The　Magic　Skin
  by　Honore　de　Balzac
  Translated　by　Ellen　Marriage
  To　Monsieur　Savary；　Member　of　Le　Academie　des　Sciences。
  I
  THE　TALISMAN
  Towards　the　end　of　the　month　of　October　1829　a　young　man　entered　the
  Palais…Royal　just　as　the　gaming…houses　opened；　agreeably　to　the　law
  which　protects　a　passion　by　its　very　nature　easily　excisable。　He
  mounted　the　staircase　of　one　of　the　gambling　hells　distinguished　by
  the　number　36；　without　too　much　deliberation。
  〃Your　hat；　sir；　if　you　please？〃　a　thin；　querulous　voice　called　out。　A
  little　old　man；　crouching　in　the　darkness　behind　a　railing；　suddenly
  rose　and　exhibited　his　features；　carved　after　a　mean　design。
  As　you　enter　a　gaming…house　the　law　despoils　you　of　your　hat　at　the
  outset。　Is　it　by　way　of　a　parable；　a　divine　revelation？　Or　by　exacting
  some　pledge　or　other；　is　not　an　infernal　compact　implied？　Is　it　done
  to　compel　you　to　preserve　a　respectful　demeanor　towards　those　who　are
  about　to　gain　money　of　you？　Or　must　the　detective；　who　squats　in　our
  social　sewers；　know　the　name　of　your　hatter；　or　your　own；　if　you
  happen　to　have　written　it　on　the　lining　inside？　Or；　after　all；　is　the
  measurement　of　your　skull　required　for　the　compilation　of　statistics
  as　to　the　cerebral　capacity　of　gamblers？　The　executive　is　absolutely
  silent　on　this　point。　But　be　sure　of　this；　that　though　you　have
  scarcely　taken　a　step　towards　the　tables；　your　hat　no　more　belongs　to
  you　now　than　you　belong　to　yourself。　Play　possesses　you；　your　fortune；
  your　cap；　your　cane；　your　cloak。
  As　you　go　out；　it　will　be　made　clear　to　you；　by　a　savage　irony；　that
  Play　has　yet　spared　you　something；　since　your　property　is　returned。
  For　all　that；　if　you　bring　a　new　hat　with　you；　you　will　have　to　pay
  for　the　knowledge　that　a　special　costume　is　needed　for　a　gambler。
  The　evident　astonishment　with　which　the　young　man　took　a　numbered
  tally　in　exchange　for　his　hat；　which　was　fortunately　somewhat　rubbed
  at　the　brim；　showed　clearly　enough　that　his　mind　was　yet　untainted；
  and　the　little　old　man；　who　had　wallowed　from　his　youth　up　in　the
  furious　pleasures　of　a　gambler's　life；　cast　a　dull；　indifferent　glance
  over　him；　in　which　a　philosopher　might　have　seen　wretchedness　lying　in
  the　hospital；　the　vagrant　lives　of　ruined　folk；　inquests　on　numberless
  suicides；　life…long　penal　servitude　and　transportations　to
  Guazacoalco。
  His　pallid；　lengthy　visage　appeared　like　a　haggard　embodiment　of　the
  passion　reduced　to　its　simplest　terms。　There　were　traces　of　past
  anguish　in　its　wrinkles。　He　supported　life　on　the　glutinous　soups　at
  Darcet's；　and　gambled　away　his　meagre　earnings　day　by　day。　Like　some
  old　hackney　which　takes　no　heed　of　the　strokes　of　the　whip；　nothing
  could　move　him　now。　The　stifled　groans　of　ruined　players；　as　they
  passed　out；　their　mute　imprecations；　their　stupefied　faces；　found　him
  impassive。　He　was　the　spirit　of　Play　incarnate。　If　the　young　man　had
  noticed　this　sorry　Cerberus；　perhaps　he　would　have　said；　〃There　is
  only　a　pack　of　cards　in　that　heart　of　his。〃
  The　stranger　did　not　heed　this　warning　writ　in　flesh　and　blood；　put
  here；　no　doubt；　by　Providence；　who　has　set　loathing　on　the　threshold
  of　all　evil　haunts。　He　walked　boldly　into　the　saloon；　where　the　rattle
  of　coin　brought　his　senses　under　the　dazzling　spell　of　an　agony　of
  greed。　Most　likely　he　had　been　drawn　thither　by　that　most　convincing
  of　Jean　Jacques'　eloquent　periods；　which　expresses；　I　think；　this
  melancholy　thought；　〃Yes；　I　can　imagine　that　a　man　may　take　to
  gambling　when　he　sees　only　his　last　shilling　between　him　and　death。〃
  There　is　an　illusion　about　a　gambling　saloon　at　night　as　vulgar　as
  that　of　a　bloodthirsty　drama；　and　just　as　effective。　The　rooms　are
  filled　with　players　and　onlookers；　with　poverty…stricken　age；　which
  drags　itself　thither　in　search　of　stimulation；　with　excited　faces；　and
  revels　that　began　in　wine；　to　end　shortly　in　the　Seine。　The　passion　is
  there　in　full　measure；　but　the　great　number　of　the　actors　prevents　you
  from　seeing　the　gambling…demon　face　to　face。　The　evening　is　a　harmony
  or　chorus　in　which　all　take　part；　to　which　each　instrument　in　the
  orchestra　contributes　his　share。　You　would　see　there　plenty　of
  respectable　people　who　have　come　in　search　of　diversion；　for　which
  they　pay　as　they　pay　for　the　pleasures　of　the　theatre；　or　of　gluttony；
  or　they　come　hither　as　to　some　garret　where　they　cheapen　poignant
  regrets　for　three　months　to　come。
  Do　you　understand　all　the　force　and　frenzy　in　a　soul　which　impatiently
  waits　for　the　opening　of　a　gambling　hell？　Between　the　daylight　gambler
  and　the　player　at　night　there　is　the　same　difference　that　lies　between
  a　careless　husband　and　the　lover　swooning　under　his　lady's　window。
  Only　with　morning　comes　the　real　throb　of　the　passion　and　the　craving
  in　its　stark　horror。　Then　you　can　admire　the　real　gambler；　who　has
  neither　eaten；　slept；　thought；　nor　lived；　he　has　so　smarted　under　the
  scourge　of　his　martingale；　so　suffered　on　the　rack　of　his　desire　for　a
  coup　of　trente…et…quarante。　At　that　accursed　hour　you　encounter　eyes
  whose　calmness　terrifies　you；　faces　that　fascinate；　glances　that　seem
  as　if　they　had　power　to　turn　the　cards　over　and　consume　them。　The
  grandest　hours　of　a　gambling　saloon　are　not　the　opening　ones。　If　Spain
  has　bull…fights；　and　Rome　once　had　her　gladiators；　Paris　waxes　proud
  of　her　Palais…Royal；　where　the　inevitable　roulettes　cause　blood　to
  flow　in　streams；　and　the　public　can　have　the　pleasure　of　watching
  without　fear　of　their　feet　slipping　in　it。
  Take　a　quiet　peep　at　the　arena。　How　bare　it　looks！　The　paper　on　the
  walls　is　greasy　to　the　height　of　your　head；　there　is　nothing　to　bring
  one　reviving　thought。　There　is　not　so　much　as　a　nail　for　the
  convenience　of　suicides。　The　floor　is　worn　and　dirty。　An　oblong　table
  stands　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　the　tablecloth　is　worn　by　the
  friction　of　gold；　but　the　straw…bottomed　chairs　about　it　indicate　an
  odd　indifference　to　luxury　in　the　men　who　will　lose　their　lives　here
  in　the　quest　of　the　fortune　that　is　to　put　luxury　within　their　reach。
  This　contradiction　in　humanity　is　seen　wherever　the　soul　reacts
  powerfully　upon　itself。　The　gallant　would　clothe　his　mistress　in
  silks；　would　deck　her　out　in　soft　Eastern　fabrics；　though　he　and　she
  must　lie　on　a　truckle…bed。　The　ambitious　dreamer　sees　himself　at　the
  summit　of　power；　while　he　slavishly　prostrates　himself　in　the　mire。
  The　tradesman　stagnates　in　his　damp；　unhealthy　shop；　while　he　builds　a
  great　mansion　for　his　son　to　inherit　prematurely；　only　to　be　ejected
  from　it　by　law　proceedings　at　his　own　brother's　instance。
  After　all；　is　there　a　less　pleasing　thing　in　the　world　than　a　house　of
  pleasure？　Singular　question！　Man　is　always　at　strife　with　himself。　His
  present　woes　give　the　lie　to　his　hopes；　yet　he　looks　to　a　future　which
  is　not　his；　to　indemnify　him　for　these　present　sufferings；　setting
  upon　all　his　actions　the　seal　of　inconsequence　and　of　the　weakness　of
  his　nature。　We　have　nothing　here　below　in　full　measure　but　misfortune。
  There　were　several　gamblers　in　the　room　already　when　the　young　man
  entered。　Three　bald…headed　seniors　were　lounging　round　the　green
  table。　Imperturbable　as　diplomatists；　those　plaster…cast　faces　of
  theirs　betokened　blunted　sensibilities；　and　hearts　which　had　long
  forgotten　how　to　throb；　even　when　a　woman's　dowry　was　the　stake。　A
  young　Italian；　olive…hued　and　dark…haired；　sat　at　one　end；　with　his
  elbows　on　the　table；　seeming　to　listen　to　the　presentiments　of　luck
  that　dictate　a　gambler's　〃Yes〃　or　〃No。〃　The　glow　of　fire　and　gold　was
  on　that　southern　face。　Some　seven　or　eight　onlookers　stood　by　way　of
  an　audience；　awaiting　a　drama　composed　of　the　strokes　of　chance；　the
  faces　of　the　actors；　the　circulation　of　coin；　and　the　motion　of　the
  croupier's　rake；　much　as　a　silent；　motionless　crowd　watches　the
  headsman　in　the　Place　de　Greve。　A　tall；　thin　man；　in　a　threadbare
  coat；　held　a　card　in　one　hand；　and　a　pin　in　the　other；　to　mark　the
  numbers　of　Red　or　Black。　He　seemed　a　modern　Tantalus；　with　all　the
  pleasures　of　his　epoch　at　his　lips；　a　hoardless　miser　drawing　in
  imaginary　gains；　a　sane　species　of　lunatic　who　consoles　himself　in　his
  misery　by　chimerical　dreams；　a　man　who　touches　peril　and　vice　as　a
  young　priest　handles　the　unconsecrated　wafer　in　the　white　mass。
  One　or　two　experts　at　the　game；　shrewd　speculators；　had　placed
  themselves　opposite　the　bank；　like　old　convicts　who　have　lost　all　fear
  of　the　hulks；　they　meant　to　try　two　or　three　coups；　and　then　to　depart
  at　once　with　the　expected　gains；　on　which　they　lived。　Two　elderly
  waiters　dawdled　about　with　their　arms　folded；　looking　from　time　to
  time　into　the　garden　from　the　windows；　as　if　to　show　their
  insignificant　faces　as　a　sign　to　passers…by。
  The　croupier　and　banker　threw　a　ghastly　and　withering　glance　at　the
  punters；　and　cried；　in　a　sharp　voice；　〃Make　your　game！〃　as　the　young
  man　came　in。　The　silence　seemed　to　grow　deeper　as　all　heads　turned
  curiously　towards　the　new　arrival。　Who　would　have　thought　it？　The
  jaded　elders；　the　fossilized　waiters；　the　onlookers；　the　fanatical
  Italian　himself；　felt　an　indefinable　dread　at　sight　of　the　stranger。
  Is　he　not　wretched　indeed　who　can　excit