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tremble and start； and to leave its place gravely or flippantly；
gracefully or awkwardly； according to its fashion； character； and
surroundings。
A mysterious Sabbath began； rivaling the fantastic scenes witnessed by
Faust upon the Brocken。 But these optical illusions； produced by
weariness； overstrained eyesight； or the accidents of twilight； could
not alarm the stranger。 The terrors of life had no power over a soul
grown familiar with the terrors of death。 He even gave himself up；
half amused by its bizarre eccentricities； to the influence of this
moral galvanism； its phenomena； closely connected with his last
thoughts； assured him that he was still alive。 The silence about him
was so deep that he embarked once more in dreams that grew gradually
darker and darker as if by magic； as the light slowly faded。 A last
struggling ray from the sun lit up rosy answering lights。 He raised
his head and saw a skeleton dimly visible； with its skull bent
doubtfully to one side； as if to say； 〃The dead will none of thee as
yet。〃
He passed his hand over his forehead to shake off the drowsiness； and
felt a cold breath of air as an unknown furry something swept past his
cheeks。 He shivered。 A muffled clatter of the windows followed； it was
a bat； he fancied； that had given him this chilly sepulchral caress。
He could yet dimly see for a moment the shapes that surrounded him； by
the vague light in the west； then all these inanimate objects were
blotted out in uniform darkness。 Night and the hour of death had
suddenly come。 Thenceforward； for a while； he lost consciousness of
the things about him； he was either buried in deep meditation or sleep
overcame him； brought on by weariness or by the stress of those many
thoughts that lacerated his heart。
Suddenly he thought that an awful voice called him by name； it was
like some feverish nightmare； when at a step the dreamer falls
headlong over into an abyss； and he trembled。 He closed his eyes；
dazzled by bright rays from a red circle of light that shone out from
the shadows。 In the midst of the circle stood a little old man who
turned the light of the lamp upon him； yet he had not heard him enter；
nor move； nor speak。 There was something magical about the apparition。
The boldest man； awakened in such a sort； would have felt alarmed at
the sight of this figure； which might have issued from some
sarcophagus hard by。
A curiously youthful look in the unmoving eyes of the spectre forbade
the idea of anything supernatural； but for all that； in the brief
space between his dreaming and waking life； the young man's judgment
remained philosophically suspended； as Descartes advises。 He was； in
spite of himself； under the influence of an unaccountable
hallucination； a mystery that our pride rejects； and that our
imperfect science vainly tries to resolve。
Imagine a short old man； thin and spare； in a long black velvet gown
girded round him by a thick silk cord。 His long white hair escaped on
either side of his face from under a black velvet cap which closely
fitted his head and made a formal setting for his countenance。 His
gown enveloped his body like a winding sheet； so that all that was
left visible was a narrow bleached human face。 But for the wasted arm；
thin as a draper's wand； which held aloft the lamp that cast all its
light upon him； the face would have seemed to hang in mid air。 A gray
pointed beard concealed the chin of this fantastical appearance； and
gave him the look of one of those Jewish types which serve artists as
models for Moses。 His lips were so thin and colorless that it needed a
close inspection to find the lines of his mouth at all in the pallid
face。 His great wrinkled brow and hollow bloodless cheeks； the
inexorably stern expression of his small green eyes that no longer
possessed eyebrows or lashes； might have convinced the stranger that
Gerard Dow's 〃Money Changer〃 had come down from his frame。 The
craftiness of an inquisitor； revealed in those curving wrinkles and
creases that wound about his temples； indicated a profound knowledge
of life。 There was no deceiving this man； who seemed to possess a
power of detecting the secrets of the wariest heart。
The wisdom and the moral codes of every people seemed gathered up in
his passive face； just as all the productions of the globe had been
heaped up in his dusty showrooms。 He seemed to possess the tranquil
luminous vision of some god before whom all things are open； or the
haughty power of a man who knows all things。
With two strokes of the brush a painter could have so altered the
expression of this face； that what had been a serene representation of
the Eternal Father should change to the sneering mask of a
Mephistopheles； for though sovereign power was revealed by the
forehead； mocking folds lurked about the mouth。 He must have
sacrificed all the joys of earth； as he had crushed all human sorrows
beneath his potent will。 The man at the brink of death shivered at the
thought of the life led by this spirit； so solitary and remote from
our world； joyless； since he had no one illusion left； painless；
because pleasure had ceased to exist for him。 There he stood；
motionless and serene as a star in a bright mist。 His lamp lit up the
obscure closet； just as his green eyes； with their quiet malevolence；
seemed to shed a light on the moral world。
This was the strange spectacle that startled the young man's returning
sight； as he shook off the dreamy fancies and thoughts of death that
had lulled him。 An instant of dismay； a momentary return to belief in
nursery tales； may be forgiven him； seeing that his senses were
obscured。 Much thought had wearied his mind； and his nerves were
exhausted with the strain of the tremendous drama within him； and by
the scenes that had heaped on him all the horrid pleasures that a
piece of opium can produce。
But this apparition had appeared in Paris； on the Quai Voltaire； and
in the nineteenth century； the time and place made sorcery impossible。
The idol of French scepticism had died in the house just opposite； the
disciple of Gay…Lussac and Arago； who had held the charlatanism of
intellect in contempt。 And yet the stranger submitted himself to the
influence of an imaginative spell； as all of us do at times； when we
wish to escape from an inevitable certainty； or to tempt the power of
Providence。 So some mysterious apprehension of a strange force made
him tremble before the old man with the lamp。 All of us have been
stirred in the same way by the sight of Napoleon； or of some other
great man； made illustrious by his genius or by fame。
〃You wish to see Raphael's portrait of Jesus Christ； monsieur？〃 the
old man asked politely。 There was something metallic in the clear；
sharp ring of his voice。
He set the lamp upon a broken column； so that all its light might fall
on the brown case。
At the sacred names of Christ and Raphael the young man showed some
curiosity。 The merchant； who no doubt looked for this； pressed a
spring； and suddenly the mahogany panel slid noiselessly back in its
groove； and discovered the canvas to the stranger's admiring gaze。 At
sight of this deathless creation； he forgot