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The Floating Press - Sheridan Le Fanu

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105 pages

English

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At the tail end of the Napoleonic Wars, wealthy British heir Richard Beckett decides to spend some time in France. On his way there, he stumbles across an overturned carriage and encounters two people who will alter the course of his life. Afterwards, he makes his way to a nearby inn -- and unknowingly checks himself into a room that is believed to be cursed.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776586493
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE ROOM IN THE DRAGON VOLANT
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SHERIDAN LE FANU

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The Room in the Dragon Volant First published in 1872 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-649-3 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-650-9 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Prologue Chapter I - On the Road Chapter II - The Inn-Yard of the Belle Étoile Chapter III - Death and Love Together Mated Chapter IV - Monsieur Droqville Chapter V - Supper at the Belle Étoile Chapter VI - The Naked Sword Chapter VII - The White Rose Chapter VIII - A Three Minutes' Visit Chapter IX - Gossip and Counsel Chapter X - The Black Veil Chapter XI - The Dragon Volant Chapter XII - The Magician Chapter XIII - The Oracle Tells Me Wonders Chapter XIV - Mademoiselle de la Vallière Chapter XV - Strange Story of the Dragon Volant Chapter XVI - The Parc of the Château de la Carque Chapter XVII - The Tenant of the Palanquin Chapter XVIII - The Churchyard Chapter XIX - The Key Chapter XX - A High-Cauld-Cap Chapter XXI - I See Three Men in a Mirror Chapter XXII - Rapture Chapter XXIII - A Cup of Coffee Chapter XXIV - Hope Chapter XXV - Despair Chapter XXVI - Catastrophe
Prologue
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The curious case which I am about to place before you, is referredto, very pointedly, and more than once, in the extraordinary Essay uponthe Drug of the Dark and the Middle Ages, from the pen of DoctorHesselius .
This Essay he entitles Mortis Imago, and he, therein, discusses the Vinum letiferum, the Beatifica, the Somnus Angelorum, the HypnusSagarum, the Aqua Thessalliae, and about twenty other infusions anddistillations, well known to the sages of eight hundred years ago, andtwo of which are still, he alleges, known to the fraternity of thieves,and, among them, as police-office inquiries sometimes disclose to thisday, in practical use .
The Essay, Mortis Imago, will occupy, as nearly as I can atpresent calculate, two volumes, the ninth and tenth, of the collectedpapers of Dr. Martin Hesselius .
This Essay, I may remark in conclusion, is very curiously enriched bycitations, in great abundance, from medieval verse and prose romance,some of the most valuable of which, strange to say, are Egyptian .
I have selected this particular statement from among many casesequally striking, but hardly, I think, so effective as mere narratives;in this irregular form of publication, it is simply as a story that Ipresent it .
Chapter I - On the Road
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In the eventful year, 1815, I was exactly three-and-twenty, and had justsucceeded to a very large sum in consols and other securities. The firstfall of Napoleon had thrown the continent open to English excursionists,anxious, let us suppose, to improve their minds by foreign travel; andI—the slight check of the "hundred days" removed, by the genius ofWellington, on the field of Waterloo—was now added to the philosophicthrong.
I was posting up to Paris from Brussels, following, I presume, the routethat the allied army had pursued but a few weeks before—more carriagesthan you could believe were pursuing the same line. You could not lookback or forward, without seeing into far perspective the clouds of dustwhich marked the line of the long series of vehicles. We wereperpetually passing relays of return-horses, on their way, jaded anddusty, to the inns from which they had been taken. They were arduoustimes for those patient public servants. The whole world seemed postingup to Paris.
I ought to have noted it more particularly, but my head was so full ofParis and the future that I passed the intervening scenery with littlepatience and less attention; I think, however, that it was about fourmiles to the frontier side of a rather picturesque little town, the nameof which, as of many more important places through which I posted in myhurried journey, I forget, and about two hours before sunset, that wecame up with a carriage in distress.
It was not quite an upset. But the two leaders were lying flat. Thebooted postilions had got down, and two servants who seemed very muchat sea in such matters, were by way of assisting them. A pretty littlebonnet and head were popped out of the window of the carriage indistress. Its tournure , and that of the shoulders that alsoappeared for a moment, was captivating: I resolved to play the part ofa good Samaritan; stopped my chaise, jumped out, and with my servant lenta very willing hand in the emergency. Alas! the lady with the prettybonnet wore a very thick black veil. I could see nothing but the patternof the Brussels lace as she drew back.
A lean old gentleman, almost at the same time, stuck his head out of thewindow. An invalid he seemed, for although the day was hot he wore ablack muffler which came up to his ears and nose, quite covering thelower part of his face, an arrangement which he disturbed by pulling itdown for a moment, and poured forth a torrent of French thanks, as heuncovered his black wig, and gesticulated with grateful animation.
One of my very few accomplishments, besides boxing, which was cultivatedby all Englishmen at that time, was French; and I replied, I hope andbelieve grammatically. Many bows being exchanged, the old gentleman'shead went in again, and the demure, pretty little bonnet once moreappeared.
The lady must have heard me speak to my servant, for she framed herlittle speech in such pretty, broken English, and in a voice so sweet,that I more than ever cursed the black veil that baulked my romanticcuriosity.
The arms that were emblazoned on the panel were peculiar; I rememberespecially one device—it was the figure of a stork, painted in carmine,upon what the heralds call a "field or." The bird was standing upon oneleg, and in the other claw held a stone. This is, I believe, the emblemof vigilance. Its oddity struck me, and remained impressed upon mymemory. There were supporters besides, but I forget what they were. Thecourtly manners of these people, the style of their servants, theelegance of their traveling carriage, and the supporters to their arms,satisfied me that they were noble.
The lady, you may be sure, was not the less interesting on that account.What a fascination a title exercises upon the imagination! I do not meanon that of snobs or moral flunkies. Superiority of rank is a powerfuland genuine influence in love. The idea of superior refinement isassociated with it. The careless notice of the squire tells more uponthe heart of the pretty milk-maid than years of honest Dobbin's manlydevotion, and so on and up. It is an unjust world!
But in this case there was something more. I was conscious of beinggood-looking. I really believe I was; and there could be no mistakeabout my being nearly six feet high. Why need this lady have thanked me?Had not her husband, for such I assumed him to be, thanked me quiteenough and for both? I was instinctively aware that the lady was lookingon me with no unwilling eyes; and, through her veil, I felt the power ofher gaze.
She was now rolling away, with a train of dust behind her wheels in thegolden sunlight, and a wise young gentleman followed her with ardenteyes and sighed profoundly as the distance increased.
I told the postilions on no account to pass the carriage, but to keep itsteadily in view, and to pull up at whatever posting-house it shouldstop at. We were soon in the little town, and the carriage we followeddrew up at the Belle Étoile, a comfortable old inn. They got out of thecarriage and entered the house.
At a leisurely pace we followed. I got down, and mounted the stepslistlessly, like a man quite apathetic and careless.
Audacious as I was, I did not care to inquire in what room I should findthem. I peeped into the apartment to my right, and then into that on myleft. My people were not there. I ascended the stairs. Adrawing-room door stood open. I entered with the most innocent air inthe world. It was a spacious room, and, beside myself, contained but oneliving figure—a very pretty and lady-like one. There was the verybonnet with which I had fallen in love. The lady stood with her backtoward me. I could not tell whether the envious veil was raised; she wasreading a letter.
I stood for a minute in fixed attention, gazing upon her, in vague hopethat she might turn about and give me an opportunity of seeing herfeatures. She did not; but with a step or two she placed herself beforea little cabriole-table, which stood against the wall, from which rosea tall mirror in a tarnished frame.
I might, indeed, have mistaken it for a picture; for it now reflected ahalf-length portrait of a singularly beautiful woman.
She was looking down upon a letter which she held in her slenderfingers, and in which she seemed absorbed.
The face was oval, melancholy, sweet. It had in it, nevertheless, afaint and undefinably sensual quality also. Nothing could exceed thedelicacy of its features, or the brilliancy of its tints. The eyes,indeed, were lowered, so that I could not see their color; nothing buttheir long lashes and delicate eyebrows. She continued reading. She musthave been deeply interested; I never saw a living form so motionless—Igazed on a tinted statue.
Being at that time blessed with long and keen vision, I saw thisbeautiful face with perfect distinctness. I saw even the blue veins thattraced their wanderings on the whiteness of her full throat.
I ought to have retreated as noiselessly as I came in, before mypresence was detected. But I was too much interested to move from thespot, for a f