“May many blissful days and years be thine, fair girl,” said the countess in her deep tones, as she swept her majestic form toward me, and clasped me in her arms; “may you love each other, and in that love be happy.”
Monsieur Belmont conducted me to the carriage, which was to bear me away to my future home, in a valley, amid the cloud-capt Appenines. Immediately on arrival there, I promised to write to him, and regularly maintain a correspondence. My husband, (how strange the word sounded to my ears,) joined me, and I was whirled away from the scene of my short-lived, yet brilliant triumphs.
Our journey to his mountain home occupied two days; and during the time my husband exhibited a frenzy of emotion, which terrified more than it pleased me. But the ways and loves of men were then Isiac mysteries to me, and you know their translation of the word love, is rendered differently to ours.
On the evening of the second day of our travel, he told me we were approaching the “Chateau of the Ravine,” for that was the traditionary name of the castle. The scenery was sublime, and lost in contemplation and thought, reposing my head on his shoulder, I silently admired it.
Stupendous rocks, rising perpendicularly in the air, to an immense height, faced the smooth road on either side for some distance; as these declined away, a broad vista of the dark blue mountains far in distance, and a beautiful level plain, such as I had seen when first I came to Naples, met my gaze. Like a panorama these swiftly disappeared, and we entered on a broken chain of the Appenines themselves; the carriage slowly wound round and round the upward ascent of the rocky pass, barely wide enough to allow the vehicle room to roll along; then we descended as rapidly as we had come up, and thus continued on for some miles, when the ridge of mountains suddenly terminated, and I looked down from the great height on which we stood, and beheld at my feet the ravine, and in the midst of it, presenting an imposing appearance of grandeur and decay, the chateau. It had been built, my husband said, in the ancient times of feudal splendor, but its successive possessors, either for want of means or inclination, had suffered it to moulder away, as time, year after year, diminished its magnificence. He said he intended refitting it, and renovating the antique style, and I was pleased to hear the promise that so fine a structure should be rescued from decay.
A few minutes brought us to the gates, which were thrown wide open to receive us, and the carriage rumbled into the great court-yard. M. de Serval alighted, lifted me out, and leaning on his arm, I ascended a marble staircase, and entered a pretty salon, tastefully furnished, where I sat down, quite wearied by fatigue. He left the room for a moment, to order lights and supper to be prepared, for twilight was stealing over us, and leaning back on the couch, I languidly closed my eyes, and was almost dropt asleep, when a heavy footstep startled me; looking up, I saw standing before me, and fixedly looking at me, an old woman; there was nothing strange in the simple fact of her being old, for old women are plentiful as stars; but this one was peculiarly singular in appearance; she wore a scarlet woollen petticoat, black stockings, and a little cap of green; her long, thick, and coarse black hair, fell below her waist in tangled braids; her eyes were piercing in expression, and they seemed to sparkle and glance fire as she fixedly stared at me. She appeared to be beating time to her own thoughts, for she repeatedly struck her breast with her right hand. Perceiving that I saw her, she curtesied, and in a lofty tone said,
“Welcome to your home, fair mistress; welcome to the ‘Chateau of the Ravine.’
“Do you belong to the household of Monsieur de Serval?” I asked, strangely impressed by her manner and appearance.
“Yes, madame: I came here a long time ago, in the service of the first lady.”
“The first lady! who was she?”