



Produced by David Widger






THE DIAMOND LENS

By Fitz-James O'brien




I

FROM a very early period of my life the entire bent of my inclinations
had been toward microscopic investigations. When I was not more than
ten years old, a distant relative of our family, hoping to astonish my
inexperience, constructed a simple microscope for me by drilling in a
disk of copper a small hole in which a drop of pure water was sustained
by capillary attraction. This very primitive apparatus, magnifying some
fifty diameters, presented, it is true, only indistinct and imperfect
forms, but still sufficiently wonderful to work up my imagination to a
preternatural state of excitement.

Seeing me so interested in this rude instrument, my cousin explained to
me all that he knew about the principles of the microscope, related to
me a few of the wonders which had been accomplished through its agency,
and ended by promising to send me one regularly constructed, immediately
on his return to the city. I counted the days, the hours, the minutes
that intervened between that promise and his departure.

Meantime, I was not idle. Every transparent substance that bore the
remotest resemblance to a lens I eagerly seized upon, and employed
in vain attempts to realize that instrument the theory of whose
construction I as yet only vaguely comprehended. All panes of
glass containing those oblate spheroidal knots familiarly known as
"bull's-eyes" were ruthlessly destroyed in the hope of obtaining lenses
of marvelous power. I even went so far as to extract the crystalline
humor from the eyes of fishes and animals, and endeavored to press
it into the microscopic service. I plead guilty to having stolen the
glasses from my Aunt Agatha's spectacles, with a dim idea of grinding
them into lenses of wondrous magnifying properties--in which attempt it
is scarcely necessary to say that I totally failed.

At last the promised instrument came. It was of that order known as
Field's simple microscope, and had cost perhaps about fifteen dollars.
As far as educational purposes went, a better apparatus could not
have been selected. Accompanying it was a small treatise on the
microscope--its history, uses, and discoveries. I comprehended then for
the first time the "Arabian Nights' Entertainments." The dull veil of
ordinary existence that hung across the world seemed suddenly to
roll away, and to lay bare a land of enchantments. I felt toward my
companions as the seer might feel toward the ordinary masses of men.
I held conversations with nature in a tongue which they could not
understand. I was in daily communication with living wonders such as
they never imagined in their wildest visions, I penetrated beyond the
external portal of things, and roamed through the sanctuaries. Where
they beheld only a drop of rain slowly rolling down the window-glass,
I saw a universe of beings animated with all the passions common to
physical life, and convulsing their minute sphere with struggles as
fierce and protracted as those of men. In the common spots of mould,
which my mother, good housekeeper that she was, fiercely scooped
away from her jam-pots, there abode for me, under the name of mildew,
enchanted gardens, filled with dells and avenues of the densest foliage
and most astonishing verdure, while from the fantastic boughs of these
microscopic forests hung strange fruits glittering with green and silver
and gold.

It was no scientific thirst that at this time filled my mind. It was the
pure enjoyment of a poet to whom a world of wonders has been disclosed.
I talked of my solitary pleasures to none. Alone with my microscope, I
dimmed my sight, day after day and night after night, poring over the
marvels which it unfolded to me. I was like one who, having discovered
the ancient Eden still existing in all its primitive glory, should
resolve to enjoy it in solitude, and never betray to mortal the secret
of its locality. The rod of my life was bent at this moment. I destined
myself to be a microscopist.

Of course, like every novice, I fancied myself a discoverer. I was
ignorant at the time of the thousands of acute intellects engaged in the
same pursuit as myself, and with the advantage of instruments a thousand
times more powerful than mine. The names of Leeuwenhoek, Williamson,
Spencer, Ehrenberg, Schultz, Dujardin, Schact, and Schleiden were then
entirely unknown to me, or, if known, I was ignorant of their patient
and wonderful researches. In every fresh specimen of cryptogamia which
I placed beneath my instrument I believed that I discovered wonders
of which the world was as yet ignorant. I remember well the thrill
of delight and admiration that shot through me the first time that I
discovered the common wheel animalcule (Rotifera vulgaris) expanding
and contracting its flexible spokes and seemingly rotating through the
water. Alas! as I grew older, and obtained some works treating of my
favorite study, I found that I was only on the threshold of a science
to the investigation of which some of the greatest men of the age were
devoting their lives and intellects.

As I grew up, my parents, who saw but little likelihood of anything
practical resulting from the examination of bits of moss and drops of
water through a brass tube and a piece of glass, were anxious that I
should choose a profession.

It was their desire that I should enter the counting-house of my uncle,
Ethan Blake, a prosperous merchant, who carried on business in New
York. This suggestion I decisively combated. I had no taste for trade; I
should only make a failure; in short, I refused to become a merchant.

But it was necessary for me to select some pursuit. My parents were
staid New England people, who insisted on the necessity of labor, and
therefore, although, thanks to the bequest of my poor Aunt Agatha, I
should, on coming of age, inherit a small fortune sufficient to place me
above want, it was decided that, instead of waiting for this, I should
act the nobler part, and employ the intervening years in rendering
myself independent.

After much cogitation, I complied with the wishes of my family, and
selected a profession. I determined to study medicine at the New York
Academy. This disposition of my future suited me. A removal from my
relatives would enable me to dispose of my time as I pleased without
fear of detection. As long as I paid my Academy fees, I might shirk
attending the lectures if I chose; and, as I never had the remotest
intention of standing an examination, there was no danger of my being
"plucked." Besides, a metropolis was the place for me. There I could
obtain excellent instruments, the newest publications, intimacy with
men of pursuits kindred with my own--in short, all things necessary to
ensure a profitable devotion of my life to my beloved science. I had an
abundance of money, few desires that were not bounded by my illuminating
mirror on one side and my object-glass on the other; what, therefore,
was to prevent my becoming an illustrious investigator of the veiled
worlds? It was with the most buoyant hope that I left my New England
home and established myself in New York.




II

My first step, of course, was to find suitable apartments. These I
obtained, after a couple of days' search, in Fourth Avenue; a very
pretty second floor, unfurnished, containing sitting-room, bedroom,
and a smaller apartment which I intended to fit up as a laboratory. I
furnished my lodgings simply, but rather elegantly, and then devoted
all my energies to the adornment of the temple of my worship. I visited
Pike, the celebrated optician, and passed in review his splendid
collection of microscopes--Field's Compound, Hingham's, Spencer's,
Nachet's Binocular (that founded on the principles of the stereoscope),
and at length fixed upon that form known as Spencer's Trunnion
Microscope, as combining the greatest number of improvements with an
almost perfect freedom from tremor. Along with this I purchased
every possible accessory--draw-tubes, micrometers, a _camera lucida_,
lever-stage, achromatic condensers, white cloud illuminators, prisms,
parabolic condensers, polarizing apparatus, forceps, aquatic boxes,
fishing-tubes, with a host of other articles, all of which would have
been useful in the hands of an experienced microscopist, but, as I
afterward discovered, were not of the slightest present value to me. It
takes years of practice to know how to use a complicated microscope. The
optician looked suspiciously at me as I made these valuable purchases.
He evidently was uncertain whether to set me down as some scientific
celebrity or a madman. I think he was inclined to the latter belief. I
suppose I was mad. Every great genius is mad upon the subject in which
he is greatest. The unsuccessful madman is disgraced and called a
lunatic.

Mad or not, I set myself to work with a zeal which few scientific
students have ever equaled. I had everything to learn relative to the
delicate study upon which I had embarked--a study involving the most
earnest patience, the most rigid analytic powers, the steadiest hand,
the most untiring eye, the most refined and subtle manipulation.

For a long time half my apparatus lay inactively on the shelves of
my laboratory, which was now most amply furnished with every possible
contrivance for facilitating my investigations. The fact was that I did
not know how to use some of my scientific implements--never having been
taught microscopies--and those whose use I understood theoretically were
of little avail until by practice I could attain the necessary delicacy
of handling. Still, such was the fury of my ambition, such the untiring
perseverance of my experiments, that, difficult of credit as it may
be, in the course of one year I became theoretically and practically an
accomplished microscopist.

During this period of my labors, in which I submitted specimens of every
substance that came under my observation to the action of my lenses, I
became a discoverer--in a small way, it is true, for I was very young,
but still a discoverer. It was I who destroyed Ehrenberg's theory that
the _Volvox globator_ was an animal, and proved that his "monads" with
stomachs and eyes were merely phases of the formation of a vegetable
cell, and were, when they reached their mature state, incapable of
the act of conjugation, or any true generative act, without which no
organism rising to any stage of life higher than vegetable can be said
to be complete. It was I who resolved the singular problem of rotation
in the cells and hairs of plants into ciliary attraction, in spite of
the assertions of Wenham and others that my explanation was the result
of an optical illusion.

But notwithstanding these discoveries, laboriously and painfully made
as they were, I felt horribly dissatisfied. At every step I found
myself stopped by the imperfections of my instruments. Like all active
microscopists, I gave my imagination full play. Indeed, it is a common
complaint against many such that they supply the defects of their
instruments with the creations of their brains. I imagined depths beyond
depths in nature which the limited power of my lenses prohibited me from
exploring. I lay awake at night constructing imaginary micro-scopes
of immeasurable power, with which I seemed to pierce through all the
envelopes of matter down to its original atom. How I cursed those
imperfect mediums which necessity through ignorance compelled me to
use! How I longed to discover the secret of some perfect lens, whose
magnifying power should be limited only by the resolvability of the
object, and which at the same time should be free from spherical and
chromatic aberrations--in short, from all the obstacles over which the
poor microscopist finds himself continually stumbling! I felt convinced
that the simple microscope, composed of a single lens of such vast yet
perfect power, was possible of construction. To attempt to bring the
compound microscope up to such a pitch would have been commencing at the
wrong end; this latter being simply a partially successful endeavor
to remedy those very defects of the simplest instrument which, if
conquered, would leave nothing to be desired.

It was in this mood of mind that I became a constructive microscopist.
After another year passed in this new pursuit, experimenting on every
imaginable substance--glass, gems, flints, crystals, artificial crystals
formed of the alloy of various vitreous materials--in short, having
constructed as many varieties of lenses as Argus had eyes--I found
myself precisely where I started, with nothing gained save an extensive
knowledge of glass-making. I was almost dead with despair. My parents
were surprised at my apparent want of progress in my medical studies
(I had not attended one lecture since my arrival in the city), and the
expenses of my mad pursuit had been so great as to embarrass me very
seriously.

I was in this frame of mind one day, experimenting in my laboratory on
a small diamond--that stone, from its great refracting power, having
always occupied my attention more than any other--when a young
Frenchman who lived on the floor above me, and who was in the habit of
occasionally visiting me, entered the room.

I think that Jules Simon was a Jew. He had many traits of the Hebrew
character: a love of jewelry, of dress, and of good living. There was
something mysterious about him. He always had something to sell, and yet
went into excellent society. When I say sell, I should perhaps have said
peddle; for his operations were generally confined to the disposal of
single articles--a picture, for instance, or a rare carving in ivory, or
a pair of duelling-pistols, or the dress of a Mexican _caballero_. When
I was first furnishing my rooms, he paid me a visit, which ended in my
purchasing an antique silver lamp, which he assured me was a Cellini--it
was handsome enough even for that--and some other knick-knacks for my
sitting-room. Why Simon should pursue this petty trade I never could
imagine. He apparently had plenty of money, and had the _entree_ of the
best houses in the city--taking care, however, I suppose, to drive no
bargains within the enchanted circle of the Upper Ten. I came at length
to the conclusion that this peddling was but a mask to cover some
greater object, and even went so far as to believe my young acquaintance
to be implicated in the slave-trade. That, however, was none of my
affair.

On the present occasion, Simon entered my room in a state of
considerable excitement.

"_Ah! mon ami!_" he cried, before I could even offer him the ordinary
salutation, "it has occurred to me to be the witness of the most
astonishing things in the world. I promenade myself to the house of
Madame ------. How does the little animal--_le renard_--name himself in
the Latin?"

"Vulpes," I answered.

"Ah! yes--Vulpes. I promenade myself to the house of Madame Vulpes."

"The spirit medium?"

"Yes, the great medium. Great heavens! what a woman! I write on a
slip of paper many of questions concerning affairs of the most
secret--affairs that conceal themselves in the abysses of my heart the
most profound; and behold, by example, what occurs? This devil of a
woman makes me replies the most truthful to all of them. She talks to me
of things that I do not love to talk of to myself. What am I to think? I
am fixed to the earth!"

"Am I to understand you, M. Simon, that this Mrs. Vulpes replied to
questions secretly written by you, which questions related to events
known only to yourself?"

"Ah! more than that, more than that," he answered, with an air of some
alarm. "She related to me things--But," he added after a pause, and
suddenly changing his manner, "why occupy ourselves with these follies?
It was all the biology, without doubt. It goes without saying that it
has not my credence. But why are we here, _mon ami?_ It has occurred to
me to discover the most beautiful thing as you can imagine--a vase with
green lizards on it, composed by the great Bernard Palissy. It is in my
apartment; let us mount. I go to show it to you."

I followed Simon mechanically; but my thoughts were far from Palissy and
his enameled ware, although I, like him, was seeking in the dark a great
discovery. This casual mention of the spiritualist, Madame Vulpes,
set me on a new track. What if, through communication with more subtle
organisms than my own, I could reach at a single bound the goal which
perhaps a life, of agonizing mental toil would never enable me to
attain?

While purchasing the Palissy vase from my friend Simon, I was mentally
arranging a visit to Madame Vulpes.




III

Two evenings after this, thanks to an arrangement by letter and the
promise of an ample fee, I found Madame Vulpes awaiting me at her
residence alone. She was a coarse-featured woman, with keen and rather
cruel dark eyes, and an exceedingly sensual expression about her mouth
and under jaw. She received me in perfect silence, in an apartment on
the ground floor, very sparsely furnished. In the centre of the room,
close to where Mrs. Vulpes sat, there was a common round mahogany table.
If I had come for the purpose of sweeping her chimney, the woman could
not have looked more indifferent to my appearance. There was no attempt
to inspire the visitor with awe. Everything bore a simple and practical
aspect. This intercourse with the spiritual world was evidently as
familiar an occupation with Mrs. Vulpes as eating her dinner or riding
in an omnibus.

"You come for a communication, Mr. Linley?" said the medium, in a dry,
businesslike tone of voice.

"By appointment--yes."

"What sort of communication do you want--a written one?"

"Yes, I wish for a written one."

"From any particular spirit?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever known this spirit on this earth?"

"Never. He died long before I was born. I wish merely to obtain from
him some information which he ought to be able to give better than any
other."

"Will you seat yourself at the table, Mr. Lin-ley," said the medium,
"and place your hands upon it?"

I obeyed, Mrs. Vulpes being seated opposite to me, with her hands also
on the table. We remained thus for about a minute and a half, when a
violent succession of raps came on the table, on the back of my chair,
on the floor immediately under my feet, and even on the window-panes.
Mrs. Vulpes smiled composedly.

"They are very strong to-night," she remarked. "You are fortunate." She
then continued, "Will the spirits communicate with this gentleman?"

Vigorous affirmative.

"Will the particular spirit he desires to speak with communicate?"

A very confused rapping followed this question.

"I know what they mean," said Mrs. Vulpes, addressing herself to me;
"they wish you to write down the name of the particular spirit that
you desire to converse with. Is that so?" she added, speaking to her
invisible guests.

That it was so was evident from the numerous affirmatory responses.
While this was going on, I tore a slip from my pocket-book and scribbled
a name under the table.

"Will this spirit communicate in writing with this gentleman?" asked the
medium once more.

After a moment's pause, her hand seemed to be seized with a violent
tremor, shaking so forcibly that the table vibrated. She said that a
spirit had seized her hand and would write. I handed her some sheets of
paper that were on the table and a pencil. The latter she held loosely
in her hand, which presently began to move over the paper with a
singular and seemingly involuntary motion. After a few moments had
elapsed, she handed me the paper, on which I found written, in a large,
uncultivated hand, the words, "He is not here, but has been sent for."
A pause of a minute or so ensued, during which Mrs. Vulpes remained
perfectly silent, but the raps continued at regular intervals. When the
short period I mention had elapsed, the hand of the medium was again
seized with its convulsive tremor, and she wrote, under this strange
influence, a few words on the paper, which she handed to me. They were
as follows:

"I am here. Question me.

"_Leeuwenhoek_."

I was astounded. The name was identical with that I had written beneath
the table, and carefully kept concealed. Neither was it at all probable
that an uncultivated woman like Mrs. Vulpes should know even the name
of the great father of microscopies. It may have been biology; but
this theory was soon doomed to be destroyed. I wrote on my slip--still
concealing it from Mrs. Vulpes--a series of questions which, to avoid
tediousness, I shall place with the responses, in the order in which
they occurred:

I.--Can the microscope be brought to perfection?

Spirit--Yes.

I.--Am I destined to accomplish this great task?

Spirit.--You are.

I.--I wish to know how to proceed to attain this end. For the love which
you bear to science, help me!

Spirit--A diamond of one hundred and forty carats, submitted to
electro-magnetic currents for a long period, will experience a
rearrangement of its atoms _inter se_ and from that stone you will form
the universal lens.

I.--Will great discoveries result from the use of such a lens?

Spirit--So great that all that has gone before is as nothing.

I.--But the refractive power of the diamond is so immense that the image
will be formed within the lens. How is that difficulty to be surmounted?

Spirit--Pierce the lens through its axis, and the difficulty is
obviated. The image will be formed in the pierced space, which will
itself serve as a tube to look through. Now I am called. Good-night.

I can not at all describe the effect that these extraordinary
communications had upon me. I felt completely bewildered. No biological
theory could account for the _discovery_ of the lens. The medium might,
by means of biological _rapport_ with my mind, have gone so far as to
read my questions and reply to them coherently. But biology could
not enable her to discover that magnetic currents would so alter the
crystals of the diamond as to remedy its previous defects and admit of
its being polished into a perfect lens. Some such theory may have
passed through my head, it is true; but if so, I had forgotten it. In
my excited condition of mind there was no course left but to become a
convert, and it was in a state of the most painful nervous exaltation
that I left the medium's house that evening. She accompanied me to
the door, hoping that I was satisfied. The raps followed us as we went
through the hall, sounding on the balusters, the flooring, and even the
lintels of the door. I hastily expressed my satisfaction, and escaped
hurriedly into the cool night air. I walked home with but one thought
possessing me--how to obtain a diamond of the immense size required. My
entire means multiplied a hundred times over would have been inadequate
to its purchase. Besides, such stones are rare, and become historical. I
could find such only in the regalia of Eastern or European monarchs.




IV

There was a light in Simon's room as I entered my house. A vague
impulse urged me to visit him. As I opened the door of his sitting-room
unannounced, he was bending, with his back toward me, over a Carcel
lamp, apparently engaged in minutely examining some object which he held
in his hands. As I entered, he started suddenly, thrust his hand into
his breast pocket, and turned to me with a face crimson with confusion.

"What!" I cried, "poring over the miniature of some fair lady? Well,
don't blush so much; I won't ask to see it."

Simon laughed awkwardly enough, but made none of the negative
protestations usual on such occasions. He asked me to take a seat.

"Simon," said I, "I have just come from Madame Vulpes."

This time Simon turned as white as a sheet, and seemed stupefied, as
if a sudden electric shock had smitten him. He babbled some incoherent
words, and went hastily to a small closet where he usually kept his
liquors. Although astonished at his emotion, I was too preoccupied with
my own idea to pay much attention to anything else.

"You say truly when you call Madame Vulpes a devil