Taking the Bastile (26 page)

SEBASTIAN GILBERT 169

prodigy which announced hr presence to me, warned me of her departure. This woman vanished gradually from my sight, matter became once more vapour, the vapour became volatilised, and all was ended; and I, exhausted with fatigue, would fall down on the spot where she had disappeared. It was there that Pitou would find me, sometimes the same day, but sometimes only the next morning.’

Gilbert continued gazing at his son with increasing anxiety. He had placed his fingers on his pulse. Sebastian at once comprehended the feeling which agitated the doctor.

‘Oh 1 do not be uneasy, father,’ said he. ‘I know that there was nothing real in all this. I know that it was a vision, and nothing more.’

‘And this woman,’ inquired the doctor, ‘what was her appearance?’

‘Oh ! as majestic as a queen.’

‘And her face, did you sometimes see it, child?’

Yes.’

‘And how long ago?’ asked Gilbert, shuddering.

‘Only since I have been here,’ replied the youth.

‘But here in Paris you have not the forest of Villers-Cotterfits, the tall trees forming a dark and mysterious arch of verdure. At Paris you have no longer that silence, that solitude, the natural element of phantoms.’

‘Yes, father, I have all these.

‘Where, then?’

‘Here, in this garden.’

‘What mean you by saying here? Is not this garden set apart for the professors?’

‘It is so, my father; but two or three times it appeared to me that I saw this woman glide trom the courtyard into the garden, and each time I would have followed her, but the closed door always prevented me. Then one day the Abbe Bdrardier, being highly satisfied with my composition, asked me if there was anything I particularly desired; and I asked him to allow me sometimes to walk in the garden with him. He gave me the permission. I came, and here, father, the vision reappeared to me.’

‘Strange hallucination,’ said Gilbert, trembling; ‘but, nevertheless, very possible in a temperament so highly nervous as his. And you have seen her face, then?’

‘Yes, father

170 TAKING THE BASTILLE

‘Did you ever attempt to go near her?’

‘Yes

‘To hold out your hand to her?’

‘It was then that she would disappear.’

‘And, in your own opinion, Sebastian, who is this woman ?’

‘It appears to me that she is my mother.’

‘Your mother I’ exclaimed Gilbert, turning pale.

And he pressed his hand against his heart, as if to stop the bleeding of a painful wound.

‘But this is all a dream.’ cried he; ‘and really I am almost as mad aa vou are.

The youth remained silent, and looked at his father.

‘Well?’ said the latter, in the accent of inquiry.

‘Well replied Sebastian, ‘it is possible that it may be all a dream; but the reality of my dream is no less existing. At the last Festival of Pentecost, when we were taken to walk in the wood of Satory, near Versailles, and that while there, aa I was dreaming under a tree, and separated from my companions ‘

‘The same vision again appeared to you?’

‘Yes; but this time in a carnage, drawn by four magnificent horses. But this time real, absolutely living. I very nearly fainted.’

‘And what impression remained upon your mind from this new vision?

‘That it was not my mother whom I had seen appearing to me in a dream, since this woman was the same I always saw in my vision, and my mother is dead.’

Gilbert rose and pressed his hand to his forehead. The young lad had remarked his agitation, and was alarmed at his sudden paleness,

‘Ah I’ said he, ‘you see now, father, how wrong I was to relate to you all my follies.’

‘No, my child, no. On the contrary,’ said the doctor, ‘speak of them often to me; speak of them to me every time you see me, and we will endeavour to cure you of them

Sebastian shook his head.

‘Cure me I and for what?’ asked he. ‘I have been accustomed to this dream. It has become a portion of my existence. I love that vision, although it flies from me, and sometimes seems to repel me. Do not, therefore, cure me of it, father. You may again leave me, travel

MADAME DB STA&JL 171

once more, perhaps go again to America. Having that vision, I am not completely alone in the world.’

‘ In fine,’ murmured the doctor, and pressing Sebastian to his breast, ‘till we meet again, my child,’ said he, ‘and then I hope we shall no more leave each other : for should I again leave France, I will at least endeavour to take you with me.’

‘Was my mother beautiful?” asked the child.

‘Oh, yes, very beautiful 1* replied the doctor, in a voice almost choked by emotion.

‘And did ahe love you as much as I love you ?’

‘Sebastian I Sebastian ! never speak to me of your mother I’ cried the doctor.

And pressing hi* lips for the last time to the forehead of the youth, ne rushed out of the garden. Instead of following him, the child fell back, overcome by his feelings, on the bench. In the courtyard Gilbert found Billot and Pitou, completely invigorated by the good cheer they had partaken of. They were relating to the AbW Berardier all the circumstances regarding the capture of the Bastille. Gilbert then entered the hackney coach with his two companions.

‘You told me, I think, my dear Monsieur Billot,’ said Gilbert, on resuming his place in the coach, ‘ that the king had dismissed Monsieur de Necker, and that the commotions in Paris originated in some measure from the disgrace of the minister?’

‘Yes, indeed, Monsieur Gilbert.’

‘And you added that Monsieur de Necker had immediately left Versailles.’

‘He received the king’s letter while at dinner. In an hour afterwards he was on the road to Brussels, where he is now, or ought to be.’

‘Did you not hear it said that he had stopped somewhere on the road?’

‘Oh, yes; he stopped at St Ouen, in order to take leave of’^bis daughter, the Baroness de Stael. 1 ^Did Madame de Staftl go with him?’

‘I have been told that he and his wif only set out for Brussels.’

172 TAKING THE BASTILLE

‘Coachman I’ cried Gilbert, ‘atop at the first tailor’s shop you see.’

‘You wish to change your coat?’ said Billot.

Some minutes afterwards the hackney coach stopped at the door of a ready-made clothes shop. It was still the usage in those days. Gilbert changed his coat, soiled by the walls of the Bastille, for a very decent black one, such as was worn by the gentlemen of the Tiers Etat in the National Assembly. A hairdresser in his shop, a Savoyard shoe-cleaner in his celkir, completed the doctor’s toilet. The doctor then ordered the coachman to drive him to Saint Ouen, by the exterior Boulevards, which they reached by going behind the walls of the park at Monceaux. Gilbert alighted at the gate of M. Necker’s house, at the moment when the cathedral clock at Dagobert struck seven in the evening. One whole portion of the chateau, the east wing, had still its window shutters open, and when Gilbert was advancing towards this side, a servant, wearing the livery of M. de Necker, approached the visitor.

‘Monsieur de Necker is not at home, my friend?’ said Gilbert.

‘No; the baron left Saint Ouen, last Saturday, for Brussels.’

‘And her ladyship, the baroness?’

‘Went with Monsieur.’

‘But Madame de Stael?’

‘Madame de Stael has remained here; but I do not know whether madame will receive any one; it is her hour for walking.’

‘Please to point out to me where she is, and announce to her Doctor Gilbert.’

‘ I will go and inquire whether madame is in the house or not. Doubtless she will receive you, sir; but, should she be taking a walk, my orders are that she is not to be disturbed.’

‘Very well; go quickly, I beg of you.’

The servant opened the gate, and Gilbert entered the grounds. While re-locking the gate, the servant cast an inquisitorial glance on the vehicle which had brought the doctor, and on the extraordinary faces of his two travelling companions; then he went off, shaking his head, like a man perplexed. Gilbert remained alone, waiting his return. In about five minutes the servant reappeared.

MADAME DE STAEL

‘73

‘The Baroness do Stagl is taking a walk,’ said he, and he bowed in order to dismiss Gilbert.

But the doctor was not so easily to be got rid of.

‘My friend,’ said he, ‘be pleased to make a slight in-fraction in your orders, and tell the baroness, when you announce me to her, that I am a friend of the Marquis de Lafayette.’

A louis, slipped into the lackey’s hands, completely removed the scruples he had entertained, but which the name of the marquis had nearly half dispelled.

‘Come in, sir,’ said the servant.

Gilbert followed him; but instead of taking him into the house he led him into the park.

‘This is the favourite side of the baroness,’ said the lackey to Gilbert, pointing out to him the entrance to a species of labyrinth; ‘will you remain here a moment?’

Ten minutes afterwards he heard a rustling among the leaves, and a woman between twenty-three and twenty-four years of age, and of a figure rather noble than graceful, appeared to the eyes of Gilbert. She seemed surprised on finding a man who still appeared young, when she had doubtless expected to meet one advanced in years. Gilbert, notwithstanding his unassuming dress, presented himself before the future authoress 01 Corinne with a remarkably dignified and distinguished air. Madame de Stael devoted some moments to examining Gilbert. During this, Gilbert, on his side, had given a stiff sort of bow, and which slightly recalled the modest civility of tho American Quakers, who grant to women only the fraternity which protects instead of the respect which smiles. Then, with a rapid glance, he, in his turn, analysed the person of the already celebrated young woman, and whose intelligent and expressive features were altogether devoid of beauty; it was the head of an insignificant and frivolous youth, rather than that of a woman, but which surmounted a form of voluptuous luxuriance. She held in her hand a twig from a pomegranate tree, from which, from absence of mind, she was biting off the blossoms.

‘Is it you, sir,’ inquired the baroness, ‘who are Doctor Gilbert? 1

‘Yes, madame, my name is Gilbert.’

‘You are very young, to have acquired so great a reputation, or rather, does not that reputation appertain to your father, or to some relation older than yourself?’

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‘I do not know any one of the name of Gilbert but myself, madame. And, if indeed there is, as you say, some slight degree of reputation attached to the name, I have a fair right to claim it.’

‘ You made use of the name of the Marquis de Lafayette, in order to obtain this interview with me, sir; and, in fact, the marquis has spoken to us of you, of your inexhaustible knowledge ‘

Gilbert bowed.

‘A knowledge which is so much the more remarkable, and so much the more replete with interest,’ continued the baroness, ‘since it appears that you are not a mere ordinary chemist, a practitioner, like so many others, but that you have sounded all the mysteries of the science of life,’

‘I clearly perceive, madame, that the Marquis de Lafayette must have told you that I am somewhat of a sorcerer,’ replied Gilbert, smiling; ‘and if he has told you so, I know that he has talent enough to prove it to you, had he wished to do so.’

‘In fact, sir, he ha* spoken to ns of the marvellous cures you often performed, whether on the field of battle or in the American hospitals, upon patients whose lives were altogether despaired of; you plunged them, the general told us, into a factitious death, which so much resembled death itself, that it was difficult to believe it was not real.’

‘That factitious death, madame, IB the result of a science almost still unknown, now confided only to the hands of some few adepts, but which will soon become common.’

‘It is mesmerism you are speaking of, is it not?’ asked Madame de Stael with a smile.

‘Of mesmerism, yes, that is it.’

‘Did you take lessons of the master himself?’

‘Alas! madame. M earner himself was only a scholar. Mesmerism, or rather, magnetism, was an ancient science, known to the Egyptians and the Greeks. It was lost in the ocean of the Middle Ages. Shakespeare divined it hi Macbeth. Urbain Grandier found it once more, and died for having found it. But the great master my master was the Count de Cagliostro.’

‘The mountebank r cried Madame de Stael.

‘Madame, madame, beware of judging as do contem-poraries, and not M posterity will judge. To that

MADAME DE STAEL 173

mountebank I owe my knowledge, and perhaps the world will be indebted to him for its liberty.

‘Be it so,’ replied Madame de Sia.il, again smiling; ‘I speak without knowing you speak with full knowledge of the subject. It is probable that you are right and that I am wrong. But let us return to you. Why is it that you have so lone kept yourself at so great a distance from France? Why have you not returned to take your place, your proper station, among the great men of the age, such as Lavoisier, Cabanis, Condor cet. Bailly. and Louis?’

At this last name Gilbert blushed, though almost imperceptibly.

I have yet too much to study, madame, to rank myself all at once among these great masters.’

‘But you have come at last though at an unpropitious moment for us; my father, who would, I feel assured, have been happy to be of service to you, has been disgraced, and left this three days ago.’

Gilbert smiled. ‘Baroness,’ said he, bowing slightly, ‘it is now only six days ago that I was imprisoned in tho Bastille, pursuant to an order from Baron Necker.’

Madame de Staftl blushed in her turn.

‘Really, sir, you have just told me something that greatly surprises me. You in the Bastille 1’

‘Myself, madame.’

‘What had you done to occasion your imprisonment?’

‘Those alone who threw me into prison can tell that.’

‘But you are no longer in prison?’

‘No, madame, because the Bastille no longer exists.’