Once more, the Marquis Gaspard drew his snuff-box and opened it. But
this time he did not close it again. He held it wide open in the palm
of his hand without taking his pinch of snuff.
“Monsieur,” he resumed, “I am far from being a philosopher. On
the subject of metaphysics I am quite as unpretentious as you.
Nevertheless, you and I know as much assuredly as any man in France
about the real nature of that undefinable thing called Life. I say
‘as much,’ though I might well say ‘as little’; for no one ever has
known, or ever will know, anything really about Life. At the very most
we are at liberty to guess at a few of the phenomena which accompany
the existence of living beings on earth and which disappear on the
advent of Death. My master, the Count of Saint Germain, never deluded
himself on this point. Once he discovered the path we may follow with
security, he contented himself with not departing from it by an inch,
though the path itself he traversed in Seven League Boots, one might
say, burning a very long candle at both ends! In his case, there
was not, as commonplace minds have stupidly imagined, any trace of
sorcery or magic. With him it was a matter of solid science, acquired
by patient experiment--a matter of mentality, of genius, if you
will--nothing more, nothing less, than that. The Secret, the Truth
which he discovered, and which he bequeathed to me when he had tired
of using it, the Secret of Long Life, the Secret of Never Dying--is a
purely natural, a purely scientific affair. You yourself can be judge,
Monsieur le capitaine.
“Not that I shall pretend to explain, to demonstrate, this Secret to
you with the rigor mathematicians and physicists require in their
sciences. My master might have presumed so much. For myself, I feel
quite too ignorant even to venture on such a task. But, after all, what
does that matter? All you want to know is what your friend, Madame
Madeleine de X...., has to do with it. Am I not right, Monsieur?
“Very well, Sir! To the point! We, Monsieur le capitaine, you, I, all
of us, considered as living beings, are compounds of elements, so many
bundles of atoms, or cells, which latter come to life in us, live their
lives, and die, to be replaced, in the end, by other similar elements
engendered of those before them. Trustworthy scientists have declared
that the bodies we have today do not contain a single particle of the
substances of which they were composed ten years ago. This incessant
transformation, this constant renewal of ourselves, constitutes one of
the distinctive traits of the Life to which I referred a moment since.
“This reconstruction, however, does not take place in the same way in
every creature, nor in the same way at all periods in one individual
existence. When a child grows, for example, each old atom is replaced
by several new ones. In old age, on the contrary, many atoms disappear
while only a few successors take their places. Death occurs when the
departing elements are no longer replaced at all.
“Monsieur le capitaine, this was the special fact which arrested my
master’s attention, and meditation on which revealed to him in the
end the Secret I have the honor to be discussing with you--instead of
sleeping, as I might normally and reasonably be doing, in some coffin
already rotted from the years. And this Secret....
“I will reveal it to you, Sir, and without flinching, dangerous as that
may be. You, Monsieur, must I again remind you, are in a position to
ask anything of us and always be contented--anything save one thing,
of course; but this one thing is not the Secret. So then....
“If we grow old, or if we die, the reason is that our atoms, our cells,
have lost the power to engender others, the others which are essential
to the prolongation of life--the reason is that our aged bodies have
become inept at a task which our youthful constitutions perform at
play, as it were, without effort. Well then, why not pass on a burden
too heavy for our years to some other body, whose youth and vigor will
do double duty--for itself and us--and quite willingly besides, not
even perceiving the extra labor imposed upon it?
“I am not sure than any objection, any reasonable objection, can be
raised to that. My master thought not, at least; and I am of his
opinion. So are my son and my grandson here. And I take it, personal
presumptuousness quite aside, that when it is a case of unanimity among
four competent judges, all old men, and consequently the wiser from an
experience not unusual but quite unprecedented, our opinion should be
respected. I venture to hope, Monsieur le capitaine, that you yourself
will share it....
“Madame Madeleine de X...., your friend, is here of her own free will,
or virtually of her own free will, for the purpose of coöperating,
generously, in our profit--in the task, that is, of rejuvenating our
aged substances which, without her, could not recover of themselves....”
In the pale hand of the Marquis Gaspard the snuff-box cover snapped,
with a sharp though barely audible click; and he returned it to his
pocket, this time without remembering to take his pinch of snuff.