Lovecraft Ezine Mega-Issue 4 Rev1

by Price, Robert M.

  "You wish to hide my beauty from other men."

  "Yes, my darling."

  "Then let me wear a veil and robe at public gatherings. It will generate publicity by making me appear to be a woman of mystery."

  The exhibition was a great success. Hastur's paintings were praised enthusiastically by the acclaimed American artist, Foxhall Clifford.

  Hastur d'Ys attended the art show wearing a black robe with a hood that covered her entire face except for a wide slit which revealed her blue eyes. The attendees were captivated by her exotic garb. Rumors began to circulate among them about her true appearance. Was she disfigured? Was she an orthodox Muslim who veiled her face?

  "Let me compliment you on your amazing paintings, Mademoiselle d'Ys," said a man whose age appeared to be about fifty. “Your Les Lavreuses de Nuits and Les Chats Courtauds are products of true genius. But your Christian name intrigues me. It is Arabic in nature?"

  "It is an obscure Breton variant of Esther, Monsieur."

  "Ah, I now remember seeing that name in records of the sixteenth century. Your apparel seems to be influenced by certain Asian traditions. Am I correct?"

  "I based it on a newspaper article about the ninja assassins of Japan."

  "Since you have an interest in Asia, I may be able to perform a unique service for you." He handed Hastur a business card which read:

  Jean Grimoire

  Repairer of Reputations, Literary Agent and Asian Dance Instructor

  69 Rue des Quatre Vents

  "What exactly is a ‘Repairer of Reputations’?"

  "A man who assists clients who have been slandered. It is not in that capacity that I offer my services, As you can see, I am also an Asian dance instructor. I offer a course in which a woman can learn rare exotic dances that greatly enhances her femininity."

  "I shall consider your offer, Monsieur Grimoire." Hastur placed the business card in the pocket of her black robe.

  Hastur d'Ys soon became a major celebrity in the artistic circles of Paris. Accompanied by the Duc de Carineaux, she frequently attended parties in the Latin Quarter. Several of these parties were hosted by American expatriates. It was at a party organized by Richard Osborne Elliot that Hastur was greeted by Foxhall Clifford.

  "Hastur, let me introduce my fiancée, Lucille Lutien."

  The black veil hid the shock on Hastur's face. Here was the red-haired woman who had dared to betray Hastur's masculine incarnation by threatening to contact the police. Having gained her composure, Hastur began to conceive a bold strategy. She would befriend Lucille and learn her current address. One dark night, Lucille would receive the ultimate punishment for her treachery.

  As she was leaving Hastur's company to socialize with other guests, Lucille was accosted by a tall man.

  "Lucille, I just heard about your engagement. Let me wish you all the happiness in the world."

  "Thank you, Jacques."

  "That man next to Lucille, he looks very familiar," whispered Hastur to the Duc de Carineaux. "Who is he?"

  "An old friend," answered the Duc. "Let me introduce you." The nobleman beckoned Jacques to join him and Hastur.

  "So this is your new artistic discovery, Your Grace," observed the newcomer. "Seeing your lovely blue eyes, Mademoiselle d'Ys, I can only guess at the awesome beauty that lies under your veil."

  "Monsieur has me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but your own remains unknown to me."

  "Inspector Jacques Lefevre."

  "The man who tracked down Bluebeard," noted Hastur.

  "We must speak softly," cautioned Lefevre. "The sister of one of Bluebeard's victims is a guest at the party."

  "I shall be discreet," said Hastur softly. "I need your opinion on a certain matter, Inspector. As you must be aware, all my work is based on the history and legends of Brittany. Have you heard of Conomor? "

  "He was a Breton sovereign of the sixth century. Known as the Cursed One, Conomor allegedly murdered four of his wives. I've read a book entitled The Ruler of All That Was. The work is credited to a Persian called El Hichmakani, but some claim this author is actually a false identity of Richard Francis Burton. The book argued that Conomor never committed the bloody crimes attributed to him. The earlier misdeeds of an ancient despot were attributed to Conomor by his detractors. In fact, the real wife-murderer founded a citadel in the Alamut region centuries before the Assassins built their fortress there. This obscure maniac of Persian legends was alleged to have a dark-blue beard. Nevertheless, Conomor is clearly a source for the Bluebeard legend that was grafted on to Gaston Morrell by the press."

  "Precisely, Inspector. I am considering a painting based on Conomor. I'm worried that the press might accuse me of exploiting the recent Bluebeard murders for personal gain."

  "You have nothing to fear, Mademoiselle. The only historical figure whom journalists regularly cite as a source for the Bluebeard legend is Baron de Rais, the child killer of the fifteenth century. Most of the public haven't heard of de Rais, and Conomor is even more obscure. As far as the bulk of the press is concerned, the name Bluebeard is only associated with the cowardly Morrell."

  "You consider Morrell to be a coward?" said Hastur.

  "How better to describe a man who assaults women? If he had not drowned, Morrell would have been sentenced to the guillotine. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have mounted the scaffold quaking with fear.

  "Excuse me, Mademoiselle, Your Grace, the hour grows late and I must depart. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle. I wish you further artistic triumphs in the future."

  The Inspector departed.

  "Truly a great man," declared the Duc. "President MacMahon wisely proclaimed him a national hero for ending Morrell's rampage. The Inspector has always reminded me of Danton. He physically resembles that controversial revolutionary."

  "He does indeed," stated Hastur.

  Danton too was a public hero, thought Hastur. However, the public turned against Danton and destroyed him. That shall be your fate as well, Inspector.

  Hastur had learned that Lucille's address hadn't changed. She still resided in the Latin Quarter close to the Seine. Hastur's movements during the night were hampered by the Duc's possessiveness. She needed an excuse to regularly visit the Latin Quarter. She examined the business card given her by the self-styled Repairer of Reputations. Jean Grimoire's establishment was within walking distance of Lucille's home.

  The Duc was informed by his mistress that she had developed an interest in learning Asian dances. Hastur requested that her lover visit Grimoire's establishment with her. The Duc was skeptical. Grimoire sounded like a mountebank. Nevertheless, the Duc indulged Hastur's whim.

  At the Rue des Quatre Vents, Grimoire introduced the Duc and Hastur to his assistant, a raven-haired American named Bailey Rollins. Her beauty nearly rivaled Hastur's own. Dressed in a black leotard with exposed arms and legs, she performed an extremely sensual dance to the music of a flute played by Grimoire. While the Duc was enthralled by Bailey's provocative movements, Hastur could not take her blue eyes off the symbol emblazoned on the portion of the leotard over the dancer's stomach. The symbol was of a far different hue than the rest of the costume.

  "Quite entertaining," noted the Duc once the demonstration concluded. "Where in Asia did that dance originate?"

  "In China," answered Grimoire. "You just witnessed the Moon Dance of the Kuen-Yuin."

  "I wish to enroll Mademoiselle d'Ys in your school, but I wish her lessons to be private."

  "Private lessons are given only at night, Your Grace."

  Grimoire's answer pleased Hastur. Evening lessons would fit in very well with her homicidal designs.

  "Monsieur Grimoire, your assistant had a symbol on her costume," mentioned Hastur. "What is it?"

  "It is the Yellow Sign of Yian. I provide costumes similar to those worn by Mademoiselle Rollins to all my students. Would you permit Mademoiselle Rollins to measure you?"

  "That will not be necessary. Being an ar
tist by nature, I prefer to design my own."

  Back at the Duc's mansion, Hastur sketched the designs for an appropriate costume for a sensual dancer. It was based on those worn by Middle Eastern belly dancers. She would send her sketches as well as her measurements to Van Klopen, the most popular dressmaker in Paris.

  She brooded over Grimoire's usage of the Yellow Sign. Was he an agent of the King in Yellow? Did he know of her connection to Jacqueline the Bold? Or had it merely been the Hastur alias that attracted his attention?

  There was also the matter of Grimoire's female associate. The name Bailey Rollins was similar to Bayrolles, the medium cited by Jacqueline. Hastur had assumed that Bayrolles

  was the name of a man, but it could easily have belonged to a woman. Bayrolles had known Philip Archer, but had she ever met Jacqueline?

  Hastur became determined to proceed very cautiously when dealing with Grimoire and Rollins.

  The Duc's private coach drove Hastur to the dance on the night of her first lesson. It wouldn't return to pick her up until three hours later. When she disrobed, Hastur glimpsed no signs of recognition in the eyes of her instructors. She concluded that neither Grimoire nor Rollins had any prior dealings with Jacqueline. Hastur changed into her flamboyantly red costume.

  After the dancing session had proceeded for an hour, Hastur made a request.

  "Could we take a recess for a half hour? My patron keeps me largely confined. In my youth, I use to walk along the Seine and gaze at the stars. I would like to do so now."

  "I have no objections, but you'll cut a conspicuous figure wearing your hood and robe. Some fool will probably call the police and report a phantom haunting the Seine."

  "I will be wearing something totally different." Hastur reached into the bag in which she had carried her costume. She brought out a different set of clothes.

  "Male attire!" exclaimed Grimoire.

  "It's not without precedent," explained Hastur. "Amantine Dupin, the woman who wrote novels as George Sand, often dressed as a man. My artistic nature compels me to follow in her footsteps."

  After an uneventful half hour, Hastur returned from her stroll. Her lesson then resumed. Once it had concluded, Grimoire had a special request to make of his new student.

  "As you're aware, Mademoiselle d'Ys, I am also a literary agent. If you don't mind, could you read the verse play that a young poet has recently given me? I would like to hear the opinion of an accomplished artist such as yourself."

  "I would gladly do so. What is the author's name?"

  "For the moment, he prefers anonymity." Grimoire handed Hastur a manuscript. Its title was Le Roi en Jaune.

  "When do you need this play returned?"

  "There's no need to return it. Consider it your own personal copy."

  When Hastur returned to the Duc's house, she burnt Le Roi en Jaune into the fireplace.

  A criminal gang in Paris secretly owned a printing shop, Black Dwarf Press. The shop was run outwardly by a married couple, Marc and Miranda Douanier. Deriving its name from a novel by Sir Walter Scott, the supposed function of Black Dwarf Press was to print French translations of English escapist literature. The clandestine function of the establishment was to print forged stock certificates to be utilized in swindles. As a sideline, Black Dwarf Press printed works deemed pornographic for independent distributors.

  One such distributor ordered copies of an allegedly pornographic play to be printed on a regular basis. He arrived every month at Black Dwarf Press to pick up his order. The title of the play was Le Roi en Jaune.

  Foxhall Clifford and Lucille Lutien were invited to spend an afternoon at the Duc de Carineaux's house. While the two men were discussing an item in the Duc's art collection in another section of the house, Hastur and Lucille were sipping tea in the living room. The Duc had given his mistress permission to unveil when alone with their female guest. Lucille was one of the few people in Paris to see Hastur's true visage.

  "My patron can be very possessive," said Hastur, "but I hope to persuade him soon to allow the permanent removal of my veil."

  "How do you intend to melt his recalcitrance?" asked Lucille.

  "I've been taking exotic dance lessons. I hope a sensual demonstration of my new skills will give me some leverage. In exchange for my agreeing to dance only for him, he would allow me to dispense with my ridiculous veil."

  "I wish you luck."

  "You can actually do me a favor. I feel that I've perfected my craft, but I need an objective opinion. Could I give you a private demonstration at your apartment?"

  "I'll be more than willing to help."

  "My dancing lessons are every Tuesday and Thursday. The dance studio is within walking distance of your home. I am always permitted a recess between 8:30 and 9. Usually, I walk along the Seine and observe the stars. I hide my identity by adorning masculine attire in the tradition of George Sand. I could visit you during my recess, change into my costume, and perform one of my dances."

  "This Tuesday would be fine. Foxhall and I won't be going anywhere together that evening. Tuesday is the night that he plays poker with his American friends."

  "Now, this is very important, Lucille. I can't afford to have His Grace learn about our clandestine rendezvous. You mustn't tell anyone about this. Not even Foxhall."

  "It will be our secret, Hastur. I promise."

  Hastur arrived on schedule that Tuesday evening. Inside the apartment, Lucille scrutinized her guest.

  "You aren't carrying any bag. Where's your costume?"

  "I'm wearing it under my suit." Hastur reached into her jacket pocket. "Except for this." She pulled out a red cap with a long white veil flowing from the back. Hastur placed it on her head. "The veil is easily detached." She separated it from the cap. "This feature enables one to wrap the veil suggestively around the Duc's neck like this." She draped the veil around Lucille's throat. Hastur tightened the improvised garrote with a swift yank.

  Lucille's eyes widened in horror as she slowly gasped for breath.

  "I thought you were different, but you're like all the others! A deceiver! A liar! You beguiled me with your bewitching eyes! You raised my hopes that I would share your bed! Then you dashed my desires by committing a foolish act of betrayal! You have no idea of my true nature. I am more than Hastur d'Ys! I am Gaston Morrell! I am Bluebeard!"

  About two hours later, a boatman found Lucille's corpse floating in the Seine.

  Paris was soon thrown into a panic. Headlines like "Bluebeard Lives" and "Bluebeard Has Risen From the Grave" ran in the newspapers. The following article appeared in Le Taon, the prestigious left-wing journal, under the byline of Sigismond Trottier.

  The Crime of Inspector Lefevre

  Did not the Sûreté assure us that Gaston Morrell, the fiend known as Bluebeard, drowned in the Seine months ago? Like many others in the press, I raised an important question. Where is the corpse of the murderer? I remember the words of Inspector Jacques Lefevre all too well:

  "The body must have drifted out to sea. The Sûreté scrupulously patrolled the banks of the Seine for days after Morrell drowned. The only way for Morrell to have escaped that police cordon would be through sorcery."

  While I and other journalists remain skeptical, no less a person than the President of our Republic voiced fullest confidence in Lefevre's judgment. We now know that the Inspector and the President are outrageous liars, The earlier failure to apprehend Bluebeard had embarrassed the President. Therefore, the President's regime falsely claimed that the strangler was dead. A massive cover-up occurred at the highest level. From the Inspector to the President, government officials knew that Morrell had survived. They gambled that he would flee France and pursue his murderous career elsewhere. Their recklessness has cost a young woman, Lucille Lutien, her life.

  There is blood on the hands of the President and his cohorts. I call for the resignation of the President MacMahon. I call for the resignation of Commissioner Mifroid. I call for the resignation of Inspector Lefevre
. . .

  Darlla Rassendyll gazed sadly on an old playbill lying on her desk in the headquarters of the Sûreté.

  "You seem lost in thought," commented Anton Renard.

  "I was remembering Francine Lutien," confessed Darlla. "Lucille's horrible murder has brought back all the pain of her demise." She showed Renard the playbill. It described his female colleague as "Darlla Kent, the Blonde Nightingale and former star of the Paris Opera" under her photograph.

  "I didn't know you appeared at the Paris Opera House. Why did you dye your hair blonde? You're much more striking as a redhead."

  "I flopped badly when I sang in a supporting role at the Opera. The critics ridiculed my singing. My Opera contract was terminated after a single performance. However, a theatrical producer asked me to appear as part of a double bill with another entertainer. The advertising correctly identified me as having appeared at the Opera, but I dyed my hair blonde in order to avoid recognition by any theater patron with memories of my dismal debut. There was a major problem due to the Opera fiasco: I couldn't get any blurbs."

  "Blurbs?"

  "Blurbs are comments by critics praising a performance."

  "But there are at least ten blurbs praising your singing."

  "I was a relatively successful actress before I was a singer. Positive blurbs were edited from complimentary reviews of my acting. If you read those blurbs carefully, you'll see that nothing indicates singing."

  Renard looked at the blurbs. They contained phrases like ". . . consistently brilliant . . ." and ". . . commanding stage presence . . ." Underneath the comments was a handwritten comment: "Here's a genuine blurb. Darlla Rassendyll is a true friend . . . Francine."

  "Francine's notation is very moving. I understand why you treasure this program." "I intend to keep that playbill with me at all times, in memory of Francine until her murderer is finally brought to justice," swore Darlla. "Anton, I need a favor. Since I've only been here a few months, I don't have access to the Archives. I want to study the file on Gaston Morrell."