Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/completeworksoft06gaut 
 
THE COMPLETE WORKS of 
 
 THEOPHILE GAUTIER 
 Ifllume VI 
 
 YQ*- 
 
 Arria iflJaroila 
 
 Stye (§mtMU 
 
 5Ut? jHumtmj*H 3faot 
 
 Translated and Edited by 
 
 PROFESSOR F. C. De SUMICHRAST 
 
 DEPARTMENT OF FRENCH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Itgelmw, ^mitf? & (His. 
 
 MCMX 
 
 & 4& 
 
ONE THOUSAND COPIES OF THIS EDITION 
 HAVE BEEN PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Copyright, iqoi 
 By George D. Sproul 
 
Contents 
 
 Introduction 3 
 
 Spirite '* 13 
 
 The Vampire "259 
 
 Arria Marcella " 3 1 5 
 
 2227591 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 He remained standing . . . gazing ardently at 
 
 the figure of Spirite " Frontispiece 
 
 " Her head fell back, but her arms were 
 
 still around me as if to hold me" Page 288, Part I 
 
 *' She appeared to be filled with the live- 
 liest fervour " , " 205, «'« II 
 
 " She . . . fitted it very skilfully to her 
 
 leg" ........ . . « 338, " II 
 
JL »|j r.t% *ti*> rl-» rl^» «i» »4» «4» «Jjy "4y «4» cit »i» »A» »4» {fc jj* 
 
 SPIRT T E 
 
 «A« »A» »4» »A* »4* *ir* *4* •l* ^jly ^iy *jjy jiy »i» »i» •!■» »4» »4» *!y ij? jbsi? 
 
 I ntroduction 
 
 SPIRITE " is a standing proof of Gautier's 
 versatility, for the subject of the tale is not 
 one that would usually appeal to his intense 
 love of plastic beauty. However, the possi- 
 bilities of spiritual beauty that must necessarily be 
 expressed in terms of earthly loveliness, and the at- 
 traction of the fantastic and the extraordinary, an 
 attraction he could not readily resist, combined to 
 induce him to try his hand at writing a tender, delicate, 
 ideal, and dreamy poem in prose. He succeeded, as 
 the perusal of the story conclusively proves, in creating 
 a very lovely and winsome character, that of Lavinia 
 d'Audefini, the maiden whose confession of love had 
 so often been on her lips in this world, and at last made 
 itself heard from beyond the tomb. 
 
 Gautier has admirably rendered the suavity, the 
 chastity of the young girl's unrequited affection. 
 
 3 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 Engaging herself, she compels the sympathy of the 
 reader, and her charming apparitions are watched for 
 as keenly by him as they were by Guy de Malivert. 
 
 It was a very difficult subject to treat, but Gautier 
 proved equal to the task. His touch is delicate, his 
 feeling tender •, he has cast aside all thought of the 
 earth and of sensuality ; his conception of beauty, 
 which is ever present with him, assumes a loftier and 
 more ideal aspect. He manages to describe super- 
 natural happenings without arousing in the reader's 
 mind any doubt of his own sincerity and belief in the 
 truth of what he relates. Though he was not a 
 believer in religion or the supernatural, he felt the in- 
 fluence of mystery, legend, tradition, the picturesque 
 and the imaginative, and this excursion into the realms 
 of the beyond was a delightful experience to him. He 
 must have been grateful to Swedenborg, whose doc- 
 trines he had made himself acquainted with, for fur- 
 nishing him with such a novel and attractive subject. 
 
 He has not borrowed much from the seer. He has 
 adopted his theory of the intercourse between man and 
 the beings in the spiritual world, and has turned it to 
 account in the creation of a dainty and delightful love- 
 story. He accepts his theory of the necessity for man 
 
 4 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 to repress the carnal side of his own nature and to 
 develop the higher and purer. It is on this that Guy's 
 future happiness is made to depend. But Gautier has 
 not sought, and wisely, to follow the seer in the 
 recondite theories of the nature of God, of Heaven, 
 and of Hell any farther than was needed for the happy 
 ending of his story. Gautier is not at home in the 
 mystic depths of the Infinite, and where Chateaubriand 
 failed, he might well fall short, for he had not the deep 
 faith of the Father of Romanticism. 
 
 But he has handled with much skill the various ele- 
 ments that could contribute to the interest of a tale 
 that Parisians were to read in the columns of a daily 
 paper. He has brought in enough of the life of 
 society in his day, enough of the worldliness and the 
 luxury that the bourgeois delighted in being familiarized 
 with, to make his circle of readers follow attentively 
 the fortunes of this mystic love affair. He has used 
 his art to paint a delicate portrait of an innocent and , 
 pure girl whose heart has been given once and for all 
 to the man of her choice. Indeed his portrait of 
 Lavinia d'Audefini is one of the sweetest he ever drew, 
 and far surpasses in true beauty the richly coloured, 
 but sensuous descriptions of Musidora and Arabella. 
 
 5 
 
i: 4: i: d: -k i: db tfci? 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 Nor is the character of Mme. d'Ymbercourt sacri- 
 ficed. Of course she had to be subordinated to 
 Spirite ; her charms were to be shown inferior to those 
 of the disembodied being, and her beauty had to lack 
 the peculiar attraction that irresistibly drew Guy to 
 Lavinia. She had to be worldly, and to symbolise, to a 
 large extent, the society that had caused Spirite to 
 suffer so bitterly while she remained on earth. But 
 beyond that, Gautier has not depicted her disagreeably ; 
 the reader even feels a natural sympathy for the poor 
 woman when she finds herself compelled to give up 
 hopes of marrying Guy and is forced to be content 
 with the empty-headed d'Avricourt. In her case, as in 
 that of the other characters, including even the myste- 
 rious Baron de Feroe, there is a noticeable abstention 
 from the exaggeration of which the Romanticists were 
 so regularly guilty. The characters are more human 
 than usual, more genuine, more true to life, even 
 though so much that is supernatural enters into the 
 composition of the tale. 
 
 " Spirite " appeared in serial form in the Monheur 
 universe/, the opening chapter being published on 
 November 17, 1865, and the concluding one on 
 December 7 of the same year. It was immediately 
 
 6 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 reprinted in book form, and many successive editions 
 of the tale have since appeared. 
 
 " Aria Marcella " is a very different piece of work : 
 it is the evocation of a past age, of a vanished civilisa- 
 tion, such as Hugo had attempted with brilliant literary 
 and artistic success in " Notre-Dame de Paris," and 
 Flaubert was to attempt later in " Herodiade " and 
 especially in " Salammbo." Mingling with this is the 
 legend of the Vampire, one very wide-spread throughout 
 Europe in the Middle Ages, and traces of which have 
 not altogether disappeared even at the present day. It 
 is, at bottom, the same subject that Gautier had already 
 treated in " la Morte amoureuse," which figures in this 
 collection under the title " The Vampire ; " but in the 
 present tale the idea of the blood-sucking woman who 
 seeks in the veins of her lover the means to renew her 
 youth and conserve her fatal beauty, is subordinate to 
 the restoration of Pompe'i in the days of its splendour, . 
 just previous to its destruction. The legendary and 
 mystical part of the story is treated but slightly, and as 
 if by way of justifying the representation of the now 
 buried city as it must have existed. It is the reconsti- 
 tution of the buildings and public edifices, the recalling 
 
 7 
 
«|» »|» *h* »4» »4» »A» «4» »4» *t* •!■» ri* rii rjU »JU »A» #|* o|» af* 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 of a vanished civilisation, unlike that with which he 
 himself was familiar, it is the delight of putting 
 together his classical recollections and turning his read- 
 ing to account that has fascinated Gautier in this 
 instance. And it must be owned, even by those who 
 contend that all such restitutions as the one here 
 attempted are but vain and illusory, that the author has 
 managed to give at least a strong aspect of truth and 
 probability to the picture of Pompei which he has 
 drawn. 
 
 He had not the ambition to reproduce exactly the 
 city of old ; he knew that it is not in the power of any 
 man to do so, no matter how sound his scholarship, 
 how vast his erudition, how powerful his imagination. 
 He was content to give his readers a notion of what a 
 great Roman city was in the days when Rome was 
 mistress of the world, the centre of letters and art, the 
 metropolis of commerce, and the greatest exponent of 
 luxury and splendour. In this respect he has certainly 
 not failed, and his descriptions add much to the interest 
 of the story. 
 
 To the student of Gautier, it possesses the additional 
 charm of exhibiting the working of his mind, of his 
 imagination. The mere sight of the mould of the 
 
 8 
 
4: jb is £ i: £ 4: 4: 4: 4r tfctlrdbtirtfc 4: tlrdb 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 lovely breasts of the girl, or woman, who died on that 
 fatal day when Vesuvius sent down the awful shower 
 of ashes under which Pompei disappeared for centuries, 
 sufficed to excite him to the invention of a tale that 
 has perhaps no probability, but which is undoubtedly 
 dramatic. It is further interesting as presenting a 
 contrast to "Spirite; " the feeling of plastic beauty, as 
 distinguished from the spiritual beauty of the story of 
 Lavinia d'Audefini, is very marked. Indeed, one may 
 say that in " Aria Marcella " Gautier stands again 
 upon his favourite ground and gives free play to that 
 sense of loveliness which, if too exclusively sensual, is 
 none the less a sense of real beauty. 
 
 "Aria Marcella" was published on March I, 1852, 
 in the Revue de Paris, having been announced under 
 two different titles — " Pompeia" and " Mammia Mar- 
 cella." It was republished in le Pays in August of the 
 same year, and then appeared in book form, in the 
 volume entitled " Un Trio de Romans," still in 1852. 
 In 1863 it was placed among the "Romans et 
 Contes," in which it has since remained. 
 
 9 
 
Spirite 
 
******* j:***^*********** 
 
 S P I R IT E 
 
 A FANTASTIC TALE 
 
 *****************tk****** 
 I 
 
 GUY DE MALIVERT was stretched out, 
 almost resting upon his shoulders, in a 
 very comfortable arm-chair by his fireside, 
 in which blazed a good fire. He appeared 
 to have settled down with the intention of spending at 
 home one of those quiet evenings which fashionable 
 young men occasionally enjoy as a relief from the 
 gaieties of society. His dress, at once comfortable and 
 elegant, consisted of a black-velvet, braided boating- 
 coat, a silk shirt, red-flannel trousers, and morocco 
 slippers, in which his strong, well turned feet were 
 quite at ease. His body freed from any disagree- 
 able pressure, comfortable in his soft and yielding gar- 
 ments, Guy de Malivert, who had enjoyed at home 
 a simple but refined meal, washed down with a few 
 
 1 3 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 glasses of claret that had gone to India and back, was 
 in a condition of physical beatitude due to the perfect 
 harmony of his organs. He was happy, though nothing 
 specially fortunate had happened to him. 
 
 Near him a lamp, placed in a stand of old crackled 
 celadon, shed through its ground-glass globe a soft, milky 
 light, like moonbeams through a mist. The light fell 
 upon a book which Guy held with careless hand, and 
 which was none else than Longfellow's " Evangeline." 
 
 No doubt Guy was admiring the work of the great- 
 est poet young America has yet produced, but he was 
 in that lazy state of mind in which absence of thought 
 is preferable to the finest thought expressed in sublime 
 terms. He had read a few verses, then, without drop- 
 ping his book, had let his head rest upon the soft 
 upholstering of the arm-chair, covered with a piece of 
 lace, and was enjoying to the full the temporary stop- 
 page of the working of his brain. The warm air of 
 the room enfolded him like a suave caress. All around 
 was rest, comfort, discreet silence, absolute repose. 
 The only sound perceptible was an occasional rush of 
 gas from a log and the ticking of the clock, the pendu- 
 lum of which rhythmically and softly marked the flight 
 of time. 
 
 •4 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 It was winter ; the new-fallen snow deadened the 
 distant roll of carriages, infrequent enough in this 
 peaceful quarter, for Guy lived in one of the quietest 
 streets of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Ten o'clock 
 had just struck, and the lazy fellow was congratulating 
 himself upon not being in evening dress, stuck in a 
 window recess at some ambassadorial ball, with no 
 other prospect than the angular shoulders of some old 
 dowager whose dress was cut too low. Although the 
 temperature of the room was that of a hot-house, it was 
 evident by the brisk burning of the fire and the deep 
 silence in the streets, that it was cold outside. The 
 splendid Angora cat, Malivert's companion on this 
 evening of idlesse, had drawn so close to the fire as to 
 scorch its lovely fur, and but for the gilded fender it 
 would have curled itself up on the hot ashes. 
 
 The room in which Guy de Malivert was revelling 
 in such peaceful joy was partly a studio and partly a 
 library. It was a large, high-ceiled room on the top 
 floor of the building, which was situated between a 
 great court and a garden in which grew trees so old as 
 to be worthy of a royal forest, and which are nowadays 
 found only in the aristocratic faubourg ; for it takes 
 time to grow a tree, and the new-made rich cannot 
 
 5 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 improvise them to shade the mansions they build with 
 fortunes that seem to fear bankruptcy. 
 
 The walls were hung with tawny-coloured leather, 
 and the ceiling was a maze of old oaken beams, fram- 
 ing in compartments of Norway pine, of the natural 
 colour of the wood. The sober brown tints set off the 
 paintings, sketches, and water-colours hung on the walls 
 of this sort of gallery in which Malivert had collected 
 his art curiosities and fancies. Oak book-shelves, low 
 enough not to interfere with the paintings, formed a 
 wainscotting round the room, broken only by a single 
 door. An observer would have been struck by the 
 contrast offered by the books placed on the shelves : 
 they appeared to be a mingling of the library of an 
 artist and of a scholar. By the side of the classical 
 poets of every age and every country, Homer, Hesiod, 
 Vergil, Dante, Ariosto, Ronsard, Shakespeare, Milton, 
 Goethe, Schiller, Byron, Victor Hugo, Sainte-Beuve, 
 Alfred de Musset, Edgar Poe, stood Creuzer's " Sym- 
 bolism," Laplace's " Celestial Mechanics," Arago's 
 "Astronomy," Burdach's " Physiology," Humboldt's 
 " Cosmos," the works of Claude Bernard and Berthelot, 
 and others on pure science. Yet Guy de Malivert had 
 no pretensions to scholarship. He knew not much 
 
 16 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 more than one learns at college, but after he had 
 refreshed his literary education, it seemed to him 
 that he ought not to remain ignorant of all the fine 
 discoveries which are the glory of our age. He had 
 made himself acquainted with them to the best of his 
 ability, and could talk astronomy, cosmogony, elec- 
 tricity, steam, photography, chemistry, micrography, 
 spontaneous generation ; he understood these matters, 
 and sometimes astonished his interlocutor by his novel 
 and ingenious remarks. 
 
 Such was Guy de Malivert at the age of twenty-eight 
 or twenty-nine. His hair had thinned a little on the 
 brow ; he had a pleasant, frank, and open expression ; 
 his nose, if not as regular as a Greek nose, was never- 
 theless handsome, and parted two brown eyes, the 
 glance of which was firm ; his mouth, with its some- 
 what full lips, betokened sympathetic kindliness. His 
 hair, of a rich brown, was massed in thick, close curls 
 that needed not the hair-dresser's irons, and a golden 
 auburn moustache shaded his upper lip. In a word, 
 Malivert was what is called a handsome fellow, and 
 when he had made his entrance into society he had 
 met with many unsought successes. Mothers provided 
 with marriageable daughters were most attentive to 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 him, for he had an income of forty thousand a year 
 and a sickly multi-millionaire uncle, who had made him 
 his heir. An enviable lot ! Yet Guy had not married. 
 He was satisfied with nodding approvingly at the 
 sonatas young ladies performed for his benefit ; he 
 politely led his partners to their seats after the waltz, 
 but his conversation with them during the intervals of 
 the dance was confined to such commonplaces as, 
 "It is very hot in this room," — an aphorism from 
 which it was impossible to deduce any matrimonial 
 intentions. It was not that Guy lacked wit ; on the 
 contrary, he could have readily found something less 
 commonplace had he not feared to become entangled 
 in the web more tenuous than cobwebs, woven in 
 society round maidens whose marriage portion is small. 
 
 If he found himself made too welcome in a house 
 he ceased to call there, or started on a long trip; on 
 his return he noted with satisfaction that he was en- 
 tirely forgotten. Perhaps it will be supposed that 
 Guy, like many young men of to-day, formed in shady 
 society temporary morganatic unions which enabled 
 him to dispense with a more regular marriage, but it 
 was not so. Without being more of a rigorist than 
 became him at his age, Malivert had no liking for the 
 
 i~8 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 made-up beauties who dressed their hair like that of 
 poodles and wore exaggerated crinolines. It was a 
 mere matter of taste. Like everybody else he had 
 had one or two love affairs. Two or three misunder- 
 stood women, more or less separated from their hus- 
 bands, had proclaimed him their ideal, whereunto he 
 had replied, "You are very kind," not daring to tell 
 them that they were in no wise his ideal. Malivert 
 was a well-bred young gentleman. A little supernu- 
 merary at the Delassements-Comiques, whom he had 
 presented with a few louis and a velvet mantle, had 
 attempted to asphyxiate herself in his honour, but in 
 spite of these stirring adventures, Guy de Malivert, 
 entirely frank towards himself, perceived that having 
 reached the solemn age of twenty-nine, when a young 
 man turns into a mature man, he was ignorant of love, 
 such, at least, as it is depicted in novels, dramas, and 
 poems, and even as described by his companions when 
 in a confidential or a boastful mood. He consoled 
 himself easily for this, however, by reflecting upon the 
 troubles, calamities, and disasters due to that passion, 
 and he patiently awaited the coming of the day when 
 chance would bring to him the woman destined to fix 
 his affections. 
 
 1Q 
 
SPI R I TE 
 
 Yet, as the world is very apt to dispose of you as 
 best it fancies and as best suits it, it had been decided 
 in the society which Guy de Malivert most frequented, 
 that he was in love with Mme. d'Ymbercourt, a young 
 widow whom he visited very often. Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court's estates marched with those of Guy ; she had 
 about sixty thousand francs a year, and was only 
 twenty-two years of age. She had suitably mourned 
 lor M. d'Ymbercourt, a crusty old fellow, and she was 
 now in a position to take a young and handsome 
 husband, of birth and fortune on a par with her 
 own. So the world had married them on its own 
 authority, reflecting that they would have a pleasant 
 home, a neutral ground where people might meet. 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt tacitly accepted the match 
 and looked upon herself as already somewhat Guy's 
 wife, though he made no haste to declare himself ; 
 thinking rather of ceasing his calls upon the young 
 widow, whose airs of anticipated proprietorship palled 
 upon him. 
 
 That very evening he was to have taken tea at 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt's, but laziness had mastered him 
 after dinner. He had felt so comfortable in his own 
 apartments that he had rebelled at the thought of dress- 
 
 20 
 
4:4:4:4:4: db 4:4: 4:4:4? 4:4:4: 4:4: 4:4: 5*r?*rtfr tlrdbdb 
 SPI RITE 
 
 ing and driving out with the thermometer at ten or 
 twelve above zero, in spite of his having a fur coat, 
 and a hot-water bottle in his carriage. He satisfied 
 himself with the excuse that his horse's shoes had not 
 been sharpened for frost, and that the animal might 
 slip on the frozen snow and hurt himself. Besides, he 
 did not care to keep standing for two or three hours, 
 exposed to the cold north wind in front of a door, a 
 horse that Cremieux, the famous dealer of the Champs- 
 Elysees, had charged him five thousand francs for. 
 From this it will be seen that Guy was not very much 
 in love, and that Mme. d'Ymbercouit would have to 
 await a good deal longer the ceremony that was to 
 enable her to change her name. 
 
 As Malivert, feeling sleepy in the warm temperature 
 of the room, in which floated the blue, fragrant smoke 
 of two or three cabanas, the ashes of which filled a 
 small antique Chinese bronze cup on a stand of eagle- 
 wood, placed near him on the table that bore the lamp, 
 — as Malivert was beginning to feel in his eyes the 
 golden dust of sleep, the door opened gently and a ser- 
 vant entered, bearing upon a silver salver a dainty 
 letter, scented and sealed with a seal well known to 
 Guy, for his face immediately clouded. The odour of 
 
 21 
 
SPI R ITE 
 
 musk exhaled by the note seemed also to produce 
 a disagreeable impression upon him. It was a note 
 from Mme. d'Ymbercourt, reminding him of his 
 promise to come and drink a cup of tea with her. 
 
 "The devil take her!" he exclaimed most ungal- 
 lantly, " and her wearisome notes too ! Much fun 
 there is in driving across the city merely to drink a 
 cup of hot water in which have been soaked a few 
 leaves coated with Prussian blue and verdigris, while 
 I have here in that lacquered Coromandel caddy 
 caravan tea, genuine tea, still bearing the seal of 
 the Kiatka custom-house, the uttermost Russian post 
 on the Chinese frontier. Most assuredly I shall 
 not go." 
 
 His habits of courtesy made him change his mind 
 nevertheless, and he ordered his valet to bring him 
 his clothes ; but when he saw the trousers' legs hang- 
 ing pitifully on the back of the arm-chair, the shirt as 
 stiff and white as a sheet of porcelain, the black coat 
 with its limp sleeves, the patent-leather shoes with their 
 brilliant reflections, the gloves stretched like hands that 
 have been passed through a rolling-mill, he was seized 
 with sudden desperation and plunged fiercely back into 
 his arm-chair. 
 
 22 
 
4:db £ db £ & & £ d?tfc^4:d:tlr4?ti? 4: & A 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 " I shall stay at home after all, Jack ; get my bed 
 ready." 
 
 As I have already mentioned, Guy was a well-bred 
 young fellow and kind-hearted besides. Feeling some 
 slight remorse, he hesitated on the threshold of his bed- 
 room, every comfort in which smiled invitingly upon 
 him, and said to himself that ordinary decency required 
 that he should send a few words of apology to Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt, pleading a headache, important busi- 
 ness, an unexpected obstacle, in order to explain, with 
 some show of politeness, his not having called upon 
 her. But Malivert, entirely capable as he was, though 
 not a literary man, of writing a tale or an account of 
 a trip for the Revue des Deux Monies, detested writing 
 letters, and especially merely formal, ceremonious notes, 
 such as women dash off by the score on the corner of 
 their toilet-table while their maid is busy attiring them. 
 He would much sooner have wrought out a sonnet 
 with rare and difficult rimes. His incapacity in this 
 respect was complete, and he would walk from one end 
 of Paris to the other rather than scribble a couple of 
 lines. The thought of having to reply to Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt suggested to him the desperate expe- 
 dient of going to see her himself. He went to the 
 
SP I RITE 
 
 window, pulled the curtains aside, and through the 
 damp panes saw the darkness of night, full of densely 
 falling flakes of snow that spotted it like a guinea- 
 hen's back. This led him to think of Grimalkin, 
 shaking off the snow heaped up on his shining har- 
 ness. He reflected upon the unpleasant passage 
 from his coupe to the vestibule; of the draft in the 
 stairs unchecked by the warmth of the stove, and 
 especially he thought of Mme d'Ymbercourt standing 
 by the mantelpiece, in a very low-necked dress, recall- 
 ing that character in Dickens that was always known 
 by the name of "The Bosom," and whose white form 
 advertised the wealth of a banker. He saw her superb 
 teeth set off by a fixed smile; her eyebrows, that might 
 have been drawn with Indian ink, so perfectly arched 
 were they, yet that owed nothing to art ; her beautiful 
 eyes ; her nose, so perfect in shape and modelling that 
 it might have been reproduced as a model in a student's 
 text-book; her figure, which all dressmakers declared 
 perfect ; her arms as round as if turned, and laden with 
 over massive bracelets. The remembrance of all these 
 charms that the world had assigned to him, by marry- 
 ing him, little as he cared for her, to the young widow, 
 filled him with such intense melancholy that he went 
 
 24 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 to his desk, resolved, in spite of the horror of it, to 
 write ten lines rather than go and drink tea with that 
 lovely woman. 
 
 He took out a sheet of paper embossed with a 
 quaintly interlaced "G" and " M," dipped in the ink 
 a fine steel pen in a porcupine holder, and wrote, well 
 down the page in order to have the less to say, the word 
 " Madam." Then he paused, and leaned his cheek on 
 his hand, for his inspiration failed him. He remained 
 for some time thus, his wrist in place, his fingers grasp- 
 ing the pen, and his brain unconsciously filled with 
 thoughts wholly foreign to the subject of his note. 
 Then, as if Malivert's body were tired of waiting for 
 the words that did not come, his hand, nervous and im- 
 patient, seemed inclined to fulfil its task without further 
 orders. His fingers extended and contracted as if trac- 
 ing letters, and Guy was presently much amazed at 
 having written, quite unconsciously, nine or ten lines 
 which he read and which were about as follows: — 
 
 " You are beautiful enough and surrounded by 
 lovers enough for me to tell you, without giving you 
 cause for offence, that I do not love you. It is 
 not creditable to my taste that I should make this 
 confession — that is all. Why, then, keep up an 
 
 2 5 
 
SPI R ITE 
 
 intercourse which must end in linking two souls so 
 little intended to be brought together, and involve 
 them in eternal unhappiness ? Forgive me; I am 
 going away, and you will not find it difficult to 
 forget me." 
 
 " What is this ? " exclaimed Malivert, when he had 
 read his letter over. " Am I crazy or a somnambulist ? 
 What a strange note ! It is like those drawings of 
 Gavarni's which exhibit at one and the same time in 
 the subscription the real and the expressed thought, 
 the true and the false. Only, in this case the words do 
 tell the truth. My hand, instead of telling the pretty 
 fib I meant it to write, has refused to do so, and, 
 contrary to custom, my real meaning is expressed in 
 my letter." 
 
 Guy looked carefully at the note and it struck him 
 that the character of the handwriting was not quite like 
 his usual hand. 
 
 " It is an autograph that would be contested by 
 experts," he said, " if my correspondence were worth 
 the trouble. How the devil did this curious trans- 
 formation take place ? I have neither smoked opium 
 nor eaten haschisch, and the two or three glasses of 
 claret I drank cannot have gone to my head. I carry 
 
 26 
 
♦4* *A» *}c tjb tfc d^? tf^ *^* ^rtl? t?? tl?dbtt?i?j?tl?Tfcd™t!bti??^j 
 S P I R I T E 
 
 my liquor better than that. What will become of me 
 if the truth takes to running off my pen without my 
 being aware of it ? It is fortunate that I re-read my 
 note, never being quite sure of my spelling in the 
 evening. What would have been the effect of these 
 too truthful lines? And how indignant and amazed 
 would Mme. d'Ymbercourt have been had she read 
 them ! After all, it might have been better had the 
 letter gone such as it is. I should have gained the 
 character of being a monster, a tattooed savage, un- 
 worthy of wearing a white neck-tie, but at least that 
 wearisome engagement would have been broken off 
 short. If I were superstitious, I might easily see in 
 this a warning from heaven instead of a most improper 
 forgetfulness." 
 
 After a pause Guy came to a sudden decision. " I 
 shall go to Mme. d'Ymbercourt, for I am incapable 
 of rewriting the note." 
 
 And he dressed in a very bad temper. . 
 
 As he was about to leave his room, he thought he 
 heard a sigh, but so faint, so soft, so airy that but for 
 the deep silence of night he would not have noticed it. 
 
 Malivert stopped short on the threshold of his room, 
 for that sigh affected him as the supernatural affects 
 
 27 
 
S PI RITE 
 
 the bravest of men. There was nothing very terrify- 
 ing in the faint, inarticulate, plaintive sound, and yet 
 Guy was more deeply moved than he cared to confess 
 even to himself. 
 
 " Nonsense," said he ; " it must have been the cat 
 plaining in its sleep." And taking from his valet a 
 fur coat in which he wrapped himself with a skill that 
 testified to long trips in Russia, he descended, very 
 much out of sorts, the steps at the foot of which his 
 carriage awaited him. 
 
 28 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 ii 
 
 LEANING back in the corner of his coupe, 
 his feet on the hot-water bottle, his fur coat 
 drawn close round him, Malivert gazed, 
 without noticing them, upon the strange effects of 
 light and shade produced upon the carriage window, 
 slightly obscured by the frost, by the sudden blaze of 
 light from a shop brilliantly lighted with gas and still 
 open, late though the hour was, and at the prospect of 
 the streets dotted with brilliant points of light. 
 
 The carriage soon crossed the Pont de la Concorde, 
 under which flowed the dark waters of the Seine in 
 which amid the sombre gleams were reflected the 
 lights of the lamps. As he drove on Malivert could 
 not help recalling the mysterious sigh he had heard or 
 thought he had heard as he left his room. He ex- 
 plained it by means of all the common-sense reasons 
 with which sceptics explain the incomprehensible. 
 No doubt it had been due to the wind in the chimney, 
 to some noise from outside altered by an echo, to the 
 
 29 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 low vibration of one of the piano-strings responding to 
 the passage of some heavy dray, or after all it was but 
 a sound uttered by his angora cat dreaming by the fire- 
 side, as he had at first believed. This was the most 
 probable explanation, the most reasonable. Yet Mali- 
 vert, while recognising the logical soundness of these 
 views, was inwardly dissatisfied with them ; a secret 
 instinct told him that the sigh was not due to any of 
 the causes to which his scientific prudence attributed 
 it ; he felt that the soft moan had been uttered by a 
 soul and was no mere vague sound of matter. There 
 was at once breath and grief in it. Whence, then, did 
 it come ? Guy dwelt on it with that sort of question- 
 ing uneasiness experienced by the strongest minds 
 when they find themselves face to face with the 
 unknown. There had been no one in the room, save 
 Jack, a by no means sentimental person. The softly 
 modulated, harmonious, tender sigh, softer than the 
 soughing of the breeze in the branches of the trem- 
 bling aspen, was unquestionably feminine — it was 
 impossible to deny it. 
 
 Another thing puzzled Malivert — the letter which 
 had, so to speak, written itself, as if a will independent 
 of his own had guided his hand. He could not seri- 
 
 3° 
 
^4.4.4.4.4. 4. 4- ^^4*^4.^4.^4. 4. 4. 4; 4. 4k 4»4. 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 ously explain this away, as he had at first endeavoured 
 to do, by attributing it to absent-mindedness. The 
 feelings of the soul are controlled by the mind before 
 they show on the paper ; and besides, they do not write 
 themselves down while the mind is elsewhere. Some 
 influence he could not define must have mastered him 
 and acted in his stead while he was dreaming, for now 
 he thought of it he was quite certain he had not fallen 
 asleep even for an instant. He had certainly felt lazy, 
 somnolent, comfortably stupid the whole evening, but 
 at that particular moment he had unquestionably been 
 wide awake. The unpleasant alternative of going to 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt's or writing her a note of 
 apology had even somewhat feverishly excited him. 
 The lines that expressed his real feelings more accu- 
 rately and forcibly than he had yet confessed even to 
 himself, were due to an intervention which he felt 
 compelled to consider supernatural until it was ex- 
 plained away by investigation or another name were 
 found for it. 
 
 While Guy de Malivert revolved these thoughts in 
 his mind, the carriage was traversing streets more 
 deserted, owing to the frost and snow, than was usual 
 in those rich and fashionable quarters in which the day 
 
 3 1 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 does not end until very late in the night. The Place 
 de la Concorde, the rue de Rivoli, the Place Vendome 
 had been quickly left behind, and the coupe, turning 
 into the boulevard, entered the rue de la Chaussee- 
 d'Antin where lived Mme. d'Ymbercourt. 
 
 As he entered the court-yard Guy experienced a 
 disagreeable shock : two files of carriages, the coach- 
 men muffled up in furs, occupied the sanded space in 
 the centre, and the restive horses, shaking their bits, 
 cast the foam from their mouths on to the snow on 
 the ground. 
 
 " This is what she calls a quiet, informal evening ; 
 tea by the fireside. That is always the way with her. 
 All Paris is here and I have not put on a white tie," 
 grumbled Malivert. " I ought to have gone to bed, 
 but I tried to play the diplomat like Talleyrand, and 
 did not follow my first impulse just because it was the 
 right one." 
 
 He slowly ascended the steps, and, after throwing 
 off his fur coat walked up to the drawing-room, the 
 doors of which were opened for him with a sort of 
 obsequious and confidential deference by a lackey, as 
 for one who would soon be the master of the house 
 and in whose service he desired to remain. 
 
 3^ 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 " There ! " said Guy de Malivert to himself, as he 
 noticed the man's servility was more marked than 
 usual ; " the very servants dispose of my liberty and 
 marry me on their own authority to Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court ! Yet the banns have not been published ! " 
 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt, on perceiving Guy advancing 
 towards her with rounded back, — the modern way of 
 bowing to ladies, — uttered a slight exclamation of 
 pleasure, which she endeavoured to make up for by 
 assuming an air of coldness and dissatisfaction. But 
 her ever smiling lips, accustomed to exhibit teeth of 
 irreproachable pearliness, could not form the pout 
 called for, and the lady, observing in the mirror that 
 her attempt was a failure, made up her mind to show 
 herself good-natured, like an indulgent woman who 
 knows that nowadays masculine gallantry must not be 
 overtaxed. 
 
 " You are very late, Mr. Guy," said she, holding 
 out a hand gloved with such a small glove that it felt 
 like wood when pressed ; u no doubt you remained at 
 your club smoking and playing cards. Well, you 
 have been punished for your remissness by not hear- 
 ing the great German pianist Kreisler play Liszt's 
 4 Chromatic Galop,' and the charming Countess Salva- 
 
 3 
 
 33 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 rosa sing Desdemona's air better than ever Malibran 
 did." 
 
 Guy, in a few well chosen words, expressed the 
 regret, not very deep, to tell the truth, he felt at having 
 missed the galop by the virtuoso and the aria by the 
 society leader, and as he felt rather awkward at having 
 on, among all those people dressed up to the nines, a 
 black-silk tie instead of a white-lawn one, he tried to 
 escape and to gain some less brilliantly lighted spot 
 where his involuntary solecism in dress might more 
 easily be concealed in relative shadow. He had much 
 difficulty in doing so, for Mme. d'Ymbercourt kept 
 recalling him to her side by a glance or a remark that 
 required a reply, brief though Guy strove to make it. 
 
 At last, however, he managed to gain the recess of 
 a door leading from the great drawing-room to a 
 smaller one, arranged like a hot-house, with trellises 
 covered with camellias. 
 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt's drawing-room was furnished 
 in white and gold, and hung with crimson Indian 
 damask. The chairs, arm-chairs, and sofas were 
 easy, comfortable, and well upholstered. The chande- 
 lier with its gilded branches was filled with tapers in 
 rock-crystal foliage. Lamps, vases, and a tall clock, 
 
 34 
 
«a* >ju (4* •!» »4» •4' •A* ^^t|jt|?tl?tJjts?d?dbtibt*? djr wife 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 all evidently the work of Barbedienne, adorned the 
 white-marble mantelpiece. A handsome carpet, the 
 pile of which was soft and thick like sward, lay under 
 foot. Superb, full curtains draped the windows, and 
 on the wall smiled, even more than the original, a 
 magnificently framed portrait of the Countess painted 
 by Winterhalter. 
 
 There was no objection to be made to this drawing- 
 room filled with rare and costly articles, the like of 
 which, however, any one rich enough not to fear 
 the bills of an architect or a house-furnisher, could 
 easily obtain. The commonplace luxury of the room 
 was entirely suitable, but it lacked distinctiveness. 
 Not a single thing indicated the individuality of the 
 owner, and if the Countess had been absent, the room 
 might as well have been that of a banker, a lawyer, or 
 an American making a short stay in the capital. Soul 
 and individuality were wanting. So Guy, naturallv 
 artistic, considered the luxury exceedingly vulgar and 
 disagreeable, though it was exactly the background 
 best suited to Mme. d'Ymbercourt, whose beauty was 
 composed merely of commonplace perfections. 
 
 In the centre of the room, on a circular divan sur- 
 mounted by a great China vase in which bloomed a 
 
 35 
 
•!> .1 ., rf . rJ . »Xi «X» «A» ,A» «A» «A» ri* fjti »JU »£* «1* rl% *1» »Ai «i« 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 rare exotic plant, — whose name Mme. d'Ymbercourt 
 had not even the least idea of, and which had been put 
 there by her gardener, — were seated, in dresses of gauze., 
 tulle, lace, satin, and velvet, the swelling folds of which 
 surged to their shoulders, ladies, most of them young 
 and beautiful, whose fancifully extravagant gowns testi- 
 fied to the inexhaustible and costly powers of invention 
 of Worth. On their brown, golden, red, and even 
 powdered hair, so abundant that even the least sar- 
 castic could not help thinking art had been called in 
 to beauty's aid, sparkled diamonds, waved feathers, 
 dewy leaves showed green, natural or imaginary 
 flowers bloomed, strings of sequins rustled, darts, 
 daggers, pins with double balls gleamed bright, orna- 
 ments of scarabeus-wings glistened, golden bands were 
 crossed, ribbons of red velvet wound in and out, stars 
 of gems quivered on the end of springs, and in general 
 there could be seen whatever may be piled upon the 
 head of a fashionable woman, — to say nothing of the 
 grapes, the currants, and the brightly coloured berries 
 which Pomona loans to Flora to complete an evening 
 head-dress. 
 
 Leaning against the door-post, Guy watched the 
 satiny shoulders covered with rice powder, the necks on 
 
 36 
 
SPI RI TE 
 
 which curled stray threads of hair, the white bosoms 
 occasionally betrayed by the too low epaulet of the 
 bodice, small misfortunes to which a woman sure of 
 her charms easily reconciles herself. Besides, the 
 motion of drawing up the sleeve is uncommonly 
 graceful, and the act of adjusting the opening of the 
 dress on the bosom so that it shall have a satisfactory 
 contour affords opportunities for attractive poses. My 
 hero was indulging in this interesting study, which he 
 preferred to wearisome conversation, for, in his opinion, 
 it was the most profitable thing one could do at a ball or 
 a reception. He glanced with careless eye at these living 
 Books of Beauty, at these animated Keepsakes which 
 society scatters in drawing rooms just as it places 
 stereoscopes, albums, and papers on the tables for the 
 benefit of shy people who do not know which way to 
 turn. He enjoyed his pleasure in greater security 
 because, the report of his approaching marriage with 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt having gone abroad, he was not 
 obliged to be careful of his glances, formerly closely 
 watched by mothers desirous of settling their daughters 
 in life. Nothing was expected of him now. He had 
 ceased to be a prey. He was settled and done for, 
 and although more than one woman thought to herself 
 
 3" 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 that he might have done better, the fact was accepted. 
 He might even, without running any risk, have spoken 
 two or three phrases running to a young girl, for 
 was he not already as good as married to Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt ? 
 
 At the same door where stood Guy de Malivert 
 stood also a young gentleman whom he often met at 
 his club, and whose somewhat eccentric Northern 
 mode of thought he rather liked. It was the Baron de 
 Feroe, a Swede, a fellow-countryman of Swedenborg's, 
 bending like him over the abyss of mysticism, and 
 as fully taken up with the other world as with this. 
 He had a strange and characteristic head. His fair 
 hair, falling almost straight, was fairer even than his 
 skin, and his moustache was of so pale a gold that it 
 looked like silver. His gray-blue eyes were filled with 
 an indescribable expression, and his glance, usually 
 half veiled by long pale lashes, flamed sharply out and 
 seemed to reach beyond the ken of human vision. 
 But the Baron de Feroe was too thorough a gentleman 
 to affect the least eccentricity ; his manners, cold and 
 even, were as correct as an Englishman's, and he did 
 not pose in front of mirrors as a seer. That evening, 
 as he was going to the Austrian ambassador's ball on 
 
 38 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 leaving Mme. d'Ymbercourt's reception, he was in 
 full dress, and on the breast of his coat, half concealed 
 by the facing, shone, suspended from a fine golden 
 chain, the stars of the Elephant and of the Dannebrog, 
 the Prussian Order of Merit, the order of Saint Alex- 
 ander Newsky, and other decorations from Northern 
 sovereigns which testified to his diplomatic services. 
 
 He was really an extraordinary man, but the fact 
 did not at once strike the beholder, so well was it con- 
 cealed by diplomatic phlegm. He went out into 
 society a great deal, and was to be met with at the 
 club, and the Opera, but under his outward appear- 
 ance of a fashionable man he lived in mysterious 
 fashion. He had neither intimate friends nor com- 
 panions. In his admirably kept house, no visitor had 
 ever got beyond the outer drawing-room, and the door 
 that led to the other apartments opened to no one. 
 Like the Turks, he devoted to outer life but a single 
 room which he plainly did not live in. Once his 
 visitor was gone, he withdrew within his apartment. 
 What did he busy himself with ? No one knew. 
 Occasionally he remained invisible for a considerable 
 time, and those who noted his absence attributed it to a 
 secret mission, or to a trip to Sweden, the home of his 
 
 39 
 
sp Trite 
 
 family ; but any one who had happened to pass, at a 
 late hour, through the unfrequented street where lived 
 the Baron, might have seen a light in his window or 
 the Baron himself leaning on the balcony, his gaze lost 
 amid the stars. No one, however, was interested in 
 spying upon Baron de Feroe ; he rendered exactly to 
 society what was society's, and the world asks no 
 more of any man. With women, though scrupulously 
 polite, he never trespassed beyond certain limits, even 
 when he might safely have done so. In spite of his 
 coldness he was considered rather attractive. The 
 classical purity of his features recalled the Greco- 
 Scandinavian work of Thorwaldsen. " He is a frozen 
 Apollo," said of him the lovely Duchess of C, who, 
 if gossip were to be believed, had tried to melt the 
 frost. 
 
 Like Malivert, Baron de Feroe was looking at a 
 beautiful snow-white neck and back, seen in a slightly 
 bending attitude, that imparted an exquisite curve to 
 the lines, and which occasionally shivered at the tick- 
 ling of a spray of green leaves that had become partially 
 detached from the head-dress. 
 
 " A lovely girl," said the Baron to Guy, whose 
 glance he had followed. " What a pity she has no 
 
 40 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 soul. The man who falls in love with her will share 
 the fate of the student Nathaniel, in Hoffmann's tale; 
 he will run the risk of pressing a lay-figure in his arms 
 at the ball, and that is a deathly sort of dance for a 
 man of feeling." 
 
 "You need not fear for me, my dear Baron," laugh- 
 ingly replied Guy de Malivert ; "I do not feel the 
 least desire to fall in love with the fair owner of these 
 beautiful shoulders, though beautiful shoulders are in 
 themselves nowise to be disdained. At the present 
 time, to my shame be it spoken, I do not feel the 
 faintest approach to love for any one whomsoever." 
 
 "What! Not even for Mme. d'Ymbercourt, whom 
 people say you are going to marry ? " replied the Baron 
 with an air of ironical incredulity. 
 
 " There are people in this world," returned Mali- 
 vert, quoting Moliere, "who would marry the Grand 
 Turk to the Republic of Venice ; but for my part I 
 hope I shall remain a bachelor." 
 
 " And you will do right," affirmed the Baron, in a 
 tone that passed suddenly from friendly familiarity to 
 mysterious solemnity. "Do not bind yourself with 
 earthly ties. Remain free for the love that will per- 
 chance come to you. The spirits are watching over 
 
 4i 
 
£ Ju 4, 4* 4, 4, 4. 4; 4; 4^ £ 4v 4. 4. 4j 4* 4. 4; 4. 4. 4» £ 4? dfe 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 you, and in the next world you might have cause to 
 regret eternally a mistake committed in this." 
 
 As the young Swedish baron uttered these strange 
 words, his steel-blue eyes flashed singularly and his 
 glance seemed to burn into Guy de Malivert's breast. 
 Coming after the curious events of the evening, the 
 advice was received by him with less incredulity than 
 he would have felt the day before. He turned on the 
 Swede a look full of wonder and questioning, as if to 
 beg him to speak more clearly, but de Feroe, glancing 
 at his watch, said, " I shall be late at the Embassy," 
 pressed Malivert's hand earnestly, and made his way to 
 the door without rumpling a single gown, treading 
 upon a single train, damaging a single flounce, with a 
 delicate skill that proved he was well used to society. 
 
 " Well, Guy, are you not coming for a cup of tea ? " 
 said Mme. d'Ymbercourt, who had at last discovered 
 her supposed admirer leaning thoughtfully against the 
 door of the smaller drawing-room. Malivert had to 
 follow the mistress of the house to the table whereon 
 smoked the tea in a silver urn surrounded with 
 porcelain cups. 
 
 The Real was trying to win its prey back from the 
 Ideal. 
 
 42 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 III 
 
 THE singular words spoken by Baron de Feroe 
 and his almost sudden disappearance after 
 he had uttered them gave Guy food for 
 thought as he returned to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, 
 carried along at Grimalkin's fastest trot ; for the horse, 
 though a thorough-bred, did not need any urging to 
 speed, the cold north wind making the return to his 
 warm loose-box with its comfortable litter pleasant 
 indeed. 
 
 "What can he have meant by his solemn riddles 
 spoken in so mysterious a tone ? " thought Guy de 
 Malivert, as Jack assisted him to undress. "De Feroe 
 has been brought up in the least romantic of civilisa- 
 tions ; he is sharp, clean, and cutting like an English 
 razor, and his manners, for all their perfect courtesy, 
 are colder than the Arctic. I cannot suppose that he 
 was trifling with me. People do not fail in that way to 
 Guy de Malivert, even when they are as brave as the 
 white-eyebrowed Swede. Besides, what would be the 
 
 43 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 object of such a joke ? He certainly did not stay to 
 enjoy it, for he disappeared at once like a man who is 
 determined to say no more. Well, let me dismiss all 
 this nonsense from my mind. I shall see the Baron 
 at the club to-morrow, and no doubt he will then be 
 more explicit. Let me to bed and try to sleep, 
 whether the spirits are watching me or no." 
 
 Guy did go to bed, but sleep did not come to his 
 call, though he courted it by reading the most soporific 
 pamphlets, perusing them with infinite mechanical 
 attention. In spite of himself he was watching for 
 those faint sounds which are perceptible even in the 
 deepest silence. The rattle of the clock ere the hour 
 or the half-hour struck, the crackling of the sparks in 
 the embers, the creaking of the wainscotting under the 
 influence of the heat of the room, the sound of the 
 dropping oil in the lamp, the draft of air attracted by 
 the hearth and moaning softly through the chinks of 
 the door in spite of the weather-strips, the unexpected 
 fall of a newspaper from his bed to the floor, — made him 
 start, as at the sudden explosion of a firearm, so excited 
 were his nerves. His hearing was so tense that he 
 could hear the pulsations of his arteries and the beating 
 of his heart. But amid all these confused murmurs he 
 
 44 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 did not manage to distinguish anything resembling 
 a sigh. 
 
 His eyes, that he closed from time to time in hopes 
 of inducing sleep, would forthwith reopen and examine 
 the recesses of the room with a curiosity not unmixed 
 with apprehension. He strongly desired to see some- 
 thing, and yet dreaded to do so. Occasionally his 
 dilated pupils seemed to perceive dim shapes in the 
 corners, which the light of the lamp, covered with a 
 green shade, left in partial darkness ; the folds of the 
 curtains assumed the aspect of feminine garments and 
 appeared to move as though they clothed a living body, 
 but it was all imagination. Blooms, luminous points, 
 changing patterns, butterflies, waving vermiculated lines 
 undulated, danced, swarmed, swelled, and sank before 
 his weary eyes without his being able to make out any- 
 thing definite. 
 
 More agitated than I can express, and feeling, though 
 he neither saw nor heard anything, an unknown pres- 
 ence in his room, he rose, drew on a camel's-hair 
 dressing-gown he had brought back from Cairo, threw 
 two or three logs on the fire, and sat down by the 
 chimney in a great arm-chair more comfortable for a 
 sleepless man than the bed upset by his wakefulness. 
 
 45 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 Near the arm-chair he saw lying on the carpet a 
 crumpled paper. It was the note he had written to 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt under the spell of that mysterious 
 impulse which he could not yet account for. He 
 picked it up, smoothed it out, and noticed, on examin- 
 ing it carefully, that the writing was not quite like his 
 own. It seemed to be the work of an impatient hand, 
 incapable of controlling itself, attempting, in the pro- 
 duction of a fac-simile, to copy the model exactly, but 
 inserting, among the characters of the original, loops 
 and strokes of its own. The aspect of the writing 
 was more elegant, more slender, and more feminine 
 than Guy's. 
 
 As he noted these details, Guy thought of Edgar 
 Poe's " Golden Bug " and of the wonderful skill 
 with which William Legrand manages to decipher 
 the meaning of the cryptogram used by Captain Kidd 
 to indicate enigmatically the exact spot where he had 
 concealed his treasure. He longed to possess the deep 
 intuition which can guess so boldly and so accurately, 
 which fills up blanks and restores connections. But in 
 this case not even Legrand himself, even assisted by 
 Augustus Dupin, of "The Stolen Letter" and "The 
 Murder in the Rue Morgue," could have managed to 
 
 46 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 guess at the secret power that had controlled Malivert's 
 hand. 
 
 Guy, however, at last fell into the heavy, troubled 
 sleep which, on the approach of dawn, follows a night 
 of insomnia. He woke when Jack entered to relight 
 the fire and to assist his master to dress. Guy felt 
 chilly and uncomfortable; he yawned, stretched his 
 limbs, took a cold bath, and, refreshed by his tonic 
 ablutions, was soon himself again. Gray-eyed morn, 
 as Shakespeare hath it, walking, not o'er the dew of a 
 high eastern hill, but down the slope of the snow-cov- 
 ered roofs, glided into the room, the shutters and cur- 
 tains having been opened by Jack, and restored to 
 every object its real aspect as it drove away the dreams 
 of the night. There is nothing so reassuring as the 
 sunlight, even if it be but the pale beams of a winter 
 sun such as just then streamed in through the frost- 
 flowers on the window-panes. 
 
 Having recovered the ordinary feelings of life, Guy 
 felt amazed at his agitation of the past night, and said 
 to himself, "I did not know I was so nervous;" then 
 tore open the wrappers of the newspapers which had 
 just been brought up, cast a glance at the articles they 
 contained, read the news of the town, took up the copy 
 
 47 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 of 41 Evangeline " he had been reading the previous 
 evening, smoked a cigar, and having thus whiled away 
 the time until eleven o'clock, dressed, and, by way of 
 exercise, resolved to walk to the Cafe Bignon, where 
 he proposed to breakfast. The frost of the early 
 morning had hardened the snow fallen during the night, 
 and as he traversed the Tuileries Malivert enjoyed 
 looking at the mythological statues powdered with the 
 white snow, and the great chestnut-trees covered with a 
 silvery mantle. He breakfasted on choice and care- 
 fully selected dishes, like a man seeking to repair the 
 fatigue due to a sleepless night, and chatted gaily with 
 pleasant companions, the very flower of Parisian wits 
 and sceptics, who had adopted as a motto the Greek 
 maxim : " Do not forget not to believe." Yet, when 
 the jokes became rather too free, Guy smiled somewhat 
 constrainedly. He did not share unresistingly in the 
 paradoxes of incredulity and the boastfulness of cyni- 
 cism. The words of Baron de Feroe, " The spirits 
 are watching you," involuntarily recurred to him, and 
 he felt as though a mysterious witness stood close 
 behind him. He rose, waved an adieu to his friends, 
 and took a turn or two on that boulevard along which 
 more wit travels in one day than in a whole year in 
 
 48 
 
:fc & rk & & & & & 4: ^ & 4rtb tl? tb & & db 4: ie sb sb 
 SPI RITE 
 
 the rest of the world, and finding it rather deserted on 
 account of the cold and the early hour, he mechanically 
 turned into the Rue de Chaussee-d'Antin. He was 
 soon at the house of Mme. d' Ymbercourt. As he was 
 about to ring he thought he felt a breath sweep by his 
 ear and that he heard these words whispered very softly 
 but very distinctly : " Do not go in." He turned round 
 quickly, but saw no one. 
 
 " What is the matter with me ? " said Malivert to 
 himself. " Am I going mad ? Am I suffering from 
 hallucinations in broad daylight ? Shall I or shall I 
 not obey the injunction ? " 
 
 But when turning abruptly he had let go the bell- 
 handle; the bell had rung and the door opened. The 
 porter, standing in front of his lodge, looked at Mali- 
 vert, who hesitated about entering. He did so, how- 
 ever, although he did not feel much like it after the 
 supernatural incident which had just occurred. Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt received him in the small drawing-room, 
 decorated in buttercup yellow and blue ornaments, in 
 which she received her morning callers. That par- 
 ticular shade of yellow was especially unpleasant to 
 Guy. "Yellow is the favourite colour of brunettes," 
 had replied the Countess to Malivert, who had more 
 
 4 
 
 49 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 than once allowed himself to ask for the removal or 
 the odious colour. 
 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt wore a skirt of black taffeta 
 with a jacket of brilliant colour braided and covered 
 with more jet and embroidery than a maja going to a 
 bull-fight or a ferla ever put on her bodice. The 
 Countess, although a woman of the world, was foolish 
 enough to allow dressmakers to clothe her in costumes 
 worn only by the rosy-cheeked and small-mouthed dolls 
 of fashion-plates. 
 
 Contrary to her habit, Mme. d'Ymbercourt seemed 
 to be seiious; a shade of annoyance darkened her 
 usually serene brow, while the corners of her mouth 
 were drawn down. One of her kind friends had just 
 left her and had asked her, with the feigned naturalness 
 of women on such occasions, when her marriage to 
 Guy de Malivert was to take place. The Countess 
 had blushed, stammered, and replied evasively that it 
 would soon come off, though Guy, whom every one 
 destined to be her husband, had never asked for her 
 hand or even formally declared himself, — a fact attrib- 
 uted by Mme. d'Ymbercourt to respectful timidity 
 and partly perhaps to that feeling of uncertainty' 
 which every young man experiences when on the 
 
 50 
 
4; 4j 4j 4j 4; 4; 4. 4. 4; 4j 4* £ 4j 4y 4; 4; jfc 4; 4» 4; 4y 4; 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 point of giving up bachelor life. But she felt quite 
 sure that he would speak ere long, and she looked upon 
 herself already as his bride ; so much so that she had 
 determined upon the changes which the entrance of a 
 husband into her mansion would necessitate. More 
 than once she had said to herself, as she looked at 
 certain rooms : " This shall be Guy's room ; this 
 his study, and this his smoking-room." 
 
 Although he did not much care for her, Guy 
 could not help acknowledging that Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court was endowed with regular beauty, enjoyed an 
 umblemished character, and was possessed of a con- 
 siderable fortune. He had let himself drift, without 
 being particularly attracted, and like all people who 
 are heart-whole, into frequenting this house where 
 he was received more cordially than anywhere else, 
 and he returned to it because, if he were absent 
 for a few days, an engagingly amiable note compelled 
 him to do so. 
 
 Besides, there was no reason why he should not 
 return to it. Mme. d'Ymbercourt received the best of 
 society and he occasionally met there friends whom it 
 would not have been quite so convenient to seek out 
 in the busy life of Paris. 
 
 5i 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 " You seem a little out of sorts," said Malivert to 
 the Countess ; "did your green tea give you a sleepless 
 night ? " 
 
 " No, indeed. I put so much cream into it that it 
 loses all its strength. Besides I am the Mithridates of 
 tea ; it has ceased to affect me. The truth is, I am 
 annoyed." 
 
 " Have I come at the wrong time, or have I upset 
 some of your plans ? In that case I hasten to with- 
 draw, and we can take it that finding you were out I 
 left my card at your lodge-gate." 
 
 " You are not the least in the way, and you know 
 very well that it is always a pleasure to me to see 
 you," answered the Countess. " Your visits, though 
 I ought not to say it, even seem to me rather 
 infrequent, though others are not of the same opinion." 
 
 "Yet you are unencumbered with troublesome 
 relatives, talkative uncles, and chaperon aunts who 
 embroider in the window recess. Kind nature has 
 relieved you of the collection of disagreeable relatives 
 who too often surround a pretty woman, and has 
 left you their inheritances only. You may receive 
 whom you please, for you are not dependent on any 
 one." 
 
 52 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 "That is true," replied Mme. d'Ymbercourt. "I 
 do not depend on any one, yet I am responsible to 
 every one. A woman is never wholly or really free, 
 even when a widow and apparently mistress of her 
 actions. A whole police force of interested people sur- 
 rounds and watches her, and interferes in her affairs. 
 So, my dear Guy, you compromise me." 
 
 " I ? — compromise you ? " exclaimed Malivert with 
 sincere surprise, that betokened a modesty quite uncom- 
 mon in young men not over twenty-eight years of age, 
 who have their clothes made by Renouard and send to 
 England for their trousers. " Why should I compro- 
 mise you, rather than d'Aversac, Beaumont, Janowski, 
 and de Feroe, each and all of whom are exceedingly 
 attentive to you ? " 
 
 " That is more than I can tell you," replied the 
 Countess. " Perhaps without knowing it you are a 
 dangerous man, or society has perceived in you some 
 power of which you are yourself ignorant. None of 
 the names you have mentioned have been connected 
 with mine ; people seem to think it quite natural that 
 these gentlemen should call on me on my dav at home, 
 that they should call every now and then between five 
 and six on their return from the Bois, and should drop 
 
 53 
 
kkkkkk kk kkk kkkkkkk k k kkk£ 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 in on me in my box at the Bouffes or the Opera. But 
 these very actions, innocent in themselves, assume, 
 it appears, when performed by you, a tremendous 
 meaning." 
 
 " And yet I am the steadiest fellow in the world, 
 and have never given cause for gossip. I do not wear 
 a blue frock coat like Werther, nor a slashed doublet 
 like Don Juan. No one has ever surprised me playing 
 the guitar under a balcony ; I never go to the races in 
 a four-in-hand with questionable women in loud dresses, 
 and never, at any evening party, do I discuss senti- 
 mental questions in the presence of pretty women for 
 the purpose of drawing attention to the purity and 
 delicacy of my feelings. I am never seen posing 
 against a pillar, one hand in my vest, gazing in 
 silence, with a sombre, woebegone look, at some fair 
 girl with long ringlets, like Alfred de Vigny's Kitty 
 Bell. Nor do I wear hair rings, or a sachet round my 
 neck in which I preserve Parma violets given me by 
 4 her.' My most secret drawers might be searched 
 without a single portrait of a fair or a dark beauty 
 being found in them ; nor even a bundle of scented 
 notes tied with ribbon or a rubber band ; not even an 
 embroidered slipper, a mask edged with lace, or any of 
 
 54 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 the trifles which compose the secret collections of 
 lovers. Frankly, do I look like a lady-killer ? " 
 
 "You are very modest," replied Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court, " or else you are trying to make out that you 
 are very artless. Unfortunately, everybody does not 
 agree with you. Objection is raised to the attentions 
 you pay me, although for my part I see nothing to 
 object to in them.''' 
 
 " In that case," returned Malivert, " I shall call less 
 frequently. I shall not come more than once a fort- 
 night or once a month, and then I shall start on a 
 trip. But positively I do not know where to go. I 
 have been to Spain, Italy, Russia, Germany. Well, I 
 might go to Greece, for it is considered sinful not to 
 have seen Athens, the Acropolis and the Parthenon. I 
 could go by way of Marseilles or board an Austrian 
 Lloyds' steamer at Trieste. They call at Corfu, and 
 on the way one sees Ithaca soli occidenti bene objacentem, 
 basking in the setting sun now as in the days of Homer. 
 They go to the head of the Gulf of Lepanto. Then 
 you cross the Isthmus, and you can see the remains of 
 Corinth, which not every one was allowed to enter. 
 You get on board another steamer and in a few hours 
 you reach the Piraeus. Beaumont told me all about it. 
 
 55 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 He started a fanatical Romanticist, but he got metope 
 on the brain there and will not hear of cathedrals now. 
 He has turned into a confirmed Classicist, and maintains 
 that since the days of the Greeks humanity has gone 
 back to barbarism and that our boasted civilisation is 
 but a form of decadence." 
 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt did not feel particularly flattered 
 by this lyrical outburst of geographical knowledge, and 
 thought Malivert was much too ready to avoid compro- 
 mising her. She did not desire him to care for her 
 reputation by running away. 
 
 " No one wants you to go to Greece," she said. 
 And, with a faint blush and an imperceptible trembling 
 of the voice, " Is there not a simpler way of putting 
 an end to all this gossip than leaving your friends and 
 venturing into a country that is by no means safe, 
 if we are to believe Edmond About's 1 King of the 
 Mountains ' ? " 
 
 Fearing lest she had spoken too plainly, the Coun- 
 tess flushed more deeply than before. Her breath 
 came quick and short, and made the jet ornaments on 
 her bodice glitter and rustle; regaining her courage, 
 she looked at Malivert with eyes that a touch of emo- 
 tion made absolutely beautiful. She loved Guy, her 
 
 56 
 
•4««4* »A» rjj rJU »A» miy% *b rL% «X» rX-i elj *|j yj* rjt m£* »lj jf^tlj 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 silent admirer, as much as it was in her nature to love 
 any one. She liked the neat yet careless way in which 
 he tied his cravat, and with the deep logic of women, 
 a logic the deductions of which are often unintelligible 
 to the subtlest of philosophers, she had inferred from 
 that tie that Malivert possessed all the qualities needed 
 in an excellent husband. The trouble was that the 
 intended husband was strolling very slowly indeed 
 towards the altar and seemed in no hurry to light the 
 hymeneal torches. 
 
 Guy perfectly understood Mme. d'Ymbercourt's 
 meaning, but he more than ever dreaded uttering im- 
 prudent words that might bind him, so he answered : 
 " No doubt, no doubt ; a trip breaks off matters com- 
 pletely, and when one returns it is easier to see what 
 should be done." 
 
 On hearing this cold and indefinite reply the Countess 
 allowed a gesture of annoyance to escape her, and bit 
 her lips. Guy, very much embarrassed, kept silence, 
 and the situation was becoming unbearable when the 
 footman relieved the strain by announcing Baron de 
 Feroe. 
 
 57 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 IV 
 
 ON seeing the Swedish baron enter, Malivert 
 uttered an irrepressible sigh of content, and 
 cast a look of gratitude at M. de Feroe, for 
 he had never been so glad to see any one. But for 
 this opportune interruption Guy would have found 
 himself in a very embarrassing position. He was 
 bound to answer Mme. d'Ymbercourt plainly, and yet 
 he hated nothing so much as formal explanations ; he 
 always preferred to act rather than promise, and even 
 in matters of little moment he was very wary of pledg- 
 ing himself in any way. The glance which Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt cast upon the visitor was not as kindly 
 as Malivert's, and did not good breeding teach dissimu- 
 lation, reproach, impatience, and anger might easily 
 have been read in her look. The Baron's unseason- 
 able intrusion deprived her of an opportunity that 
 would not soon recur and that her self-respect would 
 scarcely allow her to bring about, for it was certain 
 that Guy would not seek it, and, indeed would carefully 
 
 58 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 avoid it. Although on most occasions Guy was a man 
 of resolution and courage, he dreaded any step that 
 might settle his life in any way. He was talented 
 enough to succeed in any career, but he had deliberately 
 avoided making any choice lest it should prove to be 
 the wrong one. He was not known to entertain any 
 attachment for any woman ; though the habit he had 
 got into of calling frequently on the Countess had led 
 to the supposition that the pair were thinking of mar- 
 riage. He mistrusted any kind of bond or obligation, 
 and it seemed as though, urged by a secret instinct, he 
 was trying to keep himself free for some future event. 
 
 After having exchanged a few preliminary common- 
 places, chords forming a prelude to conversation, like 
 those struck on the piano before beginning a piece, 
 Baron de Feroe, by a transition of the kind that in a 
 couple of sentences make you pass from the fall of 
 Nineveh to the last win of " Gladiator," entered upon 
 an esthetic and transcendental dissertation on Wag- 
 ner's most abstruse operas, — "The Flying Dutchman," 
 " Lohengrin," " Tristan and Isolde." Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court, although a remarkable pianist, did not under- 
 stand music, and especially such deep, mysterious, 
 complex music as Wagner's, whose " Tannhauser " 
 
 59 
 
k k k k k k k k k k k k k k k k tfc :fe £ 4; k k tt: 4? 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 gave rise to such fierce discussions in France. While 
 working at a strip of embroidery she had taken from 
 a basket placed near the arm-chair she usually occu- 
 pied, she replied from time to time to the enthusiastic 
 analyses of the Baron, urging the commonplace objec- 
 tions always brought up against any new form of music, 
 and which were once made to Rossini's compositions 
 as well as to Wagner's, such as lack of rhythm and of 
 melody, obscurity, excessive use of brass instruments, 
 inextricably complicated orchestration, deafening noise, 
 and finally the material impossibility of performing the 
 compositions. 
 
 " Your discussion is too deep for me, who am simply 
 an ignoramus in the matter of music. I am moved 
 by what strikes me as beautiful ; I admire Beethoven 
 and even Verdi, though it is no longer fashionable to 
 do so, now that one has to be a partisan, as in the days 
 of the rivalry between Gluck and Piccini, when one 
 had to elect to side with the King or with the Queen. 
 So I shall leave you two to fight it out, for I cannot 
 throw any light on the question, and at most I can put 
 in a Hem! Hem! like the Minorite whom Moliere 
 and Chapelle chose for arbiter in a discussion on a 
 point in philosophy." 
 
 6o 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 With these words Guy de Malivert rose to take 
 leave and shook hands with Mme. d'Ymbercourt, 
 whose glance said, as plainly as feminine reserve per- 
 mitted, " Stay," and followed him to the door with 
 a sadness that would no doubt have touched him had 
 he seen it; but Guy's attention was engrossed by the 
 quietly imperious expression of the Swede, which 
 seemed to say : " Do not again expose yourself to 
 the peril from which I have rescued you." 
 
 When he found himself in the street, he thought, 
 with some feeling of dread, of the supernatural warning 
 he had received as he was about to enter Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt's house, and of the call made by Baron 
 de Feroe, a call which coincided in the most singular 
 way with Guy's disregard of the mysterious warning. 
 The Baron seemed to have been sent to his assistance 
 by the occult powers of whose presence around him he 
 was vaguely conscious. Although Guy de Malivert 
 was not systematically incredulous or sceptical, he yet 
 found it hard to bring himself to believe in spirit influ- 
 ences, and he had never indulged in the fantasies of 
 table-turning and spirit-rapping. He felt indeed a sort 
 of repulsion for experiments intended to exploit the 
 
 marvellous, and he had refused to go to see the famous 
 _ 
 
-\- ^ »J-. JU »£« »i» » U ^<j^^»j«»l»»iwi^4<>i^cj<i4. »|» 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 Home, whom all Paris went crazy over for a season. 
 Until the previous evening he had led a careless 
 bachelor life, fairly satisfied on the whole with being 
 alive, and feeling that he was cutting by no means a 
 bad figure in the world; thinking of material things 
 only, and not troubling to ascertain whether or not the 
 earth carried with it, in its daily circling round the sun, 
 a world peopled with invisible and impalpable beings. 
 But he was compelled to own to himself that a change 
 had come over his life ; that a new element, unsought 
 by him, was seeking to enter into his hitherto peaceful 
 existence, from which he had carefully excluded all 
 possible disturbing causes. So far it was not much : a 
 sigh as soft as the breathing of an ^olian harp, a 
 thought substituted for his own in a letter written 
 mechanically, a word or two whispered in his ear, his 
 meeting with a solemn, mysterious-looking Sweden- 
 borgian Baron. It was plain, nevertheless, that a spirit 
 was circling round him qucerens quern devoret, as the 
 eternal wisdom of the Bible has it. 
 
 While thus ruminating Guy de Malivert had reached 
 the great open space in the Champs-Elysees without 
 having in the least intended to go in that direction rather 
 than in any other. His body had borne him thither, 
 
 62 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 and he had allowed it to have its way. There were 
 not many people there. A few of those obstinate per- 
 sons who insist — for hygienic reasons — on exercising 
 at all times of the year, and who cut holes in the ice in 
 order to get their bath, were returning from the Bois de 
 Boulogne, their noses blue and their cheeks purple with 
 cold, riding horses with kneecaps. Two or three of 
 them waved a greeting to Guy, and he even received, 
 though he was on foot, a gracious smile from a lady in 
 an open carriage, and wrapped in costly Russian furs. 
 
 " As I happen to be the whole of the public, my 
 attention and admiration are worth having," thought 
 Malivert. " In summer I should not have received 
 such a bow. But what am I doing here ? This is not 
 the time of year to dine in an arbour with some lively 
 girl, and besides I do not feel particularly gay. All 
 the same the sun is setting behind the Arc de l'Etoile, 
 and it is time to think of satisfying the inner man." 
 
 Malivert was right. The great arch of the Trium- 
 phal Gate framed in a mass of clouds heaped up in 
 strange fashion, their edges brilliant with a foam of 
 light. The evening breeze, as it set them in motion, 
 imparted to them a sort of life, and it would have been 
 easy to make out figures and groups in the dark mass 
 
 63 
 
ieierkis 4: -k & & 4: 5tr"i:^sl?tlrti?abtfctbdbtfc5lr £ sfctst 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 of vapours through which flashed the sunbeams, just as 
 in those drawings of Dore's where the fancies that fill 
 the minds of the characters are reflected on the clouds, 
 making the Wandering Jew see Christ toiling up 
 Calvary, and Don Quixote behold knights tilting with 
 enchanters. Malivert thought he saw angels with great 
 wings of flame soaring over a swarming multitude of 
 indistinct beings that moved to and fro on a bank of 
 black clouds, like a sombre promontory jutting out 
 into a phosphorescent sea. Occasionally one of the 
 lower figures broke away from its companions and rose 
 towards the lighted regions, traversing the red disk of 
 the sun. On reaching the higher spheres, it flew for a 
 moment by the side of one of the angels and then 
 melted into the universal glow. No doubt fancy had 
 much to do with the ever changing combinations, and 
 of a cloud picture may be said, in the words of Ham- 
 let to Polonius : " Do you see yonder cloud that 's 
 almost in shape of a camel ? . . . Or like a whale ? " 
 And in either case one may answer affirmatively, with- 
 out necessarily being an imbecile courtier. 
 
 Night coming on put an end to the vaporous fanci- 
 fulness, and the gas lamps, as they were lighted, soon 
 traced, from the Place de la Concorde to the Arc de 
 
 64 
 
tjc tir *'-'' Tt? db 'J? ^4>^4i4*4iji tt?ib db w tl» 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 l'Etoile, the two lines of fire, so magical in effect, 
 which delight the wondering strangers who enter Paris 
 at night by that triumphal avenue. Guy hailed a pass- 
 ing cab, on the look-out for a fare, and had himself 
 driven to the rue de Choiseul, where his club was situ- 
 ated. Leaving his overcoat to the care of the liveried 
 servants in the vestibule, he glanced over the book in 
 which members put down their names for dinner, and 
 noted with satisfaction that it contained Baron de 
 Feroe's. He wrote his own below, traversed the bil- 
 liard room, where the marker was sadly waiting until it 
 should please some one to indulge in a game, and 
 several other high-ceiled rooms, spacious and furnished 
 with every modern comfort, — the temperature kept at 
 an even warmth by a huge furnace, though great logs 
 blazed on the monumental andirons within the vast 
 fireplaces. Four or five members were idling on the 
 divans, or leaning on the green reading-table and glanc- 
 ing through the papers and reviews, arranged methodi- 
 cally and continually being disarranged. Two or three 
 were writing love letters or business notes on the club 
 stationery. 
 
 It was near the dinner hour, and the guests were 
 chatting together until the butler should announce that 
 
 5 
 
 65 
 
SP I RITE 
 
 the meal was served. Guy began to fear that Baron 
 de Feroe* was not coming, but as he passed into the 
 dining-room, the Baron arrived and sat down by him. 
 The dinner, served with a wealth of glass ware and 
 silver plate, was distinctly good, and each man washed 
 it down with his own particular tipple, some with 
 claret, others with champagne, others again with pale 
 ale, according to individual habit or caprice. A few, 
 of English tastes, called for a glass of sherry or port, 
 which tall waiters in knee breeches brought ceremoni- 
 ously upon silver salvers, marked with the club mono- 
 gram. Every man drank to his liking, without troubling 
 about his neighbour, for at the club every man is at 
 home. 
 
 Contrary to his custom, Guy did not do honour to 
 the dinner. He left the dishes scarcely tasted and the 
 bottle of Chateau-Margaux in front of him was being 
 very slowly emptied. 
 
 " The white angel could not say to you," remarked 
 Baron de Feroe, " as he did one day to Swedenborg, 
 'You are eating too much,' for you are uncommonly 
 abstemious to-night, and it might be thought that 
 you are trying to attain to the spiritual state by 
 fasting." 
 
 66 
 
db db db sb db db 4? :b :b db tb 4? db tb db db tb tb db tb dl? tb tb db 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 " I do not know whether a few mouthfuls more or 
 less would free my soul from its material envelope," 
 answered Guy, " and tend to make more diaphanous 
 the veils that separate the visible from the invisible, 
 but whatever the reason, I do not feel much appetite. 
 Certain circumstances you appear to be acquainted 
 with have, I confess, astonished me somewhat since 
 yesterday and caused me to be more absent-minded 
 than is my wont. Normally I am not usually preoc- 
 cupied at meals, but to-day other thoughts master me 
 in spite of myself. Have you any engagements this 
 evening, Baron ? If you have nothing better to do, I 
 propose that we smoke together after dinner in the 
 music room, where we shall not be disturbed, unless 
 the fancy strikes some of our fellow-members to pound 
 on the piano, — which is not at all likely, for our musi- 
 cal friends are all away to-night at the dress rehearsal 
 of the new opera." 
 
 Baron de Feroe courteously agreed to Malivert's 
 suggestion, and politely replied that no better way 
 could be devised of passing the time. So the two 
 gentlemen settled themselves on the couch and started 
 to puff clouds of smoke from excellent cigars of la 
 Vuelta de Abajo, each of them mentally thinking of the 
 
 67 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 curious conversation which could not be put off long. 
 After a few remarks on the quality of the cigars they 
 were smoking, and on the respective merits of strong 
 and mild, the Swedish Baron himself opened the sub- 
 ject that Malivert was dying to enter upon. 
 
 " First," he said, " I must apologise for the liberty I 
 took in warning you in mysterious fashion the other 
 evening at Mme. d'Ymbercourt's, for as you had not 
 confided in me it was in a way indiscreet in me to 
 penetrate your thoughts before you had spoken. You 
 may be sure I should not have done so — for it is not 
 my habit to abandon my part as a man of the world and 
 to take up that of wizard — had you not inspired me 
 with a lively interest, and had I not been made aware, 
 by signs perceptible to adepts alone, that you had 
 recently been visited by a spirit, or at least that the 
 invisible world was seeking to enter into relations with 
 you." 
 
 Guy hastened to say that he had not been in the 
 least offended by the Baron, and that, indeed, in the 
 novel situation in which he found himself, he was only 
 too glad to have found a guide apparently so well 
 informed in matters supernatural, and whose seriousness 
 of disposition was so well known to him. 
 
 68 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 " You readily understand," said the Baron, with a 
 slight bow by way of .thanks, " that I do not easily 
 break through my reserve, but you have perhaps seen 
 enough no longer to believe that our senses suffice to 
 inform us of everything, and I do not fear, therefore, 
 that you will take me, if our conversation should turn 
 upon such mysterious subjects, for a visionary or one of 
 the illuminati. My position is a guarantee that I am 
 not a charlatan and, besides, the world knows my outer 
 life only. I do not ask you to tell me what has happened 
 in your case, but I perceive that in the sphere beyond 
 that of ordinary life an interest is being taken in you." 
 
 "Yes," answered Guy de Malivert, "there is some- 
 thing indefinable floating around me, and I do not 
 think I am indiscreet, as far as the spirits, with which 
 you appear to be on an excellent footing, are con- 
 cerned, if I tell you in detail, what your superhuman 
 intuition has enabled you to divine." 
 
 Thereupon Guy related to the Baron the extraordi- 
 nary events which had marked the previous evening. 
 
 The Swedish nobleman, twisting his blond moustache 
 the while, listened to him with extreme attention, but 
 without manifesting the least surprise. He remained 
 silent for a time and seemed buried in thought. Then, 
 
 69 
 
SP1RITE 
 
 as if the words summed up a series of reflections, he 
 suddenly said to Guy : — 
 
 " M. de Malivert, did a young girl ever break her 
 heart on your account ? " 
 
 " Neither girl nor woman ever did, so far as I am 
 aware at least," replied Malivert. " I am not con- 
 ceited enough to suppose myself capable of inspiring 
 so great a passion. My love affairs, if a kiss care- 
 lessly given and carelessly received, may be dignified 
 by such a name, have been of the most peaceful and 
 least romantic character, and ended as easily as they 
 began. Indeed, in order to avoid pathetic scenes, 
 which I have a horror of, I have always so managed 
 matters as to be betrayed and abandoned, my self- 
 love being very ready to make that sacrifice to my 
 repose of mind. So I fancy I have not left behind 
 me in life many disconsolate Ariadnes ; in our Parisian 
 mythology, the arrival of Bacchus invariably precedes 
 the departure of Theseus. Besides, even at the risk 
 of giving you but a poor opinion of mv power of lov- 
 ing, I must own that I have never felt for any one that 
 mad, exclusive, all-absorbing passion of which every- 
 body speaks without having experienced it perhaps. 
 No woman has ever inspired me with the desire to 
 
 70 
 
S P I R I T E 
 
 attach her to myself by an indissoluble bond or made 
 me dream of two lives blended into one, or wish to 
 flee with her to that paradise of azure, light, and 
 beauty which love, it is said, can create even in a hut 
 or an attic." 
 
 " It does not follow, my dear Guy, that you are un- 
 able to feel passionate love. There are many varieties 
 of love, and no doubt, in the place where the fate of 
 souls is settled upon, you have been reserved to higher 
 destinies. But you have still time, for spirits have no 
 power over us save by our free consent. You are 
 standing on the threshold of a boundless, deep, myste- 
 rious world, full of illusions and shadows, wherein con- 
 tend influences for good or evil which a man must 
 learn to distinguish. In that world are to be seen 
 wonders and terrors fit to upset human reason. 
 No one ever returns from its depths without bearing 
 on his brow a pallor that time can never efface ; the 
 carnal eye cannot behold with impunity the things 
 reserved for spiritual sight alone; these excursions 
 beyond the material world are paid for by inexpressible 
 fatigue and inspire at the same time desperate nostalgia. 
 Stay your feet at that dread bourne ; do not pass from 
 this world into the other, and do not yield to the call 
 
 7 
 
SPI R ITE 
 
 that seeks to draw you beyond the bounds of material 
 life. The enchanter is safe within the circle he traces 
 around him and which the spirits cannot cross. Let 
 reality be to you as that circle ; do not overpass it, or 
 you will lose your power. You see that, though I am 
 a hierophant, I do not indulge in proselytism." 
 
 " Do you mean," said Malivert, " that I should run 
 the risk of perilous adventures in that invisible world 
 by which we are surrounded, and which reveals its exist- 
 ence to but a small number of privileged beings ? " 
 
 " By no means," replied the Baron de Feroe. 
 " Nothing that the eye of the flesh can note will 
 happen to you, but your soul may remain for ever 
 deeply troubled." 
 
 " Is the spirit, then, which does me the honour to 
 concern itself with me of a dangerous character ? " 
 
 " It is sympathetic, kindly, and loving. I have met 
 it in the radiance of light. But heaven gives the 
 vertigo as does the abyss. Remember the story of 
 the shepherd that loved a star." 
 
 " Yet," replied Malivert, " what you said to me at 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt's seemed to be a warning against 
 any terrestrial entanglement." 
 
 "I was bound to warn you," returned the Baron de 
 
 72 
 
SPI R ITE 
 
 Feroe, "in the event of your answering the manifesta- 
 tions of that spirit, but since you have not as yet done 
 so, you are still your own master. Perhaps it would 
 be best for you to remain in that condition and to lead 
 your old life." 
 
 " And marry Mme. d'Ymbercourt," put in Guy de 
 Malivert with an ironical smile. 
 
 " Why not ? " said the Baron de Feroe. " She is 
 young, beautiful, and loves you ; I read in her glance 
 the genuine grief your veiled refusal caused her. She 
 might possibly acquire a soul." 
 
 "That is a risk I do not choose to run. Pray do 
 not endeavour, dear Baron, through a kindly feeling 
 which I quite understand, to tie me down to material 
 life. I am more detached from it than may appear at 
 first sight. The fact that I have ordered my days in 
 pleasant and convenient fashion does not involve 
 sensuality on my part. At bottom, comfort is a mat- 
 ter of indifference to me. If I have thought it best to 
 appear careless and joyous rather than to affect a 
 romantic melancholy, which is in very bad taste, it 
 does not follow that the world as I find it delights and 
 satisfies me. It is quite true that I do not maunder, in 
 drawing-rooms, and in presence of an assembly of 
 
 73 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 pretentious women, about my heart, or the ideal, or 
 the passion of love, but I have kept my soul true and 
 unstained, unspotted by any vulgar love, in the ex- 
 pectation of the coming of the unknown deity." 
 
 While Malivert spoke thus, with more earnestness 
 than men of the world usually display, the eyes of 
 Baron de Feroe lighted up and his face assumed an 
 expression of enthusiasm which he generally concealed 
 under a mask of icy indifference. 
 
 He was pleased to see that Guy resisted prosaic 
 temptation and maintained his spiritual will. 
 
 " Since you have made up your mind, my dear Guy, 
 return home, and you will no doubt receive some 
 new communications. I have to stay ; I won a hun- 
 dred louis yesterday from d'Aversac, and I am going to 
 give him his revenge." 
 
 " The rehearsal must be over, for I hear our friends 
 returning and humming, very much out of tune, the 
 airs they have failed to catch." 
 
 "Away with you, then; the discord would throw 
 your soul out of harmony." 
 
 Guy shook hands with the Baron, and entered his 
 carriage, which was waiting for him at the door of the 
 club-house. 
 
 74 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 V 
 
 GUY DE MALIVERT returned home, his 
 mind made up to run the venture. Though 
 he did not appear to be romantic, neverthe- 
 less he was so, but his proud, shy reserve led him to 
 conceal his feelings, and he did not expect of others 
 more than he was willing to give himself. His rela- 
 tions with society were pleasantly indifferent and in no 
 way binding upon him ; they were bonds that he could 
 easily cast off at any moment, but it can be readily 
 understood that he dreamed of a happiness which until 
 now he had never experienced. 
 
 Acting upon what Baron de Feroe had told him at 
 the club about the need of exercising his will in order 
 to summon the spirits from the vasty deep to the con- 
 fines of our own world, Malivert concentrated all his 
 powers within himself and mentally formulated his 
 desire to enter into more direct communication with 
 the mysterious spirit that he felt around him and 
 that would not, in all likelihood, prove very restive, 
 
 75 
 
«4* jl* *4» 'i» rt» j» ti? ~» mh dir« fc tfe d j jjb «j?tfetj? ife tfes t 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 since it had of its own accord attempted to manifest 
 itself. 
 
 Having done this, Malivert, who was in the room, 
 half studio, half drawing-room, in which he was sitting 
 at the beginning of this story, applied himself to listen 
 and watch with the utmost attention. At first he 
 neither saw nor heard anything, though the furniture, 
 the statuettes, the pictures, the old carved dressers, the 
 exotic curiosities, the trophies of weapons, struck him 
 as having an unusual and extraordinary aspect, and 
 a sort of fantastic lifelike appearance due to the lights 
 and shadows cast upon them by the lamp. A Chinese 
 grotesque of jade stone seemed to grin to the ears like 
 an old man in his dotage, and a copy of the Venus of 
 Milo, her pointed breasts standing out strongly in the 
 light that fell on them against a dark background, 
 assumed a disdainful look as she swelled her nostrils 
 and drew down the corners of her mouth. Both the 
 Chinese god and the Greek goddess disapproved of 
 Malivert's undertaking, or at least the expression on 
 the two lighted faces might have led him to believe 
 this. Unconsciously Malivert's eyes, as if urged by a 
 mental impulse, turned towards a Venetian mirror sus- 
 pended on the Cordova leather tapestry. 
 
 76 
 
SPI RI TE 
 
 It was an eighteenth-century mirror, like those com- 
 monly seen in Loughi's "Lady at her Toilet" and 
 " Leaving for the Ball," subjects often painted by that 
 decadent Watteau, and like those to be found in the 
 shops of second-hand dealers in the Ghetto. The 
 glass itself was bevelled ; the frame was composed of 
 ornaments in cut glass, surmounted by a mass of scrolls 
 and flowers in the same material, which, against the 
 uniform tint of the background, sometimes resembled 
 mat silver, sometimes flashed prismatic rays from their 
 facets. Amid this sparkling and blazing, the glass 
 itself, of small size like all Venetian mirrors, showed 
 of a deep bluish-black, and resembled an opening into 
 a void full of ideal darkness. 
 
 Curiously enough, none of the objects opposite the 
 mirror were reflected in it, and it looked like one of 
 the stage mirrors which the scene painter washes over 
 with faint neutral tints to avoid the reflection of the 
 auditorium. 
 
 A vague instinct led Malivert to feel that if any 
 revelation was to be made to him, the mirror would 
 prove to be the medium employed. He was fascinated 
 by it, although as a rule he never looked at it, and it 
 attracted his glance irresistibly. Yet, though he gazed 
 
 77 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 at it intently, he could make out nothing but the black 
 colour, made more intensely mysterious by the cut-glass 
 framework. At last he thought he perceived on its 
 surface a faint, milky whiteness, like a distant trem- 
 bling Rght that appeared to be drawing nearer. He 
 turned round to see what article in the room caused 
 this reflection, but saw nothing. Brave though Mali- 
 vert was, and he had proved his courage on more than 
 one occasion, he felt the hair of his flesh stand up and 
 the fear and trembling of which Job speaks. This 
 time he was about to cross, knowingly and of his 
 own free will, the dread threshold. He was about 
 to step outside the circle which Nature has traced 
 around man. Henceforth he might be thrown out 
 of his orbit and revolve around some unknown 
 point. Unbelievers may laugh at it, yet never 
 was a step fraught with more serious consequences, 
 and Guy fully realised its importance. An irre- 
 sistible attraction impelled him on, however, and he 
 continued to stare into the Venetian mirror. What 
 was he about to see ? Under what form would the 
 spirit present itself so as to become appreciable to his 
 human perception ? Would it be a sweet or a terrible 
 figure? Would it cause joy or terror? Although the 
 
 78 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 luminousness within the glass had not yet assumed any 
 definite form, Guy was convinced that it would prove 
 to be a feminine spirit. It could not be otherwise, 
 he thought, as he recollected the sigh of the evening 
 before that still sounded softly in his heart. Had 
 that spirit belonged to this earth, or had it come from 
 a distant planet or a higher region ? That he could 
 not tell. However, judging by what Baron de Feroe 
 had said, he judged that it must be a soul that had 
 lived on earth, and which, drawn by reasons he would 
 probably learn later, was returning to its former 
 abode. 
 
 The luminousness in the mirror began to assume a 
 more distinct form and faint colours, immaterial, so to 
 speak, which would have dulled the pigments on the 
 brightest of palettes. It was rather a suggestion of 
 colour than colour itself; a vapour flushed with light 
 and of such delicate tints that human words are in- 
 capable of rendering it. Guy stared on, a prey to 
 nervous, intense emotion. The image became plainer 
 and plainer, without, nevertheless, acquiring the hard 
 precision of reality, and Guy de Malivert at last dis- 
 cerned, enclosed within the border of the mirror as 
 within a frame, the head of a young woman, or of a 
 
 79 
 
is 4:4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4?±4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 young girl rather, by the side of whose loveliness 
 earthly beauty was but as a shadow. 
 
 A faint, rosy flush gave colour to the head, on which 
 light and shade were scarcely noticeable, and which did 
 not need, as do earthly faces, the contrast of chiaroscuro 
 to bring out the modelling, for it was lighted by 
 another light than ours. The hair, halo-like, softly 
 outlined the brow like a golden vapour. The eyes, 
 half cast down, were of a dark blue, infinitely sweet, 
 recalling the spaces of heaven that at sunset are flushed 
 with violet tints. The fine, small nose was ideally 
 delicate ; a smile like that Leonardo da Vinci gives to 
 his female faces, but more tender and less ironical, 
 curved the lips adorably ; the willowy neck, bending 
 somewhat under the weight of the head, was bowed 
 forward and blended into a silvery half-tint that might 
 have served for light to another figure. 
 
 This slight sketch, necessarily written with words 
 intended to describe earthly things, can give but a most 
 imperfect idea of the apparition that Guy de Malivert 
 beheld in the Venetian mirror. And was it with the eye 
 of the flesh or the eye of the soul that he beheld it ? 
 Did the image really exist, and could it have been seen 
 by any one not under the same nervous influence as 
 
 80 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 Guy ? That is a difficult question to answer. This 
 much may be said, that what he saw, though it was like 
 the face of a beautiful woman, in no respect resembled 
 what, on this earth, is called a beautiful female face. 
 The features were similar, but they were purer, trans- 
 figured, idealised, and rendered perceptible by an im- 
 material substance, so to speak, only just dense enough 
 to be visible in the gross earthly atmosphere by eyes 
 not yet freed from the veils that covered them. No 
 doubt the spirit or the soul that was entering into com- 
 munication with Guy de Malivert had borrowed the 
 form of its former perishable body, but such as it must 
 have become in a more subtile, more ethereal region 
 where the ghosts of things alone and not things them- 
 selves can exist. The vision was an ineffable delight 
 to Guy ; the feeling of fear which he had experienced 
 at first had vanished, and he gave himself up unre- 
 servedly to the strangeness of the situation, discussing 
 nothing, admitting everything and resolved to think the 
 supernatural natural. He drew nearer the mirror, in 
 the hope of noting the features more clearly ; the image 
 remained as it had at first appeared to him, very close 
 and yet very distant, resembling the projection, upon 
 the inner surface of a crystal, of a figure placed at a 
 
 6 81 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 distance beyond the power of man to measure. The 
 reality of what he saw, if the expression may be 
 allowed in this connection, was evidently elsewhere, 
 in deep, distant, mysterious regions inaccessible to 
 mortals, on the outskirts of which even the boldest 
 thinker scarce dares venture. In vain did Guy try to 
 connect the face with some of his earthly memories ; 
 it was wholly new to him, and yet he seemed to 
 recognise it. Where had he seen it ? Assuredly not 
 in this sublunar, terraqueous world. 
 
 This, then, was the form under which Spirite desired 
 to show herself. Malivert seeking for a name by which 
 to call to himself the apparition he had beheld in the 
 mirror, had given her this appellation until he could 
 ascertain what name would suit her better. Presently 
 it seemed to him that the image was growing fainter 
 and vanishing within the depths of the mirror. It now 
 showed only as the light vapour of a breath, and even 
 that vapour disappeared in its turn. The passing of 
 the vision was marked by the sudden reflection of a 
 gilded frame suspended on the wall opposite the mirror, 
 which had regained its usual power of reflection. 
 
 When he could no longer doubt that the apparition 
 would not return, on that evening at least, Guy threw 
 
 82 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 himself into an arm-chair, and although the clock had 
 just struck two in the morning, its silvery sound advis- 
 ing him to retire, he could not make up his mind to go 
 to bed. He felt fatigued, it is true ; the novel emo- 
 tions, the first step into an unknown world had brought 
 on the wakeful fatigue that prevents sleep. Besides, 
 he feared to miss another manifestation of Spirite if he 
 should fall asleep. 
 
 His feet stretched out on the fender before the fire 
 that had burned up again of itself, Guy thought over 
 the events that had just taken place and the very possi- 
 bility of which he would have denied a couple of days 
 before. He thought of the lovely head recalling, as if 
 to cause them to be forgotten like vain shadows, the 
 beauties revealed in dreams by the imagination of 
 poets or the genius of painters. He discovered in it 
 infinite, inexpressible suavity, innumerable charms that 
 neither nature nor art could unite in one and the same 
 face and he augured well, from the sample he had 
 beheld, of the looks of the inhabitants of the world 
 beyond. Then he asked himself by what strange 
 sympathy, by what mysterious and hitherto uncon- 
 fessed affinity that angel, that sylph, that soul, that 
 spirit, of the nature of which he was as yet ignorant, 
 
 83 
 
i: db ~Jb £ i: & db & i: 4r -k k i: ih tfc db & d; db 4: £ 4: 4: ^ 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 and which he was unable to connect with any imma- 
 terial order, could have been drawn towards him from 
 the infinite depths. He dared not flatter himself with 
 having inspired love in a being of a higher nature, for 
 conceit was no trait of Malivert, yet he could not help 
 owning that Spirite seemed to experience for him, Guy 
 de Malivert, a mere mortal, a sentiment entirely fem- 
 inine in its character and that in this world would have 
 been called jealousy. The sigh she had uttered, the 
 letter of which she had changed the wording, the warn- 
 ing whispered at Mme. d'Ymbercourt's door, and the 
 remark suggested by her, no doubt, to the Swedish 
 baron proved it. What Guy did understand quite 
 plainly and at once was that he himself was madly, 
 desperately, hopelessly in love ; a prey all of a sudden 
 to a passion that eternity itself could not satiate. 
 
 From that moment every woman he had ever 
 known was totally forgotten by him. On the appear- 
 ance of Spirite, he had forgotten earthly loves, just as 
 Romeo forgot Rosalind when he beheld Juliet. Had 
 he been Don Juan in person, the three thousand lovely 
 names would have vanished of themselves from his 
 book. He did experience a sense of terror on feeling 
 himself a prey to that sudden, flame that swept away 
 
 *4 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 thought, will, and resistance and left nothing alive in 
 his soul but passion. It was too late, however, and he 
 no longer belonged to himself. Baron de Feroe was 
 right, and Guy had found how dangerous it is for a 
 mortal man to overstep the bounds of life and to ven- 
 ture, in material form, among the spirits if he bears 
 not the golden branch to which all spirits bow. 
 
 A fearful thought occurred to Malivert. How was 
 he to bring Spirite back if she did not choose to reap- 
 pear ? If there were no means of doing so, how would 
 he be able to bear with the darkness of the sun after 
 having contemplated real light for a moment ? He 
 was filled with a sense of utter misfortune and sank 
 into deep despondency ; he passed through an instant, 
 as long as eternity itself, of hideous despair. The 
 mere possibility, unconfirmed by any indication of its 
 truth, brought the tears to his eyes, and try as he 
 might to restrain them, ashamed as he felt at the exhi- 
 bition of such weakness, they overflowed and slowly 
 rolled down his cheeks. As he wept, he felt, with 
 delight and surprise, a veil more tenuous than the 
 finest of stuffs, like woven air, being passed over his 
 face, absorbing, drying in its caress the bitter drops he 
 had shed. The touch of a butterfly's wing could not 
 
 85 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 have been softer, yet it was no illusion, for he thrice 
 felt it, and when his tears had been dried, Malivert 
 thought he perceived a diaphanous white flake vanish- 
 ing in the shadows, like a cloudlet in the heavens. 
 
 This attentive and tender sympathy convinced Mali- 
 vert that Spirite, who seemed to be ever fluttering 
 around him, would answer his call and find, thanks to 
 her higher intelligence as a superior being, the means 
 of communicating easily with him. Spirite could enter 
 the world in which he lived, to the extent, at least, 
 that a soul can mingle with the living, while he, a 
 mortal, was prevented from following her within the 
 ideal region in which she moved, by the obstacle of 
 his carnal body. It will surprise no one that Malivert 
 passed from the deepest despair to the truest joy. If 
 a mere mortal woman can ten times in the course of 
 one day plunge you into the lowest depths or transport 
 you to the highest heavens, inspire you with the desire 
 of blowing your brains out or of purchasing on the 
 shores of Lake Como a villa in which to shelter your 
 loves forever, it may easily be understood that the 
 feelings awakened by a spirit are infinitely deeper. 
 
 Guy's love for Spirite may, it is true, appear rather 
 sudden, but it should be remembered that love is often 
 
 86 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 called out by a single glance, and that a woman seen 
 through a pair of opera glasses at the theatre does not 
 differ very greatly from the reflection of a soul seen in 
 a mirror ; that many serious cases of passionate love 
 have begun in a manner precisely similar, and that 
 besides, though he himself was not aware of the fact, 
 Guy's love was far less sudden than it seemed to be. 
 Spirite had for a long time been haunting him, prepar- 
 ing his unconscious soul for supernatural communica- 
 tions, suggesting to him, in the midst of his worldly 
 frivolity, thoughts deeper than vain appearances, 
 inspiring him with the nostalgia of the ideal by vague 
 remembrances of higher spheres, drawing him away 
 from idle loves, and making him foresee a happiness 
 that earth could not give. She it was who had broken 
 the threads spun around Guy ; who had torn away the 
 webs in which he was to be caught; who had shown 
 him the ridiculous side or the perfidy of a mistress of 
 a day, and until now had kept him free from any 
 lasting tie. She had stopped him on the very brink of 
 the irrevocable, for, though nothing had happened to 
 Guy that was appreciably significant from the human 
 point of view, he had come to a crucial point in his 
 life ; his fate was hanging in the mysterious scales : 
 
 87 
 
db db :b £ 4: £ 4: 4: 4: i: "k :b 4? 4: £ tfc £ 4: £ db 4r 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 this it was that had made Spirite resolve to issue from the 
 shadow in which her occult protection of him was 
 concealed, and to reveal herself to him, since he could 
 no longer be directed by secret influences alone. Why 
 did she interest herself thus in him ? Did she yield to 
 an impulse of her own, or did she obey an order 
 emanating from that radiant sphere where, as Dante 
 says, one can what one wills ? She alone could tell, 
 and the time was perhaps near when she would do so. 
 
 Malivert at last went to bed and soon fell asleep. 
 His slumbers were light, bright, and full of a won- 
 drous brilliancy that resembled visions rather than 
 dreams. Vast azure spaces, in which the long trails 
 of light formed endless perspectives of silvern and 
 golden vales, opened before his closed eyes ; then the 
 picture would vanish, leaving visible in even greater 
 depths streams of blinding phosphoresence, like unto a 
 cascade of molten suns falling from eternity into the 
 infinite; in its turn the cascade disappeared, and in its 
 place was outspread a heaven of that intense, luminous 
 whiteness that of yore clothed the three transfigured 
 figures on Mount Tabor. From its depths, that 
 seemed the very paroxysm of splendour, flashed here 
 and there bursts of stars, brighter gleams, still more 
 
 88 
 
SPI RI TE 
 
 vivid scintillations. There was in that light, against 
 which the most brilliant stars would have shown black, 
 something like the swelling and surging of an incessant 
 becoming. From time to time, as pass birds across the 
 sun's disk, sped across that vast irradiation spirits 
 visible, not through the shadow they cast, but through 
 a different kind of light. Among them Guy thought 
 he recognised Spirite ; nor was he mistaken, though she 
 seemed to be but a brilliant point in space, but a glob 
 ule in the incandescent brightness. Spirite had desired 
 to show herself to her lover, by means of the dream 
 she evoked, in her real home. The soul, freed during 
 the hours of sleep from the bonds of the flesh, lent it- 
 self to the vision, and for a few moments Guy was 
 enabled to see with the inner sight, not the outer world 
 itself, the contemplation of which is permitted only to 
 souls wholly freed, but a ray filtering under the imper- 
 fectly closed door of the unknown, as from a darkened 
 street one sees under the door of a palace lighted within 
 a beam of brilliant light that suggests the splendour of 
 the feast. 
 
 Spirite, not wishing to fatigue Guy's yet too human 
 organ, dispelled the visions, and wafted him from ec- 
 stasy into ordinary sleep. He felt, as he fell back into 
 
 89 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 the night of common dreams, that he was being caught, 
 as though he were a shell-fish, in a matrix of black 
 marble, in a darkness of deepest intensity. Then all 
 passed away, even that sensation, and for two hours 
 Guy rested in the non-existence whence life arises 
 more youthful and refreshed. 
 
 He slept until ten in the morning, and Jack, who 
 had been awaiting his awakening, seeing that his eyes 
 were fully opened, pushed open the door that he had 
 held ajar, entered the room, drew back the window 
 curtains, and directing his steps towards Malivert's bed, 
 handed him on a silver salver two letters that had just 
 been delivered. The one was from Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court, the other from Baron de Feroe. It was the 
 latter that Guy opened first. 
 
 90 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 VI 
 
 THE Baron's note contained these words 
 merely : " Has Caesar crossed the Rubi- 
 con ? " Mme. d'Ymbercourt's, much less 
 brief, insinuated, in cleverly turned phrases, that indefi- 
 nite gossip should not be taken seriously, and that to 
 break off suddenly visits that had become habitual 
 would perhaps be more compromising than to make 
 them more frequent. The note closed with a remark 
 about Adelina Patti, the purpose of which appeared to 
 be that a seat would be kept for him in box 22 at the 
 Opera. Guy certainly admired the young diva greatly, 
 but in his present state of mind he preferred to hear 
 her some other evening, and determined he would find 
 a way to avoid the appointment. 
 
 The human mind has a tendency to doubt that 
 extraordinary events have taken place when the envi- 
 ronment in which these have occurred has resumed its 
 normal appearance. So Malivert, on looking into the 
 Venetian mirror by daylight, asked himself, as he 
 
 9 1 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 gazed at its silvery surface framed in by the cut-glass 
 border, and as he saw in it the reflection of his own 
 face only, whether it was true that that piece of pol- 
 ished glass had actually shown him, only a few hours 
 since, the loveliest face the eye of man had ever beheld. 
 In vain did his reason attempt to explain the celestial 
 vision as the effect of a dream, of a vain fancy, — his 
 heart gave his reason the lie. Difficult as it is to 
 appreciate the reality of the supernatural, he felt that 
 it was all true and that behind the outwardly calm 
 appearances surged a whole world of mystery. Yet 
 nothing was changed in the apartment, and a visitor 
 would not have noticed anything peculiar in it j as far 
 as Guy was concerned, however, the door of every 
 dresser, of every cupboard, might prove to be one 
 opening into the infinite. The least noises, which he 
 took for warnings, made him start. 
 
 In order to get rid of his nervous condition of excite- 
 ment, he resolved to take a long drive. He had a 
 fancy that Spirite would appear at night only; besides, 
 if she wished to communicate with him, her fantastic 
 ubiquity enabled her to find him and to manifest herself 
 to him wherever he might be. In this affair, if such 
 vague, frail, aerial, impalpable relations may be called 
 
 92 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 an affair, Malivert's role was necessarily passive. His 
 ideal mistress could enter his world at any time she 
 chose, but he was unable to follow her in the mys- 
 terious spaces wherein she dwelt. 
 
 It had been snowing two nights before, and, a rare 
 thing in Paris, the white carpet had not melted, under 
 the influence of a soft wind, into that cold slush worse 
 even than the black slush of the old pavements or the 
 yellow mud of the new asphalt. It had been hardened 
 by a sharp frost and crunched under the foot like 
 crushed glass under carriage wheels. Grimalkin was 
 a capital trotter, and Malivert had brought back from 
 Saint Petersburg a sleigh and a complete set of Russian 
 harness. Opportunities of enjoying sleighing are infre- 
 quent in our temperate climate, and sportsmen seize on 
 them with avidity. Guy was very proud of his sleigh, 
 unquestionably the best turned-out in Paris, and which 
 might have figured advantageously in the races on the 
 Neva Place. He rather enjoyed the idea of a rapid 
 drive in the bracing icy air. He had learned, during 
 the winter he had spent in Russia, to enjoy the arctic 
 delights of snow and cold ; he loved to glide over the 
 white carpet scarce rayed by the steel of the skates, 
 driving a fast horse with both hands, like an izvostchick. 
 
 93 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 He had the sleigh brought round, and soon reached the 
 Place de la Concorde and the Champs-Elysees. The 
 road had not been cared for and improved as on the 
 Neva Place, but the snow was deep enough to allow 
 the sleigh to glide along without bumping too much. 
 A Parisian winter cannot be expected to be as perfect 
 as a Russian one. At the Bois de Boulogne he might 
 have thought he was in the Islands, so even and white 
 did the snow lie, especially in the side drives where 
 fewer horsemen and carriages are met with. Guy de 
 Malivert turned down a road leading through a wood 
 of firs, the dark limbs of which, laden with snow that 
 the wind had not shaken off, recalled to him his drives 
 in Russia. He had plenty of furs, and the northern 
 blast seemed to him but a zephyr by comparison with 
 the cold gales he had faced in that country. 
 
 The approaches to the lake were crowded, and the 
 number of carriages as large as on fine days in autumn 
 or spring, when all sorts and conditions of men are 
 attracted to Longchamp by the races in which figure 
 celebrities of the turf. In carriages hung on easy 
 springs were to be seen ladies belonging to the great 
 world, warmly covered with huge bear-skin robes 
 edged with scarlet, and pressing against their fur- 
 
 94 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 lined satin cloaks warm zibeline sable muffs. On the 
 box-seats, covered with heavily embroidered hammer- 
 cloths, coachmen of great houses, seated majestically, 
 their shoulders protected by fur capes, looked as dis- 
 dainfully as did their mistresses, at the women not in 
 society who were driving themselves in extravagant 
 and pretentious vehicles drawn by ponies. There 
 were also numerous closed carriages, for the idea of 
 driving in an open carriage with the thermometer 
 only twelve or thirteen degrees above zero, strikes 
 Parisians as far too arctic. A certain number of 
 sleighs were to be seen among the many wheeled 
 carriages, for the snow had evidently not been antici- 
 pated ; Malivert's sleigh, however, easily surpassed all 
 others. Some Russian noWemen, idling around, as 
 happy as reindeer in snow, condescended to approve 
 of the elegant curves of the douga and of the correct 
 way in which the harness straps were fastened to it. 
 
 It was about three o'clock ; the lower portion of 
 the sky was veiled by a soft haze, and against the 
 delicate gray background stood out the slender twigs 
 of the leafless trees which, with their slender branches 
 stripped of foliage, looked like skeleton leaves. A 
 rayless sun, resembling a great red seal, was sinking 
 
 95 
 
£ !• * * * ± ± ± ± ± h ±±±±-k<k&*± 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 through the haze. The lake was covered with skaters, 
 three or four days of frost having made the ice thick 
 enough to bear the weight of the crowd. The snow, 
 swept off the surface and heaped up on the edges of 
 the shore, showed the dark, polished surface rayed in 
 every direction by the blades of the skates, like the 
 mirrors in restaurants on which lovers scratch their 
 names with a diamond. On the banks stood people 
 hiring skates to bourgeois amateurs, whose tumbles 
 formed the comic intermedes of the winter festival, 
 like the ballet in the Prophete on a large scale. In 
 the centre of the lake the more famous skaters, dressed 
 in neat costumes, indulged in fancy feats. They flew 
 like the wind, swung abruptly around, avoided colli- 
 sions, stopped short by digging in the heel of their 
 skates, cut curves, grapevines, figures of eight, letters, 
 like Arab horsemen who, with the rowels of their 
 spurs, write the name of Allah on the flanks of their 
 steeds. Others pushed around, in light hand-sledges 
 quaintly ornamented, handsome ladies wrapped in furs, 
 who leaned back and smiled at them, excited by 
 the speed and the cold air. Some guided by the hand 
 elegant young women, wearing Russian or Hungarian 
 fur caps, jackets frogged and braided, and trimmed 
 
 96 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 with blue fox, bright-coloured skirts, looped up with 
 clasps, and pretty patent-leather boots, crossed, like 
 cothurns, by the straps of the skates. Others again, 
 racing each other, flew along on one foot, heading 
 forward like the Hippomenes and the Atalanta under 
 the chestnut trees in one of the parterres of the Tui- 
 leries. The best way to win the race, now as formerly, 
 might well have been to drop in front of these Atalan- 
 tas dressed by Worth a golden apple or two ; but 
 there were those among them of such rank that even 
 a diamond brooch would not have stopped them for 
 an instant. The constant passing and repassing of so 
 many people dressed with such strange elegance and 
 rich originality, making a sort of fancy-dress ball on 
 the ice, formed a graceful, charming, animated spec- 
 tacle worthy of the brush of Watteau, Lancret, or 
 Baron. Some of the groups recalled the paintings 
 placed above the doors in old chateaux representing 
 the Four Seasons, and in which Winter is personified 
 by gallants pushing, in swan-necked sledges, marchion- 
 esses wearing velvet masks, who turn their fur muffs 
 into receptacles for love letters. In the present case, 
 it is true, the pretty faces, made rosier by the cold, 
 lacked the masks, but the veils embroidered with steel 
 
 7 
 
 97 
 
± ± 4: is £ d? 4: 4: 4: £ £ 4: :£? 4: £ £ db i: & & ik 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 beads or fringed with jet made a fair substitute for 
 them. 
 
 Malivert pulled up by the lake shore, and watched 
 the entertaining and picturesque scene, the chief per- 
 formers in which he was acquainted with. He was 
 enough of a society man to follow the loves, intrigues, 
 and flirtations that agitated the select few whom one 
 soon learns to distinguish from the vulgar herd, the 
 troop of supernumeraries that surrounds, without un- 
 derstanding it, every performance, and whose use is to 
 prevent the action from standing out too clearly and 
 too bare. But he looked on without any interest in 
 the scene, and he even saw pass by a very charming 
 lady, who had formerly favoured him, and who was 
 now leaning in loving, familiar fashion upon the arm 
 of a handsome skater, without feeling the least trace 
 of jealousy. 
 
 Grimalkin was impatiently pawing the snow-covered 
 ground, and presently Guy gave him his head, turned 
 in the direction of the city and drove along the 
 Lake Avenue, up and down which carriages were 
 constantly coming and going, to the great delight of 
 the foot passengers who appeared to enjoy seeing for 
 the tenth or twelfth time in the course of an hour the 
 
 98 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 same yellow-bodied coach with a solemn dowager in it, 
 and the same little dark-green coupe, with a Havana 
 poodle at the window, and inside a light o' love with 
 her hair dressed like a poodle's coat. 
 
 Guy, as he drove homewards, checked the speed of 
 his horse, to avoid running over any one in the 
 crowded road ; and besides, it is not good form to drive 
 fast on that fashionable thoroughfare. He saw advanc- 
 ing in his direction a carriage he would rather not have 
 met. Mme. d'Ymbercourt was a chilly person, and 
 Guy had not supposed that she would come out in 
 such cold weather, which merely went to show how 
 little he knew women ; for no known cold would keep 
 a woman from going to a fashionable drive and show- 
 ing herself where she should do so. Now, in that 
 particular winter, the correct thing was to go to the 
 Bois de Boulogne, and to take a turn on the frozen 
 lake, the meeting-place, between three and five in the 
 afternoon, of all the celebrities, in one way or another, 
 that tout Paris can manage to collect in one spot. A 
 woman of any standing would never forgive herself did 
 her name fail to appear among those of the beauties of 
 the day in the columns of some well-informed news- 
 paper. Now Mme. d'Ymbercourt was beautiful 
 
 99 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 enough, rich enough, and fashionable enough, to con- 
 sider herself bound to conform to the requirements of 
 fashion, and therefore, though shivering a little under 
 the furs in which she was wrapped up, she was per- 
 forming her pilgrimage to the lake. Malivert was 
 tempted to let Grimalkin, who would not have ob- 
 jected, swing into his fastest trot, but Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court had caught sight of him and he was forced to 
 drive alongside her carriage. 
 
 He chatted on various indifferent subjects, in an un- 
 interested way, putting forward as a pretext for not 
 accepting her invitation to the Opera that he had to 
 go to a dinner, when a sleigh passed so close as almost 
 to touch his own. This sleigh was drawn by a superb 
 horse of the Orloff breed ; it was iron gray, with a 
 white mane and a tail every hair in which gleamed like 
 silver. Held in by a Russian coachman with a long 
 beard, green cloth caftan and fur-bordered velvet cap, 
 the horse champed its bit and stepped along throwing 
 up its head and occasionally touching his knees with it. 
 The beauty of the equipage, the correct get-up of the 
 coachman, the handsome horse attracted Guy's atten- 
 tion, but great was his amazement when in the lady 
 seated in the sleigh, and whom he had at first assumed 
 
 IOO 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 to be one of those Russian princesses that come to 
 Paris for a season or two to dazzle the capital by their 
 eccentric display of wealth — supposing that Paris can 
 be dazzled by anything — he recognised, or thought he 
 recognised, a likeness to a face he had had but a glimpse 
 of, but which was now forever ineffaceably imprinted 
 on his memory, though he certainly did not expect to 
 meet with it in the Bois de Boulogne, after having 
 seen it appear, as Helen to Faust, in a sort of magic 
 mirror. At the sight of her he started so suddenly that 
 Grimalkin, feeling the nervous thrill, plunged forward. 
 Guy, casting a word of apologv to Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court to the effect that he could not hold in his horse, 
 followed the sleigh, which increased its pace. 
 
 As if surprised at being followed, the lady looked 
 half round to see who was so bold as to do so, and 
 although she showed only a small portion of her profile, 
 Guy made out under the black net-veiling wavy golden 
 hair, deep blue eyes, and an ideal complexion, such as 
 the snow on lofty mountain-tops, flushed by the beams 
 of the setting sun, can alone give any idea of. She 
 wore turquoise earrings, and on the part of the neck 
 showing between the collar of her fur pelisse and her 
 hat, curled a stray lock of hair, light as down and fine 
 
 IOI 
 
•A, rh* rl* »J/» JU *A« „t„ ri-. < i-» »Jji <4» ^t. »|» »K JU «^ .J*^ »^ »4» j|» jfe 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 as a child's hair. It was, indeed, the face that had 
 appeared to him the night before, with the added reality 
 needed by a phantom in broad daylight and close to 
 the lake in the Bois de Boulogne. How did Spirite 
 happen to be there in so charmingly human a form, 
 visible, no doubt, to others as well as to himself? for 
 it was difficult to admit that, even were the apparition 
 itself impalpable, the coachman, the horse, and the 
 sleigh were likewise unsubstantial shadows. Guy did 
 not waste his time trying to solve the problem, for, in 
 order to make sure that he had not been deceived by a 
 likeness of the sort that disappears when it is examined 
 closely, he endeavoured to pass the sleigh so as to have a 
 good look at the mysterious face. He allowed Grimal- 
 kin to step out at his best gait, whereat the good horse 
 went off like an arrow, his breath, for a few moments, 
 steaming upon the back of the sleigh Guy was pursu- 
 ing. Nevertheless, although Grimalkin was a very 
 fast horse, he was no match for the Russian stepper, 
 perhaps the finest of his breed that Malivert had ever 
 seen. The caftan-clad coachman clicked his tongue, 
 and the iron gray in a few bounds put space sufficient 
 between the two sleighs to reassure his mistress, if she 
 happened to be disturbed by the proximity of Guy. 
 
 102 
 
4* 4*4, 4* 4* 4j4«4^^4j4*4j4«^4*4^4j4j4*4«4*4*4*4k 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 No doubt the object of the lady who bore such a 
 startling resemblance to Spirite was not to discourage 
 Malivert's pursuit, for her sleigh was again driven at a 
 more moderate pace. The race had taken the pair 
 into the Fir Avenue, at this moment empty of car- 
 riages, and the chase settled down in earnest. Yet 
 Grimalkin did not once manage to get alongside of the 
 Orloff stepper ; the best he could do was to prevent 
 the distance between the sleighs from increasing. The 
 hoofs of the horses sent lumps of white snow flying 
 against the dash-boards, where they broke into frosty 
 dust, and the two noble animals were enveloped in 
 clouds of steam as in classic clouds. For one moment, 
 at the end of the drive, barred by the file of carriages 
 driving down the main avenue, the two sleighs were 
 side by side, and Guy was enabled to see for a second 
 or two the face of the supposed Russian lady, whose 
 veil was blown aside by the wind. A celestially arch 
 smile played upon her lips, the curve of which recalled 
 that of Mona Lisa's. Her eyes were starry and blue 
 like sapphires, and a rosier flush warmed her velvety 
 cheeks. Spirite, for it was she, drew down her veil, 
 the coachman urged on his horse, and the animal 
 dashed forward furiously. A cry of terror escaped 
 
 103 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 Guy, for at that very instant a carriage was crossing 
 the drive, and, forgetting that Spirite, as a disembodied 
 spirit, was safe from all earthly accidents, he looked for 
 a dreadful collision; but the horse, the coachman, and 
 the sleigh passed through the carriage as through a mist, 
 and were speedily out of Malivert's sight. Grimalkin 
 seemed terrified ; nervous shudders ran all over his 
 limbs, usually so firm, as if he were puzzled by the 
 disappearance of the sleigh. Animals have wonder- 
 fully deep instinct, and often see what escapes man's 
 careless glance. Many of them seem endowed with a 
 sense of the supernatural. But Grimalkin soon calmed 
 down on joining the procession of undoubted carriages 
 along the lake shore. 
 
 As he drove down the Avenue de PImperatrice, 
 Guy met Baron de Feroe who was also returning from 
 the Bois in a light drojky. After asking Malivert 
 for a light for his cigar, the Baron said to him, half 
 mysteriously, half quizzically : " Mme. d'Ymbercourt 
 will not be very well pleased, and you will be 
 scolded in rare fashion at the Opera to-night, if you 
 are imprudent enough to go. I fancy that sleigh- 
 race can scarcely have been to her taste. Meanwhile 
 you had better tell Jack to throw a blanket over 
 
 104 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 Grimalkin, if you do not want him to catch his death 
 of cold." 
 
 Guy was past being amazed at strange things. It 
 had not appeared to him at all out of the way that a 
 sleigh should pass through a carriage. This facility in 
 traversing obstacles against which terrestrial vehicles 
 would have been smashed showed that it was indeed 
 a mysterious equipage come from the spheres of the 
 impossible, and which could contain Spirite only. 
 Unquestionably Spirite was jealous, or at least — for 
 all her actions proved it — she desired to keep Malivert 
 and Mme. d'Ymbercourt apart ; and evidently she had 
 gone about doing so in the right way, for as he turned 
 into the open space of the Arc de l'Etoile, Guy saw 
 the Countess in her carriage appearing to listen very 
 attentively to the doubtless gallant conversation of 
 M. d'Aversac, who was bending elegantly over his 
 horse's withers as he walked it by her side. 
 
 " That is to pay me for the sleigh," said Malivert 
 to himself ; " but I am not the kind of fellow to be 
 egged on in that way. D'Aversac is a sham clever 
 fellow, just as Mme. d'Ymbercourt is a sham beauty. 
 They are an excellent match for each other. I can 
 judge them in the most disinterested fashion, since 
 
 105 
 
tlr ti? ts? ti? db 'A* *^* *^* ^^tbdbtl^tib dbtfbdb si? dbsS? 
 SPI RITE 
 
 affairs of this sort have ceased to concern me. They 
 will be a well assorted pair, as the song says." 
 
 Such was the net result of Mme. d'Ymbercourt's 
 manoeuvres. On perceiving Guy she had bent for- 
 ward, perhaps a little more than was proper, to reply 
 to the sweet sayings of M. d'Aversac. The poor 
 woman thought she might recall her lukewarm adorer 
 by touching his self-love. She had had a glimpse of 
 Spirite, and she had guessed that she had a formi- 
 dable rival in her. The eagerness displayed by Guy, 
 usually so cool, in pursuing the mysterious sleigh and 
 the woman whom no one had ever met at the Bois, 
 had stung her to the quick, for she had easily seen 
 through the excuse so hurriedly given, and did not 
 believe that Grimalkin had run away. D'Aversac, 
 who was swelling with satisfaction, for he was not in 
 the habit of being so well treated, modestly attributed 
 to his own merit what he would have been wiser to 
 ascribe to feminine annoyance. He even magnani- 
 mously pitied poor Malivert, who had reckoned too 
 surely on possessing Mme. d'Ymbercourt's affections. 
 All the projects which the gentleman's conceit, helped 
 by appearances, immediately proceeded to build up on 
 this slight event, may easily be imagined. 
 
 106 
 
k k k k k k k k k k k kkkk k 'J: k kkkk k k 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 On that day Guy was engaged to dinner to people 
 with whom it would be difficult to fail in keeping 
 an appointment made long before. Fortunately there 
 were many guests, and his absentmindedness was not 
 noticed. The dinner over, he exchanged a few words 
 with the mistress of the house, and having thus suffi- 
 ciently made plain that he had come, he performed 
 a masterly retreat towards the second drawing-room, 
 where he shook hands with men of distinction with 
 whom he was acquainted and who had withdrawn 
 there to talk more freely of important or secret 
 matters; then he vanished and went to his club, 
 where he expected to meet Baron de Feroe. He did 
 find him seated in front of a small card-table, playing 
 ecarte with the radiant d'Aversac, of whom it is only 
 just to say that he endeavoured to repress his joy in 
 order to avoid humiliating Malivert. Contrary to the 
 proverb, " Fortunate at cards unfortunate in love," 
 d'Aversac was winning, and if he had been at all 
 superstitious he might have felt some doubt as to the 
 soundness of his hopes. The game having come to 
 an end, the Baron, as he was the loser, could rise, 
 pretexting fatigue, and simply refuse the revenge 
 offered by his adversary. Feroe and Guy de Malivert 
 
 107 
 
4:dfc^: ± ic db & & & £ tirdb 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 went out together, and walked up and down the 
 Boulevard near the club. 
 
 "What will the frequenters of that drawing-room 
 called the Bois," said Guy to the Baron, " think of 
 the lady and the sleigh, the horse and the coach- 
 man, all so very striking and yet unknown to every 
 one ? " 
 
 " The vision manifested itself but to you, to the 
 Countess, on whom Spirite desired to act, and to me 
 who, as one of the initiated, can see what is invisible 
 to other men. You may be sure that if Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt speaks of the handsome Russian princess 
 and the splendid stepper, nobody will know what she 
 is talking about." 
 
 " Do you think," asked Malivert of the Baron, 
 "that I shall soon see Spirite again?" 
 
 "You may expect an early visit," replied de Feroe. 
 " The communications I receive from the other world 
 inform me that much interest is taken in you there." 
 
 " Shall it be to-night or to-morrow ? — in my rooms 
 or in a place where I do not expect to see her, as 
 happened to-day ? " cried Malivert, as impatient as a 
 passionate lover or a neophyte eager to penetrate a 
 mystery. 
 
 108 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 " I cannot quite tell you that," replied the Swedish 
 Baron. " The spirits, for whom time does not exist 
 or has ceased to exist, do not reckon hours, since they 
 live in eternity. As far as Spirite is concerned, if she 
 saw you to-night or in a thousand years, it would be 
 exactly the same thing. But spirits that deign to enter 
 into communication with us poor mortals, remember 
 the brevity of our life, the imperfection and the fra- 
 gility of our organs ; they know that between one 
 apparition and another, if measured by the eternal dial, 
 the perishable envelope of man has time to dissolve 
 into dust a hundred times over; it is probable, there 
 fore, that Spirite will not keep you waiting. She has 
 descended to our sphere, and appears to have made up 
 her mind to go back to her own only after carrying 
 out her project." 
 
 "What is that project?" said Malivert. "You, 
 to whom nothing is closed in that supernatural 
 world, must know the motive which directs this 
 pure spirit towards a being yet subjected to material 
 conditions." 
 
 " On that point, my dear Guy," replied Baron de 
 Feroe, " my lips are sealed. I may not repeat the 
 secrets of the spirits. I was warned to put you on 
 
 109 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 your guard against any terrestrial entanglement, and to 
 prevent your entering into bonds which might perhaps 
 chain your soul to a place in which it would suffer 
 from the eternal regret of having lost its freedom. My 
 mission does not go beyond that." 
 
 Thus chatting, Malivert and the Baron, followed 
 by their carriages which were being driven along 
 the pavement, reached the Madeleine, the Greek 
 columns of which, silvered by the pale beams of a 
 winter moon, looked at the end of the broad Rue 
 Royale something like the Parthenon, a resemblance 
 which disappears with daylight. On arriving there 
 the two friends separated and got into their respec- 
 tive coupes. 
 
 On reaching home, Malivert threw himself into his 
 arm-chair and, his elbow leaning on the table, began to 
 think. Spirite's apparition in the mirror had inspired 
 him with the immaterial desire, the winged volition to 
 which the sight of an angel gives birth, but her pres- 
 ence on the lake shore, under a more real feminine 
 form, had lighted in his heart the fire of human love. 
 He felt himself suffused with burning effluvia, and 
 possessed by that absolute love which even eternal 
 possession does not satisfy. As he was thinking, his 
 
 I 10 
 
4, 4. 4, 4. 4* 4» 4« 4» 4; 4» 4» 4» 4» 4» 4; 4» 4» 4» 4; 4j 4» 4« 4; 4» 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 hand outstretched on the table covered with papers, he 
 saw against the dark background of the Turkish table- 
 cover the outlines of another hand, slender, of a per- 
 fection unequalled by art and that nature would in vain 
 attempt to reach ; a tenuous hand with long fingers, 
 polished onyx-like nails ; on the back of the hand 
 showed a few veins of azure like the polished reflec- 
 tions which colour the milky opal, and it was lighted 
 by a light which was certainly not that of the lamp. 
 The rosy freshness of the tone and the ideal delicacy 
 of the form proved conclusively that it could be 
 Spirite's hand only. The small, clean, well-turned, 
 high-bred wrist ended in a mist of soft lace. As if to 
 plainly mark that the hand was there but as a sign, the 
 arm and the body were wanting. While Guy gazed 
 at it with eyes no longer amazed at anything extraordi- 
 nary, the fingers of the hand stretched out on one of 
 the sheets of writing-paper thrown confusedly on the 
 table and began to simulate the movements of one 
 writing. They seemed to trace lines, and when they 
 had gone over the whole page with the rapidity of an 
 actor writing a letter in a play, Guy caught hold of the 
 paper, expecting to find on it written sentences, known 
 or unknown signs. The paper was perfectly white. 
 
 1 1 1 
 
dbdb 4: 4: i: £ £ 4? db i: 4?4rti?dbalrdbdbtbdbti?db tfc dbdb 
 SPI RITE 
 
 Guy looked at the sheet with considerable disappoint- 
 ment. He put it nearer the lamp, examined it in every 
 way, made the light fall upon it in every possible 
 manner without discovering the least trace of writ- 
 ing, and yet the hand was continuing upon another 
 sheet the same imaginary work, apparently producing 
 no result. 
 
 " What means this ? " asked Malivert of himself. 
 " Can Spirite have written with sympathetic ink that 
 one must heat in order to bring out the letters ? But 
 her mysterious fingers hold neither pen nor shadow 
 of a pen. What does it mean ? Am I to serve myself 
 as secretary to this spirit, to be my own medium — to 
 use the consecrated term ? The spirits, it is said, 
 which can produce illusions and appearances and call 
 up in the brain of those whom they haunt fearful or 
 superb spectacles, are incapable of acting upon material 
 reality and of displacing even a straw." 
 
 He remembered the impulse which had led him to 
 write the note to Mme. d'Ymbercourt, and it occurred 
 to him that by nervous influence Spirite might, perhaps, 
 succeed in dictating to him inwardly what she wished 
 to say to him. All he had to do was to let his hand 
 go and to still his own thoughts as much as he could, 
 
 112 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 so that they should not mingle with those of the spirit. 
 Collecting himself and abstracting himself from the 
 external world, Guy calmed his over-excited brain, 
 turned up a little the wick of the lamp, took the pen, 
 dipped it in the ink, placed his hand on the paper, and, 
 his heart beating with timid hope, waited. 
 
 Very soon he experienced a curious sensation. It 
 seemed to him that he was losing the sense of his own 
 personality, that his individual remembrances were van- 
 ishing like those of a confused dream, that his thoughts 
 were disappearing like birds in the heavens. Although 
 his body was still near the table, preserving the same 
 attitude, Guy was inwardly absent; he had vanished, 
 disappeared. Another soul, or at least another mind 
 had taken the place of his own and was directing those 
 servants who, to act, were awaiting the unknown 
 master. The nerves of his fingers trembled and began 
 to execute movements of which he was unconscious, 
 the pen began to move on the paper, tracing rapid 
 signs in Guy's handwriting, slightly modified by the 
 external impulse. This is what Spirite dictated to 
 her medium. This confession of the outer world was 
 found among Malivert's papers, and I have been per- 
 mitted to transcribe it. 
 
 8 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 SPIRITE'S DICTATION 
 
 " First, you must know the being, undefinable by 
 you, who has entered into your life. However 
 penetrating you may be, you cannot succeed in mak- 
 ing out its true nature, and as in a badly written 
 tragedy, in which the hero states his names, titles, and 
 references, I am obliged to explain myself ; but I have 
 this excuse, — that no one else can do it for me. Your 
 intrepid heart, which did not hesitate to confront at my 
 call the mysterious terrors of the unknown, does not 
 need to be reassured. Besides, even did danger exist, 
 it would not prevent your pursuing the adventure. 
 The invisible world, of which this world is but the 
 veil, has its pitfalls and abysses, but you shall not fall 
 into any of them. Spirits of falsehood and evil traverse 
 it ; there are angels of darkness as there are angels of 
 light, revolted powers and submissive powers, benefi- 
 cent and harmful forces. The lower portion of the 
 mystic ladder, the summit of which is lost in eternal 
 light, is shrouded in darkness. I hope that, with my 
 help, you will ascend the luminous rounds. I am 
 neither angel nor demon, nor one of the intermediary 
 spirits who bear through space the Divine Will as 
 
 114 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 the nervous fluid communicates to the limbs of the 
 body the human will. I am merely a soul still await- 
 ing judgment and allowed by divine goodness to antici- 
 pate a favourable sentence. I, too, have dwelt on your 
 earth, and I could repeat the melancholy epitaph of 
 the shepherd in Poussin's picture, 4 Et in Arcadia ego? 
 Do not, because I quote Latin, mistake me for the 
 soul of a literary woman. In the place where I am 
 everything is known intuitively, and the various lan- 
 guages spoken by humankind before and after the con- 
 fusion of tongues are equally familiar to us. Words 
 are but the shadows of ideas and we possess the idea 
 itself in its essential state. If age could exist in a 
 place where time is not, I should be very young in my 
 new country. It is only a few days since, freed by 
 death, I left the atmosphere which you breathe and to 
 which I am recalled by a feeling that the passage from 
 one world to another has not effaced. My terrestrial 
 life, or rather, my last apparition on your planet, was 
 very short, but it was sufficient to give me time to 
 learn how deeply a loving soul may suffer. When 
 Baron de Feroe sought to ascertain the nature of the 
 spirit the vague manifestations of which troubled you, 
 and when he asked you if ever a woman or a girl 
 
 115 
 
SPI R TTE 
 
 had died of a broken heart on your account, he was 
 nearer the truth than he believed, and although you 
 can recall nothing of the kind, since you were un- 
 aware of it, the remark deeply troubled you and your 
 confusion was ill concealed under a playfully sceptical 
 denial. 
 
 "You never knew it, yet my life touched yours. 
 Your eyes looked elsewhere, and as far as you were 
 concerned, I was lost in the shadow. 
 
 " The first time I saw you was in the parlour of the 
 Convent of the Birds, where you went to visit your 
 sister, who was boarding there as I was. She was in 
 a more advanced class, for I was then only thirteen or 
 fourteen at most, and I seemed younger, for I was 
 very frail, dainty, and fair. You paid no attention 
 then to the little chit, to the child who, while busy 
 eating the chocolate creams which her mother had 
 brought her, glanced timidly at you. You were then 
 about twenty or twenty-two. In mv childish simpli- 
 city I thought you very handsome. The air of kind- 
 ness and affection with which you spoke to your sister 
 touched and attracted me, and I wished I had a brother 
 like you. My childish imagination went no farther. 
 As Mile, de Malivert had finished her education, she 
 
 116 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 left the convent, and you not did come again. But 
 your image was never effaced from my remembrance ; 
 it remained on the white parchment of my soul like 
 those light outlines traced in pencil by a skilled hand 
 which are found again long afterwards, almost invisi- 
 ble but persisting, the only traces at times of a van- 
 ished hand. The idea that so great a personage 
 could ever notice me, who was still in the young- 
 est class and treated somewhat disdainfully by the 
 older boarders, would have been much too ambitious, 
 and did not even occur to me, at least at that time. 
 But I very often thought of you, and in those chaste 
 romances woven by the most innocent imaginations, 
 you it was who always played the part of Prince 
 Charming, who delivered me from fancied perils, 
 who carried me off through underground ways, who 
 put to flight corsairs and brigands and brought me 
 back to the King my father. For such a hero as you 
 were must have at least an Infanta or a Princess, and 
 I modestly assumed that rank. At other times the 
 romance changed into a pastoral ; you were a shepherd 
 and I was a shepherdess, and our flocks mingled in 
 tender green meadows. Without suspecting it, you 
 formed a very considerable part of my life, and you 
 
 117 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 .orded over it. It was to you that I ascribed all my 
 little successes at school, and I worked with all my 
 strength to deserve your approbation. I said : c He 
 does not know that I have won a prize, but he will 
 know it and he will be pleased ; ' and although nat- 
 urally idle, I set to work again with renewed energy. 
 Was it not curious that my child's soul should have 
 given itself to you secretly and acknowledged itself 
 the vassal of a lord of its own choice who did not 
 even suspect this homage ? Is it not stranger still 
 that that first impression should never have been 
 effaced? — for it lasted all my life, alas ! a very short 
 one, and is prolonged even beyond it. At sight of 
 you, something indefinable and mysterious moved in 
 me of which I understood the meaning only when my 
 eyes, as they closed, were opened forever. My con- 
 dition as an impalpable being, as a pure spirit, permits 
 me now to tell you those things which a daughter of 
 earth no doubt would hide; but the immaculate inno- 
 cence of a soul cannot blush ; celestial modesty may 
 confess love. 
 
 " Two years thus went by. I had grown out of 
 childhood into maidenhood, and my dreams began to 
 become less puerile, while still remaining innocent. 
 
 118 
 
•4««j|*«4« «j* «4* »i» *£* *4* »A» •!•» »Jr»ri« ^i-»»f» •!■» »!•• »U »|< »j« 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 There was rather less rose and azure in them and 
 they did not always end in the blaze of an apotheosis. 
 I often went to the end of the garden, sat down on 
 a bench far from my companions busy with their 
 games or whispered conversations, and I murmured 
 like a litany the syllables of your name. Sometimes 
 even I was bold enough to think that that name 
 might become my own in consequence of chances 
 or adventures as entangled as those of a comedy of 
 cloak and sword, the plot of which I arranged to 
 suit my own fancy. 
 
 " I belonged to a family the peer of your own, and 
 my parents enjoyed a fortune and a rank which made 
 the distant project of marriage which I formed almost 
 timidly, in the most secret corner of my heart, seem 
 anything but a chimera or a foolish vision. It would 
 have been most natural that we should meet some 
 day in the society in which we both moved. But 
 would I take your fancy ? would you think me 
 pretty ? That was a question which my small board- 
 ing-school mirror did not answer in the negative, as 
 you may now judge by the reflection which I sent 
 to your Venetian mirror, and by my appearance in 
 the Bois de Boulogne. Supposing, however, you were 
 
 119 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 to pay as little attention to the young lady as to the 
 child in the convent ? When I thought of that, I 
 was filled with the deepest discouragement. But 
 youth never despairs very long, and I would soon 
 indulge in brighter fancies. It seemed impossible to 
 me that when you saw me you should not recognise 
 that I was yours, that my soul was marked with your 
 seal, that I had adored you from childhood, — in a 
 word, that I was the one woman created purposely 
 for you. I did not say these things to myself so 
 plainly, for I did not then understand the emotions of 
 my heart as I do now, when I can see the two sides 
 of life, but it was the deep instinct of blind faith 
 and irresistible feeling. In spite of my virginal igno- 
 rance and a candour that has perhaps never been 
 surpassed, my soul was filled with a passion which 
 was to destroy me, and which to-dav has been revealed 
 for the first time. I had no bosom friend at the con- 
 vent, and I lived alone with my thoughts of you. 
 Jealous of my secret, I dreaded confidences, and every 
 friendship that would have drawn me away from my 
 one idea was repellent to me. I was called serious, 
 and the teachers used to propose me as a model. I 
 awaited the time when I was to leave the convent 
 
 120 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 with less impatience than might be supposed. It was 
 a moment of respite between thought and action. As 
 long as I was shut up within the convent walls, I had 
 the right to lose myself indolently in my dream 
 without any self-reproach, but once I should have 
 flown forth from the cage, I should have to direct my 
 own flight, to tend to my aim, to ascend towards my 
 star; and customs, manners, conventionalities, infinite 
 modesty, the numerous veils with which civilisation 
 surrounds her, forbid a young girl to take the initia- 
 tive in a matter of love. She cannot take any step 
 to reveal herself to her own ideal; a proper pride is 
 opposed to her offering what must be priceless. Her 
 eyes must be cast down, her lips closed, her bosom 
 motionless ; no flush, no pallor must betray her when 
 she finds herself in the presence of the man she 
 secretly loves, and who often goes away believing her 
 disdainful or indifferent. How many souls created one 
 for the other have, for lack of a word, a glance, a 
 smile, gone different ways that separated them more 
 and more and made their meeting forever impossible. 
 How many lives deplorably wrecked owe their mis- 
 fortune to such a cause unperceived by all, and at 
 times unknown even to themselves. I had often 
 
 121 
 
t2» ds» «!b 4? «fc 4?ts? ?t? tS? tf? Tr? A ?lb 4? 4? «1? tt? it? 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 thought over these things, and they recurred more 
 strongly to my mind at the moment when I was about 
 to leave the convent to enter into the world. Yet I 
 held to my resolution. The time of my departure 
 came, my mother sent for me, and I bade farewell 
 to my companions with but slight marks of feeling. 
 I left no friendship and no remembrance within those 
 walls, where several years of my life had been spent. 
 The thought of you alone formed my treasure. 
 
 122 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 VIII 
 
 IT was with a lively feeling of pleasure that I entered 
 the room, or rather the small apartment which 
 my mother had prepared for me on my leaving 
 the convent. It consisted of a bedroom, a large 
 dressing-room and a sitting-room, the windows of 
 which looked out on a garden prolonged by a view over 
 the neighbouring gardens. A low wall covered with a 
 thick mantle of ivy formed the boundary-line, but the 
 stone showed nowhere, and nothing was visible but a 
 procession of gigantic old chestnut trees, which gave the 
 gardens the appearance of a vast park. Scarcely at the 
 very extremity did the glance rest, between the more 
 distant masses of foliage, upon the corner of a roof or 
 the elbow of a chimney-pot, a signature which Paris 
 places upon every one of its horizons. It was a rare 
 satisfaction, possible only to wealth, to have before me, 
 in the very centre of the great city, a broad, free, 
 empty place with air, sky, sunshine, and verdure. Is 
 it not disagreeable to feel too close to one's self other 
 
 123 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 lives, passions, vices, misfortunes, and is not the 
 delicate modesty of the soul somewhat depressed by 
 such close vicinage? I therefore felt genuine joy as I 
 gazed out of my windows upon that oasis of coolness, 
 silence, and solitude. It was August, for I had finished 
 my last school year in the convent, and the foliage v/as 
 still intensely green, but with the warmer tone which 
 the passing of summer imparts to vegetation. In the 
 centre of the flower garden under my windows a bed 
 of geraniums in full bloom dazzled the eyes with its 
 scarlet blaze. The sward surrounding this flower-bed, 
 a carpet of green velvet of English rye grass, brought 
 out by its emerald tint that red more ardent than fire. 
 On the finely sanded walk marked like a ribbon by the 
 teeth of the rakes, the birds were hopping about trust- 
 fully and seemed perfectly at home. I promised 
 myself that I should share their excursions without 
 making them fly away. 
 
 " My room was hung with white cashmere trimmed 
 with blue silk cords. This was also the colour of the 
 furniture and the window curtains. In my small 
 sitting-room, decorated in the same way, a magnificent 
 Erard piano offered its keyboard to my hands, and I at 
 once tried its soft sonority. A bookcase of rosewood 
 
 124 
 
tb:!: 4: ± i: db is i: £ & tfc tfcti? 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 placed opposite the piano contained the pure books, the 
 chaste poets which a maiden may read, and the lower 
 shelves contained the scores of the great composers ; 
 Bach elbowed Haydn, Mozart was side by side with 
 Beethoven, like Raphael and Michael Angelo, and 
 Meyerbeer leaned upon Weber. My mother had 
 brought together the masters I admired, those who 
 were my favourites. An elegant jardiniere full of 
 sweet-scented flowers bloomed in the centre of the 
 room like a great nosegay. I was being treated like a 
 spoiled child. I was the only daughter, and the whole 
 affection of my parents was naturally concentrated 
 upon me. 
 
 " I was to make my entrance into society at the begin- 
 ning of the season, — that is, two or three months later, 
 at the time which puts an end to country life, to travel, 
 to sojourns in watering-places and gambling-places, to 
 country-house parties, to hunting, racing, and all that 
 society invents to pass the time which it is not proper 
 for well-bred people to spend in Paris, where my 
 parents had been detained by business. I greatly pre- 
 ferred remaining in town to staying in the old and 
 rather gloomy chateau in the very depths of Brittany 
 to which I had gone regularly for every vacation. 
 
 125 
 
-4* <4* rl-e «X« rli .1 » »K «4« *A* jjjjjy t§y jjj t^? *|y *sj s!> tS» Tt? TtT Tt? 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 Besides, I fancied I should have a chance of meeting 
 you, of hearing you spoken of, or of coming across 
 people acquainted with you ; but I learned indirectly 
 that you had been gone for some time on a trip to 
 Spain which would last a few months longer. Your 
 friends, to whom you rarely wrote, did not expect you 
 back before winter. It was said that your fancy had 
 been caught by a mantilla-wearing Spanish girl. That 
 troubled me little, for in spite of my modesty, I was 
 conceited enough to think that my golden hair could 
 rival the jet tresses of Andalusia. I learned also that 
 you wrote in reviews under the Latinised pseudonym 
 of one of your given names, known only to your inti- 
 mate friends, and that the well-bred gentleman in you 
 concealed a distinguished writer. With a curiosity you 
 can easily understand, I sought in the files of news- 
 papers all the articles marked by that sign. To read a 
 writer is to place yourself in communication with his 
 mind, for is not a book confidences addressed to an 
 ideal friend, a conversation from which the interlocutor 
 is absent ? One must not always take literally what 
 the author says ; one must allow for philosophical or 
 literary systems, for fashionable affectations of the day, 
 for necessary reticence, for the style which imposes 
 
 126 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 itself on him, for admiring imitations, and whatever 
 may modify the exterior form of a writer ; but under all 
 these disguises the true attitude of the soul at last reveals 
 itself to the real reader, the genuine thought is often to 
 be seen between the lines, and the poet's secret, which 
 he does not choose to tell to the crowd, is at least to 
 be guessed. One after another the veils fall and the 
 answers to the riddles are learned. In order to get an 
 idea of you, I studied with great attention your accounts 
 of travel, your articles on philosophy and criticism, 
 your tales and the pieces of verse scattered here and 
 there at rather long intervals, and which marked the 
 various phases of your mind. It is less difficult to 
 learn to know a subjective author than an objective. 
 The former expresses his own feelings, exposes his 
 ideas, and judges society and creation in virtue of an 
 ideal. The second presents objects such as they are in 
 nature ; he proceeds by images, by description ; he 
 brings things under the reader's eyes; he draws, dresses 
 up, colours his personages accurately, puts in their 
 mouths what they ought to have said, and keeps his 
 own opinion to himself. That is your way of doing. 
 At first sight you might have been accused of a certain 
 disdainful impartiality which did not see much differ- 
 
 127 
 
* ±* * * * ± £ & 4: *********** * ** 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 ence between a lizard and a man, between the glow of 
 a sunset and the glow of a conflagration ; but by read- 
 ing more closely and judging by certain sudden out- 
 breaks, swift rushes at once checked, I could divine 
 that you were possessed of deep feeling maintained by 
 a haughty reserve, which did not care to allow your 
 emotions to be seen. 
 
 " This judgment of you as a writer harmonised with 
 the instinctive judgment of my heart, and now that 
 nothing is concealed from me I know how true it was. 
 All sentimental trifling and hypocritically virtuous 
 magniloquence, you had in horror, and in your opinion 
 the worst of crimes was to deceive the soul. That 
 made you excessively shy of expressing tender or pas- 
 sionate feelings ; you preferred silence to falsehood or 
 exaggeration in such sacred matters, even though fools 
 considered you insensible, hard, and even cruel. I at 
 once perceived this, and not for a moment did I doubt 
 that you were kind-hearted. As to the nobility of 
 your mind, there could be not the least uncertainty. 
 Your proud disdain of vulgarity, of commonplaceness, 
 enviousness, and all moral ugliness amply proved it. 
 By dint of reading you, I learned to know you, whom 
 I had seen but once, as well as if I had met you inti- 
 
 128 
 
4; 4; 4; 4; 4; 4» 4» 4; 4; 4» <h 4j4»4»4»4»4»4»4»4j4y 4» 4»4* 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 mately every day. I penetrated the intimate recesses 
 of your thought and knew your starting-point, your 
 motives, sympathies, antipathies, what you desired, 
 what you disliked, — in a word, your whole mental 
 being, — and from it I deduced what your character 
 must be. Sometimes when reading, struck by a pas- 
 sage which was a revelation to me, I would rise and 
 go to the piano, and play, as a comment on your 
 sentences, motives analogous in colour and sentiment 
 which prolonged the passage in sonorous or melancholy 
 vibrations. I enjoyed hearing in another way the echo 
 of your thought. Perhaps these relations were imagi- 
 nary and could have been seized by none but myself, 
 but unquestionably some of them were real. I know 
 it now that I dwell in the eternal source of inspiration, 
 and that I see it fall like luminous sparks upon the 
 head of genius. 
 
 " While reading those of your works which I could 
 procure, — for the range of action of a young girl is so 
 narrow that the smallest step is difficult for her, — the 
 season was advancing, the trees were turning yellow 
 with the golden tints of late autumn, the leaves, one 
 after another, fell from the branches, and the gardener, 
 in spite of his care, could not prevent the sward and 
 
 9 
 
 129 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 the gravel from being thickly covered with them. 
 Sometimes, when I wandered in the garden under the 
 chestnut trees, the fall of a chestnut falling on my 
 head like a ball or rolling at my feet out of its broken 
 husk, interrupted my reverie and made me involuntarily 
 start. The delicate plants and shrubs were being taken 
 into the hot-house, the birds had the uneasy look which 
 they have at the approach of winter, and at evening I 
 could hear them quarrelling on the bare branches. 
 The season was about to begin ; society was returning 
 to Paris from every point of the horizon. On the 
 Champs Elysees were again to be seen carriages with 
 coats of arms on the panels driven slowly up towards 
 the Arc de l'Etoile to enjoy the last rays of the sun ; 
 the Theatre-Italien published its list of singers and its 
 repertoire, and announced the forthcoming opening. I 
 rejoiced at the thought that this general movement of 
 return would bring you back from Spain and that, 
 weary of the gloomy sierras, you would enjoy coming 
 to receptions, parties, and balls, where I hoped I might 
 meet you. 
 
 " Once, while driving in the Bois de Boulogne with 
 my mother, I saw you ride by our carriage, but so 
 swiftly that I had scarcely time to recognise you. It 
 
 130 
 
4^4; 4; 4; 4; 4. 4; 4; 4» 4* 4*4.4.4. 4* 4^ 4; 4; 4; 4; 4j 4*4; 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 was the first time that I had seen you since your visit 
 to the convent. My blood rushed to my heart and I 
 felt a sort of electric shock. Under pretext of feeling 
 the cold, I lowered my veil to conceal the change in my 
 face, and I sank silently back into the corner of the 
 carriage. My mother pulled up the window and said : 
 'It is not warm. A mist is coming up and we had 
 better return, unless you wish to drive on.' I nodded 
 assent. I had learned what I wished to learn ; I knew 
 that you were in Paris. 
 
 " We used to go to the Opera once a week. It was 
 a great treat to me to hear the singers of whom I had 
 heard so much, but whom I did not know. Another 
 hope also stirred my heart j I need not tell you what it 
 was. Our day came. Patti was to sing 1 La Sonnam- 
 bula.' My mother had had made for me a pretty, 
 simple, dress suited to my age : an underskirt of white 
 taffeta with an overskirt of tarlatan, and bows of blue 
 velvet and pearls. My hair was dressed with a band 
 of velvet of the same colour, with pearls twisted around 
 it and the ends falling down on my shoulders. As I 
 looked in my mirror while my maid was putting on 
 the last touches, I asked myself, ' Is he fond of blue ? ' 
 In Alfred de Musset's 'Caprice,' Mme. de Lery says 
 
 13 1 
 
it***************:******** 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 it is a stupid colour. And yet I could not help think- 
 ing that the blue ribbon looked very well with my 
 golden hair. If you had seen me, I think you would 
 have loved me. Clotilde, my maid, as she arranged the 
 folds of the dress and the bows on my bodice, said 
 that I was very pretty that evening. 
 
 " The carriage deposited my mother and myself in 
 front of the peristyle, — my father was to join us later, 
 — and we began slowly to ascend the great, red-carpeted 
 staircase. The warm atmosphere was perfumed with 
 cuscus and patchouli ; ladies in full dress, their gowns 
 still concealed by the mantles, pelisses, burnouses, scarfs, 
 and opera cloaks which they were presently to hand to 
 their lackeys, were ascending the stairs, their long trains 
 of watered silk, satin, and velvet trailing behind them, 
 and resting their hands on the arm of grave men in 
 white neckties, whose black coats had in the button- 
 hole strings of orders, which meant that they intended, 
 after the opera, to proceed to some official or diplomatic 
 reception. Tall, slender young fellows, their hair parted 
 in the middle, most correctly and elegantly dressed, 
 followed close behind, drawn to a group by a smile. 
 
 " All this is no novelty to you, and you would paint 
 the picture better than I, but the sight was new to a 
 
 132 
 
db tlr 4: db * db 4? tb dbtb tb tb tb tb rb 4: 4: tS? sfc t& 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 little boarding-school girl making her entrance into 
 society. Life is always the same. It is like a play in 
 which the spectators alone change ; but one who has 
 not seen the performance is interested in it as if it were 
 made purposely for him and were being given for the 
 first time. I was happy. I felt I was beautiful ; ap- 
 proving glances had been cast upon me ; some women 
 had looked around after having examined me with a 
 rapid glance, and found nothing to blame either in my 
 dress or my coiffure. 
 
 " I had a secret presentiment that I should see you 
 that evening. This hope imparted a slight animation 
 to my features and flushed my cheeks more brilliantly 
 than usual. We sat down in our box, and soon glasses 
 were turned upon me. Mine was a new face, and 
 new faces are quickly noted at the Opera, which is like 
 a great drawing-room where everybody knows every- 
 body else. My mother's presence told people who I 
 was, and I understood from the way they bent towards 
 each other that I was being talked about in several 
 boxes, favourably no doubt, for kindly smiles followed 
 the whispered sentences. I felt somewhat awkward 
 at being the observed of all observers; wearing a low- 
 necked dress for the first time, I felt my shoulders 
 
 J 33 
 
jbilr .It 'ir '-■* *^* tl? db 1 !§■ db sl?«3»2li tfe ?tr 4? tfctt? 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 shiver under the gauze which covered them with its 
 semi-transparency. The rise of the curtain — for the 
 overture had been little listened to — made every one 
 look towards the stage and put an end to my embar- 
 rassment. Undoubtedly the aspect of that beautiful 
 hall starred with diamonds and bouquets, with its 
 gilding, its footlights, its white caryatids, awoke in me 
 both surprise and admiration, and Bellini's music per- 
 formed by artists of the first rank carried me away into 
 a world of enchantment ; yet the real interest of the 
 evening did not lie there so far as I was concerned. 
 While my ears listened to the suave melodies of the 
 Sicilian composer, my eyes were timidly examining 
 every box, roaming over the balcony, and examining 
 the orchestra stalls in order to discover you. The 
 first act was nearly ended before you came, and when 
 the curtain was rung down, you turned half round 
 towards the auditorium, looking rather bored and 
 gazing at the boxes indifferently without letting your 
 glance rest on any one in particular. Your complex- 
 ion was browned by six months' travel in Spain, and 
 there was on your face a certain expression of nostalgia, 
 as if you regretted the country you had left. My heart 
 beat loudly while you were making this rapid inspec- 
 
 134 
 
»K »4» •!<* »A» »A» »A» »A» *i* «j^«jtt«^ »4 »^»» i» »||»*i»ti<*l»»j«^i* A*^; 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 tion, and for a moment I thought your glance had 
 noted me, but I was mistaken. I saw you leave your 
 seat and reappear shortly afterwards in a box opposite 
 our own. It was occupied by a pretty woman very 
 splendidly dressed, whose black hair shone like satin. 
 Her pale rose-coloured dress was almost undistinguish- 
 able from the flesh tones of her bosom ; diamonds 
 sparkled in her hair, in her ears, on her neck and her 
 arms. On the velvet-covered rail by the side of her 
 opera-glasses bloomed a great bouquet of Parma violets 
 and camellias. At the back, in the shadow, I could 
 make out an old, bald-headed, obese person, the lappel 
 of whose coat half-concealed the star of some foreign 
 order. The lady spoke to you with unmistakable 
 pleasure and you replied to her in a careless, easy way, 
 without seeming to be particularly taken with her more 
 than friendly manner. My disappointment at not 
 having been noticed by you was compensated for by 
 the joy of feeling that you did not love that bold-eyed 
 woman with the alluring smile and the dazzling 
 toilet. 
 
 "A few minutes later, as the musicians began to tune 
 up for the second act, you took leave of the lady with 
 the diamonds and the old gentleman with the foreign 
 
 !35 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 order, and returned to your seat. The performance 
 ended without your turning your head once, and in my 
 soul I felt annoyed with you. I wondered that you 
 could not guess that a young girl in a white dress with 
 blue bows wanted very much to be looked at by the 
 man she had secretly chosen. I had so long wished to 
 find myself in the same place as you ; my wish was 
 granted, and you did not even suspect that I was pres- 
 ent. You ought to have felt, it seemed to me, a sym- 
 pathetic thrill ; you ought to have turned around and 
 looked slowly through the hall impelled by a secret 
 emotion ; your glance should have stopped on the box 
 I was in, and you should have put your hand to your 
 heart and fallen into an ecstasy. The hero of a novel 
 would not have failed to do so. But you were not the 
 hero of a novel. 
 
 " My father, who had had to go to a state dinner, 
 came in the middle of the second act only, and seeing 
 you in the orchestra stalls, he said, ' Why ! there is 
 Guy de Malivert ! I did not know that he had re- 
 turned from Spain. His trip means for us endless 
 bull-fights in the Review, for Guy is a bit of a bar- 
 barian.' I delighted in hearing your name spoken by 
 my father's lips. You were not unknown to my 
 
 136 
 
^db?j?^??l?db.v«? db ~? tl? ^dbtfedbt8?sl?«b jbsi? t fetfe 
 
 SPI RI TE 
 
 family ; we might therefore meet. It would be easy 
 indeed to do so. I was thus somewhat consoled for 
 the lack of success I had met with that evening. The 
 performance closed without any other incident than 
 showers of bouquets, recalls, and ovations to Patti. 
 While waiting in the vestibule until our footman 
 announced our carriage, I saw you pass with a friend 
 and draw a cigar from a case of fine Manila esparto. 
 The desire to smoke made you careless, I am bound to 
 say, of the exhibition of beauties and ugly women, who 
 were ranged upon the lower steps of the staircase. 
 You made your way through the mass of dresses, 
 caring little whether or not you rumpled them, and 
 you soon reached the door with your friend following 
 in your wake. 
 
 " On returning home, happy and dissatisfied, I went 
 to bed after having tried with no great success some 
 of the melodies of 4 La Sonnambula,' as if to prolong 
 the vibrations of the evening ; and then I went to 
 sleep, thinking of you. 
 
 137 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 Jl, »l< rtj. .Ji-. «i, «jr» *i» ^"jI? tI? it? jfctfe tf? tf? t~? tf? TsTTf? 
 
 IX 
 
 ONE often finds when, after a certain time the 
 remembrance and the image are compared, 
 that imagination has worked like a painter, 
 who goes on with a portrait in the absence of his 
 model, softening the surfaces, graduating the tints, 
 making the contours melt one into another, and bring- 
 ing back, in spite of himself, the portrait to his own 
 particular ideal. I had not seen you for more than 
 three years, but my heart had accurately preserved the 
 memory of your face. Only, you had changed some- 
 what ; your features had become firmer and more ac- 
 centuated, and the sunburn of travel had imparted to 
 your complexion a warmer and more vigorous colour. 
 The man showed more in the young man, and you 
 had that air of tranquil authority and assured force 
 which takes women perhaps more than beauty. None 
 the less I preserved carefully within my soul the first 
 drawing, the slight sketch of the being who was to 
 have so much influence over me, just as one preserves 
 
j|* ^J? »|£ ^» •!» ^^^^^^^•^•§*«§**§**§* tS?tf?t8? 
 SPI RITE 
 
 a miniature of the youth by the side of the portrait of 
 later days. My dreams had not harmed you, and I 
 was not obliged, when I saw you again, to strip you 
 of a mantle of fancied perfections. I thought of all 
 this, curled up in my bed and watching the gleam of 
 the night-light trembling on the blue roses of the car- 
 pet, while awaiting sleep that did not come, but which 
 towards morning closed my eyes, mingling vague har- 
 monies with disconnected dreams. 
 
 " A few weeks later we received an invitation to a 
 
 great ball given by the Duchess de C . For a 
 
 young girl her first ball is an event. This one was 
 the more interesting to me that it was likely you would 
 be at it, the Duchess being a great friend of yours. 
 Balls are our battles which we win or lose. It is there 
 that the young girl, issuing from the shadows of the 
 gynaeceum, shines in all her splendour. Custom 
 grants her during this short space of time, under the 
 pretext of dancing, a sort of relative freedom, and the 
 ball is to her like the foyer of the Opera where domin- 
 oes walk with uncovered faces. She may be ap- 
 proached with an invitation to dance a quadrille or a 
 mazurka, and during the figures of a country-dance 
 she may even be spoken to j but very often the long 
 
 J 39 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 list on her engagement card does not contain the one 
 name that she really has longed for. 
 
 " I had to think of my dress, for a ball dress is a 
 poem, and that of a young girl is a very difficult thing 
 to make up. It has to be both simple and rich ; that 
 is to say, it must possess contrary characteristics. A 
 light dress entirely white would not have been the 
 thing, so I made up my mind, after a good deal of 
 hesitation, to have a skirt and overskirt of gauze 
 worked with silver, caught up with bouquets of forget- 
 me-nots, the blue of which matched admirably the 
 turquoise set which my father had purchased for me. 
 Clusters of turquoises, imitating the flowers scattered 
 over my dress, formed my head-dress. Thus attired, 
 I fancied myself capable of showing not too disadvan- 
 tageous^ among the splendid toilets and the famous 
 beauties. Indeed, for a mere child of earth, I looked 
 rather well. 
 
 " The Duchess de C inhabited one of those 
 
 vast mansions in the Faubourg Saint-Germain built 
 for the splendid lives of other days, mansions which 
 modern life finds it difficult to fill. It takes the crowd 
 and splendour of a feast to animate them as of yore. 
 From the outside no one would have suspected the 
 
 140 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 extent of this princely mansion. A high wall between 
 two houses with a monumental carriage-gate, over 
 which, in gilt letters upon a tablet of green marble, 
 
 was written, 1 Hotel de C ,' was all that could be 
 
 seen from the street. A long avenue of old lime-trees, 
 trimmed in the shape of an arch after the old French 
 fashion and which winter had stripped of their 
 leaves, led to a vast court at the back of which rose 
 the mansion, built in the pure Louis XIV style, with 
 high windows, columns half engaged and mansard 
 attics, like the architecture of Versailles. A red and 
 white awning, supported by carved uprights, projected 
 over the red-carpeted steps. I had time to examine all 
 these details by the light given out by the clusters of 
 lamps, for the guests, though select, were numerous, 
 and we had to fall in line just as at a great reception. 
 The carriage drew up before the steps, and we handed 
 our pelisses to our footman. By a glass door, the 
 leaves of which he opened and shut, stood a gigantic 
 porter with splendid broad shoulders. In the vestibule 
 we passed between two lines of footmen in full livery 
 and powdered ; every one of them tall, motionless, 
 and perfectly serious. They looked like domestic 
 caryatids, and seemed to feel that it was an honour to 
 
 141 
 
4,4.4.4*4, 4, 4.4, &&:fcdHbdb&4b:fedbdkdbdkdb!Hb 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 be lackeys in such a house. The whole of the stair- 
 case, in which a small palace of to-day could easily 
 have been put, was lined with huge camellias. At 
 every landing great mirrors allowed the ladies to repair, 
 as they went up, the slight disorder caused in a ball 
 toilet by mantles, light as they may be, and which 
 was shown by the brilliant blaze of a chandelier 
 that hung, sustained by a golden cord, from a cupola 
 where in azure and clouds the brush of some pupil of 
 Lebrun or Mignard had painted a boldly foreshortened 
 mythological allegory in the taste of his day. 
 
 "Between the windows were landscapes, oblong in 
 shape, severe in style, and dark in colour, which might 
 have been attributed to Poussin, or at least to Gaspard 
 Dughet; so, at least, thought a famous painter who 
 was going up the stairs by our side, and who had put 
 his glass to his eye to examine them more closelv. At 
 the turn of the stairs, upon the steps of the balustrade, 
 which was a marvel of iron work, were statues of marble 
 by Lepautre and Theodon, bearing candelabra the bril- 
 liancy of which equalled that of the chandelier, so that 
 the feast, thanks to the splendour of the light, began 
 even on the staircase. At the door of the antechamber, 
 hung with Gobelins tapestries after cartoons by Oudry, 
 
 142 
 
».U rl% ^L, ol« »1» «4» *4» ^» j^tr? tf? tf? tf? tI? tfe tt? t§? ii? ■(? ^£ 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 and wainscotted in old oak, stood an usher dressed in 
 black with a silver chain around his neck, who in a 
 voice more or less loud according to the importance of 
 the title, called out into the first drawing-room the 
 names of the guests. 
 
 "The Duke, tall, thin, made up of long lines like a 
 thorough-bred greyhound, had a distinguished, aristo- 
 cratic air, and in spite of his age, preserved traces 
 of his former elegance. Even in the street, no one 
 could have mistaken his rank. Standing a short dis- 
 tance from the door, he received the invited guests 
 with a gracious word, a hand-shake, a bow, a nod, a 
 smile, with a sure appreciation of what was due to 
 each, and with such perfect grace that every one was 
 satisfied and believed himself specially favoured. He 
 bowed to my mother in a respectful, friendly way, and 
 as it was the first time he had seen me, he spoke in a 
 few words a semi-paternal, semi-gallant madrigal that 
 smacked of the old Court. Near the mantel-piece stood 
 the Duchess, rouged with utter carelessness of illusion, 
 plainly wearing a wig and exhibiting historical dia- 
 monds upon her thin bosom intrepidly low-necked. 
 She was an uncommonly witty woman, and under her 
 broad brown eyelids her eyes still shone with extraordi- 
 
 143 
 
SPI R I TE 
 
 nary brilliancy. She wore a dress of dark-garnet velvet 
 with great flounces of English point-lace, and a row of 
 diamonds at her bodice. With a careless hand she 
 fanned herself with a large fan painted by Watteau, 
 while she spoke to the persons who came to pay their 
 respects. She looked uncommonly aristocratic. She 
 exchanged a few words with my mother who presented 
 me to her, and as I bowed, she touched my brow with 
 her cold lips and said, ' Go, dear, and be sure not to 
 miss a single dance.' 
 
 " This ceremony over, we entered the next drawing- 
 room, which led to the ball-room. On the red damask 
 hangings, in magnificent frames contemporary with the 
 paintings themselves, hung family portraits that were 
 not put there through aristocratic pride, but simply as 
 masterpieces of art. They were by Clouet, Porbus, 
 Van Dyck, Philippe de Champagne and de Largilliere, 
 and every one was worthy of being placed in the Trib- 
 une of a museum. What I enjoyed about the luxury 
 in this house was that nothing was recent. The paint- 
 ings, the gilding, the damasks, the brocades, though not 
 faded, were dulled and did not annoy the eye by the loud 
 brilliancy of newness. One felt that the wealth was 
 of long standing, and that things had always been so. 
 
 144 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 The ball-room was of a size now scarcely met with 
 save in palaces. Numerous standing-lamps and brack- 
 et-lamps placed in the bays between the windows 
 formed with their thousands of tapers a sort of luminous 
 conflagration through which the azure paintings of the 
 ceiling with their wreaths of nymphs and cupids showed 
 as through a rosy vapour. In spite of the brilliant light 
 the room was so large that there was no lack of air 
 and one breathed comfortably. The orchestra was 
 placed in a sort of gallery at the end of the room in a 
 grove of rare plants. On velvet benches arranged in 
 semicircles were rows of ladies dazzlingly dressed if 
 not dazzlingly beautiful, though there were some very 
 pretty ones. The sight was superb. We happened to 
 come in exactly between two dances and, seated near 
 my mother on the end of a bench which happened to 
 be free, I gazed on this spectacle, new to me, with 
 astonishment and curiosity. The gentlemen, hav- 
 ing taken their partners back to their seats, were 
 walking about in the centre of the room looking to 
 right and left, as if reviewing the women before mak- 
 ing their choice. It was the youthful time of the ball, 
 for somewhat mature men do not now dance. There 
 were young attaches of embassies, and secretaries of 
 
 145 
 
sfc .5? *^ *^* *^* * jjj tlr i' ^ tir tir tir tir t^r t^r c^? t sSt tI? 
 SPIRITE 
 
 legations, auditors of the Council of State in expecta- 
 tion, beardless masters of requests, officers who had 
 gone through their first campaign, clubmen diplomati- 
 cally serious, youthful sportsmen thinking of keeping a 
 stud, dandies whose whiskers were not much more 
 than down, and eldest sons with the precocious 
 authority of a great name and of a great fortune. 
 Among these young people were a few serious person- 
 ages covered with orders, whose polished heads shone 
 like ivory in the light of the lustres, or were concealed 
 under wigs either too dark or too fair. As they passed 
 by, they addressed polite remarks to the dowagers con- 
 temporary with their own youth, then turning aside, 
 they would examine like experts and disinterested con- 
 noisseurs the feminine harem outspread before their 
 eyes and their glasses. The first strains of the 
 orchestra made them retrograde as quickly as their 
 gouty feet allowed towards quieter drawing-rooms, 
 where at tables lighted by tapers covered with green 
 shades they played at bouillotte or ecarte. 
 
 "You will readily believe that I did not lack dancers. 
 A young Hungarian in his magnate's dress, braided, 
 embroidered, studded with buttons of precious stones, 
 bowed gracefully to me and asked me for a mazurka. 
 
 146 
 
k db rk "k db db "k "k "k "k dbsb tb tb rb tb tb :b 4: :S? k k k 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 His features were regular, romantically pale, with 
 great, black, somewhat shy eyes, and mustaches as 
 sharp as needles. An Englishman of twenty-two or 
 twenty-three who resembled Lord Byron except that 
 he was not lame, the attache of a Northern court, and 
 some others wrote their names at once on my card. 
 Although the old dancing master at the convent used 
 to boast of me as being one of his best and most grace- 
 ful pupils, and praised my lightness and my feeling for 
 time, I was not, I confess, entirely at my ease; I felt, 
 as the papers say, the emotions inseparable from a 
 debut. It seemed to me, as shy people always fancy, 
 that all eyes were fixed upon me. Fortunately my 
 Hungarian partner was an excellent dancer who helped 
 out my first attempts, and soon, carried away by the 
 music, intoxicated by the motion, I regained assurance 
 and allowed myself to be spun into the whirlpool of 
 floating skirts with a sort of pleasurable excitement. 
 Yet I never forgot my usual thought and my object in 
 coming to the ball. As I passed bv the dancers, with 
 a rapid glance I tried to see if you were in the other 
 rooms. I at last caught sight of you in the recess of 
 a window, talking with a dark-faced, long-nosed, black- 
 bearded man wearing a red fez, in the uniform of the 
 
 47 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 Nizam, with the Medjidieh order on his breast, no doubt 
 either a bey or a pacha. When the whirl of the dance 
 brought me back, there you were still speaking with 
 animation to your orientally placid Turk, not deigning 
 to cast a glance at the pretty faces that passed before 
 you, flushed by the dance, in the shimmer of light. 
 
 " Nevertheless I did not lose hope, and for the time 
 I was satisfied to know that you were there. Besides, 
 the evening was not over, and some fortunate chance 
 might bring us together. My partner took me back 
 to my seat, and again the men began to walk up and 
 down the space circumscribed by the benches. You 
 took a turn with your Turk through the moving multi- 
 tude, looking at the ladies and the toilets, but with 
 no more interest than you might have looked at pictures 
 or statues. From time to time you made a remark to 
 your friend the pacha, who smiled gravely. I could see 
 you doing all this through my fan, which I closed, I 
 confess, when you approached the place where we were 
 seated. My heart beat high and I felt myself blush to 
 the shoulders. It was impossible this time that I 
 should escape your notice, for you walked as close to 
 the benches as the dazzling fringe of gauze, lace, and 
 flounces which overflowed, allowed you to do; but 
 
 148 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 unfortunately two or three friends of my mother's 
 stopped before us and paid her compliments, some of 
 which were addressed to me. This screen of black 
 coats masked me entirely. You had to go around the 
 group and I remained invisible, though I did bend my 
 head somewhat in the hope that you might see me. 
 But you could not guess that those black coats, respect- 
 fully inclined, concealed from you a rather pretty girl 
 who thought of no one but you and who had come to 
 the ball on your account alone. I saw you leave the 
 room by the other end, the Turk's red cap being the 
 mark by which I followed you in the maze of dark 
 coats which answer for a festival as well as for mourn- 
 ing. My enjoyment vanished and I seemed dreadfully 
 discouraged. Ironical Fate seemed to enjoy teasing 
 me and taking you away from me. I danced the 
 dances I was engaged for, and pretending to be some- 
 what tired, I refused other invitations. The play had 
 lost its charm for me, the dresses seemed faded, and the 
 lights turning dim. My father, who was playing cards 
 in another room and who had lost some hundred louis 
 to an old gentleman, came in to take us around the 
 apartments, and show us the hot-house into which the 
 last room led, which was reputed to be marvellous ; in- 
 
 149 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 deed, nothing could be more magnificent. It was like 
 a virgin forest, so vigorously did the banana trees, the 
 shaddocks, the palms, and other tropical plants grow in 
 the warm atmosphere saturated with exquisite perfumes. 
 At the end of the hot-house a white marble naiad poured 
 out the waters of her urn into a gigantic shell of the 
 Southern Seas surrounded by a mass of waterplants. 
 There I caught sight of you again. You had your 
 sister on your arm, but you were ahead of us and we 
 could not meet you, for we followed in the same direc- 
 tion the narrow path, covered with yellow sand and 
 bordered with verdure, that wound around the clumps 
 of shrubs, flowers, and plants. 
 
 "We walked two or three times through the drawing- 
 rooms, where the crowd had somewhat diminished, foi 
 the dancers had gone to restore their strength at the 
 buffet, served with elegant profusion in a gallery 
 wainscotted with ebony and gilding and adorned with 
 paintings by Desportes, representing flowers, fruits, and 
 game, of splendid colouring, which time had simply 
 made richer. All these details which I glanced at 
 carelessly remained in my memory, and I recall them 
 even in this world where life seems only the dream of 
 a shadow. They are connected for me with feelings 
 
 150 
 
Tr? 'lTj* *j? *.t? tk* ^ & ^7 tf? T?7 Tr? *i? Tt7 TtT Tt? tIt? Tt? ^tT Tfj? Tt" j~. 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 so deep that they compel me to return to earth. I 
 returned to my home as sad as I had left it joyous, and 
 attributed my mournful look to a slight headache. 
 As I exchanged for a night wrapper the ball toilet 
 which had been useless to me, since I desired to be 
 beautiful for you alone, I said with a sigh, 4 Why 
 did n't he ask me to dance, as the Hungarian, the 
 Englishman, and the other men did, although I cared 
 nothing for them ? It was a very easy matter. It 
 was the most natural thing at a ball. But everybody 
 looked at me except the one being whose attention I 
 desired to attract. There is no doubt that my unfor- 
 tunate love is very unlucky.' I went to bed, and a few 
 tears rolled from my eyelids to my pillow." 
 
 Here stopped Spirite's dictation. The lamp had 
 long since gone out for lack of oil, and Malivert, like 
 somnambulists who need no exterior light, was still 
 writing. Page followed page without Guy being con- 
 scious of it. Suddenly the impulse that guided his 
 hand stopped, and his own thought, suspended by that 
 of Spirite, returned to him. The faint light of dawn 
 was filtering through the curtains of his room. He 
 pulled them aside, and the pallid light of a winter 
 
 151 
 
rJL .X. »4« »k «4» »i» *A» »4^*X< i*? tS? «lb tfc ««• tfctfe 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 morning showed him on the table many pages covered 
 with feverish, rapid writing, the work of the night. 
 Although he had written them with his own hand, he 
 did not know their contents. With ardent curiosity, 
 with deep emotion, he read the artless and chaste con- 
 fidences of the lovely soul, of the adorable being, whose 
 executioner he had been ; innocently, it is needless to 
 add. This tardy confession of love coming from the 
 other world, breathed by a shadow, inspired him with 
 desperate regret and powerless rage against himself. 
 How could he have been stupid enough, blind enough 
 to pass thus by the side of happiness without perceiv- 
 ing it. But he grew calm at last. Happening to 
 look up at the Venetian mirror, he saw the reflection 
 of Spirite smiling upon him. 
 
 152 
 
SPI RITE 
 tt: & i: & i: £ & & db & i: & & & £ & db 4: db dfe £ d? 
 
 x 
 
 A STRANGE experience it is, to receive a reve- 
 lation of retrospective happiness which has 
 passed close to you without being perceived, 
 and which you have lost through your own fault. 
 Never can regret for the irreparable be more bitter. 
 One would like to live over again one's past days. 
 Wonderful plans are made, and after the event one 
 indulges in the most amazing perspicacity ; but life 
 cannot be turned over like an hourglass ; the grain of 
 sand once fallen will never ascend again. Guy de 
 Malivert reproached himself in vain for not having 
 found out the charming creature, who was neither 
 buried in a Constantinople harem nor hidden behind 
 the gratings of an Italian or Spanish convent, nor 
 guarded like Rosina by a jealous guardian, but who 
 had been of his own world, whom he could have seen 
 every day, and from whom no insuperable obstacle 
 separated him. She loved him ; he could have asked 
 her in marriage, he would have obtained her hand, and 
 
 J53 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 he would have enjoyed the supreme and rare felicity of 
 being united even in this life to the soul destined to his 
 soul. From the way in which he adored her shadow 
 he understood what a passion the girl herself would 
 have inspired in him. But soon his thoughts took 
 another course ; he ceased to reproach himself, and 
 regretted his commonplace grief. What had he lost, 
 since, after all, Spirite had preserved her love beyond 
 the tomb and had come from the depths of the Infinite 
 to descend to the sphere which he inhabited ? Was 
 not the passion he felt nobler, more poetic, more 
 ethereal, more like eternal love, since it was thus rid 
 of terrestrial contingencies, and had for its object a 
 being idealised by death ? Has not the most perfect 
 human union its weariness, its satiety, its lassitude ? 
 The most dazzled eyes see, after a few years, the 
 charms they first adored turn pale ; the soul is less 
 visible through the worn flesh and love seeks in 
 amazement its vanished ideal. 
 
 These reflections and the ordinary course of life 
 with its exigencies, which even the most enthusiastic 
 dreamers cannot escape, led on Malivert until the 
 evening, which he so impatiently awaited. When he 
 had shut himself up in his room and seated himself by 
 
 154 
 
rt* ».t» rL% rl-a »li rift «X» »!■» .Jj »lj »|j »i» rj^ *£« »A« Ty? j? tjj tt» J? 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 the table as the night before, prepared to write, the 
 little white, slender, blue-veined hand reappeared, sign- 
 ing to Malivert to take the pen. He obeyed and his 
 ringers began to move of themselves without his brain 
 dictating anything. Spirite's thought had taken the 
 place of his own. 
 
 SPIRITE'S DICTATION 
 
 " I do not intend to weary you in posthumous 
 fashion by telling you of all my disappointments. One 
 day, however, I did feel a lively joy, and I thought 
 that imperious fate, which seemed to enjoy concealing 
 me from your glance, was about to cease troubling 
 me. We were to dine the following Saturday at 
 
 Mine, de L 's. That alone would have been 
 
 very indifferent to me, had I not learned during the 
 week through Baron de Feroe, who sometimes came 
 to see us, that you were to be one of the guests at 
 
 this half worldly, half literary feast, for M. de L 
 
 enjoyed entertaining artists and writers. He was a 
 man of taste, a connoisseur of books and paintings, 
 and possessed a library and a very fine collection of 
 paintings. You occasionally went to his receptions, as 
 did also several famous authors, and others who were 
 
 155 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 becoming famous. M. de L piqued himself on 
 
 his ability to discover talent, and he was not of those 
 who believe in settled reputations only. I said to my- 
 self, in my childish exultation, ' At last I have got 
 hold of that fugitive, of that unapproachable man. 
 This time he cannot escape me. When we shall be 
 seated at the same table, perhaps side by side, lighted 
 by fifty tapers, careless though he may be, he will have 
 to see me, unless, however, there happens to be be- 
 tween us a mass of flowers or a centre-piece which 
 may conceal me.' The days which still separated me 
 from the happy Saturday seemed dreadfully long, as 
 long as study hours at the convent. They went by, 
 however, and the three of us, my father, my mother, 
 
 and myself, reached M. de L 's some thirty minutes 
 
 before the dinner hour. The guests, grouped about 
 the drawing-room, were chatting with each other, 
 coming and going, looking at the pictures, glancing at 
 the pamphlets on the tables, or telling stage news to 
 some ladies seated on a divan near the mistress of the 
 house. Among them were two or three illustrious 
 writers whose names my father told me, but whose 
 faces did not seem to me in harmony with their works. 
 You had not yet arrived. The guests were all there, 
 
 156 
 
£ db & & & 4: 4: & :lr 4? tlr tlr sb db sir 4? sir :Sr A 
 SPI RITE 
 
 and M. de L was beginning to complain of your 
 
 lack of punctuality, when a tall footman entered, 
 bringing on a silver salver, on which was a pencil to 
 sign and to mark the hour of delivery, a telegram from 
 you, sent from Chantilly and containing these words 
 only, in telegraphic style: 'Missed my train. Don't 
 wait. Awfully sorry.' 
 
 " Cruel was my disappointment. The whole week I 
 had caressed this hope, which vanished at the moment 
 it was about to be fulfilled. I was filled with a sad- 
 ness which I had great difficulty in concealing, and the 
 flush which animation had imparted to my cheeks van- 
 ished. Fortunately the doors of the dining-room were 
 opened, and the butler announced dinner. The move- 
 ment which took place among the guests prevented my 
 emotion being noticed. When everybody was seated, 
 a chair remained empty on my right. It was yours ; 
 I could not be mistaken, for your name was writ- 
 ten in fine writing upon a card with pretty coloured 
 arabesques placed near your glasses. So the irony of 
 fate was complete. But for this commonplace railway 
 difficulty I should have had you near me during the 
 whole meal, touching my dress, your hand touching 
 mine when paying those innumerable little attentions 
 
 1 57 
 
»jL «a» »4» »A» »4» »t» «A» •>!» »4» *|y *|f j|j jij jjj jj-j jjj ^A* jij jjy j£* 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 that at table the least gallant man feels himself bound 
 to render to a woman. A few commonplace words 
 to begin with, like every overture to a dialogue, 
 would have been exchanged between us, then, the 
 ice having been broken, our conversation would 
 have become more intimate, and your soul, your mind 
 would soon have understood my heart. Perchance I 
 might not have displeased you, and although fresh 
 from Spain, you might have forgiven the rosy fairness 
 of my complexion, the pale gold of my hair. If you 
 had come to that dinner, your life and mine would 
 unquestionably have moved in another direction ; you 
 would no longer be a bachelor, and I should be alive 
 and not reduced to tell you my love from the other 
 world. The love which you feel for my shadow 
 leads me to believe, without being too conceited, 
 that you would not have been insensible to my terres- 
 trial charms. But it was not to be. The unoccupied 
 chair which isolated me from the other guests seemed 
 to me a symbol of my fate, — it betokened vain expec- 
 tation and solitude in the midst of the crowd. The 
 sinister omen has been too well fulfilled. My neigh- 
 bour on the left was, as I learned later, a very amiable 
 and very learned academician. He tried several times 
 
 158 
 
4, 4. 4; 4; 4j 4; 4. & 4; 4j 4* 4. 4; 4. 4; 4y 4j 4; 4j 4; 4» 4; 4; 4* 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 to make me talk, but I answered in monosyllables 
 only, and even these were so ill fitted to the ques- 
 tions that my neighbour naturally took me for a 
 little idiot, left me to myself, and chatted with his 
 other partner. 
 
 " I scarcely touched the food ; my heart was so 
 heavy that I could not eat. At last the dinner ended 
 and we went to the drawing-room, where the guests 
 formed groups according to their preferences. In one, 
 rather close to the arm-chair in which I was seated, so 
 that I could hear what was being said, your name, 
 spoken by M. d'Aversac, excited my curiosity. ' That 
 chap Malivert,' said d'Aversac, 1 is cracked about his 
 pacha. On the other hand, the pacha is crazy about 
 Malivert. They are never apart. Mohammed or Mus- 
 tapha, I do not remember which is his name, wants to 
 take Guy to Egypt and talks of giving him a steamer 
 to take him to the first cataract, but Guy, who is as 
 barbaric as the Turk is civilised, would prefer a daha- 
 bheah. He rather likes the plan, for he thinks it is 
 very cold in Paris. He has a fancy for spending the 
 winter in Cairo and continuing the study of Arab 
 architecture which he commenced in the Alhambra ; 
 but if he does go, I am afraid we shall never see him 
 
 159 
 
S P I R I T E 
 
 again, and that he will turn Moslem like Hassan, the 
 hero of " Namouna." ' 
 
 " 4 He is quite capable of it,' answered a young 
 fellow who was in the group ; c he has never greatly 
 liked Western civilisation.' 
 
 " 1 Nonsense ! ' replied another. 1 Once he has worn 
 a few genuine costumes, taken a dozen vapour baths, 
 purchased from the Djellabs one or two slaves whom 
 he will sell at a discount, gazed on the Pyramids, 
 sketched the broken-nosed profile of the Sphinx, he 
 will calmly come back to tramp the asphalt of the 
 Boulevard des Italiens, which is, after all, the only in- 
 habitable place in the world.' 
 
 " This conversation filled me with deep anxiety. 
 You were about to leave and for how long .nobody 
 knew. Would I have the chance of meeting you 
 before your departure and leaving you at least my 
 image to carry away with you ? That was a piece of 
 happiness I dared no longer believe in after so many 
 disappointments. 
 
 " On returning home, after having reassured my 
 mother, who fancied I must be ill, so pale was I, for 
 she could not suspect what was going on in my heart, 
 I thought deeply over my position. I asked myself 
 
 160 
 
t.v* 'Ir '^r tfc it? ^tC ^ ^ A A^*»i»«l»»i*>l««l««l» »i« 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 whether the obstinacy of circumstances to separate us 
 was not a secret warning of Fate which it would be 
 dangerous to disobey. Perhaps you would be fatal to 
 me, and it was wrong to insist on throwing myself in 
 your way. My reason alone spoke, for my heart 
 repelled the idea and meant to incur to the very last 
 the risk of its love. I felt myself irresistibly drawn to 
 you, and the bond, frail though it seemed, was more 
 solid than a diamond chain. Unfortunately I was the 
 only one bound. 1 How painful is the fate of wo- 
 man ! ' I said to myself, 1 doomed to expectation, to 
 inaction, to solitude, she cannot without failing in 
 modesty, manifest her feelings. She must yield to the 
 love she inspires, but she must not declare that which 
 she feels. From the moment my heart awoke, one 
 sentiment alone filled it, — a pure, absolute, eternal 
 sentiment, — and the being who is the object of it will 
 never know it perhaps. How can I let him know that 
 a young girl whom he no doubt would love if he 
 could suspect such a secret, lives and breathes for him 
 alone ? ' 
 
 "For a moment I thought of writing you one of those 
 letters such as authors, I am told, receive at times, in 
 which, under the veil of admiration crop out feelings 
 
 ii 161 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 of another sort, and which solicit a rendezvous, in no 
 wise compromising, at the theatre or at the promenade ; 
 but my feminine modesty revolted at the employment 
 of such means, and I feared lest you should take me 
 for a bluestocking seeking your assistance to have a 
 novel accepted by the Revue des Deux Mondes. 
 
 " D'Aversac had spoken the truth : the next week you 
 had started for Cairo with your pacha. Your departure, 
 which postponed my hopes to an uncertain time, filled 
 me with a melancholy which I found it difficult to con- 
 ceal. I had lost interest in life. I cared nothing for 
 dress ; when I went into society, I let my maid select 
 my toilets. What was the use of being beautiful since 
 you were not there ? And yet I was still beautiful 
 enough to be surrounded like Penelope with a whole 
 crowd of suitors. Little by little our drawing-room, 
 frequented by my father's friends, serious and some- 
 what mature men, was filled with younger men, who 
 came very assiduously to our Fridays. In the recesses 
 of the doors I could see handsome dark fellows, cor- 
 rectly curled, whose cravats had cost them much 
 meditation before they tied them, and who cast on me 
 passionate and fascinating glances ; others, during the 
 figures of a quadrille, when we danced to the accom- 
 
 162 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 paniment of the piano, uttered sighs which, with- 
 out being the least touched, I attributed to their 
 being breathless ; others, bolder, risked a few moral 
 and poetic phrases about the happiness of a suitable 
 marriage, and claimed to be created purposely for 
 legitimate happiness. They were all brave, irre- 
 proachable, well-dressed, ideally delicate ; the scent 
 on their hair came from Houbigant, their clothes 
 were made by Renard. What more could an exact- 
 ing, romantic imagination ask for ? Therefore those 
 handsome young fellows seemed somewhat surprised 
 at the slight impression they produced on me ; those 
 who were most annoyed even suspected me, I be- 
 lieve, of being poetical. I had some serious offers ; 
 my hand was more than once asked of my parents, 
 but on my being consulted I always replied in the 
 negative, managing to find excellent objections. My 
 parents did not insist. I was so young that there was 
 no need of hurrying and later repenting a precipitate 
 choice. Believing that I had some secret preference, 
 my mother questioned me, and I was on the point of 
 revealing the truth to her, but an invincible modesty 
 kept me back. The love which I alone felt and which 
 you were ignorant of, seemed to be a secret which I 
 
 163 
 
i: £ £ tfc is & & iff & £ i: db 4: sfc tS: 4: tfc 4: db 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 had no right to tell without your consent. It did not 
 belong to me alone, you had a share in it ; so I kept 
 silence; and besides, I could never confess, even to 
 the most indulgent of mothers, my mad passion, — 
 for thus it might well seem, — born from an impression 
 of childhood in the convent parlour, obstinately main- 
 tained in my soul, and justified by nothing from a hu- 
 man point of view. Had I spoken, my mother, seeing 
 that my choice was in no wise blameworthy, or im- 
 possible of realisation, would no doubt have sought to 
 bring us together, and used, to make you declare your- 
 self, some of those subterfuges which, on similar occa- 
 sions, the most honest and virtuous women manage to 
 invent. But this was repugnant to my virginal probity. 
 I would have no intermediary between you and me. 
 You alone were to notice me and find me out. In 
 that way alone could I be happy and forgive myself for 
 having been the first to love you. My maidenly 
 modesty needed this consolation and this excuse. It 
 was neither pride nor coquetry, but a genuine feeling 
 of feminine dignity. 
 
 " Time passed and you returned from Egypt. I be- 
 gan to hear of your attentions to Mme. d'Ymbercourt, 
 with whom you were said to be very much in love. 
 
 164 
 
•4* «4» #J/» »1» *vi* rin rif* »i» »1* »1» »A» et% r|* «A» «4» #A» #Aj •!*«>$< 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 My heart took fright and I wished to see my rival. 
 She was shown to me in her box at the opera. I tried 
 to judge her impartially, and I thought her handsome, 
 but without charm and without refinement. She was 
 like a copy of a classical statue made by a mediocre 
 sculptor. She united in herself everything that goes to 
 make up the ideal of dolts, and I wondered that you 
 could have the least fancy for such an idol. Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt's face, so regular at first sight, lacked 
 distinguishing traits, original grace, unexpected charms. 
 Such as she appeared to me on that evening, such 
 she must always be. In spite of what I heard, I was 
 conceited enough not to be jealous of her. Yet the 
 reports of your marriage became more and more nu- 
 merous, and as ill news always reaches those whom it 
 interests, I was informed of everything that went on 
 between you and Mme. d'Ymbercourt. At one time 
 I was told that the banns had been called; at another 
 the exact day of the wedding was named. I had no 
 means of ascertaining the accuracy or falseness of 
 these reports. The whole thing appeared to every 
 one settled and most delightful in every respect, and 
 so I had to believe it; yet the secret voice of my 
 heart assured me that you did not love Mme. d'Ym- 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 bercourt. But very often people marry without love, 
 to have an establishment, a settled position in society, 
 or because they feel the need of repose after the heat 
 and excitement of youth. I was filled with deep de- 
 spair and saw my life drawing to a close. My chaste 
 dream, caressed so long, vanished forever. I dared not 
 even think of you in the most mysterious recesses of 
 my soul, for as you now belonged to another before 
 God and men, my thoughts of you, hitherto innocent, 
 became culpable. In my passion as a girl nothing had 
 occurred to make my guardian angel blush. Once I 
 met you in the Bois de Boulogne, riding by Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt's carriage, and I threw myself back in 
 my own, taking as much care to conceal myself as 
 formerly I would have taken to be seen by you. That 
 rapid glimpse was the last I had of you. 
 
 " I was scarcely seventeen. What was going to 
 become of me ? What would be the end of a life 
 secretly destroyed at its very beginning ? Should I 
 accept one of the suitors approved by my parents in 
 their wisdom ? That is what, on such occasions, have 
 done many young girls separated as I was from their 
 ideal by some obscure fatality. But my sense of 
 loyalty revolted from such a course, for I believed that, 
 
 166 
 
SPI R I TE 
 
 my first and only thought of love having been for you, 
 I could belong to no one but you in this world ; any 
 other union would have struck me as almost adul- 
 terous. My heart held but a single page ; you had 
 written your name on it unwittingly, and no other 
 was to take its place. Your own marriage would not 
 free me from being faithful to you. Unconscious of 
 my love, you were free, but I was bound. The idea 
 of being the wife of another man filled me with in- 
 surmountable horror, arid after having refused several 
 suitors, knowing well how difficult a position in 
 society is that of an old maid, I made up my mind to 
 leave the world and become a nun. God alone could 
 shelter my grief and perhaps console me. 
 
 167 
 
SPIRITE 
 £ £ "k & & db £ & 4: 4r :b tfc sb £ tb :b db tfc si? tf? tfc A 
 
 XI 
 
 I ENTERED as a novice the convent of the Sisters 
 of Mercy in spite of my parents' remonstrances, 
 which moved me, but did not shake my courage. 
 Firm though one's resolve may be, the moment of the 
 final separation is terrible. At the end of a long pas- 
 sage a grating marks the limit between the world and 
 the cloister. The family may accompany to that 
 threshold, not to be crossed by the profane, the maiden 
 who gives herself to God. After the last embrace, the 
 end of which is awaited by gloomy, veiled figures with 
 an impassible air, the grating opens just wide enough 
 to allow the passage of the novice, whom shadowy 
 arms seem to carry away, and it closes with a rattle of 
 iron that echoes down the long corridors like distant 
 thunder. The sound of the closing of a coffin is not 
 more lugubrious, and does not strike the heart more 
 painfully. I felt myself grow pale and an icy chill 
 seized me. I had taken my first step out of earthly 
 life, henceforth closed to me ; I was penetrating into 
 
 168 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 that cold region where passions die, where remem- 
 brance vanishes, and which the rumours of the world 
 no longer reach. There naught exists but the thought 
 of God. It suffices to fill the frightful void and the 
 silence which weighs on this place, a silence as deep as 
 that of the tomb. I may tell you all this, now I am 
 dead. 
 
 " My piety, though tender and fervent, did not go 
 to the length of mystical exaltation ; it was a human 
 motive rather than an imperious vocation that had 
 caused me to seek peace in the solitary cloister. I was 
 a shipwrecked soul, cast upon an unknown reef, and 
 my dream, invisible to all, had ended tragically. At 
 the beginning, therefore, I suffered what in the devout 
 life is called dryness of heart, weariness, longing for 
 the world, vague despair, — the last temptations of the 
 spirit of the day, trying to seize his prey; but soon the 
 tumult was appeased, the habit of prayer and of reli- 
 gious practices the regularity of the offices and the 
 monotony of a rule intended to overcome the rebellion 
 of the soul and of the body, turned towards heaven 
 thoughts that yet too often recalled the earth. Your 
 image still lived in my heart, but I succeeded in loving 
 you only in and through God. The Convent of the 
 
 169 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 Sisters of Mercy is not one of those romantic cloisters 
 such as worldly people imagine might shelter a despair- 
 ing life. There were no Gothic arcades, no columns 
 festooned with ivy, no moonbeams entering through the 
 trefoil of a broken rose window and casting their light 
 upon the inscription of a tomb ; no chapel, with stained- 
 glass windows, slender pillars, and traceried vaultings, 
 forming excellent motives for a decoration or a pano- 
 rama. The religious feeling which seeks to understand 
 Christianity by its picturesque and poetic side would 
 find in it no theme for descriptions after the manner 
 of Chateaubriand. The building is modern and has not 
 the smallest obscure corner in which to lodge a legend. 
 Nothing satisfies the eyes, no ornaments, no fancy of 
 art, no paintings, no sculptures ; everywhere bare, 
 straight lines. A white light illumines like a winter's 
 day the pallor of the long corridors and the walls, cut 
 by the symmetrical doors of the cells, and glazes with 
 rippling beams the shining floors : everywhere gloomy 
 severity, heedless of beauty, and careless of clothing the 
 idea with a form. This dull architecture has the 
 advantage of not distracting souls which must lose 
 themselves in the contemplation of God. The win- 
 dows are placed very high and are grated; between the 
 
 170 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 black bars one can get but a glimpse of the blue or 
 gray sky outside. It is like a fortress built as a defence 
 against the ambushes of the world. Solidity is suffi- 
 cient; beauty would be superfluous. The chapel itself 
 is but half opened to the devotions of the faithful out- 
 side. A huge screen rising from the ground to the 
 vaulting and provided with thick green curtains, inter- 
 poses like the portcullis of a fortress between the 
 nave and the choir reserved for the nuns. Wooden 
 stalls with sober mouldings polished by wear, run on 
 either side ; at the back, in the centre, are placed three 
 seats for the Mother Superior and her two assistants. 
 There the nuns come to hear divine service, their veils 
 down, their long black dresses on which shows a broad 
 strip of white stuff like the cross of a pall from which 
 the arms have been cut, trailing behind them. From 
 the trellised gallery of the novices I watched the nuns 
 bow to the Mother Superior and to the altar, kneel 
 down, prostrate themselves, and vanish into their stalls 
 changed into prie-Dieu. At the elevation of the Host, 
 the centre of the curtain opens somewhat and allows a 
 glimpse of the priest performing the Holy Sacrifice at 
 the altar, placed opposite the choir. The fervour of 
 the worship edified me and confirmed my resolution to 
 
 171 
 
is is is & is db £ ^ ie 4: ££4: dbdbdbdbsbdbsbtlr db 
 SPI RITE 
 
 break with the world to which I could not have re- 
 turned. In this atmosphere of ecstasy and incense, in 
 the trembling light of the tapers casting pale gleams 
 upon these prostrate brows, my heart felt it was 
 becoming winged, and tended more and more to rise to 
 ethereal regions. The ceiling of the chapel turned 
 azure and gold and in an opening of the heaven I 
 seemed to see in a luminous cloud, the smiling angels 
 bending towards me and signing to me to come to 
 them. I saw no longer the ugly tint of the whitewash, 
 the mediocre taste of the chandelier, and the meanness 
 of the black-framed paintings. 
 
 " The time for the taking of my vows approaching, I 
 was overwhelmed with the flattering encouragement, 
 the delicate attentions, the mystic caresses, the hopes of 
 perfect felicity lavished in convents upon young novices 
 about to consummate their sacrifice and to give them- 
 selves forever to God. I did not need these helps ; I 
 could walk to the altar with a firm step. Forced — or 
 at least, I thought so — to give you up, I regretted 
 nothing in the world, save the affection of my parents, 
 and my resolve never to re-enter it was unchangeable. 
 
 " I had passed the tests and the solemn day arrived. 
 The convent, usually so peaceful, was filled with an 
 
 172 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 agitation which the severe monastic discipline repressed. 
 The sisters came and went in the corridors, sometimes 
 forgetting the phantom-like walk ordered by the rule ; 
 for the coming in of a new sister is a great event, and 
 the entrance of a new lamb into the flock throws the 
 whole fold into commotion. The worldly dress which 
 the novice puts on for the last time is a subject of 
 curiosity, joy, and astonishment; the satin, lace, pearls, 
 and gems intended to represent the pomps of Satan are 
 admired somewhat fearfully. Thus adorned, I was led 
 to the choir. The Mother Superior and her assistants 
 were in their places, and in the stalls the nuns were 
 praying on bended knee. I spoke the sacred words 
 which separated me forever from the living, and 
 as the ritual of the ceremony requires it, I pushed aside 
 with my foot the rich velvet carpet on which I had to 
 kneel at certain moments. I took off" my necklace 
 and bracelets and undid my ornaments in token of my 
 renunciation of vanity and luxury. I abjured the 
 coquetry of women, which was not a difficult thing 
 for me to do, since I had not had the joy to please you 
 and to be beautiful in your eyes. 
 
 " Then came the most lugubrious and the most 
 dreaded scene of the religious drama, — the moment 
 
 73 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 when the new nun's hair is cut off as a vanity hence- 
 forth useless. It recalls the dressing of the condemned; 
 only, the victim is innocent, or at least purified by 
 repentance. Although I had sincerely and from my 
 heart given up all human bonds, I became pale as 
 death when the scissors began cutting my long, fair 
 hair, held up by one of the sisters. The golden curls 
 fell in thick quantities upon the flags of the sacristy into 
 which I had been led, and 1 gazed at them with dry 
 eyes as they fell around me. I was terrified and felt a 
 secret horror ; the cold of the scissors, as they touched 
 my neck, made me start nervously as if I felt the touch 
 of the axe ; my teeth chattered, and the prayer I strove 
 to utter could not pass my lips. Ice-cold sweat, as that 
 of one in agony, bathed my temples ; my sight grew 
 dim, and the lamp suspended before the altar of the 
 Virgin semed to be vanishing in a mist ; my knees sank 
 under me, and I had only time to say, as I stretched 
 out my arms as if clinging to emptiness, 'I am dying.' 
 
 " They made me breathe salts, and when I had re- 
 gained my senses, amazed, like one emerging from the 
 tomb, at the brightness of the day, I found myself in 
 the arms of the sisters, who supported me placidly, 
 accustomed as they were to such scenes. 
 
 174 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 " c It does not amount to anything,' said the youngest 
 of the nuns with an air of sympathy. 'The most 
 trying part is over. Recommend yourself to the 
 Blessed Virgin, and all will be well. The same thing 
 happened to me when I took the vows. It is the last 
 effort of Satan.' 
 
 "Two sisters put on me the black dress of the order 
 and the white stole, took me back to the choir, and 
 cast over my head the veil, the symbolical shroud 
 which made me dead to the world, and left me visible 
 to God alone. A pious legend which I had heard 
 stated that if one asked of Heaven a favour when under 
 the folds of the funereal veil, it would be granted. 
 When the veil was cast over me, I implored of the 
 Divine goodness to allow me to reveal my love to you. 
 It seemed to me, as I felt a sudden inward joy, that 
 my prayer was granted, and I was greatly relieved ; 
 for that was my secret pain, that was the dagger 
 in my heart, the thorn in my flesh which made me 
 suffer night and day. I had given you up in this 
 world, but my soul could not consent to keep its 
 secret forever. 
 
 " Shall I tell you of my life in the convent ? There 
 day follows day exactly alike, every hour with its 
 
 175 
 
db db sb is db db k sb sb 4? tb db 4? db d? d: 4? tb db db db tl- 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 devotion, its task; life moves on with equal step 
 towards eternity, glad to approach the end. Yet the 
 apparent calm often conceals much languor, sadness, 
 and depression. Thoughts, although tamed by prayer 
 and meditation, will wander off in reverie ; the nos- 
 talgia of the world seizes upon you ; you regret your 
 liberty, your family, and nature ; you dream of the great 
 horizons filled with light, of the meadows diapered 
 with flowers, of the swelling, wooded hills, of the blue 
 smoke that rises in the evening over the fields, of the 
 road traversed by carriages, of the river with its boats, 
 of life, of motion, of joyous sounds, of incessant vari- 
 ety of objects. You would like to go out, to run, to 
 fly ; you wish you had wings like a bird ; you turn in 
 your tomb ; in imagination you cross the high walls of 
 the convent, and your thoughts return to the pleasant 
 places, to the scenes of your childhood and your youth, 
 which live again with magical vivacity of detail. You 
 form useless plans for happiness, forgetting that the 
 bolts of the irrevocable have been drawn upon you. 
 The most religious souls are exposed to these tempta- 
 tions, remembrances, mirages, which the will represses, 
 which prayer tries to dispel, but which nevertheless rise 
 again in the silence and solitude of the cell with its 
 
 176 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 four white walls, whose sole decoration is a black 
 wooden crucifix. The thought of you, put away at 
 first in my early fervour, returned, more frequent and 
 more tender ; the regret of lost happiness oppressed 
 me painfully, and often silent tears streamed down my 
 pale cheeks. At night I would weep in my dreams, 
 and in the morning find my coarse pillow wetted with 
 bitter tears. In happier visions I found myself on 
 the steps of a villa, after a drive, walking with you 
 up a wide staircase on which the great neighbouring 
 trees cast bluish shadows. I was your wife, and your 
 caressing and protecting glance rested on me. Every 
 obstacle that had come between us had disappeared. 
 My soul did not consent to these fair imaginings, 
 which it strove against as if they were sinful. I con- 
 fessed them, I did penance for them. I sat up in 
 prayer and I struggled against sleep to avoid these 
 guilty illusions, but they ever returned. The struggle 
 impaired my strength, which soon began to abandon 
 me. Without being sickly, I was delicate ; the harsh 
 life of the cloister, its fasts, its abstinences, its mace- 
 rations, the fatigue of the night services, the sepul- 
 chral chill of the church, the rigours of the long 
 winter, against which I was ill protected by the thin 
 
 177 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 serge dress, and above all, the struggle in my soul, 
 the alternate exaltation and despair, doubt and fervour, 
 the fear of delivering to my Divine spouse a heart 
 distracted by human attachments, and of suffering 
 celestial vengeance — for God is jealous; and perhaps 
 also the jealousy inspired in me by Mme. d'Ymber- 
 court — all these causes acted disastrously upon me. 
 My complexion had become of a mat, waxy tint ; my 
 eyes, showing larger in my wasted face, shone with 
 the light of fever in their dark orbits ; the veins of 
 my temples stood out in a network of darker azure; 
 my lips had lost their fresh, rosy colour ; my hands 
 had become slender and transparent like the hands of 
 a shadow. Death is not dreaded in the convent as it 
 is in the world. In the convent it is joyfully wel- 
 comed, for it is the deliverer of the soul, the door 
 opening into heaven, the end of the trials, and the 
 beginning of beatitude. God withdraws to Himself 
 earlier than others those He prefers, those He loves, 
 and shortens their passage through the vale of sorrow 
 and tears. Prayers full of hope in their funereal 
 psalmody surround the deathbed of the dying nun, 
 whom the sacraments purify of every terrestrial stain 
 and on whom beams the splendour of the other world. 
 
 178 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 She is to her sisters an object of envy, and not of 
 terror. 
 
 " I saw the fatal day approaching without fear. I 
 hoped that God would forgive me my only love, so 
 chaste, so pure, and so involuntary, and which I had 
 endeavoured to forget as soon as it had appeared 
 culpable in my own eyes. I hoped that He would 
 receive me in His grace. Soon I became so weak 
 that I would swoon away at prayers, and remain as if 
 dead under my veil, with my face to the ground. 
 My immobility was respected, for it was mistaken 
 for ecstasy. Then, when it was seen that I did not 
 rise, two sisters, bending towards me, would make me 
 sit up like an inert body, and, their hands under my 
 arms, would lead me, or rather carry me back to my 
 cell, which before long I was unable to leave. I 
 would remain for long hours on my bed, dressed, 
 counting my beads with my thin fingers, lost in some 
 vague meditation, and asking myself if my hope would 
 be fulfilled after death. My strength was visibly ebb- 
 ing, and the remedies proposed for my illness dimin- 
 ished my sufferings, but did not cure me. Nor did I 
 wish to be cured, for beyond this life I had a hope 
 long caressed, the possible realisation of which inspired 
 
 179 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 me with a sort of curiosity to enter the other world. 
 My passage from this world to the other was most 
 gentle. All the bonds between mind and matter had 
 been broken except one, more tenuous a thousand 
 times than the light cobwebs that float in the air of a 
 fine autumn day; it alone held back my soul ready to 
 open its wings in the breath of the Infinite. Alterna- 
 tions of light and shade, like the intermittent light of 
 a night-light before it goes out, palpitated before my 
 already dim eyes ; the prayers murmured near me by 
 the kneeling sisters, and which I tried to join in 
 mentally, reached me only as a confused buzzing, as 
 a vague, distant rumour. My deadened senses had 
 ceased to perceive anything earthly; my thoughts, 
 abandoning my brain, fluttered uncertain in a strange 
 dream half-way between the material and the imma- 
 terial world, no longer belonging to the one and not 
 yet pertaining to the other, while mechanically my 
 fingers, pale as ivory, were rumpling and drawing up 
 the folds of the sheet. 
 
 " At last my agony began, and I was stretched on 
 the ground, a bag of ashes under my head, to die in the 
 humble attitude which becomes a poor servant of God, 
 giving back her dust to the dust, Breathing became 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 more and more difficult j I stifled ; a feeling of fear- 
 ful anguish racked my breast ; it was the instinct 
 of nature in me still fighting against destruction. But 
 soon the useless struggle ceased, and with a faint sigh 
 my soul was exhaled from my lips. 
 
 181 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 XII 
 
 HUMAN words cannot render the sensation 
 of a soul which, freed from its earthly 
 bonds, passes from this life into the next, 
 from time into eternity, from the finite into infinity. 
 My motionless body, already white with a mat white- 
 ness, the livery of death, lay upon the funeral couch 
 surrounded by the nuns in prayer; but I was as 
 thoroughly freed from it as the butterfly is from its 
 chrysalis, an empty shell, a shapeless form, which it 
 abandons to open its young wings to the unknown 
 light suddenly revealed to it. An interval of deepest 
 darkness had been followed by dazzling splendour, by 
 the broadening of the horizon, by the disappearance of 
 every limit and every obstacle, and by the intoxication 
 of inexpressible joy. The sudden accession of new 
 sensations made me understand mysteries closed to 
 terrestrial thought and organs. Freed from the frame 
 of clay, no longer subject to the law of gravity, which 
 but a moment before still fettered me, I sprang with 
 
 182 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 delighted eagerness into the unfathomable ether. Dis- 
 tance had ceased to exist for me, and my mere wish 
 enabled me to be wherever I wished to be. More 
 swiftly than light I soared in great circles through the 
 illimitable azure of space, as if to take possession of 
 immensity; crossing and recrossing on my way swarms 
 of souls and spirits. 
 
 " The atmosphere was formed of an ever-burning 
 light shining like diamond-dust, and I soon perceived 
 that every grain of the dazzling powder was a soul. 
 It was full of currents, eddies, billows, shimmerings 
 like the fine dust that is spread over a sounding- 
 board in order to study sonorous vibrations, and all 
 these movements caused increased brilliancy in the 
 splendour. The numbers which mathematics can fur- 
 nish to calculators who venture into the depths of the 
 infinite, cannot, with their millions of zeros adding their 
 tremendous power to the initial number, give even an 
 approximate idea of the tremendous multitude of souls 
 which compose this effulgence, differing from the 
 material light as much as day differs from night. 
 
 " To the souls that since the creation of our world 
 and of other spheres, had already passed through the 
 trials of life, were joined expectant or virgin souls, 
 
 ^3 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 awaiting their turn to be incarnated in a body on a 
 planet belonging to some one system or another. 
 There were enough of them to people for thousands 
 and thousands of years all these worlds, the breath of 
 God, which He will re-absorb by drawing back to Him- 
 self His own breath when He becomes weary of His 
 work. These souls, though differing in essence and 
 aspect according to the globe they were to inhabit, 
 recalled, every one of them, in spite of the infinite 
 variety of their types, the Divine type, and were made 
 in the image of their Maker. Their constituent monad 
 was the celestial spark. Some were white as the dia- 
 mond ; others were of the colour of rubies, emeralds, 
 sapphires, topazes, and amethysts. For lack of terms 
 intelligible to you, I make use of these names of gems, 
 mere pebbles, opaque crystals black as ink, the most 
 brilliant of which make but a dark spot against that 
 background of living splendour. 
 
 " Sometimes there swept by a great angel, bearing an 
 order of God to the very ends of the infinite, and mak - 
 ing the universe oscillate by the beating of its vast wings. 
 The Milky Way was poured out over the heavens in a 
 great stream of glowing suns. The stars, which I be- 
 held in their real form and size, so enormous that the 
 
 84 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 imagination of man cannot possibly conceive it, flamed 
 with vast, terrific fulguration. Behind these and be- 
 tween them, at depths more and more vertiginous, I 
 saw others and still others, so that nowhere was the 
 end of the firmament visible, and I might well have 
 believed myself enclosed in the centre of a prodigious 
 sphere constellated internally with stars. Their light, 
 white, yellow, blue, green, red, was of such intensity 
 and brightness as to make the light of our own sun 
 seem black, but the eyes of my soul stood it without 
 the least difficulty. I came and went, ascended and 
 descended, traversed in a second millions of leagues 
 through the light of rainbow-like reflections, golden 
 and silver irradiations, diamond-like phosphorescence, 
 stellar outbursts, amid all the magnificence, all the 
 beatitudes, all the ravishments of the divine life. 
 
 " I heard the music of the spheres, the echo of which 
 struck the ear of Pythagoras ; a mysterious harmony, 
 the pivot of the universe, marked the rhythm. With 
 a harmonious sound, as tremendous as thunder and as 
 soft as the flute, our own world, borne away by its 
 central sun, moved slowly through space, and with 
 one glance I beheld the planets, from Mercury to 
 Neptune, describing their ellipses, accompanied by 
 
 ~rt 5 
 
,k .4* »i» 'i> .k rj^ ^» sjrtlr jbtl?«fedbdbdl? si? «fe «j? ti?sfe 
 SPI RITE 
 
 their satellites. A rapid intuition revealed to me the 
 names by which they are known in heaven, acquainted 
 me with their structure, with the thought and purpose 
 of their creation ; no secret of that prodigious life was 
 concealed from me. I read as in an open book the 
 poem of God, the lines of which were formed of suns. 
 Would it were permissible for me to explain some of 
 its pages to you ! But you are still living in inferior 
 darkness, and your eyes would be blinded by the 
 dazzling effulgence. 
 
 " In spite of the ineffable beauty of this wondrous 
 spectacle, I had not, however, forgotten earth, the poor 
 habitation I had just left. My love, triumphant over 
 death, followed me beyond the tomb, and I saw with 
 divine voluptuousness, with radiant felicity, that you 
 loved no one, that your soul was free, and that you 
 might be mine forever. Then I knew what I had dimly 
 felt before. We were predestined one for the other ; 
 our souls formed one of those celestial pairs which, 
 when they unite, form an angel. But these two halves 
 of the supreme whole, in order to meet in immortality, 
 must have sought each other in life, divined each other 
 under the veil of the flesh, through trials, obstacles, and 
 distractions. I alone had felt the presence of my sister 
 
 186 
 
dbdbdfe i: ± & rk ± 4r i?4:4:ik£:ik'k&£4:ik 4: sbtfc 
 
 SPI RI TE 
 
 soul and had hastened towards it, urged on by an 
 unerring instinct. In you, perception, not so clear, 
 had merely put you on your guard against vulgar bonds 
 and loves. You had understood that none of the souls 
 around you were intended for you, and passionate, 
 though apparently cold, you had reserved yourself for a 
 higher ideal. Thanks to the favour shown me, I could 
 make you know the love which you had ignored during 
 my life, and I hoped to inspire you with the desire to 
 follow me within the sphere in which I dwell. I felt 
 no regret, for what could the best of human ties be, 
 compared with the happiness of two souls in the eter- 
 nal kiss of divine love ? Until the supreme moment 
 arrived, my task consisted in preventing the world 
 from engaging you in its ways, and separating you 
 from me forever. Marriage binds in this world and 
 the next, but you did not love Madame d'Ymbercourt. 
 As a spirit I could read within your heart, and I had 
 nothing to fear on this account ; yet, not meeting the 
 ideal you dreamed of, you might have become tired, 
 and through fatigue, indolence, discouragement, or the 
 need of changing your state of life, you might have 
 allowed yourself to be drawn into that commonplace 
 union. 
 
 187 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 " Leaving the fount of light, I flew earthward, where 
 I saw your globe rolling beneath me in its foggy atmos- 
 phere, and its strata of clouds. I found you easily, 
 and I watched over your life, an invisible witness, 
 reading your thoughts and influencing them without 
 your being conscious of it. Through my presence, 
 which you did not even suspect, I drove away the ideas 
 and caprices which might have turned you from the 
 aim towards which I directed you. Little by little I 
 detached your soul from every earthly bond ; to keep 
 you more safely, I cast over your home a mysterious 
 spell which made you love it. When there, you felt 
 around you a sort of faint, impalpable caress, and ex- 
 perienced inexpressible comfort. It seemed to you, 
 though you could not account for it, that your happi- 
 ness lay within the walls which I filled with life. The 
 lover who, on a stormy night, reads his favourite poet, 
 by a bright fire, while his sleeping mistress lies, her 
 head on her arm, in the deep alcove, lost in pleasant 
 dreams, feels just such deep happiness in the soli- 
 tude of love. Nothing could induce him to leave ; for 
 his whole world is contained within that room. I had 
 to prepare you gradually to behold me, and mysteriously 
 establish relations with you. Between a spirit and an 
 
 188 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 uninitiated living being communications are difficult. A 
 deep gulf separates this world from the other. I had 
 crossed it, but it was not enough ; I still had to make 
 myself visible to your eyes, that were yet covered with 
 a bandage and unable to perceive the immaterial 
 through the opacity of matter. 
 
 " Mme. d'Ymbercourt, bent upon marrying you, at- 
 tracted you to her home, and wearied you with her 
 eagerness. Substituting my will for your sleeping 
 thought, I made you write that reply to the lady's 
 note in which your secret sentiments betrayed them- 
 selves and which caused you so much surprise. The 
 idea of the supernatural awoke in you, and having 
 become more attentive, you understood that a mys- 
 terious power had entered into your life. The sigh 
 which I uttered when, in spite of my warning, you 
 made up your mind to go out, faint and soft though 
 it was, like the vibration of an aeolian harp, troubled 
 you deeply, and awoke hidden sympathy in your soul. 
 You had recognised in it the note of feminine suffer- 
 ing. I could not then manifest myself to you in 
 plainer fashion, for you were not sufficiently free 
 from the bonds of matter. I therefore appeared to 
 the Baron de Feroe, a disciple of Swedenborg and a 
 
 189 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 seer, to beg him to speak to you the mysterious words 
 which put you on your guard against the peril you 
 were running, and inspired you with the desire to pene- 
 trate into the world of spirits to which my love called 
 you. You know the rest. Now am I to return to the 
 regions above, or am I to remain here below, and will 
 the shadow be happier than was the woman ? " 
 
 Here the impulse that had driven Malivert's pen 
 over the paper stopped, and Guy's power of thought, 
 suspended for a time by the influence of Spirite, re- 
 sumed possession of his brain. He read what he had 
 just unconsciously written, and was strengthened in 
 the resolve to love till death the charming soul which 
 had suffered for him during her short stay upon earth. 
 
 " But what shall our relations be ? " he said to him- 
 self. " Will Spirite take me away with her into the 
 regions where she dwells, or will she hover around me, 
 visible to me alone ? Will she answer me if I speak 
 to her ? and how, in that case, shall I understand her ? " 
 These questions were not easy to answer, so Malivert, 
 after having turned them over in his mind, gave up the 
 effort and remained plunged in a deep reverie, from which 
 Jack roused him by announcing the Baron de Feroe. 
 
 90 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 The two friends shook hands heartily, and the 
 Swede with the pale golden moustache threw himself 
 into an arm-chair. 
 
 " Guy, I have come very unceremoniously to break- 
 fast with you," he said, stretching out his feet on the fen- 
 der. " I went out early this morning, and on passing 
 your house, I was seized with a fancy to pay you a visit 
 almost as early as if I were an officer of the law." 
 
 " You were right, — it was a happy thought on your 
 part," replied Malivert, ringing for Jack, to whom he 
 gave orders to serve breakfast. 
 
 "My dear Guy, you look as if you had not gone to 
 bed," said the Baron, as he saw the tapers that had 
 burned down to their paper frills, and the sheets of 
 writing spread out on the table. " You have been 
 working during the night. Is it a novel or a poem ? 
 Shall you publish it soon ? " 
 
 " It may be called a poem," replied Malivert, " but 
 it is not of my own composition. I simply held the 
 pen, led by an inspiration superior to my own." 
 
 " I understand," went on the Baron ; " Apollo dic- 
 tated and Homer wrote. Such verses are the best." 
 
 " The poem, if it be one, is not in verse, and it was 
 no mythological god who dictated it to me." 
 
 191 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I forgot that you are a 
 Romanticist, and that with you Apollo and the 
 Muses must be left to Chompre's Dictionary or the 
 ' Letters to Emily ' ! " 
 
 " Since you have been in some sort my mystagogue 
 and my initiator into things supernatural, dear Baron, 
 there is no reason why I should conceal from you that 
 the writing which you take for ' copy,' to use the 
 printer's expression, was dictated to me last night and 
 the preceding night by the spirit who is interested in 
 me and who appears to have known you on earth, for 
 you are named in the story." 
 
 " You served as your own medium because relations 
 are not yet well established between you and the spirit 
 that visits you," replied Baron de Feroe; "but very 
 soon you will be able to dispense with these slow and 
 coarse means of communication. Your souls will 
 know each other by thought and desire, without any 
 external sign." 
 
 Jack now announced that breakfast was served. 
 Malivert, quite upset by his strange adventure, by his 
 love affair from beyond the tomb, that Don Juan 
 would have envied, scarcely ate the food placed before 
 him ; Baron de Feroe did eat, but with Swedenborgian 
 
 192 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 sobriety, for whoever desires to live in communion 
 with spirits must make the share of matter as small 
 as possible. 
 
 " That is excellent tea you have, Guy," said the 
 Baron. " It is the white-tipped, green-leafed tea plucked 
 after the first spring rains, which Mandarins drink 
 without sugar, steeping it in cups set in filigree holders 
 to avoid burning their fingers. It is the drink, par 
 excellence, of dreamers, for the intoxication it produces 
 is purely intellectual. Nothing more quickly dispels 
 human grossness and better predisposes to the vision 
 of things hidden from the vulgar herd. Since you 
 are now going to live in an immaterial sphere, I 
 recommend you to drink this tea. But you are not 
 listening to me, and I can easily understand your 
 inattention. So novel a situation must strike you as 
 very strange." 
 
 " Yes, I confess it," replied Malivert, " I am some- 
 what dazed, and constantly asking myself whether I am 
 not a prey to hallucinations." 
 
 " Drive away these thoughts, for they would cause 
 the spirit to fly forever. Do not seek to explain the 
 inexplicable, but yield with absolute faith and submis- 
 sion to your guiding influence. The least doubt would 
 
 3 
 
 193 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 cause a break and entail eternal regret on your part. 
 By special favour, but rarely accorded, souls that have 
 not met in life may meet in heaven. Profit by the 
 chance given you and show yourself worthy of such 
 happiness." 
 
 " I shall indeed, and I shall not again inflict on 
 Spirite the pain of which I was the innocent cause 
 while she still dwelt in this world. But now that I 
 think of it, in the story she dictated to me, that ador- 
 able soul has not told me the name which she bore 
 upon earth." 
 
 "Would you like to know it? Go to Pere-La- 
 chaise, climb the hill, and near the chapel you will see 
 a white marble tomb on which is carved a cross laid 
 flat ; at the intersection of the arms of the cross there 
 is a wreath of roses with delicate marble leaves, a 
 masterpiece by a famous sculptor. In the medallion 
 formed by the wreath a brief inscription will tell you 
 what I am not formally authorised to impart to you. 
 The mute language of the tomb shall speak in my 
 place, although, in my opinion, your curiosity is vain. 
 What matters a terrestrial name when an eternal love 
 is at stake? But you are not yet quite detached from 
 human ideas, and I can understand it, for it is not so 
 
 94 
 
«s? wl? tfc «!? 'J- ^ ^» ^ ?{btS?d» d? tS? «S? TtT TtTTt? 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 long since you stepped outside the circle that bounds 
 ordinary life." 
 
 Baron de Feroe took leave. Guy dressed, had his 
 carriage brought round, and hastened to the shops of 
 the most famous florists to purchase a quantity of 
 white lilac. As it was winter, he found it difficult 
 to obtain, but in Paris there is no such thing as im- 
 possibility when a man is willing to pay ; so he bought 
 his white lilac and ascended the hill with a beating 
 heart and eyes full of tears. 
 
 A few flakes of snow, still unmelted, shone like 
 silver tears upon the dark leaves of the yew-trees, the 
 cypresses, the firs, and the ivy, and brought out with 
 white touches the mouldings of the tombs, the tops 
 and the arms of the funereal crosses. The sky was 
 lowering, of a yellowish gray, heavy as lead, the right 
 kind of a sky to hang over a cemetery, and the sharp 
 wind moaned as it swept through the lines of monu- 
 ments, made for the dead and exactly proportionate to 
 human nothingness. Malivert soon reached the chapel, 
 and not far off, within a border of Irish ivy, he saw a 
 white tomb made whiter still by the light layer of snow. 
 He bent over the railing and read the inscription en- 
 graved within the wreath of roses: " Lavinia d'Aufi- 
 
 *95 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 deni, in religion Sister Philomena, died at the age of 
 eighteen." 
 
 He stretched his arm over the railing, threw the 
 lilacs over the inscription, and, although sure of having 
 been forgiven, remained for a few moments by the 
 tomb in a dreamy contemplation, his heart big with 
 remorse ; for was he not the murderer of that fair dove, 
 that had so soon returned to heaven ? While he was 
 thus leaning on the railing of the monument, letting 
 fall his hot tears upon the cold snow, that formed the 
 second shroud of the virginal tomb, there was a break 
 in the thick curtain of gray clouds. Like light shining 
 through successive thicknesses of gauze which are 
 gradually removed, the orb of the sun appeared less 
 indistinct, of a pale white, more like the moon than the 
 orb of day, the right sort of sun to light the dead. 
 Little by little the opening grew larger and from it 
 streamed a long sunbeam ; it showed against the dark 
 background of cloud, and lighted up and caused to 
 sparkle under the mica of the snow, as under a winter 
 dew, the mass of white lilacs and the marble wreath 
 of roses. 
 
 In the luminous tremulousness of the sunbeam in 
 which played icy dust, Malivert thought he made out, 
 
 196 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 like a vapour from a silver perfume-burner, a slender 
 white form rising from the tomb, enveloped in the 
 floating folds of a gauze shroud like the robes of an 
 angel. The form made a friendly gesture to him with 
 its hand, a cloud passed across the sun, and the vision 
 disappeared. 
 
 Guy de Malivert withdrew whispering the name of 
 Lavinia d'Aufideni to himself, re-entered his carriage, 
 and drove back into Paris, which is filled everywhere 
 with the living who do not even suspect that they are 
 dead, for they lack the inner life. 
 
 97 
 
SPI RITE 
 4; ~Jb :b i: & £ £ £ -k & ih £ & & & & & 4s db tf: 
 
 XIII 
 
 FROM that day Malivert's life was divided into 
 two distinct portions, the one real, the other 
 spiritual. There was apparently no change in 
 him. He went to the club and into society, he appeared 
 in the Bois de Boulogne and on the Boulevard. If 
 any interesting performance took place, he was present 
 at it, and to see him dressed in good taste, with neat 
 shoes and well fitting gloves, walking about through 
 human life, no one would have suspected that the 
 young man was in constant communication with 
 spirits, or that, when he left the Opera, he gazed into 
 the mysterious depths of the invisible universe. Yet 
 on examining him more closely, it would have been 
 noticed that he was more serious, paler, thinner, and 
 spiritualised as it were. The expression of his face 
 was no longer the same ; unless he was drawn out 
 of himself by others, it exhibited a sort of disdainful 
 beatitude. Fortunately society never observes unless 
 its interest requires it to do so, and Malivert's secret 
 was not suspected. 
 
 198 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 The evening after his first visit to the cemetery 
 where he had learned Spirite's terrestrial name, and 
 while waiting for a manifestation which he desired 
 with all the strength of his will, he heard, like drops 
 of water falling within a silver basin, the sound of the 
 notes of the piano. There was no one in the room ; 
 but prodigies no longer astonished Malivert. A few 
 chords were struck in such a way as to command 
 attention and awaken his curiosity. Guy looked 
 towards the piano, and little by little there appeared in 
 a luminous mist the lovely form of a young girl. At 
 first the image was so transparent that objects behind 
 it were visible through its contours, just as the bottom 
 of a lake is visible through its limpid waters. Without 
 becoming in the least material, it gradually condensed 
 sufficiently to look like a living figure, but filled with 
 such light, impalpable, aerial life that it resembled 
 rather the reflection of a body in a mirror than the 
 body itself. Certain sketches of Prud'hon, scarcely 
 rubbed in with thin, vague contours, bathed in chiaro- 
 scuro and surrounded, as it were, with violet vapour, 
 the white draperies seeming to be made of moonbeams, 
 may give a faint idea of the graceful apparition then 
 seated before Malivert's piano. The pale fingers. 
 
 99 
 
4:4:4: 4: 4; 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: i:4s£:&!k&£:4:4:&£: A 4:4 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 faintly flushed, glided over the ivory keys like white 
 butterflies, merely touching the keys but bringing out 
 the sound, although the gentle contact would not have 
 bowed the feather of a pen. The notes, without hav- 
 ing to be struck, flashed out of themselves when the 
 luminous hands fluttered above them. A long white 
 dress of an ideal muslin infinitely finer than the Indian 
 tissues which can be drawn through a ring, fell in 
 abundant folds around her and foamed over her feet 
 like snow. Her head, bent slightly forward as if a 
 score were open upon the piano, enabled the neck to 
 be seen with its curling, golden, shimmering, fine hair, 
 as well as the upper portion of pearly, opaline shoul- 
 ders, the whiteness of which melted into the whiteness 
 of the dress. Between the bandeaux that rose and fell 
 as if lifted by the wind, shone a narrow starry band, 
 the ends of which were fastened on the chignon. 
 From where Malivert sat, one ear and a portion of the 
 cheek showed, blooming, rosy, velvety, of a tone that 
 would have made the colour of a peach look earthv. 
 It was Lavinia, or Spirite, to call her by the name she 
 has borne hitherto in this story. She looked around 
 rapidly, to make sure that Guy was attentive and that 
 she might begin. Her blue eyes shone with a tender 
 
 200 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 light that penetrated his soul; there was still something 
 of the maiden in that angelic look. 
 
 The piece that she played was the work of a great 
 master, one of those inspirations in which human 
 genius seems to foresee the infinite, and which now 
 express so powerfully the secret desires of the soul, 
 and again recall the remembrance of the heavens and 
 the paradise from which it has been driven. It was 
 full of ineffable melancholy, of ardent prayer, of low 
 murmurs, last revolts of pride dashed from light into 
 darkness. Spirite interpreted all these feelings with a 
 maestria that made one forget Chopin, Liszt, Thalberg, 
 those wizards of the piano. Guy seemed to be hear- 
 ing music for the first time. A new art was being 
 revealed to him. Innumerable new thoughts awoke 
 within his soul; the notes stirred in him such deep, 
 divine, interior vibrations that he felt he must have 
 heard them in a former life that he had since forgotten. 
 Spirite not only rendered all the intentions of the 
 master, she expressed the ideal he had dreamed of, but 
 which human infirmity had not allowed him to attain. 
 She fulfilled his genius, she made perfection perfect, 
 she added to the absolute. 
 
 Guy had unconsciously arisen and walked to the 
 
 201 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 piano like a somnambulist. He remained standing, 
 leaning his elbow upon the corner of the instrument, 
 his eyes gazing ardently at those of Spirite. 
 
 Her expression was truly sublime. Her head, up- 
 lifted and somewhat thrown back, showed her face 
 illumined by the splendours of ecstasy. Inspiration 
 and love shone with supernatural brilliancy in her eyes, 
 the azure of which almost disappeared under the upper 
 eyelid; her half-opened lips gleamed like pearls, and 
 her neck, bathed in bluish transparencies like those of 
 the heads in Guido's ceilings, swelled like the neck of 
 a mystic dove. The woman was diminishing in her, 
 the angel augmenting ; and the intensity of light which 
 she shed around her was so brilliant that Malivert was 
 constrained to turn away his eyes. 
 
 Spirite noticed this, and in a voice more harmonious 
 and sweeter than the music she was playing, she whis- 
 pered, " Poor friend ! I forgot that you are still con- 
 fined within your terrestrial prison and that your eyes 
 cannot bear the faintest ray of true light. Later I shall 
 show myself to you such as I am, in the sphere whither 
 you will follow me. Meanwhile the shadow of my 
 mortal form suffices to manifest my presence to you, 
 and you can contemplate me thus without peril." 
 
 202 
 
SPIRITE " 
 
 By invisible gradations she returned from super- 
 natural beauty to natural beauty ; the wings of Psyche 
 that had for a moment fluttered on her shoulders, dis- 
 appeared again ; her material appearance became some- 
 what more condensed, and a milky cloud spread about 
 her suave contours, bringing them out more plainly, as 
 water in which a drop of essence is thrown shows 
 more clearly the lines of the crystal that contains it. 
 Lavinia was reappearing through Spirite, somewhat 
 vaporous, no doubt, but sufficiently real to cause an 
 illusion. 
 
 She had ceased to play, and was looking at Mali- 
 vert, who stood before her, — a faint smile playing on 
 her lips, a smile of celestial irony, of divine arch- 
 ness, which mocked human debility while consoling it, 
 while her eyes, purposely dimmed, still expressed the 
 tenderest love, but such love as a chaste maiden might 
 allow to be seen on earth by the man to whom she 
 was engaged. Malivert might indulge in the belief 
 that he was with the Lavinia who had sought him so 
 earnestly while alive, and from whom he had always 
 been separated by ironical fate. Carried away, fas- 
 cinated, palpitating with love, forgetting that he had 
 before him but a shadow, he advanced, and by an in- 
 
 203 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 stinctive motion sought to take one of Spirite's hands, 
 still resting on the piano, and bear it to his lips; but 
 his fingers closed on hers without touching anything, 
 as if they had passed through a mist. Although she 
 had nothing to fear, Spirite withdrew with a gesture of 
 offended maidenliness ; soon, however her angelic smile 
 reappeared, and she raised to Guy's lips, who felt a 
 soft freshness and a faint, delicious perfume, her hand 
 made of transparent, rosy light. 
 
 " I forgot," she said, in a voice which was not 
 formulated into words, but which Guy heard within 
 his heart, " that I am no longer a girl, but a soul, a 
 shadow, an impalpable vapour with nothing of human 
 sense ; so what Lavinia might perhaps have refused, 
 Spirite grants, not as a pleasure, but as a sign of pure 
 love and eternal union." And she left for a few 
 seconds her hand under the imaginary kiss of Guy. 
 
 Soon she returned to the piano, and played an air of 
 incomparable power and sweetness, in which Guy 
 recognised one of his poems, — his favourite one, — 
 transposed from the language of verse into the language 
 of music. It was an inspiration in which, disdaining 
 vulgar joys, he soared eagerly towards the higher spheres 
 in which the poet's desire is at last to be satisfied. 
 
 204 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 Spirite, with marvellous intuition, rendered the unuttered 
 words, the unphrased human speech, the unsaid in 
 the best written verse, the mysteriousness, the depth, 
 the secrecy of things, the unavowed aspirations, the 
 indescribable, the inexpressible, the desideratum of 
 thought incapable of greater effort, — all the softness, 
 the grace, the suavity which overflow the too dry con- 
 tours of words. To the fluttering wings that rose in 
 air with such desperate rush, she opened the paradise 
 of realised dreams, of fulfilled hopes. She stood on the 
 luminous threshold, in a scintillation before which the 
 suns turn pale, divinely beautiful and yet humanly ten- 
 der, opening her arms to the soul thirsting for the 
 ideal, which is the end and the recompense, the starry 
 crown and the cup of love, — a Beatrix revealed be- 
 yond the tomb. In a phrase filled with purest passion 
 she told, with divine reticence, and celestial modesty, 
 that she herself, in the leisure of eternity and the splen- 
 dour of the infinite, would satisfy all his unsatisfied 
 desires. She promised to his genius happiness and 
 love such as the imagination of man, even when in 
 communion with a spirit, cannot conceive of. 
 
 While playing the finale, she had risen, her hands 
 no longer even pretending to touch the keys ; yet the 
 
 205 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 melodies escaped from the piano in visible coloured 
 vibrations, spreading through the atmosphere of the 
 room in luminous undulations like those which vary 
 the flamboyant radiance of the aurora borealis. 
 Lavinia had disappeared and Spirite reappeared, but 
 taller, more majestic, enshrined in a brilliant light. 
 Long wings fluttered on her shoulders ; she had al- 
 ready, though plainly she desired to remain, left the 
 floor of the room ; the folds of her dress floated in 
 space ; an all-compelling breath bore her away, and 
 Malivert found himself alone in a state of agitation 
 easy to understand. But little by little he grew calm, 
 and delightful languor followed upon the feverish 
 excitement. He felt the satisfaction so rarely experi- 
 enced by poets and, it is said, by philosophers, at having 
 been understood in the most delicate and the deepest 
 parts of his imagination. How brilliantly and radiantlv 
 Spirite had commented on that poem, the meaning and 
 force of which he had never yet so well understood ! 
 How thoroughly her soul identified itself with his own, 
 and her thought penetrated his ! 
 
 The next day he made up his mind to work. His 
 inspiration, which had abandoned him for a long time, 
 was returning, ideas crowded in his brain, unlimited 
 
 206 
 
•1* »4» r£% rl* »i« »A» •!» *^^|jt^tl« •!? tl? t^Tts? tfetfetl? 4? Si? 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 horizons, endless perspectives opened before his eyes, 
 a world of new sensations surged within his breast, and 
 to express them he asked of speech more than it is able 
 to do. The old forms, the worn-out moulds burst 
 asunder, and sometimes the molten phrase broke forth 
 and overflowed in splendid splashes like rays of broken 
 stars. Never had he risen to such heights, and the 
 greatest poets would willingly have signed what he 
 wrote on that day. 
 
 As, having finished a stanza, he was thinking of the 
 next, he allowed his glance to roam around the room 
 and saw Spirite half lying on the divan, her chin resting 
 on her hand, her elbow sunk in the pillow, her slender 
 fingers playing in the golden waves of her hair. She 
 was watching him with a loving, contemplative look. 
 She seemed to have been there a long time, but had 
 not cared to reveal her presence lest she should break 
 in upon his work. As Malivert rose from his arm- 
 chair to draw nearer to her, she signed to him not to 
 move, and in a voice softer than any music, she 
 repeated, stanza by stanza, line by line, the poem 
 he had been writing. By a mysterious sympathy 
 she felt her lover's thought, followed it in its flight, 
 and even outstripped it, for not only did she see, 
 
 207 
 
& 4: 4: 4: & it "k £ ^: i: "kik :S: db d: tt: 4: 4: db ti: 4? 
 
 SP1RITE 
 
 but she foresaw, and she said in full the unfinished 
 stanza the end of which he was still seeking. 
 
 The poem, as will be readily understood, was 
 addressed to Spirite. On what other subject could 
 Malivert have written ? Carried away by his love 
 for her, he scarcely remembered earth, and plunged 
 into the heavens as high and as far as wings attached 
 to human shoulders could bear him. 
 
 "That is beautiful," said Spirite, whose voice Mali- 
 vert heard within his breast, for it did not reach his ear 
 like ordinary sounds. " It is beautiful, even for a 
 spirit. Genius is truly divine, it invents the ideal. It 
 sees higher beauty and eternal light. Whither can it 
 not ascend when it has the wings of faith and love ? 
 But descend again, come back to the regions the air of 
 which may be breathed by mortal lungs. Your nerves 
 are trembling still like the cords of a lyre, your brow 
 smokes like a censer, a feverish light burns in your 
 eyes. Beware of madness, for ecstasy is akin to it. 
 Calm yourself, and if you love me, live still your 
 human life, for it is my wish." 
 
 In order to obey her, Malivert went out, and al- 
 though men seemed to him only like distant shadows, 
 like phantoms with whom he had nothing in common, 
 
 208 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 he tried to mingle with them, he endeavoured to interest 
 himself in the news and rumours of the day, and smiled 
 at the description of the wonderful costume worn by 
 
 Mile. at the last ball. He even agreed to play 
 
 whist with the old Duchess de C . Everything 
 
 was equally indifferent to him. 
 
 But in spite of his efforts to cling to life, an amorous 
 attraction drew him beyond the terrestrial sphere. He 
 desired to walk and felt himself rise ; he was a prey to 
 irresistible desire. The apparitions of Spirite no longer 
 sufficed him ; his soul hastened after her when she 
 disappeared, as if seeking to leave his body. Love, 
 excited by impossibility, and burning yet with some- 
 thing of an earthly flame, devoured him and clung to 
 his flesh as the poisoned tunic of Nessus clung to the 
 flesh of Hercules. In his rapid contact with Spirite, 
 he had been unable to entirely throw off the old 
 Adam. He could not hold in his arms the aerial 
 phantom of Spirite, but that phantom represented 
 the image of Lavinia with an illusion of beauty that 
 sufficed to blind his passion and to make him forget 
 that the adorable form, the loving eyes, the sweetly 
 smiling mouth, were, after all, but a shadow and a 
 reflection. 
 
 14 
 
 209 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 At all hours of the day and night Guy beheld before 
 him the alma adorata, sometimes as a pure ideal in the 
 splendour of Spirite, sometimes in the more humanly 
 feminine appearance of Lavinia. Now she soared 
 above his head with the dazzling flight of an angel, 
 again she seemed seated in the great arm-chair, lying 
 on the divan, or leaning on the table. She appeared 
 to look at the papers scattered on his desk, to breathe 
 the scent of the flowers in the jardiniere, to open the 
 books, to move the rings in the onyx cup placed on 
 the mantelpiece, and to give herself up to the puerilities 
 of passion allowable to a young girl who has entered 
 by chance the room of her betrothed. Spirite enjoyed 
 showing herself to Guy such as Lavinia would have 
 been had fate favoured her love. She was living again, 
 after death, and chapter by chapter, her chaste boarding- 
 school girl romance. With a little coloured vapour 
 she reproduced her dresses of old, placed in her hair the 
 same flower, or the same ribbon ; her shadow assumed 
 once more the same grace, the same attitude, and the 
 poses of her maidenly body. She had wished, moved 
 by a coquetry that proved the woman had not wholly 
 disappeared in the angel, that Malivert should love her 
 not only with the posthumous love addressed to Spirite, 
 
 210 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 but as she had been during her life on earth, when at 
 the Opera, in ball-rooms, in society, she sought the 
 ever missed opportunity of meeting him. 
 
 Had not his lips touched but a void when, carried 
 away by desire, mad with love, drunk with passion, he 
 indulged in some useless caress, he might have believed 
 that he, Guy de Malivert, had really married Lavinia 
 d'Aufideni, so clear, coloured, and living did the vision 
 become at times. In a perfectly consonant sympathy 
 he heard internally, but as in a real conversation, 
 the voice of Lavinia with its youthful, fresh, silvery 
 timbre, answering his burning confessions by chaste 
 and modest caresses. 
 
 It was indeed the torture of Tantalus ; the cup full 
 of ice-water was held to his burning lips by a loving 
 hand, but he could not even touch the edge ; the per- 
 fumed grapes, the colour of amber and rubies, hung 
 over his head, but vanished as they evaded an impossi- 
 ble touch. The short intervals during which Spirite 
 left him, recalled no doubt by some invincible order 
 pronounced in that place where one can what one 
 wills, had become unbearable to him, and when she 
 disappeared he felt like dashing out his brains against 
 the wall that closed upon her. 
 
 211 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 One evening he said to himself : " Since Spirite 
 cannot put on an earthly frame and mingle in my life 
 otherwise than as a vision, what if I were to cast off 
 this troublesome mortal coil, this gross, heavy shape, 
 which prevents my rising with the adored soul into 
 the spheres where spirits dwell ? " 
 
 The idea struck him as sound. He rose and 
 selected from a trophy of barbaric weapons hanging 
 from the wall, — tomahawks, assegais, boarding cut- 
 lasses, — an arrow feathered with parrot feathers and 
 tipped with a sharp head of fishbone. The arrow had 
 been dipped in curare, that terrible poison of which 
 South American Indians alone possess the secret, and 
 which kills the victim without any antidote being able 
 to save him. 
 
 He was holding the arrow close to his hand and was 
 about to prick himself with it, when suddenly Spirite 
 appeared to him, terrified, horror-struck, and supplicat- 
 ing, casting around his neck her shadowy arms with a 
 movement of mad passion, pressing him to her phan- 
 tom heart, covering him with impalpable kisses. The 
 woman had forgotten that she was only a spirit. 
 
 " Unfortunate Guy ! " she cried. " Do not do that ! 
 Do not kill yourself to join me ! Your death thus 
 
 212 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 brought about would separate us hopelessly, and would 
 open between us abysses that millions of years would 
 not enable us to cross. Recover yourself ! Bear with 
 life, the longest term of which does not last more than 
 a grain of sand. In order to endure the time, think 
 of the eternity during which we can ever love each 
 other, and forgive my coquetry. The woman wished 
 to be loved as the spirit was ; Lavinia was jealous of 
 Spirite, and I nearly lost you forever." 
 
 Resuming her angelic form, she stretched out her 
 hands above Malivert's head, who felt celestial calm 
 and coolness descending upon him. 
 
 213 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 XIV 
 
 MME. D'YMBERCOURT was surprised at 
 the little effect that her flirtation with 
 M. d'Aversac had had upon Guy de 
 Malivert. Her lack of success entirely upset all her 
 ideas of feminine strategy. She believed that nothing 
 could revive love so well as a touch of jealousy, but 
 she forgot that love had first to exist. She had taken 
 it for granted that a young fellow who had called 
 pretty regularly on her Wednesdays for the past three 
 years, who sometimes brought her a bouquet on opera 
 nights and remained awake at the back of her box, 
 must necessarily be somewhat in love with her. Was 
 she not beautiful, elegant, and rich ? Did she not play 
 the piano like a prize-winner at the Conservatory ? 
 Did she not pour out tea as correctly as Lady 
 Penelope herself? Did she not write her morning 
 notes in an English hand, long, sloping, angular, and 
 thoroughly aristocratic ? What objection could be 
 made to her carriages purchased from Binder, her 
 
 214 
 
r£* »in >!/• »4» #i» t|? tf?t»?t??£^?£» ?~ sl» d» •£? 
 SPIRI TE 
 
 horses bought from and warranted by Cremieux ? 
 Were her footmen not handsome fellows, and did they 
 not bear the appearance of aristocratic lackeys ? Did 
 not her dinners deserve to be approved by experts ? 
 It seemed to her that all these things formed a very 
 comfortable ideal. Nevertheless, the lady in the sleigh 
 whom she had caught sight of at the Bois de Boulogne 
 bothered her considerably, and several times she had 
 driven around the lake with the idea of meeting her 
 and seeing whether she was followed by Malivert. 
 The lady, however, did not reappear, and Mme. d'Ym- 
 bercourt's jealousy had nothing to work upon. Be- 
 sides, no one knew her or had seen her. Was Guy 
 in love with her, or had he simply yielded to curiosity 
 when he drove Grimalkin in pursuit of the stepper? 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt could not make it out ; so she 
 concluded that she had frightened away Guy by her 
 suggestion that he was compromising her. She now 
 regretted having uttered the remark, which she had 
 made only to induce him to declare himself formally, 
 for Guy, much too faithful to his orders, and, besides, 
 taken up with Spirite, had refrained from calling on 
 her. His complete obedience piqued the Countess, 
 who would have preferred to have him less submissive. 
 
 215 
 
4: 4: 4: 4? 4; 4: 4? •& 4: 4: 4: 4:4:4:4:^:^:4; 4: 4: 4: 4:4:4: 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 Although her suspicions had no other foundation than 
 the brief vision in the Bois de Boulogne, she felt that 
 there was some love concealed behind this excessive 
 care for her reputation. Yet apparently nothing was 
 changed in Guy's life, and Jack, secretly questioned 
 by Mme. d'Ymbercourt's maid, had assured her that 
 he had not for a long time heard the faintest rustle of 
 silk on the private stairs of his master, who, besides, 
 went out very little, saw scarcely any one but Baron 
 de Feroe, lived like a hermit, and spent the greater 
 part of his nights in writing. 
 
 D'Aversac increased his attentions, and Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt accepted them with the tacit gratitude 
 of a woman who feels somewhat abandoned and needs 
 to be reassured as to the effect of her charms by new 
 worship. She was not in love with d'Aversac, but she 
 was grateful to him for prizing what Guy seemed to 
 disdain ; so on the Tuesday at the performance of 
 " La Traviata " it was noticed that Malivert's seat 
 was occupied by d'Aversac in white gloves and white 
 necktie, a camellia in his buttonhole, curled and 
 pomaded like a lady-killer who still has hair of his 
 own, and radiant with self-satisfaction. He had long 
 nourished the hope of making an impression upon 
 
 216 
 
?=? ^Jj t{? j|? tl« sf? tl? tl» 4? 4? tS» 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt, but the marked preference she 
 accorded to Guy de Malivert had thrown him into the 
 background among the indifferent adorers who crowd 
 more or less round a pretty woman waiting for an 
 opportunity, a break, or a fit of annoyance which never 
 occurs. He was full of smiling attentions. He held 
 out to her her glasses or her programme, smiled at her 
 least remarks, bowed mysteriously in answer, and when 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt brought together the tips of her 
 white gloves to approve some note sung by the diva, 
 he applauded heartily, raising his hands as high as his 
 head. In a word, he publicly took possession of his 
 office of attendant lover. 
 
 In some of the boxes people were already beginning 
 to say, " Is the marriage of Malivert and Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt off? " There was a slight manifestation 
 of curiosity when Guy showed at the entrance of the 
 orchestra stalls after the first act, and when he was 
 seen, as he inspected the hall, to glance at the Coun- 
 tess's box. D'Aversac, who had also caught sight of 
 him, felt a little uneasy, but the most perspicacious 
 examination failed to notice the least sign of contra- 
 riety on Malivert's face. He neither blushed nor 
 turned pale; his brows did not bend, not a muscle of 
 
 217 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 his face moved ; he did not have the terribly grim 
 aspect of a jealous lover at the sight of his fair courted 
 by another ; he looked perfectly calm and utterly 
 serene. The expression of his face was that which 
 comes from the radiancy of a secret joy, and on his 
 lips fluttered, as the poet says, — 
 
 " The mysterious smile of inward delight." 
 
 " If Guy were loved by a fairy or a princess, he 
 could not look more triumphant," said an old habitue 
 of the balcony, a Don Juan emeritus. " If Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt cares for him, she may as well give him 
 up, for she will never call herself Mme. de Malivert." 
 
 Between the acts Guy paid a short visit to the 
 Countess's box to bid her farewell, for he was about 
 to start on a trip to Greece. He was naturally polite 
 to d'Aversac, without any trace of exaggeration, nor 
 did he have the coldly ceremonious look which people 
 assume when they are vexed. He shook hands very 
 quietly with Mme. d'Ymbercourt, whose face betrayed 
 her emotion, great as was the effort which she made to 
 appear indifferent. The blush which suffused her cheeks 
 when Guy left his box to come to her stall had been 
 replaced by a pallor of which rice powder was wholly 
 
 218 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 innocent. She had looked for annoyance, anger, a 
 movement of passion, a mark of jealousy, perhaps even 
 a quarrel. His genuine coolness upset her and caught 
 her unprepared. She had believed that Malivert loved 
 her, and now she saw that she had been mistaken. 
 This discovery wounded at once her pride and her 
 heart. Guy had inspired her with a livelier affection 
 than she knew, and she felt unhappy. The comedy 
 that she had been playing, now that it was proved 
 useless, wearied and bored her. When Malivert had 
 gone, she leaned upon the edge of the box and replied 
 only in monosyllables to the compliments addressed to 
 her by d'Aversac, who was very much put out by her 
 silence and her coolness. He did not understand how 
 it was that winter had succeeded spring ; the sudden 
 frost withered the roses. " Have I said or done any- 
 thing foolish ? " asked of himself the poor fellow who 
 a moment ago was so well received. " Can it be that 
 she is making fun of me? Guy's ease of manner just 
 now was affected, and the Countess seemed very much 
 moved. I wonder if she still loves Malivert." 
 
 However, as d'Aversac knew that he was being 
 watched by a certain number of glasses, he went on 
 playing his part, and bent towards the countess, whis- 
 
 219 
 
±£ i: ££££££££££££ £££ 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 pering in her ear with an intimate and mysterious air 
 commonplaces that anybody might have listened to. 
 
 The old habitue, who was very much amused by 
 this little drama, followed the incidents of it out of the 
 corner of his eye. " D'Aversac is putting a good face 
 on his ill luck, but he is not the man for such a game. 
 However, he is a fool, and fools are sometimes lucky 
 with women. Cupid gets along very well with folly, 
 and Laridon succeeds Caesar, especially when Caesar 
 does not care for his empire. But who can be Guy's 
 new mistress ? " Such were the reflections of the 
 veteran Cytherean, as well up in theory as he had been 
 in practice, while he followed Malivert's glances to 
 see whether they rested upon any of the beautiful 
 women who shone in the boxes like jewels in a case. 
 Could it be that vaporous blonde with the wreath of 
 silver leaves, the water-green dress, and opal ornaments, 
 who seemed to have touched up her complexion with a 
 moonbeam like a wraith or a nixie, and who gazed 
 sentimentally at the chandelier as if it were the orb of 
 night ? Or was it the brunette with hair darker than 
 night, with a profile carved out of marble, eyes like 
 black diamonds, red lips, so living under her warm 
 pallor, so passionate under her statuesque calm, and 
 
 220 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 who might be taken for the daughter of the Venus of 
 Milo, if that divine masterpiece deigned to have chil- 
 dren. No, it was neither of them, neither the moon 
 nor the sun. The Russian princess in the stage-box 
 yonder, with her extraordinary dress, her exotic beauty, 
 and her extravagant grace, might have some chance, 
 for Guy was rather fond of eccentricity, and his travels 
 had inspired him with rather barbaric tastes. Yet it 
 was not she either ; Guy had just looked at her as 
 coldly as if he were examining a malachite cofFer. 
 Why might it not be the Parisian in the open box, 
 dressed in perfect taste, clever, witty, pretty, whose 
 every motion seemed to follow the sound of a flute and 
 to raise a foam of lace, as if she were dancing on a 
 panel in Herculaneum. Balzac would have devoted 
 thirty pages to the description of such a woman, and it 
 would have been style used to good purpose. She was 
 worth it. But Guy was not civilised enough to taste 
 the charm which seduced, even more than did beauty, 
 the author of the " Comedie Humaine." — " Well, I 
 shall have to give up fathoming this mystery to-day," 
 said the old beau, as he put back into his case a pair 
 of glasses that looked like siege guns. " The lady that 
 occupies Malivert's thoughts is undoubtedly not here." 
 
 221 
 
•jU «!-» »t« rl/» »K »i. »i* rl^t »|-» al**j|*«J^«^»l9«£«»^^v^»i*«4* 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 As people left the house d'Aversac was standing 
 under the balustrade in as elegant an attitude as can be 
 assumed by a gentleman wrapped up in a great-coat. 
 He was by the side of Mme. d'Ymbercourt, who had 
 thrown over her dress a pelisse of satin edged with 
 swan's-down, the hood of which fell back on her shoul- 
 ders and left her head bare. The countess was pale, 
 and that evening she was really beautiful. The pain 
 she felt imparted to her face, usually coldly regular, an 
 expression and a feeling of life it had lacked hitherto. 
 For the rest, she seemed to have wholly forgotten her 
 escort, who remained within a couple of paces of her 
 with a set gravity that sought to dissimulate and to 
 express much. 
 
 " What is the matter with Mme. d'Ymbercourt to- 
 night ? " said a young man who stood in the vestibule 
 to watch the procession of beauties ; " she seems to 
 have acquired a new beauty. D'Aversac is a lucky 
 fellow." 
 
 " Not so very lucky, after all," said a young man 
 with a clever, intelligent face, who looked like a por- 
 trait of Van Dyck taken from its frame. " It is not 
 he who has given to the Countess's face, usually as 
 inexpressive as a wax mask moulded on a Venus by 
 
 222 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 Canova, the animation and the accent you notice. 
 The spark comes from elsewhere. D'Aversac is not 
 the Prometheus of this Pandora; wood cannot give life 
 to marble." 
 
 " Never mind," replied another ; " I wonder at 
 Malivert giving up the Countess just at this time. 
 She deserves rather better than d'Aversac to avenge 
 her. I do not know if Guy can find a handsomer 
 woman, and he may have cause to repent his disdain." 
 
 " It would be a mistake in him to do so," replied 
 the Van Dyck portrait. " Pray follow me. Mme. 
 d'Ymbercourt is handsomer to-day than usual because 
 she is moved. Now, if Malivert had not given 
 her up, she would not feel any emotion, and her 
 classical features would remain insignificant. The 
 phenomenon which surprises you would, therefore, 
 not have taken place ; so Malivert is right to go off 
 to Greece, as he said last night at the club he would 
 do. Dlxir 
 
 The footman announcing the Countess's carriage 
 put an end to this conversation, and more than one 
 young fellow committed the sin of envy on seeing 
 d'Aversac get into the coupe with Mme. d'Ymbercourt. 
 The door was closed by the lackey, who climbed to 
 
 223 
 
4:4: -k 4: 4: db 4? 4: 4: 4: 4:ir4r4:!l:^:4;d;4:4:^? 4: 4:4: 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 the box in a twinkling, and the carriage went off at 
 full speed. D'Aversac, half hidden in the folds of 
 satin, close to his partner, breathing in the vague scent 
 she gave out, tried to profit by the short tete-a-tete and 
 to say a few tenderly gallant words to the Countess. 
 He had to find at once something decisive and passion- 
 ate, for there was no great distance from the Place 
 Ventadour to the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin; but 
 Guy's rival was not good at improvisation, and besides, 
 it must be confessed that he received scant encour- 
 agement from Mme. d'Ymbercourt, who, silent and 
 nestling in the corner of the coupe, was biting the 
 corner of her lace handkerchief. While d'Aversac 
 was laboriously trying to work out a loving phrase, 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt, who had not listened to a single 
 word of it, busy as she was following out her own 
 thoughts, caught him suddenly by the arm and said to 
 him sharply, "Do you know who is the new mistress 
 of M. de Malivert ? " 
 
 This unexpected and astonishing question greatly 
 shocked d'Aversac. It was not wholly proper, and it 
 proved that the Countess had not thought of him for a 
 moment. The castle in Spain of his hopes fell in 
 ruins before this breath of passion. 
 
 224 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 " I do not know," stammered d' Aversac ; " but if I 
 did, discretion — and politeness — would prevent — 
 Any well-bred man on such occasions knows what is 
 his duty — " 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered the Countess, in short, sharp 
 accents. " Men stand by each other even when they 
 are rivals. I shall not learn anything." Then, after 
 a short silence, partly mastering herself, she said, " I 
 beg your pardon, my dear M. d'Aversac. I am terri- 
 bly nervous to-night, and I feel that I am saying 
 absurd things. Do not be angry with me, and come 
 to see me to-morrow, — I shall be quieter. Here I am 
 at home," she said, holding out her hand to him. 
 " Where is my coachman to take you ? " And with a 
 rapid step she got out of the coupe and ascended the 
 stairs without allowing d'Aversac to assist her. 
 
 So it may be seen that it is not always as pleasant 
 as naive young fellows imagine to take home a beauti- 
 ful lady, and even to ride in her carriage from the 
 Opera to the Chaussee d'Antin. D'Aversac, rather 
 sat upon, had himself driven to the club in the Rue 
 de Choiseul where his own carriage was awaiting him. 
 He played and lost some hundred louis, which did not 
 help to improve his temper. As he returned home, 
 
 5 
 
 225 
 
SPI R ITE 
 
 he said to himself, " How the devil does Malivert 
 manage to make all the women fall in love with 
 him ? " 
 
 Mme. d'Ymbercourt, after giving herself up to the 
 care of her maid, who undressed her and made her 
 ready for the night, put on a wrapper of white cash- 
 mere, and leaned on a desk, her hand plunged in her 
 hair. She remained thus for some time, her eyes fixed 
 on the paper, turning her pen in her fingers. She 
 wished to write to Guy, but it was a difficult matter. 
 Her thoughts, which crowded in her brain, disappeared 
 when she tried to express them in a phrase. She 
 scribbled five or six notes, crossed, interlined, illegible, 
 in spite of her beautiful English hand, without manag- 
 ing to satisfy herself. She said either too much or too 
 little, she did not succeed in expressing the feelings in 
 her heart. She tore up and threw into the fire every 
 note, and finally managed to produce this : — 
 
 " Do not be angry, dear Guy, at my coquettish im- 
 pulse, a very innocent one, I assure you, for my sole 
 object was to make you a little bit jealous and to bring 
 you back to me. You know very well that I love 
 you, although you do not love me very much. Your 
 cold, quiet look froze my very heart. Forget what I 
 
 226 
 
Tt? T=T tI? ^7 ^ ^» ^ ^4?^!?^!?dl?t5?d?d» d» ?|? s8?tfe 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 have said to you. It was a wicked friend who made 
 me speak. Are you really going off to Greece ? Do 
 you really need to flee from me, who have no other 
 thought than to please you ? Do not go ; your absence 
 would make me too wretched." 
 
 The Countess signed the note " Cecilia d'Ymber- 
 court," sealed it with her arms, and wished to send 
 it at once, but as she rose to summon her attendant, 
 the clock struck two. It was too late to send a man 
 to the very end of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where 
 Guy lived. "Never mind," she said, "I will send 
 my note very early and Guy shall have it when he 
 wakes, if only he is not then gone." 
 
 She went to bed tired and worn out, closing her 
 eyes in vain. She thought of the lady in the sleigh 
 and said that Malivert loved her, and jealousy drove 
 its sharp fangs into her heart. At last she fell asleep, 
 but her sleep was agitated ; she constantly started 
 awake, worse than the night before. A little lamp 
 hung from the ceiling by her, the night-light fixed in 
 a globe of blue ground-glass cast in the room an azure 
 light like that of the moon, and lighted with soft, mys- 
 terious beam the head of the Countess, whose loosened 
 hair spread out in great black ringlets on the white 
 
 227 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 pillow, concealing one of her arms hanging out of 
 the bed. 
 
 At the bed-head, little by little a faint, transparent, 
 bluish vapour like the smoke from a perfume-burner 
 gradually condensed, assumed more decided contours, 
 and soon showed as a young girl of celestial beauty, 
 whose golden hair formed a luminous aureole around 
 her. Spirite, for it was she, watched the sleeping 
 woman with the air of melancholy pity that angels 
 must wear on beholding human suffering. Bending 
 towards her like the shadow of a dream, she let fall 
 upon her brow two or three drops of a sombre liquor 
 contained in a little flagon like the lacrymatory urns 
 found in the tombs of antiquity, whispering mean- 
 while : " Since you are no longer a danger to him 
 whom I love, and can no longer separate his soul from 
 mine, I take pity on you, for you are suffering on his 
 account, and I bring you the divine nepenthe. For- 
 get and be happy, O you who caused my death ! " 
 
 The vision disappeared. The features of the lovely 
 sleeper softened as if a pleasant dream had succeeded 
 to a painful nightmare. A faint smile fluttered over 
 her lips, by an unconscious movement she drew back 
 under the clothes her beautiful arm, which was as cold 
 
 228 
 
ts? d& «r ^? 4r wb db' tic j?iJ?tl?tl?db^?il?tfctl?j? it? tf? si? 
 
 SPIRI TE 
 
 and white as marble, and covered herself up under the 
 light eider-down quilt. Her tranquil and restorative 
 sleep lasted until morning, and when she awoke, the 
 first thing she noticed was her letter upon the table. 
 
 " Shall I have this letter taken ? " said Aglae, who 
 had just entered the room to open the curtains, and 
 saw her mistress's glance rest upon the note. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " cried Mme. d'Ymbercourt, quickly, 
 " throw it into the fire." Then she added to herself, 
 "What was I thinking of to write such a letter? I 
 must have been crazy." 
 
 229 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 XV 
 
 THE steamer from Marseilles to Athens was 
 off Cape Malia, the last dentellation of the 
 mulberry leaf which forms the point of 
 Greece and has given it its modern name. Fog and 
 cloud had been left behind. It was a passing from 
 night to light, from cold to warmth. The gray tints 
 of the Western skies had been succeeded by the azure 
 of the Oriental heavens, and the sea, of a deep blue, 
 rose and fell softly under a favouring wind, which the 
 steamer turned to advantage by setting its smoke- 
 blackened jibs, like the sombre-coloured sails which 
 Theseus hoisted by mistake when he returned from 
 the isle of Crete, where he had slain the Minotaur. It 
 was near the end of February, and already the ap- 
 proach of spring, so late with us, was felt in that happy 
 clime beloved of the sun. The air was so balmy that 
 most of the passengers, who had already got over sea- 
 sickness, remained on deck watching the coast, of 
 which they caught a glimpse through the blue haze of 
 
 230 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 evening. Above the darker zone rose a mountain still 
 visible, on whose snowy summit yet gleamed a ray of 
 light. It was Taygetus ; which enabled the travelling 
 bachelors of arts who knew a few lines of Latin to 
 quote with satisfied pedantry the well-known verses of 
 Virgil. A Frenchman who quotes correctly — which 
 is rare — a Latin line, is very nearly as perfectly happy 
 as it is possible for him to be. As regards Greek lines, 
 that is a happiness reserved for Germans and English- 
 men fresh from Jena or Oxford. 
 
 On the slatted benches and camp-stools that encum- 
 bered the stern of the ship were young ladies wearing 
 overcoats with huge buttons, small hats with blue veils, 
 their abundant brown hair enclosed in nets, their trav- 
 elling-bags hung about their neck by a strap. They 
 were looking at the coast shrouded in the evening 
 shadows, with glasses strong enough to make out the 
 satellites of Jupiter. Some, bolder and better sailors, 
 were walking the deck with the stride that drill-ser- 
 geants and teachers of walking teach to British girls. 
 Others were talking with gentlemen irreproachably 
 dressed and of perfect manners. There were also 
 Frenchmen, pupils of the School of Athens, painters, 
 architects, who had won the prize of Rome and who 
 
 231 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 were going for inspiration to the sources of true 
 beauty. These, with all the enthusiasm of youth, 
 when it has hope before it and a small sum in its 
 pocket, were joking, laughing noisily, smoking cigars 
 and indulging in heated discussions on aesthetics. The 
 reputations of the great masters of ancient and modern 
 times were discussed, ridiculed or lauded ; everything 
 was admirable or absurd, sublime or stupid, for young 
 men always go to extremes and know no middle way. 
 They would never marry King Modus to Queen 
 Ratio ; that union takes place much later in life. 
 
 In this animated group was a young man draped in 
 his mantle like a philosopher of the Portico, and who 
 was neither a painter, a sculptor, nor an architect, but 
 whom the travelling artists called in as arbitrator when 
 a discussion ended in obstinate negation on either side. 
 It was Guy de Malivert. His judicious and clever 
 remarks proved that he was a true connoisseur, an art 
 critic worthy of the name ; and these very disdainful 
 young fellows, who sneered at any one who had not 
 handled the brush, the chisel, or the drawing-pen, as a 
 bourgeois^ listened to him with deference and sometimes 
 even adopted his views. The conversation ended, 
 for everything ends, even a discussion on the ideal 
 
 232 
 
*r *h «tr '.1? tib tl? »|« ^j^ »i» «|« >j< »i» >jU rj* »ju »4» »4» *J» •I* »j« 
 
 SPI RI TE 
 
 and the real, and the disputants, their throats rather 
 dry, descended to the saloon to wet their whistles 
 with a glass of grog or other warm and restorative 
 drinks, 
 
 Malivert remained alone on the bridge. Night had 
 fallen, and it was now quite dark. In the deep azure 
 sky, the stars shone with a vivacity and a brilliancy no 
 one can imagine unless he has seen the sky of Greece. 
 Their reflections were lengthened in the water, making 
 long wakes, just as if they were lights placed upon 
 the bank. The foam, beaten up by the paddle-wheels, 
 flashed like innumerable diamonds, that gleamed for an 
 instant and then vanished in a bluish phosphorescence. 
 The black steamer seemed to proceed through a sea 
 of light. It was a sight that would have excited the 
 admiration of the most obtuse Philistine, and as Mali- 
 vert was not a Philistine, he enjoyed it to the full. It 
 did not even occur to him to go down to the saloon, 
 which is always sickeningly hot, and peculiarly objec- 
 tionable when one leaves the fresh air ; and he con- 
 tinued walking up and down the deck, moving around 
 the Levantines installed on carpets or thin mattresses 
 along the rail in the bows and among the coils of 
 chains and ropes ; sometimes he caused a woman, 
 
 233 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 believing herself unnoticed, to lower the veil she had 
 drawn aside to enjoy the cool air of night. 
 
 Guy was keeping the promise he had made not to 
 compromise Mme. d'Ymbercourt. 
 
 He leaned on the bulwarks and let himself float 
 away into a reverie full of sweetness. No doubt, since 
 Spirite's love had freed him from earthly curiosity, the 
 trip to Greece had ceased to inspire him with as much 
 enthusiasm as formerly ; he would have liked to have 
 started on another voyage ; but he no longer thought 
 of hastening his departure from the world into which 
 his thought already reached. He was now aware of 
 the consequences of suicide, and waited, not too impa- 
 tiently, until the hour should come when he might flv 
 away with the angel who visited him. Secure in his 
 future happiness, he allowed himself to indulge in the 
 sensation of the present, and enjoyed, like the poet he 
 was, the superb spectacle of night. Like Lord Byron 
 he loved the sea. Its eternal restlessness and its inces- 
 sant plaint, even in hours of deepest calm, its sudden 
 anger and its mad fury against the immovable obstacle 
 had always struck his imagination, which saw in this 
 vast turbulence a secret analogy with useless human 
 effort. What he particularly loved in the sea was its 
 
 2 34 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 immense isolation, the unchanging, yet ever changing 
 circle of the horizon, the solemn monotony and the 
 absence of any sign of civilisation. The same billow 
 that uplifted the steamer on its broad back had laved 
 the hollow-sided vessels of which Homer speaks, yet 
 no trace of the contact was left ; the water had exactly 
 the same tone that coloured it when it was traversed by 
 the fleet of the Greeks. The proud sea does not pre- 
 serve, like the earth, the marks of man's passage. It 
 is vague, immense, and deep, like the infinite. Never, 
 therefore, did Malivert feel happier, freer, and more 
 self-possessed than when, standing in the bows of a 
 ship, pitching and scending, he sailed into the un- 
 known. Soaked by the foam that flew over the decks, 
 his hair salt with the breath of the sea, it seemed to 
 him as though he were walking upon the waters ; and 
 just as a horseman becomes identified with the speed 
 of his steed, so he attributed to himself the swiftness 
 of the vessel, and his thought hurried on to meet the 
 unknown. 
 
 Spirite had silently descended like thistledown or 
 snowflake close to Malivert, and her hand rested on 
 the young man's shoulder. Although she was invisi- 
 ble to every one, it is possible to imagine the charming 
 
 235 
 
•I/. ri-t „l, rj^ rL* rl. .L» rL« gj» ji* jfejfc tit 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 group formed by Malivert and his aerial friend. The 
 moon had risen broad and bright, making the stars 
 pale, and the night had turned into a sort of blue day 
 absolutely magical in tone, like the light in an azure 
 grotto. One of her beams fell in the bows of the 
 ship upon that Love and that Psyche, effulgent in the 
 diamond scintillation of the foam, like two young gods 
 on the prow of an antique trireme. Over the waters, 
 with a perpetual luminous sparkling, spread a broad 
 wake of silvery spangles, the reflection of the orb 
 risen above the horizon and slowly ascending into 
 the heavens. Sometimes the swart back of a dolphin, a 
 descendant, perhaps, of the one that bore Arion, 
 flashed through the shining wake and suddenly disap- 
 peared in the shadow, or else, in the distance, like a 
 quivering red dot, appeared the light of a vessel. 
 From time to time the shore of an island, showing of a 
 deeper violet and soon passed, loomed for a moment. 
 
 "Undoubtedly," said Spirite, "this is a marvellous 
 spectacle, one of the finest, if not the very finest, which 
 the human eye can gaze upon ; but it is nothing by 
 the side of the wonderful prospects of the world which 
 I leave to visit you, and where soon we shall fly side by 
 side, 1 like doves called by the same desire.' This sea, 
 
 236 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 which seems so vast to you, is but a drop in the cup 
 of the infinite, and the pale orb which lights it, an 
 imperceptible silver globule, is lost in the terrific im- 
 mensity, like the meanest grain of sidereal dust. Oh! 
 how I would have admired this sight with you, when I 
 still inhabited the earth and was called Lavinia. But 
 do not think that I am insensible to it, for I understand 
 its beauty through your own feeling." 
 
 " You make me impatient to be in your world, Spi- 
 rite," answered Malivert. " Eagerly I spring towards 
 those spheres, of a dazzling splendour beyond im- 
 agination or speech, which we are to traverse to- 
 gether and where never again we shall be separated." 
 
 "Yes, you shall see them, you shall know their mag- 
 nificence, their delight, if you love me, if you are 
 faithful to me, if your thought never turns to anything 
 lower, if you allow the impure and coarse human mud 
 to fall within you as within still water. On that con- 
 dition we shall be allowed to enjoy eternal union, the 
 peaceful intoxication of divine love, of unintermittent 
 love without weakness, without weariness, the ardour of 
 which would melt suns like grains of myrrh cast on a 
 fire; we shall be unity in duality, the ego in the non- 
 ego, motion in rest, desire in fulfilment, freshness in 
 
 237 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 flame. To deserve these supreme felicities, think of 
 Spirite who is in heaven, and do not think too much 
 of Lavinia who sleeps yonder under her carved wreath 
 of white roses." 
 
 " Do I not love you madly ? " said Malivert ; "with 
 all the purity and ardour of which a soul still held to 
 this earth is capable ? " 
 
 " My darling," replied Spirite, " I am satisfied with 
 you." 
 
 And as she spoke the words, her sapphire eyes were 
 starred full of amorous promises, and a voluptuously 
 chaste smile parted her adorable lips. 
 
 The conversation between the living man and the 
 shadow was prolonged until the first gleam of dawn 
 mingled its rosy tints with the violet beams of the 
 moon, the orb of which was slowly paling. Soon a 
 segment of the sun appeared above the horizon, and 
 day came with a splendid rush. Spirite, an angel of 
 light, had nothing to dread from the sun, and remained 
 for a few moments in the bows of the vessel, radiant 
 in the rosy light and fires of morning that played like 
 golden butterflies in her hair, lifted by the breeze of 
 the Archipelago. If she chose night by preference to 
 appear to Malivert, it was because, the movements 
 
 238 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 of common human life being then suspended, Guy 
 was freer, less noticed, and did not run the risk of 
 being thought crazy on account of actions unavoidably 
 eccentric in appearance. 
 
 As she saw Malivert pale and shiver in the chill of 
 dawn, she said to him in a sweetly scolding way : " Go, 
 you dear creature of clay, — do not struggle against 
 nature. It is cold, the sea dew is falling on the deck 
 and clinging to the rigging. Return to your cabin and 
 sleep." And then she added, with a purely feminine 
 grace : " Even sleep cannot separate us. I shall be 
 with you in all your dreams, and take you whither you 
 cannot go during your waking hours." 
 
 And as she had promised, Guy's sleep was filled 
 with azure, radiant, supernatural dreams, in which he 
 flew side by side with Spirite through an Elysian 
 paradise, a mingling of light, of ideal vegetation and 
 architecture, of which no words in our poor, scanty, 
 heavy, imperfect speech can suggest even the remotest 
 idea. 
 
 There is no need to describe in detail Malivert's 
 impressions of travel ; they have naught to do with this 
 story, and besides, Guy, filled with his love and drawn 
 by an inexorable desire, paid less attention than for- 
 
 239 
 
S PI RITE 
 
 merly to material things. Nature now appeared to 
 him only in a vague, misty, splendid distance that 
 served as a background to his fixed thought. The 
 world was for him only the landscape of Spirite, and 
 he thought even the finest prospects unworthy of this 
 function. Nevertheless, the next day at dawn he could 
 not repress a cry of admiration and surprise when, as 
 the steamer entered the roads of the Piraeus, he be- 
 held the marvellous view lighted up by the rays of 
 morn ; Parnassus and Hymettus formed with their 
 amethyst-coloured slopes the wings of the splendid 
 setting of which Lycabetus, with its curious outline, 
 and Pentelicus formed the background. In the centre, 
 like a golden tripod upon a marble altar, rose on the 
 Acropolis the Parthenon, illumined by the golden light 
 of morn. The bluish tint of the distance, showing 
 through the interstices of the fallen columns, made 
 the noble form of the temple still more aerial and ideal. 
 Malivert felt that shiver which comes from the feeling 
 of beauty, and he understood then what, until that mo- 
 ment, had seemed obscure to him : the whole of Greek 
 art was suddenly revealed to him, a Romanticist, in 
 that rapid vision, — that is, the perfect proportion 
 of the ensemble, the absolute purity of the lines, the 
 
 240 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 incomparable suavity of the colour formed of white- 
 ness, azure, and light. 
 
 No sooner had he landed than, without troubling 
 about his luggage, which he left in Jack's hands, he 
 jumped into one of the coupes that, to the shame of 
 modern civilisation, bear, in the place of the cars 
 of antiquity, the travellers from the Piraeus to Athens, 
 along a road white with dust and bordered here and 
 there by a few dust-covered olive-trees. Malivert's 
 vehicle, broken-down and rattling, was carried along 
 at a gallop by two small, thin, dapple-gray horses with 
 hog manes, that looked like the skeletons, or rather, 
 like clay models of the marble horses that prance on 
 the metopes of the Parthenon. No doubt their ances- 
 tors had posed to Phidias. They were roundly lashed 
 by a youth wearing a Palikar costume, who, perhaps, 
 driving a more brilliant team might have carried off" the 
 prize for cars at the Olympic games. 
 
 Leaving the other travellers to invade the Hotel 
 d'Angleterre, Guy had himself driven to the foot of 
 the sacred hill on which humankind, in the flower of 
 youth, poetry, and love, heaped up its purest master- 
 pieces, as if to present them to the admiration of the 
 gods. He ascended the old Street of Tripods, buried 
 
 16 241 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 under shapeless huts, and trod with respectful feet the 
 marble dust, coming at last to that staircase of the 
 Propylaea, some of the steps of which have been set 
 up as tombstones. He climbed through that strange 
 cemetery made of a maze of uplifted stones, between 
 the substructures, on one of which stands the small 
 temple of the Wingless Victory, while the other serves 
 as a pedestal to the equestrian statue of Cimon, and as 
 a platform for the Pinacothek, where were preserved 
 the masterpieces of Zeuxis, Apelles, Timanthes, and 
 Protogenes. 
 
 He crossed the Propylaea of Mnesicles, a master- 
 piece worthy to serve as an entrance to the masterpiece 
 of Ictinus and Phidias. He was filled with the sentiment 
 of religious admiration. He was almost ashamed that 
 he, a Western barbarian, should tread with his boots 
 that sacred soil. Soon he found himself before the 
 Parthenon, the Temple of the Virgin, the sanctuary 
 of Pallas Athene, the noblest conception of Polytheism. 
 The edifice rose in the serene blue air superbly placid 
 and suavely majestic. Divine harmony ruled its lines, 
 which sung the hymn of beauty on a secret rhythm. 
 All sweetly tended to an unknown ideal, converged to 
 a mysterious point, without effort, without violence, 
 
 242 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 sure of attaining it. Above the temple one felt soar- 
 ing the thought to which the angles of the pediments, 
 the entablatures, the columns aspired and seemed to 
 wish to rise, imparting imperceptible curves to the 
 horizontal and the perpendicular lines. The exquisite 
 Doric columns, draped in the folds of their flutings and 
 leaning somewhat back, made one think of chaste 
 virgins languorously feeling vague desires. An atmos- 
 phere of warm, golden colour bathed the facade, and 
 the marble, kissed by time, had assumed a creamy tint 
 and something of a modest blush. 
 
 On the steps of the temple, between the two pillars 
 behind which opens the door of the pronaos, Spirite 
 stood in the pure Greek brightness so unfavourable to 
 apparitions, on the very threshold of the clear, perfect, 
 luminously beautiful Parthenon. A long white dress 
 pleated in little folds like the tunics of the canephorce, 
 fell from her shoulders to the tips of her little white, 
 bare feet. A crown of violets — of those violets the 
 scent of which Aristophanes celebrates in one of his 
 parabases — was placed upon the wavy bandeaux of 
 her golden hair. Thus dressed, Spirite resembled one 
 of the virgins of the Panathenaeon, come down from 
 her frieze. But in her blue eyes shone a light never 
 
 243 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 seen in eyes of white marble ; to her radiant, plastic 
 beauty she added the beauty of the soul. 
 
 Malivert ascended the steps and approached Spirite, 
 who held out her hand to him. Then in a dazzling 
 vision he beheld the Parthenon as it was in the days 
 of its splendour. The fallen pillars were in their 
 places, the marbles of the pediment, carried away by 
 Lord Elgin, or broken by the Venetian shells, were 
 grouped again, pure and intact, in their human and 
 divine attitudes. At the door of the cella Malivert 
 saw, seated upon its pedestal, the statue of gold and 
 ivory, the celestial, the virgin, the immaculate Pallas 
 Athene. But he cast only a rapid glance upon these 
 wonders, and his eyes immediately turned to seek 
 Spirite's eyes. Seeing itself disdained, the retrospective 
 vision vanished. 
 
 " Oh ! " murmured Spirite, " art is forgotten for 
 love ! His soul is becoming more and more detached 
 from this earth. He is burning, he is being consumed ! 
 Soon, dear soul, your wish shall be fulfilled." 
 
 And the heart of the maid, still beating within the 
 breast of the spirit, caused her white peplos to rise 
 and fall. 
 
 244 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 XVI 
 
 A FEW days after his visit to the Parthenon, 
 Guy de Malivert resolved to visit the beauti- 
 ful mountains which he saw from his win- 
 dows. He engaged a guide and a couple of horses, 
 leaving Jack at the hotel, as useless and likely even to 
 be in the way. Jack was one of those servants who 
 are more difficult to satisfy than their masters, and 
 whose disagreeable traits come out on a voyage. He 
 had as many fads as an old maid, and considered every- 
 thing abominable, — the rooms, the beds, the dishes, 
 the wines ; and exasperated by the wretched waiting, 
 he would cry, " Ah, the barbarians ! " Besides, if he 
 did own that Malivert had some literary talent, he con- 
 sidered him in his own mind incapable of taking care 
 of himself, and rather crazy, especially for some time 
 past ; he had therefore undertaken to watch over him. 
 True, if Malivert frowned, he immediately resumed 
 his old place, and Mentor, with a marvellous facil- 
 ity of metamorphosis, resumed the part of valet. 
 
 245 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 Guy put a sum of money in gold coins in a leather 
 belt which he wore under his clothes, a couple of 
 pistols in his holsters, and when he left did not name 
 any definite day for his return, desiring to allow him- 
 self the freedom of the unforeseen, of adventure, of 
 wandering as he pleased. He knew that Jack, accus- 
 tomed to his disappearances, would not be alarmed, 
 even if he were several days, or even several weeks 
 late ; he would be quite happy as soon as he had 
 taught the hotel cook to prepare a beef-steak to his 
 taste, — that is, brown outside and underdone inside, 
 in the English fashion. 
 
 Guy's excursion, unless he changed his purpose, was 
 not to take him beyond Parnassus, and not to last 
 more than five or six days, but a month had gone by 
 and neither Malivert nor his guide had reappeared; 
 no letter had reached the hotel announcing a change 
 of plans or a prolongation of the trip ; the money he 
 had taken with him must have been nearly expended, 
 and his silence began to cause uneasiness. 
 
 "My master has not sent for funds," said Jack to 
 himself one morning, as he ate a beef-steak cooked at 
 last as he wanted it, and which he washed down with 
 white wine of Santorin, very pleasant in spite of its 
 
 246 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 slightly resinous flavour. " It is strange, — something 
 must have happened to him. If he were continuing 
 his trip he would have informed me of the town to 
 which I was to send money, since I have his purse. I 
 hope he has not broken his neck down some precipice. 
 It is an absurd idea of his to go riding all the time 
 through dirty, ill-paved countries, queer places where 
 one starves, instead of remaining in Paris, comfortably 
 installed in a pleasant home free from insects, mos- 
 quitoes, and other abominable creatures which blister 
 one all over. I do not mind during the fine season ; 
 I can understand a man going to Ville-d'Avray, Celles, 
 Saint-Cloud, Fontainebleau, — no, not to Fontaine- 
 bleau, there are too many painters ; even then, I pre- 
 fer Paris. People may say what they like, the country 
 is made for peasants, and travelling for commercial 
 travellers, because that is their business. But it gets 
 to be pretty wearisome to be stuck in an inn to grow 
 young again in a city where there is nothing but ruins 
 to look at. What can our masters see in old stones ? 
 As if new, well-kept-up buildings were not a hundred 
 times more pleasant to look at ! There is no mistake 
 about it, my master is very impolite to me. It is true 
 I am his servant, and it is my duty to attend him, but 
 
 247 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 he has no right to make me die of weariness in the 
 Hotel d'Angleterre. Suppose some misfortune has 
 happened to that dear master of mine, — after all, he 
 is a kind master, — I should never get over it unless I 
 found a better situation. I have a good mind to set 
 out to look for him, — but in what direction? Who 
 knows whither his fancy has taken him ? No doubt 
 into the most extravagant and most improbable spots, 
 into break-neck places which he calls picturesque and 
 of which he makes sketches as if they were worth look- 
 ing at. Well, I will give him three days more to 
 return home; after that time I shall have him drummed 
 and posted at every street corner like a lost dog, with 
 a promise of a handsome reward to whoever brings 
 him back." 
 
 Acting up to his office of sceptical modern servant 
 who makes great fun of the devoted and faithful old- 
 fashioned valet, the worthy Jack was trying to blind 
 himself to his very genuine anxiety. At bottom he 
 loved Guy de Malivert and was greatly attached to 
 him. Although he was aware that his master had put 
 him down in his will for a very handsome sum which 
 would secure him a comfortable home, he did not wish 
 for Guy's death. 
 
 248 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 The hotel-keeper also began to be anxious, not 
 concerning Malivert, whose bill was paid, but con- 
 cerning the two horses which he had furnished for the 
 expedition. As he mourned over the problematical 
 fate of these two peerless animals, so sure-footed, so 
 easy in their gait, so tender-mouthed, and which could 
 be driven with a silk thread, Jack said to him impa- 
 tiently, with an air of supreme disdain : " Well, if 
 your two hacks are dead, you will be paid for them," — 
 an assurance which restored the serenity of the worthy 
 Diamantopoulos. 
 
 Every evening the guide's wife, a handsome and 
 robust matron who might well have taken the place of 
 the caryatid removed from the Pandrasion, and for 
 which has been substituted a terra cotta reproduction, 
 came to inquire if Stavros, her husband, had returned, 
 either with or without the traveller. On hearing the 
 reply, which was invariably in the negative, she would 
 sit down on a stone at a little distance from the hotel, 
 undo the false tress of fair hair which bound her black 
 hair, shake it out, put her hands to her face as if she 
 were going to scratch herself, utter sighs like a ven- 
 triloquist, and engage in all the theatrical demonstra- 
 tions of antique grief. At bottom ^she was really not 
 
 249 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 very sorry, for Stavros was not much of a man, and a 
 great deal of a drunkard, who beat her when he was 
 tipsy, and gave her very little money, although he 
 earned quite a sum by acting as guide ; but she owed 
 it to fashion to manifest proper despair. Gossip — 
 which was not slander in this case — charged her with 
 being consoled in her intermittent widowhood by a 
 handsome, wasp-waisted Palikar with a bell-like fusta- 
 nella that held at least sixty yards of fine pleated stuff, 
 and a red fez with a blue silk tassel falling down to 
 the middle of his back. Her grief, genuine or affected, 
 expressed in hoarse sobs that recalled the barking of 
 Hecuba, greatly bothered the worthy Jack, who al- 
 though incredulous, was somewhat superstitious. " I 
 do not like," he would say, " that woman who howls 
 over her absent husband like a dog that scents death." 
 And the three days which he had set as the extreme 
 limit of Malivert's return having passed, he went to a 
 magistrate and made his statement. 
 
 The most active search was undertaken in the direc- 
 tion probably followed by Malivert and his guide. 
 The mountain was traversed in every direction, and 
 in a hollow road was found the carcass of a horse 
 lying on its side stripped of its harness, and already 
 
 250 
 
4j 4j 4^ 4^ 4j 4; 4» 4; 4; 4» ^ 4* ^ £ £ 4; 4» 4; £ 4* 4» 4» 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 half devoured by the crows. The horse's shoulder 
 had been broken by a ball, and the steed had no doubt 
 fallen with its rider. Around the dead animal the 
 ground seemed to have been trampled as if in a strug- 
 gle, but too many days had elapsed since the probable 
 time of the attack, which had no doubt taken place 
 several weeks before. There was little to be learned 
 from the vestiges half-effaced by rain and wind. In a 
 lentisk bush near the road a branch had been cut by a 
 projectile ; the upper part was hanging withered. 
 The ball, which was that of a pistol, was found farther 
 off in a field. The person assailed seemed to have 
 defended himself. What had been the outcome of the 
 fight ? Probably fatal, since neither Malivert nor his 
 guide had reappeared. The horse was recognised as 
 one of the two hired by Diamantopoulos to the young 
 French traveller. But for lack of clearer indications, 
 the inquiry naturally came to a stop. Every trace of 
 the aggressors and of the victim, — or rather, victims, 
 for there must have been two, — was lost. The thread 
 was broken at the verv outset. 
 
 A detailed description of Malivert and Stavros was 
 sent to every possible place where the direction of the 
 roads might have taken them, but they had not been 
 
 251 
 
SPI RITE 
 
 seen anywhere. Their voyage had ended there. Per- 
 haps the brigands had taken Malivert to some inaces- 
 sible cavern in the mountains in the hope of getting a 
 ransom out of him ; but on examination this theory 
 proved absurd. The brigands would certainly have 
 sent one of their number in disguise to the city to find 
 means of handing to Jack a letter stating the conditions 
 of the ransom, with a threat of mutilation in case of 
 delay, and of death in case of refusal, as is the way in 
 that sort of business. But nothing of the kind had 
 occurred ; no message had come from the mountains 
 to Athens, and the brigands' post-office had not been 
 utilised. 
 
 Jack, who was greatly worried at the idea of return- 
 ing to France without his master, whom he might be 
 supposed to have murdered, although he had never left 
 the Hotel d'Angleterre, did not know which way to 
 turn, and more than ever cursed the mania for travel- 
 ling which leads well-dressed men to gloomy places, 
 where robbers in carnival costumes shoot them down 
 like hares. 
 
 A few days after the search Stavros reappeared at 
 the hotel, in a most pitiable condition, — wan, thin, 
 worn, with a terrified, crazed look, like a spectre rising 
 
 252 
 
4> »4» r,t, rl+ tin rt, rj^l rt* »!<« »fj rj« ri« »|< ^% »4« »4« »i» 
 
 SPI RITE 
 
 from the tomb without having shaken off the dust of 
 the grave. His rich and picturesque costume, that he 
 was so proud of and which produced so marked an 
 effect upon travellers in love with local colour, had 
 been taken from him and replaced by filthy rags 
 covered with the mud of the camping-places. A 
 greasy sheepskin was drawn over his shoulders, and no 
 one would have recognised in him the tourists' favourite 
 guide. His unexpected return was at once reported to 
 the magistrates, and he was temporarily arrested, for 
 though well known in Athens and comparatively 
 honest, he had left with a traveller and was returning 
 alone, — a circumstance which judges are not apt to 
 think quite natural. Nevertheless, Stavros succeeded 
 in proving his innocence. His occupation of guide 
 naturally would not admit of his destroying travellers 
 by whom he profited ; and besides, he did not need to 
 murder them to rob them. Why should he have 
 waited by the edge of a road for victims when they 
 followed him on the high road most willingly, and 
 shared a sufficient quantity of their gold with him ? 
 
 But the story he told of Malivert's death was most 
 strange and very difficult to believe in. According to 
 him, while they were peaceably riding along the hollow 
 
 2 53 
 
•4»»|» «i» *i* »4j »JU 'I* «4» d? ^Ct? d? ti? d? d? t?; 
 
 SPI R ITE 
 
 way at the place where the carcass of the horse had 
 been found, an explosion of firearms was heard, fol- 
 lowed almost immediately by another. The first shot 
 had knocked over the horse ridden by M. de Malivert, 
 and the second had struck the traveller himself, who 
 by an instinctive movement had put his hand to his 
 holster and fired a pistol-shot at random. Three or 
 four bandits had sprung over the bushes to strip Mali- 
 vert, and two others had made Stavros get off his 
 horse, although he did not attempt resistance, knowing 
 it to be useless. 
 
 So far the account was not very difFerent from the 
 usual highwayman stories, but the continuation was 
 much less credible, although the guide swore to its 
 truth. He claimed to have seen by Malivert, dying, 
 whose face, far from expressing anguish or agony, 
 beamed on the contrary with celestial joy, a figure of 
 dazzling whiteness and marvellous beauty, which must 
 have been the Panagia, and which placed upon the 
 traveller's wound, as if to still his sufferings, a hand of 
 light. The bandits, terrified by the apparition, had 
 fled to a distance, and then the lovely lady had taken 
 the dead man's soul and flown away to heaven with it. 
 
 Every effort to shake his account failed. The body 
 
 254 
 
SPIRITE 
 
 of the traveller had been hidden under a rock on the 
 bank of one of the torrents always dry in summer, the 
 bed of which was filled with rose-laurels. As for him, 
 as he was a poor devil not worth killing, he had been 
 first stripped of his handsome clothes, and then taken 
 a long way into the mountains to prevent his revealing 
 the murder, and had escaped only with the greatest 
 difficulty. Stavros was set free, for if he had been 
 guilty, it would have been very easy for him to have 
 reached the islands or the Asiatic coast with Malivert's 
 money. His return to Athens, therefore, proved his 
 innocence. 
 
 The account of Malivert's death was sent to Mme. 
 de Marillac, his sister, very much as it had been told 
 by Stavros ; even Spirite's apparition was mentioned, 
 but as an hallucination of the terrified guide, whose 
 brain did not seem sound. 
 
 Just about the time when the murder was being 
 committed on Mount Parnassus, Baron de Feroe had 
 withdrawn according to custom into his inaccessible 
 rooms, and was busy reading that strange and myste- 
 rious work of Swedenborg entitled, " Marriage in the 
 Other Life." While he was reading he felt a peculiar 
 sensation, as when he was warned of a revelation. 
 
 255 
 
kk k & 4: :b dsr "k sb tb 'k'k'k&'k&'k&tk'kis & tfctfc 
 
 SPIRITE 
 
 The thought of Malivert crossed his brain, although 
 it was not brought by any natural transition. A light 
 showed in his room, the walls of which became trans- 
 parent and opened like a hypaetral temple, showing at 
 an immense depth, not the sky beheld by human eyes, 
 but the heavens which are beheld by seers. In the 
 centre of a glory of light which seemed to issue from 
 the depths of the infinite, two points of still greater 
 intensity of splendour, like diamonds in a flame, scin- 
 tillated, palpitated, and drew near, assuming the appear- 
 ance of Malivert and Spirite. They floated side by 
 side in a celestial, radiant joy, caressing each other 
 with their wings and toying with divine endearments. 
 Soon they drew closer and closer, and then, like two 
 drops of dew rolling on the same lily leaf, they finally 
 formed a single pearl. 
 
 " There they are, happy forever, their united souls 
 forming an angel of love," said Baron de Feroe, with 
 a melancholy smile. " But how long have I still to 
 wait ? " 
 
 256 
 
The Vampire 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 YOU ask me, brother, if I have ever loved. 
 I have. It is a strange story, and though 
 I am sixty, I scarce venture to stir the 
 ashes of that remembrance. I mean to 
 refuse you nothing, but to no soul less tried than 
 yours would I tell the story. The events are so strange 
 that I can hardly believe they did happen. I was for 
 more than three years the plaything of a singular and 
 diabolical illusion. I, a poor priest, I led in my dreams 
 every night — God grant they were dreams only ! — 
 the life of the damned, the life of the worldly, the life 
 of Sardanapalus. A single glance, too full of approval, 
 cast upon a woman, nearly cost me the loss of my 
 soul. But at last, by the help of God and of my holy 
 patron, I was able to drive away the evil spirit which 
 had possessed me. My life was complicated by an 
 entirely different nocturnal life. During the day I was 
 a priest of God, chaste, busied with prayers and holy 
 things; at night, as soon as I had closed my eyes, I 
 became a young nobleman, a connoisseur of women, 
 of horses and dogs, gambling, drinking, and cursing, 
 
 259 
 
&± 4: * ± * £ i: ± * a********** £ dbdb 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 and when at dawn I awoke, it seemed to me rather 
 that I was going to sleep and dreaming of being a 
 priest. Of that somnambulistic life there have re- 
 mained in my remembrance things and words I can- 
 not put away, and although I have never left the walls 
 of my presbytery, you will be apt to think, on hearing 
 me, that I am a man who, having worn out everything 
 and having given up the world and entered religion, 
 means to end in the bosom of God days too greatly 
 agitated, rather than a humble student in a seminary, 
 who has grown old in a forgotten parish in the depths 
 of a forest, and who has never had anything to do with 
 the things of the day. 
 
 Yes, I have loved, as no one on earth ever loved, 
 with an insensate and furious love, so violent that I 
 wonder it did not break my heart. Ah ! what nights ! 
 what nights I have had ! 
 
 From my youngest childhood I felt the vocation to 
 the priesthood and all my studies were therefore bent 
 in that direction. My life until the age of twenty-four 
 was nothing but one long novitiate. Having finished 
 my theological studies, I passed successfully through 
 the minor orders, and my superiors considered me 
 worthy, in spite of my youth, of crossing the last dread 
 
 260 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 limit. The day of my ordination was fixed for Easter 
 week. 
 
 I had never gone into the world. The world, to 
 me, lay within the walls of the college and of the 
 seminary. I knew vaguely that there was something 
 called a woman, but my thoughts never dwelt upon it ; 
 I was utterly innocent. I saw my old, infirm mother 
 but twice a year; she was the only connection I had 
 with the outer world. I regretted nothing ; I felt not 
 the least hesitation in the presence of the irrevocable 
 engagement I was about to enter into ; nay, I was joy- 
 ous and full of impatience. Never did a young bride- 
 groom count the hours with more feverish ardour. I 
 could not sleep ; I dreamed that I was saying Mass ; 
 I saw nothing more glorious in the world than to be a 
 priest. I would have refused, had I been offered a 
 kingdom, to be a king or a poet instead, for my ambi- 
 tion conceived nothing finer. 
 
 What I am telling you is to show you that what 
 happened to me ought not to have happened, and that 
 I was the victim of the most inexplicable fascination. 
 
 The great day having come, I walked to the church 
 with so light a step that it seemed to me that I was 
 borne in the air, or that I had wings on my shoulders ; 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 I thought myself an angel, and I was amazed at the 
 sombre and preoccupied expression of my companions, 
 — for there were several of us. I had spent the night 
 in prayer, and was in a state bordering on ecstasy. 
 The bishop, a venerable old man, seemed to me like 
 God the Father bending from eternity, and I beheld the 
 heavens through the vault of the dome. 
 
 You are acquainted with the details of the cere- 
 mony : the benediction, the Communion in both kinds, 
 the anointing of the palms of the hands with the oil 
 of the catechumens, and finally the sacred sacrifice 
 offered in conjunction with the bishop. I will not 
 dwell on these things. Oh ! how right was Job, " Im- 
 prudent is he who has not made a covenant with his 
 eyes " ! I happened to raise my head, which until then 
 I had kept bent down, and I saw before me, so close 
 that I might have touched her, although in reality 
 she was a long way off, on the other side of the railing, 
 a young woman of wondrous beauty dressed with regal 
 magnificence. It was as though scales had fallen from 
 my eyes. I felt like a blind man suddenly recovering 
 his sight. The bishop, so radiant but now, was sud- 
 denly dimmed, the flame of the tapers on their golden 
 candlesticks turned pale like stars in the morning light, 
 262 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 and the whole church was shrouded in deep obscurity. 
 The lovely creature stood out against this shadow like 
 an angelic revelation. She seemed illumined from 
 within, and to give forth light rather than to receive it. 
 I cast down my eyes, determined not to look up again, 
 so as to avoid the influence of external objects, for I 
 was becoming more and more inattentive and I scarcely 
 knew what I was about. Yet a moment later I opened 
 my eyes again, for through my eyelids I saw her daz- 
 zling with the prismatic colours in a radiant penumbra, 
 just as when one has gazed upon the sun. 
 
 Oh, how beautiful she was ! The greatest painters 
 had never approached this fabulous reality, even 
 when, pursuing ideal beauty in the heavens, they 
 brought back to earth the divine portrait of the Ma- 
 donna. Neither the verse of the poet nor the palette 
 of the painter can give you an idea of her. She was 
 rather tall, with the figure and the port of a goddess. 
 Her hair, of a pale gold, was parted on her brow and 
 flowed down her temples like two golden streams ; she 
 looked like a crowned queen. Her forehead, of a 
 bluish whiteness, spread out broad and serene over the 
 almost brown eyebrows, a singularity which added to 
 the effect of the sea-green eyes, the brilliancy and fire 
 
 263 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 of which were unbearable. Oh, what eyes ! With 
 one flash they settled a man's fate. They were filled 
 with a life, a limpidity, an ardour, a moist glow, 
 which I have never seen in any other human eyes. 
 From them flashed glances like arrows, which I dis- 
 tinctly saw striking my heart. I know not whether 
 the flame that illumined them came from heaven or 
 hell, but undoubtedly it came from one or the other 
 place. That woman was an angel or a demon, per- 
 haps both. She certainly did not come from the 
 womb of Eve, our common mother. Teeth of the 
 loveliest pearl sparkled through her rosy smile, and 
 little dimples marked each inflection of her mouth in 
 the rosy satin of her adorable cheeks. As to her nose, 
 it was of regal delicacy and pride, and betrayed the 
 noblest origin. An agate polish played upon the 
 smooth, lustrous skin of her half-uncovered shoulders, 
 and strings of great fair pearls, almost similar in tone 
 to her neck, fell upon her bosom. From time to time 
 she drew up her head with the undulating movement 
 of an adder or of a peacock, and made the tall em- 
 broidered ruff that surrounded her like a silver trellis 
 tremble slightly. She wore a dress of orange-red vel- 
 vet, and out of the broad, ermine-lined sleeves issued 
 
 264 
 
J^tMm *t* «JU »!-. tiy% JU rl-» »1» »A» »!■» *A» yl* »^ e4» r£i rlj »Ai Jl» fl* «§**j* 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 wondrously delicate patrician hands, with long, plump 
 fingers, so ideally transparent that the light passed 
 through them as through the fingers of Dawn. 
 
 All these details are still as vivid to me as if I had 
 seen her but yesterday, and although I was a prey to 
 the greatest agitation, nothing escaped me; the faintest 
 tint, the smallest dark spot on the corner of the chin, 
 the scarcely perceptible down at the corners of the lips, 
 the velvety brow, the trembling shadow of the eyelashes 
 on her cheeks, — I noted all with astonishing lucidity. 
 
 As I gazed at her, I felt open within me doors 
 hitherto fast-closed; passages obstructed until now were 
 cleared away in every direction and revealed unsus- 
 pected prospects ; life appeared in a new guise ; I had 
 just been born into a new order of ideas. Frightful 
 anguish clutched my heart, and every minute that 
 passed seemed to me a second and an age. Yet the 
 ceremony was proceeding, and I was being carried 
 farther from the world, the entrance to which was 
 fiercely besieged by my nascent desires. I said " yes," 
 however, when I meant to say "no," when everything 
 in me was revolting and protesting against the vio- 
 lence my vow was doing to my will. An occult force 
 dragged the words from my mouth in spite of myself. 
 
 265 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 It is perhaps just what so many young girls do when 
 they go to the altar with a firm resolve to boldly 
 refuse the husband forced upon them. Not one car- 
 ries out her intention. It is no doubt the same thing 
 which makes so many poor novices take the veil, al- 
 though they are quite determined to tear it to pieces 
 at the moment of speaking their vows. No one dares 
 to cause such a scandal before everybody, nor to de- 
 ceive the expectations of so many present. The nu- 
 merous wills, the numerous glances, seem to weigh 
 down on one like a leaden cloak. And then, every 
 precaution is so carefully taken, everything is so well 
 settled beforehand in a fashion so evidently irrevocable 
 that thought yields to the weight of fact and completely 
 gives way. 
 
 The expression of the fair unknown changed as the 
 ceremony progressed. Her glance, tender and caress- 
 ing at first, became disdainful and dissatisfied as if to 
 reproach me with dulness of perception. I made an 
 effort, mighty enough to have overthrown a mountain, 
 to cry out that I would not be a priest, but I could not 
 manage it; my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth 
 and it was impossible for me to express my will by the 
 smallest negative sign. I was, although wide-awake, 
 
 266 
 
4* 4» 4» 4j 4; 4« 4*4; ^^4*^4»4«4»4»4»4»4»4»4» dbd&db 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 in a state similar to that of nightmare, when one seeks 
 to call out a word on which one's life depends, and yet 
 is unable to do so. 
 
 She seemed to understand the martyrdom I was suf- 
 fering, and as if to encourage me, she cast upon me a 
 look full of divine promise. Her eyes were a poem, 
 her every glance was a canto; she was saying to me : 
 
 " If you will come with me, I will make you more 
 happy than God Himself in Paradise. The angels will 
 be jealous of you. Tear away the funeral shroud in 
 which you are about to wrap yourself. I am beauty 
 and youth and love ; come to me, and together we 
 shall be Love. What can Jehovah offer you in com- 
 pensation ? Our life shall pass like a dream, and will 
 be but one eternal kiss. Pour out the wine in that 
 cup and you are free. We will go away to un- 
 known isles and you shall sleep on my bosom on a 
 bed of massive gold under a pavilion of silver. For I 
 love you and mean to take you from your God, before 
 whom so many youthful hearts pour out floods of love 
 that never reach Him." 
 
 It seemed to me that I heard these words on a 
 rhythm of infinite sweetness, for her glance was almost 
 sonorous, and the phrases her eyes sent me sounded 
 
 267 
 
Ju .1-. ri. ri* >a* rfr« ttr^fc jb sfetife dbsbdbsbtfe^l? fllr sirsfe 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 within my heart as if invisible lips had breathed them. 
 I felt myself ready to renounce God, but my hand was 
 mechanically accomplishing the formalities of the cere- 
 mony. The beauty cast upon me a second glance so 
 beseeching, so despairing that sharp blades pierced my 
 heart, and I felt more swords enter my breast than did 
 the Mother of Sorrows. 
 
 Never did any human face exhibit more poignant 
 anguish. The maiden who sees her betrothed fall 
 suddenly dead by her side, the mother by the empty 
 cradle of her child, Eve seated on the threshold of the 
 gate of Paradise, the miser who finds a stone in place 
 of his treasure, the poet who has accidentally dropped, 
 into the fire the only manuscript of his favourite work, 
 — not one of them could look more inconsolable, more 
 stricken to the heart. The blood left her lovely face 
 and she turned pale as marble. Her beautiful arms 
 hung limp by her body as if the muscles had been un- 
 knotted, and she leaned against a pillar, for her limbs 
 were giving way under her. As for me, livid, my 
 brow covered with a sweat more bloody than that of 
 Calvary, I staggered towards the church door. I was 
 stifling ; the vaulting seemed to press down on me and 
 my hand to upbear alone the weight of the cupola. 
 
 268 
 
& & 4; 4. 4. 4, & £ 4:4.4.^4.4. 4.4. 4.4;^ 4; 4.4. 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 As I was about to cross the threshold, a woman's 
 hand suddenly touched mine. I had never touched 
 one before. It was cold like the skin of a serpent, 
 yet it burned me like the print of a red-hot iron. 
 It was she. " Oh, unfortunate man ! unfortunate 
 man ! What have you done ? " she whispered ; then 
 disappeared in the crowd. 
 
 The old bishop passed by. He looked severely at 
 me. My appearance was startlingly strange. I turned 
 pale, blushed red, and flames passed before my eyes. 
 One of my comrades took pity on me and led me 
 away ; I was incapable of finding alone the road to 
 the seminary. At the corner of a street, while the 
 young priest happened to look in another direction, a 
 quaintly dressed negro page approached me and without 
 staying his steps handed me a small pocket-book with 
 chased gold corners, signing to me to conceal it. I 
 slipped it into my sleeve and kept it there until I was 
 alone in my cell. I opened it. It contained but two 
 leaves with these words : " Clarimonda, at the Palazzo 
 Concini." I was then so ignorant of life that I did 
 not know of Clarimonda, in spite of her fame, and I 
 was absolutely ignorant where the Palazzo Concini 
 was situated. I made innumerable conjectures of the 
 
 269 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 most extravagant kind, but the truth is that, provided I 
 could see her again, I cared little what she might be, 
 whether a great lady or a courtesan. 
 
 This new-born love of mine was hopelessly rooted 
 within me. I did not even attempt to expel it from 
 my heart, for I felt that that was an impossibility. 
 The woman had wholly seized upon me ; a single 
 glance of hers had been sufficient to change me ; she 
 had breathed her soul into me, and I no longer lived 
 but in her and through her. I indulged in countless 
 extravagant fancies ; I kissed on my hand the spot 
 she had touched, and I repeated her name for hours at 
 a time. All I needed to do to see her as plainly as if 
 • she had been actually present was to close my eyes ; I 
 repeated the words which she had spoken to me, 
 " Unfortunate man ! unfortunate man ! what have you 
 done ? " I grasped the full horror of my situation, 
 and the dread, sombre aspects of the state which I 
 had embraced were plainly revealed to me. To be a 
 priest; that is, to remain chaste, never to love, never 
 to notice sex or age ; to turn aside from beauty, to 
 voluntarily blind myself, to crawl in the icy shadows 
 of a cloister or a church, to see none but the dying, to 
 watch by strangers' beds, to wear mourning for myself" 
 
 270 
 
*jU rtt c(L» rJ/» r-t-» «1* •1" »4» 4?»?tti? J*?t*?ts? s|* tfc SB? «£• 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 in the form of the black cassock, a robe that may readily 
 be used to line your coffin. 
 
 Meanwhile I felt life rising within me like an inter- 
 nal lake, swelling and overflowing ; my blood surged 
 in my veins ; my youth, so long suppressed, burst out 
 suddenly like the aloe that blooms but once in a 
 hundred years, and then like a thunder-clap. How 
 could I manage to see Clarimonda again ? I could find 
 no pretext to leave the seminary, for I knew no 
 one in town. Indeed, my stay in it was to be very 
 short, for I was merely waiting to be appointed to a 
 parish. I tried to loosen the bars of the window, but 
 it was at a terrific height from the ground, and hav- 
 ing no ladder, I had to give up that plan. Besides, 
 I could go out at night only, and how should I ever 
 find my way through the labyrinth of streets ? All 
 these difficulties, which would have been slight to other 
 men, were tremendous for me, a poor seminarist, in 
 love since yesterday, without experience, without money, 
 and without clothes. 
 
 " Ah, if only I had not been a priest, I might have 
 seen her every day ; I might have been her lover, her 
 husband," I said to myself in my blindness. Instead of 
 being wrapped in my gloomy shroud, I should have 
 
 271 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 worn silk and velvet, chains of gold, a sword and a 
 plume, like handsome young cavaliers. My hair, 
 instead of being dishonoured by a broad tonsure, would 
 have fallen in ringlets around my neck ; I should have 
 worn a handsome waxed moustache ; I should have 
 been a valiant man. A single hour spent before an 
 altar, a few words scarcely breathed, had cut me off 
 forever from the living ; I had myself sealed the stone 
 of my tomb ; I had pushed with my own hand the 
 bolts of my prison door. 
 
 I looked out of the window. The heavens were 
 wondrously blue, the trees had assumed their spring- 
 time livery, nature exhibited ironical joy. The square 
 was full of people coming and going. Young dandies 
 and young beauties in couples were going towards the 
 gardens and the arbours ; workmen passed by, singing 
 drinking songs ; there was an animation, a life, a rush, 
 a gaiety, which contrasted all the more painfully with 
 my mourning and my solitude. A young mother 
 was playing with her child on the threshold of a 
 door. She kissed its little rosy lips still pearly with 
 drops of milk, and indulged, as she teased it, in 
 those many divine puerilities which mothers alone 
 can invent. The father, who stood a little way off, 
 
 272 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 was smiling gently at the charming group, and his 
 crossed arms pressed his joy to his heart. I could not 
 bear the sight. I closed the window and threw myself 
 on my bed, my heart rilled with frightful hatred and 
 jealousy, and I bit my fingers and my coverlet as if I 
 had been a tiger starving for three days. 
 
 I know not how long I remained in this condition, 
 but in turning over in a furious spasm, I perceived 
 Father Serapion standing in the middle of the room 
 gazing attentively at me. I was ashamed of myself, 
 and letting fall my head upon my breast, I covered my 
 face with my hands. 
 
 " Romualdo, my friend, something extraordinary is 
 taking place in you," said Serapion after a few 
 moments' silence. " Your conduct is absolutely inex- 
 plicable. You, so pious, so calm, and so gentle, you 
 have been raging in your cell like a wild beast. Be- 
 ware, my brother, and do not listen to the suggestions 
 of the devil. The evil spirit, angered at your having 
 devoted yourself to the Lord, prowls around you like a 
 ravening wolf, and is making a last effort to draw you to 
 himself. Instead of allowing yourself to be cast down, 
 dear Romualdo, put on the breastplate of prayer, take 
 up the shield of mortification, and valiantly fight the 
 
 ig 273 
 
:t" -J; d; ± i: el* -i: i* ± £ ± ±±£± ± £ £ & £ ±- & ± 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 enemy. You will overcome him. Trial is indispen- 
 sable to virtue, and gold emerges finer from the crucible. 
 Be not dismayed nor discouraged ; the best guarded and 
 the strongest souls have passed through just such 
 moments. Pray, fast, meditate, and the evil one will 
 flee from you." 
 
 The father's discourse brought me back to myself, 
 and I became somewhat calmer. " I was coming," 
 he said, " to inform you that you are appointed to the 
 
 parish of C . The priest who occupied it has just 
 
 died, and his lordship the Bishop has charged me to 
 install you there. Be ready to-morrow." 
 
 I signed that I would be ready, and the father 
 withdrew. 
 
 I opened my breviary and began to read my prayers, 
 but the lines soon became confused ; I lost the thread 
 of my thoughts, and the book slipped from my hands 
 without my noticing it. 
 
 To leave to-morrow without having seen her again ! 
 To add one more impossibility to all those that already 
 existed between us ! To lose forever the hope of 
 meeting her unless a miracle occurred ! Even if I 
 were to write to her, how could I send my letter ? 
 Considering the sacred functions which I had assumed, 
 
 274 
 
JU «JU rJU »4» "Jj? ^ ^* jfj? t^? jf? t~* ^7? *~* tr? Tr? 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 to whom could I confide, in whom could I trust ? 1 
 felt terrible anxiety. Then what Father Serapion had 
 just said to me of the wiles of the devil recurred to my 
 memory. The strangeness of the adventure, the 
 supernatural beauty of Clarimonda, the phosphorescent 
 gleam of her glance, the burning touch of her hand, 
 the trouble into which she had thrown me, the sudden 
 change which had occurred in me, my piety vanished 
 in an instant, — everything went to prove plainly the 
 presence of the devil, and that satin-like hand could 
 only be the glove that covered his claws. These 
 thoughts caused me much terror. I picked up the 
 breviary that had fallen to the ground from my knees, 
 and I again began to pray. 
 
 The next day Serapion came for me. Two mules 
 were waiting for us at the door, carrying our small 
 valises. He got on one and I on the other as well as 
 I could. While traversing the streets of the town, I 
 looked at every window and every balcony in the 
 hope of seeing Clarimonda, but it was too early ; and 
 the town was not yet awake. My glance tried to 
 pierce through the blinds and curtains of all the palaces 
 in front of which we were passing. No doubt Sera- 
 pion thought my curiosity was due to the admiration 
 
 275 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 caused in me by the beauty of the architecture, for he 
 slackened his mule's speed to give me time to look. 
 Finally we reached the city gate and began to ascend 
 the hill. When we reached the top, I turned around 
 once again to gaze at the spot where lived Clarimonda. 
 The shadow of a cloud covered the whole town ; the 
 blue and red roofs were harmonized in one uniform 
 half-tint, over which showed, like flecks of foam, the 
 morning smoke. By a singular optical effect there 
 stood out bright under a single beam of light a building 
 that rose far above the neighbouring houses, wholly 
 lost in the mist. Although it was certainly three miles 
 away, it seemed quite close ; the smallest detail could 
 be made out, — the turrets, the platforms, the windows, 
 even the swallow-tailed vanes. 
 
 " What is that palace yonder lighted by a sun- 
 beam ? " I asked Serapion. 
 
 He shaded his eyes with his hand, and after having 
 looked, answered : " That is the old palazzo which 
 Prince Concini gave to Clarimonda the courtesan. 
 Fearful things take place there." 
 
 At that moment, — I have never known whether it 
 was a reality or an illusion, — I thought I saw on the 
 terrace a slender white form that gleamed for a second 
 
 276 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 and vanished. It was Clarimonda. Oh ! did she 
 know that at that very moment, from the top of the 
 rough road which was talcing me away from her, 
 ardent and restless, I was watching the palace she 
 dwelt in, and which a derisive effect of light seemed 
 to draw near to me as if to invite me to enter it as 
 its master? No doubt she knew it, for her soul was 
 too much in sympathy with mine not to have felt its 
 every emotion, and it was that feeling which had urged 
 her, still wearing her night-dress, to ascend to the 
 terrace in the icy-cold dew of morning. 
 
 The shadow reached the palace, and all turned into 
 a motionless ocean of roofs and attics in which noth- 
 ing was to be distinguished save swelling undulations. 
 Serapion urged on his mule ; mine immediately started 
 too, and a turn in the road concealed forever from me 
 
 the town of S , for I was never to return there. 
 
 After three days' travelling through a monotonous 
 country, we saw rising above the trees the weather- 
 cock of the steeple of the church to which I had been 
 appointed ; and after having traversed some tortuous 
 streets bordered by huts and small gardens, we arrived 
 before the facade, which was not very magnificent. 
 A porch adorned with a few mouldings and two or 
 
 277 
 
cJ-» rl* <-l » «■ r* -r »(U «J/» »!-» d» rV» »A» »ij » r-'- «4* »4» »|» *£* 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 three sandstone pillars roughly cut, a tiled roof, and 
 buttresses of the same sandstone as the pillars, — that 
 was all. On the left, the cemetery overgrown with 
 grass, with a tall iron cross in the centre ; to the right, 
 in the shadow of the church, the presbytery, a very 
 plain, poor, but clean house. We entered. A few 
 hens were picking up scattered grain. Accustomed, 
 apparently, to the black dress of ecclesiastics, they were 
 not frightened by our presence, and scarcely moved 
 out of the way. A hoarse bark was heard, and an old 
 dog ran up to us ; it was my predecessor's dog. Its 
 eye was dim, its coat was gray, and it exhibited every 
 symptom of the greatest age a dog can reach. I patted 
 it gently with my hand, and it immediately walked be- 
 side me with an air of inexpressible satisfaction. An 
 old woman, who had been housekeeper to the former 
 priest, also came to meet us, and after having shown 
 us into the lower room, asked me if I intended to keep 
 her. I told her that I should do so, and the dog 
 and the hens also, and whatever furniture her master 
 had left her at his death, which caused her a transport 
 of joy, Father Serapion having at once paid her the 
 price she had set upon it. 
 
 Having thus installed me, Father Serapion returned 
 
 278 
 
•kifk is "k •k is is is k kkkkkkkkkkk db 4rdb 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 to the seminary. I therefore remained alone and with- 
 out any other help than my own. The thought of 
 Clarimonda again began to haunt me, and in spite of 
 the efforts I made to drive it away, I was not always 
 successful. One evening as I was walking through 
 the box-edged walks of my little garden, I thought I 
 saw through the shrubbery a female form watching my 
 movements, and two sea-green eyes flashing amid the 
 foliage, but it was merely an illusion. Having passed 
 on the other side of the walk, I found only the imprint 
 of a foot on the sand, so small that it looked like a 
 child's foot. The garden was shut in by very high 
 walls. I visited every nook and corner of it, but found 
 no one. I have never been able to explain the fact, 
 which, for the matter of that, was nothing by compar- 
 ison with the strange things that were to happen to 
 me. 
 
 I had been living in this way for a year, carefullv 
 fulfilling all the duties of my profession, praying, fast- 
 ing, exhorting, and succouring the sick, giving alms 
 even to the extent of depriving myself of the most in- 
 dispensable necessaries ; but I felt within me extreme 
 aridity, and the sources of grace were closed to me. 
 I did not enjoy the happiness which comes of fulfilling 
 
 279 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 a holy mission ; my thoughts were elsewhere, and 
 Clarimonda's words often recurred to me. O my 
 brother, ponder this carefully. Because I had a single 
 time looked at a woman, because I had committed 
 a fault apparently so slight, I suffered for several years 
 the most dreadful agitation and my life was troubled 
 forever. 
 
 I shall not dwell longer upon these inward defeats 
 and victories which were always followed by greater 
 falls, but I shall pass at once to a decisive circum- 
 stance. One night there was a violent ringing at my 
 door. The housekeeper went to open it, and a dark- 
 complexioned man, richly dressed in a foreign fashion, 
 wearing a long dagger, showed under the rays of Bar- 
 bara's lantern. Her first movement was one of terror, 
 but the man reassured her, and told her that he must 
 see me at once on a matter concerning my ministry. 
 Barbara brought him upstairs. I was just about to 
 go to bed. The man told me that his mistress, a very 
 great lady, was dying and asking for a priest. I replied 
 that I was ready to follow him, took what was needed 
 for extreme unction, and descended quickly. At the 
 door were impatiently pawing and stamping two horses 
 black as night, breathing out long jets of smoke. 
 
 280 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 He held the stirrup for me and helped me to mount 
 one, then sprang on the other, merely resting his hand 
 upon the pommel of the saddle. He pressed in his 
 knees and gave his horse its head, when it went 
 off like an arrow. My own, of which he held the 
 bridle, also started at a gallop and kept up easily with 
 the other. We rushed over the ground, which flashed 
 by us gray and streaked, and the black silhouettes of 
 the trees fled like the rout of an army. We traversed 
 a forest, the darkness of which was so dense and icy 
 that I felt a shudder of superstitious terror. The 
 sparks which our horses' hoofs struck from the stones 
 formed a trail of fire, and if any one had seen us at 
 that time of night, he would have taken us for two 
 spectres bestriding nightmares. From time to time 
 will-o'-the-wisps flashed across the road, and the jack- 
 daws croaked sadly in the thickness of the wood, in 
 which shone here and there the phosphorescent eyes 
 of wildcats. Our horses' manes streamed out wildly, 
 sweat poured down their sides, and their breath came 
 short and quick through their nostrils ; but when the 
 equerry saw them slackening speed, he excited them 
 by a guttural cry which had nothing of human in 
 it, and the race began again madder than ever. At 
 
 281 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 last our whirlwind stopped. A black mass dotted 
 with brilliant points suddenly rose before us. The 
 steps of our steeds sounded louder upon the iron- 
 bound flooring, and we entered under an archway the 
 sombre mouth of which yawned between two huge 
 towers. Great excitement reigned in the chateau. 
 Servants with torches in their hands were traversing 
 the courts in every direction, and lights were ascending 
 and descending from story to story. I caught a con- 
 fused glimpse of vast architecture, — columns, arcades, 
 steps, stairs, a perfectly regal and fairy-like splendour 
 of construction. A negro page, the same who had 
 handed me Clarimonda's tablets, and whom I at once 
 recognised, helped me to descend, and a majordomo, 
 dressed in black velvet, with a gold chain around his 
 neck and an ivory cane, advanced towards me. Great 
 tears fell from his eyes and flowed down his cheeks 
 upon his white beard. M Too late. 4 ' he said, shaking 
 his head. " Too late, my lord priest. But if you 
 have not been able to save the soul, come and pray for 
 the poor body." He took me by the arm and led me 
 to the room of death. I wept as bitterly as he did, for 
 I had understood that the dead woman was none else 
 than Clarimonda, whom I had loved so deeply and 
 
 282 
 
» t~ rl% »1» »{-. rJ/i rl» »1* «L> ^f. Tt? Tt? Tr? Tt? tr? *j? TaTtr???? 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 madly. A prie-dieu was placed by the bedside ; a 
 bluish flame rising from a bronze cup cast through the 
 room a faint, vague light, and here and there brought 
 out of the shadow the corner of a piece of furniture or 
 of a cornice. On a table, in a chased urn, was a 
 faded white rose, the petals of which, with a single 
 exception, had all fallen at the foot of the vase like 
 perfumed tears. A broken black mask, a fan, and dis- 
 guises of all kinds lay about on the armchairs, showing 
 that death had entered this sumptuous dwelling unex- 
 pectedly and without warning. I knelt, not daring to 
 cast my eyes on the bed, and began to recite the 
 psalms with great fervour, thanking God for having 
 put the tomb between the thought of that woman and 
 myself, so that I might add to my prayers her name, 
 henceforth sanctified. Little by little, however, my 
 fervour diminished, and I fell into a reverie. The 
 room had in no wise the aspect of a chamber of death. 
 Instead of the fetid and cadaverous air which I was 
 accustomed to breathe during my funeral watches, a 
 languorous vapour of Oriental incense, a strange, am- 
 orous odour of woman, floated softly in the warm air. 
 The pale light resembled less the yellow flame of the 
 night-light that flickers by the side of the dead than 
 
 ^3 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 the soft illumination of voluptuousness. I thought of 
 the strange chance which made me meet Clarimonda 
 at the very moment when I had lost her forever, and a 
 sigh of regret escaped from my breast. I thought I 
 heard some one sigh behind hie, and I turned involun- 
 tarily. It was the echo. As I turned, my eyes fell 
 upon the state-bed which until then I had avoided 
 looking at. The red damask curtains with great 
 flowered pattern, held back by golden cords, allowed 
 the dead woman to be seen, lying full length, her 
 hands crossed on her breast. She was covered with a 
 linen veil of dazzling whiteness, made still more bril- 
 liant by the dark purple of the hangings ; it was so 
 tenuous that it concealed nothing of the charming 
 form of her body, and allowed me to note the lovely 
 lines, undulating like the neck of a swan, which even 
 death itself had been unable to stiffen. She looked 
 like an alabaster statue, the work of some clever 
 sculptor, intended to be placed on a queen's tomb, or 
 a young sleeping girl on whom snow had fallen. 
 
 I was losing my self-mastery. The sensuous air 
 intoxicated me, the feverish scent of the half-faded 
 rose went to my brain, and I strode up and down the 
 room, stopping every time before the dais to gaze at 
 
 284 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 the lovely dead woman through her transparent shroud. 
 Strange thoughts came into my mind ; I imagined that 
 she was not really dead, that this was but a feint she 
 had employed to draw me to her chateau and to tell 
 me of her love. Once indeed I thought I saw her 
 foot move under the white veil, disarranging the 
 straight folds of the shroud. 
 
 Then I said to myself, " But is it Clarimonda ? 
 How do I know ? The black page may have passed 
 into some other woman's service. I am mad to grieve 
 and worry as I am doing." But my heart replied, as 
 it beat loud, " It is she, — it is none but she." I drew 
 nearer the bed and gazed with increased attention at 
 the object of my uncertainty. Shall I confess it ? 
 The perfection of her form, though refined and sancti- 
 fied by the shadow of death, troubled me more volup- 
 tuously than was right, and her repose was so like 
 sleep that any one might have been deceived by it. I 
 forgot that I had come there to perform the funeral 
 offices, and I imagined that I was a young husband 
 entering the room of his bride who hides her face 
 through modesty and will not allow herself to be seen. 
 Sunk in grief, mad with joy, shivering with fear and 
 pleasure, I bent towards her and took up the corner 
 
 285 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 of the shroud ; I raised it slowly, holding in my breath 
 for fear of waking her. My arteries palpitated with 
 such force that I felt the blood surging in my temples 
 and my brow was covered with sweat as if I had been 
 lifting a marble slab. It was indeed Clarimonda, such 
 as I had seen her in the church on the day of my 
 ordination. She was as lovely as then, and death 
 seemed to be but a new coquetry of hers. The pallor 
 of her cheeks, the paler rose of her lips, the long closed 
 eyelashes showing their brown fringes against the 
 whiteness, gave her an inexpressibly seductive expres- 
 sion of melancholy chastity and of pensive suffering. 
 Her long hair, undone, in which were still a few little 
 blue flowers, formed a pillow for her head and pro- 
 tected with its curls the nudity of her shoulders. Her 
 lovely hands, purer and more diaphanous than the 
 Host, were crossed in an attitude of pious repose and 
 of silent prayer that softened the too great seduction, 
 even in death, of the exquisite roundness and the ivory 
 polish of her bare arms from which the pearl bracelets 
 had not been removed. I remained long absorbed in 
 mute contemplation. The longer I looked at her, the 
 less I could believe that life had forever forsaken that 
 lovely frame. I know not whether it was an illusion 
 
 286 
 
&&&&& &&£±£:4:4:£&£&&±&ib£&£:£ 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 or a reflection of the lamp, but it seemed to me that 
 the blood was beginning to course again under the mat 
 pallor ; yet she still remained perfectly motionless. I 
 gently touched her arm ; it was cold, yet no colder 
 than her hand on the day it touched me under the 
 porch of the church. I resumed my position, bending 
 my face over hers, and let fall upon her cheeks the 
 warm dew of my tears. Oh, what a bitter despair and 
 powerlessness I felt ! Oh, what agony I underwent 
 during that watch ! I wished I could take my whole 
 life in order to give it to her, and breathe upon her icy 
 remains the flame that devoured me. Night was 
 passing, and feeling the moment of eternal separation 
 approaching, I was unable to refuse myself the sad and 
 supreme sweetness of putting one kiss upon the dead 
 lips of her who had had all my love. But, oh, won- 
 der ! a faint breath mingled with mine, and Clari- 
 monda's lips answered to the pressure of mine. Her 
 eyes opened, became somewhat brighter, she sighed, 
 and moving her arms, placed them around my neck 
 with an air of ineffable delight. " Oh, it is you, 
 Romualdo ! " she said in a voice as languishing and soft 
 as the last faint vibrations of a harp. " I waited for 
 you so long that I am dead. But now we are be- 
 
 287 
 
^tick 4: i: 4: & i: £: £ dbtbdbsfr&db&tlr A sbtlr 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 trothed ; I shall be able to see you and to come to you. 
 Farewell, Romualdo, farewell ! I love you ; that is 
 all I wish to say to you, and I give you back the life 
 which you have recalled to me for one moment with 
 your kiss. Good-bye, but not for long." 
 
 Her head fell back, but her arms were still around 
 me as if to hold me. A wild gust of wind burst in 
 the window and rushed into the room ; the last leaf of 
 the white rose fluttered for a moment like a wing at the 
 top of the stem, then broke away and flew out of the 
 casement, bearing Clarimonda's soul. The lamp went 
 out and I swooned away on the bosom of the lovely 
 dead. 
 
 When I recovered my senses, I was lying on my 
 bed in my little room in my house, and the old dog of 
 the former priest was licking my hand that was hang- 
 ing out from under the blanket. Barbara, shaky 
 with old age, was busy opening and closing drawers 
 and mixing powders in glasses. On seeing me open 
 my eyes, the old woman uttered a cry of joy, while 
 the dog yelped and wagged his tail ; but I was so weak 
 that I could neither move nor speak. I learned later 
 that I had remained for three days in that condition, 
 giving no other sign of life than faint breathing. These 
 
 288 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 three days are cut out of my life. I do not know where 
 my mind was during that time, having absolutely no 
 remembrance of it. Barbara told me that the same 
 copper-complexioned man who had come to fetch me 
 during the night, had brought me back the next morn- 
 ing in a closed litter and had immediately departed. As 
 soon as I could collect my thoughts, I went over in my 
 own mind all the circumstances of that fatal night. At 
 first I thought I had been the dupe of some magical 
 illusion, but real and palpable circumstances soon 
 shattered that supposition. I could not believe I had 
 been dreaming, since Barbara had seen, just as I 
 had, the man with two black horses, and described 
 his dress and appearance accurately. Yet no one 
 knew of any chateau in the neighbourhood answering 
 to the description of that in which I had again met 
 Clarimonda. 
 
 One morning I saw Father Serapion enter. Barbara 
 had sent him word that I was ill, and he had hastened 
 to come to me. Although this eagerness proved affec- 
 tion for and interest in me, his visit did not give me 
 the pleasure I should have felt. The penetration and 
 the inquisitiveness of his glance troubled me; I felt 
 embarrassed and guilty in his presence. He had been 
 
 9 
 
 289 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 the first to notice my inward trouble, and I was an- 
 noyed by his clear-sightedness. While asking news of 
 my health in a hypocritically honeyed tone he fixed 
 upon me his two yellow, lion-like eyes, and plunged 
 his glance into my soul like a sounding-rod. Then 
 he asked me a few questions as to the way in which I 
 was working my parish, if I enjoyed my position, how 
 I spent the time which my duties left me, if I had 
 made any acquaintances among the inhabitants of the 
 place, what was my favourite reading, and many other 
 details of the same kind. I answered as briefly as pos- 
 sible, and he himself, without waiting for me to finish, 
 passed on to something else. The conversation evi- 
 dently had nothing to do with what he meant to say to 
 me. Then, without any preparation, as if it were a 
 piece of news which he had just recollected and which 
 he was afraid to again forget, he said, in a clear, vibrant 
 voice that sounded in my ear like the trump of the 
 Last Judgment : — 
 
 " The great courtesan Clarimonda died recently, 
 after an orgy that lasted eight days and nights. It was 
 infernally splendid. They renewed the abominations 
 of the feasts of Belshazzar and Cleopatra. What 
 an age we are living in ! The guests were served 
 
 290 
 
»!■» rtt JU ri/% rX« «1* .i^ «Ji rl» ^» t^? t|j Is? ts? tl? tfc tfc tl? Is? tl? tr? 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 by dark slaves speaking an unknown language, who, 
 I think, must have been fiends; the livery of the 
 meanest of them might have served for the gala 
 dress of an emperor. There have always been very 
 strange stories about this Clarimonda ; all her lovers 
 have died a wretched and violent death. It is said that 
 she was a ghoul, a female vampire, but I am of opinion 
 that she was Beelzebub in person." 
 
 He was silent and watched me more attentively 
 than ever to see the effect his words produced upon 
 me. I had been unable to repress a start on hearing 
 the name of Clarimonda, and the news of her death, 
 besides the grief it caused me, through the strange 
 coincidence with the nocturnal scene of which I had 
 been a witness, filled me with a trouble and terror that 
 showed in my face in spite of the efforts I made to 
 master myself. Serapion looked at me anxiously and 
 severely ; then he said : " My son, I am bound to 
 warn you that you have one foot over the abyss. Be- 
 ware lest you fall in. Satan has a long arm, and tombs 
 are not always faithful. The stone over Clarimonda 
 should be sealed with a triple seal, for it is not, I am 
 told, the first time that she has died. May God watch 
 over you, Romualdo ! " 
 
 291 
 
'J: 'k'Jh'Jh'k'k is 'k d: £ "i* db sb d: ib £ d: 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 With these words he walked slowly towards the 
 door, and I did not see him again, for he left for 
 S almost immediately. 
 
 I had at last entirely recovered, and had resumed 
 my usual duties. The remembrance of Clarimonda 
 and the words of the old priest were ever present to 
 my mind; yet no extraordinary event had confirmed 
 Serapion's gloomy predictions. I therefore began to 
 believe that his fears and my terrors were exaggerated ; 
 but one night I dreamed a dream. I had scarcely 
 fallen asleep when I heard the curtains of my bed 
 open and the rings sliding over the bars with a rattling 
 sound. I sat up abruptly, leaning on my elbow, and 
 saw the shadow of a woman standing before me. I 
 at once recognised Clarimonda. In her hand she bore 
 a small lamp, of the shape of those put into tombs, 
 the light of which gave to her slender fingers a rosy 
 transparency that melted by insensible gradations into 
 the opaque milky whiteness of her bare arm. Her 
 sole vestment was the linen shroud that had covered 
 her upon her state bed, and the folds of which she 
 drew over her bosom as if she were ashamed of being 
 so little clothed, but her small hand could not manage 
 it. It was so white that the colour of the drapery was 
 
 292 
 
•J/> rlt r£/» «A» «J/» «J* «|* •i*^J^|j t^J^J^J tl? t{« »7- 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 confounded with that of the flesh under the pale light 
 of the lamp. Enveloped in the delicate tissue which 
 revealed all the contours of her body, she resembled an 
 antique marble statue of a bather rather than a woman 
 filled with life. Dead or living, statue or woman, 
 shadow or body, her beauty was still the same ; only 
 the green gleam of her eyes was somewhat dulled, and 
 her mouth, so purple of yore, had now only a pale, 
 tender rose-tint almost like that of her cheeks. The 
 little blue flowers which I had noticed in her hair 
 were dried up and had lost most of their leaves. And 
 yet she was charming, so charming that in spite of the 
 strangeness of the adventure and the inexplicable man- 
 ner in which she had entered the room, I did not ex- 
 perience a single thrill of terror. 
 
 She placed the lamp on the table and sat down on 
 the foot of my bed. Then bending towards me, she 
 said in the silvery, velvety voice which I had heard 
 from no one but her : — 
 
 " I have made you wait a long time, dear Romualdo, 
 and you must have thought I had forgotten you. But 
 I have come from a very long distance, from a bourne 
 whence no traveller has yet returned. There is neither 
 moon nor sun in the country whence I have come ; 
 
 293 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 neither road nor path ; naught but space and shadow ; 
 no ground for the foot, no air for the wing ; and yet I 
 am here, for love is stronger than death and overcomes 
 it. Ah, what worn faces, what terrible things I have 
 seen on my way ! What difficulty my soul, which re- 
 turned to this world by the power of will, experienced 
 before it could find its own body and re-enter it ! 
 What efforts I had to make before I could push up 
 the tombstone with which they had covered me ! 
 See ! the palms of my poor hands are all bruised. Kiss 
 them and cure them, my dear love." And one after 
 the other, she put the cold palms of her hands upon 
 my lips. I did kiss them many a time, and she 
 watched me with a smile of ineffable satisfaction. 
 
 I confess it to my shame, — I had wholly forgotten 
 the counsels of Father Serapion and my own profes- 
 sion ; I had fallen without resisting and at the first 
 blow ; I had not even endeavoured to drive away the 
 tempter. The freshness of Clarimonda's skin pene- 
 trated mine, and I felt voluptuous thrills running 
 through my body. Poor child ! In spite of all that I 
 have seen of her, I find it difficult to believe that she 
 was a demon ; she certainly did not look like one, and 
 never did Satan better conceal his claws and horns. 
 
 294 
 
•£%«4* »i» »4» »lj ^ij ^JjJ t|» tl» tS? it? tfets? Tt ? if?ff? 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 She had pulled her feet up under her, and was curled 
 up on the edge of my bed in an attitude full of 
 nonchalant coquetry. From time to time she passed 
 her little hand through my hair and rolled it into ringlets 
 as if to try how different ways of dressing it would 
 suit my face. I allowed her to go on with the most 
 guilty complaisance, and while she toyed with me she 
 chatted brightly. The remarkable thing is that I 
 experienced no astonishment at so extraordinary an 
 adventure, and with the facility we enjoy in dreams of 
 admitting as quite simple the most amazing events, it 
 seemed to me that everything that was happening was 
 quite natural. 
 
 " I loved you long before I had seen you, dear 
 Romualdo, and I had looked for you everywhere. 
 You were my dream, and when I saw you in church 
 at that fatal moment, I at once said, 1 It is he ! ' I 
 cast on you a glance in which I put all the love which 
 I had had, which I had, and which I was to have 
 for you ; a glance that would have damned a cardinal 
 and made a king kneel before my feet in the presence 
 of his whole court. But you remained impassible ; 
 you preferred your God to me. Oh, I am jealous of 
 God, whom you loved, and whom you still love more 
 
 295 
 
& ± i: & i: ± d? i: i: & i: £ & :S? tir tS? dr d? tfc * sir & sfc 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 than me! Unfortunate that I am, — oh, most un- 
 fortunate ! Your heart will never be wholly mine, 
 though you brought me back to life with a kiss, though 
 I am Clarimonda, who was dead and who for your 
 sake burst the cerements of the tomb, and has come to 
 devote to you a life which she has resumed only to 
 make you happy ! " 
 
 With these words she mingled intoxicating caresses 
 which penetrated my senses and my reason to such a 
 degree that I did not hesitate, in order to console her, 
 to utter frightful blasphemies and to tell her that I 
 loved her as much as I did God. 
 
 Her eyes brightened and shone like chrysoprase. 
 "True? Quite true? as much as God?" she said, 
 clasping me in her lovely arms. " Since that is so, 
 you will go with me, you will follow me where I will. 
 You shall cast off your ugly black clothes, you shall 
 be the proudest and most envied of men, you shall be 
 my lover. Oh, the lovely, happy life we shall lead ! 
 When shall we start ? " 
 
 "To-morrow ! to-morrow !" I cried in my delirium. 
 
 " To-morrow be it," she replied. " I shall have 
 time to change my dress, for this one is rather scanty 
 and not of much use for travelling. Then I must 
 
 296 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 also warn my people, who think me really dead, and 
 who are mourning as hard as they can. Money, 
 clothes, and carriage, — everything shall be ready, and 
 I shall call for you at this same hour. Good-bye, dear 
 heart," and she touched my brow with her lips. 
 
 The lamp went out, the windows were closed, and I 
 saw no more. A leaden, dreamless sleep, overcame me 
 and held me fast until the next morning. I awoke 
 later than usual, and the remembrance of the strange 
 vision agitated me the livelong day. At last I managed 
 to persuade myself that it was a mere fever of my 
 heated brain. Yet the sensation had been so intense 
 that it was difficult to believe it was not real, and it 
 was not without some apprehension of what might 
 happen that I went to bed, after having prayed God 
 to drive away from me evil thoughts and to protect 
 the chastity of my sleep. 
 
 I soon fell fast asleep and my dream continued. 
 The curtains were opened, and I saw Clarimonda, 
 not as the first time, wan in her pale shroud, and the 
 violets of death upon her cheeks, but gay, bright, and 
 dainty, in a splendid travelling-dress of green velvet 
 with gold braid, caught up on the side and showing a 
 satin under-skirt. Her fair hair escaped in great curls 
 
 297 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 from below her broad black felt hat with capriciously 
 twisted white feathers. She held in her hand a small 
 riding-whip ending in a golden whistle. She touched 
 me lightly with it and said : " Well, handsome sleeper, 
 is that the way you get ready ? I expected to find you 
 up. Rise quickly, we have no time to lose." 
 I sprang from my bed. 
 
 " Come, put on your clothes and let us go," she 
 said, pointing to a small parcel which she had brought. 
 " The horses are impatiently champing their bits at the 
 door. We ought to be thirty miles away by now." 
 
 I dressed hastily, and she herself passed me the 
 clothes, laughing at my awkwardness and telling me 
 what they were when I made a mistake. She arranged 
 my hair for me, and when it was done, she held out a 
 small pocket-mirror of Venice crystal framed with sil- 
 ver filigree and said to me, " What do you think of 
 yourself? Will you take me as your valet?" 
 
 I was no longer the same man and did not recognise 
 myself. I was no more like myself than a finished 
 statue is like a block of stone. My former face 
 seemed to me but a coarse sketch of the one reflected 
 in the mirror. I was handsome, and my vanity was 
 sensibly tickled by the metamorphosis. The elegant 
 
 298 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 clothes, the rich embroidered jacket, made me quite a 
 different person, and I admired the power of trans- 
 formation possessed by a few yards of stuff cut in a 
 certain way. The spirit of my costume entered into 
 me, and in ten minutes I was passably conceited. I 
 walked up and down the room a few times to feel 
 more at my ease in my new garments. Clarimonda 
 looked at me with an air of maternal complaisance and 
 appeared well satisfied with her work. 
 
 "Now, that is childishness enough. Let us be off, 
 dear Romualdo ; we are going a long way and we shall 
 never get there." As she touched the doors they 
 opened, and we passed by the dog without waking it. 
 
 At the door we found Margheritone, the equerry 
 who had already conducted me. He held three horses, 
 black like the first, one for me, one for himself, and one 
 for Clarimonda. The horses must have been Spanish 
 jennets, sired by the gale, for they went as fast as the 
 wind, and the moon, which had risen to light us at our 
 departure, rolled in the heavens like a wheel detached 
 from its car. We saw it on our right spring from tree 
 to tree, breathlessly trying to keep up with us. We 
 soon reached a plain where by a clump of trees waited 
 a carriage drawn by four horses. We got into it and 
 
 299 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 the horses started off at a mad gallop. I had one arm 
 around Clarimonda's waist and one of her hands in 
 mine; she leaned her head on my shoulder, and I felt 
 her half-bare bosom against my arm. I had never 
 enjoyed such lively happiness. I forgot everything 
 at that moment. I no more remembered having 
 been a priest, so great was the fascination which the 
 evil spirit exercised over me. From that night my 
 nature became in some sort double. There were in 
 me two men unknown to each other. Sometimes 
 I fancied myself a priest who dreamed every night 
 he was a nobleman ; sometimes I fancied I was 
 a nobleman who dreamed he was a priest. I was 
 unable to distinguish between the vision and the 
 waking, and I knew not where reality began and 
 illusion ended. The conceited libertine rallied the 
 priest ; the priest hated the excesses of the young 
 nobleman. Two spirals, twisted one within the other 
 and confounded without ever touching, very aptly 
 represent this bicephalous life of mine. Yet, in spite 
 of the strangeness of this position, I do not think that 
 for one instant I was mad. I always preserved verv 
 clearly the perception of my double life. Onlv there 
 was an absurd fact which I could not explain : it was 
 
 300 
 
•1* tk% »1» «A» rii «4« »|r» *i< »Ae sjU *^ ti? t=b Tt? tf? ct? 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 that the feeling of the same self should exist in two 
 men so utterly different. That was an anomaly which 
 I did not understand, whether I believed myself to be 
 
 the parish priest of the little village of or il Signor 
 
 Romualdo, the declared lover of Clarimonda. 
 
 What is certain is that I was, or at least believed 
 that I was, in Venice. I have never yet been able to 
 make out what was true and what was imaginary in 
 that strange adventure. We dwelt in a great marble 
 palace on the Canaleio, full of frescoes and statues, 
 with two paintings in Titian's best manner in Clari- 
 monda's bedroom. It was a palace worthy of a king. 
 Each of us had his own gondola and gondoliers, his 
 own livery, music-room, and poet. Clarimonda liked 
 to live in great style, and she had something of Cleo- 
 patra in her nature. As for me, I lived like a prince's 
 son, and acted as if I belonged to the family of the twelve 
 Apostles or the four Evangelists of the Most Serene 
 Republic ; I would not have got out of my way to let 
 the Doge pass, and I do not think that since Satan fell 
 from heaven there was any one so proud and so insolent 
 as I. I used to go to the Ridotto and gamble fear- 
 fully. I met the best society in the world, ruined 
 eldest sons, swindlers, parasites, and swashbucklers ; 
 
 301 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 yet in spite of this dissipated life, I remained faithful 
 to Clarimonda. I loved her madly. She would have 
 awakened satiety itself and fixed inconstancy. I should 
 have been perfectly happy but for the accursed night- 
 mare which returned every night, and in which I 
 thought myself a parish priest living an ascetic life and 
 doing penance for his excesses of the daytime. Re- 
 assured by the habit of being with her, I scarcely ever 
 thought of the strange manner in which I had made 
 her acquaintance. However, what Father Serapion 
 had told me about her occasionally occurred to my 
 mind and caused me some uneasiness. 
 
 For some time past Clarimonda's health had been 
 failing. Her complexion was becoming paler and paler 
 every day. The doctors, when called in, failed to under- 
 stand her disease and knew not how to treat it. They 
 prescribed insignificant remedies, and did not return. 
 Meanwhile she became plainly paler, and colder and 
 colder. She was almost as white and as dead as 
 on that famous night in the unknown chateau. I 
 was bitterly grieved to see her thus slowly pining 
 away. She, touched by my sorrow, smiled gently 
 and sadly at me with the smile of one who knows she 
 is dying. 
 
 302 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 One morning I was seated by her bed breakfasting 
 at a small table, in order not to leave her a minute. 
 As I pared a fruit I happened to cut my finger rather 
 deeply. The blood immediately flowed in a purple 
 stream, and a few drops fell upon Clarimonda. Her 
 eyes lighted up, her face assumed an expression of 
 fierce and savage joy which I had never before beheld. 
 She sprang from her bed with the agility of an animal, 
 of a monkey or of a cat, and sprang at my wound, 
 which she began to suck with an air of inexpressible 
 delight. She sipped the blood slowly and carefully like 
 a gourmand who enjoys a glass of sherry or Syracuse 
 wine ; she winked her eyes, the green pupils of which 
 had become oblong instead of round. From time to 
 time she broke off" to kiss my hand, then she again 
 pressed the wound with her lips so as to draw out a 
 few more red drops. When she saw that the blood 
 had ceased to flow, she rose up, rosier than a May 
 morn, her face full, her eyes moist and shining, her 
 hand soft and warm ; in a word, more beautiful than 
 ever and in a perfect state of health. 
 
 " I shall not die ! I shall not die ! " she said, half 
 mad with joy, as she hung around my neck. "I shall 
 be able to love you a long time yet. My life is in 
 
 303 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 yours, and all that I am comes from you. A few 
 drops of your rich, noble blood, more precious and 
 more efficacious than all the elixirs in the world, have 
 restored my life." 
 
 The scene preoccupied me a long time and filled 
 me with strange doubts concerning Clarimonda. That 
 very evening, when sleep took me back to the presby- 
 tery, I saw Father Serapion, graver and more care-worn 
 than ever. He looked at me attentively, and said to 
 me : " Not satisfied with losing your soul, you want 
 to lose your body also. Unfortunate youth, what a 
 trap you have fallen into ! " The tone in which he 
 said these few words struck me greatly, but in spite 
 of its vivacity, the impression was soon dispelled and 
 numerous other thoughts effaced it from my mind. 
 However, one evening I saw in my mirror, the 
 perfidious position of which she had not taken into 
 account, Clarimonda pouring a powder into the cup 
 of spiced wine she was accustomed to prepare for me 
 after the meal. I took the cup, feigned to carry it to 
 my lips, and put it away as if to finish it later at 
 leisure, but I profited by a moment when my beauty 
 had turned her back, to throw the contents under the 
 table, after which I withdrew to my room and went to 
 
 3°4 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 bed, thoroughly determined not to sleep, and to see 
 what she would do. I had not long to wait. Clari- 
 monda entered in her night-dress, and having thrown it 
 off, stretched herself in the bed by me. When she 
 was quite certain that I was asleep, she bared my arm, 
 drew a golden pin from her hair, and whispered, 
 " One drop, nothing but a little red drop, a ruby at the 
 end of my needle ! Since you still love me, I must 
 not die. Oh, my dear love ! I shall drink your beau- 
 tiful, brilliant, purple blood. Sleep, my sole treasure, 
 my god and my child. I shall not hurt you, I shall 
 only take as much of your life as I need not to lose 
 my own. If I did not love you so much, I might 
 make up my mind to have other lovers whose veins I 
 would drain ; but since I have known you, I have a 
 horror of every one else. Oh, what a lovely arm ! 
 how round and white it is ! I shall never dare to 
 prick that pretty blue vein." And as she spoke, she 
 wept, and I felt her tears upon my arm which she 
 held in her hands. At last she made up her mind, 
 pricked me with the needle, and began to suck the 
 blood that flowed. Though she had scarcely imbibed 
 a few drops, she feared to exhaust me. She tied 
 my arm with a narrow band, after having rubbed 
 
 305 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 my wound with an unguent which healed it im- 
 mediately. 
 
 I could no longer doubt ; Father Serapion was 
 right. However, in spite of the certainty, I could not 
 help loving Clarimonda, and I would willingly have 
 given her all the blood she needed in order to support 
 her factitious existence. Besides, I was not much 
 afraid, for the woman guarded me against the vam- 
 pire; what I had heard and seen completely reassured 
 me. At that time I had full-blooded veins which 
 would not be very speedily exhausted, and I did not 
 care whether my life went drop by drop. I would 
 have opened my arm myself and said to her, " Drink, 
 and let my life enter your body with my blood." I 
 avoided alluding in the least to the narcotic which she 
 had poured out for me and the scene of the pin, and 
 we lived in the most perfect harmony. 
 
 Yet my priestly scruples tormented me more than 
 ever, and I knew not what new penance to invent to 
 tame and mortify my flesh. Although all these visions 
 were involuntary and I in no wise took part in them, I 
 dared not touch the crucifix with hands so impure and 
 a mind so soiled by such debauch, whether real or im- 
 aginary. After falling into these fatiguing hallucina- 
 
 306 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 tions, I tried to keep from sleeping. I kept my eyes 
 open with my ringers, and remained standing by the 
 wall struggling against slumber with all my strength ; 
 but soon it would force itself into my eyes, and seeing 
 that the struggle was useless, I let fall my arms with 
 discouragement and weariness, while the current carried 
 me again to the perfidious shores. Serapion exhorted 
 me most vehemently, and harshly reproached me with 
 weakness and lack of fervour. One day, when he had 
 been more agitated than usual, he said to me : — 
 
 " There is but one way of ridding you of this obses- 
 sion, and although it is extreme, we must make use of 
 it. Great evils require great remedies. I know where 
 Clarimonda is buried. We must dig her up, and you 
 shall see in what a pitiful condition is the object of 
 your love. You will no longer be tempted to lose 
 your soul for a loathsome body devoured by worms 
 and about to fall into dust. It will assuredly bring you 
 back to your senses." 
 
 For myself, I was so wearied of my double life that 
 I accepted, wishing to know once for all whether it 
 was the priest or the nobleman who was the dupe of 
 an illusion. I was determined to kill, for the benefit 
 of the one or the other, one of the two men who were 
 
 3°7 
 
•4* *A* «4* *4* *b *^* *lr 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 in me, or to kill them both, for such a life as I had 
 been leading was unendurable. Father Serapion pro- 
 vided a pick, a crowbar, and a lantern, and at midnight 
 
 we repaired to the cemetery of , the place of 
 
 which he knew accurately, as well as the disposition 
 of the graves. Having cast the light of our lantern 
 upon the inscriptions on several tombs, we at last 
 reached a stone half hidden by tall grass and covered 
 with moss and parasitical plants, on which we made 
 out this partial inscription : " Here lies Clarimonda, 
 who in her lifetime was the most beautiful woman in 
 the world. . . ." 
 
 " This is the spot," said Serapion, and putting down 
 the lantern, he introduced the crowbar in the joints of 
 the stone and began to raise it. The stone yielded, 
 and he set to work with the pick. I watched him, 
 darker and more silent than the night itself. As for 
 him, bending over this funereal work, he perspired 
 heavily and his quick breath sounded like the rattle in 
 a dying man's throat. It was a strange spectacle, and 
 any one who might have seen us would have taken 
 us rather for men profaning the tomb and robbing the 
 shrouds than for priests of God. Serapion's zeal had 
 something harsh and savage which made him resemble 
 
 308 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 a demon rather than an apostle or an angel, and his 
 face, with its austere features sharply brought out by 
 the light of the lantern, was in no wise reassuring. I 
 felt an icy sweat break out on my limbs, my hair rose 
 upon my head. Within myself I considered the action 
 of the severe Serapion an abominable sacrilege, and 
 I wished that from the sombre clouds that passed 
 heavily over our heads might flash a bolt that would 
 reduce him to powder. The owls, perched on the 
 cypresses, troubled by the light of the lantern, struck 
 the glass with their dusty wings and uttered plaintive 
 cries. The foxes yelped in the distance, and innu- 
 merable sinister noises rose in the silence. 
 
 At last Serapion's pick struck the coffin, which gave 
 out the dull, sonorous sound which nothingness gives 
 out when it is touched. He pulled ofF the cover, and 
 I saw Clarimonda, pale as marble, her hands clasped, 
 her white shroud forming but one line from her head 
 to her feet. A little red drop shone like a rose at the 
 corner of her discoloured lips. Serapion at the sight 
 of it became furious. 
 
 " Ah ! there you are, you demon, you shameless 
 courtesan ! You who drink blood and gold ! " and he 
 cast on the body and the coffin quantities of holy water, 
 
 309 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 tracing with the sprinkler a cross upon the coffin. 
 The holy dew no sooner touched poor Clarimonda 
 than her lovely body fell into dust and became only 
 a hideous mass of ashes and half-calcined bones. 
 " There is your mistress, my lord Romualdo," said the 
 inexorable priest, as he pointed to the remains. " Are 
 you now still tempted to go to the Lido and Fusino 
 with your beauty ? " 
 
 I bowed my head. Something had been shattered 
 within me. I returned to my presbytery, and lord 
 Romualdo, the lover of Clarimonda, left the poor priest 
 with whom he had so long kept such strange company. 
 Only the next night I saw Clarimonda. She said to 
 me, as the first time under the porch of the church, 
 "Unfortunate man! unfortunate man! What have 
 you done ? Why did you listen to that foolish priest ? 
 Were you not happy ? What have I done to you, 
 that you should go and violate my poor tomb and lay 
 bare the wretchedness of my nothingness ? All com- 
 munion between our souls and bodies is henceforth 
 broken. Farewell ; you will regret me." 
 
 She vanished in air like a vapour, and I never saw 
 her again. Alas ! she spoke the truth. I have re- 
 gretted her more than once, and I still regret her. I 
 
 310 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 purchased the peace of my soul very dearly. The 
 love of God was not too much to replace her love. 
 
 Such, brother, is the story of my youth. Never 
 look upon a woman, and walk always with your eyes 
 cast on the ground, for chaste and calm though you 
 may be, a single minute may make you lose eternity. 
 
 3 11 
 
Arria Marcella 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 A SOUVENIR OF POMPEII 
 
 THREE young fellows, three friends who had 
 gone to Italy together, were last year visit- 
 ing the Studj Museum at Naples, where 
 have been collected various antiquities 
 from the excavations at Pompeii and Herculaneum. 
 
 They wandered through the rooms as their fancy 
 led them, and examined the mosaics, bronzes, and 
 frescoes detached from the walls of the dead city. 
 When one of them came upon something interesting, 
 he would call to his companions with a joyous shout, 
 to the great disgust of the taciturn English and the 
 stolid tourists busy turning over their guide-books. 
 
 The youngest of the trio, who had stopped by a 
 glass case, appeared not to hear the exclamations of 
 the others, for he was absorbed in deep contemplation. 
 He was examining most attentively a heap of black 
 coagulated ashes, with a hollow imprint. It looked 
 like a fragment of a statue mould, broken in the 
 casting. An artist's practised eye would have easily 
 
 3*5 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 recognised in it the outline of a beautiful bosom, 
 and of a hip as pure in style as that of a Greek 
 statue. Every one knows, for every guide-book men- 
 tions the fact, that this lava ash, which cooled round a 
 woman's body, preserved the exquisite contours of 
 her frame. Thanks to the caprice of the eruption 
 which destroyed four cities, this noble form, that 
 turned to dust some two thousand years ago, has 
 come down to us. The rounded bosom has traversed 
 the ages ; while on the other hand, many vanished em- 
 pires have left no trace behind them. This mark of 
 beauty, stamped by chance upon the scoriae of a vol- 
 cano, has not been effaced. 
 
 Seeing that he could not drag himself away, Oc- 
 tavian's two friends returned to him, and Max, touching 
 him on the shoulder, made him start like a man whose 
 secret has been surprised. Plainly Octavian had not 
 heard Max and Fabio approach. 
 
 "Come, Octavian," said Max, "don't stop for 
 hours at a time by each case, or we shall miss the 
 train, and be unable to see Pompeii to-day." 
 
 " What is our friend looking at ? " added Fabio, 
 who had drawn near. " Ah, I see ! The imprint 
 found in the house of Anius Diomedes." 
 
 316 
 
tin «A» « k» »A» *JU cl^ JL> »A» ^"^"^Jwf w "^"^"^jIIct «s« Ss?!-. 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 He cast a quick, strange look at Octavian, who 
 blushed slightly as he took Max's arm, and the visit 
 ended without further incident. 
 
 On leaving the Museum, the three friends got into 
 a corricolo, and were driven to the station. The 
 corricolo, with its great red wheels, its seat studded 
 with brass nails, its thin and spirited horse, harnessed 
 like a Spanish mule, galloping along the broad lava 
 flags, is too well known to need describing here. 
 Besides, I am not writing impressions of travel in 
 Naples, but the simple account of a strange and rather 
 incredible adventure, which is nevertheless true. 
 
 The railway to Pompeii runs almost the whole way 
 along the seashore. The waves break in foam upon 
 a black sand that looks like sifted charcoal, for the 
 beach is formed of molten lava and volcanic ashes. 
 Its dark tone contrasts with the blue of the sky and 
 the blue of the water. The earth alone seems to be 
 in shadow in the midst of all that splendour. 
 
 The villages which the railway traverses, or skirts — 
 Portici, made famous by Auber's opera, Resina, Torre 
 del Greco, Torre dell' Annunziata, the arcaded houses 
 and terraced roofs of which are seen on the way — 
 have, in spite of the intensity of the sunshine and 
 
 3 X 7 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 the southern whitewash, a Plutonian and ferruginous 
 character, like Manchester and Birmingham. The 
 dust is black ; impalpable soot clings to everything ; 
 one feels that the great forge of Vesuvius is puffing 
 and smoking close by. 
 
 The three friends alighted at the Pompeii Station, 
 amused by the mixture of antiquity and modern times 
 naturally suggested to the mind by the title " Pompeii 
 Station ; " a Greco-Roman city, and a railway terminus ! 
 
 They traversed the cotton field — over which flut- 
 tered some white flakes — which lies between the rail- 
 way and the unburied city, and took a guide at the 
 osteria built outside the old ramparts — or, more cor- 
 rectly speaking, a guide took them, a calamity which it 
 is difficult to avoid in Italy. 
 
 It was one of those lovely days so frequent in 
 Naples, when, owing to the brilliancy of the sunshine 
 and the purity of the air, objects assume a colouring 
 which appears fabulous in the North, and seem to belong 
 rather to a dream world than to reality. Who ever has 
 once seen that light of mingled gold and azure remains 
 homesick for it when back amid his native fogs. 
 
 The innumerable details of the unburied city, which 
 had thrown off a corner of its ashen shroud, stood out 
 
 3i8 
 
3|<*4* *j£ «4j ^4* «l? ^» *k ' j j f * Jt * Ts? Tt? tr? ?r? db "j? t& •£?» 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 in the blinding light. In the background showed the 
 cone of Vesuvius, rayed with blue, rose, and violet lava, 
 gilded by the sun. A faint mist, almost invisible in the 
 light, capped the mountain's broken crest. At the first 
 glance it might have been mistaken for one of those 
 cloudlets that often on the clearest day rest on the 
 summit of high peaks, but when observed more closely, 
 it was seen to contain slender whisps of white vapour, 
 issuing from the upper part of the mount as from the 
 holes of a perfume-burner, to meet in the form of a 
 light vapour. The volcano, good-tempered that day, 
 was quietly smoking its pipe, and but for the fact that 
 Pompeii lay buried at its feet, it might well have been 
 supposed as gentle-tempered as Montmartre. On the 
 other side lovely hills, with undulating and voluptuous 
 lines, like those of a woman's hips, bounded the hori- 
 zon ; and still farther away, the calm azure line of 
 the sea, that formerly brought biremes and triremes 
 up to the ramparts of the city. 
 
 Surprising indeed is the aspect of Pompeii. Even 
 the most prosaic and least intelligent natures are 
 amazed by the sudden retrogression of nineteen cen- 
 turies. In two steps one passes from modern to 
 antique life, from Christianity to Paganism. When 
 
 3 X 9 
 
* * d * * & * * * * *********** * A A 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 the three friends saw the streets in which the forms of 
 a vanished existence have been preserved intact, though 
 they were prepared by the books they had read and 
 the drawings they had seen, they experienced a deep 
 and strange impression. Octavian in particular seemed 
 stupefied, and mechanically followed the guide like a 
 somnambulist, without listening to the monotonous 
 nomenclature, committed to memory, which the fel- 
 low was reciting like a lesson. 
 
 He looked with amazed glance at the ruts worn in 
 the cyclopean pavements of the streets, seemingly no 
 older than yesterday, so sharp are the lines ; the in- 
 scriptions, written in red letters with a free hand upon 
 the walls, the playbills, notices of houses to let, votive 
 formulas, signs, advertisements of all kinds, as interest- 
 ing as, two thousand years hence, will be to the yet 
 unknown nations of the future a wall of Paris found 
 with all its notices and posters. The houses with their 
 broken-in roofs, that allowed the glance to penetrate 
 the mysteries of the interior, the many domestic details 
 which historians neglect, and the secret of which civili- 
 sations carry away with them, the scarce dry fountains, 
 the Forum, caught by the catastrophe while being 
 repaired, the clean outlines of the columns and archi- 
 
 320 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 traves cut and carved, waiting to be put in their 
 proper places ; the temples, consecrated to gods now 
 become mythological, but which then had not a single 
 atheist; the shops, in which nothing was lacking but 
 the shop-keeper ; the taverns, where might yet be seen 
 on the marble tops of the tables the circular stain left 
 by the topers' cups ; the barracks with the pillars painted 
 yellow and red, on which the soldiers had drawn cari- 
 catures of combatants; and the two theatres, of the 
 drama and of song, side by side, which might reopen 
 their doors but that the troupes which played there, now 
 reduced to dust, were, perhaps, stopping a bung-hole 
 or a crack in a wall, like the noble dust of Alexander 
 and Caesar, as Hamlet in melancholy mood remarked. 
 
 Fabio ascended the stage of the Tragic Theatre, 
 while Octavian and Max climbed to the top of the 
 benches, and there he began to recite, with abundant 
 pantomime, the passages of verse which occurred to 
 him, to the great terror of the lizards, which fled with 
 quivering tails and concealed themselves in the cracks 
 of the ruinous courses of stone. Although the brass 
 and earthen vessels intended to act as sounding-boards 
 no longer existed, his voice nevertheless was heard 
 sonorous and vibrant. 
 
 321 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 The guide next led them, through the cultivated 
 ground which covers the yet buried portions of Pom- 
 peii, to the amphitheatre at the other extremity of the 
 city. They walked under trees the roots of which 
 plunged into the roofs of the buried houses, tearing away 
 the tiles, cracking the ceilings, dislocating the pillars ; 
 they passed through fields in which vulgar vegetables 
 ripened over marvels of art, material images of that 
 forgetfulness which time casts over the finest things. 
 
 The amphitheatre did not impress them much. 
 They had already seen that at Verona, which is larger 
 and fully as well preserved; they were as well ac- 
 quainted with the arrangement of these arenas of 
 antiquity as with that of the bull-fight arenas in Spain, 
 which resemble them closely, save that they are not as 
 solidly constructed nor of as fine materials. 
 
 So they retraced their steps, reached by a cross wav 
 the Street of Fortune, listening indifferently to the 
 guide, who, as he passed before each house, called it 
 by the name bestowed upon it when it was discovered, 
 and which was derived from some characteristic pecu- 
 liarity : the House of the Bronze Bull, the House 
 of the Faun, the House of the Ship, the Temple of 
 Fortune, the House of Meleager, the Tavern of For- 
 
 322 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 tune at the corner of the Consular Street, the Academy 
 of Music, the Public Bake-house, the Pharmacy, 
 the Surgeon's Shop, the Custom House, the Ves- 
 tals' Dwelling, the Inn of Albinus, the Thermopoli, 
 and so on till they reached the gate leading to the 
 Way of the Tombs. 
 
 Within the interior arch of this brick gate, covered 
 with statues, and the ornaments of which have disap- 
 peared, there are two deep grooves intended for a 
 portcullis, just as in a mediaeval donjon, which might 
 have been supposed to possess the monopoly of this 
 particular kind of defence. 
 
 " Who would have suspected," said Max to his 
 friends, " that Pompeii, the Greco-Latin city, pos- 
 sessed a gate so romantically Gothic ? Can you 
 imagine a belated Roman knight sounding his horn 
 in front of this gate, like a page of the fifteenth 
 century, in order to have the portcullis raised ? " 
 
 " There 's nothing new under the sun," answered 
 Fabio, " and even that remark is not new, since 
 Solomon made it." 
 
 " Perhaps there may be something new under the 
 moon, " put in Octavian, with a smile of melancholy 
 irony. 
 
tt: db :b & 4: 4: 4: 4: 4? 4::fc 4? 4? ti? tSr tfc tfc tfc ?b tfc 4: :fe 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 " My dear Octavian," said Max, who had mean- 
 while stopped before an inscription traced in red on 
 the outer wall, " would you like to be present at a 
 combat of gladiators ? Here are the advertisements : 
 Battle and hunt on the fifth of the nones of April ; 
 the masts will be raised; twenty pairs of gladiators 
 will fight on the nones ; and if you should happen to 
 fear for your complexion, you may be reassured, the 
 awnings will be stretched, — unless you prefer coming 
 to the amphitheatre early, for these fellows are to cut 
 each other's throats in the morning — matutini erunt. 
 Most kind indeed ! " 
 
 As they chatted thus, the three friends walked down 
 the Way, bordered by sepulchres, which to our 
 modern feelings would be a sombre entrance to a city, 
 but which had not the same meaning for the ancients, 
 whose tombs, instead of a hideous body, contained 
 merely a handful of ashes — the abstract idea of death. 
 Art embellished these final dwellings, and as Goethe 
 says, the Pagan decorated the sarcophagi and urns with 
 the images of life. 
 
 That was indeed the reason why Max and Fabio 
 were visiting, with bright curiosity and an enjoyment 
 of life which they would certainly not have felt in a 
 
 3 2 4 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 Christian cemetery, these funereal monuments so richly 
 gilded by the sun, and which, placed as they were on 
 either side of the road, seemed still to belong to life, 
 suggesting nothing of that cold repulsion or of that 
 fantastic terror which is due to our lugubrious mode 
 of burial. They stopped before the tomb of Mamia, 
 the public priestess, near which has grown a tree, a 
 cypress or a poplar. They sat down in the hemicycle 
 of the triclinium of the funereal repasts, laughing as if 
 they had just come into an inheritance. They cracked 
 no end of jokes upon the epitaphs of Naevoleia, 
 Labeon, and the Arria family, save Octavian, who 
 seemed to feel more deeply than his careless com- 
 panions the fate of the dead of two thousand years 
 ago. 
 
 They thus came to the villa of Arrius Diomedes, one 
 of the largest dwellings in Pompeii. It is reached by 
 brick steps, and after passing through the door, flanked 
 by two small columns, one enters a courtyard, like the 
 patio in the centre of Spanish and Moorish houses, and 
 to which the ancients gave the name of impluvium or 
 cavcedium. Fourteen brick columns covered with 
 stucco formed on its four faces a portico, or covered 
 peristyle, like a convent cloister, in which the inhabi- 
 
 325 
 
i: & •h ic is 4: db £ i: si: is rt ± tfe tfc tfc 4: £ 4: tS: tfc afc 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 tants could walk, sheltered from the rain. The court 
 is paved with a mosaic of bricks and white marble, the 
 effect of which is very soft and pleasant to the eye. 
 In the centre, a still existing square marble basin re- 
 ceived the rain water which fell from the roof of the 
 portico. It produces a strange impression to penetrate 
 thus into the life of antiquity, and to walk in patent- 
 leather boots upon the marble pavement worn by 
 the sandals and cothurns of the contemporaries of 
 Augustus and Tiberius. 
 
 The guide then took them into the hexedra or sum- 
 mer drawing-room, opening towards the sea, for the 
 sake of the cool breeze. This was the place where 
 visitors were received and a siesta was indulged in 
 during the hot hours of the day, when the mighty 
 African zephyrs laden with languor and storms were 
 blowing. He showed them into the basilica, a long 
 open gallery lighting the apartments, in which visitors 
 and clients waited until called by the usher. He next 
 led them to the terrace of white marble, whence the 
 view extends over the green gardens and the blue sea. 
 Then he showed them the nymphaeum, or bath-room, 
 with walls painted yellow, stucco columns and mosaic 
 pavement, and the marble bath which received so many 
 
 326 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 lovely bodies now vanished like shadows ; the cubic- 
 ulum, in which floated so many dreams that had 
 entered through the ivory door ; the alcoves in the 
 wall, closed by a conopeum or curtain, the bronze 
 rings of which are still lying on the ground ; the tetra- 
 style or recreation-room ; the chapel of the household 
 gods, the cabinet of archives, the library, the museum 
 of paintings, the gynaeceum, or women's apartments, 
 composed of small chambers partly in ruins, on the 
 walls of which they observed some traces of paintings 
 and arabesques, like cheeks from which the rouge has 
 been unskilfully wiped. 
 
 Having finished this part of the visit, they went 
 down to the lower story, for the ground is much lower 
 on the garden side than on the side of the Street of 
 Tombs. They traversed eight halls, painted in rosso 
 antico, in one of which are niches like those in the 
 vestibule of the Hall of Ambassadors in the Alhambra, 
 and they at last reached a sort of cellar, the use 
 of which was plainly indicated by eight clay amphorae 
 standing against the wall, and which had no doubt 
 been perfumed like Horace's odes with Cretan, Faler- 
 nian, and Massican wine. A bright beam of light 
 entered through a narrow opening obstructed by nettles, 
 
 327 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 the leaves of which the light transformed into emeralds 
 and topazes, this bright touch of nature smiling very 
 seasonably upon the gloom of the place. 
 
 " This is the spot," said the guide in his drawling 
 voice, the tone of which scarcely harmonized with the 
 meaning of the words, " where was found, among 
 seventeen skeletons, that of the lady the imprint of 
 which is in the Naples Museum. She had on gold 
 rings, and the remains of a fine tunic still adhered to 
 the ash cast that had preserved her shape." 
 
 The guide's commonplace statements moved Octa- 
 vian deeply. He desired to be shown the exact spot 
 where the precious remains had been discovered, and 
 had he not been restrained by the presence of his 
 friends he would have indulged in some extravagant 
 Ivrical outburst. His breast heaved, his eyes were 
 moist ; the catastrophe effaced by twenty centuries 
 of forgetfulness impressed him like a quite recent mis- 
 fortune ; the death of his mistress or of a friend would 
 not have moved him more, and a tear, two thousand 
 years late, fell, while Max's and Fabio's backs were 
 turned, upon the spot where had perished, stifled by 
 the hot ashes of the volcano, the woman for whom he 
 felt himself filled with retrospective love. 
 
 328 
 
»A» «A» »£* »t» »4» «j* 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 " We have had enough archaeology,"' cried Fabio ; 
 " for we do not propose to write a dissertation upon a 
 pitcher or a tile of the days of Julius Caesar, in order 
 to be elected to some provincial academy. These 
 classical remembrances make me hungry. Let us go 
 and dine, if the thing is possible, at that picturesque 
 osteria ; though I am afraid they will serve us with fossil 
 beef-steaks and fresh eggs laid before Pliny's death." 
 
 " I shall not quote Boileau, and say, 1 A fool occa- 
 sionally gives good advice,' " said Max laughing ; " it 
 would not be polite. Your idea is a good one, though 
 it would have been pleasanter to have our meal here on 
 a triclinium, lying down after the antique fashion, and 
 waited on by slaves, after the manner of Lucullus and 
 Trimalcion. It is true that I don't see many oysters 
 from the Lucrine Lake; the turbots and mullets of the 
 Adriatic are wanting; the Apulian boar is not to be 
 found in the market ; the loaves and honey-cakes are 
 in the Naples Museum, hard as stones by the side of 
 their verdigrised moulds; raw macaroni, dusted with 
 caccia-cavallo, detestable though it is, is better than 
 nothing. What is dear Octavian's opinion ? " 
 
 Octavian, who greatly regretted not having been in 
 Pompeii on the day of the eruption of Vesuvius, so 
 
 329 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 that he might have saved the lady with the gold rings 
 and thus deserved her love, had not heard a single 
 word of this gastronomical conversation. Only the 
 last two words uttered by Max struck his ear, and as 
 he had no desire to begin a discussion, he nodded 
 affirmatively at a venture, and the three friends started 
 back to the inn, following the line of the ramparts. 
 
 The table was set in a sort of open porch which 
 forms a vestibule to the osteria, and the whitewashed 
 walls of which were decorated with daubs claimed by 
 the host to be the work of Salvator Rosa, Spagnoletto, 
 Massimo, and other celebrated painters of the Neapoli- 
 tan school, which he felt it to be his duty to praise. 
 
 " Venerable host," said Fabio, " do not waste your 
 eloquence. We are not English, and we prefer girls 
 to old paintings. Rather send us your wine list by 
 that handsome brunette with velvet eyes whom 1 
 caught sight of on the stairs." 
 
 The palforio, perceiving that his guests did not 
 belong to the easily taken-in class of Philistines and 
 tradespeople, stopped praising his gallery in order to 
 praise his cellar. To begin with, he had every wine 
 of the best brands : Chateau-Margaux, Grand-Laffitte 
 which had been to India and back, Moet, Sillery, 
 
 33° 
 
•|<» fit »A» ri» »A» »ii r(U #!/» «ln eJU »A» #i» ci. «|/» alt ri* rA-« rlt »li *A* »!» «1> »}.» ol» 
 
 «•>» c/w m v N «m wo vr. m «T» »« «<• «™ ««• WT« c7» %7* »7». «?» mat «w «3» 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 Hochmeyer, port and porter, ale and ginger beer, 
 white and red Lacryma Christi, Capri and Falernian. 
 
 " What ! You have Falernian, you wretch, and 
 put it at the bottom of your list ! You compel us to 
 listen to a prosy oenological litany," said Max, spring- 
 ing to the inn-keeper's throat with a gesture of comic 
 fury. " You are utterly lacking in feeling for local 
 colour; you are unworthy of living in this antique 
 neighbourhood. But, is your Falernian good ? Was 
 it put into amphorae under the consulship of Plancus 
 — Consule PlariLO?" 
 
 " I do not know who Consul Plancus is, and my 
 wine is not in amphorae ; but it is old and costs ten 
 carlini a bottle." 
 
 Day had fallen and night had come on, — a serene, 
 transparent night, brighter unquestionably than noon- 
 day in London. Wonderfully soft were the azure 
 tones of earth and the silvery reflections in the skv ; 
 the air was so still that the flame of the tapers placed 
 on the table did not even quiver. 
 
 A young lad playing a flute drew near the table 
 and remained standing, in the attitude of a bas-relief, 
 gazing at the three guests and blowing into his soft, 
 melodious instrument some of the popular cantilenes 
 
 33 1 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 in a minor key, the charm of which is so penetrating. 
 Perhaps the lad was a direct descendant of the flute- 
 player who walked before Duilius. 
 
 " Our meal is assuming quite an antique look. All 
 we lack are Gaditanian dancers, and wreaths of ivy," 
 said Fabio, as he poured himself out a bumper of 
 Falernian. 
 
 "I feel like quoting Latin, as they do in newspapers. 
 Stanzas keep recurring to my memory," added Max. 
 
 " Keep them to yourself," cried Octavian and 
 Fabio, justly alarmed. " There is nothing so indigesti- 
 ble as Latin at table." 
 
 Conversation between young fellows who, with 
 cigars in their mouths, their elbows on the table, 
 contemplate a number of empty bottles, especially if 
 the wine is heady, generally turns pretty quickly to 
 the subject of women. Each of the three stated his 
 views, which are here briefly summarised. 
 
 Fabio cared for beauty and youth only. Volup- 
 tuous and practical, he had no illusions or prejudices in 
 matters of love. A peasant girl was just as good as a 
 duchess, provided she was beautiful. He cared more 
 for the beauty than for the dress. He made much fun 
 of some of his friends who were captivated by a few 
 
 33 2 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 yards of lace and silk, and said it would be more rea- 
 sonable to be in love with a dressmaker's show window. 
 These opinions, very sound at bottom, and which he 
 did not conceal, caused him to pass for an eccentric 
 individual. 
 
 Max, less artistic than Fabio, cared only for difficult 
 undertakings and complicated intrigues. He wanted 
 to overcome resistance and seduce the virtuous ; love 
 to him was like a game of chess, with moves long 
 meditated, effects suspended, surprises and stratagems 
 worthy of Polybius. When he went into a drawing- 
 room, the woman he chose to attack was the one who 
 seemed least sympathetic to him. It was a delightful 
 pleasure for him to make her pass from aversion to 
 love by skilful gradations ; to impose himself on those 
 who repelled him, and to break down the wills that 
 rebelled against his ascendency seemed to him the 
 sweetest of triumphs. Like those sportsmen who 
 traverse fields, woods, and plains in rain, snow, and 
 sun, unmindful of fatigue, and with an ardour that noth- 
 ing checks, for the sake of some wretched game, which 
 they generally refuse to eat, Max, once he had secured 
 his prey, ceased to care for it, and immediately started 
 out in quest of another. 
 
 333 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 Octavian confessed that reality had no great attrac- 
 tion for him. Not that he indulged in school-boy 
 dreams full of lilies and roses, but every woman was 
 surrounded by too many prosaic and repellent facts, too 
 many prosy fathers, coquettish mothers wearing real 
 flowers in false hair, bright-faced cousins turning over 
 declarations of love in their minds, ridiculous aunts 
 fond of little dogs. An engraving after a painting by 
 Horace Vernet or Delaroche hanging in a woman's 
 room, sufficed to kill in his breast a rising passion. 
 More poetical than amorous, he wanted a terrace on 
 Isola Bella, on Lago Maggiore, with a fine moonlight, 
 by way of setting for a rendezvous. f He would have 
 liked to remove his love from common life and to 
 transport it to the stars. Consequently he had felt a 
 mighty, impossible love for all the great feminine char- 
 acters preserved by art or history; ; like Faust, he had 
 loved Helen, and had wished that the undulations of 
 centuries had brought to him one of those sublime 
 incarnations of the desires and dreams of mankind, the 
 form of which, invisible to vulgar eyes, ever subsists 
 through time and space. He had formed an ideal 
 seraglio with Semiramis, Aspasia, Cleopatra, Diana of 
 Poitiers, Joan of Aragon. Sometimes, too, he fell in 
 
 334 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 love with statues, and one day, as he passed before the 
 Venus of Milo in the Louvre, he had called out, " Oh, 
 who will give you back your arms, so that you may 
 press me to your marble breasts." At Rome, the 
 sight of a thick tress of hair, exhumed from an antique 
 tomb, had inspired him with a curious fancy. He had 
 endeavoured, by means of two or three threads of the 
 hair, purchased at the price of gold from the keeper 
 and handed to a very powerful somnambulist, to call 
 up the shadow and shape of this dead woman ; but the 
 conductive fluid had evaporated during the lapse of so 
 many years, and the apparition had been unable to 
 emerge from eternal night. 
 
 As Fabio had guessed when he saw his friend stand- 
 ing before the glass case in the Studj, the imprint found 
 in the cellar of the house of Arrius Diomedes had 
 excited in Octavian an insensate desire for a retrospec- 
 tive ideal. He was endeavouring to leave time and 
 life behind and to transport his soul to the age of 
 Titus. 
 
 Max and Fabio withdrew to their rooms, and, their 
 heads somewhat heavy, thanks to the classic vapours of 
 the Falernian, they speedily fell asleep. Octavian, 
 who had repeatedly left his glass untouched before 
 
 335 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 him, — not caring to trouble by material intoxication 
 the poetic fervour that seethed in his brain, — felt 
 by the restlessness of his nerves that sleep would not 
 come to him. He left the osteria slowly, to cool his 
 brow and to quiet his thoughts in the air of night. 
 
 Unconsciously his feet took him to the dead city. 
 He removed the wooden bar that closed it and ventured 
 into the ruins. The white moonbeams illumined the 
 wan houses, and divided the streets into two parts of 
 silvery light and bluish shadow. This nocturnal light 
 concealed with its delicate tints the ruinous state of the 
 buildings. The broken columns, the cracked facades, 
 the roofs broken down by the eruption, were not 
 noticed as in the crude glare of noon. The parts that 
 were lacking were filled in by half-tints, and an unex- 
 pected beam, like a touch of feeling in a sketch for a 
 painting, suggested a whole fallen ensemble. The 
 mighty genii of night seemed to have restored the 
 fossil city for the performance of a strange life. 
 
 Sometimes, even, Octavian fancied he saw faint 
 human shapes moving in the darkness, but they van- 
 ished as soon as they reached the lighted part. Soft 
 whisperings, vague rumours, floated through the silence. 
 He attributed these at first to the winking of his eyes 
 
 33 6 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 and the buzzing of his ears ; he thought they must be 
 due to optical illusions, the plaint of the sea breeze, 
 or the hurried flight of a lizard or of an adder through 
 the nettles ; for everything lives in nature, even death ; 
 everything sounds, even silence. Nevertheless, he 
 could not help a certain feeling of anxiety, a slight 
 shudder, due perhaps to the chilly air of night. Twice 
 or thrice he looked round. He did not feel alone in 
 the deserted town as he had done a moment since. 
 Could his comrades have done the same thing as he, 
 and were they looking for him among the ruins ? Were 
 the shapes he had caught glimpses of Max and Fabio ? 
 Were the indistinct sounds of steps produced by them 
 as they walked and chatted and disappeared round the 
 corner of a square ? Although this was a natural 
 explanation, Octavian felt that it was not the correct 
 one, and he failed to convince himself by any reason- 
 ing. The solitude and the shadow were peopled by 
 invisible beings whom he had disturbed. He had come 
 plump into the middle of a mystery, and it seemed as 
 though his departure were awaited before anything 
 could begin. Such were the absurd ideas which came 
 into his mind, and which assumed much likelihood, 
 owing to the time, the place, and the numerous causes 
 
 22 
 
 337 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 of terror that will easily recur to those who have been 
 in some great ruin at night. 
 
 As he passed before a house which he had noticed 
 during the day, and on which the moon was shining 
 brightly, he saw, in a state of complete restoration, a 
 portico which he had endeavoured to reconstruct in his 
 mind. Four Doric columns fluted half-way up, the 
 shaft covered with a coat of red like a purple drapery, 
 supported a cyma covered with polychrome ornaments, 
 which seemed to have been finished but the day before. 
 On the side wall of the door a Laconian mastiff in 
 encaustic, accompanied by the usual legend, Cave canem, 
 was baying at the moon and at visitors with painted 
 fury. Above the mosaic threshold the word Have 
 in Oscan and Latin characters welcomed the guests 
 with its friendly syllables. The outer walls, painted 
 red and yellow, showed not a single crevice. The 
 house was higher by one story, and the tile roof, 
 topped by a bronze acroter, exhibited a perfect profile 
 against the pale-blue sky, in which glimmered a few 
 stars. 
 
 This strange restoration, carried out between after- 
 noon and night by some unknown architect, greatly 
 bothered Octavian, who was quite certain that during 
 
 338 
 
& & & £ ~h 'k & -k °k£:&&£&'Jhib&&!k & 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 the day he had seen that same house in a very ruinous 
 condition. The mysterious restorer had worked very 
 fast, for the neighbouring dwellings had a similar re- 
 cent and new look. All the pillars were topped by 
 capitals ; not a stone, not a brick, not a pellicle of 
 stucco, not a morsel of paint was lacking on the 
 brilliant walls of the facades, and through the peristyles 
 he could see, round the marble basin in the cavaedium, 
 white and rose laurels, myrtles, and pomegranate trees. 
 History was at fault ; there had been no eruption, or 
 the hand of time had gone back twenty centuries upon 
 the dial of eternity. 
 
 Octavian, filled with deepest surprise, asked himself 
 whether he was sleeping standing or whether he was 
 walking in a dream. He examined himself seriously 
 to ascertain whether delirium were evoking hallucina- 
 tions in his mind; but he was compelled to recognise 
 that he was neither sleeping nor mad. A singular 
 change had taken place in the atmosphere. Faint rosy 
 tints mingled their violet gradations with the azure 
 beams of the moon. The heavens were growing 
 lighter on the horizon. It seemed as if day were 
 about to dawn. Octavian looked at his watch ; it 
 pointed to midnight. Fancying it might have stopped, 
 
 339 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 he touched the repeater spring. The repeater sounded 
 twelve times. It was midnight unquestionably, and 
 yet the light kept on brightening, the moon was disap- 
 pearing in the azure, which was becoming more and 
 more luminous; the sun was rising. 
 
 Then Octavian, in whose mind the notion of time 
 was becoming confused, was fain to admit that he was 
 walking, not in dead Pompeii, — the cold corpse of a 
 city half drawn from its shroud, — but in a living, 
 young, intact Pompeii, on which the burning mud 
 torrents of Vesuvius had not yet flowed. An 
 inexplicable miracle had just carried him back, a 
 Frenchman of the nineteenth century, to the days of 
 Titus, not in spirit but in reality ; or else it was bring- 
 ing back to him from the depths of the past a destroyed 
 city, with its vanished inhabitants; for at that moment 
 a man wearing an antique costume emerged from a 
 neighbouring house. 
 
 The man wore his hair short and was smooth shaven. 
 He had on a brown tunic and a grayish cloak, the ends 
 of which were turned up so as not to impede his steps. 
 He walked rapidly, almost ran, and passed Octavian 
 without seeing him. On his arm he carried an esparto 
 basket and he was going towards the Forum. There 
 
 340 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 was no doubt about it, he was a slave, a Davus going 
 to market. 
 
 The sound of wheels was heard. An antique cart, 
 drawn by white oxen and laden with vegetables, entered 
 the street. By the oxen walked a driver with bare 
 legs tanned by the sun, sandals on his feet, and wear- 
 ing a sort of linen shirt puffed out at the waist. A 
 pointed straw hat thrown behind his back and fastened 
 round his neck by a strap, showed his head, of a type 
 unknown at the present day; a low brow with hard 
 bumps, black, crinkly hair, a straight nose, eyes as soft 
 as those of the oxen, and a neck like that of a country 
 Hercules. He gravely touched his animals with the 
 goad, assuming a statuesque pose that would have 
 made Ingres go into ecstasies. He noticed Octavian 
 and seemed surprised, but went on his way. He did 
 turn round once, no doubt unable to understand the 
 presence of that personage, strange to him, but with 
 his placid rustic stupidity leaving cleverer men than he 
 to read the riddle. 
 
 Campanian peasants also came, driving before them 
 asses bearing skins of wine and tinkling their brazen 
 bells. Their faces were as different from those of our 
 modern peasants as medals differ from pennies. 
 
 34i 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 The town was gradually rilling up with people, like 
 one of those panorama pictures that show deserted at 
 first and which a change in the light fills with people 
 invisible before. 
 
 Octavian's feelings had now changed. A moment 
 ago, in the deceitful darkness of night, he had been a 
 prey to that uneasiness which the bravest cannot avoid 
 when reason fails to explain troubling, fantastic circum- 
 stances. His vague terror was replaced by deep stupe- 
 faction. He could not understand the evidence of his 
 senses, in view of the clearness of his perceptions, and 
 yet what he beheld was absolutely incredible. Still not 
 quite convinced, he sought by noting small realistic 
 details to assure himself that he was not the plaything 
 of a hallucination. It could not be phantoms that filed 
 past him, for the brilliant light of the sun illumined 
 them with unmistakable reality, and their shadows, 
 lengthened in the morning light, were cast on the 
 pavements and the walls. 
 
 Unable to understand what was happening to him, 
 Octavian, at bottom delighted at seeing one of his 
 dearest dreams realised, let himself go and simply 
 watched all these marvels without attempting to under- 
 stand them. He said to himself that since in virtue 
 
 342 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 of some mysterious power he was enabled to live for a 
 few hours in a vanished age, he was not going to lose 
 his time in the solution of an incomprehensible prob- 
 lem ; and he continued bravely on his way, looking 
 right and left at a prospect which was to him at once 
 so new and so old. 
 
 But what was the particular period in the life of 
 Pompeii into which he had been transported ? The 
 names of the public personages in an aedile's inscription 
 engraved on the wall enabled him to ascertain that he 
 was at the beginning of the reign of Titus, —-that is, 
 in the year 79 of the Christian era. A sudden thought 
 flashed into Octavian's mind. The woman whose im- 
 print he had admired in the Naples Museum must be 
 alive, since the eruption of Vesuvius, in which she had 
 perished, had taken place on August 24 in that year ; so 
 it was possible for him to find her, to see her, to speak 
 to her. The great desire which he had experienced at 
 the sight of those ashes moulded upon divine contours, 
 was perhaps to be satisfied ; for nothing could be im- 
 possible to a love that could compel time to go back- 
 wards, and the same hour to pass twice through the 
 hour-glass of eternity. 
 
 While Octavian indulged in these reflections, hand- 
 
 343 
 
•i* «4* rt% «■♦-» ri* »A* rK «1» <•!•» ri% »A« «!•» rl* »A» JU rl-» rl-» rl« «£• lj« j|j 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 some young maids were going to the fountains, sup- 
 porting with the tips of their white fingers the jars they 
 balanced on their heads. Patricians in white togae 
 bordered with purple bands, and followed by their train 
 of clients, were proceeding to the Forum. Purchasers 
 crowded round the shops ; each of which was distin- 
 guished by a carved and painted sign, and recalled by 
 its small size and its shape the Moorish shops in 
 Algiers. Above most of the stalls a splendid phallus 
 in coloured terra cotta, bearing the words hie habitat 
 felicitas, gave proof of superstitious precautions against 
 the evil eye. Octavian noticed even an amulet shop, 
 the show-case of which was filled with horns, branches 
 of coral, and small golden Priapae, such as are still 
 to be found in Naples, as defences against jettatura, 
 whereupon he remarked to himself that superstition 
 was more durable than religion even. 
 
 Following the pavement, which borders every street 
 in Pompeii, — the English being thus deprived of the 
 honour of having invented that comfort, — Octavian 
 came face to face with a handsome young fellow of 
 about his own age, wearing a saffron-coloured tunic, 
 and draped in a mantle of fine white wool as soft as 
 cashmere. The sight of Octavian, wearing the hid- 
 
 344 
 
±± & & 4:4:4: i? 4: 4: 4:4:4:4:^4:4:4:4:4:4: 4:4:4: 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 eous modern hat, an ugly black frock-coat, his legs 
 pinioned in trousers, his feet fastened in by shining 
 boots, appeared to surprise the young Pompeian as 
 much as the sight of a Redskin or a Botocudo with 
 his feathers, his necklace of grizzly-bear claws and his 
 queer tattooing would surprise us on the Boulevard. 
 However, as he was a well-bred young man, he did not 
 burst out laughing in Octavian's face, and taking pity 
 on the poor barbarian lost in the Greco-Roman city, 
 he said to him in a gently modulated voice : — 
 " Advena, salve." 
 
 It was quite natural that an inhabitant of Pompeii in 
 the reign of the divine Emperor Titus, Most Powerful 
 and Most August, should speak Latin ; yet Octavian 
 started on hearing that dead language spoken by a 
 living mouth. Then he congratulated himself on hav- 
 ing been one of the best Latin students and carried off 
 prizes in the competitions. The Latin taught in the 
 University served him for once, and recalling his class- 
 room experience, he replied to the Pompeian's welcome 
 in the style of De viribus lllustribus and of Selectee e 
 profanis, in a fairly intelligible manner, but with a 
 Parisian accent which compelled the young man to 
 smile. 
 
 345 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 " Perhaps it is easier for you to speak Greek," said 
 the Pompeian. " I know that language too, for I 
 studied at Athens." 
 
 " I know even less Greek than Latin," replied Oc- 
 tavian. " I am from Gaul, from Paris, from Lutetia." 
 
 "I know that country. My ancestor made war in 
 Gaul under the great Julius Caesar. But what a curi- 
 ous dress you wear ! The Gauls I saw at Rome were 
 not dressed like that." 
 
 Octavian attempted to make the young Pompeian 
 understand that twenty centuries had passed since the 
 conquest of Gaul by Julius Caesar, and that fashions 
 had possibly changed in the meantime. But his Latin 
 was not sufficient for the purpose; and indeed, it did 
 not amount to much. 
 
 " I am called Rufus Holconius, and my house is 
 yours," said the young man ; " unless you prefer the 
 freedom of the tavern. You can be quite comfortable 
 at the inn of Albinus, near the gate of the Augustus 
 Felix suburb, and in the hostelry of Sarinus, the son of 
 Publius, near the second tower; but if you have no 
 objection, I should be glad to show you through the 
 city, which is strange to you. I like you, you young 
 barbarian, although you did try to play on my credulity 
 
 346 
 
J, A, r^. »4» «i* rL> «1» •!» ^7 ^tj? ife tl? tl? tl? toT db tl? t?? t?b 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 bv pretending that Emperor Titus, who is reigning at 
 this moment, died two thousand years ago, and that 
 the Nazarene, whose abominable followers, covered 
 with pitch, lighted up the gardens of Nero, alone 
 reigns as master in the deserted heavens whence 
 the great gods have fallen. By Pollux," he added, 
 glancing at a red inscription on a corner of a street, 
 "you have come at the right moment. They are 
 playing Plautus' Casina, recently put again on the 
 stage. It is a curious and comical play, which will 
 amuse you, even if you can make out no more 
 than the gestures. Follow me, for it will soon begin. 
 I will have you placed in the seats for guests and 
 strangers." 
 
 Hereupon Rufus Holconius walked off toward the 
 small comic theatre which the three friends had visited 
 during the course of the day. 
 
 The Frenchman and the Pompeian walked through 
 the Street of the Fountain of Abundance, the Street of 
 Theatres, passed by the College and the Temple of 
 Isis, the Sculptor's Studio, and entered the Odeon, or 
 comic theatre, by a side entrance. Thanks to the 
 recommendation of Holconius, Octavian was placed 
 near the proscenium. Every glance was immediately 
 
 347 
 
k k k k k k k k k k k k k k k k k k tfc 4: k k k k 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 turned upon him with kindly curiosity, and light whis- 
 perings ran all about the amphitheatre. 
 
 The play had not yet begun. Octavian turned the 
 time to account by examining the hall. The semi- 
 circular benches, ending at each extremity in a magni- 
 ficent lion's paw, carved out ofVesuvian lava, rose and 
 broadened from an empty space answering to our or- 
 chestra stalls, but much smaller and paved with a 
 mosaic of Greek marbles ; a broader bench formed 
 every here and there a distinctive zone, and four stair- 
 cases corresponding to the entrances, and ascending 
 from the base to the summit of the amphitheatre, 
 divided it into four wedges, wider at the top than at 
 the bottom. The spectators, provided with tickets 
 consisting of small ivory counters on which were 
 marked the compartment, the wedge, and the bench, 
 with the title of the play to be performed and the name 
 of the author, found their places without difficulty. 
 The magistrates and nobles, the married men, the 
 young men, the soldiers with their gleaming bronze 
 helmets, had separate seats. The beautiful togas and 
 the full white mantles, well draped, spreading over the 
 lower steps and contrasting with the varied dresses of 
 the women, who were seated above, and the gray capes 
 
 348 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 of the common people, relegated to the upper benches 
 near the pillars supporting the roof, between which one 
 could see a sky as intensely blue as the azure field of a 
 panathena, formed a wonderful spectacle. A fine spray 
 of water, scented with saffron, fell in imperceptible 
 drops from the friezes, and perfumed the air while 
 cooling it. Octavian recalled the fetid emanations that 
 poison the atmosphere of our theatres, so incommo- 
 dious that they may be considered places of torture, 
 and came to the conclusion that civilisation had not 
 improved greatly. 
 
 The curtain, supported by a transverse beam, fell 
 below the orchestra. The musicians seated themselves 
 in their tribune, and Prologue appeared, dressed gro- 
 tesquely, his head covered with an ugly mask, put on 
 like a helmet. 
 
 Prologue, after having bowed to the audience and 
 called for applause, began to make an argument. 
 "Old plays," he said, "were like wine, which im- 
 proves with use; and Casina, dear to the elders, should 
 surely not be less dear to the young. All could enjoy 
 it, the former because they were acquainted with it, 
 the latter because they did not yet know it. For the 
 rest, the play had been carefully restored, and the spec- 
 
 349 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 tators ought to listen to it free from care, without 
 thinking of their debts or their creditors, for no arrests 
 could be made at a theatre. It was a lucky day, the 
 weather was fine, and the halcyons were soaring over 
 the Forum." Then he gave a summary of the com- 
 edy which the actors were about to perform, at such 
 length that it is clear surprise had little to do with the 
 pleasure the ancients took in dramatic performances. 
 He stated that the old man Stalino, in love with his 
 beautiful slave Casina, proposed to marry her to his 
 farmer Olympio, a complaisant husband, whose place 
 he was to occupy on the wedding night ; and that 
 Lycostrata, Stalino's wife, to checkmate her vicious 
 husband's lust, proposed to marry Casina to the equerry 
 Chalinus, with the intention of favouring her son's 
 amours; finally, how Stalino, completely taken in, 
 mistook a disguised slave youth for Casina, who, on 
 its being found that she was free and of ingenuous birth, 
 wedded the young master, whom she loved and by 
 whom she was beloved. 
 
 The young Frenchman paid little attention to the 
 actors with their bronze-mouthed masks as they per- 
 formed on the stage. The slaves ran hither and 
 thither to simulate haste ; the old man wagged his 
 
 350 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 head and held out his trembling hands ; the matron, 
 loud-voiced, with sour and disdainful look, asserted her 
 importance and scolded her husband, to the great de- 
 light of the spectators The actors entered and went 
 out by three doors, cut in the wall at the back, and 
 leading to the actors' foyer. Stalino's house was at 
 one corner of the stage, and opposite was that of his 
 old friend Alcesimus. The setting, though very well 
 painted, rather gave an idea of the place than repre- 
 sented it, like the non-characteristic stage-setting of 
 the classic tragedy. 
 
 When the nuptial procession escorting the sham 
 Casina entered on the stage, a great burst of laughter, 
 such as Homer describes the laughter of the gods to 
 be, ran along every bench in the amphitheatre, and 
 thunders of applause awoke the echoes of the place. 
 But Octavian no longer listened or looked, for in the 
 compartment occupied by the women he had just 
 caught sight of a wonderful beauty. From that min- 
 ute the lovely face? which had attracted him were 
 eclipsed, as the stars are eclipsed by Phoebe. Every- 
 thing vanished, and .disappeared as in a dream. A mist 
 seemed to cover the benches that swarmed with peo- 
 ple, and the shrill voices of the actors seemed lost in 
 
 35i 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 infinite distance. He felt at his heart a sort of electric 
 shock, and when that woman's glance was turned upon 
 him, he felt that sparks flashed from his breast. 
 
 She was dark and pale ; her wavy, curly hair, black 
 as night, was slightly drawn back on the temples in 
 the Greek fashion, and in her white face shone sombre, 
 soft eyes, full of an indefinable expression of voluptu- 
 ous sadness and weariness of passion. Her mouth, 
 disdainfully curved at the corners, protested by the 
 ardent brilliancy of its flaming purple against the placid 
 whiteness of the face. Her neck had those lovely, 
 pure lines which nowadays are to be seen on statues 
 only. Her arms were bare to the shoulder, and from 
 the tips of her proud breasts, that lifted her rose 
 mauve-coloured tunic, fell two folds that might have 
 been carved in marble by Phidias or Cleomenes. 
 
 The sight of those breasts, so perfect in contour, so 
 pure in outline, filled Octavian with emotion. It 
 seemed to him that they exactly fitted the hollow im- 
 prints in the Museum of Naples, which had cast him 
 into such an ardent reverie, and a voice called out from 
 within his heart that that was the woman who had been 
 stifled by the ashes of Vesuvius in the villa of Arrius 
 Diomedes. By what miracle did he now behold her 
 
 352 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 alive, present at the performance of Plautus' Casina ? 
 He did not attempt to understand it. For the matter 
 of that, how did he happen to be there himself? He 
 accepted her presence as in dreams we accept the in- 
 tervention of people who have long since died and who 
 nevertheless act as if they were still living. Besides, 
 his emotion checked his reasoning powers. As far as 
 he was concerned, the wheel of time was thrown out 
 of its rut, and his victorious desire had chosen its own 
 place amid the vanished centuries. He found himself 
 face to face with his dream, one of the least realisable, 
 a retrospective chimera. All at once his life was filled 
 out. 
 
 As he gazed upon that face, so calm and yet so full 
 of passion, he understood that he beheld his first and 
 last love, that he had before him his cup of supreme 
 intoxication. He felt the remembrances of all the 
 women he thought he had loved vanishing like faint 
 shadows, and his soul became virgin or any anterior 
 emotion. The past disappeared. 
 
 Meanwhile, the beautiful Pompeian girl, resting her 
 chin upon the palm of her hand, cast upon Octavian, 
 while appearing to watch the stage, the velvety glance 
 of her darksome eyes, a glance that fell upon him 
 
 23 
 
 353 
 
£ 4, 4; 4; 4; 4; 4- 4; 4; 4» 4* 4» 4> 4. 4; 4j 4; 4; £ 4; 4j 4« £ 4; 
 
 ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 heavy and burning, like a jet of molten lead. Then 
 she leaned and whispered to a girl seated by her 
 side. 
 
 The performance was over. The crowd passed out 
 of the exits. Octavian, refusing the proffered service 
 of his guide Holconius, sprang out of the first exit 
 which he came upon. He had scarcely reached the 
 door, when he felt a hand on his arm, and a feminine 
 voice whispered to him, low, but so distinctly that he 
 lost not a word, — 
 
 " I am Tyche Nevoleia, and I minister to the 
 pleasures of Arria Marcella, daughter of Arrius Dio- 
 medes. My mistress loves you; follow me." 
 
 Arria Marcella had just entered her litter, borne by 
 four strong Syrian slaves, nude to the belt, their bronze 
 torsos shining in the sun. The curtains of the litter 
 were drawn apart, and a white hand, covered with 
 rings, was waving in friendly fashion to Octavian, as 
 if to confirm the message borne by the servant. The 
 purple curtain closed, and the litter went off, to the 
 cadenced step of the slaves. 
 
 Tyche led Octavian through side streets, crossing 
 from one to another by stepping lightly upon stones 
 which connected the pavements, and between which 
 
 354 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 passed the car wheels, making her way through the 
 labyrinth with the readiness that comes of familiarity 
 with a city. Octavian observed that he was traversing 
 portions of Pompeii which had not yet been excavated, 
 and which consequently were wholly unknown to him. 
 This curious circumstance, amid so many other curious 
 circumstances, did not surprise him. He, had made up 
 his mind to be astonished at nothing. In all this 
 archaic phantasmagoria, which would have driven an 
 archaeologist crazy with delight, he saw but the dark, 
 deep glance of Arria Marcella, and her splendid bosom, 
 triumphant over the ages, which destruction itself 
 sought to preserve. 
 
 They reached a concealed door, that opened and 
 immediately closed, and Octavian found himself in a 
 court surrounded by Ionic columns of Greek marble, 
 painted half-way up a bright yellow, the capitals picked 
 out with red and blue ornaments. A plant of aristolo- 
 chia hung its broad, heart-shaped leaves from the cor- 
 ners of the building, like a natural arabesque, and near 
 a basin bordered with plants, a rose flamingo stood on 
 one leg, like a feather flower among the vegetable 
 flowers. Frescoed panels, representing fanciful build- 
 ings or landscapes, adorned the walls. Octavian noted 
 
 355 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 these details with a rapid glance, for Tyche handed 
 him over to the slaves who attended the baths, and 
 who, in spite of his impatience, compelled him to 
 undergo all the refinements of the baths of antiquity. 
 After having passed through the different degrees of 
 vapourized heat, borne with the scraper of the rubber, 
 and had poured over him perfumes, cosmetics, and oil, 
 he was clothed in a white tunic, and at the farther door 
 found Tyche, who took his hand and led him into 
 another richly ornamented room. 
 
 On the ceiling were painted, with a purity of draw- 
 ing, a brilliancy of colour, and a freedom of touch that 
 marked a great master and not a mere decorator, Mars, 
 Venus, and Cupid ; a frieze composed of stags, hares, 
 and birds, playing amid foliage, ran around the room 
 above a wainscotting of Cipoline marble ; the mosaic 
 of the flooring, a wonderful piece of work, which was 
 perhaps done by Sosimus of Pergamus, represented ban- 
 queting meats admirably executed. 
 
 At the back of the room, on a biclinium, or bed for 
 two persons, leaned Arria Marcella, in a voluptuous, 
 serene pose that recalled the resting woman carved by 
 Phidias on the front of the Parthenon. Her pearl- 
 embroidered shoes lay at the foot of the bed, and her 
 
 356 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 lovely bare feet, purer than white marble, showed from 
 under a light linen coverlet. 
 
 Two urns shaped like balances, with a pearl in each 
 scale, shimmered in the light by her pale cheeks ; a 
 necklace of golden balls, from which hung pear-shaped 
 drops, gleamed upon the bosom half revealed by the 
 careless opening of a straw-coloured peplum, bordered 
 with a black fret ; a gold and black band shone in her 
 auburn hair ; for she had changed her dress on return- 
 ing from the theatre, and round her arm, like the asp 
 round Cleopatra's arm, was a golden serpent, with eyes 
 formed of precious stones, trying to bite its tail. 
 
 A small table supported on griffins' feet, and inlaid 
 with mother-of-pearl, silver, and ivory, stood by the 
 bed, laden with various dishes served in gold and silver 
 plate, or on china enamelled with precious paintings. 
 There was a pheasant with its feathers on, and various 
 fruits that ripen at different seasons. 
 
 There was every indication that a guest was expected. 
 Fresh-cut flowers were strewn on the ground, and the 
 amphorae of wine were plunged in urns full of snow. 
 
 Arria Marcella signed to Octavian to lie down by 
 her on the biclinium and to share the meal. The 
 young man, half crazed with surprise and love, ate a 
 
 357 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 few mouthfuls from the dishes held out to him by little 
 Asiatic slaves with curly hair and short tunics. Arria 
 did not eat, but she often bore to her lips an opalescent 
 Myrrhine cup filled with a dark purple wine, like coag- 
 ulated blood. As she drank, from her heart, which 
 had not beat for so many years, a faint rosy flush rose 
 to her pale cheeks, but her bare arm, which Octavian 
 touched as he raised his cup, was cold as a serpent's 
 skin or a marble tombstone. 
 
 " Oh, when you stopped at the Studj to look at the 
 piece of hardened clay which has preserved my shape," 
 said Arria Marcella, as she cast a deep moist glance 
 upon Octavian, "and when your thought rushed ar- 
 dently to me, my soul felt it in the world in which I 
 float, invisible to material eyes. Belief makes a god, 
 and love makes woman. One really dies only when 
 no longer loved. Your desire has restored me to life ; 
 the mighty evocation of. your heart has suppressed the 
 distance which separated us." 
 
 This view of amorous evocation, expressed by the 
 young woman, coincided with the philosophical belief 
 of Octavian, — a belief which I am much inclined to 
 share. For, in truth, nothing dies ; everything goes on 
 existing. No power can annihilate whatever has once 
 
 358 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 been created. Every act, every word, every shape, 
 every thought which has fallen into the universal ocean 
 of things makes circles which go on broadening to the 
 far confines of eternity. Material configurations dis- 
 appear only to the common glance ; their spectres peo- 
 ple the infinite. Paris still carries away Helen to some 
 unknown region of bliss ; the silken sails of Cleopatra's 
 galley still swell on some blue ideal Cydnus. Some 
 passionate minds, endowed with a powerful will, have 
 succeeded in recalling to themselves ages apparently 
 vanished, and have revived people dead to others. 
 Faust had the daughter of Tyndarus for a mistress, and 
 took her to his Gothic castle from the mysterious 
 depths of Hades. Octavian had just lived one day in 
 the reign of Titus, and had made himself beloved of 
 Arria Marcella, who was lying at this moment by him 
 on an antique bed, in a city that for every one else was 
 destroyed. 
 
 " By the disgust other women inspire me with," said 
 Octavian, « by the irresistible thought which drew me 
 to its own radiant, types in the depths of the ages, as 
 towards stars calling to me, I understood that I should 
 never love save outside all time and space. You are 
 the one I waited for, and the faint trace preserved by 
 
 359 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 man's curiosity placed me in relation with your soul 
 through secret magnetism. I know not whether you 
 are a dream or a reality, a phantom or a woman ; 
 whether, like Ixion, I am clasping a cloud to my 
 breast, or whether I am the plaything of a sorcerer's 
 foul charm ; but what I do know is that you shall 
 be my first and my last love." 
 
 " May Eros, son of Aphrodite, hear your vow," said 
 Arria Marcella, resting her head upon her lover's 
 shoulder, as he drew her to him in a passionate em- 
 brace. " Oh, press me to your young breast, envelop 
 me with your warm breath ; I am cold from having 
 remained so long without love." 
 
 And Octavian felt that beautiful bosom, the mould 
 of which he had that very morning admired through 
 the glass of a case in the Museum, rising and falling 
 against his breast. He felt the coolness of the lovely 
 flesh through his tunic. It burned him. The black 
 and gold band had fallen from Arria's head, which was 
 thrown back in a passion of love, and her hair was 
 spread like a black river upon the blue pillow. 
 
 The slaves had removed the table. Naught was 
 heard but a confused sound of kisses and sighs. The 
 tame quails, heedless of this amorous scene, were chirp- 
 
 360 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 ing and picking upon the mosaic floor the remains 
 of the feast. 
 
 Suddenly the brazen rings of the portiere that closed 
 the room slid along the pole, and an old man of severe 
 appearance, robed in a great brown mantle, appeared 
 on the threshold. He wore his gray beard in two 
 points, like the Nazarenes. His face appeared wrin- 
 kled by fatigue and maceration ; a small cross of black 
 wood hung round his neck, leaving no doubt as to his 
 belief: he belonged to the sect, then recently estab- 
 lished, of the disciples of Christ. 
 
 At sight of him Arria Marcella, overwhelmed with 
 confusion, concealed her face in a fold of her mantle, 
 like a bird that conceals its head under its wing in the 
 presence of a foe it cannot avoid, so as to escape at 
 least the horror of seeing it, while Octavian, leaning 
 on his elbow, looked fixedly at the troublesome indi- 
 vidual who had thus abruptly broken in upon his 
 enjoyment. 
 
 " Arria, Arria," said the austere individual, in a tone 
 of reproach, "was not your lifetime sufficient for your 
 dissipation, and must your infamous loves trespass upon 
 the ages which do not belong to you? Can you not 
 leave the living within their sphere ? Have your ashes 
 
 361 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 not cooled since the day you died unrepentant under 
 the volcano's rain of fire ? Have two thousand years 
 of death not quieted you, and do your greedy arms 
 still draw to your heartless marble bosom the poor mad 
 men intoxicated by your spells ? " 
 
 " Have mercy on me, father Arrius ; do not over- 
 whelm me in the name of that morose religion which 
 never was mine. I believe in our old gods, who loved 
 life, youth, beauty, and pleasure. Do not plunge me back 
 into wan nothingness; let me enjoy the life which love 
 has restored to me." 
 
 "Silence, impious one; speak not of your gods that 
 are but fiends. Let go that man, enchained by your 
 impure seductions ; cease attracting him outside the 
 circle of his life measured out by God ; return into the 
 limbo of paganism with your Asiatic, Roman, and Greek 
 lovers. Young Christian, do thou abandon that larva, 
 which would seem to thee more hideous than the Empusae 
 and Phorcydes, if thou couldst see her such as she is." 
 
 Octavian, pale and frozen with horror, strove to 
 speak, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. 
 
 " Will you obey, Arria ? " cried the tall old man, 
 imperiously. 
 
 " Never," replied Arria, her eyes flashing, her nos- 
 
 362 
 
A RRIA MARCEL LA 
 
 trils dilated, her lips quivering, as she clasped Octavian 
 in her lovely statue-like arms, cold, hard, and rigid like 
 marble. Her proud beauty, exasperated by the strug- 
 gle, shone with supernal brilliancy at this supreme 
 moment, as if to leave to her young lover an unforget- 
 table remembrance. 
 
 " Well, then, evil one," replied the old man, " I shall 
 have to use serious measures and make your nothingness 
 palpable and visible to that fascinated youth." 
 
 Whereupon he uttered in a voice of command a 
 formula of exorcism that drove from Arria's cheeks the 
 rosy tints they owed to the black wine in the Myrrhine 
 cup. 
 
 At that moment the distant bell of one of the vil- 
 lages on the seashore, or of one of the hamlets nestling 
 in the folds of the mountain, sounded the angelic 
 Salutation. 
 
 As she heard it, an agonizing sigh broke from the 
 young woman. Octavian felt the arms that clasped 
 him grow limp. The draperies that covered her fell 
 back of themselves as if the contours that supported 
 them had disappeared, and the unfortunate nocturnal 
 wanderer saw by his side on the festal bed nothing bui 
 a handful of ashes and shapeless remains mingled with 
 
 3 6 3 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 calcined bones, among which gleamed bracelets and 
 golden jewels, such as must have been discovered when 
 the house of Arrius Diomedes was excavated. — He 
 uttered a terrible cry and swooned away. The old 
 man had disappeared, the sun was rising, and the hall, 
 so brilliantly adorned but a moment before, was now 
 only a dismal ruin. 
 
 After a heavy sleep caused by the libations of the 
 evening before, Max and Fabio awoke with a start, and 
 their first thought was to summon their companion, 
 whose room was near theirs, by one of those burlesque 
 rallying-cries which young fellows sometimes agree 
 upon when travelling. Octavian did not reply, for 
 excellent reasons. Fabio and Max, receiving no reply, 
 entered their friend's room, and perceived that he had 
 not slept in his bed at all. " He must have been un- 
 able to get back to his bed, and have gone to sleep in a 
 chair," said Fabio, " for he has not a very strong head, 
 and then probably went out early to work off the fumes 
 of the wine in the morning air." 
 
 "He had not drunk very much," added Max, reflect- 
 ively. " This seems rather strange to me. Let 's go 
 and find him." 
 
 3 6 4 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 The two friends, with the assistance of the guide, 
 traversed every street, every lane, every square and 
 place in Pompeii ; entered every curious house in 
 which they fancied Octavian might be copying a paint- 
 ing or an inscription, and finally found him senseless 
 on the disjoined mosaics of a small half-ruinous room. 
 They brought him to his senses with much difficulty. 
 When he had come to himself, he gave no other ex- 
 planation save that the fancy had occurred to him of 
 seeing Pompeii by moonlight, and that he had been 
 seized with a fit that would probably have no ill 
 results. 
 
 The little company returned to Naples by railway 
 as they had come, and that evening, in their box at 
 San Carlo, Max and Fabio watched through their 
 glasses a band of nymphs skipping around in a ballet, 
 supporting Ammalia Ferraris, the then popular dancer, 
 and who wore under their gauze skirts hideous drawers 
 of a monstrous green, that made them look like frogs 
 stung by a tarantula. Octavian, pale, his eyes dim, 
 with a look of weariness on his face, did not seem to 
 notice what was going on on the stage, so difficult was 
 it for him, after the marvellous adventure of the night, 
 to re-enter into the feeling of real life. 
 
 3 6 5 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 From that day Octavian became the victim of a 
 sombre melancholy which the high spirits and jokes of 
 his companions increased rather than relieved. The 
 image of Arria Marcella pursued him constantly, and 
 the sad ending of his fantastic love affair did not destroy 
 its charms. Unable to resist the desire, he returned 
 secretly to Pompeii, and again, as on the former occa- 
 sion, walked through the ruins by moonlight, his heart 
 rilled with insensate hope ; but the hallucination was 
 not renewed. He saw only the lizards fleeing over the 
 stones, and heard only the calls of the terrified night- 
 birds. He did not meet his friend Rufus Holconius ; 
 Tyche's slender hand did not rest on his arm j and 
 Arria Marcella obstinately remained dust. 
 
 As a last resort Octavian recently married a young 
 and lovely English girl, who is madly in love with him. 
 He has turned out a perfect husband, and yet Helen, 
 with that secret instinct of the heart that cannot be de- 
 ceived, feels that her husband is in love with some one 
 else — but with whom ? The most active spying has 
 failed to give her any information. Octavian does not 
 keep a ballet-girl, and in society he pays ladies merely 
 commonplace compliments. He even received very 
 coolly the marked advances of a Russian princess, fa- 
 
 366 
 
ARRIA MARCELLA 
 
 mous for her beauty and her coquetry. A secret drawer, 
 which the suspicious Helen opened during her husband's 
 absence, furnished no proof of infidelity. But then it 
 would never have occurred to her to be jealous of Arria 
 Marcella, daughter of Arrius Diomedes, a freedman of 
 Tiberius. 
 
 3 6 7 
 
4* *4* *b rj^ ♦!» »A» tt* ri-» ^^^^*^*§* •£••§* 2§*;§*;§* jbsj? 
 
 Contents 
 
 INTRODUCTION ........ 3 
 
 THE QUARTETTE . « 13 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT .... "325 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 Introduction 
 
 IT is probably impossible for the present genera- 
 tion of Europeans, and certainly for Ameri- 
 cans, to understand the passionate devotion felt 
 by Frenchmen, towards the latter part of the 
 first half of the nineteenth century for the great 
 Napoleon. While it is true that millions of the 
 French had breathed easier when he fell at Waterloo, 
 and the end of the long years of war that had sent 
 the best, the flower, of French youth to fall on foreign 
 and home battle-fields had come, there occurred before 
 long a tremendous reaction in favour of the Emperor. 
 Several causes contributed to this : in the first place, 
 the victory of Waterloo brought in its train invasion 
 and armed occupancy of the territory ; then the 
 Bourbons, restored by foreign arms, exhibited the 
 most absolute unintelligence of the changed condi- 
 tions of the country and of society ; further, the 
 exile of the fallen Emperor to Saint Helena, while 
 
 3 
 
tlbdfer^? ^ ^b* «1? ^b cb ti^ tfc tl? tb tb tb ti? tir ti? Tx? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 quite justified by considerations of policy and human- 
 ity, aroused the deepest irritation in every French 
 breast that still conserved the feeling of national pride 
 and devotion to the man who had so long incarnated 
 the military glory of a people ever fond of war and 
 signally victorious on so many different fields and in 
 so many diverse countries. These feelings became all 
 the stronger as time passed and the recollections of 
 the fearful sufferings that Napoleon had caused passed 
 away, as all such recollections will pass. There then 
 sprang up a Napoleonic legend, to which poets, his- 
 torians, dramatists, painters, singers, politicians all con- 
 tributed in turns or together. Napoleon became the 
 incarnation of triumphant France, and men recalled 
 with swelling breasts that under him the nation had 
 dictated terms of peace to the sovereigns of Europe 
 in the capital of each of them. The glorious epic 
 of so many years' duration excited and inflamed all 
 imaginations, and the genuineness of the sufferings 
 of the illustrious captive lent an additional glamour 
 to the memory of him that was so sedulously culti- 
 vated. Beranger's songs were on all lips; Hugo, 
 who, in his first poems, had heaped obloquy upon 
 " the tyrant," changed his views and ere long became 
 
 4 
 
4; 4; 4; 4; 4; £ 4» 4; 4; 4j 4* 4. 4. 4. 4. 4. 4; 4. 4* 4* 4* £ dbtfc 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 an almost fanatical worshipper of the great warrior. 
 The tide set more and more strongly in favour of 
 the lost leader, and the French were ready to acclaim 
 again any one bearing the name of Napoleon, — a 
 name that was indeed one to conjure with, as was 
 shortly afterwards proved. 
 
 When Louis-Philippe obtained leave to bring back 
 to France the ashes of the dead Emperor, and sent the 
 Prince de Joinville with a frigate to Saint Helena, the 
 whole of France was in an indescribable state of fer- 
 ment and excitement. The translation of the remains 
 from the lone islet in the Atlantic to the superb rest- 
 ing-place prepared for them under the Dome of the 
 Invalides on the Champ de Mars, was the signal for 
 an outburst of patriotic and military fervour that has 
 perhaps never been equalled, and certainly never sur- 
 passed in France. It was on this occasion that 
 Victor Hugo wrote his magnificent " The Return of 
 the Emperor," three stanzas from which may here 
 be quoted, as expressing the very thoughts that led 
 Gautier to the selection of the theme he has devel- 
 oped in " The Quartette," and which will, therefore 
 make the meaning of the tale plainer to the modern 
 reader : — 
 
 5 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Saint Helena ! — O lesson ! O fall ! Warning ! Agony ! 
 England, her hate to satisfy her whole genius using, 
 In open day the great man 'gan to devour ; 
 And once again men beheld the Homeric sight : 
 The fetters, the rock burned by scorching Afric sun, 
 The Titan, — and the vulture ! 
 
 "But now these tortures, that mighty sorrow, 
 The Punic rage, the rancour implacable 
 That made the Great Crucified bleed, 
 Th' affronts that smote every soul of pride, 
 Like deep vase wherein pours a fountain's stream, 
 Slowly the whole world with pity filled. 
 
 '* Pity from noble hearts springing ! Cry of the wide world ! 
 These angered thee in thy shadow, thou British gaoler ! 
 For admiration, with its sov'ran flame, 
 Hardens vile man and softens great souls. 
 Alas ! when weeps the brave, the coward laughs ; for fire 
 The mud doth dry, but melteth bronze." 
 
 Gautier started to write a sort of historical novel, 
 with just enough history in it to account for the choice 
 of the subject and to interest the French reader ; for 
 the tale was intended for home consumption, or at most 
 for perusal by the foes of England, who would willingly 
 enjoy abuse of the country that had saved Europe and 
 whose crowning triumph at Waterloo had not been 
 
 6 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 altogether palatable even to the enemies of Napoleon. 
 Chauvinism, as the French term it, jingoism, as the 
 modern term is, was as rampant in 1848 as at the 
 present day, and the author who dexterously appealed 
 to it was sure of a large audience and of a ready sale 
 for his works. 
 
 But Gautier, while sufficiently chauvinistic in this 
 story to satisfy all but the most exacting fanatics of 
 Napoleonism, introduced a clever variation of the 
 theme in making the attempted rescue of the illustri- 
 ous captive the work of Englishmen instead of French- 
 men. By doing this, he laid heavier condemnation 
 upon England herself, since he showed, to the satis- 
 faction of the readers of la Presse, at least, that even in 
 perfidious Albion there were men as devoted admirers 
 of the Little Corporal as any that could be found 
 within the confines of fair France. This clever 
 artifice, for it is scarcely more, enabled Gautier to 
 indulge safely in the most extraordinary representation 
 of English life and manners, which no one can read 
 at the present day without a smile. But his object 
 was, not to represent the manners and customs of a 
 land he knew but slightly, — for his trips to London 
 had not been devoted to a serious observation of the 
 
 7 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 people, — it was to write a dramatically interesting 
 story that should move deeply the public to which 
 it was addressed ; a public that devoured it greedily, 
 since it flattered its vanity, and justified its admiration 
 for Napoleon and its hatred for Sir Hudson Lowe. 
 
 Neither probability, therefore, nor an accurate pic- 
 ture of English life and ways is to be looked for in this 
 story, which is more in the style of Balzac's famous 
 " History of the Thirteen " than in that of the mod- 
 ern historical novel. Most probably Gautier was 
 inspired both by that celebrated work and by his own 
 recollections of the Society of the Red Horse, of 
 which he has given an account in his study on Balzac, 
 and of which he was himself a member. Indeed, 
 his description of the junta to which de Volmerange, 
 Arundel, Daksha, and the other prominent characters 
 belonged, recalls at once both the formidable associa- 
 tion of which Ferragus was the head, and the less 
 redoubtable Red Horse. The adventures of the per- 
 sonages, the breaking of the matches at the very 
 church door and in the nuptial chamber, the mys- 
 terious brig, the underground passage to the Thames, 
 the Indian mutinv, the conspiracy for the liberation 
 of Napoleon and the setting of the Emperor on the 
 
 8 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 throne of India, recall constantly the somewhat gran- 
 diloquent schemes that Balzac is fond of ascribing 
 to the men he sets moving in his vast " Comedie 
 humaine." 
 
 But if the reader is willing to take things for 
 granted, and to allow Gautier to have his own way, 
 he is sure to enjoy the extraordinary adventures and 
 the astounding complications which the author has 
 evolved for his entertainment. In other words, the 
 book is not to be taken seriously as an attempt to 
 produce a true historical novel, but merely as a bril- 
 liant emanation of the author's imagination. 
 
 " The Quartette " appeared in the columns of la 
 Presse, from September 20 to October 15, 1848, the 
 very year in which Louis-Philippe was being driven 
 from the throne, to be succeeded by Louis Napoleon, 
 first as President of the French Republic, and then as 
 Emperor of the French. It was published in book 
 form in 1851. 
 
 9 
 
The Quartette 
 
tl%ttm «4* *h* *4* *4* •&» *4r> •i* >4»«4»« A »« I ««^^^ »4» •!» »4» »lj »iy <^ t?» Hb 
 
 THE QUJRTETTE 
 
 ************************ 
 I 
 
 THE pale November dawn, not yet very 
 wide-awake, was rubbing its eyes behind 
 a curtain of gray clouds, and already the 
 worthy innkeeper Geordie was standing 
 at the door of his hostel, his arms crossed as far as he 
 could over a vast paunch that testified most eloquently 
 to the excellence of the cookery at the Red Lion. 
 He had the perfectly satisfied air of an innkeeper who, 
 being the only one in the place, feels that he is mas- 
 ter of the situation and is not afraid that travellers will 
 escape him ; for at that time the Red Lion was the 
 only inn in Folkestone. 
 
 At the time of the story we are about to relate, 
 Folkestone was a little village, the yellow brick and 
 timbered houses of which rose irregularly on the slope 
 that leads from the summit of the cliff to the sea. 
 Geordie's house was one of the handsomest, if not the 
 handsomest, in the place. At the corner of the build- 
 
 3 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ing, at the end of an elegantly twisted iron volute, 
 swung in the sea-breeze a red lion of tin, the paint on 
 which, owing to the salt mists of the ocean, had to be 
 frequently renewed. This having been recently done, 
 the sign glowed as brightly as a lion gules on a field or 
 in a manual of heraldry. 
 
 Geordie was thinking, but his thoughts were in no 
 wise poetical. He was calculating in his own mind 
 the profits of the preceding months. Geordie rea- 
 soned that if the increase kept up, he might in a short 
 time purchase the piece of ground which he coveted 
 and which cut so unpleasantly into his own land. 
 
 He had just got to this point, when a grim-looking 
 individual who had been standing before him for a few 
 moments past and whom he had not observed, owing to 
 his preoccupation, apparently thinking that there was 
 no other way of being noticed, slapped him on the 
 stomach in the way that thin, bony men like to do to 
 stout men, either through irony or facetiousness. 
 
 Angered by this familiarity in very bad taste, which 
 was peculiarly disagreeable to him and which he 
 scarcely put up with from his intimate friends and his 
 rich customers, Geordie sprang backwards with remark- 
 able agility for a man of his size, and seeing that his 
 
 14 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 aggressor was dressed in a way that did not betoken 
 wealth, he mentally reasoned thus : " This fellow will 
 at most eat a slice of beef and drink a pint of half-and- 
 half and a glass of whiskey, and yet he is as insolent as 
 a nobleman who has for supper a fine pullet washed 
 down with claret and champagne. I do not risk 
 losing more than a shilling and a few pence by speak- 
 ing plainly to him." 
 
 " Well, you brute, you fool, you ass, you ill-bred 
 dolt ! " cried Geordie, after the mental reasoning which 
 I have just transcribed. " Is that the way to enter 
 into conversation with well-bred people ? I am sorry 
 for those who brought you up." 
 
 " Don't get excited, my stout friend. Could I go 
 on standing before you, stuck like a post, until the 
 Day of Judgment ? I coughed three times and twice 
 called you by your name, Master Geordie; yet you 
 moved no more than a hogshead. I had to make 
 you feel my presence," answered in a sarcastic tone 
 free from fear and repentance the individual who had 
 just slapped the FalstafF-like paunch of the worthy 
 innkeeper. 
 
 "You might have drawn attention to yourself in a 
 more delicate way," returned Master Geordie, in a still 
 
 15 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 indignant tone, to which, however, the firm speech and 
 assured glance of the stranger had already imparted a 
 more timid inflection. 
 
 " Come, you hospitable elephant, clear your own 
 door if I am to pass and enter the coffee-room of the 
 Red Lion inn, the best one in Folkestone." 
 
 Master Geordie, who was well acquainted with 
 humankind and with the pitiful look which the con- 
 sciousness of an empty purse brings to a face, judged 
 from the coolness of the stranger and the freedom of 
 his manners that, notwithstanding his modest dress, he 
 was probably fairly well off and would call for a 
 bottle of French wine, or at least a cup of Canary 
 sack; so, temporarily sacrificing his dignity, he drew 
 back as well as he could and allowed his aggressor to 
 enter the house. 
 
 The coffee-room of the Red Lion, lighted by four 
 windows, the sashes of which hung on counterweights, 
 and which have been called guillotines since the inven- 
 tion of that philanthropic instrument, was divided into 
 several wooden boxes not unlike private rooms and 
 recalling the shape and arrangement of loose boxes in 
 stables : for an Englishman is so fond of being alone 
 that he feels uncomfortable in the sight of his kind, 
 
 16 
 
££££££££££££££££££££££££ 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 and has to establish a separation, a sort of home for 
 himself, even on the neutral ground of the common 
 room in a tavern. Between the two rows of boxes 
 ran a passage powdered with fine yellow sand, leading 
 to a splendid mahogany counter inlaid with brass 
 ornaments, on which shone rows of pewters and jugs 
 with polished metal covers that gleamed like silver. 
 Behind the counter was a narrow mirror in a wooden 
 frame, and within reach of the hostess's hand a number 
 of faucets at the end of pipes that led into as many 
 barrels of ale and other liquids in the cellar. A few 
 engravings of Hogarth's framed in black, and depict- 
 ing the disadvantages of some vice or another, — not 
 that of drunkenness, — completed the decoration of 
 this part of the room, which was, as it were, the altar 
 and sanctuary of the house. 
 
 Geordie went up to the counter, followed by his 
 guest, who did not appear dazzled by the splendour of 
 the place, and put to him, in a tone which the habit 
 of flattering clients seemed to make more markedly 
 obsequious than he intended, the usual question, 
 " What will your honour take ? " 
 
 " A post-chaise and four," answered the man, in the 
 quietest, most careless way possible. 
 
 1 17 
 
db tsT tl» *^* rj? tj? tl? db tl? j? tI? 4? *T?tl? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 At this unexpected reply the owner of the Red Lion 
 assumed a supremely disdainful attitude. He drew him- 
 self up, threw back his head and said : — 
 
 " Sir, I do not like practical jokes any more than 
 practical jokers. You have already slapped me in a 
 way that I do not care to characterise beyond saying 
 that ' familiar ' and ' indecent ' do not seem to me too 
 strong. Notwithstanding this discourteous action of 
 yours, I have allowed you to enter this inn of the Red 
 Lion, known, I venture to say, the world over ; I have 
 brought you to this counter where are sold refreshing, 
 tonic, or spirituous drinks, as people may prefer ; I ask 
 you politely what your honour will take, and you 
 answer nonsense. 4 A post-chaise and four ' is a reply 
 which in no wise fits in with my question, and shows 
 a formal intention on your part to insult me." 
 
 "Not so fast, Master Geordie. You talk too much. 
 Do not get so heated. Just now you were merely 
 crimson, now you have become purple, and you will 
 soon turn blue. Be calm. I have never had the least 
 intention of offending so respectable an individual as 
 you appear to be. I am quite serious. As a matter of 
 fact, I need a carriage, — landau, victoria, post-chaise, 
 I don't care what it is, provided it is strong and runs 
 
 ^8 
 
4 : 4. 4, 4, 4- 4, 4. 4, 4- 4, 4 : 4. 4; 4; 4; 4, 4, 4, £ £ 4. 4. 4 ; 4. 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 easily. With the carriage I need horses, and as I like 
 to travel fast, I called for four, and of the best which 
 have eaten oats in your stables. There is nothing 
 very surprising in that." 
 
 The logic of this reasoning struck Master Geordie 
 as plausible enough, although the dress and appearance 
 of his customer still inspired him with a mistrust, which 
 the latter no doubt suspected, for he plunged his hand 
 in one of his pockets and drew out a fairly large bag, 
 which he threw into the air. As it fell it gave out a 
 metallic sound which, to the practised ear of Geordie, 
 revealed the perfect harmonv of guineas and sovereigns, 
 without any discord of silver or copper money. The 
 innkeeper, who until now had kept on his cap, 
 took it off and twisted it in his hands somewhat 
 shamefacedly, for he was rather troubled by the plain 
 speech he had used to a man with so well-filled a 
 purse ; but who could have suspected that a traveller 
 whose dress was of common stuff and vulgar cut was 
 so well off? 
 
 " For how many of these round yellow coins do you 
 propose to exchange one of your vehicles ? " said the 
 stranger, — whom I shall call Jack or John, for the 
 purpose of my story ; for, being an Englishman, he was 
 
 r 9 
 
£ :b i: & db- 4? ± & dbdbsbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdb & dbtfe 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 bound to be called by one or the other of these names, 
 
 — as he spread a large number of coins in a semicircle 
 on the table. 
 
 " I could sell you cheap the two-seated chaise, but 
 it has a broken wheel and it would take some time to 
 mend it ; or the landau, if the rear spring were not 
 broken," said the hotel-keeper, rubbing his nose with 
 his finger, while with the other hand he held his elbow, 
 
 — an attitude which at all times sculptors and painters 
 have used to express perplexed meditation. 
 
 "Why," said Jack, "instead of these horrible, 
 broken-down traps, do you not at once propose to let 
 me have your olive-green double-seated travelling- 
 carriage lined with Lincoln-cloth, and provided with 
 such beautiful silk blinds ? " 
 
 " My olive-green travelling-carriage, which cost me 
 so much ? " cried Geordie, terrified at the proposal. 
 " What are you thinking of? " 
 
 " I am thinking of the carriage. The price is but 
 a small matter. If I pay more for it than you did, 
 you will no doubt consent to part with it ? " And as 
 he said these words, Jack, with a very lordly look, care- 
 lessly let fall by the other pieces a dozen guineas more, 
 so as to almost close the circle of gold. 
 
 20 
 
THE Q U A R T E T T E 
 
 " He must be a nobleman in disguise," said the 
 innkeeper to himself, as he nodded in acquiescence 
 to the peremptory request of Jack. " No doubt on 
 these terms I would agree to part with it," he con- 
 tinued aloud ; " and when does vour honour need the 
 carriage ? " 
 
 "At once. Tell the postilion to dress and have the 
 horses put to as quickly as possible." 
 
 " Two minutes to bring out the carriage from the 
 carriage-house, ten minutes to harness the horses and 
 put them to, — that is twelve; three for Little John to 
 put on his jacket, get into his boots and put a new lash 
 to his whip; — that makes fifteen minutes, by which 
 time you will be driving along at the best speed in the 
 world." 
 
 " Fifteen minutes and not one more," said Jack, as 
 he drew from his fob a big silver watch, " or for every 
 minute you are late, I shall administer to your precious 
 corporation one of those slaps which put you in such a 
 temper." 
 
 In order to avoid this unpleasantness, Master Geordie 
 hurried out and gave the necessary orders. Then he 
 returned, and with his long habit of urging customers to 
 drink, asked Jack whether he would not take some- 
 
 21 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 thing while the carriage was being got ready. " Would 
 your honour like a glass of sherry, or port, or arrack 
 punch ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, Master Geordie. Not that I 
 doubt the excellence of your cellar and your skilfulness 
 as a mixer of drinks." 
 
 " Do you happen to belong to a temperance society ? " 
 asked the innkeeper, astonished at such sobriety. 
 
 " I am not enough of a drunkard for that," an- 
 swered Jack, laughing, " nor do I need to listen to 
 Father Matthew's sermons, but I promised myself 
 not to drink to-day." 
 
 " A papist, no doubt," murmured Geordie to him- 
 self, such a promise seeming to him even more impru- 
 dent than Jephthah's vow. " Well, I shall drink this 
 glass to your health," added Geordie, very much 
 grieved at the thought that his customer would not 
 pledge him in return. 
 
 " I can watch a man drink without breaking my 
 word," said Jack, " and indeed it is the more merito- 
 rious on my part, since I resist temptation ; your wine 
 looks so good." 
 
 " Real liquid ruby, sir, and what a bouquet! Spring- 
 time violets have not a more exquisite scent," said the 
 
 22 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 innkeeper, melting into poetry and putting his glass 
 under Jack's nose. 
 
 Jack breathed in the aroma of the wine with a deep 
 inspiration, followed by an expiration that sounded like 
 a sigh. It seemed as though he would give way 
 before a wine the merits of which he appreciated so 
 thoroughly ; so Geordie put the neck of the bottle over 
 the edge of the other glass ; but Jack was a man of 
 character and firm will. He recovered himself at once 
 and putting before the eyes of the innkeeper his watch, 
 which pointed to fourteen and a half minutes, he out- 
 stretched his big hand, the shape of a mutton-ham, 
 with an air of sarcastic threat. 
 
 " There are thirty seconds left," cried Geordie, try- 
 ing to change the convex line of his paunch into a 
 concave line, — a difficult and indeed impossible feat. 
 
 The watch was just about to the mark the fifteenth 
 minute, and the pitiless Jack was balancing his hand to 
 give it more swing, while Geordie was defending his 
 corporation by crossing his arms in a more compli- 
 cated way than chaste Venus, when fortunately the 
 crack of Little John's whip and the sound of the 
 olive-green carriage emerging from the yard put an 
 end to the embarrassing and pathetic situation. 
 
 23 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Jack let fall his hand and Geordie drew himself up 
 again. " I said fifteen minutes," he exclaimed with 
 the intoxication of satisfied punctuality. 
 
 "•Your paunch has had a narrow escape of it," 
 said Jack as he got into the carriage and sat down 
 without the least hesitation upon the cloth cushions 
 of Lincoln-green. 
 
 u Which way, sir?" asked the postilion. 
 
 " First, out of the village, and then I shall tell you 
 the road you are to take," answered Jack, who no 
 doubt did not care to let Master Geordie and the few 
 idlers who had drawn together to witness the depart- 
 ure of the carriage know the real object of his trip. 
 
 After the village had been left behind, Little John, 
 turning round, said to Jack, " Shall I take the London 
 road, sir ? " 
 
 " No, my lad," replied Jack ; " drive along the 
 shore until I tell you to stop." 
 
 Little John, somewhat astonished, drove in that 
 direction, without, however, manifesting any surprise, 
 for Master Jack, although facetious at times, had, it 
 must be confessed, a very terrifying aspect. " No 
 doubt," said Little John to himself, " it is a run-away 
 match with some young lady, who, coming from a 
 
 ^4 
 
dj* *|* r£|« »4* db "Jr? m£ ^j? *j? "j??*!? Tt^^tT Tr? Tt? Tt? xTTvT^J? «8r«t » «i» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 house, will pretend to look at the sea and sketch the 
 landscape, and then leap into the carriage. I rather 
 like elopements, for lovers who feel that they have got 
 parents or guardians at their heels generally pay very 
 handsomely. And yet this fellow does not look like a 
 lover." 
 
 They drove for some miles along the shore, on 
 which the sea was breaking in regular waves and 
 dragging down the pebbles polished by slow wear. 
 Not far from the highest steep of the cliff which 
 overlooks the ocean, Jack cried, " Stop ! " without 
 any apparent reason, for nowhere around could be 
 seen a house, a farm, a manor, or a road. 
 
 Jack left the carriage and walked towards the cliff, 
 which he ascended as easily as would a cat, a sailor, or 
 a smuggler, helping himself by the smallest projections, 
 clutching the clumps of fennel and broom which hung 
 here and there from the rough chin of the rock. He 
 soon reached the top, followed by the amazed glance 
 of Little John, who had not supposed it possible to get 
 there without a ladder or ropes. 
 
 When Jack reached the top, a man who was lying 
 on his stomach in such a way as not to be seen 
 from below, and who was looking through a telescope 
 
 25 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 towards the open sea, raised his head and said : " Ah ! 
 is that you, Jack ? Is the carriage ready ? " 
 " Yes, and with four horses." 
 
 " That is right. The vessel is in sight. I can tell 
 it by the red-and-white pennant which is the signal 
 agreed upon between us." 
 
 Even with the naked eye might be seen on the 
 horizon, where the Channel opened out into the 
 ocean, a small white sail like a feather fallen from a 
 swan's wing upon the blue water. 
 
 " She has to beat to windward just now, but as soon 
 as she can free her sheets, she will fly over the waters 
 like a gull," continued the man lying down, still look- 
 ing through the telescope. "The wind is southwest, 
 — just what we want, and as good as if we had bought 
 it from a witch." 
 
 Stretching himself out by his companion, Jack took 
 the telescope and looked at the vessel, which was grad- 
 ually drawing nearer, the hull being already visible. 
 As soon as she freed her wind, great spaces of canvas 
 fell from the yards like white clouds. 
 
 " Ah, there he is, showing more canvas in one 
 minute than ten Spitalfield weavers could make in a 
 year ! " said Jack. 
 
 26 
 
t*? ifc ^Ji ^? tl» tl? til tl? tl? 't' Tt? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 As soon as she felt the wind, the vessel heeled over, 
 gracefully inclining her masts, as if in salute ; then 
 her sails shivered two or three times, and answering 
 the helm, she resumed her upright position, while a 
 double fringe of silvery foam flashed past her black 
 sides. 
 
 " What a lovely craft ! " cried Jack, carried away 
 by enthusiasm. " She must reel ofF the knots in great 
 fashion." 
 
 Apparently the crew of the ship did not share Jack's 
 ideas as to her speed, for the fore-top-gallant sail was 
 set and another jib showed beyond the two already 
 swelling in the breeze. 
 
 " Look, Macgill," said Jack, handing the telescope 
 to his companion; "they evidently don't want to lose 
 any of the wind. With all that canvas set, the devil 
 take me if she is not going fifteen knots ! " 
 
 Impelled by a fresh breeze, the ship came on so 
 rapidly that in a few minutes the telescope was no 
 longer needed to make out the details. 
 
 " Why, they are mad ! the captain must have drunk 
 a ton of punch ! " cried Jack and Macgill, on seeing 
 the lower stunsails set, the ends of the booms dipping 
 in the sea like the wings of a gull. 
 
 27 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " If they keep on," said Macgill, " they will lift her 
 from the water and make her fly in the air or turn her 
 keel up. She is a fine brig. Everything hangs on ; 
 not a mast is bending, not a rope is giving," he went 
 on admiringly. 
 
 " Never did a smuggler chased by a king's ship, 
 never did a merchant vessel laden with gold and 
 cochineal, harried by a corsair, fly at such speed. One 
 would think their lives depended on it, and yet I can- 
 not see another sail on the horizon." 
 
 " Captain Peppercull knows his business. If he is 
 pressing his ship, it is because he is in a hurry or well 
 paid. He would not run the risk for nothing of cap- 
 sizing or of bringing the whole business down about 
 his ears. He is not fond enough of water for that," 
 said Jack, sententiously. " There is a good reason for 
 our having been sent here and my being told to pur- 
 chase a travelling-carriage from that accursed Geordie." 
 
 " Heaven forgive me, Jack ! they are setting the 
 sky-scrapers on every mast." 
 
 " There is not a sail now in the ' Lovely Jenny's ' 
 locker big enough to make a handkerchief out of. 
 Every rag is set." 
 
 " Although, thank Heaven, I am not afraid of water, 
 
 28 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 externally, at least, I prefer at this moment to be on 
 this rock rather than on Captain PepperculPs deck." 
 
 Feeling the weight of the increased canvas, the masts 
 bent like bows, the cut-water disappeared almost en- 
 tirely under the pressure of the wind, and a great 
 shower of foam broke on the bows, like the shavings 
 that rise from the hole of a plane vigorously driven. 
 
 " He will carry away his masts by the board," said 
 Macgill, deeply interested. 
 
 Nothing gave way, however, and the ship, carried 
 along like a whirlwind, shot up close to the cliff. 
 Stripped in an instant of her sails, she stopped, showing 
 her fine and delicate rigging. A boat left the side of 
 the " Lovely Jenny " and in a few strokes brought to 
 shore a man who appeared a prey to the liveliest 
 impatience. 
 
 " Half an hour late ! " he murmured as he jumped 
 ashore, looking at his watch. " Where is the carriage ? " 
 
 Jack, who with Macgill, had come down from the 
 cliff, called the carriage up. When the new-comer 
 was installed in it, Little John repeated his question, 
 " Which way, your honour ? " 
 
 " To London, and as fast as you can. Three 
 guineas for yourself." 
 
 29 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The carriage went off like lightning, the wheels 
 blazing like those of Elijah's car. Alone with Macgill, 
 Jack formulated this ingenious apothegm : — 
 
 "There goes a gentleman who is fond of travelling 
 fast. It would have been a great pity if he had been 
 born a tortoise." 
 
 30 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 II 
 
 LITTLE JOHN, carried away beyond all ex- 
 pression by the promise of a three-guinea tip, 
 caused his whip to perform a series of cracks 
 and explosions which resembled a musketry contest 
 between two armies, for he was a virtuoso in this sort 
 of music. The horses, exasperated by the cracking of 
 the fusilade, and also by the lash of the whip, which 
 in its vagabond arabesques caught them on the ears, 
 galloped at full speed and rushed through space with 
 mad ardour. The wheels turned so fast that they 
 seemed to have no spokes ; nothing could be seen of 
 them but rapid flashes. 
 
 The stranger had ensconced himself in a corner of 
 the carriage with the motionless resignation and the 
 concentrated fury of a powerful will that meets natural 
 and insurmountable obstacles, such as time and space. 
 In the palm of his hand, stretched out on his knee, he 
 held a watch, the hands of which he followed with a 
 restless gaze. Then, glancing out of the window at 
 
 3 1 
 
kk k k k k k k k k kkk kkkkkkkk k k k 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the sides of the road, he measured the speed with which 
 the trees vanished past the narrow pane. 
 
 " The half-hour lost will soon be made up if the 
 horses can keep up this pace for a little while longer," 
 murmured the mysterious personage, with a sigh of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 The man who was in such a hurry to reach London 
 deserves to have his appearance described with a few 
 strokes of the pen. He was young ; his features were 
 regular and cold, but marked with the stamp of reflec- 
 tion and of will. He did not appear to be more than 
 twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age. The lower 
 portion of his face, coloured by successive layers of 
 tan, betokened numerous voyages or long sojourns in 
 the East and the warm regions of the tropics, for the 
 dark complexion was not his natural one. The brow, 
 partially uncovered and flecked with short curls of very 
 fine fair hair, had a satiny whiteness, and protected 
 from the heat of the sun by the shade of the hat, it 
 preserved all the brilliancy of Northern blood. Even 
 after this examination, it would have been difficult to 
 assign a particular rank or a distinct social position to 
 the individual sitting on the Lincoln-green cloth cush- 
 ions of Master Geordie's olive-green travelling-carriage. 
 
 32 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Geordie, indeed, would unquestionably have uttered the 
 most doleful lamentations on seeing the pace at which 
 Little John was driving his horses and his favourite 
 carriage. 
 
 The man was not a soldier. He had not the stiff- 
 ness, the carriage of the head, and the square shoulders 
 which make a son of Mars recognisable at a glance, even 
 in civilian dress. Nor was he a clergyman. His face, 
 though serious and thoughtful, had not the beatific 
 expression and the sugary softness characteristic of 
 churchmen. Nor was he a merchant. His white 
 brow was not marked by any wrinkles full of figures 
 and calculations as to the chances of a rise or fall 
 in sugar. Nor was he a dandy. But it might be 
 safely affirmed, on looking at him, that he was a per- 
 fect gentleman. 
 
 What was the urgent interest which made him gal- 
 lop along the London road as if the salvation of the 
 world depended on his not being a minute late ? Was 
 he running away from or pursuing any one ? I cannot 
 yet tell that. 
 
 The horses began to show signs of fatigue. The 
 rubbing of the harness made the perspiration break out 
 on them in flakes of white, foamy lather; their breasts 
 
 3 
 
 33 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 were covered with silvery foam like that of the sea- 
 coursers in the triumphs of Neptune or Galatea. 
 Long jets of smoke issued from their nostrils, and, car- 
 ried away by the wind, mingled with the silvery vapour 
 that rose from their heaving sides. The carriage 
 rolled in a cloud, like the car of a classic divinity. 
 
 In spite of his great desire to earn the three guineas, 
 Little John felt some scruple at driving his animals 
 in this way, and the fear of bringing them back broken- 
 winded to Master Geordie combated for a time 
 his very natural desire to deserve the splendid tip. 
 Then Little John was an Englishman, and his postil- 
 ion's heart began to bleed as he saw Black, his favour- 
 ite horse, breathless and covered with sweat. A French 
 postilion would not have felt any such scruples. So, to 
 quiet his own conscience, Little John rose somewhat in 
 his saddle, made a half-turn towards the carriage, and 
 said, resting his hand upon the quarter of the horse he 
 rode : " Is it your lordship's intention to kill the horses 
 and to pay for them ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the stranger. 
 
 " Very good," answered Little John ; " vour lord- 
 ship's desire shall be fulfilled." And settling himself 
 in his boots and his saddle, he struck his horse with 
 
 34 
 
±±£±4~±^£ ££££££££££££££££ 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the handle of his whip. The animal reared, and the 
 pain calling out the remains of his strength, he dashed 
 forward, carrying along the remainder of the team. 
 The desperate speed was kept up, thanks to an inces- 
 sant application of blows, which would have wearied a 
 less practised arm than Little John's. 
 
 The stranger's eye was still fixed upon his watch- 
 dial ; he paid no attention whatever to the rural land- 
 scape softly gilded by autumn, or to the pretty cottages 
 peeping in all the simplicity of their morning dress 
 through the trees, already losing their leaves, along the 
 roadside, and showed himself insensible to all the grace- 
 ful details of English nature. He assuredly cared very 
 little for picturesqueness, at that time, at least, although 
 he did not appear to belong to the thick-headed class of 
 Philistines and bourgeois. He was engrossed by the one 
 thought of reaching his destination. 
 
 Thanks to the additional impulse given to the speed 
 of the horses by Little John, henceforth reassured as 
 regarded all possibility of accidents, the eager traveller 
 seemed to breathe more freely, his brow cleared, and he 
 put his watch in his pocket. 
 
 " Come ! " he said to himself, " I shall get there in 
 time, in spite of the bad luck which, in all this busi- 
 
 35 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ness, seems to have taken pleasure in upsetting my 
 plans. It shall not be said that my will had to yield 
 to human obstacles. And what a series of circum- 
 stances apparently combined on purpose to delay me ! 
 The vessel which brings the first letter in which I am 
 informed of the matter, which interests me to such 
 a degree as to make me leave India suddenly, is met 
 near the Moldave Islands by Javanese pirates, who take 
 and strip it ; so it is only by the second mail that I 
 learn what it is so important for me to know. I char- 
 ter the fastest sailing-vessel which I can find in Calcutta, 
 and a frightful gale makes me lose eight days in the 
 straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. Half of my crew leave the 
 Ganges carrying away the germs of black cholera, and 
 die most unseasonably. In the Red Sea I find the 
 plague, and the Isthmus of Suez barred by a series of 
 quarantines. I write on a camel's hump a letter to 
 worthy Macgill which must have reached him all in 
 tatters, perfumed with vinegar and aromatic fumiga- 
 tions, tattooed with twenty colours like the skin of a 
 Caribbean, and transmitted with respectful terror by the 
 tongs of the health officers. At the risk of being shot 
 down I evade quarantines, — for, amazing to relate, 
 the plague was afraid of the cholera. Fortunately I 
 
 36 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 find idling along the shore not far from Alexandria 
 worthy Captain Peppercull, a man without any prej- 
 udices, who is kind enough, in return for an im- 
 mense sum, to take me on board his ship and carry 
 me to England, carefully avoiding ports provided with 
 lazarettos. Never have I been so nervous as on that 
 accursed trip. I, who am usually so calm, was just 
 like an empty-headed chit who has the vapours because 
 her husband refuses to satisfy some unreasonable whim 
 of hers. Well, I shall soon reach my journey's end ; 
 my letter, which must have arrived a day or two be- 
 fore me, has given them time to get everything ready. 
 It is nine o'clock. In two hours more I shall be in 
 London." 
 
 " Well, postilion," he said, going on with his mono- 
 logue, as he lowered the window, " it seems to me that 
 we are slackening our pace." 
 
 " My lord, unless we had the griffin spoken of in 
 Scripture, or the car of fire of Elijah, we could not go 
 any faster. I challenge any postilion, even were he 
 paid six guineas, to get, no matter how hard he might 
 whip them up, any greater speed out of the legs of four 
 poor animals," majestically replied Little John, as he 
 turned round. 
 
 37 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 However, as a slight concession to the extravagant 
 desires of the traveller, Little John, who in his inter- 
 course with society had acquired fine manners, cracked 
 his whip two or three times; but, as he had foreseen, 
 the stimulus was now useless, and the lash, though laid 
 on to the withers of the horses, did not bring out a 
 single shiver of impatience or pain. Soon the near 
 leader, who was blowing like a blacksmith's bellows, 
 was covered with lather, his coat grew rough, his head 
 plunged forward, his hoofs lost the rhythm of the gal- 
 lop ; he staggered and leaned against his companion, 
 then fell on his side. The equipage, going at full speed 
 and unable to pull up at once, dragged the poor animal 
 for quite a distance, rolling up with his body the dust 
 of the road. 
 
 Little John, having stopped his horses, dragged at 
 the fallen animal bv the bridle and struck it energeti- 
 cally with the handle of his whip, believing that it had 
 merely stumbled and fallen, but Black was never to 
 carry travellers any more in this life. His flanks, wet 
 as if laved in water of the sky and of the sea, heaved 
 with a last convulsion ; he rose up in a delirium of 
 pain and made a few steps, dragging the carriage out 
 of the straight line. He looked like one of those phan- 
 
 38 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 toms of wan, mutilated horses that rise from amid the 
 heaps of bodies on abandoned battle-fields. Overcome 
 by the ascendency and terror of approaching death 
 which they felt with a wonderful instinct, the other 
 horses, in spite of Little John's efforts, who dragged 
 at their bits, followed the staggering steps of their poor 
 comrade, a prey to the black intoxication of agony. 
 At the very moment when the carriage, completely out 
 of its course, was about to upset on the edge of the 
 road, Black rolled to the ground as if invisible knives 
 had hamstrung him ; his great, wild eyes grew dim 
 and were covered with a bluish film ; a mass of foam 
 filled his bloody nostrils, and he stretched out his legs, 
 that stiffened like posts. It was all over with Black, 
 a fine horse, worthy of a better fate. 
 
 The whole thing had occurred in less time than it 
 takes to write it. 
 
 The stranger sprang quickly from the carriage, his 
 face giving evidence of the most violent annoyance. 
 
 " This is the last straw," he said in an accent of 
 concentrated fury, as he kicked Black's body. " That 
 wretched brute lying on the ground like a piece of 
 black paper might at least have lived some ten minutes 
 longer. Come, be quick ! I can see the post-house 
 
 39 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 yonder ; make haste towards it." And the stranger 
 helped Little John, who had got down, in a way 
 that betokened his thorough familiarity with horses. 
 He undid the buckles without any hesitation, and dis- 
 entangled easily the complications of the harness tangled 
 by the desperate efforts of poor Black. The postilion, 
 at first scandalised by the little feeling which the 
 stranger showed for the dead horse, felt sincere admira- 
 tion, and bestowed upon him his esteem, a thing which 
 he was most chary of. 
 
 14 What a pity that you are a nobleman ! " he said 
 to the stranger. " You could have made a handsome 
 living in my business. But perhaps it is better for us 
 that you are a lord. Poor Black ! " he went on as he 
 took off the bridle, " who would have thought this 
 morning that you were eating your last measure of 
 oats ? This is a sad life ! " Such was Black's funeral 
 eulogy. If the orator lacked eloquence, at least he 
 did not want for feeling. A suspicious moisture 
 showed in his eyes, and if he had not just in time 
 carried to his eyes the worn cuff of his sleeve, a tear 
 might perhaps have rolled between his cheek chapped 
 by cold and his nose reddened by wine. Black's soul, 
 if anything survives in animals, must have felt satisfied 
 
 40 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 and forgiven Little John for the blows he might have 
 unjustly struck on the body it had once inhabited ; for 
 he did not lavish marks of tenderness, and he was the 
 most stoical postilion that ever threw a leg across a 
 saddle. 
 
 "Forward ! " cried the stranger, sharply. 
 
 Little John again bestrode his horse, and the carriage 
 rolled on, not so fast, but still at a pretty good rate. 
 
 The post-house was reached in a few moments and 
 the stranger, having plunged his hand into his pocket, 
 drew it out full of coins which he poured hastily into 
 the horny hand of the postilion. 
 
 " That is for your tip and your horse." 
 
 Little John, perfectly amazed, began a sentence of 
 thanks so complicated that he was compelled to give 
 up the attempt to finish it, and called out abruptly in 
 the midst of his splendid periods, as if seized with a 
 sudden inspiration, to the stable-boy who was mooning 
 around the carriage : — 
 
 " Hey, Smith ! throw a pail of water on the wheels. 
 They are heated and might take fire." Indeed a light 
 smoke was rising from the axles and showed that Little 
 John's fear was in no wise chimerical. 
 
 The lout, as he saw the axles smoking, said : 
 
 4i 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 4 Why ! that is true. You must have driven rather 
 fast to-day, Little John, for without offence to you, 
 your carriage, and your horses, it is a long time since 
 you have had hot axles. Is your gentleman generous? " 
 
 " As generous as the lord mayor on the day he is 
 installed. But if he is liberal, he is also very short- 
 tempered, so you had better make haste." 
 
 Smith rapidly hastened to plunge the pail into a stone 
 trough, and lavishly poured water upon the axles. 
 Meanwhile the hostlers, as prompt as they were clever, 
 had harnessed four fresh, spirited and vigorous horses, 
 the postilion was in his saddle, and a well mounted courier 
 had gone on ahead to order relays. Jack, better versed 
 in matters of the sea than in travelling by land, had 
 neglected to take this precaution. Master Geordie's 
 carriage started again as if carried away by hippogriffs. 
 
 As he led back his horses, Little John could not 
 help stopping for a few minutes by the body of Black 
 stretched out on the road. 
 
 " Alas ! " said the postilion, u he was a willing horse, 
 — that was the cause of his death. He pulled the whole 
 team. You will never die like that, you idlers and 
 sloths," he added, as he made his whip light upon the 
 fat, dappled quarters of the survivors, which replied to 
 
 42 
 
•At «£» »1» »i" »4» *jr* «4» »i» *i* *^**tT ts? ts? tfc ts? «F? ti? «S? tl. m *4* 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 this morality by a few kicks. " There is no fear of 
 your ever breaking down your nervous systems." 
 
 In order to be done with the interesting Little John 
 and to follow as we please our stranger on his mad 
 course, let us add that this fellow, honest and conscien- 
 tious in his own way, gave Master Geordie half the 
 sum which he had received from the stranger as the 
 price of Black ; less virtuous postilions might have kept 
 two-thirds for themselves. 
 
 No remarkable incidents marked the other stages. 
 Master Geordie's carriage rolled with steady velocity 
 over the wonderful English roads, smooth as billiard 
 tables and better kept than the roads in our royal parks. 
 Already on the horizon showed the vast pall of smoke 
 that always overhangs the city of London. The sight 
 of it gave greater pleasure to the traveller than the most 
 splendid Venetian azure. 
 
 " Oh ! there is the smoke of that old devil's kettle," 
 said the stranger, as he rubbed his hands with an air of 
 deep satisfaction. " We are getting along." 
 
 The cottages and houses, at first scattered, were now 
 in denser masses, streets began to run into the road, 
 the high chimney-stacks of the works, like Egyptian 
 obelisks, rose in the heavens and belched their 
 
 43 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 black smoke into the gray mist ; the pointed spire of 
 Trinity Church, the squat belfry of St. Olave's, the 
 sombre tower of Saint Saviour's with its four finials, 
 mingled with the forest of chimney-pots, over which 
 they soared with the same superiority as a celestial 
 thought soars above terrestrial things and interests. 
 Farther on, behind this foreground with its irregular 
 outline due to the angles of the buildings, showed 
 vaguely, through the bluish mist which floated over the 
 river and the complicated spars and rigging of the ships, 
 the outline of the Tower of London and the gigantic 
 dome of Saint Paul's, a British imitation of Saint Peter's 
 at Rome, which, its contours softened by the mist, 
 showed rather well on the horizon. Whether the 
 prospect was familiar to him, or whether pre-occupa- 
 tion had killed curiosity, the stranger merely glanced at 
 the objects seen in succession through the window, in 
 order to assure himself of the distance he had traversed. 
 
 The carriage crossed Southwark Bridge, making as 
 much noise with its wheels as the chariot on the 
 Salmonean brazen bridge, then entered, on the other 
 side of the river coming up towards the Strand, the 
 labyrinth of narrow streets which border the Thames, 
 and stopped at the end of one of those passages known 
 
 44 
 
£+££££££££££££££££££££££ 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 in London by the name of lanes, in the neighbourhood 
 of Saint Margaret's Church. 
 
 The stranger drew out his watch and seemed relieved 
 of a great weight, — the hands pointed to eleven. He 
 had come sixty miles in three hours. He cast on Saint 
 Margaret's a glance of satisfaction, then resolutely 
 entered the narrow lane, made darker by the shadow of 
 the church and the height of the houses. 
 
 Scarcely had he gone a few steps when a man 
 seemed to emerge from the wall against which he stood, 
 and from which he was scarcely distinguished, owing 
 to the dark colour of his garments. He advanced 
 towards the stranger. 
 
 " You have come from yonder for what you know ? " 
 he murmured as he passed near him. 
 
 " Yes, I am recommended by Macgill, Jack, and Cap- 
 tain Peppercull," replied the stranger in the same tone. 
 
 " Follow me. All is ready." 
 
 They walked to an ill-looking house whence they 
 were no doubt being watched from within, for the door 
 was at once noiselessly opened and closed. 
 
 While Master Geordie's olive-green travelling-car- 
 riage was travelling along the London road with the 
 
 45 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 terrific impetuosity we have described, the " Lovely 
 Jenny " had not remained idle either. After having 
 taken on board Macgill and Jack, she had continued on 
 her way driven by a pretty breeze. Shakespeare's 
 Cliff" having been rounded, she had passed Deal and 
 Dover, and following the line of white cliffs, had 
 reached Ramsgate. Then, entering the river, she had 
 stopped opposite Gravesend at nightfall, and had an- 
 chored behind the flotilla of Hull colliers, the black 
 sails of which might have caused Theseus' father to 
 die of grief. And there, with her debonair and peace- 
 ful look, she would have been taken for a respectable 
 ship waiting for the tide to get up to London Bridge 
 and land at the Custom House a most legitimate cargo. 
 Yet her two lofty masts, her square yards, the fine lines 
 of her hull, in which carrying power had been sacrificed 
 to speed, gave to the " Lovely Jenny," in spite of her 
 hypocritical appearance, a saucy, fly-away look which 
 is not to be seen in vessels whose sole business is to 
 carry molasses. On the other hand, however, no 
 master could have shown more satisfactory papers than 
 Captain Peppercull. 
 
 46 
 
tl? tlu tfc tt? 4?» 4^ «4« ^^*f»g|*gjy «I «j|»«I« sfeijf S§» «§? sir «i?«§» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 LTHOUGH the house before which I have 
 
 J— ^ taken my reader is by no means of an en- 
 gaging appearance, I hope he will not object 
 to precede the stranger and his guide, and to enter it 
 with me. 
 
 Externally it had nothing particularly repulsive, and 
 looked very much like the other houses on the street. 
 However, its narrow facade, compressed by the neigh- 
 bouring buildings, which were wider, had an air of 
 constraint, like a rascal who finds himself in good com- 
 pany. By the side of the ruddy, healthy faces of the 
 neighbouring buildings, the brick of the walls, of an 
 unhealthy yellow, gave the impression of the wan, un- 
 pleasant face of a debauchee. This house, for fear of 
 squinting or being blind of one eye, had blinded itself 
 altogether. Every window was closed, and in order 
 to avoid reciprocity, nothing looked out of the house 
 into the street. As is usual in London, a small 
 area provided with a railing separated it from the 
 
 III 
 
 47 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 street. The railing, covered with the imperceptible 
 coal dust which the English sky is constantly rain- 
 ing down, was as black as the balustrade around a 
 tomb, and betokened on the part of the owner or the 
 tenant utter carelessness of comfort or cleanliness, — 
 that is, if the house were usually inhabited, for nothing 
 in it revealed the presence of man. No smoke rose 
 from the chimneys, and the brass bell-knob, covered 
 with dust and verdigris, did not appear to have been 
 touched for a long time ; there was nothing living on 
 the sleepy, gloomy, rain-washed walls. 
 
 If an attentive observer had studied the extraor- 
 dinary aspect of the house, — the front of which, on 
 account of the narrow breadth, admitted of only two 
 windows and one room on each story, including the 
 staircase, — he would have understood that the facade 
 masked another edifice situated at some distance from 
 the street and which was reached through this one ; for 
 the edges of the stone steps, worn and sunk in the 
 centre, testified to more frequent traffic than the mean- 
 ness of the place would have led one to suppose. 
 
 The door, in fact, opened into a long, dark, damp 
 passageway through which fetid, icy-cold air, rarely 
 renewed, circulated with difficulty. It was like the 
 
 48 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 atmosphere of a tomb, a cellar, or a dungeon. The 
 walls of the narrow passage were polished about the 
 height of a man by the continuous rubbing of greasy 
 hands groping their way through the darkness. The 
 floor was covered with a layer of mud, sticky in some 
 places, hard in others, testifying to the coming and 
 going of a great number of muddy feet. A few steps 
 from the door the scanty light that filtered in through 
 the dirty panes of the fan-light died away. One had to 
 proceed then for a considerable space in the deepest 
 darkness. It was probable that the passage was made 
 through thick walls and could receive no light even by 
 loopholes. Perhaps even in certain places it passed 
 under-ground, judging from the water which made its 
 way through the stones. 
 
 A man following this passage for the first time 
 would very soon be thrown out of his reckoning by 
 the numerous turns, and could not possibly make out 
 in what direction he was proceeding. The stranger, 
 preceded by the queer individual in the drab clothes, 
 walked with a firm but prudent step, lifting up one 
 foot only when he had got the other firmly placed ; not 
 that he had to fear any ambush or any trap, since the 
 guide walked in front of him, but he felt that vague ap- 
 
 4 
 
 49 
 
4: 4: *i: & 4: db 4: 4: 4: is & tfc & tb tfe db £ db 4: sb £ 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 prehension inspired in the bravest of men by darkness 
 and chill under a low vault between two narrow walls. 
 Instinctively his hands sought under his cloak whether 
 his two small pocket pistols were in their places. 
 
 At a great distance, in the obscurity, a few reddish 
 rays began to show, indicating a lighted room, the 
 beams filtering through the joints of an ill-closed door. 
 The guide uttered a curious sound, evidently a signal 
 agreed upon ; the sound of bolts being drawn was 
 heard within, and the door, opened slightly, suddenly 
 shed into the dark passage a red rush of light. 
 
 Using my privilege as a novelist, I shall penetrate 
 before the stranger into the strange place where he 
 seemed expected ; although in truth, it was impossible 
 to guess what kind of relations could exist between this 
 young man with the fine, noble face and the curious 
 dwellers within that den. 
 
 It was a rather large room, in which the eye was 
 first attracted by a chimneypiece of ancient form, in 
 which burned in a grate a very bright fire of coal, 
 the brilliant reflections of which illumined the room ; 
 for the wretched light coming in through the window, 
 the lower panes of which were carefully whitened, and 
 which opened upon one of those sombre wells that 
 
 50 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 are called yards in great cities, counted for nothing. 
 The two window-panes left clean showed only awn- 
 ings and roofs covered with tiles of an ugly red, 
 chimney-pots, and black hoardings, — in a word, the 
 whole of the interior wretchedness of a mean, ignoble 
 building. 
 
 The walls, the lower part of which had been bared 
 by the constant rubbing of shoulders, preserved in the 
 upper portion some traces of a wash of a dark red tone 
 like dried blood. On this background the customers 
 of the place had, while waiting or while idle, engraved 
 with a nail or a knife innumerable drawings and ara- 
 besques of the most fanciful description ; the white lines 
 stood out like the outlines on Etruscan vases, and gave 
 proof of as pure and as primitive an art. The favour- 
 ite theme of these unknown artists, the one most fre- 
 quently reproduced amid the ornamental fantasies, was, 
 it must be confessed, a gallows adorned with its fruits. 
 Did this choice betray habitual preoccupation, or was it 
 due to the pretty effect produced by the three uprights 
 of the English gibbet united at the top by crossbeams 
 forming a triangle, the picturesque silhouette of which 
 attracted the artists ? That is a difficult question to 
 answer. 
 
 51 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The drawings, though coarse, were remarkable at 
 least for technical accuracy and fidelity. In spite of 
 the barbarous drawing and the monstrous anatomical 
 license indulged in, the movements and attitudes of the 
 small figures represented as hung had a striking truth- 
 fulness which the most advanced art does not alwavs 
 attain. The running knots were well placed, and it 
 was plain that they had been drawn by assiduous spec- 
 tators of the Tyburn stage. These grotesque sketches, 
 drawn with hideous joviality, made one laugh and 
 tremble. 
 
 Numerous drawings, sections and elevations of New- 
 gate, alternated with this pleasant subject ; these, though 
 lacking in architectural correctness, betrayed at least a 
 thorough knowledge and a very clear remembrance of 
 the place. Heads of smokers with the most bizarre 
 profiles faced crowned lions and other apocalyptic 
 beasts; vessels more fantastic than those of Delia 
 Bella rose and fell on impossible seas. All these 
 things were drawn boldly, without much regard to 
 the neighbouring sketch. Dates, monograms, and let- 
 ters of the most amazing caligraphy complicated this 
 hideous breviary on which the only words legible were 
 " idleness," " vice," and " crime." 
 
 52 
 
•4* «4* »4» rJ-i rii ^ tf? is? ct? tl? 2*?tl> »f» »4» 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Yet the decoration of the room had not been wholly 
 left to the fancy of chance artists; a more cultured art 
 was evident in the coloured woodcuts representing the 
 seven-branched candlestick, Susannah and the Elders, 
 the portrait of George III, the Return of the Prodigal 
 Son, the principal figures of boxing, the exploits of 
 Jack Sheppard and Jonathan Wild, the Cid and the 
 Bernardo del Carpio of the picaresque romancero, cock- 
 fights, matches between famous bulldogs, Epsom and 
 Newmarket races, etc. 
 
 The hot stifling atmosphere, full of miasma and coal 
 smoke, tobacco and the strong smell of whiskey, floated 
 through the room and proved that those who could put 
 up with it had very strong olfactory nerves. Yet the 
 three or four individuals who were in the place did not 
 seem to experience any annoyance from it ; on the 
 contrary, their dull, vulgar faces had an expression 
 of coarse comfort. They were dressed in black coats, 
 satin vests and round hats; but before these clothes had 
 reached them — having once perhaps belonged to Beau 
 Brummel — they had evidently performed many a pil- 
 grimage, and suffered many a misadventure. These 
 tattered garments, of a cloth once lustrous and of a cut 
 still elegant, and which in their degradation preserved 
 
 53 
 
JU »i» »A» *l» »4» »&* rV* «i» »!■• «A> »U *U «4i «1* «J«*1* 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 something of the shape which their first fashionable 
 possessor had given to them, formed a sadly comical 
 caricature, a mute satirical poem full of raillery and 
 derision. One of the men, however, did not wear the 
 wretched fashionable costume. A red woollen shirt, 
 an oilskin coat, and a leather hat with a string for a 
 chin-strap formed his dress, — that of a sailorman. A 
 bold expression relieved the triviality and harshness of 
 his features, and in his eyes, of a blue as clear and cold 
 as that of the Polar ocean, shone a ray of intelligence. 
 The others, indeed, seemed to address him somewhat 
 deferentially, though he was leaning on the same table 
 and helping himself from the same jug of half-and-half. 
 
 " Well, Saunders," said one of the men in black 
 coats to the red-shirted sailor, " the time is approach- 
 ing when the gentleman for whom we are to work is 
 to come." 
 
 "Yes," shortly answered Saunders, who, while drink- 
 ing, was busy kneading in the palm of his hand some 
 black stuff" pressed between two pieces of cloth. 
 
 " Do you know the gentleman, Saunders ? " went 
 on the speaker. 
 
 " No," replied Saunders, who plainly was fond of 
 monosyllables. 
 
 54 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Ah ! " added, by way of closing the conversation 
 the black-coated man, as he leaned meditatively on the 
 table. 
 
 Saunders rose, and going towards the fire, held out 
 to the flame the dark substance, which he spread on 
 the piece of linen cut in the shape of a mask. 
 
 " Do you propose to disguise yourself, and to go 
 to the masked ball with Handsome Nancy ? " went on 
 the obstinate talker. 
 
 " I feel uncommonly like sticking this plaster on 
 your face and shutting up your mouth with it, you 
 unbearable talker," replied Saunders, with a growl as 
 fierce as that of a white bear worried on an ice-floe by 
 a whaleman's boat-hook. " Instead of questioning me, 
 go and lift the trap and see if the others have arrived." 
 
 Noll went to one corner of the room, removed a 
 trunk and a few packages, took hold of a ring in the 
 floor, and with the help of his comrade Bob, raised the 
 heavy trap-door. As it opened, a pufF of cold, damp 
 air blew into the room. Bob stiffening his arms, which, 
 though thin and skinny, were very vigorous, supported 
 the half-open trap-door. Kneeling on the edge of the 
 opening, Noll plunged his head within the abyss. The 
 bottom was so obscure that nothing could be made out, 
 
 55 
 
?fc 4: 4; & 'k £ & 4: 4: * * £ £ ^ tfc £ £ tfc £ 4: i: d: 4: db 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 yet the strength and freshness of the current of air for- 
 bade the supposition that this trap was merely an open- 
 ing into a cellar. By listening attentively, one might 
 discern in the distance the low lipping of water. 
 
 " I hear nothing," said Noll, after listening for a few 
 moments ; " I shall give the signal." And he uttered 
 a modulated, guttural cry which sounded within the 
 recesses of the subterranean place, though nothing 
 answered save the echo. 
 
 " Never mind," said Saunders, " we don't need them 
 yet, and it is no great fun to have to wait under that 
 black vault. It will be dark early to-day," he con- 
 tinued mentally, looking towards the two bars through 
 which one might have perceived the heavens if the 
 fog, thicker and thicker, had not completely covered 
 them. "All the better, the job will be so much the 
 easier. Bob, is the dray ready, the one loaded with 
 goods, which is to obstruct the end of the lane to pre- 
 vent our being interrupted during our job ? " 
 
 " Yes, Master Saunders, Cuddy is by his horses, and 
 will make such a fine block that a ferret itself could 
 not get into the lane. He is a clever fellow. To see 
 him got up as he is, you would swear that he had 
 never done anything in his life but drive drays, though 
 
 56 
 
•1* rL, rJ/» tJL% »A» »J-» »Ai rA» *A* »A-i rj^el^ rlj ^» J* £§• fjfa >1« »j»<|< 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 it is not his business," answered Bob, laughing and 
 apparently delighted with his own joke. "You will 
 be able to do your work as if you were in a wood or 
 on a desert shore." 
 
 " You are too clever by half, Bob," answered 
 Saunders ; " you won't live to the day of your death. 
 You look out." 
 
 While this was going on in the room adorned with the 
 marvellous drawings which I have described, a narrow, 
 light, fish-like yawl pulled by four oarsmen who seemed 
 worked by mechanism, so mathematically synchronous 
 were all their movements, was ascending the Thames 
 without appearing to mind the roughness of the sea and 
 the tidal eddies. The oars struck the water without 
 a single splash, and opened and closed as easily as 
 a pretty woman's fan. Although the fog, still thick- 
 ening, made steering difficult and increased the 
 chances of collision among the lines of ships that 
 formed a floating city below London Bridge, the yawl 
 slipped rapidly between the obstacles with incredible 
 skill and speed. She seemed to carry at her bows, so 
 great was her divining sensibility, the tentacles which 
 make certain insects foresee objects, and which are, as 
 it were, the eyes of the sense of touch. 
 
 57 
 
4; £££4; 4:4*4.4; £4^4; 4; 4. 4? 4.4*4; dbd tb tic 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 When it had passed London Bridge, the enormous 
 arches of which showed in great black masses against 
 a gray sky, forming a Martyn-like effect which the 
 English call Babylonian, and found itself in a less 
 crowded reach, it flew along with increased speed. 
 It was capable, apparently, of ascending a weir or a 
 cascade like a trout. 
 
 Soon it passed, one after the other, Southwark 
 and Blackfriars Bridges, and hugging the shore more 
 closely, it ran past the Temple and the Temple 
 Gardens ; shaving Somerset House, it slipped under 
 Waterloo Bridge by the arch nearest the bank, drew 
 to the side, and disappeared within a low arch half 
 masked by the projections of the buildings in the 
 centre of which it was cut. A few laden barges 
 were moored around, and the building, of brick and 
 timber, so far as one could make out in the mist, 
 looked like a warehouse. 
 
 The boat shot in under the low vault, which ex- 
 tended much farther than might have been supposed, 
 as a sudden turn not far from the entrance cleverly 
 concealed its depth. After a few minutes of careful 
 rowing, the men unshipped their oars, and one of 
 them, groping for a ring made fast to the wall, found 
 
 58 
 
«£, ,1* .•'•» fX» *a* ^^^^^*§**j|?f§*3§»ff**|* jbsjysf? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 it, drew the painter through it, and made the boat fast. 
 Then, one after another they leaped on to the lower step, 
 half covered with water, of a stair which their knowl- 
 edge of the place made them find at once in spite of 
 the deep darkness in which they were plunged. An 
 iron grating which one of the seamen opened, closed 
 the passage at this spot. 
 
 The stair, after rising thirty steps, ended in a ceil- 
 ing which the first man struck pretty hard with his 
 head. 
 
 " The devil take it ! " he said, " I did n't count 
 right and missed one step as I came up. The conse- 
 quence is I have got a bump on my forehead. Fortu- 
 nately, my skull is hard." 
 
 " Well, Snuff, what has hit you ? What are you 
 cursing about there like an old papist woman spelling 
 her beads, instead of knocking on the floor and giving 
 the signal ? Do you think it is fun for us behind you 
 on this stair which is steeper than the ladder of a 
 gibbet ? " 
 
 " I shall knock on the ceiling and call out at the 
 same time." 
 
 A low knock was soon heard through the passage 
 followed by a prolonged yell. 
 
 59 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Who is that below the floor ? " said Saunders, 
 starting at the well-known sound and stamping with 
 his heel on the trap. " Quiet, you old mole, I am 
 coming," he added, turning to his own use the speech 
 of Hamlet to the shadow, for Saunders had recently 
 seen at Drury Lane Theatre this play of old Shake- 
 speare's, which had made a deep impression on his 
 coarse but poetic nature. 
 
 The trap-door was opened, and, thrown back on its 
 hinges, gave passage out of the damp abyss to four 
 fellows who, if they did not look quite respectable, bore 
 at least on their weather-beaten faces a significantly 
 astute and bold expression indicative of energetic 
 qualities applied perhaps to other than lawful ends. 
 
 " Is there any gin or whiskey left ? " cried the first 
 man who set foot on the floor, and who at once pro- 
 ceeded to the table to ascertain whether a drop of the 
 precious liquors still remained. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the next one, " when Noll and Bob 
 are seated opposite each other for fifteen minutes with 
 a bottle between them, the poor little thing soon dies 
 of consumption." 
 
 " Don't worry, SnufF," answered Noll, drawing a 
 full bottle from a corner. " Beelzebub himself would 
 
 60 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 lick his lips if he tasted this. It is pure vitriol, liquid 
 fire, undiluted by anything soft. I wonder if you are 
 like me. The longer I live, the weaker I think 
 gin." 
 
 " That is the way of life, old fellow. The longer 
 you go, the more you lose your illusions. We have 
 all believed that gin was strong. What fools we are 
 when we are young," moaned Snuff, as he poured 
 himself out a bumper of blue ruin. 
 
 The conversation had got so far when the stranger 
 and his guide, having first made the signal agreed upon, 
 entered the room. The stranger cast a quick glance 
 at the worthy rascals, who involuntarily looked down, 
 except Saunders, whose face showed fiercer among the 
 others. There was in him the stuff of a criminal; the 
 others were capable of misdemeanours only ; he was 
 a pirate; the others nothing more than thieves. The 
 stranger, with the quickness of a cultivated mind, 
 guessed that the least ignoble in the company was 
 Saunders. With a single glance he made him the 
 chief, and it was to him that he addressed himself. 
 
 " Has everything been prepared according to the 
 plan agreed upon ? " said the stranger, in a calm, 
 imperative tone. 
 
 _ 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Yes, my lord, we merely await your good pleas- 
 ure," answered Saunders, politely, but with no ser- 
 vility. 
 
 " Good. The time to act has come." 
 
 " All right," said Noll to Bob ; " go and tell Cuddy 
 to enter the lane with his dray." 
 
 Bob went out, after having tried to polish up his 
 hairless beaver, for he said a man must always en- 
 deavour to look as if he were a man of the world. 
 Saunders arranged his pitch mask in the palm of his 
 huge hand and prepared to follow him. 
 
 " The man with whom I shall be chatting when I 
 enter the lane is the one you have to carry off," said 
 the stranger; « but above all, be neither violent nor 
 brutal to him." 
 
 " You may rest assured of that, my lord. The gen- 
 tleman will be handled as delicately as a box marked 
 4 fragile,' " replied Noll with all a smuggler's conceit. 
 
 The men went out one after another, to avoid sus- 
 picion, and loafed in the most natural fashion into the 
 deserted lane. The stranger went on by himself 
 towards Saint Margaret's Church. 
 
 62 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 IV 
 
 USING my privilege as a novelist, I shall pass 
 without any transition from the sombre den 
 I have just described to an elegant residence 
 in the West End. This digression, far from taking 
 us away from our story, brings us back to it. The 
 scene is very different, but it is not because I have 
 sought a contrast. 
 
 Miss Annabel Vyvyan's maid had just put the 
 finishing touches to her bridal dress, and, by way of 
 final precaution, was fixing with another pin, passed 
 through the thick braid of brown hair on Annabel's 
 head, a long veil of English point-lace which fell in 
 transparent folds over the white wedding-dress. Mary 
 and Susan, the two other maids, when they saw the 
 veil at last adjusted, took two candles that were burn- 
 ing on the table, and held them up so that their young 
 mistress might conveniently see herself in the mirror; 
 for although it was nearly eleven in the forenoon, 
 scarcely did a faint ray of light penetrate through the 
 
 6 3 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 windows and curtains. A yellow, thick, choking fog, 
 such as is not unusual in London, weighed down upon 
 the city and prolonged through the day the shadows 
 of night. 
 
 The head which, illumined by the sudden radiance 
 of light, was reflected as if surrounded by an aureole 
 upon the dark background of the mirror, was of a 
 beauty in no wise inferior to the purest creations of 
 Greek art. The most striking thing about that divine 
 face was the milky, marble-like, dazzling, luminous 
 whiteness, in which the features showed with the trans- 
 parency and delicacy of Oriental alabaster. Although 
 it is a habit of young brides about to proceed to the 
 altar to blush a rosy red, Annabel's cheeks were 
 scarcely coloured bv a faint, rosy flush like that which 
 colours the heart of a white rose. The blue blood of 
 aristocracy veined her delicate flesh, a hothouse flower 
 which neither wind nor rain had ever fallen upon, a 
 fine pulp composed of exquisite juices and pure ele- 
 ments in which plebeian rusticity had no share what- 
 ever. Freedom from material cares, the refinements 
 of hereditary luxury, the perfect comfort of life, the 
 living in vast apartments and in country-seats with 
 great shady parks traversed by running waters, joined 
 
 '•4 
 
4, 4j 4, 4, 4, 4» 4» 4* ^ 4^ 4^ 4» 4^ 4* 4» 4» 4» 4» »l j *1 j »|j »!j !?; 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 to the purity of the race, often bring beauty to unimagin- 
 able perfection. The living marble in which are 
 carved these beautiful bodies has no rival in the world 
 for its brilliancy, its fineness, and the transparency of 
 the grain. The quarries of the human Paros and Pen- 
 telicus are found in ancient Albion, so called rather on 
 account of its women than of its cliffs. Annabel was 
 the fairest maid in that swans' nest anchored in 
 mid-ocean. 
 
 Two delicate black eyebrows met at the root of the 
 nose, — which a slight aquiline inflection made more 
 noble than a Greek nose, without depriving it of any 
 portion of its exquisite form, — and crowned two eyes 
 of an intense, warm brown, the pupils of which floated 
 on a crystal limpidly blue. Lips of a bright red 
 showed like a carnation in her pallor, which became 
 all the more marked and striking on that account. 
 Down Annabel's lovely cheeks fell two soft, silky lus- 
 trous curls which she twisted around her finger. In 
 giving this last touch to her toilet she showed a hand 
 of charming shape, narrow, somewhat long, with slen- 
 der fingers ending in polished nails brilliant as jade, 
 and of irreproachable aristocratic purity. Such hands, 
 that drive to despair the new-made rich, are the product 
 
 5 
 
 65 
 
t«? ts7 Cs? tj? •£? t*? ^7 ifc *4« r|» rU JU r4* «j« •£« «j* •£» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 of centuries of elegant life and are transmitted like 
 diamonds from generation to generation. 
 
 Apparently, Annabel was satisfied with her looks, 
 for a faint smile flitted over her serious face, and turn- 
 ing towards Fanny she said in a voice as harmonious 
 as music : " Fanny, you have surpassed yourself to-day. 
 I really do not look badly." 
 
 " You are not difficult to dress, Miss — for I may 
 still call you so. You become your gowns so well." 
 
 " You flatterer ! What o'clock is it ? " 
 
 "Just eleven," answered Fanny, after having glanced 
 at a clock inlaid with mother-of-pearl and standing 
 upon a pedestal. 
 
 " Eleven o'clock already, and my aunt Lady Eleanor 
 Braybrooke has not arrived ! " 
 
 " I think," replied Fanny, " that I hear a carriage 
 stopping at the door. It must be Lady Eleanor." 
 
 A thunder of raps sounded in the lower part of the 
 house as Fanny ended, betokening the arrival of an 
 important personage. A few minutes later a powdered, 
 silk-stockinged footman announced, as he raised the 
 portiere : — 
 
 " Lady Eleanor Braybrooke." 
 
 A majestic, stiff-looking woman, of that age politely 
 
 bb 
 
4; 4; 4^ 4j 4« 4» 4« 4» 4; 4» ^» 4fr jjj 4y 4; 4» 4; 4; 4j 4; 4» 4j 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 called a certain age, entered the room with such 
 automatic stiffness that her thick silk dress did not 
 undulate in the least. She seemed to be moved by 
 internal wheels and to be advancing on little brass 
 casters like the dolls which a concealed mechanism 
 drives around a table. The corselet which moulded 
 her charms, developed by the stoutness of her fourth 
 youth, would have warded off a lance-thrust as surely 
 as Milanese mail, so well reinforced was it with whale- 
 bone, steel, and other compressive materials. How in 
 the world the lady had managed to get herself into that 
 sheath is a mystery of her toilet which I shall respect, 
 but she must have undergone a pressure of forty atmos- 
 pheres to attain the result. 
 
 Her broad, square face was diapered with all the 
 colours of an eruption. Her cheeks flamed, her nose 
 was almost like a live coal, her very brow was red. 
 Her incandescent face was framed in by hair of a 
 British auburn fiercely curled, and resembling filaments 
 of vegetable silks rather than human hair. Her ex- 
 pression would have been almost coarse but for two 
 eyes of a hard, cold steel-gray which relieved the 
 commonplaceness by their disdainful and imperative 
 look. That glance of hers stamped her as a great 
 
 67 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 lady, a woman in high life, in spite of the heaviness of 
 her shape and the brilliancy of her complexion. 
 
 Lady Eleanor Braybrooke was a widow, and acted 
 as chaperon to her niece, Miss Annabel Vyvyan, who 
 when quite young had been left an orphan and absolute 
 mistress of a large fortune. In the important ceremony 
 which was about to take place, Lady Eleanor Bray- 
 brooke was to act the part of the mother. 
 
 Miss Annabel was about to be married, although 
 not very romantically, no obstacle having come in the 
 way, to a charming young fellow, Sir Benedict Arun- 
 del, who loved her and whom she had been in love 
 with for nearly a year. He was young and handsome, 
 noble and rich ; the match was entirely suitable in 
 every respect, since the bride possessed precisely the 
 same qualities. 
 
 " Look, aunt ! what a horrid fog ! " said Miss 
 Annabel, turning her lovely eyes to the window. 
 
 " At the beginning of November that is not astonish- 
 ing," replied Lady Eleanor. 
 
 " No doubt. But I should have liked for this day, 
 the loveliest in my life, an azure sky, a bright sun, the 
 perfumes of flowers and the songs of birds." 
 
 " My dear, if you have a room with good hangings, 
 
 68 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 plenty of tapers, a bright fire in the grate, a bottle of 
 scent and an Erard piano you can dispense with all 
 these things. I never trouble about the weather, for 
 my own part." 
 
 "You are always practical, aunt." 
 
 " And you always poetic, my niece." 
 
 " 1 wish nature shared our feelings more. The sad- 
 ness of the heavens weighs down on my happy soul." 
 
 " My dear child, if God at your request were 
 suddenly to remove the fog, the splendour of the sun- 
 shine might perhaps strike some suffering heart as 
 ironical." 
 
 " That is true, aunt, but I cannot help being a little 
 nervous this morning." 
 
 "Well, Sir Benedict Arundel will soon relieve you 
 of that," answered Lady Eleanor Braybrooke, with the 
 equivocal, wrinkled smile people of her age are too 
 fond of indulging in. 
 
 The sound of a carriage was heard under the window, 
 and very soon Sir Benedict Arundel appeared. 
 
 He was dressed quietly and plainly, with that ex- 
 quisite perfection characteristic of the perfect gentle- 
 man, which never draws the eye, and the secret of 
 which the English alone possess. He had avoided the 
 
 69 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 almost insurmountable ridicule of wedding garments, 
 and yet his costume was such as became the solemnity 
 of the occasion. In accordance with the custom of 
 the day, he wore neither beard, moustache, nor royal, 
 nor any of the ornaments which bristle upon the faces 
 of men on the continent. His smooth, polished face 
 was surrounded by dark-brown whiskers, carefullv 
 curled, which an artist fond of the picturesque might 
 have thought too regular, but which would certainly 
 have obtained the approval of the late Brummel and 
 Count d'Orsay. He had the Antinoiis features, some- 
 what long and cold, which the great families of Eng- 
 land often exhibit, and his head looked like a copy of that 
 of some Greek god made by Westmacott or Chantrev. 
 It was impossible to imagine a better-matched pair. 
 
 The cloud on Annabel's brow vanished at the sight 
 of her betrothed ; the blue eyes of Benedict were azure 
 enough for any heaven. A pure joy illumined the 
 charming face of the young girl, as she held out her 
 hand to Benedict, who kissed it. Lady Eleanor Bray- 
 brooke's gray eyes sparkled at the picture, that no 
 doubt recalled a similar scene in which she had played 
 a part, but so long ago that it certainly required an 
 excellent memory to remember it. 
 
 jo 
 
irdb£ & i: 4: 4r & "k 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4:4:4: 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " That is just the way we were," she whispered to 
 herself, " dear Sir George Alan Braybrooke and I, some 
 twenty years ago or so." 
 
 The " or so " was rather enigmatical, but Lady 
 Eleanor did not care to state more accurately, even 
 to herself, any date which might have given the exact 
 number of her years. That mental comparison would 
 have occurred to no one but the good lady, for when 
 young she had not even the devil's beauty, and Sir 
 George Alan Braybrooke, tall, thin, stiff, bony, with a 
 square chin, a nose like Wellington's and a square-cut 
 mouth, had never resembled, even in the days when 
 he was a lover, the elegant Benedict Arundel. 
 
 " Come, children, it is time to go," went on Lady 
 Eleanor. " The chaplain has no doubt already put on 
 his surplice, and the guests are arriving in numbers." 
 She entered her carriage with Annabel, and Benedict 
 took a seat in his own with William Bawtry, a friend 
 of his. 
 
 The coachmen, powdered and beribboned, wearing 
 huge bouquets, their scarlet faces made more crimson 
 still by numerous libations to the health of the future 
 pair and their descendants, took up the reins with an 
 incomparably grand air, clucked their tongues, touched 
 
. ( . .1, ,1, rjL ,1, rl-. «4* -K JU <4_i ri, r|» *k ^ »k ^* ti? ti? til' 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 up their horses, and the procession started for the 
 church. The sun had made useless efforts to dispel 
 the fog brought down by the west wind upon the city 
 of London, and its pale, rayless orb scarcely indicated 
 its place in the heavens by a livid spot liker the face 
 of a sick man than the brilliant star of day. The gas 
 lamps, still lighted, gave out beams almost immediately 
 swallowed up by the fog. At a short distance the 
 various objects, showing faint, assumed strange, fan- 
 tastic forms. The carriages loomed like leviathans 
 and behemoths, the passers-by like giant phantoms ; 
 the sombre walls of the buildings assumed the appear- 
 ance of Babel, and it took all the skill of the coachmen 
 not to lose their way through the opaque air in which 
 sonorous vibrations were deadened and which seemed 
 to have covered the streets with a pall of clouds. 
 
 The church where the wedding was to take place 
 was Saint Margaret's, a building in the Norman-Gothic 
 style, with a square tower, great buttresses, and a huge 
 quatrefoiled window. The building was lugubrious to 
 look at, with its walls black as ebony ; the mouldings, 
 washed by the rain, always appeared to be covered with 
 snow. It rose in the centre of a graveyard without any 
 verdure and strewn with tombs, the shape of which, 
 
 72 
 
£' ± i: r . I: i: :h & ± -h-k'k-±:'Jh~ , h>k£:h-k£££:& db 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 faintly recalling that of a body, had a sinister and 
 horrible look. A railing, which the coal-dust given out 
 by the hundred thousand chimneys of London made 
 more sooty than the air-holes of hell, surrounded this 
 God's acre, made more gloomy still by the near bustle 
 of the city. The high tower rose with its crown of 
 invisible finials in the fog and seemed to have been cut 
 off. The porch, sombre and smoky like an oven, 
 opened its wide gates, looking like the mouth of an ore 
 or some other huge animal breathing vapour out of its 
 nostrils. The fog which filled the great nave seemed 
 to be the breath of the architectural monster. Un- 
 questionably, without being superstitious, a young 
 couple might very well, at the sight of this lugubrious 
 church, entertain some doubts as to their future hap- 
 piness. One shuddered unavoidably on entering this 
 church darker than Erebus, and within the depths of 
 which shone no beam of light, no star of hope. Cer- 
 tainly it would have been unjust to ask of an old and 
 wretched Protestant church in London, at the end of 
 September on a foggy day, the bright and happy look 
 of an antique temple with its white columns showing 
 against the blue of an Athenian sky ; but the truth is 
 that that morning Saint Margaret's looked more like a 
 
 73 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 sepulchral vault prepared for the reception of the dead 
 than a church in which a loving couple was to be 
 married. 
 
 " Well," said Sir William Bawtry to his friend Sir 
 Benedict Arundel in their carriage, " so it is true that 
 you are going to be married at twenty-four, in the 
 flower of your age, when so long a life of pleasure and 
 enjoyment was still open to you ! " 
 
 "At twenty-four, — you are right, dear William. 
 Marriage is a piece of folly which one should not 
 commit save when young." 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion, and besides, Annabel 
 justifies your prompt resolution ; but when we were 
 together at Cambridge no one would have ventured to 
 predict that you would be the first of our jolly band to 
 be caught in the trap of wedlock." 
 
 While Sir William Bawtry and Sir Benedict Arun- 
 del were thus chatting as they drove to the Church of 
 Saint Margaret, a man who had left the neighbouring 
 street slipped under the sombre porch and stood against 
 the wall between two pillars like the stone statue of a 
 saint. He wore a broad-brimmed hat pulled down over 
 his eyes, and the end of his travelling-cloak thrown 
 over his shoulder concealed the lower part of his face. 
 
 74 
 
JL«4* JLi r£* <4« «|* »i» ^ »a» ^ly*^* j^«j**j|**fg tt?tlrti?i!?tt?tif «lf Jb sfc 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 What was visible of his features appeared to be tanned 
 by the sun of other climes. 
 
 After a few moments of dreamy motionlessness he 
 freed one of his hands from the folds of his cloak, and 
 pulling out a large flat watch, he said to himself : 
 " This is the hour, they will soon come." And he 
 put back the watch into his pocket. Of whom were 
 these words, murmured with a strange accent, spoken ? 
 
 The carriages, turning the corner of the street, now 
 arrived before the porch of the church. Then the 
 man, whom my readers have already recognized as the 
 eager traveller, threw back his cloak and seemed to take 
 a firmer stand, like one approaching a supreme crisis. 
 
 The steps of the carriage were lowered. Annabel, 
 leaning slightly on Benedict's hand, was about to de- 
 scend and enter the porch, when the stranger, having 
 bowed deeply to the bride, touched Arundel's arm. 
 The latter turned around abruptly, astonished at such 
 an interruption at such a time, for, as he was turning 
 his back to the church, he had not seen the man with 
 the mantle coming forward. 
 
 " Sidney ! " cried Benedict, on recovering from his 
 first amazement. 
 
 " In person," replied gravely the man thus addressed. 
 
 75 
 
tjLt »4» »A» »!-. »l» *t» rA^ *4» »4» »|» »ij »lj «4» »ij »A» »4j »ij »ij j|» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " And I, who accused you of indifference! And so 
 you have come from India to be present at my wed- 
 ding ! That is why you did not reply to my letters, 
 — you wanted to give me the pleasure of a surprise." 
 
 " Benedict, I have a single word to say to you, and 
 it is for that I have come." 
 
 " Well, you can tell me presently. I shall introduce 
 you to my wife, — and indeed, you are already pre- 
 sented to her. Lady Arundel, Sir Arthur Sidney." 
 
 " No, I must speak to you at once and alone, if but 
 for a moment." 
 
 There was something so firm in Sidney's look and 
 so imperious an accent in his voice that Benedict hesi- 
 tatingly let fall Annabel's hand and drew towards his 
 friend. 
 
 K Your ladyship will be kind enough to pardon my 
 insisting," said Sidney, seizing Benedict's arm with a 
 smile of affected grace. " I have but a word to say to 
 him." And he drew Benedict to the corner of the 
 church at the entrance to the little street that leads up 
 one side of it. 
 
 Annabel had sat down by her aunt, Lady Eleanor 
 Braybrooke, who grumbled at this untimely inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 76 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Most improper, to turn up from India in that 
 way, to intercept a bridegroom at the very threshold 
 of the church ! A nice time he has chosen to talk his 
 nonsense ! " 
 
 " Sir Arthur Sidney is an eccentric man who never 
 does anything like any one else," replied Annabel. 
 " Benedict has often told me how queer he is." 
 ' " But a well-bred man ought not to have any eccen- 
 tric friends," replied Lady Braybrooke, in the most 
 majestically disdainful tone. 
 
 Annabel smiled at her aunt's proud indignation. 
 
 " I should not," continued the dowager, whose face 
 had turned crimson, — " I should not have allowed Sir 
 George Alan Braybrooke to leave me at the moment 
 of leading me to the altar, were it for the empire of 
 the world. But the word which Mr. Sidney had to 
 say seems to be pretty long." 
 
 Lady Braybrooke's reflection had already occurred to 
 Annabel, for she put her head, crowned with virginal 
 flowers, out of the window of the carriage to see if 
 Benedict had returned. But no one yet appeared at 
 the corner of the church, the most distant point to 
 which the fog allowed the glance to reach. The posi- 
 tion was becoming singularly ridiculous. 
 
 77 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Helped by Sir William Bawtry, Annabel and Lady 
 Braybrooke got out of the carriage and took shelter 
 under the porch. Sir William offered to notify 
 Benedict and Sidney of the impropriety of such a 
 conversation prolonged so long. 
 
 The guests, already astonished, surrounded Miss 
 Vy vyan, and advised her to enter the nave ; the pas- 
 sers-by were beginning to look with surprise at the 
 beautiful girl dressed in white, a bride without a groom, 
 standing under the dark porch. 
 
 As she entered the church, Annabel felt on her 
 shoulders, scarcely covered by the thin lace veil, a 
 damp, cloister-like chill; she seemed to be enveloped 
 forever in the cold of the convent and the sepulchre. 
 She had a presentiment that she was passing from light 
 into shadow, from bustle into silence, from life into 
 death. She thought she felt breaking within her the 
 spring of her life. 
 
 Sir William Bawtry returned pale, thunder-struck, 
 not knowing which way to look. He had traversed 
 in all its length the lane entered by Benedict and Sid- 
 ney, had been round the church and had examined 
 every spot, but Benedict and Sidney had disappeared. 
 
 78 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 V 
 
 AT about the same time when Annabel was 
 finishing dressing, in another London house 
 another young girl was also putting on, but 
 slowly and as if regretfully, her white wedding-robes. 
 
 She was beautiful and extremely pale ; faint violet 
 lines showed upon her eyelids and gave proof of tears 
 recently shed, the traces of which the corner of her 
 handkerchief, dipped in fresh water, had not caused to 
 disappear completely. Her drawn mouth tried to smile, 
 but the corners of her lips turned up with an effort 
 only to draw down again with pain. Short, painful 
 breathing made her bosom heave, and when the maid 
 approached to place upon her brow the wreath of 
 orange flowers, a slight flush coloured her pale cheeks. 
 
 Miss Edith Harley looked more like a victim being 
 prepared for sacrifice than a maiden going to the altar 
 to freely pledge her love and faith. Yet Edith was not 
 the victim of stern parents : neither a barbarous father 
 nor an ill-tempered mother compelled her choice. Her 
 
 79 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 lovely, delicate hand was not being forcibly put into 
 the gouty hand of an obscene and abominable old man. 
 The man whom she was about to marry, Lord de Vol- 
 merange, was young, handsome, charming, and of an 
 excellent family ; in a word, all that the most practical 
 parents and the most romantic girl could wish. Edith 
 had even appeared to accept willingly the attentions of 
 Count de Volmerange, and in the interviews which had 
 preceded their betrothal, her eyes had often turned 
 towards the young lord with an indefinable expression 
 of melancholy and love ; though usually his presence 
 threw her into a state of agitation and anxiety visible 
 only to an observer, and which did not agree with cer- 
 tain glances full of fire, strange in a young girl other- 
 wise apparently so modest. 
 
 Did she hate or did she love de Volmerange ? That 
 was a mystery difficult to solve. If she did not love 
 him, why did she marry him ? If she did love him, 
 why was she so pale, weeping, and cast down ? An 
 only child, worshipped by her father and mother, she 
 had but to say a word to have the marriage broken off'. 
 Why should she not say it ? Any man of her choice 
 would have been accepted by Lord Harley and his 
 wife, for, having no other desire than to make their 
 
 80 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 daughter happy, no prejudices of caste could have 
 induced them to force her inclinations ; they would 
 have accepted a poet even. 
 
 When Edith's maids had done their work, which 
 was delayed by the uneasiness and the preoccupation of 
 the girl, who unwillingly yielded herself up to them, 
 she signed that she was tired and wished to remain 
 alone for a few moments. 
 
 As soon as the women had withdrawn, a slight knock, 
 which might have been mistaken for the sound made 
 behind the hangings by the insect vulgarly called the 
 death beetle, as it strikes the wall with its antennae to 
 call its female, sounded in the corner of the room in a 
 place where was a condemned door. On hearing the 
 sound, evidently a signal, Edith started as if she had 
 not been forewarned. A look of deep anxiety darkened 
 her face, and she rose abruptly from the arm-chair in 
 which she had thrown herself. A second knock 
 sounded a little louder, though yet low. 
 
 Presently the young girl staggered towards the door, 
 pressing her hands to her heart, the beating of which 
 stifled her. 
 
 A third, sharp, imperious knock, in which annoyance 
 prevailed over the fear of being heard by any one else 
 
 6 81 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 than Edith, testified to the impatience of the mysteri- 
 ous visitor. 
 
 Poor Edith moved away a small piece of furniture 
 which half masked the false door, and drew the bolts 
 with a trembling hand. A key, working from outside, 
 sounded in the lock, and the leaf, half opened and 
 at once closed, gave passage to a man who was not 
 Count de Volmerange. 
 
 The man who so singularly and so secretly entered 
 the room of a maiden who in a few hours was to be 
 another's wife, had a face which at first it would have 
 been difficult to characterise. His slightly olive com- 
 plexion with its mat tone brought out two singularly 
 mobile eyes, the expression of which was purposely 
 deadened. His mouth was well shaped, but the thin, 
 closely compressed lips seemed to preserve a secret, 
 and the lower lip, frequently bitten, betokened re- 
 pressed impulses and necessary restraint accepted by 
 the will, but not by the blood. The nose, too thin in 
 outline, too pointed in spite of its good shape, gave an 
 astute expression to the rest of the face. It was a 
 head in which no defect could be found, which one 
 was inclined to say was handsome, but which yet pro- 
 duced an unaccountably repellent effect. It attracted 
 
 82 
 
•I? ttb aS? T r? «£» ^f? Tt? ^^T^? Tt? t?? »l? Tr? T^j tr? tj? tl? 2§? «£• sb 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 and repelled at one and the same time by a sort of 
 dangerous grace, of troublous charm. The colours 
 which shine brightly upon a bird's wing assume, on 
 the spotted skin of a serpent, without losing any of their 
 brilliancy, an evil, venomous tint which is beautiful but 
 terrifying. The man to whom Miss Edith had just 
 opened a door closed to every one had the beauty of the 
 viper and the grace of the tiger. It would have been 
 difficult to tell his age. His smooth brow had none of the 
 wrinkles, none of the marks made by years on a human 
 face ; he might have been a mere youth but for his icy 
 coldness and lack of spontaneity, signs of dissimulation 
 long practised. His was not a face, it was a mask. 
 
 His dress was black and neutral brown, quietly 
 elegant, not drawing the eye by any detail and leaving 
 no impression on the memory. 
 
 There was a moment of painful silence. Edith, 
 embarrassed, seemed to wait until the stranger should 
 speak, but the latter did not appear disposed to save 
 her the trouble. His attitude was respectful rather by 
 habit than from real deference, and he cast straight at 
 the girl a masterful glance. 
 
 " So you persist," said Edith, making an effort, " in 
 wishing me to be Count de Volmerange's wife ? " 
 
 83 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " I shall certainly not change my intention now. 
 The wedding is more necessary than ever." 
 
 "And yet you know that it is impossible." 
 
 "It is so absolutely impossible that in two hours it 
 will have taken place." 
 
 " Listen, Xavier, there is still time. Do not force 
 me to act a lie before God and man. I can throw 
 myself at my parents' feet, confess everything, and 
 obtain forgiveness for myself — and you. My crime 
 is great, but their indulgence is boundless." 
 
 "You shall not do it. I would give you the lie." 
 
 " Even if I took all the blame on myself? " 
 
 " I should maintain that I was always a stranger to 
 you." 
 
 " But I have proofs that can confound you," cried 
 Edith indignantly, as she hastened to a small box, the 
 concealed bottom of which she opened. 
 
 " You think so, do you," answered Xavier, with an 
 ironical smile playing over his thin lips. 
 
 With a convulsive hand Edith rummaged violently 
 in the box, from which she withdrew some papers that, 
 by the way they were folded, seemed to be letters. 
 She opened one and cast it down. It was blank ; a 
 second and a third were the same; then she dropped 
 
 84 
 
£ 4. 4. 4; 4; 4. 4- 4: 4; £ 4* 4k 4k 4. 4; 4. 4j 4; 4. 4; 4? £ 4; 4* 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the parcel and her arms fell by her side. Every trace 
 of writing had disappeared ; the letters were now simply 
 plain sheets of paper. 
 
 " Happily your ink, Miss Edith, was intended to last 
 longer than mine. The precious characters traced by 
 your" lovely hand are quite visible on the letters which 
 you condescended to write to me." 
 
 " Xavier, there is in all this a riddle which I cannot 
 read. I am young and beautiful ; you have told me so 
 in more ways than did the serpent to Eve. The one 
 fault I have committed was for your sake. You alone 
 have the right to consider me innocent. My fortune 
 is great, my family bears one of the most honoured 
 names in England and has never been disgraced by any 
 one but me. This unsuspected stain you can wash 
 away with a word. You have no other resources than 
 those of your education, which makes you worthy of a 
 rank far higher than that which you now occupy. If 
 you marry me, a new world will open before you : 
 you shall pass from darkness into light, your life will 
 broaden out ; you will be able to use in a great sphere 
 the talents you possess. What has been a dream will 
 become a reasonable wish ; politics and diplomacy have 
 nothing too high for you." 
 
 8 5 
 
££4; £4; ££££££££££££££££££.& 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 As Edith spoke, Xavier's pale face flushed, his eyes, 
 which he no longer deadened, flashed j he followed in 
 his mind the young girl into the regions which she 
 showed him as if to tempt him and to obtain from 
 ambition what she had failed to get from love. Once 
 indeed he seized Edith's hand, and grasped it firmly; 
 but the impulse was of short duration, the brilliancy of 
 his eyes died out, over his face spread again the gloomy 
 look which concealed the emotions of his soul, and he 
 went on in an icy tone : — 
 
 " You shall marry Count de Volmerange." 
 
 " Your refusal, which I fail to understand, can have 
 but one cause. In that case there is no remedy for 
 my misfortune. Perhaps you have already a wife in 
 France." 
 
 " No," replied Xavier, in a strange tone, " neither 
 in France nor elsewhere. I am a bachelor." 
 
 Edith, who until then had supplicated him, rose and 
 with the most dignified and majestic air said to the 
 young man : " It is not through love for you that I 
 have so earnestly entreated you. You fascinated me, 
 but I have never loved you. You acted on me as a 
 philter or a poison might do, and I am no more guilty 
 than if a potion had robbed me of my senses. I have 
 
 86 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 never loved you, thank God ! I am proud of it. It 
 is my one consolation. My eyes, blinded for one 
 moment, were quickly opened. When I heard the 
 true eloquence of the heart, when I saw the heaven's 
 light shining in a true man's look, I saw at once that I 
 had been the prey and the sport of a demon, and I 
 loved Count de Volmerange as much as I hated you, 
 I esteemed him as highly as I despised you. Yes, 
 I love him madly, with all the strength of my heart 
 and soul," added Miss Edith Harley, insisting cruelly, 
 as she saw Xavier's pale face turning green ; " and I 
 desired to spare him the shame of marrying a girl 
 whom you have soiled. But I shall tell him every- 
 thing ; he will forgive me and avenge me. And now, 
 sir, go, or I shall ring and have you thrown out of the 
 window ! " she cried in a tone which betokened the 
 revolt of her aristocratic blood. 
 
 As she said these words, she advanced one step, and 
 Xavier, as if blasted by the blaze of indignation that 
 flashed from Edith's eyes, staggered back through the 
 door, which closed violently upon him. The last 
 glance of the wretch was like that of the serpent 
 which feels the lion's claw in its back. Edith shot 
 the bolts, put back the furniture, and the sound of 
 
 87 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Xavier's steps died away on the stairs as Lord and 
 Lady Harley entered the room. 
 
 Anger had brought back the colour of life to Edith's 
 cheeks, and the fire of indignation had concealed every 
 trace of tears in her burning eyes. The calm of a 
 supreme resolve smoothed her brow. So Lady Harlev, 
 as she drew her daughter to her heart, said to her 
 caressingly : — 
 
 " My dear Edith, I am delighted to see that you 
 have overcome the sadness in which you were plunged. 
 I was afraid this marriage was repugnant to you, and 
 that a vain fear of breaking your word at the last 
 moment alone induced you to carry it out. I would 
 not have a single worldly consideration compromise 
 the happiness of your life, and although Lord Harley 
 finds in Count de Volmerange every quality which one 
 could desire in a son-in-law, he has come with me to 
 tell you not to bind yourself by a marriage which has 
 so greatly troubled and distressed you. When I 
 was about to wed your dear father, I felt nothing 
 of the kind. The deepest confidence and the most 
 celestial serenity, the calmest and most penetrating 
 joy, filled my soul. These must be the feelings of 
 a girl when she is about to be married to him whom 
 
 88 
 
^7 Ss7 ^7 ^7 ^7 t§? ^ ''-'* ^ ^^t|i?dbtl!?dl?^?d»t{»tw??S? Tt? Tg? TrT 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 she is to accompany to the tomb and to meet in 
 the next life." 
 
 " Mother," answered Edith, kissing Lady Harley, 
 "and you, dearest and most honoured father, I thank 
 you with deep gratitude for what you have just said. 
 I cannot tell you how deeply I am touched by these 
 proofs of your love. Your anxiety is unfounded. Pray 
 be reassured ; your choice is mine. Like you, I think 
 Count de Volmerange high-bred, full of the noblest 
 and most generous feelings, of perfect elegance and 
 thorough grace. I firmly believe that if a man can 
 make any woman on earth happy, he is the one." 
 But Edith could not quite restrain a sigh, which 
 disagreed with the words she uttered and seemed 
 to indicate regret rather than hope. 
 
 "I love Count de Volmerange," she went on; "I 
 can say that before you, my dear parents, at the 
 moment of going to the altar. The tears I have 
 shed, the sadness in which I have indulged, are no 
 more than the melancholy fit of a nervous child, 
 whose only real grief is that of leaving you." 
 
 " So much the better for us, dear Edith. I feared 
 that a secret aversion inspired your tears and your 
 sighs." 
 
 89 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Kiss me, father," said the girl, holding out her 
 brow to Lord Harley, who drew her to his breast. 
 Then she took her mother's hand and bent over it 
 with deep emotion. A few stifled sobs escaped her, 
 but when she raised her face she had resumed her 
 calm expression. 
 
 Count de Volmerange was announced. 
 
 He was a young fellow of twenty-five or twenty-six, 
 whose handsome face at once attracted by its curious 
 charm. He was born at Chandernagore, of a French 
 father and an Indian mother, and united in himself the 
 qualities of the two races. His eyes, of the purest 
 blue, were shaded by very long black lashes and sur- 
 mounted by ebony brows clearly marked on a forehead 
 of mat pallor. This contrast imparted a singular grace 
 to his face. The blue glance, showing between the 
 sombre fringes, had a sad, soft tone which the strength 
 of the neighbouring tones prevented from being femi- 
 nine. When a lively emotion moved him, his eyes, 
 made brighter by the warm tints of the eyelids, seemed 
 to be illumined, and turned from sapphire to turquoise. 
 This discord in tone, agreeable though it was, and 
 which a colourist painter would have studied with love, 
 imparted a fatal and supernatural look to his handsome 
 
 <;0 
 
i: ± -k 'k £ ± & 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 face. Some of the dreamy, sinister angels of Albert 
 Diirer have that same glance, vast as the heaven, deep 
 as the sea, in which every form of melancholy seems 
 to have melted into a drop of azure water. Although 
 peace of the soul, frankness and kindness breathed in 
 that face, no artist, having to paint happiness, would 
 have taken it for a model. 
 
 ; Count de Volmerange was tall, and although slight, 
 was endowed with uncommon strength. Though his 
 figure was aristocratically elegant, the breadth of his 
 chest and the muscles of his arms, which showed under 
 the cloth of his sleeves, betokened athletic vigour. His 
 robust nature, improved by the breeding and the perfect 
 style of a gentleman, was possessed of extreme grace, 
 the grace of strength. 
 
 The party left for the church, which happened to be 
 that very Church of Saint Margaret in Palace Yard 
 under the porch of which Miss Annabel Vyvyan, pale 
 as an alabaster statue upon a tomb, was awaiting her 
 bridegroom. Edith's veil touched Annabel's shoulder 
 as she passed. As for Volmerange, perfectly happy, 
 he did not even cast a glance at the unhappv girl wait- 
 ing on the threshold of the church and trying to look 
 into the fog ; yet two fates had just passed each other. 
 
 9 
 
•J* »4» *i» »|» »4» »§• •!» »ij «4» »|j »iy »J» •!» rl^ tj* j|» «4» »4j 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Annabel, thinking of no one but Benedict, paid not the 
 least attention to this incident. A prey to her anxiety, 
 embarrassed by her peculiar situation, she did not notice 
 either Edith or Volmerange. No shudder warned 
 them. 
 
 Edith and Volmerange entered the dark church, and 
 the ceremony took place to the sound of the gusts of 
 wind which moaned through the shadowy naves and 
 made the doors slam. The fog was turning into rain, 
 and great drops, driven by the wind, struck against the 
 yellow panes of the huge Protestant windows ; a pale 
 light, dimmed constantly by the blasts of the tempest, 
 lighted with its sinister gleams the wedding couple, the 
 priest, and the spectators. The surplice looked like a 
 shroud, and the clergyman as livid as a spectre, or a 
 necromancer performing a spell. The sacred gestures 
 were like cabalistic signs, and the kneeling pair seemed 
 rather to be praying on a tomb than to be bending 
 happy and joyous, to receive the marriage blessing. 
 Near the door in the distance was seen a white shape 
 surrounded by black coats, who seemed to be kept to 
 the threshold of the church by an infernal power, like 
 an unhappy soul driven from Paradise by an angel. A 
 feeling of overwhelming sadness filled the spectators ; a 
 
 92 
 
tv ' rl? ~Jic tb tk* *^* ^7 ".I? ^ tr. t*? tl? tl? tir db t^? strstr tfe 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 vague presentiment of misfortune beat with bat-like 
 wings upon every brow ; an icy, penetrating cold which 
 chilled the very marrow within the bones, a cold like 
 that of a cellar, a sepulchre, or a prison, made the 
 guests shudder, and added to the painful impression. 
 The least superstitious, in spite of their incredulity, 
 could not help thinking to themselves : " This is not 
 a very auspicious wedding. If it turns out well, we 
 shall have to confess that happiness has sometimes 
 very sad omens." 
 
 The only one who did not feel any of these external 
 impressions was Volmerange. He worshipped Edith, 
 and if the day on which he received her hand in his 
 had been filled with lightning and thunder, clouds and 
 water-spouts, it would have appeared to him pure and 
 serene. What matter the winds of heaven and the 
 fogs of earth, when a man bears sunshine in his heart 
 and the heavens in his soul ? 
 
 As the couple left the church, a meanly dressed man 
 of humble mien, who might have been taken for a 
 poor beggar or a solicitor speculating upon the happi- 
 ness which leads a man to make others happy, held 
 out to Count de Volmerange a sealed envelope appar- 
 ently containing a few papers, — a petition, no doubt, 
 
 93 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 with certificates in support of it. Volmerange took 
 the envelope with a careless hand and put it in 
 his pocket without looking at the man who proffered 
 it. Edith, at the sight of him, shuddered but said 
 nothing. 
 
 It was written above that no marriage should be 
 happily celebrated that day in the Church of Saint 
 Margaret. 
 
 Sir Benedict Arundel had disappeared. And towards 
 the middle of the night in the nuptial chamber of 
 Volmerange and Edith, a deep, painful moan had 
 sounded in the silence of the house. Some of the 
 servants had heard it, but no one had dared to seek to 
 penetrate, without being called, into the mysteries of 
 the marriage chamber. Only, the next morning, as 
 no sound was heard in the room, as no ring of the bell 
 was heard and it was already past noon, they ventured 
 to open the door. 
 
 The room was empty. 
 
 94 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ri-. »J/. «A* »4» »4» ri* ■JLa^t^cjv ^ rj> r|j »1t> »4j »ij 
 
 VI 
 
 LADY ELEANOR BRAYBROOKE, raging 
 and exasperated, looked apoplectic enough to 
 fill her heirs and collaterals with hope had 
 they seen her at that moment. She was unable to 
 keep still, and formed the greatest contrast to the 
 pallor and motionlessness of Annabel. She was like 
 a red-hot coal by the side of a snowflake, and the 
 wonder was that the nearness of her blazing face did 
 not make Annabel's white one melt. 
 
 " I cannot understand it," said Sir William Bawtry. 
 " I cannot even form the most absurd conjecture about 
 this disappearance." 
 
 " I can think of a reason," answered the choleric 
 Lady Braybrooke. " Benedict Arundel is the lowest of 
 wretches. But we cannot remain here forever, stuck 
 like statues. Let us return to your home, my niece." 
 She took Annabel's arm and led her to the carriage. 
 When Annabel, until then sunk in mute stupor, 
 found herself alone with her aunt, she gave way to a 
 
 95 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 hysterical fit, her lovely features were contracted, 
 violent sobs broke out, and if abundant tears had not 
 flowed from her eyes, she would have died of grief. 
 
 " The loss of fifty thousand Arundels is not worth 
 one of those pearls which flow from your eyes, my 
 darling," said Lady Eleanor, as she tried to calm Miss 
 Vyvyan. " I told you that a well-bred man would not 
 leave his bride at the door of the church to speak to 
 a friend. Sir George Alan Braybrooke would never 
 have indulged in such a piece of rudeness. Who can 
 this Sidney be ? The brother, I suppose, of some 
 creature whom that wretch Arundel had seduced, and 
 who was waiting in some neighbouring tavern with her 
 baby in her arms." 
 
 " Sidney has no sister, aunt ; Sir Benedict told me 
 so several times," replied Annabel to Lady Braybrooke ; 
 " so your supposition is unfounded. Besides, Sir 
 Benedict Arundel is incapable — " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! you girls always have excuses for 
 these handsome-whiskered gentlemen, who look at the 
 moon when they talk to you of an evening. Your 
 Benedict was poetical and a poet. I have always 
 detested such people, — one never knows which way 
 to take them. They have unintelligible ways of look- 
 
 q6 
 
J^rLt rt, rl/> rJU rA, »!•» rj* rl% *l* »jU »jU ri* ^ »i* ^ <4^ »4« 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ing at things, and a sort of reversed logic which makes 
 them do the very thing that no one expects them to do. 
 They imagine absurd happiness, and fancy they are 
 suffering from chimerical misfortunes. What is needed 
 in marriage is a practical mind. Sir George Alan 
 Braybrooke — " 
 
 " But, aunt, suppose he has been the victim of a plot. 
 Suppose he has fallen into a trap — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! a plot in London in broad daylight, a 
 few steps from a file of carriages and a whole crowd of 
 footmen and policemen ! " 
 
 " If Benedict has not returned, it is because he is 
 dead," replied Annabel, stifling a sigh in her handker' 
 chief, which she had wetted with her tears. 
 
 For a few moments the girl was overwhelmed by 
 convulsive sobs. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said Lady Eleanor, troubled by 
 Annabel's despair. " Because a bridegroom disappears 
 for some more or less mysterious reason, it does not 
 follow that he is no longer on this earth." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure, aunt, I shall never see him again. 
 I feel a presentiment that I shall not. He is forever 
 lost to me." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! What do you mean by presenti- 
 
 7 
 
 97 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ments ? I have never had any. That may do in 
 Scotland, the country of second sight, but in London, in 
 the West End, people do not foresee the future." 
 
 " But the church had such a gloomy look ; I shud- 
 dered as I crossed the threshold." 
 
 " That is simply the effect of its age and of coal, a 
 mere Gothic phantasmagoria. If you had chosen the 
 new church at Hanover Square, imitated from the Par- 
 thenon and painted white, in which all the best people 
 are married, you would not have felt that prophetic 
 effect, and your future would nevertheless have been 
 the same." 
 
 " Your reasoning is cruel, aunt, but I feel that a bru- 
 tal hand has just blotted on the book of fate the page 
 on which his future life and mine were written." 
 
 " But, instead of seeking supernatural explanations, 
 I must say, even if I am to pain you, that there are 
 more plausible motives, — love for another — " 
 
 " How can you think so, aunt ? In that case, I 
 should prefer that he should be dead. Sir Benedict 
 Arundel is incapable of falsehood and treason. His 
 lips speak what his heart thinks, and his heart is in 
 accord with his eyes. Besides, is it possible to 
 deceive ? Then why should he have done it ? Has 
 
 98 
 
>£• <X. rvt. •!* rli •!/* •A* *A» ^ ti? tsbtlljdb tl? tfj Tf? tl? Cs? j? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 he not a great name, is he not as rich as I am, and 
 as young ? " 
 
 " And as handsome, you may add. The two of you 
 formed a lovely couple," added Lady Eleanor Bray- 
 brooke, with a sigh ; for she could not help acknowledg- 
 ing the accuracy of Annabel's reasoning, and her anger 
 had begun to yield to genuine anxiety. She understood 
 that what she had taken for an impertinence might 
 well be a misfortune. Her complexion, hitherto violet, 
 now became purple, then crimson, and finally red, 
 which was comparatively pale for her. 
 
 In the course of a few minutes the carriage drew 
 up at the door, and Miss Annabel Vyvyan walked up 
 alone, sad and despairing, the stairs which an hour 
 before she had descended with joy in her heart, a smile 
 on her lips, and the tip of her white glove in the hand 
 of her well-beloved. 
 
 The surprise of her maids was extreme to see her 
 return thus, but Lady Braybrooke's remarks soon made 
 them aware of what had happened, and although, with 
 the reserve of English servants, they did not permit 
 themselves to ask any questions or to say anything 
 about the misfortune which had just befallen their 
 young mistress, it was plain that in the inferior sphere 
 
 99 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 in which they moved, they shared her great and well- 
 grounded grief ; and they showed it by the change in 
 their faces and the careful manner in which they walked 
 about the room for fear of disturbing her. Miss Anna- 
 bel had thrown herself, half fainting, on a sofa opposite 
 the mirror in which but a moment since she had looked 
 at herself in her wedding-dress. If mirrors, in spite of 
 their inconstancy, had the least feeling for the objects 
 which they reflect without preserving them, this one 
 would have been astonished and touched at reflecting, 
 so pale, so wan, and so despairing, the face that but 
 a few moments before had shone in the depths of its 
 burnished steel so fair, so fresh, so radiant with 
 happiness and hope. 
 
 Alas ! the pretty tea roses had lost their lovely tints, 
 and scarcely did the lips preserve a rosy touch almost 
 vanished. The living beauty had become a dead 
 beauty, and the statue animated with joy had turned 
 into an angel of melancholy weeping over a tomb. 
 
 The wedding bouquet and ornaments, of which 
 Annabel's distracted glance caught a glimpse in the 
 mirror, in their white freshness and their virginal 
 brilliancy, appeared to her an odious irony, a cruel 
 jeer. 
 
 ioo 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Undress me," she said to her maids. " Of what 
 use are these wretched ornaments ? I am no longer a 
 bride, but a widow. Give me a black dress." 
 
 " There," cried Lady Eleanor, " is another romantic 
 idea. To wear black, — that is absurd. A brown 
 dress would suffice, for, after all, you are not married. 
 You will compromise yourself, Annabel, and it may 
 hurt you later. Benedict is not the only husband in 
 the world." 
 
 " So far as I am concerned, he is the only one." 
 
 " You talk like a love-sick girl. No love is irrep- 
 arable, everything can be made up, and one man is as 
 good as another, — you may believe my long experi- 
 ence," said Lady Eleanor, swelling out as, thanks to 
 the flattering sound of the word " experience " in such 
 matters, she risked the epithet " old " in order to give 
 more fulness to her periods and more authority to her 
 maxim. 
 
 On his part, poor William Bawtry, not knowing 
 what to think of so strange an occurrence, was travers- 
 ing the streets for the twentieth time with the stupid 
 obstinacy which is the result of incomprehensibility. 
 He hoped to find Sir Benedict by dint of going and 
 coming. He entered rapidly the few shops in the lane, 
 
 IOI 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 and made the worthy dealers in West Indian goods, 
 the hospitable proprietors of oyster-houses and taverns, 
 repeat till they were tired that they had seen no one 
 pass by resembling the gentleman whose description 
 he gave. The police, on being questioned, said they 
 had seen no passer-by, no group of people at the time 
 when Sir Arundel disappeared ; that besides, the fog, so 
 thick at that moment, prevented any one seeing more 
 than three or four yards away; nevertheless, they had 
 heard no sound, no cries, no scuffling, had not noticed 
 the faintest signs of a struggle, and the gentleman 
 whom Sir William was looking for had no doubt gone 
 away of his own accord. 
 
 Where could he be sought for in so vast a city as 
 London, without any clue to guide investigators, who, 
 besides, would have to stop at the inviolable threshold 
 of an English home, in case the retreat which concealed 
 him could have been suspected? Nevertheless, Sir 
 William Bawtrv went to the police headquarters, where 
 he received a promise that the matter would be inquired 
 into ; and he sent through the city some fifty detectives 
 who walked up and down all sorts of unlikely streets, 
 and returned that evening, their shoes visibly worn and 
 with mud up to their necks, without, however, having 
 
 102 
 
i: k k k k k k k k k k k k k k k tb :fc 4: £ k k k db 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 found anything that could lead to the discovery of 
 Benedict or Sidney. 
 
 While walking towards Miss Annabel Vyvyan's 
 house, for the state of agitation in which he was, made 
 him prefer walking to driving, Sir William Bawtry, in a 
 monologue which the usual phlegm of the English did not 
 prevent his breaking in upon with gestures that would 
 have seemed eccentric if any one in London ever looked 
 at anybody else, asked himself a number of insoluble 
 questions about the event that had happened that morn- 
 ing. " What the devil ! " said Sir William to himself. 
 " Although we do deserve to a certain extent the repu- 
 tation of eccentricity which we enjoy on the continent, 
 my friend Benedict's act goes far beyond the bounds of 
 eccentricity. To drop on the threshold of the church 
 the handsomest girl in the three kingdoms is a savage 
 and abominable act. Benedict was unquestionably 
 madly in love with Miss Annabel. It was no caprice. 
 For the past year he had seen her almost every day, so 
 he had not taken fire unexpectedly. Miss Annabel's 
 soul is as lovely as her body; she is as beautiful within 
 as without. What can have so suddenly turned Bene- 
 dict against her ? Did he at the last moment discover 
 some hidden vice, some concealed offence in her? Yet 
 
 103 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 in driving to church with me, he seemed radiant with 
 happiness, caressing dreams of the future, and not 
 having the slightest intention of running away. He 
 seemed to be ready to bow very gracefully to the yoke 
 of marriage, and no one could have foreseen that he 
 would so abruptly lay back his ears and bolt like a shy 
 colt. I suppose that at the moment of giving it up, 
 bachelor life appeared to him in the most attractive 
 colours ; or Sidney has told him about Miss Annabel 
 one of those terrible things which burn like a red-hot 
 iron and cut like an axe. But what could he have to 
 say about that pure, transparent life spent in a house of 
 glass, every hour of which can be accounted for, and in 
 which slander and calumny could not find the shadow of 
 a pretext ? What cool extravagance can Sidney have 
 proposed to him ? — a trip to the Arctic, a tiger or black- 
 panther hunt in his Java domains ? That would be 
 madness, and Benedict is not mad ; and unless Sidney 
 has taken him away with him and put him in his 
 pocket, I can make nothing of it. " 
 
 At this moment a happy thought occurred to Sir 
 William Bawtry. 
 
 14 Suppose I were to go to Sidney's house in Pall 
 Mall, the one he lived in before he left for India." 
 
 104 
 
is is is is is 4r isisrk ^^r^r^?tS:^:d:^d?dbtfc?b^ 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The windows of the house were closed and every- 
 thing indicated that no one had lived there for a long 
 time. William lifted the knocker, and a servant opened, 
 after having made him wait a long time. The servant, 
 who had come from the farthest recesses of the man- 
 sion, testified at the sight of Sir William Bawtry a 
 surprise which proved how rare the appearance of a 
 visitor was in this deserted home. 
 
 " Is Sir Arthur Sidney at home just now ? " asked 
 Sir William Bawtry, at haphazard. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I think so." 
 
 " In that case, show me up to him. Here is my 
 card," said Sir" William, as he entered. 
 
 " Oh ! he is not here, but in Calcutta, in Blue 
 Elephant Street, number 25. This is the time at 
 which he was accustomed to come home. Sir Arthur 
 Sidney has been living in India for two years past." 
 
 " And has he not returned ? " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of, sir," answered the servant, 
 still edging Sir William towards the door. 
 
 " And yet I have just seen him in a street near Saint 
 Margaret's." 
 
 " You must have been deceived by some likeness, 
 sir, for if Sir Arthur were in London, he would have 
 
 105 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 notified us of his arrival, and no doubt would have 
 come to his own home," answered the servant in a 
 tone of ironical politeness, and closing in Sir William 
 Bawtry's face, whom he evidently took for a swindler, 
 the leaf of the door, — the handle of which he had not 
 let go during the conversation. 
 
 Resuming his way, Sir William said to himself : 
 " Either Sidney is really not in London, or that rascal 
 has been drilled to say what he does. And yet I 
 clearly recognised Arthur, and Benedict spoke to him 
 and called him by name. If Benedict had debts, I 
 might suppose it was a sheriff's officer, dressed up like 
 Sir Arthur, to carry him off to a sponging-house. 
 Well, I may perhaps now find him at Miss Annabel's, 
 explaining his remarkable conduct in the most natural 
 fashion possible." 
 
 But Sir Benedict was not at his bride's house, and 
 Lady Braybrooke, seeing the girl's dreadful despair, 
 tried to prove to her that nothing was more natural 
 for a man than to disappear just as he was about to be 
 married, and that Sir George Alan Braybrooke, who 
 was the best bred of men, would have been equally 
 facetious. 
 
 If Benedict himself did not appear, he might at least 
 1 06 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 have written ; but there was no letter, no note, nothing 
 to explain his strange conduct. 
 
 The investigations of the police were fruitless ; the 
 fate of Benedict Arundel remained sunk in the most 
 mysterious secrecy. It was difficult to believe that he 
 had been murdered, since Sidney, who had been 
 brought up at Harrow with Benedict, was his intimate 
 friend and had no motive of enmity towards him. As 
 for his being carried off and imprisoned, what could be 
 the purpose, what could be the motive ? It could not 
 be jealousy of a rejected lover, for Sidney had never 
 seen Miss Annabel, and there could be no rivalry 
 between him and Benedict. 
 
 As evening came on, the poor bride returned to her 
 maiden chamber, the threshold of which she thought 
 that morning she had crossed for the last time. Her 
 maids undressed her and laid her like a dead body in 
 the pretty white nest over which had fluttered so many 
 happy dreams, waving their rosy wings over the ivory 
 brow of the young girl. She remained in the same 
 position in which she had been put, her head sunk in 
 her hair, which flowed like the water from a river 
 urn, her pale face resting on her arm. She might 
 have been thought dead but that, from time to time, 
 
 107 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 a tear rolled over her pale cheeks like a pearl over 
 marble. 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear child," said Lady Eleanor 
 Braybrooke, seeing that her niece remained obstinately 
 mute. " Keep up your heart." 
 
 A faint gesture of hopelessness made Annabel's 
 shoulders move, for she was absolutely convinced that 
 Benedict, not having returned at once, would never 
 reappear again. Not for one moment had she believed 
 in treachery on his part. She felt that she was beloved 
 by him, whether absent or present, in this life or in 
 the next. She had the unshakable faith of first love. 
 Thus she wept all night silently, until the heavy sleep 
 of morning weighed down upon her reddened eyelids; 
 but her dreams were as sad as her thoughts, for time 
 and again tears escaped from her closed eyes. And 
 thus was spent the wedding night of the young girl 
 who should have been Lady Arundel. 
 
 Lord Harley and his wife, overcome with grief, 
 were on their part making equal efforts to discover 
 their lost daughter and son-in-law. 
 
 The bed seemed not to have been slept in, the 
 tapers had burned quietly down to the frills. On the 
 table a crushed paper, burned at the flame of one of 
 
 1 08 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the tapers, had preserved its shape, represented by- 
 black ashes. On the floor lay the envelope, addressed 
 to the Count de Volmerange, without a stamp, and 
 evidently addressed in a disguised hand. Lord Harley 
 studied intently that shadow of a letter which the least 
 breath caused to flutter, and which contained perhaps 
 the secret of the irritating mystery of the flight of 
 Edith and Volmerange. He tried in vain to make out 
 on the fine calcined pellicle the few traces of letters 
 which the fire had not caused to disappear, but he 
 might just as well have attempted to decipher hiero- 
 glyphs, and worn hieroglyphs at that. The burned 
 paper gave no information, and yet it was evident that 
 it had played an important and decisive part on that 
 fatal night ; the very care taken to destroy it testified 
 to its value. 
 
 The great glass door opening on the terrace had 
 been opened and a careful inspection of the sanded 
 walks showed a few faint footprints of a small, well- 
 shaped woman's-foot, for the toe and the heel alone 
 had marked the damp ground. Others, larger and 
 deeper, mixed with these. All ended at the terrace 
 which rose at the end of the garden above the street. 
 That way Edith and Volmerange must have gone. 
 
 109 
 
4: i: 4: £ is is is is is is is is & 4r & :*? tfc tfc tfc tfc is :& 5?: & 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 From the terrace to the ground was a height of some 
 six or seven feet. How had they managed to get 
 down, and how could this amazing flight be explained ? 
 A young married couple to leave their nuptial chamber 
 on their wedding night as if they were culprits, 
 without a word of explanation, plunging a father 
 and mother in the most dreadful despair, was some- 
 thing terrible. 
 
 Lady Harley recalled Edith's sad and preoccupied 
 looks on the days preceding the marriage, and supposed 
 that she was the victim of some disappointed love. 
 But Edith had sworn that her heart was free, and that 
 Volmerange was the husband of her choice. To explain 
 the matter by a rape or a crime was no explanation, 
 for there were no prints of footsteps from the 
 terrace to the glass door, the road which malefactors 
 would have necessarily taken. The ground, wetted 
 by the night tempest, would have preserved these 
 traces as faithfully as the footprints of Edith and 
 Volmerange. 
 
 A bit of muslin caught on one of the iron spikes 
 placed upon the coping of the walls pointed out 
 the way by which the young wife had sprung into 
 the street. Unfortunately the pavement, muddy and 
 
 I 10 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 covered with pools of water, had preserved no trace 
 of the fugitives. The storm had caused the streets 
 to be deserted early, and no one had seen anything. 
 
 « Perhaps," said Lord Harley, " they have gone to 
 their Twickenham estate. And yet Volmerange did 
 say that he could not understand the foolishness of 
 burying one's happiness within a postchaise, and turn- 
 ing postilions into confidants of true love. Still, let us 
 send a messenger to Twickenham." 
 
 The Count and the Countess had not appeared there, 
 and the housekeeper had received no orders from 
 them. 
 
 The reply plunged Lord and Lady Harley into the 
 deepest grief. During the time the messenger had 
 been gone, they had managed to prove to themselves 
 that their daughter had gone to Twickenham ; they 
 had clung to that vain hope so desperately that when 
 it escaped them like a tuft of fennel, they rolled into 
 an abyss of misery, and thought they had lost their 
 daughter for the second time. 
 
 The most careful search failed to bring about any 
 result, and the disappearance of the married pair 
 remained shrouded in mystery. The dark Church of 
 Saint Margaret had indeed realised the sad presenti- 
 
 1 1 1 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ments inspired by its austere and funereal aspect, and 
 justified Lady Braybrooke's preference for the new 
 church in Hanover Square as far as weddings went. 
 This time the good lady was not wrong when she 
 maintained that Gothic churches were good only to be 
 buried in. 
 
 I I 2 
 
«4» «4« rJ/« «1* «4* •i* *A» «4» »4» *£• »i» •£* »4» »l» »4» »4» *i* •!» «j* 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 jlj »>l» »A» »A» «X» «4* »4» tl? Js? Is? rl^ »J» »A» »4» rj^ «1* 
 
 VII 
 
 WELL, Sidney, what is the important mat- 
 ter you have come to tell me about?" 
 said Benedict Arundel to his friend, as 
 he stepped into the narrow lane which the shadow of 
 the church and the fog together made as black as a 
 corridor of hell. 
 
 " It will not take long," answered Sidney, as he 
 took Benedict by the arm and brought him nearly 
 opposite the house described in the preceding chapter, 
 as if he were not yet sufficiently far from the wedding 
 company to tell his secret. 
 
 Just at this moment a dray drawn by four of those 
 huge horses to be seen only in London, and which, 
 with their gray coats and their colossal form, look like 
 young elephants, entered the lane, which it filled almost 
 completely from one end to the other. The driver, 
 who was at the head of the horses, was the aforesaid 
 ingenious Cuddy. The dray, thus driven, formed a 
 moving barricade which completely stopped up the 
 
 8 
 
 "3 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 street. It prevented Benedict from retracing his steps 
 and also people from coming to his help. On account 
 of the enormous load, the dray proceeded very slowly, 
 and had not yet passed the third or fourth house in the 
 street. Saunders was crawling along the wall near 
 Benedict, and in his hand, hanging at his side, was the 
 mask to which Noll had made anacreontic allusions, 
 supposing it intended for Nancy's pretty face. As for 
 Noll, who aimed at being a man of the world, — a pre- 
 tension which in his opinion was justified by a silver 
 pin set with imitation turquoises representing the harp 
 of Erin and stuck in a black satin rag, and especially 
 by a pair of gloves of indescribable colour which might 
 have been white at some remote time, and through the 
 finger-ends of which passed red knuckles and blue 
 nails, — Noll was gracefully dawdling, chewing an 
 unlighted cigar and caressing the bone of his stork- 
 like leg with a small switch used for beating clothes, 
 and which he carried as if it were a riding-whip. Bob, 
 true to his character, was spelling out on the sign of 
 a low drinking-shop the pompous and very deceitful 
 list of French wines and foreign liquors. He preferred 
 this sort of literature to all the poetry on earth ; Shake- 
 speare and Milton were in his eyes only wretched 
 
 114 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 scribblers by the side of the letter-painter who had 
 written this superb list, much more lyrical than Pin- 
 dar's odes, — a Greek whom Bob would have assuredly 
 despised because he wrote a stanza beginning thus : 
 "Water, in truth, is very good." 
 When Sidney, followed by Benedict, passed near 
 Saunders, he winked at him almost imperceptibly. 
 Saunders understood and drew near Benedict. Noll let 
 fall his stick and bent, pretending to pick it up, and 
 Bob, who had got so far as " Cognac, Arrack, Rum, and 
 Tafia," dragged himself away from his intoxicating 
 reading. Cuddy left his horses, which quietly stopped, 
 and drew nearer the group. At the same moment 
 Benedict felt slapped in his face and spread over his feat- 
 ures a thick, warm, heavy mask which at once deprived 
 him of sight, breathing, and speech ; a strong arm was 
 pressed against his loins like an iron bar; broad bony 
 hands, with fingers like crabs' claws, caught his legs 
 and raised him from the ground. It was all done in a 
 flash, and Benedict, whose arms were held by human 
 fetters so that he could not get rid of his mask, felt 
 himself carried off towards some unknown place by a 
 mysterious force, as in those horrible dreams in which 
 Smarra carries vou off upon its monstrous back. 
 
 "5 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The door of the deserted house opened as if by 
 magic, and the band entered the dark passage, fol- 
 lowed by Sir Arthur Sidney. When they had got 
 sufficiently far into the narrow corridor, so that the 
 light coming from the street had completely vanished, 
 Saunders wisely bethought himself that it was not 
 necessary to stifle the gentleman, and cleverly pulled 
 off" the pitch mask which covered Benedict's face. He 
 was just swooning away, and the mad efforts he had 
 made to free himself had greatly diminished. He was 
 tortured by inexpressible anxietv, the blood was surg- 
 ing in his temples, his breast heaved as if breathing 
 were an impossibility, his ears sang violently, and his 
 blinded eyes saw passing before them fantastic blue, 
 green, and red lights. 
 
 Assuredly the atmosphere in that dark, fetid, icy- 
 cold passage would at any other time have turned 
 Benedict sick ; but never was an Alpine breeze, un- 
 tainted by any human breath and laden with all the 
 scent of flowery solitudes, inspired by more eager lungs 
 than that almost mephitic air. That breath of tainted 
 air was life to Benedict. The immense relief he felt 
 was manifested by a deep sigh and a prolonged M Thank 
 God ! " 
 
 116 
 
4; 4; 4* 4? 4* 4; 4*4* £4^4-4; 4* 4- 4. 4* 4. 4. 4; 4; 4; 4? 4* 4» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " It looks," said Noll, to himself, " as if the gentle- 
 man began to feel the need of putting his nose out of 
 the window, and although Bob maintains there is noth- 
 ing better than a drink of whiskey, I think the gentle- 
 man would have preferred a breath of air." 
 
 Benedict, now realizing his situation, attempted to 
 resist, but eight vigorous arms drove him into the room 
 I have described, and which the crew of the yawl, who 
 had now returned to their boat by the subterranean 
 passage, had left empty. The door was dosed upon 
 him, and the key turned sharply in the lock. Still 
 overcome by weakness, Benedict sank upon a box and 
 leaned in an attitude of despair on the table covered 
 with glasses and jugs, the remains of the orgy Noll 
 and Saunders had shared in. 
 
 Strange was the transition, stranger still the turn in 
 his fate. But a few minutes since, Sir Benedict Arun- 
 del was sitting in a comfortable carriage opposite a 
 lovely girl, a fair angel that had come from heaven for 
 him, surrounded by his friends and his acquaintances, 
 in the midst of a brilliant, aristocratic company, so high 
 placed that it seemed impossible for misfortune to touch 
 any of its members. And yet, by an unheard-of treach- 
 ery, a perfidious trick, he was now a prisoner in a 
 
 117 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 horrible den where no doubt a dreadful death awaited 
 him. 
 
 He gazed with lack-lustre eye at the red glow of the 
 coal fire that was slowly dying out, at the blood-red 
 walls reeking with crime and vice, on which gallows, 
 portraits of murderers and robbers, scenes of blood and 
 debauch, scratched in white outlines, mingled in a sin- 
 ister saraband with obscene, enigmatical, or threatening 
 inscriptions, in the intermittent light of the fire. 
 
 The very elegance of Benedict's dress made the con- 
 trast still more striking. His perfumed, clean, white 
 glove resting upon the coarse wooden table cut bv 
 knives and shining with grease, produced a most pain- 
 ful impression. Such a man as Benedict could be in 
 such a place only as the result of a mysterious and 
 wicked plot. 
 
 Somewhat recovered from the shock of the sudden 
 blow, Benedict asked himself what could be the object 
 of this strange sequestration. Had Sir Arthur Sidney 
 wished to deliver him over to evil-doers, to assassins 
 perhaps ? Was it an eccentric way of punishing him 
 for not awaiting his arrival ? Had Sir Arthur planned 
 this kidnapping, or, being himself a powerless spectator, 
 had he hastened for help in the unequal struggle ? Sir 
 
 118 
 
a ^ r M t£s r Jc tl? *-'* ^tSrtl?iJ» ttr tlrd f d» «j?tt?tf? tlrsSrsfe 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Benedict passed from conjecture to conjecture without 
 being able to fathom the mystery. 
 
 Then he thought with despair of the mortal anxiety 
 and the painful situation of Miss Annabel on not seeing 
 return the man she had chosen for her husband, and 
 whose disappearance would remain inexplicable. The 
 thought maddened him. He cursed Sidney, and raged 
 round the room with the mechanical obstinacy of a wild 
 beast seeking an outlet. Several times he tried to break 
 down the door, but it was firm on its rusty old hinges, 
 and Benedict's fiercest blows had no effect upon the 
 thick boards. The window, placed at an inaccessible 
 height, was further guarded with flat iron bars with 
 serrated edges placed so closely together that a sylph 
 could not have slipped between them without tearing 
 its wings. 
 
 In the hope of being heard in some of the neigh- 
 bouring houses, the queer angles of whose roofs showed 
 faintly through the upper panes, Sir Benedict shouted 
 with all his might. In order to make the sound carry 
 farther, he endeavoured to imitate the calls of sailors in 
 a gale of wind and of mountaineers who signal to each 
 other from the two sides of a precipice separated by a 
 torrent, but the room was as mute as if it had been 
 
 119 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 padded ; Benedict's voice awoke no echo, and came 
 back to him as it does on high summits where the 
 rarefied air stills the vibrations of words. 
 
 Maddened, Benedict passed from cries to howls, and 
 a bloody foam rose to his lips. Then, weary and 
 ashamed of his useless attempts, he let himself fall 
 upon the bench. The coals, almost entirely con- 
 sumed, gave out an occasional flicker only ; a tiny 
 violet flame meandered, ready to vanish, over the 
 heaps of ashes. Night, which had fallen, made 
 the window dark, and formidable shadows grew in 
 the corner of the room, in which the eye of terror 
 could easily have perceived the motions of monstrous 
 swarming forms. 
 
 Sir Benedict was unquestionably a brave man, but 
 to the fury and despair of being separated from 
 Annabel was added the instinct of personal preserva- 
 tion very properly awaking in him. His strange and 
 dark adventure was well calculated to inspire appre- 
 hension in the most courageous mind. Imprisoned, 
 alone, unarmed, defenceless, in a padded, mute chamber, 
 the door of which was perhaps about to give passage to 
 murderers, Benedict fell into the deepest discourage- 
 ment. Another still more terrible fear assailed him. 
 
 120 
 
dfc «S» "** afe «5» ?i? tp» ~? ts? o£»2i? 3§>3§?li> e -" afe 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Suppose the murderers should not come ! Suppose he 
 were to be abandoned in that hideous room, a wretched 
 oubliette used by ignoble assassins ! The thought of 
 dying there of thirst and hunger like a mad dog, far 
 from light and men, presented itself so vividly to his 
 mind that a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He 
 would have welcomed an assassin standing on the 
 threshold of the open door as a delivering angel, for it 
 would have been swift death without torture, instead 
 of a hideous agony more frightful even than that 
 of Ugolino, for the latter had at least his seven sons 
 to eat. 
 
 He strode up and down the room, seeking an issue, 
 sounding the walls, but there was no other door than 
 that which he had vainly tried to break down; or if 
 there were, it was so skilfully masked that he could not 
 discover it. Besides, even if he had found it out, of 
 what use would it have been ? It was no doubt closed 
 by some secret or complicated lock, the key of which 
 would certainly have been taken away. 
 
 In the paroxysms of his despair Benedict cursed God 
 and man. He shook his list at the dark ceiling, for 
 lack of the vault of heaven, and stamped violently upon 
 the floor, unable to strike more directly the face of 
 
 121 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 step-mother Cybele. The floor gave out a dull, hollow 
 sound, for Benedict happened to stamp right over the 
 trap I have spoken of. 
 
 Great joy filled his heart as he heard his steps 
 sounding over the void. The hope of escape immedi- 
 ately gave him back his energy and his coolness. He 
 knelt down, and feeling the floor with his hands, 
 searched in every direction for the ring, knob, or spring 
 that would cause the trap to fly open. He soon found 
 the ring, and with a mighty effort succeeded in lifting 
 up the heavy door. 
 
 The air of the underground passage struck his face, 
 and the abyss showed vaguely before him, more sombre 
 than obscurity and darker than night. Whither led 
 the opening ? Was it the commencement of an under- 
 ground passage, or a well into which the bodies of 
 victims were thrown ? Was it the receptacle where a 
 company of Burkers kept the bodies of their victims ? 
 Would he stumble over heaped-up bones, or upon the 
 laden tables of a clandestine morgue ? Perhaps some 
 eccentric physician wished to indulge in the anatomical 
 amusement of dissecting a gentleman's body and using 
 the scalpel upon the fibres of an aristocrat, and his 
 purveyors, considering Benedict a suitable subject, had 
 
 122 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 seized him to sell him for a sufficient number of guineas 
 to this dilettante doctor. 
 
 But it was impossible to admit that Sidney, his child- 
 hood's friend, his chum at Harrow, was playing a part 
 in this awful conspiracy, and the most horrible part of 
 all, that of the tame ox which leads the wild bull to the 
 arena or the slaughter-house. 
 
 By putting out his arm Benedict felt the top step of 
 a stair, and like all brave men he preferred to meet 
 death rather than await it in stupid gloom. He slipped 
 through the opening of the trap, which he had been 
 unable to throw back on account of its weight, and 
 put out his arm to support the trap-door, though it 
 trembled and almost gave way. Then, thinking that he 
 had gone down enough steps for the trap not to smash 
 his skull as it closed, he bent down his head and took 
 away his hand. The trap-door, left to itself, fell with 
 a lugubrious sound like the cover of a coffin which falls 
 upon the dead. The obscure entrance to the subter- 
 ranean passage made the sound still more sinister and 
 lamentable. Brave though Benedict was, he felt chilled 
 to the very marrow, and said to himself: "If a man 
 can hear, when his body is sewn up in the shroud, the 
 sound of the earth falling upon the coffin cannot be 
 
 123 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 more dreadful and lugubrious. Perhaps I have buried 
 myself alive and this black hole is to be my tomb." 
 
 He continued, nevertheless, to descend the steps, 
 going down carefully, his hands outstretched. 
 
 " I only hope that this passage has an opening, even 
 if it does lead me into a company of bandits, or into a 
 sabbath of witches," said poor Benedict, almost regret- 
 ting the blood-red chamber. 
 
 In the deep darkness there was no light, not even a 
 livid one, no star, not even a bloody one ; no ray of 
 light in the interstices of the planks ; nothing but 
 deep, cold, dreadful night. The unfortunate young 
 man seemed to have passed from the first to the 
 second room of his tomb. The wind, blowing under 
 the damp vault, moaned like a human voice, a sound 
 with which nature on stormy nights seems to deplore 
 unknown losses ; vague lamentations, stifled sighs, 
 sobs apparently escaping from a breaking heart, the 
 howls of victims pressed by the murderer's knee, 
 the organ of the tempest played for the wan auditor, 
 groping in the shadow, its whole symphony of sadness 
 and terror. 
 
 As he descended, the steps became damp and slip- 
 pery, and a fine mist driven by the wind struck his 
 
 124 
 
tibdb £ i: rk & £ i: & & dbdb 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 face. The low lipping of water could be heara 
 through the gusts, and the spume of a wave, break- 
 ing higher up than the others, wetted his feet. He 
 came to the conclusion that the passageway led to 
 the Thames, and as he might have rivalled Lord 
 Byron as a swimmer, he believed his escape certain. 
 Indeed nothing could be easier for a swimmer such as 
 he was than to reach the opening of the archway on 
 the river and then ascend or descend towards the shore 
 according to the place where he would find himself. 
 Cheered by this hope, he fancied himself already 
 seated by Annabel telling her of his strange adventure, 
 and begging her to forgive him the anxiety which he 
 had most involuntarily caused her. With the incredi- 
 ble speed characteristic of thought, which is a fluid 
 as swift, or even swifter than electricity, innumerable 
 lovely pictures passed through his mind during the 
 short space of time it took him to go down three 
 steps. He saw himself before the altar, pressing Miss 
 Annabel Vyvyan's delicate hand, then on the threshold 
 of the nuptial chamber, and, in a still more distant 
 picture, in his country seat at Richmond. He was 
 standing by Annabel's side under the veranda at 
 the top of the marble steps, watching a lovely, fair- 
 
 125 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 haired child playing upon the green sward with a 
 tame deer. 
 
 His beautiful dreams vanished suddenly and were 
 replaced by the vision and the hallucination of despair. 
 His outstretched hand had struck against an iron grat- 
 ing. The road was barred on this side, and on the 
 other return was impossible. Arundel's exhausted 
 strength could never have sufficed to raise the heavy 
 trap-door. 
 
 " What have I done, O God, to be damned alive ? " 
 he cried sorrowfully. " What unknown crime am I 
 to expiate here ? Oh, Annabel ! however sad the 
 suppositions in which you are now doubtless indulg- 
 ing as to my fate, they are far from approaching the 
 reality." And by a last effort of ever-springing hope, 
 which never abandons man, and which abides with the 
 victim even when his neck is under the knife, Bene- 
 dict shook each one of the bars, one after another, 
 trying to move or to draw them away ; but they 
 were fastened firmly, and rust had soldered the joints. 
 A score of times, having found the lock, poor Benedict 
 tore his fingers as he attempted to unscrew it or to 
 shoot back the bolt. While he indulged in this useless 
 attempt, for the massive and complicated lock would 
 
 126 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 have done honour to the door of one of the Newgate 
 cells, a wave lapped him with its icy-cold caress. Bene- 
 dict, chilled, his teeth chattering, his wedding garments 
 wetted, ascended a few steps to avoid the water, and 
 sat down like one of the sombre, crouching figures 
 which Dante Alighieri has placed upon the steps of 
 his Hell. He remained there with the gloomy resig- 
 nation of the wild beast at bay, of the savage taken 
 prisoner, — how long he knew not, whether it was an 
 eternity or an hour only. He had no longer a clear 
 perception of things, and the wheels of madness were 
 beginning to whirl in his head. 
 
 During a moment of comparative calm, he thought 
 he would like to know the hour, remembering that he 
 had his repeater in his pocket ; but his hand, chilled 
 by cold, pressed the spring too strongly or unskilfully. 
 It broke and sounded stridently under the gold of the 
 case. Poor Benedict was in the position of those 
 prisoners in the Siberian mines who are made to 
 work for two hours and then sleep for two hours, 
 in order that they may not know how much time 
 they have left ; for although they never see the sun, 
 the division of work and rest would allow them to 
 count. To await death in darkness without knowing 
 
 127 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the time, — what a torture! one which Satan has 
 forgotten. 
 
 Soon nothing was heard under the vault save the 
 low sound made by the yawl, as it rose and fell on 
 the tide, and bumped against the wall of the sub- 
 terranean canal. 
 
 128 
 
•4y^jjj *4* *i* *4» *A* *4* •A* '^tS??*? ?*? tf??l? mw^b^i 4? *^* tf» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 VIII 
 
 AFTER a time which seemed eternal to Sir 
 Arundel, but which in reality was not much 
 more than an hour, — for time does not 
 exist, and despair or weariness may make a minute 
 seem an age, — a dull sound of steps was heard above 
 the vault, and some rays of light showed the place where 
 lay the trap-door. Soon the heavy door was lifted, a 
 livid, flickering ray fell in the damp obscurity, and 
 through the narrow opening showed, by the side of 
 a candle, Saunders' characteristic face. 
 
 Arundel hastily ascended the steps, and though he 
 was bold as the brave knights from whom he was 
 descended, it was not without a real feeling of plea- 
 sure that he saw Saunders' head at the top of the 
 stairs. A winged cherub would not have seemed 
 lovelier to him, and yet there was nothing celestial 
 about Saunders. But Arundel felt at the sight of 
 him the same joy as a man buried alive, who sees 
 the tombstone lifted up, and to whom the hideous 
 
 9 
 
 I2 9 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Shakespearean grave-digger is a bright angel of light. 
 Although the hero of a novel should never be sus- 
 ceptible to any emotions except love, it is uncom- 
 monly unpleasant to die of cold and starvation in 
 a frock coat, white gloves and patent-leather boots, 
 in an icy cave on a stair washed by the tide, on the 
 day of one's own wedding with one of the loveliest 
 heiresses in London. 
 
 " Where the devil has he got to ? " murmured 
 Saunders, before the ray of the candle fell upon 
 Arundel in the darkness. " I am quite sure I double 
 locked the grating, and the bars are close enough to 
 each other for the finest gentleman, even if he wore a 
 woman's corset, to find it impossible to get through. He 
 is bound to be either in the room or in the passageway. 
 Well, I '11 go down and explore for myself." 
 
 Scarcely had Saunders set foot upon the upper steps 
 when he found himself face to face with Arundel, who 
 was hastily coming up. 
 
 " Oh ! there you are, sir," said the sailor with an 
 air of rough cordiality and visible satisfaction. " You 
 found the second room of your apartment some- 
 what cold and damp, did n't you ? You regretted 
 the first." And with his rough hand, he supported 
 
 130 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Sir Benedict Arundel, who was staggering on the 
 edge of the trap. 
 
 Benedict let himself fall on the bench near the table. 
 Saunders poked up the half-burned coal and made it 
 flame again. Arundel, revived by the warm air of 
 the room, and assured at least of not dying without 
 explanation, actually thought the horrible den with its 
 queer, sinister drawings almost pleasant, and experi- 
 enced comparative comfort. Saunders' face, though 
 rough, was not malevolent, and Benedict attempted to 
 draw him into conversation. 
 
 " What is the meaning," he said, " of this absurd 
 kidnapping ? Do you intend to rob me, to have me 
 sign drafts, or to murder me ? " 
 
 Saunders shook his head and answered, " I think, on 
 the contrary, that if you needed money, sir, it would be 
 given you." 
 
 " Then what do you want to do with me ? " 
 
 " I don't know, but nothing to harm you, for on the 
 contrary I have been told to take the greatest care of 
 you, and you will be treated as carefully as a case of 
 clocks or Bohemian glass." 
 
 " Do you know the man by whom I was walking in 
 the lane, Sir Arthur Sidney ? " 
 
 *3* 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " I saw him to-day for the first time," answered 
 Saunders, whose steel-blue eyes steadily sustained Sir 
 Benedict's penetrating glance. 
 
 " Then Sidney has nothing to do with this abomi- 
 nable conspiracy," said Benedict to himself, happy at 
 being able to dismiss a suspicion which had painfully 
 weighed on his mind. " But how is it that, being so 
 close to me, he did not assist me and did not call for 
 help ? " he thought, as doubt again recurred to him. 
 
 "What induced you to do this?" continued Arun- 
 del ; " you would be severely punished if the law got 
 hold of you." 
 
 " I obeyed the orders of those whom I promised to 
 obey, and as for the law — " Saunders shrugged his 
 shoulders significantly, by way of inferring that he was 
 uncommonly sceptical with regard to the perspicacity 
 of the police. 
 
 " And who are the people whom you obey in such 
 venturesome enterprises ? " 
 
 " If I were to tell you their names, you would be no 
 wiser. You have never had anything to do with 
 them." 
 
 " Well, do you know who I am ? " 
 
 " No. I know neither your name nor your title. 
 
 132 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Only I can tell by your aristocratic face, your small 
 hands, and the quality of your clothes and linen, that 
 you belong to the aristocracy." 
 
 " If you will open that door to me and take me back 
 to the street, I am rich enough to secure you a small 
 competence which would enable you to live as you 
 please in the country you prefer." 
 
 On hearing this proposal, Saunders' tanned face 
 turned brick red, and his sea-blue eyes sparkled in his 
 face, which had become sombre. He quickly re- 
 covered himself, and quietly replied : " Although the 
 business I am in is not a very clean one, I am not in 
 the habit of betraying those who have trusted me, even 
 when it is an ugly piece of business. Besides, even if 
 I were willing to set you at liberty in return for your 
 gold, I could not do it. The door is locked outside, 
 and I am as much a prisoner as you are." 
 
 A moment of silence followed this reply. Then 
 Saunders, whose face had resumed its natural colour, 
 opened a closet in the wall and drew from it a piece 
 of salt beef, some bread, and a pewter of beer, which 
 he placed upon the table beside Arundel, saying with a 
 respectfully jovial look : " You must have breakfasted 
 early this morning, sir; I fancy you did not have any 
 
 133 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 luncheon, and it is long past the dinner hour. How- 
 ever troubled you may be, nature does not lose its 
 rights, and though your heart is filled with grief, you 
 may not be sorry to eat something." 
 
 In spite of his despair and his anger, Arundel, or at 
 least the physical part of him, recognised the sound- 
 ness of the reasoning, drew near the food provided by 
 Saunders, and began to eat, with grief, but with a fairly 
 good appetite. 
 
 " The meat is not very delicate," said Saunders, " yet 
 that salt beef was cut from the haunch of one of the 
 best Lancashire beeves, and this beer, darker than pitch 
 and topped by golden froth, is double stout, the best 
 brewed in Dublin with barley and hops, such as you 
 cannot match in the most famous London tavern." 
 
 Benedict acknowledged the truth of Saunders' re- 
 marks as he cut several slices of the beef thus praised, 
 and drained to the dregs the pewter pot. 
 
 '34 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 IX 
 
 SIR BENEDICT ARUNDEL'S frugal repast 
 was scarcely ended, when the trap-door opened 
 and the four fellows whose appearance from 
 underground I have already described, issued slowly 
 from below. One of them exchanged a few words 
 with Saunders in a strange tongue, which Benedict 
 could not understand. The sentences appeared to be 
 composed of a single word, as in idioms which one 
 does not know. It was Gaelic, with, to make it more 
 difficult to understand, a certain number of slang words. 
 
 Two of the new-comers approached the trap, and 
 Saunders, advancing towards Sir Benedict Arundel, said 
 to him : " If you will be kind enough to follow us, 
 sir, — it is time to start." 
 
 " To start ! " cried Arundel, withdrawing instinc- 
 tively from the trap. 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Saunders, politely, " you will 
 understand that it is better to come with us willingly. 
 There are five of us, able-bodied, every one armed, so 
 
 !35 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 that it is no use to make a fight. It is our business to 
 carry out the orders we have received ; if need be, we 
 shall use force, — as little as necessary, for we do not 
 wish to harm you." 
 
 " I will follow you," answered Arundel, seeing that 
 it was hopeless to do anything else, and thinking to 
 himself that he would have a chance to escape once he 
 got outside. 
 
 The company disappeared down the black opening, 
 Saunders going last, leading Benedict, resigned to his 
 fate for the time being. They went down some 
 twenty steps, and reached the grating which had 
 stopped Arundel's escape. There Saunders said to 
 him : — 
 
 " I shall be obliged to gag you, sir, though I should 
 be very sorry to do so, unless you will give me your 
 word of honour not to shout and not to call for help. 
 I do not care to muzzle you like a calf crying for its 
 mother." 
 
 As the result would be the same in either case, 
 whether he were gagged or gave his word, Arundel 
 promised to keep silence. 
 
 " I will not ask you not to try to escape ; that 
 is my business," said Saunders, putting the gag back 
 
 136 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 into his pocket, and taking out the key to open the 
 grating. 
 
 One of the sailors held the lantern up, and the key, 
 having been put into the lock rusted by the damp, 
 would have turned with difficulty in a hand less vigo- 
 rous than that of Saunders. He turned it three times, 
 and the heavy gate, pushed by two of the sailors, grated 
 on its hinges with a harsh sound. The men sat down 
 on their thwarts and placed their sweeps on the gun- 
 wale of the yawl with perfect symmetry, waiting orders. 
 Saunders seated himself in the stern-sheets with Bene- 
 dict by his side. Just as the boat, impelled forward by 
 the oars, was starting, a stray gleam of the lantern 
 showed for a moment in the bow a sombre figure 
 enveloped in a cloak cast over the shoulder, and wear- 
 ing a hat pulled down over his eyes ; but Saunders 
 blew out the lantern, and everything was dark again. 
 
 In the course of a few moments the boat issued from 
 the sombre canal on to the waters of the Thames. 
 The fog, blown away by the wind, was vanishing in 
 rags like pieces of stuff carried off by "the tempest. 
 The heavens were low, gloomy, and black like the 
 vault of a tomb filled with the smoke of the visitors' 
 torches. The sinister dome, in which lighter veins 
 
 37 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 represented cracks, seemed about to fall in great blocks 
 upon the sleeping town, the dentellated ebony silhouette 
 of which on either side of the river was studded with 
 only occasional dots of light. The night was a hor- 
 rible one. 
 
 A heavy sea was running. The cables of the ships 
 drew taut with painful creakings like those of the 
 muscles of a patient stretched on the rack ; boats col- 
 lided with lugubrious sounds, and the heavy water fell 
 back on itself with a sigh of oppression and exhaustion, 
 like that which issues from a chest oppressed by the 
 nightmare. The wind uttered moans like the cries of 
 a child murdered by witches in their nameless work, 
 and over the maze of plaintive, indefinable, and sinister 
 sounds, soared like the low rumble of thunder the dis- 
 tant moaning of the waves returning to their homes. 
 
 The buildings along the river — stores, warehouses, 
 works with tall obelisks blue with flames, landing- 
 places with broad steps, churches raising above the 
 houses their great Norman towers or their pseudo- 
 classic campaniles — lost in the shadow the mean ap- 
 pearance they had in daylight, and assumed cyclopaean 
 and colossal proportions. The roofs became oriental 
 terraces, the chimney-pots obelisks and lighthouses, 
 
4k »|» «ti rJU ri* »A% (ia rl» «f« »A» JJ» j^tjjftj? tj? it? tt?sS?si?itrtS? «t?SS?«l? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the gigantic sign of open-work letters looked like the 
 traceried balustrade of an aerial balcony ; the whole 
 place, sombre, immense, and vague, seemed a Nineveh 
 over which was passing the cloud of the wrath of God. 
 A mezzotint engraver would have made of it, with a 
 few gleams of livid light, one of those terrific Biblical 
 pictures in which the English excel. 
 
 Sir Benedict Arundel, seeing the boat passing fairly 
 near to the shore, and feeling the hand with which 
 Saunders grasped his arm as with an iron ring some- 
 what less close, thought he had a chance to deceive his 
 keeper, and made such an abrupt jump that the boat 
 nearly upset. He was almost over the gunwale, his 
 feet were touching the water, and a few strokes alone 
 separated him from the shore ; but Saunders' vigorous 
 grasp, clutching him like pincers, brought him back to 
 his seat, and with a mighty push compelled him to 
 keep down. During this episode, as rapid as thought, 
 the stranger, motionless and silent in the bows, had 
 risen, stretching out his hands as if to help Saunders, 
 for the four rowers had all they could do to keep the 
 boat on an even keel in the swirl of the tide. As the 
 stranger moved, the folds of his cloak fell aside, and 
 Benedict thought he recognised the face of his friend 
 
 39 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Sidney, but the man drew his cloak over his shoulder 
 so that the upper portion of it concealed his face, while 
 his eyes were hidden in the shadow projected by the 
 broad-brimmed hat ; his identity had again become 
 impenetrable. 
 
 Meanwhile the gale increased. The furious wind 
 seemed to take filaments of rain and shoot them hissing 
 from its bow like icy arrows. The dense spray filled 
 the air, and the foam of the waves, blown in patches, 
 scattered sparkling through the darkness. The sea 
 was so heavy that it often rose over the gunwale, and 
 the rowers, their feet braced against the stretchers, 
 their bodies bent back, and tugging away with all their 
 might at the oars, had the greatest difficulty in keeping 
 the boat straight. 
 
 Concealed between two great waves, the yawl passed 
 unperceived before the police station, the red lamp of 
 which seemed half asleep, like the eyes of a drunkard. 
 
 " It is blowing fit to take your hair off," murmured 
 Saunders ; and seeing that Benedict was shivering in 
 his thin black coat, he threw over him a coarse cloak 
 which he picked up with his feet from the bottom of 
 the boat. " One thing is sure," he went on, " in this 
 weather we shall not meet many boats on the Thames. 
 
 140 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The weather favours us, — a little too much, perhaps," 
 he added, as he was struck in the face by the spray of 
 a breaking wave. 
 
 The passage under the bridges was particularly terri- 
 fying. The water rolled under the arches in sombre 
 cataracts with a terrifying noise and fearful spraying ; 
 the wind, which was blowing in the opposite direction, 
 opposed, though it could not stop, the wild rush of the 
 waves, which whirled in eddies and were maddened by 
 this resistance in the narrow passage between the piles, 
 which caused their mass to bound back. The wind 
 howled, the water hissed and roared, and the damp 
 echoes of the arches repeated these noises and made 
 them more frightful still. 
 
 The boat, steered with miraculous tact and almost 
 inconceivable perspicacity in the deep night, shot safely 
 through the centre of the safest arch and then issued 
 on the other side, dainty, coquettish, and proud, as it 
 had certainly the right to be. 
 
 As it was passing Blackfriars Bridge, a white shape, 
 falling from above, shot rapidly past the axis of the 
 arch and fell in the water like swan's-down a short dis- 
 tance from the boat. The swan's-down struggled, and 
 the two arms of a woman showed above the skirt bal- 
 
 141 
 
^ £ 'k & :b 4: £ 4: 4: rh 4:4: tlr dfc 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: db 4: 4: J: 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 looned by the fall. When the yawl, carried along, 
 passed near the pale phantom floating on the black 
 waters like an elf or a nixie of the German legends, 
 two desperate hands grasped the gunwale with such 
 nervous vigour, though they were weak and delicate, 
 that the nails sank into the wood like iron claws. If 
 any one in the boat had thought of looking up, and 
 especially if the night had been less dark, he might 
 have caught a glimpse of a human form bending over 
 the parapet of the bridge. 
 
 The boat heeled over suddenly, shipped a sea, and 
 would have capsized had the men not immediately 
 leaned over to the other side. A terrified face, so pale 
 that it was visible even in the darkness, rose above 
 the edge of the boat amid soaking hair ; the two dilated 
 eyes shone like globules of burnished silver, and the 
 purple lips spoke these words in inexpressible accents : 
 
 " Save me ! save me ! " 
 
 "What's to be done?" cried Saunders. "If she 
 goes on like that she will upset us or stop our way ; and 
 yet it would be hard to cut off" her hands, though there 
 is no other way to make her let go, and duck her again 
 in that ugly black water which so frightens her." 
 
 "That would be an abominable crime," said Bene- 
 
 142 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 diet, as he seized the unfortunate woman's arms and 
 tried to pull her into the boat. 
 
 The men moved over to the other side, and as the 
 mysterious individual in the bows said nothing, Saunders 
 helped Benedict, and soon the woman, having been 
 helped into the yawl, sat down, or rather sank, at Bene- 
 dict's feet. 
 
 The boat's speed, retarded for a moment by this 
 incident, was increased to make up for lost time; Lon- 
 don Bridge was soon left behind, and the yawl flew 
 faster than an arrow among the lines of vessels, the 
 yards of which creaked with a mournful sound, while 
 the blocks shrieked like night birds. 
 
 A deep silence reigned in the boat; the men seemed 
 to hold their breath ; the muffled oars struck the water 
 quietly, as if it were a mist, and the only sound heard 
 was the chattering of the teeth of the poor woman, 
 shivering in her wet garments. 
 
 They at last emerged from the great city of ships 
 that lies between London Bridge and the Isle of Dogs, 
 and the oarsmen pulled harder and less carefully in a 
 less turbulent seaway, for the fury of the storm was 
 now somewhat spent. 
 
 Benedict, who had stretched a portion of the over- 
 
 143 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 coat Saunders had lent him over the shoulders of the 
 unfortunate young woman, — who had nothing on but 
 a white muslin dress, — did not suspect that he had 
 seen her already once that day, under the porch of 
 Saint Margaret's, where his coat-sleeve had brushed 
 against her lace veil ; and surely poor Edith Harley, 
 for she it was, was far from supposing that the man at 
 whose feet she was sobbing convulsively on this icy- 
 cold night was the unfortunate Benedict Arundel. 
 
 A strange destiny had brought together in this frail 
 boat, in the midst of the storm, a wifeless husband and 
 a husbandless wife ; a capricious will, parting couples 
 that seemed so well made for each other, had formed 
 a new combination out of the broken and disjoined 
 pieces. 
 
 44 
 
»!/» rii „i, ri/» *JU »A» «4* *4» *4* »i» «4* ri^ rl« »A» «Ai <-i» #1* >X> •!<• »1» »lj 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 X 
 
 THE boat proceeded some distance further, 
 until it was nearly opposite Gravesend. 
 The tempest had calmed down, and the 
 sky, though still threatening, allowed a few stars to 
 show in the dark blue of night, through broader open- 
 ings in the clouds. The sea, moved to its very depths, 
 was still running heavily, and breaking upon the shores 
 of the river, which here broadened out into an estuary. 
 The wind roared in the distance like a snarling, cow- 
 ardly dog that has been kicked. 
 
 A black hull, surmounted by light spars, seemed to 
 emerge from the water, and showed faintly in the dark ; 
 it was the " Lovely Jenny " at anchor. She had been 
 masked till then by a turn in the river. Every one on 
 board appeared to be sound asleep ; the hatches were 
 carefully closed ; not a light was visible i nothing was 
 heard but the creaking of the blocks and the last blasts 
 of the storm. Such a silence was too deep to be 
 natural ; in fact, the « Lovely Jenny " slept with one 
 
 H5 
 
•1* rl% rX, e,t» . { •> '-i t i% ».5.i *■£-» •!* »A» ^* »A» r-K ri^ «1« »1» ».|^ »,to 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 eye open, for the yawl had no sooner come within hail 
 than a head showed above the rail, and bending towards 
 the stream, called out in a low but distinct voice, 
 " Hello ! ahoy, is that you ? " 
 
 u Yes," replied Saunders, in the same careful way, 
 " and here is the watchword : Crabs walk backwards, 
 but they reach their destination." 
 
 " That is a wise maxim," added Macgill, as he 
 showed at the top of the side-ladder. 
 
 The boat had come alongside the " Lovely Jenny," 
 and Saunders, still holding Arundel's arm with one 
 hand, with the other seized one of the side lines, 
 and began to ascend the ladder. Arundel thought for 
 a moment of letting himself fall, but Saunders' hand 
 held him like a vice; and besides, the other men who 
 were coming up had their hands within reach of his 
 feet, and would no doubt have held him back. Then 
 he might also have fallen into the boat below. 
 
 Any attempt at escape being therefore impossible, 
 he continued to ascend as slowly as if he were going 
 up to the gallows, for he felt that every step he took 
 separated him still further from Annabel. The way 
 he was being transferred, with so much precaution and 
 mystery, to a vessel that seemed to be waiting for him, 
 
 146 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 proved that the plan had long been laid. All these 
 silent agents were obeying a will whose purpose he 
 could not fathom. What did they propose to do with 
 him ? To carry him to some distant place, to keep 
 him in return for a ransom to be exacted from his 
 parents or his friends ? Was he a victim, in London 
 itself, of a band of brigands such as those who carry 
 their prisoners away into the mountains, and then send 
 to the city one of the ears of their prisoner, by way of 
 hastening payment ? 
 
 After having intrusted Sir Benedict Arundel to Jack 
 and Macgill, Saunders went down into the boat again. 
 " What are we to do with the woman ? " he asked of 
 the man with the cloak, still seated in the bows ; " it 
 would be pretty hard to throw her overboard again, 
 after having saved her life." 
 
 " Take her up on deck," sharply returned the man 
 wrapped up in the mantle. 
 
 Edith had listened to this conversation, which was 
 to decide her fate, as if she were wholly unconcerned 
 in it. She was shivering all over, and delirium was 
 already attacking her brain. A prey to the daze of 
 fever, she allowed herself to be taken up and carried 
 away like a sick child by its nurse. Saunders, accus- 
 
 >47 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 tomed to heavier burdens, climbed the ladder as nimbly 
 as a cat, and soon reached the deck with Miss Edith, 
 whom he placed against the mast, for she could scarcely 
 stand ; her limp limbs, no longer guided by her will, 
 refused to perform their office. The man with the 
 mantle ordered Saunders to take her below, where she 
 could neither see nor be seen. 
 
 The order was at once carried out, and the deck of 
 the " Lovely Jenny," once more deserted, sounded only 
 under the steps of the man with the mantle, who walked 
 up and down the quarter-deck, noting the veering of 
 the wind. Benedict had also been at once led into the 
 main cabin, by Jack and Macgill, and carefully locked 
 up in his new prison. 
 
 The cabin was adorned with much elegance : the 
 bed, concealed by damask curtains was of mahogany ; a 
 black horsehair sofa, a swinging table, and a small lamp 
 hanging from the ceiling, — formed the furniture. 
 But the port, as Benedict immediately discovered, was 
 formed of a round piece of ground glass, carefully fitted, 
 and so thick as to neither allow any one to look out 
 nor to give any hope of escaping that way. The door 
 appeared to be as carefully closed. 
 
 Seeing that any attempt at flight was useless, Arundel 
 
ts? sb tfc *b db sb db 4? 4? 4? 4? tb tb tb ib tb 4? tb 4? sb 4? tb 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 sat down on the sofa, and remained there sunk into 
 something approaching insensibility, enduring his fate 
 with the dull patience of a savage or a captive wild 
 animal. He was weary of making suppositions and 
 useless projects ; neither perspicacity, intelligence, nor 
 resolution could be of any use to him. Caught in a 
 hopeless net by an unknown enemy, like a poor fly 
 in the web of a mysterious spider, the only result 
 of his struggles would be to make his position worse ; 
 a victim to a horrible trick or an infamous piece of 
 treachery, he had simply to await his fate silently. 
 Worn out by the events and emotions of that terrible 
 day, though he desired to remain awake and to note 
 what would happen, he felt his eyelids close in spite of 
 himself. Although his mind was wide awake, his body 
 was sinking into sleep. 
 
 Meanwhile the wind had veered, and Captain 
 Peppercull, who was engaged in drinking rum to keep 
 out the night air, abandoned his pleasant occupation, 
 and on the advice of the stranger with the black mantle, 
 who had watched the wind with the eye of an experi- 
 enced sea-faring man, went up on deck, staggering a 
 little. As the fog was particularly damp that night, 
 Captain Peppercull, like a very prudent man, had taken 
 
 149 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 extraordinary precautions against it ; but he was not 
 the kind of fellow to be overcome by a glass of rum, 
 and two or three breaths of fresh air soon made him 
 himself again. 
 
 "Captain, the tide is with us, the wind has gone 
 around ; we must be off to sea, for our expedition to 
 England is over," said the man with the mantle, as 
 Peppercull came on deck. 
 
 " To hear is to obey," replied the latter, uncon- 
 sciously parodying the formula of Eastern devotion ; 
 for the man with the mantle seemed to inspire him 
 with respect mixed with fear, though naturally Captain 
 Peppercull was neither servile nor cowardly. The word 
 was passed to heave the anchor, the capstan bars were 
 shipped, and the crew having manned them began to 
 walk around, singing on a plaintive rhythm a singular 
 chant composed of the plaint of the wind, the sob of the 
 wave, and the cry of the gull, in which the restlessness 
 of nature seems to mingle with human effort. The 
 anchor came away, and already several turns of the 
 chain had been rolled around the drum of the capstan, 
 wetting the deck with mud. 
 
 By the strange sound, and the regular trampling 
 which accompanied it, Benedict — who was already half 
 
 150 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 carried away into a dream full of strange catastrophes 
 and sinister apparitions, the confused image of his ad- 
 ventures of the day — understood that the anchor was 
 being got up and the vessel preparing to start. Al- 
 though this did not make his situation much worse, 
 and at bottom he cared little enough whether he was a 
 captive in a motionless prison or in a travelling one, 
 he felt deep sadness overcoming him. To be a pris- 
 oner in England, in a land full of friends engaged in 
 seeking him out, to breathe the same air as Annabel, — 
 was still some consolation ; now he could not count 
 upon the efforts of his relatives and friends to find him 
 out. How would it be possible to discover his track 
 in a wake which vanished almost as soon as formed? 
 Annabel was lost forever to him. 
 
 The singular chant still continued. Soon the anchor 
 was catted and fished j the crew, running up to the 
 tops and out on the yards, loosed the sails, which opened 
 to the breeze like the wings of a sea-bird about to take 
 flight; but held in by the sheets and tacks, they bellied 
 out, swelled, and imparting their own impulsion to the 
 " Lovely Jenny," made her gracefully heel over. 
 
 Macgill, standing by the panel lighted by a trembling 
 light, held the wheel, steering the "Lovely Jenny," 
 
 151 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 which was as sensitive as a horse with a tender mouth 
 is to the action of the bit and bridle ; he shook her up 
 or eased her away, avoiding the ships and boats which 
 the approach of daylight called from their torpor, and 
 which were tacking and cross-tacking in every direction 
 on the broad estuary. 
 
 The morning began to show : lines of faint light 
 rayed the thick banks of clouds ; the red lanterns of 
 the lightships were turning paler in the blaze of nas- 
 cent day ; the banks of the stream, scarcely visible, 
 were vanishing on the horizon, and the yellow waters 
 rose and fell in broader seas. One felt the nearness 
 of the open, and the " Lovely Jenny," cradled by the 
 roll, pitched and scended in a smother of foam. 
 
 Benedict, half asleep, was leaning upon his horsehair 
 pillow when the creaking of the door quickly awakened 
 him ; the panel slipped along its grooves, and the man 
 with the black mantle appeared on the threshold of the 
 cabin. 
 
 The room was dark and Benedict was unable to make 
 out at once the features of the man who broke upon 
 his solitude ; the shade of the broad-brimmed hat stil' 
 concealed his face, and the folds of the mantle his figure. 
 
 The new-comer's intention was not to maintain his 
 
 152 
 
4j 4, ,1, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, ^, ^ ^ ^ ^ 4— I; 4. 4; 4^ 4; 4; 4. 4* 4. 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 incognito longer, for he advanced under the small lamp 
 that was burning, threw back his mantle, took off his 
 hat, and revealed to the surprised glance of Arundel 
 the face of Sir Arthur Sidney. Arundel could not keep 
 back a cry of surprise. Sir Arthur Sidney remained 
 perfectly calm, opposite his friend, as if nothing ex- 
 traordinary had happened ; the light of the lamp, 
 playing upon his satiny brow, formed a sort of halo 
 around his head ; his glance was calm, and his features 
 expressed perfect serenity. 
 
 " What, is it you, Arthur ? " 
 
 " Yes, I returned from India this morning." 
 
 " What does this mean, Arthur ? " cried Benedict, 
 convinced at last of Sidney's identity. 
 
 " It means," quietly replied Sidney, " that I had not 
 consented to your marriage, and I had to stop it; I 
 must ask you to forgive the means I had to employ — 
 I had no others, and so used these." 
 
 " That is very strange conduct of yours," replied 
 Benedict, somewhat disconcerted by the calm sim- 
 plicity of the answer. " Are you my father, my uncle, 
 or my guardian, to assume such rights over me ? " 
 
 " I am more than that ; I am your friend," replied 
 Sidney, gravely. 
 
 iS3 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " It is a curious way to prove it, to destroy the hap- 
 piness of my life and plunge me into the most dreadful 
 despair." 
 
 " Your grief will pass away," said Arthur, " lovers' 
 pains do not last long ; the wind carries them away 
 like sea-gulls' feathers at sea. Besides, you do not 
 belong to yourself," he continued, drawing from his 
 pocket a paper which he unfolded and presented to 
 Benedict. 
 
 The paper, already yellowed by time, seemed to have 
 been written long since ; the folds were worn, the ink 
 had no doubt changed colour; the writing was reddish, 
 as if blood had been used instead of ink. 
 
 At the sight of this cabalistic-looking paper, which 
 was not unlike a pact with the devil, Sir Benedict 
 Arundel seemed embarrassed and kept silence. 
 
 " Is that your signature ? " said Sidney, holding the 
 paper to Benedict's eyes. 
 
 " Yes, that is my name," replied Sir Benedict, in a 
 resigned tone. 
 
 " Did you freely put your name there ? " 
 
 " I cannot say that I was forced," answered Arundel. 
 " Yes, I did write my name there, when I was full of 
 enthusiasm and faith." 
 
 154 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " The oath contained in this letter is a dread one. 
 You swore by whatever can bind a man on the earth 
 on which we live, by the God who created the worlds, 
 by the demon who seeks to destroy them, by Heaven 
 and Hell, by your father's honour and your mother's 
 virtue, by your blood as a gentleman, by your soul as 
 a Christian, by your word as a free man, by the 
 memory of heroes and saints, on the Gospels and on 
 the sword ; and in case our religion should be but a mis- 
 take, you swore by fire and water, the sources of life, 
 by the secret forces of nature, by the stars, the mysteri- 
 ous regulators of Fate, by Chronos and Jupiter, by 
 Acheron and by Styx, which formerly bound the gods. 
 If there be on earth a more irrevocable formula, I do 
 not know of it ; but when you wrote those lines you 
 sought everything most dread and sacred, to give force 
 to the oath contained in this paper." 
 
 " That is true," replied Arundel. 
 
 " I needed you," continued Sidney, " and in virtue 
 of the rights which this paper confers upon me, I came 
 to fetch you, since you did not come." 
 
 Benedict, as if cast down, bent his head and made 
 no answer. 
 
 " When you are calmer," continued Sidney, " I 
 
 T 55 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 shall tell you what I expect of you, and what you will 
 have to do." Whereupon he withdrew, closing be- 
 hind him the sliding panel ; and the " Lovely Jenny," 
 driven by a strong wind, made her way into the open 
 sea. 
 
 SO 
 
iidb&'&i: 4: 4:4: 4:4: 4:4:4:4:4: 4: tfctfctfctlrtS?:!: 4:4b 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 4:4:4:4:4: 4: 4:4: 4: 4: 4: 4:4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4: 4:4:4b 
 
 XI 
 
 I SHALL profit by the fact that the " Lovely 
 Jenny" is reeling ofF her ten knots an hour, with 
 a good breeze, to go back some distance in my 
 story. I have to explain how Miss Edith happened to 
 be in the Thames on that stormy night, about to be 
 swallowed up in the waters, instead of being in her 
 scented bridal chamber. 
 
 No doubt my readers will remember that a meanly 
 dressed man had handed Count de Volmerange a sealed 
 letter, as he left the church. That letter the Count, 
 his mind full of other matters, had left in his pocket 
 without opening it, thinking he would read it later ; 
 but he had forgotten to do so amid the emotions of the 
 day. In the evening, however, having been left alone 
 for a moment, he felt the paper crackling in his pocket, 
 and mechanically opened and read it. 
 
 At that very moment he was informed that Edith 
 was waiting for him. He arose, straight and stiff like 
 the statue of the Commander when invited by Lepo- 
 
 57 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 rello to sup with Don Juan. In his hand he clutched 
 the fatal paper. A deadly pallor overspread his face, 
 in which his dark blue eyes showed bloodshot. His 
 feet struck the floor heavily, as if they were of marble. 
 Borne down by the weight of crushing misfortune, he 
 stepped heavily like the marble apparition. 
 
 Edith, protected by the transparent shade of the cur- 
 tains, half concealed her face in the lace-trimmed pil- 
 low ; her bloodless cheeks were so white they could 
 scarcely be distinguished from the cambric on which 
 they rested. 
 
 She was a prey to terrible perplexity ; she was agi- 
 tated by the knowledge of her fault, and knew 
 not what to resolve. Time and again she had en- 
 deavoured to make a confession, and yet had been 
 unable to begin ; nothing seemed to lead up to so 
 strange a confidence. That most improbable liaison, the 
 result of almost supernatural fascination, had remained 
 absolutely unsuspected by all. Everybody around 
 Edith had such complete faith in her purity, that she 
 herself at times wondered whether she had lost it. 
 There was no opening for such a confidence. Her 
 blushes, her pallor, her silence, were mistaken for the 
 maidenlv emotions which young girls experience as 
 
 158 
 
*H>* »4» »4« J/» ri* »4r» tl? 4? tl? tl? rA, r£-« .A. r'f» eft ri» >|»*f» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the marriage day approaches. Even legitimate love has 
 its troubles, and tears are the order of the day in the 
 eyes of young brides. 
 
 Every morning she said to herself, " I must speak," 
 but the day would pass without her having spoken. 
 The preparations for the wedding went on without her 
 venturing to stay them, and the revelation became 
 more and more impossible. She loved Volmerange, 
 and although she was a girl of perfectly truthful 
 character, to whom the very shadow of deceit was 
 repugnant, she had not the strength to destroy her own 
 happiness. She had felt cowardly at the thought of 
 such a misfortune, and like all people who reckon on 
 some impossible event to free them from a desperate 
 situation, she had allowed matters to take their course ; 
 now the terrible moment had arrived, and like a dove 
 crouching on the ground as she hears around her the 
 swooping of the hawk, she was waiting and trembling 
 with anxiety and terror. Then it occurred to her it 
 would have been best to refuse Volmerange, and not to 
 accept the happiness of which she was no longer 
 worthy. Now, however, it was too late. 
 
 It should be said in Edith's favour, that she was 
 guilty, but not degraded ; hers was one of those natures 
 
 *59 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 which evil can touch but cannot penetrate, like marble, 
 which mud soils, but does not stain, and which the rain 
 of heaven makes purer and whiter than before. Her 
 fall was due to the noblest motives. Xavier had played 
 to Edith a comedy of misfortune; he had represented 
 himself as an oppressed, misunderstood man, compelled 
 to remain within his humble sphere by the invincible 
 prejudices of aristocracy ; and he had contended that 
 Lord Harley's daughter could love but a lord, a fashion- 
 able man with a large fortune. These things, said very 
 quietly, with an air of coldness and resignation, but 
 with eyes that burned with suppressed passion, had 
 impelled Edith's noble and chivalrous nature to a mad 
 devotion and consolation. 
 
 She thought she should play the part of Providence 
 to that exiled angel, who was but a fiend ; so she had 
 given herself to him, mistaking pity for love. Vol- 
 merange's genuine passion had soon made her feel how 
 greatly she had been mistaken; and besides, Xavier, 
 having once triumphed over her, had speedily unmasked 
 himself, and far from opposing, as would have seemed 
 natural, the marriage of Edith and Volmerange, he had 
 in a way insisted upon it, in the pursuit of a dark and 
 sinister purpose, impossible to fathom. Besides, Vol- 
 
 160 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 merange was so madly in love with Edith that her con- 
 fession might have upset his reason. Up to a certain 
 point, Edith might still think herself worthy of being 
 loved by an honourable man, and her silence was not 
 perfidious. 
 
 When Volmerange entered, Edith understood she 
 was lost. The Count drew near the bed, and slowly 
 and automatically held out the paper to the terrified 
 girl, who huddled up under the blankets with a gesture 
 of instinctive fear. 
 
 " Tell me," cried the Count, in a choking voice, 
 with a sort of strident rattle, " tell me that the state- 
 ments in this letter are false, and I shall believe you, 
 even though the light should blind me." 
 
 Poor Edith, half-crazed by terror, sat up, and with 
 haggard eye, trembling lips, pallid cheeks, as if she 
 beheld the Medusa head, looked with the dull, lack- 
 lustre glance of dementia at the paper on which flamed 
 her condemnation. Her sudden gesture had broken 
 the ribbon that held her hair, and her black curls 
 flowed over her shoulders and bosom, — contrasting 
 strongly with their pallid whiteness. Desdemona her- 
 self did not start more terrified or more pale at the 
 sinister question of the Moor of Venice; and though 
 
 7t Tbi ~ 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 v'olmerange was not black as a Moor, he nevertheless 
 had a fierce and terrible air. 
 
 There was a moment of silence, full of expectation, 
 anguish, and terror. 
 
 Outside, the tempest raged ; showers of rain lashed 
 the panes ; the wind seemed to press against the win- 
 dow as if to enter, apparently desiring to be present 
 at this nocturnal scene. The house, beaten by the 
 gale, trembled on its foundations; the doors creaked; 
 confused plaints sounded through the corridors ; the 
 lamp burned down, revived at times, and cast a pale 
 light, — everything tending to increase the terror of 
 the situation. 
 
 The clock struck two. The sound, usually so clear 
 and silvery, now struck lugubriously on the ear. 
 
 Volmerange bent over the bed, gnashing his teeth, 
 his eyes flashing ; he seized Edith by the arm with 
 imperious brutality, and repeated his words sharply and 
 feverishly. He foamed at the mouth, and had bitten 
 his lips so hard during the moment of silence that they 
 were bleeding. 
 
 The girl, seeing so close to her that face whose 
 wondrous beauty could not be effaced even by the con- 
 traction of fury, and which recalled the lineaments of 
 
 162 
 
*4» J^* «JU JL rlt *J-% rJU *A* *X» «§* (4* »4» »4j »4» eA-. »!-« rl* r|* tjU *i* «A* »|« 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 an angered archangel, — felt her strength give way ; 
 the fear of swooning came upon her, and she would 
 have lost consciousness if a violent shock had not 
 recalled her to herself. She felt as if her arm had been 
 pulled away from her shoulder. Volmerange had 
 dragged her from the bed ; she was in the middle of 
 the room. Another shock made her fall on her knees. 
 
 " It is well," said Volmerange ; "you shall die! " and 
 he stormed around the room like a madman, looking 
 for a weapon with which to carry out his threat. 
 
 " Oh, do not harm me," murmured Edith, in a voice 
 full of anguish. 
 
 Volmerange was still searching ; a bridal chamber is 
 not usually provided with daggers, pistols, tomahawks, 
 or other lethal weapons. 
 
 " Blood and thunder ! " cursed he as he raged around 
 like a wild beast, " shall I be obliged to smash her 
 head against the furniture, to strangle her with my 
 hands, to tear her veins open with my nails, or to stifle 
 her under the mattress of my wedding couch ? Ha ! 
 ha ! that would be beautiful," he continued with a 
 maniacal laugh. "A pretty scene, most dramatic and 
 most Shakespearean, in truth ! " 
 
 He drew near Edith, who was still kneeling, her 
 
 163 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 arms limp, her hands open, her head bowed upon her 
 breast, her hair hanging down,— -in the attitude of 
 Canova's Magdalen. As she saw the madman ap- 
 proach her, the poor child, moved by a supreme instinct 
 of self-preservation, rose as if pushed by a spring, ran 
 to the French window, which opened on the garden, 
 threw it open with the unconscious skill of somnabu- 
 lists and people in a desperate position, and sprang, 
 borne along by fear, into the dark walks of the garden, 
 followed by Volmerange. 
 
 She did not feel the gravel and shells hurting her 
 delicate bare feet ; the rain-laden branches swept her face 
 and her bare shoulders, and seemed to try to hold her back 
 by the folds of her wrapper. The burning breath of 
 Volmerange almost reached her neck, and several times 
 the madman's desperate hands had almost grasped her. 
 
 She thus reached the parapet of the terrace, which 
 she leapt over, leaving on the iron spikes a fragment 
 of muslin — the only trace left on which Lord and 
 Lady Harley could build conjectures. Her husband 
 reached the street almost as soon as she did, and the 
 pursuit continued. 
 
 Poor Edith's strength was beginning to give way ; 
 her knees knocked against each other ; the blood 
 
 164 
 
•£* ».ti #JU •J>» rii #A« »A» #i» »A» JU eta *b eta »ta eta eta eta eta eta ^1* 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 surged in her temples ; her breath came short and quick. 
 She had already traversed, poor hunted doe, one or two 
 streets, deserted on account of the advanced hour 
 and the storm ; but even if a belated passer-by had hap- 
 pened to be there, he would not have helped her, 
 taking her for a street-walker escaping after a row in 
 some nocturnal orgy, or pursued by some one she 
 had robbed. 
 
 In the course of her flight she reached the Thames, 
 and Blackfriars Bridge, and began to cross it breath- 
 less and with slower steps. When she was near the 
 centre, her breath and her strength abandoning her, 
 her feet bleeding, her wrapper covered with mud, 
 soaked by the last showers of the storm, and cling- 
 ing to her burning, chilled body, — she stopped and 
 leaned against the parapet, resolved no longer to dis- 
 pute her life ; after all, it was still a happiness to 
 die by his hand, since she could no longer live for 
 him. 
 
 The Count, having come up to her, seized her two 
 arms and said to her : — 
 
 " Swear that the contents of the letter are false." 
 
 Edith, who, after yielding to the impulse of physical 
 terror, had recovered all her natural dignity, replied : — 
 
 165 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " The letter tells the truth ; I will not save my life 
 by a falsehood." 
 
 Volmerange raised her as if she had been a feather, 
 and swung her for a moment beyond the parapet over 
 the black gulf. The invisible waters roared and 
 stormed under the arch ; never had a thicker night 
 overspread the Thames. 
 
 " Sombre abyss, keep forever the secret of my dis- 
 honour ! " said the Count, leaning half way over the 
 parapet. Then he opened his hands. 
 
 A plaint as soft as the sigh of a stifled dove was 
 Edith's last prayer. The wind uttered a long moan 
 of despair, and a light white flake fell through the thick 
 mist like a feather falling from a swan's wing, and 
 dropped into the river ; from above, it was impossible 
 to hear the sound of the fall, drowned by the murmur 
 of the water, the creaking of boats, the shrieking of 
 the gale, and the innumerable sounds which form the 
 lamentation of nature on a stormy night. 
 
 " Now for the other," said Volmerange, as he re- 
 traced his steps ; " I must find him, were he concealed 
 in the very lowest circle of hell." 
 
 And he plunged into the labyrinth of streets, with a 
 swift, resolute step. 
 
 166 
 
4, 4; 4, 4; 4; 4; 4, 4, £ 4, 4^4; dbsb:b 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Carried away by the rapidity of my narration, I did 
 not state that a man, who might have been taken for 
 a shadow, stood close to the wall of the Count's 
 house. Was he watching for himself or for some one 
 else ? That is what I am not aware of. Was he a 
 thief, a lover, a spy, a foe, or a friend? Did he foresee 
 the catastrophe which was bound to come, and did he 
 desire to witness it, himself invisible ? I am not yet 
 in position to answer these questions. All I can say 
 is that the nocturnal prowler saw Edith spring from 
 the terrace, Volmerange pursue her and throw her into 
 the Thames, without attempting to interfere with 
 the dreadful affair, satisfied with being a silent spec- 
 tator of it. When Volmerange, having accomplished 
 his vengeance, returned into the city, the shadow 
 followed him from afar, keeping step with him, 
 so as to not lose sight of him, and yet not to be 
 noticed. 
 
 His brain whirling, his heart filled with rage and 
 regrets, Volmerange walked on to Regent's Park, 
 where, overcome by fatigue, grief, and despair, he 
 let himself fall on a bench at the foot of a tree, in 
 a state of complete prostration. His mind was a 
 blank, and his head nodded on his shoulders ; his 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 vigorous figure was limp; he sank into that dull stupor 
 by which nature, weary of suffering, avoids moral or 
 physical torture. 
 
 While he dozed, the dark shadow drew near him, 
 with so light, furtive and cat-like a step that not a 
 grain of sand moved, not a blade of grass bent. He 
 placed on Volmerange's knees a paper of curious 
 shape, and an envelope full of letters; then withdraw- 
 ing still more softly, concealed himself behind the 
 trees, from which he could not be distinguished. 
 
 Light as had been the touch, it woke Volmerange, 
 who saw the paper and the envelope placed so mys- 
 teriously on his knees, and ran to the lamp. The en- 
 velope contained letters from Edith, proving her guilt ; 
 the paper bore these words : — 
 
 " I swear never to dispose of my person, never to 
 bind myself in any way, by marriage or otherwise, and 
 to ever hold myself free for the supreme junta ; I swear 
 it by the God who created the worlds, by the demon 
 who seeks to destroy them, by Heaven and Hell, by 
 my father's honour and my mother's virtue, by my blood 
 as a gentleman, by my soul as a Christian, by my word 
 as a free man, by the memory of heroes and saints, on 
 the Gospels and on my sword, and in case our religion 
 
 168 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 should be but a mistake, I swear by fire and water, the 
 sources of life, by the secret forces of nature, by the 
 stars, the mysterious regulators of Fate, by Chronos 
 and Jupiter, by Acheron and by Styx, which formerly 
 bound the gods. 
 
 41 Signed with my blood, 
 
 " VOLMERANGE." 
 
 169 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 XII 
 
 AFTER he had read, the Count, maddened with 
 grief and rage, traversed the park in every 
 direction, seeking the mysterious being who 
 while he dozed had thrown on his knees Edith's 
 letters and the formula of the pact which bound him 
 to an unknown power. In vain he traversed the 
 walks and explored the shrubbery ; he failed to dis- 
 cover any one. It is true the night was dark, and 
 the pale light of distant lamps alone guided him in his 
 pursuit. Wearied by his mad chase, he left the park 
 and walked towards Primrose Hill. 
 
 The houses became more scattered, the fields began 
 to invade the city, and soon he found himself in the 
 country, climbing the lower slopes of the hill. 
 
 His goings and comings had taken time, and the 
 late November dawn was beginning to show in the 
 heaven, filled with great clouds like huge bodies left on 
 the tempest's battlefield. Nothing could be more un- 
 like Homer's rosy-fingered dawn than this sinister 
 British sunrise. 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 He let himself fall at the foot of a tree, that shivered 
 in the sharp breeze of morning, having lost already 
 more than half its leaves, and drew from his pocket 
 Edith's lacerated letters, which he had put there me- 
 chanically. While they left him no doubt as to his 
 own misfortune, they were written in a constrained 
 style ; passion expressed itself in them with embar- 
 rassment ; it seemed as though the girl had yielded 
 to involuntary fascination rather than to sympathy. 
 
 This reading embittered still further Volmerange's 
 suffering, but read he must, in order to justify his 
 vengeance to himself. After his violent and terrible 
 act doubts had occurred to him, not as to the certainty 
 of Edith's guilt, but as to the justice of the punish- 
 ment. Her white form falling through the darkness 
 into the black gulf of the river constantly passed 
 before his eyes, like a visible remorse ; he asked him- 
 self if he had not gone far beyond his rights as a 
 husband and a gentleman in inflicting a dreadful death 
 upon a young and lovely girl standing upon the threshold 
 of life. Guilty as Edith certainly was, she had been so 
 bitterly punished that it made her innocent. 
 
 Any one who that morning should have told him that 
 by night he would be a murderer would have appeared 
 
 171 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 to him a maniac ; and yet he had just pitilessly de- 
 stroyed a defenceless woman, whom he had sworn 
 before God and man to protect. The terrible exe- 
 cution he had carried out, although justified by the 
 laws of honour, terrified him and appeared to him 
 in all its dread gravity. Besides, ought not his 
 vengeance to have been vented upon Edith's accom- 
 plice ? Carried away by blind wrath he had deprived 
 himself, by slaying the culprit, of all means of ascer- 
 taining the source of the crime. It was the infamous 
 seducer whose name he ought to have dragged from 
 Edith, and whom he would have delighted in tortur- 
 ing slowly, and with most ingenious barbarity; for 
 swift death would not have satisfied his thirst for 
 vengeance. 
 
 Then, recalling the bonds which connected him with 
 the mysterious association whose oath my readers have 
 read, he grew wrathy at this setting-up of authority 
 after years of silence ; and, although the oath had not 
 been extracted from him, he felt his independence 
 revolted at this claim to dispose of him. He had 
 sworn, it was true, but in the enthusiasm of youth, to 
 serve with his whole strength and mind a common idea, 
 but that was no reason why he should crush down the 
 
 172 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 feelings of his heart, cease to be a man, and become 
 a reed in a hidden hand. 
 
 He aeemed to note a strange coincidence between 
 Edith's dishonour and this recalling of the oath he had 
 taken. Was not the purpose to detach him, by this 
 terrible blow, from human things, and to profit by his 
 despair to launch him into an impossible enterprise ? 
 
 He recalled a remark once made by one of the influ- 
 ential members of the association : " God put woman 
 on the earth lest man should do too great things." By 
 showing to him the unworthiness of the woman he 
 loved, no doubt they had expected to convince him 
 irrevocably of the truth of Shakespeare's maxim : 
 " Frailty, thy name is woman," and to make him 
 renounce forever her treacherous attraction. 
 
 " Oh ! " said he to himself, " whom can I trust 
 henceforth, if the face can lie like the lips, if candour 
 deceives, if chastity is but a mask, if the celestial spark 
 is but a reflection of hell, if the heart of the rose is full 
 of poison, if the virginal wreath is placed upon hair cast 
 loose in debauch ? Edith, Edith, I had intrusted to 
 you, fearlessly and unsuspectingly, the honour of my 
 ancient line; I believed you would transmit pure the 
 blood of the old knights and the royal blood of India 
 
 J 73 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 which flows in my veins. And yet she loved me, I am 
 sure of it," he exclaimed, striking his knee violently 
 with his fist; "her sweet glance told the truth; her 
 voice had the accent of real love ; there is in all this 
 some horrible machination! On the other hand, she did 
 not once deny the accusation ; she did not utter a single 
 word in her own defence. She is guilty, guilty, guilty," 
 he went on, continually repeating the word with the 
 monotonous insistence of people who feel their ideas 
 escape them, and who cling to the last syllable they 
 have uttered, as a saving bough clutched by their fast 
 disappearing reason. 
 
 Tears rolled silently and uninterruptedly down his 
 cheeks ; he did not even think of wiping them awav, 
 and repeated with a crazed look, as if it were the 
 refrain of a ballad, " She is guilty, guilty, guilty ! " 
 
 Day had now come, and from the heights of Prim- 
 rose Hill the eye roamed over the city of London, 
 which was beginning to smoke like a boiling caldron ; 
 it was a grand and magnificent spectacle : long trails 
 of bluish mists outlined the course of the Thames, 
 and here and there arose from out the fog the pointed 
 spires of churches, touched by slanting beams of light. 
 The two towers of Westminster rose up almost directly 
 
 174 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 before him in the dark mist ; the statue of the Duke 
 of York stood like a little doll, upon its slender 
 column ; on the left the Monument raised to heaven 
 its flames of gilded bronze ; the Tower, its group of 
 dungeons j St. Paul's showed its dome, flanked by- 
 two campaniles ; light and shadow played over the 
 waves of houses, — broken here and there by islets 
 of parks or squares, — with a grandeur and majesty 
 worthy of the ocean ; but Volmerange, although his 
 set glance seemed to contemplate this marvellous pan- 
 orama with the deepest attention, actually saw noth- 
 ing ; the pale shadow of Edith concealed the prospect 
 from him. 
 
 His anger was expended, and he was in such a state 
 of prostration that a child could have mastered him at 
 that moment ; his vitality had been wholly exhausted 
 in that vast projection ; he had emptied himself into 
 his crime. He endeavoured to rise, but his knees sank 
 under him ; his eyes clouded, his brow was covered 
 with cold sweat, and he fell again at the foot of the 
 tree. 
 
 At that moment there passed along the road a man 
 of honest mien, and simple but comfortable dress ; one 
 with a face such as may be met a thousand times with- 
 
 175 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 out its being recognised, so cleverly do such men know 
 how to wear the mask and domino of the crowd. 
 
 He approached Volmerange, who, worn out by emo- 
 tion and fatigue, and chilled by the night air, was 
 almost fainting. 
 
 " What is the matter, sir ? " said the passer-by, with 
 an air of interest. " You are very pale, and seem to 
 be in pain." 
 
 " Oh ! nothing, a passing weakness," answered the 
 Count, almost inaudibly. 
 
 " It is a lucky chance that has brought me this way : 
 I am a physician, and was paying a visit to one of my 
 patients on Primrose Hill; I have some restoratives 
 here," said the man, drawing from his pocket a small 
 case like a surgeon's case, from which he drew a vial, 
 apparently containing salts. 
 
 " Yes, I do not feel very well," murmured Volme- 
 range, as his head fell. 
 
 The kindly passer-by opened the vial, from which 
 arose a penetrating smell, and placed it under the 
 patient's nostrils ; but whatever it contained did not 
 produce the effect which might have been expected : 
 instead of recovering from his faint, Volmerange seemed 
 to swoon away more completely, and the effort he had 
 
 176 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 made to breathe in the exciting odour appeared to have 
 exhausted the little strength he had left. 
 
 The passer-by who had called himself a physician, 
 although he saw that the patient's swoon was being 
 prolonged, still held to his nostrils the vial, which he 
 ought to have drawn away when he saw it did not 
 produce the right effect. Lethargy seemed to have 
 followed on syncope. Volmerange, his arms limp, his 
 body sunk, his head rolling from one shoulder to the 
 other, was now merely an inert statue. 
 
 " A capital invention," murmured the strange physi- 
 cian, very much" satisfied with the peculiar result of his 
 assistance. " He is now in a suitable condition ; he 
 does not know whether he is in heaven, on earth, or in 
 hell ; he can be taken and carried off without being 
 any more aware of it than a bale of goods or a man 
 dead for a week. We could take him to China, as he 
 is now ; but let me see if I can find a carriage in which 
 to put him." 
 
 He sprang down to the road as if to see at a greater 
 distance. Nor did he remain long at his position : a 
 hackney coach, returning to London, appeared on the 
 horizon of the road, with a flashing and a thundering 
 of wheels. 
 
 I 2 
 
 I 77 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The supposed physician made a sign to the coach- 
 man ; the carriage was empty, and the coachman drew 
 up near the bank on which lay Volmerange. 
 
 Help me," said the false doctor, " to put this 
 gentleman in your carriage ; he took too much Spanish 
 and French wine at supper, and fell asleep under this 
 tree while taking his morning walk. I know him and 
 will take him home." 
 
 The coachman helped the stranger to place Volme- 
 range into the coach without a word, for a drunken 
 gentleman was not so uncommon as to cause astonish- 
 ment. The driver as he climbed back to his box, 
 merely sighed in a melancholy fashion, and said to 
 himself : " What a lucky man that lord is, to be drunk 
 so early." And thereupon he drove in the direction 
 indicated by the man, who had pointed out a house 
 situated along one of the roads that succeed the streets 
 in the suburbs of London. 
 
 After a few minutes, the carriage stopped before a 
 wall in which was a little green door, with a brass 
 knob shining like gold. Trees almost leafless, showing 
 over the coping of the wall, denoted that a pretty large 
 garden separated the house from the street. 
 
 The man who had given Volmerange the cordial 
 
 178 
 
4* 4* 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 J, 4^4,4,4,4.4.4,4,4,4,4, 4j : ! : 4; 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 that had stupefied him, pulled the bell ; he rang several 
 times, leaving between each ring an interval which 
 seemed to have a meaning settled upon beforehand. 
 
 A servant opened ; the man whispered a few words 
 to him ; the servant went back into the house, and 
 soon reappeared, followed by two men with olive com- 
 plexions and queer faces, who took Volmerange and 
 carried him awav into a wing of round shape, which 
 formed, at the corner of the main building, one of those 
 towers frequently met with in English architecture. 
 
 The coachman, handsomely paid, drove away think- 
 ing the matter quite natural ; he had driven back to 
 his home more than one nobleman in a state at least as 
 peculiar as that of Volmerange. 
 
 The man with the vial, having finished his mission, 
 withdrew at once, after having written on a square of 
 paper, which he tore from his note-book, a few words 
 half in cipher, half in characters in an unknown tongue, 
 and handed it to the servant who had opened the gate. 
 
 The house to which Volmerange had been brought, 
 was so elegant and rich as to preclude any idea of 
 robbery or kidnapping. A white and rose awning 
 shaded the white marble steps ; perfectlv clear mirrors, 
 placed above the chimney-places, reflected huge China 
 
 179 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 vases, filled with flowers ; the glass roof and sides of 
 a vast greenhouse, which seemed to prolong the draw- 
 ing-room, rose above a regular virgin forest ; Bourbon 
 palms, bamboos, tulip trees, roseapple trees, creepers, 
 passion flowers, shaddocks, cacti, bloomed with tropical 
 exuberance, bristling with darts, knives, and claws, — 
 their calyxes bursting like shells of perfume and colour, 
 and the petals of their flowers palpitating like the wings 
 of Cashmere butterflies. 
 
 The two dark-complexioned lackeys placed the sleep- 
 ing Volmerange upon a sofa and withdrew silently, 
 appearing in no wise surprised at the arrival of this 
 gentleman, whom, no doubt, they then saw for the first 
 time. 
 
 He had been resting for some little time, still under 
 the influence of the narcotic, and yet no one appeared. 
 The room in which he was laid presented, though 
 furnished with elegance and simplicity, some peculiar- 
 ities that might have assisted a careful observer : a 
 fine Indian matting covered the flooring, and on the 
 mantel was placed the figure of the Trimorti, represent- 
 ing Brahma, Vishnu, and Siwa ; a buckler of elephant- 
 skin, a curved sabre, a Malay creese, and two javelins 
 were arranged in a trophy upon the wall. These char- 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 acteristic details, less remarkable in London than any- 
 where else, seemed to denote the abode of a wealthy 
 Calcutta nabob, or of a high official of the Honour- 
 able East India Company. 
 
 Presently a brocade portiere was drawn aside, and 
 gave passage to a strange figure ; it was a pale, old 
 man, somewhat bent, who advanced leaning on a stick 
 as white as ivory. His thin, dry, mummified face was 
 the colour of Cordova leather or Havana tobacco ; 
 broad, dark rings circled his hollow eyes, that gleamed 
 like those of a wild beast, and the brilliancy of which 
 was in no wise deadened by age ; his eagle nose was 
 almost ossified, and the hardened cartilage shone like 
 bone ; his hollow cheeks, deeply wrinkled, clung to the 
 jaws, and his lips, shrivelled by the use of betel, had 
 turned his teeth the colour of gold. The knuckles of 
 the hands, almost like those of an ourang-outang, were 
 transversely wrinkled, like the insteps of hussars' boots. 
 A small reddish wig covered his tanned head, burned 
 and as it were calcined by the sun, and within which 
 glowed fierce passions and the devouring fire of a fixed 
 thought. Below the wig, sparkled two golden rings, 
 hung from the lobe of the ears, that were like pieces 
 of old leather. 
 
 _ 
 
db tfc tjj 1 s|j -4' 'i-> j|» j^ ^ j f sfc j b sfesb db tib t8?t§? Jb sj » A 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Any one seeing that yellow, wrinkled spectre, so dry 
 that his joints creaked as he walked, would have taken 
 him, not for a centenarian, but for a millenarian. He 
 looked fabulously old, and yet his eyes, the only living 
 things in his odd face, shone like those of a youth ; the 
 whole vigour of his body, kept alive by a powerful will, 
 had concentrated in them. 
 
 If Volmerange could have thrown off the invincible 
 torpor that overmastered him and kept him sunk in a 
 stupor of sleep, he would have shuddered on beholding 
 that strange being gliding towards him like a phantom ; 
 he would have believed himself a prey to nightmare ; 
 for in spite of the full, black coat, the breeches and the 
 silk stockings, — which a clergyman about to ascend the 
 pulpit would not have disavowed, and which constituted 
 a dress not entirely suited to an apparition, — the old 
 man seemed to have arrived direct from the other world. 
 
 Yet he did not seem to be inspired by any evil 
 feeling, and he drew near the bed with an air as plainly 
 satisfied as his stuffed Pharaoh complexion and innu- 
 merable wrinkles, called out on his antediluvian face 
 by his smile, were capable of assuming. 
 
 He still held in his hand the paper on which the 
 man who had handed Volmerange over to the servant 
 
 182 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 had scribbled a few mysterious signs, and the contents 
 were no doubt agreeable to him, for as he read it once 
 more before throwing it into the fire, he murmured : 
 " The fellow is very intelligent ; I must remember to 
 reward his zeal." 
 
 He then sat down near Volmerange, waiting for the 
 effects of the narcotic to pass off; but, seeing that the 
 young Count did not awake, he called for his dark 
 lackeys and had him placed upon a bed in a neighbour- 
 ing room. 
 
 This room, decorated and furnished with extreme 
 magnificence, recalled the fabulous splendours of East- 
 ern tales ; there was none richer or more splendid in 
 any palace in Hyderabad or Benares. Slender columns 
 of white marble, up which ran vine-stalks, the leaves 
 represented by seed emeralds, and the clusters by 
 garnets, — supported a ceiling carved, wrought, orna- 
 mented, and divided into numerous compartments full 
 of flowers, stars, and fantastic ornaments, as thick as 
 a forest glade. On the walls ran a carved frieze repre- 
 senting the chief mysteries of Indian theogony, — a 
 whole world of gods, with elephants' trunks and polyps' 
 arms, holding in their hands lotus-flowers, sceptres, 
 scourges ; monsters, half man, half animal, with leafy 
 
db & •k •k k rk is is £ -k i: •ki: tb & & & sfc ^ db 4:4: 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 limbs twisted into arabesques, mystic symbols of deep 
 cosmogonic thoughts. In spite of their hieratic stiff- 
 ness and the childish artlessness of the work, these 
 carvings had a strange, lifelike look ; the complica- 
 tions and interlacings made them swarm before one's 
 eyes, and imparted to them a sort of motionless action. 
 
 Broad damask portieres brocaded with gold fell in 
 heavy folds between the pillars ; a thick, soft multi- 
 coloured carpet of complicated design, the palm leaves 
 on which made it resemble a cashmere shawl woven 
 for a giantess, covered the floor. Around the room 
 ran a low divan, covered with one of those marvellous 
 stuffs on which India seems to weave with silks the 
 brilliant tints of its sky and its flowers. 
 
 A soft, milky light, passing through ground glass, 
 illumined this Asiatic magnificence, and was made stili 
 fainter by an imperceptible cloud of bluish smoke aris- 
 ing from perfume-burners in the four corners of the 
 room, — imparting to it, though it was already surpris- 
 ing enough, a fairylike aspect. Through this vaporous 
 gauze the gold, the garnets, the crystals, and projecting 
 carvings were strangely phosphorescent, and flashed 
 with sudden gleams. A portion of the bas-relief, 
 touched by the light, seemed to leave the pillar, to turn 
 
 184 
 
vlb db 4? tic a dbtl? tbd?tlbt§?:s?ts;tfc$r?tl: s?? s(b 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 on itself, and to twist into a spiral. Either the aroma 
 of the exotic flowers springing from great vases had 
 an intoxicating effect, or the perfume-burners contained 
 some of those inebriating preparations of which India 
 has the secret, and which it is accustomed to use, for 
 in the course of a few minutes everything assumed in 
 this hall, that resembled a pagoda, the vague and 
 changing appearance of objects seen in dreams. 
 
 The strange personage whose appearance I have 
 sketched reappeared after a short absence, but he had 
 thrown off* his black European clothes; a turban, artist- 
 ically rolled, had replaced the red wig on his shaven 
 skull ; two white lines, drawn with consecrated powder, 
 rayed his tawny brow ; a ring of brilliants sparkled in 
 his nose ; a muslin robe fell from his shoulders to his 
 feet in straight folds, unbroken by the body they 
 covered, so thin was the old man. His copper 
 face, showing between the great turban and the long 
 white dress, produced a strange contrast ; the two 
 white lines had restored to the dark features their 
 Indian sombreness. He looked like a devotee emerg- 
 ing from the caves of Elephanta, or the pagoda of 
 Juggernaut, for the function of the car with the bloody 
 wheels. 
 
 185 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 He stood by the bed waiting until the Count, having 
 got rid of the narcotic, should wake from his slumbers. 
 
 Volmerange had already tried to open his eyes, and 
 through his half-openlids had faintly caught sight of the 
 tall pillars, the lofty ceiling of the hall, and the old 
 Hindoo standing by him like a phantom, gazing upon 
 him with the fixed glance of a figure in a dream ; but 
 Volmerange did not believe that what he saw was a 
 reality ; he still fancied himself wandering through the 
 chimerical countries of sleep. To have fainted at the 
 foot of a tree on Primrose Hill, and to recover one's 
 senses upon a Cashmere divan in a hall of Aureng 
 Zeb's palace, in the very depths of India, nine thousand 
 miles from the place where one lost consciousness, is 
 enough to astonish a brain less shaken than was Vol- 
 merange's. So he remained motionless, not knowing 
 whether he was awake or asleep, and seeking to re- 
 cover the broken thread of his thoughts. At last, 
 making up his mind to open his eyes fully, he cast 
 around him a look of astonishment, and could not this 
 time refuse to believe in the existence of what he 
 beheld. 
 
 The place in which he found himself, though very 
 fanciful, had nothing of the architecture of dreams: it 
 
 186 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 was the hand of man, and not that of the spirits which 
 fill sleep with impalpable wonders, that had fluted the 
 columns, painted the ceiling, carved the bassi-relievi ; 
 he was not resting on a bank of clouds, but upon an 
 unmistakable bed. He could see a huge China peony, 
 with its scarlet bloom, in a vase of Japanese porcelain ; 
 the perfume tickled his olfactory nerves with genuine 
 aroma. The face of the Hindoo, though worthy of a 
 nocturnal fancy, presented shadows and lights that 
 were quite appreciable, and the modelling was positive. 
 There was no further reason for doubt. 
 
 Raising himself on his elbow, Volmerange put to 
 the tall, white phantom the inevitable question in such 
 cases, and said, like the hero of a tragedy who has 
 recovered from his bewilderment : — 
 
 "Where am I ? " 
 
 " In a place in which you are most welcome," re- 
 plied the Hindoo, bowing respectfully. 
 
 At this moment the sound of bells was heard behind 
 the curtain, the rings slid over the bars, and a third 
 person entered the room. 
 
 187 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 .i* •£* «i« "I* «4j 4j 4^ ^ 4^ 4£^4»4j»4»4; db tt?tfcdbd?cfw rlr tlbtl? 
 
 XIII 
 
 A YOUNG girl of incredible beauty, wearing a 
 rich Indian costume, appeared in the room, — 
 appeared is the word, for she would have been 
 taken for an Apsara, come down from Indra's courr, 
 rather than tor a mere mortal. 
 
 Her complexion — a singular one according to 
 European ideas — had the brilliancy of gold; its amber 
 tint, like that which time has given to the flesh tints 
 in pictures by Titian, did not prevent, however, a rosy 
 bloom flushing the maiden's cheeks. Her almond- 
 shaped eyes, surmounted by such clean brows that tney 
 seemed drawn with Indian ink, lengthened towards 
 the temples, and were made longer still by a line of 
 surmeh. The eyelids were fringed with blue lashes; 
 the pupils shone with velvet brilliancy, and looked like 
 two black stars on a silver sky. The nose, thin and 
 delicately formed, with rosy nostrils, was slightly tat- 
 tooed at the root, with tincture of gorothchana ; and 
 from the nostrils hung a golden ring, studded with 
 
 188 
 
&&&&&& &i?£:&&&&dkd:£:ik&£:&£iik&& 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 diamonds, through the circle of which shone purest 
 pearls set in a smile as golden as the fruit of the jujube 
 tree. The diamonds and pearls, mingling their gleams, 
 imparted to the somewhat dull complexion a light 
 which it otherwise might have lacked. The smooth 
 cheeks, as unctuous as ivory, ran into the chin in lines 
 of ideal purity. King Douchmonta himself, the 
 Indian Raphael, could not have reproduced with his 
 graceful brush all the delicacy of these contours. 
 Behind the ears, which were small and bordered with a 
 pearly line, like a Ceylon shell, the silky, scented bloom 
 of a branch of siricah, fastened to a filigree knot, fell 
 gracefully over the delicate cheek of the maiden. Her 
 hair, the parting of which was marked by a line of car- 
 mine, was divided into bands, joined on her neck in 
 tresses bound with gold thread, and covered with plates 
 of jewels that stood out against its dark-blue colour. 
 Her breasts, bound in bv a narrow vest of crimson 
 silk, so covered with ornaments that the stuff almost 
 disappeared, were separated bv a knot formed of fila- 
 ments of lotus, that shone like silver threads or woven 
 moonbeams. Her lovely arms, round and flexible as 
 creepers, were clasped near the shoulders by bracelets 
 in the form of serpents, like those of the god Maha- 
 
 189 
 
S?:s *Jb £ is & & -k ± & £ ^rsbtfcsbtlrtirtf::*::!::*: ^ dbdb 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 dava, and the wrists by quintuple ropes of pearls. 
 The palms of her hands, small as a child's, were dyed 
 red, and diamond rings shone on every finger. A 
 golden girdle studded with amethysts and garnets, 
 bound her supple waist, — bare from the corset to the 
 hip, according to Oriental fashion, — and held in the 
 folds of trousers of striped stuff, which, fastened at the 
 ankles, showed, emerging from a mass of pearly anklets 
 and gilded circlets adorned with little bells, two pretty 
 little feet with polished heels and toes laden with rings 
 and dyed red with henna like the cheeks of a virgin 
 blushing with shame. A scarf, with as many colours 
 as the rainbow, or the tail of the peacock on which 
 rides Saravasti, and the two ends of which were drawn 
 under her golden belt, played caressingly around her 
 undulating body, slender as the stalk of a palm. On 
 her bosom streamed, with metallic rustlings, a cascade 
 of necklaces of pearls of all colours, of shimmering 
 necklets of golden balls, and lotus flowers strung in 
 chaplets, — in a word, all that Hindoo coquetry can 
 invent in the way of splendour and beauty ; mysterious 
 marks, made with sandal powder, showed faintly on 
 the lower portion of her neck amid this phosphorescent 
 brilliancy; and in order that the costumes should lack 
 
 190 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 not the least trace of local colour, the maiden breathed 
 a faint and delightful perfume of ousire. 
 
 Neither Parvati, the spouse of Mahadava, nor Mis- 
 rakesi, nor Menaca, equalled in beauty the young Hin- 
 doo maid who advanced towards Volmerange, petrified 
 with surprise, — her necklets, her bracelets, and the 
 bells of her anklets rustling as she walked. 
 
 The mysterious poetry of India seemed to be in- 
 corporated in that lovely girl, brilliant and sombre, 
 delicate and wild, splendid and nude, appealing to every 
 thought and to every sense, — to thought by her sym- 
 bolical tattooing and ornaments, to the senses by her 
 beauty, her radiance, and her perfume ; gold, diamonds, 
 pearls and flowers turned her into a focus of beams the 
 brightest of which were those that flashed from her 
 eyes. 
 
 She came thus to the divan with soft undulations, 
 full of chaste voluptuousness, pressing on her heels 
 like Sacountala on the sand of the flowery path ; and 
 when she had come opposite to Volmerange, she knelt 
 and remained in the same attitude of respectful con- 
 templation as Lakmi admiring Vishnu lying on his 
 lotus leaf, and floating on the infinite, under the 
 shadow of his serpent dais. 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Although Volmerange had every reason to believe 
 he was awake, he must have thought himself the play- 
 thing of some prodigious hallucination ; there was so 
 little connection between the events of the past night 
 and what he now beheld that he might well have 
 believed his brain was turned; yet nothing could be 
 more real than the lovely being kneeling before 
 him. 
 
 The scene deeply impressed him : his mother was a 
 Hindoo, who belonged to one of the royal races dis- 
 possessed by the English conquest ; the Asiatic blood 
 which flowed in his veins, mingling with the colder 
 blood of the North, seemed at this moment to run 
 more rapidly, and to carry away with it the European 
 portion. The remembrances of his childhood came 
 crowding back, and he saw as in a mirage rising on the 
 horizon, the snow crests of the Himalayas, the swelling 
 domes of the pagodas, the orange bloom of the asoca, 
 and the loving couples of swans floating on the blue 
 waters of the Malini. The whole poetry of the past 
 revived in that retrospective revelation. The architec- 
 ture of the room, the perfume of the madhavi, the old 
 Hindoo's dress, the dazzling radiance of the maiden, 
 awoke in him forgotten remembrances ; the very face 
 
 192 
 
k k k k k k k k k k k kk k k k k k k k k k :)b 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 of the lovely creature, prostrate before him in an atti- 
 tude of amorous adoration, was not wholly new, 
 although he was sure he saw her for the first time. 
 Yet where had they met ? In the world of dreams, or 
 in some anterior incarnation ? He could not tell ; yet 
 a confused swarm of thoughts buzzed around his head, 
 and he seemed to have lived a long time with her 
 whom he had seen but for a few minutes. 
 
 The old, yellow-faced, white-robed phantom seemed 
 to have reckoned on this effect ; with strange persist- 
 ency he fixed his flashing glance on Volmerange, as if 
 to read his inmost thoughts. 
 
 Apparently the Count did not manifest his emotions 
 strongly enough to satisfy Daksha, — for thus was the 
 Hindoo called, — for he signed to the maiden to speak. 
 
 " My dear lord," said she, in Hindoostani speech, 
 full of vowels and sweet as music, " have you forgot- 
 ten Priyamvada ? " 
 
 The sounds of the tongue he had spoken in India in 
 his childhood, but which he had neglected since he lived 
 in Europe, first sounded on his ears merely as a melo- 
 dious, murmuring rhythm, and it took him some time to 
 make out the meaning ; he had understood the air be- 
 fore he grasped the words. 
 
 *93 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Priyamvada ? " he said slowly, and as if talcing 
 time to recollect, — " Priyamvada, she whose speech is 
 sweet as honey ? No, I do not remember her, and yet 
 it seems to me — why, yes, I knew a child, a little 
 girl-" 
 
 " The lapse of ten years has changed into a young 
 girl the child born to your mother's sister." 
 
 " Ah ! it is you, then, to whom I used to give, for 
 playthings, little ivory elephants, tigers carved of 
 wood, and peacocks of burned clay, painted with many 
 colours. Priyamvada, my cousin with the golden 
 complexion, I had somewhat forgotten our barbaric 
 relationship." 
 
 " I had not forgotten it, and I honour in you the last 
 line of kings whose ancestors were gods, and who were 
 seated on the clouds before they were seated on 
 thrones." 
 
 " Although your father was European," added Dak- 
 sha, "a single drop of that divine blood transmitted by 
 your mother makes you the heir of dynasties that 
 lived and flourished centuries before your cold Europe 
 had emerged from chaos or risen from the diluvian 
 waters." 
 
 " You are the hope of a whole nation," added Pri- 
 
 194 
 
± ± ± 4: k k k kk-kkkk k kkkkkkkkk-k 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 yamvada, in a musical and caressing voice, with an 
 accent of witching flattery. 
 
 " I, the hope of a whole nation ? what nonsense ! " 
 replied Volmerange. 
 
 " Priyamvada has spoken the truth," went on Dak- 
 sha, bowing and crossing over his bony chest his skinny 
 hands, as black as a monkey's ; " Heaven intends you 
 for a great destiny. Touched by the sufferings of my 
 country I devoted myself for thirty years to the most 
 awful austerity, in order to obtain the favour of the 
 gods ; born wealthy, I have lived as the poorest pariah ; 
 I have treated this miserable body so harshly that it 
 resembles a dried mummy which has lain for forty 
 centuries in the mummy pits of Egypt ; for I sought 
 to destroy this weak flesh in order to allow my freed 
 soul to ascend to the sources of things, and to read the 
 thoughts of the gods. Oh ! I have suffered much," he 
 continued with increasing exaltation, " and I have paid 
 dearly for the gift of sight. The rain has poured its 
 icy torrents, and the sun its fiery waves, upon my 
 body, which I kept motionless in the most constrained 
 attitude. My nails have grown into my closed hands ; 
 burning with thirst, worn out by hunger, repulsive, 
 soiled with filth, having nothing human left about me, 
 
 95 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 — I have remained for many a summer and many a 
 winter, an object of terror and pity. The termites 
 built their cities by my side ; the birds of heaven made 
 their nests in my brush-like hair ; and the mud-caked 
 hippopotamus rubbed against me as against a tree 
 trunk •, the tiger sharpened his claws upon my side, 
 taking me for a stone ; the children tried to drag out 
 my eyes, when they saw them shine like pieces of 
 crystal in the heap of inert clay that I was. The 
 thunderbolt fell on me once, but did not interrupt mv 
 prayers. So, Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva, took my pen- 
 ance into consideration, and the venerable Trimorti, 
 when, my time having been served, I went to consult 
 it in the caves of the Elephanta, deigned to tell me 
 three times, by the mouths of its triple head, the name 
 of the predestined Saviour." 
 
 As he spoke these strange words, Daksha seemed to 
 be transfigured ; his bowed frame was erect, his eyes 
 glowed with enthusiasm, his brown face was lighted 
 up, his wrinkles had almost disappeared, and the youth 
 of the soul coming to the surface effaced for a time the 
 decreptitude of the body. 
 
 Volmerange, surprised, listened with a sort of respect- 
 ful terror, while Priyamvada, filled with admiration, 
 
 1 96 
 
&&&&&& 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 took the hem of the old man's dress and kissed it 
 respectfully ; to her, Daksha was a gouro, a divine 
 being, and when she arose her eyes were filled with 
 tears, like the two calixes of lotus pearly with morn- 
 ing dew. 
 
 They formed a charming group ; the young girl 
 with her graceful movements, her rounded forms, her 
 sumptuous garments, presented an apparently designed 
 contrast to this dry, angular, tall old man : they looked 
 like the incarnation of poetry and fanaticism. 
 
 The strange scene had drawn the Count's mind 
 from the events of the night. All that had passed in 
 the nuptial chamber, and on Blackfriars Bridge seemed 
 to him a feverish nightmare, driven away by the soft 
 light of the morning. He asked himself whether he 
 had really been married the day before, and had really 
 hurled his guilty wife into the Thames. He could 
 scarcely believe in the reality of the warning, the 
 letters, the ruin of his happiness, the horrible catas- 
 trophe, and he looked dreamily at Daksha and Priyam- 
 vada. 
 
 Daksha, his excitement over, was little by little 
 returning to commonplace life, and losing his inspired 
 look ; he was now only the parchment-like old man, 
 
 197 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 whose portrait I have already drawn ; the prophet had 
 disappeared, the man alone was left, and he said to the 
 Count, with an obsequious smile : — 
 
 " Now that your lordship knows you are in the home 
 of Daksha, the mouni of the Brahmin sect, I will 
 withdraw ; the ablutions I must make, to purify myself 
 from the soil which even the saint cannot avoid in 
 these infidel cities, compel me to withdraw to my 
 oriental room. Priyamvada shall remain with you, and 
 her conversation will doubtless be more agreeable than 
 that of an old Brahmin, worn out by penance." With 
 these words Daksha let fall the heavy portiere which 
 he had raised, and disappeared. 
 
 Priyamvada, reclining at Volmerange's feet with the 
 grace of a tame gazelle, took his hand and looking up 
 at him with eyes that shone in their lines of surmeh, 
 said to him in a voice that sounded like a melodious 
 cooing : — 
 
 " What troubles mv gracious lord ? He seems sad 
 and preoccupied ; is he not happy ? " 
 
 For sole reply Volmerange uttered a sigh. 
 
 " Oh ! no one is happv," continued Privamvada, 
 " in this accursed climate, in this ungrateful land, where 
 the flowers bloom only under glass, with a stove for a 
 
 198 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 sun, where the women are pale as the snow on moun- 
 tain summits and know not what love is." 
 
 This remark, which caused Volmerange's wound to 
 bleed again, made him start painfully ; his eyes flashed, 
 and the Hindoo maid, noting the look of anger, under- 
 stood she was right, and went on in her softest voice : 
 
 " Has a European woman grieved the descendant of 
 the kings of the lunar dynasty ? " 
 
 Volmerange did not reply, but his breast heaved with 
 a deep sigh. 
 
 Her voice melting into a still softer intonation, 
 Priyamvada continued her questions : — 
 
 " Is it possible that my lord, whose dazzling beauty 
 surpasses that of Chandra traversing the heavens on his 
 silver car, was not loved as soon as he deigned to cast 
 his glance on a mere girl, — when the apsaras them- 
 selves vvould rejoice to serve him on bended knee ? " 
 
 As she uttered these words the maid clasped her 
 arms around Volmerange, like a pretty malica flower 
 clinging to the trunk of the amra. Her lovely face, 
 which she brought close to that of the Count, seemed 
 to say, by the moist brilliance of the eyes and the grace 
 of the smile, how completely safe from such a misfor- 
 tune her European cousin would have been with her ! 
 
 199 
 
•J/1 »!-» r K r !, •i^. *J/» rl-» «£<» rj^ r|* r|j *|* «j* »4« •£» »|»» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 For sole reply Volmerange bent his head on Priyam- 
 vada's shoulder, who soon felt his tears falling. 
 
 " Can it be," said Priyamvada, wiping away with a 
 chaste kiss the tears from Volmerange's eyes, " that 
 this capricious woman of the North, more changeable 
 than the fire of the opal or the chameleon skin, de- 
 ceived my gracious lord, who has no equal on earth ? 
 For a man of the race of the gods weeps only when 
 betrayed." 
 
 " Yes, Priyamvada ; I have been betrayed, shame- 
 fully betrayed," cried Volmerange, unable to keep back 
 his fatal secret any longer. 
 
 " And I hope," went on Priyamvada, in the quietest 
 and most musical tone, " that my dear lord has slain 
 the guilty one ? " 
 
 " The Thames has concealed and punished her 
 fault." 
 
 "That is a very gentle punishment; in mv country 
 an elephant would have trampled upon her lying bosom, 
 and would have slowly crushed her perfidious heart ; 
 or a tiger would have torn like a gauze veil the body 
 she had soiled with another love, — unless her master 
 had preferred to shut up the criminal in a sack with a 
 number of cobras. Let that remembrance fade away 
 
 200 
 
w» tin »Aj el* *A-» »A» »4» »4» »A^^1^ #l» jij »Jj »4j »i* »4j »i» Jij »Jg 
 
 THE QUARTETTE' 
 
 from your mind like a cloudlet swept from heaven, 
 like a flake of foam in the ocean ; forget Europe, and 
 come to India where worship awaits you ; there in 
 our burning climate, you shall breathe breezes laden 
 with intoxicating scents ; there giant flowers bend their 
 calyxes like urns ; the lotus spreads languorously upon 
 the consecrated tirthas ; in the forests and meads grow 
 the five flowers with which Cama, the god of love, tips 
 his arrows : the tchampaca, the amra, the kesara, the 
 ketaca, and the bilva, — which all inflame the heart 
 with a different but equally hot fire. The dulcet songs 
 of the cokilas and tchavatracas sound from bank to 
 bank ; there a glance enslaves one for life ; there 
 woman loves beyond the tomb, and her passion burns 
 out only in the ashes of the pyre. There must one 
 live and die for a single love. Oh ! come thither, 
 master, and in Priyamvada's arms, on Priyamvada's 
 bosom, will soon pass awav, like a winter night's 
 dream, that long Northern nightmare which you mis- 
 take for life ! " 
 
 The Hindoo girl, no doubt believing herself already 
 back in her own land, drew Volmerange to her bosom, 
 on which shivered the golden necklets, and the pearls 
 rustled as her quick breath made her breasts rise 
 
 201 
 
k i: & r Jh "k k k -k i: k -k -k i: £ £ £ tfc & db tl? tl: tfc tfc tlr 
 
 •THE QUARTETTE 
 
 and fall. Thus caught, seized by the bold, virginal 
 caress of the girl, whose passions were as artless and 
 chaste as those of nature in the first days of creation, 
 — Volmerange felt deep emotion ; he seemed to see 
 waves of flame pass across his face ; unconsciously his 
 arm clasped Priyamvada's firm waist. 
 
 The portiere was slightly drawn aside, and in the 
 interstices shone the metallic eyes of the old Brahmin ; 
 but Volmerange and Priyamvada were too much taken 
 up with each other to notice this. 
 
 " Good," said Daksha, as he gazed ; " it looks as if 
 Europe and India were being reconciled, and Priyam- 
 vada and Volmerange proposed to wed after the gand- 
 harva mode, — a most respectable way since Manou 
 has admitted it among his laws. Nothing could better 
 further my plans." 
 
 He then withdrew as gently as possible. 
 
 " Will you accompany me into the Punjab ? " asked 
 Priyamvada of the count, who had just pressed his lips 
 to' her brow. 
 
 " Yes ; but I still have a culprit to punish," an- 
 swered Volmerange, in a tone full of fury. 
 
 " That is proper," replied the maiden ; " but permit 
 your slave to feel surprised at the fact that the man 
 
 202 
 
ttt «1* «1* rift tit rlt *i* rL* rl» ^» r^t rjj >|» rL, rj, rj* rj* r^t »j» »j» rjht 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 who has offended you has not yet been destroyed by 
 your vengeance." 
 
 " I do not know him ; I have proof of the crime, 
 but I do not know who is the criminal; the plot was 
 wrought with infernal skill ; I have no clue to help 
 me." 
 
 " Listen to me," said Priyamvada, thoughtfully. 
 "You Europeans, who depend on your fictitious sciences 
 born yesterday, have ceased to live in communion with 
 nature ; you have broken the bonds that bind man to 
 the occult powers of creation. India is the land of 
 traditions and mysteries, its inhabitants know many 
 secrets formerly imparted by the gods, which would 
 amaze your incredulous wise men. Priyamvada is 
 but a little girl whom proud English ladies would con- 
 sider a savage fit only to amuse their guests ; but 
 more than once have I heard the Brahmins, seated on 
 a gazelle skin between the four mysterious braziers, 
 speak of the possible and the impossible. Well, I can 
 show you the culprit, were he concealed in the utter- 
 most ends of the earth." 
 
 203 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 XIV 
 
 PRIYAMVADA arose and fetched from a corner 
 of the room a small Chinese lacquered table, 
 which she placed before Volmerange, who 
 was following her every motion with restless curiosity. 
 
 In a crystal cup full of water was a rose-lotus flower, 
 just opened. Priyamvada took the flower and emptied 
 the water into a Japanese vase; then she placed it on 
 the table, after having filled it with water newly drawn 
 from a curiously wrought and carefully closed flagon. 
 
 " This," said the young Hindoo girl, " is the myste- 
 rious water which flowed from heaven upon Mount 
 Chimavonta ; it falls from the mouth of the sacred 
 cow, which is guided in its course by pious Bagireta; 
 it is the sacred water of the river formerly known as 
 the Chlialoros, which now bears the name of Ganges. 
 I drew it as I bent over the marble steps of the Benares 
 pagoda, while performing the prescribed formalities ; it 
 therefore possesses all its divine virtues, and our ex- 
 periment is an assured success." 
 
 204 
 
•As *£• rJ/» eJ/» »4» •^3*4* rA» »JU #£•* »^ »Jo 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The Count listened most attentively to Priyamvada, 
 without understanding, however, what she proposed 
 to do. 
 
 From a number of boxes she drew powders that she 
 placed upon the porcelain perfume-burners at the four 
 corners of the room ; wreaths of faint, bluish vapour 
 arose, and gave out a penetrating odour. 
 
 " Now," said Priyamvada to Volmerange, " bend 
 over that cup, and look as attentively as you can into 
 the water it contains, while I pronounce the magic 
 words and call upon the mystic powers." 
 
 The scene was utterly unlike an ordinary incanta- 
 tion : there was no cavern, no hovel, no familiar toad, 
 no black cat, no greasy book ; but a large, splendid hall, 
 a cup of clear water, perfumes, and a lovely maid. 
 There was nothing very terrific about all this, yet as 
 Volmerange bent over the cup, his heart beat quickly ; 
 the unknown is always somewhat alarming, under what- 
 ever form it presents itself. 
 
 Standing by the table, Priyamvada recited a form of 
 incantation, in a low voice and in a tongue unknown 
 to Volmerange; she appeared to be filled with the live- 
 liest fervour; her eyes were raised to the ceiling, the 
 pupils concealed under the eyelids, and only the pearly 
 
 205 
 
THE QUARTE TTE 
 
 white of the orbs showing ; her bosom swelled with 
 ardent sighs, and the fire of prayer imparted a rosy tint 
 to the golden amber of her skin. She continued for 
 some time, then, speaking in an intelligible language, 
 she said, as if addressing beings visible to her alone: — 
 
 "Come, Red and Gold, do your duty." 
 
 Volmerange, who up to this time had been bending 
 over the cup without perceiving anything else than the 
 pure water, suddenly saw its limpidity clouded by a 
 milky tint, as if smoke were ascending from the 
 bottom. 
 
 "Has a cloud appeared?" asked the young Hindoo 
 girl. 
 
 "Yes, one would say that an invisible hand had 
 poured some essence in the water, for it has suddenly 
 turned a milky white." 
 
 " It is the hand of the spirit troubling the water," 
 answered Priyamvada, quietly. 
 
 The Count could not help looking up. 
 
 u Do not look beyond the table," cried Priyamvada, 
 in a beseeching tone; "you would break the spell." 
 
 Obeying the injunction of his dark cousin, Volmer- 
 ange again bent his head. 
 
 " Now what do you see ? " 
 
 206 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " A circle of colour is forming at the bottom of the 
 cup." 
 
 " Only one ? " 
 
 " No, it is now double, and has all the colours of 
 the prism." 
 
 "Two is not enough, — three are needed, one for 
 Brahma, one for Vishnu, and one for Siva; look very 
 carefully, I shall repeat the incantation," said Priyam- 
 vada, reassuming her curious attitude. 
 
 The third circle appeared, at first faint and pale, like 
 the shadow of a rainbow seen by the side of the true 
 one ; soon, however, its outline became clear, and shone 
 radiant and brilliant by the others. 
 
 " There are now three circles ! " cried the Count, 
 who in spite of his European incredulity, could not 
 help being astonished at the appearance of the flaming 
 rings, unexplained by any physical reason. 
 
 " The three rings are there," said Priyamvada ; " the 
 frame is ready. Spirits, bring him we wish to see. In 
 whatever part of the world, and at whatever time he 
 lived, were it before Adam, who is buried in the isle 
 of Serendib, compel him to appear and to reveal him- 
 self, — a shadow if he be dead, a portrait if he be 
 living." 
 
 207 
 
•A* #A» «JU »1» »A» »4j J/» «A» «|r» »A» •!* ^» »4j »4j »4j ^» »|j »4» »l» »4» •!» •i* 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 These words, uttered in the most solemn tone, caused 
 Volmerange to bend more eagerly over the cup ; could 
 he trust the efficacy of Priyamvada's magic incanta- 
 tions ? His prejudices as a civilized man revolted at 
 the thought, yet the effects she had already produced 
 scarcely allowed of incredulity ; in any case, his uncer- 
 tainty would not last long. 
 
 At the bottom of the cup, within the space cir- 
 cumscribed by the three luminous rings, Volmerange 
 saw, appearing in the depths of a vast distance, a 
 point which approached rapidly, becoming clearer and 
 clearer. 
 
 " Do you see anything appear ? " asked Priyamvada 
 of Volmerange. 
 
 " A man whose features I cannot yet make out is 
 approaching towards me." 
 
 " When you see him more distinctly, endeavour to 
 fix his features carefully in your mind, for I cannot 
 twice bring up the spectre of the same person," added 
 the young girl, gravely. The figure now became 
 more defined, as if produced under the water by a 
 mysterious brush. A flash passed through the cup, 
 and Volmerange recognized unmistakably Xavier's pale, 
 delicate face. 
 
 208 
 
& £ :b 4: & 4: £ £ ^ 4? dHb tb db sir £ 4: 4? tiS? sir A 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 He uttered a cry of astonishment and rage ; the 
 milky cloud again filled the cup, the image became 
 faint, and everything disappeared. 
 
 " Dolfos, one of the members of our Junta ! " went 
 on Volmerange, thunder-struck. 
 
 Dolfos was Xavier's true name, though it was under 
 the latter pseudonym alone that Edith knew him. 
 Xavier, or more properly Dolfos, could not have fore- 
 seen these hydromancist performances, and had thought 
 by changing his name he could make darker still the 
 sombre intrigue he had wrought. 
 
 Priyamvada, who appeared in no way surprised at 
 the amazing result, poured back the Ganges water into 
 the flagon from which she had drawn it. 
 
 " Now my dear lord may be avenged if he pleases," 
 said the maiden ; " my art has shown him the culprit." 
 
 u Listen, Priyamvada," roared the Count, as he 
 drew himself up to his full height ; " I shall follow you 
 to India, and do whatever you please ; my heart and my 
 arm belong to you, in return for the service you have 
 just rendered me. Now let me go. I can think of 
 nothing but my vengeance." 
 
 " Go," replied Priyamvada ; " be dread as Durga when 
 he plunges his trident into the heart of vice, fierce as 
 
 209 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Narsingha, the man lion, when he tears the entrails of 
 Hiranycasipu." 
 
 She took the Count by the hand, and led him through 
 devious windings, to a door that opened on the street. 
 
 When she returned, Daksha, who had watched the 
 whole scene, concealed by the curtains, was standing in 
 the centre of the hall, his chin in his hand, and his 
 elbow resting in the other, in a meditative attitude. 
 After a few moments he said to Priyamvada : — 
 
 " I think, maiden, you were wrong to let the dear 
 lord go: suppose he should not come back? " 
 
 " He will come back," replied the girl, a smile full 
 of witching and artless coquetry showing behind her 
 diamond-studded nose-ring. 
 
 When Volmerange found himself in the street, he 
 thought he must have been the plaything of a dream ; 
 how could he believe in such phantasmagoria ? Was 
 Dolfos really the culprit ? A secret instinct convinced 
 him that he was, although he had nothing else on which 
 to base his belief. 
 
 But supposing he were guilty, how was Volmerange 
 to prove it ? The only creature who could have told 
 the truth was now being carried out to sea, or at least 
 so thought the Count, in the turbid waters of the 
 
 2IO 
 
is*********************** 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Thames. Again, where could he find Dolfos, whom 
 he had lost sight of for two or three years, and whose 
 manner of life he knew nothing of, for the man's cold 
 and secret nature had always aroused Volmerange's 
 antipathy. They had occasionally met, but had con- 
 fined themselves to that strict politeness which 
 borders on insult. Some love affairs in which Dolfos 
 had been an unsuccessful rival of Volmerange, appeared 
 to have left in his soul a deep rancour, which he care- 
 fully concealed, but which had awakened every evil 
 feeling in his vile heart. 
 
 A further uncertainty tortured the Count : possibly 
 Dolfos had acted in accordance with the orders of the 
 Junta, and then, backed by the powerful association, he 
 might escape his well-merited chastisement; no doubt 
 some ship was already carrying him away towards an 
 unknown country, and concealing him forever from his 
 pursuer. 
 
 He had got so far in his reasoning, when suddenly, 
 by one of those chances which are true in life though 
 improbable in a novel, Dolfos, turning the corner of 
 the street, found himself face to face with him. 
 
 At the sight of Volmerange, Dolfos understood 
 that he knew all ; he was terror-struck at the sight of 
 
 211 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the livid face, in which flamed two glaring eyes, and 
 threw himself back abruptly ; but the Count's hand 
 clutched his arm like a grappling-iron, and held him 
 back. 
 
 " Dolfos," said the Count, " I know everything ; do 
 not attempt to lie ; you belong to me, follow me." 
 
 The wretch tried to escape from the grasp of the 
 strong hand, but failed. 
 
 w Shall I have to strike you in the open street, like 
 the coward you are, to compel you to fight ? " went on 
 Volmerange ; " I have the right to kill you, and yet I 
 shall risk my life against yours, as if you were an hon- 
 ourable man. I can understand a man seducing a 
 woman, for love excuses everything ; but there is noth- 
 ing more monstrous and abominable in hell than to 
 ruin her coolly and hatefully : you have made me a 
 murderer, and I now must kill you, — I owe it to 
 Edith's memory." 
 
 " Very well, I shall follow you," replied Dolfos ; 
 " but let go my wrist, you are breaking it." 
 
 " No," replied Volmerange, " you would run away." 
 
 The Count called a passing carriage and made the 
 pale and trembling Dolfos enter it before him 
 
 "Drive to ," said the Count. It was a little 
 
 212 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 country-house, a cottage which he owned in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Richmond. 
 
 Although the drive was rapid, it seemed long to the 
 two enemies. Dolfos, cowering in a corner of the 
 carriage, looked like a hyena driven to bay by a lion, 
 while Volmerange watched him with sinister feelings. 
 Volmerange was calm, Dolfos perturbed. 
 
 The cottage was at last reached ; an old servant was 
 in charge of the house, to which the Count rarely 
 repaired with his friends, when he gave a bachelor 
 party. 
 
 The cottage was planned discreetly : no one could 
 look into the grounds, surrounded by high palings ; 
 there was no importunate neighbour; neither the breath- 
 ings of love nor the yells of an orgy would awake any 
 one's attention ; on the other hand, two men might 
 kill each other there quite comfortably. To one who 
 had voluptuous intentions it was a Calypso's grotto ; 
 with sinister ones it became the cave of Cacus. I hope 
 all this mythology will be forgiven me. Volmerange's 
 intentions were not pleasant ; hence the cottage became 
 a cut-throat place. 
 
 Day was sinking, and the room into which Volme- 
 range entered, driving Dolfos before him, was damp 
 
 213 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 and cold like a chamber in a tomb ; it had not been 
 opened for a long time. 
 
 Dolfos let himself fall into an arm-chair, and leaned 
 his head on his hand ; he was terribly cast down ; 
 although boldly imaginative, he lacked physical cour- 
 age ; he began to repent, as is the habit of cowards 
 when found out. Although he had received orders 
 from the Junta to keep Volmerange and Edith apart, 
 he had unquestionably overstepped his powers in a 
 most audacious fashion, and indulged too largely his 
 own private hatred ; he experienced the bitter, hopeless 
 regret of unsuccessful rascality. 
 
 " Daniel, take that letter to the city," said Volme- 
 range, after having folded the paper, to the old man 
 whom he had called in ; " it is in a great hurry." 
 
 The old servant went off, and when Volmerange 
 heard the entrance door close, he said to Dolfos : — 
 
 " Now we can have it out together." 
 
 Then, livid as a spectre, his teeth set, his eyes 
 bloodshot, he took from a trophy suspended from the 
 wall, two swords of equal length, put them under his 
 arm, and started for the garden ; Dolfos followed him 
 mechanically, as a criminal follows the executioner; 
 he tried to scream, but his voice stuck in his dry throat ; 
 
 214 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 besides, no one would have heard. He wanted to 
 stop, to grovel on the ground, to resist passively ; but 
 he knew Volmerange would drive him or drag him 
 along with his powerful hand, like a hook dragging a 
 body to the charnel pit. So Dolfos, usually so elo- 
 quent and so crafty, walked on, mute and stupefied, 
 for he had at once felt that prayer and falsehood were 
 equally useless. 
 
 As they passed before a rustic hut, Volmerange 
 entered it for a moment, and returned with a spade. 
 
 This ominous action made the blood of Dolfos run 
 colder still. The pair thus proceeded to the very end 
 of the grounds. 
 
 Once there, Volmerange stopped and said : — 
 
 " This place will do." 
 
 It was indeed very well arranged. The trees, which 
 autumn had stripped of their leaves, and whose black 
 limbs stood out against the crimson clouds of evening, 
 formed at this place a sort of circle, apparently designed 
 expressly for a duelling ground. 
 
 The Count, placing the two swords beyond the 
 reach of Dolfos, took the spade and drew on the sand 
 a parallelogram about as long as a man lying down ; 
 then he began to dig, throwing the earth to right and 
 
 215 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 left. Stiff with terror, Dolfos leaned against the tree, 
 and in a faint voice said to Volmerange : — 
 
 " In God's name, what are you doing ? " 
 
 "What am I doing?" answered Volmerange, with- 
 out stopping his work; "I am digging your grave or 
 mine, as it may chance, — the survivor will bury the 
 other." 
 
 " That is horrible ! " groaned Dolfos. 
 
 " I do not think ac," went on Volmerange, with 
 cruel irony ; "I do noi suppose that we intend to 
 scratch each other merely. What I am doing is con- 
 venient and decent. However, you dig in your turn," 
 he added, emerging from the half-made grave ; " it is 
 not right that I alone should tire myself out. We 
 must both make the bed in which one of us is to 
 lie." 
 
 So saying, he handed the spade to Dolfos, who, 
 trembling all over, made five or six attempts to dig, 
 but succeeded in removing only a small quantity of 
 earth. 
 
 "Come, let me finish," said Volmerange, taking the 
 spade back ; " though you are such a good actor, you 
 would not do for the part of the grave-digger in 
 'Hamlet,' — you dig badly, my master." 
 
 216 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The night had almost fallen when the Count had 
 finished his dreadful work. 
 
 " Come, that is dug deep enough. Now for the 
 swords," said the Count, throwing one to Dolfos and 
 keeping the other. 
 
 "There is no more light," cried the wretch; "are 
 we to slay each other in the dark ? " 
 
 " There is always light enough to kill each other ; 
 passing from life to death is an easy transition. Dark 
 as it may be, we can always feel a sword penetrating 
 our bodies," said the Count, lunging fiercely at Dolfos, 
 who uttered a groan. 
 
 " I have hit you," said the Count, " for the point 
 of my sword is wet." 
 
 Dolfos immediately lunged hard at the Count. 
 
 Volmerange parried the thrust by a prompt retreat, 
 and binding his adversary's sword with his own, 
 made it fly from his hands. 
 
 Seeing himself lost, Dolfos threw himself on the 
 ground, crouched like a tiger, seized Volmerange round 
 the legs, and made him fall. 
 
 Then began a dreadful struggle ; bound by the mad 
 grasp of Dolfos, whom cowardice and despair turned 
 into a raging wild beast, Volmerange was unable to use 
 
 217 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 his sword ; he had tried to thrust it into Dolfos' back, 
 even at the risk of running it through his own heart 
 after piercing his adversary, but he could not manage 
 it, and the sword escaped him. With his hand now 
 free, he seized his enemy by the throat. 
 
 The two adversaries had fallen near the open grave ; 
 as they rolled on the ground in that cannibal-like 
 struggle, their turnings and twistings brought them 
 near the open grave, into which they rolled, without 
 letting go, pell-mell with the fallen earth. Only, 
 Dolfos was underneath. Volmerange's fingers sank 
 deep into his flesh and strangled him like a Spanish 
 garrote ; the wretch foamed at the mouth, a low rattling 
 was heard in his throat, his limbs stiffened ; soon the 
 convulsions ceased, and Volmerange, freeing himself 
 from the dead man's grasp, sprang out of the grave, 
 saying : — 
 
 " A very obliging corpse — he has buried himself." 
 
 Taking the spade he hastily covered up the body, 
 smoothed the ground carefully, and trampled it down. 
 
 " Now that I have settled this matter, let me return 
 to Priyamvada, and together we will forsake this old 
 Europe, where I leave two dead bodies." 
 
 218 
 
4* 4^ 4> ri^ 4» 4» 4» »jU 4* 4» ^^|? ts?dbtl?dbtl?t5? Tt?Tt?T^? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 4. 4« 4> 4- 4» 4. 4. 4. 4* 4. 4. 4.4. 4. 4. 4. 4, 4. 4. 4. 4. 4> 4. 4. 
 
 «*« w« «vw *-r- VM «T» «*M «*• «T* «*• *T* «r* OT* WW %T* «*« V*W »» * 
 
 XV 
 
 WE left the " Lovely Jenny " issuing from 
 the Thames into the open. Probably 
 the captain did not know whither they 
 were bound, for when the great waves of the open sea 
 began to lave the bulwarks of the ship, he respectfully 
 asked Sidney, who, sunk in thought, was seated upon 
 a coil of rope : — 
 
 " Where are we going to, sir ? " 
 "You will find out when we get there, my dear 
 Captain Peppercull." 
 
 "Oh! I did not ask through curiosity," answered 
 the latter, " but the wheelman has to know whether to 
 put the helm to port or starboard." 
 
 " That is right," answered Sir Arthur Sidney, with a 
 faint smile, though he still named no course. 
 
 " The wind," went on Peppercull, " has hauled since 
 yesterday ; it is fair for a clear course down Channel 
 and out into the Atlantic ; but if you happen to 
 have business in the Baltic or the Arctic, why, by 
 beating to windward we can manage to get there." 
 
 219 
 
£4*4*££ 4. 4.4; 4:4.4.4.4. *S? & dbrbdbtlr drtfctSrtS; 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Since the wind is taking us down Channel," said Sid- 
 ney, with an air of carelessness admirably assumed if it 
 was not genuine, " let us go where the wind takes us." 
 
 The captain at once gave orders to have the " Lovely 
 Jenny " kept away ; in a twinkling the yards were 
 hauled, and the ship, with a strong and steady free 
 wind, dashed rapidly on between two lines of foam. 
 
 Seeing that Sidney kept silence, Peppercull did not 
 think fit to attempt to enter into conversation, and 
 respectfully withdrew some distance away. 
 
 Sidney called Jack, MacgilPs friend, who was busy 
 splicing a rope. 
 
 " Show to my cabin the woman we picked up last 
 night." 
 
 " I shall bring her to your lordship," said Jack, dis- 
 appearing down the hatchway like an opera demon 
 down a trap-door. 
 
 While Jack fetched Edith, — who was lying in a 
 hammock between decks, — Sidney, his brow darkened 
 by deep thought, proceeded to his cabin to meet the 
 young woman. 
 
 But when the cabin door opened, it was not the 
 drowning woman whose white form had flashed through 
 the darkness that appeared, but a slender young fellow 
 
 220 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 of medium stature, wearing a sailor's jersey and oil-skin 
 coat ; the delicate, regular features of his oval face 
 were extraordinarily pale ; the sunken eyes shone with 
 the light of fever, and the colourless lips were scarcely 
 distinguishable from the rest of the skin ; shame min- 
 gled with his sadness, and when Sidney looked at him, 
 a faint blush rose to his cheeks. 
 
 Sidney's glance betrayed his astonishment at seeing 
 a sailor lad when he expected a woman, but Jack, 
 coming up behind the supposed youth, understood his 
 chief's surprise and put an end to it. 
 
 " When we drew the lady from the water, sir, she 
 had on nothing but a muslin wrapper, and as we did not 
 happen to have a woman's dress on board, I put by 
 her hammock that red jersey and the oil-skin coat ; that 
 is how the lady we picked up turns out to be a hand- 
 some sailor lad." 
 
 u That will do, Jack ; leave us," said Sir Arthur 
 Sidnev, with a gesture of command. 
 
 Sidney, left alone with Edith, fixed upon her a scru- 
 tinising glance, as piercing as that of an eagle ; it was 
 less a glance than a luminous beam that seemed to 
 seek within the head and the heart the thought in the 
 brain and the feeling in the bosom. 
 
 221 
 
?t? db .1? tl? ^? tb 'sC tj? tfi* *t? ?f? tI? r tfr *fr fff t% 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Edith remained impassible during this examination, 
 which was no doubt favourable to her, for Sidney rose 
 with as much respectful politeness as if he had been in 
 a drawing-room, took her by the tips of the fingers, 
 and said, as he led her to a sofa, provided with cushions, 
 that stood in the corner of the cabin : — 
 
 " I beg you will sit down, madam ; you appear weak 
 and ill, and any one who has not yet got his sea legs 
 finds it difficult to stand." 
 
 The fact is the " Lovely Jenny," going free, plunged 
 into the sea like a spirited horse, and the level of the 
 floor changed constantly. 
 
 Led by Sidney, Edith let herself fall rather than she 
 sat down upon the sofa. 
 
 There was a moment's silence, which Sidney broke 
 with his harmonious, calm voice, made softer still by 
 an accent of pity. 
 
 " I will not ask you, madam, whether it was crime or 
 despair that cast you into the Thames on that dreadful 
 stormy night. By a miracle there passed near you a 
 boat filled with people hastening in the darkness to 
 perform a mysterious work. You fell from heaven 
 into that secret ; by a most unexpected chance you 
 upset the best-laid precautions, which no one should 
 
 222 
 
•i* »JL rl/i <•!-. «Jt» rf -i rA* »1» tl« tt? t^C ti? ^7? ^1? ts? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 have seen, and no one must tell of. A blow from an 
 oar would have hurled you back into the water — my 
 men awaited but a sign from me." 
 
 " Then why did you not make it ?" interrupted Edith, 
 putting her diaphanous hands to her reddened eyes. 
 
 u I did not do it," continued Sidney, " for something 
 called out to me ; it seemed to me that to give back to 
 death a being whom a marvellous chance was keeping 
 alive, would have been cold barbarity, a sort of impiety 
 towards fate. But I am bound to tell you that the life 
 I give you back, I cannot give you the free use of, — . 
 not at least, until the great work in which I am engaged 
 has been finished. The vessel on which we are will 
 not stop before it has reached the most distant seas; 
 until that time comes, you must be dead to the world." 
 
 "You need not fear, sir; I have no desire to come 
 back to life." 
 
 " The costume you have put on," continued Sidney, 
 " you shall keep for some time. Later, I shall tell you 
 when to change it. You need have no fear; in spite 
 of our sinister and gloomy appearance, we are honest 
 men, working for a great end." 
 
 As he uttered these words, Sidney's eyes lighted up, 
 his brow became radiant, his whole face was illumined ; 
 
 223 
 
sb ib «b sfc 4: d? 4? 4? «? 4? 4? :*? :fc db d: ^: tir tt? tS: :f? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 but soon, as if ashamed of this effusion, he resumed his 
 cool look and his cold attitude. 
 
 M You may trust to my honour, madam ; I have not 
 saved you from death to devote you to infamy ; since 
 murder or suicide threw you into the river, you must 
 emerge from it radiant and pardoned ; with me danger 
 becomes glorious, and if you die in the fulfilment of 
 the work we are engaged in, future ages will bless your 
 name." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," answered Edith ; " now that every tie 
 which connected me with life is broken, I feel I can 
 live for devotion only; my life is over; I have neither 
 end, hope, nor reason for living ; everything is impossi- 
 ble to me, even death, since God suspended me over 
 the abyss without letting me sink into it. Do as you 
 please with your handmaid ; let your will be mine; let 
 your soul take the place of my empty heart ; be my 
 thought ; I forswear myself from this day, and forget 
 who I am ; I shall forget even my own name, and take 
 the one you shall give me ; a phantom may be baptised 
 at will ; I shall stand and go on until the day when 
 you shall say to me : ' Spectre, I need thee no longer ; 
 lie down again in thy tomb.' " 
 
 " I accept you," said Sir Arthur Sidney, in an almost 
 
 224 
 
~U 4; 4; 4; 4; 4» 4* 4j 4j 4, 4» 4.4; jgy jg; 4; 4; 4* 4*4; 4;4» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 solemn and religious tone ; " and since, poor broken 
 young soul, you give yourself unreservedly, and devote 
 yourself to our task with ardour and faith, I promise 
 you, if not happiness, at least rest. Henceforth 
 you shall inhabit this little room by my cabin, and 
 in the eyes of the crew, which has not seen you 
 in your woman's dress, you shall pass for my cabin 
 boy." 
 
 Edith was installed in the small cabin ; her duties, 
 more apparent than real, were limited to fetching a 
 book for Sidney, or bringing him his spy-glass j the 
 rest of the time, leaning on the rail or perched in the 
 top, she let her glance wander over the clouds and 
 the ocean, which seemed small to her by the side of 
 her grief. The vessel sailed on, enclosed within that 
 brazen circle which the horizon at sea traces around 
 ships ; the sun rose and set ; the white horses shook 
 their foaming manes; the dolphins played in the ship's 
 wake like tritons and sirens ; from time to time a 
 grey streak, bordered with foam, shone far away to 
 port, looking like a cloud-bank coloured by a sun- 
 beam j albatrosses, sleeping in their flight, soared above 
 the masts or skimmed the waves, one wing in the 
 water, the other in the air; the farther the ship pro- 
 
 T 5 
 
 225 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ceeded, the brighter became the sky, as the Northern 
 fogs were left behind like vanishing spectres. 
 
 But soon everything disappeared, — the birds and the 
 outlines of the distant shores; and nothing was visible but 
 the sea and the sky in their monotonous grandeur and 
 sterile agitation. The Venetian song says, with won- 
 drous melancholy, that it is sad to go to sea without 
 love : it is both true and beautiful, for love alone can 
 fill the infinite; but no doubt the song did not mean a 
 hopeless, broken love, like that of Edith for Volmerange. 
 Deep sadness filled the poor girl's heart ; she could not 
 help thinking of the happy life she might have led, for 
 which God and society had meant her, and which a 
 complication of wicked intrigues had made impossible ; 
 she thought of Lord and Lady Harley, and the dreadful 
 despair of her noble father and kind mother ; the tears 
 flowed silently down her beautiful pale face, more 
 bitter than the ocean into which they fell. 
 
 By a strange contradiction, which will not astonish 
 women, she loved Volmerange more than ever since 
 that terrible night ; his fierce violence proved the great- 
 ness of his love; his implacable rigour pleased her; had 
 he been more indulgent she would have thought him 
 cold ; a man must love madly when he believes he has 
 
 226 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the right to slay. What hopes of happiness must Vol- 
 merange have entertained, since he could not bear their 
 being swept away ! What was he doing now, desper- 
 ate, filled with remorse, no doubt compelled to flee ? 
 What effect had the sinister and mysterious catastrophe 
 produced in society ? Such were the questions, ever 
 the same, and answered in a hundred ways, which 
 Edith asked herself as the " Lovely Jenny," sometimes 
 driven by a strong breeze, sometimes coaxing into her 
 sails the faintest of airs, proceeded towards her mysteri- 
 ous destination. 
 
 Benedict, on his part, thought a great deal of Miss 
 Annabel, and every time he passed Edith on deck, the 
 two looked sadly at each other, for each knew the 
 other was in grief. 
 
 At last Madeira hove in sight. Sidney sent a boat 
 ashore to renew his supplies, and to purchase a com- 
 plete outfit for Edith, — gowns, linen, shawl, bonnets, 
 — nothing was lacking; it was like a bridal trousseau. 
 Yet she was not permitted to leave off her sailor-boy's 
 dress. 
 
 Whether Benedict had thought it his duty to obey 
 the oath which he had once taken, or whether Sidney 
 had really converted him to his views, — he had ceased 
 
 227 
 
&&&&&& &&&&&'k& r Jk&&£:?k£:ik&4:&& 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 to rebel against the strange kidnapping which had 
 snatched him away so suddenly from happiness, and did 
 not seem to bear any grudge against his friend. 
 
 They would spend long days in the cabin, leaning 
 on the swinging table, covered with papers and mathe- 
 matical instruments. Sir Arthur Sidney, after long 
 meditation, would draw on a slip of paper complicated 
 designs covered with algebraic signs and reference 
 letters, which Benedict carefully copied in ink with the 
 greatest possible accuracy ; sometimes before he copied 
 them he would make remarks, to which Sidney listened 
 with deep attention, and which occasionally brought 
 about some change in the original plan. 
 
 Soon the two friends passed from the drawing of 
 plans to the making of a model on a small scale ; they 
 gravely cut small pieces of wood, as long as a finger, 
 the use of which it would have been difficult to guess. 
 When they were all cut Sidney put together very skil- 
 fully the separate numbered pieces which Benedict 
 handed him, the latter appearing to take an equally 
 lively interest in the work. After a month of this 
 constant labour they turned out a boat one foot long, 
 externally exactlv like those which compose the flotil- 
 las that children sail on the basins of the parks or the 
 
 228 
 
tib & ~Jk & & 4? 4? 4; 4? 4? 4. 4» 4? 4* 4? 4* 4. 4; 4; 4j 4j 4» 4* 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 royal gardens, — but internally it was filled with wheels, 
 tubes, and bulkheads. 
 
 The result, though apparently puerile, seemed to 
 delight the two friends greatly ; Sidney uttered a cry 
 of satisfaction as he fixed the last board. 
 
 " I think we have succeeded," said he, " at least as 
 much as we may be certain of in theory." 
 
 "We must test it," answered Arundel. 
 
 "Nothing is easier," replied Sidney, ringing a bell 
 placed near him. 
 
 Emerging from the forecastle, where he was busy 
 with a friend, in making a comparative study of the 
 specific strength of rum, Jack presently appeared and 
 waited, twisting his hat between his fingers, for Sir 
 Arthur's orders. 
 
 " Bring me a tub full of water," said Sidney to Jack, 
 who, surprised at the strange order, asked to have it 
 repeated. 
 
 " Your honour said a tub full of water ? " 
 " Yes, what is there surprising in that ? " answered 
 Sidney. 
 
 " Nothing, sir ; I had not heard you correctly," 
 answered Jack. " I will fetch it at once." 
 
 A few minutes later he reappeared with his friend 
 
 229 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Macgill carrying between them the tub full of water, 
 which they carefully placed at the entrance of the 
 cabin. 
 
 When the two sailors had gone, Sidney carefully 
 took the little boat and placed it in the water as seri- 
 ously as a child launching a ship of war in a basin. 
 
 But curiously enough, the boat, instead of floating, as 
 might have been expected, gradually sank and disap- 
 peared under the water in the tub ; a performance that 
 appeared to give great satisfaction to both Sidney 
 and Benedict, — though boats are not usually built to 
 sink. 
 
 Sidney, who noticed with enthusiasm that the little 
 boat had not sunk to the bottom, cried out : — 
 
 " Look, Benedict, it keeps just at the right depth. 
 My calculations were correct ; now I am sure of 
 everything." 
 
 His eyes flashed, and his nostrils dilated with noble 
 pride ; but soon recovering his customary coolness, he 
 pulled up his sleeve, plunged his bare arm into the 
 water, drew out the little boat, and carefully locked it 
 up after drying it. Benedict also seemed very much 
 pleased at the success of the operation, and from that 
 day a ray of hope lightened his sadness. 
 
 230 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 As for poor Edith, who was not in the secret of the 
 craft, her melancholy had turned into a dull resigna- 
 tion ; as I have said, she had no other distraction than 
 the prospect of ocean. 
 
 The voyage had lasted nearly three months, and did 
 not seem to be drawing to an end ; the Canary and 
 Cape Verde Islands had disappeared in the far distance. 
 On passing Ascension Island Macgill and Jack were 
 sent in the boat to the post-office cave, and found in 
 the bottle suspended from the ceiling a roll of paper 
 covered with enigmatical signs, which they handed to 
 Sir Arthur Sidney. 
 
 Sir Arthur easily read the curious writing, after hav- 
 ing placed upon it a grille which he drew from his 
 pocket-book ; he appeared satisfied with the contents 
 of the note, for he said to Benedict : " It is all right, 
 everything is going on satisfactorily." 
 
 A few days after they had passed Ascension Island, 
 a small gray cloud began to rise from the sea, like a 
 wisp of mist drawn up by the sun ; soon it became 
 somewhat denser, and its outlines showed more plainly 
 on the clear horizon. With a telescope it could be 
 plainly made out ; it assuredly was not a cloud, but 
 land ; the island rose gradually from the waters, and, 
 
 231 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 owing to the curve of the sea, showed as yet only its 
 mountain summits ; soon, however, it was seen in its 
 entirety, motionless and sombre, and girdled with foam, 
 in the centre of space. 
 
 Huge precipitous rocks, two thousand feet high, 
 overhung in volcanic masses the sea, which beat at 
 their feet and rolled with mad anger into the caves 
 hollowed out by its attacks ; it seemed to be conscious 
 of what it was doing, so fiercely did the billows return 
 to the charge. The cloud-capped tops of these granite 
 masses, shrouded at their feet by a mist of spray, were 
 tipped with sunbeams ; the gigantic steeps and bare 
 slopes, on which the lava of extinct volcanoes ran in 
 furrows, like the cicatrices of former wounds, the 
 summits, worn by torrential rains, formed a picture at 
 -once majestically savage and sinister ; it had a grandly 
 horrible look. The rocks seemed to have fallen from 
 heaven on the day the giants endeavoured to scale it ; 
 they were still shattered and burned by the thunder- 
 bolts; evidently something superhuman was going on 
 there, — some incredible vengeance, a torture like that 
 of the cross of the Caucasus ; involuntarily the eye 
 sought upon the summits the colossal silhouette of a 
 chained Prometheus. Indeed it would not have taken 
 
 232 
 
m C^7 ^7 *A* "A* "l" *4* tf? tfctl? «t» * M* jbtfe 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 much fancy to see in the wind-shaped cloud which 
 hovered above the broken crest, like a human form, 
 the fierce vulture itself. 
 
 In point of fact a Prometheus, as great as his pro- 
 totype, was suffering there, crucified for five years 
 past by strength and power, as in the tragedy of 
 Aeschylus. 
 
 The whole crew was on deck. Sir Arthur Sidney 
 gazed at the black island with an unfathomable glance 
 of mingled shame, grief, and hope •, he grasped mutely 
 the hand of Benedict standing by him and apparently 
 also a prey to deep emotion. Captain Peppercull had 
 left a gallon of rum half emptied, a most striking mark 
 of his mental perturbation. 
 
 Orders were given to cast anchor opposite the town, 
 the grey houses of which showed within the deep 
 ravine between the mountains, open at this place alone, 
 for everywhere else the hills surround the island like a 
 girdle of towers and bastions. 
 
 Edith, who had lived aboard the " Lovely Jenny " 
 in absolute isolation, and had no knowledge of the dis- 
 tance traversed by the ship, moved by curiosity at the 
 sight of land, timidly approached Sir Arthur Sidney, 
 who, unable to detach his glance from the prospect 
 
 233 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 before him, placed his hand on her arm, for he paid 
 no attention to her. She said to him, in a somewhat 
 trembling voice, for she never spoke to him first : — 
 
 " What is the name of that island ? " 
 
 " That island," replied Sir Arthur Sidney, in a sin- 
 gular tone, as he came out of his reverie, " that island 
 is called St. Helena." 
 
 234 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 tfc 4; db & £ ir 4?ir^tfc^rtfcdb4rdbdb4?* 4: tfc^b 
 
 XVI 
 
 ST. HELENA," sighed Edith, whose eyes were 
 wet with tears. 
 
 " Yes," answered Sidney, noting with interest 
 the effect produced on Edith by the magical name. 
 
 41 Oh ! what a dreadful place," continued Edith, 
 clasping her hands. 
 
 " Dreadful, indeed," cried Sir Arthur, his eyes still 
 fixed upon her. 
 
 " It would be cruel to take criminals to such a spot." 
 
 " Yet they have transported genius there," said Sir 
 Benedict Arundel, taking part in the conversation. 
 
 " Shame on our nation," went on Sidney, as if to 
 himself, and sunk in deep thought; "but patience — " 
 
 He stopped as if he were afraid of saying too much, 
 then resumed his impassible look. 
 
 A few minutes later he ordered Captain Peppercull 
 to get the boat ready, and returned to the cabin with 
 Edith and Sir Benedict Arundel. 
 
 Sidney took Edith's hand, and in the presence of 
 Benedict said to her : — 
 
 235 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " You have given me the right to make use of your 
 devotion and intelligence in carrying out my end ; you 
 promised to trust me blindly, and to walk with closed 
 eyes on the road in which I shall place you, even 
 though it should end in an abyss." 
 
 " I have said so ; my life is yours," answered the 
 young woman. 
 
 "Very good," continued Sir Arthur; "at present, 
 however, I do not mean to make so serious a demand 
 upon you. The time has come for you to leave off your 
 sailor dress ; go to your cabin, in which I have had 
 put everything you will need." 
 
 Edith rose and went out. 
 
 Sir Arthur Sidney, left alone with Benedict, crossed 
 his arms upon his breast, as if to keep down the beat- 
 ing of his heart ; then he opened them to his friend 
 and said to him : — 
 
 " Brother, in case we never again meet in this world, 
 let us embrace." 
 
 Benedict advanced towards Sidney, and the two 
 friends clasped each other for a moment. 
 
 " When everything is ready," said Sidney, drawing 
 Benedict to the port-hole, " vou will cut down that 
 little tree which twists and blows in the wind at the 
 
 236 
 
tl? 5*7 «r 4? ^* ^ tl? «t? Tt? tfe *h ifc ^ »|» »|« 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 top of that black rock ; it can be seen a long distance 
 at sea. I am going to Tristan d'Acunha, or to the 
 African coast, at the mouth of the Coanga river, it is 
 nearer, to build the boat. It will take me two months. 
 During these two months the 1 Lovely Jenny ' will 
 cruise in these seas, and then we shall strike our great 
 blow." 
 
 " History will be amazed at it, and never — " 
 
 He was going to say more when Edith entered. 
 Benedict and Sidney remained astounded at her beauty ; 
 her man's dress had until then prevented both the 
 friends — absorbed, the one by a great thought, the 
 other by a great grief — from noting how very ador- 
 able and charming Miss Edith was. 
 
 The time that had elapsed had, if not appeased, at 
 least softened her grief ; the only traces of the horrible 
 catastrophe were the delicate pallor of her cheeks, and 
 a light azure tint on the temples, that brought out the 
 distinction of her lovely face by making the soul within 
 it in some sort visible. 
 
 She was dressed with the most charming simplicity : 
 a gown of white India muslin, dotted with little sprays 
 of flowers, set off her young and supple figure, and fell 
 in abundant folds over her hips ; a bonnet of fine 
 
 237 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Manila straw, trimmed with rose-coloured ribbons, 
 framed in the soft oval of her face ; and over her 
 shoulders was draped a China shawl. 
 
 As she caught the admiring glances of Sidney and 
 Benedict, Miss Edith felt her pale cheeks blush ; the 
 woman was being re-born in her. 
 
 " You are lovely," Sidney could not help saying. 
 " Now you shall leave with Benedict ; you shall pass for 
 his sister or his wife. I think his wife would be better, 
 and that is what you shall be called. You will take a 
 house in Jamestown, and a country-house as near Long- 
 wood as possible ; later on Benedict will tell you what 
 you have to do." 
 
 " I shall obey," replied the young woman, somewhat 
 troubled at the thought of passing for Benedict's wife, 
 and living alone under the same roof with a young and 
 handsome man. 
 
 Then with the humility of a pure soul, ever unjust 
 to itself, she said to herself that she had no right to con- 
 sider the situation equivocal, and that, after all, Xavier's 
 mistress had no right to be so very scrupulous. 
 
 « Come," said Sidney, taking Edith by the hands and 
 leading her to Benedict, " it is time for the bride and 
 bridegroom to go : the boat is ready alongside." 
 
 238 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Then with his characteristically serene smile he said 
 to his friend : — 
 
 " Confess that if I took a bride from you, I have 
 given you back one who is no less beautiful." 
 
 Benedict turned pale at this embarrassing remark, but 
 restrained himself, for he knew that nothing was farther 
 from Arthur's thought than even the most innocent sar- 
 casm ; and looking at Miss Edith he could not help 
 thinking she was in no wise inferior to Miss Annabel 
 Vyvyan. 
 
 Edith, without being quite conscious of it, felt a cer- 
 tain pleasure in again wearing the dress of her sex. 
 The white gown, the fine straw bonnet, the knots of 
 ribbon brightened her in spite of herself; the thought 
 of landing was pleasant. A long sea passage is so 
 monotonous that even the most arid and inhospitable 
 place is to be preferred to that of a ship ; and for three 
 months past Edith had seen nothing but sky and water. 
 
 When she found herself in the stern-sheets of the 
 boat, by Sir Benedict Arundel's side, she experienced a 
 sense of comfort and freedom, and a brighter expression 
 illumined her lovely face, usually so melancholy. 
 
 The sea was fairly smooth, and the boat, pulled by 
 six vigorous seamen, drew near the shore, shot alongside 
 
 239 
 
4: ££££££ 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the landing-place, and Benedict held out his hand to 
 Edith to help her out. Jack and Saunders loaded on 
 the shoulders of a pair of copper-coloured fellows the 
 boxes, which Sir Arthur had filled with everything 
 necessary for the installation of the young couple. 
 
 Saunders soon found a suitable house in the town, and 
 there the young couple, after having satisfied the author- 
 ities by the exhibition of perfectly regular papers, 
 provided by the far-sighted Sidney, settled down under 
 the name of IVIr. and Mrs. Smith. 
 
 The tale told by Jack was that Mrs. Smith, who was 
 going to India with her husband, to visit the great indigo 
 estates they possessed in that country, had been so tried 
 by the sea that she had asked to rest, for a month or 
 two, on the nearest habitable land met with, before she 
 resumed a voyage from which she suffered so much. 
 
 That very evening Sir Arthur Sidnev set sail, and the 
 "Lovely Jenny " soon disappeared in the blue distance. 
 Benedict, leaning at the window of his new dwelling, 
 which looked out on the sea, followed with his eyes the 
 vessel, that grew smaller and smaller, until a gull's wing 
 would have sufficed to conceal it. 
 
 The house inhabited by the supposed husband and 
 wife was exactly like a Chelsea or Ramsgate house, 
 
 240 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 thanks to the obstinacy peculiar to the English race, 
 which neither distance nor climate can overcome. The 
 walls were of that yellow brick which in London wor- 
 ries the stranger's eyes; and the internal arrangements 
 were exactly the same as if the house were built opposite 
 Temple Bar, or near Trinity Church. The only con- 
 cession to the climate consisted of a striped blue awning, 
 shading the entrance door, — and the substitution of 
 Philippine mattings for woollen carpets. 
 
 In the arid, dry garden was a row of tamarisks, the 
 delicate, verdigrised, lace-like leaves of which trembled at 
 the least breath, and cast a slight shade upon the dusty 
 sand, in which languished a few thirsty flowers cultivated 
 by a Malay gardener. 
 
 Sir Benedict Arundel and Miss Edith felt very strange 
 when they found themselves alone at table, placed, in 
 conjugal fashion, opposite each other, and served by a 
 silent attendant. This sudden intimacy, springing from 
 their supposed marriage, and perfectly natural under 
 those circumstances, amazed and frightened them, though 
 possibly it also unconsciously pleased them. The com- 
 bination of unusual events, which had brought about this 
 impossible situation, had probably not occurred since 
 the earth began revolving round the sun ; and even now, 
 
 16 241 
 
*4* *4* »A» »4» »J-» »i *• «X% (J* «4» ^ ^ »4» »^ »4» »4» #§» *j« 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 they had not yet fathomed its full strangeness, for Arundel 
 and Miss Edith did not know that they were, the one a 
 wifeless husband, the other a husbandless wife; for 
 Benedict, drawn away by Sidney, had not entered the 
 church of St. Margaret ; and the two fair brides alone 
 had met under the dark porch. 
 
 What they did know was that they were eight 
 thousand miles from home, on the gloomy island of St. 
 Helena, compelled by the remorseless working-out of a 
 mysterious scheme to live day and night under the same 
 roof, — both young, handsome, and loveless. 
 
 The meal over, they visited the house more carefully 
 and saw that there was but a single bedroom. Edith, 
 with her English modesty, blushed ; Benedict stopping 
 on the threshold, and understanding the embarrassment 
 of his supposed wife, said: — 
 
 " I shall have a hammock hung up for myself in the 
 upper room." 
 
 Edith, reassured, smiled gently, and threw her scarf 
 on the bed, by way of taking possession. 
 
 Then they went down into the garden, where they 
 walked up and down the long tamarisk walk, with the 
 satisfaction of people who for three months have had 
 their walks bounded by the narrow quarter-deck of a ship. 
 
 242 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Edith's arm rested on Arundel's, for she stumbled, 
 unaccustomed as she now was to walking ; and certainly 
 Annabel and Volmerange would have been amazed at 
 seeing the couple traversing the solitary walk in appar- 
 ent conjugal intimacy. 
 
 A few days thus passed ; Edith had made up her 
 mind to consider Benedict as a brother ; on his part, 
 Benedict accepted her as a sister; yet a greater attraction 
 than they were aware of was drawing them towards each 
 other. 
 
 Spending almost the whole of their days together, they 
 ended by confiding in each other ; Benedict told Edith 
 of his love for Annabel, and the way she had been sep- 
 arated from him : Edith told him of her marriage in the 
 sombre church of St. Margaret. 
 
 " What, was it your carriage that crossed mine before 
 the portal ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Edith. 
 
 " What a strange coincidence, — the wedding which 
 everything seemed to lead up to, did not take place ; 
 those who were to be united, were separated, and those 
 who were separated are united; couples are made and 
 unmade in spite of choice and will. We who are not 
 in love with each other, for our hearts are given away, 
 
 243 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 are here in the same house, alone, free, thousands of 
 miles from those we love and whom we shall never 
 again see." 
 
 "That is true," replied Edith, thoughtfully ; "fate 
 has indeed strange caprices." 
 
 The supposed husband and wife henceforth had one 
 of those convenient subjects of conversation in which 
 a growing inclination finds a way of making indirect 
 confessions, which may be confirmed or retracted ac- 
 cording to whether they succeed or not. Benedict 
 spoke of Annabel and her beauty, in words which, after 
 all, might have applied to Edith equally well ; he vented 
 his regrets and painted his passion in the liveliest man- 
 ner, and in burning language. His companion, atten- 
 tive and deeply interested, listened to his passionate 
 eloquence with the less hesitation that it was not 
 directly intended for her. 
 
 She replied to it by protestations of love for Vol- 
 merange, whose anger she acknowledged having justlv 
 deserved, for not having been entirely frank with him. 
 In these ambiguous conversations each showed his 
 tenderness, his love, his capacity for devotion, and dis- 
 played fearlessly the treasures of his soul. Under the 
 protection of the names of Annabel and Volmerange, 
 
 244 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 they indulged in subtle amorous metaphysics ; theii 
 passion, unknown to themselves, and concealed behind 
 that mask, enjoyed the freedom of a masked ball. 
 Little by little Edith was taking Annabel's place, and 
 Benedict that of Volmerange. 
 
 It should be said for them that they were not con- 
 scious of the change, and yielded the more willingly to 
 the charm attracting them one to the other, because 
 they believed it perfectly safe, and were sure they could 
 never love each other. If Benedict had been asked 
 whether he loved Annabel as much as ever he would 
 have replied, " Yes," with heartfelt sincerity ; and had 
 Edith been questioned, she would also have sworn that 
 her passion for Volmerange was in no wise diminished. 
 
 A few weeks passed by with magical swiftness. 
 Before parting at night they would shake hands in 
 fraternal fashion, and each withdraw to his room with 
 a sigh and a sort of indefinable sadness. Once Bene- 
 dict said laughingly to Miss Edith: — 
 
 "Mrs. Smith, I claim my rights as a husband; I 
 should like to kiss your brow." 
 
 The young woman bent forward without a word, 
 and offered her head submissively to Benedict's lips ; 
 the kiss lighted half upon her satin brow, half upon her 
 
 245 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 silky, scented hair. Then with a movement like a 
 frightened doe, she abruptly returned to her room and 
 closed the door. 
 
 That night Benedict did not sleep well. 
 
 Meanwhile, however, Sir Arthur's instructions were 
 being literally carried out ; a country-house, as near 
 over the dwelling of the illustrious prisoner as the Eng- 
 lish allowed, had been rented, and the pretended Mrs. 
 Smith withdrew to it, on the pretext that she lacked air 
 in the narrow confines of Jamestown. 
 
 Benedict remained in town for some days, apparently 
 busy with commercial affairs. Edith, accompanied by 
 a mulatto servant, went every day, at the same hour, 
 as Benedict had told her to do, for a walk which took 
 her as close as possible to Longwood. 
 
 " Especially do not forget to carry or wear in your 
 straw bonnet, a bouquet of violets," Benedict told her 
 as he left, and as there happened to be a bed of violets 
 in the garden of the country-house, the order was easily 
 carried out. 
 
 For several days Edith's walk proved barren of 
 results; the prisoner, ill and weaker, did not come 
 out. 
 
 Impatient to learn the result of Edith's perambula- 
 
 246 
 
»b sb tb db tl? tb t£r wbtl?d^tl? !l»tt ?dbi t?dbtl»tl?db db «lfdb 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 tions, and perhaps also impelled by some other motive, 
 Sir Benedict Arundel had joined her in the country- 
 house, and every time she returned from her walk, he 
 questioned her eagerly, but the reply was invariably the 
 same, — 
 
 " I have seen nothing but the eagles soaring in the 
 air, and the albatrosses over the waters." 
 
 Finally, one day at a turn in the road, Edith found 
 herself face to face with the imperial captive, who 
 seemed to walk with difficulty, followed at a distance 
 by his trusted companions, and guarded from afar by 
 red-coated sentinels. A marble pallor covered his thin 
 features, which, accentuated by grief, had resumed the 
 beautiful lines of youth. 
 
 He looked at Edith and smiling with irresistible 
 grace, took two or three steps towards her and bowed. 
 In presence of the fallen god, Edith, who might per- 
 haps have preserved her self-possession in the radiant 
 light surrounding the emperor, was troubled, turned 
 pale, and almost fainted. 
 
 The hero advanced towards her and said to her in a 
 grave, sombre voice, like an inhabitant of Olympus 
 speaking to a mortal, — 
 
 « Madam, reassure yourself." 
 
 247 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 And noting the bouquet of violets she held in her 
 hand, — 
 
 " It is long since I have seen such fresh flowers." 
 
 Mechanically Edith bowed and held them out to him. 
 
 " Their scent is sweet, but less sweet than that of 
 the violets of France," said Caesar, handing back the 
 flowers to the young woman, after having breathed in 
 their perfume. Then he bowed with noble majesty, 
 and resumed his way. 
 
 Dazzled by this imperial vision, Edith returned to the 
 country-house, and to Benedict's question answered, — 
 
 " At last I have seen him." 
 
 " What did he say ? repeat it word for word." 
 
 " He said the scent of the violets was sweet, but 
 less sweet than that of the violets of France. That 
 was all." 
 
 Benedict turned pale, so deeply was he moved by 
 these simple words. Without making any reply he 
 took a telescope and an axe, and started for the rock 
 on which the tree pointed out by Sir Arthur Sidney 
 showed its contorted silhouette. 
 
 He scanned the ocean with his glass. An almost im- 
 perceptible little white dot — was it a gull or a flake 
 of foam? — alone broke the blue solitude of ocean. 
 
 248 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " It is well," said Benedict. 
 
 And he struck the trunk of the tree with the axe ; 
 very soon he had cut down the tree, which fell from 
 the top of the rock into the sea, with a dull, lugubrious 
 sound. 
 
 249 
 
£ & ~Jb & i: & & & & i: rb £ d: db & *Jb 4: & 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 XVII 
 
 AT some distance from Arungabad, in India, at 
 about the same time as these events were 
 happening on St. Helena, silent shadows 
 were gliding, on a moonless night, through the reeds 
 and the jungle on the banks of the Godavari, in the 
 direction of an old, half-ruined pagoda, formerly dedi- 
 cated to Siva, but abandoned since the English con- 
 quest. Nature, emboldened by solitude, was reasserting 
 its rights over man's handiwork; the dust collected ill 
 the hollows of the carvings, and wetted by the rains 
 formed a loam for the seeds brought by the winds; 
 wall plants had clung with their tendrils, their roots, 
 and their thorns ; the roots of the shrubs, forcing them- 
 selves into the cracks of the stones, had slowly separated 
 the blocks ; mangroves, favoured by the damp, multi- 
 plied their leafy arches around; the thick, luxuriant, 
 vigorous vegetation of India was little by little conceal- 
 ing the monument, and turning the pyramid into a 
 hill. 
 
 250 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Faintly seen through the darkness, with its broken 
 outlines and its crest of brushwood, the ruined pagoda 
 had a formidable and monstrous aspect. The temple 
 of the god of destruction, itself destroyed, spoke, 
 silently, with sinister eloquence. 
 
 The main door, closed by palisades formed of boards, 
 by fallen earth, and an inextricable interlacing of vege- 
 tation, led to the belief that the building was deserted ; 
 yet lights occasionally appeared, moving past the half- 
 filled openings, and indicated that something was going 
 on in the interior. The shadows I have mentioned 
 proceeded towards one part of the wall, into which 
 they crawled and vanished. A huge stone, which had 
 been moved out of its place, gave ingress, and through 
 secret passages, cut within the thickness of the walls, 
 the centre of the pagoda was reached. 
 
 At the end of a vast hall, supported by squatty 
 columns, circled by granite rings and wearing, like 
 women, triple ropes of carved pearls, the capitals 
 formed of four elephant's-heads, stood, in a niche 
 framed in by a rich border of arabesques, the statue of 
 the god Siva, — a very old idol, rendered still more terri- 
 ble by its archaic form. It breathed anger and ven- 
 geance ; in two of its four arms it held a whip and a 
 
 251 
 
sb db i: & 4: tfc & 4: 4: 4: 4: -krh db * 4: tfc tfc db d: db tfc d: A 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 trident, and a collar of death's-heads fell upon its 
 breast; by its side Durga, its hideous spouse, rolled 
 her cross eyes, gnashed her hippopotamus teeth, and 
 stretched out her hands provided with claws, and 
 while twisting her body, bound with serpents, crushed 
 the monster Mahishasura, which tried to enfold her in 
 its loathsome clasp. 
 
 Set within the walls, innumerable horrible figures, 
 symbols of struggle or destruction, grimaced at the 
 spectator ; here the monstrous Mana-Pralaya, with a 
 beast's-head, swallowing a whole city in his enormous 
 mouth ; there, Arddha-Nari, with a chaplet of skulls 
 and chains, fiercely brandishing a sword ; elsewhere 
 Maha-Kali, holding in each of his four hands a head 
 cut off; Mahadeva, with a river flowing from his 
 brain, and bracelets made of vipers, was struggling with 
 the deformed Tripurasura, while Garuda beat its wings, 
 and sharpened its parrot-like beak and its eagle's-talons. 
 
 This was all that could be made out by the light of 
 the lamp hanging before the statue of Siva; in the 
 depths of the hall, filled with ruddy shadows, the eye 
 could only make out, beyond the circle of light, vague 
 forms, inexplicable interlacings, a hideous mingling of 
 legs, dragon's-heads, and monsters of all kinds. 
 
 252 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Within the circle of light, were grouped on tiger or 
 gazelle skins, extraordinary and fantastic-looking beings, 
 whose white eyebrows and beards brought out stiikingly 
 their dark complexions. The Brahmin cord hanging 
 around their necks marked their caste ; some of the 
 more austere wore in lieu of it a serpent's-skin ; all 
 were ascetically lean, — through their open tunics 
 could be seen their dried breasts, with their ribs pro- 
 truding like those of a skeleton. They remained 
 motionless, muttering prayers, and appeared to be 
 awaiting, with Hindoo phlegm, some important person- 
 age who had not arrived. 
 
 Behind them was a confused, copper-coloured crowd, 
 the first rows of which alone were visible in the faint 
 red light of the lamp ; the rest were speedily lost in the 
 shadows. From time to time a new-comer disappeared 
 silently in some group. 
 
 At last there was a stir; the crowd opened up, and 
 soon appeared on the spot where the light of the lamp 
 shone most brilliantly, three new-comers, whose arrival 
 was received with murmurs of satisfaction. The one 
 was an old Brahmin, as dried up and yellow as a 
 mummy, with inspired, flaming eyes, wearing a muslin 
 robe down to his heels. The second was a young 
 
 253 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 girl, as beautiful as Sakountala or Vasatensena ; a 
 transparent veil half concealed her rich costume, the 
 embroideries and spangles of which sparkled through 
 the gauze ; as she walked, her necklets, her bracelets 
 and anklets rattled with metallic sound. The third 
 was a handsome young man, fairer than the girl, whose 
 eyes were peculiar in being dark-blue ; he wore a 
 Mahratta warrior's dress, but much richer and more 
 ornamented ; a steel coat-of-mail protected his breast 
 and fell to the bottom of his yellow tunic ; full red 
 trousers, caught at the ankles, and a muslin turban 
 rolled around a steel helmet completed his dress. 
 He wore golden bracelets, a curved sabre with velvet 
 sheath, enriched with gold and precious stones. On 
 his left arm he carried a buckler of hippopotamus- 
 skin, studded with metal bosses ; in his right hand he 
 held a long musket, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and 
 silver. 
 
 The old Brahmin was, as the reader has no doubt 
 guessed, the same Daksha whose acquaintance we made 
 in London ; the lady was unaccountably like Priyam- 
 vada, and as for the Mahratta warrior, his features and 
 his blue eyes proved him, in spite of his disguise, to be 
 Volmerange, the European, a member of many clubs 
 
 254 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 in London, a descendant of the kings of the Lunar 
 dynasty. 
 
 Daksha advanced towards the three leanest and most 
 dried up Brahmins, and taking Volmerange by the hand, 
 led him under the lamp, the light of which formed a 
 sort of halo around his head, and presented him to the 
 personages who appeared to be the most prominent in 
 the assembly. 
 
 " He has the look of a Pradjati," murmured the spec- 
 tators, delighted with Volmerange's fine appearance ; 
 " he looks like one of the first ten creatures that issued 
 from the hands of Brahma." 
 
 Volmerange was indeed very handsome in his singu- 
 lar and picturesque costume. 
 
 " Sarngarava, Saradouata, and you, Canoua," said the 
 old Brahmin, " I have brought him of whom I spoke, 
 the descendant of the Douchmantas and Barahtas. He 
 alone — so the gods, touched by my long penance, have 
 revealed to me — he alone can bring back the former 
 splendour of our land ; he it is who shall drive away 
 the coarse barbarians, — Englishmen who profane the 
 waters of the Ganges, speak to pariahs, prevent widows 
 from burning themselves alive as decency requires, who 
 make their belly the tool of their life, and — a piece 
 
 255 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 of monstrosity that calls for vengeance, an abominable 
 impiety — who dare to feed on the sacred flesh of the 
 ox and the cow." 
 
 This last remark caused a thrill of horror to run 
 through the assembly ; the Brahmins raised their eyes 
 to the ceiling, and a low muttering of imprecations 
 sounded in the dark depths of the pagoda. The gods 
 of granite, partially lighted by the quivering gleams 
 of the lamp, seemed to frown and move on their 
 pedestals. 
 
 " Is everything ready for the revolt ? " asked Daksha ; 
 " are the weapons, horses, and elephants collected ? " 
 
 "The crypts of the pagoda, the existence of which 
 is unknown to any one outside our sacred college, are 
 filled with muskets, lances, and arrows ; the Mahratta 
 chiefs, who are not as well tamed as the European bar- 
 barians imagine, have furnished us with horses ; fifty 
 trained war elephants with their howdahs, camped in 
 the centre of a forest impenetrable to any who are not 
 acquainted with its recesses, are awaiting the signal," 
 answered Sarngarava ; " the province will rise like one 
 man." 
 
 " Oh ! venerable Trimourti, Vishnu, Brahma, and 
 Siva, thanks be to thee for allowing me to live until 
 
 256 
 
^fc'tlj'J? Sf? Si? «4« pjj j|y f|» «4» A «1» »|» A tf« >j» «!■» jiy ^t> «|» «^» 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 this day, old and broken though I am," said Daksha, 
 whose withered hands shook with pleasure. " We 
 shall succeed, I am certain of it ; the celestial powers 
 will assist our enterprise ; Brahma reveals the future to 
 me ; the god of war, in his last avatar, has assumed the 
 human form, and comes to our help from the West, 
 riding on a divine eagle, greater and stronger than the 
 bird Garuda, which holds the lightning in its talons, 
 and with its iron beak slays the battalions overthrown 
 by the wind of its wings ; that god shall shoot seven 
 arrows at the English, who will flee terrified, and we 
 shall become masters of the seven douipas, of which 
 the world consists, as may be seen in the holy book of 
 the Pouranas." 
 
 This curious address, delivered with an accent of 
 deep conviction, produced a great effect upon the as- 
 sembly. Priyamvada in particular, was delighted, and 
 thought she already saw arriving the marvellous bird, 
 bearing the hero seated upon its back. 
 
 " Barahta, we shall set thee again on the throne 
 of thy ancestors, " said Saradouata, " swear to fight 
 with us to your last breath, and if you are success- 
 ful to stay everywhere the slaying of the sacred 
 animals." 
 
 7 
 
 257 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " I swear it," replied Volmerange, in Hindoostanee. 
 
 " It is well," said the Brahmin Sarngarava. " And 
 now, people, listen. He who stands before you is 
 Barahta, a descendant of Douchmanta, the most glorious 
 and most famous king, the conqueror and tamer, who 
 lived familiarly with Aditi and Casyapa ; devote your- 
 selves to him, follow him and obey him to the death ; 
 if you are slain while carrying out his orders, you will 
 return to Pantchatouam, — you will return into the 
 elements, without the atoms of which you are com- 
 posed suffering ; and after your soul has been purified 
 in lovely bodies, and is judged worthy of Moucti, it will 
 be absorbed in the Divinity. Now disperse, and be 
 to-day at the place of meeting." 
 
 The crowd vanished as if by magic ; the Brahmins 
 re-entered the walls through the secret passages, and no 
 one was left in the hall but Daksha, Priyamvada, and 
 Volmerange. 
 
 "Would you prefer to spend the remaining portion 
 of the night here," said the old Brahmin to Volmerange, 
 " or set out for the mountain camp ? " 
 
 " Let us go," cried Volmerange. " This old cave, 
 with its grimacing monsters, is not comfortable. Give 
 me your hand, Priyamvada, for the devil take me if 
 
 2^8 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 I can walk without stumbling through these dark 
 passages." 
 
 After having groped for some time through the laby- 
 rinth of passages, which Priyamvada and the old Brah- 
 min appeared to be well acquainted with, they reached 
 an opening, and it was not without secret satisfaction 
 that Volmerange again breathed the open air. The 
 performance which had just taken place, so full of 
 meaning for the spectators, so ridiculous in his opinion, 
 had wearied him ; he found it difficult to look upon 
 himself seriously as a prince of the Lunar dynasty, and 
 but for Priyamvada, his lovely friend with the golden 
 complexion, he would most willingly have given up his 
 throne. 
 
 The elephant that had brought the trio was still 
 waiting patiently under guard of its keeper, plucking 
 at the foliage with its trunk and slowly swallowing the 
 leaves, rather by way of filling up the time than be- 
 cause it was hungry. With characteristic intelligence, 
 on hearing the steps of its master, it bent its pillar-like 
 legs and knelt down. 
 
 Priyamvada and Daksha climbed to the shoulders of 
 the colossal animal with the ease of people accustomed 
 to that kind of mount. Volmerange was not quite so 
 
 259 
 
±±-h"i:is 4: 4: 4: 4:4:4: -irtlrtlrsbtfcsb 4: 4:4:4: 4:4:4: 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 skilful, and the young Hindoo girl had to hold out hei 
 hand to help him. In his education as a sportsman, 
 which had been very thorough, my hero had not given 
 a thought to this kind of riding. 
 
 The keeper, crouching on the skull of the huge 
 animal, drove in his anker, and the elephant started 
 off at a rhythmic trot or amble, the steadiness of which 
 would have worn down the fastest running horse. 
 From time to time it stretched out its trunk, and broke 
 a creeper or branch which was in the way, or if the 
 path was too narrow it leaned against the obstructing 
 tree and broke it down ; at other times it trampled 
 over the bamboos, that broke with a snap or bent like 
 grass. 
 
 Priyamvada, lying in the howdah placed upon the 
 animal's back, had fallen asleep on Volmerange's 
 breast ; as he was much taller than she, she looked 
 like one of those dainty statues of goddesses which the 
 gods hold in their arms : like Parvata on Mahadeva's 
 bosom, Lakshmi on Vishnu's, and Saravasti on Brah- 
 ma's. Volmerange remained motionless for fear of 
 waking the lovely girl, and gazed upon the strange 
 landscape outspread confusedly before him, and which 
 assumed in the darkness most weird forms : carob 
 
 260 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 trees, fig trees, banyan trees, babobabs as old as crea- 
 tion, mangroves, and palms mingled their foliage, 
 through which, as on a black spot, suddenly shone a 
 star or a bit of the night sky. 
 
 Seated by the keeper, Daksha muttered devoutly a 
 prayer for the success of the enterprise. 
 
 After two hours of travel, a reddish light began to 
 gleam between the trunks of the trees, indicating the 
 nearness of the camp where the first mutineers had 
 already collected. The sentries, hearing the noise of 
 the leaves and branches displaced by the elephant bear- 
 ing the trio, came forward to reconnoitre, and Volme- 
 range, Daksha, and Priyamvada entered the camp. 
 
 The sight was most strange, and took one back to 
 the days of the wars between Darius and Alexander. 
 A great fire of brushwood, branches, and broken trees, 
 cast a fantastic light through the leafy vaults of the 
 forest. Around the fire, arranged in a circle, fifty 
 elephants, picturesquelv lighted from below, stood 
 motionless, grave, and pensive, like Ganesa, the god of 
 wisdom ; scarcely from time to time did their great 
 ears move, and had they not occasionally lifted up 
 their restless trunks as they scented in the distance a 
 prowling tiger or an enemy seeking to enter the wood, 
 
 261 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 they might have been thought carved out of granite, 
 like their stone brethren that adorn the pagodas. On 
 their backs they bore howdahs, and their tusks were 
 ribbed with iron to prevent their breaking in battle. 
 
 Farther off were the Mahrattas and other Hindoos, 
 lying by their horses, and their weapons hanging near 
 them on the trees. 
 
 Volmerange and his two friends had not yet de- 
 scended from their tall mount, when a plaintive cry 
 was heard, immediately succeeded by a tremendous 
 shout. The elephants knelt of themselves to receive 
 their masters ; the Mahrattas sprang to their horses ; 
 every one ran to his weapons — taking up whatever 
 came first, a musket, a lance, or a bow. 
 
 Firing broke out to the right and the left ; the terri- 
 fied outposts were driven back on the main body, and 
 sepoys, supported by red-coated soldiers, were seen 
 running from one tree to another, to take cover and 
 aim in safety. The elephants, driven by their keepers, 
 dashed forward in every direction, breaking down trees, 
 and trampling under foot the enemy they met. The 
 English, for it was they, informed by a traitor of 
 Daksha's plans and the meeting-place of the mutineers, 
 were arriving on all sides and surrounding the camp. 
 
 262 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Soon the fight became concentrated upon the space 
 where shone the great fire, and the centre of the melee 
 was where stood Volmerange, Daksha, and Priyamvada ; 
 by the fierceness with which this point was defended, 
 the assailants understood that there must be the most 
 important personages. Eight or ten Mahrattas, who 
 had climbed on top of Volmerange's elephant, kept up 
 a continual fire ; Volmerange himself, helped by Pri- 
 yamvada, who loaded his musket, shot down an English- 
 man every time ; his valiant steed, taking part in the 
 combat, uttered furious screams, seizing sometimes a 
 man, sometimes a horse in his trunk, and throwing 
 him into the air, or else, bending forward, crushed a 
 whole squad of the enemy against the wall of rock. 
 Bullets rattled on its hide like hail, without other result 
 than making its ears bleed, as if it were tormented by 
 flies. As for Daksha, he held in his hand a sprig of 
 the sacred plant cousa, which he kept rubbing between 
 his fingers, while murmuring the ineffable syllable cm. 
 The confusion became inexpressible; muskets exploded, 
 arrows hissed, horses neighed, elephants screamed and 
 trumpeted, the wounded groaned, and the smoke, kept 
 in by the leafy vault, formed a heavy pall over the 
 combat. 
 
 263 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 A group of Englishmen, braver and more resolute 
 than the rest, attempted to scale Volmerange's elephant, 
 but the intelligent animal, backing up against a mon- 
 strous babobab, used its trunk like a flail, and struck 
 them down half dead from the horrible blows dealt at 
 their heads; those who escaped the trunk fell under 
 the bullets of Volmerange and the Mahrattas. 
 
 The struggle could not last long. Priyamvada, who 
 was loading Volmerange's musket, was struck in the 
 breast ; she did not utter a single cry, but the red 
 foam rising to her lips, marked her last kiss on Vol- 
 merange's hand, which she took and had just strength 
 to bear to her lips, after having held out to him his 
 second loaded musket. Volmerange fired and killed 
 the Englishman who had shot poor Priyamvada. 
 Three of the five Mahrattas fighting by the side of 
 Volmerange and Daksha had slipped to the ground 
 killed or mortally wounded. 
 
 His ammunition expended, Volmerange was now 
 hacking with his sword the heads of the regulars and 
 sepoys who clung to the elephant's ears or climbed 
 upon its tusks to storm the howdah. At last a sepoy, 
 crawling on the ground, got behind the courageous 
 animal, and with a sword as sharp-edged as a Damascus 
 
 264 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 blade, hamstrung it ; the elephant, falling backwards, 
 uttered a terrible scream, broke the sepoy's back 
 with a blow of his tail, tried to rise, and fell upon its 
 side. Priyamvada's body was hurled from the howdah 
 on to the heap of dead, as was also Daksha, who by a 
 miraculous chance had escaped unhurt. Volmerange 
 had let himself slip behind a tree, the branches of 
 which he used to break his fall j a riderless horse 
 passing by, he sprang upon his back and drove his 
 heels into its sides. The horse, which was of the 
 Nedji breed, went off like an arrow. 
 
 Daksha, who had never let go his sprig of cousa, 
 said to himself as he resumed his former attitude, — 
 
 " The business failed because I was too sensual ; I 
 should have put five iron spikes, instead of three, into 
 my back ; five is a more mysterious number." 
 
 The elephant, which was not dead although it had 
 fallen, sought with its trunk for the body of its young 
 mistress, which it piously replaced on the velvet how- 
 dah, after which it expired ; for a soldier had driven 
 his bayonet into its brain at the back of the skull. 
 
 265 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 XVIII 
 
 THE small white dot noted by Benedict, that 
 marked with imperceptible silvern fleck the 
 vast green mantle of ocean, was indeed the 
 " Lovely Jenny," keeping its appointment with com- 
 mendable punctuality ; it had already been cruising off" 
 and on for three days, within range of the island, at 
 such a distance as not to attract attention, though not 
 so great but that the ship could be made out, through a 
 strong glass, by one who knew of its being near St. 
 Helena. 
 
 Twenty times an hour Sir Arthur Sidney would go 
 on deck and look through his telescope towards the 
 black rock ; the thin outline of the stunted tree still 
 showed against the heavens. 
 
 " It is still there," Sidney would reflect, letting fall 
 the glass with discouragement ; but a few minutes later 
 he would again scour the horizon, and still on the 
 summit of the rock the silhouette of the tree showed 
 steadily. 
 
 266 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 "Well," said Sidney to himself, "I suppose the 
 password could not be exchanged, and my undertaking, 
 prosecuted with so much care and prudence, will fail 
 at the moment of success ! " 
 
 Carried away with feverish impatience he strode up 
 and down the quarter-deck, climbed the forecastle, and 
 again scanned the isle. Now the crest of the rock 
 showed angular and bare against the bright sky ; the 
 tree had vanished ! 
 
 This simple fact, suddenly answering a world of 
 ideas and projects, moved him so deeply that in spite 
 of his coolness and firmness, he was obliged to lean 
 against the rail ; a deadly pallor covered his handsome 
 features : but he soon recovered himself, and went 
 down firmly into his cabin. 
 
 There he wrote on a piece of parchment a sort of 
 testament, which he enclosed in a strong glass bottle, 
 which he sealed with a leaden cap; he then enclosed it 
 in the canoe which he had had constructed on the 
 African coast by a ship's carpenter, from the small 
 model I have mentioned. 
 
 When night fell he ordered the boat to be launched ; 
 Saunders and Jack having each taken an oar, and 
 Sidney the yoke lines, the craft proceeded towards the 
 
 267 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 island. On reaching a point where it might be per- 
 ceived, Sidney, Saunders, and Jack entered the low 
 cabin below the deck, for the boat was of very peculiar 
 construction and decked over. Having carefully closed 
 the hatch, Sidney touched a button, and the boat began 
 to sink, until the water closed over it in eddies. Outer 
 fins, worked from within, replaced the oars, and drove 
 the submarine craft, the steersman standing behind 
 plates of glass placed in the bows. A leather tube 
 ending in a floating buoy, which any one would have 
 mistaken for a piece of wreckage driven by the waves, 
 supplied fresh air to the narrow cabin ; a compart- 
 ment which could be filled or emptied at will by means 
 of a pump performed the function of an air-bladder, and 
 enabled the boat to descend or to keep at a given depth. 
 
 When Sidney knew by the darker colour of the sea, 
 that they had reached the shadows cast by the high 
 cliffs that surround the island, the boat rose again to 
 the surface, and as it was half submerged, the waves 
 washing over it, it would have been taken, if it had 
 been noticed, for a small whale or a shark travelling 
 close to the surface. 
 
 The party thus reached the rock at the foot of 
 which the waves were still tossing the trunk of the 
 
 268 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 tree cut down by Benedict, carrying it away and throw- 
 ing it against the rocks with endless play of foam and 
 spray. 
 
 Sidney emerged carefully from the hatchway, and 
 landing on a narrow, sandy beach, and clinging to the 
 asperities of the rocks, reached a platform several yards 
 above the level of the highest waves, where he sat 
 down and listened attentively. 
 
 For a few moments he heard nothing but the deep 
 breathing of the ocean and the flapping wings of the 
 sea birds, troubled by the presence of man at night in 
 that solitary waste. Presently some pebbles falling 
 from the upper portion of the cliff, rolled, fell down, 
 and shot into the water. 
 
 A dark form, clinging to the tufts of brush that grew 
 here and there, and to the cracks in the granite, was 
 descending carefully the almost vertical cliff and ap- 
 proaching Sidney. 
 
 Although the meeting had been agreed upon for a 
 long time, Sir Arthur, lest there should have occurred 
 one of those improbable betrayals that always happen 
 in such enterprises, cocked two small pistols in his 
 pockets ; the sharp sound caused the dark form to stop 
 in its progress. 
 
 269 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " Crabs walk backward, but they reach their destina- 
 tion," said a low, but distinct voice. 
 
 " Ah ! it is you, Benedict," answered Sir Arthur Sid- 
 ney in the same way. 
 
 " It is I," replied Benedict, sitting down by Sidney's 
 side. 
 
 " Well ? " said the latter, in a tone full of questioning. 
 
 " On seeing the bouquet of violets he spoke the 
 words agreed upon." 
 
 " It is well ; now we shall act." 
 
 " That is not all : that very evening a note, written 
 in cipher, of which you and I alone possess the key, 
 was thrown by an unknown hand into Edith's chamber. 
 The note contained these words : 4 Cesar is too ill to 
 risk the enterprise, and postpones it to the first days of 
 next month, to the night of the fourth to the fifth.' " 
 
 " Three weeks more to wait ! " cried Sir Arthur Sid- 
 ney. " Does he not know that the air here is deadly, 
 and that Prometheus would need no vulture to pick out 
 his heart ? Are you sure of the note ? We are so 
 surrounded with traps." 
 
 " I have brought it, you can examine it," said Sir 
 Benedict Arundel, holding out to his friend a paper 
 folded into the shape of a square. 
 
 270 
 
tl? cir "Jh ttr ^? r Jf? tiS?ttrtfetJbsS?il?s£riiirdbtf?t!b tj? si? A 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 "Good-bye, Benedict, in twenty days I shall be back," 
 said Sidney ; " I go back to my submarine boat, and will 
 cruise off and on with the ' Lovely Jenny.' In twenty 
 days the stain which Sir Hudson Lowe has made on 
 England's name shall be washed away." 
 
 Benedict climbed back to the top of the cliffs ; Sid- 
 ney climbed down to the shore, where the half sub- 
 merged boat was awaiting him, and on the rock, again 
 deserted, the sea continued to toy with the tree it was 
 tearing to pieces. 
 
 On the appointed day the " Lovely Jenny " re-ap- 
 peared on the horizon, but the heavens were dark and 
 threatening ; huge black clouds were spread like funeral 
 draperies ; the ocean, stirred to its very depths, rose 
 and moaned, and the wind uttered a chant of desolation, 
 like an invisible chorus ; it seemed as if the three 
 thousand Oceanides had come to mourn the Titan. St. 
 Helena, amid the foam that smoked around it as tripods 
 round a catafalque, was even gloomier than usual ; on 
 its brow the storm had set a sinister diadem of light- 
 ning. 
 
 Already signs had been seen in the heavens, as at 
 the death of Julius Caesar and Jesus Christ ; a bloody 
 comet had dragged its tail above the accursed island, 
 
 271 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 and the clouds, blazing in the furnaces of the West, 
 had assumed the form of great eagles flapping their 
 gigantic wings in the flames ; but never had Nature, so 
 impassible, appeared so moved, so terrified, so beside 
 itself as on that night. 
 
 The ocean hurled to heaven its bitter tears, the sky 
 wept with its cataclysms, and the gale summed up in 
 its great voice the despairing cry of humanity. In- 
 trepid as he was, Sir Arthur Sidney felt troubled and 
 discouraged in the presence of the formidable sadness of 
 the elements. What was happening, that all Nature 
 thus mourned ? What great soul was about to take 
 flight, bearing away with it the wrath of the world ? 
 What God, crying on his cross the lama sabachthani of 
 the last agony, caused this vast ululation of winds and 
 waves ? He dreaded the answer, and as he entered the 
 boat, pale as marble, a cold sweat ran down his temples, 
 his teeth chattered, and yet it was not physical danger 
 that troubled him. 
 
 The craft, hermetically closed, sank below the waves 
 or rose on their crests, and advanced, sometimes plung- 
 ing, sometimes floating, towards the rock where had 
 taken place the last interview between Benedict and 
 Sidney. An open boat would have infallibly been sunk. 
 
 272 
 
»A* #JU »4» *L* •A" *A» »1» ^ «1« »J» »4« ^» »A. »1» »1» rA» »A« »A» ri^» *fo 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 It was difficult to avoid being smashed against the 
 granite cliffs, and to land exactly at the little sandy 
 beach. Sidney and his two sailors made the most pro- 
 digious efforts. The air was beginning to fail, in spite 
 of the supply coming through the tubes ; their lungs 
 were swelling in their breasts, seeking for the vital 
 fluid ; their light turned dim, and Jack and Saunders 
 were pulling at the fins less heartily, while Sidney was 
 pumping hard to bring the boat to the surface. 
 
 The waves were breaking against the rocky coast 
 with terrific roar and thundering, and smashed heavily 
 against the sides of the boat, which they rolled along 
 their crests. 
 
 " Well," said Sidney to himself, "we are lost ; " and 
 he looked at his two companions in the dying light of 
 the lamp ; on their manly faces the same thought was 
 visible. 
 
 " Sir Arthur," said Jack, U it is very unpleasant to 
 be drowned like rats in a trap, but what can't be helped 
 must be endured." 
 
 Saunders nodded acquiescence. 
 
 Sidney raged at the thought that they were about to 
 perish so wretchedly because of a stupid tempest, at the 
 very moment of accomplishing the plan for which he 
 18 273 
 
db db db db d? tb db d? db d? d? d? d? db db db d? d? db db db db db A 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 had sacrificed everything; there occurred in him one 
 of those mad revolts of mind against brutal force, of 
 the soul against the elements, and he uttered in his 
 heart a blasphemy such as the giants must have uttered 
 when smitten by the thunderbolts. 
 
 The lamp went out. Jack and Saunders said : — 
 
 " Good-night ; lights out ! " 
 
 The boat struck heavily. Sidney, springing to the 
 hatchway, gave access to a puff of air mingled with sea- 
 water. The keel had caught in the sand, and as a 
 projecting rock broke the seas, the waters were less tur- 
 bulent here than elsewhere. Sidney managed to jump 
 ashore with the painter and made the boat fast to a 
 huge fallen block of granite. Jack and Saunders fol- 
 lowed him, and the three men climbed up to the high 
 platform where Benedict had met his friend on his last 
 visit. 
 
 There they were safe from the back-wash ; the tem- 
 pest could only insult them with its foam. They re- 
 mained for two hours on the rock, drenched, dazzled 
 by the lightning, soaked by the salt spray driven by the 
 winds, — Jack and Saunders, with the devoted impassi- 
 bility of dogs awaiting their masters' orders; Sir Arthur 
 Sidney, nervous, trembling, almost hysterical ; every 
 
 274 
 
& db rk :b is db db 4: 4: 4: is dbtfc tfctfc db ifc d? db db * A A A 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 minute seeming an age; biting his lips, tearing his 
 breast with his nails, as he tried to be patient. 
 
 The night wore on, the gale gradually passed away, 
 the weary sea was running less heavily. 
 
 " What can be the matter ? " murmured Sidney ; " it 
 will soon be day." 
 
 Indeed the dawn now shone pale along the lower 
 sky, and then the bloody sun showed above the heavy 
 sea, still disturbed by the night gale, its orb cut by the 
 undulating line of the horizon. In the distance the 
 " Lovely Jenny" was rising and falling upon the wa\es. 
 
 Day had come, but not the Emperor ! 
 
 275 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 £ db 4: & 4: 4; 4: 4? 4: 4: 4: 4r^r 4: sb tb 4: A db 4: 4: 4: :b d: 
 
 XIX 
 
 WHY does not Benedict send me word ? What 
 can have happened ? What unexpected ob- 
 stacle has caused our well-planned scheme 
 to fail ? " asked Sir Arthur of himself, as he strode up 
 and down the narrow platform, to warm his limbs chilled 
 by the coolness of the night. " To live so long, with 
 but one thought, one hope ; to devote one's self to it 
 absolutely, with the most complete self-abnegation ; to 
 give up for it love, family, and friendship; to sacrifice to 
 it every human feeling and one's own genius ; to put at 
 its service a mighty and inflexible will and forces that 
 could overturn the world, — then, at the very moment 
 of fulfilment, to be stopped by some idiotic obstacle : 
 yesterday, by an absurd tempest ; this morning, by some 
 foolish incident I cannot imagine, — a key, perhaps, that 
 would not turn in a lock ; a soldier who had been bribed 
 and who feels scruples after he has the money, and wants 
 to be paid twice over ; even less than that, it may be, 
 for no one can foresee the innumerable, stupid resistances 
 of thoughts to ideas, and of matter to mind." 
 
 276 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 While these thoughts passed through his mind, 
 Sidney was gesticulating wildly; he suddenly stopped, 
 crossed his arms on his breast, and remained for a few 
 moments sunk in deep thought. 
 
 " Suppose chance has a will, too ? Oh ! " he went 
 on after a pause, " in that case my will shall break the 
 other down." 
 
 While Sidney was indulging in these thoughts, 
 Jack and Saunders, very much less inclined to medi- 
 tation, were chewing their quid, passing it now into 
 the right and now into the left cheek, and gazing at 
 the sea with the attentive though apparently careless 
 glance of the sailor, who cannot help watching, even 
 when he is safe on land, the element on which his life 
 depends. 
 
 The gale had fallen, and the boat's stern, the bows 
 caught in the sand and held by the painter, rose and fell 
 softly upon the lessening heave. 
 
 " Come, Saunders, climb that rock, and stand sentry 
 up there. As for you Jack, get into the boat and pump 
 out any water that may have found its way into the 
 cabin." 
 
 The two sailors started to carry out Sidney's orders, 
 — the one climbed up, the other climbed down. 
 
 277 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 At first glance, the notion of a man ascending to the 
 top of the cliffs seemed absurd j but on closer examina- 
 tion the rock proved less vertical than it appeared ; it 
 sloped here and there, and resting-places seemed to have 
 been provided by Nature's industrious hands ; at the 
 least accessible spots shrubs, brambles, or plants offered 
 a hold to the climber. Saunders therefore quickly got 
 to the top, but the country was deserted, and he signed 
 to Sidney that he could make out nothing. 
 
 Jack soon pumped the boat dry, for in spite of the 
 heavy tossing of the night before, it had not been dam- 
 aged ; so if only the Emperor came nothing was yet 
 lost. 
 
 But the day passed without any one appearing. 
 
 It is impossible to express Sidney's sufferings during 
 those long hours of waiting. Towards midday he said 
 to himself: — 
 
 " Yes, it will come off to-night. No doubt yester- 
 day's gale made them think I would not put in ; the 
 wind was so strong and the sea so heavy. That 
 must have been the reason — I was a fool not to 
 have thought of it at first ; for indeed no one but 
 a madman like myself would venture out in such 
 weather." 
 
 278 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 This notion buoyed him up until evening, and he even 
 grew calm enough to eat some biscuit and drink some 
 rum, which Jack brought from the boat. 
 
 Saunders had seen nothing from his observatory. 
 The " Lovely Jenny," troubled at not seeing the boat 
 return, had drawn closer to the island than prudence 
 dictated, and was tacking off and on and signalling. 
 
 " Although I am a prey to the deepest anxiety," 
 thought Sidney, " Benedict was right not to come and 
 inform me of the cause of the delay ; his going and 
 coming might have excited suspicion ; they keep so 
 strict watch on this accursed island that the least impru- 
 dence might have been fatal on this supreme occasion." 
 
 Thus did Sidney pass the day, in alternations of hope 
 and despair, and in such lively anxiety that the hair on 
 his temples turned white. Evening came on, and the 
 sun sank gradually on the other side of the sea, after 
 having plunged through several banks of clouds, as a 
 shell bursts through the floors of a building ; the bloody 
 reflection was prolonged over the luminous waves, then 
 died out, and night fell with the rapidity peculiar to 
 tropical regions. 
 
 The hours of darkness seemed to Sidney longer than 
 endless eternities, and I cannot attempt to depict the 
 
 279 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 night he spent ; expectation, uneasiness, rage, despair, 
 and the wildest suppositions, struggled in the mind of the 
 unfortunate man until dawn returned. 
 
 A thought suddenly struck Sidney, and chilled him as 
 if a steel blade had been driven into his heart : Could 
 the emperor have mistrusted him ? 
 
 "Of course; I am an Englishman," he went on 
 with a bitter laugh that was almost maniacal. 11 Or 
 can he be worse ? " 
 
 Utterly careless of safety, at the repeated risk of fall- 
 ing into the sea, using his hands and feet, clinging to the 
 projections and shrubs, driving his nails into the smooth 
 wall, — he reached in a few moments the top of the 
 cliffs, and started to run in the direction of Longwood. 
 
 The environs of the residence presented .an unwonted 
 aspect ; the gale of the night before had uprooted all the 
 trees, which lay with soiled leaves, their roots in the air; 
 a feeling of sombreness, solemnity, and irreparable mis- 
 fortune weighed down upon the humble dwelling, in and 
 around which there were evidences of discreet activity 
 and silent agitation. The sentinels, leaning on their 
 muskets, no longer challenged, and seemed to have 
 relaxed their watchfulness ; remaining motionless in their 
 places they carelessly fulfilled a useless duty, rather 
 
 280 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 through obedience to military orders than through neces- 
 sity. The officers who passed did not reproach them 
 with their negligence. The residents of the island went 
 and came without being stopped, and Sidney crossed the 
 line of guards without any one paying attention to him. 
 
 He approached Longwood ; men and women, sus- 
 pending their steps, spoke in a low voice, with an air 
 of constraint, entered the house and came out in a few 
 minutes paler than before, their eyes red. 
 
 Sir Arthur Sidney, his heart filled with a dreadful pre- 
 sentiment, his limbs giving way under him, leaning 
 against the wall, stumbling, intoxicated by grief, followed 
 the crowd without quite knowing what he was doing. 
 
 But he had not gone many steps before a sorrowful 
 spectacle of majesty presented itself to his eye. Lying 
 in his war mantle, rather like a soldier resting before the 
 next day's victory than like a body which life has left, 
 Napoleon, stretched upon his state bed, wearing the uni- 
 form of the Light Infantry of the Guard, his breast 
 covered with orders and brilliant stars, his trusty sword 
 by his side like a faithful friend, — was dreaming his 
 first dream of eternity. A strange expression of seren- 
 ity and deliverance illumined his pale, marble-like face, 
 which the convulsions of agony had respected ; every- 
 
 281 
 
*** £ ± * * -k ± ± 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 thing which the intoxication of triumph, the pain of 
 reverses, the fatiguing thoughts of suffering can leave 
 in the way of material traces upon the human face, 
 had vanished. It was no longer the body of a man, 
 but the statue of a god ; death allowed the celestial 
 portion to show through the terrestrial ; the dungeon 
 was transformed into a tomb, the funeral chamber 
 into an Olympus. Neither Christ on his cross nor 
 Prometheus on his rock had a nobler or handsomer 
 face. 
 
 Oh ! great, imperial soul, what did you behold during 
 your first hours of immortality ? Who dared to meet 
 you, to lead you to God ? Alexander, Charlemagne, 
 Julius Caesar, your well-beloved Lannes, who called 
 upon you alone as he died, — or your dear Duroc ? 
 Or was it some poor grenadier of your Old Guard, 
 who thought his blood well shed when he found that 
 you remembered his name ? 
 
 At the sight of dead Napoleon, Sidney turned faint ; 
 the pinions of vertigo flapped noisily within his brain ; 
 he staggered forward, and falling upon his knees by the 
 bedside, kissed the icy hand that had held the sceptre 
 of the world. He was not interfered with, for kisses 
 bring no one back to life ; only, as he remained some- 
 
 282 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 what too long sunk in his grief, he was urged with a 
 musket-butt to give way to others. 
 
 He went out, wan, broken down, scarcely able to 
 drag himself, — more like a phantom than a man, 
 having aged a score of years in one minute ; his hag- 
 gard, lack-lustre eyes wandering around or sometimes 
 resting upon some insignificant object with puerile 
 obstinacy. He was amazed to find himself alive now 
 that the Emperor was dead ; he wondered that the sun 
 still shone, that the mountains had not changed their 
 shapes, that Nature went on with its work. As for 
 himself, he was weak, as after a long illness ; the light 
 dazzled him ; the air was too strong for him ; his 
 faculties, so long kept on a stretch, suddenly failed him ; 
 his firm, powerful will had lost its bearings and went 
 around like a crazy needle; a tremendous crash had 
 occurred in him. 
 
 His body, moved by a distant remembrance, took 
 
 him to Edith's country-house; he pushed the garden 
 
 gate, entered the parlour, and sank on a chair without 
 
 a word. Edith, whose pallor was made the greater by 
 
 the black dress she wore, advanced silently towards 
 
 him and took his hand. This mark of sympathy 
 
 caused Sidney's tears, which sought to flow, to rush 
 __ 
 
db i: 4:4: 4: 4: tfcdb 4:4:4:4:4? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 forth impetuously through the hand with which he had 
 covered his eyes. 
 
 At this moment Benedict entered, and explained to 
 Sidney why he had failed to be at the meeting-place : 
 he had been questioned and detained, his movements 
 having excited suspicion ; the Emperor's death and 
 lack of proof had caused him to be at once released. 
 But Sidney did not listen, for explanations had no 
 meaning for him henceforth. 
 
 He remained a few days longer on the island, seek- 
 ing to satisfy his grief to the utmost ; he followed the 
 funeral procession into the Valley of Fermain, into 
 which falls from Diana's Peak the brook the Emperor 
 loved, and where weep the willows whose sacr-ed leaves 
 have since been scattered over the universe. He 
 watched the English soldiers bear away the coffin on 
 their shoulders ; saw it lowered into the stone tomb, 
 and withdrew only when the black opening was closed 
 by the long and narrow stone. He wanted, by taking 
 in carefully all these details of the funeral, to persuade 
 himself that his misfortune was real ; he feared lest 
 later he should believe that the Emperor was not dead ; 
 he already felt that illusion arising in his mind, although 
 he had beheld Napoleon dead on his state bed, and had 
 
 284 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 touched his icy cold hand ; he meant to have a recol- 
 lection of the funeral and tomb to oppose to his own 
 fancies. 
 
 As he climbed the hill towards Hutsgate, he turned 
 around a last time, to look at the new white stone 
 under the soft shade of the willows, and said : — 
 
 " My soul is buried with that body." 
 
 At that moment a man dressed in mourning, and 
 speaking English with a French accent, held out a 
 paper to Sidney, and said : — 
 
 "Take this from him who is gone." 
 
 Sidney opened the envelope, sealed with black wax ; 
 it contained a small lock of fine silk hair, and a note 
 on which were written these words: — 
 
 " Console yourself, no one can prevail against God. 
 
 » N." 
 
 When Sidney looked up the man who had handed 
 him the paper had vanished. 
 
 So he sat down on the slope of the hill, and 
 sank into a deep reverie. When he arose his fea- 
 tures had become more calm ; a change had come 
 over him ; he returned to Benedict's house, and said 
 to him : — 
 
 " Forgive me for having turned you away from hap- 
 
 285 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 piness, in order to make you a partner in my mad 
 attempt. I free you from your oath." 
 
 And he drew from his pocket-book the yellowed 
 paper, which he tore and cast at Benedict's feet. 
 
 "Return to Europe; you are free; nothing now 
 binds you longer to our mysterious association ; follow 
 the inclination of your heart, be happy ; do not seek to 
 alter the book of Fate, — other hands than ours hold 
 the threads of events, and perhaps what seems to us 
 unjust is supreme equity. As for me, the car of my 
 life has been thrown out of its rut, and cannot get 
 back into it ; I was fit for one thing only ; that thing 
 has failed; it is all over; and whether I am buried 
 to-day, the day after to-morrow, or later, is no matter 
 — I am dead. Thought, feeling, and will have fled 
 and vanished. And you, my dear Edith, do you try to 
 find some reason for living — it may be you have 
 already done so." 
 
 As he said this, Sir Arthur Sidney looked steadily at 
 Edith, who could not help blushing. 
 
 "Love some one, a man, a child, a dog, a flower, 
 but never an idea, — that is dangerous." 
 
 Having spoken these words, Sidney shook hands 
 with his friends, and returned to the black rock where 
 
 286 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 Saunders and Jack, who had used up their tobacco, 
 were beginning to feel very weary. 
 
 Arundel and Miss Edith, left alone on the island, 
 did not hasten their departure as might at first have 
 been thought they would do, although St. Helena is a 
 pretty lonely place. Edith, thrown into the sea by her 
 husband, was in no hurry to return to Europe; Bene- 
 dict, although he claimed and believed himself to be 
 still deeply in love with Annabel, was in no wise 
 weary of life in the cottage, which a city merchant 
 would have declared uncomfortable, but which was 
 illumined by Edith's presence. The young woman on 
 her part, was astonished to find she thought so little 
 of Volmerange ; and the pair of them made incredible 
 efforts to retain within their hearts the love which was 
 escaping. 
 
 Already Benedict could not find in his memory the 
 lovely features of his beauteous bride ; Edith's always 
 mingled with them ; sometimes a sweet, veiled glance, 
 sometimes a tender and melancholy smile ; the two 
 faces melted one into the other. Edith was in pre- 
 cisely the same position ; when in her thoughts she 
 called up Volmerange, it was very often Benedict who 
 appeared, — indeed after some time, Volmerange did 
 
 287 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 not come, and Edith began to think that a man who 
 drowned his wife so summarily was not, perhaps, an 
 ideal husband. 
 
 Naturally the two young people insisted on anticipat- 
 ing uncommon happiness on their return to London, 
 when Benedict might at last marry Annabel, and 
 Edith, sufficiently punished, would be reconciled to 
 her terrible husband. 
 
 Usually these conversations began gaily, but they 
 generally ended in a somewhat melancholy mood. 
 Benedict did not like the idea of Edith returning to 
 Volmerange, and Edith was not greatly delighted at 
 the thought of the happiness which awaited her friend 
 with Miss Vyvyan. Such were the thoughts which 
 filled the minds of the young couple in St. Helena, 
 while a few yards from the house the weeping willow 
 drooped its leaves over the greatest tomb in the world, 
 — if there be any difference between tombs. 
 
 Their own tender feelings occupied them much 
 more than the effect of Napoleon's death upon the 
 destinies of the world ; even when at night they went 
 to Fermain Valley to contemplate the Titan's tomb, to 
 listen to the brook murmuring past the corner of the 
 funeral stone, and to watch the wind whirl away the 
 
 288 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 pale leaves of the melancholy tree, — they were thinking 
 of themselves. 
 
 A curl of hair falling upon Edith's neck, brought 
 out with its rich brown colour the pale rosy cheek, 
 and drew Benedict away from the great thoughts 
 which the tomb of the most illustrious of captains 
 ought to have inspired, while his admiring glance 
 promptly dried in Edith's lovely eyes the tears that 
 sprang to them at the remembrance of the great 
 captive. 
 
 They at first thought of writing to Europe, to inform 
 their friends of their return, but they thought better of 
 it and agreed it was wiser to come unexpectedly into 
 the midst of the general grief ; it would be a pleasant 
 philosophical experiment. They would be able to 
 judge for themselves of the depth and the sincerity of 
 the regrets they had excited ; they would see for them- 
 selves whether the places they had left empty had been 
 filled, and whether faith had been kept in Europe as in 
 Africa. Annabel must certainly be in tears, Volme- 
 range devoured by remorse. But suppose it should not 
 be so ? Suppose Miss Vyvyan, indignant at Benedict's 
 inexplicable disappearance, had taken back her heart ? 
 Suppose Volmerange did not feel the least regret at 
 
 19 
 
 289 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 having thrown his wife into the Thames? — what 
 would they do in that case ? Our two innocent 
 hypocrites dared not confess, even to themselves, that 
 they would be delighted if that were the case, and 
 that the proper thing under those circumstances would 
 be to go on loving each other, as they had been doing 
 secretly for the last two months. 
 
 They allowed one or two vessels proceeding from 
 Calcutta to London to pass by, and at last made up 
 their minds to board the third, — a swift sailing-vessel, 
 built of teak, copper-fastened and copper-bottomed, — 
 which took them in six weeks to Cadiz, whence they 
 continued their trip by land, visiting Andalusia, Seville, 
 Granada, Cordova, — still under the convenient appel- 
 lation of Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Everybody thought 
 they were married ; some gossip-mongers saying they 
 were two young lovers enjoying their honeymoon. 
 Their pillows alone knew the truth ; they were madly 
 in love, but the angel of modesty might have been 
 present at every moment of their life. Only they did 
 not hasten back, and what with visiting mosques and 
 cathedrals, Alcazars, palaces, going to tertulias and bull- 
 fights, — it took them some four months to traverse 
 Spain ; so that they reached Paris just in time for the 
 
 290 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 winter season. Finally, when they had no longer anv 
 decent pretext to delay, as they were exceedingly con- 
 scientious, they remarked to each other one evening: — 
 " Is it not time to go back to London, and to see 
 whether we are loved and forgiven, or replaced and 
 cursed ? " 
 
 The thought of meeting again those whom they pre- 
 tended they loved best in the world, made them so sad 
 that they felt ready to burst into tears, and to fall into 
 each other's arms, never again to separate. But the 
 situation was becoming embarrassing : Sir Benedict 
 Arundel could not go on calling himself Mr. Smith, 
 nor Ladv Edith Harlev, Countess of Volmerange, Mrs. 
 Smith, which is a very prosaic and commonplace name. 
 So the next morning they called for post horses for 
 Calais, and a few hours later were awaiting the 
 departure of the steamer. 
 
 291 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 XX 
 
 THE horse caught by Volmerange was a 
 thorough-bred, swift as the wind ; in a few 
 minutes it carried its rider beyond the centre 
 of the battle, or rather of the massacre, for it was now 
 only a confused battling of elephants, horses, and men. 
 The rout was complete. 
 
 For some time Volmerange heard the elephants 
 trumpeting in the distance, and saw on the ground, red 
 with the reflection of the burning wood, the shadow of 
 his horse, galloping before him like a strange, mon- 
 strous form he was pursuing ; the horse itself, maddened 
 by the deformed shape, sprang furiously forward, and 
 bent down to bite at it. 
 
 Little by little the fleeing men who, during the first 
 part of Volmerange's mad rush, had been galloping by 
 his side, were left behind ; the screams of the elephants 
 had ceased to be heard, and the night had resumed its 
 blue tint. Volmerange still galloped at top speed along 
 the banks of the Godavari, his horse with marvellous 
 
 292 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 instinct avoiding the pitfalls, jumping fallen trees, and 
 swerving from quagmires without ever diminishing its 
 speed in the least. 
 
 When Volmerange had ridden some twenty-five or 
 thirty miles from the battle-field, he pulled in his horse, 
 and guided by a light which twinkled on the river bank, 
 reached the hut of a fisherman, busy mending his net, 
 who prostrated himself before him after having helped 
 him to dismount. 
 
 The Count sat down against the wall of the hut on 
 a bench covered with saptaparna, and speaking to the 
 fisherman in Hindoostanee asked him if he could pro- 
 cure for him other clothes, and a boat in which he 
 might descend the river. 
 
 " I can do so," answered the fisherman, who had 
 recognized his rank by his insignia, "but your lordship 
 may not care to put on the humble dress of a poor 
 Hindoo of the lowest class, a wretched soudra, who is 
 not worthy of pressing with his brow the dust on your 
 lordship's road." 
 
 " The meaner the dress, the more suitable it will be," 
 said Volmerange, entering the hut. 
 
 Helped by the fisherman, he threw off" his warrior's 
 dress and put on the humble garments, under which it 
 
 293 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 would have been difficult to recognize the leader of the 
 insurrection. The fisherman, for greater safety, ad- 
 vised him to stain his face and hands with the juice of 
 the colocynth, as his comparatively fair complexion 
 might betray him. 
 
 Having taken these precautions, the fisherman cast 
 loose his boat, and the horse, that had come down 
 to the river bank, seeing that its services were no 
 longer needed, dashed off", after noisily breathing in 
 the air, towards the hill, where, no doubt, lay his 
 pasturage. 
 
 I shall not follow Volmerange day by day during the 
 course of his river trip, which was long. Let it suffice 
 that he gained the coast in safety, and after rewarding 
 the fisherman with one of the precious stones that 
 adorned the hilt of his sabre, he boarded a French 
 vessel sailing up the gulf of Bengal, which had stopped 
 at the river mouth to fill up with fresh water. 
 
 As he was returning alone, or at least accompanied 
 but by the remembrance of two dead women, — Edith 
 whom he had drowned, and Priyamvada shot by his 
 side, — he did not, although the distance was great, 
 take nearly as much time to return to Europe as did 
 Edith and Sir Benedict Arundel. 
 
 294 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 In spite of himself a secret attraction dragged him 
 back to London, which he had so many reasons to 
 avoid ; it may be he obeyed that singular magnetism 
 which men feel just as much as animals, and which 
 induces them to return to the same place after every 
 violent blow of Fate which has compelled them to 
 leave it ; like bulls, that always return to the querencia 
 until they die. 
 
 Although, owing to the rush of events, the Count 
 had not had time to mourn Priyamvada's unhappy fate, 
 as it deserved, it had, nevertheless, produced a deep 
 impression upon him ; he felt himself circumvented by 
 some dark fatality, and he resolved to dwell alone for 
 fear of bringing evil upon those he might love ; so he 
 lived in isolation, going out at night only, and then to 
 deserted places, — not that there was any reason why 
 he should hide, for before leaving for India he had sent 
 Edith's letters to Lord and Lady Harley, with these 
 words at the foot : " Justice has been done." The 
 family had spread the report that the girl, taken to Italy 
 by the Count, to enjoy the honeymoon, had died at 
 Naples of a fever caught in the Pontine marshes. As 
 this was in no wise unlikely, society, which does not 
 busy itself much about those that have dropped out, was 
 
 295 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 satisfied with the specious statement, — Lord and Lady 
 Harley's grief confirming it. 
 
 One evening the Count de Volmerange was walking 
 in the quietest part of Hyde Park. A young lady, 
 whose elegant and rich dress marked her as belonging 
 to the highest aristocracy, was walking swiftly, ac- 
 companied at some distance by a servant in livery, 
 along the pond which lies in the solitary portion of the 
 park which is frequented usually only by lovers, poets, 
 and dreamers ; sometimes also by pickpockets, for a man 
 of evil appearance, issuing suddenly from the shrubbery, 
 sprang towards the lady, and seizing her shawl, which 
 was fastened by a large jewelled pin, endeavoured to 
 drag away the rich tissue. The servant ran up, but a 
 blow, delivered in accordance with the best rules of 
 boxing, and which struck him square in the face, sent 
 him to the ground, a couple of yards away, his nose 
 and mouth bleeding. 
 
 The thief still pulled at the shawl, and the young 
 woman, almost strangled, could scarcely call for help. 
 Volmerange, happening to reach a turn of the walk, 
 saw the struggle, and reaching the group at one bound, 
 re-established the balance of affairs by a blow of his 
 stick, which slashed the thief's face like a sabre cut, and 
 
 296 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 made him flee howling with pain in spite of his very 
 natural desire to hold his tongue. 
 
 The lady was so terrified she could scarcely stand, 
 and Volmerange was obliged to give up pursuing the 
 thief, in order to support her. When she had some- 
 what recovered, Volmerange was about to withdraw 
 after having gravely bowed to her, but the lady held 
 out her hand, stopped him, and said in a timid and be- 
 seeching voice : — 
 
 "Oh! sir, be chivalrous a little longer j kindly take 
 me back to my carriage ; my poor Daniel is in a pite- 
 ous condition, and I am afraid that if these evil-doers 
 see me alone again, they may attack me once more." 
 
 It was scarcely possible to refuse such a request, 
 and although Volmerange had sworn to himself never 
 to trouble again with any woman, he could not help 
 offering, graciously enough for a misanthrope who in- 
 tended to surpass the savageness of Timon of Athens, 
 the protection which was asked with an insistence that 
 terror rendered almost caressing. 
 
 The carriage was waiting at a somewhat distant 
 point, so that on the way these two persons, so unex- 
 pectedly brought together, were enabled to become 
 somewhat acquainted with each other. And, indeed, 
 
 297 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 a woman with whom you have gone a couple of hun- 
 dred yards, holding on to your arm, and still agitated 
 by deep emotion, pressing you with her hand because 
 her feet are trembling, ceases to be a stranger. So 
 Volmerange, who had time to notice the beauty of the 
 lady, and to gather from the few remarks they ex- 
 changed on the way that she was clever, involuntarily 
 slackened his steps, when he saw, drawn up near one 
 of the park gates, a carriage with its shining panels 
 and its splendid coat of arms. 
 
 " I hope you will not refuse," she said after having 
 seated herself in the satin-lined carriage, and before the 
 footman closed the door, " to tell me the name of my 
 deliverer. I am Miss Annabel Vyvyan." 
 
 " I am Count de Volmerange," he replied, with a 
 deep bow. 
 
 Miss Annabel Vyvyan, for it was she, walked, 
 after the fashion of young English women, every day 
 in that part of the park, and though her adventure 
 might well have caused her to abandon her pedestrian 
 excursions, she returned the next day at the accustomed 
 hour. Perhaps she had a vague presentiment that in 
 case of accident her protector would not fail to be 
 there, for she went down the same walk as the day 
 
 298 
 
dt is £ sfc 4: rk is is is is is is is ti: 4? 4r 4: & :fc ti: is is is 4: 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 before, and skirted the Serpentine as she usually did ; 
 although she did not quite say so to herself, she desired 
 to delicately reward Volmerange's courage, the recom- 
 pense being the opportunity to meet her a second time. 
 
 Possibly Volmerange, for his part, fancied Miss 
 Annabel Vyvyan was not quite safe in that part of the 
 park, in spite of the footman who followed her, for the 
 next day he took his walk precisely at the same place 
 and at the same hour. 
 
 Neither of them appeared astonished at meeting, and 
 they chatted for some little time, — longer perhaps than 
 strict • conventionality allowed ; and Volmerange, for 
 fear of an unpleasant occurrence, escorted Miss Anna- 
 bel back to her carriage. 
 
 Not long afterwards the Count was regularly pre- 
 sented to Lady Eleanor Braybrooke, who thought him 
 charming, and noted with pleasure that he paid long 
 and frequent visits ; for the practical lady considered 
 that Miss Annabel carried too far her faithfulness to her 
 imaginary widowhood. 
 
 What I have now to relate violates the poetics of 
 novels, which admit of but a single, eternal love ; this, 
 however, is not a novel. Miss Annabel Vyvyan, who 
 had scarcely believed that after the disappearance or 
 
 299 
 
J : 4, 4; £ 4 : 4; 4. 4. 4« £ 4> 4»4; 4. ? 4; 4j 4, 4, 4* 4; 4. .J; 4 ; 4; 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 death of Benedict, she could ever love again, was quite 
 surprised to feel her heart — which she believed extin- 
 guished forever under the ashes of her first disappoint- 
 ment — beating again: the name of Count Volmerange, 
 when he was announced by the footman, always brought 
 a faint colour to Miss Annabel's pale cheeks ; at night, 
 when after two or three hours' delightful conversation 
 with Volmerange, she laid her head upon her lace- 
 trimmed pillow, and submitted to that little self-exami- 
 nation which every pretty woman indulges in about the 
 flirtations of the day, — she would acknowledge that 
 she had replied with too indulgent^a glance to a burning 
 look, discussed too long points of amorous metaphysics, 
 and had not withdrawn her hand quickly enough when 
 bidding good-night. When she had gone to sleep, her 
 dreams were filled with the face of Volmerange rather 
 than that of Benedict. 
 
 The two couples that had met at the door of St. 
 Margaret's church, had physically and morally crossed 
 over, and, by a curious symmetry, just as Benedict now 
 loved Edith, so did Miss Annabel love Volmerange, 
 who returned her love. Chance in these contradictory 
 combinations seemed to enjoy crossing human pur- 
 poses ; neither of the projected unions had been 
 
 300 
 
«i« rl* «,L> «A» *4» «i» >£* »l».^»l»#i»#l»»l»»l»#t»»l»#fy*|» #ij «4» eiy 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 accomplished, none of the pledges given had been 
 kept; those of the four who were apparently well 
 matched, had on the contrary, fallen in love with the 
 others. A mysterious power had substituted for the 
 rational plan of these lives, a fantastic scenario, extrava- 
 gant, illogical ; the unity of place and action had been 
 violated by the great Romanticist who arranges human 
 dramas, and is called the Unexpected. 
 
 Lady Braybrooke, who greatly desired to see Annabel 
 married, after what she called Benedict's affront, never 
 ceased to praise Volmerange to her ; her praise was 
 naturally accompanied by reprobation of the former 
 bridegroom. Nothing definite had yet been spoken, 
 but their hearts understood each other ; Volmerange 
 was a declared lover, and gave his arm to Lady Eleanor 
 Braybrooke, and when the aunt and niece went to the 
 theatre he always had a seat at the back of the box, 
 behind Miss Annabel. It must be confessed that the 
 finest settings and most pathetic scenes scarcely caused 
 him to look up, for his glance rested by preference 
 upon the sweeping lines of Miss Annabel's neck and 
 lovely shoulders. And so it was that, though he fre- 
 quented the theatre, no one was less acquainted with 
 the repertoire; and Lady Eleanor Braybrooke was 
 
 301 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 somewhat surprised at so intelligent a gentleman profit- 
 ing so little by the fine things which he seemed to 
 listen to so attentively. 
 
 Annabel did indeed, from time to time, feel a vague 
 dread of the sudden appearance of Benedict, who would 
 reproach her with her disloyalty : for no woman will 
 admit that a man can be faithless, though she herself 
 never lacks excellent reasons to justify a similar fault on 
 her own part ; but the months passed, and Benedict's 
 disappearance was still enveloped in the deepest obscur- 
 ity ; Miss Vy vyan had therefore gradually overcome her 
 dread of any posthumous claim, and .was beginning to 
 love Volmerange without feeling too much terrified at 
 the possible consequences ; while the latter had totally 
 forgotten Edith and even Priyamvada. 
 
 His adventures with the latter only occurred to him 
 as the hallucinations of an opium dream, — her golden 
 complexion, her painted eyes, her exotic perfumes, their 
 excursions on elephants' backs, their meetings in the 
 pagodas, the battles in the forest filled with creepers, — 
 all these strange scenes recurred to the Count as unreal 
 remembrances. Had Priyamvada lived, charming 
 though she was, she would certainly have proved an 
 embarrassment to Volmerange, for what would have 
 
 302 
 
±±£±4; 4; 4,4- 4; 4, 4j- 4, 4; 4; 4; 4,4,4^4:4, 4.4, 4* 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 been said, had he taken her to Almack's, of a lady who 
 wore ear-rings in her nose, and whose brow was tattooed 
 with gorothchana? Yet the Count could not help a 
 feeling of sadness, as he recalled the perfect beauty, the 
 ardent love, and the boundless devotion of the poor 
 Hindoo maid. These qualities, although somewhat 
 uncommon and irregular, did deserve some regrets. 
 
 During all these chances and changes, Miss Edith and 
 Sir Benedict Arundel, whom we left on the Calais pier, 
 had taken ship and reached England. 
 
 Before entering London, they had separated, and each 
 had taken a house in a retired section. Naturally the 
 fiction of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Smith could no 
 longer be kept up ; besides, Miss Edith was Countess 
 of Volmerange, and Sir Benedict the husband of Miss 
 Annabel Vyvyan, or nearly so. They had returned from 
 St. Helena, with the intention of resuming wedded life; 
 then they had also to carry out the philosophical test 
 they had agreed upon. 
 
 Volmerange had received a note from Annabel, invit- 
 ing him to call for her with her aunt, and to go to a 
 
 concert at Princess 's. He was dressed and ready 
 
 to go when his valet informed him that a veiled lady 
 desired to speak to him. 
 
 3°3 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 "A veiled lady? that is a curious visit at such an 
 hour as this! It is a long time since I have given up 
 frequenting the wings of Drury Lane, and this is not 
 the operatic season. Who the devil can it be? 1 sup- 
 pose some high-principled mother, who wants me to 
 engage her daughter as companion." 
 
 "What shall I tell the lady, sir? " asked the valet, who 
 evidently waited for an answer. 
 
 " Tell her to write her name, and what she wants, on 
 her card." 
 
 "I did so, sir," answered the valet, "but she replied 
 she did not wish to give her name, and would speak to 
 you alone." 
 
 " Is she young or old, ugly or pretty ? " asked the 
 Count, through an excess of precaution. 
 
 " As far as I can judge of the appearance of the 
 veiled lady, sir, she is pretty, and by the lightness of her 
 walk I should judge she is young." 
 
 The Count looked at the clock, and saw he had a 
 half-hour to spare before calling on Annabel ; he told 
 his servant to show in the mysterious person. 
 
 The curious visit, the determination not to give her 
 name, the veil drawn over the features, combined to 
 give a romantic turn to the adventure, which easily 
 
 3°4 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 captivated the lively imagination of the Count; and yet, 
 in spite of himself, he felt a vague terror, and shuddered 
 involuntarily. He happened to catch sight of himself in 
 the mirror, and saw that he was pale. 
 
 The room was large, richly but quietly furnished, and 
 lighted by a single lamp, the beams of which, concen- 
 trated in a single point, left the rest of the room in 
 shadow. It was raining, and the rain beat on the win- 
 dows in a way that recalled a certain tempestuous 
 night. 
 
 An anxious expectation, contrasting with the trifling 
 nature of his replies to his servant, filled Volmerange's 
 heart. When the door opened to give passage to the 
 stranger, the slight creaking of the hinges caused him to 
 start nervously. 
 
 The door was in shadow, so the Count could not at 
 first make out the lady who had entered, but with the 
 well-bred courtesy which marked him, he advanced 
 towards her. The light of the lamp now fell full upon 
 the new-comer ; the valet was right — it was not ugliness, 
 but a secret or modesty, which induced the use of the 
 veil, through which the beauty of the lady shone like a 
 fire behind a metallic grating. She could not be seen, 
 but one felt she was beautiful. She wore a long white 
 
 305 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 gown, which fell in fine close folds like those of Phidias, 
 and over it fell, with coquettish but funereal lines, a 
 black lace mantilla. 
 
 " Madam," said Volmerange, " will you not draw up 
 your veil ? Since you can trust me so far as to call at 
 my house at this hour, these precautions are useless : 
 your secret is safe. You will not let me know your 
 name, let me at least see your face." 
 
 " Do you wish it ? " replied the unknown, in a sweet, 
 penetrating voice. 
 
 The well-known accents made Volmerange shiver. 
 
 The lady, with a slender white hand, the shape of 
 which recalled innumerable remembrances to the Count, 
 began slowly to draw up the black folds of her veil ; 
 first showed her lovely chin, marked with a little mark 
 that filled Volmerange with dread ; then lips of the 
 brightest red, which carried his terror to the highest 
 point ; then the Greek nose and the lovely brown eyes 
 that made him mad with fright. 
 
 Holding her veil above her head with her beautiful 
 marble hand, in an attitude worthy of an antique statue, 
 she placidly presented herself to Volmerange's startled 
 gaze. He had drawn back and trembled like a leaf. 
 
 " Oh ! " he uttered in a low voice, " who are you?" 
 
 306 
 
«a» «4«» «4< J-» *4* »A» ^ «4* »t» ts?«lrs!btfeti?cS?Ss» dbscrsS? «§? t8»t)t? 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 " I am Lady Edith, Countess of Volmerange." 
 
 " No, you lie! you are a spectre ; your dress must be 
 wet ; you have come from the Thames. Go, leave me ! 
 I drowned you ; you know it, I had the right to do it. 
 What a strange adventure ! Is Dolfos going to come 
 back to life too ? It would be very funny," said the 
 Count, bursting into shrill laughter. 
 
 He was a maniac. 
 
 3°7 
 
^^^^^ ^ ^^^^^dbdbdbdbtfcdbtbtbtir^rtir 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 4:4:4:4:4: db 4:4: 4: 4r^dbdb 4:4:4? dbdb 4: 4:4:4: 4:4? 
 
 XXI 
 
 MISS ANNABEL, in her ball-dress, was 
 studying in the mirror the effect of a sprig 
 of Cape heath, coquettishly placed in her 
 beautiful hair; she had never looked lovelier; the 
 thought of the coming of the man she loved lighted 
 her beauty with an inward glory that made her radiant. 
 It is sweet at such a time to feel one's self beautiful, 
 and to increase love by admiration. Fair, rosy, daz- 
 zling, in a dress that seemed cut out of the petals of a 
 flower, in a gauze tunic more tenuous and transparent 
 than the wings of a dragon-flower and caught up by 
 sprigs of heath like that she wore in her hair, Annabel 
 Vyvyan looked like a sylph indulging in the fancy of 
 going out for the evening. 
 
 The maid, having done her work, withdrew. Anna- 
 bel, left alone, — for Lady Eleanor Braybrooke, having 
 much more to do in the way of repairing her beauty, 
 remained much longer than her niece in the hands of 
 her women, — felt that sort of restlessness which 
 people who have dressed too early for an entertain- 
 
 308 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 ment are apt to experience. She had written Vol- 
 merange to come at nine; it was scarcely eight, so she 
 had an hour of idleness and motionlessness to spend ; 
 for she might have disarranged her dress had she 
 indulged in any occupation. 
 
 By way of passing the time she took up a book and 
 read inattentively a few pages ; she opened the piano 
 and ran her polished fingers up and down the bright 
 ivory keys, but the sound of the notes and the vibration 
 of the strings made her nervous, so she closed the 
 instrument. One of her bracelets, somewhat too large, 
 slipped down on her hand, and was in her way ; she 
 went to her jewel-case to take out another ; as she 
 replaced the jewel-case, her eyes fell upon the letters 
 Benedict had written in the days of his courtship. It 
 so happened that this was the very anniversary of the 
 wedding so strangely interrupted at St. Margaret's. 
 
 This fact, recalled to Miss Annabel's memory by 
 the sight of the casket, made her sigh ; moved by a 
 melancholy fancy she drew one letter from the bundle, 
 and standing by the mantel-piece, for she felt chilly in 
 her low-necked dress, she began to read. 
 
 " Dear Annabel," said the letter, which had been 
 written during a short absence, " how am I to spend 
 
 309 
 
tb db tb sb sb tlb db db tbtb^b^tbt^tbdbtbtbdbtbtbtlrtbtl! 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 the three days which I have to pass far from you, after 
 having become accustomed to your sweet presence, 
 and seeing every evening your soul shining in your 
 eyes, and your mind in your smile ? The only thing 
 which enables me to bear with the separation is the 
 thought that soon we shall never again be parted, and 
 that our two lives shall flow on like two streams that 
 mingle their waters." 
 
 The reading of the note plunged Miss Annabel into 
 a deep reverie. 
 
 " What is the use," she said to herself, " of keeping 
 these tokens of a false love ? " 
 
 And she cast the letter into the fire. 
 
 She took a second, which she read, and which joined 
 the first in the burning coals. She thus traversed, 
 letter by letter, the whole course of her vanished love. 
 As soon as she had breathed the vague perfume of 
 remembrance that clung to the notes, she threw into 
 the flames the remains of a vanished time of happiness. 
 
 41 Nine o'clock," she said as she threw away the 
 last letter in the casket, " and Volmerange has not 
 come." 
 
 The paper caught fire, and owing to the coals burn- 
 ing away, rolled on the floor in front of the fireplace ; 
 
 310 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 just as it was about to go out, but revived no doubt by 
 some draft, the letter, more than half consumed, blazed 
 up, and the dying flame, seeking for food, touched the 
 hem of Annabel's gauze dress, and flashed like a ser- 
 pent up the folds of the light stuff. Annabel saw her- 
 self suddenly in the midst of a flaming light and a hot 
 atmosphere ; she ran to the bell-rope, but maddened 
 by terror and pain she looked for it on the left when 
 it was on the right, and the flames, excited by her 
 movements, enveloped her victoriously and trium- 
 phantly. The poor child rolled on the floor to try to 
 put out the fire, and tried to drag off her clothes as she 
 screamed. 
 
 At that very moment the door was opened and the 
 servant announced : — 
 " Sir Benedict Arundel." 
 
 u Save me, save me ! " cried unfortunate Annabel, 
 enveloped in flames. 
 
 Benedict and the servant sprang forward, but it was 
 too late ; and in the delirium of horrible agony she 
 fixed her terrified eyes on her former lover, and mur- 
 mured as the death rattle was heard : — 
 
 " Benedict here ! Oh ! this is too great a punish- 
 ment ! " 
 
 3i J 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The servant, terrified, half beside himself, sprang 
 out for a doctor and water, while Benedict endeavoured 
 to stifle the flames that still burned Annabel's under- 
 garments by wrapping her up in the table-cover ; but 
 when assistance came Annabel had just expired. 
 
 Benedict, half crazed, went away, unable to bear the 
 dreadful sight ; no one, in the excitement of the terri- 
 ble catastrophe, paid any attention to his coming or 
 going. — A few days later, Lady Eleanor Braybrooke 
 received a few half-burned letters that had been picked 
 up on the floor, and that explained the dreadful event; 
 through her tears she managed to make out the few 
 incomplete lines that remained, and understood that 
 these bits of paper had caused the accident, — a dis- 
 covery which further increased the hatred the good lady 
 entertained for Benedict. 
 
 By a strange coincidence, by a mysterious fatality, 
 Benedict's love-letters had taken back Annabel at the 
 very moment when she expected a different visitor; a 
 superstitious soul might have seen a chastisement in 
 this, — but a chastisement of what? Innocence, no 
 doubt, unless innocence pays the ransom of crime 
 by a law of inversion, the reason for which escapes 
 me. 
 
 312 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 The visits paid by Benedict and Miss Edith had not 
 resulted very fortunately, and their experiment had 
 ended as most philosophical experiments do end. 
 
 On arriving at the close of this story, or episode 
 rather, I feel the need of clearing up the parts of the 
 narration which would otherwise remain obscure. 
 
 During the latter years of the Empire, friendships 
 contracted at college, acquaintances made in society or 
 elsewhere, similarity of tastes in work or pleasure, a 
 certain bold conformity of, thought, and the curious 
 chances of fortune had drawn together in England 
 men of different countries and different ranks, but 
 every one of great mind, and strong will, — men of 
 mark in their own way. A sort of involuntary 
 free-masonry had speedily arisen among them ; they 
 spoke to each other in society, and exchanged in the 
 recesses of windows rapid remarks that summed up 
 a whole philosophy in an imperceptible smile or a 
 slight shrug of the shoulders. Many were rich, others 
 were powerful, some were both ; others skilful, some 
 great poets, others great politicians. 
 
 The ordinary amusements of a club — wine, horses, 
 and women — could not satisfy such people, who were 
 
 313 
 
•JU »A» r\-> r »ii riu <4» »i" «4» *4» »l»»i»»4» «4* jfejfe 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 weary of the emotions of orgies and gambling ; several 
 of them, besides, could have exhibited a longer and 
 better selected list of names than that of Don Juan. 
 They therefore sought for an aim to which they could 
 devote their activity, and this is what they found : the 
 triumph of Will over Fate. 
 
 Constituting themselves into a sort of secret tribunal, 
 they summoned before them contemporary history, and 
 gave themselves the task of annulling its decrees when 
 they did not consider them just. In a word, they pro- 
 posed to work events overhand to correct Providence. 
 These intrepid gamblers, bolder than the Titans of 
 fable, tried to win back from God the games lost on 
 the green cloth of the world, and bound themselves by 
 most formidable oaths to assist each other in these 
 undertakings. 
 
 The insurrection in India, the re-establishment of 
 Napoleon on a greater throne, the deliverance of Spain, 
 the freeing of Greece, where later Byron, who was one 
 of the members of the Junta, came to his death, — 
 such were the plans which these men proposed to 
 carry out. The various movements and revolts which 
 took place about that time were their work. They it 
 was who guided the Mahrattas against England, who 
 
 3H 
 
!§••§■ 4? «l? 4? tfc jfj «1» ■ I ■ rj* »A» »i» rj< »j» tA» g j » jgj fc 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 agitated in the Peninsula, prepared the Greek insur- 
 rection, and tried to carry off the Emperor, for whom 
 the Oriental empire he had dreamed of in his youth 
 had been made ready in India, whence he was to 
 return to Europe by retracing Alexander's road. 
 
 These great minds, these inflexible wills, which 
 made over the map of the world, and determined to 
 make Chance obey their orders, had never yet suc- 
 ceeded in their purpose ; whenever they had nearly 
 attained their end, they had been overthrown by that 
 small, soft air, which is perhaps the spirit of God ; all 
 their carefully worked-out plans had failed, and, though 
 they could not tell why, in spite of all their efforts, 
 mysterious Fate continued on its blind way, maintain- 
 ing its decisions. What appeared to them the right 
 was beaten ; what appeared to them injustice was 
 triumphant. Genius was crucified, and mediocrity 
 bloomed out under its golden crown. An unexpected 
 obstacle, a treason, or some other obstacle, invariably 
 upset their arrangements at the very moment of suc- 
 cess. They tried to stem events, and felt themselves, 
 in spite of their prodigious efforts, carried away by the 
 resistless tide. 
 
 Most of them stuck to their task with the fury of a 
 
 3^5 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 gambler in ill-luck, the delirium of pride struggling 
 with the impossible ; madmen that they were, they 
 cast handfuls of dust against Heaven, and like Xerxes, 
 would willingly have had the sea beaten with rods. 
 Others, stronger-minded, had begun to suspect what, 
 for lack of a better expression, I shall call "the mathe- 
 matics of Chance ; " they began to feel that events 
 were determined by a gravitation, the law of which 
 had yet to be discovered by some future Newton ; they 
 agitated the world as a physicist stirs the glass to mix 
 the liquids in it, and to see them resume their places 
 according to their specific gravity. 
 
 Sir Arthur Sidney, Sir Benedict Arundel, Count de 
 Volmerange, Dolfos, and Daksha belonged to this pow- 
 erful association ; Sidney and Daksha, as members of 
 the upper circle, had the right to select from among their 
 brethren those whom they considered necessary for the 
 execution of their projects. Benedict and Volmerange, 
 who, in spite of their oath, had taken upon themselves 
 to dispose of their own lives, had been brought back to 
 duty in the way narrated in this story. Yet the many 
 lives disturbed or destroyed, the manifold sacrifices of 
 money, courage, and genius, had effected no results ; 
 the invisible player had always won. 
 
 316 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 What I have just said will suffice to give an idea of 
 the purpose and methods of the association, — a sort 
 of philosophical Vehmgerichte, which used incredible 
 energies and vast resources to substitute in history the 
 human will for the divine. These men, who had little 
 religion, who believed only in power and genius, had 
 mistaken Providence for Chance, and taking the pen 
 from the hand of God, had attempted to write in His 
 place upon the Book of Eternity. 
 
 Now, as is customary at the end of a story, I have 
 merely to state the fate of the few characters which 
 have survived the violence of the action. 
 
 Volmerange constantly sees standing before him the 
 white form of Edith, and crouches with terror in the 
 corner of his cell at Bedlam, withdrawing as far as he 
 can from the spectre which his crazed imagination 
 shows him at the other end of the room. 
 
 As for Miss Edith and Sir Benedict Arundel, some 
 English tourists, who were going to Smyrna and visiting 
 the Ionian islands, said they had seen at Rhodes, in a 
 lovely marble palace built in the days of the knights, 
 and in which were set antique fragments, a young 
 couple whose grave and sweet serenity gave the im- 
 pression that they were enjoying as much happiness as 
 
 3 J 7 
 
££££££££££££££££££££££££ 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 can fall to the lot of those whose lives have been filled 
 with grief and divers vicissitudes ; although known only 
 under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, they appeared 
 to belong to a higher class than that humble name 
 would indicate. They neither avoided nor sought out 
 their fellow-countrymen, but they preferred to be alone, 
 — a plain indication that they were happy. 
 
 Sidney never re-appeared, and no news of him was 
 ever received. Was he dead, or had he buried in some 
 solitude his despair at having failed in the enterprise 
 which had been the sole aim of his life for five years ? 
 That was never known. Only, some years later, a 
 vessel returning from India, and which had been driven 
 by a gale towards Tristan d'Acunha, landed some of 
 its crew upon an islet in the group to catch turtles and 
 gather sea-birds' eggs, by way of varying somewhat the 
 salt fare on board. One of the men stumbled on the 
 sand over a mass of small shells which had the general 
 outline of a bottle. Delighted with his discovery, the 
 sailor, convinced that the bottle must contain rum, 
 cleared away the crust of earth and shells, and forcing 
 ofF the lead cap, he found, instead of the liquor he 
 hoped for, a parchment, which he handed to his cap- 
 tain with a fidelity he would not have exhibited had the 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 contents been spirits. The captain opened the parch- 
 ment, folded in four, and read the following : — 
 
 "On the point of carrying out the boldest and 
 strangest undertaking a man ever attempted, I, Sir 
 Arthur Sidney, my mind clear and my hand firm, know- 
 ing that the waves under which I am about to plunge 
 may swallow me up, write these lines, which perhaps 
 will be read later, should I perish in my submarine 
 voyage, so that my secret may not wholly die with me. 
 
 " As an Englishman I have been deeply humiliated 
 by the shameful behaviour of England towards the 
 great Emperor. As a respectful son I sought to wash 
 away this stain from my mother's honour, and to spare 
 her the shame of having murdered her guest. I made 
 up my mind to tear this page from the history of my 
 country, so that hereafter men should say that if Eng- 
 land had made him a prisoner, an Englishman had de- 
 livered him and redeemed his country's word. 
 
 " I am endeavouring to prevent my country, which I 
 love, from committing deicide, which may bring down 
 upon it the execration of the world, as the murder of 
 Jesus made the Jews hated over the whole world. I 
 have saciificed my life to that idea ; for what aim can 
 
 3*9 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 one have greater and holier than the glory of the human 
 family of which we are a part ? To-morrow either 
 Prometheus, taken down from his cross, shall be on 
 board a vessel that awaits him, and which will carry 
 him to a new empire, and to a greater destiny perhaps 
 than that which has astonished the world, or else God 
 will have decreed that, in what I am undertaking, I am 
 trespassing upon the attributes of Providence. 
 "May 4, 1821, in sight of St. Helena.'" 
 
 The captain looked thoughtfully at the parchment, 
 the writing on which had turned yellow, and read 
 several times the letter which, after tossing about so 
 long in its close prison, had been cast ashore upon the 
 deserted island, and was probably the only trace left of 
 the fate of a noble idea, a strong will, and a great cour- 
 age. He then remembered having sometimes seen Sir 
 Arthur Sidney in London and in Calcutta. 
 
 When the ship passed St. Helena the captain saluted 
 from afar the tomb of the great man, and said to him- 
 self:— 
 
 " God did not justify Sidney, since the Emperor is 
 sleeping under the willow, and I have that letter in my 
 pocketbook. Sir Arthur must have been drowned. I 
 am sorry for it, for I should willingly have shaken hands 
 
 320 
 
± £: £ £ £ £ ± & &-k&&&*:&&&4:*: * 
 
 THE QUARTETTE 
 
 with him, frankly and loyally, and should like to have 
 had him seated opposite me at table in the 1 Lovely 
 Jenny's' cabin." 
 
 The " Lovely Jenny," for it was she, had been sold 
 to a Calcutta merchant by Captain Peppercull, to whom 
 Sidney had said that if he did not return within five 
 days he was to dispose of the vessel as he pleased. By 
 a singular chance it was the " Lovely Jenny " which 
 had picked up the will of its former owner. 
 
 Now let me state what I have managed to learn con- 
 cerning Daksha. After finding Priyamvada's body by 
 that of the elephant, he buried it, carefully observing 
 every rite ; he then resumed his former austerities and 
 invented an attitude of frightful constraint, which must 
 have caused the greatest pleasures to the trinities, the 
 quadrinities, and the quintinities of the Hindoo Olym- 
 pus. He has not given up hopes of re-establishing the 
 Lunar dynasty, and still looks for Volmerange. His 
 withered fingers rub the cousa more feverishly than 
 ever, and his black lips murmur with delirious piety the 
 inefFable monosyllable which contains everything — and 
 other things besides. 
 
 In pursuance of the idea which occurred to him dur- 
 ing the fight, he no longer suspends himself by three 
 
THE QUARTETTE 
 
 hooks in the muscles of his back, but with five ; thanks 
 to this ingenious penance, he is convinced that the 
 English will be driven from India, and that he will ob- 
 tain of Heaven the favour of dying while holding on to 
 a cow's tail, a belief which does not prevent his being 
 a very deep philosopher, an impenetrable diplomat, a 
 remarkable politician, or his secretly causing revolts in 
 the provinces, and weaving endless deep intrigaes, while 
 he remains seated on his gazelle skin between four bra- 
 ziers, and gives a great deal of trouble to the Honour- 
 able East India Company. 
 
 322 
 
The Mummy^s Foot 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 HAVING nothing particular to do, I had 
 entered the shop of one of those dealers 
 in curiosities called bric-a-brac dealers in 
 our Parisian slang, which is utterly unin- 
 telligible in other parts of France. No doubt you have 
 sometimes glanced at the windows of some of these 
 shops, which have multiplied since it has become 
 fashionable to purchase old furniture, and every stock- 
 broker thinks he must have a mediaeval room. They 
 have at one and the same time something of the junk- 
 dealer, the upholsterer, the alchemist's laboratory, and 
 the painter's studio. In these mysterious dens, through 
 which a prudent half-light niters, what is most genuinely 
 old is the dirt. The cobwebs there are more authentic 
 than the lace, and old pear-tree wood is younger than 
 mahogany imported last week from America. 
 
 The shop d my bric-a-brac dealer was a regular 
 lumber-room ; every age and every country appeared to 
 be represented in it. A red clay Etruscan lamp rested 
 upon a cabinet by Boule, with ebony panels austerely 
 inlaid with brass ; a half-lounge of the days of Louis 
 
 3 2 5 
 
db db £ £ d: £ 4: 4: d: di? d: d?d: db 4; d: d: d: db d: tlr d: d: db 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 XV carelessly extended its fawn feet under a thick 
 Louis XIII table, with heavy oaken spirals and carved 
 foliage and monsters. In one corner gleamed the 
 wavy breastplate of a damascened suit of Milan 
 armour. Parian porcelain cupids and nymphs, Chinese 
 grotesques, vases of celadon and craqutle, cups of 
 Dresden and old Sevres china, covered the shelves and 
 filled up the corners. On the denticulated shelves 
 of the sideboards shone resplendently great Japanese 
 dishes with red and blue ornaments, set off by gold 
 hatchings, side by side with enamels by Bernard Palissy, 
 representing adders, frogs, and lizards in relief. From 
 wardrobes that burst open escaped cascades of silk 
 damask, overlaid with silver, waves of brocatelle, which 
 a sunbeam covered with luminous dots ; while portraits 
 of every period in more or less dull gold frames smiled 
 through their yellow varnish. 
 
 The dealer carefully followed me along the narrow 
 passage left open between the piles of furniture, keep- 
 ing down the fluttering skirts of my coat, and watching 
 my elbows, with the restless attention of an antiquarian 
 and a usurer. 
 
 He had a curious face, that dealer ; a big skull, 
 polished like marble, with a thin aureole of white hair, 
 
 326 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 brought out more strongly by the pale salmon colour 
 of his skin, giving him a sham look of patriarchal kind- 
 ness, which was neutralised, however, by the sparkling 
 of two little yellow eyes that shone in their orbs like 
 two gold coins laid on mercury. The aquiline profile 
 of his nose recalled the Oriental or Jewish type; his 
 thin, slender hands, covered with veins and full of 
 nerves standing out like the strings of a violin, and 
 provided with nails like the claws at the end of a bat's 
 wings, had a most unpleasant senile trembling ; but 
 when they lifted some precious object, an onyx cup, a 
 Venetian glass, or a tray of Bohemian crystal, these 
 trembling hands became stronger than steel pincers or 
 lobster's claws. The old rascal had such a thoroughly 
 rabbinical and cabalistic look that he would have burned 
 at the stake three centuries ago merely on account of 
 his appearance. 
 
 " Are you not going to buy anything to-day, sir ? 
 Here is a Malay -ieese, the blade of which is waved 
 like a flame. Look at the grooves for the blood to run 
 down ; and at these teeth cut the reverse way to tear 
 the entrails as you pull out the weapon. It is a fero- 
 cious arm, very characteristic, which would look un- 
 commonly well on your wall. This two-handed sword 
 
 3 2 7 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 is very handsome. It is by Joseph de la Hera. And 
 this great duelling-sword with open-work pearl handle 
 is a superb piece of work." 
 
 " No, I have enough weapons and instruments of 
 destruction. I want a statuette, a trifle, for a paper- 
 weight, for I cannot bear those cheap bronzes sold by 
 stationers, which are to be found on every writing- 
 table." 
 
 The old gnome, rummaging among his possessions, 
 spread out before me antique bronzes, — or at least 
 claimed to be antique — pieces of malachite, small 
 Hindoo or Chinese jade idols, grotesque incarnations 
 of Brahma or Vishnu, uncommonly well fitted to the 
 not very divine purpose of keeping down newspapers 
 and letters. 
 
 I was hesitating between a porcelain dragon covered 
 with warts, its mouth adorned with fangs and tentacles, 
 and a small abominable Mexican fetish representing 
 the god Witziliputzili, when I noticed a lovely foot, 
 which at first I thought must be a fragment of some 
 antique Venus. It had the lovelv tawny, ruddy tints 
 that give to Florentine bronze its warm and living tints 
 so preferable to the verdigrised tone of ordinary bronzes, 
 which might easily be mistaken for statues in a state of 
 
 328 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 putrefaction. Satiny gleams shimmered over its round 
 forms, polished by the loving kisses of twenty centuries ; 
 for it unquestionably was of Corinthian brass, a piece 
 of work of the best epoch, perhaps a casting by 
 Lysippus. 
 
 "This foot will do for me," said I to the dealer, 
 who looked at me with a sly, ironical glance, as he 
 held it out to allow me to examine it more comfortably. 
 
 I was surprised at its lightness. It was not a foot 
 of metal, but of flesh ; an embalmed foot, a mummy's 
 foot. On looking closely the grain of the skin and the 
 almost imperceptible mark made by the bandages could 
 be perceived. The toes were small and delicate, with 
 perfect, pure nails, transparent as agate ; the great toe, 
 somewhat apart, after the fashion of antiquity, con- 
 trasted happily with the direction of the other toes, and 
 gave it a free attitude, the neat aspect of a bird's foot. 
 The sole, scarcely marked by a few faint lines, had 
 evidently never corue in contact with the ground, and 
 had trodden only upon the finest matting of Nile reeds, 
 and the softest carpets of panther's-skins. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! you want the foot of the Princess Her- 
 monthis," said the dealer, with a horrible chuckle, as 
 he fixed upon me his owl-like glance. " Ha ! ha ! — 
 
 329 
 
i: i: 4: i: & £ i: 4r £ ^? tfc £ :fc tt: tfc tfc 4: 4: 4: 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 for a paper-weight ! That is a novel idea; that is an 
 artist's idea. If old Pharaoh had been told that his 
 adored daughter's foot would be used as a paper-weight 
 he would have been astounded, considering that he was 
 having a mountain of granite hollowed out in order to 
 put inside the triple painted and gilded coffin, covered 
 with hieroglyphs, with beautiful paintings representing 
 the judgment of the soul," added the queer little dealer, 
 in a low voice, as if speaking to himself. 
 
 " How much will you sell me this fragment of a 
 mummy for ? " 
 
 " As dear as I can, for it is quite a curiosity. If I 
 had the companion to it, I would not let you have the 
 pair for less than five hundred francs. Pharaoh's 
 daughters are scarce, very scarce." 
 
 " I know it ; I am aware that it is not very common ; 
 but how much do you want ? To begin with, I must 
 inform you that my whole wealth amounts to five louis. 
 I shall buy whatever may cost five louis, but nothing 
 more. You might search the back pockets of my vests, 
 and my most secret drawers, you would not find another 
 sou in them." 
 
 w Five louis for the foot of Princess Hermonthis ! 
 That is very little, very little indeed for an authentic 
 
 330 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 foot," said the dealer, wagging his head and rolling his 
 eyes. " Well, take it. I will give you the wrapper 
 into the bargain," he added, as he rolled the foot in an 
 old piece of damask. " It is very beautiful genuine 
 Indian damask ; never has been dyed ; it is strong and 
 sound," he muttered, as he rubbed with his fingers the 
 worn tissue ; the force of commercial habit making him 
 praise an object of so little value that even he thought 
 it might as well be given away. 
 
 He slipped the gold pieces into a sort of mediaeval 
 purse hanging from his belt, repeating, " The foot of 
 Princess Hermonthis for a paper-weight ! " 
 
 Then, fixing on me his flaming eyes, he said, in a 
 voice as strident as the mewing of a cat that has just 
 swallowed a fish-bone: " Old Pharaoh will not be 
 very pleased ; he was very fond of his daughter, the 
 worthy man." 
 
 "You talk about him as if you were his contempo- 
 rary. Old though you are, you do not quite go back to 
 the Pyramids of Egypt," I replied laughingly, as I passed 
 out of the shop. 
 
 I returned home, very well satisfied with my purchase, 
 and in order to turn it to account at once, I placed the 
 foot of the divine Princess Hermonthis upon a bundle 
 
 33 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 of papers, drafts of verses, an undecipherable mosaic of 
 corrections, beginnings of articles, forgotten letters 
 which I had posted in the drawer, — a mistake often 
 committed by absent-minded people. The effect the 
 foot produced was charming, eccentric, and romantic. 
 
 Greatly pleased with this embellishment of my table, 
 I went out into the street and walked along with the 
 gravity and the pride that become a man who has over 
 every passer-by he elbows the ineffable advantage of 
 possessing a portion of the Princess Hermonthis, daugh- 
 ter of the Pharaoh. I considered as beneath contempt all 
 those who did not possess, as I did, so notoriously 
 Egyptian a paper-weight, and it appeared to me that the 
 proper business in the life of a sensible man was to have 
 a mummy's foot on his writing-table. Happily, I met 
 some friends, who drew me out of my infatuation. I 
 went to dinner with them, for it would have been diffi- 
 cult for me to dine with myself. 
 
 When I returned at night, my head filled with a light, 
 pearly-gray vapour, a faint puff of oriental perfume 
 tickled my olfactory nerves. The warmth of the room 
 had warmed up the natron, bitumen, and myrrh in which 
 the embalmers had dipped the princess's body. It was 
 a sweet and penetrating perfume that had not wholly 
 
 33 2 
 
db tir t'' ^ jjrttrA 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 evaporated during the lapse of four thousand years ; for 
 Egypt dreamed of eternity : its odours have the solidity of 
 granite and last as long. 
 
 I soon drank deep of the black cup of sleep. For an 
 hour or two everything remained a blank, and I sank 
 in the sombre waves of forgetfulness and nothingness. 
 Then my intellectual darkness lightened, and dreams 
 began to flutter silently around. The eyes of my soul 
 were opened, and I saw my room such as it actually 
 was. I might have thought myself awake. A strange 
 feeling convinced me that I was asleep and that some- 
 thing curious was about to happen. 
 
 The odour of myrrh had grown stronger, and I felt 
 a slight headache, which I very naturally attributed to a 
 number of glasses of champagne which we had drunk to 
 the unknown gods and our future success. I looked 
 round the room with a feeling of expectation that noth- 
 ing justified. The furniture was in its place, the lamp 
 burning on the table, pleasantly softened by the milky 
 whiteness of the ground-glass globe; the water-colours 
 shimmered under their Bohemian glass; the curtains 
 hung languidly; everything looked serene and quiet. 
 
 But after a few moments this peaceful interior seemed 
 to be disturbed. The wood-work cracked furtively, the 
 
 333 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 log buried in the ashes suddenly shot out a jet of blue 
 flame, and the disks of the coat-hooks looked like metal 
 eyes, attentively watching, as I was, for whatever was 
 about to happen. 
 
 By chance I glanced at the table on which I had 
 placed the foot of the Princess Hermonthis. Instead of 
 resting quietly as became a foot embalmed for more than 
 four thousand years, it was moving, contracting, and 
 hopping about the papers like a frightened frog. I 
 could have sworn it was in contact with a voltaic bat- 
 tery. I could quite distinctly hear the sharp sound made 
 by its little heel, as hard as a gazelle's hoof. 
 
 I was not quite satisfied with my purchase, for I 
 prefer sedentary paper-weights, and it does not seem 
 natural to me to see feet going about without limbs. 
 Indeed, I began to experience something not unlike 
 fear. 
 
 Suddenly I saw a fold of one of my curtains move, 
 and I heard a sound like that made by a person hopping 
 round on one foot. I must confess I turned cold and 
 hot alternately ; a strange chill ran up and down my 
 back, and my hair stood up on my head. 
 
 The curtains opened, and I saw coming forward the 
 strangest figure imaginable. It was that of a young girl 
 
 3.34 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 of a very dark coffee-colour, like Amani the bayadere, of 
 perfect beauty, and recalling the purest Egyptian type. 
 Her almond-shaped eyes were turned up at the corners, 
 and her eyebrows were so black that they showed blue. 
 Her nose was delicately shaped, almost Greek in its 
 outline, and she might have been taken for a Corinthian 
 bronze statue, but that the prominence of the cheek- 
 bones and the somewhat African size of the mouth 
 showed plainly that she belonged to the hieroglyphic 
 race of the banks of the Nile. Her well-shaped arms, 
 slender like those of very young girls, were clasped by 
 metal and glass bracelets ; her hair was plaited into little 
 tresses ; and on her bosom hung an idol of green clay, 
 which I recognised by the seven-tailed whip as Isis, the 
 conductress of souls ; on her brow shone a plate of gold, 
 and some traces of rouge were visible on her copper- 
 coloured cheeks. 
 
 As for her costume, it was strange indeed. Imagine 
 a loin cloth of narrow bands covered with black and red 
 hieroglyphics, stiff with bitumen, which seemed to 
 belong to a recently unrolled mummy. 
 
 By one of those sudden changes of thought which 
 are so frequent in dreams, I heard the shrill, hoarse voice 
 of the bric-a-brac dealer repeating like a monotonous 
 
 335 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 refrain the remark he had made in his shop in so enig- 
 matic a tone: — 
 
 " Old Pharaoh will not be very much pleased. He 
 was very fond of his daughter, the worthy man." 
 
 There was one curious peculiarity which did not 
 contribute to reassure me, — the apparition had but one 
 foot. The other leg was broken off at the ankle. 
 
 She went to the table, where the mummy's foot was 
 jumping and quivering with greater rapidity. On reach- 
 ing it, she leaned upon the edge, and I saw a tear grow 
 in her eyes. Though she said not a word, I could 
 clearly make out her thoughts. She looked at the foot, 
 for it was hers, with an infinitely graceful expression of 
 coquettish sadness, while the foot ran and leaped hither 
 and thither as if moved by steel springs. 
 
 Twice or thrice she stretched out her hand to seize 
 it, but failed to do so. 
 
 Then there took place between the Princess Hermon- 
 this and her foot, which appeared endowed with a 
 life of its own, a very curious dialogue, in a very 
 ancient Coptic dialect, such as was spoken some thirty 
 centuries ago in the mummy pits of the country of 
 Ser. Luckily that night I happened to know Coptic 
 perfectly well. 
 
 33 6 
 
is £ :b £ 4: £ 4: & 4: 4r & tfc db tfc 4? jfc 4r 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 Princess Hermonthis said in a sweet voice that vibrated 
 like a crystal bell : — 
 
 " Well, my dear little foot, so you are still fleeing from 
 me, though I took good care of you. I washed you 
 with scented water in an alabaster basin ; I polished your 
 heel with pumice-stone dipped in palm oil ; I cut your 
 nails with golden scissors, and polished them with hippo- 
 potamus-teeth ; I took care to choose for you painted 
 and embroidered sandals with turned-up points, that 
 made every Egyptian girl envy us. I put on your toes 
 rings representing the sacred scarabaeus, and you sup- 
 ported one of the daintiest bodies that a lazy foot could 
 wish for." 
 
 The foot replied in a sulky tone : — 
 
 "You know very well I do not belong to myself any 
 more. I have been purchased and paid for. The old 
 dealer knew what he was doing. He is still angry with 
 you for refusing to marry him. It is a trick that he is 
 playing upon you. The Arab that broke open your 
 royal coffin in the subterranean well of the Theban 
 Necropolis had been sent by him. He meant to prevent 
 your going to the meeting of the people in darkness in 
 the lower cities. Have you got five gold pieces to buy 
 me back with ? " 
 
 22 
 
 337 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 " Alas, I have not. My gems, my rings, my purses 
 of gold and silver, everything has been stolen from 
 me," replied Princess Hermonthis, with a sigh. 
 
 " Princess," I cried then, " I have never unjustly 
 kept back any one's foot. Although you have not got 
 the five louis which I paid for it, I return it to you 
 most willingly. I should be uncommonly sorry to 
 cripple so lovely a person as Princess Hermonthis." 
 
 The beautiful Egyptian must have been surprised at 
 the Regency manner and the troubadour tone in which 
 I spoke this speech. She cast upon me a glance full 
 of gratitude, and her eyes lighted up with blue flashes. 
 She took her foot, which allowed itself to be caught 
 this time, like a woman about to put on a shoe, and 
 fitted it very skilfully to her leg, after which she took 
 two or three steps through the room, as if to make 
 certain that she was really no longer a cripple. 
 
 " How glad my father will be, for he was so troubled 
 by the mutilation I suffered. The very day I was 
 born he had set a whole nation to work to dig me 
 a tomb deep enough to preserve me intact until the 
 great day when souls are to be weighed in the balances 
 of Amenthi. Come with me to him. He will wel- 
 come you, for you have restored my foot to me." 
 
 338 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 The proposal struck me as quite natural. I put on 
 a dressing-gown with a great flowered pattern, in 
 which I looked most Pharaoh-like, hastily slipped my 
 feet into a pair of Turkish slippers, and told Princess 
 Hermonthis that I was ready to follow her. 
 
 Before leaving, she took from her neck the little 
 figure in green china, and placed it upon the scattered 
 papers that covered my table. 
 
 " It is only right," she said, " that I should give 
 you something in place of your paper-weight." 
 
 She held out her hand to me. It was soft and cold 
 as a serpent's skin. We were off. 
 
 We sped for some time as swift as an arrow through 
 a grayish fluid air in which faintly outlined forms 
 passed to right and left. At one time nothing was 
 visible but sky and water. Presently obelisks began to 
 show up j pylons and long stairs, with sphinxes ranged 
 all the way down, stood out against the horizon. We 
 had arrived. 
 
 The princess led me to a mountain of rose granite, 
 in which there was a low, narrow opening which it 
 would have been difficult to distinguish from the cracks 
 in the stone had not a couple of stelae covered with 
 carvings made it recognisable. 
 
 339 
 
db * -k £ * £ ± & 4,4.^*4:4. 4.4;dbtfcdb £ 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 Hermonthis lighted a torch and walked on before me. 
 
 We entered corridors cut in the living rock ; the 
 walls, covered with panels of hieroglyphs and allegorical 
 processions, must have occupied thousands of men for 
 thousands of years. These corridors, interminably 
 long, ended in square halls, in the centre of which 
 were dug wells. We descended these by means of 
 cramp-irons or of spiral staircases. The wells led into 
 other chambers from which issued other corridors, also 
 adorned with hawks, serpents biting their tails, repre- 
 sentations of the mystic tau, pedum, and bari, — a pro- 
 digious piece of work which no living eye was to see, 
 endless legends in granite which the dead alone had 
 time to read during eternity. 
 
 At last we entered so vast, so enormous, so immense 
 a hall that its limits were invisible. As far as I could 
 see stretched rows of monstrous pillars, between which 
 gleamed limpid stars of yellow light. These brilliant 
 points indicated incalculable depths. 
 
 Princess Hermonthis still held my hand, and bowed 
 graciously to the mummies of her acquaintance. 
 
 My eyes becoming accustomed to the twilight, I 
 began to discern objects. I saw seated upon thrones 
 the kings of subterranean races. They were tall, dry 
 
 340 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 old men, wrinkled, parchment-like, black with naphtha 
 and bitumen, wearing the golden pschent, pectorals, 
 and neckplates covered with gems, their eyes staring 
 like those of sphinxes, and they wore long beards, 
 whitened with the snow of centuries. Behind them 
 stood their embalmed peoples, in the stiff, con- 
 strained attitudes of Egyptian art, preserving forever 
 the pose prescribed by the hieratic code ; behind the 
 peoples, the cats, ibises, and crocodiles of those days, 
 made more mysterious still by being swathed up in 
 bands, mewed, flapped their wings, and chuckled. 
 
 Every Pharaoh was there, Cheops, Chephrenes, 
 Psammetichus, Sesostris, Amenoteph ; all the swarthy 
 lords of pyramids and pits. On a higher throne 
 sat King Chronos, Xixouthros, who lived in the 
 days of the deluge, and Tubal Cain, who preceded 
 him. 
 
 King Xixouthros's beard had grown so much that 
 it had already circled seven times the granite table on 
 which he leaned, dreamy and sleepy. 
 
 Farther away, through a dusty vapour, through the 
 mist of eternities, I managed to make out the seventy- 
 two pre-Adamite kings, with their seventy-two peoples, 
 vanished forever. 
 
 34i 
 
pi/% «!/» r ( -» fts »i« »l„ rl -* «JU »1* »JU .Jt* »!• j|j fjj t|j »i» 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 Princess Hermonthis, having allowed me to enjoy 
 this marvellous spectacle for a few moments, presented 
 me to the Pharaoh, her father, who nodded to me 
 most majestically. 
 
 " I have found my foot, I have found my foot ! " 
 cried the Princess, clapping her little hands together, 
 with every mark of mad joy. " It is this gentleman 
 who gave it back to me." 
 
 The races of Kerne, of Nahasi, all the black, bronze, 
 and copper-coloured nations, repeated together : — 
 
 " The Princess Hermonthis has found her foot 
 again." 
 
 Xixouthros himself was interested. He raised his 
 heavy lids, stroked his moustache, and let fall upon 
 me his glance, laden with centuries. 
 
 " By Oms, the dog of Hades, and Tmei, daughter 
 of the Sun and of Truth, you are a fine and worthy 
 fellow," said the Pharaoh, extending towards me his 
 sceptre, ending in a lotus flower. " What will you 
 have for a reward ? " 
 
 Bold as one is in dreams, in which nothing seems 
 impossible, I asked for the hand of Hermonthis. It 
 struck me that to get the hand in return for the foot 
 was an antithetical reward in pretty good taste. 
 
 342 
 
THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 The Pharaoh opened wide his glass eyes, amazed at 
 my joke and my request. 
 
 "What is your country, and what is your age ? " 
 
 " I am a Frenchman, and I am twenty-seven years 
 old, venerable Pharaoh." 
 
 " Twenty-seven years ! and he proposes to wed 
 Princess Hermonthis, who is thirty centuries old," 
 cried out together all the thrones and all the circles of 
 nations. 
 
 Hermonthis alone did not think my request at all 
 improper. 
 
 r If you were only two thousand years old," an- 
 swered the old king, " I would willingly give you the 
 Princess; but the disproportion is too great; and then, 
 we must have for our daughters husbands that can last. 
 You people do not know how to preserve yourselves. 
 The last, brought here scarcely fifteen centuries ago, 
 are now nothing but a handful of ashes. See, my own 
 flesh is hard as basalt, my bones are like bars of steel. 
 I shall see the last day of the world with the same body 
 and the same face as I had when alive. My daughter 
 Hermonthis will endure longer than a bronze statue. 
 By that time the wind will have scattered the last grain 
 of your dust, and Isis herself, who managed to find the 
 
 343 
 
i: is k is is is is is is sb £ 4? 4: 4r 4: tl? & tb db 4? J? tfc A sfc 
 
 THE MUMMY'S FOOT 
 
 pieces of Osiris, would be hard put to it to reconstruct 
 your frame. See how vigorous I am yet, and how 
 strong my arms are," said he, as he shook hands with 
 me in English fashion, so that he cut my fingers with 
 my rings. 
 
 He squeezed my hand so hard that I awoke, and 
 perceived my friend Alfred, pulling me by the arm, 
 and shaking me to make me get up. 
 
 " Look here, you confounded sleeper, shall I have 
 to take you out into the street and to set off fireworks 
 at your ears ? It is past noon. Have you forgotten 
 that you promised to call for me to go to see Aguado's 
 Spanish paintings ? " 
 
 " Good gracious, I had forgotten all about it," replied 
 I, as I dressed. " We shall go at once. I have the 
 invitation here on my table." 
 
 As I spoke, I stepped forward to take up the card ; 
 but judge of my astonishment when, instead of the 
 mummy's foot which I had bought the night before, 
 I saw the little figure of green clay put in its place by 
 the Princess Hermonthis. 
 
 344