LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2085, 29 October 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE SAINT-GABELLE INN. Ton would have been very fortnnate, my children, if yon had known my Uncle Bayle, because he alone knew more stories than yon have ever read. My uncle did not live in our little city of Mirepeix ; he did not lodge in our large house with red window shutters, which was the family residence. He was an advocate, and lived at Foix, and almost every Saturday we would see him coming on his horse, and onr joyous cries hailed him at a distance. Ihe servant, my old Jeannette, came immediately to salnte onr Uncle Bayle, who core fully informed himself as to the supper. Then, after having added or changed something in the bill of fare, he seated bimaelf in a large chair of carved wood, which we dragged up to the fire, and without delay we all began to cry, ‘A story! a story 1’ On this evening the cry was less boisterous, because we had formed a little conspiracy and no one dared to speak first. Finally, my pretty cousin Dorothy, the most talkative little girl of the house, and now the grave Superior of a convent of the Sisters of Charity, ventured to cry—

* A ghost story 1* and we replied altogether— 1 Yes, a ghost story !’ My uncle frowned and looked toward Jeannette, who was very much confused, and wished to appear absorbed in peppering her chicken pot-pie, and she really peppered It so well that we were not able to eat it. It was she, in fact, who had read ns repeatedly the story of the Spectre Leg and the Open Eye, and who had urged ua to make this demand.

‘ There are only fools or rogues who believe, or to pretend to believe, in ghosts.’ said my uncle in a severe tone. We all waited in silence, so much authority was there In his words, hut a moment of reflection seemed to calm him. We saw him smile, as if to himself, and he added, in a tone fall of sweetness —

* You want a ghost story, my children 2 All right; I will relate one to you which happened to me, se that it cannot be doubted.’

We gathered around him closer than usual; the lamp hung by a chain attached to the mantelpiece, and there onr uncle told bis story— One autumn evening, it must have been forty years ago, because I was scarcely twenty years old at the time, I was returnfrom Toulouse. I bad made a good journey, because I had already passed Auterive where some friends had urged me to pass the night, but I was very anxious to reach Swerdun, which, you know, is nine miles further, and I resumed my journey. I bad arrived almost in front of the Bolbonne Monastery, beyond the beautiful woods of Lecourien, where Father Vanlul (whofe Latin works yon will have to translate some day) composed his “Preadlnm Kusticum,” when a sudden and frightful storm, like those that come down from our mountains, unexpectedly broke forth. In less than no time the night became black and travelling impossible. I would certainly have asked shelter at the monastery, but the moment I took that resolution my horse, frightened at the flashes of lightning and noise of thunder, darted into a little bypath, ard carried me with him in spite of all my efforts to the contrary. Notwithstanding his rapidity, I soon recognised that he had taken the road to St. Gabelle, and that he was leading me there all right Some day this summer wo will visit St. Gabelle, where the church is bnilt on the top of a hill, commanding a vit-w of the entire city, the foot of which is higher than the roofs of the highest houses. I will take yon to see the choir balcony bnilt entirely of oak. with beautiful oarving. and we wi l ask M. Lanigue to play for us on the organ, which is perhaps the best In all France. In the meantime my horse galloped on until he stopped of his own accoid as he had started, and I perceived that I was at the door of an inn.

I entered. The company was numerous, a mixed crowd of Spanish merchants and voang sportsmen of the vicinity, overtaken like myself by the storm. After drying ourselves at the fire composed of a dezm vine branches which had been thrown into the fireplace, supper was announced, and we all sat down to the table. At first the conversation tamed on the frightful weather One had been thrown from his horse; another had been detained an hoar in getting himself and oart out of a pool of mnd. Finally some one exclaimed ; 'lt is an infernal night, jnat the time for a meeting of witches.’

This remark, which was very simple, gave place to a singlar observation, made in a tone still more singular, ‘Sorcerers and ghosts prefer for their meeting a beautiful moonlight night to a night so unpleasant as this. ’ We all gazed at the man who said this, and saw that it was one of the Spanish merchants. You have often seen them, my children, with their loggings and short breeches open at the knee, and showing then naked, hairy legs. You know what a mingled air of pride and misery they have, with their eapadrilles attached to their feet by narrow bands of leather ; their red cloak, which they we»- so gracefully; their brown faces, browned with black hair, and their largo gold earrings. He who had spoken had, more than any you have seen, that savage bearing which is characteristic of them all.

Kone of ns had thongbt of rcp’ji-g to this observation, made in a grave an . severe voice, when my neighhro, a young man with a frank and open manner, bn sc out laughing as he said, ‘ It appears that this gentleman knows the habits of ghosts, and tbit they have told him that they do not Ika to get wet or dirty.’ _ He had not finished the sentence when the Spaniard threw on him a terrible look, as he said,

‘ Young man, do not speak r o lightly of things you know nothing about,’ *Do you think you can m«ke me believe there are ghosts,’ replied my neighbor, disdainfully, ‘Perhaps,’ replied the Spaniard, 'if you had the courage to look at them.’ The young man jumped up, rod wilh anger, but calmed himself, and eat down again quietly, saying, * You would have paid dearly for that remark if it were not that of a fool. ’

• That of a fool,’ cried the Spaniard, jumping up in his turn * WVII, then,’ added he, slapping his fist on the table and throwing down a bi,r leathern purse. 1 Here are thirty quadruples (about $216) which I offer to lose if within an hour I do not make you see. yen who are so positive, the face of one of your friends that you will name, let him bo d-ai for ten years, and if, after having recognised him, you dare to permit his mon.h to attach a kiss to yours.’ The Spaniard bad an air so terrible in saying these words that w-e all started. My neighbour alone prearrved his laughing, mocking manner, and replied—- * Ton will do this, you !’ ‘ Yes,’ replied the Spaniard, ‘ ard I wi! lose thirty quadruples if I do not do it, on condition that you will lo e an equal amount if I keep my promise and you acknowledge it’

The young man was silent a moment, then be said, gayly—- * Thirty quadruple ] My worthy sorcerer, that is more than a student of Toulouse ever possessed ; but if you will keep your word for the five quadruples which are here I am your man.’

’ The Spaniard silently took his purse again, and said scornfully—- ‘ Ah, you back out, my little gentleman f ' I back ont!’ cried the young min. ‘All, If I had the thirty quadruples you would sec if 1 backed out’

* Here are four,’ cried I, ‘ which I add to your stake.’ I had no sooner made this proposition than five or six persons, attraote.l like myself by the singularity of this chal'euge, ttfsrad to take part in it, and in less than no time the Spaniard’s amonnt was covered. This man seemed so sure of bis work that ha confided the stake to the young student, and we got ready for the demonstration. To that end wo selected a small pavilion, perfectly isolated, in the garden, so that there conld be no deception. We searched it minutely ; we speared ourselves that there were no other openings than a window secnrety fastened and a door which was closed in the same manner, and at which we all stood after we had left the young man alone in the pavilion. We had placed writing materials on tho table and took away all the lights. We were eagerly interested in the issue of this scene, and were all keeping a profound silence, when the Spaniard, who had remained among ns, commenced to sing in a sweet and sad voice a seng which may bo rendered ae follows:

“ Noiselessly crackling, the coffin has broken in the half-opened tomb. And the white phantom’s black foot is resting on the grass, cold and green.” After this first verse he raised his voice solemnly and said, \ Yon have asked to see your friend, FVangoia Tiolet, who was drowned three years ago in crossing the Pensagcoks Ferry. Wbafc do you see ?’

‘I see,’ replied tho young man, 'a pale light which has risen near the window, but it has no form, and is only an indistinct mist.’

We all stood stupefied. ‘Are yon afraid V said the Spaniard, in a strong voice.

1 1 am not afraid,’ replied the student, in a voice no lees confident.

We scarcely breathed. The Spaniard was silent for a moment, then he stamped on the ground with bis foot three different times, and began all at ouoo to sing again, but in a higher and more sombre voice :

* And the white phantom, whose face has been withered by the surge < f the waves, wipes with his shroud the water from hia garments and hair.’ The song finished, the Spaniard turns again toward the door, and, giving to his voice an accent more and more solemn, be said,

‘You, who wished to pry into the mysteries of the tomb, what do you see 2’ We listened with anxiety. The student replied in a calm voice, bnt like a man who is describing a thing as it happens: ‘ I see this vapor, which grows larger, and takes the form of a phantom. This phantom has the head covered with a veil. Is remains in the same place where it arose.' ‘ Are yon afraid 2 asked the Spaniard, in an insulting voice. The prond and brave voice of the young man replied, * I am not afraid.’ We dared not look at each other, so great was our surprise, so occupied wera we in following the singular movements of the Spaniard, who began to raise his arms above his head, while invokingth.ee times a name horrible to pronounce, after which be chanted the third verse of bis infernal song, but in a voice singularly trinmp bait. * And the phantom said in leaving the tomb, in order that he may re mgnisa me, 1 will go toward my friend, proud, smiling and beautiful as in my youth.’ The Spaniard finished his verse and repeated his ten ible question ; * What do yon see 2’ * I see, ’ replied the atuden*-, * the phantom advances—lt raises its veil—it is Fransoia Violet—he approaches the table—he writes —he has written ;it is his i ignature!’ * Are you afraid 2’ cried the Spaniard furiously. There was a moment of inexpressible silence, and the student replied with more strength than assurance, * No, I am not afraid,’ Immediately, as if se'zed with a fit d madness, the Spaniard commenced to sing with a strange howl this la-t horrible verse; * And the phantom said to the mocking man, come, then, that I may touch yon, pot your hand in my hand, press your heart to my heart, your month to my mouth.’ ‘ What do you see 2’ cried the Spaniard in a voice of thunder.

' It comes —it approaches—it pursues me —lt extends its arms—it will seiaa me. Help ! Help !' * Ato you afraid f cried the Spaniard wilt a ferocious joy. A piercing cry, then a smothered groan was the only answer to this terrible question. * Help that impudent young man!’ said the Spaniard to ua in a cruel voice. ‘ I have, I think, won the wager, bat it is enough for me to have given him a lesson. Let him keep the money and bo mere prudent in the future.’

Ho went away rapidly after these words. We were utterly dumbfounded. We opened the door and found the student in horrible convultions. The paper, signed with the name of Francois Violet, was on the tabic. Scarcely bad the student reoovere 1 when ho demanded to know who was the infamous sorcerer who had subjected him to this horrible profanation ; he wished to kill him. He searched for him all through the inn, and darted off like a madman in pursuit of him. And that is the story my children. Wo were all tremblng With fright, huddling c’oaely about onr Uncle Bayle, not daring to look aronnl us. Jeannette herseil had forgotten her roast which had fallen into the fire and smelled very strongly as it burned. No one had the courage to speak ; then I gathered strength enough to say to my uncle. ‘ And bow is it, after this, yon do net believe in ghosts ?’ * Because,’ arid my uncle, * neither the young man nor the sore rer were ever seen afterward, nor the beautiful quadruples which the other travellers and myself had furn’shed to cover the wager proposed by the pretended Spaniard ; and beoanse these two rogues r.a ried them away after having played under onr eyes a comedy which wo believed in like a pack of rimpletcns, and which I found very expensive, but whi«h will not have cost too much if it enables me to fully persuade yon that none but imbeciles or'rogues believe or protend to believe ki ghosts,’