The Naiad: A ghost story

Charged by my father with a very delicate mission, I repaired, towards the end of May, 1788, to the château of Ionis, situated a dozen leagues distant, in the lands lying between Angers and Saumur. I was twenty-two, and already practising the profession of lawyer, for which I experienced but slight inclination, although neither the study of business nor of argument had presented serious difficulties to me. Taking my youth into consideration, I was not esteemed without talent, and the standing of my father, a lawyer renowned in the locality, assured me a brilliant patronage in the future, in return for any paltry efforts I might make to be worthy of replacing him. But I would have preferred literature, a more dreamy life, a more independent and more individual use of my faculties, a responsibility less submissive to the passions and interests of others. As my family was well off, and I an only son, greatly spoiled and petted, I might have chosen my own career, but I would have thus afflicted my father, who took pride in his ability to direct me in the road which he had cleared in advance, and I loved him too tenderly to permit my instinct to outweigh his wishes.

It was a delightful evening in which I was finishing my ride on horseback through the woods that surrounded the ancient and magnificent castle of Ionis. I was well mounted, dressed en cavalier, with a species of elegance, and accompanied by a servant of whom I had not the slightest need, but whom my mother had conceived the innocent idea of giving me for the occasion, desiring that her son should present a proper appearance at the house of one of the most brilliant personages of our patronage.

The night was illuminated by the soft fire of its largest stars. A slight mist veiled the scintillations of those myriads of satellites that gleam like brilliant eyes on clear, cold evenings. This was a true summer sky, pure enough to be luminous and transparent, still sufficiently softened not to overwhelm one by its immeasurable wealth. It was, if I may so speak, one of those soft firmaments that permit one to think of earth, to admire the vaporous lines of narrow horizons, to breathe without disdain its atmosphere of flowers and herbage—in fine, to consider oneself as something in this immensity, and to forget that one is but an atom in the infinite.

In proportion as I approached the seigneurial park the wild perfumes of the forest were mingled with those of the lilacs and acacias, whose blooming heads leaned over the wall. Soon through the shrubbery I saw the windows of the manor gleaming behind their curtains of purple moire, divided by the dark crossbars of the frame work. It was a magnificent castle of the renaissance, a chef-d’œuvre of taste mingled with caprice, one of those dwellings where one is impressed by something indescribably ingenious and bold, which from the imagination of the architect seems to pass into one’s own, and take possession of it, raising it above the usages and preoccupations of a positive world.

I confess that my heart beat fast in giving my name to the lackey commissioned to announce me. I had never seen Madame d’Ionis; she passed for one of the prettiest women in the country, was twenty-two, and had a husband who was neither handsome nor amiable, and who neglected her in order to travel. Her writing was charming, and she found means to show not only a great deal of sense, but still more cleverness in her business letters. Altogether she was a very fine character. This was all that I knew of her, and it was sufficient for me to dread appearing awkward or provincial. I grew pale on entering the salon. My first impression then was one of relief and pleasure, when I found myself in the presence of two stout and very ugly old women, one of whom, Madame the Dowager d’Ionis informed me that her daughter-in-law was at the house of her friends in the neighborhood, and probably would not return before the next day.

“You are welcome, all the same,” added this matron. “We have a very friendly and grateful feeling for your father, and it appears that we stand in great need of his counsel, which you are without doubt charged to communicate to us.”

“I came from him,” I replied, “to talk over the affair with Madame d’Ionis.”

“The Countess d’Ionis does in fact occupy herself with business affairs,” replied the dowager, rather coldly, as if to warn me that I had committed a blunder. “She understands it, she has a good head, and in the absence of my son, who is at Vienna, she is conducting this wearisome and interminable law suit. You must not depend upon me to replace her, for I understand nothing about it, and all that I can do is to retain you until the countess’ return, and offer you a supper, such as it may be, and a good bed.”

Hereupon the old lady, who in spite of the little lesson she had given me, appeared a good enough woman, rang and gave orders for making me at home. I refused to eat anything, having taken care to do so on the road, and knowing that nothing is more annoying than to eat alone, and under the eyes of people with whom one happens to be totally unacquainted.

As my father had allowed me several days in which to execute my commission, I had nothing better to do, than to wait the return of my beautiful client; and I was, in the eyes of herself and family, a messenger of sufficient importance to be entitled to a very cordial hospitality. I did not then await a second invitation to remain in her house, although there was a very comfortable inn where persons of my condition went ordinarily to await the moment of consultation with “people of quality.” Such was still the language of the provinces at this epoch, and it was necessary to appreciate these terms and their value, in order to maintain one’s position without degradation and without impertinence in one’s relations with the world. A bourgeois, and a philosopher (they did not yet say Democrat), I was not in the least convinced of the moral superiority of the nobility, and although they prided themselves upon being philosophical, I knew it was necessary to humor their susceptibilities of etiquette and respect them, in order to be respected oneself. I displayed then a slight timidity with an air of sufficiently good style, having already seen at my father’s house some specimens of all classes of society. The dowager appeared to perceive this, before the lapse of many minutes and no longer assumed an air of condescension in order to welcome, if not as an equal, at least as a friend the son of the family lawyer.

While she was conversing with me, as a woman with whom custom supplies the place of wit, I had the leisure to examine both her countenance and that of the other matron still stouter than she who, seated at some distance and filling in the background of a piece of tapestry, never opened her lips and scarcely raised her eyes in my direction. She was dressed somewhat in the style of the dowager, in a dark silk gown with tight sleeves, and a black lace scarf, surmounting a white cap, tied under her chin. But it was not so fresh or clean, her hands were less white, although equally plump, her type coarser, although coarseness was very evident in the heavy features of the stout dowager of Ionis. In short I was no longer in doubt as to her condition of companion, when the dowager remarked apropos of my refusal to sup.

“No matter, Zéphyrine, we must not forget that M. Nivières is young, and that he may be hungry yet before going to sleep. Order a light supper to be served in his apartment.”

The monumental Zéphyrine arose; she was as tall as she was stout. “And above all,” observed her mistress, “do not let them forget the bread.”

“The bread,” said Zéphyrine, in a fine, husky little voice that offered a pleasing contrast to her stature. Then she repeated, “The bread!” with an intonation strongly marked by doubt and surprise.

“The loaves,” replied the dowager with authority.

Zéphyrine seemed to hesitate an instant and went out, but her mistress recalled her immediately, and gave her this strange order—“Three loaves!”

Zéphyrine opened her mouth to answer, shrugged her shoulders slightly and disappeared.

“Three loaves!” I exclaimed in my turn. “But what kind of an appetite do you suppose I have, Madame la Comtesse?”

“Oh, that is nothing,” said she, “They are quite small.”

She was silent for a moment, I sought for some subject of conversation while awaiting the time when I might retire, when she appeared a prey to a certain perplexity, placed her hand on a bell, and stopped to say as if speaking to herself—“Still three loaves!”

“It is a great deal in fact,” answered I, repressing a strong temptation to laugh. She looked at me in amazement, unconscious that she had spoken aloud.

“You speak of the law suit,” said she, as if to make me forget her distraction, “it is a great deal that they claim. Do you think we will gain it?”

But she paid very little attention to my evasive answers, and rang emphatically. A servant came, she asked for Zéphyrine, who reappeared and in whose ear she whispered, after which she seemed relieved, and began to chat with me like a good-natured gossip, very ignorant, but benevolent and almost maternal, questioning me upon my tastes, my dispositions, my occupations and my pleasures. I made myself more of a child than I was in order to put her at her ease, for I soon remarked that she was one of those women of the great world who contrive to get along with the most mediocre intelligence, and who would prefer not to encounter a greater degree in others. On the whole she showed so much good nature that I was not greatly bored with her during the space of an hour, and that I did not await her permission to leave her with too much impatience.

A groom of the chambers conducted me to my apartment, for it was almost a complete suite, three decidedly handsome rooms, quite large and furnished in the Louis XV style, with a great deal of luxury. My own servant to whom my good mother had given his lesson, was in my bedroom, awaiting the honor of undressing me, in order to appear as well posted in his duties as the valets of great houses.

“This is all very well, my dear Baptiste,” said I to him, when we were alone, “but thou canst go to sleep, I shall undress myself as I have been in the habit of doing all my life.”

Baptiste bade me good-night, and left me. It was only ten o’clock. I had no desire to sleep so soon, so I set myself to examine the furniture and pictures in my room, when my eyes fell upon the repast which had been served near the fire-place, and the three loaves appeared before me in all their mysterious symmetry. They were passably large and arranged in the centre of the Japanese waiter in a pretty basket of old Saxony, with a handsome silver salt-cellar in the midst, and three damask napkins placed at intervals around it.

“What the deuce does this mean?” I asked myself, “and why has this vulgar accessory of my supper, the bread, tormented my aged hostess to such an extent?” “Why were three loaves so expressly ordered? Why not four! Why not ten? Since they take me for an ogre! Upon my word! This is really a bounteous feast, and here are some bottles of wine whose etiquettes promise well. But why three carafes of water? Here again it becomes mysterious and absurd. Does this good old countess imagine that I am triple, or that I carry two guests in my valise?” I was musing upon this enigma when some one knocked at the door of the ante-chamber.