original short stories-13-第7章

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had　entered　his　dwelling；　when　one　day　I　received　an　invitation　to
luncheon；　following　an　accident　that　had　occurred　to　one　of　his　friends；
who　had　been　almost　drowned　and　whom　I　had　attempted　to　rescue。

Although　I　was　unable　to　reach　the　man　until　he　had　already　been　rescued；
I　received　the　hearty　thanks　of　the　two　Englishmen；　and　the　following　day
I　called　upon　them。

The　friend　was　a　man　about　thirty　years　old。　　He　bore　an　enormous　head　on
a　child's　bodya　body　without　chest　or　shoulders。　　An　immense　forehead；
which　seemed　to　have　engulfed　the　rest　of　the　man；　expanded　like　a　dome
above　a　thin　face　which　ended　in　a　little　pointed　beard。　　Two　sharp　eyes
and　a　peculiar　mouth　gave　one　the　impression　of　the　head　of　a　reptile；
while　the　magnificent　brow　suggested　a　genius。

A　nervous　twitching　shook　this　peculiar　being；　who　walked；　moved；　acted
by　jerks　like　a　broken　spring。

This　was　Algernon　Charles　Swinburne；　son　of　an　English　admiral　and
grandson；　on　the　maternal　side；　of　the　Earl　of　Ashburnham。

He　strange　countenance　was　transfigured　when　he　spoke。　　I　have　seldom
seen　a　man　more　impressive；　more　eloquent；　incisive　or　charming　in
conversation。　　His　rapid；　clear；　piercing　and　fantastic　imagination
seemed　to　creep　into　his　voice　and　to　lend　life　to　his　words。　　His
brusque　gestures　enlivened　his　speech；　which　penetrated　one　like　a
dagger；　and　he　had　bursts　of　thought；　just　as　lighthouses　throw　out
flashes　of　fire；　great；　genial　lights　that　seemed　to　illuminate　a　whole
world　of　ideas。

The　home　of　the　two　friends　was　pretty　and　by　no　means　commonplace。
Everywhere　were　paintings；　some　superb；　some　strange；　representing
different　conceptions　of　insanity。　　Unless　I　am　mistaken；　there　was　a
water…color　which　represented　the　head　of　a　dead　man　floating　in　a　rose…
colored　shell　on　a　boundless　ocean；　under　a　moon　with　a　human　face。

Here　and　there　I　came　across　bones。　　I　clearly　remember　a　flayed　hand　on
which　was　hanging　some　dried　skin　and　black　muscles；　and　on　the　snow…
white　bones　could　be　seen　the　traces　of　dried　blood。

The　food　was　a　riddle　which　I　could　not　solve。　　Was　it　good？　　Was　it　bad？
I　could　not　say。　　Some　roast　monkey　took　away　all　desire　to　make　a　steady
diet　of　this　animal；　and　the　great　monkey　who　roamed　about　among　us　at
large　and　playfully　pushed　his　head　into　my　glass　when　I　wished　to　drink
cured　me　of　any　desire　I　might　have　to　take　one　of　his　brothers　as　a
companion　for　the　rest　of　my　days。

As　for　the　two　men；　they　gave　me　the　impression　of　two　strange；　original；
remarkable　minds；　belonging　to　that　peculiar　race　of　talented　madmen　from
among　whom　have　arisen　Poe；　Hoffmann　and　many　others。

If　genius　is；　as　is　commonly　believed；　a　sort　of　aberration　of　great
minds；　then　Algernon　Charles　Swinburne　is　undoubtedly　a　genius。

Great　minds　that　are　healthy　are　never　considered　geniuses；　while　this
sublime　qualification　is　lavished　on　brains　that　are　often　inferior　but
are　slightly　touched　by　madness。

At　any　rate；　this　poet　remains　one　of　the　first　of　his　time；　through　his
originality　and　polished　form。　　He　is　an　exalted　lyrical　singer　who
seldom　bothers　about　the　good　and　humble　truth；　which　French　poets　are
now　seeking　so　persistently　and　patiently。　　He　strives　to　set　down
dreams；　subtle　thoughts；　sometimes　great；　sometimes　visibly　forced；　but
sometimes　magnificent。


Two　years　later　I　found　the　house　closed　and　its　tenants　gone。　　The
furniture　was　being　sold。　　In　memory　of　them　I　bought　the　hideous　flayed
hand。　　On　the　grass　an　enormous　square　block　of　granite　bore　this　simple
word：　〃Nip。〃　　Above　this　a　hollow　stone　offered　water　to　the　birds。　　It
was　the　grave　of　the　monkey；　who　had　been　hanged　by　a　young；　vindictive
negro　servant。　　It　was　said　that　this　violent　domestic　had　been　forced　to
flee　at　the　point　of　his　exasperated　master's　revolver。　　After　wandering
about　without　home　or　food　for　several　days；　he　returned　and　began　to
peddle　barley…sugar　in　the　streets。　　He　was　expelled　from　the　country
after　he　had　almost　strangled　a　displeased　customer。

The　world　would　be　gayer　if　one　could　often　meet　homes　like　that。

　　　　　This　story　appeared　in　the　〃Gaulois；〃　November　29；　1882。　　It　was　the
　　　　　original　sketch　for　the　introductory　study　of　Swinburne；　written　by
　　　　　Maupassant　for　the　French　translation　by　Gabriel　Mourey　of　〃Poems
　　　　　and　Ballads。〃






MAGNETISM

It　was　a　men's　dinner　party；　and　they　were　sitting　over　their　cigars　and
brandy　and　discussing　magnetism。　　Donato's　tricks　and　Charcot's
experiments。　　Presently；　the　sceptical；　easy…going　men；　who　cared　nothing
for　religion　of　any　sort；　began　telling　stories　of　strange　occurrences；
incredible　things　which；　nevertheless；　had　really　occurred；　so　they　said；
falling　back　into　superstitious　beliefs；　clinging　to　these　last　remnants
of　the　marvellous；　becoming　devotees　of　this　mystery　of　magnetism；
defending　it　in　the　name　of　science。　　There　was　only　one　person　who
smiled；　a　vigorous　young　fellow；　a　great　ladies'　man　who　was　so
incredulous　that　he　would　not　even　enter　upon　a　discussion　of　such
matters。

He　repeated　with　a　sneer：

〃Humbug！　humbug！　humbug！　　We　need　not　discuss　Donato；　who　is　merely　a
very　smart　juggler。　　As　for　M。　Charcot；　who　is　said　to　be　a　remarkable
man　of　science；　he　produces　on　me　the　effect　of　those　story…tellers　of
the　school　of　Edgar　Poe；　who　end　by　going　mad　through　constantly
reflecting　on　queer　cases　of　insanity。　　He　has　authenticated　some　cases
of　unexplained　and　inexplicable　nervous　phenomena；　he　makes　his　way　into
that　unknown　region　which　men　are　exploring　every　day；　and　unable　always
to　understand　what　he　sees；　he　recalls；　perhaps；　the　ecclesiastical
interpretation　of　these　mysteries。　　I　should　like　to　hear　what　he　says
himself。〃

The　words　of　the　unbeliever　were　listened　to　with　a　kind　of　pity；　as　if
he　had　blasphemed　in　an　assembly　of　monks。

One　of　these　gentlemen　exclaimed：

〃And　yet　miracles　were　performed　in　olden　times。〃

〃I　deny　it；〃　replied　the　other：　〃Why　cannot　they　be　performed　now？〃

Then；　each　mentioned　some　fact；　some　fantastic　presentiment　some　instance
of　souls　communicating　with　each　other　across　space；　or　some　case　of　the
secret　influence　of　one　being　over　another。　　They　asserted　and　maintained
that　these　things　had　actually　occurred；　while　the　sceptic　angrily
repeated：

〃Humbug！　humbug！　humbug！〃

At　last　he　rose；　threw　away　his　cigar；　and　with　his　hands　in　his　pockets；
said：　〃Well；　I　also　have　two　stories　to　tell　you；　which　I　will　afterwards
explain。　　Here　they　are：

〃In　the　little　village　of　Etretat；　the　men；　who　are　all　seafaring　folk；
go　every　year　to　Newfoundland　to　fish　for　cod。　　One　night　the　little　son
of　one　of　these　fishermen　woke　up　with　a　start；　crying　out　that　his
father　was　dead。　　The　child　was　quieted；　and　again　he　woke　up　exclaiming
that　his　father　was　drowned。　　A　month　later　the　news　came　that　his　father
had；　in　fact；　been　swept　off　the　deck　of　his　smack　by　a　billow。　　The
widow　then　remembered　how　her　son　had　woke　up　and　spoken　of　his　father's
death。　　Everyone　said　it　was　a　miracle；　and　the　affair　caused　a　great
sensation。　　The　dates　were　compared；　and　it　was　found　that　the　accident
and　the　dream　were　almost　coincident；　whence　they　concluded　that　they　had
happened　on　the　same　night　and　at　the　same　hour。　　And　there　is　a　mystery
of　magnetism。〃

The　story…teller　stopped　suddenly。

Thereupon；　one　of　those　who　had　heard　him；　much　affected　by　the
narrative；　asked：

〃And　can　you　explain　this？〃

〃Perfectly；　monsieur。　　I　have　discovered　the　secret。　　The　circumstance
surprised　me　and　even　perplexed　me　very　much；　but　you　see；　I　do　not
believe　on　principle。　　Just　as　others　begin　by　believing；　I　begin　by
doubting；　and　when　I　cannot　understand；　I　continue　to　deny　that　there　can
be　any　telepathic　communication　between　souls；　certain　that　my　own
intelligence　will　be　able　to　explain　it。　　Well；　I　kept　on　inquiring　into
the　matter；　and　by　dint　of　questioning　all　the　wives　of　the　absent
seamen；　I　was　convinced　that　not　a　week　passed　without　one　of　them；　or
one　of　their　children　dreaming　and　declaring　when　they　woke　up　that　the
father　was　drowned。　　The　horr