About this time Daguerre, a scenic artist, completed the discovery which has rendered his name famous. He made an important step in science by fixing the photographic image, so that objects, animate and inanimate, might be caught on a silver plate. Thus photography became the handmaid of science and art. I had just made the acquaintance of a musical genius—human—to whom nature had refused both voice and ear; he sang out of tune, danced out of time, and for all that, was passionately fond of music. He had masters for the piano, flute, hunting-horn, and accordion. He tried the different methods of Wilhem, Paston, Cheve, and Jocotot. None of them answered, he could neither produce time nor harmony; what did he do in order to satisfy his taste? He bought a barrel-organ and took his money’s worth out of it, by turning the handle night and day. He certainly had the wrist of a musician. It was a similar expedient which brought back Topaz to life, with its hopes of fame, fortune, and apostolic insignia. The Jesuits and Turks say the end justifies the means, so, acting on this philosophic saying, Topaz adroitly stole a purse from a rich financier who was sleeping in his master’s studio, while the latter was trying to paint his portrait. With this treasure he bought his barrel-organ, a photographic camera, and learning how to use it, he all at once became artist, painter, and man of science. This talent acquired, added to a brace of fine names, he felt already half way towards reaching the coveted goal. To realise his hopes, he took his passage at Havre in a ship about to cross the Atlantic, and after a prosperous voyage, again set foot on the shore where, only a few years before, he had embarked for France. What a change had come over his position. From Monkey-boy he had become Monkey-man. In place of a prisoner of war he had become free, and above all, from an ignorant brute—the condition in which Nature sent him into the world—he had developed into a sort of civilised ape. His heart beat fast as he landed on his native soil. It was sweet to visit familiar scenes, after so long an absence. Without losing so much time as I take to write, he started off, camera on back, to seek the grand solitudes of his infancy, where he hoped to become the pioneer of progress. In his secret heart—he owned it to me—there was still the burning desire for fame. He hoped to create a sensation, to be regarded as {166} more than a common beast to enjoy the victory he would so easily win, over the natives of the country, by his title of Illustrious Traveller, backed by his knowledge and his wonderful machine. These were his true sentiments, but he cherished the delusion that he was impelled onwards by the irresistible force which urges forward the predestined ones—the leaders of mankind—to play their part in the world. Arrived at the scene of his birth, without even looking up his friends and relatives, Topaz pitched his camp