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Contents ( 132)
  1. THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO
  2. * * *
  3. ANN RADCLIFFE
  4. *
  5. Contents
  6. *
  7. *
  8. VOLUME 1
  9. *
  10. Chapter I
  11. *
  12. Chapter II
  13. *
  14. Chapter III
  15. *
  16. Chapter IV
  17. *
  18. Chapter V
  19. *
  20. Chapter VI
  21. *
  22. Chapter VII
  23. *
  24. Chapter VIII
  25. *
  26. Chapter IX
  27. *
  28. Chapter X
  29. *
  30. Chapter XI
  31. *
  32. Chapter XII
  33. *
  34. Chapter XIII
  35. *
  36. VOLUME 2
  37. *
  38. Chapter I
  39. *
  40. Chapter II
  41. *
  42. Chapter III
  43. *
  44. Chapter IV
  45. *
  46. Chapter V
  47. *
  48. Chapter VI
  49. *
  50. Chapter VII
  51. *
  52. Chapter VIII
  53. *
  54. Chapter IX
  55. *
  56. Chapter X
  57. *
  58. Chapter XI
  59. *
  60. Chapter XII
  61. *
  62. VOLUME 3
  63. *
  64. Chapter I
  65. *
  66. Chapter II
  67. *
  68. Chapter III
  69. *
  70. Chapter IV
  71. *
  72. Chapter V
  73. *
  74. Chapter VI
  75. *
  76. Chapter VII
  77. *
  78. Chapter VIII
  79. *
  80. Chapter IV
  81. *
  82. Chapter X
  83. *
  84. Chapter XI
  85. *
  86. Chapter XII
  87. *
  88. Chapter XIII
  89. *
  90. VOLUME 4
  91. *
  92. Chapter I
  93. *
  94. Chapter II
  95. *
  96. Chapter III
  97. *
  98. Chapter IV
  99. *
  100. Chapter V
  101. *
  102. Chapter VI
  103. *
  104. Chapter VII
  105. *
  106. Chapter VIII
  107. *
  108. Chapter IV
  109. *
  110. Chapter X
  111. *
  112. Chapter XI
  113. *
  114. Chapter XII
  115. *
  116. Chapter XIII
  117. *
  118. Chapter XIV
  119. *
  120. Chapter XV
  121. *
  122. Chapter XVI
  123. *
  124. Chapter XVII
  125. *
  126. Chapter XVIII
  127. *
  128. Chapter XIX
  129. *
  130. * * *
  131. Endnotes
  132. *

When the service was ended, and the servants were withdrawn, he tenderly kissed Emily, and said, 'I have endeavoured to teach you, from your earliest youth, the duty of self-command; I have pointed out to you the great importance of it through life, not only as it preserves us in the various and dangerous temptations that call us from rectitude and virtue, but as it limits the indulgences which are termed virtuous, yet which, extended beyond a certain boundary, are vicious, for their consequence is evil. All excess is vicious; even that sorrow, which is amiable in its origin, becomes a selfish and unjust passion, if indulged at the expence of our duties—by our duties I mean what we owe to ourselves, as well as to others. The indulgence of excessive grief enervates the mind, and almost incapacitates it for again partaking of those various innocent enjoyments which a benevolent God designed to be the sun-shine of our lives. My dear Emily, recollect and practise the precepts I have so often given you, and which your own experience has so often shewn you to be wise.

'Your sorrow is useless. Do not receive this as merely a commonplace remark, but let reason THEREFORE restrain sorrow. I would not annihilate your feelings, my child, I would only teach you to command them; for whatever may be the evils resulting from a too susceptible heart, nothing can be hoped from an insensible one; that, on the other hand, is all vice—vice, of which the deformity is not softened, or the effect consoled for, by any semblance or possibility of good. You know my sufferings, and are, therefore, convinced that mine are not the light words which, on these occasions, are so often repeated to destroy even the sources of honest emotion, or which merely display the selfish ostentation of a false philosophy. I will shew my Emily, that I can practise what I advise. I have said thus much, because I cannot bear to see you wasting in useless sorrow, for want of that resistance which is due from mind; and I have not said it till now, because there is a period when all reasoning must yield to nature; that is past: and another, when excessive indulgence, having sunk into habit, weighs down the elasticity of the spirits so as to render conquest nearly impossible; this is to come. You, my Emily, will shew that you are willing to avoid it.'

Emily smiled through her tears upon her father: 'Dear sir,' said she, and her voice trembled; she would have added, 'I will shew myself worthy of being your daughter;' but a mingled emotion of gratitude, affection, and grief overcame her. St. Aubert suffered her to weep without interruption, and then began to talk on common topics.

The first person who came to condole with St. Aubert was a M. Barreaux, an austere and seemingly unfeeling man. A taste for botany had introduced them to each other, for they had frequently met in their wanderings among the mountains. M. Barreaux had retired from the world, and almost from society, to live in a pleasant chateau, on the skirts of the woods, near La Vallee. He also had been disappointed in his opinion of mankind; but he did not, like St. Aubert, pity and mourn for them; he felt more indignation at their vices, than compassion for their weaknesses.