Tales from Blackwood Volume V Part 12

"I wish to heaven that I knew how you set about it. I have heard G. P.

R. James backed for a volume a-month, but this sinks him into utter insignificance."

"There is no difficulty in explaining it. He writes,--I never do."

"You never write?"

"Never."

"Then how the mischief do you manage?"

"I compose. Since I met you, I have composed and dictated a whole chapter of the Memoirs of a Physician!"

"Dictated?"

"To be sure. It is already written down, and will be circulated throughout Paris to-morrow."

"Monsieur le Marquis--have I the honour to hold an interview with Satan?"

"_Mon cher, vous me flattez beaucoup!_ I have not thought it necessary to intrust my experiences to the sympathising bosom of M. Frederic Soulie."

"Have you a familiar spirit, then?" said I, casting a suspicious glance towards the poodle, then vigorously engaged in hunting through its woolly fleece.

The Marquis smiled.

"The ingenuity of your supposition, my dear friend, deserves a specific answer. I have indeed a familiar spirit--that is, I am possessed of a confidant, ready at all times, though absent, to chronicle my thoughts, and to express, in corresponding words, the spontaneous emotions of my soul. Nay, you need not start. The art is an innocent one, and its practice, though divulged, would not expose me in any way to the censures of the church."

"You pique my curiosity strangely!"

"Well, then, listen. For some years I have paid the utmost attention to the science of animal magnetism, an art which undoubtedly lay at the foundation of the ancient Chaldean lore, and which, though now revived, has been debased by the artifices and quackery of knaves. I need not go into details. After long search, I have succeeded in finding a being which, in its dormant or spiritual state, has an entire affinity with my own. When awake, you would suppose Leontine Deschappelles to be a mere ordinary though rather interesting female, endowed certainly with a miraculous sensibility for music, but not otherwise in any way remarkable. But, when asleep, she becomes as it were the counterpart or reflex of myself. Every thought which pa.s.ses through my bosom simultaneously arises in hers. I do not need even to utter the words. By some miraculous process, these present themselves as vividly to her as if I had bestowed the utmost labour upon composition. I have but to throw her into a magnetic sleep, and my literary product for the day is secured. I go forth through Paris, mingle in society, appear idle and _insouciant_; and yet all the while the ideal personages of my tale are pa.s.sing over the mirror of my mind, and performing their allotted duty.

I have reached such perfection in the art, that I can compose two or even three romances at once. I return towards evening, and then I find Leontine, pale indeed and exhausted, but with a vast pile of ma.n.u.script before her, which contains the faithful transcript of my thoughts. Now, perhaps, you will cease to wonder at an apparent fertility, which, I am aware, has challenged the admiration and astonishment of Europe."

All this was uttered by Monte-Christo with such exemplary gravity, that I stood perfectly confounded. If true, it was indeed the solution of the greatest literary problem of the age; but I could hardly suppress the idea that he was making me the victim of a hoax.

"And whereabouts does she dwell, this Demoiselle Leontine?" said I.

"At my house," he replied; "she is my adopted child. Poor Leontine!

sometimes when I look at her wasted cheek, I feel a pang of regret to think that she is paying so dear for a celebrity which must be immortal.

But it is the fate of genius, my friend, and all of us must submit!"

As the Marquis uttered this sentiment with a pathetic sigh, I could not refrain from glancing at his manly and athletic proportions. Certainly there was no appearance of over-fatigue or la.s.situde there. He looked the very incarnation of good cheer, and had contrived to avert from his own person all vestige of those calamities which he was pleased so feelingly to deplore. He might have been exhibited at the _Trois Freres_ as a splendid result of their nutritive and culinary system.

"You doubt me still, I see," said De la Pailleterie. "Well, I cannot wonder at it. Such things, I know, sound strange in the apprehension of you incredulous islanders. But I will even give you a proof, Dunshunner, which is more than I would do to any other man--for I cannot forget the service you rendered me long ago at the Isle de Bourbon. You see this little instrument,--put it to your ear. I shall summon Leontine to speak, and the sound of her reply will be conveyed to you through that silver tube, which is in strict _rapport_ with her magnetic const.i.tution."

So saying, he placed in my hand a miniature silver trumpet, beautifully wrought, which I immediately placed to my ear.

Monte-Christo drew himself up to his full height, fixed his fine eyes earnestly upon vacuity, made several pa.s.ses upwards with his hand, and then said,

"My friend, do you hear me? If so, answer."

Immediately, and to my unexpected surprise, there thrilled through the silver tube a whisper of miraculous sweetness.

"Great master! I listen--I obey!"

"May St Mungo, St Mirren, St Rollox, and all the other western saints, have me in their keeping!" cried I. "Heard ever mortal man aught like this?"

"Hush--be silent!" said the Marquis, "or you may destroy the spell.

Leontine, have you concluded the chapter?"

"I have," said the voice; "shall I read the last sentences?"

"Do," replied the adept, who seemed to hear the response simultaneously with myself, by intuition.

The voice went on: "At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and Chon rushed into the room. 'Well, my little sister, how goes it?' said the Countess. 'Bad.' 'Indeed!' 'It is but too true.' 'De Noailles?'

'No.' 'Ha! D'Aiguillon?' 'You deceive yourself.' 'Who then?' 'Philip de Taverney, the Chevalier Maison-Rouge!' 'Ha!' cried the Countess, 'then I am lost!' and she sank senseless upon the cus.h.i.+ons."

"Well done, Leontine!" exclaimed De la Pailleterie; "that is the seventh chapter I have composed since morning. Are you fatigued, my child?"

"Very--very weary," replied the voice, in a melancholy cadence.

"You shall have rest soon. Come hither. Do you see me?"

"Ah! you are very cruel!"

"I understand. Cease to be fatigued--I will it!"

"Ah! thanks, thanks!"

"Do you see me now?"

"I do. Oh, how handsome!"

The Marquis caressed his whiskers.

"Where am I?"

"At the corner of the Place de la Concorde, near the Tuileries' gardens.

Ah, you naughty man, you have been smoking!"

"Who is with me?"

"A poodle-dog," replied the voice. "What a pretty creature! he is just snapping at a fly. Come here, poor fellow!"

The poodle gave an unearthly yell, and rushed between the legs of Monte-Christo, thereby nearly capsizing that extraordinary magician.

"That will do, my dear Marquis," said I, returning him the trumpet. "I am now perfectly convinced of the truth of your a.s.sertions, and can no longer wonder at the marvellous fertility of your pen--I beg pardon--of your invention. Pray, do not trouble your fair friend any further upon my account. I have heard quite enough to satisfy me that I am in the presence of the most remarkable man in Europe."

"Pooh! this is a mere bagatelle. Any man might do the same, with a slight smattering of the occult sciences. But we were talking, if I recollect right, about moral influence and power. I maintain that the authors of romance and melodrama are the true masters of the age: you, on the contrary, believe in free-trade and the jargon of political economy. Is it not so?"

"True. We started from that point."