III. PASSAGES FOR TRANSLATION INTO FRENCH
May 27, 1788. — I shall hâve plenty of time to write my diary to-night. It is only len o'clock, and I don't feel at ail sleepy, in spite of the conversation of the dowager countess. The ride through the woods and the park was really delightful ; and the old castle is even more beautiful than I had expected. I am, hovvever, somewhat puzzled — almost tormented — by an absurd little trick which has been played me. I did not quite know if I ought to take my hostess seriously when she ordered just now three loaves for my supper, to be brought to my room. But hère they are on the table before me, symmetrically arranged. I could not help noticing how anxious the countess was that they should be put hère for me, and I confess that I utterly fail to understand why she insisted on three. Doubtless the sensible thing to do would be to take a book and sit in the window that looks out upon the park. It is a beautiful night, and the slight mist which rose some time after sunset produces a solemn, rather mysterious effect. The air is se still that one would almost think a storm was coming, and I love storms. But I am annoyed because I cannot understand. How strange that such a trifle can make one ill at ease !
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I had just written thèse last words when I heard a knock at my door. And now the whole thing is as clear as day to me. The old housekeeper was the last person whom I expected to see enter when I called out " Corne in." She came to explain the mystery. It seems the dowager countess is very superstitions. I succeeded, not without trouble, in extracting from Zéphyrine that my room is supposed to be haunted. Three poisoned heiresses ! Could anything be more absurd ? They are said to hâve died in this very room and to haunt it, clothed in green ; and the countess hopes that the strangers who sleep in it will hear from them something about her son's lawsuit. It is for them, evidently, and not for me, that the bread and the sait and the water hâve been put hère. But I really must stop writing, for the good Zéphyrine has brought me the manuscript in which the whole history of the affair is told. I am not sorry to hâve something to read before I go to bed ; and I feel infinitely grateful to that worthy housekeeper for putting me at my ease once more. It was foolish of me to allow myself to be disturbed, but the unintelligible is ahvays a little alarming. And now for the green ladies ! I am quite ready to receive them.
May 28, 1788. — It seems an âge since I last wrote in my diary. I can hardly believe that it was only last night. I need not record the events of the single day that has elapsed since then. They are for ever impressed on my memory, and it will be impossible for me to forget even the smallest détail : first the old manuscript, and then ail those clocks striking midnight one after another. The storm must hâve come and gone while I slept ; for when I awoke the wind had dropped, and not a
134 I-Gs Dames Vertes
Sound was to be heard but the clinking of those glasses at the table. Even now I don't know what to think ; it is absurd to say that what I saw was ail a dream, and any sane man would surely deem it no less absurd to contend that it was real. I am quite at a loss for an explanation ; I was in perfect health, I know it was real, and yet I cannot believe it. I saw it with my very eyes, but my reason tells me that my eyes must hâve deceived me. How annoying it was to hâve to play my part this morning at breakfast ! And to-night when I found the rolls and water again in my room, I could not help showing some irritation. But let me leave this mystery ; I hâve pleasanter thoughts to occupy my mind with, Besides, I must write to my father.
May 28, 1788.
My DEAR Father — Only a short letter to-night ; I am a little tired and not in the mood to talk business. But I must tell you that I arrived hère safely and hâve had a little talk with Madame d'Ionis about her case. She seems determined to lose it, and I confess I find it rathcr difficult to answer her arguments. You know that I think with her in the matter, and that I cannot but admire the generosity with which she persists in endangering her own fortune in order to avoid ruining her opponent. I promised that I would not yield to any sentimental considérations of that kind ; but I am sure you will admit that my position is somewhat awkward. Madame d'Ionis is evidently a lady of considérable talent, and has already suggested more than one way out of the difficulty in which she finds herself Perhaps we shall be able in a day or two to hit upon some solution ; at least, let us hope so. We are to discuss the question again to-morrow ; our rendezvous is at a marble fountain which has quite taken my fancy. You must bave noticed it when you came hère. And now good-night. — Your affectionate Son.
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Novv that I hâve written home I can résume my diary. The events of to-day hâve quite removed the evil effects of my misérable night. It will be long before I forget my first interview with her. How prettily she humoured the old lady at breakfast 1 Afterwards at the fountain we talked business. Yet why need I record it ail, when I know how little likely I am to forget it ? I feel as if I had known her for years. She has a marvellous way of making you feel at ease ; and how gracefully she succeeds, as if by instinct, in steering a middle course between familiarity and condescension 1 Her charm has had a wonderful effect upon me. I hâve now some thoughts which I should not dare to express, even in my diary, and which I really hesitate to confess to myself. And yet how happy they make me ! Perhaps the events of last night hâve excited me too greatly ; at any rate they are forgotten, merged in other very différent thoughts. I must stop writing, or I shall say too much in spite of myself, I hâve already said more than a lawyer's discrétion should allow. But why should I check the feelings that bring me so much happiness ? I wonder how long I can stay hère. It would be easy to find some pretext. Yet what is the use ?
ATay 29, 1788. — A solution has been found. When we were talking the question over this moming at the fountain, I refused to take part in any déception practised upon her husband ; but this evening, after dinner, I told her ail the particulars of my adventure last night, and we agreed that the wisest course for us was to work upon the superstitious mind of M. d'Ionis by means of thèse apparitions, provided that they are genuine. I hâve in my possession ail
the documents bearing on the mystery, and in a little while I shall go down to the library and read them. I had not fully appreciated until to-night the exquisite beauty of the fountain near which we usually sit and talk about this case. It will be a pleasure to be there in an instant, when I look through thèse precious documents. I wonder what they contain. AU this is most interesting. How glad I shall be if we can really discover some means of satisfying my father and at the same time saving our opponents ! The thrce rolls may stay hère to-day. Last night I sent them away ; but now, far from avoiding mystery, I court it.
May 30, 1788. — The day will soon dawn. How can I bear to return to the monotony of ordinary life after the expériences of this night ? I sometimes feel inclined to believe that it was ail a dream : yet on the table, before me, lies the ring of which she told me. It is there ; I can feel it ; I can put it on my finger. Whether it was real or not, I can think of nothing else but my vision. I hâve just finished writing an account of ail that happened to me, while every détail is still fresh in my memory. I cannot doubt for a moment that I again saw the three figures who entered my room two nights ago, How long the whole aftair lasted I am wholly unable to tell. Although I did not leave the library till long after midnight, the sun has not yet risen ; but it is impossible for me to think of resting while my eyes are still dazzled by such incomparable beauty, and her voice is still ringing in my ears. How shall I answer the questions which the dowager is sure to put to me when I see her at breakfast .'' And afterwards I shall hâve to speak with the countess at the fountain ! 1 am too tired to think of anything.
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vni
June I, 1788. — It appears that I hâve been very ill. Ail I can remember is that yesterday when I woke iip I found I was no longer in the room where until then I had been sleeping : Baptiste seemed anxious and particularly attentive, and assured me that on the previous day I had suffered from a severe attack of fever. I was not allowed to write or read until to-day : that is why my diary has not been filled in. There is little to record, except that on the morning after that eventful night I found Madame d'Ionis at the fountain as usual. I hâve no notion what I may hâve said to her ; but I don't think I told her anything of what I had seen. Yesterday she came to see me, and inquired after my health with much interest. How delighted I should hâve been a day or two ago that she should be so concerned about me ! The doctor says I shall be quite well again in a short time ; but Madame d'Ionis evidently seems anxious for me to prolong my visit hère. For my part I do not quite see why I should stay longer than is needful. If everything were known that has happened in the course of the last week my réputation as a lawyer would be gone. I must ask Madame d'Ionis not to say anything about it to anyone. She will probably corne and see me to-day.
Sepiembe7' 4, 1788. — I hâve now been home for about three inonths, without writing a word in my diary. I knew that there was only one subject on which, if I took up my pen, I could say anything ; and about that I wanted to talk and think as little as possible. Yet in spite of ail the regularity and monotony of the life which I hâve been living — a life, to ail appearances, quite undisturbed by any overwhelming cares which might upset the balance of
my mind or the accuracy of my judgment in matters of business — there has been ail the time only one thought that was possible for me, and my eyes hâve been fixed unceasingly on the immortal beauty of her for whom I live. The day after to-morrow the trial is to begin. There never was a clearer case, and vve are bound to win. I don't know whether to be glad or sorry, M y father and I are agreed upon nearly every point, and I do not think there can be any difficulties whatever. There still remains, however, one question which is not quite settled and which I wish to discuss to-morrow. Our opponents hâve been accused of having had knowledge of the existence of the second will, and of having suppressed it for three years. I hâve personally no doubt at ail that they hâve acted hcnourably throughout the whole afifair, and I shall be careful when I speak to avoid saying anything that may wound them.
Septe?nber 5, 1788. — Nothing could be more unfortunate, from my point of view, than what has happened to-day. Hère am I, on the \çxy eve of the trial, which will need ail my strength of mind and body, a prey to a mental agitation which makes sleep quite impossible for me now, and which will reduce me before to-morrow to a state of complète coUapse. For the first time in my life I hâve found it necessary to protect my honour, and I had no alternative but to challenge the ofîfîcer who insulted me to-night. 1 came to my bedroom an hour ago depressed and tormented with the thought of having quarrelled with one whose conduct I cannot help admiring ; and as if that were not enough to upset me, at a time when my réputation as a lawyer is at stake, I saw pinned to my pillow what can be nothing else than a message from the immortal being who watches over my life. How it arrived nobody knows. Baptiste assures me that no one has been to the house to-night,
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much less to my room. It is an insoluble mystery. But the ring is there, as visible and real as it was upon that fatal night ; and engraven upon it is the message she sends. Its meaning is unmistakable. My life is hers, and I hâve no right to risk it for a purely personal and selfish cause. Yet how can I now withdraw with honour ? And to think that it was she who promised that, if I persevered, this wretched case would end in my happiness 1
Deceviber 8, 1788. — I hâve been too happy, thèse last three months, to feel the need of writing anything at ail in my diary. I see that my last entr}' was on that horrid night when everything seemed to be going against me, and I had almost begun to doubt the friendship, or at least the power, of my lady of the fountain. I need not record hère the fortunate conclusion of the whole affair, for I am sure I can never forget it. But I wish to write a Word or two to-night, on the eve of what will probably be the most momentous day of my life. To-morrow my father and I are to return to the castle, in order to ask the hand of Bernard's sister. He has become, in the course of thèse few months, one of my dearest friends. How is it possible for me to doubt that thèse last events hâve been directed by some strange and mysterious power that protects me ? Apart from the astonishing resemblance I noticed between the apparition near the fountain and my new friend's sister, there are many other reasons to justify me in my belief. If the answer we get to-morrow is as favourable as I hâve every reason to hope, my happiness will be assured. Though it was only yesterday that I met Félicie for the first time, for six months past my life has been in reality entirely devoted to her. She is the incarnation of my idéal, and I feel that she will be mine.
I40 Les Dames Vertes
January 17, 1789. — To-night I can add the concluding chapter to the events which, from time to time, I hâve noted in this diaiy, for to-day I can truly say ihat my happiness is at last complète. Next month we are to be married ; and we are aheady the happiest couple in the world. We cannot tell at présent whether we are to be rich or poor ; but I am confident that as a lawyer I shall be able to earn enough money to assure us at least as much comfort as we hâve any right to expect. Bernard and Caroline are of course delighted ; and our parents are already the closest friends. It would hâve been hard indeed to conceive a more happy conclusion. The troubles and misfortunes caused by this affair are almost forgotten, and the mystery which gave me so many sleepless nights, and which at one time ail but drove me mad, has at last been cleared up. Félicie still reproaches herself with the part she played in it ; but before long we shall hâve left the past behind us once and for ail, and then there will be nothing to mar the happiness of the présent. The storm which I fear we must expect in the political world, however violent it may be, will not be able to destroy the peace and harmony of our life at home.
Printed hy R. & R. Ci.ARK, Limited, Edinburgh.
Siepmann's
French Séries for Rapicl Reading
Globe 8i'o.
