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第2章

the magic skin-第2章

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headsman in the Place de Greve。 A tall; thin man; in a threadbare

coat; held a card in one hand; and a pin in the other; to mark the

numbers of Red or Black。 He seemed a modern Tantalus; with all the

pleasures of his epoch at his lips; a hoardless miser drawing in

imaginary gains; a sane species of lunatic who consoles himself in his

misery by chimerical dreams; a man who touches peril and vice as a

young priest handles the unconsecrated wafer in the white mass。



One or two experts at the game; shrewd speculators; had placed

themselves opposite the bank; like old convicts who have lost all fear

of the hulks; they meant to try two or three coups; and then to depart

at once with the expected gains; on which they lived。 Two elderly

waiters dawdled about with their arms folded; looking from time to

time into the garden from the windows; as if to show their

insignificant faces as a sign to passers…by。



The croupier and banker threw a ghastly and withering glance at the

punters; and cried; in a sharp voice; 〃Make your game!〃 as the young

man came in。 The silence seemed to grow deeper as all heads turned

curiously towards the new arrival。 Who would have thought it? The

jaded elders; the fossilized waiters; the onlookers; the fanatical

Italian himself; felt an indefinable dread at sight of the stranger。

Is he not wretched indeed who can excite pity here? Must he not be

very helpless to receive sympathy; ghastly in appearance to raise a

shudder in these places; where pain utters no cry; where wretchedness

looks gay; and despair is decorous? Such thoughts as these produced a

new emotion in these torpid hearts as the young man entered。 Were not

executioners known to shed tears over the fair…haired; girlish heads

that had to fall at the bidding of the Revolution?



The gamblers saw at a glance a dreadful mystery in the novice's face。

His young features were stamped with a melancholy grace; his looks

told of unsuccess and many blighted hopes。 The dull apathy of the

suicide had made his forehead so deadly pale; a bitter smile carved

faint lines about the corners of his mouth; and there was an

abandonment about him that was painful to see。 Some sort of demon

sparkled in the depths of his eye; which drooped; wearied perhaps with

pleasure。 Could it have been dissipation that had set its foul mark on

the proud face; once pure and bright; and now brought low? Any doctor

seeing the yellow circles about his eyelids; and the color in his

cheeks; would have set them down to some affection of the heart or

lungs; while poets would have attributed them to the havoc brought by

the search for knowledge and to night…vigils by the student's lamp。



But a complaint more fatal than any disease; a disease more merciless

than genius or study; had drawn this young face; and had wrung a heart

which dissipation; study; and sickness had scarcely disturbed。 When a

notorious criminal is taken to the convict's prison; the prisoners

welcome him respectfully; and these evil spirits in human shape;

experienced in torments; bowed before an unheard…of anguish。 By the

depth of the wound which met their eyes; they recognized a prince

among them; by the majesty of his unspoken irony; by the refined

wretchedness of his garb。 The frock…coat that he wore was well cut;

but his cravat was on terms so intimate with his waistcoat that no one

could suspect him of underlinen。 His hands; shapely as a woman's were

not perfectly clean; for two days past indeed he had ceased to wear

gloves。 If the very croupier and the waiters shuddered; it was because

some traces of the spell of innocence yet hung about his meagre;

delicately…shaped form; and his scanty fair hair in its natural curls。



He looked only about twenty…five years of age; and any trace of vice

in his face seemed to be there by accident。 A young constitution still

resisted the inroads of lubricity。 Darkness and light; annihilation

and existence; seemed to struggle in him; with effects of mingled

beauty and terror。 There he stood like some erring angel that has lost

his radiance; and these emeritus…professors of vice and shame were

ready to bid the novice depart; even as some toothless crone might be

seized with pity for a beautiful girl who offers herself up to infamy。



The young man went straight up to the table; and; as he stood there;

flung down a piece of gold which he held in his hand; without

deliberation。 It rolled on to the Black; then; as strong natures can;

he looked calmly; if anxiously; at the croupier; as if he held useless

subterfuges in scorn。



The interest this coup awakened was so great that the old gamesters

laid nothing upon it; only the Italian; inspired by a gambler's

enthusiasm; smiled suddenly at some thought; and punted his heap of

coin against the stranger's stake。



The banker forgot to pronounce the phrases that use and wont have

reduced to an inarticulate cry〃Make your game。 。 。 。 The game is

made。 。 。 。 Bets are closed。〃 The croupier spread out the cards; and

seemed to wish luck to the newcomer; indifferent as he was to the

losses or gains of those who took part in these sombre pleasures。

Every bystander thought he saw a drama; the closing scene of a noble

life; in the fortunes of that bit of gold; and eagerly fixed his eyes

on the prophetic cards; but however closely they watched the young

man; they could discover not the least sign of feeling on his cool but

restless face。



〃Even! red wins;〃 said the croupier officially。 A dumb sort of rattle

came from the Italian's throat when he saw the folded notes that the

banker showered upon him; one after another。 The young man only

understood his calamity when the croupiers's rake was extended to

sweep away his last napoleon。 The ivory touched the coin with a little

click; as it swept it with the speed of an arrow into the heap of gold

before the bank。 The stranger turned pale at the lips; and softly shut

his eyes; but he unclosed them again at once; and the red color

returned as he affected the airs of an Englishman; to whom life can

offer no new sensation; and disappeared without the glance full of

entreaty for compassion that a desperate gamester will often give the

bystanders。 How much can happen in a second's space; how many things

depend on a throw of the die!



〃That was his last cartridge; of course;〃 said the croupier; smiling

after a moment's silence; during which he picked up the coin between

his finger and thumb and held it up。



〃He is a cracked brain that will go and drown himself;〃 said a

frequenter of the place。 He looked round about at the other players;

who all knew each other。



〃Bah!〃 said a waiter; as he took a pinch of snuff。



〃If we had but followed HIS example;〃 said an old gamester to the

others; as he pointed out the Italian。



Everybody looked at the lucky player; whose hands shook as he counted

his bank…notes。



〃A voice seemed to whisper to me;〃 he said。 〃The luck is sure to go

against that young man's despair。〃



〃He is a new hand;〃 said the banker; 〃or he would have divided his

money into three parts to give himself more chance。〃



The young man went out without asking for his hat; but the old

watch…dog; who had noted its shabby condition; returned it to him

without a word。 The gambler mechanically gave up the tally; and went

downstairs whistling Di tanti Palpiti so feebly; that he himself

scarcely heard the delicious notes。



He found himself immediately under the arcades of the Palais…Royal;

reached the Rue Saint Honore; took the direction of the Tuileries; and

crossed the gardens with an undecided step。 He walked as if he were in

some desert; elbowed by men whom he did not see; hearing through all

the voices of the crowd one voice alonethe voice of Death。 He was

lost in the thoughts that benumbed him at last; like the criminals who

used to be taken in carts from the Palais de Justice to the Place de

Greve; where the scaffold aw

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