The Room in the Dragon Volant
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J. Sheridan LeFanu >> The Room in the Dragon Volant
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"You say the Countess is unhappy," said I. "What causes her
unhappiness?"
"Many things. Her husband is old, jealous, and tyrannical. Is not that
enough? Even when relieved from his society, she is lonely."
"But you are her friend?" I suggested.
"And you think one friend enough?" she answered; "she has one alone, to
whom she can open her heart."
"Is there room for another friend?"
"Try."
"How can I find a way?"
"She will aid you."
"How?"
She answered by a question. "Have you secured rooms in either of the
hotels of Versailles?"
"No, I could not. I am lodged in the Dragon Volant, which stands at the
verge of the grounds of the Chateau de la Carque."
"That is better still. I need not ask if you have courage for an
adventure. I need not ask if you are a man of honor. A lady may trust
herself to you, and fear nothing. There are few men to whom the
interview, such as I shall arrange, could be granted with safety. You
shall meet her at two o'clock this morning in the Park of the Chateau de
la Carque. What room do you occupy in the Dragon Volant?"
I was amazed at the audacity and decision of this girl. Was she, as we
say in England, hoaxing me?
"I can describe that accurately," said I. "As I look from the rear of
the house, in which my apartment is, I am at the extreme right, next the
angle; and one pair of stairs up, from the hall."
"Very well; you must have observed, if you looked into the park, two or
three clumps of chestnut and lime trees, growing so close together as to
form a small grove. You must return to your hotel, change your dress,
and, preserving a scrupulous secrecy as to why or where you go, leave
the Dragon Volant, and climb the park wall, unseen; you will easily
recognize the grove I have mentioned; there you will meet the Countess,
who will grant you an audience of a few minutes, who will expect the
most scrupulous reserve on your part, and who will explain to you, in a
few words, a great deal which I could not so well tell you here."
I cannot describe the feeling with which I heard these words. I was
astounded. Doubt succeeded. I could not believe these agitating words.
"Mademoiselle will believe that if I only dared assure myself that so
great a happiness and honor were really intended for me, my gratitude
would be as lasting as my life. But how dare I believe that Mademoiselle
does not speak, rather from her own sympathy or goodness, than from a
certainty that the Countess de St. Alyre would concede so great an
honor?"
"Monsieur believes either that I am not, as I pretend to be, in the
secret which he hitherto supposed to be shared by no one but the
Countess and himself, or else that I am cruelly mystifying him. That I
am in her confidence, I swear by all that is dear in a whispered
farewell. By the last companion of this flower!" and she took for a
moment in her fingers the nodding head of a white rosebud that was
nestled in her bouquet. "By my own good star, and hers--or shall I call
it our 'belle etoile?' Have I said enough?"
"Enough?" I repeated, "more than enough--a thousand thanks."
"And being thus in her confidence, I am clearly her friend; and being a
friend would it be friendly to use her dear name so; and all for sake of
practicing a vulgar trick upon you--a stranger?"
"Mademoiselle will forgive me. Remember how very precious is the hope of
seeing, and speaking to the Countess. Is it wonderful, then, that I
should falter in my belief? You have convinced me, however, and will
forgive my hesitation."
"You will be at the place I have described, then, at two o'clock?"
"Assuredly," I answered.
"And Monsieur, I know, will not fail through fear. No, he need not
assure me; his courage is already proved."
"No danger, in such a case, will be unwelcome to me."
"Had you not better go now, Monsieur, and rejoin your friend?"
"I promised to wait here for my friend's return. The Count de St. Alyre
said that he intended to introduce me to the Countess."
"And Monsieur is so simple as to believe him?"
"Why should I not?"
"Because he is jealous and cunning. You will see. He will never
introduce you to his wife. He will come here and say he cannot find her,
and promise another time."
"I think I see him approaching, with my friend. No--there is no lady
with him."
"I told you so. You will wait a long time for that happiness, if it is
never to reach you except through his hands. In the meantime, you had
better not let him see you so near me. He will suspect that we have been
talking of his wife; and that will whet his jealousy and his vigilance."
I thanked my unknown friend in the mask, and withdrawing a few steps,
came, by a little "circumbendibus," upon the flank of the Count. I
smiled under my mask as he assured me that the Duchess de la Roqueme had
changed her place, and taken the Countess with her; but he hoped, at
some very early time, to have an opportunity of enabling her to make my
acquaintance.
I avoided the Marquis d'Harmonville, who was following the Count. I was
afraid he might propose accompanying me home, and had no wish to be
forced to make an explanation.
I lost myself quickly, therefore, in the crowd, and moved, as rapidly as
it would allow me, toward the Galerie des Glaces, which lay in the
direction opposite to that in which I saw the Count and my friend the
Marquis moving.
Chapter XV
STRANGE STORY OF THE DRAGON VOLANT
These _fetes_ were earlier in those days, and in France, than our
modern balls are in London. I consulted my watch. It was a little past
twelve.
It was a still and sultry night; the magnificent suite of rooms, vast as
some of them were, could not be kept at a temperature less than
oppressive, especially to people with masks on. In some places the crowd
was inconvenient, and the profusion of lights added to the heat. I
removed my mask, therefore, as I saw some other people do, who were as
careless of mystery as I. I had hardly done so, and began to breathe
more comfortably, when I heard a friendly English voice call me by my
name. It was Tom Whistlewick, of the --th Dragoons. He had unmasked,
with a very flushed face, as I did. He was one of those Waterloo heroes,
new from the mint of glory, whom, as a body, all the world, except
France, revered; and the only thing I knew against him, was a habit of
allaying his thirst, which was excessive at balls, _fetes_, musical
parties, and all gatherings, where it was to be had, with champagne;
and, as he introduced me to his friend, Monsieur Carmaignac, I observed
that he spoke a little thick. Monsieur Carmaignac was little, lean, and
as straight as a ramrod. He was bald, took snuff, and wore spectacles;
and, as I soon learned, held an official position.
Tom was facetious, sly, and rather difficult to understand, in his
present pleasant mood. He was elevating his eyebrows and screwing his
lips oddly, and fanning himself vaguely with his mask.
After some agreeable conversation I was glad to observe that he
preferred silence, and was satisfied with the _role_ of listener,
as I and Monsieur Carmaignac chatted; and he seated himself, with
extraordinary caution and indecision, upon a bench, beside us, and
seemed very soon to find a difficulty in keeping his eyes open.
"I heard you mention," said the French gentleman, "that you had engaged
an apartment in the Dragon Volant, about half a league from this. When I
was in a different police department, about four years ago, two very
strange cases were connected with that house. One was of a wealthy
_emigre_, permitted to return to France by the Em--by Napoleon. He
vanished. The other--equally strange--was the case of a Russian of rank
and wealth. He disappeared just as mysteriously."
"My servant," I said, "gave me a confused account of some occurrences,
and, as well as I recollect, he described the same persons--I mean a
returned French nobleman and a Russian gentleman. But he made the whole
story so marvelous--I mean in the supernatural sense--that, I confess, I
did not believe a word of it."
"No, there was nothing supernatural; but a great deal inexplicable,"
said the French gentleman. "Of course, there may be theories; but the
thing was never explained, nor, so far as I know, was a ray of light
ever thrown upon it."
"Pray let me hear the story," I said. "I think I have a claim, as it
affects my quarters. You don't suspect the people of the house?"
"Oh! it has changed hands since then. But there seemed to be a fatality
about a particular room."
"Could you describe that room?"
"Certainly. It is a spacious, paneled bedroom, up one pair of stairs, in
the back of the house, and at the extreme right, as you look from its
windows."
"Ho! Really? Why, then, I have got the very room!" I said, beginning to
be more interested--perhaps the least bit in the world, disagreeably.
"Did the people die, or were they actually spirited away?"
"No, they did not die--they disappeared very oddly. I'll tell you the
particulars--I happen to know them exactly, because I made an official
visit, on the first occasion, to the house, to collect evidence; and
although I did not go down there, upon the second, the papers came
before me, and I dictated the official letter dispatched to the
relations of the people who had disappeared; they had applied to the
government to investigate the affair. We had letters from the same
relations more than two years later, from which we learned that the
missing men had never turned up."
He took a pinch of snuff, and looked steadily at me.
"Never! I shall relate all that happened, so far as we could discover.
The French noble, who was the Chevalier Chateau Blassemare, unlike most
_emigres_ had taken the matter in time, sold a large portion of his
property before the revolution had proceeded so far as to render that
next to impossible, and retired with a large sum. He brought with him
about half a million of francs, the greater part of which he invested in
the French funds; a much larger sum remained in Austrian land and
securities. You will observe then that this gentleman was rich, and
there was no allegation of his having lost money, or being in any way
embarrassed. You see?"
I assented.
"This gentleman's habits were not expensive in proportion to his means.
He had suitable lodgings in Paris; and for a time, society, and
theaters, and other reasonable amusements, engrossed him. He did not
play. He was a middleaged man, affecting youth, with the vanities which
are usual in such persons; but, for the rest, he was a gentle and polite
person, who disturbed nobody--a person, you see, not likely to provoke
an enmity."
"Certainly not," I agreed.
"Early in the summer of 1811 he got an order permitting him to copy
a picture in one of these _salons_, and came down here, to
Versailles, for the purpose. His work was getting on slowly. After a
time he left his hotel here, and went, by way of change, to the Dragon
Volant; there he took, by special choice, the bedroom which has fallen
to you by chance. From this time, it appeared, he painted little; and
seldom visited his apartments in Paris. One night he saw the host of the
Dragon Volant, and told him that he was going into Paris, to remain for
a day or two, on very particular business; that his servant would
accompany him, but that he would retain his apartments at the Dragon
Volant, and return in a few days. He left some clothes there, but packed
a portmanteau, took his dressing case and the rest, and, with his
servant behind his carriage, drove into Paris. You observe all this,
Monsieur?"
"Most attentively," I answered.
"Well, Monsieur, as soon as they were approaching his lodgings, he
stopped the carriage on a sudden, told his servant that he had changed
his mind; that he would sleep elsewhere that night, that he had very
particular business in the north of France, not far from Rouen, that he
would set out before daylight on his journey, and return in a fortnight.
He called a _fiacre_, took in his hand a leather bag which, the
servant said, was just large enough to hold a few shirts and a coat, but
that it was enormously heavy, as he could testify, for he held it in his
hand, while his master took out his purse to count thirty-six Napoleons,
for which the servant was to account when he should return. He then sent
him on, in the carriage; and he, with the bag I have mentioned, got into
the _fiacre_. Up to that, you see, the narrative is quite clear."
"Perfectly," I agreed.
"Now comes the mystery," said Monsieur Carmaignac. "After that, the
Count Chateau Blassemare was never more seen, so far as we can make out,
by acquaintance or friend. We learned that the day before the Count's
stockbroker had, by his direction, sold all his stock in the French
funds, and handed him the cash it realized. The reason he gave him for
this measure tallied with what he said to his servant. He told him that
he was going to the north of France to settle some claims, and did not
know exactly how much might be required. The bag, which had puzzled the
servant by its weight, contained, no doubt, a large sum in gold. Will
Monsieur try my snuff?"
He politely tendered his open snuff-box, of which I partook,
experimentally.
"A reward was offered," he continued, "when the inquiry was instituted,
for any information tending to throw a light upon the mystery, which
might be afforded by the driver of the _fiacre_ 'employed on the
night of' (so-and-so), 'at about the hour of half-past ten, by a
gentleman, with a black-leather bag-bag in his hand, who descended from
a private carriage, and gave his servant some money, which he counted
twice over.' About a hundred-and-fifty drivers applied, but not one of
them was the right man. We did, however, elicit a curious and unexpected
piece of evidence in quite another quarter. What a racket that plaguey
harlequin makes with his sword!"
"Intolerable!" I chimed in.
The harlequin was soon gone, and he resumed.
"The evidence I speak of came from a boy, about twelve years old, who
knew the appearance of the Count perfectly, having been often employed
by him as a messenger. He stated that about half-past twelve o'clock, on
the same night--upon which you are to observe, there was a brilliant
moon--he was sent, his mother having been suddenly taken ill, for the
_sage femme_ who lived within a stone's throw of the Dragon Volant.
His father's house, from which he started, was a mile away, or more,
from that inn, in order to reach which he had to pass round the park of
the Cheteau de la Carque, at the site most remote from the point to
which he was going. It passes the old churchyard of St. Aubin, which is
separated from the road only by a very low fence, and two or three
enormous old trees. The boy was a little nervous as he approached this
ancient cemetery; and, under the bright moonlight, he saw a man whom he
distinctly recognized as the Count, whom they designated by a sobriquet
which means 'the man of smiles.' He was looking rueful enough now, and
was seated on the side of a tombstone, on which he had laid a pistol,
while he was ramming home the charge of another.
"The boy got cautiously by, on tiptoe, with his eyes all the time on the
Count Chateau Blassernare, or the man he mistook for him--his dress was
not what he usually wore, but the witness swore that he could not be
mistaken as to his identity. He said his face looked grave and stern;
but though he did not smile, it was the same face he knew so well.
Nothing would make him swerve from that. If that were he, it was the
last time he was seen. He has never been heard of since. Nothing could
be heard of him in the neighborhood of Rouen. There has been no evidence
of his death; and there is no sign that he is living."
"That certainly is a most singular case," I replied, and was about to
ask a question or two, when Tom Whistlewick who, without my observing
it, had been taking a ramble, returned, a great deal more awake, and a
great deal less tipsy.
"I say, Carmaignac, it is getting late, and I must go; I really must,
for the reason I told you--and, Beckett, we must soon meet again."
"I regret very much, Monsieur, my not being able at present to relate to
you the other case, that of another tenant of the very same room--a case
more mysterious and sinister than the last--and which occurred in the
autumn of the same year."
"Will you both do a very good-natured thing, and come and dine with me
at the Dragon Volant tomorrow?"
So, as we pursued our way along the Galerie des Glaces, I extracted
their promise.
"By Jove!" said Whistlewick, when this was done; "look at that pagoda,
or sedan chair, or whatever it is, just where those fellows set it down,
and not one of them near it! I can't imagine how they tell fortunes so
devilish well. Jack Nuffles--I met him here tonight--says they are
gypsies--where are they, I wonder? I'll go over and have a peep at the
prophet."
I saw him plucking at the blinds, which were constructed something on
the principle of Venetian blinds; the red curtains were inside; but they
did not yield, and he could only peep under one that did not come quite
down.
When he rejoined us, he related: "I could scarcely see the old fellow,
it's so dark. He is covered with gold and red, and has an embroidered
hat on like a mandarin's; he's fast asleep; and, by Jove, he smells like
a polecat! It's worth going over only to have it to say. Fiew! pooh! oh!
It is a perfume. Faugh!"
Not caring to accept this tempting invitation, we got along slowly
toward the door. I bade them good-night, reminding them of their
promise. And so found my way at last to my carriage; and was soon
rolling slowly toward the Dragon Volant, on the loneliest of roads,
under old trees, and the soft moonlight.
What a number of things had happened within the last two hours! what a
variety of strange and vivid pictures were crowded together in that
brief space! What an adventure was before me!
The silent, moonlighted, solitary road, how it contrasted with the
many-eddied whirl of pleasure from whose roar and music, lights,
diamonds and colors I had just extricated myself.
The sight of lonely nature at such an hour, acts like a sudden sedative.
The madness and guilt of my pursuit struck me with a momentary
compunction and horror. I wished I had never entered the labyrinth which
was leading me, I knew not whither. It was too late to think of that
now; but the bitter was already stealing into my cup; and vague
anticipations lay, for a few minutes, heavy on my heart. It would not
have taken much to make me disclose my unmanly state of mind to my
lively friend Alfred Ogle, nor even to the milder ridicule of the
agreeable Tom Whistlewick.
Chapter XVI
THE PARC OF THE CHATEAU DE LA CARQUE
There was no danger of the Dragon Volant's closing its doors on that
occasion till three or four in the morning. There were quartered there
many servants of great people, whose masters would not leave the ball
till the last moment, and who could not return to their corners in the
Dragon Volant till their last services had been rendered.
I knew, therefore, I should have ample time for my mysterious excursion
without exciting curiosity by being shut out.
And now we pulled up under the canopy of boughs, before the sign of the
Dragon Volant, and the light that shone from its hall-door.
I dismissed my carriage, ran up the broad stair-case, mask in hand, with
my domino fluttering about me, and entered the large bedroom. The black
wainscoting and stately furniture, with the dark curtains of the very
tall bed, made the night there more somber.
An oblique patch of moonlight was thrown upon the floor from the window
to which I hastened. I looked out upon the landscape slumbering in those
silvery beams. There stood the outline of the Chateau de la Carque, its
chimneys and many turrets with their extinguisher-shaped roofs black
against the soft grey sky. There, also, more in the foreground, about
midway between the window where I stood and the chateau, but a little to
the left, I traced the tufted masses of the grove which the lady in the
mask had appointed as the trysting-place, where I and the beautiful
Countess were to meet that night.
I took "the bearings" of this gloomy bit of wood, whose foliage
glimmered softly at top in the light of the moon.
You may guess with what a strange interest and swelling of the heart I
gazed on the unknown scene of my coming adventure.
But time was flying, and the hour already near. I threw my robe upon a
sofa; I groped out a pair of hoots, which I substituted for those thin
heelless shoes, in those days called "pumps," without which a gentleman
could not attend an evening party. I put on my hat and, lastly, I took a
pair of loaded pistols, which I had been advised were satisfactory
companions in the then unsettled state of French society; swarms of
disbanded soldiers, some of them alleged to be desperate characters,
being everywhere to be met with. These preparations made, I confess I
took a looking-glass to the window to see how I looked in the moonlight;
and being satisfied, I replaced it, and ran downstairs.
In the hall I called for my servant.
"St. Clair," said I; "I mean to take a little moonlight ramble, only ten
minutes or so. You must not go to bed until I return. If the night is
very beautiful, I may possibly extend my ramble a little."
So down the steps I lounged, looking first over my right, and then over
my left shoulder, like a man uncertain which direction to take, and I
sauntered up the road, gazing now at the moon, and now at the thin white
clouds in the opposite direction, whistling, all the time, an air which
I had picked up at one of the theatres.
When I had got a couple of hundred yards away from the Dragon Volant, my
minstrelsy totally ceased; and I turned about, and glanced sharply down
the road, that looked as white as hoar-frost under the moon, and saw the
gable of the old inn, and a window, partly concealed by the foliage,
with a dusky light shining from it.
No sound of footstep was stirring; no sign of human figure in sight. I
consulted my watch, which the light was sufficiently strong to enable me
to do. It now wanted but eight minutes of the appointed hour. A thick
mantle of ivy at this point covered the wall and rose in a clustering
head at top.
It afforded me facilities for scaling the wall, and a partial screen for
my operations if any eye should chance to be looking that way. And now
it was done. I was in the park of the Chateau de la Carque, as nefarious
a poacher as ever trespassed on the grounds of unsuspicious lord!
Before me rose the appointed grove, which looked as black as a clump of
gigantic hearse plumes. It seemed to tower higher and higher at every
step; and cast a broader and blacker shadow toward my feet. On I
marched, and was glad when I plunged into the shadow which concealed me.
Now I was among the grand old lime and chestnut trees--my heart beat
fast with expectation.
This grove opened, a little, near the middle; and, in the space thus
cleared, there stood with a surrounding flight of steps a small Greek
temple or shrine, with a statue in the center. It was built of white
marble with fluted Corinthian columns, and the crevices were tufted with
grass; moss had shown itself on pedestal and cornice, and signs of long
neglect and decay were apparent in its discolored and weather-worn
marble. A few feet in front of the steps a fountain, fed from the great
ponds at the other side of the chateau, was making a constant tinkle and
splashing in a wide marble basin, and the jet of water glimmered like a
shower of diamonds in the broken moonlight. The very neglect and
half-ruinous state of all this made it only the prettier, as well as
sadder. I was too intently watching for the arrival of the lady, in the
direction of the chateau, to study these things; but the half-noted
effect of them was romantic, and suggested somehow the grotto and the
fountain, and the apparition of Egeria.
As I watched a voice spoke to me, a little behind my left shoulder. I
turned, almost with a start, and the masque, in the costume of
Mademoiselle de la Valliere, stood there.
"The Countess will be here presently," she said. The lady stood upon the
open space, and the moonlight fell unbroken upon her. Nothing could be
more becoming; her figure looked more graceful and elegant than ever.
"In the meantime I shall tell you some peculiarities of her situation.
She is unhappy; miserable in an ill--assorted marriage, with a jealous
tyrant who now would constrain her to sell her diamonds, which are--"
"Worth thirty thousand pounds sterling. I heard all that from a friend.
Can I aid the Countess in her unequal struggle? Say but how the greater
the danger or the sacrifice, the happier will it make me. _Can_ I
aid her?"
"If you despise a danger--which, yet, is not a danger; if you despise,
as she does, the tyrannical canons of the world; and if you are
chivalrous enough to devote yourself to a lady's cause, with no reward
but her poor gratitude; if you can do these things you can aid her, and
earn a foremost place, not in her gratitude only, but in her
friendship."
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