How we cite our quotes: (Chapter, Paragraph)
Quote #1
A Metamorphosis More Surprising Than Any in Ovid (31, title)
What's in a title? A lot, actually. Chapter 31 gives us a nod to that great epic poem about gods, heroes, the origin of the world, and—most importantly—transformation. Ovid's Metamorphoses is a text that gets a lot of play whenever there's a need to evaluate appearance versus reality, or the intersection of the natural and supernatural. Anyway, the big shift in this chapter occurs when a major character turns out to be a major butt. Although it's not like we didn't see it coming.
Quote #2
Showing That the Age of Magic and Magicians Is Not Yet Over (32, title)
This title highlights two things that are connected, but not the same. The age of magic might refer to a time when humans believed magic and witchcraft were a thing. We're talking about the time of the Salem witch trials, for example, and even earlier, when religion and folklore had a complicated relationship. Magicians? Now, that's a little trickier. Magicians are in the realm of tricks, jokes, sleights-of-hand, and illusion. So what's going on in this chapter? Are we dealing with real magic, or just magic tricks?
Quote #3
While speaking or rather hissing those words, the boon companion underwent much such a change as one reads of in fairy-books. Out of old materials sprang a new creature. Cadmus glided into the snake. (32, 1)
Well, lookie here, we've got a genuine allusion to a specific story in Ovid's Metamorphoses about Cadmus, the hero who founds Thebes but ends up a bit serpentine. To complete this moment, we've got a hissing sound effect describing Charlie's messed-up response to Frank's request for money.
Quote #4
The cosmopolitan rose, the traces of previous feeling vanished; looked steadfastly at his transformed friend a moment, then, taking ten half-eagles from his pocket, stooped down, and laid them, one by one, in a circle round him; and, retiring a pace, waved his long tasseled pipe with the air of a necromancer, an air heightened by his costume, accompanying each wave with a solemn murmur of cabalistical words.
Meantime, he within the magic-ring stood suddenly rapt, exhibiting every symptom of a successful charm—a turned cheek, a fixed attitude, a frozen eye; spellbound, not more by the waving wand than by the ten invincible talismans on the floor.
"Reappear, reappear, reappear, oh, my former friend! Replace this hideous apparition with thy blest shape, and be the token of thy return the words, 'My dear Frank.'" (32, 2-4)
Wait. What just happened here? Did he…? Is Frank magic? We know this isn't your cutesy pull-a-rabbit-out-of-your-hat trick. Everything in this scene has the trappings of witchcraft or your average old-school, demon-summoning type incantation. In this case, the "demon" Frank is summoning is the friendlier version of Charlie. Pay close attention to what Frank uses to bring back the confidence-offering Charlie: gold coins.
Quote #5
"My dear Frank," now cried the restored friend, cordially stepping out of the ring, with regained self-possession regaining lost identity, "My dear Frank, what a funny man you are; full of fun as an egg of meat. How could you tell me that absurd story of your being in need? But I relish a good joke too well to spoil it by letting on. Of course, I humored the thing; and, on my side, put on all the cruel airs you would have me. Come, this little episode of fictitious estrangement will but enhance the delightful reality. Let us sit down again, and finish our bottle." (32, 5)
Okay, these three words dispel the spell, but this scene is way tricky. On the one hand, we're given complete freedom to take what happens to Charlie at face value, as an actual supernatural moment. On the other hand, Charlie says that he was joshing—he was only pretending to be a cheap and crass old goat. Which is it? We can't really say for certain. We are certain, though, that that's probably the point.
Quote #6
"With all my heart," said the cosmopolitan, dropping the necromancer with the same facility with which he had assumed it. "Yes," he added, soberly picking up the gold pieces, and returning them with a chink to his pocket, "yes, I am something of a funny man now and then; while for you, Charlie," eying him in tenderness, "what you say about your humoring the thing is true enough; never did man second a joke better than you did just now. You played your part better than I did mine; you played it, Charlie, to the life."
"You see, I once belonged to an amateur play company; that accounts for it. But come, fill up, and let's talk of something else." (32, 6-7)
Ever heard of the connection between theater and religion and magic? No? Well, the Western tradition has a long tradition of spectacle, whether that gets played out onstage or in church. The ability to make an audience experience an incredible range of feelings is almost magical, and some theatrical rituals even have roots in or overlap with magic. So, okay, what does any of this have to do with what's going on here? Well, for one thing, Charlie straight up just said he was playacting. On top of that, he says he's gained his powers of persuasion from performing in community theater. We think it's worth considering the role of drama in this moment, since even Frank is described as "dropping the necromancer" routine.
Quote #7
In the middle of the gentleman's cabin burned a solar lamp, swung from the ceiling, and whose shade of ground glass was all round fancifully variegated, in transparency, with the image of a horned altar, from which flames rose, alternate with the figure of a robed man, his head encircled by a halo. The light of this lamp, after dazzlingly striking on marble, snow-white and round—the slab of a centre-table beneath—on all sides went rippling off with ever-diminishing distinctness, till, like circles from a stone dropped in water, the rays died dimly away in the furthest nook of the place. (45, 1)
The devil, right? That's what's on the lamp, right? Creepy altar in flames, horns, a robed dude—we've got all the bells and whistles of traditional depictions of Satan. What about the halo, you ask? That's usually featured over the heads of saints and angels in paintings, right? Well, just as a reminder, Lucifer was totes an angel before he was the king of hell, so maybe this fancy lamp is just all about iconic symbol accuracy—and complication. Oh, yeah, Lucifer was also the angel of light, and this is a lamp that casts some serious rays around the room. Just sayin'.
Quote #8
The next moment, the waning light expired, and with it the waning flames of the horned altar, and the waning halo round the robed man's brow; while in the darkness which ensued, the cosmopolitan kindly led the old man away. Something further may follow of this Masquerade. (45, 134)
What happens when the lights go out? We don't know. No joke, this is a mystery, and it's the end of the book. We know Frank the cosmopolitan is leading the old man away, but is he really going to take him safely to his sleeping quarters? We hope so. What's worrying us, though—besides the possibility of the presence of the devil—is the suggestion there is more of the capital-M Masquerade to follow. Who's masquerading? Frank? All the con-artists? Were they all one dude (the devil)? What did we just read?
Quote #9
These questions were put to a boy in the fragment of an old linen coat, bedraggled and yellow, who, coming in from the deck barefooted on the soft carpet, had been unheard. All pointed and fluttering, the rags of the little fellow's red-flannel shirt, mixed with those of his yellow coat, flamed about him like the painted flames in the robes of a victim in auto-da-fe. His face, too, wore such a polish of seasoned grime, that his sloe-eyes sparkled from out it like lustrous sparks in fresh coal. (45, 33)
Supernatural jackpot over here. Creepy silent kid? Check. Red and yellow outfit fluttering up like hellish flames? Check. Coal-dark, fire-sparkling hellion gleam in his eye? Check. There's a shout-out to an auto-da-fé. What's that? Well, during the Spanish Inquisition, this "act of faith" was a ritual punishing of a person accused of being a heretic. Favorite punishment of the time? Burning at the stake, of course. So what does this reference mean? Is the kid a heretic, a witch, a victim of religious fanaticism, or something demonic? The world may never know. But we're definitely supposed to wonder about it.
Quote #10
This little door he now meaningly held before the old man, who, after staring at it a while, said: "Go thy ways with thy toys, child."
"Now, may I never get so old and wise as that comes to," laughed the boy through his grime; and, by so doing, disclosing leopard-like teeth, like those of Murillo's wild beggar-boy's.
"The divils are laughing now, are they?" here came the brogue from the berth. "What do the divils find to laugh about in wisdom, begorrah? To bed with ye, ye divils, and no more of ye." (45, 34-36)
We're not gonna lie: staring into a mouthful of leopard teeth is terrifying. It's scarier still when the laughing leopard mouth belongs to a little kid. What's going on on this boat? And why does the kid crack dad-jokes that are beyond his years? We're not sure, but the angry dudes trying to sleep in the bunks nearby may have the right idea by calling this stuff devil's laughter. They also want to know who would laugh at—even mock—wisdom. Hmm, maybe someone who wants to pull the wool over your eyes? Check out what's going on under themes like "Foolishness and Folly" or "Education" to see how the supernatural fares in its acts deception.