 | Diamond lens |  |
THE DIAMOND LENS.
1. I.
THE BENDING OF THE TWIG.
FROM a very early period of my life the entire bent
of my inclinations had been towards microscopic
investigations. When I was not more than ten
years old, a distant relative of our family, hoping to astonish
my inexperience, constructed a simple microscope for me,
by drilling in a disk of copper a small hole, in which a drop
of pure water was sustained by capillary attraction. This
very primitive apparatus, magnifying some fifty diameters,
presented, it is true, only indistinct and imperfect forms, but
still sufficiently wonderful to work up my imagination to a
preternatural state of excitement.
Seeing me so interested in this rude instrument, my
cousin explained to me all that he knew about the principles
of the microscope, related to me a few of the wonders which
had been accomplished through its agency, and ended by
promising to send me one regularly constructed, immediately
on his return to the city. I counted the days, the
hours, the minutes, that intervened between that promise
and his departure.
Meantime I was not idle. Every transparent substance
that bore the remotest semblance to a lens I eagerly seized
upon and employed in vain attempts to realize that instrument,
the theory of whose construction I as yet only vaguely
spheroidal knots familiarly known as “bull's eyes” were
ruthlessly destroyed, in the hope of obtaining lenses of marvellous
power. I even went so far as to extract the crystalline
humor from the eyes of fishes and animals, and
endeavored to press it into the microscopic service. I plead
guilty to having stolen the glasses from my Aunt Agatha's
spectacles, with a dim idea of grinding them into lenses of
wondrous magnifying properties, — in which attempt it is
scarcely necessary to say that I totally failed.
At last the promised instrument came. It was of that
order known as Field's simple microscope, and had cost
perhaps about fifteen dollars. As far as educational purposes
went, a better apparatus could not have been selected.
Accompanying it was a small treatise on the microscope, —
its history, uses, and discoveries. I comprehended then for
the first time the “Arabian Nights' Entertainments.” The
dull veil of ordinary existence that hung across the world
seemed suddenly to roll away, and to lay bare a land of enchantments.
I felt towards my companions as the seer
might feel towards the ordinary masses of men. I held conversations
with Nature in a tongue which they could not
understand. I was in daily communication with living
wonders, such as they never imagined in their wildest visions.
I penetrated beyond the external portal of things,
and roamed through the sanctuaries. Where they beheld
only a drop of rain slowly rolling down the window-glass, I
saw a universe of beings animated with all the passions
common to physical life, and convulsing their minute sphere
with struggles as fierce and protracted as those of men. In
the common spots of mould, which my mother, good house-keeper
that she was, fiercely scooped away from her jam
pots, there abode for me, under the name of mildew, enchanted
gardens, filled with dells and avenues of the densest
foliage and most astonishing verdure, while from the fantastic
boughs of these microscopic forests hung strange fruits
glittering with green and silver and gold.
It was no scientific thirst that at this time filled my mind.
It was the pure enjoyment of a poet to whom a world of wonders
has been disclosed. I talked of my solitary pleasures
to none. Alone with my microscope, I dimmed my sight,
day after day and night after night poring over the marvels
which it unfolded to me. I was like one who, having discovered
the ancient Eden still existing in all its primitive
glory, should resolve to enjoy it in solitude, and never betray
to mortal the secret of its locality. The rod of my life
was bent at this moment. I destined myself to be a microscopist.
Of course, like every novice, I fancied myself a discoverer.
I was ignorant at the time of the thousands of acute
intellects engaged in the same pursuit as myself, and with
the advantages of instruments a thousand times more powerful
than mine. The names of Leeuwenhoek, Williamson,
Spencer, Ehrenberg, Schultz, Dujardin, Schact, and Schleiden
were then entirely unknown to me, or if known, I was
ignorant of their patient and wonderful researches. In
every fresh specimen of Cryptogamia which I placed beneath
my instrument, I believed that I discovered wonders
of which the world was as yet ignorant. I remember well
the thrill of delight and admiration that shot through me the
first time that I discovered the common wheel animalcule
(Rotifera vulgaris) expanding and contracting its flexible
spokes, and seemingly rotating through the water. Alas!
as I grew older, and obtained some works treating of my
favorite study, I found that I was only on the threshold of
a science to the investigation of which some of the greatest
men of the age were devoting their lives and intellects.
As I grew up, my parents, who saw but little likelihood
of anything practical resulting from the examination of bits
of moss and drops of water through a brass tube and a
piece of glass, were anxious that I should choose a profession.
It was their desire that I should enter the counting-house
of my uncle, Ethan Blake, a prosperous merchant,
who carried on business in New York. This suggestion I
only make a failure; in short, I refused to become a merchant.
But it was necessary for me to select some pursuit. My
parents were staid New England people, who insisted on
the necessity of labor; and therefore, although, thanks to
the bequest of my poor Aunt Agatha, I should, on coming
of age, inherit a small fortune sufficient to place me above
want, it was decided, that, instead of waiting for this, I
should act the nobler part, and employ the intervening years
in rendering myself independent.
After much cogitation I complied with the wishes of my
family, and selected a profession. I determined to study
medicine at the New York Academy. This disposition of
my future suited me. A removal from my relatives would
enable me to dispose of my time as I pleased, without fear
of detection. As long as I paid my Academy fees, I might
shirk attending the lectures, if I chose; and as I never had
the remotest intention of standing an examination, there
was no danger of my being “plucked.” Besides, a metropolis
was the place for me. There I could obtain excellent
instruments, the newest publications, intimacy with men of
pursuits kindred to my own, — in short, all things necessary
to insure a profitable devotion of my life to my beloved
science. I had an abundance of money, few desires that
were not bounded by my illuminating mirror on one side
and my object-glass on the other; what, therefore, was to
prevent my becoming an illustrious investigator of the
veiled worlds? It was with the most buoyant hopes that I
left my New England home and established myself in New
York.
2. II.
THE LONGING OF A MAN OF SCIENCE.
MY first step, of course, was to find suitable apartments.
These I obtained, after a couple of days'
search, in Fourth Avenue; a very pretty second-floor unfurnished,
containing sitting-room, bedroom, and a smaller
apartment which I intended to fit up as a laboratory. I
furnished my lodgings simply, but rather elegantly, and
then devoted all my energies to the adornment of the temple
of my worship. I visited Pike, the celebrated optician, and
passed in review his splendid collection of microscopes, —
Field's Compound, Higham's, Spencer's, Nachet's Binocular,
(that founded on the principles of the stereoscope,) and
at length fixed upon that form known as Spencer's Trunnion
Microscope, as combining the greatest number of improvements
with an almost perfect freedom from tremor. Along
with this I purchased every possible accessory, — draw-tubes,
micrometers, a camera-lucida, lever-stage, achromatic
condensers, white cloud illuminators, prisms, parabolic condensers,
polarizing apparatus, forceps, aquatic boxes, fishing-tubes,
with a host of other articles, all of which would
have been useful in the hands of an experienced microscopist,
but, as I afterwards discovered, were not of the slightest
present value to me. It takes years of practice to know
how to use a complicated microscope. The optician looked
suspiciously at me as I made these wholesale purchases.
He evidently was uncertain whether to set me down as
some scientific celebrity or a madman. I think he inclined
to the latter belief. I suppose I was mad. Every great
genius is mad upon the subject in which he is greatest.
The unsuccessful madman is disgraced, and called a lunatic.
Mad or not, I set myself to work with a zeal which few
scientific students have ever equalled. I had everything to
— a study involving the most earnest patience, the
most rigid analytic powers, the steadiest hand, the most untiring
eye, the most refined and subtile manipulation.
For a long time half my apparatus lay inactively on the
shelves of my laboratory, which was now most amply furnished
with every possible contrivance for facilitating my
investigations. The fact was that I did not know how to
use some of my scientific accessories, — never having been
taught microscopics, — and those whose use I understood
theoretically were of little avail, until by practice I could
attain the necessary delicacy of handling. Still, such was
the fury of my ambition, such the untiring perseverance of
my experiments, that, difficult of credit as it may be, in the
course of one year I became theoretically and practically an
accomplished microscopist.
During this period of my labors, in which I submitted
specimens of every substance that came under my observation
to the action of my lenses, I became a discoverer, — in
a small way, it is true, for I was very young, but still a discoverer.
It was I who destroyed Ehrenberg's theory that
the Volvox globator was an animal, and proved that his
“monads” with stomachs and eyes were merely phases of
the formation of a vegetable cell, and were, when they
reached their mature state, incapable of the act of conjugation,
or any true generative act, without which no organism
rising to any stage of life higher than vegetable can be said
to be complete. It was I who resolved the singular problem
of rotation in the cells and hairs of plants into ciliary
attraction, in spite of the assertions of Mr. Wenham and
others, that my explanation was the result of an optical
illusion.
But notwithstanding these discoveries, laboriously and
painfully made as they were, I felt horribly dissatisfied. At
every step I found myself stopped by the imperfections of
my instruments. Like all active microscopists, I gave my
imagination full play. Indeed, it is a common complaint
with the creations of their brains. I imagined
depths beyond depths in Nature which the limited power
of my lenses prohibited me from exploring. I lay awake at
night constructing imaginary microscopes of immeasurable
power, with which I seemed to pierce through all the envelopes
of matter down to its original atom. How I cursed
those imperfect mediums which necessity through ignorance
compelled me to use! How I longed to discover the secret
of some perfect lens whose magnifying power should be
limited only by the resolvability of the object, and which at
the same time should be free from spherical and chromatic
aberrations, in short from all the obstacles over which the
poor microscopist finds himself continually stumbling! I
felt convinced that the simple microscope, composed of a
single lens of such vast yet perfect power, was possible of
construction. To attempt to bring the compound microscope
up to such a pitch would have been commencing at
the wrong end; this latter being simply a partially successful
endeavor to remedy those very defects of the simple instrument,
which, if conquered, would leave nothing to be
desired.
It was in this mood of mind that I became a constructive
microscopist. After another year passed in this new pursuit,
experimenting on every imaginable substance, — glass,
gems, flints, crystals, artificial crystals formed of the alloy
of various vitreous materials, — in short, having constructed
as many varieties of lenses as Argus had eyes, I found myself
precisely where I started, with nothing gained save an
extensive knowledge of glass-making. I was almost dead
with despair. My parents were surprised at my apparent
want of progress in my medical studies, (I had not attended
one lecture since my arrival in the city,) and the expenses
of my mad pursuit had been so great as to embarrass me
very seriously.
I was in this frame of mind one day, experimenting in
my laboratory on a small diamond, — that stone, from its
more than any other, — when a young Frenchman, who
lived on the floor above me, and who was in the habit of occasionally
visiting me, entered the room.
I think that Jules Simon was a Jew. He had many traits
of the Hebrew character: a love of jewelry, of dress, and of
good living. There was something mysterious about him.
He always had something to sell, and yet went into excellent
society. When I say sell, I should perhaps have said
peddle; for his operations were generally confined to the
disposal of single articles, — a picture, for instance, or a
rare carving in ivory, or a pair of duelling-pistols, or the
dress of a Mexican caballero. When I was first furnishing
my rooms, he paid me a visit, which ended in my purchasing
an antique silver lamp, which he assured me was a Cellini,
— it was handsome enough even for that, —and some
other knickknacks for my sitting-room. Why Simon
should pursue this petty trade I never could imagine. He
apparently had plenty of money, and had the entrée of the
best houses in the city, — taking care, however, I suppose,
to drive no bargains within the enchanted circle of the
Upper Ten. I came at length to the conclusion that this
peddling was but a mask to cover some greater object, and
even went so far as to believe my young acquaintance to be
implicated in the slave-trade. That, however, was none of
my affair.
On the present occasion, Simon entered my room in a
state of considerable excitement.
“Ah! mon ami!” he cried, before I could even offer
him the ordinary salutation, “it has occurred to me to be
the witness of the most astonishing things in the world. I
promenade myself to the house of Madame —. How
does the little animal — le renard — name himself in the
Latin?”
“Vulpes,” I answered.
“Ah! yes, — Vulpes. I promenade myself to the house
of Madame Vulpes.”
“The spirit medium?”
“Yes, the great medium. Great Heavens! what a woman!
I write on a slip of paper many of questions concerning
affairs the most secret, — affairs that conceal
themselves in the abysses of my heart the most profound;
and behold! by example! what occurs! This devil of a
woman makes me replies the most truthful to all of them.
She talks to me of things that I do not love to talk of to
myself. What am I to think? I am fixed to the earth!”
“Am I to understand you, M. Simon, that this Mrs.
Vulpes replied to questions secretly written by you, which
questions related to events known only to yourself?”
“Ah! more than that, more than that,” he answered,
with an air of some alarm. “She related to me things —
But,” he added, after a pause, and suddenly changing his
manner, “why occupy ourselves with these follies? It was
all the Biology, without doubt. It goes without saying that
it has not my credence. But why are we here, mon ami?
It has occurred to me to discover the most beautiful thing
as you can imagine, — a vase with green lizards on it, composed
by the great Bernard Palissy. It is in my apartment;
let us mount. I go to show it to you.”
I followed Simon mechanically; but my thoughts were
far from Palissy and his enamelled ware, although I, like
him, was seeking in the dark after a great discovery. This
casual mention of the spiritualist, Madame Vulpes, set me
on a new track. What if this spiritualism should be really
a great fact? What if, through communication with subtiler
organisms than my own, I could reach, at a single
bound, the goal which perhaps a life of agonizing mental
toil would never enable me to attain?
While purchasing the Palissy vase from my friend Simon,
I was mentally arranging a visit to Madame Vulpes.
3. III.
THE SPIRIT OF LEEUWENHOEK.
TWO evenings after this, thanks to an arrangement by
letter and the promise of an ample fee, I found Madame
Vulpes awaiting me at her residence alone. She was
a coarse-featured woman, with a keen and rather cruel dark
eye, and an exceedingly sensual expression about her mouth
and under jaw. She received me in perfect silence, in an
apartment on the ground floor, very sparely furnished. In
the centre of the room, close to where Mrs. Vulpes sat,
there was a common round mahogany table. If I had
come for the purpose of sweeping her chimney, the woman
could not have looked more indifferent to my appearance.
There was no attempt to inspire the visitor with any awe.
Everything bore a simple and practical aspect. This intercourse
with the spiritual world was evidently as familiar an
occupation with Mrs. Vulpes as eating her dinner or riding
in an omnibus.
“You come for a communication, Mr. Linley?” said the
medium, in a dry, business-like tone of voice.
“By appointment, — yes.”
“What sort of communication do you want? — a written
one?”
“Yes, — I wish for a written one.”
“From any particular spirit?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever known this spirit on this earth?”
“Never. He died long before I was born. I wish
merely to obtain from him some information which he
ought to be able to give better than any other.”
“Will you seat yourself at the table, Mr. Linley,” said the
medium, “and place your hands upon it?”
I obeyed, — Mrs. Vulpes being seated opposite me, with
her hands also on the table. We remained thus for about
on the table, on the back of my chair, on the floor immediately
under my feet, and even on the window-panes. Mrs.
Vulpes smiled composedly.
“They are very strong to-night,” she remarked. “You
are fortunate.” She then continued, “Will the spirits communicate
with this gentleman?”
Vigorous affirmative.
“Will the particular spirit he desires to speak with communicate?”
A very confused rapping followed this question.
“I know what they mean,” said Mrs. Vulpes, addressing
herself to me; “they wish you to write down the name of
the particular spirit that you desire to converse with. Is
that so?” she added, speaking to her invisible guests.
That it was so was evident from the numerous affirmatory
responses. While this was going on, I tore a slip from my
pocket-book, and scribbled a name under the table.
“Will this spirit communicate in writing with this gentleman?”
asked the medium once more.
After a moment's pause her hand seemed to be seized
with a violent tremor, shaking so forcibly that the table
vibrated. She said that a spirit had seized her hand and
would write. I handed her some sheets of paper that were
on the table, and a pencil. The latter she held loosely in
her hand, which presently began to move over the paper
with a singular and seemingly involuntary motion. After a
few moments had elapsed she handed me the paper, on
which I found written, in a large, uncultivated hand, the
words, “He is not here, but has been sent for.” A pause
of a minute or so now ensued, during which Mrs. Vulpes
remained perfectly silent, but the raps continued at regular
intervals. When the short period I mention had elapsed,
the hand of the medium was again seized with its convulsive
tremor, and she wrote, under this strange influence, a few
words on the paper, which she handed to me. They were
as follows: —
“I am here. Question me.
I was astounded. The name was identical with that I
had written beneath the table, and carefully kept concealed.
Neither was it at all probable that an uncultivated woman
like Mrs. Vulpes should know even the name of the great
father of microscopics. It may have been Biology; but this
theory was soon doomed to be destroyed. I wrote on my
slip — still concealing it from Mrs. Vulpes — a series of questions,
which, to avoid tediousness, I shall place with the
responses in the order in which they occurred.
I. — Can the microscope be brought to perfection?
Spirit. — Yes.
I. — Am I destined to accomplish this great task?
Spirit. — You are.
I. — I wish to know how to proceed to attain this end.
For the love which you bear to science, help me!
Spirit. — A diamond of one hundred and forty carats,
submitted to electro-magnetic currents for a long period, will
experience a rearrangement of its atoms inter se, and from
that stone you will form the universal lens.
I. — Will great discoveries result from the use of such a
lens?
Spirit. — So great, that all that has gone before is as
nothing.
I. — But the refractive power of the diamond is so immense,
that the image will be formed within the lens. How
is that difficulty to be surmounted?
Spirit. — Pierce the lens through its axis, and the difficulty
is obviated. The image will be formed in the pierced
space, which will itself serve as a tube to look through.
Now I am called. Good night!
I cannot at all describe the effect that these extraordinary
communications had upon me. I felt completely bewildered.
No biological theory could account for the discovery
of the lens. The medium might, by means of biological
rapport with my mind, have gone so far as to read my questions,
enable her to discover that magnetic currents would so alter
the crystals of the diamond as to remedy its previous defects,
and admit of its being polished into a perfect lens.
Some such theory may have passed through my head, it is
true; but if so, I had forgotten it. In my excited condition
of mind there was no course left but to become a convert,
and it was in a state of the most painful nervous exaltation
that I left the medium's house that evening. She accompanied
me to the door, hoping that I was satisfied. The
raps followed us as we went through the hall, sounding on
the balusters, the flooring, and even the lintels of the door.
I hastily expressed my satisfaction, and escaped hurriedly
into the cool night air. I walked home with but one thought
possessing me, — how to obtain a diamond of the immense
size required. My entire means multipled a hundred times
over would have been inadequate to its purchase. Besides,
such stones are rare, and become historical. I could find
such only in the regalia of Eastern or European monarchs.
4. IV.
THE EYE OF MORNING.
THERE was a light in Simon's room as I entered my
house. A vague impulse urged me to visit him. As
I opened the door of his sitting-room, unannounced, he was
bending, with his back toward me, over a carcel lamp, apparently
engaged in minutely examining some object which
he held in his hands. As I entered, he started suddenly,
thrust his hand into his breast pocket, and turned to me
with a face crimson with confusion.
“What!” I cried, “poring over the miniature of some
fair lady? Well, don't blush so much; I won't ask to
see it.”
Simon laughed awkwardly enough, but made none of the
negative protestations usual on such occasions. He asked
me to take a seat.
“Simon,” said I, “I have just come from Madame
Vulpes.”
This time Simon turned as white as a sheet, and
seemed stupefied, as if a sudden electric shock had smitten
him. He babbled some incoherent words, and went
hastily to a small closet where he usually kept his liquors.
Although astonished at his emotion, I was too preoccupied
with my own idea to pay much attention to anything
else.
“You say truly when you call Madame Vulpes a devil of
a woman,” I continued. “Simon, she told me wonderful
things to-night, or rather was the means of telling me wonderful
things. Ah! if I could only get a diamond that
weighed one hundred and forty carats!”
Scarcely had the sigh with which I uttered this desire
died upon my lips, when Simon, with the aspect of a wild
beast, glared at me savagely, and rushing to the mantel-piece,
where some foreign weapons hung on the wall,
caught up a Malay creese, and brandished it furiously before
him.
“No!” he cried in French, into which he always broke
when excited. “No! you shall not have it! You are perfidious!
You have consulted with that demon, and desire
my treasure! But I will die first! Me! I am brave! You
cannot make me fear!”
All this, uttered in a loud voice trembling with excitement,
astounded me. I saw at a glance that I had accidentally
trodden upon the edges of Simon's secret, whatever
it was. It was necessary to reassure him.
“My dear Simon,” I said, “I am entirely at a loss to
know what you mean. I went to Madame Vulpes to consult
with her on a scientific problem, to the solution of
which I discovered that a diamond of the size I just mentioned
was necessary. You were never alluded to during
of. What can be the meaning of this outburst? If you happen
to have a set of valuable diamonds in your possession,
you need fear nothing from me. The diamond which I require
you could not possess; or if you did possess it, you
would not be living here.”
Something in my tone must have completely reassured
him; for his expression immediately changed to a sort of
constrained merriment, combined, however, with a certain
suspicious attention to my movements. He laughed, and
said that I must bear with him; that he was at certain moments
subject to a species of vertigo, which betrayed itself
in incoherent speeches, and that the attacks passed off as
rapidly as they came. He put his weapon aside while making
this explanation, and endeavored, with some success, to
assume a more cheerful air.
All this did not impose on me in the least. I was too
much accustomed to analytical labors to be baffled by so
flimsy a veil. I determined to probe the mystery to the
bottom.
“Simon,” I said, gayly, “let us forget all this over a bottle
of Burgundy. I have a case of Lausseure's Clos Vougeot
down-stairs, fragrant with the odors and ruddy with the sunlight
of the Côte d'Or. Let us have up a couple of bottles.
What say you?”
“With all my heart,” answered Simon, smilingly.
I produced the wine, and we seated ourselves to drink. It
was of a famous vintage, that of 1848, a year when war and
wine throve together, — and its pure, but powerful juice
seemed to impart renewed vitality to the system. By the
time we had half finished the second bottle, Simon's head,
which I knew was a weak one, had begun to yield, while I
remained calm as ever, only that every draught seemed to
send a flush of vigor through my limbs. Simon's utterance
became more and more indistinct. He took to singing
French chansons of a not very moral tendency. I rose suddenly
from the table just at the conclusion of one of those
smile, said:
“Simon, I have deceived you. I learned your secret this
evening. You may as well be frank with me. Mrs. Vulpes,
or rather one of her spirits, told me all.”
He started with horror. His intoxication seemed for the
moment to fade away, and he made a movement towards
the weapon that he had a short time before laid down. I
stopped him with my hand.
“Monster!” he cried, passionately, “I am ruined! What
shall I do? You shall never have it! I swear by my
mother!”
“I don't want it,” I said; “rest secure, but be frank with
me. Tell me all about it.”
The drunkenness began to return. He protested with
maudlin earnestness that I was entirely mistaken, — that I
was intoxicated; then asked me to swear eternal secrecy,
and promised to disclose the mystery to me. I pledged
myself, of course, to all. With an uneasy look in his
eyes, and hands unsteady with drink and nervousness, he
drew a small case from his breast and opened it. Heavens!
How the mild lamp-light was shivered into a thousand prismatic
arrows, as it fell upon a vast rose-diamond that glittered
in the case! I was no judge of diamonds, but I saw
at a glance that this was a gem of rare size and purity. I
looked at Simon with wonder, and — must I confess it? —
with envy. How could he have obtained this treasure? In
reply to my questions, I could just gather from his drunken
statements (of which, I fancy, half the incoherence was affected)
that he had been superintending a gang of slaves
engaged in diamond-washing in Brazil; that he had seen
one of them secrete a diamond, but, instead of informing
his employers, had quietly watched the negro until he saw
him bury his treasure; that he had dug it up, and fled with
it, but that as yet he was afraid to attempt to dispose of it
publicly, — so valuable a gem being almost certain to attract
too much attention to its owner's antecedents, — and he had
which such matters are conveyed away safely. He added,
that, in accordance with Oriental practice, he had named
his diamond by the fanciful title of “The Eye of Morning.”
While Simon was relating this to me, I regarded the great
diamond attentively. Never had I beheld anything so
beautiful. All the glories of light, ever imagined or described,
seemed to pulsate in its crystalline chambers. Its
weight, as I learned from Simon, was exactly one hundred
and forty carats. Here was an amazing coincidence. The
hand of Destiny seemed in it. On the very evening when
the spirit of Leeuwenhoek communicates to me the great
secret of the microscope, the priceless means which he directs
me to employ start up within my easy reach! I determined,
with the most perfect deliberation, to possess myself
of Simon's diamond.
I sat opposite him while he nodded over his glass, and
calmly revolved the whole affair. I did not for an instant
contemplate so foolish an act as a common theft, which
would of course be discovered, or at least necessitate flight
and concealment, all of which must interfere with my scientific
plans. There was but one step to be taken, — to kill
Simon. After all, what was the life of a little peddling Jew,
in comparison with the interests of science? Human beings
are taken every day from the condemned prisons to be experimented
on by surgeons. This man, Simon, was by his
own confession, a criminal, a robber, and I believed on my
soul a murderer. He deserved death quite as much as any
felon condemned by the laws; why should I not, like government,
contrive that his punishment should contribute to
the progress of human knowledge?
The means for accomplishing everything I desired lay
within my reach. There stood upon the mantel-piece a
bottle half full of French laudanum. Simon was so occupied
with his diamond, which I had just restored to him,
that it was an affair of no difficulty to drug his glass. In a
quarter of an hour he was in a profound sleep.
I now opened his waistcoat, took the diamond from the
inner pocket in which he had placed it, and removed him to
the bed, on which I laid him so that his feet hung down
over the edge. I had possessed myself of the Malay creese,
which I held in my right hand, while with the other I discovered,
as accurately as I could by pulsation, the exact locality
of the heart. It was essential that all the aspects of
his death should lead to the surmise of self-murder. I calculated
the exact angle at which it was probable that the
weapon, if levelled by Simon's own hand, would enter his
breast; then with one powerful blow I thrust it up to the
hilt in the very spot which I desired to penetrate. A convulsive
thrill ran through Simon's limbs. I heard a smothered
sound issue from his throat, precisely like the bursting
of a large air-bubble, sent up by a diver, when it reaches
the surface of the water; he turned half round on his side,
and, as if to assist my plans more effectually, his right hand,
moved by some mere spasmodic impulse, clasped the handle
of the creese, which it remained holding with extraordinary
muscular tenacity. Beyond this there was no apparent
struggle. The laudanum, I presume, paralyzed the usual
nervous action. He must have died instantaneously.
There was yet something to be done. To make it certain
that all suspicion of the act should be diverted from any inhabitant
of the house to Simon himself, it was necessary
that the door should be found in the morning locked on the
inside. How to do this, and afterwards escape myself? Not
by the window; that was a physical impossibility. Besides,
I was determined that the windows also should be found
bolted. The solution was simple enough. I descended
softly to my own room for a peculiar instrument which I
had used for holding small slippery substances, such as
minute spheres of glass, etc. This instrument was nothing
more than a long, slender hand-vice, with a very powerful
grip, and a considerable leverage, which last was accidentally
owing to the shape of the handle. Nothing was simpler
than, when the key was in the lock, to seize the end of its
so lock the door. Previously, however, to doing this, I
burned a number of papers on Simon's hearth. Suicides
almost always burn papers before they destroy themselves.
I also emptied some more laudanum into Simon's glass, —
having first removed from it all traces of wine, — cleaned
the other wine-glass, and brought the bottles away with me.
If traces of two persons drinking had been found in the
room, the question naturally would have arisen, Who was
the second? Besides, the wine-bottles might have been
identified as belonging to me. The laudanum I poured out
to account for its presence in his stomach, in case of a postmortem
examination. The theory-naturally would be, that
he first intended to poison himself, but, after swallowing a
little of the drug, was either disgusted with its taste, or
changed his mind from other motives, and chose and dagger.
These arrangements made, I walked out, leaving the
gas burning, locked the door with my vice, and went to
bed.
Simon's death was not discovered until nearly three in
the afternoon. The servant, astonished at seeing the gas
burning, — the light streaming on the dark landing from
under the door, — peeped through the keyhole and saw
Simon on the bed. She gave the alarm. The door was
burst open, and the neighborhood was in a fever of excitement.
Every one in the house was arrested, myself included.
There was an inquest; but no clew to his death, beyond
that of suicide, could be obtained. Curiously enough, he
had made several speeches to his friends, the preceding
week, that seemed to point to self-destruction. One gentleman
swore that Simon had said in his presence that “he
was tired of life.” His landlord affirmed that Simon, when
paying him his last month's rent, remarked that “he would
not pay him rent much longer.” All the other evidence
corresponded, — the door locked inside, the position of the
corpse, the burnt papers. As I anticipated, no one knew of
was suggested for his murder. The jury, after a prolonged
examination, brought in the usual verdict, and the neighborhood
once more settled down into its accustomed quiet.
5. V.
ANIMULA
THE three months succeeding Simon's catastrophe I
devoted night and day to my diamond lens. I had
constructed a vast galvanic battery, composed of nearly two
thousand pairs of plates, — a higher power I dared not use,
lest the diamond should be calcined. By means of this
enormous engine I was enabled to send a powerful current
of electricity continually through my great diamond, which
it seemed to me gained in lustre every day. At the expiration
of a month I commenced the grinding and polishing
of the lens, a work of intense toil and exquisite delicacy.
The great density of the stone, and the care required to be
taken with the curvatures of the surfaces of the lens, rendered
the labor the severest and most harassing that I had
yet undergone.
At last the eventful moment came; the lens was completed.
I stood trembling on the threshold of new worlds.
I had the realization of Alexander's famous wish before me.
The lens lay on the table, ready to be placed upon its platform.
My hand fairly shook as I enveloped a drop of water
with a thin coating of oil of turpentine, preparatory to its
examination, — a process necessary in order to prevent the
rapid evaporation of the water. I now placed the drop on
a thin slip of glass under the lens, and throwing upon it, by
the combined aid of a prism and a mirror, a powerful stream
of light, I approached my eye to the minute hole drilled
through the axis of the lens. For an instant I saw nothing
abyss. A pure white light, cloudless and serene, and
seemingly limitless as space itself, was my first impression.
Gently, and with the greatest care, I depressed the lens a
few hairs' breadths. The wondrous illumination still continued,
but as the lens approached the object, a scene of
indescribable beauty was unfolded to my view.
I seemed to gaze upon a vast space, the limits of which
extended far beyond my vision. An atmosphere of magical
luminousness permeated the entire field of view. I was
amazed to see no trace of animalculous life. Not a living
thing, apparently, inhabited that dazzling expanse. I comprehended
instantly, that, by the wondrous power of my
lens, I had penetrated beyond the grosser particles of aqueous
matter, beyond the realms of Infusoria and Protozoa,
down to the original gaseous globule, into whose luminous
interior I was gazing, as into an almost boundless dome
filled with a supernatural radiance.
It was, however, no brilliant void into which I looked.
On every side I beheld beautiful inorganic forms, of unknown
texture, and colored with the most enchanting hues.
These forms presented the appearance of what might be
called, for want of a more specific definition, foliated clouds
of the highest rarity; that is, they undulated and broke into
vegetable formations, and were tinged with splendors compared
with which the gilding of our autumn woodlands is as
dross compared with gold. Far away into the illimitable
distance stretched long avenues of these gaseous forests,
dimly transparent, and painted with prismatic hues of unimaginable
brilliancy. The pendent branches waved along
the fluid glades until every vista seemed to break through
half-lucent ranks of many-colored drooping silken pennons.
What seemed to be either fruits or flowers, pied with a
thousand hues lustrous and ever varying, bubbled from the
crowns of this fairy foliage. No hills, no lakes, no rivers,
no forms animate or inanimate were to be seen, save those
vast auroral copses that floated serenely in the luminous
unknown fires, unrealizable by mere imagination.
How strange, I thought, that this sphere should be thus
condemned to solitude! I had hoped, at least, to discover
some new form of animal life, — perhaps of a lower class
than any with which we are at present acquainted, — but
still, some living organism. I find my newly discovered
world, if I may so speak, a beautiful chromatic desert.
While I was speculating on the singular arrangements of
the internal economy of Nature, with which she so frequently
splinters into atoms our most compact theories, I
thought I beheld a form moving slowly through the glades
of one of the prismatic forests. I looked more attentively,
and found that I was not mistaken. Words cannot depict
the anxiety with which I awaited the nearer approach of this
mysterious object. Was it merely some inanimate substance,
held in suspense in the attenuated atmosphere of the
globule? or was it an animal endowed with vitality and motion?
It approached, flitting behind the gauzy, colored veils
of cloud-foliage, for seconds dimly revealed, then vanishing.
At last the violet pennons that trailed nearest to me vibrated;
they were gently pushed aside, and the Form floated
out into the broad light.
It was a female human shape. When I say “human,” I
mean it possessed the outlines of humanity, — but there
the analogy ends. Its adorable beauty lifted it illimitable
heights beyond the loveliest daughter of Adam.
I cannot, I dare not, attempt to inventory the charms of
this divine revelation of perfect beauty. Those eyes of
mystic violet, dewy and serene, evade my words. Her long
lustrous hair following her glorious head in a golden wake,
like the track sown in heaven by a falling star, seems to
quench my most burning phrases with its splendors. If all
the bees of Hybla nestled upon my lips, they would still
sing but hoarsely the wondrous harmonies of outline that
enclosed her form.
She swept out from between the rainbow-curtains of the
motions were those of some graceful Naiad, cleaving, by a
mere effort of her will, the clear, unruffled waters that fill
the chambers of the sea. She floated forth with the serene
grace of a frail bubble ascending through the still atmosphere
of a June day. The perfect roundness of her limbs
formed suave and enchanting curves. It was like listening
to the most spiritual symphony of Beethoven the divine, to
watch the harmonious flow of lines. This, indeed, was a
pleasure cheaply purchased at any price. What cared I, if
I had waded to the portal of this wonder through another's
blood? I would have given my own to enjoy one such moment
of intoxication and delight.
Breathless with gazing on this lovely wonder, and forgetful
for an instant of everything save her presence, I withdrew
my eye from the microscope eagerly, — alas! As my
gaze fell on the thin slide that lay beneath my instrument,
the bright light from mirror and from prism sparkled on a
colorless drop of water! There, in that tiny bead of dew,
this beautiful being was forever imprisoned. The planet
Neptune was not more distant from me than she. I hastened
once more to apply my eye to the microscope.
Animula (let me now call her by that dear name which I
subsequently bestowed on her) had changed her position.
She had again approached the wondrous forest, and was
gazing earnestly upwards. Presently one of the trees — as
I must call them — unfolded a long ciliary process, with
which it seized one of the gleaming fruits that glittered on
its summit, and sweeping slowly down, held it within reach
of Animula. The sylph took it in her delicate hand, and
began to eat. My attention was so entirely absorbed by
her, that I could not apply myself to the task of determining
whether this singular plant was or was not instinct with
volition.
I watched her, as she made her repast, with the most profound
attention. The suppleness of her motions sent a thrill
of delight through my frame; my heart beat madly as she
which I stood. What would I not have given to have had
the power to precipitate myself into that luminous ocean,
and float with her through those groves of purple and gold!
While I was thus breathlessly following her every movement,
she suddenly started, seemed to listen for a moment,
and then cleaving the brilliant ether in which she was floating,
like a flash of light, pierced through the opaline forest,
and disappeared.
Instantly a series of the most singular sensations attacked
me. It seemed as if I had suddenly gone blind. The
luminous sphere was still before me, but my daylight had
vanished. What caused this sudden disappearance? Had
she a lover, or a husband? Yes, that was the solution!
Some signal from a happy fellow-being had vibrated
through the avenues of the forest, and she had obeyed the
summons.
The agony of my sensations, as I arrived at this conclusion,
startled me. I tried to reject the conviction that my
reason forced upon me. I battled against the fatal conclusion,
— but in vain. It was so. I had no escape from it.
I loved an animalcule!
It is true, that, thanks to the marvellous power of my microscope,
she appeared of human proportions. Instead of
presenting the revolting aspect of the coarser creatures, that
live and struggle and die, in the more easily resolvable portions
of the water-drop, she was fair and delicate and of
surpassing beauty. But of what account was all that?
Every time that my eye was withdrawn from the instrument,
it fell on a miserable drop of water, within which, I
must be content to know, dwelt all that could make my life
lovely.
Could she but see me once! Could I for one moment
pierce the mystical walls that so inexorably rose to separate
us, and whisper all that filled my soul, I might consent to
be satisfied for the rest of my life with the knowledge of her
remote sympathy. It would be something to have established
to know that at times, when roaming through those enchanted
glades, she might think of the wonderful stranger,
who had broken the monotony of her life with his presence,
and left a gentle memory in her heart!
But it could not be. No invention, of which human intellect
was capable, could break down the barriers that Nature
had erected. I might feast my soul upon her wondrous
beauty, yet she must always remain ignorant of the adoring
eyes that day and night gazed upon her, and, even when
closed, beheld her in dreams. With a bitter cry of anguish
I fled from the room, and flinging myself on my bed, sobbed
myself to sleep like a child.
6. VI.
THE SPILLING OF THE CUP.
I AROSE the next morning almost at daybreak, and
rushed to my microscope. I trembled as I sought the
luminous world in miniature that contained my all. Animula
was there. I had left the gas-lamp, surrounded by its
moderators, burning, when I went to bed the night before.
I found the sylph bathing, as it were, with an expression of
pleasure animating her features, in the brilliant light which
surrounded her. She tossed her lustrous golden hair over her
shoulders with innocent coquetry. She lay at full length in
the transparent medium, in which she supported herself
with ease, and gambolled with the enchanting grace that
the Nymph Salmacis might have exhibited when she sought
to conquer the modest Hermaphroditus. I tried an experiment
to satisfy myself if her powers of reflection were developed.
I lessened the lamp-light considerably. By the
dim light that remained, I could see an expression of pain
flit across her face. She looked upward suddenly, and her
again with a full stream of light, and her whole expression
changed. She sprang forward like some substance deprived
of all weight. Her eyes sparkled, and her lips moved. Ah!
if science had only the means of conducting and reduplicating
sounds, as it does the rays of light, what carols of
happiness would then have entranced my ears! what jubilant
hymns to Adonaïs would have thrilled the illumined
air!
I now comprehended how it was that the Count de Gabalis
peopled his mystic world with sylphs, — beautiful beings
whose breath of life was lambent fire, and who sported forever
in regions of purest ether and purest light. The Rosicrucian
had anticipated the wonder that I had practically
realized.
How long this worship of my strange divinity went on
thus I scarcely know. I lost all note of time. All day from
early dawn, and far into the night, I was to be found peering
through that wonderful lens. I saw no one, went nowhere,
and scarce allowed myself sufficient time for my
meals. My whole life was absorbed in contemplation as
rapt as that of any of the Romish saints. Every hour that
I gazed upon the divine form strengthened my passion, — a
passion that was always overshadowed by the maddening
conviction, that, although I could gaze on her at will, she
never, never could behold me!
At length I grew so pale and emaciated, from want of
rest, and continual brooding over my insane love and its
cruel conditions, that I determined to make some effort to
wean myself from it. “Come,” I said, “this is at best but
a fantasy. Your imagination has bestowed on Animula
charms which in reality she does not possess. Seclusion
from female society has produced this morbid condition of
mind. Compare her with the beautiful women of your own
world, and this false enchantment will vanish.”
I looked over the newspapers by chance. There I beheld
the advertisement of a celebrated danseuse who appeared
the reputation of being the most beautiful as well as the
most graceful woman in the world. I instantly dressed and
went to the theatre.
The curtain drew up. The usual semicircle of fairies in
white muslin were standing on the right toe around the enamelled
flower-bank, of green canvas, on which the belated
prince was sleeping. Suddenly a flute is heard. The fairies
start. The trees open, the fairies all stand on the left
toe, and the queen enters. It was the Signorina. She
bounded forward amid thunders of applause, and lighting
on one foot remained poised in air. Heavens! was this
the great enchantress that had drawn monarchs at her
chariot-wheels? Those heavy muscular limbs, those thick
ankles, those cavernous eyes, that stereotyped smile, those
crudely painted cheeks! Where were the vermeil blooms,
the liquid expressive eyes, the harmonious limbs of Animula?
The Signorina danced. What gross, discordant movements!
The play of her limbs was all false and artificial.
Her bounds were painful athletic efforts; her poses were
angular and distressed the eye. I could bear it no longer;
with an exclamation of disgust that drew every eye upon
me, I rose from my seat in the very middle of the Signorina's
pas-de-fascination, and abruptly quitted the house.
I hastened home to feast my eyes once more on the
lovely form of my sylph. I felt that henceforth to combat
this passion would be impossible. I applied my eye to the
lens. Animula was there, — but what could have happened?
Some terrible change seemed to have taken place
during my absence. Some secret grief seemed to cloud the
lovely features of her I gazed upon. Her face had grown
thin and haggard; her limbs trailed heavily; the wondrous
lustre of her golden hair had faded. She was ill! — ill, and
I could not assist her! I believe at that moment I would
have gladly forfeited all claims to my human birthright, if I
could only have been dwarfed to the size of an animalcule,
divided me.
I racked my brain for the solution of this mystery. What
was it that afflicted the sylph? She seemed to suffer intense
pain. Her features contracted, and she even writhed,
as if with some internal agony. The wondrous forests appeared
also to have lost half their beauty. Their hues were
dim, and in some places faded away altogether. I watched
Animula for hours with a breaking heart, and she seemed
absolutely to wither away under my very eye. Suddenly I
remembered that I had not looked at the water-drop for
several days. In fact, I hated to see it; for it reminded me
of the natural barrier between Animula and myself. I hurriedly
looked down on the stage of the microscope. The
slide was still there, — but, great heavens! the water-drop
had vanished! The awful truth burst upon me; it had
evaporated, until it had become so minute as to be invisible
to the naked eye; I had been gazing on its last atom, the
one that contained Animula, — and she was dying!
I rushed again to the front of the lens, and looked
through. Alas! the last agony had seized her. The rainbow-hued
forests had all melted away, and Animula lay
struggling feebly in what seemed to be a spot of dim light.
Ah! the sight was horrible: the limbs once so round and
lovely shrivelling up into nothings; the eyes — those eyes
that shone like heaven — being quenched into black dust;
the lustrous golden hair now lank and discolored. The last
throe came. I beheld that final struggle of the blackening
form — and I fainted.
When I awoke out of a trance of many hours, I found
myself lying amid the wreck of my instrument, myself as
shattered in mind and body as it. I crawled feebly to my
bed, from which I did not rise for months.
They say now that I am mad; but they are mistaken.
I am poor, for I have neither the heart nor the will to work;
all my money is spent, and I live on charity. Young men's
associations that love a joke invite me to lecture on Optics
I lecture. “Linley, the mad microscopist,” is the name I
go by. I suppose that I talk incoherently while I lecture.
Who could talk sense when his brain is haunted by such
ghastly memories, while ever and anon among the shapes
of death I behold the radiant form of my lost Animula!
| Diamond lens | |