CHAPTER IV.The Naiad.
I had hardly imparted this hope of success, when I was terrified at having entertained it myself, but I could not now withdraw. My beautiful client overwhelmed me with questions.
“Well, madame,” said I, “the means must be found of making the oracle speak, without my acting the part of an imposter; but you must furnish me with certain details which I lack, concerning the apparition, whose theatre of action as they affirm is this castle.”
“Will you look over the old papers from which I made my extracts?” cried she joyfully. “I have them here.” She opened a piece of furniture of which she had the key, and showed me quite a long account, with commentaries written at different epochs by different chroniclers attached to the chapel of the castle, or to the chapter of a neighboring convent that had been secularized under the last reign.
As I was in no hurry to undertake an engagement which would have abridged the time accorded to my mission I put off reading this fantastical bundle of papers until evening, and allowed myself to be chastely cajoled by my enchantress. It seemed to me that she was exercising a delicate coquetry, whether it was thatshe clung to her ideas to the extent of compromising herself a little in order to triumph eventually, whether my resistance excited her legitimate pride of an irresistible woman, or whether, in fine, and I dwelt with delight on this last supposition, she was animated by a particular regard for me.
She was forced to leave me, other visitors were arriving. There was company at dinner; she presented me to her noble neighbors with marked distinction, and showed me more consideration before them, than I had perhaps any right to expect. Some appeared to think that I was receiving more than my position entitled me to, and tried to make her so understand it. She proved that she feared no criticism, and showed so much courage in sustaining me that I began to lose my head.
When we were alone together, Madame d’Ionis asked me what I intended doing with the manuscripts relative to the apparition of the three green ladies? I was over excited, it seemed as if she really loved me and that I had now no occasion to fear her raillery. I then recounted ingenuously, the vision I had seen, and the one similar to it, that the abbé Lamyre had related to me.
“So I am forced to believe,” I added, “that conditions of the soul exist in which, equally without fear, charlatanism or supposition, certain ideas assume images which deceive our senses, and I wish to study these phenomena, that I have already witnessed, under the simple or sage conditions which have produced them. I do not conceal from you, that contrary to my habits of mind, far from guarding myself from the charm of these illusions, I will do everything in mypower to yield my intellect up to them. And should I in this poetical disposition of mind, succeed in seeing or hearing some ghost who commands me to obey you, I will not draw back from the oath that M. d’Ionis or his mother may require. No one can force me to swear that I believe in the revelations of spirits or in apparitions of the dead, for perhaps I may not put absolute faith in them, but in asserting that I have heard voices, since even now I can affirm that I have seen shadows, I will not be a liar, and should I be taken for a fool, what do I care as long as you do me the honor of not sharing this opinion?”
Madame d’Ionis exhibited great surprise at what I told her, and asked me many questions relative to my vision in the ladies’ room. She listened without laughing, and was even astonished at the calmness with which I had undergone this strange adventure.
“I see,” said she, “that you are very strong-minded. As to me, I confess, that in your place I would have been afraid. Before permitting you to make another attempt, swear that you will be no more affected or frightened by it than the first time.”
“I think I can promise that,” I replied. “I feel excessively calm, and should I witness any terrifying spectacle, I trust that I shall remain master of myself sufficiently to attribute it solely to my imagination.”
“Do you wish to make this extraordinary invocation to-night, then?”
“Perhaps; but I would prefer first to read all the reports concerning it, and I would also like to glance over some work on this subject, not any derogatorycritique, my doubts are sufficiently established, but one of those ancient, simple treatises where amongmany absurdities, I may chance to discover some ingenious ideas.”
“Very well, you are right,” said she, “but I do not know what work to recommend. I have never dipped into these old books; if you would like, to-morrow, to look over the library”——.
“If you will permit me, I will set about this task at once. It is only eleven o’clock, this is the time that your house subsides into silence. I will sit up in the library, and if my imagination becomes slightly excited, I will then be in a fit frame of mind to return to my room so that I may offer to the three ladies the commemorative supper which possesses the virtue of attracting them hither.”
“I will order the famous tray to be taken there then,” said Madame d’Ionis, smilingly, “and I am forcing myself to look only on the strange side of this affair, not to be too much impressed by it.”
“What, madame, you too!”
“Eh,mon Dieu,” she exclaimed, “after all, what do we know about it? We ridicule everything nowadays; are we any the wiser for it than formerly? We are weak creatures, who think ourselves strong; who knows if we do not thus render ourselves more material than God desired, and if what we take for lucidity of vision is not really blindness. Like myself, you believe in the immortality of the soul. Is an absolute separation between our own and those freed from matter so clear a thing to conceive that we can prove it?”
She talked in this fashion for several minutes with a great deal of intelligence and imagination; then left me, a little disturbed, begging me in case I shouldbecome nervous or beset by lugubrious ideas, to abandon my project. I was so happy and so touched by her solicitude, that I expressed my regret at not having a little fear to overcome so that I might better prove my zeal.
I went up stairs to my room, where Zéphyrine had already arranged the basket; Baptiste wanted to take it away.
“Leave it,” said I, “since it is the custom of the house, and go to bed, I have no more need of you than I have ever had.”
“Mon Dieu, monsieur,” said he, “if you will permit me, I will pass the night on an easy chair in your room.”
“And why, my friend?”
“Because I have heard there were ghosts here. Yes, yes, sir, I understand the servants now, they are very much afraid of these ghosts, and I who am an old soldier, I would like to show them that I am not so foolish as they are.”
I refused, however, and left him to arrange the bed, while I went down to the library, after having told him not to wait for me. I wandered through the immense hall before beginning my work, and locked myself in carefully, lest I should be disturbed by some prying or mischievous valet. I then lighted a silver candelabra with numerous branches and began to turn over the leaves of the fantastical pamphlet relative to the green ladies.
The frequent apparition of the d’Ionis demoiselles observed and reported in detail coincided in every particular with what I had seen and with what the abbé had recounted to me. But then neither he nor Ihad possessed sufficient faith, or courage to question the phantoms. Others had done so, according to the chroniclers, and it had been reserved for them to see the three maidens, no longer as greenish clouds, but in all the brilliancy of their youth and beauty, not all of them at once, but one in particular, while the others remained in the background. Then this funereal beauty answered allseriousanddecentquestions that might be asked of her. She unveiled the secrets of the past, of the present, and of the future. She gave judicious advice. She informed those who were capable of making a good use of them where treasures lay concealed. She foretold disasters that might be averted, mistakes to be repaired. She spoke in the name of God and of the angels. She was a beneficent power to those who consulted her with good and pious designs, but she invariably reproved and threatened mockers, libertines and impious people. According to the manuscript, they had been known to inflict severe punishment upon those whose intentions were wicked or fraudulent, and those who were only influenced by malice or idle curiosity might expect fearful things to befall them, such as they would have bitter cause to regret.
Without particularizing these fearful things, the manuscript furnished the formula of invocation and all the rules to be observed, with so much seriousness and such naïve good faith that I yielded myself to its influence. The apparition assumed such marvelous colors in imagination as to beguile me rather to desire than to fear it. I did not feel in the least depressed or alarmed at the idea of seeing the dead walk or of hearing them speak; on the contrary, I revelled in elysiandreams, and beheld a Beatrix arise in the rays of my empyrean.
“And why should these dreams be denied me,” I exclaimed, mentally, “since the prologue of the vision has already been vouchsafed me? My foolish fears have hitherto rendered me unworthy and incapable of believing in Swedenborgian revelations, such as superior minds credit and which I have mistakenly ridiculed. But now I will gladly renounce these old illusions, and such sentiments will surely be more healthful and agreeable to the soul of a poet than the cold denial of our age. If I pass for a madman, should I even become one, what matters it; I will have lived in an ideal sphere, and will, perhaps, be happier than all the sages of the earth combined.”
Thus I communed with myself, resting my head on my hands. It was about two o’clock in the morning and the most profound silence reigned throughout the castle and the surrounding country, when a sound of delicate and exquisite music, which seemed to proceed from the rotunda snatched me from my revery. I raised my head and pushed back the candlestick, so that I could see to whom I was indebted for this serenade, but the four candles which lighted my writing-table thoroughly, were not sufficient for me to distinguish objects at the end of the hall even, still less the rotunda beyond.
I proceeded at once towards this rotunda and being no longer dazzled by another light, I could distinguish the upper portion of the beautiful group in the fountain, fully illuminated by the moon, whose rays penetrated the arched window of the cupola. The rest of the circular hall was in shadow. In order to assuremyself that I was as much alone as I appeared to be, I drew back the bolt of the large glass door which opened on the parterre, and saw in fact that no one was there. The music had seemed to diminish and fade away in proportion to my approach, so that I now could scarcely hear it. I passed into the other gallery, and found it also deserted, but here the sounds which had so charmed me could once more be heard distinctly, and this time they seemed to proceed from the rear.
I paused without turning around, to listen to them; they were sweet and plaintive and formed a melodious combination beyond my comprehension. It was rather a succession of vague and mysterious chords, struck as if by chance and executed by instruments that I could not divine, for their tones resembled nothing that I had ever heard. The effect although pleasing was exceedingly melancholy.
I retraced my steps and convinced myself that these voices, if voices they could be called, issued decidedly from the shell of the tritons and nymphs of the fountain, increasing and diminishing in intensity as the water which now flowed in an irregular and intermittent manner, increased or decreased in the basins.
I saw nothing fantastical in this for I remembered having heard of those Italian jets, which produced hydraulic organs of a more or less successful nature, through means of air compressed by water. These sounds were sweet and very true, perhaps because they attempted no air and only sighed forth harmonious chords somewhat after the manner of eolian harps.
I also remembered that Madame d’Ionis had spoken to me of this music, telling me that it was out oforder, and that sometimes it played by itself for several minutes.
This solution did not prevent me from pursuing the course of my poetical reveries. I was grateful to this capricious fountain who reserved its music for me alone, on such a beautiful night and amid so religious a silence.
Seen thus by the light of the moon, the effect was startling, a shower of green diamonds appeared to be descending upon the fresh ferns that were planted around the border. There was something appalling in the appearance of the tritons, immovable in the midst of all this tumult, and their dying murmurs, mingled with the subdued sound of the cascades, made them seem as if in despair that their passionate souls should be chained in bodies of marble. One would have thought it a scene from Pagan life that had been suddenly petrified by the sovereign touch of the naiad.
I then remembered the species of fear that this nymph had caused me in broad daylight, with her air of proud repose in the midst of these monsters writhing beneath her feet.
Can an unemotional soul express true beauty? thought I, and should this creature of marble awake to life, despite her magnificence would she not terrify one, by that air of supreme indifference which renders her so superior to the beings of our race?
I regarded her attentively in the light of the moonbeams which bathed her white shoulders and revealed her small head set upon a firm and slender neck as upon a column. I could not distinguish her features, as she was at too great a height; but her easy attitudewas defined in brilliant lines with an incomparable grace.
This is truly, thought I, the idea I would fain picture to myself of the green lady, for surely, seen thus....
Suddenly I ceased to reason or reflect. It seemed to me that I saw the statue move.
I thought that a cloud was passing over the moon and had produced the illusion; but there was none. Only, it was not the statue that moved, it was a form that arose from behind or beside her, and which seemed exactly like her, as if an animate reflection had detached itself from this body of marble and had quitted it to approach me. For a moment I doubted the evidence of my senses, but it became so distinct, so positive, that I was soon convinced that I beheld a real being, and that I experienced no feeling of terror, nor even any very great surprise.
The living image of the naiad descended the irregular steps of the monument with a flying motion; her movements were easy and ideally graceful. She was not much taller than a real woman, although the elegance of her proportions imparted a stamp of exceptional beauty, which had intimidated me in the statue; but I no longer experienced aught of this feeling, and my admiration rose to ecstasy. I stretched out my arms to seize her, for it seemed as if she were about to rush towards me leaping over a height of from five to six feet which still separated us.
I was mistaken. She stopped on the edge of the rock and made me a sign to move back.
I obeyed mechanically and saw her seat herself upon a marble dolphin, which at once began to roar in agenuine fashion; then suddenly all these hydraulic voices increased like a tempest and formed a truly diabolical concert around her.
I began to be somewhat unnerved when a ghostly greenish light, which seemed but a more brilliant moonbeam burst from I knew not where, distinctly revealing the features of the living naiad, so like those of the statue that I had to look twice in order to assure myself that it had not quitted its rocky chair of state.
Then, no longer seeking to unravel this mystery without any desire to comprehend it, I became dumbly intoxicated with the supernatural beauty of this apparition. The effect that it produced upon me was so absolute, that I never even thought of approaching it, in order to assure myself of its immateriality, as I had done before when it had appeared in my room.
And had I entertained such an idea, which I am altogether unconscious of doing, the fear of causing it to vanish by an audacious curiosity probably withheld me.
How did it happen that I was not overcome by the desire of verifying the evidence of my senses? ’Twas in truth the influence of the sublime naiad, with clear and living eyes, beaming with a fascinating sweetness, the naiad, with undraped arms, contours of transparent flesh and supple motions resembling those of childhood. This daughter of Heaven seemed at the utmost about fifteen years old. The ensemble of her figure expressed the perfect chastity of youth, while the charm of a mature womanly soul illuminated her features.
Her peculiar attire was precisely that of the naiad; a robe or floating tunic, made of some indescribable andmarvellous tissue whose soft folds seemed wet and clinging; an exquisitely wrought diadem, and showers of pearls were entwined in her magnificent hair, with that mixture of peculiar luxury and happy caprice which characterizes the taste of the renaissance; in singular and charming contrast to the altogether simple garment, and which evinced its richness only in the easy grace of its arrangement and the minute finish of the jewels, and delicate details of the coiffure.
I could have gone on looking at her all my life, without dreaming of addressing her. I did not observe the silence that had succeeded to the roar of the fountain, I do not even know whether I stood gazing at her for a moment or for an hour. It seemed to me of a sudden—as if I had always seen her, always known her—it was, perhaps, because I was living a century in a moment’s space.
She was the first to speak. I heard but could not understand all at once, for the silvery tones of her voice, like her supernatural beauty, served to complete the illusion.
I listened as if to music, without seeking to attach any particular sense to her words.
At last I made an effort to shake off this stupor and heard her ask if I could see her. I know not what I answered, for she added:
“Under what guise dost thou behold me?”
It was only then that I remarked she addressed me as “thou.” I felt myself drawn to reply in the same fashion, for if she spoke to meen reine, I addressed her as a divinity.
“I see thee,” I replied, “as a being to whom naught upon this earth can compare.”
It seemed to me that she blushed, for my eyes were becoming accustomed to the sea-green light which inundated her figure. I beheld her, white as a lily, with the fresh tint of youth upon her cheek, a melancholy smile added to her charms.
“What do you see extraordinary in me?” said she.
“Beauty,” I replied, briefly. I was too much moved to add more.
“My beauty,” answered she, “is an effect of the imagination; for it does not exist in a form that thou canst appreciate. All that is here of me is my mind. Address me then as a soul and not as a woman. About what did you wish me to advise you?”
“I no longer remember.”
“And the cause of this forgetfulness?”
“Is thy presence.”
“Try to remember.”
“No, I do not wish to.”
“Then, adieu!”
“No, no,” I exclaimed, approaching her, as if to retain her, but I stopped short—terrified, for the light suddenly paled and the apparition seemed fading away.
“In the name of heaven, remain!” I went on, with anguish. “I am submissive, my love for you is chaste.”
“What love?” she asked, reassuming her brilliancy.
“What love? I know not. Did I speak of love? Oh, yes, I remember now. Yesterday I loved a woman and I wished to please her, to work her will at the risk of betraying my duty. If you are a pure essence, as I believe, you know everything. Must I then explain?”
“No, I know the facts that concern the posterity ofthe family whose name I bear.” “But I am no divinity, I cannot read souls, I did not know that thou lovedst.”
“I love no one. At this moment I love nothing upon earth, and I would like to die if in another state of existence I could follow you.”
“Thou talkest wildly. To be happy after death, it is necessary to have led a pure life. Thou hast a difficult duty to fulfill, and it is for this that thou hast summoned me. Perform thy duty then or thou wilt never see me more.”
“What is this duty? Speak, henceforth I will obey none but thee.”
“This duty,” answered the naiad, leaning towards me and speaking so low that I could with difficulty distinguish her voice from the fresh murmur of the waters, “is to obey thy father. And, afterwards, thou shalt tell the generous woman who wishes to sacrifice herself, that those whom she pities will always bless her, but will never accept her sacrifice. I know their thoughts, for they have summoned and consulted me. I know that they are fighting for their honor, but that they do not fear what men call poverty. For proud souls there is no such thing as poverty. Say this to the lady who will question thee to-morrow, and yield not to the love that she inspires so far as to make thee betray the religion of thy family.”
“I will obey, I swear. And, now reveal to me the secrets of eternal life. Where is your soul now? What different qualities has it acquired in this removal?”
“All that I can say is this: death does not exist—nothing dies; but things in the outer world are verydifferent from what one imagines here. I will tell thee no more. Do not question me.”
“Say at least if I shall see you in this other life.”
“I know not.”
“And in this?”
“Yes, shouldst thou prove worthy.”
“I will prove worthy. But tell me this much, since you can direct and counsel those who live in this world, can you not pity them?”
“I can.”
“And love them?”
“I love them all as brothers with whom I have lived.”
“Love one then above the others. He will perform miracles of courage and virtue if you will but interest yourself in him.”
“Let him perform these miracles and he will find me in his thoughts. Adieu!”
“Wait one moment! O heaven! One moment! It is said that you bestow a charmed ring upon those who have not offended you, as a pledge of your protection and as a means of evoking you. Is this true? And wilt you give it to me?”
“Vulgar minds alone believe in magic. Thou couldst never put faith therein, thou who speakest of eternal life and who seekest divine truth. By what means could a soul that communicates with thee without the aid of real organs bestow upon thee a material and palpable object?”
“Still I see a sparkling ring on your finger.”
“I cannot perceive what thine eyes behold. What kind of a ring dost thou see?”
“A large circle with an emerald in the form of a star, set in gold.”
“It is strange thou shouldst see that,” said she, after a moment’s silence. “The involuntary workings of the human mind and the connection of its dreams with certain past deeds, perchance, include providential mysteries. The science of these inexplicable things belongs only to the One who knows the cause and the reason for everything. The hand that thou thinkest thou dost behold exists only in thine imagination. What is left of me in the tomb would fill thee with horror; but it may be that thou seest me such as I was on earth. Tell me how I appear to thee?”
I know not what enthusiastic picture I drew of her. She seemed to listen with attention and said:
“If I resemble this statue, that should not surprise thee for I acted as its model. Thus thou bringest back to my mind the memory of what I once was, and even the jewels thou dost describe, I remember having worn. The ring thou thinkest thou dost see I lost in a room that I occupied in this chateau. It fell between two stones under the hearth. I intended to have had the stone raised on the next day, but I died that very day. Shouldst thou search for it thou mayst perchance find it. In that case, I give it to thee as a souvenir of me and of the oath thou hast sworn to obey me. Behold, the day breaks, farewell!”
This farewell caused me the most acute pain I had ever experienced and I came near rushing forward once more to seize this shadowy enchantress, for by degrees I had approached near enough to be within reach of the hem of her garment, had I dared to touch it, but I had not the courage. It is true, I had forgotten thethreats of the legend against those who attempted this profanation. I was only held back, powerless, by a superstitious respect, but a cry of despair broke from my heart and vibrated even amid the marine shells, held by the tritons of the fountain. The shadow paused as if withheld by pity.
“What more dost thou desire?” said she. “Day approaches and I cannot remain.”
“Why not, if such is thy will?”
“I am forbidden to again behold the sun of this earth. I dwell in the eternal light of a more beautiful world.”
“Take me with thee to that world. I no longer wish to live in this. I will not remain here I swear, if I must never see thee more.”
“Thou shalt see me again, have no fear,” said she. “Await till thou art worthy and until then, summon me not. I forbid thee. I will watch over thee like an invisible providence, and when thy soul is as pure as a ray of morning, I will then appear to thee, simply on the appeal of thy pious desire. Submit!”
“Submit!” repeated a solemn voice that resounded at my right. I turned and beheld one of the phantoms I had already seen in my room, at the time of the first apparition.
“Submit!” repeated a voice exactly similar, like an echo, at my left, and I beheld the second ghost.
I was not at all affected by this, although there was something terrifying in the height of these two spectres and in the deep tones of their voices. But what cared I for the terrible things I might see or hear? Nothing could snatch me from the ecstasy in which I was plunged. I did not even stop to look at these accessoryshadows; my eyes sought my celestial beauty. Alas! she had disappeared, and I no longer beheld aught save the motionless naiad of the fountain, with its passionless pose and its cold tones of marble rendered blue by the first rays of morning.
I know not what became of the sisters; I did not see them disappear. I went around and around the fountain like a madman. I thought I was sleeping and I grew bewildered in the confusion of my ideas, hoping that I would not awake.
But I remembered the promised ring, and went up to my room, where I found Baptiste, who spoke to me without my being able to gather the meaning of his words. He appeared worried, perhaps on account of my expression, but I never thought of questioning him. I looked at the hearth and soon observed two disconnected stones, which I endeavored to raise, but it was too difficult an undertaking without the necessary tools.
Baptiste probably thought me mad, and mechanically endeavoring to aid me—
“Has monsieur lost anything?” said he.
“Yes, I let one of my rings fall here yesterday.”
“A ring! Monsieur has no rings, I have never seen him wear one.”
“No matter. Let us try to find it.”
He took a knife and scraped the soft stone, to enlarge the crack, removed the ashes and powdered cement which filled it up, and while working thus to please me, he asked me what kind of a ring it was in the same tone he would have asked me what I had been dreaming about.
“It is a gold ring with a star formed of a large emerald,” I replied, with the coolness of certainty.
He no longer doubted, and detaching a rod from the window curtains, he bent it in the form of a hook and reached the ring, which he smilingly presented me. He thought without daring to say so, that it was a gift from Madame d’Ionis. As for myself, I scarcely looked at it, so sure was I that it was the same that I had seen on the finger of the ghost; it was, in fact, exactly like it. I put it on my little finger, never doubting that it belonged to the defunct demoiselle d’Ionis, or that I had seen the ghost of that marvelous beauty.
Baptiste showed a great deal of discretion in his behavior, and when he left me, made me promise to go to bed.
You can readily imagine such was far from my thoughts. I seated myself before the table, from which Baptiste had removed the famous supper of three loaves, and compelling myself to recall the details of my transporting vision, some parts of which I feared I might forget, I began to write a full account thereof, just as you have read it.
I remained in this state of agitation mingled with ecstasy, till the rising of the sun. At times I dozed a little, my elbows on the table, and thought I was again going through my dream; but it ever eluded me, and Baptiste came and dragged me from the solitude in which I would have gladly thenceforth have passed my life.
I arranged it so as to go down stairs, just as they were about to take their places at the table. I had not yet asked myself how I was to give an account of the vision; I thought of it while making believe breakfast, for I ate nothing and without feeling wearied or ill, Iexperienced an unconquerable disgust for the functions of animal life.
The dowager who did not see very well, was not aware of my trouble. I answered her usual questions with the vagueness of the preceding days, but this time without acting any comedy, and with the preoccupation of a poet when questioned stupidly on the subject of his poem, and who gives evasive and ironical replies to get rid of stultifying investigations. I do not know if Madame d’Ionis was anxious or surprised to see me thus. I did not look at her, I did not even see her. I hardly understood what she was saying to me, during the mortal constraint of this breakfast.
At last I found myself alone in the library, awaiting her as on previous days, but without any impatience whatever. Far from it, I felt a lively satisfaction in sinking into a revery. The weather was admirable; the sun kissed the trees and the blooming grounds beyond the large masses of transparent shadows that were projected by the architecture of the chateau on the nearest flowerbeds. I walked from one end of this vast hall to the other, stopping each time that I found myself before the fountain. The windows were closed and the curtains drawn on account of the heat. These curtains were of a soft shade of blue that I tried to imagine green, and in this artificial twilight which somewhat recalled that of my vision, I experienced an incredible sensation of happiness, and a species of delirious gayety.
I was talking aloud, and laughing without being aware of any cause, when I felt some one seize me rather roughly by the arm. I turned around and saw Madame d’Ionis, who had come in without my observing her.
“Come, answer me, look at me at least,” said she with some impatience. “Are you aware that you frighten me, and that I no longer know what to think of you?”
“You have your wish,” I answered, “I have tampered with my reason, I have become insane. But do not reproach yourself on that account; I am much happier thus, and do not wish to be cured.”
“So,” said she, scrutinizing me anxiously, “this apparition is not then an absurd story? At least, you think—you have seen it produced?”
“Better than I see you at this moment.”
“Don’t affect such an air of stupid pride—I do not doubt your words. Tell me all about it quietly.”
“No, never! I implore you do not question me. I cannot, I do not wish to answer.”
“Really the society of ghosts does not seem to agree with you, my dear sir, and you will make me think that you have heard some singularly flattering things, for you are as proud and discreet as a fortunate lover.”
“Ah! what do you say, madame?” I cried, “No love is possible between two beings separated by the abyss of a tomb. But you know not of what you speak, you believe in nothing, you ridicule everything.”
I was so rude in my enthusiasm, that Madame d’Ionis was rather vexed.
“There is one thing which I do not ridicule,” said she quickly; “and that is my law suit, and since you have promised on your honor, to consult a mysterious oracle and to obey its orders—”
“Yes,” I replied, taking her hand with a familiarity that was quite out of place, but so quietly that she was not offended, so well did she understand the conditionof my mind; “yes, madame, you must pardon my preoccupation and my forgetfulness. It was through devotion to you that I have played a very dangerous game, and I owe you at least an account of the result. I have been ordered to carry out my father’s intentions and make you win your suit.”
Whether she expected this answer, or whether she doubted my sanity, Madame d’Ionis showed neither surprise or disappointment. She contented herself with shrugging her shoulders, and shaking my arm as if to awake me.
“My poor child,” said she, “you have been dreaming, that is all. For a moment I shared your exaltation, I hoped at least that it would bring you back to the ideas of delicacy and justice that at heart you cherish. But I know not what exaggerated scruples or what habits of passive obedience to your father, have caused you to hear such chimerical words. Shake off these illusions, there have been no ghosts, nor has there been any mysterious voice, your head was affected by the indigestible perusal of that old manuscript, and by the abbé Lamyre’s doleful stories. I am going to explain how it all happened.”
She talked with me for some time; but my efforts to listen and understand were in vain. At times it seemed as if she were speaking an unknown language. When she saw that the words that fell upon my ear were not communicated to my brain, she grew seriously alarmed about me, felt my pulse to see if I had any fever, asked me if my head ached, and begged me to go and lie down. I understood that she gave me permission to be alone and I gladly ran and threw myself upon my bed, not that I felt the least fatigue,but because I kept thinking all the time that could I but sleep, I might again behold the celestial beauty of my immortal nymph.
I do not know how the rest of the day passed. I had no knowledge of it. The next morning I saw Baptiste walking through the room on tip-toe.
“What are you doing,mon ami?” I asked.
“I am sitting up with you, my dear master,” he replied. “Thank God you have slept two good hours. You feel better, don’t you?”
“I feel very well, have I then been ill?”
“You had a severe attack of fever last evening, and it lasted part of the night. It was the effect of the great heat. You never think of putting on your hat when you go in the garden. Yetmadame votre mèregave you so many cautions about it.”
Zéphyrine entered, asked about me with much interest and made me promise to takeanotherspoonful ofmysoothing potion.
“Very well,” said I, although I had no recollection of this potion, “a sick guest is an inconvenience and all I ask is to get well quickly.”
The potion really did me a great deal of good, for I again fell asleep and dreamed of my immortal nymph. When I opened my eyes, I saw an apparition at the foot of my bed, which would have charmed me two nights ago, but which now vexed me like an importunate reproach. It was Madame d’Ionis, who came herself to see how I was, and to give her personal supervision to the efforts made in my behalf. She was very friendly, and showed real interest in me. I thanked her to the best of my ability and assured her that I was very well.
Upon this, appeared the solemn head of a physician, who examined my pulse and my tongue, prescribed rest, and said to Madame d’Ionis:
“It is nothing. Keep him from reading, writing and talking until to-morrow and he will then be able to return to his family.”
Left alone with Baptiste, I questioned him.
“Mon Dieu, Monsieur,” said he, “I don’t exactly know what to say. It seems that the room where you were is considered haunted.”
“The room where I was? Where then am I now?”
I looked around me and recovering from my stupor I at last recognized that I was not in “la chambre aux dames,” but in another apartment of the chateau.
“As for me,” continued Baptiste, who was of a very positive temperament. “I slept in the room and saw nothing. I don’t believe any of these stories. But, when I heard you tormenting yourself during your fever, always talking about a beautiful lady who exists and who does not exist, who is dead and who lives—who knows what you haven’t said about it. It was all so pretty sometimes that I wished to remember it, or that I knew how to write it down, in order to preserve it, but it did you harm, and I decided upon bringing you here, where you are better off. Don’t you see, Monsieur, that this all comes from writing too many verses? Your father said rightly that it would turn your brain! You would do better to think only of your law papers.”
“Thou art certainly right, my dear Baptiste,” I answered “and I will try and take thine advice. In fact it does seem as if I had had an attack of madness.”
“Of madness? Oh! no indeed, Monsieur.Dieumerci. You have wandered a little in your fever just as it might happen to anyone; but now that it is all over, if you will take a little chicken broth, your brain will be as clear as ever.”
I resigned myself to the chicken broth, although I would have preferred something more nourishing so as to get well quickly. I was very weak, but little by little my strength came back during the day, and I was allowed a light supper. The following day, Madame d’Ionis came again to see me. I had risen and was feeling quite well. I talked very sensibly with her about what had happened, without however giving her any details upon the subject. I had been light-headed, I was much ashamed of it, and begged her to keep my secret; my position as a lawyer would be lost if I acquired the reputation of a ghost seer; and it would affect my father seriously.
“Fear nothing,” said she; “I will answer for the discretion of my people; make sure of your valet’s silence, and the story of this adventure will never leave the place. Besides, even should something of the kind be told, we would all be perfectly justified in saying that you had had an attack of fever, and that it pleased these superstitious souls to interpret it to suit their credulity. And really, this would only be the truth. You had a sun stroke coming here on horseback on a scorching day. You were ill during the night. On the following days I tormented you with this unfortunate law suit, and I stopped at nothing to bring you over to my way of thinking.”
She paused, and, in a different tone said:
“Do you remember what I said to you the day before yesterday in the library?”
“I confess that I did not understand, I was under the influence.”——
“Of the fever? I saw that very plainly.”
“Will it please you to repeat to me, now that my head is no longer affected, what you were saying about apparitions?”
Madame d’Ionis hesitated.
“Has your memory preserved the idea of this apparition?” said she carelessly, but examining me rather anxiously.
“No,” I replied, “it is very confused now, confused as a dream of which one is still conscious, but no longer cares to remember.”
I lied boldly, Madame d’Ionis was deceived, and I saw that she also was lying, when she pretended having spoken to me in the library only about the effect of the manuscript, in order to blame herself for having lent it to me at a time when I was already greatly agitated. It was evident that through fear caused by my mental condition, she had on that evening said certain things, that she was very glad now I had not understood, but I could not imagine what they might be. She saw I was quite confused, so she believed me cured. I talked very decidedly about my vision as though it were the effect of a high fever. She made me promise to think no more of it, and never to torment myself about it.
“Don’t go and think yourself more weak-minded than other people; there is no one in the world who has not had their hours of delirium. Remain with us two or three days longer, no matter what the doctor says. I do not like to send you back to your parents, so weak and pale. We will say nothing more aboutthe suit, it is useless; I will go and see your father and talk it over with him; without worrying you any more about it.”
By evening I was already cured, and I tried to get into my old room, it was shut up. I risked asking Zéphyrine for the key, who replied that it had been given to Madame d’Ionis. They did not wish to put anyone there, until the recently unearthed legend had again been buried in oblivion.
I pretended that I had forgotten something in the room. They had to yield. Zéphyrine went after the key and entered the room with me. I searched everywhere without saying what I was looking for. I examined the hearth and saw the fresh scratches on the disjointed stones, that Baptiste had left there with his knife. But what did this prove, save that in my madness I had caused a search for an object that existed only in the memory of a dream? I had thought that I had found a ring and had put it on my finger. It was there no longer, without doubt it had never been there!
I did not even dare to question Baptiste on this subject. They did not leave me one moment alone in the ladies’ room, and they shut it up again, as soon as I went out. I felt that there was nothing to keep me at the chateau d’Ionis, and I left by stealth the next morning so as to avoid the drive in a carriage with which they had threatened me.
The horse and the fresh air quite set me up again. I galloped rapidly through the woods that surrounded the chateau, fearing that I might be pursued by the solicitude of my beautiful hostess. I slackened my pace when two leagues distant, and arrived quietly at Angers during the afternoon.
My face was a little changed; my father did not notice it much, but nothing escapes a mother’s eye, and it worried mine. I succeeded in quieting her by eating with an appetite; I had compelled Baptiste to give me his word that he would not say anything; he had made it a condition however that he would not feel bound, should I chance to fall ill again.
But I took good care not to do so; I watched over my physical and moral welfare like a youth bent upon the preservation of his existence. I worked, but not too much; I took walks regularly, I dwelt upon no mournful ideas, I abstained from all reading of an exciting nature. The reason for all this had its source in an obstinate but tranquil mania and, so to speak, ’twas mistress of itself. I wanted to prove to my own judgment that I neither had been nor now was out of my mind, and that there was nothing more certain, in my opinion, than the existence of the green ladies. I also wished to restore my mind to that state of clearness necessary to conceal my secret and to nourish it internally as the source of my intellectual life and the criterion of my moral existence.
Every trace of the crisis then rapidly disappeared, and seeing me studious, reasonable and moderate in all things, it would have been impossible to guess that I was under the dominion of a fixed idea, of a well regulated monomania.
Three days after my return to Angers, my father sent me to Tours on some other business. I spent twenty-four hours there, and when I returned home, I learned that Madame d’Ionis had been there to have an understanding with my father about the consequencesof her law suit. She had appeared to yield to positive reason; she had consented to gain it.
I was glad that I had not met her. It would be impossible to say that so charming a woman had become repugnant to me, but it is certain that I feared more than I desired her presence. Her scepticism, which she appeared to have renounced one day only to overwhelm me with it on the next, had produced an injurious effect upon me, and had caused me inexpressible suffering.
At the end of two months, notwithstanding all the efforts I made to appear happy, my mother discovered the terrible sadness that permeated my mind. Everyone observed a great change for the better in me, and at first she was pleased with it. My manner of life was altogether austere, and my language as grave and sensible as that of an old magistrate. Without being devout, I professed to be religious. I no longer scandalized simple people by my voltairianism. I judged everything impartially and criticised without bitterness those of whom I did not approve. All this was edifying, excellent; but I had no taste for anything, and I bore my life as if it were a burden. I was no longer young, I experienced no more the ecstasy of enthusiasm or the allurements of gayety.
I had time then, notwithstanding my important occupations to write verses, and I would have made time in any case, even had none been allowed me, for I hardly slept any more and I sought none of those amusements that absorb three quarters of a young man’s life. I no longer thought of love, I fled from the world, I ceased to parade myself with men of my age before the eyes of the beautiful ladies of the land. Iwas retiring, meditative, austere, very gentle with my own people, very modest with everybody, very ardent in legal discussions. Thus I was esteemed an accomplished young man, but I was thoroughly unhappy.
And it was because I nourished with a strange stoicism, an insane passion without its parallel. I was in love with a ghost, I could not even say with a dead woman. All my historical researches resolved themselves into this. The three demoiselles d’Ionis had possibly never existed save in legend. Their history, fixed by the latest chroniclers at the period of Henri II, was already old and uncertain, even at that date. No evidence of them remained: no title, name or crest among the d’Ionis family papers that my father happened to have in his possession on account of the suit, not even a tombstone in any part of the country.
I was thus worshipping a pure fiction, engendered, to all appearance in the vapors of my brain. But this was precisely what I failed to be convinced of. I had seen and heard this marvel of beauty; she existed in a region that it was impossible for me to attain, but from which it was possible for her to descend to me. To solve the problem of this indefinable existence, and the mystery of the tie that bound us would have rendered me insane. I was conscious of the fact, I wished to explain nothing, to fathom nothing; I lived upon faith, which is “the evidence of things not seen,” a sublime madness, if reason is only to be proved by the evidence of the senses.
My madness was not so puerile as might have been feared. I nursed it as a superior faculty and did not allow it to descend from the heights upon which Ihad enthroned it. Thus I abstained from another evocation, lest I should lose myself in the cabalistic pursuit of some chimera unworthy of me. The immortal maiden had said that “I must become worthy, if she were to live in my thoughts.” She had not promised to reappear in the same form as I had seen her. She had said that this form did not exist and was but the product of my imagination caused by the elevation of my feelings towards her. I ought not then to torment my brain to reproduce her, for it might misrepresent her and cause some other image to obliterate her own. I wished to purify my life and cultivate the treasure of conscience, in the hope, that at some given time, this celestial figure would come to me of her own accord and talk to me in those cherished tones that through my unworthiness had been vouchsafed me for so short a time.
Under the influence of this mania, I was in the way of becoming a good man, and it was rather odd that I should be led to wisdom through madness. But all this was too subtle and too tense for human nature. This rupture of my soul with the rest of my being, and of my life with the temptations of youth, was gradually leading me on to despair, perhaps even to insanity.
So far I was only melancholy, and although very pale and very thin, I did not appear to be ill either physically or mentally when the turn came for the hearing of the case of d’Ionis versus d’Aillane. My father instructed me to prepare my speech for the following week. It was now about three months since I had left, on a morning in June for the fatal chateau d’Ionis.