the magic skin-第5章

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half　amused　by　its　bizarre　eccentricities；　to　the　influence　of　this

moral　galvanism；　its　phenomena；　closely　connected　with　his　last

thoughts；　assured　him　that　he　was　still　alive。　The　silence　about　him

was　so　deep　that　he　embarked　once　more　in　dreams　that　grew　gradually

darker　and　darker　as　if　by　magic；　as　the　light　slowly　faded。　A　last

struggling　ray　from　the　sun　lit　up　rosy　answering　lights。　He　raised

his　head　and　saw　a　skeleton　dimly　visible；　with　its　skull　bent

doubtfully　to　one　side；　as　if　to　say；　〃The　dead　will　none　of　thee　as

yet。〃



He　passed　his　hand　over　his　forehead　to　shake　off　the　drowsiness；　and

felt　a　cold　breath　of　air　as　an　unknown　furry　something　swept　past　his

cheeks。　He　shivered。　A　muffled　clatter　of　the　windows　followed；　it　was

a　bat；　he　fancied；　that　had　given　him　this　chilly　sepulchral　caress。

He　could　yet　dimly　see　for　a　moment　the　shapes　that　surrounded　him；　by

the　vague　light　in　the　west；　then　all　these　inanimate　objects　were

blotted　out　in　uniform　darkness。　Night　and　the　hour　of　death　had

suddenly　come。　Thenceforward；　for　a　while；　he　lost　consciousness　of

the　things　about　him；　he　was　either　buried　in　deep　meditation　or　sleep

overcame　him；　brought　on　by　weariness　or　by　the　stress　of　those　many

thoughts　that　lacerated　his　heart。



Suddenly　he　thought　that　an　awful　voice　called　him　by　name；　it　was

like　some　feverish　nightmare；　when　at　a　step　the　dreamer　falls

headlong　over　into　an　abyss；　and　he　trembled。　He　closed　his　eyes；

dazzled　by　bright　rays　from　a　red　circle　of　light　that　shone　out　from

the　shadows。　In　the　midst　of　the　circle　stood　a　little　old　man　who

turned　the　light　of　the　lamp　upon　him；　yet　he　had　not　heard　him　enter；

nor　move；　nor　speak。　There　was　something　magical　about　the　apparition。

The　boldest　man；　awakened　in　such　a　sort；　would　have　felt　alarmed　at

the　sight　of　this　figure；　which　might　have　issued　from　some

sarcophagus　hard　by。



A　curiously　youthful　look　in　the　unmoving　eyes　of　the　spectre　forbade

the　idea　of　anything　supernatural；　but　for　all　that；　in　the　brief

space　between　his　dreaming　and　waking　life；　the　young　man's　judgment

remained　philosophically　suspended；　as　Descartes　advises。　He　was；　in

spite　of　himself；　under　the　influence　of　an　unaccountable

hallucination；　a　mystery　that　our　pride　rejects；　and　that　our

imperfect　science　vainly　tries　to　resolve。



Imagine　a　short　old　man；　thin　and　spare；　in　a　long　black　velvet　gown

girded　round　him　by　a　thick　silk　cord。　His　long　white　hair　escaped　on

either　side　of　his　face　from　under　a　black　velvet　cap　which　closely

fitted　his　head　and　made　a　formal　setting　for　his　countenance。　His

gown　enveloped　his　body　like　a　winding　sheet；　so　that　all　that　was

left　visible　was　a　narrow　bleached　human　face。　But　for　the　wasted　arm；

thin　as　a　draper's　wand；　which　held　aloft　the　lamp　that　cast　all　its

light　upon　him；　the　face　would　have　seemed　to　hang　in　mid　air。　A　gray

pointed　beard　concealed　the　chin　of　this　fantastical　appearance；　and

gave　him　the　look　of　one　of　those　Jewish　types　which　serve　artists　as

models　for　Moses。　His　lips　were　so　thin　and　colorless　that　it　needed　a

close　inspection　to　find　the　lines　of　his　mouth　at　all　in　the　pallid

face。　His　great　wrinkled　brow　and　hollow　bloodless　cheeks；　the

inexorably　stern　expression　of　his　small　green　eyes　that　no　longer

possessed　eyebrows　or　lashes；　might　have　convinced　the　stranger　that

Gerard　Dow's　〃Money　Changer〃　had　come　down　from　his　frame。　The

craftiness　of　an　inquisitor；　revealed　in　those　curving　wrinkles　and

creases　that　wound　about　his　temples；　indicated　a　profound　knowledge

of　life。　There　was　no　deceiving　this　man；　who　seemed　to　possess　a

power　of　detecting　the　secrets　of　the　wariest　heart。



The　wisdom　and　the　moral　codes　of　every　people　seemed　gathered　up　in

his　passive　face；　just　as　all　the　productions　of　the　globe　had　been

heaped　up　in　his　dusty　showrooms。　He　seemed　to　possess　the　tranquil

luminous　vision　of　some　god　before　whom　all　things　are　open；　or　the

haughty　power　of　a　man　who　knows　all　things。



With　two　strokes　of　the　brush　a　painter　could　have　so　altered　the

expression　of　this　face；　that　what　had　been　a　serene　representation　of

the　Eternal　Father　should　change　to　the　sneering　mask　of　a

Mephistopheles；　for　though　sovereign　power　was　revealed　by　the

forehead；　mocking　folds　lurked　about　the　mouth。　He　must　have

sacrificed　all　the　joys　of　earth；　as　he　had　crushed　all　human　sorrows

beneath　his　potent　will。　The　man　at　the　brink　of　death　shivered　at　the

thought　of　the　life　led　by　this　spirit；　so　solitary　and　remote　from

our　world；　joyless；　since　he　had　no　one　illusion　left；　painless；

because　pleasure　had　ceased　to　exist　for　him。　There　he　stood；

motionless　and　serene　as　a　star　in　a　bright　mist。　His　lamp　lit　up　the

obscure　closet；　just　as　his　green　eyes；　with　their　quiet　malevolence；

seemed　to　shed　a　light　on　the　moral　world。



This　was　the　strange　spectacle　that　startled　the　young　man's　returning

sight；　as　he　shook　off　the　dreamy　fancies　and　thoughts　of　death　that

had　lulled　him。　An　instant　of　dismay；　a　momentary　return　to　belief　in

nursery　tales；　may　be　forgiven　him；　seeing　that　his　senses　were

obscured。　Much　thought　had　wearied　his　mind；　and　his　nerves　were

exhausted　with　the　strain　of　the　tremendous　drama　within　him；　and　by

the　scenes　that　had　heaped　on　him　all　the　horrid　pleasures　that　a

piece　of　opium　can　produce。



But　this　apparition　had　appeared　in　Paris；　on　the　Quai　Voltaire；　and

in　the　nineteenth　century；　the　time　and　place　made　sorcery　impossible。

The　idol　of　French　scepticism　had　died　in　the　house　just　opposite；　the

disciple　of　Gay…Lussac　and　Arago；　who　had　held　the　charlatanism　of

intellect　in　contempt。　And　yet　the　stranger　submitted　himself　to　the

influence　of　an　imaginative　spell；　as　all　of　us　do　at　times；　when　we

wish　to　escape　from　an　inevitable　certainty；　or　to　tempt　the　power　of

Providence。　So　some　mysterious　apprehension　of　a　strange　force　made

him　tremble　before　the　old　man　with　the　lamp。　All　of　us　have　been

stirred　in　the　same　way　by　the　sight　of　Napoleon；　or　of　some　other

great　man；　made　illustrious　by　his　genius　or　by　fame。



〃You　wish　to　see　Raphael's　portrait　of　Jesus　Christ；　monsieur？〃　the

old　man　asked　politely。　There　was　something　metallic　in　the　clear；

sharp　ring　of　his　voice。



He　set　the　lamp　upon　a　broken　column；　so　that　all　its　light　might　fall

on　the　brown　case。



At　the　sacred　names　of　Christ　and　Raphael　the　young　man　showed　some

curiosity。　The　merchant；　who　no　doubt　looked　for　this；　pressed　a

spring；　and　suddenly　the　mahogany　panel　slid　noiselessly　back　in　its

groove；　and　discovered　the　canvas　to　the　stranger's　admiring　gaze。　At

sight　of　this　deathless　creation；　he　forgot　his　fancies　in　the　show…

rooms　and　the　freaks　of　his　dreams；　and　became　himself　again。　The　old

man　became　a　being　of　flesh　and　blood；　very　much　alive；　with　nothing

chimerical　about　him；　and　took　up　his　existence　at　once　upon　solid

earth。



The　sympathy　and　love；　and　the　gentle　serenity　in　the　divine　face；

exerted　an　instant　sway　over　the　younger　spectator。　Some　influence

falling　from　heaven　bade　cease　the　burning　torment　that　consumed　the

marrow　of　his　bones。　The　head　of　the　Saviour　of　mankind　seemed　to

issue　from　among　the　shadows　represented　by　a　dark　background；　an

aureole　of　light　shone　out　brightly　from　his　hair；　an　impassioned

belief　seemed　to　glow　through　him；　and　to　thrill　every　feature。　The

word　of　life　had　just　been　uttered　by　those　red　lips；　the　sacred

sounds　seemed　to　linger　still　in　the　air；　the　spectator　besought　the

silence　for　those　captivating　parables；　hearkened　for　them　in　the

future；　and　had　to　turn　to　the　teachings　of　the　past。　The　untroubled

peace　of　the　divine　eyes；　the　comfort　of　sorrowing　souls；　seemed　an

interpretation　of　the　Evangel。　The　sweet　triumphant　smile　revealed　the

secret　of　the　Catholic　religion；　which　sums　up　all　things　in　the

precept；　〃Love　one　another。〃　This　picture　breathed　the　spirit　of

prayer；　enjoined　forgiveness；　overcame　self；　caused　sleeping　powers　of

good　to　waken。　For　this　work　of　Raphael's　had　the　imperious　charm　of

music；　you　were　brought　under　the　spell　of　memories　of　the　past；　his

triumph　was　so　absolute　that　the　artist　was　forgotten。　The　witchery　of

the　lamplight　heightened　the　wonder；　the　head　seemed　at　times　to

flicker　in　the　distance；　enveloped　in　cloud。



〃I　covered　the　surface　of　that　picture　with　gold　pieces；〃　said　the

merchant　carelessly。



〃And　now　for　death！〃　cried　the　young　man；　awakened　from　his　musings。

His　last　thought　had　recalled　his　fate　to　him；　as　it　led　him

imperceptibly　back　from　the　forlorn　hopes　to　which　he　had　clung。



〃Ah；　ha！　then　my　suspicions　were　well　founded！〃　said　the　other；　and

his　hands　held　the　young　man's　wrists　in　a　grip　like　that　of　a　vice。



The　younger　man　smiled　wearily　at　his　mistake；　and　said　gently：



〃You；　sir；　have　nothing　to　fear；　it　is　not　your　life；　but　my　own　that

is　in　question。　。　。　。　But　why　should　I　hide　a　harmless　fraud？〃　he　went

on；　after　a　look　at　the　anxious　old　man。　〃I　came　to　see　your　treasures

to　while　away　the　time　till　night　should　come　and　I　could　drown　myself

decently。　Who　would　grudge　this　last　pleasure　to　a　poet　and　a　man　of

science？〃



While　he　spoke；　the　jealous　merchant　watched　the　haggard　face　of　his

pretended　customer　with　keen　eyes。　Perhaps　the　mournful　tones　of　his

voice　reassured　him；　or　he　also　read　the　dark　signs　of　fate　in　the

faded　features　that　had　made　the　gamblers　shudder；　he　released　his


hands；　but；　with　a　touch　of　caution；　due　to　the　experience　of　some

hundred　years　at　least；　he　stretched　his　arm　out　to　a　sideboard　as　if

to　steady　himself；　took　up　a　little　dagger；　and　said：



〃Have　you　been　a　supernumerary　clerk　of　the　Treasury　for　three　years

without　receiving　any　perquisites？〃



The　stranger　could　scarcely　suppress　a　smile　as　he　shook　his　head。



〃Perhaps　your　father　has　expressed　his　regret　for　your　birth　a　little

too　sharply？　Or　have　you　disgraced　yourself？〃



〃If　I　meant　to　be　disgraced；　I　should　live。〃



〃You　have　been　hissed　perhaps　at　the　Funambules？　Or　you　have　had　to

compose　couplets　to　pay　for　your　mistress'　funeral？　Do　you　want　to　be

cured　of　the　gold　fever？　Or　to　be　quit　of　the　spleen？　For　what　blunder

is　your　life　forfeit？〃



〃You　must　not　look　among　the　common　motives　that　impel　suicides　for

the　reason　of　my　death。　To　spare　myself　the　task　of　disclosing　my

unheard…of　sufferings；　for　which　language　has　no　name；　I　will　tell　you

thisthat　I　am　in　the　deepest；　most　humiliating；　and　most　cruel

trouble；　and；〃　he　went　on　in　proud　tones　that　harmonized　ill　with　the

words　just　uttered；　〃I　have　no　wish　to　beg　for　either　help　or

sympathy。〃



〃Eh！　eh！〃



The　two　syllables　which　the　old　man　pronounced　resembled　the　sound　of

a　rattle。　Then　he　went　on　thus：



〃Without　compelling　you　to　entreat　me；　without　making　you　blush