the magic skin(驴皮记)- 第42部分

〃What　has　that　fellow　done　to　be　so　rich？〃　asks　a　poor　law…student；
who　cannot　listen　to　the　magical　music　of　Rossini　for　lack　of　a　five…
franc　piece。

Raphael　walked　slowly　along　the　gangway；　he　expected　no　enjoyment　from
these　pleasures　he　had　once　coveted　so　eagerly。　In　the　interval　before
the　second　act　of　Semiramide　he　walked　up　and　down　in　the　lobby；　and
along　the　corridors；　leaving　his　box；　which　he　had　not　yet　entered；　to
look　after　itself。　The　instinct　of　property　was　dead　within　him
already。　Like　all　invalids；　he　thought　of　nothing　but　his　own
sufferings。　He　was　leaning　against　the　chimney…piece　in　the　greenroom。
A　group　had　gathered　about　it　of　dandies；　young　and　old；　of　ministers；
of　peers　without　peerages；　and　peerages　without　peers；　for　so　the
Revolution　of　July　had　ordered　matters。　Among　a　host　of　adventurers
and　journalists；　in　fact；　Raphael　beheld　a　strange；　unearthly　figure　a
few　paces　away　among　the　crowd。　He　went　towards　this　grotesque　object
to　see　it　better；　half…closing　his　eyes　with　exceeding
superciliousness。

〃What　a　wonderful　bit　of　painting！〃　he　said　to　himself。　The　stranger's
hair　and　eyebrows　and　a　Mazarin　tuft　on　the　chin　had　been　dyed　black；
but　the　result　was　a　spurious；　glossy；　purple　tint　that　varied　its
hues　according　to　the　light；　the　hair　had　been　too　white；　no　doubt；　to
take　the　preparation。　Anxiety　and　cunning　were　depicted　in　the　narrow；
insignificant　face；　with　its　wrinkles　incrusted　by　thick　layers　of　red
and　white　paint。　This　red　enamel；　lacking　on　some　portions　of　his
face；　strongly　brought　out　his　natural　feebleness　and　livid　hues。　It
was　impossible　not　to　smile　at　this　visage　with　the　protuberant
forehead　and　pointed　chin；　a　face　not　unlike　those　grotesque　wooden
figures　that　German　herdsmen　carve　in　their　spare　moments。

An　attentive　observer　looking　from　Raphael　to　this　elderly　Adonis
would　have　remarked　a　young　man's　eyes　set　in　a　mask　of　age；　in　the
case　of　the　Marquis；　and　in　the　other　case　the　dim　eyes　of　age　peering
forth　from　behind　a　mask　of　youth。　Valentin　tried　to　recollect　when
and　where　he　had　seen　this　little　old　man　before。　He　was　thin；
fastidiously　cravatted；　booted　and　spurred　like　one…and…twenty；　he
crossed　his　arms　and　clinked　his　spurs　as　if　he　possessed　all　the
wanton　energy　of　youth。　He　seemed　to　move　about　without　constraint　or
difficulty。　He　had　carefully　buttoned　up　his　fashionable　coat；　which
disguised　his　powerful；　elderly　frame；　and　gave　him　the　appearance　of
an　antiquated　coxcomb　who　still　follows　the　fashions。

For　Raphael　this　animated　puppet　possessed　all　the　interest　of　an
apparition。　He　gazed　at　it　as　if　it　had　been　some　smoke…begrimed
Rembrandt；　recently　restored　and　newly　framed。　This　idea　found　him　a
clue　to　the　truth　among　his　confused　recollections；　he　recognized　the
dealer　in　antiquities；　the　man　to　whom　he　owed　his　calamities！

A　noiseless　laugh　broke　just　then　from　the　fantastical　personage；
straightening　the　line　of　his　lips　that　stretched　across　a　row　of
artificial　teeth。　That　laugh　brought　out；　for　Raphael's　heated　fancy；
a　strong　resemblance　between　the　man　before　him　and　the　type　of　head
that　painters　have　assigned　to　Goethe's　Mephistopheles。　A　crowd　of
superstitious　thoughts　entered　Raphael's　sceptical　mind；　he　was
convinced　of　the　powers　of　the　devil　and　of　all　the　sorcerer's
enchantments　embodied　in　mediaeval　tradition；　and　since　worked　up　by
poets。　Shrinking　in　horror　from　the　destiny　of　Faust；　he　prayed　for
the　protection　of　Heaven　with　all　the　ardent　faith　of　a　dying　man　in
God　and　the　Virgin。　A　clear；　bright　radiance　seemed　to　give　him　a
glimpse　of　the　heaven　of　Michael　Angelo　or　of　Raphael　of　Urbino：　a
venerable　white…bearded　man；　a　beautiful　woman　seated　in　an　aureole
above　the　clouds　and　winged　cherub　heads。　Now　he　had　grasped　and
received　the　meaning　of　those　imaginative；　almost　human　creations；
they　seemed　to　explain　what　had　happened　to　him；　to　leave　him　yet　one
hope。

But　when　the　greenroom　of　the　Italiens　returned　upon　his　sight　he
beheld；　not　the　Virgin；　but　a　very　handsome　young　person。　The
execrable　Euphrasia；　in　all　the　splendor　of　her　toilette；　with　its
orient　pearls；　had　come　thither；　impatient　for　her　ardent；　elderly
admirer。　She　was　insolently　exhibiting　herself　with　her　defiant　face
and　glittering　eyes　to　an　envious　crowd　of　stockbrokers；　a　visible
testimony　to　the　inexhaustible　wealth　that　the　old　dealer　permitted
her　to　squander。

Raphael　recollected　the　mocking　wish　with　which　he　had　accepted　the
old　man's　luckless　gift；　and　tasted　all　the　sweets　of　revenge　when　he
beheld　the　spectacle　of　sublime　wisdom　fallen　to　such　a　depth　as　this；
wisdom　for　which　such　humiliation　had　seemed　a　thing　impossible。　The
centenarian　greeted　Euphrasia　with　a　ghastly　smile；　receiving　her
honeyed　words　in　reply。　He　offered　her　his　emaciated　arm；　and　went
twice　or　thrice　round　the　greenroom　with　her；　the　envious　glances　and
compliments　with　which　the　crowd　received　his　mistress　delighted　him；
he　did　not　see　the　scornful　smiles；　nor　hear　the　caustic　comments　to
which　he　gave　rise。

〃In　what　cemetery　did　this　young　ghoul　unearth　that　corpse　of　hers？〃
asked　a　dandy　of　the　Romantic　faction。

Euphrasia　began　to　smile。　The　speaker　was　a　slender；　fair…haired
youth；　with　bright　blue　eyes；　and　a　moustache。　His　short　dress　coat；
hat　tilted　over　one　ear；　and　sharp　tongue；　all　denoted　the　species。

〃How　many　old　men；〃　said　Raphael　to　himself；　〃bring　an　upright；
virtuous；　and　hard…working　life　to　a　close　in　folly！　His　feet　are　cold
already；　and　he　is　making　love。〃

〃Well；　sir；〃　exclaimed　Valentin；　stopping　the　merchant's　progress；
while　he　stared　hard　at　Euphrasia；　〃have　you　quite　forgotten　the
stringent　maxims　of　your　philosophy？〃

〃Ah；　I　am　as　happy　now　as　a　young　man；〃　said　the　other；　in　a　cracked
voice。　〃I　used　to　look　at　existence　from　a　wrong　standpoint。　One　hour
of　love　has　a　whole　life　in　it。〃

The　playgoers　heard　the　bell　ring；　and　left　the　greenroom　to　take
their　places　again。　Raphael　and　the　old　merchant　separated。　As　he
entered　his　box；　the　Marquis　saw　Foedora　sitting　exactly　opposite　to
him　on　the　other　side　of　the　theatre。　The　Countess　had　probably　only
just　come；　for　she　was　just　flinging　off　her　scarf　to　leave　her　throat
uncovered；　and　was　occupied　with　going　through　all　the　indescribable
manoeuvres　of　a　coquette　arranging　herself。　All　eyes　were　turned　upon
her。　A　young　peer　of　France　had　come　with　her；　she　asked　him　for　the
lorgnette　she　had　given　him　to　carry。　Raphael　knew　the　despotism　to
which　his　successor　had　resigned　himself；　in　her　gestures；　and　in　the
way　she　treated　her　companion。　He　was　also　under　the　spell　no　doubt；
another　dupe　beating　with　all　the　might　of　a　real　affection　against
the　woman's　cold　calculations；　enduring　all　the　tortures　from　which
Valentin　had　luckily　freed　himself。

Foedora's　face　lighted　up　with　indescribable　joy。　After　directing　her
lorgnette　upon　every　box　in　turn；　to　make　a　rapid　survey　of　all　the
dresses；　she　was　conscious　that　by　her　toilette　and　her　beauty　she　had
eclipsed　the　loveliest　and　best…dressed　women　in　Paris。　She　laughed　to
show　her　white　teeth；　her　head　with　its　wreath　of　flowers　was　never
still；　in　her　quest　of　admiration。　Her　glances　went　from　one　box　to
another；　as　she　diverted　herself　with　the　awkward　way　in　which　a
Russian　princess　wore　her　bonnet；　or　over　the　utter　failure　of　a
bonnet　with　which　a　banker's　daughter　had　disfigured　herself。

All　at　once　she　met　Raphael's　steady　gaze　and　turned　pale；　aghast　at
the　intolerable　contempt　in　her　rejected　lover's　eyes。　Not　one　of　her
exiled　suitors　had　failed　to　own　her　power　over　them；　Valentin　alone
was　proof　against　her　attractions。　A　power　that　can　be　defied　with
impunity　is　drawing　to　its　end。　This　axiom　is　as　deeply　engraved　on
the　heart　of　woman　as　in　the　minds　of　kings。　In　Raphael；　therefore；
Foedora　saw　the　deathblow　of　her　influence　and　her　ability　to　please。
An　epigram　of　his；　made　at　the　Opera　the　day　before；　was　already　known
in　the　salons　of　Paris。　The　biting　edge　of　that　terrible　speech　had
already　given　the　Countess　an　incurable　wound。　We　know　how　to
cauterize　a　wound；　but　we　know　of　no　treatment　as　yet　for　the　stab　of
a　phrase。　As　every　other　woman　in　the　house　looked　by　turns　at　her　and
at　the　Marquis；　Foedora　would　have　consigned　them　all　to　the
oubliettes　of　some　Bastille；　for　in　spite　of　her　capacity　for
dissimulation；　her　discomfiture　was　discerned　by　her　rivals。　Her
unfailing　consolation　had　slipped　from　her　at　last。　The　delicious
thought；　〃I　am　the　most　beautiful；〃　the　thought　that　at　all　times　had
soothed　every　mortification；　had　turned　into　a　lie。

At　the　opening　of　the　second　act　a　woman　took　up　her　position　not　very
far　from　Raphael；　in　a　box　that　had　been　empty　hitherto。　A　murmur　of
admiration　went　up　from　the　whole　house。　In　that　sea　of　human　faces
there　was　a　movement　of　every　living　wave；　all　eyes　were　turned　upon
the　stranger　lady。　The　applause　of　young　and　old　was　so　prolonged；
that　when　the　orchestra　began；　the　musicians　turned　to　the　audience　to
request　silence；　and　then　they　themselves　joined　in　the　plaudits　and
swelled　the　confusion。　Excited　talk　be