“When, all of a sudden, I hear the voice which fills this frightful silence.
“It is the first time that I have ever heard her voice at such a distance, and, perhaps, after all, I only imagine that I have heard it — no, it is she who speaks these words. I could not invent them — I mean that I have no reason to invent them, for they are very simple words. She said:
“‘Au revoir, Gabriel!’
“She stood motionless upon the balcony. Her voice solemnly filled the oppressive air, the sulphurous night. And then the funeral procession passed before her — old Norbert and his nephew were carrying the corpse rolled up in a coverlet.
“The wardrobe was standing open behind them. So, then, I was right! The body had been still there when I went into the studio!
“Well, certainly Christine is superhuman! No, no! You are not a heartless doll. You are a heavenly creature!
“Now that I hear your golden voice through the silence of this dreadful night, your voice bidding ‘Au revoir’ to the gory remains of one of the handsomest of the sons of men, I can understand your statuesque calmness. ‘Au revoir’ — you have, therefore, resolved to rejoin him in the depths of the unknown, where there is a promise of a union of souls. But perhaps in this unknown also reigns the great Pan of other days, reclothed in his leopard skin. O pagan Christine!
“Disappear then, and I will also disappear from this earth, into the depths of which I would hasten to throw off my abominable cowl.
“I would like to be the corpse for which you are weeping — that corpse which they are bearing down into the garden.
“It is evident that you do not wish to witness more, for you have drawn yourself erect in this yellow night and you disappear while they are digging deep into the shadowy pit.
“But now, all is quiet in the shadows. If they were digging a grave, I should be able to see their dark forms moving.
“The ground floor of the villa has always been something obscure and indistinct to me. Three narrow arched doors open on to the garden — that is, they are there, but are never opened. They are all nailed up with boards. There are two windows — one at each end, with closed shutters. Two or three times, while I have been watching, there has been a flash of light from inside, which could be plainly seen through the chinks of the poorly joined shutters.
“It is on this ground floor that the nephew works when he is not closeted in the studio with Christine and old man Norbert. He is probably experimenting with radio. Nowadays there are no doctors or surgeons without electricity. I also know, from Mother Langlois’s gossip, that on the ground floor at the right, there is an immense stove with all sorts of instruments, retorts, and glass balls — just like the wizard’s laboratories in old moving pictures.
“And now again, to-night, through the chinks of the shutters, this light comes. It is not an electric spark, but rather the light of a scorching flame, which seems to lick up the walls of the interior and then suddenly go out. Then to flare up again and die out again. It is some strange combustion, inordinate — caused undoubtedly by some inflammable liquid.
“Then, suddenly, above the roof, through the heavy, sulphurous night, a somber volume of smoke rushes out, thick, funereal. It hesitates as to which direction it will take, then, finally spreading out over the island, gradually diminishes as it reaches the deserted quays, shrouding us in a dark veil and disturbing the atmosphere — where now a horrible odor persists.
CHAPTER VII
LIVING WITHIN MY THOUGHTS
“WEDNESDAY. ALL IS well. Christine did not die of grief. She is at present in my workshop and very much alive, I can assure you. It is really very thoughtful of her to come in and reassure me. For it is on my account, this time, that she crossed my threshold, just as if she had divined that it would take her presence to calm my grief, just as though she knew that I know.
“She is come, but how far does she want to come? Yes, how far does she want to come?
“She is full of grace and her toilette is charming. She wears a new spring dress, which she undoubtedly has made for herself with her artistic hands, made undoubtedly without any foresight or thought of her present mourning.
“It is surprising what a lot can be done by a pretty girl with some blue and white linen and a little cross stitch embroidery.
“Without doubt, there was no thought of me when this dress was being made, but there is not the slightest uncertainty that it was put on on my account.
“If she is really sorrowful at heart, this dress is alarming. What can be Christine’s motive in playing the coquette with a monster?
“To this question I find myself clinging desperately, so that I may not be thrown off my balance by this unexpected turn in the inexplicable adventure. And then I throw aside the question, I throw all aside, and I feel myself as though I am slipping to the bottom of an abyss, frightfully happy as I plunge down into it for her, while she keeps her smiling eyes upon me. She has need of me. She has need of me, or she would not be here in all her coquetry — need of me in her crime.
“Let her do with me what she likes. I am ready to take all the responsibility.
“I cannot conceive that the slightest danger should threaten this wonderful child, whose slim, bare fingers toy with the pages of Verlaine. To her, as well as to myself, who have watched her pass by for more than two years with the disdainful attitude of an archduchess, something must have happened, something very extraordinary, to cause this graceful creature to come and sit opposite me at my counter.
“Oh, how I bless that crime! And that horrible odor, which made me choke on that night up there in my skylight on the roof, that cursed odor of the holocaust, which will follow me all my life! But I do not smell it any more, because the sweet perfume of her presence has come.
“Life is stronger than death.
“Speak, my child, speak!
“But just a moment, wait. First, I will send my apprentice, who is wandering around in the rear of the shop, sniffing like a seal, on an errand. Then I will close the door, so that the whole street may not enter my shop — for the whole street is now standing before my shop. Here’s a fine tale for the old gossips of the island.
“Mlle. Barescat’s pointed snout is jutting out between the portholes of her glasses. Over there, under the triumphant arch of her frilled cap, the round, flat face of Mother Langlois is reflecting the setting sun in the horizon, which has reached the pork butcher’s shop. Beyond the other windows, fluttering, mittened hands are shaking the curtains.
“‘Monsieur, I have come to you as to a friend.’
“I tried to smile.
“T, your friend? But you do not know me,’ I said. “‘But I do know you, monsieur. In the first place you have been my neighbor for years, and, as I am curious, I wanted to know who my neighbor was.’
“‘A poor bookbinder, mademoiselle.’
“‘A great poet, monsieur.’
“I did not move. But my silence did not embarrass her the least in the world. She leaned her ivory-white elbows — the sleeves of her dress are very short — on the books which were spread before her, and gently posed her adorable head in the petals of her hands, which no jewel dishonored. Then, looking at me — looking at me, she began:
“‘Dedicated to her who passes. For the love of God, avert not your brows when you pass near me. Let your glance remain cold in this motionless lake; for the flashes of your eyes, if you so desire, may consume the blood of many men. In the name of thy youth, oh, sweet beloved, cause me not to weep. I am an orphan, I am a child. Nothing could hold me back. Oh, do not draw me into your fire. Your love has rent me asunder, like clouds torn by the storm.’
“‘That’s enough!’ I cried, interrupting her, in a state of agitation bordering on hysteria. ‘That’s enough! It is very poor verse. You must remember that, although the bindings which decorated them obtained the prize at the Masters’ Exhibition, the verses had no success and it was only just, for, after all, they were not signed with any known name.’
“‘They were not signed at all,’ she said, letting the words fall, but in no other way appearing to be touched by the state in which she saw me, ‘but I thought that they were yours.’
“I paled atrociously, without daring to look at her. The pleasure of the moment was succeeded by a rage which suffocated me. Without the shadow of a doubt this girl was making fun of me, and with what audacious coolness. At last I was able to express myself, and I hurled my words at her:
“‘You are cruel!’ I cried. ‘Indeed, I have always thought that you were too beautiful to be anything but cruelty itself. Perhaps you may not be aware of it, and that can be your only excuse.’
“‘Go on,’ she said slowly. ‘I did not come here to look for compliments.’
“‘What did you come to look for?’
“Such terrible words! I wished I could recall them. But I was like one possessed, and, as usually happens to the very timid when they take sudden courage, I lost all reasoning. Giving her no time to reply, I heaped stupid reproaches upon her, as though she had given me some right over her by her previous conduct.
“‘Well, yes,’ I exclaimed, T did write those verses, but for myself alone! They belong to me and to no one else in the world. They were not meant for you to use to come here and mock me in my loneliness and distress.
“‘You pretend to know me,’ I continued, ‘and yet you could find nothing better, before coming here, than to take for granted my vanity as an author. If you only knew the disgust which I have for myself and for the others, for all others, you would certainly have refrained from learning by heart a poor sonnet which I have a long time forgotten.’
“She did not move, but when I had finished, she began once more, in the calmest manner, to repeat my verses and even to quote some of my prose, which is very rare. Where — in what stall on the quays could she have ferreted out the miserable pamphlets? She knew all my works — my poor, rending, tender, revolting, blasphemous works. She knew them as well as I knew them myself. Better than I, for, when she said them, she added a greater something to the text, the full value of which I had not before appreciated.
“Decidedly, Christine is extremely intelligent. I declare this naively and sincerely, because my writing is very difficult to understand and she is about the only one who has understood me. But I am crushed by the knowledge that, for some time — how long I do not know — this girl, who has passed me by without even glancing at me, has been living with my thoughts.
“Why has she waited so long to tell me this? Why? Why to-day more than yesterday? Without doubt, she reads me like a book, for she answers me at once.
“‘Monsieur, you put this question to me just now: “Why have you come here?” Well, I have come to ask you to do me a great service. My father, my cousin, and I, are, at this moment, going through a terrible crisis.’
“Ah, I think again to myself, here it comes. She’s aware that I know. She knows that I have seen and feels that she must explain. She has to stoop to the necessity of making acquaintance with her neighbor opposite. I wonder what lies I am going to hear.
“‘Yes,’ she repeated, ‘a terrible crisis,’ and, bending her head, her eyes left my face and the room seemed filled with dark shadows.
“‘We are ruined,’ she continued; ‘all that my mother left went a long time ago — what we have is of no importance. Monsieur, I can see on the shelf behind you Balzac’s “Philosophical Studies.” Have you read the “Search of the Absolute”? But, of course, you have.
“‘I don’t know if you are of the same opinion as myself, but I consider that this novel, with Louis Lambert, is Balzac’s finest work, the most noble and the most dramatic. What is more terrible than the fate of this prosperous, middle class family, who, little by little, are ruined by the idea of a genius? Nothing can resist the sublime folly of an inventor, and the children are obliged to bow to the crash of Balzac’s old “Cleas” — like — you understand, monsieur.
“‘Only in the case of old Norbert, the watchmaker, on the Isle of St. Louis, there is a slight difference. The children of Balzac’s character have no faith in his genius, his wife no more than the others, this only makes her appear more pathetic in her devotion; while Norbert’s children, I mean by that, his pupil and myself, have absolute faith in his idea. We would not hesitate, if necessary, to put our father on the rack in the event that he himself should hesitate.’
“‘Great Heavens!’ I cried. ‘Would you do all that for perpetual motion?’
“‘For that and other things, monsieur,’ she said.
“‘Please don’t think me indiscreet in speaking of the perpetual motion,’ I pleaded, ‘but, you see, I have not told you of the gossip that goes on in the rear parlors throughout the neighborhood.’
“Christine raised her head and smiled. Everything was lit up once more.
“‘Let us talk seriously,’ she began; ‘we have come down to the last straw. I shall tell you at once how we are living. I have already shown you that I know you better than you imagine, and I am now going to prove to you that I look upon you as a friend.’
CHAPTER VIII
A WOMAN’S SCHEME
“HER FACE BECAME very grave.
“‘Yes, I am going to talk to you as to a friend — as if you were a brother.’
“That’s just what I was expecting. It is always as to a brother that these ladies talk to me.
“‘We are entirely,’ she went on, ‘at the mercy of our landlord, the Marquis de Coulteray. We owe him several quarters’ rent, and, if he wished, he could dispossess us to-morrow. And the reason the marquis does not dispossess us is that he is making love to me.’
“What! Another! And she comes here to tell me. It appears to me that this Madonna of the Isle of St. Louis is kept pretty busy with her fiancé, her Gabriel’s corpse, her marquis, and her brother, the master bookbinder of the Isle of St. Louis. Oh, Christine, you are more and more an indecipherable enigma.
“‘Oh, I assure you it is very conventional love making — at least, up till now. He likes to have me at his house. He pretends that my presence there is absolutely necessary to him. I spend a few hours every day doing various kinds of work for him — sometimes on metals for the antique music desk, and sometimes on carvings for the books of chants. He has a very unique library — as you shall see.’
“‘Oh, then, I shall see it,’ I repeat, just to say something, but in a very nonplussed manner.
“‘Well, yes, at least I hope so. Otherwise, there would be no reason for me to come here and tell you all this in confidence.’
“‘Continue,’ I said, ‘I am listening to what you have to say.’
“‘Well,’ she went on, ‘the marquis has a little room at the end of the library, which he has turned into a little workshop for me, and you can use it also if — oh, dear, if you will — if you will consent to follow out the proposition I made you the other day. M. Masson, I trust you.
“‘I am telling you everything. (How women can lie!) Come to my assistance. If I break off with the marquis, I shall not only lose the little money he pays me, which we are now dependent on for our livelihood, but I am sure that he will not hesitate to put us out of the house. And we cannot leave our house without having a frightful catastrophe happen.’
“We are silent. Now we have come to it. It is always risky to leave a spot which is still warm with murder. A corpse often leaves traces, even after it has been put in a stove. The judicial findings have shown this to be so in many instances.
“So this is how it is, I thought — all the time that she is telling me this story, which I had not expected, my thoughts have been reverting entirely to the scene which I had witnessed. She appears to have forgotten all about it. But, as they say at court, ‘We are now having a live discussion’ — if one can so express oneself when speaking of a dead person. But, once again, I have made a mistake, and Gabriel does not become, either directly or indirectly, the subject of the conversation, for Christine continues very sadly:
“‘Yes, it would be a real catastrophe for our work. We cannot carry on anywhere else. It would be impossible, materially and financially. It would be the end of everything. It would end three lives — perhaps more.’
“So that’s clear! Not a question of Gabriel! She imagines that I know nothing! But just the same she knows, yet it doesn’t seem to bother her in any way. After all, what do I imagine? Perhaps, in spite of her pink and white cheeks and her radiant looks, she is only thinking of that. Then, she’s a monster! Why not? Then, with her, I am transported from heaven to hell with the rapidity of a Hertzian wave. We are two monsters, made to understand each other.
“‘If I understand you rightly,’ I ventured, ‘you are asking me to agree immediately to become a sort of librarian and bookbinder to the Marquis de Coulteray, because you’re afraid to be alone with him. Is that what you wish?’
“‘Yes,’ she exclaimed, ‘that is it, monsieur. You see what confidence—’
“‘Perfectly,’ I interrupted. ‘Confidence — confidence! Yes, I understand, but I’m afraid that the marquis would be inclined to look upon me as an enemy.’
“‘Oh, no,’ she protested, ‘because I have made my condition. It is best that you should know all. I pretended that I should have to leave. I made him think that I would not go back there. He said something that displeased me, for, although he’s a very great gentleman and extremely polite, he is sometimes very bold.
“‘He believed me when I said that I would not return, and he implored me to do so. Then I told him that I would only agree to remain, if he would be willing to have a third party there in the future.
He accepted my condition. The affair just happened — only this morning, so I thought of you at once. That is why I have come to see you now.’
“‘Oh, yes, just as though you were coming to an old friend — like a brother — I know. But the marchioness?’ I asked suddenly. ‘What part does she take in all this?’
“‘In all this,’ replied Christine, drawing up her beautiful eyebrows, ‘in all this, the marchioness has also requested me to remain.’
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 387
