The Room in the Dragon Volant
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J. Sheridan LeFanu >> The Room in the Dragon Volant
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Chapter IX
GOSSIP AND COUNSEL
My eventful journey was over at last. I sat in my hotel window looking
out upon brilliant Paris, which had, in a moment, recovered all its
gaiety, and more than its accustomed bustle. Everyone had read of the
kind of excitement that followed the catastrophe of Napoleon, and the
second restoration of the Bourbons. I need not, therefore, even if, at
this distance, I could, recall and describe my experiences and
impressions of the peculiar aspect of Paris, in those strange times. It
was, to be sure, my first visit. But often as I have seen it since, I
don't think I ever saw that delightful capital in a state, pleasurably
so excited and exciting.
I had been two days in Paris, and had seen all sorts of sights, and
experienced none of that rudeness and insolence of which others
complained from the exasperated officers of the defeated French army.
I must say this, also. My romance had taken complete possession of me;
and the chance of seeing the object of my dream gave a secret and
delightful interest to my rambles and drives in the streets and
environs, and my visits to the galleries and other sights of the
metropolis.
I had neither seen nor heard of Count or Countess, nor had the Marquis
d'Harmonville made any sign. I had quite recovered the strange
indisposition under which I had suffered during my night journey.
It was now evening, and I was beginning to fear that my patrician
acquaintance had quite forgotten me, when the waiter presented me the
card of "Monsieur Droqville"; and, with no small elation and hurry, I
desired him to show the gentleman up.
In came the Marquis d'Harmonville, kind and gracious as ever.
"I am a night-bird at present," said he, so soon as we had exchanged the
little speeches which are usual. "I keep in the shade during the
daytime, and even now I hardly ventured to come in a close carriage. The
friends for whom I have undertaken a rather critical service, have so
ordained it. They think all is lost if I am known to be in Paris. First,
let me present you with these orders for my box. I am so vexed that I
cannot command it oftener during the next fortnight; during my absence I
had directed my secretary to give it for any night to the first of my
friends who might apply, and the result is, that I find next to nothing
left at my disposal."
I thanked him very much.
"And now a word in my office of Mentor. You have not come here, of
course, without introductions?"
I produced half-a-dozen letters, the addresses of which he looked at.
"Don't mind these letters," he said. "I will introduce you. I will take
you myself from house to house. One friend at your side is worth many
letters. Make no intimacies, no acquaintances, until then. You young men
like best to exhaust the public amusements of a great city, before
embarrassing yourselves with the engagements of society. Go to all
these. It will occupy you, day and night, for at least three weeks. When
this is over, I shall be at liberty, and will myself introduce you to
the brilliant but comparatively quiet routine of society. Place yourself
in my hands; and in Paris remember, when once in society, you are always
there."
I thanked him very much, and promised to follow his counsels implicitly.
He seemed pleased, and said: "I shall now tell you some of the places
you ought to go to. Take your map, and write letters or numbers upon the
points I will indicate, and we will make out a little list. All the
places that I shall mention to you are worth seeing."
In this methodical way, and with a great deal of amusing and scandalous
anecdote, he furnished me with a catalogue and a guide, which, to a
seeker of novelty and pleasure, was invaluable.
"In a fortnight, perhaps in a week," he said, "I shall be at leisure to
be of real use to you. In the meantime, be on your guard. You must not
play; you will be robbed if you do. Remember, you are surrounded, here,
by plausible swindlers and villains of all kinds, who subsist by
devouring strangers. Trust no one but those you know."
I thanked him again, and promised to profit by his advice. But my heart
was too full of the beautiful lady of the Belle Etoile, to allow our
interview to close without an effort to learn something about her. I
therefore asked for the Count and Countess de St. Alyre, whom I had had
the good fortune to extricate from an extremely unpleasant row in the
hall of the inn.
Alas! he had not seen them since. He did not know where they were
staying. They had a fine old house only a few leagues from Paris; but he
thought it probable that they would remain, for a few days at least, in
the city, as preparations would, no doubt, be necessary, after so long
an absence, for their reception at home.
"How long have they been away?"
"About eight months, I think."
"They are poor, I think you said?"
"What _you_ would consider poor. But, Monsieur, the Count has an
income which affords them the comforts and even the elegancies of life,
living as they do, in a very quiet and retired way, in this cheap
country."
"Then they are very happy?"
"One would say they _ought_ to be happy."
"And what prevents?"
"He is jealous."
"But his wife--she gives him no cause."
"I am afraid she does."
"How, Monsieur?"
"I always thought she was a little too--_a great deal_ too--"
"Too _what_, Monsieur?"
"Too handsome. But although she has remarkable fine eyes, exquisite
features, and the most delicate complexion in the world, I believe that
she is a woman of probity. You have never seen her?"
"There was a lady, muffled up in a cloak, with a very thick veil on, the
other night, in the hall of the Belle Etoile, when I broke that fellow's
head who was bullying the old Count. But her veil was so thick I could
not see a feature through it!" My answer was diplomatic, you observe.
"She may have been the Count's daughter. Do they quarrel?"
"Who, he and his wife?"
"Yes."
"A little."
Oh! and what do they quarrel about?"
"It is a long story; about the lady's diamonds. They are valuable--they
are worth, La Perelleuse says, about a million of francs. The Count
wishes them sold and turned into revenue, which he offers to settle as
she pleases. The Countess, whose they are, resists, and for a reason
which, I rather think, she can't disclose to him."
"And pray what is that?" I asked, my curiosity a good deal piqued.
"She is thinking, I conjecture, how well she will look in them when she
marries her second husband."
"Oh?--yes, to be sure. But the Count de St. Alyre is a good man?"
"Admirable, and extremely intelligent."
"I should wish so much to be presented to the Count: you tell me he's
so--"
"So agreeably married. But they are living quite out of the world. He
takes her now and then to the Opera, or to a public entertainment; but
that is all."
"And he must remember so much of the old _regime_, and so many of
the scenes of the revolution!"
"Yes, the very man for a philosopher, like you! And he falls asleep
after dinner; and his wife don't. But, seriously, he has retired from
the gay and the great world, and has grown apathetic; and so has his
wife; and nothing seems to interest her now, not even--her husband!"
The Marquis stood up to take his leave.
"Don't risk your money," said he. "You will soon have an opportunity of
laying out some of it to great advantage. Several collections of really
good pictures, belonging to persons who have mixed themselves up in this
Bonapartist restoration, must come within a few weeks to the hammer. You
can do wonders when these sales commence. There will be startling
bargains! Reserve yourself for them. I shall let you know all about it.
By-the-by," he said, stopping short as he approached the door, "I was so
near forgetting. There is to be next week, the very thing you would
enjoy so much, because you see so little of it in England--I mean a
_bal masque_, conducted, it is said, with more than usual splendor.
It takes place at Versailles--all the world will be there; there is such
a rush for cards! But I think I may promise you one. Good-night! Adieu!"
Chapter X
THE BLACK VEIL
Speaking the language fluently, and with unlimited money, there was
nothing to prevent my enjoying all that was enjoyable in the French
capital. You may easily suppose how two days were passed. At the end of
that time, and at about the same hour, Monsieur Droqville called again.
Courtly, good-natured, gay, as usual, he told me that the masquerade
ball was fixed for the next Wednesday, and that he had applied for a
card for me.
How awfully unlucky. I was so afraid I should not be able to go.
He stared at me for a moment with a suspicious and menacing look, which
I did not understand, in silence, and then inquired rather sharply. And
will Monsieur Beckett be good enough to say why not?
I was a little surprised, but answered the simple truth: I had made an
engagement for that evening with two or three English friends, and did
not see how I could.
"Just so! You English, wherever you are, always look out for your
English boors, your beer and _'bifstek'_; and when you come here,
instead of trying to learn something of the people you visit, and
pretend to study, you are guzzling and swearing, and smoking with one
another, and no wiser or more polished at the end of your travels than
if you had been all the time carousing in a booth at Greenwich."
He laughed sarcastically, and looked as if he could have poisoned me.
"There it is," said he, throwing the card on the table. "Take it or
leave it, just as you please. I suppose I shall have my trouble for my
pains; but it is not usual when a man such as I takes trouble, asks a
favor, and secures a privilege for an acquaintance, to treat him so."
This was astonishingly impertinent.
I was shocked, offended, penitent. I had possibly committed unwittingly
a breach of good breeding, according to French ideas, which almost
justified the brusque severity of the Marquis's undignified rebuke.
In a confusion, therefore, of many feelings, I hastened to make my
apologies, and to propitiate the chance friend who had showed me so much
disinterested kindness.
I told him that I would, at any cost, break through the engagement in
which I had unluckily entangled myself; that I had spoken with too
little reflection, and that I certainly had not thanked him at all in
proportion to his kindness, and to my real estimate of it.
"Pray say not a word more; my vexation was entirely on your account; and
I expressed it, I am only too conscious, in terms a great deal too
strong, which, I am sure, your good nature will pardon. Those who know
me a little better are aware that I sometimes say a good deal more than
I intend; and am always sorry when I do. Monsieur Beckett will forget
that his old friend Monsieur Droqville has lost his temper in his cause,
for a moment, and--we are as good friends as before."
He smiled like the Monsieur Droqville of the Belle Etoile, and extended
his hand, which I took very respectfully and cordially.
Our momentary quarrel had left us only better friends.
The Marquis then told me I had better secure a bed in some hotel at
Versailles, as a rush would be made to take them; and advised my going
down next morning for the purpose.
I ordered horses accordingly for eleven o'clock; and, after a little
more conversation, the Marquis d'Harmonville bade me good-night, and ran
down the stairs with his handkerchief to his mouth and nose, and, as I
saw from my window, jumped into his close carriage again and drove away.
Next day I was at Versailles. As I approached the door of the Hotel de
France it was plain that I was not a moment too soon, if, indeed, I were
not already too late.
A crowd of carriages were drawn up about the entrance, so that I had no
chance of approaching except by dismounting and pushing my way among the
horses. The hall was full of servants and gentlemen screaming to the
proprietor, who in a state of polite distraction was assuring them, one
and all, that there was not a room or a closet disengaged in his entire
house.
I slipped out again, leaving the hall to those who were shouting,
expostulating, and wheedling, in the delusion that the host might, if he
pleased, manage something for them. I jumped into my carriage and drove,
at my horses' best pace, to the Hotel du Reservoir. The blockade about
this door was as complete as the other. The result was the same. It was
very provoking, but what was to be done? My postilion had, a little
officiously, while I was in the hall talking with the hotel authorities,
got his horses, bit by bit, as other carriages moved away, to the very
steps of the inn door.
This arrangement was very convenient so far as getting in again was
concerned. But, this accomplished, how were we to get on? There were
carriages in front, and carriages behind, and no less than four rows of
carriages, of all sorts, outside.
I had at this time remarkably long and clear sight, and if I had been
impatient before, guess what my feelings were when I saw an open
carriage pass along the narrow strip of roadway left open at the other
side, a barouche in which I was certain I recognized the veiled Countess
and her husband. This carriage had been brought to a walk by a cart
which occupied the whole breadth of the narrow way, and was moving with
the customary tardiness of such vehicles.
I should have done more wisely if I had jumped down on the
_trottoir_, and run round the block of carriages in front of the
barouche. But, unfortunately, I was more of a Murat than a Moltke, and
preferred a direct charge upon my object to relying on _tactique_.
I dashed across the back seat of a carriage which was next mine, I don't
know how; tumbled through a sort of gig, in which an old gentleman and a
dog were dozing; stepped with an incoherent apology over the side of an
open carriage, in which were four gentlemen engaged in a hot dispute;
tripped at the far side in getting out, and fell flat across the backs
of a pair of horses, who instantly began plunging and threw me head
foremost in the dust.
To those who observed my reckless charge, without being in the secret of
my object, I must have appeared demented. Fortunately, the interesting
barouche had passed before the catastrophe, and covered as I was with
dust, and my hat blocked, you may be sure I did not care to present
myself before the object of my Quixotic devotion.
I stood for a while amid a storm of _sacre_-ing, tempered
disagreeably with laughter; and in the midst of these, while endeavoring
to beat the dust from my clothes with my handkerchief, I heard a voice
with which I was acquainted call, "Monsieur Beckett."
I looked and saw the Marquis peeping from a carriage-window. It was a
welcome sight. In a moment I was at his carriage side.
"You may as well leave Versailles," he said; "you have learned, no
doubt, that there is not a bed to hire in either of the hotels; and I
can add that there is not a room to let in the whole town. But I have
managed something for you that will answer just as well. Tell your
servant to follow us, and get in here and sit beside me."
Fortunately an opening in the closely-packed carriages had just
occurred, and mine was approaching.
I directed the servant to follow us; and the Marquis having said a word
to his driver, we were immediately in motion.
"I will bring you to a comfortable place, the very existence of which is
known to but few Parisians, where, knowing how things were here, I
secured a room for you. It is only a mile away, and an old comfortable
inn, called the Le Dragon Volant. It was fortunate for you that my
tiresome business called me to this place so early."
I think we had driven about a mile-and-a-half to the further side of the
palace when we found ourselves upon a narrow old road, with the woods of
Versailles on one side, and much older trees, of a size seldom seen in
France, on the other.
We pulled up before an antique and solid inn, built of Caen stone, in a
fashion richer and more florid than was ever usual in such houses, and
which indicated that it was originally designed for the private mansion
of some person of wealth, and probably, as the wall bore many carved
shields and supporters, of distinction also. A kind of porch, less
ancient than the rest, projected hospitably with a wide and florid arch,
over which, cut in high relief in stone, and painted and gilded, was the
sign of the inn. This was the Flying Dragon, with wings of brilliant red
and gold, expanded, and its tail, pale green and gold, twisted and
knotted into ever so many rings, and ending in a burnished point barbed
like the dart of death.
"I shan't go in--but you will find it a comfortable place; at all events
better than nothing. I would go in with you, but my incognito forbids.
You will, I daresay, be all the better pleased to learn that the inn is
haunted--I should have been, in my young days, I know. But don't allude
to that awful fact in hearing of your host, for I believe it is a sore
subject. Adieu. If you want to enjoy yourself at the ball, take my
advice and go in a domino. I think I shall look in; and certainly, if I
do, in the same costume. How shall we recognize one another? Let me see,
something held in the fingers--a flower won't do, so many people will
have flowers. Suppose you get a red cross a couple of inches long--
you're an Englishman--stitched or pinned on the breast of your domino,
and I a white one? Yes, that will do very well; and whatever room you go
into keep near the door till we meet. I shall look for you at all the
doors I pass; and you, in the same way, for me; and we _must_ find
each other soon. So that is understood. I can't enjoy a thing of that
kind with any but a young person; a man of my age requires the contagion
of young spirits and the companionship of someone who enjoys everything
spontaneously. Farewell; we meet tonight."
By this time I was standing on the road; I shut the carriage-door; bid
him good-bye; and away he drove.
Chapter XI
THE DRAGON VOLANT
I took one look about me.
The building was picturesque; the trees made it more so. The antique and
sequestered character of the scene contrasted strangely with the glare
and bustle of the Parisian life, to which my eye and ear had become
accustomed.
Then I examined the gorgeous old sign for a minute or two. Next I
surveyed the exterior of the house more carefully. It was large and
solid, and squared more with my ideas of an ancient English hostelrie,
such as the Canterbury Pilgrims might have put up at, than a French
house of entertainment. Except, indeed, for a round turret, that rose at
the left flank of the house, and terminated in the extinguisher-shaped
roof that suggests a French chateau.
I entered and announced myself as Monsieur Beckett, for whom a room had
been taken. I was received with all the consideration due to an English
milord, with, of course, an unfathomable purse.
My host conducted me to my apartment. It was a large room, a little
somber, paneled with dark wainscoting, and furnished in a stately and
somber style, long out of date. There was a wide hearth, and a heavy
mantelpiece, carved with shields, in which I might, had I been curious
enough, have discovered a correspondence with the heraldry on the outer
walls. There was something interesting, melancholy, and even depressing
in all this. I went to the stone-shafted window, and looked out upon a
small park, with a thick wood, forming the background of a chateau which
presented a cluster of such conical-topped turrets as I have just now
mentioned.
The wood and chateau were melancholy objects. They showed signs of
neglect, and almost of decay; and the gloom of fallen grandeur, and a
certain air of desertion hung oppressively over the scene.
I asked my host the name of the chateau.
"That, Monsieur, is the Chateau de la Carque," he answered.
"It is a pity it is so neglected," I observed. "I should say, perhaps, a
pity that its proprietor is not more wealthy?"
"Perhaps so, Monsieur."
"_Perhaps_?" I repeated, and looked at him. "Then I suppose he is
not very popular."
"Neither one thing nor the other, Monsieur," he answered; "I meant only
that we could not tell what use he might make of riches."
"And who is he?" I inquired.
"The Count de St. Alyre."
"Oh! The Count! You are quite sure?" I asked, very eagerly.
It was now the innkeeper's turn to look at me.
"_Quite_ sure, Monsieur, the Count de St. Alyre."
"Do you see much of him in this part of the world?"
"Not a great deal, Monsieur; he is often absent for a considerable
time."
"And is he poor?" I inquired.
"I pay rent to him for this house. It is not much; but I find he cannot
wait long for it," he replied, smiling satirically.
"From what I have heard, however, I should think he cannot be very
poor?" I continued.
"They say, Monsieur, he plays. I know not. He certainly is not rich.
About seven months ago, a relation of his died in a distant place. His
body was sent to the Count's house here, and by him buried in Pere la
Chaise, as the poor gentleman had desired. The Count was in profound
affliction; although he got a handsome legacy, they say, by that death.
But money never seems to do him good for any time."
"He is old, I believe?"
"Old? We call him the 'Wandering Jew,' except, indeed, that he has not
always the five _sous_ in his pocket. Yet, Monsieur, his courage
does not fail him. He has taken a young and handsome wife."
"And she?" I urged--
"Is the Countess de St. Alyre."
"Yes; but I fancy we may say something more? She has attributes?"
"Three, Monsieur, three, at least most amiable."
"Ah! And what are they?"
"Youth, beauty, and--diamonds."
I laughed. The sly old gentleman was foiling my curiosity.
"I see, my friend," said I, "you are reluctant--"
"To quarrel with the Count," he concluded. "True. You see, Monsieur, he
could vex me in two or three ways, so could I him. But, on the whole, it
is better each to mind his business, and to maintain peaceful relations;
you understand."
It was, therefore, no use trying, at least for the present. Perhaps he
had nothing to relate. Should I think differently, by-and-by, I could
try the effect of a few Napoleons. Possibly he meant to extract them.
The host of the Dragon Volant was an elderly man, thin, bronzed,
intelligent, and with an air of decision, perfectly military. I learned
afterwards that he had served under Napoleon in his early Italian
campaigns.
"One question, I think you may answer," I said, "without risking a
quarrel. Is the Count at home?"
"He has many homes, I conjecture," said the host evasively. "But--but I
think I may say, Monsieur, that he is, I believe, at present staying at
the Chateau de la Carque."
I looked out of the window, more interested than ever, across the
undulating grounds to the chateau, with its gloomy background of
foliage.
"I saw him today, in his carriage at Versailles," I said.
"Very natural."
"Then his carriage, and horses, and servants, are at the chateau?"
"The carriage he puts up here, Monsieur, and the servants are hired for
the occasion. There is but one who sleeps at the chateau. Such a life
must be terrifying for Madame the Countess," he replied.
"The old screw!" I thought. "By this torture, he hopes to extract her
diamonds. What a life! What fiends to contend with--jealousy and
extortion!"
The knight having made his speech to himself, cast his eyes once more
upon the enchanter's castle, and heaved a gentle sigh--a sigh of
longing, of resolution, and of love.
What a fool I was! And yet, in the sight of angels, are we any wiser as
we grow older? It seems to me, only, that our illusions change as we go
on; but, still, we are madmen all the same.
"Well, St. Clair," said I, as my servant entered, and began to arrange
my things.
"You have got a bed?"
"In the cock-loft, Monsieur, among the spiders, and, _par ma foi_!
the cats and the owls. But we agree very well. _Vive la bagatelle_!"
"I had no idea it was so full."
"Chiefly the servants, Monsieur, of those persons who were fortunate
enough to get apartments at Versailles."
"And what do you think of the Dragon Volant?"
"The Dragon Volant! Monsieur; the old fiery dragon! The devil himself,
if all is true! On the faith of a Christian, Monsieur, they say that
diabolical miracles have taken place in this house."
"What do you mean? _Revenants_?"
"Not at all, sir; I wish it was no worse. _Revenants_? No! People
who have never returned--who vanished, before the eyes of half-a-dozen
men all looking at them."
"What do you mean, St. Clair? Let us hear the story, or miracle, or
whatever it is."
"It is only this, Monsieur, that an ex-master-of-the-horse of the late
king, who lost his head--Monsieur will have the goodness to recollect,
in the revolution--being permitted by the Emperor to return to France,
lived here in this hotel, for a month, and at the end of that time
vanished, visibly, as I told you, before the faces of half-a-dozen
credible witnesses! The other was a Russian nobleman, six feet high and
upwards, who, standing in the center of the room, downstairs, describing
to seven gentlemen of unquestionable veracity the last moments of Peter
the Great, and having a glass of _eau de vie_ in his left hand, and
his _tasse de cafe,_ nearly finished, in his right, in like manner
vanished. His boots were found on the floor where he had been standing;
and the gentleman at his right found, to his astonishment, his cup of
coffee in his fingers, and the gentleman at his left, his glass of
_eau de vie_--"
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