Impressions of Africa (French Literature Series) (12 page)

This presentation inaugurated a storyline rapidly continued by a second emission of purely delineated smoke. There, in the middle of a public marketplace, two groups formed two perfectly regular squares, one made up solely of old men, the other solely of youths. Pheor, following a violent harangue, found himself facing the anger of the young men, who had thrown him to the ground without pity for the feebleness of his scrawny limbs.

A third aerial episode showed Pheor on his knees, in an ecstatic pose provoked by the passage of a courtesan surrounded by an entourage of slaves.

Little by little the smoke that composed these human groupings spread a drifting, impalpable veil over the stage.

“Jeremiah…the stoning…!”

After these words, inspired by a dull, fleeting eruption above the hearth showing Jeremiah stoned by a massive crowd, the exhausted Romeo fell dead before the horrified eyes of Juliet, who, still wearing the necklace that already glowed less brightly, succumbed in turn to the potion’s hallucinatory power.

A light suddenly shone at left, behind the backdrop, illuminating an apparition visible through a fine painted grille, which until then had seemed as opaque and homogenous as the fragile wall surrounding it.

Juliet turned toward the flood of light, crying, “Father…!”

Capulet, played by Soreau, stood in a long golden robe, silky and floating; his outstretched arm pointed at Juliet in a gesture of hatred and reproach, clearly related to her guilty elopement.

Then darkness fell anew, and the vision disappeared behind the again unremarkable wall.

Juliet, kneeling in a supplicant posture, stood up, wracked by sobs, to remain for a few moments with her face buried in her hands.

A second luminous image made her raise her head and drew it to the right, toward an evocation of Christ, who, mounted on the legendary donkey, was only slightly concealed by a second painted grille, forming a pendant to the first.

It was again Soreau, having rapidly changed, who played the role of Jesus, his presence seeming to admonish Juliet for having betrayed her faith by voluntarily summoning death.

The divine, immobile specter, suddenly growing dim, vanished behind the wall, and Juliet, as if stricken by madness, smiled softly at some enchanting new dream beginning to form.

At that moment a bust of a woman’s head appeared onstage, mounted on a small trolley that an unknown hand pushed laterally from stage left using a stiff rod hidden at floor level.

The pink and white bust, much like a barber’s dummy, had wide blue eyes with long lashes and a magnificent head of blonde hair separated into thin braids that hung naturally on all sides. Certain of her braids, which we could see because chance had placed them over her chest or against her shoulders, bore numerous gold coins up and down their outer surface.

Enchanted, Juliet moved toward the visitor murmuring the name “Urgela…!”

Then the stand, shaken side to side by the rod, communicated its jolts to the bust, whose hair violently swung about. The poorly attached gold coins fell in an abundant shower, proving that the unseen plaits in back were no less festooned than the others.

For a moment the fairy spread her dazzling riches without measure, until, presumably pulled back by the same hand, she silently disappeared.

Juliet, as if pained by this abandonment, looked about aimlessly, her eyes coming to rest on the still glowing brazier.

Once more, a torrent of smoke rose above the flames.

Juliet recoiled, crying out in stark terror: “Pergovedula…the two heifers…!”

The intangible and fugitive shape evoked a woman with frizzy hair, seated before a monstrous repast composed of two heifers cut into large quarters and avidly brandishing an immense fork.

The vapor, in dissipating, revealed behind the hearth a fearsome apparition, which Juliet designated by the same name, “Pergovedula,” spoken with heightened anxiety.

It was the tragedienne Adinolfa, who had quickly stood up in a peculiar guise. Her face, thickly coated in ochre greasepaint, clashed with her mildew-green lips, which parted in a wide and horrifying rictus; her bushy hair made her look precisely like the vision that had just emerged from the brazier, and her eyes stared insistently at the terror-stricken Juliet.

Billows of smoke, now in no specific shape, were still pouring from the brazier, masking Adinolfa’s face; by the time this ephemeral veil dispersed, she had vanished.

Less brilliantly adorned by the necklace that was gradually fading, Juliet in her final agony collapsed onto the steps leading to the bed, arms hanging limp, head thrown back. Her eyes, now devoid of expression, ended by staring into space at a second Romeo who slowly descended toward her.

This new supernumerary, played by one of Kalj’s brothers, personified the light and lively soul of the inert corpse stretched out near Juliet. A red headpiece, like that of his model, decorated the brow of this perfect double, who, with outstretched arms, came smiling to claim the dying girl and lead her to her immortal repose.

But Juliet, seemingly deprived of sanity, turned indifferently away, while the ghost, contrite and dismissed, rose noiselessly back into the wings.

After a few last weak and automatic movements, Juliet fell dead next to Romeo, just as the two stage curtains closed rapidly.

Kalj and Meisdehl had astonished us all with their marvelously tragic pantomime and by the few French phrases they had uttered without a trace of error or accent.

Returning to the esplanade, the two children made a prompt departure.

Pulled by the serf and faithfully escorted by Meisdehl, the chariot, once more emitting its shrill, continuous note, carried to the left the sickly Romeo, visibly exhausted by the strain of his lengthy performance.

The high C was still ringing in the distance when Fuxier came toward us, his spread right hand holding against his chest an earthen pot from which a vine-stock jutted.

His left hand carried a transparent cylindrical jar, which, furnished with a large cork stopper pierced by a metal tube, displayed in its lower portion a volume of chemical salts that had burgeoned into graceful crystals.

Setting his two burdens on the ground, Fuxier took from his pocket a small covered lantern, which he lay flat on the potting soil brushing against the inner edges of the stoneware vessel. An electrical current, switched on within this portable beacon, suddenly projected a dazzling shaft of white light, which a powerful lens pointed toward the zenith.

At that point, lifting the jar and holding it horizontally, Fuxier turned a key at the end of the metal tube, whose opening, carefully aimed at a predetermined portion of the stock, released a violently compressed gas. A brief explanation taught us that this element, when allowed contact with the atmosphere, provoked an intense heat, which, combined with certain very specific chemical properties, would cause a bunch of grapes to ripen before our eyes.

He had barely finished his commentary when already the promised phenomenon occurred in the form of an imperceptibly small cluster. Possessing the power that legend ascribes to certain Indian fakirs, Fuxier performed for us the miracle of instant blossoming.

Under the action of the chemical flow, the fruit buds developed rapidly, and soon a cluster of green grapes, heavy and ripe, hung alone on one side of the vine-stock.

Fuxier set the jar back down on the ground, having sealed the tube with another twist of the key. Then, drawing our attention to the cluster, he showed us minuscule human figures imprisoned at the center of the diaphanous globes.

Through a process of modeling and coloration even more meticulous than the labor required to prepare his blue or red lozenges, Fuxier had deposited in each bud the seed of an elegant tableau, which had reached fruition in tandem with the grape’s accelerated maturity.

Looking closely, we could easily make out, through the grapes’ unusually delicate and transparent skins, the various scenes that the lantern’s electric beam lit from below.

The operations on the grape buds had entailed the suppression of pips, and so nothing disturbed the purity of the translucent and colored Lilliputian statues, whose matter was furnished by the pulp itself.

“A glimpse of ancient Gaul,” said Fuxier, his finger touching a first grape in which we saw several Celtic warriors readying for battle.

Each of us admired the subtlety of contour and richness of tone that the lamp highlighted so beautifully.

“Eudes sawed in two by a demon in Count Valtguire’s dream,” Fuxier resumed, indicating a second grape.

This time we distinguished, behind the sheer envelope, a sleeper in armor stretched out at the foot of a tree; a puff of smoke, seemingly escaping from his forehead to depict some dream, contained, in its tenuous clouds, a demon armed with a long saw whose sharp teeth sliced into the flesh of one of the damned, writhing in pain.

A third grape, summarily explained, showed the Roman circus teeming with a throng enflamed by a gladiator fight.

“Napoleon in Spain.”

These words applied to a fourth grape, in which the emperor, attired in green, passed victoriously on horseback amid the citizens, their hatred visible in their silently hostile manner.

“A gospel of Saint Luke,” continued Fuxier, lightly touching a triplet of grapes side by side on a single stem with three branches, in which the following three scenes contained the same characters:

In the first, one saw Jesus holding out his hand to a small girl, who, lips open and eyes fixed, seemed to be singing some fine and prolonged trill. Next to her, on a pallet, a young boy immobilized in the sleep of death still clutched in his fingers a long wicker strand; near the deathbed, his grief-stricken father and mother wept silently. In a corner, a skinny, hunchbacked girl child kept humbly to the side.

In the middle grape, Jesus, turned toward the pallet, looked at the dead boy, who, miraculously restored to life, braided the light and flexible wicker strand like a practiced basket weaver. The wonder-struck family expressed its joyous stupefaction with ecstatic gestures.

The final tableau, containing the same décor and characters, glorified Jesus touching the young invalid, who had become tall and beautiful.

Leaving this trilogy aside, Fuxier lifted the bottom of the cluster and showed us a superb grape with this commentary:

“Hans the woodsman and his six sons.”

Here, a strangely robust old man carried on his shoulder a formidable load of wood, made of entire tree trunks mixed with bundles of logs held together by shoots. Behind him, six young men each strained beneath a burden of the same type, though infinitely lighter. The old man, half turning his head, seemed to be mocking the slow-pokes who were less hardy and energetic than he.

In the penultimate grape, an adolescent wearing Louis XV garb looked on with emotion as he passed by a young woman in a poppy-colored dress sitting in her doorway.

“The first stirrings of love felt by Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Emile,” explained Fuxier, who, moving his fingers, made the electric rays play over the bright red glimmers of the woman’s dazzling dress.

The tenth and final grape contained a superhuman duel that Fuxier told us was a reproduction of a canvas by Raphael. An angel, hovering several feet above ground, was aiming his lance at Satan’s chest, while the latter faltered and dropped his own weapon.

Having presented the entire cluster, Fuxier extinguished his covered lantern, which he put back in his pocket; he then walked away as he’d come, again carrying the earthen pot and cylindrical container.

W
E WERE STILL GAZING
after the evocative grape vine when Rao appeared leading his slaves, who were groaning beneath a voluminous and rather elongated object.

Next to the group, Fogar, the emperor’s eldest son, walked in silence, holding in his right hand a magnificent purple flower whose stem bristled with thorns.

The new burden was set in the usual place, and Fogar remained alone to watch over it as the others quickly retreated.

The object, freely exposed to the moonlight, was none other than a very rudimentary bed, an uncomfortable-looking box frame decorated with many diverse attributes.

To the right, attached behind the raised portion intended to support the sleeper’s torso, a pot of dirt held the root of a huge, whitish plant that rose into the air, then curved to form a kind of bed canopy.

Above this graceful baldachin, a spotlight, unlit at the moment, hung from a metal pole bent at the top.

The farthest side of the bed frame bore numerous ornaments, arranged with care.

Just before the right-hand corner, a long triangular surface, suggesting a pennant, unfurled to the side at the top of a narrow raised stake made of blue-painted wood. The whole thing looked like the flag of some unknown country, given the colors on the muslin: a cream-colored background shot through with asymmetrical red streaks and two close-set black dots stacked one above the other near the vertical base of the triangle.

A little to the left rose a minuscule portico, barely an inch wide. Hanging from the lintel at top, the fringe from a dress or costume swayed its many white, even strands at the slightest disturbance; each of these strands ended in a bright red tip.

Pursuing our examination in the same direction, we found a shallow receptacle from which emerged white soap covered with thick foam.

Then came a metal recess containing a large, thin sponge.

Next to the recess, a fragile platform supported an amphora with strange contours, against which leaned a cylindrical object fitted with a propeller.

Finally, concluding this incomprehensible series of ornaments on the left side, a round zinc plate balanced horizontally on a narrow pillar.

The side of the bed frame facing the plant and the spotlight was no less crowded.

Against the corner next to the zinc plate one first saw a kind of gelatinous block, yellow and motionless.

Next, along the same plane, was a piece of carpet, on which a thin layer of dry cement was spread; in the cement, one hundred thin, sharp jade needles were vertically embedded in ten even rows.

The block and carpet rested alongside each other on a short board barely large enough for them.

Three gold ingots, whose perfect spacing seemed to prolong the median line of the frame, rose from three iron supports that held them solidly in their claws. One could not differentiate among them, as their cylindrical shape and rounded ends were identical.

Closer to us, next to the narrow space occupied by the three precious ingots, a second board mirrored the first.

On it, we first saw a basket containing three cats: lent by Marius Boucharessas, they were none other than three of the
greens
from the game of prisoner’s base, still sporting their ribbons.

Next to this, a delicate object, which looked like the door to a cage, was composed of two thin slats that, laid horizontally a few centimeters apart from each other, pressed between their four inner extremities two fragile vertical risers. In the rectangle thus formed, taut black horsehairs stretched top to bottom between the two wooden slats, passing through imperceptible holes and knotted at both ends. Nearby lay a very straight twig, sliced in half lengthwise, that displayed a slightly resinous inner surface.

Finally, placed directly on the board against the near corner of the bed frame, a fat candle stood next to two dark-colored pebbles.

From almost halfway down the bed, at what would be the sleeper’s left, rose a metal rod; upright at first, it then bent sharply to the right and ended in a kind of curved handle like the armpiece of a crutch.

Fogar carefully inspected the various components of the cot. His ebony face shone with precocious intelligence, to a degree astonishing in a boy who had just reached adolescence.

Using the only side that remained free of clutter, he climbed onto the bed and slowly stretched out, bringing his left armpit in line with the curved handle that fit it perfectly.

His arms and legs completely rigid, he froze in a corpselike pose, after having placed the purple flower within reach of his right hand.

His lids ceased blinking over his staring, vacant eyes, and the rhythm of his breathing gradually decreased under the influence of the powerful lethargic slumber that soon overcame him.

A few moments later, his prostration was absolute. The adolescent’s chest remained as motionless as if he were dead, and his half-open mouth seemed to exhale no breath.

Bex, walking up, pulled an oval mirror from his pocket and placed it before the young Negro’s lips; no fog tarnished the brilliant surface, and its shine remained intact.

Then, laying his hand over the patient’s heart, Bex shook his head to indicate the lack of a pulse.

Several seconds passed in silence. Bex had quietly retreated, leaving the area around the bed unencumbered.

Suddenly, as if he’d found some scrap of consciousness in the depths of his torpor, Fogar’s body gave an imperceptible twitch, which activated the handle under his armpit.

Immediately the spotlight lit up, projecting downward a dazzlingly white electric beam, its brightness increased tenfold by a freshly polished reflector.

The white plant that formed the bed canopy received the full force of that intense light, which seemed to be aimed specifically at it. Through the transparent overhang, we could see a delicate, clear, and vivid image, of a piece with the plant’s very fibers, which we now saw were tinted through and through.

The whole thing was oddly reminiscent of a stained-glass window, admirably unified and blended due to the absence of any seam or harsh glare.

The diaphanous image evoked some Oriental site. Under a cloudless sky stretched a splendid garden filled with alluring flowers. In the center of a marble basin, a fountain spurting from a jade tube gracefully described its slender arc.

To one side rose the façade of a sumptuous palace, in which one open window framed a couple locked in an embrace. The man, a fat, bearded individual dressed like a wealthy merchant from the
Arabian Nights
, wore on his beaming face an expression of expansive and inalterable joy. The woman, a full-blooded Moor judging by her dress and features, remained languid and melancholy despite her companion’s good humor.

Beneath the window, not far from the marble fountain, stood a young man with curly locks, whose outfit was consonant in time and place with the merchant’s. Lifting his face in inspiration toward the couple, he sang some elegy of his own composition through a megaphone made of dull, silvery metal.

The Moorish eyes avidly sought out the poet, who, for his part, was intoxicated by the young woman’s striking beauty.

Suddenly, a shift of molecules occurred in the fibers of the luminous plant. The image lost its clarity and contour. The atoms all vibrated at once, as if trying to settle into a new, predetermined arrangement.

Soon a second tableau formed, as resplendent as the first and similarly of a piece with the fine, translucent vegetal fibers.

In this scene, a large dune in golden hues retained several footprints on its arid flanks. The poet from the first image, bent toward the friable sand, gently placed his lips on the deep trace of a slim, graceful foot.

After several moments’ immobility, the atoms, again unsettled, recommenced their turbulent maneuver, yielding a third brightly colored view.

This time the poet was not alone: next to him a Chinaman in a purple robe pointed at a large bird of prey, whose majestic flight doubtless had some prophetic import.

A new reshuffling in the sensitive plant depicted, in a curious laboratory, the same Chinaman receiving several gold coins from the poet in exchange for a manuscript tendered and accepted.

Each bizarre image from the plant lasted the same amount of time; one by one the following scenes succeeded each other on the canopy screen:

The laboratory yielded to a richly appointed banquet hall. Sitting at the fully laid table, the fat, bearded merchant breathed in the aroma of a dish he held in both hands. His eyelids were growing heavy under the spell of the appetizing steam, which bore some treacherous substance. Opposite him the poet and the Mooress eagerly awaited the onset of this deep slumber.

Then we saw a marvelous Eden on which the burning rays of the noonday sun beat down. In the background flowed a graceful waterfall, tinted with green glimmers. The poet and the Moorish woman slept side by side, in the shade of a fabulous flower like some giant anemone. To the left, a Negro entered at a run, as if to warn the two lovers of some impending danger.

The same setting, evoked a second time, framed the amorous couple mounted on a spirited zebra that took off at breakneck speed. Sitting on its rump behind the solidly straddling poet, the Mooress laughingly brandished a purse containing a few gold coins. The Negro followed their departure with a respectful gesture of farewell.

The enchanting site eclipsed definitively to give way to a sun-baked road, at the edge of which rose a stall filled with various foodstuffs. Lying in the middle of the road and cradled by the anxious poet, the Moorish woman, pale and exhausted, received some nourishment provided by the attentive and zealous shopkeeper.

In the following apparition, the recovered Mooress wandered with the poet. Near her, a strange-looking man seemed to be making dire predictions that she took in with alarm and distress.

A final image, evidently containing the tragic denouement of the idyll, showed a terrible abyss whose walls bristled with sharp protuberances. The Mooress, her body smashing against these countless spikes, was in the midst of a horrifying fall, having succumbed to the dizzying pull of many bodiless, faceless eyes, their harsh expression fraught with menace. At the top of the precipice, the desperate poet was throwing himself after his lover.

This dramatic scene was replaced by the unexpected picture of a wolf with glowing eyes. The animal’s body alone took up as much space as each of the preceding views; beneath it one could read, in fat capitals, the Latin designation “LUPUS.” No similarity of color or proportion seemed to link this giant portrait to the Oriental scenes, whose own unity was evident.

The wolf soon vanished and the initial image reappeared, with its garden and marble fountain, singing poet, and couple posted at the window. All the tableaux paraded by a second time in the exact same order, separated by pauses of the same length. The wolf again concluded the series, which was followed by a third cycle, rigorously identical to the first two. Indefinitely the plant repeated its curious molecular revolutions, which seemed an integral part of its own existence.

When the initial garden and its fountain appeared for the fourth time, everyone’s gaze, weary of following this now-monotonous spectacle, lowered onto the still inanimate Fogar.

The young Negro’s body and the objects placed on the edges of his bed were covered in multicolored reflections coming from the strange bed canopy.

Like the floor slabs of a church on which sunlight reproduces the smallest subtleties of stained glass, the entire area of the bed frame slavishly plagiarized the shapes and hues fixed on the screen.

One could recognize the protagonists, water fountain, and palace façade, all enlarged by projection, as they sumptuously tinted the different lumps or objects they happened to fall on, espousing their infinitely varied forms.

The polychromatic waves overflowed extensively onto the ground, causing a scattering of fantastic colored shapes on either side.

Even without raising our eyes toward the plant canopy, we could still witness each pictorial change, the reflections echoing the now familiar and anticipated scenes.

Soon afterward Fogar’s prostration came to an end. His chest rose slightly, marking the resumption of his breathing. Bex rested his hand on the heart that had been stilled for so long, then returned to his place, notifying us of the timid, barely perceptible pulse.

Suddenly a blink of the boy’s eyelids indicated his complete return to life. His eyes lost their abnormal stare, and Fogar, with a sudden movement, grasped the purple flower lying limp near his right hand.

With a thorn on its stem, he made a longitudinal gash in his left wrist, then opened a bulging, swollen vein and pulled out a huge blood clot, greenish in color and completely coagulated, which he laid on the bed. Then, with a petal of the flower nimbly plucked and squeezed between his fingers, he created a few drops of an effective serum that, dripping onto his vein, swiftly sealed the two separated edges.

At that point his circulation, cleared of all obstacles, could resume easily.

The identical operation, which Fogar himself performed on his chest and near the inner bend of his right knee, procured two more blood clots like the first. Two more petals, needed to seal the blood vessels, were now missing from the purple flower.

The three clots, which Fogar now held side by side in his left hand, looked like three sticks of gummy, translucent angelica.

The young Negro had obtained the desired effect by his voluntary catalepsy, whose only purpose, indeed, was to entail a partial condensation of his blood and thus provide the solidified fragments full of delicate hues.

Turning to the right toward the red-streaked pennant, Fogar took one of the blood clots, which he raised gently to the blue flagpole.

Suddenly the whitish muslin, bathed in reflections from above, started quivering. Immobile until then, the triangle began to descend, clinging to its stem; rather than a simple rag, we saw before us some strange animal endowed with instinct and movement. The reddish streaks were actually powerful blood vessels, and the two symmetrical black dots a monitory, unblinking pair of eyes. The vertical base of the triangle adhered to the pole via numerous suction cups, which a series of contortions had now begun moving in a constant direction.