Chapter 22 Angelina (Haunted House)

About two years ago, I was cycling through a deserted path north of the village of Poissy near the village of Oshwar.Suddenly, I saw a house on the side of the road that surprised me, so I jumped out of the car to have a better look.It was a very ordinary brick house, blown by a cold wind blowing the leaves under a gray November sky, surrounded by a large garden with some old trees.However, this house is different: its dilapidated and desolate appearance makes you feel frightened when you look at it, and you feel that there is a gloomy atmosphere.The iron gate of the garden has been removed, and a large wooden sign faded by wind and rain shows that this is a house for sale.I felt very curious, so I walked into the garden with trepidation.

The house has not been lived in for about thirty or forty years.The bricks on the eaves, door and window frames had loosened from the harsh winters and were covered with moss and lichen.There were cracks in the front walls, like premature wrinkles etched into the otherwise solid but abandoned building.The front steps, too, were cracked and overgrown with nettles and brambles, and looked forbiddingly like a door to desolation and death.Even more miserable and frightening were those windows, without curtains, empty, and even the sea-blue window panes were smashed by children with stones; The windows, like the eyes of a dead man, are wide open but empty.As for the surroundings of the house, the large garden was deserted.The former flower beds are now unrecognizable as flower beds, overgrown with weeds.The paths in the garden were also swallowed up by weeds.The scrub woods had become wild woods, and under the tall old trees the damp ground was overgrown with wild vines and weeds.That day, the autumn wind was miserable, like weeping and complaining, and swept away the few dead leaves left on the old tree.

Facing this desolate scene, I stood numbly for a long time amidst its groans.My heart was disturbed by a nameless dread and a well-intentioned melancholy; yet a strong curiosity, a desire to know why it was all so unfortunate and painful, tempted me to linger. Walk.Finally, I finally made up my mind to walk out of the garden, and found that there was another dilapidated house at the fork on the other side of the road, which looked like a small inn that also sold liquor.I walked into this hotel looking for a chat with a local. There was only one old woman in the shop, and she brought me a glass of beer and babbled on and on.She complained that there were only two or three cyclists passing by on this deserted road every day.She talked on and on, about her own origins, that she was Madame Du Saint, and that she had come here from Vernon with her husband to set up a shop, and that at first the business was good, but since her husband's death, the business was getting worse. It's getting worse.She talked incessantly, but when I asked about the neighboring house, she immediately became cautious, and looked at me suspiciously, as if afraid that I might learn some terrible secret from her.

"Oh! You mean Sauvères, which they say is a haunted house... I don't know anything, sir. I'm late, I've only been here thirty years this Easter, But those things happened forty years ago. When we came here, the house was almost the same as what you see now... After so many summers and so many winters, the house has fallen apart from the bricks. Nothing has changed." "But," I asked, "if you want to sell it, why doesn't anyone buy it?" "Oh! Why? Why? How do I know? . . . There are so many legends . . . " At last, when I finally gained her confidence, she couldn't wait to tell me the legend she had heard.At first she said that no girl in the neighborhood dared to go into Sauvayer after sunset, because they heard that the house was haunted by ghosts at night.I was amazed that such a thing could be believed in so close to Paris!Seeing that I didn't take it seriously, she shrugged her shoulders, trying to show that she wasn't afraid of such a thing, but the expression on her face still showed her inner fear.

"It's true, sir. Why is no one buying it? I've seen many buyers come to see the house, but they all go away and never come again. Yes, it seems to be true, come and see the house As long as people who have the courage to enter the house, all kinds of strange things will happen in the house: the door will move, and it will shut itself with a bang, as if a gust of wind is blowing; And crying; and if you stay still, you'll hear a miserable voice, crying over and over again: 'Anthelina! Angthelina! Angthelina!' Chill... Let me tell you, this is true and well-founded, and anyone you ask will say so."

After listening to her words, I was not only attracted at once, but also a little creepy. "So, who is that Angelina?" "Oh, sir, that would be a long story. As I said, I don't know anything." Nevertheless, she finally told me exactly what happened.About forty years ago, around 1858, at the height of the Second Empire, Mr. de G., who held an important position in the Tuileries court, unfortunately lost his wife, leaving behind a son of about ten years old. The youngest daughter, named Angelina.The little girl looked exactly like her mother and was surprisingly beautiful.The following year M. de G. married the widow of a general, also a well-known beauty.It is said that just after Mr. de G.'s reincarnation, his daughter Angelina and her stepmother quarreled because of mutual jealousy and hatred.The daughter saw that her mother was forgotten, and a strange woman appeared in the family so soon, of course, she was very distressed; the stepmother saw that the little girl looked like a copy of her mother, and she was always worried that her husband would think of her ex-wife when he saw her, so she held a grudge.Sauvayer is the mansion where Mr. de G and his newly married wife live.One night, the stepmother saw her husband tenderly hugging and kissing her daughter, and in a fit of jealousy, she frantically beat the child violently.The child fell on his back and landed on the back of his head, dying instantly.What happened next was even more frightening: the father panicked, and in order to cover up the truth of his wife's murder, he secretly buried his daughter's body in the cellar.The body was buried for many years, during which time they kept saying that the youngest daughter had gone to her aunt's house.The body was discovered later by a dog digging desperately in the cellar and barking non-stop.However, the matter was reported to the Tuileries Palace, and the court tried every means to cover up the matter for Mr. de G.Now, Mr. de G. and his wife are dead, but Angelina returns from the dark underworld every night, and every time a miserable voice calls her name.

"It's all true," Mrs. Du Sheng said finally, "what I said is absolutely true, just like two plus two equals four." I listened to her with amazement, and though I wasn't entirely convinced it was true, I was fascinated by the grotesque and poignant drama.That Mr. de G. I have heard of, and seem to remember that he did continue, and that he had a family misfortune that made him unhappy.Could it be true?Such an astonishingly tragic story?Is human jealousy really so strong that it can develop to the point of madness?This is really an unprecedented and most terrifying love murder case: an extremely beautiful girl will be killed by her stepmother, and will be buried in the corner of the cellar by her biological father!It's appalling, it's horrific.I wanted to ask more, but I thought: why bother to ask the end?Isn't it enough to hear a horror story with a rich folk imagination?

So, I got on my bicycle again and took one last look at Sauwaier.The empty windows of that miserable house stared at me like the eyes of a dead man under the darkness of night.The autumn wind whines among the old trees. Why is this story deeply imprinted in my mind, making me unforgettable for a long time, and even turned into a stubborn idea, always tormenting me?This is a difficult psychological question to answer.Tales like this abound in the country, and this one is no less surprising, but it is of no use to me to say it to myself.I was always thinking of the dead little girl, and hearing that sad voice that called the name of the lovely and poor Angelina every night for forty years in that gloomy house. Shouts.

I've been looking into this for the first two months of winter.I thought that for such a disappearance, such an unusual anecdote, as long as the slightest word got out at that time, the newspapers would definitely regard it as a treasure.I then went to the National Library to check the newspapers of the time, but could not find any clues related to this.Later, I asked people who worked in the Tuileries Palace to find out, but no one could give me a clear answer.All I got was some conflicting claims.Though I still cannot get over the mystery, there seems to be no hope of finding out the truth.Unexpectedly, one morning, I unexpectedly got a new clue.

Every two or three weeks I have to visit the old poet V. whom I respect and am very close to.He passed away in April this year, at nearly seventy years old.For years, paralyzed in both legs, he sat on a sofa in his small study on Rue Asa.The window of the small study looked out on the Luxembourg Gardens.He just sat there, day after day slowly spent the rest of his dreamy life, with his poetic imagination built for himself an ideal palace far away from the world, and in this ideal palace he loved , suffering.Who among us can forget his handsome and kind face, his curly silver hair like a child's, and those blue eyes that still have the innocence and tenderness of youth?We cannot say that he is always talking in his sleep, but in fact he is constantly dreaming, so no one can tell where reality ends and fantasy begins in him.He is a very lovable old man. Because of his long-term indifference to world affairs, his words are often mysterious and mysterious like leaking secrets, which makes people fascinated.

That day, I was chatting with him by the window.There was a roaring fire in the small study, and it was freezing outside, and the Luxembourg Gardens were covered with snow, creating a vast and clean scene.Somehow, I talked to him about Sauvayères, about the story that was always on my mind: the father's rebirth, the stepmother's jealousy of the little girl who looked like her own mother, and the little girl was buried in the cellar, etc. Wait.With a smile on his face -- a serene smile on his face even when he's blue -- hear me out.There was a silence.His tender blue eyes gazed blankly into the distance, towards the snow-capped Luxembourg Gardens.Then, he trembled slightly, as if shrouded in a dream. "I used to be very familiar with Mr. de G..." he said slowly, "I knew his first wife, a rare beauty in the world; I also knew his second wife, who was like a fairy Beautiful, not inferior to the first. I even loved these two women, but I never confided in them. Angelina, I also know, she is even more beautiful, and all men will fall in love with her skirt Next... However, what happened is not exactly what you said." I couldn't help getting excited.I don't expect to find out the truth, does it mean that it is waiting for me here?Am I about to get to the bottom of this thing?I couldn't believe it at first, but I said to him: "Ah! my friend, you have done me a great favor! My mind seems to be at peace. Please speak quickly and tell me everything." However, he didn't seem to be listening to me, and his eyes still stayed in the distance.After a while, he began to speak in a dreamy voice, and it sounded as though he was making up characters and plots as he spoke: "When Angelina was twelve years old, her heart was already full of love like an adult, and she already experienced joy and pain strongly. Every day she saw her father embracing his new wife, and her heart was ignited. She was in a rage of jealousy. She was in agony, because she considered it the most terrible betrayal. The newlyweds were not only an insult to her mother, but also a torture to herself, which broke her heart. Every night , she heard her mother calling her from the grave, so one night, this twelve-year-old girl was in so much pain, or in other words, she loved so much, that she picked up a knife in order to meet her mother. , into my heart..." I cried out: "My God! Is there such a thing?" "The next day," he went on, as if he hadn't heard me, "Mr. It is conceivable how panicked and frightened they were! They were going to Italy the next day, and there was only one old maid who took care of the child at home. They were afraid that someone would inform them, so with the help of the old maid, they took the child away. The girl's body was buried. It was true. But it was buried at the edge of a flower bed under a big orange tree at the back of the house. Later, when the de G. , and they dug up the body." I suddenly became suspicious, and while looking at him uneasily, I wondered if he was making it up out of thin air. "But," I asked him, "do you believe that Angeline returns every night to answer that mysterious and mournful call?" At this time, he finally took a look at me, with a kind smile of an elder on his face. "Yes! My friend, everyone will come back. Why would you not want her soul to remain there after the dear girl loved and suffered in that house? If now Some people heard a voice calling her, that means she has not been reborn, but don't worry, one day, her life will start again, because everything in the world will start again, nothing is gone forever, love And so is beauty... Angthelina! Angthelina! Angthelina! She will be reborn in the sun, among the flowers." Hearing what he said, of course I neither believed nor calmed down.My old friend V., the naive poet, simply confuses me more and more.He must be figuring it out like a poem.But it is also possible that, like all prophets, he could foretell the future. "Is what you just said true?" I still asked him with a smile without presumptuousness. He also smiled kindly. "Of course it is true, isn't infinity real?" This was the last time I saw him, since I left Paris shortly afterwards.His figure kept appearing in front of my eyes, his dreamy eyes melted into the white snow of the Luxembourg Gardens, and he was so confident in his endless dreams, so he seemed so peaceful.However, I couldn't feel at ease, and I kept trying to figure out that confusing thing. A year and a half passed.For a year and a half, I had to travel a lot.In that storm that God only knows where it will take us (referred to as the "Dreyfus Case", in which Zola not only defended the framed Dreyfus, but also wrote "I Indictment!", which attacked the French authorities and was forced into exile in England.), my life was full of sorrow and joy.However, from time to time, I still hear the miserable cry coming from afar, going straight to my heart: "Angselina! Ainselina! Acheselina!" The desire to find out the truth makes me restless.I could never get it out of my head, and what pained me most was that I had always been skeptical about it. One fine evening in June, I don't even understand how I came to be riding my bicycle on the deserted road to Sauvayères again.Was it my will to look again, or did instinct drive me off the road and head in that direction?I can't tell.Anyway, here I go. It was almost eight o'clock at this time, but in the longest days of the year, the afterglow of the setting sun was still shining, and there was no cloud in the sky, showing endless golden yellow and azure blue.The breeze is blowing gently, so gentle; the flowers, plants and trees exude breath, so fragrant; the vast and peaceful fields stretch as far as the eye can see, so refreshing! As before, I was taken aback in front of Sauvayer and jumped out of the car.I couldn't even believe my eyes for a moment.Is this the house?The beautiful new iron gate gleamed in the setting sun, the fence had been repaired neatly, and the house that loomed among the trees seemed to have been reborn, neat and bright.Is this the resurrection prophesied by the poet?Has Angelina answered the distant call and returned to the world? I stood on the side of the road looking at the house with my heart racing.At this moment, the footsteps of "Tuk Tuk" suddenly sounded beside me, which startled me.It turned out to be Mrs. Du Sheng, who was walking from a nearby alfalfa field with a cow. "Aren't these people afraid of living in it?" I asked her, pointing to the house. She also recognized me and stopped the animal. "Oh, sir, some people are daring. That house has been sold for over a year. But the man who bought it was a painter, painter b, you know, these art men can do anything." She led the ox and left, before leaving, she shook her head and said, "Just wait and see!" Painter B, that elegant and brilliant artist who has painted portraits of so many lovely Parisian ladies!I knew him a little bit, met him at the theater, at the exhibition hall, or somewhere else, and shook hands.I suddenly had the idea of ​​wanting to go in, and wanted to tell him what I had been thinking about all the time. If he knew the truth, he would ask him to tell me, so as to solve the doubts in my heart.So I leaned my bike against an old moss-covered tree, without giving it a second thought, and without being put off by wearing dusty cycling clothes that are no longer obnoxious these days.A servant came out at the sound of the doorbell.I handed over my card and he asked me to wait in the garden for a while. I looked around and was even more surprised.The front of the house has been refurbished: the cracks are gone, the bricks are tight; the steps, surrounded by roses, are once again a door eagerly awaiting visitors; How comfortable and pleasant the room is; and the nettles and brambles have been cleared from the garden, and the flower-beds are revealed one by one, like great bouquets of fragrance; sunset. The servant came back, took me into the drawing room, and said that the master had gone to the next village, but would be back soon.I wish I could stay here for hours; the first thing I do when I settle down is to observe this living room.The drawing-room was well furnished, with thick carpets, wide and long couches and deep soft sofas, and calico curtains over the windows and doors.These curtains are huge, so when I first came in it felt a bit dark in the living room.After a while, the sky darkened.I don't know how long I have to wait, they seem to have forgotten me, and they didn't even bring a lamp.So I could only sit in the dark and meditate, and the tragic story appeared before my eyes again in its entirety.Was Angelina murdered, or did she plunge the knife into her chest?Thinking of this, being in this dark, haunted house, really frightened me.At first, I was just a little uneasy, with goosebumps all over my body, and then I felt more and more terrible, trembling all over, and my limbs were cold. Suddenly, I seemed to hear faint sounds somewhere, which must have been in the depths of the cellar: low moans, mournful sobs, and heavy dragging as the ghost moved.Then, these voices seemed to rise up, getting closer, and the dark room seemed to be full of fear and ominous atmosphere.All of a sudden, the terrible shout sounded: "Angshilina! Angshilina! Angshilina!" The shouts became louder and louder, and I felt a gust of wind blowing towards my face.The door of the living room opened suddenly, and Angeline came in, and walked straight in without looking at me.But I recognized her because the light came in from the vestibule as she entered.She must have been the little girl who died at twelve, very beautiful, with fair hair falling to her shoulders, all dressed in white, and skin as white as the earth in the world from which she came every night.She hurried by, silently, and went out by another door.Then I heard the shout again, but it was farther away: "Angselina! Ainselina! Ainselina!" A gloomy cold wind from the mysterious world made all the hairs on my body stand on end. When I regained my composure, at about the same time the servant brought in the lamp, I found painter B standing in front of me.He shook my hand and apologized for keeping me waiting.I didn't care about face anymore, so I hurriedly told him the reason why I came to him.As I spoke, I was still trembling.He listened, surprised at first, then tried to comfort me, with such a good-natured smile on his face! "My dear, you may not know that I am a relative of the second Madame de G. What a poor woman! How can she be accused of killing the little girl? She loves her very much and weeps as much as her father. It is true, however, that the poor child did die in this house, but not by suicide, my God! How can such a thing happen! She died suddenly of a sudden illness. Her parents were greatly disturbed, I hated this house and never wanted to come back to live in it. That's why the house was vacant when they were alive. After they died, the house was not sold because of endless lawsuits. I like it very much It has been waiting for a chance to buy it for many years. I assure you that we have not seen a ghost until now." I trembled again, and stammered: "But, Angelina, I saw her just now... That terrible voice called her, and she passed here, passed through this room..." He stared at me, startled, thinking I was out of my mind.Then suddenly he burst out laughing, laughing like any man who has lived a good life. "The one you saw just now is my daughter. Her godfather is Mr. De G. When Mr. De G missed his daughter, he gave her the name Angelina. It may be her mother who called her just now, so She passed through the living room." As he spoke, he opened the door and cried: "Anthelina! Angthelina! Angthelina!" The child came back, but alive and happy.Yes, that is her, dressed in pure white, with charming golden hair draped over her shoulders, beautiful and shining with the light of hope, like a budding flower in spring, pregnant with the vitality of love and the eternal joy of life. what!Sweet, resurrected girl, the dead child is born again!Life has triumphed over death.My old friend, the poet V, is telling the truth after all: "Everything in this world begins anew, and nothing is lost forever, and so are love and beauty..." Mother's voice is calling them, these little girls of today, these The lovers of tomorrow, they are revived in the sunshine and among thousands of flowers.Now, because the child has returned, that house is also given new life, for it is once more youthful and joyful with the return of eternal life.