the magic skin(驴皮记)-第49章

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evening；　and　found　that　his　dinner　was　not　ready。　He　rang　for
Jonathan。

〃You　can　go；〃　he　said。　〃I　have　made　you　rich；　you　shall　be　happy　in
your　old　age；　but　I　will　not　let　you　muddle　away　my　life　any　longer。
Miserable　wretch！　I　am　hungrywhere　is　my　dinner？　How　is　it？Answer
me！〃

A　satisfied　smile　stole　over　Jonathan's　face。　He　took　a　candle　that
lit　up　the　great　dark　rooms　of　the　mansion　with　its　flickering　light；
brought　his　master；　who　had　again　become　an　automaton；　into　a　great
gallery；　and　flung　a　door　suddenly　open。　Raphael　was　all　at　once
dazzled　by　a　flood　of　light　and　amazed　by　an　unheard…of　scene。

His　chandeliers　had　been　filled　with　wax…lights；　the　rarest　flowers
from　his　conservatory　were　carefully　arranged　about　the　room；　the
table　sparkled　with　silver；　gold；　crystal；　and　porcelain；　a　royal
banquet　was　spreadthe　odors　of　the　tempting　dishes　tickled　the
nervous　fibres　of　the　palate。　There　sat　his　friends；　he　saw　them　among
beautiful　women　in　full　evening　dress；　with　bare　necks　and　shoulders；
with　flowers　in　their　hair；　fair　women　of　every　type；　with　sparkling
eyes；　attractively　and　fancifully　arrayed。　One　had　adopted　an　Irish
jacket；　which　displayed　the　alluring　outlines　of　her　form；　one　wore
the　〃basquina〃　of　Andalusia；　with　its　wanton　grace；　here　was　a　half…
clad　Dian　the　huntress；　there　the　costume　of　Mlle。　de　la　Valliere；
amorous　and　coy；　and　all　of　them　alike　were　given　up　to　the
intoxication　of　the　moment。

As　Raphael's　death…pale　face　showed　itself　in　the　doorway；　a　sudden
outcry　broke　out；　as　vehement　as　the　blaze　of　this　improvised　banquet。
The　voices；　perfumes；　and　lights；　the　exquisite　beauty　of　the　women；
produced　their　effect　upon　his　senses；　and　awakened　his　desires。
Delightful　music；　from　unseen　players　in　the　next　room；　drowned　the
excited　tumult　in　a　torrent　of　harmonythe　whole　strange　vision　was
complete。

Raphael　felt　a　caressing　pressure　on　is　own　hand；　a　woman's　white；
youthful　arms　were　stretched　out　to　grasp　him；　and　the　hand　was
Aquilina's。　He　knew　now　that　this　scene　was　not　a　fantastic　illusion
like　the　fleeting　pictures　of　his　disordered　dreams；　he　uttered　a
dreadful　cry；　slammed　the　door；　and　dealt　his　heartbroken　old　servant
a　blow　in　the　face。

〃Monster！〃　he　cried；　〃so　you　have　sworn　to　kill　me！〃　and　trembling　at
the　risks　he　had　just　now　run；　he　summoned　all　his　energies；　reached
his　room；　took　a　powerful　sleeping　draught；　and　went　to　bed。

〃The　devil！〃　cried　Jonathan；　recovering　himself。　〃And　M。　Bianchon　most
certainly　told　me　to　divert　his　mind。〃

It　was　close　upon　midnight。　By　that　time；　owing　to　one　of　those
physical　caprices　that　are　the　marvel　and　the　despair　of　science；
Raphael；　in　his　slumber；　became　radiant　with　beauty。　A　bright　color
glowed　on　his　pale　cheeks。　There　was　an　almost　girlish　grace　about　the
forehead　in　which　his　genius　was　revealed。　Life　seemed　to　bloom　on　the
quiet　face　that　lay　there　at　rest。　His　sleep　was　sound；　a　light；　even
breath　was　drawn　in　between　red　lips；　he　was　smilinghe　had　passed　no
doubt　through　the　gate　of　dreams　into　a　noble　life。　Was　he　a
centenarian　now？　Did　his　grandchildren　come　to　wish　him　length　of
days？　Or；　on　a　rustic　bench　set　in　the　sun　and　under　the　trees；　was　he
scanning；　like　the　prophet　on　the　mountain　heights；　a　promised　land；　a
far…off　time　of　blessing。

〃Here　you　are！〃

The　words；　uttered　in　silver　tones；　dispelled　the　shadowy　faces　of　his
dreams。　He　saw　Pauline；　in　the　lamplight；　sitting　upon　the　bed；
Pauline　grown　fairer　yet　through　sorrow　and　separation。　Raphael
remained　bewildered　by　the　sight　of　her　face；　white　as　the　petals　of
some　water　flower；　and　the　shadow　of　her　long；　dark　hair　about　it
seemed　to　make　it　whiter　still。　Her　tears　had　left　a　gleaming　trace
upon　her　cheeks；　and　hung　there　yet；　ready　to　fall　at　the　least
movement。　She　looked　like　an　angel　fallen　from　the　skies；　or　a　spirit
that　a　breath　might　waft　away；　as　she　sat　there　all　in　white；　with　her
head　bowed；　scarcely　creasing　the　quilt　beneath　her　weight。

〃Ah；　I　have　forgotten　everything！〃　she　cried；　as　Raphael　opened　his
eyes。　〃I　have　no　voice　left　except　to　tell　you；　'I　am　yours。'　There　is
nothing　in　my　heart　but　love。　Angel　of　my　life；　you　have　never　been　so
beautiful　before！　Your　eyes　are　blazing　But　come；　I　can　guess　it
all。　You　have　been　in　search　of　health　without　me；　you　were　afraid　of
mewell〃

〃Go！　go！　leave　me；〃　Raphael　muttered　at　last。　〃Why　do　you　not　go？　If
you　stay；　I　shall　die。　Do　you　want　to　see　me　die？〃

〃Die？〃　she　echoed。　〃Can　you　die　without　me？　Die？　But　you　are　young；
and　I　love　you！　Die？〃　she　asked；　in　a　deep；　hollow　voice。　She　seized
his　hands　with　a　frenzied　movement。　〃Cold！〃　she　wailed。　〃Is　it　all　an
illusion？〃

Raphael　drew　the　little　bit　of　skin　from　under　his　pillow；　it　was　as
tiny　and　as　fragile　as　a　periwinkle　petal。　He　showed　it　to　her。

〃Pauline！〃　he　said；　〃fair　image　of　my　fair　life；　let　us　say　good…bye？〃

〃Good…bye？〃　she　echoed；　looking　surprised。

〃Yes。　This　is　a　talisman　that　grants　me　all　my　wishes；　and　that
represents　my　span　of　life。　See　here；　this　is　all　that　remains　of　it。
If　you　look　at　me　any　longer；　I　shall　die〃

The　young　girl　thought　that　Valentin　had　grown　lightheaded；　she　took
the　talisman　and　went　to　fetch　the　lamp。　By　its　tremulous　light　which
she　shed　over　Raphael　and　the　talisman；　she　scanned　her　lover's　face
and　the　last　morsel　of　the　magic　skin。　As　Pauline　stood　there；　in　all
the　beauty　of　love　and　terror；　Raphael　was　no　longer　able　to　control
his　thoughts；　memories　of　tender　scenes；　and　of　passionate　and　fevered
joys；　overwhelmed　the　soul　that　had　so　long　lain　dormant　within　him；
and　kindled　a　fire　not　quite　extinct。

〃Pauline！　Pauline！　Come　to　me〃

A　dreadful　cry　came　from　the　girl's　throat；　her　eyes　dilated　with
horror；　her　eyebrows　were　distorted　and　drawn　apart　by　an　unspeakable
anguish；　she　read　in　Raphael's　eyes　the　vehement　desire　in　which　she
had　once　exulted；　but　as　it　grew　she　felt　a　light　movement　in　her
hand；　and　the　skin　contracted。　She　did　not　stop　to　think；　she　fled
into　the　next　room；　and　locked　the　door。

〃Pauline！　Pauline！〃　cried　the　dying　man；　as　he　rushed　after　her；　〃I
love　you；　I　adore　you；　I　want　you；　Pauline！　I　wish　to　die　in　your
arms！〃

With　unnatural　strength；　the　last　effort　of　ebbing　life；　he　broke　down
the　door；　and　saw　his　mistress　writhing　upon　a　sofa。　Pauline　had
vainly　tried　to　pierce　her　heart；　and　now　thought　to　find　a　rapid
death　by　strangling　herself　with　her　shawl。

〃If　I　die；　he　will　live；〃　she　said；　trying　to　tighten　the　knot　that
she　had　made。

In　her　struggle　with　death　her　hair　hung　loose；　her　shoulders　were
bare；　her　clothing　was　disordered；　her　eyes　were　bathed　in　tears；　her
face　was　flushed　and　drawn　with　the　horror　of　despair；　yet　as　her
exceeding　beauty　met　Raphael's　intoxicated　eyes；　his　delirium　grew。　He
sprang　towards　her　like　a　bird　of　prey；　tore　away　the　shawl；　and　tried
to　take　her　in　his　arms。

The　dying　man　sought　for　words　to　express　the　wish　that　was　consuming
his　strength；　but　no　sounds　would　come　except　the　choking　death…rattle
in　his　chest。　Each　breath　he　drew　sounded　hollower　than　the　last；　and
seemed　to　come　from　his　very　entrails。　At　the　last　moment；　no　longer
able　to　utter　a　sound；　he　set　his　teeth　in　Pauline's　breast。　Jonathan
appeared；　terrified　by　the　cries　he　had　heard；　and　tried　to　tear　away
the　dead　body　from　the　grasp　of　the　girl　who　was　crouching　with　it　in
a　corner。

〃What　do　you　want？〃　she　asked。　〃He　is　mine；　I　have　killed　him。　Did　I
not　foresee　how　it　would　be？〃



EPILOGUE

〃And　what　became　of　Pauline？〃

〃Pauline？　Ah！　Do　you　sometimes　spend　a　pleasant　winter　evening　by　your
own　fireside；　and　give　yourself　up　luxuriously　to　memories　of　love　or
youth；　while　you　watch　the　glow　of　the　fire　where　the　logs　of　oak　are
burning？　Here；　the　fire　outlines　a　sort　of　chessboard　in　red　squares；
there　it　has　a　sheen　like　velvet；　little　blue　flames　start　up　and
flicker　and　play　about　in　the　glowing　depths　of　the　brasier。　A
mysterious　artist　comes　and　adapts　that　flame　to　his　own　ends；　by　a
secret　of　his　own　he　draws　a　visionary　face　in　the　midst　of　those
flaming　violet　and　crimson　hues；　a　face　with　unimaginable　delicate
outlines；　a　fleeting　apparition　which　no　chance　will　ever　bring　back
again。　It　is　a　woman's　face；　her　hair　is　blown　back　by　the　wind；　her
features　speak　of　a　rapture　of　delight；　she　breathes　fire　in　the　midst
of　the　fire。　She　smiles；　she　dies；　you　will　never　see　her　any　more。
Farewell；　flower　of　the　flame！　Farewell；　essence　incomplete　and
unforeseen；　come　too　early　or　too　late　to　make　the　spark　of　some
glorious　diamond。〃

〃But；　Pauline？〃

〃You　do　not　see；　then？　I　will　begin　again。　Make　way！　make　way！　She
comes；　she　is　here；　the　queen　of　illusions；　a　woman　fleeting　as　a
kiss；　a　woman　bright　as　lightning；　issuing　in　a　blaze　like　lightning
from　the　sky；　a　being　uncreated；　of　spirit　and　love　alone。　She　has
wrapped　her　shadowy　form　in　flame；　or　perhaps　the　flame　betokens　that
she　exists　but　for　a　moment。　The　pure　outlines　of　her　shape　tell　you
that　she　comes　from　heaven。　Is　she　not　radiant　as　an　angel？　Can　you
not　hear　the　beating　of　her　wings　in　space？　She　sinks　down　beside　you
more　lightly　than　a　bird；　and　you　are　entranced　by　her　awful　eyes；
there　is　a　magical　power　in　her　light　breathing　that　draws　your　lips
to　hers；　she　flies　and　you　follow；　you　feel　the　earth　beneath　you　no
longer。　If　you　could　but　once　touch　that　form　of　snow　with　your　eager；
deluded　hands；　once　twine　the　golden　hair　round　your　fingers；　place
one　kiss　on　those　shining　eyes！　There　is　an　intoxicating　vapor　around；
and　the　spell　of　a　siren　music　is　upon　you。　Every　nerve　in　you　is
quivering；　you　are　filled　with　pain　and　longing。　O　joy　for　which　there
is　no　name！　You　have　touched　the　woman's　lips；　and　you　are　awakened　at
once　by　a　horrible　pang。　Oh！　ah！　yes；　you　have　struck　your　head
against　the　corner　of　the　bedpost；　you　have　been　clasping　its　brown
mahogany　sides；　and　chilly　gilt　ornaments；　embracing　a　piece　of　metal；
a　brazen　Cupid。〃

〃But　how　about　Pauline；　sir？〃

〃What；　again？　Listen。　One　lovely　morning　at　Tours　a　young　man；　who
held　the　hand　of　a　pretty　woman　in　his；　went　on　board　the　Ville
d'Angers。　Thus　united　they　both　looked　and　wondered　long　at　a　white
form　that　rose　elusively　out　of　the　mists　above　the　broad　waters　of
the　Loire；　like　some　child　of　the　sun　and　the　river；　or　some　freak　of
air　and　cloud。　This　translucent　form　was　a　sylph　or　a　naiad　by　turns；
she　hovered　in　the　air　like　a　word　that　haunts　the　memory；　which　seeks
in　vain　to　grasp　it；　she　glided　among　the　islands；　she　nodded　her　head
here　and　there　among　the　tall　poplar　trees；　then　she　grew　to　a　giant's
height；　she　shook　out　the　countless　folds　of　her　drapery　to　the　light；
she　shot　light　from　the　aureole　that　the　sun　had　litten　about　her
face；　she　hovered　above　the　slopes　of　the　hills　and　their　little
hamlets；　and　seemed　to　bar　the　passage　of　the　boat　before　the　Chateau
d'Usse。　You　might　have　thought　that　La　dame　des　belles　cousines　sought
to　protect　her　country　from　modern　intrusion。〃

〃Well；　well；　I　understand。　So　it　went　with　Pauline。　But　how　about
Foedora？〃

〃Oh！　Foedora；　you　are　sure　to　meet　w