he appeared to listen to his guide, answering him by gestures or

monosyllables; but imperceptibly he arrogated the privilege of saying
nothing, and gave himself up without hindrance to his closing

meditations, which were appalling. He had a poet's temperament, his
mind had entered by chance on a vast field; and he must see perforce

the dry bones of twenty future worlds.
At a first glance the place presented a confused picture in which

every achievement, human and divine, was mingled. Crocodiles, monkeys,
and serpents stuffed with straw grinned at glass from church windows,

seemed to wish to bite sculptured heads, to chase lacquered work, or
to scramble up chandeliers. A Sevres vase, bearing Napoleon's portrait

by Mme. Jacotot, stood beside a sphinx dedicated to Sesostris. The
beginnings of the world and the events of yesterday were mingled with

grotesque cheerfulness. A kitchen jack leaned against a pyx, a
republican sabre on a mediaeval hackbut. Mme. du Barry, with a star

above her head, naked, and surrounded by a cloud, seemed to look
longingly out of Latour's pastel at an Indian chibook, while she tried

to guess the purpose of the spiral curves that wound towards her.
Instruments of death, poniards, curious pistols, and disguised weapons

had been flung down pell-mell among the paraphernalia of daily life;
porcelain tureens, Dresden plates, translucent cups from china, old

salt-cellars, comfit-boxes belonging to feudal times. A carved ivory
ship sped full sail on the back of a motionless tortoise.

The Emperor Augustus remained unmoved and imperial with an air-pump
thrust into one eye. Portraits of French sheriffs and Dutch

burgomasters, phlegmatic now as when in life, looked down pallid and
unconcerned on the chaos of past ages below them.

Every land of earth seemed to have contributed some stray fragment of
its learning, some example of its art. Nothing seemed lacking to this

philosophical kitchen-midden, from a redskin's calumet, a green and
golden slipper from the seraglio, a Moorish yataghan, a Tartar idol,

to the soldier's tobacco pouch, to the priest's ciborium, and the
plumes that once adorned a throne. This extraordinarycombination was

rendered yet more bizarre by the accidents of lighting, by a multitude
of confused reflections of various hues, by the sharp contrast of

blacks and whites. Broken cries seemed to reach the ear, unfinished
dramas seized upon the imagination, smothered lights caught the eye. A

thin coating of inevitable dust covered all the multitudinous corners
and convolutions of these objects of various shapes which gave highly

picturesque effects.
First of all, the stranger compared the three galleries which

civilization, cults, divinities, masterpieces, dominions, carousals,
sanity, and madness had filled to repletion, to a mirror with numerous

facets, each depicting a world. After this first hazy idea he would
fain have selected his pleasures; but by dint of using his eyes,

thinking and musing, a fever began to possess him, caused perhaps by
the gnawing pain of hunger. The spectacle of so much existence,

individual or national, to which these pledges bore witness, ended by
numbing his senses--the purpose with which he entered the shop was

fulfilled. He had left the real behind, and had climbed gradually up
to an ideal world; he had attained to the enchanted palace of ecstasy,

whence the universe appeared to him by fragments and in shapes of
flame, as once the future blazed out before the eyes of St. John in

Patmos.
A crowd of sorrowing faces, beneficent and appalling, dark and

luminous, far and near, gathered in numbers, in myriads, in whole
generations. Egypt, rigid and mysterious, arose from her sands in the

form of a mummy swathed in black bandages; then the Pharaohs swallowed
up nations, that they might build themselves a tomb; and he beheld

Moses and the Hebrews and the desert, and a solemnantique world.
Fresh and joyous, a marblestatue spoke to him from a twisted column

of the pleasure-loving myths of Greece and Ionia. Ah! who would not
have smiled with him to see, against the earthen red background, the

brown-faced maiden dancing with gleeful reverence before the god
Priapus, wrought in the fine clay of an Etruscan vase? The Latin queen

caressed her chimera.
The whims of Imperial Rome were there in life, the bath was disclosed,

the toilette of a languid Julia, dreaming, waiting for her Tibullus.
Strong with the might of Arabic spells, the head of Cicero evoked

memories of a free Rome, and unrolled before him the scrolls of Titus
Livius. The young man beheld Senatus Populusque Romanus; consuls,

lictors, togas with purple fringes; the fighting in the Forum, the
angry people, passed in review before him like the cloudy faces of a

dream.
Then Christian Rome predominated in his vision. A painter had laid

heaven open; he beheld the Virgin Mary wrapped in a golden cloud among
the angels, shining more brightly than the sun, receiving the prayers

of sufferers, on whom this second Eve Regenerate smiles pityingly. At
the touch of a mosaic, made of various lavas from Vesuvius and Etna,

his fancy fled to the hot tawny south of Italy. He was present at
Borgia's orgies, he roved among the Abruzzi, sought for Italian love

intrigues, grew ardent over pale faces and dark, almond-shaped eyes.
He shivered over midnight adventures, cut short by the cool thrust of

a jealous blade, as he saw a mediaeval dagger with a hilt wrought like
lace, and spots of rust like splashes of blood upon it.

India and its religions took the shape of the idol with his peaked cap
of fantastic form, with little bells, clad in silk and gold. Close by,

a mat, as pretty as the bayadere who once lay upon it, still gave out
a faint scent of sandal wood. His fancy was stirred by a goggle-eyed

Chinese monster, with mouth awry and twisted limbs, the invention of a
people who, grown weary of the monotony of beauty, found an

indescribable pleasure in an infinitevariety of ugliness. A salt-
cellar from Benvenuto Cellini's workshop carried him back to the

Renaissance at its height, to the time when there was no restraint on
art or morals, when torture was the sport of sovereigns; and from

their councils, churchmen with courtesans' arms about them issued
decrees of chastity for simple priests.

On a cameo he saw the conquests of Alexander, the massacres of Pizarro
in a matchbox, and religious wars disorderly, fanatical, and cruel, in

the shadows of a helmet. Joyous pictures of chivalry were called up by
a suit of Milanese armor, brightly polished and richlywrought; a

paladin's eyes seemed to sparkle yet under the visor.
This sea of inventions, fashions, furniture, works of art and fiascos,

made for him a poem without end. Shapes and colors and projects all
lived again for him, but his mind received no clear and perfect

conception. It was the poet's task to complete the sketches of the
great master, who had scornfully mingled on his palette the hues of

the numberless vicissitudes of human life. When the world at large at
last released him, when he had pondered over many lands, many epochs,

and various empires, the young man came back to the life of the
individual. He impersonated fresh characters, and turned his mind to

details, rejecting the life of nations as a burden too overwhelming
for a single soul.

Yonder was a sleeping child modeled in wax, a relic of Ruysch's
collection, an enchanting creation which brought back the happiness of

his own childhood. The cotton garment of a Tahitian maid next
fascinated him; he beheld the primitive life of nature, the real

modesty of naked chastity, the joys of an idleness natural to mankind,
a peaceful fate by a slow river of sweet water under a plantain tree

that bears its pleasant manna without the toil of man. Then all at
once he became a corsair, investing himself with the terrible poetry

that Lara has given to the part: the thought came at the sight of the
mother-of-pearl tints of a myriad sea-shells, and grew as he saw

madrepores redolent of the sea-weeds and the storms of the Atlantic.
The sea was forgotten again at a distant view of exquisite miniatures;

he admired a precious missal in manuscript, adorned with arabesques in
gold and blue. Thoughts of peaceful life swayed him; he devoted

himself afresh to study and research, longing for the easy life of the
monk, devoid alike of cares and pleasures; and from the depths of his

cell he looked out upon the meadows, woods, and vineyards of his
convent. Pausing before some work of Teniers, he took for his own the

helmet of the soldier or the poverty of the artisan; he wished to wear
a smoke-begrimed cap with these Flemings, to drink their beer and join

their game at cards, and smiled upon the comely plumpness of a peasant
woman. He shivered at a snowstorm by Mieris; he seemed to take part in

Salvator Rosa's battle-piece; he ran his fingers over a tomahawk form
Illinois, and felt his own hair rise as he touched a Cherokee

scalping-knife. He marveled over the rebec that he set in the hands of
some lady of the land, drank in the musical notes of her ballad, and

in the twilight by the gothic arch above the hearth he told his love
in a gloom so deep that he could not read his answer in her eyes.

He caught at all delights, at all sorrows; grasped at existence in
every form; and endowed the phantoms conjured up from that inert and

plastic material so liberally with his own life and feelings, that the
sound of his own footsteps reached him as if from another world, or as

the hum of Paris reaches the towers of Notre Dame.
He ascended the inner staircase which led to the first floor, with its