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Vala, or The Four Zoas/Night the Second

Rising upon his Couch of Death Albion beheld his Sons Turning his Eyes outward to Self. losing the Divine Vision Albion calld Urizen & said. Behold these sickning Spheres Whence is this Voice of Enion that soundeth in my Porches Take thou possession! take this Scepter! go forth in my might For I am weary, & must sleep in the dark sleep of Deatht Thy brother Luvah hath smitten me but pity thou his youth Tho thou hast not pitid my Age O Urizen Prince of Light Urizen rose from the bright Feast like a star thro' the evening sky Exulting at the voice that calld him from the Feast of envy First he beheld the body of Man pale, cold, the horrors of death Beneath his feet shot thro' him as he stood in the Human Brain And all its golden porches grew pale with his sickening light No more Exulting for he saw Eternal Death beneath Pale he beheld futurity; pale he beheld the Abyss Where Enion blind & age bent wept in direful hunger craving All rav'ning like the hungry worm, & like the silent grave

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Mighty was the draught of Voidness to draw Existence in Terrific Urizen strode above, in fear & pale dismay He saw the indefinite space beneath & his soul shrunk with horror His feet upon the verge of Non Existence; his voice went forth Luvah & Vala trembling & shrinking, beheld the great Work master And heard his Word! Divide ye bands influence by influence Build we a Bower for heavens darling in the grizly deep Build we the Mundane Shell around the Rock of Albion The Bands of Heaven flew thro the air singing & shouting to Urizen Some fix'd the anvil, some the loom erected, some the plow And harrow formd & framd the harness of silver & ivory The golden compasses, the quadrant & the rule & balance They erected the furnaces, they formd the anvils of gold beaten in mills Where winter beats incessant, fixing them firm on their base The bellows began to blow & the Lions of Urizen stood round the anvil

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And the leopards coverd with skins of beasts tended the roaring fires Sublime distinct their lineaments divine of human beautyt The tygers of wrath called the horses of instruction from their mangers They unloos'd them & put on the harness of gold & silver & ivory In human forms distinct they stood round Urizen prince of Light Petrifying all the Human Imagination into rock & sand Groans ran along Tyburns brook and along the River of Oxford Among the Druid Temples. Albion groand on Tyburns brook Albion gave his loud death groan The Atlantic Mountains trembled Aloft the Moon fled with a cry the Sun with streams of blood From Albions Loins fled all Peoples and Nations of the Earth Fled with the noise of Slaughter & the stars of heaven Fled Jerusalem came down in a dire ruin over all the Earth She fell cold from Lambeths Vales in groans & Dewy death The dew of anxious souls the death-sweat of the dying In every pillard hall & arched roof of Albions skies The brother & the brother bathe in blood upon the Severn The Maiden weeping by. The father & the mother with The Maidens father & her mother fainting over the body And the Young Man the Murderer fleeing over the mountains Reuben slept on Penmaenmawr & Levi slept on Snowdon Their eyes their ears nostrils & tongues roll outward they behold What is within now seen without they are raw to the hungry wind They become Nations far remote in a little & dark Land The Daughters of Albion girded around their garments of Needlework Stripping Jerusalems curtains from mild demons of the hills Across Europe & Asia to China & Japan like lightenings They go forth & return to Albion on his rocky couch Gwendolen Ragan Sabrina Gonorill Mehetabel Cordella Boadicea Conwenna Estrild Gwinefrid Ignoge Cambel	30 Binding Jerusalems Children in the dungeons of Babylon They play before the Armies before the hounds of Nimrod While The Prince of Light on Salisbury plain among the druid stone Rattling the adamantine chains & hooks heave up the ore In mountainous masses, plung'd in furnaces, & they shut & seald The furnaces a time & times; all the while blew the North His cloudy bellows & the South & East & dismal West And all the while the plow of iron cut the dreadful furrows In Ulro beneath Beulah where the Dead wail Night & Day Luvah was cast into the Furnaces of affliction & sealed And Vala fed in cruel delight, the furnaces with fire Stern Urizen beheld urg'd by necessity to keep The evil day afar, & if perchance with iron power He might avert his own despair; in woe & fear he saw

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Vala incircle round the furnaces where Luvah was clos'd	In joy she heard his howlings, & forgot he was her Luvah With whom she walkd in bliss, in times of innocence & youth Hear ye the voice of Luvah from the furnaces of Urizen If I indeed am Valas King & ye O sons of Ment	5 The workmanship of Luvahs hands; in times of Everlasting When I calld forth the Earth-worm from the cold & dark obscure I nurturd her I fed her with my rains & dews, she grew A scaled Serpent, yet I fed her tho' she hated me Day after day she fed upon the mountains in Luvahs sight I brought her thro' the Wilderness, a dry & thirsty land And I commanded springs to rise for her in the black desart Till she became a Dragon winged bright & poisonoust I opend all the floodgates of the heavens to quench her thirst

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And I commanded the Great deep to hide her in his hand Till she became a little weeping Infant a span long I carried her in my bosom as a man carries a lamb I loved her I gave her all my soul & my delight I hid her in soft gardens & in secret bowers of Summer Weaving mazes of delight along the sunny Paradise Inextricable labyrinths, She bore me sons & daughters And they have taken her away & hid her from my sight They have surrounded me with walls of iron & brass, O Lambt Of God clothed in Luvahs garments little knowest thout Of death Eternal that we all go to Eternal Death To our Primeval Chaos in fortuitous concourse of incoherent Discordant principles of Love & Hate I suffer affliction Because I love. for I was love but hatred awakes in met And Urizen who was Faith & Certainty is changd to Doubt The hand of Urizen is upon me because I blotted out That Human delusion to deliver all the sons of Godt From bondage of the Human form, O first born Son of Light O Urizen my enemy I weep for thy stern ambition But weep in vain O when will you return Vala the Wanderer

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These were the words of Luvah patient in afflictions Reasoning from the loins in the unreal forms of Ulros night And when Luvah age after age was quite melted with woe The fires of Vala faded like a shadow cold & pale An evanescent shadow. last she fell a heap of Ashes Beneath the furnaces a woful heap in living death Then were the furnaces unscald with spades & pickaxes Roaring let out the fluid, the molten metal ran in channels Cut by the plow of ages held in Urizens strong hand In many a valley, for the Bulls of Luvah dragd the Plow With trembling horror pale aghast the Children of Mant Stood on the infinite Earth & saw these visions in the air In waters & in Earth beneath they cried to one another What are we terrors to one another. Come O brethren wherefore Was this wide Earth spread all abroad. not for wild beasts to roam But many stood silent & busied in their families And many said We see no Visions in the darksom air Measure the course of that sulphur orb that lights the darksom day Set stations on this breeding Earth & let us buy & sell Others arose & schools Erected forming Instruments To measure out the course of heaven. Stern Urizen beheld In woe his brethren & his Sons in darkning woe lamenting Upon the winds in clouds involvd Uttering his voice in thunders Commanding all the work with care & power & severity Then siezd the Lions of Urizen their work, & heated in the forge Roar the bright masses, thund'ring beat the hammers, many a pyramid Is form'd & thrown down thund'ring into the deeps of Non Entity Heated red hot they hizzing rend their way down many a league Till resting. each his [center] finds; suspended there they stand Casting their sparkles dire abroad into the dismal deep For measurd out in orderd spaces the Sons of Urizen With compasses divide the deep; they the strong scales erect

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That Luvah rent from the faint Heart of the Fallen Man And weigh the massy Cubes, then fix them in their awful stationst And all the time in Caverns shut, the golden Looms erected First spun, then wove the Atmospheres, there the Spider & Worm Plied the wingd shuttle piping shrill thro' all the list'ning threads Beneath the Caverns roll the weights of lead & spindles of iron The enormous warp & woof rage direful in the affrighted deep While far into the vast unknown, the strong wing'd Eagles bend Their venturous flight, in Human forms distinct; thro darkness deep They bear the woven draperies; on golden hooks they hang abroad	10 The universal curtains & spread out from Sun to Sun The vehicles of light, they separate the furious particles Into mild currents as the water mingles with the wine. While thus the Spirits of strongest wing enlighten the dark deep The threads are spun & the cords twisted & drawn out; then the weak Begin their work; & many a net is netted; many a net

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Spread & many a Spirit caught, innumerable the nets Innumerable the gins & traps; & many a soothing flute Is form'd & many a corded lyre, outspread over the immense In cruel delight they trap the listeners, & in cruel delight Bind them, condensing the strong energies into little compass Some became seed of every plant that shall be planted; some The bulbous roots, thrown up together into barns & garners Then rose the Builders; First the Architect divine his plan Unfolds, The wondrous scaffold reard all round the infinite Quadrangular the building rose the heavens squared by a line. Trigon & cubes divide the elements in finite bonds Multitudes without number work incessant: the hewn stone Is placd in beds of mortar mingled with the ashes of Vala Severe the labour, female slaves the mortar trod oppressed Twelve halls after the names of his twelve sons composd The wondrous building & three Central Domes after the Names Of his three daughters were encompassd by the twelve bright halls Every hall surrounded by bright Paradises of Delight In which are towns & Cities Nations Seas Mountains & Riverst Each Dome opend toward four halls & the Three Domes Encompassd The Golden Hall of Urizen whose western side glowd bright With ever streaming fires beaming from his awful limbs His Shadowy Feminine Semblance here reposd on a White Couch Or hoverd oer his Starry head & when he smild she brightend Like a bright Cloud in harvest. but when Urizen frownd She wept In mists over his carved throne & when he turnd his back Upon his Golden hall & sought the Labyrinthine porches Of his wide heaven Trembling, cold in paling fears she sat A Shadow of Despair therefore toward the West Urizen formd A recess in the wall for fires to glow upon the pale Females limbs in his absence & her Daughters oft upon A Golden Altar burnt perfumes with Art Celestial formd Foursquare sculpturd & sweetly Engravd to please their shadowy mothert As[c]ending into her misty garments the blue smoke rolld to revive Her cold limbs in the absence of her Lord. Also her sons With lives of Victims sacrificed upon an altar of brass On the East side. Revivd her Soul with lives of beasts & birds Slain on the Altar up ascending into her cloudy bosom Of terrible workmanship the Altar labour of ten thousand Slaves One thousand Men of wondrous power spent their lives in its formation It stood on twelve steps namd after the names of her twelve sons And was Erected at the chief entrance of Urizens hall When Urizen returnd from his immense labours & travels Descending She reposd beside him folding him around In her bright skirts. Astonishd & Confounded he beheld Her shadowy form now Separate he shudderd & was silent Till her caresses & her tears revivd him to life & joy Two wills they had two intellects & not as in times of old This Urizen percievd & silent brooded in darkning Clouds To him his Labour was but Sorrow & his Kingdom was Repentance He drave the Male Spirits all away from Ahania And she drave all the Females from him away Los joyd & Enitharmon laughd, saying Let us go down And see this labour & sorrow; They went down to see the woes Of Vala & the woes of Luvah, to draw in their delights And Vala like a shadow oft appeard to Urizen

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The King of Light beheld her mourning among the Brick kilns compelld To labour night & day among the fires, her lamenting voice Is heard when silent night returns & the labourers take their rest O Lord wilt thou not look upon our sore afflictions Among these flames incessant labouring, our hard masters laugh At all our sorrow. We are made to turn the wheel for water To carry the heavy basket on our scorched shoulders, to sift The sand & ashes, & to mix the clay with tears & repentance I see not Luvah as of old I only see his feet Like pillars of fire travelling thro darkness & non entity The times are now returnd upon us, we have given ourselves To scorn and now are scorned by the slaves of our enemies Our beauty is coverd over with clay & ashes, & our backs Furrowd with whips, & our flesh bruised with the heavy basket Forgive us O thou piteous one whom we have offended, forgive The weak remaining shadow of Vala that returns in sorrow to thee. Thus she lamented day & night, compelld to labour & sorrow Luvah in vain her lamentations heard; in vain his love Brought him in various forms before her still she knew him not

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Still she despisd him, calling on his name & knowing him not Still hating still professing love, still labouring in the smoke And Los & Enitharmon joyd, they drank in tenfold joy From all the sorrow of Luvah & the labour of Urizen And Enitharmon joyd Plotting to rend the secret cloud To plant divisions in the Soul of Urizen & Ahania But infinitely beautiful the wondrous work arose In sorrow & care. a Golden World whose porches round the heavens And pillard halls & rooms recievd the eternal wandering stars A wondrous golden Building; many a window many a door And many a division let in & out into the vast unknown [Cubed] in [window square] immoveable, within its walls & cielings The heavens were closd and spirits mournd their bondage night and day And the Divine Vision appeard in Luvahs robes of blood Thus was the Mundane shell builded by Urizens strong power

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Sorrowing went the Planters forth to plant, the Sowers to sow They dug the channels for the rivers & they pourd abroad The seas & lakes, they reard the mountains & the rocks & hills On broad pavilions, on pillard roofs & porches & high towers In beauteous order, thence arose soft clouds & exhalations Wandering even to the sunny Cubes of light & heat For many a window ornamented with sweet ornaments Lookd out into the World of Tharmas, where in ceaseless torrents His billows roll where monsters wander in the foamy paths On clouds the Sons of Urizen beheld Heaven walled round They weighd & orderd all & Urizen comforted saw The wondrous work flow forth like visible out of the invisible For the Divine Lamb Even Jesus who is the Divine Vision Permitted all lest Man should fall into Eternal Death For when Luvah sunk down himself put on the robes of blood Lest the state calld Luvah should cease. & the Divine Vision Walked in robes of blood till he who slept should awake Thus were the stars of heaven created like a golden chain To bind the Body of Man to heaven from failing into the Abyss Each took his station, & his course began with sorrow & caret In sevens & tens & fifties, hundreds, thousands, numberd all According to their various powers. Subordinate to Urizen And to his sons in their degrees & to his beauteous daughters Travelling in silent majesty along their orderd ways In right lined paths outmeasurd by proportions of number weight And measure. mathematic motion wondrous. along the deep In fiery pyramid. or Cube. or unornamented pillar Of fire far shining. travelling along even to its destind end Then falling down. a terrible space recovring in winter dire Its wasted strength. it back returns upon a nether course Till fired with ardour fresh recruited in its humble season It rises up on high all summer till its wearied course Turns into autumn. such the period of many worlds Others triangular right angled course maintain. others obtuse Acute Scalene, in simple paths. but others move In intricate ways biquadrate. Trapeziums Rhombs Rhomboids Paralellograms. triple & quadruple. polygonic In their amazing hard subdued course in the vast deep

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And Los & Enitharmon were drawn down by their desires Descending sweet upon the wind among soft harps & voicest To plant divisions in the Soul of Urizen & Ahania To conduct the Voice of Enion to Ahanias midnight pillow Urizen saw & envied & his imagination was filled Repining he contemplated the past in his bright sphere Terrified with his heart & spirit at the visions of futurity That his dread fancy formd before him in the unformd void For Los & Enitharmon walkd forth on the dewy Earth Contracting or expanding their all flexible senses At will to murmur in the flowers small as the honey bee At will to stretch across the heavens & step from star to star Or standing on the Earth erect, or on the stormy waves Driving the storms before them or delighting in sunny beams While round their heads the Elemental Gods kept harmony And Los said. Lo the Lilly pale & the rose reddning fierce Reproach thee & the beamy gardens sicken at thy beauty I grasp thy vest in my strong hand in vain. like water springs In the bright sands of Los. evading my embrace. then I alone Wander among the virgins of the summer Look they cry The poor forsaken Los mockd by the worm the shelly snail The Emmet & the beetle hark they laugh & mock at Los Enitharmon answerd Secure now from the smitings of thy Power Demon of fury If the God enrapturd me infolds In clouds of sweet obscurity my beauteous form dissolving Howl thou over the body of death tis thine But if among the virginst Of summer I have seen thee sleep & turn thy cheek delighted Upon the rose or lilly pale. or on a bank where sleep The beamy daughters of the light starting they rise they flee From thy fierce love for tho I am dissolvd in the bright God My spirit still pursues thy false love over rocks & valleys Los answerd Therefore fade I thus dissolvd in rapturd trance Thou canst repose on clouds of secrecy while oer my limbs Cold dews & hoary frost creeps thro I lie on banks of summer Among the beauties of the World Cold & repining Los	35 Still dies for Enitharmon nor a spirit springs from my dead corse Then I am dead till thou revivest me with thy sweet song Now taking on Ahanias form & now the form of Enion I know thee not as once I knew thee in those blessed fields Where memory wishes to repose among the flocks of Tharmas Enitharmon answerd Wherefore didst thou throw thine arms around Ahanias Image I decievd thee & will still decieve Urizen saw thy sin & hid his beams in darkning Clouds I still keep watch altho I tremble & wither across the heavens In strong vibrations of fierce jealousy for thou art mine Created for my will my slave tho strong tho I am weak Farewell the God calls me away I depart in my sweet bliss She fled vanishing on the wind And left a dead cold corse In Los's arms howlings began over the body of death Los spoke. Thy God in vain shall call thee if by my strong power I can infuse my dear revenge into his glowing breast Then jealousy shall shadow all his mountains & Ahania Curse thee thou plague of woful Los & seek revenge on thee So saying in deep sobs he languishd till dead he also fell Night passd & Enitharmon eer the dawn returnd in bliss She sang Oer Los reviving him to Life his groans were terrible But thus she sang. I sieze the sphery harp I strike the strings At the first Sound the Golden sun arises from the Deep And shakes his awful hair The Eccho wakes the moon to unbind her silver locks The golden sun bears on my song And nine bright spheres of harmony rise round the fiery King The joy of woman is the Death of her most best beloved Who dies for Love of her In torments of fierce jealousy & pangs of adoration. The Lovers night bears on my song And the nine Spheres rejoice beneath my powerful controll They sing unceasing to the notes of my immortal hand The solemn silent moon Reverberates the living harmony upon my limbs The birds & beasts rejoice & play And every one seeks for his mate to prove his inmost joy Furious & terrible they sport & rend the nether deeps The deep lifts up his rugged head And lost in infinite hum[m]ing wings vanishes with a cry The fading cry is ever dying The living voice is ever living in its inmost joy Arise you little glancing wings & sing your infant joy Arise & drink your bliss For every thing that lives is holy for the source of life Descends to be a weeping babe For the Earthworm renews the moisture of the sandy plain Now my left hand I stretch to earth beneath And strike the terrible string I wake sweet joy in dens of sorrow & I plant a smile In forests of affliction And wake the bubbling springs of life in regions of dark death O I am weary lay thine hand upon me or I faint I faint beneath these beams of thine For thou hast touchd my five senses & they answerd thee Now I am nothing & I sink And on the bed of silence sleep till thou awakest me Thus sang the Lovely one in Rapturous delusive trance Los heard reviving he siezd her in his arms delusive hopes Kindling She led him into Shadows & thence fled outstretchd Upon the immense like a bright rainbow weeping & smiling & fading Thus livd Los driving Enion far into the deathful infinite That he may also draw Ahania's spirit into her Vortex Ah happy blindness Enion sees not the terrors of the uncertaint Thus Enion wails from the dark deep, the golden heavens tremble

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I am made to sow the thistle for wheat; the nettle for a nourishing dainty I have planted a false oath in the earth, it has brought forth a poison tree I have chosen the serpent for a councellor & the dog For a schoolmaster to my children I have blotted out from light & living the dove & nightingale And I have caused the earth worm to beg from door to door I have taught the thief a secret path into the house of the just I have taught pale artifice to spread his nets upon the morning My heavens are brass my earth is iron my moon a clod of clay My sun a pestilence burning at noon & a vapour of death in night What is the price of Experience do men buy it for a song Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No it is bought with the price Of all that a man hath his house his wife his children Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy And in the witherd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain It is an easy thing to triumph in the summers sun And in the vintage & to sing on the waggon loaded with corn It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer

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To listen to the hungry ravens cry in wintry season When the red blood is filld with wine & with the marrow of lambs It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan To see a god on every wind & a blessing on every blast To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies house To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, & the sickness that cuts off his children While our olive & vine sing & laugh round our door & our children bring fruits & flowers Then the groan & the dolor are quite forgotten & the slave grinding at the mill And the captive in chains & the poor in the prison, & the soldier in the field When the shatterd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity Thus could I sing & thus rejoice, but it is not so with me! Ahania heard the Lamentation & a swift Vibration Spread thro her Golden frame. She rose up eer the dawn of day When Urizen slept on his couch. drawn thro unbounded space Onto the margin of Non Entity the bright Female came There she beheld the Spectrous form of Enion in the Void And never from that moment could she rest upon her pillow

End of the Second Night

title: Vala, or The Four Zoas/Night the Second


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Rh under a palm-tree with their mothers; Paul inviting the lovely child to cross a brook. In the stables are a hundred beautiful horses, the choice of Arabia, Australasia, Normandy, Limousin, etc., each the model of his race, with fiery eyes, legs sinewy and slender, tails to the ground, and manes never curtailed. Among them still remain several that have borne the great Napoleon. From here we walked again through woods and gardens; thus, my Lucy, once more have I been at Versailles, and much have I enjoyed it. September 15. France, my dearest friend, is indeed, poor! This day I have attended at the Royal Academy of Sciences, and had all my plates spread over the different large tables, and they were viewed by about one hundred persons. "Beau! bien beau!" issued from every mouth, but, "Quel ouvrage!" "Quel prix!" as well. I said that I had thirty subscribers at Manchester; they seemed surprised, but acknowledged that England, the little isle of England, alone was able to support poor Audubon. Poor France! thy fine climate, thy rich vineyards, and the wishes of the learned avail nothing; thou art a destitute beggar, and not the powerful friend thou wast represented to be. Now I see plainly how happy, or lucky, or prudent I was, not to follow friend Melly's enthusiastic love of country. Had I come first to France my work never would have had even a beginning; it would have perished like a flower in October. It happened that a gentleman who saw me at Versailles yesterday remembered my face, and spoke to me; he is the under secretary of this famous society, and he wrote for me a note to be presented to the Minister of the Interior, who has, I am told, the power to subscribe to anything, and for as many copies of any work as the farmers of France can well pay for through the enormous levies imposed on them. Cuvier, St. Hilaire, and many others spoke to me most kindly. I had been to Cuvier in the morning to talk with him and Parker

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318 about the portrait the latter is to paint, and I believe I will describe Cuvier's house to thee. The footman asked us to follow him upstairs, and in the first room we caught a glimpse of a slight figure dressed all in black, that glided across the floor like a sylph; it was Mlle. Cuvier, not quite ready to see gentlemen: off she flew like a Dove before Falcons. We followed our man, who continually turned, saying, "This way, gentlemen." Eight rooms we passed filled with books, and each with a recessed bed, and at last reached a sort of laboratory, the sanctum sanctorum of Cuvier; there was nothing in it but books and skeletons of animals, reptiles, etc. Our conductor, surprised, bid us sit down, and left us to seek the Baron. My eyes were fully employed, and I contemplated in imagination the extent of the great man's knowledge. His books were in great disorder, and I concluded that he read and studied them, and owned them for other purposes than for show. Our man returned and led us back through the same avenue of bed-chambers, lined with books instead of satin, and we were conducted through the kitchen to another laboratory, where the Baron was found. Politeness in great men is shown differently from the same quality in fashionable society: a smile suffices to show you are welcome, without many words, and the work in hand is continued as if you were one of the family. Ah! how I delight in this! and how pleased I was to be thus welcomed by this learned man. Cuvier was looking at a small lizard in a tiny vial filled with spirit. I see now his sparkling eye half closed, as if quizzing its qualities, and as he put it down he wrote its name on a label. He made an appointment with Mr. Parker, and went on quizzing lizards. Being desirous of seeing a gambling house, young Geoffroy took me to one in the Palais Royal, a very notorious one, containing several roulette tables, and there we saw a little of the tactics of the gentlemen of the trade. The play, however, was not on this occasion high. The

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Rh banquiers, or head thieves, better call them, are lank and pale, their countenances as unmoved as their hearts. From here we went to the establishment of Franconi, where I saw wonderful feats of horsemanship. September 17. There is absolutely nothing to be done here to advance my subscription list, and at two o'clock I went with Swainson to a marchand naturaliste to see some drawings of birds of which I had heard. They were not as well drawn as mine, but much better painted.

September 18. I went to install Parker at Baron Cuvier's. He had his canvas, etc., all ready and we arrived at half-past nine, too early quite. At ten, having spent our time in the apartment of the Giraffe, Parker went in to take a second breakfast, and I to converse with Mlle. Cuvier. The Baron came in, and after a few minutes to arrange about the light, sat down in a comfortable arm-chair, quite ready. Great men as well as great women have their share of vanity, and I soon discovered that the Baron thinks himself a fine-looking man. His daughter seemed to know this, and remarked more than once that her father's under lip was swelled more than usual, and she added that the line of his nose was extremely fine. I passed my fingers over mine, and, lo! I thought just the same. I see the Baron now, quite as plainly as I did this morning; an old green surtout about him, a neck-cloth, that might well surround his body if unfolded, loosely tied about his chin, and his silver locks like those of a man more bent on studying books than on visiting barbers. His fine eyes shot fire from under his bushy eyebrows, and he smiled as he conversed with me. Mlle. Cuvier, asked to read to us, and opening a book, read in a clear, well accentuated manner a comic play, well arranged to amuse us for a time, for sitting for a portrait is certainly a great bore. The Baroness joined us; I thought her looks not those of a happy person, and her melancholy affected me. The Baron soon said he was fatigued, rose

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 and went out, but soon returned, and I advised Parker not to keep him too long. The time was adjourned to Sunday next. In Connecticut this would be thought horrible, in England it would be difficult to effect it, and in Paris it is considered the best day for such things. Again I went to the Louvre, and this evening went with young Geoffroy to the celebrated Frascati. This house is a handsome hotel, and we were introduced by two servants in fine livery into a large wainscoted room, where a roulette table was at work. Now none but gentlemen gamble here. We saw, and saw only! In another room rouge et noir was going on, and the double as well as the single Napoleons easily changed hands, yet all was smiling and serene. Some wealthy personage drew gold in handsful from his pockets, laid it on a favorite spot, and lost it calmly, more than once. Ladies also resort to this house, and good order is always preserved; without a white cravat, shoes instead of boots, etc., no one is admitted. I soon became tired of watching this and we left.

September 19. Friend Swainson requested me to go with him this morning to complete a purchase of skins, and this accomplished I called on M. Milbert, to whom I had a letter from my old friend Le Sueur, but he was absent. I now went to the Jardin du Roi, and at the library saw the so-called fine drawings of Mr. H——. Lucy, they were just such drawings as our boy Johnny made before I left home, stiff and dry as a well-seasoned fiddle-stick. The weather and the sky are most charming. This evening M. Cainard, whom I have met several times, asked me to play billiards with him, but the want of practice was such that I felt as if I never had played before. Where is the time gone when I was considered one of the best of players? To-morrow I will try to see M. Redouté.

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text: The Yellow Claw/Chapter III

title: The Yellow Claw/Chapter III


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ETECTIVE-INSPECTOR DUNBAR was admitted by Dr. Cumberly. He was a man of notable height, large-boned, and built gauntly and squarely. His clothes fitted him ill, and through them one seemed to perceive the massive scaffolding of his frame. He had gray hair retiring above a high brow, but worn long and untidily at the back; a wire-like straight-cut mustache, also streaked with gray, which served to accentuate the grimness of his mouth and slightly undershot jaw. A massive head, with tawny, leonine eyes; indeed, altogether a leonine face, and a frame indicative of tremendous nervous energy.

In the entrance lobby he stood for a moment.

“My name is Cumberly,” said the doctor, glancing at the card which the Scotland Yard man had proffered. “I occupy the flat above.”

“Glad to know you, Dr. Cumberly,” replied the detective in a light and not unpleasant voice—and the fierce eyes momentarily grew kindly.

“This—” continued Cumberly, drawing Dunbar forward into the study, “is my friend, Leroux—Henry Leroux, whose name you will know?”

“I have not that pleasure,” replied Dunbar.

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 “Well,” added Cumberly, “he is a famous novelist, and his flat, unfortunately, has been made the scene of a crime. This is Detective-Inspector Dunbar, who has come to solve our difficulties, Leroux.” He turned to where Exel stood upon the hearth-rug—toying with his monocle. “Mr. John Exel, M. P.”

“Glad to know you, gentlemen,” said Dunbar.

Leroux rose from the armchair in which he had been sitting and stared, drearily, at the newcomer. Exel screwed the monocle into his right eye, and likewise surveyed the detective. Cumberly, taking a tumbler from the bureau, said:—

“A scotch-and-soda, Inspector?”

“It is a suggestion,” said Dunbar, “that, coming from a medical man, appeals.”

Whilst the doctor poured out the whisky and squirted the soda into the glass, Inspector Dunbar, standing squarely in the middle of the room, fixed his eyes upon the still form lying in the shadow of the writing-table.

“You will have been called in, doctor,” he said, taking the proffered tumbler, “at the time of the crime?”

“Exactly!” replied Cumberly. “Mr. Leroux ran up to my flat and summoned me to see the woman.”

“What time would that be?”

“Big Ben had just struck the final stroke of twelve when I came out on to the landing.”

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Rh September 20. I had the pleasure of seeing old Redouté this morning, the flower-painter par excellence. After reading Le Sueur's note to him, dated five years ago, he looked at me fixedly, and said, "Well, sir, I am truly glad to become acquainted with you," and without further ceremony showed me his best works. His flowers are grouped with peculiar taste, well drawn and precise in the outlines, and colored with a pure brilliancy that depicts nature incomparably better than I ever saw it before. Old Redouté dislikes all that is not nature alone; he cannot bear either the drawings of stuffed birds or of quadrupeds, and evinced a strong desire to see a work wherein nature was delineated in an animated manner. He said that as he dined every Friday at the Duke of Orleans', he would take my work there next week, and procure his subscription, if not also that of the Duchess, and requested me to give him a prospectus. I looked over hundreds of his drawings, and found out that he sold them well; he showed me some worth two hundred and fifty guineas. On my way to the Comte de Lasterie, I met the under secretary of the King's private library, who told me that the Baron de la Bouillerie had given orders to have my work inspected and if approved of to subscribe to it. I reached the Comte de Lasterie's house, found him half dressed, very dirty, and not very civil. He was at breakfast with several gentlemen, and told me to call again, which I will take into consideration. I must not forget that in crossing the city this morning I passed through the flower market, a beautiful exhibition to me at all times. This market is abundantly supplied twice a week with exotics and flowers of all sorts, which are sold at a cheap rate.

September 21. The weather is still beautiful, and Parker and I took the omnibus at the Pont des Arts, which vehicle, being Sunday, was crowded. I left Parker to make a second sitting with Cuvier, and went to the Jardin du Roi, already filled with pleasure-seekers. I took a seat beside

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 “Mr. Leroux would be waiting there for you?”

“He stood in my entrance-lobby whilst I slipped on my dressing-gown, and we came down together.”

“I was entering from the street,” interrupted Exel, “as they were descending from above”…

“You can enter from the street, sir, in a moment,” said Dunbar, holding up his hand. “One witness at a time, if you please.”

Exel shrugged his shoulders and turned slightly, leaning his elbow upon the mantelpiece and flicking off the ash from his cigar.

“I take it you were in bed?” questioned Dunbar, turning again to the doctor.

“I had been in bed about a quarter of an hour when I was aroused by the ringing of the door-bell. This ringing struck me as so urgent that I ran out in my pajamas, and found there Mr. Leroux, in a very disturbed state—”

“What did he say? Give his own words as nearly as you remember them.”

Leroux, who had been standing, sank slowly back into the armchair, with his eyes upon Dr. Cumberly as the latter replied:—

“He said ‘Cumberly! Cumberly! For God’s sake, come down at once; there is a strange woman in my flat, apparently in a dying condition!’”

“What did you do?”

“I ran into my bedroom and slipped on my dressing-gown, leaving Mr. Leroux in the entrance-hall. Then, with the clock chiming the last stroke of

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 by Mr. Exel—and we saw the body lying where you see it now.”

“Who saw it first?”

“Mr. Leroux; he drew my attention to it, saying that he had left her lying on the chesterfield and not upon the floor.”

“You examined her?”

“I did. She was dead, but still warm. She exhibited signs of recent illness, and of being addicted to some drug habit; probably morphine. This, beyond doubt, contributed to her death, but the direct cause was asphyxiation. She had been strangled!”

“My God!” groaned Leroux, dropping his face into his hands.

“You found marks on her throat?”

“The marks were very slight. No great pressure was required in her weak condition.”

“You did not move the body?”

“Certainly not; a more complete examination must be made, of course. But I extracted a piece of torn paper from her clenched right hand.”

Inspector Dunbar lowered his tufted brows.

“I’m not glad to know you did that,” he said. “It should have been left.”

“It was done on the spur of the moment, but without altering the position of the hand or arm. The paper lies upon the table, yonder.”

Inspector Dunbar took a long drink. Thus far he had made no attempt to examine the victim. Pulling out a bulging note-case from the inside

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 pocket of his blue serge coat, he unscrewed a fountain-pen, carefully tested the nib upon his thumb nail, and made three or four brief entries. Then, stretching out one long arm, he laid the wallet and the pen beside his glass upon the top of a bookcase, without otherwise changing his position, and glancing aside at Exel, said:—

“Now, Mr. Exel, what help can you give us?”

“I have little to add to Dr. Cumberly’s account,” answered Exel, offhandedly. “The whole thing seemed to me”…

“What it seemed,” interrupted Dunbar, “does not interest Scotland Yard, Mr. Exel, and won’t interest the jury.”

Leroux glanced up for a moment, then set his teeth hard, so that his jaw muscles stood out prominently under the pallid skin.

“What do you want to know, then?” asked Exel.

“I will be wanting to know,” said Dunbar, “where you were coming from, to-night?”

“From the House of Commons.”

“You came direct?”

“I left Sir Brian Malpas at the corner of Victoria Street at four minutes to twelve by Big Ben, and walked straight home, actually entering here, from the street, as the clock was chiming the last stroke of midnight.”

“Then you would have walked up the street from an easterly direction?”

“Certainly.”

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 “Did you meet any one or anything?”

“A taxi-cab, empty—for the hood was lowered—passed me as I turned the corner. There was no other vehicle in the street, and no person.”

“You don’t know from which door the cab came?”

“As I turned the corner,” replied Exel, “I heard the man starting his engine, although when I actually saw the cab, it was in motion; but judging by the sound to which I refer, the cab had been stationary, if not at the door of Palace Mansions, certainly at that of the next block—St. Andrew’s Mansions.”

“Did you hear, or see anything else?”

“I saw nothing whatever. But just as I approached the street door, I heard a peculiar whistle, apparently proceeding from the gardens in the center of the square. I attached no importance to it at the time.”

“What kind of whistle?”

“I have forgotten the actual notes, but the effect was very odd in some way.”

“In what way?”

“An impression of this sort is not entirely reliable, Inspector; but it struck me as Oriental.”

“Ah!” said Dunbar, and reached out the long arm for his notebook.

“Can I be of any further assistance?” said Exel, glancing at his watch.

“You had entered the hall-way and were about to

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 enter your own flat when the voices of Dr. Cumberly and Mr. Leroux attracted your attention?”

“I actually had the key in my hand,” replied Exel.

“Did you actually have the key in the lock?”

“Let me think,” mused Exel, and he took out a bunch of keys and dangled them, reflectively, before his eyes. “No! I was fumbling for the right key when I heard the voices above me.”

“But were you facing your door?”

“No,” averred Exel, perceiving the drift of the inspector’s inquiries; “I was facing the stairway the whole time, and although it was in darkness, there is a street lamp immediately outside on the pavement, and I can swear, positively, that no one descended; that there was no one in the hall nor on the stair, except Mr. Leroux and Dr. Cumberly.”

“Ah!” said Dunbar again, and made further entries in his book. “I need not trouble you further, sir. Good night!”

Exel, despite his earlier attitude of boredom, now ignored this official dismissal, and, tossing the stump of his cigar into the grate, lighted a cigarette, and with both hands thrust deep in his pockets, stood leaning back against the mantlepiece. The detective turned to Leroux.

“Have a brandy-and-soda?” suggested Dr. Cumberly, his eyes turned upon the pathetic face of the novelist.

But Leroux shook his head, wearily.

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 “Go ahead, Inspector!” he said. “I am anxious to tell you all I know. God knows I am anxious to tell you.”

A sound was heard of a key being inserted in the lock of a door.

Four pairs of curious eyes were turned toward the entrance lobby, when the door opened, and a sleek man of medium height, clean shaven, but with his hair cut low upon the cheek bones, so as to give the impression of short side-whiskers, entered in a manner at once furtive and servile.

He wore a black overcoat and a bowler hat. Reclosing the door, he turned, perceived the group in the study, and fell back as though someone had struck him a fierce blow.

Abject terror was written upon his features, and, for a moment, the idea of flight appeared to suggest itself urgently to him; but finally, he took a step forward toward the study.

“Who’s this?” snapped Dunbar, without removing his leonine eyes from the newcomer.

“It is Soames,” came the weary voice of Leroux.

“Butler?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s he been?”

“I don’t know. He remained out without my permission.”

“He did, eh?”

Inspector Dunbar thrust forth a long finger at the shrinking form in the doorway.

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 “Mr. Soames,” he said, “you will be going to your own room and waiting there until I ring for you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Soames, holding his hat in both hands, and speaking huskily. “Yes, sir: certainly, sir.”

He crossed the lobby and disappeared.

“There is no other way out, is there?” inquired the detective, glancing at Dr. Cumberly.

“There is no other way,” was the reply; “but surely you don’t suspect”…

“I would suspect the Archbishop of Westminster,” snapped Dunbar, “if he came in like that! Now, sir,”—he turned to Leroux—“you were alone, here, to-night?”

“Quite alone, Inspector. The truth is, I fear, that my servants take liberties in the absence of my wife.”

“In the absence of your wife? Where is your wife?”

“She is in Paris.”

“Is she a Frenchwoman?”

“No! oh, no! But my wife is a painter, you understand, and—er—I met her in Paris—er—…Must you insist upon these—domestic particulars, Inspector?”

“If Mr. Exel is anxious to turn in,” replied the inspector, “after his no doubt exhausting duties at the House, and if Dr. Cumberly—”

“I have no secrets from Cumberly!” interjected

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 Leroux. “The doctor has known me almost from boyhood, but—er—” turning to the politician—“don’t you know, Exel—no offense, no offense”…

“My dear Leroux,” responded Exel hastily, “I am the offender! Permit me to wish you all good night.”

He crossed the study, and, at the door, paused and turned.

“Rely upon me, Leroux,” he said, “to help in any way within my power.”

He crossed the lobby, opened the outer door, and departed.

“Now, Mr. Leroux,” resumed Dunbar, “about this matter of your wife’s absence.”

title: Page:Yellow Claw 1920.djvu/40


text: The Yellow Claw/Chapter IV

title: The Yellow Claw/Chapter IV


text:
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 a venerable old soldier, and entered into conversation with him. Soldier during more than thirty years, he had much to relate. The Moscow campaign was spoken of, and I heard from the lips of this veteran the sufferings to which Napoleon's armies had been exposed. He had been taken prisoner, sent to the interior for two years, fed on musty bread by the Cossacks, who forced them to march all day. He had lost his toes and one ear by the frost, and sighed, as he said, "And to lose the campaign after all this!" I offered him a franc, and to my surprise he refused it, saying he had his pension, and was well fed. The garden was now crowded, children were scrambling for horse-chestnuts, which were beginning to fall, ladies playing battledore and shuttlecock, venders of fruit and lemonade were calling their wares, and I was interested and amused by all. Now to Baron Cuvier again. I found him sitting in his arm-chair; a gentleman was translating the dedication of Linné (Linnæus) to him, as he was anxious that the Latin should not be misconstrued; he often looked in some book or other, and I dare say often entirely forgot Parker, who notwithstanding has laid in a good likeness. The Baron wishes me to be at the Institute to-morrow at half-past one.

September 22. I was at the Institute at half-past one—no Baron there. I sat opposite the clock and counted minutes one after another; the clock ticked on as if I did not exist; I began the counting of the numerous volumes around me, and as my eyes reached the centre of the hall they rested on the statue of Voltaire; he too had his share of troubles. Savants entered one after another; many bowed to me, and passed to their seats. My thoughts journeyed to America; I passed from the Missouri to the Roanoke, to the Hudson, to the Great Lakes—then floated down the gentle Ohio, and met the swift Mississippi which would carry me to thee. The clock vibrated in my ears, it struck two, and I saw again that I was in an immense

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text: The Yellow Claw/Chapter V

title: The Yellow Claw/Chapter V


text: The Yellow Claw/Chapter VI

title: The Yellow Claw/Chapter VI


text:
Page:Yellow Claw 1920.djvu/41

HILST Henry Leroux collected his thoughts, Dr. Cumberly glanced across at the writing-table where lay the fragment of paper which had been clutched in the dead woman’s hand, then turned his head again toward the inspector, staring at him curiously. Since Dunbar had not yet attempted even to glance at the strange message, he wondered what had prompted the present line of inquiry.

“My wife,” began Leroux, “shared a studio in Paris, at the time that I met her, with an American lady—a very talented portrait painter—er—a Miss Denise Ryland. You may know her name?—but of course, you don’t, no! Well, my wife is, herself, quite clever with her brush; in fact she has exhibited more than once at the Paris Salon. We agreed at—er—the time of our—of our—engagement, that she should be free to visit her old artistic friends in Paris at any time. You understand? There was to be no let or hindrance.…Is this really necessary, Inspector?”

“Pray go on, Mr. Leroux.”

“Well, you understand, it was a give-and-take

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 arrangement; because I am afraid that I, myself, demand certain—sacrifices from my wife—and—er—I did not feel entitled to—interfere”…

“You see, Inspector,” interrupted Dr. Cumberly, “they are a Bohemian pair, and Bohemians, inevitably, bore one another at times! This little arrangement was intended as a safety-valve. Whenever ennui attacked Mrs. Leroux, she was at liberty to depart for a week to her own friends in Paris, leaving Leroux to the bachelor’s existence which is really his proper state; to go unshaven and unshorn, to dine upon bread and cheese and onions, to work until all hours of the morning, and generally to enjoy himself!”

“Does she usually stay long?” inquired Dunbar.

“Not more than a week, as a rule,” answered Leroux.

“You must excuse me,” continued the detective, “if I seem to pry into intimate matters; but on these occasions, how does Mrs. Leroux get on for money?”

“I have opened a credit for her,” explained the novelist, wearily, “at the Credit Lyonnais, in Paris.”

Dunbar scribbled busily in his notebook.

“Does she take her maid with her?” he jerked, suddenly.

“She has no maid at the moment,” replied Leroux; “she has been without one for twelve months or more, now.”

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 “When did you last hear from her?”

“Three days ago.”

“Did you answer the letter?”

“Yes; my answer was amongst the mail which Soames took to the post, to-night.”

“You said, though, if I remember rightly, that he was out without permission?”

Leroux ran his fingers through his hair.

“I meant that he should only have been absent five minutes or so; whilst he remained out for more than an hour.”

Inspector Dunbar nodded, comprehendingly, tapping his teeth with the head of the fountain-pen.

“And the other servants?”

“There are only two: a cook and a maid. I released them for the evening—glad to get rid of them—wanted to work.”

“They are late?”

“They take liberties, damnable liberties, because I am easy-going.”

“I see,” said Dunbar. “So that you were quite alone this evening, when”—he nodded in the direction of the writing-table—“your visitor came?”

“Quite alone.”

“Was her arrival the first interruption?”

“No—er—not exactly. Miss Cumberly…”

“My daughter,” explained Dr. Cumberly, “knowing that Mr. Leroux, at these times, was very neglectful in regard to meals, prepared him an omelette, and brought it down in a chafing-dish.”

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 “How long did she remain?” asked the inspector of Leroux.

“I—er—did not exactly open the door. We chatted, through—er—through the letter-box, and she left the omelette outside on the landing.”

“What time would that be?”

“It was a quarter to twelve,” declared Cumberly. “I had been supping with some friends, and returned to find Helen, my daughter, engaged in preparing the omelette. I congratulated her upon the happy thought, knowing that Leroux was probably starving himself.”

“I see. The omelette, though, seems to be upset here on the floor?” said the inspector.

Cumberly briefly explained how it came to be there, Leroux punctuating his friend’s story with affirmative nods.

“Then the door of the flat was open all the time?” cried Dunbar.

“Yes,” replied Cumberly; “but whilst Exel and I searched the other rooms—and our search was exhaustive—Mr. Leroux remained here in the study, and in full view of the lobby—as you see for yourself.”

“No living thing,” said Leroux, monotonously, “left this flat from the time that the three of us, Exel, Cumberly, and I, entered, up to the time that Miss Cumberly came, and, with the doctor, went out again.”

“H’m!” said the inspector, making notes; “it

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 appears so, certainly. I will ask you then, for your own account, Mr. Leroux, of the arrival of the woman in the civet furs. Pay special attention”—he pointed with his fountain-pen—“to the time at which the various incidents occurred.”

Leroux, growing calmer as he proceeded with the strange story, complied with the inspector’s request. He had practically completed his account when the door-bell rang.

“It’s the servants,” said Dr. Cumberly. “Soames will open the door.”

But Soames did not appear.

The ringing being repeated:—

“I told him to remain in his room,” said Dunbar, “until I rang for him, I remember—”

“I will open the door,” said Cumberly.

“And tell the servants to stay in the kitchen,” snapped Dunbar.

Dr. Cumberly opened the door, admitting the cook and housemaid.

“There has been an unfortunate accident,” he said—“but not to your master; you need not be afraid. But be good enough to remain in the kitchen for the present.”

Peeping in furtively as they passed, the two women crossed the lobby and went to their own quarters.

“Mr. Soames next,” muttered Dunbar, and, glancing at Cumberly as he returned from the lobby:—“Will you ring for him?” he requested.

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 Dr. Cumberly nodded, and pressed a bell beside the mantelpiece. An interval followed, in which the inspector made notes and Cumberly stood looking at Leroux, who was beating his palms upon his knees, and staring unseeingly before him.

Cumberly rang again; and in response to the second ring, the housemaid appeared at the door.

“I rang for Soames,” said Dr. Cumberly.

“He is not in, sir,” answered the girl.

Inspector Dunbar started as though he had been bitten.

“What!” he cried; “not in?”

“No, sir,” said the girl, with wide-open, frightened eyes.

Dunbar turned to Cumberly.

“You said there was no other way out!”

“There is no other way, to my knowledge.”

“Where’s his room?”

Cumberly led the way to a room at the end of a short corridor, and Inspector Dunbar, entering, and turning up the light, glanced about the little apartment. It was a very neat servants’ bedroom; with comfortable, quite simple, furniture; but the chest-of-drawers had been hastily ransacked, and the contents of a trunk—or some of its contents—lay strewn about the floor.

“He has packed his grip!” came Leroux’s voice from the doorway. “It’s gone!”

The window was wide open. Dunbar sprang

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 and leaned out over the ledge, looking to right and left, above and below.

A sort of square courtyard was beneath, and for the convenience of tradesmen, a hand-lift was constructed outside the kitchens of the three flats comprising the house; i.e.:—Mr. Exel’s, ground floor, Henry Leroux’s second floor, and Dr. Cumberly’s, top. It worked in a skeleton shaft which passed close to the left of Soames’ window.

For an active man, this was a good enough ladder, and the inspector withdrew his head shrugging his square shoulders, irritably.

“My fault entirely!” he muttered, biting his wiry mustache. “I should have come and seen for myself if there was another way out.”

Leroux, in a new flutter of excitement, now craned from the window.

“It might be possible to climb down the shaft,” he cried, after a brief survey “but not if one were carrying a heavy grip, such as that which he has taken!”

“H’m!” said Dunbar. “You are a writing gentleman, I understand, and yet it does not occur to you that he could have lowered the bag on a cord, if he wanted to avoid the noise of dropping it!”

“Yes—er—of course!” muttered Leroux. “But really—but really—oh, good God! I am bewildered! What in Heaven’s name does it all mean!”

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 “It means trouble,” replied Dunbar, grimly; “bad trouble.”

They returned to the study, and Inspector Dunbar, for the first time since his arrival, walked across and examined the fragmentary message, raising his eyebrows when he discovered that it was written upon the same paper as Leroux’s MSS. He glanced, too, at the pen lying on a page of “Martin Zeda” near the lamp and at the inky splash which told how hastily the pen had been dropped.

Then—his brows drawn together—he stooped to the body of the murdered woman. Partially raising the fur cloak, he suppressed a gasp of astonishment.

“Why! she only wears a silk night-dress, and a pair of suede slippers!”

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“I had noted that,” said Cumberly. “The whole business is utterly extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary is no word for it!” growled the inspector, pursuing his examination.…“Marks of pressure at the throat—yes; and generally unhealthy appearance.”

“Due to the drug habit,” interjected Dr. Cumberly.

“What drug?”

“I should not like to say out of hand; possibly morphine.”

“No jewelry,” continued the detective, musingly; “wedding ring—not a new one. Finger nails well

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 cared for, but recently neglected. Hair dyed to hide gray patches; dye wanted renewing. Shoes, French. Night-robe, silk; good lace; probably French, also. Faint perfume—don’t know what it is—apparently proceeding from civet fur. Furs, magnificent; very costly.”…

He slightly moved the table-lamp in order to direct its light upon the white face. The bloodless lips were parted and the detective bent, closely peering at the teeth thus revealed.

“Her teeth were oddly discolored, doctor,” he said, taking out a magnifying glass and examining them closely. “They had been recently scaled, too; so that she was not in the habit of neglecting them.”

Dr. Cumberly nodded.

“The drug habit, again,” he said guardedly; “a proper examination will establish the full facts.”

The inspector added brief notes to those already made, ere he rose from beside the body. Then:—

“You are absolutely certain,” he said, deliberately, facing Leroux, “that you had never set eyes on this woman prior to her coming here, to-night?”

“I can swear it!” said Leroux.

“Good!” replied the detective, and closed his notebook with a snap. “Usual formalities will have to be gone through, but I don’t think I need trouble you, gentlemen, any further, to-night.”

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R. CUMBERLY walked slowly upstairs to his own flat, a picture etched indelibly upon his mind, of Henry Leroux, with a face of despair, sitting below in his dining-room and listening to the ominous sounds proceeding from the study, where the police were now busily engaged. In the lobby he met his daughter Helen, who was waiting for him in a state of nervous suspense.

“Father!” she began, whilst rebuke died upon the doctor’s lips—“tell me quickly what has happened.”

Perceiving that an explanation was unavoidable, Dr. Cumberly outlined the story of the night’s gruesome happenings, whilst Big Ben began to chime the hour of one.

Helen, eager-eyed, and with her charming face rather pale, hung upon every word of the narrative.

“And now,” concluded her father, “you must go to bed. I insist.”

“But father!” cried the girl—“there is something”…

She hesitated, uneasily.

“Well, Helen, go on,” said the doctor.

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 “I am afraid you will refuse.”

“At least give me the opportunity.”

“Well—in the glimpse, the half-glimpse, which I had of her, I seemed”…

Dr. Cumberly rested his hands upon his daughter’s shoulders characteristically, looking into the troubled gray eyes.

“You don’t mean,” he began…

“I thought I recognized her!” whispered the girl.

“Good God! can it be possible?”

“I have been trying, ever since, to recall where we had met, but without result. It might mean so much”…

Dr. Cumberly regarded her, fixedly.

“It might mean so much to—Mr. Leroux. But I suppose you will say it is impossible?”

“It is impossible,” said Dr. Cumberly firmly; “dismiss the idea, Helen.”

“But father,” pleaded the girl, placing her hands over his own, “consider what is at stake”…

“I am anxious that you should not become involved in this morbid business.”

“But you surely know me better than to expect me to faint or become hysterical, or anything silly like that! I was certainly shocked when I came down to-night, because—well, it was all so frightfully unexpected”…

Dr. Cumberly shook his head. Helen put her arms about his neck and raised her eyes to his.

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 “You have no right to refuse,” she said, softly: “don’t you see that?”

Dr. Cumberly frowned. Then:—

“You are right, Helen,” he agreed. “I should know your pluck well enough. But if Inspector Dunbar is gone, the police may refuse to admit us”…

“Then let us hurry!” cried Helen. “I am afraid they will take away”…

Side by side they descended to Henry Leroux’s flat, ringing the bell, which, an hour earlier, the lady of the civet furs had rung.

A sergeant in uniform opened the door.

“Is Detective-Inspector Dunbar here?” inquired the physician.

“Yes, sir.”

“Say that Dr. Cumberly wishes to speak to him. And”—as the man was about to depart—“request him not to arouse Mr. Leroux.”

Almost immediately the inspector appeared, a look of surprise upon his face, which increased on perceiving the girl beside her father.

“This is my daughter, Inspector,” explained Cumberly; “she is a contributor to the Planet, and to various magazines, and in this journalistic capacity, meets many people in many walks of life. She thinks she may be of use to you in preparing your case.”

Dunbar bowed rather awkwardly.

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 “Glad to meet you, Miss Cumberly,” came the inevitable formula. “Entirely at your service.”

“I had an idea, Inspector,” said the girl, laying her hand confidentially upon Dunbar’s arm, “that I recognized, when I entered Mr. Leroux’s study, tonight”—Dunbar nodded—“that I recognized—the—the victim!”

“Good!” said the inspector, rubbing his palms briskly together. His tawny eyes sparkled. “And you would wish to see her again before we take her away. Very plucky of you, Miss Cumberly! But then, you are a doctor’s daughter.”

They entered, and the inspector closed the door behind them.

“Don’t arouse poor Leroux,” whispered Cumberly to the detective. “I left him on a couch in the dining-room.”…

“He is still there,” replied Dunbar; “poor chap! It is”…

He met Helen’s glance, and broke off shortly.

In the study two uniformed constables, and an officer in plain clothes, were apparently engaged in making an inventory—or such was the impression conveyed. The clock ticked merrily on; its ticking a desecration, where all else was hushed in deference to the grim visitor. The body of the murdered woman had been laid upon the chesterfield, and a little, dark, bearded man was conducting an elaborate examination; when, seeing the trio enter, he

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Rh library, where the number of savants continually increased, but no Cuvier; I tried to read, but could not; now it was half-past two; I was asked several times if I was waiting for the Baron, and was advised to go to his house, but like a sentinel true to his post I sat firm and waited. All at once I heard his voice, and saw him advancing, very warm and apparently fatigued. He met me with many apologies, and said, "Come with me;" and we walked along, he explaining all the time why he had been late, while his hand drove a pencil with great rapidity, and he told me that he was actually now writing the report on my work!! I thought of La Fontaine's fable of the Turtle and the Hare; I was surprised that so great a man should leave till the last moment the writing of a report to every word of which the forty critics of France would lend an attentive ear. For being on such an eminence he has to take more care of his actions than a common individual, to prevent his fall, being surrounded, as all great men are more or less, by envy and malice. My enormous book lay before him, and I shifted as swift as lightning the different plates that he had marked for examination. His pencil moved as constantly and as rapidly. He turned and returned the sheets of his manuscript with amazing accuracy, and noted as quickly as he saw, and he saw all. We were both wet with perspiration. It wanted but a few minutes of three when we went off to the Council room, Cuvier still writing, and bowing to every one he met. I left him, and was glad to get into the pure air. At my lodgings I found a card asking me to go to the Messageries Royales, and I went at once, thinking perhaps it was my numbers from London; but no such thing. My name was asked, and I was told that orders had been received to remit me ten francs, the coach having charged me for a seat better than the one I had had. This is indeed honesty. When I asked the gentleman how he had found out my lodgings, he smiled, and answered that he knew every stranger in Paris that had

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 hastily threw the coat of civet fur over the body, and stood up, facing the intruders.

“It’s all right, doctor,” said the inspector; “and we shan’t detain you a moment.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Mr. Hilton, M. R. C. S.” he said, indicating the dark man—“Dr. Cumberly and Miss Cumberly.”

The divisional surgeon bowed to Helen and eagerly grasped the hand of the celebrated physician.

“I am fortunate in being able to ask your opinion,” he began.…

Dr. Cumberly nodded shortly, and with upraised hand, cut him short.

“I shall willingly give you any assistance in my power,” he said; “but my daughter has voluntarily committed herself to a rather painful ordeal, and I am anxious to get it over.”

He stooped and raised the fur from the ghastly face.

Helen, her hand resting upon her father’s shoulder, ventured one rapid glance and then looked away, shuddering slightly. Dr. Cumberly replaced the coat and gazed anxiously at his daughter. But Helen, with admirable courage, having closed her eyes for a moment, reopened them, and smiled at her father’s anxiety. She was pale, but perfectly composed.

“Well, Miss Cumberly?” inquired the inspector, eagerly; whilst all in the room watched this slim

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 girl in her charming deshabille, this dainty figure so utterly out of place in that scene of morbid crime.

She raised her gray eyes to the detective.

“I still believe that I have seen the face, somewhere, before. But I shall have to reflect a while—I meet so many folks, you know, in a casual way—before I can commit myself to any statement.”

In the leonine eyes looking into hers gleamed the light of admiration and approval. The canny Scotsman admired this girl for her beauty, as a matter of course, for her courage, because courage was a quality standing high in his estimation, but, above all, for her admirable discretion.

“Very proper, Miss Cumberly,” he said; “very proper and wise on your part. I don’t wish to hurry you in any way, but”—he hesitated, glancing at the man in plain clothes, who had now resumed a careful perusal of a newspaper—“but her name doesn’t happen to be Vernon—”

“Vernon!” cried the girl, her eyes lighting up at sound of the name. “Mrs. Vernon! it is! it is! She was pointed out to me at the last Arts Ball—where she appeared in a most monstrous Chinese costume—”

“Chinese?” inquired Dunbar, producing the bulky notebook.

“Yes. Oh! poor, poor soul!”

“You know nothing further about her, Miss Cumberly?”

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 “Nothing, Inspector. She was merely pointed out to me as one of the strangest figures in the hall. Her husband, I understand, is an art expert—”

“He was!” said Dunbar, closing the book sharply. “He died this afternoon; and a paragraph announcing his death appears in the newspaper which we found in the victim’s fur coat!”

“But how—”

“It was the only paragraph on the half-page folded outwards which was in any sense personal. I am greatly indebted to you, Miss Cumberly; every hour wasted on a case like this means a fresh plait in the rope around the neck of the wrong man!”

Helen Cumberly grew slowly quite pallid.

“Good night,” she said; and bowing to the detective and to the surgeon, she prepared to depart.

Mr. Hilton touched Dr. Cumberly’s arm, as he, too, was about to retire.

“May I hope,” he whispered, “that you will return and give me the benefit of your opinion in making out my report?”

Dr. Cumberly glanced at his daughter; and seeing her to be perfectly composed:—“For the moment, I have formed no opinion, Mr. Hilton,” he said, quietly, “not having had an opportunity to conduct a proper examination.”

Hilton bent and whispered, confidentially, in the other’s ear:—

“She was drugged!”

The innuendo underlying the words struck Dr.

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 Cumberly forcibly, and he started back with his brows drawn together in a frown.

“Do you mean that she was addicted to the use of drugs?” he asked, sharply; “or that the drugging took place to-night.”

“The drugging did take place to-night!” whispered the other. “An injection was made in the left shoulder with a hypodermic syringe; the mark is quite fresh.”

Dr. Cumberly glared at his fellow practitioner, angrily.

“Are there no other marks of injection?” he asked.

“On the left forearm, yes. Obviously self-administered. Oh, I don’t deny the habit! But my point is this: the injection in the shoulder was not self-administered.”

“Come, Helen,” said Cumberly, taking his daughter’s arm; for she had drawn near, during the colloquy—“you must get to bed.”

His face was very stern when he turned again to Mr. Hilton.

“I shall return in a few minutes,” he said, and escorted his daughter from the room.

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ATTERS of vital importance to some people whom already we have met, and to others whom thus far we have not met, were transacted in a lofty and rather bleak looking room at Scotland Yard between the hours of nine and ten ; that is, later in the morning of the fateful day whose advent we have heard acclaimed from the Tower of Westminster.

The room, which was lighted by a large French window opening upon a balcony, commanded an excellent view of the Thames Embankment. The floor was polished to a degree of brightness, almost painful. The distempered walls, save for a severe and solitary etching of a former Commissioner, were nude in all their unloveliness. A heavy deal table (upon which rested a blotting-pad, a pewter ink-pot, several newspapers and two pens) together with three deal chairs, built rather as monuments of durability than as examples of art, constituted the only furniture, if we except an electric lamp with a green glass shade, above the table.

This was the room of Detective-Inspector Dunbar; and Detective-Inspector Dunbar, at the hour

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 of our entrance, will be found seated in the chair, placed behind the table, his elbows resting upon the blotting-pad.

At ten minutes past nine, exactly, the door opened, and a thick-set, florid man, buttoned up in a fawn colored raincoat and wearing a bowler hat of obsolete build, entered. He possessed a black mustache, a breezy, bustling manner, and humorous blue eyes; furthermore, when he took off his hat, he revealed the possession of a head of very bristly, upstanding, black hair. This was Detective-Sergeant Sowerby, and the same who was engaged in examining a newspaper in the study of Henry Leroux when Dr. Cumberly and his daughter had paid their second visit to that scene of an unhappy soul’s dismissal.

“Well?” said Dunbar, glancing up at his subordinate, inquiringly.

“I have done all the cab depots,” reported Sergeant Sowerby, “and a good many of the private owners; but so far the man seen by Mr. Exel has not turned up.”

“The word will be passed round now, though,” said Dunbar, “and we shall probably have him here during the day.”

“I hope so,” said the other good-humoredly, seating himself upon one of the two chairs ranged beside the wall. “If he doesn’t show up.”…

“Well?” jerked Dunbar—“if he doesn’t?”

“It will look very black against Leroux.”

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 Dunbar drummed upon the blotting-pad with the fingers of his left hand.

“It beats anything of the kind that has ever come my way,” he confessed. “You get pretty cautious at weighing people up, in this business; but I certainly don’t think—mind you, I go no further—but I certainly don’t think Mr. Henry Leroux would willingly kill a fly; yet there is circumstantial evidence enough to hang him.”

Sergeant Sowerby nodded, gazing speculatively at the floor.

“I wonder,” he said, slowly, “why the girl—Miss Cumberly—hesitated about telling us the woman’s name?”

“I am not wondering about that at all,” replied Dunbar, bluntly. “She must meet thousands in the same way. The wonder to me is that she remembered at all. I am open to bet half-a-crown that you couldn’t remember the name of every woman you happened to have pointed out to you at an Arts Ball?”

“Maybe not,” agreed Sowerby; “she’s a smart girl, I’ll allow. I see you have last night’s papers there?”

“I have,” replied Dunbar; “and I’m wondering”…

“If there’s any connection?”

“Well,” continued the inspector, “it looks on the face of it as though the news of her husband’s death had something to do with Mrs. Vernon’s

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 at Leroux’s flat. It’s not a natural thing for a woman, on the evening of her husband’s death, to rush straight away to another man’s place”…

“It’s strange we couldn’t find her clothes”…

“It’s not strange at all! You’re simply obsessed with the idea that this was a love intrigue! Think, man! the most abandoned woman wouldn’t run to keep an appointment with a lover at a time like that! And remember she had the news in her pocket! She came to that flat dressed—or undressed—just as we found her; I’m sure of it. And a point like that sometimes means the difference between hanging and acquittal.”

Sergeant Sowerby digested these words, composing his jovial countenance in an expression of unnatural profundity. Then:—

“The point to my mind,” he said, “is the one raised by Mr. Hilton. By gum! didn’t Dr. Cumberly tell him off!”

“Dr. Cumberly,” replied Dunbar, “is entitled to his opinion, that the injection in the woman’s shoulder was at least eight hours old; whilst Mr. Hilton is equally entitled to maintain that it was less than one hour old. Neither of them can hope to prove his case.”

“If either of them could?”…

“It might make a difference to the evidence—but I’m not sure.”

“What time is your appointment?”

“Ten o’clock,” replied Dunbar. “I am meeting

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 Mr. Debnam—the late Mr. Vernon’s solicitor. There is something in it. Damme! I am sure of it!”

“Something in what?”

“The fact that Mr. Vernon died yesterday evening, and that his wife was murdered at midnight.”

“What have you told the press?”

“As little as possible, but you will see that the early editions will all be screaming for the arrest of Soames.”

“I shouldn’t wonder. He would be a useful man to have; but he’s probably out of London now.”

“I think not. He’s more likely to wait for instructions from his principal.”

“His principal?”

“Certainly. You don’t think Soames did the murder, do you?”

“No; but he’s obviously an accessory.”

“I’m not so sure even of that.”

“Then why did he bolt?”

“Because he had a guilty conscience.”

“Yes,” agreed Sowerby; “it does turn out that way sometimes. At any rate, Stringer is after him, but he’s got next to nothing to go upon. Has any reply been received from Mrs. Leroux in Paris?”

“No,” answered Dunbar, frowning thoughtfully. “Her husband’s wire would reach her first thing this morning; I am expecting to hear of a reply at any moment.”

“They’re a funny couple, altogether,” said

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. “I can’t imagine myself standing for Mrs. Sowerby spending her week-ends in Paris. Asking for trouble, I call it!”

“It does seem a daft arrangement,” agreed Dunbar; “but then, as you say, they’re a funny couple.”

“I never saw such a bundle of nerves in all my life!”…

“Leroux?”

Sowerby nodded.

“I suppose,” he said, “it’s the artistic temperament! If Mrs. Leroux has got it, too, I don’t wonder that they get fed up with one another’s company.”

“That’s about the secret of it. And now, I shall be glad, Sowerby, if you will be after that taxi-man again. Report at one o’clock. I shall be here.”

With his hand on the door-knob: “By the way,” said Sowerby, “who the blazes is Mr. King?”

Inspector Dunbar looked up.

“Mr. King,” he replied slowly, “is the solution of the mystery.”

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324 arrived for the last three months, through his line of employees, and that any police-officer was able to say how I spent my time. September 23. The great Gérard, the pupil of my old master, David, has written saying he wishes to see my work, and myself also, and I have promised to go to-morrow evening at nine. To-day I have been to the King's library, a fine suite of twelve rooms, filled with elegant and most valuable copies of all the finest works. I should suppose that a hundred thousand volumes are contained here, as well as portfolios filled with valuable originals of the first masters. The King seldom reads, but he shoots well. Napoleon read, or was read to, constantly, and hardly knew how to hold a gun. I was surprised when I spoke of Charles Bonaparte to notice that no response was made, and the conversation was abruptly turned from ornithologists to engraving. I have now been nearly three weeks in Paris and have two subscribers—almost as bad as Glasgow. I am curious to see the Baron's report, and should like to have it in his own handwriting. This is hardly possible; he seldom writes, Mlle. Cuvier does his writing for him. September 24. To have seen me trot about from pillar to post, across this great town, from back of the Palais Royal to the Jardin du Luxembourg, in search of M. Le Médecin Bertrand and a copy of Cuvier's report, would have amused any one, and yet I did it with great activity. Such frailty does exist in man, all of whom are by nature avaricious of praise. Three times did I go in vain to each place, i. e., to the house in the Rue d'Enfans, and the Globe Office, three miles asunder. Fatigue at last brought me to bay, and I gave up the chase. I proceeded to the King's library. My work had had the honor to have been inspected by the Committee, who had passed a favorable judgment on its merits. I was informed that should the King subscribe, I must leave in

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Rh France a man authorized by act of attorney to receive my dues, without which I might never have a sol. The librarian, a perfect gentleman, told me this in friendship, and would have added (had he dared) that Kings are rarely expected to pay. I, however, cut the matter short, knowing within myself that, should I not receive my money, I was quite able to keep the work. In the evening I dressed to go to M. Gérard's with M. Valenciennes; but he did not come, so there must have been some mistake—probably mine. September 25. Went with Swainson to the Panthéon, to see if the interior corresponds with the magnificence of the exterior; it is fine, but still unfinished. All, or almost all, the public edifices of Paris far surpass those of London. Then to see Cuvier, who was sitting for his portrait, while the Baroness was reading to him the life of Garrick. He had known Mrs. Garrick, and his observations were interesting. The likeness is good, and Cuvier is much pleased with it; he gave me a note for M. Vallery the King's librarian. Parker had received a note from M. Valenciennes, saying he had forgot my address, and had spent the evening going from place to place searching for me, and requested I would go with him to Gérard next Thursday. Did he forget to question the all-knowing police, or did the gentleman at the Messageries exaggerate? September 26. I spent some time in the Louvre examining very closely the most celebrated pictures of animals, birds, fruits, and flowers. Afterwards we all went to the French Opera, or, as it is called here, L'Êcole de Musique Royale. The play was "La Muette," a wonderful piece, and the whole arrangement of the performance still more so. There were at one time two hundred persons on the stage. The scenery was the finest I have ever beheld,—at the last, Mount Vesuvius in full and terrific eruption; the lava seemed absolutely to roll in a burning stream down the sides of the volcano, and the stones which were

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326 cast up from the earth added to the grand representation. The whole house resounded with the most vociferous applause, and we enjoyed our evening, I assure thee. September 27. Found old Redouté at his painting. The size of my portfolio surprised him, and when I opened the work, he examined it most carefully, and spoke highly of it, and wished he could afford it. I proposed, at last, that we should exchange works, to which he agreed gladly, and gave me at once nine numbers of his "Belles fleurs" and promised to send "Les Roses." Now, my Lucy, this will be a grand treat for thee, fond of flowers as thou art; when thou seest these, thy eyes will feast on the finest thou canst imagine. From here to the Globe office, where I saw the rédacteur, who was glad to have me correct the proof sheets as regarded the technical names. I did so, and he gave me, to my delight, the original copy of Cuvier himself. It is a great eulogium certainly, but not so feelingly written as the one by Swainson, nevertheless it will give the French an idea of my work. September 28. I have lived many years, and have only seen one horse race. Perhaps I should not have seen that, which took place to-day at the Champ de Mars, had I not gone out of curiosity with M. Vallery. The Champ de Mars is on the south side of the Seine, about one and one half miles below Paris; we passed through Les Jardins des Tuileries, followed the river, and crossed the Pont de Jéna opposite the entrance to l'École Militaire, situated at the farther end of the oval that forms the Champ de Mars. This is a fine area, and perfectly level, surrounded by a levee of earth, of which I should suppose the material was taken from the plain on which the course is formed. Arriving early, we walked round it; saw with pleasure the trees that shaded the walks; the booths erected for the royal family, the prefect, the gentry, and the canaille, varying greatly in elegance, as you may suppose.

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Rh Chairs and benches were to be hired in abundance, and we each took one. At one o'clock squadrons of gens d'armes and whole regiments of infantry made their appearance from different points, and in a few minutes the whole ground was well protected. The King was expected, but I saw nothing of him, nor, indeed, of any of the royal family, and cannot even assert that they came. At two every seat was filled, and several hundreds of men on horseback had taken the centre of the plain divided from the race track by a line of ropes. The horses for the course made their appearance,—long-legged, slender-bodied, necks straight, light of foot, and fiery-eyed. They were soon mounted, and started, but I saw none that I considered swift; not one could have run half as fast as a buck in our woods. Five different sets were run, one after another, but I must say I paid much greater attention to a Mameluke on a dark Arab steed, which with wonderful ease leaped over the ground like a Squirrel; going at times like the wind, then, being suddenly checked by his rider, almost sat on his haunches, wheeled on his hind legs, and cut all sorts of mad tricks at a word from his skilful master. I would rather see him again than all the races in the world; horse racing, like gambling, can only amuse people who have nothing better to attend to; however, I have seen a race! September 30. I saw Constant, the great engraver, Rue Percie, No. 12; he was at work, and I thought he worked well. I told him the purpose of my visit, and he dropped his work at once to see mine. How he stared! how often he exclaimed, "Oh, mon Dieu, quel ouvrage!" I showed him all, and he began calculating, but did so, far too largely for me, and we concluded no bargain. Old Redouté visited me and brought me a letter from the Duc d'Orléans, whom I was to call upon at one o'clock. Now, dearest friend, as I do not see Dukes every day I will give thee a circumstantial account of my visit. The Palais of the Duc

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8 between them is formed by metaphysics, are disposed to employ their wit in depreciating its value. The truth is, that, to the geometer who invents, Imagination is not less essential than to the poet who creates. They operate, indeed, differently on their object, the former abstracting and analyzing, where the latter combines and adorns;—two processes of the mind, it must, at the same time, be confessed, which seem from experience to be so little congenial, that it may be doubted if the talents of a great geometer and of a great poet will ever be united in the same person. But whether these talents be, or be not mutually exclusive, certain it is, that they who possess the one, have no right to despise those who cultivate the other. Of all the great men of antiquity, Archimedes is perhaps he who is the best entitled to be placed by the side of Homer."

D'Alembert afterwards proceeds to observe, that of these three general branches of the Encyclopedical Tree, a natural and convenient subdivision is afforded by the metaphysical distribution of things into Material and Spiritual. "With these two classes of existences," he observes farther," history and philosophy are equally conversant; but as for the Imaginagination, her imitations are entirely confined to the material world;—a circumstance," he adds, "which conspires with the other arguments above stated, in justifying Bacon for assigning to her the last place in his enumeration of our intellectual faculties." Upon this subdivision he enlarges at some length, and with considerable ingenuity; but on the present occasion it would be quite superfluous to follow him any farther, as more than enough has been already quoted to enable my readers to


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328 d'Orléans is actually the entrance of the Palais-Royal, where we often go in the evening, and is watched by many a sentinel. On the right, I saw a large, fat, red-coated man through the ground window, whom I supposed the porter of his Royal Highness. I entered and took off my fur cap, and went on in an unconcerned way towards the stairs, when he stopped me, and asked my wishes. I told him I had an engagement with his master at one, and gave him my card to take up. He said Monseigneur was not in (a downright lie), but that I might go to the antechamber. I ordered the fat fellow to have my portfolio taken upstairs, and proceeded to mount the finest staircase my feet have ever trod. The stairs parted at bottom in rounding form of about twenty-four feet in breadth, to meet on the second floor, on a landing lighted by a sky-light, which permitted me to see the beauties of the surrounding walls, and on this landing opened three doors, two of which I tried in vain to open. The third, however, gave way, and I found myself in the antechamber, with about twelve servants, who all rose and stood, until I had seated myself on a soft, red-velvet-covered bench. Not a word was said to me, and I gazed at all of them with a strange sensation of awkwardness mingled with my original pride. This room had bare walls, and a floor of black and white square marble flags. A man I call a sergeant d'armes, not knowing whether I am right or wrong, wore a sword fastened to a belt of embroidered silk, very wide; and he alone retained his hat. In a few minutes a tall, thin gentleman made his entrance from another direction from that by which I had come. The servants were again all up in a moment, the sergeant took off his hat, and the gentleman disappeared as if he had not seen me, though I had risen and bowed. A few minutes elapsed, when the same thing occurred again. Not knowing how long this might continue, I accosted the sergeant, told him I came at the request of the Duke, and wished to see him. A

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Rh profound bow was the answer, and I was conducted to another room, where several gentlemen were seated writing. I let one of them know my errand, and in a moment was shown into an immense and superbly furnished apartment, and my book was ordered to be brought up. In this room I bowed to two gentlemen whom I knew to be members of the Légion d'Honneur, and walked about admiring the fine marble statues and the paintings. A gentleman soon came to me, and asked if perchance my name was Audubon? I bowed, and he replied: "Bless me, we thought that you had gone and left your portfolio; my uncle has been waiting for you twenty minutes; pray, sir, follow me." We passed through a file of bowing domestics, and a door being opened I saw the Duke coming towards me, to whom I was introduced by the nephew. Lucy, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama have furnished the finest men in the world, as regards physical beauty; I have also seen many a noble-looking Osage chief; but I do not recollect a finer-looking man, in form, deportment, and manners, than this Duc d'Orléans. He had my book brought up, and helped me to untie the strings and arrange the table, and began by saying that he felt a great pleasure in subscribing to the work of an American, for that he had been most kindly treated in the United States, and should never forget it. The portfolio was at last opened, and when I held up the plate of the Baltimore Orioles, with a nest swinging amongst the tender twigs of the yellow poplar, he said: "This surpasses all I have seen, and I am not astonished now at the eulogiums of M. Redouté." He spoke partly English, and partly French; spoke much of America, of Pittsburgh, the Ohio, New Orleans, the Mississippi, steamboats, etc., etc., and added: "You are a great nation, a wonderful nation." The Duke promised me to write to the Emperor of Austria, King of Sweden, and other crowned heads, and asked me to write to-day to the Minister of the Interior. I

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 remained talking with him more than an hour; I showed him my list of English subscribers, many of whom he knew. I asked him for his own signature; he took my list and with a smile wrote, in very large and legible characters, "Le Duc d'Orléans." I now felt to remain longer would be an intrusion, and thanking him respectfully I bowed, shook hands with him, and retired. He wished to keep the set I had shown him, but it was soiled, and to such a good man a good set must go. At the door I asked the fat porter if he would tell me again his master was out. He tried in vain to blush.

October 1. Received to-day the note from the Minister of the Interior asking me to call to-morrow at two. At eight in the evening I was ready for M. Valenciennes to call for me to go with him to Gérard. I waited till ten, when my gentleman came, and off we went; what a time to pay a visit! But I was told Gérard keeps late hours, rarely goes to bed before two, but is up and at work by ten or eleven. When I entered I found the rooms filled with both sexes, and my name being announced, a small, well-formed man came to me, took my hand, and said, "Welcome, Brother in Arts." I liked this much, and was gratified to have the ice broken so easily. Gérard was all curiosity to see my drawings, and old Redouté, who was present, spoke so highly of them before the book was opened, that I feared to discover Gérard's disappointment. The book opened accidentally at the plate of the Parrots, and Gérard, taking it up without speaking, looked at it, I assure thee, with as keen an eye as my own, for several minutes; put it down, took up the one of the Mocking-Birds, and, offering me his hand, said: "Mr. Audubon, you are the king of ornithological painters; we are all children in France and in Europe. Who would have expected such things from the woods of America?" My

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Rh heart thrilled with pride at his words. Are not we of America men? Have we not the same nerves, sinews, and mental faculties which other nations possess? By Washington! we have, and may God grant us the peaceable use of them forever. I received compliments from all around me; Gérard spoke of nothing but my work, and requested some prospectuses for Italy. He repeated what Baron Cuvier had said in the morning, and hoped that the Minister would order a good, round set of copies for the Government. I closed the book, and rambled around the rooms which were all ornamented with superb prints, mostly of Gérard's own paintings. The ladies were all engaged at cards, and money did not appear to be scarce in this portion of Paris. October 2. Well, my Lucy, this day found me, about two o'clock, in contemplation of a picture by Gérard in the salon of the Minister of the Interior. Very different, is it not, from looking up a large decaying tree, watching the movements of a Woodpecker? I was one of several who were waiting, but only one person was there when I arrived, who entered into conversation with me,—a most agreeable man and the King's physician, possessed of fine address and much learning, being also a good botanist. Half an hour elapsed, when the physician was called; he was absent only a few minutes, and returning bowed to me and smiled as my name was called. I found the Minister a man about my own age, apparently worn out with business; he wore a long, loose, gray surtout, and said, "Well, sir, I am glad to see you; where is your great work?" I had the portfolio brought in, and the plates were exhibited. "Really, monsieur, it is a very fine thing;" and after some questions and a little conversation he asked me to write to him again, and put my terms in writing, and he would reply as soon as possible. He looked at me very fixedly, but so courteously I did not mind it. I tied up my portfolio and soon departed, having taken as much of

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