The Room in the Dragon Volant

J >> J. Sheridan LeFanu >> The Room in the Dragon Volant

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

"Which he swallowed in his confusion," I suggested.

"Which was preserved for three years among the curious articles of this
house, and was broken by the _cure_ while conversing with
Mademoiselle Fidone in the housekeeper's room; but of the Russian
nobleman himself, nothing more was ever seen or heard. _Parbleu_!
when _we_ go out of the Dragon Volant, I hope it may be by the
door. I heard all this, Monsieur, from the postilion who drove us."

"Then it _must_ be true!" said I, jocularly: but I was beginning to
feel the gloom of the view, and of the chamber in which I stood; there
had stolen over me, I know not how, a presentiment of evil; and my joke
was with an effort, and my spirit flagged.

Chapter XII

THE MAGICIAN

No more brilliant spectacle than this masked ball could be imagined.
Among other _salons_ and galleries, thrown open, was the enormous
Perspective of the "Grande Galerie des Glaces," lighted up on that
occasion with no less than four thousand wax candles, reflected and
repeated by all the mirrors, so that the effect was almost dazzling. The
grand suite of _salons_ was thronged with masques, in every
conceivable costume. There was not a single room deserted. Everyplace
was animated with music voices, brilliant colors, flashing jewels, the
hilarity of extemporized comedy, and all the spirited incidents of a
cleverly sustained masquerade. I had never seen before anything in the
least comparable to this magnificent _fete._ I moved along,
indolently, in my domino and mask, loitering, now and then, to enjoy a
clever dialogue, a farcical song, or an amusing monologue, but, at the
same time, keeping my eyes about me, lest my friend in the black domino,
with the little white cross on his breast, should pass me by.

I had delayed and looked about me, specially, at every door I passed, as
the Marquis and I had agreed; but he had not yet appeared.

While I was thus employed, in the very luxury of lazy amusement, I saw a
gilded sedan chair, or, rather, a Chinese palanquin, exhibiting the
fantastic exuberance of "Celestial" decoration, borne forward on gilded
poles by four richly-dressed Chinese; one with a wand in his hand
marched in front, and another behind; and a slight and solemn man, with
a long black beard, a tall fez, such as a dervish is represented as
wearing, walked close to its side. A strangely-embroidered robe fell
over his shoulders, covered with hieroglyphic symbols; the embroidery
was in black and gold, upon a variegated ground of brilliant colors. The
robe was bound about his waist with a broad belt of gold, with
cabalistic devices traced on it in dark red and black; red stockings,
and shoes embroidered with gold, and pointed and curved upward at the
toes, in Oriental fashion, appeared below the skirt of the robe. The
man's face was dark, fixed, and solemn, and his eyebrows black, and
enormously heavy--he carried a singular-looking book under his arm, a
wand of polished black wood in his other hand, and walked with his chin
sunk on his breast, and his eyes fixed upon the floor. The man in front
waved his wand right and left to clear the way for the advancing
palanquin, the curtains of which were closed; and there was something so
singular, strange and solemn about the whole thing, that I felt at once
interested.

I was very well pleased when I saw the bearers set down their burthen
within a few yards of the spot on which I stood.

The bearers and the men with the gilded wands forthwith clapped their
hands, and in silence danced round the palanquin a curious and
half-frantic dance, which was yet, as to figures and postures, perfectly
methodical. This was soon accompanied by a clapping of hands and a
ha-ha-ing, rhythmically delivered.

While the dance was going on a hand was lightly laid on my arm, and,
looking round, a black domino with a white cross stood beside me.

"I am so glad I have found you," said the Marquis; "and at this moment.
This is the best group in the rooms. _You_ must speak to the
wizard. About an hour ago I lighted upon them, in another _salon,_
and consulted the oracle by putting questions. I never was more amazed.
Although his answers were a little disguised it was soon perfectly plain
that he knew every detail about the business, which no one on earth had
heard of but myself, and two or three other men, about the most cautious
Persons in France. I shall never forget that shock. I saw other people
who consulted him, evidently as much surprised and more frightened than
I. I came with the Count de St. Alyre and the Countess."

He nodded toward a thin figure, also in a domino. It was the Count.

"Come," he said to me, "I'll introduce you."

I followed, you may suppose, readily enough.

The Marquis presented me, with a very prettily-turned allusion to my
fortunate intervention in his favor at the Belle Etoile; and the Count
overwhelmed me with polite speeches, and ended by saying, what pleased
me better still:

"The Countess is near us, in the next salon but one, chatting with her
old friend the Duchesse d'Argensaque; I shall go for her in a few
minutes; and when I bring her here, she shall make your acquaintance;
and thank you, also, for your assistance, rendered with so much courage
when we were so very disagreeably interrupted."

"You must, positively, speak with the magician," said the Marquis to the
Count de St. Alyre, "you will be so much amused. _I_ did so; and, I
assure you, I could not have anticipated such answers! I don't know what
to believe."

"Really! Then, by all means, let us try," he replied.

We three approached, together, the side of the palanquin, at which the
black-bearded magician stood.

A young man, in a Spanish dress, who, with a friend at his side, had
just conferred with the conjuror, was saying, as he passed us by:

"Ingenious mystification! Who is that in the palanquin? He seems to know
everybody!"

The Count, in his mask and domino, moved along, stiffly, with us, toward
the palanquin. A clear circle was maintained by the Chinese attendants,
and the spectators crowded round in a ring.

One of these men--he who with a gilded wand had preceded the
procession--advanced, extending his empty hand, palm upward.

"Money?" inquired the Count.

"Gold," replied the usher.

The Count placed a piece of money in his hand; and I and the Marquis
were each called on in turn to do likewise as we entered the circle. We
paid accordingly.

The conjuror stood beside the palanquin, its silk curtain in his hand;
his chin sunk, with its long, jet-black beard, on his chest; the outer
hand grasping the black wand, on which he leaned; his eyes were lowered,
as before, to the ground; his face looked absolutely lifeless. Indeed, I
never saw face or figure so moveless, except in death. The first
question the Count put, was: "Am I married, or unmarried?"

The conjuror drew back the curtain quickly, and placed his ear toward a
richly-dressed Chinese, who sat in the litter; withdrew his head, and
closed the curtain again; and then answered: "Yes."

The same preliminary was observed each time, so that the man with the
black wand presented himself, not as a prophet, but as a medium; and
answered, as it seemed, in the words of a greater than himself.

Two or three questions followed, the answers to which seemed to amuse
the Marquis very much; but the point of which I could not see, for I
knew next to nothing of the Count's peculiarities and adventures.

"Does my wife love me?" asked he, playfully.

"As well as you deserve."

"Whom do I love best in the world?"

"Self."

"Oh! That I fancy is pretty much the case with everyone. But, putting
myself out of the question, do I love anything on earth better than my
wife?"

"Her diamonds."

"Oh!" said the Count. The Marquis, I could see, laughed.

"Is it true," said the Count, changing the conversation peremptorily,
"that there has been a battle in Naples?"

"No; in France."

"Indeed," said the Count, satirically, with a glance round.

"And may I inquire between what powers, and on what particular quarrel?"

"Between the Count and Countess de St. Alyre, and about a document they
subscribed on the 25th July, 1811."

The Marquis afterwards told me that this was the date of their marriage
settlement.

The Count stood stock-still for a minute or so; and one could fancy that
they saw his face flushing through his mask.

Nobody, but we two, knew that the inquirer was the Count de St. Alyre.

I thought he was puzzled to find a subject for his next question; and,
perhaps, repented having entangled himself in such a colloquy. If so, he
was relieved; for the Marquis, touching his arms, whispered.

"Look to your right, and see who is coming."

I looked in the direction indicated by the Marquis, and I saw a gaunt
figure stalking toward us. It was not a masque. The face was broad,
scarred, and white. In a word, it was the ugly face of Colonel
Gaillarde, who, in the costume of a corporal of the Imperial Guard, with
his left arm so adjusted as to look like a stump, leaving the lower part
of the coat-sleeve empty, and pinned up to the breast. There were strips
of very real sticking-plaster across his eyebrow and temple, where my
stick had left its mark, to score, hereafter, among the more honorable
scars of war.

Chapter XIII

THE ORACLE TELLS ME WONDERS

I forgot for a moment how impervious my mask and domino were to the hard
stare of the old campaigner, and was preparing for an animated scuffle.
It was only for a moment, of course; but the count cautiously drew a
little back as the gasconading corporal, in blue uniform, white vest,
and white gaiters--for my friend Gaillarde was as loud and swaggering in
his assumed character as in his real one of a colonel of dragoons--drew
near. He had already twice all but got himself turned out of doors for
vaunting the exploits of Napoleon le Grand, in terrific mock-heroics,
and had very nearly come to hand-grips with a Prussian hussar. In fact,
he would have been involved in several sanguinary rows already, had not
his discretion reminded him that the object of his coming there at all,
namely, to arrange a meeting with an affluent widow, on whom he believed
he had made a tender impression, would not have been promoted by his
premature removal from the festive scene of which he was an ornament, in
charge of a couple of _gendarmes_.

"Money! Gold! Bah! What money can a wounded soldier like your humble
servant have amassed, with but his sword-hand left, which, being
necessarily occupied, places not a finger at his command with which to
scrape together the spoils of a routed enemy?"

"No gold from him," said the magician. "His scars frank him."

"Bravo, Monsieur le prophete! Bravissimo! Here I am. Shall I begin,
_mon sorcier_, without further loss of time, to question you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he commenced, in stentorian tones. After
half-a-dozen questions and answers, he asked: "Whom do I pursue at
present?"

"Two persons."

"Ha! Two? Well, who are they?"

"An Englishman, whom if you catch, he will kill you; and a French widow,
whom if you find, she will spit in your face."

"Monsieur le magicien calls a spade a spade, and knows that his cloth
protects him. No matter! Why do I pursue them?"

"The widow has inflicted a wound on your heart, and the Englishman a
wound on your head. They are each separately too strong for you; take
care your pursuit does not unite them."

"Bah! How could that be?"

"The Englishman protects ladies. He has got that fact into your head.
The widow, if she sees, will marry him. It takes some time, she will
reflect, to become a colonel, and the Englishman is unquestionably
young."

"I will cut his cock's-comb for him," he ejaculated with an oath and a
grin; and in a softer tone he asked, "Where is she?"

"Near enough to be offended if you fail."

"So she ought, by my faith. You are right, Monsieur le prophete! A
hundred thousand thanks! Farewell!" And staring about him, and
stretching his lank neck as high as he could, he strode away with his
scars, and white waistcoat and gaiters, and his bearskin shako.

I had been trying to see the person who sat in the palanquin. I had only
once an opportunity of a tolerably steady peep. What I saw was singular.
The oracle was dressed, as I have said, very richly, in the Chinese
fashion. He was a figure altogether on a larger scale than the
interpreter, who stood outside. The features seemed to me large and
heavy, and the head was carried with a downward inclination! The eyes
were closed, and the chin rested on the breast of his embroidered
pelisse. The face seemed fixed, and the very image of apathy. Its
character and _pose_ seemed an exaggerated repetition of the
immobility of the figure who communicated with the noisy outer world.
This face looked blood-red; but that was caused, I concluded, by the
light entering through the red silk curtains. All this struck me almost
at a glance; I had not many seconds in which to make my observation. The
ground was now clear, and the Marquis said, "Go forward, my friend."

I did so. When I reached the magician, as we called the man with the
black wand, I glanced over my shoulder to see whether the Count was
near.

No, he was some yards behind; and he and the Marquis, whose curiosity
seemed to be by this time satisfied, were now conversing generally upon
some subject of course quite different.

I was relieved, for the sage seemed to blurt out secrets in an
unexpected way; and some of mine might not have amused the Count.

I thought for a moment. I wished to test the prophet. A
Church-of-England man was a _rara avis_ in Paris.

"What is my religion?" I asked.

"A beautiful heresy," answered the oracle instantly.

"A heresy?--and pray how is it named?"

"Love."

"Oh! Then I suppose I am a polytheist, and love a great many?"

"One."

"But, seriously," I asked, intending to turn the course of our colloquy
a little out of an embarrassing channel, "have I ever learned any words
of devotion by heart?"

"Yes."

"Can you repeat them?"

"Approach."

I did, and lowered my ear.

The man with the black wand closed the curtains, and whispered, slowly
and distinctly, these words which, I need scarcely tell you, I instantly
recognized:

_"I may never see you more; and, oh! I that I could forget
you!--go--farewell--for God's sake, go!"_

I started as I heard them. They were, you know, the last words whispered
to me by the Countess.

"Good Heavens! How miraculous! Words heard most assuredly, by no ear on
earth but my own and the lady's who uttered them, till now!"

I looked at the impassive face of the spokesman with the wand. There was
no trace of meaning, or even of a consciousness that the words he had
uttered could possibly interest me.

"What do I most long for?" I asked, scarcely knowing what I said.

"Paradise."

"And what prevents my reaching it?"

"A black veil."

Stronger and stronger! The answers seemed to me to indicate the minutest
acquaintance with every detail of my little romance, of which not even
the Marquis knew anything! And I, the questioner, masked and robed so
that my own brother could not have known me!

"You said I loved someone. Am I loved in return?" I asked.

"Try."

I was speaking lower than before, and stood near the dark man with the
beard, to prevent the necessity of his speaking in a loud key.

"Does anyone love me?" I repeated.

"Secretly," was the answer.

"Much or little?" I inquired.

"Too well."

"How long will that love last?"

"Till the rose casts its leaves."

The rose--another allusion!

"Then--darkness!" I sighed. "But till then I live in light."

"The light of violet eyes."

Love, if not a religion, as the oracle had just pronounced it, is, at
least, a superstition. How it exalts the imagination! How it enervates
the reason! How credulous it makes us!

All this which, in the case of another I should have laughed at, most
powerfully affected me in my own. It inflamed my ardor, and half crazed
my brain, and even influenced my conduct.

The spokesman of this wonderful trick--if trick it were--now waved me
backward with his wand, and as I withdrew, my eyes still fixed upon the
group, and this time encircled with an aura of mystery in my fancy;
backing toward the ring of spectators, I saw him raise his hand
suddenly, with a gesture of command, as a signal to the usher who
carried the golden wand in front.

The usher struck his wand on the ground, and, in a shrill voice,
proclaimed: "The great Confu is silent for an hour."

Instantly the bearers pulled down a sort of blind of bamboo, which
descended with a sharp clatter, and secured it at the bottom; and then
the man in the tall fez, with the black beard and wand, began a sort of
dervish dance. In this the men with the gold wands joined, and finally,
in an outer ring, the bearers, the palanquin being the center of the
circles described by these solemn dancers, whose pace, little by little,
quickened, whose gestures grew sudden, strange, frantic, as the motion
became swifter and swifter, until at length the whirl became so rapid
that the dancers seemed to fly by with the speed of a mill-wheel, and
amid a general clapping of hands, and universal wonder, these strange
performers mingled with the crowd, and the exhibition, for the time at
least, ended.

The Marquis d'Harmonville was standing not far away, looking on the
ground, as one could judge by his attitude and musing. I approached, and
he said:

"The Count has just gone away to look for his wife. It is a pity she was
not here to consult the prophet; it would have been amusing, I daresay,
to see how the Count bore it. Suppose we follow him. I have asked him to
introduce you."

With a beating heart, I accompanied the Marquis d'Harmonville.

Chapter XIV

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIERE

We wandered through the _salons_, the Marquis and I. It was no easy
matter to find a friend in rooms so crowded.

"Stay here," said the Marquis, "I have thought of a way of finding him.
Besides, his jealousy may have warned him that there is no particular
advantage to be gained by presenting you to his wife; I had better go
and reason with him, as you seem to wish an introduction so very much."

This occurred in the room that is now called the "Salon d'Apollon." The
paintings remained in my memory, and my adventure of that evening was
destined to occur there.

I sat down upon a sofa, and looked about me. Three or four persons
beside myself were seated on this roomy piece of gilded furniture. They
were chatting all very gaily; all--except the person who sat next me,
and she was a lady. Hardly two feet interposed between us. The lady sat
apparently in a reverie. Nothing could be more graceful. She wore the
costume perpetuated in Collignan's full-length portrait of Mademoiselle
de la Valiere. It is, as you know, not only rich, but elegant. Her hair
was powdered, but one could perceive that it was naturally a dark brown.
One pretty little foot appeared, and could anything be more exquisite
than her hand?

It was extremely provoking that this lady wore her mask, and did not, as
many did, hold it for a time in her hand.

I was convinced that she was pretty. Availing myself of the privilege of
a masquerade, a microcosm in which it is impossible, except by voice and
allusion, to distinguish friend from foe, I spoke:

"It is not easy, Mademoiselle, to deceive me," I began.

"So much the better for Monsieur," answered the mask, quietly.

"I mean," I said, determined to tell my fib, "that beauty is a gift
more difficult to conceal than Mademoiselle supposes."

"Yet Monsieur has succeeded very well," she said in the same sweet
and careless tones.

"I see the costume of this, the beautiful Mademoiselle de la Valiere,
upon a form that surpasses her own; I raise my eyes, and I behold a
mask, and yet I recognize the lady; beauty is like that precious stone
in the 'Arabian Nights,' which emits, no matter how concealed, a light
that betrays it."

"I know the story," said the young lady. "The light betrayed it, not in
the sun but in darkness. Is there so little light in these rooms,
Monsieur, that a poor glowworm can show so brightly? I thought we were
in a luminous atmosphere, wherever a certain Countess moved?"

Here was an awkward speech! How was I to answer? This lady might be, as
they say some ladies are, a lover of mischief, or an intimate of the
Countess de St. Alyre. Cautiously, therefore, I inquired,

"What Countess?"

"If you know me, you must know that she is my dearest friend. Is she not
beautiful?"

"How can I answer, there are so many countesses."

"Everyone who knows me, knows who my best beloved friend is. You don't
know me?"

"That is cruel. I can scarcely believe I am mistaken."

"With whom were you walking, just now?" she asked.

"A gentleman, a friend," I answered.

"I saw him, of course, a friend; but I think I know him, and should like
to be certain. Is he not a certain Marquis?"

Here was another question that was extremely awkward.

"There are so many people here, and one may walk, at one time with one,
and at another with a different one, that--"

"That an unscrupulous person has no difficulty in evading a simple
question like mine. Know then, once for all, that nothing disgusts a
person of spirit so much as suspicion. You, Monsieur, are a gentleman of
discretion. I shall respect you accordingly."

"Mademoiselle would despise me, were I to violate a confidence."

"But you don't deceive me. You imitate your friend's diplomacy. I hate
diplomacy. It means fraud and cowardice. Don't you think I know him? The
gentleman with the cross of white ribbon on his breast? I know the
Marquis d'Harmonville perfectly. You see to what good purpose your
ingenuity has been expended."

"To that conjecture I can answer neither yes nor no."

"You need not. But what was your motive in mortifying a lady?"

"It is the last thing on earth I should do."

"You affected to know me, and you don't; through caprice, or
listlessness, or curiosity, you wished to converse, not with a lady, but
with a costume. You admired, and you pretend to mistake me for another.
But who is quite perfect? Is truth any longer to be found on earth?"

"Mademoiselle has formed a mistaken opinion of me."

"And you also of me; you find me less foolish than you supposed. I know
perfectly whom you intend amusing with compliments and melancholy
declamation, and whom, with that amiable purpose, you have been
seeking."

"Tell me whom you mean," I entreated. "Upon one condition."

"What is that?"

"That you will confess if I name the lady."

"You describe my object unfairly," I objected. "I can't admit that I
proposed speaking to any lady in the tone you describe."

"Well, I shan't insist on that; only if I name the lady, you will
promise to admit that I am right."

"_Must_ I promise?"

"Certainly not, there is no compulsion; but your promise is the only
condition on which I will speak to you again."

I hesitated for a moment; but how could she possibly tell? The Countess
would scarcely have admitted this little romance to anyone; and the mask
in the La Valliere costume could not possibly know who the masked domino
beside her was.

"I consent," I said, "I promise."

"You must promise on the honor of a gentleman."

"Well, I do; on the honor of a gentleman."

"Then this lady is the Countess de St. Alyre."

I was unspeakably surprised; I was disconcerted; but I remembered my
promise, and said:

"The Countess de St. Alyre _is_, unquestionably, the lady to whom I
hoped for an introduction tonight; but I beg to assure you, also on the
honor of a gentleman, that she has not the faintest imaginable suspicion
that I was seeking such an honor, nor, in all probability, does she
remember that such a person as I exists. I had the honor to render her
and the Count a trifling service, too trifling, I fear, to have earned
more than an hour's recollection."

"The world is not so ungrateful as you suppose; or if it be, there are,
nevertheless, a few hearts that redeem it. I can answer for the Countess
de St. Alyre, she never forgets a kindness. She does not show all she
feels; for she is unhappy, and cannot."

"Unhappy! I feared, indeed, that might be. But for all the rest that you
are good enough to suppose, it is but a flattering dream."

"I told you that I am the Countess's friend, and being so I must know
something of her character; also, there are confidences between us, and
I may know more than you think of those trifling services of which you
suppose the recollection is so transitory."

I was becoming more and more interested. I was as wicked as other young
men, and the heinousness of such a pursuit was as nothing, now that
self-love and all the passions that mingle in such a romance were
roused. The image of the beautiful Countess had now again quite
superseded the pretty counterpart of La Valliee, who was before me. I
would have given a great deal to hear, in solemn earnest, that she did
remember the champion who, for her sake, had thrown himself before the
saber of an enraged dragoon, with only a cudgel in his hand, and
conquered.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10