Goblins In Paris.
To the Editor of the Morning Post.
Paris, August 22.
Sir, The following singular specimen of the mysterious has just occurred in this City. I need not mention to you that it has caused considerable agitation in the neighbourhood by its occurrence, and among many scientific and intelligent persons has given rise to much whimsical conjecture, at the same time that it banishes all attempts at any thing which would involve serious discussion: –
Some apartments on the third floor of the house No. 7, in the street of Faubourg St. Honore, have been occupied for some time by an elderly Lady of respectability and a female servant. Their time was spent, as it should be, in domestic retirement, and an occasional visit to and from their several acquaintances. Along the current of their lives they were gliding peaceably and smoothly – ay, gently floating down the tide towards the elysium fields without stay or hindrance, when an unlucky storm commenced on Wednesday last, which terminated the golden age, and now they are in the spring of a brazen age of terror and unutterable suspense for the remainder of their lives.
On the above day (of fiendish memory) the apartment bell furiously aroused the attendant to her duty. She obeyed – the door was opened for the reception of a visitor – but visitor there was none. Perhaps (thought the conscientious domestic) I was not sufficiently alive on my post, and they may have grown impatient. The door was then re-shut – and, when it was, the bell was then re-rung. Again to the door – but no one there. Perhaps behind the door – no – the lobby looked perfectly indifferent and blank – and what was worse – solemnly silent.
The Lady, attracted by the deep-drawn sighs of her faithful domestic, came to the spot to examine the cause. Again rung the bell, without any reason visible or otherwise.
This is no common case, and now sprung forth the horrid suspicion of being haunted by shades of departed friends, nay perhaps of enemies, nay but worse – these things may be brought about by the machinations of Lucifer, and all his Legion, Lucifer and all his Legion busy in my appartments! muttered she in a kind of sotto voce, but yet sufficient to attract one of the King’s guards, who, with his wife, lodged in the adjoining apartments. This was not a time to shrink from danger, the enermy should be encountered. Yes, in “this nation of Cavaliers and Gentlemen,” as Burke terms it, the sword should be ever ready to “fly from its scabbard,” in the defence of female helplessness.
“Where are the Demons? My sword, my life is ready at your service” – the Lady could say nothing but pointed to the bell, and “looked unutterable things.” The bell was quite capable of speaking for itself, and it rung a hearty peal in defiance of the enemy. A general muster of the household was now deemed necessary. All protested their innocence, and denied any participation with spirits, expressing their abhorrence of witchcraft, or other infernal resources.
The hall porter declared, that no stranger whatever had entered the house. Windows were made fast, doors were secured, and all staircase communication obstructed by the old domestic, who now from an affrighted follower became a sturdy leader – ready to contest the pass with – ay – even Beelzebub himself.
All was now hushed – for delicate Ariel had now left its bell, and the bell had now left its ringing. Although this was not during “the witching time,” for strange to say, it was not many hours after noon, yet “a change came o’er the spirit of their dream,” and mystery followed mystery. It was now rumoured, that his Satanic Majesty was about to claim possession of the premises, and to suffer such an invasion in these days of legitimacy would be horrifying indeed. Especially, what pretensions to kindred could he advance towards an elderly maiden lady of correct life and untainted reputation. True, both had been angels in their early life, but what of that? No true Knight, but would draw a strong line of distinction between a faded angel and a fallen one. The house must be searched, and the usuper and all his train extirpated, root and branch.
Scarcely had the terrified inhabitants proceeded upon the scrutiny, when (horrible visu) the furniture of the adjoining apartment had already yielded to the sway of Beelzebub, and relinquished each and every their former occupations and residence. A sofa had now taken up the place and duties of a sideboard, and (one good turn deserves another) the sideboard was ready to receive into its arms the exhausted frames of the affrighted ladies. A table would sport its figure at the window, and a chair usurp the importance of the shining-board. What was once an urn, now became a footstool – the footstool a tongs, and the tongs a writing desk.
This revolution was effected in the course of a few minutes (and for aught they knew to the contrary in the course of a single second) without visible cause, or without any noise, damage, or interruption whatever, save only what occurred from the breaking of a jug, full of water, which had been placed by its spiritual ruler, from some unknown cause, on the top of two tables.
The guardsman looked pale, the Lady of the apartment fainted, and by this time Fame having set her hundred tongues pretty well a-going, the Commissary of Police entered with his retinue, and threatened to overhaul the household, if any such goblin proceedings should again occur. This threat has had the effect of quelling the furniture gentry, but “dainty little Ariel” is still beyond human reach.
The “tricksy spirit” still eludes the search, lurking within the bell, and giving hourly instances of his inexhaustible perserverance.
P.S. Since writing the above, I find that the Editor of the Gazette de France, happening to call at that very house, has been himself an eye witness of the ringing of the bell, “without,” he declares, “any apparent cause whatever, or even vibration of the wire attached to it.”
Should any thing further of this kind occur, I shall not fail to apprize you. Z.
Morning Post, 26th August 1825.
Goblins in Paris.
The Courier Francaise, like the Correspondent whose letter we gave yesterday, also laughs at the wonderful dance of tables and chairs in a house on the Rue St. Honore at Paris, and alluding to the personal testimony gravely given by the Editor of the Gazette de France, to the truth of this extraordinary Ball, justly says:-
“One of the Editors of the Gazette relates a story to-day relative to a house in the Faubourg St. Honore, where, he says, the bells ring of themselves, and the furniture is overturned without the aid of any visible hand. The Editor in question does not speak from hearsay; he takes care to inform the good readers of the Gazette that he was an ocular witness to the singular fact – explain it who may.
If the Gazette continues to be conducted by similar coadjutors, it is certain that it will not be proceeded against for tendance; * but, on the contrary, will be loaded with blessings, for having thus prepared the public to be witness of a scene of witchcraft, a practice which the ultra montains have not yet dared to risk, in spite of the mighty power which they now possess.”
*Alluding to the prosecution now pending against that Paper, for “a tendency to corrupt,” &c.