I tell the beginning of my existence as it was told to me, as I, understandably, do not recall it. I was born in the spring, though I cannot simply say born, for it was not a conventional birth. My mother did not carry me in her womb as mothers do.
In a grand Parisian château, lived an esteemed couple of aristocratie. Unlike many in their social sphere, they had the great fortune of being able to marry for love and theirs was a love of the purest, loveliest kind. Yet, behind the closed doors of their perfect home, a terrible affliction haunted this family. At nearly thirty years old, the wife had long been declared barren and had accepted her dismal fate of never bearing her husband an heir. Her husband had no siblings and it was accepted that his estate and his revered family name would be bequeathed to a distant relative. This was, it seemed to the two, the worst of all fates to be handed. But destinée had yet to finish her grandiose work.
It was during her twenty-ninth year that the woman conceived and 7 months later, a son was born. The infant was feeble and frail. The priest was sent for immediately and the child was baptised in the home. Upon receiving the babe in her arms, the mother's weary eyes were bright with joy. The father placed a light kiss upon his head and whispered to him his given name, "Jean-Luc."
Despite the priest's injunction to delay, the father was quick in registering the child, for he had great faith that the boy would grow strong and healthy. The son was examined by an esteemed physician and, though of a weak constitution, was declared to be in good health. All was well and blissful for two whole weeks. It was then that their beautiful son took to an inexplicable illness. In the span of a few hours, the child had been examined by the midwife, the priest, and the physician. The latter used an odd device that the couple had never seen before. He explained that it was used to listen to the heart and lungs, and that he could hear no irregularities in either. All varieties of medicines and tinctures were tried. All failed. No one knew what was to be done. It was finally decided that the parents should spend their remaining time with the boy in reverent silence. Every body was removed from the room, while the couple sat in despair. When, finally, the child was dead, the small body was gently lifted from the woman's stiff arms and they watched with cold, distant eyes as he was carried out of the room. It was not yet an hour past, when the man slowly stood. He did not say a word as he left the room, donned his coat and hat, and departed from the residence. The woman seemed unaware of his departure, her eyes staring vacantly at the cradle beside the bed. At long last, the woman fell asleep. In the dark hours of the morning, the nursemaid, a Mademoiselle Rosalie, intending to prepare the room for when Madame woke, heard whimpers emanating from behind the door. Supposing her mistress to be grieving the loss of the child, the woman retreated to her other duties.
The light of the sun had long illuminated the house when a scream rang out from the nursery. Rosalie bustled her large frame to the nursery and entered to find Madame on the bed, clutching her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth. Her colourless lips uttered "Ce n'est qu'un rêve" over and over again.
(Here, I shall translate, to the best of my ability, what our cher ami has not; the poor was woman chanting "It is but a dream.")
The maid was grieved by her mistress' obvious terror and moved to console her. When she came upon the bed, however, she saw that a mound of cloth, near the edge of the bed, was moving. Her immediate thought was that a vermin had entered the room and she grabbed the closest thing she could reach, a candlestick, to dispense it with. As she removed the cloth, she brought the candlestick down in her usual efficient manner, but drew her blow short when she saw pale flesh. She blinked in confusion while Madame let out a shriek.
"Kill it!" she exclaimed, drawing herself as closely to the headboard as was possible.
Rosalie used the cloth in her hand to touch the infant, thinking it must be infected with some plague for Madame to act in such a way. She gathered the babe to her breast, when the events of the previous day alighted upon her mind. 'It was just a dream' was her thought, but when she looked down at the child, she froze in a bout of panic. Non, this was le rêve. Nay, le cauchemar. The bundle she held in her arms could not possibly be the child born those two weeks ago. In fact, it did not appear to be a child at all.
She quickly composed herself, so as not to alarm her mistress further, and placed the silent form in the cradle. She attended to Madame without so much as a glance at the crib. After taking a dose of laudanum, Madame fell into a deep sleep. Rosalie carried the still-quiet creature to the kitchen, where she prepared and fed it some milk. The only sound it made was a soft whimper that she recognized from earlier that morning. She transferred the cradle to an empty bedroom not far from the nursery, and left the creature there.
She recalled the superstitious ramblings of her mother as she made her way downstairs. She had never once believed them, being a person of sense and logic, but the small being in the cradle was not of either. Her mother had told her of demons that would torment a household that did not properly care for a corpse. With these thoughts running through her mind, she made her way to the simple wooden door. She hesitated, fearing what she may find, before entering. Her eyes scanned the room and found what she had feared most; nothing. Nothing of consequence, that is. Gone was the tiny corpse that she remembered placing there the day before. She staggered from the room, white as a sheet, and rushed to find Charles. She found him in the kitchen with his wife, Marie, the cook.
"Charles! Marie!" She gasped for breath. "Did you see the baby? The body?"
Her inquiry was met with concerned frowns. Charles stepped forward, guiding her to sit in a chair.
"Calm, Rosalie." He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Tell us of what you mean. Has something happened to le jeune monsieur?"
Rosalie gaped at the man. "Do you not remember? Did he not die this previous day?"
Charles frowned. "I did not hear of it."
He looked at his wife for confirmation, who gave a small shake of her head. She had not heard either. Rosalie's mind raced. Perhaps it had all been a dream, though it had felt so real. Perhaps the creature she had seen had also been imagined. She felt as if she could sense madness creeping at the edges of her mind, just waiting for the opportune moment to pounce upon her.
"Sœur!" Rosalie jumped at her brother's voice. "Are you well?"
"Charles, I had the most awful nightmare."
"Marie, fetch some wine!" Charles grasped her shoulders. "You are awake now, Rosalie. Be calmed."
The wine did its job in calming the maid and the conversation was soon forgotten. The trio returned to their duties.
Later, Rosalie made her way back upstairs to check on Madame. She was still sleeping soundly, but the crib was gone. Rosalie felt unease slipping back into her heart and she breathed deeply, chiding herself. She had moved the cradle. That did not mean that the creature she had seen was truly there. This thought did not ease her apprehension, as it could only mean that madness surely was overtaking her. She slowly made her way to the room with the cradle. She stared at the door knob as if it were a viper. Steeling herself, she grasped the knob and flung the door open. She approached the cradle and looked inside. The back of a petite pink head faced her. She drew a breath and carefully turned the infant to face her.
The fist of horror caught her throat and she felt as though she would faint. She let go of the sleeping creature and sank to the floor. She could never have imagined such a thing, even in madness. There was nothing to be done but to accept the reality of the situation. For several minutes, she sat on the floor absorbing the state of affairs that she had found herself in. When she arose, she was determined to take action. She would speak with Madame when she awoke about what was to be done.
As morning fled into afternoon, she found it odd that it still hadn't cried, but was thankful when there came a visitor to the château. It was a policeman and Rosalie felt a rapid sense of dread. His face indicated poor news and he struggled to meet her gaze when he inquired if Madame was in. That he did not ask for Monsieur worried her greatly and she rushed to fetch her mistress.
Madame was still drowsy, but shakily readied herself to meet le policier. Upon meeting him in the parlour, he told her of her greatest fear. Monsieur had been found drowned in la Seine. Madame collapsed at the news, the quick reflexes of their visitor saving her from hitting the floor. He set her gently on a nearby chaise and offered to escort her to the morgue to see her husband. She nodded her head through sobs and Rosalie fetched her overcoat.
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