that rolled through the air. The boat having reached the lawn before the monastery, the Count sent a
servant to announce his arrival, and to entreat shelter of the
Superior, who, soon after, appeared at the great gate, attended by
several monks, while the servant returned with a message, expressive at
once of hospitality and pride, but of pride disguised in submission. The party immediately disembarked, and, having hastily crossed the
lawn—for the shower was now heavy—were received at the gate by the
Superior, who, as they entered, stretched forth his hands and gave his
blessing; and they passed into the great hall, where the lady abbess
waited, attended by several nuns, clothed, like herself, in black, and
veiled in white. The veil of the abbess was, however, thrown half back,
and discovered a countenance, whose chaste dignity was sweetened by the
smile of welcome, with which she addressed the Countess, whom she led,
with Blanche and Mademoiselle Bearn, into the convent parlour, while
the Count and Henri were conducted by the Superior to the refectory. The Countess, fatigued and discontented, received the politeness of the
abbess with careless haughtiness, and had followed her, with indolent
steps, to the parlour, over which the painted casements and wainscot of
larch-wood threw, at all times, a melancholy shade, and where the gloom
of evening now loured almost to darkness. While the lady abbess ordered refreshment, and conversed with the
Countess, Blanche withdrew to a window, the lower panes of which, being
without painting, allowed her to observe the progress of the storm over
the Mediterranean, whose dark waves, that had so lately slept, now came
boldly swelling, in long succession, to the shore, where they burst in
white foam, and threw up a high spray over the rocks. A red sulphureous
tint overspread the long line of clouds, that hung above the western
horizon, beneath whose dark skirts the sun looking out, illumined the
distant shores of Languedoc, as well as the tufted summits of the
nearer woods, and shed a partial gleam on the western waves. The rest
of the scene was in deep gloom, except where a sunbeam, darting between
the clouds, glanced on the white wings of the sea-fowl, that circled
high among them, or touched the swelling sail of a vessel, which was
seen labouring in the storm. Blanche, for some time, anxiously watched
the progress of the bark, as it threw the waves in foam around it, and,
as the lightnings flashed, looked to the opening heavens, with many a
sigh for the fate of the poor mariners. The sun, at length, set, and the heavy clouds, which had long impended,
dropped over the splendour of his course; the vessel, however, was yet
dimly seen, and Blanche continued to observe it, till the quick
succession of flashes, lighting up the gloom of the whole horizon,
warned her to retire from the window, and she joined the Abbess, who,
having exhausted all her topics of conversation with the Countess, had
now leisure to notice her. But their discourse was interrupted by tremendous peals of thunder; and
the bell of the monastery soon after ringing out, summoned the
inhabitants to prayer. As Blanche passed the window, she gave another
look to the ocean, where, by the momentary flash, that illumined the
vast body of the waters, she distinguished the vessel she had observed
before, amidst a sea of foam, breaking the billows, the mast now bowing
to the waves, and then rising high in air. She sighed fervently as she gazed, and then followed the Lady Abbess
and the Countess to the chapel.