One of Cleopatra's Nights (9 page)

As soon as my installation was over, the Abbé Sérapion returned to the
seminary. I was, therefore, left alone, with no one but myself to look
to for aid or counsel. The thought of Clarimonde again began to haunt
me, and in spite of all my endeavors to banish it, I always found it
present in my meditations. One evening, while promenading in my little
garden along the walks bordered with box-plants, I fancied that I saw
through the elm-trees the figure of a woman, who followed my every
movement, and that I beheld two sea-green eyes gleaming through the
foliage; but it was only an illusion, and on going round to the other
side of the garden, I could find nothing except a footprint on the
sanded walk—a footprint so small that it seemed to have been made by
the foot of a child. The garden was enclosed by very high walls. I
searched every nook and corner of it, but could discover no one there. I
have never succeeded in fully accounting for this circumstance, which,
after all, was nothing compared with the strange things which happened
to me afterward.

For a whole year I lived thus, filling all the duties of my calling with
the most scrupulous exactitude, praying and fasting, exhorting and
lending ghostly aid to the sick, and bestowing alms even to the extent
of frequently depriving myself of the very necessaries of life. But I
felt a great aridness within me, and the sources of grace seemed closed
against me. I never found that happiness which should spring from the
fulfilment of a holy mission; my thoughts were far away, and the words
of Clarimonde were ever upon my lips like an involuntary refrain. Oh,
brother, meditate well on this! Through having but once lifted my eyes
to look upon a woman, through one fault apparently so venial, I have for
years remained a victim to the most miserable agonies, and the happiness
of my life has been destroyed forever.

I will not longer dwell upon those defeats, or on those inward victories
invariably followed by yet more terrible falls, but will at once proceed
to the facts of my story. One night my door-bell was long and violently
rung. The aged housekeeper arose and opened to the stranger, and the
figure of a man, whose complexion was deeply bronzed, and who was
richly clad in a foreign costume, with a poniard at his girdle, appeared
under the rays of Barbara's lantern. Her first impulse was one of
terror, but the stranger reassured her, and stated that he desired to
see me at once on matters relating to my holy calling. Barbara invited
him upstairs, where I was on the point of retiring. The stranger told me
that his mistress, a very noble lady, was lying at the point of death,
and desired to see a priest. I replied that I was prepared to follow
him, took with me the sacred articles necessary for extreme unction, and
descended in all haste. Two horses black as the night itself stood
without the gate, pawing the ground with impatience, and veiling their
chests with long streams of smoky vapor exhaled from their nostrils. He
held the stirrup and aided me to mount upon one; then, merely laying his
hand upon the pummel of the saddle, he vaulted on the other, pressed the
animal's sides with his knees, and loosened rein. The horse bounded
forward with the velocity of an arrow. Mine, of which the stranger held
the bridle, also started off at a swift gallop, keeping up with his
companion. We devoured the road. The ground flowed backward beneath us
in a long streaked line of pale gray, and the black silhouettes of the
trees seemed fleeing by us on either side like an army in rout. We
passed through a forest so profoundly gloomy that I felt my flesh creep
in the chill darkness with superstitious fear. The showers of bright
sparks which flew from the stony road under the ironshod feet of our
horses, remained glowing in our wake like a fiery trail; and had anyone
at that hour of the night beheld us both—my guide and myself—he must
have taken us for two spectres riding upon nightmares. Witch-fires ever
and anon flitted across the road before us, and the night-birds shrieked
fearsomely in the depth of the woods beyond, where we beheld at
intervals glow the phosphorescent eyes of wildcats. The manes of the
horses became more and more dishevelled, the sweat streamed over their
flanks, and their breath came through their nostrils hard and fast. But
when he found them slacking pace, the guide reanimated them by uttering
a strange, guttural, unearthly cry, and the gallop recommenced with
fury. At last the whirlwind race ceased; a huge black mass pierced
through with many bright points of light suddenly rose before us, the
hoofs of our horses echoed louder upon a strong wooden draw-bridge, and
we rode under a great vaulted archway which darkly yawned between two
enormous towers. Some great excitement evidently reigned in the castle.
Servants with torches were crossing the courtyard in every direction,
and above lights were ascending and descending from landing to landing.
I obtained a confused glimpse of vast masses of architecture—columns,
arcades, flights of steps, stairways—a royal voluptuousness and elfin
magnificence of construction worthy of fairyland. A negro page—the same
who had before brought me the tablet from Clarimonde, and whom I
instantly recognized—approached to aid me in dismounting, and the
major-domo, attired in black velvet with a gold chain about his neck,
advanced to meet me, supporting himself upon an ivory cane. Large tears
were falling from his eyes and streaming over his cheeks and white
beard. "Too late!" he cried, sorrowfully shaking his venerable head.
"Too late, sir priest! But if you have not been able to save the soul,
come at least to watch by the poor body."

He took my arm and conducted me to the death chamber. I wept not less
bitterly than he, for I had learned that the dead one was none other
than that Clarimonde whom I had so deeply and so wildly loved. A
prie-dieu
stood at the foot of the bed; a bluish flame flickering in a
bronze patera filled all the room with a wan, deceptive light, here and
there bringing out in the darkness at intervals some projection of
furniture or cornice. In a chiselled urn upon the table there was a
faded white rose, whose leaves—excepting one that still held—had all
fallen, like odorous tears, to the foot of the vase. A broken black
mask, a fan, and disguises of every variety, which were lying on the
arm-chairs, bore witness that death had entered suddenly and unannounced
into that sumptuous dwelling. Without daring to cast my eyes upon the
bed, I knelt down and commenced to repeat the Psalms for the Dead, with
exceeding fervor, thanking God that he had placed the tomb between me
and the memory of this woman, so that I might thereafter be able to
utter her name in my prayers as a name forever sanctified by death. But
my fervor gradually weakened, and I fell insensibly into a reverie. That
chamber bore no semblance to a chamber of death. In lieu of the foetid
and cadaverous odors which I had been accustomed to breathe during such
funereal vigils, a languorous vapor of Oriental perfume—I know not what
amorous odor of woman—softly floated through the tepid air. That pale
light seemed rather a twilight gloom contrived for voluptuous pleasure,
than a substitute for the yellow-flickering watch-tapers which shine by
the side of corpses. I thought upon the strange destiny which enabled me
to meet Clarimonde again at the very moment when she was lost to me
forever, and a sigh of regretful anguish escaped from my breast. Then it
seemed to me that some one behind me had also sighed, and I turned round
to look. It was only an echo. But in that moment my eyes fell upon the
bed of death which they had till then avoided. The red damask curtains,
decorated with large flowers worked in embroidery, and looped up with
gold bullion, permitted me to behold the fair dead, lying at full
length, with hands joined upon her bosom. She was covered with a linen
wrapping of dazzling whiteness, which formed a strong contrast with the
gloomy purple of the hangings, and was of so fine a texture that it
concealed nothing of her body's charming form, and allowed the eye to
follow those beautiful outlines—undulating like the neck of a
swan—which even death had not robbed of their supple grace. She seemed
an alabaster statue executed by some skilful sculptor to place upon the
tomb of a queen, or rather, perhaps, like a slumbering maiden over whom
the silent snow had woven a spotless veil.

I could no longer maintain my constrained attitude of prayer. The air of
the alcove intoxicated me, that febrile perfume of half-faded roses
penetrated my very brain, and I commenced to pace restlessly up and
down the chamber, pausing at each turn before the bier to contemplate
the graceful corpse lying beneath the transparency of its shroud. Wild
fancies came thronging to my brain. I thought to myself that she might
not, perhaps, be really dead; that she might only have feigned death for
the purpose of bringing me to her castle, and then declaring her love.
At one time I even thought I saw her foot move under the whiteness of
the coverings, and slightly disarrange the long, straight folds of the
winding sheet.

And then I asked myself: "Is this indeed Clarimonde? What proof have I
that it is she? Might not that black page have passed into the service
of some other lady? Surely, I must be going mad to torture and afflict
myself thus!" But my heart answered with a fierce throbbing: "It is she;
it is she indeed!" I approached the bed again, and fixed my eyes with
redoubled attention upon the object of my incertitude. Ah, must I
confess it? That exquisite perfection of bodily form, although purified
and made sacred by the shadow of death, affected me more voluptuously
than it should have done, and that repose so closely resembled slumber
that one might well have mistaken it for such. I forgot that I had come
there to perform a funeral ceremony; I fancied myself a young bridegroom
entering the chamber of the bride, who all modestly hides her fair face,
and through coyness seeks to keep herself wholly veiled. Heartbroken
with grief, yet wild with hope, shuddering at once with fear and
pleasure, I bent over her and grasped the corner of the sheet. I lifted
it back, holding my breath all the while through fear of waking her. My
arteries throbbed with such violence that I felt them hiss through my
temples, and the sweat poured from my forehead in streams, as though I
had lifted a mighty slab of marble. There, indeed, lay Clarimonde, even
as I had seen her at the church on the day of my ordination. She was not
less charming than then. With her, death seemed but a last coquetry. The
pallor of her cheeks, the less brilliant carnation of her lips, her long
eyelashes lowered and relieving their dark fringe against that white
skin, lent her an unspeakably seductive aspect of melancholy chastity
and mental suffering; her long loose hair, still intertwined with some
little blue flowers, made a shining pillow for her head, and veiled the
nudity of her shoulders with its thick ringlets; her beautiful hands,
purer, more diaphanous than the Host, were crossed on her bosom in an
attitude of pious rest and silent prayer, which served to counteract all
that might have proven otherwise too alluring—even after death—in the
exquisite roundness and ivory polish of her bare arms from which the
pearl bracelets had not yet been removed. I remained long in mute
contemplation, and the more I gazed, the less could I persuade myself
that life had really abandoned that beautiful body forever. I do not
know whether it was an illusion or a reflection of the lamplight, but it
seemed to me that the blood was again commencing to circulate under that
lifeless pallor, although she remained all motionless. I laid my hand
lightly on her arm; it was cold, but not colder than her hand on the day
when it touched mine at the portals of the church. I resumed my
position, bending my face above her, and bathing her cheeks with the
warm dew of my tears. Ah, what bitter feelings of despair and
helplessness, what agonies unutterable did I endure in that long watch!
Vainly did I wish that I could have gathered all my life into one mass
that I might give it all to her, and breathe into her chill remains the
flame which devoured me. The night advanced, and feeling the moment of
eternal separation approach, I could not deny myself the last sad sweet
pleasure of imprinting a kiss upon the dead lips of her who had been my
only love.... Oh, miracle! A faint breath mingled itself with my breath,
and the mouth of Clarimonde responded to the passionate pressure of
mine. Her eyes unclosed, and lighted up with something of their former
brilliancy; she uttered a long sigh, and uncrossing her arms, passed
them around my neck with a look of ineffable delight. "Ah, it is thou,
Romuald!" she murmured in a voice languishingly sweet as the last
vibrations of a harp. "What ailed thee, dearest? I waited so long for
thee that I am dead; but we are now betrothed; I can see thee and visit
thee. Adieu, Romuald, adieu! I love thee. That is all I wished to tell
thee, and I give thee back the life which thy kiss for a moment
recalled. We shall soon meet again."

Her head fell back, but her arms yet encircled me, as though to retain
me still. A furious whirlwind suddenly burst in the window, and entered
the chamber. The last remaining leaf of the white rose for a moment
palpitated at the extremity of the stalk like a butterfly's wing, then
it detached itself and flew forth through the open casement, bearing
with it the soul of Clarimonde. The lamp was extinguished, and I fell
insensible upon the bosom of the beautiful dead.

When I came to myself again I was lying on the bed in my little room at
the presbytery, and the old dog of the former curé was licking my hand
which had been hanging down outside of the covers. Barbara, all
trembling with age and anxiety, was busying herself about the room,
opening and shutting drawers, and emptying powders into glasses. On
seeing me open my eyes, the old woman uttered a cry of joy, the dog
yelped and wagged his tail, but I was still so weak that I could not
speak a single word or make the slightest motion. Afterward I learned
that I had lain thus for three days, giving no evidence of life beyond
the faintest respiration. Those three days do not reckon in my life, nor
could I ever imagine whither my spirit had departed during those three
days; I have no recollection of aught relating to them. Barbara told me
that the same coppery-complexioned man who came to seek me on the night
of my departure from the presbytery, had brought me back the next
morning in a close litter, and departed immediately afterward. When I
became able to collect my scattered thoughts, I reviewed within my mind
all the circumstances of that fateful night. At first I thought I had
been the victim of some magical illusion, but ere long the recollection
of other circumstances, real and palpable in themselves, came to forbid
that supposition. I could not believe that I had been dreaming, since
Barbara as well as myself had seen the strange man with his two black
horses, and described with exactness every detail of his figure and
apparel. Nevertheless it appeared that none knew of any castle in the
neighborhood answering to the description of that in which I had again
found Clarimonde.