The Queen's Necklace

CHAPTER XVI.
MESMER AND ST. MARTIN

The fashionable study in Paris at this time, and that which engrossed most of those who had no business to attend to, was Mesmerism – a mysterious science, badly defined by its discoverers, who did not wish to render it too plain to the eyes of the people. Dr. Mesmer, who had given to it his own name, was then in Paris, as we have already heard from Marie Antoinette.

This Doctor Mesmer deserves a few words from us, as his name was then in all mouths.

He had brought this science from Germany, the land of mysteries, in 1777. He had previously made his début there, by a theory on the influence of the planets. He had endeavored to establish that these celestial bodies, through the same power by which they attract each other, exercised an influence over living bodies, and particularly over the nervous system, by means of a subtle fluid with which the air is impregnated. But this first theory was too abstract: one must, to understand it, be initiated into all the sciences of Galileo or Newton; and it would have been necessary, for this to have become popular, that the nobility should have been transformed into a body of savants. He therefore abandoned this system, and took up that of the loadstone, which was then attracting great attention, people fancying that this wonderful power was efficacious in curing illnesses.

Unhappily for him, however, he found a rival in this already established in Vienna; therefore he once more announced that he abandoned mineral magnetism, and intended to effect his cures through animal magnetism.

This, although a new name, was not in reality a new science; it was as old as the Greeks and Egyptians, and had been preserved in traditions, and revived every now and then by the sorcerers of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, many of whom had paid for their knowledge with their lives. Urbain Grandier was nothing but an animal magnetizer; and Joseph Balsamo we have seen practising it. Mesmer only condensed this knowledge into a science, and gave it a name. He then communicated his system to the scientific academies of Paris, London, and Berlin. The two first did not answer him, and the third said that he was mad. He came to France, and took out of the hands of Dr. Storck, and of the oculist Wenzel, a young girl seventeen years old, who had a complaint of the liver and gutta serena, and after three months of his treatment, restored her health and her sight.

This cure convinced many people, and among them a doctor called Deslon, who, from his enemy, became his pupil. Prom this time his reputation gradually increased; the academy declared itself against him, but the court for him. At last the government offered him, in the king's name, an income for life of twenty thousand francs to give lectures in public, and ten thousand more to instruct three persons, who should be chosen by them, in his system.

Mesmer, however, indignant at the royal parsimony, refused, and set out for the Spa waters with one of his patients; but while he was gone, Deslon, his pupil, possessor of the secret which he had refused to sell for thirty thousand francs a year, opened a public establishment for the treatment of patients. Mesmer was furious, and exhausted himself in complaints and menaces. One of his patients, however, M. de Bergasse, conceived the idea of forming a company. They raised a capital of 340,000 francs, on the condition that the secret should be revealed to the shareholders. It was a fortunate time: the people, having no great public events to interest them, entered eagerly into every new amusement and occupation; and this mysterious theory possessed no little attraction, professing, as it did, to cure invalids, restore mind to the fools, and amuse the wise.

Everywhere Mesmer was talked of. What had he done? On whom had he performed these miracles? To what great lord had he restored sight? To what lady worn out with dissipation had he renovated the nerves? To what young girl had he shown the future in a magnetic trance? The future! that word of ever-entrancing interest and curiosity.

Voltaire was dead; there was no one left to make France laugh, except perhaps Beaumarchais, who was still more bitter than his master; Rousseau was dead, and with him the sect of religious philosophers. War had generally occupied strongly the minds of the French people, but now the only war in which they were engaged was in America, where the people fought for what they called independence, and what the French called liberty; and even this distant war in another land, and affecting another people, was on the point of termination. Therefore they felt more interest just now in M. Mesmer, who was near, than in Washington or Lord Cornwallis, who were so far off. Mesmer's only rival in the public interest was St. Martin, the professor of spiritualism, as Mesmer was of materialism, and who professed to cure souls, as he did bodies.

Imagine an atheist with a religion more attractive than religion itself; a republican full of politeness and interest for kings; a gentleman of the privileged classes tender and solicitous for the people, endowed with the most startling eloquence, attacking all the received religions of the earth.

Imagine Epicurus in white powder, embroidered coat, and silk stockings, not content with endeavoring to overturn a religion in which he did not believe, but also attacking all existing governments, and promulgating the theory that all men are equal, or, to use his own words, that all intelligent beings are kings.

Imagine the effect of all this in society as it then was, without fixed principles or steady guides, and how it was all assisting to light the fire with which France not long after began to consume herself.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE BUCKET

We have endeavored to give an idea in the last chapter of the interest and enthusiasm which drew such crowds of the people to see M. Mesmer perform publicly his wonderful experiments.

The king, as we know, had given permission to the queen to go and see what all Paris was talking of, accompanied by one of the princesses. It was two days after the visit of M. de Rohan to the countess. The weather was fine, and the thaw was complete, and hundreds of sweepers were employed in cleaning away the snow from the streets. The clear blue sky was just beginning to be illumined by its first stars, when Madame de la Motte, elegantly dressed, and presenting every appearance of opulence, arrived in a coach, which Clotilde had carefully chosen as the best looking at the Place Vendôme, and stopped before a brilliantly-lighted house.

It was that of Doctor Mesmer. Numbers of other carriages were waiting at the door, and a crowd of people had collected to see the patients arrive and depart, who seemed to derive much pleasure when they saw some rich invalid, enveloped in furs and satins, carried in by footmen, from the evident proof it afforded that God made men healthy or unhealthy, without reference to their purses or their genealogies. A universal murmur would arise when they recognized some duke paralyzed in an arm or leg; or some marshal whose feet refused their office, less in consequence of military fatigues and marches than from halts made with the ladies of the Opera, or of the Comédie Italienne. Sometimes it was a lady carried in by her servants with drooping head and languid eye, who, weakened by late hours and an irregular life, came to demand from Doctor Mesmer the health she had vainly sought to regain elsewhere.

Many of these ladies were as well known as the gentlemen, but a great many escaped the public gaze, especially on this evening, by wearing masks; for there was a ball at the Opera that night, and many of them intended to drive straight there when they left the doctor's house.

Through this crowd Madame de la Motte walked erect and firm, also with a mask on, and elicited only the exclamation, "This one does not look ill, at all events."

Ever since the cardinal's visit, the attention with which he had examined the box and portrait had been on Jeanne's mind; and she could not but feel that all his graciousness commenced after seeing it, and she therefore felt proportionate curiosity to learn more about it.

First she had gone to Versailles to inquire at all the houses of charity about German ladies; but there were there, perhaps, a hundred and fifty or two hundred, and all Jeanne's inquiries about the two ladies who had visited her had proved fruitless. In vain she repeated that one of them was called Andrée; no one knew a German lady of that name, which indeed was not German. Baffled in this, she determined to try elsewhere, and having heard much of M. Mesmer, and the wonderful secrets revealed through him, determined upon going there. Many were the stories of this kind in circulation. Madame de Duras had recovered a child who had been lost; Madame de Chantoué, an English dog, not much bigger than her fist, for which she would have given all the children in the world; and M. de Vaudreuil a lock of hair, which he would have bought back with half his fortune. All these revelations had been made by clairvoyants after the magnetic operations of Doctor Mesmer.

Those who came to see him, after traversing the ante-chambers, were admitted into a large room, from which the darkened and hermetically closed windows excluded light and air. In the middle of this room, under a luster which gave but a feeble light, was a vast unornamented tank, filled with water impregnated with sulphur, and to the cover of which was fastened an iron ring; attached to this ring was a long chain, the object of which we shall presently see.

All the patients were seated round the room, men and women indiscriminately; then a valet, taking the chain, wound it round the limbs of the patients, so that they might all feel, at the same time, the effects of the electricity contained in the tank; they were then directed to touch each other in some way, either by the shoulder, the elbow, or the feet, and each was to take in his hand a bar of iron, which was also connected with the tank, and to place it to the heart, head, or whatever was the seat of the malady. When they were all ready, a soft and pleasing strain of music, executed by invisible performers, was heard. Among the most eager of the crowd, on the evening of which we speak, was a young, distinguished-looking, and beautiful woman, with a graceful figure, and rather showily dressed, who pressed the iron to her heart with wonderful energy, rolling her beautiful eyes, and beginning to show, in the trembling of her hands, the first effects of the electric fluid.

As she constantly threw back her head, resting it on the cushions of her chair, all around could see perfectly her pale but beautiful face, and her white throat. Many seemed to look at her with great astonishment, and a general whispering commenced among those who surrounded her.

Madame de la Motte was one of the most curious of the party; and of all she saw around her, nothing attracted her attention so much as this young lady, and after gazing earnestly at her for some time, she at last murmured, "Oh! it is she, there is no doubt. It is the lady who came to see me the other day." And convinced that she was not mistaken, she advanced towards her, congratulating herself that chance had effected for her what she had so long been vainly trying to accomplish; but at this moment the young lady closed her eyes, contracted her mouth, and began to beat the air feebly with her hands, which hands, however, did not seem to Jeanne the white and beautiful ones she had seen in her room a few days before.

The patients now began to grow excited under the influence of the fluid. Men and women began to utter sighs, and even cries, moving convulsively their heads, arms, and legs. Then a man suddenly made his appearance; no one had seen him enter; you might have fancied he came out of the tank. He was dressed in a lilac robe, and held in his hand a long wand, which he several times dipped into the mysterious tank; then he made a sign, the doors opened, and twenty robust servants entered, and seizing such of the patients as began to totter on their seats, carried them into an adjoining room.

While this was going on Madame de la Motte heard a man who had approached near to the young lady before-mentioned, and who was in a perfect paroxysm of excitement, say in a loud voice, "It is surely she!" Jeanne was about to ask him who she was, when her attention was drawn to two ladies who were just entering, followed by a man, who, though disguised as a bourgeois, had still the appearance of a servant.

The tournure of one of these ladies struck Jeanne so forcibly that she made a step towards them, when a cry from the young woman near her startled every one. The same man whom Jeanne had heard speak before now called out, "But look, gentlemen, it is the queen."

"The queen!" cried many voices, in surprise. "The queen here! The queen in that state! Impossible!"

"But look," said he again; "do you know the queen, or not?"

"Indeed," said many, "the resemblance is incredible."

"Monsieur," said Jeanne to the speaker, who was a stout man, with quick observant eyes, "did you say the queen?"

"Oh! madame, there is no doubt of it."

"And where is she?"

"Why, that young lady that you see there, on the violet cushions, and in such a state that she cannot moderate her transports, is the queen."

"But on what do you found such an idea, monsieur?"

"Simply because it is the queen." And he left Jeanne to go and spread his news among the rest.

She turned from the almost revolting spectacle, and going near to the door, found herself face to face with the two ladies she had seen enter. Scarcely had she seen the elder one than she uttered a cry of surprise.

"What is the matter?" asked the lady.

Jeanne took off her mask, and asked, "Do you recognize me, madame?"

The lady made, but quickly suppressed, a movement of surprise, and said, "No, madame."

"Well, madame, I recognize you, and will give you a proof;" and she drew the box from her pocket, saying, "you left this at my house."

"But supposing this to be true, what makes you so agitated?"

"I am agitated by the danger that your majesty is incurring here."

"Explain yourself."

"Not before you have put on this mask;" and she offered hers to the queen, who, however, did not take it.

"I beg your majesty; there is not an instant to lose."

The queen put on the mask. "And now, pray come away," added Jeanne.

"But why?" said the queen.

"Your majesty has not been seen by any one?"

"I believe not."

"So much the better."

The queen mechanically moved to the door, but said again, "Will you explain yourself?"

"Will not your majesty believe your humble servant for the present, that you were running a great risk?"

"But what risk?"

"I will have the honor to tell your majesty whenever you will grant me an hour's audience; but it would take too long now;" and seeing that the queen looked displeased, "Pray, madame," said she, turning to the Princess Lamballe, "join your petitions to mine that the queen should leave this place immediately."

"I think we had better, madame," said the princess.

"Well, then, I will," answered the queen; then, turning to Madame de la Motte, "You ask for an audience?" she said.

"I beg for that honor, that I may explain this conduct to your majesty."

"Well, bring this box with you, and you shall be admitted; Laurent, the porter, shall have orders to do so." Then going into the street, she called in German, "Kommen sie da, Weber."

A carriage immediately drove up, they got in, and were immediately out of sight.

When they were gone, Madame de la Motte said to herself, "I have done right in this – for the rest, I must consider."

CHAPTER XVIII.
MADEMOISELLE OLIVA

During this time, the man who had pointed out the fictitious queen to the people touched on the shoulder another man who stood near him, in a shabby dress, and said. "For you, who are a journalist, here is a fine subject for an article."

"How so?" replied the man.

"Shall I tell you?"

"Certainly."

"The danger of being governed by a king who is governed by a queen who indulges in such paroxysms as these."

The journalist laughed. "But the Bastile?" he said.

"Pooh, nonsense! I do not mean you to write it out plainly. Who can interfere with you if you relate the history of Prince Silou and the Princess Etteniotna, Queen of Narfec? What do you say to that?"

"It is an admirable idea!" said the journalist.

"And I do not doubt that a pamphlet called 'The Paroxysms of the Princess Etteniotna at the house of the Fakeer Remsem' would have a great success."

"I believe it also."

"Then go and do it."

The journalist pressed the hand of the unknown. "Shall I send you some copies, sir? I will with pleasure if you will give me your name."

"Certainly; the idea pleases me. What is the usual circulation of your journal?"

"Two thousand."

"Then do me a favor: take these fifty louis, and publish six thousand."

"Oh, sir, you overwhelm me. May I not know the name of such a generous patron of literature?"

"You shall know, when I call for one thousand copies – at two francs each, are they not? Will they be ready in a week?"

"I will work night and day, monsieur."

"Let it be amusing."

"It shall make all Paris die with laughing, except one person."

"Who will weep over it. Apropos, date the publication from London."

"Sir, I am your humble servant." And the journalist took his leave, with his fifty louis in his pocket, highly delighted.

The unknown again turned to look at the young woman, who had now subsided into a state of exhaustion, and looked beautiful as she lay there. "Really," he said to himself, "the resemblance is frightful. God had his motives in creating it, and has no doubt condemned her to whom the resemblance is so strong."

While he made these reflections, she rose slowly from the midst of the cushions, assisting herself with the arm of an attendant, and began to arrange her somewhat disordered toilet, and then traversed the rooms, confronting boldly the looks of the people. She was somewhat astonished, however, when she found herself saluted with deep and respectful bows by a group which had already been assembled by the indefatigable stranger, who kept whispering, "Never mind, gentlemen, never mind, she is still the Queen of France; let us salute her." She next entered the courtyard, and looked about for a coach or chair, but, seeing none, was about to set off on foot, when a footman approached and said, "Shall I call madame's carriage?"

"I have none," she replied.

"Madame came in a coach?"

"Yes."

"From the Rue Dauphine?"

"Yes."

"I will take madame home."

"Do so, then," said she, although somewhat surprised at the offer.

The man made a sign, and a carriage drove up. He opened the door for her, and then said to the coachman, "To the Rue Dauphine." They set off, and the young woman, who much approved of this mode of transit, regretted she had not further to go. They soon stopped, however; the footman handed her out, and immediately drove off again.

"Really," said she to herself, "this is an agreeable adventure; it is very gallant of M. Mesmer. Oh, I am very tired, and he must have foreseen that. He is a great doctor."

Saying these words, she mounted to the second story, and knocked at a door, which was quickly opened by an old woman.

"Is supper ready, mother?"

"Yes, and growing cold."

"Has he come?"

"No, not yet, but the gentleman has."

"What gentleman?"

"He who was to speak to you this evening."

"To me?"

"Yes."

This colloquy took place in a kind of ante-chamber opening into her room, which was furnished with old curtains of yellow silk, chairs of green Utrecht velvet, not very new, and an old yellow sofa.

She opened the door, and, going in, saw a man seated on the sofa whom she did not know in the least, although we do, for it was the same man whom we have seen taking so much interest in her at Mesmer's.

She had not time to question him, for he began immediately: "I know all that you are going to ask, and will tell you without asking. You are Mademoiselle Oliva, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"A charming person, highly nervous, and much taken by the system of M. Mesmer."

"I have just left there."

"All this, however, your beautiful eyes are saying plainly, does not explain what brings me here."

"You are right, sir."

"Will you not do me the favor to sit down, or I shall be obliged to get up also, and that is an uncomfortable way of talking."

"Really, sir, you have very extraordinary manners."

"Mademoiselle, I saw you just now at M. Mesmer's, and found you to be all I could wish."

"Sir!"

"Do not alarm yourself, mademoiselle. I do not tell you that I found you charming – that would seem like a declaration of love, and I have no such intention. I know that you are accustomed to have yourself called beautiful, but I, who also think so, have other things to talk to you about."

"Really, sir, the manner in which you speak to me – "

"Do not get angry before you have heard me. Is there any one that can overhear us?"

"No, sir, no one. But still – "

"Then, if no one can hear, we can converse at our ease. What do you say to a little partnership between us?"

"Really, sir – "

"Do not misunderstand; I do not say 'liaison' – I say partnership; I am not talking of love, but of business."

"What kind of business?" said Oliva, with growing curiosity.

"What do you do all day?"

"Why, I do nothing, or, at least, as little as possible."

"You have no occupation – so much the better. Do you like walking?"

"Very much."

"To see sights, and go to balls?"

"Excessively."

"To live well?"

"Above all things."

"If I gave you twenty-five louis a month, would you refuse me?"

"Sir!"

"My dear Mademoiselle Oliva, now you are beginning to doubt me again, and it was agreed that you were to listen quietly. I will say fifty louis if you like."

"I like fifty louis better than twenty-five, but what I like better than either is to be able to choose my own lover."

"Morbleu! but I have already told you that I do not desire to be your lover. Set your mind at ease about that."

"Then what am I to do to earn my fifty louis?"

"You must receive me at your house, and always be glad to see me. Walk out with me whenever I desire it, and come to me whenever I send for you."

"But I have a lover, sir."

"Well, dismiss him."

"Oh, Beausire cannot be sent away like that!"

"I will help you."

"No; I love him."

"Oh!"

"A little."

"That is just a little too much."

"I cannot help it."

"Then he may stop."

"You are very obliging."

"Well – but do my conditions suit you?"

"Yes, if you have told me all."

"I believe I have said all I wish to say now."

"On your honor?"

"On my honor."

"Very well."

"Then that is settled; and here is the first month in advance."

He held out the money, and, as she still seemed to hesitate a little, slipped it himself into her pocket.

Scarcely had he done so, when a knock at the door made Oliva run to the window. "Good God!" she cried; "escape quickly; here he is!"

"Who?"

"Beausire, my lover. Be quick, sir!"

"Nonsense!"

"He will half murder you."

"Bah!"

"Do you hear how he knocks?"

"Well, open the door." And he sat down again on the sofa, saying to himself, "I must see this fellow, and judge what he is like."

The knocks became louder, and mingled with oaths.

"Go, mother, and open the door," cried Oliva. "As for you, sir, if any harm happens to you, it is your own fault."