J. André Castaigne

“ The heroic statues, Thilda, Rhodaïs the Slave, and Bertha the Horsewoman, seemed to live again beneath the glow. The flashes of light from the window seemed to make them palpitate. One would have said that joy swelled their marble breasts when Helia, whose bodice had been undone, and whose wounds were bandaged, opened her eyes and breathed freely as she asked: “Where am I?”
“Oh, what a fright you’ve given us!” said Suzanne; “but now you’re saved. Do you suffer?”
Helia was not suffering. To die was nothing,—but to fall, struck from behind by such a man! ”

“ As soon as they were seated, conversation began, as if they had left each other but the day before; it was familiar and gay, as among members of the same social world.
“What is the news in Paris?”
“We do not come from there. Talk to us about the sorceress,” said Ethel.
“On the contrary, let us not speak of her! The country is upside down; every one is losing his head. I should not be astonished if, to-morrow, when the people see you, they should all cry, ‘Morgana!’”
“Why, that would amuse me immensely!” said Ethel. “How is it possible for you to be bored in such a country? ”

“ Instinctively, Helia turned her head. She saw only the waste sea and the great marvelous sky, with its depths of purple and gold, and immense crimson cloud forming an arch above her.
When Helia first appeared, the people had given a great cry, and then there was silence. A thrill ran through the multitude. “Who is coming thus from the open sea? What wonderful being have our cries of terror awakened?”
They saw the superb maiden issuing from the waves and bringing back in her arms the little Duke Adalbert, Morgania’s hope. What if it were she—Morgana!—bringing back fortune and the future? ”

“ Phil frowned.
“I’m not making any allusions,” said Poufaille.
“I should hope not,” said Phil.
“I am only telling you the truth,” Poufaille declared; “and I am glad to have said it. I can breathe better now. It’s true! It turned my blood to hear Suzanne telling it, with Helia so sad. When I think that you used to be so rigid about such things—and now you act just like the others! What’s the difference between you and Socrate? For a man who is always quoting the Bible and setting himself up as an example—you’re a bad one, that’s all!” ”

“ Morgana was building her palaces in the heavenly azure. Golden darts across battlemented clouds were driving away the birds of night. The sun rose up, enormous in size. In front of the yacht the city, with its minarets and domes, showed like a vision of the Orient. The castle, scarcely outlined, seemed floating above the waters.
“Brave Helia! the heavens are celebrating her—how splendid the mirage is, grandma!” said Ethel.
“You see, Ethel,” Mrs. Rowrer remarked, “mirages are not easily appreciated with glasses. At my age I perceive rather the chill of the mist.” ”

“ It consisted of a bench, green with the mold of time and surrounded by a colonnade covered with moss and ivy. It gave this corner of the forest a mythological note. It was like one of those rustic shrines where, in the shadow of the sacred grove, goddesses were appeased by the offering of victims.
“Who would not say this is a scene of Shakspere’s fancy?” said Ethel. “Listen to the hunting-horn—you might believe you were in an enchanted forest. But,” she added, as grandma sat down, “there is no question now of Will the Great, but only of our own dear Will, and of Mlle. Yvonne.” ”

“ Helia acknowledged that it was possible when she looked at Miss Rowrer, who drew near and began chatting with Phil. What charm there was in her words! Helia was never tired of listening to her. She felt no jealousy of Ethel, whose goodness saved her from envy. She admired her in silence. Sometimes, like a lightning 263 flash, she seemed to understand the abyss which separated them, and then everything reëntered the shadow. No—she did not know; everything escaped her grasp in that sphere of life, more inaccessible to her than the white clouds up in the depths of the azure. ”

“ The car, drawn by knights, advanced amid hushed admiration. Helia seemed to float above the sea of heads, and behind her the great hall was ablaze with lights.
Phil, dozing in his arm-chair, saw himself, clad in his magnificent Indian costume, marching at the head of the car, brandishing his tomahawk in honor of Morgana. Then, at the breaking up of the cortège when the procession was over, there were the supper-tables taken by storm amid cries and laughter. ”

“ But now it was full day and the sun was lighting up the studio. Phil’s memories faded little by little, scattered by the early morning cries of Paris. The shrill piping of the wandering plumber awakened him with a start just as he was dropping off into real sleep and seeing in his dream Helia soar through a strange world amid heavenly splendors.
“Here’s the morning paper, M. Longwill,” said the old concierge, who came up with the mail; but he stopped short with open mouth at the sight of Phil’s costume. To dress one’s self like that! Etait-il Dieu possible! ”

“ There was a moment of silence.
“Men who are not men—that must be another of Miss Ethel’s pleasantries,” thought Yvonne.
Ethel looked at her water-color, throwing back her shoulders to judge better of the effect. What she did not understand was that a young woman like Yvonne should accommodate herself to such a state of affairs—Yvonne, who but now, during the squabble with Miss Arabella, had the decided air of some Gaulish Amazon. Why should she be so timid with regard to such insolent dogs? She felt really a lofty and protecting pity for this sister of an old country, nice as she was. ”

“ Endless cheering saluted them: “Long live the duke! Long live the duchess! Long live Morgana!”
“Well!” thought Caracal, “this is getting to be amusing. I had thought all my chances lost, but they are coming back. Miss Ethel is still free! Helia a duchess! Well, stranger things have been seen; but all the same it is funny. After my ‘House of Glass’ and ‘Worms from a Dung-hill’ I shall study from nature a ducal marriage and make it a roman à clef! I shall write up every class of society—bourgeois, peasants, and princes! ”

“ Phil, with his false promises, is worthy of you! Two men spoiled, one assassin, and a dying woman—look at your work, M. Caracal!”
The “subtle observer,” a poor human rag blown down by a breath, collapsed into a chair.
The great window still threw its burning glow upon the throne. The marble ancestors, dimly lighted, seemed to lift their heads to curse the feeble duke. They formed a circle round the hall and the throne where Helia was resting—Helia, brave as Rhodaïs, intrepid as Thilda, invulnerable as Bertha—Helia, the Morgana announced and foretold. The duke was pale and grave. ”

“ A road up an embankment, broken by intervals of steps, led up from the city to the castle. Everything seemed weighted down with the years,—the Byzantine domes of churches, Oriental minarets, Frankish towers; everywhere you felt the succession of the ages.
“It is a romantic country,” said Ethel. “There is no need of a mirage to believe one’s self in the heart of the Middle Ages. We have only to look at the setting of the scene to be transported centuries back. All these old things must reek with superstition. If you stayed here long, Will, you, too, would end by believing in Morgana. ”

“ The duke saw all this enthusiasm for the “foreign lady” running onward like a flame; and his heart swelled with joy. A whole people would express his love and speak for him, crying from the depths of their hearts: “We love you! Be our duchess!”
And he, the duke, as he had sworn in presence of his 466 assembled people, would say to Miss Rowrer: “You have saved my country and my son: will you not stay in Morgania, to be the pride and the happiness of my house?”
The events upon the Drina, and that mysterious sympathy which grows in popular crises, had shaken the whole country. ”

“ She fancied to herself Cleopatra and Dido and Morgana, queens who were all but goddesses, and the Roman matrons, borne across the waves to the sound of lutes, with their jesters and their scribes. At her side, Will and grandma were chatting quietly.
“You are a good boy,” grandma said. “I am glad you got my telegram in time to put an elevator in the yacht;—perhaps the reason I like new things is because I am growing old.”
“Not at all, grandma,” interrupted Ethel. “What is stupider than to go climbing up-stairs? It is the least esthetic of all movements.” ”

“ Great clouds floated high in a sky that was sweet and calm. Across the branches of the 261 garden they looked on Paris, bathed in sun. The great city stretched out from horizon to horizon and, vibrating with the heat, seemed to wave like a sea. Grandma, Ethel, and Will, as well as the duke, stopped short. While the distant view was full of grandeur, the nearer scene was just as charming. There were shaded alleys, and under the oleanders and apple- and pear-trees, currants and strawberries were ripening. Caracal was already beginning his explanations. ”

“ All had a single ambition—to be the painter of the wretchedly poor, and of street-women, an easy art brought into fashion by a few noisy successes. They initiated Phil to their Paris, to the Paris of the fosses aux lions, of leprous quays, of rag-pickers’ alleys, where children played hide-and-seek behind heaps of refuse. When Phil wished to go and dream by the banks of the Seine, they led him to the banks of the Bièvre, stinking like a charnel-house. ”

“ Ethel continued. “Will was very much taken with Yvonne—I am sure that now he would be much more so if he were only allowed. The fact that he has been refused shows him so much better the woman he is losing. It has been a revelation to us. He was conquered by Yvonne as Desdemona by Othello. In a way he pitied the young girl’s lot—it was so childish; there was so little society for her. One ball a year,—a poor little ball, next to nothing,—a life passed in the dim light of curtains half drawn, near a deserted street, the strong contrast with Will’s stormy life in Chicago.” ”

“ Phil foresaw that the fierce tribune of the people would soon be making his prophetic gestures and proclaiming the eternal glory of the autochtones alone with his hurdy-gurdy, like St. Anthony with his pig. So Phil went away, followed to the very street by the exasperated grinding of the crank.
“What madness!” Phil said to himself. “Poufaille is certainly earning his money. He puts as much heat into it as if some one had stolen his own share of glory.” Poufaille a despoiled young genius! Phil, at the very idea, could not refrain from laughter. ”