THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED
I have said that the room in which M. le Vicomte de Chagny and I were
imprisoned was a regular hexagon, lined entirely with mirrors. Plenty
of these rooms have been seen since, mainly at exhibitions: they are
called "palaces of illusion," or some such name. But the invention
belongs entirely to Erik, who built the first room of this kind under
my eyes, at the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan. A decorative
object, such as a column, for instance, was placed in one of the
corners and immediately produced a hall of a thousand columns; for,
thanks to the mirrors, the real room was multiplied by six hexagonal
rooms, each of which, in its turn, was multiplied indefinitely. But
the little sultana soon tired of this infantile illusion, whereupon
Erik altered his invention into a "torture-chamber." For the
architectural motive placed in one corner, he substituted an iron tree.
This tree, with its painted leaves, was absolutely true to life and was
made of iron so as to resist all the attacks of the "patient" who was
locked into the torture-chamber. We shall see how the scene thus
obtained was twice altered instantaneously into two successive other
scenes, by means of the automatic rotation of the drums or rollers in
the corners. These were divided into three sections, fitting into the
angles of the mirrors and each supporting a decorative scheme that came
into sight as the roller revolved upon its axis.
The walls of this strange room gave the patient nothing to lay hold of,
because, apart from the solid decorative object, they were simply
furnished with mirrors, thick enough to withstand any onslaught of the
victim, who was flung into the chamber empty-handed and barefoot.
There was no furniture. The ceiling was capable of being lit up. An
ingenious system of electric heating, which has since been imitated,
allowed the temperature of the walls and room to be increased at will.
I am giving all these details of a perfectly natural invention,
producing, with a few painted branches, the supernatural illusion of an
equatorial forest blazing under the tropical sun, so that no one may
doubt the present balance of my brain or feel entitled to say that I am
mad or lying or that I take him for a fool.[1] I now return to the facts where I left them. When the ceiling lit up
and the forest became visible around us, the viscount's stupefaction
was immense. That impenetrable forest, with its innumerable trunks and
branches, threw him into a terrible state of consternation. He passed
his hands over his forehead, as though to drive away a dream; his eyes
blinked; and, for a moment, he forgot to listen.