In the Days of My Youth - Amelia Ann Blanford Edwards

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I fear it was not very complimentary to the Chevalier.

      "One word, Monsieur," pleaded the little man, edging himself round the door, "one small word!"

      "Say it, sir, and have done with it," said my father, savagely.

      The Chevalier hesitated.

      "I--I--Monsieur le Docteur--that is, I wish. … "

      "Confound it, sir, what do you wish?"

      The Chevalier brushed away a tear.

      "Dites-moi," he said with suppressed agitation. "One word--yes or no--is he dangerous?"

      My father's countenance softened.

      "My good friend," he said, gently, "we are none of us safe for even a day, or an hour; but after all, that which we call danger is merely a relative position. I have known men in a state more precarious than yours who lived to a long old age, and I see no reason to doubt that with good living, good spirits, and precaution, you stand as fair a chance as another."

      The little Frenchman pressed his hands together in token of gratitude, whispered a broken word or two of thanks, and bowed himself out of the room.

      When he was fairly gone, my father flung a book at my head, and said, with more brevity than politeness:--

      "Boy, bolt the door."

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      "Basil, my boy, if you are going to that place, you must take Collins with you."

      "Won't you go yourself, father?"

      "I! Is the boy mad!"

      "I hope not, sir; only as you took eight reserved seats, I thought. … "

      "You've no business to think, sir! Seven of those tickets are in the fire."

      "For fear, then, you should fancy to burn the eighth, I'll wish you good-evening!"

      So away I darted, called to Collins to follow me, and set off at a brisk pace towards the Red Lion Hotel. Collins was our indoor servant; a sharp, merry fellow, some ten years older than myself, who desired no better employment than to escort me upon such an occasion as the present. The audience had begun to assemble when we arrived. Collins went into the shilling places, while I ensconced myself in the second row of reserved seats. I had an excellent view of the stage. There, in the middle of the platform, stood the conjuror's table--a quaint, cabalistic-looking piece of furniture with carved black legs and a deep bordering of green cloth all round the top. A gay pagoda-shaped canopy of many hues was erected overhead. A long white wand leaned up against the wall. To the right stood a bench laden with mysterious jars, glittering bowls, gilded cones, mystical globes, colored glass boxes, and other properties. To the left stood a large arm-chair covered with crimson cloth. All this was very exciting, and I waited breathlessly till the Wizard should appear.

      He came at last; but not, surely, our dapper little visitor of yesterday! A majestic beard of ashen gray fell in patriarchal locks almost to his knees. Upon his head he wore a high cap of some dark fur; upon his feet embroidered slippers; and round his waist a glittering belt patterned with hieroglyphics. A long woollen robe of chocolate and orange fell about him in heavy folds, and swept behind him, like a train. I could scarcely believe, at first, that it was the same person; but, when he spoke, despite the pomp and obscurity of his language. I recognised the plaintive voice of the little Chevalier.

      "Messieurs et Mesdames," he began, and took up the wand to emphasize his discourse; "to read in the stars the events of the future--to transform into gold the metals inferior--to discover the composition of that Elixir who, by himself, would perpetuate life, was in past ages the aim and aspiration of the natural philosopher. But they are gone, those days--they are displaced, those sciences. The Alchemist and the Rosicrucian are no more, and of all their race, the professor of Legerdemain alone survives. Ladies and gentlemen, my magic he is simple. I retain not familiars. I employ not crucible, nor furnace, nor retort. I but amuse you with my agility of hand, and for commencement I tell you that you shall be deceived as well as the Wizard of the Caucasus can deceive you."

      His voice trembled, and the slender wand shivered in his hand. Was this nervousness? Or was he, in accordance with the quaintness of his costume and the amplitude of his beard, enacting the feebleness of age?

      He advanced to the front of the platform. "Three things I require," he said. "A watch, a pocket-handkerchief and a hat. Is there here among my visitors any person so gracious as to lend me these trifles? I will not injure them, ladies and gentlemen. I will only pound the watch in my mortar--burn the mouchoir in my lamp, and make a pudding in the chapeau. And, with all this, I engage to return them to their proprietors, better as new."

      There was a pause, and a laugh. Presently a gentleman volunteered his hat, and a lady her embroidered handkerchief; but no person seemed willing to submit his watch to the pounding process.

      "Shall nobody lend me the watch?" asked the Chevalier; but in a voice so hoarse that I scarcely recognised it.

      A sudden thought struck me, and I rose in my place.

      "I shall be happy to do so," I said aloud, and made my way round to the front of the platform.

      At the moment when he took it from me, I spoke to him.

      "Monsieur Proudhine," I whispered, "you are ill! What can I do for you?"

      "Nothing, mon enfant," he answered, in the same low tone. "I suffer; mais il faut se résigner."

      "Break off the performance--retire for half an hour."

      "Impossible. See, they already observe us!"

      And he drew back abruptly. There was a seat vacant in the front row. I took it, resolved at all events to watch him narrowly.

      Not to detail too minutely the events of a performance which since that time has become sufficiently familiar, I may say that he carried out his programme with dreadful exactness, and, after appearing to burn the handkerchief to ashes and mix up a quantity of eggs and flour in the hat, proceeded very coolly to smash the works of my watch beneath his ponderous pestle. Notwithstanding my faith, I began to feel seriously uncomfortable. It was a neat little silver watch of foreign workmanship--not very valuable, to be sure, but precious to me as the most precious of repeaters.

      "He is very tough, your watch, Monsieur," said the Wizard, pounding away vigorously. "He--he takes a long time … Ah! mon Dieu!"

      He raised his hand to his head, uttered a faint cry, and snatched at the back of the chair for support.

      My first thought was that he had destroyed my watch by mistake--my second, that he was very ill indeed. Scarcely knowing what I did, and quite forgetting the audience, I jumped on the platform to his aid.

      He shook his head, waved me away with one trembling hand, made a last effort to articulate, and fell heavily to the ground.

      All was confusion in an instant. Everybody crowded to the stage; whilst I, with a presence of mind which afterwards surprised myself, made my way out by a side-door and ran to fetch my father. He was fortunately at home, and in less than ten minutes the Chevalier was under his care. We found him laid upon a sofa in one of the sitting-rooms of the inn, pale, rigid, insensible, and surrounded by an idle crowd of lookers-on. They had taken off his cap and beard, and the landlady was endeavoring to pour some brandy down his throat; but his teeth were fast set, and his lips were blue and cold.

      "Oh, Doctor Arbuthnot! Doctor Arbuthnot!" cried a dozen voices at

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