The new terror
throw of the rippling waves and the swinging dingeys, about the hour
when the sun sinks behind Tamaris.
The four old marines were known as Zinzin, Dorat—Captain
Dorat—Bagatelle, and Chanlieu—that old fellow Chanlieu. 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 sea-faring 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 drum-skin, 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 quiet smile flickered across her face:
“‘Good-bye, 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 any one 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 neighbor 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 toward
the empty darkness which the glare of the lamp made visible; then she
smiled and said:
“‘Well, good-bye until next year. My husband is very pleased. Not a
single one of you failed to answer the call. Good-bye, messieurs.’
“And I heard several voices in unison:
“‘Good-bye, madame, good-bye, 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 place for me. For that matter I did not need any one, 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 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, good-bye until next year.’
“And I never ceased to think of the meeting. I, too, was determined to
be there and to 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 vessels.
“Unfortunately I was soon to learn that neither heaven nor hell was
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 nigger, 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 center 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 neighbor 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 whom I met if he knew the
lady’s name.
“‘Why, of course. She’s your neighbor. 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 every one 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 sunk
road leading to the Villa Makoko, the figure of my neighbor. I did not
hesitate, but hastened to overtake her.