Sarrasine | Page 6

whom the happiness, the life, or the fortune of all depended. Was
it fear or affection? Society could discover no indication which enabled
them to solve this problem. Concealed for months at a time in the
depths of an unknown sanctuary, this familiar spirit suddenly emerged,
furtively as it were, unexpectedly, and appeared in the salons like the
fairies of old, who alighted from their winged dragons to disturb
festivities to which they had not been invited. Only the most
experienced observers could divine the anxiety, at such times, of the
masters of the house, who were peculiarly skilful in concealing their
feelings. But sometimes, while dancing a quadrille, the too ingenuous
Marianina would cast a terrified glance at the old man, whom she
watched closely from the circle of dancers. Or perhaps Filippo would

leave his place and glide through the crowd to where he stood, and
remain beside him, affectionate and watchful, as if the touch of man, or
the faintest breath, would shatter that extraordinary creature. The
countess would try to draw nearer to him without apparently intending
to join him; then, assuming a manner and an expression in which
servility and affection, submissiveness and tyranny, were equally
noticeable, she would say two or three words, to which the old man
almost always deferred; and he would disappear, led, or I might better
say carried away, by her. If Madame de Lanty were not present, the
Count would employ a thousand ruses to reach his side; but it always
seemed as if he found difficulty in inducing him to listen, and he
treated him like a spoiled child, whose mother gratifies his whims and
at the same time suspects mutiny. Some prying persons having
ventured to question the Comte de Lanty indiscreetly, that cold and
reserved individual seemed not to understand their questions. And so,
after many attempts, which the circumspection of all the members of
the family rendered fruitless, no one sought to discover a secret so well
guarded. Society spies, triflers, and politicians, weary of the strife,
ended by ceasing to concern themselves about the mystery.
But at that moment, it may be, there were in those gorgeous salons
philosophers who said to themselves, as they discussed an ice or a
sherbet, or placed their empty punch glasses on a tray:
"I should not be surprised to learn that these people are knaves. That
old fellow who keeps out of sight and appears only at the equinoxes or
solstices, looks to me exactly like an assassin."
"Or a bankrupt."
"There's very little difference. To destroy a man's fortune is worse than
to kill the man himself."
"I bet twenty louis, monsieur; there are forty due me."
"Faith, monsieur; there are only thirty left on the cloth."
"Just see what a mixed company there is! One can't play cards in
peace."
"Very true. But it's almost six months since we saw the Spirit. Do you
think he's a living being?"
"Well, barely."
These last remarks were made in my neighborhood by persons whom I
did not know, and who passed out of hearing just as I was summarizing

in one last thought my reflections, in which black and white, life and
death, were inextricably mingled. My wandering imagination, like my
eyes, contemplated alternately the festivities, which had now reached
the climax of their splendor, and the gloomy picture presented by the
gardens. I have no idea how long I meditated upon those two faces of
the human medal; but I was suddenly aroused by the stifled laughter of
a young woman. I was stupefied at the picture presented to my eyes. By
virtue of one of the strangest of nature's freaks, the thought half draped
in black, which was tossing about in my brain, emerged from it and
stood before me personified, living; it had come forth like Minerva
from Jupiter's brain, tall and strong; it was at once a hundred years old
and twenty-two; it was alive and dead. Escaped from his chamber, like
a madman from his cell, the little old man had evidently crept behind a
long line of people who were listening attentively to Marianina's voice
as she finished the cavatina from /Tancred/. He seemed to have come
up through the floor, impelled by some stage mechanism. He stood for
a moment motionless and sombre, watching the festivities, a murmur of
which had perhaps reached his ears. His almost somnambulistic
preoccupation was so concentrated upon things that, although he was in
the midst of many people, he saw nobody. He had taken his place
unceremoniously beside one of the most fascinating women in Paris, a
young and graceful dancer, with slender figure, a face as fresh as a
child's, all pink and white, and so fragile, so transparent, that it seemed
that a man's