the magic skin-第14节

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for　these　unbridled　natures　were　subdued　from　the　very　first　by　the

majesty　with　which　woman　is　invested。　There　was　a　murmur　of

admiration；　which　vibrated　like　a　soft　musical　note。　Wine　had　not

taken　love　for　traveling　companion；　instead　of　a　violent　tumult　of

passions；　the　guests　thus　taken　by　surprise；　in　a　moment　of　weakness；

gave　themselves　up　to　luxurious　raptures　of　delight。



Artists　obeyed　the　voice　of　poetry　which　constrains　them；　and　studied

with　pleasure　the　different　delicate　tints　of　these　chosen　examples　of

beauty。　Sobered　by　a　thought　perhaps　due　to　some　emanation　from　a

bubble　of　carbonic　acid　in　the　champagne；　a　philosopher　shuddered　at

the　misfortunes　which　had　brought　these　women；　once　perhaps　worthy　of

the　truest　devotion；　to　this。　Each　one　doubtless　could　have　unfolded　a

cruel　tragedy。　Infernal　tortures　followed　in　the　train　of　most　of

them；　and　they　drew　after　them　faithless　men；　broken　vows；　and

pleasures　atoned　for　in　wretchedness。　Polite　advances　were　made　by　the

guests；　and　conversations　began；　as　varied　in　character　as　the

speakers。　They　broke　up　into　groups。　It　might　have　been　a　fashionable

drawing…room　where　ladies　and　young　girls　offer　after　dinner　the

assistance　that　coffee；　liqueurs；　and　sugar　afford　to　diners　who　are

struggling　in　the　toils　of　a　perverse　digestion。　But　in　a　little　while

laughter　broke　out；　the　murmur　grew；　and　voices　were　raised。　The

saturnalia；　subdued　for　a　moment；　threatened　at　times　to　renew　itself。

The　alternations　of　sound　and　silence　bore　a　distant　resemblance　to　a

symphony　of　Beethoven's。



The　two　friends；　seated　on　a　silken　divan；　were　first　approached　by　a

tall；　well…proportioned　girl　of　stately　bearing；　her　features　were

irregular；　but　her　face　was　striking　and　vehement　in　expression；　and

impressed　the　mind　by　the　vigor　of　its　contrasts。　Her　dark　hair　fell

in　luxuriant　curls；　with　which　some　hand　seemed　to　have　played　havoc

already；　for　the　locks　fell　lightly　over　the　splendid　shoulders　that

thus　attracted　attention。　The　long　brown　curls　half　hid　her　queenly

throat；　though　where　the　light　fell　upon　it；　the　delicacy　of　its　fine

outlines　was　revealed。　Her　warm　and　vivid　coloring　was　set　off　by　the

dead　white　of　her　complexion。　Bold　and　ardent　glances　came　from　under

the　long　eyelashes；　the　damp；　red；　half…open　lips　challenged　a　kiss。

Her　frame　was　strong　but　compliant；　with　a　bust　and　arms　strongly

developed；　as　in　figures　drawn　by　the　Caracci；　she　yet　seemed　active

and　elastic；　with　a　panther's　strength　and　suppleness；　and　in　the　same

way　the　energetic　grace　of　her　figure　suggested　fierce　pleasures。



But　though　she　might　romp　perhaps　and　laugh；　there　was　something

terrible　in　her　eyes　and　her　smile。　Like　a　pythoness　possessed　by　the

demon；　she　inspired　awe　rather　than　pleasure。　All　changes；　one　after

another；　flashed　like　lightning　over　every　mobile　feature　of　her　face。

She　might　captivate　a　jaded　fancy；　but　a　young　man　would　have　feared

her。　She　was　like　some　colossal　statue　fallen　from　the　height　of　a

Greek　temple；　so　grand　when　seen　afar；　too　roughly　hewn　to　be　seen

anear。　And　yet；　in　spite　of　all；　her　terrible　beauty　could　have

stimulated　exhaustion；　her　voice　might　charm　the　deaf；　her　glances

might　put　life　into　the　bones　of　the　dead；　and　therefore　Emile　was

vaguely　reminded　of　one　of　Shakespeare's　tragediesa　wonderful　maze；

in　which　joy　groans；　and　there　is　something　wild　even　about　love；　and

the　magic　of　forgiveness　and　the　warmth　of　happiness　succeed　to　cruel

storms　of　rage。　She　was　a　siren　that　can　both　kiss　and　devour；　laugh

like　a　devil；　or　weep　as　angels　can。　She　could　concentrate　in　one

instant　all　a　woman's　powers　of　attraction　in　a　single　effort　（the

sighs　of　melancholy　and　the　charms　of　maiden's　shyness　alone

excepted）；　then　in　a　moment　rise　in　fury　like　a　nation　in　revolt；　and

tear　herself；　her　passion；　and　her　lover；　in　pieces。



Dressed　in　red　velvet；　she　trampled　under　her　reckless　feet　the　stray

flowers　fallen　from　other　heads；　and　held　out　a　salver　to　the　two

friends；　with　careless　hands。　The　white　arms　stood　out　in　bold　relief

against　the　velvet。　Proud　of　her　beauty；　proud　（who　knows？）　of　her

corruption；　she　stood　like　a　queen　of　pleasure；　like　an　incarnation　of

enjoyment；　the　enjoyment　that　comes　of　squandering　the　accumulations

of　three　generations；　that　scoffs　at　its　progenitors；　and　makes　merry

over　a　corpse；　that　will　dissolve　pearls　and　wreck　thrones；　turn　old

men　into　boys；　and　make　young　men　prematurely　old；　enjoyment　only

possible　to　giants　weary　of　their　power；　tormented　by　reflection；　or

for　whom　strife　has　become　a　plaything。



〃What　is　your　name？〃　asked　Raphael。



〃Aquilina。〃



〃Out　of　Venice　Preserved！〃　exclaimed　Emile。



〃Yes；〃　she　answered。　〃Just　as　a　pope　takes　a　new　name　when　he　is

exalted　above　all　other　men；　I；　too；　took　another　name　when　I　raised

myself　above　women's　level。〃



〃Then　have　you；　like　your　patron　saint；　a　terrible　and　noble　lover；　a

conspirator；　who　would　die　for　you？〃　cried　Emile　eagerlythis　gleam

of　poetry　had　aroused　his　interest。



〃Once　I　had；〃　she　answered。　〃But　I　had　a　rival　too　in　La　Guillotine。　I

have　worn　something　red　about　me　ever　since；　lest　any　happiness　should

carry　me　away。〃



〃Oh；　if　you　are　going　to　get　her　on　to　the　story　of　those　four　lads　of

La　Rochelle；　she　will　never　get　to　the　end　of　it。　That's　enough；

Aquilina。　As　if　every　woman　could　not　bewail　some　lover　or　other；

though　not　every　one　has　the　luck　to　lose　him　on　the　scaffold；　as　you

have　done。　I　would　a　great　deal　sooner　see　a　lover　of　mine　in　a　trench

at　the　back　of　Clamart　than　in　a　rival's　arms。〃



All　this　in　the　gentlest　and　most　melodious　accents；　and　pronounced　by

the　prettiest；　gentlest；　and　most　innocent…looking　little　person　that

a　fairy　wand　ever　drew　from　an　enchanted　eggshell。　She　had　come　up

noiselessly；　and　they　became　aware　of　a　slender；　dainty　figure；

charmingly　timid　blue　eyes；　and　white　transparent　brows。　No　ingenue

among　the　naiads；　a　truant　from　her　river　spring；　could　have　been

shyer；　whiter；　more　ingenuous　than　this　young　girl；　seemingly　about

sixteen　years　old；　ignorant　of　evil　and　of　the　storms　of　life；　and

fresh　from　some　church　in　which　she　must　have　prayed　the　angels　to

call　her　to　heaven　before　the　time。　Only　in　Paris　are　such　natures　as

this　to　be　found；　concealing　depths　of　depravity　behind　a　fair　mask；

and　the　most　artificial　vices　beneath　a　brow　as　young　and　fair　as　an

opening　flower。



At　first　the　angelic　promise　of　those　soft　lineaments　misled　the

friends。　Raphael　and　Emile　took　the　coffee　which　she　poured　into　the

cups　brought　by　Aquilina；　and　began　to　talk　with　her。　In　the　eyes　of

the　two　poets　she　soon　became　transformed　into　some　sombre　allegory；

of　I　know　not　what　aspect　of　human　life。　She　opposed　to　the　vigorous

and　ardent　expression　of　her　commanding　acquaintance　a　revelation　of

heartless　corruption　and　voluptuous　cruelty。　Heedless　enough　to

perpetrate　a　crime；　hardy　enough　to　feel　no　misgivings；　a　pitiless

demon　that　wrings　larger　and　kinder　natures　with　torments　that　it　is

incapable　of　knowing；　that　simpers　over　a　traffic　in　love；　sheds　tears

over　a　victim's　funeral；　and　beams　with　joy　over　the　reading　of　the

will。　A　poet　might　have　admired　the　magnificent　Aquilina；　but　the

winning　Euphrasia　must　be　repulsive　to　every　onethe　first　was　the

soul　of　sin；　the　second；　sin　without　a　soul　in　it。



〃I　should　dearly　like　to　know；〃　Emile　remarked　to　this　pleasing　being；

〃if　you　ever　reflect　upon　your　future？〃



〃My　future！〃　she　answered　with　a　laugh。　〃What　do　you　mean　by　my

future？　Why　should　I　think　about　something　that　does　not　exist　as　yet？

I　never　look　before　or　behind。　Isn't　one　day　at　a　time　more　than　I　can

concern　myself　with　as　it　is？　And　besides；　the　future；　as　we　know；

means　the　hospital。〃



〃How　can　you　forsee　a　future　in　the　hospital；　and　make　no　effort　to

avert　it？〃



〃What　is　there　so　alarming　about　the　hospital？〃　asked　the　terrific

Aquilina。　〃When　we　are　neither　wives　nor　mothers；　when　old　age　draws

black　stockings　over　our　limbs；　sets　wrinkles　on　our　brows；　withers　up

the　woman　in　us；　and　darkens　the　light　in　our　lover's　eyes；　what　could

we　need　when　that　comes　to　pass？　You　would　look　on　us　then　as　mere

human　clay；　we　with　our　habiliments　shall　be　for　you　like　so　much　mud

worthless；　lifeless；　crumbling　to　pieces；　going　about　with　the

rustle　of　dead　leaves。　Rags　or　the　daintiest　finery　will　be　as　one　to

us　then；　the　ambergris　of　the　boudoir　will　breathe　an　odor　of　death

and　dry　bones；　and　suppose　there　is　a　heart　there　in　that　mud；　not　one

of　you　but　would　make　mock　of　it；　not　so　much　as　a　memory　will　you

spare　to　us。　Is　not　our　existence　precisely　the　same　whether　we　live

in　a　fine　mansion　with　lap…dogs　to　tend；　or　sort　rags　in　a　workhouse？

Does　it　make　much　difference　whether　we　shall　hide　our　gray　heads

beneath　lace　or　a　handkerchief　striped　with　blue　and