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THE WEIRD ADVENTURES OF PROFESSOR DELAPINE OF THE SORBONNE
THE WEIRD ADVENTURES
OF PROFESSOR DELAPINE
OF THE SORBONNE....
BY
GEORGE LINDSAY JOHNSON,
M.A., M.D. B.S. F.R.C.S.
[Illustration: R]
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, Limited
CENTRAL NEWS AGENCY, Limited, SOUTH AFRICA
NEW YORK: E.P. DUTTON AND CO.
1916
To
My Dear Master
Edmund Landolt, M.D.
_HOMMAGE D'AMITIÉ_
PREFACE
When travelling in France a few years ago during the summer vacation,
I made the acquaintance of a professor of world-wide fame, which
acquaintance soon ripened into a lasting friendship. Among the various
subjects which we dealt with in our conversation, I happened to mention
spiritualism. I told him how bitterly disappointed I had been at the
various séances I had attended. Either the séance had passed off
without any phenomena at all, or if anything did occur, it had turned
out invariably to be a palpable fraud, and had left me more sceptical
than ever--besides, I added, the oracular utterances delivered by the
medium when in an hysterical condition, which is palmed off to the
audience as a trance, were so nonsensical and meaningless as to leave
me in doubt whether to be amused at the gullibility of the public, or
disgusted at the time I had thrown away in listening to such nonsense.
"Yes," replied the Professor thoughtfully, "that always used to be my
view of spiritualism, but since I have seriously examined the subject
for myself I have entirely changed my views on the subject. So far from
scoffing at it, as I confess I used to, I am now convinced that the
real phenomena are far and away more astonishing than are these which
these charlatans profess to exhibit or actually produce by conjuring
and fraud. Now, if you wish to be convinced that there are genuine
phenomena, come with me to Paris and we will investigate the subject
together at the great S.... Hospital. Here we found indeed a rich field
for our studies. We witnessed there all the phenomena of suggestion,
second-sight, clair-audience, hypnotism, dual-consciousness, telepathy,
the movement of objects without contact, and many other occurrences of
such a surprising nature that in our present state of ignorance they
appeared to be altogether outside the laws of Nature as we understand
them; and I went away entirely convinced that certain people possess
powers such as we ordinary mortals have never even dreamt of."
While I was staying at his hotel, the Professor narrated to me the
extraordinary history of Professor Delapine, which he assured me was
true, and which with his permission I committed to writing, and worked
up into a novel. Observing the intense interest which I exhibited in
his narrative, he was kind enough to introduce me to the Professor
himself as well as to several of the other characters, and thereby
enabled me to fill up the gaps. What I heard certainly bore out the
adage that "truth is stranger than fiction." For obvious reasons I have
not given the real names to the characters referred to in the novel,
since Delapine, Madame Delapine, (Renée), Marcel, and Dr. Riche are
still hale and hearty, and very distinguished and popular members of
society.
It is needless to say that the coup at the tables related as taking
place at Monte Carlo, as well as other events mentioned in these
chapters, have been disguised so as to prevent identification of the
parties concerned by the general public, although the actors themselves
will doubtless recognise and appreciate the details of the narrative.
Should any of our readers be sceptical as to the ability of a person to
move objects without contact, and to stop a ball at will on a roulette
table, I can only refer them to the experiments of Dr. Ochorowicz[1]
which will be found in the June Number of the _Annals of Psychical
Research_ for the year 1905, wherein will be found an exhausted series
of experiments made with a Polish medium named "Julie." In this paper
the doctor demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that "Julie" could
cause the ball to fall into any of the compartments of the roulette
table which the doctor selected in a large percentage of the trials,
and, when it failed to tumble into the right compartment, it usually
fell into one or other on either side of it.
As regards the trance, I have purposely prolonged its duration to fit
in with the plot of the novel, and I have also introduced certain
alterations and additions in order to make the story more complete.
I may remark further that the phantom scene of Renée's mother may
possibly have been an hallucination on the girl's part, as I have no
direct proof of its occurrence, and have only the testimony of a highly
emotional girl wearied out with vigils to rely upon. Of course there is
the evidence of the lock of hair, which may be seen even to-day, but to
my mind that is not sufficiently convincing, and would certainly not be
allowed as evidence in a court of law.
Still others who were present assured me that they saw the same
phantom (or materialized form) at the séance, and the evidence of
such materialization has the great support of one of our most eminent
scientists who has a well-deserved reputation for extreme accuracy of
statement and cautiousness, and who has assured me personally that he
has both seen, handled, and conversed with such an apparition, which
was just as real and clothed with the same flesh and blood as any other
human being, and he is as certain of its genuineness as he is of his
own existence. Moreover, he has repeatedly photographed both the medium
and the spirit-form singly and together, which photographs I have seen.
Personally I have never witnessed a materialized form, and can only
reserve my judgment as to the reality of the phenomenon.
But I feel sure all interpolations and additions will be pardoned by
the reader; since the object aimed at was to clothe the real facts
with a halo of romance, and thus, without detracting too much from the
truth, to render the story much more interesting to the reader.
GEO. LINDSAY JOHNSON,
_Castle Mansions, Johannesburg_.
It is a vulgar mistake, for which science certainly gives no warrant,
to assert that things are impossible because they contradict our
experience.
P. Chalmers Mitchell, M.A., DSc., F.R.S.
_Thomas Henry Huxley: A Sketch of his Life and Work_, p. 245.
Whatever is intelligible and can be distinctly conceived implies no
contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demonstration,
argument, or reasoning, a priori.
Hume,
_On Miracles_.
The boundary between the two states--the known and the unknown--is
still substantial, but it is wearing thin in places; and like
excavators engaged in boring a tunnel from opposite ends, amid the roar
of water and other noises we are beginning to hear now and again the
strokes of the pick-axes of our comrades on the other side.
Sir Oliver Lodge,
_The Survival of Man_, p. 337.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Dr. Ochorowicz is professor of Psychology at the
University of Lemberg (Lvoff). I am a little uncertain as to the year,
as I cannot get access to the _Annals_, but I believe it is the correct
date.]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. The Café at the corner of the "Boule Mich" 1
II. The Dinner at the Villebois' House 19
III. The Story of The Widow's Mite 29
IV. Payot and Duval 47
V. The Wine Cellar 69
VI. The Analyst 76
VII. Renée's Experience in Storm and Sunshine 88
VIII. Delapine makes an Experiment in Botany 96
IX. Céleste tries to fathom Renée's Secret 104
X. Delapine Interrupts a Fight 115
XI. A Remarkable Conversation 124
XII. The Séance 138
XIII. The Debacle 148
XIV. Coming Events cast their Shadow Before 164
XV. Dr. Riche makes a Remarkable Discovery 176
XVI. The Shadow of Death 189
XVII. Emile Visits his Friend Pierre with most Unpleasant
Consequences 202
XVIII. Facilis Descensus Averni 214
XIX. The Vigil 223
XX. The New Jerusalem Gold Mine 239
XXI. Marcel makes an Unexpected Acquaintance 256
XXII. Violette Nursers her Father with Alarming Results 270
XXIII. At Beaulieu 281
XXIV. The Professor Discourses on Gambling 297
XXV. Delapine tries his hand at the Tables 310
XXVI. Nemesis 324
XXVII. In which Delapine finds himself Famous,
and the Party Breaks up with the Happiest Results 338
The Weird Adventures of Professor Delapine
CHAPTER I
THE CAFE AT THE CORNER OF THE "BOULE MICHE"
The man who cannot wonder, who does not habitually wonder ... is but a
pair of spectacles, behind which there is no eye.
Carlyle (_Sartor Resartus_, Bk. I. ch. x.)
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
Longfellow--_The Dinner at the Villebois' House_, pt. iv.
"Comment ça va, monsieur le docteur? Pardon that I interrupt your
reverie."
The greeting was addressed to a gentleman below middle age who was
seated before one of the little round tables at the corner of one of
the side streets leading into the Boulevard Michel. He was idly toying
with a small glass of eau sucrée between four and five o'clock on a
glorious afternoon in the autumn of 19--.
Somewhat short in stature, and slightly built, he was favoured by
nature with a pleasing expression, and bright auburn curly locks which
matched his bronzed and weather-beaten face. Although his features
bore traces of hardship and toil, there was nothing in his appearance
to attract any very special remarks from the passers-by. And yet
many of them would have turned and looked again at that gentlemanly
little figure, had they but known who it was who sat there practically
unnoticed by, and unnoticing, the endless stream of afternoon
strollers. He had ordered an eau sucrée, and it certainly was that
simple beverage which stood in that glass before him, but it might as
well have been tincture of myrrh, or weak tea, or even vinegar, for all
the great Dr. Riche knew or cared.
About five feet four inches of his slim neatly-dressed body was
sitting there without a doubt, but his mind was far away debating the
intricacies of a very delicate operation on the base of the brain,
at which he had assisted that morning at the Hotel Dieu. An opening
had been made through the nose into the skull of a patient, and the
offending tumour had been removed--to all appearances successfully. All
the same, the doctor was pondering deeply over the probabilities of the
patient's ultimate recovery, and was mentally arguing the pros and cons
of this very interesting case, when a gentle tapping of a gold-mounted
cane on the marble surface of the little round table in front of him,
accompanied by a jovial laugh and a hearty greeting, brought him
suddenly down from the regions of the Sella Turcica.
"Well, monsieur le docteur, you have not forgotten me then?"
"Villebois! mon cher, I am delighted to see you. You seem surprised
to see me here, eh! Well, as a matter of fact, I may tell you I have
only quite recently returned to Paris for a holiday after five years
practising in Algiers, and have not yet had time to renew my old
acquaintances."
"All the more reason why you should begin at once not only to renew the
old, but to make some new ones," said Villebois. "That reminds me, do
you remember our discussions in the little room on the third floor at
the corner of the Rue Saint André des Arts?"
"What, when we nearly came to blows over our differences of opinion
about what you were pleased to call mysterious psychic forces? Yes, I
remember, but surely you have outgrown all that?"
"Certainly not. I have had reason lately to be more convinced than
ever that I was right. You, my dear Riche, have missed some wonderful
phenomena which have recently startled our circle. Levitations,
apparitions--"
"Oh, my dear Villebois, remember we are in the twentieth century; and
it is rather out of date to commence believing too implicitly in that
sort of thing."
"Out of date? Why, I have seen it with my own eyes. Hardly has the
séance begun, when the table begins to rise slowly inch by inch, until
it reaches a height of half a metre from the floor, and then more
wonderful still----"
"Yes, I know all about it, Palladino, Slade, Home, the Daniels, and the
rest, with their cabinets and masks, and rubber hands daubed all over
with luminous paint. Besides they perform all their tricks in the dark,
lest people should see through their frauds. What I want to know is why
they cannot do their supernatural performances in a private house which
is unprovided with trap doors, and other nicknacks and apparatus."
"Still the same unbeliever I see: your five years stay abroad has not
altered you much in that respect. But if you will allow me to introduce
you to my friend the professor I think you will alter your opinion."
"But where is this prodigy to be found?"
"When you cease that mocking tone, I'll tell you."
"Proceed, mon cher Villebois: I will be as serious as a clown at the
pantomime."
"Well, you remember Delapine?"
"What, that youthful professor who gave such a wonderful course of
lectures on physics in the laboratory at the Sorbonne?"
"The same," answered Villebois. "He is staying for some time with us at
Passy, and is giving us the most wonderful exhibitions of his powers.
Talk about a genius, the recitals of his experiences, his inventions,
and his discoveries fairly dazzles one; and, in addition, he declares
that he possesses such extraordinary mediumistic powers that he can
call up spirits at will."
"But I thought that you did not believe in these extraordinary psychic
forces, that you were too well grounded in natural science to believe
in any phenomena which are incapable of being treated mathematically,
or which could not be subjected to the rigid tests of the laboratory."
"That is so," answered Villebois. "If I had not witnessed these
phenomena with my own eyes, and subjected them to my own tests I should
have felt disposed to put them down to charlatanism. At first, I was
inclined to think that he was 'off his head,' but when you hear him
talk with such brilliancy and logic, and when you see him with your own
eyes perform the things which I have seen him do, you will agree that
there is not a saner man to-day in the whole of our beloved Paris. At
times again, his brain appears to be too big for him, and he is apt
to go off into fainting fits--or trances, as he calls them--and on
occasions he remains for hours in that state: you could almost swear
that he was dead, and yet he wakes up as fresh as the proverbial daisy,
to amaze us all with the recital of experiences during the trance."
"How extraordinary; forgive my previous mockery, my dear Villebois.
I assure you I am as anxious now as I was indifferent before about
meeting your friend. Perhaps he may have some recollection of me."
"Ah, I thought you would want to meet him, and I can assure you that
you will not regret it. Pack up and come and stay with us at Passy.
There are several charming people staying with us including Renée, the
daughter of old Payot. You know whom I mean. Then there is Monsieur
Marcel, a philosopher and poet, a cynic in a way, but a first-rate
fellow notwithstanding, and lastly a most inquisitive and argumentative
young lawyer--Monsieur Duval. With you, my dear colleague, the party
will be complete, especially as you are an exponent and past master of
agnosticism combined with a mind open to conviction, and possess an
aptitude for strictly scientific investigation. I have no doubt that
between us we ought to be capable of sifting these mysteries to the
bottom. If there is any trickery about it, I can rely on your finding
it out and exposing it, but I am fully convinced beforehand that you
will not find any."
"Que diable, but I have seen enough of Delapine to know that he is
incapable of humbug or trickery. All the same, my dear confrère, you
have infected me with your enthusiasm, and the programme that you offer
me is as tempting as a première at the opera."
"Including the renewal of your acquaintance with the charming
Mademoiselle Payot," added Villebois with a smile.
"Just so. Is there not some poet who says, 'Beauty lends enchantment to
the view'?"
Villebois rose slowly and surveyed himself in one of the massive
mirrors near the window, and smiled complacently at his old friend's
levity, while carefully smoothing down the large "wings" of his
professional black cravat.
"Say rather with Goethe 'Das Ewig Weibliche zieht uns hinan,'" said
Villebois, who knew his German remarkably well for a Frenchman.
"However," he continued, "I must leave you now. Let me assure you once
more what a pleasure it has been to meet you again after such a long
absence. We will expect you, then, in two days' time at Passy."
"Very good, I will come with pleasure," replied Dr. Riche, "and please
pay my respects to Madame Villebois and the others."
"Thanks, thanks, au revoir until the day after to-morrow," called
out Villebois as he hailed a fiacre, and vanished down the boulevard
towards the Louvre.
Left to himself, and now fully awakened from the deep reverie which had
overshadowed him previous to the arrival of his old friend, Dr. Riche
gently drew from his pocket a large and most un-Gallic looking pipe and
pouch well supplied with a famous mixture of his own composition, and
proceeded to enjoy in open daylight that most delightful but, under the
circumstances, most unprofessional luxury, a good smoke.
"Delapine? Delapine?" he said musingly to himself. "Of course I
remember Delapine at the Sorbonne. What a genius that fellow was. A
perfect marvel in making experiments in physics! Developed into an
exponent of psychic forces has he? Well, well, I must say though, that
I am not surprised. He certainly gave promise of a great future in the
world of science. Has he become a Medium I wonder? Perhaps he goes off
into trances like Swedenborg was said to do. Some one, I cannot just
remember who it was, told me that Delapine could foretell the future,
and know what is happening in other parts of the world, or even in the
Beyond. Well, well, there must be something in it, if Delapine says
so. He is genuine, there can be no doubt about that. It is certainly
remarkably interesting, and it would be worth going there if only to
see him and be present at his séance. Besides, there is Mademoiselle
Villebois, who is growing up into such a charming girl. I really must
have a look at her as well. Ah! yes, I well remember how Villebois used
to twit me about being too susceptible to the charms of the fair sex.
It will be quite refreshing to find Villebois, Delapine and Payot under
the same roof again after that long separation. Well, who knows? It is
quite on the cards----"
At this stage in his meditations something caused Dr. Riche to gaze
slowly round the adjoining tables, and to take a casual glance for the
first time that afternoon, at some of those of his fellow-mortals who
were in his immediate neighbourhood. For a moment, no one in particular
appeared to cause him any special interest. Then, turning slightly, he
became aware that two ladies had seated themselves close to him at one
of the small tables in a little recess.
"Mother and daughter, evidently," he muttered to himself.
That the doctor's surmise was correct was evinced a few seconds later
when he heard a clear and penetrating voice--
"Mais non, petite mère, ne vous en fâchez-vous. Although it is true
that I have obtained some very startling results, you must remember
that there are times when my 'power,' as you call it, seems to vanish,
and I do not appear to be able to read anything of either the past or
the future."
"But why do you do it at all, Violette? Why have you not given it up as
I have so often implored you? You know that it is altogether against
my wishes, and really I often feel quite afraid that some day some
misfortune--quelque chose d'un grand malheur--will come of it all."
"Not a bit, you are much too anxious, petite mère."
"Ah, if I could be sure, but I cannot help my anxiety when I see you so
abstracted, so--what do you say?--so distraite and so enfeebled, after
you have had one of those long séances; and I notice lately that you
appear to be suffering from nervous exhaustion especially after you
have foretold something more than usually startling. Please be guided
by me, dear, and let me take away that mysterious ring, and lock it
away from you for a month--for six months. Perhaps if you did not have
it so much en évidence, you might gradually forget its fascination."
"You dear anxious petite mère, to hear you talk one would imagine I was
under some evil influence just because I am fond of my lovely antique
ring, and like to have it always with me. As for being distraite, ma
mie, it has nothing to do with my ring. I often have little times of
reverie. Even when I was at the convent the sisters have often rebuked
me because I was able to tell them such mysterious things that came to
me in my long day-dreams in the dear old convent grounds."
"But you are no longer a child at the convent," interrupted the elder
lady, "and you should not encourage these ideas of clairvoyance."
"Don't let us talk about it please, ma mère chérie," replied the
younger of the two ladies, with a most impressive shrug of the
shoulders, "let us talk of something else instead. Read this letter
which I received this morning at the Poste Restante."
Opening her reticule she took out a small and delicately scented
envelope which she placed at the edge of the table, after having handed
its contents to her mother.
"Read this and tell me what you think of it."
Doctor Riche, who had been a silent listener to this conversation,
after consulting his watch, drained his glass of eau sucrée, and rose
with the intention of departing.
At this moment a garçon, carrying a tray filled with glasses high above
his head, opened the door, and a sudden gust of wind lifted the little
envelope off the table where Violette was sitting, and wafted it almost
to the doctor's feet. Picking up the scented envelope with a dainty
touch, he handed it to the elder lady with a ceremonious bow:
"Pardon, madame, allow me," said Riche as he glanced in a cursory
manner at the address written upon it.
If the doctor expected to learn the fair unknown's private, or even
perhaps her professional address, he was doomed to disappointment. The
envelope which had unexpectedly fluttered to his feet merely bore the
inscription, in a woman's handwriting:
A Mademoiselle Violette Beaupaire,
Poste Restante,
Paris.
"Merci, monsieur: que vous êtes bien gentil."
The doctor bowed again, and in so doing his eyes rested on the middle
finger of the younger of the two ladies who had been addressed as
Violette.
"What a lovely ring, and what a wonderful appearance it has," said the
doctor, gaining courage as the ladies smiled at him. "Mademoiselle will
permit that I may regard it, n'est ce pas? That is if mademoiselle will
pardon a stranger?"
"With all my heart, monsieur, it is quite often that someone asks to be
allowed to examine my ring, and they nearly all say how peculiar and
unusual it looks. Then, when they have examined it, they invariably
remark, 'But is it not too large a ring for mademoiselle to wear,' ah,
but you see, monsieur, they do not know."
"But I forget something, mademoiselle; permit me to present myself,
Doctor Riche, just returned from Algiers, entirely at the service of
madame and mademoiselle."
"We are charmed to make the acquaintance of monsieur le docteur," said
the other lady "as we know Algiers well and have often heard of his
skill. Will not monsieur le docteur be seated while my daughter allows
him to regard the ring?"
Seating himself beside the fair Mademoiselle Violette, the doctor took
advantage of the kind offer of the two ladies, and began to examine
carefully the object of their conversation. It was a splendid specimen
of the scarabæus beetle carved out of a pale-greenish Beryl,[2] and
fitted into a curiously wrought gold setting.
"What a valuable piece of jewellery, no modern bijoutier fashioned
this," said the doctor, after a long and interested examination of the
beautiful object before him.
"It has quite a little history attached to it I expect," said
Mademoiselle Violette, "if we only knew. It was given to me a few
years ago by Suleiman Bey who found it in a tomb belonging to one of
the Pharaohs. Look, when I place it in front of me, so, and gaze at it
steadily, there are times when I see in its depths the most wonderful
things and the likenesses of people, some of whom I have never seen,
and some again whom I seem to recognise."
"But it is quite extraordinary!" replied the doctor.
"Would you like me to look into it for you? Just to see if it will tell
us something of your past, or what has happened to you, or some of your
friends perhaps?" asked Violette.
"Ah, mademoiselle, I can see you are a sorceress, but I know my
past already, alas! too well; would it not be a thousand times more
interesting if you were to test its wonderful powers by letting me see
a little way into the future?"
"I do not know whether I can do that, but if you will please to sit
opposite to me, and be very very still without speaking, and be sure
and keep your mind quite passive, and believe all the time that I
really do hold the power, I will try."
Placing the ring on the table in front of her in the centre of a black
silk handkerchief to avoid reflections, and bidding her companions
to keep absolutely still and silent, Violette muttered some words in
a very low tone, as if repeating some weird incantation, and then
proceeded to concentrate her entire thoughts, and gaze fixedly on the
ring.
Unconsciously disobeying the instruction to keep his mind quite
passive, Doctor Riche could not help studying the face of the young
girl before him, and noticing, as the seconds went by, the gradual
change that was beginning to come over her. From a half careless
insouciance when she first placed the ring on the table in front of her
and began to look into its depths, her whole manner and bearing seemed
now to have changed to one of most absorbing interest, which gradually
altered, until her face bore traces of great mental anguish. So strong
was the appearance of severe distress that the whole reserve of his
well-known professional tenderness of heart surged to the doctor's
brain, and was on the point of giving itself vent in speech, when a
soft, almost entranced voice apparently some distance off was heard, as
in a whisper:--
"Mon Dieu, it is terrible. Listen. It is a house in one of the suburbs
of Paris. There is a large room. It opens into a smaller chamber by a
large door. The door is locked. I see eight people sitting down in a
half circle. They hold each other's hands. There are, let me see, one,
two, three, four, five men, and three ladies. One of the ladies is
young and very pretty, with dark wavy hair, and wonderfully brilliant
eyes. The other is of middle age, and is wearing a wedding ring. I
see one of the men, he looks to be about thirty-five years old, he
is separated from the others. He has long black hair and a pointed
moustache. His face is very white, and his eyes are slowly closing.
They are putting him to sleep. He sleeps, oh, mon Dieu, how still he
is, he looks like the dead. Attendez, attendez, encore une minute. It
is not so clear now to see him. There is a vapeur, like a big white
cloud slowly over-wrapping him. Now it is getting smaller--what you
say, 'condensing'--and is taking a human form, but it is much more
handsome than the sleeper. Now the form is moving its lips as if it
were speaking, now it is fading away from the room, and the company
seems to be afraid, they are all very quiet. There is one of the
men--he looks like a doctor--he seems very anxious, he is uneasy, he is
bien faché as he looks at the sleeper. He regards closely, he touches
him, he takes his wrist and feels the pulse. He calls out, he cries,
'My God! He is dead!' Everyone rushes up to him and--ah, the picture
fades."
"Mon Dieu," cried out Riche, "Try again, mademoiselle, can you see
anything else?"
"Wait. Yes. The picture is forming itself again. Ah, but it is not
the same room. I see an open drawer in a writing table, there is a
large envelope in the drawer. There are five large seals, and there is
something written on the envelope. It is fading--I cannot make it out.
There is a name, Henri--Henri D--No, I cannot see more. It has faded. I
see nothing."
Pale as marble, and with a look of strained enquiry in her eyes, the
young girl leaned back in her chair and appeared quite oblivious to
all around her. Then slowly closing her eyes, she sighed deeply, and
turning to her mother said:--
"Oh, but it is too terrible, it is too much."
Thinking that she was about to collapse in a fainting fit, the doctor
hastened to procure assistance.
Quietly making his way through the open door, so as not to attract
too much attention to his companions, he called two of the garçons;
and telling one to carry some eau-de-vie to the ladies, he gave
instructions for the other to have a fiacre ready.
When he returned to the little table in the recess, the two ladies were
nowhere to be seen. He enquired of the waiters, but they could give him
no information as to where they had gone. The bill had been paid, but
beyond that they knew nothing. Dr. Riche waited for some minutes, and
at length prepared to leave the café.
"Diable, mille diables!" he exclaimed. "If it was genuine then it was
extraordinary, but if it was not genuine, it was a clever and a very
interesting imposture. But the imposture sans motif? That would not be
the 'sens commun.' The whole thing is very mysterious. I would give
anything to find out where they live, but it is quite useless to hunt
for them now. Just my cursed luck again." Picking up his gloves and
cane in an abstracted and almost dazed manner, the worthy doctor, after
glancing up and down the street, moved quietly away and joined the
throng of promenaders.
Doctor Riche was one of those bons viveurs who believe in comfort, and
was always to be found on his visits to Paris at one of those snug
and at the same time fashionable little hotels, much frequented by
married couples, which abound in the neighbourhood of the Louvre or the
Tuileries along the Rue de Rivoli.
In the evening of the second day after his meeting with his old friend
Villebois, he might have been seen settling his bill at the bureau of
the Hotel Chatham, while a couple of porters were transferring his
luggage to the fiacre.
It was a lovely autumn evening when he left the hotel. A vapour had
crept up the valley of the Seine, and hid its banks. A warm mist was
rolling over the city, while here and there were gaps revealing the
intense turquoise blue of the sky as the fiacre sped past the palace
and gardens of the Tuileries and the avenue of the Champs Elysées,
lined by rows of trees all decked in their multi-coloured foliage.
The sun setting behind Meudon illuminated the Bois with its beams which
strove to struggle through, while as it journeyed west, the windows
of the Louvre and the Tuileries reflected the golden splendour of its
rays. The Seine, curving like a huge snake, scintillated with all the
colours of the rainbow, while through the mist the dark square towers
of Notre Dame stood up like two silent sentinels mounting guard. Far
away towards the Bois in sharp relief against the sky, the mighty steel
scaffolding of the Tower Eiffel rose majestically above the Trocadero,
looking down from its dizzy height on to the vast city at its feet.
The great dome of the Pantheon on the other side of the river resembled
a ball of burnished copper. Slowly the colours changed as the vista
darkened, and the shadows vanished into the gloom, while the clouds
above the horizon changed into a fiery red bordered by an expanse of
orange, yellow and purple. The Heights of Montmartre were still bathed
in rosy sunshine. As the setting sun vanished a deep grey seemed to
settle over the city, which throbbed with its passing traffic like the
cadence of the tide on a pebbly beach, as he sped along the Avenue du
Trocadero and past the Maison Lamartine. Leaving the Bois, he could
just get a glimpse of the lakes of La Muette nestled behind it, while
a little to the south, resembling a casket of jewels, lay the charming
suburb of Auteuil.
"Auteuil, lieu favori; lieu fait pour les poètes
Que des rivaux de Gloire unis sous tes berceaus."[3]
The cocher drove past the church and the red marble pyramid which marks
the tomb of the noble chancellor d' Aguesseau, and then turning down
the Boulevard Rossini, he pulled up at a little detached villa near to
the one at which Rossini died, and the doctor at length found himself
at the house of his friend Villebois.
Doctor Riche recognised it as one of those delightful little detached
villas for which Passy and Auteuil are so famous. A wall surmounted by
ornamental railings, half-screened the garden from the footway, while
behind the house was a small grass-plot surrounded by a double row of
damask rose trees. In one corner of the back garden lay a pretty rustic
summer-house, shut in by creepers among which lovely cyclamen flowers,
clematis blossoms, and lilac shed their perfume and added their
brilliant colours to the dense green of the ivy.
As he entered the hall, adorned with the trophies of the chase, Madame
Villebois came forward to welcome him.
"At last, mon cher docteur, we are all impatient to meet you. My
husband and I are anxious to hear the stories of your adventures with
the Arabs in Algeria, and all my friends are here to welcome you. I
suppose that you have led a bachelor life so long that you will hardly
feel at home in our family circle."
"Oh, madame, how can you be so cruel? You should rather ask, 'Is it not
like returning to rest in paradise after having been driven out into
the wilderness.' I really feel as if I were the prodigal son returning
home to partake of the fatted calf. You can't imagine what a relief it
is for me to return to our beautiful Paris after my voluntary exile."
So saying the doctor was ushered into a large saloon with folding
doors, which, when opened, converted the two rooms into one.
The walls were covered with a Japanese paper ornamented with patterns
in old gold on a red background; but so wonderfully were the designs
made, that they heightened rather than lessened the effect of the
charming old oil paintings by Hobbema, Jan Van der Heyden, Boucher,
Claude and Meisonnier. The furniture was of stained oak, rather heavy
but beautifully carved, and almost as black as ebony with age. In one
corner was a large "grandfather's" clock, by Vulliamy, and ornamented
with Louis Quinze panels, whilst on the marble mantle-piece was a Louis
XVI. timepiece mounted on a wonderful creation of Sèvres porcelain, and
placed between two exquisite china groups with medallions painted by
Watteau.
Passing through the folding doors one entered a smaller but much
brighter room, with a white ceiling ornamented with groups of
mythological figures. At the further end a door opened into a
conservatory filled with curious insectivorous plants, choice orchids
and other rare exotics, many of which exhaled a deliciously sensuous
perfume. Passing through the hothouse, one stepped immediately on to
the lawn of the back garden.
As Doctor Riche entered the smaller room, Madame Villebois proceeded to
introduce him to the company. The moment he glanced round the assembled
guests, his eyes were riveted on a particularly sweet, dark-haired
girl, and a tall remarkable looking man, who were chatting together on
one of the settees in the corner of the room.
"This is Mademoiselle Payot, and Monsieur le Professor Delapine whom
you have doubtless heard of," said the hostess, smiling.
Although Riche had heard so much of the professor, he had never had
the opportunity of seeing him in private life before. What attracted
him was the piercing brilliancy of his eyes. They were of a steel blue
colour, and seemed to bore one through like an intense auger, making
the doctor feel conscious that Delapine was peering into his very soul,
and was reading his most secret thoughts. They turned perpetually here
and there so that nothing could escape his penetrating glance.
The professor had a habit of nervously playing with his fingers which
spread over every object they touched like the tentacles of a medusa,
as if they were eager to come into contact with the ultimate particles
of matter.
Delapine stood nearly six feet high, with very dark glossy hair falling
almost to his shoulders, and wearing a moustache with twisted ends
and a short pointed beard. The professor was invariably attired in
a black frock coat and cravat, the sombreness being relieved by the
red ribbon of the Legion of Honour. He was a man who would command
attention anywhere. Active, alert, with an imposing presence, he stood
out from the crowd as one born to command. The pale, almost wax-like
face, the lofty brow, the firm compressed lips ever and anon breaking
out into a smile, all contributed to form a personality which would be
both respected and loved. Delapine was slow and measured in speech,
and possessed a rich voice of peculiar charm and flexibility which
impressed and delighted his audience. He had that power of modulating
it to suit the nature of the theme, by which the members of his
class were enabled to select without effort the essentials from the
non-essentials of his discourse. At times he would pause, and turning
his head half round would scan the listeners with his piercing eyes, as
if to judge the effect of his words. But ever and anon his overpowering
personality would convey the effect of one inspired, and he could
elevate the simplest subjects to heights undreamt of, and stamp an
indelible impression of it on their imagination. A subject, which in
the hands of most men would sound tame and uninteresting, would, when
dealt with by him, become illuminated and clothed by the most apt
illustrations and exalted thought. No wonder that his students became
permeated with the enthusiasm of the master. He seemed to Riche to be
the ideal of an experimental philosopher and physicist.
But here the doctor was roused from his reflections by the cheery voice
of Villebois.
"Hullo, Riche, mon vieux, vous voilà enfin! Come along and let me
introduce you to Monsieur Marcel, our poet, philosopher and friend; and
also to Maitre Duval, our youngest member of the bar of whom I told you
before."
Marcel was a curiosity in his way. A bit of a dandy, and a great
favourite with the fair sex, he seemed to be always in evidence when
any function of importance was going on. He rather prided himself on
the originality of his dress, and invariably appeared at dinner in knee
breeches, black silk stockings, a white waistcoat, embroidered with
many coloured flowers, and a velvet coat, while his neck was adorned
with a blue silk bow of vast and convincing proportions. The back of
his neck was entirely hidden by the length of his hair, which fell on
his shoulders in lustrous locks after the manner of the poet Milton.
Was it not then natural that such a beautiful prize should be competed
for by the ladies to grace their receptions? But although a fop as
regards his dress, Marcel showed traces of real genius, and had already
begun to be talked about for his wit and power of repartee. In fact no
lady considered her house completely furnished unless a copy of his
sonnets, or his epigrams bound in the most delightful of plush covers
was to be found in her boudoir.
Duval was quite another character. Young, clever, pushing, and
extremely self-opinionated, he was nevertheless very narrow-minded,
and obstinate and jealous to a degree. When he had made up his mind to
any course of action he stopped at nothing to carry it out, and threw
caution to the winds. His clean shaven face save for a slight moustache
revealed a hard mouth with thin, closely set lips, and a square, firm
jaw. Truly such a man was more likely to be feared than loved, and few
would venture to make an enemy of him.
"What did you say that gentleman's name was who is arguing with our
friend the poet?"
"Pierre Duval, a new advocate just admitted to the bar. Quite a rising
man, I assure you. A man who is anxious to attain to fame by every
road, and as cheaply as possible. Oh, by the way, here is my daughter,
Céleste," exclaimed Villebois, as she came into the room all blushes
and confusion for being so late.
"What has kept you so long, Céleste?"
"Oh, papa, it's all the fault of those wretched dresses of mine."
"What on earth do you mean, my child?"
"Well, papa, it's this way. I did want to look very nice, and I found
that I had nothing to wear."
"Nothing to wear? What do you mean, Céleste? Why, I wager you have ten
times as many dresses as Renée."
"Yes, that may be, but you wanted me to sit next to Marcel, and I had
nothing that would harmonise with his lovely waistcoat. The moment I
saw it, I knew at once that it would kill all my dresses. I found I
could not match it, do what I would. At last I had to put on something,
and now look at me," and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"My dear Céleste, you look lovely, I assure you. You always seem to
me to be trying to attempt the impossible. A woman who cannot make
herself charming loses half the battle in the beauty competition. It
is far better to appreciate the dresses you cannot have than to have
the dresses you cannot appreciate. Don't forget that a woman who makes
herself charming by her manner can afford to wear anything she pleases
without offending the company."
"Yes, I know you are right, papa, although if you were to ask me I
could not tell you why."
"I am afraid my daughter imagines that she is out of harmony with
everyone in the room."
"Not in the least, papa, but you know the greatest pleasure I can have
is to please our guests, and how can I do that better than by having
nothing on that can offend the eye."
"Yes," replied the doctor smiling, "half her punishment was already
removed when Eve was permitted to decorate herself with fig-leaves."
"Oh, papa! How can you say such dreadful things? But I think I
understand what you meant when you spoke to me about being charming
as well. You meant that a cheerful, bright, smiling face and nice
courteous manners count more than a pretty frock."
"Quite right, my little rosebud," said Villebois, tenderly kissing her
on the forehead, "live up to those ideas, and you will never go far
wrong. The world, they say, is ever growing old, but youth asserts
itself on every side, and gives the world the lie. Happy, joyous
youth," he added with a sigh, "what would we give to feel once more the
young blood coursing through our veins. Make the most of it, Céleste
dear, while you possess it. Youth, hope and love are the only things
that count. We old folks can only enjoy the memory of those sweet days.
When you know English better I must lend you my volume of Coleridge's
poems, which I know you will like. If I remember rightly there is a
charming poem about youth which begins:--
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding like a bee,
Both were mine, Life went a-maying,
With Nature, Hope and Poesy,
When I was young.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like,
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O! the joys that came down shower-like
Of Friendship, Love and Liberty,
When I was young."
"How very pretty," said Céleste. "I must hurry on with my English, as I
should dearly love to read beautiful poetry like that."
"Yes," said Villebois with a little sigh, "youth is life, but youth
without faith and hope is worse than death. To grow old and never know
it, or to have your friends suspect it, that is happiness indeed."
"What are you two people talking about?" said Riche joining them.
"Father is giving me a sermon on youth and happiness," said Céleste,
smiling. "What is your recipe for happiness, doctor?" she added
enquiringly after a pause.
"Happiness, my dear mademoiselle, is a habit. You must learn to
cultivate it. In time, by constant practice, it will become automatic
and part of yourself."
"A very good answer, my dear Riche, a very good answer," said
Villebois approvingly. "I must give that prescription to some of my
patients--they sadly need it."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: The Beryl, and especially this particular shade of Beryl
was greatly prized by the ancient magicians for its supposed virtues in
assisting the crystal gazer.]
[Footnote 3: Chénier 'Promenade.']