THE COMEDY OF HUMAN LIFE 
 By H. DE BALZAC 
 
 uuL^'y-^^ 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES 
 
 THE MAGIC SKIN 
 
 (LA PEAU DE CHAGRIN) 
 
BALZAC'S NOVELS. 
 
 Translated by Miss K. P. Wormeley. 
 
 Already Published ■ 
 PERE GORIOT. 
 DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. 
 RISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU. 
 EUGENIE GRANDET. 
 COUSIN PONS. 
 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 THE TATVO BROTHERS. 
 THE ALKAHEST. 
 MODESTE MIGNON. 
 THE MAGIC SKIN (Peau de Chagrin). 
 COUSIN BETTE. 
 LOUIS LAMBERT. 
 BUREAUCRACY (Les Employes). 
 SERAPHITA. 
 SONS OF THE SOIL. 
 FAME AND SORROW. 
 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 URSULA. 
 AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY. 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 
 BOSTON. 
 
 '''%^ 
 
 7 
 
 
5 3, A^ 
 
 rhPffrJ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 Introduction vii 
 
 Part I. The Talisman 1 
 
 Part II. TpE Wo3ian without a Heart . . 86 
 
 Part III. The Death Ag6ny 212 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The initial idea of Balzac's " Comedie Humaine " was 
 derived from Geoffro}^ Saint-IIilaire's doctrine of the 
 unity of composition. He proposed to analyze society 
 as the great philosophical anatomist had anah'zed the 
 zoological kingdom, and to explain the differences be- 
 tween classes of men and women b}^ demonstrating 
 the influence of environment in modifying a common 
 humanity. In order to carry out this colossal under- 
 taking it was. necessary to dissect societ}', to examine 
 its various states and elements, both separately and 
 together, to catalogue with laborious and patient 
 thoroughness all the manifold tendencies, influences, 
 external and internal agencies, which in myriad combi- 
 nations operate to produce the phenomena called in the 
 aggregate civilized life. He did not regard himself as a 
 writer of romances, but as a social historian, or, as he 
 himself put it, as the secretary of French societ}^ which 
 acted its own history' while he took notes of all that 
 passed before his e3'es. But, as he says in the general 
 introduction to his collected works, after having done 
 all this, after having accumulated the material for a real 
 liistorj^ of society in the nineteenth century, "ought I 
 not to study the reasons or the reason of these social 
 
viii Introduction. 
 
 effects, and if possible surprise the hidden meaning 
 ill this immense assemblage of figures, passions, and 
 events? Finally, after having sought, I do not say 
 found, this reason, this social motor, is it not necessary 
 to meditate the principles of Nature, and ascertain in 
 what societ}' departs from or approaches the eternal law 
 of Truth and Beauty?" 
 
 The greater part of the " Comedie Humaine " is occu- 
 pied with the dissection of modern, or, to be exact, 
 French society. It has been said of Balzac that he 
 preferred to paint the seam}^ side, — that he chose vice 
 rather than virtue for illustration ; but all such criticism 
 simply marks the limitations of the critic. Balzac_in_ 
 truth painted with marvellous and absolutely fearless 
 faithfulness that which he saw. If vice triumphs often 
 in his works, if virtue is often defeated, crushed, mar- 
 tyred, it is because this is what happens in the world, 
 because he could not represent society as it existed 
 without bringing into strong relief all those consequences 
 of unbridled egoism which manifest themselves as injus- 
 tice, greed, lust, perfid}-, fraud, dishonest}^, hatred, mean- 
 ness," mhumanity, and wliich were then, are now, and 
 perhaps ever will be in active antagonism to all that 
 belongs to the higher life. But Balzac was not a pessi- 
 mist. He beheved in human progress. In the general 
 introduction already quoted he says: " Man is neither 
 good nor bad. He is born with instincts and aptitudes. 
 Society, far from depraving him, as Rousseau pretended, 
 deviates and improves him. -But self-interest develops 
 evil tendencies inhim;." and the natural remed}^ for 
 them, he holds, is religion. 
 
 That was his personal belief, but it did not interfere 
 
Introduction. ix 
 
 with the prosecution of his Hfe-work, which was to show 
 s ociety it s own image, as^exactlj^and completeh' as pos- 
 sible, neither extenuating an3'thing nor setting down 
 aught in malice. Having, however, accomplished this 
 great labor, he intended to crown his work b}^ a series 
 of philosophical and analytical studies, in which the 
 inner significance of the great drama should be un- 
 folded, and which should lead up to the establishment 
 of certain principles tending to facilitate the evolution 
 of a higher civilization. He did not live to accomplish 
 this division of his enterprise, but the " Philosophical 
 Studies," of which *'The Magic Skin" (La Peau de 
 Chagrin) forms the first, embod}' the main conceptions 
 which were to have been developed in the uncompleted 
 series. "The Magic Skin" was indeed the first of 
 his works which secured to Balzac any serious reputa- 
 tion. In " The Chouans," which preceded it, he had 
 shown a growing mastery of his literar}^ tools. In the 
 "Physiology of Marriage" he had seemed to appeal 
 only to the French fondness for the fantastic and the 
 audacious. But " The Magic Skin" was the opening of 
 an entirely new vein ; and while it cannot be said that its 
 full meaning was apprehended by the average reader of 
 his day, there could be no doubt as to the power and 
 erudition displa3'ed in it. 
 
 When it was written, the scheme of the " Comedie 
 Humaine" was in embrj'o ; but Balzac had alread}' ma- 
 tured the philosoph}^ which runs through all his works, 
 and he was fresh from a course of philosophical, psy- 
 chological and occult studies which he had been pursu- 
 ing stea'dil}^ for three 3'ears, while leading an ascetic 
 life in a miserable garret, and practising his pen upon 
 
X Introduction, 
 
 those crude romances which he published under various 
 pseudonyms, and which have onlj^ been gathered to- 
 gether since his death, and very unnecessaril}- repub- 
 lished under the collective title, " (Euvres de Jeunesse." 
 No author of his eminence has been so ill-served in 
 respect of biographical monuments. Not only has no 
 attempt been made to write an adequate life of him, but 
 of the man}^ fragmentary records prepared by his col- 
 leagues and contemporaries, there is scarceh' one which 
 is not frivolous. Werdet, Gozlan, Baschet, Champ- 
 fleury, Desnoiresterres, Gautier, Sainte-Beuve, Lamar- 
 tine, have all written about him, but not one otherwise 
 than superficiall}'. Sainte-Beuve might have been ex- 
 pected, perhaps, to deal with the subject penetratingh', 
 but either he could not trust his personal feelings or he 
 felt Balzac to be beyond the gauge of his critical plum- 
 met, and certainly neither of his Balzac papers is worth}'^ 
 of him. Gautier has written appreciatively and bril- 
 liantly, but Gautier could no more comprehend such a 
 mind as Balzac's than the god Pan could comprehend 
 the metaphysic of the schools. It happens, moreover, 
 that the psychical side of Balzac, which was really one 
 of the strongest in his nature, has been in a special way 
 obscured and neglected through the dense materialism 
 of the majorit}' of his contemporaries and critics. 
 
 Because he depicted a state of society in which 
 material things, possessions, ambitions, were the be-all 
 and the end-all of action and effort, it was assumed that 
 he himself deliberately selected that kind of life for 
 illustration. Nothing could be farther from the truth. 
 There was a deep vein of mj'sticism in Bal;i^ac, as there 
 must ever be in men whose genius enables them to take 
 
Introduction. xi 
 
 large views of life, and whose intellectual enterprise 
 leads them to examine nature carefull}' and to reject 
 the trammels of authority in forming their judgments. 
 The spirit which sneers at mysticism is no doubt much 
 iij evidence at present, but it is none the less a sign of 
 intellectual shallowness and servitude to convention 
 which affords little solid ground for self-gratulation. 
 Balzac had earned the right to hold opinions on occult 
 subjects by profound study. His critics, while know- 
 ing nothing of the studies, but proceeding on a priori 
 grounds, have affected a superior air in commenting 
 on his psychological views, and have seemed to imply 
 that his researches in this direction indicated some 
 mental weakness on his part. 
 
 The result has been a sort of " conspiracy of silence" 
 in regard to one of the most interesting periods of his 
 mental growth ; and had he not, in the present work 
 and in "Louis Lambert," given some autobiographic 
 material, very little would be known of his psychical 
 investigations. Gautier, whose own temperament may 
 almost be said to have rendered the suprasensual unin- 
 telligible to him, had nevertheless the keenness of per- 
 ception to realize that Balzac was not as other men, but 
 that he possessed special faculties. Thus he observes : 
 " Though it ma}^ seem a strange assertion in the nine- 
 teenth century, Balzac was a Seer ; " and he goes on 
 to illustrate this by referring to the wonderful power 
 which Balzac exercised, not only of creating but of sus- 
 taining in full vigor and sharply differentiated attitudes 
 and characters, " the two or three thousand types that 
 plaj' more or less important parts in the ' Comedie Hu- 
 maine.' " Gautier says : " He did not copy them, he 
 
xii Introduction, 
 
 \' ^\ lived them-idcrnitT, wore their clothes, contracted theii 
 
 ' habits, surrounded himself with their conditions — wair 
 
 Y^ j each one of them whenever necessar}-." Every com- 
 
 .Vl' [ mentator on Balzac, from Sainte-Beuve to Taine, has 
 
 ' dwelt upon this characteristic of his work, — the unpar- 
 
 : alleled vitalit^^ and realness of his creations. No other 
 
 writer approaches him in this ; and it is a gift usually 
 
 i sought to be explained by using the much-abused word 
 
 "intuition." 
 
 It is necessary to examine this point with care, for 
 it has a direct relation with that philosophical system 
 which Balzac made bis own, and through it a clew to 
 many other problems may be obtained. The faculty 
 spoken of as intuition was, in the author of the 
 " Comedie Humaine," as in all creative geniuses, that 
 of embodying his thoughts so perfectly that for him- 
 self, during the heat of composition, those embodied 
 tligiights.becaiae..to_alL..practical intents objective ap^ 
 p^axances. It has been said repeatedly that Balzac, 
 often seemed to regard his characters as living per- 
 sons ; nay, there is at least one striking remark of his 
 ^^OLxecord which indicates that they were to him even 
 
 more reallhan the material things about him. But the 
 
 creation of these eidola^ however wonderful, is as noth- 
 ing to the psychical feat of maintaining them in exist- 
 ence. The general idea probably is that an author 
 carefully thinks out everything his characters are to say 
 and do before he puts pen to paper. The fact is far 
 otherwise. BothJThackeray and Dickens asserted that 
 they were often absolutely surprised by the sa3'ings and 
 doings of their creations ; and this was no doubt also 
 the case with Balzac. There is indeed a concurrence 
 
Introduction. xv 
 
 and heaped np, are quarries pursued hy a maddened 
 pack of insatiable desires, aggravated b}' tlie struggle 
 and the rivahy. To succeed! — this word, unknown a 
 centiuy since, is to-da}' the sovereign ruler of all lives. 
 Paris is an arena ; involuntarily one is drawn into it ; 
 everything vanishes but the idea of the goal and the 
 rivals ; the runner feels their breath upon his shoulder ; 
 all his energies are on the strain ; in this spasm of voli- 
 tion he doubles his enthusiasm, and contracts the fever 
 which at once exhausts and sustains him. Tlience arise 
 prodigies of work, and not only the work of the man of 
 science who studies until he sinks, or of the artist who 
 creates until he collapses, but the work of the man 
 who plots, intrigues, weighs his words, measures his 
 friendships, interweaves the myriad threads of his hopes 
 to catch a clientage, a place, or a name. Far indeed 
 are we from the ways of our fathers, and fi'ora those 
 salo7is where a well-written letter, a prettily-turned 
 madrigal, a witty saving, gave interest to a whole 
 evening, and somethnes founded a reputation ! But. 
 this is nothing; the fever of the brain is worse than 
 that of the will. The accession of the hourgeoisie ha« 
 given the freedom of the city to all the professions ; 
 with specialists, special ideas have entered the world ; 
 the current of thought is no longer a gentle stream of 
 fashionable slander and gossip, of gallantrj^ or light 
 philosophy, but a great river which is swollen by the 
 turbulent affluents of finance, speculation, chicanery, 
 diplomac}', and erudition; it is a torrent which, pour- 
 ing every morning into each brain, both nourishes and 
 drowns the receiver." 
 
 All the strongest minds of the whole world, he con- 
 
xvi Introduction, 
 
 liniies, contribute to this overwhelming flood. Who- 
 ever thinks is represented. Every conceivable idea has 
 its special advocate and illustrator. " From all these 
 smoking brains, thought rises like a vapor ; it is 
 breathed involuntaril}" ; it sparkles in a thousand rest- 
 less ej'es." And what, he asks, is the relief from this 
 fever of the will and of thought? "• Another fever, — 
 that of the senses. In the country the tired man goes 
 to bed at nine, or sits in the chimnej'-corner with his 
 wife and pokes the fire, or takes a stroll in the great 
 empt}^ high-road, peacefulh', with slow steps, contem- 
 plating the monotonous plain, and thinking of the 
 weather of the morrow. Observe Paris at the same 
 hour: the gas is lighted, the boulevard fills, the the- 
 atres are crow^ded, the masses amuse themselves ; they 
 go wherever mouth, ears, or e3'es discern a possible grat- 
 ification, a pleasure of a refined, artificial kind, — a kind 
 of unwholesome cooker}', designed to stimulate, not to 
 nourish, — oflfered bj* greed and excess to satietj^ and cor- 
 ruption." This is the Paris Balzac studied, and which, 
 M. Taine holds, had entered into him more deeply than 
 into other men. " Who," he says, ' ' has fought, thought, 
 and enjoyed more than he ? Whose soul and bod}' have 
 burned more fiercelj' with all these fevers ? " 
 
 But M. Taine is not quite right here. It was 
 Balzac who grasped Paris more completeh' than ordi- 
 nar}^ men, not Paris that obtained a greater mastery 
 than common over him. His genius lifted the veil, 
 clarified the turbid atmosphere, disentangled the con- 
 fused threads of existence, and evolved from the min- 
 gled strife of will, thought, and sense, that marvellous 
 gallery of pictures which constitutes the '' Comedie 
 
Introduction. xvii 
 
 Hamaine." It is, however, curious, and perhaps some- 
 what significant, that M. Taine, in describing this Paris 
 world emploj'S Balzac's own methods, figures, and 
 points of view. When he speaks of the smoking brains 
 whence the seething thoughts issue like vapor, he is 
 following in the lines laid down by Balzac in bis gen- 
 eral introduction, and developed further in this work. 
 For thought, according to the_great writer, is as dis- 
 tinctl3' one of the forces of nature as electricity^ and 
 magnetism, and together^ vrith will-power it dominates 
 the universe. The doctrine is no doubt ancient. It 
 can be found in the Kabbala, and it may be traced far 
 beyond the genesis of the Kabbala, in the venerable 
 philosophies of Asia. Offshoots from this doctrine 
 moreover are to be seen even to-da}' in the popular 
 superstitions of many countries, Western as well as 
 Eastern, and — so do extremes meet — in the best- 
 attested records of modern medical science. Balzac held 
 that Will and Thought can and do influence and control, 
 material things. The sobrietj' of such a contention can 
 only be questioned by those who are unacquainted with 
 physiology, psychology, and pathology. It is, how- 
 ever, rather singular that whereas the influence of the 
 mind upon the bod}' it occupies has long been full}' 
 recognized, the possibilit}- that the mind of one person 
 ma}^ influence either th e mi nd or the body of anothei,v 
 has onh' been admitted after a protracted resistance, 
 and when denial had become futile. 
 
 The recent researches of Charcot, Richet, and others 
 into the phenomena called hypnotic, and the remark- 
 able discoveries made concerning the influence of sug- 
 gestion upon sensitive subjects, have familiarized the 
 
xviii Introduction. 
 
 public with facts which are clearh^ related in many 
 ways to the theories of Balzac. If the simple exercise 
 of volition on the part of a magnetizer, unexpressed in 
 words or bj' gestures, can produce in the subject all 
 the effects of a self-evolved purpose, and can even 
 close the mind of that subject to all moral warnings 
 and inhibitions, so that the suggestion of murder will 
 be acted upon with precisely the same unhesitating 
 readiness as a prompting to eat or drink ; and if this 
 external control can be so employed that the sugges- 
 tion will be carried out, not on the instant of release 
 from the hypnotic state, but after a lapse of time, — the 
 difficult}^ of escaping the conclusion that will-power is 
 a distinct natural force is clearlj' increased enormousl3\ 
 The recent experiments at the Salpetriere would, how- 
 ever, not have astonished Balzac more than they sur- 
 prise those who have studied the occult sciences. The 
 power now being brought within the purview of sci- 
 ence was not onty known to, but exploited by inquiring 
 minds ages ago. Like so many of the alleged discover- 
 ies upon which Western civilization prides itself, this 
 is in truth not a discover^^ at all, but a tardy recogni- 
 tion of truth long since ascertained in other countries, 
 and until now obstinatel}' and stupidly ignored by 
 those who at present plume themselves upon their 
 knowledge of it. For centuries obscure phenomena 
 have been dealt with in the West upon much the same 
 principle. When facts could neither be denied nor ex- 
 plained they were labelled with a name which sounded as 
 if it signified something. The term ''hysteria" has 
 thus been emplo3'ed, or rather abused, in medicine, and 
 to-day it covers a multitude of phenomena which a 
 
Introduction. xix 
 
 stubborn materialism is utterh^ incapable of accounting 
 for. Take for example those singular collective at- 
 tacks of frenz}^ wliicb have periodically been observed 
 in many countries, and of which a case has occurred 
 during the present 3'ear. In these remarkable seizures 
 whole communities are affected. The books are full of 
 them. Tliey have been recorded for centuries. When 
 Europe abounded with monastic and conventual es- 
 tablishments the}' were frequently experienced in nun- 
 neries. The Church found an eas}' explanation of the 
 phenomena in attributing them to demoniac possession. 
 The Reformation did not put a stop to them. When 
 there were no longer secluded communities the attacks 
 occurred in rural districts, sometimes involving all the 
 "inhabitants of a Adllage, sometimes being confined to 
 the 3'oung men and maids, and again taking possession 
 of the children onl}'. During the earl}' part of this 
 century notable disturbances of this kind took place in 
 AVales and parts of Ireland. At almost the same time 
 what was then "the West" in the United States was 
 the scene of frequent similar outbreaks. Often they 
 were intimately associated with religious excitement. 
 It was during a period of such general disturbance, 
 when the air seemed full of malefic cerebral stimulants, 
 that Mormonism took its rise. 
 
 In all these cases, as in the well-known though ill- 
 understood excitements connected with negro camp- 
 meetings, the most prominent phenomenon is the power 
 of contagion present. A story is told of a hard-headed 
 sceptic, who, while riding in the West with a friend 
 one day, came to a stream in which a Mormon mission- 
 ary was baptizing converts, while he harangued a 
 
XX Introduction, 
 
 crowd. The travellers alighted and sat down to listen. 
 Suddenl}' tlie sceptic turned pale, as though about to 
 faint, and cried to his companion, " Take me awa^M " 
 He was helped to his horse, and after riding a mile or 
 two partially recovered himself, and turning to his 
 friend said : "If you had not taken me away when you 
 did I should have plunged into the water with those 
 converts. I had lost all control over myself." This is 
 but a typical illustration of the imperative urgency with 
 which the mysterious influence operates on such occa- 
 sions. We may call this influence h3'steria, but we 
 shall be as far as ever from understanding the subject, 
 and have onl}' put off* the master}-, after the fashion of 
 the housemaid who swept the dust about until she lost 
 it. Perhaps the theory of hypnotic suggestion may 
 now aff'ord a clew to the problem. Dr. Carpenter was 
 wont to make great play with his h^'pothesis of " ex- 
 pectant attention." He held that when the mind was 
 strongly wrought up, and anticipating some novel ex- 
 perience, or the impact of some potent influence, it was 
 possible to produce in it the most surprising hallucina- 
 tions. It might at such times be fooled to the top of 
 its bent, be cheated by simulated reports of the quies- 
 cent sensor}' nerves, be made to accept air-drawn 
 phantoms for objective realities, be induced to confound 
 a simple stick of wood with a strongly-charged elec- 
 trical conductor. Yet Dr^ Carpenter was obliged 
 finally to admit that expectant attention did not ac- 
 count for many phenomena; and had he survived to 
 this day it is quite possible that he would have wel- 
 comed the theory of hypnotic suggestion as tending to 
 round out and complete his doctrine. 
 
Introduction, xxi 
 
 What the Ps^-chical Research Soeiet}* call " telepathy " 
 is but another jihase of the same question, and though 
 the exceeding caution which has characterized the inquir3- 
 thus far is calculated to exhaust the patience of such as 
 look for sensational developments onh-, it is really a 
 line of investigation which promises better results than 
 the experiments and conjectures of the author of 
 *' Mental Phj'siology" and his school. Telepathy in- 
 volves recognition of at least some means of communi- 
 cation between mind and mind apart from the ordinary 
 avenues, and if carried far enough this inquest ma}' 
 terminate in the re-discovery of physical and psvchical 
 truths which were known to the ancients. Intuition, 
 however, is not the common heritage, and in such 
 mea^ire as Balzac possessed it is known to but few. 
 M. Taine does not exacth' laugh, but certainl}' wonders 
 at him, because of his theory that '' ideas are organized ) 
 beings which exist in the invisible world and influence 
 our destinies." Again, this is a venerable doctrine, but 
 it is of a kind which to Balzac must have seemed al- 
 most a truism, — for the strengtli of his creative powers 
 was such that the ideas which came to him passed at 
 once into actual being for hbn ; and the occult and 
 Kabbalistic belief that not onl}^ deeds but words and 
 thoughts remain forever preserved in the '' astral 
 light " must have appeared quite in accord with his 
 personal experience so far as the latter went. With 
 his views of the importance of Will and Thought in the 
 scheme of things, the suggestions of physical science 
 even in this line of thought were of a character to stim- 
 ulate imagination and encourage daring inquiry'. For 
 if no act or utterance of any living being leaves the 
 
xxii Introduction, 
 
 universp exacth^ as it was ; if in the clastic medium 
 which surrounds us the flutter of a gnat's wing, no less 
 than the explosion of a volcano, is registered in vibra- 
 tions which must continue to infinity ; if the curse of 
 the ruffian, the groan of his dying victim, the sob of 
 the bereaved mother, the shout of the charging soldier, 
 each in its wa}^ and each differently, affects the great 
 mundane system, however impalpabh' and imperceptibly 
 to us, — how much more crediblj' must the fundamental 
 cause of all physical action, the energizing Will of man, 
 impress itself in its operation upoii the sphere corres- 
 ponding in nature to its own refined and tenuous sub- 
 stance. To the Seer there was no inherent difficulty 
 in such conceptions. Will and Thought were in his 
 view not only real things, but, without figure and with- 
 out mental reservation, the most real entities in exist- 
 ence, and the most influential. 
 
 The truth that thought rules the world has indeed 
 been always perceived by the observing, and recog- 
 nized directly or indirecth' b}' mankind. EA^en the 
 ph3-sical effects of psychological conditions have been 
 so generall}^ noted that among the commonplaces of 
 speech in most countries are words or phrases attempt- 
 ing some definition of these phenomena. When, for in- 
 stance, the "personal magnetism" of some prominent 
 man is spoken of, what is reall}' meant is the remarka- 
 ble development of his volitional energ}^ which, when 
 exerted to attract and conciliate those who approach 
 him, affects them in a peculiar, subtle wa}', evoking 
 their sympathies, and drawing their affections towards 
 him, without conscious exercise of their own will and 
 judgment. This is domination of weaker wills b}' a 
 
Introduction. xxiii 
 
 strong one, and it is a kind of manifestation shown by 
 common experience to be often associated with the pur- 
 suit of large ambitions. The popular explanation of 
 such influence is reall}' an admission of its occult char- 
 acter. The term " personal magnetism " is intended to 
 cover something other than, and bej'ond the ordinar}^ 
 impression made by a pleasant voice, eye, face, or 
 manner. It is in fact the popular wa}^ of expressing 
 that limited and imperfect apprehension of the true 
 nature of Thought and Will which represents the least 
 advanced conceptions on the subject. Balzac's theory 
 of Thought and Will as natural forces, like electricit}', ^^ 
 capHtTTFoT "being concentrated and directed with special \^ 
 effect upon particular objects, on the other hand, may 
 be regarded as the expression of an abnormallj' ex- 
 tended view, — as the deduction of a thinker and ex- 
 perimentalist whose capacity for anal^'sis and whose 
 insight so far exceeded those of the generality of men 
 as to give peculiar weight and importance to his con- 
 clusions. For this line of research he possessed rare 
 and precious aptitudes. Excelling in that creative men- 
 tal force which is called imagination perhaps every 
 modern save Shakspeare, no man could have been 
 better fitted to examine mental processes, to gauge 
 their effects, to estimate their significance, and to de- 
 fine their nature and scope. No man has ever been 
 more thoroughly equipped for this task by knowledge 
 of philosoph}', science, and human nature. Taine said 
 of him that "the immensit}" of his undertaking was 
 almost equalled b}' the immensit}^ of his erudition." 
 In the fields where it is possible to follow him, many 
 have tried to catch him tripping, but few have been 
 
 tJNIVERSITir ) 
 
 Cn. nj.. .^\ . /J 
 
■■\ 
 
 xxiv Introduction, 
 
 repaid by any discovery of error on his part. What he 
 knew — and it was much — he knew with a surprising 
 thoroughness. He was no smatterer, though he took 
 all knowledge for his domain. No such blunders as 
 Goethe made in the law of optics can be charged 
 against Balzac. It is onh' in regard to his theories 
 concerning that region of physiological ps3'chology 
 which remains no-man's land still that anj^ of his 
 critics have ventured to question his accuracy ; and 
 in all that pertains to that region dogmatism is 
 prohibited by the uniform failure of at least the 
 average human intelligence to solve the central prob- 
 lems involved. 
 
 While recognizing the power of Thought, however, 
 Balzac perceived in it a destructive, as well as a con- 
 structive efficienc}' ; and this view it is which he has 
 especially illustrated in " The Magic Skin." Here also 
 he onh' went before his contemporaries and predeces- 
 sors in degree, not in kind. The idea that the mind 
 might exhaust, wear out the bodj', had long been en- 
 tertained. Thus Fuller, speaking of the Duke of Alva, 
 says: "He was one of a lean bod}' and visage, as if 
 his eager soul, biting for anger at the clog of his bodj', 
 desired to fret a passage through it." So also Dryden, 
 in a familiar passage, describes — 
 
 *' A fiery soul, which, working out its way, 
 Fretted the pygmy body to decay, 
 And o'er-infornied the tenement of clay." 
 
 Shakspeare has man}- similar allusions. But Balzac's 
 philosophy included anal3'sis of the consequences, not 
 ovAy of use, but abuse of the thinking power, and he 
 
Introduction. xxv 
 
 wrote " The Magic Skin " as a commentar}' upon one of 
 the salient evils of modern civilization : the increasing 
 tendencN' to excess generated bj the headlong pace ut 
 which existence is carried on, and stimulated by the 
 intenseness of competition, and the enhanced attrac- 
 "^veness of the objects of human desire. M. Taine, 
 already cited, has given his picture of the kind of life 
 drawn b}' the author of the " Comedie Humaine." It 
 was in that turbulent scene that he watched the expan- 
 sion of what he held to be suicidal habits among the 
 most energetic and capable members of societ}'. Paris 
 apart, there is no place second to New York, probably, 
 in the eager adoption of the same business cult. As 
 Taine says of his own capital, everything has been 
 subordinated to "success" in the American metropolis. 
 There, as in Paris, all the energies of thousands are 
 directed to the one end, and vitalit}' is expended upon its 
 attainment with a lavishness which not seldom entails 
 the penalty of incapacity for enjoyment when the long 
 sought quarr}' is at length run down. 
 
 'The Magic Skin" ought, indeed, to be a familiar 
 and easil}' apprehended S3'mbol in this country, for too 
 man}^ of our young men have made Raphael's rash 
 ^choice, and undergone Raphael's punishment. This 
 part of the allegor}', at least, is verj' transparent. The 
 Eastern tali^maTr^s the undisciplined lust of worldly 
 iuccess, indulgence in which shortens life literall}' 
 and directly b}' exhausting the nervous energvj The 
 old bric-a-brac dealer exj^bunds the doctrme in his 
 speech warning the desperate youth against the awful 
 conti-act proposed in the Arabic inscript ion on the _. 
 skin. 1 
 
xxvi Introduction. 
 
 The influence of strong ideas socially is a favorite 
 theme with Balzac. In fact it constitutes so intimate 
 an element in his social theoiy that he treats it in a 
 great variet}^ of waj's. M. Felix Davhi wrote, in 
 1834, a general introduction to the fourth editioii of 
 the "Philosophical Studies," and as this paper was 
 prepared avowedly under the inspiration of Balzac, 
 its statements and explanations are trustworthy. M. 
 Davin devotes considerable space to this question of 
 the general treatment of what ma}^ be called ' ' domi- 
 nant ideas " in the " Studies of Manners." The author, 
 he observes, is constantly exhibiting^ Jhe irritation -and 
 aggravation oftnstincts by-ul^Sjthe consequent gener- 
 ation of passion, and the disorganizing effects pro- 
 duced by the operation of social influences upon this 
 resultant. And he names several stories, such as 
 " Adieu," " El Verdugo," " Le Requisitionnaire," " Un 
 Drame au bord de la mer," "Cesar Birotteau," etc., 
 in all of which, life is destroyed by excessive thought, 
 ideation, or imagination. The maternal love, family 
 pride, greed of inheritance, anger, fear of shame, each 
 in turn appear* as the lethal instrument, and kills the 
 victims as surel}^ as knife, cord, or poison could do. 
 The tendency t o excess is so strongl}^ marked a char- 
 acteristfc^, the present time that no careful and in- 
 telligent stud}^ of it can be other than interesting. It 
 happens, too, that the Paris of Balzac's time was so far 
 in advance of the rest of the world in relation to whirl 
 and £e:^r_and fur}^ of life that the rest of the world 
 has coflsumed a generation in getting to where the 
 French capital was then. One consequence of this is 
 that Balzac's desci'iption^.^f his own period appear. 
 
Introduction. 
 
 xxvu 
 
 especially so far as concerns his Paris observations, to 
 be contemporary records, and to bear the very form 
 and pressure of the time. With the general increase 
 of wealth and luxur}', the temptations to excess in the 
 uafc of acquisitive means have multiplied enormously, 
 while degrees of prosperity which half a century ago 
 were thought scarcel}' attainable are now so far down 
 in the scale of possibilities that the trul}' ambitious no 
 longer regard them as deserving serious consideration. 
 
 The episode of the banquet at Taillefer's (who fig- 
 ures in " L'Auberge rouge" in a verj- sinister role) was 
 originalh' published separately ; and the guests, oddly 
 enough, were given the names of living writers and 
 poets. Victor Hugo and Thiers, among others, were 
 thus exhibited, and Balzac does not appear to have 
 thought that the}' httd-tm}' cause of complaint. Con- 
 sidering the state of the Paris press at the time, perhaps 
 the}' had not ; for the period was one of gross person- 
 alities, and French journalism was incredibly licentious 
 and not less incredibly corrupt. When the banquet 
 scene was put in its proper place in the completed 
 story the real names were exchanged ifor the fictitious 
 ones which appear at present. This episode is but the 
 machinery for introducing RaphaeVs^tory of the coun- 
 tess Fedora, the woman without a heart, and this is 
 another figure. ^ fedora is symbolical of Society, which 
 lives for itself and its *owii"[5IeasrrPes" and luxuries ; 
 which is polished, cold, indif!ereTTti""yef desirous of 
 obtaining gratuitously the best of all the lives attracted 
 by its glitter and ostentation ; which allures by its air 
 of distinction, its parade of wealth, its affectation of 
 exclusiveness, its versatility and surface show of Intel- 
 
xxviii Introduction. 
 
 lect and wit ; and which is, like tlie beautiful and fasci- 
 nating Russian, absolutel}' void of heart, and scarcely 
 capable of feigning sensibility enough to make a deco- 
 rous appearance. 
 
 Raphael brings to this siren all the treasures of 
 3'outh. The discipline of his adolescence, the stern 
 rigor of his garret life, the nature of his studies and his 
 intellectual tendencies and preferences, may all be re- 
 garded as pages from Balzac's autobiograph}'. The 
 *• Treatise of the Will " referred to is his own college 
 experiment, so cruelly crushed by the fatal imbecilitj^ of 
 a boobj- teacher. Emerging from his garret, however, 
 Raphael enters a realm which is pure fiction. There 
 is never any hope for him, and perhaps he perceives 
 this, though he cannot relinquish his pursuit of the 
 heartless Fedora. But Raphael himself is not a char- 
 acter calculated to attract much sympathy. Designed 
 to illustrate Balzac's theory of the baleful social elfect 
 of excess, he exhibits from the first an absorbed ego- 
 ism, which puts him morally almost on a level with the 
 Societ}' he learns to hate and despise. Tliere is little 
 nobility in the youth. He possesses marked intellectual 
 abilit\', but little heart. The suffering he endures from 
 Fedora appears to be mainl}' inflicted upon his vanit3\ 
 His love for the countess is something between a ca- 
 price and a calculation. It has in it scarcely any spon- 
 taneity, and when at last the futility of his devotion 
 is realized, and he determines upon suicide, his* motive 
 is clearly not merel}- despairing love, but discouraged 
 ambition. Of course Balzac meant all this to be so. 
 The possessor of the magic skin must be a self-indul- 
 gent, egoistic person. He could not possibly be a 
 
Introduction. xxix 
 
 man of the Benassis t^'pe in the " Conntiy Docjtor." 
 Raphael desires enjoyment, even gross, sensnal enjoy- 
 ment ; and to obtain it he is will i 11 ^^ tn rinir hi liTi as 
 he has ah-eady risked and lost, first his opportunities, 
 and then his property. No doubt the influence of 
 Fedora counts for much in his depravation. She has 
 hardened and roughened him, killed in him all confi- 
 dence in womanhood, fostered in him the C3'nicism 
 whose germs were inherited, and confirmed in him all 
 the selfish propensities with which he began life. But the 
 3'oung man is none the less the natural possessor of 
 the talisman, so far as his abstract ideas are concerned. 
 It seems to him that he will hesitate at nothing in fol- 
 lowing out his self-indulgent fancies. In eff'ect, the 
 moment he fully realizes the nature of the contract into 
 whicli he has entered, all possibilit}' of enjo3'ing his 
 newly-acquired power vanishes for him ; and this is the 
 logical and inevitable consequence of the same egoism 
 that led him to accept the magic skin. 
 
 Here the parable is plain. The abuse of Will and 
 Thought brings its natural i)enalt}\^r'rEe~~man who de- 
 votes himself to the attainment of material ends is liable 
 \ to find, when the goal is reached, that he is no longer 
 \ capable of enjoying the prize. Raphael, with the 
 magic skin hanging on his wall, and the effects of the 
 expenditure of will-power under his ej'es, is parah'zed. 
 Desire means death to him, and to avoid it he must 
 vegetate, live by line and plummet, ward off all excit- 
 ing causes, and above all shun everything that ma}- 
 induce him to wish anything. It would not be possible 
 to conceive a more tremendous satire than this, and 
 3'et it is not an exaggeration of the actual, but merely 
 
XXX Introduction, 
 
 a new wa}^ of presenting it. AVhat Raphael snffen/ 
 from tlie contraction of the magic skin is preciseh' what 
 li\ iug men suffer who have abused their will-power in 
 iHirsuing success in material things. \ They are in the 
 position of Tantalus. With the means in their hands 
 to obtain everything, the}" are disabled from attempting 
 to procure anything. The}' can only watch the shrink- 
 ing talisman which holds their life, and limit their de- 
 sires to the attainment of a state of existence as closel}* 
 resembling annihilation as possible. This is what the'' 
 talisman has brought Raphael at the beginning of the 
 third part, and this is the most deeph' philosophical 
 division of the book, as well as the most strikingly 
 impressive and dramatic. 
 
 Raphael, the disillusionized student, who at the 
 opening of the tale has resolved to end his miser}- hy 
 suicide, appears, at the beginning of the third part, 
 strangel}' metamorphosed. The reckless youth who 
 w^ished, when the talisman was first offered to him, to 
 die at the culmination of a wild debauch, has been 
 brought to desire life with an intense longing, merely 
 as life. The possession of the means by which his 
 ever}' wish cau be gratified has suddenly checked his 
 fierce acquisitiveness, — not, however, because he has 
 gained any loftier view of the value and purpose of 
 existence, but because in his final struggle we are to 
 be shown egoism engaged in death-grapple with itself. 
 Raphael is a type of modern civilization, of the eager 
 self-seeker, the selfish fortune-hunter and money- 
 grubber, who estimates everything in accordance with 
 its real or fancied usefulness to himself. But joreciselv 
 because he places his personality above everything else 
 
Introduction. xxxi 
 
 he is unable to cany out the plan of self-indulgence he 
 had conceived in his poverty and distress. The sight of 
 the talisman which unmans him is the realization of the 
 ph3'sical effects of his career of fierce desire. The ex- 
 cess of his passions, the intensity' of his greed, has 
 sapped his vitalit}', and at the moment when the 
 wealth for which he has striven so desperateh' is in his 
 hands, the tide of life begins to ebb. 
 
 He isolates himself, seeks to protect himself against 
 ever}' incitement to further desire, deliberatel}' adopts 
 a vegetative existence, and finds his sole remaining 
 satisfaction in the oft- tested assurance that b}- this 
 means he has arrested the shrinkage of the talisman. 
 But in a struggle so complicated, by a nature so de- 
 praved, the holding of a stead}' course for an}' length 
 of time is impracticable. The dominant egoism of his 
 temperament will not be always cool and calculating 
 and restrained. ^Waves of imp erious desire will at in- 
 tervals rise and sweep away the inos{"7^rucrefft TeSolu- 
 tions when the only object of action is self-gratification. 
 In one of these periods of excitation he yields to what 
 must be regarded as the nearest approach to real love 
 of which he is capable. But the limits of the purity of 
 this passion are rigidly drawn, and Balzac has marked 
 them plainly. When first Raphael finds Pauline at the 
 opera, he is drawn to her by a sentiment of real aflTec- 
 tion. This continues to influence him when they meet 
 in his old room in the Hotel Saint-Quentin. During \ 
 this period the talisman does not shrink, for emotion 
 of the higher kind does not exhaust vitality, but rather 
 recruits it. When, however, the lovers have come to- 
 gether and are married, Raphael's passion at once be- 
 
xxxii Introduction. 
 
 comes materialized, and he is made to learn very soon 
 that he can only gratify it at the expense of his life. 
 
 With this discovery the frailty of his love for Pauline 
 is disclosed. The old terror reclaims the master}^ over 
 him. Once more he banishes every one from his cham- 
 ber, and returns to the dull routine of vegetation. Here 
 Balzac t akes the opportunity to satirize modern science, 
 in the scenes in which Raphael is seeking the means of 
 destroying the fatal talisman. The futile attempts of 
 the zoologist, the mechanician, and the chemist to ex- 
 plain, to anal3'ze, and to make away with the magic 
 skin, though reflecting most damagingiy upon the or- 
 thodox classification and limitation of natural laws, do 
 not at all disturb these savants^ who are quite unani- 
 mous in the conclusion that if the facts are against 
 them, so much the worse for the facts. In a subse- 
 quent chapter medicine is handled in the same spirit of 
 rpordf^^^ t ?»;^t.ire. — the esoteric object of the author being 
 to illustrate^the manner in which egoism affects even 
 "Science, by subordinating the reverence for Truth to 
 the personal pride and vanity of its professors, and 
 thus impelling them to mask systematic charlatanism 
 and hypocrisy under social conventions. The eminent 
 physicians called in consultation over Raphael's myste- 
 rious malad}^ care nothing for the patient, and little for 
 the higher aims of tlieir own profession. Doubtless each 
 would be glad to chronicle a cure if it redounded to the 
 credit of his special theorj' ; but neither is generous 
 enough to be gratified b\' a success which traverses his 
 own views. In order to hoodwink the pubhc and main- 
 tain the semblance of harmony in the profession, they 
 affect for one another's opinions a respect which they 
 
Introduction, xxxiii 
 
 are far from feeling ; and thej^ are one and all deaf and 
 blind to the possibilities of phenomena in any way 
 transcending the narrow limits of their materialistic 
 training. It is to be observed, also, that nothing could 
 be more modern than this remarkable consultation. It 
 might have been held last 3'ear, or j^esterday. It em- 
 bodies the spirit of the whole century, and symbolizes 
 traits of tlie present civilization, which appear to deepen 
 with the increasing complexity of social life. 
 
 The attempt of Raphael to get rid of the talisman by 
 force or craft, to annihilate it b}- violence, or to dis- 
 solve it by chemical reagents, could never have been 
 really hopeful to him, though he tried to bus}' himself 
 with the fantasy. He knew, as must every victim to 
 the prevailing cult of egoism, the conditions upon 
 which he held his remnant of vitalitj^ He knew — 
 for had not the old bric-a-brac dealer told him? — 
 that whoso signed the m3'stic compact, b}' accepting 
 possession of the talisman, was thereby committed to 
 the end, and could no more draw back than could a 
 man who, having thrown himself from the summit of 
 the Vendome column, should repent and tr}' to return 
 to safety. But the desire for survival was so strong 
 that he could not reconcile himself to the facts ; and he 
 was, as it were, compelled to try every avenue which 
 seemed by any play of fanc}' to suggest the possibility 
 of escape. When ever}' essay has failed, he takes the 
 advice of his medical men, and, coolly deserting Pau- 
 line without even a farewell word, journej's to a fash- 
 ionable spa. His life there is a development of his 
 secluded existence in his own hotel. The luxury of his 
 establishment excites the admiration and envy of the 
 
xxxiv Introduction, 
 
 other guests, and his absorption in himself arouses their 
 dislike and finally their hatred. 
 
 / This is a ver^^ deep study of society. If, on the one 
 I hand, selfishness is the mainspring of the social organi- 
 zation, experience has proved that, on the other hand, 
 mutual sacrifices are necessary to the due gratification 
 and permanent maintenance of the pride of personality. 
 Society flatters that it may be flattered ; cajoles that it 
 may be cajoled ; caresses that it may be caressed ; pre- 
 tends to think well of its members that thej' may pre- 
 tend to think well of it. He who, while under the 
 social obligations which are inseparable from the pos- 
 session of wealth, repudiates his social duties, despises 
 and neglects all the conventional hj'pocrisies bj^ which 
 it is sought to cloak the pervading egoism, and insists 
 on parading his own selfishness, natural!}^ and brutally, 
 mortally wounds this artificial organism, and inevitably 
 makes of it an active and implacable enemy. He is a 
 traitor to the unwritten constitution of modern civili- 
 zation. He is an anarchist, whose baleful example 
 threatens the whole fabric of deceit, and pretence, and 
 sham chivalry-, and make-believe refinement, and dis- 
 guised greed and lust and self-seeking. He is the 
 more disgusting and hateful in that he shows society 
 itself as it feels and knows it really is ; and since there 
 remains a somewhat of good in things evil, since in the 
 most corrupt periods vice pa3's to virtue the homage of 
 hypocris}', such a disclosure cannot but be humiliating 
 and exasperating. 
 
 Therefore the societ}' of the spa is leagued against 
 him ; and when an attempt to compass his removal by 
 porsuasion has failed, a quarrel is fastened upon him, 
 
Introduction, xxxv 
 
 and he is entano-led in a duel. Here again his domi- 
 nant egoism controls him against his plainest interests. 
 He cannot protect himself in the duel save by exerting 
 his will-power, and thus causing the magic skin to 
 shrink ; but his pride has been stung, and he is re- 
 solved to give his enemies a sharp lesson, even though 
 he suffers for it himself. The same ignoble impulse 
 proves too strong for his prudence when, after killing 
 his antagonist, he comes, while travelling, to a village 
 where the people are enjoying a holiday. Soured b}^ 
 the spectacle of all this life and jollity', he fields to the 
 suggestion of his misanthropy, and squanders another 
 portion of his fast-fading vitalitv in calling down a sud- 
 den storm on the heads of the merr^'-makers. After 
 the duel he makes one more desperate effort to recover 
 his fleeting forces. Societ}' has expelled him, and con- 
 tact with it onh' irritates and exhausts liim. He will 
 now essay, in a modified form, the prescription which 
 Mephistopheles offered to Faust in the Witch's Kitchen, 
 as the alternative with the hag's elixir. There is, says 
 Mephistopheles, another wa}' of attaining old age : — 
 
 " Begieb dich gleich hinaus aufs Feld, 
 Fang' an zu hacken und zii grabeu, 
 Eihalte dich und deinen Sinn 
 In einem ganz beschrankten Kreise, 
 Eruiihre dich mit ungemischter Speise, 
 Leb' mit dem Vieh als Vieh, — " 
 
 and thus a term of eighty years may be secured. Ra- 
 phael throws himself upon the bosom of Nature, and 
 endeavors to lead a purely natural life, among the sim- 
 plest peasants, and in the most invigorating mountain 
 
 V 
 
xxxvi Introduction, 
 
 air. For a short time be imagines that the experimeo^- 
 will succeed ; but it is not of bodily ailments he is 
 dying, and the consuming power of undisciplined desire 
 — the effects of mental excess — have proceeded too far 
 in the work of disorganization for any remedy attain- 
 able by him. The constant sight of healthy animal life 
 about him tears his selfish soul with anguish, and gen- 
 erates longings which, despite ever\' effort at self- 
 restraint, are registered in the inexorable contractions 
 of the talisman. 
 
 At last he realizes the futility of his career and sul- 
 lenl}' , despairingly, returns to Paris to face death. The 
 last brief scene in this powerful allegory is at once the 
 most daring and significant in the book. It expresses 
 the utter degradation of the victim of modern civihza- 
 tion. It is the t^'pe of which the Baron Hulot, in "La 
 Cousine Bette " is the individualization. A career of 
 self-indulgence and self-seeking has extinguished the 
 last spark of intellectualit}^ in Raphael. There remain 
 in his moribund organism only the animal desires. The 
 habit and instinct of self-preservation have caused him 
 to drive the loving, faithful Pauline from his side. 
 When, at the very close, she makes her way to him, 
 and he perceives that the end is at hand, his last feeble 
 volitional impulse is toward the gratification of the 
 lowest form of passion, at no matter what expense ; and 
 even in the act of dying this brutal impulse is crossed 
 by another not less base, which finds expression in a 
 futile attempt to tear his mistress with his teeth. He 
 desires her as a Satyr might ; yet at the same supreme 
 moment his expiring egoism resents in her the exciting 
 cause of the catastrophe. This is the enforcement of the 
 
Introduction, xxxvii 
 
 author's flvinm f.hflt. <^;^npRfi in Will nnd ..Tliought Operates, 
 as a dissolvent ; that it tends to destroy- both the society 
 and the individual that indulge it ; that it is suicidal, and 
 kills not onl3'the physical, but the ps3xhical elements in 
 man. But this is not the whole of the moral. Excess 
 in all things, Balzac holds, is the distinctive character- 
 istic of modern civilization, but excess in the pursuit of 
 purely selfish aims is of all kinds the most deadlj' and 
 disorganizing. And the course of modern societ}^ is a 
 vicious circle j^it enforces and it suffers from the pre- 
 vailing cult of Egoism. All its highest prizes are re- 
 served for the victors in life's battle, — those, in other 
 words, whose greed and unscrupulousness and dogged 
 materialism enable them to trample upon and plunder 
 weaker competitors ; but through this apotheosis of 
 ignoble qualities and capacities society dooms itself to 
 perpetual Philistinism, strife, and vulgarit}'. Its stan- 
 dards are s6 low that there can be no honor nor satisfac- 
 tion in attaining to them. Its favorite pursuits are so 
 frivolous as to put a premium upon imbecilit}' and to 
 handicap merit and capacity. The excess which it fos- 
 ters, consequently, is never in the du'ection of true 
 aspiration, but alwa^'s earthly, sensual, devilish, — 
 such in fact as is t3'pified here in the life and death of 
 Raphael de Valentin, the wretched possessor of the 
 magic skin. 
 
 In his Epilogue Balzac has dealt with Pauline so 
 mj^stically as to confound the critics, who have guessed 
 at the intended meaning as variousl}' as in the case of the 
 Second Part of Goethe's " Faust." Yet there is not any 
 deep m3'stery in the matter. Pauline Gaudin t3'pifies true 
 and faithful womanly love. She is a foil, both exoteri- 
 
xxxviii Introdicction, 
 
 ically and esoterieally, to the heartless, cold-blooded 
 Fedora. She is a foil also to the selfishness of Raphael. 
 She stands for all the tenderest emotions and qualities 
 of self-abnegating love. From the first she is seen sac- 
 rificing herself to Raphael. When he inhabits the attic 
 in the Hotel Saint-Quentin, and congratulates himself 
 upon the success of his parsimonious budget, he is 
 really Pauline's pensioner, and would starve to death 
 but for the devoted industry and delicate self-sacrifice 
 of this amiable creature. There is a terrible stroke of 
 irony, drawn straight from human experience, more- 
 over, in the complacency with which Raphael accepts 
 this silent aid ; in the transparent form of self-deception 
 indulged b\^ him when Pauline pretends to have found 
 some money while sweeping his room. He tries to per* 
 suade himself that the stor^^ is credible, but he knows 
 well enough where the coins so opportunel}' discovered 
 come from, and it is not impossible that he has his 
 suspicions also regarding the unfaiUng supplies of clean 
 linen and bread and milk. He aflfects indeed to repay 
 her with instruction, but it is clear that during his tuto- 
 rial experience the chief benefit remains with him. 
 
 She, however, has no reservations for the man she 
 loves. It is enough happiness for such a nature to feel 
 that it is doing good to the object of its affection. Pau- 
 line knows well that Raphael is paying his addresses to 
 the Countess Fedora. He, with characteristic masculine 
 obtuseness, makes her his confidant, and wrings her 
 gentle bosom with the eager recapitulation of his hopes 
 and longings. Through all this she never betrays 
 jealous}^ or petulance. He, she thinks, is so good, so 
 great, so far above her, that it is altogether natural for 
 
i 
 
 Introduction. xxxix 
 
 him to adore fine ladies, women of title and position, 
 wealtliy widows. Nor is there the least self-conscious- 
 ness about Pauline. She is sometimes depressed, but 
 she does not appear to ask herself whj^ In Raphael's 
 presence she is simply, naturally happy. She takes 
 what the gods provide, humbly, thankf'ull}', and whether 
 she is thought little or much of she is ready to make any 
 and every renunciation in her power for her friend. 
 When they come together she is the happiest of the 
 happ3^ and lives only for her Raphael. When he so 
 harshly repels her, moved by his selfish fears and the 
 f»hrinking of the talisman, no complaint is heard from 
 her ; and after he returns from his cruel desertion she 
 ntters her grief only in the touching little letter which 
 he finds awaiting him. He has never confided his secret 
 to |ier. Had he done so she would have protected him 
 far more effectually than he could protect himself. But 
 when in the closing scene she realizes the truth her first 
 impulse is to kill herself, to the end that a cause of dan- 
 ger to him — as she thinks — may be removed. Pauline 
 is a beautiful ideal, and may further be regarded as 
 sj^mbolizing the superior purity and elevation of true 
 womanly love as contrasted with the emotions which 
 fill so large a space in the life of the average modern 
 male egoist. She is not indeed what would be called a 
 strong-minded woman, but Balzac never could perceive 
 the attraction of that kind of character. Like most 
 men of masterful intellect, he believed in feminine qual- 
 ities especially, and rather shrank from the modern 
 tendenc}^ to cultivation of masculine capacities and 
 characteristics in women. 
 
 Vast as was Balzac's performance, it could not keep 
 
xl Introduction, 
 
 pace with the prodigious fecundity of his mind. Thus 
 while he had always, during the twenty 3^ears of his 
 labor on the " Comedie Humaine," several works in 
 hand simultaneoush', at the same time he had as con- 
 stantly in view several more which he found no time to 
 write. The plan of the " Comedie Humaine'* com- 
 prised a series to be called "Analytical Studies," but 
 only the "Physiology of Marriage," and some short 
 pieces belonging to this division, were published. It 
 was his Intention to follow up "La Peau de Chagrin," 
 with a novel to be entitled " L'Histoire de la Succes- 
 sion du Marquis de Carabas." This work was an- 
 >^nounced by M. Ph. Chasles in his introduction to 
 " La Peau de Chagrin," and b}^ M. Felix Davin, in his 
 introduction to the "Philosophical Studies," and all 
 that is known of its subject is derived from what is 
 there said, which is to the effect that it was intended to 
 show society at large a pre}^ to the same impotence 
 which devours Raphael in "La Peau de Chagrin," and 
 agonizing under the same real wretchedness, springing 
 from the same fierceness of desire, and disguised by the 
 same external brilliancy, which in the extant work are 
 
 /illustrated in their relation to individualism. It was 
 the purpose of Balzac, first, to describe life as it is, in 
 all its phases, as affected by modern civihzation ; hav- 
 ing accomplished this he proposed tracing effects to 
 their causes ; and finally he intended to point out, as 
 far as possible, the social and other tendencies which, 
 resisting the disorganizing influences of the times, con- 
 stitute the justification for hope concerning the future. / 
 This explanation should be kept in mind by those who 
 may be inclined to regard the philosophy of ' ' The Magic 
 
Introduction. xli 
 
 Skill " as pessimistic. In fact when the work appeared 
 some of Balzac's friends raised that very objection. To 
 one of them, the Duchess de Castries, he replied: "I 
 shall defend m3'self against j'Oiir charges by one word : 
 tills work is not intended to remain alone ; it contains 
 the premises of a work which I shall be proud to have 
 attempted, even if I fail in the enterprise." He then re- 
 fers to the introduction written by M. Philarete Chasles 
 to "La Peau de Chagrin," and says, "You will see 
 by that, that if sometimes 1 destroy, I also endeavor 
 sometimes to reconstruct." What M. Chasles wrote on 
 the subject is as follows: "Faith and Love escaping 
 from men given over to intellectual culture ; Faith and 
 Love exiling themselves to leave all these proud souls 
 in a measureless desert of egoism, penned up in their 
 intense personality, — such is the goal of M. du Balzac's 
 stories." This purpose was defeated by the untimely 
 death of the great writer; but in a few minor pieces 
 such as that entitled "Jesus Christ in Flanders," he 
 has outlined his ideas concerning the renaissance of 
 faith and moral purity his observation led him to 
 look for in the social stratum from which Christianity 
 arose. 
 
 It is quite possible to read " The Magic Skin," simply 
 as a story, without paying any attention to the allegor}'. 
 This no doubt is the aspect in which it was regarded 
 when it was first published, not only by the public, but 
 by the majority of the critics. Balzac indeed com- 
 plained in his correspondence, that his tj^pes had not 
 been recognized ; and this is probable, and even natural. 
 For Balzac so filled all his creations with that white 
 heat of imaginative energj' which inspired him, that the 
 
xlii Introduction. 
 
 vitalism and the naturalness of his characters give 
 them an individualism, a humanit}', altogether unlike 
 the marionettes which figure in ordinarv allegories. 
 * ' The Magic Skin " may consequently be looked upon 
 as merely a clever orientalized tale, the machinery of 
 which is distinguished by peculiar skill of invention 
 and deftness of manipulation. Perhaps 'it is only those 
 who know the '* Comedie Humaine" as a whole, and 
 have followed the growing purposes of the author, who 
 will thoroughly appreciate this book. Yet inasmuch as 
 there certain!}^ is a marked current of tendency at the 
 present time toward serious views of society, civiliza- 
 tion, and human relations generall}-, while there exists 
 a no less distinct reaction against dogmatic materialism 
 and the arrogant presumption of a science which is too 
 often sciolism, it has been thought worth while to 
 offer to such as may care to use it the means of pene- 
 trating and apprehending the author's'* symbolism and 
 his esoteric meaning. It must, however, be said that 
 in ''The Magic Skin" we are but on the threshold of 
 Balzac's philosoph}^ What has been set down here is 
 indeed necessarj' to a full understanding of the present 
 volume, but the principles here applied constitute only 
 a part of a system, and to grasp that system as a whole 
 "Louis Lambert" and "Seraphita" will have to be 
 read and studied. In the former of these remarkable 
 works will be found a body of thought embracing many 
 ideas and speculations interest in which has been 
 revived recently. That theory of the Will which is 
 referred to so often in "The Magic Skin,' is in 
 "Louis Lambert" fully expounded. It is true that 
 the same theory really underlies almost the whole of 
 
Introduction. xliii 
 
 the " Comedie Humaine," but it is in this triad of 
 works that it is elaborated, and each of them is there- 
 fore necessary to the comprehension of the others, 
 though, regarded merely as tales, each may be read by 
 itself. 
 
 George Frederic Parsons. 
 
THE MAGIC SKIN. 
 
 ^v\m9-^ 
 
 Tristram Shandy, Chap. CCXXXIII. 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 Toward the close of October last, a young man 
 entered the Palais-Ro3'al, at the hour when the gam- 
 bUug-houses opened in conformity with the law, which 
 protects a passion essentiall3' taxable. Withoiit much 
 hesitation, he passed up the staircase of the liell which 
 went by the name of "Number 36." 
 
 " Monsieur, your hat, if 30U please," called out in a 
 sharp, remonstrative voice, a pallid old man, who was 
 squatting in a dark corner behind a railing, and who 
 now rose suddenh', showing a face of an ignoble type. 
 
 Whe n you e nter a gambling-house the law begins by 
 depriving you of 3'our hat. Is that meant as an evan- 
 gelical and ghostl}" parable? Mav it not rather be 
 a means of clinching an infernal bargain by exacting 
 something of 3'ou as a pledge ? Can it be intended to 
 force you into a respectful attitude toward those who 
 win your mone}'? Do the police, lurking near every 
 social sink-hole, insist on knowing the very name of 
 j'our hatter, or your own if you have written it on the 
 
2 The Magic Skin. 
 
 lining? Is it to take the measure of your skull and 
 evolve some instructive statistics on the cerebral ca- 
 pacity" of gamblers ? On this subject the government is 
 impenetrabl}- silent. But you must plainly understand 
 that no sooner have you made a step toward the green 
 table, than your hat no more belongs to you than you 
 belong to yourself; you are a stake, — 3'ou, your money, 
 your hat, your cane, your cloak. When you depart from 
 that hell. Play will show you, by a malevolent epigram 
 in action, that it still leaves you something, by returning 
 your hat. We may remark that if it is a new one, you 
 will learn to your cost that in future you must wear 
 gamblers' clothes. 
 
 The astonishment of the young man on receiving a 
 numbered ticket in exchange for his hat, whose edges 
 were fortunately a good deal rubbed, proved that his 
 soul was still innocent ; and the little old man, who hac* 
 no doubt wallowed from his youth up among the seeth- 
 ing pleasures of a gambling-house, threw him a dull, 
 bleak glance, in which a philosopher would have seen 
 all the horrors of hospitals, the vagrant homelessness 
 of ruined men, police reports of suicides, condemnations 
 to hard labor for life, transportation to penal colonies. 
 This man, whose long, white face had sureh' no other 
 nourishment than tlie gelatinous soups of Arcet, was 
 v CjS^ '^^the^ pale image of Passion brought to its natural end. 
 In his wrinkles lurked the traces of old tortures. He 
 must have played away his meagre salary on the very 
 day he received it. Like an old hack horse on whom 
 the whip makes no impression, nothing made him shud- 
 der ; the smothered groans of players as they took 
 their hats and went out ruined, their mute impreca- 
 
The Magic Skin. 
 
 Tons, their dazed e3'es, left him unmoved. He wai 
 Play incarnate. If the 3'oung man had stopped to 
 consider this pitiable Cerberus, perhaps he might have 
 said to himself, '' Nothing is left in that heart but a game 
 of cards ! " He did not listen to this living warning, 
 placed there, no doubt, by Providence, who has sta- 
 tioned Disgust at the door of every evil haunt. He 
 resolutely entered a room where the chink of gold was 
 exercising its dazzling fascination over the eager lust 
 of covetousness. In all probability the young man was 
 driven to this place by that most logical of Jean- Jacques 
 Rousseau's sa3'ings : "Yes, I can conceive of a man 
 rushing to the gambling- table, but not until he sees, 
 between himself and death, only his last penny." 
 
 The gambling-houses have only a vulgar poetry about 
 them, but its effect is as certain as that of a blood- 
 thirsty drama. The halls are lined with spectators and 
 players, indigent old men who drag themselves to the 
 place for warmth, gamblers with convulsed faces, bear- 
 ing marks of orgies begun in wine and ready to ter- 
 minate in the Seine. But, though passion abounds, 
 the ci*owd of actoi-s and spectators prevent an observer 
 from deliberateh' considering, face to face, the demon 
 of pla}'. The scene goes on like a concei-ted piece in 
 which the whole troupe takes part, ever}' instrument of 
 the orchestra modulating its assigned passage. You 
 will see there many honorable men who seek distraction 
 of mind and pay for it as they would for a seat at the 
 theatre, or a luxurious dinner, or as they go to some 
 garret-room and buy at a base price bitter regrets that 
 last them three months. Which of us can full}' under- 
 stand the delirium and the vigor in a man's soul, as he 
 
 fiVjjxv^ 
 
4 The Magic 8kin. 
 
 waits for the opening of these hells. Between the gam- 
 bler in the morning and the gambler at night, there is 
 all the difference that exists between the indifferent 
 husband and the lover languishing beneath the win- 
 dows of his love. In the morning come palpitating 
 passion, and want in all its bare-faced horror. It is 
 only in the evening that 3'ou recognize the true gam- 
 bler, the gambler who has neither eaten, nor slept, nor 
 lived, nor thought, so powerfuU}' is he scourged by the 
 whip of his vice, so deeplj' has the rot of a mania eaten 
 into his being. At that accursed hour 3'ou ma}' encoun- 
 ter e3^es whose calmness is terrifying, faces that mag- 
 netize you, glances which seem to lift the cards and 
 tear the luck out of them. 
 
 Gambling-houses never rise to any show of dignity, 
 except at the hour when they nightly open. Spain may 
 have its bull-fights, Rome its gladiators, but Paris 
 boasts of her Palais-Royal, whose rattling balls bring 
 streams of blood for the pleasure of spectators, though 
 the floors are never slipper}^ with it. Cast a furtive 
 glance into the arena ; enter — v>'hat barrenness ! The 
 walls, covered with greasy paper to a man's height, 
 offer nothing on which the eye can rest intelligently, 
 not so much as a nail to facilitate suicide. The floor 
 is worn and dirty. An oblong table occupies the 
 middle of the room. The plainness of the deal chairs, 
 closely set around the green cloth now worn threadbare 
 by the raking in of gold, shows a curious indiffer- 
 ence to luxur}' in men who come here to perish in 
 the quest for it. This human antithesis can be seen 
 wherever the soul reacts powerfully on itself. The 
 lover desires to put his mistress on silken cushions, and 
 
The Magic Skin, ' 5 
 
 drape her in the soft tissues of Orient, j'et for the most 
 part he possesses her in a garret. The ambitious man 
 dreams of the pinnacles of power, all the while abasing 
 himself in the mud of servihty. The merchant vege- 
 tates in a damp, unhealthy back-shop, and builds a 
 splendid mansion from which his son, taking prema- 
 ture possession, is driven by fraternal litigation. T-o I 
 sum up all in one image, does there exist anything j 
 more displeasing to the mind than a house of pleasure?./^ 
 Strange problem ! Man, always in opposition to him- \ 
 self, alwa^'s cheating his hopes by his present woes, 
 and his woes hj a future that does not belong to him, 
 puts upon ever}" action of his life the impress of incon- 
 sistency and weakness. Here below, nothing appears 
 to be complete but misfortune. 
 
 At the moment when the jonng man entered the 
 room a few players had alreadj^ assembled. Three 
 bald-headed old men were nonchalantl}' sitting round the 
 green cloth ; their faces J like plaster casts, impassible 
 as those of diplomatists, dul}' expressed each blunted, 
 sated soul, each heart, long since incapable of throb- 
 bing, even when its owner staked the marriage jewels 
 of a wife. A j'oung Italian with black hair and an 
 olive skin was sitting quietl}" with his elbows on the 
 table, apparently consulting those fatal inward presenti- 
 ments which continually cr}' in the pla3'er's ear, " Yes," 
 "No." His passionate Southern head seemed injected 
 with gold and fire. Seven or eight spectators standing 
 near were ranged in line, awaiting scenes which the 
 turns of the wheel, the faces of the players, the roll of 
 the mone}', and the scraping of the rakes were prepar- 
 ing for them. These idlers stood there silent, motion- 
 
6 The Magic Skin. 
 
 less, and attentive, like the populace on the place de 
 Greve when the headsman drops the axe. A tall, lean 
 man in a threadbare coat held a register in one hand 
 and in the other a pin to mark the series of the Eed or 
 the Black. Like a modern Tantalus, he was one of those 
 men who live on the verge of all the enjoj-ments of their 
 epoch, — a miser without a hoard pla3'ing an imaginary 
 stake, a species of reasoning fool who consoles his 
 miser}^ by cherishing a chimera, who deals with vice 
 and danger as a young priest with the Eucharist when 
 he sa3s his trial Mass. 
 
 Sitting opposite to the bank were two or three of those 
 shrewd speculators, experts in games of chance, who, 
 like old convicts no longer afraid of the galleys, were 
 there to risk three stakes, and immediatelj' carry away 
 their gains ; on which, no doubt, the}' lived. Two wait- 
 ers were walking nonchalantl}' about the hall with their 
 arms crossed, looking out every now and then into the 
 garden of the Palais-Royal, as if to show their impassive 
 faces for a species of sign to the passers-by. The banker 
 and the croupier had just cast upon the punters that ex- 
 pressionless glance which stabs a gambler, calling out in 
 shrill tones, " Make your play," when the young man 
 entered the room. The silence became, if possible, more 
 intense ; all heads turned with curiosity to the new- 
 comer. Then an almost unheard-of thing occurred ; 
 those blunted old men, the stonj' attendants, the specta- 
 tors, even the fanatical Italian, experienced, as they 
 caught sight of the stranger, a feeling of nameless 
 terror. A man must indeed be ver}^ unfortunate to 
 obtain pity, very feeble to excite sympathy, or very 
 sinister in appearance to cause a shudder in such souls 
 
The Magic Skin. 7 
 
 as these, in a hell where sufferings are hushed, where 
 misery is gay, despair decent. Yes, there were all such 
 elements in the strange sensation wiiich stirred those 
 hearts of ice as the 3'oung man entered. Executioners 
 have been known to weep over the virgin heads they 
 were forced to cut off at a signal of the Revolution. 
 
 (The players could read at a glance in the face of the 
 new-comer the presence of some awful mystery ; his 
 youthful features were stamped with despondenc}' ; his 
 e3'e proclaimed the balking of efforts, the betrayal of a 
 thousand hopes ; the dull impassibilitj' of suicide seemed 
 to give a wan and sickl}' pallor to his brow ; a bitter smile 
 drew lines around the corners of his mouth ; the whole 
 countenance exprv^ssed a hopelessness which was terrible 
 to secjj Some secret gift of genius scintillated in the 
 depths of those veiled ej'es, — veiled perhaps b}' the 
 fatigues of pleasure. Had debauchery stamped its 
 foul signs upon that noble face, once pure and glow- 
 ing but now degraded? Doctors would doubtless have 
 attributed the yellow circle round the eyelids and the 
 hectic color in the cheeks to lesions of the stomach or 
 chest, while poets would have recognized in those same 
 signs the ravages of science, the havoc of nights spent 
 in study by the midnight oil. But a passion more fatal 
 than disease, a disease more relentless than study or 
 genius marred that youthful head, contracted those 
 vigorous muscles, and wrung the heart that had scarcely 
 touched the surface of orgies, or stud}', or disease. 
 As the convicts at the galleys hail with respect some 
 celebrated criminal when he arrives among them, so 
 these human demons, experts in torture, bowed before 
 an amazing grief, an awful wound they had the eyes to 
 
8 The Magic Skin. 
 
 see, recognizing one of their own princes in the dignity 
 of his mute anguish and the elegant poverty- of his 
 garments, i He wore a frock coat of fashionable ap- 
 pearance, but the junction of his cravat with his waist- 
 coat was too carefully arranged not to betra}- the fact 
 that he had no shirt. His hands, pretty as those of a 
 woman, were of doubtful cleanliness, and for the last 
 two days he had worn no gloves. If the banker, the 
 croupier, and even the waiters shuddered, it was because 
 the charms of innocence and youth still lingered along 
 the slender, delicate outlines, and among the fair though 
 scanty locks which curled naturally. The face was 
 that of a man of twenty-five, and vice seemed to be 
 there by accident. The vigorous life of youth still 
 fought against the ravages of an impotent lubricit3% 
 Darkness and light, annihilation and existence, strug- 
 gled together, producing a result that was full of grace 
 and full of horror. The young man came into the 
 room like an angel without a halo who had lost his 
 way. For an instant those present, professors emeritus 
 of vice and infamy, like toothless old women seized 
 with pity for a 3'oung girl who offers herself to corrup- 
 tion, were on the verge of crying out to him : " Awa}' ! 
 come not in ! " 
 
 He, however, walked straight to the table and stood 
 there, throwing upon the cloth, without a moment's 
 calculation, a piece of gold which he held in his hand 
 and which rolled upon the Black ; then, like all strong 
 souls who abhor uncertainties, he looked at the dealer 
 with an e3'e that was both turbulent and calm. The 
 interest excited b}' his throw became so great that the 
 old men did not make their stakes ; but the Italian, 
 
Tlie Magic Skin. 
 
 jeizing, with the fanaticism of passion, an idea which 
 suddenly possessed him, phimped his pile of gold on 
 the Red in opposition to the play of the stranger. The 
 dealer forgot to utter the usual phrases which have 
 come b}^ long usage to be a mere hoarse unintelligible 
 cr^' : " Make your plaj' ; " " The game is made ; " " Bets 
 are closed." He spread out the cards, and seemed 
 to wish good luck for the new-comer, indifferent as he 
 was to the loss or gain of the devotees of these gloomy 
 pleasures. Each spectator knew that he watched a 
 drama and saw the closing scene of a glorious life in 
 the fate of that piece of gold ; their eyes gleamed 
 as they fixed them on the fateful cards ; 3'et, in spite 
 of the attention with which they gazed alternately at 
 the player and at the bits of pasteboard, not a sign of 
 emotion was seen on the cold, resigned face of th€J 
 young man. 
 
 " Red wins ! " said the dealer, officiall3\ 
 A species of strangled rattle came from the Italian's 
 chest as he saw the bank-bills which the banker threw 
 him fall one by one in a little heap. As for the young 
 man he did not comprehend his ruin until the rake 
 stretched out to gather in his last napoleon. The ivory 
 instrument struck the coin with a sharp sound, and it 
 shot with the rapidity of an arrow into the mass of gold 
 spread out before the banker. The young man gently 
 closed his eyes, his lips whitened ; but soon he raised 
 his eyelids, his mouth regained its coral redness, he as- 
 sumed the manner of an Englishman who thinks that 
 for him life has no mysteries, and then he disappeared 
 from the room without asking consolation by a single 
 harrowing look, such as despauing gamblers sometimes 
 
10 The Magic Skin, 
 
 cast on the spectators who line the walls. How many 
 events were compressed into the space of that second ; 
 how man}' things into that single throw of the dice ! 
 
 "His last cartridge, no doubt," said the croupier, 
 smiling, after a moment's silence, during which he held 
 the bit of gold between his finger and thumb and showed 
 to those about him. 
 
 "He is half-crazy now, and he'll be found in the 
 Seine," said a frequenter of the place, looking round at 
 the other players, who all knew each other. 
 
 *'Bah!" said one of the waiters, taking a pinch of 
 snuff. 
 
 "What a pity we did not do as yon did, monsieur," 
 said one of the old men to the Italian. 
 
 Eveiybod\' looked at the luck\^ plaj'er, whose hands 
 were trembling as he counted his bank-notes. 
 
 "I heard a voice," he answered, "which cried in my 
 ear, ' The Red wins against his despair.' " 
 
 " He is no player," said the banker; " otherwise he 
 would have divided his monej' into three parts and 
 given himself other chances." 
 
 The 3'oung man passed out, forgetting to ask for his 
 hat ; but the old mastiff behind the rail, having noticed 
 the bad condition of that article, gave it back to him 
 without a word ; he returned the ticket mechanically 
 and passed downstairs, whistling Di tanti palpiti with 
 so feeble a breath that he himself scarcely heard the 
 delicious notes. 
 
 Presently he found himself beneath the arcades of the 
 Palais-Royal, going toward the rue Saint-Honore, where 
 he took a turn to the Tuileries and crossed the gardens 
 with hesitating step. He walked as though in the 
 
The Magic Skin. 11 
 
 middle of a desert, — elbowed b}' men whom he did not 
 see ; hearing, amid the noises of the streets and popu- 
 lace, but one sound, the call to death ; wrapt in a 
 torpor of thought like that of criminals as the tumbril 
 takes them from the Palais to the Greve, to the scaffold 
 reeking with the blood poured out upon it since 1793. 
 
 There is something grand and awful, not to be ex- 
 pressed, in suicide. The fall of multitudes of men in- 
 volv^es no danger ; the}' are like children tumbling from 
 too low a height to hurt themselves. But when a great 
 man is overthrown he comes from on high, he has risen 
 to the skies where he has seen some inaccessible para- 
 dise. Implacable are the tempests which force him to 
 fteek peace at the muzzle of a pistol. How many a 
 young soul of talent withers and dies in a garret for 
 want of a friend, for want of a consoling woman ; in 
 the midst of millions of beings, masses of men surfeited 
 with gold and satiated with life ! Viewed thus, suicide 
 takes on gigantic proportions. Between voluntar}'^ 
 death and the fecund hopes which beckon j'outh in the 
 great cit}', God alone knows what conceptions, what 
 abandoned ideals, what despairs and stifled cries, what 
 useless efforts, what aborted masterpieces, clash to- ■,._ 
 gether. Each suicide is a poem awful with melan-'il 
 chol}'. Where will jou find in the whole ocean ofj\ 
 literature a book whose genius can equal this brief yj 
 notice in the corner of some newspaper : — ' 
 
 " Yesterday^ at four o'clock^ a young woman flung 
 herself into the Seine from the pont des Arts." 
 
 Before this laconic Parisian item dramas and romances 
 pale, even that old titlepage of the '' glorious King of 
 Kaernavan imprisoned by his childi'en," — last frag- 
 
12 ' The Magic Skin, 
 
 ment of a lost book^ the mere perusal of which brought 
 tears to the eyes of Sterne, who himself deserted his 
 wife and children. 
 
 The young man was assailed by such thoughts as 
 these, which floated in fragments through his soul like 
 shreds of tattered flags across a battle-field. If, for a 
 moment, he laid down the burden of his mind and of 
 his memor}', and stopped to gaze at the flowers whose 
 heads were gentl}^ swaying in the breeze as it reached 
 them through the shrubbery, soon a convulsion of the 
 life which still fought against the crushing idea of sui- 
 cide seized upon him ; he raised his e^'es to heaven and 
 there the sombre clouds, the heav}' atmosphere, the 
 gusts of wind surcharged with sadness, once more coun- 
 selled him to die. He walked on toward the pout Royal, 
 recalling the last acts or fancies of his predecessors. A 
 smile crossed his hps as he thought of Lord Castlereagh 
 satisfying the humblest of wants before he cut his throat, 
 and remembered how the academician Auger looked for 
 his snuff-box and took a pinch on his waj' to death. 
 He was anah'zing these oddities and questioning his 
 own feelings when, as he pressed against the {mrapet of 
 the bridge to make way for a stout costermonger, the 
 latter slightly soiled the sleeve of his coat, and he found! 
 himself carefully shaking off the dust. Reaching the 
 centre arch he stood still and looked darkly at the 
 water. 
 
 "Bad weather to drown one's self," said an old 
 woman in rags, with a laugh; "isn't it dirty and 
 cold, that Seine?" 
 
 He answered with a natural smile, which showed the 
 delirium of his courage ; but suddenly he shuddered as 
 
Tlie Magic Skin. 13 
 
 le saw afar off on the pent des Tuileries the shed which 
 bears the words in letters a foot high, '^ Help for the 
 Dkow^ning." Monsieur Dacheiix appeared to him armed 
 with philanthropy and those virtuous oars which crack 
 the skulls of drowning persons, if b}' chance they appear 
 aboA'e water ; he saw him appealing to a crowd, send- 
 ing for a doctor, getting ready restoratives ; he read the 
 mournful reports of journalists written between a jovial 
 dinner and tlie smiles of a ballet-girl ; he heard the ring 
 of the five-franc pieces which the prefect of the Seine 
 would pay to the boatmen as the price of his body. Dead,^ 
 he was worth fift}' francs ; living, he was only a man of 
 talent, without friends, or protectors, or straw to lie on,, 
 or a nook to hide in, — a social cipher, useless to the 
 State, which took no note of him. Death in open day 
 struck him as humiliating ; he resolved to die at night 
 and bequeath an indistinguishable carcass to that social 
 world which ignored the grandeur of his life. He 
 therefore continued his way toward the quai Voltaire, 
 assuming, unconsciously, the step of an idler seeking 
 to kill time. As he went down the steps which end the 
 sidewalk of the bridge at the angle of the qua}', his at- 
 tention was caught by the rows of old books spread out 
 for sale upon the parapet, and he came near bargain- 
 ing for some of them. Then he smiled, put his hands 
 philosophically into his pockets and was about to re- 
 sume his nonchalant manner, which seemed like a mask 
 of cold disdain, when to his amazement he heard a few 
 coins rattle, with a sound that was positivel}' weird, at 
 the bottom of his trousers- pocket. A smile of hope 
 brightened his face, sHd from his lips to every feature, 
 smoothed his brow, and made his eyes and his gloomy 
 
\ 
 
 14 . The Magic Skin. 
 
 cheeks glow with happiness. This sparkle of joy was 
 like the fire which runs through vestiges of paper that 
 are already consumed bj' the flames ; but the face, like 
 the ashes, grew black once more as the 3'oung man 
 rapidl}' drew out his hand and saw in it three sous. 
 
 ''Ah! my good monsieur, la carita! la carita! 
 Catarina ! a little sou to bu}^ me bread ! " 
 
 A chimnej'-sweep, whose swollen face was black and 
 his body brown with soot and his clothing ragged, was 
 holding out a dirt\' hand to clutch the man's last sous. 
 
 Two steps off a poor old Savoyard, sickly and suffer- 
 ing and meanly clothed in knitted garments full of 
 holes, called to him in a thick, hoarse voice: "Mon- 
 sieur, give me what you will, and I will pray God for 
 3'ou." But when the 3'oung man looked at him the old 
 man was silenced and said no more, recognizing per- 
 haps on that funereal face the signs of a wretchedness 
 more bitter than his own. 
 
 " La carita ! la carita ! " 
 
 The 3'oung man threw the coppers to the child and 
 the old pauper, as he left the sidewalk and crossed 
 toward the houses, for he could no longer endure the 
 harrowing aspect of the river. 
 
 " We will pra3'^ God for a long life to you," cried the 
 two beggars. 
 
 As he paused before the window of a print-shop the 
 man noticed a j'oung woman getting out of a handsome 
 equipage. He gazed with delight at the charming creat- 
 ure, whose fair features were becomingly framed by the 
 satin of an elegant bonnet. The slender waist and her 
 prett}' motions captivated him . Her dress caught slightly 
 on the carriage-step, and enabled him to see a leg whose 
 
The Magic Skin, 15 
 
 fine outline was marked b}^ a white and well-drawn stocV- 
 ing. The 3'oung woman entered the shop and asked' :,he 
 price of albums and looked at some lithographs, w^hich 
 she bought and paid for with gold pieces that glittered 
 and rang upon the counter. The 3'oung man, standing 
 in the doorwa}-, apparently occupied b}- looking at the 
 prints in the show-case, exchanged the most piercing 
 glance that the ejes of man could cast against an in- 
 different look bestowed on all alike by the beautiful un- 
 known. The glance on his part meant a farewell 
 to love, to Woman ; but it was not so understood ; it 
 did not stir that frivolous female heart, nor make the 
 charming creature blush, or even lower her eyes. 
 What was it to her? — a little admiration, the homage 
 of an ej'e which made her think to herself that evening, 
 " I looked m}" best to-day." The 3'oung man turned 
 hastily to another pane and did not even glance round 
 as the lady passed him to regain her carriage. The 
 horses started ; that last image of elegance and luxury 
 vanished just as he himself was about to vanish from 
 existence. 
 
 He walked sadly past the shop-windows, looking 
 without interest at their samples of merchandise. When 
 the shops came to an end he studied the Louvre in the 
 same wa}', the Institute, the towers of Notre-Dame, 
 those of the Palais, and the pont des Arts. These 
 buildings seemed to wear a sad countenance beneath 
 the leaden skies whose occasional streaks of brightness 
 gave a menacing air to the great city, which, like a 
 prett}'" woman, is subject to inexplicable changes from 
 beauty to ugliness. Thus Nature herself conspired to 
 plunge the doomed man into an agonizing ecstasy. A 
 
16 Tlie Magic Skin. 
 
 pr?v to that malignant force whose decomposing action 
 finds an agent in the fluid which circulates in our 
 nerves, he felt his organism slowl}' and almost insen- 
 sibl}' reaching the phenomena of fluidit^y. The tortures 
 of his agon}' gave him motions that were like those of 
 the sea ; buildings and men appeared to him through 
 a mist, swa3'ing like the waves. He wanted to escape 
 the sharp spasms of the soul which these reactions of 
 his physical nature caused him, and he turned into the 
 shop of an antiquarv, meaning to find employment for 
 his senses, and await the darkness in bargaining for 
 works of art. It was, in truth, an effort to gain cour- 
 age ; a prayer for a stimulant, such as criminals who 
 doubt their nerve on the scaffold are wont to make. 
 Yet the sense of his approaching deatli gave the young 
 man, for a moment, the assurance of a duchess wl\p has j 
 two lovers ; and he entered the shop with an easy air, 
 and a smile on his lips as fixed as that of a drunkard, — 
 in truth, was he not drunk with life, or rather with 
 death? He soon fell back into his vertigo, however, 
 and continued to see things under strange colors, sway- 
 ing with a slight motion, whose cause lay no doubt in 
 the irregular circulation of his blood, wliich boiled at 
 moments like the foam of a cascade and at others was 
 still and dull as the tepid waters of a pool. 
 
 He asked to be allowed to look through the estab- 
 lishment and see if there were any curiosities that 
 tempted him. A young lad, with a pair of fresh, chubby 
 cheeks, and reddish hair covered with a sealskin cap, 
 consigned the care of the front shop to an old peasant 
 woman, a species of female Caliban, who was on her 
 knees cleaning a stove whose wondrous handiwork was 
 
The Magic Skin. 17 
 
 lo the genius of Bernard Paliss}' ; then he turned 
 to the stranger and said, with a careless air : — 
 
 " Certainl}', monsieur, look about you. We keep 
 onl3' the common things down here, but if you will 
 take the trouble to go upstairs, I can show you some 
 fine mummies from Cairo, various inlaid potteries, and 
 a few carved ebonies, — true Renaissance^ just come 
 in, of exquisite beaut3\" 
 
 These empty commercial phrases, gabbled over b}^ 
 the shop-boy, were to the stranger, in his horrible situ- 
 ation, like the petty annoyances with which small minds 
 assail a man of genius. Bearing his cross to the end, 
 he seemed to listen to his conductor, answering him by 
 gestures or monosyllables ; but little by little he won 
 the right to be silent and gave himself over to his last 
 meditations, — which were terrible. He was a poet ; 
 and his soul had now come, accidentalh-, to a vast 
 feeding-ground. Here he was to see in advance the 
 bones of a score of worlds. 
 
 At first sight, the rooms presented onlj' confused 
 pictures, in which all works of nature or of art, human 
 or divine, jostled each other. Crocodiles, monkej's, 
 stuffed boas, grinned at the painted glass of the win- 
 dows and seemed about to bite the busts, seize the 
 lacquers, or spring at the lustres. A Sevres vase, on 
 which Madame Jacotot had painted Napoleon, stood 
 beside a Sphinx dedicated to Sesostris. The begin- 
 nings of the world and the events of 3'esterday went 
 arm-in-arm with grotesque cordialit}'. A jack-spit was 
 Ijing on a monstrance, a republican sabre on a hackbut 
 of the Middle Ages. Madame Du Barr3', painted in 
 pastel by Latour, with a star on her head, nude and 
 
iS The Magic Skin, 
 
 floating on cloud, was concupiscently gazing at an 
 Indian hookah, and trying to discover the utility of the 
 spirals that wound toward her. Implements of death, 
 daggers, curious pistols, secret weapons, were flung 
 pell-mell among the implements of life, porcelain soup- 
 tureens, Dresden plates, diaphanous cups from China, 
 antique salt-cellars, and feudal sweetmeat-boxes. An 
 ivory vessel under full sail was floating on the back of 
 a tortoise. A pneumatic instrument was putting out 
 the eye of the Emperor Augustus, majestically indiffer- 
 ent. I Several portraits of French magistrates and Dutch 
 burgomasters, as impassible now as they once were in 
 the flesh, looked down with cold and ghastly" ejes on 
 this chaos of antiquities. All the kingdoms of the 
 earth seemed to have contributed some fragments of 
 their science, some specimen of their arts. The place 
 was a kind of philosophical compost-heap, where no 
 element was wanting, — neither the pipe of the savage, 
 nor the green and gold slipper of the harem ; neither the' 
 Moorish yataghan, nor the Tartar idol. The tobacco, 
 pouch of the soldier was there with the sacred vases ol 
 the Church and the plumes of a dais. These wondrous* 
 scraps of many worlds were subjected to still further 
 capricious changes by a number of fantastic reflections 
 from the strange objects about them, and b3' sudden 
 contrasts of light and shade. The ear fancied it 
 caught the sound of strangled cries ; the mind seized 
 the thread of interrupted dramas ; the e3e perceived 
 the glimmer of half-smothered lights. A la\-er of cling- 
 ing dust had thrown a veil over all these objects, whose 
 multiform angles and strange sinuosities produced a 
 wondrously picturesque eff'ect. 
 
I 
 
 The Magic Skin. 19 
 
 At first, these three rooms, teeming with civilization, 
 with deities, religions, masterpieces, royalties, and 
 debaucheries, with wisdom and with folly, seemed to 
 the young man like a mirror of man}- facets, each of 
 which represented a world. After this confused and 
 hazy first impression, he wished to select his enjoyment ; 
 but by dint of looking, thinking, and dreaming, he was 
 seized with an internal fever, due perhaps to the hunger 
 which gnawed his entrails. The sight fof so man}- na- 
 tional and individual existences, whose proof laj' in 
 these tangible pledges which survived them, still further 
 benumbed his senses. The wish that had sent him into 
 the shop was granted ; he had left the life of reality 
 and gone upward by degrees to an ideal world ; he had 
 reached the enchanted palaces of Ecstasj' where the 
 universe appeared to him in broken visions, lighted by 
 tongues of fire, — just as the life of the world to come 
 had flamed before the e3'es of Saint John in Patmos. 
 
 A multitude of mourning faces, lovely and terrible, 
 darkling and luminous, distant and near, rose before 
 him in masses, in myriads, in generations. Eg3'pt, 
 rigid, mysterious, rose from her sands and stood there, 
 represented by a mumnn' in its black swathings ; or 
 again, it was Pharaoh, burying the multitudes to build 
 his dynasty a tomb ; it was Moses, the Israelites, and 
 the desert. He beheld, as in a vision, the solemn world 
 of antiquity. Here, on a twisted column, stood a mar- 
 ble statue, fresh and smooth and sparkling with white- 
 ness, which told him of the voluptuous myths of Greece 
 and of Ionia. Ah ! who would not have smiled, as he 
 did, to see upon the dark red ground that brown girl 
 dancing with jocund step before Priapos in the fine 
 
20 The 3Iagic SMn, 
 
 claj" of an Etruscan vase? There, opposite, a Latin 
 queen caressed her chimera with effusion. The fashions 
 of imperial Rome were here in all their luxury*, — the 
 bath, the couch, the jewel-case of some indolent and 
 dreamj^ Julia awaiting her Tibullus. The head of 
 Cicero, armed with the power of Arabian talismans, 
 evoked memories of liberated Rome and laid open the 
 pages of hivy. The young man gazed on the Senatus 
 Populusque Homanus : the consul, the lictors, the purple 
 embroidered togas, the strifes of the Forum, an angered 
 people, defiled slowl}' before him like the vaporous fig- 
 ures of a dream. And then, above them all, towered 
 Christian Rome. A painting caught his eye ; he saw 
 the Virgin Mary in the midst of angels, on a golden 
 cloud, eclipsing the glor}' of the sun and listening to 
 the plaints of the sorrowful, on whom she — the regen- 
 erated Eve — was smiling tenderly. But as he touched 
 a mosaic made with the lavas of Etna and Vesuvius, 
 his soul sprang away to Italy, to the glowing, tawny 
 South ; he was present at the Borgia orgies ; he wan- 
 dered in the Abruzzi ; he loved with an Italian love, 
 and grew enamoured of those white faces with the 
 black almond eyes. He shuddered at the thought of 
 midnight interviews, cut short b}' the cold steel of a 
 husband's weapon, as his eye rested on a dagger of 
 the Middle Ages, whose handle was wrought with the 
 delicacy of lace- work and whose blade was rust}' with 
 what looked like bk)od. India and its religions Hved 
 again to Occidental e3'es in an idol, coifed with the 
 pointed cap and four raised sides bearing tlie bells, and 
 dressed in gold and silken stuffs. Near to this gro- 
 tesque figure, a rug, pretty as the nautch-girl who once, 
 
The Magic Skin. 21 
 
 io doubt, had lain upon it, still gave forth its sandal- 
 wood odors. A Chinese monster with inverted ej'es, 
 contorted mouth, and twisted limbs, revealed to the 
 looker-on the soul of a people who, wear}' of monoto- 
 nous beauty, have found ineffable pleasure in a wealth 
 of ugliness. But here a salt-cellar from the hand of 
 Benvenuto Cellini brought him back to the bosom of 
 the Renaissance, — to the days when art and license 
 flourished, when sovereigns took their pleasure at exe- 
 cutions, when prelates lying in the arms of courtesans 
 decreed chastity for the lower priesthood. He saw the 
 conquests of Alexander on a cameo, the massacres of 
 Pizarro in a matchlock arq uebuse, the wars of a dis- 
 orderty, raging, and cruel religion in the hollow head- 
 piece of a helmet. Then, all at once, the smiling images 
 of chivalry filled his brain, as the}' sprang forth from a 
 superbly damascened piece of Milanese armor, highly 
 polished, beneath whose visor the ej'es of paladins 
 seemed still to glow. 
 
 This ocean of inventions, fashions, handicrafts, re- 
 sults, and ruins, were to the stranger a poem without 
 an end. Forms, colors, thoughts were resurrected, 
 but nothing complete was offered to the soul. It de- 
 volved upon the poet to finish the sketch of the great 
 painter who had prepared this vast palette, where all 
 the accidents of human life were flung in profusion and 
 as if disdainfully. After thus compassing the world, 
 contemplating nations, eras, dynasties, the young man 
 came back to individual existences. The life of na- 
 tions was too overwhelming for man, the solitar}' ; he 
 individualized himself once more, and looked for the 
 details of human life. 
 
22 The Magic Skin. 
 
 There laj^ a waxen infant sleeping, saved from the 
 collection of Ruysch ; the enchanting creature recalled 
 to him the joj's of hi6 childhood. At the magic aspect 
 of the waist-cloth of a Tahitian virgin, his fervid imag- 
 ination showed him the simple life of nature, the chaste 
 nakedness of true purity, the delights of indolence, — 
 so natural to man, — a calm existence, 3'oung and 
 dream}^^' beside a brook, beneath a plantain which be- 
 stowed its luscious manna without the toils of culture. 
 But in another moment he was a corsair, clothed with 
 the terrible poetry of Lara, suddenlj- inspired by the 
 opalescent colors of wondrous shells, excited b}^ a 
 glimpse of corals still smelling of the algae and the 
 sea-wracks of Atlantic hurricanes. Admiring, further 
 on, the delicate miniatures, the azure and gold ara- 
 besques that enriched some precious missal, the toil 
 of a lifetime, he forgot the tumults of ocean. Softly 
 cradled in thoughts of peace, he turned anew to stud}' 
 and to science, desiring the unctuous life of monkj; 
 exempt from griefs, exempt from pleasures, sleeping 
 in cells, and gazing from their Gothic windows upoii 
 the meadows, the woods, the vineyards of their monas- 
 ter}'. Before a Teniers he buckled on the knapsack of 
 a soldier, or picked up the hod of a laborer ; he wished 
 to wear the dirty smoky cap of a Fleming, to get drunk 
 with beer, play cards in their company, and smile at 
 some coarse peasant-woman of ja^nuili)i&,,.^t£utnes 
 He shivered at the snow-storms of Mieris, and fought 
 in the melee as he stood before a battlepiece by Salva- 
 tor Rosa. He handled a tomahawk from Illinois, and 
 felt the knife of the Cherokee as the savage took his 
 scalp. Marvelling at the sight of a Moorish rebec, 
 
The Magic Skin. 23 
 
 ^Hened to the melodious ballad, and declared his love 
 ^^pt even, beside the hooded fireplace, where her con- 
 senting glance was lost in the twilight of the place 
 and hour. He clutched at ever}- joy, seized upon every 
 sorrow, gathered to himself all the formulas of exist- 
 ence as he thus cast himself and his feelings into these 
 phantoms of a pictured and unreal nature, till at last 
 the noise of his own footsteps resounded in his soul, 
 like the distant echoes of another world, or as the 
 hoarse murmurs of Paris reach the topmost towers of 
 Notre-Dame. 
 
 As the 3'oung man mounted the interior staircase 
 which led to the rooms on the floor above, he no- 
 ticed votive bucklers, panoplies, carved shrines, wooden 
 images, either hanging to the walls or resting on every 
 stair. Pursued b}' the strangest shapes, by marvellous 
 creations which seemed to exist on the confines of life and 
 death, he walked as one in a vision. Doubting his own 
 existence, he seemed, like the objects about him, neither 
 altogether dead nor altogether living. When lie entered 
 the upper rooms daylight was beginning to fade, but it 
 seemed nnneeded amid the dazzling glitter of gold and 
 silver articles which were there heaped togetlier. The 
 costliest caprices of dead collectors, dying in garrets 
 after possessing millions, were in this vast bazaar of 
 human folly. A desk that had cost a hundred thou- 
 sand francs, bought back for a thousand sous, lay beside 
 a secret lock whose price would formerly have sufficed.^ 
 for a king's ransom. Human genius was there in the ' 
 pomp of its poverty, in all the glor}" of its gigantic 
 pettiness. An ebony table, true idol of art, carved 
 
24 The 3Iaglc Skin, 
 
 from designs b}' Jean Goujon, and costing man}^ 3'ears 
 of toil, had doubtless been bought at the price of fire- 
 wood. Precious coffers, articles of furniture made hy 
 magic hands, were piled disdainfully- one upon another. 
 
 "You have millions here!" cried the 3'oung man, 
 entering a room which terminated a long suite of apart- 
 ments carved and gilded by artists of the last centur3\ 
 
 " Saj' thousands of millions," answered the chubby 
 3-outh. "But this is nothing; come up to the third 
 floor, and you shall see ! " 
 
 The stranger followed his conductor and reached a 
 fourth series of rooms, where there passed in succession 
 before his wearied e^'es several pictures hy Poussin, 
 a noble statue by Michael Angelo, some enchanting 
 landscapes of Claude Lorrain, a Gerard Dow that was 
 like a page of Sterne, Rembrandts, Murillos, and Velas- 
 quez, sombre and darkly glowing, like a poem of Lord 
 Byron ; also antique bas-reliefs, exquisite specimens of 
 onyx and agate cups. A vase of Egyptian porphyry, 
 of inestimable value, with circular carvings represent- 
 ing the grotesque licentiousness of Roman obseenit}^ 
 scarcely' won a smile. ( The man was suflbcating under 
 the wrack of fifty vanished centuries ; he was sick with 
 the thoughts of humanity, fainting under luxury and 
 art, prostrated bj- those strange shapes of the Renais- 
 sance which, like monsters begotten beneath his feet 
 1)3- evil genius, seemed to challenge him to endless 
 fight, i 
 
 /'The soul in its caprices is like our modern chemistry 
 /which assigns creation to a gas ;* it compounds poisons 
 'b3' the rapid concentration of its enjoyments, its forces, 
 W its ideas. Many men have perished from the con- 
 
The Magic Skin. 25 
 
 vnlsion caused b}' the sudden diffusion of some moral 
 acid through their inward being. 
 
 ■" What does this box contain? " asked the stranger, 
 stopping before a large cabinet filled with the glories of 
 human toil, originalit}', and wealth, and pointing to a 
 square case made of mahogany, which was hanging 
 from a nail by a silver chain. 
 
 '* Ah! monsieur has the kej' to that," said the stout 
 lad, with an air of mysterj'. " If you wish to see that 
 portrait I will risk asking him." 
 
 " Risk?" exclaimed the stranger. " Is your master 
 a prince ? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied the 3'outh. 
 
 The}' looked at each other for a moment. Then, in- 
 terpreting the stranger's silence to mean a wish, the 
 apprentice left him alone in the galler3\ 
 
 Did you ever launch yourself into the vague immens- 
 ity of space and time as 3'ou read the geological works 
 of Cuvier? Carried awa}^ by his genius, have you hov- 
 ered above the fathomless ab3ss of the past as though 
 sustained by the hand of a magician ? Discovering, line 
 upon line, layer upon la3'er, in the quarries of Mont- 
 martre or the gneiss of the Urals, those animals whose 
 fossilized remains belong to antediluvian civilizations, 
 the soul is terrified as it perceives the thousand millions 
 of years and of peoples which feeble human memory, 
 even divine indestructible tradition has forgotten, yet 
 whose dust survives, here on the surface of our earth, 
 in the two feet of soil which give us bread and flowers. 
 Is not Cuvier the greatest poet of our century? Lord 
 Byron reproduces moral throes in verse, but our immor- 
 tal naturalist has reconstructed worlds from a whitened 
 
26 The Magic Skin. 
 
 bone ; rebuilt, like Cadmus, cities from a tooth ; re- 
 ' peopled, from an atom of coal, a thousand forests with 
 the mj'steries of zoology- ; and recalled to human knowl- 
 edge races of giants from the foot of a mastodon. These 
 forms arise and tower up and people regions that are in 
 harmony with their colossal statures. Cuvier is a poet by 
 mere numbers. He stirs the void with no artificially 
 magic utterance ; he scoops out a fragment of gypsum, 
 discovers a print-mark and cries out " Behold ! " — and 
 lo, the trees are animalized, death becomes life, the world 
 unfolds. After dynasties innumerable of gigantic creat- 
 ures, after races of fishes and kingdoms of molluscs, 
 the human kind appears, degenerate product of a gran- 
 diose t3'pe broken perhaps b}- the Creator. Warmed 
 to life by his retrospective glance, these pun}- men, 
 , born yesterday, have o'erleapt chaos and called the 
 / past of the universe into shape, as it were a retrospective 
 Apocah'pse, with endless hymns of praise. In presence 
 "" of this awe-inspiring resurrection due to the voice of 
 one man, the fragment that is conceded to us of this 
 infinite without a name, common to all spheres and 
 which we call Time, — the fragment, the atom, in which 
 we have only a life-interest, — is pitiable. We ask our- 
 selves, crushed as we are beneath these ruined worlds, 
 of what use are all our glories, hates, and loves ; and 
 whether, to become an imperceptible speck in the future, 
 the pains of life need be endured. Uprooted from the 
 present we are as if dead — until our valet opens the 
 door and comes up to us to say, " Madame la comtesse 
 replies that she expects monsieur." 
 ,^/ , . The marvels thus spread before the eyes of the young 
 \ " man, revealing the universe itself, filled his soul with a 
 
The Magic Skin. 27 
 
 depression comparable onl}^ to that of the philosopher 
 seeking a scientific view of mysterious creations ; he 
 longed more than ever to die, and threw himself into a 
 cnrule chair, suffering his e3^es to rove amid the phan- 
 toms of this panorama of the past. The pictures 
 glowed, the virgins smiled upon him, the statues wore 
 the deceptive hues of life. In the shadows of the room 
 and of the twilight these works of ages, put in motion 
 by the feverish ferment of his shattered brain, danced 
 and whirled about him ; each fantastic image grinned 
 upon him, the eyelids of the personages in the pictures 
 drooped as though to rest their eyes. Each weird shape 
 shivered, moved, detached itself from its surroundings, 
 gravely or frivolously, with grace or clumsiness, accord- 
 ing to its nature, its habits, or its composition. It was 
 a witches' sabbath worth^^ of the Brocken and Doctor 
 Faust. 
 
 But these optical phenomena, superinduced by fatigue, 
 by the tension of the ocular muscles, or by the whimsi- 
 cal suggestions of the twilight, could not frighten the 
 young man. The terrors of life were powerless over a 
 soul that was now familiar with the terrors of death. 
 He even lent himself to a sort of ironical collusion with 
 the fantasticalities of this moral galvanism, whose freaks 
 coupled themselves with the last thoughts which the 
 sense of existence still forced upon him. Silence 
 reigned so stilly about him that soon he wandered into a 
 gentle rever}', whose impressions, slowl}' darkening, fol- 
 lowed, shadow by shadow, and as if by magic, the slow 
 decline of the light of da3\ A last gleam coming from 
 the sky sent a ruddj' shaft against the inroad of the 
 night; he raised his head and saw a skeleton, swinging 
 
28 The Magic Skin, 
 
 its sknll pensivel}^ from left to right as though to tc41 
 him : — " Tlie dead do not vet want thee." Passing 
 his hand across his brow to prevent sleep, he dis- 
 tinctly felt a waft of chill}^ air produced b}^ some hairj^ 
 substance which swept past liis cheek, and he shud- 
 dered. The casement creaked ; he fancied that the 
 cold caress, foretelling the mysteries of the grave, came 
 from a bat. For a moment longer, the dim reflections 
 of the sunken sun allowed him still to see the phantoms 
 by which he was surrounded ; then the dead world of 
 things died at once into the darkness. Kight, and the 
 hour of death came swiftl}'. After that moment there 
 was a lapse of time during which he had no clear per- 
 ception of terrestrial things, — either because he was 
 wrapped in rever}-, or because he yielded to the drows- 
 iness produced by fatigue and b}^ the multitude of 
 thoughts that rent his heart. Suddenly he fancied he 
 heard himself called by an awful voice, and he shud- 
 dered like a man in a feverish nightmare when he fan- 
 cies he is flung at a bound to the depths of some abyss. 
 He closed his eyes, but the rays of a strong light 
 dazzled them ; then he opened them and saw, in the 
 depths of the shadows, a shining red disk, in the centre 
 of which an old man stood erect, turning the rays of a 
 lamp ftill upon him. He had heard nothing, neither the 
 step, nor the movement, nor the voice of this figure. 
 The apparition seemed magical. • Brave men roused 
 from sleep might have trembled before this personage 
 who seemed to have risen from a neighboring sarcopha- 
 gus. A singular expression of youth, which animated 
 the motionless ej'es of the seeming phantom, prevented 
 the young man from thinking the figure supernatural. 
 
The Magic Skin. 29 
 
 Still, during the short moment that intervened between 
 his somnambulic life and his return to actual existence, 
 he was held b}- the philosophic doubt which Descartes 
 recommends, and then in spite of himself, he fell under 
 the influence of those inexplicable hallucinations whose 
 mysteries our pride condemns and our impotent science 
 strives in vain to analyze. 
 
 Imagine a little, lean, and shrunken old man, wearing 
 a black velvet robe, fastened round his loins with a 
 heavy silken cord. A skull-cap, also of black velvet, 
 fitted the head so as to closel}' frame the forehead, and 
 yet allow the long, white hair to fall on either side his 
 face. The robe w^as wrapped around the body like a 
 winding-sheet, and allowed no sign of it to appear 
 below the pale and narrow face. Without the fleshless 
 arm, which resembled a stick on which the velvet hung, 
 and which the old man held on high to throw the full 
 light of the lamp upon the stranger, the face might have 
 seemed suspended in mid-air. A gray beard, trimmed 
 to a point, hid the chin of this weird being, and gave 
 him the appearance of those Jewish heads which artists 
 use as types of Moses. The old man's lips were so 
 thin and colorless that some attention was needed to 
 trace the line of the mouth in that blanched visage. 
 His broad and furrowed brow, his wan cheeks, and the 
 implacable sternness of his small, green eyes, bare of 
 lashes and of eyebrows, might have led the stranger to 
 suppose that Gerard Djow's Money-changer had stepped 
 from its frame. The craftiness of an inquisitor, be- 
 trayed by the sinuous lines of the wrinkles, and the 
 circular creases on the forehead, showed the depths of 
 his knowledge of the things of life. It was impossible 
 
30 The Magic Shin. 
 
 to deceive him, for he seemed to have the gift of read- 
 ing the inmost thoughts of the most seckided heart. 
 The ethics of all the nations of the globe, and the wis- 
 dom of them, were gathered into that white face, just 
 as the productions of the universe were accumulated 
 in his dust}^ galleries. Upon it you might read the 
 lucid calm of a god whose eye sees all, or the proud 
 strength of a man who has seen it. A painter could 
 have made of these two expressions and of this one 
 man, by two strokes of his brush, a noble image of the 
 Eternal Father, or the scoffing masque of a Mephistoph- 
 eles ; on the brow he would have found omnipotence, 
 on the lips the vicious jest. The man must have killed 
 all earthh' joys within him, while he ground the anguish 
 of human Ufe with the pestle of his power. The 3'oung 
 stranger, though himself about to die, shuddered at a 
 fancy that this ancient genie inhabited some other 
 sphere, where he lived alone, without J03', because with- 
 out illusion, and without sorrows, for he knew no joy. 
 The old man stood erect, motionless, moveless as a star 
 in the middle of a lustrous sky. His green eyes, full of 
 calm maliciousness, seemed to light the moral world as 
 the lamp which he held aloft illuminated the mysterious 
 gallery. 
 
 Such was the strange sight which met the young 
 man's e3'es when he opened them after swaying, half- 
 unconscious, between thoughts of death and the fan- 
 tastic images of worlds about him. If for a moment he 
 was bewildered, if he allowed himself to believe, like a 
 child, in some old nurse's tale of his infanc}^, it is ex- 
 plainable b}' the irritation of his nerves, and b}^ the 
 strange drama whose panoramic scenes had given him 
 
The Magic Skin. 31 
 
 some of the horrible dehghts contained in opium. This 
 vision was taking place in Paris, on the quai Voltaire, 
 in the nineteenth century-, a time and place where 
 magic was surely impossible. The young man, living 
 near to the liouse in which the apostle of French unbe- 
 lief had died, a disciple of Ga3-Lussac and of Arago, 
 and contemptuous of the juggling tricks of the da}-, was 
 simply overcome by a momentary superstition, a poetic 
 fascination, to which men often lend themselves, as 
 much to flee from agonizing truths as to tempt the 
 power of God. He trembled, therefore, before that 
 light and that old man, filled by an inexplicable pre- 
 sentiment of some strange power ; the emotion was the 
 same we have all experienced before Napoleon, or in 
 presence of some brilliant man of genius clothed with 
 fame. 
 
 "Monsieur wishes to see the portrait of Jesns Christ, 
 painted b}' Raphael?" asked the old man courteously, 
 in a voice whose clear, sharp resonance had a metallic 
 ring. 
 
 He placed the lamp npon the shaft of a broken col- 
 umn, in a manner to throw its whole light upon the 
 wooden box. 
 
 At the sacred names of Christ and Raphael, a move- 
 ment of curiosity escaped the 3'oung man, which was 
 no doubt expected by the antiquary, who now touched 
 a spring. Suddenly the mahogany panel slid noise- 
 lessl}' through its groove, and disclosed the picture to 
 the admiration of its beholder. Seeing that immortal 
 creation, he forgot the weird sights of the gallery and the 
 visions of his sleep ; he became once more a man ; he 
 recognized a fellow-man, a being of flesh and blood, in 
 
32 The Magic Skin. 
 
 his companion, a living man, and in no wa}^ pliantas- 
 niagorical ; he felt himself in the world of real things. 
 The tender solicitude, the sweet serenity of the divine 
 face at once acted upon him. Some essence wafted 
 from heaven relaxed the infernal tortures which wrung 
 him even to the marrow of his bones. Tlie head of the 
 Saviour of men seemed to detach itself from the dark- 
 ness of the back-ground ; a halo of brilliant raj's shone 
 vividly around the golden hair from which their bril- 
 liance issued ; beneath the brow, beneath the flesh 
 there was a meaning, an eloquent, convincing power, 
 which escaped in penetrating effluence from every feat- 
 ure. Those coral lips seemed to have just uttered the 
 words of life, and the spectator listened for the sacred 
 echo in the airs ; he prayed the silence to give back 
 their meaning, he listened for it in the future, he heard 
 it in the teachings of the past. The gospel was there 
 in the calm kindness of those eyes, to which the 
 troubled soul might fl^' for refuge. The full meaning 
 of the catholic religion could be read in the gentle, 
 all-comprehending smile which seemed to express the 
 precept in which alone is the true faith summed up : 
 "Love one another .\^^ The picture inspired prayer, 
 counselled forgiveness, stifled self, awakened every dor- 
 mant virtue. Raphael's divine work, sharing the privi- 
 leges of music, cast the spectator beneath the imperious 
 charm of memory, and its triumph became complete ; 
 the painter was forgotten. The illusions of light were 
 on the marvellous picture ; sometimes the head seemed 
 to move at a far distance, in the midst of vapor. 
 
 "I have covered that canvas with gold," said the 
 antiquary, coldly. 
 
The Magic Skin. 33 
 
 *' The die is cast, — it must be death!" cried the 
 young man, coming out of a revery whose final thought 
 iiad brought him back to his cruel destiny- and forced him, 
 step by step, from a last ho[)e to which he had clung. 
 
 " Ha, I was right to doubt 3'ou ! " exclaimed the old 
 man, seizing the stranger's wrists and holding them as 
 if in a vice. 
 
 The young man smiled sadl}' at this distrust and said 
 in a gentle voice: "Fear nothing, monsieur; I spoke 
 of ray death, not yours. Why should I not acknowledge 
 a harmless deception ? " he added, noticing the old man's 
 anxiety. " While waiting for nightfall, that I might 
 drown myself in the darkness without notice, I came 
 here to see jour treasures. You cannot begrudge this 
 last pleasure to a man of science and poetry- ? " 
 
 The old man examined the gloomj^ face of his pre- 
 tended customer with a sagacious eye as he listened to 
 him. Either he was reassured by the tones of that 
 sad voice, or he read on the pallid features the awful 
 destiny which had latel}' made even gamblers shudder, 
 for he loosened his grasp ; then, with lingering suspicion, 
 he stretched his arm carelesslj- toward a table, as if to 
 rest upon it, saying, as he picked up a stiletto, — 
 
 "Are 3^ou a supernumerary at the Treasury, without 
 perquisites? " 
 
 The young man could not refrain from smiling as he 
 made a negative gesture. 
 
 " Has your father reproached you for entering the 
 world; or are 3'Ou yourself dishonored?" 
 
 " To live would disiionor me." 
 
 "Have the}^ hissed your plaj' at the Funambules? 
 Are you forced to write farces to pa}' for your mistress's 
 
 3 
 
34 The Magic Skin. 
 
 funeral? Perhaps 3'ou have got the gold disease; or, 
 after all, 3'ou ma}' only be trying to escape ennui? In 
 short, what weakness is it that bids you die?" 
 
 '• The cause of my death is not to be found among 
 the common reasons that lead men to suicide. To 
 spare myself the revelation of m}' untold sufferings — 
 which are indeed beyond the power of human language 
 to express — I will tell you once for all that I am in 
 the deepest, the keenest, the most ignoble povertj'. 
 And," he added, in a voice whose savage pride gave the 
 lie to his preceding words, '•'• I ask for neither succor 
 nor consolation." 
 
 " Eh ! eh ! " These two syllables, which the old man 
 uttered like the cry of a hawk, were at first his only an- 
 swer; then he added: "Without obliging 3'ou to beg 
 of me, without causing you to blush, without giving you 
 a centime of France, nor a para of the Levant, a tarant 
 of Sicilj^ a kreuzer of Germany, a kopeck of Russia, 
 a farthing of Scotland, nor a single one of those sesterces 
 and oboli of ancient times, nor a piastre of the new ; 
 without offering 3'ou so much as a scrap of gold, silver, 
 copper, paper, or value of any kind, 1 will make you, 
 richer than monarchs, more powerful, more respected 
 than any constitutional king can ever be." 
 
 The 3'oung man thought him in his dotage and re- 
 mained silent, torpid, not venturing to speak. 
 
 ''Turn round," said the old man, suddenl}' seizing 
 • his lamp to throw the light full upon the wall that 
 was opposite to the picture, "and behold that Magic 
 Skin ! " 
 
 The young man rose abruptly, and showed some sur- 
 prise when he saw hanging to the wall above the seat 
 
The Magic Skin. 35 
 
 on which he had been sitting, a piece of shagreen, the 
 dimensions of which did not exceed a fox's skin ; and 
 3'et by some inexplicable phenomenon, this skin pro- 
 jected so vivid a light into the gloom of the gallery that 
 it seemed almost like a miniature comet. The j'oung 
 sceptic went np to the pretended talisman which was to 
 save him from the evils of existence, mentallj' scoffing at 
 it. Nevertheless, moved by a verj- natural curiosit}-, he 
 leaned over to examine the Skin on all sides, and soon 
 discovered a natural cause for its singular luminosit}'. 
 The black grains of the leather were so highly polished 
 and burnished, its curious stripes were so clearh' de- 
 fined that, like the many facets on a piece of granite, 
 the granulated roughness of this oriental leather pre- 
 sented a thousand little surfaces which vividly reflected 
 light. He explained the phenomenon mathematically tc 
 the old man, who mereh' smiled maliciousl}'. That smile 
 of calm superiorit}' made the younger man of science 
 suspect that he was the dupe of some tricker}'. Deter, 
 mined not to carr}^ another enigma to the grave, he 
 turned the Skin quickly, like a child eager to learn the 
 secrets of his new toy. 
 
 " Ha ! " he cried, " here is an impression of what tht 
 orientals called Solomon's seal." 
 
 " You recognize it? " said the antiquar}', whose nos- 
 trils emitted two or three puffs of air that expressed more 
 than the most vehement language. 
 
 " Is there a man on earth so foolish as to believe that 
 myth?" cried the young man, piqued at this silent 
 laughter, so full of bitter derision. " Do 3'ou not 
 know," he added, " that the superstitious East has 
 consecrated the mystic form and the lying characters of 
 
 _^ "* or Tui 
 
 tTNIVEBSITI 
 
36 The Magic Skin, 
 
 this emblem of fabulous power? You need not tax me 
 with credulity because I recognize it as I might a 
 sphinx or a griffin, whose existence is in a manner 
 mythologicall^' admitted." 
 
 '' Since 3'ou are an orientalist," said the old man, 
 *' perhaps you can read this sentence.'' 
 
 He brought the lamp close to the talisman, which the 
 young man was holding with the reverse side toward 
 him, and pointed out certain strange characters em- 
 bedded in tlie cellular tissue of the wonderful Skin, as 
 though they had been a part of the animal it had once 
 covered. 
 
 " I admit," said the young man, " that I cannot 
 imagine by what process those letters have been ^so 
 deeply engraved on the skin of a wild ass." 
 
 Then, turning eagerly to the shelves covered with 
 curiosities, his e3'es appeared to seek for something. 
 
 " What is it 3'ou want? " said the old man. 
 
 "Some instrument to cut the skin, so as to see 
 whether those letters are stamped, or inlaid." 
 
 The old man gave him the stiletto which he still 
 held, and the stranger began to make an incision into 
 the skin at the part where the letters appeared. After 
 lifting a small portion of the leather the letters re- 
 appeared below, as neatly and sharpl}- as on the 
 surface. 
 
 "The industries of the East have secrets," he said, 
 looking at the oriental sentence with some uneasiness, 
 " which are peculiarl}' their own." 
 
 " Yes," answered the old man, " itis better to put the 
 responsibilit}' on man than on God." 
 
 The mysterious words were arranged as follows ; — 
 
The Magic Skin, 37 
 
 '" \ 
 
 IF THOU POSSESSEDST ME, THOU WOULDST POSSESS ALL. 
 
 BUT THY LIFE WOULD BE MY POSSESSION. 
 
 GOD SO WILLS IT. 
 
 WISH, AND THOU SHALT OBTAIN THY WISHES. 
 
 BUT MEASURE THY WISHES BY THY LIFE. 
 
 IT IS HERE. 
 
 AT EVERY WISH OF THINE I SHRINK LIKE THY DAYS. 
 
 DOST THOU DESIRE 3IE ? TAKE ME. 
 
 GOD WILL GRANT THY WISHES. 
 
 SO BE IT. 
 
38 The Magic Skin, 
 
 ''Ha! you read Arabic?" said the anlitymiy. 
 "Perhaps you have crossed the deserts a.Mdj setj.o 
 Mecca ? " 
 
 "No, monsieur," said the young man, fingering tha 
 symbolic Skin with much curiosity^, and finding it ahr^o^t 
 as inflexible as a sheet of metal. 
 
 The old man replaced the lamp on the broken colunjii, 
 glancing at his companion with a cold irony that seemed 
 to say, " He thinks no more about dying." 
 
 " Is it a jest, or is it a mystery? " asked the 3oan^ 
 man. 
 
 The antiquary shook his head and answered gravely \ 
 
 " I cannot tell you. I have oflTered the terrible power 
 bestowed by this taUsman to men gifted with more 
 vigor than 3'ou seem to possess, but though the}' scoffed 
 at the problematical influence it threatened to have over 
 their future^ destin}', not one was wilHng to risk binding 
 himself to the fatal compact proposed by the mysteri- 
 ous power, — whatever that may be. I agree with 
 them ; I have abstained from it myself, and — " 
 
 " Have you never even tried its power? " interrupted 
 the young man. 
 
 "Tried 'it!" exclaimed the antiquarj'. "If 3'ou 
 were at the top of the -column of the place Vendome 
 would 3'ou tr}' the experiment of throwing 3'ourself into 
 the air? Can life stand still? Can you take half of 
 death and not the other half? Before you came into 
 m3^ galleries 3^ou had resolved to kill 3^ourself, and now, 
 all in a moment, a m3'ster3' takes 3'our thoughts and 
 diverts you from dying. Child ! ever3" da3" of 3'our fife 
 offers you an enigma more interesting than this. Listen 
 to me. I have seen the licentious court of the regent. 
 
The Magic Skin. 39 
 
 I was then, as 3'ou are, in poverty ; I begged 013- bread ; 
 nevertheless I have attained the age ot* one hundred 
 and two 3'ears, and I am a millionnaire. Misfortunes 
 gave me wealth ; ignorance taught me. I will reveal 
 to you, in a few w^ords, a great myster3' of human life. 
 Man exhausts himself, b3' two instinctive acts, which 
 dry up the sources of his existence. Two verbs express 
 all forms in which these causes of death appear ; 
 namely, Will and Acti on. Between those terms and 
 human performance theiNe is another formula, the per- 
 1, quisite of wise men, and to it I owe mv longevit}^ 
 ^Jtg/ZJnfl(^rpps iift^_^2^/m?^dp stro ys US : but Kn owledge^ 
 
 leaves our_^:miak-^ rganiam -4n-4i£iNenniaj^_ca^ . There- 
 ^ fore desire, or volition, is dead within me, killed 1)3- 
 1 thought; movement, or power, is determined by the- 
 natural pla3' of m3' organs. In a word, I have placed 
 m3' life, not in the heart that can be broken, not in 
 the senses which can be dulled, but^in the brain that 
 never fails and survives all. No excess in anything 
 has worn down m3^ soul, nor yet m3' body. Neverthe- 
 less, I have seen the whole world. M3^ feet have 
 trod the highest mountains of Asia and America, I 
 know all human languages, I have lived under ever3" 
 form of government. I have lent m3' money to a 
 Chinaman taking the bod3' of his father as securit3' ; I 
 have slept in the tent of an Arab on the faith of his 
 word ; I have signed contracts in every European capi- 
 tal ; I have-fearlegisly left my gold in the wigwam of 
 a savage ; yes, Ihayej)Mained^ alX_tlii because — 
 I have despised all. M3' sole ambition has been to 
 see. To see is to know. Young man, to know is to 
 enjoy intuitiveh', -^T:6~dis"cover the very substance of the 
 
40 The Magic Skin. 
 
 thing clone, and to grasp its very essence. What is 
 there, after all, in a material possession? An idea. 
 Conceive therefore of the glorious life of a man who, 
 imprinting all realities upon his thought, transports 
 into his soul the springs of happiness, and draws 
 thence a thousand ideal pleasures stripped of their 
 earthl}' rags. Thought is the ke}' to ever}- treasure ; it 
 bestows the miser's joy without his cares. I have 
 soared above the world and looked down upon it ; the 
 pleasures I have had have ever been intellectual. My 
 excesses were those of contemplation in man}' lands, 
 of peoples, seas, forests, mountains. I have seen 
 all, — but calmly, without fatigue ; I have wished for 
 nothing ; I have waited for all. I have walked to and 
 fro upon this earth as though it were the garden of a 
 f^Eouse that belonged to me. What men call griefs, 
 loves, ambitions, disappointments, sadness, are to me 
 ideas which 1 use in reverj' ; instead of feeling them, I 
 express them, I explain them ; instead of allowing them 
 to blast my life, I dramatize them, I develop^ them ; 
 they amuse me as romances, which I read b}' an inward 
 sight. Having never taxed my physical organs, my 
 health is still robust. My soul inherits the vigor I have 
 not wasted ; this head of mine is better filled than even 
 mj' own galleries. There," he said, striking his fore- 
 head " there are millions. I pass delightful days look- 
 ing intelligently back into the past ; I evoke whole 
 regions, landscapes, sights of ocean, forms historically 
 sublime. I have xny imaginary harem, where I possess 
 women I have never had. I review your wars, your 
 revolutions, and I judge them. Ah ! who would prefer 
 to this the feverish, flimsy admiration for a little flesh 
 
Tlie Magic Skin, 41 
 
 more or loss colored, for forms more or less shapely ? 
 who would prefer the catastrophes of their thwarted 
 will to the glorious faculty of jnaking the whole world 
 present within us, to the vast pleasures of movement 
 untrammelled hy the bounds of space or time, to the 
 happiness of seeing all things, comprehending all things, 
 and reaching out beyond this sphere to question other 
 worlds, to hear God? Here," he said in a startling 
 voice, pointing to the Magic Skin, " are the will and the 
 action united ; here are your social ideas, 3'our intemper- 
 ate desires, 3'our joj's that kill, your sufferings that make 
 life too vivid, — for it may be that pain is onl}' violent 
 pleasure : who shall determine the point at which pleas- 
 ure becomes an evil, and where evil is still a J03'? The 
 strongest lights of the ideal world are blissful to the e^'e, 
 but the softest shadows of material existence wound it. 
 The word Wisdom is synonymous with knowledge, and 
 what is folly if not the excesses of Desire or Will?" 
 
 "Yes, but I choose to live in such excesses," cried 
 ^ the 3'oung man, snatching the Magic Skin. 
 
 "Young man, beware ! " exclaimed the old autiquaiy, 
 with incredible energy. 
 
 " I gave m3' life to stud3' and to thought, and the3^ 
 have not so much as fed me," replied the stranger. " I 
 will not be duped hy a homil3- worth3' of Sw^edenborg, 
 nor by that Eastern talisman, nor b3' 3'Our charitable 
 efforts, monsieur, to keep me in a world where m3^ ex- 
 istence is henceforth impossible. Come, let us see," 
 he added, holding the mystic object with convulsive 
 grasp, and looking at the old man. " I will to have a 
 dinner, royally splendid, a banquet worthy^ of an age 
 which has, they tell us, reached perfection. I will that 
 
42 The Magic Skin. 
 
 my fellow-guests be young and witty and wise without 
 prejudices, — jo3'ous to excess ! The wnnes shall flow 
 and sparkle and have strength to intoxicate us for three 
 days. The nights shall be adorned with ardent women. 
 I icill that frenzied, uproarious Excess bear us in his 
 four-horse chariot beyond the confines of earth and 
 cast us upon the unknown -chores, that our souls maj' 
 mount to heaven or plunge into the nmd, — let them rise 
 or fall, I care not which. I command that malefic power 
 to blend me all joys into one joy. Yes, I have need to 
 embrace the pleasures of earth and heaven in one close 
 clasp before I die. I will to have the saturnalia of an- 
 tiquity' after we have drunken ; songs to awake the 
 dead ; triple kisses, kisses that have no end, whose 
 clamor shall sound through Paris like the crackling 
 of flames, waking husbands and wives and inspiring 
 them with the ardor of their youth, even though they 
 be octogenarians — " 
 
 A buist of laughter from the mouth of the old man 
 resounded in the ears of the young madman like the 
 roarings of hell, and silenced him so despotically that 
 he held his peace. 
 
 " Do you think," said the antiquar}', "that my floors 
 are about to open and bring up a table sumptuouslj- 
 served, followed by guests from another world? No, 
 no, rash youth. You have signed the compact ; all is 
 accomplished. You have only to wish, and your wishes 
 will be faithfully fulfilled, but — at the cost of your life. 
 The circle of your days, represented by this Skin, will 
 contract and shiink according to the strength and num- 
 ber of your wishes, from the least to the greatest. The 
 Brahman from whom I obtained this talisman explained 
 
The Magic Skin. 43 
 
 to me that it would work a mystic coiTesponclence 
 between the desires and the destiny of its possessor. 
 Your first desire is commonplace ; I could easily realize 
 it ; but I leave that function to the events of 3'our new 
 existence. After all, 3-ou wished to die, did you not? 
 Well, your suicide is only postponed." 
 
 The stranger, surprised and irritated to feel himself 
 the butt of the singular old man, whose half-philan- 
 thropic purpose seemed clearly shown in this last 
 sarcasm, cried out angrily : — 
 
 ''I shall sec for m3'self, monsieur, if my luck changes 
 during the time it takes me to reach the bridge. If I 
 find that you have not jested at the expense of an 
 iinhapp}" man, I shall wisli, to avenge myself for the 
 fatal service you have done me, that 3-ou fall madh' in 
 love with a ballet-girl. You will then know the joys 
 of a debauch, and perhaps you will become prodigal of 
 all those means of happiness which 3'ou have so philo- 
 sophically acquired." 
 
 He left the gallery without hearing the heavy sigh 
 that came from the old man, crossed the suites of 
 rooms and ran do-v^^n the stairs, followed by the stout 
 shop-bo}^ who vainly tried to light him as he fled like a 
 robber taken in the act. Blinded by a species of de- 
 lirium, he did not even observe the extraordinary flex- 
 il)ility of the Skin, which had now become as supple as 
 a glove, and allowed his frenzied fingers to roll it up 
 and put it, almost mechanically, into the pocket of his 
 coat. As he rushed from the door of the shop toward 
 the roadwaj^, he ran violently against three young men 
 who were passing along the quaj-, arm in arm. 
 
44 The Magic Skin, 
 
 '^ Brute!" 
 
 "Idiot!" 
 
 Such were the gracious amenities which the}' inter- 
 changed. 
 
 ^' Hey ! it is Raphael ! " 
 
 *' We have hunted ever^'where for you." 
 
 ''What! is it you?" 
 
 These friendly phrases succeeded the insults as soon 
 as the light of a street-lamp, swinging in the wind, 
 struck the surprised faces of the group. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said the young man whom 
 Raphael in his rapid fliglit had almost knocked down, 
 '' 3'ou must come with us." 
 %. '' Wh}'? what has happened?" 
 
 " Come on, and I will tell 3'ou as we go along." 
 
 Whether he would or no, Raphael was surrounded by 
 a merr}^ band of friends, who linked arms with him, 
 and dragged him toward the pont des Arts. • 
 
 '' We have been chasing you for the last week," said 
 the first spokesman. "At your highlj' respectable 
 hotel Saint-Quentin, — whose immovable sign, I must 
 parenthetically observe, keeps its alternate red and 
 black letters as in the days of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, — 
 the old portress told us 30U had gone into the country ; 
 and yet I 'm certain we did not look like creditors or 
 sheriffs officers. However, no matter. Rastignac had 
 seen you the night before at the Bouffons ; so we took 
 courage, and made it a point of honor to discover 
 whether 3-ou were perching on the trees of the Champs- 
 El3'sees, or sleeping for two sous a night in one of 
 those philanthropic dens where beggars are put to bed 
 on taut ropes, or whether j-our bivouac had been set up, 
 
I 
 
 The Magie Skin. 45 
 
 with better luck, in a boudoir. But we could n't find you 
 anywhere, — neither on the police records at Sainte- 
 Pelagie nor those of La Force. Ministries, theatres, 
 convents, cafes, libraries, juries, newspaper offices, 
 restaurants, greenrooms, — in short, everj' possible 
 hole and corner of Paris, good and bad, — have been 
 explored ; we were bewailing the loss of a man gifted 
 with genius enough to compel us to look for him either 
 in a palace or a prison. We talked of getting you can- 
 onized as a July hero, and, on m}' word of honor, we 
 did regret you." 
 
 At this instant, Raphael, surrounded by his friends, 
 was crossing the pont des Arts, where, without listen- 
 ing to what was being said to him, he looked at the 
 Seine whose murmuring waters reflected the lights of 
 Paris. Above that stream, at the very spot where he 
 was latel}' about to phinge into it, tlie prediction of the 
 old man was accomplished, tlie hour of his deatli was 
 suddenly postponed. 
 
 "Yes, we did trul}' regret you," said his friend, still 
 pursuing that theme. "And we wanted you for an affair, 
 an alliance, in which we counted on you in your cliaracter 
 of superior man ; bv that I mean a man who knows how- 
 to put himself above every thingc Now listen, my dear 
 fellow. The shuffling and the constitutional juggler}^ 
 that goes on in the roN'al conjuring-box is worse than 
 ever. The infamous Monarchy that was overthrown b3'' 
 popular heroism was like a woman of bad character, 
 but at least you could laugh and banquet with her; 
 whereas the Nation is a cross-grained A'irtuous wife, 
 whose frigid embraces we have got to i)ut up with 
 whether we like it or no. Now power, as you very 
 
46 The Magie Skin. 
 
 well know, has betaken itself from the Tuileries into 
 journalism, — just as the Budget changed quarters by 
 passing from the faubourg Saint Germain to the Chaus- 
 see-d'Antin. But here 's something which perhaps you 
 don't know. The government — that's to say, the 
 aristocracy of bankers and lawyers who make the 
 nation, just as, in the old days, the priests made the 
 monarch}^ — feels the necessit^'-of mystif3ing the good 
 people of France with new w^ords and old ideas, in imi- 
 tation of the philosophers of all schools, and the strong 
 minds of all epochs. The question is now to inculcate 
 a royalist-national public opinion, bj' proving that we 
 are happier and better for paying twelve hundred mil- 
 lions, thirty-three centimes, to tlie nation, represented 
 b}' Messrs. So-and-so, rather than eleven hundred 
 millions, nine centimes, to a king who said 'I' instead of 
 ' We.' T<3 sum it all up in one word, a newspaper, armed 
 with two or three hundred thousand francs, is about to 
 be started, with the idea of setting up an opposition 
 which shall content the discontented, and yet do no 
 harm to the national government of the citizen-king. 
 Now, considering that we make as much fun of liberty 
 as we do of despotism, and quite as much of religion as 
 of scepticism, and tliat to us country' is the capital, 
 where ideas can be exchanged and sold at so much a 
 line, where succulent dinners and theatre-stalls are to 
 be had nighth^ where chartered libertinage abounds, and 
 suppers end only on the morrow, and where love goes for 
 so much an hour, like the cabs ; and considering also that 
 Paris will always be the most adorable of all countries, 
 the countiy of joy and liberty- and wit, of prettj^ women 
 and scamps and good wine, and where, moreover, the 
 
The Magic Skin. 47 
 
 itick of power can never come down too heavil}' because 
 re are close to those who wield it, — it has been re- 
 solved that We, true votaries of the god Mephistopheles, 
 undertake to plaster over the public mind, patch up the 
 actors, nail some new planks on the government hut, 
 physic the doctrinaires, warm up the old Republicans, re- 
 gild the Bonapartists, and revictual the centre, provided 
 we are allowed to laugh in petto at kings and peoples, 
 and are not forced to hold the same opinions morning 
 and evening, but are free to lead a merrj' life a la Pan- 
 urge, or more orientcdi^ couched on delectable cushions. 
 We intend that you shall take the reins of this burlesque 
 and macaronic empire, and therefore we are now con- 
 ducting you to a dinner given b}' the founder of the 
 said newspaper, a retired banker, who, not knowing 
 what to do with his gold, is willing to exchange it for 
 our genius. You '11 be welcomed as a brother. We '11 
 hail you king of the modern Fronde, prince of those 
 searcliing minds that nothing terrifies, whose perspi- 
 cacity discovers the intentions of Austria, P^ngland, or 
 Russia before Russia, England^ and Austria have any 
 intentions. Yes, we '11 proclaim you sovereign of the 
 intellectual forces which have furnished the world with 
 Mirabeaus and Talleyrands and Pitts and Metternichs, 
 in short, all those bold Crispins who have gambled awa3' 
 the destinies of an empire among each other, just as 
 boors stake their kirschen-wasser at dominos. We 
 have alread}' held you up as the most intrepid knight 
 that ever fearlessly encountered Plxcess, — that splendid 
 monster with whom all untrammelled thinkers insist 
 on struggling ; we have even declared that it has not 
 yet vanquished you. I trust you will justify our 
 
48 The Magic Skin, 
 
 praises. Taillefer, the ampbitryon, promises to sur- 
 pass in this banquet the narrow-minded saturnalias 
 X)f our petty modern Lueulluses. He is rich enough 
 to put grandeur into little tilings, and grace and ele- 
 gance into vice — Do you hear me, Raphael?" de- 
 manded tlie orator, suddenly interrupting himself. 
 
 '•' Yes," replied the young man, who was less amazed 
 at the accomplishment of his wishes, than surprised by 
 the natural manner in which a chain of circumstances 
 had brought it about. Though ii nable to _believe in- 
 occul t influences, he could not help wondering at the 
 curious chances of human destiny. 
 
 "You say 3'es as if you were thinking of the 
 death of 5'our grandfather," cried the man nearest 
 to him. 
 
 "Ah!" replied Raphael, in a candid tone which 
 brought a laugh from this group of 3'oung writers, the 
 hope of rising France, "I am thinking, friends, that 
 we are in a fair wa}^ to become great scoundrels. 
 Hitherto we have done our impiet}' before the shrine 
 of Bacchus ; we have questioned life when drunk, and 
 estimated men and things while digesting. Virgin in 
 act, we were bold in words ; but now, branded b}' the 
 red-hot iron of politics, we are about to enter the 
 galleys and lose all illusions. If one does n't any 
 longer believe in the devil, it is allowable to regret the 
 paradise of 3'outh and the days of our innocence, when 
 we devoutly put out our tongues to a piiest to receive 
 the sacrament. Ah, m}^ good friends, if we found so 
 much happiness in committing our first sins, it was 
 because remorse gave them spice and flavor, whereas 
 now — " 
 
The Magic Skin. 49 
 
 "Oh! now," said the first spokesman, "there is 
 nothing left but — " 
 
 " — but what? " cried a third. 
 
 " Crime! " 
 
 "That's a word that carries with it the height of a 
 gibbet, and the depths of the Seine," retorted Raphael. 
 
 " You don't understand me ; I 'm talking of poUtical 
 crime. For the last twenty-four hours I covet but one 
 career, — that of a conspirator. I won't say that to- 
 morrow my fanc}' may not have taken wings ; but 
 to-night the pale face of our civilization, as flat as the 
 level of a raih-oad, makes m}' soul leap with disgust. 
 I 'm seized with a passion for grand emotions, for the 
 horrors of the retreat from Moscow, for the excitements 
 of a Red Rover and the life of a smuggler. As there 
 is no longer a La Trappe in France, I should like to 
 have a Botanj- Ba^*, — a sort of infirmary for little Lord 
 Byrons, who, after soiling and rumpling their lives as 
 they do their napkins at dinner, have nothing better to 
 think of than blowing up the nation, cutting their 
 throats, conspiring for the republic, or howling for 
 war." 
 
 " Emile," cried the man nearest to Raphael, address- 
 ing the speaker excitedh*, " on my word of honor, if it 
 had n't been for the revolution of Jul}', I should have 
 made myself a priest, so as to lead an animal life 
 down in the depths of some countr}' region, and — " 
 
 " — read your breviary every day?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You 're a pretty fellow ! " 
 
 " AYell, don't we read the newspapers ever}" day? " 
 
 "Good! for a journalist — but hold your tongue, 
 4 
 
50 The Magio Skin. 
 
 we are walking among a crowd of subscribers. Jour- 
 1 nalism, don't 3'ou see, is the religion of modern society, 
 [ land it is certainly- an improvement on the old." 
 
 ''How so?" 
 
 " Its pontiffs are not expected to believe in it — nor 
 the people either." 
 
 Chatting thus, like worth}' fellows who have known 
 # De Viris Illustribus these many years, they reached 
 ' avprivate house in the rue Joubert. 
 
 _EiayJLe was a journalist who had won more fame by 
 doing nothing than others had got out of their suc- 
 cesses. He was a bold critic, with plenty of sarcasm 
 and dash, and possessing all the virtues of his defects. 
 Frank and jovial, he uttered his epigrams to the face 
 of a friend, whom he would loyally and courageously 
 defend behind his back. He scoffed at everything, 
 even his own future. Always impecunious, he re- 
 mained, like most men of his calibre, plunged in a 
 state of utter indolence, flinging the makings of a book 
 in a single witticism at the heads of men who did not 
 know how to put a witty saying into their own books. 
 Prodigal of promises which he never performed, he had 
 made his fame a comfortable cushion on which he 
 slept, — running no small risk of waking up some day, 
 an old man in a hospital. For the rest, faithful in 
 friendship even to the scaffold, braggart of C3'nicism, 
 and simple as a child, he never worked except by fits 
 and starts, and then only from sheer necessit}'. 
 
 '' We shall have, to use the words of mnitre Alco- 
 fribas, a famous trongoii de chiere lie^'" ho said to 
 Raphael, showing him the stands of rare flowers which 
 perfumed and decorated the staircase. 
 
The Magic SJdn. 51 
 
 *' I like entrances and halls that are well- warmed 
 
 id well-carpeted," answered Raphael. '' Luxury that 
 begins at the peristyle is too rare in France. I already 
 feel myself a new man." 
 
 '' We shall drink and laugh once more, my poor 
 Raphael — Ha, ha," he continued. '' I hope that you 
 and I will come off conquerors, and walk over the 
 heads of those fellows." 
 
 So saying he pointed with a mocking gesture to the 
 companj' assembled in a salon resplendent with lights 
 and gilding, where the}^ were instantly welcomed by a 
 number of the most remarkable young men in Paris. 
 One had lately revealed a great talent, and had painted 
 a picture that rivalled in fame the art of the Empire. 
 Another had just published a book full of sap, stamped 
 with an air of literary disdain, which pointed out new 
 lines for modern thought. Farther on, a sculptor, 
 whose rugged face bespoke a vigorous genius, was 
 talking with one of those cold critics who, as the fancy 
 takes them, either refuse to see the signs of superiority 
 or imagine them everywhere. Here, the wittiest of our 
 caricaturists, he of the mischievous eye and the satiri- 
 cal lip, was on the lookout for epigrams which his 
 crayon would reproduce. There, too, the audacious 
 3'oung writer who knew the art of distilling the quintes- 
 sence of political thought and of condensing, as he 
 played witii it, the mind of a redundant writer, was 
 talking with a poet whose works would crush all others 
 of the present day if his talent were as strong as his 
 hatred. Both were trying not to speak the truth and 
 not to lie, all the while addressing each other with 
 sweetest flattery. A celebrated musician was satiri- 
 
62 The Magic Skin. 
 
 cally consoling in C flat a newl}^ fledged deputy who had 
 recentl}' had a fall in the tribune, without howeyer do- 
 ing himself much injury. Young authors without style 
 were grouped with young authors without ideas, prose- 
 writers full of poetr^^ with prosaic poets. A poor Saint- 
 Simonian, simple enough to put faith in his own doc- 
 trine, observing these incompleted beings, coupled them 
 charitabl}', wishing perhaps to convert them into be- 
 lievers of his order. 
 
 Besides all these, there were two or three learned 
 men capable of putting nitrogen into the conversation, 
 and several writers of comic drama flinging about them 
 an ephemeral brightness which, like the sparkling of 
 diamonds, gave neither warmth nor light. A few para- 
 doxical beings, laughing in their sleeves at the men who 
 adopted their admirations or their contempt for men 
 and things, were already at work, with that double- 
 faced policy b}^ which they conspire against all systems 
 and take sides with none. The carping critic without 
 real impulse, who blows his nose during a cavatina at 
 the opera, cries "Bravo!" before everjbody else but 
 contradicts those who precede him, was present watching 
 his chance to appropriate the sayings of witt\' men. 
 Among the whole company, probabh^ five had a dis- 
 tinguished future ; a dozen were likely to obtain some 
 passing fame ; as for the rest the}' might, like other 
 mediocrities, adopt the famous lie of Louis XVIII., 
 " Union and oblivion." The araphitryon of the feast 
 showed the anxious gaj^ety of a man who is spending 
 six thousand francs. From time to time his eyes 
 turned impatiently to the door of the salon, as if to call 
 up some belated guest who kept him waiting. Presently 
 
The Magic Skin. 53 
 
 fat little man arri^'ed who was received with a flatter- 
 ing murmur of voices. It was the notary who, that very 
 morning, had drawn up the papers which called the 
 new journal into existence. A footman dressed in 
 black opened the doors of a vast dining-room, where 
 each guest unceremoniously looked for his place at an 
 immense table. 
 
 Raphael threw a glance around the salon before 
 leaving it. Assuredly, his wish was so far completel}^ 
 satisfied. Gold and silken stuffs filled the apartment ; 
 rich candelabras, holding innumerable wax-candles, 
 brought out the slightest details of the gilded friezes, 
 the delicate chiselling of the marbles, and the sump- 
 tuous colors of the furniture ; rare plants, in bamboo 
 baskets artistically woven, filled the room with fra- 
 grance ; even the draperies had an air of unpretending 
 elegance. There was throughout an inexpressible poetic 
 grace, whose charm acted powerfull}^ on the imagination 
 of the penniless man. 
 
 "An income of a hundred thousand francs is a very 
 pretty commentary on the catechism, and helps us won- 
 derfulh' in putting morality into action ! " he said, sigh- 
 ing. " Yes, my virtue was never meant to go a-foot. 
 To me, vice is a garret, a ragged coat, a shabby hat 
 in winter, and debts to the porter. Ha ! I wish to live 
 in the midst of such luxury as this for a year, six 
 months, no matter how long — and then die. I shall 
 then have known, exhausted, and annihilated a thou- 
 sand lives." 
 
 *' My dear fellow," cried Emile, who was listening to 
 him, " 3*ou are mistaking the ease of a money-changer for 
 happiness. You would grow sick of wealth as soon as 
 
54 The Magic Skin. 
 
 you found out that it deprives you of all chauce of be- 
 coming a superior man. Between the poverty of riches 
 and the riches of poverty no true artist has ever hesi- 
 tated. We must struggle — and 3'ou know it. But 
 now prepare yonv stomach ; behold ! " he cried, pointing 
 with heroic gesture to the triply sacred, gorgeous, and 
 reassuring spectacle presented by the dining-room of 
 the crapulent capitalist. '' That man whom 3'ou see 
 there," he said pointing him out, " has actually taken 
 the trouble of amassing his money for us. He is a kind 
 of sponge which the naturalists forgot to include in the 
 order of the polypi, and it is our bounden duty to 
 squeeze him carefully before his heirs can suck at him. 
 Just notice the elegance of those bas-reliefs round 
 the walls? and the pictures, the lustres — what well- 
 selected luxury ! If we are to believe envious folks 
 and those who are always searching into the hidden 
 springs of life, that man murdered his best friend, a 
 German, and the mother of that friend during the 
 Revolution. Would you think there were such crimes 
 under the grizzly hair of that venerable Taillefer? He 
 looks like a good fellow. See how the silver sparkles ; 
 if he were what they say he is, would n't everj^ ray of 
 its glitter be a dagger in his heart? Pooh, better be- 
 lieve in Mohammed at once ! Yet, if the world says 
 true, here are thirty- men of honor and talent about to 
 eat the bodies and drink the blood of a family : and you 
 and I, models of candid youth and enthusiasm, we are 
 accomplices in the deed. I 've a good mind to go up 
 and ask our capitalist if he is a murderer." 
 
 *' Not now," cried Raphael; " wait till he is dead- 
 drunk, and then we shall have dined." 
 
The Magic Skin. 
 
 The two friends took their places, laughing. At first, 
 and with a glance more rapid than a word, each guest 
 paid tribute of admiration to the sumptuous elegance of 
 the table, white as new-fallen snow, on which the little 
 hummocks of napkins were symmetrically placed. The 
 glasses shed prismatic colors in their starry reflections ; 
 wax candles cast an infinitude of light ; the viands, 
 served under silver covers, sharpened both appetite and 
 curiosity. Words were few. The guests looked at each 
 other. Madeira was passed round. Then the first course 
 was served in all its glor3\ It would have done honor 
 to the late Cambaceres, and Brillat-Savarin might have 
 written of it. Claret and burgund}', white and red, 
 were served with regal profusion. This opening of the 
 feast might be likened to the prologue of a classic 
 drama. The second act became somewhat talkative. 
 Each guest, changing his wines according to his fanc}', 
 had drunk suflScientl}^ to take part, when the sumptuous 
 course was removed, in excited discussions ; pale faces 
 were already flushed, noses were slightl}' purple, faces 
 burned, and eyes glittered. During this aurora of in- 
 toxication, the talk did not pass be^'ond the limits of 
 courtesy ; but, little b}' little, sarcasms and witt}" 
 speeches escaped certain lips ; then calumn}- genth^ 
 raised its serpent-head and protruded its forked tongue ; 
 . here and there a few craft\' souls listened attentivel}', 
 endeavoring to hold themselves in hand. The second 
 course found the company thoroughly excited. Each 
 man ate as he talked, and talked while he ate, without 
 heed to the quantity of liquid that he drank, so appro- 
 priate and perfumed were the wines, and so contagious 
 the example. 
 
56 The Magic Skin. 
 
 Taillefer piqued himself on exciting his guests, and 
 ordered on those terrible wines of the Rhone region, the 
 hot Toka3', and the old, heady Rousillon. Like un- 
 bridled post-horses let loose at a relay, the guests, 
 lashed by the fires of champagne impatienth' awaited 
 and abundantly served, let their minds gallop into 
 vague discussions to which no one listened, recounted 
 tales tliat had no auditors, and began over and over 
 again a series of cross-questionings to which there came 
 no repl}'. Org}' alone had a voice that made itself heard, 
 — the voice of a hundred confused clamors which rose 
 and swelled like the crescendos of Rossini. Then came 
 enticing toasts, boastful speeches, and provocations. 
 All present renounced intellectual capacity to claim 
 that of vats and tuns. It seemed as though each man 
 possessed two voices ; and there came a moment when 
 all the masters talked at once, and the footmen smiled. 
 But this medley of words, where paradoxes of doubtful 
 brilliancv and truths grotesquely dressed up jostled each 
 other amid shouts and queries, arbitrary assertions and 
 sill}' saj'ings, — like the thick of a combat hurtling with 
 bullets, balls, and grape-shot, — would doubtless have 
 interested some philosopher b}' the singularity of the 
 thoughts that came to the surface, and amazed a poli- 
 tician by the oddity of the proposed systems. The whole 
 scene was at once a lesson and a picture. Philosophies, 
 religions, moralities of every latitude, governments, 
 indeed, all the great acts of human intelligence, fell under 
 a scythe as sweeping as that of Time ; and an observer 
 might have found himself puzzled to decide whether 
 it were handled by drunken Wisdom, or by Drunken- 
 ness grown wise and clear-sighted. Carried away by 
 
The Magic Skin. 67 
 
 a sort of whirlwind, these excited minds, like angiy 
 waves rushing at a cliff, sought to shake the laws that 
 float civilizations, — unconsciously doing the will of God, 
 who has left good and evil within the bounds of 'nature, 
 keeping for himself alone tlie secret of their perpetual 
 warfare. The discussions, growing more and more 
 burlesque and furious, became at last, as it were, a 
 witches' sabbath of intellects. Between the dismal 
 jests of these children of the Revolution over the birth 
 of their new journal, and the vigorous talk of the jovial 
 topers at the birth of Gargantua lay the vast abyss 
 which separates the nineteenth from the sixteenth cen- 
 tury. The latter made ready destruction with a laugh ; 
 ours laughs amid the ruins. 
 
 " What is the name of the 3'oung man whom I see 
 over there?" asked the notar\', pointing to Raphael. 
 '' Did n't I hear some one call him Valentin? " 
 
 " What do 3'ou mean by Valentin short off ? " cried 
 Emile, laughing. " Raphael de Valentin, if* vou please. 
 We bear sable, an eagle displayed or, crowned argent, 
 beaked and taloned gules ; with a glorious motto : JVon 
 cecidit animus. Let me tell 3'ou that we are no found- 
 hng, but a descendant of the Emperor Valens, progenitor 
 of the Valentinois, founder of the cities Valence in France, 
 and Valencia in Spain, legitimate heir of the empire of 
 the East. If we allow Mahmoud to sit upon our throne 
 of Constantinople, it is out of pure good nature and 
 lack of soldiers and money." Here Emile drew a crown 
 with his fork in the air above Raphael's head. 
 
 The notar3' reflected for a moment and then began 
 to drink again, making a deprecating gesture, by which 
 he seemed to admit that he could not connect his 
 
58 The Magic Skin. 
 
 practice with the cities of Valence, Constantinople, 
 the sultan, the emperor, or the Valentinois. 
 
 " The destruction of those ant-hills called Bab3'lon, 
 T^-re, Carthage, or Venice, inevitably crushed by the 
 foot of any giant who stepped their way, was a warn- 
 ing given to man b}' some demon power," said Claude 
 Vignon, a species of slave, hired to do Bossuet at ten 
 sous a line. 
 
 "Moses, Sylla, Louis XI., Richelieu, Robespierre, 
 and Napoleon, are perhaps but one man, reappearing 
 across the civilizations like a comet across the sky," 
 replied a disciple of Ballanche. 
 
 " Why attempt to fathom Providence? " said Canalis, 
 the maker of ballads. 
 
 "Providence indeed!" cried the critic, interrupting 
 him. " I know nothing under the sun so elastic." 
 
 " But, monsieur, Louis XIV. sent more men to their 
 death in building the aqueduct between Maintenon and 
 Versailles than the Convention guillotined to obtain 
 just taxes, equality before the law, the nationality of 
 France, and the equal division of famil3^ property," said 
 Massol, a young man who had become a republican 
 for want of a syllable before his name. 
 
 " Monsieur," replied Moreau de I'Oise, a worthy 
 land-owner, " 30U who drank blood for wine, do you 
 mean to leave men's heads on their shoulders this 
 time?" 
 
 "Why should we, monsieur? Don't you think the 
 principles of social order are worth some sacrifices ? " 
 
 " Bixiou ! hi! What's-his-name, here, the republi- 
 can, declares the land-owner's head must be sacrificed," 
 said a young man to his neighbor. 
 
The Magic Skin. 59 
 
 " Men and events are nothing," said the republican, 
 continuing his theory amid a chorus of hiccoughs ; 
 '* principles and ideas are all that should be considered 
 in politics and philosoph3\" 
 
 *' Horrors ! do 3'ou mean to say you wouldn't mind 
 killing 3'our friends for a — " 
 
 '' Hey! monsieur; the man who feels remorse is the 
 true villain, for he has some idea of virtue ; whereas 
 Peter the Great and the Duke of Alba were systems 
 — Monbard, the pirate, was an organization." 
 
 *' But can't society do without jour sj'stems and 
 3'our organizations?" demanded Canalis. 
 
 " Oh, I '11 agree to that," cried the republican. 
 
 *'Pah! your stupid republic makes me sick at my 
 stomach. Presently we sha'n't be able to carve a 
 capon without running against some agraiian law." 
 
 '• Your principles are fine, mj- little Brutus stuffed 
 with truffles. But you are like m}' valet ; the fellow 
 is so possessed with the lust of cleanliness that if I 
 were to let him brush m}' clothes as much as he liked, 
 I should go naked." 
 
 " You are all stupid dolts, — yow want to cleanse the 
 nation with a tooth-brush," retorted the republican. 
 " According to 3'Our ideas, justice is more dangerous 
 than thieves." 
 
 " Hear ! hear ! " exclaimed Desroches, the lawyer. 
 
 "What bores the}' are with their politics!" said 
 Cardot, the notar}-. "Shut the door. There's no 
 science, and no virtue that is worth a drop of blood. 
 If we tried to liquidate truth, ten to one we should find 
 her bankrupt" 
 
 " Well, no doubt it would cost less to amuse our- 
 
60 The Magic Skin. 
 
 selves with evil, than to quarrel about good ; and for 
 m}' part I would willingly exchange every word de- 
 claimed in the tribune during the last fortj^ 3'ears, 
 for a trout, or a sketch hy Charlet, or a storj^ of 
 Perrault's." 
 
 "And right enough, too, — pass me the asparagus, 
 ~ — for, after all, liberty gives birth to anarchy, and 
 anarchy leads to despotism, and despotism brings back 
 libert}'. Millions of beings have perished without 
 being able to make any system triumph. Is n't it 
 plainly a vicious circle, in which the moral world will 
 turn forever? When a man thinks he has made a 
 perfect reformation, he has simply displaced things." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! " cried Curs}', the writer of farces, " then 
 I propose a toast to Charles X., the father of liberty." 
 - " Why not?" said Emile ; " when despotism is in the 
 laws liberty is in the mind and morals, aiuT ?nce versa^*~~ 
 
 " Then let us drink to the imbecility of the power 
 which gives us so much power over imbeciles," said the 
 banker. 
 
 " But, my dear fellow. Napoleon, you must admit, 
 gave us glory/' cried an officer of marines, who had 
 never been outside the harbor of Brest. 
 
 "Pooh! glory? a forlorn com modit}'. It costs dear 
 and doesn't last. It is the egotism of great men, just 
 as happiness is that of fools — " 
 
 " What a happ3' fellow you must be ! " 
 
 " The man who invented ditches was doubtless some 
 
 weakling, — for society onl}- benefits the pun^- beings. 
 
 I Those who stand at the two extremities of the moral 
 
 \ world — the savage and the thinker — have an equal 
 
 \hQrror of property." 
 
TJie Magic Skin, 61 
 
 "Fine talk!" cried Cardot. "If there were no 
 propert}' how could we make conve3ances?" 
 
 " These green peas are idealh' delicious — " 
 
 " And the curate was found dead in his bed, the very 
 next da}' — " 
 
 " Dead ! who is talking of death? don't joke about 
 it. I 've got an uncle — " 
 
 " And you are resigned to lose him? " 
 
 " That 's not a fair question." 
 
 " Listen to me, gentlemen, and I '11 tell you hoio to 
 Mil an uncle. [Hush ! Listen !] Have an uncle, sliort 
 and fnt, and seventy, at least ; that is the best kind of 
 uncle [sensation]. Make him, under anj' pretence you 
 please, cat a Strasburg pie — " 
 
 " Eh ! but my uncle is tall and lean and miserl}' and 
 sober." 
 
 " Oh, those uncles are monsters who misuse life." 
 
 "Well," said the instructor in uncles, continuing, 
 "tell him, while he is digesting, that his banker has 
 failed — " 
 
 " Suppose he survives it?'* 
 
 " Then send him a pretty girl — " 
 
 " Malibran's voice has lost two notes." 
 
 " No, monsieur." 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! yes and no ; that 's the history of all dis- , 
 cussions, religious, political, and literary ; they never 
 get beyond that. Man is a buffoon, who dances at the 
 edge of a precipice." 
 
 " To listen to you, one would think I was a fool." 
 
 " On the contrary, that 's precisely because you don't 
 listen to me." 
 
62 . The Magio Skin. 
 
 .*' Education ! what nonsense it is ! Monsieur Heinef- 
 ' fettermach declares there are more than one thousand 
 milUon printed volumes, and man's life is onl}^ lo4ig 
 enough to let him read one hundred and fiftj' thousand. 
 And so, explain to me, if 3'ou please, the meaning of 
 that word ' education.' Some people think it consists 
 in knowing the names of Alexander's horse, of the dog 
 Berecillo, of the Seigneur des Accords, and ignoring 
 that of the man to whom we owe the floating of wood 
 and the making of porcelain. ' Education ' to otliers 
 means the capacit}' to burn a will and live like honest 
 folk, beloved and respected, instead of stealing a watch 
 for the tenth time with the five aggravating circum- 
 stances, and dying on the place de Greve hated and 
 dishonored." 
 
 " Will Nathan continue his paper?" 
 
 " Ah ! his contributors have such wit." 
 
 " How about Canahs? " 
 
 " A great man ; don't talk of him." 
 
 " You are drunk." 
 
 " The immediate result of a constitution is to lower 
 the level of intelligence. Arts, sciences, public build- 
 ings, are all eaten into by an awful selfishness, the 
 leprosy of our day. Take 3'our three hundred bour- 
 geois seated on benches ; ever}- man of them thinks of 
 planting poplar-trees, and of nothing else. Despotism 
 does great things illegall}', liberty won't trouble herself 
 to do legall3' even the smallest things — " 
 
 " The present system of education," said a partisan of 
 despotic power, *' turns out human minds like five-franc 
 pieces from the mint. Individuality disappears among 
 a people who are flattened to one level by education." 
 
p 
 
 The Magic Skin. . 63 
 
 *' And 3'et, is n't the veiy object of society to procure 
 happiness for all? " demanded the Saint-Simonian. 
 
 " When 3'ou get an income of fift}- thousand francs 
 3'OU won't think about the happiness of the masses. 
 But if }0U are captivated b}' the noble passion for 
 humanit}', go to Madagascar ; there 's a nice little 
 people all read}' to your hand, brand-new, to Saint- 
 Simonize and classify and label ; but here in France 
 we all live in our particular cells, as a key turns in its 
 own lock. Porters are porters, and ninnies are fools, 
 without needing a diploma from a college of Fathers ; 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 '' You are aCarlist!" -a 
 
 '' Why should n't I be? I like despotism ; it shows 
 a contempt for the human race. I can't hate kings, the^^ 
 are so amusing. To sit on a throne in a chamber about 
 thirt}' million leagues from the sun, do 30U call that 
 nothing?" — 
 
 " But let us take a larger view of civilization," said a 
 man of science, who had undertaken, on behalf of an 
 inattentive sculptor, a disquisition on the origin of 
 societ}' and autochthonous peoples. '* At the birth of 
 nations power was, as it were, material, single, brutal ; 
 then, as aggregation took place, governments were car- 
 ried on by the decomposition, as it were, of the primi- 
 tive power. For instance, in remote antiquity power 
 was theocratic ; the priest held the sword and the 
 censer. Later, there were two sacerdotal powers : the 
 pontiff, and the king. To-da}- our societ}-, the last ex- 
 treme of civilization, has distributed power among a 
 number of combined forces, called hy such names as 
 industry, thought, wealth, speech. No longer possess- 
 
64 The Magic Skin. 
 
 hig unity, power tends toward a social dissolution to 
 which there is no barrier except self-interest. We no 
 longer rest upon religion nor upon material strength, 
 but upon intellect. Is theory as powerful as the 
 sword ? is discussion as strong as action ? there 's the 
 question." 
 
 ''Intellect has killed everything," cried the Carlist. 
 "Absolute libert}^ drags nations to suicide; they are 
 sick and tired of success, hke a British millionnaire." 
 
 " What next? Where will these ideas of yours land 
 you? You ridicule all power, and what is that but 
 the worn-out vulgarity of denying God? You have 
 no beliefs. The age is like an old sultan given 
 over to debaucher}' ; and that's wh3' your Lord Byron, 
 in final despair of poetry, chanted the passions of 
 crime." 
 
 " Do you know," remarked Horace Bianchon, who 
 was now completely drunk " that one dose more or less 
 of phosphorus makes a man of genius or a villain, a 
 wit or an idiot, a virtuous man or a criminal?" 
 
 " How can you talk thus of virtue," cried De Cursy ; 
 " of virtue, the key-note of dramas, the backbone of 
 theatres, the foundation of all courts of justice? 
 
 "Hold your tongue, animal! Your virtue is like 
 Achilles without his heel," retorted Bixiou. 
 
 "Your health!" 
 
 " Will you bet that I can drink a bottle of champagne 
 at a flash ? " 
 
 " What a flash of wit ! " sneered Bixiou. 
 
 " They are as drunk as plough-bo3-s," said a young 
 man who tipped a good deal of his wine into his waist- 
 coat. 
 
The 31agic Skin. 65 
 
 Yes, monsieur ; the government of the day is the 
 
 rt of putting public opinion into power." 
 
 " Public opinion ! the most depraved of all prosti- 
 tutes ! To hear 3'ou men of morality and politics, we 
 must believe in your dogmas against every law of nature 
 and conviction and conscience. Bah ! all is true, and 
 all is false. If societ}' gives us down pillows, she makes 
 it up by gout ; just as she puts up law to modify justice, 
 and colds in the head as a set-otf against cashmere 
 shawls — " 
 
 *' Monster!" cried j^mile, interrupting the misan- 
 thropist, " what do you mean b}' slandering civilization 
 in presence of such wines, such viands, such delicacies 
 up to our very chins ? Put your teeth into this venison, 
 but don't bite your own mother." 
 
 "Is it m\' fault, pray, that Catholicism has put a 
 million of gods into a sack of flour, that all republics 
 end in a Robespierre, that royalty hangs between the 
 assassination of Henri IV. and the decapitation of Louis 
 XVI., or that liberahsm turns into a La Faj'ette?" 
 
 *' Did you embrace him in July? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then hold your tongue, sceptic." 
 
 " Sceptics are conscientious men." 
 
 " They have no conscience." 
 
 " What do you mean? The}^ have two." 
 
 " Discounting heaven ! there 3'ou are with 3'our 
 commercial ideas. The ancient religions were only 
 the happy development of physical pleasure ; but we 
 have developed hope and a soul ; that is progress." 
 
 "Hey! my good friends; what can you expect of 
 an age stinking with politics?" asked Nathan. " What 
 
 5 
 
QQ The Magic Shin. 
 
 was the fate of the ' King of Bohemia and his seven 
 castles ? * the wittiest conception — " 
 
 *'That?" screamed the critic, from the other side 
 of the table, — ' ' phrases, drawn for luck out of a hat ; 
 a book written in a madhouse — " 
 
 "You're a fool ! " 
 
 " You 're a scoundrel ! " 
 
 "Oh, oh!" 
 
 "Ah, ah!" 
 
 " They '11 fight." 
 
 " No, they won't." 
 
 " To-morrow, monsieur." 
 
 " At once," replied Nathan. 
 
 " Come, come, you are both honorable men." 
 
 " You 're another," said the aggressor. 
 
 "Neither of them can stand upright." 
 
 "Can't I?" said the bellicose Nathan, attempting 
 to get upon his feet like a stag-beetle. He threw a 
 stupid look round the table, then, as if exhausted by 
 the effort, he fell back in his chair, dropped his head, 
 and was silent. 
 
 "Wouldn't it have been funn}'," said the critic to 
 the man next him, '' if I had fought a duel about a 
 book I never read ? " 
 
 " Emile, look out for 3'our coat, 3'our neighbor is 
 turning pale." 
 
 " Kant, monsieur? Only a balloon sent up to amuse 
 fools. Materialism and spiritualism are two prett}'" 
 battledores with which humbugs toss about the same 
 shuttlecock. Say that God be in all, according to 
 Spinoza, or that all comes from God, according to 
 Saint Paul, — idiots ! opening and shutting a door, 
 
I* 
 
 The Magic Skin. 6V 
 
 is n't that the same action ? Does the e^g come from 
 the fowl, or the fowl from the ^gg'i answer me that, for 
 it is the whole of science." 
 
 ••^ Ninny ! " cried the man of science, '' the question 
 you ask is chopped in two by a fact." 
 
 *' What fact?" 
 
 "The chairs of professors were not made for phil- 
 osoph}^ but philosoph3' for the chairs. Put on your 
 spectacles and read the budget." 
 
 ''Thieves!" 
 
 '' Imbeciles !" 
 
 '' Scoundrels ! " 
 
 " Dupes ! " 
 
 " Where else but in Paris, would you find such a 
 brilliant and rapid interchange of thought," cried 
 Bixiou, in a deep bass voice. 
 
 '' Come, Bixiou, do us a classic farce." 
 ' " What shall it be ; the nineteenth century? " 
 
 '' Yes, yes." 
 
 "• Listen all." 
 
 *' Silence!" 
 
 '' Put down the soft pedals." 
 
 " Hold 3'our tongue, blockhead." 
 
 *' Give him some wine, and that will keep him quiet." 
 
 '' Go on, Bixiou." 
 
 The artist buttoned up his black coat, put on his 
 gloves and an elderly grimace, intended to represent 
 the Revue des Deux-Mondes ; then he squinted — 
 but the noise drowned his voice, and it was impossible 
 to catch a word of his allocution. If he did not repre- 
 sent the nineteenth century, he at least fulh' represented 
 the Revue, for he himself had no idea what he meant. 
 
68 The Magic Skin. 
 
 The dessert was served as if by magic. In the 
 centre of the table stood a large epergne in gilded 
 bronze, from the workshops of Thomire. Tall figures 
 of the conventional forms of ideal beaut}^ held up or 
 supported baskets and vases of strawberries, pine- 
 apples, white and purple grapes, fresh dates, rosy 
 peaches, oranges from Setubal, pomegranates, fruits 
 from China, in short, all the surprises of luxury, the 
 miraculous productions of hothouses, the choicest and 
 most appetizing delicacies. The colors of this gastro- 
 nomic picture were heightened b}' the shimmer of the 
 porcelain baskets with their glittering lines of gold, 
 and the sparkle of the cut glass vases. Graceful as 
 the light fringes of ocean, ferns and mosses drooped 
 over landscapes by Poussin, copied on the Sevres. 
 A German principality was worth less than this piece 
 of ostentation. Silver, mother-of-pearl, gold, and pris- 
 matic glass, were disposed about the table for the final 
 course ; but the dulled e3'es of the guests and the wordy 
 fever of their intoxication prevented them from having 
 more than a vague idea of the fairy scene, which was 
 indeed worthy of an oriental tale. The wines of the des- 
 sert added their own fiery perfumes, like powerful phil- 
 ters or magic vapors that generated a sort of intellectual 
 mirage, chaining the feet and enervating the hands. 
 The beautiful pyramid was pillaged, voices rose high, 
 the tumult swelled ; words became indistinct, glass was 
 shivered to fragments, and bursts of horrid laughter 
 exploded like cartridges. Cursy seized a horn and 
 sounded a fanfare. It was like a signal from the devil. 
 The assemblage became delirious, howled, whistled, 
 sang, shouted, roared, and snarled. One might almost 
 
The Magic Skin. 69 
 
 have smiled to see these men, bj- nature gay, now 
 driven by their enjo3'ments into a tragic mood that 
 ■was worthy of the pages of Crebillon. Some were telUng 
 their secrets to ears that did not listen. Gloomy faces 
 wore the smile of a ballet-girl, when she finishes a 
 pirouette. Claude Vignon was dancing like a bear 
 to a fife. Intimate friends were fighting. The like- 
 nesses to animals that came out on these human faces, 
 phenomena which have often been remarked on by 
 pln'siologists, appeared vaguely in their gestures and 
 in the movement of their bodies. The}' were an open 
 book, if only some Bichat, cool, sober, and fasting, 
 had been there to read it. The master of the feast, 
 feeling that he was drunk, did not venture to rise, but 
 sat still, encouraging the follies of his guests by a fixed 
 smile, and trying all the while to maintain an air of 
 decency and good-fellowship. -His broad face, now red 
 and blue and almost purple, was horrible to behold ; 
 it associated itself with the movement about him b}" 
 a motion that resembled the rolling and pitching of a 
 ship at sea. 
 
 "Did 3'ou murder them?" Emile suddenly asked 
 him. 
 
 " The death penalty is to be abolished in honor of 
 the Revolution of Jul}', so they sa}-," replied Taillefer, 
 raising his ej'ebrows with a look that was both shrewd 
 and stupid. 
 
 " But don't 3'ou sometimes see them in 3'our dreams ? " 
 added Raphael. 
 
 " There are limits to that," said the murderer, full of 
 gold. 
 
 " And on his tomb," cried Emile, sardonically, " shall 
 
70 The Magic Skin. 
 
 these words be engraved b}' the undertaker, ' Stran- 
 ger, bestow a tear upon his memory;' Oh ! " he con- 
 tinued, ''I'd give a hundred sous to a mathematician 
 who would demonstrate by an algebraic equation the 
 certainty of hell." 
 
 He flung a five-franc piece in the air crying out, 
 "Heads for God ! " 
 
 " Don't look," cried Raphael, seizing the coin, " who 
 knows? luck is so queer." 
 
 "Alas!" said Emile, with an air of burlesque sad- 
 ness. "I don't know where to set my feet between 
 the geometry of scepticism and the Pope's Pater 
 noster. Well, no matter, let us drink. ' Drink ' is, I 
 believe, the oracle of the Divine Bottle, and serves as 
 the conclusion to Pantagruel." 
 
 " We owe everything to the Pater noster,'' answered 
 Raphael, — "our arts, our public monuments, perhaps 
 our sciences ; and above all, modern government, in 
 whicli society, vast and teeming as it is, is marvellously 
 ' represented by five hundred intellects, whose forces op- 
 pose and neutralize each other, leaving all power to 
 Civilization, the colossal queen who has dethroned the 
 King, that ancient and terrible figure, that species of 
 false destin}^ created b}" man to stand between himself 
 and God. In presence of so man}- and vast accom- 
 plished things atheism is like a skeleton unable to beget. 
 What sa}^ you?" 
 
 "I reflect upon the seas of blood shed l\y Catholi- 
 cism," said Emile, coldly. "It has drawn from our 
 hearts and our veins a second deluge. But what 
 matters it? Every thinking man must march under 
 \ Christ's banner. He alone has consecrated the triumph 
 
The Magic Skin. 71 
 
 of mind over matter ; he alone has revealed to our souls 
 ^he intermediate world which separates us from God." 
 
 "You believe that? " answered Raphael, with the in- 
 definable smile of intoxication. ''Well, not to commit 
 ourselves, let us drink the famous toast : J)iis Ignotis ! " 
 
 And they emptied their goblets of science, of car- 
 bonic acid gas, of perfume, poetry, and scepticism. 
 
 " If the gentlemen will pass into the salon," said the 
 maitre d'hotel, " coffee will be served." 
 
 B}' this time nearly all the guests were wallowing in 
 the delights of that limbo where the lamps of the mind 
 go out, where the body, delivered of its tyrant, aban- 
 dons itself to the delirious joys of liberty. Some, who 
 had reached the maximum of drunkenness, were gloom}', 
 and strove laboriously to seize some thought that 
 might prove to them their own existence ; others, sunk 
 in the atroph}' of an overloaded digestion, refused to 
 stir. The chorus of a song was echoing like the twang 
 of some mechanism forced to play out its soulless num- 
 bers. Silence and tumult were oddl}' coupled. Never- 
 theless, when the sonorous voice of the maitre d'iiotel, 
 in default of that of his master, was heard announcing 
 fresh delights, the guests rose and advanced half-drag- 
 ging, half-supporting each other, until they stopped for 
 m instant, charmed and motionless, at the door of the 
 salon. 
 
 The enjoyments of the banquet paled before the en- 
 ticing spectacle now presented to the most susceptible 
 of their senses. Round a table covered with a silver 
 gilt service, and beneath the sparkling light of man}' 
 candles clustering above them, stood a number of 
 
72 The Magic Skin. 
 
 women, whose sudden appearance made the ej'es of 
 the bewildered guests shhie like diamonds. Rich were 
 their dresses and their jewels, but richer still their 
 dazzling beauty, before which all other splendors of 
 the palace paled. The passionate e>'es of these girls, 
 bewitching as fairies, were more vivid than the floods 
 of light which brought out the shimmer of satin stuffs, 
 the whiteness of marbles, and the delicate outline of 
 bronze figures. The senses of the guests glowed as 
 the}^ caught sight of the contrasts in their attitudes and 
 in the decoration of their heads, all diverse in attrac- 
 tion and in charac^ter. The}' were like a hedge of 
 flowers, strewn with rubies, sapphires, and coral ; bands 
 of black were round the snow}- throats, light scarfs 
 floated from them like the beams of a beacon, turbans 
 were proudly worn, and tunics, modestly provocative — 
 in short, the seraglio offered seductions to all eyes, and 
 pleasures for all caprices. Here, a danseuse, charm- 
 ingly posed, seemed as though unveiled beneath the 
 undulating folds of a cashmere. There, a diaphanous 
 gauze, or an iridescent silk hid, or revealed, mysterious 
 perfections. Slender little feet spoke of love, fresh and 
 rosy lips were silent. Delicate and decent j'oung girls, 
 false virgins, whose pretty hair gave forth a savor of 
 religious innocence, seemed to the ej^e like apparitions 
 which a breath might dispel. Aristocratic beauties, 
 i with haughty eyes, indolent and slender and graceful, 
 bent th'eir heads as though they still had regal favors to 
 dispense. An P^nglishwoman with a chaste fair face, de- 
 scending, as it were, from the clouds of Ossian, was like 
 an angel of melanchol}', or an image of remorse fleeing 
 from a crime. The Parisian woman, whose whole 
 
The Magic Skin. 73 
 
 y 
 
 beauty lies in a grace indescribable, vain of her dress 
 and lier wit, armed with her all-powerful weakness, 
 supple and hard, siren without heart and without pas- 
 sion, yet knowing how b^^ mere skill to create the 
 treasures of passion, and to simulate the tones of 
 the heart, was not wanting in this dangerous bevy ; nor 
 3'et the Italian, tranquil apparently and conscientious 
 in her delights ; nor the superb Norman woman of mag- 
 nificent shape ; nor the black-haired Southern beaut}', 
 with her large and well-formed e3'e. An observer might 
 have thought them the beauties of Versailles called to- 
 gether by Lebel^who, having spent the day in preparing 
 their charmsT^re now like a troop of Circassian slaves 
 aroused at the voice of a merchant to displa}' them. 
 Thej' appeared confused and bashful ; and clustered 
 around the table like bees murmuring about a hive. 
 This timid embaiTassment, which seemed like reproach 
 and coquetry combined, was either a calculated form of 
 seduction, or an involuntary shame-facedness. Perhaps 
 a feeling which womanhood can never completelv cast 
 off bade them snatch the mantle of virtue to give gi*eater 
 charm and piquancy to vice. 
 
 For an instant the intentions of old Taillefer seemed 
 to miss their mark. These reckless men were, for a 
 moment, subjugated b}' the majestic dignit}' that invests 
 a woman. A murmur of admiration like soft music 
 was heard. Love had not gone hand in hand with 
 drunkenness. In place of stormy passions, the guests, 
 overcome by momentary weakness, abandoned them- 
 selves to rapturous ecstas}'. Touched in their sense 
 of poetr}', which is forever dominant, artists studied the 
 delicate tones of these chosen beauties. A philosopher. 
 
74 The Magic Skin. 
 
 roused by a thought due, perhaps, to the carbonic acid 
 disengaged from the fumes of champagne, shuddered as 
 he thought of the miseries that had brought those 
 women there, — women once worthy of the purest 
 homage. Each of them, no doubt, had some awful 
 drama to relate. Nearly all carried about with them 
 the tortures of hell, dragging after them the memory 
 of faithless men, of promises betraj'ed, of joys all too 
 bitterly paid for by distress. 
 
 The guests approached these women politel}', and 
 various conversations, according to the characters of 
 each, began ; groups were formed ; the scene was 
 like that of a salon in good society where the matrons 
 and the young girls offer coffee and liqueurs to gour- 
 mands troubled by a recalcitrant digestion. But pres- 
 ently bursts of laughter broke forth, the noise increased, 
 voices were raised. Revelry, quelled for a moment, now 
 lifted its head and threatened to arise. These alterna- 
 tions of silence and noise bore a vague resemblance to 
 a S3'm phony of Beethoven. 
 
 The two friends, seated on a luxurious sofa, were 
 presentl}^ approached b}' a tall, well-proportioned girl 
 of superb bearing, whose regular but keen and impet- 
 uous features compelled attention by their vigorous 
 contrasts. Her black hair, (curling luxuriantly, seemed 
 to have undergone already the combats of love, and fell 
 in loose locks upon her shoulders, whose perspectives 
 were attractive to the eye. The skin, of an ivory 
 whiteness, brought out the warm tones of her vivid 
 coloring. Her eyes, fringed with long lashes, flashed 
 flames and sparks of love. The red, moist mouth, half- 
 open, invited kisses. The girl's figure was powerfully 
 
The Magic Skin, 15 
 
 built, but amorousl}^ elastic ; her bosom and arms 
 were developed like the noble figures of the Caracci ; 
 nevertheless she was active and supple with the vigorous 
 agility of a panther. Though laughter and frolic wan- 
 tonness must have been familiar to her, there was some- 
 thing alarming in her e3'es and smile. Like a prophetess 
 controlled b}^ a demon, she astonished rather than 
 pleased those whom she addressed. All expressions 
 rushed in turn and like lightning across her mobile face. 
 Perhaps she might have fascinated a sated mind, but 
 5'Oung men would have feared her. She was like a 
 colossal statue fallen from the pediment of a Greek 
 temple, sublime at a distance, but coarse on nearer 
 view. And 3'et that dangerous beauty was fit to rouse 
 the impotent, that voice could charm the deaf, those 
 looks reanimate a skeleton. Eraile compared her 
 vaguely to a tragedy of Shakspeare, a wonderful 
 arabesque, where joy shrieks, where love has I know 
 not what of savager}', where the magic of grace and 
 the fires of happiness succeed the wild tumults of anger ; 
 a monster who can bite and fondle, laugh like a demon, 
 weep as the angels, improvise in a single embrace all 
 the seductions of womanhood, except the sighs of sad- 
 ness and the pure transporting modest}' of a virgin, — 
 and then, in another instant, roar, and tear her bosom, 
 and destroy her passion and her lover and herself like 
 an insurrectionar}' mob. 
 
 She wore a robe of crimson velvet, and advanced 
 to the two friends, treading heedlessly underfoot the 
 scattered flowers already fallen from the heads of her 
 companions, and holding out with disdainful hands a 
 silver tray. Proud of her beautv, proud perhaps of her 
 
76 The Magic Skin. 
 
 vices, she exhibited a white arm brilUantly relieved 
 against the velvet. She stood there like the queen of 
 pleasure, like an image of human joy, the joy that dissi- 
 pates the hoarded treasures of generations, that laughs 
 in presence of the dead, that mocks at age, dissolves 
 pearls, casts awa}' thrones, transforms young men to old 
 ones, and makes old men young, — that joy permitted 
 onl}^ to giants among men when wearied of power, tried 
 in thought, or to whom war has become an amusement. 
 " What is your name?" Raphael asked her. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! do you come from ' Venice Preserved '?" 
 cried Emile. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "The popes take new 
 names when they mount above the heads of men ; and 
 so I took another when I rose above the heads of 
 women." 
 
 " And have j^ou, like your patron lad}', a noble and 
 terrible conspirator who loves 3'ou enough to die for 
 3'ou?" said Emile quickly, roused by the poetic sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 " I had," she answered, " but the guillotine was my 
 rival. That is why I alwa3's wear some scarlet fripper}' 
 — lest my joy should go too far." 
 
 " Oh ! if you let her tell j'ou the history of the four 
 3'oung men of La Rochelle, there will be no end to it. 
 Hold your tongue, Aquilina ! Does n't every woman 
 mourn a lover? — though they don't all, like you, have 
 the satisfaction of losing them on a scaffold. For m}^ 
 part, I 'd rather think of mine sleeping in a pit at 
 Clamart than in my rival's arms." 
 
 These words were said in a soft, melodious voice by 
 
The Magic Skin. 77 
 
 le prettiest, daintiest, most innocent Kttle creature 
 that ever issued from an enchanted egg at the touch of 
 a fairy's wand. She had approached them noiselessh', 
 and the^' now saw her fragile form and delicate face, 
 with its ravishing blue e^es full of modest}', and the 
 fresh, pure brow. A naiad escaped from her mountain 
 stream were not more timid, more fair, more simple than 
 this 3'oung girl, who seemed to be about sixteen years 
 old, ignorant of love, ignorant of evil, unknowing of 
 the storms of life, and as if petitioning angels to recall 
 her to the skies before her time. In Paris alone do 
 we meet with such creatures, whose candid faces mask 
 beneath a brow as pure and tender as the petal of a 
 daisy the deepest depra\-it3^ and the subtlest "vice. 
 Emile and Raphael accepted the coffee which she 
 poured into the cups that Aquilina held, and then be- 
 gan to question her. Little by little she transfigured 
 to the e3'es of the two poets, as b}" a baleful allegorj*, an 
 aspect of human life, — holding up, in contrast to the 
 fierce and passionate expression of her imposing com- 
 panion, a picture of cold corruption, voluptuously' cruel, 
 thoughtless enough to commit a crime, strong enough 
 to laugh at it ; a species of devil without a heart, who 
 punishes tender and affluent souls for experiencing the 
 feelings of which she is deprived ; never without some 
 cant of love to sell, a tear for the coffin of a victim, and 
 a laugh at night over a bequest. Poets would have 
 admired Aquilina ; but the whole world would have fled 
 Eiiphrasia. The one was the soul of vice ; the other was 
 vice Without a soul. 
 
 *' I should like to know," Emile said to the pretty 
 creature, " if vou ever think of the future?" 
 
 J 
 
78 The Magic Skin. 
 
 " The future?" she answered, laughing. " What do 
 3'ou call the future ? Why should I think about a thing 
 that doesn't yet exist? I never look either forward or 
 back. Don't you think that one day at a time is enough 
 for anybody? Besides, we all know what the future is ; 
 it is the hospital." 
 
 '' How can jou look forward to the hospital and not 
 try to avoid it ? " cried Raphael. 
 
 ''What is there so dreadful in the hospital?" asked 
 the terrible Aquilina. ''If we are neither wives nor 
 mothers, if old age puts black stockings on our legs 
 and wrinkles in our faces, and blasts all that is left 
 ^f a woman within us, and kills our welcome in the e3'es 
 of our friends, where else can we go ? You see nothing 
 in us then but original sin on two legs, cold, withered, 
 stiff, and rattling like the leaves in autumn. Our pretti- 
 est furbelows become mere rags, the ambergris that 
 perfumes our boudoirs gets the odor of the grave, and 
 smells like a dead body ; and then, if there 's a heart in 
 this bit of mud you insult it ; 3'ou will not even let it 
 keep a memory. Whether we are then in a great man- 
 sion taking care of dogs, or in a hospital sorting bandages, 
 is n't life for us exactly the same thing? Suppose we tie 
 up our white hairs in checked handkerchiefs, or hide them 
 under laces ; sweep the streets with a broom or the steps 
 of the Tuileries with our satin petticoats ; sit at ease by 
 a gilded fireplace, or keep warm over the cinders in an 
 earthen pot ; see the pla^^ at tlie opera or on the place de 
 Greve, what difference is there for us?" 
 
 " Aquilina mia^ 3'ou never said greater truth than 
 that in the midst of all your troubles," returned Eu- 
 phrasia. " Yes, cashmeres, and perfumes, and gold, 
 
 « 
 
The Magic Skin. 79 
 
 and silk, and luxurj^ and all that shines and gives 
 pleasure is onl}' fit for youth. Time alone can get the 
 better of follies, but happiness meantime absolves them. 
 You laugh at what I sa}'," she cried, with a venomous 
 look at the two 3'oung men ; " but am I not right? I 'd 
 rather die of pleasure than disease. I have n't a mania 
 for perpetuity, nor much respect for the human species, 
 seeing what God has let it come to. Give me miUions 
 and I '11 spend them ; I will not keep a penn}- for next 
 year. Live to please and reign, — that is the teaching of 
 every pulse in my body. Society bears me out ; is n't 
 it all the time furnishing means for me to dissipate? 
 Why else does the good God give me every morning 
 the money for what 1 dispense at night? Wh}" else do 
 you build us hospitals? AYe are certainly not placed 
 between good and evil to choose what hurts and bores 
 us ; and therefore should n't I be a great fool not to 
 enjo}' m3'self ? " 
 
 " How about others? " said Emile. 
 
 "Others? oh, let them manage for themselves. I'd 
 rather laugh at their sufferings than cr}' for my own. 
 I defy a man to cause me an instant's pain." 
 
 '* What must j'ou have suffered before 3'ou came to 
 such thoughts ! " said Raphael. 
 
 '' I have been deserted for money ; 3'es, I," she said, 
 taking an attitude that showed off all her seductions. 
 '' And 3'et 1 had passed nights as well as days in work- 
 ing to feed my lover. I will no longer be the dupe 
 of smiles, nor of an}' promise ; I mean to make m}" life 
 one long festivity." 
 
 "But," cried Raphael, "happiness can come only 
 through the soul." 
 
^x 
 
 w,..^ 
 
 80 
 
 ^^'m(^' 
 
 The Magic Skin, ^ Iv^'-^^ / 
 
 "Well," said Aquilina, "isn't it happiness to be 
 admired and flattered ; to triumph over all other women, 
 even the virtuous ones, and crush them with our beauty 
 and our luxury-? We have more of life in one day than 
 those good women in ten 3'ears, and that 's the whole 
 
 of it." UjlJU 
 
 " What is there so odious as a woman wmSrili virtue ? ** 
 Emile said to E'aphael. (^^.-MX^^Uy^yyU^li, 
 
 Euphrasia flung them a viperous look, and answered -" 
 with inimitable irony ^ "Virtue! we leave that to the 
 frights and the hunchbacks ; what would the}^ be with- 
 out it, poor things ! " 
 
 "Come, be silent!" said Emile; "don't talk of 
 things you know nothing of." 
 
 " Don't I know anything ! " replied Euphrasia. " To 
 give one's self all one's life to a hated being ; to bring up 
 children who desert you, and to say 'Thank you ' when 
 they stab you in the breast, — those are the virtues 3 ou 
 command a woman to have ! And then, to compensate 
 her for her self-denials, you tr3^ to seduce her and heap 
 sufferings on her ; if she resists, you compromise her. 
 A fine life that ! better be free and love those who 
 please us, and die young." 
 
 " But are 3'ou not afraid of the penalty?" 
 
 "No," she replied. "Instead of mixing my pleas- 
 ures with griefs, I prefer to cut m}' life into two parts, 
 — a joyous 3'outh, and I know not what uncertain old 
 age, during which I shall suffer at my ease." 
 
 "She has never loved," said Aquilina, in a deep 
 voice. " She has never tramped a hundred miles with 
 passionate delight to win a glance and a rejection ; she 
 never bound her life to a lock of hair, nor tried to stab 
 
I 
 
 The Magic Skin. 81 
 
 hedge of men to save her sovereign, her lord, her 
 God. Love, for her, was a jaunty colonel ! " > 
 
 "Ha, ha! La Rochelle," laughed Euplirasia, "love j 
 is like the wind ; we know not whence it comes, nor I 
 whither it goeth. If you had ever been loved by a stupid \ 
 beast, you would have a horror of men of wisdom." 
 
 " The Code forbids that," retorted Aquihna, ironicall3\ 
 
 "I thought 3'ou had more compassion for soldiers," 
 cried Euphrasia, laughing. 
 
 "Ah, well! are not they happ}^ to be able to lay 
 aside their intellects ? " said Raphael. 
 
 "Happy!" said Aquilina, with a smile of pit}' and 
 of terror, as she cast an awful look at the two friends, — 
 " Happ3' ! Ah, who knows what it is to be condemned 
 to pleasure with death in one's heart." 
 
 Whosoever had looked with an observing 63-6 upon 
 the scene in this salon would have seen Milton's Pan- 
 demonium anticipated. The blue flames of the circu- 
 lating punch gave an infernal color to the faces of those 
 who were still able to drink. Frantic dances, prompted 
 b}' brutal vigor, went on ; excited laughter and shouts 
 exploded like fireworks. Strewn, as it were, with dead 
 and dying, the salon was like a battlefield. The at- 
 mosphere was hot with wine, with pleasures, and with 
 speech. Intoxication, passion, delirium, forge tfulness 
 of the world, were in all hearts, in all faces, written on 
 the floors, sounding in the riot, and flung like a veil 
 across ever3' face in seething vapors. A shining dust, 
 like the luminous track of a ray of sunshine, shimmered 
 in the room, across which glanced eccentric forms and 
 grotesque struggles ; here and there groups of con- 
 fused figures mingled and were confounded with the 
 
82 The Magic Skin, 
 
 marble masterpieces of sculpture which decorated the 
 apartment. 
 
 Although the two friends still preserved a doubtful 
 intelligence in their ideas and in their conduct, — a last 
 quiver, as it were, of their own lives, — it was now im- 
 possible for them to distinguish what was real from 
 what was visionar3' in the fantastic scene ; nor what was 
 possible and actual in the supernatural pictures which 
 passed like a panorama before their wearied eyes. The 
 atmosphere, sultrj- with visions and with the ardent 
 sweetness which moves upon the surface of our dreams ; 
 above all, the inward impulse to an activity- that was 
 loaded with chains, — in short, the phenomena of sleep 
 attacked them so powerfully that the scenes of this 
 orgy seemed to them at last like the ^)antomime of a 
 nightmare, where movement is noiseless and sound is 
 lost to the ear. 
 
 At this crisis the confidential servant of the giver of 
 the feast succeeded, not without difficulty, in attracting 
 his master's attention and drawing him into the ante- 
 chamber to whisper in his ear: " Monsieur, the people 
 in the neighboring houses are at their windows, and 
 complain of the uproar." 
 
 '' If they are afraid of noise, can't the}' spread straw 
 before their doors ? " replied Taillefer. 
 
 Raphael suddenly burst into a roar of such tempes- 
 tuous, incontinent laughter that Emile asked him the 
 meaning of his brutal delight. 
 
 " You can hardly understand me," he replied. " In 
 the first plafe I must confess that 3'ou stopped me on 
 the quai Voltaire at the moment when I was about to 
 drown myself. No doubt you will want to know the 
 
 y^ 
 
r 
 
 ^^hotives foi 
 
 The Magic Skin, 83 
 
 lotives for mj' suicide. But if I sa}' that hy an almost 
 magic chance the poetic ruins of material worlds had 
 just passed before m^' e3'es, like a s3'mbolic demonstra- 
 tion of human wisdom, and that now, at this moment, 
 all the intellectual truths that we ransacked at table are 
 brought to a point in these two women, — the living 
 representatives of the follies of life, — and that our deep 
 indifference to men and things has seized as a means 
 of transition between the highly wrought pictures of 
 two S3'stems of existence, diametrically opposed to each 
 other, will you be a particle the wiser? If 30U were 
 not drunk you might perhaps see in all that a treatise 
 on philosophy." 
 
 " If 3^our two feet were not resting on that delightful 
 Aquilina, whose heavy breathing has a certain analog3' 
 to the mutterings of an approaching storm," replied 
 Emile, who was himself twining his fingers in Euphra- 
 sia's hair, without reall3' noticing his innocent occupa- 
 tion, " 3'ou would blush at your drunken chatter. Your 
 two S3'stems can be uttered in a single sentence, and 
 reduced to a single thought. A simple and mechanical 
 life leads to senseless wisdom by stifling our minds in 
 toil ; whereas a life passed in the vague immense of 
 abstractions, or in the depths profound of the moral 
 world leads to the folUes of wisdom. P In a word, kill 
 emotions if you want to live to old age, or die 3'oung 
 accepting the mart3'rdom of our passions, — that 's our 
 doom^ And, I ask you, is such a doom out of keeping 
 with the temperaments bestowed upon us b3' the rough 
 jester to whom we owe the pattern of mankind?'* 
 
 " Fool ! " cried Raphael, interrupting him. " Go on 
 abridging yourself at that rate, and you '11 write vol- 
 
^ 
 
 84 The Magic Skin. 
 
 umes. If I pretended to formulate those two ideas, I 
 should tell 3'ou that man corrupts himself b}^ the exer- 
 '" cise of his reason, and purifies himself b}' ignorarice*, 
 i That 's the indictment of all societies. But whether we 
 I live with the wise or die with the fools, the result is, 
 sooner or later, the same. Moreover, the grand ab- 
 stracter of quintessences has alread}' expressed those 
 two systems b}^ two words : Carymary, Carymara." 
 
 " You make me doubt the power of God, for 3'ou are 
 more stupid than he is powerful," replied Emile. " Our 
 beloved Rabelais has summed up that philosophy in 
 fewer syllables than Carymary, Carymara; in the Per- 
 haps from which Montaigne took his Hovn do I know f 
 Besides, these modern words of moral science are noth- 
 ing more than the exclamation of P3Trho, the father of 
 scepticism, halting between good and evil Hke the ass 
 of Buridan between two measures of oats. But do let 
 us drop these everlasting discussions which can only 
 end nowadays in a j^es or a no. What sensation did 
 you want to experience b}^ throwing yourself into the 
 Seine? Were you jealous of that hydraulic machine on 
 the pont Notre-Dame ? " 
 ^ " Ah ! if 3'OU only knew mj' life." 
 / " Why, my dear fellow," cried Emile, " I did not 
 / think 3^ou so commonplace ; that remark is used up. 
 \ Don't you know that everybody suflfers more than any- 
 ^ body else?" 
 
 " Ah ! — " cried Raphael. 
 
 *^ You are absolutel}' burlesque with 3'our 'ah!* 
 Come, tell me what disease of soul or bod3' obliges 
 3'ou to drive home ever3^ morning, b3" some contraction 
 of your muscles, the horses which ought by rights to 
 
The Magic Skin. 85 
 
 quarter 3011 the night before like those of Damiens? 
 Have 3'ou eaten 3'our dog raw, without salt, in 3'our 
 garret? Have 3'our children cried to 3-ou, 'Give us 
 bread ' ? Have 3'Ou sold 3'our mistress's hair for a last 
 napoleon at the gambhng-table ? Have 3'Ou paid awa3" 
 a sham note on a false uncle and know it won't pass ? 
 Come, 1 am read3' to listen. If 3'ou intended to fling 
 3'ourself into the river for a woman, or a protested note, 
 or because 3'ou were tired of life, I repudiate you. 
 Confess 3'ourself, and don't lie ; I won't ask for strict 
 iiistoricnl facta. Above all, be as brief as your drunken- 
 
 natural history of hearts, — 10 name ILl..: 
 them in species, sub-species, families, Crustacea, fossils, 
 saurians, animalculne, and heaven knows what, — then, 
 m3' dear friend, it will be found that some are as ten- 
 der and delicate as a flower broken b3' a touch of which 
 il'je mineral heart is utterl3' unconscious." 
 
 " Oh ! for heaven's sake, spare me the preface," 
 cried Emile, with a look that was half-merr3', half-piti- 
 /tul, as he took his friend's hand. 
 
86 The Magic Skin, 
 
 PART II. 
 THE WOMAN WITHOUT A HEART. 
 
 After remaining silent for a moment Raphael said, 
 
 : J- t i :( ally know whether the fumes of paneh a*. 
 wutc iiiivc, ui have not, something J^ do with^a speci. 
 ot liH'iuity of mind which enables me at this moioent 
 whole of my life as though it were a picttitv 
 . uLires, color?? lights, sliadowSj and half-tints ^iic 
 faithfully rendered. This poetic play of my imagina- 
 tion would not surprise me if it were not accompanied 
 by a feeling of contempt for m}' sufferings and for my 
 former joys. Seen from a distance, m}' life seems as 
 though shrunken b}' some moral phenomenon. This 
 long, slow agon}' which has lasted ten 3'ears, can to- 
 night be reproduced b^^ a few sentences, in which 
 suffering is no more than a thought, and pleasure a 
 philosophical reflection. I now pass judgment ; I feel 
 nothing." 
 
 *' You are as wearisome as an amendment in process 
 of elucidation," cried Emile. 
 
 "Possibly," replied Raphael, without resentment. 
 "And, therefore, to relieve your ears I spare you the 
 first seventeen 3'ears of my life. Till then I lived, like 
 you and a thousand others, the school and college life 
 
The Magic Skin. 
 
 whose fancied troubles and real joys are the deligh*.- 
 of memory ; a life whose Frida}' vegetables our pai: - 
 pered stomachs desire — so long as they cannot g I 
 them — that happy life whose toil may now seem co • 
 temptible, but which, nevertheless, trained us • 
 labor — " 
 
 " Get to the stor}'," said Emile, in a tone half-comic, 
 half-plaintive. 
 
 *' When I left college," resumed Raphael, " my father 
 subjected me to severe discipline ; he made me sleep in 
 a room adjoining his stud}' ; I went to bed at nine, and 
 got up at five. He meant me to stud}' law conscien- 
 tiously ; and I did so, both at the law-school and in a 
 lawyer's office. But the rules of time and distance 
 were so rigidly applied to my walks and my studies, 
 and at dinner my father inquired so closelj- into them — " 
 
 " What's all that to me? " said Emile. 
 
 " The devil take you ! " replied Raphael. " How am 
 I to make you understand m}' feelings unless I tell you 
 the facts that imperceptibly influenced my soul, en- 
 slaved it to fear, and kept me a long time in the primi- 
 tive simplicity of youth? Until I was twenty-one years 
 old I succumbed to a despotism as cold as any monastic 
 rule. To sliow 3'ou the dreariness of my life, I need 
 only picture my father. He was a tall, slender man, 
 with a hatchet face and a pale complexion ; concise in 
 speech, as fond of teasing as an old maid, and pre- 
 cise as an accountant. His paternity overshadowed, 
 like a leaden dome, all m}' livelv and joyous thoughts. 
 If I tried to show him a soft and tender feeling he 
 treated me like a child who had said a silly thing. I 
 dreaded him far more than you and I ever feared a 
 
88 The Magic Skin, 
 
 school-master; and to him I was never more than 
 eight 3'ears old. I think I see hira now. In his 
 maroon- colored overcoat, standing as straight as a 
 paschal taper, he looked like a smoked herring wrapped 
 in the reddish cover of an old pamphlet. And yet 
 loved him, for in the main he was just. Perhaps w 
 never reall}' hate severity if it accompanies a noble 
 character and pure conduct, and is occasionally inter- 
 mingled with kindness. If m}' father never left me 
 alone, if, up to the age of twent}', he never allowed me 
 to spend as I pleased ten francs, ten rascall>', vaga- 
 bond francs, — a treasure whose possession, vainly 
 coveted, made me dream of ineffable delights, — at least 
 he endeavored to procure me a few amusements. After 
 promising me a pleasure for several months, he took me 
 to the Bouffons, to a concert, and a ball, where I hoped 
 to meet with a mistress. A mistress ! to me she was 
 independence. Shamefaced and timid, and ignorant of 
 the jargon of societ}', where I knew no one, I came 
 home with a heart still fresh, but swollen with desires. 
 Then, on the morrow, bridled like a troop-horse b}' my 
 father, I went hack to m}' office and the law-school 
 and the Palais. To try to escape the regular routine 
 he had laid out for me would have been to excite his 
 anger ; he always threatened to ship me to the Antilles 
 as a cabin-boy if I did wrong. I used to tremble hor- 
 ribl}' when occasionallj' I ventured off for an hour or 
 two in quest of some amusement. Realize, if you can, 
 a vagrant imagination, a tender heart, a poetic soul, 
 ceaselessly in presence of the stoniest, coldest, most 
 melancholy nature in the world ; in short, marr}- a 
 3'Oung girl to a skeleton, and 3'ou will have some idea 
 
 i 
 
The Magic Skin. 89 
 
 of an existence whose curious inward tumults can onl}' 
 be related, — ideas of flight checked b}' the mere aspect 
 of m}" father, desperation calmed b}' sleep, desires 
 repressed, gloom and melancholy charmed away b}' 
 music. I exhaled mj' miser\- in melod}'. Beethoven, 
 and Mozart were often my faithful confidants. 
 
 "To-day I smile as I recollect the scruples which 
 troubled m}' conscience at this period of m}' innocence 
 and virtue. If I had set foot in a. restaurant I should 
 have thought mj'self ruined ; my imagination made me 
 regard a cafe as a place of debaucherj', where men lost 
 their honor and risked their fortunes ; as to mj' risking 
 monej' at play, I must first have had some. No matter 
 whether I send j'ou to sleep or not, I must tell yon one 
 of the terrible joys of my life, — one of those joys that 
 sometimes come to us, armed with claws which are 
 driven into our hearts like the red-hot iron into the 
 slioulder of a galley-slave. 
 
 " I was at a ball at the Due de Navarreins*, a cousin 
 of m}" father. To understand my position thoroughly 
 3'ou must know that m}' coat was shabby and my slioes 
 ill-nlade ; I wore a coarse cravat and gloves that had 
 been worn ahead}'. I stood in a corner so that I 
 could take the ices as the}- passed me, and watch the 
 pretty women at my ease. My father noticed me. 
 For some reason which I could never guess, he gave 
 me his purse and his keys to keep for him. Close by 
 me a number of men were playing cards. I heard the 
 chink of gold. I was twent}' years old, and I had often 
 longed to pass a whole da}- plunged in the crimes of 
 my age. It was a Hbertinism of the mind, an analog}' 
 to which cannot be found in the whims of a courtesan. 
 
90 The Magic Skin. 
 
 nor in the dreams of a 3'oung girl. For a year 
 I liad fancied myself driving in a carriage with a 
 beautiful woman beside me, assuming the great man, 
 dining at Very's, going to the theatre in the evening, 
 determined not to return to my father till the next 
 day, and then armed to meet him with an adventure 
 as complicated as the Mariage de Figaro, the results of 
 which he could not shake off*. I had estimated all this 
 happiness at a hundred and fifty francs. I was still, 
 you see, under the innocent charm of playing truant. 
 Hastily I turned into a boudoir, where, entirely alone, 
 my fingers trembling and my e^'es burning, I counted 
 my father's mone}^ — three hundred francs ! All my 
 imagined joj's, evoked b}' that sum, danced before me 
 like the witches of Macbeth around their caldron ; 
 but mine were alluring, quivering, delightful. I be- 
 came at once a resolute scoundrel. Without listening 
 to the buzzing in my ears, or to the violent beating of 
 my heart, I took two napoleons, — I still see them 
 before me ! Their dates and edges were worn down, 
 but Bonaparte's face was grinning on them. Re- 
 placing the purse in my pocket, I returned to the 
 card-table, holding the two pieces of gold in the damp 
 palm of my hand, and hovering round the plaj'ers like 
 a hawk over a poultry-yard. Filled with unspeakable 
 emotions, I suddenly threw a keen-sighted glance 
 around me. Certain that I was not observed by any 
 one who knew me, I put my stake with that of a fat 
 and jovial little man, on whose head I accumulated 
 more prayers and vows than are made in a tempest at 
 sea. Then with a rascally or a machiavelian instinct, 
 which was surprising at my age, I posted myself near 
 
The Magic Skin. 91 
 
 a door and gazed through the salons, without, how- 
 ever, seeing anything. M}' soul and my eyes were 
 upon that fatal green table behind me. 
 
 *' From that evening I date a first ph^^siological obser- 
 vation, to which I have since owed the species of pene- 
 tration which has enabled me to grasp and comprehend 
 certain mj'steries of our dual nature. M}" back was y^ 
 turned to the table where my future happiness was 
 at stake, — a happiness all the greater, perhaps, because 
 it was criminal. Between the players and mj-self was 
 a hedge of men, four or five deep ; the murmur of 
 voices drowned the chink of gold which mingled with 
 the notes of the orchestra ; yet in spite of all these 
 obstacles, and by a gift granted to the passions by 
 which the}' are enabled to annihilate time and space, 
 I distincth' heard the words of the two players, I saw 
 their hands, I knew which of them would turn up the 
 king, just as plainly' as if I had actually seen the 
 cards ; ten feet from the game I followed all its intri- 
 cacies. My father passed me at that instant, and I 
 understood the saying of the Scriptures, ' The Spirit 
 of God passed before his face.' I won ; I rushed to the 
 table, slipping through the eddying crowd of men, like 
 an eel through the broken meshes of a net. M3' fibres, 
 which had been all pain, were now all happiness. I 
 was like a convict on his wa}^ to execution, who meets 
 the king. As it happened, a man wearing the Legion 
 of honor claimed fort}' francs which he missed. I was 
 suspected b}' the ej'es about me, and I turned pale. 
 The crime of having robbed my father seemed to me 
 well punished. The fat Uttle man interfered, and said, 
 in a voice that seemed to mc actually angelic, * These 
 
92 The Magic Skin. 
 
 gentlemen all put down their stakes,' and paid the 
 forty francs. I raised my head and threw a trium- 
 phant glance at the 23layers. After replacing the gold 
 I had taken from my father's purse, I left my gains 
 with the worthy man, who went on winning. The 
 moment I saw that I had one hundred and sixt\' 
 francs, I wrapped them in my handkerchief so that 
 they could neither roll nor rattle during our return 
 home, and I played no more. 
 
 " ' What were you doing in the card-room?' asked 
 my father, as we were driving home. ' I was looking 
 on,' I answered, trembling. ' Well,' returned m}^ 
 father, ' there would have been ^ nothing out of the 
 way if you had bet a little mone}^ yourself on the 
 game. In the e3'es of the world 3'ou are old enough 
 to have the right to commit a few follies ; 3'ou had mj" 
 purse, and I should have excused 3'ou, Raphael, if you 
 had taken something out of it.' 
 
 " I could not answer. When we got home I returned 
 the keys and the purse to m}' father, who emptied the 
 latter on the fireplace, counted the gold, and then turned 
 to me with a rather kindly manner, saying in deliberate 
 tones, with pauses more or less significant between each 
 sentence : — 
 
 " ' M3' son, 3'ou are now twent}' ^ears old. I am 
 satisfied with 3'OU. You must have an allowance, if 
 only to teach you economj^ and give you a knowledge 
 of the things of life. You shall have in future one 
 hundred francs a month. That sum you can dispose 
 of as 3'OU please. Here is the first quarter for the 
 coming year,' he added, fingering the pile of gold as 
 if to be sure of the sum. I acknowledge that I came 
 
The Magic Skin. 93 
 
 near flinging mj'self at his feet, and declaring that I 
 was a robber, a scoundrel, and — worse than all — a 
 liar. Shame withheld me : I tried to kiss him, but he 
 repulsed me feebly. 
 
 ' ' ' You are now a man, m}" child,' he said. ' What 
 I do is a simple and proper thing, for which you need 
 not thank me. If I have a right to 3'our gratitude, 
 Raphael,' he continued in a gentler tone, but full of 
 dignity ; ' it is because I have saved 3'our j'outh from 
 the evils which blast 3'oung men. In future we will 
 be a pair of friends. You will take 3'our degree in the 
 course of a year. You have, not without some annoj'- 
 ance and certain privations, gained sterling friends, 
 and a love of work which is necessar3^ to men who are 
 to take part in the government of their countr}^ Learn, 
 Raphael, to understand me. I do not wish to make a 
 lawyer, nor 3'et a notar3' of 3'ou, but a statesman, who 
 ma3' one day become the glor3" of our unfortunate house. 
 We will talk of these things to-morrow,' he added, 
 dismissing me with a mysterious gesture. 
 
 "After that da3' m3' father frankl3^ told me all his 
 projects. I was an onl3' child, and m3' mother had been 
 dead ten 3'ears. M3' father, the head of a half-forgotten 
 historical famil3" in Auvergne, came to Paris. Gifted 
 with the keen perceptions which, when accompanied by 
 energ3', make the men of the south of France so supe- 
 rior to others, he attained to a position at the ver3^ 
 heart of power, without, however, possessing much out- 
 side influence. The Revolution destroyed his prospects ; 
 meantime he had married the heiress of a noble house, 
 and was able under the Empire to restore the famil3' to 
 its former aflSuence. The Restoration, which enabled 
 
94 The Magic Skin. 
 
 my mother to recover some of her property, ruined my 
 father. Having purchased estates given by the Emperor 
 to his generals, which were situated in foreign countries, 
 he struggled with lawyers and diplomatists and with 
 Prussian and Bavarian courts of justice in the effort to 
 retain possession of these contested gifts. M}^ father 
 now dragged me into the labyrinth of these important 
 suits, on which our prosperit}- depended. We might 
 be condemned to refund the accrued revenues, as well 
 as the value of certain timber cut from 1814 to 1816; 
 in which case m}'^ mother's property would barel^^ suffice 
 to save the honor of our name. 
 
 "And thus it happened that the day on which my 
 father seemed to emancipate me, I fell under a still 
 more cruel 3'oke. I was forced to fight as if on a battle- 
 field, to work night and daj^ to hang around men in 
 power and strive to interest them in our aff'airs, to 
 guess at their opinions, their beliefs, to wheedle them^ — 
 them and their wives and their footmen and their dogs, — 
 and to disguise the horrible business under elegant 
 manners and agreeable nonsense. Ah ! I learned to 
 understand the trials which had blasted mj^ father's 
 face. For a whole year I lived apparently the life of a 
 man of the world ; but this seeming dissipation and my 
 eagerness to become intimate with all who could be 
 useful to us, only hid an enormous labor. M3' anwise- 
 ments were to draw up briefs, m}^ conversations were 
 about claims. Up to that time I had been virtuous 
 from the impossibility of giving w^a}' to the passions of 
 a 3'oung man ; but now, fearing to cause m}' father's 
 ruin and my own by the slightest neghgence, I became 
 my own despot and I allowed myself neither a pleasure 
 
The Magic Skin. 95 
 
 nor an expense. When we are 3'oiing, when men and 
 things have not 3'et roughly brushed from our souls the 
 delicate bloom of sentiment, the freshness of thought, 
 the purity of conscience, which will not let us come to 
 terms with evil, we are keenh' sensitive to dut}' ; honor 
 speaks to us with a loud voice, and we are forced to 
 listen ; we are honest and not two-sided, — and such was 
 I at that time. I wished to justify my father's confi- 
 dence. Once I had robbed him of a paltry sum ; now, 
 sharing the burden of his troubles, of his name, and his 
 family honor, I would have given him all that I had 
 and all my hopes, just as I did actuallj' sacrifice to him 
 my pleasures, finding happiness in the sacrifice. 
 
 " So, when at last Monsieur de Villele exhumed, to de- 
 feat us, some imperial decree about forfeitures and limi- 
 tations, and we saw ourselves ruined, I signed away 
 m}' rights in our estates, keeping only a little island in 
 the Loire, where m}^ mother was buried. Perhai)s 
 sophistries, evasions, and political, philosophical, and 
 philanthropic arguments might to-day persuade me not 
 to do what our law3'ers then called a ' folly.' But at 
 one-and-twenty we a?'e, I repeat, all generosit\', warmth, 
 and love. The tears of relief which I saw in my father's 
 e3'es were to me the noblest of fortunes, and the recol- 
 lection of those tears has often since then consoled my 
 misery. 
 
 " Ten months after paying his creditors m}' father 
 died of a broken heart. He had loved me and he had 
 ruined me ; the thought killed him. Toward the close 
 of the autumn of 1825, when twent3'-two years old, I 
 followed, all alone, the body of my earliest friend, my 
 father, to its grave. Few young men have ever found 
 
96 The Magic Skin. 
 
 themselves more completel}^ alone with their thoughts, 
 behind a hearse, lost in the crowds of Paris, without a 
 future and without means. The foundlings of public 
 charity have at least a battle-field to look forward to, 
 the Government or the procureur du roi for a father, 
 the hospital for a refuge ; but I — I had nothing. 
 
 " Three months later the public administrator paid me 
 eleven hundred and twelve francs, the net proceeds of 
 the settlement of m}' father's estate. Our creditors had 
 forced me to sell all our furniture. Accustomed from 
 my childhood to set great value on the objects of art 
 and luxurv with which I was surrounded, I could not 
 help showing my surprise at this enforced relinquish- 
 ment of everything. ' Oh,' said the administrator,, 
 ' what matter? those things are all so rococo.' Odious 
 word, which destro^'ed the faiths of m^' childhood, and 
 deprived me of m}' earliest illusions, — the dearest of 
 all. M3' wealth was derived from the surplus of this 
 sale, — my future now lay in a linen bag which held 
 eleven hundred and twelve francs ; society" appeared 
 before me as an administrator's clerk who kept his hat 
 on his head. A valet, an old servant who was fond of 
 me, and to whom m}^ mother had left an annuit}' of four 
 hundred francs, old Jonathas, said to me as I left the 
 house from which in m}' childhood he had often taken 
 me joyously to drive in a carriage, ' Be ver}' econom- 
 ical. Monsieur Raphael.' Ah ! poor man, he wept ! 
 
 "Such, m3' dear Emile, were the events which con- 
 trolled m}' destin}', trained m}- soul, and forced me, 
 still 3'oung, into the falsest of all social positions," con- 
 tinued Raphael, after a pause. " FamiW ties might 
 still have led me to visit a few houses, if mj^ own 
 
I 
 
 The Magio Skin. 97 
 
 pride, and the contemptuous indift'erence of their mas- 
 ters had not closed the doors. Though related to 
 persons of high station who were lavish of their influ- 
 ence for strangers, I was left without friends or pro- 
 tectors. Checked in all its aspirations, m}' soul fell 
 back upon itself. B}' nature straightforward and frank, 
 I now seemed cold and dissimulating. My father's rigor 
 had destroyed my confidence in myself, I was timid 
 and awkward ; I could not believe that my presence had 
 any powev ; I was displeasing in my own eyes, ugly even ; 
 I was ashamed of my own appearance. In spite of the 
 inward voice which ought to sustain men of talent 
 through every struggle, and which did cry out to me, 
 ' Courage ! onward ! ' in spite of sudden revelations of 
 m3^ power to my own spirit in solitude, in spite, too, of 
 the hope which inspired me as I compared the best 
 works of the day with those that hovered in my brain, 
 I doubted nn'self as much as if I were a child. I was 
 a victim to extreme ambition ; I believed myself des- 
 tined to do- great things, yet I felt myself helpless. I 
 needed friends, but I had none. I ought to have made 
 myself a career in life, but I was forced to hang back 
 in solitude, — less timid, perhaps, than ashamed. 
 
 " During the year when my father sent me into the 
 vortex of Parisian society my heart was spotless and 
 my spirit fresh. Like all grown-up children, I secretl}' 
 longed for a great love. I met, among the young men 
 of my age, a set of vain-glorious fellows who carried 
 their noses in the air, talked nonsense, seated them- 
 selves without a tremor near to the most distinguished 
 women, sucked the heads of their canes, attitudinized, 
 and put, or pretended to put their heads on every 
 
98 The Magic Skin. 
 
 pillow, affecting to consider the virtuous and even the 
 most prudish women as an easy conquest, to be cap- 
 tured by a word, a bold gesture, or the first insolent 
 look. I declare to you on my soul and conscience that 
 the possession of power or great literary renown seemed 
 to me a triumph less difficult to attain than success with 
 a woman of high rank, young, witt^^ and gracious. I 
 found the troubles of m}' heart, my feelings, my beliefs, 
 out of tune with the maxims of societ3\ I was bold, 
 but in soul onl}' and not personally. I discovered too 
 late that women do not like to be begged for ; I have 
 seen man}- that I adored at a distance, to whom I would 
 have given a heart of proof, a soul to rend, an energy 
 that feared neither sacrifices nor suffering ; those women 
 were won b}' fools whom I would not hire as servants. 
 How man}' a time, silent and motionless, have I not 
 admired the woman of m}- dreams, floating through a 
 ball-room ! Devoting my existence in thought to eternal 
 caresses, I put m}' ever}' hope into a glance ; I offered 
 her, in m}^ ecstas}^ the love of a man in whom there 
 was no guile. At moments, I would have given my life 
 for a single hour of mutual love. Well ! I never found 
 an ear in which to pour my passionate proposals, nor 
 an e3'e on which m}- own might linger, nor a heart for 
 my heart; and thus I lived, in all the torments of a 
 powerless energy which consumed its own vitals, be- 
 cause I lacked either boldness, or opportunity, or ex- 
 perience. Perhaps I despaired of making myself 
 understood, or feared to be understood too well. 
 
 "And 3'et each courteous look bestowed upon me 
 raised a storm. In spite of m}- readiness to seize upon 
 such looks or words and consider them as tender ad- 
 
The Magic Skin. 99 
 
 vances, I have never dared at the right time to speak, or 
 refrain, with meaning looks, from speaking. My very 
 feelings made my words insignificant, and m}- silence 
 stupid. No doubt there was too much simplicity about 
 me for an artificial society that lives bj- lamplight, and 
 which utters its thought in conventional phrases or fash- 
 ionable words. I knew nothing of tlie art of speaking \] 
 by silence or of keeping silence by speech. And thus 1 
 lived on, — nursing within myself the fires that scorched 
 m^, gifted with a soul such as women desire to meet, a 
 prey to emotions for which they are eager, possessing 
 a vigor too often granted onl}^ to fools ; and yet it is 
 nevertheless true that women have been traitoroush' 
 cruel to me. How often have I honestly admired the 
 hero of some club as he boasted of his triumphs, never 
 suspecting him of falsehood. I was wrong, no doubt, to 
 expect a love that should be equal to mine ; to seek in the 
 heart of a frivolous and light-minded woman, hungry' 
 after luxur}-, drunken with vanity, that vast passion, 
 that mighty ocean which beat tempestuously in my 
 own breast. Oh ! to feel one's self born to love, able to 
 render a woman happy, ard to have found none, not 
 even a brave and noble Marceline nor some old mar- 
 quise ; to carry treasures about with us, and to meet 
 not so much as a child nor an inquisitive 30ung girl 
 ready to admire them ! — I often longed to kill mj'self 
 in despair — *' 
 
 " You are frightfully tragic to-night," cried Smile. 
 
 ''Well, let me curse m}' own life," replied Raphael. 
 " If your friendship is not strong enough to listen to ni}' 
 eleg3^, if 3'ou cannot make me the sacrifice of a half- 
 hour's ennui, then sleep ! But don't ask me again the 
 
100 The Magic Skin, 
 
 reason of m}' suicide which stands there, before me, and 
 beckons me, and to which I yield. Before you judge a 
 man you must know the secret of his thoughts, of his 
 sorrows, of his feelings ; not to be willing to know more 
 of his life than its material events, is to make it a chro- 
 nology, the historj" of fools." 
 
 The bitter tone in which these words were said struck 
 Emile so sharply that from that moment he gave his 
 whole attention to his friend's words, gazing at him in 
 a half-besotted wa}'. 
 
 " But," continued the narrator, " the light which time 
 and events have now shed on these conditions give them 
 another aspect. The order of things which I formerly 
 considered a misfortune, did perhaps give birth to 
 noble faculties in which later I took pride. (^The love 
 of philosophic research, excessive study, delight in 
 reading, which from the age of seven until I entered 
 societ}' were the constant occupation of my life, en- 
 dowed me with a facile power by which, if you and my 
 other friends are to be believed, I am able to give forth 
 my ideas and to march in the van through the vast 
 fields of human knowledge, j The neglect to which I 
 was accustomed, the habit of crushing down my feel- 
 ings and living in the solitude of my own heart, invested 
 me with powers of meditation and comparison. ; Bj^ not- 
 wasting my sensibilities in worldly excitements, which 
 belittle the noblest soul and reduce it to the level of 
 trifles, they became so concentrated as to be the perfected 
 organ of a will more powerful than the impulses of pas- 
 sion. Misunderstood as I was by women, I nevertheless 
 observed and judged them with the sagacity- of rejected 
 love. I can now see that the sincerity of my nature 
 
I 
 
 H The Magic Skin. 101 
 
 ^Baade me displeasing to them. Perhaps women prefer 1/ 
 ^Hi small amount of h3'pocris3\ I, who am bj^ turns, in 
 the course of an hour, man and child, thinker and 
 trifler, without prejudices and full of superstitions, 
 sometimes a woman like themselves, — ma^' thej' not 
 have mistaken m}' natural simplicity for C3'nicism, and 
 the purity' of my thoughts for licentiousness ? Science 
 was weariness of mind to them ; poetic languor weak- 1 
 ness. An extreme mobiUt\' of imagination, the mis- 
 fortune of poets, made me seem perhaps incapable of 
 love, without constanc}' of ideas, without vigor. Ap- 
 parenth' an idiot when I held m}' tongue, I seemed to 
 alarm them when I tried to please ; and so all women 
 condemned me. I accepted with tears of grief the 
 judgment of the world, but the punishment bore fruit 
 I longed to avenge myself on society. I desired to 
 possess the soul of all women by bringing to my feet 
 all minds, and seeing all e^'es fixed upon me when a 
 footman, opening the doors of salons, should announce 
 m}" name. Man}' a time, from childhood up, had I 
 struck my forehead, saying to myself, like Andre 
 Clienier, * There is something here ! ' I believed that 
 I^felr^ithin me a thought to utter, a system to estab- 
 lish, a science to explain. 
 
 "Oh, Emile! to-da^' I am barely twent^'-six years 
 old ; I am doomed to die unknown without possessing the 
 woman whose lover I dreamed of being, — let me there- 
 foie tell 3'ou of m}' follies. Have we not all, more or 
 less, taken our desires for realities? V^ Ah, I want no 
 man for a friend who has never crowned himself in his 
 dreams, never built himself a pedestal, nor believed in 
 a visionary- mistress. I, mj-self, have been general, 
 
102 The Magic Skin. 
 
 emperor, Byron, even, — then nothing. After flittmg, 
 as it were, along the ridge-pole of human things, I per- 
 ceived there were mountains above me, and difficulties 
 to conquerj The egregious self-conceit whicli boiled 
 within me, my sublime belief in a destin}-, — which be- 
 comes genius, perhaps, if a man does not let his soul be 
 caught and torn by contact with worldly interests, just 
 as a sheep leaves its fleece on the thorns of a thicket, — 
 these things saved me. I resolved to cover myself with 
 glory, and to work in silence for the woman I hoped to 
 win. All women w^ere summed up for me in that one 
 woman, and I fancied I should behold her in the first 
 I met ; then, finding a queen in all of them, I expected 
 them, like queens who are forced to make advances to 
 their lovers, to come to me. — to me, suffering, and poor, 
 and timid, as I was. , Ah ! for her who would thus have 
 pitied me, what wealth of gratitude, not to speak of love, 
 was in m}^ heart ; I could have adored her all her life. 
 Later, my observation told me cruel truths. 
 
 "And so, dear Emile, I came near living eternally 
 aIoner~ Women are wont, I hardly know through what 
 tendency of mind, to see chiefl}* the defects of a man 
 of talent and the merit of fools ; the}^ feel a sympathy 
 with the good qualities of the foolish man, for those 
 qualities perpetually flatter and conceal their own 
 defects ; while a superior man offers them scarcely 
 enough enjoyment to make up for his actual imperfec- 
 tions. Talent is certainly an intermittent fever; and 
 no woman wants to share its discomforts onlj^ ; they all 
 seek in their lovers something that satisfies their own 
 vanity. They love themselves in us. A poor man, 
 \proud, artistic, endowed with the power of creation, is 
 
The Magic Skin. 
 
 Iso gifted with too aggressive an egotism. His existJ 
 mce is a maelstrom of ideas and thoughts which inJ 
 volves all about him, and his mistress must follow Inj 
 the whirl. How can a petted woman believe in the! 
 love of such a man? Would she ever seek him? 8uchl 
 a lover has no leisure for the prett}' parodies of senti- 
 ment, the triumph of false and callous souls, to which 
 women attach so much importance. Time is all too 
 short for his labors, — how can he waste it in bedizening j 
 and belittling himself for a ball-room ? I could give m\' \ 
 life at a word, but I could not abase it to frivolit}'. 
 There is something in the behavior of a man who dances 
 attendance on a pale and lackmlaisical woman which is 
 repugnant to the true artist. The shows of love are not 
 enough for a man who is poor and 3'et great ; he wants 
 its devotion. The prett}- creatures who pass their lives 
 as la^' figures for the fashions, or in trN ing on a shawl, 
 have no devotion ; the}' exact it ; they see nothing in love 
 but the pleasure of commanding, — never that of obe} 
 ing. The true wife in heart and in flesh and bones 
 will let herself be drawn hither and thither where he 
 goes who is her life, her strength, her glor}', her happi- 
 ness. Superior men need women of oriental natures, 
 whose sole thought is the study of their needs ; to them, 
 a discord between their desires and the means of satis- j 
 fying them is suffering. ^'^, 
 
 "But I, who thought mj'self a man of genius, I 
 was attracted l\y the women of fashion and frivolity. 
 Brought up to ideas the reverse of those commonly 
 accepted, thinking that I could mount the skies with- 
 out a ladder, possessing treasures within me that had 
 no vent, bristling with knowledge which overloaded my \ 
 
 i/ 
 
 :/ 
 
104 The 3Iagic Shin, 
 
 niemorj', and was never fitly classified and therefore 
 never assimilated ; without relations, without friends, 
 alone in the midst of a hideous desert, a paved desert, 
 a living, thinking, moving desert, where *all was worse 
 than inimical, was indifferent to me, — the resolution 
 that I then took was natural, though wild. It brought 
 with it something, I can hardly tell you what, that seemed 
 impossible, and that consequently made a demand upon 
 ni}' courage. It was as though I played a game with 
 myself in which I was both the pla3'er and the stake. 
 This was ni}' plan : My eleven hundred and twelve 
 francs were to suffice for my livelihood for three 3'ears, 
 and I gave myself that time to bring out a work which 
 should attract public attention and give me either fame 
 or mone}'. I rejoiced in the thought that I should live 
 on bread and milk like an Egyptian hermit, plunged in 
 the world of ideas and books, a sphere inaccessible in 
 the midst of this tumultuous Paris, a sphere of labor 
 and of silence, where, like a chr3'salis, I might build m^'- 
 self a tomb from which to rise, new-born, in fame and 
 brilliancy. I was about to risk death that I might live. 
 B}' reducing existence to its actual needs, I found that 
 three hundred and sixty-five francs a 3ear would suffice 
 to sustain life. That meagre sum did actually' support me 
 so long as I subjected myself to cloistral discipline — " 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried Emile. 
 
 " I lived three 3^ears in that way," replied Raphael, 
 with a sort of pride. "Count it up. Three sous for 
 bread, two sous for milk, three sous for pork, kept me 
 from dying of hunger, and brought m3' mind to a con- 
 dition of singular lucidit3'. I have studied, as you 
 know, the remarkable effects produced by diet on the 
 
The Magic Skin. 105 
 
 Tmagination. My lodging cost me three sous a da}', 
 I burned three sous' worth of oil a night, I took care of 
 my own room, I wore flannel shirts to save two sous a 
 day in washing. I kept myself warm with coal, whose 
 cost divided among the days of the year was onh- two 
 sous for each day. I had clothes and linen and foot- 
 gear enough for three 3'ears, but I dressed onl\- when I 
 went to certain public lectures, and to the libraries. 
 These expenses amounted to eighteen sous a da}^ and 
 I still had two sous daily for unexpected wants. I 
 remember that I never during those three years crossed 
 the pont des Arts, nor did I ever buy any water; I 
 fetched all I wanted from the fountain in the place 
 Saint-Michel, at the corner of the rue des Gres. Oh ! 
 I bore m}' poverty proudly. A man who foresees a 
 splendid future goes through a period of penur}' like an 
 innocent man on his wa}' to the scaffold ; he feels no 
 shame. I would not allow myself to dread illness. 
 Like Aquilina, I faced the hospital without fear. But 
 I never for a moment doubted my good health. Be- 
 sides, it is only the hopeless who lie down to die. I 
 cut my own hair, until the moment when an angel of 
 love or of goodness — 
 
 ''But I will not anticipate. What I want you to 
 know, dear friend, is that, in default of a mistress, 
 I lived with a great thought, with a dream, with a lie 
 which we all begin by believing, more or less. To-da}^ 
 I laugh at myself, — that myself, possibly saintly and 
 sublime, which no longer exists. Societ}', the world, 
 our manners and customs and morals seen near by, 
 have shown me the dangers of my innocent belief, and 
 the needless waste of my fervent labors. Such equip- 
 
106 The Magic Skin. 
 
 rnents are worse than useless to the ambitious ; light 
 should be the baggage of him who pursues fortune. 
 It is a fault of superior men that thej' spend their 
 youthful years in making themselves worthy of favor. 
 While the poor man heaps up treasures of his own 
 strength and of science, to bear the strain of a power 
 that escapes him, mere schemers, rich in words, and 
 wanting in ideas, go and come, electrify fools, and win 
 the confidence of ninnies ; the one studies, the others 
 move about ; the one is modest, the others bold ; the 
 man of genius subdues his pride, the schemer flaunts 
 his and inevitably succeeds. Men in power are so 
 anxious to find merit ready-made, and a brazen show 
 of intellect, that it is childish in a true man of sci- 
 ence to hope for human rewards. I certainly" am not 
 trying to paraphrase the common doctrines ab(5iit vir- 
 tue, — that Song of Songs forever sung by neglected 
 genius./! I simpl}' seek to draw a just conclusion from 
 the frequent successes obtained by mediocre men. ] 
 Alas ! study is so motherly and kind that it seems 
 almost a crime to ask her for other than the pure and 
 gentle joys with which she nourishes her children. 
 
 " I remember how often I gayly dipped m}' bread into 
 m\" milk, sitting near my window to breathe the air, 
 and letting my eyes wander over a landscape of brown, 
 gra}', and red roofs, some of slate, some of tiles, cov- 
 ered with mosses gray or green. If at first this 
 outlook seemed to me monotonous, I soon discovered 
 singular beauties in it. Sometimes, after dark, bright 
 gleams of light, escaping from a half-closed blind, 
 shaded and animated the dark depths of this original 
 landscape, or the pale gleam of the street-lamps sent 
 
The Magic Skin. 107 
 
 ip j-ellow reflections through the fog, fainth* connecting 
 le streets with these undulating crowded roofs, like 
 ocean of stationary' waves. Sometimes strange 
 Igures made their appearance in the middle of this 
 Uill desert"; among the flowers of a hanging garden 
 could see the sharp, hooked profile of an old woman, 
 Catering her nasturtiums; or, framed hy a weather- 
 beaten dormer-window, a young girl stood dressing 
 and thinking herself alone, while I could just perceive 
 a handsome forehead, and the long coils of hair held, 
 up by a pretty arm. Here and there in the gutters 
 were a few stra\' plants, poor weeds soon scattered by 
 the wind. I studied the mosses when their colors 
 brightened, after a rain, from the dry brown velvet with 
 varying reflections into which the sun had dried them. 
 The fugitive and poetic effects of the daylight, the 
 gloom of the mists, the sudden sparkling of the sun, 
 the silence and magic of the night, the mysteries of 
 the dawn, the smoke of the various chimnejs, each 
 and all of the changes of this weird landscape were 
 familiar and interesting to me. I loved my imprison- 
 ment ; it was voluntar}'. These prairies of undulating 
 roofs which covered inhabited abysses, suited my soul 
 and harmonized with my thoughts. It is wearisome"^ 
 to encounter the world of social life when we descend i 
 from the celestial heights whither scientific meditations 
 have led us ; and for this reason I have alwa3-s thor- 
 oughly understood the bareness of monasteries. 
 
 " When I had full}' resolved to follow my new plan of 
 life, I looked for a lodging in the most deserted parts 
 of Paris. One evening, returning from the Estrapade, 
 T walked through the rue des Cordiers on my way home. 
 
108 The Magic Skin. 
 
 At the angle of the rue de Cluny I saw a little girl 
 about fourteen years of age, who was playing at battle- 
 dore with a number of conipanions, while their fun and 
 laughter amused the neighbors. The weather was fine, 
 the evening warm, and it was the latter part of Novem- 
 ber. Women were gossiping from door to door, as 
 though the}' were in some provincial town on a fete-day. 
 I took notice of the 3'oung girl, whose face was charmingly 
 expressive, and her figure a studj' for a painter. The 
 whole scene was delightful. I looked about to discover 
 the reason of this simple-hearted good-humor in the 
 middle of Paris ; seeing that 'the street was not a 
 thoroughfare, I concluded that few persons entered it. 
 Recollecting that Jean-Jacques Rousseau once hved 
 there, I sought and found the Hotel Saint-Quentin 
 whose dilapidated appearance encouraged me to hope 
 for cheap quarters, and I entered it. In the first low- 
 ceilinged room were the time-honored brass candle- 
 sticks, filled with common tallow candles, methodically 
 placed above a row of keys. I was struck with the 
 cleanliness of this room, usually ill-kept in other such 
 inns, but which here reminded me of a genre picture. 
 The blue bed, the utensils, the furniture, all had a cer- 
 tain air of social coquetr3\ The mistress of the house, 
 a woman of forty, whose face betrayed sorrows and 
 whose eyes seemed dulled b}' fears, came up to me ; 
 I humbl}' told her the sum I was able to pay, and 
 without showing surprise she took a ke^' from the line 
 of hooks and preceded me to the garret, where she 
 showed me a room that looked out over the roofs and 
 down into the courts of the neighboring houses, across 
 which clothes-lines loaded with linen were stretched 
 
The Magic Skin. 109 
 
 from window to window. Nothing could be more 
 odious tlian tliis room ; its dirty yellow walls, redo- 
 lent of povert}', seemed to call aloud for its penniless 
 student. The roof sloped on one side, and the dis- 
 jointed tiles left chinks through which the daylight 
 made its vva}'. There was room for a bed, a table, a 
 few chairs, and I could manage to squeeze ni}' piano 
 into a sharp angle of the roof. This cell, worthy of the 
 I^eads of Venice, was unfurnished, for the mistress of 
 the house was too poor to fit it up, and had therefore 
 never let it ; but having retained a few articles for my 
 own personal use from the sale of my furniture, I soon 
 came to terms with my hostess, and took possession of 
 my quarters on the following da}'. 
 
 " I lived nearly three years in this sky sepulchre, 
 working night and day without relaxation, but with such 
 delight that study seemed to me the noblest occupation, 
 the happiest solution of human life. In the calm, the 
 silence necessary to a student there is something not 
 to be described, as sweet and intoxicating as love. 
 The exercise of thought, the searching out of ideas, the 
 tranquil meditations of science, bring ineffable, inde- 
 scribable delights, — like all else that appertains to 
 intellect, whose phenomena are invisible to our exterior 
 senses. And yet we are forced to express the mysteries 
 of the spirit under some form of material comparison. 
 The delight of swimming in a pure lake, alone, among 
 rocks and woods and flower}- shores, caressed by a 
 warm breeze, may give to some a faint conception of 
 the happiness I felt as my soul bathed in the floods 
 of a mysterious light, as I listened to the awful and 
 confused voices of inspiration, and as, from some 
 
110 The Magic Skin. 
 
 unknown source, the waters rippled in my palpitating 
 brain. To see an idea dawn upon the field of human 
 apprehension, rising like the sun at daybreak, or better 
 still, growing like a child, attaining pubert}^ slowly 
 making itself virile, — ah ! that is a higher joy than all 
 other terrestrial joys ; it is, in fact, a divine pleasure. 
 Study invests all things about us with a sort of magic. 
 The ricket}' table at which I wrote, with its brown 
 sheepskin cover, my piano, mj' bed, mj' armchair, the 
 fantastic lines of the wall-paper, m}' furniture, — all these 
 things had life for me ; they were my humble friends, 
 the silent sharers of m}' destin}'. Man}^ a time have I 
 breathed out to them my soul. Often, as my eyes 
 rested on a defaced moulding, has m^^ mind caught 
 some new argument, some striking proof of the theory 
 1 was establishing, or certain words which happily de- 
 veloped (or so it seemed to me) thoughts that could 
 scarcely be interpreted. By dint of gazing at the 
 objects which surrounded me, each came to have its 
 individual countenance and character, each spoke to 
 me ; if the sun, setting below the roofs, threw a furtive 
 ray across m^' narrow window the}' grew ros3% or paled, 
 or shone, or grieved, or made merry, with ever new 
 effects and surprises. The trifling incidents of a life of 
 solitude, which pass unnoticed among the busy occupa- 
 tions of society, are the consolation of prisoners. Was 
 I not the captive of an idea, imprisoned in a theor}', 
 3'et supported and sustained by the beckoning nod of 
 fame? At each conquered difficulty I kissed the soft 
 hands of the rich and elegant woman with the beautiful 
 eyes who, methought, would some day caress m}- hair 
 and whisper tenderly, ' How 3'ou have suffered !' 
 
The Magic Skin. Ill 
 
 " I had undertaken two great works. A comedy which 
 might bring me swift renown, money, and entrance 
 into the world, where I wished to reappear with the 
 regal rights of genius. You all saw in that first master- 
 piece the initial blunder of a young man just out of 
 college, a sill}' effort of j'outh. Those jokes cut the 
 wings of my soaring illusions, and they have never 
 flown since. You, alone, dear Emile, soothed the 
 wound which others then made in m}' heart. You 
 alone have appreciated mj' ' Theory of the Will,' — that 
 long work for which I studied oriental languages, an- 
 atom}', and ph3'siolog\', and to which I devoted nearly 
 all m\' time. That work, if I am not mistaken, will 
 complete the labors of Mesmer, Lavater, Gall, and 
 Bichat, by opening a new road to human science. 
 
 " At this point, mj' grand, m}' noble life stopped short ; 
 here ended those consecrated days, that silk-worm's 
 toil unknown to the world, whose sole recompense is 
 perhaps in the toil itself. From the daj' I first exer- 
 cised mN' reason to that on which I ended my ' Theorj- ' 
 I observed, learned, wrote, and read without intermis- 
 sion ; my life was one long task. Loving oriental 
 indolence, cherishing rever}', pleasure-loving by nature, 
 I nevertheless denied myself every Parisian enjo3'ment. 
 Gourmand by inclination, I was ascetic in practice ; lik- 
 ing travel either by land or sea, wishing to visit foreign 
 countries, finding amusement, like a child, in skipping 
 stones upon the water, I remained seated in my chair, 
 pen in hand ; read\' and desirous of speech, I listened 
 silently' to the professors in the lecture-room of the 
 Bibliotheque and the Museum ; I slept upon my solitary 
 pallet like a Benedictine, and 3'et woman was my 
 
112 TJte Magic Skin. 
 
 dream, my vision, — a vision that I strove to caress as 
 it eluded me. My life was indeed a cruel antithesis, a 
 perpetual untruth. 
 
 "OVnd then, — see what men are! — sometimes m}^ 
 natural desires revived like a flame long smothered. 
 B}' a mirage, as it were, or possessed by that delirium 
 of green fields, I, deprived of all the mistresses that I 
 coveted, poor and lonel}- in my artist's garret, I fancied 
 m3'self surrounded with delightful women. I drove 
 through the streets of Paris on the soft cushions of a 
 brilliant equipage ! I was eaten up by vice, phinged in 
 excesses, wishing all and obtaining all ; drunk on fasting, 
 like Saint Anlhon^- when tempted. Sleep happil}' ex- 
 tinguished such maddening visions, and on the morrow 
 science recalled me with a smile, and to her 1 was ever 
 faithful. ^I imagine that women, thought virtuous, must 
 often be a pre}' to these wild tempests of passions and 
 desires which rise up in us despite ourselves. VSuch 
 dreams are not without charm ; the}' are like those 
 evening talks bj^ the fireside in w'hich we wander to dis- 
 tant lands. But what becomes of virtue during such 
 excursions, where thought overspiings all barriers? 
 
 " During the first ten months of m}' seclusion I led the 
 solitary and poverty-stricken life I have now depicted. 
 Every morning I went out earl}' and unseen, to buy my 
 provisions for the day ; I cleaned and arranged my 
 room ; I was servant and master both, and proudly I 
 Diogenized. By the end of that time, during which my 
 landlady and her daughter watched my behavior and 
 I^rinciples, examined into my personal life and under- 
 stood my poverty (perhaps because they themselves were 
 unfortunate), there had come to be strong ties between 
 
The Magic Skin. 113 
 
 Ins. Pauline, the charming child whose artless grace and 
 innocence had first led me to the house, did me many 
 services which it was impossible to refuse. All unfor- 
 tunate beings are sisters ; they speak the same language, 
 feel the same generosit}', — the generosity' of those who, 
 having nothing, are prodigal of feeling and give them- 
 selves and their time. Little by little, Pauline took 
 control of m}' room and waited on me ; to wiiich her 
 K mother made no objection. I saw the mother herself 
 *^ mending m}' linen and blushing when discovered in 
 that charitable occupation. Becoming thus in spite of 
 m^'self their protege, I accepted their kindness. To 
 understand this relation we must know the transports 
 of mental toil, the tyrann}- of ideas, the instinctive re- 
 pugnance for the pett}' details of material life, which 
 possess a man of genius. How could I resist the deli- 
 cate attention with which Pauline, stepping softl}', 
 placed my frugal food beside me, when she noticed that I 
 had eaten nothing for seven or eight hours ? With the 
 grace of a woman and the artlessness of a child, she 
 would smile with a finger on her lips, as if to tell me 
 that I must not notice her. She was Ariel gliding like 
 a sylph beneath my roof and foreseeing my needs. 
 
 "One evening Pauline with simple sincerity told me 
 their histor}'. Her father had commanded a squadron 
 of the grenadiers of the Imperial Guard. He was taken 
 prisoner b3' Cossacks at the passage of the Beresina. 
 Later, when Napoleon proposed to exchange him, the 
 Russian authorities searched Siberia in vain ; it was 
 said by other prisoners that he had escaped to India. 
 From that time Madame Gaudin, m}^ landlad}', had 
 heard nothing of her husband. The disasters of 1814 
 
 8 
 
114 The Magic Skin. 
 
 and 1815 occurred ; alone, without resources, she deter- 
 mined to keep a lodging-house for the support of lier- 
 self and daughter. The hope of recovering her husband 
 never left her. Her cruellest suffering came from the 
 necessit}' of leaving Pauline without education, — her 
 Pauline, the goddaughter of the Princesse Borghese, 
 now deprived of all the advantages promised hy her 
 imperial protectress. When Madame Gaudin confided 
 to me this bitter grief, which was literall}- killing her, 
 she said in heartrending tones : — 
 
 " ' I would gladly give Gaudin's rank as Baron of the 
 Empire and our rights in the endowment of Witzchnau, 
 if Pauline could be educated at Saint-Denis.' 
 
 " As she spoke a thought made me quiver; to repay 
 the care these two good women bestowed upon me I 
 offered to teach Pauline. The simplicitj' with which 
 they received the proposal was equal to that which dic- 
 tated it. I thus gained hours of recreation. The little 
 girl had charming qualities ; she learned with ease, and 
 she soon excelled me on the piano. Being encouraged 
 to think aloud when she was with me, she displayed a 
 thousand little prettinesses of a heart that opened to 
 life like the petals of a flower gentl}' unclosing to the 
 sun. She listened to what I said composedh' and with 
 pleasure ; fixing upon me her soft, velvety, black eyes, 
 which seemed to smile,' she repeated her lessons in a 
 sweet, caressing voice, and showed a childish joj^ when 
 I was satisfied with her. Her mother, growing daily 
 more and more anxious to preserve her from all danger, 
 and to let the graces of her nature grow and develop, 
 was pleased to see her given up to stud}'. My piano 
 was the onlj' one she could use, and she took advantage 
 
I 
 
 The Magic Skin, 115 
 
 of my absences to practise upon it. When I returned I 
 always found her in my room, in the humblest of dresses, 
 and 3'et at everj' movement of her supple bod}' the charms 
 of her figure could be seen beneath the coarse material. 
 Like the heroine of ^ The Ass's Skin,' she had a tiny 
 foot in a rough shoe. But all these prett}' treasures, this 
 wealth of girlish charm, this luxury of beauty was lost 
 upon me. I bade m3'self regard her as a sister, and I 
 should have shrunk with horror from betra3'ing her 
 mother's confidence. I admired the charming child 
 like a picture, like the portrait of some lost mistress. 
 She was my child, my- statue ; I was another Pygmalion, 
 seeking to make a living, blooming, thinking, speaking 
 virgin into marble. I was very severe with her, but 
 the more I made her feel my authority, the gentler and 
 more submissive she grew. A sense of honor strength- 
 ened and maintained m^' reserve and self-control. To 
 betray a woman and to become bankrupt have always 
 seemed to me one and the same thing. To love a young 
 girl, or let one's self be loved by her, constitutes a con- 
 tract whose conditions should be clearly understood. 
 We may abandoh the women who sell themselves, but 
 never the young girl who gives her love, for she is ig- 
 norant of the extent of her sacrifice. I might have 
 married Pauline, but it would have been madness. I 
 should have delivered over that gentle virgin soul to 
 unutterable misery. M3' povert}' spoke with its own 
 egotistical language, and placed its iron hand forever 
 between her soul and mine. 
 
 " I confess to my shame that I have no conception of 
 love in povert3'. It ma3' be a moral vitiation in me, due 
 to the human malad3' called civilization, but a woman, 
 
116 The Magic Skin, 
 
 be she as beautiful as Helen of Troy or Homer's Gala- 
 tea, has no power over m}- senses if she is squaUd. 
 Hail to the love in silks and satins, surrounded b^* those 
 marvels of luxury that adorn it so well, for it is itself, 
 perhaps, a luxurj'. I like to crumple in fancy. the crisp, 
 fresh dresses, to crush the flowers, and bury a devas- 
 tating hand among the elegantly' arranged tresses of a 
 perfumed head. Glowing eyes, hiding behind a veil of 
 lace, yet piercing it as flame tears through the smoke 
 of a cannon, offer me mysterious delights. My love 
 longs for silken ladders to scale in silence on winter 
 nights. What happiness to enter, covered with snow, a 
 lighted and perfumed chamber, tapestried with painted 
 silks, and to find there a woman covered like ourselves 
 with snow, — for how else shall we call those alluring 
 veils of muslin, through which she is vaguel}' seen like 
 an angel coming through a cloud? But my desires are 
 various ; I ask for timid happiness, and for bold secu- 
 rit}^ ; moreover, I wisU to meet my mysterious ideal in 
 the world, dazzling, 3'et virtuous, the centre of homage, 
 robed in laces, adorned with diamonds, giving laws to 
 social life ; so high in rank, and so imposing, that none 
 shall dare to seek her love. From the midst of such 
 courtly reverence she should fling me a side-glance, a 
 glance that made these adventitious charms of no ac- 
 count, a glance in which she sacrificed the world and 
 other men to me. How often have I not felt myself a 
 fool to love a few yards of blonde, or velvet, or fine 
 linen, the art of a hairdresser, carriages, titles, heraldic 
 blazons painted on glass or manufactured by a jew- 
 eller, — in short, all that is most artificial and least 
 womanlv in woman. I ridiculed myself, I reasoned 
 
The Magic Skin, 117 
 
 with myself, but all in vain. The refined smile of a 
 high-bred woman, the distinction of her manners, her 
 respect for her own person, enchant me ; the ver}" bar- 
 rier that she thus puts between herself and the world 
 flatters ever}' vanity' within me, and is the half of love. 
 Envied for the possession of such a woman, m}* felicitv 
 w^ould have a higher flavor. Bj* doing nothing that 
 other women do, neither moving nor living as the}' 
 do, wrapped in a mantle that the}' can never wear, 
 shedding a perfume of her own about her, my mistress 
 would seem to me more mine ; the farther she w^ere 
 removed from earth, even in all that makes love earthly, 
 the more beautiful she would be to my eyes. Happily, 
 France has been without a queen for twenty years, or 
 I should have loved the queen. But to have the ways 
 of a princess, a woman must needs be rich. 
 
 "In presence of such romantic fancies what was Pau- 
 line? Could she give me the love that kills, that forces 
 into play all human faculties, thai costs us life itself? 
 Who dies for the girls who give themselves, poor 
 things? I have never been able to overcome such 
 feelings as these, nor the poetic reveries they excite. 
 I was born for an impossible love, and fate has willed 
 that I should meet with something far beyond my 
 wishes. Many a time I have fancied Pauline's little 
 feet encased in satin slippers, her round waist, slender 
 as a young poplar-tree, imprisoned in a gauzy robe, a 
 lace scarf thrown about her neck and bosom, as I led 
 her down the carpeted stairs of a mansion to the car- 
 riage at the door. I should have adored her thus. I 
 gave lier, in fancy, a pride she never had ; I robbed 
 her of her virtues, her artless grace, her candid smile, 
 
118 The Magic Skin, 
 
 the simplicit}' of her nature ; I plunged her into the 
 Styx of our social vices ; I hardened her heart that she 
 might bear the burden of our sins, and become the 
 silly puppet of our salons, the languid creature who 
 lies in bed all da}^ and revives by night at the dawn 
 of a blaze of lamps. Pauline was all freshness, all feel- 
 ing, but I could only care for her if cold and hard. 
 
 " In the latter days of my madness I looked back to 
 Pauline as we do to some memory of our childhood. 
 More than once the recollection has deeply moved me ; 
 I recalled dehghtful moments ; once more I saw her 
 seated by my table with her sewing, — silent, tranquil, 
 composed, with faint lights from my garret window 
 falling in silvery reflections upon her ebon hair ; I heard 
 her girlish laughter, her voice, with its rich inflections 
 warbling the prett}- ballads she composed with ease. 
 Often my Pauline grew transfigured as she sang or 
 played, and at such times her face bore a striking 
 resemblance to the noble head by which Carlo Dole! 
 has represented Italy. My bitter memory flings that 
 innocent girl like a remorse across the excesses of my 
 life ; she stands before me the image of womanhood 
 and virtue. But let us leave her to her destiny. How- 
 ever wretched that may be, I have at least sheltered her 
 from the awful storms of m}^ existence, and refrained 
 from dragging her to the depths of m}^ own hell. 
 
 " Until last winter m}' life was the calm and studious 
 life I have tried to picture to you. Early in December, 
 1829, I met Eugene de Rastignac, who in spite of my 
 shabb}' clothes put his arm in mine, and inquired into 
 m}^ condition with brotherly interest. "Won by those 
 charming manners of his, I told him, briefly, about my 
 
The Magic Skin, 119 
 
 life and my hopes ; he laughed, and declared I was a 
 man of genius and a fool. His Gascon voice, his 
 knowledge of the world, his opulent style of living, 
 which he owes to his wits, have an irresistible power 
 over me. He declared I should die in a hospital, 
 ignored as an imbecile, pictured my funeral, and 
 buried me in a pauper's grave. Then he began to 
 expound charlatanism ; with the good-natured warmth 
 that makes him so attractive, he insisted that all men 
 of genius are humbugs. He declared I had one sense 
 lacking, and risked death if I persisted in staying alone 
 in the rue des Cordiers ; he urged me to return to 
 societ}', and make m}' name familiar in people's mouths, 
 and get rid of the humble monsieur^ which was ver}' 
 unbecoming to a great man during his lifetime. 
 
 '' ' Idiots call that kind of life time-serving,' he cried ; 
 'moral folks proscribe it as dissipated. Never mind about 
 men and their opinions, look at results. Here 3'ou are, 
 toiling incessantly, yet 3-ou '11 never accomplish anything. 
 Now I am capable of everything and good at nothing, 
 lazy as a lobster, but I succeed. I spread myself about, 
 I [)ush, and society makes room for me ; I brag, and it 
 believes me ; I make debts, and other people pay them. 
 Dissipation, my dear fellow, is a political system. The 
 life of a man who is employed in squandering his means 
 is unmistakably a speculation ; he invests his capital 
 in friends, in pleasures, in acquiring connections and 
 influence. A merchant risks a million ; for twenty 
 years he neither sleeps nor drinks nor amuses himself. 
 He broods over his million, he trots it from place to 
 place all over Europe ; he is worried to death ; all the 
 devils are after it^ then comes failute^cjuldation (I've 
 
 CNIVEESITll 
 
120 The Magic Skin. 
 
 seen it many a time), and there he is, without a penn^, 
 without a name, without a friend. The spendthrift, on 
 the other hand, does amuse himself; he knows how to 
 race his horse. If, by chance, he loses his capital, he 
 can get himself appointed receiver-general, secretar}' to 
 a ministry-, ambassador, — or he marries. He is sure to 
 have friends, reputation, and plent}' of mone^'. Know- 
 ing the secret springs of society', he woi-ks them to his 
 profit. Is that system logical, or am I a fool? Isn't 
 that the moral of the comedy that is played every day 
 in the world? Your work is just finished, you sa}',' 
 resumed Rastignac after a pause ; ' 3^ou 've got immense 
 talent. Well, what of it? you are now just at the point 
 where I started. Make your success personally for 
 yourself, it is the surest way. Set up friendships and 
 intimacies at the clnbs and with cliques ; please those 
 w^ho can trumpet you along. I wish to do my share 
 toward your success ; I '11 be the jeweller to set the 
 diamonds in your crown. And for a beginning,' he 
 added, ' come to my rooms to-morrow night. I will 
 take you to a house where yon will find all Paris, our 
 Paris, the Paris of beauties, celebrities, and millionH^ires, 
 men who talk gold like Chrysostom. When such people 
 adopt a book that book becomes the fashion ; if it is 
 really good the}' have given the brevet of genius without 
 knowing it. If you have any mother-wit in you, mj^ 
 dear fellow, you can yourself make the fortune of your 
 theory by thoroughly understanding the theory of for- 
 tune. To-morrow night 3'ou shall see the beautiful Com- 
 tesse Fedora, the reigning fashion.* 
 
 " ' I never heard of her.' 
 
 '* ' You 're a CaflTre/ said Rastignac, laughing. ' Not 
 
The Magic Skin,^ 12"1 
 
 know Fedora! — a marriageable woman, who has an 
 income of eighty- thousand francs, but won't take an}- 
 man, or at least whom no man takes ; a species of 
 female problem ; a Parisian who is half- Russian, a Rus- 
 sian half- Parisian ; a woman who is a living edition of 
 romantic productions that never get published ; the most 
 beautiful woman in Paris, and the most courteous. You 
 are not even a Cadre, jou are the missing link between 
 a Caffre and the animal creation. Adieu until to- 
 morrow.* 
 
 " He turned on his heel and disappeared without wait- 
 ing for an answer, seeming not to admit that a reason- 
 able man could rtfuse an introduction to Fedora. How 
 can we explain the fascination of a name? Fedora 
 pursued me like an evil thought with which we strive 
 to compromise. A voice within me said, ' Thou wilt 
 go to Fedoi*a.* In vain I combated that voice and told 
 it that it lied ; it crushed mj- arguments with that 
 name. Fedora. That name, that woman, were tke}- the 
 symbol of mx - desires, the ke3'-note of my life? The 
 name rang with the artificial poetrj- of societv, with the 
 fetes of the great world of Paris and the glitter of all 
 vanities. The woman appeared to me as in a vision, 
 embodying those problems of passion over which I 
 brooded. Perhaps it was neither the woman nor the 
 name, but m}* vices which sprang erect in my mind to 
 tempt me anew. The Comtesse Fedora, rich and with- 
 out a lover, resisting Parisian seductions, was she not 
 the incarnation of my hopes and visions? I had created 
 a woman ; my thought had formed her ; I had dreamed 
 her, — and she was here. 
 
 "During the night I could not sleep; 1 became her 
 
122 ' 
 
 The Magic Skin. 
 
 lover. A few hours were a lifetime, — a lifetime of love ; 
 I tasted all its fruitful and passionate delights. On the 
 morrow, unable to bear the suspense of waiting till 
 evening, I went out and hired a novel and spent the 
 dav in reading it, tlius endeavoring not to think and not 
 to measure the slow passage of time. While I read, 
 that name, Fedora, echoed within me like a sound heard 
 in the far distance which does not disturb us but is, 
 nevertheless, in our ears. Fortunately I owned a black 
 coat and a white waistcoat in good condition. Of all my 
 little store tliere still remained some thirt}' francs which 
 I had dispersed about in my various drawers and among 
 my clothes, so as to put between each five-franc piece 
 and some stra^- fanc}^ the thorny barrier of search and 
 the trouble of circumnavigating my room. While I was 
 dressing I pursued this scattered wealth through an 
 ocean of paper. My gloves and a cab devoured a month's 
 living. Alas ! we are nev er without money for our 
 whims; we, discuss. iiaj£QS,tsbq.t. those., of n£cessai;j:.jQr 
 usefidthing^St. We carelessl}' fling away our gold on a 
 ballet-girl, and haggle over a bill with a laborer whose 
 familv is starving. How man}' men wearing a hundred- 
 franc coat, and a diamond in the knob of their cane, 
 dine for twenty-five sous ! Ah ! we seldom think the 
 pleasures of vanit}- too dear. 
 
 " Rastignac, faithful to our appointment, smiled at my 
 metamorphose and made fun of it ; however, he gave 
 me, as we went along, some charitable advice as to the 
 manner in which I had best behave with the countess. 
 He told me she was' avaricious, vain, and distrustful; 
 but good-humored h' distrustful, vain with simplicitj', 
 and raiserlj' with ostentation. 
 
The Magic Skin. 12B 
 
 '* ' You know how I am situated,' he said, ' and how 
 much I should lose by changing loves. My observation 
 of Fedora is disinterested and cool ; therefore m3- judg- 
 ment is worth something. I present you to her with a 
 view of making your fortune ; take care what you say 
 to her, for she has a cruel memorv, and is clever enough 
 to drive a diplomatist crazy ; she can guess the very 
 instant when he begins to tell the truth. Between our- 
 selves, I doubt if her marriage was ever recognized hy 
 the emperor, for the Russian ambassador laughed when 
 I asked him about her. He does not receive her at 
 the embass}', and bows ver^' coldh' when the\' meet in 
 the Bois. Nevertheless, she belongs in Madame de 
 Serizj's set, and visits Madame de Nucingen and 
 Madame de Restaud. In France, at anj- rate, her repu- 
 tation is intact. The Duchesse de Carigliano, the most 
 high-necked of all that Bonapartist clique, often spends 
 a few days with her at her country -house. Several 
 young dandies and the son of a peer offer their names 
 in exchange for her monej^ ; but she politely refuses 
 them. Perhaps her love can go no lower than a count. 
 You are a marquis ; therefore push on if she pleases 
 3'ou. Now that 's what I call giving advice.* 
 
 '' The tone in which all this was said made me fancy 
 that Rastignac was trying to pique m}' curiosity, so 
 that m}- impromptu passion had reached a crisis hy the 
 time we entered a hall decorated with flowers. As we 
 went up the wide, carpeted stairs, where T noticed many 
 signs of English comfort, nn* heart beat violently. . I 
 blushed at myself; I belied my birth, my feelings, my 
 pride ; I was idioticalh' bourgeois in my sensations. 
 Alas, I came from a garret where I had spent three 
 
124 The 3Iagic Skin. 
 
 povertj'-stricken years without really learning to put the 
 treasures of intellectual life above the baubles of an 
 artificial existence. 
 
 "As I entered 1 saw a woman about twenty-two 3'ears 
 of age, of medium height, dressed in white, surrounded 
 by a circle of men, extended rather than seated in a 
 reclining chair, and holding in her hand a feather screen. 
 When she observed Rastignac, she rose and came toward 
 us with a gracious smile, and paid me a conventional 
 compliment in a melodious voice. Eugene gave her the 
 idea that 1 was a man of talent, and his heart}' Gascon 
 emphasis procured me a cordial reception. I was made 
 the object of attentions which confused me, but Rastignac 
 happily covered my embarrassment by an allusion to my 
 modest}'. There I met scholars, men of letters, former 
 ministers, and peers of France. The conversation re- 
 sumed the course our entrance had interrupted, and by 
 degrees, feeling that I had a reputation to sustain, I 
 grew more confident; then, without presuming on the 
 right of speech which was granted to me, I tried to sum 
 up the various points of the discussion with remarks 
 that were more or less thoughtful, incisive, or witty. 
 I made some sensation. For the thousandth time in 
 his life Rastignac was prophetic. When the rooms were 
 suflftciently well filled so that we could freely move 
 about, he gave me his arm, and we walked through the 
 apartments. 
 
 '* ' Don't seem too enchanted with the princess,' he 
 said, 'or she will guess the motive of your visit.' 
 
 " The salons were furnished with exquisite taste. I 
 noticed rare pictures. Each room had a character of 
 its own, after the fashion of opulent English mansions ; 
 
The Magic Skin. 125 
 
 the silken hangings, the ornaments, the shapes of the 
 furniture, in fact the slightest decoration harmonized 
 with a leading thought. In a Gothic boudoir the doors 
 were concealed behind tapestried curtains ; the border- 
 ing of the stutfs, the clock, the pattern of the car[)et, 
 were all Gothic ; the ceiling, formed of cross-beams 
 carved out of dark wood, showed a number of com- 
 partments painted with grace and originalit}' ; the 
 panelling of the wainscots was artistic ; nothing injured 
 the general effect of this charming decoration, which 
 was even increased b}- the costly colored glass of the 
 windows. I was next astonished at the sight of a little 
 modern salon, where some artist had exhausted onr na- 
 tional decorative science, — at once so delicate, so fresh, 
 so elegant, without brilliancy, and sober in gilding. It 
 was vague and amorous like a German ballad, a true 
 retreat for a passion of 1827, perfumed with baskets of 
 the choicest plants. Beyond this room was a gilded 
 salon of the time of Louis XIV., which produced, hy 
 its contrast with our modern taste, a curious but agree- 
 able effect. 
 
 "'You will be well lodged,' said Rastignac, with a 
 smile, in which there was a tinge of irony. ' Is n't this 
 fascinating?' he added, sitting down. Suddenly he 
 rose, took me by the arm, and drew me into a bedroom, 
 where, beneath a canopy of muslin and white moire, 
 was a bed faintly lighted by a hanging lamp, — the bed 
 of a fairy wedded to a genie. 
 
 " 'Don't you think there is a positive indecency, in- 
 solence, and coquetry,' he exclaimed in a low A'oice, 
 ' in exhibiting this throne of love ! To love no one, 
 and then allow every bod}' to leave his card here ! If I 
 
126 The Magic Skin. 
 
 were free, 1 would like to bring that woman weeping and 
 submissive to her knees ! ' 
 
 '' ' Are 3'ou sure of her virtue? ' 
 
 *' * The boldest men of the world, and the most expe- 
 rienced, admit that the}' have failed in winning her; 
 they also declare that the}- still love her, and are now 
 her devoted friends. Tlie woman is an enigma ! ' 
 
 " These words excited me to a sort of intoxication ; I 
 was jealous of the past. Returning hastily toward the 
 countess, whom I had left in the salon, I found her in 
 the Gothic boudoir. She greeted me with a smile, 
 asked me to sit by her, and questioned me on my lit- 
 erary work, seeming to take a keen interest in m}' an- 
 swers, — especially when I explained m}* theor}', which 
 I did half in jest instead of employing the terms of a 
 professor and explaining it dogmaticall}'. She was 
 much amused by the idea that the human will is a 
 material force like that of steam ; that nothing in the 
 moral world can resist its power if a man accustoms 
 himself to concentrate it, to hold it in hand, and to 
 direct the propulsion of this fluid mass upon the con- 
 sciousness of other men ; that a man possessing this 
 power could modify all things relating to humanity as 
 he pleased, even the laws of nature. Fedora's objec- 
 tions to m}' theory- proved her to possess a certain 
 keenness of intellect. I took delight in flattering her 
 with explanations, while I destroyed her feminine ar- 
 guments with a word, drawing her attention to a fact 
 of dail}^ life, namely, sleep, — apparently the most 
 common of all facts, yet an insoluble problem for the 
 man of science. This piqued her curiosity. She even 
 remained silent while I told her that ideas were organ- 
 
The Magie Skin. 127 
 
 ized and perfected beings living in a world invisible, — 
 citing in proof thereof tliat the thoughts of Descartes, 
 Diderot, and ^Napoleon had led, and were still leading, 
 an epoch. I had the honor to amuse her, and she left 
 me with an invitation to visit her again ; in the lan- 
 guage of courts, she gave me the grandes entrees. 
 
 '' Whether it were that I took the formulas of polite- 
 ness for words of real meaning, or that Fedora thought 
 me a man of rising fame and wished to add to her 
 menagerie of savants, it is certain that I fancied I 
 pleased her. I called up all m}' ph3'siological knowl- 
 edge and my previous studies of womanhood, to help 
 me in examining this singular person and her manners, 
 for the rest of the evening. Hidden in the recess of 
 a window, I pried into her thoughts as expressed by 
 her bearing ; I studied her b3'-pla3' as mistress of the 
 house, — passing to and fro, sitting down, conversing, 
 calling to one man, questioning another, and leaning, 
 as she listened, against the lintel of a door. I noticed 
 a soft and breezy motion in her walk, an undulation of 
 her graceful dress, a potent, seductive charm, which 
 made me suddenly incredulous of her virtue. Though 
 Fedora now denied herself to love, she must once have 
 been a passionate woman ; the signs of it were in her 
 choice of attitudes. She leaned against the panelling 
 coquettishly, like a woman about to fall, yet read}' to 
 fl}' if some too ardent look affrighted her. Her arms 
 were lightl}' crossed ; she seemed to breathe-in words, 
 to hear and welcome them with her e^'es, while her 
 whole person exhaled sentiment. The fresh, red lips 
 were defined upon a skin of dazzling whiteness. Her 
 brown hair brought out clearlj- the orange tints of her 
 
128 The Magic Skin. 
 
 e^es, which were ra3-ed or veined like a Florentine 
 agate, — seeming to add by their expression a subtile 
 charm to her speech. The lines of the bust and waist 
 had a grace that was all their own. A rival might 
 have called the heav}^ eyebrows, which nearly met 
 each other, hard ; or condemned the light down which 
 defined the outlines of the face. To m^* eyes, passion 
 was imprinted everywhere. Love was written on the 
 Italian eyelids, on the fine shoulders, worthy of the 
 Venus of Milo, on each feature of her face, on the un- 
 der lip, which was a shade too heav\', and sliglitl}' 
 shadowed. She was more than a woman, — she was 
 a history, a romance. Yes, this rich feminity, this 
 harmonious assemblage of lines, these promises of pas- 
 sion given bj' this noble structure, were tempered and 
 subdued b}- unfailing reserve, and a singular modest}', 
 which contrasted strangely with the whole expression 
 of her person. 
 
 '' Perhaps it needed a sagacious mind to trace the 
 signs of a sensuous and pleasure-loving destiny in that 
 nature. Let me explain my thought more clearl}'. 
 There were two women in Fedora, separated, it ma}' be, 
 like the head from the body. The head alone seemed 
 amorous ; before looking at a man she appeared to make 
 read}' her glance, as if some mysterious, inexplicable 
 thought were passing through her mind, and causing a 
 tumult in those brilUant eyes. Either my science was 
 imperfect and I had still many secrets to discover in 
 the moral world, or else the countess did really possess 
 a noble soul, whose feelings and emanations gave to 
 her countenance the charm which subjugates and fas- 
 cinates, the charm whose power is a moral one, and all 
 
The Magic Skin. 129 
 
 the greater because it harmonizes with the sjinpathies 
 of desire. I left the house bewitched and captivated b}' 
 P'edora, intoxicated with her luxury, thrilled in ever}' 
 noble, vicious, good, and evil fibre of my heart. As I 
 felt this life, this emotion, this exaltation within me, I 
 fancied 1 understood the attraction which drew about 
 her artists, diplomatists, statesmen, or brokers lined 
 with metal like their desks ; doubtless they came to 
 find in her presence the same delirious emotion which 
 made m}' whole being vibrate within me, lashed my 
 blood through every vein, exasperated each nerve, and 
 quivered in mj' brain. She belonged to none that she 
 might retain them all. A coquette is a woman who 
 does not love. * It ma}' be,' I said to Rastignac, ' that 
 she was married, or sold to some old man, and that the 
 remembrance of her first marriage has given her a dis- 
 gust for love.' 
 
 " I returned on foot from the faubourg Saint-Honore 
 where Fedora lived. Nearly the whole of Paris lay 
 between her house and the rue des Cordiers ; the way 
 seemed short, and yet the night was cold. To under- 
 take the conquest of Fedora in the depth of winter, 
 and a severe winter, with only thirty francs in the 
 world, and the distance between us so great, now 
 seems madness. None but a poor 3'oung man can 
 know what such a passion costs, in carriages, gloves, 
 clothes, and linen. If love is kept platonic a trifle too 
 long it becomes ruinous. There is many a Lauzun in 
 the Law School who can never aim at a love embowered 
 on a first floor. And how could I, weak, delicate, ill- 
 clothed, pale, and emaciated, presume to enter the lists 
 with elegant j'oung men faultlessly attired, curled and 
 
 9 
 
130 The Magic Skin, 
 
 cravatted better than the dandies of the Croatian 
 Horse, driving their own tilbinys, and cloaked with 
 insolence? 'Bah, Fedora or death!' I cried to m}-- 
 self as I crossed a bridge, ' Fedora ! she is fortune.* 
 The beautiful Gothic boudoir, and the salon of Louis 
 Xiy. came back before my ej^es ; I saw the countess 
 in her snow-white robe with its wide and graceful 
 sleeves, her enticing attitudes, her tempting figure. 
 AVhen I reached my cold, bare, ill-kept attic room, I 
 was still environed with a sense of Fedora's luxur3\ 
 The contrast was an evil counsellor ; many a crime 
 dates from such a moment. Trembling with rage, I 
 cursed my decent and honest povert}^, m}' fruitful garret 
 where so many thoughts had sprung into existence. I 
 called on God, on the devil, on social order, on my 
 father, and the whole universe to answer for my fate 
 and my unhappiness ; I went hungry to bed, mutter- 
 ing ludicrous imprecations, bijt fully resolved to win 
 Fedora. That woman's heart was the last ticket in 
 my fortune's lotter3\ 
 
 " I will spare 3'ou an account of my earlier visits to 
 the countess, and come at once to the pith of m}- storj'. 
 While endeavoring to reach the woman's soul I tried to 
 win her mind, and turn her vanity in my favor. To 
 make her love secure, I gave her many reasons to love 
 herself. I never left her in a state of indifference. 
 Women want emotions at any price, and I gave them 
 to her ; I preferred to have her angr}' with me rather 
 than indifferent. Though at first, supported b}" a firm 
 will, and the desire to make invself beloved, I gained 
 a certain ascendency' over her, m^^ passion soon in- 
 creased, and I was no longer master of mjself; I fell 
 
, The Magic Skin. 
 
 among true emotions, I lost mj^ self-control, and be- 
 came desperately in love. I do not know exactly what 
 it is that we call in poetry, or in conversation, love; 
 but the sentiment that suddenly developed itself in my 
 dual nature I never have seen represented, either in 
 the stilted and rhetorical phraseolog}' of Jean- Jacques 
 (whose very room I might then be occupying), or in the 
 cold imaginings of our two literar}' centuries, nor yet 
 in the paintings of Italy. The view of the Lake of 
 Bienn^, a few melodies of Rossini, Murillo's Madonna, 
 now in possession of Marshal Soult, the letters of La 
 Lescombat, certain scattered words in collections of 
 social anecdotes, above all, the pra3'ers of ecstatics, 
 and a few passages in our fabliaux^ are alone able to 
 transport me into the divine regions of my first love. 
 Nothing in human language, no translation of human 
 thought by means of paintings, statues, words, or 
 sounds, can give the vigor, the truth, the complete- 
 ness, the suddenness of emotion in the soul. • He who i— , 
 talks of art, talks of falsehood, — art is inadequate, (f 
 Love passes through an infijiite number of transfor- / 
 mations before it mingles forever with our life, and 
 dyes it everlastingly with the color of its flame. The 
 secret of this imperceptible infusion escapes the anah-- 
 sis of artist or writer. j True passion is expressed in 
 cries and moans that "a^e wearisome to a cool man. 
 We must love sincerely before we can share in the sav- 
 age roar of Lovelace as we read 'Clarissa Harlowe.' 
 Love is a fresh spring, bubbling up among its water- \ 
 cresses, a brook purling through flowery meads, and ' 
 over pebbles, flowing, eddying, changing its nature, and 
 its aspect at every influx, and flinging itself at last into 
 
132 The Magic Skin, 
 
 an immeasurable ocean which seems to half-formed 
 spirits only a monotonous level, but in whose depths 
 great souls are sunk in endless contemplation. 
 
 "How shall I dare describe these transitory shades 
 of feeling, these nothings which are so infinite, these 
 words whose accents exhaust all treasures of language, 
 these looks more pregnant than the richest poem ? 
 Before each mystic scene b3' which insensibly we come 
 to love a woman, there opens an abyss which engulfs 
 all human poetr\\ Ah ! how can we reproduce in 
 empty words, like explanatory notes, these keen, 
 mysterious agitations of the soul, when language fails 
 us to explain the visible mystery of beauty? What 
 allurements ! What hours did I not spend plunged in 
 the ineffable ecstasy of seeing her! Happy — with 
 what? I know not. If at times her face was bathed 
 in light, some phenomenon took place upon it which 
 made it luminous ; the almost imperceptible down 
 upon the fine and delicate skin softty defined its 
 outlines with the charm which we admire in distant 
 horizons, when they are hazy in the sunlight. It 
 seemed to me that daylight caressed her as it blended 
 with her, or that a light emanated from her radiant 
 face more brilliant than light itself; then some 
 shadow passing across that shining countenance pro- 
 duced a color which varied its expression with the 
 changing tints. Often a thought seemed to stand forth 
 upon her brow ; her eye appeared to blush, the lids 
 quivered, her features gently undulated, stirred by a 
 smile ; the speaking coral of her lips grew animated, 
 parted, then closed again ; certain reflections of lier 
 hair which I cannot describe threw a brown tone upon 
 
The Magic Skin, 133 
 
 her forehead ; and by these changes Fedora spoke. 
 Each shade of beauty gave new feasts to my eyes, 
 revealed graces still unknown to my heart. I sought 
 to read a feeling, a hope, in the phases of her counte- 
 nance. These mute communications travelled from 
 soul to soul like sound through an echo, and gave me 
 passing joys which left undying impressions. Her 
 voice caused me delirious excitements which I con- 
 trolled with difficulty. Imitating some prince of 
 Lorraine, — I forget who he was, — I could have taken 
 a burning coal in my hand and never felt it, had she 
 passed her delicate fingers through m^' hair. My love 
 was no longer admiration or desire, it was a spell, a 
 fatality. Often beneath my garret roof I saw Fedora, 
 indistinctly, in her own room ; dreamily I shared her 
 life. If she were suffering, I suffered, and on the 
 morrow I said to her, 'You were ill last night?' 
 Again and suddenly, like a flash of light, she would 
 strike the pen from m}' hand, and scare away Science 
 and study, till they fled disconsolate ; she forced me to 
 think of nothing but the attitude in which I last had 
 seen her ; sometimes I sought her myself in the world 
 of apparitions, saluting her as Hope, praying that she 
 would speak to me with her silvery- voice, and then I 
 awoke to weep. 
 
 "One day after promising to go with me to the theatre 
 she suddenly refused to keep her promise, and begged 
 me not to visit her that evening. In despair at a disap- 
 pointment which had cost me a day's labor and, if I must 
 own it, m}' last penn}^, I went to the theatre where she 
 was to have been, wishing to see the pla}^ she had de- 
 sired to see. I had scarcely taken my seat before an 
 
134 The Magic Skin. 
 
 electric shock fell on my heart. A voice said to me, 
 ' She is here.* I turned and saw Fedora sitting at the 
 back of her box, withdrawn into the shadow. M3' e3'es 
 were not misled, the}' found her with instant keenness ; 
 my soul flew to her as an insect flies to its flower. How 
 came my senses to have received this intimation ? Such 
 things seem surprising to supei-ficial minds, but these 
 effects of our internal being are really as simple as the 
 ordinary phenomena of our external life ; and therefore 
 I was not astonished, but angry. My researches into 
 the nature of moral force, so little understood, made me 
 notice various living proofs of my theory in my own 
 passion. This union of scholar and lover, a positive 
 idolatrj' with scientific passion, was certainly a strange 
 thing. Science was often gratified by some circumstance 
 which led the lover to despair, and then, when Science 
 was about to prevail, the lover drove it far awa}^ from 
 him and recovered happiness. 
 
 "Fedora saw me and grew serious; I anno3'ed her. 
 At the end of the first act I went to her box. She was 
 alone and I remained. Though we had never spoken 
 of love I foresaw an explanation. I had never told her 
 my secret, yet a species of expectancy existed between 
 us ; she told me all her plans of amusement, and asked 
 me every evening with friendly anxiety whether I should 
 be there on the morrovv ; she questioned me with a glance 
 when she said a witty thing, as if to show that she cared 
 to please me exclusively ; if I were aloof or sulk}- she 
 became caressing ; if she were vexed she allowed me 
 the right to question her ; if, by chance, I were guilty 
 of some fault she made me entreat her long before 
 she pardoned me. These quarrels, in which we both 
 
The Magic Skin, 135 
 
 found pleasure, were those of love. She displa3ed such 
 grace and coquetr\', that to ine they were full of happi- 
 ness. But at the moment of our present meeting such 
 intimac}' seemed suddenh* suspended, and we faced each 
 other almost as strangers. The countess was ic}' ; as 
 for me, I foresaw disaster. 
 
 *''Come home with me,' she said, when the play 
 ended. 
 
 " When we left the theatre the weather had changed ; 
 it was raining and snowing. Fedora's carriage could 
 not be brought up to the door of the theatre. Seeing a 
 well-dressed woman obliged to cross the boulevard, a 
 street-porter held an umbrella over her head, and asked 
 for his fee when we were seated in the carriage. I had 
 nothing ; I would have sold ten years of my life for ten 
 sous at that moment. All that makes man and his 
 vanit}' was crushed down in me b^- that infernal momen- 
 tary pain. M}' answer, ' I have no money with me, 
 my good fellow,' was said in a hard tone that came from 
 my mortified pride, — said by me, the brother of that man, 
 by me who knew so well the sorrows of povert}", though 
 once I might have given awa}' my hundreds and thou- 
 sands. The footman pushed aside the porter, and the 
 horses started. 
 
 '' On the way home Fedora either was or pretended to 
 be preoccupied, answering my questions bv disdainful 
 monosyllables. I kept silence. It was a dreadful mo- 
 ment. When we reached the salon she sat down beside 
 the fireplace. After the footman had made up the fire 
 and retired from the room, she turned to me with an 
 indefinable air and said with a species of solemnity : 
 
 '^ ' Since ni}- return to France, ni}' wealth has tempted 
 
136 The Magic Skin. 
 
 a number of 3011 ng men. I have received declarations 
 of love which might well gratify my pride ; I have met 
 men whose attachment was so deep and sincere that 
 they would have married me had I been the same poor 
 girl I formerly w^as. In short, I wish you to know, 
 Monsieur de Valentin, that wealth and titles have been 
 offered to me ; and I also wish to tell 3'ou that I have 
 never again received the persons who were so ill-advised 
 as to speak to me of love. If my affection for you were 
 trifling I would not give you this warning, in which there 
 is more friendship than pride. A woman lays herself 
 open to a rebufl^' if, supposing herself loved, she refuses 
 unasked a feeling that must flatter her. I know the 
 scenes of Arsinoe aiid Araminta, and I have considered 
 the answers which I might receive under similar circum- 
 stances. But I hope that I shall not be so unfairly 
 judged to-day by a man of superior discernment when I 
 thus frankly show him m}^ heart.' 
 
 " She spoke with the coolness of a lawyer or notary 
 explaining a deed. The clear, seductive ring of her 
 voice betra^'cd not the slightest emotion ; her face and 
 her bearing, always dignified and proper, now seemed 
 to have put on a diplomatic coldness and reserve. She 
 had, no doubt, thought over her words and mapped out 
 the scene. Oh ! my dear friend, when certain women 
 find pleasure in rending our hearts, when they know 
 tliey are plunging a dagger into our souls and turning 
 it in the wound, they are adorable ; such women either 
 love, or wish to be loved. Some day they will recom- 
 pense us for our suflTerings, as God, they sa^', will re- 
 ward our good deeds ; the}- will return us pleasures an 
 hundredfold for every hurt whose anguish they are 
 
The Magic Skin. ( 137 
 
 able to perceive : their cruelty is full of passion. But 
 to be tortured by a woman who slaughters us with in- 
 difference, is an untold agon}'. At this moment Fedora 
 blindl}' trod under foot ever}' hope that was in me, broke 
 m}' life, destroyed m}' future, with the cold carelessness 
 and innocent cruelt}' of a child who tears the wings of a 
 butterfly for curiosit}-. 
 
 *'* Later,' she continued, 'I feel sure that 3'ou will 
 understand the solid affection which I offer to my friends. 
 To them I am always, as 3'ou will find, kind and devoted. 
 I could give my life for them, but 3'ou would despise me 
 if I submitted to a love I do not share. I will say no 
 more. You are the onl}' man to whom I have ever said 
 these last words.' 
 
 *' At first I could not answer her, speech failed me. I 
 could scarcely master tlie tempest that rose within me ; 
 but presently I drove back my feelings and said with a 
 smile : — 
 
 *' ' If I say that I love 3'ou, you will banish me ; if 
 I show indifference, 3'ou will punish me. Priests and 
 women never wh olly unfro gk^th emselve s. But, ma- 
 dame, silence is non-committal ; 3'ou will permit me, 
 therefore, to remain silent. The fact that 3'ou have 
 given me this sisterly warning shows that 3'ou feared 
 to lose me, and that must needs gratify m}* pride. 
 But let us lay aside personalities. You are perhaps 
 the onh' woman with whom I could discuss from a 
 philosophical point of view these resolutions of yours, 
 which are so contrar}" to the laws of nature. Compar- 
 ing 3-0U with all others of y<5ur kind, 3'ou are a phenom- 
 enon. Well, then, let us try, in good faith, to discover 
 the cause of this singular ph3'siological anomaly. Can 
 
138 The Magic Skin. 
 
 there be in 3'ou, as in other women who are full of 
 self-esteem and amorous of their own perfections, a 
 sentiment of refined selfishness which leads you to 
 look with horror on the thought of belonging to any 
 man, of abdicating your will and being subjected to a 
 conventional superiorit}' which you despise ? If that be 
 so, 3'ou seem to me more beautiful than ever. Perhaps 
 you were maltreated in your earliest love ? Or, it may 
 be that the value you naturally attach to 3'our exquisite 
 figure makes you dread the results of maternit}^ ; that 
 indeed may be 3'our secret reason for refusing to be 
 loved. Or have you another still more secret, — some 
 imperfection, that keeps you virtuous? Do not be 
 angr}^ ; I am merely discussing, studying ; I am a 
 thousand leagues away from love. Nature, which 
 makes persons blind from their birth, can ver}^ well 
 create women who are deaf, dumb, and blind to love. 
 You are indeed a valuable subject for medical obser- 
 vation — 3'ou do not know how" valuable. You ma}' 
 well have a legitimate disgust for men ; I approve of 
 it, — the}' seem to me, one and all, uglj' and odious. 
 But you are right,' I added, as I felt the swelling of 
 my heart. ' Of course you despise us ; where is the 
 man who is worthy of 3'ou ? ' 
 
 " I need not tell you an}- more of the sarcasms I 
 poured out upon her, laughing. The bitterest word, 
 the sharpest irony drew no moA^ement or gesture of 
 annoyance from her. She listened with the usual 
 smile upon her lips and in her eyes, — that smile which 
 she wore as a garment, always the same, to friends, to 
 mere acquaintances, to strangers. 
 
 *' ' Am I not amiable to let you put me on the table 
 
The Magic Skin. 139 
 
 of a dissecting-room?' she said, seizing a moment 
 when I was silent. ' You see,' she continued, laughing, 
 ' I have no foolish susceptibilities in friendship. Many 
 women would punish 3'our impertinence by shutting 
 their doors against 3'ou.' 
 
 " 'You can banish me without being asked to give 
 a reason for 3'Our severit}^' As I said the words I felt 
 that I might kill her if she dismissed me. 
 
 *' ' You are absurd,' she said, laughing. 
 
 " ' Have you ever reflected,' I continued, ' upon the 
 efl*ects of a violent love ? It has often happened that 
 a man driven to despair has murdered his mistress.' 
 
 '' ' Well,' she answered, coldl}-, ' it is better to die 
 than to live unhappj'. A man of such vehement pas- 
 sions would certainl}' abandon his wife, and leave 
 her with the wolf at the door, after squandering her 
 fortune.' 
 
 *' This arithmetic dumbfounded me. I saw the ab3'ss 
 that lay between that woman and me. We could never 
 comprehend each other. 
 
 " ' Adieu,' I said, coldly. 
 
 '' ' Adieu,' she answered, with a fiiendly inclination 
 of her head, ' until to-morrow.' 
 
 "I looked at her steadily for a moment, flinging 
 toward her, like a projectile, all the love which I now 
 cast from me. She was standing erect, and replied to 
 m}' look with a commonplace smile, the odious smile 
 of a marble statue, seeming to express love, but cold 
 as stone. 
 
 " Ah! Emile, conceive the sufierings in which I re- 
 turned home, through the sleet and rain, walking for 
 three miles along the ic}-, slippery quays, having lost 
 
9 
 
 140 The Magic Skin. 
 
 all ! Oh, to feel that she never so much as knew of 
 m\^ misery- or my poverty ; she thought me, like herself, 
 rich, and driving in a carriage. What ruin, what 
 deception ! It was no longer a question of mone}', all 
 the fortunes of my soul were lost. I walked, I knew 
 not how or where. Discussing with m3'self the words 
 of that strange conversation, I lost myself so utterly in 
 the effort to explain them that I ended b}' doubting 
 even the nominal value of ideas and words. But still 
 I loved, — I loved that cold woman, whose heart 
 desired to be won every night, and on the morrow, 
 effacing the promises of the day before, expected to 
 be wooed again. 
 
 ''As I turned through the wickets at the Institute, 
 a feverish ague seized me. I remembered that I was 
 fasting. I had no mone}', not a copper coin. To add 
 to m}^ misfortunes, the rain had destro3'ed m}' hat. 
 How could I approach an elegant woman, and enter 
 a salon with a hat that was no longer presentable? 
 Thanks to my extreme care, — all the while cursing 
 a fashion which condemns us to exhibit the nap of a 
 hat by carrj'ing it constantly in our hands, — I had 
 kept mine hitherto in fair condition. Without looking 
 either brand-new or amorphousl}' old, with a nap that 
 was neither worn nor immaculate, it could very well 
 pass for the hat of a careful man ; but now its social 
 existence was at an end : it was soaked, sodden, done 
 for, an actual rag, — fit representative of its owner. 
 For lack of thirt}' sous to hire a cab, I had lost my 
 pains-taking elegance. Ah ! how man}- sacrifices, 
 disregarded sacrifices, had I not made to Fedora during 
 the last three months. I had often spent the money 
 
The Magic Skin. 141 
 
 I needed for ray week's bread, to go and see her for 
 a single hour. To leave my work and go without food 
 was nothing; but to cross the streets of Paris and 
 avoid being splashed, to run and escape rain, and then 
 to enter her presence as well-dressed and composed as 
 the dandies who surrounded her, — ah ! to a poet, a 
 lover and a man absorbed in thought, the task was 
 one of unspeakable difficulty. My happiness, my love, 
 depended on the spotless condition of m}' onl}' white 
 waistcoat ! I must renounce the sight of her if I were 
 mudd}', or the rain had overtaken me. Not to have five 
 sous so that the street shoe-black might remove some 
 trifling spot of mud, was banishment from her presence. 
 *' My passion was increased by these pett}' tortures, 
 which were, however, enormous to an 'irritable man. 
 A poor lover is called upon for sacrifices which he 
 cannot even speak of to a woman bred in luxury* and 
 elegance ; such women see life through a prism which 
 tints the world of men and things with golden light. 
 Optimist through selfishness, cruel b^- the laws of good \ 
 manners, these women excuse themselves from reflect- 
 ing on the character of their pleasures, and find abso- 
 lution for their indifference to the misery- of others in 
 the rush of their enjo^'ments. To them a pennj- is 
 never a million, but the millions are pennies. If a poor 
 love must win its way with might\' sacrifices, it must 
 also cover them delicately with a veil, and bury them in 
 silence ; but the rich man, prodigal of mone}' and of 
 time, profits bj' the worldliness of public opinion which 
 throws a glamour over the extravagances of his amo- 
 rous devotion. For him silence may have a voice, and 
 the veil a grace ; but my horrible poverty caused me 
 
142 The Magic Skin. 
 
 intolerable sufferings, and yet forbade that I should let 
 it sa}' for me, 'I love, I die, behold my sacrifice!* 
 But, after all, was it sacrifice? was I not amply re- 
 warded b}^ the happiness I felt in immolating m3'self 
 for her? The countess had given the utmost value, 
 and brought excessive enjoyment to the smallest inci- 
 dents of my life. Formerly, in the matter of dress, I 
 had been careless and indifferent. I now respected my 
 clothes as if they were another self. Between a wound 
 on my own bod}^ and a rent in my coat I should not 
 have hesitated a moment. 
 
 *' Emile, 3^ou must surely now perceive my situation, 
 and understand the rage of thoughts, of ever-increasing 
 frenzj' that hurried me along from that fatal interview. 
 A sort of infernal joy possessed me as I felt m3'self at 
 the apex of all misfortunes. I tried to fancy it might 
 be a culminating point, and to think it of good augury ; 
 but alas ! evil has resources without end. 
 
 '' The door of my inn was open. I noticed a light 
 coming through the heart-shaped hole cut in the blinds. 
 Pauline and her mother were sitting up for me. I 
 heard m}' name, and paused a moment to listen. 
 
 *' ' Raphael is much nicer than the student in number 
 seven,' Pauline was saying. * His blond hair is such 
 a pretty color ! Don't 30U think there is something in 
 his voice — I can't tell what — that stirs one's heart ? 
 And then, though he has a rather haughty air, he is so 
 good, and his manners are so distinguished. 1 call 
 him truly handsome, and I should think all women 
 would fall in love with him.' 
 
 " ' You speak as if you loved liim yourself,' said 
 Madame Gaudin. 
 
The Magic Skin. 
 
 <* ' Oh, I love him as a brother!' cried Pauhne, 
 laughing. ' I should be shamefullj- ungrateful if I did 
 not. Has n't he taught me music, drawing, gi'ammar, 
 — in fact, all I know. You don't pa}* much attention 
 to m}- progress, mamma ; but I am reall}' getting so 
 well educated that before long I can give lessons m}- 
 self, and then we can keep a servant.' 
 
 *' I drew back softh', made a noise at the door, and 
 then entered the room to take m}^ lamp, which Pauline 
 hastened to light. The poor child had poured a balm 
 upon m}' wounds. Her simple praise gave me some 
 trifling courage. I needed to believe in myself once 
 more, and to get an impartial opinion on the real value 
 of m}' merits. M}' hopes, thus revived, reflected pos- 
 sibly on the wa}' I saw things. Perhaps, moreover, I 
 had never seriously noticed the scene dail}- offered to 
 m}- eyes b}' these two women at work in their chamber ; 
 but now I enjoyed it as a living and delightful picture 
 of the modest lives so faithfullj' reproduced bj- Flemish 
 painters. The mother, seated in the chimne3'-corner, 
 was knitting stockings, a kindh* smile resting on her 
 lips. Pauline was painting screens ; her colors and 
 brushes, spread on a little table, spoke to the eye 
 with charming effect. She herself had risen to get 
 my lamp, whose full light now fell upon her face. A 
 man must indeed have been subjugated b}' a blinding 
 passion had he failed to admire the ros}^ transparent 
 fingers, the ideal beauty of her head, and her maidenlj- 
 attitude. Night-time and silence both lent their charm 
 to this scene of quiet labor, this tranquil fireside. 
 Such labor, steadil}' and cheerfully maintained, told of 
 Christian resignation drawn from the highest emotions. 
 
144 The Magic Skin, 
 
 An indefinable barmon}^ existed between these women 
 and the things about them. Fedora's luxury was hard ; 
 it awakened evil thoughts in my mind, while this hum- 
 ble povert3' and cheerful goodness refreshed m^- spirit. 
 It ma}' have been that I was humbled in the presence 
 of luxury ; while beside these two women in their brown 
 room, where life, simplified to nature, seemed to find 
 its resting-place in the emotions of the heart, I was, 
 perhaps, reconciled with myself through the sense of 
 exercising that protection of mj- sex which man is so 
 eager to have acknowledged. As I went up to Pauline 
 she looked at rae with an almost motherlj- expression, 
 crying out, as, with trembling hands, she hastily placed 
 the lamp upon the table : — 
 
 "'Heavens! how pale you are! Ah, he is wet 
 through ! Let m}' mother dry your clothes. Monsieur 
 Raphael,' she added after a momentary pause, 'you 
 are fond of milk ; we have some nice cream to-night, — 
 won't you taste it? ' So saying, she sprang like a little 
 cat to a china bowl full of milk, which she held up to 
 my Hps so prettily that I hesitated. 
 
 "'You can't refuse me?' she said in an altered 
 voice. 
 
 " Our two prides understood each other. Pauline 
 grieved for her poverty, and reproached me for mj^ 
 haughtiness. I was greath' touched. The cream was 
 doubtless intended for their breakfast the next morn- 
 ing, but nevertheless I accepted it. Tlie poor girl tried 
 to hide her pleasure, but it sparkled in her eyes. 
 
 " ' I needed it,' I said to her, sitting down. A 
 pained look crossed lier face. ' Do you remember, 
 Pauline, that passage in Bossuet, where he depicts God 
 
The Magic Skin. 145 
 
 as rewarding a cup of cold water more richl}^ than a 
 victor}- ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' she said, and her bosom throbbed like a 
 bird in tlie hands of a child. 
 
 '^ ' Well, as we must soon part,' I continued, speak- 
 ing unsteadil}', ' let me show 3'ou m}- gratitude for all 
 the kindness you and 3'our mother have bestowed upon 
 me.' 
 
 " ' Oh, don't let us reckon such things! ' she said, 
 laughing ; but her laugh hid an emotion that pained 
 me. 
 
 " ' M}" piano,' I continued without seeming to hear 
 her words, ' is one of Erard's best instruments. I want 
 3-0U to accept it. You can do so without scruple, for I 
 could not take it with me on the journc}' I am about to 
 undertake.' 
 
 ''The tone in which I spoke mny have enlightened 
 them, for the two women seemed to understand my 
 meaning. The}' looked at me with terrified curiosit}'. 
 The affection for which I had vainl}' searched in tiie 
 cold regions of the great world was here, beside me, — 
 genuine, without displa}', but earnest, and perhaps 
 lasting. * 
 
 " ' You must not take life too hard,' said the mother. 
 ' Remain here with us. My husband is certainly on 
 his way home. To-night I read the gospel of Saint 
 •John, while Pauline held our ke}' suspended on a Bible ; 
 and the key turned. Tiiat is a sure sign that Gaudin 
 is well and prospering. Pauline tried it for 3-0U and 
 for the 3'oung man in number seven ; your ke3' turned 
 and the other did not. We shall all be rich; Gaudin 
 will come back a millionnaire ; I dreamed of him in 
 
 10 
 
(146 /' The Magic Skin. 
 
 a ship full of snakes ; fortunatel}', the waves were 
 rough, for that means gold and precious stones from 
 foreign parts.' 
 
 " These friendly and foolish words, like the vague 
 songs of mothers putting their babes to sleep, restored 
 me to some calmness. The look and tone of the good 
 woman were full of that gentle cordialit}' which cannot 
 efface grief, but still does soften, soothe, and alla}^ it. 
 More perceptive than her mother, Pauline watched me 
 anxiousl}^ ; her intelligent ej^es seemed to guess my 
 life and my future. I thanked them both with an 
 inclination of m}^ head, and then I left the room, 
 fearing to show m}' feelings. Once alone under the 
 roof, I took my grief to bed with me. My fatal 
 imagination invented project after project, all base- 
 less, and prompted me to impossible resolutions. 
 When a man drags himself through the wreck of his 
 fortune, some resources still remain for him, but for 
 me there was nothing — there was nothingness. Ah! 
 friend, we are too ready to blame the poor. Let us be 
 indulgent to the results of that worst of all social dis- 
 solvents, poverty. Where poverty reigns, neither 
 purit}', nor crime, nor virtue, nor mind, can be 
 said to exist. I was now without ideas, without 
 strength, like a young girl on her knees before a tiger. 
 A man without money and without a passion is his 
 own master ; but an unhapp}' being who loves belongs 
 
 J to himself no longer, — he cannot even kill himself. 
 jM Love gives us a sort of worship for ourselves ; we 
 
 IL respect another life within our own ; it then becomes 
 
 \ the most horrible of all sufferings, — the suffering that 
 
 has hope in it, hope that makes us willing to endure 
 
The Magic Skin, 147 
 
 torture. I fell asleep, resolving to go to Rastignac the 
 next da}', and tell him of Fedora's strange conduct. 
 
 '''Ha, ha!* cried Eugene, as he saw me enter his 
 rooms at nine o'clock in the morning. ' I know what 
 brings 3'ou here ; Fedora has dismissed 3'ou. A few 
 kind souls, jealous of 3'our power over the countess 
 have spread the report of your marriage. God knows 
 the stuff 3'our rivals have talked, and the calumnies 
 they have told of you.* 
 
 " ' That explains everything ! ' I cried. 
 
 " I recollected my insolent speeches to the countess, 
 and felt that her forbaarance had been sublime. I now 
 thought myself a brute who had not been made to 
 suffer enough, and I saw in her gentleness the patient 
 charity of love. 
 
 " ' Not so fast,' said the prudent Gascon. ' Fedora 
 has the natural penetration of a selfish woman ; she ma}' 
 have taken your measure at the time when you thought 
 onl3' of her wealth and luxur3^ ; in spite of your caution 
 she ma}' then have read 30ur mind. She is so dissim- 
 ulating herself that she cannot endure dissimulation in 
 others. I fear,' he added, ' that I have started you on 
 a bad road. In spite of Fedora's refinement of mind 
 and manners, the woman herself seems to me as hard 
 and imperious as all other women who enjoy pleasure by 
 the head. Happiness for her is ease of life and social 
 enjoyment ; as for sentiment or feeling, the3' are merely a 
 role she likes to play. She would make you very un- 
 happy ; you would end in being her chief footman — ' 
 
 " Rastignac spoke as to a deaf man. I interrupted 
 his discourse, and told him, with apparent gayet3', of 
 my financial position. 
 
148 The Magic Skin. 
 
 " Last night,' he replied, ' a stroke of ill-luck car- 
 ried off ever}' penny that I could command. If it were 
 not for that commonplace accident I would share my 
 purse with you. But come and breakfast at the cafe; 
 we will have some oysters, and perhaps they '11 give, 
 us good advice.' J 
 
 " He dressed himself, and ordered his tilbury; then, 
 like two millionnaires, we betook ourselves to the Cafe 
 de Paris, with the assurance of those bold speculators 
 who live on imaginar}' capital. This devil of a Gascon 
 literally confounded me with the ease of his manners 
 and his imperturbable aplomb. Just as we were taking 
 coffee after a delicious and well-chosen repast, Ras- 
 tignac, who kept bowing right and left to a crowd of 
 young men remarkable for their personal appearance, 
 and also for the elegance of their attire, said to me as he 
 saw another of these dandies enter the room, ' Here 's ' 
 your man ; ' then he signed to a gentleman well-gloved 
 and cravatted, who was looking round him for a table. \ 
 
 " •• That fellow/ whispered Rastignac in my ear, 
 ' wears the Legion of honor for having published works 
 he can't understand. He is a man of science, historian, 
 romance-writer, and journalist ; he owns quarters, 
 thirds, halves, in I don't know how man}" stage plan's, 
 and he 's as ignorant as Don Miguel's mule. He is n't 
 a man, he's a name, a ticket. He takes ver\' good 
 care never to commit himself to a scrap of writing; . 
 he 's shrewd enough to trick a whole congress. To ex- 
 plain him in one sentence, he is a mongrel in morals, — 
 neither a complete scoundrel nor an honest man. But 
 he fought a duel ; the world asks nothing more, and 
 calls him an honorable man — Well, my excellent and 
 
TJie Magic Skin. 149 
 
 honorable friend, bow is Your Intelligence?' said Ras- 
 tignac to the new-comer, who now seated himself at 
 the adjoining table. 
 
 " ' Neither well nor ill. I am worn out with work. 
 I have now in m}' hands all the necessary material for 
 some very curious historical memoirs, and I don't know 
 to whom to attribute them. It worries me, for if I don't 
 make haste, memoirs will get out of fashion.' 
 
 " ' Are they contemporaneous, or ancient histor}^, or 
 court memoirs, or what? ' 
 
 " ' They are about the Diamond Necklace.' 
 
 *' ' A downright miracle ! ' said Rastignac in m}' ear, 
 with a laugh ; then, turning again to the speculator, he 
 said, introducing me, ' Monsieur de Valentin is a friend 
 of mine, whom I present to you as a future literary 
 celebrity. He had an aunt belonging to the old court, 
 a marchioness, and for the last two years he has been 
 working at a ro\'alist histor}' of the Revolution ; ' then, 
 leaning toward this singular man of literarj' business, 
 he added in a lower tone, ' He is a man of talent, but 
 a soft fellow who will do 3'our memoirs for you and 
 give them his aunt's name for three hundred francs a 
 volume.' 
 
 '' ' That will suit me,' said the other, pulling up his 
 cravat. * Waiter, my oysters, quick ! ' 
 
 " ' Yes, but 3'ou must give me twent3'-five louis for 
 m\' commission, and pa}' him for a volume in advance,' 
 said Rastignac. 
 
 " ' No, no. I won't advance more than a hundred 
 and fift}^ francs, and then I shall be more sure of get- 
 ting the work done promptl}*.' 
 
 " Rastignac repeated this mercantile agreement to 
 
150 The Magic Skin, 
 
 me in a low voice. Then, without consulting me, he 
 said to the other man, ' That 's a bargain ; when can 
 we see you again, to settle the affair?' 
 
 " ' Well, come and dine here to-morrow evening at 
 seven o'clock/ 
 
 " We rose to leave the cafe ; Rastignac threw some 
 change to the waiter, put the bill in his pocket, and we 
 went out into the street. I was stupefied by the light ^ 
 and airy manner in which he had sold my respectable 
 aunt, the Marquise de Montbauron. 
 
 " ' I would rather embark for Brazil or go and teach 
 algebra to the Indians, than soil the name of my 
 family ! ' 
 
 " Rastignac burst out laughing : — 
 
 *' *0h ! what a fool you are. In the first place get 
 your hundred and fifty francs and do the memoirs. 
 When they are done, idiot, you can refuse to give the 
 name of your aunt. Madame de Montbauron, dead on 
 the scaffold, her paniers, her paraphernalia, her beauty, 
 her paint, and her slippers are worth a great deal more 
 than six hundred francs. If the publisher won't pay 
 you a proper price for your aunt, and all that, he can 
 easily find a broken-down man of fashion who lives by 
 his wits, or some smirched countess to sign the 
 volumes.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! ' I cried, ' why did I ever leave my virtuous 
 garret? — the world has a base, vile side to it ! ' 
 
 "'Bah!' said Rastignac, 'you are talking poetry 
 about a matter of business. You are nothing but a 
 child. Listen ; as for the memoirs, the public will judge 
 of them ; as to my literary broker, has n't he spent eight 
 years of his life at his business, and paid for his present 
 
?^ 
 
 The Magic Skin. 151 
 
 relations with publishers at the price of cruel experience? 
 By sharing the profits of the book unequalh' with him, 
 is n't your part in the affair much the noblest ? Seventy- 
 five francs are more to 3'ou than a thousand francs to 
 him. Come, you can ver}' well write those memoirs 
 (works of art if ever they were any), when Diderot wrote 
 six sermons for a hundred francs.' 
 
 " ' It is a necessit}',' I replied ; ' and I know I ought 
 to be grateful to you. Seventy-five francs are riches 
 to me.' 
 
 '''More riches than you think for,' said Eugene, 
 laughing. ' If Finot gives me a commission for the 
 affair, of course 3'ou know it is 3'ours. Let's go and 
 drive in the bois de Boulogne,' he continued ; ' 30U 
 will meet 3'our countess, and I '11 show you the prettj^ 
 little widow I am going to marry, — a charming person, 
 a rather fat Alsacian. She reads Kant, Schiller, Jean- 
 Paul, and lots of hydraulic books ; she persists in asking 
 for m}' opinion on them, and I 'm obliged to pretend 
 that I understand all that German sentimentalitj', and 
 dote on a heap of ballads and things, which are posi- 
 tively forbidden me b}' m}' physician. I have n't yet 
 broken her of literarj' enthusiasm. Would you believe 
 it? she cries over Goethe, and I 'm obliged to cry too, 
 — that is, a little, out of policy ; you see, my dear fellow, 
 it is a matter of fiftj' thousand francs a year, and the 
 prettiest little foot and the prettiest little hand in the 
 world. Oh ! if she onh' did not mispronounce her 
 words with that horrible German accent she would be 
 an accomphshed woman.' 
 
 " We met Fedora, looking briUiant in a brilliant 
 equipage. The coquettish creature bowed verj' cordiall}' 
 
152 The Magic Skin, 
 
 and gave me a smile which I thought divine and full of 
 love. Ah ! once more I was happ3', and thought myself 
 beloved ; I had the wealth and the treasures of passion ; 
 there was no poverty, no miser}' for me now. Gay, 
 happ3% pleased with everything, I thought Rastignac's 
 mistress charming. The trees, the skies, the atmosphere, 
 all nature seemed to cop}' Fedora's smile. Returning 
 by the Champs-Elysees we went to Rastignac's hatter and 
 tailor. The Diamond Necklace allowed me to put mj- 
 self in battle-array for the struggle before me. In future, 
 I could match the grace and elegance of the young men 
 who revolved around Fedora. I went back to m}- garret 
 and shut m3'self in ; I sat down at my little window, 
 tranquil apparently while inwardly bidding an eternal 
 adieu to the sea of roofs, living in the future, dramatiz- 
 ing mj' life, discounting, before it came to me, love with 
 all its joys. Ah ! what tumults ma.y shake a solitary 
 life between the four walls of a garret! The human 
 soul is a fair}' ; she transforms straws into diamonds ; 
 at a touch of her magic wand enchanted palaces spring 
 up like the flowers of the field beneath the warm in- 
 spirations of the sun. 
 
 *'0n the morrow, about mid-day, Pauline knocked at 
 m}^ door and brought me — what do you suppose? a 
 letter from Fedora ! The countess asked me to take 
 her to the Luxembourg, and then to the Museum and 
 the Jardin des Plantes. * A porter is waiting for the 
 answer,' said Pauline, after a moment's silence. I 
 wrote a hasty reph', which Pauline carried oflT. Then I 
 dressed. Just as I had finished, and was looking at 
 myself with some satisfaction, a horrible thought crossed 
 my mind, — ' Will Fedoya drive, or go on foot? what if it 
 
The Magic Skin. 153 
 
 rains ? will it be fine ? ' I did not own a copper farthing, 
 and could not get one till I met Finot at night. Ah ! 
 how often in such crises of our 3"0uth does a poet pay 
 dear for the intellectual force which he has acquired 
 through toil and fasting? A thousand thoughts now 
 pierced me like so manj- arrows. I looked at the sk}-, the 
 weather w^as doubtful. If the w^n'st came to the worst 
 I might take a carriage b}' the day — but how could I 
 have a moment's peace of mind in the midst of my hap- 
 piness from the fear that I might not meet Finot at night? 
 I felt I was not strong enough to bear such anxiet}' in 
 presence of Fedora. Though I knew ver}' well I should 
 find nothing, I began a search through my room for 
 imaginarj' coins ; I rummaged everywhere, even to the 
 straw mattress and m}' old boots. A prey to nervous 
 excitement, I looked about the disordered room with 
 haggard eyes. Can 3'ou understand the delirium that 
 seized upon me when, opening the drawer of my writing- 
 table for the seventh time in a sort of idle way which 
 came of my despair, I beheld, caught in a crack of the 
 wood, slyly hiding, but clean, brilliant, and shining like 
 a rising star, a noble five-franc piece ! Not asking the 
 cause of its evasion or of its cruelt}' in escaping me so 
 long, I kissed it as though it were a friend faithful in 
 trouble, when suddenl}* m^' crj- of delight was echoed 
 in the room. I turned hastilj- and saw Pauline, who 
 had turned pale. 
 
 '' ' I feared,' she said, ' that you were ill. The porter 
 who brought the letter ' — she interrupted herself and 
 seemed to choke down her words, — ' but m^- mother 
 has paid him,' she added quickly-. Then she ran away 
 with frolicsome, childlike grace. Poor little one ! I 
 
154 The Magic Skin. 
 
 wished her all the happiness I now felt ; I had within 
 nie the jo}' of the whole earth, and I would gladly have 
 given to the unfortunate some part of that which I 
 seemed to have stolen from them. 
 
 " We are nearly always right in our presentiments of 
 evil, — the countess had sent awa}' her carriage. With 
 one of those caprices which prett}' women themselves 
 do not always understand, she chose to walk to the 
 Jardin des Plantes along the boulevards. ^Butitwill 
 rain,' I said to her. She took pleasure in contradicting 
 me. It so happened that the weather continued fair 
 while we crossed the Luxembourg. As we left the 
 gardens a heavj' cloud which I had been watching with 
 anxiety let fall a few drops, and I called a coach. 
 When we reached the boulevards the rain was over 
 aiid the skv clear. I was about to dismiss the carriage 
 at the Museum, but Fedora begged me to keep it. 
 What torture all this was to me ! To talk with her, 
 repressing the secret anxiet}- which was no doubt 
 written on my face in a fixed and idiotic smile ; to 
 wander through the shrubberies of the Jardin des 
 Plantes and feel her arm within m}' own, — all this, in 
 itself, was fantastically strange ; it was as though I 
 dreamed in open <\fiy. And 3'et her movements and 
 actions, whether in walking, or pausing, or conversing, 
 had nothing trul}' soft or loving about them, notwith- 
 standing their alluring quality. When I tried to asso- 
 ciate myself in some way with the current of her life, 
 I was made aware of an inward and secret sharpness in 
 her, something harsh, abrupt, even eccentric. Women 
 without souls have nothing mellow in their gestures. 
 We were not in unison, — neither in our will, nor even 
 
The Magic Skin. 155 
 
 in our steps. There are no words that clearh' ex[)laiu 
 this indefinable material discord between two human 
 beings ; for we are not jet accustomed to recognize a 
 thought in a movement. That phenomenon of our na- 
 ture is felt instinctivel3', but so far it has never been 
 formulated in words. 
 
 " During these violent parox3'sms of my passion," 
 continued Raphael after a pause, and as if he were 
 answering some objection in his own mind, '^ I never 
 dissected my sensations, or analyzed my pleasures, or 
 counted the beatings of m3' heart, as the miser counts 
 and weighs his gold. Oh, no ! experience is now 
 throwing its melancholy light upon those past events ; 
 memorj' brings back to me those scenes ,-^lhose images, 
 as in calm weather after a storm the weaves cast frag- 
 ment after fragment of a wreck upon the shore. 
 
 *' * You can do me a great service,' said the countess, 
 after a while, looking at me with a rather confused air. 
 ' Having confided to you my antipath}' to love, I feel 
 more free to claim a kindness from 3'ou as a friend. 
 You will thus,' she added, laughing, ' have twice as 
 much merit in assisting me, — don't you think so?' I 
 looked at her in despair. Untouched bv an3' feeling 
 for the man beside her, she was coaxing but not affec- 
 tionate ; she seemed to me to be pla3 ing the part of a 
 consummate actress ; then, suddenlv, at a word, a look, 
 a tone, m3' liopes revived ; my love, reanimated, shone 
 in m3' eyes ; but again no answering sign appeared in 
 hers, the3^ sustained the gleams from mine without a 
 change in their own clearness; the3' seemed, like 
 those of tigers, to be lined with a metal foil. At that 
 moment I hated her. 
 
156 The Magic Skin, 
 
 " ' The influence of the Due de Navarreins,' she said, 
 in a soft, cajoling tone of voice, ' would be veiy useful 
 to me with an all-powerful personage in Russia, whose 
 intervention is necessar3' before I can obtain justice in 
 a matter which concerns both m}' propert\' and ray 
 position in society ; I mean the recognition of m}- 
 marriage by the Emperor. The Due de Navarreins 
 is, I think, your cousin. A letter from him would 
 obtain all.' 
 
 " ' I am 3'ours,' I replied ; ' command me.' 
 
 *' ' You are very kind,' she said, pressing my hand. 
 ' Come and dine with me, and I will tell you everything 
 as if you w^ere m^' confessor.' 
 
 "So, then, this discreet, distrustful woman, from 
 whom no one had yet obtained a word as to her own 
 affairs, was about to consult me. 
 
 *' ' Ah ! how thankful I am now for the reserve 30U 
 have imposed upon me,' I cried ; ' though I would have 
 liked some harder task.' 
 
 " She now welcomed and accepted the intoxication in 
 in}' glance, and gave herself freel}- to my admiration — 
 surely she loved me ! We reached her house. For- 
 tunately^ my live-franc piece was enough to pay the 
 coachman. I passed a delightful day alone with her, 
 ill her own home. It was the first time I had ever seen 
 her thus. Until now the societ}' around her, her con- 
 ventional politeness, and her cold reserve, had always 
 separated us, even at her sumptuous dinner-parties. 
 But now I was with her as if I lived beneath her roof; 
 she was mine, so to speak. My vagrant imagination 
 burst all bounds, marshalled the events of life to suit 
 my wishes, and plunged me into the delights of happy 
 
Tlie Magic Sxin. 167 
 
 love. Fancying myself her husband, I admired her 
 bus}' about trifling things ; it eA^en gave me happiness 
 to see her lay aside her hat and shawl. She left me 
 alone for a time and returned with her hair charmingly 
 arranged. Her prett}' toilet had been made for me ! 
 During dinner, she paid me many attentions, and dis- 
 played all those little graces that seem nothing in them- 
 selves, yet are the half of life. When we were both 
 seated on silken cushions beside a sparkling fire, sur- 
 rounded by the delightful creations of oriental luxury- ; 
 when I beheld so near to me the woman whose cele- 
 brated beauty moved all hearts, a woman difficult to 
 conquer, 3'et now addressing me, and making me the 
 object of her delightful coquetr}-, — the felicity of my 
 mind and of m}' senses became actual suffering. I 
 suddenly remembered the important matter about the 
 memoirs, which I had agreed to arrange that niglit, and 
 I rose to leave Fedora and keep my appointment. 
 
 "'What! going already?' she said, as she saw me 
 take my hat. 
 
 " Ah, she loved me ! at least I thought so as I heard 
 her utter those few words in caressing tones. To pro- 
 long that ecstasy I would willingly haA'-e cut two years 
 from the end of life for every hour that she thus granted 
 to me. My happiness was the dearer for the loss of 
 my only chance of monej'. It was midnight when at 
 last she sent me awa}'. But on the morrow ni}- happi- 
 ness cost me some remorse ; 1 feared I had lost my 
 opportunit}' in the aflTair of the memoirs, now of vital 
 importance to me. I went to find Rastignac, and to- 
 gether we surprised the titular author of mj' coming 
 work just as he was getting out of bed. Fiuot read me 
 
158 The Magic Skin, 
 
 a formal agreement, in which there was no mention of 
 my aunt, and after it was signed he paid me one 
 hundred and fift}' francs in advance. We all three 
 breakfasted together. When I had paid for m}^ new 
 hat, sixty cachets at thirt}' sous, and m}' debts, there 
 remained only thirty francs ; but all my difficulties 
 were over for the time being. If I had allowed Ras- 
 tignac to whoUj' persuade me, I might have become 
 practically wealthy b}' adopting what he called ' the 
 English system.' He wanted me to establish a credit 
 and borrow mone}' ; declaring that loans sustained 
 credit. According to his ideas the most solid capital 
 in the world was the future. To h3'pothecate, as he 
 said, my debts upon future contingencies, he gave my 
 custom to his own tailor, an artist who miderstood 
 young men^ and who would let me alone till I 
 married. 
 
 "From that daj' I abandoned the studious and mo- 
 nastic life which I had led for three years. I went 
 habituall}' to Fedora's house, where I tried to surpass 
 in assumption and impertinence the heroes of her 
 coterie. Thinking that I was forever quit of poverty, 
 I recovered my freedom of mind. I surpassed my 
 rivals, and was admitted to be a man of power and 
 fascination. Yet clever persons were not wanting who 
 said of me, ' So intelligent a 3'oung man keeps his 
 passions to his head.' The}' praised m}' mind at the 
 expense of my heart. ' Happy fellow, not to love,' 
 they cried ; ' i^he were in love he could not keep his 
 gayet}'', his animation.' And 3'et I was amorouslj' stupid 
 in presence of Fedora. Alone with her, I found noth- 
 ing to saj' ; or if I spoke I only misrepresented love. 
 
The Magic Skin. 159 
 
 I was mouriifulh' ga}', like a courtesan who tries to 
 hide a crue] mortification. Still, I endeavored to make 
 m3'self indispensable to her life, her ha[)piness, and her 
 vanity. 1 vvas a slave waiting beside her, a plaything 
 to be ordered about. After wasting m}' dajs in this 
 manner, I went home to work all night, seldom sleeping 
 more than two or three hours in the morning. But not 
 possessing, like Rastignac, the habits of the ' English 
 system,' I was soon without a penn3\ From that day, 
 m}' dear friend, I became a hanger-on without suc- 
 cesses, a dand3' without money, a lover without rights. 
 I fell back into the precarious life, the cold, hopeless, 
 heavy miserv carefullj' hidden under the deceitful ap- 
 pearance of luxury-. M}' earlier sufferings returned to 
 me, but they were less acute. I was now familiar with 
 their terrible crises. Often the cakes and tea so parsi- 
 monioush' offered in great houses were my onlj' nour- 
 ishment. Sometimes the countess's grand dinners fed 
 me for two da^s. I employed m}* time, m^* i)owers, 
 and my scientific observation in penetrating, step bj- 
 step, Fedora's impenetrable character. Up to this 
 time hope or despair had influenced my judgment. I 
 saw her, b}' turns, a loving woman or the most unfeel- 
 ing of her sex. 
 
 '' But such alternations of joy and sadness became 
 intolerable. I tried to kill my love, and so put an end 
 to this awful struggle. A noxious light darted at 
 times into my soul and showed me the dark abysses 
 between us. Fedora justified all m}^ distrust. Never 
 did I see a tear in her e\'e. A tender scene at a 
 theatre left her cold and jesting. All her wit and 
 cleverness were reserved for her own ends ; she had 
 
160 The Magic Skin. 
 
 no conception of the sorrows or happiness of others. 
 In short, she had once more tricked me ! Happy in 
 offering her a sacrifice, I humiliated raj-self and went 
 to see m}' relation the Due de Navarreins, an egoist, 
 who blushed for m}' poverty, and had done me too 
 many wrongs not to feel an aversion to me. He re- 
 ceived me with the cold politeness which makes every 
 w^ord and gesture an insult ; his uneas}^ air actuallj^ 
 excited my pity. I was ashamed, for his sake, at such 
 pettiness in the midst of such grandeur. He spoke of 
 his losses, occasioned by a fall in the three per cents, 
 but I cut him short with a statement of the object of 
 my visit. The instant change in his manner disgusted 
 me — Well I my dear Emile, he came to see the coun- 
 tess, and I was set aside. Fedora exercised upon 
 him all her enchantments. She completely won him ; 
 she managed the mysterious affair without consulting 
 me ; I had simply been her tool ! She no longer looked 
 at me when my cousin was present, and showed me less 
 courtesy than on the day I first went to her house. 
 One evening she humiliated me in presence of the duke 
 with a gesture and a look that no words can describe. 
 I left the house with a bursting heart, forming wild 
 schemes of vengeance and retaliation. 
 
 " Sometimes I accompanied her to the opera, and 
 there, beside her, filled with my love, I contemplated 
 her beauty as I gave myself up to the influence of the 
 music, spending my soul in the double joy of loving 
 and of hearing my emotions echoed in the language of 
 the musician. My passion was all about us, in the 
 air, on the stage ; triumphant everywhere except in 
 the heart of my mistress. I took her hand ; I studied 
 
The Magic Skin, 161 
 
 Iier features and her e3'es, soliciting the fusion of our 
 eelings in one of those sudden harmonies evoked by 
 music which bring true hearts to vibrate in unison, 
 but her hand was mute, her eves said nothing. When 
 the fire of my feelings, issuing from every feature, struck j 
 sharply on her face she gave me that collected smile, i 
 that conventional sweetness which appears on the lips I 
 of ever}' portrait exhibited in the Salon. She never lis- * 
 tened to the music. The divine scores of Rossini, 
 Cimarosa, Zingarelli reminded her of no sentiment, in- 
 terpreted no poem of her life ; her soul was ar id. She 
 sat there like an actor in presence of acting. Her opera- 
 glass was turned incessant Iv from box to box ; uneasy, 
 though tranquil outwardly, she was a slave to the 
 world of fashion ; her box, her appearance, her toilet, 
 her carriage, her person were all in all for her. You 
 will often find persons of stalwart appearance whose 
 heart is tender and delicate within an iron frame ; but 
 Fedora hid an iron heart within her slender and grace- 
 ful bod}'. M}' fatal perceptions tore off her disguises. 
 If good breeding consists in forgetting ourselves for 
 others, in keeping our tones and gestures to unfailing 
 courtesy, and in pleasing those about us by render- 
 ing them pleased and satisfied with themselves, then 
 Fedora, in spite of her apparent refinement, did not 
 eff"ace all signs of a plebeian origin ; her forgetfulness 
 of herself was false ; her good manners, far from in- 
 nate, were laborioush' studied ; her ver}- politeness 
 showed a tinge of servitude. 
 
 " And yet to those who pleased her, the countess's 
 honeyed words seemed the expression of a kind heart, 
 her pretentious exaggerations the utterance of a noble 
 
 11 
 
162 The Magic Skin. 
 
 enthusiasm. I alone had studied her artifices. I had 
 stripped from her inner being the slight covering that 
 sufficed the world, and was no longer the dupe of her 
 trickeries ; I knew to its depths that cat-like spirit. 
 When some ninn}^ complimented and praised her I 
 felt ashamed for her. And 3'et I loved her, loved her 
 ever ! I hoped to melt the ice of her nature beneath 
 the wings of a poet's love. Could I once have opened 
 her heart to woman's tenderness, could I have taught 
 her the sublimity of self-devotion, she would have 
 seemed to me perfect, — an angel indeed. I loved her 
 as a man, a lover, an artist, when to obtain her I ought 
 never to have loved her at all. A high-living man of 
 the world, or a cool speculator, could perhaps have won 
 her. Vain and artful, she might have listened to the 
 voice of vanit}', or allowed herself to be entangled 
 in the net of an intrigue; a hard and frigid nature 
 might have controlled hers. Sharp pains cut me to 
 the quick when I came face to face with her egotism. 
 With anguish 1 imagined her some day alone in life, 
 not knowing where to stretch her hands, and meeting 
 no friendly looks on which to rest her own. One even- 
 ing I had the courage to picture to her in starthng 
 colors her deserted old age, barren and devoid of in- 
 terests. When I made her see the awful vengeance of 
 denied and thwarted nature she gave me this shameless 
 answer : — 
 
 '' ' I should still have my wealth ; and gold can cre- 
 ate around us all the feelings which we require for our 
 comfort.' 
 
 *' I left the house overcome by the logic of that lux- 
 iir}', of that woman, of that society ; and bitterl}^ I re- 
 
I 
 
 The Magic Skin. 
 
 pented of m}' mad idolatiy. I would not love Pauline^ 
 because she was poor ; was the rich Fedora wrong be- 
 cause she repulsed me ? Our conscience is an infallible 
 judge, provided we do, not kilL.it ' Fedora,' cried a 
 sophistical voice within me, ' neither loves nor repulses 
 an}' one. She is free ; but she once gave herself for 
 gold. Lover or husband, the Russian count possessed 
 her. Temptation will surel}' come to her some da}'. 
 Await it.* Neither virtuous nor fault}', the woman 
 lived apart from humanity, in a sphere of her own, 
 were it hell or paradise. This mysterious female, robed 
 in cashmeres and laces, set every fibre of my heart, 
 every human emotion within me, — pride, ambition, 
 love, curiosity, — in motion. 
 
 " About tliis time, a fashionable caprice, or that desire 
 to seem original which pursues us all, had led to a mania 
 for attending a little theatre on the boulevard. The 
 countess expressed a wish to see the befloured face of 
 an actor, who was much praised by certain critics, and 
 I obtained the honor of taking her to the first repre- 
 sentation of some wretched farce. The cost of the box 
 was scarcely five francs ; but even so, I did not possess 
 a single farthing. Having half a volume of the memoirs 
 still to write, I could not apply to Finot, and Rastignac, 
 my private providence, was absent. 
 
 " This perpetual pauperism was the evil genius of 
 my life. Once, as we left the BouflTons on a rainy 
 night. Fedora insisted on her footman's calling me a 
 cab, in spite of my assurances that I liked the rain, and 
 was, moreover, going to a gambling-house. She did not 
 guess my real reasons from the embarrassment of my 
 manner, nor from the half-jesting sadness of my words. 
 
164 The Magic Skin. 
 
 The lives of young men are subjected to singular acci- 
 dents of this sort. As I drove along, every turn of the 
 wheels awakened thoughts that burned my heart. I 
 endeavored in vain to escape from the coach while it 
 was still moving. I burst into convulsive laughter, and 
 then sat rigid in gloomy stillness, like a man in the 
 stocks. When I reached the house, Pauline inter- 
 rupted my jQrst hesitating words : ' If jou have no 
 change,' she said, 'let me pay the coachman.' Ah! 
 the music of Rossini was nothing to the charm of those 
 words ! 
 
 " But to return to the Funambules. To be able to 
 escort the countess, I thought of pawning the gold 
 setting round my mother's picture. Though the Mont- 
 de-Piete had alwajs appeared to mj' mind as the high- 
 road to the galleys, 3'et I now felt that I would rather 
 take my bed and pledge it there than beg a charity-. 
 The glance of a man from whom 3'ou solicit monej' is 
 so wounding ! Certain loans cost us our honor, just as 
 certain refusals from the lips of a friend dispel our last 
 illusions. When I re-entered the Hotel Saint-Quentin, 
 Pauline was painting her screens, but her mother had 
 gone to bed. Casting a furtive look at the bed, whose 
 curtains were slighth' raised, 1 thought I perceived that 
 Madame Gaudin was asleep. 
 
 " ' Something troubles 3'ou,' said Pauline, laying down 
 her brushes. 
 
 '* ' M3' dear child, 30U can do me a great' service,* I 
 answered. She gave me such a happ}- glance tliat I 
 quivered. ' Can she love me? ' I thought. ' Pauline,' 
 I said, and I sat down by her to stud}' her. She 
 guessed ni}- thoughts, for the \evy tones of my voice 
 
The Magic Skin. 165 
 
 were a question ; then she lowered her e3'es, and I 
 watched her, believing I could read her heart as plainly 
 as I could m}' own, so pure, so artless, was her face. 
 
 *' ' You love me? ' I cried. 
 
 *' ' A little, — passionatel}', — not at all ! ' she an- 
 swered, laughing. 
 
 " No, she did not love me. Her jesting tone and 
 prett}' gesture only meant the frolicsome gratitude of a 
 3'oung girl. I therefore told her my distress, explained 
 the embarrassment in which I found myself, and begged 
 her to help me. ' Oh, Monsieur Raphael ! ' she said, 
 ' you will not go yourself to the Mont-de-Piete, and yet 
 3'ou send me ! ' I blushed, confounded by a child's logic. 
 Then she took my hand, as if to compensate me by a 
 caress for the truth of her exclamation. * Indeed, I would 
 go,' she said, ' but it is not necessar}'. This morning I 
 found two five-franc pieces behind the piano, and I put 
 them on your table ; they must have slipped, without 
 your noticing them, between the case and the wall.' 
 
 '' ' You will soon get 3'our mone3', Monsieur Raphael,' 
 said the good mother, putting her head from between the 
 curtains, ' and I can ver3' well lend 3'ou some till then.' 
 
 '''Oh, Pauline!' I cried, pressing her hand, '1 
 would I were rich.' 
 
 " ' Bah ! why?' she said with roguish air. Her hand 
 trembled in mine and answered to the beatings of 
 my heart ; she quickly withdrew it and began to ex- 
 amine the palm of mine. ' You will marr3' a rich 
 woman,' she said ; ' but she will make 3'ou unhapp3% 
 Ah, m3^ God, she wMU kill you ! I am sure of it.' In 
 her startled cr3' there seemed a sort of belief in the 
 fooHsh superstitions of her mother. 
 
166 The Magic Skin. 
 
 '' ' You are ver}^ credulous, Pauline.' 
 
 " ' Oh, it is certain ! ' she cried, looking at me with 
 terror in her eyes ; ' the woman jou will love will kill 
 3'ou ! ' She took a brush and began to moisten her 
 colors, showing signs of strong emotion. At that mo- 
 ment I would gladl}' have believed in her fancies. A 
 man is never altogether miserable if he is superstitious. 
 Sui^erstition means hope. I went up to my room, and 
 there beheld two noble five- franc pieces, whose pres- 
 ence seemed to me inexplicable. I went to sleep en- 
 deavoring to remember m}- expenditures and account 
 for this unlooked-for treasure. The next day Pauline 
 came to me as I was preparing to go out to hire the 
 box at the theatre. 
 
 " ' Perhaps ten francs is not enough,* she said, blush- 
 ing ; ' my mother has sent me up with this. Take it, 
 take it.' She laid fifteen francs on my table and tried 
 to run away, but I prevented her. Admiration dried 
 the tears that came to m^^ e3'es. 
 
 '' 'Pauline,' I said, '3'ou are indeed an angel. This 
 loan is less precious to me than the modesty of feeling 
 with which 3'ou offer it. I have desired a rich and ele- 
 gant and titled wife ; alas, at this moment I wish I had 
 millions that I might many a young girl Hke you, poor 
 in mone}" and rich in heart, and renounce the fatal pas- 
 sion which will kill me ; in that prediction you may be 
 right.' 
 
 '' ' Enough, enough ! ' she cried, as she ran awa}', and 
 I heard her bird-like voice with its pretty trills echoing 
 up the staircase. ' She is happ}', indeed, not to love,' 
 I thought, remembering the tortures I had suffered for 
 the last few months. Pauline's fifteen francs proved 
 
The Magic Skin. 167 
 
 ver}^ vahiable to me. Fedora, dreading the emanations 
 of the great unwashed at the theatre to which we were 
 going, regretted that she had brought no bouquet ; I 
 got her some flowers, and gave her therewith my life 
 and fortune. I felt both remorse and pleasure in giving 
 her a bouquet whose price revealed to me the cost of 
 superficial gallantr}- in the world of fashion. Presentl}-, 
 however, she complained of the rather strong odor of a 
 Mexican jasmine ; then she felt a violent disgust at the 
 vulgar theatre, and the hard seats ; she reproached me 
 for bringing her there ; although I was beside her, she 
 wished to leave, and did leave. To have endured sleep- 
 less nights, to have spent two months' means of living 
 and yet not to have pleased her ! Never did she seem, 
 evil genius that she was, more gracious or more un- 
 feeling. As we returned to the house seated together 
 in a narrow coupe, I felt her breath, I touched lier per- 
 fumed glove, I saw distinctly the treasures of her beauty, 
 I inhaled the sweet fragrance of the iris, — all of woman 
 and 3'et no woman at all. At that moment a ray of 
 light helped me to look into the depths of that mys- 
 terious life. I suddenly remembered a book recently 
 published by a poet, a true artistic conception thrown 
 into the figure of Polycles. I fancied I saw the monster, 
 sometimes as an officer conquering a fiery horse, some- 
 times as a young girl at her toilet who drives a lover to 
 despair, or again as a lover who breaks the heart of 
 some good and modest virgin. Finding no other way 
 to prevail with Fedora, I told her the fantastic tale ; but 
 not a gUmmer of her resemblance to this weird poetry 
 crossed lier mind ; she laughed at it heartil}', like a child 
 at the Arabian Nioflits. 
 
168 The Magic Skin, 
 
 " When I left her and returned home, I told m3'self 
 that since Fedora resisted the love of a man of m^- age 
 and the contagious warmth of a soul that sought com- 
 munion with hers, there must be some mystery" that 
 withheld her. Perhaps, like Lady Delacour, she was 
 the victim of cancer. Her life was assuredk all artificial. 
 The \QYy thought chilled me. Then I formed a plan at 
 once the most matter-of fact and the most insensate that 
 lover ever dreamed of. j^To examine Fedora personally, 
 just as I had now studied her intellectually, I resolved 
 to pass a night, unknown to her, in her chambei>. This 
 is how I accomplished the enterprise, the thought of 
 which consumed my soul as a desire of vengeance eats 
 the heart of a Corsican monk. On her reception da^s 
 Fedora received so large a number of guests that no 
 particular notice was taken of how the}' came in or went 
 out. Certain of being able to remain in the house with- 
 out causing scandal, I awaited the next reception even- 
 ing with impatience. As I dressed myself I put a little 
 penknife into m}^ pocket in default of a stiletto. If 
 found upon me, that innocent literary implement could 
 afford no ground for suspicion, and not knowing where 
 my romantic resolution might lead me, I wished to go 
 armed. When the salons began to fill I went into the 
 bedroom to examine it carefull}', and found to my jo}^ 
 that the outside shutters and blinds were carefully closed. 
 Then I detached the heavy curtains from their loopings 
 and drew them across the window ; I risked much in 
 making these pi'eparations, but I had coldly calculated 
 and accepted all dangers. Toward midnight, I hid 
 behind a curtain in the embrasure of a window, trusting 
 that neither my cramped position nor an unexpected 
 
The Magic Skin, 169 
 
 congli or sneeze would betra}' me. The white silk and 
 muslin of the curtains fell before me in broad folds like 
 the pipes of an organ, and in them I cut tiny loopholes 
 with my penknife so as to see clearly. I heard the 
 sounds in the salon, the laughter of the guests, and the 
 rising and falling of their voices. Presently a few men 
 came to take their hats, which were placed on a bureau 
 near to where I stood. As tlic}' brushed the curtains I 
 trembled, fearing that in their haste to get awa}' they 
 might look for their hats behind the curtain. The fact 
 that no such misfortune occurred, made me augur well 
 for my enterprise. 
 
 " Only about five or six intimate friends now remained 
 with the countess, and these she invited to take tea in 
 the Gothic boudoir adjoining the bedroom. The calum- 
 nies and evil-speaking for which societ}' reserves the 
 little belief that remains to it were now mingled with 
 epigrams and witty opinions, and the rattle of cups and 
 spoons. Rastignac in particular excited bursts of 
 laughter by his cutting speeches. ' Monsieur de Ras- 
 tignac,* said Fedora, laughing, ' is a man with whom it 
 is dangerous to quarrel.' ^That's very true,' he an- 
 swered, candidly ; ' I have always been right in mj^ 
 hatreds — and in m}' friendships,' he added. ' My ene- 
 mies serve me as well, perhaps, as m}- friends. I have 
 made a special studj' of modern jargons and the natural 
 artifices which people employ for attack and defence 
 both. The eloquence of statesmen is perfected bv social 
 training. Have 3'ou a Iriend without an}' mind ? talk 
 about his uprightness and candor. Is the book of that 
 other man intolerably dull ? call it a conscientious labor ; 
 if ill-written, praise its ideas. Another man is faithless. 
 
170 The Magic Skin. 
 
 without constancy and fails you at every turn ; bah ! 
 he is seductive, winning, charming. As for your ene- 
 mies, you can bring both the dead and living against 
 them ; you reverse the whole order of your remarks ; 
 and you are quite as perceptive of their defects as you 
 were of the virtues of your friends. This application of 
 an opera-glass to the moral eye is the secret of conver- 
 sation and the whole art of a courtier. Not to use it is 
 to fight, unarmed, adversaries who are cased in iron like 
 knights-banneret. I use it. I may abuse it sometimes. 
 But I am respected, — I and m}^ friends ; and it is well 
 known that m}^ sword is as good as m}' tongue.' 
 
 " One of Fedora's most fervent admirers, a 3'oung nian 
 whose impertinence was actually celebrated, for he made 
 it an element in his success, picked up the glove which 
 Rastignac so contemptuously threw down. He spoke 
 among other things of me, and praised my talents and 
 personal qualities immensely. Rastignac had forgotten 
 that form of malicious attack. The sardonic praise de- 
 ceived Fedora, who immolated me without pity ; to 
 amuse her friends she told my secrets, m}' desires, and 
 m}- hopes. ' He has a career before him,' said Ras- 
 tignac. ' Perhaps some daj' he will prove to be a man 
 able to take a cruel revenge ; his talents are equal to his 
 courage, and I think people are very foolish to attack 
 him ; he has a memory — ' 
 
 " ' — and writes memoirs,' said the countess. 
 
 '"Memoirs of a false countess, madame,' said Ras- 
 tignac. ' To write them he needs another sort of 
 courage.' 
 
 " I think he has a great deal of courage/ she replied ; 
 'he is faithful to me.' 
 
The Miagie Shin. 171 
 
 -** A mad temptation possessed me to appear suddenly 
 jfore them, like Banquo's ghost in Macbeth. I had 
 lost a mistress, but I had gained a friend. But again 
 love breathed into my mind one of those cowardh', sub- 
 tile paradoxes with which we love to cheat our pain. 
 If Fedora loves me, I thought, surelj' she is right to 
 conceal her affection with a merry jest. Soon my im- 
 pertinent rival, the last remaining guest, rose to leave 
 her. ' What, going already ? ' she said, in the persuasive 
 tone I knew so well, and which made me quiver. ' You 
 will not gi\^e me another moment ? 3'ou cannot sacrifice 
 any of your pleasures to me ? ' He went awa}-. ' Ah ! ' 
 she exclaimed, 3'awning, ' how tiresome thej' all are ! ' 
 then she pulled a bellrope violentlj^ and the sound of 
 the bell rang through the apartment. 
 
 " The countess entered her bedroom humming a pas- 
 sage in the Pria che spunti. No one had ever heard 
 her sing, and the fact had given rise to certain odd 
 conjectures. It was said that she had promised her 
 first lover, who adored her talent and was jealous of her 
 in his grave, to let no one enjo}^ a pleasure that once 
 was his alone. I stretched every facult}^ of my being 
 to catch the sounds. Note by note the voice rose 
 higher; Fedora grew animated, the qualities of her 
 throat developed, and the melod}' became almost a 
 thing divine. A lucid clearness, a truth of tone and 
 something harmonious and vibrant which penetrated, 
 stirred, and excited the heart, was in this carefully con- 
 cealed organ. Musicians are nearly alwa3's love-in- 
 spired. She who was singing thus must surely know 
 how to lov^. The beautj^ of her voice was one mj'sterj- 
 the more in this mysterious woman. I saw her then as 
 
172 The Magic Skin, 
 
 I now see you ; she seemed listening to herself and 
 drinking in a sensuous dehght that came from her own,, 
 being ; it was as though she felt the joj's of love. 
 
 " She stood before the fireplace when she ended the 
 rondo ; but as the sounds died awa^' her face changed, 
 the features lost their composure and expressed weariness 
 and fatigue. The mask had fallen , actress that she was, 
 the pla}^ was over. And 3'et the soi't of blight imprinted 
 on her beaut}' by the cessation of the part she played, or 
 by the lassitude of this particular evening, was not with- 
 out its charm. Here is the true woman at last, I thought. 
 Standing before the fire she placed her foot, as though 
 to warm it, on the fender, took oflf her gloves, unfastened 
 her bracelets, and drew a gold chain on which a jewelled 
 smelling-bottle was hung, over her head. I felt an in- 
 describable pleasure in watching her graceful move- 
 ments, like those of a cat as she washes and combs her 
 fur in the sunshine. She gazed into the mirror before 
 her, and said aloud in a tone of ill-humor : ' I did not 
 look well to-night, my complexion is fading frightfully. 
 I ought to give up this life of dissipation and go to bed 
 earlier — Where can Justine be?' She rang again, 
 and her maid came hastil}' into the room. Where did 
 the woman keep herself.'' She came hy a secret door. 
 M3' imagination had long suspected this invisible ser- 
 vant, a tall, dark, well-made girl. ' Did Madame ring?* 
 she asked. 'Twice,' replied Fedora; 'are you going 
 to pretend deafness ? ' * I was making Madame's almond 
 milk.' Justine knelt down, untied her mistress's san- 
 dals and removed the shoes, while Fedora la}' carelessl\' 
 back in an armchair beside the fire, jawning aad passing 
 her fingers throu«:h her hair. All was natural and easy 
 
Thp. lyUagic Skin. 173 
 
 in her movements, and nothing revealed an}' secret cause 
 of suffering, such as I had suspected. 
 
 " ' George is in love,' she said suddenl}'. ' I shall 
 dismiss him : he has drawn the curtains again to-night. 
 What is he thinking of? ' The blood flowed to my heart 
 at the remark, but it was not long a question of curtains. 
 
 " ' Life is very empty,' said the countess. ' Ah, take 
 care ! don't scratch me as you did yesterda}'. Look,' 
 showing a little polished knee, ' I bear the marks of it 
 3'et.' She put her naked feet into velvet slippers edged 
 with swansdown, and unfastened her dress, while Justine 
 made ready to brush her hair. 
 
 '^ ' You ought to many, madame, and have children,' 
 said the maid. ' Children ! they w^ould put an end to 
 me at once,' cried Fedora. ' A husband ! Where is 
 the man to whom I could — W^as my hair becomingly 
 arranged to-night?' — * No, not entirel}'.' — 'What a 
 fool you are.' — ' Nothing suits you less than to crepe 
 your hair,' replied Justine ; ' thick, smooth curls are 
 far more becoming to you.' — ' You think so ? ' — ' Wh}-, 
 yes, madame ; fluff)', creped hair is only suited to 
 blondes" — "Marry? no, no! Marriage is a traffic 
 for which I was not born.' 
 
 "What a terrible scene for a lover. This solitary 
 woman, without relations or friends, atheist in love, 
 unbelieving of sentiment, without the need, so natural 
 to all human beings, of heart intercourse, and yet 
 through some feeble sense of it reduced to talk with 
 her waiting-woman in vapid, empty phrases — ah! I 
 pitied her. Justine unlaced her. I watched her with 
 curiosit}- as the last veil was removed. The sight 
 dazzled me ; through the linen of her chemise, and by 
 
174 The Mc.c'c Shh,, 
 
 the light of the wax candles, her white and rosy flesh 
 shone Uke a silver statue beneath a wrapping of gauze. 
 No, there was no imperfection to make her dread the 
 eyes of love. The mistress seated herself before the 
 fire, silent and thoughtful, while the maid lit the taper 
 in the alabaster lamp suspended near the bed. Justine 
 went to fetch a warming-pan, and prepared the bed ; 
 then, after long and minute services which revealed the 
 countess's deep veneration for her own person, she 
 assisted her mistress into bed, and soon after left the 
 room. 
 
 **The countess turned several times; she was evi- 
 dentl}' agitated ; she sighed, — a slight, sound escaped 
 her lips, and was perceptible to my ear, indicating 
 impatience ; then she stretched her hand toward the 
 table, took a vial containing a brown liquid, and poured 
 a few drops into her milk before she drank it. At 
 length, after a few distressful sighs, she cried out, 
 * My God ! ' The exclamation, and above all, the 
 accent with which she uttered it, broke my heart. 
 Little by little she ceased to move. I was frightened, 
 but presently I heard the steadj^ regular breathing of a 
 person asleep. Then I parted the rustling silk curtains, 
 left my position and went to the foot of the bed, where 
 I stood looking at her with indefinable feelings. . She 
 was exquisite as she la}' there. One arm was thrown 
 above her head like a child ; her soft and tranquil face 
 surrounded by laces, expressed a sweetness that im- 
 passioned me. Presuming too much upon my own 
 strength, I had not expected the tortures I now en- 
 dured, — to be so near and 3'et so far from her ! ' My 
 God ! * that shred of an unknown thouo:ht, which was 
 
The Magic Skin, 175 
 
 all the light I was destined to carry away with me, had 
 suddenh' changed m}' ideas about Fedora. The cr}', 
 full of deepest meaning, or signifying nothing, hollow 
 or replete with real things, might express either happi- 
 ness or suffering, a pain of the bodN* or a sorrow of 
 mind. Was it imprecation or prater; memory or 
 hope ; regret or fear? A lifetime was in those words, — 
 a life of indigence, or of wealth, possiblj^ of crime. 
 The enigma hidden beneath that beautiful semblance 
 of a woman returned to mind ; Fedora might be ex- 
 plained in so man}' wa^'S that she became inexplicable. 
 The capricious breath which came through her teeth, 
 sometimes faintl}', sometimes rhjthmicalU-, solemnly or 
 gayl}', seemed a sort of language to which thoughts and 
 feelings might be attached. I hoped to surprise her 
 secrets by penetrating her sleep ; I dreamed her dreams, 
 I floated in a thousand directions, with conflicting 
 thoughts and man}' judgments. Looking at that ex- 
 quisite face, so calm and pure, it was impossible to 
 believe that the woman had no heart. I resolyed on 
 a last effort. I would tell her my life, my love, my 
 sacrifices ; perhaps I should thus awake her pity, and 
 win a tear from eyes that never wept. I was thus 
 placing my hopes once more on a final attempt to win 
 her, when the noises in the street warned me that day 
 was breaking. For a moment the thought came to me, 
 of Fedora waking in mj' arms ; it tyrannized cruell}' 
 over me, but I wished to resist it, and I fled from the 
 room, taking no precautions to avoid a noise. Fortu- 
 natel}^, I found a door which opened on a little stair- 
 case ; the ke}' was in the lock ; I closed it violently 
 after me, and without knowing or caring whether I 
 
[176 The Magic Skin, 
 
 \^ 
 
 were seen, I sprang down to the street in a few 
 bounds. 
 
 " Two days later an author was to read a comedy to 
 a party of guests in the countess's salon. I went with 
 the intention of remaining to the last and proffering 
 a rather singular request. I wished her to give me the 
 whole of the next evening, and to close her doors so 
 that we might be wholly alone. But when the company 
 had left and I found myself alone with her, my heart 
 failed me. The ver\' ticking of the clock terrified me. 
 It was a quarter to twelve. * If I do not speak,' I 
 thought, ' then I had better break my skull against the 
 corner of the chimney-piece.' I allowed myself three 
 minutes' respite : the three minutes went bj^ ; I did not 
 break my skull against the marble ; my heart had 
 grown heav}', like a sponge as it fills with water. 
 
 '' ' How livelj' you are,' she said to me. ' Ah, 
 madame,' I answered, ' if only you could understand 
 me ! ' — ' Why, what is the matter? ' she replied ; ' you 
 are quite pale.' — ' I hesitate to ask a favor of you.* 
 She made an encouraging gesture, and I asked for the 
 interview. ' Willingly,' she said ; ' but why not speak 
 to me now ? ' — 'I will not deceive 3'ou,' I said ; '- 1 want 
 to pass the whole evening with you, as though we were 
 brother and sister. Do not fear ; I know your antip- 
 athies ; 3'ou understand me well enough to feel sure 
 I will ask nothing that shall displease you, — besides, a 
 bold man would never do as I am doing. You have 
 offered me friendship, you are kind, and full of indul- 
 gence — well, to-morrow I intend to bid you farewell. 
 Don't retract!' I cried, for I saw she was about to 
 speak ; then I rapidly left the room. 
 
The Magic Skin. 177 
 
 '' It was in May last, about eight o'clock in the even- 
 ing, that Fedora received me alone in her Gothic bou- 
 doir. I did not tremble then, I felt sure of happiness ; 
 either m}' mistress should be mine, or I would escape 
 into the arms of death. I saw and condemned the 
 cowardice of m}' love. A man is strong when he ad- 
 mits to himself his weakness. 
 
 " Fedora was lying on a sofa with her feet on a 
 cushion, dressed in blue cashmere. An Eastern be- 
 retta — the same that man3' painters give to the early 
 Jews — added a strange piquancy to her attractions. 
 The fugitive charm which now attached to her whole 
 pei'son seems to prove that we are at times new beings, 
 apart from our previous selves, with no likeness to the 
 I of the past, or the I of the future. I had never seen 
 her so glorious. 
 
 " ' Do you know,' she said, laughing, ' that you have 
 piqued my curiosity ? ' 
 
 '' ' I will not betraj^ it,' I answered coldly, sitting 
 down beside her, and taking a hand which she resigned 
 to me. ' You sing delightfuU}'.' 
 
 '''You have never heard me!' she cried, with a 
 gesture of surprise. 
 
 " ' I w411 prove to 3'ou that I have, if necessar3\ Is 
 that delightful voice of yours another mystery ? Don't 
 be uneasy ; I wall not try to penetrate it.' 
 
 " We talked together familiarl}' for more than an 
 hour. Though I took the tone and manner and ges- 
 tures of a man to whom Fedora could refuse nothing, I 
 treated hei" with lover-like respect. She granted me 
 the favor of kissing her hand, which she ungloved with 
 dainty motions ; I was so wrapped in the illusion in 
 
 12 
 
178 The Magic Skin, 
 
 which I struggled to believe, that my soul seemed to 
 melt and pour itself into that kiss. Fedora allowed 
 me to caress and fondle her with surprising wiUingness. 
 But do not think me a fool ; had I gone one step be- 
 yond these brotherl}^ endearments, I should have felt 
 the claws of the cat. For more than ten minutes we 
 remained silent. I looked at her with admiration ; 
 lending her the charms to which in truth she gave the 
 lie. At that moment she was mine, mine alone ; I 
 possessed her intuitively ; I enveloped her with m}^ 
 desire, I held her, clasped her, wedded her in imagina- 
 tion. I vanquished Fedora by the power of a magnetic 
 fascination ; and I have always regretted that I did not 
 then bring her wholly under subjection ; but at that 
 moment I sought, not the mere woman, but a soul, a 
 life, an ideal and perfect happiness, the glorious dream 
 in which we do not long believe. 
 
 " ' Madame,' I said, feeling that the last hour of my 
 intoxication had come, ' listen to me. I love 3'ou ; you 
 know it; I have told it to you in a thousand ways, and 
 you ought to have understood me. I would not seek 
 your love b}' the airs and graces of a dandy, nor with 
 the flattery and importunity of fools like those who sur- 
 round you, and therefore you have failed to comprehend 
 me. How many woes have I not endured through 
 you, though you were innocent of them ! But 3'ou shall 
 judge me now. There are two poverties in this world, 
 madame, — one that goes boldly through the streets in 
 rags, like another Diogenes, feeding on the barest 
 necessaries, reducing existence to its simplest wants ; 
 a povert}' that is perhaps happier than wealth, at any 
 rate more careless, grasping the world at a point 
 
The Magic Skin. 179 
 
 rliere other men will have none of it. Then comes the 
 other povert}', of luxury, — the hidalgo's povert}', pau- 
 perism behind a title, in a white waistcoat and 3'ellow 
 gloves, which drives in carriages and has not a penn}^ 
 to save a fortune. One is the poverty of the people, the 
 other the poverty- of swindlers, of kings, and men of 
 talent. I am neither people nor king nor swindler, 
 possibl}' not even a man of talent ; call me an excep- 
 tion. M}' name requires me to die rather than beg — 
 Do not fear, madame, I am rich enough to-day ; I 
 possess all that I need of earth.' I said this observing 
 that her face assumed the cold expression with which 
 people listen to the demands of a visitor asking mone^"" 
 for a charit}'. ' Do 3'ou remember the day 3'ou went to 
 the Gymnase without me, not expecting to -see me 
 there ? ' She made a sign of assent. ' I had spent my 
 last penny to take you. Do 3'ou remember our walk in 
 the Jardin des Plantes? the coach which I hired cost 
 my whole substance.' Then I told her my sacrifices, I 
 pictured my life, not as I am telling it to you now in 
 the intoxication of wine, but in the noble intoxicatioi 
 of the heart. My passion overflowed in ardent Ian 
 guage, in flashes of feeling, since forgotten and whicl 
 neither art nor memor}' could ever reproduce. It waa 
 not the cold narration of a despised lover ; my love, in 
 all the strength and beaut}- of its hope, inspired the 
 words which pleaded for life with the cr}* of a lacerated 
 soul ; my tones were those of the dying on a battle-field 
 offering their last pray'er — 
 
 "She wept. I stopped short. Good God ! her tears 
 came from the paltry emotion we bu}' at a theatre for a 
 few francs ; my success was that of a good actor ! 
 
>/ 
 
 180 The Magic Skin. 
 
 " ' If I had known,' she said. 
 
 " ' Say no more,' I exclaimed ; ' at this moment I love 
 you enough to kill you — ' She tried to seize the bell- 
 rope. I laughed aloud. ^ Call no one ! ' I cried ; ' I will 
 leave you to live out your days in peace. It would be 
 a paltry form of hatred to kill you. Fear nothing, I 
 have passed a whole night standing at the foot of your 
 bed — ' 
 
 "'Monsieur! 'she said, blushing; but after tliat 
 first impulse of the modest}^ which all women pos- 
 sess, even the most callous, she threw a contemptuous 
 glance upon me and said, ' You must have found it 
 ver}^ cold.' 
 
 " ' Do you think, madame, that your beauty is so 
 precious to me?' I answered, guessing the thoughts 
 that moved her. ' Your face is to me the promise of 
 a soul more beautiful than your personal beauty. Ah, 
 madame, the men who only see a woman in woman- 
 hood can bu3" odalisques worthy of the sultan's harem, 
 and be happy at a low price. But I have been ambi- 
 tious ; I wanted to live heart to heart with 3'ou who 
 have no heart, — I know it now. If ever you belong to 
 a man I will kill him. But no, 3'ou might love him, 
 and his death would grieve 3'ou — Oh, how I suffer ! ' 
 I cried. 
 
 " ' If a promise can console 3'Ou,' she said, laughing, 
 ' I can assure you that I shall belong to no man.' 
 
 '''Then,' I said, interrupting her, '3'Ou insult God, 
 and 3'Ou will be punished. Some da}', lying on that 
 sofa, unable to bear either light or noise, condemned 
 to live as it were in a tomb, 3'ou will suffer untold 
 agon3^ When 3'OU seek the reason of your slow, relent- 
 
The Magic Skin. 181 
 
 less pains remember the sufferings 3'ou have so lavishly 
 dealt out to others. You have sown curses, and they 
 will return to 3'ou in hatred. We who have suffered 
 are the true judges, the executioners of a justice wiiich 
 governs here below, trampling underfoot that of men, 
 but lower than that of God.' 
 
 '' ' Ah ! * she said, laughing, ' I am guilt}- indeed for 
 not loving you ! Is it my fault ? No, I do not love 
 you ; you are a man, and that is enough for me. I am 
 happ}- in being alone ; wh}' should I change m}' life — 
 call it selfish if you will — for the caprices of a master? 
 Marriage is a sacrament, in virtue of which we ob- ] 
 tain nothing but a communion of sorrows. Besides, 
 children annoy me. Did I not loyally- warn 3'ou of my 
 nature ? Why are you not content with m}- friendship ? 
 I would gladly soothe the suffering I have unwittingly 
 caused jou by not guessing the cost to 3'OU of 3-our poor 
 little francs ; I appreciate 3'our sacrifices ; but onl}- love 
 can pa}- for such devotion, such delicate attentions, 
 and I love you so little that this scene affects me 
 disagreeably.' 
 
 " ' I feel how ridiculous I have made m3-self, forgive 
 me,' I said gentl}- ; ' I love you enough to listen with 
 delight to the cruel words 3'Ou are saying to me. Oh, 
 would that I could write my love in my heart's blood.' 
 
 *' ' All men use those classic phrases on such occa- 
 sions,' she said, still laughing. 'But it seems to be 
 rather difficult to die at a woman's feet, for I meet the' 
 dead men everywhere. It is midnight; allow me to 
 retire.' 
 
 *' ' And in two hours 3-ou will exclaim, as 3-ou did th« 
 night before last, '' My God!" ' I said to her. 
 
182 The Magic Skin. 
 
 "'Night before last!' she cried. 'True, I was 
 thinking of my broker ; I had forgotten to tell him to 
 sell out certain stocks, and in the course of the day they 
 had gone down.' 
 
 ' ' I looked at her with eyes that flashed with rage. 
 Ah! sometimes a crime may be a poem, — I felt it. 
 FamiUar with such passionate adjurations, she had 
 already forgotten my words and prayers. 
 
 " ' Shall you marry a peer of France ? ' I asked coldly. 
 
 " ' Perhaps ; if he is a duke.' 
 
 " I took m}' hat and bowed to her. 
 
 " ' Permit me to accompan}' you to my outer door,' 
 she said, with piercing satire in her tone and gestures 
 and in the attitude of her head. 
 
 " 'Madame!' 
 
 " ' Monsieur?' 
 
 " ' Never will I see you again.' 
 
 " ' I hope not/ she answered, bowing her head with 
 an insolent expression. 
 
 " ' You wish to be a duchess,' I resumed, driven on- 
 ward b}^ a sort of frenz}- which her gesture roused in 
 my heart. ' You crave titles and honors. Well then, 
 let me love you ; tell m}' pen to speak, my voice 
 to sound for you alone ; be the mainspring of ray life, 
 m}^ star ! and take me for a husband when I am min- 
 ister and peer of France and duke. I can be all, all, if 
 3'ou but will it.' 
 
 " ' You certainly employed your time well in a law- 
 3'er's office,' she said, smiling ; ' 3'our plea has plenty 
 of ardor.' 
 
 " '■To you the present,' I cried, ' to me the future. 
 I lose a woman, 30U lose fame and a famih'. Time is 
 
The Magic Skin. 183 
 
 big with vengeance ; it will bring 3'on loss of beauty 
 and a solitary death, but to me glor3' ! ' 
 
 " ' Thank you for that finale ! ' she said, smothering 
 a 3'awn, and showing by her attitude the desire that I 
 should leave her sight. 
 
 " The words silenced me. I threw m}' hatred in one 
 look upon her and fled the house. 
 
 " What was now before me? Either I must forget 
 Fedora, cure my madness, return to mj' studious solitude, 
 or die. I compelled myself to toil ; I resolved to fiuish 
 the works in my brain. For fifteen days I never left 
 my room, and spent both days and nights in stud3% In 
 spite of m3' courage and the inspirations of despair, I 
 worked with difficult^' and b3' fits and starts. The 
 muse had fled. I could not drive awa3' the brilliant 
 and mocking pliantom of B^edora. Behind each thought 
 of m3' mind lurked another sickly thought, a gnawing 
 desire, terrible as remorse. I imitated the anchorites 
 of the Thebaid. If I did not pray like them, hke them 
 I lived in a desert. I delved into m3' soul, as the3' 
 among the rocks ; and I would gladly have worn spikes 
 about my loins, piercing the flesh with ever3' point, could 
 I have conquered m3' mental anguish b3' physical pain. 
 
 " One evening Pauline came into my room. 'You 
 are killing 3'ourself!' she said; ' 3'ou ought to go out 
 and see 3'our friends.' 
 
 ''. ' Ah, Pauline, 3'Our prediction is coming true ! 
 Fedora kills me ; I wish to die. I cannot bear my 
 life an3' longer.' 
 
 " ' Is there but one woman in the world? ' she said, 
 smiling. * Wli3^ do 3'ou put such infinite troubles into 
 this short life?' 
 
184 The Magic Skin, 
 
 '* I looked at her stupidty. She left me ; I did not 
 even notice that she did so. I had heard her voice 
 without understanding the meaning of her words. Be- 
 fore long I was obliged to leave the house to cany the 
 manuscript of the memoirs to m}' literarj^ employer. 
 Sunken in my own thoughts, I did not perceive how 
 it was that I lived without money. I was only con- 
 scious that the four hundred and fifty francs now due 
 me would suffice to pay my debts. I went to get them, 
 and met Eastignac, who thought me changed and 
 emaciated. ' What hospital are you just out of? ' he 
 cried. 
 
 '^ ' That woman is killing me ! ' I answered. ' I can 
 neither despise her nor forget her.' 
 
 "'Better kill her!' he answered, laughing; 'and 
 then perhaps you won't think of her again.' 
 
 "'1 have thought of it,' I said. 'But though at 
 times I comfort my soul with the thought of crime, I 
 know I am unable to commit it. Fedora is a glorious 
 monster, who would pray for mercy, and I am no 
 Othello.' 
 
 '* 'She is like ever}'- other woman whom we cannot 
 get,' said Rastignac, interrupting me. 
 
 " ' I am mad ! ' I cried ; ' sometimes I feel the mad- 
 ness surging in my brain. My thoughts are like phan- 
 toms ; they dance about me, but I cannot seize them. 
 I prefer death to such a life as this. I seek a way — 
 the best way — to end the struggle. It is no longer a 
 question of the actual, living, breathing Fedora, the 
 Fedora of the faubourg Saint-Honore, but of my Fedora, 
 of her who is there,' I cried, striking my brow. ' What 
 think you of opium ? ' — ' Bah ! horrid suffering ! ' an- 
 
The Magic Skin. 185 
 
 swered Rastignac. — * Charcoal? ' — ' Vulgar ! ' — * The 
 Seine ? ' — ' Those slabs at the Morgue are filthy.' — ' A 
 pistol-shot? ' — ' If it misses, 3'ou 're disfigured for life. 
 Listen to me/ he continued ; ' like all other young men, 
 I have reflected about suicide. Which of us has not > 
 killed himself two or three times before he was thirty? 
 I see no better wa3^ than to use up life by excesses. 
 Plunge into the deepest dissipation, and either j'ou or 
 3'our passion will perish. Intemperance, my dear fellow, 
 is the king of deaths ; does n't it command apoplexy, 
 and is n't apoplexy a pistol-shot that never misses ? ^ 
 The orgies of physical enjoyment are the small change 
 of opium. Excesses that force us to drink madly are 
 a mortal challenge to life. The Duke of Clarence's 
 butt of malmsey tastes better than Seine mud. Each 
 time we go under the table is n't it the same as char- 
 coal in little doses, — a slow suffocation ? If the 
 watchman picks us up in the street and lays us on 
 the cold beds at the guard-house, don't we enjoy all 
 the pleasures of the Morgue, minus the swollen stom- 
 achs, — blue, green, and every color, — and plus a 
 knowledge of the crisis? Ah,' he cried, ' my kind of 
 suicide is n't the vulgar death of a bankrupt grocer ! 
 Such men have brought the river into disrepute ; they 
 fling themselves into it to touch the hearts of their 
 creditors. In your place, I should try to die with ele- 
 gance. If you want to create a new style of death by 
 fighting this sort of duel with life, I '11 go into it with 
 you. I am annoyed and disappointed. That Alsatian 
 I was to marry has six toes on her left foot. I could n't 
 live with a woman who has a foot with six toes ; people 
 would find it out, and I should be ridiculous. Besides, 
 
186 The Magic Skin, 
 
 it seems she has onl}- eighteen thousand francs a 3^ear, 
 — the fortune diminishes and the toes increase; the 
 devil take them ! Let us lead this wild life, and happi- 
 ness ma}' come by the wa}'.' 
 
 " Rastignac's vehemence carried me off my feet. 
 The plan had too many seductions ; it awakened too 
 many hopes. The coloring of the picture was too po- 
 etic not to fascinate a poet. 
 
 " ' But the money? ' I said. 
 
 *' ' Have n't you got that four hundred and fifty 
 francs ? ' 
 
 " 'Yes; but I owe them to my tailor and to my 
 landlady.' 
 
 " 'Pa}' 3'our tailor? You'll never be anything in 
 this world, — not even a minister.' 
 
 " ' But what could we do with such a beggarly 
 sum?' 
 
 " ' Pla}^ it,' he answered. I shuddered. 'Ah,' he 
 added, observing m}' reluctance. ' You say you are 
 willing to plunge into what I call the Dissipation al 
 System^ and yet you are afraid of a green table- 
 cloth ! ' 
 
 " ' Hear me,' I said ; ' I promised my father never 
 to set foot in a gambling-house. That promise is not 
 onl}' sacred to me, but I have myself an invincible 
 horror of such places. Take my money and go alone. 
 While you are playing it I will put m}' affairs in order 
 and then go to your rooms and wait for you.' 
 
 " That, m}^ dear Emile, is the tale of my ruin. Let 
 a 3'oung man meet with a woman who does not love 
 him, or a woman who loves him too well and his life is 
 forever spoiled. Happiness exhausts our vigor, un- 
 
The Magic Skin, 187 
 
 happiness engulfs our virtue. I re-entered the Hotel 
 Saint-Quentin, and gazed round the attic-room where 
 I had lived the chaste life of a scholar, — a life that 
 might perhaps have been long and honorable, and 
 which I ought never to have quitted for the passionate 
 existence which had dragged me down to the ab3'ss. 
 Pauline found me in an attitude of despair. 
 
 *' ' What is the matter? ' she asked. 
 
 " I rose quietly- and counted out the money which I 
 owed to her motber, adding the rent of my room for 
 the coming six months. She watched me in terror. 
 ' I am going to leave 3'ou, dear Pauline.' ' I thought 
 so,' she cried. ^Hear me, m}^ child, I do not say that 
 I shall not return ; keep m}' cell read^' for six months ; 
 if I am not back by the 15th of November 3'ou are to 
 inherit all. This sealed manuscript,' I continued, show- 
 ing her a package, ' is a cop}^ of my great work on the 
 Will which you are to deposit in the Bibliotheque du 
 Roi. As to all else you are to do what you like 
 with it.' 
 
 * ' She gave me a look which weighed heavily on my 
 heart. Pauline stood there as my living conscience. 
 
 '' ' Shall I have no more lessons? ' she said, pointing 
 to the piano. I did not answer. 
 
 '' ' Will 3'ou write to me? ' 
 
 '' 'Adieu, Pauline.' I drew her gentl}^ to me ; then 
 on that brow of love, pure as the snow before it touches 
 earth, I laid the kiss of a brother, of an old man. She 
 left me quickly. I did not wish to see Madame Gau- 
 din. I put my key in its usual placo and went aw^a3\ 
 As I passed through the rue de Cluny I heard the 
 light step of a woman behind me. 
 
188 The Magic Skin. 
 
 " ' I have worked 3'ou this purse ; surely' you will not 
 refuse it?' said Pauline. B3' the dim light of a street 
 lantern I saw a tear in her eye, and I sighed. Driven 
 perhaps by the same thought we hastened to separate, 
 like persons fleeing from the plague. 
 
 " The life of dissipation to which I now devoted m}'- 
 self was curiously- represented b^^ the room where I 
 awaited Rastignac's return with stern indifference. On 
 the centre of the mantle-shelf stood a clock surmounted 
 b}' a Venus sitting on a tortoise, in the angle of whose 
 arm was a half-smoked cigar. Elegant pieces of furni- 
 ture, love-gifts no doubt, stood here and there. Shabb}^ 
 slippers were tossed upon a silken sofa. The com- 
 fortable arm-chair in which I sat bore as many scars 
 as an old soldier ; it held out its ragged arms, and 
 exhibited on its back the incrusted pomades and hair- 
 oils of the heads of friends. Opulence and poverty 
 were bluntly mated on the bed, on the walls, every- 
 where. You might have thought it a Neapolitan pal- 
 ace inhabited by lazzaroni. ' It was in fact the room of 
 a gambler or a reprobate, whose luxury- is all personal, 
 who lives by sensations and cares nothing for the de- 
 cenc}^ and fitness of things. The picture is not with- 
 out its artistic side: Life leaps up in these tawdr}- rags 
 and spangles, unexpected, incomplete as it is in realit}-, 
 but electrifying, fantastic, eager, as in a halt where the 
 marauder pillages all he wants. A volume of Byron, 
 with half its pages torn out, served to light the few 
 fagots of the 3'ouug man who risks a thousand francs at 
 plaj^ and has not the wherewithal to pay for a log of 
 wood, who drives his tilbur}', but does not own a decent 
 shirt. Tomorrow, [jerhaps, a countess, or an actress, or 
 
The Magic Skin. 189 
 
 a luck}' game of ecarte, will give him the wardrobe of a 
 king. Here a wax-candle is stuck in a tin match-box ; 
 there lies the portrait of some woman deprived of its 
 chased gold frame. How can a young man eager for 
 emotions renounce the delights of a life so rich in con- 
 trasts, and which gives him the pleasures of war in times 
 of peace? I was well-nigh asleep when Rastignac kicked 
 open the door and rushed in, crying, — 
 
 " * Victory ! we can die at our ease ! ' 
 
 " He showed me his hat full of gold, which he placed on 
 the table, and we danced round it like two cannibals with 
 a prey to be eaten, — howhng, stamping, skipping, strik- 
 ing blows at each other with our fists that would have stag- 
 gered a rhinoceros, and singing praises to the pleasures 
 of the world held for us within the compass of that hat. 
 
 " ' Twenty-seven thousand francs ! ' cried Rastignac, 
 adding some bank-bills to the heap of gold ; ' for most 
 people that is enough to live on, but will it suffice to kill 
 3'ou and me ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, we will die in a bath of gold. Hurrah ! * 
 and we capered again. 
 
 •' We divided our gains, like heirs-at-law, coin by coin, 
 beginning with the double napoleons, and coming down 
 by degrees to the lesser pieces, spinning out our joy as 
 we cried alternately, ' Yours ! ' ' Mine ! ' ' Mine ! ' • Yours ! * 
 
 " 'We shall never be able to sleep,' cried Rastignac. 
 ' Joseph, get us some punch.' He flung a heap of gold 
 to his faithful servant. ' Here 's your share,' he said ; 
 ' bur}' yourself if you want to.' 
 
 '* The next day I bought furniture from Lesage and 
 hired the apartment where you knew me last, in the 
 rue Taitbout, and got the best upholsterer in Paris to 
 
190 The Magic Skin. 
 
 decorate it. I purchased horses ; I flung' m3'self into a 
 whirlpool of pleasures that were hollow and real both. 
 I gambled, I won and lost enormous sums, but always 
 in private houses, — never in gambling-dens, for which 
 I still retained m}' early and pious horror. Little by 
 little I made acquaintances. I owed their intimacy to 
 quarrels or to that facile confidence with w^hich we be- 
 tray our secrets in degrading company ; it is, perhaps, 
 by their vices that men hang best together. I circulated 
 a few literary compositions which gained me credit. 
 The great men of commercial literature, seeing that I was 
 not a rival to be feared, praised me, — less, no doubt, for 
 m}' personal merits than to annoy their own class. I 
 became a viveur (to employ the picturesque word we 
 have invented for our excesses) ; I made it a matter of 
 pride to kill myself quickl}', to surpass my gayest com- 
 panions in ardor and vigor. I was always fresh and 
 elegant ; I passed for being witty. Nothing about me 
 betrayed the awful existence which makes a man a 
 funnel, a digesting apparatus, a cheval de luxe. 
 
 "But soon Excess appeared before me in all the 
 majesty of its horror ; I comprehended it. Surel}' the 
 prudent and orderly men who ticket the bottles in their 
 cellars and leave them to their heirs have no conception. 
 of the theory of this broad life, nor of its normal condi- 
 tion. Can you teach the poetr}' of it to provincials, to 
 whom tea and opium, so prodigal of delights, are only 
 two medicines? Even in Paris, the capital of thought, 
 we find crude S3^barites, men unable to sustain an excess 
 of pleasure, who return home wearied from a banquet, 
 like those good shopkeepers who sit up to hear an opera 
 of Rossini and complain of the music. They renounce 
 
7 
 / 
 
 ^ 
 
 The Magic Skin, 191 
 
 the life at once, just as the sober man declines to eat a 
 second Ruffec patt}' because the first gave him an indi- 
 gestion. Excess is certainly an art like that of poetrj-, 
 and needs strong natures. Before a man can grasp its 
 mysteries, or taste its beauties he must, to some extent, 
 stud}' it coHscientiously.. Like all sciences, it is in the 
 beginning repellant and prickl3\ Immense obstacles 
 surround the high pleasures of man, — not his lesser 
 enjoj'ment of details, but the broad system which trains 
 into a habit his choicest sensations, gathers them up, 
 fructifies them into a dramatic life within his life, and 
 thus necessitates a vast and hurried dissipation of his 
 forces. War, Power, Art are corruptions within human 
 reach as powerful as Excess, and all are difficult of 
 approach. But once a man has mounted the breach of 
 these great mysteries, has he not reached another world ? 
 Generals, statesmen, artists are all, more or less, driven 
 to excesses, by the need of giving violent emotions to 
 natures so far out of the common as theirs. After all, 
 war is an Excess of slaughter, just as politics are a de- 
 bauch of selfish interests. Air excesses are related. 
 These social monsters have the alluring power of 
 abysses ; they draw us to them as Saint Helena beck- 
 oned Napoleon from afar ; the}' induce vertigos, they 
 fascinate, and we seek to see to their depths, we know 
 not wh}- . The secret of the infinite ma}' be below that 
 precipice ; perhaps in that abyss there is some flattering 
 discovery for man ; is he not interested first and always 
 in his own being? In contrast with the paradise of his 
 studious hour, and the bliss of his faculties of concep- 
 tion, the weary artist seeks, like God, a seventh-day's 
 rest, or, like the Devil, the joys of hell, to balance the 
 
192 The Magic Skin. 
 
 labor of the mind with the labor of the senses. The re- 
 laxation of Lord Bjron could never be the chattering 
 whist which dehghts the small capitalist ; poet, he 
 wanted Greece to play against a Sultan. In war, man 
 becomes an exterminating angel, a species of execu- 
 tioner, gigantic in purpose. Surel}', some extraordinary 
 spell must be upon us before we seek these awful emo- 
 tions, these destroyers of our frail bodies, which sur- 
 round our passions like a thorny hedge. The smoker 
 writhes convulsivel}' and suffers agony for the abuse of 
 tobacco, but it has led him into regions of delightful 
 holiday ? Has Europe ever wiped her feet of the blood 
 of war before she stepped into it again? Have masses 
 of men their times of drunkenness as nature herself the 
 crises of love? To the private individual, the Mirabeau 
 who vegetates in times of peace but dreams of whirl- 
 winds. Excess means much ; it means a grasp on life, a 
 duel with an unknown power, with a dragon. The mon- 
 ster is at first abhorrent, terrifying ; you must seize him 
 by the horns, and the fatigue is dreadful ; nature ma}' 
 have given 3'ou a slow and narrow stomach ; 3'ou con- 
 quer it, 3'ou enlarge it ; you learn how to take your wine, 
 you grow friendly with intoxication, you pass nights 
 without sleep, and soon you have the temperament of a 
 colonel of cuirassiers ; 3'Ou have created yourself anew. 
 "When a man has thus metamorphosed himself, when 
 the neophyte, grown to be an old soldier, has trained 
 his soul to the artillery and his legs to the march, with- 
 out as 3'et falling a victim to the dragon (though he 
 knows not which of the two is master) , the}' str..ggle 
 and roll together, alternatel}* vanquished and vanquish- 
 ing, in a sphere where all is mystical, where the suf- 
 
TJie Magic Skin. 193 
 
 ferings of the soul are put to sleep, and nothing lives 
 but the ghosts of ideas. The awful struggle has now 
 become a necessity. Like the fabulous personages of 
 many legends, who sell their soul to the Devil to ob- 
 tain the power of doing evil, the dissipated man has 
 played his death against the joys of life, — those fruit- 
 ful and abounding joys ! Existence, instead of flowing 
 onward between its peaceful and monotonous banks, 
 behind a counter or in an office, boils and foams and 
 rushes like a torrent. Excess is to the bod}' what ni3's- 
 tical pleasures are to the soul. Intoxication plunges 
 the mind into dreams whose phantasmagoria are as 
 curious as those of ecstas}' ; it bestows hours of en- 
 chantment equal to the fancies of a young girl, delight- 
 ful conversations with friends, words that reveal a 
 lifetime, joys that are frank and without reserva- 
 tion, journeys without fatigue, poems evolving in a 
 sentence. 
 
 ^' The brutal gratification of the beast, to the depths 
 of which science descends to seek a soul, is succeeded 
 by enchanting torpors for which men sigh when worn 
 and wearied out by intellect. They feel the need of 
 absolute repose. Excess to them is the tax which 
 genius pays to evil. Observe the world's great men ; 
 if they pursue no pleasure to excess, nature has cre- 
 ated them weaklings. Some power, be it a jeering or 
 a jealous power, vitiates their soul or their body and 
 neutralizes the efforts of their genius. During these 
 bacchanal hours men and things appear before us 
 clothed with the liver}' of our own estate. Kings of 
 creation, we transform created things at will. Athwart 
 this perpetual delirium Play pours its molten lead into 
 
 13 
 
194 The Magic Skin. 
 
 our veins. The day comes when we belong to the 
 monster; we have then a desperate awaking; impo- 
 tence is seated at our bedside ; aged warriors, con- 
 sumption is waiting to devour us ; statesmen, death 
 hangs by the thread of an aneurism in our heart ; for 
 myself, as I well know, my lungs will say to me, as 
 once they said to Raphael Urbino, killed by excess of 
 love, ' Thj^ time has come, depart.' 
 
 " That is my life. I came too earh' or too late into 
 the world ; perhaps my powers might have been dan- 
 gerous had I not thus enfeebled them. The universe 
 was saved from Alexander by the cup of Hercules at 
 the close of an org3\ Tliere are souls betra3'ed who 
 must have heaven or hell — the feasts of Bacchus or the 
 Hospice of Saint-Bernard. To-night I had no heart to 
 rebuke these creatures," he went on, pointing to 
 Euphrasia and Aquilina. '' Are they not the embodi- 
 ment of my own history, the image of my life? Could 
 I accuse them ? no, for the}' seem to me my judges. 
 
 ''In the course of this living poem, in the midst of 
 this bewildering malad}', I came to two crises that were 
 fruitful of bitter pains. A few nights after I had flung 
 myself like Sardanapalus on m}' pyre, I met Fedora in 
 the portico of the opera-house. We were waiting for 
 our carriages. ' Ah ! so I meet 3'ou in the land of the 
 living/ was the meaning of her smile and the theme of 
 the low words she doubtless said to her companion as 
 she related my story and judged mj' love b}' the com- 
 monplace standards of her own mind, congratulating 
 herself perhaps for her mistaken perceptions. Oh, to 
 be dying for her, to adore her still, to see but her in the 
 midst of my excesses, and know myself the object of 
 
The Magic Skin. 195 
 
 her laughter ! Would that I could rend m}- breast, tear 
 out that fatal love, and fling it at her feet ! 
 
 '* Soon m}^ mone3' was exhausted; but three 3'ears* 
 sobriet}' in a garret had brought me robust health, and 
 when again I found myself without a penny it was still 
 perfect. Continuing to pursue death, I signed bills of 
 exchange for short dates, and the da^- of meeting them 
 drew near. Dreadful emotions ! and jet how 3'oung 
 hearts live on them. I was not meant to grow palsied 
 as 3'et ; mj' soul was 3'oung and eager and fresh. M3" 
 first debt called back m3^ virtues, and the3'' came with 
 lagging feet as though disconsolate ; but soon I com- 
 promised, as we do with some old aunt who begins 
 b3' scolding us, and ends b3' giving mone3' and tears. 
 Imagination, sterner than virtue, showed me mj' name 
 upon those bills travelling from place to place through 
 Europe. ' Our name is ourself,' sa3's Eusebe Salverte. 
 Those banking agents, the embodiment of commercial 
 vengeance, dressed in gra3^, wearing the liver3' of their 
 master and a silver shield, whom I had formerL3' looked 
 at with indifference as the3' passed along the streets of 
 Paris, I now hated b3' anticipation. Before long some 
 one of them would surely come and ask me for paj'- 
 ment of the eleven bills of exchange that I had signed. 
 Those bills amounted to three thousand francs, and I 
 had not a penn3\ I saw in my mind's eye the man, 
 with a dull face indifferent to all despair, even that of 
 death, standing before me like the executioner who 
 says to the criminal, ' It is half-past . three o'clock.' 
 That man would have the right to seize me, to post m3' 
 name, to soil it, to make jests upon it. Debt! To 
 owe mone3' ! can a man belong to himself if he owes to 
 
196 The Magic Skin, 
 
 other men ? Might they not justly ask me to give ac- 
 count of my life? Why had I eaten puddings a la 
 Chipolata, why did I drink iced wines, why did I sleep, 
 walk, think, amuse myself without paying them? In 
 the middle of a poem, in the grasp of an idea, sur- 
 rounded by friends, by delights, by merriment, 1 might 
 see a man in a brown coat, holding a shabby hat in his 
 hand, approach me. That man was m3' Debt, my bill 
 of exchange, a spectre that blighted ni}' jo3', forced me 
 to leave the table to follow him, wrenched from me my 
 gayet}^ my mistress, my all, even my bed. 
 
 " Remorse is more tolerant, it drives us neither to 
 the streets nor to Sainte-Pelagie, — it spares us at least 
 that execrable sink of vice, — it sends us only to the 
 scaffold which ennobles us ; for at the moment of our 
 execution the whole community- believes us innocent. 
 But short of that, societ}' allows no virtue to the spend- 
 thrift who can spend no more. I dreamed of those 
 debts on two legs, dressed in green cloth, wearing blue 
 spectacles and carrying faded umbrellas ; those debts 
 incarnate, which in some joyous moment we come face to 
 face with at the corner of a street, — creatures who have 
 the horrible right to sa}' : ' That is Monsieur de Valentin ; 
 he owes me money and does not pay it ; but I have a 
 hold upon him.' We must bow to such creditors gra- 
 ciously. 'When will you pay me?' they reply. And 
 then we lie or implore some other man for the mone\' ; 
 we cringe before a fool sitting at a desk, accept his cold 
 glance, the glance of a leech, more odious than a blow, 
 and put up perforce with his sharp reckoning and his 
 crass ignorance. A debt is a work of imagination that 
 such men can never comprehend. An impulse of the 
 
I 
 
 The Magic Skin, 197 
 
 soul often impels and subjugates a borrower, while no 
 great-heartedness subjugates, no generosit}' guides those 
 who live in money and know nought else. I felt a hatred 
 of money. Or again, the bill of exchange might be meta- 
 morphosed into an old man burdened with a family he 
 was virtuously bringing up. Or perhaps I owed that 
 money to some living Greuze, to a paralytic sur- 
 rounded by children, to the widow of a soldier, all of 
 whom held up to me their supplicating hands. Dread- 
 ful creditors, with whom we must needs weep, and even 
 if we pa}' the debt, we still are bound to succor them. 
 
 " The evening before the day on which my first bill 
 of exchange was to fall due, I had gone to bed with 
 the stolid calmness of a criminal before his execution, 
 or a man on the eve of a duel ; such persons are still 
 under the influence of deceitful hopes. But when I 
 woke in the morning in cold blood, when I felt my 
 soul in the grasp of a banker, classed on an inventory, 
 written in red ink, then m}' debts sprang about me 
 like grasshoppers ; the\' were there on my clock, in 
 my chairs, hanging to every article that I liked best to 
 use. All those dear material servants were to fall a 
 prey to the minions of the Chatelet; a bailiflT would 
 take them from me, and fling them brutally into the 
 street. Ah ! my remains still lived ; I was not dead, 
 I was still myself. The door-bell rang in mj' heart and 
 echoed to my head. It was martyrdom without a 
 heaven beyond it. Yes, to a generous man debt is 
 hell, but hell amid brokers and bailiffs. An_unpaid 
 debt is a base thing ; it is the beginning of knaveiy. 
 Worse than that, it is a lie ; it foretells crime, the 
 stocks, the scaffold. ~~~ 
 
198 The Magic Skin, 
 
 " My bills of exchange were protested. Three days 
 later I paid them ; and this was how I did it. A land 
 speculator proposed that I should sell him the island I 
 possessed in the Loire, which contained my mother's 
 grave. I agreed. When signing the deeds before the 
 purchaser's notar}- I felt a cold air as from a vault 
 pass over me. I shuddered, remembering that the same 
 chill dampness had seized me as I stood b}^ mj' father's 
 open grave. I accepted the incident as an evil omen. 
 I fancied I heard m}^ mother's voice and saw her shade ; 
 some power, I knew not what, sounded m}- own name 
 vaguely in m^^ ears amid the ringing of bells. 
 
 "' The price of my island left me, when all my debts 
 were paid, about two thousand francs. I might now 
 have resumed the peaceful life of a scholar and returned 
 to my garret-chamber after experimenting with the life 
 of the world, i could have carried back to it a mind 
 filled with vast observation, and a name that was al- 
 ready somewhat known. But Fedora, — I was still 
 her prey ! We had often met. I made my name tingle 
 in her ears by the praises her astonished lovers be- 
 stowed on my wit, my horses, my equipages, my suc- 
 cess. She continued cold and insensible to everything, 
 even to the remark, ' He is kiUing himself for you ! ' 
 made to her by Rastignac. I called the whole world to 
 aid my vengeance ; but I was not happy. Deep as T 
 had gone into the slime of the world, 1 had ever craved 
 more deepl}" still the delights of mutual love ; that phan- 
 tom I still pursued through all the chances and changes 
 and dissipations of m\' life, even to the depths of my 
 excesses. Alas ! I was deceiA^ed in every belief, I was 
 punished for my benefactions by ingratitude, rewarded 
 
The Magic Skin, 199 
 
 for my wrong-doings by delights, — a baleful philoso- 
 ph}-, but true of the man given over to Excess. Fedora \ 
 had inoculated me with the lepros}- of her vanity ! \ 
 Probing m}' soul, I found it gangrened, rotten. The j 
 devil had stamped his hoof upon my brow. I could 
 no longer do without the continual excitements of my 
 perilous life, or the hateful refinements of extravagance. 
 Had I been rich as Crcesus, I should still have gambled 
 and wasted m}' substance and rushed into vice. I dared 
 not be alone with myself. I needed false friends, wine, 
 courtesans, and good living to take my thoughts. The 
 ties that bind a man to the sense of family were broken 
 in me forever. The galley-slave of pleasure, I must 
 now accomplish m}- destin}' of suicide. During the last 
 da3'S of ni}' last mone}' I rushed nightly into incredible 
 excesses, and each morning death flung me back to life. 
 Like an annuitant, I might have walked through flames 
 untouched. The da}' came when twenty francs were all 
 that remained to me ; and then for the first time a 
 thought of Rastignac's great luck occurred to me, and 
 I — Ha, ha ! " — he suddenl}' bethought himself of the 
 talisman, and pulled it from his pocket. 
 
 Whether it were that he was worn out bj: the strug- 
 gles of this long day, and no longer had the strength to 
 control his mind amid the fumes of wine and punch, or 
 that, exasperated b}' the phantom of his life which he 
 had thus conjured up, he had insensibly intoxicated 
 himself by the torrent of his words, Raphael now grew 
 wild and excited, like a man completel}' deprived of 
 reason. 
 
 *'To the devil with death!" he cried, brandishing 
 the Skin. " I choose to live ! I am rich ! I have every 
 
200 The Magic Skin, 
 
 virtue ! Nothing can thwart me ! Who would not be 
 good when he can be all ? Ha, ha ! I have wished for 
 two hundred thousand francs a 3'ear, and I shall have 
 the.m ! Bow down before me, ye swine, who wallow on 
 this carpet as if in a sty ! You belong to me, fine prop- 
 ert}^ that 3'ou are ! I can buy you all, — even that deputy 
 that lies snoring over there ! Come, you refuse of high 
 society, make obeisance to me ! I 'm yov\v Pope ! " 
 
 These violent exclamations, covered at first by the 
 snores of those about him, were suddenly heard. Most 
 of the sleepers woke up shouting ; the3' saw the speaker 
 standing unsteadil}^ on his legs, and they cursed his 
 noisy drunkenness with a concert of oaths. 
 
 '' Silence ! " cried Raphael. " Hounds, to j^our ken- 
 nels ! EmilCj I tell 3'ou I have treasures ; I '11 give you 
 Havana cigars — " 
 
 ^' I hear you," replied the poet. "Fedora or death! 
 Keep it up ! That sugar-plum of a Fedora is only de- 
 ceiving you. All women are daughters of Eve. Your 
 tale is not a bit dramatic." 
 
 *' You are asleep, you cheat ! " 
 
 " No, no ; Fedora or death ! I 'm listening." 
 
 "Wake up!" cried Raphael, striking Emile with 
 the Magic3ki»-«s if he meant to draw forth an electric 
 fluid. ^' 
 
 *' Thunder!" exclaimed Emile, rising and seizing 
 Raphael in his arms. " My friend, recollect where you 
 are, — in the company of bad women ! " 
 
 '* I 'm a millionnaire ! " 
 
 '* Millionnaire or not, 3'ou are drunk ! " 
 
 ''Drunk with power, — lean kill you. Silence! I 
 am Nero ! I am Nebuchadnezzar ! " 
 
The Magic Skin, 201 
 
 *' But, Raphael, hear me; we are in bad compan}'. 
 You ought to be silent out of dignitj'." 
 
 " My life has been silent too long. Now I will 
 avenge myself on the universe ! I '11 not pla}- at spend- 
 ing paltry mone}', — I '11 imitate the epoch. I 'II concen- 
 trate its teachings in myself b}' consuming human lives, 
 and intellects, and souls. That 's a luxury that is neither 
 mean nor contemptible ; it is the wealth, the opulence 
 of the Plague ! I will fight with fevers, — yellow, blue, 
 and green, — with armies, with scaffolds. I can have 
 Fedora — no, no, I do not want Fedora ; she is my dis- 
 ease. I am dying of her. Let me forget Fedora — " 
 
 " If 3-0U continue to shout I'll (;any you into the 
 dining-room." 
 
 "Do 3'0T3 see that Skin? It is the last will and 
 testament of Solomon. He 's mine, that Solomon, — 
 that little pedant of a king ! Arabia is in the hollow 
 of mj' hand, — Petraea too. The universe is mine. You 
 are mine if I want 3'ou, — Ha ! take care, lest I do 
 want 3'ou. I can bu}' up 3'our trumper}' journal ; I '11 
 make you my valet. You can write verses and rule 
 my paper for me. Valet ! valet, — that means ; He has 
 health, because he thinks of nothing." 
 
 Here Emile dragged Raphael into the dining-room. 
 
 *'Yes, jes, m^' dear friend," he said, ''I'm 3-our 
 valet. But you are to be editor-in-chief of a newspaper, 
 and you must hold 3'our tongue. Be decent, if onl3' out 
 of regard for me. You do care for me, don't 3'ou ? " 
 
 "Don't I! You shall smoke Havana cigars out of 
 the Skin. The Skin, the Skin, m3^ friend, the Sover- 
 eign Skin, — it's a panacea, it will cure corns! Have 
 you corns? I'll extract them.'* 
 
202 The Magic Skin, 
 
 '' Never did I see you so stupid." 
 
 " Stupid ! No. That Skin is to shrink whenever I 
 form a wish — it 's a living paradox. The brahman (for 
 there's a brahman behind it all) the brahman was a 
 miserable joker because, don't you see, desires must 
 stretch — " 
 
 *'Yes, Isee — " 
 
 *'Itellyou — " 
 
 *' Yes, yes, that's very true, I think as j'ou do, 
 desires stretch — " 
 
 *' I told 3^ou the Skin must stretch." 
 
 *'Yes." 
 
 *' You don't believe me ; I see you don't ; j'ou 're as 
 deceitful as that new king of ours." 
 
 '' How am I to follow 3'our drunken ramblings? " 
 
 "I bet I can prove it to you. Let's take its 
 measure." 
 
 " Heavens ! will he never go to sleep ! " cried Emile, 
 as Raphael began to hunt about the room for some- 
 thing. 
 
 Valentin, with the cleverness of a monkey, thanks 
 to the curious lucidity of mind which occasionally 
 contrasts in drunken men with their obtuseness of 
 vision, soon found an inkstand and a napkin, repeating 
 all the while, ' ' Take the measure ! Take the measure ! 
 Take the measure ! " 
 
 '' Yes," said Emile, " let us take the measure." 
 
 The two friends spread out the napkin, and laid the 
 Magic Skin upon it. Emile, whose hand was steadier 
 than Raphael's, took the pen and marked an ink line 
 round the talisman, while his friend kept saying, "I 
 wished for two hundred thousand francs a year, did n't 
 
The Magic Shin. 203 
 
 ? Well, when I get them, you will see that Skin 
 jhiink." 
 
 ' Yes, but now go to sleep. Come and lie down on 
 this sofa. There, are 30U comfortable? " 
 
 *' Yes, m^' suckhng of the Press. You shall amuse 
 le, and brush off the flies. The friend of evil days 
 las a right to be the friend of power, and I '11 — give 
 rou — ci — gars — Hav — " 
 
 *'Come, sleep off 3'our gold, milllonnaire." 
 
 ** Sleep off 3'our articles, 3-ou — Good-night. Say 
 good-night to Nebuchadnezzar. Love ! Your health ! 
 France — glor^' and riches — rich — " 
 
 Soon the two friends added their snores to the mu- 
 sic that echoed in the adjoining rooms. The candles 
 burned down one hy one, shattered their glass cups and 
 then went out. Niglit wrapped its black crape round 
 the long org3', to which Raphael's tale had been like an 
 orgy of speech, of words without ideas, of ideas for 
 which the right expression was often wanting. 
 
 About twelv^e o'clock of the next da3' the beautiful 
 Aquilina rose, 3'awning and languid, with her cheek 
 marbled b3' the imprint of the stamped velvet footstool 
 on which her head had been lying. Euphrasia, wakened 
 b3' the movement of her companion, jumped up suddenl3', 
 uttering a hoarse cr3'. Her prett3' face, so fair, so fresh 
 the night before, was 3'ellow and pale, like that of a girl 
 on her way to the hospital. One by one the guests began 
 to stir and to groan as the3' felt the stiffness of their arms 
 and legs, and the divers fatigues which overcame them 
 on waking. A footman opened the blinds and windows 
 of the salon. The compan3" were presently upon their 
 feet, called to life by the warm sunbeams which sparkled 
 
204 The Magic Skin. 
 
 upon their slumbering heads. The women, whose ele- 
 gantly arranged hair was now dishevelled and whose 
 dresses were disordered by the tossings of sleep, pre- 
 sented a hideous spectacle in the light of day. Their 
 hair hung down, the expression of their faces had 
 changed, their eyes so brilliant the night before were 
 dulled by lassitude. The sallow complexions, often so 
 dazzling b}' candlelight, were shocking to behold ; the 
 lymphatic faces, so fair and soft when at their best, had 
 turned green ; the lips, so deliciousl3' ros3' a few hours 
 earlier, were now dry and pallid, and bore the shameful 
 stigmata of drunkenness. The men recoiled from their 
 mistresses of the night before when thej* saw them thus 
 discolored and cadaverous, like flowers crushed in the 
 street after the passage of a procession. 
 
 But the men who scorned the women were still 
 more horrible to behold. You would have shuddered 
 to see those human faces, those cavernous eyes which 
 seemed unable to see, torpid with wine, stupid with 
 the weariness of a cramped sleep more fatiguing than 
 restorative. Each haggard face on which the physical 
 appetites now lay bare to the ej^e, without the imaginary 
 charm with which our souls endeavor to invest them, 
 was unspeakably' ferocious and coldly bestial. This 
 awaking of Vice, naked and without disguises, this skele- 
 ton of Evil, in tatters, cold, empt}', stripped of the sophis- 
 tries of the mind or the fascinations of luxur}', horrified 
 the boldest of these athletes, habituated as the}' were to 
 battle with Excess. Artists and courtesans kept silence 
 as the}' gazed with haggard eyes at the disorder of the 
 room where devastation reigned. A satanic laugh sud- 
 denly arose as Taillefcr, hearing the smothered groaning 
 
The Magic Shin, 205 
 
 of his guests, endeavorecl to salute them with a grin ; 
 his bloated perspiring face seemed to hover over the 
 scene like an infernal image of remorseless crime. The 
 picture was complete, — the life of beasts in the midst 
 of luxury-, a horrible mixture of human pomps and 
 wretchedness, the awakening from debauch when Ex- 
 cess with its strong hands has pressed the juice from 
 the fruits of life and left nothing behind but the worth- 
 less refuse. You might have thought that Death was 
 there smihng down upon a plague-smitten family ; no 
 more perfumes and dazzling liglits, no gayel}-, no de- 
 sires ; onlj' Disgust with its nauseous odors, its pungent 
 philosoph}', and with it all, the sun flaming out truth, an 
 air pure as virtue, contrasting with the heated, fetid 
 atmosphere, the miasmas of an org}'. 
 
 Several of these young girls, notwithstanding their 
 depravity, were constrained to think on their waking of 
 other days, when, pure and innocent, the}' looked from 
 their windows embowered in honeysuckle, across the 
 meadows where the lark was rising, and the rosy dawn 
 illumined vaporousl}' the fair}' network of the dew. 
 Others thought of the family breakfast, — the table around 
 which parents and children laughed together, and the 
 food was simple as their hearts. An artist thought of 
 his studio, its peace, his chaste statue and the graceful 
 model who was there awaiting him. A young man, 
 remembering a lawsuit on which the fate of a family de- 
 pended, thought of the dut}' that demanded his presence. 
 The man of science regretted his study and the noble 
 work he was neglecting. Ajl were bitter against them- 
 selves. At this moment Emile, fresh and rosy as a fash- 
 ionable young shop-man, came into the room, laughing. 
 
206 The Magic Skin. 
 
 "- You are all uglier than a sheriff's officer," he 
 cried. "You can't do anything to-day ; the morning is 
 half over : I propose that we breakfast." 
 
 At these words, Taillefer left the room to give 
 orders. The women languid!}' set about smoothing 
 their hair and repairing the disorder of their dresses, 
 before the mirrors. They shook themselves together. 
 The most vicious lectured the more innocent, ridiculing 
 those who seemed hardl}' able to go on with the coarse 
 revelry. In a few moments, however, the spectres were 
 alive again ; they fell into groups, questioned each other, 
 and smiled. A few nimble servants restored order to 
 the furniture and put things in their places ; an elegant 
 breakfast was served ; and the guests crowded into the 
 dining-room. There, although Ihej' ail bore the in- 
 effaceable signs of the excesses of the night before, still 
 some traces of life and thought, such as we sometimes 
 see in the last convulsions of the dying, were visible. 
 Like the procession of the Mardi Gras, the saturnalia 
 was buried by the mummers weary of their dances, sick 
 of their drunkenness, and anxious to convict pleasure of 
 stupidity rather than confess its ugliness. 
 
 Just as this daring company were taking their seats 
 at the breakfast- table, Cardot, the notary, who had 
 prudentl}' disappeared after dinner, re-appeared at the 
 door with a gentle smile on his official face. He seemed 
 to have discovered some inheritance to divide, or to 
 inventory, an inheritance full of deeds to be drawn, big 
 with fees, as juic}' as the fillet into which the arai^hitryon 
 was then plunging his knife. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! so we are to breakfast before a notarj'," 
 cried De Curs}-. 
 
The Magic Skin, 207 
 
 "You've come in time to appraise all these fine 
 things," said the banker, pointing to the new banquet. 
 
 " We have no wills to make, and as for marriage 
 contracts, I don't know about them," said the man of 
 science, who had made a successful first marriage within 
 a 3'ear. 
 
 "Oh! Oh!" 
 
 "Ah! Ah!" 
 
 " One moment," said Cardot, deafened by a chorus of 
 trumpery jokes, " I have come on serious business. I 
 bring six miUions for one of you. [Deep silence.] Mon- 
 sieur," he continued, addressing Raphael, who was at 
 that moment unceremonious!}' employed in wiping his 
 e3'es with the corner of his napkin, " was your mother 
 a demoiselle O'Hara? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Raphael, almost mechanically, 
 " Barbara-Maria." 
 
 " Have 3'ou a certificate of jour birth and that of 
 Madame de Valentin? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 "Weil, monsieur; j'ou are the sole heir of Major 
 O'Hara, deceased in August, 1828, at Calcutta." 
 
 ' ' W hat a piece of kick ! " came from many voices. 
 
 "The major having bequeathed several large sums 
 to certain public institutions, his property' has been 
 demanded a^id obtained from the India Companj- by the 
 French government," resumed the notary: "it is now 
 liquidated and payable to the rightful owners. For the 
 last two weeks I have been vainly searching for the heirs 
 and assigns of Mademoiselle Barbara-Maria O'Hara, 
 and last night, at table — " 
 
 Raphael suddenlj' rose, with the startled movement 
 
208 The Magic Skin. 
 
 of a man who receives a wound. Silent acclamations, 
 as it were, greeted him ; the first feeling of the guests 
 was that of sulk}' env}', and all eyes flamed as they 
 turned upon him. Then a murmur, like that of the pit 
 of a theatre when displeased, a clamor of voices rose 
 and swelled as each guest said his say about the vast 
 fortune thus delivered by the notary. Restored to his 
 full senses by this sudden obedience of destiny to his 
 will, Raphael laid the napkin with which he had lately 
 measured the Magic Skin before him on the table. 
 Without listening to a word that was spoken, he 
 stretched the Skin upon the cloth, and shuddered vio- 
 lently when he saw a slight space between the line 
 marked on the linen and the edges of the Skin itself. 
 
 ' ' Well, what 's the matter ? " cried Taillefer ; " he gets 
 his fortune easily' — " 
 
 " ' Support him, Chatillon,'" said Bixiou to Emile, 
 "joy is killing him." 
 
 A dreadful pallor defined every muscle in the hag- 
 gard face of the new heir ; his features contracted, tlie 
 projections of his face whitened, the hollow parts grew 
 dusk}', the whole surface was livid and the eyes were 
 fixed. He saw Death. This splendid banquet sur- 
 rounded by faded prostitutes, b}- surfeited faces, this 
 death-bed of joy, — was it not the image of his life ? He 
 looked three times at the talisman which la}' within the 
 pitiless lines traced on the napkin ; he tried to doubt ; 
 but a clear and strong presentiment annihilated his un- 
 belief. The world was his, — he could do all things ; 
 but he could wish for nothing. Like the traveller in the 
 desert, he carried a little water to slake his thii'st, and 
 he must measure his life by its mouthfuls. He saw that 
 
The Magic Skin. 209 
 
 ever}' desire would cost him da3-s of existence. He 
 believed in that Magic Skin. He listened to his own 
 breathing ; he felt he was ill ; he asked himself, " Am I 
 consumptive? Did my mother die of a lung disease?" 
 
 " Ha, ha, Raphael, what fine amusements 3'ou can 
 have ! What are 3'OU going to give me ? " said Aquilina. 
 
 "Let us drink to the honor of the deceased uncle, 
 Major Martin O'Hara. What a man ! " 
 
 " He '11 be peer of France." 
 
 "Bah! what's a peer of France since JuK ? " said 
 the critic. 
 
 " Shall 3'ou have a box at the Bouffons? '* 
 
 " I hope you '11 make us a feast and give us all our 
 deserts," said Bixiou. 
 
 " A man like Raphael knows how to do things hand- 
 somely," said Emile. 
 
 The cheers of the laughing company echoed in Val- 
 entin's ears ; but the meaning of their words never 
 reached him ; he was thinking vaguely of the mechan- 
 ical, uneventful life of a Breton peasant, — a life with- 
 out wishes, burdened by a family, plougliing the fields, 
 eating buckwheat, drinking cider or home-made wine, 
 believing in the Virgin and the King, taking the sacra- 
 ment at Easter, dancing on the green on Sunda3's, and 
 understanding not a word of the rector's sermon. The 
 sights that were now spread before the dreamer's eyes, 
 the gilded ceilings, the painted panellings, the women, 
 the feast, the luxur3', clutched him as it were b}' the 
 throat and made him choke. 
 
 " Do 3-ou wish for some asparagus," asked Taillefer. 
 
 "I wish for nothing," cried Raphael, in a voice of 
 thunder. 
 
 14 
 
210 The Magic Skin, 
 
 *' Bravo!" returned the banker. "You are begin- 
 ning to understand wealth ; it is a patent of imperti- 
 jience;^ You are one of us. Gentlemen, let us drink 
 to the power of gold. Monsieur de Valentin, now six 
 times a millionnaire, assumes power. He is king ; he 
 can do all things j he is above all things,, like., every 
 other rich man. To him in future the first principle 
 of the Charter, ' All Frenchmen are equal before the 
 law^' is a lie. He does not obej- law, law obeys him. 
 There are no scaffolds, no executioners for rich men." 
 
 " You mistake," said Raphael ; " they are their own 
 executioners." 
 
 " That 's another prejudice ! " cried the banker. 
 
 "Let us drink," said Raphael, putting the talisman 
 into his pocket. 
 
 "Don't do that!" said Emile, catching his hand. 
 " Gentlemen," he added, addressing the company-, who 
 b}' this time were a good deal surprised at Raphael's 
 behavior, " you must know that our friend de Valentin 
 — what am I saying? — Monsieur le Marquis de Valen- 
 tin possesses a secret means of making wealth. His 
 wishes are accomplished the moment that he forma 
 them. Unless he means to behave like a lacke}', or a 
 man of no principle, he will now proceed to make us 
 all rich." 
 
 "Ah, mj^ little Raphael, give me a set of pearls," 
 cried Euphrasia. 
 
 "If he has an}- gratitude at all he will give me two 
 carriages, each with a pair of beautiful fast horses," 
 said Aquilina. 
 
 " Wish me a hundred thousand francs a year." 
 
 "To me some cashmeres." 
 
The Magic Skin. 211 
 
 ^B " Send an apoplex}' to that old uncle of mine." 
 ^f " Raphael, 1 '11 let you otf lor ten thousand francs a 
 year." 
 
 " Fine deeds of gift ! " cried the notarj-. 
 
 " You might cure my gout." 
 
 ''Bring down the price of stocks," said the banker. 
 
 All these speeches went off like the rockets of the 
 bouquet which ends a display of fireworks. These 
 eager desires were made, perhaps, more in earnest than 
 in jest. 
 
 " M}' dear friend," said Emile, graveh', "I'll be 
 quite satisfied with two hundred thousand francs a 
 year. So now begin to kill yourself with a good grace, 
 come." 
 
 "Emile," said Raphael, "you don't know what it 
 would cost me." 
 
 " A fine excuse ! " cried the poet. " We ought all 
 to sacrifice ours'elves to our friends." 
 
 " I have a mind to wish for the death of ever}' one of 
 you," answered Valentin, casting a deep and darkling 
 look at the guests. 
 
 " Dying men are frightfully cruel," said Emile, 
 laughing. " Here you are, rich," he added, seriousl}*. 
 " Well, I give you two months to become disgustingly 
 selfish. You are already stupid, for 3'ou can't under- 
 stand a joke. The next thing will be that j'ou will 
 actually believe in that Magic Skin of 3'ours." 
 
 Raphael, who dreaded the satire of the assembled 
 company kept silence, and drank i n ordinate l}*, to. for- 
 get for the time being his fatal power. 
 
PART III. 
 THE DEATH AGONY. 
 
 Early in the month of December an old man, over 
 seventy 3'ears of age, was going along the rue de 
 Varennes, unmindful of the rain, and gazing up at the 
 doors of all the houses, looking, with the eagerness of a 
 lover and the absorbed air of a philosopher, for the one 
 belonging to Monsieur le Marquis Raphael de Valentin. 
 An expression of anxious grief, struggling against the 
 will of a despotic nature, was on his face, which was 
 dried like an old parchment shrivelling in the fire, and 
 framed by long gray locks, now hanging in disorder. If 
 a painter had met this singular personage, who was lean 
 and bon}^, and dressed in black, he would certainlj', on 
 returning to his studio, have put a sketch of him into 
 his note-book with the inscription, " Classic poet in 
 search of a rhyme." After making sure of the number 
 of the house, this living palingenesia of RoUin knocked 
 gentl}' at the door of a magnificent hotel. 
 
 ' ' Is Monsieur Raphael at home ? " he asked of the 
 porter in livery. 
 
 "Monsieur le marquis does not receive visitors," 
 answered the man, swallowing a huge bit of bread 
 which he was dipping in a bowl of coff'ee. 
 
 " I see his carriage," persisted the old man, pointing 
 to a brilliant equipage standing under a wooden roof 
 
The Magic Skin, 213 
 
 painted in stripes like an awning, which projected from 
 the portico and overshadowed the steps. * ' He must be 
 going out ; and I will wait here to speak with him." 
 
 " Ah ! m}^ old friend, then you ma}' have to wait here 
 till to morrow morning ! " answered the porter. " There 
 is always a carriage standing read}' for monsieur. But 
 please go awa}' ; I should lose an annuit}' of six hun- 
 dred francs if I were to let a stranger into the house 
 without orders." 
 
 Just then a tall old man, whose apparel was a good 
 deal like that of an usher in a ministerial office, came 
 out of the vestibule, and down a few steps hastily, to 
 examine the astonished petitioner. 
 
 " Well, here 's Monsieur Jonathas," said the porter. 
 " You can ask him." 
 
 The two old men, attracted to each other by the 
 sympath}' of age, or by mutual curiosit}', met in the 
 middle of the large court-yard, where tufts of grass 
 were growing between the paving-stones. A dreadful 
 silence reigned about the house. An observer, looking 
 at Jonathas, would have longed to fathom the mystery 
 that loomed on his face, and appeared in all the details 
 of the gloom}' premises. Raphael's first care, after 
 succeeding to the wealth of his uncle, had been to find 
 out what had become of the old and devoted servant, 
 whose affection he could rely. Jonathas wept with joy 
 when he saw his young master, — from whom he had 
 thought himself forever parted, — and his happiness, 
 when the marquis promoted him to the important func- 
 tions of steward, knew no bounds. The old man be- 
 came an intermediary power stationed between Valentin 
 and the outer world. Sole manager of his master's 
 
214 The Magic Skin. 
 
 wealth, blind agent of a mj'sterious thought, he was 
 like a sixth sense through which the emotions of life 
 were brought to Raphael. 
 
 " Monsieur, I wish to speak to Monsieur Raphael," 
 said the other old man, pointing to the steps of the 
 portico, as if to ask for shelter from the rain. 
 
 "Speak to Monsieur le marquis!" exclaimed the 
 steward. "He scarcely ever speaks to me, his foster- 
 father." 
 
 "I am also his foster-father!" said the old man. 
 " If your wife fed him with her milk, I taught him to 
 suck the breast of the Muses. He is my nursling, 
 my child, — cams alumnus. I fashioned his brain, 
 cultivated his understanding, developed his genius ; and 
 I say it to my own honor and glory. Is he not one 
 of the most remarkable men of our epoch? He was 
 under me in the sixth and third classes, and in rhetoric. 
 I am his professor ! " 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur is Monsieur Porriquet? " 
 
 " Precisely. But monsieur — " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said Jonathas to two scullions 
 whose voices broke the dead silence which pervaded 
 the premises. 
 
 " Is Monsieur le marquis ill? " asked the professor, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, God alone knows what is the matter 
 with him ! There 's not another house in Paris like 
 this, — do 3'ou hear me? — not another. Good God! 
 no. Monsieur le marquis bought it from the former 
 proprietor, — a duke and peer. He has spent three 
 hundred thousand francs in furnishing it ; that 's not a 
 trifling sum ! Ever}- room in the house is a miracle. 
 
The Magio Skin. 215 
 
 Good ! when I saw all this magnificence, I said to 
 myself: ' It is his grandfather's time over again ; the 
 young master will invite all the world, and the court, 
 too.' Not at all ! Monsieur never sees an}- one. He 
 leads a strange life, Monsieur Porriquet, — do 3'ou hear 
 me ? — an inconceivable life. He gets up every da}' at 
 the same hour. None but I — I alone, believe me — 
 am allowed to enter his room. 1 open his door at 
 seven o'clock, summer and winter. Tliere 's a queer 
 compact between us. After I enter I say, ' Monsieur 
 le marquis, 3'ou must wake up ; 3'ou must dress.' And 
 then he wakes up and dresses. I give him his dressing- 
 gown, always made in the same style and of the same 
 sort of stuff. I am obliged to replace everything when 
 it gets worn, so that he need never ask for new things. 
 Was there ever such a fane}'? Well, poor dear, he 
 has a thousand francs a da}' to spend, and so he can 
 do as he likes ! I love him so that if he boxed my^ 
 right ear I 'd turn him the left. He might tell me to 
 do the most difficult things, and I should do them, — 
 do them^ do you hear me? As for other matters, he 
 makes me attend to such a lot of trifles that I 'm kept 
 bus}' all the time. Say he reads the papers, — well, I 
 have to put them every morning in the same place on 
 the same table. I am to come at precisely the same 
 hour to shave him, — and don't I tremble? The cook 
 will lose an annuity of a thousand francs, which he is 
 to have at his master's death, if breakfast is not served 
 precisely at ten in the morning and dinner at five. The 
 bill of fare is made out for the whole year, day after 
 day, and no changes allowed. Monsieur le marquis 
 has nothing to wish for. He has strawberries when 
 
216 The Magic Skin, 
 
 there are strawberries, and the first mackerel which 
 comes to Paris. The dinner-list is printed, and he 
 knows it by heart. For the rest, he dresses at the 
 same hour, in the same linen, the same clothes, laid 
 out by me — b}^ me, do you hear me ? — on the same 
 chair. I have to see that the cloth of his clothes is al- 
 waj's the same ; if his overcoat were to get worn out 
 (but that's only a supposition), I should replace it 
 without saying a word to him. If the weather is fine I 
 go in and sa}', 'You ought to go out, monsieur.' To 
 that he replies yes, or no. If yes, he is not obHged 
 to wait a moment, — the horses are kept harnessed, the 
 coachman sits on his box, whip in hand, just as you 
 see him over there. In the evening, after dinner, 
 monsieur goes one day to the Fran(;ais, and another 
 daj' to the Op — stay, no, he has n't yet been to the 
 Opera, for I could not get a box till yesterday. Then 
 he comes home precisely at eleven o'clock and goes to 
 bed. During the day he does nothing, absolutely noth- 
 ing, but reads, reads, reads forever ; it is a notion he 
 has. I am ordered to study the ' Bookseller's Journal,' 
 and buy all the new books, so that he may find them 
 on his table on the day of publication. It is m}' busi- 
 ness to go into his room every hour and look after the 
 fire and other things, so that he can never want anj'- 
 thing. Why, monsieur, he gave me a little book of my 
 duties, — a sort of catechism, which I had to learn hy 
 heart ! In summer I .arrange piles of ice to keep the 
 temperature of his room cool, and put fresh flowers 
 everywhere. Rich ! I should think he was rich, — he 
 has a thousand francs a da}^ to get rid of! he can do 
 what he likes now. He was long enough, poor boy, with- 
 
The Magic Skin. 217 
 
 out, as 3'ou may sa}', the necessaries of life ! "Well, 
 he troubles no one ; he is as good as gold. He never 
 speaks ; dead silence in the house and garden. But, 
 dull as the life is, mj' master has n't a wish to gratify ; 
 everything goes b}' clock-work et recta. And he is 
 quite right, too ; if you don't keep servants up to the 
 mark things are soon at sixes and sevens. I tell him 
 all he ought to do, and he does it. You would n't 
 believe how far he carries that sort of thing ! His 
 rooms are in a — a, what do you call it? — suite. Well, 
 suppose he opens his chamber-door, or his stud3'-door, 
 
 — bang ! all the other doors open of themselves by 
 mechanism ; and then he goes from end to end of his 
 rooms without finding a single door closed, — ver}' 
 convenient and agreeable for us servants ! In short, 
 Monsieur Porriquet, he told me in the beginning, — 
 * Jonathas, you are to take care of me like a babe in 
 swaddHng-clothes,' — swaddHng-clothes, 3'es, monsieur, 
 that 's just what he did sa}', swaddling-clothes ! ' You 
 are to think of all ni}' wants for me.' I 'm the master, 
 
 — do you hear me? — the master, and he is, after a 
 fashion, the servant. And wh}'? Ah, that's some- 
 thing nobod}' in the world knows but himself and the 
 good God ! It 's incomprehensible ! " 
 
 " He must be writing a poem," said the professor. 
 
 " Do you think so? Is that so very absorbing? But 
 I don't believe you are right. He often tells me he wants 
 to live like a vegetable, to vegetate. No later than yes- , 
 terda}'. Monsieur Porriquet, he looked at a tulip while he 
 was dressing, and he said to me, ' There 's m}' life. I 
 vegetate, my poor Jonathas.' People are beginning to 
 call it monomania. Well, it 's inconceivable ! " 
 
218 : . ' ^ The Magic Skin. 
 
 " It all goes to prove, Jonathas," said the professor, 
 in a grave, dictatorial tone which greatl3- impressed the 
 old valet, " that 3'oiir master is engaged on some great 
 work. He is plunged in deep and boundless meditation, 
 and he does not choose to be distuibed b}- the affairs of 
 dailj^ life. A man of genius forgets everything when 
 absorbed in intellectual toil. One day the celebrated 
 Newton — " 
 
 *' Newton?" said Jonathas, " I don't know him." 
 
 " Newton, a great mathematican," resumed Porriquet, 
 ''once spent twenty-four hours with his elbows on a 
 table ; when he came out of his reverie he thought it was 
 still the day before, just as if he had been to bed and to 
 sleep. I must see Monsieur Raphael, — dear bo}^ per- 
 haps I can help him," added the professor, making a few 
 steps toward the house. 
 
 "Stop!" cried Jonathas. "Were you the king 
 of France, old man, you can't go in there unless you 
 force the doors and walk over my dead body. But, 
 Monsieur Porriquet, I '11 go and tell him you are here. 
 I shall sa}', ' Is he to come up ? ' and he '11 answer, ' Yes,' 
 or " No.' I am never allowed to ask him, ' Do you wish ? 
 Is it 3'our desire ? Will you do so and so ? ' Those words 
 are blotted out of the conversation. Once I forgot my- 
 self and blurted out one of them. ' Do 3'ou wish to 
 kill me? ' he cried in a rage." 
 
 Jonathas left the old professor in the vestibule, 
 making him a sign that he was to come no farther ; he 
 soon returned however with a favorable answer and con- 
 ducted the old emeritus through a suite of sumptuous 
 apartments the doors of wliich were all open. Porriquet 
 saw his old pupil in the distance sitting beside the fire- 
 
I 
 
 The Magic Skin, 219 
 
 place. Wrapped in a dressing-gown made of some 
 stuff with a large pattern, and sunken in a padded arm- 
 chair, Raphael was reading a newspaper. The deep 
 melancholy to which he seemed a victim was expressed 
 in the helpless attitude of his weakened bodj' ; it was 
 stamped on his brow, on his face, pale as an etiolated 
 plant. A certain effeminate grace and the fanciful air 
 peculiar to rich invalids clung about him. His hands, 
 like those of a pretty woman, were softl}' and delicateU' 
 white. His fair hair, now ver^^ thin, curled about the 
 temples with daint}' coquetr3\ A Greek cap, dragged 
 down by a tassel too heav}' for the slight cashmere of 
 which it was made, hung on one side of his head. He 
 had let a malachite paper-knife with a gold handle which 
 he had been using to cut the leaves of a book, drop at 
 his feet. On his knees was the amber mouth-piece of 
 an Indian hookah whose enamelled spirals la}' like a 
 serpent on the floor ; but he had forgotte^to iuhale its 
 fragrant odors. And 3'et, the pervading feebleness of 
 this 3'oung body was belied b}' the blue e3'es ; life seemed 
 to concentrate within them and to shine with an ex- 
 traordinar3' perception which took in at a glance ever3-- 
 thing about him. That look was painful to behold. 
 Some would have called it despairing ; others might have 
 read it to mean an inward struggle more terrible even 
 than remorse. It was, in truth, the deep and all-em-' 
 bracing glance of a powerless man driving his desires 
 back into the depths of his soul ; the glance of the miser 
 gloating in thought over pleasures his money might 
 bring him, but which he denies himself rather than spend 
 it ; the glance of a chained Prometheus, of the fallen 
 Emperor when he discovered at the El3'see, in 1815, the 
 
220 The Magic Skin, 
 
 strategic blunder of his enemies, and asked for twent}'- 
 four hours of command, which were denied him. It 
 was the look of a conqueror, and yet the look of a lost 
 soul, — the same look that some months earlier Raphael 
 had cast at his last bit of gold as he threw it on the 
 gambling-table, the same that a few minutes later he 
 had cast at the Seine. 
 
 He now submitted his will, his intellect, to the coarse 
 common-sense of the old peasant who was only half- 
 civilized after fifty years of servitude. Almost happy in 
 thus becoming a species of automaton, he abdicated life 
 that he might live, and stripped his soul of every wish 
 and of all the glories of desire. He made himself chaste 
 after the manner of Origen, emasculating his imagination 
 that he might the better struggle with that cruel Power 
 whose challenge he had rashly accepted. The morrow 
 of the day on which, suddenly enriched by his uncle's 
 will, he had seen the Magic Skin perceptibly diminish, 
 he was at the house of his notar}^ There he chanced 
 to meet a ph3'sician who related how a native of Switzer- 
 land had cured himself of consumption. The man never 
 spoke for ten 3'ears, compelled himself to breathe only 
 six times a minute, in the close air of a cow-house, 
 following a rigid diet. " I will live like that man," tliought 
 Raphael, resolved to liv^e at an3' price. In the midst of 
 luxur}' he led the life of a steam-engine. 
 
 The old professor shuddered as he looked at him ; 
 everything about that frail and debiUtated bod}' seemed 
 to him artificial. The recollection of his fresh and rosy 
 pupil with alert 3'oung limbs came to his mind as he met 
 the burning eye of the marquis and saw the weight of 
 thought upon his brow. If the old classic scholar, a 
 
The Magic Skin. 221 
 
 sagacious critic and preserver of the st3-le of a past 
 day, had ever read Lord Byron he would have fancied 
 that he saw Manfred where he expected to have seen 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 " Good morning, Pere Porriquet," said Raphael to 
 his old teacher, taking the cold fingers of the old man 
 into his own burning hand. " How are you ? " 
 
 " I am very well," answered the old man, frightened 
 by the touch of that feverish hand ; " and you? " 
 
 '^ Oh ! I hope to keep myself in good health." 
 
 '' You are engaged, I suppose, on some great work?'* 
 
 " No," answered Raphael. " Exegi monumentuTii ; I 
 have closed the books and bid adieu to Science. I 
 really don't know where my manuscripts are." 
 
 "• Your style was pure," said the professor, " I hope 
 you have not adopted the barbaric language of the new 
 school, who thought they did a marvellous deed \\\ 
 producing Ronsard ? " 
 
 ''My work is purely physiological." 
 
 ''Oh, I am sorry," replied the professor. ''When 
 it comes to science, grammar must lend itself to the 
 necessities of discover}'. Nevertheless, m}' dear boj', 
 a clear style which is also harmonious, like that of 
 Massillon, Monsieur de Buffon, and the great Racine, a 
 classical style, can never injure anything. But, my 
 friend," said the old man, interrupting himself, "I am 
 forgetting the object of my visit. It is one of self- 
 interest." 
 
 Remembering too late the rhetorical eloquence to 
 which a long professorship had trained his old master, 
 Raphael regretted having admitted him, and was about 
 to wish that he would go, when he suddenly strangled 
 
222 The Magic Skin. 
 
 the secret desire as his eyes fell on the Magic Skin 
 hanging before him. It was fastened to a white cloth, 
 on which its fateful outUnes were carefully drawn by a 
 strong red line which accurately marked them. Since 
 the fatal banquet, Raphael had subdued the very least 
 of his desires, endeavoring to live in a way to give no 
 cause of slirinking to the terrible talisman. That piece 
 of magic leather was like a tiger with whom he was 
 compelled to live without exciting its ferocity. He 
 therefore listened patiently to the prolixities of the 
 old professor. It took Pere Porriquet nearly an hour 
 to relate certain persecutions to which he had been 
 subjected since the Revolution of July. The worthy 
 soul, wishing for a strong government, had imprudently^ 
 uttered a patriotic desire that grocers would attend to 
 their own business, statesmen to the conduct of public 
 affairs, law3'ers to their cases, and peers of France to 
 their duties at the Luxembourg. But one of the popu- 
 lar ministers of the citizen-king had resented his opin- 
 ions, turned him out of his professorship, and called him 
 a Carlist. He now came, less for himself than for those 
 dependent on him, to entreat his former pupil to obtain 
 for him the position of principal in one of the Govern- 
 ment provincial colleges. Raphael was falling a victim 
 to irrepressible sleepiness, when the monotonous voice 
 of the professor suddenly ceased to murmur in his 
 ears. Forced, out of politeness, to look into the faded 
 and almost lifeless e3'es of the old man as he uttered 
 his slow and wearisome sentences, Raphael had been 
 first stupefied, then magnetized hy some inexplicable 
 inert force. 
 . " Well, my good Pere Porriquet," he answered, 
 
The Magic Skin, 223 
 
 without really knowing to wliat request lie was reply- 
 ing, '• 1 can do nothing, — reallj' nothing at all. I 
 sincereh' wish 3'ou may succeed — " 
 
 As he spoke, and without at all perceiving the effect 
 his selfish and indifferent words produced upon the 
 sallow, wrinkled face of the old man, Raphael suddenly 
 sprang up like a frightened deer. He saw a slight 
 white line between the edge of the black Skin and the 
 broad red mark, and he uttered so dreadful a ary that 
 the poor professor was terrified. 
 
 "Go, go, old fool!" he cried; " 3-ou will get that 
 place you want, whatever it is. Why could you not 
 have asked me for an annuitj^ rather than a homicidal 
 wish? Your visit would then have cost me nothing. 
 There are a hundred thousand employments in France, 
 and I have but one life. The life of a man is worth 
 more than all the appointments in the universe — 
 Jonathas ! " 
 
 Jonathas appeared. 
 
 " This is your doing, 3'ou triple fool ! Why did you 
 tell me to receive him ? " he cried, pointing to the petri- 
 fied old man. " Did I put my soul in 3'our keeping to 
 let 3'ou rend it in pieces ? You have torn ten years of 
 life awa}' from me. One more such act, and you will 
 follow me where I followed my father. Would I not 
 rather have wished and obtained m}' beautiful Fedora 
 than have done a service to that old carcass, that rag 
 of humanity? I might have given him gold — Besides, 
 if all the Porriquets in the world died of hunger, what 
 is that to me ? " 
 
 Anger blanched his face ; a slight foam came upon 
 his trembling lips ; the expression of his eye was blood- 
 
224 The Magic Skin. 
 
 thirsty. At sight of him the two old men shuddered 
 convulsively, like children beholding a snake. The 
 3'oung man fell back into his chair ; a species of re- 
 action took place within him, and the tears flowed 
 profusely from his flaming e3'es. 
 
 ''Oh, my life! my beautiful life!" he said. "No 
 more beneficent thoughts ! no more love ! Nothing, — 
 nothing!" He turned to the professor. "The harm 
 is done, old friend," he continued, in a gentle voice. 
 " I have largely rewarded you for all your care of me. 
 My misfoi'tune has at least benefited a worthy man." 
 
 There was so much feeling in the tone with which he 
 uttered these almost unintelligible words that tlie two 
 old men wept as one weeps on hearing some tender air 
 sung in a foreign language. 
 
 " He must be epileptic," said Porriquet, in a lo\^ 
 voice. 
 
 "I thank yon for that thought, my friend," saiO 
 Raphael, gently. " You wish to excuse me. Diseasu 
 is an accident ; inhumanity- is vice. Leave me now," 
 he added. " You will receive to-morrow, or the day 
 after, or perhaps to-night, the appointment you are 
 seeking, for resistance has triumphed over action. 
 Adieu ! " 
 
 The old man went away horror-stricken, and full of 
 anxiet}' as to Raphael's mental state. The scene struck 
 him as bordering on the supernatural. He doubted his 
 own perceptions, and asked himself if he were not 
 waking from a painful dream. 
 
 " Listen to me, Jonathas ! " said tlie 3'oung man to 
 his old valet. " Tvy to understand the mission I have 
 confided to 3'ou." 
 
The Magic Skin. 225 
 
 *' Yes, Monsieur le marquis." 
 
 *•• I am a man outside of all ordinary laws." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le marquis." 
 
 *' All the delights of life are dancing like beautiful 
 women around my d^ing bed. If I call to them, I die. 
 Death I alwaj's death ! You must be the barrier be- 
 tween the world and me." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le marquis," repeated the old man, 
 wiping great drops of sweat from his wrinkled brow. 
 " But if you do not wish to see beautiful women, how 
 can 3'ou go to the opera to-night? An English family 
 who are returning to London have let me hire their box 
 for the rest of the season ; and it is one of the best — 
 a capital box, on the first tier ! " 
 
 Raphael had sunk into a reverie, and no longer 
 listened. 
 
 Do you see that luxurious carriage, — a simple coupe 
 externallj', painted brown, and on its panels the arms 
 of an ancient and noble family ? As it passes rapidh', 
 the grisettes admire it, and covet the satin lining, the 
 carpet from the Sav^nerie, the gimps, the soft cush- 
 ions, and the plate-glass windows. Two lacker's in 
 liver\' stand behind that aristocratic equipage ; but 
 within it, against the satin lining, lies a fevered head, 
 with livid circles round the sunken eyes, — Raphael's 
 head, sad and thoughtful. Awful image of wealth ! 
 He crosses Paris like a meteor ; arrives at the portico 
 of the Theatre Favart ; the steps of the carriage are let 
 down ; the two footmen support him ; an envious crowd 
 watch him. 
 
 Raphael walked slowl}' through the corridor ; he 
 15 
 
226 The Magic Skin. 
 
 allowed himself none of the pleasures he had formerly 
 coveted. While waiting for the second act of the 
 Semiramide, he went along the passages and up and 
 down the fo^-er, forgetting his new box, which he had 
 not 3'et entered. The sense of possession no longer 
 existed in his breast. Like all sick folk, he thought 
 only of his malady. Leaning against the mantle-shelf 
 of the fo3'er, around which were circulating the old and 
 the 3'oung men of fashion, past and present ministers 
 of state, and a whole societ}' of speculators and journal- 
 ists, Raphael noticed near by him a strange and even 
 supernatural figure. He advanced, staring somewhat 
 insolently at the fantastic being, that he might get a 
 nearer view of him. " What a wonderful bit of paint- 
 ing ! " was his first thought. The hair, eye-brows, and 
 pointed tuft on the chin, a la Mazarin, were d3Td black ; 
 but the coloring matter, being applied to hair that was 
 too white to take it well, had given the whole an unnat- 
 ural purplish tinge, the tints of which changed under 
 the more or less vivid reflection of the lights. His face 
 was flat and narrow, the wrinkles were filled up with 
 thick layers of rouge and white enamel, and the whole 
 expression was craft}^ yet anxious. The application 
 of paint had been neglected on certain parts of the 
 face, and the omission brought out oddly the man's 
 decrepitude and his leaden skin. It was impossible not 
 to laugh at that strange head, with the pointed chiu 
 and the projecting forehead, resembling, as it did, 
 those grotesque wooden faces carved in German}' by 
 shepherds during their waiting hours. 
 
 If an observer liad examined alternately this old 
 Adonis and Raphael, he would have seen in the mar- 
 
The Magic Skin. 227 
 
 quis the e3'es of a 3'oung man behind a mask of old 
 age, and in this strange being the sunken e3'es of de- 
 crepitude beneath the mask of youth. Valentin tried 
 to recall where and under what circumstances he had 
 seen the strange old mumm}', now fashionablj- booted 
 and cravatted, crossing his arms and clicking his heels, 
 as if he had all the vigor of petulant youth at his com- 
 mand. His step had nothing constrained or artificial 
 about it. An elegant coat, care full}' buttoned, covered 
 a strong and bony frame, giving him the general look 
 of an old dandy w4io clings to the last fashion. This 
 extraordinary puppet, full of life, had all the charms of 
 an apparition to Raphael ; he gazed at him as though 
 he were some smoke-dried Rembrandt, recentlj' re- 
 stored, varnished, and put in a new frame. This com- 
 parison suddenly- brought light into the tangle of his 
 confused recollections ; he recognized the old antiquary, 
 the man to whom he owed his misery. 
 
 At that instant a sort of silent laugh came from the 
 fantastic being, and" stretched his cold hps, already 
 strained over a set of false teeth. As he noticed it, 
 Raphael's vivid imagination showed him the striking 
 likeness between this man and the ideal heads which 
 painters give to the Mephistopheles of Goethe. Super- 
 stition seized upon the strong mind of the 3'Oung man ; 
 he suddenly believed in the powder of the Devil, in the 
 witchcraft of the Middle Ages handed down to us in 
 legends and by the poets. He turned with horror from 
 the fate of Faust, and prayed heaven with a sudden 
 impulse, like that of the dying, for faith in God and 
 the Virgin Mar}'. A pure and radiant light showed 
 him the heaven of Michael Angelo and of Sanzio Urbino, 
 
228 The Magic Skin, 
 
 the parting clouds, the white-bearded old man, the 
 winged heads, and a beautiful woman rising from the 
 lambent glory. He comprehended, he grasped the idea 
 of those glorious creations whose human mission ex- 
 plained to him his probation and gave him hope. 
 
 But, as his e3'es came back to the foyer of the opera- 
 house, he saw, not the Virgin, but the odious Euphrasia. 
 The danseuse, with her light and supple body clothed 
 in a dazzling dress, and covered with oriental pearls, 
 went up to the impatient old man, exhibiting her person, 
 her bold and insolent brow, her sparkling eyes, to the en- 
 vious and calculating crowd, as though to proclaim the 
 boundless wealth of the old lover whose treasures she 
 was dissipating. 'Raphael recollected the jeering wish 
 with which he had accepted the fatal present of the 
 antiquary-, and he tasted the sweets of vengeance as he 
 beheld the deep humiliation of that high wisdom whose 
 overthrow had so lateh* seemed impossible. The cen- 
 tenarian greeted Euphrasia with a charnel smile, to 
 which she responded by words of love ; he offered her 
 his shrunken arm, made two or three turns up and 
 down the fo3'er and welcomed with delight the compli- 
 ments and eager looks bestowed upon his mistress, 
 without perceiving the sneering laughter and the cutting 
 jeers of which he was the object. 
 
 " In what cemetery did that young ghoul disinter 
 him? " cried the most elegant of the romanticists. 
 
 Euphrasia smiled. The speaker was a young man with 
 fair hair and brilliant blue ejes, slender and lithe in fig- 
 ure, wearing a small moustache, a short frock-coat, and 
 his hat over one ear ; his prominent gift was a livel}' 
 power of repartee, — the only language of his school. 
 
The Magic Skin, 229 
 
 " IIow many old men," thought Raphael, "end a 
 life of honor and uprightness, of toil and virtue, by 
 such foil}' ; see that one, with his cold feet, making 
 love ! Well, monsieur," he said, stopping the old anti- 
 quary and flinging a glance at Euphrasia, " have you 
 forgotten the stern maxims of 3'our philosophy? " 
 
 " Ah," replied the old Adonis, in a quavering voice, 
 *' T am now as happ}' as a young man ! I took life at 
 the wrong end ; the whole of it is summed up in an 
 hour of love." 
 
 At this moment the spectators were recalled by the 
 stage-bell, and they all hurried to take their seats. 
 Raphael and the old man parted. As the marquis 
 entered his box he saw Fedora on the other side of the 
 theatre, exactlj' opposite to him. Apparent!}', she had 
 just arrived, and was throwing her scarf aside, and 
 displa3'ing her throat, with the indescribable movements 
 of a beautj' engaged in placing herself becomingly. All 
 eyes were turned to her. A 3'oung peer of France ac- 
 companied the countess, and she presently asked him 
 for the opera-glass she had allowed him to carry. The 
 gesture and the look she gave this new companion were 
 enough to tell Raphael the tyrann}- to which he was 
 subjected. Fascinated, no doubt, as he himself had 
 been, like him struggling with the mighty power of 
 a true love against the cold calculations of a hard 
 woman, the young man was, in all probabilit}', suffer- 
 ing the torments from which Valentin had now es- 
 caped. An expression of J03: came upon Fedora's face 
 when, after turning her glass upon all the boxes and 
 rapidly surveying all the toilets, she was conscious of 
 eclipsing b}' her dress and hy her beauty- the prettiest 
 
230 The Magic Skin. 
 
 and the most elegant women in Paris. She began to 
 laugh, and show her white teeth, and to move her head, 
 and the quivering wreath of flowers that adorned it. 
 Pier ej^es went from box to box, ridiculing here a 
 turban awkwardly placed on the head of a Russian 
 princess, there an ugly bonnet which disfigured the 
 daughter of a banker. Suddenl}' she turned pale as 
 she met Raphael's fixed gaze ; her rejected lover with- 
 ered her with an intolerable glance of contempt. None 
 of her other banished lovers denied her charm. Valentin 
 alone showed her that he was safe from lier seductions. 
 When Power is once defied with impunity, it Js Jbending 
 '-toiN'ard ruin. This maxim is more deeply engraved in 
 the heart of woman than in the head of kings. Fedora 
 saw in Raphael the death of her prestige. A speech of 
 his, uttered a few nights earlier, had gone the rounds of 
 all the salons in Paris, and the slash of its epigram had 
 given the countess a mortal blow. We can cauteriz e a 
 wounj^^ut we.lojpw n^^^ for the Imrt produced 
 
 b}- speech- All the women present were looking alter- 
 natel}" at the marquis and at the countess, and Fedora 
 would gladly at that moment have consigned her enemy 
 to the dungeons of the Bastille, for she well knew that 
 in spite of her talent for dissimulation her rivals guessed 
 her sufferings. 
 
 During the interlude between the first and second acts, 
 a lady seated herself close to Raphael in the adjoining 
 box, which had hitherto been empty. A murmur of ad- 
 miration went through the house. The sea of human 
 faces turned in a tide toward her, and all eyes gazed at 
 the beautiful unknown. Young and old made so pro- 
 longed a stir during the time when the curtain was down 
 
The Magic Shin, 231 
 
 that the musicians in the orchestra turned to discover 
 the reason. The women were busy with their opera- 
 glasses, and the old men, renewing their youth, rubbed 
 the lenses of theirs. But the enthusiasm subsided by 
 degrees as the curtain went up, and all was again 
 orderly. Good societ}', ashamed of having yielded to 
 a spontaneous feeling, returned to its aristocratic cold- 
 ness and its polished manners. Rich people do not like 
 to be surprised and delighted by anything ; they try to 
 seize at once on some defect in a fine work, and so 
 release themselves from the vulgar sentiment of admi- 
 ration. A few men, however, neglecting the music, 
 remained lost in natural and honest admiration of 
 Raphael's neighbor. Valentin noticed in one of tiie 
 lower boxes the ignoble and florid face of Taillefer, who 
 was accompanied bj- Aquilina. Next he saw Emile 
 standing in the stalls, and seeming to sa}' to him, '' Why 
 don't you look at that beautiful creature beside you?" 
 And then Rastignac, accompanied b}' a 3'oung woman, 
 doubtless a widow, who sat twisting his gloves like a 
 man in despair at being chained where he was, and un- 
 able to get nearer to the enchanting unknown. 
 
 Raphael's life depended on a compact, still unbroken, 
 which he had made with his own soul ; he had pledged 
 himself not to look with interest on any woman. Still 
 under the dominion of the terror he had felt in the 
 morning, when, on the mere expression of a civil wish 
 the talisman shrank visibly, he firmh' resolved not to 
 turn in the direction of his neighbor. Seated like a 
 duchess with his back in the angle of the box, he rudel}' 
 obstructed his neighbor's view of half the stage, and 
 seemed purposely to igno^'e the fact that a pretty 
 
232 The Magic Skin. 
 
 woman was behind him. The ladN^ on the other hand, 
 did much as he did. She rested her elbow on the edge 
 of the box and looked at the singers with her head at 
 three quarters, as if sitting for her picture. The two 
 were like a pair of lovers who, having quarrelled and 
 turned their backs on one another, are read3' to era- 
 brace at the first loving word. Occasionally the light 
 swan's-down on the lady's mantle or a waft of her hair 
 touched Raphael's head, and gave him a sensation 
 against which he struggled bravek ; he heard the 
 feminine rustle of a silken dress, and felt the imper- 
 ceptible movement given b}- the act of breathing to 
 the shoulders and the garments of the hidden woman, 
 all of whose sweet being was suddenly communicated 
 to Raphael as by an electric spark, the lace and the 
 swan's-down transmitting faithfull}' to his shoulder the 
 delicious warmth of that other life. By the capricious 
 will of Nature these two persons, held apart b}- good 
 manners, separated by the fear of death, were breath- 
 ing as one being and perhaps thinking of each other. 
 The penetrating perfume of aloes completed Raphael's 
 subjugation. His excited imagination, roused b}- hin- 
 drances which seemed almost fantastic, pictured the 
 woman to his mind in lines of fire. He turned ab- 
 ruptly. Shocked, no doubt, to find herself in such 
 close contact with a stranger, the unknown lady made 
 a like movement ; their faces, expressive of the same 
 thought, were before each other's eyes. 
 
 ''Pauline!" 
 
 " Monsieur Raphael ! " 
 
 Petrified, they looked at each other a moment in 
 silence. Raphael saw Pauline in a simple but elegant 
 
The Magic Skin. 233 
 
 dress. Through the gauze that covered her shoulders 
 a practised eye could see the whiteness of the lil3', and 
 a shape that women themselves would have admired. 
 Her virginal modest}', her celestial innocence, her 
 graceful attitude were all there. The movement of 
 the sleeve that covered the arm showed that the bodj' 
 was palpitating with the beating of her heart. 
 
 "Oh, come to-morrow," she said; "come to the 
 Hotel Saint-Quentin and get jour manuscript. I will 
 be there at mid-da}'. Be punctual.'* 
 
 She rose hastily and disappeared. Raphael thought 
 of following, but refrained, lest he should compromise 
 her ; then he looked at Fedora and thought her ugh'. 
 Not being able to understand or even hear a note of 
 the music, suffocating in the close air, and with a 
 swelling heart he left the theatre and went home. 
 
 " Jonathas," he said to his old servant as he was 
 going to bed ; " give me some laudanum on a piece of 
 sugar, and do not wake me till twent}' minutes of twelve 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I wish to be loved by Pauline," he said the next 
 morning, looking fixedly at the talisman with inde- 
 scribable anxiet}'. 
 
 The Skin made no movement, — it seemed to have lost 
 its contractile power ; doubtless it could not grant a 
 wish that was alread}' accomplished. 
 
 "Ah! " cried Raphael, feeling himself delivered as 
 from a leaden mantle which he had worn since the day 
 on which he had received the fatal gift, " thou art a 
 liar ; thou dost not obej' me : the compact is at an end. 
 I am free ! I shall live ! It was all a miserable joke." 
 
 Though he said these words, he dared not believe his 
 
2U The Magic Skin. 
 
 own thought. He dressed plainly-, as in the old days, 
 and went on foot to his former abode, trying to take him- 
 self back to those happy days when he could fearlessly 
 yield to his passionate desires, and before he had learned 
 to gauge all human enjoyment. He walked along think- 
 ing, not of the Pauline of his attic-room, but the Pauline 
 of the night before, that perfect mistress of whom he 
 had dreamed, the brilliant, loving, artistic 3'oung girl, 
 comprehending the poets, comprehending poetr}- and 
 living in the lap of luxury-, — in a word, P'edora en- 
 dowed with a noble soul, or Pauline countess and mil- 
 lionnaire. When he found himself on the broken 
 doorstep and the worn-out threshold of that house 
 where so often thoughts of despair had overwhelmed 
 him, he was met b\^ an old woman who said, — 
 " Are you Monsieur Raphael de Valentin?" 
 "Yes, m}' good woman," he answered. 
 " You know your old room," she continued ; " there 's 
 some one expecting j'ou." 
 
 *' Is the hotel still kept by Madame Gaudin?" 
 "Oh, no, monsieur; Madame Gaudin is now a 
 baroness. She lives in a beautiful house of her own 
 across the river. Her husband has returned. Good- 
 ness ! he brought back I don't know how much mone^'. 
 They say she has got enough to buy up the whole quar- 
 tier Saint-Jacques if she liked. She gave me lier busi- 
 ness here and the remainder of her lease gratis. Ah, 
 she 's a good woman. She 's not a bit prouder to-day 
 than she was 3'esterda3\" 
 
 Raphael ran lightly up to his garret, and as he reached 
 the last flight he heard the sound of the piano. Pauline 
 was there, modestlj- attired in a cambric dress ; but the 
 
The Magic Skin, 235 
 
 fashion of it, the hat, the gloves, the shawl thrown 
 carelessl}' on the bed, all told of wealth. 
 
 ''Ah, here yow are," cried Pauline, turning her head 
 and rising with a childlike movement of delight. 
 
 Raphael sat down by her, blushing, abashed, and 
 happ3'. He looked at her and said nothing. 
 
 *' Wh}' did 3'ou leave us?" she asked, lowering her 
 eyes as the color rose in her cheeks. " What became 
 of you?" 
 
 *' Ah, Pauline, I have been, I still am very unhapp}-." 
 
 *' I felt it," she cried, much moved. " I guessed it 
 last night when I saw 3'ou so well dressed, so rich ap- 
 parentlj', but in realit}' — tell me. Monsieur Raphael, 
 is it as it used to be ? " 
 
 Valentin could not restrain himself; tears filled his 
 eyes as he cried out, " Pauline ! — I — " He could say 
 no more, but his e^xs sparkled with love, his heart was 
 in the look he gave her. 
 
 " Oh, he loves me, he loves me," cried Pauline. 
 
 Raphael made a sign with his head, for he felt him- 
 self unable to utter a word. As she saw it, the young 
 girl took his hand, pressed it, and said to him, half 
 laughing, half sobbing : — 
 
 " Rich, rich, happy, rich! thy Pauline is rich. But 
 I ought to be poor this da}' ; a thousand times have I 
 declared that I would give the wealth of the universe to 
 hear him sa}' ' I love thee ! ' Oh, my Raphael ! I have 
 millions. Luxury is dear to thee and thou shalt have it ; 
 but thou must love m\' heart also, it is so full of love for 
 thee. Let me tell thee all. My father has returned. I 
 am an heiress. M3' parents allow me to decide m}' own 
 fate. I am free, free, — dost thou understand me ? " 
 
1^' 
 
 236 The Magic h'kiA, 
 
 Raphael held her hands in a sort of wild delirium, 
 kissing them so passionatelj-, so eagerl}', that his kisses 
 seemed like a convulsion. Pauline disengaged her hands 
 and threw them on his shoulders, holding him j the}^ un- 
 derstood each other, and heart to heart they embraced 
 with that sacred, delicious fervor, free from all ulterior 
 thought, which is granted to one onh' kiss, the first kiss, 
 by which two souls take possession of each other. | 
 
 '' Ah," cried Pauline, falhng back in her chair, " I 
 will never leave thee. — How is it that 1 am so bold ? " 
 she added, blushing. 
 
 " Bold, my Pauline! Oh, fear nothing; it is love, 
 true love, deep, eternal as my own ; tell me, is it not?" 
 
 "Oh, speak, speak, speak," she said; "too long 
 th}" lips were mute to me." 
 
 " Didst thou love me in those early days?" 
 
 " Ah, God ! did I not love him? Many a time have 
 I wept there as I put thy room in order, grieving for thy 
 poverty and mine. I would have sold myself to a demon 
 could 1 have spared thee grief. To-day, my Raphael, — 
 for thou art mine, mine that dear head, mine thy heart ! 
 Oh, yes, thy heart, thy heart above all, eternal wealth ! 
 Ah, where am I ; what was I sa3'ing? " she cried, after 
 a pause. " I know, it was this, — we have three, four 
 five millions. If I were poor, I might desire to bear 
 thy name, to be th^^ wife ; but now, at this moment, I 
 would sacrifice the whole world to thee. I would be 
 ever and always th}^ servant. Raphael, if to-day I oflfer 
 thee my heart, my love, my fortune, I give thee no more 
 than what I gave that day when I placed there," she 
 said, pointing to the table-drawer, " a certain five-franc 
 piece. Oh, what grief thy joy caused me that day." 
 
The Magic Skin, 237 
 
 " Why art thou rich? " cried Raphael. " Why hast 
 thou no vanity, no self, — I can do nothing for thee." 
 
 He wrung his hands with happiness, despair, and love. 
 
 *' I know thee, celestial soul ! To be my wife, 
 Madame la Marquise de Valentin, to have that title 
 and my wealth is less to thee — " 
 
 " — than a single hair of thine," she cried. 
 
 "I too have millions; but what is wealth to us? 
 Ah I I have mj^ life — m}* life to offer thee ; take it." 
 
 "• Th}' love, m}^ Raphael, is more to me than the 
 whole universe. Why, thy very thought is mine ; am 
 I not in truth the happiest of the happ\^ ? " 
 
 '* Can we be overheard?" said Raphael. 
 
 " Nay, there is no one," she said, with a pretty 
 gesture. 
 
 " Then come ! " he cried, opening his arms to her. 
 
 She sprang to him and clasped her hands around his 
 neck. *' Kiss me," she said, ^' for all the griefs thou 
 hast made me suffer ; for all the suffering th}' jojs 
 once gave me ; for all the nights I spent upon my 
 screens." 
 
 " Thy screens?" 
 
 " Since we are rich, my treasure, I can tell thee all. 
 Poor darling ! how easy it is to deceive a man of genius. 
 Can white waistcoats and clean shirts be had dail}' for 
 three francs of washing a month? And 3'ou drank 
 twice as much milk as your mone}' could bu}'. Oh ! I 
 tricked you in everything, — fuel, oil, mone}' even. Oh, 
 my Raphael, don't take me for your wife," she cried, 
 laughing, " I am too wily." 
 
 " But how did 3'ou manage it? " 
 
 " I painted till two o'clock every night," she said, 
 
238 The Magic Skin, 
 
 *' and I divided the price of my screens between my 
 mother and 3'ou." 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment, bewildered 
 with jo}' and love. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Raphael. "We shall pay for this 
 happiness b\" some frightful grief — " 
 
 "Are you married?" cried Pauline. "Ah! I will 
 not 3'ield thee to any woman." 
 
 " I am free, my treasure." 
 
 " Free ! " she repeated. "Free, and mine ! " 
 
 She slipped to her knees, clasping her hands and 
 looking up to Raphael with passionate devotion. 
 
 " I fear I am going mad. How noble thou art ! " she 
 cried, passing her hand through his blond hair. " Ah ! 
 how stupid she was, that countess of thine, Fedora I 
 What delight it gave me last night to please those 
 people at the theatre. She was never honored with such 
 a tribute. Listen, dearest ; when my shoulder touched 
 thy arm, a voice cried within me. He is there! I 
 turned and saw thee ! Oh, I fled away, for the desire 
 seized me to fall upon thy neck in face of all the 
 world." 
 
 " Thou art happy in being able to speak," cried 
 Raphael ; " as for me, my heart is in a vice. I want 
 to weep, and I cannot. No, leave me thy hand. 
 Would that I could stay beside thee all my life, look- 
 ing at thee thus, happj- — happy and content." 
 
 "Ah ! say those words again, my love." 
 
 "What are words?" said Valentin, letting a hot 
 tear fall upon Pauline's hand. " Later I will try to tell 
 thee of m}' love ; now I can but feel it." 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, " that noble soul, thatloftj^ genius, 
 
The Magic Skin. 2S9 
 
 that heart I know so well, are mine, all mir^e, even as I 
 am his — " 
 
 " — forever and ever, m}- gentle creature," said 
 Raphael, deepl}' moved. " Thou wilt be my wife, my 
 guardian spirit. Th3' presence has always driven away 
 m}' griefs and refreshed my soul ; at this moment thy 
 smile does, as it were, purify me. I believe a new life 
 opens to me. The cruel past and my sad follies seem 
 to me hke evil dreams. Beside thee I am pure. I 
 breathe the air of happiness. Oh ! be with me ever," 
 he cried, pressing her solemnl}' to his beating heart. 
 
 '' Let death come now," cried Pauline, in ecstasy, 
 " for I have hved." 
 
 I Happy he who can divine their joj's, for he has known 
 'them. 
 
 '* My Raphael," said Pauline, after a short silence. 
 *'I should like to think that no one could ever enter 
 this dear garret." 
 
 ' ' Then we must wall up the door, put iron bars to 
 the window, and bu}' the house," said the marquis. 
 
 " Ah, so we will," she cried ; then after a moment's 
 silence, she added, "thy manuscripts — we have for- 
 gotten them." 
 
 And they both laughed with innocent delight. 
 
 *' Bah ! what care I for all the science of the world," 
 cried Raphael. 
 
 '* Ah, monsieur, but think of fame." 
 
 " Thou art my fame ! " — 
 
 ** He was unhappj' when he wrote those words," she 
 eaid, turning over the leaves of the manuscript. 
 
 ''My Pauline— " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I am thy Pauline. Well, what then?" 
 
 
^40 The Magic Skin. 
 
 ' ' Wher^ do j^ou live ? " 
 
 " Rue Saint-Lazare, and thou?" 
 
 " Rue de Varennes." 
 
 " We shall be so far from each other until — " She 
 stopped and looked at her lover with a shy, coquettish 
 air. 
 
 *' But," said Raphael, " it can onl}- be for a week or 
 two at most that we are separated." 
 
 " Can it be? shall we be married in fifteen da3's?" 
 she sprang up like a child. " Ah, but I am a bad daugh- 
 ter," she said. " I think no more of father, mother, — 
 I think of nothing in the world but thee. Thou dost not 
 know, poor darling, that my father is ill. He returned 
 from the Indies so feeble that he came near dying at 
 Havre, where mj' mother and I went to meet him. Oh, 
 heavens ! " she cried looking at her watch ; " it is three 
 o'clock. I must be back when he wakes up at four. I 
 am mistress of the house, for m}- dear mother does all 
 I wish, and m}' father adores me ; but I will never abuse 
 their goodness, it would be wrong. Poor father ! he 
 sent me to the opera last night. You will come and 
 see him to-morrow, will 3'ou not?" 
 
 " Will Madame la Marquise de Valentin do me the 
 honor to take my arm ? " / 
 
 " Let me carr}' off the key of this dear room," she 
 said. '• Our treasure is a palace, is it not?" 
 
 " Pauline, one more kiss." 
 
 " A thousand ! Ah, my love," she said, looking at 
 Raphael, " will it be ever thus, or am I dreaming? " 
 
 They slowly descended the stairs ; and thus united, 
 step by step, trembling under the weight of the same 
 happiness, pressing closely together like doves, they 
 
The Magic Skin. i^43 
 
 reached the place de la Sorbonne, where Pauline's car- 
 riage was in waiting. 
 
 '' I wish to go home with you," she cried. " I want 
 to see 3'our room, 3'our stud}' ; to sit beside the table 
 at which you work. It will seem like old times," she 
 added, blushing. "Joseph," she said to the footman, 
 *' I shall go to the rue de Varennes before returning 
 home. It is a quarter past three ; I must be home at 
 four. Tell George to press the horses." 
 
 And the two lovers were soon at the Hotel Valentin. 
 
 "Oh, how glad I am to have seen it all," cried Pau- 
 line, stroking the silken curtains which draped the bed. 
 "I can now think of thy dear head upon that pillow. 
 Tell me, Raphael, did any one advise thee how to 
 furnish these rooms ? " 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "Truly? No woman?" 
 
 "Pauline!" 
 
 " I feel a dreadful jealous}'. What exquisite taste 
 thou hast; to-morrow I will make my room like thine." 
 
 Raphael, beside himself with happiness, caught her 
 in his arms. 
 
 " And now let me go to my father," she said. 
 
 "I shall go with you," cried Valentin, "let us not 
 be parted more than we can help." 
 
 " How loving you are ! " 
 
 " Are you not my life ? " 
 
 It were wearisome indeed to recount the pretty elo- 
 quence of love, to which the tones, the looks, the ges- 
 tures alone give value. Valentin took Pauline to her 
 home, and then returned to his, with a heart as lull 
 of pleasure as a man can feel and bear in this low 
 
 IG 
 
^4^ The Magic Skin. 
 
 world. When he was once more seated in his arm- 
 chair beside the fire, thinking of the sudden and com- 
 plete realization of his highest hopes, a chill thought 
 crossed his mind like the steel of a knife cutting through 
 his breast. He looked up at the Magic Skin ; it had 
 shrunk. He uttered the great French oath, but with- 
 out the Jesuitical reservations of the Abbesse des An- 
 douillettes, leaned his head on the back of his chair, 
 and remained long with his eyes fixed upon the drapery 
 of a window, but without seeing anything. 
 
 " Good God I " he cried, at length. *' What, every 
 desire, all? Oh, poor Pauline ! " 
 
 He took a pair of compasses and measured how much 
 of life that morning's joy had cost him. 
 
 " I have but two months more," he said. 
 
 A cold sweat issued from his pores ; suddenly he 
 obeyed an irrepressible impulse of anger and seized 
 the Skin, crying out, '^ I am a fool ! " Then he rushed 
 from the house and through the garden, and flung the 
 talisman to the bottom of a well. 
 
 '''-Vogue la galere!" he cried; ''come what may. 
 To the devil with such nonsense ! " 
 
 Raphael now abandoned himself to the joy of loving, 
 and lived heart to heart with his Pauline. Their mar- 
 riage, retarded by a few difficulties, uninteresting to 
 the reader, took place earl^' in March. The}' had tried 
 each other and felt no doubts ; happiness revealed to 
 them tiie strength of their affection, and no two souls, 
 no two natures were ever more perfectl}' united than 
 theirs by love. Studying themselves, the}- grew to love 
 each other better ; on either side the same delicacj', the 
 same modesty, the same enjoyments of the soul, — the 
 
The Magic Skin, 243 
 
 sweetest of all enjoyments, that of the angels. No 
 clouds were in their sk}' ; by turns the wishes of the 
 one were a law to the other. Both were rich ; there 
 were no caprices they could not satisfy, and therefore 
 they had no caprices. An exquisite taste, a feeling for 
 the beautiful, a true sense of poetry was in the nature 
 of the wife ; despising the baubles of wealth, one smile 
 of her lover was more to her than the pearls of Ormuz. 
 Muslin and flowers were her choicest adornment. By 
 mutual consent the}- avoided societ}', for solitude was 
 to them so fruitful, so beautiful. People saw the 
 charming pair at the opera or at the theatres, and if 
 some gossip ran the rounds of the salons, soon the rush 
 of events caused them to be forgotten, and left alone 
 to their happiness. 
 
 One morning when the weather had grown warm 
 enough to give promise of the joys of spring, Pauline 
 and Raphael were breakfasting in a small conserva- 
 tory, a sort of salon filled with flowers, on a level with 
 the garden. The sun's rays falling through rare shrubs 
 warmed the atmosphere ; the contrasting colors of the 
 leafage, the clustering flowers, and the capricious varia- 
 tions of light and shade, were enlivening to the eye. 
 While all Paris was still warming itself by cheerless 
 hearths, the young couple were laughing in a bower 
 of camellias and heaths and lilacs. Their jo3'ons heads 
 were side by side among narcissus and lilies of the val- 
 ley and Bengal roses. The floor of the conservatory 
 was covered with an African mat, colored like a carpet. 
 The walls, hung with green canvas, showed not a trace 
 of dampness. The furniture was apparently" of rough 
 wood, but the bark shone with cleanliness. A kitten 
 
244 The Magic Skin. 
 
 crouching on the table, attracted by the scent of the 
 milk, allowed Pauline to paint its whiskers with coffee 
 as she kept it at arm's length from the cream, tantaliz- 
 ing it to continue the play, laughing with all her heart 
 at its antics, and endeavoring to prevent Raphael from 
 reading the newspaper, which had dropped many times 
 from his hand. The pretty morning scene was full of 
 inexpressible happiness, like all else that is natural and 
 true and gay. Raphael pretended to read his paper, 
 but he was all the while furtively watching Pauline as 
 she frolicked with the cat, — his Pauline, wrapped in a 
 long white morning dress, which scarceh' concealed her 
 shape, his own Pauline, with her hair flowing and her 
 little white feet veined with blue in their velvet slip- 
 pers. Charming in dishabille, fairy-like as a figure of 
 Westall's, she was girl and woman both, perhaps more 
 girl than woman ; her happiness was without allo}^, and 
 she knew love only through its earlier joys. 
 
 Just as Raphael, wholl3' absorbed in his sweet reverie, 
 dropped his journal for the tenth time, Pauline caught 
 it, crumpled it into a ball and flung it into the garden, 
 where it rolled, like the politics it contained, over and 
 over upon itself, pursued by the kitten. When Ra- 
 phael, roused b}* the scene, made a movement to pick 
 up his paper, their jo3'ous laughter broke forth and died 
 away, and came again like the song of birds. 
 
 " I am jealous of that newspaper," cried Pauline, 
 wiping the tears her merry laughter had occasioned. 
 "It is felony," she asserted, becoming once more a 
 woman, " to read those Russian proclamations in m}- 
 presence, and to prefer the prose of the Emperor 
 Nicholas to the words and looks of love." 
 
The Magic Skin. 245 
 
 <' I was not reading, my love, m}^ darling ; I was 
 looking at 3'ou." 
 
 At this moment the heavy step of the gardener, grind- 
 ing on the gravel, was heard near the greenhouse. 
 
 " I beg pardon, Monsieur le marquis, if I interrupt 
 3'ou and madame ; but I bring you a curiosity, the like 
 of which I never saw. In drawing a bucket of water 
 just now I brought up a queer marine pla^it. Here it is. 
 Strange, though it lives in the water, it is n't wet nor 
 even damp ; it is as dr}' as a bit of wood, and not the 
 least swollen. As Monsieur le marquis knows so much, 
 I thought it would interest him." 
 
 So saying, the man showed Raphael the inexorable 
 Skin, now reduced to a surface of six square inches. 
 
 " Thank you, Vaniere," said Raphael ; " the thing is 
 very curious." 
 
 "My angel, what is the matter?" cried Pauline; 
 " you have turned pale." 
 
 " Leave us, Vaniere." 
 
 " Your voice frightens me," cried the young girl ; 
 " it is so strangely altered. What is it? How do you 
 feel? Where is the trouble? Oh, you are ill ! A doc- 
 tor ! " she cried. " Jonathas, help ! " 
 
 " My Pauline, hush," answered Raphael, recovering 
 his presence of mind. " Let us leave this place ; there 
 is a flower somewhere about, whose perfume turned me 
 faint. Perhaps it was that verbena." 
 
 Pauline darted on the harmless plant, seized it by the 
 stem, and flung it into the garden. 
 
 "Oh, angel!" she cried, straining Raphael to her 
 breast in a clasp as strong as love itself, and putting her 
 coral lips with plaintive coquetrj- to his, " as I saw thee 
 
246 The Magic Skin. 
 
 turning faint, I knew I could not survive thee. Thy lifiJ 
 is m}' life, Raphael : feel, pass thy hand along ra\^ back ^ 
 I felt a death-blow there ; I am all cold. — Thy lips are^ 
 burning, but thy hand is ice," she added. 
 
 " Silly girl," cried Raphael. 
 
 '' Why those tears? Ah, let me drink them ! " 
 
 '' Oh, Pauline, Pauline, we love each other too well." 
 
 " Something strange is happening within thee, Ra- 
 phael. Be true with me, for I shall know thy secret 
 soon. Give me that," she said, taking the Magic Skin. 
 
 " It is my death," cried the young man, casting a look 
 of horror at the talisman. 
 
 " Oh, what a change in his voice ! " exclaimed Pauline, 
 letting fall the fatal symbol. 
 
 *' Dost thou love me ? " he said. 
 
 * ' Do I love thee ? Canst thou ask it ? " 
 
 " Then leave me, leave me. Go ! " 
 
 The poor girl left him. 
 
 '' Can it be," cried Raphael when alone, '' that in 
 this age of discovery, when we have even learned that 
 diamonds are crystals of carbon, an epoch when all 
 things are explained, when the police would indict a 
 new Messiah before the courts and submit his miracles 
 to the Academy of Sciences, a day when the world be- 
 lieves in nothing but the deeds of a notary, can it be 
 that I am believing — I — in a sort of Mene, Mene, 
 Tekel, Upharsin ? No, by God himself, I will not think 
 that the AU-Powerful can find pleasure in torturing a 
 human soul. I will consult some man of science." 
 
 Before long Raphael was standing between the Wine 
 Market, an immense collection of hogsheads, and the 
 
The Magic Skin. 247 
 
 Salpetriere, an immense seminary of drunkards, at a 
 certain spot where, in a little pool, a number of ducks 
 were disporting themselves, all remarkable as rare 
 species, whose prismatic colors, like the windows of a 
 cathedral, were sparkUng in the rays of the sun. All 
 the ducks of the world were there, quacking, dabbling, 
 diving, like a duck parliament assembled against its 
 will, but happily not possessed of a charter or political 
 principles, and living out their days undisturbed b}^ the 
 guns of sportsmen, under the eyes of naturalists, who 
 occasionally looked them over. 
 
 " Here is Monsieur Lavrille," said one of the janitors 
 of the establishment to Raphael, who had asked to see 
 the great pontiff of zoology. 
 
 The marquis now beheld a little man plunged in deep 
 meditation over the study of a pair of ducks. This 
 learned professor, who was of middle age, had a natu- 
 rally gentle face, made still more kindl}' b}' an obliging 
 manner ; but the chief expression of his person was 
 scientific preoccupation. His wig, perpetually scratched 
 and shoved to one side, showed a line of white hair be- 
 low it, and seemed to indicate a fur}' of research which, 
 like all other passions, tears us so completely from the 
 things of life, that we even lose the consciousness of 
 this self Raphael, a student and a man of science, 
 admired the naturalist, whose da3's and nights were 
 consecrated to the advancement of human knowledge, 
 whose very errors might be said to be the glory of 
 France ; a fashionable lad\', however, would have 
 laughed at the solution of contiguity between the 
 breeches and the striped waistcoat of the learned 
 man, an interstice chastely' filled up b}^ a shirt con- 
 
248 The Magic Skin. 
 
 siderablj' rumpled b}' his exertions as he bent over, and 
 kneeled down, and rose up at the raerc}' of his zoological 
 investigations. 
 
 After a few opening remarks by way of courtesy, 
 Raphael thought it only politic to pay Monsieur Lavrille 
 a commonplace compliment upon his ducks. 
 
 " Oh, yes, we are rich in ducks," said the naturahst. 
 "The genus is, as 3'ou are no doubt aware, the most 
 prolific in the order of palmipeds. It begins with the 
 swan and ends with the zinzin duck, and comprises 
 one hundred and thirty-seven varieties of perfectly dis- 
 tinct individuals, all having their own name, their man- 
 ners and customs, their habitation, their physiognomy, 
 and no more resembling one another than we resemble 
 negroes. In fact, monsieur, when we eat a duck we 
 have little idea what that involves — " He interrupted 
 himself to watch a pretty little creature that was wad- 
 dling up the slope out of the pool. " You see there 
 Buffon's cravatted goose, poor child of Canada, come 
 from afar to show us his gray and brown plumage and 
 his jaunty white neck-cloth. Look ! he is scratching 
 himself. There's the famous down goose, in other 
 words, the Eider-duck, beneath whose quilts our ladies 
 of fashion lie; isn't she pretty? Who wouldn't ad- 
 mire that blush-white breast of hers, and the green 
 bill? I have just mated two species which I have long 
 despaired of breeding from, and I await the result im- 
 patientl3\ 1 hope to obtain a hundred and tliirty-eighth 
 species, to which perhaps my name may be given. There 
 they are," he said, pointing out two ducks. " One is the 
 laughing goose {anas alblfrons)^ the other is the groat 
 whistling duck (anas rufina of Buffbn). I hesitated 
 
The Magic Skin. 249 
 
 l.„„ .„,.._.,... 
 
 ^^jirhitc irides, and the shoveller-duck (anas clypeata). 
 See, there's the shoveller, that big chestnut-brown 
 fellow, "with the gloss \' green throat so coquettishlj' 
 iridescent. But the whistler was crested, monsieur, 
 and you can easily understand that that carried the 
 da}'. All we want to complete the collection is the 
 variegated duck with a black cap. Our gentlemen are 
 unanimous in declaring that duck to be only a hybrid 
 of the teal, w4th a crooked bill. As for me — " He 
 made a gesture equall}' expressive of the modesty and 
 the pride of learning, — pride full of obstinac}', modest}' 
 replete with self-sufficienc}', — "I don't think so. You 
 see, my dear monsieur, we don't waste our time on 
 amusements here. At this very moment I am busy 
 with a monograph on the genus duck. But neverthe- 
 less I am at 3'our service." 
 
 As the}' walked toward a rather pretty house in the 
 rue de Buffon, Raphael produced the Magic Skin and 
 showed it to Monsieur Lavrille. 
 
 "' I know that product," said the man of science, 
 after levelling his eye-glass on the talisman. ''It is 
 often used to cover cases. Shagreen is a very ancient 
 article. In these days manufacturers prefer to use the 
 skin of the raja sephen^ which is, as you doubtless 
 know, the shark of the Red Sea." 
 
 " But this, monsieur, if you will have the great kind- 
 ness to — " 
 
 " This," said the learned man, interrupting Raphael, 
 " is another thing altogether. Between the raja sepJien 
 and the onagra there is, I admit, all the difference that 
 there is between earth and ocean, between fish and 
 
250 The Magic Skin, 
 
 quadruped. Nevertheless the fish- skin is harder than 
 shagreen. This," he continued, fingering the talisman, 
 '' is, as you doubtless know, one of the most curious 
 products of zoolog3'." 
 
 " Explain it," said Raphael. 
 
 " In the first place," said the man of science, plung- 
 ing into his armchair, " it is the skin of an ass." 
 
 " I know that," said the 3'oung man. 
 
 *' There exists in Persia," resumed the naturalist, 
 ** an extremel}' rare ass, the onager of the ancients, 
 equus asinus, the houlan of the Tartars. Pierre- 
 Simon Pallas went to those regions to examine it ; he 
 gave it to science. Indeed, the animal had long been 
 regarded as mythical or extinct. It is mentioned, as 
 3"ou know, in Holy Scripture : Moses forbade that it 
 should breed with its congeners. But the wild ass is 
 still more famous for its singular remedial properties, 
 often alluded to by the Biblical prophets, and which 
 Pallas himself mentions, as you doubtless remember, 
 in his 'Act: Petrop,' volume II., where he says they 
 are still accepted among the Persians and Afghans as 
 a panacea for sciatic gout, and all diseases of the 
 lumbar regions. We poor Frenchmen would be glad 
 to know of that. The Museum does not possess a 
 single onager. What a splendid animal ! " cried the 
 man of science. "Full of m^'ster^' ! his e3'e is fur- 
 nished with a species of reflector, to which the Orientals 
 attribute a gift of fascination ; his coat is more exquis- 
 itel}' shining than that of our best-groomed horses ; it 
 is striped with tawny lines, and bears a strong resem- 
 blance to the zebra. The animal's hair is soft and 
 smooth, and unctuous to the touch : his sight is fully 
 
The Magic Skin, 251 
 
 equal in reach and precision to a man's ; he is rather 
 larger than our finest domestic ass, and possesses ex- 
 traordinary courage. If by chance he is overtaken or 
 surprised, he defends himself with remarkable intelli- 
 gence against other wild beasts ; as for the rapidit}^ 
 with which he moves, it can be compared onl}^ to the 
 flight of birds. An onager, monsieur, can out-run 
 the fleetest Arab or Persian horses. According to the 
 father of the conscientious doctor, Niebuhr, whose re- 
 cent death, as 3'ou doubtless know, we now deplore, 
 the ordinarj' pace of these wonderful creatures is seven 
 thousand geometric strides per hour. Our degenerate 
 donkeys give no idea of this proud, daring animal. He 
 is nimble in action, livelj', intelligent, shrewd, graceful 
 m appearance and in movement. He is, in fact, the 
 zoological king of the East. Turkish and Persian su- 
 perstitions both ascribe to him a mysterious origin, and 
 the name of Solomon is mingled with the traditions 
 that are current in Thibet and Tartary about the prow- 
 ess of the noble animal. A tamed wild ass would be 
 worth vast sums of money ; it is nearly impossible to 
 capture them among their mountain fastnesses, where 
 they spring from rock to rock like goats, or seem to 
 fly like birds. The fable of Pegasus, the winged horse, 
 no doubt took its rise from them. The saddle asses, 
 obtained in Persia by mating the female ass with a 
 tamed onager, are dj-ed red according to immemorial 
 tradition ; and that custom is perhaps at the bottom of 
 our proverb, ' Wicked as a red ass.' At an epoch 
 when natural histor}' was at a low ebb in France, some 
 traveller must, I think, have brought back with him 
 one of these curioush' painted aniir.fils. who became 
 
252 The Magic Skin. 
 
 impatient in confinement, — hence the sa3'ing. The 
 leather which 3011 show me," continued the learned 
 man, "is made from the skin of the wild ass. There 
 is a difference of opinion as to the origin of its name, 
 ' shagreen/ Some say that it comes from the Turkish 
 word Saghri^ signifying the rump of an ass ; others 
 insist that the same word is the name of a town, where 
 the hide of the wild ass was first subjected to the 
 chemical preparation so well described b}- Pallas, and 
 which gives it the granulated surface we admire so 
 much : but Monsieur Martellens writes me that Sdaghrij 
 or Chdagri^ is a rivulet." 
 
 " Monsieur, I thank 3'ou for giving me all this in- 
 formation, which would furnish admirable notes to 
 some Dom Calmet, if Benedictines still existed ; but I 
 have the honor to point out to 3'ou that this small 
 piece of skin was, not long ago, as large as — that 
 atlas," said Raphael, looking about him, " and for the 
 last three months it has been visibl)' shrinking." 
 
 *' Well, I understand that," said the man of science. 
 *'A11 remains of animal life, primitively organized, 
 are liable to a natural deca3', which is easy to compre- 
 hend, and the progress of which depends largel3' on at- 
 mospheric influences. Even metals expand or contract 
 perceptibl3^ ; for engineers often notice considerable 
 spaces between huge stones, held closel3' together origi- 
 nall}^ by bands of iron. Science is vast, human life is 
 short ; therefore we can hardly hope to master all the 
 phenomena of nature." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Raphael, rather bewildered, " ex- 
 cuse the inquiry I am about to make of you. Are 
 3-ou quite sure that this Skin comes under the general 
 
The Magic Skin. 253 
 
 laws of zoology ; can it be stretched back to its former 
 size ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedl}' — Plague take it!" cried Monsieur 
 Lavrille, vainly trying to stretch the talisman. " Mon- 
 sieur," he added, "3'ou had better go and see Plan- 
 chette, the celebrated professor of mechanics ; he can 
 certainly find a way to act upon that Skin, to soften 
 and distend it." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur, 3'ou save my life." 
 
 Raphael bowed to the wise man, and betook himself 
 at once to Planchette, leaving Lavrille in a stud^' filled 
 with vials and dried plants. He brought away with 
 him, unawares, the whole of human science, — a no- 
 menclature ! The worth}' naturalist was like Sancho 
 Panza relating the stor^' of the goats to Don Quixote ; 
 he amused himself by counting the animals and num- 
 bering them. With one foot in the grave, he knew as 
 yet only a tiny fraction of the incommensurable num- 
 bers of the great herds flung b}' God, for some mysteri- 
 ous purpose, across the lands and seas of the universe. 
 Raphael, however, was satisfied. 
 
 " I can bridle my ass, now," he thought to himself. 
 Sterne had said before him: " Spare your ass, if 3-ou 
 would live to old age." But the beast is certainly an 
 unaccountable one. 
 
 Planchette was a tall, lean man, a poet lost in per' 
 petual contemplation of an abyss without a bottom, 
 namely, motion. Ordinary persons cast the reproach 
 of madness upon these glorious minds, these souls un- 
 comprehended, who live in noble indiflTerence to luxury 
 and life, capable of smoking all day long an unlighted 
 cigar, or of entering a salon without always marrying the 
 
254 The Magic Skin. 
 
 buttons of their garments to the buttonholes. Some 
 da}^, after long sounding of the void, after piling up the 
 X's under Aa — Gg, they find the}^ have anal3'zed some 
 natural law and decomposed the simplest of elements ; 
 then suddenly the world at large admires a new mech- 
 anism, or some vehicle of the understanding, whose facile 
 construction amazes and confounds us. The modest 
 man of science smiles and says to his admirers, — 
 
 " What, think 3'ou, I have created? Nothing. Man 
 cannot invent a force ; he directs it. Science consists 
 in following nature." " ^~' 
 
 Raphael came upon the mechanician, standing rigid 
 on his two legs, like a man fallen plumb from a gib- 
 bet on which he has been hanged. He was watching 
 a marble as it rolled over a sun-dial, and waiting 
 anxiousl}^ till it stopped. The poor man was neither 
 pensioned nor decorated, for he knew nothing about ex- 
 hibiting his science. Happ}^ in the quest of discovery, 
 he thought of neither fame nor mone}', nor even of him- 
 self ; he lived in science for the sake of science. 
 
 "" Well, there 's no end to it," he cried, still watching 
 the marble. Then noticing Raphael, he said, '' Mon- 
 sieur, I am 3'our most obedient ; how is the mamma ? 
 Go and see my wife." 
 
 *' I could have lived that life," thought Raphael, who 
 proceeded to draw the student from his reverie by show- 
 ing him the Magic Skin, and asking to be told how to 
 soften and distend it. " Though you may laugh at my 
 credulity, monsieur," said the marquis, after stating the 
 case, *' I shall hide nothing from you. This Skin has, 
 as I think, a power of resistance against which nothing 
 can avail." 
 
The Magic Skin. 255 
 
 r 
 
 /'" Monsieur,'* said Planchette, " men of the world 
 a^e apt to treat science cavalierl}'. The}' all say to 
 ns pretty much what the Incroyable said to Lalande 
 ^hen he escorted a lad}' to the observator}' after the 
 / eclipse was over, — ' Will you have the goodness to 
 begin again ? ' What effect are you seeking to pro- 
 duce ? The end and aim of mechanics is to appl}- the 
 laws of motion or to neutralize them. As to motion in 
 itself, I declare to you with humility that we are power- 
 less to define it. That acknowledged, we have dis- 
 covered some of the unvarying phenomena which govern 
 the action of fluids and solids. B}' reproducing the 
 generating causes of those phenomena, we are able to 
 move substances and transmit to them a locomotive 
 power (up to a certain ratio of limited rapidity), to 
 start their motion, to divide them simply or indefi- 
 nitely, whether we break them or pulverize them. We 
 can also twist them and produce rotary motion, modif}', 
 compress, dilate, or stretch them. This science rests 
 on a single fact. You see that marble, monsieur. It 
 is here on this stone ; now it is over there. By what 
 name shall we call that act so physically natural and 
 so morall}' unaccountable ? Motion, action, locomotion, 
 change of place? What self-suflSciency is in those 
 w^ords? A name, — is that a solution? Yet it is the 
 whole of science. Our machinery employs or decom- 
 poses that motion, action, fact. The sliglit phenomenon 
 before you, brought to bear on solid masses, can blow 
 up Paris. We increase speed b}' expending force, and 
 force by expending speed. What are force and speed? 
 Science is unable to repl}', just as she is unable to 
 create motion. Motion, of any kind, is an immense 
 
256 The Magic Skin. 
 
 power, and man has never invented powers. Power is 
 one, like motion, whicli is indeed the essence of power. 
 All things are motion. Thought is motion. Nature 
 rests on motion. Death is a motion whose range is 
 as yet little known to us. If God is eternal, we must 
 believe that he is ever in motion ; God is, perhaps, mo- 
 tion itself. Thus motion is as inexplicable as God, 
 as profound, unlimited, incomprehensible, intangible. 
 Who has ever handled, understood, or measured mo- 
 tion? We feel its effects without seeing it. We can 
 even deny its existence, as we deny that of God. Where 
 is it ? where is it not ? Whence comes it ? What is the 
 principle of it? Where will it end? It is every- 
 where around us ; it presses upon us, and yet evades 
 us ! As a fact, it is evident ; as an abstraction, it is 
 obscure, being, as it is, cause and effect in one. It re- 
 quires, as we do, space; and what is space? Motion 
 alone reveals it to us ; without motion it is merely a 
 word devoid of meaning, an insoluble problem, like 
 chaos, like creation, like the infinite. Motion defies 
 human thought, and the onl}^ conception man is allowed 
 to obtain of it is that he can never conceive of it. Be- 
 tween each of those points which that marble has suc- 
 cessively occupied in space," continued the learned man ; 
 " there lies an abyss for human reason ; into tliat abyss 
 fell Pascal. To act upon an unknown substance, we 
 must first stud3' that substance ; according to its own 
 nature it will either break under a shock or resist it. 
 If it breaks in two and your intention is not to divide 
 it, we fail of the proposed end. Do you wish to com- 
 press it? You must transmit an equal motion to all 
 parts of the substance, so as to diminish uniforml}' the 
 
The Magic Skin. 257 
 
 space that separates them. On the other hand, do 3-ou 
 desire to stretch a substance ? Then 3'ou must endeavor 
 to give each molecule an equal eccentric force ; for, un- 
 less that law is carefulh' observed, we shall produce 
 solutions of continuity. There are, monsieur, an in- 
 finite number of methods and endless combinations in 
 motion. What effect are 3'ou seeking?" 
 
 '' Monsieur," said Raphael, impatiently, " I seek 
 some method suflSciently powerful to stretch this Skin 
 indefinitely." 
 
 "The substance being complete in itself," said the 
 mathematician, "it cannot be indefinitel}^ distended; 
 pressure will, however, necessaril}- increase its surface 
 size at the expense of its thickness ; it will grow thinner 
 and thinner until the substance fails — 
 
 " Obtain that result, monsieur," cried Raphael, " and 
 you will have earned millions." 
 
 " I should simply steal your mone}'," said the man of 
 science, phlegmatic as a Dutchman. " I will show you 
 in two words the existence of a machine under which 
 the Creator himself would be crushed like a fl}'. It re- 
 duces man to the condition of a bit of blotting-paper ; 
 j-es, a booted, spurred, cravatted man, gold, jewels, 
 hat, and all, — " 
 
 " What a horrible machine ! " 
 
 " Instead of flinging their children into the water, 
 those Chinese ought to have utilized them in this ver}^ 
 way," continued the man of science, without regard to 
 man's respect for his progeny. 
 
 Absorbed in his idea, Planchette took an empty 
 flower- pot with a hole in the bottom, and placed it 
 on the sun-dial ; then he fetched a small quantity of 
 
 17 
 
258 The Magic Skin. 
 
 clay from a corner of the garden. Raphael stood 
 watching him like a child, charmed with some won- 
 derful tale told b}' its nurse. Placing the cla}" upon 
 the dial, Planchette drew a pruning-knife from his 
 pocket, cut two branches of elder, and began to empty 
 them, whistling to himself as though Raphael were not 
 present. 
 
 " Here are the elements of the machine," he said. 
 
 He now fastened one of the wooden tubes at right 
 angles to the bottom of the flower-pot with a portion 
 of the clay, so that the hollow end of the elder branch 
 corresponded with the hole in the flower-pot. The 
 wiiole looked now like an enormous pipe. He then 
 spread a la^er of the cla^' on the sun-dial, shaping it 
 in the form of a shovel, set the flower-pot on the widest 
 part, and placed the branch of elder on the part repre- 
 senting the handle of the shovel. Next, he put a quan- 
 tity of cla}' at the end of the elder-tube, and inserted 
 the other tube again at right angles, making an elbow 
 of the cla}' to join it firmly to the horizontal branch, so 
 that the air, or an}^ given ambient fluid, could circulate 
 through the improvised machine from the opening of 
 the vertical tube along the intermediary canal, into the 
 empty flower-pot. 
 
 "Monsieur, this contrivance," he said to Raphael, 
 with the gravity of an Academician pronouncing his 
 initiatory discourse, " is one of the great Pascal's high- 
 est claims to reverence." 
 
 " I do not understand 3'ou." 
 
 The man of science smiled. He went to a fruit-tree 
 and took down a little bottle (in which his apothecary 
 had sent him a liquor to attract ants), broke off the 
 
The Magic Skin, 259 
 
 bottom of the vial and made a funnel of the rest, 
 fitting it carefull}^ to the open end of the vertical tube 
 of elder, which brought it opposite to the grand reser- 
 voir represented by the flower-pot. Then from a gar- 
 den watering-pot he poured in enough water to come 
 equally to the edge of the reservoir, and to the little 
 circular opening of the vertical tube. Raphael's thoughts 
 wandered to his Magic Skin. 
 
 ''Monsieur," said the mechanician, "water is sup- 
 posed to be an incompressible substance ; don't forget 
 that fundamental principle ; nevertheless, it does com- 
 press, but so slightly that its contractile facult}' ma}' 
 be reckoned at zero. You see the surface of the water 
 in the flower-pot?" 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " Well, suppose that surface a thousand times larger 
 than the orifice of the elder-tube through which I poured 
 in the water. Stay, I will take ofl" the funnel." 
 
 "I follow you." 
 
 " Well, monsieur, if I increase the liquid mass by 
 pouring more water through the orifice of the little 
 tube, the fluid, forced to go down, will rise up in the 
 reservoir represented by the flower-pot until the liquid 
 reaches the same level in each." 
 
 " That is evident," said Raphael. 
 
 *' But there is this difference," resumed Planchette ; 
 " the thin column of water added to the small vertical 
 tube presents a force equal, let us sa}', to a pound's 
 weight, and as its action is faithfull}' transmitted to the 
 liquid mass, and reacts on all points of the surface of 
 the reservoir, there will inevitably be a thousand 
 columns of water, all rising with a force equal to that 
 
260 Tlie Magic Skin. 
 
 which sent down the fluid in the little vertical tube, 
 and necessarily producing here," said Planchette, point- 
 ing to the opening of the flower-pot, ' ' a force one thou- 
 sand times as powerful as the force introduced there," 
 pointing to the orifice of the tube. 
 
 " That is perfectl}' plain,*' said Raphael. 
 
 Planchette smiled. 
 
 *'In other words," he resumed, with the tenacious 
 logic of a mathematician, " we must, in order to re- 
 press the overflow of the water, bring to bear on all 
 parts of the great surface a force equal to the force 
 acting through the vertical conduit ; but with this differ- 
 ence, that if the liquid column in it is onl3" a foot high, 
 the thousand little columns rising to the grand surface 
 will have only a ver}' feeble elevation. Now," con- 
 tinued Planchette, giving a flip to his sticks, " suppose 
 we replace this absurd little apparatus by metallic tubes 
 of suitable power and dimension ; say that you cover 
 with a strong movable plate the fluid surface of the 
 reservoir, and upon that plate you place another whose 
 strength and solidity will resist an}- strain ; and then 
 continue to add to the force of the liquid mass b}' cease- 
 lesslj' pouring more water tln-ougli the vertical tube. 
 An object, whatever it is, held between the two metal 
 plates must 3'ield to the enormous force brought to bear 
 upon it. The means of steadily introducing water 
 through the little tube is a mere nothing in mechanics, 
 and so is the method b}- which the force of the liquid 
 mass is transmitted to the plates. Two pistons and 
 a few valves are enough for that. You now see, 
 monsieur," he said, taking Valentin's arm, " that there 
 is no substance whatever which, if placed between 
 
The Magic Skin. 261' 
 
 these resistant forces, will not be compelled to extend 
 itself." 
 
 ''What!" exclaimed Raphael, "did the author of 
 the ' Provincial Letters ' invent — " 
 
 " He himself, monsieur ; and the science of mechanics 
 knows nothing more simple or more beautiful. The 
 opposite principle, namel}', the expansion of water, 
 created the steam-engine. But water is expansive to 
 a certain degree onlj', whereas its non-compressibility 
 being, as it were, a negative force, is necessarily 
 permanent." 
 
 " If this Skin be extended," said Raphael, " I prom- 
 ise to erect a statue to Blaise Pascal, to found a prize 
 of a hundred thousand francs for the finest discover}' in 
 mechanics within each decade, and to build a hospital 
 for mathematicians who ma}' become poor or crazy." 
 
 "That would all be ver}- useful," said Planchette. 
 " Monsieur," he resumed, with the tranquillity of a man 
 living in a purely intellectual sphere ; "I will take 3'ou 
 to-morrow to Spieghalter. That distinguished mech- 
 anician has just constructed, from plans of mine, a per- 
 fected machine by which a child could put a thousand 
 bales of ha}' into his hat." 
 
 " To-morrow, then, monsieur." 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " Talk of mechanics ! " thought Raphael, as he went 
 away ; "• it is the noblest of sciences. The other man, 
 with his onagers, his classifications, his species, and his 
 vials full of monstrosities, is, at best, like the marker 
 of a public billiard-table." 
 
 The next day Raphael returned full of hope to join 
 Planchette, and together they went to the rue de la 
 
262 The Magic Skin, 
 
 ^Saute, name of good augury. The young man soon 
 found himself at Spieghalter's vast establishment, sur- 
 rounded b}^ a number of roaring fiery furnaces. The 
 place was filled as with a rain of fire, a deluge of nails, 
 an ocean of pistons, screws, levers, crossbars, files, and 
 nuts, a sea of castings, valves, and bars of steel. Fil- 
 ings choked the throat. Iron was in the atmosphere, 
 men were covered with it, everything smelt of it ; iron 
 was alive, it was an organism, it became a fluid, it took 
 a hundred forms, it walked, it thought, it obeyed a 
 capricious will. Through the roar of the forges, the 
 crescendo of the hammers, the hissing of the lathes, 
 Raphael made his way to a large room which was clean 
 and airy, where he could examine at his ease the im- 
 mense hydraulic press which Planchette had mentioned. 
 He admired the joists, if we ma}' so call them, of cast- 
 iron, and the iron side-beams held together by inde- 
 structible bolts. 
 
 "If you were to turn that crank seven times rap- 
 idl}'," Spieghalter said to him, pointing to a balance- 
 wheel of polished iron, " 3'ou would grind a plate of 
 steel into a thousand particles, which would enter your 
 flesh like needles." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " cried Raphael. 
 
 Planchette himself slipped the Magic Skin between 
 the two metal plates of the great machine, and then, 
 calm in the security given by scientific convictions, he 
 quickly turned the crank. 
 
 '' Lie down, lie down, or we are dead," cried Spieg- 
 halter, flinging himself flat on the ground. 
 
 A dreadful hissing echoed through the workrooms. 
 The water contained in the machine burst the cast-iron, 
 
The Magic Skin. 263 
 
 and threw a jet of immense force, which fortunately 
 struck an old piece of machiner}-, knocking it over, and 
 twisting it out of shape like a house caught bj^ a water- 
 spout. 
 
 '' Oh ! " said Planchette, tranquilly', " that shagreen 
 is still as sound as my eye. Master Spieghalter, there 
 must have been a flaw in your cast-iron, or some inter- 
 stice in the main tube." 
 
 " No, no, I know my own iron. Monsieur may take 
 away that thing of his ; the Devil is in it." 
 
 So saying, the German seized a blacksmith's hammer, 
 flung the Skin upon an anvil and, with the strength of 
 anger, struck the talisman a blow, the like of which 
 had never before resounded in his workshops. 
 
 " It shows no mark of it ! " cried Planchette, strok- 
 ing the rebel Skin. 
 
 The workmen ran in. The foreman took the Skin 
 and threw it among the live coal of the forge. All 
 present ranged themselves in a half-circle round the 
 fire, awaiting with impatience the result of a final and 
 massive blow upon the strange substance. Raphael, 
 Spieghalter, and Planchette, stood in the centre of the 
 black and attentive crowd. Seeing those white ej'es, 
 those heads powdered with iron-filings, those grimy, 
 shining garments, those hairy breasts, Raphael fancied 
 himself transported to the weird nocturnal regions of 
 German legends. The foreman seized the Skin with 
 the tongs, after leaving it in the furnace for ten 
 minutes. 
 
 " Give it to me," said Raphael. 
 
 The foreman held it out to him in jest. Raphael 
 held it, cold and supple, in his fingers. A crj' of 
 
264 The Magic Skin. 
 
 horror rose ; the workmen fled. Valentin was left 
 alone with Planchette in the deserted workshop. 
 
 '' It is diabolic," said Raphael, in accents of despair. 
 " No human power can save my life." 
 
 *' Monsieur, I did wrong," said the mathematician 
 in a contrite tone. " We ought to have submitted that 
 extraordinary^ Skin to the action of a rolling-mill. How 
 came I ever to have advised 30U to try compression? " 
 
 '' I asked it of you myself," replied Raphael. 
 
 The man of science gave a sigh of relief, like that of 
 a guilt}' man acquitted by a jury. Nevertheless, deeply 
 interested b}' the strange problem of the Skin, he re- 
 flected a few moments, and then said : — 
 
 '' This mysterious substance ought to be treated by 
 reagents. Let us go and see Japhet ; Chemistry may 
 do more with it than Mechanics." 
 
 Valentin put his horse at speed, hoping to find the 
 great chemist, Japhet, still at his laboratorj^ 
 
 " Well, my old friend," said Planchette, perceiving 
 Baron Japhet in his armchair, watching a precipitate, 
 '' how is Chemistry going on ? " 
 
 '* Asleep. Nothing new. The Academy has, how- 
 ever, admitted the existence of salicine. But salicine, 
 asparagine, glucin, and digitalin are not discoveries." 
 
 " You seem to be reduced to inventing names," said 
 Raphael, " for lack of power to invent things." 
 
 *' True, by heaven, young man ! " 
 
 " Come," said Planchette to the chemist, " try to 
 decompose this substance for ns : if you can extract 
 any sort of principle from it I '11 call you Diabolus ; 
 for in trying to compress it we have just blown up an 
 hydraulic press." 
 
The Magic Skin. 265 
 
 *'Let me see it, let me see it!" cried the chemist 
 joyfully, " it ma}^ be some undiscovered simple sub- 
 stance." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Raphael, "it is really nothing 
 more than a piece of ass's skin." 
 
 " Monsieur?" said the chemist, gravely. 
 
 " I am not joking," said the marquis, giving him the 
 Skin. 
 
 Baron Japhet applied the sensitive test of his tongue 
 to tlie strange product ; that tongue so capable of dis- 
 tinguishing salts, acids, alkalies, gases ; and then he 
 said, alter a few attempts, — 
 
 "It has no taste. Well, I'll give it a bath of 
 fluorine." 
 
 Subjected to the action of that element, which is quick 
 to decompose animal tissues, the Skin underwent no 
 change. 
 
 " It is not shagreen at all," cried the chemist. " Let 
 us treat it as a mineral, and knock it in the head by 
 putting it in a melting-pot, where I happen to have 
 at this moment some red potassium." 
 
 Japhet left the room, but soon returned. 
 
 " Monsieur," he said to Raphael, " may I take a 
 small piece of this strange substance? it is something 
 very extraordinary." 
 
 "A piece!" cried Raphael, "no, not a hair's 
 breadth ; but you cannot if 3'ou would. Try," he added, 
 in a tone that was half-sad, half-jeering. 
 
 The chemist broke a razor in his efforts to cut the 
 Skin ; then he tried to crack it by a strong shock of 
 electricity ; next he subjected it to the full force of a 
 Yoltaic battery, until at last all the thunderbolts of 
 
266 The Magic Skin. 
 
 science had been fruitlessl}^ launched against the dread- 
 ful talisman. It was seven o'clock in the evening. 
 Planchette, Japhet, and Raphael, oblivious of the flight 
 of time, were awaiting the result of a last experiment. 
 The shagreen came out victorious from a terrible shock 
 due to a certain quantity of chloride of nitrogen. 
 
 " I am a dead man ! " cried Raphael. '' The finger 
 of God is in it. I must die." 
 
 He left the house without another word to the two 
 men, who remained wonderstruck. 
 
 '' We had better not saj^ a word of this at the Acad- 
 emy ; our colleagues would simpl}' laugh at us," said 
 Planchette to the chemist, after a tolerably long pause, 
 during which they looked at each other without daring 
 to communicate their thoughts. They were like Chris- 
 tian believers coming out of their tombs and finding no 
 God in heaven. Science powerless ! acids, pure water ! 
 red potassium dishonored ! electricit}' and a voltaic pile 
 no better than a cup and ball ! 
 
 "An hydraulic press shattered like an egg-shell!" 
 exclaimed Planchette. 
 
 "I believe in the Devil," said Baron Japhet, after a 
 moment's silence. 
 
 '' And I in God," responded Planchette. 
 / The two spoke according to their lights. To a 
 mechanician the universe is a machine, which implies a 
 workman ; but as for chemistry — that science of a devil 
 who goes about decomposing everything, — to chemistry 
 >^the world is nothing but a gas endowed with motion. 
 
 " We can't den}' the fact," said the chemist. 
 
 '' Bah ! to console us, the dullards of the world have 
 invented that nebulous maxim, * Stupid as a fact.' " 
 
The Magic Skin. ! 267 
 
 With that they went off and dined together like men 
 who saw only a phenomenon in a miracle. 
 
 By the time Valentin reached home he had fallen 
 into a state of cold anger ; he no longer believed in 
 anything ; his ideas were befogged in his brain, his 
 thoughts reeled and vacillated like those of all other 
 men in presence of an impossible fact. He had readily 
 believed that there was some secret defect in Spieg- 
 halter's machine ; the impotence of science and of lire 
 surprised him little ; but the suppleness of the Skin 
 when he touched it, and its hardness against every 
 means of dest_ructian within the power of man, Jeijrifie^ 
 him. ^^hat incontestable fact made his brain reel. 
 "^''1 am mad," he thought. " Though I have eaten no 
 food since morning, I am neither hungry nor thirsty, 
 and yet flames are consuming me within.'* 
 
 He replaced the Magic Skin in the frame from which 
 he had taken it, and after drawing another red line 
 round the present outline of the talisman, he seated 
 himself once more in his easy-chair. 
 
 ''Already eight o'clock!" he said. "The da}^ has 
 gone like a dream." 
 
 He put his elbows on the arms of his chair, and 
 leaned his head upon his left hand, giving himself up 
 to funereal reflections, to those awful thoughts whose 
 secret is carried to the grave by prisoners condemned 
 to death. 
 
 "Oh, Pauline ! " he cried aloud. " Poor child ! there 
 are gulfs which love cannot pass, no matter how strong 
 its pinions." At this instant he distinctl}^ heard a 
 smothered sigh, and recognized, by a most touching 
 privilege of passion, the breath of his Pauline. " Oh ! " 
 
268 The Magic Skin. 
 
 he said, "it is 1113' death-warrant. If she were here 
 1 would seek death in her arms." 
 
 A joyous ripple of laughter made him turn his head 
 toward the bed, and he saw through its transparent 
 curtains the sweet face of his wife, smiling like a happy 
 child at a successful piece of mischief. Her beautiful 
 hair fell in curls upon her shoulders ; she looked like a 
 Bengal rose on a mound of white roses. 
 
 " I coaxed Jonathas," she sai<L "Don't scold me, 
 dearest ; I could not sleep awa^' from 3'ou. Forgive me 
 my folly," and she sprang from the bed like a kitten, 
 radiant in her clouds of muslin as she nestled on 
 Raphael's knees. " What gulf were you talking of, 
 dear love? she asked, an anxious expression crossing 
 her brow. 
 
 " Of death," he answered. 
 
 " You hurt me," she said ; " there are some thoughts 
 on which we poor women cannot bear to dwell, — they 
 kill us. Is it from force of love, or lack of courage? 
 I know not. But death does not frighten me," she 
 added, laughing. " To die with thee, to-morrow, to- 
 gether, in a last kiss — ah ! it would be happiness ! 
 I should still have lived a hundred years. Wh}' meas- 
 ure time b}' days and 3'ears, when in one hour we live 
 a lifetime of peace and love ? " 
 
 "Right, right," he said, "the heavens are speaking 
 through th}^ prett}' mouth ; let me kiss it, and let me 
 die." 
 
 "Let us die," she answered, laughing. 
 
 Toward nine o'clock in the morning, dayhght was 
 shining through the interstices of the outer blinds ; 
 softened b}' the muslin curtains it showed the rich 
 
The Magic Skin. I 269 
 
 colors of the carpet and the silken coverings of the fur- 
 niture, while touches of gilding sparkled here and there. 
 A sunbeam quivered on the eider-down quilt which had 
 slipped from the bed ; hanging to a tall ps^'che-glass, 
 the dress Pauline had taken off the night before looked 
 like a misty apparition. Her tin}' shoes were at some 
 distance from the bed. The low warbhng of a night- 
 ingale in a tree beside the window, and the whirr of his 
 wings as he suddenly took flight, awakened Raphael. 
 
 Ijpeath," he said, continuing a thought begun in a 
 dream, " can only come if my organization, this^me(^- 
 anism of flesh and bones vitalized by my will, which 
 makes me an individual man, undergoes some morbid 
 change of structure or of functions. The doctors ought 
 to know the symptoms of departing ^talit}' ; they can 
 tell me if m}' state is health or disease."] 
 
 He looked at his sleeping wife, whose arm was about 
 his neck, still expressing, even in sleep, the tender 
 anxieties of her love. Her attitude was graceful as 
 that of an infant ; she lay with her face toward him, 
 and seemed to be still looking at him and putting up 
 the pretty lips which were slightly parted by her pure 
 and equable breathing; a smile flickered upon them, 
 showing the white teeth that heightened their rosy 
 freshness. The glow of her complexion was more 
 vivid, and its whiteness, so to speak, more white at 
 this moment than during all the loving hours of the 
 da}'. The graceful, easy attitude, so full of confidence,' 
 added the adorable beauties of sleeping childhood to 
 the charms of love. All women, even the most natu- 
 ral, obey in their waking hours certain social conven- 
 tions which repress the native instincts of their soul; 
 
270 The Magic Skin. 
 
 but sleep seems to give them back the spontaneity" of 
 being which adorns infancy. Like one of those dear 
 and celestial beings with whom the mind has forced 
 no thought into the gestures, no secrets into the e3'es, 
 Pauline blushed at nothing. Her profile was clearly 
 defined against the fine linen of the pillow-case ; quill- 
 ings of lace mingled with her straying hair and gave 
 her a half- roguish look ; but she had fallen asleep 
 happ3', and the long ejelashes lay upon her cheek as 
 if to protect the e3'es from too sudden an awakening, 
 or to aid that composure of the soul which seeks to 
 retain the memorj' of a perfect though fugitive happi- 
 ness. To see her thus asleep, smiling in her dreams, 
 peaceful under his protection, loving him even in a 
 vision, wrapped in her love as in a mantle, chaste in 
 the presence of disorder, was to a man like Raphael 
 happiness unspeakable. He looked about the room 
 surcharged with love and redolent of memories, where 
 the sunlight was now brightening the glowing tints ; 
 then his eyes reverted to the woman beside him, 3'oung, 
 loving, and pure, whose ever3' feeling was his without 
 allo3". FassionateU' he desired to live. His glance 
 wakened her, and she opened her e3-es as though a ray 
 of sunshine had struck them. 
 
 *' Good-morning, friend," she said, smiling. "Ah! 
 how beautiful thou art ! " 
 
 The two heads, glowing with a grace that came of 
 love, of 3'outh, of the soft half-lights and silence, made 
 one of those divine pictures whose fleeting magic be- 
 longs to the earlier da3's of passion, just as artlessness 
 and candor are the attributes of childhood. Alas! 
 these spring-time jo3's of love, like the laughter of 
 
The Magic Skin. 271 
 
 3'outh, take wings and live in our memoiy onh' to 
 drive us to despair, or shed some consoling fragrance 
 upon our lives, according to the capricious changes of 
 our secret thoughts. 
 
 " Wh>- did you wake?" said Raphael. "It gave 
 me such happiness to watch j'ou sleeping, that I wept." 
 
 ''And I, too," she answered. "I wept last night 
 as I watched thee, but not with happiness. Listen to 
 me, oh, m}' Raphael, listen ! When asleep, thy 
 breathing is not free and unconstrained ; something 
 sounds in thy chest which frightens me ; that dry and 
 hacking cough is like m}- father's, and he is dying of 
 consumption. I fanc\' I hear in thy lungs the strange 
 murmurings of disease. And you have fever, I am 
 ^ure of it ; last night j^our hand was moist and burn- 
 ing. My darling, thou art so young," she said, shud- 
 <iering ; " surelj' thou canst be cured, even if — but 
 no, no," she exclaimed jo3'ousl3', "there's no fear; 
 jind if there were, that disease is contagious, the physi- 
 cians say " — and she flung her arms around him, and 
 breathed his breath in one of those firm kisses where 
 two souls touch each other — " I do not wish to grow 
 old," she said. " Let us die 3'oung, and go to heaven, 
 together, our hands filled with flowers." 
 
 " Such thoughts come only to those who have health," 
 answered Raphael, burying his hands in Pauline's hair ; 
 but a horrible fit of coughing seized him, — the deep- 
 seated sonorous cough which seems to come from a 
 coffin, terrifying its victims, and leaving them trem- 
 bling and sweating after shaking their nerves, straining 
 their spinal marrow, and sending a mysterious leaden 
 heaviness through their veins. Raphael fell back, pale 
 
272 .The Magic Skin. 
 
 and exhausted, like a man whose strength has been 
 spent in some last effort. Pauline looked at him with 
 staring e3'es, widened by fear, and remained motionless, 
 white, and silent. 
 
 " Let us talk no more nonsense, m}' angel," she said 
 at length, trj'ing to hide from Raphael the horrible 
 presentiment that seized her. 
 
 She covered her face with her hands, for suddenly 
 she beheld the hideous skeleton of Death. Raphael's 
 head had grown livid and hollow, like a skull brought 
 from a cemetery to assist the studies of science. Pau- 
 line recollected his exclamation of the night before, and 
 said, as if to herself: — 
 
 '' Yes, there are abysses w^hich love cannot cross, — 
 but it may bury itself in them." 
 
 A few days after this melancholy scene, Raphael was 
 seated one morning in an armchair, surrounded by four 
 physicians, who had placed him under the full light of 
 a window, and were taking his pulse, feeling him all 
 over, and questioning him with an appearance of in- 
 terest. The patient sought to discover their secret 
 thoughts, endeavoring to interpret each gesture, and 
 the slightest frown that came upon their foreheads. 
 This consultation was his last hope. These supreme 
 judges were about to render a decree of life or death. 
 He had called in the four greatest oracles of modern 
 medicine, that he might wring from human science its 
 utmost knowledge. Thanks to his mone}' and to his 
 name, the three systems between which the judgment 
 of mankind fluctuated were here present. Three of 
 these physicians brought with them the whole of medi- 
 
The Magic Skin. 273 
 
 cal philosophy, — representing in their persons the con- 
 flict between Spiritualit}^, Analysis, and a certain sar- 
 castic Eclecticism. The fourth physician was Horace 
 Bianchon, a man full of promise and science, perhaps 
 the most distinguished of the modern doctors ; the wise 
 and modest representative of the studious 3'outh who 
 prepare themselves to gather in the heritage of wisdom 
 laid up, during the last fifty years, in the Ecole de Paris, 
 and who may perhaps produce the monumental work 
 for which preceding centuries have gathered so much 
 diverse material. He was the intimate friend of Ras- 
 tignac and of Valentin ; for the last few days he had 
 attended the latter professional!}', and w^as now helping 
 him to answer the questions of the three professors, to 
 whom he occasionally explained, with a certain insist- 
 ence, the S3'mptoms which, as he thought, betraj'ed 
 pulmonar}' consumption. 
 
 " You have, no doubt, led a life of excess, and given 
 yourself up to great eflforts of mind?" said one of the 
 doctors, whose square head, broad face, and vigorous 
 organization seemed to show a genius superior to that 
 of his antagonists. 
 
 " I have tried to kill mvself bv excess, after toiling: 
 for three years at a great work which may occupy your 
 minds some of these days," answered Raphael. 
 
 The great man nodded his head with apparent satis- 
 faction, as though he were saying to himself, " I was 
 sure of it ! " 
 
 This was the illustrious Brisset, chief among the 
 "organists," and successor to the school of Cabanis 
 and Bichat, the positive and materialistic school, which 
 sees in man a finite being subject solely to the laws of 
 
 18 
 
 I 
 
274 The Magic Skin, 
 
 his own organization, whose normal state, or whose 
 vitiated anomalies are explainable by natural causes. 
 
 On receiving Raphael's repl}', Brisset glanced silentl^^ 
 at a man of medium height, whose crimson face and 
 ardent eye seemed to belong to some antique faun. 
 Leaning against the window-casing, he was observing 
 Raphael attentivel}', without saying a word. Doctor 
 Cameristus, chief of the " vitalists," a man of exalted 
 feelings and beliefs, a poetic defender of the abstract 
 theories of Van Helmont, considered human life a loft}^, 
 secret essence, an inexplicable phenomenon which 
 laughs at scalpels, deceives surgery, evades the drugs 
 of the pharmacopoeia, the x of algebra, the laws of 
 anatom}^ and scoffs at Science ; a species of invisi- 
 ble, intangible flame, subject to some divine law, and 
 wliich often remains living in a human bod}- condemned 
 by the decrees of doctors, while as often it deserts 
 organizations that seem to be full of life. 
 
 A sardonic smile curled the lips of the third ph3'si- 
 cian, Doctor Maugredie, a man of distinguished intel- 
 lect, but pyrrhonic and a scoflTer, who believed in 
 nothing but the knife, conceded to Brisset that a man 
 could die who was perfectly well, and agreed with 
 Cameristus that a man might live even though he 
 were dead. He saw something true in all theories 
 and adopted none, declaring that the best medical 
 system was to have no doctrines and to roXy only 
 on facts. Tliis Panurge of his school, king among 
 observers, the great inA'estigator and scoffer, the man 
 of heroic methods, took up the shagreen talisman and 
 examined it. 
 
 " I should like to witness the phenomenon 3'ou speak 
 
The Magic Skin. 275 
 
 of, — the coinciding of jour desires with the shrinking 
 of the leather," he said to the marquis. 
 
 ** What help would that be ? " cried Brisset. 
 
 *' What help indeed? " echoed Cameristus. 
 
 " Ah ! you agree for once," said Maugredie. 
 
 " The contraction is perfeclh' simple," added Brisset 
 
 *' It is supernatural," said Cameristus. 
 
 *' The truth is," said Maugredie, assuming a serious 
 look and handing the Magic Skin to Raphael, " the 
 shrinking of leather is an inexplicable fact, at the same 
 time a natural one, which from the dawn of ages has 
 been the despair of surger}- and of prett}' women." 
 
 Valentin, eagerly watching the three doctors, was 
 forced to perceive that they felt not the slightest sym- 
 pathy for his sufferings. All three kept silence when he 
 answered them ; looked at him coldlj^ and questioned 
 him without compassion. Even their politeness was 
 nonchalant. Whether their minds were made up, or 
 whether they were still reflecting, their words were so 
 few, their manner so lethargic, that Raphael thought 
 them at times absent-minded. Brisset alone said, occa- 
 sionall}', " Very well, very good," in reply to Bianchon's 
 proofs of the m^-e alarming symptoms. Cameristus 
 was plunged in his own thoughts. Maugredie was like 
 a comic actor studying a pair of originals to produce 
 them faithfull}' on the sfttge. The face of Horace 
 Bianchon alone betrayed concern, even a tender pity 
 that was full of sadness. He had practised his pro- 
 fession too short a time to be indifferent to the suffer- 
 ings of a dying man, or to restrain the friendly tears 
 that dimmed his eyes. 
 
 After spending perhaps half an hour in taking the 
 
276 The Magic Skin. 
 
 measure, as it were, of the sick man and his disease, as 
 a tailor takes the measure of a 3'oung man for his wed- 
 ding suit, they began to talk of ordinary matters, even 
 politics, and soon after proposed to adjourn to Raphael's 
 studj' for consultation. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Raphael, '' may I be present?'* 
 
 Brisset and Maugredie exclaimed vehemently against 
 the request, and in spite of the patient's insistence de- 
 clared they would not consult in his presence. Raphael 
 submitted to their etiquette, recollecting that he could 
 slip into a side-passage and overhear their discussions. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Brisset, as they entered the stud}', 
 *' let me give you m}' opinion at once. I neither wish 
 to impose it upon you nor to make it a subject of con- 
 troversy. It is clear, precise, and founded on the exact 
 similarity of this case with that of another patient of 
 mine ; moreover, I am much pressed for time, being 
 wanted at my hospital. The importance of the operation 
 which I am to perform must be m}' excuse for thus seiz- 
 ing the first word. The case we are now considering is 
 worn out, as much hy intellectual labor — by the bye, 
 Horace," he said, interrupting himself to question the 
 3'oung phj'sician, '' what has he written? " 
 
 " A theory on the Will." 
 
 *' The devil ! well, that 's a wide subject. He is worn 
 out, I sa}', not only bj- excess in thought, but by ex- 
 cesses of conduct and the repeated use of powerful 
 stimulants. The violent action of brain and bod}^ thus 
 induced has vitiated all the functions of the organism. 
 It is easy to recognize in the visible symptoms of the 
 face and body a tremendous irritation of the stomach, 
 the neurotic condition of a high-strung temperament, a 
 
The Magic Skin. 277 
 
 sensitiveness of the epigastrium, and the contractions 
 of hj'pochondria. You noticed, of course, the size 
 and prominence of the liver. Monsieur Bianchon has 
 watched the patient's digestion, and sa3's it is slow 
 and labored. Properly speaking, there is no longer a 
 stomach ; the man has practically^ disappeared. The 
 intellect is atrophied because the stomach no longer 
 digests. The progressive deterioration of the epigas- 
 trium, the centre of life, has broken up the whole S3S- 
 tem ; it reaches every part of the organism, more 
 speciallj' the brain through the nerve currents ; hence 
 the excessive irritation of that organ. In fact, there is 
 monomania. The patient is under the influence of a 
 fixed idea. To him that Skin realh' appears to shrink ; 
 though ver}^ likely' it has alwa^'s been just as we see it 
 now. But whether it contracts or not, that bit of sha- 
 green is to him like the fly the grand vizier had on his 
 nose. Put leeches on the epigastrium at once ; calm 
 the irritation of that organ, in which the whole life of 
 man resides. Keep the patient to a strict diet, and 
 monomania will cease. I have nothing more to sa}- to 
 Doctor Bianchon ; he . is quite competent to seize the 
 idea and carr}' out the treatment. Perhaps there may 
 be some complications ; the respiratory passages maj* be 
 irritated, but I think the treatment of the intestinal 
 organs far more important, and more urgent than that 
 of the lungs. Close study on abstract subjects and a 
 few violent passions have produced this serious disturb- 
 ance of the vital forces. However, there is still time to 
 mend the springs and set the machine going again ; the 
 harm done is not past remed3^ You can easilj' save 
 
278 The Magic Skin, 
 
 " Our learned colleague mistakes effects for causes," 
 answered Cameristus. '' Yes, the deteriorations he has 
 noticed have taken place ; but the stomach has not 
 gradually and systematically vitiated the whole organ- 
 ism together with the brain, like the spreading of a 
 crack in a pane of glass. Some original shock was 
 needed to make the crack ; what was it? what gave it? 
 do an}' of us know? have we studied the patient long 
 enough to know? Gentlemen, the vital principle, Van 
 Helmont's archeus^ is attacked in this man ; vitalit}' it- 
 self is attacked at its source, in its essence. The divine 
 spark, the fleeting intelligence which holds the machin- 
 GYy together and produces will, the science of life, has 
 ceased to control the daily phenomena of this human 
 mechanism and the functions of each organ. Hence 
 the disorders so well diagnosed by my learned associate. 
 The deteriorating action did not pass from the stomach 
 to the brain, but from the brain to the stomach. No," 
 he said, striking his own bod}' forcibl}', "I'm not a 
 stomach made into a man ! No, that 's not the whole 
 of me. I have not the courage to declare that if I have 
 a sound epigastrium everj'thing else must be right with 
 me. We cannot," he continued, in a gentler tone, " re- 
 fer to one and the same physical cause, and put under 
 uniform treatment, the serious disorders which are found 
 in var3'ing cases, more or less seriousl}'" attacked. No 
 man is like another man. We all have our own par- 
 ticular organs, diversely affected, diversely nourished, 
 fitted for various missions, and intended to carry out an 
 order of tilings which is to us unknown. The fraction 
 of the great All which by some higher will works within 
 us the phenomenon called life^ is formulated in a distinct 
 
The Magic Skin. ) 279 
 
 manner in each human being, making him apparently a 
 finite being, but at one point co-existent with the Infi- 
 nite. Therefore, we must stud}' each case separately, 
 penetrate its individual nature, recognize what in it is 
 life, what its own peculiar power. Between the soft- 
 ness of a wet sponge and the hardness of pumice-stone 
 there are many gradations. Such is Man. Between 
 the spong}' organisms of the lymphatics and the metallic 
 vigor in the muscles of some men destined to live long, 
 what mistakes maj' not be committed by the iron-bound 
 implacable system of cure b}' depression, by the pros- 
 tration of human forces which you choose to suppose 
 irritated. In this case I should seek a mental and 
 moral treatment, a searching examination of the inner 
 being. Seek for causes in the entrails of the soul, not 
 in those of the bod}' ! A physician should be an in- 
 spired being, gifted with a genius all his own, — one to 
 whom God confides the power of reading the vital na- 
 ture, just as he gave to his prophets the eyes to see into 
 futurit}', to his poets the faculty of evoking nature, to 
 his musicians that of arranging sounds in harmonious 
 sequence, whose t3'pe is perhaps on high ! " 
 
 '* Pure absolutism, monarch}', religion, — that's his 
 science of medicine ! " muttered Brisset. 
 
 '* Gentlemen," said Maugredie, hastily, smothering 
 Brisset's remark, " don't let us lose sight of our sick 
 man, — " 
 
 " This is Science ! " thought Raphael, sadly. " My 
 cure hangs between a rosary and a chaplet of leeches, 
 between the scalpel of Dupuytren and a prayer of the 
 Prince of Hohenlohe ! On the dividing-line between 
 word and deed, matter and spirit, stands Maugredie, 
 
280 The Magic Skin. 
 
 scoffing ! The human yes and no pursue me. Alwa3's 
 and forever the Carymary, Car y mar a of Rabelais. 
 I am spirituall}^ ill, carymary ! or materially ill, cary- 
 mara! Am I to live? ThejMgnore that. Planchette 
 at least had more honesty ; he said frankly, ' I don't 
 know.' " 
 
 At this moment, Valentin distinguished the voice of 
 Doctor Maugredie. 
 
 '•• The patient is a monomaniac, — well, I agree to 
 that," he cried; "but he has two hundred thousand 
 francs a year. Such monomaniacs are rare, and we 
 owe them at least our best advice. As to knowing 
 whether his epigastrium acts on his brain or his brain 
 on his epigastrium, we can settle that when he is dead. 
 But let us look at the immediate facts. He is ill, that's 
 ver}- certain. He must have some treatment. Never 
 mind theories. Put on leeches if 3'ou will to quiet the 
 intestinal irritation and the nervous condition, about 
 which we are all agreed ; then let us send him off to 
 some Baths. This will meet both systems. If he is 
 consumptive, we can't save him, and so — " 
 
 Raphael left the passage and returned to his arm- 
 chair. The four physicians presently re-entered his 
 room. Plorace Bianchon was deputed to speak to 
 him, and said : — 
 
 " These gentlemen have unanimousl}^ decided on an 
 immediate application of leeches to the stomach, and the 
 urgent necessity of a treatment that shall be both physi- 
 cal and moral. In the first place, a dietetic regimen is 
 prescribed to quiet the irritation of your organism — " 
 
 Brisset made a sign of approval. 
 
 " In the second, a hygienic treatment to give tone to 
 
The Magic Skin. 281 
 
 yonr mental and moral condition. Therefore, we unani- 
 mously advise 3'ou to go to Aix-les-bains in Savoie or 
 to the baths of the Mont Dore in Auvergne, — either 
 you prefer ; the air and the scenery of Savoie are more 
 . agreeable than those of the Cantal, but we wish 3^ou to 
 please 3^ourself." 
 
 Here Doctor Cameristus gave signs of assent. 
 
 " These gentlemen," continued Bianchon, " ha^Mng 
 found some slight lesions in the respirator}' organs, are 
 quite agreed in approving my treatment of your case, so 
 far. The}' think that 3'our cure can easil}' be effected, 
 and will depend on the judicious and alternate use of 
 these two methods. And — " 
 
 " This is why your science is mute," said Raphael, 
 taking Bianchon into his study and giving him the price 
 of the useless consultation. 
 
 " They are logical," said the young phj'sician. '' Cam- 
 eristus feels, Brisset examines, Maugredie doubts ; 
 has n't man a soul, a body, a mind? One or other of 
 those three first causes acts more or less powerfully with- 
 in us ; there will always be a man behind all scientific 
 convictions. Believe me, Rapliael, we cannot cure ; we 
 only aid a cure. Between the science of Brisset and 
 the science of Cameristus stands Expectant science ; 
 but to practise it successfully we must know a patient 
 ten 3'ears. There 's negation at the bottom of medi- 
 cine just as there is in every science. Try to live 
 prudentl}' ; make a journc}' to Savoie ; it is best, and 
 always will be best, to trust to nature." 
 
 On a fine morning, about a month later, several visit- 
 ors to the Baths of Aix, returning from their usual 
 
282 The Magic Skin. 
 
 promenade, met together in one of the salons of the 
 Cercle. Sitting by an open window with his back to 
 the company, Raphael remained isolated, plunged in 
 one of those mechanical reveries in which our thoughts 
 arise, link with each other, and vanish awa}* taking no 
 actual shape, passing through us, as it were, like fleet- 
 ing clouds that are scarcely' tinted. At such moments 
 sadness is tender, joy is shadowy, and the soul is all 
 but sleeping. Raphael, yielding to this sensuous ex- 
 istence, drank in the pure and balm}' air of the moun- 
 tains, and bathed in the warm atmosphere of the 
 summer evening, happ3^ in feeling no pain and in 
 having at length reduced to silence the fatal talisman. 
 Just as the last red tints of the setting sun were fading 
 from the summits, the temperature grew chill}', and he 
 closed the window. 
 
 " Monsieur," said an old lady, " will 3'ou have the 
 kindness not to shut that window. We are suffocat- 
 ing." 
 
 The speech jarred on Raphael's sensitive ears with 
 peculiar sharpness ; it was like an imprudent word 
 [dropped by a friend in whom we wish to believe, and 
 [who destro\'s some sweet illusion of feeling by the be- 
 trayal of an inward selfishness. He cast the chilling 
 look of a diplomatist upon the lad}^ who addressed him, 
 then he called up a waiter and said to him dvyXy : — 
 
 " Open that window." 
 
 A look of amazement appeared on everj' face. The 
 company began to whisper in low tones and to look at 
 the sick man significantly, as if he had been guilty of a 
 great impertinence. Raphael, who had never shaken 
 off his natural shyness, felt abashed ; but he resolutely 
 
The Magic Skin. 28^ 
 
 "came out of his torpor, recovered the energy of his 
 mind, and asked himself the meaning of the strange 
 scene. Suddenh^ and strangel}' a rapid action took 
 place in his mind ; the past appeared to him in a vision 
 where the causes of the feeling he inspired sprang into 
 relief like the veins of a dead bod3' when some natural- 
 ist colors it to a semblance of life with a chemical in- 
 jection. He recognized his own being in the fleeting 
 picture ; followed his existence da}' b}- da}' and thought 
 by thought ; he saw himself, not without surprise, 
 gloomj' and absorbed in the midst of the merr}^ world, 
 thinking only of his own destin}', preoccupied with his 
 own griefs, disdaining even the most trifling intercourse 
 with others, refusing those ephemeral intimacies that 
 are quickly formed among persons who know they are 
 not hkely to meet again, thoughtless of others, like 
 rocks as indifferent to the soft lapping of the waves as 
 to their fury. Then, by a rare privilege of intuition, 
 he read the souls of others ; he saw by the light of that 
 inward torch the yellow skull, the sardonic profile of an 
 old man whose money he had won without allowing him 
 to take his revenge ; he saw a prett}- woman to whose 
 advances he had turned the cold shoulder ; every face 
 in his vision reproached him for some ostensible injury, 
 whose real crime lay in the invisible stabs he had given 
 to self-love. Involuntarilj' he had wounded all the little 
 vanities which gravitated round him. 
 
 Sounding thus the hearts of others, he deciphered 
 their secret thoughts ; he conceived a horror of societj- 
 its hollow politeness, its thin varnish. Rich and meui 
 tally superior, he saw himself both envied and hated ; 
 his silence baflfied curiositv ; his reserve seemed hauo;h- 
 
284 The Magic Skin. 
 
 tiness to the petl}- and superficial beings about bim ; 
 his keen perception enabled him to guess the latent 
 unforgivable wrong of which he was guiltj' toward them, 
 — he escaped the jurisdiction of their mediocrit3\ Re- 
 belling against their inquisitorial despotism, he showed 
 lie could live without them ; and to avenge themselves 
 for that regal assumption the}' instinctiveh^ banded to- 
 gether to make him feel their power, to ostracize him, 
 and let him know that they too could do without him. 
 At first he was filled with pitj^ at this aspect of the 
 world ; then he shuddered as he thought of the supple 
 power which thus enabled him to lift the veil of flesh 
 that hides our diseased nature ; and he closed his eyes 
 as if to see no more. A black pall fell upon that sinis- 
 ter phantasmagoria of truth, and he felt himself alone 
 in the horrible isolation that belongs to power. 
 
 At this moment he was seized with a violent fit of 
 coughing, and he heard, in place of the usual conven- 
 tional S3mpathy, a hostile murmur, and a few com- 
 plaints uttered in a low voice. Society no longer wore 
 the veil of politeness, possibly because it was aware 
 that he knew it too well. 
 
 *' His disease is contagious." 
 
 *' The president of the Cercle ought to forbid his 
 coming here." 
 
 " Decency requires that no one shall cough in that 
 way." 
 
 "Any man as ill as he ought not to come to the 
 Baths. He will drive me, for one, out of the place." 
 
 Raphael rose to escape the general ill-will, and 
 walked about the rooms. He looked for some friendly 
 support, and presentl}' approached a lad}' who seemed 
 
The Magic 'Skin. 285 
 
 nnocciipied, intending to address her with a few com- 
 pHments. But as he came near she turned her back, 
 and pretended to be watching the dancers. Raphael 
 dreaded lest this fatal evening had used up some of his 
 tahsman ; feeling neither the will nor the courage to 
 make any further attempt at conversation, he left the 
 salon hastily, and took refuge in the billiard-room. 
 There no one spoke or even bowed to him. His natu- 
 rally meditative mind showed him hy an intussusception 
 the general and rational cause of the aversion he in- 
 spired. This little world at the Baths obeyed, perhaps 
 without knowing it, the great law which regulates high 
 society, whose implacable code had already fully de- 
 veloped to Raphael's eyes. A backward glance showed 
 him its type in Fedora. [Neither in the one nor in the 
 other could he ever have found sympathy for his suffer- 
 ings, or comprehension for his heart.j The great workl 
 banishes the sufferer from its midst, just as a man in 
 vigorous health expels some morbid element from his J 
 body. Societ}' abhors sorrows and the sorrowful, hates 
 them like a contagion, and never hesitates in its choice 
 between them and vice, — vice is luxur}^ No matter 
 how majestic grief ma}' be, societ}' knows how to be- 
 little it, and to ridicule it with a witticism ; it draws 
 caricatures and flings them at the heads of dethroned 
 monarchs in return for affronts it fancies it has received. 
 Like the young Romans of the Circus, society has no 
 mercy for the dying gladiator; it battens on gold, it 
 lives by cruel mockery. " Death to the weak," is the 
 cry of that equestrian order which exists among all the 
 nations upon earth ; and the sentence is written on 
 hearts that are sodden in opulence or swollen by aris- 
 
 N 
 
286^ The Magic Skin. 
 
 tocrac3^ Look at the cliildren in a college school ; 
 behold there a miniature image of societj-, all the more 
 true because it is artless and honest. See those poor 
 helots, creatures of pain and mortification, placed be- 
 tween contempt and pity ; the gospel tells such as the}^ 
 of heaven ! Go a little lower in the scale of organized 
 beings. If a fowl falls sick in a poultr3'-3'ard, all the 
 others peck at it, pluck out its feathers, and finally kill 
 it. Faithful to its code of selfishness, the world pun- 
 ishes sorrows that dare to invade its feasts and dim 
 its pleasures. Whoever suffers in body or soul,jor lacks 
 ^ower and monej^ is a pariah in society. Let him stay 
 in his own desert ; if he crosses the borders of it he 
 enters arctic regions, he encounters cold looks, cold 
 manners, cold hearts ; he is fortunate if be escapes in- 
 sult in places where he ought to look for consolation. 
 Sta}" on your deserted beds, 3'e dying ! Old men, live 
 alone beside your smouldering hearths ! Poor portion- 
 less girls, freeze or burn in 3'our solitarj^ chambers! 
 If the world tolerates a misfortune, it is that it maj^ 
 fashion it to its own uses, find some profit in it, saddle 
 it, bit it, put a pack upon its back, and make it serve a 
 purpose. Trembling companion of some old countess, 
 look ga}^ ! bear the whimsies of your pretended benefac- 
 tress, carry her poodle, amuse her, fathom her, but be 
 silent. And you, king of valets out of livery, impudent 
 parasite, leave your character behind you ; feed with 
 your amphitr^'on, weep with his tears, laugh with his 
 laughter, and call his witticisms wit ; if you want to 
 deny his virtues, wait till he falls. No, the world 
 never honors misfortune ; it diives it away, reviles, 
 chastises, or kills it. 
 
The Magic Skin. 287 
 
 These reflections rose in Raphael's mind with the 
 suddenness of poetic inspiration. He looked about 
 him, and felt the frigid atmosphere which societ}' dif- 
 fuses to drive emotion awa}^ from it, — an atmosphere 
 wiiich chills the soul more sharpl}^ than the north wind' 
 of December chills the bod}'. Raphael crossed his 
 arms and leaned against the wall, giving way to deep- 
 est melanchol3^ He thought of the small amount of 
 happiness this system of society procured for it. What 
 was it all? — amusements without pleasure, gayety 
 without J03', fetes without charm, sensuality without 
 the enjoyments of the soul ; in short, the ashes of the 
 hearth without a ray of flame. 
 
 When he raised his head he saw that he was alone ; 
 even the players had left his presence. 
 
 " I could make them worship my cough if I showed 
 them my fatal power," he said to himself. As the 
 thought crossed his mind, contempt, like a mantle, 
 wrapped him from the .world. 
 
 On the morrow, the physician of the Baths came to 
 him and inquired with much courtesy as to his health. 
 Raphael felt an emotion of joy as he listened to the 
 friendly words. The doctor's face was instinct with 
 kindliness, the curls of his blond wig expressed phi- 
 lanthropy ; the cut of his square coat, the folds of his 
 trousers, his shoes, which were broad as a Quaker's, 
 all these things, even the powder shed from a little pig- 
 tail on his slightl}' bent shoulders, bespoke the apostolic 
 nature, expressed Christian charity and the self-devotion 
 of a man who, out of zeal for his patients, had brought 
 himself to plaj'ing whist and trictrac well enough to win 
 their money. 
 
288 The Magic Skin. 
 
 *' Monsieur le marquis," he said, after talking some 
 time on indifterent subjects, " I believe I can dissipate 
 your sadness. I have watched 3'our condition long 
 enough to declare that the Parisian doctors, whose great 
 genius I admire, are nevertheless mistaken as to the 
 nature of 3'our malady. Unless reduced by some un- 
 foreseen circumstances, Monsieur le marquis, 3'ou have 
 vitality enough to live to the age of Methusaleh. Your 
 lungs are as strong as a blacksmith's bellows, and 3'our 
 stomach might shame an ostrich. Nevertheless, if 3'ou 
 remain in a mountainous atmosphere, you certainly risk 
 3'Our life. Monsieur le marquis will understand me 
 when I explain my meaning, which I will do in few 
 words. Chemistr3' proves that respiration is an actual 
 combustion of more or less intensit3', according to the 
 excess or deficiency of the phlogistic elements collected 
 in the organism of each individual man. In you the 
 phlogistic, that is, the inflammatory tendenc3^ abounds. 
 You are, if I ma3' so express it, over-oxygenated by the 
 ardent nature which belongs to men who are destined to 
 great emotions. 63^ breathing the keen, pure air which 
 stimulates life in men of phlegmatic fibre, 3'ou increase 
 3^our tendenc3" to rapid combustion. One of the condi- 
 tions of your recover3^ is to live in the atmosphere of 
 low regions, valle3^s. Yes, the vital air of the man of 
 genius is among the rich pasturages of -Germany, at 
 Baden-Baden, or Toplitz. If you have no dislike of 
 England, her fogg3^ climate would calm your natural 
 fever. But our baths, which are over one thousand 
 feet above sea-level, will prove fatal to you. At an3' 
 rate, that is m3' opinion," he added, with a modest 
 gesture, '' and I give it against my own interests, 
 
The Magic Skin, 289 
 
 because, if you follow it, we shall have the misfortune 
 of losing you." 
 ife Had he omitted those last words, Raphael would have 
 ^een deceived by the false kindliness of the specious 
 doctor ; but he was too good an observer not to notice 
 the tone, the gesture, and the glance which uncon- 
 sciously accompanied the last sentence of a mission 
 which had no doubt been intrusted to him b}' a number 
 of his more cheerful patients. Florid men of leisure, 
 wearied-out old women, wandering British tourists, and 
 fashionable women escaping from their husbands and 
 joined at the Baths by their lovers, were all banded 
 together to drive away the pale and feeble dying man 
 who was evidently incapable of resisting their dail}' 
 persecution. Raphael accepted the struggle, and even 
 foresaw some amusement in it. 
 
 " If my departure would disappoint 3'ou," he replied, 
 " I think I can take advantage of your goocl advice, 
 and yet remain here. To-morrow I will begin to build 
 a house in which the air can be regulated to meet your 
 prescription." 
 
 Riglitl}' interpreting the sarcastic smile which he saw 
 on Raphael's lips, the doctor bowed and wxnt away 
 without saying another word. 
 
 The lake of Bourget is a vast cup of mountains 
 notched at intervals, in whose depths, six or seven hun- 
 dred feet above the Mediterranean, shines a drop of 
 water bluer than any other water in the world. Seen from 
 the summit of the Dent-du-Chat, the lake lies there like 
 a lost turquoise. This lovely sheet of water is twenty- 
 three miles in circumference, and in some places nearly 
 
 19 
 
290 The Magic Skin. 
 
 five hundred feet in depth. To float upon its glassy 
 surface beneath a cloudless sk}^, to hear only the rhythm 
 of the oars, to see nothing but the misty mountains or 
 the sparkling snows of the French Maurienne, to glide 
 by granite cliffs, velvet-clothed with lichen, fern, and low- 
 growing shrubber}', and then past smiling hillsides, — 
 on one side a desert, on the other, nature's best riches ; 
 like to a pauper standing beside the dinner of opulence, 
 — such harmonies and such contrasts compose a scene 
 where all is grand and much is lovel}'. Mountains 
 change the conditions of optical effects ; a fir-tree rising 
 a hundred feet looks like a reed, broad valleys seem as 
 narrow as footways. This lake is the only one where 
 heart can speak to heart in confidence. Here we maj- 
 think, here we maj' love. In no other spot on earth 
 can you find so exquisite a unison of water and sky, 
 mountains and valley. Here ma}' be found a balm for 
 ever}' ordeal of life. The peaceful region hides the 
 secrets of grief, s(X)thes, consoles, and lessens it, and 
 gives to love a gravity, a composure, which renders pas- 
 sion purer and even deeper ; here a kiss is magnified. 
 But, above all, it is the lake of memories ; the}" take 
 the color of its waves in whose bright mirror all 
 things are reflected. Raphael could bear his burden 
 here, and only here ; surrounded by this calm land- 
 scape, he could be indolent, and dreamy, and without 
 desires. 
 
 After the doctor's visit he went out upon the lake, 
 and made the boatman land him on a lonely point, at 
 the foot of a pretty hill on which the village of Saint- 
 Innocent is situated. From this tongue of^ land the 
 eye takes in the Mont de Bugey, around whose feet 
 
The Magic Skin, 291 
 
 flows the Rhone and the lower waters of the lake ; but 
 Raphael loved best to contemplate from this point the 
 melancholy abbe}' of Haute-Combe, the burial-place of 
 the kings of Sardinia, situated on the opposite shore, 
 and seeming to make obeisance before the mountains, 
 like a palmer attaining the end of his pilgrimage. At 
 this moment the cadenced beat of oars disturbed the 
 stillness of the scene, and gave it a monotonous voice 
 like the psalmody of monks. Surprised to encounter vis- 
 itors in this usual!}' deserted part of the lake, the mar- 
 quis examined, but without coming out of his rever}-, the 
 persons seated in the passing boat, and saw that one 
 was the old lady who had so sharply interfered with 
 him the night before. As the boat passed him, Ra- 
 phael noticed that the dame de compagnie of the lady, 
 a poor old maid of noble famil}', bowed to him. 
 
 He had already forgotten the incident, as the boat 
 disappeared behind the promontor}', when he heard 
 close beside him the rustle of a dress, and the sound 
 of a light step. Turning, he saw the poor companion, 
 and judging from her nervous manner that she wishec. 
 to speak to him, he advanced toward her. vShe was 
 about thirt^'-six years old, tall and thin, cold and hard ; 
 and like all old maids, who are usually embarrassed to 
 know which wa}' to look, her gait was undecided, con- 
 strained, and without elasticity. Neither 3'oung nor 
 old, and 3'et both, she expressed by a certain dignitj' 
 of manner the higli estimate which she put upon her 
 qualities and perfections. She had, moreover, the dis- 
 creet and monastic gestures of women who habituall}^ 
 take care of themselves, doubtless that they ma}' not 
 
 K found wanting for their destiny of love. 
 
292 The Magic Shin. 
 
 '-'• Monsieur, jonr life is in danger: do not enter the 
 salons again," she said to Raphael, taking a few steps 
 backward, as if her virtue were already compromised. 
 
 " But, mademoiselle," answered Raphael, sraihng, 
 " will 3'ou not kindly explain yourself, since you have 
 deigned to come here — " 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, " without the powerful motive that 
 has brought me, I should not have dared to risk the 
 anger of Madame la comtesse, for if she knew that I 
 had warned you — " 
 
 *' Who should tell her, mademoiselle ? " cried Raphael. 
 
 " True," said the old maid, with the blinking glance 
 of an owl in the sunlight. " Think of 3'our safet}^," 
 she continued; "several 3'oung men are determined 
 to drive 3'ou awa}' ; they mean to insult you, and force 
 you to fight a duel." 
 
 The voice of the old countess was heard in the 
 distance. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said the marquis, "my gratitude — " 
 His protectress had already left him at the sound of 
 her mistress's voice, which continued to screech beyond 
 the rocks. 
 
 " Poor girl! misery understands misery and tries to 
 succor it," thouglit Raphael, sitting down under a tree. 
 
 The ke}^ to all science is, undoubtedly, tlie note of 
 interrogation ; we owe most of our great discoveries to 
 the word " How?" and the wisdom of life consists in 
 asking ourselves at ev^ery turn, " Why?" This second- 
 hand prescience destroys our illusions, however. And 
 so, Valentin, having taken, without intending to phi- 
 losophize, the kind deed of the old maid as a text for his 
 rambling thoughts, suddenly found it full of bitterness. 
 
The 3Iagie Skin. 293 
 
 " That an old dame de compagnie should fancy me," 
 he thought, ' ' is nothing extraordinaiy ; I am twent}'- 
 seven years old, titled, and rich. But that her mistress, 
 that woman with a voice like the roof-cats, should have 
 brought her here in a boat at this time of day, is some- 
 thing surprising, if not marvellous. Those women 
 came to Savoie to sleep like marmots, expecting sunrise 
 at mid-day, and here they are getting up at eight o'clock 
 in the morning, and setting out in pursuit of me." 
 
 But before long the old maid and her quadragenary 
 frankness struck him as only another scene in the artful 
 and malicious play of life, — a low trick, a clumsy plot, 
 u manoeuvre of priests and women. Was the duel aa 
 invention, simply intended to frighten him away? In- 
 solent and irritating as flies, these narrow minds had 
 succeeded in pricking his vanit}', rousing his pride, and 
 exciting his curiositj'. Determined not to be their 
 dupe, nor to be thought a coward, and amused, it may 
 be, at the little drama, Ue went to the Assembly rooms 
 that evening. As he stood erect and tranquil, with his 
 elbow on the marble chimney-piece of the principal 
 salon, he examined the faces of those who passed him, 
 and challenged, as it were, the whole company. Like 
 a bull-dog sure of his own strength, he awaited the fight 
 without barking. 
 
 Toward the end of the evening he walked up and 
 down the card-rgom, casting an occasional glance at 
 the 3'oung men who were playing in the billiard-room. 
 After a while he heard one of the latter mention his name. 
 Though their voices were low, Raphael easilj" perceived 
 he was the theme of an argument, and finalh" of a 
 wager. " Will 3-ou bet?" " Oh, \-es, we can drive him 
 
294 The Magic Skin. 
 
 away." At this moment, when Valentin, curious to 
 know the exact meaning of the wager, entered the 
 billiard-room, a tall, young man with an agreeable face 
 came up to him. 
 
 " Monsieur," he said in a quiet tone, " I am com- 
 missioned to tell you something which you appear to 
 ignore. Your face and person are not agreeable to the 
 society of this place, and to me in particular. You are 
 too polite not to sacrifice yourself for the general good, 
 and I request you not to appear here again." 
 
 " Monsieur, this joke, which was perpetrated man}^ 
 times under the Empire in various garrisons, is now 
 extremel}' ill-bred," said Raphael, coldly. 
 
 " I am not joking," replied the young man. *' I 
 repeat what I said ; 3'our health will suffer seriously if 
 3-ou stay here any longer. The heat, the hghts, the 
 atmosphere of these rooms will develop your malady." 
 
 " Where did you stud}^ medicine? " asked Raphael. 
 
 " Monsieur, I graduated from Lepage's pistol-galler}^ 
 in Paris, and took my degree of doctor from Cerizier, 
 prince of foils." 
 
 " You have still another grade to win," replied Val- 
 entin ; " study the code of civilit}- and 3'ou will be a 
 perfect gentleman." 
 
 At these words, all the young men present crowded 
 round them, silent and smiling. The card-players left 
 their game and listened to the quarrel. "with satisfaction. 
 Alone, in the midst of this hostile company, Raphael tried 
 to maintain his self-possession, and to give no ground 
 of offence ; but his antagonist having uttered a sarcasm 
 the insolence of which was wrapped in pecnliarl}' inci- 
 sive and witty language, he answered deliberately : — 
 
The Magic Shin, ' 295 
 
 '' Monsieur, it is not permissible in these days to box 
 a man's ears, and I do not know with what words to 
 brand 3'our cowardl\' conduct." 
 
 "Enough! enough! you can explain to-morrow," 
 cried several 3'oung men, flinging themselves between 
 the antagonists. 
 
 Raphael left the room, apparently the aggressor, 
 having agreed on a meeting the following day, in a 
 small meadow near the chateau de Bordeau and not 
 far from the main road to Lyons, along which the 
 conqueror could readily escape. 
 
 The next morning by eight o'clock Raphael's adver- 
 sary, the two seconds, and a surgeon arrived on the 
 ground. 
 
 " We shall do ver3' well here, — splendid weather for 
 a duel," cried the young man gayly, looking at the bine 
 skv, the water of the lake, and the mountains, without 
 a thought of death. " If I can wing him, I shall put 
 him to bed for a month ; hev, doctor?" 
 
 "At the verj' least," replied the surgeon.^ " But 
 don't twist that willow-branch ; 3'ou will tire your hand 
 and not fire steady : in that case you might kill your 
 man instead of wounding him." 
 
 The roll of a carriage was heard. 
 
 " Here he comes," said the seconds, who soon made 
 out on the high road a travelling-carriage drawn by 
 four horses managed b3' two postilions. 
 
 "What an odd fellow," cried Valentin's adversar3' ; 
 " he comes in fine style to be killed." 
 
 A duel is like a game ; the slightest incident affects 
 the mind of players who are strongh' interested in 
 the success of a throw ; and the 3'oung man certaiiil\' 
 
296 The Magic Skin. 
 
 awaited the approach of the carriage with some uneasi- 
 ness. Old Jonathas first emerged clumsil}^ and then 
 turned to assist Raphael. He supported him in his 
 feeble arms with all the minute care a lover bestows on 
 his mistress. Both disappeared in the shrubbery which 
 separated the road from the meadow, and came in sight 
 after some delay ; they were seen to be walking slowly. 
 The four spectators of this strange scene were con- 
 scious of some emotion when they saw Raphael leaning 
 heavily on the servant's arm. Pale and unstrung, he 
 walked like a gout}' man, and did not utter a word. 
 The}^ seemed like a pair of broken-down old men, — 
 one broken b}' time, the other by thought ; the age of 
 the first was written on his white hairs, but the younger 
 man was no longer of any age. 
 
 " Monsieur, I have not slept all night," said Raphael 
 to his adversary. 
 
 The icy tone and terrible glance which accompanied 
 the words made the real aggressor tremble ; he was 
 conscious of being the one to blame, and he felt a secret 
 shame at his conduct. In Raphael's whole attitude, 
 voice, and gesture, there was something unnatural. 
 The marquis paused ; every one was silent ; the atten- 
 tion and the uneasiness of all present was at its 
 height. 
 
 "There is still time," said Valentin slowly, "to 
 make me some slight apology ; give it to me, mon- 
 sieur ; if not you must die. You are reckoning on your 
 prowess ; you do not shrink from a combat in which, 
 as you believe, all the advantage lies on your side. 
 Well, I am generous ; I warn you of my superiority. 
 I possess a terrible power. I can neutralize your 
 
The Magic Skin. 297 
 
 science, bewilder 3'our e3'es, make your hands tremble 
 and your heart beat by a mere wish. I do not wish to 
 exercise this power, it costs me too dear. If 1 use it, 
 you will not be the only one to die. Should you refuse 
 to make me this apology, j^our ball will glance aside in 
 the water of that cascade in spite of your duelling-prac- 
 tice, and mine will go straight to your heart, though I 
 shall take no aim." 
 
 As he said these words the marquis kept the intoler- 
 ablf^ brightness of his eye stead ilj- fixed on his adver- 
 sary ; he straightened himself up, and now showed an 
 impassive face, like that of a dangerous madman. 
 
 Silence him," said the 3'oung man to his second, 
 ** his voice wrings my very entrails." 
 
 " Monsieur, be silent. Your remarks are useless," 
 ded the surgeon and the second together. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I fulfil a duty. Has this 3'oung man 
 xny affairs to settle ? " 
 
 " Enough, enough ! " 
 
 The marquis stood motionless, without taking his eye 
 for one instant from his adversar}-, who, apparently 
 under the influence of some magnetic power, seemed 
 like a bird before a snake. Compelled to endure that 
 homicidal glance, he tried to avoid it, but was unable 
 to do so. 
 
 ''Give me some water, I am thirst}-," he said to his 
 second. 
 
 ' ' Are you nervous ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " the burning ej^e of that man 
 easts a spell upon me." 
 
 ' ' Will 3^ou apologize ? " 
 
 ''It is too late." 
 
298 The Magic Skin. 
 
 The adversaries were placed at fifteen paces from 
 each other. Each took his pistol ; according to the 
 rules of the ceremon}', each was to fire two shots when 
 and how he pleased after the seconds had given the 
 signal. 
 
 "What are 3'ou doing, Charles?" cried the 3'oung 
 man who was acting as second to Raphael's antagonist. 
 " You are putting in the ball before the powder." 
 
 "I am a dead man," he answered; "you have put 
 me with m}' face to the sun." 
 
 " The sun is behind you," said Valentin, in a solemn 
 voice, slowly loading his pistol and paying no attention 
 to the fact that the signal was alread}' given, nor to the 
 care with which his adversar}' adjusted his aim. 
 
 There was something terrifying about this eas}' as- 
 surance, which affected even the two postilions who had 
 approached the scene with cruel curiosity. Raphael, 
 either pla3ing with his power or wishing to test it, was 
 talking to Jonathas at the moment when his adversary 
 fired. The ball broke a small branch of a willow-tree 
 and ricochetted upon the water. Firing at random, 
 Raphael shot his antagonist through the heart. Then, 
 without paying the slightest attention to the 3'oung man, 
 he pulled out the Magic Skin to see how much of life 
 that other human life had cost him. The talisman was 
 now no larger than a small oak-leaf. 
 
 "Well," he cried to the postilions, "what are 3'ou 
 gazing at ? To your saddles — let us start ! " 
 
 Arriving the same night in France, he started imme- 
 diately for the Baths of the Mont Dore. During the 
 journey there came into his mind one of those sudden 
 
1 
 The Magic Skin, I 239 
 
 thoughts which fall like a raj^ of light across the thick 
 shadows of a darksome valle}', — a melanchoh' light, an 
 implacable wisdom, which illumines past events, unveils 
 to us our faults, and leaves us unforgiven before the 
 tribunal of our own souls. He thought all at once how 
 the possession of power, no matter how mightj' that 
 power maj' be, does not bring with it the knowledge of 
 how to use it. The sceptre is a plajlhing to a child, 
 an axe to Richelieu, to Napoleon the lever that over- 
 turned the world. Power leaves us such as we are ; it 
 exalts none but the exalted. Raphael might have done 
 all things ; he had done nothing. 
 
 At the Baths of the Mont Dore he encountered the 
 same society, which again shrank away from him with 
 the haste of an animal fleeing from the carcass of one 
 of its kind which it scents from nfar. The hatred was 
 reciprocal. The last incident in his career had given 
 him an abiding aversion for society'. His first care was 
 therefore to find himself a spot of refuge away from the 
 surroundings of the Baths. He instinctiv^ely felt the 
 need of drawing near to nature, to the true emotions of 
 that vegetative life at which we complacently plaj- for 
 awhile as we wander in the fields. The day after his 
 arrival, he ascended, not without difficulty, the Pic de 
 Sancy, visited the upland valleys, sought out the aerial 
 scener}', the forgotten lakes, the rustic cottages of the 
 Dore mountains, whose wild and rugged charm is be- 
 ginning to attract the pencils of our artists. Some- 
 times he found exquisite bits of landscape, full of grace 
 and freshness, which contrasted vividly with the danger- 
 ous aspect of the desolate mountains. Soon he came 
 upon a spot, over a mile from the village, where nature 
 
300 The Magic Skin. 
 
 seemed to have delighted in hiding her treasures. After 
 he had carefully examined this unspoiled and picturesque 
 retreat, he resolved to live there. Existence, he thought, 
 must be tranquil, spontaneous, fruitful, like the life of 
 plants, in such a nook. 
 
 Imagine a reversed cone — a granite cone — deepl}^ 
 hollowed out, a sort of basin with its edges chipped 
 into irregular waving lines ; on the one side are flat 
 tables of rock without vegetation, smooth and bluish in 
 tint, on which the sun-ra3-s glisten as on a mirror ; on 
 the other, high cliffs split by fissures, broken into by 
 ravines, crowned with stunted trees gnarled by the 
 wind, from the sides of which hang bowlders whose fall 
 is slowly being compassed by the freshets. Here and 
 there w^ere shady cool recesses, from which the chest- 
 nut-trees rose high as cedars, or grottos, biu'rowing in 
 the yellow earth, opened their deep dark mouths fringed 
 with brier and flowering shrubs, and stretched forth long 
 tongues of grass. At the bottom of this inverted cup, 
 possibl}' the crater of an extiiict volcano, was a pool, 
 whose pure clear water had the brilliancy of a diamond. 
 Around this basin, held in b}^ granite rocks and bor- 
 dered with wallows, ash-trees, water-flags and many 
 other aromatic plants which were then in flower, lay a 
 strip of greensward, as smooth and velvet}' as an Eng- 
 lish lawn. The soft fine grass was irrigated by tiny 
 streamlets filtering among the rocks, and nourished 
 by vegetable deposits washed down from the mountain 
 heights to the valleys incessantly by rains. The pool, 
 irregularly dented, or scalloped round its edges like the 
 bottom of a dress, was about three acres in extent. 
 According as the cliffs approached the water or receded 
 
The Magic Skin, 801 
 
 from it, tlie intervening meadow land was an acre, or 
 even two acres in width, though in some places barely 
 enough ground was left for the passage of cows. 
 
 At a certain height on the mountain sides vegetation 
 ceased. The granite rocks assumed to the eye fantas- 
 tic shapes, taking on those vaporous tints which lend 
 to the tops of mountains a likeness to the clouds of the 
 sky, with which indeed they seemed to blend. These 
 bare and barren cliffs, tiiese wild and sterile images of 
 desolation, these land-slips to be dreaded, these shapes 
 so weird that one rock is named the '•'' Capuchin," from 
 likeness to a monk, formed a strong contrast to the 
 soft beaut}' of the valley. Here and there the pointed 
 peaks, the beetling rocks, the caverns far up the heights, 
 were illuminated b}' the course of the sun, or by the ca- 
 prices of the atmosphere, with tints of gold or shades 
 of purple changing into ros}' red and dying into grays. 
 The aspect of the mountains changed continually with 
 the changing liglits and colors, like the iridescent reflec- 
 tions on a pigeon's neck. Often between two clitfs of 
 rock, so near together that you might have thought 
 them cleft by the axe of a giant, a lovely ray of sun- 
 light penetrated at the rising or the setting of the sun, 
 until it reached the depths of the smiling valley- where 
 the waters of the pool were shining, like the line of 
 golden light from the shutter of a Spanish bedroom 
 closed for the siesta. When the sun la}' directh' over 
 the extinct crater, filled with water b}- some antedi- 
 luvian cataclysm, the flinty basin grew hot, the old 
 volcano glowed, the quickening warmth germinated the 
 seeds, budded the vegetation, colored the flowers, and 
 ripened the fruit of this tiny lost corner of the earth. 
 
302 The Magic Skin. 
 
 As Raphael approached, he noticed a number of cows 
 feeding in the meadow ; after taking a few steps toward 
 the pool he saw, at a spot where the level land was 
 widest, a humble little house built of granite and roofed 
 with wood. This roof was covered, in true harmony- 
 with the situation, by mosses, lichens, ivies, and a few 
 flowers of ancient growth. A slender smoke, of which 
 the birds were no longer afraid, rose from the ruined 
 chimney. At the door was a wide bench placed be- 
 tween two honeysuckles in full bloom and fragrance. 
 The walls of the cottage could scarcely- be seen beneath 
 the branches of these vines and the garlands of roses 
 and jessamine which crossed and covered them at their 
 own sweet will. Indifferent to these rural adornments, 
 the inhabitants of the house had taken no pains to train 
 them, allowing nature to follow her virgin and tricksome 
 grace. Baby-clothes were drying on a currant-bush. 
 A cat was curled up on a machine for stripping hemp, 
 beneath which, a copper caldron, i-ecently scoured, was 
 lying beside a pile of potato-parings. Raphael noticed 
 on the other side of the house an inclosure of drj- brush- 
 wood, intended no doubt to keep chickens from scratch- 
 ing among the fruits and vegetables. 
 
 It seemed as though the world ended here. The 
 house was like certain bird's-nests ingeniously built in 
 the cleft of a rock, specimens of science and careless- 
 ness combined. It bespoke a simple, honest nature, 
 a true rusticity, that was poetical because it flourished 
 ten thousand miles away from our conventional poetry, 
 because it had no analogy with ideas, but expressed 
 itself alone — a simple triumph of chance. 
 
 As Raphael stood there, the sun was casting its rays 
 
The 3Iagic Skin. 303 
 
 from right to left, bringing out the colors of the vege- 
 tation, and setting in full relief, with the spell of its 
 splendor and the appositions of shade, the gra}* and 
 yellow rocks, the varying greens of the foliage, the 
 blue and red and white masses of flowers, the chmb- 
 Ing plants with their hanging bell-blooms, the chang- 
 ing tints of the velvet mosses, the purple clusters of 
 the heather, but above all, the sheet of clear water 
 which reflected the granite heights, the trees, the cot- 
 tage, and the sky. In that delightful picture all things 
 had their own lustre, from the mica of the rocks to the 
 tuft of yellow mone3'-wort hiding in the soft half-light. 
 All was harmonious to the eye, — the brindled cow with 
 polished hide, the frail aquatic blossoms bending like 
 fringes above the water in little nooks where insects, 
 robed in emerald or azure, hummed, and roots of trees 
 like strands of hair stretched out and lost themselves 
 among the shallows. The warm odors of the water, 
 the flowers, and the grottos which perfumed this soli- 
 tar\' retreat gave Kaphael a sensation that was almost 
 enjoyment, — a divine enjoyment of the soul. 
 
 The majestic silence which reigned in this embowered 
 spot, forgotten perhaps on the tax-lists, was suddenly 
 interrupted b\' the barking of two dogs. The cows 
 turned their heads toward the entrance to the valle}', 
 showing Raphael their moist muzzles, and then after 
 gazing at him stupidl}', the}' began to feed again. 
 Hanging to the rocks as if b}' magic, a goat and her 
 kid were capering in mid-air ; presenth' the}' came and 
 stood on a granite shelf near to Valentin's head, as if 
 the}^ meant to question him. The yelping of the dogs 
 brought out a fat child, who stood stock-still with his 
 
304 The Magic Skin. 
 
 mouth open ; then came a wliite-haired old man of 
 medium height. These human beings were in keep- 
 ing with tlie scenery, the atmosphere, the verdure, and 
 the house. Health superabounded in the midst of 
 this exuberant nature ; old age and infancy wer6 
 equaUy sound and wholesome ; there w^as, in fact, in 
 all these types of existence a primordial ease, a routine 
 happiness which gave the lie to our dull philosophical 
 homilies. 
 
 The old man would have made an invaluable model 
 for the virile brush of Schnetz, with his brown face 
 covered by countless wrinkles that seemed as though 
 the}' might be rough to the touch, a straight nose, high 
 cheek-bones veined with red like an old vine-leaf, a 
 bony frame with ever}' characteristic of vigor even 
 where vigor had ceased to be, and his calloused hands, 
 horn}' though he no longer worked with them, covered 
 by thin white hairs. His whole bearing was that of a 
 free man, and gave the impression that in Italy he 
 might at some time have been a brigand out of love for 
 his precious libert}'. The child, a true little mountain- 
 eer, had a pair of black eyes that could look at the 
 sun without winking, a swarthy skin, and brown hair 
 matted and tangled. He was nimble and resolute on 
 his feet, as natural in his movements as a bird, ill- 
 clothed and ragged, the white, fresh skin of childhood 
 showing through the rents in his garments. The child 
 and the old man both stood still in silence, moved by 
 one and the same feeling, their faces expi'essing a per- 
 fect accord of idleness in their lives. The old man 
 adopted the games of the child, and the child the 
 humors of the old man, by a sort of compact between 
 
The Magic Skin, 305 
 
 their mntnal weaknesses, — between a vigor near its 
 end, and a force about to unfold itself. 
 
 Presently a woman, thirty 3'ears of age, came out on 
 the sill of the open door, knitting as she walked. She 
 was an Auvergnate, high-colored, jovial, frank, with white 
 teeth, — Auvergne in face, Auvergne in shape, headdress 
 and costume Auvergne, with the plump bosom of Au- 
 vergne, and above all its speech. She was a complete 
 idealization of the country, its laborious habits, its igno- 
 rance, thrift, and cordialit3' — the\' were all in her. 
 
 She saluted Eaphael, and the}' entered into conver- 
 sation ; the dogs quieted down, the old man seated 
 himself on a bench in the sun, and the child followed 
 his mother wherever she went, silent, but attentive and 
 still examining the stranger. 
 
 " Are 3'ou not afraid to live here, m}' good woman?" 
 
 '* And what should make us afraid, monsieur? We 
 bar the entrance to our valle}', and so who can get in? 
 Oh, no, we 've no fear. Besides," she added, inviting 
 the marquis to step into the living-room of the house, 
 " what could robbers find to steal here? " 
 
 She pointed to the smoke-stained walls - on which 
 were hung, as sole ornament, those colored images in 
 blue, red, and green, which represent the *' Death of 
 Credit," the " Passion of our Lord," and the " Grena- 
 diers of the Imperial Guard." Here and there at 
 intervals about the room stood an old four-post bed- 
 stead, a table with twisted legs, a few stools, a knead- 
 ing-trough, a pot of lard hanging from the rafters, some 
 salt in a box, and a stove ; on the chimnej'-piece were 
 several jxllow plaster-figures highly' colored. Coming 
 out of the house, Raphael saw a man among the rocks 
 
 20 
 
306 The Magic Skin. 
 
 with a hoe in his hand, leaning forward inquisitively, 
 and watching the house. 
 
 " Monsieur, that 's m}^ man," said the Auvergnate, 
 with ttie smile peculiar to peasant- women ; "he is 
 digging up there." 
 
 " Is that old man 3'our father?" 
 
 " Beg pardon, but he is my man's grandfather. 
 Such as you see him he is one hundred and two years 
 old. He3^, well! would 3'ou think it, he walked our 
 little fellow to Clermont the other da^-. He 's been a 
 strong man, he. Now he can't do much but sleep and 
 eat and drink. But he 's always placing with the 
 little one. Sometimes the rogue wants him to go up 
 the heights, and he goes, too." 
 
 Raphael resolved to live with that old man and child ; 
 to breathe the same atmosphere, eat their bread, drink 
 their water, sleep with their sleep, and get their blood 
 into his veins. Fantastic notion of a dying man ! To 
 become a limpet on those rocks, to preserve his shell 
 a few da3's longer by cheating death, seemed to him 
 the essence of individual morality, the true formula of 
 human existence, the beau-ideal of life, the onl}' life, 
 the true life. Into his heart there came one sole absorb- 
 ing selfishness which blotted out the universe. To him 
 there was no universe ; the universe was he, himself. 
 ^To a sick man the world begins at his pillow and ends 
 t the foot of his bed. 
 
 Who has not, at some period of his life, watched the 
 goings and comings of an ant, slipped a straw into the 
 onlj^ orifice by which a slug can breathe, studied the 
 caprices of a dragon-fl^^ admired the thousand little 
 veins colored like the rose window of a cathedral, which 
 
The Magic Skin. 307 
 
 detach themselves from the reddish ground of a yonng 
 oak-leaf? Who has never seen with delight the effect 
 of sun and rain upon a roof of brown tiles, or watched 
 the glitter of the dew-drops, the petals of the flowers, 
 and the varied shapes of their calyces? Who has never 
 pUmged into sweet material reveries, indolent 3et bus}', 
 without object, but leading, nevertheless, to a thought? 
 In short, who has not, at some time, lived the life of 
 childhood, the life of idleness, the life of the savage, 
 without his toils ? Thus lived Raphael for several days ; 
 without cares, without wishes ; feeling a renewed life, an 
 extraordinary well-being, which calmed his fears, and 
 abated his sufferings. He scaled the heights and sat on 
 a peak from wliich his eyes could take in a landscape 
 of immense extent. There he passed whole daj's like a 
 plant in the sun, like a hare in her form. At other 
 times he made himself familiar with the phenomena of 
 vegetation, with the change fulness of the skies ; he 
 watched the evolution of all things on the earth, in the 
 waters, in the atmosphere. 
 
 He tried to associate himself with the inward move- 
 ment of the nature about him, to identify himself so 
 completely with its passive obedience as to come under 
 the despotic and presen^ative law which governs mere 
 instinctive existences. He desired to have charge of 
 himself no longer. Like criminals in the olden time 
 who, when pursued by justice, were saved if the}- could 
 reach the shadow of an altar, he strove to enter the 
 sanctuary of this still life. He succeeded in becoming 
 an integral part of the nature about him ; he shared 
 the inclemency of the weather, lived in the hollow clefts 
 of the rocks, learned the habits and ways of the plants. 
 
308 The Magic Skin. 
 
 studied the S3'stem of the waters, knew their rise and 
 fall, and made acquaintance with the animals ; in short, 
 he became so completely one with this inanimate earth 
 that he had, in a measure, seized its heart and pene- 
 trated its secrets. To his mind, the infinite number of 
 forms in all the kingdoms, animal, vegetable, and min- 
 eral, were the developments of one substance, the com- 
 binations of one movement, the vast breathings of a vast 
 being, acting, growing, moving, thinking, with whom he 
 wished to grow and move and think and act. With fan- 
 tastic insistence he blended his life with the life of those 
 Tocks and became as it were imbedded in them. 
 
 Thanks to this mj'sterious illuminism, working a fan- 
 •4ed convalescence, like the beneficent delirium granted 
 oy nature to serve as a respite from suffering, Raphael 
 onjo3'ed the pleasure of a second childhood during the 
 virst daj'S of his sojourn in this smiling valley. He 
 went about bus,y *vith a thousand nothings, beginning 
 many things and finishing none ; forgetting on the 
 morrow the plans of the night before. He was happy ; 
 he believed himself saved. One morning he happened 
 to stay late in bed, plunged in one of those sweet 
 reveries between waking and sleeping which lend to 
 reality the appearances of fanc}', and give to chimeras 
 the relief of existence, when suddenly, without at first 
 knowing whether or not it was the continuation of his 
 dream, he heard a bulletin of his health given by the 
 woman of the house to Jonathas, who came each morn- 
 ing to inquire for him. The Auvergnate, supposing no 
 doubt that Raphael was still asleep, took no pains to 
 lower the tones of her mountain voice. 
 
 "He's neither better nor worse," she was saying. 
 
The Magic Skin. 309 
 
 " He has coughed all this night fit to tear him to bits. 
 He coughs and spits, the dear gentleman, till it makes 
 my heart ache. My man and I, we keep wondering 
 where he gets the strength to cough like that. What a 
 cursed disease it is ! I 'm afraid ever}' morning that I 
 shall find him dead in his bed. He 's as white as a wax 
 Jesus. Goodness ! I see him sometimes when he gets 
 out of bed, — hey L his poor body is as lean as a rake. 
 But it don't seem to matter to him ; he scrambles 2(^out 
 the rocks and spends his strength just as if he had it to 
 eell. He has got a deal of courage, and he never com- 
 plains. But as true as you 're there, he had better be 
 underground than afoot, for he suffers the torments of 
 hell. Not that I desire it, monsieur; no, it's against 
 our interests ; but I don't think of them. Ah, good 
 God ! " she cried, "it is only Parisians who die such a 
 dog's death. How did he get such a disease ? Poor 
 young man ! He fancies he is going to get well ; but 
 that fever, don't 3'ou see, is just eating him up; it will 
 be the death of him, though he does n't seem to see it ; 
 he does n't see anything. Don't 3'ou weep for him, 
 Monsieur Jonathas ; you must think how much happier 
 he '11 be not to suffer any more. Say a novena for him. 
 I 've seen some fine cures done by novenas ; and I '11 
 pay a wax-taper to save the poor creature — so good 
 and gentle ; whj', he 's like a paschal lamb — " 
 
 Raphael's voice had become too feeble to make itself 
 heard, and he was forced to submit to this intolerable 
 chatter. Presently, however, his irritation drove him 
 out of bed and to the sill of his door. 
 
 " Old wretch ! " he said to Jonathas, *' are j^ou deter- 
 mined to kill me? " 
 
310 The Magic Skin. 
 
 The woman tbought she saw a spectre, and fled. 
 
 " I forbid you," continued Raphael, " to take the 
 slightest interest in my health." 
 
 ''Yes, Monsieur le marquis," said the old man, 
 wiping his eyes. 
 
 " And 3'ou will do well, in future, not to come here 
 without my orders." 
 
 Jonathas meant to obey ; but before he left the room 
 he cast a sorrowful and pitying look upon his master, 
 — a look in which Raphael read his death-warrant. 
 Brought suddenly back to a true sense of his condi- 
 tion, Valentin sat down at the threshold of the door, 
 crossed his arms upon his breast, and bowed his head. 
 Jonathas, alarmed, came up to him. 
 
 " Monsieur?" 
 
 "Go awa}' ! go away ! " cried the sick man. 
 
 During the morning of the following day Raphael, 
 having climbed a cliff, was sitting in a mossy ravine 
 from which he could see the narrow road which led from 
 the Baths to the entrance of the valley. There he per- 
 ceived Jonathas, again talking with the woman. His 
 fears interpreted the despairing gestures and the omi- 
 nous shaking of their heads. Seized with horror, he fled 
 to the highest summit of the mountains and remained 
 there till evening, without being able to shake off" the 
 horrible thoughts roused in his mind by the pit}' of 
 which he now felt himself the object. Suddenly the 
 woman herself rose before him, like a shadow among 
 the shadows of the twilight ; with poetic fancy, he saw 
 in the black and white stripes of her petticoat a vague 
 resemblance to the dried ribs of a spectre. 
 
 "The dew is falUng, my dear monsieur," she said. 
 
The Magic Shin, 311 
 
 " If 3'ou stay here 3-ou won't get a bit better than a 
 rotten fruit. You must come in. It is n't healthy- to 
 breathe the night-damp, especialh' when ^'ou haven't 
 eaten an3'thing since morning." 
 
 ''In God's name," he cried, "I order 3'ou, old 
 witch, to let me live as I please, or I leave 3'our 
 place. It is enough to have 3'ou dig m3- grave every 
 morning ; at least you shall not pry into it at night.'* 
 
 " Your grave, monsieur ! dig your grave ! Wh3% I *d 
 like to see 3'ou as livel3' as the grandfather down there, 
 and not in your grave. We '11 all get there soon enough 
 — into our graves." 
 
 " Silence ! " said Raphael. 
 
 " Take m3' arm, monsieur.'* 
 
 '' No." 
 
 The feeling in the hearts of others that men can least jf 
 bear is pit3-, above all when the\' deserve it. Hatred is 
 a tonic ; it makes a man live, it inspires vengeance ; 
 but pit3' kills, it weakens our weakness. It is contempt 
 lurking in tenderness, or tenderness that is half-insult- 
 ing. Raphael saw the pit3' of superioritv in the e3'es of 
 the hale old man ; in those of the child the pit3' of 
 curiosit3' ; in the woman a meddlesome pit3' ; in the 
 husband the pity of self-interest ; but under whatever 
 guise it appeared to him, it was big with Death. To a 
 poet all things are a poem, be thev joyous or terrible, 
 according to the images they imprint upon his mind ; 
 his soul rejects the softer tints and chooses those that 
 are vivid and clear-cut. This pit3' induced in Raphael's 
 mind a ghasth' poem of sadness and mourning. In 
 drawing nigh to nature he had not considered the 
 frankness of natural sentiments." When he thought 
 
312 The Magic Skin. 
 
 himself alone under a tree struggling with the horrible 
 cough which left him shattered and almost lifeless, he 
 saw the bright moist ej'es of the little boj', perched like 
 a sentr}' on a grassy mound, and watching him with 
 that childish curiosity in which there is quite as much 
 of raillery and scorn as of interest mingled with sheer 
 indifference. That awful sentence of the Trappists, 
 " Brother, thou must die ! " seemed written in the e3'es 
 of all those among whom Raphael now lived. He 
 scarcely knew what he dreaded most, their simple 
 words or their silence ; both exasperated him. 
 
 One morning he saw two men dressed in black wan- 
 dering about within sight of his retreat, apparentl}^ 
 observing him furtivelj' ; then, pretending to be taking 
 a walk, the}" approached and asked him a few common- 
 place questions, to which he replied briefly. He recog- 
 nized the doctor and the curate belonging to the Baths, 
 sent no doubt by Jonathas, by agreement with his land- 
 lad}^, or attracted, he thought, b}- the scent of a coming 
 death. A vision of his own funeral passed before his 
 eyes ; he heard the chanting of the priests ; he counted 
 the wax-tapers ; he saw through crape the beauties of 
 surrounding nature, — that rich nature which so lately 
 he believed to have given him life. All that once 
 seemed to promise him a long life now prophesied his 
 speed}" end. He could bear it no longer. The next 
 morning he started for Paris, followed b}^ the melan- 
 chol}', kindly, and pitying wishes of the inhabitants 
 of the valle}'. 
 
 After travelling all night he opened his ej'es in one of 
 the smiling valleys of the Bourbonnais, whose scenery 
 whirled around him and past him, swept onward like 
 
The Magic Skin. 313 
 
 the nebulous images of a dream. Nature spread her- 
 self before his eyes with cruel coquetr}'. Sometimes 
 the AUier rolled its shining liquid ribbon far into the 
 distance of a fertile perspective ; then the hamlets 
 modestl}' nestling in a gorge of 3-ellow cliffs showed the 
 spires of their steeples. Here and there the windmills 
 of a little valle}' broke the monotony of the vineyards, 
 and on all sides ga}' chateaux, villages clinging to the 
 hillsides, roads bordered with poplars could be seen, 
 while the Loire with its glistening waters flowed between 
 golden sands. Charms without end ! Nature, living, 
 vigorous as a child, o'erflowing with love and the spring- 
 time sap of the month of June, attracted with awful 
 power the e3'es of the dying man. He lowered the 
 blinds of the carriage window and tried to sleep. 
 
 Toward evening, after passing Cosne, he was 
 awakened by joyous music, and found himself in the 
 middle of a village fete. The post-house was in the 
 square. While the postilions were changing horses he 
 watched the dances of the happy crowd. The young 
 girls decked with flowers were prett}' and enticing, the 
 swains animated, the old folks ruddy and jovial with 
 their wine. Children were romping about ; old womeiv 
 talked and laughed ; everything had a voice ; gayety 
 enlivened even the costumes and the tables set out in 
 the street. The village square with its church pre- 
 sented a picture of simple happiness ; the roofs, the 
 windows, even the doors of the houses wore a festal 
 air. Raphael, like all dying persons, was sensitive to 
 noise, and he could not restrain an angr}^ exclamation, 
 nor the wish to silence those violins, to put an end to 
 the tumult and stop the gay dances of the annoying 
 
314 The Magic Skin, 
 
 festival. He got wearily back into his carriage. Glanc- 
 ing presently at the square he saw the peasantry dis- 
 persing ; the benches were deserted, the gayety at an 
 end. On the scaftblding of the orchestra a blind fiddler 
 was still playing a squeaking tune on his vioHn. That 
 music without dancers, that solitary" old man with a 
 surly face, clothed in rags, his hair matted, half-hidden 
 in the shadow of a linden, were the fantastic images 
 of Eaphael's wish. The rain fell in torrents from one 
 of those electric clouds so frequent in the month of 
 June, which begin and end with equal suddenness. It 
 was so natural a circumstance that Raphael, after no- 
 ticing the white clouds in the heavens as they whirled 
 away in the gusts of wind, never even looked at the 
 Magic Skin. He settled himself in the carriage and 
 was soon rolling toward Paris. 
 
 On the morrow he was once more at home, in his 
 own home, seated by the chimney, near an immense 
 fire, for he was cold. Jonathas brought him letters ; 
 they were all from Pauline. He opened the first with- 
 out eagerness, unfolding it as though it were a summons 
 sent bv a tax-gatherer. He read the first sentence, — 
 " Gone ! is it flight, my Raphael? What! can no one 
 tell me where you are? If I do not know it, who else 
 can ? " AVithout reading another word he coldly took 
 up all the letters and threw them into the fire, watching 
 with dull and lifeless e3'es the play of the flames as 
 the}' licked up the perfumed paper, twisting and shriv- 
 elling and devouring it. Fragments rolled down among 
 the ashes, allowing him to read the beginning of sen- 
 tences and words and thoughts that were only half 
 
The Magic Skin. 315 
 
 consumed ; he even took pleasure in deciphering them, 
 as though it were some mechanical game. 
 
 *' Sitting at your door ^- waiting — capricious — I 
 obey — Rivals — I, no ! — your own Pauline — love — 
 no more ? — Though you leave me 3'ou would never 
 abandon me — Love eternal — To die ! — " 
 
 The words caused him a species of remorse ; he 
 seized the tongs and caught a fragment of a letter 
 from the flames. 
 
 "I murmured," she wTote, "but I have not com- 
 plained, m}' Raphael. If you have left me, it is, no 
 doubt, to spare me the burden of some grief. It ma}' 
 be that 3'ou will some da}- kill me, but you are too good 
 to torture me. Never leave me thus again. I can 
 face all trials if you are with me. The grief that 3'ou 
 may cause me will not be grief. I have more love in 
 m}' heart than I have ever shown 3'ou. I can bear all 
 things except to weep in solitude awa}' from 3'ou, and 
 not to know if you — *' 
 
 Raphael put the blackened fragment on the chimney- 
 piece ; then he flung it back into the fire. That paper 
 was too vivid an image of his love and of his fatal 
 life. 
 
 " Jonathas," he said, " go and fetch Monsieur 
 Bianchon." 
 
 Horace came, and found Raphael in bed. 
 
 " M3' friend, can 3'ou give me some gentle opiate 
 which shall keep me always in a state of somnolence 
 and 3^et do my health no harm ? " 
 
 *' Nothing is easier," said the young physician ; " but 
 you must get up some hours in the da}^ to eat your 
 meals." 
 
316 The Magic Skin, 
 
 " Some hours!" said Raphael, interrupting him. 
 " No, no ; onl}' one hour at most." 
 
 " What are 3'ou aiming at? " asked Bianchon. 
 
 " Sleep is still life, you know," answered the pa- 
 tient. "Let no one in," he added, speaking to Jon a- 
 thas while the doctor wrote a prescription, "not even 
 your mistress." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur Horace, what hope is there ? " asked 
 the old servant the moment the}^ were on the portico. 
 
 " He inaj' live some time ; he may die toruight. The 
 chances of life and death are very nearly balanced in 
 him. I can't understand it ! " replied the young physi- 
 cian, in a tone of discouragement. " He needs amuse- 
 ment. You must distract his mind." 
 
 "Distract him! monsieur, 3'ou don't know him. 
 Why, the other day he killed a man without a word ! 
 Nothing, I tell 3''0u, distracts him !" 
 
 Raphael remained for several da^'S in this condition 
 of induced sleep. Thanks to the material power of 
 opium over our immaterial being, this man of high and 
 active imagination lowered himself to the level of those 
 slothful animals who crouch in the depths of a forest 
 and take the form of vegetable decay to seize their 
 prey without seeking it. He denied himself even the 
 light of heaven, — the windows were darkened. To- 
 wards eight o'clock in the evening he rose from his bed 
 to satisfy his hunger, but without any clear conscious- 
 ness of existence, and then returned to it. The cold 
 and barren hours brought him nothing more than con- 
 fused images, vague apparitions, the flicker of dim 
 lights on a black background. He was buried in utter 
 silence, in a bhnd negation of motion and intellect. 
 
The Magic Skin, 317 
 
 One evening he waked much later than usual and 
 found his dinner not ready. He rang for Jonathas. 
 
 "Leave my service," he said. "I have made you 
 rich ; jou can be happy in 3'our old age, but you shall 
 no longer trifle with my life. Wretched man ! I am 
 hungr}'. Where is m}' dinner? am I to wish for it? 
 Answer." 
 
 Jonathas gave a smile of satisfaction, took a wax- 
 taper, whose light gUmmered in the deep obscurity- of the 
 vast apartments, and led his master, now a machine in 
 his hands, to the door of the great gallery which he 
 abruptly threw open. Raphael, bathed in a suddea 
 flood of light, stood still, amazed and dazzled b}' what 
 he saw. The lustres were filled with candles, choicest 
 flowers, artisticall}' arranged, adorned a table that 
 sparkled with silver and gold and glass and porcelain ; 
 a regal repast fit to tempt the jaded appetites of a 
 palace was there. He saw his friends and companions, 
 and with them he saw beautiful women, elegantly 
 dressed, their necks and shoulders bare, their eyes 
 T'r'lliant, their heads bedecked with flowers, wearing the 
 ■^nmf". of distant lands and other times. One wore 
 '■ jacket of an Irish girl ; another the alluring 
 of the Andalusians. Diana of the chase, 
 ., and Mademoiselle de La Valliere, modest 
 \ umoiuus, were present. All eyes sparkled with 
 •~'^ • o an-I delight. When liaphael's dead face looked 
 i 'hem from the open door acclamations burst 
 ig and vehement as the sudden blaze of the 
 feast. For an instant the voices, the per- 
 lights, and the penetrating beaut}' of the 
 ed upon his senses and awakened him. 
 
318 The Magic Skin. 
 
 Delightful music came in a torrent of harmon}- from 
 an adjoining room, and completed the strange vision. 
 Raphael felt the pressure of a soft hand, a woman's 
 hand, whose white and fragrant arms were raised to 
 clasp him, — the hand of Aquilina. He comprehended 
 then that the scene was not vague and fantastic like 
 the fugitive visions of his distorted dreams ; uttering a 
 dreadful crv, he shut the door violently and struck his 
 old servant a blow on the face. 
 
 ' ' Monster, have jou sworn m}- death ? " he cried. 
 Then, still throbbing with the sense of the danger he 
 had escaped, he gathered up his strength, and fled to his 
 room, drank a deep draught of sleep and went to bed. 
 
 ''The devil!" cried old Jonathas, recovering him- 
 self. "Monsieur Bianchon certainly told me to dis- 
 tract him." 
 
 It was nearly midnight. 'By one of those phj^siolog- 
 ical caprices which are the wonder and the despair of 
 science, Raphael became resplendent in beauty during 
 sleep. A bright color glowed on his pallid cheek. His 
 noble brow, pure as a 3'oung girl's, revealed his genius. 
 Life was in flower, as it were, upon that tranquil, 
 peaceful face. He was like a child sleeping under the 
 care of a mother. His sleep was a good sleep ; a pure 
 and equable breath came from the coral lips ; he smiled, 
 entranced no doubt by some dream of a noble life. 
 Was he an aged man, were his grandchildren playing 
 at his knee and wishing him still longer life ? From his 
 rustic bench in the sunshine, beneath the foliage, did 
 he see, like the prophet from the mountain-top, in the 
 far and blessed distance, the promised land? 
 
 "Ihave found thee!" 
 
The Magic Skin. 319 
 
 The words, uttered in a silvery voice, dispersed the 
 nebulous figures of his dream. By the light of a lamp 
 he saw Pauline sitting on the bed, his Pauline, — yet a 
 Pauline embellished by absence and bj' grief. Raphael 
 remained Speechless as he looked at the fair face, white 
 as the petals of a water-lil}', and now shaded b}^ the 
 falling of her long, black hair. Tears had left their 
 traces on her cheeks and suffused her e3^es, ready to 
 fall at a word. Robed in white, with bowed head and 
 scarcely touching the bed on which she rested, she was 
 like an angel descending from heaven, a spirit, an 
 apparition, which a breath might drive awa}'. 
 
 "Ah! I have forgotten all; I do not blame thee," 
 she cried, as Raphael opened his eyes. " I have no 
 voice except to tell thee that I am thine. Yes, my 
 heart is love, love only. Ah ! angel of mj' life, how 
 beautiful thou art ; never so beautiful as now. Thine 
 eyes devour me — But I have guessed all ; it was in 
 search of health — " 
 
 " Away, aw^ay ! go, leave me," said Raphael at last, 
 in a muffled voice. " Go, I say. If you stay there I 
 die. Would 3'ou see me die?" 
 
 "Die!" she repeated. "Canst thou die without 
 me ? Die ? but thou art young. Die ? but I love thee. 
 Die?" she added in a guttural voice, taking his hands 
 with a frenzied movement. 
 
 " Cold ! " she said ; " is it an illusion? " 
 
 Raphael drew from beneath his pillow the fatal skin, 
 now shrunken to the dimensions of a vinca-leaf. He 
 showed it to her. 
 
 " Pauline, dear image of mj^ beautiful life," he said, 
 " we must bid each other farewell." 
 
320 The Magic Skin, 
 
 li 
 
 Farewell ? " she repeated in tones of amazement. 
 
 *' Yes, this talisman accomplishes my wishes, and rep- 
 resents my life. See how little remains of it. If you 
 look at me again, if I long for happiness with thee, 1 die." 
 
 The young girl thought him mad ; she tooR the talis- 
 man and carried it to the lamp. 63^ the flickering light 
 which fell upon Raphael and also on the talisman, she 
 examined attentively the face of the one, and the last 
 morsel of the Magic Skin. As she stood there, beautiful 
 with terror and with love, Raphael was no longer mas- 
 ter of his thought : recollections of tender scenes, of the 
 passion of his lost joys, triumphed in the soul that he 
 had put to sleep, and roused it like a smouldering fire^ 
 
 *' Pauline, Pauline, come to me ! " (^ 
 
 A terrible cry burst from her throat, her eyes dilated A 
 her eyebrows, dragged by some untold anguish, drew 
 apart with horror ; she read in Raphael's ej-es a pas- 
 sionate desire, once her glory, but as it grew the Skin 
 contracted in her hand and to her sight. Without an 
 instant's reflection she fled into the adjoining room and 
 locked the door. 
 
 "Pauline, Pauline!" cried the dying man, rushing 
 after her. " I love thee ! I adore thee ! I will curse 
 thee if thou dost not open ! I choose to die with thee ! " 
 
 With unnatural strength, the last efl'ort of vitality, he 
 burst open the door and saw her writhing on an otto- 
 man. Pauline, seeking vainlj' for death, was endeavoring 
 to strangle herself with her shawl : — 
 
 " If I die, he lives ! " she cried, struggling to tighten 
 the knot. 
 
 Her hair hung loose, her shoulders were bare, her 
 clothing in disorder; in this wild struggle for death, 
 
The Magic Skin. 321 
 
 with tearful ej'es and a flushed face and writhing in 
 the anguish of her horrible despair she met the e3'es 
 of Raphael and augmented his delirium ; he darted 
 towards her with the lightness of a bird of prey, tore 
 the shawl awa}', and tried to clasp her in his arms. 
 The dying creature sought for words td utter the desire 
 that possessed him, but no sounds came except the 
 strangling death-rattle in his throat, — each breath he 
 drew, more hollow than the last, seeming to come from 
 his very entrails. At the last moment, furious at his 
 own weakness, he bit her in the breast. Jonathas, ter- 
 rified b}' the cries he heard, rushed in, and struggled to 
 tear his mistress from the dead body to which she clung 
 in a corner of the room. 
 
 "What do 3'ou want?" she demanded. "He is 
 mine. I have killed him. Did I not predict it?" 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 " And what became of Pauline? " 
 
 " Pauline? Ah ! Do you sometimes sit of a pleasant 
 winter evening beside your family hearth, given over to 
 delightful memories of youth and love as you watch the 
 lines of fire among the logs? Here the glowing embers 
 seem the red squares of a checker-board, there they 
 shimmer softl}' like velvet ; the blue flames run, and 
 dart up, and pla}- upon the surface of the live coal. A 
 painter comes ; he takes that flame ; b}' some art, 
 known onl}' to himself, he draws amid those lambent 
 tints of violet or crimson, a spiritual figure of unspeak- 
 
 21 
 
322 The Magic Skin, 
 
 able delicacy, a fleeting vision that no chance or circum- 
 stance recalls ; it is a woman, whose hair floats in the 
 breeze, whose profile breathes forth blissful passion, — 
 fire within fire ! she smiles, she dies away, you will see 
 her no more. Farewell, flower of the Flame ; farewell, 
 essence incompfete as yet, and not expected ; come too 
 earl}' or too late to be the diamond of our lives — " 
 
 ''But PauUne?" 
 
 "Ah, >-ou do not see? I will try again. Make 
 way ! make wa}' ! She comes, queen of ilhisions, the 
 woman who passes like a kiss, the woman vivid as the 
 lightning, falling like the lightning in fire from heaven ; 
 the being uncreated, all spirit, all love. She is clothed 
 with a body of flame, or, is it that for her, and for an 
 instant, flame is living? The lines of her form are of 
 such - purity that you know she comes from heaven. 
 Does she not shine as the Shining Ones? do you not 
 hear the airy beat of her wings? Buoyant as a bird, 
 she alights beside you ; her solemn eyes entrance you, 
 her soft yet compelling breath attracts your lips by magic 
 force ; she flies, and draws you with her ; 3'ou touch 
 the earth no longer. You try to la}' your quivering hand, 
 your fascinated hand, upon that snow}' bod}', to touch 
 the golden hair, to kiss those sparkling e3'es. ^ A vapor 
 intoxicates you, enchanting music charms j'ou. You 
 tremble in ever}' nerve, you are all desire, all suflering. 
 Oh, happiness without a name ! you have touched that 
 woman's lips — but lo ! a sharp pain wakens you. Ha ! 
 you have struck your head against the angle of the bed- 
 post, you kissed the brown mahogany", the cold gilding, 
 a bit of iron, or that bi-ass Cupid — *' 
 
 " But, monsieur, Pauline?" 
 
The Magic Skin. 323 
 
 "What, again? Listen. On a loveh' morning a 
 young man leading b}' the hand a prett}' woman em- 
 barked at Tours on the ' Ville d'Angers.' Standing 
 thus united, they watched and admired, above the 
 broad waters of the Loire, a white form issuing from 
 the bosom of the mist, like an offspring of the water and 
 the sun, or some effluence of the clouds and the air. 
 Undine or sylph, the fluid creature floated in the atmos- 
 phere, like a word sought in vain as it flits through the 
 memory and will not let itself be caught ; she glided 
 among the islands, and waved her head above the pop- 
 lars ; then, rising to colossal height, each fold of her 
 drapery became resplendent as the halo drawn by the 
 sun around her face. She hovered thus above the ham- 
 lets and about the hills, seeming to forbid the little 
 steamer to pass before the chateau D'Ussy. You 
 might have thought her the phantom of the Lady of the 
 Loire seeking to protect her country from invasion." 
 
 "Well, well ; ' I think I understand Pauline; but 
 Fedora, what of her?" 
 
 "Oh, Fedora? 3'ou meet her every day. Last 
 night she was at the Boulfons ; to-night she will be 
 at the opera. She is everywhere ; call her, if you like, 
 Society." 
 
 UNIVERSITT 
 
 Ui)iveisity Press, Cambridge : John Wilson and Son. 
 
I 
 
U.C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
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