The Romance of the Forest | Page 7

of Fontanville, and
reach the town on its opposite borders, before night fall. Having
deposited a fresh stock of provisions in the carriage, and received such

directions as were necessary concerning the roads, they again set
forward, and in a short time entered upon the forest. It was now the
latter end of April, and the weather was remarkably temperate and fine.
The balmy freshness of the air, which breathed the first pure essence of
vegetation; and the gentle warmth of the sun, whose beams vivified
every hue of nature, and opened every floweret of spring, revived
Adeline, and inspired her with life and health. As she inhaled the
breeze, her strength seemed to return, and, as her eyes wandered
through the romantic glades that opened into the forest, her heart was
gladdened with complacent delight: but when from these objects she
turned her regard upon Monsieur and Madame La Motte, to whose
tender attentions she owed her life, and in whose looks she now read
esteem and kindness, her bosom glowed with sweet affections, and she
experienced a force of gratitude which might be called sublime.
For the remainder of the day they continued to travel, without seeing a
hut, or meeting a human being. It was now near sun-set, and, the
prospect being closed on all sides by the forest, La Motte began to have
apprehensions that his servant had mistaken the way. The road, if a
road it could be called, which afforded only a slight track upon the
grass, was sometimes over-run by luxuriant vegetation, and sometimes
obscured by the deep shades, and Peter at length stopped uncertain of
the way. La Motte, who dreaded being benighted in a scene so wild and
solitary as this forest, and whose apprehensions of banditti were very
sanguine, ordered him to proceed at any rate, and, if he found no track,
to endeavour to gain a more open part of the forest. With these orders,
Peter again set forwards, but having proceeded some way, and his
views being still confined by woody glades and forest walks, he began
to despair of extricating himself, and stopped for further orders. The
sun was now set, but, as La Motte looked anxiously from the window,
he observed upon the vivid glow of the western horison, some dark
towers rising from among the trees at a little distance, and ordered Peter
to drive towards them. "If they belong to a monastery," said he, "we
may probably gain admittance for the night."
The carriage drove along under the shade of "melancholy boughs,"
through which the evening twilight, which yet coloured the air, diffused

a solemnity that vibrated in thrilling sensations upon the hearts of the
travellers. Expectation kept them silent. The present scene recalled to
Adeline a remembrance of the late terrific circumstances, and her mind
responded but too easily to the apprehension of new misfortunes. La
Motte alighted at the foot of a green knoll, where the trees again
opening to light, permitted a nearer, though imperfect, view of the
edifice.

CHAPTER 2
"How these antique towers and vacant courts
Chill the suspended soul! Till expectation
Wears the face of fear: and fear, half ready
To become devotion, mutters a kind
Of mental orison, it knows not wherefore.
What a kind of being is circumstance!"
Horace Walpole.
He approached, and perceived the Gothic remains of an abbey: it stood
on a kind of rude lawn, overshadowed by high and spreading trees,
which seemed coeval with the building, and diffused a romantic gloom
around. The greater part of the pile appeared to be sinking into ruins,
and that, which had withstood the ravages of time, shewed the
remaining features of the fabric more awful in decay. The lofty
battlements, thickly enwreathed with ivy, were half demolished, and
become the residence of birds of prey. Huge fragments of the eastern
tower, which was almost demolished, lay scattered amid the high grass,
that waved slowly to the breeze. "The thistle shook its lonely head; the
moss whistled to the wind." A Gothic gate, richly ornamented with
fret-work, which opened into the main body of the edifice, but which

was now obstructed with brush-wood, remained entire. Above the vast
and magnificent portal of this gate arose a window of the same order,
whose pointed arches still exhibited fragments of stained glass, once
the pride of monkish devotion. La Motte, thinking it possible it might
yet shelter some human being, advanced to the gate and lifted a massy
knocker. The hollow sounds rung through the emptiness of the place.
After waiting a few minutes, he forced back the gate, which was heavy
with iron work, and creaked harshly on its hinges.
He entered what appeared to have been the chapel of the abbey, where
the hymn of devotion had once