CHAPTER LXXXIII.
THE FIRST DAY OF LIGHT.
The elite of Vienna were assembled in the drawing-room of Herr von Paradies. The aristocratic, the scientific, and the artistic world were represented; and the empress, as before intimated, had sent her messenger to take notes of the extraordinary experiment which was that day to be tried upon the person of her young pensioner. At the request of Mesmer, some of the lower classes were there also, for it was his desire that the cottage as well as the palace should bear testimony to the triumph of animal magnetism over the prejudices of conventional science.
By order of Mesmer, the room had been darkened, and heavy green curtains hung before every window. Seats were arranged around the room, in the centre of which was a space occupied by a couch, some chairs, and a table on which lay a box.
Upon this box the eyes of the spectators were riveted; and Professor Barth himself, in spite of his arrogant bearing, felt quite as much curiosity as his neighbors, to see its contents.
"You will see, Herr Kollege," said he to one who sat beside him, "you will see that he merely wishes to collect this brilliant assemblage in order to perform an operation in their presence, and so make a name for himself. This box of course contains the instruments. Wait and watch for the lancet that first or last is sure to make its appearance."
"What will be the use of his lancet," replied Herr Kollege, "when there is nothing upon which it can operate? The girl is irretrievably blind; for neither knife nor lancet can restore life to the deadened optical nerve."
"If he attempts to use the lancet in MY presence," said the professor in a threatening tone, "I will prevent him. I shall watch him closely, and woe to the impostor if I surprise him at a trick!"
"The box does not contain surgical instruments," whispered the astronomer Hell. "I know what he has in there."
"What?" asked the others eagerly.
"A planet, my friends. You know be is given to meddling with planets. I hope it is one unknown to science; for if he has carried off any of MY stars, I shall have him arrested for robbery."
This sally caused much laughter, which was interrupted by the entrance of Mesmer with Frau von Paradies. Without seeming to observe the spectators who now thronged the room, Mesmer advanced to the table where lay the box. His face was pale, but perfectly resolute; and as his eyes were raised to meet those of the guests, each one felt that whatever might be the result, in the soul of the operator there was neither doubt nor fear.
Mesmer opened the box. A breathless silence greeted this act. Every whisper was hushed, every straining glance was fixed upon that mysterious coffer. He seated himself before it, and Professor Barth whispered, "Now he is about to take out his instruments."
But he was interrupted by the sound of music—music so exquisite that the heart of the learned professor himself responded to its pathos. It swelled and swelled until it penetrated the room and filled all space with its thrilling notes. All present felt its power, and every eye was fixed upon the enchanter, who was swaying a multitude as though their emotions had been his slaves, and his music the voice that bade them live or die.
"Ah!" whispered the astronomer, "you made a mistake of a part of speech.
The man has not instruments, but AN instrument."
"True," replied the professor, "and your planet turns out to be an insignificant harmonicon."
"And the lancet," added Inaenhaus, "is a cork, with a whale-bone handle."
Mesmer played on, and now his music seemed an entreaty to some invisible spirit to appear and reveal itself to mortal eyes. At least, so it sounded to the ears of his listeners. They started—for responsive to the call, a tall white figure, whose feet seemed scarcely to touch the floor, glided in and stood for a moment irresolute. Mesmer raised his hand and stretching it out toward her, she moved. Still he played on, and nearer and nearer she came, while the music grew louder and more irresistible in its pleadings.
A movement was perceptible among the spectators. Several ladies had fainted; their nerves had given way before the might of that wonderful music.[Footnote: It frequently happened that not only women, but men also, fainted, when Mesmer played on the glass-harmonicon. Justinus Kerner, p. 41.] But no one felt disposed to move to assist them, for all were absorbed by the spell, and each one gazed in speechless expectation upon Mesmer and Therese.
He still played on, but he threw up his head, and his large eyes were directed toward his patient with a look of authority. She felt the glance and trembled. Then she hastened her steps, and smilingly advanced until she stood close beside the table. He pointed to the couch, and she immediately turned toward it and sat down.
"This is well gotten up," said Professor Barth. "The scene must have been rehearsed more than once."
"If the blind are to be restored to sight by harmonicons," whispered Doctor Ingenhaus, "I shall throw my books to the winds, and become an itinerant musician."
"If planets are to be brought down by a wave of the hand," said Hell, "I will break all my telescopes, and offer my services to Mesmer as an amanuensis."
The harmonicon ceased, and the censorious professors were forced to stop their cavilling.
Mesmer arose, and, approaching Therese, made a few passes above her head.
"My eyes burn as if they were pierced with red-hot daggers," said she, with an expression of great suffering.
He now directed the tips of his fingers toward her eyes, and touched the bandage.
"Remove the bandage, and see!" cried he in a loud voice.
Therese tore it off, and pale as death she gazed with wonder at the "Master," who stood directly in front of her. Pointing to him, she said with an expression of fear and dislike:
"Is that a man which stands before me?" [Footnote: Therese's own words.
Justinus Kerner, p. 63.]
Mesmer bowed his head. Therese started back, exclaiming, "It is fearful!
But where is Mesmer? Show me Mesmer!"
"I am he," said Mesmer, approaching her.
She drew back and looked at him with a scrutinizing expression.
"I had supposed that the human face was radiant with joy," said she, "but this one looks like incarnate woe. Are all mankind sad? Where is my mother?"
Frau von Paradies was awaiting her daughter's call; she now came forward, her face beaming with love and joy. But Therese, instead of meeting her with equal fervor, shrank, and covered her face with her hands.
"Therese, my daughter, look upon me," said the mother.
"It is her voice," cried Therese, joyfully, removing her hands. Frau von
Paradies stood by, smiling.
"Is this my mother?" continued she, looking up into her face. "Yes—it must be so; those tearful eyes are full of love. Oh, mother, come nearer, and let me look into those loving eyes!"
Her mother leaned over her, but again Therese recoiled. "What a frightful thing!" said she, with a look of fear.
"What, Therese? What is frightful?" asked her mother.
"Look at your mother, Therese," said Mesmer. She heard the well-beloved voice, and her hands fell from her eyes.
"Now tell me, what disturbs you," said Frau von Paradies.
Therese raised her hand and pointed to her mother's nose. "It is that," said she. "What is it?"
"It is my nose!" exclaimed her mother, laughing, and her laugh was echoed throughout the room.
"This nose on the human face is horrible," said Therese. "It threatens me as though it would stab my eyes." [Footnote: These are the exact words of Therese. Justinus Kerner, p 68.]
"I will show you the figure of a man who threatens," said Mesmer, assuming an angry air, clinching his fists, and advancing a few paces.
Therese fell upon her knees with a cry. "You will kill me!" exclaimed she, cowering to the floor.
The spectators were thunderstruck. Even Professor Barth yielded to the overwhelming evidence of his senses.
"By Heaven, it is no deception!" exclaimed he. "She sees!"
"Since Professor Barth is convinced, no one will dare dispute the fact," observed Mesmer, loud enough to be overheard by the professor.
Barth frowned, and pretended not to hear. He already repented of what he had said, and would have bought back his own words with a handful of ducats. But it was too late. Every one had heard him, and on every side murmurs of astonishment and of admiration grew into distinct applause.
Meanwhile, Therese was greeting her father and her other relatives. But she, who had always been so affectionate, was now embarrassed and cold.
"I knew it," said she, sadly. "I knew that the gift of sight would not increase my happiness. Imagination had drawn your images, and I loved the pictures she had painted. But now that I see you with the eyes of flesh, my heart recoils from participation in the sad secrets which your careworn faces reveal. Ah, I believe that love, in its highest sense, is known to the blind alone! But where is Bello? Let me see my dog, the faithful companion of my days of dependence."
Bello had been whining at the door, and as Frau von Paradies opened it, he bounded to his mistress, caressing her with his paws, and licking her hands.
Therese bent over him, and the dog raised his eyes to hers. She stroked his glossy, black coat and; for the first time since she had recovered her sight, she smiled.
"This dog is more pleasing to me than man," said she, communing with herself. "There is truth in his eyes, and his face does not terrify me, like those of my own race." [Footnote: Therese's own words. Justinus Kerner, p. 63.]
"I think we may take our leave," growled Professor Barth, "the comedy is over, and the relations and friends can applaud the author and the actress. I don't feel it my duty to remain for that purpose."
"Nor I," added Doctor Ingenhaus, as he prepared to accompany the professor. "My head is in a whirl with the antics of this devilish doctor."
"Take me with you," said Father Hell. "I must go and look after my planets. I'm afraid we shall miss another Pleiad."
So saying, the representatives of science took their leave. At the door they met Count von Langermann, the messenger of the empress.
"Ah, gentlemen," said he, "you are hastening from this enchanted spot to announce its wonders to the world. No one will venture to doubt, when such learned professors have seen and believed. I myself am on my way to apprise the empress of Mesmer's success."
"Pray inform the empress, also, that we have seen an admirable comedy, count," said Barth, with a sneer.
"A comedy!" echoed the count. "It is a marvellous reality. Yourself confessed it, professor."
"A careless word, prematurely uttered, is not to be accepted as evidence," growled Barth.
"Such astounding things demand time for consideration. They may be optical delusions," added Ingenhaus.
"Ah, gentlemen, the fact is a stubborn one," laughed Count Langermann. "Therese von Paradies has recovered her sight without couching-knife or lancet, and I shall certainly convey the news of the miracle to the empress."
"What shall we do?" asked the astronomer of his compeers, as Count
Langermann bowed and left them.
Professor Barth answered nothing.
"We must devise something to prop up science, or she will fall upon our heads and crush us to death," said Ingenhaus.
"What are we to do?" repeated Barth, slowly, as after an embarrassing silence, the three had walked some distance together down the street. "I will tell you what we must do. Treat the whole thing as a farce, and maintain, in the face of all opposition, that Therese von Paradies is still blind."
"But, my honored friend, unhappily for us all, you have made this impracticable by your awkward enthusiasm."
"I spoke ironically, and the ass mistook sarcasm for conviction."
"Yes, and so did everybody else." sighed Hell. "You will find it difficult to convince the world that you were not in earnest."
"Perhaps today and tomorrow I may fail to convince the world, but the day after it will begin to reason and to doubt. If we do not oppose this quack with a strong phalanx of learned men, we shall be sneered at for our previous incredulity. Now I adhere to my text. Therese von Paradies is blind, and no one shall prove to me that she can see. Come to my study, and let us talk this provoking matter over."
Meanwhile, Therese was receiving the congratulations of her friends. She gazed at their unknown faces with a melancholy smile, and frowned when it was said to her, "This is the friend whom you love so much"—"This is the relative whose society has always been so agreeable to you."
Then she closed her eyes, and said they were weary. "Let me hear your voices, and so accustom myself to your strange countenances," said she. "Speak, dear friends; I would rather know you with the heart than with these deceiving eyes."
Suddenly, as one of her female companions came up to greet her, Therese burst into a merry laugh. "What absurd thing is that growing out of your head?" asked she.
"Why, that is the coiffure, which you like the best," replied her mother. "It is a coiffure a la Matignon."
Therese raised her hands to her own head. "True, the very same towering absurdity. I never will wear it again, mother."
"It is very fashionable, and you will become accustomed to it."
"No, I shall never be reconciled to such a caricature. Now that I can choose for myself, I shall attend less to fashion than to fitness in my dress. But I have seen mankind—let me see nature and heaven. Mesmer, may I look upon the skies?"
"Come, my child, and we will try if your eyes can bear the full light of day," replied Mesmer, fondly, and taking her arm he led her toward the window.
But Therese, usually so firm in her tread, took short, uncertain steps, and seemed afraid to advance.
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed she, clinging anxiously to Mesmer, "see how the windows come toward us! We shall be crushed to death!"
"No, Therese; it is we who advance, not they. You will soon acquire a practical knowledge of the laws of optics, and learn to calculate distances and sizes as well as the rest of us."
"But what is this?" cried she, as they approached the tall mirror that was placed between the windows.
"That is a mirror."
"And who is that man who is so like yourself?"
"That is only the reflection of my person in the mirror."
"And who is that ridiculous being with the coiffure a la Matignon?"
"That is yourself."
"I!" exclaimed she, quickly advancing to the mirror. But suddenly she retreated in alarm. "Gracious Heaven! it comes so fast that it will throw me down. "Then she stopped for a moment and laughed. "See," said she, "the girl is as cowardly as myself. The farther I step back the farther she retreats also."
"All this is an optical delusion, Therese. The girl is nothing but a reflection, a picture of yourself in the mirror."
"True, I forgot. You told me that just now," replied Therese, drawing her hand wearily across her forehead. "Well, let me contemplate myself. This, then, is my likeness," said she, musing. "My mother was mistaken. This face is not handsome. It is weary and soulless. Come, master, I have enough of it—let me see the heavens."
"Wait until I draw the curtain to see whether you are able to bear the full light of day."
The curtain was lifted, and Therese, giving a scream, hid her eyes.
"Oh, it cuts like the point of a dagger!" cried she.
"I thought so; you will have to become gradually accustomed to it. You shall see the sky this evening. But now you must suffer me to bind up your eyes, for they must have rest." [Footnote: The description of Therese's impressions, and the words she used upon the recovery of her sight, are not imaginary. They are all cited by Justinus Kerner, and were related to him by her own father.]