 Chapter 40 of Balsamo, The Magician by Alexander Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Art of Making Gold The two threaded a narrow staircase which led, as did the grand stairs, to the first floor rooms. But a door was under an archway there, which the guide opened, and the cardinal bravely walked into a dark corridor thus disclosed. Balsamo shut the door, and the sound of the closing made the visitor look back with some emotion. "'We have arrived,' said the leader. "'Only one door to open and shut behind us. Do not be astonished at the noise it makes, as it is of iron.' It was fortunate that the cardinal was warned in time, for the snap of the handle and the grinding of the hinges might make nerves more susceptible than his to vibrate. They went down three steps, and entered a large cell with rafters overhead, a huge lamp with shade, many books, and a number of chemical and physical instruments. Such was the aspect. In a few seconds the cardinal felt a difficulty in breathing. "'What does this mean, my lord?' he asked. "'The water is streaming off me, and I am stifling. What sound is that, master?' This is the cause,' answered the host, pulling aside a large curtain of asbestos, and uncovering a large brick furnace in the center of which glared two fiery cavities like lions' eyes in the gloom. This furnace stood in an inner room centrally, twice the size of the first, unseen from the stone cloth screen. "'This is rather alarming, Miss Eames,' said the prince. "'Only a furnace, my lord.' "'But there are different kinds of furnaces. This one strikes me as diabolical, and the smell is not pleasant. What devil's broth are you cooking?' "'What your eminence wants? I believe you will accept a sample of my produce. "'I was not going to work until to-morrow, but as your eminence changed his mind, I lit the fire as soon as I saw you on the road hither. I made the mixture so that the furnace is boiling, and you can have your gold in about ten minutes. Let me open the ventilator to let in some air.' "'What are these crucibles on the fire?' "'In ten minutes they will pour you out the gold as pure as from any assayers in Christendom.' "'I should like to look at them.' "'Of course you can. But you must take the indispensable precaution of putting on this asbestos mask with glass eyes, or the ardent fire will scorch your sight.' "'Have a care indeed. I prize my eyes, and would not give them for the hundred thousand crowns you promise me.' "'So I thought. And your lordship's eyes are good and bright.' The compliment did not displease the prince, who was proud of his personal advantages. "'He-he,' he chuckled, "'so we are going to see gold made.' "'I expect so, my lord.' "'A hundred thousand crowns worth?' "'There may be a little more, as I mixed up liberally the raw stuff.' "'You are certainly a generous magician,' said the prince, fastening the fire-proof mask on while his heart throbbed gladly. "'Less than your eminence, though it is kind to praise me for generosity of which you are a good judge. Will your highness stand a little one side while I lift off the crucible-covers?' He had put on a stone-cloth shirt and seizing iron pincers. He lifted off an iron cover. This allowed one to see four similar melting-pots, each containing a fluid mass, one vermilion-red, others lighter, but all ruddy. "'Is that gold?' queried the prelate in an undertone, as if afraid by loud speaking to injure the mystery in progress. "'Yes, the four crucibles contain the metal in different stages of production, some having been on eleven hours, some twelve. The mixture is to be thrown into the first massive ingredients, the living stuff into the gross, at the moment of boiling. That is the secret which I do not mind communicating to a friend of the science. But as your eminence may notice, the first crucible is turning white-hot. It is time to draw the charge. Will you please stand well back, my lord?' Rohan obeyed with the same punctuality as a soldier obeying his captain. Dropping the iron pincers, which had already heated to redness, the other ran up to the furnace a carriage on wheels of the same level, the top being an iron block in which were set eight moulds of round shape and the same capacity. "'This is the mould in which I cast the ingots.'" Clinging the alchemist, on the floor he spread a lot of wet oakum wads to prevent the splashing of the metal setting the floor fire. He placed himself between the moulds and the furnace, opened a large book from which he read an incantation and said, as he caught up long tongs in his hand to clutch the crucible, "'The gold will be splendid, my lord, of the first quality.' "'Oh, you are never going to lift that mass single-handed!' exclaimed the spectator. "'Lo, it weighs fifty pounds. Yes, my lord, but do not fear, for few metal-melters have my strength and skill.' "'But if the crucible were to burst!' "'That did happen once to me, it was in thirteen ninety-nine, while I was experimenting with Nikola Flamel in his house by St. Jacques in the Shambles. Poor Nik, almost lost his life, and I lost twenty-seven marks worth of a substance more precious than gold. "'What the doos are you telling me? That you were pursuing the great work in thirteen ninety-nine with Nikola Flamel?' Yes, Flamel and I found the way while together fifty or sixty years before, working with Pietro the Good in the Pelletown. He did not pour out the crucible quickly enough, and I had a bad eye—the left one—for ten or twelve years from the steam. Of course, you know Pietro's book, the famous Margarita Pretiosa, dated thirteen thirty.' "'To be sure? And you knew Flamel, and Peter the Good?' I was the pupil of one and the master of the other.' While the alarmed Pellet wondered whether this might not be the Prince of Darkness himself, and not one of his imps by his side, Balsamo plunged his tongs into the incandescence. It was a sure and rapid seizure. He nipped the crucible four inches beneath the rim, testing the grip by lifting it just a couple of inches. Then, by a vigorous effort straining his muscles, he raised the frightful pot from the scorching bed. The tongs reddened almost up to the grasp. On the superheated surface, white streaks ran like lightning in a sulfurous cloud. The pot edges deepened into brick red, then browner while its conical shape appeared rosy and silvery in the twilight of the recesses. Finally, the molten metal could be spied, forming a violent cream on the top with golden shivers, which hissed out of the lips of the container, and leaped flaming into the black mould. And its orifice reappeared the gold, spouting up furious and fuming, as if insulted by the vile metal which had confined it. Number 2 Said Balsamo passing to the second mould, which he filled with the same skill and strength. Perspiration streamed from the founder while the beholder crossed himself in the shadow. It was truly a picture of wild and majestic horror. Illumed by the yellow gleams of the metallic flame, the operator resembled the condemned souls writhing in the infernos of Dante and Michelangelo in their cauldrons. Add to this the sensation of what was in progress being unheard of. Balsamo did not stop to take breath between the two drawings of the charges for time pressed. There is little loss. Observed he after filling the second mould. I let the boiling go on the hundredth of a minute too long. The hundredth of a minute! repeated the cardinal not trying to conceal his stupefaction. Trifles are enormous in the hermetical art. Replied the magician simply. But, anyway, here are two crucibles empty and two ingots cast, and they amount to a hundred weight of fine gold. Seizing the first mould with the powerful tongs, he threw it into a tub of water which seathed and steamed for a long time. At length he opened it and drew out an ingot of purest gold in the shape of a sugar-loaf, flattened at both ends. We shall have to wait nearly an hour for the other two, said Balsamo. While waiting, would your eminence not like to sit down and breathe the fresh air? And this is gold, said the cardinal without replying, which made the hearer smile for he had firm hold of him now. Does your eminence doubt? Science has so many times been deceived. You are not speaking your mind wholly, said Balsamo. You suppose that I cheat you, but do so with full knowledge? My lord, I should look very small to myself if I acted thus. For my ambition would then be restricted to the walls of this foundry, once you would go forth to give the rest of your admiration to the first juggler at the street-corner. Come. Come. Honor me better, my prince, and take it that I would cheat you more skillfully, and with a higher aim if cheating was intended by me. At all events, your eminence knows how to test gold. By the touchstone, of course. Has not my lord made the application of the lunar caustic to the Spanish gold coins, much like that card play on account of the gold being the finest, but among which a lot of counterfeits have got afloat. This indeed has happened to me. Well, here is acid and a blue stone, my lord. No. I am convinced. My lord, and do the pleasure of ascertaining that this is not only gold but gold without alloy. The doubter seemed averse to giving this proof of unbelief, and yet it was clear that he was not convinced. Balsamo himself tested the ingots and showed the results to his guest. Twenty-eight carats fine. He said, I am going to turn out the other twain. Ten minutes subsequently the two hundred thousand crowns worth of the precious metal was lying on the damp oakum bed in four ingots altogether. I saw your eminence coming in a carriage, so I presume it isn't waiting. Let it be driven up to my door, and I will have my man put the bullion in it. A hundred thousand crowns. muttered the prince, taking off the mask in order to gloat on the metal at his feet. As you saw it made, you can freely say so, added the conjurer. But do not make a town talk of it, for wizards are not liked in France. If I were making theories instead of solid metal, it would be a different matter. Then what can I do for you? questioned the prince, with difficulty hoisting one of the fifty pound lumps in his delicate hands. The other looked hard at him and burst into laughter without any respect. What is there laughable in the offer I make you? asked the cardinal. Why, your lordship offers me his services, and it seems more to the purpose that I should offer mine. You oblige me, he said with a clouding brow. And that I am eager to acknowledge, but if my gratitude ought to be rated higher than I appraise it, I will not accept the service. Thank heaven there are still enough users in Paris for me to find the hundred thousand crowns in a day. Half of my note of hand, half on security, my episcopal ring alone, is worth forty thousand lever. Holding out his white hand, white as a woman's, a diamond flashed on the ring finger as large as a hickory nut. Prince, you cannot possibly have held the idea for an instant that I meant to insult you. It is strange that truth seems to have this effect on all princes. He added as to himself. Your eminence offers me his services. I ask you yourself of what nature can they be? My credit at court to begin with. My lord, you know that is shaky, and I would rather have the Duke of Chasseuse, albeit he may not be the prime minister for yet a fortnight. Against your credit, look at my cash, the pure bright gold. Every time your eminence wants some, advise me overnight or the same morning, and I will conform to his desire. And with gold one obtains everything. Eh, my lord? Nay, not everything! muttered the Prince, falling from the perch of patronage and not even seeking to regain it. Quite right. I forgot that your eminence seeks something else than gold, a more precious boon than all earthly gifts. But that does not come within the scope of science, as in the range of magic. Say the word, my lord, and the alchemist will become a magician to serve you. Thank you. I need nothing and desire no longer. sighed the prelate. My lord, sighed the tempter drawing nearer. Such a reply ought not to be made to a wizard by a prince, young, fiery, handsome, rich, and bearing the name of Rohan, because the wizard reads hearts and knows to the contrary. I wish for nothing, repeated the high nobleman, almost frightened. On the contrary, I thought that your eminence entertained desires which he shrank from naming to himself as they are truly royal. I believe you are alluding to some words that you used in the Princess Royal's rooms. Said the Prince, starting, You were in error then, and are so still. Your highness is forgetting that I see as clearly in your heart what is going on now, as I saw your carriage coming from the Carmelite convent, traversing the town, and stopping under the trees fifty paces off from my house. Then explain. What is there? My lord, the princes of your house have always hungered for a great and hazardous love affair. I do not know what you mean, my lord. faltered the prince. Nay, you understand to a T. I might have touched several cords in you, but why the useless? I went straight to the heart-string which sounds loudest, and is vibrating deeply, I am sure. With a final effort of mistrust, the cardinal raised his head and interrogated the other's clear and sure gaze. The latter smiled with such superiority that the cardinal lowered his eyes. Oh, you are right not to meet my glance, my lord, for then I see into your heart too clearly. It is a mirror which retains the image which it has reflected. Silence, Count Phoenix! Do be silent! said the prelate, subjugated. Silence! You are right, for the time has not come to parade such a passion. Not yet. May it expect a future? Why not? And can you tell me whether this is not a mad passion, as I have thought, and must think until I have a proof to the opposite? You ask too much, my lord. I cannot say anything until I am in contact with some portion of the love-inspirers self. For instance, a tress of her golden hair, however scanty. Verily, you are a deep man. You truly say you can read into hearts as I in my prayer-book. Almost the very words your ancestor used. I mean, Chevalier Louis Rohan, when I bade farewell to him on the execution stage in the Bastille, which he had ascended so courageously. He said that you were deep. And that I read hearts, for I had forewarned him that Chevalier Perrault would betray him. He would not believe me, and he was betrayed. What a singular connection you make between my ancestor and me! He, said the cardinal, turning pale against his wish, only to show that you ought to be wary in procuring the lock to be cut from under a crown. No matter once it comes, you shall have it. Very well. Here is your gold. I hope you no longer doubt that it is gold. Give me pen and paper to write the receipt for this generous loan. What do I want a receipt from your lordship for? My dear count, I often borrow, but I never fail to write a receipt. Rejoined the prince. Have it in your own way, my lord. The cardinal took a quill and scrawled in large and illegible writing a signature under a line or two, which a schoolboy would be ashamed of at present. Will that do? he inquired, handing it to Balsimo who put it in his pocket without looking at it. Perfectly, he said. You have not read it? I have the word of a Rohan, and that is better than a bond. Count Phoenix, you are truly a noble man, and I cannot make you beholden to me. I am glad to be your debtor. Balsimo bowed and rang a bell to which Fritz responded, saying a few words in German to him. The servant wrapped up the ingots of gold in their wads of rope yarn, and took them all up as a boy might as many oranges in a handkerchief, a little strained but not hampered or bent under the weight. Have we a Hercules here? questioned the cardinal. He is rather lusty, my lord. Answered the necromancer. But I must own that, since he has been in my employment, I make him drink three drops every morning of an elixir which my learned friend, Dr. Altatis, compounded. It is beginning to do him good, and a year he will be able to carry a hundred weight on each finger. Marvelous. Incomprehensible. Declared the Prince Priest. Oh, I cannot resist the temptation tell everybody about this. Do so, my lord. replied the host, laughing. But do not forget that it is tantamount to pledging yourself to put out the match when they start the fire going to burn me in public. Having escorted his illustrious collar to the outer door, he took his leave with a respectful bow. But I do not see your man, said the visitor. He went to carry the gold to your carriage at the fourth tree on the right round the corner on the main street. That is what I told him in German, my lord. The cardinal lifted his hands in wonder and disappeared in the shadows. Balsamo waited until Fritz returned when he went back to the private inner house, fastening all the doors. End of Chapter 40 Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 41 of Balsamo, The Magician by Alexander Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE WATER OF LIFE He went to listen at Lorenzo's door where she was sleeping evenly and sweetly. He opened a panel and looked in upon her for some while in affectionate reverie. Closing the wicket he stole away to his laboratory where he put out the fire by opening a register plate which sent most of the heat up the chimney and ran in water from a tank without. In a pocketbook he carefully fastened up the receipt of Cardinal Rohan saying, The parole of a Rohan is all very well, but only for me, and the brothers will want to know yonder how I employ their money. These words were dying on his lips when three sharp wraps on the ceiling made him lift his head. Altautus wants me. And in a hurry. That is a good sign. With a long iron rod he wrapped in answer. He put away the tools and by means of an iron ring in a trap overhead which was the floor of a dumb waiter, as then they called elevators. He pulled this down to his feet. Placing himself in the centre of it he was carried gently by no spring but a simple hydraulic machine worked by the reservoir which had extinguished the fire up to the study reserved for the old alchemist. This new dwelling was eight feet by nine in height and sixteen in length. All the light came from a skylight as the four walls were without inlet. It was, relatively to the house on wheels, a palace. The old man was sitting in his easy chair on casters at the middle of a horseshoe-shaped table and iron with a marble top laden with a quantity of plants, books, tools, bottles, and papers traced with cabalistic signs, chaos. He was so rapt in thought that he was not disturbed by the entrance. A globe of crystal hung over his yellow end-balled plate. In this a sort of serpent, fine and coiled like a spring, seemed to curl and it sent forth a bright and unvarying light, without other apparent source of luminous supply than the chain supporting the globe might contain to transmit. He was candling a file of ground glass in his fingers as a good wife tries eggs. Well, anything new? said Balsamo after having silently watched him for a while. Yes, yes, I am delighted, Acherot, for I have found what I sought. Gold? Diamonds? Poo, they are pretty discoveries for my soul to rejoice over. I suppose you mean your elixir in that case. Yes, my boy, my elixir, life everlasting. Oh, so you are still harping on that string? said the younger sage sadly, for he thought his senior was following an idle dream, but without listening Altautus was lovingly peering into his file. The proportions are found at last, he mumbled. Alixir of Aristaeus, twenty grams, balm of mercury, fifteen, precipitate of gold, fifteen, essence of Lebanon cedar, twenty-five grams. But it seems to me, bar the Aristaean Alixir, this is about what you last mixed up. That is so, but there was lacking the binding ingredient without which the rest are no good. Can one procure it? Certainly, it is three drops of a child's arterial blood. And have you the child? gasped balsamo horrified. No, I expect you to find one for me. Master, you are mad. In what respect? asked the emotionless old man, licking with his tongue the stopper of the file from which a little of the nectar had oozed. The child would be killed. What of it? The finer the child, the better the heart's blood. It cannot be. Children are no longer butchered, but brought up with care. Indeed. How fickle is the world. Three years ago we were offered more children than we knew what to do with, for four charges of gunpowder or a pint of Trader's whiskey. That was on the Congo River in Africa, Master. I believe so. But it does not matter if the young is black. I remember that what they offered were sprightly, woolly-headed, jolly little urchins. Unfortunately, we are no longer on the Congo. We are in Paris. Well, we can embark from Marseille and be in Africa in six weeks. That can be done, but I must stay in France on serious business. Business? It's near the old man, sending forth a peel of shrill laughter, most legubrious. True, I had forgotten that you have political clubs to organize, conspiracies to foster, and, in short, serious business. And he laughed again, forced and false. Balsamo held his peace, reserving his powers for the storm and pending. How far has your business advanced? He inquired, painfully turning in his chair and fixing his large gray eyes on the pupil. I have thrown the first stone. He replied, feeling the glance go through him. The pool is stirred up. The mud is in agitation. The philosophic sediment. Yes, you are going to bring into play your utopias, fogs, and hollow dreams. These idiots dispute about the existence or non-existence of the almighty, when they might become little gods themselves. Let us hear who are the famous philosophers whom you have enlisted. I have already the leading poet and the greatest atheist of the age, who will be coming into France presently, to be made a freemason in the lodge I am getting up in the old Jesuits College, Pottafé Street. His name is Voltaire. I do not know him. The next? I am to be introduced to the greatest sower of ideas of the century, the author of the social contract, Rousseau. He is not known to me either. I expect not, as you only know such old alchemists as Alfonso the Wise, Raymond the Lully, Peter of Toledo, and Albert the Great. Because they are the only men who have really loved a life, so do ideas that live and labored at the grand question of to be or not to be. There are two ways of living, Master. I only know of one existing, but to return to your brace of philosophers with their help you intend to grasp the present and sap the future. How stupid they must be in this country to be lured away by ideas. No, it is because they have too much brains that they are led by ideas. And then I have a more powerful help than all the philosophers, the fact that monarchy has lasted 1600 years in France, and the French are tired of it. Hence they are going to overturn the throne, and you are backing them with all your forces. You fool, what good is the upsetting of this monarchy going to do you? It will bring me nothing at the best, but it will be happiness for others. Come, come, I am in a good humor today, and can listen to your nonsense explain to me how you will obtain the general wheel, and what it consists of. A ministry is in power which is the last rampart defending the monarchy. It is a cabinet, brave, industrious, and intelligent, which might sustain this worn-out and staggering monarchy for yet twenty years. My aides will overturn it. Your philosophers? Oh no, for they are in favor of the ministry, for its head is a philosopher too. Then they are a selfish pack. What great imbeciles! I do not care to discuss what they are, for I do not know. Said Balsamo, who is losing his patience. I only know that they will all cry down the next ministry when this one is destroyed. This new cabinet will have against it the philosophers and then the parliament. They will make such an uproar that the cabinet will persecute the philosophers and block the parliament. Then in mind and matter will be organized a sullen league, a tenacious, stubborn, restless opposition which will attack everything, undermining and shaking. Instead of parliament they will try to rule with judges appointed by the king. They will do everything for their appointer. With reason they will be accused of inality, corruption, and injustice. The people will rise, and at last royalty will have a raid against its philosophy, which is intelligence, parliament, which is the middle class, and the mob, which is the people. In other words, the lever with which Archimedes can raise the world. Well, when you have lifted it, you will have to let it fall again. Yes, but when it falls it will smash the royalty. To use your figurative language. When this worm-aten monarchy is broken, what will come out of the ruins? Freedom. The French? Be free. Well, then there will be thirty millions of free men in France. Yes. Among them. Do you not think there will be one with a bigger brain than another, who will rob them of freedom, some fine mourning, that he may have a larger share than his proper one for himself? Do you not remember a dog we had at Medina, which used to eat as much as all the rest together? Yes, and I remember that they all together pitched on him one day and devoured him. Because they were dogs. Men would have continued to give in to the greediest. Do you set the instincts of animals above the intelligence of man? For sooth, the examples abound by which to prove it. Among the ancients was one Julius Caesar, and among the moderns one Oliver Cromwell, who ate up the Roman and the English cake, without anybody snatching many crumbs away from them. Well, supposing such a new supper comes he must die some day, being mortal. But before dying he must do good to even those whom he oppressed. For he would have changed the nature of the upper classes, obliged to have some kind of support he will choose the popular as the strongest. To the equality which abases he will oppose the kind which elevates. Equality has no fixed watermark, but takes the level of him who makes it. In raising the lowest classes he will have hollowed a principle unknown before his time. The revolution will have made the French free. The protectorate of another Caesar, or Cromwell, will have made them equal. What a stupid fellow this is, said Altatis, starting in his chair, to spend twenty years in bringing up a child, so that he shall come and tell you who taught him all you knew. Men are equal, before the law may be, but before death. How about that? One dies in three days, another lives a hundred years. Men equals, before they have conquered death. Oh, the brute, the triple brute! Altatis sat back to laugh more freely at Balsimo, who kept his head lowered, gloomy and thoughtful. His instructor took pity on him. Unhappy sophist that you are. Bear in mind one thing, that men will not be equals, until they are immortal. Then they will be gods, and these alone are undying. Immortal. What a dream, sighed the mesmerist. Dream? So is the steam, the electric fluid, all that we are hunting after, and not yet caught. A dream. But we will seize, and they will be realities. Move with me, the dust of ages, and see that man in all times has been seeking what I am engaged upon. Under the different titles of the bliss, the best, the perfection. Had they found it, this decrepit world would be fresh and rosy as the morning. Instead, see the dry leaf, the corpse, the carrion heap. His suffering desirable, the corpse pleasant to look upon, the carrion sweet. You yourself are saying that nobody has found this water of life? Observed Balsimo as the old man was interrupted by a dry cough. I tell you that nobody will find it. By this rule there would be no discoveries. Do you think discoveries are novelties which are invented? Not so. They are forgotten things coming up anew. Why were the ones found things forgotten? Because the inventor's life was too short for him to derive from it all its perfection. Twenty times they have nearly consummated the water of life. Kiran would have made Achilles completely immortal but for the lack of the three drops of blood, which you refuse me. In the flaw death found a passage and entered. I repeat that Kiran was another Altotis prevented by an Acherot from completing the work which would save all mankind by shielding it from the divine malediction. Well, what have you to say to that? Merely, said Balsimo, visibly shaken, that you have your work and I mine. Let each accomplish his at his risks and perils, but I will not second yours by a crime. A crime? When I ask but three drops of blood, one child, and you would they lose a country with billions of gallons. Tell me now, who is the cannibal of us too? Ha ha, you do not answer me. My answer is that three drops would be nothing if you were sure of success. Are you sure? Who would send millions to the scaffold and battlefield? Can you stand up before the Creator and say, Oh, Master of life, in return for four millions of slain men, I will warrant the happiness of humanity. Master, ask for something else. Said Balsimo, eluding the point, Ha, you do not answer. You cannot answer, taunted out Hattus triumphantly. You must be mistaken on the efficacy of the means. It is impossible. It looks as if you argued with me, disputed, deem me a liar, said the old alchemist, rolling with cold anger in his gray eyes under his white brows. No, but I am in contact with men and things, and you dwell in a nook in the pure abstraction of a student. I see the difficulties and have to point them out. You would soon overcome such difficulties if you liked or believed. I do not believe. But do you believe that death is an incontestable thing, invincible and infinite? And when you see a dead body, does not the perspiration come to your brow, and a regret is born in your breast? No regret comes into my breast, because I have familiarized myself to all human miseries, and I esteem life as a little thing. But I say in presence of the corpse, dead, thou who were mighty as a god. O death, it is thou who reigns sovereignly, and nothing can prevail against thee. Hattus listened in silence, with no other token of impatience than fidgeting with a scalpel in his hands. When his disciple had finished the solemn and doleful phrase, he smiled while looking around, his eyes so burning that no secrets seemed to exist for him, stopped on a nook in the room where a little dog trembled on a handful of straw. It was the last of three of a kind which Balsamo had provided on request of the elder for his experiments. Bring that dog to this table, said he to Balsamo, who laid the creature on a marble slab. Seeming to foresee its doom, and having probably already been handled by the disector, the animal shuddered, wriggled and yelped at contact of the cold stone. So you believe in life, since you do in death, squeaked, Al-Tattus. This dog looks live enough, eh? Certainly as it moves and whines. How ugly black dogs are! I should like white ones another time. Howl away, you curr! said the vivis-sectionist, with his legubrious laugh. Howl to convince Grand Seen your acorot that you live! He pierced the animal at a certain muscle so that he whimpered instead of barking. Good! Push the bell of the air-pump hither. But stay! I must ask what kind of death you prefer for him. Deem best! I do not know what you mean. Death is death, master. Very correct what you say, and I agree with you, since one kind of death is the same as another. Exhaust the air, acorot! Balsamo worked the air-pump, and the air and the bell of glass hissed out at the bottom so that the little puppy grew uneasy at the first, looked around, began to sniff, put his paw to the issue till the pain of the pressure made him take it away, and then he fell suffocated, puffed up, and asphyxiated. Behold, the dog dead of apoplexy! pronounced the sage, this is a fine mode, with no long suffering. But you do not seem fully convinced. I suppose you know how well laden I am with resources, and you think I have the method of restoring the respiration? No, I am not supposing that. The dog is truly not alive. Never mind. We will make assurance doubly sure, by killing the canine twice. Lift off the receiver, acorot! The glass bell was removed, and there lay the victim never stirring with eyes shut, and heart without a beat. Take the scalpel, and sever the spinal column without cutting the larynx. I do so, solely because you say it. And to finish the paw creature, in case it be not dead, said the other with a smile of obscenity, peculiar to the aged. With one incision, Balsamos separated the vertebral column a couple of inches from the brain, and opened a yawning gash. The body remained unmoving. He is an inert animal. I see cold forever without movement, eh? You say, nothing prevails against death. No power can restore even the appearance of life, far less life itself, to this carcass. Only the miracle of heaven. But heaven does not do such things. Supreme wisdom kills because there is reason or benefit to the act. An assassin said so, and he was quite right. Nature has an interest in the death. Now, what will you say if this dog opens his eyes and looks at you? It would much astonish me, said the pupil, smiling. I am glad to hear that it would do as much as that. As he drew the dog up to an apparatus which we know as a voltaic pile, he rounded off his words with his false and grating laugh. The pile was composed of a vessel containing strips of metal separated by felt. All were bathed in acidulated water. Out of the cup came the two ends of wire, the poles, to speak technically. Which eye shall it open, Akkarat? inquired the experimentalist. The right. The two extremities were brought together, but parted by a little silk on a neck muscle. In an instant the dog's right eye opened and stared at Balsamo, who could not help recoiling. Look out, said the infernal jester with his dry laugh. Ah, dead dog is going to bite you! Indeed, the animal in spite of its sundered spine with gaping jaws and tremulous eye suddenly got upon its four legs and tottered on them, with his hair bristling, Balsamo receded to the door uncertain whether to flee or remain. But we must not frighten you to death in trying to teach you. Said Altatis, pushing back the cadaver and the machine, the contact broken, the carcass fell back into immovability. You see, that we may arrive at the point I spoke of my son, and pro-long life, since we can, a null death. Not so, for you have only obtained a semblance of life. Objected Balsamo. In time we shall make it real. The Roman poets and they were esteemed prophets. Assert that Cassidius revived the dead. But one objection, supposing your elixir perfect and a dog given some, it would live on until it fell into the hands of a disector who would cut its throat. I thought you would take me there, chuckled the old wizard, clapping his hands. Your elixir will not prevent a chimney falling on a man, a bullet going clear through him or a horse kicking his skull open. Altatis eyed the speaker like a fencer, watching his antagonist make a lunge which lays him open to defeat. No, no, no, and you are a true logician. No, my dear Akkarot, such accidents cannot be avoided. The wounds will still be made, but I can stop the vital spirit issuing by the whole. Look! Before the other could interfere, he drove the lancet into his arm. The old man had so little blood that it was some time flowing to the cut, but when it came it was abundantly. Great God, you have hurt yourself! cried the younger man. We must convince you. Taking up a file of colorless fluid, he poured a few drops on the wound. Instantly the liquid congealed, or rather throughout fibers materializing, and soon a plaster of a yellow hue covered in the gash and staunched the flow. Malsimo had never seen Kalodian, and he gazed in stupefaction at the old sage. You are the wisest of men, father. At least if I have not dealt death a deathblow, I have given him a thrust under which he will find it hard to rise. You see, my son, that the human frame has brittle bones. I will harden and yet supple them like steel. It has blood which, in flowing out, carries life with it. I will stop the flow. The skin and flesh are soft. I will tan them, so that they will turn the edge of steel and blunt the points of spears, while bullets will flatten against it. Only let an altatus live three hundred years. Well, give me what I want, and I shall live a thousand. Oh, my dear Akarat, all depends on you. Bring me the child. I will think it over, and do you likewise reflect? The sage darted a look of withering scorn on his adept. Go! he snarled. I will convince you later. Besides, human blood is not so precious that I cannot use a substitute. Go, and let me seek. I shall find. I have no need of you. Be gone! Balsamo walked over to the elevator, and with a stamp of the foot caused it to carry him down to the other floor. Mute! Crushed by the genius of this wizard, he was forced to believe in impossible things by his doing them. The King's New Amour This same long night had been employed by Countess Duvery in trying to mold the king's mind to a new policy according to her views. Above all, she had dwelt upon the necessity of not letting the Swassil party win possession of the Delfines. The king had answered carelessly that the princess was a girl, as Swassil an old statesman, so that there was no danger since one only wanted to sport and the other to labour. Enchanted at what he thought a witticism, he cut short further dry talk. But Jean did not stay stopped, for she fancied the royal lover was thinking of another. He was fickle. His great pleasure was in making his lady loves jealous, as long as they did not sulk too long or become too riotous in their jealous fits. Jean Duvery was jealous naturally and from fear of a fall. Her position had cost her too much pains to conquer and was too far from the starting point for her to tolerate rivals as Lady Pompadour had done, hence she wanted to know what was on the royal mind. He answered by these memorable words of which he did not mean a jot. I intend to make my daughter-in-law very happy and I am afraid that my son will not make her so. Why not, Sire? Because he looks at other women a good deal and very seldom at her. If any but your Majesty said that, I should disbelieve them, for the Archduchess is sweetly pretty. She might be rounded out more. That man was held at Tavernay is the same age and she has a finer figure. She is perfectly lovely. Fire flashed in the favorite's eyes and warned the speaker of his blunder. Why, I wager that you were plump as Watteau's shepherdesses at 16. Said he quickly. Which adulation improved matters a little, but the mischief was done. Said she, bridling up under the please smile. Is the young lady of the Tavernay family so very, very fair? I only noticed that she was not a bag of bones. You know I am short-sighted and the general outline alone strikes me. I saw that the newcomer from Austria was not plump. That is all. Yes. You must only see generally, for the Austrian is a stylish beauty and the provincial lady a vulgar one. According to this, Jean, you would be a vulgar kind, said the monarch. You are joking, I think. That is a compliment, but it is wrapped up in a compliment to another. Thought the favorite, and allowed, she said. Faith, I should like the Dauphinest to choose a bevy of beauties for maids of honour. A court of old tabbeases, frightful. You are talking over one-one to your side, for I was saying the same thing to the Dauphin, but he is indifferent. However, she begins well, you think, to take this tavernet girl. She has no money. No, but she has blood. The tavernet red castles are a good old house, and long-time servants of the realm. Who is backing them? Not the Swasseurs, for they would be over-feasted with pensions in that case. I beg you not to bring in politics, Countess. Is it bringing in politics to say that the Swasseurs are blood-sucking the realm? Certainly. And he arose. In hour after he regained the grand Trinon Palace, happy at having inspired jealousy, though he said to himself, as a Richelieu might do at thirty, what a bother these jealous women are! Douberry went into her boudoir where Chan was impatiently waiting for the news. You are having fine success, she exclaimed. Day before yesterday presented to the Dauphiness, you dined at her table yesterday. That's so. But much good in such nonsense. Nonsense? When a hundred fashionable carriages are racing to bring you courtiers? I am vexed. Sorry for them, as they will not have any smiles for me this morning. Let me have my chocolate. Store me whether, eh? Chan rang, and Zamor came in to get the order. He started off so slowly, and humping his back that the Mistress cried, Is that slow-coach going to make me perish of hunger? If he plays the camel and does not hurry, he'll get a hundred lashes on his back. Me no hurry, me governor, replied the black boy majestically. You a governor? screamed the lady, flourishing a fancy riding whip kept to maintain order among the spaniels. I'll give you a lesson in governing. But the negro ran out yelling. You are quite ferocious, Jean, remarked her sister. Surely I have the right to be ferocious in my own house. Certainly, but I am going to elope, for fear I may be devoured alive. Three knocks on the door came to interrupt the outbreak. Hang it all. Who is bothering now? cried the countess, stamping her foot. He is in for a nice welcome, muttered Chan. It will be a good thing if I am badly received, said Jean, as he pushed open the door as widely as though he were a king. For then I should take myself off and not come again, and you would be the greater loser of the two. Saucebox. Because I am not a flatterer. What is the matter with the girl this morning, John? She is not safe to go near. Oh, here comes the chocolate. Good morning, chocolate. Said the favourites brother, taking the platter and putting it on a small table at which he seated himself. Come and tuck it in, John. Those who are too proud won't get any. That's all. You are a nice pair, said Jean, gobbling up the bread and butter instead of wondering what worries me. Out of cash, I suppose, said Chan. Poo! The king will run out before I do. Then lend me a thousand. I can do with it, said the man. You will get a thousand Phillips on the nose sooner than a thousand Louis. Is the king going to keep that abominable choiseul? Question, Chan. That is no novelty. You know that they are sticks in the mud. Has the old boy fallen in love with the duffiness? You are getting warm, but look at the glutton ready to burst with swilling chocolate and will not let the finger to help me out of my quandary. You never mean to say the king has another fancy? Cried Chan, clasping her hands and turning pale. If I did not say so, your brother would, for he will either choke with the chocolate or get it out. Thus adjured, John managed to gasp the name. A genre of tavernay. The baron's daughter? Oh, mercy! groaned John. I do not know what keeps me from tearing his eyes out, the lazy bones to go puffing them up with sleep when our fortunes stagger. With want of sleep you mean? Returned John. I am sleepy, as I am hungry for the same reason. I have been running about the streets all night. Just like you. And all the morning. You might have run to some purpose, and found out where that intriguing jade is housed. The very thing. I questioned the driver of the carriage lent to them, and he took them to Kok Heron Street. They are living in a little house at the back, next door to our men-on-veal house. John, John, we are good friends again, said the Countess. Gorge as you like, but we must have all the particulars about her, how she lives, who calls on her, and what she is about. Does she get any love letters? These are important to know. I have got her started on the right road, anyway, said John. Suppose you do a little now. Well, suggested John, there must be rooms to let in that street. Excellent idea, said the Countess. You must be off quickly to the place, John, and hire a flat there, where a watcher can mark down all her doings. No use. There are no rooms to hire there, I inquired, but I can get what we want in the street at the back, overlooking their place, Plastriera Street. Well, quick, get a room there. I have done that, answered John. Admirable fellow, come, let me bust thee, exclaimed the royal favorite. John wiped his mouth, received the caress, and made a ceremonious bow to show that he was duly grateful for the honour. I took the little sweet for a young widow, young widow, you, John. Capital, it shall be John who will take the lodgings, and keep an eye on what goes on. But you must not lose any time, the coach. Cried Dubahy, ringing the bell so loudly that she would have roused all the spellbound servants of the Palace of the Sleeping Beauty. The three knew how highly to rate Andrea, for at her first sight she had excited the king's attention, hence she was dangerous. This girl, said the Countess, while the carriage was being got ready. Cannot be a true country wench, if she has not made some sweetheart follow her to Paris. Let us hunt up this chap, and get her married to him offhand, nothing would so piss off the king as rustic lovers getting wedded. I do not know so much about that, said John. Let us be distrustful, his most Christian majesty is greedy for what is another's property. John departed in the coach, with John's promise that he would be her first visitor in the new lodgings. She was in luck, for she had hardly more than taken possession of the rooms, and gone to look out of the window commanding a view of the rear gardens, then a young lady came to sit at the summer-house window, with embroidery in her hand. It was Andrea. Two birds with one stone. John had not been many minutes scanning the taverné lady, when Viscount Jean, racing up the stairs four at a time like a schoolboy, appeared on the threshold of the pretended widow's room. Hoorah, John! I am place-blendedly to see what goes on, but I am unfortunate about hearing. You ask too much. Oh, I say I have a bit of news, marvelous and incomparable. These philosophic fellows say a wise man ought to be ready for anything, but I cannot be wise for this, knocked me. I give you a hundred chances to guess who I ran up against at a public fountain at the corner. He was sopping a piece of bread in the gush, and it was our philosopher. Oh, Gilbert? The very boy, with bare head, open waistcoat, stockings on gartered shoes without buckles, in short, just as he turned out of bed. Then he lives by here. Did you speak to him? We recognized one another, and when I thrust out my hand he bolted like a harrier among the crowd, so that I lost sight of him. You don't think I was going to run after him, do you? Hardly, but then you have lost him. What a pity, said the girl Sylvie, whom John had brought along as her maid. Yes, certainly, said John. I owe him a hundred stripes with a whip, and they would not have spoiled by keeping any longer had I got a grip of his color. But he guessed my good intentions and fled. No matter, here he is in town, and when one has the ear of the chief of police, anybody can be found. Shut him up when you catch him, said Sylvie, but in a safe place. And make you turn key over him? Suggested John, winking, she would like to take him his bread and water. Stop your joking, brother, said John. The young fellow saw your row over the post horses, and he is to be feared if you set him against you. How can he live without means? Tut, he will hold horses or run errands. Never mind him. Come to our observatory. Brother and sister approached the window with infinity of precautions. John had provided himself with a telescope. Andrea had dropped her needlework, put up her feet in a lower chair, taken a book, and was reading it with some attention, for she remained very still. Fee on the studious person, sneered John. What an admirable one. Added John, a perfect being. What arms, what hands, what eyes, lips that would wreck the soul of St. Anthony. Oh, the divine feet, and what an ankle in that silk hose. Hold your tongue. This is coming on finally, said John. You are smitten with her now. This is the drop that fills the bucket. It would not be a bad job if it were so, and she returned me the flame a little. It would save our poor sister a lot of worry. Let me have the spy-glass a while. Yes, she is very handsome, and she must have had a sweetheart out there in the woods. But she is not reading. See, the book slips out of her hand. I tell you, John, that she is in a brown study. She sleeps, you mean? Not with her eyes open. What lovely eyes. This is a good glass, John. I can almost read in her book. What is the book, then? John was leaning out a little when she suddenly drew back. Gracious. Look at that head sticking out of the garret window. Gilbert, by Jove, with what burning eyes he is glaring on the tavernay girl. I have it. He is the country gallant of his lady. He has had the notice where she was coming to live in Paris, and he has taken a room close to her. A change of dovecoat for the turtle doves. Sister, we need not trouble now, for he will do all the watching. For his own gain. No, for ours. Let me pass, as I must go and see the chief of police, by Jupiter, what luck we have. But don't you let philosopher catch a glimpse of you. He would de-camp very quick. End of Chapter 43, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 44 of Balsam of the Magician by Alexander Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The Plan of Action Sartina had allowed himself to sleep late, as he had managed the multitude very well during the Dauphinès' reception, and he was trying on new wigs at noon as a kind of holiday, when Chevalier Jean-Dubarie was announced. The Minister of Police was sure that nothing unpleasant had occurred, as the favourite's brother was smiling. What brings you so early? To begin with, replied John, always ready to flatter those of whom he wanted to make use. I am bound to compliment you on the admirable way in which you regulated the processions. Is this official? Quiet. So far as Lucien is concerned. Is not that ample? Does not the sun rise in that quarter? This goes down there very often, eh? And the pair laughed, but the compliments apart, I have a service to ask of you. To, if you like. Tell me if anything lost in Paris can be found. Yes, or whether worthless or very valuable. My object of search is not worth much. Responded John, shaking his head. Only a young fellow of eighteen, named Gilbert, who was in the service of the Tavernais in Lorraine, but was picked up on the road by my sister, John, she took him to Lucien, where he abused the hospitality. Stole something? I do not say so, but he took flight in a suspicious manner. Have you any clue to his hiding place? I met him at the fountain at the corner of Plastrierre Street, where I suppose he is living, and I believe I could lay my hand on the very house. All right, I will send a sure agent, who will take him out of it. The fact is, this is a special affair, and I should like you to manage it without a third party. Oh, in that case, let me pick out a becoming wig, and I am with you. I have a carriage below. Thank you. I prefer my own. It gets a new coat of paint every month, so as not to betray me. He had tried on his twentieth perook when the carriage was waiting at the door. There it is, the dirty house, said Jean, pointing in the direction of a dwelling in Plastrierre Street. Ooh, said Sartina, dash me if I did not suspect this. You are unlucky, for that is the dwelling of Rousseau, of Geneva. The Scribbler, what does that matter? It matters that, uh, Rousseau is a man to be dreaded. Poo! It is not likely my little man will be harbored by a celebrity. Why not, as you nicknamed him a philosopher, birds of a feather, you know? Suppose it is so. Why not put this Rousseau in the Bastille if he is in our way? Well, he would be more in our way there than here. You see, the mob likes to throw stones at him, but they would pelt us if he was no longer their target, and they want him for themselves. But let us see into this. Sit back in the carriage. He referred to a notebook. My habit, if your young blade is with Rousseau, when would he have met him? Say, on the sixteenth instant. Good, he returned from botanizing in Moidon Wood on the seventeenth with a youth, and this stranger stayed all night under his roof. You are crossed by luck. Give it up, or you would have all the philosophers against us in riot. Oh, Lord, what will sister Rousseau do? Lord, what will sister Jean say? Oh, does the Countess want the lad? Why not coax him out, and then weak would nab him, anywhere not inside Rousseau's house? You might as well coax a hyena. My doubt it is so difficult. All you want is a go-between. Let me see. A prince will not do. Better one of these writers, a poet, a philosopher, or a bowtongue. Stay, I have him. Gilbert. Yes, through a botanist friend of Rousseau's. You know, Jusous. Yes, for the Countess lets him prowl in her gardens and rifle them. I begin to believe that you shall have your Gilbert without any noise. Rousseau will hand him over, pinioned, so to say. So you go on making a trap for philosophers. According to a plan I will give you. On vacant ground, out, madame, or mildly way. Now let us be off, as the passengers are beginning to stare at us. Home, coachman! CHAPTER 45 OF BOLSOMO THE MAGICIAN by Alexander Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. TOO GOOD A TEACHER Fatigued by the ceremonies of the Dauphine's nuptials, and particularly by the dinner, which was too stately, the king retired at nine o'clock and dismissed all attendants except Duke Voguean, tutor of the royal children. As he was losing his best pupil by the marriage, having only his two brothers to teach, and as it is the custom to reward a preceptor when education of a charge is complete, he expected a recompense. He had been sobbing, and now he slipped out a pocket handkerchief and began to weep. Come, my poor Voguean! said the king, pointing to a footstool in the light while he would be in the shade. Pray, be seated without any to-do! the Duke sighed. The education is over, and you have turned out in the Prince Vogue the best educated prince in Europe. I believe he is. Good at history, at geography, and at woodturning. The praise for that goes to another sire. And at setting timepieces in order, before he handled them, my clocks told the time one after another like wheels of a coach. But he has put them right. In short, the heir to the crown will, I believe, be a good king, a good manager, and a good father of family. I suppose he will be a good father. He insisted. Why, your majesty, said Voguean simply, I consider that, as the Dauphin has all the germs of good in his bosom, those that constitute that are in the cluster. Come, come, my lord, said the sovereign, let us speak plainly. As you know the Dauphin thoroughly, you must know all about his tastes and his passions. Pardon me, sire, but I have extirpated all his passions. Confound it all! This is just what I feared! exclaimed Louis XV, with an energy which made the hearer's wig stand its hairs on end. Sire, the Duke of Barrie has lived under your august roof with the innocence of the studious youth. But the youth is now a married man! Sire, as the guide of... Yes, well, I see that you must guide him to the very last. Please, your majesty. This is the way of it. You will go to the Dauphin, who is now receiving the final compliments of the gentleman as the Dauphin estus receiving those of the ladies. Get a candle, take your pupil aside, show him the nuptial chamber which is at the end of a corridor filled with pictures which I have selected as a complete course of the instruction which your lordship omitted. Ah, said the Duke, starting at the smile of his master which would have appeared cynical on any mouth but his, the wittiest in the kingdom. At the end of the new corridor I say, of which here is the key. Vogueon took it trembling. You will shake your pupil's hand, put the candle into it, wish him good night and tell him that it will take 20 minutes to reach the bedroom door, giving a minute to each painting. I... I understand. That is a good thing. Your majesty is good enough to excuse me. I suppose I shall have to, but you were making this end prettily for my family. From the window the king could see the candle which passed from the hands of Vogueon, into that of his guileless pupil, go the way up the new gallery and flicker out. I gave him 20 minutes. I myself found five long enough. muttered the king. Alas, will they say of the Dauphin as of the second Racine, he is the nephew of his grandfather. End of Chapter 45 Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 46 of Balsamo the Magician by Alexander Dumas translated by Henry L. Williams this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A terrible wedding night. The Dauphin opened the door of the anti-room before the wedding chamber. The archduchess was waiting in a long white wrapper with the strange anticipation on her brow, along with the sweet expectation of the bride of some disaster. She seemed menaced with one of those terrors which nervous dispositions foresee and support sometimes with more bravery than if not awaited. Lady Noia was seated by the gilded couch which easily held the princess's frail and dainty body. The maids of honour stood at the back, waiting for the mistresses of the attendants to make them the sign to withdraw. These were all ignorant that the Dauphin was coming by a new way in. As the corridor was empty and the door at the end ajar, he could see and hear what went on in the room. In what direction does my lord the Dauphin come? Inquired the Austrian's pure and harmonious voice, though slightly tremulous. Yonder? replied Lady Noia, pointing just the wrong way. What is that noise outside? Not unlike the roaring of angry waters. It is the tumult of the innumerable sightseers walking about under the illumination and waiting for the fireworks display. The illuminations, said the princess with a sad smile. They must have been timely this evening, for did you not notice it was very black weather? At this moment the Dauphin, who was tired of waiting, thrust his head in at the door and asked if he might enter. Lady Noia screamed, for she did not recognize the intruder at first. The Dauphiness worked up into a nervous state by the incidents of the day, seized the duchess's arm in her fright. It is I, madame, have no fear, called out the prince. But why by that way? said Lady Noia. Because? explained Louis the King, showing his head at the half-open door. Because the Duke of Foggyon knows so much Latin, mathematics, and geography as to leave room for nothing else. In presence of the King so untimely arrived, the Dauphiness slipped off the couch and stood up in the wrapper, clothed from head to foot like a Vestal Virgin in her stole. Anyone can see that she is thin, muttered the King. What the deuce made whilst her pick out the skinny chicken among all the pulleys of European courts? Your Majesty were pleased to observe that I acted according to the strict etiquette. Said the duchess of Noia. The infraction was on my lord at the Dauphin's part. I take it on myself, so let us leave the children to themselves. Said the monarch. The princess sees the lady's arm with more terror than before. Oh, don't go away. She faltered. I shall die of shame. Sire, the Dauphiness begs to be allowed to go to rest without any state. Said Lady Noia. The deuce! And does Lady Etiquette herself crave that? Look at the archduchess. In fact, Marie Antoinette standing up pale and with her rigid arm sustaining her by a chair resembled a statue of fright, but for the slight chattering of her teeth and the cold perspiration bedoing her forehead. Oh, I should not think of causing the young lady any pain. Said Louis the Fifteenth, as little strict about forums as his father was the other thing. Let us retire, duchess. Besides, the doors have locks. The Dauphin blushed to hear these words of his grandfather, but the lady, though hearing, had not understood. King Louis the Fifteenth embraced his granddaughter-in-law and went forth with Lady Noia, laughing mockingly and sadly for those who did not share his merriment. The other persons had gone out by the other door. The wedded pair were left alone in silence. At last the young husband approached his bride with a bosom beating rapidly. To his temples, pressed in wrist, he felt all his repressed blood rushing hotly, but he guessed that his grandfather was behind the door and the cynical glance still chilled the Dauphin, very timid and awkward by nature. You are not well, madame. He stammered. You are very pale, and I think you are trembling. I cannot conceal that I am under a spell of agitation. There must be some terrible storm overhead, for I am peculiarly affected by thunderstorms. Indeed, she shook by spasms as though affected by electrical shocks. At this time, as though to justify her assertion a furious gust of wind, such as shear the tops off mountains and heap up half the sea against the other, the first whoop of the coming tempest filled the palace with tumult, anguish, and many a creaking. Leaves were swept off the branches, branches off the bowels and from the trees. A long and immense clamour was drawn from the hundred thousand spectators in the gardens. A lugubrious and endless bellowing ran through the corridors and galleries, composing the most awful notes that had ever vibrated in human ears. Then, in ominous rattling and jingling succeeded the roar, it was the fall of countless shivers of glass out of the window panes on the marble slabs and cornices. At the same time, the gale had opened one of the shutters and banged it to and fro like a wings of a bird of night. Wherever the window had been open and where the glass was shivered, the lights were put out. The prince went over to the window to fasten the broken shutter, but his wife held him back. Oh, pray, do not open that window, for the lights will be blown out and I should die of fright. He stopped. Through the casement beyond the curtain which he had drawn, the treetops of the park were visible, swayed from side to side as if some unseen giant were waving them by the stems. All the illuminations were extinguished. Then could be seen on the dark sky still blacker clouds coming on with a rolling motion, like troops of cavalry wrapped in dust. The pallid prince stood with one hand on the sash handle, the bride sank on a chair with a sigh. You are very much alarmed, madame. Yes, though your presence supports me. Oh, what a storm! Oh, the pretty lights are put out. Yes, it is a southwest wind, always the worst for storms. If it holds out, I do not know how they will be able to set off the fireworks. What would be the use of them? Everybody will be out of the gardens in such weather. You do not know what our French are when there is a show. They cry for the pyrotechnics, and this is to be superb. The pyrotechnists showed me the sketches. There, look at the first rockets. Indeed, brilliant as long fiery serpents the trial rockets rushed up into the clouds, but at the same time, as if the storm had taken the flash as a challenge, one stroke of lightning seeming to split the sky snaked among the rockets ascending and eclipsed their red glare with its bluish flaring. Fairly, it is in piety for man to contest with God. Said the archduchess. The trial rockets had preceded the general display by but a few minutes, as the pyrotechnists felt the need of hastening, and the first set pieces were fired and were hailed with a cheer of delight. But as though they were really a war between man and heaven, the storm, irritated by the impiety, drowned with its thunder the cheers of the mobs, and all the cataracts on high opened at once. Torrents of rain were precipitated from the cloudy heights. In like manner to the wind putting out the illuminations, the rain put out the fireworks. What a misfortune. The fireworks are spoilt, said the Dauphin. Alas, everything goes wrong since I entered France, said Marie Antoinette. This storm suits the feast that was given me. It was wanted to hide from the people the miseries of this dilapidated palace of Versailles. So, below you south-west wind, spout rain, pile yourselves together tempestuous clouds, to hide from my eyes the paltry-taughtry reception given to the daughter of the Caesars when she laid her hand in that of the future king. The visibly embarrassed Dauphin did not know what answer to make to this. These reproaches. In particularly this exalted melancholy so far from his character, he only sighed. I afflict you, continued she. But do not believe that my pride is speaking. No, no, it is no wise in it. Would that they had only shown me the pretty little tree and all, with its flower gardens and smiling shades. The rain will but refresh it, the wind but open the blossoms. That charming nest would content me. But these ruins frighten me. So repugnant to my youth, and yet how many more ruins will be created by this frightful storm. A fresh gust, worse than the first shook the palace. The princess started up aghast. Oh heavens, tell me that there is no danger. She moaned, I shall die of fright. There is no fear, madame. Versailles is built on terraces, so as to defy the storm. If lightning fell it would only strike yonder, chapel with its sharp roof, or the little tower which has turrets. You know that peaks attract the electric fluid and flat surfaces repel them. He took her frozen, yet palpitating hand. Just then a vivid flash inundated the room with its violet and vivid glare. She uttered a scream and repulsed her husband. Oh, you looked in the lurid gleam like a phantom, pale, headless, and bleeding. It is the mirage caused by the sulfur, said the prince. I will explain. But a deafening peel of thunder cut short the sentence of the flagmatic prince lecturing the royal spouse. Come, come, madame, let us leave such fears to the common people. Physical agitation is one of the conditions of nature. A storm, and this is no more, is one of the most frequent and natural phenomena. I do not know why people are surprised at them. I should not quail so much at another time, but for a storm to burst on our wedding night. Another awful forewarning joined to those heralding my entry into France. My mother has told me that this century is fraught with horrors, as the heavens above are charged with fire and destruction. Madame, no dangers can menace the throne to which we shall ascend, for we royalties dwell above the common plain. The thunder is at our feet, and we wield the bolts. Alas! Something dreadful was predicted me. Oh, rather, shown to me in a dish of water, it is hard to describe what was utterly novel to me. A machine reared on high, like a scaffold. Two upright beams, between which glided in axe of odd shape, I saw my head beneath this blade. It descended in my head, severed from the body, leapt to the earth. This is what I was shown. Pure hallucination, said the scoffer. There is no such an instrument in existence, so be encouraged. Alas! I cannot drive away the odious thought. You will succeed, Marie, said the Dauphin, drawing nearer. Besides you will be an affectionate and assiduously protective husband. At the instant when the husband's lips nearly touched the wife's cheek, the picture-gallery door opened again, and the curious, covetous look of King Louis XV penetrated the place. But simultaneously, a crash of which no words can give an idea, resounded through the palace. A spout of white flame, streaked with green, dashed past the window, but shivered a statue on the balcony. Then, after a prodigious ripping and splitting sound, it bounded upward and vanished like a meteor. Out went the candles, the Dauphine staggered back dazed and frightened to the very wall. The Dauphiness fell, half swooned on the step of her praying desk, and dwelt in deadly torpor. Believing the earth was quaking under him, Louis XV regained his rooms followed by his faithful valet. In the morning Versailles was not recognizable. The ground had drunk up the deluge and the trees absorbed the sulfur. Everywhere was mud and the broken bowels dragging their blackened lengths like scorched serpents. Louis XV went to the bridal chamber for the third time and looked in. He shuddered to see at the praying-stand the bride, pale and prone, with the aurora tinging her spotless robe like a Magdalene of Rubens. On a chair, with his velvet slippers in a puddle of water, the Dauphine of France sat as Pailus's wife and with the same air of having faced a nightmare. The nuptial bed was untouched. Louis XV frowned. A never-before-experienced pain ran through his brow, cooled by egotism even when debauchery tried to heat it. He shook his head, sighed, and returned to his apartments, full of grim forebodings over the future which this tragic event had marked on its brow. What dread and mysterious incidents were unfolded in its bosom it will be our mission to disclose in the sequel to this book, entitled The Mesmerist Victim. End of Chapter 46 Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia End of the first volume of the Marie Antoinette Romances, Balsamode the Magician, by Alexandre Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams. Thank you for listening.