My Uncle Now Clambered On Top Of The Half Score Of Mattresses
Which Form A French Bed, And Which Stood
In a deep recess; then tucking
himself snugly in, and burying himself up to the chin in the
bed-clothes,
He lay looking at the fire, and listening to the wind, and
chuckling to think how knowingly he had come over his friend the
Marquis for a night's lodgings: and so he fell asleep.
He had not taken above half of his first nap, when he was awakened by
the clock of the chateau, in the turret over his chamber, which struck
midnight. It was just such an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a
deep, dismal tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my uncle
thought it would never have done. He counted and counted till he was
confident he counted thirteen, and then it stopped.
The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last faggot was almost
expiring, burning in small blue flames, which now and then lengthened
up into little white gleams. My uncle lay with his eyes half closed,
and his nightcap drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already
wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene with the crater of
Vesuvius, the French opera, the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly's chop-house in
London, and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a
traveller is crammed - in a word, he was just falling asleep.
Suddenly he was aroused by the sound of foot-steps that appeared to be
slowly pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have often heard him
say himself, was a man not easily frightened; so he lay quiet,
supposing that this might be some other guest; or some servant on his
way to bed. The footsteps, however, approached the door; the door
gently opened; whether of its own accord, or whether pushed open, my
uncle could not distinguish: - a figure all in white glided in. It was a
female, tall and stately in person, and of a most commanding air. Her
dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume and sweeping the
floor. She walked up to the fire-place without regarding my uncle; who
raised his nightcap with one hand, and stared earnestly at her. She
remained for some time standing by the fire, which flashing up at
intervals cast blue and white gleams of light that enabled my uncle to
remark her appearance minutely.
Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still more so by the
Blueish light of the fire. It possessed beauty, but its beauty was
saddened by care and anxiety. There was the look of one accustomed to
trouble, but of one whom trouble could not cast down nor subdue; for
there was still the predominating air of proud, unconquerable
resolution. Such, at least, was the opinion formed by my uncle, and he
considered himself a great physiognomist.
The figure remained, as I said, for some time by the fire, putting out
first one hand, then the other, then each foot, alternately, as if
warming itself; for your ghosts, if ghost it really was, are apt to be
cold. My uncle furthermore remarked that it wore high-heeled shoes,
after an ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles, that sparkled
as though they were alive. At length the figure turned gently round,
casting a glassy look about the apartment, which, as it passed over my
uncle, made his blood run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his
bones. It then stretched its arms toward heaven, clasped its hands, and
wringing them in a supplicating manner, glided slowly out of the room.
My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visitation, for (as he
Remarked when he told me the story) though a man of firmness, he was
also a man of reflection, and did not reject a thing because it was out
of the regular course of events. However, being, as I have before said,
a great traveller, and accustomed to strange adventures, he drew his
nightcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his back to the door, hoisted
the bedclothes high over his shoulders, and gradually fell asleep.
How long he slept he could not say, when he was awakened by the voice
of some one at his bed-side. He turned round and beheld the old French
servant, with his ear-locks in tight buckles on each side of a long,
lanthorn face, on which habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile.
He made a thousand grimaces and asked a thousand pardons for disturbing
Monsieur, but the morning was considerably advanced. While my uncle was
dressing, he called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night.
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the habit of rambling
about this part of the chateau at night. The old valet shrugged his
shoulders as high as his head, laid one hand on his bosom, threw open
the other with every finger extended; made a most whimsical grimace,
which he meant to be complimentary:
"It was not for him to know any thing of les braves fortunes of
Monsieur."
My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be learnt in this
quarter. After breakfast he was walking with the Marquis through the
modern apartments of the chateau; sliding over the well-waxed floors of
silken saloons, amidst furniture rich in gilding and brocade; until
they came to a long picture gallery, containing many portraits, some in
oil and some in chalks.
Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, who had all the
family pride of a nobleman of the ancient regime. There was not a
grand name in Normandy, and hardly one in France, that was not, in some
way or other, connected with his house. My uncle stood listening with
inward impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the
other, as the little Marquis descanted, with his usual fire and
vivacity, on the achievements of his ancestors, whose portraits hung
along the wall; from the martial deeds of the stern warriors in steel,
to the gallantries and intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair
smiling faces, powdered ear-locks, laced ruffles, and pink and blue
silk coats and breeches; not forgetting the conquests of the lovely
shepherdesses, with hoop petticoats and waists no thicker than an hour
glass, who appeared ruling over their sheep and their swains with
dainty crooks decorated with fluttering ribbands.
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