Emily impatiently received the miniature, which her eyes had scarcely
glanced upon, before her trembling hands had nearly suffered it to
fall--it was the resemblance of the portrait of Signora Laurentini,
which she had formerly seen in the castle of Udolpho--the lady, who
had disappeared in so mysterious a manner, and whom Montoni had been
suspected of having caused to be murdered.
In silent astonishment, Emily continued to gaze alternately upon the
picture and the dying nun, endeavouring to trace a resemblance between
them, which no longer existed.
'Why do you look so sternly on me?' said Agnes, mistaking the nature of
Emily's emotion. 'I have seen this face before,' said Emily, at length; 'was it really
your resemblance?' 'You may well ask that question,' replied the nun,--'but it was once
esteemed a striking likeness of me. Look at me well, and see what guilt
has made me. I then was innocent; the evil passions of my nature slept.
Sister!' added she solemnly, and stretching forth her cold, damp hand
to Emily, who shuddered at its touch--'Sister! beware of the first
indulgence of the passions; beware of the first! Their course, if not
checked then, is rapid--their force is uncontroulable--they lead us we
know not whither--they lead us perhaps to the commission of crimes, for
which whole years of prayer and penitence cannot atone!--Such may be the
force of even a single passion, that it overcomes every other, and sears
up every other approach to the heart. Possessing us like a fiend, it
leads us on to the acts of a fiend, making us insensible to pity and
to conscience.
And, when its purpose is accomplished, like a fiend,
it leaves us to the torture of those feelings, which its power had
suspended--not annihilated,--to the tortures of compassion, remorse, and
conscience.
Then, we awaken as from a dream, and perceive a new
world around us--we gaze in astonishment, and horror--but the deed
is committed; not all the powers of heaven and earth united can
undo it--and the spectres of conscience will not fly! What are
riches--grandeur--health itself, to the luxury of a pure conscience, the
health of the soul;--and what the sufferings of poverty, disappointment,
despair--to the anguish of an afflicted one! O! how long is it since
I knew that luxury! I believed, that I had suffered the most agonizing
pangs of human nature, in love, jealousy, and despair--but these pangs
were ease, compared with the stings of conscience, which I have since
endured.
I tasted too what was called the sweet of revenge--but it was
transient, it expired even with the object, that provoked it. Remember,
sister, that the passions are the seeds of vices as well as of virtues,
from which either may spring, accordingly as they are nurtured. Unhappy
they who have never been taught the art to govern them!'