The Persian’s Narrative1 Continued
I have said that the room in which M. le Vicomte de Chagny and I were imprisoned2 was a regular hexagon, lined entirely3 with mirrors. Plenty of these rooms have been seen since, mainly at exhibitions: they are called “palaces of illusion,” or some such name. But the invention belongs entirely to Erik, who built the first room of this kind under my eyes, at the time of the rosy4 hours of Mazenderan. A decorative5 object, such as a column, for instance, was placed in one of the corners and immediately produced a hall of a thousand columns; for, thanks to the mirrors, the real room was multiplied by six hexagonal rooms, each of which, in its turn, was multiplied indefinitely. But the little sultana soon tired of this infantile illusion, whereupon Erik altered his invention into a “torture-chamber6.” For the architectural motive7 placed in one corner, he substituted an iron tree. This tree, with its painted leaves, was absolutely true to life and was made of iron so as to resist all the attacks of the “patient” who was locked into the torture-chamber. We shall see how the scene thus obtained was twice altered instantaneously into two successive other scenes, by means of the automatic rotation8 of the drums or rollers in the corners. These were divided into three sections, fitting into the angles of the mirrors and each supporting a decorative scheme that came into sight as the roller revolved9 upon its axis10.
The walls of this strange room gave the patient nothing to lay hold of, because, apart from the solid decorative object, they were simply furnished with mirrors, thick enough to withstand any onslaught of the victim, who was flung into the chamber empty-handed and barefoot.
There was no furniture. The ceiling was capable of being lit up. An ingenious system of electric heating, which has since been imitated, allowed the temperature of the walls and room to be increased at will.
I am giving all these details of a perfectly11 natural invention, producing, with a few painted branches, the supernatural illusion of an equatorial forest blazing under the tropical sun, so that no one may doubt the present balance of my brain or feel entitled to say that I am mad or lying or that I take him for a fool.1
I now return to the facts where I left them. When the ceiling lit up and the forest became visible around us, the viscount’s stupefaction was immense. That impenetrable forest, with its innumerable trunks and branches, threw him into a terrible state of consternation12. He passed his hands over his forehead, as though to drive away a dream; his eyes blinked; and, for a moment, he forgot to listen.
I have already said that the sight of the forest did not surprise me at all; and therefore I listened for the two of us to what was happening next door. Lastly, my attention was especially attracted, not so much to the scene, as to the mirrors that produced it. These mirrors were broken in parts. Yes, they were marked and scratched; they had been “starred,” in spite of their solidity; and this proved to me that the torture-chamber in which we now were HAD ALREADY SERVED A PURPOSE.
Yes, some wretch13, whose feet were not bare like those of the victims of the rosy hours of Mazenderan, had certainly fallen into this “mortal illusion” and, mad with rage, had kicked against those mirrors which, nevertheless, continued to reflect his agony. And the branch of the tree on which he had put an end to his own sufferings was arranged in such a way that, before dying, he had seen, for his last consolation14, a thousand men writhing15 in his company.
Yes, Joseph Buquet had undoubtedly16 been through all this! Were we to die as he had done? I did not think so, for I knew that we had a few hours before us and that I could employ them to better purpose than Joseph Buquet was able to do. After all, I was thoroughly17 acquainted with most of Erik’s “tricks;” and now or never was the time to turn my knowledge to account.
To begin with, I gave up every idea of returning to the passage that had brought us to that accursed chamber. I did not trouble about the possibility of working the inside stone that closed the passage; and this for the simple reason that to do so was out of the question. We had dropped from too great a height into the torture-chamber; there was no furniture to help us reach that passage; not even the branch of the iron tree, not even each other’s shoulders were of any avail.
There was only one possible outlet18, that opening into the Louis-Philippe room in which Erik and Christine Daae were. But, though this outlet looked like an ordinary door on Christine’s side, it was absolutely invisible to us. We must therefore try to open it without even knowing where it was.
When I was quite sure that there was no hope for us from Christine Daae’s side, when I had heard the monster dragging the poor girl from the Louis-Philippe room LEST SHE SHOULD INTERFERE19 WITH OUR TORTURES, I resolved to set to work without delay.
But I had first to calm M. de Chagny, who was already walking about like a madman, uttering incoherent cries. The snatches of conversation which he had caught between Christine and the monster had contributed not a little to drive him beside himself: add to that the shock of the magic forest and the scorching20 heat which was beginning to make the prespiration{sic} stream down his temples and you will have no difficulty in understanding his state of mind. He shouted Christine’s name, brandished21 his pistol, knocked his forehead against the glass in his endeavors to run down the glades22 of the illusive23 forest. In short, the torture was beginning to work its spell upon a brain unprepared for it.
I did my best to induce the poor viscount to listen to reason. I made him touch the mirrors and the iron tree and the branches and explained to him, by optical laws, all the luminous24 imagery by which we were surrounded and of which we need not allow ourselves to be the victims, like ordinary, ignorant people.
“We are in a room, a little room; that is what you must keep saying to yourself. And we shall leave the room as soon as we have found the door.”
And I promised him that, if he let me act, without disturbing me by shouting and walking up and down, I would discover the trick of the door in less than an hour’s time.
Then he lay flat on the floor, as one does in a wood, and declared that he would wait until I found the door of the forest, as there was nothing better to do! And he added that, from where he was, “the view was splendid!” The torture was working, in spite of all that I had said.
Myself, forgetting the forest, I tackled a glass panel and began to finger it in every direction, hunting for the weak point on which to press in order to turn the door in accordance with Erik’s system of pivots25. This weak point might be a mere26 speck27 on the glass, no larger than a pea, under which the spring lay hidden. I hunted and hunted. I felt as high as my hands could reach. Erik was about the same height as myself and I thought that he would not have placed the spring higher than suited his stature28.
While groping over the successive panels with the greatest care, I endeavored not to lose a minute, for I was feeling more and more overcome with the heat and we were literally29 roasting in that blazing forest.
I had been working like this for half an hour and had finished three panels, when, as ill-luck would have it, I turned round on hearing a muttered exclamation30 from the viscount.
“I am stifling,” he said. “All those mirrors are sending out an infernal heat! Do you think you will find that spring soon? If you are much longer about it, we shall be roasted alive!”
I was not sorry to hear him talk like this. He had not said a word of the forest and I hoped that my companion’s reason would hold out some time longer against the torture. But he added:
“What consoles me is that the monster has given Christine until eleven to-morrow evening. If we can’t get out of here and go to her assistance, at least we shall be dead before her! Then Erik’s mass can serve for all of us!”
And he gulped31 down a breath of hot air that nearly made him faint.
As I had not the same desperate reasons as M. le Vicomte for accepting death, I returned, after giving him a word of encouragement, to my panel, but I had made the mistake of taking a few steps while speaking and, in the tangle32 of the illusive forest, I was no longer able to find my panel for certain! I had to begin all over again, at random33, feeling, fumbling34, groping.
Now the fever laid hold of me in my turn . . . for I found nothing, absolutely nothing. In the next room, all was silence. We were quite lost in the forest, without an outlet, a compass, a guide or anything. Oh, I knew what awaited us if nobody came to our aid . . . or if I did not find the spring! But, look as I might, I found nothing but branches, beautiful branches that stood straight up before me, or spread gracefully35 over my head. But they gave no shade. And this was natural enough, as we were in an equatorial forest, with the sun right above our heads, an African forest.
M. de Chagny and I had repeatedly taken off our coats and put them on again, finding at one time that they made us feel still hotter and at another that they protected us against the heat. I was still making a moral resistance, but M. de Chagny seemed to me quite “gone.” He pretended that he had been walking in that forest for three days and nights, without stopping, looking for Christine Daae! From time to time, he thought he saw her behind the trunk of a tree, or gliding36 between the branches; and he called to her with words of supplication37 that brought the tears to my eyes. And then, at last:
“Oh, how thirsty I am!” he cried, in delirious38 accents.
I too was thirsty. My throat was on fire. And, yet, squatting39 on the floor, I went on hunting, hunting, hunting for the spring of the invisible door . . . especially as it was dangerous to remain in the forest as evening drew nigh. Already the shades of night were beginning to surround us. It had happened very quickly: night falls quickly in tropical countries . . . suddenly, with hardly any twilight40.
Now night, in the forests of the equator, is always dangerous, particularly when, like ourselves, one has not the materials for a fire to keep off the beasts of prey41. I did indeed try for a moment to break off the branches, which I would have lit with my dark lantern, but I knocked myself also against the mirrors and remembered, in time, that we had only images of branches to do with.
The heat did not go with the daylight; on the contrary, it was now still hotter under the blue rays of the moon. I urged the viscount to hold our weapons ready to fire and not to stray from camp, while I went on looking for my spring.
Suddenly, we heard a lion roaring a few yards away.
“Oh,” whispered the viscount, “he is quite close! . . . Don’t you see him? . . . There . . . through the trees . . . in that thicket42! If he roars again, I will fire! . . . ”
And the roaring began again, louder than before. And the viscount fired, but I do not think that he hit the lion; only, he smashed a mirror, as I perceived the next morning, at daybreak. We must have covered a good distance during the night, for we suddenly found ourselves on the edge of the desert, an immense desert of sand, stones and rocks. It was really not worth while leaving the forest to come upon the desert. Tired out, I flung myself down beside the viscount, for I had had enough of looking for springs which I could not find.
I was quite surprised — and I said so to the viscount — that we had encountered no other dangerous animals during the night. Usually, after the lion came the leopard43 and sometimes the buzz of the tsetse fly. These were easily obtained effects; and I explained to M. de Chagny that Erik imitated the roar of a lion on a long tabour or timbrel, with an ass’s skin at one end. Over this skin he tied a string of catgut, which was fastened at the middle to another similar string passing through the whole length of the tabour. Erik had only to rub this string with a glove smeared44 with resin45 and, according to the manner in which he rubbed it, he imitated to perfection the voice of the lion or the leopard, or even the buzzing of the tsetse fly.
The idea that Erik was probably in the room beside us, working his trick, made me suddenly resolve to enter into a parley46 with him, for we must obviously give up all thought of taking him by surprise. And by this time he must be quite aware who were the occupants of his torture-chamber. I called him: “Erik! Erik!”
I shouted as loudly as I could across the desert, but there was no answer to my voice. All around us lay the silence and the bare immensity of that stony47 desert. What was to become of us in the midst of that awful solitude48?
We were beginning literally to die of heat, hunger and thirst . . . of thirst especially. At last, I saw M. de Chagny raise himself on his elbow and point to a spot on the horizon. He had discovered an oasis49!
Yes, far in the distance was an oasis . . . an oasis with limpid50 water, which reflected the iron trees! . . . Tush, it was the scene of the mirage51 . . . I recognized it at once . . . the worst of the three! . . . No one had been able to fight against it . . . no one . . . I did my utmost to keep my head AND NOT TO HOPE FOR WATER, because I knew that, if a man hoped for water, the water that reflected the iron tree, and if, after hoping for water, he struck against the mirror, then there was only one thing for him to do: to hang himself on the iron tree!
So I cried to M. de Chagny:
“It’s the mirage! . . . It’s the mirage! . . . Don’t believe in the water! . . . It’s another trick of the mirrors! . . . ”
Then he flatly told me to shut up, with my tricks of the mirrors, my springs, my revolving52 doors and my palaces of illusions! He angrily declared that I must be either blind or mad to imagine that all that water flowing over there, among those splendid, numberless trees, was not real water! . . . And the desert was real! . . . And so was the forest! . . . And it was no use trying to take him in . . . he was an old, experienced traveler . . . he had been all over the place!
And he dragged himself along, saying: “Water! Water!”
And his mouth was open, as though he were drinking.
And my mouth was open too, as though I were drinking.
For we not only saw the water, but WE HEARD IT! . . . We heard it flow, we heard it ripple53! . . . Do you understand that word “ripple?” . . . IT IS A SOUND WHICH YOU HEAR WITH YOUR TONGUE! . . . You put your tongue out of your mouth to listen to it better!
Lastly — and this was the most pitiless torture of all — we heard the rain and it was not raining! This was an infernal invention . . . Oh, I knew well enough how Erik obtained it! He filled with little stones a very long and narrow box, broken up inside with wooden and metal projections54. The stones, in falling, struck against these projections and rebounded55 from one to another; and the result was a series of pattering sounds that exactly imitated a rainstorm.
Ah, you should have seen us putting out our tongues and dragging ourselves toward the rippling56 river-bank! Our eyes and ears were full of water, but our tongues were hard and dry as horn!
When we reached the mirror, M. de Chagny licked it . . . and I also licked the glass.
It was burning hot!
Then we rolled on the floor with a hoarse57 cry of despair. M. de Chagny put the one pistol that was still loaded to his temple; and I stared at the Punjab lasso at the foot of the iron tree. I knew why the iron tree had returned, in this third change of scene! . . . The iron tree was waiting for me! . . .
But, as I stared at the Punjab lasso, I saw a thing that made me start so violently that M. de Chagny delayed his attempt at suicide. I took his arm. And then I caught the pistol from him . . . and then I dragged myself on my knees toward what I had seen.
I had discovered, near the Punjab lasso, in a groove58 in the floor, a black-headed nail of which I knew the use. At last I had discovered the spring! I felt the nail . . . I lifted a radiant face to M. de Chagny . . . The black-headed nail yielded to my pressure . . .
And then . . .
And then we saw not a door opened in the wall, but a cellar-flap released in the floor. Cool air came up to us from the black hole below. We stooped over that square of darkness as though over a limpid well. With our chins in the cool shade, we drank it in. And we bent59 lower and lower over the trap-door. What could there be in that cellar which opened before us? Water? Water to drink?
I thrust my arm into the darkness and came upon a stone and another stone . . . a staircase . . . a dark staircase leading into the cellar. The viscount wanted to fling himself down the hole; but I, fearing a new trick of the monster’s, stopped him, turned on my dark lantern and went down first.
The staircase was a winding60 one and led down into pitchy darkness. But oh, how deliciously cool were the darkness and the stairs? The lake could not be far away.
We soon reached the bottom. Our eyes were beginning to accustom61 themselves to the dark, to distinguish shapes around us . . . circular shapes . . . on which I turned the light of my lantern.
Barrels!
We were in Erik’s cellar: it was here that he must keep his wine and perhaps his drinking-water. I knew that Erik was a great lover of good wine. Ah, there was plenty to drink here!
M. de Chagny patted the round shapes and kept on saying:
“Barrels! Barrels! What a lot of barrels! . . . ”
Indeed, there was quite a number of them, symmetrically arranged in two rows, one on either side of us. They were small barrels and I thought that Erik must have selected them of that size to facilitate their carriage to the house on the lake.
We examined them successively, to see if one of them had not a funnel62, showing that it had been tapped at some time or another. But all the barrels were hermetically closed.
Then, after half lifting one to make sure it was full, we went on our knees and, with the blade of a small knife which I carried, I prepared to stave in the bung-hole.
At that moment, I seemed to hear, coming from very far, a sort of monotonous63 chant which I knew well, from often hearing it in the streets of Paris:
“Barrels! . . . Barrels! . . . Any barrels to sell?”
My hand desisted from its work. M. de Chagny had also heard. He said:
“That’s funny! It sounds as if the barrel were singing!”
The song was renewed, farther away:
“Barrels! . . . Barrels! . . . Any barrels to sell? . . . ”
“Oh, I swear,” said the viscount, “that the tune64 dies away in the barrel! . . . ”
We stood up and went to look behind the barrel.
“It’s inside,” said M. de Chagny, “it’s inside!”
But we heard nothing there and were driven to accuse the bad condition of our senses. And we returned to the bung-hole. M. de Chagny put his two hands together underneath65 it and, with a last effort, I burst the bung.
“What’s this?” cried the viscount. “This isn’t water!”
The viscount put his two full hands close to my lantern . . . I stooped to look . . . and at once threw away the lantern with such violence that it broke and went out, leaving us in utter darkness.
What I had seen in M. de Chagny’s hands . . . was gun-powder!
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1
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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illusive
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| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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pivots
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| n.枢( pivot的名词复数 )；最重要的人（或事物）；中心；核心v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的第三人称单数 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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resin
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| n.树脂，松香，树脂制品；vt.涂树脂 | |
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parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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51
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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52
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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53
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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54
projections
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| 预测( projection的名词复数 )； 投影； 投掷； 突起物 | |
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55
rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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58
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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60
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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61
accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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64
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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65
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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