Homo-Deus

by Félicien Champsaur

  He sat down and collected himself momentarily, in order to discipline his thoughts, and, without any longer making any movement, called out in a soft, insinuating voice: “Mesmoth! Mesmoth! Come here, old Puss!”

  He remembered that there was milk in a bowl at the back of a cupboard. He switched on the electricity, fetched the bowl, sat down again and set it on his knees.

  “Come on, Mesmoth, come here...”

  When he’s calmed down, Vanel thought, he’ll come. Hunger will make him drink the milk, and at that moment, I’ll grab him—and there’ll be nothing more to fear!

  He was slightly ashamed. What phenomenon could have made him, Marc Vanel, who had never trembled in his life, fearful? Thus, the power of invisibility had something diabolical or superhuman about it, which even frightened the man who possessed its secret!

  Soon, Marc Vanel distinguished the footfalls of the animal drawing nearer; he perceived the lapping of a tongue, causing the surface of the milk on the bowl to stir. Gently, he reached out, felt the warmth of the magnetic fur, shivered at the unanticipated contact, and lifted up the cat.

  Serene, maintained once again on the glass disk while the electrical machine was activated again, Mesmoth, under the effect of the new currents and appropriate practices, soon became apparent again. His eyes were fearful, imploring, and Vanel breathed out, triumphantly.

  Invisible, he could penetrate anywhere, see everything, without betraying his presence.

  Invisible! That was, in sum, to withdraw from the world of the living without dying; it was no longer to be part of a despicable, vain, insipid society, while remaining in its wings—better than that, in the action and also in the souls of the actors, for he could penetrate at will into the most hermetic intimacy of others.

  “Now,” he said, aloud “I believe I can return to Paris.”

  He would have liked to go right away, but in the ardor of his enthusiasm he had not perceived the imperfections in his extraordinary discovery, and experienced, to begin with, a few snags that obliged him to do further research to complete the solution of the problem. It was thus that he was able to find the means of communicating a durable invisibility to inert objects in contact with its body, without which he would have been forced to go about the streets naked, which was not exempt from dangers. In the same way, he had experienced a great disappointment in discovering that the invisibility only lasted for an hour or two, and he was obliged to work for a long time to prolong the state. Thanks to powerful machines and new methods, he eventually succeeded in abstracting himself from human sight for ten hours at a time.

  Now, he was the master of his discovery, of which he made use as a consummate dilettante. Having only been back in Paris for a month, Invisibility had manifested itself on two picturesque occasions, one of which had been the despair of a policeman in the Avenue Henri-Martin, the other the joy of a lovely woman who believed that she was living a dream of love. They were only petty amusements, however; Vanel was thinking about the profound joys, tragic or comical, with which the human comedy would provide him.

  XIII. In Quest of the Unexpected

  Marc Vanel had finished dinner. He emerged from the dining room, took a cigarette from a case in the drawing room, and smoked it reflectively.

  A quarter of an hour later, he descended by means of a hidden stairway into the basement of the house. A model laboratory was installed there. Having traversed a room floored with white flagstones, he opened a small iron door by means of a secret mechanism hidden in the wall. After crossing the threshold, Homo-Deus found himself in a kind of cellar entirely decked out in black fabric; even the floor disappeared beneath a thick carpet of the same color. In the center of the room, an exceedingly thick crystal disk about a meter in diameter rested on the carpet. On the disk was a copper framework.

  Although no light bulb illuminated the cellar it was not entirely dark; a white, slightly milky glow surrounded the crystal disk, seemingly floating, but it was impossible to tell how that opaline gleam emanated from the apparatus. Marc Vanel undressed, and then donned a black three-piece bodystocking made of a special silk, which even covered his head, only leaving two holes for the eyes, and put rubber slippers on his feet. Then he started up the electric machinery placed in a corner and lit the fire under a crucible. Soon, strange vapors filled the room.

  Marc consulted his watch and placed himself on the disk.

  Immediately, he seemed to melt, apparently mutating into a dense mass of gray vapor, initially almost solidified. Soon, as the extremities became vague, unreal and transparent, the mass of vapor disintegrated, the mist dissipating. Nothing remained but a slightly darker nucleus at the center of a scarcely-perceptible halo.

  Homo-Deus followed the phases of the operation in a full-length mirror placed facing him. After a few minutes, he observed the complete disappearance of the light mists reflected by the mirror; there was no longer anything in the limpid transparency of the mirror but the image of the black wall, with two luminous green dots, which were his eyes.

  The master increased the current; sparks sprang forth; then the gleam of the pupils vanished.

  The fluid had penetrated the utmost parcels of his being, carrying the agent of complete discoloration, of invisibility. Now, the man could come and go among other humans; no longer belonging to their world, he would be above them, powerful and terrible, like a god.

  Abruptly, the machines stopped, seemingly of their own accord. The small iron door opened and closed again, with a sinister click. Footsteps climbed the staircase, whose steps creaked, and traversed the hall—the carpet was crushed beneath invisible feet—and then, on the threshold of the entrance door, a voice asked: “Are you ready, Mardruk?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  The Hindu driver opened the door of the automobile. The footplate was depressed, and then, after a moment, the door closed again. In the limousine, the cushions were hollowed out and the same voice commanded: “To the Opéra!”

  The engine roared, and the vehicle pulled away smoothly and rapidly, apparently empty.

  XIV. The Wings of the Opéra

  At about nine o’clock, Marc Vanel’s auto stopped outside the Opéra. A door-opener hurried toward the limousine’s footplate, but he let go of the handle that he was about to turn: the car was empty. The Invisible opened the door himself and got out, closed it again tranquilly and climbed the steps of the immense perron. He went past the ticket collectors, smiling. Soon, Homo-Deus was in the tiled corridors that surrounded the boxes.

  It was the first time that he had come to the Opéra in those implausible conditions. It was necessary to place himself where he was safe from accidental collisions, under the penalty of creating a certain alarm among the people who might bump into him. A favorable opportunity presented itself in the form of the Vauclin household.

  Look! They’re searching for a box number. Now, lodges have six places, and there are only two of them. This is the moment to install myself in their company.

  The usherette opened the door for them. While they were taking off their coats, the Invisible, who had slipped in behind them, took note of the disposition of the place. The large box, preceded by a small reception room, had a sofa in an obscure alcove. The spouses sat down in the front row and Vanel sat in an armchair behind them. He had before his eyes the white nape of the pretty brunette. He breathed in the intoxicated odor of that well-treated flesh.

  That evening’s performance was Gluck’s opera Armide—and Mademoiselle Alexane was to feature in the ballet. When the curtain fell, the Invisible rapidly quit his armchair and installed himself in a corner of the little reception room. Vauclin and is wife went to sit together on the sofa; the Invisible only just had time to huddle in the corner.

  “No need to go out, is there?” said Vauclin. “Let’s wait here for Albert Baruyer.”

  “Yes—all the more so as I’m tired.”

  “Indeed, I’ve noticed over the last few days that you seem weary and anxious…worn out.�
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  “It’s not my fault. Since that sorcerer came to the house, I can no longer sleep.”

  “Marc Vanel? What can that fellow know about the story of Vandeuvre?”

  “There are moments when I wonder whether he’s dead.”

  Vauclin’s face took on a mocking and ferocious expression. In a low voice, he said: “It was certainly a cadaver that I deposited on the bench in the Avenue Henri-Martin.”

  “Then why wasn’t it found there? Who took it away? Why have they kept the body?”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’d like to—but how can I calm my anguish? And then, why does that damned Vanel trouble me so much with his tricks? I wasn’t hallucinating that day; I read on the piece of blank paper: Julien de Vandeuvre is not dead.”

  “I read it, too.”

  “That sorcerer knows more than you think.”

  “What makes you think that? His experiment is explicable. He suggested to us that we translate our most intense preoccupations; we had to read the name of our victim—it was fatal. There’s no proof that Vanel had any suspicion of what was written.”

  On seeing the two accomplices admit their terrors in low voices in the little reception room, the Invisible, in his corner, could not suppress his customary sarcastic snigger. Vauclin and his wife stood up, haggard. The député had brought out a revolver, instinctively; he aimed it in the direction of the dark corner from which the odious laughter had come, but his wife reassured him.

  “How impressionable we are! There’s no one there!”

  “That laughter, though?”

  “It came from the box next door.”

  It was a plausible explanation. Next door, cheerful people were amusing themselves during the entr’acte. At that moment, in any case, the bell indicated that the performance was about to resume, and the couple took their seats again at the front of the box. The Invisible resumed his place in the armchair behind Madame Vauclin’s attractive nape.

  The act that followed was rather short. The homicidal household got up and the Invisible only just had time to step aside in order not to collide with the Beauty. He took advantage of Vauclin’s exit to go into the corridors, which are very broad at the Opéra, and it was without difficulty that the Invisible, avoiding any impact with the strollers, reached the small door connecting the auditorium to the stage and the wings.

  A Cerberus was guarding that door, reserved for faithful subscribers and individuals known to be friends of the house. Marc Vanel, in his invisible bodystocking, went past him proudly, not without irony. After the narrow corridor leading to the stage, he found himself on a kind of immense arena whose floor was formed of joined planks hollowed out with groves and pierced with holes. An army of scene-shifters were changing the set, carrying out their tasks silently with sure, practiced actions. Suddenly, he felt an impact and a curse erupted; someone had just bumped into him while carrying something. Vanel was momentarily amused by the bewildered expression of two scene-shifters searching in vain for the obstacle they had encountered.

  Having traversed the stage, he found himself in a vestibule still cluttered with planks, frameworks and ropes; it was the entrance to the dancers’ foyer. The Invisible went in. Immediately, he experienced a considerable disappointment. For him, as for many others who have doubtless intoxicated their imagination with the exciting evocation of the magical words “dancers’ foyer,” the sadness and desolation of the room with the fugitive parquet brought a regret. What—is that all it was? He had imagined numerous ballerinas, slender and light, in their arachnean tutus, with slim, muscular legs. He had seen them smiling, sketching supple gestures and audacious curves before the eyes of admirers come to intoxicate themselves with their sensuality. Instead of that there was a kind of jolly party, three dancers leaning on exercise bars, in earnest conversation with five men in black suits.

  Homo-Deus understood that there was little chance of running into Alexane in this desolate place. At hazard, he headed toward a glazed door with two slats, leading to a dirty corridor with gray walls, which ended in a stone stairway. Dancers dressed as shepherds and shepherdesses were coming down for the fourth act.

  The Invisible went up the stairs, but on the next floor he ran into an embarrassment when he heard a familiar voice behind him; it was Albert Baruyer, the advocate, in company with Barsac, the President of the Council. From their conversation, he learned that they were on their way to the principal dancer’s dressing room. Vanel was certain that Albert Baruyer was infatuated with Alexane; he had learned that from the reports of his four hypnotized agents.

  Vanel followed the two black suits, wondering: Why doesn’t Alexane appear to experience revulsion for that advocate with a vile reputation? Doubtless he’s well-known in the theatrical world, and powerful, thanks to his brother Georges, whom he plays, for his own account an interested solo after the fashion of Paganini. But I’m sure that Alexane detests Albert. Why? The little group arrived at the star’s door. The dresser let them into the room, which was large enough for the Invisible to slip in behind Barsac.

  At the sight of the Prime Minister, the dancer got up, smiling.

  “Welcome, Seigneur,” she said, bowing to Claude Barsac.

  An admirable handsome young man also stood up. The lover! Vanel thought.

  Alexane introduced him. “Hans de Bliggen, Messieurs. A very devoted friend for whom I have a great deal of affection. An orphan in consequence of dramatic circumstances, he’s worthy of your interest.”

  The President of the Council sniffed a probable request for his influence. In a good humor and disposed to give pleasure, he smiled, raised himself up like a fighting cock and said: “If I can do anything for him...”

  “Later, yes, perhaps later...”

  Hans de Bliggen intervened, however: “My dear Alexane, I beg you...”

  Albert Baruyer, sensing a rival in the admirable Antinous with the slightly Oriental complexion, said sarcastically: “I’m an advocate, Monsieur, and if you wish, I can contribute, graciously, to rendering you justice...”

  Homo-Deus caught the brief glance exchanged by the two lovers. Well, well, he said to himself, the problem is clarified. Perhaps, before long, the comedy will be more amusing than I thought. What was going to emerge from this chaos? Madame Vauclin, the mistress of Albert Baruyer; the latter infatuated with Alexane; Vauclin and Baruyer accomplices in still-mysterious affairs; the dancer’s lover full of hatred—that was obvious—for Baruyer: the situation did not lack spice.

  Now Barsac was complimenting Alexane. She was in a state of extreme undress, ready to put on her stage costume, displayed on an armchair, and revealing, beneath the thin cloth of a peplum, the harmonious splendors of her body. Albert Brauyer never ceased staring at her. Hans de Bliggen perceived that. He went pale. Alexane, seeing him suffering, having met his imploring gaze, obeyed his prayer.

  “I can express how agreeable your company is to me, Monsieur le Président, but it’s time for me to get ready for the ballet.”

  “We’ll leave you to it,” said Baruyer.

  She allowed her hands to be kissed, pretending not to see the amorously flashing eyes of Albert Baruyer. “Don’t go so quickly, Hans, Messieurs, he can take charge of a few insipid commissions for me. Don’t be jealous—the time to explain what I need him to do, and he’ll be leaving, like you.”

  Closing the door behind Claude Barsac and Albert Baruyer—without, of course, suspecting the presence of the Invisible—she ran to the young man, who embraced her ardently, crushing her lips with a long kiss.

  “My love!” sighed Alexane, finally.

  “My queen! My mistress! Oh, I thought I wouldn’t be able to control myself! I nearly strangled him, that Baruyer.”

  “Oh, my love, you know what you promised me. Wait a while, and I’ll deliver him to you, disarmed.”

  “The wretch! He’s robbed and killed my father. And that whole gang…his brother, his mother, that sinister Walesport…all rich on a fortune that belongs
to me. My father’s blood has made them powerful, formidable, and I, I have nothing, nothing!!

  “Are you not my lover?”

  “I owe you everything. You’ve given me love, the most captivating voluptuousness, and you’re helping me to recover the wealth that was stolen from me. What an enchantress you are! And why, tell me, why?”

  “Why?” she said, pressing herself against him. “Because you’re young, as handsome as a god! Because you’re pure, healthy, honest and unfortunate! In my love, along with so many perverted and pagan sentiments, there’s a little maternal love. You’re my child…I adore you!”

  She caressed his forehead and his eyelids, and the invisible Vanel, who was watching the scene, thought: Well, I want to be on the side of the lovers. I’ll take them under my protection and enable them to triumph. But what the devil have the Baruyers, Vauclin and Walesport been able to do to him? I’ll find out via my hypnotized instruments.

  At the first opportunity, after having contemplated the dancer in the nude, he went out and went back to the corridors of the auditorium. He had been wandering briefly outside the box where the Vauclin household were, without being able to get in, when the fourth act ended. The usherette took advantage of that to open the door and offer her services, and the Invisible slipped in behind her. This time, however, the box was full of black suits; he wedged himself in a corner.

  The usherette left. Marc Vanel identified the people present: with the Vauclins, there was a Minister, Prosper Crémiot, the two Baruyer brothers, and Walesport. The Invisible was poorly placed to grasp all of the whispered conversations, but a few phrases reached him.

  “Then you think that Germany...”

  “…Is only waiting for an opportunity. She’s still too weak, but when she’s stronger, she’ll take advantage of any circumstance not to pay. Every time, it will be a warning, and we’ll always concede something. With every conference, our pledges and rights over Germany are diminished. When we’re despoiled, the French victors, definitively transformed into the vanquished, will settle the mode of payment of the hundreds of billions furnished to us during the massacre and devastation in our territory by England and the United States. There alone, our allies, stuffed by the war, won’t diminish anything. What will become of poor France?”