IN A GLASS DARKLY
BY
J. SHERIDAN LE FANU,
AUTHOR OF "UNCLE SILAS," &C.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
R. BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1872.
In a Glass Darkly.
THE ROOM IN THE DRAGON VOLANT.
VOL. III.
CHAPTER XXIV.
HOPE.
She had scarcely set down my heavy box, which she seemed to have
considerable difficulty in raising on the table, when the door of the
room in which I had seen the coffin, opened, and a sinister and
unexpected apparition entered.
It was the Count de St. Alyre, who had been, as I have told you,
reported to me to be, for some considerable time, on his way to Père la
Chaise. He stood before me for a moment, with the frame of the doorway
and a background of darkness enclosing him, like a portrait. His
slight, mean figure was draped in the deepest mourning. He had a pair of
black gloves in his hand, and his hat with crape round it.
When he was not speaking his face showed signs of agitation; his mouth
was puckering and working. He looked damnably wicked and frightened.
"Well, my dear Eugenie? Well, child--eh? Well, it all goes admirably?"
"Yes," she answered, in a low, hard tone. "But you and Planard should
not have left that door open."
This she said sternly. "He went in there and looked about wherever he
liked; it was fortunate he did not move aside the lid of the coffin."
"Planard should have seen to that," said the Count, sharply. "_Ma foi!_
I can't be everywhere!" He advanced half-a-dozen short quick steps into
the room toward me, and placed his glasses to his eyes.
"Monsieur Beckett," he cried sharply, two or three times, "Hi! don't you
know me?"
He approached and peered more closely in my face; raised my hand and
shook it, calling me again, then let it drop, and said--"It has set in
admirably, my pretty _mignonne_. When did it commence?"
The Countess came and stood beside him, and looked at me steadily for
some seconds.
You can't conceive the effect of the silent gaze of those two pairs of
evil eyes.
The lady glanced to where, I recollected, the mantel-piece stood, and
upon it a clock, the regular click of which I sharply heard.
"Four--five--six minutes and a half," she said slowly, in a cold hard
way.
"Brava! Bravissima! my beautiful queen! my little Venus! my Joan of
Arc! my heroine! my paragon of women!"
He was gloating on me with an odious curiosity, smiling, as he groped
backward with his thin brown fingers to find the lady's hand; but she,
not (I dare say) caring for his caresses, drew back a little.
"Come, _ma chère_, let us count these things. What is it? Pocket-book?
Or--or--_what_?"
"It is _that_?" said the lady, pointing with a look of disgust to the
box, which lay in its leather case on the table.
"Oh! Let us see--let us count--let us see," he said, as he was
unbuckling the straps with his tremulous fingers. "We must count
them--we must see to it. I have pencil and pocket-book--but--where's the
key? See this cursed lock! My ----! What is it? Where's the key?"
He was standing before the Countess, shuffling his feet, with his hands
extended and all his fingers quivering.
"I have not got it; how could I? It is in his pocket, of course," said
the lady.
In another instant the fingers of the old miscreant were in my pockets:
he plucked out everything they contained, and some keys among the rest.
I lay in precisely the state in which I had been during my drive with
the Marquis to Paris. This wretch I knew was about to rob me. The whole
drama, and the Countess's _rôle_ in it, I could not yet comprehend. I
could not be sure--so much more presence of mind and histrionic resource
have women than fall to the lot of our clumsy sex--whether the return of
the Count was not, in truth, a surprise to her; and this scrutiny of the
contents of my strong box, an extempore undertaking of the Count's. But
it was clearing more and more every moment: and I was destined, very
soon, to comprehend minutely my appalling situation.
I had not the power of turning my eyes this way or that, the smallest
fraction of a hair's breadth. But let any one, placed as I was at the
end of a room, ascertain for himself by experiment how wide is the field
of sight, without the slightest alteration in the line of vision, he
will find that it takes in the entire breadth of a large room, and that
up to a very short distance before him; and imperfectly, by a
refraction, I believe, in the eye itself, to a point very near indeed.
Next to nothing that passed in the room, therefore, was hidden from me.
The old man had, by this time, found the key. The leather case was open.
The box cramped round with iron, was next unlocked. He turned out its
contents upon the table.
"Rouleaux of a hundred Napoleons each. One, two, three. Yes, quick.
Write down a thousand Napoleons. One, two; yes, right. Another thousand,
_write_!" And so, on and on till till gold was rapidly counted. Then
came the notes.
"Ten thousand francs. _Write._ Ten thousand francs again: is it written?
Another ten thousand francs: is it down? Smaller notes would have been
better. They should have been smaller. These are horribly embarrassing.
Bolt that door again; Planard would become unreasonable if he knew the
amount. Why did you not tell him to get it in smaller notes? No matter
now--go on--it can't be helped--_write_--another ten thousand
francs--another--another." And so on, till my treasure was counted out,
before my face, while I saw and heard all that passed with the sharpest
distinctness, and my mental perceptions were horribly vivid. But in all
other respects I was dead.
He had replaced in the box every note and rouleau as he counted it, and
now having ascertained the sum total, he locked it, replaced it, very
methodically, in its cover, opened a buffet in the wainscoting, and,
having placed the Countess' jewel-case and my strong box in it, he
locked it; and immediately on completing these arrangements he began to
complain, with fresh acrimony and maledictions of Planard's delay.
He unbolted the door, looked in the dark room beyond, and listened. He
closed the door again, and returned. The old man was in a fever of
suspense.
"I have kept ten thousand francs for Planard," said the Count, touching
his waistcoat pocket.
"Will that satisfy him?" asked the lady.
"Why--curse him!" screamed the Count. "Has he no conscience! I'll swear
to him it's half the entire thing."
He and the lady again came and looked at me anxiously for awhile, in
silence; and then the old Count began to grumble again about Planard,
and to compare his watch with the clock. The lady seemed less impatient;
she sat no longer looking at me, but across the room, so that her
profile was toward me--and strangely changed, dark and witch-like it
looked. My last hope died as I beheld that jaded face from which the
mask had dropped. I was certain that they intended to crown their
robbery by murder. Why did they not despatch me at once? What object
could there be in postponing the catastrophe which would expedite their
own safety. I cannot recall, even to myself, adequately the horrors
unutterable that I underwent. You must suppose a real night-mare--I mean
a nightmare in which the objects and the danger are real, and the spell
of corporal death appears to be protractable at the pleasure of the
persons who preside at your unearthly torments. I could have no doubt as
to the cause of the state in which I was.
In this agony, to which I could not give the slightest expression, I saw
the door of the room where the coffin had been, open slowly, and the
Marquis d'Harmonville entered the room.
CHAPTER XXV.
DESPAIR.
A moment's hope, hope violent and fluctuating, hope that was nearly
torture, and then came a dialogue, and with it the terrors of despair.
"Thank heaven, Planard, you have come at last," said the Count, taking
him, with both hands, by the arm and clinging to it, and drawing him
toward me. "See, look at him. It has all gone sweetly, sweetly, sweetly
up to this. Shall I hold the candle for you?"
My friend d'Harmonville, Planard, whatever he was, came to me, pulling
off his gloves, which he popped into his pocket.
"The candle, a little this way," he said, and stooping over me he looked
earnestly in my face. He touched my forehead, drew his hand across it,
and then looked in my eyes for a time.
"Well, doctor, what do you think?" whispered the Count.
"How much did you give him?" said the Marquis, thus suddenly stunted
down to a doctor.
"Seventy drops," said the lady.
"In the hot coffee?"
"Yes; sixty in a hot cup of coffee and ten in the liqueur."
Her voice, low and hard, seemed to me to tremble a little. It takes a
long course of guilt to subjugate nature completely, and prevent those
exterior signs of agitation that outlive all good.
The doctor, however, was treating me as coolly as he might a subject
which he was about to place on the dissecting-table for a lecture.
He looked into my eyes again for awhile, took my wrist, and applied his
fingers to the pulse.
"That action suspended," he said to himself.
Then again he placed something that, for the moment I saw it, looked
like a piece of gold-beater's leaf, to my lips, holding his head so far
that his own breathing could not affect it.
"Yes," he said in soliloquy, very low.
Then he plucked my shirt-breast open and applied the stethoscope,
shifted it from point to point, listened with his ear to its end, as if
for a very far off sound, raised his head, and said, in like manner,
softly to himself, "All appreciable action of the lungs has subsided."
Then turning from the sound, as I conjectured, he said:
"Seventy drops, allowing ten for waste, ought to hold him fast for six
hours and a half--that is ample. The experiment I tried in the carriage
was only thirty drops, and showed a highly sensitive brain. It would not
do to kill him, you know. You are certain you did not exceed _seventy_?"
"Perfectly," said the lady.
"If he were to die the evaporation would be arrested, and foreign
matter, some of it poisonous, would be found in the stomach, don't you
see? If you are doubtful, it would be well to use the stomach-pump."
"Dearest Eugenie, be frank, be frank, do be frank," urged the Count.
"I am _not_ doubtful, I am _certain_," she answered.
"How long ago, exactly? I told you to observe the time."
"I did; the minute-hand was exactly there, under the point of that
Cupid's foot."
"It will last, then, probably for seven hours. He will recover then; the
evaporation will be complete, and not one particle of the fluid will
remain in the stomach."
It was reassuring, at all events, to hear that there was no intention to
murder me. No one who has not tried it knows the terror of the approach
of death, when the mind is clear, the instincts of life unimpaired, and
no excitement to disturb the appreciation of that entirely new horror.
The nature and purpose of this tenderness was very, very peculiar, and
as yet I had not a suspicion of it.
"You leave France, I suppose?" said the ex-Marquis.
"Yes, certainly, to-morrow," answered the Count.
"And where do you mean to go?"
"That I have not yet settled," he answered quickly.
"You won't tell a friend, eh?"
"I can't till I know. This has turned out an unprofitable affair."
"We shall settle that by-and-by."
"It is time we should get him lying down, eh?" said the Count,
indicating me with one finger.
"Yes, we must proceed rapidly now. Are his night-shirt and
night-cap--you understand--here?"
"All ready," said the Count.
"Now, Madame," said the doctor, turning to the lady, and making her, in
spite of the emergency, a bow, "it is time you should retire."
The lady passed into the room, in which I had taken my cup of
treacherous coffee, and I saw her no more.
The Count took a candle, and passed through the door at the further end
of the room, returning with a roll of linen in his hand. He bolted first
one door, then the other.
They now, in silence, proceeded to undress me rapidly. They were not
many minutes in accomplishing this.
What the doctor had termed my night-shirt, a long garment which reached
below my feet, was now on, and a cap, that resembled a female nightcap
more than anything I had ever seen upon a male head, was fitted upon
mine, and tied under my chin.
And now, I thought, I shall be laid in a bed, to recover how I can,
and, in the meantime, the conspirators will have escaped with their
booty, and pursuit be in vain.
This was my best hope at the time; but it was soon clear that their
plans were very different.
The Count and Planard now went, together, into the room that lay
straight before me. I heard them talking low, and a sound of shuffling
feet; then a long rumble; it suddenly stopped; it recommenced; it
continued; side by side they came in at the door, their backs toward me.
They were dragging something along the floor that made a continued boom
and rumble, but they interposed between me and it, so that I could not
see it until they had dragged it almost beside me; and then, merciful
heaven! I saw it plainly enough. It was the coffin I had seen in the
next room. It lay now flat on the floor, its edge against the chair in
which I sat. Planard removed the lid. The coffin was empty.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CATASTROPHE.
"Those seem to be good horses, and we change on the way," said Planard.
"You give the men a Napoleon or two; we must do it within three hours
and a quarter. Now, come; I'll lift him, upright, so as to place his
feet in their proper berth, and you must keep them together, and draw
the white shirt well down over them."
In another moment I was placed, as he described, sustained in Planard's
arms, standing at the foot of the coffin, and so lowered backward,
gradually, till I lay my length in it. Then the man, whom he called
Planard, stretched my arms by my sides, and carefully arranged the
frills at my breast, and the folds of the shroud, and after that, taking
his stand at the foot of the coffin, made a survey which seemed to
satisfy him.
The Count, who was very methodical, took my clothes, which had just been
removed, folded them rapidly together and locked them up, as I
afterwards heard, in one of the three presses which opened by doors in
the panel.
I now understood their frightful plan. This coffin had been prepared for
_me_; the funeral of St. Amand was a sham to mislead inquiry; I had
myself given the order at Père la Chaise, signed it, and paid the fees
for the interment of the fictitious Pierre de St. Amand, whose place I
was to take, to lie in his coffin, with his name on the plate above my
breast, and with a ton of clay packed down upon me; to waken from this
catalepsy, after I had been for hours in the grave, there to perish by a
death the most horrible that imagination can conceive.
If, hereafter, by any caprice of curiosity or suspicion, the coffin
should be exhumed, and the body it enclosed examined, no chemistry could
detect a trace of poison, nor the most cautious examination the
slightest mark of violence.
I had myself been at the utmost pains to mystify inquiry, should my
disappearance excite surmises, and had even written to my few
correspondents in England to tell them that they were not to look for a
letter from me for three weeks at least.
In the moment of my guilty elation death had caught me, and there was no
escape. I tried to pray to God in my unearthly panic, but only thoughts
of terror, judgment, and eternal anguish, crossed the distraction of my
immediate doom.
I must not try to recall what is indeed indescribable--the multiform
horrors of my own thoughts. I will relate, simply, what befell, every
detail of which remains sharp in my memory as if cut in steel.
"The undertaker's men are in the hall," said the Count.
"They must not come till this is fixed," answered Planard. "Be good
enough to take hold of the lower part while I take this end." I was not
left long to conjecture what was coming, for in a few seconds more
something slid across, a few inches above my face, and entirely excluded
the light, and muffled sound, so that nothing that was not very distinct
reached my ears henceforward; but very distinctly came the working of a
turnscrew, and the crunching home of screws in succession. Than these
vulgar sounds, no doom spoken in thunder could have been more
tremendous.
The rest I must relate, not as it then reached my ears, which was too
imperfectly and interruptedly to supply a connected narrative, but as it
was afterwards told me by other people.
The coffin-lid being screwed down, the two gentlemen arranged the room,
and adjusted the coffin so that it lay perfectly straight along the
boards, the Count being specially anxious that there should be no
appearance of hurry or disorder in the room, which might have suggested
remark and conjecture.
When this was done, Doctor Planard said he would go to the hall to
summon the men who were to carry the coffin out and place it in the
hearse. The Count pulled on his black gloves, and held his white
handkerchief in his hand, a very impressive chief-mourner. He stood a
little behind the head of the coffin, awaiting the arrival of the
persons who accompanied Planard, and whose fast steps he soon heard
approaching.
Planard came first. He entered the room through the apartment in which
the coffin had been originally placed. His manner was changed; there was
something of a swagger in it.
"Monsieur le Comte," he said, as he strode through the door, followed by
half-a-dozen persons. "I am sorry to have to announce to you a most
unseasonable interruption. Here is Monsieur Carmaignac, a gentleman
holding an office in the police department, who says that information to
the effect that large quantities of smuggled English and other goods
have been distributed in this neighbourhood, and that a portion of them
is concealed in your house. I have ventured to assure him, of my own
knowledge, that nothing can be more false than that information, and
that you would be only too happy to throw open for his inspection, at a
moment's notice, every room, closet, and cupboard in your house."
"Most assuredly," exclaimed the Count, with a stout voice, but a very
white face. "Thank you, my good friend, for having anticipated me. I
will place my house and keys at his disposal, for the purpose of his
scrutiny, so soon as he is good enough to inform me, of what specific
contraband goods he comes in search."
"The Count de St. Alyre will pardon me," answered Carmaignac, a little
dryly. "I am forbidden by my instructions to make that disclosure; and
that I _am_ instructed to make a general search, this warrant will
sufficiently apprise Monsieur le Comte."
"Monsieur Carmaignac, may I hope," interposed Planard, "that you will
permit the Count de St. Alyre to attend the funeral of his kinsman, who
lies here, as you see--" (he pointed to the plate upon the coffin)--"and
to convey whom to Père la Chaise, a hearse waits at this moment at the
door."
"That, I regret to say, I cannot permit. My instructions are precise;
but the delay, I trust, will be but trifling. Monsieur le Comte will not
suppose for a moment that I suspect him; but we have a duty to perform,
and I must act as if I did. When I am ordered to search, I search;
things are sometimes hid in such _bizarre_ places. I can't say, for
instance, what that coffin may contain."
"The body of my kinsman, Monsieur Pierre de St. Amand," answered the
Count, loftily.
"Oh! then you've seen him?"
"Seen him? Often, too often?" The Count was evidently a good deal
moved.
"I mean the body?"
The Count stole a quick glance at Planard.
"N--no, Monsieur--that is, I mean only for a moment." Another quick
glance at Planard.
"But quite long enough, I fancy, to recognize him?" insinuated that
gentleman.
"Of course--of course; instantly--perfectly. What! Pierre de St. Amand?
Not know him at a glance? No, no, poor fellow, I know him too well for
that."
"The things I am in search of," said Monsieur Carmaignac, "would fit in
a narrow compass--servants are so ingenious sometimes. Let us raise the
lid."
"Pardon me, Monsieur," said the Count, peremptorily, advancing to the
side of the coffin, and extending his arm across it. "I cannot permit
that indignity--that desecration."
"There shall be none, sir,--simply the raising of the lid; you shall
remain in the room. If it should prove as we all hope, you shall have
the pleasure of one other look, really the last, upon your beloved
kinsman."
"But, sir, I can't."
"But, Monsieur, I must."
"But, besides, the thing, the turnscrew, broke when the last screw was
turned; and I give you my sacred honour there is nothing but the body in
this coffin."
"Of course Monsieur le Comte believes all that; but he does not know so
well as I the legerdemain in use among servants, who are accustomed to
smuggling. Here, Philippe, you must take off the lid of that coffin."
The Count protested; but Philippe--a man with a bald head, and a
smirched face, looking like a working blacksmith--placed on the floor a
leather bag of tools, from which, having looked at the coffin, and
picked with his nail at the screw-heads, he selected a turnscrew, and,
with a few deft twirls at each of the screws, they stood up like little
rows of mushrooms, and the lid was raised. I saw the light, of which I
thought I had seen my last, once more; but the axis of vision remained
fixed. As I was reduced to the cataleptic state in a position nearly
perpendicular, I continued looking straight before me, and thus my gaze
was now fixed upon the ceiling. I saw the face of Carmaignac leaning
over me with a curious frown. It seemed to me that there was no
recognition in his eyes. Oh, heaven! that I could have uttered were it
but one cry! I saw the dark, mean mask of the little Count staring down
at me from the other side; the face of the pseudo-marquis also peering
at me, but not so full in the line of vision; there were other faces
also.
"I see, I see," said Carmaignac, withdrawing. "Nothing of the kind
there."
"You will be good enough to direct your man to re-adjust the lid of the
coffin, and to fix the screws," said the Count, taking courage;
"and--and--really the funeral _must_ proceed. It is not fair to the
people who have but moderate fees for night-work, to keep them hour
after hour beyond the time."
"Count de St. Alyre, you shall go in a very few minutes. I will direct,
just now, all about the coffin."
The Count looked toward the door, and there saw a gendarme; and two or
three more grave and stalwart specimens of the same force were also in
the room. The Count was very uncomfortably excited; it was growing
insupportable.
"As this gentleman makes a difficulty about my attending the obsequies
of my kinsman, I will ask you, Planard, to accompany the funeral in my
stead."
"In a few minutes," answered the incorrigible Carmaignac. "I must first
trouble you for the key that opens that press."
He pointed direct at the press, in which the clothes had just been
locked up.
"I--I have no objection," said the Count--"none, of course; only they
have not been used for an age. I'll direct some one to look for the
key."
"If you have not got it about you, it is quite unnecessary. Philippe,
try your skeleton-keys with that press. I want it opened. Whose clothes
are these?" inquired Carmaignac when, the press having been opened, he
took out the suit that had been placed there scarcely two minutes since.
"I can't say," answered the Count. "I know nothing of the contents of
that press. A roguish servant, named Lablais, whom I dismissed about a
year ago, had the key. I have not seen it open for ten years or more.
The clothes are probably his.
"Here are visiting cards, see, and here a marked
pocket-handkerchief--'R.B.' upon it. He must have stolen them from a
person named Beckett--R. Beckett. 'Mr. Beckett, Berkley Square,' the
card says; and, my faith! here's a watch and a bunch of seals; one of
them with the initials 'R.B.' upon it. That servant, Lablais, must have
been a consummate rogue!"
"So he was; you are right, sir."
"It strikes me that he possibly stole these clothes," continued
Carmaignac, "from the man in the coffin, who, in that case, would be
Monsieur Beckett, and not Monsieur de St. Amand. For, wonderful to
relate, Monsieur, the watch is still going! That man in the coffin, I
believe, is not dead, but simply drugged. And for having robbed and
intended to murder him, I arrest you, Nicolas de la Marque, Count de St.
Alyre."
In another moment the old villain was a prisoner. I heard his discordant
voice break quaveringly into sudden vehemence and volubility; now
croaking--now shrieking, as he oscillated between protests, threats, and
impious appeals to the God who will "judge the secrets of men!" And thus
lying and raving, he was removed from the room, and placed in the same
coach with his beautiful and abandoned accomplice, already arrested;
and, with two _gendarmes_ sitting beside them, they were immediately
driving at a rapid pace towards the Conciergerie.
There were now added to the general chorus two voices, very different in
quality; one was that of the gasconading Colonel Gaillarde, who had with
difficulty been kept in the background up to this; the other was that of
my jolly friend Whistlewick, who had come to identify me.
I shall tell you, just now, how this project against my property and
life, so ingenious and monstrous, was exploded. I must first say a word
about myself. I was placed in a hot bath, under the direction of
Planard, as consummate a villain as any of the gang, but now thoroughly
in the interests of the prosecution. Thence I was laid in a warm bed,
the window of the room being open. These simple measures restored me in
about three hours; I should otherwise, probably, have continued under
the spell for nearly seven.
The practices of these nefarious conspirators had been carried on with
consummate skill and secrecy. Their dupes were led, as I was, to be
themselves auxiliary to the mystery which made their own destruction
both safe and certain.
A search was, of course, instituted. Graves were opened in Père la
Chaise. The bodies exhumed had lain there too long, and were too much
decomposed to be recognized. One only was identified. The notice for the
burial, in this particular case, had been signed, the order given, and
the fees paid, by Gabriel Gaillarde, who was known to the official
clerk, who had to transact with him this little funereal business. The
very trick, that had been arranged for me, had been successfully
practised in his case. The person for whom the grave had been ordered,
was purely fictitious; and Gabriel Gaillarde himself filled the coffin,
on the cover of which that false name was inscribed as well as upon a
tomb-stone over the grave. Possibly, the same honour, under my
pseudonym, may have been intended for me.
The identification was curious. This Gabriel Gaillarde had had a bad
fall from a run-away horse, about five years before his mysterious
disappearance. He had lost an eye and some teeth, in this accident,
besides sustaining a fracture of the right leg, immediately above the
ankle. He had kept the injuries to his face as profound a secret as he
could. The result was, that the glass eye which had done duty for the
one he had lost, remained in the socket, slightly displaced, of course,
but recognizable by the "artist" who had supplied it.
More pointedly recognizable were the teeth, peculiar in workmanship,
which one of the ablest dentists in Paris had himself adapted to the
chasms, the cast of which, owing to peculiarities in the accident, he
happened to have preserved. This cast precisely fitted the gold plate
found in the mouth of the skull. The mark, also, above the ankle, in the
bone, where it had re-united, corresponded exactly with the place where
the fracture had knit in the limb of Gabriel Gaillarde.
The Colonel, his younger brother, had been furious about the
disappearance of Gabriel, and still more so about that of his money,
which he had long regarded as his proper keepsake, whenever death should
remove his brother from the vexations of living. He had suspected for a
long time, for certain adroitly discovered reasons, that the Count de
St. Alyre and the beautiful lady, his companion, countess, or whatever
else she was, had pigeoned him. To this suspicion were added some others
of a still darker kind; but in their first shape, rather the exaggerated
reflections of his fury, ready to believe anything, than well-defined
conjectures.
At length an accident had placed the Colonel very nearly upon the right
scent; a chance, possibly lucky for himself, had apprized the scoundrel
Planard that the conspirators--himself among the number--were in danger.
The result was that he made terms for himself, became an informer, and
concerted with the police this visit made to the Château de la Carque,
at the critical moment when every measure had been completed that was
necessary to construct a perfect case against his guilty accomplices.
I need not describe the minute industry or forethought with which the
police agents collected all the details necessary to support the case.
They had brought an able physician, who, even had Planard failed, would
have supplied the necessary medical evidence.
My trip to Paris, you will believe, had not turned out quite so
agreeably as I had anticipated. I was the principal witness for the
prosecution in this _cause célébre_, with all the _agrémens_ that attend
that enviable position. Having had an escape, as my friend Whistlewick
said, "with a squeak" for my life, I innocently fancied that I should
have been an object of considerable interest to Parisian society; but, a
good deal to my mortification, I discovered that I was the object of a
good-natured but contemptuous merriment. I was a _balourd_, a _benêt_,
_un âne_, and figured even in caricatures. I became a sort of public
character, a dignity,
"Unto which I was not born,"
and from which I fled as soon as I conveniently could, without even
paying my friend the Marquis d'Harmonville a visit at his hospitable
château.
The Marquis escaped scot-free. His accomplice, the Count, was executed.
The fair Eugenie, under extenuating circumstances--consisting, so far as
I could discover of her good looks--got off for six years' imprisonment.
Colonel Gaillarde recovered some of his brother's money, out of the not
very affluent estate of the Count and _soi-disant_ Countess. This, and
the execution of the Count, put him in high good humour. So far from
insisting on a hostile meeting, he shook me very graciously by the hand,
told me that he looked upon the wound on his head, inflicted by the
knob of my stick, as having been received in an honourable, though
irregular duel, in which he had no disadvantage or unfairness to
complain of.
I think I have only two additional details to mention. The bricks
discovered in the room with the coffin, had been packed in it, in straw,
to supply the weight of a dead body, and to prevent the suspicions and
contradictions that might have been excited by the arrival of an empty
coffin at the château.
Secondly, the Countess's magnificent brilliants were examined by a
lapidary, and pronounced to be worth about five pounds to a
tragedy-queen, who happened to be in want of a suite of paste.
The Countess had figured some years before as one of the cleverest
actresses on the minor stage of Paris, where she had been picked up by
the Count and used as his principal accomplice.
She it was who, admirably disguised, had rifled my papers in the
carriage on my memorable night-journey to Paris. She also had figured as
the interpreting magician of the palanquin at the ball at Versailles. So
far as I was affected by that elaborate mystification it was intended to
re-animate my interest, which, they feared, might flag in the beautiful
Countess. It had its design and action upon other intended victims also;
but of them there is, at present, no need to speak. The introduction of
a real corpse--procured from a person who supplied the Parisian
anatomists--involved no real danger, while it heightened the mystery and
kept the prophet alive in the gossip of the town and in the thoughts of
the noodles with whom he had conferred.
I divided the remainder of the summer and autumn between Switzerland
and Italy.
As the well-worn phrase goes, I was a sadder if not a wiser man. A great
deal of the horrible impression left upon my mind was due, of course, to
the mere action of nerves and brain. But serious feelings of another and
deeper kind remained. My after life was ultimately formed by the shock I
had then received. Those impressions led me--but not till after many
years--to happier though not less serious thoughts; and I have deep
reason to be thankful to the all-merciful Ruler of events, for an early
and terrible lesson in the ways of sin.
CARMILLA.
PROLOGUE.
Upon a paper attached to the Narrative which follows, Doctor Hesselius
has written a rather elaborate note, which he accompanies with a
reference to his Essay on the strange subject which the MS. illuminates.
This mysterious subject, he treats, in that Essay, with his usual
learning and acumen, and with remarkable directness and condensation. It
will form but one volume of the series of that extraordinary man's
collected papers.
As I publish the case, in these volumes, simply to interest the "laity,"
I shall forestal the intelligent lady, who relates it, in nothing; and,
after due consideration, I have determined, therefore, to abstain from
presenting any _précis_ of the learned Doctor's reasoning, or extract
from his statement on a subject which he describes as "involving, not
improbably, some of the profoundest arcana of our dual existence, and
its intermediates."
I was anxious, on discovering this paper, to re-open the correspondence
commenced by Doctor Hesselius, so many years before, with a person so
clever and careful as his informant seems to have been. Much to my
regret, however, I found that she had died in the interval.
She, probably, could have added little to the Narrative which she
communicates in the following pages, with, so far as I can pronounce,
such a conscientious particularity.
CHAPTER I.
AN EARLY FRIGHT.
In Styria, we, though by no means magnificent people, inhabit a castle,
or schloss. A small income, in that part of the world, goes a great way.
Eight or nine hundred a year does wonders. Scantily enough ours would
have answered among wealthy people at home. My father is English, and I
bear an English name, although I never saw England. But here, in this
lonely and primitive place, where everything is so marvellously cheap,
I really don't see how ever so much more money would at all materially
add to our comforts, or even luxuries.
My father was in the Austrian service, and retired upon a pension and
his patrimony, and purchased this feudal residence, and the small estate
on which it stands, a bargain.
Nothing can be more picturesque or solitary. It stands on a slight
eminence in a forest. The road, very old and narrow, passes in front of
its drawbridge, never raised in my time, and its moat, stocked with
perch, and sailed over by many swans, and floating on its surface white
fleets of water-lilies.
Over all this the schloss shows its many-windowed front; its towers, and
its Gothic chapel.
The forest opens in an irregular and very picturesque glade before its
gate, and at the right a steep Gothic bridge carries the road over a
stream that winds in deep shadow through the wood.
I have said that this is a very lonely place. Judge whether I say truth.
Looking from the hall door towards the road, the forest in which our
castle stands extends fifteen miles to the right, and twelve to the
left. The nearest inhabited village, is about seven of your English
miles to the left. The nearest inhabited schloss of any historic
associations, is that of old General Spielsdorf, nearly twenty miles
away to the right.
I have said "the nearest _inhabited_ village," because there is, only
three miles westward, that is to say in the direction of General
Spielsdorf's schloss, a ruined village, with its quaint little church,
now roofless, in the aisle of which are the mouldering tombs of the
proud family of Karnstein, now extinct, who once owned the equally
desolate château which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent
ruins of the town.
Respecting the cause of the desertion of this striking and melancholy
spot, there is a legend which I shall relate to you another time.
I must tell you now, how very small is the party who constitute the
inhabitants of our castle. I don't include servants, or those dependents
who occupy rooms in the buildings attached to the schloss. Listen, and
wonder! My father, who is the kindest man on earth, but growing old; and
I, at the date of my story, only nineteen. Eight years have passed since
then. I and my father constituted the family at the schloss. My mother,
a Styrian lady, died in my infancy, but I had a good-natured governess,
who had been with me from, I might almost say, my infancy. I could not
remember the time when her fat, benignant face was not a familiar
picture in my memory. This was Madame Perrodon, a native of Berne, whose
care and good nature in part supplied to me the loss of my mother, whom
I do not even remember, so early I lost her. She made a third at our
little dinner party. There was a fourth, Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, a
lady such as you term, I believe, a "finishing governess." She spoke
French and German, Madame Perrodon French and broken English, to which
my father and I added English, which, partly to prevent its becoming a
lost language among us, and partly from patriotic motives, we spoke
every day. The consequence was a Babel, at which strangers used to
laugh, and which I shall make no attempt to reproduce in this narrative.
And there were two or three young lady friends besides, pretty nearly of
my own age, who were occasional visitors, for longer or shorter terms;
and these visits I sometimes returned.
These were our regular social resources; but of course there were chance
visits from "neighbours" of only five or six leagues distance. My life
was, notwithstanding, rather a solitary one, I can assure you.
My gouvernantes had just so much control over me as you might conjecture
such sage persons would have in the case of a rather spoiled girl, whose
only parent allowed her pretty nearly her own way in everything.
The first occurrence in my existence, which produced a terrible
impression upon my mind, which, in fact, never has been effaced, was one
of the very earliest incidents of my life which I can recollect. Some
people will think it so trifling that it should not be recorded here.
You will see, however, by-and-bye, why I mention it. The nursery, as it
was called, though I had it all to myself, was a large room in the upper
story of the castle, with a steep oak roof. I can't have been more than
six years old, when one night I awoke, and looking round the room from
my bed, failed to see the nursery-maid. Neither was my nurse there; and
I thought myself alone. I was not frightened, for I was one of those
happy children who are studiously kept in ignorance of ghost stories, of
fairy tales, and of all such lore as makes us cover up our heads when
the door creeks suddenly, or the flicker of an expiring candle makes the
shadow of a bed-post dance upon the wall, nearer to our faces. I was
vexed and insulted at finding myself, as I conceived, neglected, and I
began to whimper, preparatory to a hearty bout of roaring; when to my
surprise, I saw a solemn, but very pretty face looking at me from the
side of the bed. It was that of a young lady who was kneeling, with her
hands under the coverlet. I looked at her with a kind of pleased wonder,
and ceased whimpering. She caressed me with her hands, and lay down
beside me on the bed, and drew me towards her, smiling; I felt
immediately delightfully soothed, and fell asleep again. I was wakened
by a sensation as if two needles ran into my breast very deep at the
same moment, and I cried loudly. The lady started back, with her eyes
fixed on me, and then slipped down upon the floor, and, as I thought,
hid herself under the bed.
I was now for the first time frightened, and I yelled with all my might
and main. Nurse, nursery-maid, housekeeper, all came running in, and
hearing my story, they made light of it, soothing me all they could
meanwhile. But, child as I was, I could perceive that their faces were
pale with an unwonted look of anxiety, and I saw them look under the
bed, and about the room, and peep under tables and pluck open cupboards;
and the housekeeper whispered to the nurse: "Lay your hand along that
hollow in the bed; some one _did_ lie there, so sure as you did not; the
place is still warm."
I remember the nursery-maid petting me, and all three examining my
chest, where I told them I felt the puncture, and pronouncing that there
was no sign visible that any such thing had happened to me.
The housekeeper and the two other servants who were in charge of the
nursery, remained sitting up all night; and from that time a servant
always sat up in the nursery until I was about fourteen.
I was very nervous for a long time after this. A doctor was called in,
he was pallid and elderly. How well I remember his long saturnine face,
slightly pitted with small-pox, and his chesnut wig. For a good while,
every second day, he came and gave me medicine, which of course I hated.
The morning after I saw this apparition I was in a state of terror, and
could not bear to be left alone, daylight though it was, for a moment.
I remember my father coming up and standing at the bedside, and talking
cheerfully, and asking the nurse a number of questions, and laughing
very heartily at one of the answers; and patting me on the shoulder, and
kissing me, and telling me not to be frightened, that it was nothing but
a dream and could not hurt me.
But I was not comforted, for I knew the visit of the strange woman was
_not_ a dream; and I was _awfully_ frightened.
I was a little consoled by the nursery-maid's assuring me that it was
she who had come and looked at me, and lain down beside me in the bed,
and that I must have been half-dreaming not to have known her face. But
this, though supported by the nurse, did not quite satisfy me.
I remember, in the course of that day, a venerable old man, in a black
cassock, coming into the room with the nurse and housekeeper, and
talking a little to them, and very kindly to me; his face was very sweet
and gentle, and he told me they were going to pray, and joined my hands
together, and desired me to say, softly, while they were praying, "Lord
hear all good prayers for us, for Jesus' sake." I think these were the
very words, for I often repeated them to myself, and my nurse used for
years to make me say them in my prayers.
I remember so well the thoughtful sweet face of that white-haired old
man, in his black cassock, as he stood in that rude, lofty, brown room,
with the clumsy furniture of a fashion three hundred years old, about
him, and the scanty light entering its shadowy atmosphere through the
small lattice. He kneeled, and the three women with him, and he prayed
aloud with an earnest quavering voice for, what appeared to me, a long
time. I forget all my life preceding that event, and for some time after
it is all obscure also, but the scenes I have just described stand out
vivid as the isolated pictures of the phantasmagoria surrounded by
darkness.