[Illustration]
THE NAIAD
A GHOST STORY
_FROM THE FRENCH OF_
GEORGE SAND
BY
KATHERINE BERRY DI ZÉRÉGA
PRESS OF
WILLIAM R. JENKINS
851 & 853 SIXTH AVENUE
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY
KATHERINE BERRY DI ZÉRÉGA.
TO THE LATE
=Lady Frankland=
THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED
BY HER
MOTHER
_PREFACE._
_When years ago the author of this volume read, with delight, the story
in the original, she then decided to translate it, in order that others
(unfamiliar with the language) might enjoy a similar pleasure; the work
of publication, hardly begun, was interrupted by the illness and sudden
death of her only daughter, and to one who in so many ways resembled the
heroine of this sketch, this book is now dedicated._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE THREE LOAVES, 3
CHAPTER II.
THE APPARITION, 19
CHAPTER III.
THE LAW SUIT, 35
CHAPTER IV.
THE NAIAD, 52
CHAPTER V.
THE DUEL, 83
CHAPTER VI.
CONCLUSION, 99
THE NAIAD.
CHAPTER I.
THE THREE LOAVES.
Charged by my father with a very delicate mission, I repaired, towards
the end of May, 1788, to the château of Ionis, situated a dozen leagues
distant, in the lands lying between Angers and Saumur. I was twenty-two,
and already practising the profession of lawyer, for which I experienced
but slight inclination, although neither the study of business nor of
argument had presented serious difficulties to me. Taking my youth into
consideration, I was not esteemed without talent, and the standing of my
father, a lawyer renowned in the locality, assured me a brilliant
patronage in the future, in return for any paltry efforts I might make
to be worthy of replacing him. But I would have preferred literature, a
more dreamy life, a more independent and more individual use of my
faculties, a responsibility less submissive to the passions and
interests of others. As my family was well off, and I an only son,
greatly spoiled and petted, I might have chosen my own career, but I
would have thus afflicted my father, who took pride in his ability to
direct me in the road which he had cleared in advance, and I loved him
too tenderly to permit my instinct to outweigh his wishes.
It was a delightful evening in which I was finishing my ride on
horseback through the woods that surrounded the ancient and magnificent
castle of Ionis. I was well mounted, dressed _en cavalier_, with a
species of elegance, and accompanied by a servant of whom I had not the
slightest need, but whom my mother had conceived the innocent idea of
giving me for the occasion, desiring that her son should present a
proper appearance at the house of one of the most brilliant personages
of our patronage.
The night was illuminated by the soft fire of its largest stars. A
slight mist veiled the scintillations of those myriads of satellites
that gleam like brilliant eyes on clear, cold evenings. This was a true
summer sky, pure enough to be luminous and transparent, still
sufficiently softened not to overwhelm one by its immeasurable wealth.
It was, if I may so speak, one of those soft firmaments that permit one
to think of earth, to admire the vaporous lines of narrow horizons, to
breathe without disdain its atmosphere of flowers and herbage—in fine,
to consider oneself as something in this immensity, and to forget that
one is but an atom in the infinite.
In proportion as I approached the seigneurial park the wild perfumes of
the forest were mingled with those of the lilacs and acacias, whose
blooming heads leaned over the wall. Soon through the shrubbery I saw
the windows of the manor gleaming behind their curtains of purple moire,
divided by the dark crossbars of the frame work. It was a magnificent
castle of the renaissance, a _chef-d’œuvre_ of taste mingled with
caprice, one of those dwellings where one is impressed by something
indescribably ingenious and bold, which from the imagination of the
architect seems to pass into one’s own, and take possession of it,
raising it above the usages and preoccupations of a positive world.
I confess that my heart beat fast in giving my name to the lackey
commissioned to announce me. I had never seen Madame d’Ionis; she passed
for one of the prettiest women in the country, was twenty-two, and had a
husband who was neither handsome nor amiable, and who neglected her in
order to travel. Her writing was charming, and she found means to show
not only a great deal of sense, but still more cleverness in her
business letters. Altogether she was a very fine character. This was all
that I knew of her, and it was sufficient for me to dread appearing
awkward or provincial. I grew pale on entering the salon. My first
impression then was one of relief and pleasure, when I found myself in
the presence of two stout and very ugly old women, one of whom, Madame
the Dowager d’Ionis informed me that her daughter-in-law was at the
house of her friends in the neighborhood, and probably would not return
before the next day.
“You are welcome, all the same,” added this matron. “We have a very
friendly and grateful feeling for your father, and it appears that we
stand in great need of his counsel, which you are without doubt charged
to communicate to us.”
“I came from him,” I replied, “to talk over the affair with Madame
d’Ionis.”
“The Countess d’Ionis does in fact occupy herself with business
affairs,” replied the dowager, rather coldly, as if to warn me that I
had committed a blunder. “She understands it, she has a good head, and
in the absence of my son, who is at Vienna, she is conducting this
wearisome and interminable law suit. You must not depend upon me to
replace her, for I understand nothing about it, and all that I can do is
to retain you until the countess’ return, and offer you a supper, such
as it may be, and a good bed.”
Hereupon the old lady, who in spite of the little lesson she had given
me, appeared a good enough woman, rang and gave orders for making me at
home. I refused to eat anything, having taken care to do so on the road,
and knowing that nothing is more annoying than to eat alone, and under
the eyes of people with whom one happens to be totally unacquainted.
As my father had allowed me several days in which to execute my
commission, I had nothing better to do, than to wait the return of my
beautiful client; and I was, in the eyes of herself and family, a
messenger of sufficient importance to be entitled to a very cordial
hospitality. I did not then await a second invitation to remain in her
house, although there was a very comfortable inn where persons of my
condition went ordinarily to await the moment of consultation with
“people of quality.” Such was still the language of the provinces at
this epoch, and it was necessary to appreciate these terms and their
value, in order to maintain one’s position without degradation and
without impertinence in one’s relations with the world. A _bourgeois_,
and a philosopher (they did not yet say Democrat), I was not in the
least convinced of the moral superiority of the nobility, and although
they prided themselves upon being philosophical, I knew it was necessary
to humor their susceptibilities of etiquette and respect them, in order
to be respected oneself. I displayed then a slight timidity with an air
of sufficiently good style, having already seen at my father’s house
some specimens of all classes of society. The dowager appeared to
perceive this, before the lapse of many minutes and no longer assumed an
air of condescension in order to welcome, if not as an equal, at least
as a friend the son of the family lawyer.
While she was conversing with me, as a woman with whom custom supplies
the place of wit, I had the leisure to examine both her countenance and
that of the other matron still stouter than she who, seated at some
distance and filling in the background of a piece of tapestry, never
opened her lips and scarcely raised her eyes in my direction. She was
dressed somewhat in the style of the dowager, in a dark silk gown with
tight sleeves, and a black lace scarf, surmounting a white cap, tied
under her chin. But it was not so fresh or clean, her hands were less
white, although equally plump, her type coarser, although coarseness was
very evident in the heavy features of the stout dowager of Ionis. In
short I was no longer in doubt as to her condition of companion, when
the dowager remarked apropos of my refusal to sup.
“No matter, Zéphyrine, we must not forget that M. Nivières is young, and
that he may be hungry yet before going to sleep. Order a light supper to
be served in his apartment.”
The monumental Zéphyrine arose; she was as tall as she was stout. “And
above all,” observed her mistress, “do not let them forget the bread.”
“The bread,” said Zéphyrine, in a fine, husky little voice that offered
a pleasing contrast to her stature. Then she repeated, “The bread!” with
an intonation strongly marked by doubt and surprise.
“The loaves,” replied the dowager with authority.
Zéphyrine seemed to hesitate an instant and went out, but her mistress
recalled her immediately, and gave her this strange order—“Three
loaves!”
Zéphyrine opened her mouth to answer, shrugged her shoulders slightly
and disappeared.
“Three loaves!” I exclaimed in my turn. “But what kind of an appetite do
you suppose I have, Madame la Comtesse?”
“Oh, that is nothing,” said she, “They are quite small.”
She was silent for a moment, I sought for some subject of conversation
while awaiting the time when I might retire, when she appeared a prey to
a certain perplexity, placed her hand on a bell, and stopped to say as
if speaking to herself—“Still three loaves!”
“It is a great deal in fact,” answered I, repressing a strong temptation
to laugh. She looked at me in amazement, unconscious that she had spoken
aloud.
“You speak of the law suit,” said she, as if to make me forget her
distraction, “it is a great deal that they claim. Do you think we will
gain it?”
But she paid very little attention to my evasive answers, and rang
emphatically. A servant came, she asked for Zéphyrine, who reappeared
and in whose ear she whispered, after which she seemed relieved, and
began to chat with me like a good-natured gossip, very ignorant, but
benevolent and almost maternal, questioning me upon my tastes, my
dispositions, my occupations and my pleasures. I made myself more of a
child than I was in order to put her at her ease, for I soon remarked
that she was one of those women of the great world who contrive to get
along with the most mediocre intelligence, and who would prefer not to
encounter a greater degree in others. On the whole she showed so much
good nature that I was not greatly bored with her during the space of an
hour, and that I did not await her permission to leave her with too much
impatience.
A groom of the chambers conducted me to my apartment, for it was almost
a complete suite, three decidedly handsome rooms, quite large and
furnished in the Louis XV style, with a great deal of luxury. My own
servant to whom my good mother had given his lesson, was in my bedroom,
awaiting the honor of undressing me, in order to appear as well posted
in his duties as the valets of great houses.
“This is all very well, my dear Baptiste,” said I to him, when we were
alone, “but thou canst go to sleep, I shall undress myself as I have
been in the habit of doing all my life.”
Baptiste bade me good-night, and left me. It was only ten o’clock. I had
no desire to sleep so soon, so I set myself to examine the furniture and
pictures in my room, when my eyes fell upon the repast which had been
served near the fire-place, and the three loaves appeared before me in
all their mysterious symmetry. They were passably large and arranged in
the centre of the Japanese waiter in a pretty basket of old Saxony, with
a handsome silver salt-cellar in the midst, and three damask napkins
placed at intervals around it.
“What the deuce does this mean?” I asked myself, “and why has this
vulgar accessory of my supper, the bread, tormented my aged hostess to
such an extent?” “Why were three loaves so expressly ordered? Why not
four! Why not ten? Since they take me for an ogre! Upon my word! This is
really a bounteous feast, and here are some bottles of wine whose
etiquettes promise well. But why three carafes of water? Here again it
becomes mysterious and absurd. Does this good old countess imagine that
I am triple, or that I carry two guests in my valise?” I was musing upon
this enigma when some one knocked at the door of the ante-chamber.
“Come in,” cried I, without moving, thinking that Baptiste had forgotten
something. What was my surprise to behold the powerful Zéphyrine in her
night cap, holding a candle in one hand and, with a finger placed upon
her lips, advancing towards me on tip-toe as if she entertained the
absurd idea of not letting the floor creak under her elephantine tread.
I certainly grew paler than I had done in preparing to meet the youthful
Madame d’Ionis. The spectacle of this voluminous apparition was truly
appalling!
“Fear nothing, sir,” said the good old maid ingeniously, as if she had
divined my terror. “I come to explain about the extraordinary—the three
carafes, and the three loaves.”
“Ah! willingly,” answered I, offering her an armchair, “I was really
considerably perplexed.”
“As housekeeper,” said Zéphyrine, refusing to be seated and still
holding her candle, “I should be very much mortified if monsieur
imagined that I wished to perpetrate a poor joke. I would not permit
myself—and still I come to ask monsieur to connive at it, so that my
mistress may not be displeased.”
“Go on, Mademoiselle Zéphyrine, I am not of a disposition to be vexed at
a joke, above all, when it is an amusing one.”
“Oh! _mon Dieu_, no, sir, there is nothing amusing about it, but neither
is there anything disagreeable. It is only this, madame the dowager
countess is very—her head is very—.” Zéphyrine stopped short; she either
loved or feared the dowager and could not make up her mind to criticise
her. Her embarrassment was comical, for it showed itself in a childish
smile curling around the corners of a decidedly small and toothless
mouth which caused her round, chubby face, minus forehead and chin, to
appear still larger. You might have mistaken it for the full moon
grimacing as it is represented on almanacs. Her breathless little voice,
and her peculiar lisp had the effect of causing her to appear so
extraordinary that I did not dare to look her in the face for fear of
losing my countenance.
“Let me see,” said I, endeavoring to encourage her in her revelations,
“madame the dowager countess is something of a tease; she likes to amuse
herself at the expense of others!”
“No, sir, no indeed. She does it in perfect good faith; she believes,
she imagines”—I sought in vain for what the countess might imagine, when
Zéphyrine added with an effort—“In fact, sir, my poor mistress believes
in spirits!”
“Well, granted,” I replied. “She is not the only person of her sex and
age who entertains the same belief; and, it certainly does harm to no
one.”
“But it sometimes causes evil to those who fear them, and if monsieur
should be afraid of anything in this apartment, I can assure him that
nothing ever reappears here.”
“So much the worse, I would have been very pleased to see something
supernatural. Ghosts are part of all old manors and this one is so
handsome that I would only have imagined very agreeable phantoms.”
“Really, monsieur has then heard something spoken of?”
“In regard to this castle and this apartment, never. I am waiting for
you to tell me about it.”
“Well, monsieur, this is the story: In the year—I can’t remember—but it
was in the reign of Henri II, monsieur must know better than I when that
was, there lived here three young ladies of the d’Ionis family,
beautiful as the day, and so amiable that they were adored by everybody.
A wicked court lady who was jealous of them, and of the youngest in
particular, caused some poison to be placed in the water of a fountain
from which they drank and which was used in making their bread. All
three died the same night, and as they pretend to say, in the room where
we now are. But this is not by any means certain and no one ever
imagined such a thing until lately. To be sure they were in the habit of
telling a story in the country of three white ladies who had shown
themselves for a long time in the castle and in the gardens; but it was
so old that no one thought of it any more, and no one believed it, when
one of the friends of the family, M. l’abbé de Lamyre, who is an _esprit
gai_ and a good talker, having slept in this room, dreamed or pretended
to have dreamed of three green ladies who had appeared and prophesied
before him. And as he saw that his dream interested madame the dowager,
and diverted the young countess, her daughter-in-law, he invented
whatever he pleased and made his ghosts talk according to his fancy so
well, that madame the dowager is persuaded that the future of the family
and that of the law suit, which is tormenting M. le comte, might be
revealed by causing these phantoms to reappear and speak. But, as all
the persons who have lodged here have seen nothing at all, and have
simply laughed at her, she has resolved to put only those here who not
having been forewarned would not think of inventing apparitions or of
concealing those that they might have seen. This is why she has ordered
you to be put in this room without saying anything to you, but as madame
is not very—clever, perhaps, she has not been able to keep herself from
speaking to me of the three loaves in your presence.”
“To be sure, the three loaves and the three carafes have given me some
subject of thought. Nevertheless, I confess that absolutely I can
discover no connection whatever.”
“Oh, yes, monsieur, the three ladies of the time of Henri II were
poisoned by bread and water.”
“There I see the connection very plainly, but I do not understand how
this offering, if it is one, should be agreeable to them. What do you
think of it yourself?”
“I think wherever their souls may be they neither know nor care anything
about it,” said Zéphyrine with an air of superior modesty. “But you
ought to learn how these ideas were suggested to my good old mistress. I
bring you the manuscript that Madame d’Ionis, her daughter-in-law,
Madame Caroline as we call her here, has herself unearthed by means of
directions given in some old scribblings found in the archives of the
family. This perusal will interest you more than my conversation, and I
am going to wish you good evening after having preferred a little
petition, however.”
“With all my heart, my dear young lady, what can I do for you?”
“Do not tell any one in the world, unless Madame Caroline, who will not
mind, that I have forewarned you, for madame the dowager would scold me,
and would trust me no longer.”
“I promise, and what must I say to-morrow if I am questioned in regard
to my dreams?”
“Ah! that, monsieur, is a case in which you must have the kindness to
invent something, a dream without sense or connection, whatever you
please, provided it includes the three young ladies, otherwise madame
the dowager will be like a soul in torment, and will accuse me of not
putting the loaves, and carafes and salt-cellar in their places, or
rather that I have warned you, and that your incredulity has prevented
the ghosts from making their appearance. She is convinced of these
ladies’ bad temper and of their refusal to show themselves to those who
ridicule them beforehand, were it only in their thoughts.”
Left alone, after having promised Zéphyrine to lend myself to the fancy
of her mistress, I opened and read the manuscript of which I shall only
relate the circumstances relative to my story. That of the d’Ionis,
young ladies appeared to me purely legendary, recounted by Madame
d’Ionis on the faith of documents of slender authenticity, which she
herself criticised in that light and mocking strain which was the
fashion of the day. I pass over then in silence the chronicle of the
three dead ladies, thus coldly commented upon, and which had appeared
more interesting to me in the sober words of Zéphyrine and will only
relate the following fragment, transcribed by madame d’Ionis from a
manuscript dated 1650, and revised by an ancient chaplain of the castle.
“It is a fact that I have heard in my youth that the castle of Ionis was
haunted by three spirits, exhibiting the appearance of ladies richly
dressed, who without menacing any one appeared to be seeking something
in the rooms and closets of the house. Masses and prayers recited for
their benefit proving ineffectual to prevent their return, some one
conceived the idea of causing three white loaves to be blessed, and of
putting them in the room where the demoiselles d’Ionis had expired. That
night they came without making any noise or frightening any one by their
appearance, and it was discovered on the following day that they had
nibbled the loaves after the manner of mice but had taken nothing away,
and on the following night they had recommenced complaining and making
the doors creak and bolts groan. For this reason some one conceived the
idea of giving them three pitchers of clear water, which they did not
drink, but a portion of which they spilled. At length the prior of Saint
—— suggested that they might be entirely appeased by offering them a
salt-cellar with white salt, on account of their having been poisoned by
a loaf without salt, and as soon as this was done they were heard
singing a very beautiful song in which we are assured that they
promised, in Latin, to bestow blessings and good fortune upon the
younger branch of the Ionis family to whom their property had reverted.
This took place, I am told, in the time of King Henri IV, and since then
nothing further has been heard of them; but for a long time a belief
existed in the d’Ionis family, that by making them this offering at
midnight they could be drawn thither and the future revealed through
them. It is even said that if the three loaves, three carafes and a
salt-cellar should by chance be discovered on a table in the aforesaid
castle, astounding things would be seen and heard in this place.”
To this fragment Madame d’Ionis had added the following reflection: “It
is much to be regretted for the sake of the d’Ionis family that this
fine miracle should have ceased; all its members would then have been
virtuous and wise: but, though I have in my hands a formula of
invocation arranged by some astrologer formerly attached to the house, I
have no hopes that the green ladies will ever reappear here.”
I remained for some time absorbed, not from the effects of this perusal,
but rather on account of Madame d’Ionis’ pretty handwriting and her
elegant revision of the other reflections that accompanied the legend. I
did not then make, as I permit myself to-day, any criticism on the easy
scepticism of this beautiful lady. I fully sympathized with her on this
point. It was the fashion to regard fantastical things not from an
artistic but from an ironical point of view. People prided themselves
upon not crediting nurses’ tales or the superstitions of former ages. I
was, besides, strongly disposed to fall in love. They had spoken to me
so much at home of this amiable person, and my mother had recommended me
so strongly on my departure, not to allow my head to be turned that it
was already partially accomplished. So far I had only been in love with
two or three of my cousins, and these affections, rehearsed in verses as
chaste as my flame, had not consumed my heart to such an extent that it
was not ready to lend itself to burning much more seriously.
I had brought with me a bundle of law papers that my father had made me
promise to look over. I opened it conscientiously; but after having read
several pages with my eyes, without taking in the sense of a single
word, I soon found out that mode of study was perfectly useless and
wisely determined to renounce it. I thought I could make up for my
laziness by seriously thinking over the d’Ionis law suit, that I had at
the end of my fingers, and I prepared the arguments with which I was to
convince the countess of the steps she ought to take. Only, each of
these wonderful arguments terminated, I know not how, with some amorous
madrigal which had no direct connection with the procedure.
In the midst of this important work I was seized with hunger. The muse
is not so hard upon children of a family accustomed to live well as to
forbid them to sup with a good appetite. I therefore set myself to do
justice to the _pâté_ which smilingly greeted me among my law papers and
my alexandrines, and I unfolded the napkin placed at my plate where, to
my great surprise, I found a fourth roll.
This surprise yielded quickly to a very simple train of reasoning. If in
the plans and previsions of the dowager, the three cabalistic loaves
were to remain intact, it was but natural that one should have been
consecrated to the demands of my appetite. I tasted the wines and found
them of so good a quality that I generously made a sacrifice to the
phantoms of the carafes of water, designed for their particular use.
And while eating with great pleasure, I, at length, began to think of
the chronicle and to ask myself how I should recount the wonders that I
could not dispense with having seen. I regretted that Zéphyrine had not
furnished me with more details of the three dead women’s presumed
peculiarities. The extract from the magazine of 1650 was not
sufficiently explicit: were these ladies to wait until I was asleep
before coming, like mice, to nibble the loaves they were supposed to
relish so greatly? Or rather, were they likely to appear at any moment,
and seat themselves, one at my left, the other at my right, and the
third opposite me?
The bell of the castle announced midnight, it was the classic hour, the
fatal hour!