<h3> CHAPTER VII </h3>
<p>Towards the close of day Madame de Menon arrived at a small village
situated among the mountains, where she purposed to pass the night.
The evening was remarkably fine, and the romantic beauty of the
surrounding scenery invited her to walk. She followed the windings of
a stream, which was lost at some distance amongst luxuriant groves of
chesnut. The rich colouring of evening glowed through the dark
foliage, which spreading a pensive gloom around, offered a scene
congenial to the present temper of her mind, and she entered the
shades. Her thoughts, affected by the surrounding objects, gradually
sunk into a pleasing and complacent melancholy, and she was insensibly
led on. She still followed the course of the stream to where the deep
shades retired, and the scene again opening to day, yielded to her a
view so various and sublime, that she paused in thrilling and
delightful wonder. A group of wild and grotesque rocks rose in a
semicircular form, and their fantastic shapes exhibited Nature in her
most sublime and striking attitudes. Here her vast magnificence
elevated the mind of the beholder to enthusiasm. Fancy caught the
thrilling sensation, and at her touch the towering steeps became
shaded with unreal glooms; the caves more darkly frowned—the
projecting cliffs assumed a more terrific aspect, and the wild
overhanging shrubs waved to the gale in deeper murmurs. The scene
inspired madame with reverential awe, and her thoughts involuntarily
rose, 'from Nature up to Nature's God.' The last dying gleams of day
tinted the rocks and shone upon the waters, which retired through a
rugged channel and were lost afar among the receding cliffs. While she
listened to their distant murmur, a voice of liquid and melodious
sweetness arose from among the rocks; it sung an air, whose melancholy
expression awakened all her attention, and captivated her heart. The
tones swelled and died faintly away among the clear, yet languishing
echoes which the rocks repeated with an effect like that of
enchantment. Madame looked around in search of the sweet warbler, and
observed at some distance a peasant girl seated on a small projection
of the rock, overshadowed by drooping sycamores. She moved slowly
towards the spot, which she had almost reached, when the sound of her
steps startled and silenced the syren, who, on perceiving a stranger,
arose in an attitude to depart. The voice of madame arrested her, and
she approached. Language cannot paint the sensation of madame, when in
the disguise of a peasant girl, she distinguished the features of
Julia, whose eyes lighted up with sudden recollection, and who sunk
into her arms overcome with joy. When their first emotions were
subsided, and Julia had received answers to her enquiries concerning
Ferdinand and Emilia, she led madame to the place of her concealment.
This was a solitary cottage, in a close valley surrounded by
mountains, whose cliffs appeared wholly inaccessible to mortal foot.
The deep solitude of the scene dissipated at once madame's wonder that
Julia had so long remained undiscovered, and excited surprize how she
had been able to explore a spot thus deeply sequestered; but madame
observed with extreme concern, that the countenance of Julia no longer
wore the smile of health and gaiety. Her fine features had received
the impressions not only of melancholy, but of grief. Madame sighed as
she gazed, and read too plainly the cause of the change. Julia
understood that sigh, and answered it with her tears. She pressed the
hand of madame in mournful silence to her lips, and her cheeks were
suffused with a crimson glow. At length, recovering herself, 'I have
much, my dear madam, to tell,' said she, 'and much to explain, 'ere
you will admit me again to that esteem of which I was once so justly
proud. I had no resource from misery, but in flight; and of that I
could not make you a confidant, without meanly involving you in its
disgrace.'—'Say no more, my love, on the subject,' replied madame;
'with respect to myself, I admired your conduct, and felt severely for
your situation. Rather let me hear by what means you effected your
escape, and what has since be fallen you.'—Julia paused a moment, as
if to stifle her rising emotion, and then commenced her narrative.</p>
<p>'You are already acquainted with the secret of that night, so fatal to
my peace. I recall the remembrance of it with an anguish which I
cannot conceal; and why should I wish its concealment, since I mourn
for one, whose noble qualities justified all my admiration, and
deserved more than my feeble praise can bestow; the idea of whom will
be the last to linger in my mind till death shuts up this painful
scene.' Her voice trembled, and she paused. After a few moments she
resumed her tale. 'I will spare myself the pain of recurring to scenes
with which you are not unacquainted, and proceed to those which more
immediately attract your interest. Caterina, my faithful servant, you
know, attended me in my confinement; to her kindness I owe my escape.
She obtained from her lover, a servant in the castle, that assistance
which gave me liberty. One night when Carlo, who had been appointed my
guard, was asleep, Nicolo crept into his chamber, and stole from him
the keys of my prison. He had previously procured a ladder of ropes.
O! I can never forget my emotions, when in the dead hour of that
night, which was meant to precede the day of my sacrifice, I heard the
door of my prison unlock, and found myself half at liberty! My
trembling limbs with difficulty supported me as I followed Caterina to
the saloon, the windows of which being low and near to the terrace,
suited our purpose. To the terrace we easily got, where Nicolo
awaited us with the rope-ladder. He fastened it to the ground; and
having climbed to the top of the parapet, quickly slided down on the
other side. There he held it, while we ascended and descended; and I
soon breathed the air of freedom again. But the apprehension of being
retaken was still too powerful to permit a full enjoyment of my
escape. It was my plan to proceed to the place of my faithful
Caterina's nativity, where she had assured me I might find a safe
asylum in the cottage of her parents, from whom, as they had never
seen me, I might conceal my birth. This place, she said, was entirely
unknown to the marquis, who had hired her at Naples only a few months
before, without any enquiries concerning her family. She had informed
me that the village was many leagues distant from the castle, but that
she was very well acquainted with the road. At the foot of the walls
we left Nicolo, who returned to the castle to prevent suspicion, but
with an intention to leave it at a less dangerous time, and repair to
Farrini to his good Caterina. I parted from him with many thanks, and
gave him a small diamond cross, which, for that purpose, I had taken
from the jewels sent to me for wedding ornaments.'</p>
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