my story. One night my door-bell was long and violentlyrung. The aged housekeeper arose and opened to the stranger, and thefigure of a man, whose complexion was deeply bronzed, and who was richlyclad in a foreign costume, with a poniard at his girdle, appeared underthe rays of Barbara's lantern. Her first impulse was one of terror, butthe stranger reassured her, and stated that he desired to see me at onceon matters relating to my holy calling. Barbara invited him upstairs,where I was on the point of retiring. The stranger told me that hismistress, a very noble lady, was lying at the point of death, anddesired to see a priest. I replied that I was prepared to follow him,took with me the sacred articles necessary for extreme unction, anddescended in all haste. Two horses black as the night itself stoodwithout the gate, pawing the ground with impatience, and veiling theirchests with long streams of smoky vapour exhaled from their nostrils. Heheld the stirrup and aided me to mount upon one; then, merely laying hishand upon the pommel of the saddle, he vaulted on the other, pressedthe animal's sides with his knees, and loosened rein. The horse boundedforward with the velocity of an arrow. Mine, of which the stranger heldthe bridle, also started off at a swift gallop, keeping up with hiscompanion. We devoured the road. The ground flowed backward beneath usin a long streaked line of pale gray, and the black silhouettes ofthe trees seemed fleeing by us on either side like an army in rout. Wepassed through a forest so profoundly gloomy that I felt my flesh creepin the chill darkness with superstitious fear. The showers of brightsparks which flew from the stony road under the ironshod feet of ourhorses remained glowing in our wake like a fiery trail; and had any oneat that hour of the night beheld us both--my guide and myself--he musthave taken us for two spectres riding upon nightmares. Witch-fires everand anon flitted across the road before us, and the night-birdsshrieked fearsomely in the depth of the woods beyond, where we beheldat intervals glow the phosphorescent eyes of wild cats. The manes of thehorses became more and more dishevelled, the sweat streamed over theirflanks, and their breath came through their nostrils hard and fast. Butwhen he found them slacking pace, the guide reanimated them by utteringa strange, gutteral, unearthly cry, and the gallop recommenced withfury. At last the whirlwind race ceased; a huge black mass piercedthrough with many bright points of light suddenly rose before us, thehoofs of our horses echoed louder upon a strong wooden drawbridge, andwe rode under a great vaulted archway which darkly yawned between twoenormous 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 elfinmagnificence of construction worthy of fairyland. A negro page--thesame who had before brought me the tablet from Clarimonde, and whomI instantly recognised--approached to aid me in dismounting, and themajor-domo, attired in black velvet with a gold chain about his neck,advanced to meet me, supporting himself upon an ivory cane. Large tearswere falling from his eyes and streaming over his cheeks and whitebeard. '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 lessbitterly than he, for I had learned that the dead one was none otherthan 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 abronze patern filled all the room with a wan, deceptive light, hereand there bringing out in the darkness at intervals some projectionof furniture or cornice. In a chiselled urn upon the table there was afaded white rose, whose leaves--excepting one that still held--had allfallen, like odorous tears, to the foot of the vase. A broken blackmask, a fan, and disguises of every variety, which were lying on thearmchairs, bore witness that death had entered suddenly and unannouncedinto that sumptuous dwelling. Without daring to cast my eyes upon thebed, I knelt down and commenced to repeat the Psalms for the Dead, withexceeding fervour, thanking God that He had placed the tomb betweenme and the memory of this woman, so that I might thereafter be able toutter her name in my prayers as a name for ever sanctified by death.But my fervour gradually weakened, and I fell insensibly into a reverie.That chamber bore no semblance to a chamber of death. In lieu of thefetid and cadaverous odours which I had been accustomed to breatheduring such funereal vigils, a languorous vapour of Oriental perfume--Iknow not what amorous odour of woman--softly floated through the tepidair. That pale light seemed rather a twilight gloom contrived forvoluptuous pleasure, than a substitute for the yellow-flickeringwatch-tapers which shine by the side of corpses. I thought upon thestrange destiny which enabled me to meet Clarimonde again at the verymoment when she was lost to me for ever, and a sigh of regretful anguishescaped from my breast. Then it seemed to me that some one behind mehad also sighed, and I turned round to look. It was only an echo. But inthat moment my eyes fell upon the bed of death which they had till thenavoided. The red damask curtains, decorated with large flowers worked inembroidery and looped up with gold bullion, permitted me to behold thefair dead, lying at full length, with hands joined upon her bosom. Shewas covered with a linen wrapping of dazzling whiteness, which formeda strong contrast with the gloomy purple of the hangings, and was of sofine a texture that it concealed nothing of her body's charming form,and allowed the eye to follow those beautiful outlines--undulating likethe neck of a swan--which even death had not robbed of their supplegrace. She seemed an alabaster statue executed by some skilful sculptorto place upon the tomb of a queen, or rather, perhaps, like a slumberingmaiden over whom the silent snow had woven a spotless veil.
I could no longer maintain my constrained attitude of prayer. The airof the alcove intoxicated me, that febrile perfume of half-faded rosespenetrated my very brain, and I commenced to pace restlessly up and downthe chamber, pausing at each turn before the bier to contemplate thegraceful corpse lying beneath the transparency of its shroud. Wildfancies came thronging to my brain. I thought to myself that she mightnot, perhaps, be really dead; that she might only have feigned death forthe 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 ofthe coverings, and slightly disarrange the long straight folds of thewinding-sheet.
And then I asked myself: 'Is this indeed Clarimonde? What proof have Ithat it is she? Might not that black page have passed into the serviceof some other lady? Surely, I must be going mad to torture and afflictmyself 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 withredoubled attention upon the object of my incertitude. Ah, must Iconfess it? That exquisite perfection of bodily form, although purifiedand made sacred by the shadow of death, affected me more voluptuouslythan it should have done; and that repose so closely resembled slumberthat one might well have mistaken it for such. I forgot that I had comethere to perform a funeral ceremony; I fancied myself a young bridegroomentering the chamber of the bride, who all modestly hides her fair face,and through coyness seeks to keep herself wholly veiled. Heartbrokenwith grief, yet wild with hope, shuddering at once with fear andpleasure, I bent over her and grasped the corner of the sheet. I liftedit back, holding my breath all the while through fear of waking her. Myarteries throbbed with such violence that I felt them hiss through mytemples, and the sweat poured from my forehead in streams, as though Ihad lifted a mighty slab of marble. There, indeed, lay Clarimonde, evenas I had seen her at the church on the day of my ordination. She was notless charming than then. With her, death seemed but a last coquetry. Thepallor of her cheeks, the less brilliant carnation of her lips, her longeyelashes lowered and relieving their dark fringe against that whiteskin, lent her an unspeakably seductive aspect of melancholy chastityand mental suffering; her long loose hair, still intertwined with somelittle blue flowers, made a shining pillow for her head, and veiled thenudity of her shoulders with its th
ick ringlets; her beautiful hands,purer, more diaphanous, than the Host, were crossed on her bosom in anattitude of pious rest and silent prayer, which served to counteract allthat might have proven otherwise too alluring--even after death--in theexquisite roundness and ivory polish of her bare arms from which thepearl bracelets had not yet been removed. I remained long in mutecontemplation, and the more I gazed, the less could I persuade myselfthat life had really abandoned that beautiful body for ever. I do notknow whether it was an illusion or a reflection of the lamplight, but itseemed to me that the blood was again commencing to circulate under thatlifeless pallor, although she remained all motionless. I laid my handlightly on her arm; it was cold, but not colder than her hand on theday when it touched mine at the portals of the church. I resumed myposition, bending my face above her, and bathing her cheek with the warmdew of my tears. Ah, what