Originally published in Reynolds's Miscellany of Romance, General Literature, Science, and Art (John Dicks) vol.8 #199 (01 May 1852).
Madame Deshoulieres, the celebrated French poetess, was at one time on a visit at the Château of the Count and Countess de Luneville. Upon her arrival she was requested to make her choice of all the bedrooms in the mansion, one only excepted, which no one was permitted to enter, as a report had been circulated that it was a haunted apartment, and, from the strange noises that had been frequently heard at night in it, it was generally believed to be the case by the inhabitants of the château. Madame Deshoulieres was no sooner made acquainted with this circumstance than, to the surprise and terror of her friends, she declared her intention of occupying this dreaded room in preference to any other. The count looked aghast as she disclosed this determination, and in a tremulous voice entreated her not to be so rash, since, however brave curiosity might at present make her, it was probable that she would pay too dearly for its gratification.
The countess, observing that all that her husband said failed of intimidating the high-spirited Madame Deshoulieres, now added her persuasions to divert her friend from the enterprise, from which the bravest man might shrink appalled. All the arguments that could be urged were insufficient to shake the determined purpose of the adventurer. Her courage was superior to these representations of the dangers to which she was going to expose herself, because she was convinced that they must owe their colouring to superstition, acting upon weak minds: she entertained no faith in the fleshy arm of a departed spirit, and from an immaterial one her life was safe. Her noble host and hostess pleaded, pitied, blamed, but at length yielded to her wish of taking possession of the haunted chamber.
Madame Deshoulieres found it grand and spacious--the windows dark, from the thickness of the walls--the chimney antique, and of cavernous depth. As soon as madame was undrest, she stepped into bed, ordered a large candle to be placed in the bracket which stood in a stand near it, and enjoining her femme-de-chambre to shut the door securely, dismissed her. Having provided herself with a book, according to custom, she calmly read her usual time, and then sunk to repose. She was soon roused by a noise at the door; it opened, and the sound of footsteps succeeded. Madame Deshoulieres immediately decided that this must be the supposed ghost, and therefore addressed it with the assurance that, if it hoped to frighten her from her purpose, of detecting the impostor which had excited such foolish alarm throughout the castle, it would find itself disappointed in the attempt, for she was resolutely bent upon penetrating and exposing it at all hazards. No answer was returned; the threat was reiterated, but all to no purpose. At length the intruder came in contact with a large screen, which it overturned so near the bed, that, getting entangled in the curtains which played loosely on the rings, they returned a sound so sharp that one under the influence of fear would have taken it for the shrill scream of an unquiet spirit; but madame was perfectly undismayed, as she afterwards declared. On the contrary, she continued to interrogate the nocturnal visitor, whom she suspected to be one of the domestics; but it still maintained an unbroken silence, though nothing could be less quiet in its movements, for now it ran against the stand on which stood the heavy candle and candlestick, which fell with a thundering noise. At length, tired of all these exertions, it came and rested itself at the foot of the bed.
Madame Deshoulieres still retaining her self-possession, immediately exclaimed, "Ah! now I shall ascertain what thou art!" at the same time she extended both her hands towards the place against which she felt that the intruder was resting. They came in contact with two ears, soft as velvet, which she firmly grasped, determined to retain her hold until the morning should lend its light to discover to whom or to what they belonged. Day at length released her from the awkward and painful position in which she had remained for many hours, and discovered her prisoner to be Gros Blanc, a large dog belonging to the château, and as worthy, if faith and honesty deserve the title, as any of its inhabitants. Far from resenting the bondage in which Madame Deshoulieres had so long kept him, he licked her hands, while she enjoyed a hearty laugh at this ludicrous end of an adventure, for the encounter of which she had braced every nerve.
In the mean time the count and countess, wholly given up to their fears, had found it impossible to close their eyes during the night. The trial to which their friend had exposed herself grew more terrible to their imagination the more they dwelt upon it, till they at length persuaded themselves that death would be the inevitable consequence. With these forebodings they proceeded, as soon as it was light, to the apartment of Madame Deshoulieres: scarcely had they courage to enter it, or to speak when they had done so.
From this state of petrefaction they were relieved by their friend undrawing her curtains, and paying them the compliment of the morning, with a triumphant look. She then related all that had passed with an impressive solemnity; and having roused intense curiosity to know the catastrophe, she said, "My lord, you shall no longer continue in an illusion, which long indulgence has endeared to you. There (pointing to Gros Blanc) is the nocturnal visitor whom you have so long taken for the ghost of your mother;" for such the count had concluded it to be, from his mother having been the last person who died at the chateau. "I will now," continued the heroic lady, "complete my task, and emancipate your lordship's mind from the shackles of superstition, by proving to you that all which has so long disturbed the peace of your family has arisen from natural causes."
Madame arose, and made her friends examine the lock of the door, the wood of which was so decayed as to render the locking of it useless, against a very moderate degree of strength. This facility of entrance had been evidently the cause of Gros Blanc, who liked not sleeping out of doors, making choice of this room. The rest is easily accounted for; Gros Blanc smelt and wished to possess himself of the candle, in attempting which he committed all the blunders, and caused all the noises, which had disturbed the silence of the night; and he would have taken possession of the bed also, if he had not given the lady an opportunity of seizing his ears. Thus are the most simple events magnified into omens of fearful and supernatural agency, while the conduct of Madame Deshoulieres affords one example, among many others, of the superiority which presence of mind and courage possess over superstition and credulity.