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Mysteries of Paris, V3

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"I went to the office with my wife."

"We saw the knave mount on the imperial, alongside of the conductor."

"And just at the moment the diligence started, Cabrion perceived me,
recognized me, turned round, and cried, 'I go forever--yours for life!'
Happily, the trumpet of the conductor almost drowned these last words and
the indecent familiarity of his address, which I despise; for, at last,
Heaven be praised, he is gone."

"And gone forever, believe it, M. Pipelet," said Rigolette, restraining a
violent desire to laugh. "But what you do not know, and what will astonish
you very much is, that M. Rudolph was--"

"Well?"

"A prince in disguise--a royal highness."

"Come, get along--what a sell!" said Anastasia.

"I swear it to you by my husband," said Rigolette, very seriously.

"My prince of lodgers, a royal highness!" cried Anastasia. "Get along! And
I asked him to take care of my lodge! Pardon--pardon--pardon." And she
mechanically put on her cap, as if this head-dress were more suitable when
she was speaking of a prince.

By a manifestation, diametrically opposed as to form, but quite similar as
to the reality, Alfred, contrary to his habit, uncovered his head entirely,
and saluted the air profoundly, crying, "A prince! a highness in our lodge!
And he has seen me between the sheets when I was in bed, in consequence of
the indignities of Cabrion!" At this moment Madame George turned round, and
said to her son and to Rigolette, "My children, here is the doctor."




CHAPTER XXV.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.


Dr. Herbin, a man of ripe age, had a physiognomy very intellectual and
lofty, a look of remarkable sagacity and depth of thought, and a smile of
extreme goodness. His naturally harmonious voice became full of kindness
when he spoke to the lunatics; thus the suavity of his tone and the
benevolence of his words seemed oft to calm the natural irritability of
these unfortunate people. He was among the first to substitute, in his
treatment for madness, commiseration and benevolence for the terrible
coercive means employed formerly; no more chains, no more blows, no more
shower-baths; above all (save in some few cases), no more solitary
confinement. His lofty understanding had comprehended that monomania,
insanity, and madness were increased by confinement and abusive treatment;
that, on the contrary, by allowing the patients to live together, a
thousand distractions, a thousand incidents occurring at each moment,
prevented them from being absorbed in a fixed idea, so much the more fatal
as it is more concentrated by solitude and intimidation. Thus experience
proves that solitary confinement is as fatal to lunatics as it is salutary
to criminals; the mental perturbation of the former increases in solitude,
while the perturbation, or, rather, moral corruption of the latter, is
augmented and becomes incurable by the society of their brothers in crime.
Doubtless, some years hence, the penitentiary system, with its prisons in
common (true schools of infamy), with its galleys, its chains, its
pillories, and its scaffolds, will appear as corrupt, as savage, as
atrocious as the old method of treatment for the insane appears to us of
the present day.

"Doctor," said Madame George to M. Herbin, "I thought I might be allowed to
accompany my son and daughter-in-law, although I do not know M. Morel. The
situation of this excellent man appeared to me so interesting that I have
not been able to conquer my desire to assist with my children in attempting
his complete restoration to reason, which, you hope (so we have been told),
will be accomplished by the means you are about using."

"I count much, madame, on the favorable impression which the presence of
his daughter and persons whom he has been accustomed to see will produce
upon him."

"When they came to arrest my husband," said the wife of Morel, with
emotion, showing Rigolette to the doctor, "our good little neighbor was
occupied in assisting me and my children."

"My father also well knew M. Germain, who has always been very kind to us,"
added Louise. Then, noticing Alfred and Anastasia, she added, "These are
the porters of our house; they have also assisted us as much as they could
in our misfortunes."

"I thank you, sir," said the doctor to Alfred, "for having inconvenienced
yourself by coming here; but, from what I have been told, I see this visit
has not cost you a great deal."

"Sir," said M. Pipelet, with a grave nod, "man should assist his fellow-man
here below; he is a brother, without counting that Morel was the cream of
honest men, before he lost his reason, in consequence of his arrest and his
dear Louise's."

"And over and above all," said Anastasia, "I always regret that the
porringer full of scalding soup which I threw on the backs of the two
bailiffs had not been melted lead."

"It is true; and I ought to render this just homage to the affection which
my wife has avowed to the Morels."

"If you do not fear, madame," said Doctor Herbin, to the mother of Germain,
"the sight of the lunatics, we will pass through several courts in order to
reach the exterior building, where I have had Morel conducted; for I have
given orders this morning that he should not be led to the farm as usual."

"To the farm, sir?" said Madame George, "is there a farm here?"

"Does that surprise you, madame? I can conceive it. Yes, we have here a
farm cultivated by the lunatics, and its produce is very valuable to the
house."

"Do they work there without restraint, sir?"

"Yes; and the labor, the quiet of the fields, the sight of nature, are
among the best of our remedies. A single keeper conducts them thither, and
there is hardly an instance of escape; they go with evident satisfaction,
and their slight earning; serve to ameliorate their condition. But here we
are at the door of one of the courts." Then, seeing a slight shade of
apprehension on the face of Madame George, the doctor added, "Fear nothing,
madame; in a few moments you will feel as secure as I do."

"I follow you, sir. Come, my children."

"Anastasia," whispered M. Pipelet, who was behind with his wife, "when I
think that if the infernal conduct of M. Cabrion had lasted, your Alfred
would have become mad, and, as such, would have been confined among these
unfortunates whom we are going to see, clothed in costumes the most
singular, chained by the middle of their bodies, or shut up in cages like
the wild beasts of the Garden of Plants!"

"Do not speak of it, old darling! It is said that those who are mad for
love are like real apes when they see a woman: they throw themselves
against the bars of their cages, uttering the most frightful cooings. Their
keepers are obliged to soothe them with great blows from a whip, and
letting fall on their heads immense quantities of water, which drops from a
hundred feet high, and that is not a bit too much to refresh them."

"Anastasia, do not approach too near to the cages of these madmen," said
Alfred, gravely: "an accident happens so quickly!"

"Yes, not to say a word of how ungenerous it would be on my part to have
the appearance of defying them; for, after all," added Anastasia, with a
melancholy sigh, "it is our attractions which make them distracted. Hold! I
shudder, my Alfred, when I think that, if I had refused you your happiness,
you would be at this moment crazy from love, like some of these madmen;
that you would cling to the bars of your cage the moment you saw a woman,
and roar afterward, poor old darling! you who, on the contrary, run away as
soon as they attempt to allure you."

"My modesty is suspicious, it is true; but, Anastasia, the door opens--I
shudder. We are going to see abominable figures, hear the noise of chains
and grinding of teeth."

Mr and Mrs. Pipelet, not having heard the conversation of Doctor Herbin,
partook of the popular prejudice which still exists on the subject of
insane hospitals; prejudices which forty years ago were not without
foundation. The door of the court was opened. This court, forming a long
parallelogram, was planted with trees and furnished with benches; a gallery
of elegant construction extended on each side; cells, well ventilated,
opened on this gallery; some fifty men, uniformly clothed in gray, were
walking, talking, or sitting silent and contemplative in the sun.

On the arrival of Dr. Herbin, a large number of lunatics pressed around
him, extending their hands to him with a touching expression of confidence
and gratitude, to which he cordially replied, saying to them, "Good-day,
good-day, my children."

Some of these unfortunate beings, at too great a distance from the doctor
for him to take their hand, came and offered it with a kind of hesitation
to the persons who accompanied him.

"Good-day, my friends," said Germain, kindly, shaking hands in a manner
which seemed to delight them.

"Sir," said Madame George to the doctor, "are these lunatics?"

"These are about the most dangerous in the house," said the doctor,
smiling. "We leave them together in the daytime, but at night they are
locked up in the cells, of which you see the doors open."

"How? these people are completely mad? But are they ever furious?"

"At first--at the commencement of their malady, when they are brought here;
then, by degrees, the treatment begins to produce its effect, and the sight
of their companions calms them and distracts their attention; gentle usage
appeases them, and their violent attacks, at first frequent, become more
and more rare. Hold! here is one of the most violent."

This was a robust and powerful man of about forty years of age, with long,
black hair, high forehead, sallow complexion; intellectual expression, and
most intelligent countenance, He approached the doctor, and said to him, in
a tone of exquisite politeness, although slightly constrained, "Doctor, I
ought, in my turn, to have the right of conversing and walking with the
blind man; I have the honor of observing to you that there is a flagrant
injustice in depriving this unfortunate man of my conversation, to deliver
him" (and the madman smiled with bitter disdain) "to the stupid
incoherences of an idiot, who is completely a stranger (I hazard nothing in
saying it)--completely a stranger to the least notions of any science
whatever, while my conversation might divert the attention of the blind
man. Thus," added he, with extreme volubility, "I would have told him my
opinion on the isothermal and orthogonal superficies, causing him to
observe that the equations of partial differences, of which the geometrical
explanation is summed up in two orthogonal superficies, cannot generally be
integral on account of their complication. I should have proved to him that
the united superficies are all necessarily isothermal, and together we
would have sought what superficies are capable of composing a trebly
isothermal system. If I do not deceive myself, sir, compare this recreation
with the stupid nonsense with which they entertain this blind man," added
the lunatic, taking breath, "and tell me, is it not a pity to deprive him
of my conversation?"

"Do not take what he has just said, madame, for the wanderings of a
madman," whispered the doctor; "he handles in this way sometimes the most
difficult questions of geometry or astronomy, with an acuteness which would
do honor to the most illustrious learned men. His knowledge is great. He
speaks all the living languages, but he is, alas! a martyr to his thirst
for erudition and pride of learning. He imagines that he has absorbed all
human knowledge, and that, by retaining him here, humanity is thrown back
into the darkness of the most profound ignorance."

The doctor replied aloud to the lunatic, who seemed to await his reply with
a respectful anxiety, "My dear M. Charles, your complaint appears to me
very just, and this poor blind man, who, I believe, is dumb, but, happily,
is not deaf, will have great delight in the conversation of a man as
learned as you are. I will see that you have justice done you."

"Besides, by retaining me here, you deprive the universe of all human
knowledge, which I have appropriated to myself by assimilation," said the
madman, becoming animated by degrees, and commencing to gesticulate with
great violence.

"Come, come, calm yourself, my good M. Charles; happily the world has not
yet discovered its deficiencies; as soon as it shall have become
enlightened in this respect, we shall endeavor to supply its wants; and in
that case, a man of your capacity, of your learning, can always render
great services."

"But I am for science what Noah's ark was for physical nature," cried he,
grinding his teeth, his eye looking very wild.

"I know it, my dear friend."

"You wish to put the light under the bushel!" cried he, clinching his
fists. "But then I will break you like glass," added he, with a threatening
air, his face purple with anger, and the veins swelling like cords.

"Ah! M. Charles," answered the doctor, fixing on the madman a calm,
piercing, steady look, and assuming a caressing and flattering manner, "I
thought that you were the greatest professor of modern times."

"And past," cried the madman, forgetting all at once his anger in his
pride.

"You did not let me finish: that you were the greatest professor of time
past, and present--"

"And future," cried the madman, proudly.

"Oh! the great babbler, who always interrupts me," said the doctor,
smiling, and striking him amicably on the shoulder. "Can it be said that I
am ignorant of all the admiration that you inspire and deserve! Come, let
us go and see the blind man."

"Conduct me to him. Doctor, you are a good man; come, come, you will see
what he is obliged to listen to when I can tell him such fine things,"
answered the lunatic, completely calmed, walking before the doctor with a
satisfied air.

"I confess to you, sir," said Germain, who had drawn near to his wife,
remarking her fear when the madman spoke and gesticulated so violently, "I
confess to you, for a moment I feared a crisis."

"Formerly, at the very first word of excitement, at the very first sign of
a threat, the keepers would have seized, tied, beat, and inundated him with
a shower-bath, one of the most atrocious tortures that ever were invented.
Judge of the effect of such a treatment on an energetic and irritable
temperament, whose force of expansion becomes more violent as it is more
compressed. Then he would have fallen into one of those frightful fits of
madness which defy the most powerful restraint; exasperated by their
frequency, they become almost incurable; while as you see, by not
restraining at first this momentary ebullition, or in turning it aside by
the aid of the excessive mobility of mind which is to be remarked among
many lunatics, these experimental bubblings are assuaged as soon as they
are raised."

"And who is this blind man of whom he speaks? is that an illusion of his
mind?" asked Madame George.

"No, madame, it is a very strange history," answered the doctor. "This
blind man was taken in a den in the Champs Elysees, where they arrested a
band of robbers and assassins; he was found chained in the middle of a
subterranean cavern, alongside of the corpse of a woman, so horribly
mutilated that she could could not be recognized."

"Ah! it is frightful," said Madame George, shuddering, never suspecting the
truth.

"This man is frightfully ugly; his face has been burned with vitriol. Since
his arrival here, he has not spoken a single word. I do not know whether he
is really dumb, or only affects to be so. By a singular chance, the only
attacks he has had have occurred during my absence, and always at night.
Unfortunately, all the questions that have been addressed to him have been
unanswered, and it is impossible to obtain any information as to his
situation; his attacks seem to be caused by a madness of which the cause is
impenetrable, for he does not pronounce a word. The other lunatics pay him
great attention; they guide his footsteps, and they like to entertain him,
alas! according to their degree of intelligence. Hold! here he is!"

All the persons who accompanied the doctor recoiled with horror at the
sight of the Schoolmaster, for it was he. He was not mad, but he pretended
to be both mad and dumb. He had massacred La Chouette, not in a fit of
madness, but in a fit of fever, such as he had been attacked with at
Bouqueval on the night of his horrible vision. After his arrest in the
tavern of the Champs Elysees, recovering from his transient delirium, the
Schoolmaster had awoke in a cell of the Conciergerie, where the insane are
temporarily confined. Hearing every one say around him, "He is a furious
madman," he resolved to continue to play his part, and pretended dumbness
in order not to compromise himself by his answers, in case they should
suspect his feigned insanity. This stratagem succeeded. Conducted to
Bicetre, he pretended to have other attacks of madness, always taking care
to choose the night for these manifestations, in order to escape the
penetrating observation of the chief physician; the attending surgeon,
awakened in haste, never arriving until the crisis was over, or nearly at
an end. The very small number of the accomplices of the Schoolmaster, who
knew his real name and his escape from the galleys at Rohefort, were
ignorant of what had become of him, and, besides, had no interest in
denouncing him; thus his identity could not be proved. He hoped to remain
always at Bicetre, by continuing his part of a madman and mute. Yes,
always. Such was then the sole desire of this man, thanks to the inability
to do harm which paralyzed his savage instincts. Thanks to the state of
profound seclusion in which he had lived in the cellar of Bras-Rouge,
remorse had taken almost entire possession of his iron heart. By dint of
concentrating his mind upon one unceasing meditation (the recollection of
his past crimes), deprived of all communication with the exterior world,
his ideas often assumed a sort of reality, as he had told La Chouette; then
passed before him sometimes the features of his victims; but this was not
madness--it was the power of memory carried to its greatest extent. Thus
this man, still in the prime of life, of a vigorous constitution--this man,
who, without doubt, would live many long years--this man, who enjoyed all
the plenitude of his reason, was to pass these long years among madmen,
without ever exchanging a word with a human being. Otherwise, if he were
discovered, he would be led to the scaffold for his new murders, or he
would be condemned to a perpetual imprisonment among scoundrels, for whom
he felt a horror which was augmented by his repentance. The Schoolmaster
was seated on a bench; a forest of grayish hair covered his hideous and
enormous head; with his elbows on his knees, he supported his chin on his
hand. Although this frightful man was deprived of sight, two holes replaced
his nose, and his mouth was deformed, yet a withering, incurable despair
was still manifest on his horrid visage. A lunatic of a sad, benevolent,
and juvenile appearance kneeled before the Schoolmaster, held his large
hands in his own, looked at him with kindness, and, with a sweet voice,
constantly repeated, "Strawberries! strawberries! strawberries!"

"See now," said the learned madman, gravely, "the sole conversation which
this idiot can hold with the blind man. Yes, with him, the eyes of the body
closed, those of the mind are without doubt opened, and he will be pleased
if I enter into communication with him."

"I do not doubt it," said the doctor; while the poor lunatic with the
melancholy face regarded the abominable face of the Schoolmaster with
compassion, and repeated, in his soft voice, "Strawberries! strawberries!
strawberries!"

"Since his entrance here, this poor idiot has uttered no other words than
these," said the doctor to Madame George, who looked at the Schoolmaster
with horror; "what mysterious events are connected with these words, I
cannot penetrate."

"Mother," said Germain to Madame George, "how much this poor blind man
seems depressed!"

"It is true, my child," answered Madame George: "in spite of myself my
heart is oppressed! the sight of him sickens me. Oh! how sad it is to see
humanity under this dreadful aspect."

Hardly had Madame George pronounced these words, than the Schoolmaster
started; his scarred face became pale under its cicatrices; he arose, and
turned his head so quickly toward the mother of Germain, that she could not
refrain from a cry of horror, although she did not know who he was. The
Schoolmaster had recognized the voice of his wife, and the words of Madame
George told him that she had spoken to his son!

"What is the matter, mother?" cried Germain.

"Nothing, son; but the movement of this man, the expression of his
face--all this has frightened me. Pardon my weakness," added she,
addressing the doctor, "I almost regret having yielded to my curiosity in
accompanying my son."

"Oh! for once, mother--there is nothing to regret."

"Very sure am I that our good mother will never return here, nor we either,
my little Germain," said Rigolette: "it is too affecting."

"You are a little coward!" said Germain, smiling: "is not my wife a little
coward, doctor?"

"I confess," answered the doctor, "that the sight of this unhappy blind and
dumb man has made a strong impression upon me--who have seen so much
distress."

"What a sight, old darling!" whispered Anastasia.

"Well! in comparison with you, all men appear to me as ugly as this
frightful madman. It is on this account that no one can boast of--you
comprehend, my Alfred?"

"Anastasia, I shall dream of that face, it is certain--I shall have the
nightmare."

"My friend," said the doctor to the Schoolmaster, "how do you find
yourself?" The Schoolmaster remained mute.

"Do you not hear me, then?" continued the doctor, striking him lightly on
the shoulder.

The Schoolmaster made no reply, but bowed his head. At the end of some
moments, from his sightless eyes there fell a tear.

"He weeps," said the doctor.

"Poor man!" added Germain, with compassion.

The Schoolmaster shuddered; he heard anew the voice of his son, who evinced
for him a sentimental compassion.

"What is the matter? What afflicts you?" demanded the doctor. The
Schoolmaster buried his face in his hands.

"We shall obtain nothing," said the doctor.

"Let me try: I am going to console him," replied the learned madman. "I am
going to demonstrate that all kinds of orthogonal surfaces in which the
three systems are isothermal, are 1st, those of the superficies of the
second order; 2nd, those of the ellipsoides of revolution around the small
axis and the grand axis; 3rd, those--but no," said the madman, reflecting,
"I will commence with him on the planetary system." Then, addressing the
young lunatic, who was still kneeling before the Schoolmaster, "Take
yourself off from there with your strawberries."

"My boy," said the doctor to the young madman, "each one must have his turn
with the old man. Let your comrade take your place."

The young boy obeyed at once, arose, looked at the doctor timidly with his
large blue eyes, showed his deference by a salute, made a parting sign to
the Schoolmaster, and departed, repeating, in a plaintive voice,
"Strawberries! strawberries!"

The doctor, perceiving the painful effect this scene had produced upon
Madame George, said to her, "Happily, madame, we are going to find Morel,
and, if my hopes are realized, your heart will expand with joy on seeing
this excellent man restored to the tenderness of his wife and daughter."

And the physician withdrew, followed by the friends of the artisan Morel.
The Schoolmaster remained alone with the learned madman, who commenced to
explain to him, very learnedly and very eloquently, the imposing movement
of the stars, which describe their immense revolutions silently in the
heavens of which the normal state is night. But the Schoolmaster did not
listen. He thought, with profound despair, that he should never hear again
the voices of his son and wife. Confident of the just horror with which he
had inspired them, of the misfortune, the shame, the affright into which he
would have plunged them by the revelation of his name, he would have
endured rather a thousand deaths than have disclosed himself to them. One
single last consolation remained to him: for a moment he had inspired his
son with pity. And in spite of himself, he recalled to mind the works which
Rudolph had spoken to him before he had inflicted this terrible
chastisement.

"Each of your words is an oath; each of your words shall be a prayer. You
are audacious and cruel because you are strong; you shall be meek and
humble because you shall be weak. Your heart is closed to repentance; some
day you will weep for your victims. From a man you have made yourself a
savage beast; some day your understanding shall be restored by repentance.
You have not even spared what the wild beasts spare, the female and her
young. After a long life consecrated to the expiation of your crimes, your
last prayer shall be to supplicate God to grant you the unhoped-for
happiness of dying before your wife and your son."

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