Dangerous Letters

Chapter Eight

Letter XVIII

October 19, 17--

Dearest Hannah,

I find, after all, by your letter of yesterday, that Mrs D—— is resolved to marry the old greasy curate. She was always high-church in an excessive degree; and, you know, she used to speak of Sacheveral as an apostolic saint, who was worthy to sit in the same place with St Paul, if not a step above him. It is a matter, however, very doubtful to me, whether it is not still more the man than the apostle that Mrs D—— looks to in the present alliance. Though at the age of forty, she is, I assure you, very far from being cold and insensible; her fire may be covered with ashes, but it is not extinguished.—Don't be deceived, my friend, by that prudish and sanctified air.—Warm devotions is no equivocal mark of warm passions; besides, I know it is a fact, (of which I have proofs in hand, which I will tell you by word of mouth) that our learned and holy prude is exceedingly disposed to use the means, supposed in the primitive command, let what will come of the end.

The curate indeed is very filthy.—Such a red, spungy, warty nose! Such a squint!—In short, he is ugly beyond expression; and, what ought naturally to render him peculiarly displeasing to one of Mrs D——'s constitution and propensities, he is stricken in years. Nor do I really know how they will live. He has but forty-five pounds a-year—she but a trifling sum; so that they are likely to feast upon love and ecclesiastical history which will be very empty food, without a proper mixture of beef and pudding. Nevertheless, if Mrs D——, instead of spending whole days in reading Collier, Hicks, and vile translations of Plato and Epictetus; will but form the resolution of taking care of her house, and minding her dairy, things may go tolerably. It is not likely that their tender loves will give them many sweet babes to provide for.

You have, at least, given me great entertainment to chuckle over – for, as much as I sometimes enjoy this strange rambling place, it is a very serious domain. Why, Rosa remarked upon that just yesterday when we were in search of little Villette who had disappeared once again. "What a wild lonely place this is, ma'am! I am sometimes quite frightened to live in it. How often have I wished myself in ------ again! I little thought, when I left to see the country, that I should ever be shut up in such a place as this, or I would never have forsaken my own home! Watch your step, ma'amselle, down this turning. I can almost believe in giants again, and such like, for this is just like one of their castles; and, some night or other, I suppose I shall see fairies too, hopping about in that great old hall, that looks more like a church, with its huge pillars, than anything else."

"Yes," I said, smiling, "if we come to the corridor, about midnight, and look down into the hall, we shall certainly see it illuminated with a thousand lamps, and the fairies tripping in gay circles to the sound of delicious music; for it is in such places as this, you know, that they come to hold their revels. But I am afraid, Rosa, you will not be able to pay the necessary penance for such a sight: and, if once they hear your voice, the whole scene will vanish in an instant."

"O! if you will bear me company, ma'amselle, I will come to the corridor, this very night, and I promise you I will hold my tongue; it shall not be my fault if the show vanishes.—But do you think they will come?"

"I cannot promise that with certainty, but I will venture to say, it will not be your fault if the enchantment should vanish."

"Well, ma'amselle, that is saying more than I expected of you: but I am not so much afraid of fairies, as of ghosts, and they say there are a plentiful many of them about the castle: now I should be frightened to death, if I should chance to see any of them. But hush! ma'amselle, walk softly! I have thought, several times, something passed by me."

"Ridiculous!" I said, "you must not indulge such fancies."

"O ma'am! they are not fancies, for aught I know; B-----------, the cook, says these dismal galleries and halls are fit for nothing but ghosts to live in; and I verily believe, if I live long in them I shall turn to one myself!"

"I hope," I said, remembering Jacques' warning about the Marquis' distaste for such rumours, "you will not suffer the Master to hear of these weak fears; they would highly displease him."

"No, no, I do know better than to do so; down this passage, ma'amselle; this leads to a back staircase. O! if I see anything, I shall be frightened out of my wits!"

"That will scarcely be possible," I said, trying to comfort her though I had begun to feel a sense of misgiving myself from the talk of ghosts and fairies so that, as we wandered the passages and galleries, calling out for Villette, I found myself also frightened by their intricacies and desolation. We were now quite lost, and though we called aloud for assistance, we were beyond the hearing of the servants who mostly kept to the upper floors of the house. I opened the door of a chamber on the left.

"O! do not go in there, ma'amselle," said Rosa, "you will only lose yourself further."

"Bring the light forward," I instructed, "we may possibly find our way through these rooms."

Rosa stood at the door, in an attitude of hesitation, with the light held up to show the chamber, but the feeble rays spread through not half of it. "Why do you hesitate?" I asked, "let me see whither this room leads."

It opened into a suite of spacious and ancient apartments, some of which were hung with tapestry, and others wainscoted with cedar and black larch-wood. What furniture there was, seemed to be almost as old as the rooms, and retained an appearance of grandeur, though covered with dust, and dropping to pieces with the damps, and with age.

"How cold these rooms are, ma'amselle!" said Rosa as she advanced reluctantly: "nobody has lived in them for many, many years, they say. Do let us go."

"They may open upon the great staircase, perhaps."

As we continued, the coldness became more apparent; the wallpaper giving way to the great stone slabs of foundation as we found the entry to the cellars.

"Oh – ma'amselle – I know this – "

Turning around, I saw that Rosa's countenance had grown pale. "And pray, what here terrifies you so, my good girl?"

"Nothing, ma'amselle: I have heard nothing, only let us find our way out."

"Surely, the best way is through – "

"What! I, ma'amselle!—I! not for the world!"

Her terror was contagious, but I steeled myself against it; after all, it was sheer folly to fear a chamber for its chill and darkness. Taking her arm firmly, I meant to lead her inside, but we were stopped by a voice –

"What are you doing?"

It was Villette, somehow appearing right behind us though we had not heard anything but the whistling of the draft.

"Searching for you!" I rejoined, "And what were you doing, mademoiselle?"

She shrugged her delicate shoulders. "Playing. Is it supper yet?"

As she led us to the dining hall, I marvelled at the ease with which she navigated the labyrinth of corridors. Though, I suppose, if I had lived most of my life in the chateau I would be just as familiar with it.

"You must not disappear for hours on end," I scolded her, "why, you have missed all of our afternoon classes!"

"The Carolingian Empire and West Francia are boring. Teach me something interesting. I want to read more poetry!"

"Your father – "

"I will speak to my father."

That was all that was said before we reached the principal staircase and Madame L--- appeared with chastisement of her own over our lateness. What a long letter this has become when I only meant to demonstrate how this place sometimes induces unreasonable fears – but I must quit this subject before fancifulness renders my pen so fertile, that, after having fatigued you with a long letter, I would surfeit you with a supplement twice as long. Besides, a violent headache advertises me that it is time to lay down my pen and get me to bed. Adieu, my dear friend. Yours very affectionately, &c,

Charlotte