The Crystal City Under the Sea Read online

  All listened to this account of their late comrade with sympathetic interest, and Lieutenant Briant thanked the doctor in the name of his brother officers:

  “All the details you have given us about him whom we have lost,” added he, “only make his memory the more dear, if that were possible. Qn you, my poor fellow, will devolve the painful task of breaking the mournful news to his mother. Tell her, when she can bear to hear it, of the esteem and affection we all bore for him.”

  “And his cousin;” said Des Bruyeres, thoughtlessly, “for her also it will be a frightful blow. Perhaps she was his fiancée!”

  “No,” replied the doctor, rather drily, “Mademoiselle Hélène Rieux and Caoudal were not engaged. We are speaking in confidence here. Why should I not tell you that Madame Caoudal’s great desire was that they should marry, but she was destined to be disappointed in this wish also, for they had flatly refused to lend themselves to the project. Hélène and René were brother and sister, or, rather, their regard for one another was like that of two brothers.”

  While they chatted thus in the officers’ deck saloon, and Commander Harancourt wrote the details of the catastrophe in the log-book, the storm lost its force and soon ceased altogether. A quieter sea succeeded the formidable waves that had subjected the Hercules to so rude an assault. The watch changed at the usual hour; the men on the watch took up their posts, whilst their comrades separated, to seek in their hammocks the rest they so much needed. All night long the cruiser rolled like a cork on the chopping sea. Then, towards morning, it quieted down again, and, when the sun appeared above the horizon, it lighted up a sea as smooth as a mirror. The Hercules pursued her course. She very soon touched at Lisbon, and was able to repair her damages, after which she again put to sea and, in a few days, arrived at Lorient. It was by this time a fortnight since the loss of Midshipman Caoudal, but the sad event was still fresh in the memory of all. Kermadec, well on the road towards recovery, was already able, by the help of a pair of crutches, to hoist himself up on deck.

  Doctor Patrice’s heart was as heavy as lead at the thought of the task that lay before him with regard to his friend’s unfortunate mother, but, with thoughtful delicacy, the commander had desired that she should be informed in this way, rather than by an official despatch from Lisbon.

  The pilot had just boarded the Hercules, bringing letters, impatiently awaited by all on board. Suddenly, the commander appeared with a radiant face, and a blue paper in his hand.

  “I have good news for you, gentlemen,” said he. “Midshipman Caoudal is safe and sound; picked up at sea by a mail-boat from La Plata. Two days ago he was in the hospital at Lorient, and is now convalescent.”

  CHAPTER II

  A PRODIGIOUS ADVENTURE.

  THE doctor’s joy at learning that his friend still lived was as great as the grief of the past two weeks. What a relief to be spared the sad errand to Madame Caoudal; not to be obliged to face her grief, and that of her niece! And for himself, what happiness to have his friend restored to him; to be able to hope that René would live many years to torment his friends, to frighten them to death by his escapades, and yet to be liked by everybody, as of yore! But did anybody ever hear of such a curious piece of luck? To fall into the sea, in a furious storm, to the depth of a thousand feet, and then to find himself comfortable and calm in the roadstead at Lorient, two days before his comrades The scamp! No one but René Caoudal could have met with such adventures. How they longed to see him! Doctor Patrice lost no time in finding him, anc hearing his account of himself. Ten minutes after landing, he entered the room where the midshipman was lying. The first greetings over, he examined the young man carefully, feeling all over him, applying the stethoscope, and interrogating him, to make sure that there was no injury. His examination over, the doctor felt puzzled, for, physically, he was sound enough, and there did not appear to be any reason for his keeping his bed. And yet he could not conceal from himself a singular change in the mental condition of the young sailor. Sad, preoccupied, with pale face, and distrait expression, he evidently found difficulty in fixing his attention, and responded with reluctance to the eager questions of his friend. Truth to say, he appeared annoyed by them.

  “What is the matter with you?” said Patrice, anxiously. “ You do not seem to be any the worse for your immersion. I must say, I cannot understand why you lie here like a log. Come, make an effort! Take a turn out-of-doors; that will put you to rights in a twinkling.”

  “ Oh! a walk in Lorient!” said he, in a contemptuous tone.

  “Lorient is not to be despised!” cried the doctor. “In any case, it would be better than lying here in the dumps, for you are in the dumps; that is evident. Come, what have you got on your mind?”

  The only reply was a discouraged shrug of the shoulders.

  “Do you feel ill?”

  “Ill? No; not precisely ill.”

  “Then what do you feel like? Have you any muscular pain, or any sprain? How long were you in the water?”

  Again René shrugged his shoulders. “How do I know? Besides, what does it matter?” muttered he, impatiently.

  And turning towards the wall, he hid his face with his arm, as if to insinuate that the conversation was burdensome. The doctor looked at him with surprise, which rapidly changed to uneasiness. What ailed him? Such a frank and lively fellow, with such an open nature, and so transparent! Had his head struck against a reef at the bottom of the sea? Must he attribute this dumbness, this unusual sullen-ness, to some injury of the brain?

  “How is it; don’t you know?” he asked, determined to make him speak. “You must be able to remember what happened when you came to the surface. You were not long under the water, perhaps. How many minutes, should you judge?” A deep sigh was the sole response. “Perhaps you lost consciousness?” René was silent.

  “You were found lashed to an empty barrel, if I am rightly informed,” said Patrice. “Was it long before you got hold of it? And the rope,—where , did you get it from?”

  Another shrug of the shoulders, and impatient turn of the head, as if to shake off importunate noise. It seemed as if the voice of his friend grated on his nerves like a saw scraping marble. For some minutes, the doctor pressed questions on him without getting any answer.

  “My dear friend,” said he, at last, vexed in his turn by this behaviour, “your cold bath appears to me to have had a most unfortunate effect upon your temper. You are not ill, but you are very sulky. If I bore you, say so. I will go away. It is very simple.”

  He turned towards the door. At this, René appeared to make an effort to rouse himself from his dejection.

  “Patrice! Stephen!” called he, “Don’t be angry. Come back. You know I am glad to see you. You have no need that I should throw myself into your arms to prove that, I think.”

  “Confound it! There is a slight difference between throwing your arms around my neck, and giving me such a reception as this, you must own.” Rene sighed afresh, shaking his head in a lugubrious fashion.

  “Come, let us begin all over again. What on earth is the matter with you, with your sighs and your head-shakings? One would think that you concealed some terrible secret. Have you discovered a conspiracy among the monsters of the deep, or have you heard the sirens sing at the bottom of the sea, and care for nothing but their music?”

  To the doctor’s great surprise, a deep flush suffused René’s pale face, and his eyes brightened, while a smile leaped to his lips. The two friends waited a moment, in silence, looking one another in the face.

  “Well, explain yourself, I beg,” said the doctor, at length, crossing his arms on his breast.

  Rene reassumed his dejected attitude.

  “What would be the use?” said he, in a tone of lassitude; “you would not believe me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, if I spoke, it would be to tell you of such improbable things, so ridiculous, you would never believe me. And you would be right, no doubt, if it were not for one irrefutable proof; one material proof.”

  “A proof of what?”

  “Of what happened to me.”

  “Where? When? How? You are enough to provoke a saint with your reticence. I have a very good mind to shake you!”

  Rene remained silent a moment. Then he took a resolution.

  “Here, feel my pulse,” said he. “Have I any feverish symptoms?”

  “Not a shadow of fever. A cool skin, and a pulse as steady as mine.”

  Look at me. Do I look scared? Is my forehead burning? Do I look like a man demented, under the influence of delirium?”

  “Not the least in the world. You are like a fine lad, a friend of mine, the prey of an unaccountable mood, but in possession of all his faculties.”

  “Then, whatever I tell you, will you believe it?”

  “If you swear to me that you speak seriously, I will believe it without a doubt,”

  “I give you my word of honour that what I am going to tell you is strictly true. And yet, I hesitate.”

  “Well, go along. I never knew any one so suspicious.”

  “You have never known me in circumstances such as I am now placed in. Stephen, you are my dearest friend; almost my elder brother. I would not deceive you, would I? Besides, to what end? What I am going to tell you is true. It is incomprehensible, but it is true. I would rather keep to myself the secret of this strange adventure, and I had resolved never to speak of it to any one, certain of not being believed. But here you are? You question me, and I have such a habit of telling you everything that happens to me that, on my soul, I will risk it. Who knows? Perhaps, between us, we may arrive at some plausible theory, at some practical conclusion.”

  Intensely puzzled by this preamble, not less than by the serious and deeply affected expre
ssion of the midshipman’s face, the doctor took a seat by the bedside, and prepared to listen. R-ene, leaning on his elbow, with a dreamy look fixed on something visible to himself alone, began his story in these words:

  “You have not forgotten the circumstances I was placed in when I was washed overboard, on that Monday, the 19th of October. We were in a cyclone, running N. N. E., with a tremendous sea on, and the first thing you all knew was that a huge wave carried me and the gun away with it. Doubtless, a search was made for me, and the vessel was stopped, to wait for me. I know what is the usual thing to do at such times, and, at the moment, I fully expected to be picked up.”

  The doctor signified by a gesture that all that had been done.

  “Unfortunately, or, rather, fortunately,—for if I had been unluckily fished up then, I should have missed an unheard of spectacle, — in falling, an irresistible impulse made me curl my legs and arms round the breech of the gun. The mass of steel was ingulfed in the water, and carried me down by its weight. In a moment, I felt the absurdity of what I was doing, and tried to relax my hold, in order to rise to the surface. Then I lost consciousness. So far, nothing remarkable happened. Once, I felt I was almost rescued, but instinctively I clung to my gun, which cut through the water like a flash of lightning. My last lucid thought was that I had come to the surface, and was floating like a dead fish. It is all linked together in my memory; I see now what happened. I see the plunge into the water, I feel the cold of the steel in my arms, and the loss of breath, caused by the rapid dive. Then, for the second time, I lost consciousness. How long did it last? Who will ever know? Where was I? What was this place; this never to be forgotten scene?”

  The officer paused a moment, a far-off look in his eyes, and his face pale.

  “When I recovered my senses,” resumed he, “I was lying on a soft couch. Just at first I was unable to open my eyes; thought came back to me, but slowly; I heard, but without being able to understand what was going on around me, voices speaking in a language unknown to me. At first I lay in a sort of vague languor — a reverie. The voices ceased. Suddenly memory returned, and I thought to myself: ‘I must have fallen into the water; I was suffocated. Some one has fished me out.’ I opened my eyes with difficulty,—my eyelids were as heavy as lead,—expecting to find myself in the ship’s hospital, with you bending over me on one side, brushes and flannels in hand, and my good Kermadec on the other, busy rubbing his officer. And I remember wondering which of our fellows had taken my place on the watch. Instead of the hospital, instead of your faces, this is what I saw: I was lying in the middle of a spacious grotto, the walls of which seemed made of red coral, of the most exquisite shade. A silvery light fell from the roof, displaying a bed of ivory covered with a thick purple texture, as soft as velvet to the touch. Under my head were piled up cushions made of precious stuffs, curiously embroidered.

  “The floor of the grotto was covered with the finest sand; and here and there spread magnificent carpets. Ivory seats of antique form wore disposed here and there; also an embroidery-frame of smooth ivory with an unfinished piece of embroidery in it; and a lyre of pale tortoise-shell resting on a pile of rumpled cushions, as if it had been thrown down in haste. In a basket made of rushes I saw wools of faded colours; a roll of papyrus, open. I lay there, bewildered, looking about me, wondering what world I had wandered into, when a sweet voice, as clear as crystal, suddenly uttered an exclamation, I turned my head quickly. How shall I describe to you what I saw? A young girl and an old man stood beside my couch, and appeared to have entered from an inner grotto at the head of the bed. The old man, tall, almost gigantic, was stately in the extreme. He wore round his brow a gold fillet; his long beard covered his breast with snowy waves. Draped in a voluminous mantle of white woollen material, enriched with a border of coloured embroidery, he looked like an antique statue come to life. As to the young girl, I never saw anything so beautiful. She seemed to me a sort of ethereal being, made of the same sort of light as that shed from the roof of the grotto,—tall, upright, slender as a reed. She was clothed in a soft tunic of pale green, the colour of the waves, as you sometimes see them at sunrise. Her fair hair, held back from her face with strings of pearls, fell, in a silken mass, to her feet- Her pure brow was crowned with a garland of sea-weed, and in her clear eyes I thought I saw the spirit of the ocean, herself. She looked at me, then pointing to me with her slim finger, she pronounced a short phrase. The old man replied. I made an effort to hear them, but I could understand nothing they said. If my recollection of the classics, — hazy enough, I must own, —does not deceive me, the language they spoke in was Greek.

  “Meanwhile, the old man came towards me/placed his hand on my forehead, on my heart, and felt my pulse, just as you would have done, my dear Stephen. The young girl, leaning on his shoulder, turned her ravishing face towards me, with an expression half curious, half mocking. I felt that my modern uniform, with its gold lace, and my leather boots, must have had a pitiful effect on this royal couch. You cannot imagine how mean and shabby I felt in the midst of all this luxury, this fairy, archaic, fantastic magnificence. However, my host and hostess continued conversing beside my couch; and by their looks and their gestures I saw that they were speaking of me. The old man looked more and more grave; several times he raised his hand towards the roof of the grotto. It seemed to me that the young girl asked something; playfully, at first; then, getting almost angry. Her charming brow darkened; she frowned, and her limpid eyes flashed. The old man, without troubling himself at this display of anger, signified ‘no’ with his head in a severe manner. At last, releasing himself gently, but firmly, from the young girl who clung to him, he walked to an ivory coffer, took from it a gold cup, and began to concoct a beverage. The young girl stayed by my side. She watched the old man for a few moments, with her eyelids drooping, biting her lips with a look of anger, which, by the way, in no wise detracted from her beauty; then, all at once, with a charmingly mutinous movement of the head, she smiled, drew nearer to me, and, rapidly slipping a ring on my finger, made a sign common, it seems, to all countries. She laid her finger on her smiling lips; then, running to the cushions piled up near the embroidery-frame, she posed on them like a swallow, and, taking the lyre in her arms, began a song I can never forget.

  “Oh, that crystal voice! that strange, unreal music! that fantastic and yet delicious melody! You spoke just now of the song of the sirens, my dear Stephen,—what siren ever sang as mine did then? Looking at her, listening to her, I felt myself living in an unknown world. A singular joy, mixed with a nameless melancholy, suffused my whole being. I could have wished to listen to it forever, or to die, listening to it. The tears rose to my eyes involuntarily; I was transported, and yet I was sad.

  “She looked at me, while shedding these exquisite notes across the grotto, and it seemed to me that the rays of her eyes brought the fantastic notes to me. Opposite to her, one of the walls appearing to be of glass, I could distinguish a light-green, like that of the seawater; I got a glimpse of large bodies passing one another in this transparent wall, attracted, retained like myself, by the magic song. Unable longer to endure inaction, I raised myself on my couch, when the old man, returning noiselessly to my side, laid his hand heavily on my shoulder, and offered me a cup of chased gold, filled with a beverage with an aromatic odour.

  “I was about to refuse it, when, at a word from the old man, the young girl rose, came towards me as lightly as a shadow, and, with a smile on her lips, offered me the cup. I drank it at a draught. The beverage was of a peculiar but very agreeable taste. No sooner had I swallowed it than I fell back on my cushions as if paralyzed. The young girl began to sing again. Everything whirled round me, — the grotto, its inhabitants, its furniture, the great, strange fishes which passed to and fro near the transparent wall. I fancied I saw the faces of friends bending over my couch, — yours, my mother’s, Hélène’s, — I shut my eyes to escape from the sensation of vertigo. The crystal voice seemed to die away in the distance. Once more I lost consciousness.