The Princess of Rébinine.

Do you know that all the somnambulists, all the turning tables, all the magnetized birds, all the sympathetic pencils, and all the fortune-tellers have been predicting war for a long time?… Prophecies to this effect have been made to a multitude of important figures who, while pretending to care little about these supposed revelations of the supernatural world, nevertheless became keenly preoccupied. For our part, without immediately settling the question one way or the other, and finding, moreover, that in a matter which François Arago himself doubted, it is at least permitted to refrain from pronouncing judgment, we shall limit ourselves to relating, without commenting upon them, a few facts of which we were witnesses. Eight days ago we had been invited to a Spiritist gathering at the home of the Baron de G… At the appointed hour all the guests, numbering only twelve, found themselves around the… miraculous table, which was in fact a simple mahogany table, upon which, to begin with, tea was served with the customary sandwiches. Of the twelve guests, we hasten to say, none could reasonably incur the charge of charlatanism. The master of the house, who counts ministers among his close relatives, belongs to a great foreign family. As for the faithful, they consisted of two very distinguished English officers, a French naval officer, a fairly well-known Russian prince, a very skilled physician, a millionaire, an embassy secretary, and two or three important persons from the Saint-Germain quarter. We were the only layman among these dignitaries of Spiritism, although our quality as a Parisian chronicler and as a skeptic by duty did not allow us to be accused of an… excessive credulity. The gathering, then, could not be suspected of representing a comedy. And what a comedy! A useless and ridiculous comedy, in which each one would willingly have accepted the double role of mystifier and mystified? That is not admissible. And, after all, to what purpose? With what interest? Would it not be the case to ask: Who is being deceived here? No, there was neither bad faith nor madness there… If you wish, let us say that there was chance… That is all our conscience permits us to concede. Now, here is what happened:

After having questioned the Spirit about a thousand things, they asked it whether the hopes of peace, which then seemed very great, had any foundation.

— “No,” it answered very clearly on two different occasions.

— Shall we then have war? — “Certainly.”

— When? — “In eight days.”

“However, the Congress does not meet until next month… This rather distances the eventuality of a beginning of hostilities. — “There will be no Congress.”

— Why? — “Austria will refuse.”

— And which cause will triumph? — “That of justice and right… that of France.”

— And the war, what will it be like? — “Short and glorious.”

This brings to our memory another fact of the same kind which likewise took place before our eyes some years ago.

At the time of the Crimean War, everyone recalls that the Emperor Nicholas recalled to Russia the subjects residing in France, under penalty of confiscating their goods should they refuse to obey this order.

We then found ourselves in Leipzig, in Saxony, where, as everywhere, there was a keen interest in the campaign that had just begun. One day we received the following note:

“I am here for only a few hours. Come see me at the Hotel of Poland, no. 13!

Princess of Rébinine.”

We already knew rather well the Princess Sophia of Rébinine, a distinguished and charming woman, whose story was a whole novel, which we shall write some day, and who honored us by calling us her friend. We hastened to answer the gracious invitation, so agreeably surprised and delighted were we at her passing through Leipzig. It was Sunday the 13th, and the weather was naturally gray and sad, as always occurs in this part of Saxony. We found the princess at her residence, more gracious and witty than ever, only a little pale and somewhat melancholy. We even made this observation to her. — To begin with, she answered, I left like a bombshell. It had to be so, for we are at war, and I feel a little fatigued from the journey. Then, although we are presently enemies, I shall not conceal from you that I leave Paris with much regret. I had considered myself almost French for a long time now, and the Emperor's order made me break with an old and sweet habit. — Why did you not stay quietly in your pretty apartment on the rue Rumfort?

— Because they would have cut off my allowance.

— But how! Do you not count among us such numerous and good friends?

— Yes… at least I believe so. But at my age a woman does not like to put herself in hock… the interest to be paid sometimes exceeds the capital! Ah! If I were old it would be another matter… But then they would not lend to me.

At that moment the princess changed the subject.

— Ah! — she said — do you know that I have a very absorbing nature? Here I know no one… May I count on you for the whole day?

It is easy to guess our answer.

At one o'clock we heard the bell in the courtyard and went down for lunch in the hotel's hall. At that moment everyone was talking about the war… and about the turning tables.

As concerned the war, the princess was certain that the English fleet would be destroyed in the Black Sea, and she herself would bravely have taken charge of setting fire to it, had the Emperor entrusted her with that perilous and delicate mission. As for the turning tables, her faith was less solid, but, even so, she proposed that we perform some experiments, with another of our friends, whom we had introduced to her at dessert. We then went up to her apartments. Coffee was served to us and, as it was raining, we spent the entire afternoon questioning a small round table with only one foot, of the kind one still sees around here. — And to me — the princess suddenly asked — have you nothing to say?

— No.

— Why?

The little table struck thirteen blows. Now, it must be remembered that it was a 13th, and that Mrs. Rébinine's apartment bore the number 13.

— Does that mean that the number 13 is fatal to me? asked the princess, a little superstitious about that number.

— Yes, struck the table.

— It does not matter!… I am a Bayard of the male sex, and you may speak without fear, whatever it may be that you have to announce to me.

We questioned the little table, which at first persisted in its prudent reserve, finally managing to extract from it the following words:

— Sick… eight days… Paris… violent death!

The princess found herself very well; she had just left Paris and did not expect to see France again so soon… The prophecy of the table was, then, at the very least absurd as to the first three points… As for the last, it is useless to add that we did not even wish to dwell upon it. The princess was to leave at eight o'clock in the evening, by the Dresden train, in order to arrive in Warsaw two days later, in the morning; but she missed the train.

— What can I do? — she said. I shall leave my baggage here and take the four o'clock train in the morning.

— Then you will return to the hotel to sleep?

— I shall go back there, but I shall not lie down… I shall watch, from the height of the foreigners' box, the ball this evening… Will you serve as my gentleman escort?

The Hotel of Poland, whose immense and magnificent salons accommodated no fewer than two thousand people, gave a grand ball almost daily, in summer as in winter, organized by some local society, reserving for the spectators, on high, a private gallery intended for travelers who wished to enjoy the lively spectacle and the excellent music. In Germany, moreover, foreigners are never forgotten, and everywhere they have their reserved boxes, which explains why Germans who come to Paris for the first time always request, at theaters and concerts, the foreigners' box.

The ball that day was very brilliant, and although the princess was a mere spectator, she took true pleasure in it. Thus she had completely forgotten the little table and its sinister prediction, when one of the hotel's waiters brought her a telegram that had just arrived, conceived in the following terms: “Madame Rébinine, Hotel of Poland, Leipzig; presence indispensable Paris; grave interests,” followed by the signature of the princess's attorney. A few hours later she resumed the road to Cologne, instead of taking the train to Dresden. Eight days later we learned that she had died! Paulin Niboyet.