Then, suddenly, Lalouette saw Patard throw the entire manuscript into the fire quite deliberately.
He stood before the hearth motionless, watching his little blaze burn completely out. Then he turned toward his accomplice and said, as he shook his hand:
‘A truce, Monsieur Lalouette; we shall never quarrel again. You were perfectly right. The great Lonstalot was a scoundrel. Let us forget him. He is dead. He has paid his debt. But you, you, my dear Gaspard, when are you going to pay yours? It isn’t very hard to learn - BA: BA, BE: BE, BI: BI, BO: BO, BU: BU.’
A TERRIBLE TALE
Translated by Hannaford Bennett, The Windsor Magazine, 1925
CAPTAIN MICHEL HAD but one arm, which he found useful when he lit his pipe. He was an old sea-dog whose acquaintance, with that of four other old salts, I made one evening on the open front of a café in the Vieille Darse, Toulon, where I was taking an appetizer. And in this way we fell into the habit of foregathering over a glass within a stone’s throw of the rippling waves and the swinging dinghys, about the hour when the sun sinks behind Tamaris.
The four old mariners were known as Zinzin, Dorât - Captain Dorât — Bagatelle, and Chaulieu — that old fellow Chaulieu. They had, of course, sailed every sea and met with a thousand adventures; and now that they were retired on their pensions, they spent their time telling each other terrible tales.
Captain Michel alone never indulged in any reminiscences. And as he seemed in no way surprised by anything he heard, his old comrades in the end grew exasperated with him.
‘Look here, Captain Michel, hasn’t anything out of the way ever happened to you?’
‘Oh yes,’ the captain made answer, taking his pipe from his mouth. ‘Yes, something happened to me once — just once.’
‘Well, let’s have it.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s too awful. You might not be able to stand it. I’ve often tried to tell the story but people have slipped away before I finished it.’
The four sea-dogs vied with each other in the loudness of their guffaws, declaring that Captain Michel was trying to find some excuse, because in reality, nothing extraordinary had ever happened to him.
The old fellow stared at them a moment, and then suddenly accepting the situation, laid his pipe on the table. This unusual gesture was in itself startling!
‘Messieurs, I’ll tell you how I lost my arm,’ he began.
‘In those days - some twenty years ago — I owned a small villa, in the suburb of Le Mourillon, which had been left to me, for my family were long settled in these parts and I myself was born here.
‘It suited me to take a little rest after a long voyage and before setting sail again. For that matter, I rather liked the place, and lived quite peaceably among seafaring men and colonials who troubled me very little, and whom I rarely saw, occupied as they were as a rule in opium smoking with their lady friends, or with other business which did not concern me. Of course there is no accounting for tastes, but as long as they didn’t interfere with me, I was satisfied...
‘It so happened that one night they did interfere with my habit of going to sleep. I was awakened with a start by an extraordinary uproar, the meaning of which I couldn’t possibly make out. I had left my window open as usual. I listened in a state of bewilderment to a tremendous din, which was a cross between the rumbling of thunder and the roll of a drum, but such a drum! It was as though a couple of hundred drumsticks were being madly beaten, not on ordinary drumskin, but on a wooden drum.
‘The disturbance came from the villa opposite, which had been empty for some five years, and on which I had noticed, the previous evening, a board bearing the announcement: “To be sold”.
‘I let my gaze stray from the window of my bedroom, on the first floor, beyond the small garden in which the house stood, and my eye took in every door and window, even the doors and windows on the ground floor. They were still closed as I had seen them during the day; but I caught sight of gleams of light through the chinks in the shutters on the ground floor. Who and what were these people? How had they found their way into this solitary house at the far end of Le Mourillon? What sort of company was it that had obtained admission into this deserted dwelling, and why were they kicking up such a shindy?
‘The extraordinary din, like the thunderous beating of a wooden drum, continued. It went on for another hour, and then as dawn was breaking, the front door opened, and there appeared in the doorway the most radiant creature that I have ever beheld. She was clad in a low-necked dress, and held with perfect grace a lamp whose beams fell over the shoulders of a goddess. I distinctly heard her say in the echoing night, while a kind and gentle smile flickered across her face:
‘“Goodbye, dear friend, till next year.”
‘To whom was she speaking? It was impossible for me to tell for I could see no one standing beside her. She remained at the entrance holding the lamp for some minutes, until the garden gate opened by itself and closed by itself. Then the front door of the house was shut in its turn, and I saw nothing more.
‘It seemed to me that I was either losing my head or was the sport of a dream, for I knew that it was out of the question for anyone to pass through the garden without my perceiving him.
‘I was still planted at the window, incapable of the least movement or thought, when the door of the house opened a second time, and the same vision of beauty appeared still carrying a lamp and still alone.
‘“Hush,” she said. “Don’t make a noise any of you. We mustn’t disturb our neighbour opposite. I’ll come with you.”
‘And silently and alone she crossed the garden and stopped at the gate on which the full rays of the lamp shone; so much so, indeed, that I clearly saw the knob of the gate turn of its own accord without any hand being placed upon it. And the gate opened once again by itself in the presence of this woman who, moreover, did not evince any surprise. Need I explain that from where I was posted, I could see both in front and behind the gate; in other words, that I saw it sideways?
‘This “splendid apparition” made a charming movement of her head towards the empty darkness which the glare of the lamp made visible; then she smiled and said:
‘“Well, goodbye until next year. My husband is very pleased. Not a single one of you failed to answer the call. Goodbye, messieurs.”
‘And I heard several voices in unison:
‘“Goodbye, madame, goodbye, dear madame, until next year.”
‘And as the mysterious hostess was preparing to close the door herself, I heard a voice:
‘“Oh, please, don’t trouble.”
‘And the door was once more closed.
‘The next moment the air was filled with a curious sound; it was like the chirping of a flock of birds, and it seemed as if this beautiful woman had opened the cage of a whole brood of house sparrows.
‘She quietly walked back to the house. The lights on the ground floor were then out, but I noticed a glimmer in the windows of the first floor.
‘When she reached the house she said:
‘“Are you upstairs, Gérard?”
‘I could not hear the answer, but the front door was again closed, and a few minutes later the light on the first floor went out.
‘I was still standing at my window at eight o’clock in the morning, staring in blank amazement at the house and garden which had revealed such strange happenings in darkness, and which now in the full light of day assumed their familiar aspect. The garden was a waste, and the house itself seemed as desolate as it was the day before.
‘So much so, indeed, that when I told my old charwoman, who had just come, of the queer events which I had witnessed, she tapped my forehead with her dirty forefinger and muttered that I had smoked one pipe too many. Now I have never been a smoker of opium, and her answer gave me a good opportunity of sacking the old sloven whom I had for some time wanted to get rid of, and who came for a couple of hours each day to “clean up” the plac
e for me. For that matter I did not need anyone, as I was setting sail again next day.
‘I barely had time to put my things together, make a few purchases, say farewell to my friends, and catch the train for Le Havre. I had fixed up an appointment with the Transatlantic company which would keep me away from Toulon for some eleven or twelve months.
‘In due course I returned to Toulon, but though I had refrained from mentioning my adventure to a soul, I still continued to think of it. The vision of the lady of the lamp obsessed me wherever I went, and the last words which she uttered to her unseen friends still rang in my ears:
‘“Well, goodbye until next year.”
‘And I never ceased to think of the meeting. I, too, was determined to be there and discover, at whatever cost, the solution of a mystery which was intensely perplexing to a sensible man like myself, who did not believe in ghosts or phantom beings.
‘Unfortunately I was soon to learn that neither heaven nor hell were concerned in the terrible story.
‘It was six o’clock in the evening when I set foot again in my house at Toulon; and it was two days before the anniversary of the wonderful night.
‘The first thing that I did on going inside was to run up to my room and open the window. It was summer and broad daylight, and my eyes at once fell upon a lady of great beauty who was placidly walking about gathering flowers in the garden of the house opposite. At the noise made by the opening window she looked up.
‘It was the lady of the lamp. I recognized her, and she seemed not less beautiful by day than by night. Her skin was as white as the teeth of an African negro, her eyes bluer than the waters at Tamaris, her hair as soft and fair as the finest flax.
‘Why should I not make the confession? When I beheld this woman of whom I had been dreaming for a year, a strange feeling came over me. She was no illusion of a diseased imagination. She stood before me in the flesh; and every window of the house was open and flower-bedecked by her hands. There was nothing fantastic in all this.
‘She caught sight of me and at once displayed some degree of annoyance. She walked a few steps farther in the centre path of the garden, and then shrugging her shoulders as though she were disconcerted said:
‘“Let’s go in, Gérard. I’m beginning to feel the coolness of the night.”
‘I let my gaze stray round the garden. I could perceive no one. To whom was she speaking?... Nobody there!
‘Then was she mad? It scarcely seemed so.
‘I watched her return to the house. She passed into it, the door was closed, and she at once shut the windows.
‘I did not see or hear anything worth noticing that night. Next morning at ten o’clock I observed my neighbour leaving the garden attired as if for a walk. She locked the gate after her and set out in the direction of Toulon.
‘I started off in my turn. Pointing to the fashionably dressed figure in front of me I asked the first tradesman who I met if he knew the lady’s name.
‘“Why, of course. She’s your neighbour. She is living with her husband at the Villa Makoko. They moved in about a year ago, just as you went away. They are regular boors. They never speak to anybody, unless it’s absolutely necessary, but everyone in Le Mourillon, as you know, goes his own way, and is never surprised at anything. The captain for one...”
‘“What captain?”
‘“Captain Gérard. It seems he is an ex-captain of Marines. Well, no one ever sees him... Sometimes when food has to be delivered at the house, and the lady is not in, some person shouts out an order from behind the door to leave the stuff on the step, and waits until you are a good distance away before taking it in.”
‘You can imagine that I was growing more and more puzzled. I went to Toulon in order to ask the agent who let the villa a few questions about these people. He, likewise, had never seen the husband, but he told me that his name was Gérard Beauvisage.
‘When I heard the name I uttered a cry: “Gérard Beauvisage! Why I know him!”
‘I had an old friend of that name whom I had not seen for twenty-five years. He was an officer in the Marines and had left Toulon for Tonkin about that period. How could I doubt that it was he? At all events, I had a straightforward reason for calling on him, that very evening, though he was expecting a visit from his friends, for it was the anniversary of the famous night. I made up my mind to renew my old friendship with him.
‘When I got back to Le Mourillon I espied in front of me, in the sunken road leading to the Villa Makoko, the figure of my neighbour. I did not hesitate, but hastened to overtake her.
‘“Have I the honour of speaking to Madame Beauvisage, the wife of Captain Gérard Beauvisage?” I asked with a bow.
‘She coloured and tried to pass on without answering me.
‘“Madame, I am your neighbour, Captain Michel Alban,” I persisted.
‘“Oh please forgive me, monsieur,” she returned, “my husband has often spoken of you... Captain Michel Alban...”
‘She seemed terribly ill at ease, and yet in her confusion she was more beautiful than ever, if that were possible. In spite of her obvious desire to elude me I went on:
“‘How comes it that Captain Beauvisage has returned to France without letting his old friend know? I shall be particularly obliged if you will tell Gérard that I’m coming to shake hands with him this very evening.”
‘And observing that she was hastening her steps, I bowed, but as I was speaking she turned round, betraying an agitation which was more and more difficult to comprehend.
“‘Impossible tonight... I promise to tell Gérard of our meeting. That’s the most I can do. Gérard doesn’t wish to see anyone - anyone. He lives alone... We live alone... And we took the house because we were told that the next house was occupied only for a few days once or twice a year by someone who is never seen!...”
‘And she added in a voice tinged with sadness:
‘“You must forgive Gérard, monsieur. We do not receive anyone - anyone. Good day, monsieur.”
‘“Madame, the Captain and you receive friends occasionally,” I returned with some impatience. “For instance, tonight you are expecting friends with whom you made an appointment a year ago.”
‘She flushed scarlet.
‘“Oh, but that’s an exceptional case... that’s an absolutely exceptional case... They are our very particular friends.”
‘Having said which she made her escape, but at once stopped her retreat and turned back.
“‘Whatever you do, don’t call tonight,” she entreated, and disappeared into the garden.
T returned to my house and began to keep watch on my neighbours. They did not show themselves, and long before it was dark I saw the shutters being closed and lights gleaming through the openings, such as I had seen on that amazing night a year ago. But I did not hear the same extraordinary din like the thunderous beating of a wooden drum.
‘At seven o’clock I began to dress for I called to mind the low-necked robe worn by the lady of the lamp. Madame Beauvisage’s last words had but strengthened my determination. The captain was seeing some of his friends that evening; he dared not refuse me admission. After dressing it crossed my mind, before I went downstairs, to put my revolver in my pocket, but in the end I left it in its place, considering that to take it would be an act of stupidity.
‘The stupidity lay in not taking it with me.
‘On reaching the entrance to the Villa Makoko I turned the handle of the gate on the off chance — the handle which last year I had seen turn by itself. And to my intense surprise the door opened. Therefore my neighbours were expecting visitors. I walked up to the house and knocked at the door.
‘“Come in!” a voice cried.
‘I recognized Gérard’s voice. I walked gaily into the house. I passed first through the hall, and then as the door of a small drawing-room stood open, and the room was lit up, I entered it.
‘“Gérard, it’s me,” I exclaimed, “your old pal Michel Alban.”
�
��“Oh, really, so you made up your mind to come, my dear old Michel!
I told my wife only just now that you would come and I should be glad to see you... But you are the only one, apart from our particular friends... Do you know, my dear Michel, you haven’t altered much...”
‘It would be impossible for me to describe my stupefaction. I heard Gérard, but I could not see him. His voice rang in my ears, but no one was near me, no one was in the drawing-room. The Voice went on:
‘“Sit down, won’t you? My wife will soon be here, for she will remember that she left me on the mantelpiece!”
‘I looked up, and then discovered above me... above me resting on a high mantelpiece — a bust.
‘It was this bust which had been speaking. It resembled Gérard. It was Gérard’s body. It had been placed there as people are wont to place busts on mantelpieces. It was a bust like those carved by sculptors, that is to say, it was without arms.
‘“I can’t shake hands with you, my dear Michel,” the Voice went on, “for as you see I have no hands, but if you raise yourself on tiptoe you will be able to take me in your arms and place me on the table. My wife put me up here in a moment of temper, because she said I was in the way when she swept the room. She’s a funny thing is my wife.”
‘And the bust burst out laughing.
‘It seemed to me that I was the victim of an optical illusion as happens in those entertainments where you behold living heads and shoulders suspended in mid-air, the result of tricks with mirrors; but after setting down my friend on the table, as he requested, I had to admit that this head and body without arms or legs was indeed all that remained of the excellent officer whom I had known in days gone by. His body was resting on a small wheeled platform, such as are used by cripples without legs, but Gérard did not possess even the stumps of most cripples. To think that my old friend was nothing but a bust!
‘Small hooks took the place of arms, and language fails me to describe how, leaning for support on a hook here, or on another there, he set to work to hop, skip and jump and perform a hundred swift movements which shot him from the table to a chair, from a chair to the floor, and then suddenly made him appear on the table once more, where he indulged in the gayest chatter.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 505